From Angelicum, (Rome), LXX (1993), 487-503. -- James V. Schall, S. J.
REMARKS ON ITS RELATION TO METAPHYSICS AND THEOLOGY
Si aliqua potestas est summum bonum, oportet illam esse perfectissimam. Potestas autem humana est imperfectissima; radicatur enim in hominum voluntatibus et opinionibus, in quibus est maxima inconstantia. Et quanto major reputatur potestas, tanto a pluribus dependet; quod etiam ad eius debilitatem pertinet; cum quod a multis dependet, destrui multipliciter possit. Non est igitur in potestate mundana summum hominis bonum.1
-- Thomas Aquinas, "Quod Felicitas Non Consistit in Potentia Mundana," Summa Contra Gentiles, III, 31.
In The City and Man, Leo Strauss made this somewhat curious remark: "In our age it is much less urgent to show that political philosophy is the indispensable handmaid of theology than to show that political philosophy is the rightful queen of the social sciences, the sciences of man and human affairs...."2 Clearly here are related theology, political philosophy, philosophy itself, and the social sciences. No particular present "urgency," in Strauss' view, demanded that the relation of theology and philosophy be taken up. Without specifically dealing with the relation between theology and philosophy, that would acknowledge that there is a fundamental issue about their relationship, Strauss chose to select for the more important issue, at least for his time (1964), the relation of political philosophy to the social sciences.
These social sciences Strauss called "the sciences of man and human affairs." Political philosophy he designated cryptically as precisely the "queen," not the "king," of these sciences. Politics was indeed that discipline that dealt with man qua mortal, insofar as he came into being, lived, and died in this world. Philosophy was the preparation for death, not for living.3 In Plato, the discussions of philosophy arose at the death of the philosopher. The philosopher sought to call the potential philosopher to the kind of "living well" that would preserve moral equanimity even when the best existing state killed, in a civic trial, the best man.
Just what did Strauss have in mind by this use of a word like "handmaid," particularly when it is replaced by the word "queen"?4 "Handmaid" is an apparently subordinate, though classically familiar, concept. At first sight, Strauss seemed to be exalting the position of the "queen" of the social sciences at the expense of philosophy and theology. But did he intend this conclusion? Did he not restrict this exalted position of the "queen" of the social sciences to an issue of current concern, to the status and stature of marxism?
"In our age," then, in the context of Strauss' analysis, must refer to the relation of the marxist world in its intellectual roots to the philosophic nature of the universal civilization, to the West. The West is the only place where the question of philosophy, the universal consideration as such, arose.5 Philosophy itself was the consideration of the whole, a whole that included the classics and even needed to consider the civilizations that do not claim to belong to the universal civilization. In retrospect, now that this particular "urgency" that caused the "queen" to be more important "in our age" than the "handmaid," certain other considerations come to the fore. With the apparent demise of socialism -- a new form seems always to return -- could it be hinted that the other relationships, between political philosophy and philosophy, and both to theology, together with theology's own relation to reason, have suddenly become more central?
Perhaps Strauss meant no more by this "handmaid" and "queen" usage than that it is better to be first in Gaul than second in Rome. Political science is the highest of the practical sciences in classical thought. Strauss did not find the "mutual relation" of theology and philosophy to be more than a kind of agreement not to step on each other's turf or perhaps better, a doubt about whether differing turfs actually exist.6 In a sense, he did not wrestle with the reason and revelation question in a more positive manner because, as he remarked in Natural Right and History, he did not hold the same faith, the same "biblical revelation," in which this question arose most immediately.7 This position is itself one of philosophical import as it implies that a philosophy prodded by a faith is not "philosophy" even though it deepens philosophy as such.8
On the other hand, Strauss' famous caution may have rather implied that an intellectual disorder in the practical sciences, especially in political philosophy, make it more difficult to speak properly of the highest things, a discourse toward which political life itself points. Strauss remained Socratic enough to realize the dangers of speaking of forbidden things in democracies and in their academies. There were other kinds of "death" besides hemlock -- obscurity, indifference, exclusion from discourse, the refusal to question about which Voegelin referred.9 Strauss hinted indirectly that the other social sciences were disordered because they did not know their proper relationship to political philosophy, which was itself disordered in modernity by an option to ground itself in autonomous will and not in what is.
