Bonnie Kent

In Virtues of the Will, Bonnie Kent traces late thirteenth-century debates about the freedom of the will, moral weakness, and other issues that helped change the course of Western ethics. She argues that one cannot understand the controversies of the period or see Duns Scotus in perspective without paying due attention to his immediate predecessors: the influential secular master Henry of Ghent, Walter of Bruges, William de la Mare, Peter Olivi, and other Franciscans. Seemingly radical doctrines in Scotus often turn out to be moderate in comparison to other near-contemporary views, and striking Scotistic innovations often turn out to be something approaching commonplaces of Franciscan thought. This study presents the controversies of the period less as a reaction by theologians against philosophy than as genuine philosophical debates about problems raised by Aristotle's thought. And it presents Scotus's teachings less as a break with tradition than as a reasonably natural response to issues debated by his predecessors. The overall aim is to recover part of a late thirteenth-century dialogue about the will and morality. By explaining in a clear, accessible style the sometimes complex issues debated during this period, Virtues of the Will helps readers understand not only the historical and doctrinal context but also the more enduring philosophical problems posed by Aristotle's teachings.

This essay examines the theological concept of a habitus, the problems it was intended to solve, and how it was developed by masters of Paris in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. I argue that Peter Lombard and Peter of Poitiers embraced the broad concept of a habitus they found in Augustine’s work: that by which something is done when there is a need. A habitus, then, did not have to be acquired by practice, and it might never be manifest in the agent’s behaviour, because the need for it might never arise. This conception of a habitus was wide enough to encompass both naturally acquired dispositions and God-given dispositions, such as the virtues that theologians thought young children received through the grace of baptism. On the other hand, neither Peter Lombard nor Peter of Poitiers tried to explain how an adult with a virtuous habitus could fail to exercise it when appropriate circumstances arose. Stephen Langton broke new ground in arguing that an adult with a virtuous habitus might still lack the necessary power or strength to resist temptation. Stephen’s effort to account for moral failure by appealing to empirical psychology represents a step beyond the more idealized teachings of his predecessors.

From the time of Augustine to the late thirteenth century, leading Christian thinkers agreed that freedom requires the ability to make good choices, but not the ability to make bad ones. If freedom required the ability to sin, they reasoned, neither God nor the angels nor the blessed in heaven could be free. This essay examines the work of Peter Olivi, the first medieval philosopher known to reject the asymmetrical conception of freedom. Olivi argues that the ability to sin is essential to creaturely freedom and remains even in heaven. While Anselm is the nominal target of Olivi’s arguments on this topic, they form part of a wider critique directed even more at Aquinas and his followers. Olivi faults them for misunderstanding the nature of the created will and for failing to provide a foundation for a particular kind of moral responsibility: personal merit.

Despite its subtitle, Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature is far more than a philosophical study of Summa theologiae, part 1, qq. 75-89. Not only does Robert Pasnau venture into topics never mentioned in this section of the Summa, he draws freely on Aquinas’s disputed questions, his commentaries on Aristotle’s works, and many other texts, including a wide range of works in both contemporary philosophy and the history of philosophy writ large. Anthony Kenny’s Aquinas on Mind focuses on the same questions of the Summa but seldom moves beyond them. Authors who favor this approach often rationalize it by glossing over the fact that Aquinas wrote the Summa theologiae as a textbook for beginning theology students. They prefer to regard it as the crowning achievement of his career and his last, best word on every conceivable issue.

Suppose that I stand firmly in what Alasdair MacIntyre describes as the Thomistic tradition of moral enquiry. I try my best to recover a historical understanding of Aquinas's teachings, and I refuse to let my philosophical opponents set the terms of debate. Now suppose that you yourself are one of my opponents: a Buddhist, a Jew, a Muslim or perhaps a secular humanist. Finally, suppose that I have always found you a considerate neighbour, a friendly and responsible colleague, and a reliable contributor to worthy causes: you run the neighbourhood recycling programme, do volunteer work at an AIDS hospice, and serve as den mother of your son's Cub Scout troop. All of my experience suggests that you are, by commonly accepted standards, morally admirable; but you don't believe in God, or at least your own understanding of God and God's law differs significantly from my own. Am I, as a loyal Thomist, able to acknowledge your virtues? Or must I dismiss them all as merely apparent?

‘ The Development of Ethics’ proves a rather misleading title for Terence Irwin’s latest book. He describes it more accurately as “a selective historical and critical study in the Socratic tradition, with special attention to Aristotelian naturalism, its formation, elaboration, criticism, and defence” . ‘Socratic’ refers to Irwin’s method: not merely describing “a collective Socratic inquiry” historically but also evaluating it and taking part in it . Unlike Alasdair MacIntyre and J. B. Schneewind, who think that “a moral theory cannot be assessed timelessly, and there are no timelessly appropriate questions that different moral theories try to answer,” Irwin declares that history reveals substantial agreement on the main principles of ethics. The historian’s task is to discover them . Small wonder, then, that Development does so little to illuminate how ethics changed over time. When an author seeks unity among moral philosophers of the past, or at least all the good ones, he can hardly be expected to highlight significantly new issues or approaches, let alone differences in historical context

