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The Power of Beauty

Selected Papers on
A Journal of
Philosophical Inquiry the Power of Beauty
and Discussion

Issue Edited by
Theresa Farnan
Volume 6
N o. 2

ISSN: 2150-5756 Volume 6, No. 2 Spring 2016

 Quaestiones Disputatae
Editor:
Alex Plato, Franciscan University of Steubenville
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Stephen Gersh, University of Notre Dame
Christina M. Gschwandtner, University of Scranton
Siobhan Nash-Marshall, Manhattanville College
Timothy Noone, Catholic University of America
Giorgio E. Pini, Fordham University
Nicholas Rescher, University of Pittsburgh
Linda Zagzebski, University of Oklahoma
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Copyright © 2016 Quaestiones Disputatae
ISSN: 2150-5756
Quaestiones
Disputatae
The Power of Beauty
Theresa Farnan, Special Guest Editor

2016
Quaestiones Disputatae
2

Quaestiones Disputatae

Vol. 6, No. 2 Spring 2016

Contents

Introduction to THE POWER OF BEAUTY

Theresa Farnan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4

“Grace That Shimmers on the Surface of Beauty”:

Beyond Platonic-Aristotelian Form, a Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Christopher S. Morrissey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10

Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle

Brian Donohue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26

The Metaphysics of Moral Values and Moral Beauty

Marcus Otte . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44

Beauty as Anomaly: Why Does the Bush Not Burn Up?

Linus Meldrum . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

The Beauty that Pierces the Heart:

Joseph Ratzinger’s Christological Understanding of Beauty
Alessandro Rovati . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77

Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity in Consecrated Life:

*DGDPHUDQGWKH´,FRQRI WKH7UDQVÀJXUHG&KULVWµ
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94

Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador to the East:

A Philokalic Reading of His Writings on Beauty
Daniel VanderKolk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108

The Beauty of Marital Love in the Thought of Saint John Paul II

Richard Sherlock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120

Beauty, the Person, and Disability:Understanding (and Defending)

the Intrinsic Beauty and Value of the Person with Disabilities
Theresa Farnan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132

Beauty and Desecration

Roger Scruton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
 3

Introduction to THE POWER OF BEAUTY

On December 10, 1974, Nobel laureate Alexandr Solzhenitsyn delivered an

address on the power of beauty and the arts to change the world. Taking as
his point of departure Dostoyevsky’s insight that beauty will save the world,
and shaped by his own experience of the power of literature to unmask
totalitarianism, Solzhenitsyn spoke on the relationship of beauty, truth, and
goodness, and the distinctive nature of the power of beauty.
One day Dostoevsky threw out the enigmatic remark: “Beauty
will save the world.” What sort of a statement is that? For a long
time I considered it mere words. How could that be possible?
When in bloodthirsty history did beauty ever save anyone from
anything? Ennobled, uplifted, yes—but whom has it saved? …
There is, however, a certain peculiarity in the essence of beauty,
a peculiarity in the status of art: namely, the convincingness of
a true work of art is completely irrefutable and it forces even an
opposing heart to surrender….1
For Solzhenitsyn, the beauty of a work of art was not merely a product of
skill or ability, nor did it exist as a vehicle for mere self-expression. On the
contrary, art, if it is to be a true work of art, if it is to be truly beautiful, leads
its audience to a deeper understanding of truth, especially the truth about
other human beings. Art has the ability to circumvent the defenses we erect
around our hearts; the more we wish to turn away from experiences that we
do not wish to see or acknowledge, the more art insists that we look. These
encounters with beauty lead us further, sometimes reluctantly, to personally
embrace truth and goodness.
So perhaps that ancient trinity of Truth, Goodness and Beauty is
not simply an empty, faded formula as we thought in the days of
RXUVHOIFRQÀGHQWPDWHULDOLVWLF\RXWK",I WKHWRSVRI WKHVHWKUHH
trees converge, as the scholars maintained, but the too blatant,
too direct stems of Truth and Goodness are crushed, cut down,
not allowed through—then perhaps the fantastic, unpredictable,
unexpected stems of Beauty will push through and soar to that
very same place, DQGLQVRGRLQJZLOOIXOÀOOWKHZRUNRI DOOWKUHH"«

1
Alexandr Solzhenitsyn, “Nobel Lecture,” Nobelprize.org, accessed August
31, 2015, http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1970/solz-
henitsyn-lecture.html
4
In that case Dostoevsky’s remark, “Beauty will save the world,” was
not a careless phrase but a prophecy? After all HE was granted to
see much, a man of fantastic illumination.2
How does beauty do this? And what is the role of the artist? Perhaps it will
be more illuminating to start with the second question. Solzhenitsyn suggests
that the artist, “recognizing a higher power above, gladly works as a humble
apprentice beneath God’s heaven”3 In other words, his role is “to be more
keenly aware than others of the harmony of the world, of the beauty and
ugliness of the human contribution to it, and to communicate this acutely to
his fellow-men.”4
How does the artist do this? “From man to man, as he completes
his brief spell on Earth, art transfers the whole weight of an unfamiliar, life-
long experience with all its burdens, its colours, its sap of life; it recreates in
WKHÁHVKDQXQNQRZQH[SHULHQFHDQGDOORZVXVWRSRVVHVVLWDVRXURZQµ5
Through his art, the artist brings cultures and civilizations into conversation,
making the joys and sufferings of those far away near to all who encounter
his art. The artist’s vivid depictions of others’ experiences reveal what would
otherwise remain hidden and give voice to the voiceless. In this way, the artist
can bridge the divides of time, culture, and distance.
But the power of beauty involves more than creating moments of
empathy that would otherwise not be possible. In representing or recreating
the experiences of others, the artist also appeals to the interior, spiritual di-
mension of the human being. Those who view what is truly beautiful cannot
avoid being moved by it, as it stirs the imagination and evokes a sense of
longing for that which transcends the self, a longing ultimately for the One
who is the source of beauty. This encounter with the Divine enables human
beings to look beyond the material world and grounds our conviction that
each human person is precious and of tremendous worth. Without the ability
to be moved by beauty and by goodness, the fate of humanity would be bleak
indeed.
For Solzhenitsyn, beauty is inseparable from responsibility and obli-
gation. The artist has a responsibility not to retire “into his self-made worlds
or the spaces of his subjective whims,” for in doing so he will “surrender the
real world into the hands of men who are mercenary, if not worthless, if not
insane.”6 Those who appreciate and view art have an obligation not to give
into what Solzhenitsyn described as the “sickness of the will of successful
people … the daily condition of those who have given themselves up to the
2
Ibid.
3
Ibid.
4
Ibid.
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid.
 5
thirst after prosperity at any price, to material well-being as the chief goal of
earthly existence,” electing “passivity and retreat, just so as their accustomed
life might drag on a bit longer.”7 Art that is imbued with truth and goodness
should move its recipients to reject falsehood and violence, to internalize,
safeguard and treasure the humanity of others.
And thus we return to Solzhenitsyn’s insights about the power of
beauty—that even when humans reject the stated demands of truth and
goodness, they can be moved by the subtle, yet insistent tug of beauty to
recognize those same demands. When human beings retreat into the shelter
of their own self-centered existence, beauty beckons them back to the shared
conversation of humanity. Even as human beings struggle to maintain the
LOOXVLRQWKDWWKH\FDQGHÀQHDQGFRQWUROUHDOLW\WUXWKDQGEHLQJEHDXW\JHQ-
tly reproaches them by evoking the presence of One who is Beauty, Truth,
Goodness, Being.

* * *

Many participants from different disciplines—philosophers, theologians, art-

ists of all genres, writers, and many other people—united by their desire to
LQYHVWLJDWHEHDXW\DQGDHVWKHWLFVVSHFLÀFDOO\WKHSRZHURI EHDXW\JDWKHUHG
together on October 24–25 of 2014 for a conference on The Power of Beauty.
The conference was, like Solzhenitsyn’s speech, inspired by Dostoyevsky’s
assertion that “Beauty will save the world.” The conference provided an op-
SRUWXQLW\WRUHÁHFWRQWKHQDWXUHRI EHDXW\LWVUHODWLRQWRWKHJRRGDQGLWV
power to shape and transform persons and culture. It was two days of unique
and fruitful scholarship. The papers of this volume represent the thoughtful
discussion that took place at that conference. Through the selected papers of
this volume, readers have the same opportunity as the participants to engage
LQVHULRXVUHÁHFWLRQRQWKHPHDQLQJRI EHDXW\WKHUROHRI WKHDUWLVWDQGLQ-
deed, the responsibility that we all share, not only to be open to the power of
beauty, but to be agents of the transformative power of beauty.
 7KHHVVD\VLQWKLVFROOHFWLRQUHÁHFW6RO]KHQLWV\Q·VFRQÀGHQFHLQWKH
power of beauty to move human beings toward the Divine and to bridge the
GLIÀFXOWLHVWKDWVHSDUDWHKXPDQEHLQJV7KLVFROOHFWLRQRI VFKRODUO\SDSHUV
covers a vast range of topics and interests, from beauty in medicine to discus-
sions of different schools of architecture, from investigations into the nature
of beauty per se, to beauty in the human person, and to beauty as represented
through art and culture. The wide array of topics is complemented by the in-
terdisciplinary range of these papers, including meditations on art, theology,

7
Ibid.
6
and philosophy. Nevertheless, the papers are united by continually returning
to the central question: What is the power of beauty, and how exactly does it
save the world? The diversity and interdisciplinary nature of these essays is a
ÀWWLQJWULEXWHWRWKHSRZHURI EHDXW\
The selected papers are organized roughly around three themes: the
nature of beauty itself and its relation to goodness and being; the vertical di-
mension of the power of beauty, that is, its ability to lead us to God; and the
horizontal dimension of the power of beauty that Solzhenitsyn so eloquently
describes, namely, its ability to bring humans closer to each other.
 7KHÀUVWJURXSLQJRI SDSHUVRQWKHLQWULQVLFUHODWLRQVKLSRI EHDXW\
to goodness and being includes three selections. In his essay “Grace That
Shimmers on the Surface of Beauty”: Beyond Platonic-Aristotelian Form,
a Stoic Vision of Primary Causality, Christopher S. Morrissey takes Ploti-
nus’s description of “grace that shimmers on the surface of beauty” as a
perennial philosophical insight into the relationship between primary and
secondary causality. Mapping Stoic insights about the world and causality
onto Scholastic insights about the relationship of primary and secondary
causality, Morrissey draws us into a deeper contemplation of the relationship
between beauty and Divine being. His essay grounds the power of beauty in
the immanence of God as the primary cause of all being and thus of all that
is beautiful. This Divine immanence not only causes beauty, but also serves
as the reason why beauty in creation irresistibly draws us to its Divine source.
Brian Donohue’s essay, “Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle,” ex-
plores the theme of beauty and its relation to the good. He discusses two
questions: what is Aristotle’s conception of kalon (beauty-goodness), and
how does this idea of kalon play out in Aristotle’s ethical theory? Donohue
describes the transformative power of beauty; namely, that the soul that con-
templates beauty becomes beautiful in itself and is moved to show beauty in
its pursuit of virtue. In his discussion, grounded primarily in Aristotle’s Nico-
machean Ethics, Donohue provides the foundation for understanding beauty’s
motivating power, a power that is inseparable from its relationship to the
good.
Marcus Otte considers the theme of beauty’s intrinsic relationship to
the good in his essay, “The Metaphysics of Moral Values and Moral Beauty,”
and explores it in the writings of Dietrich von Hildebrand. Otte proposes
that von Hildebrand’s account of how being is made good or beautiful by
values is complemented by the architecture of Scholastic accounts of meta-
physics; at the same time, Otte discusses how Scholastic metaphysics should,
at the very least, be able to account for the values that von Hildebrand de-
scribes. Otte uses this discussion to challenge both philosophical schools to
be open to new insights about the nature and power of moral beauty and its
relationship to the good.
 7
The second theme taken up in this collection is beauty’s power to
draw human beings closer to God. Three papers explore this aspect of the
SRZHURI EHDXW\,QWKHÀUVW´%HDXW\DV$QRPDO\:K\'RHVWKH%XVK1RW
Burn Up?,” Linus Meldrum links the use of anomaly in art to its Divine use
in salvation history. Just as anomaly draws the viewer into the mind of the
artist, so too God used anomaly to draw Moses into a more intimate en-
counter where Moses could “rest” in the Divine mind. The anomaly of the
burning bush illustrates the power of unexpected beauty to awaken the mind
and draw humans closer to God.
Continuing to develop the theme of the power of beauty to draw us
to God, Alessandro Rovati looks at the Christological dimension of beauty in
his essay, “The Beauty that Pierces the Heart: Joseph Ratzinger’s Christolog-
ical Understanding of Beauty.” Rovati considers the implications of beauty
WDNLQJÁHVKLQWKH,QFDUQDWLRQDQGWKHLPSOLFDWLRQVRI LWIRUDUWHVSHFLDOO\LQ-
sofar as it became an important medium for worship and evangelization. Ro-
YDWLDOVRWRXFKHVRQWKHUHODWLRQVKLSEHWZHHQWKH&KXUFKDQGDUWLVWVÀQGLQJ
in the Christological dimension of beauty the basis for fruitful cooperation.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC, looks at the eschatological dimen-
sion of beauty in her essay “Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity in Consecrated
/LIH*DGDPHUDQGWKH¶,FRQRI WKH7UDQVÀJXUHG&KULVW·µ'UDZLQJLQVLJKWV
from Saint John Paul II’s Vita Consecrata as well as Gadamer’s essay The Rel-
evance of the Beautiful, Sister Mary Eucharista explores the meaning of the
FRQVHFUDWHGUHOLJLRXVVLVWHUEURWKHURUSULHVWDVDQLFRQRI WKH7UDQVÀJXUHG
Christ. As icons, the very image of the consecrated religious initiates dialogue
with others. Spoken or unspoken, this dialogue inspires wonder, questioning,
UHÁHFWLRQ DQG PHGLWDWLRQ UHPLQGLQJ RWKHUV RI  WKHLU WUDQVFHQGHQW GHVWLQ\
the beauty that radiates from their identity as consecrated religious challenges
others to become aware of the transcendent, and calls to mind the hope of
joining in the Eternal Festival, the union with the One who is Beauty.
 7KHÀQDOWKHPHWKDWWKLVFROOHFWLRQRI HVVD\VDGGUHVVHVLVWKHSRZHU
of beauty to overcome obstacles dividing persons. In his essay, “Dietrich
von Hildebrand as Ambassador to the East: A Philokalic Reading of His
:ULWLQJVRQ%HDXW\µ'DQLHO9DQGHU.RONORRNVDWWKHLQÁXHQFHRI WKHPhilo-
kaliaRQ'RVWR\HYVN\DQGRWKHULQÁXHQWLDOWKLQNHUVLQWKH(DVWHUQ2UWKRGR[
tradition. Turning to the writings of Dietrich von Hildebrand, VanderKolk
ÀQGVFRPPRQJURXQGHVSHFLDOO\LQYRQ+LOGHEUDQG·VWUHDWPHQWRI EHDXW\
as known intuitively, almost mystically. This suggests that continued study
of beauty using the Philokalia and von Hildebrand’s Aesthetics can provide
an opportunity for future dialogue, perhaps bridging the intellectual divide
between those traditions.
Richard Sherlock’s essay, “The Beauty of Marital Love in the Thought
of Saint John Paul II,” considers marriage as a relationship of intrinsic beau-
8
ty that, by its nature, forges unity between a man and a woman. Using insights
from the writings of Saint John Paul II, Sherlock demonstrates that the core
elements of beauty are found in marriage. Marriage, in its essence, unites a
man and a woman in a relationship of beauty that is an intimation of the
Eternal beauty of God’s love for each person; hence, the union of a man
and woman in marriage is a compelling illustration of the power of beauty to
create transformative relationships able to unify human beings and ultimately
drawing them closer to God.
Theresa Farnan’s essay, “Beauty, the Person, and Disability: Under-
standing (and Defending) the Intrinsic Beauty and Value of the Person with
Disabilities,” examines how issues of beauty and appearance can be used
to marginalize vulnerable and disabled persons, even to the point of deny-
LQJWKHLUULJKWWROLIH$VWKHLQÁXHQFHRI XWLOLWDULDQLVPJURZVVWURQJHULQ-
fanticide and eugenic abortion are increasingly proposed as solutions to the
challenges of disability, making those who are visibly disabled easy targets.
Farnan examines the role that physical appearance and perception of beau-
ty play in attempts to depersonalize the disabled in order to inspire further
conversation about and investigation into beauty, personhood and disability,
thereby creating a context that can counter utilitarian denials of the dignity
and worth of persons with disabilities.
 7KH ÀQDO SDSHU LQ WKLV FROOHFWLRQ LV ´%HDXW\ DQG 'HVFUDWLRQµ E\
Roger Scruton. The placement of this essay at the end of the collection is
intentional; the reader will have a sense, as the participants in the conference
did, of Scruton’s essay as a keynote address. The paper is a culmination of
careful study and robust discussion of many criss-crossing issues and themes
surrounding the central unifying idea of the power of beauty. Scruton con-
siders the role of beauty and aesthetic activity in ordinary human life and civ-
ilization as a whole. He then tackles the troubling question of how to defend
beauty from a culture that seeks to desecrate it, either through bad imitations,
such as kitsch, or through outright attempts to subvert and destroy it. In the
course of his essay, Scruton uses the topics of art and beauty as a window
into what it is to be human and to explore the nature and meaning of civili-
zation and culture.
Finally, this introduction would not be complete without noting per-
haps the most important insight shared in common by all the conference pre-
VHQWDWLRQVDQGEHDXWLIXOO\H[HPSOLÀHGLQWKHHVVD\VRI WKLVFROOHFWLRQ%HDXW\
in this world ultimately points us to the One who is the source and summit of
beauty, the Master craftsman, whose creatio ex nihilo provides the inspiration,
measure and guide for artists and their audience. The splendor and beauty of
the created world whisper to all humanity of the presence of the One who
is beauty and goodness, and who loves humanity so much that he lavishes
beauty on creation. Philosophers and theologians have long puzzled over the
 9
exact nature of the relationship between beauty, truth and goodness; howev-
er, for those who encounter beauty, the most important question is not how
beauty is related to truth and goodness, but where beauty leads us. As Saint
John Paul II eloquently reminds and then encourages us,
Beauty is a key to the mystery and a call to transcendence. It is an
invitation to savour life and to dream of the future. That is why
the beauty of created things can never fully satisfy. It stirs that
hidden nostalgia for God which a lover of beauty like Saint Au-
gustine could express in incomparable terms: “Late have I loved
you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you!”
Artists of the world, may your many different paths all lead to
WKDWLQÀQLWH2FHDQRI EHDXW\ZKHUHZRQGHUEHFRPHVDZHH[KLO-
aration, unspeakable joy.8

Theresa Farnan,
Guest Editor

8
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, April 4, 1999, http://w2.vatican.va/content/
john-paul-ii/en/letters/1999/documents/hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists.html. Note
26 reads, “Sero te amavi! Pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova, sero te amavi!: Con-
fessions, 10, 27: CCL 27, 251.”

“Grace That Shimmers on
the Surface of Beauty”:
Beyond Platonic-Aristotelian Form,
a Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Christopher S. Morrissey
Introduction: Beauty and a Unifying Stoic Theme
Plotinus the Neoplatonist speaks of the “grace that shimmers on the surface
of beauty”1 as being the divine Life that, when added to beauty, inflames
love. By a natural movement, the soul ascends, thanks to the wings given to
it by the giver of this gracious love. Along the way of ascent, the impetus to
contemplate the giver directly is gradually bestowed. The vision of spiritual
beauty in the audible and visible is indeed a premonition of what lies behind
the world of Forms; but “form is only the trace of that which has no form,”
says Plotinus.2 The experience of the grace immanent in beauty is thus pre-
cisely what directs us to that transcendent source that both engenders form
and also bestows the grace shimmering upon its beautiful surface.
1
“To be sure, if the soul remains within the Intellect, it sees beautiful and
venerable things, but it still does not have all that it is looking for. It is as though
the soul were approaching a face which, although beautiful, was not yet capable
of stimulating our sight, since there did not shine forth from it that grace which
shimmers on the surface of beauty” (Ἐὰν δὲ μένῃ ἐν νῷ, καλὰ μὲν καὶ σεμνὰ
θεᾶται, οὔπω μὴν ὃ ζητεῖ πάντη ἔχει. Οἷον γὰρ προσώπῳ πελάζει καλῷ μέν, οὔπω
δὲ ὄψιν κινεῖν δυναμένῳ, ᾧ μὴ ἐμπρέπει χάρις ἐπιθέουσα τῷ κάλλει)(Plotinus, En-
neads VI.7.22.22–24 in Pierre Hadot, Plotinus or the Simplicity of Vision, trans. Michael
Chase, 3rd ed. [Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press, 1993], 49 [references
to Simplicity of Vision are keyed to the 1998 paperback edition]; Greek text from
http://remacle.org/bloodwolf/philosophes/plotin/enneade67a.htm).
2
“Form is only the trace of that which has no form; indeed, it is the lat-
ter which engenders form” (Τὸ γὰρ ἴχνος τοῦ ἀμόρφου μορφή, τοῦτο γοῦν γεννᾷ
τὴν μορφήν, οὐχ ἡ μορφὴ τοῦτο, καὶ γεννᾷ, ὅταν ὕλη προσέλθῃ) (Plotinus, Enn.
VI.7.33.30–31, in Hadot, Simplicity of Vision, 58; Greek text from http://remacle.
org/bloodwolf/philosophes/plotin/enneade67a.htm).
© Christopher S. Morrissey, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Christopher S. Morrissey 11
I believe Plotinus’s distinction—between beauty and its immanent,
animating grace—is not merely Neoplatonic, but a perennial philosophical
insight that may also be found in Stoicism. This same insight is especially
echoed in the distinction made by Scholastic metaphysics between secondary
causality (the action of created things) and primary causality (the action of
God immanent within created things). Secondary causality may be studied,
and when scientists do so, they are quite capable of affirming the beauty
seen on this secondary level of causality. Yet the Roman Stoic Seneca, for
example, in his Letter 65, speaks of how beyond the much more apparent level
of secondary causality, there is really only one type of cause; namely, primary
causality—the activity of the first cause.3 I believe this Stoic theme (“there is
really only one type of cause”) is also related to the perennial wisdom of the
Scholastic distinction, in that the fundamental insight about primary causality
is likewise being echoed. So let us now explore this theme.
In An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, Johnny Christensen at-
tempts a reconstruction of “the basic schema of Stoic philosophy.”4 He
notes many apparent similarities between the approach of modern physics
and of Stoic physics, but what I believe is missing from his account is the
key role regarding beauty that I find in the Stoic vision. I argue that when
beauty can be seen in all things (for example, in those meditations of Marcus
Aurelius that contemplate themes of Stoic physics), then God is being seen
as immanent in all things. Technically, I would describe this most fundamen-
tal, meditative experience of beauty as constituted by primary causality being
caught sight of within the innermost operations of secondary causes.
From the standpoint of one who constructs mathematical models,
like the modern physicist, it may seem that in the universe there is really only
one type of cause—“nature itself, viewed primarily as structure”5—but this
prejudice, which the habit of mind developed by the specialist in modern
physics inevitably fosters, is different from Stoic meditations on causality. I
think the Stoic approach seeks rather to distinguish the primary divine cau-
3
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales, ed. and trans. Richard
M. Gummere, 3 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London, UK:
William Heinemann, Ltd., 1917–1925). Hereafter, citations to Seneca’s Epistles are
from this text.
4
J. Christensen, An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, 2nd ed. (University
of Copenhagen, Denmark: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2012), 9. Published as J.
Christensen, “Equality of Man and Stoic Social Thought,” in I. Kajanto, ed., Equality
and Inequality of Man in Ancient Thought, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum
75 (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1984), 45–54. Originally published as J.
Christensen, An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, Scandinavian University Books
(Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1962).
5
Christensen, The Unity of Stoic Philosophy, 21.

“Grace That Shimmers on
the Surface of Beauty”:
Beyond Platonic-Aristotelian Form,
a Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Christopher S. Morrissey
Introduction: Beauty and a Unifying Stoic Theme
Plotinus the Neoplatonist speaks of the “grace that shimmers on the surface
of beauty”1 as being the divine Life that, when added to beauty, inflames
love. By a natural movement, the soul ascends, thanks to the wings given to
it by the giver of this gracious love. Along the way of ascent, the impetus to
contemplate the giver directly is gradually bestowed. The vision of spiritual
beauty in the audible and visible is indeed a premonition of what lies behind
the world of Forms; but “form is only the trace of that which has no form,”
says Plotinus.2 The experience of the grace immanent in beauty is thus pre-
cisely what directs us to that transcendent source that both engenders form
and also bestows the grace shimmering upon its beautiful surface.
1
“To be sure, if the soul remains within the Intellect, it sees beautiful and
venerable things, but it still does not have all that it is looking for. It is as though
the soul were approaching a face which, although beautiful, was not yet capable
of stimulating our sight, since there did not shine forth from it that grace which
shimmers on the surface of beauty” (Ἐὰν δὲ μένῃ ἐν νῷ, καλὰ μὲν καὶ σεμνὰ
θεᾶται, οὔπω μὴν ὃ ζητεῖ πάντη ἔχει. Οἷον γὰρ προσώπῳ πελάζει καλῷ μέν, οὔπω
δὲ ὄψιν κινεῖν δυναμένῳ, ᾧ μὴ ἐμπρέπει χάρις ἐπιθέουσα τῷ κάλλει)(Plotinus, En-
neads VI.7.22.22–24 in Pierre Hadot, Plotinus or the Simplicity of Vision, trans. Michael
Chase, 3rd ed. [Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press, 1993], 49 [references
to Simplicity of Vision are keyed to the 1998 paperback edition]; Greek text from
http://remacle.org/bloodwolf/philosophes/plotin/enneade67a.htm).
2
“Form is only the trace of that which has no form; indeed, it is the lat-
ter which engenders form” (Τὸ γὰρ ἴχνος τοῦ ἀμόρφου μορφή, τοῦτο γοῦν γεννᾷ
τὴν μορφήν, οὐχ ἡ μορφὴ τοῦτο, καὶ γεννᾷ, ὅταν ὕλη προσέλθῃ) (Plotinus, Enn.
VI.7.33.30–31, in Hadot, Simplicity of Vision, 58; Greek text from http://remacle.
org/bloodwolf/philosophes/plotin/enneade67a.htm).
© Christopher S. Morrissey, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Christopher S. Morrissey 11
I believe Plotinus’s distinction—between beauty and its immanent,
animating grace—is not merely Neoplatonic, but a perennial philosophical
insight that may also be found in Stoicism. This same insight is especially
echoed in the distinction made by Scholastic metaphysics between secondary
causality (the action of created things) and primary causality (the action of
God immanent within created things). Secondary causality may be studied,
and when scientists do so, they are quite capable of affirming the beauty
seen on this secondary level of causality. Yet the Roman Stoic Seneca, for
example, in his Letter 65, speaks of how beyond the much more apparent level
of secondary causality, there is really only one type of cause; namely, primary
causality—the activity of the first cause.3 I believe this Stoic theme (“there is
really only one type of cause”) is also related to the perennial wisdom of the
Scholastic distinction, in that the fundamental insight about primary causality
is likewise being echoed. So let us now explore this theme.
In An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, Johnny Christensen at-
tempts a reconstruction of “the basic schema of Stoic philosophy.”4 He
notes many apparent similarities between the approach of modern physics
and of Stoic physics, but what I believe is missing from his account is the
key role regarding beauty that I find in the Stoic vision. I argue that when
beauty can be seen in all things (for example, in those meditations of Marcus
Aurelius that contemplate themes of Stoic physics), then God is being seen
as immanent in all things. Technically, I would describe this most fundamen-
tal, meditative experience of beauty as constituted by primary causality being
caught sight of within the innermost operations of secondary causes.
From the standpoint of one who constructs mathematical models,
like the modern physicist, it may seem that in the universe there is really only
one type of cause—“nature itself, viewed primarily as structure”5—but this
prejudice, which the habit of mind developed by the specialist in modern
physics inevitably fosters, is different from Stoic meditations on causality. I
think the Stoic approach seeks rather to distinguish the primary divine cau-
3
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, Ad Lucilium Epistulae Morales, ed. and trans. Richard
M. Gummere, 3 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London, UK:
William Heinemann, Ltd., 1917–1925). Hereafter, citations to Seneca’s Epistles are
from this text.
4
J. Christensen, An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, 2nd ed. (University
of Copenhagen, Denmark: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2012), 9. Published as J.
Christensen, “Equality of Man and Stoic Social Thought,” in I. Kajanto, ed., Equality
and Inequality of Man in Ancient Thought, Commentationes Humanarum Litterarum
75 (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1984), 45–54. Originally published as J.
Christensen, An Essay on the Unity of Stoic Philosophy, Scandinavian University Books
(Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1962).
5
Christensen, The Unity of Stoic Philosophy, 21.
12 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
sality from secondary physical causality. Stoicism thereby affords insight into
how meditations upon causes can, in turn, become visions of beauty. Let us
study this at work in the example already mentioned of Seneca.
Seneca’s Causal Meditation on the Divine Immanence
Seneca, in Letter 65, discusses the controverted question whether there is
really only one type of cause, but does not really deny that many different
types of causes may be distinguished. Instead, the point of the exercise is
to glimpse the way in which divine activity in the world must be seen as the
primary causal action, in relation to which all other causes are secondary.6
The exercise begins with recognition of the asymmetrical structure
of the world. Modern physics would speak of matter in asymmetrical rela-
tion to energy; metaphysics would speak of potency in asymmetrical relation
to act; and Seneca does likewise, but of materia as inert in relation to the ac-
tivity of causa:7
6
Marcus Aurelius explains how Stoic physical and logical analysis is designed
to achieve such clarity of vision: “Οἷον δὴ τὸ φαντασίαν λαμβάνειν ἐπὶ τῶν ὄψων
καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἐδωδίμων, ὅτι νεκρὸς οὗτος ἰχθύος, οὗτος δὲ νεκρὸς ὄρνιθος ἢ
χοίρου: καὶ πάλιν, ὅτι ὁ Φάλερνος χυλάριόν ἐστι σταφυλίου καὶ ἡ περιπόρφυρος
τριχία προβατίου αἱματίῳ κόγχης δεδευμένα: καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν κατὰ τὴν συνουσίαν
ἐντερίου παράτριψις καὶ μετά τινος σπασμοῦ μυξαρίου ἔκκρισις: οἷαι δὴ αὗταί
εἰσιν αἱ φαντασίαι καθικνούμεναι αὐτῶν τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ διεξιοῦσαι δἰ αὐτῶν,
ὥστε ὁρᾶν οἷά τινά ποτέ ἐστιν: οὕτως δεῖ παῤ ὅλον τὸν βίον ποιεῖν καὶ ὅπου
λίαν ἀξιόπιστα τὰ πράγματα φαντάζεται, ἀπογυμνοῦν αὐτὰ καὶ τὴν εὐτέλειαν
αὐτῶν καθορᾶν καὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν ἐφ̓ ᾗ σεμνύνεται περιαιρεῖν. δεινὸς γὰρ ὁ τῦφος
παραλογιστὴς καὶ ὅτε δοκεῖς μάλιστα περὶ τὰ σπουδαῖα καταγίνεσθαι, τότε
μάλιστα καταγοητεύῃ. ὅρα γοῦν ὁ Κράτης τί περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ Ξενοκράτους λέγει”
(Meditations 6.13); “Διηνεκῶς καὶ ἐπὶ πάσης, εἰ οἶόν τε, φαντασίας φυσιολογεῖν,
παθολογεῖν, διαλεκτικεύεσθαι” (Meditations 8.13 in M. Antoninus Imperator Ad Se
Ipsum, ed. Jan Hendrik Leopold, Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis
[Oxonii: E. Typographeo Clarendoniano, 1908]).
7
Marcus Aurelius also repeatedly names this meditative bifurcation of vi-
sion into causa (τὸ αἰτιῶδες) and materia (τὸ ὑλικὸν): “Τίς ἐπὶ τούτου ἡ ἱστορία
τῆς ἀληθείας; διαίρεσις εἰς τὸ ὑλικὸν καὶ εἰς τὸ αἰτιῶδες” (Meditations 4.21.2); “Ἐξ
αἰτιώδους καὶ ὑλικοῦ συνέστηκα, οὐδέτερον δὲ τούτων εἰς τὸ μὴ ὂν φθαρήσεται,
ὥσπερ οὐδὲ ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος ὑπέστη. οὐκοῦν καταταχθήσεται πᾶν μέρος ἐμὸν
κατὰ μεταβολὴν εἰς μέρος τι τοῦ κόσμου καὶ πάλιν ἐκεῖνο εἰς ἕτερον μέρος τι τοῦ
κόσμου μεταβαλεῖ καὶ ἤδη εἰς ἄπειρον. κατὰ τοιαύτην δὲ μεταβολὴν κἀγὼ ὑπέστην
καὶ οἱ ἐμὲ γεννήσαντες καὶ ἐπανιόντι εἰς ἄλλο ἄπειρον. οὐδὲν γὰρ κωλύει οὕτως
φάναι, κἂν κατὰ περιόδους πεπερασμένας ὁ κόσμος διοικῆται” (5.13); “Ἐξάλειψον
τὴν φαντασίαν. στῆσον τὴν νευροσπαστίαν. περίγραψον τὸ ἐνεστὼς τοῦ χρόνου.
γνώρισον τὸ συμβαῖνον ἢ σοὶ ἢ ἄλλῳ. δίελε καὶ μέρισον τὸ ὑποκείμενον εἰς τὸ
Christopher S. Morrissey 13
Dicunt, ut scis, Stoici nostri duo esse in rerum natura, ex quibus
omnia fiant, causam et materiam. Materia iacet iners, res ad om-
nia parata, cessatura, si nemo moveat. Causa autem, id est ratio,
materiam format et quocumque vult versat, ex illa varia opera
producit. Esse ergo debet, unde fiat aliquid, deinde a quo fiat.
Hoc causa est, illud materia. (Seneca, Ep. 65.2)
This way of thinking about causation within the universe focuses on
the extrinsic aspects of things, concerning which there is an external efficient
cause acting upon and configuring the material cause. This focus upon mech-
anistic extrinsic causality may be characteristic of the early modern scientific
worldview, which achieved success in mathematical modeling of efficient and
material causes.8 But is it the same as, or even prefigured in, the Stoic view?
Seneca, to be sure, immediately adduces the traditional Aristotelian example
of the sculptor and his material: “Ergo in statua materia aes fuit, causa opifex
Eadem condicio rerum omnium est; ex eo constant, quod fit, et ex eo, quod
facit” (Seneca, Ep. 65.3).
Seneca begins to consider the meaning of the Stoic paradox that
there is really only one type of cause, but he goes on to distinguish more
than simply two types of causality in describing the Aristotelian doctrine of
the four types of causes:9 “Stoicis placet unam causam esse, id, quod facit.
Aristoteles putat causam tribus modis dici” (Seneca, Ep. 65.4). The further
types of causes can be seen as elaborations of the causa side of the initial
bifurcation, making further distinctions about other active principles (which
are analogous to agent causality insofar as they are active and not passive).10
αἰτιῶδες καὶ ὑλικόν. ἐννόησον τὴν ἐσχάτην ὥραν. τὸ ἐκείνῳ ἁμαρτηθὲν ἐκεῖ
κατάλιπε ὅπου ἡ ἁμαρτία ὑπέστη” (7.29); “Ἀλέξανδρος δὲ καὶ Γάιος καὶ Πομπήιος
τί πρὸς Διογένη καὶ Ἡράκλειτον καὶ Σωκράτην; οἱ μὲν γὰρ εἶδον τὰ πράγματα καὶ
τὰς αἰτίας καὶ τὰς ὕλας καὶ τὰ ἡγεμονικὰ ἦν αὐτῶν ταὐτά, ἐκεῖ δὲ ὅσων πρόνοια
καὶ δουλεία πόσων” (8.3).
8
Edward Feser, The Last Superstition: A Refutation of the New Atheism (South
Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2008).
9
Marcus Aurelius seems to distinguish the four Aristotelian types of causality
in this text: “Πόθεν ἐλήλυθεν ἕκαστον καὶ ἐκ τίνων ἕκαστον ὑποκειμένων καὶ εἰς
τί μεταβάλλει καὶ οἷον ἔσται μεταβαλὸν καὶ ὡς οὐδὲν κακὸν πείσεται” (Meditations
11.17). He seems to allude to the efficient cause “πόθεν ἐλήλυθεν ἕκαστον,” the
material cause “ἐκ τίνων ἕκαστον ὑποκειμένων,” the intrinsic formal cause “εἰς τί
μεταβάλλει,” and the intrinsic final cause “οἷον ἔσται μεταβαλὸν,” all of which is a
nexus of secondary causes subordinate to the action of the primary cause guarantee-
ing that “οὐδὲν κακὸν πείσεται.”
10
The Scholastic distinction (Edward Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contempo-
rary Introduction, Editiones Scholasticae 39 [Piscataway, NJ: Transaction Books, 2014],
39) is made between active potencies (or “powers”) and passive potencies (or “po-
tentials”) in a way that seems indebted to the Stoics: cf. Christopher Gill, trans., Mar-
12 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
sality from secondary physical causality. Stoicism thereby affords insight into
how meditations upon causes can, in turn, become visions of beauty. Let us
study this at work in the example already mentioned of Seneca.
Seneca’s Causal Meditation on the Divine Immanence
Seneca, in Letter 65, discusses the controverted question whether there is
really only one type of cause, but does not really deny that many different
types of causes may be distinguished. Instead, the point of the exercise is
to glimpse the way in which divine activity in the world must be seen as the
primary causal action, in relation to which all other causes are secondary.6
The exercise begins with recognition of the asymmetrical structure
of the world. Modern physics would speak of matter in asymmetrical rela-
tion to energy; metaphysics would speak of potency in asymmetrical relation
to act; and Seneca does likewise, but of materia as inert in relation to the ac-
tivity of causa:7
6
Marcus Aurelius explains how Stoic physical and logical analysis is designed
to achieve such clarity of vision: “Οἷον δὴ τὸ φαντασίαν λαμβάνειν ἐπὶ τῶν ὄψων
καὶ τῶν τοιούτων ἐδωδίμων, ὅτι νεκρὸς οὗτος ἰχθύος, οὗτος δὲ νεκρὸς ὄρνιθος ἢ
χοίρου: καὶ πάλιν, ὅτι ὁ Φάλερνος χυλάριόν ἐστι σταφυλίου καὶ ἡ περιπόρφυρος
τριχία προβατίου αἱματίῳ κόγχης δεδευμένα: καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν κατὰ τὴν συνουσίαν
ἐντερίου παράτριψις καὶ μετά τινος σπασμοῦ μυξαρίου ἔκκρισις: οἷαι δὴ αὗταί
εἰσιν αἱ φαντασίαι καθικνούμεναι αὐτῶν τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ διεξιοῦσαι δἰ αὐτῶν,
ὥστε ὁρᾶν οἷά τινά ποτέ ἐστιν: οὕτως δεῖ παῤ ὅλον τὸν βίον ποιεῖν καὶ ὅπου
λίαν ἀξιόπιστα τὰ πράγματα φαντάζεται, ἀπογυμνοῦν αὐτὰ καὶ τὴν εὐτέλειαν
αὐτῶν καθορᾶν καὶ τὴν ἱστορίαν ἐφ̓ ᾗ σεμνύνεται περιαιρεῖν. δεινὸς γὰρ ὁ τῦφος
παραλογιστὴς καὶ ὅτε δοκεῖς μάλιστα περὶ τὰ σπουδαῖα καταγίνεσθαι, τότε
μάλιστα καταγοητεύῃ. ὅρα γοῦν ὁ Κράτης τί περὶ αὐτοῦ τοῦ Ξενοκράτους λέγει”
(Meditations 6.13); “Διηνεκῶς καὶ ἐπὶ πάσης, εἰ οἶόν τε, φαντασίας φυσιολογεῖν,
παθολογεῖν, διαλεκτικεύεσθαι” (Meditations 8.13 in M. Antoninus Imperator Ad Se
Ipsum, ed. Jan Hendrik Leopold, Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis
[Oxonii: E. Typographeo Clarendoniano, 1908]).
7
Marcus Aurelius also repeatedly names this meditative bifurcation of vi-
sion into causa (τὸ αἰτιῶδες) and materia (τὸ ὑλικὸν): “Τίς ἐπὶ τούτου ἡ ἱστορία
τῆς ἀληθείας; διαίρεσις εἰς τὸ ὑλικὸν καὶ εἰς τὸ αἰτιῶδες” (Meditations 4.21.2); “Ἐξ
αἰτιώδους καὶ ὑλικοῦ συνέστηκα, οὐδέτερον δὲ τούτων εἰς τὸ μὴ ὂν φθαρήσεται,
ὥσπερ οὐδὲ ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος ὑπέστη. οὐκοῦν καταταχθήσεται πᾶν μέρος ἐμὸν
κατὰ μεταβολὴν εἰς μέρος τι τοῦ κόσμου καὶ πάλιν ἐκεῖνο εἰς ἕτερον μέρος τι τοῦ
κόσμου μεταβαλεῖ καὶ ἤδη εἰς ἄπειρον. κατὰ τοιαύτην δὲ μεταβολὴν κἀγὼ ὑπέστην
καὶ οἱ ἐμὲ γεννήσαντες καὶ ἐπανιόντι εἰς ἄλλο ἄπειρον. οὐδὲν γὰρ κωλύει οὕτως
φάναι, κἂν κατὰ περιόδους πεπερασμένας ὁ κόσμος διοικῆται” (5.13); “Ἐξάλειψον
τὴν φαντασίαν. στῆσον τὴν νευροσπαστίαν. περίγραψον τὸ ἐνεστὼς τοῦ χρόνου.
γνώρισον τὸ συμβαῖνον ἢ σοὶ ἢ ἄλλῳ. δίελε καὶ μέρισον τὸ ὑποκείμενον εἰς τὸ
Christopher S. Morrissey 13
Dicunt, ut scis, Stoici nostri duo esse in rerum natura, ex quibus
omnia fiant, causam et materiam. Materia iacet iners, res ad om-
nia parata, cessatura, si nemo moveat. Causa autem, id est ratio,
materiam format et quocumque vult versat, ex illa varia opera
producit. Esse ergo debet, unde fiat aliquid, deinde a quo fiat.
Hoc causa est, illud materia. (Seneca, Ep. 65.2)
This way of thinking about causation within the universe focuses on
the extrinsic aspects of things, concerning which there is an external efficient
cause acting upon and configuring the material cause. This focus upon mech-
anistic extrinsic causality may be characteristic of the early modern scientific
worldview, which achieved success in mathematical modeling of efficient and
material causes.8 But is it the same as, or even prefigured in, the Stoic view?
Seneca, to be sure, immediately adduces the traditional Aristotelian example
of the sculptor and his material: “Ergo in statua materia aes fuit, causa opifex
Eadem condicio rerum omnium est; ex eo constant, quod fit, et ex eo, quod
facit” (Seneca, Ep. 65.3).
Seneca begins to consider the meaning of the Stoic paradox that
there is really only one type of cause, but he goes on to distinguish more
than simply two types of causality in describing the Aristotelian doctrine of
the four types of causes:9 “Stoicis placet unam causam esse, id, quod facit.
Aristoteles putat causam tribus modis dici” (Seneca, Ep. 65.4). The further
types of causes can be seen as elaborations of the causa side of the initial
bifurcation, making further distinctions about other active principles (which
are analogous to agent causality insofar as they are active and not passive).10
αἰτιῶδες καὶ ὑλικόν. ἐννόησον τὴν ἐσχάτην ὥραν. τὸ ἐκείνῳ ἁμαρτηθὲν ἐκεῖ
κατάλιπε ὅπου ἡ ἁμαρτία ὑπέστη” (7.29); “Ἀλέξανδρος δὲ καὶ Γάιος καὶ Πομπήιος
τί πρὸς Διογένη καὶ Ἡράκλειτον καὶ Σωκράτην; οἱ μὲν γὰρ εἶδον τὰ πράγματα καὶ
τὰς αἰτίας καὶ τὰς ὕλας καὶ τὰ ἡγεμονικὰ ἦν αὐτῶν ταὐτά, ἐκεῖ δὲ ὅσων πρόνοια
καὶ δουλεία πόσων” (8.3).
8
Edward Feser, The Last Superstition: A Refutation of the New Atheism (South
Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2008).
9
Marcus Aurelius seems to distinguish the four Aristotelian types of causality
in this text: “Πόθεν ἐλήλυθεν ἕκαστον καὶ ἐκ τίνων ἕκαστον ὑποκειμένων καὶ εἰς
τί μεταβάλλει καὶ οἷον ἔσται μεταβαλὸν καὶ ὡς οὐδὲν κακὸν πείσεται” (Meditations
11.17). He seems to allude to the efficient cause “πόθεν ἐλήλυθεν ἕκαστον,” the
material cause “ἐκ τίνων ἕκαστον ὑποκειμένων,” the intrinsic formal cause “εἰς τί
μεταβάλλει,” and the intrinsic final cause “οἷον ἔσται μεταβαλὸν,” all of which is a
nexus of secondary causes subordinate to the action of the primary cause guarantee-
ing that “οὐδὲν κακὸν πείσεται.”
10
The Scholastic distinction (Edward Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contempo-
rary Introduction, Editiones Scholasticae 39 [Piscataway, NJ: Transaction Books, 2014],
39) is made between active potencies (or “powers”) and passive potencies (or “po-
tentials”) in a way that seems indebted to the Stoics: cf. Christopher Gill, trans., Mar-
14 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
The bronze and the artist illustrate material and efficient causality,
respectively, the first two Aristotelian causal types. It is interesting to note
that Seneca’s description of formal causality may not in fact capture the na-
ture of Aristotle’s intrinsic formal causality—an intrinsic unfolding of that
which pre-exists in the efficient cause and flows from the actual exercise of
the efficient cause.11 This may call into question my attempt to distance the
Stoic view from the empiriometric causal focus of early modern science, at
least if Seneca is only able to conceive of formal causality as an extrinsic con-
figuration impressed upon matter, as the vividness of his examples might be
seen to suggest: “Tertia causa est forma. Neque enim statua ista doryphoros
aut diadumenos vocaretur, nisi haec illi esset inpressa facies” (Seneca, Ep.
65.5). But it seems to me that the emphasis upon the extrinsic that is to be
found here stems simply from the fact that Seneca is reporting the standard
“textbook” example of artist and artifact.12
His treatment of final causality, as the fourth Aristotelian cause,
unquestionably adduces many examples of purely extrinsic final causality:
“Quid est propositum? Quod invitavit artificem, quod ille secutus fecit; vel
pecunia est haec, si venditurus fabricavit, vel gloria, si laboravit in nomen, vel
religio, si donum templo paravit. Ergo et haec causa est, propter quam fit;
an non putas inter causas facti operis esse numerandum, quo remoto factum
non esset?” (Seneca, Ep. 65.6). But again, I believe this is a consequence of
the nature of the example, in which an artist externally acts as the asymmet-
rical causa able to configure the inert bronze materia. Yet it must be noted
that, in its most profound sense, final causality is bound up with the inner
developmental trajectory of individual natural units, and such intrinsic final
causality is determined by the nature of the efficient causes which initiate that
developmental trajectory.13
cus Aurelius, Meditations, Books 1–6, Clarendon Later Ancient Philosophers (Oxford,
UK: Oxford University Press, 2013), 129, on “the standard Stoic distinction between
active and passive principles” (in Meditations 4.21).
11
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 42–53.
12
When Marcus Aurelius names only three causes, he names final causali-
ty third, after material and efficient causality, with no mention of formal causality:
“Τοιαῦτα τὰ πράγματα ὁρᾶν, διαιροῦντα εἰς ὕλην, αἴτιον, ἀναφοράν” (Meditations
12.10). This may be because these three causal factors can be viewed separately, on
their own, as extrinsic factors. Matter is only intrinsic to a unit insofar as it subor-
dinated to that purpose by the formal cause. Hylemorphism does not admit its ex-
istence apart from its correlative subordination to form, but in abstraction—which
seems to be the point of the meditation here—it can be considered as something
physically external, in contrast to the higher incorporeal meanings bestowed upon
the corporeal world by God and by souls.
13
Edward Feser, “Teleology: A Shopper’s Guide,” Philosophia Christi 12, no. 1
(2010): 142–59; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 88–159.
Christopher S. Morrissey 15
Artifacts may indeed bear the extrinsic stamp of accidental forms
imposed by artisans upon substrata unified with natural substantial forms,14
but while the extrinsic final cause of a statue may be “money,” for example,
or “fame,” and so on, the intrinsic final cause is simply “statue,” once the
likeness imposed upon a natural substantial form is recognized for what it is,
namely, an aggregate of accidental forms that have been deliberately carved
a certain way in order to achieve the statutory effect of recognition and com-
memoration (i.e., to act as the formal cause that allows you to see this as a
likeness of “Pericles,” or “Napoleon,” or anything else). If you do not recog-
nize the figure carved by the sculptor, but still recognize it as a sculpture, then
the intrinsic final cause has nonetheless achieved its effect on you—again,
assuming that, unlike the dog that also passes by the statue, you do recognize
that it is a statue—but its extrinsically-imposed accidental formal cause has
not achieved its effect. Further, if the statue was carved into some matter
initially configured by the substantial form of ice instead of the substantial
form of marble, then clearly you have a much more limited time for pointing
to it and asking someone who or what it is meant to depict, since the intrinsic
formal causality of ice is less stable at room temperature than that of marble.
The patterns extrinsically imposed upon matter by the agency of
artisans, whether as accidental forms or substantial forms (artifacts usually
consist of the former, but Styrofoam seems to be a good example of the
latter),15 are patterns that can be modeled after exemplars, whether those ex-
emplars exist as external examples (as an artist who can either copy another
artifact or follow a blueprint) or as ideas in the mind, as Seneca points out in
affirming that Plato has truly distinguished a fifth type of cause.16
His quintam Plato adicit exemplar, quam ipse idean vocat; hoc est
enim, ad quod respiciens artifex id, quod destinabat, effecit. Ni-
hil autem ad rem pertinet, utrum foris habeat exemplar, ad quod
referat oculos, an intus, quod ibi ipse concepit et posuit. Haec ex-
emplaria rerum omnium deus intra se habet numerosque univer-
sorum, quae agenda sunt, et modos mente conplexus est; plenus
his figuris est, quas Plato ideas appellat, inmortales, inmutabiles,
infatigabiles. Itaque homines quidem pereunt, ipsa autem huma-
14
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 164–71.
15
Cf. Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 168.
16
The following text of Marcus Aurelius may be referring to agent causality
as paired with material causality, but it could also just as well be referring to for-
mal causality as operative in the production of anything, perhaps even in terms of
ideal formal causality: “Ἴθι ἐπὶ τὴν ποιότητα τοῦ αἰτίου καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὑλικοῦ αὐτὸ
περιγράψας θέασαι: εἶτα καὶ τὸν χρόνον περιόρισον, ὅσον πλεῖστον ὑφίστασθαι
πέφυκε τοῦτο τὸ ἰδίως ποιόν” (Meditations 9.25).
14 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
The bronze and the artist illustrate material and efficient causality,
respectively, the first two Aristotelian causal types. It is interesting to note
that Seneca’s description of formal causality may not in fact capture the na-
ture of Aristotle’s intrinsic formal causality—an intrinsic unfolding of that
which pre-exists in the efficient cause and flows from the actual exercise of
the efficient cause.11 This may call into question my attempt to distance the
Stoic view from the empiriometric causal focus of early modern science, at
least if Seneca is only able to conceive of formal causality as an extrinsic con-
figuration impressed upon matter, as the vividness of his examples might be
seen to suggest: “Tertia causa est forma. Neque enim statua ista doryphoros
aut diadumenos vocaretur, nisi haec illi esset inpressa facies” (Seneca, Ep.
65.5). But it seems to me that the emphasis upon the extrinsic that is to be
found here stems simply from the fact that Seneca is reporting the standard
“textbook” example of artist and artifact.12
His treatment of final causality, as the fourth Aristotelian cause,
unquestionably adduces many examples of purely extrinsic final causality:
“Quid est propositum? Quod invitavit artificem, quod ille secutus fecit; vel
pecunia est haec, si venditurus fabricavit, vel gloria, si laboravit in nomen, vel
religio, si donum templo paravit. Ergo et haec causa est, propter quam fit;
an non putas inter causas facti operis esse numerandum, quo remoto factum
non esset?” (Seneca, Ep. 65.6). But again, I believe this is a consequence of
the nature of the example, in which an artist externally acts as the asymmet-
rical causa able to configure the inert bronze materia. Yet it must be noted
that, in its most profound sense, final causality is bound up with the inner
developmental trajectory of individual natural units, and such intrinsic final
causality is determined by the nature of the efficient causes which initiate that
developmental trajectory.13
cus Aurelius, Meditations, Books 1–6, Clarendon Later Ancient Philosophers (Oxford,
UK: Oxford University Press, 2013), 129, on “the standard Stoic distinction between
active and passive principles” (in Meditations 4.21).
11
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 42–53.
12
When Marcus Aurelius names only three causes, he names final causali-
ty third, after material and efficient causality, with no mention of formal causality:
“Τοιαῦτα τὰ πράγματα ὁρᾶν, διαιροῦντα εἰς ὕλην, αἴτιον, ἀναφοράν” (Meditations
12.10). This may be because these three causal factors can be viewed separately, on
their own, as extrinsic factors. Matter is only intrinsic to a unit insofar as it subor-
dinated to that purpose by the formal cause. Hylemorphism does not admit its ex-
istence apart from its correlative subordination to form, but in abstraction—which
seems to be the point of the meditation here—it can be considered as something
physically external, in contrast to the higher incorporeal meanings bestowed upon
the corporeal world by God and by souls.
13
Edward Feser, “Teleology: A Shopper’s Guide,” Philosophia Christi 12, no. 1
(2010): 142–59; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 88–159.
Christopher S. Morrissey 15
Artifacts may indeed bear the extrinsic stamp of accidental forms
imposed by artisans upon substrata unified with natural substantial forms,14
but while the extrinsic final cause of a statue may be “money,” for example,
or “fame,” and so on, the intrinsic final cause is simply “statue,” once the
likeness imposed upon a natural substantial form is recognized for what it is,
namely, an aggregate of accidental forms that have been deliberately carved
a certain way in order to achieve the statutory effect of recognition and com-
memoration (i.e., to act as the formal cause that allows you to see this as a
likeness of “Pericles,” or “Napoleon,” or anything else). If you do not recog-
nize the figure carved by the sculptor, but still recognize it as a sculpture, then
the intrinsic final cause has nonetheless achieved its effect on you—again,
assuming that, unlike the dog that also passes by the statue, you do recognize
that it is a statue—but its extrinsically-imposed accidental formal cause has
not achieved its effect. Further, if the statue was carved into some matter
initially configured by the substantial form of ice instead of the substantial
form of marble, then clearly you have a much more limited time for pointing
to it and asking someone who or what it is meant to depict, since the intrinsic
formal causality of ice is less stable at room temperature than that of marble.
The patterns extrinsically imposed upon matter by the agency of
artisans, whether as accidental forms or substantial forms (artifacts usually
consist of the former, but Styrofoam seems to be a good example of the
latter),15 are patterns that can be modeled after exemplars, whether those ex-
emplars exist as external examples (as an artist who can either copy another
artifact or follow a blueprint) or as ideas in the mind, as Seneca points out in
affirming that Plato has truly distinguished a fifth type of cause.16
His quintam Plato adicit exemplar, quam ipse idean vocat; hoc est
enim, ad quod respiciens artifex id, quod destinabat, effecit. Ni-
hil autem ad rem pertinet, utrum foris habeat exemplar, ad quod
referat oculos, an intus, quod ibi ipse concepit et posuit. Haec ex-
emplaria rerum omnium deus intra se habet numerosque univer-
sorum, quae agenda sunt, et modos mente conplexus est; plenus
his figuris est, quas Plato ideas appellat, inmortales, inmutabiles,
infatigabiles. Itaque homines quidem pereunt, ipsa autem huma-
14
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 164–71.
15
Cf. Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 168.
16
The following text of Marcus Aurelius may be referring to agent causality
as paired with material causality, but it could also just as well be referring to for-
mal causality as operative in the production of anything, perhaps even in terms of
ideal formal causality: “Ἴθι ἐπὶ τὴν ποιότητα τοῦ αἰτίου καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὑλικοῦ αὐτὸ
περιγράψας θέασαι: εἶτα καὶ τὸν χρόνον περιόρισον, ὅσον πλεῖστον ὑφίστασθαι
πέφυκε τοῦτο τὸ ἰδίως ποιόν” (Meditations 9.25).
16 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
nitas, ad quam homo effingitur, permanet, et hominibus laboran-
tibus, intereuntibus illa nihil patitur. (Seneca, Ep. 65.7)
The Scholastic tradition likewise admits this fifth type of causality, a type of
“extrinsic formal causality”—different from the intrinsic formal properties
of the ice or marble onto which this external ideal pattern is imposed—
which goes by the name of “ideal causality” or “extrinsic exemplary formal
causality.”17
Seneca counts five thus far, but we can see that the total number
of causes may be counted as six, once we take Aristotle’s four (material, ef-
ficient, formal, final) and distinguish two types within both formal and final
causality—since both of those can be either extrinsic and intrinsic, whereas
efficient causality is by its nature always extrinsic, and material causality is by
its nature always intrinsic. But are there any more than these six types? Seneca
in fact finishes up the traditional roster by adding a sixth cause (or seventh
by our count)—“the statue itself ” (ipsa statua est)—and considers the Platonic
view whether the universe itself can be considered similarly as such a cause,
if it is indeed similarly the artifact of God the artificer:
Quinque ergo causae sunt, ut Plato dicit: id ex quo, id a quo, id
in quo, id ad quod, id propter quod. Novissime id quod ex his
est. Tamquam in statua, quia de hac loqui coepimus, id ex quo
aes est, id a quo artifex est, id in quo forma est, quae aptatur illi,
id ad quod exemplar est, quod imitatur is, qui facit, id propter
quod facientis propositum est, id quod ex istis est, ipsa statua est.
(Seneca, Ep. 65.8)
Seneca distinguishes intrinsic formal causality (id in quo) from extrinsic formal
causality (id ad quod), using Plato to expand the Aristotelian four to five caus-
es, but his sixth type names the entity that stands as the result of the entire
nexus of causes: id quod ex istis est.
The Scholastics distinguished a seventh type of cause by discern-
ing two types within extrinsic formal causality: not just exemplary or ideal
causality, but also “objective specificative causality.”18 This seventh type of
causality is precisely the type of causality that is proper to the action of signs.
What is remarkable is that it can be seen as the same type of cause intro-
duced by Seneca into his discussion—“the statue itself ” (ipsa statua est)—as
the result of the nexus of the other causes (id quod ex istis est), which enters
17
John Deely, New Beginnings: Early Modern Philosophy and Postmodern Thought,
Toronto Studies in Semiotics (Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press, 1994),
151–82; John Deely, Four Ages of Understanding: The First Postmodern Survey of Philosophy
from Ancient Times to the Turn of the Twenty-First Century (Toronto: University of Toron-
to Press, 2001), 632–33.
18
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 633n73.
Christopher S. Morrissey 17
into our awareness as signifying something other than itself (e.g., “Pericles,”
or “Napoleon,” or whatever it is a statue of). This effect of signifying is
distinguished from the other types of causality because of the unavoidably
extrinsic manner in which a form interacts with other forms in the universe.
An ice statue or a marble statue may impact your car by an accidental or even
a deliberate agent cause; moreover, the statue itself may then be an efficient
cause of damage to your car. But the type of damage that your car sustains
will depend on the intrinsic formal causality (i.e., of the substantial form of
the material into which the sculptor inscribed the accidental forms of some-
body’s likeness) as it acts extrinsically upon the form of your car (i.e., an ice
statue melting onto your car will do less damage than a marble statue putting
a dent into it).19 Thus it is legitimate to distinguish the extrinsic signifying
action of a form from its intrinsic nature as a form that has configured a
finite amount of matter.20 Clearly some forms of signification will be more
enduring than others, as with the effects of a marble statue versus one that
melts by tomorrow.21
19
Marcus Aurelius seems acutely aware that the nature of the formal cause
will determine, by its interaction with other forms in the environment, the finite
lifespan of the formally constituted unit: “ἡ γὰρ ὁρμή σου ἔστω εἰς τὸ πᾶν ἀεὶ ὁρᾶν,
τί ἐστιν αὐτὸ ἐκεῖνο τὸ τὴν φαντασίαν σοι ποιοῦν, καὶ ἀναπτύσσειν διαιροῦντα
εἰς τὸ αἴτιον, εἰς τὸ ὑλικόν, εἰς τὴν ἀναφοράν, εἰς τὸν χρόνον, ἐντὸς οὗ πεπαῦσθαι
αὐτὸ δεήσει” (Meditations 12.18). The efficient cause is “τὸ αἴτιον,” the material cause
is “τὸ ὑλικόν,” the final cause is “τὴν ἀναφοράν,” and the intrinsic formal cause is
subject to the extrinsic formal causality which will be objectively specified by the
environmental interactions of its active and passive potencies, thus determining “τὸν
χρόνον, ἐντὸς οὗ πεπαῦσθαι αὐτὸ δεήσει.”
20
Perhaps Marcus Aurelius speaks similarly of something like Seneca’s ipsa
statua est (“the statue itself ”) with the first and last items in this list: “Τοῦτο τί ἐστιν
αὐτὸ καθ̓ αὑτὸ τῇ ἰδίᾳ κατασκευῇ, τί μὲν τὸ οὐσιῶδες αὐτοῦ καὶ ὑλικόν, τί δὲ τὸ
αἰτιῶδες, τί δὲ ποιεῖ ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ, πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται” (Meditations 8.11).
Formal and material causality could be named with “τί μὲν τὸ οὐσιῶδες αὐτοῦ καὶ
ὑλικόν,” agent cause with “τί δὲ τὸ αἰτιῶδες,” final cause with “τί δὲ ποιεῖ ἐν τῷ
κόσμῳ,” and space, time, and motion (as the finite actualization of potency as po-
tency) with “πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται.” But a concrete particular individual unit
stands so constituted as able to exercise within the environment an objective speci-
ficative extrinsic formal causality peculiar to its own unity: “τί ἐστιν αὐτὸ καθ̓ αὑτὸ
τῇ ἰδίᾳ κατασκευῇ.” It will also suffer from objective specificative extrinsic formal
causality within the environment (i.e., from those other forms that will determine
“πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται”).
21
Marcus Aurelius himself seems to name all seven causes in this remark-
able text: “πότε γὰρ ἁπλότητος ἀπολαύσεις; πότε δὲ σεμνότητος; πότε δὲ τῆς ἐφ̓
ἑκάστου γνωρίσεως, τί τε ἐστὶ κατ̓ οὐσίαν καὶ τίνα χώραν ἔχει ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ καὶ ἐπὶ
πόσον πέφυκεν ὑφίστασθαι καὶ ἐκ τίνων συγκέκριται καὶ τίσι δύναται ὑπάρχειν
καὶ τίνες δύνανται αὐτὸ διδόναι τε καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι” (Meditations 10.9). Intrinsic
16 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
nitas, ad quam homo effingitur, permanet, et hominibus laboran-
tibus, intereuntibus illa nihil patitur. (Seneca, Ep. 65.7)
The Scholastic tradition likewise admits this fifth type of causality, a type of
“extrinsic formal causality”—different from the intrinsic formal properties
of the ice or marble onto which this external ideal pattern is imposed—
which goes by the name of “ideal causality” or “extrinsic exemplary formal
causality.”17
Seneca counts five thus far, but we can see that the total number
of causes may be counted as six, once we take Aristotle’s four (material, ef-
ficient, formal, final) and distinguish two types within both formal and final
causality—since both of those can be either extrinsic and intrinsic, whereas
efficient causality is by its nature always extrinsic, and material causality is by
its nature always intrinsic. But are there any more than these six types? Seneca
in fact finishes up the traditional roster by adding a sixth cause (or seventh
by our count)—“the statue itself ” (ipsa statua est)—and considers the Platonic
view whether the universe itself can be considered similarly as such a cause,
if it is indeed similarly the artifact of God the artificer:
Quinque ergo causae sunt, ut Plato dicit: id ex quo, id a quo, id
in quo, id ad quod, id propter quod. Novissime id quod ex his
est. Tamquam in statua, quia de hac loqui coepimus, id ex quo
aes est, id a quo artifex est, id in quo forma est, quae aptatur illi,
id ad quod exemplar est, quod imitatur is, qui facit, id propter
quod facientis propositum est, id quod ex istis est, ipsa statua est.
(Seneca, Ep. 65.8)
Seneca distinguishes intrinsic formal causality (id in quo) from extrinsic formal
causality (id ad quod), using Plato to expand the Aristotelian four to five caus-
es, but his sixth type names the entity that stands as the result of the entire
nexus of causes: id quod ex istis est.
The Scholastics distinguished a seventh type of cause by discern-
ing two types within extrinsic formal causality: not just exemplary or ideal
causality, but also “objective specificative causality.”18 This seventh type of
causality is precisely the type of causality that is proper to the action of signs.
What is remarkable is that it can be seen as the same type of cause intro-
duced by Seneca into his discussion—“the statue itself ” (ipsa statua est)—as
the result of the nexus of the other causes (id quod ex istis est), which enters
17
John Deely, New Beginnings: Early Modern Philosophy and Postmodern Thought,
Toronto Studies in Semiotics (Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press, 1994),
151–82; John Deely, Four Ages of Understanding: The First Postmodern Survey of Philosophy
from Ancient Times to the Turn of the Twenty-First Century (Toronto: University of Toron-
to Press, 2001), 632–33.
18
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 633n73.
Christopher S. Morrissey 17
into our awareness as signifying something other than itself (e.g., “Pericles,”
or “Napoleon,” or whatever it is a statue of). This effect of signifying is
distinguished from the other types of causality because of the unavoidably
extrinsic manner in which a form interacts with other forms in the universe.
An ice statue or a marble statue may impact your car by an accidental or even
a deliberate agent cause; moreover, the statue itself may then be an efficient
cause of damage to your car. But the type of damage that your car sustains
will depend on the intrinsic formal causality (i.e., of the substantial form of
the material into which the sculptor inscribed the accidental forms of some-
body’s likeness) as it acts extrinsically upon the form of your car (i.e., an ice
statue melting onto your car will do less damage than a marble statue putting
a dent into it).19 Thus it is legitimate to distinguish the extrinsic signifying
action of a form from its intrinsic nature as a form that has configured a
finite amount of matter.20 Clearly some forms of signification will be more
enduring than others, as with the effects of a marble statue versus one that
melts by tomorrow.21
19
Marcus Aurelius seems acutely aware that the nature of the formal cause
will determine, by its interaction with other forms in the environment, the finite
lifespan of the formally constituted unit: “ἡ γὰρ ὁρμή σου ἔστω εἰς τὸ πᾶν ἀεὶ ὁρᾶν,
τί ἐστιν αὐτὸ ἐκεῖνο τὸ τὴν φαντασίαν σοι ποιοῦν, καὶ ἀναπτύσσειν διαιροῦντα
εἰς τὸ αἴτιον, εἰς τὸ ὑλικόν, εἰς τὴν ἀναφοράν, εἰς τὸν χρόνον, ἐντὸς οὗ πεπαῦσθαι
αὐτὸ δεήσει” (Meditations 12.18). The efficient cause is “τὸ αἴτιον,” the material cause
is “τὸ ὑλικόν,” the final cause is “τὴν ἀναφοράν,” and the intrinsic formal cause is
subject to the extrinsic formal causality which will be objectively specified by the
environmental interactions of its active and passive potencies, thus determining “τὸν
χρόνον, ἐντὸς οὗ πεπαῦσθαι αὐτὸ δεήσει.”
20
Perhaps Marcus Aurelius speaks similarly of something like Seneca’s ipsa
statua est (“the statue itself ”) with the first and last items in this list: “Τοῦτο τί ἐστιν
αὐτὸ καθ̓ αὑτὸ τῇ ἰδίᾳ κατασκευῇ, τί μὲν τὸ οὐσιῶδες αὐτοῦ καὶ ὑλικόν, τί δὲ τὸ
αἰτιῶδες, τί δὲ ποιεῖ ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ, πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται” (Meditations 8.11).
Formal and material causality could be named with “τί μὲν τὸ οὐσιῶδες αὐτοῦ καὶ
ὑλικόν,” agent cause with “τί δὲ τὸ αἰτιῶδες,” final cause with “τί δὲ ποιεῖ ἐν τῷ
κόσμῳ,” and space, time, and motion (as the finite actualization of potency as po-
tency) with “πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται.” But a concrete particular individual unit
stands so constituted as able to exercise within the environment an objective speci-
ficative extrinsic formal causality peculiar to its own unity: “τί ἐστιν αὐτὸ καθ̓ αὑτὸ
τῇ ἰδίᾳ κατασκευῇ.” It will also suffer from objective specificative extrinsic formal
causality within the environment (i.e., from those other forms that will determine
“πόσον δὲ χρόνον ὑφίσταται”).
21
Marcus Aurelius himself seems to name all seven causes in this remark-
able text: “πότε γὰρ ἁπλότητος ἀπολαύσεις; πότε δὲ σεμνότητος; πότε δὲ τῆς ἐφ̓
ἑκάστου γνωρίσεως, τί τε ἐστὶ κατ̓ οὐσίαν καὶ τίνα χώραν ἔχει ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ καὶ ἐπὶ
πόσον πέφυκεν ὑφίστασθαι καὶ ἐκ τίνων συγκέκριται καὶ τίσι δύναται ὑπάρχειν
καὶ τίνες δύνανται αὐτὸ διδόναι τε καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι” (Meditations 10.9). Intrinsic
18 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Further, the possibilities of signification that lie latent in matter can
be dormant for years and years, and enter into awareness only when extrinsic
formal causality as objective specificative causality achieves its effect. We dis-
tinguish the Statue of Liberty as such by formal causality, but the action of
formal causality is not limited to simply that mere recognition of an intrinsic
form. We could multiply the actual effects of the Statue of Liberty’s intrinsic
accidental formal cause if we were to take it as an exemplar and produce
miniature copies of it as tourist souvenirs. But in addition to such ideal cau-
sality there is also the objective specificative causality that in principle has
an infinite range of effects beyond instantiation, recognition, or even multi-
plication of intrinsic form. This is the extrinsic formal causality that occurs
when we understand the significance of the last scene in the movie Planet
of the Apes. Charlton Heston cries out not simply because he recognizes the
form of the Statue of Liberty (other people do that every day and do not cry
out) but because he recognizes what it now means for him. And this precisely
illustrates the difference between (intrinsic) formal causality and (non-ideal)
extrinsic formal causality, in which the object here and now specifies the
actualization of a certain effect of signification (as “objective specificative
causality”).22
formal causality would be “τί τε ἐστὶ κατ̓ οὐσίαν,” and intrinsic final causality “τίνα
χώραν ἔχει ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ,” but objective specificative extrinsic formal causality could
be expressed, in terms of extrinsic environmental impact (e.g., the forms of ice
or marble acting upon and being acted upon by the environment), as “ἐπὶ πόσον
πέφυκεν ὑφίστασθαι,” and while “ἐκ τίνων συγκέκριται” seems clearly to name
material causality, perhaps “τίσι δύναται ὑπάρχειν” obscurely names names ideal
causality (extrinsic exemplary formal causality, e.g., either as conceptual intellectual
property, or in terms of masterworks possessed by someone else that are nonetheless
at least also able to be copied), and it also seems that “τίνες δύνανται αὐτὸ διδόναι
τε καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι” obscurely names extrinsic final causality.
22
Because this type of causality is “prior to the well-known Aristotelian four
causes, the agent, the final, the formal, and the material cause,” it plays a unique role
in the universe: “It is precisely the function of extrinsic formal causality to displace
the agent and final causes by a more elementary cause which is not committed to
explaining how interaction could be understood. Thus the solar system is explained
as a mechanism specified by extrinsic formal causes without needing any explanation
by agent causes (let alone by final causes which have not been recognized by science
since the seventeenth century). For Einstein’s general theory of relativity precisely
eliminated gravitational forces from explanation of the solar system, by substituting
the curvature of space-time for gravitational forces (Stephen Hawking, A Brief His-
tory of Time, from the Big Bang to Black Holes [New York, NY: Bantam Books, 1988],
29–30). Now gravitational forces are agent causes, whereas the curved space-time
that governs the path of the earth around the sun is an excellent example of extrinsic
formal causality…because that path consists of specified temporal relations between
Christopher S. Morrissey 19
Therefore, we are now ready to approach, with Seneca, the question
of the meaning of beauty, insofar as that question may be illuminated, given
that we have made the preparatory causal distinctions. For the causal distinc-
tions suggest the meaning of beauty as, above all, what is properly commu-
nicated by the shimmering significations of objective specificative causality.
Beauty as the Resolution to the “Only One Cause” Paradox
If we assume that Seneca’s philosophical convictions do not lead him to deny
that there is also a type of final causality that is intrinsic, in addition to his ex-
amples of extrinsic final causality, then we can see that his six types of causes
are compatible with, and unproblematically map onto, the seven Scholastic
types that we have just distinguished. But what is the meaning of the Stoic
paradox that there is only really one type of cause? The example of the statue
can help us to appreciate the problem raised, but only alluded to, by the text,
namely, the very example of the universe that Seneca also invokes. Just as a
statue can be a sign of a person, or even signify the contextual meaning of a
state of affairs, what would it mean to take the world itself (i.e., the universe
as a whole) as a sign?
The Stoic view would seem to be that the universe itself cannot
function at all as a sign in the way that the statue itself can, and Seneca there-
fore insists upon the difficulty that this presents for the view of Plato and
Aristotle that would multiply the number of causes beyond one: “Illud vero
non pro solita ipsis subtilitate dixerunt, totum mundum et consummatum
opus causam esse. Multum enim interest inter opus et causam operis” (Sen-
eca, Ep. 65.14). To my ear, this objection from Seneca sounds like a highly
perceptive affirmation of the absolute distinction between primary causali-
ty and secondary causality, which later comes to be explicitly maintained in
Scholastic philosophy. Yet I do think it is implicit in the authentically Stoic
objection presented here.
Seneca clearly states the Platonic-Aristotelian approach to the prob-
lem of the universe itself as a sign, which would have to be exercising a
non-ideal extrinsic formal causality. That approach must assume that causal
analysis eventually yields a distinct recognition of the universe itself as the
objective specificative cause that signifies for our conscious awareness all the
causal effects of God’s goodness:
the earth and the other bodies of the solar system…plain cases of extrinsic formal
causality” (Ralph A. Powell, “Epistemology’s Minimal Cause as Basis of Science,”
in Terry Prewitt, John Deely, and Karen Haworth, ed., Semiotics 1988, Proceedings
of the 13th Annual Conference of the Semiotic Society of America [Lanham, MD:
University Press of America, 1989], 180, 186).
18 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Further, the possibilities of signification that lie latent in matter can
be dormant for years and years, and enter into awareness only when extrinsic
formal causality as objective specificative causality achieves its effect. We dis-
tinguish the Statue of Liberty as such by formal causality, but the action of
formal causality is not limited to simply that mere recognition of an intrinsic
form. We could multiply the actual effects of the Statue of Liberty’s intrinsic
accidental formal cause if we were to take it as an exemplar and produce
miniature copies of it as tourist souvenirs. But in addition to such ideal cau-
sality there is also the objective specificative causality that in principle has
an infinite range of effects beyond instantiation, recognition, or even multi-
plication of intrinsic form. This is the extrinsic formal causality that occurs
when we understand the significance of the last scene in the movie Planet
of the Apes. Charlton Heston cries out not simply because he recognizes the
form of the Statue of Liberty (other people do that every day and do not cry
out) but because he recognizes what it now means for him. And this precisely
illustrates the difference between (intrinsic) formal causality and (non-ideal)
extrinsic formal causality, in which the object here and now specifies the
actualization of a certain effect of signification (as “objective specificative
causality”).22
formal causality would be “τί τε ἐστὶ κατ̓ οὐσίαν,” and intrinsic final causality “τίνα
χώραν ἔχει ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ,” but objective specificative extrinsic formal causality could
be expressed, in terms of extrinsic environmental impact (e.g., the forms of ice
or marble acting upon and being acted upon by the environment), as “ἐπὶ πόσον
πέφυκεν ὑφίστασθαι,” and while “ἐκ τίνων συγκέκριται” seems clearly to name
material causality, perhaps “τίσι δύναται ὑπάρχειν” obscurely names names ideal
causality (extrinsic exemplary formal causality, e.g., either as conceptual intellectual
property, or in terms of masterworks possessed by someone else that are nonetheless
at least also able to be copied), and it also seems that “τίνες δύνανται αὐτὸ διδόναι
τε καὶ ἀφαιρεῖσθαι” obscurely names extrinsic final causality.
22
Because this type of causality is “prior to the well-known Aristotelian four
causes, the agent, the final, the formal, and the material cause,” it plays a unique role
in the universe: “It is precisely the function of extrinsic formal causality to displace
the agent and final causes by a more elementary cause which is not committed to
explaining how interaction could be understood. Thus the solar system is explained
as a mechanism specified by extrinsic formal causes without needing any explanation
by agent causes (let alone by final causes which have not been recognized by science
since the seventeenth century). For Einstein’s general theory of relativity precisely
eliminated gravitational forces from explanation of the solar system, by substituting
the curvature of space-time for gravitational forces (Stephen Hawking, A Brief His-
tory of Time, from the Big Bang to Black Holes [New York, NY: Bantam Books, 1988],
29–30). Now gravitational forces are agent causes, whereas the curved space-time
that governs the path of the earth around the sun is an excellent example of extrinsic
formal causality…because that path consists of specified temporal relations between
Christopher S. Morrissey 19
Therefore, we are now ready to approach, with Seneca, the question
of the meaning of beauty, insofar as that question may be illuminated, given
that we have made the preparatory causal distinctions. For the causal distinc-
tions suggest the meaning of beauty as, above all, what is properly commu-
nicated by the shimmering significations of objective specificative causality.
Beauty as the Resolution to the “Only One Cause” Paradox
If we assume that Seneca’s philosophical convictions do not lead him to deny
that there is also a type of final causality that is intrinsic, in addition to his ex-
amples of extrinsic final causality, then we can see that his six types of causes
are compatible with, and unproblematically map onto, the seven Scholastic
types that we have just distinguished. But what is the meaning of the Stoic
paradox that there is only really one type of cause? The example of the statue
can help us to appreciate the problem raised, but only alluded to, by the text,
namely, the very example of the universe that Seneca also invokes. Just as a
statue can be a sign of a person, or even signify the contextual meaning of a
state of affairs, what would it mean to take the world itself (i.e., the universe
as a whole) as a sign?
The Stoic view would seem to be that the universe itself cannot
function at all as a sign in the way that the statue itself can, and Seneca there-
fore insists upon the difficulty that this presents for the view of Plato and
Aristotle that would multiply the number of causes beyond one: “Illud vero
non pro solita ipsis subtilitate dixerunt, totum mundum et consummatum
opus causam esse. Multum enim interest inter opus et causam operis” (Sen-
eca, Ep. 65.14). To my ear, this objection from Seneca sounds like a highly
perceptive affirmation of the absolute distinction between primary causali-
ty and secondary causality, which later comes to be explicitly maintained in
Scholastic philosophy. Yet I do think it is implicit in the authentically Stoic
objection presented here.
Seneca clearly states the Platonic-Aristotelian approach to the prob-
lem of the universe itself as a sign, which would have to be exercising a
non-ideal extrinsic formal causality. That approach must assume that causal
analysis eventually yields a distinct recognition of the universe itself as the
objective specificative cause that signifies for our conscious awareness all the
causal effects of God’s goodness:
the earth and the other bodies of the solar system…plain cases of extrinsic formal
causality” (Ralph A. Powell, “Epistemology’s Minimal Cause as Basis of Science,”
in Terry Prewitt, John Deely, and Karen Haworth, ed., Semiotics 1988, Proceedings
of the 13th Annual Conference of the Semiotic Society of America [Lanham, MD:
University Press of America, 1989], 180, 186).
20 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Haec omnia mundus quoque, ut ait Plato, habet: facientem: hic
deus est. Ex quo fit: haec materia est. Formam: haec est habi-
tus et ordo mundi, quem videmus. Exemplar, scilicet, ad quod
deus hanc magnitudinem operis pulcherrimi fecit. Propositum,
propter quod fecit. Quaeris, quod sit propositum deo? Bonitas
Ita certe Plato ait: “Quae deo faciendi mundum fuit causa? Bonus
est; bono nulla cuiusquam boni invidia est. Fecit itaque quam op-
timum potuit.” (Seneca, Ep. 65.9–10)
But Seneca proceeds to criticize this Platonic-Aristotelian approach
by objecting that the number of causes can be multiplied still further:
Haec, quae ab Aristotele et Platone ponitur, turba causarum aut
nimium multa aut nimium pauca conprendit. Nam si, quocumque
remoto quid effici non potest, id causam iudicant esse faciendi,
pauca dixerunt. Ponant inter causas tempus; nihil sine tempore
potest fieri. Ponant locum; si non fuerit, ubi fiat aliquid, ne fiet
quidem. Ponant motum; nihil sine hoc nec fit nec perit. Nulla sine
motu ars, nulla mutatio est. (Seneca, Ep. 65.11)
In other words, the point of the exercise for Seneca does not seem to be to
pursue the study of causality in the physical world by multiplying the number
of secondary causes.23 Rather, his purpose in studying causality has the spir-
itual aim of seeking consolation (65.15–24), not in secondary causes, but in
meditating on the one and only primary cause, God:
Sed nos nunc primam et generalem quaerimus causam. Haec sim-
plex esse debet; nam et materia simplex est. Quaerimus, quid sit
causa? Ratio scilicet faciens, id est deus. Ista enim, quaecumque
rettulistis, non sunt multae et singulae causae, sed ex una pendent,
ex ea, quae faciet. (Seneca, Ep. 65.12)
What strikes me as most remarkable in Seneca’s discussion is the
entirely open-minded, non-dogmatic character of his meditation. It invites
ongoing personal reflection and inquiry, and it does not insist upon a non-ne-
gotiable Stoic view of causality to be opposed to an equally ossified Platon-
ic-Aristotelian view. Hence I believe it would be a mistake to take his conclu-
23
Similarly, in Marcus Aurelius the exhortation is to view the corporeal world
solely in terms of the physical world’s secondary causes, but only in order to strip
naked our usual corporeal interpretations of physical causality, and to thus prepare
our minds to think about the world anew, with reference to the primary cause, rather
than with reference to our habitually mistaken interpretations: “Γυμνὰ τῶν φλοιῶν
θεάσασθαι τὰ αἰτιώδη: τὰς ἀναφορὰς τῶν πράξεων: τί πόνος: τί ἡδονή: τί θάνατος:
τί δόξα: τίς ὁ ἑαυτῷ ἀσχολίας αἴτιος: πῶς οὐδεὶς ὑπ̓ ἄλλου ἐμποδίζεται: ὅτι πάντα
ὑπόληψις” (Meditations 12.8).
Christopher S. Morrissey 21
sion as evidence in favor of reducing the Stoic view to a simple equation of
God with the one and only substantial form of the universe, to seeing God
simply as the rationality (ratio) within the universe itself “structuring” its mat-
ter, as if this alone were what it means to understand God as “the soul of the
world” (mundo animus):
Nempe universa ex materia et ex deo constant. Deus ista temper-
at, quae circumfusa rectorem secuntur et ducem. Potentius autem
est ac pretiosius, quod facit, quod est deus, quam materia patiens
dei. Quem in hoc mundo locum deus obtinet, hunc in homine an-
imus. Quod est illic materia, id in nobis corpus est; serviant ergo
deteriora melioribus. Fortes simus adversus fortuita. Non con-
tremescamus iniurias, non vulnera, non vincula, non egestatem.
Mors quid est? Aut finis aut transitus. Nec desinere timeo, idem
est enim, quod non coepisse, nec transire, quia nusquam tam an-
guste ero. Vale. (Seneca, Ep. 65.23–24)
To my mind, the non-dogmatic character of Seneca’s reflection is
evidence of a deeper insight into the immanent character of primary causality,
for in order to distinguish it from secondary causality, a type of mystical (or
at least intuitive) grasp of its profound beauty is required in order to affirm the
validity of the distinction.24 One must see it as shimmering on the surface of
secondary causality’s own beauty.
For me, this beautiful vision of the peculiar action of primary cau-
sality at work everywhere in the universe is most rigorously and most con-
vincingly articulated in the Thomistic understanding of God as the source
(ipsum esse subsistens) of the actuality (esse) in all things.25 But it is capable of
being grasped by human beings in a seemingly infinite variety of ways, and
many thinkers and cultures have attained and expressed this grasp of beauty.
Philosophical rigor is not mandatory, but an authentic spiritual experience of
divine immanence is.
Seneca (and Stoicism’s) “soul of the world” is therefore, just like
Gerard Manley Hopkins’s apt poetic phrase for primary causality, “the dear-
est freshness deep down things,” best seen as a highly suggestive metaphor.
What is glimpsed in this vision is never simply reducible to a univocal materi-
24
Marcus Aurelius is thus not at all a depressive melancholic in meditations
like this one: “Τὸ σαπρὸν τῆς ἑκάστῳ ὑποκειμένης ὕλης: ὕδωρ, κόνις, ὀστάρια,
γράσος, ἢ πάλιν: πῶροι γῆς τὰ μάρμαρα καὶ ὑποστάθμαι ὁ χρυσός, ὁ ἄργυρος, καὶ
τριχία ἡ ἐσθὴς καὶ αἷμα ἡ πορφύρα, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα πάντα τοιαῦτα. καὶ τὸ πνευμάτιον
δὲ ἄλλο τοιοῦτον καὶ ἐκ τούτων εἰς ταῦτα μεταβάλλον” (Meditations 9.36). Rather,
he is exercising his ability to see primary causality at work within—and condition-
ing—any level of secondary causality, no matter how low the level.
25
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 266–97.
20 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
Haec omnia mundus quoque, ut ait Plato, habet: facientem: hic
deus est. Ex quo fit: haec materia est. Formam: haec est habi-
tus et ordo mundi, quem videmus. Exemplar, scilicet, ad quod
deus hanc magnitudinem operis pulcherrimi fecit. Propositum,
propter quod fecit. Quaeris, quod sit propositum deo? Bonitas
Ita certe Plato ait: “Quae deo faciendi mundum fuit causa? Bonus
est; bono nulla cuiusquam boni invidia est. Fecit itaque quam op-
timum potuit.” (Seneca, Ep. 65.9–10)
But Seneca proceeds to criticize this Platonic-Aristotelian approach
by objecting that the number of causes can be multiplied still further:
Haec, quae ab Aristotele et Platone ponitur, turba causarum aut
nimium multa aut nimium pauca conprendit. Nam si, quocumque
remoto quid effici non potest, id causam iudicant esse faciendi,
pauca dixerunt. Ponant inter causas tempus; nihil sine tempore
potest fieri. Ponant locum; si non fuerit, ubi fiat aliquid, ne fiet
quidem. Ponant motum; nihil sine hoc nec fit nec perit. Nulla sine
motu ars, nulla mutatio est. (Seneca, Ep. 65.11)
In other words, the point of the exercise for Seneca does not seem to be to
pursue the study of causality in the physical world by multiplying the number
of secondary causes.23 Rather, his purpose in studying causality has the spir-
itual aim of seeking consolation (65.15–24), not in secondary causes, but in
meditating on the one and only primary cause, God:
Sed nos nunc primam et generalem quaerimus causam. Haec sim-
plex esse debet; nam et materia simplex est. Quaerimus, quid sit
causa? Ratio scilicet faciens, id est deus. Ista enim, quaecumque
rettulistis, non sunt multae et singulae causae, sed ex una pendent,
ex ea, quae faciet. (Seneca, Ep. 65.12)
What strikes me as most remarkable in Seneca’s discussion is the
entirely open-minded, non-dogmatic character of his meditation. It invites
ongoing personal reflection and inquiry, and it does not insist upon a non-ne-
gotiable Stoic view of causality to be opposed to an equally ossified Platon-
ic-Aristotelian view. Hence I believe it would be a mistake to take his conclu-
23
Similarly, in Marcus Aurelius the exhortation is to view the corporeal world
solely in terms of the physical world’s secondary causes, but only in order to strip
naked our usual corporeal interpretations of physical causality, and to thus prepare
our minds to think about the world anew, with reference to the primary cause, rather
than with reference to our habitually mistaken interpretations: “Γυμνὰ τῶν φλοιῶν
θεάσασθαι τὰ αἰτιώδη: τὰς ἀναφορὰς τῶν πράξεων: τί πόνος: τί ἡδονή: τί θάνατος:
τί δόξα: τίς ὁ ἑαυτῷ ἀσχολίας αἴτιος: πῶς οὐδεὶς ὑπ̓ ἄλλου ἐμποδίζεται: ὅτι πάντα
ὑπόληψις” (Meditations 12.8).
Christopher S. Morrissey 21
sion as evidence in favor of reducing the Stoic view to a simple equation of
God with the one and only substantial form of the universe, to seeing God
simply as the rationality (ratio) within the universe itself “structuring” its mat-
ter, as if this alone were what it means to understand God as “the soul of the
world” (mundo animus):
Nempe universa ex materia et ex deo constant. Deus ista temper-
at, quae circumfusa rectorem secuntur et ducem. Potentius autem
est ac pretiosius, quod facit, quod est deus, quam materia patiens
dei. Quem in hoc mundo locum deus obtinet, hunc in homine an-
imus. Quod est illic materia, id in nobis corpus est; serviant ergo
deteriora melioribus. Fortes simus adversus fortuita. Non con-
tremescamus iniurias, non vulnera, non vincula, non egestatem.
Mors quid est? Aut finis aut transitus. Nec desinere timeo, idem
est enim, quod non coepisse, nec transire, quia nusquam tam an-
guste ero. Vale. (Seneca, Ep. 65.23–24)
To my mind, the non-dogmatic character of Seneca’s reflection is
evidence of a deeper insight into the immanent character of primary causality,
for in order to distinguish it from secondary causality, a type of mystical (or
at least intuitive) grasp of its profound beauty is required in order to affirm the
validity of the distinction.24 One must see it as shimmering on the surface of
secondary causality’s own beauty.
For me, this beautiful vision of the peculiar action of primary cau-
sality at work everywhere in the universe is most rigorously and most con-
vincingly articulated in the Thomistic understanding of God as the source
(ipsum esse subsistens) of the actuality (esse) in all things.25 But it is capable of
being grasped by human beings in a seemingly infinite variety of ways, and
many thinkers and cultures have attained and expressed this grasp of beauty.
Philosophical rigor is not mandatory, but an authentic spiritual experience of
divine immanence is.
Seneca (and Stoicism’s) “soul of the world” is therefore, just like
Gerard Manley Hopkins’s apt poetic phrase for primary causality, “the dear-
est freshness deep down things,” best seen as a highly suggestive metaphor.
What is glimpsed in this vision is never simply reducible to a univocal materi-
24
Marcus Aurelius is thus not at all a depressive melancholic in meditations
like this one: “Τὸ σαπρὸν τῆς ἑκάστῳ ὑποκειμένης ὕλης: ὕδωρ, κόνις, ὀστάρια,
γράσος, ἢ πάλιν: πῶροι γῆς τὰ μάρμαρα καὶ ὑποστάθμαι ὁ χρυσός, ὁ ἄργυρος, καὶ
τριχία ἡ ἐσθὴς καὶ αἷμα ἡ πορφύρα, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα πάντα τοιαῦτα. καὶ τὸ πνευμάτιον
δὲ ἄλλο τοιοῦτον καὶ ἐκ τούτων εἰς ταῦτα μεταβάλλον” (Meditations 9.36). Rather,
he is exercising his ability to see primary causality at work within—and condition-
ing—any level of secondary causality, no matter how low the level.
25
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 266–97.
22 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
al part of an empiriometric physical schema (pace Christensen).26 Hence I am
inclined to accept this kind of perennial vision of the beauty of the divine
immanence, of which humans are ever capable,27 as expressive of authentic
Stoicism.28 For it is nothing less than a spiritual vision of the beauty that per-
vades all things—“the dearest freshness deep down things.”
On this vision, God may be understood as the efficient cause of
the world, but not in the manner of secondary causality, like the artisan who
is a part (albeit a key part) of the process that makes the statue stand as the
statue itself. Rather, in contrast with the empiriometric picture familiar to
mathematical physics, the efficient causality characteristic of the divine agen-
cy called “primary causality” is—because of its asymmetry in relation to the
world—to be the “first cause” which makes actual anything that would stand
as actual.29
26
Marcus Aurelius cautions us to exclude virtue from reductive causal analysis,
so it seems certain to me that Stoicism cannot be identified with a purely empiriomet-
ric worldview in which God is simply the “structure” found in the equations of the
world’s multiple tensional sub-fields: “ὅλως οὖν, χωρὶς ἀρετῆς καὶ τῶν ἀπ̓ ἀρετῆς,
μέμνησο ἐπὶ τὰ κατὰ μέρος τρέχειν καὶ τῇ διαιρέσει αὐτῶν εἰς καταφρόνησιν ἰέναι,
τὸ δ̓ αὐτὸ καὶ ἐπὶ τὸν βίον ὅλον μετάφερε” (Meditations, 11.2). Stephen Hawking
famously posed the question of what breathes the “fire” into the equations, and the
invocation of Heraclitus and the Stoics with this metaphor is suggestive to my mind
of the distinction between primary and secondary causality, even if Hawking himself
dismisses any models of the universe not constructed purely in terms of secondary
causes (Hawking, A Brief History of Time, 174).
27
Cf. Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy, Harper Perennial Modern Clas-
sics (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2009).
28
Marcus Aurelius seems to achieve this, by a transposition of the reductive
physical bifurcation of causa and materia on the level of secondary causality, into the
analogously asymmetrical bifurcation between primary and secondary causality (i.e.,
as the fundamental insight which a sustained meditation on the asymmetry traceable
within secondary causality will eventually yield): “Σωτηρία βίου ἕκαστον δἰ ὅλου
αὐτὸ τί ἐστιν ὁρᾶν, τί μὲν αὐτοῦ τὸ ὑλικόν, τί δὲ τὸ αἰτιῶδες: ἐξ ὅλης τῆς ψυχῆς
τὰ δίκαια ποιεῖν καὶ τἀληθῆ λέγειν. τί λοιπὸν ἢ ἀπολαύειν τοῦ ζῆν συνάπτοντα
ἄλλο ἐπ̓ ἄλλῳ ἀγαθόν, ὥστε μηδὲ τὸ βραχύτατον διάστημα ἀπολείπειν” (Medita-
tions 12.29).
29
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 284–90; Feser, The Last Superstition, 49–
110; Edward Feser, Aquinas: A Beginner’s Guide (London, UK: Oneworld Publications,
2009), 8–81; Edward Feser, “Existential Inertia and the Five Ways,” American Catholic
Philosophical Quarterly 85, no. 2 (2011): 237–67; Edward Feser, “The Medieval Princi-
ple of Motion and the Modern Principle of Inertia,” Proceedings of the Society for Medie-
val Logic and Metaphysics 10 (2012): 4–6; Edward Feser, “Motion in Aristotle, Newton,
and Einstein,” in Edward Feser, ed., Aristotle on Method and Metaphysics, Philosophers
in Depth (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 236–58.
Christopher S. Morrissey 23
Seneca’s criticism here of the conventional Platonic-Aristotelian
view is, therefore, to my mind, an expression of authentic Stoic (and authen-
tic philosophical) insight into beauty,30 because it is meant to deny a vision
of the world in relation to God that would take that relation merely as one
of secondary causality, as with the sculpture in relation to the sculptor.31 The
special instance of the world in relation to God requires a special metaphor
that expresses the radically asymmetrical relationship of primary causality to
the world: “Quem in hoc mundo locum deus obtinet, hunc in homine ani-
mus” (Seneca, Ep. 65.24).
Moreover, the Stoic objection to understanding the world itself as
exercising objective specificative extrinsic formal causality in the same way
that a statue can signify (i.e., it can formally impact the environment) is highly
pertinent. After all, what is there for the universe to exercise extrinsic for-
mal causality upon in this way, when there is, by definition, nothing outside
the universe? Surely its beauty cannot act upon God, for this would be to
misconceive the nature of God, and to fail to understand the radically asym-
30
Marcus Aurelius unmistakably articulates this spiritual aim of Stoic med-
itations upon physics: “Πῶς εἰς ἄλληλα πάντα μεταβάλλει, θεωρητικὴν μέθοδον
κτῆσαι καὶ διηνεκῶς πρόσεχε καὶ συγγυμνάσθητι περὶ τοῦτο τὸ μέρος: οὐδὲν
γὰρ οὕτως μεγαλοφροσύνης ποιητικόν. ἐξεδύσατο τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἐννοήσας ὅτι
ὅσον οὐδέπω πάντα ταῦτα καταλιπεῖν ἀπιόντα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων δεήσει, ἀνῆκεν
ὅλον ἑαυτὸν δικαιοσύνῃ μὲν εἰς τὰ ὑφ̓ ἑαυτοῦ ἐνεργούμενα, ἐν δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοις
συμβαίνουσι τῇ τῶν ὅλων φύσει. τί δ̓ ἐρεῖ τις ἢ ὑπολήψεται περὶ αὐτοῦ ἢ πράξει
κατ̓ αὐτοῦ, οὐδ̓ εἰς νοῦν βάλλεται, δύο τούτοις ἀρκούμενος, εἰ αὐτὸς δικαιοπραγεῖ
τὸ νῦν πρασσόμενον καὶ φιλεῖ τὸ νῦν ἀπονεμόμενον ἑαυτῷ: ἀσχολίας δὲ πάσας
καὶ σπουδὰς ἀφῆκε καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο βούλεται ἢ εὐθεῖαν περαίνειν διὰ τοῦ νόμου
καὶ εὐθεῖαν περαίνοντι ἕπεσθαι τῷ θεῷ” (Meditations 10.11).
31
Even so, there is an analogy to be made between the per se causality of the
soul (versus any per accidens influences on the body) and the per se causality of the prima-
ry cause. (On this crucial Scholastic distinction between per se and per accidens causality,
cf. Feser, Aquinas, 69–72, 83–89; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 148–54.) Marcus Aure-
lius suggests the analogy in this text, which again invokes the bifurcation meditation:
“Μέμνησο ὅτι τὸ νευροσπαστοῦν ἐστιν ἐκεῖνο τὸ ἔνδον ἐγκεκρυμμένον: ἐκεῖνο
ῥητορεία, ἐκεῖνο ζωή, ἐκεῖνο, εἰ δεῖ εἰπεῖν, ἄνθρωπος. μηδέποτε συμπεριφαντάζου
τὸ περικείμενον ἀγγειῶδες καὶ τὰ ὀργάνια ταῦτα τὰ περιπεπλασμένα: ὅμοια γάρ
ἐστι σκεπάρνῳ, μόνον διαφέροντα, καθότι προσφυῆ ἐστιν. ἐπεί τοι οὐ μᾶλλόν τι
τούτων ὄφελός ἐστι τῶν μορίων χωρὶς τῆς κινούσης καὶ ἰσχούσης αὐτὰ αἰτίας, ἢ
τῆς κερκίδος τῇ ὑφαντρίᾳ καὶ τοῦ καλάμου τῷ γράφοντι καὶ τοῦ μαστιγίου τῷ
ἡνιόχῳ” (Meditations 10.38; LS 44). The affinity of the soul with God is also suggest-
ed in other texts: for example, “Πρὸς τί ποτε ἄρα νῦν χρῶμαι τῇ ἐμαυτοῦ ψυχῇ;
παῤ ἕκαστα τοῦτο ἐπανερωτᾶν ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἐξετάζειν τί μοί ἐστι νῦν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ
μορίῳ, ὃ δὴ ἡγεμονικὸν καλοῦσι, καὶ τίνος ἄρα νῦν ἔχω ψυχήν; μήτι παιδίου; μήτι
μειρακίου; μήτι γυναικαρίου; μήτι τυράννου; μήτι κτήνους; μήτι θηρίου” (Medita-
tions 5.11).
22 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
al part of an empiriometric physical schema (pace Christensen).26 Hence I am
inclined to accept this kind of perennial vision of the beauty of the divine
immanence, of which humans are ever capable,27 as expressive of authentic
Stoicism.28 For it is nothing less than a spiritual vision of the beauty that per-
vades all things—“the dearest freshness deep down things.”
On this vision, God may be understood as the efficient cause of
the world, but not in the manner of secondary causality, like the artisan who
is a part (albeit a key part) of the process that makes the statue stand as the
statue itself. Rather, in contrast with the empiriometric picture familiar to
mathematical physics, the efficient causality characteristic of the divine agen-
cy called “primary causality” is—because of its asymmetry in relation to the
world—to be the “first cause” which makes actual anything that would stand
as actual.29
26
Marcus Aurelius cautions us to exclude virtue from reductive causal analysis,
so it seems certain to me that Stoicism cannot be identified with a purely empiriomet-
ric worldview in which God is simply the “structure” found in the equations of the
world’s multiple tensional sub-fields: “ὅλως οὖν, χωρὶς ἀρετῆς καὶ τῶν ἀπ̓ ἀρετῆς,
μέμνησο ἐπὶ τὰ κατὰ μέρος τρέχειν καὶ τῇ διαιρέσει αὐτῶν εἰς καταφρόνησιν ἰέναι,
τὸ δ̓ αὐτὸ καὶ ἐπὶ τὸν βίον ὅλον μετάφερε” (Meditations, 11.2). Stephen Hawking
famously posed the question of what breathes the “fire” into the equations, and the
invocation of Heraclitus and the Stoics with this metaphor is suggestive to my mind
of the distinction between primary and secondary causality, even if Hawking himself
dismisses any models of the universe not constructed purely in terms of secondary
causes (Hawking, A Brief History of Time, 174).
27
Cf. Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy, Harper Perennial Modern Clas-
sics (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2009).
28
Marcus Aurelius seems to achieve this, by a transposition of the reductive
physical bifurcation of causa and materia on the level of secondary causality, into the
analogously asymmetrical bifurcation between primary and secondary causality (i.e.,
as the fundamental insight which a sustained meditation on the asymmetry traceable
within secondary causality will eventually yield): “Σωτηρία βίου ἕκαστον δἰ ὅλου
αὐτὸ τί ἐστιν ὁρᾶν, τί μὲν αὐτοῦ τὸ ὑλικόν, τί δὲ τὸ αἰτιῶδες: ἐξ ὅλης τῆς ψυχῆς
τὰ δίκαια ποιεῖν καὶ τἀληθῆ λέγειν. τί λοιπὸν ἢ ἀπολαύειν τοῦ ζῆν συνάπτοντα
ἄλλο ἐπ̓ ἄλλῳ ἀγαθόν, ὥστε μηδὲ τὸ βραχύτατον διάστημα ἀπολείπειν” (Medita-
tions 12.29).
29
Deely, Four Ages of Understanding, 284–90; Feser, The Last Superstition, 49–
110; Edward Feser, Aquinas: A Beginner’s Guide (London, UK: Oneworld Publications,
2009), 8–81; Edward Feser, “Existential Inertia and the Five Ways,” American Catholic
Philosophical Quarterly 85, no. 2 (2011): 237–67; Edward Feser, “The Medieval Princi-
ple of Motion and the Modern Principle of Inertia,” Proceedings of the Society for Medie-
val Logic and Metaphysics 10 (2012): 4–6; Edward Feser, “Motion in Aristotle, Newton,
and Einstein,” in Edward Feser, ed., Aristotle on Method and Metaphysics, Philosophers
in Depth (London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013), 236–58.
Christopher S. Morrissey 23
Seneca’s criticism here of the conventional Platonic-Aristotelian
view is, therefore, to my mind, an expression of authentic Stoic (and authen-
tic philosophical) insight into beauty,30 because it is meant to deny a vision
of the world in relation to God that would take that relation merely as one
of secondary causality, as with the sculpture in relation to the sculptor.31 The
special instance of the world in relation to God requires a special metaphor
that expresses the radically asymmetrical relationship of primary causality to
the world: “Quem in hoc mundo locum deus obtinet, hunc in homine ani-
mus” (Seneca, Ep. 65.24).
Moreover, the Stoic objection to understanding the world itself as
exercising objective specificative extrinsic formal causality in the same way
that a statue can signify (i.e., it can formally impact the environment) is highly
pertinent. After all, what is there for the universe to exercise extrinsic for-
mal causality upon in this way, when there is, by definition, nothing outside
the universe? Surely its beauty cannot act upon God, for this would be to
misconceive the nature of God, and to fail to understand the radically asym-
30
Marcus Aurelius unmistakably articulates this spiritual aim of Stoic med-
itations upon physics: “Πῶς εἰς ἄλληλα πάντα μεταβάλλει, θεωρητικὴν μέθοδον
κτῆσαι καὶ διηνεκῶς πρόσεχε καὶ συγγυμνάσθητι περὶ τοῦτο τὸ μέρος: οὐδὲν
γὰρ οὕτως μεγαλοφροσύνης ποιητικόν. ἐξεδύσατο τὸ σῶμα καὶ ἐννοήσας ὅτι
ὅσον οὐδέπω πάντα ταῦτα καταλιπεῖν ἀπιόντα ἐξ ἀνθρώπων δεήσει, ἀνῆκεν
ὅλον ἑαυτὸν δικαιοσύνῃ μὲν εἰς τὰ ὑφ̓ ἑαυτοῦ ἐνεργούμενα, ἐν δὲ τοῖς ἄλλοις
συμβαίνουσι τῇ τῶν ὅλων φύσει. τί δ̓ ἐρεῖ τις ἢ ὑπολήψεται περὶ αὐτοῦ ἢ πράξει
κατ̓ αὐτοῦ, οὐδ̓ εἰς νοῦν βάλλεται, δύο τούτοις ἀρκούμενος, εἰ αὐτὸς δικαιοπραγεῖ
τὸ νῦν πρασσόμενον καὶ φιλεῖ τὸ νῦν ἀπονεμόμενον ἑαυτῷ: ἀσχολίας δὲ πάσας
καὶ σπουδὰς ἀφῆκε καὶ οὐδὲν ἄλλο βούλεται ἢ εὐθεῖαν περαίνειν διὰ τοῦ νόμου
καὶ εὐθεῖαν περαίνοντι ἕπεσθαι τῷ θεῷ” (Meditations 10.11).
31
Even so, there is an analogy to be made between the per se causality of the
soul (versus any per accidens influences on the body) and the per se causality of the prima-
ry cause. (On this crucial Scholastic distinction between per se and per accidens causality,
cf. Feser, Aquinas, 69–72, 83–89; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 148–54.) Marcus Aure-
lius suggests the analogy in this text, which again invokes the bifurcation meditation:
“Μέμνησο ὅτι τὸ νευροσπαστοῦν ἐστιν ἐκεῖνο τὸ ἔνδον ἐγκεκρυμμένον: ἐκεῖνο
ῥητορεία, ἐκεῖνο ζωή, ἐκεῖνο, εἰ δεῖ εἰπεῖν, ἄνθρωπος. μηδέποτε συμπεριφαντάζου
τὸ περικείμενον ἀγγειῶδες καὶ τὰ ὀργάνια ταῦτα τὰ περιπεπλασμένα: ὅμοια γάρ
ἐστι σκεπάρνῳ, μόνον διαφέροντα, καθότι προσφυῆ ἐστιν. ἐπεί τοι οὐ μᾶλλόν τι
τούτων ὄφελός ἐστι τῶν μορίων χωρὶς τῆς κινούσης καὶ ἰσχούσης αὐτὰ αἰτίας, ἢ
τῆς κερκίδος τῇ ὑφαντρίᾳ καὶ τοῦ καλάμου τῷ γράφοντι καὶ τοῦ μαστιγίου τῷ
ἡνιόχῳ” (Meditations 10.38; LS 44). The affinity of the soul with God is also suggest-
ed in other texts: for example, “Πρὸς τί ποτε ἄρα νῦν χρῶμαι τῇ ἐμαυτοῦ ψυχῇ;
παῤ ἕκαστα τοῦτο ἐπανερωτᾶν ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἐξετάζειν τί μοί ἐστι νῦν ἐν τούτῳ τῷ
μορίῳ, ὃ δὴ ἡγεμονικὸν καλοῦσι, καὶ τίνος ἄρα νῦν ἔχω ψυχήν; μήτι παιδίου; μήτι
μειρακίου; μήτι γυναικαρίου; μήτι τυράννου; μήτι κτήνους; μήτι θηρίου” (Medita-
tions 5.11).
24 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
metrical action of primary causality. In other words, the Stoic vision stands in
defense of the radical transcendence of the divine actuality from all second-
ary causes, by seeing it as the radically immanent efficient primary causality
that, by its very nature, can exist nowhere else but within the world as its most
radical condition.
The point of the Stoic paradox that the only true cause is God is there-
fore not an expression of any kind of theological voluntarism. It is, rather, an
attempt to avoid misunderstanding God as a cause like any other cause in the
physical world,32 which is what the contemporary analytic notion of form as
“structure” would lead us to, with its highly problematic empiriometric con-
strual of form.33 The point of the paradox, rather, is to prepare our vision for
glimpsing the divine immanence of primary causality as radically beautiful.
Conclusion: A Stoic Vision of the Corporeal World as Beautiful
On my reading, the authentic Stoic understanding of God points, above all,
to an appreciation—attained via a meditative experience of beauty—of the
unique divine immanence found within all the actuality (esse) of the world’s
beings. If the validity of this reading is granted, then it may also permit a pro-
found insight to come into focus, namely, that God stands in relation to the
physical world such that its networks of secondary causality are radically depen-
dent on the divine primary causality. Meditation comes to appreciate vividly
God’s relation to the corporeal world, by contemplating the world accessible
by sense-perception (to which the physical world of mathematical physics is
entirely subordinate in actuality—since the quantum physical world possess-
es vastly more amounts of undetermined potency)34 in its radical beauty.
32
The paradox that “there is really only one true cause” (ratio scilicet faciens,
id est deus) can also be expressed as an affirmation that “there are really only two
types of causes” (ἔξω δὲ τούτων οὐδέν ἐστιν), as Marcus Aurelius does with the
meditative language of the causa/materia bifurcation that here considers the soul’s
relation before God (and note how similar this is to Seneca’s concluding reflections
on primary causality in the universe): “Ἅλις τοῦ ἀθλίου βίου καὶ γογγυσμοῦ καὶ
πιθηκισμοῦ.—τί ταράσσῃ; τί τούτων καινόν; τί σε ἐξίστησι; τὸ αἴτιον; ἴδε αὐτό.
ἀλλ̓ ἡ ὕλη; ἴδε αὐτήν. ἔξω δὲ τούτων οὐδέν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς ἤδη
ποτὲ ἁπλούστερος καὶ χρηστότερος γενοῦ. Ἴσον τὸ ἑκατὸν ἔτεσι καὶ τὸ τρισὶ
ταῦτα ἱστορῆσαι” (Meditations 9.37).
33
David Oderberg, “Is Form Structure?,” in D.D. Novotný and L. Novák,
eds., Neo-Aristotelian Perspectives in Metaphysics (London, UK: Routledge, 2014), 164–
80; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 186–89.
34
Cf. Wolfgang Smith, The Quantum Enigma: Finding the Hidden Key, 3rd ed.
(San Rafael, CA: Angelico Press, 2005).
Christopher S. Morrissey 25
I have provided here some evidence that this meditative appreciation
of beauty is, in fact, articulated in Stoic authors like Seneca and Marcus Aure-
lius, by quoting some relevant passages. I have tried to suggest the plausibility
of my way of reading these authors by offering, as a paradigmatic example,
the case of the spiritual exercise that attains a distinctive grasp of primary
causality. It does so by starting its meditation (as in Seneca’s Letter 65) with
an analysis of secondary causality within the world and proceeding to con-
templation of what might be the meaning of the world itself (i.e., the world
considered as a sign). The graceful beauty of primary causality itself then
provides the answer.
To be able to see God as primary cause means that one has glimpsed,
in a perennial vision (shared also by Plotinus), the grace that shimmers on the
surface of beauty’s secondary causality in the realm of the audible and the
visible. I have argued that this vision of grace shimmering on the surface of
beauty is the ultimate basis, both of the Scholastic distinction between pri-
mary and secondary causality, and also of the Stoic paradox that God alone
is the only true cause. This latter thought is also sometimes expressed with
a sublime, mystical observation about the divine immanence animating the
world’s beauty: “tout est grâce.”35
—TrinityWestern University
35
“All is grace” — St. Therese of Lisieux; cf. Georges Bernanos, Diary of a
Country Priest (New York, NY: Caroll & Graf Publishers, 2002). Initial versions of
some portions of this article were delivered as papers at the Northwest Ancient
Philosophy Workshop at the University of British Columbia Campus, in Buchanan
D324 on Saturday, September 27th, 2014, at 3:45pm, and also at The Power of Beau-
ty Conference at the Franciscan University of Steubenville, on Saturday, October 25,
2014, at 2:35pm.
24 A Stoic Vision of Primary Causality
metrical action of primary causality. In other words, the Stoic vision stands in
defense of the radical transcendence of the divine actuality from all second-
ary causes, by seeing it as the radically immanent efficient primary causality
that, by its very nature, can exist nowhere else but within the world as its most
radical condition.
The point of the Stoic paradox that the only true cause is God is there-
fore not an expression of any kind of theological voluntarism. It is, rather, an
attempt to avoid misunderstanding God as a cause like any other cause in the
physical world,32 which is what the contemporary analytic notion of form as
“structure” would lead us to, with its highly problematic empiriometric con-
strual of form.33 The point of the paradox, rather, is to prepare our vision for
glimpsing the divine immanence of primary causality as radically beautiful.
Conclusion: A Stoic Vision of the Corporeal World as Beautiful
On my reading, the authentic Stoic understanding of God points, above all,
to an appreciation—attained via a meditative experience of beauty—of the
unique divine immanence found within all the actuality (esse) of the world’s
beings. If the validity of this reading is granted, then it may also permit a pro-
found insight to come into focus, namely, that God stands in relation to the
physical world such that its networks of secondary causality are radically depen-
dent on the divine primary causality. Meditation comes to appreciate vividly
God’s relation to the corporeal world, by contemplating the world accessible
by sense-perception (to which the physical world of mathematical physics is
entirely subordinate in actuality—since the quantum physical world possess-
es vastly more amounts of undetermined potency)34 in its radical beauty.
32
The paradox that “there is really only one true cause” (ratio scilicet faciens,
id est deus) can also be expressed as an affirmation that “there are really only two
types of causes” (ἔξω δὲ τούτων οὐδέν ἐστιν), as Marcus Aurelius does with the
meditative language of the causa/materia bifurcation that here considers the soul’s
relation before God (and note how similar this is to Seneca’s concluding reflections
on primary causality in the universe): “Ἅλις τοῦ ἀθλίου βίου καὶ γογγυσμοῦ καὶ
πιθηκισμοῦ.—τί ταράσσῃ; τί τούτων καινόν; τί σε ἐξίστησι; τὸ αἴτιον; ἴδε αὐτό.
ἀλλ̓ ἡ ὕλη; ἴδε αὐτήν. ἔξω δὲ τούτων οὐδέν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς ἤδη
ποτὲ ἁπλούστερος καὶ χρηστότερος γενοῦ. Ἴσον τὸ ἑκατὸν ἔτεσι καὶ τὸ τρισὶ
ταῦτα ἱστορῆσαι” (Meditations 9.37).
33
David Oderberg, “Is Form Structure?,” in D.D. Novotný and L. Novák,
eds., Neo-Aristotelian Perspectives in Metaphysics (London, UK: Routledge, 2014), 164–
80; Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 186–89.
34
Cf. Wolfgang Smith, The Quantum Enigma: Finding the Hidden Key, 3rd ed.
(San Rafael, CA: Angelico Press, 2005).
Christopher S. Morrissey 25
I have provided here some evidence that this meditative appreciation
of beauty is, in fact, articulated in Stoic authors like Seneca and Marcus Aure-
lius, by quoting some relevant passages. I have tried to suggest the plausibility
of my way of reading these authors by offering, as a paradigmatic example,
the case of the spiritual exercise that attains a distinctive grasp of primary
causality. It does so by starting its meditation (as in Seneca’s Letter 65) with
an analysis of secondary causality within the world and proceeding to con-
templation of what might be the meaning of the world itself (i.e., the world
considered as a sign). The graceful beauty of primary causality itself then
provides the answer.
To be able to see God as primary cause means that one has glimpsed,
in a perennial vision (shared also by Plotinus), the grace that shimmers on the
surface of beauty’s secondary causality in the realm of the audible and the
visible. I have argued that this vision of grace shimmering on the surface of
beauty is the ultimate basis, both of the Scholastic distinction between pri-
mary and secondary causality, and also of the Stoic paradox that God alone
is the only true cause. This latter thought is also sometimes expressed with
a sublime, mystical observation about the divine immanence animating the
world’s beauty: “tout est grâce.”35
—TrinityWestern University
35
“All is grace” — St. Therese of Lisieux; cf. Georges Bernanos, Diary of a
Country Priest (New York, NY: Caroll & Graf Publishers, 2002). Initial versions of
some portions of this article were delivered as papers at the Northwest Ancient
Philosophy Workshop at the University of British Columbia Campus, in Buchanan
D324 on Saturday, September 27th, 2014, at 3:45pm, and also at The Power of Beau-
ty Conference at the Franciscan University of Steubenville, on Saturday, October 25,
2014, at 2:35pm.

Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
Brian Donohue
I. Introduction
The concept of kalon appears at important places in Aristotle’s Ethics.1 For
instance, Aristotle claims that the virtuous agent acts for the sake of what is
kalon; in his account of individual virtues of character, he describes many
of them explicitly as dispositions oriented toward what is kalon; he also de-
scribes many of the virtues themselves as kalon, and suggests that this has
something to do with the value and importance of the virtues.
The Greek word kalon has been rendered variously in English as
“good,” “beautiful,” “noble,” “fine,” “admirable,” and “honorable.” Differ-
ent translations have arisen not only among translators and commentators,
but also within single translations of the Ethics. This fact draws our attention
to two problems facing an investigation of the concept of kalon in Aristot-
le’s ethics. First, it suggests that we have no English word that corresponds
isomorphically with the term kalon. As English-readers of Aristotle, we need,
instead, an arsenal of terms to capture the nuanced features of its evidently
complex Greek connotation. Of course, this is a common problem facing
translators; isomorphic translations are perhaps more the exception than the
norm. However, a peculiar problem arises in this case because the concept it
is supposed to express is patently central to Aristotle’s Ethics, and yet we lack
not only a single word in English that corresponds to the Greek term, but it
might also very well be a native concept of the attribute kalon itself. From a
cursory survey of the above list of candidate translations, it isn’t at all clear
why the meanings associated with this list of English words should hang to-
gether as expressing a single attribute familiar to English language users.
The second problem facing translators is the diversity of contexts
in which Aristotle employs the term kalon. As it turns out, one reason for
For general discussions, cf. Joseph Owens, “The Kalon in the Aristotelian
1
Ethics,” in Studies in Aristotle, ed. D.J. O’Meara (Washington, DC: Catholic University
of America Press, 1981), 261–77; Kelly Rogers, “Aristotle’s Concept of To Kalon,”
Ancient Philosophy 13 (1993): 355–71; Gabriel Richardson Lear, “Aristotle on Moral
Virtue and the Fine,” in The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, ed. Richard
Kraut (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), 116–36.
© Brian Donohue, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Brian Donohue 27
the range of possible translations is that the word shows up in a variety of
contexts. It appears at crucial junctures not only in his Ethics, but also in the
Topics, Rhetoric, Poetics, Politics, Metaphysics, and the Parts and Movement of Ani-
mals. Aristotle seems to apply the word kalon to personal beauty, to features
of animals, to features of nature, to a thing’s proper functioning, to music, to
dramatic performances, to geometrical objects, and to contemplative activity.
Again, we are left wondering what such a word could mean, if indeed it has
a single meaning at all.
Unsurprisingly, then, there has been considerable scholarly debate
surrounding the interpretation of the concept of kalon in Aristotle’s thought.
The debates here are manifold. The first and most prominent is whether
kalon should be regarded as an aesthetic concept.2 Here, it seems implausible
that the kalon the virtuous agent chooses is supposed to be the same as the
kalon in a work of art or in personal beauty. This is because it is implausible
that what the virtuous agent appreciates about a virtuous action are its aes-
thetic features. This would have the consequence (it seems) of rendering the
virtuous agent as little different from a good art critic, and if this is Aristotle’s
view, then it’s probably incorrect. Similarly, with respect to our evaluations of
agents, it’s consonant with Aristotle to advise that one vote for the most kalos
politician, but this certainly isn’t equivalent to advising someone to vote for
the most beautiful politician.
Another debate is whether we should read the term kalon as equiv-
ocal (or homonymous). There is some suggestion in the Topics that Aristotle
thinks it is a homonym (Top. 106a20–22). And here, it is not clear what the
implications of this would be for his Ethics (e.g., whether we could draw the
conclusion that he is using it equivocally between moral and aesthetic con-
texts). This also raises the question of whether the term kalon is what some
scholars call “pros hen equivocal”—that is, a term with several, but interrelated
senses. Still another debate concerns whether kalon is a parochial concept—
that is, one that reflects only a particular view of beauty endemic to Aristotle
and his aristocratic ilk in ancient Athens. In that case, the concept of kalon
would be of merely historical interest; it would have little or nothing to teach
us about ethics today.
In this paper, I have two goals. First, I wish to navigate some of the
above difficulties and present an interpretation of the meaning of kalon in
Aristotle, on which the term is not only relatively unified in its meaning, but
on which it also expresses nearly the same concept as our word beautiful
does. Second, on the basis of this characterization, I wish to show the im-
portance and application of this concept for three facets of Aristotle’s Ethics:
2
Cf. Terence Irwin, “The Sense and Reference of Kalon in Aristotle,” Classical
Philology 105, no. 4 (2010): 381–96.

Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
Brian Donohue
I. Introduction
The concept of kalon appears at important places in Aristotle’s Ethics.1 For
instance, Aristotle claims that the virtuous agent acts for the sake of what is
kalon; in his account of individual virtues of character, he describes many
of them explicitly as dispositions oriented toward what is kalon; he also de-
scribes many of the virtues themselves as kalon, and suggests that this has
something to do with the value and importance of the virtues.
The Greek word kalon has been rendered variously in English as
“good,” “beautiful,” “noble,” “fine,” “admirable,” and “honorable.” Differ-
ent translations have arisen not only among translators and commentators,
but also within single translations of the Ethics. This fact draws our attention
to two problems facing an investigation of the concept of kalon in Aristot-
le’s ethics. First, it suggests that we have no English word that corresponds
isomorphically with the term kalon. As English-readers of Aristotle, we need,
instead, an arsenal of terms to capture the nuanced features of its evidently
complex Greek connotation. Of course, this is a common problem facing
translators; isomorphic translations are perhaps more the exception than the
norm. However, a peculiar problem arises in this case because the concept it
is supposed to express is patently central to Aristotle’s Ethics, and yet we lack
not only a single word in English that corresponds to the Greek term, but it
might also very well be a native concept of the attribute kalon itself. From a
cursory survey of the above list of candidate translations, it isn’t at all clear
why the meanings associated with this list of English words should hang to-
gether as expressing a single attribute familiar to English language users.
The second problem facing translators is the diversity of contexts
in which Aristotle employs the term kalon. As it turns out, one reason for
For general discussions, cf. Joseph Owens, “The Kalon in the Aristotelian
1
Ethics,” in Studies in Aristotle, ed. D.J. O’Meara (Washington, DC: Catholic University
of America Press, 1981), 261–77; Kelly Rogers, “Aristotle’s Concept of To Kalon,”
Ancient Philosophy 13 (1993): 355–71; Gabriel Richardson Lear, “Aristotle on Moral
Virtue and the Fine,” in The Blackwell Guide to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, ed. Richard
Kraut (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), 116–36.
© Brian Donohue, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Brian Donohue 27
the range of possible translations is that the word shows up in a variety of
contexts. It appears at crucial junctures not only in his Ethics, but also in the
Topics, Rhetoric, Poetics, Politics, Metaphysics, and the Parts and Movement of Ani-
mals. Aristotle seems to apply the word kalon to personal beauty, to features
of animals, to features of nature, to a thing’s proper functioning, to music, to
dramatic performances, to geometrical objects, and to contemplative activity.
Again, we are left wondering what such a word could mean, if indeed it has
a single meaning at all.
Unsurprisingly, then, there has been considerable scholarly debate
surrounding the interpretation of the concept of kalon in Aristotle’s thought.
The debates here are manifold. The first and most prominent is whether
kalon should be regarded as an aesthetic concept.2 Here, it seems implausible
that the kalon the virtuous agent chooses is supposed to be the same as the
kalon in a work of art or in personal beauty. This is because it is implausible
that what the virtuous agent appreciates about a virtuous action are its aes-
thetic features. This would have the consequence (it seems) of rendering the
virtuous agent as little different from a good art critic, and if this is Aristotle’s
view, then it’s probably incorrect. Similarly, with respect to our evaluations of
agents, it’s consonant with Aristotle to advise that one vote for the most kalos
politician, but this certainly isn’t equivalent to advising someone to vote for
the most beautiful politician.
Another debate is whether we should read the term kalon as equiv-
ocal (or homonymous). There is some suggestion in the Topics that Aristotle
thinks it is a homonym (Top. 106a20–22). And here, it is not clear what the
implications of this would be for his Ethics (e.g., whether we could draw the
conclusion that he is using it equivocally between moral and aesthetic con-
texts). This also raises the question of whether the term kalon is what some
scholars call “pros hen equivocal”—that is, a term with several, but interrelated
senses. Still another debate concerns whether kalon is a parochial concept—
that is, one that reflects only a particular view of beauty endemic to Aristotle
and his aristocratic ilk in ancient Athens. In that case, the concept of kalon
would be of merely historical interest; it would have little or nothing to teach
us about ethics today.
In this paper, I have two goals. First, I wish to navigate some of the
above difficulties and present an interpretation of the meaning of kalon in
Aristotle, on which the term is not only relatively unified in its meaning, but
on which it also expresses nearly the same concept as our word beautiful
does. Second, on the basis of this characterization, I wish to show the im-
portance and application of this concept for three facets of Aristotle’s Ethics:
2
Cf. Terence Irwin, “The Sense and Reference of Kalon in Aristotle,” Classical
Philology 105, no. 4 (2010): 381–96.
28 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
first, Aristotle’s claim that what is kalon is an object of choice for the virtuous
agent; second, how what is kalon in action is grounded in the ordered soul
(i.e., the soul that enjoys internal harmony among its components); third,
Aristotle’s descriptions of God’s contemplative activity as kalon. I take each
of these three aspects to highlight the significance of the kalon for Aristotle’s
Ethics, and in particular the sense in which a thing’s being kalon will serve to
motivate human beings to exercise the virtues, which (recall) is Aristotle’s
very definition of happiness (NE 1098a15–17).
II. Characterizing Kalon
My first task is to provide a characterization of Aristotle’s concept of kalon.
In this section, I consider five contexts in which the concept appears prom-
inently.
A. Order, proportion, and definiteness
In the latter books of the Metaphysics, Aristotle is investigating the nature
of mathematical objects and mathematical sciences. In 13.3 (1078a31–b6),
Aristotle offers a distinction between “good” (agathon) and kalon: whereas the
former appears only in action (en praxei), where action is understood as a spe-
cies of movement (kinesis), the latter can be found in things without move-
ment (en tois akinetois), such as numbers and geometrical figures. On the basis
of this distinction, Aristotle makes the argument that mathematical sciences
have something to say about what is kalon, because they offer proofs about
the “attributes” that we also ascribe in a preeminent degree to the form or
idea (eide) of the kalon: order (taxis), proportion (summetria), and definiteness
(horismenon). In ascribing these to the form of kalon, we might take Aristotle
as thinking of these as “essential properties” of kalon.3 However, Aristotle’s
discussion here implies that order, proportion, and definiteness are not only
attributes of these objects, essential or otherwise, but also causes or expla-
nations (aitia) of phenomena. Because mathematical sciences are concerned
with order and definiteness, and order and definiteness are causes of many
things, these sciences must also treat of kalon as a cause “in some sense” (ai-
tian ten hos). Perhaps these two notions associated with kalon in this passage—
attribute and cause—can be brought closer together if we note that what
Ross translates as “attributes” is, in fact, the Greek word erga—that is, the
3
Gabriel Richardson Lear dubs them “formal properties” of kalon, see Lear,
“Aristotle on Moral Virtue and the Fine.”
Brian Donohue 29
“works” or “functions” of a thing (cf. NE 1097b22–31). The thought, then,
seems to be that what is kalon works like a formal cause (cf. Phys. 194b27–29)
that makes a thing to be ordered, proportionate, and definite. In that case,
the passage from Metaphysics 13 would imply that the mathematical sciences
demonstrate things about order, proportion, and definiteness—all of which
are characteristics that kalon instills in objects. This is the function or work of
kalon; it is what the kalon “does.”
In passages from Poetics (1450b34–37) and Politics (1326a33), Aristo-
tle suggests that an object’s magnitude or size might have something to do
with its being kalon. He explains at the same places, however, that this is a
function of the properties of order, proportion, and definiteness. He writes:
to be kalon, a living creature, and every whole made up of parts,
must not only present a certain order in its arrangement of parts,
but also be of a certain definite magnitude. Kalon is a matter of
size and order, and therefore impossible either in a very minute
creature…or in a creature of vast size. (Poet. 1450b34–37, Bywa-
ter translation)
There are two thoughts here. First, a thing’s being kalon depends upon some
degree of internal order and proportion of its parts with respect to the
whole. To lack this order or proportion is to be somehow distorted, and thus
not kalon. Second, there is a perceptual component to Aristotle’s account.
Obviously, the vastness or minuteness of a thing is relative to the perceiver.
But I think the point is that we perceivers cannot judge a thing to be kalon if
we cannot discern whether it bears the properties of order, proportion, or
definiteness, and this hinges on magnitude.
To these two points, we can add a third. In Aristotle’s thought, the
formal cause of a natural object seems inextricably tied to its final cause; for
natural objects, the “what something is” is tied to “what it is for,” not only
because its form sets that thing upon a trajectory toward that goal, but more
importantly because the goal itself is identified with the fully actualized form
in question. For example, when a human being is generated, it is set upon a
trajectory to develop into a full human being. Thus, with respect to its nature, a
human being’s final cause is simply to mature into a fully actualized version
of the form it bears (see Meta. 1032a11–25).4 From this relationship between
formal and final causes, we can draw the lesson that the orientation of a
thing’s parts toward composing the whole is both formal and teleological.
4
Two comments. First, this connection seems to some degree extricable in
the case of objects produced from human ingenuity rather than natural processes.
Second, a human being also has happiness as a goal, but this is a goal relative to
human actions and passions, not natural generative processes. This is why attaining
happiness is a matter of “second nature” for Aristotle (NE 1103a14–25).
28 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
first, Aristotle’s claim that what is kalon is an object of choice for the virtuous
agent; second, how what is kalon in action is grounded in the ordered soul
(i.e., the soul that enjoys internal harmony among its components); third,
Aristotle’s descriptions of God’s contemplative activity as kalon. I take each
of these three aspects to highlight the significance of the kalon for Aristotle’s
Ethics, and in particular the sense in which a thing’s being kalon will serve to
motivate human beings to exercise the virtues, which (recall) is Aristotle’s
very definition of happiness (NE 1098a15–17).
II. Characterizing Kalon
My first task is to provide a characterization of Aristotle’s concept of kalon.
In this section, I consider five contexts in which the concept appears prom-
inently.
A. Order, proportion, and definiteness
In the latter books of the Metaphysics, Aristotle is investigating the nature
of mathematical objects and mathematical sciences. In 13.3 (1078a31–b6),
Aristotle offers a distinction between “good” (agathon) and kalon: whereas the
former appears only in action (en praxei), where action is understood as a spe-
cies of movement (kinesis), the latter can be found in things without move-
ment (en tois akinetois), such as numbers and geometrical figures. On the basis
of this distinction, Aristotle makes the argument that mathematical sciences
have something to say about what is kalon, because they offer proofs about
the “attributes” that we also ascribe in a preeminent degree to the form or
idea (eide) of the kalon: order (taxis), proportion (summetria), and definiteness
(horismenon). In ascribing these to the form of kalon, we might take Aristotle
as thinking of these as “essential properties” of kalon.3 However, Aristotle’s
discussion here implies that order, proportion, and definiteness are not only
attributes of these objects, essential or otherwise, but also causes or expla-
nations (aitia) of phenomena. Because mathematical sciences are concerned
with order and definiteness, and order and definiteness are causes of many
things, these sciences must also treat of kalon as a cause “in some sense” (ai-
tian ten hos). Perhaps these two notions associated with kalon in this passage—
attribute and cause—can be brought closer together if we note that what
Ross translates as “attributes” is, in fact, the Greek word erga—that is, the
3
Gabriel Richardson Lear dubs them “formal properties” of kalon, see Lear,
“Aristotle on Moral Virtue and the Fine.”
Brian Donohue 29
“works” or “functions” of a thing (cf. NE 1097b22–31). The thought, then,
seems to be that what is kalon works like a formal cause (cf. Phys. 194b27–29)
that makes a thing to be ordered, proportionate, and definite. In that case,
the passage from Metaphysics 13 would imply that the mathematical sciences
demonstrate things about order, proportion, and definiteness—all of which
are characteristics that kalon instills in objects. This is the function or work of
kalon; it is what the kalon “does.”
In passages from Poetics (1450b34–37) and Politics (1326a33), Aristo-
tle suggests that an object’s magnitude or size might have something to do
with its being kalon. He explains at the same places, however, that this is a
function of the properties of order, proportion, and definiteness. He writes:
to be kalon, a living creature, and every whole made up of parts,
must not only present a certain order in its arrangement of parts,
but also be of a certain definite magnitude. Kalon is a matter of
size and order, and therefore impossible either in a very minute
creature…or in a creature of vast size. (Poet. 1450b34–37, Bywa-
ter translation)
There are two thoughts here. First, a thing’s being kalon depends upon some
degree of internal order and proportion of its parts with respect to the
whole. To lack this order or proportion is to be somehow distorted, and thus
not kalon. Second, there is a perceptual component to Aristotle’s account.
Obviously, the vastness or minuteness of a thing is relative to the perceiver.
But I think the point is that we perceivers cannot judge a thing to be kalon if
we cannot discern whether it bears the properties of order, proportion, or
definiteness, and this hinges on magnitude.
To these two points, we can add a third. In Aristotle’s thought, the
formal cause of a natural object seems inextricably tied to its final cause; for
natural objects, the “what something is” is tied to “what it is for,” not only
because its form sets that thing upon a trajectory toward that goal, but more
importantly because the goal itself is identified with the fully actualized form
in question. For example, when a human being is generated, it is set upon a
trajectory to develop into a full human being. Thus, with respect to its nature, a
human being’s final cause is simply to mature into a fully actualized version
of the form it bears (see Meta. 1032a11–25).4 From this relationship between
formal and final causes, we can draw the lesson that the orientation of a
thing’s parts toward composing the whole is both formal and teleological.
4
Two comments. First, this connection seems to some degree extricable in
the case of objects produced from human ingenuity rather than natural processes.
Second, a human being also has happiness as a goal, but this is a goal relative to
human actions and passions, not natural generative processes. This is why attaining
happiness is a matter of “second nature” for Aristotle (NE 1103a14–25).
30 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
It seems plausible that this orientation of parts to whole is really just one
factor in a natural object’s orientation toward fully actualizing its form. Thus,
it seems that one way a thing can be kalon is to the extent that it actualizes
its form-telos.5 This would make sense of why Aristotle can claim in Parts of
Animals 1.5 (645a4–25) that even the humblest creatures in nature can exhibit
kalon insofar as they are ordered to some goal (telos).
As I read Aristotle, then, our conceptual competency with (and intel-
ligent application of) the term kalon requires that we make a judgment about
a thing’s order or proportion or definiteness. As I hope to show more clearly
below, what this order, proportion, or definiteness will look like will differ
from context to context—what makes an action kalon is not what makes
a person’s appearance kalon, though these attributes can be found in both
cases. Some authors have also linked these three properties of kalon with
other remarks of Aristotle’s that the kalon is linked closely with “the fitting”
(to prepon), although, as Aristotle remarks explicitly the two are not identical
(Top. 135a12–14). I think this connection is unsurprising given the above ac-
count. The judgment that some features of a thing are fitting (or proper, or
appropriate) is plausibly linked with its order, proportion, and definiteness,
just as one might judge that features are unfitting because they are disarrayed,
disproportionate, and ill-defined. But I have no more to say on this connec-
tion in the confines of this discussion.
B. Praiseworthiness and publicity
Aristotle suggests in a few places that what is kalon must be open to public
view. In other words, there is a phenomenal, even “showy,” aspect to kalon.
We saw this point already in the passage from Poetics above. In Nicomachean
Ethics also, Aristotle makes a few remarks to this same effect:
• In 2.9 (1109b14–26), he claims that the difficulty of hitting the
intermediate in action is a reason (though not a sufficient rea-
son) to count an action as kalon. Because this kind of action
is difficult, one who achieves the action has accomplished
something noteworthy—something that makes him the talk
of the town.
5
Cf. Irwin, “Sense and Reference”; Lear, “Aristotle on Moral Virtue”; also,
Lear, Happy Lives and the Highest Good: An Essay on Aristotle’s “Nicomachean Ethics”
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).
Brian Donohue 31
• In 4.2 (1122a35–1123a18), Aristotle describes the magnif-
icent person’s actions, which are characteristically manifest
and open to view, as especially kalon. Connected with this
description is the further thought that these actions inspire
admiration and contemplation in those who witness them
(1122b16–17).
• In EN 10.8 (1178a9–1178b7), Aristotle reiterates the thought
that the liberal, or just, or courageous person needs external
goods. His reason: “for how else is either he or any of the
others to be recognized?” (1178a34) This suggests that exter-
nal goods are necessary as a means not only to performing
virtuous actions themselves, but also to having one’s virtue
acknowledged.
This thought that the kalon of a virtuous action has to be public
might strike us as counterintuitive, or perhaps flatly wrong, given its apparent
endorsement of vainglory and egocentrism. Isn’t it true that if you do some-
thing virtuous you shouldn’t go blowing a trumpet before you? How could
that be an important part of virtue?
This is a legitimate worry. But I think, properly understood, this is
not as objectionable a feature of kalon as it might sound at first hearing.
Consider a few simple cases. Suppose that, after the painting of the ceiling
of the Sistine Chapel, the chapel was closed off, such that no one was per-
mitted to contemplate, or even admire, Michelangelo’s work. Or suppose that
the heroism of Maximilian Kolbe, who laid down his life to save a stranger
and fellow prisoner in Auschwitz, went forever unknown. What would we
be inclined to judge in such cases? While undoubtedly Kolbe’s action was
heroic independently of its being acknowledged by anybody, there is also
some sense in judging that something would be lacking were the heroism of
Kolbe, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, to go unnoticed. The common
feature seems to be this, that what is kalon is such that it ought to receive the
praise and admiration that is deserves; it is worthy of the praise it receives.
This is compatible with judging that an agent ought not to be motivated by
the prospect of praise and admiration. If that is true, then Aristotle shouldn’t
be read as claiming that the virtuous agent acts merely for the sake of receiving
praise; rather, he should be read as claiming that because a virtuous action is
kalon, it is the kind of action that comes into view, and which is and should be
acknowledged as praiseworthy. This is, in fact, very nearly the definition of
kalon Aristotle gives in Rhetoric 1.9 (1366a33–35): what is kalon is desirable for
its own sake (i.e., not for the sake of honor or praise or external recognition
30 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
It seems plausible that this orientation of parts to whole is really just one
factor in a natural object’s orientation toward fully actualizing its form. Thus,
it seems that one way a thing can be kalon is to the extent that it actualizes
its form-telos.5 This would make sense of why Aristotle can claim in Parts of
Animals 1.5 (645a4–25) that even the humblest creatures in nature can exhibit
kalon insofar as they are ordered to some goal (telos).
As I read Aristotle, then, our conceptual competency with (and intel-
ligent application of) the term kalon requires that we make a judgment about
a thing’s order or proportion or definiteness. As I hope to show more clearly
below, what this order, proportion, or definiteness will look like will differ
from context to context—what makes an action kalon is not what makes
a person’s appearance kalon, though these attributes can be found in both
cases. Some authors have also linked these three properties of kalon with
other remarks of Aristotle’s that the kalon is linked closely with “the fitting”
(to prepon), although, as Aristotle remarks explicitly the two are not identical
(Top. 135a12–14). I think this connection is unsurprising given the above ac-
count. The judgment that some features of a thing are fitting (or proper, or
appropriate) is plausibly linked with its order, proportion, and definiteness,
just as one might judge that features are unfitting because they are disarrayed,
disproportionate, and ill-defined. But I have no more to say on this connec-
tion in the confines of this discussion.
B. Praiseworthiness and publicity
Aristotle suggests in a few places that what is kalon must be open to public
view. In other words, there is a phenomenal, even “showy,” aspect to kalon.
We saw this point already in the passage from Poetics above. In Nicomachean
Ethics also, Aristotle makes a few remarks to this same effect:
• In 2.9 (1109b14–26), he claims that the difficulty of hitting the
intermediate in action is a reason (though not a sufficient rea-
son) to count an action as kalon. Because this kind of action
is difficult, one who achieves the action has accomplished
something noteworthy—something that makes him the talk
of the town.
5
Cf. Irwin, “Sense and Reference”; Lear, “Aristotle on Moral Virtue”; also,
Lear, Happy Lives and the Highest Good: An Essay on Aristotle’s “Nicomachean Ethics”
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press).
Brian Donohue 31
• In 4.2 (1122a35–1123a18), Aristotle describes the magnif-
icent person’s actions, which are characteristically manifest
and open to view, as especially kalon. Connected with this
description is the further thought that these actions inspire
admiration and contemplation in those who witness them
(1122b16–17).
• In EN 10.8 (1178a9–1178b7), Aristotle reiterates the thought
that the liberal, or just, or courageous person needs external
goods. His reason: “for how else is either he or any of the
others to be recognized?” (1178a34) This suggests that exter-
nal goods are necessary as a means not only to performing
virtuous actions themselves, but also to having one’s virtue
acknowledged.
This thought that the kalon of a virtuous action has to be public
might strike us as counterintuitive, or perhaps flatly wrong, given its apparent
endorsement of vainglory and egocentrism. Isn’t it true that if you do some-
thing virtuous you shouldn’t go blowing a trumpet before you? How could
that be an important part of virtue?
This is a legitimate worry. But I think, properly understood, this is
not as objectionable a feature of kalon as it might sound at first hearing.
Consider a few simple cases. Suppose that, after the painting of the ceiling
of the Sistine Chapel, the chapel was closed off, such that no one was per-
mitted to contemplate, or even admire, Michelangelo’s work. Or suppose that
the heroism of Maximilian Kolbe, who laid down his life to save a stranger
and fellow prisoner in Auschwitz, went forever unknown. What would we
be inclined to judge in such cases? While undoubtedly Kolbe’s action was
heroic independently of its being acknowledged by anybody, there is also
some sense in judging that something would be lacking were the heroism of
Kolbe, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, to go unnoticed. The common
feature seems to be this, that what is kalon is such that it ought to receive the
praise and admiration that is deserves; it is worthy of the praise it receives.
This is compatible with judging that an agent ought not to be motivated by
the prospect of praise and admiration. If that is true, then Aristotle shouldn’t
be read as claiming that the virtuous agent acts merely for the sake of receiving
praise; rather, he should be read as claiming that because a virtuous action is
kalon, it is the kind of action that comes into view, and which is and should be
acknowledged as praiseworthy. This is, in fact, very nearly the definition of
kalon Aristotle gives in Rhetoric 1.9 (1366a33–35): what is kalon is desirable for
its own sake (i.e., not for the sake of honor or praise or external recognition
32 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
or any instrumental good), and worthy of praise, and pleasant because of its
goodness.6
C. Pleasure
This last point draws our attention to another feature of Aristotle’s concept
of kalon: its connection with pleasure in the one who perceives kalon. Now
Aristotle is no hedonist. Early in Nicomachean Ethics (1095b14–22) he rejects
hedonism, or acting for the sake of the pleasant experience one expects to
result from his action. He even remarks that the motive of pleasure is the
principal cause of leading people astray from virtue (NE 1113a34–1113b1).
At the same time, Aristotle does not divorce pleasure or enjoyment from the
attainment of the highest good. While acting for the sake of pleasure is not
virtuous, pleasure will accompany virtuous activity.
How, then, is kalon tied to pleasure? I think there is an important
contemplative aspect to Aristotle’s answer. Pleasure and enjoyment arise in a
perceiver from contemplating the well-ordered features of a person, or a
soul, or an action, or a drama, or a piece of music.
Where does Aristotle suggest that there is a contemplative dimen-
sion to the pleasure that arises from kalon? In the first place, Aristotle seems
to think that pleasure arises in conjunction with certain psychological states
(what later his scholastic commentators would call apprehensio). In one of the
clearest passages on this issue, Aristotle comments, “there is pleasure in all
sense-perception, and likewise in thought and contemplation [dianoian kai
theorian] (which is most complete and pleasantest).… Pleasure completes the
activity, not as a preexisting state [hexis] does, but as something complete [ti
telos] arising after the fact, as a season comes to full bloom. So long as the
object of thought [noeton] and sense-perception [aistheton] (together with the
judging and contemplative faculties) are as they should be, pleasure will be
found in the activity,” (NE 1174b14–1175a1, my translation).
Aristotle’s point seems to be that pleasure will spontaneously ac-
company the activation of a cognitive faculty, whether sense-perception or
thinking or contemplation. This is apparently a mere observation on his part;
he does not at this point offer an explanation of why pleasure should so arise
in tandem with activity. Further, he seems to be suggesting that the degree
6
Anton Ford also discusses this issue, see Ford, “Response to Irwin,” Classical
Philology 105, no. 4 (2010): 396–402. However, Ford (mistakenly, in my view) defines
praise as “speech expressing the greatness of someone else’s virtue,” and so arrives
at the conclusion that acting for the sake of the kalon is tantamount to “acting with
an eye to honor and esteem.”
Brian Donohue 33
and quality of pleasure will correspond in these cases with the degree of
excellence (kratiston, kalliston) found in the object of cognition. This would
explain why Aristotle takes thinking and contemplation (dianoian kai theorian)
to be more pleasant and complete, namely, because the excellence found in
the objects of thought and contemplation is greater than that found in the
objects of sense-perception.
I now wish to bring these considerations about pleasure together
with earlier considerations about which qualities are characteristic of kalon.
Above, I argued that we should interpret Aristotle as holding that what is
kalon exemplifies some order, proportion, and definiteness. Thus, the quality
of being kalon appears to be something discernible by our cognitive faculties:
some instances of these attributes we would apprehend through sense-per-
ception; others through thought; still others through contemplation. But this
would mean that our cognitive interaction with some kalon object would pre-
cede the kind of pleasure that, Aristotle claims, follows upon its heels. In fact,
I propose that this is what is being suggested in the final component in the
above definition of kalon from Rhetoric: what is kalon is desirable for its own
sake, and worthy of praise, and pleasant because of its goodness. That is to say,
if what is kalon has the properties we have supposed it to have (its exemplifi-
cation of order, proportion, definiteness, and perhaps fittingness), and if all
these properties are connected with what is kalon being good (in some sense
of “good”), then the pleasantness of kalon should arise immediately from
apprehending those features in the object judged to be kalon.
This schematic interpretation, if correct, would elucidate a puzzling
passage linking kalon to pleasure from Nicomachean Ethics—namely, the de-
scription of the august agent’s self-sacrificial death as immensely pleasant
(NE 1169a20–25; cf. NE 1115a26–34; 1117a33–1117b13). However noble
or beautiful his sacrifice may be, it’s far from obvious why the death should
be intensely pleasant. One would think that if it were as pleasant as Aris-
totle seems to think it is, then it would hardly count as a sacrifice. But if
the above interpretation of the relationship between pleasure, kalon, and our
cognitive faculties is more or less correct, then we can resolve some of the
initial strangeness in the passage. What does the self-sacrificial agent expe-
rience as pleasurable? Certainly not the death itself. Instead, I propose, he
apprehends ahead of time the grandness and beauty of the sacrificial action,
together with the course of actions leading up to it, and experiences pleasure
upon cognizing it. The passage implies that he considers this explicitly: upon
weighing a short life marked by the kalon against a long, mundane life, he
32 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
or any instrumental good), and worthy of praise, and pleasant because of its
goodness.6
C. Pleasure
This last point draws our attention to another feature of Aristotle’s concept
of kalon: its connection with pleasure in the one who perceives kalon. Now
Aristotle is no hedonist. Early in Nicomachean Ethics (1095b14–22) he rejects
hedonism, or acting for the sake of the pleasant experience one expects to
result from his action. He even remarks that the motive of pleasure is the
principal cause of leading people astray from virtue (NE 1113a34–1113b1).
At the same time, Aristotle does not divorce pleasure or enjoyment from the
attainment of the highest good. While acting for the sake of pleasure is not
virtuous, pleasure will accompany virtuous activity.
How, then, is kalon tied to pleasure? I think there is an important
contemplative aspect to Aristotle’s answer. Pleasure and enjoyment arise in a
perceiver from contemplating the well-ordered features of a person, or a
soul, or an action, or a drama, or a piece of music.
Where does Aristotle suggest that there is a contemplative dimen-
sion to the pleasure that arises from kalon? In the first place, Aristotle seems
to think that pleasure arises in conjunction with certain psychological states
(what later his scholastic commentators would call apprehensio). In one of the
clearest passages on this issue, Aristotle comments, “there is pleasure in all
sense-perception, and likewise in thought and contemplation [dianoian kai
theorian] (which is most complete and pleasantest).… Pleasure completes the
activity, not as a preexisting state [hexis] does, but as something complete [ti
telos] arising after the fact, as a season comes to full bloom. So long as the
object of thought [noeton] and sense-perception [aistheton] (together with the
judging and contemplative faculties) are as they should be, pleasure will be
found in the activity,” (NE 1174b14–1175a1, my translation).
Aristotle’s point seems to be that pleasure will spontaneously ac-
company the activation of a cognitive faculty, whether sense-perception or
thinking or contemplation. This is apparently a mere observation on his part;
he does not at this point offer an explanation of why pleasure should so arise
in tandem with activity. Further, he seems to be suggesting that the degree
6
Anton Ford also discusses this issue, see Ford, “Response to Irwin,” Classical
Philology 105, no. 4 (2010): 396–402. However, Ford (mistakenly, in my view) defines
praise as “speech expressing the greatness of someone else’s virtue,” and so arrives
at the conclusion that acting for the sake of the kalon is tantamount to “acting with
an eye to honor and esteem.”
Brian Donohue 33
and quality of pleasure will correspond in these cases with the degree of
excellence (kratiston, kalliston) found in the object of cognition. This would
explain why Aristotle takes thinking and contemplation (dianoian kai theorian)
to be more pleasant and complete, namely, because the excellence found in
the objects of thought and contemplation is greater than that found in the
objects of sense-perception.
I now wish to bring these considerations about pleasure together
with earlier considerations about which qualities are characteristic of kalon.
Above, I argued that we should interpret Aristotle as holding that what is
kalon exemplifies some order, proportion, and definiteness. Thus, the quality
of being kalon appears to be something discernible by our cognitive faculties:
some instances of these attributes we would apprehend through sense-per-
ception; others through thought; still others through contemplation. But this
would mean that our cognitive interaction with some kalon object would pre-
cede the kind of pleasure that, Aristotle claims, follows upon its heels. In fact,
I propose that this is what is being suggested in the final component in the
above definition of kalon from Rhetoric: what is kalon is desirable for its own
sake, and worthy of praise, and pleasant because of its goodness. That is to say,
if what is kalon has the properties we have supposed it to have (its exemplifi-
cation of order, proportion, definiteness, and perhaps fittingness), and if all
these properties are connected with what is kalon being good (in some sense
of “good”), then the pleasantness of kalon should arise immediately from
apprehending those features in the object judged to be kalon.
This schematic interpretation, if correct, would elucidate a puzzling
passage linking kalon to pleasure from Nicomachean Ethics—namely, the de-
scription of the august agent’s self-sacrificial death as immensely pleasant
(NE 1169a20–25; cf. NE 1115a26–34; 1117a33–1117b13). However noble
or beautiful his sacrifice may be, it’s far from obvious why the death should
be intensely pleasant. One would think that if it were as pleasant as Aris-
totle seems to think it is, then it would hardly count as a sacrifice. But if
the above interpretation of the relationship between pleasure, kalon, and our
cognitive faculties is more or less correct, then we can resolve some of the
initial strangeness in the passage. What does the self-sacrificial agent expe-
rience as pleasurable? Certainly not the death itself. Instead, I propose, he
apprehends ahead of time the grandness and beauty of the sacrificial action,
together with the course of actions leading up to it, and experiences pleasure
upon cognizing it. The passage implies that he considers this explicitly: upon
weighing a short life marked by the kalon against a long, mundane life, he
34 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
chooses the kalon—the cognition of which produces exorbitant pleasure in
him.7
Much more could be said about Aristotle’s account of pleasure, but
I will close this section with a final observation. In Nicomachean Ethics 3.4
(1113a23–33), Aristotle suggests that not everyone discerns correctly what
is kalon in action. In fact, Aristotle tends to think that the majority of people
will not pursue what is genuinely good or beautiful (cf. NE 1095b14–16).
Hence the need to measure the actions of most people against the conduct
of the august man, who serves as “norm and measure,” precisely because he
perceives correctly that which is beautiful and good. How does the august
man come to see the truth? While there is some debate on this issue, Aris-
totle seems to suggest that prior habituation into virtue is what enables him
to discern kalon with accuracy (NE 1103b20–26; 1144a20–36).8 The thought
is that vicious habits blind an agent to what is genuinely good and beautiful,
whereas virtuous habits attune an agent to the good and beautiful. In light of
these considerations, my final observation regarding pleasure is that Aristotle
seems to hold the view that whether one will take pleasure in the kalon is
determined in large part by one’s moral education.
D. Goodness and moral rightness
How does kalon stand with respect to what we might call an action’s “moral
rightness”? The question is a sizable one. There are numerous commentators
who insist that Aristotle does not have the concepts of moral obligation, or
of a peculiarly moral sense of “ought,” or of peculiarly moral values.9 Ter-
ence Irwin has argued to the contrary that Aristotle both has a conception
of morality akin to ours and that, in ethical contexts, the word kalon picks
out the property of moral rightness or moral obligatoriness in an action.10
While entering more fully into this debate would fall outside the scope of
7
For similar discussions, cf. Jonathan Sanford, “Are You Man Enough? Aris-
totle and Courage,” International Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2010): 431–45.
8
Cf. Jessica Moss, “Virtue Makes the Goal Right: Virtue and Phronesis in Ar-
istotle’s Ethics,” Phronesis 56, no. 3 (2011): 204–61.
9
Cf. G.E.M. Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy,” Philosophy 33, no. 124
(1958): 1–19.
10
Cf. Julia Annas, The Morality of Happiness (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1993), 120–34; Irwin, “Sense and Reference”; Terence Irwin, From Socrates to
the Reformation, vol. 1 of The Development of Ethics: A Hsitorical and Critical Study (New
York: Oxford University Press, 2007); Terence Irwin, “Aristotle’s Conception of Mo-
rality,” in Proceedings from the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy, ed. John J.
Cleary (Langham, MD: University Press of America, 1986), 1:115–34.
Brian Donohue 35
this paper, I will make two remarks upon it. First, there is little to suggest
that in ascribing kalon to an action, Aristotle means to ascribe a property in
virtue of which we have an obligation (moral or otherwise) to perform that
action. Irwin’s main argument for identifying kalon in certain contexts with a
property of moral rightness or obligatoriness is that the kalon quality in such
contexts is deemed praiseworthy.11 But there are passages in which Aristotle
suggests that a kalon thing is worthy of praise outside of specifically moral
contexts, e.g., the passage from the Rhetoric mentioned above (1366a33–35).
Does kalon in moral contexts, then, merit a peculiarly moral kind of praise?
Perhaps, but Aristotle nowhere says this.
Second, the relationship between kalon and goodness in general is
not altogether clear. Throughout the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle links goodness
with kalon in the phrase: kalokagathia or “beauty-and-goodness.” This phrase
reflects Aristotle’s commitment that there are other non-kalon goods, but also
a kind of goodness that comes with being kalon. In other passages, howev-
er, Aristotle draws some important distinctions between kalon and goodness
(agathon). Recall that in Metaphysics 13.3 (1078a31–32), Aristotle suggests that
good (agathon) is different from kalon, because goodness (in his sense) always
pertains to action (praxis), a species of movement (kinesis), whereas kalon can
exist in things that have no movement (akinetois)—for example, mathematical
objects. These considerations should give us pause in identifying kalon with
goodness, particularly with what we might today call “moral goodness” or
“moral value.” Presumably, Aristotle does not mean that triangles are morally
valuable, and yet they are kalon. Our task, then, is to explain how a thing’s
being kalon nonetheless carries great significance for his ethics.12
11
In Irwin’s view, it makes sense to claim that we have a moral obligation to
develop or practice virtue. Thus, someone receives praise if he has fulfilled his moral
obligation to be virtuous. One should note, however, that he takes the fulfillment
of moral obligation as sufficient (though not necessary) for praiseworthiness, thus
leaving room for praiseworthy supererogatory actions. By contrast, in my view, ap-
propriate praise is not a response to one having fulfilled a moral obligation, but a re-
sponse to a display of good human action (or of the kalon in action), and the notion
of obligation simply does not figure into his account.
12
For another view on the relationship between goodness and kalon in Aristo-
tle, cf. Aryeh Kosman, “Beauty and the Good: Situating the Kalon,” Classical Philology
105, no. 4 (2010): 341–62. One should not conclude immediately from the above dis-
tinction that the kalon has nothing to do with the agathon. Rather, Aristotle seems to
think that all good actions are kalon, but not all kalon things are good (because not all
kalon things are actions). This suggests that the kalon in action might nonetheless be
intimately bound up with the moral life, if by “moral” or “ethical” one means (as Ar-
istotle does) “pertaining to one’s actions and passions, and thus to one’s habits (ethos)
with a view to performing one’s function (ergon).” All that is not to say, however, that
he thereby conceives of kalon actions as coextensive with morally obligatory actions,
34 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
chooses the kalon—the cognition of which produces exorbitant pleasure in
him.7
Much more could be said about Aristotle’s account of pleasure, but
I will close this section with a final observation. In Nicomachean Ethics 3.4
(1113a23–33), Aristotle suggests that not everyone discerns correctly what
is kalon in action. In fact, Aristotle tends to think that the majority of people
will not pursue what is genuinely good or beautiful (cf. NE 1095b14–16).
Hence the need to measure the actions of most people against the conduct
of the august man, who serves as “norm and measure,” precisely because he
perceives correctly that which is beautiful and good. How does the august
man come to see the truth? While there is some debate on this issue, Aris-
totle seems to suggest that prior habituation into virtue is what enables him
to discern kalon with accuracy (NE 1103b20–26; 1144a20–36).8 The thought
is that vicious habits blind an agent to what is genuinely good and beautiful,
whereas virtuous habits attune an agent to the good and beautiful. In light of
these considerations, my final observation regarding pleasure is that Aristotle
seems to hold the view that whether one will take pleasure in the kalon is
determined in large part by one’s moral education.
D. Goodness and moral rightness
How does kalon stand with respect to what we might call an action’s “moral
rightness”? The question is a sizable one. There are numerous commentators
who insist that Aristotle does not have the concepts of moral obligation, or
of a peculiarly moral sense of “ought,” or of peculiarly moral values.9 Ter-
ence Irwin has argued to the contrary that Aristotle both has a conception
of morality akin to ours and that, in ethical contexts, the word kalon picks
out the property of moral rightness or moral obligatoriness in an action.10
While entering more fully into this debate would fall outside the scope of
7
For similar discussions, cf. Jonathan Sanford, “Are You Man Enough? Aris-
totle and Courage,” International Philosophical Quarterly 50, no. 4 (2010): 431–45.
8
Cf. Jessica Moss, “Virtue Makes the Goal Right: Virtue and Phronesis in Ar-
istotle’s Ethics,” Phronesis 56, no. 3 (2011): 204–61.
9
Cf. G.E.M. Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy,” Philosophy 33, no. 124
(1958): 1–19.
10
Cf. Julia Annas, The Morality of Happiness (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1993), 120–34; Irwin, “Sense and Reference”; Terence Irwin, From Socrates to
the Reformation, vol. 1 of The Development of Ethics: A Hsitorical and Critical Study (New
York: Oxford University Press, 2007); Terence Irwin, “Aristotle’s Conception of Mo-
rality,” in Proceedings from the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy, ed. John J.
Cleary (Langham, MD: University Press of America, 1986), 1:115–34.
Brian Donohue 35
this paper, I will make two remarks upon it. First, there is little to suggest
that in ascribing kalon to an action, Aristotle means to ascribe a property in
virtue of which we have an obligation (moral or otherwise) to perform that
action. Irwin’s main argument for identifying kalon in certain contexts with a
property of moral rightness or obligatoriness is that the kalon quality in such
contexts is deemed praiseworthy.11 But there are passages in which Aristotle
suggests that a kalon thing is worthy of praise outside of specifically moral
contexts, e.g., the passage from the Rhetoric mentioned above (1366a33–35).
Does kalon in moral contexts, then, merit a peculiarly moral kind of praise?
Perhaps, but Aristotle nowhere says this.
Second, the relationship between kalon and goodness in general is
not altogether clear. Throughout the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle links goodness
with kalon in the phrase: kalokagathia or “beauty-and-goodness.” This phrase
reflects Aristotle’s commitment that there are other non-kalon goods, but also
a kind of goodness that comes with being kalon. In other passages, howev-
er, Aristotle draws some important distinctions between kalon and goodness
(agathon). Recall that in Metaphysics 13.3 (1078a31–32), Aristotle suggests that
good (agathon) is different from kalon, because goodness (in his sense) always
pertains to action (praxis), a species of movement (kinesis), whereas kalon can
exist in things that have no movement (akinetois)—for example, mathematical
objects. These considerations should give us pause in identifying kalon with
goodness, particularly with what we might today call “moral goodness” or
“moral value.” Presumably, Aristotle does not mean that triangles are morally
valuable, and yet they are kalon. Our task, then, is to explain how a thing’s
being kalon nonetheless carries great significance for his ethics.12
11
In Irwin’s view, it makes sense to claim that we have a moral obligation to
develop or practice virtue. Thus, someone receives praise if he has fulfilled his moral
obligation to be virtuous. One should note, however, that he takes the fulfillment
of moral obligation as sufficient (though not necessary) for praiseworthiness, thus
leaving room for praiseworthy supererogatory actions. By contrast, in my view, ap-
propriate praise is not a response to one having fulfilled a moral obligation, but a re-
sponse to a display of good human action (or of the kalon in action), and the notion
of obligation simply does not figure into his account.
12
For another view on the relationship between goodness and kalon in Aristo-
tle, cf. Aryeh Kosman, “Beauty and the Good: Situating the Kalon,” Classical Philology
105, no. 4 (2010): 341–62. One should not conclude immediately from the above dis-
tinction that the kalon has nothing to do with the agathon. Rather, Aristotle seems to
think that all good actions are kalon, but not all kalon things are good (because not all
kalon things are actions). This suggests that the kalon in action might nonetheless be
intimately bound up with the moral life, if by “moral” or “ethical” one means (as Ar-
istotle does) “pertaining to one’s actions and passions, and thus to one’s habits (ethos)
with a view to performing one’s function (ergon).” All that is not to say, however, that
he thereby conceives of kalon actions as coextensive with morally obligatory actions,
36 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
E. Beauty and the aesthetic
Finally, there is some question whether the term kalon overlaps with our En-
glish word beautiful. Again, it seems correct to say, on Aristotle’s view, that
one should vote for the most kalos politician, but that is surely not to say
that one should vote for the most beautiful one. In a similar vein, there is
the worry that if kalon refers always to beauty, then a judgment that an act
of courage is kalon is apparently an aesthetic judgment. Considerations like
these have led many scholars to two main conclusions: first, that the word
kalon, in most contexts, should not be understood as referring to the beauty
of the thing that is kalon; and second, that kalon should not be translated
uniformly as beautiful. Of course, these two conclusions hang together. That
kalon purportedly ought not to be thought in most contexts to refer to beauty
is the basis for the further claim that translators of kalon ought not to render
the word in English as beautiful, but instead by more neutral terms such as
fine, noble, or even the amorphous “good.”13
Without a doubt, it seems utterly wrongheaded to suggest that the
relevant value in an act of courage could be its beauty. As Aryeh Kosman
puts it, “we do not expect the phronimos [the practically wise person], as a
part of his virtue, to ‘walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily’ in his eu-
daimonic hand.”14 Kosman’s main thought seems to me obviously correct:
in describing the life of virtue, Aristotle decidedly did not have in mind an
individual who fashions his life into an object of artistic appreciation.
However, the inference drawn from this fact is mistaken, namely,
that the virtuous agent is not aiming to make his life beautiful. The reason is
that these commentators have construed beauty and the aesthetic too nar-
rowly. They have begun with the paradigm of the art connoisseur, who has
an exceptional sensitivity to (modern) art, and concluded that because Ar-
istotle does not intend to depict the virtuous agent as such a connoisseur,
kalon cannot refer to beauty. It is equally uncontroversial that Aristotle had
no such concept of an art connoisseur or of art as we moderns might think
which is a point of substantive debate between commentators such as Anscombe
and Irwin.
13
Some authors have simply embraced the conclusion that Aristotle is en-
dorsing acting for broadly aesthetic reasons. In particular, Chappell argues that acting
for the sake of beauty represents a distinct form of practical rationality, which is
irreducible to moral or prudential reasons. However, I think that this view both flirts
with anachronism in ascribing to Aristotle a view about aesthetic value and unduly
narrows the meaning of kalon to application in contexts wherein roughly speaking an
aesthetic reading seems appropriate.
14
Kosman, “Beauty and the Good,” 342.
Brian Donohue 37
of it. Does that imply that Aristotle did not regard beauty as of first-rate
importance to the development and exercise of virtue? I think not.
To see why this is so, we should first reconsider the features of kalon
we encountered at the outset of our investigation: order, proportion, and
definiteness. My suggestion is that if these are essential features of the kalon,
then they will be found under some guise wherever the kalon is present. At
the same time, these need not be the same sort of order—or proportion or
definiteness—in each context wherein the kalon appears. One sort of order
or proportion might make a face beautiful, while another sort might make a
soul beautiful. The beauty of a face seems to arise from an order, proportion,
and definiteness among the parts of that face, whereas the beauty of a soul
would arise from an order, proportion, and definiteness among the parts of
that soul. For example, its order might consist in the ordering of rationali-
ty and the passions within the soul; its proportion might consist in having
the right proportion of passion, which is reflected in one’s aiming at “the
intermediate” in action; and its definiteness might consist in the fixity of its
orientation toward the good. The presence of these features would be what
makes a soul possess what Aristotle describes as “ethesin kalos,” or beautiful
habits (NE 1095b5).
If that is essentially correct, then the critics who have resisted trans-
lating kalon as “beautiful” have been relying upon an implicitly univocal
reading of the term. This reading is straightforwardly mistaken. In Topics
(106a9–21), Aristotle provides kalon as the case of a term that has multiple
senses, and is thus equivocal. In particular, he remarks that although one
might apply kalon to both animals15 and houses, the contrary of kalon in each
case is different: “ugly” (aischron) and “mean” (mochtheron), respectively. At
the same time, Aristotle cannot mean that the uses of kalon express strictly
equivocal meanings (like the two meanings of our word “bank”). In Nicoma-
chean Ethics 4.2 (1122a34–1123a17), Aristotle draws a comparison between
the magnificent man (megaloprepes) and the expert (epistemos) on the basis that
both perform a work (ergon) that is “great and beautiful” (1122b16, mega kai
kalon). If kalon were strictly equivocal across contexts, this comparison would
be unintelligible. Similarly, in Nicomachean Ethics 9.9, Aristotle draws a close
analogy between the virtuous agent’s relationship to virtuous actions and the
musician’s relationship to beautiful music: “for the august man (insofar as he
is august) rejoices in virtuous actions and disapproves of bad ones, just as
the musician is pleased with beautiful [kalois] melodies, but is pained by ugly
ones,” (1170a9–11, my translation). This suggests that Aristotle is fully cog-
nizant of, and makes use of, the parallel ways in which an action and a piece
of music might both be kalon. Thus, although Aristotle nowhere asserts this
15
The Greek term zoon is ambiguous between “animal” and “picture.”
36 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
E. Beauty and the aesthetic
Finally, there is some question whether the term kalon overlaps with our En-
glish word beautiful. Again, it seems correct to say, on Aristotle’s view, that
one should vote for the most kalos politician, but that is surely not to say
that one should vote for the most beautiful one. In a similar vein, there is
the worry that if kalon refers always to beauty, then a judgment that an act
of courage is kalon is apparently an aesthetic judgment. Considerations like
these have led many scholars to two main conclusions: first, that the word
kalon, in most contexts, should not be understood as referring to the beauty
of the thing that is kalon; and second, that kalon should not be translated
uniformly as beautiful. Of course, these two conclusions hang together. That
kalon purportedly ought not to be thought in most contexts to refer to beauty
is the basis for the further claim that translators of kalon ought not to render
the word in English as beautiful, but instead by more neutral terms such as
fine, noble, or even the amorphous “good.”13
Without a doubt, it seems utterly wrongheaded to suggest that the
relevant value in an act of courage could be its beauty. As Aryeh Kosman
puts it, “we do not expect the phronimos [the practically wise person], as a
part of his virtue, to ‘walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily’ in his eu-
daimonic hand.”14 Kosman’s main thought seems to me obviously correct:
in describing the life of virtue, Aristotle decidedly did not have in mind an
individual who fashions his life into an object of artistic appreciation.
However, the inference drawn from this fact is mistaken, namely,
that the virtuous agent is not aiming to make his life beautiful. The reason is
that these commentators have construed beauty and the aesthetic too nar-
rowly. They have begun with the paradigm of the art connoisseur, who has
an exceptional sensitivity to (modern) art, and concluded that because Ar-
istotle does not intend to depict the virtuous agent as such a connoisseur,
kalon cannot refer to beauty. It is equally uncontroversial that Aristotle had
no such concept of an art connoisseur or of art as we moderns might think
which is a point of substantive debate between commentators such as Anscombe
and Irwin.
13
Some authors have simply embraced the conclusion that Aristotle is en-
dorsing acting for broadly aesthetic reasons. In particular, Chappell argues that acting
for the sake of beauty represents a distinct form of practical rationality, which is
irreducible to moral or prudential reasons. However, I think that this view both flirts
with anachronism in ascribing to Aristotle a view about aesthetic value and unduly
narrows the meaning of kalon to application in contexts wherein roughly speaking an
aesthetic reading seems appropriate.
14
Kosman, “Beauty and the Good,” 342.
Brian Donohue 37
of it. Does that imply that Aristotle did not regard beauty as of first-rate
importance to the development and exercise of virtue? I think not.
To see why this is so, we should first reconsider the features of kalon
we encountered at the outset of our investigation: order, proportion, and
definiteness. My suggestion is that if these are essential features of the kalon,
then they will be found under some guise wherever the kalon is present. At
the same time, these need not be the same sort of order—or proportion or
definiteness—in each context wherein the kalon appears. One sort of order
or proportion might make a face beautiful, while another sort might make a
soul beautiful. The beauty of a face seems to arise from an order, proportion,
and definiteness among the parts of that face, whereas the beauty of a soul
would arise from an order, proportion, and definiteness among the parts of
that soul. For example, its order might consist in the ordering of rationali-
ty and the passions within the soul; its proportion might consist in having
the right proportion of passion, which is reflected in one’s aiming at “the
intermediate” in action; and its definiteness might consist in the fixity of its
orientation toward the good. The presence of these features would be what
makes a soul possess what Aristotle describes as “ethesin kalos,” or beautiful
habits (NE 1095b5).
If that is essentially correct, then the critics who have resisted trans-
lating kalon as “beautiful” have been relying upon an implicitly univocal
reading of the term. This reading is straightforwardly mistaken. In Topics
(106a9–21), Aristotle provides kalon as the case of a term that has multiple
senses, and is thus equivocal. In particular, he remarks that although one
might apply kalon to both animals15 and houses, the contrary of kalon in each
case is different: “ugly” (aischron) and “mean” (mochtheron), respectively. At
the same time, Aristotle cannot mean that the uses of kalon express strictly
equivocal meanings (like the two meanings of our word “bank”). In Nicoma-
chean Ethics 4.2 (1122a34–1123a17), Aristotle draws a comparison between
the magnificent man (megaloprepes) and the expert (epistemos) on the basis that
both perform a work (ergon) that is “great and beautiful” (1122b16, mega kai
kalon). If kalon were strictly equivocal across contexts, this comparison would
be unintelligible. Similarly, in Nicomachean Ethics 9.9, Aristotle draws a close
analogy between the virtuous agent’s relationship to virtuous actions and the
musician’s relationship to beautiful music: “for the august man (insofar as he
is august) rejoices in virtuous actions and disapproves of bad ones, just as
the musician is pleased with beautiful [kalois] melodies, but is pained by ugly
ones,” (1170a9–11, my translation). This suggests that Aristotle is fully cog-
nizant of, and makes use of, the parallel ways in which an action and a piece
of music might both be kalon. Thus, although Aristotle nowhere asserts this
15
The Greek term zoon is ambiguous between “animal” and “picture.”
38 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
explicitly, kalon may count as what scholars have called a “pros hen equivo-
cal”—that is, a word that has different, but interrelated senses, just like “being”
(Meta. 1003a32–35). If my above interpretation is correct, then we can easily
identify a factor common to otherwise disparate uses of kalon: although the
set of properties that render a face beautiful are not the same that render a
soul beautiful, both sets of properties exhibit order, proportion, and definite-
ness, and to that extent are kalon.
Perhaps, then, Aristotle’s word kalon is gesturing at the same phe-
nomenon as we are when we use the word beautiful. This would license, I
think, a fairly uniform translation of kalon as beautiful. At the same time, his
remarks about the kalon obviously do not exhaust what we might say about
the beautiful or the aesthetic. Likewise some claims we might make about the
aesthetic will surely fall outside Aristotle’s purview. Where I think he’s got
something important to contribute is the role this concept of kalon plays in
our pursuit and exercise of the virtues, which I’ll address in a moment.16
F. Summary
To sum up so far: it is not too difficult, from what we have witnessed, to see
kalon as fairly unified in meaning. The word designates the property or char-
acteristic of a thing that marks it as possessing a certain order, proportion,
and definiteness. This is a property (or set of properties) that can supervene
on radically different kinds of subvenient bases (e.g., relations among parts
of a face, relations among parts of the soul, etc.). Further, it is a characteristic
that must be open to view—to contemplation (NE 1122b17)—which merits
praise, and which engenders pleasure in the (well-disposed) observer. I con-
clude that it does not seem too strong to say that this just is Aristotle’s account
of beauty. It has many features commonly associated with beauty—not to
mention the weightiness, the importance we might take beauty to have—as
well as, I will argue, the motivational power of beauty, which we might hope
to discover in a philosophical account of beauty.
16
One important set of issues I cannot address here is the relationship be-
tween this account of the kalon and Aristotle’s metaphysics generally. As a matter
of fact, I think there is a strong case to be made that the properties of kalon (order,
proportion, definiteness) should be read in light of Aristotle’s treatment of form
(eidos, morphos). This interpretation, if correct, would also lend itself simultaneously
to teleological and efficient readings of the kalon, insofar as each thing’s telos involves
striving after the actualization of its form, and insofar as that form effects the actual-
ization of form. Cf. Metaphysics 1041a10 and following.
Brian Donohue 39
III. Beauty and Motivation
I have belabored the problem of how to characterize kalon in Aristotle’s
thought. Now I turn to the significance of kalon for Aristotle’s thought, in
particular, for three aspects of his theory of ethics. This discussion will be
necessarily succinct and cursory, but I hope informative nonetheless.
A. Beauty as object of choice
First, consider beauty as an object of choice. In Nicomachean Ethics 2.3
(1104b29–1105a1; cf. also Top. 102b14–20), Aristotle differentiates between
three types of object of choice: (1) the pleasant, (2) the advantageous, and (3)
the beautiful. Aristotle suggests that these three neatly exhaust the range of
choices that might motivate us or otherwise appear desirable to us. Whether
or not he’s right about that, I think he is correct that these three are types
of object of choice. Pleasure motivates all by itself. Again, Aristotle is not
a hedonist by any stretch; rather, he has in mind activities done just for the
pleasure or pleasantness they incur. Take some innocuous cases, like telling
jokes and playing games. That is not to say that one could not engage in these
activities for the sake of the advantageous (e.g., telling someone a joke to
win his or her approval), but rather that we often do choose them just for the
enjoyment we reap from them. The advantageous is likewise straightforward:
I choose to drive on I-79 south not because it is beautiful, and definitely
not because it is pleasant, but because it is the most practical way to travel
to Steubenville. Further, Aristotle remarks that where most people err is in
making pleasure the object of their choices. In choosing what is pleasant,
easy, and agreeable, whenever one has the chance to choose it, one ends up
habituating oneself to choose things are both pleasant and vicious.
Significantly, then, Aristotle lists a third motive: acting for the sake
of the beautiful, which is characteristic of the virtuous agent. Given how I
have characterized kalon, how should we understand this? First, we need to
keep in mind that Aristotle thinks that the virtuous person chooses his ac-
tion not for some further end, but for the action itself. The virtuous action
terminates in itself—is an end in itself (NE 1105a30–1105b1). On Aristotle’s
account, the efficient cause of action is the choice made, but the final end
of action is simply to act well, to engage in “eupraxia” (NE 1139b3). Recall
that Aristotle defines happiness (eudaimonia) as an activity or activation of one’s
virtuous character. In other words, the “flourishing” is in the “doing,” not a
product separate from the “doing.” From these considerations, I am led to
think that the kalon that is pertinent to choice must be the kalon of the action
in question—that is, the one that realizes an agent’s virtuous state.
38 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
explicitly, kalon may count as what scholars have called a “pros hen equivo-
cal”—that is, a word that has different, but interrelated senses, just like “being”
(Meta. 1003a32–35). If my above interpretation is correct, then we can easily
identify a factor common to otherwise disparate uses of kalon: although the
set of properties that render a face beautiful are not the same that render a
soul beautiful, both sets of properties exhibit order, proportion, and definite-
ness, and to that extent are kalon.
Perhaps, then, Aristotle’s word kalon is gesturing at the same phe-
nomenon as we are when we use the word beautiful. This would license, I
think, a fairly uniform translation of kalon as beautiful. At the same time, his
remarks about the kalon obviously do not exhaust what we might say about
the beautiful or the aesthetic. Likewise some claims we might make about the
aesthetic will surely fall outside Aristotle’s purview. Where I think he’s got
something important to contribute is the role this concept of kalon plays in
our pursuit and exercise of the virtues, which I’ll address in a moment.16
F. Summary
To sum up so far: it is not too difficult, from what we have witnessed, to see
kalon as fairly unified in meaning. The word designates the property or char-
acteristic of a thing that marks it as possessing a certain order, proportion,
and definiteness. This is a property (or set of properties) that can supervene
on radically different kinds of subvenient bases (e.g., relations among parts
of a face, relations among parts of the soul, etc.). Further, it is a characteristic
that must be open to view—to contemplation (NE 1122b17)—which merits
praise, and which engenders pleasure in the (well-disposed) observer. I con-
clude that it does not seem too strong to say that this just is Aristotle’s account
of beauty. It has many features commonly associated with beauty—not to
mention the weightiness, the importance we might take beauty to have—as
well as, I will argue, the motivational power of beauty, which we might hope
to discover in a philosophical account of beauty.
16
One important set of issues I cannot address here is the relationship be-
tween this account of the kalon and Aristotle’s metaphysics generally. As a matter
of fact, I think there is a strong case to be made that the properties of kalon (order,
proportion, definiteness) should be read in light of Aristotle’s treatment of form
(eidos, morphos). This interpretation, if correct, would also lend itself simultaneously
to teleological and efficient readings of the kalon, insofar as each thing’s telos involves
striving after the actualization of its form, and insofar as that form effects the actual-
ization of form. Cf. Metaphysics 1041a10 and following.
Brian Donohue 39
III. Beauty and Motivation
I have belabored the problem of how to characterize kalon in Aristotle’s
thought. Now I turn to the significance of kalon for Aristotle’s thought, in
particular, for three aspects of his theory of ethics. This discussion will be
necessarily succinct and cursory, but I hope informative nonetheless.
A. Beauty as object of choice
First, consider beauty as an object of choice. In Nicomachean Ethics 2.3
(1104b29–1105a1; cf. also Top. 102b14–20), Aristotle differentiates between
three types of object of choice: (1) the pleasant, (2) the advantageous, and (3)
the beautiful. Aristotle suggests that these three neatly exhaust the range of
choices that might motivate us or otherwise appear desirable to us. Whether
or not he’s right about that, I think he is correct that these three are types
of object of choice. Pleasure motivates all by itself. Again, Aristotle is not
a hedonist by any stretch; rather, he has in mind activities done just for the
pleasure or pleasantness they incur. Take some innocuous cases, like telling
jokes and playing games. That is not to say that one could not engage in these
activities for the sake of the advantageous (e.g., telling someone a joke to
win his or her approval), but rather that we often do choose them just for the
enjoyment we reap from them. The advantageous is likewise straightforward:
I choose to drive on I-79 south not because it is beautiful, and definitely
not because it is pleasant, but because it is the most practical way to travel
to Steubenville. Further, Aristotle remarks that where most people err is in
making pleasure the object of their choices. In choosing what is pleasant,
easy, and agreeable, whenever one has the chance to choose it, one ends up
habituating oneself to choose things are both pleasant and vicious.
Significantly, then, Aristotle lists a third motive: acting for the sake
of the beautiful, which is characteristic of the virtuous agent. Given how I
have characterized kalon, how should we understand this? First, we need to
keep in mind that Aristotle thinks that the virtuous person chooses his ac-
tion not for some further end, but for the action itself. The virtuous action
terminates in itself—is an end in itself (NE 1105a30–1105b1). On Aristotle’s
account, the efficient cause of action is the choice made, but the final end
of action is simply to act well, to engage in “eupraxia” (NE 1139b3). Recall
that Aristotle defines happiness (eudaimonia) as an activity or activation of one’s
virtuous character. In other words, the “flourishing” is in the “doing,” not a
product separate from the “doing.” From these considerations, I am led to
think that the kalon that is pertinent to choice must be the kalon of the action
in question—that is, the one that realizes an agent’s virtuous state.
40 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
What, then, is a kalon action? We have caught a glimpse of Aristotle’s
answer already: it has to do with his famous doctrine that a virtuous action
is one that hits the intermediate. An analogy from music might help. A sing-
er’s goal is (usually) to hit the intermediate pitch (i.e., one that is neither too
sharp, nor too flat). Succeeding at this with any level of proficiency requires
practice and much of what Aristotle would place under the heading of ha-
bituation. The beautiful pitch—the pitch that is kalon—is one that is produced
when a singer hits that intermediate, and to hit the beautiful pitch, the singer
must make this pitch his target. Moreover, the beautiful “product” of his
activity is not separable from the activity itself; rather, the beauty manifests
itself in the ordering and proportionality of pitch, tone, harmony, breathing,
etc. Similarly, the virtuous agent is one habituated so as to be attuned to the
kalon—the order and proportion characteristic of a virtuous action. To be so
ordered an action must bear the right relationship to one’s passions, to the
circumstances, and to one’s life as a whole. In Aristotle’s parlance, the action
must be done in the right way, at the right time, and to the right extent. Like-
wise, the virtuous agent’s “product” is not separable from the action itself,
but is rather manifest in the performance of the action. This is what it means
to choose an action for the sake of the beautiful; it is to choose the beauty
that the action embodies and realizes.
B. Beauty and harmony in the soul
Next, I want to explain how beauty is also important for Aristotle’s evaluative
stance toward the states or habits (hexeis) of agents. In explaining the good
condition of a soul (i.e., moral virtue), Aristotle often employs an analogy
with health, the good condition of the body. He often describes health in
terms of a balance or harmony obtaining among various elements within a
biological system, and disease with the lack or loss of balance among those
elements. Hence, he writes, “it is the nature of such things to be destroyed by
defect and excess, as we see in the case of strength and of health.… So too
is it, then, in the case of temperance and courage and the other excellences
[virtues]” (NE 1104a11–12, 19). This same view arises again in Aristotle’s
discussion of particular virtues: the courageous man is the one who is neither
deficient nor excessive in fearlessness, and so on.
Now, at other places in the Ethics, Aristotle describes both virtu-
ous habits generally (NE 1095b5) and particular virtues as beautiful (cf. NE
1115b22). He also suggests that the beauty of virtuous habits is linked in-
timately with taking beauty as an object of choice. For example, in the case
of courage, he claims that “courage is beautiful, and as such its end it beau-
tiful; for each thing is defined by its end. Thus, the courageous man stands
Brian Donohue 41
firm and acts following courage for the sake of something beautiful” (NE
1115b22–23, my translation). Aristotle is asserting here that what defines
courage (in part) is the end—that is, the beautiful at which the virtue aims
(cf. NE 1103b20; 1104b29–31;1105b9–11; 1122b6). This is also why the in-
termediate is “relative to us”; in a virtuous action an agent aims at the inter-
mediate with respect to his own passions and actions.
My suggestion here is that the harmony among the parts of the soul
is what makes that soul beautiful. To be virtuous, it is not sufficient to hit the
intermediate in action between the excess and deficiency. It is, rather, nec-
essary to have formed a character such that both one’s actions and passions
are ordered by reason, which discerns in each circumstance the appropriate
degree of passion and action relative to one’s own state and circumstances.
Thus, Aristotle identifies many vices as excesses or deficiencies of passion
in the soul of the agent. Cowardice exhibits an excess of fear and deficiency of
appropriate anger; and intemperance, gluttony, laziness, and lust exhibit an
excessive and unordered desire. These tendencies say as much about the soul
as they do about the action. And since the harmony of the soul’s elements is
bound up intimately with the beauty in action, the soul itself must come to
bear the features of beauty that it brings about in action. It cannot actualize
the kalon in individual actions unless it first has, interiorly, the order charac-
teristic of beauty.17 Put succinctly, the virtuous action is one that aims at the
virtue itself, which just is a state of the agent. Thus, there is reason to think
that, on Aristotle’s account, the virtuous soul becomes beautiful itself on
account of the harmony it achieves among its diverse elements in becoming
virtuous.18
C. Beauty and God
Finally, I think there is some suggestion that beauty is important for the role
of God in Aristotle’s thought, and especially in his theory of ethics. There are
two observations I wish to make. The first is that contemplation of God (the-
17
For similar discussions, cf. Rogers, “Aristotle’s Concept of To Kalon”; Rog-
ers, “Aristotle on the Motive of Courage,” Southern Journal of Philosophy 32, no. 3
(1994): 303–13; and John Milliken, “Aristotle’s Aesthetic Ethics,” Southern Journal of
Philosophy 44 (2006): 319–39.
18
In this respect (among others), I think Plato and Aristotle stand in sub-
stantive agreement. Although Aristotle does not follow Plato’s definition of justice
as harmony obtaining among the soul’s various parts, the more general Platonic
point—that virtue is a matter of ordering and delimitation of the passions by rea-
son, and that this brings about a balance to the soul—shines through in Aristotle’s
account.
40 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
What, then, is a kalon action? We have caught a glimpse of Aristotle’s
answer already: it has to do with his famous doctrine that a virtuous action
is one that hits the intermediate. An analogy from music might help. A sing-
er’s goal is (usually) to hit the intermediate pitch (i.e., one that is neither too
sharp, nor too flat). Succeeding at this with any level of proficiency requires
practice and much of what Aristotle would place under the heading of ha-
bituation. The beautiful pitch—the pitch that is kalon—is one that is produced
when a singer hits that intermediate, and to hit the beautiful pitch, the singer
must make this pitch his target. Moreover, the beautiful “product” of his
activity is not separable from the activity itself; rather, the beauty manifests
itself in the ordering and proportionality of pitch, tone, harmony, breathing,
etc. Similarly, the virtuous agent is one habituated so as to be attuned to the
kalon—the order and proportion characteristic of a virtuous action. To be so
ordered an action must bear the right relationship to one’s passions, to the
circumstances, and to one’s life as a whole. In Aristotle’s parlance, the action
must be done in the right way, at the right time, and to the right extent. Like-
wise, the virtuous agent’s “product” is not separable from the action itself,
but is rather manifest in the performance of the action. This is what it means
to choose an action for the sake of the beautiful; it is to choose the beauty
that the action embodies and realizes.
B. Beauty and harmony in the soul
Next, I want to explain how beauty is also important for Aristotle’s evaluative
stance toward the states or habits (hexeis) of agents. In explaining the good
condition of a soul (i.e., moral virtue), Aristotle often employs an analogy
with health, the good condition of the body. He often describes health in
terms of a balance or harmony obtaining among various elements within a
biological system, and disease with the lack or loss of balance among those
elements. Hence, he writes, “it is the nature of such things to be destroyed by
defect and excess, as we see in the case of strength and of health.… So too
is it, then, in the case of temperance and courage and the other excellences
[virtues]” (NE 1104a11–12, 19). This same view arises again in Aristotle’s
discussion of particular virtues: the courageous man is the one who is neither
deficient nor excessive in fearlessness, and so on.
Now, at other places in the Ethics, Aristotle describes both virtu-
ous habits generally (NE 1095b5) and particular virtues as beautiful (cf. NE
1115b22). He also suggests that the beauty of virtuous habits is linked in-
timately with taking beauty as an object of choice. For example, in the case
of courage, he claims that “courage is beautiful, and as such its end it beau-
tiful; for each thing is defined by its end. Thus, the courageous man stands
Brian Donohue 41
firm and acts following courage for the sake of something beautiful” (NE
1115b22–23, my translation). Aristotle is asserting here that what defines
courage (in part) is the end—that is, the beautiful at which the virtue aims
(cf. NE 1103b20; 1104b29–31;1105b9–11; 1122b6). This is also why the in-
termediate is “relative to us”; in a virtuous action an agent aims at the inter-
mediate with respect to his own passions and actions.
My suggestion here is that the harmony among the parts of the soul
is what makes that soul beautiful. To be virtuous, it is not sufficient to hit the
intermediate in action between the excess and deficiency. It is, rather, nec-
essary to have formed a character such that both one’s actions and passions
are ordered by reason, which discerns in each circumstance the appropriate
degree of passion and action relative to one’s own state and circumstances.
Thus, Aristotle identifies many vices as excesses or deficiencies of passion
in the soul of the agent. Cowardice exhibits an excess of fear and deficiency of
appropriate anger; and intemperance, gluttony, laziness, and lust exhibit an
excessive and unordered desire. These tendencies say as much about the soul
as they do about the action. And since the harmony of the soul’s elements is
bound up intimately with the beauty in action, the soul itself must come to
bear the features of beauty that it brings about in action. It cannot actualize
the kalon in individual actions unless it first has, interiorly, the order charac-
teristic of beauty.17 Put succinctly, the virtuous action is one that aims at the
virtue itself, which just is a state of the agent. Thus, there is reason to think
that, on Aristotle’s account, the virtuous soul becomes beautiful itself on
account of the harmony it achieves among its diverse elements in becoming
virtuous.18
C. Beauty and God
Finally, I think there is some suggestion that beauty is important for the role
of God in Aristotle’s thought, and especially in his theory of ethics. There are
two observations I wish to make. The first is that contemplation of God (the-
17
For similar discussions, cf. Rogers, “Aristotle’s Concept of To Kalon”; Rog-
ers, “Aristotle on the Motive of Courage,” Southern Journal of Philosophy 32, no. 3
(1994): 303–13; and John Milliken, “Aristotle’s Aesthetic Ethics,” Southern Journal of
Philosophy 44 (2006): 319–39.
18
In this respect (among others), I think Plato and Aristotle stand in sub-
stantive agreement. Although Aristotle does not follow Plato’s definition of justice
as harmony obtaining among the soul’s various parts, the more general Platonic
point—that virtue is a matter of ordering and delimitation of the passions by rea-
son, and that this brings about a balance to the soul—shines through in Aristotle’s
account.
42 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
oria), which according to Aristotle is itself a divine activity (NE 1177b30–35;
1178b7–32), is the best and most beautiful standard for the soul’s activity
(houtos ho horos kallistos… kai houtos tes psuches horos aristos; EE 1249b13–22).
Now throughout the Ethics, Aristotle remarks upon the need for a “standard”
(horos) for the soul, since it is this standard that determines the intermediate
between excess and deficiency (NE 1138b22–24). In this passage from the
conclusion of the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle is suggesting that the standard
for our activity is, in one way, quite simple: whatever activity conduces to
contemplation of God.19 This agrees with Aristotle’s remarks toward the end
of Nicomachean Ethics, that although even the most virtuous of agents will be
torn away from contemplation in order to look after his external needs (NE
1178b33–35), one should nonetheless “strain every nerve to live in accor-
dance with the best thing in us” (NE 1177b35)—namely, contemplation—
for in this activity consists happiness in a preeminent way. In what sense,
then, should we understand contemplation of God as the “most beautiful”
standard for the soul? The answer seems to be that it is the “most beautiful”
standard insofar as it promotes an activity that is best.20
The second observation is that there may be implications in Aristo-
tle’s theory of ethics for the peculiar role he ascribes to God in the cosmos,
namely, that of prime mover. By prime mover Aristotle does not mean the
individual who flicks the first cosmic domino, which topples further dom-
inoes—dominoes unto dominoes, all the way down to us. Rather, Aristo-
tle means that God is the final cause of the cosmos, that for the sake of
which everything in the universe strives. In Metaphysics 12.7, Aristotle first
describes how final causes in general, and how the objects of thought and
desire in particular, “move [others] without being moved,” and then states
that thought and desire are both aimed at what is genuinely beautiful (to on
kalon, 1072a28). He goes on to describe the sense in which God is the prime
mover of the cosmos: he “moves [others] without being moved” insofar as
his life and activity are best and most desirable. This line of thought, then,
Brian Donohue 43
suggests strongly that God himself is considered supremely beautiful by our
thought and desire. There is corroborating evidence for this interpretation in
the above passage from Eudemian Ethics, where Aristotle writes: “God is not
a commanding ruler, but that for the sake of which practical wisdom issues
commands,” (1249b13–14, my translation). Now Aristotle teaches unequiv-
ocally that practical wisdom aims at what is beautiful (NE 1144a7–9), and
if practical wisdom aims ultimately at God, then God must be supremely
beautiful. This is, at least, what Aristotle’s discussion implies.
IV. Conclusion
This paper began with two questions: what is Aristotle’s concept of kalon,
and what is the significance of kalon for certain aspects of his ethical theory?
My conclusion is simple enough: the kalon, which I have argued just is Aris-
totle’s concept of beauty, moves the soul that takes beauty into itself. The
soul that becomes beautiful contemplates beauty and manifests beauty in its
virtuous activities. This is the same beauty that moves an agent toward the
greater harmonization of his own soul, moves him to act nobly and heroical-
ly, and leads him to deny his passions when they run in excess. This beauty,
whose contemplation engenders supreme joy, awakens desire in the soul that
is attuned to it. For these reasons I am pressed to read Aristotle as ascribing
an indispensable role to the beautiful in his account of the virtuous life.21
—University at Buffalo