Scholastic philosophy, of course, was concerned to understand political philosophy as the "handmaid" of theology -- not merely political philosophy, but philosophy as such.10 Theology was the "rightful queen" of the intellectual disciplines in this tradition. Both philosophy and theology claimed to be knowledges of the whole. The question was whether this claim was mutually irreconcilable? But this scholastic understanding of philosophy was not intended to make philosophy or political philosophy other than what it was in itself.11 The principle that "grace built on nature" was indeed a valid one and implied nothing less than that if nature were meaningless, so was grace. Strauss himself noted the radicalness of this position in his discussion of the relation of philosophy to Islam, Judaism, and Christianity.12
The New Testament was not designed as a substitute for Aristotle's Politics or Metaphysics. The "things of Caesar" remained properly Caesar's (Matthew, 22:22). To hold this rightfulness of place for politics was not "against" this revelation, but what the revelation itself maintained. Indeed, from the viewpoint of political philosophy, this latter congruity between faith and reason is perhaps the more remarkable aspect of revelation. Revelation persisted in speaking in terms intelligible to philosophy, or better, in terms not contradictory to it. It spoke in terms addressed to those limits of politics already found in the classical writers.13
But the "things of God" did entail confronting the question of the relative status of politics in the order of things. Was politics, as Aristotle held (1141a20-23), the highest of the practical sciences, but not the highest science as such? If politics were the highest "science," would it not be itself a metaphysics, a science of all that is? But if politics were "limited" because not all questions and methods fell under its scope, did this limitation not mean that its own content and order were to be related to those sciences higher than itself? The limits of politics were thus designed to open to members of any polity questions that politics itself could legitimately pose but which it could not adequately or fully answer. Politics in its self-understanding had something "moderate" about it.
Josef Pieper, in a remarkable little essay, "The Purpose of Politics," put the issue in precise focus:
All practical activity, from practice of the ethical virtues to gaining of means of livelihood, serves something other than itself. And this other thing is not practical activity. It is having what is sought after, while we rest content in the results of our active efforts. Precisely that is the meaning of the old adage that the vita activa is fulfilled in the vita contemplativa. To be sure, the active life contains a felicity of its own; it lies, says Thomas, principally in the practice of prudence, in the perfect art of the conduct of life. But ultimate repose cannot be found in this kind of felicity. Vita activa est dispositio ad contemplativam; the ultimate meaning of the active life is to make possible the happiness of contemplation.14
Implicitly reflecting the Tenth Book of Aristotle's Ethics in which we find two kinds of happiness, practical and contemplative, both legitimate, both related to one another, Pieper has touched on the essential aspect of political philosophy. This aspect is its concern with the purpose or end of the active life itself, with the fact that the active live, the political life, is not itself the highest activity, however good it is in itself.
One might wonder, however, whether the urgency of which Strauss spoke in showing political philosophy as the "rightful queen of the social sciences" is demanded by social science itself? Or is the relation of theology and political philosophy already intellectually established so that lesser urgencies might come to the forefront? Surely, if this resolution between revelation and reason is already in place, however much neglected or misunderstood, the figure that most comes to mind is Thomas Aquinas.
Did Strauss mean, then, that before we could properly confront the question of the relation of revelation and politics we must first accurately establish the nature of modern social science, almost as if social science might in modernity be conceived as itself a substitute for revelation? Was not this after all the problem with that famous lack of "moderation" and the embrace of "enthusiasm" that is so dangerous in modern political movements? And was it political philosophy that was most needed, even in religion, to prevent the utopianism so rampant in the social sciences from infecting theology? Perhaps the crises in theology have their origins in this theoretical problem with the social sciences, a problem that theology itself has so often not understood.
With the collapse of marxism, then, surely itself a considerable problem for the integrity modern social science, since no social science "predicted" such a collapse, we can ask whether the priority of political philosophy to other social sciences does not become rather more pressing? Is there not, as Strauss often suggested, something disordered in the modern social sciences themselves, in how they conceive themselves and their purposes? Strauss seems justified in worrying about the intrinsic disorder in the social sciences themselves.
