Reclaiming Moral Agency: The Moral Philosophy of Albert the Great [1 ed.] 0813215404, 9780813215402

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
1. Modern Virtue Theory as Foreground to Albert’s Moral Philosophy
2. Albert’s Ethical Treatises
3. The Significance of Albert’s Moral Treatises in Early-Thirteenth-Century Moral Philosophy
4. Meta-Ethical Reflections on “Moral Science” and It’s Procedures
5. The Metaphysics of the Good
6. The Genesis of Virtue: Intrinsic Causes
7. The Genesis of Virtue: Extrinsic Causes
8. The Concept of Virtue
9. The Organization of the Virtues
10. The Passions
11. Natural Law
12. Friendship
13. Last Ends and Happiness
14. Conclusion: Albertus Redux
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

RECLAIMING

Moral

Agency

the moral philosophy of

Albert the great

Stanley B. Cunningham The Catholic University of America Press Washington, D.C.

Copyright © 2008 The Catholic University of America Press All rights reserved The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standards for Information Science—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. ∞ Lib r ary o f Co ngre ss Catalog ing in-P u b licatio n D ata Cunningham, Stanley B., 1934– Reclaiming moral agency : the moral philosophy of Albert the Great / by Stanley B. Cunningham. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8132-1540-2 (cloth : alk. paper)  1. Albertus, Magnus, Saint, 1193?–1280—Ethics.  2. Ethics, Medieval.  I. Title. B765.A44C86 2008 170.92—dc22 2008020524

To the memory of I gnat i u s T. Esch m ann, O.P., who first introduced me to medieval moral theory

contents

Preface  ix

Part I: Albert and the Career of Virtue Theory 1. Modern Virtue Theory as Foreground to Albert’s Moral Philosophy  3 2. Albert’s Ethical Treatises  24 3. The Significance of Albert’s Moral Treatises in Early-Thirteenth-Century Moral Philosophy  46

Part II: Approaching the Moral Order 4. Meta-Ethical Reflections on “Moral Science” and Its Procedures  79 5. The Metaphysics of the Good  93

Part III: The Architecture of Moral Goodness 6. The Genesis of Virtue: Intrinsic Causes  115 7. The Genesis of Virtue: Extrinsic Causes  145 8. The Concept of Virtue  159 9. The Organization of the Virtues  179 10. The Passions  199

Part IV: Morality, Obligation, and Law 11. Natural Law  207

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Contents Part V: Virtue’s Rewards 12. Friendship  241 13. Last Ends and Happiness  254 14. Conclusion: Albertus Redux  270 Bibliography  277 Index  289

preface

In the late 1960s, I published two articles, one in Journal of the History of Ideas, the other in Vivarium, dealing respectively with Albert the Great’s theories of moral natural law, and the genesis of natural virtue. These studies, in turn, resulted from my earlier dissertation research at the University of Toronto into the significance of one of Albert’s early works, De bono, in early-thirteenthcentury moral theorizing. Following the appearance of these articles, I moved on to other and more contemporary areas of philosophy, and still later into the field of communication studies. Several years after my retirement from teaching in 1997, and following the completion of several unrelated research projects, I decided to revisit my earlier interests in Albert and medieval moral theory. At first I was motivated partly out of curiosity: I wanted to see what new developments there had been since my own initial research activities in the 1960s. I was both surprised and disappointed to see how little had been added to the field of Albert’s moral theory, even on the occasion of the seventh centenary (1980) of Albert’s death, when a number of essay collections appeared in Europe and North America. The dearth was most evident in the area of English publications. While Albert had continued to attract varying degrees of scholarly attention in the areas of history of science, theology, alchemy, metaphysics, and philosophical psychology, there was a conspicuous paucity in the area of moral theory. (A most welcome exception was Jörn Müller’s impressive Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei

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Albertus Magnus [Aschendorff, 2001], which appeared just as I was about to revive my interest in Albert’s moral theory.) Much of the neglect of Albert, I believe, is by unfortunate default: in the very process of lionizing St. Thomas Aquinas, scholars have inadvertently overlooked the manifold innovations of his mentor, Albert the Great. “Outside of Germany,” writes James Weisheipl, “he is known only as the teacher of St. Thomas Aquinas, if at all.”1 This is especially true in the area of moral philosophy. The inattention of which I speak was all the more surprising given the improved access to Albert’s ethical treatises in the intervening years. When I did my earlier work on Albert in the 1960s, only two of his dedicated ethical treatises were in print: De bono, the very first number to appear (1951) in the new critical edition of the collected works put out by the Cologne Institute; and Ethica, Albert’s second commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, often referred to in the literature as the Paraphrasis. This latter work still exists only in the unreliable Borgnet edition of 1891 (and in the much older Jammy edition of 1651). However, in 1968 the Cologne Institute published a critical edition of the first part of Albert’s celebrated first commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, entitled Super Ethica. This was followed by the appearance of critical editions of Albert’s very first foray into moral theory, (Tractatus) De natura boni in 1974, and the second half of Super Ethica in 1987. Unfortunately, a critical edition of the paraphrastic Ethica is unlikely to appear in the near future. This book is the fruit of my decision to help remedy a history of neglect, this time by attending more widely to all of Albert’s moral treatises, with special emphasis on De bono and Super Ethica. At the same time, it also happens to constitute one more step in what Marcia Colish has referred to as the “decentering of Aquinas” since I bring to light developments in Albert upon which his student was able to build, and which all too often have been overlooked and assumed to be those of Aquinas.2 In subtitling my work The Moral Philosophy of Albert the Great, I am aware that this will surely offend a few purists. Some will argue that in 1. “Albert the Great and Medieval Culture,” The Thomist (October 1980), 481. For a more detailed account of Albert’s life, see James A. Weisheipl, O.P., “The Life and Works of St. Albert the Great,” in Albertus Magnus and the Sciences: Commemorative Essays 1980, ed. James A. Weisheipl (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1980), 13–51 (publisher hereafter cited as PIMS). 2. Remapping Scholasticism, Étienne Gilson Series, no. 21 (Toronto: PIMS, 2000), 6.



