I.
My
remarks of this morning touch upon a chapter in
the founding of the American republic and the
implications for contemporary life under regimes
of justice. I should say at the outset that the
subject is vast and complex, and that I can offer
here what is no more than a sketch of the main
points. I should say, too, that, although I will
focus on the past, the history of the American
founding is never too far removed from
contemporary concerns. It is, after all, in the
very nature of government by law that historical
precedents and historical reasoning serve both to
guide and to judge the shifting enthusiasms of
party and politics. By way of further
clarification, let me be clear that the argument
I will sketch applies only to republics and would
be invalid if offered as an outline for radically
different forms of political organization. In
this I walk in the steps of Montesquieu whose The
Spirit of the Law was widely read and
admired by the American founders.
It
is in the second chapter of that work that
Montesquieu considers the forms of education that
will be most needed for life within a civic
society. But "education" here should be
understood in the broadest terms; not merely what
takes place in the school room or even in the
parlor, but more generally what imposes itself on
the thoughts and actions of the young in their
most malleable stages of development; education
in the ancient Greek sense of Paideia.
Montesquieu examines the relationship between
education thus understood and those principles of
governance under which one must then live all the
days of one's life. For Montesquieu, all the
varieties of government settle finally into one
of three broad categories: They are either
tyrannies or monarchies or republics, and each of
these calls for subjects or citizens who have
acquired the right sort of disposition. (Note
that monarchies committed to the collective
purposes of those who have consented to be thus
governed are, themselves, republics in all
but name). Thus, those who would be groomed for
life within an monarchy, he says, must be
educated in honor; those who would live under
despots and tyrants are to be educated in fear:
whereas those who would be citizens of republics
must be educated in virtue.
The
reasoning behind these conclusions was perhaps
better and more widely understood in the 18th
century than today, but it is not so distant as
to be inaccessible. Consider first what
Montesquieu calls "the school of
honor". As with all schools, this one, too,
is very much in the world. But in
"the school of honor" one acquires
those virtues designed more to ennoble oneself
than to serve others: virtue here is an external
mark of distinction; something that sets one
apart from the group. The man of honor will
readily accept a humbling comparison with the
greatness of the king in return for the borrowed
greatness conferred by kingly companionship. It
is by way of the very code of honor that the true
nobleman is more strongly bound to its terms even
when these are not in any sense
"statutory".
Tyrannies
change all this. Under despotic regimes the ruled
are educated in fear, the process here as
Montesquieu says "...making a bad subject in
order to make a good slave" (Book IV, Ch.
V). It is in this same section that he offers his
famous conclusion that "every tyrant is at
the same time a slave" himself. The despot
has been cut off from that very exercise of
deliberation and discourse by which the mind
rises to a state of power and independence. In
the absence of accountability the power of
critical inquiry is diminished. Willfulness feeds
on itself, at the utter expense of those who
might otherwise participate as citizens within a
worthy polis. Indeed, the really good
citizen who somehow does rise to the surface
finally will expose both himself and the regime
to ruin; for it is a regime he must work to
destroy at his own peril.
But
it is in his discussion of education for life
within a republic that Montesquieu most
influenced the American Founders and supported
what has been called a form of "conservative
communitarianism" (Shain, 1995). Within a
republican form of government, he says,
"...the
whole power of education is required",
and
this because it is education in virtue,
which entails self-renunciation. He goes
on,
This
virtue may be defined as the love of the laws
and of our country. As such love requires a
constant preference of public to private
interest, it is the source of all private
virtues: for they are nothing more than this
very preference itself" (I, IV, 5; pp.
36-37).
The
whole power of education must be devoted to
cultivating this preference; this preference for
what is good at large; a principled
aversion to what is mean and opposed to the
general welfare. It is worth recalling at this
point that Aristotle identified lawgivers as
those who make citizens good by training them in
the habits of right action, going so far as to
declare that, "...this is the aim of all
legislation":
"...to
men BoulEma pantos nomothetou tout
estin". (Ethic.Nic. 1103b5)
Montesquieu
was persuaded that the love of laws and of
country is not only peculiar to democracies but
is necessary to their survival. The very point of
education, of civic education, must be developing
a love, a bond of genuinely friendly
affection that commits the individual to the good
of the whole. And then, echoing ancient wisdom on
this point, Montesquieu concludes that such an
education is transmitted chiefly by elders and by
parental example, noting:
"It
is not the young people that degenerate; they
are not spoiled till those of maturer age are
already sunk into corruption" (I. IV,
5).