19
Of course, knowing which particular actions in our particular circumstanc-
es will achieve this will require practical wisdom (cf. NE 1144a6–9).
20
For related discussions, cf. D.J. Allan, “The Fine and the Good in the Eu-
demian Ethics,” in Untersuchungen zur Eudemischen Ethik, ed. P. Moraux and D. Harlfin-
ger (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co., 1971), 64–71; Thomas Tuozzo, “Contempla-
tion, the Noble, and the Mean: The Standard for Moral Virtue in Aristotle’s Ethics,”
in Aristotle, Virtue, and the Mean, ed. John Bosley (Edmonton, AB: Academic Printing
and Publishing, 1996), 129–54; Michael Wiitala, “Contemplation and Action within
the Context of the Kalon: A Reading of the Nicomachean Ethics,” Proceedings of the
American Catholic Philosophical Association 83 (2009): 173–82; James L. Wood, “Con-
templating the Beautiful: The Practical Importance of Theoretical Excellence in Ar- I would like to thank Jonathan Sanford, Stephen Shortt, Nathan Cornwell,
21

istotle’s Ethics,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 49, no. 4 (2011): 391–412. and Theresa Farnan for helpful discussion of the issues in this paper.
42 Beauty and Motivation in Aristotle
oria), which according to Aristotle is itself a divine activity (NE 1177b30–35;
1178b7–32), is the best and most beautiful standard for the soul’s activity
(houtos ho horos kallistos… kai houtos tes psuches horos aristos; EE 1249b13–22).
Now throughout the Ethics, Aristotle remarks upon the need for a “standard”
(horos) for the soul, since it is this standard that determines the intermediate
between excess and deficiency (NE 1138b22–24). In this passage from the
conclusion of the Eudemian Ethics, Aristotle is suggesting that the standard
for our activity is, in one way, quite simple: whatever activity conduces to
contemplation of God.19 This agrees with Aristotle’s remarks toward the end
of Nicomachean Ethics, that although even the most virtuous of agents will be
torn away from contemplation in order to look after his external needs (NE
1178b33–35), one should nonetheless “strain every nerve to live in accor-
dance with the best thing in us” (NE 1177b35)—namely, contemplation—
for in this activity consists happiness in a preeminent way. In what sense,
then, should we understand contemplation of God as the “most beautiful”
standard for the soul? The answer seems to be that it is the “most beautiful”
standard insofar as it promotes an activity that is best.20
The second observation is that there may be implications in Aristo-
tle’s theory of ethics for the peculiar role he ascribes to God in the cosmos,
namely, that of prime mover. By prime mover Aristotle does not mean the
individual who flicks the first cosmic domino, which topples further dom-
inoes—dominoes unto dominoes, all the way down to us. Rather, Aristo-
tle means that God is the final cause of the cosmos, that for the sake of
which everything in the universe strives. In Metaphysics 12.7, Aristotle first
describes how final causes in general, and how the objects of thought and
desire in particular, “move [others] without being moved,” and then states
that thought and desire are both aimed at what is genuinely beautiful (to on
kalon, 1072a28). He goes on to describe the sense in which God is the prime
mover of the cosmos: he “moves [others] without being moved” insofar as
his life and activity are best and most desirable. This line of thought, then,
Brian Donohue 43
suggests strongly that God himself is considered supremely beautiful by our
thought and desire. There is corroborating evidence for this interpretation in
the above passage from Eudemian Ethics, where Aristotle writes: “God is not
a commanding ruler, but that for the sake of which practical wisdom issues
commands,” (1249b13–14, my translation). Now Aristotle teaches unequiv-
ocally that practical wisdom aims at what is beautiful (NE 1144a7–9), and
if practical wisdom aims ultimately at God, then God must be supremely
beautiful. This is, at least, what Aristotle’s discussion implies.
IV. Conclusion
This paper began with two questions: what is Aristotle’s concept of kalon,
and what is the significance of kalon for certain aspects of his ethical theory?
My conclusion is simple enough: the kalon, which I have argued just is Aris-
totle’s concept of beauty, moves the soul that takes beauty into itself. The
soul that becomes beautiful contemplates beauty and manifests beauty in its
virtuous activities. This is the same beauty that moves an agent toward the
greater harmonization of his own soul, moves him to act nobly and heroical-
ly, and leads him to deny his passions when they run in excess. This beauty,
whose contemplation engenders supreme joy, awakens desire in the soul that
is attuned to it. For these reasons I am pressed to read Aristotle as ascribing
an indispensable role to the beautiful in his account of the virtuous life.21
—University at Buffalo

19
Of course, knowing which particular actions in our particular circumstanc-
es will achieve this will require practical wisdom (cf. NE 1144a6–9).
20
For related discussions, cf. D.J. Allan, “The Fine and the Good in the Eu-
demian Ethics,” in Untersuchungen zur Eudemischen Ethik, ed. P. Moraux and D. Harlfin-
ger (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter & Co., 1971), 64–71; Thomas Tuozzo, “Contempla-
tion, the Noble, and the Mean: The Standard for Moral Virtue in Aristotle’s Ethics,”
in Aristotle, Virtue, and the Mean, ed. John Bosley (Edmonton, AB: Academic Printing
and Publishing, 1996), 129–54; Michael Wiitala, “Contemplation and Action within
the Context of the Kalon: A Reading of the Nicomachean Ethics,” Proceedings of the
American Catholic Philosophical Association 83 (2009): 173–82; James L. Wood, “Con-
templating the Beautiful: The Practical Importance of Theoretical Excellence in Ar- I would like to thank Jonathan Sanford, Stephen Shortt, Nathan Cornwell,
21

istotle’s Ethics,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 49, no. 4 (2011): 391–412. and Theresa Farnan for helpful discussion of the issues in this paper.

The Metaphysics of Moral Values
and Moral Beauty
Marcus Otte
I. Introduction
The aim of this paper is twofold: to provide a more rigorous account of
the ontology of values and to suggest a means of merging von Hildebrand’s
values with Scholastic metaphysics. At first glance, such a project might seem
to make little sense. Von Hildebrandian values contrast in fundamental ways
with Scholastic theories of the good and beautiful. For von Hildebrand, beau-
ty and good are not transcendentals that are coextensive with being. Rather,
being is rendered beautiful or good by values: properties that remain distinct
from “neutral” being as such.1 Nevertheless, there is ground for substantial
movement towards synthesizing these traditions. Von Hildebrand’s descrip-
tion of values bears strong resemblance with a centerpiece of Scholastic phi-
losophy shared by many of its most influential figures, including Aquinas and
Duns Scotus: namely, the ontology of essences proposed by Avicenna.
In order to limit the scope of the discussion, the focus here is placed upon
von Hildebrand’s first sphere of morally relevant values—that of actions.
Thus, I largely set aside “concrete responses” (i.e., immanent operations that
do not include exterior actions) and qualities of character.2 The thesis of
this paper is as follows: considered in themselves, von Hildebrand’s values
are neither universal nor singular. Values, however, never exist simply as they
are in themselves. As the objects of rational thought, values are universal. As
proper accidents that supervene on actions, they are singular. Von Hildeb-
rand’s treatment of disvalues, however, cannot be successfully merged with
Scholastic metaphysics: he regards disvalues as having positive being.
1
Dietrich von Hildebrand, The Nature of Love (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine
Press, 2009), 79.
2
Dietrich von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics (New York, NY: David McKay
Company, 1953), 342–43.
© Marcus Otte, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Marcus Otte 45
II. Characterizing Moral Values and Essences
In the tenth chapter of Christian Ethics, von Hildebrand offers perhaps his
most metaphysically potent account of moral values. These values each have
a distinct qualitative quiddity, or whatness. There are true distinctions between
values such as honesty, purity, and reverence.
But what mode or modes of being do moral values possess? Von
Hildebrand contrasts his view with that of Aristotle, according to which all
goodness consists in the “immanent perfection of a being.”3 For von Hildeb-
rand, moral values, and other qualitative values, are somewhat akin to Plato’s
Ideas. Platonic goodness transcends each singular good thing. Similarly, the
quiddity of a value has “independence” from any particular human act, as
well as from types of human acts.4 In von Hildebrand’s understanding, this is
why the same value may be exhibited by multiple types of acts. Hence, purity
is present in resistance to any sexual sin, in chaste love, and in making vows
of chastity.
Moral values, despite possessing this independence, are “embodied.”
They possess an essence of their own, but “shine forth” from acts of the
will.5 There are no values in the created order that do not inhere in some-
thing.6 Additionally, to grasp the presence of values is only possible through
knowledge of the acts and attitudes that possess them.7 It is in understanding
the object, end, and content of an act of preaching, for example, that we
grasp the presence of its piety.
Before establishing that moral values may be characterized as having
essences, it is necessary to briefly exposit the latter notion. St. Thomas’s On
Being and Essence is a paradigmatic expression of Avicenna’s theory of exis-
tence and essence. This theory, or variations of it, was adopted by Giles of
Rome, Henry of Ghent, and Bl. Duns Scotus, among others. For this reason,
I refer to the theory as “Scholastic,” despite its not being altogether uncon-
troversial for the Scholastics.8 In the Avicennean scheme, there are two ways
an essence may be considered: as it is in itself or as it exists. In considering
an essence in itself, only that which is necessarily true of it can be attributed
3
Ibid.,133.
4
Ibid.
5
Ibid.
6
The values of God, however, do not inhere in Him but are simply identical
to him. See von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 123.
7
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 133.
8
Dag Nikolaus Hasse, “Influence of Arabic and Islamic Philosophy on the
Latin West,” § 6.3, in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, first published September
19, 2008, substantive revision March 18, 2014, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/
arabic-islamic-influence/

The Metaphysics of Moral Values
and Moral Beauty
Marcus Otte
I. Introduction
The aim of this paper is twofold: to provide a more rigorous account of
the ontology of values and to suggest a means of merging von Hildebrand’s
values with Scholastic metaphysics. At first glance, such a project might seem
to make little sense. Von Hildebrandian values contrast in fundamental ways
with Scholastic theories of the good and beautiful. For von Hildebrand, beau-
ty and good are not transcendentals that are coextensive with being. Rather,
being is rendered beautiful or good by values: properties that remain distinct
from “neutral” being as such.1 Nevertheless, there is ground for substantial
movement towards synthesizing these traditions. Von Hildebrand’s descrip-
tion of values bears strong resemblance with a centerpiece of Scholastic phi-
losophy shared by many of its most influential figures, including Aquinas and
Duns Scotus: namely, the ontology of essences proposed by Avicenna.
In order to limit the scope of the discussion, the focus here is placed upon
von Hildebrand’s first sphere of morally relevant values—that of actions.
Thus, I largely set aside “concrete responses” (i.e., immanent operations that
do not include exterior actions) and qualities of character.2 The thesis of
this paper is as follows: considered in themselves, von Hildebrand’s values
are neither universal nor singular. Values, however, never exist simply as they
are in themselves. As the objects of rational thought, values are universal. As
proper accidents that supervene on actions, they are singular. Von Hildeb-
rand’s treatment of disvalues, however, cannot be successfully merged with
Scholastic metaphysics: he regards disvalues as having positive being.
1
Dietrich von Hildebrand, The Nature of Love (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine
Press, 2009), 79.
2
Dietrich von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics (New York, NY: David McKay
Company, 1953), 342–43.
© Marcus Otte, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Marcus Otte 45
II. Characterizing Moral Values and Essences
In the tenth chapter of Christian Ethics, von Hildebrand offers perhaps his
most metaphysically potent account of moral values. These values each have
a distinct qualitative quiddity, or whatness. There are true distinctions between
values such as honesty, purity, and reverence.
But what mode or modes of being do moral values possess? Von
Hildebrand contrasts his view with that of Aristotle, according to which all
goodness consists in the “immanent perfection of a being.”3 For von Hildeb-
rand, moral values, and other qualitative values, are somewhat akin to Plato’s
Ideas. Platonic goodness transcends each singular good thing. Similarly, the
quiddity of a value has “independence” from any particular human act, as
well as from types of human acts.4 In von Hildebrand’s understanding, this is
why the same value may be exhibited by multiple types of acts. Hence, purity
is present in resistance to any sexual sin, in chaste love, and in making vows
of chastity.
Moral values, despite possessing this independence, are “embodied.”
They possess an essence of their own, but “shine forth” from acts of the
will.5 There are no values in the created order that do not inhere in some-
thing.6 Additionally, to grasp the presence of values is only possible through
knowledge of the acts and attitudes that possess them.7 It is in understanding
the object, end, and content of an act of preaching, for example, that we
grasp the presence of its piety.
Before establishing that moral values may be characterized as having
essences, it is necessary to briefly exposit the latter notion. St. Thomas’s On
Being and Essence is a paradigmatic expression of Avicenna’s theory of exis-
tence and essence. This theory, or variations of it, was adopted by Giles of
Rome, Henry of Ghent, and Bl. Duns Scotus, among others. For this reason,
I refer to the theory as “Scholastic,” despite its not being altogether uncon-
troversial for the Scholastics.8 In the Avicennean scheme, there are two ways
an essence may be considered: as it is in itself or as it exists. In considering
an essence in itself, only that which is necessarily true of it can be attributed
3
Ibid.,133.
4
Ibid.
5
Ibid.
6
The values of God, however, do not inhere in Him but are simply identical
to him. See von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 123.
7
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 133.
8
Dag Nikolaus Hasse, “Influence of Arabic and Islamic Philosophy on the
Latin West,” § 6.3, in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, first published September
19, 2008, substantive revision March 18, 2014, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/
arabic-islamic-influence/
46 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
truly. So, for example, being rational and animal pertains to being man ab-
solutely, and thus, is of the essence of man considered in itself, but being
white or black does not belong to this essence. Of course, an essence never
exists simply as it is in itself. An essence may exist in two modes: singularly
in particular things or universally “in the soul,” as an object of the intellect.9
Neither universality nor singularity is predicated of an essence in itself—the
essence is indifferent to either determination. Horseness is just horseness, to
use Avicenna’s expression.
III. A Synthesis of Moral Values with Scholastic Metaphysics
Von Hildebrand asserts that qualitative values, as he describes them, are bet-
ter characterized as Platonic than Aristotelian. But this is a confusing claim.
There are, for von Hildebrand, no values with strictly independent being,
existing in an ethereal realm. “Only real persons, their acts and attitudes, can
be morally good or bad.”10 Nevertheless, values can be considered purely
in themselves, in abstraction from their modes of existence. Just so, in the
Scholastic schemata, accidental properties can be abstracted from their in-
stantiations, even if they cannot exist apart from them.
Von Hildebrand refers several times to the “quiddity” of value, or
of types of values.11 Quiddity is, of course, a term for essence. St. Thomas,
following standard usage, distinguishes between “essence” and “quiddity”
only inasmuch as the latter names the essence as “what is signified by the
definition [of the being].”12 Von Hildebrand does not signal an intention to
use this philosophical term of art in a non-standard way. He is inviting us to
understand the ontology of values in a manner informed by Scholastic cate-
gories.
When von Hildebrand refers, then, to a “world of values,” he does
not mean to signify a world of Platonic ideas. Rather, he means to empha-
size that we may refer not only to existing values, but “to all possible future
realizations of values and indeed even to the mode of being that values have
9
Thomas Aquinas, On Being and Essence, chap. 3, trans. Robert T. Miller, in
Fordham University Medieval Sourcebook, published October 2007, http://legacy.ford-
ham.edu/halsall/basis/aquinas-esse.asp#f1e. This translation follows the Leonine
Edition of Aquinas’s works, vol. 43 Sancti Thomae De Aquino Opera Omnia 368–
81 (Rome 1976).
10
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 170.
11
Ibid., 88, 102, 115, 133, 169.
12
Aquinas, On Being and Essence, chap. 1.
Marcus Otte 47
independently of all realization.”13 Even if there were no instantiations of
justice in the world, true propositions referring to justice could be formed.14
Let the above suffice as an account of moral values as they are in
themselves. How do these values exist in the world of particular items? In
von Hildebrand’s usage, a value is “a real property” of a being.15 The notion
of being includes acts. Moral values are properties of acts as well as of char-
acters and concrete responses.
If we are to characterize such moral values in the Scholastic lexicon,
we must treat them as “proper accidents,” as will soon be clear. By describing
values as properties, von Hildebrand excludes, not only the notion that values
are relative or belong to the non-factual, but also the Platonic notion they are
substances. If values are properties, the Scholastic must treat them as acci-
dents. With regard to being that is outside the mind, the disjunction of sub-
stance and accident is exhaustive: accidents are predicated of other beings,
and substances are predicated of nothing. Therefore, values have accidental
being.
The objection might be raised that I am departing from von Hildeb-
rand’s own description of values. There is a relevant passage worth quoting
at length:
We understand and grasp there is an essential link between the
value and the object [the value inheres in]. It is not only another
and deeper relation than the one that exists between substance
and accident, the typical inherent relation, but it is moreover a
necessary intelligible link, not a mere factual and accidental one.
We understand that contrition is morally good and that it must
be so.16
Nevertheless, in treating moral values as accidents, we need not
abandon von Hildebrand’s understanding of them. Here, we must draw a
distinction between “proper accidents,” on one hand, and accidents that are
“accidentally in the subject,” on the other.17 The latter are accidents in the
typical sense. Their being is not necessitated by the substance in which they
inhere. Tallness in Socrates, for example, is not consequent upon his essence
as man.
13
Von Hildebrand, The Nature of Love, 81.
14
Ibid.
15
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 89, 120.
16
Ibid., 87.
17
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica I-II q. 18, a. 3, ad. 2, trans. Fathers of
the English Dominican Province (Benzinger Bros., 1947), http://dhspriory.org/
thomas/summa/index.html.
46 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
truly. So, for example, being rational and animal pertains to being man ab-
solutely, and thus, is of the essence of man considered in itself, but being
white or black does not belong to this essence. Of course, an essence never
exists simply as it is in itself. An essence may exist in two modes: singularly
in particular things or universally “in the soul,” as an object of the intellect.9
Neither universality nor singularity is predicated of an essence in itself—the
essence is indifferent to either determination. Horseness is just horseness, to
use Avicenna’s expression.
III. A Synthesis of Moral Values with Scholastic Metaphysics
Von Hildebrand asserts that qualitative values, as he describes them, are bet-
ter characterized as Platonic than Aristotelian. But this is a confusing claim.
There are, for von Hildebrand, no values with strictly independent being,
existing in an ethereal realm. “Only real persons, their acts and attitudes, can
be morally good or bad.”10 Nevertheless, values can be considered purely
in themselves, in abstraction from their modes of existence. Just so, in the
Scholastic schemata, accidental properties can be abstracted from their in-
stantiations, even if they cannot exist apart from them.
Von Hildebrand refers several times to the “quiddity” of value, or
of types of values.11 Quiddity is, of course, a term for essence. St. Thomas,
following standard usage, distinguishes between “essence” and “quiddity”
only inasmuch as the latter names the essence as “what is signified by the
definition [of the being].”12 Von Hildebrand does not signal an intention to
use this philosophical term of art in a non-standard way. He is inviting us to
understand the ontology of values in a manner informed by Scholastic cate-
gories.
When von Hildebrand refers, then, to a “world of values,” he does
not mean to signify a world of Platonic ideas. Rather, he means to empha-
size that we may refer not only to existing values, but “to all possible future
realizations of values and indeed even to the mode of being that values have
9
Thomas Aquinas, On Being and Essence, chap. 3, trans. Robert T. Miller, in
Fordham University Medieval Sourcebook, published October 2007, http://legacy.ford-
ham.edu/halsall/basis/aquinas-esse.asp#f1e. This translation follows the Leonine
Edition of Aquinas’s works, vol. 43 Sancti Thomae De Aquino Opera Omnia 368–
81 (Rome 1976).
10
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 170.
11
Ibid., 88, 102, 115, 133, 169.
12
Aquinas, On Being and Essence, chap. 1.
Marcus Otte 47
independently of all realization.”13 Even if there were no instantiations of
justice in the world, true propositions referring to justice could be formed.14
Let the above suffice as an account of moral values as they are in
themselves. How do these values exist in the world of particular items? In
von Hildebrand’s usage, a value is “a real property” of a being.15 The notion
of being includes acts. Moral values are properties of acts as well as of char-
acters and concrete responses.
If we are to characterize such moral values in the Scholastic lexicon,
we must treat them as “proper accidents,” as will soon be clear. By describing
values as properties, von Hildebrand excludes, not only the notion that values
are relative or belong to the non-factual, but also the Platonic notion they are
substances. If values are properties, the Scholastic must treat them as acci-
dents. With regard to being that is outside the mind, the disjunction of sub-
stance and accident is exhaustive: accidents are predicated of other beings,
and substances are predicated of nothing. Therefore, values have accidental
being.
The objection might be raised that I am departing from von Hildeb-
rand’s own description of values. There is a relevant passage worth quoting
at length:
We understand and grasp there is an essential link between the
value and the object [the value inheres in]. It is not only another
and deeper relation than the one that exists between substance
and accident, the typical inherent relation, but it is moreover a
necessary intelligible link, not a mere factual and accidental one.
We understand that contrition is morally good and that it must
be so.16
Nevertheless, in treating moral values as accidents, we need not
abandon von Hildebrand’s understanding of them. Here, we must draw a
distinction between “proper accidents,” on one hand, and accidents that are
“accidentally in the subject,” on the other.17 The latter are accidents in the
typical sense. Their being is not necessitated by the substance in which they
inhere. Tallness in Socrates, for example, is not consequent upon his essence
as man.
13
Von Hildebrand, The Nature of Love, 81.
14
Ibid.
15
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 89, 120.
16
Ibid., 87.
17
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica I-II q. 18, a. 3, ad. 2, trans. Fathers of
the English Dominican Province (Benzinger Bros., 1947), http://dhspriory.org/
thomas/summa/index.html.
48 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
Proper accidents, on the other hand, are those that inhere in a sub-
stance in virtue of its essence, but are not included in the essence. The capac-
ity to laugh is a typical example of an accident proper to man. This capacity is
a potentiality in every man, although circumstances, defect, or lack of devel-
opment might make it impossible to actualize. Despite such universality, this
characteristic does not belong to man’s essence. The ability to laugh is not
part of the definition of man. Nevertheless, there is clearly an intelligible link
between man’s specific nature and his capacity for laughter. The potential to
laugh does not inhere in man in the coincidental manner of height, color, etc.
When von Hildebrand denies that values have accidental being, his
depiction of accidents makes it clear he is referring to them in the typi-
cal sense: what Aquinas calls “accidents that are accidentally in the subject.”
Such accidents do not have a necessary and intelligible link to the essences of
the beings they inhere in. But it is clear, to use a favorite example of von Hil-
debrand, that contrition cannot fail to exemplify goodness—positive value is
in contrition, and in a manner that is not merely accidental and factual.
Proper accidents, however, do possess such a necessary and intel-
ligible link to their subjects. If values are properties, then they are proper
accidents. It might be objected, however, that another alternative remains:
perhaps moral values are constitutive of the essences of acts. This would
satisfy the conditions of necessity and intelligibility. Still, this latter option
is not sensible, because it is possible to determinately refer to the species of
acts without naming any value or disvalue. For example, adultery consists
in having relations with someone who is married and not one’s spouse, or
having relations with someone who is not one’s spouse despite one being
married. Gluttony is indulgence in food in a manner either “too soon, too
expensively, too much, too eagerly,” or “too daintily.”18 An act of contrition
is sorrow for sin, together with the intent to confess and make satisfaction.
If, however, values and disvalues were constitutive of the essences of acts, it
would not be possible to determinately define an act according to its species
without naming a value or disvalue. The very definition of adultery, for ex-
ample, would need to name the disvalue of impurity. This is manifestly not
the case. The above definition provided for adultery successfully describes
all and only cases of adultery, and does so without naming a disvalue. The
same can be done for morally good acts and their values. Acts of feeding the
hungry, visiting the sick, burying the dead, instructing the ignorant, praying
for the living and the dead, etc., can all be determinately defined according to
species without naming a value. Thus, when values exist as singular things in
The Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Gluttony,” by Joseph Delany (New York, NY:
18 23
Robert Appleton Company, 1909), http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/06590a.htm.
Marcus Otte 49
acts, they are proper accidents that inhere in the acts, and are not constitutive
of the essences of acts.19
There is a second mode of existence to which an essence may be
determined: namely, universality. Von Hildebrand does not overtly state that
the quiddity of a value may exist as a universal concept. Nevertheless, there
is good reason to hold this was, in fact, his position. In Christian Ethics, he
makes references to knowledge as “the conforming of our intellect…to the
nature of a being.”20 This is the language of Scholasticism, in which the intel-
lect takes on the form of a contemplated object, albeit, according to the in-
tellect’s mode of existence. To apply this account to the cognition of values:
insofar as the intellect conforms to the nature of a contemplated value, the
essence of that value is present to the intellect as a universal.
IV. The Irradiation of Beauty
Von Hildebrand writes of a “metaphysical beauty” that irradiates from other
values,21 and it is this beauty that will be discussed here. Moral values possess
an intrinsic beauty, not only goodness.22 This beauty is a value,23 and therefore
a real property. If our prior reasoning with respect to moral values is sound,
then it seems there are two possible ways moral beauty could exist in the
world of singulars. First, such beauty might be a proper accident of a moral
value, and thus, an accident of an accident. Second, moral beauty is possibly
an accident inhering in the act, but co-varying with values. There is a problem
with this latter account, however. If moral beauty were merely a property of
acts, and not of values, then we could contemplate the moral beauty of a
good act without any reference to a moral value. This is clearly not the case.
Furthermore, von Hildebrand states explicitly that moral beauty is found
in moral values.24 It must be concluded then, that moral beauty inheres as a
proper accident in moral values.
It is important to note that moral beauty exists in varied forms. Each
moral value, such as purity or honesty, is beautiful in a specific manner. Like-
19
There are also values in characters and “concrete responses,” but in this
paper I am concerned only with characterizing the sphere of acts.
20
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 217.
21
Alice von Hildebrand, “Debating Beauty: Jacques Maritain and Dietrich von
Hildebrand,” Crisis Magazine, July 1, 2004, http://www.crisismagazine.com/2004/
debating-beauty-jacques-maritain-and-dietrich-von-von Hildebrand-2.
22
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 450.
Von Hildebrand, Nature of Love, 79.
24
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 89, 417, 424.
48 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
Proper accidents, on the other hand, are those that inhere in a sub-
stance in virtue of its essence, but are not included in the essence. The capac-
ity to laugh is a typical example of an accident proper to man. This capacity is
a potentiality in every man, although circumstances, defect, or lack of devel-
opment might make it impossible to actualize. Despite such universality, this
characteristic does not belong to man’s essence. The ability to laugh is not
part of the definition of man. Nevertheless, there is clearly an intelligible link
between man’s specific nature and his capacity for laughter. The potential to
laugh does not inhere in man in the coincidental manner of height, color, etc.
When von Hildebrand denies that values have accidental being, his
depiction of accidents makes it clear he is referring to them in the typi-
cal sense: what Aquinas calls “accidents that are accidentally in the subject.”
Such accidents do not have a necessary and intelligible link to the essences of
the beings they inhere in. But it is clear, to use a favorite example of von Hil-
debrand, that contrition cannot fail to exemplify goodness—positive value is
in contrition, and in a manner that is not merely accidental and factual.
Proper accidents, however, do possess such a necessary and intel-
ligible link to their subjects. If values are properties, then they are proper
accidents. It might be objected, however, that another alternative remains:
perhaps moral values are constitutive of the essences of acts. This would
satisfy the conditions of necessity and intelligibility. Still, this latter option
is not sensible, because it is possible to determinately refer to the species of
acts without naming any value or disvalue. For example, adultery consists
in having relations with someone who is married and not one’s spouse, or
having relations with someone who is not one’s spouse despite one being
married. Gluttony is indulgence in food in a manner either “too soon, too
expensively, too much, too eagerly,” or “too daintily.”18 An act of contrition
is sorrow for sin, together with the intent to confess and make satisfaction.
If, however, values and disvalues were constitutive of the essences of acts, it
would not be possible to determinately define an act according to its species
without naming a value or disvalue. The very definition of adultery, for ex-
ample, would need to name the disvalue of impurity. This is manifestly not
the case. The above definition provided for adultery successfully describes
all and only cases of adultery, and does so without naming a disvalue. The
same can be done for morally good acts and their values. Acts of feeding the
hungry, visiting the sick, burying the dead, instructing the ignorant, praying
for the living and the dead, etc., can all be determinately defined according to
species without naming a value. Thus, when values exist as singular things in
The Catholic Encyclopedia, s.v. “Gluttony,” by Joseph Delany (New York, NY:
18 23
Robert Appleton Company, 1909), http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/06590a.htm.
Marcus Otte 49
acts, they are proper accidents that inhere in the acts, and are not constitutive
of the essences of acts.19
There is a second mode of existence to which an essence may be
determined: namely, universality. Von Hildebrand does not overtly state that
the quiddity of a value may exist as a universal concept. Nevertheless, there
is good reason to hold this was, in fact, his position. In Christian Ethics, he
makes references to knowledge as “the conforming of our intellect…to the
nature of a being.”20 This is the language of Scholasticism, in which the intel-
lect takes on the form of a contemplated object, albeit, according to the in-
tellect’s mode of existence. To apply this account to the cognition of values:
insofar as the intellect conforms to the nature of a contemplated value, the
essence of that value is present to the intellect as a universal.
IV. The Irradiation of Beauty
Von Hildebrand writes of a “metaphysical beauty” that irradiates from other
values,21 and it is this beauty that will be discussed here. Moral values possess
an intrinsic beauty, not only goodness.22 This beauty is a value,23 and therefore
a real property. If our prior reasoning with respect to moral values is sound,
then it seems there are two possible ways moral beauty could exist in the
world of singulars. First, such beauty might be a proper accident of a moral
value, and thus, an accident of an accident. Second, moral beauty is possibly
an accident inhering in the act, but co-varying with values. There is a problem
with this latter account, however. If moral beauty were merely a property of
acts, and not of values, then we could contemplate the moral beauty of a
good act without any reference to a moral value. This is clearly not the case.
Furthermore, von Hildebrand states explicitly that moral beauty is found
in moral values.24 It must be concluded then, that moral beauty inheres as a
proper accident in moral values.
It is important to note that moral beauty exists in varied forms. Each
moral value, such as purity or honesty, is beautiful in a specific manner. Like-
19
There are also values in characters and “concrete responses,” but in this
paper I am concerned only with characterizing the sphere of acts.
20
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 217.
21
Alice von Hildebrand, “Debating Beauty: Jacques Maritain and Dietrich von
Hildebrand,” Crisis Magazine, July 1, 2004, http://www.crisismagazine.com/2004/
debating-beauty-jacques-maritain-and-dietrich-von-von Hildebrand-2.
22
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 450.
Von Hildebrand, Nature of Love, 79.
24
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 89, 417, 424.
50 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
wise, moral disvalues possess a specific ugliness.25 This is congruous with
moral beauty existing as a proper accident in diverse species of acts. The
bundle of accidents each moral value possesses is congruous with the es-
sence of the value, since proper accidents have a necessary link with the
essence of the being they supervene upon. Indeed, for von Hildebrand the
metaphysical beauty, including the beauty of a moral value is an “expression
of the essence” of the value.26
V. Beauty and Good as Transcendentals
Von Hildebrand regards neither beauty nor good as coextensive with being.
Nevertheless, the rejection of these as transcendental is not essential to the
theory of values in its entirety. One could very well accept the existence of
qualitative values (treating them as accidents, proper or otherwise) and main-
tain virtually all of von Hildebrand’s treatment of value-responses, while also
holding that good and beauty transcend all genera.
Not only is it possible to be deeply influenced by von Hildebrand
while maintaining a Scholastic point of view on the transcendentals, it is also,
I will argue, advisable. Von Hildebrand’s rejection of the transcendental sta-
tus of good and beauty poses a problem of coherence. This is so for a few
reasons. First, von Hildebrand posits a formal value of being. He refuses to
call this type of value a property. “We mean rather that, through philosophi-
cal analysis, we can attain the insight that being as such possesses a distinctive
value.”27 Von Hildebrand insists, “Every being possess a certain value insofar
as it is something, as it is a being.”28
But if this value is not a property, then what is it? Von Hildebrand
is not clear. We can safely surmise that he holds no absolute, real distinction
between a thing and its formal value as being. This level of distinction holds
between, for example, a substance and its accidents. Is there, then, a real but
modal distinction? This does not seem reasonable either. There is no sense in
treating the value of being as a mode of its existence.
For a Thomist, this leaves only logical distinctions remaining. To say
the distinction between a being and its formal value is purely logical would
be to say it is merely verbal: as in the difference between “human being”
and “rational animal.” This would be contrary to von Hildebrand’s obvious
25
Ibid., 131–33.
26
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “Beauty in the Light of the Redemption,” Logos:
A Journal of Catholic Thought and Culture 4, no. 2 (2001): 78–92, accessed at https://
novaearsvitae.org/the-necessity-of-beauty.
27
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 146.
28
Ibid.
Marcus Otte 51
intent. He does not treat the formal value of being as a property, but neither
does he view it as simply identical and synonymous with being.
It is easy to see why the formal value of being cannot be a property,
though von Hildebrand does not say. Suppose this value is a property. If all
being has a formal value, then we need to ask if this value itself has being. If
the answer is yes, then the being of this value also has the property of having
value, and so on infinitely. It would be necessary to posit an infinite number
of advening entities on any one entity. The only way to extricate ourselves
from this difficulty, while still upholding the value of being, is to erode the
difference between being and its value.
If the distinction between a being and its formal value is not real,
nor purely logical, then it is logical and virtual. The virtual distinction is the
product of the intellect but has a foundation in reality. A classic example is
in man’s essence. The essence is one thing. Still, it can be considered under
the aspect of rationality or of animality, both of which can exist separately
from each other, as they do in non-human creatures. The virtual distinction
is further subdivided. In a major, or perfect, distinction, neither concept in
question includes the other. The notion of rationality does not include that
of animality, nor vice versa, so these are virtually and perfectly distinct in
man. In a minor, or imperfect virtual distinction, there is inclusion, as in the
case of “being” and “substance,” for instance.29 We can say that von Hildeb-
rand’s notion of being includes its value because, whatever this value may be,
it is certainly not non-being. It ought to be concluded then, that if we are to
formulate the relation between being and its value more precisely, the two are
virtually and imperfectly distinct. For Thomists, being and the transcenden-
tals, such as good, are virtually and imperfectly distinct.30 At this point, we
can adduce that the formal value of being in von Hildebrandian philosophy,
as well as that of good, ought to be considered a transcendental.
For von Hildebrand, to be a good is to have importance and to be
able to motivate a value-response.31 We must say that the formal value of
being is capable of eliciting such a response, since we see a response to this
value in von Hildebrand himself. He writes of the “depth and grandeur” of
being, and of its “dignity and preciousness.”32 Since, then, the value of being
is a transcendental and is coextensive with being, all being must be good. But
if all being is good, and necessarily so, then we have our conclusion: good is
29
Edward Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction (Piscataway,
NJ: Transaction Books, 2014), 73.
30
Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, OP, The One God: A Commentary on the First
Part of St. Thomas’s Theological Summa, I.1–26, chap. 5, accessed at http://www.the-
summa.info/one/index.php.
31
Von Hildebrand, Nature of Love, 79.
32
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 147–48.
50 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
wise, moral disvalues possess a specific ugliness.25 This is congruous with
moral beauty existing as a proper accident in diverse species of acts. The
bundle of accidents each moral value possesses is congruous with the es-
sence of the value, since proper accidents have a necessary link with the
essence of the being they supervene upon. Indeed, for von Hildebrand the
metaphysical beauty, including the beauty of a moral value is an “expression
of the essence” of the value.26
V. Beauty and Good as Transcendentals
Von Hildebrand regards neither beauty nor good as coextensive with being.
Nevertheless, the rejection of these as transcendental is not essential to the
theory of values in its entirety. One could very well accept the existence of
qualitative values (treating them as accidents, proper or otherwise) and main-
tain virtually all of von Hildebrand’s treatment of value-responses, while also
holding that good and beauty transcend all genera.
Not only is it possible to be deeply influenced by von Hildebrand
while maintaining a Scholastic point of view on the transcendentals, it is also,
I will argue, advisable. Von Hildebrand’s rejection of the transcendental sta-
tus of good and beauty poses a problem of coherence. This is so for a few
reasons. First, von Hildebrand posits a formal value of being. He refuses to
call this type of value a property. “We mean rather that, through philosophi-
cal analysis, we can attain the insight that being as such possesses a distinctive
value.”27 Von Hildebrand insists, “Every being possess a certain value insofar
as it is something, as it is a being.”28
But if this value is not a property, then what is it? Von Hildebrand
is not clear. We can safely surmise that he holds no absolute, real distinction
between a thing and its formal value as being. This level of distinction holds
between, for example, a substance and its accidents. Is there, then, a real but
modal distinction? This does not seem reasonable either. There is no sense in
treating the value of being as a mode of its existence.
For a Thomist, this leaves only logical distinctions remaining. To say
the distinction between a being and its formal value is purely logical would
be to say it is merely verbal: as in the difference between “human being”
and “rational animal.” This would be contrary to von Hildebrand’s obvious
25
Ibid., 131–33.
26
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “Beauty in the Light of the Redemption,” Logos:
A Journal of Catholic Thought and Culture 4, no. 2 (2001): 78–92, accessed at https://
novaearsvitae.org/the-necessity-of-beauty.
27
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 146.
28
Ibid.
Marcus Otte 51
intent. He does not treat the formal value of being as a property, but neither
does he view it as simply identical and synonymous with being.
It is easy to see why the formal value of being cannot be a property,
though von Hildebrand does not say. Suppose this value is a property. If all
being has a formal value, then we need to ask if this value itself has being. If
the answer is yes, then the being of this value also has the property of having
value, and so on infinitely. It would be necessary to posit an infinite number
of advening entities on any one entity. The only way to extricate ourselves
from this difficulty, while still upholding the value of being, is to erode the
difference between being and its value.
If the distinction between a being and its formal value is not real,
nor purely logical, then it is logical and virtual. The virtual distinction is the
product of the intellect but has a foundation in reality. A classic example is
in man’s essence. The essence is one thing. Still, it can be considered under
the aspect of rationality or of animality, both of which can exist separately
from each other, as they do in non-human creatures. The virtual distinction
is further subdivided. In a major, or perfect, distinction, neither concept in
question includes the other. The notion of rationality does not include that
of animality, nor vice versa, so these are virtually and perfectly distinct in
man. In a minor, or imperfect virtual distinction, there is inclusion, as in the
case of “being” and “substance,” for instance.29 We can say that von Hildeb-
rand’s notion of being includes its value because, whatever this value may be,
it is certainly not non-being. It ought to be concluded then, that if we are to
formulate the relation between being and its value more precisely, the two are
virtually and imperfectly distinct. For Thomists, being and the transcenden-
tals, such as good, are virtually and imperfectly distinct.30 At this point, we
can adduce that the formal value of being in von Hildebrandian philosophy,
as well as that of good, ought to be considered a transcendental.
For von Hildebrand, to be a good is to have importance and to be
able to motivate a value-response.31 We must say that the formal value of
being is capable of eliciting such a response, since we see a response to this
value in von Hildebrand himself. He writes of the “depth and grandeur” of
being, and of its “dignity and preciousness.”32 Since, then, the value of being
is a transcendental and is coextensive with being, all being must be good. But
if all being is good, and necessarily so, then we have our conclusion: good is
29
Edward Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics: A Contemporary Introduction (Piscataway,
NJ: Transaction Books, 2014), 73.
30
Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, OP, The One God: A Commentary on the First
Part of St. Thomas’s Theological Summa, I.1–26, chap. 5, accessed at http://www.the-
summa.info/one/index.php.
31
Von Hildebrand, Nature of Love, 79.
32
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 147–48.
52 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
a transcendental. Good is not synonymous with, but is nevertheless coexten-
sive with being.
Granted, von Hildebrand downplays the value of being in compar-
ison to other values. The value of being as such is so formal, he points out,
that we are only made aware of it in philosophy33 and in a few moral situa-
tions.34 Thus, apart from its ontological or qualitative values, any being is, “in
a certain way,” neutral, and we are justified in treating it as neutral.35
This belief in neutral being, however, is fraught with difficulty. If
value is the important-in-itself, and all being has value, albeit of different
kinds and degrees, then there is no neutral being. There is just analogical
importance. It is true that qualitative or ontological values will tend to over-
shadow the value of being in itself, but this is consistent with good being
transcendental and predicated analogically across different categories.
There is also good reason, given von Hildebrand’s theory of values,
to regard beauty as transcendental. Beauty is manifested in differing ways
across different kinds of being. It is present in art36 and music,37 as well as in
landscapes.38 Intelligence is also beautiful.39 There is a beauty that man has as
such40 and souls.41 Moral beauty is present in good actions.42 And Christ has
divine beauty43 to which a devout person responds with supernatural charity.
That beauty exists in each of these does not directly entail that beauty is a
transcendental. But if beauty is a transcendental, it should exist in all these
things.44
There are stronger considerations to be found in von Hildebrand’s
philosophy in favor of beauty as a transcendental. First we should note a
33
Ibid., 146.
34
Ibid., 148–49.
35
Ibid., 149.
36
Ibid., 124.
37
Ibid.
38
Ibid., 234.
39
Ibid., 105.
40
Ibid., 458.
41
Ibid., 235.
42
Ibid., 343.
43
Ibid., 234.
44
The notion that beauty is a transcendental is, I acknowledge, a matter of
controversy among Thomists, as well as others of Scholastic persuasion. There is
also dispute as to whether St. Thomas himself considered beauty a transcenden-
tal. Jacques Maritain argues he did (see Maritain, “Art and Beauty,” chap. 5 in Art
and Scholasticism, trans. Joseph W. Evans, accessed at https://www3.nd.edu/De-
partments/Maritain/etext/art5.htm); Jan Aastsen contends otherwise (see Aastsen,
“Beauty in the Middle Ages: A Forgotten Transcendental?” Medieval Philosophy and
Theology 1 [1991]: 68–91).
Marcus Otte 53
possible objection, however: von Hildebrand asserts many different aesthetic
values besides beauty, such as loveliness, gloriousness, or grandeur.45 If beau-
ty is a property and only one of many properties in the aesthetic sphere, then
it is not transcendental.
Von Hildebrand is not altogether clear on the relation between the
values in the aesthetic sphere. He claims that the various aesthetic values
“center around the basic value of beauty.”46 But what is meant by “center
around”? He provides his clearest description as follows:
Such [mutually] exclusive qualities therefore are both positive val-
ues, in most cases even belonging to the same value domain. Ma-
jestic grandeur and delicate loveliness are both aesthetic values,
each a different dimension of a unitary beauty. Far from being
antagonistic to one another in the sense of qualitative incompat-
ibility or hostile contrast, both are, on the contrary, messengers
of one and the same absolute beauty, completing instead of com-
bating each other.47
Beauty, then, embraces each of the aesthetic values in the sense that
each one is a facet of beauty, or a way beauty may be manifested. The exis-
tence of multiple types of aesthetic values, then, could not form a basis for
rejecting beauty as a transcendental.
Moving on to the most serious consideration in favor of beauty as a
transcendental, we need to refer to von Hildebrand’s description of the gen-
eral value of being. He ascribes “grandeur”48 to being as such. This is else-
where treated as an aesthetic quality.49 He also writes of the “intrinsic beauty
and splendor” of value.50 It is completely congruous with his treatment of
the formal value of being to extend this description, “beauty and splendor,”
to such value, if even to an inferior degree. So, whether we are speaking of
being as such or the general value of being, beauty may be rightly ascribed to
it. This entails that beauty is transcendental.
Why, then, does von Hildebrand not concede that either good or
beauty really is coextensive with being? The most important reason is be-
cause he holds there is, not merely neutral being, but positively existing dis-
value. Good and beauty cannot be transcendental if there are things that owe
their evilness to evil being and not merely evil privation.51
45
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 130.
46
Ibid.
47
Ibid., 141–42.
48
Ibid., 147.
49
Ibid., 141.
50
Ibid., 37.
51
Ibid., 142–43.
52 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
a transcendental. Good is not synonymous with, but is nevertheless coexten-
sive with being.
Granted, von Hildebrand downplays the value of being in compar-
ison to other values. The value of being as such is so formal, he points out,
that we are only made aware of it in philosophy33 and in a few moral situa-
tions.34 Thus, apart from its ontological or qualitative values, any being is, “in
a certain way,” neutral, and we are justified in treating it as neutral.35
This belief in neutral being, however, is fraught with difficulty. If
value is the important-in-itself, and all being has value, albeit of different
kinds and degrees, then there is no neutral being. There is just analogical
importance. It is true that qualitative or ontological values will tend to over-
shadow the value of being in itself, but this is consistent with good being
transcendental and predicated analogically across different categories.
There is also good reason, given von Hildebrand’s theory of values,
to regard beauty as transcendental. Beauty is manifested in differing ways
across different kinds of being. It is present in art36 and music,37 as well as in
landscapes.38 Intelligence is also beautiful.39 There is a beauty that man has as
such40 and souls.41 Moral beauty is present in good actions.42 And Christ has
divine beauty43 to which a devout person responds with supernatural charity.
That beauty exists in each of these does not directly entail that beauty is a
transcendental. But if beauty is a transcendental, it should exist in all these
things.44
There are stronger considerations to be found in von Hildebrand’s
philosophy in favor of beauty as a transcendental. First we should note a
33
Ibid., 146.
34
Ibid., 148–49.
35
Ibid., 149.
36
Ibid., 124.
37
Ibid.
38
Ibid., 234.
39
Ibid., 105.
40
Ibid., 458.
41
Ibid., 235.
42
Ibid., 343.
43
Ibid., 234.
44
The notion that beauty is a transcendental is, I acknowledge, a matter of
controversy among Thomists, as well as others of Scholastic persuasion. There is
also dispute as to whether St. Thomas himself considered beauty a transcenden-
tal. Jacques Maritain argues he did (see Maritain, “Art and Beauty,” chap. 5 in Art
and Scholasticism, trans. Joseph W. Evans, accessed at https://www3.nd.edu/De-
partments/Maritain/etext/art5.htm); Jan Aastsen contends otherwise (see Aastsen,
“Beauty in the Middle Ages: A Forgotten Transcendental?” Medieval Philosophy and
Theology 1 [1991]: 68–91).
Marcus Otte 53
possible objection, however: von Hildebrand asserts many different aesthetic
values besides beauty, such as loveliness, gloriousness, or grandeur.45 If beau-
ty is a property and only one of many properties in the aesthetic sphere, then
it is not transcendental.
Von Hildebrand is not altogether clear on the relation between the
values in the aesthetic sphere. He claims that the various aesthetic values
“center around the basic value of beauty.”46 But what is meant by “center
around”? He provides his clearest description as follows:
Such [mutually] exclusive qualities therefore are both positive val-
ues, in most cases even belonging to the same value domain. Ma-
jestic grandeur and delicate loveliness are both aesthetic values,
each a different dimension of a unitary beauty. Far from being
antagonistic to one another in the sense of qualitative incompat-
ibility or hostile contrast, both are, on the contrary, messengers
of one and the same absolute beauty, completing instead of com-
bating each other.47
Beauty, then, embraces each of the aesthetic values in the sense that
each one is a facet of beauty, or a way beauty may be manifested. The exis-
tence of multiple types of aesthetic values, then, could not form a basis for
rejecting beauty as a transcendental.
Moving on to the most serious consideration in favor of beauty as a
transcendental, we need to refer to von Hildebrand’s description of the gen-
eral value of being. He ascribes “grandeur”48 to being as such. This is else-
where treated as an aesthetic quality.49 He also writes of the “intrinsic beauty
and splendor” of value.50 It is completely congruous with his treatment of
the formal value of being to extend this description, “beauty and splendor,”
to such value, if even to an inferior degree. So, whether we are speaking of
being as such or the general value of being, beauty may be rightly ascribed to
it. This entails that beauty is transcendental.
Why, then, does von Hildebrand not concede that either good or
beauty really is coextensive with being? The most important reason is be-
cause he holds there is, not merely neutral being, but positively existing dis-
value. Good and beauty cannot be transcendental if there are things that owe
their evilness to evil being and not merely evil privation.51
45
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 130.
46
Ibid.
47
Ibid., 141–42.
48
Ibid., 147.
49
Ibid., 141.
50
Ibid., 37.
51
Ibid., 142–43.
54 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
VI. Evil and Privation
Von Hildebrand’s conception of disvalue is, indeed, not compatible with
good and beauty being transcendental. It may not be appreciated, however,
just how close his understanding of evil is to that of the medieval Scholastics.
I wish to highlight these similarities now, again pointing to Aquinas.
With respect to moral evil, Aquinas does not regard evil as a mere
lack. He, in fact, makes mention of ancient Stoics who held that moral evil is
only a privation.52 These philosophers were misled because they defined the
turpitude of an evil act in terms of its merely falling outside the bounds of
reason. For example, adultery was condemned by them not because inter-
course with a woman besides one’s wife is blameworthy in itself, but solely
because such an act lacks the rectitude required by reason.53
Aquinas offers two considerations against the notion of pure pri-
vation in moral evil. First, privation need not consist in the total absence of
something. There is, on one hand, such a thing as pure privation. Death is
a complete absence of a life, for example. But there is also mixed privation,
which coexists with positive being that is affected by the lack. Such privation
is not merely contradictory, but contrary.54 Notably, to be contrary to, and not
merely contradict positive value is, for von Hildebrand, essential to negative
value.55
Having made this distinction, Aquinas moves on to his second con-
sideration: that the Stoic understanding of evil runs roughshod over import-
ant knowledge we have that differentiates evil by degrees. If the Stoic were
correct, then an adulterer, for example, would sin only inasmuch as he ab-
stains from acting reasonably. But if every sin were evil in this way, then sins
could not be distinguished by degree, since each would be evil simply owing
to a privation. Aquinas draws an analogy with death, which is a pure lack: a
man is equally dead whether his death is the result of being stabbed once or a
few times.56 If we are to distinguish between degrees of moral evil in various
acts, we can only do so by reference to their positive aspects. In mixed pri-
vations that include positive aspects “what is said of it [a thing] in a positive
way pertains to the nature of that which is said of it in a privative way: and
52
Gregory M. Reichberg, “Beyond Privation: Moral Evil in Aquinas’s De
Malo,” The Review of Metaphysics 55, no. 4 (2002): 756.
53
Thomas Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2, a. 9, trans. John A. Oesterle and Jean T.
Oesterle (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995).
54
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 756; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2 a. 9.
55
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 142–43.
56
Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2 a. 9.
Marcus Otte 55
therefore such things admit of more or less according to the difference of
that which is said in a positive manner.”57
The reality of moral evil, then, includes both a privative and positive
aspect. An immoral act is marked by privation inasmuch as it lacks a due
ordination to the agent’s rightful end. While sin is not non-being, it may be
called non-being with respect to its being an act that is lacking in due excel-
lence, and also with respect to its depriving an agent of internal goods, both
natural and supernatural. Viewed in its privative aspect, evil in human action
is caused by a defect in the act of the will: a deliberate inattention to a moral
rule.58
The positive element of an immoral act’s evil consists in its oppo-
sition to a moral rule. Privation alone cannot specify an act of wrongdoing
“since only a positive principle can give content to actions.”59 It is in virtue of
an act’s form that it is the kind of act it is. Furthermore, as has been noted,
only something positive can stand in a relation of contrariety. Therefore, the
positive aspect of an act’s evil is prior to its privative aspect. It is because of
what an act is in itself that it is lacking in rightful order.
St. Thomas’s morality, then, is not ultimately founded upon the “ob-
jective good” of the agent in the way some modern Thomists understand.
Of the two aspects that constitute the evil of an immoral act, the positive
element “is more essential to the intelligibility (ratio) of moral evil.”60 The
privative dimension is founded upon this positive aspect. An act is defective
and turns an agent away from its natural end because it is contrary to a moral
rule, not vice versa. Murder is malum in se and intrinsically opposed to reason.
Thus, the murderer is cut off from his own flourishing.61
For anyone familiar with von Hildebrand’s understanding of evil, the
similarities should be obvious. First, and most importantly, von Hildebrand
emphasizes that positive value is prior to the natural end of a creature, and
likewise that an immoral act is immoral apart from any consideration of its
thwarting a creature from its end. If an act is wicked, it is for this reason that
it deprives a creature of its objective good.62
Both von Hildebrand and Aquinas hold that moral evil is contrary,
not merely contradictory, to the good.63 Both hold that evil is always willed
under the aspect of a good (if even not a moral good). Evil cannot be willed
57
Ibid.
58
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 761.
59
Ibid., 760.
60
Ibid., 757
61
Ibid.
62
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 57.
63
Ibid., 26, 140; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 1, a. 1, ad. 4.
54 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
VI. Evil and Privation
Von Hildebrand’s conception of disvalue is, indeed, not compatible with
good and beauty being transcendental. It may not be appreciated, however,
just how close his understanding of evil is to that of the medieval Scholastics.
I wish to highlight these similarities now, again pointing to Aquinas.
With respect to moral evil, Aquinas does not regard evil as a mere
lack. He, in fact, makes mention of ancient Stoics who held that moral evil is
only a privation.52 These philosophers were misled because they defined the
turpitude of an evil act in terms of its merely falling outside the bounds of
reason. For example, adultery was condemned by them not because inter-
course with a woman besides one’s wife is blameworthy in itself, but solely
because such an act lacks the rectitude required by reason.53
Aquinas offers two considerations against the notion of pure pri-
vation in moral evil. First, privation need not consist in the total absence of
something. There is, on one hand, such a thing as pure privation. Death is
a complete absence of a life, for example. But there is also mixed privation,
which coexists with positive being that is affected by the lack. Such privation
is not merely contradictory, but contrary.54 Notably, to be contrary to, and not
merely contradict positive value is, for von Hildebrand, essential to negative
value.55
Having made this distinction, Aquinas moves on to his second con-
sideration: that the Stoic understanding of evil runs roughshod over import-
ant knowledge we have that differentiates evil by degrees. If the Stoic were
correct, then an adulterer, for example, would sin only inasmuch as he ab-
stains from acting reasonably. But if every sin were evil in this way, then sins
could not be distinguished by degree, since each would be evil simply owing
to a privation. Aquinas draws an analogy with death, which is a pure lack: a
man is equally dead whether his death is the result of being stabbed once or a
few times.56 If we are to distinguish between degrees of moral evil in various
acts, we can only do so by reference to their positive aspects. In mixed pri-
vations that include positive aspects “what is said of it [a thing] in a positive
way pertains to the nature of that which is said of it in a privative way: and
52
Gregory M. Reichberg, “Beyond Privation: Moral Evil in Aquinas’s De
Malo,” The Review of Metaphysics 55, no. 4 (2002): 756.
53
Thomas Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2, a. 9, trans. John A. Oesterle and Jean T.
Oesterle (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995).
54
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 756; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2 a. 9.
55
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 142–43.
56
Aquinas, On Evil, q. 2 a. 9.
Marcus Otte 55
therefore such things admit of more or less according to the difference of
that which is said in a positive manner.”57
The reality of moral evil, then, includes both a privative and positive
aspect. An immoral act is marked by privation inasmuch as it lacks a due
ordination to the agent’s rightful end. While sin is not non-being, it may be
called non-being with respect to its being an act that is lacking in due excel-
lence, and also with respect to its depriving an agent of internal goods, both
natural and supernatural. Viewed in its privative aspect, evil in human action
is caused by a defect in the act of the will: a deliberate inattention to a moral
rule.58
The positive element of an immoral act’s evil consists in its oppo-
sition to a moral rule. Privation alone cannot specify an act of wrongdoing
“since only a positive principle can give content to actions.”59 It is in virtue of
an act’s form that it is the kind of act it is. Furthermore, as has been noted,
only something positive can stand in a relation of contrariety. Therefore, the
positive aspect of an act’s evil is prior to its privative aspect. It is because of
what an act is in itself that it is lacking in rightful order.
St. Thomas’s morality, then, is not ultimately founded upon the “ob-
jective good” of the agent in the way some modern Thomists understand.
Of the two aspects that constitute the evil of an immoral act, the positive
element “is more essential to the intelligibility (ratio) of moral evil.”60 The
privative dimension is founded upon this positive aspect. An act is defective
and turns an agent away from its natural end because it is contrary to a moral
rule, not vice versa. Murder is malum in se and intrinsically opposed to reason.
Thus, the murderer is cut off from his own flourishing.61
For anyone familiar with von Hildebrand’s understanding of evil, the
similarities should be obvious. First, and most importantly, von Hildebrand
emphasizes that positive value is prior to the natural end of a creature, and
likewise that an immoral act is immoral apart from any consideration of its
thwarting a creature from its end. If an act is wicked, it is for this reason that
it deprives a creature of its objective good.62
Both von Hildebrand and Aquinas hold that moral evil is contrary,
not merely contradictory, to the good.63 Both hold that evil is always willed
under the aspect of a good (if even not a moral good). Evil cannot be willed
57
Ibid.
58
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 761.
59
Ibid., 760.
60
Ibid., 757
61
Ibid.
62
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 57.
63
Ibid., 26, 140; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 1, a. 1, ad. 4.
56 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
altogether for its own sake.64 Also, both characterize sin as the choice of a
lower good rather than a higher, obligatory one (excepting some special con-
siderations by which, von Hildebrand points out, a lower good may be oblig-
atory rather than a higher one).65 Finally, von Hildebrand argues that, despite
possessing the general value of being and even ontological values, qualitative
disvalues can confer an overall negative importance upon beings.66 Consid-
ered in itself, a sinful deed is something that ought not exist, despite whatever
good might be derived from it. Similarly, Aquinas holds that, though possess-
ing the good of being, sinful acts must be accounted evils,67 even if they can
possess a natural perfection as acts.68
Despite all this, the differences between Aquinas and von Hildeb-
rand on the nature of evil remain irreducible. From the point of view of
moral science evil has a positive element for St. Thomas, while ontologically
speaking it does not.69 There is no real evil being, except inasmuch as real
subjects are evil due to a privation of order. Von Hildebrand, on the other
hand, insists that evil possesses real being, both within and outside the moral
sphere, owing to qualitative disvalues that are real and not privative.70
I will not attempt to offer a developed argument for the Thomist
position, since this takes us far afield from my principal thesis. Nevertheless,
I do wish to make an observation in passing. The most serious dilemma von
Hildebrand’s position faces is that it exacerbates the problem of evil and even
renders it fatal. If moral evil is a real property with positive being, and is not
a lack, then how can it be said that God is not the author of evil?71 There is
another difficulty. Von Hildebrand notes we cannot will anything that is ut-
terly neutral or negative in importance.72 Precisely why this is impossible, he
does not say. The claim appears to rest on phenomenological reflection.
Thomism, however, provides us the resources to metaphysically ac-
count for why evil cannot be willed merely for evil. That this is so can be
explained according to the doctrine of the four causes. If evil consists in
disorder, that is, in a privation of form, then it does not have a formal cause.
Privation just is an absence of due form. Without form, neither can a thing
have a final cause. Evil must, however, have a material cause since, were there
no substrate, there would be nothing to suffer privation. What of efficient
64
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 306; Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1.
65
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 380–83; Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 75, a. 1.
66
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 154–55.
67
Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 18, a. 1; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 1, a. 3.
68
Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 75, a. 4, ad. 2.
69
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 760–61.
70
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 23.
71
Ibid., 18, 26.
72
Ibid., 306.
Marcus Otte 57
causality? Owing to the absence of formal and final causes of evil, there is
not a per se efficient cause of evil either. Such a thing would be unintelligi-
ble.73 It follows, then, that evil must be caused per accidens. If we narrow the
scope of the discussion from evil in general to moral evil to say it is caused
per accidens, it follows that evil is never chosen purely for its own sake, but
always under the aspect of at least an apparent good. If good is coextensive
with being, then evil can only be chosen per accidens. Aristotelian metaphysics
provides an account as to why it is strictly impossible to choose evil for itself,
but it is difficult to see how von Hildebrand’s theory of values, on its own,
could do the same.
VII. Ugliness and Privation
Aquinas writes little on ugliness directly. Von Hildebrand also seldom men-
tions ugliness, at least in his works that are available in English. It is clear,
however, that von Hildebrand regards ugliness as an accident.74 He also, as
Alice von Hildebrand points out, insists that “ugliness isn’t just an absence of
beauty but wages war on it.”75 This is true whether we consider the metaphys-
ical beauty that is the splendor of value or the beauty of form that visible
and audible things may exhibit. Aquinas, not surprisingly, treats ugliness as
privative.76 He must do so, since he regards beauty as transcendental.77 How-
ever, to be ugly is not a pure privation but is a matter of degree.78 Recall that,
for Aquinas, mixed privations are contrary to and not merely contradictory
to their opposites. So Aquinas is in agreement with von Hildebrand that the
ugly is in opposition to beauty. Hence, whereas beauty delights,79 ugliness
repulses.80 Things may be physically81 or morally82 ugly.
73
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 91–100; 148–54.
74
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 153–54.
75
Alice von Hildebrand, “Debating Beauty.”
76
Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, trans. C.J.
Litzinger, OP (Notre Dame, IN: Dumb Ox Books, 1993), n320; Aquinas, ST I, q. 39,
a. 8.
77
Once again, I acknowledge there is controversy as to whether beauty is a
transcendental for St. Thomas. At the very least, he regards it as intrinsically related
to the good.
78
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles III.139.15, trans. Vernon J. Bourke
(New York, NY: Hanover House, 1957), accessed at http://dhspriory.org/thomas/
ContraGentiles3b.htm#139.
79
Aquinas, ST I, q. 5, a. 4, ad. 1.
80
Ibid., II-II, q. 158, a. 4, ad. 1.
81
Ibid., I-II, q. 81, a. 1.
82
Ibid., II-II, q. 158, a. 4, arg. 1.
56 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
altogether for its own sake.64 Also, both characterize sin as the choice of a
lower good rather than a higher, obligatory one (excepting some special con-
siderations by which, von Hildebrand points out, a lower good may be oblig-
atory rather than a higher one).65 Finally, von Hildebrand argues that, despite
possessing the general value of being and even ontological values, qualitative
disvalues can confer an overall negative importance upon beings.66 Consid-
ered in itself, a sinful deed is something that ought not exist, despite whatever
good might be derived from it. Similarly, Aquinas holds that, though possess-
ing the good of being, sinful acts must be accounted evils,67 even if they can
possess a natural perfection as acts.68
Despite all this, the differences between Aquinas and von Hildeb-
rand on the nature of evil remain irreducible. From the point of view of
moral science evil has a positive element for St. Thomas, while ontologically
speaking it does not.69 There is no real evil being, except inasmuch as real
subjects are evil due to a privation of order. Von Hildebrand, on the other
hand, insists that evil possesses real being, both within and outside the moral
sphere, owing to qualitative disvalues that are real and not privative.70
I will not attempt to offer a developed argument for the Thomist
position, since this takes us far afield from my principal thesis. Nevertheless,
I do wish to make an observation in passing. The most serious dilemma von
Hildebrand’s position faces is that it exacerbates the problem of evil and even
renders it fatal. If moral evil is a real property with positive being, and is not
a lack, then how can it be said that God is not the author of evil?71 There is
another difficulty. Von Hildebrand notes we cannot will anything that is ut-
terly neutral or negative in importance.72 Precisely why this is impossible, he
does not say. The claim appears to rest on phenomenological reflection.
Thomism, however, provides us the resources to metaphysically ac-
count for why evil cannot be willed merely for evil. That this is so can be
explained according to the doctrine of the four causes. If evil consists in
disorder, that is, in a privation of form, then it does not have a formal cause.
Privation just is an absence of due form. Without form, neither can a thing
have a final cause. Evil must, however, have a material cause since, were there
no substrate, there would be nothing to suffer privation. What of efficient
64
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 306; Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1.
65
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 380–83; Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 75, a. 1.
66
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 154–55.
67
Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 18, a. 1; Aquinas, On Evil, q. 1, a. 3.
68
Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 75, a. 4, ad. 2.
69
Reichberg, “Beyond Privation,” 760–61.
70
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 23.
71
Ibid., 18, 26.
72
Ibid., 306.
Marcus Otte 57
causality? Owing to the absence of formal and final causes of evil, there is
not a per se efficient cause of evil either. Such a thing would be unintelligi-
ble.73 It follows, then, that evil must be caused per accidens. If we narrow the
scope of the discussion from evil in general to moral evil to say it is caused
per accidens, it follows that evil is never chosen purely for its own sake, but
always under the aspect of at least an apparent good. If good is coextensive
with being, then evil can only be chosen per accidens. Aristotelian metaphysics
provides an account as to why it is strictly impossible to choose evil for itself,
but it is difficult to see how von Hildebrand’s theory of values, on its own,
could do the same.
VII. Ugliness and Privation
Aquinas writes little on ugliness directly. Von Hildebrand also seldom men-
tions ugliness, at least in his works that are available in English. It is clear,
however, that von Hildebrand regards ugliness as an accident.74 He also, as
Alice von Hildebrand points out, insists that “ugliness isn’t just an absence of
beauty but wages war on it.”75 This is true whether we consider the metaphys-
ical beauty that is the splendor of value or the beauty of form that visible
and audible things may exhibit. Aquinas, not surprisingly, treats ugliness as
privative.76 He must do so, since he regards beauty as transcendental.77 How-
ever, to be ugly is not a pure privation but is a matter of degree.78 Recall that,
for Aquinas, mixed privations are contrary to and not merely contradictory
to their opposites. So Aquinas is in agreement with von Hildebrand that the
ugly is in opposition to beauty. Hence, whereas beauty delights,79 ugliness
repulses.80 Things may be physically81 or morally82 ugly.
73
Feser, Scholastic Metaphysics, 91–100; 148–54.
74
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 153–54.
75
Alice von Hildebrand, “Debating Beauty.”
76
Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, trans. C.J.
Litzinger, OP (Notre Dame, IN: Dumb Ox Books, 1993), n320; Aquinas, ST I, q. 39,
a. 8.
77
Once again, I acknowledge there is controversy as to whether beauty is a
transcendental for St. Thomas. At the very least, he regards it as intrinsically related
to the good.
78
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles III.139.15, trans. Vernon J. Bourke
(New York, NY: Hanover House, 1957), accessed at http://dhspriory.org/thomas/
ContraGentiles3b.htm#139.
79
Aquinas, ST I, q. 5, a. 4, ad. 1.
80
Ibid., II-II, q. 158, a. 4, ad. 1.
81
Ibid., I-II, q. 81, a. 1.
82
Ibid., II-II, q. 158, a. 4, arg. 1.
58 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
Von Hildebrand and Aquinas treat the relation between beauty and
good differently. For Aquinas, both are a matter of form. Beauty and good
differ logically and in aspect, but not really.83 Beauty is characterized by “in-
tegrity” or “perfection,” “proportion” or “harmony,” and “brightness” or
“clarity.”84 In other words, a thing has beauty inasmuch as it is “in act,” in
harmony with what it ought to be, and has the radiance of form.85 A thing is
ugly insofar as it lacks something it ought to have, and thus, is not integral;
or is disordered in a manner that will tend to thwart it from its good end; or
does not shine forth in its nature, because it fails, in a manner of speaking, to
be what it is.
Von Hildebrand, on the other hand, regards a being as good inas-
much as it possesses value, and beauty is the chief aesthetic value. Ugliness
is not a defect, but a real property in itself with positive existence: it is an
aesthetic disvalue. What considerations might help us decide between these
two accounts of the ugly? There are both methodological and metaphysical
points to consider.
One crucial argument in favor of the Thomistic position is that,
first, since Aquinas treats ugliness as privative, he avoids giving it a per se cause
and thus can account for why God ought not be called a cause of ugliness.
Second, von Hildebrand’s ontology of ugliness can be charged with incoher-
ence. If being has a splendor in itself—in its formal value, as von Hildebrand
says—then it seems a privative account of ugliness is the only viable option.
If we simultaneously accept the formal value of being and the positive exis-
tence of aesthetic disvalue, then we are forced to speak of the splendor and
majesty of a disvalue. In other words, we must attribute some measure of
beauty, not merely to ugly things, but to ugliness itself. But this is a contradic-
tion.
Von Hildebrand’s ontology of evilness and ugliness is motivated,
in large part, by methodological concerns. Von Hildebrand emphasizes that
“the nature of a datum which is given to us must take precedence over the ef-
fort to bring the nature of this being into harmony with formerly discovered,
indubitable data.”86 Our primary worry should be to preserve knowledge of
“the immediately given datum”87 and other indubitable truths. Harmonizing
these is a secondary task. Thus, von Hildebrand writes:
83
Ibid., I, q. 5, a. 4, ad. 1; ibid., I-II, q. 27, a. 1, ad. 3.
84
Jenna Henry, “It Is What It Is: Beauty, Act, and Perfection: A Thomistic
Approach,” (Paper presented at the Annual Franciscan University Conference on
Christian Philosophy, “The Power of Beauty,” co-sponsored with the Dietrich von
Hildebrand Legacy Project, Steubenville, OH, October 2014), 3–4.
85
Ibid., 4–5.
86
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 16.
87
Ibid.
Marcus Otte 59
The existence of evil in a world created and ruled by an absolute-
ly wise, absolutely powerful, and infinitely good God will always
remain an inscrutable mystery. Should we therefore deny the exis-
tence of evil in order to escape from this dilemma? Or should we
deny the existence of God, because of the indubitable existence
of evil? No, we must have the courage to say: I see something
with absolute certitude, and I also see something else with abso-
lute certitude. I shall adhere to both even if I know not how they
can be reconciled.88
There is, of course, sense in this methodology. The rightful certitude
we have of two given facts ought to confer on us a certainty these facts are
compatible, even prior to us seeing how this might be. Nevertheless, this is
not enough to rebut the criticisms that have been offered against von Hil-
debrand’s ontology of disvalue. It is evident there are ugly and evil things.
But how we ought to metaphysically characterize ugliness and evilness is not
so immediately evident. Thomism and other standard Scholasticisms offer
descriptions of ugliness and evilness that are reconcilable with other accept-
ed truths (e.g., that God is Pure Act, that God is both good and sovereign,
that all beings except God are made and sustained by God, etc.). Unless a
follower of von Hildebrand’s theory of disvalue can offer a similar account,
this weighs decisively in favor of a Scholastic understanding.
VIII. Conclusion
Von Hildebrand’s value ontology remains in conflict with Scholasticism.
As to whether beauty and good are transcendentals, there appears to be no
reconciliation possible—only a fight to the finish. On some other matters,
however, there is much space for these conflicting outlooks to complement
one another. Scholasticism provides time-tested concepts that are immensely
helpful in building subtle and rigorous metaphysical theses. At the same time,
von Hildebrand offers keen insights into the moral and aesthetic dimensions
of life and the centrality of personhood, as well as, arguably, the most saga-
cious account of spiritual affectivity yet proposed.
The conflict between von Hildebrandian and Scholastic metaphysics
is traceable, in part, to the differing concerns that motivate each ontology.
The problems that arise from Parmenides’s axiom that “from nothing, noth-
ing comes,” are very salient for St. Thomas as well as the Scholastics in gen-
eral. Scholastic metaphysics is founded upon those aspects of reality that are
needed to explain change and being, and to even provide an ultimate explana-
88
Ibid., 18.
58 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
Von Hildebrand and Aquinas treat the relation between beauty and
good differently. For Aquinas, both are a matter of form. Beauty and good
differ logically and in aspect, but not really.83 Beauty is characterized by “in-
tegrity” or “perfection,” “proportion” or “harmony,” and “brightness” or
“clarity.”84 In other words, a thing has beauty inasmuch as it is “in act,” in
harmony with what it ought to be, and has the radiance of form.85 A thing is
ugly insofar as it lacks something it ought to have, and thus, is not integral;
or is disordered in a manner that will tend to thwart it from its good end; or
does not shine forth in its nature, because it fails, in a manner of speaking, to
be what it is.
Von Hildebrand, on the other hand, regards a being as good inas-
much as it possesses value, and beauty is the chief aesthetic value. Ugliness
is not a defect, but a real property in itself with positive existence: it is an
aesthetic disvalue. What considerations might help us decide between these
two accounts of the ugly? There are both methodological and metaphysical
points to consider.
One crucial argument in favor of the Thomistic position is that,
first, since Aquinas treats ugliness as privative, he avoids giving it a per se cause
and thus can account for why God ought not be called a cause of ugliness.
Second, von Hildebrand’s ontology of ugliness can be charged with incoher-
ence. If being has a splendor in itself—in its formal value, as von Hildebrand
says—then it seems a privative account of ugliness is the only viable option.
If we simultaneously accept the formal value of being and the positive exis-
tence of aesthetic disvalue, then we are forced to speak of the splendor and
majesty of a disvalue. In other words, we must attribute some measure of
beauty, not merely to ugly things, but to ugliness itself. But this is a contradic-
tion.
Von Hildebrand’s ontology of evilness and ugliness is motivated,
in large part, by methodological concerns. Von Hildebrand emphasizes that
“the nature of a datum which is given to us must take precedence over the ef-
fort to bring the nature of this being into harmony with formerly discovered,
indubitable data.”86 Our primary worry should be to preserve knowledge of
“the immediately given datum”87 and other indubitable truths. Harmonizing
these is a secondary task. Thus, von Hildebrand writes:
83
Ibid., I, q. 5, a. 4, ad. 1; ibid., I-II, q. 27, a. 1, ad. 3.
84
Jenna Henry, “It Is What It Is: Beauty, Act, and Perfection: A Thomistic
Approach,” (Paper presented at the Annual Franciscan University Conference on
Christian Philosophy, “The Power of Beauty,” co-sponsored with the Dietrich von
Hildebrand Legacy Project, Steubenville, OH, October 2014), 3–4.
85
Ibid., 4–5.
86
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 16.
87
Ibid.
Marcus Otte 59
The existence of evil in a world created and ruled by an absolute-
ly wise, absolutely powerful, and infinitely good God will always
remain an inscrutable mystery. Should we therefore deny the exis-
tence of evil in order to escape from this dilemma? Or should we
deny the existence of God, because of the indubitable existence
of evil? No, we must have the courage to say: I see something
with absolute certitude, and I also see something else with abso-
lute certitude. I shall adhere to both even if I know not how they
can be reconciled.88
There is, of course, sense in this methodology. The rightful certitude
we have of two given facts ought to confer on us a certainty these facts are
compatible, even prior to us seeing how this might be. Nevertheless, this is
not enough to rebut the criticisms that have been offered against von Hil-
debrand’s ontology of disvalue. It is evident there are ugly and evil things.
But how we ought to metaphysically characterize ugliness and evilness is not
so immediately evident. Thomism and other standard Scholasticisms offer
descriptions of ugliness and evilness that are reconcilable with other accept-
ed truths (e.g., that God is Pure Act, that God is both good and sovereign,
that all beings except God are made and sustained by God, etc.). Unless a
follower of von Hildebrand’s theory of disvalue can offer a similar account,
this weighs decisively in favor of a Scholastic understanding.
VIII. Conclusion
Von Hildebrand’s value ontology remains in conflict with Scholasticism.
As to whether beauty and good are transcendentals, there appears to be no
reconciliation possible—only a fight to the finish. On some other matters,
however, there is much space for these conflicting outlooks to complement
one another. Scholasticism provides time-tested concepts that are immensely
helpful in building subtle and rigorous metaphysical theses. At the same time,
von Hildebrand offers keen insights into the moral and aesthetic dimensions
of life and the centrality of personhood, as well as, arguably, the most saga-
cious account of spiritual affectivity yet proposed.
The conflict between von Hildebrandian and Scholastic metaphysics
is traceable, in part, to the differing concerns that motivate each ontology.
The problems that arise from Parmenides’s axiom that “from nothing, noth-
ing comes,” are very salient for St. Thomas as well as the Scholastics in gen-
eral. Scholastic metaphysics is founded upon those aspects of reality that are
needed to explain change and being, and to even provide an ultimate explana-
88
Ibid., 18.
60 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
tion of being. Von Hildebrand’s philosophy is not indifferent to such matters.
Thus, he rebuts relativist views that deny objective being to the good and
beautiful,89 and he locates the ultimate explanation of the good and beau-
tiful in God.90 Von Hildebrand’s principal focus, however, is to accentuate
those features of persons that are marginalized by eudaemonistic accounts:
in particular, self-transcendence and eigenleben, or subjectivity.91 The world of
values is the arena in which these traits of personhood are manifested—most
importantly in the ethical and relational spheres. Von Hildebrand’s ontology
of values is grounded in his exposition of value-responses. Most fundamen-
tally, his philosophy begins with reflection on those aspects of reality that
are presented to us in value-responses, as opposed to reflection on so-called
“neutral” metaphysical facts.
To push the point further, we could recall that, as Alasdair MacIntyre
has said, a Catholic is not simply a Catholic, but is always a Catholic rather
than something else.92 St. Augustine was a Catholic rather than a Pelagian or
a Manichean; St. Francis de Sales was a Catholic rather than a Calvinist; etc.
The deposit of faith remains the same, but its articulation differs across the
ages, in large part due to the diversity of errors it must confront. Dietrich
von Hildebrand lived in a time when the supernatural was derogated and the
norms of morality were relativized. His response could hardly have contra-
dicted these trends more directly; the theory of values makes moral goodness
itself into an objective, non-natural property. Likewise, in a Europe where
totalitarian thinking lionized the state, von Hildebrand upheld the smaller
communities of family and friendship. Where Nazism expounded on pride
and the will-to-power, he wrote on love and beauty. His approach to moder-
nity, however, was not merely contrarian. This comes through most clearly
in his adoption of a phenomenological method rather than Neo-Scholastic
dialectic.
The princes of Scholasticism, on the other hand, lived in the after-
math of Albigensianism. Hence, the doctrine of the goodness of creation
was highly important for them. This was a factor in the ultimate acceptance
of Aristotelian modes of thought. The Scholastics also confronted Averro-
ism, the occasionalism of some Muslim thinkers, and Maimonides’s theory
of equivocity. Each of these, in its own way, threatened truth or rationality
89
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 106–28.
90
Ibid., 187, 222.
91
Hildebrand, The Nature of Love, 200, 205–6.
92
Alasdair MacIntyre, “Catholic Instead of What?” YouTube video, Mac-
Intyre’s presentation from the Notre Dame Center for Ethics and Culture’s thirteenth
annual Fall Conference: “The Crowning Glory of the Virtues: Exploring the Many
Facets of Justice,” posted by “Notre Dame Center For Ethics and Culture - ( ndeth-
ics,” August 22, 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXpjzulHsuA.
Marcus Otte 61
fundamentally and undermined the very possibility of natural or theological
knowledge. The defense of the intelligibility of all reality was at the heart of
the great Scholastic syntheses.
It would, of course, be an abject falsehood to reduce each of these
ways of thinking to mere products of their times. They are products of ge-
nius and piety, first and foremost. But they also have contexts that partly
account for them. If we had to summarize the distinction between von Hil-
debrand and, for instance, St. Thomas, with respect to their theories of good
and beauty, perhaps this is the most succinct way: von Hildebrand construed
these qualities more Platonically (at least inasmuch as he rejected the notion
that they are coextensive with being), emphasizing the transcendent in an age
which often marginalized it, whereas Aquinas thought of good and beauty in
a more Aristotelian manner, securing the value of immanent realities that had
been de-emphasized or even demonized by others.
This essay has pointed out some routes to a partial fusion of these
traditions. If proponents of values wish to rescue von Hildebrand’s philoso-
phy from its internal contradictions, their ontologies need to incorporate the
transcendentals and a privative understanding of evil. Thus, the basic archi-
tecture of Scholastic metaphysics ought to be highly commended to them.
Although the doctrine of the transcendentals begins with Aristotle, and the
privative view of evil first explicitly emerges with Neoplatonism, nowhere
are these so well developed as within Scholastic thought.
Approaching this synthesis from the opposite direction, if the Scho-
lastic is to refer to values, he must identify a place for them in his ontology, or
else build one. With respect to the values of actions we have identified such
a place—they are proper accidents supervening on acts. The key question for
the Scholastic is whether von Hildebrand’s account of value-responses justi-
fies belief in values. This itself is largely a question as to whether a phenom-
enological method can provide insights into metaphysics (and meta-ethics)
that are not readily available through more traditional approaches.
—Boston College
60 The Metaphysics of Moral Values
tion of being. Von Hildebrand’s philosophy is not indifferent to such matters.
Thus, he rebuts relativist views that deny objective being to the good and
beautiful,89 and he locates the ultimate explanation of the good and beau-
tiful in God.90 Von Hildebrand’s principal focus, however, is to accentuate
those features of persons that are marginalized by eudaemonistic accounts:
in particular, self-transcendence and eigenleben, or subjectivity.91 The world of
values is the arena in which these traits of personhood are manifested—most
importantly in the ethical and relational spheres. Von Hildebrand’s ontology
of values is grounded in his exposition of value-responses. Most fundamen-
tally, his philosophy begins with reflection on those aspects of reality that
are presented to us in value-responses, as opposed to reflection on so-called
“neutral” metaphysical facts.
To push the point further, we could recall that, as Alasdair MacIntyre
has said, a Catholic is not simply a Catholic, but is always a Catholic rather
than something else.92 St. Augustine was a Catholic rather than a Pelagian or
a Manichean; St. Francis de Sales was a Catholic rather than a Calvinist; etc.
The deposit of faith remains the same, but its articulation differs across the
ages, in large part due to the diversity of errors it must confront. Dietrich
von Hildebrand lived in a time when the supernatural was derogated and the
norms of morality were relativized. His response could hardly have contra-
dicted these trends more directly; the theory of values makes moral goodness
itself into an objective, non-natural property. Likewise, in a Europe where
totalitarian thinking lionized the state, von Hildebrand upheld the smaller
communities of family and friendship. Where Nazism expounded on pride
and the will-to-power, he wrote on love and beauty. His approach to moder-
nity, however, was not merely contrarian. This comes through most clearly
in his adoption of a phenomenological method rather than Neo-Scholastic
dialectic.
The princes of Scholasticism, on the other hand, lived in the after-
math of Albigensianism. Hence, the doctrine of the goodness of creation
was highly important for them. This was a factor in the ultimate acceptance
of Aristotelian modes of thought. The Scholastics also confronted Averro-
ism, the occasionalism of some Muslim thinkers, and Maimonides’s theory
of equivocity. Each of these, in its own way, threatened truth or rationality
89
Von Hildebrand, Christian Ethics, 106–28.
90
Ibid., 187, 222.
91
Hildebrand, The Nature of Love, 200, 205–6.
92
Alasdair MacIntyre, “Catholic Instead of What?” YouTube video, Mac-
Intyre’s presentation from the Notre Dame Center for Ethics and Culture’s thirteenth
annual Fall Conference: “The Crowning Glory of the Virtues: Exploring the Many
Facets of Justice,” posted by “Notre Dame Center For Ethics and Culture - ( ndeth-
ics,” August 22, 2014, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXpjzulHsuA.
Marcus Otte 61
fundamentally and undermined the very possibility of natural or theological
knowledge. The defense of the intelligibility of all reality was at the heart of
the great Scholastic syntheses.
It would, of course, be an abject falsehood to reduce each of these
ways of thinking to mere products of their times. They are products of ge-
nius and piety, first and foremost. But they also have contexts that partly
account for them. If we had to summarize the distinction between von Hil-
debrand and, for instance, St. Thomas, with respect to their theories of good
and beauty, perhaps this is the most succinct way: von Hildebrand construed
these qualities more Platonically (at least inasmuch as he rejected the notion
that they are coextensive with being), emphasizing the transcendent in an age
which often marginalized it, whereas Aquinas thought of good and beauty in
a more Aristotelian manner, securing the value of immanent realities that had
been de-emphasized or even demonized by others.
This essay has pointed out some routes to a partial fusion of these
traditions. If proponents of values wish to rescue von Hildebrand’s philoso-
phy from its internal contradictions, their ontologies need to incorporate the
transcendentals and a privative understanding of evil. Thus, the basic archi-
tecture of Scholastic metaphysics ought to be highly commended to them.
Although the doctrine of the transcendentals begins with Aristotle, and the
privative view of evil first explicitly emerges with Neoplatonism, nowhere
are these so well developed as within Scholastic thought.
Approaching this synthesis from the opposite direction, if the Scho-
lastic is to refer to values, he must identify a place for them in his ontology, or
else build one. With respect to the values of actions we have identified such
a place—they are proper accidents supervening on acts. The key question for
the Scholastic is whether von Hildebrand’s account of value-responses justi-
fies belief in values. This itself is largely a question as to whether a phenom-
enological method can provide insights into metaphysics (and meta-ethics)
that are not readily available through more traditional approaches.
—Boston College

Beauty as Anomaly:
Why Does the Bush Not Burn Up?
Linus Meldrum
Meanwhile Moses was tending the flock of his father-in-law Je-
thro, the priest of Midian. Leading the flock beyond the wilder-
ness, he came to the mountain of God, Horeb. There the angel
of the LORD appeared to him as fire flaming out of a bush.
When he looked, although the bush was on fire, it was not being
consumed. So Moses decided, “I must turn aside to look at this
remarkable sight. Why does the bush not burn up?” When the
LORD saw that he had turned aside to look, God called out to
him from the bush: Moses! Moses! He answered, “Here I am.”
—Exod. 3:1–4
We are in a tenuous position. We desire a renewal of Beauty, but we struggle
to get the party started. We are in disarray. We appear to have a willing cohort,
but there is no concise theory that guides us. Many of us have concise theo-
ries that contradict each other; are we Art Sedevacantists, believing that all of
contemporary media is illicit, or are we Postmodern Pilgrims, walking a per-
ilous path upon which Truth is obscured by layers of despair and disbelief ?
Most of us have grown up in a time when personal preference trumps formal
rules. In our culture, our aesthetic sensibilities cannot help but be affected
by a concept that began long ago as “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
and eventually morphed into a narcissistic motto for the art-makers of today:
“That’s the way I roll.”
Vision, the sense by which we absorb much of the material world,
is the necessary material pathway. However, the visible is not the same as the
visual. While the visible is taken in as data, the conveyance of meaning, partic-
ularly aesthetic meaning, means that the “stuff ” has been transformed by the
mysterious action of the imagination. This transformation awakens the mind
to visual narrative, an image-story that requires not words or names but re-
lationships that precede the literal. A quote from Otto Pacht, twentieth cen-
tury Austrian art historian, helps to clarify: “[where] art history is concerned,
© Linus Meldrum, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Linus Meldrum 63
in the beginning was the eye, not the word.”1 Postmodernism has been a
movement pre-occupied with deconstructing words, rejecting meta-narra-
tives, revising and reinventing history at will, ignoring traditions built from
scholarship and building “new traditions” of disparate bits of contemporary
distractive fascinations. The result, sadly, is that most of postmodern visual
art relies on many, many words to complete the “picture” for the viewer. This
condition demotes the visual to simply the visible; the literal now rules the
realm of meaning.
Can we renew the sense of a “visual contract” between artist and
viewer, to really know the mind of a truly visual artist? Can we regain what
has been lost, missed, or ignored in recent decades? If so, we must look—
and look hard. We must point ourselves to a seeing, not just a telling; we must
return to the primal act of knowing visual meaning by visual means. This vi-
sual knowing is not a naming and cataloging of objects. This knowing desires
identities for which there are no names. This kind of identity exists where
nameable things gather and interact, but anomaly, a sparkling instrument of
the composer, lives between and among nameable objects and qualifies the
experience in a paradoxical way. Anomaly is something that cannot be, but
is—the bush that burns but is not consumed. Anomaly shakes the viewer
awake. Once the viewer is awakened, the artist has the opportunity to form
the visual narrative as an experience of, not an illustration of, the subject—an
incarnation as something you know with your eyes.
Let us consider visual examples that reorient our seeing. If the sur-
prise and mystery of anomaly is to be fruitful, let us return to tradition to
see where Visual Art encountered the bridge to the Modern world. Visual
modernism fully ripens at the end of the nineteenth century—a last gasp of
energy that stamps all of art history with a seal of sorts. Apart from Monet
at Giverny, what came after 1900 began a certain process of dissipation.
What makes this last fever of the old order so important is that the classi-
cally trained minds of the artists found themselves encountering, or being
hit on the forehead with, visual experiences that were largely dismissed by
the artists of previous generations. It is not that previous artists did not see
these contradictory new ideas as they looked at the world, manipulated their
materials, and looked at the images arriving from the work of their hands: it
is impossible to believe that no artist before Cezanne ever experienced the
time-enlarging wonderment of multiple viewpoints expressed in a single im-
1
From Pächt’s series of lectures in 1970–1971, see Otto Pächt, Methodisches
zur kunsthistorischen Praxis (Als Vorlesung and der Universität Wien, gehalten im Win-
tersemester, 1970–1971), in Pächt, Methodisches zur kunsthistorischen Praxis, ed. Jorg
Oberhaidacher, Arthur Rosenauer, and Gertraut Schikola (Munich: Prestel-Verlag,
1997); published in English as Otto Pächt, The Practice of Art History: Reflections on
Method, trans. David Britt (London: Harvey Miller, 1999).