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characterizing any of the theorizing in the theological treatises of, say, Abelard, Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus, et al. as philosophy we do them the injustice of diminishing and misrepresenting their theological engagement.3 Since, the argument runs, these Christian thinkers saw themselves as theologians, they would have resisted having their words and ideas demoted to the status of lesser wisdom—natural philosophy. There is a good deal of historical truth in this position. The Summa theologiae of Thomas, and the Summa theologica of Albert, and their respective commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard are assuredly theological treatises. But this is not always and unqualifiedly true. In the case of Albert, I have presumed his agreement to call this a book about his moral philosophy for the following reasons. First, in De bono, which constitutes the centerpiece of my study, Albert follows a strictly philosophical sequence of arguments and positions, and draws heavily from philosophical sources. In only one place, within a discussion of the intrinsic morality of human acts (see chapter 6), does he impose a purely theological insight to round out his philosophical reasoning on the morality of acts. Also, while the projected plan of De bono did indeed envisage treatments of the supernaturally endowed perfections and beatitude, the text—as it now stands—does not include such treatments. Those intended theological treatments seem to have been absorbed into or applied to his later Scripta super sententias. (This reason applies less compellingly to an earlier treatise, De natura boni.) Hence, even though De bono is a theological treatise in what it ultimately intended, it also can and should be studied as a philosophical treatise without doing any injustice to Albert’s status as a Christian theologian. Second, both of Albert’s commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics are overt philosophical exercises. The fact that they are composed by a theologian, with occasional theological aperçus for the instruction of his Christian confrères and students, does not undo their inherently philosophical value. Third, throughout his career Albert exhibited a robust in3. See John Inglis, Spheres of Philosophical Inquiry and the Historiography of Medieval Philosophy (Leiden: Brill, 1998). Inglis believes there is a “danger of disemboweling medieval thought” and hence a “contemporary crisis in the historiography of medieval philosophy” (pp. 276, 281). The tension is particularly acute when it comes to determining the status of natural virtue. Regarding four different approaches to the study of medieval philosophy, however, see John Marenbon, Later Medieval Philosophy (1150–1350): An Introduction (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987), 83–90.

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terest in natural science and philosophy—his writings in these areas will comprise twenty of the forty volumes of the Cologne edition of his complete works. He would not, I believe, be offended by others focusing upon the philosophical portions of his theological treatises. As James Weisheipl (and Martin Grabmann before him) pointed out, “Albert was best known to his countrymen as a philosopher, rather than as a theologian.”4 This rejoinder should also serve to remind us that in many ways Albert was more of a naturalist in his interests than St. Thomas. Fourth, in chapter 1 I will demonstrate that Albert’s theory of natural moral goodness is relevant to today’s resurgence in virtue theory, and that in several important aspects his theorizing and its historical context parallel the vicissitudes of modern and contemporary virtue theory. Were he alive today, I believe that Albert would want to engage in that dialogue with contemporary philosophers using his own philosophically structured materials and theorizing even as they appeared in De natura boni and De bono. Accordingly, while I might have settled for a more neutral term in my subtitle, such as, say, “theorizing” or “thought” or “ideas,” I dare to presume Albert’s permission to represent his ideas to a modern readership as a philosophical enterprise in its own philosophical idiom. Nor, I believe, is my own venture at all inconsistent with other and future treatments of Albert’s moral theology. As a prelude to my analysis, I wish to pay homage to the memory of Ignatius T. Eschmann, O.P., who ignited my interest in medieval moral theory, and who first drew my attention to Albert’s De bono. I have benefited greatly from his insights into the medieval moral imagination. I owe another long overdue acknowledgment to the memory of Walter H. Principe, C.S.B., for his kind assistance many years ago when I first worked on Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono in early manuscript form. Finally, I wish to express my gratitude for the guidance and valuable assistance of my editors, James C. Kruggel and Ellen Coughlin. Windsor, Ontario May 2007

4. James Weisheipl, “Albert the Great and Medieval Culture,” 499.

pa rt i

Albert and the Career of Virtue Theory

chapt e r 1

modern virtue theory as foreground to albert’s moral philosophy

“Virtue ethics” or “ethics of virtue” is a long-lived conception of moral worth in which acquired traits of character figure as the primary forms and determinants of human goodness in our actions. It is also a philosophical approach which, over and above the moral worth of the actions themselves, emphasizes the development of these virtuous traits within the moral agent. Characteristically, courageous and just acts originate within courageous and just agents. The descriptor “virtue theory” refers more directly to the theoretical enterprise which undertakes to analyze and understand this schema of interiorized human properties. Since the time of Plato and Aristotle, the cardinal virtues—courage (fortitude), temperance (self-control), prudence (moral wisdom), and justice—were generally featured as the pivotal qualities in this ethic. Other virtues, to be sure, were also acknowledged—e.g., generosity, patience, honesty, benevolence, modesty, fidelity— but, at least in the classical and medieval periods, these were often treated as subordinate elements of, or as lesser adjuncts to, the cardinal dispositions. Theories of happiness and friendship were also included as extended parts of an ethics of virtue, and they were viewed as higher moral states which necessarily entailed pos-

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session and exercise of the cardinal virtues. While the four virtues figure prominently as central themes in Plato’s Republic, it is really Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics—delivered as a course of lectures in Athens in 335–334 B.C.—that provides the classic source and most influential formulation of cardinal-virtue ethics. The work, still widely read and studied today, continues to serve as the exemplar of virtue ethics. This book is about the work of Albert the Great—philosopher, scientist, theologian—to restore an ethics of natural virtue and virtue theory into Christian Europe, in the central decades of the thirteenth century, using materials and ideas drawn from Nicomachean Ethics and later Latin sources (notably Cicero, Macrobius, and Boethius). Albert’s undertaking is of historical interest on its own merits as a remarkable moral synthesis, but it also offers some interesting lessons for contemporary moral philosophy in the light of the latter’s own more recent history. I will show that there are a number of instructive parallels between Albert’s historical situation and the tortuous career of modern and recent-modern virtue theory. These parallels and their disclosure, I submit, serve to instruct in three ways. First, they help the contemporary reader, in a more modern idiom, to understand and to appreciate Albert’s achievement seven and a half centuries earlier. Second, by expanding the historical context they also add to our understanding of the vicissitudes of modern virtue theorizing. Third, these parallels help us to appreciate in a more timeless fashion what I believe are some of the enduring challenges that confront an ethics of virtue, and what losses ensue whenever the concept of virtue is misplaced or neglected. Fast-forward now, if you will, to the modern and recent-modern era. Up until the late 1970s and early 1980s, the classical concept of virtue had languished and very nearly vanished from modern and contemporary moral philosophy; and when it did show itself, it presented a tattered image at best. This was true not just in the English-speaking world, but even on the wider European scene: a 1962 French publication, for example, uses the word “demidésuétude” to describe this phenomenon.1 There were reasons for this. Certainly, both in popular and academic usage, the language of virtue had been eclipsed by the more popular deontological notions of principles and obligation, rights and duties. Two of the four cardinal virtues had very 1. A. Lalande, Vocabulaire Technique et Critique de la Philosophie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1962), “vertu,” 1203. See also Lawrence C. Becker, “The Neglect of Virtue,” Ethics 85, no. 2 (January 1975): 110–22.