As
the American founders agreed, life within a
republic calls for education in virtue. There is
in this truism first the notion of a
republic", and then the notion that within
it -- one might say its very point -- is a form
of life that is and aspires to be virtuous.
Accordingly, it is not just any type of
association that yields a republic. It would be
an abuse of language to refer to "a republic
of 'mafians'" or "the pirates'
republic".
The
defining character of associations within a bona
fide republic is that they are principled,
which is what makes them voluntary in the first
place. Republics are not the accidental
consequence of unexamined traditions, but the
most refined and fully intended expression of our
essentially political nature. They are
brought into being by deliberation and, as such,
they are the precious gift of the rational side
of human nature. And, as they are brought into
being by deliberation, they are brought into
being for a purpose, which is at once a
collective purpose and also one that is
nonetheless individuated at the level of the
person. Were it otherwise, the form of government
would be despotic or autocratic or monarchial in
the sense of an absolute monarchy.
To
describe the form of association within republics
as principled is to refer not only to the
association between the people and the state but
to the associations established among the people
themselves. I should like to consider this first
within the context of an easily misunderstood
claim advanced by Aristotle in his Politics,
where he states that the polis precedes
both the family or household (oikia) and
the individual (1253a19-20). It is a
claim that seems counterintuitive, not to say
contrary to fact, until one reflects on the
essential nature of family and of persons.
Consider that "family" may refer to
nothing more or less than entities sharing some
number of genes in common, drawn from an
identifiable breeding pool. Understood in this
way it would not be possible to distinguish
between human clans and bee hives. It would not
be possible for an adopted child to have
membership in any family except the one he lost
in infancy. Moreover, from the mere fact of
genetic relatedness, nothing of moral consequence
would follow. It may one day be possible to
"clone" a person and to have the clone
develop on another planet. Surely the mere
contingent fact of genetic identity would not in
and by itself establish either moral or political
ties between the source and the clone.
Family"
understood, however, as a pattern of duties and
obligations attaching to parents, to children, to
brothers and sisters -- to the very monumentum
supplied by the deeds of one's ancestors --
"family" in this robust sense -- now
presupposes an irreducibly political form
of social life; a form of society having the
rational and moral resources needed to establish
and promulgate just patterns of duties and
obligations: the resources needed to transform
the biological fact of parentage into the
essentially civic office of parent.
And
what, then, of the individual person? Aristotle
surely was not making the preposterous claim that
there were no human beings until there was a
political community: just as he was not
suggesting that genetically related human beings
begin to live together only after the creation of
a polis. Rather, he was recording once
more the ambiguous and marginal standing of that
most pathetic creature Homer can find within his
fertile imagination: the lawless, stateless,
hearthless man. Once one is no longer a
neighbor, a citizen, a son or daughter, wife or
husband, father or mother, soldier or statesman
-- once there is simply no civic or familial
identity at all -- what is left over, except some
unrealized potentiality for a personhood
yet to be claimed? It is, then, within the polis,
that one obtains those offices, so to speak, that
are constitutive of distinct persons, distinct
"personalities". And it is precisely
because of this that one's character, no matter
how promising it might be at the outset, must
become diminished and degraded and woefully and
dangerously incomplete within a corrupt regime.
If the aim of all legislation is to make men good
by training them in the habits of right action,
then the aim of the polis itself is
educational: its aim and purpose must be that
civic education -- that education in virtue -- by
which nothing less than one's full humanity is
realized.
If
this all refers to the principled basis on which
each citizen stands in relation to the polis,
then on what basis do citizens stand in
relation to each other? The question resolves
itself finally into an inquiry into the nature of
friendship. Citizens within a republic are
claimed by Montesquieu to love the government,
for it is theirs. On Aristotle's account, they
are faithful to the government, for through it
they are able to realize most fully their very
humanity, thus rendering the life of a rational
being ever more rational, ever more flourishing,
ever more virtuous. So there is finally an
affectionate bond: a bond of friendship,
which is the most voluntary of voluntary
associations, and therefore the form of
association for which one can be held fully
accountable. Thus have Montesquieu and Aristotle,
two millennia apart, arrived at the same place.
II.
I
move now to the matter of families and the
inextricable connection between the civic and the
familial forms of social life. It must be clear
that a continuing state of hostility between the
family and the state -between the family and
the polis -- must lead to the destruction
of both for, in the absence of the polis
families degenerate into merely tribal enclaves.
But it is not the survival of the polis
that is the ultimate goal of family life. Rather,
both the family and the polis have the
central purpose of leading citizens toward
flourishing, productive and meaningful lives.