Marxism, to be sure, presented itself as a "scientific" view of the world. But it was itself the product or result of movements and ideas that were not original to it. It was related to Epicurus, about whom Marx wrote his dissertation, and to Machiavelli's "founding" of modernity, and to Hegel's effort to explain all things in one system. In one sense, marxism was an effort to answer the question of the highest good within a philosophical system that excluded any transcendence at the origin of what is.15 Marxism was an effort to substitute human collective intelligence for divine intelligence as the explanation of order in human affairs and through them, of order in nature.
The effort to "recover" classical or medieval political philosophy, an effort we associate with Strauss, Eric Voegelin, Maritain, and Hannah Arendt in particular, makes this effort, at first sight, appear as a kind of retrogressive enterprise, even when what is being recovered are the principles whose very rejection was the cause of much modern social and political disorder.16 With the collapse of marxism it is perfectly legitimate to inquire whether its practical chaos in the empirical order requires also a rejection of the philosophic grounds upon which it was originally based? Or does another version of this same modernity, liberal relativism, for instance, now prove in effect to be valid or at least feasible? But if the problem lies with modernity itself, then, neither the marxist or liberal approaches will stand the test of reason and in fact are not so standing thing test.
Can a case be made for an analysis of the events of modernity that would argue that a reconsideration of St. Thomas is now not only valid but imperative? Interestingly, John Paul II, who by all accounts was instrumental in the de fact collapse of marxism, touched on this issue in his philosophical works.17 His lecture, "The Perennial Philosophy of St. Thomas," given at the Angelicum University in Rome on November 17, 1979, addressed directly the "handmaid" question that Strauss had brought up.18 Here, however, the "handmaid" status of philosophy is restored to its original meaning where philosophy becomes the word used to discuss the open relation of reason and revelation.
In terms of political philosophy, this position would mean that even though political philosophy is the "queen" of the social sciences, the social sciences themselves, including political philosophy, are insufficient. By being what they are, they remain open to the whole that they do not comprehend within their own methodologies and competencies. Science, metaphysics, and theology are needed to complete our understanding of political philosophy.19 This further consideration, however, was not due to any intrinsic defect in political philosophy -- "man is by nature a political animal" -- but to the very structure of what is.
In order to make this case for a reconsideration of St. Thomas in the light of the historic present, therefore, it is necessary to recognize the limits of politics and to ascertain what it is that limits politics to be itself. In a well-known Eulogy for Leo Strauss, Harry Jaffa argued that the grounds for respecting St. Thomas' work were that St. Thomas saved and explained Aristotle, the Philosopher.20 This conclusion, of course, implicitly ignores the broader work of St. Thomas about Aristotle himself and about the place political philosophy held within the corpus of his works. While not denying the value of St. Thomas in "saving" Aristotle, still we might wonder whether St. Thomas' completion of Aristotle's own arguments was not in fact the greater significance to philosophy.21
Josef Pieper has noted that when St. Thomas cited Aristotle, he did not cite him because he was in need of an "authority" to back up his position. St. Thomas cited Aristotle because he thought what Aristotle argued was true on the grounds of Aristotle's own premises.22 When St. Thomas disagreed with Aristotle, he did so directly and clearly. In other words, St. Thomas was able to understand the truth in Aristotle because he also understood the validity of the argument that established it, almost as if it did not make any difference who set down the argument in the first place.23
Implicitly, of course, this position about Aristotle means that truth is not simply relative to time or place. A discourse with Aristotle is possible because of the stability of human nature over time and because of the spiritual nature of the soul that makes thought as such possible. Both of these latter positions, the stability of human nature and the spiritual nature of the soul, were themselves positions argued and established philosophically by both Aristotle and St. Thomas. They are not "assumptions" based on some desire that they might be true in order to support revelation or metaphysics.
In a recent Introduction to St. Thomas' political thought, we read the following:
The most authoritative text of the Christian Church, the New Testament, provides no code of conduct for the faithful in their day-to-day lives beyond the Ten Commandments and love of neighbor. Moreover, the New Testament provides no systematic guidelines for the organization of human society. How are human beings to act in this or that situation? What is just in this or that situation? How should Christians form their conscience? What are the purposes of human society? How should human society be organized? What is the role of law in human society? To help answer these questions, the Christian Church of necessity turned to philosophers, to those who systematically reason about morals, politics, and law.24
This analysis, of course, is in basic agreement with Strauss' remark about the need to address the order of social sciences to each other in the context of their limits or ends. The "queen" of the social sciences might herself remain, to be what she is, a "handmaid."