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nearly disappeared even in ordinary language through disfigurement: prudence, because of a widespread tendency to construe it as little more than a self-centered concern with acts and their consequences;2 and temperance, which, through restrictive alliances, as in the case of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union (est. 1874), had become unattractive, certainly marginalized, at least in name. Courage and justice, to be sure, still commanded respect as premier traits of character, but they were also subject to differing interpretations, sometimes badly skewed, as in the case of courage allied to base motives and villainy.3 Philosophers themselves had greatly contributed to virtue’s decline, and the case has been compellingly argued by Alasdair MacIntyre in After Virtue (1981). This work’s appearance provoked a volley of philosophical responses, both positive and negative, enough so that MacIntyre followed it up in 1984 with a second edition including a chapter in which he undertook to reply to a number of his critics—all of which signaled a quantum leap in the philosophical interest now being paid to the concept of virtue. Yet even before MacIntyre’s After Virtue, there had already been a few isolated attempts to rehabilitate virtue ethics, the most successful of which appeared in the same year, 1978: James D. Wallace’s Virtues and Vices, and Philippa Foot’s collection of (mostly previously published) essays, also titled Virtues and Vices. These three titles were the most conspicuous instances of a renewed interest in classical aretaics, but there had always been a few scattered thinkers who somehow managed to keep alive, just barely, the concept of virtue.4 That was not easy in a climate of moral philosophizing dominated by utilitarianism (or “consequentialism”) and deontology. There were other philosophical environments of more recent vintage, as well, which either served to discourage virtue ethics, or in which it simply did not flourish: intuitionism, non-cognitivism, and emotivism. Amidst all these “isms” and movements, the major opposing strain against which virtue ethics had to compete was the conception of ethics as something rooted in obligation. For a long time, it was commonplace for a philosopher to assume that “the 2. See Douglas J. Den Uyl, The Virtue of Prudence (New York, Paris, London: Peter Lang, 1991). 3. See my article “The Courageous Villain: A Needless Paradox,” The Modern Schoolman 52 (1985): 97–110. 4. E.g., G. H. Von Wright, The Varieties of Goodness (London, New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1963), 136–54; Nicolai Hartmann, Ethics, trans. Stanton Coit, vol. 2 (London: Allen & Unwin; New York: Macmillan, 1932), 225–64.

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experience of moral obligation is the central element in the concept of morality.”5 Finally, as the linguistic turn settled into the English mainstream of modern philosophy during the 1950s and 1960s, moral theorizing directed more and more of its energies to the logic and semantics of moral discourse, and virtue ethics very nearly disappeared from sight altogether. During this philosophical devolution, virtue ethics did manage to retain a foothold, even flourish in the neo-Thomist sector, and here some of its most eloquent expressions were four monographs, one on each of the cardinal virtues, by Josef Pieper.6 Thomistic virtue theory, however, was largely confined to Catholic schools and publications, and to medieval scholarship, and so it was destined to exercise little if any influence on the wider secular philosophical sector. Save for the last three decades, then, “virtue theory” and “ethics of virtue” tended to be more noticeable in the modern world of secular philosophy by their absence than by their presence, let alone influence.7 All this changed very quickly. Since the writings of MacIntyre, Wallace, and Foot, there has been a veritable renaissance in virtue theory so that it now figures as a highly visible and respectable participant in the contemporary philosophical landscape. One could even add that there is now a bewildering array of possible “ethics of virtue,” including some very fruitful sorties into, and allegiances with, epistemology.8 Books on virtue, including anthologies, some of them very good,9 are now common5. A. R. C. Duncan, Moral Philosophy (Toronto: CBC Publications, 1965), 24. See also John McDowell, “Virtue and Reason,” in Roger Crisp and Michael Slote (eds.), Virtue Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 141–62; and Bernard Williams, Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy (London: Fontana, Collins, 1985), 174–96. 6. Josef Pieper, The Four Cardinal Virtues (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1966). The four treatises had already appeared separately well before this combined-publication date. 7. For a qualified response to this view, see Jerome B. Schneewind, “The Misfortunes of Virtue,” Ethics 101 (1960): 42–63, reprinted in Crisp and Slote (eds.), Virtue Ethics, 178–200. Schneewind argues that, in the modern era, the concept of virtue did not disappear so much as it was subordinated to a quasi-legalistic perspective as evidenced in the treatises of Grotius and Kant. 8. Gregory E. Pence, “Recent Work on the Virtues,” American Philosophical Quarterly 21 (1984): 281–97; Marcia Baron, “Varieties of Ethics of Virtue,” American Philosophical Quarterly 22 (1985): 47–53; Lorraine Code, Epistemic Responsibility (Hanover, N.H., and London: University Press of New England, Brown University Press, 1987); Linda Zagzebski, Virtues of the Mind: An Inquiry into the Nature of Virtue and the Ethical Foundations of Knowledge (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998). See also the articles in Metaphilosophy 34 (2003), nos. 1–2. 9. Robert B. Kruschwitz and Robert C. Roberts (eds.), The Virtues: Contemporary Essays in Moral Character (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth, 1987); Crisp and Slote (eds.), Virtue Ethics.



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place, and booksellers’ websites on the Internet currently list well over a 100 relevant virtue-related titles. Currently, historic interest in the cardinal virtues is evident in the joint sponsorship by the Netherlands Organization of Scientific Research and the Katholieke Universiteit Nijmegen of a five-year research program (from 2001 to 2006) entitled A Geneology of Morals: The Cardinal Virtues in Medieval Discourse, 500–1500.10 All this represents a striking turnaround since 1980, when Arthur Flemming opened his review of Philippa Foot’s Virtues and Vices with the statement that “[a] bibliography of modern philosophical work on the virtues would be very short.”11 The expanding body of recent virtue-theory literature also includes some spirited criticisms (and defenses) of the very adequacy of an ethics of virtue.12 Part of this dialogue centers on the conflict having to do with virtue theory’s ability to withstand, or match strengths with, various deontological systems based on principle, obligation, and duty. These sorts of reflective exchange, including the highly critical pieces, rather than doing serious damage to the viability of virtue ethics, lend credence, I believe, to the success of virtue ethics’ recent instauration as a respected “school” of moral philosophy. My own purpose in too briefly recounting the vicissitudes of modern virtue ethics is to provide, in outline only, a broad landscape in which to contextualize some of the moves contributing to the disarray of virtue theory during most of the modern and contemporary period, and some of the philosophical statements or positions highlighting that state of disorder. More ultimately, I undertake this brief review as a prelude to my study of Albert the Great’s moral theory. I move in this “back-to-the-future” fashion because I believe that there are instructive parallels between virtue’s misfortunes in the modern-era foreground, and the pioneering efforts of Albert the Great to introduce, interpret, and assimilate the moral theory of the classical naturalists—most notably, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics—within 10. For a description, consult http://www.let.kun.nl/~I.Bejczy/research.html (as recorded on 5/26/2004). 11. Arthur Flemming, “Reviving the Virtues,” Ethics 90 (1980): 587. 12. Most notably, Robert Louden, “On Some Vices of Virtue Ethics,” in Kruschwitz and Roberts (eds.), The Virtues, 67–79. See also Kai Nielsen, “Critique of Pure Virtue: Animadversions on a Virtue-Based Ethic,” in Earl E. Shelp (ed.), Virtue and Medicine: Explorations in the Character of Medicine (Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel, 1985), 133–50. In the same volume, see also the essays by Robert M. Veatch, “Against Virtue: A Deontological Critique of Virtue Theory in Medical Ethics,” 329–45, and Tom L. Beauchamp, “What’s So Special About the Virtues?” 307–27.