Beauty as Anomaly:
Why Does the Bush Not Burn Up?
Linus Meldrum
Meanwhile Moses was tending the flock of his father-in-law Je-
thro, the priest of Midian. Leading the flock beyond the wilder-
ness, he came to the mountain of God, Horeb. There the angel
of the LORD appeared to him as fire flaming out of a bush.
When he looked, although the bush was on fire, it was not being
consumed. So Moses decided, “I must turn aside to look at this
remarkable sight. Why does the bush not burn up?” When the
LORD saw that he had turned aside to look, God called out to
him from the bush: Moses! Moses! He answered, “Here I am.”
—Exod. 3:1–4
We are in a tenuous position. We desire a renewal of Beauty, but we struggle
to get the party started. We are in disarray. We appear to have a willing cohort,
but there is no concise theory that guides us. Many of us have concise theo-
ries that contradict each other; are we Art Sedevacantists, believing that all of
contemporary media is illicit, or are we Postmodern Pilgrims, walking a per-
ilous path upon which Truth is obscured by layers of despair and disbelief ?
Most of us have grown up in a time when personal preference trumps formal
rules. In our culture, our aesthetic sensibilities cannot help but be affected
by a concept that began long ago as “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”
and eventually morphed into a narcissistic motto for the art-makers of today:
“That’s the way I roll.”
Vision, the sense by which we absorb much of the material world,
is the necessary material pathway. However, the visible is not the same as the
visual. While the visible is taken in as data, the conveyance of meaning, partic-
ularly aesthetic meaning, means that the “stuff ” has been transformed by the
mysterious action of the imagination. This transformation awakens the mind
to visual narrative, an image-story that requires not words or names but re-
lationships that precede the literal. A quote from Otto Pacht, twentieth cen-
tury Austrian art historian, helps to clarify: “[where] art history is concerned,
© Linus Meldrum, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Linus Meldrum 63
in the beginning was the eye, not the word.”1 Postmodernism has been a
movement pre-occupied with deconstructing words, rejecting meta-narra-
tives, revising and reinventing history at will, ignoring traditions built from
scholarship and building “new traditions” of disparate bits of contemporary
distractive fascinations. The result, sadly, is that most of postmodern visual
art relies on many, many words to complete the “picture” for the viewer. This
condition demotes the visual to simply the visible; the literal now rules the
realm of meaning.
Can we renew the sense of a “visual contract” between artist and
viewer, to really know the mind of a truly visual artist? Can we regain what
has been lost, missed, or ignored in recent decades? If so, we must look—
and look hard. We must point ourselves to a seeing, not just a telling; we must
return to the primal act of knowing visual meaning by visual means. This vi-
sual knowing is not a naming and cataloging of objects. This knowing desires
identities for which there are no names. This kind of identity exists where
nameable things gather and interact, but anomaly, a sparkling instrument of
the composer, lives between and among nameable objects and qualifies the
experience in a paradoxical way. Anomaly is something that cannot be, but
is—the bush that burns but is not consumed. Anomaly shakes the viewer
awake. Once the viewer is awakened, the artist has the opportunity to form
the visual narrative as an experience of, not an illustration of, the subject—an
incarnation as something you know with your eyes.
Let us consider visual examples that reorient our seeing. If the sur-
prise and mystery of anomaly is to be fruitful, let us return to tradition to
see where Visual Art encountered the bridge to the Modern world. Visual
modernism fully ripens at the end of the nineteenth century—a last gasp of
energy that stamps all of art history with a seal of sorts. Apart from Monet
at Giverny, what came after 1900 began a certain process of dissipation.
What makes this last fever of the old order so important is that the classi-
cally trained minds of the artists found themselves encountering, or being
hit on the forehead with, visual experiences that were largely dismissed by
the artists of previous generations. It is not that previous artists did not see
these contradictory new ideas as they looked at the world, manipulated their
materials, and looked at the images arriving from the work of their hands: it
is impossible to believe that no artist before Cezanne ever experienced the
time-enlarging wonderment of multiple viewpoints expressed in a single im-
1
From Pächt’s series of lectures in 1970–1971, see Otto Pächt, Methodisches
zur kunsthistorischen Praxis (Als Vorlesung and der Universität Wien, gehalten im Win-
tersemester, 1970–1971), in Pächt, Methodisches zur kunsthistorischen Praxis, ed. Jorg
Oberhaidacher, Arthur Rosenauer, and Gertraut Schikola (Munich: Prestel-Verlag,
1997); published in English as Otto Pächt, The Practice of Art History: Reflections on
Method, trans. David Britt (London: Harvey Miller, 1999).
64 Beauty as Anomaly Linus Meldrum 65
age. Actually knowing what is “going on” in Velazquez’s Las Meninas was, and it may be important to consumers of images and the visual philosophers who
is, as much of a challenge as following the narrative in Christopher Nolan’s are artists.
film Inception: both are conceptual—and visual—puzzles within puzzles. A
door was opening into a new frontier at the turn of the century, and some
artists kept inventing while continuing to work under the previous contract. Anomaly and Its Significance
In 1979, during a private conversation, New York School artist
George McNeil (1908–1995) described to several of us the understanding If we consider an anomaly not only as a peculiarity, but a “situated” pecu-
and manipulation of space by artists in the timeline of history. At first there liarity, we can understand it as something that requires—that is, demands—a
was no space, just a surface as in prehistoric cave painting. Then there was viewer’s attention. Like the Burning Bush, it magnetizes the air of the imagi-
the development of illusionistic space culminating in the highly specific Re- nation: visual identities begin to modify each other in striking combinations.
naissance conception of perspectival images that set the tone for generations The kind of anomaly I want you to consider is not a non sequitur, it is not a
to come. After centuries of artists manipulating one, two, and three point disturbance that simply interrupts the flow of expected reality by being ran-
perspective, Cezanne and a few others gave us the “New” Space—imag- dom and unexpected. It is not simply a surprise (or a simple “didn’t see that
es that combined different points of view in a single image. This thinking coming”). The phenomenon I am considering is a cultured (i.e., “cooked
gave us Cubism and eventually abstraction, including total abstraction, an up”) identity. It “comes from” something. Or, better yet, from someone. The
abandonment of the figure, the object, gravity, and the visual facts of the viewer’s interest is drawn along in a way that might compel the viewer to
material world. Needing a new tradition to revolt against, artists in the later feel comfortable only up to a point, after which questions begin to drive the
twentieth century pushed forward into what McNeil called the “New” New viewer’s imagination to desire to know something that might only be found
Space. These artists produced novel images that had no spatial rationale. In in the creator’s mind.
some cases, they negated space as a concept. They also pirated random visual To see this phenomenon in its environment, consider the following
ideas about space and used them aggressively, whimsically, and nonsensically. short list of examples of anomaly at work in painted images.
Often, artists chose to depict a literal or completely non-visual narrative, as in
painting words on a canvas. This made many of the images of contemporary
art subject-rich but visually poor. This poverty was not a lack of optical sen- Anomaly in the Renaissance World of Piero della Francesca
sations. While there may be pyrotechnical excitement, the narrative content
was better understood when talked about, rather than consumed, digested In the early twentieth century, artists became attracted to the strange and
and understood through the act of seeing. In other words, this kind of art- complex visual constructions of the Early Renaissance artist Piero della
work needed lots of explanation. Francesca. (fig. 1)
This challenge to visual narrative has persisted into the postmodern
era. As Visual Art status has been granted to non-visual meaning, the back-
ground for learning what Art is about has changed. While this heterodox
background can yield a teachable curriculum, it is also a distraction from
what Visual Art has always been good at: incarnating ineffable yet visually
concrete expressions of important subjects.
While there is much to ponder in the complexity of these conflicts,
we can cut through this Gordian knot by a return to seeing as the starting
point for understanding. As we look at an image, we can ask: how does it
“speak visually”? What makes the image visually distinctive? What makes it
“look back” at us? Let us examine visual anomaly as the “opening door” that
Fig. (1) Piero Della Francesca, The Finding and Proving of the True Cross
some artists have used, and can use, to invite us past the names of objects,
the names of colors, and the superficial literal references. Let us consider why Given that Piero was a math-driven perfectionist, and in light of the fact that
this image indicates an aspect of highly intentional poses and figure place-
64 Beauty as Anomaly Linus Meldrum 65
age. Actually knowing what is “going on” in Velazquez’s Las Meninas was, and it may be important to consumers of images and the visual philosophers who
is, as much of a challenge as following the narrative in Christopher Nolan’s are artists.
film Inception: both are conceptual—and visual—puzzles within puzzles. A
door was opening into a new frontier at the turn of the century, and some
artists kept inventing while continuing to work under the previous contract. Anomaly and Its Significance
In 1979, during a private conversation, New York School artist
George McNeil (1908–1995) described to several of us the understanding If we consider an anomaly not only as a peculiarity, but a “situated” pecu-
and manipulation of space by artists in the timeline of history. At first there liarity, we can understand it as something that requires—that is, demands—a
was no space, just a surface as in prehistoric cave painting. Then there was viewer’s attention. Like the Burning Bush, it magnetizes the air of the imagi-
the development of illusionistic space culminating in the highly specific Re- nation: visual identities begin to modify each other in striking combinations.
naissance conception of perspectival images that set the tone for generations The kind of anomaly I want you to consider is not a non sequitur, it is not a
to come. After centuries of artists manipulating one, two, and three point disturbance that simply interrupts the flow of expected reality by being ran-
perspective, Cezanne and a few others gave us the “New” Space—imag- dom and unexpected. It is not simply a surprise (or a simple “didn’t see that
es that combined different points of view in a single image. This thinking coming”). The phenomenon I am considering is a cultured (i.e., “cooked
gave us Cubism and eventually abstraction, including total abstraction, an up”) identity. It “comes from” something. Or, better yet, from someone. The
abandonment of the figure, the object, gravity, and the visual facts of the viewer’s interest is drawn along in a way that might compel the viewer to
material world. Needing a new tradition to revolt against, artists in the later feel comfortable only up to a point, after which questions begin to drive the
twentieth century pushed forward into what McNeil called the “New” New viewer’s imagination to desire to know something that might only be found
Space. These artists produced novel images that had no spatial rationale. In in the creator’s mind.
some cases, they negated space as a concept. They also pirated random visual To see this phenomenon in its environment, consider the following
ideas about space and used them aggressively, whimsically, and nonsensically. short list of examples of anomaly at work in painted images.
Often, artists chose to depict a literal or completely non-visual narrative, as in
painting words on a canvas. This made many of the images of contemporary
art subject-rich but visually poor. This poverty was not a lack of optical sen- Anomaly in the Renaissance World of Piero della Francesca
sations. While there may be pyrotechnical excitement, the narrative content
was better understood when talked about, rather than consumed, digested In the early twentieth century, artists became attracted to the strange and
and understood through the act of seeing. In other words, this kind of art- complex visual constructions of the Early Renaissance artist Piero della
work needed lots of explanation. Francesca. (fig. 1)
This challenge to visual narrative has persisted into the postmodern
era. As Visual Art status has been granted to non-visual meaning, the back-
ground for learning what Art is about has changed. While this heterodox
background can yield a teachable curriculum, it is also a distraction from
what Visual Art has always been good at: incarnating ineffable yet visually
concrete expressions of important subjects.
While there is much to ponder in the complexity of these conflicts,
we can cut through this Gordian knot by a return to seeing as the starting
point for understanding. As we look at an image, we can ask: how does it
“speak visually”? What makes the image visually distinctive? What makes it
“look back” at us? Let us examine visual anomaly as the “opening door” that
Fig. (1) Piero Della Francesca, The Finding and Proving of the True Cross
some artists have used, and can use, to invite us past the names of objects,
the names of colors, and the superficial literal references. Let us consider why Given that Piero was a math-driven perfectionist, and in light of the fact that
this image indicates an aspect of highly intentional poses and figure place-
66 Beauty as Anomaly
ment, we can assume that nothing is present in this image by accident. This
continuous narrative, playing across the stage of the image, is a story from
the thirteenth century Golden Legend of Jacob de Voragine, which brings the
viewer to the Holy Land with St. Helena searching for the True Cross.
How does Piero tell us that the persistent St. Helena has the Cross
on her mind (fig. 2)?
Fig. (2) St. Helena from The Finding and Proving of the True Cross
In Piero’s visual imagination, the Cross springs from her head. The narrative then
flows to the right and the True Cross is “proven” by resurrecting a dead
youth at the right side of the continuous narrative. The horizontal member
of the True Cross ends this visual journey by embedding itself into the face
of the man with the blue funnel hat, in a group of figures of authority who
are “receiving” the news. At various stopping points across the image, visual
elements hook together by adjacencies (i.e., the crosses almost, but not quite,
touch), coincidental spatial layering (i.e., the joining of the left column of
the temple and the shoulder of the lady-in-waiting), and a sense of exacting,
and nearly abstract, geometry (i.e., the temple appears more as a concert of
shapes than as three-dimensional architecture). These examples (and a view-
er’s continued investigation will reveal more of them) are intended to accom-
plish a satisfaction of Piero’s insistence on the unity of pictorial and literary
narrative. The forms do more than fill the page. In comparison to the works
of other artists of the Early Renaissance, Piero’s forms are fitted to the page
Linus Meldrum 67
in ways that are strange, right to the point of creating a sense of anomaly.
The Finding and Proving of the True Cross is not a scene of a natural event.
Under the direction of Charles Blance, full-size facsimiles of Piero’s
artwork in Arezzo were made by Charles Loyeux and brought to the Ecole
des Beaux Arts in Paris in 1873 as teaching instruments in the Musee des Copies.
One of these images was the Finding and Proving of the True Cross.
The Image World of Georges Seurat
George Seurat (1859–1891) was a French painter and draughtsman of the
late nineteenth century. Along with Vincent Van Gogh, Paul Cezanne, and
others, he is part of the Art Historical group called the Neo-Impressionists.
Seurat is the artist who created the remarkable painting, Sunday After-
noon on the Isle of La Grande Jatte c1884 (fig. 3).
Fig. (3) Georges Seurat, Sunday Afternoon on the Isle of La Grande Jatte
Famous enough to have a Broadway musical built from it, it is a unique and
mysterious image hiding inside an almost cartoon-like look at the society of
fin-de-siècle Paris. While there are many little visual puns, spatial leaps, and
twists in this image (all very inventive, the relationship to Piero’s True Cross
image is evident—the visual narrative is highly organized. Seurat, enrolled in
the Ecole des Beaux Arts, had the opportunity to study Piero’s designs as early
as 1876 at the age of seventeen, absorbing some of Piero’s love of heraldic
parading and figuration layered over geometric formations.
66 Beauty as Anomaly
ment, we can assume that nothing is present in this image by accident. This
continuous narrative, playing across the stage of the image, is a story from
the thirteenth century Golden Legend of Jacob de Voragine, which brings the
viewer to the Holy Land with St. Helena searching for the True Cross.
How does Piero tell us that the persistent St. Helena has the Cross
on her mind (fig. 2)?
Fig. (2) St. Helena from The Finding and Proving of the True Cross
In Piero’s visual imagination, the Cross springs from her head. The narrative then
flows to the right and the True Cross is “proven” by resurrecting a dead
youth at the right side of the continuous narrative. The horizontal member
of the True Cross ends this visual journey by embedding itself into the face
of the man with the blue funnel hat, in a group of figures of authority who
are “receiving” the news. At various stopping points across the image, visual
elements hook together by adjacencies (i.e., the crosses almost, but not quite,
touch), coincidental spatial layering (i.e., the joining of the left column of
the temple and the shoulder of the lady-in-waiting), and a sense of exacting,
and nearly abstract, geometry (i.e., the temple appears more as a concert of
shapes than as three-dimensional architecture). These examples (and a view-
er’s continued investigation will reveal more of them) are intended to accom-
plish a satisfaction of Piero’s insistence on the unity of pictorial and literary
narrative. The forms do more than fill the page. In comparison to the works
of other artists of the Early Renaissance, Piero’s forms are fitted to the page
Linus Meldrum 67
in ways that are strange, right to the point of creating a sense of anomaly.
The Finding and Proving of the True Cross is not a scene of a natural event.
Under the direction of Charles Blance, full-size facsimiles of Piero’s
artwork in Arezzo were made by Charles Loyeux and brought to the Ecole
des Beaux Arts in Paris in 1873 as teaching instruments in the Musee des Copies.
One of these images was the Finding and Proving of the True Cross.
The Image World of Georges Seurat
George Seurat (1859–1891) was a French painter and draughtsman of the
late nineteenth century. Along with Vincent Van Gogh, Paul Cezanne, and
others, he is part of the Art Historical group called the Neo-Impressionists.
Seurat is the artist who created the remarkable painting, Sunday After-
noon on the Isle of La Grande Jatte c1884 (fig. 3).
Fig. (3) Georges Seurat, Sunday Afternoon on the Isle of La Grande Jatte
Famous enough to have a Broadway musical built from it, it is a unique and
mysterious image hiding inside an almost cartoon-like look at the society of
fin-de-siècle Paris. While there are many little visual puns, spatial leaps, and
twists in this image (all very inventive, the relationship to Piero’s True Cross
image is evident—the visual narrative is highly organized. Seurat, enrolled in
the Ecole des Beaux Arts, had the opportunity to study Piero’s designs as early
as 1876 at the age of seventeen, absorbing some of Piero’s love of heraldic
parading and figuration layered over geometric formations.
68 Beauty as Anomaly
One then sees a visual inheritance residing in La Gande Jatte, in its still-
ness (even stiffness), its measured sense of exactitude and a calling to mind
of Piero’s St. Helena. In fact, a specific and striking association to the True
Cross image is found within the image. (fig. 4)
Linus Meldrum 69
we see that the upper tree trunk and the man are linked by their size, darkness
and proximity on the surface of the paper. The tree is part of nature, or “in
the ground,” and at the same time, it is “joined” to the distant man. What
does the image visually cue? I suggest a form of dual nature, something akin
to hypostasis. The tree restlessly asserts and reasserts its inconceivability. Be-
cause of this, the drawing has no “end.” It recharges itself and perpetuates a
sense of an impossible visual narrative fitted to a scene that references nature
but poeticizes and transcends it—an anomaly.

Fig. (4) Seated Man (with Top Hat) and Tree from La Grande Jatte

In figure 4, we see a man with a tree springing from his head, itself an oddity,
if not an anomaly, which sets up a question: what was on that man’s mind?
Fig. (5) Georges Seurat, Tree and Man
Seurat is using something of the method of Piero here, guiding us toward
an encounter of something miraculous. To see the development of this con-
Seurat is a marvelous draughtsman who, in drawing with conté cray-
struction, we can look to one of the hundreds of drawings and oil sketches
on on rough paper, focused almost exclusively on finding the monochromatic
for the mural size Grande Jatte. The one to consider is the one that focuses
equivalent of the kind of color luminosity that he had developed in his poin-
on the tree that has “sprung” from the seated man (fig. 5). The conté crayon
tillist painting method in La Grande Jatte. Pointillism relies on small bits of
drawing is Seurat’s study and confirmation of a puzzle. What the tree does is
color laid side by side in a painting, sympathizing and antagonizing, optically
a distinct and startling anomaly.
mixing to produce a color experience in the eye of the viewer that more truly
The drawing is actually a refinement of something that plays only
matches the experience of color light in nature. Pointillism was a purposeful,
a minor part in the complete painting. The drawing is absolutely purposeful
sometimes systematic, extension of the Impressionist revolution of the pre-
and intended to “do something” to the mind of the viewer. This is not a
vious decades in France and elsewhere. But this drawing reveals something
picture. The drawing is carefully formed as a narrative spatial experience. Seurat
other than luminosity; the drawing reveals Seurat’s encounter with something
likely experienced a fleeting moment of seeing a man standing on the bank
in nature and his design response. His drawing proposes an anomaly—the
of the island who happened to be, in the view of the artist, almost behind the
impossible tree is living in two places at once. While this is a precursory
tree. The tree that starts its upward journey in “our space” ends its journey
example of the upcoming modernist concern with space and form on the
“paired” with the man on the distant bank. As the tree diminishes in diameter
two-dimensional surface, it is also, in one complete moment, a recapitulation
68 Beauty as Anomaly
One then sees a visual inheritance residing in La Gande Jatte, in its still-
ness (even stiffness), its measured sense of exactitude and a calling to mind
of Piero’s St. Helena. In fact, a specific and striking association to the True
Cross image is found within the image. (fig. 4)
Linus Meldrum 69
we see that the upper tree trunk and the man are linked by their size, darkness
and proximity on the surface of the paper. The tree is part of nature, or “in
the ground,” and at the same time, it is “joined” to the distant man. What
does the image visually cue? I suggest a form of dual nature, something akin
to hypostasis. The tree restlessly asserts and reasserts its inconceivability. Be-
cause of this, the drawing has no “end.” It recharges itself and perpetuates a
sense of an impossible visual narrative fitted to a scene that references nature
but poeticizes and transcends it—an anomaly.

Fig. (4) Seated Man (with Top Hat) and Tree from La Grande Jatte

In figure 4, we see a man with a tree springing from his head, itself an oddity,
if not an anomaly, which sets up a question: what was on that man’s mind?
Fig. (5) Georges Seurat, Tree and Man
Seurat is using something of the method of Piero here, guiding us toward
an encounter of something miraculous. To see the development of this con-
Seurat is a marvelous draughtsman who, in drawing with conté cray-
struction, we can look to one of the hundreds of drawings and oil sketches
on on rough paper, focused almost exclusively on finding the monochromatic
for the mural size Grande Jatte. The one to consider is the one that focuses
equivalent of the kind of color luminosity that he had developed in his poin-
on the tree that has “sprung” from the seated man (fig. 5). The conté crayon
tillist painting method in La Grande Jatte. Pointillism relies on small bits of
drawing is Seurat’s study and confirmation of a puzzle. What the tree does is
color laid side by side in a painting, sympathizing and antagonizing, optically
a distinct and startling anomaly.
mixing to produce a color experience in the eye of the viewer that more truly
The drawing is actually a refinement of something that plays only
matches the experience of color light in nature. Pointillism was a purposeful,
a minor part in the complete painting. The drawing is absolutely purposeful
sometimes systematic, extension of the Impressionist revolution of the pre-
and intended to “do something” to the mind of the viewer. This is not a
vious decades in France and elsewhere. But this drawing reveals something
picture. The drawing is carefully formed as a narrative spatial experience. Seurat
other than luminosity; the drawing reveals Seurat’s encounter with something
likely experienced a fleeting moment of seeing a man standing on the bank
in nature and his design response. His drawing proposes an anomaly—the
of the island who happened to be, in the view of the artist, almost behind the
impossible tree is living in two places at once. While this is a precursory
tree. The tree that starts its upward journey in “our space” ends its journey
example of the upcoming modernist concern with space and form on the
“paired” with the man on the distant bank. As the tree diminishes in diameter
two-dimensional surface, it is also, in one complete moment, a recapitulation
70 Beauty as Anomaly
of the many mysteries of Piero as well as many, often anonymous, authors
of medieval and early Renaissance images that contain time-busting and
space-warping, continuous narratives. This is the disjunctive realm of the
peculiar, but not accidental, anomaly.
If we look again at La Grande Jatte (fig. 3), we can see the man with
the tree coming out of his head and the small man at the bank of the river—
this is how the idea found its eventual place in the whole image. Did Seurat
intend to convey a specific meaning for this anomaly? Does the man with the
top hat, from which springs the impossible tree, have a particular thought?
Do we need an exact explanation? No. We can dream along with Seurat with-
out constricting his narrative. An exact explanation would stop the melody
and awaken the sleeper. I am content to know that the unity composed here
is a visual consolation—a certain confirmation of the wholeness of vision in
this made-up world of Seurat.
For this unusual masterpiece, there are over one hundred works,
drawings, and painted sketches that preceded it. This large composition is
filled with “unusual” moments of narration. The man and tree drawing alone
has more to see. Notice how the tree casts two shadows; Seurat is teasing our
perception to find the second tree. I would ignore the postmodern analysis
that the woman with the monkey on a chain and the woman who is fishing
are intended to give figurative reference to Parisian prostitution. After all,
sometimes a fishing pole is just a fishing pole.
Giorgio Morandi
In the middle of the twentieth century, the artist Giorgio Morandi accom-
plished something of a miracle. In the face of Matisse and Picasso launching
abstraction onto center stage of the art world (and nearly every artist follow-
ing along), Morandi had the quiet audacity to paint still life images (fig. 6).
Fig. (6) Giorgio Morandi, Natura Morta (Still Life)
Linus Meldrum 71
Contemporary abstractionist painter Sean Scully wrote of Morandi’s power
to subversively corrupt a visit to a modern art show. Hung on the “small
walls” of a gallery, Morandi’s paintings acted as “conscientious objectors”
that drew attention away from the large-scale abstract paintings that filled the
larger walls.2 His “simple,” still-life characters seem to say “we know who we
are, but why are we here?” Almost every one of his images is an anomaly—
they are not composed to be attractive, colorful or pleasant. They are objects
and a tabletop and at the same time they corrupt pictorial space. The objects,
simple as they are, take on personalities that demand to be known anthropo-
morphically and narratively.
In a way, they are puzzling and distinctly anomalous. The viewer is
prompted to call them still-life images but at the same time they are not; you
are forced to ignore their object-ness and accept them as characters acting in
a work of fiction, whose shared actions deny the stillness of still-life. While
we never can be sure of the genre of fiction (Morandi himself was tight-
lipped) his work can be called anything from magical realism, to tall-tales,
to suspense stories. Sometimes they are conspiracies, and the conspirators
are the harmless inhabitants of your china cabinet. They are encamped in
Morandi’s tabletop landscape and they are signaling to us that they intend
to be known as a particular unity in spite of what is expected of a natura
morta picture. They are naively respectful of tradition and, at the same time,
unrepentantly modern. It is no surprise that Piero was also one of Morandi’s
favorite artists.
William Bailey
Later in the twentieth century, an artist bucking the trend of sensationalist
Pop Art in the 60s, also found his way into still life as a stage for narration
(fig.  7). Described as a “realist” by some, accepted as a “conservative” by
many, his sense of “reality” is far from real. A deeply traditional thinker, his
images continually ripened in the 1970s and 80s to eventually contain no
apparent traditional perspective. There is volume but no “real” space. No
ellipses at bases and tops of volumetric objects. No diminution to create a
foreground and background. The cast shadows mystify; they appear to make
sense. But how deep is this tabletop that holds so many objects stacked from
front to back? Is that really the way the shadows could fall? Knowing that
Bailey does not work from a factually observed still life gives a clue: this is all
made-up and he is the inventor of realist “anomalies” that branch out from a
Sean Scully, Resistance and Persistence: Selected Writings, ed. Florence Ingleby
2
(London/New York: Merrel, 2006).
70 Beauty as Anomaly
of the many mysteries of Piero as well as many, often anonymous, authors
of medieval and early Renaissance images that contain time-busting and
space-warping, continuous narratives. This is the disjunctive realm of the
peculiar, but not accidental, anomaly.
If we look again at La Grande Jatte (fig. 3), we can see the man with
the tree coming out of his head and the small man at the bank of the river—
this is how the idea found its eventual place in the whole image. Did Seurat
intend to convey a specific meaning for this anomaly? Does the man with the
top hat, from which springs the impossible tree, have a particular thought?
Do we need an exact explanation? No. We can dream along with Seurat with-
out constricting his narrative. An exact explanation would stop the melody
and awaken the sleeper. I am content to know that the unity composed here
is a visual consolation—a certain confirmation of the wholeness of vision in
this made-up world of Seurat.
For this unusual masterpiece, there are over one hundred works,
drawings, and painted sketches that preceded it. This large composition is
filled with “unusual” moments of narration. The man and tree drawing alone
has more to see. Notice how the tree casts two shadows; Seurat is teasing our
perception to find the second tree. I would ignore the postmodern analysis
that the woman with the monkey on a chain and the woman who is fishing
are intended to give figurative reference to Parisian prostitution. After all,
sometimes a fishing pole is just a fishing pole.
Giorgio Morandi
In the middle of the twentieth century, the artist Giorgio Morandi accom-
plished something of a miracle. In the face of Matisse and Picasso launching
abstraction onto center stage of the art world (and nearly every artist follow-
ing along), Morandi had the quiet audacity to paint still life images (fig. 6).
Fig. (6) Giorgio Morandi, Natura Morta (Still Life)
Linus Meldrum 71
Contemporary abstractionist painter Sean Scully wrote of Morandi’s power
to subversively corrupt a visit to a modern art show. Hung on the “small
walls” of a gallery, Morandi’s paintings acted as “conscientious objectors”
that drew attention away from the large-scale abstract paintings that filled the
larger walls.2 His “simple,” still-life characters seem to say “we know who we
are, but why are we here?” Almost every one of his images is an anomaly—
they are not composed to be attractive, colorful or pleasant. They are objects
and a tabletop and at the same time they corrupt pictorial space. The objects,
simple as they are, take on personalities that demand to be known anthropo-
morphically and narratively.
In a way, they are puzzling and distinctly anomalous. The viewer is
prompted to call them still-life images but at the same time they are not; you
are forced to ignore their object-ness and accept them as characters acting in
a work of fiction, whose shared actions deny the stillness of still-life. While
we never can be sure of the genre of fiction (Morandi himself was tight-
lipped) his work can be called anything from magical realism, to tall-tales,
to suspense stories. Sometimes they are conspiracies, and the conspirators
are the harmless inhabitants of your china cabinet. They are encamped in
Morandi’s tabletop landscape and they are signaling to us that they intend
to be known as a particular unity in spite of what is expected of a natura
morta picture. They are naively respectful of tradition and, at the same time,
unrepentantly modern. It is no surprise that Piero was also one of Morandi’s
favorite artists.
William Bailey
Later in the twentieth century, an artist bucking the trend of sensationalist
Pop Art in the 60s, also found his way into still life as a stage for narration
(fig.  7). Described as a “realist” by some, accepted as a “conservative” by
many, his sense of “reality” is far from real. A deeply traditional thinker, his
images continually ripened in the 1970s and 80s to eventually contain no
apparent traditional perspective. There is volume but no “real” space. No
ellipses at bases and tops of volumetric objects. No diminution to create a
foreground and background. The cast shadows mystify; they appear to make
sense. But how deep is this tabletop that holds so many objects stacked from
front to back? Is that really the way the shadows could fall? Knowing that
Bailey does not work from a factually observed still life gives a clue: this is all
made-up and he is the inventor of realist “anomalies” that branch out from a
Sean Scully, Resistance and Persistence: Selected Writings, ed. Florence Ingleby
2
(London/New York: Merrel, 2006).
72 Beauty as Anomaly
perhaps conventional base to become familiar yet impossible—an opening door
to a narrative experience that stops time and expands time all at once.
Fig. (7) William Bailey, Mercatale Still Life
We can see in these images, characterizations that could be found in Piero,
Seurat, and Morandi. These characters are far, far away—strangely flattened
like a distant cityscape. However, when seen in person, the painted objects in
the image are slightly larger than life-sized—they are closer than close. That is an
anomaly that breaks the convention of “realism” and places us in a sublime
encounter with the tabletop narrative.
So, what has this to do with the Burning Bush? And what does an
anomaly have to do with reaching from our everyday natural world to some-
thing beyond the everyday, to Beauty?
Gregory of Nyssa, the fourth century theologian and Cappadocian
Father of the Church, alluded to anomaly in his theological writings. His The
Life of Moses is a theologically perceptive biography, placing our imagination
onto the path of experiences that Moses walked. The quote from Exodus at
the beginning of this paper is a narrative focal point in the life of Moses. Af-
ter losing his Hebrew family birthright, Moses gains an Egyptian princedom,
kills a man, loses his royal inheritance, runs away, and finds love in the desert
with Zipporah, the daughter of Jethro. A life of adventure, yet nothing like
what was to come. His personal encounter with the Living God begins with
his attention being grabbed by an anomaly, or inconceivability—the bush
that, although on fire, just keeps burning.3
Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, trans. Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett
3
Ferguson (New York: Paulist Press, 1978).
Linus Meldrum 73
Stepping back from this to the viewpoint of the Creator of this nar-
rative event—He who calls from the Bush—we see that the Divine Artist
needed something more than a thunderstorm, or colorful sunset, or some
other radiance of nature to draw the mind of Moses. He needed to take a
piece of common nature and embed it in a supernatural impossibility.
And it worked. Moses drew aside. Moses “heard” this visual call.
Moses met and heard God speak from the bush. God could have simply
talked to Moses in a dream—or as he watered his flock, or as he gazed at
the stars—but He chose to use this crack in natural reality to awaken the
visual imagination of Moses. And Moses was ready (perceptive, alert, close
to nature) and aware of, indeed actively participating in, everyday marvels like
birth, death, and love. He leapt at the chance to know this newfound, mar-
velous experience. And he became, with God’s grace, on fire himself.
An anomaly, if it is to persist in its mystery, is never completely
“owned.” Gregory of Nyssa, in The Life of Moses, directs us to consider God’s
eternal incomprehensibility. Like Plotinus, Gregory sees the progress toward
the Divine Beauty as a perpetual turning-toward. Gregory teaches that as
much as Moses wanted to see God, it was impossible to complete his desire
in any human way.
The Sacred Wood
If any of this is to make sense for visual art and artists, there remains this
question: to what does anomaly point? Or as viewers of and participants
in the artist’s work, from whence does the anomaly come? The “effect” of
anomaly is not enough to be artful—hot pepper is not flavor and explosions
are not fireworks. Something in the surprise that is initiated by the creator
must transform our understanding of the creator’s desire and purpose. The
creator must start in a world we know well, and then lead us to a place we can-
not get to on our own. We must not be frustrated if the destination remains
mysterious. Cataloging and rational description will not explain our awe and
wonder without dropping back to the world of defined figures, objects, and
places. Explaining a paradox, or even a concise joke, undoes the meaningful
experience intended by the author. This is the challenge of knowing visual
art; the viewer must, in some way, explain the art to the mind with language
constructions that live in two worlds—the invented world of the creator and
the everyday world of the viewer.
In the essays of T. S. Eliot compiled as The Sacred Wood, an important
clarification is found. He tries to fit together the efforts of creative writers
and the longstanding tradition of literature forms. (I insert below in brackets
my extension of the idea into the realm of the visual.)
72 Beauty as Anomaly
perhaps conventional base to become familiar yet impossible—an opening door
to a narrative experience that stops time and expands time all at once.
Fig. (7) William Bailey, Mercatale Still Life
We can see in these images, characterizations that could be found in Piero,
Seurat, and Morandi. These characters are far, far away—strangely flattened
like a distant cityscape. However, when seen in person, the painted objects in
the image are slightly larger than life-sized—they are closer than close. That is an
anomaly that breaks the convention of “realism” and places us in a sublime
encounter with the tabletop narrative.
So, what has this to do with the Burning Bush? And what does an
anomaly have to do with reaching from our everyday natural world to some-
thing beyond the everyday, to Beauty?
Gregory of Nyssa, the fourth century theologian and Cappadocian
Father of the Church, alluded to anomaly in his theological writings. His The
Life of Moses is a theologically perceptive biography, placing our imagination
onto the path of experiences that Moses walked. The quote from Exodus at
the beginning of this paper is a narrative focal point in the life of Moses. Af-
ter losing his Hebrew family birthright, Moses gains an Egyptian princedom,
kills a man, loses his royal inheritance, runs away, and finds love in the desert
with Zipporah, the daughter of Jethro. A life of adventure, yet nothing like
what was to come. His personal encounter with the Living God begins with
his attention being grabbed by an anomaly, or inconceivability—the bush
that, although on fire, just keeps burning.3
Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, trans. Abraham J. Malherbe and Everett
3
Ferguson (New York: Paulist Press, 1978).
Linus Meldrum 73
Stepping back from this to the viewpoint of the Creator of this nar-
rative event—He who calls from the Bush—we see that the Divine Artist
needed something more than a thunderstorm, or colorful sunset, or some
other radiance of nature to draw the mind of Moses. He needed to take a
piece of common nature and embed it in a supernatural impossibility.
And it worked. Moses drew aside. Moses “heard” this visual call.
Moses met and heard God speak from the bush. God could have simply
talked to Moses in a dream—or as he watered his flock, or as he gazed at
the stars—but He chose to use this crack in natural reality to awaken the
visual imagination of Moses. And Moses was ready (perceptive, alert, close
to nature) and aware of, indeed actively participating in, everyday marvels like
birth, death, and love. He leapt at the chance to know this newfound, mar-
velous experience. And he became, with God’s grace, on fire himself.
An anomaly, if it is to persist in its mystery, is never completely
“owned.” Gregory of Nyssa, in The Life of Moses, directs us to consider God’s
eternal incomprehensibility. Like Plotinus, Gregory sees the progress toward
the Divine Beauty as a perpetual turning-toward. Gregory teaches that as
much as Moses wanted to see God, it was impossible to complete his desire
in any human way.
The Sacred Wood
If any of this is to make sense for visual art and artists, there remains this
question: to what does anomaly point? Or as viewers of and participants
in the artist’s work, from whence does the anomaly come? The “effect” of
anomaly is not enough to be artful—hot pepper is not flavor and explosions
are not fireworks. Something in the surprise that is initiated by the creator
must transform our understanding of the creator’s desire and purpose. The
creator must start in a world we know well, and then lead us to a place we can-
not get to on our own. We must not be frustrated if the destination remains
mysterious. Cataloging and rational description will not explain our awe and
wonder without dropping back to the world of defined figures, objects, and
places. Explaining a paradox, or even a concise joke, undoes the meaningful
experience intended by the author. This is the challenge of knowing visual
art; the viewer must, in some way, explain the art to the mind with language
constructions that live in two worlds—the invented world of the creator and
the everyday world of the viewer.
In the essays of T. S. Eliot compiled as The Sacred Wood, an important
clarification is found. He tries to fit together the efforts of creative writers
and the longstanding tradition of literature forms. (I insert below in brackets
my extension of the idea into the realm of the visual.)
74 Beauty as Anomaly
What exactly is this abyss? And if something “has gone amiss
with our standards,” is it wholly the fault of the younger genera-
tion that it is aware of no authority that it must respect? It is part
of the business of the critic to preserve tradition—where a good
tradition exists. It is part of his business to see literature [images]
steadily and to see it [the realm of images] whole; and this is em-
inently to see it [image-making] not as consecrated by time, but
to see it beyond time; to see the best work of our time and the
best work of twenty-five hundred years ago with the same eyes.”4
This broadcasts the necessity of hinging the visual inventions of the visual
artist to the vast river of ideas that forms tradition. Without this, the artist is
simply “creating novelties.”
For Moses, as recounted by Gregory of Nyssa in The Life of Moses,
The bold request which goes up the mountains of desire asks
this: to enjoy the Beauty not in mirrors and reflections, but face
to face. The divine voice granted what was requested in what
was denied, showing in a few words an immeasurable depth of
thought. The munificence of God assented to the fulfillment of
his desire, but did not promise any cessation or satiety of the de-
sire. He would not have shown himself to his servant if the sight
were such as to bring the desire of the beholder to an end, since
the true sight of God consists in this: that the one who looks up
to God never ceases in that desire.5
So what would Gregory suggest to an artist trying to reach the Divine? Do
not create images intended to convey the supernatural by using “factualism,”
“pure naturalism,” “pure realism,” or “pure rationalism” that come to a con-
clusion, to a summation that is an “end.” Something in the image—namely,
in the design of the image—must keep open the channel of ongoing progress
toward the Divine. If an image “resolves,” the experience is over, the image
is “done.”
Gregory of Nyssa might say that the Seurat drawing (fig. 5) is not
“done,” but he would also say that it does not need more drawing so that it
can be done; rather, it is a “leading to.” Leading to where? I would contend:
right into the mind of Seurat, or in the other works as examples, into the
minds of Piero, Morandi, or Bailey. By seeing the anomalous beacon we can
make our way to a significant destination: the living mind of another person.
What Moses saw in the anomaly of the Burning Bush was “God’s Mind”
4
T. S. Eliot, The Sacred Wood, Essays on Poetry and Criticism (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1921).
5
Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses.
Linus Meldrum 75
at work—an act and an image that was Beautiful. What follows such an en-
counter is an immersion in narrative. For Moses, that would be the narrative
of Salvation, the Burning Bush and Moses’s awakening was situated in the
tradition to which Moses belonged. He was granted deep familiarity with the
Person of God, who is Pure Truth, Pure Goodness, and (importantly for the
visual sense) Pure Beauty. What Moses saw was as much as any human could
hope for before the seeing of the human face of Christ.
A visual artist might define anomaly: something that is familiar or
should be familiar (that is, respecting and building on a tradition) made to
be peculiar in order to convey an understanding of the invisible and super-
natural realm that is beyond “mere vision.” And continuing: the intention of
doing such a thing is to confirm with particular inventiveness something that,
while factually obscure, is actually already known because it is a “permanent
thing”—we recognize in an image the substance of narrative that glues to-
gether the everyday world. Sometimes that pang of recognition is from see-
ing expressed tenderness, complementary affection, impending malevolence,
or other human-relational experiences. And sometimes it all takes place on a
tabletop in an image. While we may clearly recount the dramatic actions with-
in a parable, the actions are never the subject. For visual artists, who are also
parable-tellers, the subject of the work lies beyond practical vision. Crack
open the visual story at the anomalous seam and look inside. The place for
us to “rest” is in the mind of the artist who, through image-making, signals
to us the presence of something both human and supernatural.
In a work of Christian art, or in secular art from the hands of a
Christian artist, for instance, the work can narrate the experience of God.
When that occurs, we are given the opportunity to see a distant land through
the telescope of the artist’s mind. It is also true community: the artist and
viewer “being” together, mind joined to mind.
The anomaly is just the beacon. The essential goal is to know the
mind of a creating human, or in sacred art, to know the mind of the ultimate
Creator. This is the primordial bowl of content into which we dip our daily
bread.
There are non-Christian artists, and I must say, even anti-Christian
artists who know these ideas well. I specifically selected some artwork with-
out a Christian message in order to highlight this. However, the artworks I
have selected are more than anomaly-rich; the artists are also part of a tradi-
tion. Not coincidentally, they all can be grouped as dramatists or constructors
of visual parables. None of these artists ignored the past; they entered the
goldmine of tradition and explored with great care. They each found a way
to renew tradition without destroying tradition. Christian artists today often
spend time in obvious parts of the goldmine of tradition rather than trust
that there are rich veins yet to be uncovered by more digging. Many of these
74 Beauty as Anomaly
What exactly is this abyss? And if something “has gone amiss
with our standards,” is it wholly the fault of the younger genera-
tion that it is aware of no authority that it must respect? It is part
of the business of the critic to preserve tradition—where a good
tradition exists. It is part of his business to see literature [images]
steadily and to see it [the realm of images] whole; and this is em-
inently to see it [image-making] not as consecrated by time, but
to see it beyond time; to see the best work of our time and the
best work of twenty-five hundred years ago with the same eyes.”4
This broadcasts the necessity of hinging the visual inventions of the visual
artist to the vast river of ideas that forms tradition. Without this, the artist is
simply “creating novelties.”
For Moses, as recounted by Gregory of Nyssa in The Life of Moses,
The bold request which goes up the mountains of desire asks
this: to enjoy the Beauty not in mirrors and reflections, but face
to face. The divine voice granted what was requested in what
was denied, showing in a few words an immeasurable depth of
thought. The munificence of God assented to the fulfillment of
his desire, but did not promise any cessation or satiety of the de-
sire. He would not have shown himself to his servant if the sight
were such as to bring the desire of the beholder to an end, since
the true sight of God consists in this: that the one who looks up
to God never ceases in that desire.5
So what would Gregory suggest to an artist trying to reach the Divine? Do
not create images intended to convey the supernatural by using “factualism,”
“pure naturalism,” “pure realism,” or “pure rationalism” that come to a con-
clusion, to a summation that is an “end.” Something in the image—namely,
in the design of the image—must keep open the channel of ongoing progress
toward the Divine. If an image “resolves,” the experience is over, the image
is “done.”
Gregory of Nyssa might say that the Seurat drawing (fig. 5) is not
“done,” but he would also say that it does not need more drawing so that it
can be done; rather, it is a “leading to.” Leading to where? I would contend:
right into the mind of Seurat, or in the other works as examples, into the
minds of Piero, Morandi, or Bailey. By seeing the anomalous beacon we can
make our way to a significant destination: the living mind of another person.
What Moses saw in the anomaly of the Burning Bush was “God’s Mind”
4
T. S. Eliot, The Sacred Wood, Essays on Poetry and Criticism (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1921).
5
Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses.
Linus Meldrum 75
at work—an act and an image that was Beautiful. What follows such an en-
counter is an immersion in narrative. For Moses, that would be the narrative
of Salvation, the Burning Bush and Moses’s awakening was situated in the
tradition to which Moses belonged. He was granted deep familiarity with the
Person of God, who is Pure Truth, Pure Goodness, and (importantly for the
visual sense) Pure Beauty. What Moses saw was as much as any human could
hope for before the seeing of the human face of Christ.
A visual artist might define anomaly: something that is familiar or
should be familiar (that is, respecting and building on a tradition) made to
be peculiar in order to convey an understanding of the invisible and super-
natural realm that is beyond “mere vision.” And continuing: the intention of
doing such a thing is to confirm with particular inventiveness something that,
while factually obscure, is actually already known because it is a “permanent
thing”—we recognize in an image the substance of narrative that glues to-
gether the everyday world. Sometimes that pang of recognition is from see-
ing expressed tenderness, complementary affection, impending malevolence,
or other human-relational experiences. And sometimes it all takes place on a
tabletop in an image. While we may clearly recount the dramatic actions with-
in a parable, the actions are never the subject. For visual artists, who are also
parable-tellers, the subject of the work lies beyond practical vision. Crack
open the visual story at the anomalous seam and look inside. The place for
us to “rest” is in the mind of the artist who, through image-making, signals
to us the presence of something both human and supernatural.
In a work of Christian art, or in secular art from the hands of a
Christian artist, for instance, the work can narrate the experience of God.
When that occurs, we are given the opportunity to see a distant land through
the telescope of the artist’s mind. It is also true community: the artist and
viewer “being” together, mind joined to mind.
The anomaly is just the beacon. The essential goal is to know the
mind of a creating human, or in sacred art, to know the mind of the ultimate
Creator. This is the primordial bowl of content into which we dip our daily
bread.
There are non-Christian artists, and I must say, even anti-Christian
artists who know these ideas well. I specifically selected some artwork with-
out a Christian message in order to highlight this. However, the artworks I
have selected are more than anomaly-rich; the artists are also part of a tradi-
tion. Not coincidentally, they all can be grouped as dramatists or constructors
of visual parables. None of these artists ignored the past; they entered the
goldmine of tradition and explored with great care. They each found a way
to renew tradition without destroying tradition. Christian artists today often
spend time in obvious parts of the goldmine of tradition rather than trust
that there are rich veins yet to be uncovered by more digging. Many of these
76 Beauty as Anomaly Alessandro Rovati 77
contemporary Christian artists are consumed with the study of technique. In
the goldmine, technique is the practical craft of using pick and shovel. Tech-
The Beauty that Pierces the Heart:
nique is important for artists, but it is not Art. Technique helps to clarify ideas Joseph Ratzinger’s Christological
but it is not an idea in itself. Good spelling is not literature. A good image
is a good parable—a visual story with an embedded truth. For Piero, it was Understanding of Beauty
turning St. Helena’s desire to find the relic of the Cross (and his understand-
ing of dynamic geometric perfection) into a story that pulls the eye along.
Alessandro Rovati
Christian artists, especially Catholic artists who seek the deepest themes and
strongest traditions, have a wealth of mentor-artists in the historical timeline.
Study will reveal that when an anomaly is present, the image jumps to life.
This visual refreshment helps to renew tradition and elevate traditional art. It Art, Beauty, and the Magisterium1
also keeps technical expertise from succumbing to simple archaism. It is a sad
but clarifying moment when a Christian artist realizes that technical expertise The Pope is your friend.… We need you. We need your collabo-
is the actual subject-matter of his images. It is one thing to honor tradition; ration in order to carry out our ministry, which consists, as you
it is another thing to simply love being a traditionalist. know, in preaching and rendering accessible and comprehensible
If the incarnate soul who is the art-maker is seeking a Divine truth, to the minds and hearts of our people the things of the spirit, the
or trying to part the veil to glimpse, however partially, the beatific vision, invisible, the ineffable, the things of God Himself. And in this
and if he or she calls us with an anomaly, we should pay attention; in this activity of transposing the invisible world into accessible and in-
image-soaked, image-driven culture we share, it may be the narrow path to telligible forms you are masters. It is your task, your mission; and
finding Beauty. your art consists in grasping treasures from the heavenly realm
of the spirit and clothing them in words, colors, forms—making
—Franciscan University them accessible.2
The words that Blessed Paul VI addressed to artists during the Second Vat-
ican Council is just one of many instances of the fruitful dialogue between
1
A work-in-progress version of this scholarly article was presented at the
Franciscan University of Steubenville conference on Christian Philosophy, “The
Power of Beauty,” on October 24–25, 2014. I thank Dr. John F. Crosby and the
Program Committee for their kind invitation to present at the conference, Catherine
F. O’Camb for her logistical help, and the Philosophy Department at Franciscan
University for its financial support. I also need to thank Stephen and Suzanne Lewis
for their hospitality. Mary Burazer and Susan Mayes of Belmont Abbey College and
Francesco Tosi of Università Cattolica di Milano have given me an invaluable help in
collecting the research materials I needed, and I want to thank Sr. Mary Eucharista,
SMMC and Matteo Bergamaschi for their comments on earlier versions of this arti-
cle. Dr. Theresa Farnan, whose work has made this journal issue possible, has given
me important suggestions, and I know that my article is better because of them.
Finally, for her edits and companionship, my heartfelt gratitude goes to my wife,
Rachelle Ramirez.
2
Paul VI, “Mass with Artists,” May 7, 1964, accessed August 30, 2015,
http://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/it/homilies/1964/documents/hf_p-vi_
hom_19640507_messa-artisti.html.
© Alessandro Rovati, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
76 Beauty as Anomaly Alessandro Rovati 77
contemporary Christian artists are consumed with the study of technique. In
the goldmine, technique is the practical craft of using pick and shovel. Tech-
The Beauty that Pierces the Heart:
nique is important for artists, but it is not Art. Technique helps to clarify ideas Joseph Ratzinger’s Christological
but it is not an idea in itself. Good spelling is not literature. A good image
is a good parable—a visual story with an embedded truth. For Piero, it was Understanding of Beauty
turning St. Helena’s desire to find the relic of the Cross (and his understand-
ing of dynamic geometric perfection) into a story that pulls the eye along.
Alessandro Rovati
Christian artists, especially Catholic artists who seek the deepest themes and
strongest traditions, have a wealth of mentor-artists in the historical timeline.
Study will reveal that when an anomaly is present, the image jumps to life.
This visual refreshment helps to renew tradition and elevate traditional art. It Art, Beauty, and the Magisterium1
also keeps technical expertise from succumbing to simple archaism. It is a sad
but clarifying moment when a Christian artist realizes that technical expertise The Pope is your friend.… We need you. We need your collabo-
is the actual subject-matter of his images. It is one thing to honor tradition; ration in order to carry out our ministry, which consists, as you
it is another thing to simply love being a traditionalist. know, in preaching and rendering accessible and comprehensible
If the incarnate soul who is the art-maker is seeking a Divine truth, to the minds and hearts of our people the things of the spirit, the
or trying to part the veil to glimpse, however partially, the beatific vision, invisible, the ineffable, the things of God Himself. And in this
and if he or she calls us with an anomaly, we should pay attention; in this activity of transposing the invisible world into accessible and in-
image-soaked, image-driven culture we share, it may be the narrow path to telligible forms you are masters. It is your task, your mission; and
finding Beauty. your art consists in grasping treasures from the heavenly realm
of the spirit and clothing them in words, colors, forms—making
—Franciscan University them accessible.2
The words that Blessed Paul VI addressed to artists during the Second Vat-
ican Council is just one of many instances of the fruitful dialogue between
1
A work-in-progress version of this scholarly article was presented at the
Franciscan University of Steubenville conference on Christian Philosophy, “The
Power of Beauty,” on October 24–25, 2014. I thank Dr. John F. Crosby and the
Program Committee for their kind invitation to present at the conference, Catherine
F. O’Camb for her logistical help, and the Philosophy Department at Franciscan
University for its financial support. I also need to thank Stephen and Suzanne Lewis
for their hospitality. Mary Burazer and Susan Mayes of Belmont Abbey College and
Francesco Tosi of Università Cattolica di Milano have given me an invaluable help in
collecting the research materials I needed, and I want to thank Sr. Mary Eucharista,
SMMC and Matteo Bergamaschi for their comments on earlier versions of this arti-
cle. Dr. Theresa Farnan, whose work has made this journal issue possible, has given
me important suggestions, and I know that my article is better because of them.
Finally, for her edits and companionship, my heartfelt gratitude goes to my wife,
Rachelle Ramirez.
2
Paul VI, “Mass with Artists,” May 7, 1964, accessed August 30, 2015,
http://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/it/homilies/1964/documents/hf_p-vi_
hom_19640507_messa-artisti.html.
© Alessandro Rovati, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
78 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
the Church and the world of art that has left so many astonishing traces in
our history. From the beginning of Christianity, we can witness an alliance
between the Gospel and art, a relationship that encompasses the first pa-
leo-Christian symbols, medieval art, the Eastern Orthodox icon tradition,
the great works of the Renaissance, and all the other artistic expressions
that followed up to today. From where does such an enduring and fruitful
relationship come? Why is it that the Church and artists have engaged in this
unbroken dialogue for centuries?3 art and the Church is the link between the former and the mystery of the
There are many historical reasons that can justify this privileged re-
lationship. The prominent role that Christianity had in Western culture, the
generous patronage of many Christian leaders, the work of the various re-
ligious orders, and widespread popular piety are just a few of the causes of
this multifaceted phenomenon. Following St. John Paul II, I want to suggest
that besides these contingent factors, the dialogue between the Church and
artists “is rooted in the very essence of both religious experience and artistic
creativity.”4
In a letter he addressed to artists on the occasion of the Jubilee,
in fact, St. John Paul II—himself an artist—meditated on the connections
between God’s creative activity as described in Genesis and the artist’s own
work. “The human craftsman,” he wrote, “mirrors the image of God as Cre-
3
While I recognize that there have been many instances in which such a
dialogue has in fact been broken and that its very possibility or necessity has been ex-
plicitly denied by some, in what follows I want to emphasize the positive relationship
that exists or can exist between the Church and various artistic expressions. While
both Ratzinger and the magisterial documents reflect on the problematic state of
some contemporary artistic expressions, they focus more on the fruitful relationship
between art and faith than on its denial. Moreover, I do not possess the necessary
expertise in art history to discuss specific challenges to the relationship between art
and faith. For Ratzinger’s description of what he calls “the crisis of art,” see his The
Spirit of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2000), 130–31. And Benedict XVI,
Message to the President of the Pontifical Council for Culture on the Occasion
of the 13th Public Conference of the Pontifical Academies on the Theme: “The
Universality of Beauty: A Comparison between Aesthetics and Ethics,” November
24, 2008, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/
en/messages/pont-messages/2008/documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20081124_ravasi.
html. Interestingly enough, when Paul VI met with artists during the Second Vat-
ican Council he acknowledged that both the Church and artists had their share of
responsibility in creating a distance between art and faith, thus recognizing the need
of mutual forgiveness (Paul VI, “Mass with Artists).
4
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 1, par. 3, April 4, 1999, accessed August
30, 2015, https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1999/documents/
hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists.html.
Alessandro Rovati 79
ator.”5 Certainly the two are distinguished, for while the former, the crafts-
man, gives form and meaning to something that already exists, the latter,
God, brings something into being out of nothing, creating ex nihilo. But, at
the same time, while the infinite difference between the Creator and the crea-
ture is evident, human beings’ artistic creativity expresses in a distinctive way
the likeness between them and God.
A second element that justifies the substantive relationship between
Word made flesh. While the Old Testament forbade the representation of
God in images, the Incarnation, where the invisible becomes visible, intro-
duced into the history of the world “a new dimension of beauty, of which
the Gospel message is filled to the brim.”6 Accordingly, artists who are con-
stantly searching for the meaning of things and who are striving to make
present the spiritual reality that their souls intuit, could not but find in Reve-
lation a never-ending and engaging source of inspiration. That is why the Sa-
cred Scripture has become an “immense vocabulary”7 (to use an expression
of the playwright Paul Claudel that was dear to St. John Paul II) which artists,
both Christians and not, have used to produce their beautiful works, be they
pictorial, architectural, or musical. These artistic expressions of the biblical
word, in turn, have greatly benefitted the Church and her children, for whom
art has become a nourishing source of education and help in their journey of
faith.8
Finally, there is another element that represents the culmination of
the close relationship between artists and the Church. Even when its sub-
ject is not explicitly religious, art has the power to point in a special way to
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid., § 5, par. 2.
7
Ibid., § 5, par. 3.
8
To say it with Ratzinger: “some artistic expressions are real highways to
God, the supreme Beauty; indeed, they help us to grow in our relationship with him,
in prayer. These are works that were born from faith and express faith. We can see an
example of this when we visit a Gothic cathedral: we are enraptured by the vertical
lines that soar skywards and uplift our gaze and our spirit, while at the same time
we feel small yet long for fullness. Or when we enter a Romanesque church we are
spontaneously prompted to meditate and to pray. We perceive that these splendid
buildings contain, as it were, the faith of generations. Or when we listen to a piece of
sacred music that plucks at our heartstrings, our mind, as it were, expands and turns
naturally to God” (Benedict XVI, “General Audience,” par. 5–6, August 31, 2011,
accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/audienc-
es/2011/documents/hf_ben-xvi_aud_20110831.html). The examples could contin-
ue to include the medieval paintings that taught the tenets of the faith to illiterate
faithful and the contemporary use of technological media to catechize people within
and outside the Church.
78 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
the Church and the world of art that has left so many astonishing traces in
our history. From the beginning of Christianity, we can witness an alliance
between the Gospel and art, a relationship that encompasses the first pa-
leo-Christian symbols, medieval art, the Eastern Orthodox icon tradition,
the great works of the Renaissance, and all the other artistic expressions
that followed up to today. From where does such an enduring and fruitful
relationship come? Why is it that the Church and artists have engaged in this
unbroken dialogue for centuries?3 art and the Church is the link between the former and the mystery of the
There are many historical reasons that can justify this privileged re-
lationship. The prominent role that Christianity had in Western culture, the
generous patronage of many Christian leaders, the work of the various re-
ligious orders, and widespread popular piety are just a few of the causes of
this multifaceted phenomenon. Following St. John Paul II, I want to suggest
that besides these contingent factors, the dialogue between the Church and
artists “is rooted in the very essence of both religious experience and artistic
creativity.”4
In a letter he addressed to artists on the occasion of the Jubilee,
in fact, St. John Paul II—himself an artist—meditated on the connections
between God’s creative activity as described in Genesis and the artist’s own
work. “The human craftsman,” he wrote, “mirrors the image of God as Cre-
3
While I recognize that there have been many instances in which such a
dialogue has in fact been broken and that its very possibility or necessity has been ex-
plicitly denied by some, in what follows I want to emphasize the positive relationship
that exists or can exist between the Church and various artistic expressions. While
both Ratzinger and the magisterial documents reflect on the problematic state of
some contemporary artistic expressions, they focus more on the fruitful relationship
between art and faith than on its denial. Moreover, I do not possess the necessary
expertise in art history to discuss specific challenges to the relationship between art
and faith. For Ratzinger’s description of what he calls “the crisis of art,” see his The
Spirit of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2000), 130–31. And Benedict XVI,
Message to the President of the Pontifical Council for Culture on the Occasion
of the 13th Public Conference of the Pontifical Academies on the Theme: “The
Universality of Beauty: A Comparison between Aesthetics and Ethics,” November
24, 2008, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/
en/messages/pont-messages/2008/documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20081124_ravasi.
html. Interestingly enough, when Paul VI met with artists during the Second Vat-
ican Council he acknowledged that both the Church and artists had their share of
responsibility in creating a distance between art and faith, thus recognizing the need
of mutual forgiveness (Paul VI, “Mass with Artists).
4
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 1, par. 3, April 4, 1999, accessed August
30, 2015, https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1999/documents/
hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists.html.
Alessandro Rovati 79
ator.”5 Certainly the two are distinguished, for while the former, the crafts-
man, gives form and meaning to something that already exists, the latter,
God, brings something into being out of nothing, creating ex nihilo. But, at
the same time, while the infinite difference between the Creator and the crea-
ture is evident, human beings’ artistic creativity expresses in a distinctive way
the likeness between them and God.
A second element that justifies the substantive relationship between
Word made flesh. While the Old Testament forbade the representation of
God in images, the Incarnation, where the invisible becomes visible, intro-
duced into the history of the world “a new dimension of beauty, of which
the Gospel message is filled to the brim.”6 Accordingly, artists who are con-
stantly searching for the meaning of things and who are striving to make
present the spiritual reality that their souls intuit, could not but find in Reve-
lation a never-ending and engaging source of inspiration. That is why the Sa-
cred Scripture has become an “immense vocabulary”7 (to use an expression
of the playwright Paul Claudel that was dear to St. John Paul II) which artists,
both Christians and not, have used to produce their beautiful works, be they
pictorial, architectural, or musical. These artistic expressions of the biblical
word, in turn, have greatly benefitted the Church and her children, for whom
art has become a nourishing source of education and help in their journey of
faith.8
Finally, there is another element that represents the culmination of
the close relationship between artists and the Church. Even when its sub-
ject is not explicitly religious, art has the power to point in a special way to
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid., § 5, par. 2.
7
Ibid., § 5, par. 3.
8
To say it with Ratzinger: “some artistic expressions are real highways to
God, the supreme Beauty; indeed, they help us to grow in our relationship with him,
in prayer. These are works that were born from faith and express faith. We can see an
example of this when we visit a Gothic cathedral: we are enraptured by the vertical
lines that soar skywards and uplift our gaze and our spirit, while at the same time
we feel small yet long for fullness. Or when we enter a Romanesque church we are
spontaneously prompted to meditate and to pray. We perceive that these splendid
buildings contain, as it were, the faith of generations. Or when we listen to a piece of
sacred music that plucks at our heartstrings, our mind, as it were, expands and turns
naturally to God” (Benedict XVI, “General Audience,” par. 5–6, August 31, 2011,
accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/audienc-
es/2011/documents/hf_ben-xvi_aud_20110831.html). The examples could contin-
ue to include the medieval paintings that taught the tenets of the faith to illiterate
faithful and the contemporary use of technological media to catechize people within
and outside the Church.
80 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
religious experience. For instance, St. John Paul II noticed that “in so far
as it seeks the beautiful, …art is by its nature a kind of appeal to the mys-
tery. Even when they explore the darkest depths of the soul or the most
unsettling aspects of evil, artists give voice in a way to the universal desire
for redemption.”9 It is no mistake, consequently, that the Church has found
herself especially concerned with art and artists. God reconciles the world
in Christ by making Himself known to all human beings. At the same time,
Jesus “fully reveals man to man,” as we read in Gaudium et Spes,10 so that the
Church becomes a special companion for those who, like most artists, seek
to truly understand the depths of reality and the mystery of humanity.
For all these reasons, it does not come as a surprise that the Church
and artists experience a special closeness. We see clear traces of this special
relationship in the message that Bl. Paul VI addressed to artists at the conclu-
sion of the Second Vatican Council. “If you are friends of the true art, you
are our friends! …This world in which we live needs beauty in order not to
sink into despair. Beauty, like truth, brings joy to the human heart.… Remem-
ber that you are the custodians of beauty in the world.”11
The Promise of Beauty
I have just shown the extent to which both Bl. Paul VI and St. John Paul II
emphasize the relationship between art, beauty, and faith. Why is this so?
What is it that makes beauty such an important concept for the Christian
life? To answer these questions I now turn to a discussion12 of Ratzinger’s
9
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 10, par. 2.
10
Paul VI, Gaudium et Spes, § 22, par. 1, December 7, 1965, accessed August
30, 2015, http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/docu-
ments/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html.
11
Paul VI, Messages of the Council: to the Artists, par. 1, 3, December 8, 1965, ac-
cessed August 30, 2015, https://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/en/speeches/1965/
documents/hf_p-vi_spe_19651208_epilogo-concilio-artisti.html.
12
Given the scope of this article, I have not had a chance to expand on the
place that the liturgy and the sacraments have in Ratzinger’s reflection on beauty. On
this topic, see Joseph Ratzinger, Theology of the Liturgy: The Sacramental Foundation of
Christian Existence, trans. Kenneth Baker, SJ, and Michael J. Miller, vol. 11, Collected
Works (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2008); Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy,
trans. John Saward (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2000); Ratzinger, A New Song
for the Lord: Faith in Christ and Liturgy Today, trans. Martha M. Matesich (New York:
Crossroad Publishing Company, 1996); Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith: Approaches to a
Theology of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986). The most comprehensive
account of Ratzinger’s theology can be found in Tracy Rowland, Ratzinger’s Faith: The
Theology of Pope Benedict XVI (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008); see also,
Alessandro Rovati 81
Christological understanding of beauty.13
Beauty has such an important role in the Christian life, first and fore-
most, because the experience of beauty “is by no means a supplementary or
secondary factor in our search for meaning and happiness.”14 The experience
of beauty does not imply an escape from reality into the realm of irrational or
pure aesthetics. Quite the contrary, beauty is usually something that facilitates
and deepens the encounter with reality. We experience this fact every time
we see a beautiful natural scene, or when we observe an astonishing work of
art, or even when we meet a person that strikes us with his or her beauty. In
all these instances the attraction we feel for the beauty we confront makes
us more attentive and engaged, thus introducing us to a deeper knowledge
of the object before us. These rather simplistic examples actually point to a
topic that has been discussed at length in the Catholic tradition—namely, the
fundamental connection between truth and beauty. “Truth, the aim or goal
of reason,” says Ratzinger, “is expressed in beauty and in beauty becomes
itself, is proven to be truth. Therefore, wherever there is truth beauty must
be born, wherever human beings are fulfilled in a correct and good way, they
express themselves in beauty. The relationship between truth and beauty is
inseparable and therefore we need beauty.”15
Emery de Gaàl, The Theology of Pope Benedict XVI: The Christocentric Shift (New York,
NY: Palgrave MacMillan, 2010), and Aidan Nichols, The Thought of Pope Benedict XVI:
An Introduction to the Theology of Joseph Ratzinger (New York, NY: Burns & Oates, 2007).
13
In what follows I will show the key role that beauty plays in Ratzinger’s
theological vision, and I will give an account of the way he builds an aesthetics that
is rooted in Christ. While I will use multiple texts written by Ratzinger himself, the
cursory nature of some of his statements on the connection between beauty and
Christ has forced me to rely also on other sources. The choice of such sources is not
arbitrary, though, as I have simply gone back to those authors that Ratzinger himself
identifies as foundational for his own thinking. In particular, in his essay “Wounded
by the Arrow of Beauty: The Cross and the New ‘Aesthetics’ of Faith,” which rep-
resents the most articulate statement of Ratzinger’s Christological understanding of
beauty, he identifies two figures who have been important for him: Joseph Pieper and
Hans Urs von Balthasar. Accordingly, I will develop an account of Ratzinger’s theol-
ogy that draws on the connections between him and these two authors. “Wounded
by the Arrow of Beauty” has been published in the collection of Ratzinger’s essays
called On the Way to Jesus Christ (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2005), 32–41.
14
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists,” par. 5, November 21, 2009, accessed
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2009/
november/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20091121_artisti.html.
15
Benedict XVI, “Interview with the Journalists during the Flight to
Spain,” par. 10, November 6, 2010, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.
va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2010/november/documents/hf_ben-xvi_
spe_20101106_intervista-spagna.html.
80 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
religious experience. For instance, St. John Paul II noticed that “in so far
as it seeks the beautiful, …art is by its nature a kind of appeal to the mys-
tery. Even when they explore the darkest depths of the soul or the most
unsettling aspects of evil, artists give voice in a way to the universal desire
for redemption.”9 It is no mistake, consequently, that the Church has found
herself especially concerned with art and artists. God reconciles the world
in Christ by making Himself known to all human beings. At the same time,
Jesus “fully reveals man to man,” as we read in Gaudium et Spes,10 so that the
Church becomes a special companion for those who, like most artists, seek
to truly understand the depths of reality and the mystery of humanity.
For all these reasons, it does not come as a surprise that the Church
and artists experience a special closeness. We see clear traces of this special
relationship in the message that Bl. Paul VI addressed to artists at the conclu-
sion of the Second Vatican Council. “If you are friends of the true art, you
are our friends! …This world in which we live needs beauty in order not to
sink into despair. Beauty, like truth, brings joy to the human heart.… Remem-
ber that you are the custodians of beauty in the world.”11
The Promise of Beauty
I have just shown the extent to which both Bl. Paul VI and St. John Paul II
emphasize the relationship between art, beauty, and faith. Why is this so?
What is it that makes beauty such an important concept for the Christian
life? To answer these questions I now turn to a discussion12 of Ratzinger’s
9
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 10, par. 2.
10
Paul VI, Gaudium et Spes, § 22, par. 1, December 7, 1965, accessed August
30, 2015, http://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/docu-
ments/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html.
11
Paul VI, Messages of the Council: to the Artists, par. 1, 3, December 8, 1965, ac-
cessed August 30, 2015, https://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/en/speeches/1965/
documents/hf_p-vi_spe_19651208_epilogo-concilio-artisti.html.
12
Given the scope of this article, I have not had a chance to expand on the
place that the liturgy and the sacraments have in Ratzinger’s reflection on beauty. On
this topic, see Joseph Ratzinger, Theology of the Liturgy: The Sacramental Foundation of
Christian Existence, trans. Kenneth Baker, SJ, and Michael J. Miller, vol. 11, Collected
Works (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2008); Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy,
trans. John Saward (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2000); Ratzinger, A New Song
for the Lord: Faith in Christ and Liturgy Today, trans. Martha M. Matesich (New York:
Crossroad Publishing Company, 1996); Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith: Approaches to a
Theology of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986). The most comprehensive
account of Ratzinger’s theology can be found in Tracy Rowland, Ratzinger’s Faith: The
Theology of Pope Benedict XVI (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2008); see also,
Alessandro Rovati 81
Christological understanding of beauty.13
Beauty has such an important role in the Christian life, first and fore-
most, because the experience of beauty “is by no means a supplementary or
secondary factor in our search for meaning and happiness.”14 The experience
of beauty does not imply an escape from reality into the realm of irrational or
pure aesthetics. Quite the contrary, beauty is usually something that facilitates
and deepens the encounter with reality. We experience this fact every time
we see a beautiful natural scene, or when we observe an astonishing work of
art, or even when we meet a person that strikes us with his or her beauty. In
all these instances the attraction we feel for the beauty we confront makes
us more attentive and engaged, thus introducing us to a deeper knowledge
of the object before us. These rather simplistic examples actually point to a
topic that has been discussed at length in the Catholic tradition—namely, the
fundamental connection between truth and beauty. “Truth, the aim or goal
of reason,” says Ratzinger, “is expressed in beauty and in beauty becomes
itself, is proven to be truth. Therefore, wherever there is truth beauty must
be born, wherever human beings are fulfilled in a correct and good way, they
express themselves in beauty. The relationship between truth and beauty is
inseparable and therefore we need beauty.”15
Emery de Gaàl, The Theology of Pope Benedict XVI: The Christocentric Shift (New York,
NY: Palgrave MacMillan, 2010), and Aidan Nichols, The Thought of Pope Benedict XVI:
An Introduction to the Theology of Joseph Ratzinger (New York, NY: Burns & Oates, 2007).
13
In what follows I will show the key role that beauty plays in Ratzinger’s
theological vision, and I will give an account of the way he builds an aesthetics that
is rooted in Christ. While I will use multiple texts written by Ratzinger himself, the
cursory nature of some of his statements on the connection between beauty and
Christ has forced me to rely also on other sources. The choice of such sources is not
arbitrary, though, as I have simply gone back to those authors that Ratzinger himself
identifies as foundational for his own thinking. In particular, in his essay “Wounded
by the Arrow of Beauty: The Cross and the New ‘Aesthetics’ of Faith,” which rep-
resents the most articulate statement of Ratzinger’s Christological understanding of
beauty, he identifies two figures who have been important for him: Joseph Pieper and
Hans Urs von Balthasar. Accordingly, I will develop an account of Ratzinger’s theol-
ogy that draws on the connections between him and these two authors. “Wounded
by the Arrow of Beauty” has been published in the collection of Ratzinger’s essays
called On the Way to Jesus Christ (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2005), 32–41.
14
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists,” par. 5, November 21, 2009, accessed
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2009/
november/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20091121_artisti.html.
15
Benedict XVI, “Interview with the Journalists during the Flight to
Spain,” par. 10, November 6, 2010, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.
va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2010/november/documents/hf_ben-xvi_
spe_20101106_intervista-spagna.html.
82 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
Some Catholic thinkers have further described this connection be-
tween truth and beauty by regarding the latter as a transcendental—that is, as
one of the fundamental properties of being, together with unity, truth, and
goodness. Tracy Rowland explains that “although Ratzinger has not directly
addressed the issue as an academic question,16 implicit within everything he
writes on beauty is a preference for the line that follows St. Augustine, John
of La Rochelle, St. Bonaventure, and, in contemporary times, Hans Urs von
Balthasar.”17 These qualities are present in varying degrees and appearances
in all that exists and, as Balthasar explains, “since the transcendentals pen-
etrate all being, it follows that they are not delimited from each other but
penetrate each other.”18 Accordingly, beauty can be rightfully described as
16
Ratzinger has on multiple occasions reflected on the connection between
beauty, truth, and goodness in the context of talking about the new evangelization.
“The need and urgency for a renewed dialogue between aesthetics and ethics, be-
tween beauty, truth and goodness, is once again proposed to us not only by the
current cultural and artistic debate but also by daily reality. In fact, the split emerges
dramatically at different levels and at times there is a glaring contrast between the two
dimensions.… I have often emphasized the need for and commitment to widening
the horizons of reason, and in this perspective it is also necessary to again under-
stand the close connection that binds the search for beauty with the search for truth
and goodness” (Benedict XVI, “The Universality of Beauty,” par. 3–4). Cf. Ratzing-
er, “Meeting with Clergy of the Diocese of Bolzano-Bressanone,” August 6, 2008,
accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speech-
es/2008/august/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20080806_clero-bressanone.html,
and the “Message to the Participants Of the Second World Congress
on Ecclesial
Movements and New Communities,” May 22, 2006, accessed on August 30, 2015,
http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/messages/pont-messages/2006/
documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20060522_ecclesial-movements.html.
17
Rowland, Ratzinger’s Faith, 8. The relationship with Balthasar—Benedict
called Balthasar “one of the greatest theologians of the 20th century” (Benedict XVI,
“General Audience,” June 25, 2008, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/
content/benedict-xvi/en/audiences/2008/documents/hf_ben-xvi_aud_20080625.
html)—is particularly important to make sense of Ratzinger’s theological proposal.
Ratzinger describes his friendship with Balthasar and the debt he owes to Balthasar’s
theology in his autobiography Milestones: Memoirs, 1927–1977 (San Francisco, CA:
Ignatius Press, 1998), 143. All the monographic works cited in note 7 above further
articulate and describe the relationhip between these two great theologians. In what
follows I will expand Ratzinger’s arguments by using Balthasar’s work, for Ratzinger
himself has on multiple occasions recognized his debt towards Balthasar’s theolog-
ical aesthetics. In particular, see his “Wounded by the Arrow of Beauty,” 36. And
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists.”
18
Hans Urs von Balthasar, “Earthly Beauty and Divine Glory,” Communio
International Catholic Review 10, no. 3 (1983): 203. Balthasar provides an articulate de-
fense of the opinion that beauty is a transcendental in his The Glory of the Lord: A
Alessandro Rovati 83
the splendor of the truth,19 which means, in turn, that beauty is an authentic
source of knowledge and not a simple distraction. Similarly, there is a special
relationship between beauty and goodness. As Saint John Paul II said, while
meditating on the beginning of Genesis: “in perceiving that all he had created
was good, God saw that it was beautiful as well.… In a certain sense, beauty
is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition
of beauty.”20 If it were not for this fundamental connection with beauty, the
good would lose its attractiveness and human beings would lack the evidence
they need to choose it above evil. Balthasar helps us to see that “in a world
that no longer has enough confidence in itself to affirm the beautiful, the
proofs of the truth have lost their cogency.… Syllogisms may still dutifully
clatter away, …but the logic of these answers is itself a mechanism which no
longer captivates anyone. The very conclusions are no longer conclusive.”21
To better explain the connection between truth and beauty, Ratzing-
er refers to Plato’s Phaedrus.22 In it beauty is described as a spear that wounds
the human heart and reawakens the person so as to thrust her into the search
for meaning and happiness. “The indubitably earthly, physical lover is shaken
to his depths by the encounter with beauty, which is to say, once again with
something earthly, physical, apparent to the senses. But in that overpowering
emotion he is carried out of the dimension of the here and now, becomes
unborn and imperishable, and his emotion cannot be satisfied with anything
less than the Whole, the Totality of being, truth, goodness, beauty.”23 Human
beings do not feel at home in the world; their soul thirsts for an unknown
Theological Aesthetic, vol. 1, Seeing the Form (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1982),
33–41. For a neat description of the role of transcendentals in Balthasar’s theolo-
gy, see Matteo Bergamaschi, “Teologia Della Belleza?: Sul Ruolo Dei Trascendentali
Nell’ermeneutica Teologica Di H. U. Von Balthasar,” Archivio Teologico Torinese 21, no.
1 (2015): 83–105.
19
See Joseph Ratzinger, “Is the Catechism Up-to-Date?,” in On the Way to
Jesus Christ (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2005), 165. See also Benedict XVI,
Sacramentum Caritatis, § 35, February 22, 2007, accessed August 30, 2015, http://
w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_ben-
xvi_exh_20070222_sacramentum-caritatis.html.
20
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 3, par. 2.
21
Balthasar, Seeing the Form, 19.
22
Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Arrow of Beauty,” 34; in the same text
Ratzinger discloses that his own interpretation of Phaedrus is “based on the magnifi-
cent interpretation of Platonic Eros in Joseph Pieper’s ‘Begeisterung und Göttlicher
Wahnsinn.’” Pieper’s interpretation of Phaedrus has been published in English with
the title Enthusiasm and Divine Madness: On the Platonic Dialogue Phaedrus (New York,
NY: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1964). Given the importance of Pieper’s contri-
bution for Ratzinger’s argument, I have referred extensively to this text.
23
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 75–76.
82 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
Some Catholic thinkers have further described this connection be-
tween truth and beauty by regarding the latter as a transcendental—that is, as
one of the fundamental properties of being, together with unity, truth, and
goodness. Tracy Rowland explains that “although Ratzinger has not directly
addressed the issue as an academic question,16 implicit within everything he
writes on beauty is a preference for the line that follows St. Augustine, John
of La Rochelle, St. Bonaventure, and, in contemporary times, Hans Urs von
Balthasar.”17 These qualities are present in varying degrees and appearances
in all that exists and, as Balthasar explains, “since the transcendentals pen-
etrate all being, it follows that they are not delimited from each other but
penetrate each other.”18 Accordingly, beauty can be rightfully described as
16
Ratzinger has on multiple occasions reflected on the connection between
beauty, truth, and goodness in the context of talking about the new evangelization.
“The need and urgency for a renewed dialogue between aesthetics and ethics, be-
tween beauty, truth and goodness, is once again proposed to us not only by the
current cultural and artistic debate but also by daily reality. In fact, the split emerges
dramatically at different levels and at times there is a glaring contrast between the two
dimensions.… I have often emphasized the need for and commitment to widening
the horizons of reason, and in this perspective it is also necessary to again under-
stand the close connection that binds the search for beauty with the search for truth
and goodness” (Benedict XVI, “The Universality of Beauty,” par. 3–4). Cf. Ratzing-
er, “Meeting with Clergy of the Diocese of Bolzano-Bressanone,” August 6, 2008,
accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speech-
es/2008/august/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20080806_clero-bressanone.html,
and the “Message to the Participants Of the Second World Congress
on Ecclesial
Movements and New Communities,” May 22, 2006, accessed on August 30, 2015,
http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/messages/pont-messages/2006/
documents/hf_ben-xvi_mes_20060522_ecclesial-movements.html.
17
Rowland, Ratzinger’s Faith, 8. The relationship with Balthasar—Benedict
called Balthasar “one of the greatest theologians of the 20th century” (Benedict XVI,
“General Audience,” June 25, 2008, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/
content/benedict-xvi/en/audiences/2008/documents/hf_ben-xvi_aud_20080625.
html)—is particularly important to make sense of Ratzinger’s theological proposal.
Ratzinger describes his friendship with Balthasar and the debt he owes to Balthasar’s
theology in his autobiography Milestones: Memoirs, 1927–1977 (San Francisco, CA:
Ignatius Press, 1998), 143. All the monographic works cited in note 7 above further
articulate and describe the relationhip between these two great theologians. In what
follows I will expand Ratzinger’s arguments by using Balthasar’s work, for Ratzinger
himself has on multiple occasions recognized his debt towards Balthasar’s theolog-
ical aesthetics. In particular, see his “Wounded by the Arrow of Beauty,” 36. And
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists.”
18
Hans Urs von Balthasar, “Earthly Beauty and Divine Glory,” Communio
International Catholic Review 10, no. 3 (1983): 203. Balthasar provides an articulate de-
fense of the opinion that beauty is a transcendental in his The Glory of the Lord: A
Alessandro Rovati 83
the splendor of the truth,19 which means, in turn, that beauty is an authentic
source of knowledge and not a simple distraction. Similarly, there is a special
relationship between beauty and goodness. As Saint John Paul II said, while
meditating on the beginning of Genesis: “in perceiving that all he had created
was good, God saw that it was beautiful as well.… In a certain sense, beauty
is the visible form of the good, just as the good is the metaphysical condition
of beauty.”20 If it were not for this fundamental connection with beauty, the
good would lose its attractiveness and human beings would lack the evidence
they need to choose it above evil. Balthasar helps us to see that “in a world
that no longer has enough confidence in itself to affirm the beautiful, the
proofs of the truth have lost their cogency.… Syllogisms may still dutifully
clatter away, …but the logic of these answers is itself a mechanism which no
longer captivates anyone. The very conclusions are no longer conclusive.”21
To better explain the connection between truth and beauty, Ratzing-
er refers to Plato’s Phaedrus.22 In it beauty is described as a spear that wounds
the human heart and reawakens the person so as to thrust her into the search
for meaning and happiness. “The indubitably earthly, physical lover is shaken
to his depths by the encounter with beauty, which is to say, once again with
something earthly, physical, apparent to the senses. But in that overpowering
emotion he is carried out of the dimension of the here and now, becomes
unborn and imperishable, and his emotion cannot be satisfied with anything
less than the Whole, the Totality of being, truth, goodness, beauty.”23 Human
beings do not feel at home in the world; their soul thirsts for an unknown
Theological Aesthetic, vol. 1, Seeing the Form (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1982),
33–41. For a neat description of the role of transcendentals in Balthasar’s theolo-
gy, see Matteo Bergamaschi, “Teologia Della Belleza?: Sul Ruolo Dei Trascendentali
Nell’ermeneutica Teologica Di H. U. Von Balthasar,” Archivio Teologico Torinese 21, no.
1 (2015): 83–105.
19
See Joseph Ratzinger, “Is the Catechism Up-to-Date?,” in On the Way to
Jesus Christ (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2005), 165. See also Benedict XVI,
Sacramentum Caritatis, § 35, February 22, 2007, accessed August 30, 2015, http://
w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/apost_exhortations/documents/hf_ben-
xvi_exh_20070222_sacramentum-caritatis.html.
20
John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 3, par. 2.
21
Balthasar, Seeing the Form, 19.
22
Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Arrow of Beauty,” 34; in the same text
Ratzinger discloses that his own interpretation of Phaedrus is “based on the magnifi-
cent interpretation of Platonic Eros in Joseph Pieper’s ‘Begeisterung und Göttlicher
Wahnsinn.’” Pieper’s interpretation of Phaedrus has been published in English with
the title Enthusiasm and Divine Madness: On the Platonic Dialogue Phaedrus (New York,
NY: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1964). Given the importance of Pieper’s contri-
bution for Ratzinger’s argument, I have referred extensively to this text.
23
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 75–76.
84 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
good and is restless, for it perceives that its original perfection is lost, and it
is not clear how to reach it again. As Plato puts it in the Symposium: “we used
to be complete wholes in our original nature, and now ‘Love’ is the name
for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete.”24 And yet, con-
tinues Plato, human beings are not sure what this completeness might look
like, so much so that even when people are joined in love they “still cannot
say what it is that they want from one another. No one would think it is the
intimacy of sex.… It is obvious that the soul of every lover longs for some-
thing else; his soul cannot say what it is, but like an oracle it has a sense of
what it wants, and like an oracle it hides behind a riddle.”25 To describe this
human state Pieper speaks of “yearning,” “remembrance,” and “recollection
of origin,”26 while the theologian Pedro Escobar refers to the “poverty and
beggarliness of the human spirit.”27 The encounter with the “beauty we have
down here” awakens the soul and directs it to the “true beauty,” yet such an
experience remains “beyond comprehension because they [those who en-
counter beauty] cannot fully grasp what it is that they are seeing.”28 Beauty is
a promise: “when we receive beauty in the proper way, we experience not so
much a quenching of our thirst, satisfaction, and pleasure, as evocation of
an expectancy; we are referred to something that is not-already-present.”29
Granting that such a description of the encounter with beauty might
sound too idealistic to the contemporary readers, Ratzinger argues that this
is more a sign of the culture in which we live, rather than a problem with the
Platonic description. We live “in the technological world, which is a self-made
world of man.… [In it] it is only himself that man always encounters. The
fundamental structure of this world is feasibility.… Even the question of
salvation…is geared to the ability of man, who wants to become the engineer
of himself and of history.… Creation is silent; …it speaks only the language
of mathematics, of technological utility.”30 Caught up in the routine of daily
concerns and imbued with the rationalistic and materialistic prejudices of the
modern age, human beings seem to have lost their ability to appreciate the
glimpses of beauty that are present in the world and they let themselves be
lifted up beyond reality’s appearances. Many have simply given up the search
for that “something” that might constitute the real fulfillment of their desires
24
Plato, Symposium 192e.
25
Ibid., 192d.
26
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 79.
27
Pedro Escobar, “Hans Urs Von Balthasar: Christo-Logian,” Communio Inter-
national Catholic Review 2, no. 3 (1975): 307.
28
Plato, Phaedrus 249d–250b.
29
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 85.
30
Joseph Ratzinger, Handing on the Faith in an Age of Disbelief (San Francisco,
CA: Ignatius Press, 2006), 14–15.
Alessandro Rovati 85
and, instead, content themselves with the small pleasures and achievements
that life makes available to them. Furthermore, today the world is full of
beauty that is “deceptive and false,” that “does not awaken a longing for the
ineffable, a willingness to sacrifice and to lose oneself, but instead stirs up the
desire, the will for power, possession, and pleasure.”31 However, even in the
midst of the confusion and the many reductions that are present in contem-
porary culture, “there remains in the depths of [people’s] being an ultimate
interior openness to truth, to love, to God.”32 Despite all their shortcomings,
mistakes, and narrow-mindedness, human beings cannot completely forget
and extirpate from their hearts the yearning for the lost origin described by
Plato. Benedict XVI expressed this reality beautifully in his encyclical Spe
Salvi: “Day by day, man experiences many greater or lesser hopes; …when
these hopes are fulfilled, however, it becomes clear that they were not, in
reality, the whole. It becomes evident that man has need of a hope that goes
further. It becomes clear that only something infinite will suffice for him,
something that will always be more than he can ever attain.”33 Accordingly,
when touched by authentic beauty, the person is freed from the usual torpor
and distraction, for such an encounter “unlocks the yearning of the human
heart, the profound desire to know, to love, to go towards the Other, to
reach for Beyond.”34 Christianity is essentially open to and interested in the
experience of beauty, for beauty represents a call to transcendence, it stirs the
nostalgia for the Infinite that constitutes the human heart and thus becomes
a path towards the ultimate Mystery—that is, God.
The Beauty Became Flesh
If in Plato the object of the ultimate human yearning for meaning and ful-
fillment is unknown, in Christ the answer to our thirst and hunger for truth,
beauty, and justice is revealed to us,35 so that we now can say with Saint
Augustine: “you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it
rests in you.”36 That the Word became flesh (John 1:14) means that Beauty
31
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 40.
32
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 46, November 30, 2007, accessed August 30,
2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_
ben-xvi_enc_20071130_spe-salvi.html.
33
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 30, par. 1.
34
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists.”
35
A brief, but powerful statement of Ratzinger’s Christology can be found in
his essay “Taking Bearings in Christology” in Joseph Ratzinger, Behold the Pierced One:
An Approach to a Spiritual Christology (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1986), 13–46.
36
Augustine, Confessions, I, 1.
84 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
good and is restless, for it perceives that its original perfection is lost, and it
is not clear how to reach it again. As Plato puts it in the Symposium: “we used
to be complete wholes in our original nature, and now ‘Love’ is the name
for our pursuit of wholeness, for our desire to be complete.”24 And yet, con-
tinues Plato, human beings are not sure what this completeness might look
like, so much so that even when people are joined in love they “still cannot
say what it is that they want from one another. No one would think it is the
intimacy of sex.… It is obvious that the soul of every lover longs for some-
thing else; his soul cannot say what it is, but like an oracle it has a sense of
what it wants, and like an oracle it hides behind a riddle.”25 To describe this
human state Pieper speaks of “yearning,” “remembrance,” and “recollection
of origin,”26 while the theologian Pedro Escobar refers to the “poverty and
beggarliness of the human spirit.”27 The encounter with the “beauty we have
down here” awakens the soul and directs it to the “true beauty,” yet such an
experience remains “beyond comprehension because they [those who en-
counter beauty] cannot fully grasp what it is that they are seeing.”28 Beauty is
a promise: “when we receive beauty in the proper way, we experience not so
much a quenching of our thirst, satisfaction, and pleasure, as evocation of
an expectancy; we are referred to something that is not-already-present.”29
Granting that such a description of the encounter with beauty might
sound too idealistic to the contemporary readers, Ratzinger argues that this
is more a sign of the culture in which we live, rather than a problem with the
Platonic description. We live “in the technological world, which is a self-made
world of man.… [In it] it is only himself that man always encounters. The
fundamental structure of this world is feasibility.… Even the question of
salvation…is geared to the ability of man, who wants to become the engineer
of himself and of history.… Creation is silent; …it speaks only the language
of mathematics, of technological utility.”30 Caught up in the routine of daily
concerns and imbued with the rationalistic and materialistic prejudices of the
modern age, human beings seem to have lost their ability to appreciate the
glimpses of beauty that are present in the world and they let themselves be
lifted up beyond reality’s appearances. Many have simply given up the search
for that “something” that might constitute the real fulfillment of their desires
24
Plato, Symposium 192e.
25
Ibid., 192d.
26
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 79.
27
Pedro Escobar, “Hans Urs Von Balthasar: Christo-Logian,” Communio Inter-
national Catholic Review 2, no. 3 (1975): 307.
28
Plato, Phaedrus 249d–250b.
29
Pieper, Enthusiasm and Divine Madness, 85.
30
Joseph Ratzinger, Handing on the Faith in an Age of Disbelief (San Francisco,
CA: Ignatius Press, 2006), 14–15.
Alessandro Rovati 85
and, instead, content themselves with the small pleasures and achievements
that life makes available to them. Furthermore, today the world is full of
beauty that is “deceptive and false,” that “does not awaken a longing for the
ineffable, a willingness to sacrifice and to lose oneself, but instead stirs up the
desire, the will for power, possession, and pleasure.”31 However, even in the
midst of the confusion and the many reductions that are present in contem-
porary culture, “there remains in the depths of [people’s] being an ultimate
interior openness to truth, to love, to God.”32 Despite all their shortcomings,
mistakes, and narrow-mindedness, human beings cannot completely forget
and extirpate from their hearts the yearning for the lost origin described by
Plato. Benedict XVI expressed this reality beautifully in his encyclical Spe
Salvi: “Day by day, man experiences many greater or lesser hopes; …when
these hopes are fulfilled, however, it becomes clear that they were not, in
reality, the whole. It becomes evident that man has need of a hope that goes
further. It becomes clear that only something infinite will suffice for him,
something that will always be more than he can ever attain.”33 Accordingly,
when touched by authentic beauty, the person is freed from the usual torpor
and distraction, for such an encounter “unlocks the yearning of the human
heart, the profound desire to know, to love, to go towards the Other, to
reach for Beyond.”34 Christianity is essentially open to and interested in the
experience of beauty, for beauty represents a call to transcendence, it stirs the
nostalgia for the Infinite that constitutes the human heart and thus becomes
a path towards the ultimate Mystery—that is, God.
The Beauty Became Flesh
If in Plato the object of the ultimate human yearning for meaning and ful-
fillment is unknown, in Christ the answer to our thirst and hunger for truth,
beauty, and justice is revealed to us,35 so that we now can say with Saint
Augustine: “you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it
rests in you.”36 That the Word became flesh (John 1:14) means that Beauty
31
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 40.
32
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 46, November 30, 2007, accessed August 30,
2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_
ben-xvi_enc_20071130_spe-salvi.html.
33
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 30, par. 1.
34
Benedict XVI, “Meeting with Artists.”
35
A brief, but powerful statement of Ratzinger’s Christology can be found in
his essay “Taking Bearings in Christology” in Joseph Ratzinger, Behold the Pierced One:
An Approach to a Spiritual Christology (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1986), 13–46.
36
Augustine, Confessions, I, 1.
86 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
became flesh, so that the Church, making hers the words of Psalm 45, refers
to Christ as “the most handsome among all men,” (Ps. 45:3) or, in the words
of the Eastern Orthodox tradition, as “the supremely Beautiful, possessed
of a beauty above all the children of earth.”37 The beauty that the Church
venerates in Christ is not first and foremost the external one, but rather,
as Ratzinger explains, “the beauty of Truth [that] appears in Him, the very
beauty of God who draws us to Himself [by eliciting in us a] holy passion
(eros), that enables us to go forth…to meet the Love who calls us.”38
In the Old Testament Moses, the true prophet, is described as the
one “whom the Lord knew face to face” (Deut. 34:10). More than all the
miraculous deeds he accomplished and the inspired words he pronounced,
what made Moses unique was that he spoke with God. He was given a famil-
iarity with the Lord that no one else in Israel ever imagined possible, for he
“spoke with God as with a friend.”39 Still, despite the gift of standing in the
presence of the Lord that Moses received, Scripture tells us that his relation-
ship with God had limits. In Exodus the Lord tells Moses: “You shall see my
back; but my face shall not be seen” (Exod. 33:23). Only in Jesus is what was
imperfectly given to Moses finally fulfilled. “No one has ever seen God; it is
the only Son, who is nearest to the Father’s heart who has made him known”
(John 1:18). The glory of God is manifested in Jesus, for he is the form of
God’s revelation to the world. To enter in communion with Jesus is to enter
in communion with God, for “God becomes accessible to us through the
one he sent, Jesus Christ: it is in the encounter with him that we experience
the recognition of God that leads to communion and thus to ‘life.’”40
Earlier I mentioned the connection between the allegiance between
Christianity and art with the mystery of the Incarnation. We can now ap-
preciate it even more. “The Incarnation means, in the first place, that the
invisible God enters into the visible world, so that we, who are bound to
37
Enkomia of the Orthós of the Holy and Great Saturday, quoted in John Paul II,
Letter to Artists, § 6, par. 4.
38
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 33. The use of the
word eros is significant; “what is at stake here is the movement affected by seeing
what God has shown. This is a movement of the entire person, leading away from
himself through the vision towards the invisible God” (Balthasar, Seeing the Form,
118). The encounter with Jesus engages the whole human person, thus eliciting a
response to God’s initiative that involves the whole self.
39
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfigu-
ration (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2007), 4.
40
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2011), 84.
Alessandro Rovati 87
matter, can know him.”41 Accordingly, after the coming of Christ the prohi-
bition to represent God with images falls, for the Lord has entered history
and started to act in our sensible world.42 Now “images of beauty, in which
the mystery of the invisible God becomes visible, are an essential part of
Christian worship”43 so much so that Ratzinger claims that Iconoclasm—the
absolute prohibition of artistic representation of God—is not “a Christian
option.”44 The biblical prohibition of depicting the Lord is grounded in the
will to avoid incarcerating the divine glory in a finite form—something that
would inevitably lead to idolatry. God claims the right to choose the proper
form in which to appear, and Jesus is the image that God chose. In Him “God
has given himself an ‘image’: in Christ who was made man. In him who was
crucified, the denial of false images of God is taken to an extreme. God now
reveals his true face in the figure of the sufferer who shares man’s God-for-
saken condition by taking it upon himself. This innocent sufferer has attained
the certitude of hope: there is a God, and God can create justice in a way that
we cannot conceive, yet we can begin to grasp it through faith.”45 The radical
novelty of Revelation is that in it “God has acted in history and entered into
our sensible world, so that it may become transparent to him.”46
Jesus is the Word, the expression of God that with his human exis-
tence bears witness to the Lord. The first disciples were captivated and trans-
ported not by a message or a theory, but by a Person who so stood out in his
encounters and conversations that, as Balthasar poetically explains, “as the
contours of his uniqueness emerge, suddenly and in an indescribable manner
41
Joseph Ratzinger, “The Spirit of the Liturgy,” in Theology of the Liturgy: The
Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, vol. 1, Collected Works (San Francisco, CA:
Ignatius Press, 2008), 75.
42
While according to the modern spirit God’s place is the spiritual world,
Ratzinger emphasizes that the God who made himself manifest in Jesus cannot be
pushed outside the course of history, for he has intervened directly in the material
world by becoming part of it. As a matter of fact, “God is God and he does not
merely operate at the level of ideas” (Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: The Infancy
Narratives [New York, NY: Image Books, 2012], 56). Ratzinger reflects on the re-
lationship between faith and sensible experience in his Principles of Catholic Theology:
Building Stones for a Fundamental Theology (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987), 343–55.
43
Ratzinger, The Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, 81.
44
Ibid.
45
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 43.
46
Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy, 131. Similarly Balthasar identifies Chris-
tianity in the fact that “man is not merely addressed in a total mystery, as if he were
compelled to accept obediently in blind and naked faith something hidden from him,
but that something is ‘offered’ to man by God, …in such a way that man can see it,
understand it, make it his own, and live from it in keeping with his human nature”
(Balthasar, Seeing the Form, 118).
86 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
became flesh, so that the Church, making hers the words of Psalm 45, refers
to Christ as “the most handsome among all men,” (Ps. 45:3) or, in the words
of the Eastern Orthodox tradition, as “the supremely Beautiful, possessed
of a beauty above all the children of earth.”37 The beauty that the Church
venerates in Christ is not first and foremost the external one, but rather,
as Ratzinger explains, “the beauty of Truth [that] appears in Him, the very
beauty of God who draws us to Himself [by eliciting in us a] holy passion
(eros), that enables us to go forth…to meet the Love who calls us.”38
In the Old Testament Moses, the true prophet, is described as the
one “whom the Lord knew face to face” (Deut. 34:10). More than all the
miraculous deeds he accomplished and the inspired words he pronounced,
what made Moses unique was that he spoke with God. He was given a famil-
iarity with the Lord that no one else in Israel ever imagined possible, for he
“spoke with God as with a friend.”39 Still, despite the gift of standing in the
presence of the Lord that Moses received, Scripture tells us that his relation-
ship with God had limits. In Exodus the Lord tells Moses: “You shall see my
back; but my face shall not be seen” (Exod. 33:23). Only in Jesus is what was
imperfectly given to Moses finally fulfilled. “No one has ever seen God; it is
the only Son, who is nearest to the Father’s heart who has made him known”
(John 1:18). The glory of God is manifested in Jesus, for he is the form of
God’s revelation to the world. To enter in communion with Jesus is to enter
in communion with God, for “God becomes accessible to us through the
one he sent, Jesus Christ: it is in the encounter with him that we experience
the recognition of God that leads to communion and thus to ‘life.’”40
Earlier I mentioned the connection between the allegiance between
Christianity and art with the mystery of the Incarnation. We can now ap-
preciate it even more. “The Incarnation means, in the first place, that the
invisible God enters into the visible world, so that we, who are bound to
37
Enkomia of the Orthós of the Holy and Great Saturday, quoted in John Paul II,
Letter to Artists, § 6, par. 4.
38
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 33. The use of the
word eros is significant; “what is at stake here is the movement affected by seeing
what God has shown. This is a movement of the entire person, leading away from
himself through the vision towards the invisible God” (Balthasar, Seeing the Form,
118). The encounter with Jesus engages the whole human person, thus eliciting a
response to God’s initiative that involves the whole self.
39
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfigu-
ration (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2007), 4.
40
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2011), 84.
Alessandro Rovati 87
matter, can know him.”41 Accordingly, after the coming of Christ the prohi-
bition to represent God with images falls, for the Lord has entered history
and started to act in our sensible world.42 Now “images of beauty, in which
the mystery of the invisible God becomes visible, are an essential part of
Christian worship”43 so much so that Ratzinger claims that Iconoclasm—the
absolute prohibition of artistic representation of God—is not “a Christian
option.”44 The biblical prohibition of depicting the Lord is grounded in the
will to avoid incarcerating the divine glory in a finite form—something that
would inevitably lead to idolatry. God claims the right to choose the proper
form in which to appear, and Jesus is the image that God chose. In Him “God
has given himself an ‘image’: in Christ who was made man. In him who was
crucified, the denial of false images of God is taken to an extreme. God now
reveals his true face in the figure of the sufferer who shares man’s God-for-
saken condition by taking it upon himself. This innocent sufferer has attained
the certitude of hope: there is a God, and God can create justice in a way that
we cannot conceive, yet we can begin to grasp it through faith.”45 The radical
novelty of Revelation is that in it “God has acted in history and entered into
our sensible world, so that it may become transparent to him.”46
Jesus is the Word, the expression of God that with his human exis-
tence bears witness to the Lord. The first disciples were captivated and trans-
ported not by a message or a theory, but by a Person who so stood out in his
encounters and conversations that, as Balthasar poetically explains, “as the
contours of his uniqueness emerge, suddenly and in an indescribable manner
41
Joseph Ratzinger, “The Spirit of the Liturgy,” in Theology of the Liturgy: The
Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, vol. 1, Collected Works (San Francisco, CA:
Ignatius Press, 2008), 75.
42
While according to the modern spirit God’s place is the spiritual world,
Ratzinger emphasizes that the God who made himself manifest in Jesus cannot be
pushed outside the course of history, for he has intervened directly in the material
world by becoming part of it. As a matter of fact, “God is God and he does not
merely operate at the level of ideas” (Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: The Infancy
Narratives [New York, NY: Image Books, 2012], 56). Ratzinger reflects on the re-
lationship between faith and sensible experience in his Principles of Catholic Theology:
Building Stones for a Fundamental Theology (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987), 343–55.
43
Ratzinger, The Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, 81.
44
Ibid.
45
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 43.
46
Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy, 131. Similarly Balthasar identifies Chris-
tianity in the fact that “man is not merely addressed in a total mystery, as if he were
compelled to accept obediently in blind and naked faith something hidden from him,
but that something is ‘offered’ to man by God, …in such a way that man can see it,
understand it, make it his own, and live from it in keeping with his human nature”
(Balthasar, Seeing the Form, 118).
88 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
the ray of the Unconditional breaks through, casting a person down to ado-
ration and transforming him into a believer and a follower.”47 By listening to
him, living with him, and following him, the disciples came to the astonishing
realization that Jesus is God himself. “They are privileged to see him as the
one…who speaks face-to-face with the Father, person to person. They are
privileged to see him in his utterly unique filial being.… They are privileged
to see what the ‘people’ do not see, and this seeing gives rise to a recognition
that goes beyond the ‘opinion’ of the people. This seeing is the wellspring of
their faith, their confession; it provides the foundation for the Church.”48
At this point a question needs to be asked. With all this talk about
beauty, are we not forgetting that the world seems actually dominated by the
will to possess, to dominate others, and to be in power? Isn’t reality more
determined by the ugliness of violence and hatred, rather than by beauty?
Ratzinger is no stranger to this objection and he notes that even in the Scrip-
ture we can spot a similar tension. The “most handsome among all men”
is also described in a radically different way by the prophet Isaiah: “He had
neither beauty, nor majesty, nothing to attract our eyes, no grace to make
us delight in him.” (Isa. 53:2) Clearly the Scripture suggests that we need to
overcome the classical ideal of beauty as perfect harmony, so as to reach a
more comprehensive understanding of beauty and truth. A new realism is
required, one that is able to embrace the reality of the suffering and struggle
that characterize our world, without succumbing to the temptation of taking
refuge in an abstract idea of beauty that ignores the actual state of things.
The reality of the Cross witnesses to this new and more profound
understanding of beauty, for the One who is the Word incarnate, the authen-
tic Beauty, has accepted to be hit, tortured, and crowned with thorns. “In
this Face that is so disfigured, there appears the genuine, extreme beauty: the
beauty of love that goes ‘to the very end’; (John 13:1) thus showing itself as
greater than falsehood and violence.”49 The God who has manifested Him-
self as supreme love in the cross-shattered Christ50 shows us that the beauty
of truth embraces pain, even the obscure mystery of death, so that hope may
determine our lives more than fear and hate.
Ratzinger reports an expression of Bernard of Clairvaux to further
meditate on the mystery of the Cross. The medieval monk used to say that
47
Ibid., 32.
48
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfig-
uration, 291.
49
Ibid., 39.
50
I owe this expression to Stanley Hauerwas’s book Cross-Shattered Christ: Med-
itations on the Seven Last Words (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2004).
Alessandro Rovati 89
“Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis”51 (God cannot suffer, but he
can suffer with). “Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man
in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is
revealed to us in the account of Jesus’s Passion.”52 In Jesus’s suffering God’s
glory is revealed, for the splendor of God’s love shines forth and draws all
creatures to him. Christians do not turn to the Cross because of a morose
love of suffering, but because in it God manifested who he really is: “the
God who, in the unfathomable depth of his self-giving love, sets the true
power of good against all the powers of evil,”53 thus donating us a new life
that not even death can defeat.
Beauty as a Source of Knowledge
Let me use a passage from Benedict XVI’s Apostolic Exhortation Sacramen-
tum Caritatis to offer a brief summary of his Christological understanding of
beauty. “In Jesus we contemplate beauty and splendor at their source. This is
no mere aestheticism, but the concrete way in which the truth of God’s love
in Christ encounters us, attracts us, and delights us, enabling us to emerge
from ourselves and drawing us towards our true vocation, which is love.”54
Once again, we see how, for Ratzinger, the category of beauty is fundamental.
The way to know Christ is to be touched by his beauty. Without undervaluing
the importance of theological reflection, Ratzinger wants to emphasize how
in this time dominated by confusion and divisions, even within the Church,
abstract arguments about the faith are not able to effectively persuade us
and our fellow human beings. What we need, instead, is to encounter again
the beauty of faith—that is, to experience how the encounter with the per-
sonal presence of Christ himself answers and corresponds to the deepest
yearnings of our heart. The beauty of Christ impresses itself on the soul
and kindles desire, and, in so doing, it marks the beginning of a journey. We
are not merely speaking of an emotional journey; 55 Ratzinger insists that the
renewed encounter with the beauty of Christ allows us to reach a true and
deep knowledge. In the process of being touched by Christ, in fact, our eyes
51
This is a quote from one of Saint Bernard’s sermons (Sermones in Cant.,
Sermo 26, 5: PL 183, 906) used in Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 39.
52
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 39
53
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 157.
54
Benedict XVI, Sacramentum Caritatis, § 35, par. 1.
55
Ratzinger warns us against the reduction of faith to sentimentalism in his
Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius
Press, 2004), 138–61.
88 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
the ray of the Unconditional breaks through, casting a person down to ado-
ration and transforming him into a believer and a follower.”47 By listening to
him, living with him, and following him, the disciples came to the astonishing
realization that Jesus is God himself. “They are privileged to see him as the
one…who speaks face-to-face with the Father, person to person. They are
privileged to see him in his utterly unique filial being.… They are privileged
to see what the ‘people’ do not see, and this seeing gives rise to a recognition
that goes beyond the ‘opinion’ of the people. This seeing is the wellspring of
their faith, their confession; it provides the foundation for the Church.”48
At this point a question needs to be asked. With all this talk about
beauty, are we not forgetting that the world seems actually dominated by the
will to possess, to dominate others, and to be in power? Isn’t reality more
determined by the ugliness of violence and hatred, rather than by beauty?
Ratzinger is no stranger to this objection and he notes that even in the Scrip-
ture we can spot a similar tension. The “most handsome among all men”
is also described in a radically different way by the prophet Isaiah: “He had
neither beauty, nor majesty, nothing to attract our eyes, no grace to make
us delight in him.” (Isa. 53:2) Clearly the Scripture suggests that we need to
overcome the classical ideal of beauty as perfect harmony, so as to reach a
more comprehensive understanding of beauty and truth. A new realism is
required, one that is able to embrace the reality of the suffering and struggle
that characterize our world, without succumbing to the temptation of taking
refuge in an abstract idea of beauty that ignores the actual state of things.
The reality of the Cross witnesses to this new and more profound
understanding of beauty, for the One who is the Word incarnate, the authen-
tic Beauty, has accepted to be hit, tortured, and crowned with thorns. “In
this Face that is so disfigured, there appears the genuine, extreme beauty: the
beauty of love that goes ‘to the very end’; (John 13:1) thus showing itself as
greater than falsehood and violence.”49 The God who has manifested Him-
self as supreme love in the cross-shattered Christ50 shows us that the beauty
of truth embraces pain, even the obscure mystery of death, so that hope may
determine our lives more than fear and hate.
Ratzinger reports an expression of Bernard of Clairvaux to further
meditate on the mystery of the Cross. The medieval monk used to say that
47
Ibid., 32.
48
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfig-
uration, 291.
49
Ibid., 39.
50
I owe this expression to Stanley Hauerwas’s book Cross-Shattered Christ: Med-
itations on the Seven Last Words (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2004).
Alessandro Rovati 89
“Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis”51 (God cannot suffer, but he
can suffer with). “Man is worth so much to God that he himself became man
in order to suffer with man in an utterly real way—in flesh and blood—as is
revealed to us in the account of Jesus’s Passion.”52 In Jesus’s suffering God’s
glory is revealed, for the splendor of God’s love shines forth and draws all
creatures to him. Christians do not turn to the Cross because of a morose
love of suffering, but because in it God manifested who he really is: “the
God who, in the unfathomable depth of his self-giving love, sets the true
power of good against all the powers of evil,”53 thus donating us a new life
that not even death can defeat.
Beauty as a Source of Knowledge
Let me use a passage from Benedict XVI’s Apostolic Exhortation Sacramen-
tum Caritatis to offer a brief summary of his Christological understanding of
beauty. “In Jesus we contemplate beauty and splendor at their source. This is
no mere aestheticism, but the concrete way in which the truth of God’s love
in Christ encounters us, attracts us, and delights us, enabling us to emerge
from ourselves and drawing us towards our true vocation, which is love.”54
Once again, we see how, for Ratzinger, the category of beauty is fundamental.
The way to know Christ is to be touched by his beauty. Without undervaluing
the importance of theological reflection, Ratzinger wants to emphasize how
in this time dominated by confusion and divisions, even within the Church,
abstract arguments about the faith are not able to effectively persuade us
and our fellow human beings. What we need, instead, is to encounter again
the beauty of faith—that is, to experience how the encounter with the per-
sonal presence of Christ himself answers and corresponds to the deepest
yearnings of our heart. The beauty of Christ impresses itself on the soul
and kindles desire, and, in so doing, it marks the beginning of a journey. We
are not merely speaking of an emotional journey; 55 Ratzinger insists that the
renewed encounter with the beauty of Christ allows us to reach a true and
deep knowledge. In the process of being touched by Christ, in fact, our eyes
51
This is a quote from one of Saint Bernard’s sermons (Sermones in Cant.,
Sermo 26, 5: PL 183, 906) used in Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 39.
52
Benedict XVI, Spe Salvi, § 39
53
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 157.
54
Benedict XVI, Sacramentum Caritatis, § 35, par. 1.
55
Ratzinger warns us against the reduction of faith to sentimentalism in his
Truth and Tolerance: Christian Belief and World Religions (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius
Press, 2004), 138–61.
90 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
are open, our soul is reawakened, and we become able to judge starting from
experience what truly corresponds to our nature.
After becoming Pope, Ratzinger wonderfully expressed these in-
sights in the beginning of his first encyclical Deus Caritas Est. “Being Chris-
tian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter
with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direc-
tion.”56 A philosophical abstraction or an ethical ideal would not have needed
a mother. God, instead, is recognizable because He is a “You” that comes
forward and enters into a relationship with us.
Faith presupposes a personal “encounter with the living God,”57 but
can we participate today in Christ’s victory over death? How does Christ
remain present and continue to take initiative to befriend us? I quote again
from one of Benedict XVI’s meditations: “The Event of Christ goes on in
history through the companionship of the believers.… The companionship
of the believers is the effective sign of Christ’s salvation for human beings; it
is the sacrament of the world’s salvation. This is how the risen Christ holds
us in His embrace; this companionship is Christ himself present.”58 The
Church is the presence of Christ; it is the way God remains contemporane-
ous with us, which means that the Church is Christ’s “simultaneousness with
us.”59 Christianity is neither a fact of the past nor a hope for the future.60 It
is neither a list of dogmas nor a system of moral precepts.61 Christianity is
56
Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 1, par. 2, December 25, 2005, accessed
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/docu-
ments/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html.
57
Ibid., § 28, par. 4.
58
Benedict XVI, “Meditation during the First General Congregation of the
13th General Assembly of the Synod of Bishops,” October 8, 2012, accessed on
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2012/
october/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20121008_meditazione-sinodo.html.
59
Joseph Ratzinger, Church, Ecumenism and Politics: New Essays in Ecclesiology
(San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2008), p. 14.
60
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 289: “Christian prayer for the Lord’s return always includes
the experience of his presence. It is never purely focused on the future. The words
of the risen Lord make the point: ‘I am with you always to the close of the age’ (Matt.
28:20).”
61
I want to briefly emphasize the fundamental continuity that exists on this
point between Benedict XVI and Pope Francis. Among the many signs of the unity
among the two is the fact that Francis decided to publish the encyclical Lumen Fidei
that, as he acknowledges in the Introduction, had been completed by Ratzinger be-
fore his resignation. In it the Popes argue that “for transmitting a purely doctrinal
content, an idea might suffice, or perhaps a book, or the repetition of a spoken
message. But what is communicated in the Church…is the new light born of an
Alessandro Rovati 91
a present event,62 for, to use a powerful expression of Pope Francis, Jesus
“impacts us, shocks us, and renews us”63 today just as he did with his first
disciples two thousand years ago.
On multiple occasions Ratzinger has reflected on the fact that “the
only effective apologia for Christianity comes down to two arguments, name-
ly, the saints the Church has produced and the art which has grown in her
womb. Better witness is borne to the Lord by the splendor of holiness and
art which have arisen in the community of believers than by the clever ex-
cuses which apologetics has come up with.”64 Faith is not maintained auto-
matically; “it is not a ‘finished business’ that can be simply taken for granted.
The life of faith needs to be constantly renewed.”65 The great service that the
Church can and must offer to humanity is “to be an icon of divine beauty,
a burning flame of charity, a path so that the world may believe in the One
whom God has sent (cf. John 6:29).”66 This is why now, more than ever, the
Church needs to be a place where beauty is cherished67 and where people
encounter with the true God, a light which touches us at the core of our being and
engages our minds, wills and emotions, opening us to relationships lived in commu-
nion” (Francis, Lumen Fidei, § 40, par. 2, June 29, 2013, accessed August 30, 2015,
https://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/encyclicals/documents/papa-fran-
cesco_20130629_enciclica-lumen-fidei.html). The way Ratzinger’s Christological
focus is shaping Francis’s moral vision is, I think, one of the most fruitful lines of
enquiry for future theological research.
62
My insistence on the “present” of the faith, which I draw from Ratzinger’s
theology, should not in any way be taken as a rejection or denial of the essentially es-
chatological meaning of the Christian existence. On the topic, see Joseph Ratzinger,
Eschatology: Death and Eternal Life (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America
Press, 1988). See also the meditations on Advent contained in What It Means to Be a
Christian: Three Sermons (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2006).
63
Francis, “Letter to a Non-Believer” in L’Osservatore Romano, Weekly Edition
in English, September 18, 2013, 9.
64
Joseph Ratzinger and Vittorio Messori, The Ratzinger Report: An Exclusive In-
terview on the State of the Church (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1985), pp. 129–30.
65
Joseph Ratzinger, Gospel, Catechesis, Catechism: Sidelights on the Catechism of the
Catholic Church (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1997), 23.
66
Benedict XVI, “Holy Mass with Dedication of the Church of the Sagra-
da Familia and of the Altar,” par. 9, November 7, 2010, accessed on August 30,
2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/homilies/2010/documents/
hf_ben-xvi_hom_20101107_barcelona.html.
67
This is why Ratzinger has always emphasized the need to cultivate the beau-
ty of the liturgy, not for a mere antiquarianism or aestheticism, but because the
Church “is to transform, improve, ‘humanize’ the world—but how can she do that if
at the same time she turns her back on beauty, which is so closely allied to love? For
together, beauty and love form the true consolation in this world, bringing it as near
as possible to the world of the resurrection. The Church must maintain high stan-
90 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
are open, our soul is reawakened, and we become able to judge starting from
experience what truly corresponds to our nature.
After becoming Pope, Ratzinger wonderfully expressed these in-
sights in the beginning of his first encyclical Deus Caritas Est. “Being Chris-
tian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter
with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direc-
tion.”56 A philosophical abstraction or an ethical ideal would not have needed
a mother. God, instead, is recognizable because He is a “You” that comes
forward and enters into a relationship with us.
Faith presupposes a personal “encounter with the living God,”57 but
can we participate today in Christ’s victory over death? How does Christ
remain present and continue to take initiative to befriend us? I quote again
from one of Benedict XVI’s meditations: “The Event of Christ goes on in
history through the companionship of the believers.… The companionship
of the believers is the effective sign of Christ’s salvation for human beings; it
is the sacrament of the world’s salvation. This is how the risen Christ holds
us in His embrace; this companionship is Christ himself present.”58 The
Church is the presence of Christ; it is the way God remains contemporane-
ous with us, which means that the Church is Christ’s “simultaneousness with
us.”59 Christianity is neither a fact of the past nor a hope for the future.60 It
is neither a list of dogmas nor a system of moral precepts.61 Christianity is
56
Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 1, par. 2, December 25, 2005, accessed
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/docu-
ments/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html.
57
Ibid., § 28, par. 4.
58
Benedict XVI, “Meditation during the First General Congregation of the
13th General Assembly of the Synod of Bishops,” October 8, 2012, accessed on
August 30, 2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/speeches/2012/
october/documents/hf_ben-xvi_spe_20121008_meditazione-sinodo.html.
59
Joseph Ratzinger, Church, Ecumenism and Politics: New Essays in Ecclesiology
(San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2008), p. 14.
60
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 289: “Christian prayer for the Lord’s return always includes
the experience of his presence. It is never purely focused on the future. The words
of the risen Lord make the point: ‘I am with you always to the close of the age’ (Matt.
28:20).”
61
I want to briefly emphasize the fundamental continuity that exists on this
point between Benedict XVI and Pope Francis. Among the many signs of the unity
among the two is the fact that Francis decided to publish the encyclical Lumen Fidei
that, as he acknowledges in the Introduction, had been completed by Ratzinger be-
fore his resignation. In it the Popes argue that “for transmitting a purely doctrinal
content, an idea might suffice, or perhaps a book, or the repetition of a spoken
message. But what is communicated in the Church…is the new light born of an
Alessandro Rovati 91
a present event,62 for, to use a powerful expression of Pope Francis, Jesus
“impacts us, shocks us, and renews us”63 today just as he did with his first
disciples two thousand years ago.
On multiple occasions Ratzinger has reflected on the fact that “the
only effective apologia for Christianity comes down to two arguments, name-
ly, the saints the Church has produced and the art which has grown in her
womb. Better witness is borne to the Lord by the splendor of holiness and
art which have arisen in the community of believers than by the clever ex-
cuses which apologetics has come up with.”64 Faith is not maintained auto-
matically; “it is not a ‘finished business’ that can be simply taken for granted.
The life of faith needs to be constantly renewed.”65 The great service that the
Church can and must offer to humanity is “to be an icon of divine beauty,
a burning flame of charity, a path so that the world may believe in the One
whom God has sent (cf. John 6:29).”66 This is why now, more than ever, the
Church needs to be a place where beauty is cherished67 and where people
encounter with the true God, a light which touches us at the core of our being and
engages our minds, wills and emotions, opening us to relationships lived in commu-
nion” (Francis, Lumen Fidei, § 40, par. 2, June 29, 2013, accessed August 30, 2015,
https://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/encyclicals/documents/papa-fran-
cesco_20130629_enciclica-lumen-fidei.html). The way Ratzinger’s Christological
focus is shaping Francis’s moral vision is, I think, one of the most fruitful lines of
enquiry for future theological research.
62
My insistence on the “present” of the faith, which I draw from Ratzinger’s
theology, should not in any way be taken as a rejection or denial of the essentially es-
chatological meaning of the Christian existence. On the topic, see Joseph Ratzinger,
Eschatology: Death and Eternal Life (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America
Press, 1988). See also the meditations on Advent contained in What It Means to Be a
Christian: Three Sermons (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 2006).
63
Francis, “Letter to a Non-Believer” in L’Osservatore Romano, Weekly Edition
in English, September 18, 2013, 9.
64
Joseph Ratzinger and Vittorio Messori, The Ratzinger Report: An Exclusive In-
terview on the State of the Church (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1985), pp. 129–30.
65
Joseph Ratzinger, Gospel, Catechesis, Catechism: Sidelights on the Catechism of the
Catholic Church (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1997), 23.
66
Benedict XVI, “Holy Mass with Dedication of the Church of the Sagra-
da Familia and of the Altar,” par. 9, November 7, 2010, accessed on August 30,
2015, http://w2.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/homilies/2010/documents/
hf_ben-xvi_hom_20101107_barcelona.html.
67
This is why Ratzinger has always emphasized the need to cultivate the beau-
ty of the liturgy, not for a mere antiquarianism or aestheticism, but because the
Church “is to transform, improve, ‘humanize’ the world—but how can she do that if
at the same time she turns her back on beauty, which is so closely allied to love? For
together, beauty and love form the true consolation in this world, bringing it as near
as possible to the world of the resurrection. The Church must maintain high stan-
92 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
are encouraged to encounter the saints, “the true bearers of light within his-
tory, for they are men and women of faith, hope and love.”68 Faith is not a
purely inward truth, for the truth that faith discloses is a truth centered on
an encounter with Christ who meets us “ever anew in the men and women
who reflect his presence, in his word, in the sacraments, and especially in the
Eucharist. In the Church’s Liturgy, in her prayer, in the living community of
believers, we experience the love of God, we perceive his presence and we
thus learn to recognize that presence in our daily lives.”69
The beauty of Christ is now living in the human reality of the
Church,70 his body, and, especially, in the lives of the saints, that is, those
whose lives would not make sense if God did not exist. The truth of Chris-
tian claims depends on the truthfulness of the lives of those who confess
Jesus Christ as their Lord, so that witness, rather than argument, is the real
apology of Christianity. Even today faith can be born in us, if our hearts are
pierced by the lives of those whom Christ has called and in whom the new-
ness of life that is made possible by the encounter with him shines forth.
Ratzinger is not referring exclusively to the great figures of saints
who were recognized officially by the Church, for “holiness does not consist
in adventurous achievements of virtue, but in joining him [Christ] loving.
Hence the real saints are also the quite human, quite natural people in whom
through the Easter transformation and purification what is human appears
afresh in its total originality and beauty.”71 In them we see what a life trans-
formed by the Gospel looks like and we have a glimpse of what eternal life
is.
Eternal life is not primarily the life that will come after death, as
opposed to our current existence on earth. Instead, “‘eternal life’ is life itself,
real life, which can also be lived in the present age and is no longer challenged
by physical death. This is the point: to seize ‘life’ here and now, real life that
can no longer be destroyed by anything or anyone.”72 When one meets the
“living”—as the first Christians called themselves73—one cannot but per-
dards; she must be a place where beauty can be at home; she must lead the struggle
for that ‘spiritualization’ without which the world becomes the ‘Worst circle of hell’”
(Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith: Approaches to a Theology of the Liturgy, 124–25).
68
Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 40.
69
Ibid., 17.
70
For a good exposition of Ratzinger’s ecclesiology, see his Called to Commu-
nion: Understanding the Church Today (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1996).
71
Benedict XVI, The Yes of Jesus Christ: Exercises in Faith, Hope, and Love (New
York, NY: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1991), 105.
72
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 83.
73
Ibid.
Alessandro Rovati 93
ceive that their lives bear witness to something better, Someone greater than
them. Think, for example, of the many sisters and brothers who in these days
are shedding their blood for the faith, a sign that Christ’s love “till the end” is
real, and that not even death and suffering can defeat it.
Ratzinger certainly agrees with Dostoyevsky’s famous statement in
his novel The Idiot that “the beautiful will save us;”74 what the Russian writer
is referring to, though, is not just any beauty, but the redemptive beauty of
Christ. That is why Ratzinger insists that a renewed conversion is possible; it
is possible to be signs of hope in a world of despair, provided that we learn
to see Christ in our midst. There are two conditions necessary for that to
happen. First, that we let ourselves be educated by the light of faith so that
we may have our eyes open and our hearts ready to recognize and welcome
God’s gratuitous initiative.75 Second, that we participate in the life where God
has decided to make himself present, namely, the life of the Church, the
Body of Christ, with its saints and sacraments.76 Only “if we know Him, not
only in words, but if we are struck by the arrow of his paradoxical beauty,
then we will truly know him, and know him not only because we have heard
others speak about him. Then we will have found the beauty of Truth, of the
Truth that redeems.”77
—Belmont Abbey College
74
Ratzinger refers to this quote in his “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 41.
75
See Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 31.
76
For Ratzinger’s contribution on the Eucharistic nature of the Church and
the importance of the Eucharist for the Christian life, see the essays, addresses, and
homilies collected in, “The Celebration of the Eucharist: Source and Summit of
Christian Life,” part C of The Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, 187–417.
77
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 41.
92 The Beauty that Pierces the Heart
are encouraged to encounter the saints, “the true bearers of light within his-
tory, for they are men and women of faith, hope and love.”68 Faith is not a
purely inward truth, for the truth that faith discloses is a truth centered on
an encounter with Christ who meets us “ever anew in the men and women
who reflect his presence, in his word, in the sacraments, and especially in the
Eucharist. In the Church’s Liturgy, in her prayer, in the living community of
believers, we experience the love of God, we perceive his presence and we
thus learn to recognize that presence in our daily lives.”69
The beauty of Christ is now living in the human reality of the
Church,70 his body, and, especially, in the lives of the saints, that is, those
whose lives would not make sense if God did not exist. The truth of Chris-
tian claims depends on the truthfulness of the lives of those who confess
Jesus Christ as their Lord, so that witness, rather than argument, is the real
apology of Christianity. Even today faith can be born in us, if our hearts are
pierced by the lives of those whom Christ has called and in whom the new-
ness of life that is made possible by the encounter with him shines forth.
Ratzinger is not referring exclusively to the great figures of saints
who were recognized officially by the Church, for “holiness does not consist
in adventurous achievements of virtue, but in joining him [Christ] loving.
Hence the real saints are also the quite human, quite natural people in whom
through the Easter transformation and purification what is human appears
afresh in its total originality and beauty.”71 In them we see what a life trans-
formed by the Gospel looks like and we have a glimpse of what eternal life
is.
Eternal life is not primarily the life that will come after death, as
opposed to our current existence on earth. Instead, “‘eternal life’ is life itself,
real life, which can also be lived in the present age and is no longer challenged
by physical death. This is the point: to seize ‘life’ here and now, real life that
can no longer be destroyed by anything or anyone.”72 When one meets the
“living”—as the first Christians called themselves73—one cannot but per-
dards; she must be a place where beauty can be at home; she must lead the struggle
for that ‘spiritualization’ without which the world becomes the ‘Worst circle of hell’”
(Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith: Approaches to a Theology of the Liturgy, 124–25).
68
Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 40.
69
Ibid., 17.
70
For a good exposition of Ratzinger’s ecclesiology, see his Called to Commu-
nion: Understanding the Church Today (San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, 1996).
71
Benedict XVI, The Yes of Jesus Christ: Exercises in Faith, Hope, and Love (New
York, NY: Crossroad Publishing Company, 1991), 105.
72
Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth. Part Two: Holy Week, from the Entrance into
Jerusalem to the Resurrection, 83.
73
Ibid.
Alessandro Rovati 93
ceive that their lives bear witness to something better, Someone greater than
them. Think, for example, of the many sisters and brothers who in these days
are shedding their blood for the faith, a sign that Christ’s love “till the end” is
real, and that not even death and suffering can defeat it.
Ratzinger certainly agrees with Dostoyevsky’s famous statement in
his novel The Idiot that “the beautiful will save us;”74 what the Russian writer
is referring to, though, is not just any beauty, but the redemptive beauty of
Christ. That is why Ratzinger insists that a renewed conversion is possible; it
is possible to be signs of hope in a world of despair, provided that we learn
to see Christ in our midst. There are two conditions necessary for that to
happen. First, that we let ourselves be educated by the light of faith so that
we may have our eyes open and our hearts ready to recognize and welcome
God’s gratuitous initiative.75 Second, that we participate in the life where God
has decided to make himself present, namely, the life of the Church, the
Body of Christ, with its saints and sacraments.76 Only “if we know Him, not
only in words, but if we are struck by the arrow of his paradoxical beauty,
then we will truly know him, and know him not only because we have heard
others speak about him. Then we will have found the beauty of Truth, of the
Truth that redeems.”77
—Belmont Abbey College
74
Ratzinger refers to this quote in his “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 41.
75
See Benedict XVI, Deus Caritas Est, § 31.
76
For Ratzinger’s contribution on the Eucharistic nature of the Church and
the importance of the Eucharist for the Christian life, see the essays, addresses, and
homilies collected in, “The Celebration of the Eucharist: Source and Summit of
Christian Life,” part C of The Sacramental Foundation of Christian Existence, 187–417.
77
Joseph Ratzinger, “Wounded by the Power of Beauty,” 41.

Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
in Consecrated Life: Gadamer and the
“Icon of the Transfigured Christ”
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC
“Thank you, Sister, for wearing your habit!” “Mom, a blue fairy!” “Sister,
would you and your sisters pray for my special request?” Comments that
spring spontaneously from the lips of persons who encounter religious
demonstrate that those in consecrated life keep up a consistent dialogue with
those who observe them, oftentimes without words. Consecrated life serves
as a sign to those who live it, and for those who view it from without. The
variety of reactions and responses to the sight of a religious sister, brother,
or priest in habit show that this sign is significant enough to comment upon,
creating wonder at a kind of beauty discerned by the observer and reminding
him or her of the transcendence of human existence. In 1996, Saint Pope
John Paul II wrote an Apostolic Exhortation in honor of Consecrated life
called Vita Consecrata (On Consecrated Life), where he calls the religious the
“Icon of the Transfigured Christ,” linking those living the evangelical coun-
sels with “Christ’s radiant face in the mystery of the Transfiguration.”1
In his essay, The Relevance of the Beautiful, Hans-Georg Gadamer ac-
knowledges hermeneutic identity, and therein, symbol and festival, or cel-
ebration, in art. Every art piece is a tradition or history that addresses the
viewer, according to Gadamer, and the viewer responds according to his or
her tradition. Art can reveal and also conceals the yet-to-be revealed. In view-
ing the “icon” of consecrated life through Gadamer’s aesthetics, this paper
will discuss several of his keys to understanding any art, including the uni-
versal, the ontological function, the connection between beauty and truth,
and philosophical aesthetics—with some aspects of Kant’s Third Critique.
Gadamer addresses hermeneutic identity whereby a challenge is issued by the
work and is accepted by the viewer. In this “dialogue,” Gadamer’s process of
recognition discussed in his analysis of symbol “elicits the permanent from
the transient” and assists us in becoming more aware of the “power that
1
John Paul II, Vita Consecrata, § 14, par. 2, March 25, 1996, accessed August
29, 2014, http://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_exhortations/doc-
uments/hf_jp-ii_exh_25031996_vita-consecrata.html. (Hereafter Vita Consecrata is
referred to as VC.)
© Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 95
tradition exercises over us.” In “reading” and recognizing tradition, we begin
to take it upon ourselves to generate a “shared community of meaning,” the
fulfillment of festival or celebration, where tradition is transmitted rather
than conserved, where we learn “to grasp and express the past anew,” finally
encountering it. Festival unites everyone, reminding us that in our quest for
understanding, beauty and truth, we have hope in ultimate fulfillment. Since
human life on earth is a preparation for the eschatological2 fulfillment of
Eternity, this festival, signified by the Eternal Banquet or “Supper of the
Lamb,”3 is at the heart of the dialogue with the “Icon of the Transfigured
Christ,” the religious, and this is a reminder of the transcendent destiny of
the human person.
The Icon of the Transfigured Christ
John Paul II writes that consecrated life, profoundly established in the model
of Jesus Christ in His life and teaching, is “a gift of God the Father to His
Church through the Holy Spirit” whereby the religious—in the profession
of the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience—continu-
ally reveals the “characteristic features of Jesus.”4 These features “are made
constantly ‘visible’ in the midst of the world,” and those who view this “icon of
the transfigured Christ,” are guided towards the “mystery of the Kingdom
of God already at work in history, even as it awaits its full realization in
heaven.”5 The “universal presence and the evangelical nature of its witness”
clearly indicate that the life of consecration is “a reality which affects the
whole Church…‘which concerns us all’…[and] is at the very heart of the Church
as a decisive element for her mission, since it ‘manifests the inner nature of
the Christian calling’ and the striving of the whole Church as Bride towards
union with her one Spouse.”6
Consecrated life was not only an assistance to the Church in former
years, but is also “a precious and necessary gift for the present and the future
of the People of God, since it is an intimate part of her life, her holiness
and her mission.”7 Though the call is individual to those who receive it (the
religious accepting his or her personal vocation), the universal sign of those
2
Eschatology refers to a branch of theology that deals with the end of ma-
terial existence and death, judgment, heaven and hell, the “four last things,” and
reunion with the Divine.
3
Rev. 19:9, New American Bible Revised Edition.
4
John Paul II, VC, § 1, par. 1.
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid., § 3.
7
Ibid.

Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
in Consecrated Life: Gadamer and the
“Icon of the Transfigured Christ”
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC
“Thank you, Sister, for wearing your habit!” “Mom, a blue fairy!” “Sister,
would you and your sisters pray for my special request?” Comments that
spring spontaneously from the lips of persons who encounter religious
demonstrate that those in consecrated life keep up a consistent dialogue with
those who observe them, oftentimes without words. Consecrated life serves
as a sign to those who live it, and for those who view it from without. The
variety of reactions and responses to the sight of a religious sister, brother,
or priest in habit show that this sign is significant enough to comment upon,
creating wonder at a kind of beauty discerned by the observer and reminding
him or her of the transcendence of human existence. In 1996, Saint Pope
John Paul II wrote an Apostolic Exhortation in honor of Consecrated life
called Vita Consecrata (On Consecrated Life), where he calls the religious the
“Icon of the Transfigured Christ,” linking those living the evangelical coun-
sels with “Christ’s radiant face in the mystery of the Transfiguration.”1
In his essay, The Relevance of the Beautiful, Hans-Georg Gadamer ac-
knowledges hermeneutic identity, and therein, symbol and festival, or cel-
ebration, in art. Every art piece is a tradition or history that addresses the
viewer, according to Gadamer, and the viewer responds according to his or
her tradition. Art can reveal and also conceals the yet-to-be revealed. In view-
ing the “icon” of consecrated life through Gadamer’s aesthetics, this paper
will discuss several of his keys to understanding any art, including the uni-
versal, the ontological function, the connection between beauty and truth,
and philosophical aesthetics—with some aspects of Kant’s Third Critique.
Gadamer addresses hermeneutic identity whereby a challenge is issued by the
work and is accepted by the viewer. In this “dialogue,” Gadamer’s process of
recognition discussed in his analysis of symbol “elicits the permanent from
the transient” and assists us in becoming more aware of the “power that
1
John Paul II, Vita Consecrata, § 14, par. 2, March 25, 1996, accessed August
29, 2014, http://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_exhortations/doc-
uments/hf_jp-ii_exh_25031996_vita-consecrata.html. (Hereafter Vita Consecrata is
referred to as VC.)
© Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 95
tradition exercises over us.” In “reading” and recognizing tradition, we begin
to take it upon ourselves to generate a “shared community of meaning,” the
fulfillment of festival or celebration, where tradition is transmitted rather
than conserved, where we learn “to grasp and express the past anew,” finally
encountering it. Festival unites everyone, reminding us that in our quest for
understanding, beauty and truth, we have hope in ultimate fulfillment. Since
human life on earth is a preparation for the eschatological2 fulfillment of
Eternity, this festival, signified by the Eternal Banquet or “Supper of the
Lamb,”3 is at the heart of the dialogue with the “Icon of the Transfigured
Christ,” the religious, and this is a reminder of the transcendent destiny of
the human person.
The Icon of the Transfigured Christ
John Paul II writes that consecrated life, profoundly established in the model
of Jesus Christ in His life and teaching, is “a gift of God the Father to His
Church through the Holy Spirit” whereby the religious—in the profession
of the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience—continu-
ally reveals the “characteristic features of Jesus.”4 These features “are made
constantly ‘visible’ in the midst of the world,” and those who view this “icon of
the transfigured Christ,” are guided towards the “mystery of the Kingdom
of God already at work in history, even as it awaits its full realization in
heaven.”5 The “universal presence and the evangelical nature of its witness”
clearly indicate that the life of consecration is “a reality which affects the
whole Church…‘which concerns us all’…[and] is at the very heart of the Church
as a decisive element for her mission, since it ‘manifests the inner nature of
the Christian calling’ and the striving of the whole Church as Bride towards
union with her one Spouse.”6
Consecrated life was not only an assistance to the Church in former
years, but is also “a precious and necessary gift for the present and the future
of the People of God, since it is an intimate part of her life, her holiness
and her mission.”7 Though the call is individual to those who receive it (the
religious accepting his or her personal vocation), the universal sign of those
2
Eschatology refers to a branch of theology that deals with the end of ma-
terial existence and death, judgment, heaven and hell, the “four last things,” and
reunion with the Divine.
3
Rev. 19:9, New American Bible Revised Edition.
4
John Paul II, VC, § 1, par. 1.
5
Ibid.
6
Ibid., § 3.
7
Ibid.
96 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
who receive their vocation, and have it confirmed through acceptance to a
community, alerts all those who encounter the religious that “the profession
of the evangelical counsels is an integral part of the Church’s life and a much
needed incentive towards ever greater fidelity to the Gospel.”8 The substance
of the choice to gift one’s life in a profound and deep-rooted demonstration
of love for Jesus Christ—and in Him, for each person on earth—encourages
and supports the Christian people en route to the Eschaton (Eternal Life),
since they can draw from religious powerful support even by the ministry of
their presence.9
In the mystery of the Transfiguration, the Apostles that accompanied
Jesus were brought to a high mountain, Tabor, where they were introduced to
a ground-shaking experience in beholding their Friend and Master, Jesus, in
unexpected glory. This was an event quite reminiscent of Moses’s close com-
munication with the Divine over forty days in the cloud of the Glory of God
(Shekinah) on Mount Sinai, as related in Exodus, 24:16–18 and 34:29. During
the Transfiguration, the radiance of Moses and the radiance of Jesus were
akin in their connection with the Glory of God—and of course Moses being
present with Elijah—showed the unbroken connection of the tradition that
was being passed on. This was to Christianity a tradition of promise, living
faith and fulfillment in the coming of the promised Messiah who would go
forth to save not only the Chosen People, but all those who would choose to
engage with His mission and to follow through on that engagement. At the
Transfiguration, the Apostles were in awe of what Jesus was doing and how
He appeared; they were overwhelmed and amazed by Moses and Elijah, the
two Old Testament heroes who were alive, conversing with Jesus. The won-
der of Peter, James, and John could only be balanced later by the temptation
to be scandalized, seeing Jesus in His weakness presented to the same three
whom Christ requested to accompany Him in His agony in the garden before
His passion and death. “This mystery is constantly relived by the Church, the
people on its way to the eschatological encounter with its Lord. Like the three
chosen disciples, the Church contemplates the transfigured face of Christ in
order to be confirmed in faith and to avoid being dismayed at His disfigured
face on the Cross. In both cases, she is the Bride before her Spouse, shar-
ing in his mystery and surrounded by his light. This light shines on all the
Church’s children.”10
The Apostles were caught off guard by Jesus in His new, glorified
appearance, but when the voice of the Father was heard, “This is My beloved
Son: listen to Him,”11 they were given a deeper penetration into the invitation
8
Ibid.
9
Ibid.
10
Ibid., § 15, par. 2.
11
Matt. 17:5.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 97
of Jesus to come and follow Him. In leaving their ordinary lives to surround
Him as His chosen followers and closest companions, learning from the Pro-
tagonist and Author of the Gospel Himself how to live authentic Gospel
values, they had entered into a special relationship with Him. Now they were
invited by His Father to listen to Him, who was now radiant of face and
brighter than lightning, conversing with two of the greatest champions of
Jewish leadership, prophesy, story, and tradition. This realization settled deep
into their souls enabling them to contemplate the mystery before their eyes,
not understanding it immediately, but in time perhaps more able to compre-
hend the reality, not only of the event of the Transfiguration, but also of
Jesus’s divine Kingship.
All are called to contemplate this mystery; however, those called to
that unique vocation, where all is given over to Christ by their profession of
vows, are made a “kind of sign and prophetic statement for the community of
the brethren and for the world.”12 As a result, Peter’s words, “Lord, it is well
that we are here,”13 not only indicate the thrust of the Christian life—making
Christ the ultimate focus—but also express the profundity of the vocation
of consecrated life. It is indeed good to be where He is the center of one’s
life; where nothing distracts from Him, even those goods that one has forsak-
en for the Kingdom; where all is connected to Him, to contribute all powers
and energies to His service, and to be absorbed in His splendor.
According to John Paul II, those in consecrated life, like the Apos-
tles, have received their invitation from the Father to follow His Son. Accept-
ing this invitation brings unexpected gifts to the consecrated. The religious
has given up the natural happiness of having material goods, spouse, chil-
dren, home, personal money, and the right to direct one’s personal wishes
in the manner one wishes (rather than following the will of a superior). The
consecrated life demands this commitment and is the unique intimacy with
Christ and the living of the evangelical counsels, the vows of poverty, chas-
tity and obedience, that is “a specific acceptance of the mystery of Christ,
lived within the Church.”14 It is the “response to this call and the interior
attraction which accompanies it” that, according to St. Thomas, gives the
consecrated person the identity of “being comparable to a genuine holo-
caust” because of “his or her complete self-offering.”15 “It is the duty of the
consecrated life to show that the Incarnate Son of God is the eschatological goal
towards which all things tend, the splendour before which every other light pales,
and the infinite beauty which alone can fully satisfy the human heart.”16 This
12
John Paul II, VC, § 15, par. 2.
13
Matt. 17:4.
14
John Paul II, VC, § 16, par. 1.
15
Ibid., § 17, par. 2.
16
Ibid., § 16, par. 2.
96 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
who receive their vocation, and have it confirmed through acceptance to a
community, alerts all those who encounter the religious that “the profession
of the evangelical counsels is an integral part of the Church’s life and a much
needed incentive towards ever greater fidelity to the Gospel.”8 The substance
of the choice to gift one’s life in a profound and deep-rooted demonstration
of love for Jesus Christ—and in Him, for each person on earth—encourages
and supports the Christian people en route to the Eschaton (Eternal Life),
since they can draw from religious powerful support even by the ministry of
their presence.9
In the mystery of the Transfiguration, the Apostles that accompanied
Jesus were brought to a high mountain, Tabor, where they were introduced to
a ground-shaking experience in beholding their Friend and Master, Jesus, in
unexpected glory. This was an event quite reminiscent of Moses’s close com-
munication with the Divine over forty days in the cloud of the Glory of God
(Shekinah) on Mount Sinai, as related in Exodus, 24:16–18 and 34:29. During
the Transfiguration, the radiance of Moses and the radiance of Jesus were
akin in their connection with the Glory of God—and of course Moses being
present with Elijah—showed the unbroken connection of the tradition that
was being passed on. This was to Christianity a tradition of promise, living
faith and fulfillment in the coming of the promised Messiah who would go
forth to save not only the Chosen People, but all those who would choose to
engage with His mission and to follow through on that engagement. At the
Transfiguration, the Apostles were in awe of what Jesus was doing and how
He appeared; they were overwhelmed and amazed by Moses and Elijah, the
two Old Testament heroes who were alive, conversing with Jesus. The won-
der of Peter, James, and John could only be balanced later by the temptation
to be scandalized, seeing Jesus in His weakness presented to the same three
whom Christ requested to accompany Him in His agony in the garden before
His passion and death. “This mystery is constantly relived by the Church, the
people on its way to the eschatological encounter with its Lord. Like the three
chosen disciples, the Church contemplates the transfigured face of Christ in
order to be confirmed in faith and to avoid being dismayed at His disfigured
face on the Cross. In both cases, she is the Bride before her Spouse, shar-
ing in his mystery and surrounded by his light. This light shines on all the
Church’s children.”10
The Apostles were caught off guard by Jesus in His new, glorified
appearance, but when the voice of the Father was heard, “This is My beloved
Son: listen to Him,”11 they were given a deeper penetration into the invitation
8
Ibid.
9
Ibid.
10
Ibid., § 15, par. 2.
11
Matt. 17:5.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 97
of Jesus to come and follow Him. In leaving their ordinary lives to surround
Him as His chosen followers and closest companions, learning from the Pro-
tagonist and Author of the Gospel Himself how to live authentic Gospel
values, they had entered into a special relationship with Him. Now they were
invited by His Father to listen to Him, who was now radiant of face and
brighter than lightning, conversing with two of the greatest champions of
Jewish leadership, prophesy, story, and tradition. This realization settled deep
into their souls enabling them to contemplate the mystery before their eyes,
not understanding it immediately, but in time perhaps more able to compre-
hend the reality, not only of the event of the Transfiguration, but also of
Jesus’s divine Kingship.
All are called to contemplate this mystery; however, those called to
that unique vocation, where all is given over to Christ by their profession of
vows, are made a “kind of sign and prophetic statement for the community of
the brethren and for the world.”12 As a result, Peter’s words, “Lord, it is well
that we are here,”13 not only indicate the thrust of the Christian life—making
Christ the ultimate focus—but also express the profundity of the vocation
of consecrated life. It is indeed good to be where He is the center of one’s
life; where nothing distracts from Him, even those goods that one has forsak-
en for the Kingdom; where all is connected to Him, to contribute all powers
and energies to His service, and to be absorbed in His splendor.
According to John Paul II, those in consecrated life, like the Apos-
tles, have received their invitation from the Father to follow His Son. Accept-
ing this invitation brings unexpected gifts to the consecrated. The religious
has given up the natural happiness of having material goods, spouse, chil-
dren, home, personal money, and the right to direct one’s personal wishes
in the manner one wishes (rather than following the will of a superior). The
consecrated life demands this commitment and is the unique intimacy with
Christ and the living of the evangelical counsels, the vows of poverty, chas-
tity and obedience, that is “a specific acceptance of the mystery of Christ,
lived within the Church.”14 It is the “response to this call and the interior
attraction which accompanies it” that, according to St. Thomas, gives the
consecrated person the identity of “being comparable to a genuine holo-
caust” because of “his or her complete self-offering.”15 “It is the duty of the
consecrated life to show that the Incarnate Son of God is the eschatological goal
towards which all things tend, the splendour before which every other light pales,
and the infinite beauty which alone can fully satisfy the human heart.”16 This
12
John Paul II, VC, § 15, par. 2.
13
Matt. 17:4.
14
John Paul II, VC, § 16, par. 1.
15
Ibid., § 17, par. 2.
16
Ibid., § 16, par. 2.
98 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
differs from the total commitment of the lay person, by virtue of the secular
character of their vocation, which is to “reflect the mystery of the Incarnate
Word, particularly insofar as He is the Alpha and Omega of the world, the
foundation and measure of the value of all created things.”17
The religious, or “Icon of the Transfigured Christ,” communicates
the “Trinitarian nature of the Christian life and…anticipates in a certain way
that eschatological fulfillment”18 for which humans long, where goodness,
truth, and beauty flourish. Contemplative, consecrated living is reflected in
Christ’s deep prayer on Mount Tabor, whereas the active life is reflected in
the “revelation of Christ’s glory” and the “preparation for facing Christ’s
Cross.”19 Christ’s close communion with his Apostles is replicated in His as-
sociation with those who are called to climb Tabor in order to “[strengthen]
the faith in the disciples’ hearts, [prepare] them for the tragedy of the Cross
and [prefigure] the glory of the Resurrection.”20 Those called to consecrat-
ed life have “a special experience of the light which shines forth from the Incarnate
Word.”21 Jesus, the Son of the Father, calls all to follow Him since He is the
way to the Father; but of “those called to the consecrated life, He asks a total
commitment,”22 namely, that of leaving all behind them “in order to live at
His side and to follow Him wherever He goes.”23 Jesus’s face, which is “the
image of the invisible God”24 and the “reflection of the Father’s glory,”25 lets
those who view it see “the depths of an eternal and infinite love which is at
the very root of our being.”26 In the hearts of those called to consecrated
life, it inspires the impulse to cast away all that is not Christ, and to “make
17
Ibid.
18
Ibid., § 14, par. 2.
19
Ibid.
20
Ibid., § 15, par. 2.
21
Ibid.
22
The laity is called to the total commitment of the Universal Call to Holiness
(Lumen Gentium), where the family is the Domestic Church, and the secular world
is the mission field where they are to minister (Christifidelis Laici). Religious have a
unique deepening of their baptismal call whereby, at the invitation of Christ, they
vow additionally to give up the legitimate goods sacrificed by the vows of chastity,
poverty, obedience, and living in community under a superior, etc. Bishops, priests
in the West, and religious (those in consecrated life) take the commitment to which
Christ referred in Matt. 19:12 that requires a setting aside all for the Kingdom of
God to make Christ “the one focus of [their] lives” (John Paul II, VC, § 15, par. 2).
This exclusive commitment, in addition to professing the other vows, is not particu-
larly included in the call of the laity.
23
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 1.
24
Col. 1:15.
25
Heb. 1:3.
26
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 2.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 99
manifest…an explicit desire to be totally conformed to Him” by living “in
obedience, with nothing of one’s own and in chastity.”27 Consecrated persons
find in Jesus the model of divine living on earth, and follow it in their own
lives—“for it was embraced by Him.”28
The mystery of the Transfiguration included the Holy Spirit29 in the
“bright cloud”30 that overshadowed Jesus and his three Apostles on Mount
Tabor. The call of consecrated persons “is closely linked to the working of
the Holy Spirit,”31 allowing them to “recognize the appeal of such a demand-
ing choice”32 by planting a seed of a longing for it, directing its development,
and assisting it to grow and ripen into a positive response, until it is trans-
formed into action. The Holy Spirit “configures” into Christ those called to
consecration, “prompting them to make His mission their own.”33 With open
hearts, religious allow the Holy Spirit to purify them until they become “con-
formed to Christ.” This is what is understood as “the prolongation in history of
a special presence of the Risen Lord.”
Church History records the Fathers of the Church calling religious
life “philokalia, or love of the divine beauty, which is the reflection of the
divine goodness.”34 Those who are led by the Holy Spirit to live in full con-
formity to Christ have within them “a ray of the unapproachable light”
and, through this earthly journey, they are drawn “towards the inexhaustible
Source of light,” representing the Church as Bride.35 “The consecrated life
thus becomes a particularly profound expression of the Church as Bride
who, prompted by the Spirit to imitate her Spouse, stands before Him ‘in
splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy
and without blemish’ (Eph. 5:27).”36
As religious pray at home or walk among their brothers and sisters
in the human family, they are called to witness and to be witnessed. What is it
that “viewers” see in the lives of celibates who are called to give all to follow
Christ? What is the hermeneutic identity of “The Icon of the Transfigured
Christ,” and how does it address those who “view” it? Does a “viewer” feel a
27
Ibid.
28
Ibid.
29
Ibid., § 19: “A significant spiritual interpretation of the Transfiguration sees
this cloud as an image of the Holy Spirit.”
30
Matt. 17:5.
31
John Paul II, VC, § 19.
32
Ibid.
33
Ibid.
34
Ibid.
35
Ibid.
36
Ibid.
98 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
differs from the total commitment of the lay person, by virtue of the secular
character of their vocation, which is to “reflect the mystery of the Incarnate
Word, particularly insofar as He is the Alpha and Omega of the world, the
foundation and measure of the value of all created things.”17
The religious, or “Icon of the Transfigured Christ,” communicates
the “Trinitarian nature of the Christian life and…anticipates in a certain way
that eschatological fulfillment”18 for which humans long, where goodness,
truth, and beauty flourish. Contemplative, consecrated living is reflected in
Christ’s deep prayer on Mount Tabor, whereas the active life is reflected in
the “revelation of Christ’s glory” and the “preparation for facing Christ’s
Cross.”19 Christ’s close communion with his Apostles is replicated in His as-
sociation with those who are called to climb Tabor in order to “[strengthen]
the faith in the disciples’ hearts, [prepare] them for the tragedy of the Cross
and [prefigure] the glory of the Resurrection.”20 Those called to consecrat-
ed life have “a special experience of the light which shines forth from the Incarnate
Word.”21 Jesus, the Son of the Father, calls all to follow Him since He is the
way to the Father; but of “those called to the consecrated life, He asks a total
commitment,”22 namely, that of leaving all behind them “in order to live at
His side and to follow Him wherever He goes.”23 Jesus’s face, which is “the
image of the invisible God”24 and the “reflection of the Father’s glory,”25 lets
those who view it see “the depths of an eternal and infinite love which is at
the very root of our being.”26 In the hearts of those called to consecrated
life, it inspires the impulse to cast away all that is not Christ, and to “make
17
Ibid.
18
Ibid., § 14, par. 2.
19
Ibid.
20
Ibid., § 15, par. 2.
21
Ibid.
22
The laity is called to the total commitment of the Universal Call to Holiness
(Lumen Gentium), where the family is the Domestic Church, and the secular world
is the mission field where they are to minister (Christifidelis Laici). Religious have a
unique deepening of their baptismal call whereby, at the invitation of Christ, they
vow additionally to give up the legitimate goods sacrificed by the vows of chastity,
poverty, obedience, and living in community under a superior, etc. Bishops, priests
in the West, and religious (those in consecrated life) take the commitment to which
Christ referred in Matt. 19:12 that requires a setting aside all for the Kingdom of
God to make Christ “the one focus of [their] lives” (John Paul II, VC, § 15, par. 2).
This exclusive commitment, in addition to professing the other vows, is not particu-
larly included in the call of the laity.
23
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 1.
24
Col. 1:15.
25
Heb. 1:3.
26
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 2.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 99
manifest…an explicit desire to be totally conformed to Him” by living “in
obedience, with nothing of one’s own and in chastity.”27 Consecrated persons
find in Jesus the model of divine living on earth, and follow it in their own
lives—“for it was embraced by Him.”28
The mystery of the Transfiguration included the Holy Spirit29 in the
“bright cloud”30 that overshadowed Jesus and his three Apostles on Mount
Tabor. The call of consecrated persons “is closely linked to the working of
the Holy Spirit,”31 allowing them to “recognize the appeal of such a demand-
ing choice”32 by planting a seed of a longing for it, directing its development,
and assisting it to grow and ripen into a positive response, until it is trans-
formed into action. The Holy Spirit “configures” into Christ those called to
consecration, “prompting them to make His mission their own.”33 With open
hearts, religious allow the Holy Spirit to purify them until they become “con-
formed to Christ.” This is what is understood as “the prolongation in history of
a special presence of the Risen Lord.”
Church History records the Fathers of the Church calling religious
life “philokalia, or love of the divine beauty, which is the reflection of the
divine goodness.”34 Those who are led by the Holy Spirit to live in full con-
formity to Christ have within them “a ray of the unapproachable light”
and, through this earthly journey, they are drawn “towards the inexhaustible
Source of light,” representing the Church as Bride.35 “The consecrated life
thus becomes a particularly profound expression of the Church as Bride
who, prompted by the Spirit to imitate her Spouse, stands before Him ‘in
splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy
and without blemish’ (Eph. 5:27).”36
As religious pray at home or walk among their brothers and sisters
in the human family, they are called to witness and to be witnessed. What is it
that “viewers” see in the lives of celibates who are called to give all to follow
Christ? What is the hermeneutic identity of “The Icon of the Transfigured
Christ,” and how does it address those who “view” it? Does a “viewer” feel a
27
Ibid.
28
Ibid.
29
Ibid., § 19: “A significant spiritual interpretation of the Transfiguration sees
this cloud as an image of the Holy Spirit.”
30
Matt. 17:5.
31
John Paul II, VC, § 19.
32
Ibid.
33
Ibid.
34
Ibid.
35
Ibid.
36
Ibid.
100 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
connection with beauty and the transcendent when observing this “icon,” or
even perhaps feel opposition, and if so, what difference does it make?
Gadamer and Art: Universal, Beauty, Symbol, Festival
Gadamer, in expressing his philosophical aesthetics about works of art,37
points out that, as Aristotle explains in his Poetics, “Poetry is more philosoph-
ical than history,” because “the one describes the thing that has been, and the
other a kind of thing that might be.”38 The statements of history are of the
same nature as singulars, while the statements of poetry (art) are of the same
nature as universals.39 History reports what has actually happened, while “po-
etry tells us how things may happen and teaches us to recognize the universal
in all human action and suffering.”40
Gadamer adds a second point about art, in that “art leads us be-
yond the limits of contemporary aesthetics.”41 The Greek ethico-political
world held that the “beautiful ethical life” was the virtuous life of the people
finding communication “in all forms of communal life, giving shape to the
whole, and so allowing men to recognize themselves in their own world.”42
In noting the beautiful, one is compelled to acknowledge that it is truth. This
truth of beauty is not inaccessible in the here and now, but lies amid the “dis-
order of reality with all its imperfections, evils, errors, extremes, and fateful
confusions.”43 The beautiful connects the ideal and the real, and this is its
ontological function.44
The third point that Gadamer identifies in art is discovered in phil-
osophical aesthetics and partly in Kant’s Third Critique (The Critique of Judg-
ment). The advent of aesthetics corresponded with the age of rationalism
when art was considered part of religious or secular embellishment. Art
was not autonomous then, but formed part of the “life-world”—making it
beautiful with expressions of religious worship or the coronation of a ruler,
perhaps. Art became emancipated from conventional topics, standing on its
37
Hans-Georg Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful and Other Essays, trans.
Nicholas Walker, ed. Robert Bernasconi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1986).
38
Aristotle, Poetics 9.1452b4 in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKe-
on (Random House, Inc.: New York, 2001), 1462.
39
Ibid.
40
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 13.
41
Ibid.
42
Ibid., 14.
43
Ibid.
44
Ibid.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 101
own in the “great artistic revolution of modern times.” Is this still art? Kant
notes that humans take in beauty with “disinterested delight.”45 This entails
no question of practical use, since beauty is not practical. “We cannot ask,
‘What purpose is served by enjoyment?’”46 Kant describes aesthetic taste as
sensus communis, or common sense.47 About this, Gadamer states, “Taste is
communicative”; everyone has it to some measure, and there is no excessive
conceptualizing about what we are seeing.48 We know we have been struck to
the heart by what is beautiful, and as a result we are attracted to it.
The hermeneutic identity of the work, “establishes the unity of the
work,” and “even the most fleeting and unique of experiences is intended
in its self-identity when it appears or is valued as an aesthetic experience.”49
Gadamer believes that one must be able to identify something in order to un-
derstand it: “for there was something there that I passed judgment upon and
understood. I identify something as it was or as it is, and this identity alone
constitutes the meaning of the work.”50 He claims that artistic productions
intend what they produce to be what they are. They are works in terms of
their hermeneutic identity. “If the identity of the work is as we have said,
then the genuine reception and experience of a work of art can exist only for
one who ‘plays along,’ that is, one who performs in an active way himself.”51
The hermeneutic identity of the art piece resides specifically in
“there being something to ‘understand,’ that it asks to be understood in what
it ‘says’ or ‘intends.’ The work issues a challenge that expects to be met. It re-
quires an answer—an answer that can only be given by someone who accepts
the challenge. And that answer must be his or her own, and given actively.”52
This assent from the viewer produces meaning and understanding. When
one views art, he or she is involved in “profound intellectual and spiritual
activity.” If the experience has been genuine, “then the world has become
both brighter and less burdensome.”53 The art becomes “the focal point of
recognition and understanding…bound up with variation and difference.”
The viewer, in meeting the challenge issued by the work of art, “fills out” and
completes the work for him or herself.54 Gadamer utilizes Kant’s comments
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, trans. J. H. Bernard. (Hafner Press:
45
New York, 1951), 44–45.
46
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 19.
47
Kant, Critique of Judgment, 76–77, 135–38.
48
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 19–20.
49
Ibid., 25.
50
Ibid.
51
Ibid., 25–26.
52
Ibid., 26.
53
Ibid.
54
Ibid.
100 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
connection with beauty and the transcendent when observing this “icon,” or
even perhaps feel opposition, and if so, what difference does it make?
Gadamer and Art: Universal, Beauty, Symbol, Festival
Gadamer, in expressing his philosophical aesthetics about works of art,37
points out that, as Aristotle explains in his Poetics, “Poetry is more philosoph-
ical than history,” because “the one describes the thing that has been, and the
other a kind of thing that might be.”38 The statements of history are of the
same nature as singulars, while the statements of poetry (art) are of the same
nature as universals.39 History reports what has actually happened, while “po-
etry tells us how things may happen and teaches us to recognize the universal
in all human action and suffering.”40
Gadamer adds a second point about art, in that “art leads us be-
yond the limits of contemporary aesthetics.”41 The Greek ethico-political
world held that the “beautiful ethical life” was the virtuous life of the people
finding communication “in all forms of communal life, giving shape to the
whole, and so allowing men to recognize themselves in their own world.”42
In noting the beautiful, one is compelled to acknowledge that it is truth. This
truth of beauty is not inaccessible in the here and now, but lies amid the “dis-
order of reality with all its imperfections, evils, errors, extremes, and fateful
confusions.”43 The beautiful connects the ideal and the real, and this is its
ontological function.44
The third point that Gadamer identifies in art is discovered in phil-
osophical aesthetics and partly in Kant’s Third Critique (The Critique of Judg-
ment). The advent of aesthetics corresponded with the age of rationalism
when art was considered part of religious or secular embellishment. Art
was not autonomous then, but formed part of the “life-world”—making it
beautiful with expressions of religious worship or the coronation of a ruler,
perhaps. Art became emancipated from conventional topics, standing on its
37
Hans-Georg Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful and Other Essays, trans.
Nicholas Walker, ed. Robert Bernasconi (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1986).
38
Aristotle, Poetics 9.1452b4 in The Basic Works of Aristotle, ed. Richard McKe-
on (Random House, Inc.: New York, 2001), 1462.
39
Ibid.
40
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 13.
41
Ibid.
42
Ibid., 14.
43
Ibid.
44
Ibid.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 101
own in the “great artistic revolution of modern times.” Is this still art? Kant
notes that humans take in beauty with “disinterested delight.”45 This entails
no question of practical use, since beauty is not practical. “We cannot ask,
‘What purpose is served by enjoyment?’”46 Kant describes aesthetic taste as
sensus communis, or common sense.47 About this, Gadamer states, “Taste is
communicative”; everyone has it to some measure, and there is no excessive
conceptualizing about what we are seeing.48 We know we have been struck to
the heart by what is beautiful, and as a result we are attracted to it.
The hermeneutic identity of the work, “establishes the unity of the
work,” and “even the most fleeting and unique of experiences is intended
in its self-identity when it appears or is valued as an aesthetic experience.”49
Gadamer believes that one must be able to identify something in order to un-
derstand it: “for there was something there that I passed judgment upon and
understood. I identify something as it was or as it is, and this identity alone
constitutes the meaning of the work.”50 He claims that artistic productions
intend what they produce to be what they are. They are works in terms of
their hermeneutic identity. “If the identity of the work is as we have said,
then the genuine reception and experience of a work of art can exist only for
one who ‘plays along,’ that is, one who performs in an active way himself.”51
The hermeneutic identity of the art piece resides specifically in
“there being something to ‘understand,’ that it asks to be understood in what
it ‘says’ or ‘intends.’ The work issues a challenge that expects to be met. It re-
quires an answer—an answer that can only be given by someone who accepts
the challenge. And that answer must be his or her own, and given actively.”52
This assent from the viewer produces meaning and understanding. When
one views art, he or she is involved in “profound intellectual and spiritual
activity.” If the experience has been genuine, “then the world has become
both brighter and less burdensome.”53 The art becomes “the focal point of
recognition and understanding…bound up with variation and difference.”
The viewer, in meeting the challenge issued by the work of art, “fills out” and
completes the work for him or herself.54 Gadamer utilizes Kant’s comments
Emmanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, trans. J. H. Bernard. (Hafner Press:
45
New York, 1951), 44–45.
46
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 19.
47
Kant, Critique of Judgment, 76–77, 135–38.
48
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 19–20.
49
Ibid., 25.
50
Ibid.
51
Ibid., 25–26.
52
Ibid., 26.
53
Ibid.
54
Ibid.
102 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
on other aspects of beauty in art, such as form being the vehicle of beauty,
in order to support the idea that the viewer is in the position to actively con-
struct the form. The identity of the work invites the viewer into a “constant
cooperative activity,”55 into the dialogue.
Gadamer believes that the symbolic in general and in art rests on the
“intricate interplay of showing and concealing.” Art is not a bearer of mean-
ing but carries it in itself: “the meaning of the work of art lies in the fact that
it is there.”56 Once it is “there,” it is ready to be “encountered” by whoever
meets it, and to be perceived. The symbolic does not point to a meaning, but
allows the meaning to present itself. The symbol preserves that meaning in
itself: is a repraesentatio, not in the sense of a replacement, but as something
that gains meaning by being represented.57 It demands constructive activity
on the part of the viewer.58
Recognition is another aspect of symbol. This is understood with
the tesserae hospitalis (the Roman custom of a host breaking an object in hospi-
tality, so it can be refitted for recognition when he and his guest meet again).
“Recognition means knowing something as that with which we are already
acquainted…[implying] that we have come to know something more authen-
tically than we were able to do when caught up in our first encounter with it.
Recognition elicits the permanent from the transient.”59 Tradition present in
a work is not intended to conserve but to transmit: “learning how to grasp
and express the past anew,” and in this sense this transmission corresponds
with translation. In addition, we do not repeat the past, but encounter it.60 A
work of art “transforms our fleeting experience into the stable and lasting
form of an independent and internally coherent creation…in such a way that
we go beyond ourselves by penetrating deeper into the work.”61
A final element of Gadamer’s commentary on art is the notion of
festival. Festival is an experience of community, represents community in
its most perfect form, and builds community because no one is excluded or
separated.62 Work separates and divides, while festival includes and gathers
everyone together.63 Festivals are celebrated intentionally, and are meant for
everyone. In contrast to boredom and bustle, which are both time-fillers, the
former with empty time, and the latter with filling time, festival and art are
55
Ibid., 27.
56
Ibid., 33.
57
Ibid., 37.
58
Ibid.
59
Ibid., 47.
60
Ibid., 49.
61
Ibid., 53.
62
Ibid., 39.
63
Ibid., 40.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 103
what Gadamer calls “fulfilled time.”64 Humans make a transition from life,
experienced in normal time, to a work of art, where time becomes a cele-
bration. He also writes that “in the experience of art, we must learn to dwell
upon the work in a specific way,” with no tedium in our tarrying as we absorb
its riches, and in this way we can relate to eternity.65
“The Icon of the Transfigured Christ” is an eschatological sign to
the viewer of the place of Eternal Life in the sense that he or she lives not
for this world, but for the next, and in that living, gives witness to a light, a life
and a future that is outside of materiality. When this icon is viewed, a mes-
sage is received by the viewer, thereby creating a bridge from Eternity to that
moment in time. The living icon stands out by giving testimony to the reality
of the Eternal Wedding Banquet. In this Nuptial Feast of the Lamb, where
all are invited (though some do not choose to attend), a great, expectant and
joyous assembly gathers in the greatest community celebration ever known:
the Festival of Festivals!
The “Icon” and the Dialogue
The viewer of “the Icon of the Transfigured Christ” encounters the vowed
religious who is in the process of constantly revealing the “characteristic fea-
tures of Jesus,”66 and without perhaps consciously realizing it, is struck by the
“mystery of the Kingdom of God already at work in history, even as it awaits
its full realization in heaven.”67 How does the dialogue actually take place
between “the Icon of the Transfigured Christ” and the viewer? Perhaps it
would be helpful to note Gadamer’s ideas on the matter and then to propose
how the dialogue occurs with the art piece that is the religious.
Gadamer compares dialogue with the model of the Platonic dialec-
tic as a method by which humans come to understanding; one cannot attain
understanding without logical structures of openness and questioning. “We
cannot have experiences without asking questions.”68 The heart of question-
ing is to make sense, which also comprises a sense of direction. Gadamer
states that when a question develops in authentic dialogue (to gain insight
rather than to prove oneself right), “it breaks open the being of the object,
as it were. Hence the logos that explicates this opened-up being is an answer.
64
Ibid., 42.
65
Ibid., 45.
66
John Paul II, VC, § 1, par. 1.
67
Ibid.
68
Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2nd rev. ed. (London: The Contin-
uum International Publishing Group Ltd., 2004), 362.
102 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
on other aspects of beauty in art, such as form being the vehicle of beauty,
in order to support the idea that the viewer is in the position to actively con-
struct the form. The identity of the work invites the viewer into a “constant
cooperative activity,”55 into the dialogue.
Gadamer believes that the symbolic in general and in art rests on the
“intricate interplay of showing and concealing.” Art is not a bearer of mean-
ing but carries it in itself: “the meaning of the work of art lies in the fact that
it is there.”56 Once it is “there,” it is ready to be “encountered” by whoever
meets it, and to be perceived. The symbolic does not point to a meaning, but
allows the meaning to present itself. The symbol preserves that meaning in
itself: is a repraesentatio, not in the sense of a replacement, but as something
that gains meaning by being represented.57 It demands constructive activity
on the part of the viewer.58
Recognition is another aspect of symbol. This is understood with
the tesserae hospitalis (the Roman custom of a host breaking an object in hospi-
tality, so it can be refitted for recognition when he and his guest meet again).
“Recognition means knowing something as that with which we are already
acquainted…[implying] that we have come to know something more authen-
tically than we were able to do when caught up in our first encounter with it.
Recognition elicits the permanent from the transient.”59 Tradition present in
a work is not intended to conserve but to transmit: “learning how to grasp
and express the past anew,” and in this sense this transmission corresponds
with translation. In addition, we do not repeat the past, but encounter it.60 A
work of art “transforms our fleeting experience into the stable and lasting
form of an independent and internally coherent creation…in such a way that
we go beyond ourselves by penetrating deeper into the work.”61
A final element of Gadamer’s commentary on art is the notion of
festival. Festival is an experience of community, represents community in
its most perfect form, and builds community because no one is excluded or
separated.62 Work separates and divides, while festival includes and gathers
everyone together.63 Festivals are celebrated intentionally, and are meant for
everyone. In contrast to boredom and bustle, which are both time-fillers, the
former with empty time, and the latter with filling time, festival and art are
55
Ibid., 27.
56
Ibid., 33.
57
Ibid., 37.
58
Ibid.
59
Ibid., 47.
60
Ibid., 49.
61
Ibid., 53.
62
Ibid., 39.
63
Ibid., 40.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 103
what Gadamer calls “fulfilled time.”64 Humans make a transition from life,
experienced in normal time, to a work of art, where time becomes a cele-
bration. He also writes that “in the experience of art, we must learn to dwell
upon the work in a specific way,” with no tedium in our tarrying as we absorb
its riches, and in this way we can relate to eternity.65
“The Icon of the Transfigured Christ” is an eschatological sign to
the viewer of the place of Eternal Life in the sense that he or she lives not
for this world, but for the next, and in that living, gives witness to a light, a life
and a future that is outside of materiality. When this icon is viewed, a mes-
sage is received by the viewer, thereby creating a bridge from Eternity to that
moment in time. The living icon stands out by giving testimony to the reality
of the Eternal Wedding Banquet. In this Nuptial Feast of the Lamb, where
all are invited (though some do not choose to attend), a great, expectant and
joyous assembly gathers in the greatest community celebration ever known:
the Festival of Festivals!
The “Icon” and the Dialogue
The viewer of “the Icon of the Transfigured Christ” encounters the vowed
religious who is in the process of constantly revealing the “characteristic fea-
tures of Jesus,”66 and without perhaps consciously realizing it, is struck by the
“mystery of the Kingdom of God already at work in history, even as it awaits
its full realization in heaven.”67 How does the dialogue actually take place
between “the Icon of the Transfigured Christ” and the viewer? Perhaps it
would be helpful to note Gadamer’s ideas on the matter and then to propose
how the dialogue occurs with the art piece that is the religious.
Gadamer compares dialogue with the model of the Platonic dialec-
tic as a method by which humans come to understanding; one cannot attain
understanding without logical structures of openness and questioning. “We
cannot have experiences without asking questions.”68 The heart of question-
ing is to make sense, which also comprises a sense of direction. Gadamer
states that when a question develops in authentic dialogue (to gain insight
rather than to prove oneself right), “it breaks open the being of the object,
as it were. Hence the logos that explicates this opened-up being is an answer.
64
Ibid., 42.
65
Ibid., 45.
66
John Paul II, VC, § 1, par. 1.
67
Ibid.
68
Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method, 2nd rev. ed. (London: The Contin-
uum International Publishing Group Ltd., 2004), 362.
104 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
Its sense lies in the sense of the question.”69 In Socratic dialogue, “there is a
profound recognition of the priority of the question in all knowledge and dis-
course that really reveals something of an object. Discourse that is intended
to reveal something requires that that thing be broken open by the ques-
tion.”70 Gadamer writes that dialectic advances through the questions and
answers; “the path of all knowledge leads through the question,” which is to
bring into the open, since “the openness of what is in question consists in the
fact that the answer is not settled.” This is the condition of every true ques-
tion.71 Knowledge is the consideration of opposites; it is dialectical “from
the ground up” and “only a person who has questions can have knowledge,
but questions include the antithesis of yes and no, of being like this and like
that.72 With some of these ideas in mind, let us proceed to the dialogue of
the “Icon of the Transfigured Christ” (the person in consecrated life) and
the “viewer.”
The dialogue that occurs upon the viewing of the “Icon of the
Transfigured Christ” is a dialogue that opens from the icon itself. The art
addresses the viewer, and the questions begin. That pause and glance on the
part of a viewer of the “icon,” perhaps an exclamation or comment, or the
continued gaze, begins the dialogue initiated by the sight of the religious,
which is the art addressing the viewer. The wide variety of responses to the
sight of a religious in the public eye, perhaps at the store or on the street, is a
strong indication of the hermeneutic identity of the icon—the “reality which
affects” those who observe it.73 In communicating the “Trinitarian nature of
the Christian life,” and “[anticipating] in a certain way that eschatological ful-
filment”74 for which humans long—where goodness, truth and beauty flour-
ish—the icon intends what it produces to be what it is: a sign or reminder
that humans have an eternal destiny. The divine One has invited persons to
dedicate their whole lives to the end of creating the identity of the complete
holocaust in imitation of the divine Original, without many religious even
realizing that this is what others see when viewing them. The viewer may ob-
serve, as in a mirror, “the depths of an eternal and infinite love which is at the
very root of our being”75—love that is accessible to the viewer. The subject
matter, as it were, of the icon, is brought to light, and the dialogue continues.
69
Ibid., 362, 363.
70
Ibid., 363.
71
Ibid.
72
Ibid., 365.
73
John Paul II, VC, § 3.
74
Gadamer, Truth and Method, 363.
75
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 2.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 105
Recognition distinguishes the permanent from the transient,76 trans-
mitting (or translating) the past in a new way, thus creating an encounter.
Since the Holy Spirit works within the “icon” the continuation in history of
a special presence of the Risen Lord, the “icon” produces an attraction for
those who “recognize” the symbol and the reality of the Eschaton that is
strong but gentle, unconcealed yet somehow elusive. For the person who has
never seen a religious sister, brother, or priest, this recognition might be: in
the memory of, or connection to, a story he or she has heard, in a conversa-
tion with an older relative, in one’s dreams of giving one’s own life to a wor-
thy cause; or even in wondering about what the life of such a person could
entail. On the part of one who has no Catholic or Christian background, the
sight of a religious can affect even the young viewer with stunning manifesta-
tion.77 A question is asked by the sight of the icon, since the art is addressing
the viewer, and the viewer responds with the answer that is right for that time
in his or her life. Sometimes the answer is another question. Sometimes the
conversation goes on in the head of the person after leaving the icon, with
the memory of the icon carrying the dialogue.
Viewers are drawn to the work the Holy Spirit has accomplished in
the icon: they perceive that “ray of the unapproachable light,” and, through
the icon, they are drawn “towards the inexhaustible Source of light,” repre-
senting the Church as Bride.78 The reception and experience of the icon can
exist, though, only for those who engage in the dialogue. The viewer’s assent
to engage in the dialogue produces meaning and understanding in the con-
versation, filling in a better comprehension for him or herself. If the experi-
ence has been genuine, the viewer is left with the knowledge that the world
is a brighter and less burdensome place. Those who find themselves in an
understanding of the “icon” create a community of comprehending beauty
found in the connection of the ideal and the real, thus fulfilling its ontolog-
76
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 47.
77
In the case of a particular “viewer,” I (the author of this paper) met a young
woman with two children at a post office in Spokane. The mother was friendly and
the older child, about aged seven, glanced over for a moment and seemed mildly
curious, then went back to play with her toy. The younger child, aged about three
or four, stopped in mid-step and stood riveted, staring at me. I thought at first that
she believed I was a Disney character come to life, or some other creature. As she
gazed at me, I was touched by her wonder and peace as her mother took her hand to
lead her away. She couldn’t look away and allowed herself to be led backwards, still
watching me standing in line. Finally she lisped, pointing at me, “P’etty, mom. SOOO
p’etty! Oh, mom, p’etty!” Her gaze took everything in, and finally her mother picked
her up and took her back out to the car. I believe it was not a physical prettiness she
was commenting upon, but something deeper that spoke to her soul. This event
convinced me to write this paper.
78
John Paul II, VC, § 19.
104 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity
Its sense lies in the sense of the question.”69 In Socratic dialogue, “there is a
profound recognition of the priority of the question in all knowledge and dis-
course that really reveals something of an object. Discourse that is intended
to reveal something requires that that thing be broken open by the ques-
tion.”70 Gadamer writes that dialectic advances through the questions and
answers; “the path of all knowledge leads through the question,” which is to
bring into the open, since “the openness of what is in question consists in the
fact that the answer is not settled.” This is the condition of every true ques-
tion.71 Knowledge is the consideration of opposites; it is dialectical “from
the ground up” and “only a person who has questions can have knowledge,
but questions include the antithesis of yes and no, of being like this and like
that.72 With some of these ideas in mind, let us proceed to the dialogue of
the “Icon of the Transfigured Christ” (the person in consecrated life) and
the “viewer.”
The dialogue that occurs upon the viewing of the “Icon of the
Transfigured Christ” is a dialogue that opens from the icon itself. The art
addresses the viewer, and the questions begin. That pause and glance on the
part of a viewer of the “icon,” perhaps an exclamation or comment, or the
continued gaze, begins the dialogue initiated by the sight of the religious,
which is the art addressing the viewer. The wide variety of responses to the
sight of a religious in the public eye, perhaps at the store or on the street, is a
strong indication of the hermeneutic identity of the icon—the “reality which
affects” those who observe it.73 In communicating the “Trinitarian nature of
the Christian life,” and “[anticipating] in a certain way that eschatological ful-
filment”74 for which humans long—where goodness, truth and beauty flour-
ish—the icon intends what it produces to be what it is: a sign or reminder
that humans have an eternal destiny. The divine One has invited persons to
dedicate their whole lives to the end of creating the identity of the complete
holocaust in imitation of the divine Original, without many religious even
realizing that this is what others see when viewing them. The viewer may ob-
serve, as in a mirror, “the depths of an eternal and infinite love which is at the
very root of our being”75—love that is accessible to the viewer. The subject
matter, as it were, of the icon, is brought to light, and the dialogue continues.
69
Ibid., 362, 363.
70
Ibid., 363.
71
Ibid.
72
Ibid., 365.
73
John Paul II, VC, § 3.
74
Gadamer, Truth and Method, 363.
75
John Paul II, VC, § 18, par. 2.
Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 105
Recognition distinguishes the permanent from the transient,76 trans-
mitting (or translating) the past in a new way, thus creating an encounter.
Since the Holy Spirit works within the “icon” the continuation in history of
a special presence of the Risen Lord, the “icon” produces an attraction for
those who “recognize” the symbol and the reality of the Eschaton that is
strong but gentle, unconcealed yet somehow elusive. For the person who has
never seen a religious sister, brother, or priest, this recognition might be: in
the memory of, or connection to, a story he or she has heard, in a conversa-
tion with an older relative, in one’s dreams of giving one’s own life to a wor-
thy cause; or even in wondering about what the life of such a person could
entail. On the part of one who has no Catholic or Christian background, the
sight of a religious can affect even the young viewer with stunning manifesta-
tion.77 A question is asked by the sight of the icon, since the art is addressing
the viewer, and the viewer responds with the answer that is right for that time
in his or her life. Sometimes the answer is another question. Sometimes the
conversation goes on in the head of the person after leaving the icon, with
the memory of the icon carrying the dialogue.
Viewers are drawn to the work the Holy Spirit has accomplished in
the icon: they perceive that “ray of the unapproachable light,” and, through
the icon, they are drawn “towards the inexhaustible Source of light,” repre-
senting the Church as Bride.78 The reception and experience of the icon can
exist, though, only for those who engage in the dialogue. The viewer’s assent
to engage in the dialogue produces meaning and understanding in the con-
versation, filling in a better comprehension for him or herself. If the experi-
ence has been genuine, the viewer is left with the knowledge that the world
is a brighter and less burdensome place. Those who find themselves in an
understanding of the “icon” create a community of comprehending beauty
found in the connection of the ideal and the real, thus fulfilling its ontolog-
76
Gadamer, The Relevance of the Beautiful, 47.
77
In the case of a particular “viewer,” I (the author of this paper) met a young
woman with two children at a post office in Spokane. The mother was friendly and
the older child, about aged seven, glanced over for a moment and seemed mildly
curious, then went back to play with her toy. The younger child, aged about three
or four, stopped in mid-step and stood riveted, staring at me. I thought at first that
she believed I was a Disney character come to life, or some other creature. As she
gazed at me, I was touched by her wonder and peace as her mother took her hand to
lead her away. She couldn’t look away and allowed herself to be led backwards, still
watching me standing in line. Finally she lisped, pointing at me, “P’etty, mom. SOOO
p’etty! Oh, mom, p’etty!” Her gaze took everything in, and finally her mother picked
her up and took her back out to the car. I believe it was not a physical prettiness she
was commenting upon, but something deeper that spoke to her soul. This event
convinced me to write this paper.
78
John Paul II, VC, § 19.
106 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 107
ical function, bringing into being a richness actualizing a deeper reality. The into thinking about meeting God in Eternity and the “Last things”—death,
beauty found is a presence, an encounter with the truth present in the work judgment, heaven, and hell—is frightening for many. It is not characteristi-
itself. As a result of this encounter, the truth within the other is awakened cally pleasant to think about these things, unless one is curious, or until one
through the beauty discovered, and the dialogue continues. prepares for the end of life, although, even then, thoughts of the end of life
The variety in the dialogue runs the spectrum of human emotion, are frightening for many. As with any good piece of art, the icon speaks a
stimulating, affecting, impressing, or connecting on some deeper level for the truth with which some are challenged and deeply uncomfortable, and, as a
most part. In a sense, this discovery is a calling back to the truths that may be result, a struggle ensues, leaving the viewer to grapple with those elements
dormant, or may be on the surface of the individual’s consciousness, or per- “spoken about” in the dialogue.
haps buried deeply, awaiting confirmation. Issues of love or questions long Regardless, the encounter occurs and the dialogue may continue
unanswered awaken deep aspirations of the human heart, possibly leading long after the parting. As any art piece can contribute to arousing, piquing,
the “viewer(s)” to question themselves, or to comment to others what they or achieving understanding in the viewer, so the “Icon of the Transfigured
have noticed. Children note a range of ideas that spring forth in exclamations Christ” challenges and disrupts conventional expectations, deepening a view-
like “Mary!” “Jesus!” “Look, a church lady!” or the communication of a gaze er’s experience of art, addressing their tradition, perhaps bringing them to a
of deep introspection, not seeming able to tear themselves away. Other chil- more profound realization that they are in touch with the transcendent and
dren make observations like “Madeleine, Mom, Madeleine!” or “Barney!” that in recognizing this, they become more attentive to the beautiful and
Some non-Catholics look quizzical or make comments, sometimes coming more aware of wonder. It may be suggested that this dialogue, this encounter,
over for autographs, as though the religious were a celebrity, or with ques- this connection of love, and this truth, will form part of that great Encoun-
tions, wondering why a person would be a celibate—sometimes shaking their ter at the end of time where reigns Eternal Festival: the Wedding Feast of the
heads in disbelief or amazement. Catholic adults surreptitiously comment Lamb, where community, recognition, and joy are resolved into that place of
and converse with those near them, reminiscing about their school days with Beauty in which the ideal and the real become one.
sisters. Oftentimes they will come over to the religious to ask for prayers,
thank the religious for his or her vocation, or remark how they themselves —Gonzaga University
had had a vocation to religious life, but had chosen another path, either to
their own delight, for example, in a good marriage, or to their chagrin, there-
by inviting consolation and encouragement from the religious. Frequently a
young person who is dealing with questions about becoming a religious will
approach, sometimes nervously and hesitatingly, or sometimes confidently
and with excitement. Above all, and perhaps most common in the topic of
the dialogue, is a response on the part of more reflective observers, of the
incongruity of the presence of religious in the midst of a material world that
typically would be absorbed in material things.
Viewers may be struck by joy in the icon, which is a contrast to what
might be noticeable in the faces of others who have all they need. Since the
icon communicates the prophetic element of a life lived for eternal values,
the dialogue may sometimes be a negative one. Viewers may be menacing,
avoidant, or even take violent action, such as shouting insults, gesturing vul-
garly, or even spitting upon the “icon,” infuriated beyond any kind of con-
nection with a person they have never met.79 Being reminded or surprised
79
One event that comes to mind is a meeting between two sisters (the au-
thor of this paper and her religious superior) and a bicyclist in a market square in he conjured up a mouthful of saliva, expelling it all over the sister nearest him as he
Salzburg, Austria in the summer of 2005. The cyclist caught sight of the religious passed by, shouting profanities. (He was afterwards dubbed by the two sisters, “The
from the distant part of the square, and then began to accelerate towards the two as Salzburg Spitter.”)
106 Beauty and Hermeneutic Identity Sister Mary Eucharista, SMMC 107
ical function, bringing into being a richness actualizing a deeper reality. The into thinking about meeting God in Eternity and the “Last things”—death,
beauty found is a presence, an encounter with the truth present in the work judgment, heaven, and hell—is frightening for many. It is not characteristi-
itself. As a result of this encounter, the truth within the other is awakened cally pleasant to think about these things, unless one is curious, or until one
through the beauty discovered, and the dialogue continues. prepares for the end of life, although, even then, thoughts of the end of life
The variety in the dialogue runs the spectrum of human emotion, are frightening for many. As with any good piece of art, the icon speaks a
stimulating, affecting, impressing, or connecting on some deeper level for the truth with which some are challenged and deeply uncomfortable, and, as a
most part. In a sense, this discovery is a calling back to the truths that may be result, a struggle ensues, leaving the viewer to grapple with those elements
dormant, or may be on the surface of the individual’s consciousness, or per- “spoken about” in the dialogue.
haps buried deeply, awaiting confirmation. Issues of love or questions long Regardless, the encounter occurs and the dialogue may continue
unanswered awaken deep aspirations of the human heart, possibly leading long after the parting. As any art piece can contribute to arousing, piquing,
the “viewer(s)” to question themselves, or to comment to others what they or achieving understanding in the viewer, so the “Icon of the Transfigured
have noticed. Children note a range of ideas that spring forth in exclamations Christ” challenges and disrupts conventional expectations, deepening a view-
like “Mary!” “Jesus!” “Look, a church lady!” or the communication of a gaze er’s experience of art, addressing their tradition, perhaps bringing them to a
of deep introspection, not seeming able to tear themselves away. Other chil- more profound realization that they are in touch with the transcendent and
dren make observations like “Madeleine, Mom, Madeleine!” or “Barney!” that in recognizing this, they become more attentive to the beautiful and
Some non-Catholics look quizzical or make comments, sometimes coming more aware of wonder. It may be suggested that this dialogue, this encounter,
over for autographs, as though the religious were a celebrity, or with ques- this connection of love, and this truth, will form part of that great Encoun-
tions, wondering why a person would be a celibate—sometimes shaking their ter at the end of time where reigns Eternal Festival: the Wedding Feast of the
heads in disbelief or amazement. Catholic adults surreptitiously comment Lamb, where community, recognition, and joy are resolved into that place of
and converse with those near them, reminiscing about their school days with Beauty in which the ideal and the real become one.
sisters. Oftentimes they will come over to the religious to ask for prayers,
thank the religious for his or her vocation, or remark how they themselves —Gonzaga University
had had a vocation to religious life, but had chosen another path, either to
their own delight, for example, in a good marriage, or to their chagrin, there-
by inviting consolation and encouragement from the religious. Frequently a
young person who is dealing with questions about becoming a religious will
approach, sometimes nervously and hesitatingly, or sometimes confidently
and with excitement. Above all, and perhaps most common in the topic of
the dialogue, is a response on the part of more reflective observers, of the
incongruity of the presence of religious in the midst of a material world that
typically would be absorbed in material things.
Viewers may be struck by joy in the icon, which is a contrast to what
might be noticeable in the faces of others who have all they need. Since the
icon communicates the prophetic element of a life lived for eternal values,
the dialogue may sometimes be a negative one. Viewers may be menacing,
avoidant, or even take violent action, such as shouting insults, gesturing vul-
garly, or even spitting upon the “icon,” infuriated beyond any kind of con-
nection with a person they have never met.79 Being reminded or surprised
79
One event that comes to mind is a meeting between two sisters (the au-
thor of this paper and her religious superior) and a bicyclist in a market square in he conjured up a mouthful of saliva, expelling it all over the sister nearest him as he
Salzburg, Austria in the summer of 2005. The cyclist caught sight of the religious passed by, shouting profanities. (He was afterwards dubbed by the two sisters, “The
from the distant part of the square, and then began to accelerate towards the two as Salzburg Spitter.”)

Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
to the East: A Philokalic Reading of
His Writings on Beauty
DanielVanderKolk
Introduction
The famous quote by Dostoyevsky, “Beauty will save the world,”1 encapsu-
lates the theme of the current volume, The Power of Beauty. For many of us
in the West, these words inspire hope in the renewing power of beauty. The
statement’s meaning, however, is opaque. Either aesthetic beauty elevates hu-
man desires, or metaphysical beauty inspires mimicry. That is to say, either an
aesthetically pleasing creation ennobles those who behold it, or the beauty of
moral conduct incites imitation in those who behold it.
Roman Catholic intellectuals often use this phrase to promote their
theology in the context of modernity.2 This phenomenon occurs despite
the fact that Dostoyevsky, in the same work, The Idiot, gives his protagonist
Prince Myshkin the following lines: “Roman Catholicism is, in my opinion,
worse than Atheism itself.”3 Dostoyevsky himself did hold such stark views
of the Roman Catholic Church. Writing for The Tablet in 1947, Christopher
Hollis recognized this:
Dostoevsky is not only a Christian novelist, but his Christianity
has about it a recognition of the necessary primacy of the spir-
itual, a repudiation of what one may call “soup-kitchen” Chris-
tianity, which makes him much more sympathetic to the Catho-
lic reader than all but a very few of modern Western writers….
1
See Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot, trans. Constance Garnett (New York:
Bantam, 1981), 370. Ippolit attributes this quote to the prince.
2
See Donald Demarco, “Can Beauty Save the World?,” CERC (2009), ac-
cessed August 7, 2015, http://www.catholiceducation.org/en/religion-and-philoso-
phy/philosophy/can-beauty-save-the-world.html; R. Jared Staudt, “Beauty Will Save
the World: From the Mouth of an Idiot to the Pen of a Pope,” Crisis Magazine, July
10, 2013, accessed August 7, 2015, http://www.crisismagazine.com/2013/beauty-
will-save-the-world-from-the-mouth-of-an-idiot-to-the-pen-of-a-pope. 6
3
Dostoevsky, The Idiot, part 4, chap. 7.
© Daniel VanderKolk, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Daniel VanderKolk 109
And yet Dostoevsky was himself quite savage in his hatred of the
Catholic Church. Why was this?4
Hollis reasons that Dostoyevsky lacked the “final grace of recognition” and
that his unconscious intense love for the Roman Catholic Church, coupled
with his inability to enter it, led to an equal degree of hatred for the Roman
Catholic Church. Hollis—like Dostoyevsky—wrote at a time when the dif-
ferences between the two great Christian groups were seen as much more
pronounced than they seem to many today.
The arguments that Dostoyevsky espouses against Roman Cathol-
icism are simplistic and uncharitable. In this essay, there is neither the need
nor the space to refute his jejune estimation of Roman Catholicism. Fur-
thermore, Dostoyevsky’s harsh judgment of Roman Catholicism forms part
of a thread of criticism aimed at the West as a whole. His criticisms of Ca-
tholicism are not so much a singling out as a constituent of a larger excoria-
tion. Dostoyevsky does not greatly distinguish between Roman Catholicism,
Europe, and the West, but treats them as a whole. Dostoyevsky’s opinions
do not come from a sheltered, uncouth soul. He was worldly and sensitive,
intelligent, well-read, and talented. He spent much time abroad, and succes-
sively gave himself to different competing ideologies.
Where did such vehement anti-Western, anti-Roman Catholic no-
tions originate? My argument in this paper is that Dostoyevsky’s hyper-ratio-
nal, hypo-spiritual branding of the West in general—and Roman Catholicism
in particular—traces back, in large part, to a Modern Greek compiling of
mainly Byzantine ascetic texts, known as The Philokalia.
In fact, a growing number of Eastern Orthodox scholars familiar
with both traditions have rejected this simplistic Eastern view of the West.
For example, Thomas Aquinas was often criticized in twentieth century East-
ern Orthodox circles for his lack of apophatic nuance. Recently, however,
scholars such as Marcus Plested have shown this bias to be lacking to a con-
siderable degree.5 George Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou have
edited volumes of a similar nature that touch on other controversial Eastern
Orthodox-Roman Catholic topics such as the filioque, the prominence of St.
Augustine, and episcopal authority.6 David Bentley Hart has followed suit
4
Christopher Hollis, “Dostoevsky and the Catholic Church: A Clue to the
Russian Mind,” The Tablet, August 30, 1947, http://archive.thetablet.co.uk/arti-
cle/30th-august-1947/5/dostoevsky-and-the-catholic-church-a-clue-to-the-r/.
5
Marcus Plested, Orthodox Readings of Aquinas (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2012).
George Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou, Orthodox Constructions
of the West (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013); George Demacopoulos
and Aristotle Papanikolaou, Orthodox Readings of Augustine (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s
Seminary Press, 2008).

Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
to the East: A Philokalic Reading of
His Writings on Beauty
DanielVanderKolk
Introduction
The famous quote by Dostoyevsky, “Beauty will save the world,”1 encapsu-
lates the theme of the current volume, The Power of Beauty. For many of us
in the West, these words inspire hope in the renewing power of beauty. The
statement’s meaning, however, is opaque. Either aesthetic beauty elevates hu-
man desires, or metaphysical beauty inspires mimicry. That is to say, either an
aesthetically pleasing creation ennobles those who behold it, or the beauty of
moral conduct incites imitation in those who behold it.
Roman Catholic intellectuals often use this phrase to promote their
theology in the context of modernity.2 This phenomenon occurs despite
the fact that Dostoyevsky, in the same work, The Idiot, gives his protagonist
Prince Myshkin the following lines: “Roman Catholicism is, in my opinion,
worse than Atheism itself.”3 Dostoyevsky himself did hold such stark views
of the Roman Catholic Church. Writing for The Tablet in 1947, Christopher
Hollis recognized this:
Dostoevsky is not only a Christian novelist, but his Christianity
has about it a recognition of the necessary primacy of the spir-
itual, a repudiation of what one may call “soup-kitchen” Chris-
tianity, which makes him much more sympathetic to the Catho-
lic reader than all but a very few of modern Western writers….
1
See Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot, trans. Constance Garnett (New York:
Bantam, 1981), 370. Ippolit attributes this quote to the prince.
2
See Donald Demarco, “Can Beauty Save the World?,” CERC (2009), ac-
cessed August 7, 2015, http://www.catholiceducation.org/en/religion-and-philoso-
phy/philosophy/can-beauty-save-the-world.html; R. Jared Staudt, “Beauty Will Save
the World: From the Mouth of an Idiot to the Pen of a Pope,” Crisis Magazine, July
10, 2013, accessed August 7, 2015, http://www.crisismagazine.com/2013/beauty-
will-save-the-world-from-the-mouth-of-an-idiot-to-the-pen-of-a-pope. 6
3
Dostoevsky, The Idiot, part 4, chap. 7.
© Daniel VanderKolk, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Daniel VanderKolk 109
And yet Dostoevsky was himself quite savage in his hatred of the
Catholic Church. Why was this?4
Hollis reasons that Dostoyevsky lacked the “final grace of recognition” and
that his unconscious intense love for the Roman Catholic Church, coupled
with his inability to enter it, led to an equal degree of hatred for the Roman
Catholic Church. Hollis—like Dostoyevsky—wrote at a time when the dif-
ferences between the two great Christian groups were seen as much more
pronounced than they seem to many today.
The arguments that Dostoyevsky espouses against Roman Cathol-
icism are simplistic and uncharitable. In this essay, there is neither the need
nor the space to refute his jejune estimation of Roman Catholicism. Fur-
thermore, Dostoyevsky’s harsh judgment of Roman Catholicism forms part
of a thread of criticism aimed at the West as a whole. His criticisms of Ca-
tholicism are not so much a singling out as a constituent of a larger excoria-
tion. Dostoyevsky does not greatly distinguish between Roman Catholicism,
Europe, and the West, but treats them as a whole. Dostoyevsky’s opinions
do not come from a sheltered, uncouth soul. He was worldly and sensitive,
intelligent, well-read, and talented. He spent much time abroad, and succes-
sively gave himself to different competing ideologies.
Where did such vehement anti-Western, anti-Roman Catholic no-
tions originate? My argument in this paper is that Dostoyevsky’s hyper-ratio-
nal, hypo-spiritual branding of the West in general—and Roman Catholicism
in particular—traces back, in large part, to a Modern Greek compiling of
mainly Byzantine ascetic texts, known as The Philokalia.
In fact, a growing number of Eastern Orthodox scholars familiar
with both traditions have rejected this simplistic Eastern view of the West.
For example, Thomas Aquinas was often criticized in twentieth century East-
ern Orthodox circles for his lack of apophatic nuance. Recently, however,
scholars such as Marcus Plested have shown this bias to be lacking to a con-
siderable degree.5 George Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou have
edited volumes of a similar nature that touch on other controversial Eastern
Orthodox-Roman Catholic topics such as the filioque, the prominence of St.
Augustine, and episcopal authority.6 David Bentley Hart has followed suit
4
Christopher Hollis, “Dostoevsky and the Catholic Church: A Clue to the
Russian Mind,” The Tablet, August 30, 1947, http://archive.thetablet.co.uk/arti-
cle/30th-august-1947/5/dostoevsky-and-the-catholic-church-a-clue-to-the-r/.
5
Marcus Plested, Orthodox Readings of Aquinas (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2012).
George Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou, Orthodox Constructions
of the West (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013); George Demacopoulos
and Aristotle Papanikolaou, Orthodox Readings of Augustine (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s
Seminary Press, 2008).
110 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
with more aggressive, yet equally apt insights.7
Following on this trend in twenty-first century Eastern Orthodox
theological scholarship, I submit that Dietrich von Hildebrand’s writings on
beauty represent both a broad spectrum of Roman Catholic thought and a
Philokalic, Eastern Orthodox view of the world. Perhaps greater recognition
of the Eastern character of Dietrich von Hildebrand’s writings will nurture
East-West dialogue by adding some subtlety to balance common mispercep-
tions.
Dostoyevsky, the Slavophiles, and Optina Monastery:
Dostoyevsky’s Link to The Philokalia
Fyodor Dostoyevsky composed The Idiot in Europe from 1867–1869, during
a somewhat self-imposed yet undesired absence from Russia.8 The experi-
ences of this period of his life polarized his developing philosophical posi-
tions and justified his future ones. Gocsik writes: “He [Dostoyevsky] began
to believe more vehemently in the superiority of the Russian soul over the
European intellect.”9 It appears that much of Dostoyevsky’s disdain for the
West came from personal experience and personal rumination.
Yet, external agents, such as Slavophilism, a nineteenth century Rus-
sian-Nationalist ideology, influenced the novelist greatly.10 The Kireyevsky
brothers—Pyotr and Ivan—were two of the most influential Slavophiles;
7
David Bentley Hart, “The Myth of Schism,” in Ecumenism Today: The Uni-
versal Church in the 21st Century, ed. Francesca Aran Murphy and Christopher Asprey
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008).
8
See Karen Gocsik, “The Man and His Times: Biography,” The Brothers Kara-
mazov Resource, Dartmouth Rhetoric and Writing Department, accessed February 24, 2015,
http://www.dartmouth.edu/~karamazov/resources/?page_id=513. Fleeing to Eu-
rope from creditors in Russia, he increasingly loathed his surroundings the longer he
remained abroad.
9
Ibid.; see also Liza Knapp, ed., Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot: A Critical Companion
(Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), 143.
10
Slavophilism is complex and is not exhausted by Russian Nationalism or
Russian Anti-Westernism. Robert Bird writes: “the Slavophiles were as likely to dis-
agree as to agree with each other…if they were united in a single movement, it was
not by any partiality for the Slavic race, but rather by a shared commitment to the
religious and universal calling of Russia” in Aleksei Khomiakov and Ivan Kireevsky,
On Spiritual Unity: A Slavophile Reader, trans. Boris Jakim and Robert Bird (Hudson,
NY: Lindisfarne Books, 1998), 7. See Leonid Kavelin, Elder Macarius of Optina (Pla-
tina, California: St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, 1995), 290–307, for insights on
the Slavophile rebellion from European culture.
Daniel VanderKolk 111
Dostoyevsky was no doubt familiar with their writings.11 Conservative in na-
ture, the Slavophile movement sought a return to “authentic” Russian tra-
dition, and viewed Russia’s monasteries as a manifestation of the essence of
Russian culture.
The greatest monastery of nineteenth century Russia was Optina,
whose monks deeply influenced the Slavophiles—especially the Kireyevskys
and Dostoyevsky.12 This famous male monastic community, situated south-
west of Moscow, is widely recognized by modern Russian Orthodox scholars
as having exerted—arguably—more influence on the conservative spiritual
movements within Russia during the nineteenth century and the beginning
of the twentieth century than any other contemporaneous Russian institu-
tion. Why was Optina so popular? The monastery was undergoing a spiritual
revival. The life of the male monastic community had been rejuvenated by
the rediscovery of their spiritual tradition, recorded in The Philokalia. Paert
writes:
In the 1840s, the [Optina] hermitage began its publishing ac-
tivities with the assistance of educated novices Leonid Kavelin,
Amvrosii Grenkov, and Iuvelian Polovtsev, and with the active
support of the Slavophile Ivan Kireevskii and Bishop Filaret
(Drozdov). The aim of the publishers was to introduce the leg-
acy of Paisii Velichkovskii and other works of monastic spiritu-
ality to the reading public in Russia. By the turn of the century
Optina had published 125 titles (225,000 total print copies), the
majority of which were by hesychast authors. The monastery sent
their published books to all Russian communal monasteries and
11
See Joseph Frank, Dostoyevsky: The Mantle of the Prophet, 1871–1881 (Princ-
eton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003); Sarah Hudspith, Dostoevsky and the Idea
of Russianness: A New Perspective on Unity and Brotherhood (New York, NY: Routledge,
2004), 5. David Denby, “Can Dostoyevsky Still Kick You in the Gut?,” The New York-
er, June 11, 2012, http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/can-dostoevsky-
still-kick-you-in-the-gut, dates the beginning of the Slavophile influence on Dosto-
yevsky to his Notes From the Underground. Janko Lavrin, Tolstoy: An Approach Bound with
Dostoyevsky (New York, NY: Routledge, 2015), 23, disagrees, seeing the influence of
Slavophilism on Dostoyevsky in his later works such as The Idiot and The Possessed.
12
See Sergius Chetverikov, Elder Ambrose of Optina (Platina, California: St.
Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, 1997), 65, 123–33, for the Kireyevsky brothers’
connection to Optina. For Optina’s effect on Dostoyevsky, see Leonard J Stanton,
The Optina Pustyn Monastery in the Russian Literary Imagination: Iconic Vision in Works
by Dostoevsky, Gogol, Tolstoy, and Others, Middlebury Studies in Russian Language and
Literature 3 (New York, NY: Peter Lang, 1995). Optina Monastery is Optina Pustyn
in Russian. “Pustyn” literally means “desert” but by convention has attained the
meaning “monastery” in reference to the Egyptian and Palestinian deserts that first
inspired Christian monasticism.
110 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
with more aggressive, yet equally apt insights.7
Following on this trend in twenty-first century Eastern Orthodox
theological scholarship, I submit that Dietrich von Hildebrand’s writings on
beauty represent both a broad spectrum of Roman Catholic thought and a
Philokalic, Eastern Orthodox view of the world. Perhaps greater recognition
of the Eastern character of Dietrich von Hildebrand’s writings will nurture
East-West dialogue by adding some subtlety to balance common mispercep-
tions.
Dostoyevsky, the Slavophiles, and Optina Monastery:
Dostoyevsky’s Link to The Philokalia
Fyodor Dostoyevsky composed The Idiot in Europe from 1867–1869, during
a somewhat self-imposed yet undesired absence from Russia.8 The experi-
ences of this period of his life polarized his developing philosophical posi-
tions and justified his future ones. Gocsik writes: “He [Dostoyevsky] began
to believe more vehemently in the superiority of the Russian soul over the
European intellect.”9 It appears that much of Dostoyevsky’s disdain for the
West came from personal experience and personal rumination.
Yet, external agents, such as Slavophilism, a nineteenth century Rus-
sian-Nationalist ideology, influenced the novelist greatly.10 The Kireyevsky
brothers—Pyotr and Ivan—were two of the most influential Slavophiles;
7
David Bentley Hart, “The Myth of Schism,” in Ecumenism Today: The Uni-
versal Church in the 21st Century, ed. Francesca Aran Murphy and Christopher Asprey
(Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing, 2008).
8
See Karen Gocsik, “The Man and His Times: Biography,” The Brothers Kara-
mazov Resource, Dartmouth Rhetoric and Writing Department, accessed February 24, 2015,
http://www.dartmouth.edu/~karamazov/resources/?page_id=513. Fleeing to Eu-
rope from creditors in Russia, he increasingly loathed his surroundings the longer he
remained abroad.
9
Ibid.; see also Liza Knapp, ed., Dostoyevsky’s The Idiot: A Critical Companion
(Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1998), 143.
10
Slavophilism is complex and is not exhausted by Russian Nationalism or
Russian Anti-Westernism. Robert Bird writes: “the Slavophiles were as likely to dis-
agree as to agree with each other…if they were united in a single movement, it was
not by any partiality for the Slavic race, but rather by a shared commitment to the
religious and universal calling of Russia” in Aleksei Khomiakov and Ivan Kireevsky,
On Spiritual Unity: A Slavophile Reader, trans. Boris Jakim and Robert Bird (Hudson,
NY: Lindisfarne Books, 1998), 7. See Leonid Kavelin, Elder Macarius of Optina (Pla-
tina, California: St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, 1995), 290–307, for insights on
the Slavophile rebellion from European culture.
Daniel VanderKolk 111
Dostoyevsky was no doubt familiar with their writings.11 Conservative in na-
ture, the Slavophile movement sought a return to “authentic” Russian tra-
dition, and viewed Russia’s monasteries as a manifestation of the essence of
Russian culture.
The greatest monastery of nineteenth century Russia was Optina,
whose monks deeply influenced the Slavophiles—especially the Kireyevskys
and Dostoyevsky.12 This famous male monastic community, situated south-
west of Moscow, is widely recognized by modern Russian Orthodox scholars
as having exerted—arguably—more influence on the conservative spiritual
movements within Russia during the nineteenth century and the beginning
of the twentieth century than any other contemporaneous Russian institu-
tion. Why was Optina so popular? The monastery was undergoing a spiritual
revival. The life of the male monastic community had been rejuvenated by
the rediscovery of their spiritual tradition, recorded in The Philokalia. Paert
writes:
In the 1840s, the [Optina] hermitage began its publishing ac-
tivities with the assistance of educated novices Leonid Kavelin,
Amvrosii Grenkov, and Iuvelian Polovtsev, and with the active
support of the Slavophile Ivan Kireevskii and Bishop Filaret
(Drozdov). The aim of the publishers was to introduce the leg-
acy of Paisii Velichkovskii and other works of monastic spiritu-
ality to the reading public in Russia. By the turn of the century
Optina had published 125 titles (225,000 total print copies), the
majority of which were by hesychast authors. The monastery sent
their published books to all Russian communal monasteries and
11
See Joseph Frank, Dostoyevsky: The Mantle of the Prophet, 1871–1881 (Princ-
eton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003); Sarah Hudspith, Dostoevsky and the Idea
of Russianness: A New Perspective on Unity and Brotherhood (New York, NY: Routledge,
2004), 5. David Denby, “Can Dostoyevsky Still Kick You in the Gut?,” The New York-
er, June 11, 2012, http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/can-dostoevsky-
still-kick-you-in-the-gut, dates the beginning of the Slavophile influence on Dosto-
yevsky to his Notes From the Underground. Janko Lavrin, Tolstoy: An Approach Bound with
Dostoyevsky (New York, NY: Routledge, 2015), 23, disagrees, seeing the influence of
Slavophilism on Dostoyevsky in his later works such as The Idiot and The Possessed.
12
See Sergius Chetverikov, Elder Ambrose of Optina (Platina, California: St.
Herman of Alaska Brotherhood, 1997), 65, 123–33, for the Kireyevsky brothers’
connection to Optina. For Optina’s effect on Dostoyevsky, see Leonard J Stanton,
The Optina Pustyn Monastery in the Russian Literary Imagination: Iconic Vision in Works
by Dostoevsky, Gogol, Tolstoy, and Others, Middlebury Studies in Russian Language and
Literature 3 (New York, NY: Peter Lang, 1995). Optina Monastery is Optina Pustyn
in Russian. “Pustyn” literally means “desert” but by convention has attained the
meaning “monastery” in reference to the Egyptian and Palestinian deserts that first
inspired Christian monasticism.
112 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
to the Russian and Bulgarian monasteries in Athos, as well as to
seminary and academic libraries. The Optina eldership was quite
unique in that it forged a link with a section of Russian educated
society, which Stanton described as the “Optina intelligentsia.”13
The reforming character of The Philokalia rested in its emphasis on sincere
piety, an aspect of religious devotion that was often lost in the externals
of Russian Orthodox Christianity. The monks and elders of Optina were
known throughout nineteenth century Russia for their authentic faith. Be-
cause their monastic lifestyle was directed by the reading of The Philokalia, the
Slavophiles— including Dostoyevsky—also read The Philokalia.
Compiling The Philokalia
The Philokalia is a collection of Christian monastic treatises, akin to the Say-
ings of the Desert Fathers and the Rule of Benedict. The five-volume anthology
comprised treatises by Byzantine authors ranging from the fourth century
to the fifteenth century. The compilers of the anthology gathered popu-
lar Eastern Christian monastic texts long forgotten in the monasteries of
Greece and Romania. These texts had become unintelligible to believers due
to linguistic changes in both the Hellenistic and Slavic language groups. In
addition, the utility of the printing press had not yet been applied to these
disparate monastic manuscripts. The compilers of The Philokalia knew that
this technology would greatly aid the dissemination of the teachings found in
these precious manuscripts. Three initial translations of the Byzantine Greek
texts into modern Eastern Orthodox languages were made. The volumes
of The Philokalia were initially published in Modern Greek by Nikodemos
of the Holy Mountain in 1782. 1793 saw the publishing of The Philokalia in
Old Church Slavonic by Paisii Velichkovsky. Ignatii Brianchaninov published
them in 1857 in Modern Russian.14
13
Irina Paert, Spiritual Elders: Charisma and Tradition in Russian Orthodoxy
(Dekalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press, 2010), 76. “Hesychast” is an Eastern
Orthodox term for one who cultivates interior silence, calm, and quiet through con-
tinual prayer. The term derives from the Ancient Greek word hesychia (ἡσυχία), which
translates as “still, quiet, rest.”
14
For the history of the compiling of The Philokalia, see: Starets Macarius of
Optina, “Introduction,” Russian Letters of Spiritual Direction: 1834–1860, trans. Iulia
de Beausobre (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975); Nikodemos of the
Holy Mountain and Makarios of Corinth, The Philokalia: The Complete Text, trans.
G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber and Faber,
1979), 1:11–13; John Anthony McGuckin, “The Making of the Philokalia: A Tale
of Monks and Manuscripts,” in The Philokalia: A Classic Text of Orthodox Spirituality,
Daniel VanderKolk 113
The writings, credited with reviving monastic life in the Balkans and
Russia, focus on subduing bodily desires, purifying inner sins through prayer,
and contemplating theological truths. The monks who studied these writings
left a deep impression on Dostoyevsky. In fact, Elder Ambrose of Opti-
na is often thought of as the inspiration for the character Fr. Zosima from
The Brothers Karamazov.15 In some ways the spiritual effects of The Philokalia
and the spiritual revival it sparked in Russia are felt in the West through
the writings of Dostoyevsky, which are often heralded for their spiritual and
psychological insights. For this reason, The Philokalia deserves a more thor-
ough treatment in the West, where the anthology has been relegated to the
realm of Eastern Orthodox Christians, Early Christianity scholars, and Byz-
antinists.
The Philokalia, Noesis, and Apophaticism
The title “Philokalia” literally means “love of the beautiful things”; “kalia”
could also translate as “good.” It is a uniquely multi-faceted word, fitting for
a study of the transcendentals. Kallistos Ware, the foremost expert on The
Philokalia, includes the following footnote in his English translation of the
text:
The Greek word used here is not agathos (good) but kalos, a term
that in the Septuagint, and in the Greek patristic tradition as a
whole, denotes the beautiful no less and sometimes more than
the good. To speak of creation and created things as beautiful
does not of course mean only that they are pleasing to look at.
What is implicit in this context is the understanding that physical
beauty is an epiphany of divine beauty: physical beauty is related
to moral beauty, and both are related to their origin in the world
of incorporeal essences (the logoi) and its principle, the Good it-
self, or God. It is with these connotations in mind that the term
ed. Brock Bingaman and Bradley Nassif (New York, NY: Oxford University Press,
2012), 36–49; Nicholas Groves, “Optina Pustyn as a Center of Desert Spirituality in
Nineteenth-Century Russia: In Search of the Prayer of the Heart,” Romanian Medi-
evalia 2 (2004); and Schemamonk Metrophanes, Blessed Paisius Velichkovsky: The Man
Behind the Philokalia, trans. Fr. Seraphim Rose (Platina, CA: St. Herman of Alaska
Brotherhood, 1976).
15
See George Andrew Panichas, Dostoevsky’s Spiritual Art: The Burden of Vision
(New Jersey: Transaction Publishers, 2005), 159, and Jacques Catteau, Dostoevsky and
the Process of Literary Creation (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 87.
112 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
to the Russian and Bulgarian monasteries in Athos, as well as to
seminary and academic libraries. The Optina eldership was quite
unique in that it forged a link with a section of Russian educated
society, which Stanton described as the “Optina intelligentsia.”13
The reforming character of The Philokalia rested in its emphasis on sincere
piety, an aspect of religious devotion that was often lost in the externals
of Russian Orthodox Christianity. The monks and elders of Optina were
known throughout nineteenth century Russia for their authentic faith. Be-
cause their monastic lifestyle was directed by the reading of The Philokalia, the
Slavophiles— including Dostoyevsky—also read The Philokalia.
Compiling The Philokalia
The Philokalia is a collection of Christian monastic treatises, akin to the Say-
ings of the Desert Fathers and the Rule of Benedict. The five-volume anthology
comprised treatises by Byzantine authors ranging from the fourth century
to the fifteenth century. The compilers of the anthology gathered popu-
lar Eastern Christian monastic texts long forgotten in the monasteries of
Greece and Romania. These texts had become unintelligible to believers due
to linguistic changes in both the Hellenistic and Slavic language groups. In
addition, the utility of the printing press had not yet been applied to these
disparate monastic manuscripts. The compilers of The Philokalia knew that
this technology would greatly aid the dissemination of the teachings found in
these precious manuscripts. Three initial translations of the Byzantine Greek
texts into modern Eastern Orthodox languages were made. The volumes
of The Philokalia were initially published in Modern Greek by Nikodemos
of the Holy Mountain in 1782. 1793 saw the publishing of The Philokalia in
Old Church Slavonic by Paisii Velichkovsky. Ignatii Brianchaninov published
them in 1857 in Modern Russian.14
13
Irina Paert, Spiritual Elders: Charisma and Tradition in Russian Orthodoxy
(Dekalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press, 2010), 76. “Hesychast” is an Eastern
Orthodox term for one who cultivates interior silence, calm, and quiet through con-
tinual prayer. The term derives from the Ancient Greek word hesychia (ἡσυχία), which
translates as “still, quiet, rest.”
14
For the history of the compiling of The Philokalia, see: Starets Macarius of
Optina, “Introduction,” Russian Letters of Spiritual Direction: 1834–1860, trans. Iulia
de Beausobre (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975); Nikodemos of the
Holy Mountain and Makarios of Corinth, The Philokalia: The Complete Text, trans.
G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London: Faber and Faber,
1979), 1:11–13; John Anthony McGuckin, “The Making of the Philokalia: A Tale
of Monks and Manuscripts,” in The Philokalia: A Classic Text of Orthodox Spirituality,
Daniel VanderKolk 113
The writings, credited with reviving monastic life in the Balkans and
Russia, focus on subduing bodily desires, purifying inner sins through prayer,
and contemplating theological truths. The monks who studied these writings
left a deep impression on Dostoyevsky. In fact, Elder Ambrose of Opti-
na is often thought of as the inspiration for the character Fr. Zosima from
The Brothers Karamazov.15 In some ways the spiritual effects of The Philokalia
and the spiritual revival it sparked in Russia are felt in the West through
the writings of Dostoyevsky, which are often heralded for their spiritual and
psychological insights. For this reason, The Philokalia deserves a more thor-
ough treatment in the West, where the anthology has been relegated to the
realm of Eastern Orthodox Christians, Early Christianity scholars, and Byz-
antinists.
The Philokalia, Noesis, and Apophaticism
The title “Philokalia” literally means “love of the beautiful things”; “kalia”
could also translate as “good.” It is a uniquely multi-faceted word, fitting for
a study of the transcendentals. Kallistos Ware, the foremost expert on The
Philokalia, includes the following footnote in his English translation of the
text:
The Greek word used here is not agathos (good) but kalos, a term
that in the Septuagint, and in the Greek patristic tradition as a
whole, denotes the beautiful no less and sometimes more than
the good. To speak of creation and created things as beautiful
does not of course mean only that they are pleasing to look at.
What is implicit in this context is the understanding that physical
beauty is an epiphany of divine beauty: physical beauty is related
to moral beauty, and both are related to their origin in the world
of incorporeal essences (the logoi) and its principle, the Good it-
self, or God. It is with these connotations in mind that the term
ed. Brock Bingaman and Bradley Nassif (New York, NY: Oxford University Press,
2012), 36–49; Nicholas Groves, “Optina Pustyn as a Center of Desert Spirituality in
Nineteenth-Century Russia: In Search of the Prayer of the Heart,” Romanian Medi-
evalia 2 (2004); and Schemamonk Metrophanes, Blessed Paisius Velichkovsky: The Man
Behind the Philokalia, trans. Fr. Seraphim Rose (Platina, CA: St. Herman of Alaska
Brotherhood, 1976).
15
See George Andrew Panichas, Dostoevsky’s Spiritual Art: The Burden of Vision
(New Jersey: Transaction Publishers, 2005), 159, and Jacques Catteau, Dostoevsky and
the Process of Literary Creation (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 87.
114 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
should be read, as indeed it should be read in the actual title of
The Philokalia.16
A central motif in The Philokalia is an Eastern Orthodox notion of three
general stages of spiritual life: purification, illumination, and deification.17
The first stage, purification, refers to the most outwardly active step in this
process. At this point the ascetic labors in fasting, keeping vigil, manual la-
bor, attentive prayer, confession, and spiritual reading in order to subdue
his or her bodily desires and wash away his or her inward sins. The second
stage, illumination, is when the ascetic accumulates grace and contemplates
the theological implications of God’s creation. The third step, deification,18
involves the ascetic contemplating God Himself.
For this study, the important point is how The Philokalia describes
the Eastern Orthodox interaction with divine creation—and by extension—
manmade creations and beauty. Kallistos Ware writes:
“Intellect” (νοῦς - nous): the highest faculty in man, through
which—provided it is purified—he knows God or the inner es-
sences or principles of created things by means of direct appre-
hension or spiritual perception. Unlike the dianoia or reason, from
which it must be carefully distinguished, the intellect does not
function by formulating abstract concepts and then arguing on
this basis to a conclusion reached through deductive reasoning,
but it understands divine truth by means of immediate experi-
16
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain and Makarios of Corinth, The Philokalia:
The Complete Text, trans. G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London:
Faber and Faber, 1984), 3:390.
17
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain, The Philokalia, 1:358–59: “Contempla-
tion (θεωρία): the perception or vision of the intellect through which one attains
spiritual knowledge. It may be contrasted with the practice of the virtues which
designates the more external aspect of the ascetic life–purification and the keeping
of the commandments–but which is an indispensable prerequisite of contemplation.
Depending on the level of personal spiritual growth, contemplation has two main
stages: it may be either of the inner essences [principles] of created beings or, at a
higher stage, of God Himself.”
18
See Norman Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition,
Oxford Early Christian Studies (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004);
Michael J. Christensen and Jeffrey A. Wittung, eds., Partakers of the Divine Nature: The
History and Development of Deification in the Christian Traditions (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh
Dickinson University Press, 2007); for studies in theosis, see Stephen Finlan and
Vladimir Kharmalov, eds., Theosis: Deification in Christian Theology, vol. 1, Princeton
Theological Monograph Series (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2006) and Stephen Finlan
and Vladimir Kharmalov, eds., Theosis: Deification in Christian Theology, vol. 2, Princeton
Theological Monograph Series (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2011).
Daniel VanderKolk 115
ence, intuition or “simple cognition” (the term used by St. Isaac
the Syrian). The intellect dwells in the “depths of the soul”; it con-
stitutes the innermost aspect of the heart (St. Diadochos). The
intellect is the organ of contemplation. “Intellection” (νόησις -
noīsis): not an abstract concept or a visual image, but the act or
function of the intellect whereby it apprehends spiritual realities
in a direct manner.19
The Philokalia here states that Christians contemplate God by first contem-
plating created things with an intuitive faculty of their heart, above rational
thought.
This strict emphasis on the spiritual faculty of man being the pri-
mary mode of theological apprehension found in these Byzantine texts has
deeply affected the Eastern Orthodox sense of mysticism. Mystical apophat-
ic theology, not discursive cataphatic theology, has become the self-defining
characteristic of Eastern Orthodoxy in recent centuries. Theologians such
as Lossky and Romanides have particularly used this quality to delimit the
boundary between Eastern Orthodoxy and other Christian groups.20 Howev-
er, recently, efforts have begun to rethink this self-identity as the Eastern Or-
thodox being the most-apophatic or most-mystical Christian group. McGu-
ckin, a renowned Eastern Orthodox theologian and a Romanian Orthodox
priest, specifically responded to Lossky’s legacy in a recent commencement
speech:
If one did make a global review (which Lossky does not) of the
mystical tradition of the West, would it be all that divergent in
spiritual ethos? Were the Western mystics (distinctive personalities
though they surely were) all that individualistic and un-ecclesial?
In setting out this thesis has not Lossky unconsciously fallen into
that very type of Bergsonian polarization that he attacks in his
opening pages? For surely the Western church was able enough
to receive or dismiss any theological voice from its larger sense
of the Tradition: knowing well enough the significant differentiae
between a St. John of the Cross and a Nicholas of Cusa.
Lossky argues that the Western mystical tradition is almost ex-
clusively Christocentric and neglectful of the Trinitarian reality
of God. But the mystics of the West, so it seems to me, are a
19
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain, The Philokalia, 1:362.
20
See Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church, (Crestwood,
NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1976), 26; and John Romanides, Patristic Theology:
The University Lectures of Fr. John Romanides (The Dalles, OR: Uncut Mountain Press,
2008), 286–87.
114 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
should be read, as indeed it should be read in the actual title of
The Philokalia.16
A central motif in The Philokalia is an Eastern Orthodox notion of three
general stages of spiritual life: purification, illumination, and deification.17
The first stage, purification, refers to the most outwardly active step in this
process. At this point the ascetic labors in fasting, keeping vigil, manual la-
bor, attentive prayer, confession, and spiritual reading in order to subdue
his or her bodily desires and wash away his or her inward sins. The second
stage, illumination, is when the ascetic accumulates grace and contemplates
the theological implications of God’s creation. The third step, deification,18
involves the ascetic contemplating God Himself.
For this study, the important point is how The Philokalia describes
the Eastern Orthodox interaction with divine creation—and by extension—
manmade creations and beauty. Kallistos Ware writes:
“Intellect” (νοῦς - nous): the highest faculty in man, through
which—provided it is purified—he knows God or the inner es-
sences or principles of created things by means of direct appre-
hension or spiritual perception. Unlike the dianoia or reason, from
which it must be carefully distinguished, the intellect does not
function by formulating abstract concepts and then arguing on
this basis to a conclusion reached through deductive reasoning,
but it understands divine truth by means of immediate experi-
16
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain and Makarios of Corinth, The Philokalia:
The Complete Text, trans. G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, and Kallistos Ware (London:
Faber and Faber, 1984), 3:390.
17
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain, The Philokalia, 1:358–59: “Contempla-
tion (θεωρία): the perception or vision of the intellect through which one attains
spiritual knowledge. It may be contrasted with the practice of the virtues which
designates the more external aspect of the ascetic life–purification and the keeping
of the commandments–but which is an indispensable prerequisite of contemplation.
Depending on the level of personal spiritual growth, contemplation has two main
stages: it may be either of the inner essences [principles] of created beings or, at a
higher stage, of God Himself.”
18
See Norman Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition,
Oxford Early Christian Studies (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2004);
Michael J. Christensen and Jeffrey A. Wittung, eds., Partakers of the Divine Nature: The
History and Development of Deification in the Christian Traditions (Madison, NJ: Fairleigh
Dickinson University Press, 2007); for studies in theosis, see Stephen Finlan and
Vladimir Kharmalov, eds., Theosis: Deification in Christian Theology, vol. 1, Princeton
Theological Monograph Series (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2006) and Stephen Finlan
and Vladimir Kharmalov, eds., Theosis: Deification in Christian Theology, vol. 2, Princeton
Theological Monograph Series (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2011).
Daniel VanderKolk 115
ence, intuition or “simple cognition” (the term used by St. Isaac
the Syrian). The intellect dwells in the “depths of the soul”; it con-
stitutes the innermost aspect of the heart (St. Diadochos). The
intellect is the organ of contemplation. “Intellection” (νόησις -
noīsis): not an abstract concept or a visual image, but the act or
function of the intellect whereby it apprehends spiritual realities
in a direct manner.19
The Philokalia here states that Christians contemplate God by first contem-
plating created things with an intuitive faculty of their heart, above rational
thought.
This strict emphasis on the spiritual faculty of man being the pri-
mary mode of theological apprehension found in these Byzantine texts has
deeply affected the Eastern Orthodox sense of mysticism. Mystical apophat-
ic theology, not discursive cataphatic theology, has become the self-defining
characteristic of Eastern Orthodoxy in recent centuries. Theologians such
as Lossky and Romanides have particularly used this quality to delimit the
boundary between Eastern Orthodoxy and other Christian groups.20 Howev-
er, recently, efforts have begun to rethink this self-identity as the Eastern Or-
thodox being the most-apophatic or most-mystical Christian group. McGu-
ckin, a renowned Eastern Orthodox theologian and a Romanian Orthodox
priest, specifically responded to Lossky’s legacy in a recent commencement
speech:
If one did make a global review (which Lossky does not) of the
mystical tradition of the West, would it be all that divergent in
spiritual ethos? Were the Western mystics (distinctive personalities
though they surely were) all that individualistic and un-ecclesial?
In setting out this thesis has not Lossky unconsciously fallen into
that very type of Bergsonian polarization that he attacks in his
opening pages? For surely the Western church was able enough
to receive or dismiss any theological voice from its larger sense
of the Tradition: knowing well enough the significant differentiae
between a St. John of the Cross and a Nicholas of Cusa.
Lossky argues that the Western mystical tradition is almost ex-
clusively Christocentric and neglectful of the Trinitarian reality
of God. But the mystics of the West, so it seems to me, are a
19
Nikodemos of the Holy Mountain, The Philokalia, 1:362.
20
See Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church, (Crestwood,
NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1976), 26; and John Romanides, Patristic Theology:
The University Lectures of Fr. John Romanides (The Dalles, OR: Uncut Mountain Press,
2008), 286–87.
116 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
long way removed from solipsism in their spirituality. There are
undoubtedly different foci and stresses to the Orthodox ascet-
ical fathers: but throughout the spirituality of the West runs a
profound focus on the Cross and its redemptive power: and that
cannot be simply reduced to a Christological focus deprived of
Trinitarian perspective.21
Lossky was an educated Russian living in Paris from 1927–1958, as a mem-
ber of the Russian diaspora. Dostoyevsky was not far-removed from Lossky
with regards to intellectual milieu and theology. Although sincere, both men
reacted to the Catholics they encountered by assuming that they accurately
represented Catholicism. To balance their characterization of Catholicism, I
offer up the aesthetics of Dietrich von Hildebrand as a bridge between East
and West in the realm of mystical theology.
Dietrich von Hildebrand as Noetic Aesthete
One vibrant characteristic of von Hildebrand’s treatment of beauty is his
concern for emphasizing the intuitiveness of the manner through which hu-
mans experience beauty. His work Aesthetics especially bears out this claim.
While elaborating on the function of beauty as a central source of human
happiness, von Hildebrand turns to Arcadian scenes for elucidation of his
argument:
The role of beauty for human happiness is not restricted to those
moments in which one is consciously looking at beautiful things.
Beauty is active even at those times when one’s attention is wholly
directed to other things. The beauty of the environment in which
one lives—one’s house, even if it is very simple, like the farm-
houses of Tuscany; the view from one’s house, both near and far;
the architectural beauty of the neighboring houses; the beauty
of the sun that shines into the house, and of the shadow cast
by a tree—all this nourishes the soul even of the simplest man,
entering into his pores even when he is not concentrating on it.22
The phrase “consciously looking” and the clause “one’s attention is wholly
directed to other things” should be read as descriptions of the use of the
rational faculty. This passage places the experience of beauty beyond our rea-
soning faculty. Von Hildebrand points out that even when our consciousness
21
John McGuckin, “On the Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church,” St.
Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 59, no. 1, (2015): 392–93.
22
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “The Place of Beauty in Human Existence,” in
Aesthetics (Dietrich von Hildebrand Legacy Project, forthcoming).
Daniel VanderKolk 117
is entirely attending to a non-aesthetic concern, we are nevertheless acted
upon by the aesthetics of our environment. He reiterates that even a person
who cannot reason well is the recipient of spiritual nourishment from an
aesthetically beautiful environment. Therefore, in von Hildebrand’s thought,
one does not need to discursively connect a series of conceptions for the
drawing of a conclusion in order to benefit from aesthetic beauty. The ap-
preciation of beautiful aesthetics does not require conscious, active effort of
will.23
The concept elucidated here by von Hildebrand is similar to the
activity of noesis, or intellectualization as articulated in The Philokalia. Spe-
cifically, the non-rational and subconscious aspects of the activity here de-
scribed by von Hildebrand mimic the supra-rational and intuitive properties
of Philokalic noesis. One difference is that the authors of The Philokalia refer
mainly to divine creation, while von Hildebrand refers to both divine and
man-made creations. In keeping with the boundaries of The Philokalia’s genre,
a philosophical treatment of aesthetics would be out of place. Nevertheless,
it is reasonable to assume the authors of The Philokalia would apply what they
say about God’s creation to man-made creation.
Von Hildebrand elaborates his conception of the experience of
beauty as relying primarily on our non-rational faculties in his monograph
“Beauty in the Light of the Redemption.” In this monograph, von Hildeb-
rand first distinguishes beauty of form from metaphysical beauty. Second,
he defends beauty of form from a utilitarian devaluation. He then refutes
an attack on beauty of form which contends that the sensory faculties are
unspiritual powers used by those less advanced in virtue. At this juncture he
criticizes philosophical endeavors to salvage the noble intangibility of beauty
of form by severing the connection between beauty of form and the senses
of seeing and hearing:
If, for example, we view a lofty mountain range bathed in gleam-
ing sunlight, it is not that which we see directly before us to which
beauty is attached, but the thought of God’s creative power is
the real beauty. In a word, the real bearer of beauty is something
incorporeal which we connect intellectually with the visible and
audible by means of analogies…. This attempt at rescuing the
incorporeality of beauty is well-meant, to be sure, but it is false,
for the beauty of the Campagna Romana or that of the Seventh
Symphony by Bruckner is intuitive, linked directly with that which
23
Ibid.
116 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
long way removed from solipsism in their spirituality. There are
undoubtedly different foci and stresses to the Orthodox ascet-
ical fathers: but throughout the spirituality of the West runs a
profound focus on the Cross and its redemptive power: and that
cannot be simply reduced to a Christological focus deprived of
Trinitarian perspective.21
Lossky was an educated Russian living in Paris from 1927–1958, as a mem-
ber of the Russian diaspora. Dostoyevsky was not far-removed from Lossky
with regards to intellectual milieu and theology. Although sincere, both men
reacted to the Catholics they encountered by assuming that they accurately
represented Catholicism. To balance their characterization of Catholicism, I
offer up the aesthetics of Dietrich von Hildebrand as a bridge between East
and West in the realm of mystical theology.
Dietrich von Hildebrand as Noetic Aesthete
One vibrant characteristic of von Hildebrand’s treatment of beauty is his
concern for emphasizing the intuitiveness of the manner through which hu-
mans experience beauty. His work Aesthetics especially bears out this claim.
While elaborating on the function of beauty as a central source of human
happiness, von Hildebrand turns to Arcadian scenes for elucidation of his
argument:
The role of beauty for human happiness is not restricted to those
moments in which one is consciously looking at beautiful things.
Beauty is active even at those times when one’s attention is wholly
directed to other things. The beauty of the environment in which
one lives—one’s house, even if it is very simple, like the farm-
houses of Tuscany; the view from one’s house, both near and far;
the architectural beauty of the neighboring houses; the beauty
of the sun that shines into the house, and of the shadow cast
by a tree—all this nourishes the soul even of the simplest man,
entering into his pores even when he is not concentrating on it.22
The phrase “consciously looking” and the clause “one’s attention is wholly
directed to other things” should be read as descriptions of the use of the
rational faculty. This passage places the experience of beauty beyond our rea-
soning faculty. Von Hildebrand points out that even when our consciousness
21
John McGuckin, “On the Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church,” St.
Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 59, no. 1, (2015): 392–93.
22
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “The Place of Beauty in Human Existence,” in
Aesthetics (Dietrich von Hildebrand Legacy Project, forthcoming).
Daniel VanderKolk 117
is entirely attending to a non-aesthetic concern, we are nevertheless acted
upon by the aesthetics of our environment. He reiterates that even a person
who cannot reason well is the recipient of spiritual nourishment from an
aesthetically beautiful environment. Therefore, in von Hildebrand’s thought,
one does not need to discursively connect a series of conceptions for the
drawing of a conclusion in order to benefit from aesthetic beauty. The ap-
preciation of beautiful aesthetics does not require conscious, active effort of
will.23
The concept elucidated here by von Hildebrand is similar to the
activity of noesis, or intellectualization as articulated in The Philokalia. Spe-
cifically, the non-rational and subconscious aspects of the activity here de-
scribed by von Hildebrand mimic the supra-rational and intuitive properties
of Philokalic noesis. One difference is that the authors of The Philokalia refer
mainly to divine creation, while von Hildebrand refers to both divine and
man-made creations. In keeping with the boundaries of The Philokalia’s genre,
a philosophical treatment of aesthetics would be out of place. Nevertheless,
it is reasonable to assume the authors of The Philokalia would apply what they
say about God’s creation to man-made creation.
Von Hildebrand elaborates his conception of the experience of
beauty as relying primarily on our non-rational faculties in his monograph
“Beauty in the Light of the Redemption.” In this monograph, von Hildeb-
rand first distinguishes beauty of form from metaphysical beauty. Second,
he defends beauty of form from a utilitarian devaluation. He then refutes
an attack on beauty of form which contends that the sensory faculties are
unspiritual powers used by those less advanced in virtue. At this juncture he
criticizes philosophical endeavors to salvage the noble intangibility of beauty
of form by severing the connection between beauty of form and the senses
of seeing and hearing:
If, for example, we view a lofty mountain range bathed in gleam-
ing sunlight, it is not that which we see directly before us to which
beauty is attached, but the thought of God’s creative power is
the real beauty. In a word, the real bearer of beauty is something
incorporeal which we connect intellectually with the visible and
audible by means of analogies…. This attempt at rescuing the
incorporeality of beauty is well-meant, to be sure, but it is false,
for the beauty of the Campagna Romana or that of the Seventh
Symphony by Bruckner is intuitive, linked directly with that which
23
Ibid.
118 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
is seen and heard, and no intellectual ascent to something else is
necessary to grasp this beauty.24
This passage reveals von Hildebrand’s intense conviction that the theological
contemplation of beauty of form is a non-discursive action with a strong
quality of immediacy. In contemporary Eastern Orthodox theological termi-
nology, von Hildebrand’s allusion to an intuitive faculty would closely match
the term nous (the spiritual intellect), not for the divine communicatory prop-
erty of the nous so much as its immediate, intuitive property. Many Eastern
Orthodox theologians present Roman Catholic theology in an overly-rational
light; they might expect von Hildebrand to ascribe theological contemplation
of beauty to the discursive intellect. Yet von Hildebrand holds what might be
called an “Eastern Orthodox” or “noetic” reading of this contemplative act.
He ascribes carrying out a contemplative act to an intuitive part of the soul.
His statement may even be described as Philokalic and apophatic: philokalic
in the sense that it is noetic, and apophatic in the sense that it shuns discur-
siveness for intuitiveness.
A profound sense of mystery also occupies von Hildebrand’s eval-
uation of beauty of form. Continuing where the previous quotation left off,
von Hildebrand writes:
We must not try to evade the mysteries in reality, but in a com-
plete thaumazein at the mystery, we must try to understand it by
means of a deeper penetration. This higher beauty of form is also
bestowed directly and intuitively by means of the visible and the
audible, and in spite of its connection with the senses, it is of a
spiritual sublimity which qualitatively completely transcends the
sphere of the senses.25
The phrase “evade the mysteries of reality” should be read as “misperceive
an enigma in our attempt to rationally define it.” This ready admission of the
presence of supra-rational qualities in reality is entirely in line with the East-
ern Orthodox emphasis on negative theology, on apophaticism. Noteworthy
too is von Hildebrand’s phrase “by means of a deeper penetration” after the
conjunction “but”; it implies that this intuitive faculty which understands the
mystery of beauty is, because it fathoms more completely, a higher power
of the soul. Again, in Eastern manner, von Hildebrand locates the intuitive
faculty above the rational. Furthermore, in keeping with the modern East-
ern Orthodox emphasis on the deep paradoxes inherent within Christianity
(which can be interpreted as an extension of their apophatic tendency), von
Hildebrand states a paradox at the end of this passage. He claims that beauty
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “Reconsiderations: Beauty in the Light of the
24
Redemption,” Logos 4, no. 2 (2001): 86.
25
Ibid., 86–87.
Daniel VanderKolk 119
of form is somehow both reliant upon our sense of seeing and our sense
of hearing, yet entirely transcends our sensory life. Von Hildebrand, inso-
far as he theologizes about aesthetics in these passages, does not fit the old
stereotype, often propagated in contemporary Eastern Orthodox circles, of
the overly rational Roman Catholic Scholastic. On the contrary, the Eastern
Orthodox find a kindred soul.
Conclusion
The real differences separating Eastern Orthodoxy from Roman Catholicism
should not be underestimated. Nevertheless, each Christian body must speak
truthfully of the other with a spirit of charity. All too often intra-Christian
dialogue halts at the level of traditional biases and unexamined generaliza-
tions. This paper has endeavored to unpack one such misconception. Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, and many other recent Eastern Orthodox intellectuals, held
the West, in general, and the Roman Catholic Church, in particular, to be in
captivity to reason, with little sense of mystery. Dietrich von Hildebrand, in
at least one significant portion of his thought, breaks this stale stereotype.
He displays, in keeping with the theology of The Philokalia (the work so trea-
sured by Dostoyevsky’s beloved elders), an apophatic, noetic conception of
the encounter with beauty. Beauty will indeed save the world, provided that
it is bound to truth, goodness, and love. The words of Macarius, Elder of
Optina Monastery, written in the middle of the nineteenth century, directed
to an anonymous Russian who had converted back to the Eastern Orthodoxy
of his or her youth after many years as a Lutheran, are appropriate to all
Christians regardless of their confession. Macarius, counseling Anonymous’s
disturbance when contemplating the fate of those outside of his or her con-
fession, writes:
We cannot and must not judge them. The ways of the Lord are
inscrutable; let us leave these good people entirely to His judg-
ment and to the grace of His Providence. He alone knows how
and why He has built the argosy of humanity, and the small boat
of each one of us, such as it is.26
—St.Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary
26
Starets Macarius of Optina, Russian Letters of Spiritual Direction, 1834–1860,
trans. Iulia de Beausobre (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975), 54.
118 Dietrich von Hildebrand as Ambassador
is seen and heard, and no intellectual ascent to something else is
necessary to grasp this beauty.24
This passage reveals von Hildebrand’s intense conviction that the theological
contemplation of beauty of form is a non-discursive action with a strong
quality of immediacy. In contemporary Eastern Orthodox theological termi-
nology, von Hildebrand’s allusion to an intuitive faculty would closely match
the term nous (the spiritual intellect), not for the divine communicatory prop-
erty of the nous so much as its immediate, intuitive property. Many Eastern
Orthodox theologians present Roman Catholic theology in an overly-rational
light; they might expect von Hildebrand to ascribe theological contemplation
of beauty to the discursive intellect. Yet von Hildebrand holds what might be
called an “Eastern Orthodox” or “noetic” reading of this contemplative act.
He ascribes carrying out a contemplative act to an intuitive part of the soul.
His statement may even be described as Philokalic and apophatic: philokalic
in the sense that it is noetic, and apophatic in the sense that it shuns discur-
siveness for intuitiveness.
A profound sense of mystery also occupies von Hildebrand’s eval-
uation of beauty of form. Continuing where the previous quotation left off,
von Hildebrand writes:
We must not try to evade the mysteries in reality, but in a com-
plete thaumazein at the mystery, we must try to understand it by
means of a deeper penetration. This higher beauty of form is also
bestowed directly and intuitively by means of the visible and the
audible, and in spite of its connection with the senses, it is of a
spiritual sublimity which qualitatively completely transcends the
sphere of the senses.25
The phrase “evade the mysteries of reality” should be read as “misperceive
an enigma in our attempt to rationally define it.” This ready admission of the
presence of supra-rational qualities in reality is entirely in line with the East-
ern Orthodox emphasis on negative theology, on apophaticism. Noteworthy
too is von Hildebrand’s phrase “by means of a deeper penetration” after the
conjunction “but”; it implies that this intuitive faculty which understands the
mystery of beauty is, because it fathoms more completely, a higher power
of the soul. Again, in Eastern manner, von Hildebrand locates the intuitive
faculty above the rational. Furthermore, in keeping with the modern East-
ern Orthodox emphasis on the deep paradoxes inherent within Christianity
(which can be interpreted as an extension of their apophatic tendency), von
Hildebrand states a paradox at the end of this passage. He claims that beauty
Dietrich von Hildebrand, “Reconsiderations: Beauty in the Light of the
24
Redemption,” Logos 4, no. 2 (2001): 86.
25
Ibid., 86–87.
Daniel VanderKolk 119
of form is somehow both reliant upon our sense of seeing and our sense
of hearing, yet entirely transcends our sensory life. Von Hildebrand, inso-
far as he theologizes about aesthetics in these passages, does not fit the old
stereotype, often propagated in contemporary Eastern Orthodox circles, of
the overly rational Roman Catholic Scholastic. On the contrary, the Eastern
Orthodox find a kindred soul.
Conclusion
The real differences separating Eastern Orthodoxy from Roman Catholicism
should not be underestimated. Nevertheless, each Christian body must speak
truthfully of the other with a spirit of charity. All too often intra-Christian
dialogue halts at the level of traditional biases and unexamined generaliza-
tions. This paper has endeavored to unpack one such misconception. Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, and many other recent Eastern Orthodox intellectuals, held
the West, in general, and the Roman Catholic Church, in particular, to be in
captivity to reason, with little sense of mystery. Dietrich von Hildebrand, in
at least one significant portion of his thought, breaks this stale stereotype.
He displays, in keeping with the theology of The Philokalia (the work so trea-
sured by Dostoyevsky’s beloved elders), an apophatic, noetic conception of
the encounter with beauty. Beauty will indeed save the world, provided that
it is bound to truth, goodness, and love. The words of Macarius, Elder of
Optina Monastery, written in the middle of the nineteenth century, directed
to an anonymous Russian who had converted back to the Eastern Orthodoxy
of his or her youth after many years as a Lutheran, are appropriate to all
Christians regardless of their confession. Macarius, counseling Anonymous’s
disturbance when contemplating the fate of those outside of his or her con-
fession, writes:
We cannot and must not judge them. The ways of the Lord are
inscrutable; let us leave these good people entirely to His judg-
ment and to the grace of His Providence. He alone knows how
and why He has built the argosy of humanity, and the small boat
of each one of us, such as it is.26
—St.Vladimir’s Orthodox Theological Seminary
26
Starets Macarius of Optina, Russian Letters of Spiritual Direction, 1834–1860,
trans. Iulia de Beausobre (Yonkers: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1975), 54.

The Beauty of Marital Love
in the Thought of Saint John Paul II
Richard Sherlock
Saint John Paul II is one of the two greatest Catholic realist phenomenol-
ogists of the twentieth century. While we rightly revere his papacy and its
magisterial works (e.g., Fides et Ratio, Veritatis Splendor, Theology of the Body and
above all the new Catechism), we should remember that his pre-papal years
were spent as a professor of philosophy at the Catholic University of Lu-
blin. His important works of this period—Love and Responsibility,1 The Acting
Person,2 and many powerful essays—are realist phenomenology at its best.
One of his most important contributions is his rich understanding of marital
love. Like Dietrich von Hildebrand, the other phenomenological thinker of
his stature, Saint John Paul II employs the tools of a realist and personalist
phenomenology of the marital embrace to reach the traditional moral con-
clusions—for instance, about the nature of the human person, the problem
of contraception, and the meaning of marriage—in a more attractive and
powerful manner than the sometimes sterile manuals of the past. In what
follows I shall use sections of Theology of the Body3 as well as his pre-papal
work since these sections contain philosophy as such, rather than theology,
and can therefore stand on their own. In this paper, I present Saint John Paul
II’s understanding of the beauty of marital love and suggest some fruitful
avenues for further research.
Elements of Beauty
It is often said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This is often under-
stood in a way that denies the language of the statement itself. Of course we
apprehend beauty, so beauty must be in our “eyes,” broadly construed. If it
is further claimed that beauty is defined by the look of the looker, then we
1
Karol Wojtyla, Love and Responsibility (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1981).
This is the first English translation of a work originally published in Polish in 1960.
2
Karol Wojtyla, The Acting Person, trans. Andrzei Potocki (Dordrecht, Hol-
land: D. Reidel, 1979).
3
Saint John Paul II, Man and Woman He Created Them: A Theology Of The Body,
trans. Michael Waldstein (Boston: Pauline Books, 2006).
© Richard Sherlock, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Richard Sherlock 121
have a contradiction. In this very phrase, we are said to behold beauty. That
is, beauty is something outside of the person who beholds the beautiful. The
observer “beholds” the majesty of redwoods, the intricate design of the Taj
Mahal, or the complex structure of Mahler’s Third Symphony. These are
instances of beauty in nature, architecture, and music that we “behold” as
outside of ourselves.
Thus, even on a first “look,” we do not define beauty. We behold it.
Beauty appears to us, it is not in us. In the words of Roger Scruton, beauty
“demands an active attention.” When we recognize someone or something
as beautiful we are recognizing a quality or qualities of the object of our at-
tention. We are pointing to what we experience.4
Beauty can and should be distinguished both from what it definitely
is not (e.g., kitsch or titillation) and from what it may potentially be (e.g., the
enjoyable, the interesting, and the pleasurable). That which is beautiful may
be enjoyable, pleasurable, or interesting. But, for example, things that are
enjoyable, such as a roller coaster ride, are not always regarded as beautiful.
I attend to something that is beautiful because it has the quality of
beauty. My attentiveness is focused on its beauty. Beauty has an attraction
that is different than being charming, pretty, or intricate.
A person is beautiful not because he or she is “good looking”; rath-
er, a person is recognized as beautiful because of who he or she is in the
fullest sense. Beauty draws us toward a whole person, who is more than a
look. We behold a whole person, not just his or her appearance. We are also
drawn to this person as beautiful, as who he or she is. A beautiful person is
not merely a representative of a group, or what we might call a token (e.g.,
Miss America or Mr. Universe). Provisionally, as a first step, we might say that
beauty represents the completeness of the object, person, relation, or scene
that is beheld as beautiful. The completeness comes from the way in which
parts fit together in harmony to create a whole greater than the sum of the
parts.
In my view this fittingness is not reducible to a tidy definition. Ex-
perience never is. This is why phenomenological inquiry is such a fruitful
way to examine human experience. It is a method of showing, as distinguished
from telling. At the beginning of Western philosophy, Plato used this show-
ing method to make this point. His main character, Socrates, never makes a
discursive argument as modern philosophers, with the exception of Witt-
genstein, are wont to do. It is also found in philosophers who sometimes
use a showing method (e.g., Augustine’s dialogue with Evodius on free will;
Anselm’s dialogue with Boso, Cur Deus Homo; Machiavelli’s Florentine Histo-
ry, Berkeley’s Three Dialogues; and Hume’s History of England). For example,
4
Roger Scruton, Beauty (London: Oxford University Press, 2009).