The most "philosophical" question asked by political philosophy is "what is the best regime"?25 Such a question, of course, obviously has roots in Plato. It is not without interest that this question appears within St. Thomas' thought as an aspect of his discussion on the Old Law, the Law of Moses (I-II, 105). Clearly, the question is also an Augustinian one and no one took St. Augustine more seriously than St. Thomas. St. Augustine himself did not reject the Platonist and Ciceronian question of the location of the best regime as an unworthy one. Indeed, again recalling the Old Testament's usage of "the City of God," St. Augustine recognized that the question of its nature and location as both proper and necessary for political philosophy.26
With this background, how can we situate Thomas Aquinas in political philosophy?27 Need our interest in him be merely "antiquarian"? Though there are literally thousands of observations and insights in the Opera Omnia of St. Thomas that have meaning for political life and thought about it, it is striking by comparison how little politics played in his system. It would seem that Aquinas himself was not overly interested in "the queen of the social sciences." Yet, Aquinas' very thought implied a fresh interest in all aspects of being, not the least political being.
Plato had suggested, and Aristotle reiterated (1177b31), that by comparison, the affairs of men are intrinsically less interesting and fascinating than philosophy. "For, presumably, Adeimantus, a man who has his understanding truly turned toward the things that are has no leisure to look down toward the affairs of human beings and to be filled with envy and ill will as a result of fighting with them" (500 c-d). The work of St. Thomas, I would suggest, relates to politics by spelling out in considerable detail the fascination that arises beyond politics. In this sense, Aquinas saved politics from itself thinking itself an adequate explanation of all that is. This latter is the most subtle temptation of politics, as Aristotle hinted in The Metaphysics (982b29).28
In his discussion of the relation of justice and mercy, a key question in which he deals with the fact that the world is not created in justice but in something more than justice, St. Thomas remarked that justice required us to return what was "due" to another, say a borrowed hundred dollars, but if we chose to give the person two hundred dollars instead, our action was not unjust (I, 21, 3).
Mindful of Plato's good as higher than justice, St. Thomas saw the world filled with deeds that are more than justice, with mercy, generosity, and sacrifice. As justice is the political virtue, the virtue that orients us to others, to our proper relation to them, though not to their particular persons and characters, this means that political philosophy naturally and normally reaches what it cannot deal with in its own terms. Political philosophy intrinsically opens us to what is not merely justice. The treatment of friendship in both Aristotle and St. Thomas already hint at this openness.29 Charity in St. Thomas is treated as precisely as aspect of friendship (II-II, 23, 1).
To be sure, St. Thomas' commentaries on Aristotle's Ethics and part of The Politics are obviously important. The "Treatise on Law" in the Summa Theologiae (I-II, 90-109) is the context of most discussions of Aquinas' political thought together with his short treatise De Regimine Principum and the discussions on justice, war, sedition, toleration, usury, property, and other such questions in the Summa Theologiae and other works. It is fascinating to study these texts with a class to see how quickly it is realized that to understand politics, it is not sufficient to study merely political things.
The "Treatise on the Law," for example, begins innocently enough perhaps with its "law is an ordination of reason, for the common good, by the legitimate authority, and promulgated" (I-II, 90, 1).30 Soon we realize that we must quickly understand the difference between eternal, natural, divine, human, and the law of disorder (q. 91). Already we are into the structure of the Summa Theologiae, of why do things belong where they appear in the structure of the whole. We discover that law is dealt with as an external norm of action. We must know the internal principles of action and the capacities and ends of a being that can act freely in the first place.
This reflection leads back to questions about what are the different kind of beings in the universe and how are they related to each other. In short, the political philosophy of St. Thomas, if we wish to begin with it in our theoretical reflections, as we may do, does what all great philosophy should do, namely, lead us to a consideration of the whole, to what are the limits of politics not as a denigration of its importance but as an accurate understanding of what it is.
Perhaps the most important reason why St. Thomas is to be reconsidered in a fundamental manner in political philosophy has to do with the question of science, particularly that science that has been responsible for the material improvement of the human lot. It has long been argued that religion and science were at loggerheads and that science progressed only with the elimination of religion. However dubious this theory is in itself, a basic question remains: why did science begin where it did and are there any theological aspects to its origins and possibility?