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a Christian intellectual milieu that ranged from indifferent to hostile. In the twelfth and first half of the thirteenth centuries, Greek naturalism was poorly understood, and that by only a very few; and it was also disdained and feared by others. Quite simply, the very concept of natural moral goodness had been and was at best a faint presence in the Christian realm of moral speculation. When Albert set about to construct his own moral theory—the meaning of goodness, grades of morality, the virtues, friendship and natural law, happiness in this life—he did so with a robust vision of the human being’s natural moral capacity, of our ability to attain to levels of moral perfection distinct from—but not in opposition to—man’s supernatural destiny. He also spelled out this distinctively humanistic ethic within a rich metaphysical and psychological tapestry that did much to anchor and to energize his very sophisticated undertaking to reclaim a human being’s natural moral agency. This was a level of human exercise that Christian thinkers, in their zeal to underscore the necessity of God’s salvific endowments, had ignored and very nearly lost sight of. Furthermore, there was a remarkable degree of congruity and interconnectedness between these philosophical levels of Albert’s enterprise which have rarely been apparent in the modern era.13 British philosopher Elizabeth Anscombe was very much aware of a virtue-theory deficit when, in 1958, she sharply rebuked modern moral philosophy for what she saw to be its inadequate philosophy of psychology, including a low-grade understanding of such key features as action, intention, pleasure, and wanting.14 (Had she been of a more ontological bent, she might also have complained of a corresponding metaphysical shallowness in modern moral philosophy.) At the same time, Anscombe also thought that the concepts of moral obligation and moral duty ought to be jettisoned because, at least in their modern usage, she believed them to be little more than unsupported survivals from an earlier conception of ethics, and therefore more likely to do harm than good in their modern setting. No less shockingly, she personalized her low regard for modern 13. A notable exception has been N. J. H. Dent’s The Moral Psychology of the Virtues (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984). 14. G. E. M. Anscombe, “Modern Moral Philosophy,” in The Collected Philosophical Papers of G. E. M. Anscombe, vol. 3, Ethics, Religion and Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1981), 26–42. Originally published in Philosophy 33 (1958): 1–19.



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moral philosophy when she added that the major English moralists from Sidgwick to the present (1958) were unimportant. But we have to read between the lines a little more to appreciate that what Anscombe was also doing, albeit somewhat obliquely, was to sharply criticize a climate of moral theorizing that all along had been either indifferent or hostile to classical virtue theory—a defect which her husband, Peter Geach, later attempted to redress in his own book The Virtues (1977). Anscombe’s rude verdict, sometimes now cited in contemporary virtue literature as a clarion call, is nearly half a century old, but it challenged a later generation of philosophers to begin reconsidering a much neglected area in moral philosophy; and so it does indeed mark another turning point in the history of modern virtue ethics, even earlier than MacIntyre’s After Virtue (1981). However, there are other and earlier, equally interesting benchmarks in the history of modern virtue ethics that illustrate with striking clarity the mindset that both reinforced and reflect virtue theory’s erosion. Accordingly, without intending to duplicate the analyses of MacIntyre and a few others, in what follows I will select and briefly identify a number of salient occasions and statements in the modern history of virtue which serve both to illustrate and to magnify the sorry erosion of virtue ethics—and the nullification of particular virtues—during most of this period. Once again, these statements and the devolutions they signify, in turn, may help the modern reader to situate and appreciate in analogous fashion the philosophical deficits and challenges confronting Albert the Great in an earlier age. By the same token, I believe that spelling out what Albert managed to identify and assemble in his own distinctive synthesis may also serve to interest and instruct the modern ethicist. The Early-Twentieth-Century Death Knell of Virtue Ethics At the beginning of the last century, in his influential Principia Ethica (1903), G. E. Moore did much to confirm the virtual demise of classical virtue ethics and theory during and after the heyday of utilitarianism, when he wrote that “I do not think we can regard it as part of the definition of virtue that it should be good in itself....... It [virtue] is not better as a means than nonvirtuous dispositions; it generally has no value in itself....... Accordingly,

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‘virtue’ is not, as is commonly implied, a unique ethical predicate.”15 The fact, too, that these words are from the much less read portion of Moore’s Principia somehow seems to mirror virtue’s alleged unimportance. Moore’s comments, however, offer only one indication of virtue’s radical devaluation at this time. Nine years later, the British philosopher H. A. Prichard, in a frequently anthologized piece entitled “Does Moral Philosophy Rest Upon a Mistake?” offered a no less provocative proposal: We must sharply distinguish morality and virtue as independent, though related, species of goodness, neither being an aspect of something of which the other is an aspect, nor again a form or species of the other, nor again something deducible from the other; and we must at the same time allow that is possible to do the same act either virtuously or morally or in both ways at once.16

Now, Prichard certainly had his own reasons for insisting upon this sharp disjunction.17 He believed, for example, that rightness and our corresponding obligations were immediately intuitable, that these features of our behavior constituted the realm of morality, and that any attempt, philosophical or otherwise, to supply additional reasons for our actions’ being right—e.g., virtuous motives—was an exercise in futility. Moral philosophy, he argued, rests upon a mistake to the extent that it engages in the pointless exercise of trying to establish grounds and reasons for right action and our corresponding duties and obligations. The element of virtuegoodness has only to do with our inner feelings or emotions, but nothing at all to do with the rightness of behavior itself. Virtue, he insisted in the same essay, has no connection with what we physically perform, but only with what we inwardly feel or think. The result, perhaps unintended and unforeseen, was that the virtuous dimension in our lives was banished to a very hidden, private realm where, quite predictably, one might expect it eventually to vanish from sight, certainly from philosophical insight. And this more or less was the misfortune that awaited the concept of virtue during most of the twentieth century. 15. Principia Ethica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965 [1903]), 171 (§103), 182 (§109). 16. Essays in Moral Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949), 11. The essay itself originally appeared in Mind 21 (January 1912). Prichard’s disjunction echoes the distinction between the rightness and goodness of actions that stems at least as far back as John Locke. See the reference below in note 20. 17. For a fuller account of his reasoning, see my article “Does ‘Does Moral Philosophy Rest Upon a Mistake?’ Make an Even Greater Mistake?” The Monist 54, no. 1 (January 1970): 86–99.