What both have in common centrally is a species
of friendship as the enduring bond of
association. To make this clear I must pause to
consider briefly what is certainly one of the
most celebrated treatments of friendship ever
offered: that which Aristotle develops in his
ethical writings.
Friendship,
Aristotle observes, is common throughout the
animal kingdom, but is especially strong among
human beings, providing the binding force for the
polis itself (1155a23-24).
Indeed, he says, lawgivers place a higher premium
on friendship than on justice itself, for
friendship is at the foundation of that very
unity of purpose that the law seeks to promote.
He is even inclined to declare that the highest
form of justice -- tOn dikiOn to malista --
seems possessed of what is at base friendly
feeling: philikon (1155a28).
Well,
just what is it that excites such sentiments of
strong affection? Seeking the most general
classification, Aristotle identifies three
attributes that might be found in a person which
would give rise to feelings of affection or love
in another. These are the good (to agathon), the
pleasant (E Edus) and the useful (E
chrEsimos). Friendships form when the
partners have good feelings for each other. This
very sentiment arises from one or some
combination of the good, the pleasant, the
useful. However, these different groundings of
friendship yield friendships of a quite different
character. To befriend another solely for the
pleasure that is thereby excited is to establish
a relationship that can last only as long as the
pleasure itself. Similarly, friendship based on
usefulness must weaken as the gains are lessened,
and disappear when there is simply nothing any
longer useful in it. Friendships thus grounded
are not based finally on anything intrinsic to
the friends, but only on what associations with
them add to one's own life. It is finally self
regard that directs these friendships and
that will easily redirect them to more promising
candidates. Recalling Montesquieu's
identification of republican virtue with the
strong "preference of public to private
interest", we see how incompatible such self
regarding friendships are with those associations
on which republics most decidedly depend. If the
republic in an association of friends, its health
and endurance are jeopardized by civic
attachments that are transitory and selfish.
Considerations
of pleasure and utility, however, are of just
this stripe. Pleasure and usefulness run their
course, and in their very impermanence render
unstable all that depends on them. Such
friendships as are built on these, says
Aristotle,
"...are
based on an accident ... [and] are easily
broken off, in the event of the parties
themselves changing, for if no longer
pleasant or useful to each other, they cease
to love each other". (1156al5-28)
Aristotle
also recognizes that any number of psychological
and contextual factors incline persons to one or
another form of friendship. In youth, which is
governed by the emotions, the chief impulse to
friendship is pleasure, and as tastes for
pleasure are quite fickle at this stage of life,
friendships are entered into and broken quickly;
often, he says, before the day is out! In old
age, when persons are inclined to pursue profit
more than pleasure, the grounds of friendship
tend to be utilitarian and survive even where
there is not much by way of a mutual liking. But
then there is that rare foundation of friendship,
established only by those who are essentially
equal in their virtue and goodness. This is, says
Aristotle, perfected friendship (Teleia
Philia). Those who are joined in this rare
form of friendship,
...
wish each alike the other's good in respect
of their goodness, and they are good in
themselves: but it is those who wish the good
of their friends for their friends' sake who
are friends in the fullest sense, since they
love each other for themselves, and not
accidentally. Hence the friendship of these
lasts as long as they continue to be good:
and virtue is a permanent quality".
(1156b110-15).
Now,
although Aristotle, no less than we, appreciates
that mature friendship cannot obtain between
adults and infants or young children, it is clear
that the spirit of friendship is what animates
the actions of the good parent. It is wanting for
the young what is good for them and for their own
sake. This, of course, is different from wanting
for them what they, in their innocence and
ignorance, might want for themselves. It is also
different from wanting for them what merely adds
to our self regarding pleasures. The true friend
offers what the other needs to be deserving of
true friendship.
Now,
if this all seems "ancient" and
"aristotelian", we should remind
ourselves that this very rationale was
incorporated into the major documents on which
the American republic was based. Both Virginia
and Massachusetts had adopted Bills of Rights
before there was a Constitution. In Virginia, a Declaration
of Rights was adopted on May 15, 1776, less
than two months before the signing of the Declaration
of Independence. Granting in Section 1,
"That
all men are by nature equally free and
independent and have certain inherent
rights...",
the
Virginia Declaration goes on to proclaim
in Section 15,
"That
no free government, or the blessings of
liberty, can be preserved to any people, but
by a firm adherence to justice, moderation,
temperance, frugality, and virtue, and by
frequent recurrence to fundamental
principles". (in Commager and Morris,
eds., "The Spirit of
'SeventySix". 1958, Harper & Row,
New York)
Similarly,
the Massachusetts Bill of Rights of 1780 affirms
the natural equality of all, each possessing
"certain natural, essential, and unalienable
rights", quickly going on to observe that,
"...the
happiness of the people and the good order
and preservation of civil government
essentially depend on' piety, religion and
morality..."