It seems that the origins of science do require a view of God and of the world, in the absence of which, science will not begin or prosper. If God is conceived as pure will and the secondary causes in nature possessing no stability because of the arbitrary power of the divinity, then it appears that there will be no science. Moreover, science requires a view of the world that maintains that matter exists and is good. Its laws need to be discovered, not merely projected from the human mind onto a chaotic world with no intrinsic order to it, even it that order cannot be located in the world itself as to its own existence.31 Science does deal with objective reality. Its "laws" work.32
Political philosophy is particularly related to such questions because it finds itself necessarily involved in the condition of the nations, in poverty, freedom, war, exchange, with the worthy condition of mankind. Recent modern experience has proved that not every system works, not every system produces justice, freedom, and truth, let alone abundance and prosperity. The legitimate variety of human polity has limits, precisely those limits that St. Thomas found in his discussion of natural law and the law of nations. That is to say, if the social affairs of mankind have wide and legitimate variety -- in St. Thomas' terms, if there were positive laws, customs, and institutions less than the state -- these diversities had some kind of basic grounding. This grounding St. Thomas called the "natural" law, a law that did not explain itself as to its own existence but existed in so far as each human being stood outside of nothingness as a certain kind of being not made by man.33
The natural law of St. Thomas was not simply the "natural right" of Strauss' Aristotle, still less the natural law or "human rights" of modernity.34 The natural law of St. Thomas was ontological, that is, standing outside of either the human mind or the human power to make, both of which were ordered to this same world as the cause or arena of their activities.35 To the question of why it was a "law" and not just a "right," the whole of the metaphysics of St. Thomas is presupposed. That is to say, following Aristotle's notion that the human mind is capax omnium, capable of knowing all things, St. Thomas argued that finite things did not and could not cause themselves to be. If they existed, which they did, they bespoke a cause of their existence, a cause that was discovered through the stable finite being that each thing was in itself. The limited truth and good in finite things were grounds for understanding that finite things exist because of will, but not any will found in things themselves.
This very natural law created for St. Thomas both in the citizen and in the philosopher a curiosity about further "law," about further understanding about the good in which things existed.36 This very curiosity hinted that the knowledge of the whole to which philosophy was ordained was incomplete. Put in terms of St. Augustine, it meant that the City of God could not be identified with any existing city, or, for that matter, any city founded in speech and argument. In terms of St. Thomas, it meant that the natural law was rooted in being, but did not explain itself.37 Thereby, political philosophy by being itself remained open to what is.
In a remarkable essay, "The Possible Future of Philosophy," that has many points that parallel Strauss, though coming to rather different conclusion, Josef Pieper, following St. Thomas, presented another understanding of the relation of philosophy and revelation that has great significance for political philosophy. First of all Pieper noted the "natural desire (of philosophy) to create a clear, transparent and unified image of the world."38 Pieper remarked that a Gnostic theory might easily find the Incarnation, a teaching of revelation, to be merely a kind of cyclic confirmation its worldview that the human mind understood all things, including revelation, by man's own powers.
Not unlike the remark of Glaucon in The Republic about what would happen to the just man in any existing city (362a), Pieper observed:
But the fact that, within the framework (of actual historical events), mankind hated and killed the God-made-man "without a cause' (Jn 15:25) and that yet this same death effected the salvation of man, who had committed the murder: these theological truths explode any tidy formula which anyone might conceive about the world.39
The point is that the Thomist principle of faith and reason not being in contradiction also includes the impossibility of human reason by itself to be able to claim complete understanding of the whole of the world, including the inner life of its cause. In this sense, moderate liberalism and St. Thomas are in agreement with Strauss about the diversity of reason and revelation.