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Prichard’s thesis was not unrelated to G. E. Moore’s own celebrated claim that goodness was a non-natural property that we could only intuit, and for which natural components—and back-up perceptions—could not really be found. More to the point, however, is our recognizing that for both philosophers the classical concept of virtue had withered into something that doesn’t have any connection with morality, something that really doesn’t have any distinctive ethical cachet, something that really doesn’t amount to much in our daily activities, at least from the perspective of moral philosophy. The concept of virtue, to be sure, had not entirely disappeared, but it now seemed to have been so displaced from the realm of action, and so denatured in the process that it is safe to say that we are scarcely dealing with the same concept we read about in the Aristotelian tradition. The generalized impoverishment of the concept of virtue, as I shall indicate shortly, is no less unmistakable in the ways in which both the value and the original understanding of particular virtues have also been eroded. While this has not generally been true in the case of justice, which, notwithstanding changes in its meaning and role, always seems to retain most of its luster,18 it has certainly been true of the other cardinal virtues— prudence, courage, and temperance. Some Generic Causes of Virtue Theory ’s Decline The statements of both Moore and Prichard serve as benchmark indicators that virtue ethics, at least as originally envisaged by Aristotle and his disciples, has been unseated. Worse yet, in many cases the concept of virtue has been detached from the concept of morality, that is, from whatever it is that makes our behavior good and right and worthy of respect. Quite simply, virtue is no longer our moral center of gravity. There appear to be a number of deep-structured, generic reasons for this de-moralizing of the concept of virtue. I shall discuss only some of these briefly in the manner of what I hope will be an informative prelude to the study of Albert the Great’s moral theory. 18. Justice, originally conceived as an integration of the virtues in the person, or later as a general disposition of the will, has tended to evolve into “fairness” in adjudicating between competing individual self-interests. See, for example, John Rawls, “Justice as Fairness,” The Philosophical Review 67 (1958): 164–94.

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First, there has been over the centuries a progressive decontextualizing of the virtues. For both the classical Greek naturalists and their medieval successors, virtue theory flourished within a certain kind of human psychology of the soul, and usually hand-in-hand with a well-developed metaphysics of form and nature. For Albert and Thomas Aquinas as much as for Aristotle, the virtues are acquired second natures which fortify the powers of the soul, thereby enabling them to perform their functions adeptly and accurately, and which, at the same time, specify the very character and identity of our human behavior. Quite simply, virtues inform human performance such that they specify what it is that we do. For Albert (and Thomas Aquinas), an act of courage is ontologically different from a non-courageous act even though two such different performances may outwardly appear to be the same (see chapters 6 and 7). In much of modern and contemporary virtue awareness, however, the scope of those specifying functions is greatly reduced, residual at best, because virtues tend to be regarded as something of uncertain metaphysical status, and too often as little more than constraints upon human impulse and desire. The virtues may have some useful, auxiliary connection with our actions, but they generally lack the features of moral growth and act-specification that typify many of the Graeco-medieval doctrines. (Once again, I suspect that G. E. M. Anscombe [1958] may have had something like this in mind when she lamented the profound inadequacy of modern moral philosophy.) These kinds of absences, I submit, historically contributed to the loss of vision of the general concept of virtue within the overall economy of the moral life. A second cause of virtue’s reduced status—really another aspect of the whole process of decontextualizing—is the ageless tendency to impose jural constructs upon ethical experience, that is, to ground the goodness of virtue in obedience to law. In such a stance, the dominant preoccupation is with conformity to rule, principle, or law. McDowell nicely situates this trend when he writes: “On this view, the primary topic of ethics is the concept of right conduct, the nature and justification of principles of behaviour.” In such a conception virtue occupies “secondary place....... Virtue is a disposition ..... to behave rightly; the nature of virtue is explained, as it were, from the outside in.”19 This conception was already evident in the 19. John McDowell, “Virtue and Reason,” in Crisp and Slote (eds.), Virtue Ethics, 141.



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seventeenth century when John Locke wrote: “By whatever standard soever we frame in our minds the ideas of virtues or vices ..... their rectitude, or obliquity, consists in the agreement with those patterns prescribed by some law.”20 Indeed, this readiness to construe virtue in juridical language has had a long life in the modern era. Schneewind traces it as a motif running through Kant’s Metaphysics of Morals, and even back further to a skewed natural-law tradition (resting upon Hugo Grotius’s attack on the notion of the Aristotelian mean) which results in a divided life: an ethic of rule and an ethic of virtue.21 In such a bifurcation, virtue almost invariably comes off looking the worse probably because it lacks the degree of simplicity and clarity that we seem to have with conformity to rule of law. Prichard’s sharp division between virtue and morality, where morality has to do only with obligation and rightness in our actions, then, is scarcely a meteoric conception, although many seem to see it that way: there had already been a long tradition in English and European thought to support it. Interestingly, it was also a prevailing mindset with which Albert the Great was familiar, and which he took decisive steps to reverse.22 Third, there has been a loss of pristine “cardinality” in virtue theory, and a corresponding proliferation of particular virtues and a vulgarization of the concept of virtue. By “proliferation” I mean the tendency to marginalize, subvert, or eliminate the traditional four cardinal virtues, and to substitute for them an array of lesser qualities, sometimes of dubious moral content. While the cardinal virtues themselves do not always or entirely disappear from view, they have been seriously diluted in stature and function. By “vulgarization” I mean the practice of disconnecting the virtues from the kingship of reason and moral wisdom, and of grounding them in the realm of ordinary impulse and feeling—most notably in the “sentiments” such as sympathy. Both tendencies were already apparent before and at the time of David Hume, but seem to culminate in his moral treatises.23 Both the reality of and our awareness of virtue now derive primarily from feeling, a posi20. Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 2, 28, 14. Ed. Peter H. Nidditch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), 358. 21. Schneewind, “The Misfortunes of Virtue,” in Crisp and Slote (eds.), Virtue Ethics, 178–200. 22. See chapter 11. 23. See, for example, Nicholas Capaldi, Hume’s Place in Moral Philosophy (New York, Bern, Paris: Peter Lang, 1989), especially 1–20.

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tion consistent with Hume’s basic thesis that “morality ..... is more properly felt than judged of.”24 “All morality,” he writes, “depends upon our sentiments; and when any action or quality of the mind, pleases us after a certain manner, we say it is virtuous; and when the neglect or non-performance of it, displeases us after a like manner, we say that we lie under an obligation to perform it.”25 In particular, the natural impulse of sympathy is the most general of moral principles, and the ultimate bedrock and explanation of the virtues. Now, with respect to virtuous traits themselves, Hume is perhaps best remembered for his rude dismissal of “the whole Train of Monkish virtues” because “they serve to no manner of purpose.”26 Notice, however, that the virtues he was so quick to deride (celibacy, fasting, penance, mortification, self-denial, humility, silence, solitude) were certainly not the cardinal virtues; and his enumeration reads not so much as an array of virtuous dispositions (with the exception of humility) but more as a cluster of religious practices and monastic institutions. Hume did, however, speak about a number of virtues that he esteemed, and which he divided into four classes or categories.27 First there are the “social virtues” of “meekness, beneficence, charity, generosity, clemency, moderation, equity”; and virtues that are useful to society: fidelity, justice, veracity, integrity. Social utility is also found in the qualities of “humanity, benevolence, friendship, public spirit, and other social virtues of that stamp.” A second category of virtue includes those that benefit the agents themselves, “and enable them to promote their own interest.”28 These are “prudence, temperance, frugality, industry, assiduity, enterprise, dexterity ..... generosity and humanity.” A third group comprises qualities that are generally pleasing: wit, eloquence, ingenuity, decency, and decorum. A fourth category includes 24. A Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. III, 1, 2; 2nd ed. Ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge, P. H. Nidditch (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), 470. 25. Ibid., Bk. III, 2, 5, p. 517. 26. David Hume, An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, 9, 1, 3. Ed. Tom L. Beauchamp (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 73, ll. 22–25. 27. In what follows, I have relied upon the groupings of virtues in the commentary of James Baillie, Hume on Morality (London, New York: Routledge, 2000), 144–45. Baillie, in turn, draws his materials from Hume’s A Treatise of Human Nature and from An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals. For a more evaluative commentary on Hume’s catalogue, see William Davie, “Hume’s Catalog of Virtues and Vices,” Southwestern Journal of Philosophy 7 (1976): 45–57. 28. Treatise, Bk. III, 3, 1, p. 587.