The Beauty of Marital Love
in the Thought of Saint John Paul II
Richard Sherlock
Saint John Paul II is one of the two greatest Catholic realist phenomenol-
ogists of the twentieth century. While we rightly revere his papacy and its
magisterial works (e.g., Fides et Ratio, Veritatis Splendor, Theology of the Body and
above all the new Catechism), we should remember that his pre-papal years
were spent as a professor of philosophy at the Catholic University of Lu-
blin. His important works of this period—Love and Responsibility,1 The Acting
Person,2 and many powerful essays—are realist phenomenology at its best.
One of his most important contributions is his rich understanding of marital
love. Like Dietrich von Hildebrand, the other phenomenological thinker of
his stature, Saint John Paul II employs the tools of a realist and personalist
phenomenology of the marital embrace to reach the traditional moral con-
clusions—for instance, about the nature of the human person, the problem
of contraception, and the meaning of marriage—in a more attractive and
powerful manner than the sometimes sterile manuals of the past. In what
follows I shall use sections of Theology of the Body3 as well as his pre-papal
work since these sections contain philosophy as such, rather than theology,
and can therefore stand on their own. In this paper, I present Saint John Paul
II’s understanding of the beauty of marital love and suggest some fruitful
avenues for further research.
Elements of Beauty
It is often said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. This is often under-
stood in a way that denies the language of the statement itself. Of course we
apprehend beauty, so beauty must be in our “eyes,” broadly construed. If it
is further claimed that beauty is defined by the look of the looker, then we
1
Karol Wojtyla, Love and Responsibility (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1981).
This is the first English translation of a work originally published in Polish in 1960.
2
Karol Wojtyla, The Acting Person, trans. Andrzei Potocki (Dordrecht, Hol-
land: D. Reidel, 1979).
3
Saint John Paul II, Man and Woman He Created Them: A Theology Of The Body,
trans. Michael Waldstein (Boston: Pauline Books, 2006).
© Richard Sherlock, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Richard Sherlock 121
have a contradiction. In this very phrase, we are said to behold beauty. That
is, beauty is something outside of the person who beholds the beautiful. The
observer “beholds” the majesty of redwoods, the intricate design of the Taj
Mahal, or the complex structure of Mahler’s Third Symphony. These are
instances of beauty in nature, architecture, and music that we “behold” as
outside of ourselves.
Thus, even on a first “look,” we do not define beauty. We behold it.
Beauty appears to us, it is not in us. In the words of Roger Scruton, beauty
“demands an active attention.” When we recognize someone or something
as beautiful we are recognizing a quality or qualities of the object of our at-
tention. We are pointing to what we experience.4
Beauty can and should be distinguished both from what it definitely
is not (e.g., kitsch or titillation) and from what it may potentially be (e.g., the
enjoyable, the interesting, and the pleasurable). That which is beautiful may
be enjoyable, pleasurable, or interesting. But, for example, things that are
enjoyable, such as a roller coaster ride, are not always regarded as beautiful.
I attend to something that is beautiful because it has the quality of
beauty. My attentiveness is focused on its beauty. Beauty has an attraction
that is different than being charming, pretty, or intricate.
A person is beautiful not because he or she is “good looking”; rath-
er, a person is recognized as beautiful because of who he or she is in the
fullest sense. Beauty draws us toward a whole person, who is more than a
look. We behold a whole person, not just his or her appearance. We are also
drawn to this person as beautiful, as who he or she is. A beautiful person is
not merely a representative of a group, or what we might call a token (e.g.,
Miss America or Mr. Universe). Provisionally, as a first step, we might say that
beauty represents the completeness of the object, person, relation, or scene
that is beheld as beautiful. The completeness comes from the way in which
parts fit together in harmony to create a whole greater than the sum of the
parts.
In my view this fittingness is not reducible to a tidy definition. Ex-
perience never is. This is why phenomenological inquiry is such a fruitful
way to examine human experience. It is a method of showing, as distinguished
from telling. At the beginning of Western philosophy, Plato used this show-
ing method to make this point. His main character, Socrates, never makes a
discursive argument as modern philosophers, with the exception of Witt-
genstein, are wont to do. It is also found in philosophers who sometimes
use a showing method (e.g., Augustine’s dialogue with Evodius on free will;
Anselm’s dialogue with Boso, Cur Deus Homo; Machiavelli’s Florentine Histo-
ry, Berkeley’s Three Dialogues; and Hume’s History of England). For example,
4
Roger Scruton, Beauty (London: Oxford University Press, 2009).
122 The Beauty of Marital Love
Socrates did not tell Glaucon how unnatural a perfect community would be.
He simply shows him the community of wives. In the Symposium, when it is
Socrates turn to speak, he does not make his own argument. Rather, he gives
the teaching he has heard from the semi­divine source, Diotima. This teaching
is complicated by the fact that it is “delivered,” if we may use this phrase, by
analogies that direct the attention of the reader or hearer.
What we can then do is show how the fitting works together with
its context, analogically like the parts of a motor or the gears of a watch. If,
instead of the chorus at the end of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, we heard
a couple of minutes of Errol Garner, the disjoint would be jarring. Simi-
larly, a dead animal hanging from a rope in the middle of Rainbow Arch in
Southern Utah would not fit. In Picasso’s les Demoiselles D’Avignon, the women
are presented in a jarring fashion and they appear unhappy. They should be.
They are prostitutes. This quality of the women is fitting for where they are
and what they are doing. If the women were in business suits it would not
fit. When we see a frail eighty-year-old man holding the car door open for
his equally aged wife we behold the beauty of marital love. The fittingness is
obvious.
Secondly, the beautiful draws us out of ourselves towards that which
is beautiful. We behold or attend to that which is beautiful. Beauty pulls us
out of ourselves and beyond our materiality. The beautiful brings us an inti-
mation of transcendence which, following Saint Bonaventure’s Itinerarium, we
can recognize as a beginning of a journey to God.
Thus, we can say that the truly beautiful is in relation to that which
surrounds it. Brunhilde’s aria at the end of Gotterdamerung is set within the
opera itself, which opera is set within the context of Wagner’s ring cycle.
Delicate Arch fits its place in the world. It also draws us toward a source of
beauty outside of us. Its beauty would be surely diminished if the arch were
removed to a museum like a wall of an Egyptian tomb has been removed to
a Metropolitan Museum in New York.
Suppose, for example, in the middle of a manuscript of Purcell’s
Dido and Aeneas there was a saxophone solo reminiscent of the early John
Coltrane. We would doubt the authenticity of the manuscript for two rea-
sons. First the discordance would be jarring. Secondly, the saxophone was
not created for another two centuries.
Thus, beauty is relational in two ways. First, the beautiful object—
the “out-there” person, natural object, art, or relation—is always related to
that context in which it is beheld as beautiful. Secondly, beauty is relational to
those who behold it.
Hearing just the second movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony
is hiding the light of the whole under a bushel. However beautiful “Nessun
Dorma” is alone, it loses part of its beauty when removed from Turandot. The
Richard Sherlock 123
beauty of Shakespeare is not in the memorable passages from Hamlet, Mac-
beth, Puck, or Mark Anthony, rather the beauty is beheld in the fullness of
the play Hamlet, Macbeth, Midsummer Night’s Dream, or Julius Caesar, respective-
ly. Notice that the fitting and thus beautiful soliloquy or operatic aria (e.g., by
Don Giovanni) does not need to have a particularly good intent (e.g., Mark
Anthony’s “praise”). The play as a whole does and should point to the good.
Yet there is something different in the beauty of music, opera, and
Shakespeare from the beauty of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, The Pieta, Del-
icate Arch, or Rembrandt’s Isaac Blessing Jacob and Esau. Painting or sculpture
does not change. Nature changes very slowly. One could have seen a Rem-
brandt two hundred years ago or yesterday and it would present the same
beauty. Delicate Arch is almost the same as it was a century ago. Only an
expert could mark the differences. Music, drama, and opera, however, are
different. Every time they are performed, the notes or the dialogue are the
same but the music and the performance is different. In a wonderful passage,
Saint Francis de Sales notes the complexity of music:
For music to be beautiful the voices not only must be true, clear,
and distinct from one another but also united together in such a
way that there may arise a just consonance and harmony which is
not unfairly termed a discordant harmony or rather a harmonious
discord.5
Music is a wonderful example of the unity and complexity of the beautiful.
Brunhilde’s aria before she throws herself on the pyre is sung differently
by Kirsten Flagstad and Fiorenza Cossotto—to name two great twentieth
century mezzo-sopranos. Beethoven’s “Eroica” is different when conducted
by Solti, von Karajan, or Bernstein. A Chopin polonaise is played differently
by Horowitz or Rubenstein. The notes are the same but the work is played
differently.
This diversity in unity is seen even more in the case of human per-
sons and their relationships. In a rich study from 1975, Saint John Paul II
writes that the “action of persons reveals the wholeness, originality, and un-
repeatability of each human being and discloses our own acting I, or self in
a way different than self consciousness, in what might be called a more pro-
found or ultimate way.”6 This action diverges with each person—as a subject
5
Saint Francis de Sales, Treatise on the Love of God, trans. Henry Mackey (New
York: Tan Books, 1997).
6
Karol Wojtyla, “Uczestnictwo Czy Aliencaja,” Summarium 7, no. 27 (1978):
7–16; Karol Wojtyla, “Participation or Alienation” Analecta Husserliana 6 (1977):
61–73. This paper was sent in French translation to the Fourth International Phe-
nomenology Conference in Fribourg (January 24–28, 1975), and also presented by
122 The Beauty of Marital Love
Socrates did not tell Glaucon how unnatural a perfect community would be.
He simply shows him the community of wives. In the Symposium, when it is
Socrates turn to speak, he does not make his own argument. Rather, he gives
the teaching he has heard from the semi­divine source, Diotima. This teaching
is complicated by the fact that it is “delivered,” if we may use this phrase, by
analogies that direct the attention of the reader or hearer.
What we can then do is show how the fitting works together with
its context, analogically like the parts of a motor or the gears of a watch. If,
instead of the chorus at the end of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, we heard
a couple of minutes of Errol Garner, the disjoint would be jarring. Simi-
larly, a dead animal hanging from a rope in the middle of Rainbow Arch in
Southern Utah would not fit. In Picasso’s les Demoiselles D’Avignon, the women
are presented in a jarring fashion and they appear unhappy. They should be.
They are prostitutes. This quality of the women is fitting for where they are
and what they are doing. If the women were in business suits it would not
fit. When we see a frail eighty-year-old man holding the car door open for
his equally aged wife we behold the beauty of marital love. The fittingness is
obvious.
Secondly, the beautiful draws us out of ourselves towards that which
is beautiful. We behold or attend to that which is beautiful. Beauty pulls us
out of ourselves and beyond our materiality. The beautiful brings us an inti-
mation of transcendence which, following Saint Bonaventure’s Itinerarium, we
can recognize as a beginning of a journey to God.
Thus, we can say that the truly beautiful is in relation to that which
surrounds it. Brunhilde’s aria at the end of Gotterdamerung is set within the
opera itself, which opera is set within the context of Wagner’s ring cycle.
Delicate Arch fits its place in the world. It also draws us toward a source of
beauty outside of us. Its beauty would be surely diminished if the arch were
removed to a museum like a wall of an Egyptian tomb has been removed to
a Metropolitan Museum in New York.
Suppose, for example, in the middle of a manuscript of Purcell’s
Dido and Aeneas there was a saxophone solo reminiscent of the early John
Coltrane. We would doubt the authenticity of the manuscript for two rea-
sons. First the discordance would be jarring. Secondly, the saxophone was
not created for another two centuries.
Thus, beauty is relational in two ways. First, the beautiful object—
the “out-there” person, natural object, art, or relation—is always related to
that context in which it is beheld as beautiful. Secondly, beauty is relational to
those who behold it.
Hearing just the second movement of Dvorak’s New World Symphony
is hiding the light of the whole under a bushel. However beautiful “Nessun
Dorma” is alone, it loses part of its beauty when removed from Turandot. The
Richard Sherlock 123
beauty of Shakespeare is not in the memorable passages from Hamlet, Mac-
beth, Puck, or Mark Anthony, rather the beauty is beheld in the fullness of
the play Hamlet, Macbeth, Midsummer Night’s Dream, or Julius Caesar, respective-
ly. Notice that the fitting and thus beautiful soliloquy or operatic aria (e.g., by
Don Giovanni) does not need to have a particularly good intent (e.g., Mark
Anthony’s “praise”). The play as a whole does and should point to the good.
Yet there is something different in the beauty of music, opera, and
Shakespeare from the beauty of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, The Pieta, Del-
icate Arch, or Rembrandt’s Isaac Blessing Jacob and Esau. Painting or sculpture
does not change. Nature changes very slowly. One could have seen a Rem-
brandt two hundred years ago or yesterday and it would present the same
beauty. Delicate Arch is almost the same as it was a century ago. Only an
expert could mark the differences. Music, drama, and opera, however, are
different. Every time they are performed, the notes or the dialogue are the
same but the music and the performance is different. In a wonderful passage,
Saint Francis de Sales notes the complexity of music:
For music to be beautiful the voices not only must be true, clear,
and distinct from one another but also united together in such a
way that there may arise a just consonance and harmony which is
not unfairly termed a discordant harmony or rather a harmonious
discord.5
Music is a wonderful example of the unity and complexity of the beautiful.
Brunhilde’s aria before she throws herself on the pyre is sung differently
by Kirsten Flagstad and Fiorenza Cossotto—to name two great twentieth
century mezzo-sopranos. Beethoven’s “Eroica” is different when conducted
by Solti, von Karajan, or Bernstein. A Chopin polonaise is played differently
by Horowitz or Rubenstein. The notes are the same but the work is played
differently.
This diversity in unity is seen even more in the case of human per-
sons and their relationships. In a rich study from 1975, Saint John Paul II
writes that the “action of persons reveals the wholeness, originality, and un-
repeatability of each human being and discloses our own acting I, or self in
a way different than self consciousness, in what might be called a more pro-
found or ultimate way.”6 This action diverges with each person—as a subject
5
Saint Francis de Sales, Treatise on the Love of God, trans. Henry Mackey (New
York: Tan Books, 1997).
6
Karol Wojtyla, “Uczestnictwo Czy Aliencaja,” Summarium 7, no. 27 (1978):
7–16; Karol Wojtyla, “Participation or Alienation” Analecta Husserliana 6 (1977):
61–73. This paper was sent in French translation to the Fourth International Phe-
nomenology Conference in Fribourg (January 24–28, 1975), and also presented by
124 The Beauty of Marital Love
with reason, will, and appetite—yet there is a common thread in each acting
being. From The Acting Person we capture the same point:
Although the disparity in the experience of man that we have
been stressing here is an obstacle to the arrival at an interpreta-
tion and conception of man, it does open new possibilities and
wide vistas for investigation. On the ground of the integrated ex-
perience of man…the person is revealed though action because
in this experience man is given us from the inside and not only
outwardly. Just because he has given not as the man-subject but
in his entire experiential subjectiveness as the ego, new possibil-
ities are opened for such an interpretation of man, which will at
the same time allow us to reproduce at the right proportions the
subjectiveness of man.7
The final element of complexity comes from the fact—which Ar-
istotle so memorably notes—that human beings are by nature social beings.
We act with and for or against others. As Saint John Paul II writes: “acting
together with others is not only frequent and usual but indeed a universal oc-
currence.”8 In spite of this obvious fact, however, he is correct when he notes
that this relational nature of human persons “has not received the attention
it deserves.”9 Anglo-American philosophers tend to focus on those named A
and B, Smith and Jones, or John Doe and Jane Roe. These are abstractions,
straw men and women stripped of the complexity of actual persons, not real
persons.
It is universally known that persons act in community as family
members, friends, employees, teachers, and students. However, as Saint John
Paul II notes, there is a normative element to the acts of a person. Persons
act in company with others for that which they regard as good. That persons
are often wrong is granted. But persons do not willingly act for what they
regard as evil. As Aristotle argues at the beginning of his Nichomachean Ethics,
all persons desire the good and act for what they believe is good.
The other, with whom we are related, is a good that we recognize
that partially completes us. We desire this other person because this other fits
together with what we are as a unique person, with many other relationships
to persons, objects, nature, and God.
This observation, as old as Plato and Aristotle, directs us to the sec-
ond fundamental element of the beautiful. Fittingness is necessary. It is not,
invitation to the Philosophy Department at the University of Fribourg (February 27,
1975).
7
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 18.
8
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 261
9
Ibid.
Richard Sherlock 125
however, sufficient. For example, Hitler’s actions were perfectly suited to the
sort of person he was. Yet no one would refer to Hitler or his actions as
beautiful.
Beauty attracts us. The beautiful directs our gaze in every sense to
that which is beyond us or, shall we say, that which transcends us. Beauty’s
attraction is found both in its fittingness and in its participation in the good.
That which is truly beautiful is both fitting and good. The structure and
songs of West Side Story are fitting and good. They are not fitting in the mid-
dle of Aida. Alfredo’s aria “un di felice eterea” is beautiful set in the first act
of La Traviata. It would not be fitting in Guys and Dolls.
In the music of Palestrina we hear the fittingness of the parts as
in a Rolex watch. But in the words and music we are led or directed to the
ultimate good, God. Seeing a painting of the crucifixion by, for example,
Giotto, Tintoretto, or Gruenwald we can see how all parts fit together: pro-
portion, color, balance, artistic medium, etc. This fittingness is important.
What makes these paintings truly good is the manner in which they lead us
to think about the true good. A Turner watercolor or an Ansel Adams pho-
tograph of Yosemite likewise directs us to the good of nature and ultimately
to the creator of this good, God.
Thus we come to the third element of the beautiful. As Roger Scru-
ton has so eloquently argued, beauty appears to the person who beholds it
not as a product but as a gift. Of course the painter, architect, or composer
created a specific instance of beauty. Though beauty is experienced in in-
stances, it is not fully grasped in any one instance or collection of instances.
As such, beauty transcends any specific instantiation. Instances or examples
point us to transcendence as such, to that which is pure beauty. These are the
“traces” left by the creator in creation.
This is even true of art that, at first glance, only displays pain or evil.
As we recognize pain and suffering, we can be repelled from the evil, which
may, in turn, be the first step toward the ultimate good. The rakishness of
Mozart’s Don Giovanni repels us as a warning against sexual license. Wag-
ner’s Tristan and Isolde is a tragedy that we cannot fail to recognize as such.
But it also points to a love that is not itself tragic, even when found in tragic
circumstances. Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel displays
the worst evil that can befall a person, but also shows the ultimate good of
those who are saved.
Thus we can see three elements of beauty that we can bring to bear
on the beauty of marital love with the help of Saint John Paul II. The first
element is that the beautiful is that which is fitting in two ways. The beautiful
fits together as whole, not an assemblage of parts. Further, this whole fits in
its context or background. Secondly, the beautiful that we apprehend either
should point itself to the good that it embodies, or point us toward the good
124 The Beauty of Marital Love
with reason, will, and appetite—yet there is a common thread in each acting
being. From The Acting Person we capture the same point:
Although the disparity in the experience of man that we have
been stressing here is an obstacle to the arrival at an interpreta-
tion and conception of man, it does open new possibilities and
wide vistas for investigation. On the ground of the integrated ex-
perience of man…the person is revealed though action because
in this experience man is given us from the inside and not only
outwardly. Just because he has given not as the man-subject but
in his entire experiential subjectiveness as the ego, new possibil-
ities are opened for such an interpretation of man, which will at
the same time allow us to reproduce at the right proportions the
subjectiveness of man.7
The final element of complexity comes from the fact—which Ar-
istotle so memorably notes—that human beings are by nature social beings.
We act with and for or against others. As Saint John Paul II writes: “acting
together with others is not only frequent and usual but indeed a universal oc-
currence.”8 In spite of this obvious fact, however, he is correct when he notes
that this relational nature of human persons “has not received the attention
it deserves.”9 Anglo-American philosophers tend to focus on those named A
and B, Smith and Jones, or John Doe and Jane Roe. These are abstractions,
straw men and women stripped of the complexity of actual persons, not real
persons.
It is universally known that persons act in community as family
members, friends, employees, teachers, and students. However, as Saint John
Paul II notes, there is a normative element to the acts of a person. Persons
act in company with others for that which they regard as good. That persons
are often wrong is granted. But persons do not willingly act for what they
regard as evil. As Aristotle argues at the beginning of his Nichomachean Ethics,
all persons desire the good and act for what they believe is good.
The other, with whom we are related, is a good that we recognize
that partially completes us. We desire this other person because this other fits
together with what we are as a unique person, with many other relationships
to persons, objects, nature, and God.
This observation, as old as Plato and Aristotle, directs us to the sec-
ond fundamental element of the beautiful. Fittingness is necessary. It is not,
invitation to the Philosophy Department at the University of Fribourg (February 27,
1975).
7
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 18.
8
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 261
9
Ibid.
Richard Sherlock 125
however, sufficient. For example, Hitler’s actions were perfectly suited to the
sort of person he was. Yet no one would refer to Hitler or his actions as
beautiful.
Beauty attracts us. The beautiful directs our gaze in every sense to
that which is beyond us or, shall we say, that which transcends us. Beauty’s
attraction is found both in its fittingness and in its participation in the good.
That which is truly beautiful is both fitting and good. The structure and
songs of West Side Story are fitting and good. They are not fitting in the mid-
dle of Aida. Alfredo’s aria “un di felice eterea” is beautiful set in the first act
of La Traviata. It would not be fitting in Guys and Dolls.
In the music of Palestrina we hear the fittingness of the parts as
in a Rolex watch. But in the words and music we are led or directed to the
ultimate good, God. Seeing a painting of the crucifixion by, for example,
Giotto, Tintoretto, or Gruenwald we can see how all parts fit together: pro-
portion, color, balance, artistic medium, etc. This fittingness is important.
What makes these paintings truly good is the manner in which they lead us
to think about the true good. A Turner watercolor or an Ansel Adams pho-
tograph of Yosemite likewise directs us to the good of nature and ultimately
to the creator of this good, God.
Thus we come to the third element of the beautiful. As Roger Scru-
ton has so eloquently argued, beauty appears to the person who beholds it
not as a product but as a gift. Of course the painter, architect, or composer
created a specific instance of beauty. Though beauty is experienced in in-
stances, it is not fully grasped in any one instance or collection of instances.
As such, beauty transcends any specific instantiation. Instances or examples
point us to transcendence as such, to that which is pure beauty. These are the
“traces” left by the creator in creation.
This is even true of art that, at first glance, only displays pain or evil.
As we recognize pain and suffering, we can be repelled from the evil, which
may, in turn, be the first step toward the ultimate good. The rakishness of
Mozart’s Don Giovanni repels us as a warning against sexual license. Wag-
ner’s Tristan and Isolde is a tragedy that we cannot fail to recognize as such.
But it also points to a love that is not itself tragic, even when found in tragic
circumstances. Michelangelo’s The Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel displays
the worst evil that can befall a person, but also shows the ultimate good of
those who are saved.
Thus we can see three elements of beauty that we can bring to bear
on the beauty of marital love with the help of Saint John Paul II. The first
element is that the beautiful is that which is fitting in two ways. The beautiful
fits together as whole, not an assemblage of parts. Further, this whole fits in
its context or background. Secondly, the beautiful that we apprehend either
should point itself to the good that it embodies, or point us toward the good
126 The Beauty of Marital Love
by repelling us from evil. The grim reality of Manet’s The Execution of Emperor
Maximillian repels us by its depiction of the brutality of the event and points
to the permanent truth of the impermanence of the goods of this world.
Finally, the beautiful, in leading us to experience the eternal in the instance,
imperfectly illuminates the transcendence that is found in instances yet is
more than any instance. This is what Roger Scruton calls “the sense of the
sacred” found in the beautiful.10
The Beauty of Marriage
Finally, we come to marriage, in a unique manner, as an exemplar of beauty.
Further, we will see how Saint John Paul II helps us understand this beauty.
At the beginning of The Acting Person Saint John Paul II makes a fun-
damental distinction between “associational relationships” and true “partici-
pation” with others. At work a person has an associational relationship with
a boss, coworkers and those he oversees. Friendliness is fitting. Demeaning
jokes are not. Actions that are fitting at work are not fitting when watching
and listening to a concert. In every associational relationship, some actions
are fitting and some are not. At a neighborhood party, getting to know your
new neighbors is fitting; getting drunk is not. Associational relationships in-
volve a person, to be sure, but they are focused on only one part of the
person. Accordingly, only some actions are fitting. The nature of the associ-
ational relationship sets out the boundaries of the fitting. As Saint John Paul
notes, “we may live and act in common with others in various societies and
social groups,” yet participation “arises before us as a task.”11
Participation involves a relation of the person as a subject that ful-
fills his or her humanity in the way that it was meant to be. As finite, em-
bodied beings, our true completion as persons awaits eternity. Participation,
however, points us in the right direction and starts us on the journey to full
completeness, not as workers, students, homeowners, or car drivers etc., but
as persons who transcend any of our partial roles. Participation is a relation-
ship of the whole person, who is fuller and richer than merely the sum of the
associational roles he or she has.
Monastic life, for example, is a call to a special form of participation.
This life involves a unique form of total self-giving. The more universal call
to a full participatory relationship is the call to true married life. Marriage is
as complete and total a relationship as most human persons can have. We
have many associations as employers, employees, or members of clubs or
10
Roger Scruton, The Soul of the World (New York: Princeton University Press,
2014).
11
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 279.
Richard Sherlock 127
organizations (e.g., Rotary Club or a bowling league). Marriage, however, is
more than an associational relationship; rather it is a complete giving of two
selves to each other, not as Rotarians or golfers, but as full persons.
Saint John Paul II notes that this call to the married life is rooted in a
prior fact of creation: “marriage is possible because God created them male
and female.”12 From this standpoint, sexual ethics is not just about marriage,
but concerns the whole range of relations between persons of the opposite
sex with different material bodies, psychological make-up, and spiritual tem-
peraments.13
To begin with, Saint John Paul II teaches that marriage is a special
relationship, a participation that is unique to human persons. God created us
to be together as male and female, not alone. In marriage the male and the
female unite in such a profound way that “the two become one flesh.” The
fittingness of marriage is both universal and unique. Marriage as an institu-
tion is found in every known society. This is a truth of phenomenological
reason, historical reason, and revelation. Though taught in revelation, it does
not need revelation to justify it.
A true marriage, one whose beauty we can behold, is at first a bio-
logical fittingness. Our bodies are created such that we physically fit together
in intimacy. Furthermore, this fitting together is necessary for the continued
biological existence of humanity.
This fitting together is a complementarity that is at first biological
but is more than biological. It is an essential feature of human nature that is
more than biological. On this point the social science data is overwhelming
and conclusive. Men and women are different in so many ways that it is diffi-
cult to number them. This fact is reflected in two Biblical teachings. First, in
Genesis, we read that God created human beings as men and women, “male
and female he created them” (Gen. 1:27). Secondly, in Romans, we read that
God’s plan has been made evident in creation. “God’s invisible qualities…
have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made” (Rom.
1:20). Coming together in marriage, men and women complement each other
in profound and lasting ways.
Again, music is our best analogy in another area universally admitted
to be an exemplar of beauty. Consider Bach’s The Passion of Our Lord Accord-
ing to the Gospel of St. John. Each of the vocal parts, even each voice, must fit
with each the others and with the orchestra. Each instrument in the orchestra
must complement the others to produce the majestic beauty of the whole.
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 136–40.
12
Larry Arnhart, Darwinian Natural Right: The Biological Ethics of Human Nature,
13
SUNY Series in Philosophy and Biology (New York: SUNY Press, 1998); Steven
Rhoades, Taking Sex Differences Seriously (New York: Encounter Books, 2005).
126 The Beauty of Marital Love
by repelling us from evil. The grim reality of Manet’s The Execution of Emperor
Maximillian repels us by its depiction of the brutality of the event and points
to the permanent truth of the impermanence of the goods of this world.
Finally, the beautiful, in leading us to experience the eternal in the instance,
imperfectly illuminates the transcendence that is found in instances yet is
more than any instance. This is what Roger Scruton calls “the sense of the
sacred” found in the beautiful.10
The Beauty of Marriage
Finally, we come to marriage, in a unique manner, as an exemplar of beauty.
Further, we will see how Saint John Paul II helps us understand this beauty.
At the beginning of The Acting Person Saint John Paul II makes a fun-
damental distinction between “associational relationships” and true “partici-
pation” with others. At work a person has an associational relationship with
a boss, coworkers and those he oversees. Friendliness is fitting. Demeaning
jokes are not. Actions that are fitting at work are not fitting when watching
and listening to a concert. In every associational relationship, some actions
are fitting and some are not. At a neighborhood party, getting to know your
new neighbors is fitting; getting drunk is not. Associational relationships in-
volve a person, to be sure, but they are focused on only one part of the
person. Accordingly, only some actions are fitting. The nature of the associ-
ational relationship sets out the boundaries of the fitting. As Saint John Paul
notes, “we may live and act in common with others in various societies and
social groups,” yet participation “arises before us as a task.”11
Participation involves a relation of the person as a subject that ful-
fills his or her humanity in the way that it was meant to be. As finite, em-
bodied beings, our true completion as persons awaits eternity. Participation,
however, points us in the right direction and starts us on the journey to full
completeness, not as workers, students, homeowners, or car drivers etc., but
as persons who transcend any of our partial roles. Participation is a relation-
ship of the whole person, who is fuller and richer than merely the sum of the
associational roles he or she has.
Monastic life, for example, is a call to a special form of participation.
This life involves a unique form of total self-giving. The more universal call
to a full participatory relationship is the call to true married life. Marriage is
as complete and total a relationship as most human persons can have. We
have many associations as employers, employees, or members of clubs or
10
Roger Scruton, The Soul of the World (New York: Princeton University Press,
2014).
11
Wojtyla, The Acting Person, 279.
Richard Sherlock 127
organizations (e.g., Rotary Club or a bowling league). Marriage, however, is
more than an associational relationship; rather it is a complete giving of two
selves to each other, not as Rotarians or golfers, but as full persons.
Saint John Paul II notes that this call to the married life is rooted in a
prior fact of creation: “marriage is possible because God created them male
and female.”12 From this standpoint, sexual ethics is not just about marriage,
but concerns the whole range of relations between persons of the opposite
sex with different material bodies, psychological make-up, and spiritual tem-
peraments.13
To begin with, Saint John Paul II teaches that marriage is a special
relationship, a participation that is unique to human persons. God created us
to be together as male and female, not alone. In marriage the male and the
female unite in such a profound way that “the two become one flesh.” The
fittingness of marriage is both universal and unique. Marriage as an institu-
tion is found in every known society. This is a truth of phenomenological
reason, historical reason, and revelation. Though taught in revelation, it does
not need revelation to justify it.
A true marriage, one whose beauty we can behold, is at first a bio-
logical fittingness. Our bodies are created such that we physically fit together
in intimacy. Furthermore, this fitting together is necessary for the continued
biological existence of humanity.
This fitting together is a complementarity that is at first biological
but is more than biological. It is an essential feature of human nature that is
more than biological. On this point the social science data is overwhelming
and conclusive. Men and women are different in so many ways that it is diffi-
cult to number them. This fact is reflected in two Biblical teachings. First, in
Genesis, we read that God created human beings as men and women, “male
and female he created them” (Gen. 1:27). Secondly, in Romans, we read that
God’s plan has been made evident in creation. “God’s invisible qualities…
have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made” (Rom.
1:20). Coming together in marriage, men and women complement each other
in profound and lasting ways.
Again, music is our best analogy in another area universally admitted
to be an exemplar of beauty. Consider Bach’s The Passion of Our Lord Accord-
ing to the Gospel of St. John. Each of the vocal parts, even each voice, must fit
with each the others and with the orchestra. Each instrument in the orchestra
must complement the others to produce the majestic beauty of the whole.
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 136–40.
12
Larry Arnhart, Darwinian Natural Right: The Biological Ethics of Human Nature,
13
SUNY Series in Philosophy and Biology (New York: SUNY Press, 1998); Steven
Rhoades, Taking Sex Differences Seriously (New York: Encounter Books, 2005).
128 The Beauty of Marital Love
School teachers of music used to emphasize this point by playing
recordings of well-known songs with one small part missing (e.g., the oboe).
Though beginning music students did not realize how important that part
was, they immediately recognized that it was missing. Similarly in marriage:
the beauty of the whole only appears when each part plays its complementa-
ry role.
A second element of marriage is a core element of its beauty, name-
ly, its permanence. Other forms of human male-female relationships are
not permanent, nor are most of them meant to be. Dating may lead to the
permanence of marriage. But as dating it is impermanent—the “one night
stand” or “living together” is designed to be impermanent. Same-gendered
relationships may be termed “marriage” in civil society. Social science, how-
ever, has shown that these relationships are far less permanent than male-fe-
male marriages. Not every such “marriage” dissolves, but most do. At this
point the supposed divorce rate of fifty percent or more is typically advanced
as a critique of the idea that marriage is, or is thought to be, permanent by
those who get married. This is an instance of statistics being used in a very
misleading fashion. About two-thirds of first marriages remain “until death
do us part”; the fifty percnt or more figure comes from the fact that some
people get married several times.
Permanence is also a crucial feature of other forms of beauty. The
natural beauty of Bryce Canyon or Niagara Falls is as permanent as anything
can be in an ultimately impermanent world. El Greco’s The Trinity and da
Vinci’s The Virgin and Child With St. Anne are also permanent exemplars of
beauty.
This same permanence is also found in music. Mozart’s Requiem
Mass in D will be conducted differently by Szell or Ozawa. Mahler’s Third
Symphony will sound slightly differently with Zubin Mehta or Maurice
Abravanel at the helm. Palestrina’s Pope Marcellus Mass will also be heard
differently with different singers. Nevertheless, the beauty is rooted in the
composition that remains, no matter who is singing, playing or conducting.
Friendship, a relationship that is extolled in ancient thought (e.g., Aristotle’s
Nichomachean Ethics) and by medieval thinkers (e.g., Saint Aelred of Riveaux’s
On Spiritual Friendship—a restatement of Aristotle for Christian theology
which holds that in every true friendship there is a third, Christ) is at its best
permanent. It is not, however, complementary. As Aristotle says, the friend is
a “second self.”
Parenthood is, of course, a crucial telos of marriage. Parenthood,
however, is more than merely being a sperm or egg donor. Parenthood
comes from marriage but does not define marriage. Married couples come
before families. In some cases, because of age, illness or infertility, marriage
Richard Sherlock 129
cannot involve a biological family; such a marriage, however, can still exem-
plify beauty.
The second stage of universal fittingness is again a fact that social
scientists can demonstrate and a phenomenology of the human person can
more fully reveal. Men and women are psychologically different yet comple-
mentary. Men and women are morally, politically, and spiritually equal but
they are not interchangeable. There is a psychological and social complemen-
tarity that point to the truth that only male and female persons can become
“one flesh.”14
Finally, there is a spiritual unity in diversity in marriage. Men and
women differ in the way they come to God. They can and do come to the
same point, although their ways are different. This too is well documented,
both empirically and phenomenologically.15
In a universal sense then, marriage involves a complete giving of one
person to another in the threefold manner just noted. These are the fitting
and complimentary ways in which we are created. Somewhat like the Trinity
there is a threefold unity of persons who remain distinct.
Yet in each beautiful marriage there is that which is uniquely fitting
for that marriage. The notes of every beautiful marriage may be broadly the
same. Each marriage, however, plays the notes differently. Of course, there is
a total giving of one person to another in intimacy, work, play, and faith. The
persons do not dissolve their individuality. They complete it. As a lifelong
commitment, the beauty of marital love is renewed constantly. Like The Pieta,
it is permanent. Like Bach’s The Passion of our Lord According to the Gospel of St.
John, it changes each time it is played.
Every true marriage is unique. This is a point that Saint John Paul II
makes repeatedly. In The Theology of the Body, for instance, he writes:
They reveal themselves to one another with that specific depth
of their own human “I” which precisely reveals through their
sex, their masculinity and their femininity. And thus in a singu-
lar way the woman “is given” in the mode of knowledge to the
man and he to her.16
Marital love thus embodies the three elements of beauty we noted
earlier. First, the married couple fits together as a unique whole that is greater
than the sum of the parts. The persons are still unique individuals. In the
self-giving love of the marital union the persons become a fuller and larger
couple than they would be if they were only friends at work or play. As Saint
14
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 479–80.
15
Marta Trzebiatowska and Steve Bruce, Why are Women More Religious than
Men (London: Oxford University, 2012).
16
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 189.
128 The Beauty of Marital Love
School teachers of music used to emphasize this point by playing
recordings of well-known songs with one small part missing (e.g., the oboe).
Though beginning music students did not realize how important that part
was, they immediately recognized that it was missing. Similarly in marriage:
the beauty of the whole only appears when each part plays its complementa-
ry role.
A second element of marriage is a core element of its beauty, name-
ly, its permanence. Other forms of human male-female relationships are
not permanent, nor are most of them meant to be. Dating may lead to the
permanence of marriage. But as dating it is impermanent—the “one night
stand” or “living together” is designed to be impermanent. Same-gendered
relationships may be termed “marriage” in civil society. Social science, how-
ever, has shown that these relationships are far less permanent than male-fe-
male marriages. Not every such “marriage” dissolves, but most do. At this
point the supposed divorce rate of fifty percent or more is typically advanced
as a critique of the idea that marriage is, or is thought to be, permanent by
those who get married. This is an instance of statistics being used in a very
misleading fashion. About two-thirds of first marriages remain “until death
do us part”; the fifty percnt or more figure comes from the fact that some
people get married several times.
Permanence is also a crucial feature of other forms of beauty. The
natural beauty of Bryce Canyon or Niagara Falls is as permanent as anything
can be in an ultimately impermanent world. El Greco’s The Trinity and da
Vinci’s The Virgin and Child With St. Anne are also permanent exemplars of
beauty.
This same permanence is also found in music. Mozart’s Requiem
Mass in D will be conducted differently by Szell or Ozawa. Mahler’s Third
Symphony will sound slightly differently with Zubin Mehta or Maurice
Abravanel at the helm. Palestrina’s Pope Marcellus Mass will also be heard
differently with different singers. Nevertheless, the beauty is rooted in the
composition that remains, no matter who is singing, playing or conducting.
Friendship, a relationship that is extolled in ancient thought (e.g., Aristotle’s
Nichomachean Ethics) and by medieval thinkers (e.g., Saint Aelred of Riveaux’s
On Spiritual Friendship—a restatement of Aristotle for Christian theology
which holds that in every true friendship there is a third, Christ) is at its best
permanent. It is not, however, complementary. As Aristotle says, the friend is
a “second self.”
Parenthood is, of course, a crucial telos of marriage. Parenthood,
however, is more than merely being a sperm or egg donor. Parenthood
comes from marriage but does not define marriage. Married couples come
before families. In some cases, because of age, illness or infertility, marriage
Richard Sherlock 129
cannot involve a biological family; such a marriage, however, can still exem-
plify beauty.
The second stage of universal fittingness is again a fact that social
scientists can demonstrate and a phenomenology of the human person can
more fully reveal. Men and women are psychologically different yet comple-
mentary. Men and women are morally, politically, and spiritually equal but
they are not interchangeable. There is a psychological and social complemen-
tarity that point to the truth that only male and female persons can become
“one flesh.”14
Finally, there is a spiritual unity in diversity in marriage. Men and
women differ in the way they come to God. They can and do come to the
same point, although their ways are different. This too is well documented,
both empirically and phenomenologically.15
In a universal sense then, marriage involves a complete giving of one
person to another in the threefold manner just noted. These are the fitting
and complimentary ways in which we are created. Somewhat like the Trinity
there is a threefold unity of persons who remain distinct.
Yet in each beautiful marriage there is that which is uniquely fitting
for that marriage. The notes of every beautiful marriage may be broadly the
same. Each marriage, however, plays the notes differently. Of course, there is
a total giving of one person to another in intimacy, work, play, and faith. The
persons do not dissolve their individuality. They complete it. As a lifelong
commitment, the beauty of marital love is renewed constantly. Like The Pieta,
it is permanent. Like Bach’s The Passion of our Lord According to the Gospel of St.
John, it changes each time it is played.
Every true marriage is unique. This is a point that Saint John Paul II
makes repeatedly. In The Theology of the Body, for instance, he writes:
They reveal themselves to one another with that specific depth
of their own human “I” which precisely reveals through their
sex, their masculinity and their femininity. And thus in a singu-
lar way the woman “is given” in the mode of knowledge to the
man and he to her.16
Marital love thus embodies the three elements of beauty we noted
earlier. First, the married couple fits together as a unique whole that is greater
than the sum of the parts. The persons are still unique individuals. In the
self-giving love of the marital union the persons become a fuller and larger
couple than they would be if they were only friends at work or play. As Saint
14
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 479–80.
15
Marta Trzebiatowska and Steve Bruce, Why are Women More Religious than
Men (London: Oxford University, 2012).
16
Saint John Paul II, A Theology of the Body, 189.
130 The Beauty of Marital Love Richard Sherlock 131
John Paul II writes: “One can understand this ‘spousal’ meaning of the hu- transcendent” should be developed as another path from the temporal to
man body only in the context of the person. The body has a spousal meaning the transcendent, a natural theology of beauty. Finally, how might art that
because the human person…is a creature that God willed for his own sake presents a violent scene or a corrupt character (e.g., Iago in Verdi’s Othello)
and that, at the same time, cannot fully find himself, except through the gift nevertheless point us to the good?
of self.” Of course, he notes, that some may give themselves in celibacy for Much more work needs to be done on all of these questions. If
God. Yet this giving also shows that human persons find themselves most my argument has merit, I have shown that core elements of beauty taken
fully in a complete gift of self.17 from what are universally acknowledged as forms of beauty, nature, visual
Secondly, this unity of two persons points beyond itself to the good arts, music, and sculpture, can be analogically found in male-female marriage.
of human unity. It exemplifies the unity in difference that should be the goal Questions unique to marriage also follow. How does the beauty of marriage
of all human beings. Though more deeply than other relationships, marriage in its complementarity and permanence reflect an image of the complemen-
directs our attention to the broader truth of harmony and care for others tarity and permanence of the Trinity? Saint John Paul II has made this point
that we intuitively recognize as human goods. A wonderful example is Leon- explicitly in his Familiaris Consortio, but much more should be done to explore
ardo da Vinci’s 1510 masterpiece Virgin and Child With St. Anne. We recognize this. How do bad marriages, divorce, and imperfect non-marital relationships
immediately a relationship of love that is fully human yet profound. None of nevertheless point us to the truth, even in their untruth? These analyses of
the three have halos marking the divine. But the depth of a truly human good beauty itself and of marital beauty will take time and care in the future.
is obvious.
Finally, marital love is an intimation of the greatest of all possible —Utah State University
loves: God’s love for us. The sanctity of marriage can bring to us the “sense
of the sacred” that Scruton holds is part of the telos of art.
This beauty of marital love directs us to the eternal beauty, of the re-
lation between both God and persons and God and the Church. The Song of
Songs and Ephesians are central texts in this regard. The beauty of marital love
is found at its deepest level when the “two become one flesh.” In a similar
manner, God comes to us as one person, both fully divine and fully human.
This essay has only been a first sketch of bringing together a phil-
osophical understanding of beauty with the thought of Saint John Paul II
on marriage. Much more detailed studies need to be done. Theologically,
three questions are evident. First, how does the threefold structure of beauty
that we have suggested connect with the Trinity, perhaps as an image of the
Trinity in the world? Second, how might the unity in diversity of the married
couple be an image of God’s relation to the world as suggested in Ephesians?
Third, how might this same reality point to the unity and difference in the
Incarnation? Finally, how is this understanding of beauty connected with, or
distinct from, the work of Hans Urs von Balthasar, in whose work beauty is
a central concept?
Philosophically, in order to come to a richer understanding of beau-
ty in general, much more needs to be done in three areas. First, more needs
to be explored about the difference between the beauty found in music,
which changes every time it is played, and other arts, like painting, that do
not change. Secondly, the idea that true beauty embodies a “trace of the

17
Ibid.
130 The Beauty of Marital Love Richard Sherlock 131
John Paul II writes: “One can understand this ‘spousal’ meaning of the hu- transcendent” should be developed as another path from the temporal to
man body only in the context of the person. The body has a spousal meaning the transcendent, a natural theology of beauty. Finally, how might art that
because the human person…is a creature that God willed for his own sake presents a violent scene or a corrupt character (e.g., Iago in Verdi’s Othello)
and that, at the same time, cannot fully find himself, except through the gift nevertheless point us to the good?
of self.” Of course, he notes, that some may give themselves in celibacy for Much more work needs to be done on all of these questions. If
God. Yet this giving also shows that human persons find themselves most my argument has merit, I have shown that core elements of beauty taken
fully in a complete gift of self.17 from what are universally acknowledged as forms of beauty, nature, visual
Secondly, this unity of two persons points beyond itself to the good arts, music, and sculpture, can be analogically found in male-female marriage.
of human unity. It exemplifies the unity in difference that should be the goal Questions unique to marriage also follow. How does the beauty of marriage
of all human beings. Though more deeply than other relationships, marriage in its complementarity and permanence reflect an image of the complemen-
directs our attention to the broader truth of harmony and care for others tarity and permanence of the Trinity? Saint John Paul II has made this point
that we intuitively recognize as human goods. A wonderful example is Leon- explicitly in his Familiaris Consortio, but much more should be done to explore
ardo da Vinci’s 1510 masterpiece Virgin and Child With St. Anne. We recognize this. How do bad marriages, divorce, and imperfect non-marital relationships
immediately a relationship of love that is fully human yet profound. None of nevertheless point us to the truth, even in their untruth? These analyses of
the three have halos marking the divine. But the depth of a truly human good beauty itself and of marital beauty will take time and care in the future.
is obvious.
Finally, marital love is an intimation of the greatest of all possible —Utah State University
loves: God’s love for us. The sanctity of marriage can bring to us the “sense
of the sacred” that Scruton holds is part of the telos of art.
This beauty of marital love directs us to the eternal beauty, of the re-
lation between both God and persons and God and the Church. The Song of
Songs and Ephesians are central texts in this regard. The beauty of marital love
is found at its deepest level when the “two become one flesh.” In a similar
manner, God comes to us as one person, both fully divine and fully human.
This essay has only been a first sketch of bringing together a phil-
osophical understanding of beauty with the thought of Saint John Paul II
on marriage. Much more detailed studies need to be done. Theologically,
three questions are evident. First, how does the threefold structure of beauty
that we have suggested connect with the Trinity, perhaps as an image of the
Trinity in the world? Second, how might the unity in diversity of the married
couple be an image of God’s relation to the world as suggested in Ephesians?
Third, how might this same reality point to the unity and difference in the
Incarnation? Finally, how is this understanding of beauty connected with, or
distinct from, the work of Hans Urs von Balthasar, in whose work beauty is
a central concept?
Philosophically, in order to come to a richer understanding of beau-
ty in general, much more needs to be done in three areas. First, more needs
to be explored about the difference between the beauty found in music,
which changes every time it is played, and other arts, like painting, that do
not change. Secondly, the idea that true beauty embodies a “trace of the

17
Ibid.

Beauty, the Person, and Disability:
Understanding (and Defending)
the Intrinsic Beauty and Value
of the Person with Disabilities
Theresa Farnan
In February 2012, the British Journal of Medical Ethics published a paper that
garnered notoriety for its central premise. In “After birth abortion: why
should the baby live?” authors Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva ar-
gue that infanticide as well as abortion should be legal in cases of babies born
with disabilities.1 They focus on two disabilities—Treacher Collins syndrome
and Down syndrome—as instances where infanticide should be permitted.
Let me state at the outset that I absolutely reject their claim that
unborn and newborn human beings lack the moral status of personhood,
as well as their abhorrent conclusion that it is acceptable to kill them.2 In
this paper, however, I would like to focus on a more subtle aspect of their
1
Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should
the baby live?” Journal of Medical Ethics 39, no. 5 (2013): 261–63; first published Feb-
ruary 23, 2012, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2011-100411, accessed August 22, 2015,
http://jme.bmj.com/content/early/2012/03/01/medethics-2011-100411.full.
2
A quick survey of responses to their paper reveals that many commenta-
tors reject this argument. See for example, Jacqueline A. Laing, “Infanticide: A reply
to Giubilini and Minerva” Journal of Medical Ethics 39, no. 5 (2013): 336–40, doi:
10.1136/medethics-2012-100664; M. Beard and S. Lynch, “Personhood, harm, and
interest: A reply to Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva,” Journal of Medical Eth-
ics 39, no. 5 (2013): e1–e4, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2012-100692, accessed August
22, 2015, http://researchonline.nd.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1023&con-
text=phil_article. Some of the short responses to the article are quite compelling,
including this reply by Josephine M. Treloar, a physician and mother of a child with
trisomy 13, who observed “Professionals caring for mothers of babies with disabil-
ities must accept that there is another view, even if they do not understand it: that
these babies can give and receive love. Your article reads like a court proceeding in
which all possible evidence against the baby living was taken into account, but there
was no advocate for the baby” (Josephine M. Treloar, “Where there is no love…,”
response to Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should the baby live?”
published March 14, 2012, accessed August 22, 2015, http://jme.bmj.com/content/
early/2012/03/01/medethics-2011-100411.short/reply#medethics_el_3870).
© Theresa Farnan, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Theresa Farnan 133
argument. Giubilini and Minerva argue specifically that killing is acceptable,
even justifiable, in the case of two particular disabilities involving distinctive,
sometimes disfiguring, physical and facial characteristics. While Giubilini and
Minerva avoid discussing whether an infant’s present or predicted appearance
may influence parents’ perception of the child’s value, the authors’ choice of
visible, distinctive disabilities seems designed to create the mental image of a
human being who is “other” and “less than” as a way to reinforce their claim
that these infants lack the moral status of personhood.3
I have two goals in this paper. First, I will follow the logic of Gi-
ubilini and Minerva’s argument and demonstrate that it leads to the absolute
affirmation of parent preference over the rights of the child, even after birth,
regardless of the presence or absence of disability, and potentially on the
basis of appearance alone. Second, I will reflect on the way that disability
in human persons presents difficulties for our attempts to understand and
define beauty. If we accept as given that beauty is related in a meaningful way
to goodness, and therefore perfection, then the visible, sometimes shocking,
physical imperfections that can be present in the disabled person would seem
automatically to exclude him or her from being considered beautiful. And
yet, if beauty were related in a meaningful way to goodness, it would seem
that persons with disabilities like Down syndrome, many of whom are cog-
nitively incapable of malice, should be considered among the most beautiful
human beings. The exclusion of these persons from the beautiful undercuts
the relationship of the beautiful with the good. Accordingly, in this paper, I
will argue that persons with disabilities challenge us to look more carefully at
the meaning of beauty in the human person.
Moreover, the arguments by Giubilini and Minerva, as well as ar-
guments previously made by Peter Singer, are not merely academic; there
are real consequences for persons with disabilities as well as for the rest of
3
Giubilini and Minerva echo Peter Singer’s argument that “the preference
utilitarian reason for respecting the life of a person cannot apply to a newborn baby.
Newborn babies cannot see themselves as beings that might or might not have a
future, and so they cannot have a desire to continue living. For the same reason, if a
right to life must be based on the capacity to want to go on living, or on the ability
to see oneself as a continuing mental subject, a newborn baby cannot have a right to
life. Finally a newborn baby is not an autonomous being, capable of making choices,
and to kill a newborn baby cannot violate the principle of respect for autonomy. In
all this, the newborn baby is on the same footing as the fetus, and hence fewer rea-
sons exist against killing both babies and fetuses than exist against killing those who
are capable of seeing themselves as distinct entities existing over time” (Peter Singer,
Practical Ethics, 3rd ed. [New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011], 152). Singer
concludes that the preference of the parents has sole weight in whether or not they
may be killed, even in cases where the disability is not life threatening and the infant
probably will grow up to enjoy a happy life (Singer, Practical Ethics, 159–67).

Beauty, the Person, and Disability:
Understanding (and Defending)
the Intrinsic Beauty and Value
of the Person with Disabilities
Theresa Farnan
In February 2012, the British Journal of Medical Ethics published a paper that
garnered notoriety for its central premise. In “After birth abortion: why
should the baby live?” authors Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva ar-
gue that infanticide as well as abortion should be legal in cases of babies born
with disabilities.1 They focus on two disabilities—Treacher Collins syndrome
and Down syndrome—as instances where infanticide should be permitted.
Let me state at the outset that I absolutely reject their claim that
unborn and newborn human beings lack the moral status of personhood,
as well as their abhorrent conclusion that it is acceptable to kill them.2 In
this paper, however, I would like to focus on a more subtle aspect of their
1
Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should
the baby live?” Journal of Medical Ethics 39, no. 5 (2013): 261–63; first published Feb-
ruary 23, 2012, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2011-100411, accessed August 22, 2015,
http://jme.bmj.com/content/early/2012/03/01/medethics-2011-100411.full.
2
A quick survey of responses to their paper reveals that many commenta-
tors reject this argument. See for example, Jacqueline A. Laing, “Infanticide: A reply
to Giubilini and Minerva” Journal of Medical Ethics 39, no. 5 (2013): 336–40, doi:
10.1136/medethics-2012-100664; M. Beard and S. Lynch, “Personhood, harm, and
interest: A reply to Alberto Giubilini and Francesca Minerva,” Journal of Medical Eth-
ics 39, no. 5 (2013): e1–e4, doi: 10.1136/medethics-2012-100692, accessed August
22, 2015, http://researchonline.nd.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1023&con-
text=phil_article. Some of the short responses to the article are quite compelling,
including this reply by Josephine M. Treloar, a physician and mother of a child with
trisomy 13, who observed “Professionals caring for mothers of babies with disabil-
ities must accept that there is another view, even if they do not understand it: that
these babies can give and receive love. Your article reads like a court proceeding in
which all possible evidence against the baby living was taken into account, but there
was no advocate for the baby” (Josephine M. Treloar, “Where there is no love…,”
response to Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should the baby live?”
published March 14, 2012, accessed August 22, 2015, http://jme.bmj.com/content/
early/2012/03/01/medethics-2011-100411.short/reply#medethics_el_3870).
© Theresa Farnan, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Theresa Farnan 133
argument. Giubilini and Minerva argue specifically that killing is acceptable,
even justifiable, in the case of two particular disabilities involving distinctive,
sometimes disfiguring, physical and facial characteristics. While Giubilini and
Minerva avoid discussing whether an infant’s present or predicted appearance
may influence parents’ perception of the child’s value, the authors’ choice of
visible, distinctive disabilities seems designed to create the mental image of a
human being who is “other” and “less than” as a way to reinforce their claim
that these infants lack the moral status of personhood.3
I have two goals in this paper. First, I will follow the logic of Gi-
ubilini and Minerva’s argument and demonstrate that it leads to the absolute
affirmation of parent preference over the rights of the child, even after birth,
regardless of the presence or absence of disability, and potentially on the
basis of appearance alone. Second, I will reflect on the way that disability
in human persons presents difficulties for our attempts to understand and
define beauty. If we accept as given that beauty is related in a meaningful way
to goodness, and therefore perfection, then the visible, sometimes shocking,
physical imperfections that can be present in the disabled person would seem
automatically to exclude him or her from being considered beautiful. And
yet, if beauty were related in a meaningful way to goodness, it would seem
that persons with disabilities like Down syndrome, many of whom are cog-
nitively incapable of malice, should be considered among the most beautiful
human beings. The exclusion of these persons from the beautiful undercuts
the relationship of the beautiful with the good. Accordingly, in this paper, I
will argue that persons with disabilities challenge us to look more carefully at
the meaning of beauty in the human person.
Moreover, the arguments by Giubilini and Minerva, as well as ar-
guments previously made by Peter Singer, are not merely academic; there
are real consequences for persons with disabilities as well as for the rest of
3
Giubilini and Minerva echo Peter Singer’s argument that “the preference
utilitarian reason for respecting the life of a person cannot apply to a newborn baby.
Newborn babies cannot see themselves as beings that might or might not have a
future, and so they cannot have a desire to continue living. For the same reason, if a
right to life must be based on the capacity to want to go on living, or on the ability
to see oneself as a continuing mental subject, a newborn baby cannot have a right to
life. Finally a newborn baby is not an autonomous being, capable of making choices,
and to kill a newborn baby cannot violate the principle of respect for autonomy. In
all this, the newborn baby is on the same footing as the fetus, and hence fewer rea-
sons exist against killing both babies and fetuses than exist against killing those who
are capable of seeing themselves as distinct entities existing over time” (Peter Singer,
Practical Ethics, 3rd ed. [New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011], 152). Singer
concludes that the preference of the parents has sole weight in whether or not they
may be killed, even in cases where the disability is not life threatening and the infant
probably will grow up to enjoy a happy life (Singer, Practical Ethics, 159–67).
134 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
society, since the premises these authors advance influence policy discussions
and the actual practice of medicine.4 With the advent of genetic testing, both
before and after birth, a person diagnosed with a disability, especially one that
is disfiguring or aesthetically unappealing, is vulnerable to eugenic abortion
or infanticide in order to accommodate the parents’ desire for an attractive
or at least “normal looking” child. This is not, as it is so often presented, a
private choice. The acceptance of eugenic abortion and infanticide has grave
implications for the society that tolerates or encourages such intentional kill-
ing of innocent life.5
4
In his justification for publishing this article, editor Julian Savulescu ac-
knowledged that these arguments have already influenced medical protocols for in-
fanticide such as the Groningen Protocol in the Netherlands, and confirmed that the
publication of “After Birth Abortion” marked the “extension of the existing debate
around infanticide from medical indications to social indications” (Savulescu,“Why
Did the Journal Publish an Article Defending Infanticide?,” editorial justification to
publish Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should the baby live?,”
accessed August 30, 2015, http://jme.bmj.com/content/suppl/2012/03/01/mede-
thics-2011-100411.DC2/Savulescu_JME_defence_editorial.pdf).
5
A recent article about preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) noted some
of the ethical problems this causes, even for those who accept eugenic abortion
as a means to eliminate genetic illnesses. “But the procedure also raises unsettling
ethical questions that trouble advocates for the disabled and have left some doctors
struggling with what they should tell their patients. When are prospective parents
justified in discarding embryos? Is it acceptable, for example, for diseases like GSS
(Gerstmann-Straussler-Scheinker disease), that develop in adulthood? What if a gene
only increases the risk of a disease? And should people be able to use it to pick
whether they have a boy or girl? A recent international survey found that 2 percent
of more than 27,000 uses of [PGD] were made to choose a child’s sex. In the United
States, there are no regulations that limit the method’s use. The Society for Assisted
Reproductive Technology, whose members provide [PGD], says it is ‘ethically jus-
tified’ to prevent serious adult diseases for which ‘no safe, effective interventions
are available.’ The method is ‘ethically allowed’ for conditions ‘of lesser severity’
or for which the gene increases risk but does not guarantee a disease” (Gina Ko-
lata, “Ethics Questions Arise as Genetic Testing of Embryos Increases,” New York
Times, February 3, 2014, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/02/04/health/ethics-ques-
tions-arise-as-genetic-testing-of-embryos-increases.html?_r=0). Even more trou-
bling, in this same article, some bioethicists argue that this kind of genetic screening
should be obligatory. “Janet Malek, a bioethicist at the Brody School of Medicine at
East Carolina University, said that people who carry a gene like GSS have a moral
duty to use [PGD]—if they can afford it—to spare the next generation. ‘If there is
a paradigm example in which a parent can have an obligation to use this technology,
this is it,’ she said” (ibid.).
Theresa Farnan 135
Beauty as a stumbling block for acceptance
Imagine that you are an expectant or new mother or father who receives this
description of your unborn child (Down syndrome): Your child will have “a
distinct facial appearance”—a small head with “flattened facial features,” a
protruding tongue, small, low-set ears and eyes slanting upward, to a degree
that is “unusual for the child’s ethnic group.” He or she will have a shortened
neck, “broad short hands with a single crease in the palm,” “relatively short
fingers and small hands and feet,” and “poor muscle tone.”6 He or she may
have “excess skin at the nape of the neck” and “separated joints between the
bones of the skull,” and his or her head may be “abnormally shaped.” “No
matter the severity of the condition,” your child will have this distinctive
appearance.7
Or suppose you are handed this description (Treacher Collins syn-
drome): Your child may “have underdeveloped facial bones, particularly
the cheek bones, and a very small jaw and chin.” Your child may have “an
opening in the roof of the mouth called a cleft palate” and “eyes that slant
downward, sparse eyelashes, and a notch in the lower eyelids called an eyelid
coloboma.” He or she may “have additional eye abnormalities that can lead
to vision loss…and absent, small, or unusually formed ears.”8
In both of these cases, the expectant parents can readily access pic-
tures of other children and adults with these syndromes. It is worth noting
that published pictures and descriptions often highlight the distinctive fea-
tures that persons with these disabilities usually have, leading parents to focus
on how different their unborn baby’s appearance will be from typical babies.9
Descriptions and pictures of these and other disabilities are so at odds with
6
Mayo clinic, Diseases and Conditions, s.v. “Down Syndrome,” accessed Novem-
ber 22, 2014, http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/down-syndrome/ba-
sics/symptoms/con-20020948.
7
ADAM Medical Encyclopedia (Medline Plus), s.v. “Down Syndrome,” accessed
November 22, 2014, http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000997.
htm.
8
Genetics Home Reference, s.v. “Treacher Collins Syndrome,” accessed Novem-
ber 22, 2014, http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/treacher-collins-syndrome.
9
In the case of these two disabilities, the parents will also be told that there
may be accompanying health difficulties. In the first case, Down syndrome, there will
be some degree of cognitive impairment, ranging from mild to severe, and there may
be other health issues, most notably cardiac anomalies. In the second case, Treacher
Collins syndrome, there is likely no cognitive impairment, and the accompanying
health issues, mild to severe, are directly related to the facial structure. However, at
the time of the initial diagnosis, there is often no way to ascertain how severe these
conditions will be. See articles referenced in footnotes 3, 4, and 5 above.
134 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
society, since the premises these authors advance influence policy discussions
and the actual practice of medicine.4 With the advent of genetic testing, both
before and after birth, a person diagnosed with a disability, especially one that
is disfiguring or aesthetically unappealing, is vulnerable to eugenic abortion
or infanticide in order to accommodate the parents’ desire for an attractive
or at least “normal looking” child. This is not, as it is so often presented, a
private choice. The acceptance of eugenic abortion and infanticide has grave
implications for the society that tolerates or encourages such intentional kill-
ing of innocent life.5
4
In his justification for publishing this article, editor Julian Savulescu ac-
knowledged that these arguments have already influenced medical protocols for in-
fanticide such as the Groningen Protocol in the Netherlands, and confirmed that the
publication of “After Birth Abortion” marked the “extension of the existing debate
around infanticide from medical indications to social indications” (Savulescu,“Why
Did the Journal Publish an Article Defending Infanticide?,” editorial justification to
publish Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion: why should the baby live?,”
accessed August 30, 2015, http://jme.bmj.com/content/suppl/2012/03/01/mede-
thics-2011-100411.DC2/Savulescu_JME_defence_editorial.pdf).
5
A recent article about preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) noted some
of the ethical problems this causes, even for those who accept eugenic abortion
as a means to eliminate genetic illnesses. “But the procedure also raises unsettling
ethical questions that trouble advocates for the disabled and have left some doctors
struggling with what they should tell their patients. When are prospective parents
justified in discarding embryos? Is it acceptable, for example, for diseases like GSS
(Gerstmann-Straussler-Scheinker disease), that develop in adulthood? What if a gene
only increases the risk of a disease? And should people be able to use it to pick
whether they have a boy or girl? A recent international survey found that 2 percent
of more than 27,000 uses of [PGD] were made to choose a child’s sex. In the United
States, there are no regulations that limit the method’s use. The Society for Assisted
Reproductive Technology, whose members provide [PGD], says it is ‘ethically jus-
tified’ to prevent serious adult diseases for which ‘no safe, effective interventions
are available.’ The method is ‘ethically allowed’ for conditions ‘of lesser severity’
or for which the gene increases risk but does not guarantee a disease” (Gina Ko-
lata, “Ethics Questions Arise as Genetic Testing of Embryos Increases,” New York
Times, February 3, 2014, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/02/04/health/ethics-ques-
tions-arise-as-genetic-testing-of-embryos-increases.html?_r=0). Even more trou-
bling, in this same article, some bioethicists argue that this kind of genetic screening
should be obligatory. “Janet Malek, a bioethicist at the Brody School of Medicine at
East Carolina University, said that people who carry a gene like GSS have a moral
duty to use [PGD]—if they can afford it—to spare the next generation. ‘If there is
a paradigm example in which a parent can have an obligation to use this technology,
this is it,’ she said” (ibid.).
Theresa Farnan 135
Beauty as a stumbling block for acceptance
Imagine that you are an expectant or new mother or father who receives this
description of your unborn child (Down syndrome): Your child will have “a
distinct facial appearance”—a small head with “flattened facial features,” a
protruding tongue, small, low-set ears and eyes slanting upward, to a degree
that is “unusual for the child’s ethnic group.” He or she will have a shortened
neck, “broad short hands with a single crease in the palm,” “relatively short
fingers and small hands and feet,” and “poor muscle tone.”6 He or she may
have “excess skin at the nape of the neck” and “separated joints between the
bones of the skull,” and his or her head may be “abnormally shaped.” “No
matter the severity of the condition,” your child will have this distinctive
appearance.7
Or suppose you are handed this description (Treacher Collins syn-
drome): Your child may “have underdeveloped facial bones, particularly
the cheek bones, and a very small jaw and chin.” Your child may have “an
opening in the roof of the mouth called a cleft palate” and “eyes that slant
downward, sparse eyelashes, and a notch in the lower eyelids called an eyelid
coloboma.” He or she may “have additional eye abnormalities that can lead
to vision loss…and absent, small, or unusually formed ears.”8
In both of these cases, the expectant parents can readily access pic-
tures of other children and adults with these syndromes. It is worth noting
that published pictures and descriptions often highlight the distinctive fea-
tures that persons with these disabilities usually have, leading parents to focus
on how different their unborn baby’s appearance will be from typical babies.9
Descriptions and pictures of these and other disabilities are so at odds with
6
Mayo clinic, Diseases and Conditions, s.v. “Down Syndrome,” accessed Novem-
ber 22, 2014, http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/down-syndrome/ba-
sics/symptoms/con-20020948.
7
ADAM Medical Encyclopedia (Medline Plus), s.v. “Down Syndrome,” accessed
November 22, 2014, http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/000997.
htm.
8
Genetics Home Reference, s.v. “Treacher Collins Syndrome,” accessed Novem-
ber 22, 2014, http://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/condition/treacher-collins-syndrome.
9
In the case of these two disabilities, the parents will also be told that there
may be accompanying health difficulties. In the first case, Down syndrome, there will
be some degree of cognitive impairment, ranging from mild to severe, and there may
be other health issues, most notably cardiac anomalies. In the second case, Treacher
Collins syndrome, there is likely no cognitive impairment, and the accompanying
health issues, mild to severe, are directly related to the facial structure. However, at
the time of the initial diagnosis, there is often no way to ascertain how severe these
conditions will be. See articles referenced in footnotes 3, 4, and 5 above.
136 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
cultural expectations and classical conceptions of beauty that they form a
genuine psychological barrier to accepting the child’s humanity.
Political and Philosophical Context for “After-birth Abortion”
At the time Giubilini and Minerva published this article in the Journal of
Medical Ethics, the British Parliament was conducting an inquiry into the eth-
ics of abortion in cases of disability, focusing on section one of the 1967
Abortion Act, which permits abortion in cases of disabilities.10 The inquiry
focused especially on the troubling aspects of aborting babies with cleft pal-
ate or Down syndrome and noted the connection between appearance and
abortions performed for eugenic reasons. According to one of the written
responses, entered as evidence in the report, “Ground E reflects to me the
spectre of eugenics and the worrying trend in society to only value the per-
fect and beautiful, the ‘useful’ and productive.”11
This comment implicitly identifies the philosophies that are most in-
fluential in marginalizing and rejecting disabled persons based on appearance:
materialism and utilitarianism.12 While it is true that a number of different
philosophical ideas influence attitudes toward disabled persons, materialism
and utilitarianism uniquely cause typically-abled, typically-appearing persons
to question the value of others based on surface impressions. In fact, these
10
Section one of the 1967 Abortion Act of the United Kingdom stipulates
that abortion is allowed if “there is a substantial risk that if the child were born it
would suffer from such physical or mental abnormalities as to be seriously handi-
capped” (Abortion Act 1967, 15 Eliz. 2, c. 87, § 1[1][b], http://www.legislation.gov.
uk/ukpga/1967/87/pdfs/ukpga_19670087_en.pdf). The Law is notable for allow-
ing abortion up to and at birth in cases of disability as well as for its vagueness as to
what constitutes a serious handicap. See also Human Fertilisation and Embryology
Act 1990, 38 Eliz. 2, c. 37, http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1990/37/pdfs/
ukpga_19900037_en.pdf. For a brief history of the Abortion Act and subsequent
amendments, see “Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability,” accessed
April 16, 2016, http://scotscatholic.org/upload/Abortion%20and%20Disabili-
ty%20Report%2017%207%2013.pdf.
11
Bruce, et al., Parliamentary Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability.
12
In this section, I am considering the particular form of preference utili-
tarianism exemplified by Peter Singer and by Giubilini and Minerva. This particular
approach to utilitarian ethics has had the greatest influence on the debate about
abortion and euthanasia of infants. Proponents of abortion and euthanasia combine
arguments about the suffering of the child with deference to the preferences of the
parents, pivoting off the definition of personhood set forth by Singer in Practical
Ethics.
Theresa Farnan 137
two philosophies are thoroughly intertwined in our culture’s approach to dis-
ability.
Materialism leads to seeing the person only in terms of his or her
physical, material limitations, including physical and cognitive limitations. A
materialist who encounters physical limitations in a person may assume the
presence of cognitive limitations even when none are present. For those who
believe that there is nothing more to a person than the material body, who
reject any ability of the person to transcend his or her body, and who believe
that all cognitive and emotional activity is circumscribed by the confines of
the body, the appearance of disability signals a life not worth living.
The ethical theory of utilitarianism, then, is a comfortable fit for the
materialist, especially when considering issues relating to disability. From the
time Jeremy Bentham articulated pleasure and pain as decisive factors in eval-
uating the morality of an action, utilitarian philosophers have grappled with
ways to account for intangible values like beauty.13 But even if the utilitarian
adopts a perspective that allows for beauty as an intangible good that gives
pleasure, it is difficult to see how he would accommodate the person with
visible physical defects, or whether he would see any value in this project.
This raises an important question for utilitarian philosophers: How
would they respond to parents who claim that their child’s appearance con-
stitutes an intolerable burden, an insurmountable obstacle to their happiness?
Suppose for instance, that a child is born with a moderate case of Treacher
Collins syndrome, able to breathe and eat without difficulty, with a correct-
ible hearing impairment, and no cognitive impairment. However, his appear-
ance is distinctively different. If parents view the psychological burden of
caring for an unattractive, disfigured child as an extreme hardship, should
they be permitted to kill the child and try again? Moreover, should we accept
that how others regard a person’s appearance constitutes such suffering on
the part of the parents or the child that it is better for that person not to live?
Utilitarian philosopher Peter Singer skirts this issue in in his article
“Ethics and Disability” by protesting that, unlike differences of appearance,
disability causes suffering. While dismissive of the rights and value of dis-
abled infants, he becomes noticeably squeamish at the thought of abortion
13
See for example, “Value of a Lot of Pleasure or Pain, How to be Measured”
and “Pleasures and Pains, Their Kinds,” chap. 4 and 5 in Bentham’s Introduction to the
Principles of Morals and Legislation ([Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907], accessed Octo-
ber 21, 2014, http://www.econlib.org/library/Bentham/bnthPML.html), in which
he describes the felicific calculus and how to use it. His first three pains, pains of
privation, the senses and awkwardness especially apply to the suffering of various
kinds of disability. See also G.E. Moore’s discussion of beauty in “The Ideal,” chap.
6 in Principia Ethica (Buffalo: Prometheus, 1988), accessed October 21, 2014, http://
fair-use.org/g-e-moore/principia-ethica.
136 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
cultural expectations and classical conceptions of beauty that they form a
genuine psychological barrier to accepting the child’s humanity.
Political and Philosophical Context for “After-birth Abortion”
At the time Giubilini and Minerva published this article in the Journal of
Medical Ethics, the British Parliament was conducting an inquiry into the eth-
ics of abortion in cases of disability, focusing on section one of the 1967
Abortion Act, which permits abortion in cases of disabilities.10 The inquiry
focused especially on the troubling aspects of aborting babies with cleft pal-
ate or Down syndrome and noted the connection between appearance and
abortions performed for eugenic reasons. According to one of the written
responses, entered as evidence in the report, “Ground E reflects to me the
spectre of eugenics and the worrying trend in society to only value the per-
fect and beautiful, the ‘useful’ and productive.”11
This comment implicitly identifies the philosophies that are most in-
fluential in marginalizing and rejecting disabled persons based on appearance:
materialism and utilitarianism.12 While it is true that a number of different
philosophical ideas influence attitudes toward disabled persons, materialism
and utilitarianism uniquely cause typically-abled, typically-appearing persons
to question the value of others based on surface impressions. In fact, these
10
Section one of the 1967 Abortion Act of the United Kingdom stipulates
that abortion is allowed if “there is a substantial risk that if the child were born it
would suffer from such physical or mental abnormalities as to be seriously handi-
capped” (Abortion Act 1967, 15 Eliz. 2, c. 87, § 1[1][b], http://www.legislation.gov.
uk/ukpga/1967/87/pdfs/ukpga_19670087_en.pdf). The Law is notable for allow-
ing abortion up to and at birth in cases of disability as well as for its vagueness as to
what constitutes a serious handicap. See also Human Fertilisation and Embryology
Act 1990, 38 Eliz. 2, c. 37, http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/1990/37/pdfs/
ukpga_19900037_en.pdf. For a brief history of the Abortion Act and subsequent
amendments, see “Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability,” accessed
April 16, 2016, http://scotscatholic.org/upload/Abortion%20and%20Disabili-
ty%20Report%2017%207%2013.pdf.
11
Bruce, et al., Parliamentary Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability.
12
In this section, I am considering the particular form of preference utili-
tarianism exemplified by Peter Singer and by Giubilini and Minerva. This particular
approach to utilitarian ethics has had the greatest influence on the debate about
abortion and euthanasia of infants. Proponents of abortion and euthanasia combine
arguments about the suffering of the child with deference to the preferences of the
parents, pivoting off the definition of personhood set forth by Singer in Practical
Ethics.
Theresa Farnan 137
two philosophies are thoroughly intertwined in our culture’s approach to dis-
ability.
Materialism leads to seeing the person only in terms of his or her
physical, material limitations, including physical and cognitive limitations. A
materialist who encounters physical limitations in a person may assume the
presence of cognitive limitations even when none are present. For those who
believe that there is nothing more to a person than the material body, who
reject any ability of the person to transcend his or her body, and who believe
that all cognitive and emotional activity is circumscribed by the confines of
the body, the appearance of disability signals a life not worth living.
The ethical theory of utilitarianism, then, is a comfortable fit for the
materialist, especially when considering issues relating to disability. From the
time Jeremy Bentham articulated pleasure and pain as decisive factors in eval-
uating the morality of an action, utilitarian philosophers have grappled with
ways to account for intangible values like beauty.13 But even if the utilitarian
adopts a perspective that allows for beauty as an intangible good that gives
pleasure, it is difficult to see how he would accommodate the person with
visible physical defects, or whether he would see any value in this project.
This raises an important question for utilitarian philosophers: How
would they respond to parents who claim that their child’s appearance con-
stitutes an intolerable burden, an insurmountable obstacle to their happiness?
Suppose for instance, that a child is born with a moderate case of Treacher
Collins syndrome, able to breathe and eat without difficulty, with a correct-
ible hearing impairment, and no cognitive impairment. However, his appear-
ance is distinctively different. If parents view the psychological burden of
caring for an unattractive, disfigured child as an extreme hardship, should
they be permitted to kill the child and try again? Moreover, should we accept
that how others regard a person’s appearance constitutes such suffering on
the part of the parents or the child that it is better for that person not to live?
Utilitarian philosopher Peter Singer skirts this issue in in his article
“Ethics and Disability” by protesting that, unlike differences of appearance,
disability causes suffering. While dismissive of the rights and value of dis-
abled infants, he becomes noticeably squeamish at the thought of abortion
13
See for example, “Value of a Lot of Pleasure or Pain, How to be Measured”
and “Pleasures and Pains, Their Kinds,” chap. 4 and 5 in Bentham’s Introduction to the
Principles of Morals and Legislation ([Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1907], accessed Octo-
ber 21, 2014, http://www.econlib.org/library/Bentham/bnthPML.html), in which
he describes the felicific calculus and how to use it. His first three pains, pains of
privation, the senses and awkwardness especially apply to the suffering of various
kinds of disability. See also G.E. Moore’s discussion of beauty in “The Ideal,” chap.
6 in Principia Ethica (Buffalo: Prometheus, 1988), accessed October 21, 2014, http://
fair-use.org/g-e-moore/principia-ethica.
138 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
or infanticide in the case of difference, including differences of appearance:
I wish Koch and other disability advocates would abandon the
use of the term “difference” when referring to disability. “Dif-
ference” is a much broader term. Presumably, Koch doesn’t really
think that I believe that suffering necessarily results from, say,
having red hair, or perfect pitch, or being able to play 20 games
of chess simultaneously while blindfolded, but these characteris-
tics certainly make one “different” from the norm. The fact that
Koch knows, and you, the reader, know, that these differences are
not what he is referring to, shows that we all know that disabilities
are not simply “differences.” Why pretend that they are?14
While Singer criticizes disability advocates for using the broad term
“difference” instead of disability, he too is guilty of broad-brush generaliza-
tions. Not every disability causes suffering; in fact, suffering is not an inevi-
table result of the disabilities cited by Giubilini and Minerva. Ultimately, the
preference of the parents is the decisive factor for Singer, Giubilini, and Min-
erva, since the happiness of parents—who are capable of imagining their
own futures, desiring happiness, and making choices—outweighs the happi-
ness of the baby, before and after birth. Singer avoids the obvious conclusion
that if parent preference is the deciding factor, there is nothing to stop the
parents of a child with a difference like red hair from opting for infanticide
as a result of their fear that the child may suffer socially or emotionally from
his or her difference (in this case red hair), or due to the parents’ own be-
lief that they may suffer emotionally, socially, or financially because of their
child’s difference. (Singer’s choice of red hair as a value neutral difference
is ironic, considering the fact that in 2011 one of the world’s largest sperm
banks stopped accepting donations from red-headed men, reflecting social
preferences against red hair.)15 Moreover, Singer’s radical stance of denying
personhood to babies, newborn as well as unborn, ensures that in cases of
physical suffering due to congenital birth defects, pressure is brought to bear
to end suffering by ending life, rather than by ameliorating suffering, even
when the diagnosis is not terminal.16
14
Peter Singer, “Ethics and Disability: A Response to Koch,” Journal of Dis-
ability Policy Studies 16, no. 2 (2005): 130–33, accessed November 22, 2014, http://
www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/2005----.pdf.
15
Kimberly Hayes Taylor, “Sperm Bank: Redheads Not Wanted,” NBC News,
September 22, 2011, http://www.nbcnews.com/id/44579757/ns/health-mens_
health/t/sperm-bank-redheads-not-wanted/#.VDbRIEu0aO0.
16
This is chillingly demonstrated by the application of the Groningen Pro-
tocol in the Netherlands. Newborn victims of infanticide include “infants with a
hopeless prognosis who experience what parents and medical experts deem to be un-
Theresa Farnan 139
In addition, Singer’s dismissive response is inadequate in his choice
and characterization of differences. For many persons with Down syndrome,
for example, aside from physical characteristics that do not cause suffering
(such as low set ears or a small head), the chief manifestation of their disabili-
ty is a lower level of cognitive functioning.17 In these instances, the diagnosed
disability actually causes differences, rather than suffering. Perhaps a more
appropriate example of the kind of difference that is linked to abortion/
infanticide would be a person’s inability to master chess, rather than Singer’s
fantasy of the blindfolded chess virtuoso playing twenty games simultane-
ously. Does a person’s inability to master chess rise to the level of suffering?
Is Singer honest enough to admit that in these cases he would allow infanti-
cide or abortion based on potential IQ levels and other criteria, criteria that
are differences that do not constitute physical suffering?
Singer’s conflation of disability and suffering provides an emotion-
al argument in support of his belief that ultimately parents should be able
to end a child’s life based on their preferences and interests rather than the
baby’s. Holding him to his own premises, namely his elevation of the par-
ents’ right to the kind of baby they prefer, and his denial of personhood to
infants and the unborn, Singer ends up affirming the right to abortion and
infanticide based on difference as well as disability. For Singer, as well as for
Giubilini and Minerva, nothing other than the subjective feelings and desires
of parents prevents the killing of any unborn or newborn baby. Therefore,
the distinction between difference and disability carries no weight in protect-
ing babies from the preferences of their parents. Why pretend otherwise?18
bearable suffering…this group includes patients who are not dependent on intensive
medical treatment but for whom a very poor quality of life, associated with sustained
suffering, is predicted.” This group includes babies with spina bifida. See Eduard
Verhagen and Pieter J.J. Sauer, “The Groningen Protocol—Euthanasia in Severely Ill
Newborns,” N Engl J Med 352 (2005): 959–62, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp058026, accessed
November 22, 2014, http://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMp058026.
17
“Disability” is not as clear-cut as Singer portrays it. Chromosomal abnor-
malities like trisomy 21 can occur in Mosaic forms, resulting in a more ambiguous
presentation. Moreover, the manifestation of Down syndrome can vary according
to individual. Some persons with Down syndrome have IQs in the normal range, for
example. See for instance, this study in which 2/35 children with Down syndrome
had IQs in the normal range (E. Pastore, B. Marino, A. Calzolari, et al., “Clinical
and cardiorespiratory assessment in children with Down syndrome….,” Arch Pediatr
Adolesc Med 154, no. 4 [2000]: 408–10). At birth, and even in the first three years—
Singer’s window for infanticide—parents cannot predict the potential of any child,
not even one with a diagnosed disability.
18
Singer himself argues in “Ethics and Disability,” 132: “For the reason I
have just quickly sketched, I do not think that killing any fetus or newborn infant
is morally equivalent to killing a rational and self-conscious being. This does not
138 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
or infanticide in the case of difference, including differences of appearance:
I wish Koch and other disability advocates would abandon the
use of the term “difference” when referring to disability. “Dif-
ference” is a much broader term. Presumably, Koch doesn’t really
think that I believe that suffering necessarily results from, say,
having red hair, or perfect pitch, or being able to play 20 games
of chess simultaneously while blindfolded, but these characteris-
tics certainly make one “different” from the norm. The fact that
Koch knows, and you, the reader, know, that these differences are
not what he is referring to, shows that we all know that disabilities
are not simply “differences.” Why pretend that they are?14
While Singer criticizes disability advocates for using the broad term
“difference” instead of disability, he too is guilty of broad-brush generaliza-
tions. Not every disability causes suffering; in fact, suffering is not an inevi-
table result of the disabilities cited by Giubilini and Minerva. Ultimately, the
preference of the parents is the decisive factor for Singer, Giubilini, and Min-
erva, since the happiness of parents—who are capable of imagining their
own futures, desiring happiness, and making choices—outweighs the happi-
ness of the baby, before and after birth. Singer avoids the obvious conclusion
that if parent preference is the deciding factor, there is nothing to stop the
parents of a child with a difference like red hair from opting for infanticide
as a result of their fear that the child may suffer socially or emotionally from
his or her difference (in this case red hair), or due to the parents’ own be-
lief that they may suffer emotionally, socially, or financially because of their
child’s difference. (Singer’s choice of red hair as a value neutral difference
is ironic, considering the fact that in 2011 one of the world’s largest sperm
banks stopped accepting donations from red-headed men, reflecting social
preferences against red hair.)15 Moreover, Singer’s radical stance of denying
personhood to babies, newborn as well as unborn, ensures that in cases of
physical suffering due to congenital birth defects, pressure is brought to bear
to end suffering by ending life, rather than by ameliorating suffering, even
when the diagnosis is not terminal.16
14
Peter Singer, “Ethics and Disability: A Response to Koch,” Journal of Dis-
ability Policy Studies 16, no. 2 (2005): 130–33, accessed November 22, 2014, http://
www.utilitarian.net/singer/by/2005----.pdf.
15
Kimberly Hayes Taylor, “Sperm Bank: Redheads Not Wanted,” NBC News,
September 22, 2011, http://www.nbcnews.com/id/44579757/ns/health-mens_
health/t/sperm-bank-redheads-not-wanted/#.VDbRIEu0aO0.
16
This is chillingly demonstrated by the application of the Groningen Pro-
tocol in the Netherlands. Newborn victims of infanticide include “infants with a
hopeless prognosis who experience what parents and medical experts deem to be un-
Theresa Farnan 139
In addition, Singer’s dismissive response is inadequate in his choice
and characterization of differences. For many persons with Down syndrome,
for example, aside from physical characteristics that do not cause suffering
(such as low set ears or a small head), the chief manifestation of their disabili-
ty is a lower level of cognitive functioning.17 In these instances, the diagnosed
disability actually causes differences, rather than suffering. Perhaps a more
appropriate example of the kind of difference that is linked to abortion/
infanticide would be a person’s inability to master chess, rather than Singer’s
fantasy of the blindfolded chess virtuoso playing twenty games simultane-
ously. Does a person’s inability to master chess rise to the level of suffering?
Is Singer honest enough to admit that in these cases he would allow infanti-
cide or abortion based on potential IQ levels and other criteria, criteria that
are differences that do not constitute physical suffering?
Singer’s conflation of disability and suffering provides an emotion-
al argument in support of his belief that ultimately parents should be able
to end a child’s life based on their preferences and interests rather than the
baby’s. Holding him to his own premises, namely his elevation of the par-
ents’ right to the kind of baby they prefer, and his denial of personhood to
infants and the unborn, Singer ends up affirming the right to abortion and
infanticide based on difference as well as disability. For Singer, as well as for
Giubilini and Minerva, nothing other than the subjective feelings and desires
of parents prevents the killing of any unborn or newborn baby. Therefore,
the distinction between difference and disability carries no weight in protect-
ing babies from the preferences of their parents. Why pretend otherwise?18
bearable suffering…this group includes patients who are not dependent on intensive
medical treatment but for whom a very poor quality of life, associated with sustained
suffering, is predicted.” This group includes babies with spina bifida. See Eduard
Verhagen and Pieter J.J. Sauer, “The Groningen Protocol—Euthanasia in Severely Ill
Newborns,” N Engl J Med 352 (2005): 959–62, doi: 10.1056/NEJMp058026, accessed
November 22, 2014, http://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJMp058026.
17
“Disability” is not as clear-cut as Singer portrays it. Chromosomal abnor-
malities like trisomy 21 can occur in Mosaic forms, resulting in a more ambiguous
presentation. Moreover, the manifestation of Down syndrome can vary according
to individual. Some persons with Down syndrome have IQs in the normal range, for
example. See for instance, this study in which 2/35 children with Down syndrome
had IQs in the normal range (E. Pastore, B. Marino, A. Calzolari, et al., “Clinical
and cardiorespiratory assessment in children with Down syndrome….,” Arch Pediatr
Adolesc Med 154, no. 4 [2000]: 408–10). At birth, and even in the first three years—
Singer’s window for infanticide—parents cannot predict the potential of any child,
not even one with a diagnosed disability.
18
Singer himself argues in “Ethics and Disability,” 132: “For the reason I
have just quickly sketched, I do not think that killing any fetus or newborn infant
is morally equivalent to killing a rational and self-conscious being. This does not
140 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
It seems that a more reasonable response would be that the parents
should not be able to claim to know the potential for happiness of another
person, no matter how he or she looks or on the possibility of future lim-
itations. The parents’ own subjective responses to the fear of their child’s
disability, including the fear of potential suffering, should not be considered
adequate grounds for denying the child the opportunity to live and make of
his or her own life what he or she wills. In fact, while they encounter chal-
lenges, many disabled persons view their disabilities as crucial to their own
development as unique individuals.19
However, Giubilini and Minerva consider this and reach the opposite
conclusion. They grudgingly acknowledge research that shows that persons
with Down syndrome are “often reported to be happy”20—although they fail
to reference a recent study published in the American Journal of Medical Genetics
that documented persons with Down syndrome are overwhelmingly happy
mean, of course, that killing fetuses or infants is a matter of moral indifference.
On the contrary, to kill a fetus or an infant is normally very wrong indeed. The
wrong, however, consists primarily in the harm it does to the pregnant woman, or
the parents, who have conceived the child and already love it and wish to nurture it.
The death of a fetus or a newborn infant is generally a tragedy for the parents, not
for the fetus or infant, who has not yet even glimpsed the prospects of the life that
might have been in store for it. Or, we could put it this way: To the extent that the
death of a fetus or newborn infant is a tragedy for that being, it would also have been
a tragedy if the fetus or infant had never been conceived. It is an impersonal loss,
because the fetus or infant is not yet a person.” In his 1980 review of Practical Ethics,
H.L.A. Hart points out “In principle, only the arguments from side effects would
count against the killing of a normal baby in order to replace it with a child whose
prospects of happiness were greater. Moreover, on the Total View the secret killing
of a normal happy child without replacement by parents unwilling to be burdened
with its upbringing would be no greater moral wrong than that done by parents who
abstain from conceiving a child for the same reasons” (H.L.A. Hart, “Death and
Utility,” The New York Review of Books, May 15, 1980, http://www.nybooks.com/
articles/1980/05/15/death-and-utility/).
19
Dr. Amie Stringfellow, a physician who was born with a severe case of
Treacher-Collins Syndrome, wrote “given the chance to live my life over again with-
out Treacher Collins, I would have to politely decline. I believe that the experiences in
my life as a result of Treacher Collins have molded me into the person that I am to-
day.… Having Treacher Collins syndrome, or any other medical condition, does not
make someone ‘abnormal,’ it only makes him human” (Amie Stringfellow, “About
Me,” in Reflections on Treacher Collins Syndrome, accessed November 22, 2014, http://
www.treachercollins.org/tcs/About_Me.html).
20
The study referenced in Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion,” is
P. Alderson, “Down’s Syndrome: cost, quality, and the value of life,” Soc Sci Med 5
(2001): 627–38.
Theresa Farnan 141
with their lives, like who they are, and like how they look.21 In a stunning dis-
play of the callousness of utilitarianism, Minerva and Giubilini then assert,
“Nonetheless, to bring up such children might be an unbearable burden on
the family, and on society as a whole, when the state economically provides
for their care.”22 Although their argument specifically invokes economic con-
cerns, nothing prevents the same argument from being made for aesthetic
concerns.23 In fact, because their argument explicitly denies the personhood
of an infant with disabilities, it offers nothing to counteract prejudice against
disabled babies based on the appearance of disability or any other factor.
Granted, utilitarianism and materialism are not the only philosophies
that influence society in assessing the value of the unborn and newborn child
with disabilities. However, given the high rate of abortion of children diag-
nosed prenatally with Down syndrome (as high as 90 percent), at a time when
improvements in medical care and social opportunities are removing many
of the obstacles persons with Down syndrome might experience, the impar-
tial observer is reluctantly forced to conclude that Singer’s utilitarianism is
carrying the day. A final sobering statistic from the UK Parliamentary Inquiry
starkly illustrates this: In the United Kingdom, the cost of prenatal screening
for Down syndrome ranges from 29 to 31 million pounds per year, whereas
during the fiscal year 2012–2013, the amount of money spent on research to
alleviate the effects of Down syndrome was only 1.8 million pounds.24
Changing our utilitarian culture
The issue at hand, then, is how to respond to utilitarian efforts to “weed out”
persons with disabilities. Ultimately, the only certain way to protect disabled
children is to assert and defend the personhood of each and every human
being with disabilities. At the same time, recognizing that utilitarianism dom-
21
One study found that 99% of persons with Down syndrome are over-
whelmingly happy with their lives, 97% like who they are, and 96% like how they look
(BG Skotko, SP Levine, and R. Goldstein, “Self-perceptions from people with Down
syndrome,” Am J Med Genet 155a, no. 10 [2011]: 2360–69, doi: 10.1002/ajmg.a.34235,
accessed August 22, 2015, http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21910246).
22
Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion”; Giving Giubilini and Miner-
va the benefit of the doubt, they must not have considered that these same economic
arguments could be invoked to justify gender selection abortion and infanticide in
cultures that do not value girls.
23
It is surprising that in the end they ground their argument on the economic
impact of these disabilities in light of the fact that persons with these syndromes
can be mildly affected, needing no more extraordinary care than typical children with
learning disabilities.
24
Bruce, et al., Parliamentary Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability.
140 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
It seems that a more reasonable response would be that the parents
should not be able to claim to know the potential for happiness of another
person, no matter how he or she looks or on the possibility of future lim-
itations. The parents’ own subjective responses to the fear of their child’s
disability, including the fear of potential suffering, should not be considered
adequate grounds for denying the child the opportunity to live and make of
his or her own life what he or she wills. In fact, while they encounter chal-
lenges, many disabled persons view their disabilities as crucial to their own
development as unique individuals.19
However, Giubilini and Minerva consider this and reach the opposite
conclusion. They grudgingly acknowledge research that shows that persons
with Down syndrome are “often reported to be happy”20—although they fail
to reference a recent study published in the American Journal of Medical Genetics
that documented persons with Down syndrome are overwhelmingly happy
mean, of course, that killing fetuses or infants is a matter of moral indifference.
On the contrary, to kill a fetus or an infant is normally very wrong indeed. The
wrong, however, consists primarily in the harm it does to the pregnant woman, or
the parents, who have conceived the child and already love it and wish to nurture it.
The death of a fetus or a newborn infant is generally a tragedy for the parents, not
for the fetus or infant, who has not yet even glimpsed the prospects of the life that
might have been in store for it. Or, we could put it this way: To the extent that the
death of a fetus or newborn infant is a tragedy for that being, it would also have been
a tragedy if the fetus or infant had never been conceived. It is an impersonal loss,
because the fetus or infant is not yet a person.” In his 1980 review of Practical Ethics,
H.L.A. Hart points out “In principle, only the arguments from side effects would
count against the killing of a normal baby in order to replace it with a child whose
prospects of happiness were greater. Moreover, on the Total View the secret killing
of a normal happy child without replacement by parents unwilling to be burdened
with its upbringing would be no greater moral wrong than that done by parents who
abstain from conceiving a child for the same reasons” (H.L.A. Hart, “Death and
Utility,” The New York Review of Books, May 15, 1980, http://www.nybooks.com/
articles/1980/05/15/death-and-utility/).
19
Dr. Amie Stringfellow, a physician who was born with a severe case of
Treacher-Collins Syndrome, wrote “given the chance to live my life over again with-
out Treacher Collins, I would have to politely decline. I believe that the experiences in
my life as a result of Treacher Collins have molded me into the person that I am to-
day.… Having Treacher Collins syndrome, or any other medical condition, does not
make someone ‘abnormal,’ it only makes him human” (Amie Stringfellow, “About
Me,” in Reflections on Treacher Collins Syndrome, accessed November 22, 2014, http://
www.treachercollins.org/tcs/About_Me.html).
20
The study referenced in Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion,” is
P. Alderson, “Down’s Syndrome: cost, quality, and the value of life,” Soc Sci Med 5
(2001): 627–38.
Theresa Farnan 141
with their lives, like who they are, and like how they look.21 In a stunning dis-
play of the callousness of utilitarianism, Minerva and Giubilini then assert,
“Nonetheless, to bring up such children might be an unbearable burden on
the family, and on society as a whole, when the state economically provides
for their care.”22 Although their argument specifically invokes economic con-
cerns, nothing prevents the same argument from being made for aesthetic
concerns.23 In fact, because their argument explicitly denies the personhood
of an infant with disabilities, it offers nothing to counteract prejudice against
disabled babies based on the appearance of disability or any other factor.
Granted, utilitarianism and materialism are not the only philosophies
that influence society in assessing the value of the unborn and newborn child
with disabilities. However, given the high rate of abortion of children diag-
nosed prenatally with Down syndrome (as high as 90 percent), at a time when
improvements in medical care and social opportunities are removing many
of the obstacles persons with Down syndrome might experience, the impar-
tial observer is reluctantly forced to conclude that Singer’s utilitarianism is
carrying the day. A final sobering statistic from the UK Parliamentary Inquiry
starkly illustrates this: In the United Kingdom, the cost of prenatal screening
for Down syndrome ranges from 29 to 31 million pounds per year, whereas
during the fiscal year 2012–2013, the amount of money spent on research to
alleviate the effects of Down syndrome was only 1.8 million pounds.24
Changing our utilitarian culture
The issue at hand, then, is how to respond to utilitarian efforts to “weed out”
persons with disabilities. Ultimately, the only certain way to protect disabled
children is to assert and defend the personhood of each and every human
being with disabilities. At the same time, recognizing that utilitarianism dom-
21
One study found that 99% of persons with Down syndrome are over-
whelmingly happy with their lives, 97% like who they are, and 96% like how they look
(BG Skotko, SP Levine, and R. Goldstein, “Self-perceptions from people with Down
syndrome,” Am J Med Genet 155a, no. 10 [2011]: 2360–69, doi: 10.1002/ajmg.a.34235,
accessed August 22, 2015, http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/21910246).
22
Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion”; Giving Giubilini and Miner-
va the benefit of the doubt, they must not have considered that these same economic
arguments could be invoked to justify gender selection abortion and infanticide in
cultures that do not value girls.
23
It is surprising that in the end they ground their argument on the economic
impact of these disabilities in light of the fact that persons with these syndromes
can be mildly affected, needing no more extraordinary care than typical children with
learning disabilities.
24
Bruce, et al., Parliamentary Inquiry into Abortion on the Grounds of Disability.
142 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
inates the practice of ethics, especially bioethics, it is important to broaden
society’s understanding of the value of disabled persons by emphasizing the
potential of each disabled person, rather than the limitations. Finally, it is es-
sential to reconcile beauty and disability, in order to avoid the marginalization
of disabled persons based on appearance alone.
In general, disability challenges Christian philosophers to arrive at
deeper insights about the person, the relationship of body and soul, and
the existence and meaning of suffering.25 For example, disabilities that cause
dementia pose difficulties that mirror the concerns about infanticide raised
earlier in this paper. Christian ethicists must counter the impression that as
cognitive abilities diminish, so does the personhood of the Alzheimer’s suf-
ferer; this misconception is often used to justify passive euthanasia of Alzhei-
mer’s patients.
For Christian philosophers though, there is a deeper philosophical
issue here. Given that beauty and goodness are related in a meaningful way,
and given the goodness and unity of the human person, how do we reconcile
beauty with disability in the person? When family members assert that their
disabled son or daughter, brother or sister, husband or wife, is beautiful, they
really mean it, not in a subjective or metaphorical way, but as an objective
statement that deserves to be taken seriously. In the context of this particular
discussion of the power of beauty, then, I would like to offer some initial
considerations of areas in need of further exploration in order to understand
this relationship between beauty and disability.
The disabled person as “other”
The distinction between disability and defect is important for understanding
the basis for the marginalization of the person with disabilities based on ap-
pearance. Disability is a term that refers to the specific physical or intellectual
challenges that a person faces, usually resulting from a physical or genetic
25
It is important to realize as well that to family members of disabled persons,
especially those with severe disabilities, the question of why their loved one suffers
looms large. As Christians, we can point to the Crucified Christ, understanding that
we unite our suffering with him. Even then, suffering is still a mystery. Without the
context of Christianity, however, the suffering of the innocent, including children
and those born with child-like cognitive abilities, seems overwhelming. See Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, “Rebellion,” bk. 5, chap. 4, in The Brothers Karamazov, for the classic
exposition of this difficulty (Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Constance
Garnett, ed. Manuel Komroff [New York: New American Library, 1980]).
Theresa Farnan 143
difference or medical problem. Sometimes, in a person we can identify a
specific problem—a defect (i.e., something missing, atypical or extra that can
affect how the body works). Often there are situations where the whole per-
son is affected—“syndromes” (i.e., the result of genetic anomalies that affect
the whole person). In this case, the “syndrome” can give rise to a number
of specific defects. Defect then is a term that indicates that a specific body
part or function that is compromised in some way and that we can evaluate
clinically on a scale of integrity or function. Applying the criteria for defect
implies considering the person solely as an object, rather than a subject with
inherent dignity.
Focusing on the defect—viewing the person as an object that can
be coldly evaluated for visible imperfections that reduce his or her moral
status—allows those whose imperfections are trivial to view the disabled as
“other,” putting emotional distance between the typical person and the dis-
abled person. However, barring a sudden death, every person faces the pros-
pect of disability in his or her life due to normal processes of aging, human
susceptibility to illness, injury, and imperfection of human judgment. Part of
emotional and spiritual maturity is coming to terms with our own imperfec-
tion and mortality, and developing a sense of solidarity with and compassion
for those who suffer from disabilities.26 A necessary first step, then, is recog-
nizing our tendency to see only the visible defect rather than the person.
Beauty and the disabled person
With this distinction in mind, is it possible for the Christian philosopher to
reconcile beauty with different kinds of disability? In considering this prob-
lem, the Christian philosopher is guided by the following premises: first, that
beauty and goodness are related in some way; second, that every human be-
26
In Dependent Rational Animals, Alasdair MacIntyre argues that it is important
not only that communities care for vulnerable persons like the disabled, but that
members of the community have solidarity with them, based on recognizing the
possibility that at some time they might be, have been, or will be similarly depen-
dent and vulnerable (Macintyre, “The political and social structures of the common
good,” chap. 11 in Dependent Rational Animals [Chicago: Open Court, 1999]). Unfor-
tunately, movements like the assisted suicide movement have successfully turned this
recognition of future dependence into a rationale for euthanasia, based on the fear
of potentially being dependent and therefore a burden on others. Without a culture
being informed not only by virtue ethics, but also by the conviction of the dignity
and worth of each human being, it is not clear how successful Macintyre’s argument
would be.
142 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
inates the practice of ethics, especially bioethics, it is important to broaden
society’s understanding of the value of disabled persons by emphasizing the
potential of each disabled person, rather than the limitations. Finally, it is es-
sential to reconcile beauty and disability, in order to avoid the marginalization
of disabled persons based on appearance alone.
In general, disability challenges Christian philosophers to arrive at
deeper insights about the person, the relationship of body and soul, and
the existence and meaning of suffering.25 For example, disabilities that cause
dementia pose difficulties that mirror the concerns about infanticide raised
earlier in this paper. Christian ethicists must counter the impression that as
cognitive abilities diminish, so does the personhood of the Alzheimer’s suf-
ferer; this misconception is often used to justify passive euthanasia of Alzhei-
mer’s patients.
For Christian philosophers though, there is a deeper philosophical
issue here. Given that beauty and goodness are related in a meaningful way,
and given the goodness and unity of the human person, how do we reconcile
beauty with disability in the person? When family members assert that their
disabled son or daughter, brother or sister, husband or wife, is beautiful, they
really mean it, not in a subjective or metaphorical way, but as an objective
statement that deserves to be taken seriously. In the context of this particular
discussion of the power of beauty, then, I would like to offer some initial
considerations of areas in need of further exploration in order to understand
this relationship between beauty and disability.
The disabled person as “other”
The distinction between disability and defect is important for understanding
the basis for the marginalization of the person with disabilities based on ap-
pearance. Disability is a term that refers to the specific physical or intellectual
challenges that a person faces, usually resulting from a physical or genetic
25
It is important to realize as well that to family members of disabled persons,
especially those with severe disabilities, the question of why their loved one suffers
looms large. As Christians, we can point to the Crucified Christ, understanding that
we unite our suffering with him. Even then, suffering is still a mystery. Without the
context of Christianity, however, the suffering of the innocent, including children
and those born with child-like cognitive abilities, seems overwhelming. See Fyodor
Dostoyevsky, “Rebellion,” bk. 5, chap. 4, in The Brothers Karamazov, for the classic
exposition of this difficulty (Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Constance
Garnett, ed. Manuel Komroff [New York: New American Library, 1980]).
Theresa Farnan 143
difference or medical problem. Sometimes, in a person we can identify a
specific problem—a defect (i.e., something missing, atypical or extra that can
affect how the body works). Often there are situations where the whole per-
son is affected—“syndromes” (i.e., the result of genetic anomalies that affect
the whole person). In this case, the “syndrome” can give rise to a number
of specific defects. Defect then is a term that indicates that a specific body
part or function that is compromised in some way and that we can evaluate
clinically on a scale of integrity or function. Applying the criteria for defect
implies considering the person solely as an object, rather than a subject with
inherent dignity.
Focusing on the defect—viewing the person as an object that can
be coldly evaluated for visible imperfections that reduce his or her moral
status—allows those whose imperfections are trivial to view the disabled as
“other,” putting emotional distance between the typical person and the dis-
abled person. However, barring a sudden death, every person faces the pros-
pect of disability in his or her life due to normal processes of aging, human
susceptibility to illness, injury, and imperfection of human judgment. Part of
emotional and spiritual maturity is coming to terms with our own imperfec-
tion and mortality, and developing a sense of solidarity with and compassion
for those who suffer from disabilities.26 A necessary first step, then, is recog-
nizing our tendency to see only the visible defect rather than the person.
Beauty and the disabled person
With this distinction in mind, is it possible for the Christian philosopher to
reconcile beauty with different kinds of disability? In considering this prob-
lem, the Christian philosopher is guided by the following premises: first, that
beauty and goodness are related in some way; second, that every human be-
26
In Dependent Rational Animals, Alasdair MacIntyre argues that it is important
not only that communities care for vulnerable persons like the disabled, but that
members of the community have solidarity with them, based on recognizing the
possibility that at some time they might be, have been, or will be similarly depen-
dent and vulnerable (Macintyre, “The political and social structures of the common
good,” chap. 11 in Dependent Rational Animals [Chicago: Open Court, 1999]). Unfor-
tunately, movements like the assisted suicide movement have successfully turned this
recognition of future dependence into a rationale for euthanasia, based on the fear
of potentially being dependent and therefore a burden on others. Without a culture
being informed not only by virtue ethics, but also by the conviction of the dignity
and worth of each human being, it is not clear how successful Macintyre’s argument
would be.
144 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
ing has dignity and value by virtue of his or her personhood, and accordingly
should not be treated merely as an object; and finally, that there is a profound
unity of body and soul that points to and reveals the mystery of the person.
Culturally, we tend to illuminate what beauty is by viewing the
non-disabled as the norm of beauty and the disabled as the exceptional sub-
set, to be accommodated separately. According to this way of understanding
beauty and the person, we look at physical perfection as a manifestation of
goodness and what a person physically should be as the most exemplary
characteristic. We look past imperfections and try to find instances of beauty
in the disabled person.27
However, this approach is problematic for a number of reasons. At
heart, it objectifies the person, approaching the person as an object to be
evaluated in a clinical, impartial way. Persons with disabilities become their
own subset, which reinforces the perception of them as other. Viewing per-
sons according to these categories focuses inordinately on the body, implic-
itly undercutting the unity of the body and soul. Moreover, it ignores the
goodness of the whole person as significant for understanding and revealing
beauty. Persons with disabilities are not the only ones who would be excluded
by this approach; as each person ages, he or she would become less beautiful
according to this definition. In addition, this kind of definition is susceptible
to relativism, according to cultural and social norms. For these reasons, in
light of the unity of the person and the relationship between beauty and
goodness, any understanding of beauty and the person that accepts a default
physical norm of beauty is ultimately dissatisfying.
Perhaps a better approach to understanding the relationship between
beauty and disability would be to refine our understanding of beauty in the
person in such a way that it is not limited to the body, taking into account that a
human person is not limited to or defined by his or her body, which is imper-
fect and susceptible to age, illness, or injury. This approach also poses other
challenges that should not be underestimated. In particular, it leads to the
possibility of diluting what beauty means so that it is rendered wholly sub-
jective and, as a result, meaningless. Moreover, it runs the risk of minimizing
the ugliness of the suffering that often accompanies disability, sickness and
aging. Nevertheless, if the beauty of the person is to be evaluated, we cannot
limit ourselves to consideration of beauty on the basis of physical norms or
criteria, but instead need to ask ourselves how beauty is instantiated in the
person.
27
To a certain extent, use of words like “special” and token inclusions of
persons with disabilities in advertising campaigns, although intended to affirm the
value of persons with disabilities, reinforce this sense of persons with disabilities as
the exceptional subset.
Theresa Farnan 145
In fact, any attempt to describe the beauty of Divine or angelic per-
sons requires us to move past a default physical norm of beauty. For this
reason, it is important to insist on the fundamental relationship between
goodness and beauty, a relationship that anchors evaluations of beauty.28 In
this paper, I have taken as given that beauty is related in a meaningful way to
goodness, based on the common sense observation that human beings are
attracted by beauty, and see it as good, pleasurable or valuable in some way.29
Pope John Paul II goes further, describing the relationship this way:
The link between good and beautiful stirs fruitful reflection. In a
certain sense, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the
good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. This was well un-
derstood by the Greeks who, by fusing the two concepts, coined a
term which embraces both: kalokagathía, or beauty-goodness. On
this point Plato writes: “The power of the Good has taken refuge
in the nature of the Beautiful.”30
But John Paul II’s words suggest additional difficulties. Aquinas de-
fines the beautiful as that which pleases when seen “quae visa placet,” and
describes conditions that are required for something to be considered beauti-
ful: integritas or perfectio (integrity or completeness); debita proportio or consonantia
(due proportion or harmony); and claritas (clarity, brightness, or splendor).31
With material objects, the more perfect they are, the more goodness they
28
No discussion of the relationship between goodness and beauty would be
complete without acknowledging the controversy over whether or not beauty is a
transcendental, a metaphysical property of every existing thing. Such a determination
would mean that beauty is identical with the true and the good while differing from
them conceptually. A deeper consideration of that question is beyond the scope of
this paper; however, persons with disabilities can illuminate some important issues
surrounding the relationship of the beautiful with the good, especially the difficulty
of applying standards of beauty to a person. See Jan Aertsen, “Beauty in the Middle
Ages: A Forgotten Transcendental?,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 1 (1991): 68–97,
and Jacques Maritain, “Art and Beauty,” chap. 5 in Art and Scholasticism (Notre Dame,
IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1974).
29
By goodness, I mean more than just personal preference—an object is not
good because we prefer it, but it is good because in some way it contributes to our
flourishing. Preference for a good arises from recognition of its goodness; similarly,
we recognize an object’s beauty, rather than confer beauty upon it. Recognition of its
beauty arises from something intrinsic and good in the object itself.
30
St. John Paul II, Letter to Artists § 3, par. 2, April 4, 1999, accessed November
22, 2014, https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1999/documents/
hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists.html.
31
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica I, q. 5., art. 4, ad 1(Hereafter, ST); Aqui-
nas, ST I, q. 39, art. 8.
144 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
ing has dignity and value by virtue of his or her personhood, and accordingly
should not be treated merely as an object; and finally, that there is a profound
unity of body and soul that points to and reveals the mystery of the person.
Culturally, we tend to illuminate what beauty is by viewing the
non-disabled as the norm of beauty and the disabled as the exceptional sub-
set, to be accommodated separately. According to this way of understanding
beauty and the person, we look at physical perfection as a manifestation of
goodness and what a person physically should be as the most exemplary
characteristic. We look past imperfections and try to find instances of beauty
in the disabled person.27
However, this approach is problematic for a number of reasons. At
heart, it objectifies the person, approaching the person as an object to be
evaluated in a clinical, impartial way. Persons with disabilities become their
own subset, which reinforces the perception of them as other. Viewing per-
sons according to these categories focuses inordinately on the body, implic-
itly undercutting the unity of the body and soul. Moreover, it ignores the
goodness of the whole person as significant for understanding and revealing
beauty. Persons with disabilities are not the only ones who would be excluded
by this approach; as each person ages, he or she would become less beautiful
according to this definition. In addition, this kind of definition is susceptible
to relativism, according to cultural and social norms. For these reasons, in
light of the unity of the person and the relationship between beauty and
goodness, any understanding of beauty and the person that accepts a default
physical norm of beauty is ultimately dissatisfying.
Perhaps a better approach to understanding the relationship between
beauty and disability would be to refine our understanding of beauty in the
person in such a way that it is not limited to the body, taking into account that a
human person is not limited to or defined by his or her body, which is imper-
fect and susceptible to age, illness, or injury. This approach also poses other
challenges that should not be underestimated. In particular, it leads to the
possibility of diluting what beauty means so that it is rendered wholly sub-
jective and, as a result, meaningless. Moreover, it runs the risk of minimizing
the ugliness of the suffering that often accompanies disability, sickness and
aging. Nevertheless, if the beauty of the person is to be evaluated, we cannot
limit ourselves to consideration of beauty on the basis of physical norms or
criteria, but instead need to ask ourselves how beauty is instantiated in the
person.
27
To a certain extent, use of words like “special” and token inclusions of
persons with disabilities in advertising campaigns, although intended to affirm the
value of persons with disabilities, reinforce this sense of persons with disabilities as
the exceptional subset.
Theresa Farnan 145
In fact, any attempt to describe the beauty of Divine or angelic per-
sons requires us to move past a default physical norm of beauty. For this
reason, it is important to insist on the fundamental relationship between
goodness and beauty, a relationship that anchors evaluations of beauty.28 In
this paper, I have taken as given that beauty is related in a meaningful way to
goodness, based on the common sense observation that human beings are
attracted by beauty, and see it as good, pleasurable or valuable in some way.29
Pope John Paul II goes further, describing the relationship this way:
The link between good and beautiful stirs fruitful reflection. In a
certain sense, beauty is the visible form of the good, just as the
good is the metaphysical condition of beauty. This was well un-
derstood by the Greeks who, by fusing the two concepts, coined a
term which embraces both: kalokagathía, or beauty-goodness. On
this point Plato writes: “The power of the Good has taken refuge
in the nature of the Beautiful.”30
But John Paul II’s words suggest additional difficulties. Aquinas de-
fines the beautiful as that which pleases when seen “quae visa placet,” and
describes conditions that are required for something to be considered beauti-
ful: integritas or perfectio (integrity or completeness); debita proportio or consonantia
(due proportion or harmony); and claritas (clarity, brightness, or splendor).31
With material objects, the more perfect they are, the more goodness they
28
No discussion of the relationship between goodness and beauty would be
complete without acknowledging the controversy over whether or not beauty is a
transcendental, a metaphysical property of every existing thing. Such a determination
would mean that beauty is identical with the true and the good while differing from
them conceptually. A deeper consideration of that question is beyond the scope of
this paper; however, persons with disabilities can illuminate some important issues
surrounding the relationship of the beautiful with the good, especially the difficulty
of applying standards of beauty to a person. See Jan Aertsen, “Beauty in the Middle
Ages: A Forgotten Transcendental?,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 1 (1991): 68–97,
and Jacques Maritain, “Art and Beauty,” chap. 5 in Art and Scholasticism (Notre Dame,
IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1974).
29
By goodness, I mean more than just personal preference—an object is not
good because we prefer it, but it is good because in some way it contributes to our
flourishing. Preference for a good arises from recognition of its goodness; similarly,
we recognize an object’s beauty, rather than confer beauty upon it. Recognition of its
beauty arises from something intrinsic and good in the object itself.
30
St. John Paul II, Letter to Artists § 3, par. 2, April 4, 1999, accessed November
22, 2014, https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1999/documents/
hf_jp-ii_let_23041999_artists.html.
31
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica I, q. 5., art. 4, ad 1(Hereafter, ST); Aqui-
nas, ST I, q. 39, art. 8.
146 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
possess and the more beautiful they are; we can evaluate the qualities that
Aquinas identifies as necessary for beauty in an objective way. But it is not
at all clear how we could apply the same standards to a human person, who
is an integral unity of body and soul; or to a divine or angelic person who is
immaterial.32 To limit beauty to material perfection views the person in a shal-
low and superficial way that is neither born out by experience, nor consonant
with an understanding of the person as possessing an immaterial soul. And
yet, we also cannot deny that we know human persons through their bod-
ies—and our first impression of beauty in the human person occurs through
the appearance of the body. Compounding the difficulty, we find many in-
stances of morally good and virtuous persons in bodies that at first glance
seem far from beautiful; this seems to be the rule rather than the exception
among persons with disabilities.
It is tempting to integrate disability into a Thomistic account of
beauty by pointing out that visa may refer to “seeing” with the intellect, rather
than seeing with the eye. However, I would argue that even this reading poses
difficulties for evaluating beauty in the person with disabilities, or any per-
son for that matter, as intellectually seeing a person is still inferior to knowing
the person. Intellectually seeing the person enables you to see actions, or in
the case of the person with disabilities, inability to perform certain actions;
knowing the person reveals virtues and moral beauty. In fact, the evaluation
of a disabled person using intellectual criteria (or “seeing” them with the
intellect) is precisely the approach taken by Giubilini and Minerva, as well as
Peter Singer and others who devalue the person with disabilities. According
to their calculations, various aspects of disabilities are obvious, immediate,
and inadequately mitigated by something as nebulous as “spiritual beauty”;
one gets the sense that to Singer and other utilitarians any assertion that a
disabled person is beautiful can only indicate wishful thinking and pretending
that the disability does not exist. In this instance, it certainly seems that the
Thomistic account of beauty is in need of additional clarification in order to
apply to the person.33
Saint John Paul II’s Letter to Artists also encourages us to expand our
consideration of the relationship between person and beauty. So far, we have
32
In ST I, q. 39, art. 8, Aquinas describes various properties of beauty as a
property of the Son as perfectly the nature and express image of the Father, but
does not explain how this occurs. However, his characterization of the property of
integritas or perfectio is especially problematic for attempts to understand how persons
with disabilities can be beautiful; he proposes that insofar as things lack perfection or
integrity, they are ugly (turpia).
33
Additional discussion of the distinction between seeing and knowing the
person is beyond the scope of this paper, but is an important area for future consid-
eration of disability in the person.
Theresa Farnan 147
considered the person as a beautiful thing, passively displaying beauty. But as
agent, the person actively engages with the beautiful, not only by being beau-
tiful, but also by desiring it and creating beautiful things. Here the words of
Saint John Paul II, describing the relationship of the artist to beauty, as one
who creates something beautiful, offer an important insight, “It is in living
and acting that man establishes his relationship with being, with the truth
and with the good.”34 Perhaps this insight can illuminate the relationship of
the person to beauty as one who not only is beautiful but also creates some-
thing beautiful; “it is in living and acting that man established his relationship
with” beauty as well as “with the truth and with the good.”35 A full account
of person and beauty must include this active dimension as well, not just for
artists but for every person. But it is difficult to understand how to fit the
person with disabilities into our account of the active dimension of the rela-
tionship between person and beauty. How exactly would a person with severe
disabilities create beauty? Is he or she limited to appreciating beauty? If so, it
would seem that he or she suffers not only from his disability, but also from
an impoverished relationship with beauty.36
Beauty and the person: future considerations
These issues merely scratch the surface of the complexity involved in giving
an account of beauty that does justice to persons with disabilities. Although
this involves looking at beauty from an unusual perspective, it is an important
and pressing task, especially in light of our culture’s acceptance of eugenic
abortion and, if Giubilini and Minerva have their way, infanticide. Moreover,
considering whether and how a person with disabilities might be described
as beautiful pushes us toward a richer and more profound understanding of
beauty, especially with respect to persons, human, divine, and angelic.
In light of this, I would like to suggest further avenues of inquiry
that may illuminate how beauty and disability can be reconciled. First and
foremost, any account of beauty in the person should illuminate how beauty
in a person differs from beauty in an object. That requires examining the re-
lationship of the body both to the soul and to the person, focusing on the ex-
34
St. John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 3, par. 3.
35
Ibid.
36
Research on the musical abilities of children with Down syndrome reveals
that their sense of rhythm is not impaired at all. They not only famously love music
but also are good at reproducing rhythms. This suggests that perhaps we underes-
timate the artistic capabilities of persons with disabilities; see B. Stratford and EY
Ching, “Rhythm and time in the perception of Down’s syndrome children,” J Ment
Defic Res 27 (1983): 23–38.
146 Beauty, the Person, and Disability
possess and the more beautiful they are; we can evaluate the qualities that
Aquinas identifies as necessary for beauty in an objective way. But it is not
at all clear how we could apply the same standards to a human person, who
is an integral unity of body and soul; or to a divine or angelic person who is
immaterial.32 To limit beauty to material perfection views the person in a shal-
low and superficial way that is neither born out by experience, nor consonant
with an understanding of the person as possessing an immaterial soul. And
yet, we also cannot deny that we know human persons through their bod-
ies—and our first impression of beauty in the human person occurs through
the appearance of the body. Compounding the difficulty, we find many in-
stances of morally good and virtuous persons in bodies that at first glance
seem far from beautiful; this seems to be the rule rather than the exception
among persons with disabilities.
It is tempting to integrate disability into a Thomistic account of
beauty by pointing out that visa may refer to “seeing” with the intellect, rather
than seeing with the eye. However, I would argue that even this reading poses
difficulties for evaluating beauty in the person with disabilities, or any per-
son for that matter, as intellectually seeing a person is still inferior to knowing
the person. Intellectually seeing the person enables you to see actions, or in
the case of the person with disabilities, inability to perform certain actions;
knowing the person reveals virtues and moral beauty. In fact, the evaluation
of a disabled person using intellectual criteria (or “seeing” them with the
intellect) is precisely the approach taken by Giubilini and Minerva, as well as
Peter Singer and others who devalue the person with disabilities. According
to their calculations, various aspects of disabilities are obvious, immediate,
and inadequately mitigated by something as nebulous as “spiritual beauty”;
one gets the sense that to Singer and other utilitarians any assertion that a
disabled person is beautiful can only indicate wishful thinking and pretending
that the disability does not exist. In this instance, it certainly seems that the
Thomistic account of beauty is in need of additional clarification in order to
apply to the person.33
Saint John Paul II’s Letter to Artists also encourages us to expand our
consideration of the relationship between person and beauty. So far, we have
32
In ST I, q. 39, art. 8, Aquinas describes various properties of beauty as a
property of the Son as perfectly the nature and express image of the Father, but
does not explain how this occurs. However, his characterization of the property of
integritas or perfectio is especially problematic for attempts to understand how persons
with disabilities can be beautiful; he proposes that insofar as things lack perfection or
integrity, they are ugly (turpia).
33
Additional discussion of the distinction between seeing and knowing the
person is beyond the scope of this paper, but is an important area for future consid-
eration of disability in the person.
Theresa Farnan 147
considered the person as a beautiful thing, passively displaying beauty. But as
agent, the person actively engages with the beautiful, not only by being beau-
tiful, but also by desiring it and creating beautiful things. Here the words of
Saint John Paul II, describing the relationship of the artist to beauty, as one
who creates something beautiful, offer an important insight, “It is in living
and acting that man establishes his relationship with being, with the truth
and with the good.”34 Perhaps this insight can illuminate the relationship of
the person to beauty as one who not only is beautiful but also creates some-
thing beautiful; “it is in living and acting that man established his relationship
with” beauty as well as “with the truth and with the good.”35 A full account
of person and beauty must include this active dimension as well, not just for
artists but for every person. But it is difficult to understand how to fit the
person with disabilities into our account of the active dimension of the rela-
tionship between person and beauty. How exactly would a person with severe
disabilities create beauty? Is he or she limited to appreciating beauty? If so, it
would seem that he or she suffers not only from his disability, but also from
an impoverished relationship with beauty.36
Beauty and the person: future considerations
These issues merely scratch the surface of the complexity involved in giving
an account of beauty that does justice to persons with disabilities. Although
this involves looking at beauty from an unusual perspective, it is an important
and pressing task, especially in light of our culture’s acceptance of eugenic
abortion and, if Giubilini and Minerva have their way, infanticide. Moreover,
considering whether and how a person with disabilities might be described
as beautiful pushes us toward a richer and more profound understanding of
beauty, especially with respect to persons, human, divine, and angelic.
In light of this, I would like to suggest further avenues of inquiry
that may illuminate how beauty and disability can be reconciled. First and
foremost, any account of beauty in the person should illuminate how beauty
in a person differs from beauty in an object. That requires examining the re-
lationship of the body both to the soul and to the person, focusing on the ex-
34
St. John Paul II, Letter to Artists, § 3, par. 3.
35
Ibid.
36
Research on the musical abilities of children with Down syndrome reveals
that their sense of rhythm is not impaired at all. They not only famously love music
but also are good at reproducing rhythms. This suggests that perhaps we underes-
timate the artistic capabilities of persons with disabilities; see B. Stratford and EY
Ching, “Rhythm and time in the perception of Down’s syndrome children,” J Ment
Defic Res 27 (1983): 23–38.
148 Beauty, the Person, and Disability Theresa Farnan 149
tent to which the body reveals the person.37 It should consider how we apply the person enables us to transcend the physical limitations of the body and
ideals of beauty to the human person—imperfect and changing—without recognize the beauty of the person.
treating him or her as an object. One of the most insidious aspects of Giubilini and Minerva’s pro-
Assuming that there is a relationship between beauty and goodness, posal is that it allows killing at the moment when the parents are about to
we must consider how we describe the disabled person whose physical ap- experience the privilege of knowing their child. It magnifies their fears both
pearance does not conform to norms of beauty. If beauty is known intellec- of and for their child, playing on their belief that their child will look and
tually through sight, as Aquinas suggests, is it possible for others to look past be defective. Denying the personhood of the baby and offering abortion or
the obvious physical defects that can accompany disability? As you come to infanticide as an escape from disability deprives parents of the opportunity
know the person with visible physical disabilities, do the obvious disabilities to appreciate the beauty of and fall in love with their baby as a person. In
recede in importance or do they become part of the person’s beauty? How recognizing the power of beauty to shape attitudes and actions, our response
is it possible that the body, so often the source of limitation for the disabled, must be a loving and unequivocal affirmation of the goodness and beauty of
can become the medium through which even the severely disabled person is every person, regardless of appearance or ability.
revealed in artistic representations as beautiful? In a 1995 letter to women,
Pope John Paul II referred to the spiritual beauty with which all of us are —Franciscan University
created.38 Exactly what does spiritual beauty mean, and how do we know it
in others? Is it known intellectually or through a more profound relational
perception of the person?
These are just a few of the challenging questions about beauty that
in the end lead us to a deeper consideration of personhood. The person is
increasingly defined in a Cartesian sense, as a thinking substance or as per-
sons who are “able to make aims and appreciate their own life.”39 But know-
ing a person with disabilities reveals the inadequacy of equating personhood
with the superficial and obvious exercise of intellect and will. Knowing the
disabled person leads us instead to focus on the more profound ability of
the person to be in relationship with others, which draws on the intellect
and the will in subtle, mysterious ways.40 In the end, this relational aspect of
37
This is not intended to imply some kind of separateness of the soul from
the person; rather the relationship of the body to the soul is a question that is distinct
from the relationship of the body to the person. Both questions must be considered.
38
“Perhaps more than men, women acknowledge the person, because they
see persons with their hearts. They see them independently of various ideological or
political systems. They see others in their greatness and limitations; they try to go out
to them and help them. In this way the basic plan of the Creator takes flesh in the infants as poverty, arguing that childlike receptivity is a perfection, imaging as it does
history of humanity and there is constantly revealed, in the variety of vocations, that the receptivity of Christ. This offers an avenue for future exploration of the recep-
beauty-not merely physical, but above all spiritual-which God bestowed from the tive relationality of persons with disability, who profoundly image the neediness of
very beginning on all, and in a particular way on women” (St. John Paul II, “Letter childhood relationality. Schindler makes the case that relationality must be anchored
to Women,” § 12, par. 1, June 29, 1995, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vat- in esse rather than agere, another important insight for understanding the relationality
ican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1995/documents/hf_jp-ii_let_29061995_ of persons with disabilities; see David Schindler, “Norris Clark on Person, Being,
women.html). and St. Thomas,” Communio 20, no. 3 (1993): 580–92, http://www.communio-icr.
39
Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion.” com/files/schindler20-3.pdf. See also Aquinas, ST I, q. 40, art. 2, for his discussion
40
Particular attention is paid to the receptive relationality of infants in the dis- of distinction of the persons of the Blessed Trinity according to relation, which
cussion about receptivity and relationality in David Schindler’s review of Fr. Norris proves crucial for understanding the relationality of persons as an aspect of imaging
Clark’s Person and Being. Schindler rejects Clark’s characterization of the receptivity of God.
148 Beauty, the Person, and Disability Theresa Farnan 149
tent to which the body reveals the person.37 It should consider how we apply the person enables us to transcend the physical limitations of the body and
ideals of beauty to the human person—imperfect and changing—without recognize the beauty of the person.
treating him or her as an object. One of the most insidious aspects of Giubilini and Minerva’s pro-
Assuming that there is a relationship between beauty and goodness, posal is that it allows killing at the moment when the parents are about to
we must consider how we describe the disabled person whose physical ap- experience the privilege of knowing their child. It magnifies their fears both
pearance does not conform to norms of beauty. If beauty is known intellec- of and for their child, playing on their belief that their child will look and
tually through sight, as Aquinas suggests, is it possible for others to look past be defective. Denying the personhood of the baby and offering abortion or
the obvious physical defects that can accompany disability? As you come to infanticide as an escape from disability deprives parents of the opportunity
know the person with visible physical disabilities, do the obvious disabilities to appreciate the beauty of and fall in love with their baby as a person. In
recede in importance or do they become part of the person’s beauty? How recognizing the power of beauty to shape attitudes and actions, our response
is it possible that the body, so often the source of limitation for the disabled, must be a loving and unequivocal affirmation of the goodness and beauty of
can become the medium through which even the severely disabled person is every person, regardless of appearance or ability.
revealed in artistic representations as beautiful? In a 1995 letter to women,
Pope John Paul II referred to the spiritual beauty with which all of us are —Franciscan University
created.38 Exactly what does spiritual beauty mean, and how do we know it
in others? Is it known intellectually or through a more profound relational
perception of the person?
These are just a few of the challenging questions about beauty that
in the end lead us to a deeper consideration of personhood. The person is
increasingly defined in a Cartesian sense, as a thinking substance or as per-
sons who are “able to make aims and appreciate their own life.”39 But know-
ing a person with disabilities reveals the inadequacy of equating personhood
with the superficial and obvious exercise of intellect and will. Knowing the
disabled person leads us instead to focus on the more profound ability of
the person to be in relationship with others, which draws on the intellect
and the will in subtle, mysterious ways.40 In the end, this relational aspect of
37
This is not intended to imply some kind of separateness of the soul from
the person; rather the relationship of the body to the soul is a question that is distinct
from the relationship of the body to the person. Both questions must be considered.
38
“Perhaps more than men, women acknowledge the person, because they
see persons with their hearts. They see them independently of various ideological or
political systems. They see others in their greatness and limitations; they try to go out
to them and help them. In this way the basic plan of the Creator takes flesh in the infants as poverty, arguing that childlike receptivity is a perfection, imaging as it does
history of humanity and there is constantly revealed, in the variety of vocations, that the receptivity of Christ. This offers an avenue for future exploration of the recep-
beauty-not merely physical, but above all spiritual-which God bestowed from the tive relationality of persons with disability, who profoundly image the neediness of
very beginning on all, and in a particular way on women” (St. John Paul II, “Letter childhood relationality. Schindler makes the case that relationality must be anchored
to Women,” § 12, par. 1, June 29, 1995, accessed August 30, 2015, http://w2.vat- in esse rather than agere, another important insight for understanding the relationality
ican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/letters/1995/documents/hf_jp-ii_let_29061995_ of persons with disabilities; see David Schindler, “Norris Clark on Person, Being,
women.html). and St. Thomas,” Communio 20, no. 3 (1993): 580–92, http://www.communio-icr.
39
Giubilini and Minerva, “After-birth abortion.” com/files/schindler20-3.pdf. See also Aquinas, ST I, q. 40, art. 2, for his discussion
40
Particular attention is paid to the receptive relationality of infants in the dis- of distinction of the persons of the Blessed Trinity according to relation, which
cussion about receptivity and relationality in David Schindler’s review of Fr. Norris proves crucial for understanding the relationality of persons as an aspect of imaging
Clark’s Person and Being. Schindler rejects Clark’s characterization of the receptivity of God.