In his own alternative to Strauss' position that philosophy and theology are unable to enter into intercourse with each other, however, Pieper maintained that the essential thing in philosophy is neither the avoidance of knotty problems nor the bewitchment of the intellect with plausible or conclusive proofs. Instead the essential thing is that not one single element of reality be suppressed or concealed -- not one element of that unfathomable reality the vision of which is synonymous with the concept of "truth."40
This passage comes as close to any, I think, in clarifying the meaning of St. Thomas' political philosophy. For if political philosophy is in a sense first necessary in order that we might have a polity that allows us to philosophize in the first place, a polity that recognizes its own incompleteness, a polity based on moderation, it follows that revelation will be discovered in the existing polities not merely because it is there in the sacred books, as it were, but it is there in the questions that arise in the leisure towards which politics is naturally ordained.41
If St. Thomas was most careful about civil law being addressed to "human beings who were for the greater part imperfect" (I-II 96, 2), this position was taken because this imperfection did not prevent the highest things from being confronted in all existing polities. In the end, this freedom to grapple with the highest things even in any existing polity, a freedom that originates in most societies with revelation, seems to be the true purpose of natural law and of all existing polities, in which, as Aristotle said, we do not listen to those who tell us that "being human we should only deal with human things" (1177b32).
For St. Thomas dealing with political things, with the law, with the regime, even with the best regime, is the first step to the freedom for confronting the divine things -- both those divine things we can discover with our intellect and those which our intellect encounters in the "unfathomable reality the vision of which is synonymous with the 'truth'." Thus, St. Thomas can quite legitimately observe about political philosophy: "Non est igitur in potestate humana summum hominis bonum."
In this sense, to conclude that human power is not the highest human good is precisely what is needed intellectually to allow politics to be itself. The great political disorders of modernity have almost invariably arisen not from classical tyranny but from philosophical politicians seeking to order all things by their political theories. At this level of discourse, at the level of politics and the highest things, Thomas Aquinas remains fundamental to the discourse of political philosophy.
1"If some power is the highest good, it follows that it should be a most perfect power. Human power, however, is most imperfect. For it is rooted in the wills and opinions of men, in which there is the maximum inconstancy. And so much the more is power esteemed, so much the more does it depend on the many. This dependency, however, also pertains to its weakness, since what depends on the many can be destroyed in a multiplicity of ways. Therefore, the highest good of men is not to be found in worldly power."
6See Leo Strauss, "The Mutual Influence of Theology and Philosophy," The Independent Journal of Philosophy, 3 (1979), 111-18. See also James V. Schall, "A Latitude for Statesmanship? Strauss on St. Thomas," The Review of Politics, 53 (Winter, 1991), 126-47; "Reason, Revelation, and Politics: Catholic Reflections on Strauss," Gregorianum, 62 (1981), #2, pp. 349-66; #3, pp. 467-98..
8See Etienne Gilson, "What Is Christian Philosophy?" A Gilson Reader, Edited by Anton C. Pegis (Garden City, N. Y.: Doubleday Image, 1957), pp. 127-92; Josef Pieper, A Guide to Thomas Aquinas, Translated by Richard and Clara Winston (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991), pp. 147-60. These essays should be read in conjunction with Leo Strauss' famous essay "What Is Political Philosophy?" in What Is Political Philosophy? and Other Studies (Glencoe, IL.: The Free Press, 1959), pp. 9-55. See also James V. Schall, "What Is Medieval Political Philosophy?" Faith & Reason, XVI (Spring, 1990), 53-62.
10See Etienne Gilson, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (New York: Scribner's, 1938); Josef Pieper, Scholasticism: Personalities and Problems in Medieval Philosophy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964); Maurice de Wulf, Philosophy and Civilization in the Middle Ages (New York: Dover, 1953); Christopher Dawson, Religion and the Rise of Western Culture (Garden City, N. Y.: Doubleday Image, 1991); Frederick D. Wilhelmsen, Christianity and Political Philosophy (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1980); James V. Schall, Reason, Revelation, and the Foundations of Political Philosophy (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1987).
11See Jacques Maritain, "Relation of Philosophy to Theology," Thomism and Modern Thought, Edited by Harry R. Klocker (New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1962), pp. 305-06. See also Ralph McInerny, Thomism in an Age of Renewal (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1966); John F. Wippel, Metaphysical Themes in Thomas Aquinas (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1984); Ernest L. Fortin, "St. Thomas Aquinas," in Leo Strauss and Joseph Cropsey, Editors, History of Political Philosophy (Third Edition; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 248-75; One Hundred Years of Thomism, Edited by Victor B. Brezik, (Houston: Center for Thomistic Studies, 1981).