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those that are intrinsically pleasing to the agent: for example, cheerfulness, serenity, and contentment. A number of features in Hume’s theory are worth remarking on. First, while the cardinal virtues have not disappeared, they are certainly the worse for wear. Prudence and temperance figure only as qualities that promote self-interest. Courage scarcely appears at all in the Treatise: in that work, Hume writes that it derives its merit “in a great measure from artifice as well as the chastity of women,” where artifice is to be understood as social custom and practice, and “chastity of women” as implying, one assumes, the defense thereof.29 Justice not too surprisingly still retains premier status. Second, our contemporary distinction between self-directed and other-directed virtues is already clearly prefigured in Hume’s distinction between the virtues of self-interest and the social virtues or virtues of social utility. In point of fact, the self-directed/other-directed division is already apparent in Hobbes.30 When such a distinction structures a virtue ethic, however, the predictable result is that the so-called self-directed qualities increasingly play a minor role compared to the socially driven impulses. That is why prudence, temperance, and fortitude will decrease in stature to the point of disappearance in some cases. Third, the sentimentalization of virtue is most clearly evident in such qualities of healthy-mindedness as cheerfulness, serenity, and contentment. Fourth, many of the alleged virtues championed by Hume just as easily function as useful qualities in rogues and criminals: friendship, industry, assiduity, enterprise, dexterity, wit, decorum. While we normally view these as positive qualities, there is no compelling theoretical reason to view them as virtuous traits. In Hume we have a clear picture of the transformation and sad disarray of virtue ethics—indeed, the unraveling of classical aretaics. It really should come as no surprise that subsequent thinkers continued to perpetuate ever weaker notions of virtue and to give them short shrift in their own moral systems. A passage in Jeremy Bentham’s Deontology bears striking witness to this situation of decline and disarray: It matters little in what order the self-called [sic, so-called?] virtues or vices present themselves. There is no marshalling them; they are susceptible of no arrangement; 29. Treatise, Bk. III, 2, 12, p. 353. 30. See Den Uyl, The Virtue of Prudence, 117–18.

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they are a disorderly body, whose members are frequently in hostility with one another. Most of them consist of a portion of good, a portion of evil, and a portion of matter indifferent. Most of them are characterised by that vagueness which is a convenient instrument for the poetical, but dangerous or useless to the practical moralist.31

Bentham’s words could be said to presage the wholesale collapse of traditional cardinality as argued in G. J. Warnock’s The Object of Morality.32 Warnock believes that morality has a purpose or object, and that it is to counteract the “‘limitations’ inherent in the human predicament in virtue of which things are liable to go rather badly” (p. 71). He says that we can arm ourselves against our natural weakness in this regard with four central virtues: non-maleficence, non-deception, beneficence, and fairness. These, then, become the new “cardinal” virtues du jour embodying “fundamental moral standards or moral principles” (p. 86). Notice, however, that while they number four, Warnock’s newly minted qualities seem to have little in common with the classical virtues: two of them are negatively described as constraints on our darker proclivities; and beneficence, while historically viewed as a welcome disposition, was rarely regarded as one of the cardinal excellences. Only Warnock’s fairness bears any kind of resemblance to one of the classical cardinal virtues—justice. The common theme linking all four is not so much growth in goodness and character development, but rather the broad theme of constraint, that is, protection from the deadly drift within us toward decline and disorder. Such protection, to be sure, lies within the province of virtue, but it does not define its excellence. Losing Specific Virtues Finally, the concept of virtue has been weakened by disfigurement in the individual cardinal virtues themselves, and it has been most readily discernible in the cases of prudence and courage. In the modern era, there has been a widespread tendency to think of prudence in terms of self-interest, and therein lies what Den Uyl calls “one of the central problems of prudence ..... how is it possible for something to go from being the supreme 31. Deontology or The Science of Morality, vol. 1, ed. John Bowring (London: Longman; Edinburgh: Tait, 1834), 196. 32. G. J. Warnock, The Object of Morality (London: Methuen, 1971).



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virtue to barely a virtue at all....... Why is this virtue now held in such low esteem?”33 The self-interest focus of prudence is not just something recent: it is evident in Sidgwick’s influential Methods of Ethics (1962 [1874]), where he classifies it under “Self-Regarding Virtues,” and describes it thus: Prudence may be said to be merely Wisdom made more definite by the acceptance of self-interest as its sole ultimate end: the habit of calculating carefully the best means to the attainment of our own interest, and resisting all irrational impulses which may tend to perturb our calculations or prevent us from acting on them.34

Sidgwick, of course, is only one in a longer tradition. Den Uyl also reminds us that “it was really Kant who dealt the virtue of prudence its death blow ..... a blow from which prudence has never recovered.”35 In Kant, prudence is simply a name for self-interest, and concerned only with the particulars of behavior. Morality, by comparison, is disinterested, and works on the level of universal principles. In other words, morality and prudence are two very different concepts, and operative at two very different levels of our attention. Moreover, whenever prudence is allied so radically with individual self-interest, it loses much or most of its connection with morality, where the latter is construed primarily in terms of duty and obligation and as comprising relations with others. The result has wide-ranging repercussions since it carries with it a greater tendency toward impersonalism, and the eclipse of personal agency within the moral perspective. As David Norton writes: When “prudence” is subsequently excised from the domain of morality altogether, the motivation of self-interest is either explicitly precluded to morality—thereby rendering the question “Why be moral?” unanswerable—or else it must first be laundered by such gymnastic contrivances as “veils of ignorance,” “impersonal standpoints,” or the magical transformation of persons into ideal observers from whom every interest but that of impartial benevolence has been removed.36

The distancing of prudence from the realm of the moral, however we define or situate morality, is all the more pronounced when we remind ourselves 33. Den Uyl, The Virtue of Prudence, 1. 34. Henry Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, 3, 9, §1, 7th ed. (London: Macmillan, 1962 [1874]), 328. Italics mine. 35. The Virtue of Prudence, 143. 36. Personal Destinies (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1976), 278.