Indeed,
the Massachusetts Bill goes even further,
insisting that,
"...these
cannot be generally diffused through a
community but by the institution of public
worship of god and of public instructions in
piety, religion and morality". (Commager
& Morris, op. cit.)
Thus,
again in Article XVIII of the Massachusetts Bill
of Rights, we find not only an affirmation of
these precepts but the insistence that they be
uppermost in the selection of officers of State:
"A
frequent recurrence to the fundamental
principles of the constitution, and a
constant adherence to those of piety,
justice, moderation, temperance, industry and
frugality, are absolutely necessary to
preserve the advantages of liberty, and to
maintain free government. The people ought,
consequently, to have a particular attention
to all those principles, in the choice of
their officers and representatives: and they
have a right to require of their lawgivers
and magistrates an exact and constant
observance of them in the formation and
execution of the laws necessary for the good
administration of the commonwealth..." (Ibid)
Note,
then, that the values essential to the
development of the person are the same as those
that Massachusetts would incorporate into law and
to which Massachusetts then would bind its
legislators and judges. Nothing in the subsequent
deliberations leading to the U.S. Constitution
would be at variance with these conceptions of
government and of citizenship. The purpose of
government is to secure the happiness of the
governed, but this very happiness depends
centrally and essentially a civic life that is
moderate, just and pious. The government most
assuredly is not to impose religious orthodoxies,
but equally assuredly it is to respect those on
which its own authority ultimately depends;
namely, the very "orthodoxies" by which
a rational being surrenders himself to justice
and the moral dictates of conscience.
The
Massachusetts Bill speaks of what is
"necessary to preserve the advantages of
liberty", thus making clear that liberty
itself is regarded in instrumental terms: It is
good insofar as it is generative of what itself
is good. It is good when it grounds the life
rightly lived. What is evident more generally in
these two foundational Bills of Rights is the
recognition -- now nearly lost to memory -- that
political rights are actually forms of empowerment
and therefore generate civic duties. Properly
understood, what we claim as "rights"
are protections occasioned by our vulnerabilities.
What we take to be duties are constraints
occasioned by our powers. Far from somehow
entailing each other, therefore, rights
and duties are drawn from different domains. This
neglected fact about the grounding of rights and
duties leads to important if surprising
consequences. As duties arise from our powers,
they are enlarged with each enlargement of our
powers.
It
is in the manner in which these enlarged powers
are deployed that one may continue to have a
valid claim on them. What we mean by "an
abuse of power" is precisely the deployment
of power in a manner at variance with its very
purposes. Thus, no one validly can claim to have
a "right" to do wrong.
There
is no relationship -- not even that between
master and slave -- in which the powers of one
party can exploit the vulnerabilities of the
other as completely as that between parent and
child. In a just and caring regime -- a regime in
which the ultimate purposes of law are not unlike
those that bind virtuous friends -- such
vulnerabilities are the wellsprings of legally
conferred rights. Children in this sense have the
right to be cared for and guided,
protected and nurtured, molded into citizens
themselves committed to justice and fairness.
They are not "possessions" to be used,
abused or destroyed according to the whims of the
owners. If they are to be created only then to be
killed, or if they are to be raised in contexts
that place them at moral risk, it cannot be by
the "rights" of those who have but do
not own them. The State has duties proportioned
to its powers and must not abuse the power. But
the laws of the State can surely incline
where they would not ruthlessly determine.
As these laws pertain to the family, they must
incline parents toward virtue, toward the proper
use of parental power, toward a daily recognition
that the fate of nations depends on what elders
do to and for the young. None of this is to be
held hostage to some specious "privacy
right" advanced by those who reject any
claims that civic duty would attach to their
liberties. The ultimate privacy is enjoyed only
by that "lawless, stateless,
hearthless" figure in Homer who would be
described by Aristotle as one either rising above
humanity or sinking below it.
References
Commager,
H. and Morris, R. (eds). The SQirit of
'Seventy-Six. (1958) New York: Harper and
Row.
Aristotle,
The Works of Aristotle. Jonathan Barnes,
ed. (1984) Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Montesquieu,
Charles de Secondat, The Spirit of Laws
(1748). Thomas Nugent, trans. (1878) London:
George Bell & Sons.
Shain,
Barry, The Myth of American Individualism. (1995)
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
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