This essay presents a critical review of recent literature on evil in medieval philosophy, as understood by thinkers from Anselm of Canterbury onward. "Evil" is taken to include not only serious, deliberate wrongdoing, but also everyday sins done from ignorance or passion. Special attention is paid to Aquinas's De Malo, Giles of Rome and the aftermath of the 1277 Condemnation, scholarly disputes about Scotus's teachings, and commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics by Walter Burley, Gerald Odonis, and John Buridan

Contemporary philosophers who are concerned with the following three philosophical issues can learn much from Scotus: (1) the defense of agent-causal accounts of the will; (2) the search for common ground between ancient and Kantian ethics: and (3) the co-existence of free will and the capacity for sin in heaven.1) Free Will and Agent Causation: According to Scotus, the will moves itself to act, but does not cause itself. Human actions are done for reasons determinedby the agent; they are not reducible to events (which are themselves necessitated by prior events).2) Reconciling Ancient and Kantian Ethics: Like Kant, Scotus thinks that creatures cannot be morally responsible for their actions if happiness is their solemotivation for choosing whatever they choose; Scotus distinguishes between motivations and ends, although less sharply than Kant does. For Scotus, thedesire for happiness includes the desire for self-perfection; thus happiness for Scotus is never reducible to hedonism, nor is happiness our sole motivation.Our freedom lies in the will’s ability to love good things according to the value they have in themselves, not according to the value that they have for us.3) Is Heaven a Problem? A familiar explanation of the problem of evil is that evil is permitted because free will is required for moral goodness; without free willthere would be no moral evil, but neither would there be any moral goodness, so the world is better than it would be if God had chosen not to create freecreatures. But if free will is such a great good, then we must retain the capacity to sin in heaven, or else heavenly existence is inferior to earthly existence.And, if we do retain the capacity to sin in heaven, then heaven is not essentially devoid of evil. Scotus would respond to this problem by stating that love, notfreedom, is the greatest good. Thus, his account of heaven is consistent with what it means to love God above all, for his own sake, and without the motivationof happiness or any other benefit.

14o JOURNAL OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY 34: X.JANUARY t996 method of reading the dialogues in an ascending order of philosophical importance need not be reflected completely or consistently in the tetralogical scheme. I pass over the account of Thrasyllus' logos-theory which Tarrant derives from an elusive section of Porphyry's commentary on Ptolemy's Harmonics in order to discuss the more important conclusions he draws in chapter 6, "The Neopythagorean Parmenides." By carefully sifting passages in Proclus' commentary on the Parmenides and Simplicius' commentary on the Physics, Tarrant adds to our still incomplete picture of the development of a Neoplatonic ontology out of the hypotheses of Plato's Parmenides. E. R. Dodds made a brilliant case in this regard for Moderatus, the late first century A.D. Neopythagorean, but Tarrant finds even earlier evidence for it by ascrib- ing to Thrasyllus this quasi-Neoplatonic, fivefold ontology: transcendent One, one-being = the intelligibles, the third principle = the soul, physical particulars, matter. Epistle 2's "King of all" is drawn into Tarrant's net as an "esoteric" or symbolic emblem of the transcendent One. He argues plausibly that, since Thrasyllus was instrumental in getting this and other Epistles included in the standard edition of Platonic works, the connections he finds among the Parmenides, the Epistles, and pas- sages in the latter commentators are not facile and are worthy of...

The last decade has witnessed a dramatic revival of interest in Hellenistic philosophy. No longer can one complain that scholars pitch their tents on Aristotelian turf and refuse to move beyond it. Indeed, the burgeoning literature on Hellenistic philosophy might now raise doubts about whether an author breaks any new ground. Sorabji's latest book analyzes many of the same texts and issues explored in Martha Nussbaum's The Therapy of Desire ; and he, too, argues that ancient philosophical therapy can be useful to ordinary people in our own overstressed, post-industrial age. Emotions and Peace of Mind nonetheless has its own fascinating story to tell. Roughly the first two thirds of the book, devoted to the Stoics and their pagan critics, set the stage for an account of how early Christians revised Stoic teachings. Central to the tale is an aspect of Stoicism probably unfamiliar to most readers: the theory of “pre-passions” or “first movements”. According to Sorabji, the distinction between these involuntary movements and genuine emotions was muddied by Origen and other Christian thinkers, who reshaped the Stoic theory of how to avoid agitation into a theory of how to avoid temptation. The first movements so important to Seneca's thought became in the fourth-century hermit Evagrius the eight bad thoughts that monks must work especially hard to vanquish. With some modest transformations, these eight bad thoughts ultimately emerged as the seven deadly sins of Dante's Purgatorio.

Aquinas’s admirers, reacting against Donald Davidson’s criticisms of hirn, commonly argue (a) that the will does play a role in Aquinas’s account of incontinence, and (b) that his explanation of incontinent action turns on the weakness of the will. The first part of this paper argues that they are correct about (a) but wholly mistaken about (b). Aquinas rarely even mentions the weakness of the will, and he neverinvokes it to explain why someone acts counter to her own better judgment. In his view, such a person has the capacity for self-control but fails to exercise it. The second part of the paper considers Gary Watson’s account of incontinence, including and especially his objections to analyzing it as the failure to exercise one’s capacity for self-control. Here I argue that Aquinas’s account better serves the purposesof moral discourse and that it should not be expected to provide the kind of causal explanation Watson seeks.