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that in classical aretaics it was reason reinforced by prudence (prudentia, sapientia, phronesis) that determined the right thing to do, and therefore the path of virtue. In the modern conception, prudence no longer commands that pivotal generative role. Its wisdom, if we can even call it that, is simply shrunken to determine what is only of interest to me. The devaluation of virtue is starkly evident too in the case of philosophical tampering with courage. Repeatedly, modern philosophers have raised doubts about the ethical value of courage because, they argue, it can just as easily be put to evil uses. D. Wallace, for instance, writes that “one can act from motives that are morally reprehensible and still show courage.”37 The same notion is repeated by Von Wright (who writes that “the value of courage ..... is therefore accidental”), B. Gibbs, D. L. Phillips, and, a little more obliquely, R. M. Hare.38 G. J. Warnock went even further when he suggested that while courage and also temperance may be viewed as dispositions or virtues, they are not really moral virtues.39 Derek Phillips echoes this “demoralizing” of three-quarters of the cardinal virtues when he writes: With the exception of justice, which is a true moral virtue, these virtues [wisdom, courage, temperance]—as well as such virtues as sincerity and kindness—are not moral virtues....... In order for courage, wisdom, and the like to be moral virtues, they must be guided by the supreme moral virtue: justice.40

The reason both Warnock and Phillips argue the way they do is that these “non-moral” qualities could be used for purely selfish and nefarious ends, and also because they seem to have no direct and necessary connection with larger social needs or with the moral virtue of justice. Claims such as these underscore the enormous distancing from the classical virtue theory of Aristotle, who was at pains to distinguish authentic from counterfeit forms of courage. and also from Cicero, who thought that “fortitude” antonomastically signified the virtues in general.41 Happily, others are pre37. Virtues and Vices (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1978), 77. 38. G. H. Von Wright, The Varieties of Goodness (London, New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), 153; B. Gibbs, “Virtues and Reason,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, supplementary volume, 48 (1974): 39; D. L. Phillips, “Authenticity or Morality?” in Kruschwitz and Roberts (eds.), The Virtues, 32–33; R. M. Hare, Freedom and Reason (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1963), 149, 188–90. 39. The Object of Morality (London: Methuen, 1971), 78–79, 92. 40. “Authenticity or Morality?” in Kruschwitz and Roberts (eds.), The Virtues, 32. 41. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics III, 8 (Ostwald trans., pp. 72–76.). Cicero writes that “all



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pared to defend a more traditional conception of courage. Peter Geach, for instance, insists that “there can be no virtue in courage ..... if the cause for which this is done is worthless or positively vicious....... Endurance or defiance of danger in pursuance of a wrong end is not virtuous and in my book is not courageous either.”42 Alasdair MacIntyre argues that courage belongs to a core of “central invariant virtues,” and that when it is allied to criminal intent and techniques it exemplifies one of several ways in which virtues can degenerate into vices or “problematic qualities.”43 The ultimate reason for extreme reductions of the cardinal virtues is that many of these authors are working with a truncated concept of morality. As we just saw in the case of Warnock and Phillips, they view prudence, temperance, and courage as personal or self-regarding qualities, while justice, concerned as it is with distribution and restitution, is always other-regarding and therefore morally significant. Moreover, since justice easily aligns itself with the jural concepts of duty, principle, and obligation, it seems to gain added reinforcement as a moral virtue, and simply is not prone (or at least less prone) to misuse, whereas the others supposedly are. Finally, these representative interpretations of virtue in general and the particular virtues, in conjunction with the larger pattern of historical and philosophical neglect, more than anything contributed to the weakening and near disappearance of virtue ethics and virtue theory in the modern era. All of this has been far more damaging than overt theoretical criticisms of virtue ethics by Louden and others (see above), I submit, because such criticisms can be responded to with reason and counterarguments, and in most cases defused. A centuries-long history of neglect and misunderstanding, on the other hand, even while it sits there unrecognized and unannounced, is none the less corrosive in its underground power to erode the very concept of virtue. [the virtues] have received the name of virtue from the single virtue of fortitude.” In Tusculan Disputations II, 18, §43; trans. J. E. King, 2nd ed., Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London: W. Heinemann, 1950), 194–95. 42. The Virtues (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 160. 43. “How Virtues Become Vices,” in H. Tristram Engelhardt and Stuart F. Spicker (eds.), Evaluation and Explanation in the Biomedical Sciences (Dordrecht, Holland; Boston: D. Reidel, 1975), 97–111, especially 105–7. Philippa Foot in Virtues and Vices and Other Essays in Moral Philosophy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 16, is also disinclined to acknowledge villainous “courage” because in such cases courage is simply not operating characteristically.

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The Career of Virtue Theory Albertus Magnus Redux

My purpose in approaching Albert the Great’s moral theory with a brief overview of virtue ethics in the modern and contemporary periods has been to supply the contemporary reader, in more recognizable and “user-friendly” language, with a relevant introduction to a number of issues confronting virtue ethics and virtue theory. Most of the devolutions I outlined above are more than just isolated episodes in the history of ideas. Rather, I believe that they manifest what appear to be recurrent challenges to those who undertake to understand and formulate a virtue-based ethical theory. Accordingly, even though expressed in the language of modern and contemporary philosophy, the claims and positions I have just reviewed can be very helpful to the contemporary reader in approaching some much older theories of moral goodness worded in a very different idiom. In choosing to write about Albert the Great’s ethical theory, I am also mindful of a certain irony. First, historians of moral philosophy nearly always are drawn to the figure of Albert’s student, St. Thomas Aquinas, not only as the paradigm of moral speculation and the appropriation of Aristotelian naturalism, but as the acme of philosophico-theological excellence in the thirteenth century. The number of books and articles on Aquinas is almost beyond count; the studies dedicated to Albert are far fewer, really minuscule by comparison. The result, for the most part unacknowledged, has been a corresponding eclipse of the teachings of Aquinas’s mentor. Second, while Albert is commonly celebrated as a major figure in the history of science,44 there is a lingering tendency to view Albert the philosopher (and theologian) in less flattering terms: that is, as a compiler and transmitter of learning, but as somehow deficient when it comes to such qualities as originality, organization, and synthesis. While invariably pictured as a man of discovery and enormous erudition—hence the sobriquets “Albert the Great” and “Universal Doctor”—he is still too often regarded as someone who was unable to configure his vast learning into cohesive syntheses with his own distinctive signature. Thus, Maurice de Wulf, a modern pioneer in the history of medieval philosophy, once wrote: If we consider Albert’s philosophy from the constructive point of view, it lacks coherence and systematic character....... He was a typical compiler and erudite scholar. 44. Weisheipl (ed.), Albertus Magnus and the Sciences.