15See Charles N. R. McCoy, "The Marxist Revolutionary Idea: Philosophy Passes into Practice," The Structure of Political Thought (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1963), pp. 291-310. See also Charles N. R. McCoy, "The Historical Position of Man Himself," On the Intelligibility of Political Philosophy: Essays of Charles N. R. McCoy, Edited by James V. Schall and John J. Schrems
(Washington: The Catholic University of American Press, 1989), pp. 86-99.
16See also Charles N. R. McCoy, "On the Revival of Political Philosophy," Intelligibility, ibid., pp. 131-49; Henry Veatch, Aristotle: A Contemporary Appreciation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1974), pp. 3-20.
17See Andrew N. Woznicki, Karol Wojtyla's Existential Personalism (New Britain, CT.: Mariel, 1980); Karol Wojtyla, Toward a Philosophy of Praxis, Edited by Alfred Bloch and George T. Czuczka (New York: Crossroads, 1981). See also George Weigel, The Final Revolution: The Resistance Church and the Collapse of Communism (Washington: Ethics and Public Policy Center, 1992).
18John Paul II, "Perennial Philosophy of St. Thomas," The Whole Truth about Man: John Paul II to University Students and Faculties, Edited by James V. Schall (Boston: St. Paul Editions, 1981), p. 222.
19See James V. Schall, "On the Relation between Political Philosophy and Science," Gregorianum, 69 (#2, 1988), 205-23; "Truth and the Open Society," in Order, Freedom, and the Polity: Critical Essays on the Open Society, Edited by George W. Carey (Lanham, MD.: University Press of America, 1986), pp. 71-90.
21See Ralph McInerny, "Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle," St. Thomas Aquinas, ibid., pp. 30-74; Josef Pieper, A Guide to Thomas Aquinas (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991), pp. 43-62; Etienne Gilson, "Greek Philosophy and Christianity," A Gilson Reader (Garden City, N. Y.: Doubleday Image, 1957), pp. 170-77.
24William P. Baumgarth and Richard J. Regan, S. J., "Introduction," Saint Thomas Aquinas: On Law, Morality, and Politics (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1988), p. xiv. See also Ernest L. Fortin, Political Idealism and Christianity in the Thought of St. Augustine (Villanova, PA.: Villanova University Press, 1972).
26See James V. Schall, "St. Augustine and Christian Political Theory," The Politics of Heaven and Hell: Christian Themes from Classical, Medieval, and Modern Political Philosophy (Lanham, MD.: University Press of America, 1984), pp. 39-66. See also Charles N. R. McCoy, "St. Augustine," in History of Political Philosophy, Edited by Leo Strauss and Joseph Cropsey (Chicago: Rand-McNally, 1963), pp. 151-59.
27On St. Thomas, see James A. Weisheipl, Friar Thomas D'Aquino: His Life, Thought, & Works (Washington: The Catholic University of America Press, 1983); G. K. Chesterton, St. Thomas Aquinas (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986), [G. K. Chesterton: Collected Works, Volume III]; Josef Pieper, The Silence of St. Thomas (Chicago: Gateway, 1957); Charles N. R. McCoy, "St. Thomas and Political Science," Intelligibility, ibid., pp. 24-38; Etienne Gilson, The Spirit of Thomism (New York: Kennedy, 1964).
33See McCoy, "Natural Law, Law of Nations, and Civil Law," Structure, ibid., pp. 88-98; Yves Simon, The Tradition of Natural Law: A Philosopher's Reflections, Edited by Vukan Kuic (New York: Fordham University Press, 1965); Heinrich Rommen.The Natural Law (St. Louis: B. Herder, 1947).
36See James V. Schall, "The Reality of Society according to St. Thomas," The Politics of Heaven and Hell, ibid., pp. 235-52. See also, San Tommaso d'Aquino: Doctor Humanitatis (Atti del IX Congresso Tomistico Internazionale) (Rome: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1991).
37A number of recent studies on natural law are surprisingly relevant and interesting in regard to St. Thomas, see especially Henry Veatch, Human Rights: Fact or Fancy? (Baton Rouge" Louisiana State University Press, 1985); Russell Hittinger, A Critique of New Natural Law Theory (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1987); John Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Right (New York: Oxford, 1980).