Beauty and Desecration
Roger Scruton
The following is about beauty, and the questions that worry us today: just
what is the role of beauty in the life that is growing around us?1 How do we
distinguish it from its fake versions? And how do we defend it against the
surrounding culture?
I wish to say a few philosophical things before we begin about why
beauty matters. We live in a world in which utilitarian values are not just
triumphant, but for many people the only values that there are. For such
people there seems to be no sense that things can have a value that is not a
form of use. This means that all of us are engaged all the time in what some
philosophers call “instrumental reasoning.” Whenever we are asked to justify
something we try to find a purpose for it. For example, when someone says
“Justify the shape of a particular room at a particular University,” we do so
in terms of its purpose, which is to gather people together to listen to a lec-
ture. If it is not very efficient at that, then the room has not actually achieved
what it set out to achieve. In all our activities we are familiar with this kind
of reasoning. But the question is, why is that the only kind of reasoning? We
know perfectly well that it cannot be the only kind because if something is
a means to an end, there has to be an end that it is a means to, and that too
needs a justification. So we do reason with each other about the ends of our
activity; what our goals are and whether we should be pursuing them. And
this is especially true in activities such as building or setting out on a career, in
which there is a long term project involved and an end point that you cannot
very clearly envisage. You know when you set out to build something, you
cannot clearly envisage the endpoint just from a ground plan. You need some
conception of not just what it will look like, but what will it be like to live
with it. And only if you know what it will be like to live with it, will you be
justified in building it.
One reason why modern architecture is such a failure is because
people do not try to envisage what it will be like to live with the product
that they are building. Rather, they think only about its present function and
whether it fulfills it according to the requirements. Reasoning about what it is
like to live with something means bringing the end of your activity forward
This essay is based on a transcript of Roger Scruton’s plenary lecture, given
1
on September 19th, 2014. A video of the talk can be found at: http://www.faithan-
dreason.com/2014/12/dr-roger-scruton-beauty-desecration/.
© Roger Scruton, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Roger Scruton 151
to the present, so that you sense its being, as it were, with you in the moment
where you are. It is the role of beauty and aesthetic judgment to do that. By
seeking beauty we are also seeking long-term companionship, rather than
short-term function.
We also argue about our ends from a religious point of view. We
know that people have a conception of the meaning of life as lying in some
way beyond life, either in the transcendental or in the afterlife. This meaning
is sometimes revealed in the present moment: the moment which people are
apt to describe as sacred, such as the moment of liturgy and worship, the
moment of revelation or reading a sacred text. And perhaps being blessed
with that experience is what St. Paul describes (in the words of the prayer
book) as “the peace that passeth understanding”: such a thing involves very
powerful emotion and a powerful experience—if you can attain it. But we
live in a world where not everyone does obtain it or even seek for it. Increas-
ingly the surrounding culture either ignores the sacred or denigrates it. So it
is very difficult to explain to people who are immersed in the secular culture
how you would justify the ends of existence and not just the means. I think
this is our situation today.
Take as an example a landscape by Renoir. Whatever is happening
in that landscape, it is imbued with a sense of peace and order, and takes
from the surrounding colors the vitality that brings it to life. But Renoir, like
other impressionists, painted a world to which we belong. Belonging is an
all-important aspect of human experience. Not everybody has it; and our jails
are filled with the people who do not. But most of the people reading this,
I imagine, are where they are without having committed a criminal offense
and feel that they do instinctively belong in the world and are in the business
of making that belonging more rooted, more permanent, and more wound
together with the belonging of their fellows; indeed, that is part of what edu-
cation is about. And that is what you see in a beautiful landscape by a painter
like Renoir. These are ordinary trees—fruit trees—with an ordinary moun-
tain in the distance, and so on; but the painter shows them as part of a world
to which we belong. And for him—for Renoir and his contemporaries—it is
a post-religious world. The impressionists were very much a people of their
time, who were skeptical about religion, and in any case, they regarded it as
their duty as painters to show that it is this world, not the next that matters.
It is quite hard to paint the next world. It has been done in words by Dan-
te, and a few painters have tried to follow him, but for the most part their
efforts have been failures. But nevertheless, our world is not that bad. It is
imbued with its own tranquility and that tranquility can reside in perception
itself. That is what Renoir is telling us. He says, “ “Stop, stand still, and look.”
And in that perception, you will see that this thing right in front of you has
a meaning all of its own, a meaning that justifies you being in it and reminds

Beauty and Desecration
Roger Scruton
The following is about beauty, and the questions that worry us today: just
what is the role of beauty in the life that is growing around us?1 How do we
distinguish it from its fake versions? And how do we defend it against the
surrounding culture?
I wish to say a few philosophical things before we begin about why
beauty matters. We live in a world in which utilitarian values are not just
triumphant, but for many people the only values that there are. For such
people there seems to be no sense that things can have a value that is not a
form of use. This means that all of us are engaged all the time in what some
philosophers call “instrumental reasoning.” Whenever we are asked to justify
something we try to find a purpose for it. For example, when someone says
“Justify the shape of a particular room at a particular University,” we do so
in terms of its purpose, which is to gather people together to listen to a lec-
ture. If it is not very efficient at that, then the room has not actually achieved
what it set out to achieve. In all our activities we are familiar with this kind
of reasoning. But the question is, why is that the only kind of reasoning? We
know perfectly well that it cannot be the only kind because if something is
a means to an end, there has to be an end that it is a means to, and that too
needs a justification. So we do reason with each other about the ends of our
activity; what our goals are and whether we should be pursuing them. And
this is especially true in activities such as building or setting out on a career, in
which there is a long term project involved and an end point that you cannot
very clearly envisage. You know when you set out to build something, you
cannot clearly envisage the endpoint just from a ground plan. You need some
conception of not just what it will look like, but what will it be like to live
with it. And only if you know what it will be like to live with it, will you be
justified in building it.
One reason why modern architecture is such a failure is because
people do not try to envisage what it will be like to live with the product
that they are building. Rather, they think only about its present function and
whether it fulfills it according to the requirements. Reasoning about what it is
like to live with something means bringing the end of your activity forward
This essay is based on a transcript of Roger Scruton’s plenary lecture, given
1
on September 19th, 2014. A video of the talk can be found at: http://www.faithan-
dreason.com/2014/12/dr-roger-scruton-beauty-desecration/.
© Roger Scruton, Quaestiones Disputatae, Vol. 6, No. 2 (Spring 2016)
Roger Scruton 151
to the present, so that you sense its being, as it were, with you in the moment
where you are. It is the role of beauty and aesthetic judgment to do that. By
seeking beauty we are also seeking long-term companionship, rather than
short-term function.
We also argue about our ends from a religious point of view. We
know that people have a conception of the meaning of life as lying in some
way beyond life, either in the transcendental or in the afterlife. This meaning
is sometimes revealed in the present moment: the moment which people are
apt to describe as sacred, such as the moment of liturgy and worship, the
moment of revelation or reading a sacred text. And perhaps being blessed
with that experience is what St. Paul describes (in the words of the prayer
book) as “the peace that passeth understanding”: such a thing involves very
powerful emotion and a powerful experience—if you can attain it. But we
live in a world where not everyone does obtain it or even seek for it. Increas-
ingly the surrounding culture either ignores the sacred or denigrates it. So it
is very difficult to explain to people who are immersed in the secular culture
how you would justify the ends of existence and not just the means. I think
this is our situation today.
Take as an example a landscape by Renoir. Whatever is happening
in that landscape, it is imbued with a sense of peace and order, and takes
from the surrounding colors the vitality that brings it to life. But Renoir, like
other impressionists, painted a world to which we belong. Belonging is an
all-important aspect of human experience. Not everybody has it; and our jails
are filled with the people who do not. But most of the people reading this,
I imagine, are where they are without having committed a criminal offense
and feel that they do instinctively belong in the world and are in the business
of making that belonging more rooted, more permanent, and more wound
together with the belonging of their fellows; indeed, that is part of what edu-
cation is about. And that is what you see in a beautiful landscape by a painter
like Renoir. These are ordinary trees—fruit trees—with an ordinary moun-
tain in the distance, and so on; but the painter shows them as part of a world
to which we belong. And for him—for Renoir and his contemporaries—it is
a post-religious world. The impressionists were very much a people of their
time, who were skeptical about religion, and in any case, they regarded it as
their duty as painters to show that it is this world, not the next that matters.
It is quite hard to paint the next world. It has been done in words by Dan-
te, and a few painters have tried to follow him, but for the most part their
efforts have been failures. But nevertheless, our world is not that bad. It is
imbued with its own tranquility and that tranquility can reside in perception
itself. That is what Renoir is telling us. He says, “ “Stop, stand still, and look.”
And in that perception, you will see that this thing right in front of you has
a meaning all of its own, a meaning that justifies you being in it and reminds
152 Beauty and Desecration
you that you belong to it. So there is a moment of standing still that we all
can achieve and which involves letting the otherness of the world dawn on
us. The world is other than me—not just imagined by me—but there in front
of me and including me nevertheless.
When painters do this—painters of modern life as Baudelaire calls
them—they do not behave as photographers behave. This is something
which is very difficult to explain to people these days because everybody
goes around with a smart phone or some such technological apparatus, im-
mortalizing the ephemera of their existence, and as a result desecrating it
with their own trivial perceptions. Renoir was not doing that at all. He was
not pointing a camera at that landscape; maybe the landscape did not entirely
look like that. He was trying to extract from it what it means; and what it
means not just from the perceptual point of view but spiritually. Now we live
in a time when there is much ugliness and much desecration—in many ways a
deliberate making ugly of things, or carelessness as to whether things should
be ugly or beautiful. And many things that we regard as beautiful we discover
to be desecrated. Not just by the way we treat them, but also by the works of
art that are supposed to celebrate them. We know this from our experience
of the human form. The human form is all-important to us because it is the
primary locus of meaning. It is the thing that means most to us in the world.
The human face and the human body come before us imbued with the life of
the spirit, but we can also desecrate them as they are desecrated by pornog-
raphy, which wipes away the human face from the animal body. And to be in
that way turned into an object is essentially to lose one’s spiritual value.
Now part of what lies behind this is a growing obsession with pow-
er. Power is the great commodity that is, as it were, transferred from person
to person in the world that we are creating. And many people would say,
Look, here is old Scruton communicating his ideas to an audience,
enjoying his power. You as my readers are transferring to me that
power—the power to hold your attention and to infect you with
my reactionary attitudes. This power is something that I have not
yet justified and many scholars influenced by people like Foucault
would say that I could not justify it. The institution is structured
by domination, and I am enjoying that domination—triumphing
over you, the victims who are reading this essay.
Now you do not actually believe this because you know that you are sitting
and reading willingly—but nevertheless one can re-describe the whole of the
world in that way; you can take the most innocent thing—for example, the
love of a mother for a child or the child for the mother—and you know that
there is power in that too, for if there were not, the mother could not protect
the child, and yet it is not the power aspect of it that is important but rather
Roger Scruton 153
the love aspect. Yet, all our loves create powers, and in all the things that
matter to us most, there is the element of power.
Furthermore, regarding the tranquility that Renoir is trying to put
across to us in his painting, many of the literary and artistic critics of today
would ask the questions, “What does this tranquility conceal? Who is using
it? Who is gaining? Who is losing?” And you can imagine the text in Modern
Language Review which will analyze that painting and try to persuade you that
it is there as part of the hegemony of the bourgeois class, representing nature
as in such a way as to endorse comfortable bourgeois attitudes, excluding
the truth about labor that went into those fruit trees and to clearing the
ground in which they were planted; in other words, legitimizing the power
of the French Bourgeoisie over the French peasant. In that way, Renoir be-
comes part of the ideology of western culture, and we need to liberate the
oppressed victims that this ideology is designed to keep in subjection. When
you start thinking in this way, nothing is as it seems. Everything dissolves, giv-
ing way to the reality behind it, which is the power that people exercise over
each other. And that is why beauty is thought to be a kind of deception; it
conceals the real relations between people, in which one class, or one person,
or one group, has dominion over another.
For the impressionist painters, such thinking is all nonsense. For
them, seeming is everything. What Renoir was trying to do with such a paint-
ing is to remind you of something which you would otherwise not notice,
namely, that the world is not concealed by its appearance but revealed in it.
The real world, the human world, the world of our moral life and emotional
relations, is the world that comes across to us in our immediate perception,
when we stop all the instrumental reasoning and forget all the powers and
the projects and just look. But because of the obsession with power, people
cease to look; they wipe away the face of the world so that the way things
seem is no longer available to them. Their work becomes an assault on beau-
ty, because it is an assault on the way we represent each other. An example is
a work of art (if you can call it that) called Zygotic acceleration, Biogenetic de-sub-
limated libidinal model, created by the two brothers Jake and Dinos Chapman.2
It is quite normal now in British art schools for people to do joint works of
art like this because that way you get rid of the romantic idea of the artistic
genius who has got something special to say. Instead artists are doing it to-
gether, the purpose in this case being to make the human body into a kind
of liquid, standing in those childish Mary Jane shoes with all the body parts
deformed (for example, having a penis instead of a nose). These artists were
2
Jake and Dinos Chapman, Zygotic acceleration, Biogentic de-sublimated libidinal
model (Enlarged x 1000), 1995, mannequin, mixed media, wigs and trainers, http://
jakeanddinoschapman.com/works/zygotic-acceleration-biogenetic-de-sublimat-
ed-libidinal-model-enlarged-x-1000/. (Warning: some graphic content.)
152 Beauty and Desecration
you that you belong to it. So there is a moment of standing still that we all
can achieve and which involves letting the otherness of the world dawn on
us. The world is other than me—not just imagined by me—but there in front
of me and including me nevertheless.
When painters do this—painters of modern life as Baudelaire calls
them—they do not behave as photographers behave. This is something
which is very difficult to explain to people these days because everybody
goes around with a smart phone or some such technological apparatus, im-
mortalizing the ephemera of their existence, and as a result desecrating it
with their own trivial perceptions. Renoir was not doing that at all. He was
not pointing a camera at that landscape; maybe the landscape did not entirely
look like that. He was trying to extract from it what it means; and what it
means not just from the perceptual point of view but spiritually. Now we live
in a time when there is much ugliness and much desecration—in many ways a
deliberate making ugly of things, or carelessness as to whether things should
be ugly or beautiful. And many things that we regard as beautiful we discover
to be desecrated. Not just by the way we treat them, but also by the works of
art that are supposed to celebrate them. We know this from our experience
of the human form. The human form is all-important to us because it is the
primary locus of meaning. It is the thing that means most to us in the world.
The human face and the human body come before us imbued with the life of
the spirit, but we can also desecrate them as they are desecrated by pornog-
raphy, which wipes away the human face from the animal body. And to be in
that way turned into an object is essentially to lose one’s spiritual value.
Now part of what lies behind this is a growing obsession with pow-
er. Power is the great commodity that is, as it were, transferred from person
to person in the world that we are creating. And many people would say,
Look, here is old Scruton communicating his ideas to an audience,
enjoying his power. You as my readers are transferring to me that
power—the power to hold your attention and to infect you with
my reactionary attitudes. This power is something that I have not
yet justified and many scholars influenced by people like Foucault
would say that I could not justify it. The institution is structured
by domination, and I am enjoying that domination—triumphing
over you, the victims who are reading this essay.
Now you do not actually believe this because you know that you are sitting
and reading willingly—but nevertheless one can re-describe the whole of the
world in that way; you can take the most innocent thing—for example, the
love of a mother for a child or the child for the mother—and you know that
there is power in that too, for if there were not, the mother could not protect
the child, and yet it is not the power aspect of it that is important but rather
Roger Scruton 153
the love aspect. Yet, all our loves create powers, and in all the things that
matter to us most, there is the element of power.
Furthermore, regarding the tranquility that Renoir is trying to put
across to us in his painting, many of the literary and artistic critics of today
would ask the questions, “What does this tranquility conceal? Who is using
it? Who is gaining? Who is losing?” And you can imagine the text in Modern
Language Review which will analyze that painting and try to persuade you that
it is there as part of the hegemony of the bourgeois class, representing nature
as in such a way as to endorse comfortable bourgeois attitudes, excluding
the truth about labor that went into those fruit trees and to clearing the
ground in which they were planted; in other words, legitimizing the power
of the French Bourgeoisie over the French peasant. In that way, Renoir be-
comes part of the ideology of western culture, and we need to liberate the
oppressed victims that this ideology is designed to keep in subjection. When
you start thinking in this way, nothing is as it seems. Everything dissolves, giv-
ing way to the reality behind it, which is the power that people exercise over
each other. And that is why beauty is thought to be a kind of deception; it
conceals the real relations between people, in which one class, or one person,
or one group, has dominion over another.
For the impressionist painters, such thinking is all nonsense. For
them, seeming is everything. What Renoir was trying to do with such a paint-
ing is to remind you of something which you would otherwise not notice,
namely, that the world is not concealed by its appearance but revealed in it.
The real world, the human world, the world of our moral life and emotional
relations, is the world that comes across to us in our immediate perception,
when we stop all the instrumental reasoning and forget all the powers and
the projects and just look. But because of the obsession with power, people
cease to look; they wipe away the face of the world so that the way things
seem is no longer available to them. Their work becomes an assault on beau-
ty, because it is an assault on the way we represent each other. An example is
a work of art (if you can call it that) called Zygotic acceleration, Biogenetic de-sub-
limated libidinal model, created by the two brothers Jake and Dinos Chapman.2
It is quite normal now in British art schools for people to do joint works of
art like this because that way you get rid of the romantic idea of the artistic
genius who has got something special to say. Instead artists are doing it to-
gether, the purpose in this case being to make the human body into a kind
of liquid, standing in those childish Mary Jane shoes with all the body parts
deformed (for example, having a penis instead of a nose). These artists were
2
Jake and Dinos Chapman, Zygotic acceleration, Biogentic de-sublimated libidinal
model (Enlarged x 1000), 1995, mannequin, mixed media, wigs and trainers, http://
jakeanddinoschapman.com/works/zygotic-acceleration-biogenetic-de-sublimat-
ed-libidinal-model-enlarged-x-1000/. (Warning: some graphic content.)
154 Beauty and Desecration
brought up in an art school which told them that the purpose of art is not to
beautify life, or to replace the sacred moment that religion might have given
us. In no way is art to give us a sense of the meaningfulness of things; on the
contrary it is there to deconstruct those things, to show that life is essentially
meaningless. You can best show this by taking the human body and making
it repulsive. harmony or order— even a kind of redemption in the shape of those sheets:
We all know of Tracy Emin’s My Bed, which last changed hands at
two million pounds, in which she presented…well, her bed. After she had
got out of it of course, with all the debris of her nights dissipation lying on
the carpet round about. It is in the Tate Modern Gallery now; its permanent
resting place.3 (Although those sheets are going to rot away quicker than most
sheets do.) I want to contrast it with another bed which I mentioned in the
film I made about this: Delacroix’s bed. Delacroix was a great French paint-
er from the romantic period who was also a highly learned and interesting
cultural figure—perhaps one of the greatest of nineteenth century cultural
figures in France. Here is his bed (fig. 1).
Fig. (1) Delacroix, An Unmade Bed
It is not an actual bed like Emin’s, but a painting of a bed. In painting it, he
has tried to transfer into the bed some of his sense of the value of lying
in it and being the thing that wrestled with those sheets. A comparison of
these two works helps you to understand what has gone wrong in art today.
Tracy Emin’s bed presents itself but offers nothing beyond itself: it is just
there. Delacroix’s bed presents something other than itself. The painter’s life
has been translated into those fabrics; a perpetuation in another form of a
Tracy Emin, My Bed, 1998, Mattress, linens, pillows, objects, 79 x 211 x 234
3
cm, Staachi Gallery, http://www.saatchigallery.com/artists/artpages/tracey_emin_
my_bed.htm.
Roger Scruton 155
spiritual wrestling which we know from Delacroix’s life and from his other
paintings. Delacroix’s Unmade Bed is the record of a battle with fabric—a
wrestling with the flexibility of this world and an attempt to impose upon it a
meaningful human form.4 It is a testimony to the spiritual life with which we
invest all the objects with which we are in touch. He was looking for a kind of
the trace left in them by the spirit, which will include meaning beyond the
present moment. This illustrates the difference between the representation
of life—which is also a transfiguration of life into a permanent record of the
spirit—and the mere debris of life. Once you see it, you realize that only the
first of those is a genuine artistic activity.
However we have entered a period in our history when ugliness
has become a kind of cult— not ugliness as such but transgressive ugliness,
like those melted together human figures of the Chapman brothers. It is an
ugliness that pollutes or negates some familiar ideal or value. Now trans-
gression has a certain appeal. It is an act of self-affirmation that frees itself
from judgment. The transgressive gesture says “I don’t care if you actually
judge me or not, I’m going to do it, and I’m going to affirm myself against
your judgment.” That is in itself a liberation. I think I have seen this in every
sphere of human endeavor since the 1960s: the assumption of a freedom to
offend. It is the freedom to annihilate other people’s vision of what matters
and to show that the values by which other people live do not count for you.
That is a stage which all of us have to go through at some point in our lives.
We have to fight against our parents, fight against institutions, fight against
the people who seem to be preventing us from being what we truly are and
going out into the world so as to claim it as our own. And in the normal run
of things that is not a particularly bad thing to do, because after all, once you
are out there in the big world feeling the winds of opposition all around, you
realize that you are actually on your own, and it was a terrible mistake to be so
offensive to the people you need. Gradually you work your way back to them,
and reassume possession of them as they do of you; you are reconciled and
forgiven, as in the famous parable of the prodigal son.
So there is a paradox in this position of assuming the freedom to
offend. It is only because other people’s values count for you that you can
be exhilarated by defying them. Nevertheless, this is certainly what artists
at a certain stage did. De Kooning was, I guess, a paradigm of this. He is
an artist who has largely been “seen through” now, except in America. And
the reason why he has not been “seen through” in America is that a lot of
Fig. 1: Eugene Delacroix, An Unmade Bed, 1828, watercolor, 18.5 x 29.9
4
cm, New York: Art Resource, http://www.artres.com/C.aspx?VP3=ViewBox_
VPage&VBID=2UN365NZT2PJC&IT=ZoomImageTemplate01_VForm&I-
ID=2UNTWACVPDMF&PN=1&CT=Search&SF=0.
154 Beauty and Desecration
brought up in an art school which told them that the purpose of art is not to
beautify life, or to replace the sacred moment that religion might have given
us. In no way is art to give us a sense of the meaningfulness of things; on the
contrary it is there to deconstruct those things, to show that life is essentially
meaningless. You can best show this by taking the human body and making
it repulsive. harmony or order— even a kind of redemption in the shape of those sheets:
We all know of Tracy Emin’s My Bed, which last changed hands at
two million pounds, in which she presented…well, her bed. After she had
got out of it of course, with all the debris of her nights dissipation lying on
the carpet round about. It is in the Tate Modern Gallery now; its permanent
resting place.3 (Although those sheets are going to rot away quicker than most
sheets do.) I want to contrast it with another bed which I mentioned in the
film I made about this: Delacroix’s bed. Delacroix was a great French paint-
er from the romantic period who was also a highly learned and interesting
cultural figure—perhaps one of the greatest of nineteenth century cultural
figures in France. Here is his bed (fig. 1).
Fig. (1) Delacroix, An Unmade Bed
It is not an actual bed like Emin’s, but a painting of a bed. In painting it, he
has tried to transfer into the bed some of his sense of the value of lying
in it and being the thing that wrestled with those sheets. A comparison of
these two works helps you to understand what has gone wrong in art today.
Tracy Emin’s bed presents itself but offers nothing beyond itself: it is just
there. Delacroix’s bed presents something other than itself. The painter’s life
has been translated into those fabrics; a perpetuation in another form of a
Tracy Emin, My Bed, 1998, Mattress, linens, pillows, objects, 79 x 211 x 234
3
cm, Staachi Gallery, http://www.saatchigallery.com/artists/artpages/tracey_emin_
my_bed.htm.
Roger Scruton 155
spiritual wrestling which we know from Delacroix’s life and from his other
paintings. Delacroix’s Unmade Bed is the record of a battle with fabric—a
wrestling with the flexibility of this world and an attempt to impose upon it a
meaningful human form.4 It is a testimony to the spiritual life with which we
invest all the objects with which we are in touch. He was looking for a kind of
the trace left in them by the spirit, which will include meaning beyond the
present moment. This illustrates the difference between the representation
of life—which is also a transfiguration of life into a permanent record of the
spirit—and the mere debris of life. Once you see it, you realize that only the
first of those is a genuine artistic activity.
However we have entered a period in our history when ugliness
has become a kind of cult— not ugliness as such but transgressive ugliness,
like those melted together human figures of the Chapman brothers. It is an
ugliness that pollutes or negates some familiar ideal or value. Now trans-
gression has a certain appeal. It is an act of self-affirmation that frees itself
from judgment. The transgressive gesture says “I don’t care if you actually
judge me or not, I’m going to do it, and I’m going to affirm myself against
your judgment.” That is in itself a liberation. I think I have seen this in every
sphere of human endeavor since the 1960s: the assumption of a freedom to
offend. It is the freedom to annihilate other people’s vision of what matters
and to show that the values by which other people live do not count for you.
That is a stage which all of us have to go through at some point in our lives.
We have to fight against our parents, fight against institutions, fight against
the people who seem to be preventing us from being what we truly are and
going out into the world so as to claim it as our own. And in the normal run
of things that is not a particularly bad thing to do, because after all, once you
are out there in the big world feeling the winds of opposition all around, you
realize that you are actually on your own, and it was a terrible mistake to be so
offensive to the people you need. Gradually you work your way back to them,
and reassume possession of them as they do of you; you are reconciled and
forgiven, as in the famous parable of the prodigal son.
So there is a paradox in this position of assuming the freedom to
offend. It is only because other people’s values count for you that you can
be exhilarated by defying them. Nevertheless, this is certainly what artists
at a certain stage did. De Kooning was, I guess, a paradigm of this. He is
an artist who has largely been “seen through” now, except in America. And
the reason why he has not been “seen through” in America is that a lot of
Fig. 1: Eugene Delacroix, An Unmade Bed, 1828, watercolor, 18.5 x 29.9
4
cm, New York: Art Resource, http://www.artres.com/C.aspx?VP3=ViewBox_
VPage&VBID=2UN365NZT2PJC&IT=ZoomImageTemplate01_VForm&I-
ID=2UNTWACVPDMF&PN=1&CT=Search&SF=0.
156 Beauty and Desecration
money has been spent on his pictures, so that museum art critics and private
owners conspire to make sure that they are not going to lose the two million
dollars that they spent on whatever masterpiece had been palmed off on
them. If you can keep the values up, then your museum is still worth what
you have invested in it. Take De Kooning’s painting entitled Woman.5 It is his
representation of what a woman fundamentally is. All those ideals of wom-
anhood that you might have entertained in your self-deceiving moments are,
De Kooning tells you, as nothing beside his representation. His painting gives
you the truth of woman. And of course it is a lie.
Another instance of this approach to ideals is to be found in modern
opera productions. Some of you may know the great opera Rusalka by Dvor-
ak, which tells the famous story of Undine the water nymph—Rusalka in
the Czech version—who falls in love with a mortal. It is a beautiful romantic
story not only about the mystery of woman but about the traditional demand
for chastity and purity in preparing a woman for love and the danger in which
she is put by this demand. The demand is symbolized by the fact that she ac-
tually is living in the water; if she comes out of it, will that be the end of her?
If she tempts the mortal into the water, will that be the end of him, etc? So
this story is told many, many times, but never as well as by Dvorak. Recently
there has been a production of this opera by Covent Garden (London’s Op-
era) in which Rusalka the water nymph—the pure water nymph who dreams
of an erotic relation which no water nymph is allowed—is turned into a
prostitute and the water is the bath in which she is lying while expecting a
stream of lovers and in which, for reasons that cannot be explained, she sings
an aria to the moon. This kind of desecration is a very ordinary occurrence in
opera productions today. The idea in the minds of so many opera producers
when asked to produce a romantic fairy tale is to bring in sex and violence in
order that the audience of ordinary middle class people, who spent a couple
hundred dollars for their tickets, can be given a hard time. They came there
for this beautiful romantic legend—and they will not come again—but you
have got them for a couple of hours. So insult them while you can.
Why did all this come about? I think that we cannot understand the
great movement to desecrate works of art if we do not attend a little bit to
the phenomenon of kitsch, and the distrust of beauty that arose because of
kitsch. In the Romantic Movement—which dominated all of art through the
nineteenth century—there grew a certain suspicion of beauty; the homely
sort of beauty that appeals to ordinary people and does not seem to threat-
en them. There was a movement toward the sublime: great tragedies rather
than sweet fairy tales, emphasizing the difficulties of human life, the diffi-
William De Kooning, Woman, I, 1950–52, oil on canvas, 192.7 x 147.3 cm,
5
MoMA, http://www.moma.org/collection/works/79810.
Roger Scruton 157
culty of emerging from a life of oppression, etc. We have many great works
of Romantic art which focus on these very negative aspects of the human
condition but which try to find beauty in them nevertheless. All of this is
epitomized in Baudelaire’s famous poem Beauty that I recommend you to
read. There was a movement away from the beautiful, and at the same time a
fear of the sweetness that beauty can bring into our lives. Is there not a kind
of deception involved in that? If life really is as bad as we all know it to be,
is art not deceiving us by trying to make us find sweetness and consolation
in it? Maybe there is no sweetness and consolation. Maybe art should have
another role: that of showing the truth to people who would not otherwise
be able to perceive it. And if art concentrates on beauty, is it not just going to
degenerate into faking things?
I give you a contrast here between two Venuses. Everybody knows
Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus,6 which I should like to contrast with The Birth
of Venus by Bouguereau;7 Bouguereau being the famous salon painter of the
nineteenth century in France who was a wonderfully accomplished painter in
the style of Ingres. A question mark is inevitably placed over him because of
the sweetness, gentleness and also the perfection of everything he did, which
seemed to many people to be a kind of lying. Baudelaire expressly defended
Manet against Bouguereau because Manet was showing us life as it is without
any of this cloying sweetness.
You all know Botticelli’s Venus (fig. 2).
Fig. (2) Botticelli, Venus
6
Fig. 3: Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, c1486, tempera on panel, 172.5
x 278.5 cm, Uffizi Gallery, http://www.uffizi.org/artworks/the-birth-of-venus-by-
sandro-botticelli/.
7
Fig. 4: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Birth of Venus, 1879, oil on canvas,
300 x 218 cm, Musée D’Orsay, http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/collections/index-
of-works/notice.html?nnumid=016649%7C.
156 Beauty and Desecration
money has been spent on his pictures, so that museum art critics and private
owners conspire to make sure that they are not going to lose the two million
dollars that they spent on whatever masterpiece had been palmed off on
them. If you can keep the values up, then your museum is still worth what
you have invested in it. Take De Kooning’s painting entitled Woman.5 It is his
representation of what a woman fundamentally is. All those ideals of wom-
anhood that you might have entertained in your self-deceiving moments are,
De Kooning tells you, as nothing beside his representation. His painting gives
you the truth of woman. And of course it is a lie.
Another instance of this approach to ideals is to be found in modern
opera productions. Some of you may know the great opera Rusalka by Dvor-
ak, which tells the famous story of Undine the water nymph—Rusalka in
the Czech version—who falls in love with a mortal. It is a beautiful romantic
story not only about the mystery of woman but about the traditional demand
for chastity and purity in preparing a woman for love and the danger in which
she is put by this demand. The demand is symbolized by the fact that she ac-
tually is living in the water; if she comes out of it, will that be the end of her?
If she tempts the mortal into the water, will that be the end of him, etc? So
this story is told many, many times, but never as well as by Dvorak. Recently
there has been a production of this opera by Covent Garden (London’s Op-
era) in which Rusalka the water nymph—the pure water nymph who dreams
of an erotic relation which no water nymph is allowed—is turned into a
prostitute and the water is the bath in which she is lying while expecting a
stream of lovers and in which, for reasons that cannot be explained, she sings
an aria to the moon. This kind of desecration is a very ordinary occurrence in
opera productions today. The idea in the minds of so many opera producers
when asked to produce a romantic fairy tale is to bring in sex and violence in
order that the audience of ordinary middle class people, who spent a couple
hundred dollars for their tickets, can be given a hard time. They came there
for this beautiful romantic legend—and they will not come again—but you
have got them for a couple of hours. So insult them while you can.
Why did all this come about? I think that we cannot understand the
great movement to desecrate works of art if we do not attend a little bit to
the phenomenon of kitsch, and the distrust of beauty that arose because of
kitsch. In the Romantic Movement—which dominated all of art through the
nineteenth century—there grew a certain suspicion of beauty; the homely
sort of beauty that appeals to ordinary people and does not seem to threat-
en them. There was a movement toward the sublime: great tragedies rather
than sweet fairy tales, emphasizing the difficulties of human life, the diffi-
William De Kooning, Woman, I, 1950–52, oil on canvas, 192.7 x 147.3 cm,
5
MoMA, http://www.moma.org/collection/works/79810.
Roger Scruton 157
culty of emerging from a life of oppression, etc. We have many great works
of Romantic art which focus on these very negative aspects of the human
condition but which try to find beauty in them nevertheless. All of this is
epitomized in Baudelaire’s famous poem Beauty that I recommend you to
read. There was a movement away from the beautiful, and at the same time a
fear of the sweetness that beauty can bring into our lives. Is there not a kind
of deception involved in that? If life really is as bad as we all know it to be,
is art not deceiving us by trying to make us find sweetness and consolation
in it? Maybe there is no sweetness and consolation. Maybe art should have
another role: that of showing the truth to people who would not otherwise
be able to perceive it. And if art concentrates on beauty, is it not just going to
degenerate into faking things?
I give you a contrast here between two Venuses. Everybody knows
Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus,6 which I should like to contrast with The Birth
of Venus by Bouguereau;7 Bouguereau being the famous salon painter of the
nineteenth century in France who was a wonderfully accomplished painter in
the style of Ingres. A question mark is inevitably placed over him because of
the sweetness, gentleness and also the perfection of everything he did, which
seemed to many people to be a kind of lying. Baudelaire expressly defended
Manet against Bouguereau because Manet was showing us life as it is without
any of this cloying sweetness.
You all know Botticelli’s Venus (fig. 2).
Fig. (2) Botticelli, Venus
6
Fig. 3: Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus, c1486, tempera on panel, 172.5
x 278.5 cm, Uffizi Gallery, http://www.uffizi.org/artworks/the-birth-of-venus-by-
sandro-botticelli/.
7
Fig. 4: William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Birth of Venus, 1879, oil on canvas,
300 x 218 cm, Musée D’Orsay, http://www.musee-orsay.fr/en/collections/index-
of-works/notice.html?nnumid=016649%7C.
158 Beauty and Desecration
In that face, you see a particular conception of the erotic. Botticelli was a
Platonist who believed as Plato did that beauty is an object of desire, but also
a gateway to the transcendental. You understand what beauty really is if you
follow through that gateway, leave behind your earthly desires, and unite with
the spiritual condition from which they originally spring. This face for him
was not an object of sexual interest, but a stimulus to transcending all such
sensual emotions. The model for his Venus was Simonetta Vespucci, who
was the mistress of his prince and therefore unobtainable anyway. But she
was for Botticelli a symbol of the erotic as Plato conceived it, as an impulse
rooted in the flesh that must be transcended into the spiritual.
Bouguereau’s birth of Venus, as you see (fig. 3), is all perfection of
form but with no such transcendental meaning.
Fig. (3) Bouguereau, Birth of Venus
She is sniffing her freshly shaven armpit, waiting for the lover who is going to
come through the bathroom door, and obviously she will have to get rid of
the company meanwhile. Bougereau was a great master of color and form,
but somehow the sentiment is fake. This is not a real Venus. This is sexuality
in its ordinary vulgar form without any of Boticelli’s attempt to show the
meaning of it or of its reflection in the transcendental.
Desecration takes many forms. If we worry about kitsch, which all
painters today do, what do we do about it? There are roughly two responses.
Roger Scruton 159
First is to try and find a way to produce real art that is not kitsch. That is a re-
ally hard thing to do; producing art that does not have this fake character, that
is not just childish, that is not a Christmas decoration. Or you can do what
Jeff Koons does, which is to produce something which is so obviously kitsch
that nobody could ever accuse you of being taken in by it. For example, his
Balloon Dog8 sculpture is such obvious kitsch that we feel he must be making
a deeper point by producing it. Nobody has ever discovered what that deeper
point is, but there it is, desecrating a beautiful classical façade, probably for
many years to come.
The causes of the situation in which we find ourselves go deep.
We have acquired a distrust of beauty (or many people have). Many artists
have acquired this distrust because beauty is an invitation into realms that
have been mined. There are traps there. You might fall into the trap of Bou-
guereau. However beautiful your human figures may be, they turn out in the
end just to be your standard “Christmas card porn”. The reality slips away
from you and you are left with a fake. There is an attempt to show that you
are a genuine artist by producing something that nobody could possibly like,
because that will prove that you must be serious. And there are consolations
also in ugliness, when it is used to show that life does not matter anyway.
That is the meaning of the Chapman brothers’ sculpture: “life is simply a
nothingness. We happen to have been born and will die, decay, and disappear
and so what?” There is a charm in that view; a charm which I call the ‘charm
of disenchantment.’ Being disenchanted with things gives you a kind of
glamour. You know if you go around a room of people who are exclaiming
“oooh!” and “ahhh!” in the face of kitsch, then being disenchanted gives you
a kind of distinction. You are the one who is not saying “oooh!” or “ahhh!”.
I think that many artists aspire to the distinction of “not being taken in” so
to speak—of not being duped by the surrounding culture of fakes, while
producing indecipheable fakes of their own.
Added to this is a desire to desecrate the old values by putting graf-
fiti on things, such as a moustache on the Mona Lisa.9 When that moustache
was first put on the Mona Lisa by Marcel Duchamp he was saying “We’ve
gone beyond that. That’s all nonsense. You might be taken in by that but I’m
not.” But ever since that gesture about a hundred years ago, much of the art
that we have come across (at least from the art schools) amounts to putting
another moustache on the Mona Lisa. The question automatically arises as
8
Jeff Koons, Balloon Dog, 1994–2004, mirror-polished stainless steel with
transparent coating, 307.3 x 363.2 x 114.3 cm, http://www.jeffkoons.com/artwork/
celebration/balloon-dog-0.
9
Marcel Duchamp, L.H.O.O.Q., 1919, rectified readymade: pencil on repro-
duction of Leonardo Davinci’s Mona Lisa, 19.7 x 12.4 cm, Musée National d’Art
Moderne (on loan), https://www.nga.gov/images/decor/dadainfo_fs.shtm.
158 Beauty and Desecration
In that face, you see a particular conception of the erotic. Botticelli was a
Platonist who believed as Plato did that beauty is an object of desire, but also
a gateway to the transcendental. You understand what beauty really is if you
follow through that gateway, leave behind your earthly desires, and unite with
the spiritual condition from which they originally spring. This face for him
was not an object of sexual interest, but a stimulus to transcending all such
sensual emotions. The model for his Venus was Simonetta Vespucci, who
was the mistress of his prince and therefore unobtainable anyway. But she
was for Botticelli a symbol of the erotic as Plato conceived it, as an impulse
rooted in the flesh that must be transcended into the spiritual.
Bouguereau’s birth of Venus, as you see (fig. 3), is all perfection of
form but with no such transcendental meaning.
Fig. (3) Bouguereau, Birth of Venus
She is sniffing her freshly shaven armpit, waiting for the lover who is going to
come through the bathroom door, and obviously she will have to get rid of
the company meanwhile. Bougereau was a great master of color and form,
but somehow the sentiment is fake. This is not a real Venus. This is sexuality
in its ordinary vulgar form without any of Boticelli’s attempt to show the
meaning of it or of its reflection in the transcendental.
Desecration takes many forms. If we worry about kitsch, which all
painters today do, what do we do about it? There are roughly two responses.
Roger Scruton 159
First is to try and find a way to produce real art that is not kitsch. That is a re-
ally hard thing to do; producing art that does not have this fake character, that
is not just childish, that is not a Christmas decoration. Or you can do what
Jeff Koons does, which is to produce something which is so obviously kitsch
that nobody could ever accuse you of being taken in by it. For example, his
Balloon Dog8 sculpture is such obvious kitsch that we feel he must be making
a deeper point by producing it. Nobody has ever discovered what that deeper
point is, but there it is, desecrating a beautiful classical façade, probably for
many years to come.
The causes of the situation in which we find ourselves go deep.
We have acquired a distrust of beauty (or many people have). Many artists
have acquired this distrust because beauty is an invitation into realms that
have been mined. There are traps there. You might fall into the trap of Bou-
guereau. However beautiful your human figures may be, they turn out in the
end just to be your standard “Christmas card porn”. The reality slips away
from you and you are left with a fake. There is an attempt to show that you
are a genuine artist by producing something that nobody could possibly like,
because that will prove that you must be serious. And there are consolations
also in ugliness, when it is used to show that life does not matter anyway.
That is the meaning of the Chapman brothers’ sculpture: “life is simply a
nothingness. We happen to have been born and will die, decay, and disappear
and so what?” There is a charm in that view; a charm which I call the ‘charm
of disenchantment.’ Being disenchanted with things gives you a kind of
glamour. You know if you go around a room of people who are exclaiming
“oooh!” and “ahhh!” in the face of kitsch, then being disenchanted gives you
a kind of distinction. You are the one who is not saying “oooh!” or “ahhh!”.
I think that many artists aspire to the distinction of “not being taken in” so
to speak—of not being duped by the surrounding culture of fakes, while
producing indecipheable fakes of their own.
Added to this is a desire to desecrate the old values by putting graf-
fiti on things, such as a moustache on the Mona Lisa.9 When that moustache
was first put on the Mona Lisa by Marcel Duchamp he was saying “We’ve
gone beyond that. That’s all nonsense. You might be taken in by that but I’m
not.” But ever since that gesture about a hundred years ago, much of the art
that we have come across (at least from the art schools) amounts to putting
another moustache on the Mona Lisa. The question automatically arises as
8
Jeff Koons, Balloon Dog, 1994–2004, mirror-polished stainless steel with
transparent coating, 307.3 x 363.2 x 114.3 cm, http://www.jeffkoons.com/artwork/
celebration/balloon-dog-0.
9
Marcel Duchamp, L.H.O.O.Q., 1919, rectified readymade: pencil on repro-
duction of Leonardo Davinci’s Mona Lisa, 19.7 x 12.4 cm, Musée National d’Art
Moderne (on loan), https://www.nga.gov/images/decor/dadainfo_fs.shtm.
160 Beauty and Desecration
to whether there is any point in doing it twice, let alone a thousand times.
The thought behind all this is that we have asked too much of art. We have
asked it to be a substitute for religion; to be the light from, and the window
on to, the transcendental. If it disappoints us in accomplishing this, then we
become in a certain way angry with it. Disappointment turns to repudiation.
So what is the mission of art? Is there a mission that we can still
maintain? I do believe that we all have a need for redemption, and I do not
mean that necessarily in the religious sense. I mean that we need actions,
gestures, plans, and projects to have a fulfillment of some kind, to lift us out
of the day-to-day appetites that otherwise swallow us. All of our actions aim
towards this. They aim beyond themselves to a point of rest in which we can
look back and endorse what we have done. This is so obviously the case with
human relations—especially love relations. It is there in all of our lives. A life
without this and without ideals gets tired of itself. When people are set on
the path of transgression it is partly because they have become disappointed
with the possibility of actually achieving this sort of redemption. So, where
then does beauty fit into this and what can it actually do by way of satisfying
our desire to be rescued from the world of appetite?
I have argued that the search for beauty is the search for a home,
for a place where you can be at home with yourself and with others, a place
where you belong. This is going back to the Renoir landscape; a landscape
as a thing that we belong to. Being at home means being at home with your-
self, and that means seeing yourself in some way as another, as another per-
son. Seeing yourself from outside, not just as this selfish self-involved thing
that you are familiar with when you wake up in the morning, but that other
thing that you were when you went to bed— the thing that has spent a day
with other people. And you want to be at home with what you find. And I
think this search for being at home does not start with high art, nor does it
end there. One of the reasons why people have become so confused about
beauty is because they have constantly taken their examples from the realm
of high art: those great and difficult things like Botticelli’s Venus, which you
have to think about for a long time before you know what they mean. High
art challenges us in the deepest parts of our being, and maybe we feel turned
off by it since we cannot live up to it, so we seek to live in another way. But
that is not where the search for beauty begins, nor is it where it ends.
I think it begins, and ends, with everyday life. People misconceive
aesthetics when they see it merely as the realm of beauty, as though that is all
we were ever really thinking about. When we go around the world, making
aesthetic judgments, it is not all “Oh yes! That’s beautiful…. No that’s ugly,
etc.” That’s not the way we behave at all. We actually make completely dif-
ferent kinds of judgments. We talk about whether something fits in, whether
it is graceful, whether that would be the right way to go forward, “Does
Roger Scruton 161
this color fit with that color?” and so on. And I think people take revenge
on beauty because they do not see that there is something more important
without which there can be no revenge. That more important thing is just the
instinct to get things right, to make things fit in and harmonize. And this is
where aesthetic judgment is a fundamental part of our everyday lives. We are
engaged in it all the time. Now I am not a natty dresser, but even I have the
question whether this tie goes with that jacket; it occupies me for a certain
amount of time, and it is a part of my attempt to fit in and harmonize, and
to fit into a given occasion.
You could put it, however, in a much more pretentious philosophical
way by saying that when we do this we are trying to realize ourselves as sub-
jects in the realm of objects. That is the language that Hegel and his followers
would use. The point is this. We are free beings. We are subjects who have
an inner life; but that inner life is not meaningful to us if we cannot in some
way make it into an outward reality among other outward realities. In all our
gestures we are trying to become a real part of things; to belong, in other
words. This process of ‘realization’ is something that goes on all the time and
all rational beings are engaged in it. Children know about it already, and we
see this when children are doing simple social and domestic things, like set-
ting the table for dinner. On such occasions you see what Wittgenstein would
call ‘the natural expression of aesthetic judgment.’ There they are trying to
fit things into the right place on the table. They are not saying to themselves
“Is this beautiful? Is this ugly?” or anything like that. Those words are not
part of their vocabulary probably; but they are asking themselves the ques-
tion “Is this right? Am I getting it right? Should it be a little bit more to the
left?” You see in the intent expression something only human beings mani-
fest. No animals manifest this sense of the rightness and the wrongness of
things, because if they reason at all they reason instrumentally. The children
have gone completely beyond the whole idea of the instrumental function
of these things. They have tried to fit things together so that they look right,
and so the guests will find that they look right too. That is the beginnings of
the aesthetic attitude.
We do not accept our world as simply a thing that is there, an assem-
bly of objects. We try to adorn it and to fit it to ourselves and us to it. We are
always aware of the distinction between things standing out and things fitting
in. Sometimes it is right for them to stand out, and sometimes it is wrong.
Fitting in is one of the most important aspects of our life in every sphere
of human endeavor. We all have a need to be a part of something greater
than ourselves. In many areas there is a distinction between looking right
and being right; but one of the important features of the aesthetic is that the
distinction between looking and being gets collapsed. For the children setting
the table there is not a distinction between the plate being in the right place
160 Beauty and Desecration
to whether there is any point in doing it twice, let alone a thousand times.
The thought behind all this is that we have asked too much of art. We have
asked it to be a substitute for religion; to be the light from, and the window
on to, the transcendental. If it disappoints us in accomplishing this, then we
become in a certain way angry with it. Disappointment turns to repudiation.
So what is the mission of art? Is there a mission that we can still
maintain? I do believe that we all have a need for redemption, and I do not
mean that necessarily in the religious sense. I mean that we need actions,
gestures, plans, and projects to have a fulfillment of some kind, to lift us out
of the day-to-day appetites that otherwise swallow us. All of our actions aim
towards this. They aim beyond themselves to a point of rest in which we can
look back and endorse what we have done. This is so obviously the case with
human relations—especially love relations. It is there in all of our lives. A life
without this and without ideals gets tired of itself. When people are set on
the path of transgression it is partly because they have become disappointed
with the possibility of actually achieving this sort of redemption. So, where
then does beauty fit into this and what can it actually do by way of satisfying
our desire to be rescued from the world of appetite?
I have argued that the search for beauty is the search for a home,
for a place where you can be at home with yourself and with others, a place
where you belong. This is going back to the Renoir landscape; a landscape
as a thing that we belong to. Being at home means being at home with your-
self, and that means seeing yourself in some way as another, as another per-
son. Seeing yourself from outside, not just as this selfish self-involved thing
that you are familiar with when you wake up in the morning, but that other
thing that you were when you went to bed— the thing that has spent a day
with other people. And you want to be at home with what you find. And I
think this search for being at home does not start with high art, nor does it
end there. One of the reasons why people have become so confused about
beauty is because they have constantly taken their examples from the realm
of high art: those great and difficult things like Botticelli’s Venus, which you
have to think about for a long time before you know what they mean. High
art challenges us in the deepest parts of our being, and maybe we feel turned
off by it since we cannot live up to it, so we seek to live in another way. But
that is not where the search for beauty begins, nor is it where it ends.
I think it begins, and ends, with everyday life. People misconceive
aesthetics when they see it merely as the realm of beauty, as though that is all
we were ever really thinking about. When we go around the world, making
aesthetic judgments, it is not all “Oh yes! That’s beautiful…. No that’s ugly,
etc.” That’s not the way we behave at all. We actually make completely dif-
ferent kinds of judgments. We talk about whether something fits in, whether
it is graceful, whether that would be the right way to go forward, “Does
Roger Scruton 161
this color fit with that color?” and so on. And I think people take revenge
on beauty because they do not see that there is something more important
without which there can be no revenge. That more important thing is just the
instinct to get things right, to make things fit in and harmonize. And this is
where aesthetic judgment is a fundamental part of our everyday lives. We are
engaged in it all the time. Now I am not a natty dresser, but even I have the
question whether this tie goes with that jacket; it occupies me for a certain
amount of time, and it is a part of my attempt to fit in and harmonize, and
to fit into a given occasion.
You could put it, however, in a much more pretentious philosophical
way by saying that when we do this we are trying to realize ourselves as sub-
jects in the realm of objects. That is the language that Hegel and his followers
would use. The point is this. We are free beings. We are subjects who have
an inner life; but that inner life is not meaningful to us if we cannot in some
way make it into an outward reality among other outward realities. In all our
gestures we are trying to become a real part of things; to belong, in other
words. This process of ‘realization’ is something that goes on all the time and
all rational beings are engaged in it. Children know about it already, and we
see this when children are doing simple social and domestic things, like set-
ting the table for dinner. On such occasions you see what Wittgenstein would
call ‘the natural expression of aesthetic judgment.’ There they are trying to
fit things into the right place on the table. They are not saying to themselves
“Is this beautiful? Is this ugly?” or anything like that. Those words are not
part of their vocabulary probably; but they are asking themselves the ques-
tion “Is this right? Am I getting it right? Should it be a little bit more to the
left?” You see in the intent expression something only human beings mani-
fest. No animals manifest this sense of the rightness and the wrongness of
things, because if they reason at all they reason instrumentally. The children
have gone completely beyond the whole idea of the instrumental function
of these things. They have tried to fit things together so that they look right,
and so the guests will find that they look right too. That is the beginnings of
the aesthetic attitude.
We do not accept our world as simply a thing that is there, an assem-
bly of objects. We try to adorn it and to fit it to ourselves and us to it. We are
always aware of the distinction between things standing out and things fitting
in. Sometimes it is right for them to stand out, and sometimes it is wrong.
Fitting in is one of the most important aspects of our life in every sphere
of human endeavor. We all have a need to be a part of something greater
than ourselves. In many areas there is a distinction between looking right
and being right; but one of the important features of the aesthetic is that the
distinction between looking and being gets collapsed. For the children setting
the table there is not a distinction between the plate being in the right place
162 Beauty and Desecration Roger Scruton 163
and looking to be in the right place. Rather, being and seeming have come we are free beings, but we also know that freedom demands recognition.
together. And that is something that is really important for us: to live in world This is something that Hegel emphasized and it is something that has to be
where every now and then being and seeming coincide, so that nothing, as it re-expressed in every generation. We are not truly free until others recognize
were, deceives us anymore. This is the great social significance of the aesthet- that we are free and grant us the space to be free, and that means that we are
ic. We live in a world which has been in many ways uglified and it is a world in relations of mutuality with each other. My freedom is always, as it were,
that we want to redeem, so that we are part of it once again. Our fulfillment rubbing up against the edge of your freedom and that boundary between us
is, as it were, reflected back to us from all the things that we encounter. That is the public world where we both belong, and it is in shaping that boundary
is part of what I mean by redemption, and why I say that redemption is one between us that the aesthetic sense is so important. That is where in our
function of the aesthetic. search for recognition from each other we attempt to be graceful towards
No matter what circumstances you are in, even if you are living in a each other and to bring each other to our side. I bring you to my side and
trailer park, you can do things right. You go to your local timber merchant, you bring me to your side so that the boundary where we coincide is mutu-
and you buy the Georgian windows to replace the rubbish that would other- ally acceptable. This practice, which might reasonably be called “grace”, is a
wise be there—you build a little cornice, and so on. Even when there is a lot matter of harmony and fitting in. Of course it cannot be achieved without
of money involved you can get things totally wrong, and there are plenty of the habit of giving and receiving. I give way to you and you give way to me.
examples to illustrate this. I offer you things and you receive them, and so on. This is what the public
In the town center of Reading in England there is a development world ideally should be, and that kind of giving and receiving things is what
that is built entirely out of horizontals, and nobody wants to live there. The should be embodied in our ideal forms of architecture. And it is in this search
center of Reading was destroyed completely by this development and it is to- for a mutual boundary, where we can stand and face each other and recognize
day standing totally empty, vandalized and covered in graffiti. This emphasis each other’s freedom, that is the true goal of aesthetic judgment, the source
on the horizontal was originally a very aesthetic thing, which came in with the of its redemptive power, and the reason why beauty matters.
architectural modernists, and in particular with the writings of Le Corbusier.
But even the modernists recognized, in the end, that vertical lines are the
frame that every building needs. Here is an example of a perfected modernist
interior, which is Wittgenstein’s house in Vienna which he designed for his
sister.10 And Wittgenstein, like me, had the sense that architecture ultimately
must get the vertical emphasis right; must make verticals stand parallel to
each other. And it is this sense of detail that matters. This is not my preferred
form of architecture really, but you can see the aesthetic instinct at work in
everything in this building. He designed it for his sister, who never lived in
it, and it ended up as the embassy of a communist country for which it is
wonderfully suited. An example of what architects really can do can be found
in the church of S Maria della Pace in Rome, by Pietro da Cortona, where
you see the desire to fit things together, and how a building comes alive and
captures the light of the sun so as to incorporate that light into itself, making
it part of its own spirit, so to speak.
The previous few examples are just taken from the air, but they are
meant to emphasize the place of aesthetic judgment—of our desire to get
things right—in our ordinary everyday life and in the life of our enterprisers,
builders, and dwellers; in the lives of people who settle down. We know that

10
An image can be found at: http://www.arch.virginia.edu/files/uploads/
Wittgst_freilerwithname.jpg
162 Beauty and Desecration Roger Scruton 163
and looking to be in the right place. Rather, being and seeming have come we are free beings, but we also know that freedom demands recognition.
together. And that is something that is really important for us: to live in world This is something that Hegel emphasized and it is something that has to be
where every now and then being and seeming coincide, so that nothing, as it re-expressed in every generation. We are not truly free until others recognize
were, deceives us anymore. This is the great social significance of the aesthet- that we are free and grant us the space to be free, and that means that we are
ic. We live in a world which has been in many ways uglified and it is a world in relations of mutuality with each other. My freedom is always, as it were,
that we want to redeem, so that we are part of it once again. Our fulfillment rubbing up against the edge of your freedom and that boundary between us
is, as it were, reflected back to us from all the things that we encounter. That is the public world where we both belong, and it is in shaping that boundary
is part of what I mean by redemption, and why I say that redemption is one between us that the aesthetic sense is so important. That is where in our
function of the aesthetic. search for recognition from each other we attempt to be graceful towards
No matter what circumstances you are in, even if you are living in a each other and to bring each other to our side. I bring you to my side and
trailer park, you can do things right. You go to your local timber merchant, you bring me to your side so that the boundary where we coincide is mutu-
and you buy the Georgian windows to replace the rubbish that would other- ally acceptable. This practice, which might reasonably be called “grace”, is a
wise be there—you build a little cornice, and so on. Even when there is a lot matter of harmony and fitting in. Of course it cannot be achieved without
of money involved you can get things totally wrong, and there are plenty of the habit of giving and receiving. I give way to you and you give way to me.
examples to illustrate this. I offer you things and you receive them, and so on. This is what the public
In the town center of Reading in England there is a development world ideally should be, and that kind of giving and receiving things is what
that is built entirely out of horizontals, and nobody wants to live there. The should be embodied in our ideal forms of architecture. And it is in this search
center of Reading was destroyed completely by this development and it is to- for a mutual boundary, where we can stand and face each other and recognize
day standing totally empty, vandalized and covered in graffiti. This emphasis each other’s freedom, that is the true goal of aesthetic judgment, the source
on the horizontal was originally a very aesthetic thing, which came in with the of its redemptive power, and the reason why beauty matters.
architectural modernists, and in particular with the writings of Le Corbusier.
But even the modernists recognized, in the end, that vertical lines are the
frame that every building needs. Here is an example of a perfected modernist
interior, which is Wittgenstein’s house in Vienna which he designed for his
sister.10 And Wittgenstein, like me, had the sense that architecture ultimately
must get the vertical emphasis right; must make verticals stand parallel to
each other. And it is this sense of detail that matters. This is not my preferred
form of architecture really, but you can see the aesthetic instinct at work in
everything in this building. He designed it for his sister, who never lived in
it, and it ended up as the embassy of a communist country for which it is
wonderfully suited. An example of what architects really can do can be found
in the church of S Maria della Pace in Rome, by Pietro da Cortona, where
you see the desire to fit things together, and how a building comes alive and
captures the light of the sun so as to incorporate that light into itself, making
it part of its own spirit, so to speak.
The previous few examples are just taken from the air, but they are
meant to emphasize the place of aesthetic judgment—of our desire to get
things right—in our ordinary everyday life and in the life of our enterprisers,
builders, and dwellers; in the lives of people who settle down. We know that

10
An image can be found at: http://www.arch.virginia.edu/files/uploads/
Wittgst_freilerwithname.jpg
 Illustrations

Meldrum, Beauty as Anomoly

Fig. 1–2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Piero della Francesca, Finding and Prooving of the True Cross, c. 1460, fresco, 356
x 747 cm, Arezzo, San Francesco.

Fig. 3–4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Georges Seurat, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, 1884–1886,
oil on canvas, 207.6 × 308 cm, Art Institute of Chicago.

Fig. 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Georges Seurat, Man standing next to a tree; study on La Grande Jatte, 1884–1885,
pencil on paper, Von Der Heydt-Museum, Wuppertal, Photo © DeAgostini/
Getty Images.

Fig. 6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Georgio Morandi, Still Life, 1953, oil on canvas, 20.32 x 40.3225 cm, acquired
1954, The Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C. © 2015 Artists Rights Soci-
ety (ARS), New York / SIAE, Rome.

Fig. 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
William Bailey, Mercatile Still Life, 1981, oil and wax on canvas, 76.2 x 101.6
cm, MoMA, New York © 2016 William Bailey.

Scruton, Beauty and Desecration

Fig. 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Eugene Delacroix, An Unmade Bed, 1828, watercolor, 18.5 x 29.9 cm, Musée
Eugene Delacroix, Paris, France © RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, NY.

Fig. 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sandro Botticelli, Birth of Venus, 1482–1485, tempera on panel, 172.5 x 278.9
cm, Uffizi Gallery, Florence.

Fig. 3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Birth of Venus, 1879, oil on canvas, 300 x 218
cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris, France.
 Quaestiones Disputatae
Editor:
Alex Plato, Franciscan University of Steubenville
Assistant Editor:
Kevin F. Kwasnik, Franciscan University of Steubenville
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Jacob Smith, Franciscan University of Steubenville
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Robert P. George, Princeton University
Stephen Gersh, University of Notre Dame
Christina M. Gschwandtner, University of Scranton
Siobhan Nash-Marshall, Manhattanville College
Timothy Noone, Catholic University of America
Giorgio E. Pini, Fordham University
Nicholas Rescher, University of Pittsburgh
Linda Zagzebski, University of Oklahoma
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Copyright © 2016 Quaestiones Disputatae
ISSN: 2150-5756
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The Power of Beauty

Selected Papers on
A Journal of
Philosophical Inquiry the Power of Beauty
and Discussion

Issue Edited by
Theresa Farnan
Volume 6
N o. 2

ISSN: 2150-5756 Volume 6, No. 2 Spring 2016