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He did not try to fuse together into a coherent synthesis the doctrines which he set forth. He confined himself to partial arrangements in limited groups of problems.45

Similar opinions were reported by the Dominican scholar Martin Grabmann.46 This is, indeed, a harsh verdict about the man whom Ulrich of Strasbourg, one of Albert’s disciples, once called “the wonder and miracle of our time” (nostri temporis stupor et miraculum).47 No less an authority than Étienne Gilson also believes that there is a certain unoriginality in Albert’s philosophical enterprise, and a flat trajectory in the quality of his theological writing. Even in his theology, Albert has used philosophy rather than changed it. Unlike his pupil Thomas Aquinas, he has left philosophy practically as he found it in the philosophers....... In the present state of our knowledge, there is no reason to think that the general doctrine taught by Albert in his early Summa de creaturis differs on any important point from his late doctrinal positions as we find them defined in his unfinished Summa theologica.48

(In fairness, Gilson immediately adds that “further historical research may make it necessary to revise this conclusion.”) With specific reference to Albert’s ethical treatises, Georg Wieland believes that “[w]hen his work is considered as a whole, he is seen to have departed remarkably little from Aristotle.”49 The impression of Albert accumulating erudition without originality and organization, unvoiced more often than not, continues to linger on as a recurrent assumption in the field of medieval philosophy scholarship.50 45. Maurice de Wulf, History of Mediaeval Philosophy, trans. E. C. Messenger, 3rd English ed. (based on the 6th French ed.) (London, New York: Longmans, Green, 1938), 103. 46. Martin Grabmann, O.P., Drei ungedruckte Teile der Summa de creaturis Alberts des Grossen (Leipzig: 1919), 81. 47. Summa de bono IV, tr. 3, c. 9; cited in J. Daguillon (ed.), Ulrich de Strasbourg: La Summa de bono, Livre I (Paris: Vrin, 1930), 139. 48. History of Christian Philosophy in the Medieval Ages (New York: Random House, 1955), 278. The Summa de creaturis, cited by Gilson, includes the De bono, which I argue in succeeding chapters stands as the centerpiece of Albert’s moral theory, and as a fine example of his own philosophical originality and synthesis. 49. “The Reception and Interpretation of Aristotle’s Ethics,” in Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg (eds.), The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 660. (Hereafter cited as CHLMP.) 50. The issue of Albert’s philosophical distinctiveness is explicitly raised by Fernand Van Steenberghen under the question: Did Albert have his own philosophy and, if so, what direction did it take? See La philosophie au XIIIe siècle (Louvain: Publications Universitaires; Paris: BéatriceNauwelaerts, 1966), 292–306.

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It accounts, I believe, for the number of times in which the originality and importance of Albert have been ignored or minimized in books and articles where he ought to have been included, and where one would certainly expect him to be adequately represented, not just mentioned, if that.51 This overall pattern of neglect carries over into the area of his moral theory, especially in the domain of English scholarship where comparatively little has been written. Very recently R. E. Hauser observed that “Albert’s ethics has drawn little attention from scholars.”52 In my own research, I found the silence and inattention of scholars to be most disconcerting in books and articles where Albert’s moral theories most certainly deserve to be discussed, but where they or his major ethical treatises have been either overlooked, scarcely mentioned, or ignored outright.53 This absence is all the more discomfiting given that Albert was especially interested in moral philosophy and its methodology, that he left us four dedicated moral treatises (comprising 1,225 folio and 640 quarto pages), and that, as I will try to show, he was remarkably innovative in what he accomplished. In what follows, I intend to show that Albert the Great, situated as he was at the confluence of classical moral philosophy (most notably works by Aristotle, Cicero, Macrobius, and Boethius) and a very long tradition of Christian moral theology heavily influenced by an Augustinian-theocentric perspective, undertook an impressive exercise in reclaiming the natural dimension of moral agency and responsibility. The challenges he confronted antedate in analogous fashion some of those faced by modern and recent virtue theorists briefly outlined earlier. First, appreciation of the classical concept of natural virtue just as Albert appeared on the scene was irregular and largely undeveloped; only glimpses of it were discernible even in the 51. There are anthologies and histories of medieval philosophy in which Albert is not included and not even mentioned: e.g., Arthur Hyman and James J. Walsh (eds.), Philosophy in the Middle Ages: The Christian, Islamic and Jewish Traditions (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 1974); W. T. Jones, The Medieval Mind: A History of Western Philosophy, 2nd ed. (New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1969). 52. The Cardinal Virtues: Aquinas, Albert, and Philip the Chancellor (Toronto: PIMS, 2004), 56, n. 123. 53. E.g., Alain de Libera, Albert le Grand et la philosophie (Paris: J. Vrin, 1990); John Inglis, “Aquinas’s Replication of the Acquired Moral Virtues: Rethinking the Standard Philosophical Interpretation of Moral Virtue in Aquinas,” Journal of Religious Ethics 27 (1999): 3–27; Richard Newhaus, The Treatise on Vices and Virtues in Latin and Vernacular (Belgium, Turnhout: Brepols, 1993); Timothy C. Potts, Conscience in Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980); and all four chapters in the Ethics section of CHLMP, 655–719.



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late twelfth and early thirteenth century. Second, for the most part Christian thinkers were seemingly indifferent or hostile when it came to studying and understanding the natural virtues and their relationship to human action. An uncontested theological framework lay behind this mindset: by virtue of our fallen nature we humans are very much prone to sin, and we can attain to goodness only by the grace of God. Even when early fragments of Aristotle’s Ethics became available, most Christian thinkers were surprisingly diffident when it came to understanding and appropriating Greek naturalism in their own moral theories. This is evident even in the early commentaries on the first books of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, in which the human agent is pictured as incapable of achieving natural virtue, and even happiness in this life.54 Up until roughly 1250, natural reasoning about human moral practices and values—i.e., moral philosophy—was a noticeably neglected discipline in Christian Europe. Third, the prevailing concept of moral worth before and even during much of Albert’s career was largely juridical: moral goodness was thought to be possible only in and through conformity to principle and duty, obligation and law. In such a conceptual universe, conformity to the law—primarily the laws of God and His Church—logically preceded both the concept and the reality of virtuous living. These three patterns, though centuries long past, in analogous fashion prefigure the misfortunes of modern virtue theory. To these may be added yet another pattern that prevailed before and during Albert’s time: chapter 3 will demonstrate that up to the time of Albert’s De bono in the early 1240s, there was a dearth of moral treatises showing any kind of order and synthesis. Albert’s De bono constitutes an impressive response to that absence. While this medieval pattern of absence of order and organization is generally not true of moral treatises in the modern era, it does compare—once again, analogously—to the late emergence of publications on virtue ethics and virtue theory in the twentieth century. Accordingly, at the end of this introductory overview as a foreground to the study of Albert’s moral theory, a certain kind of reciprocity now suggests itself: understanding Albert’s moral philosophy in its medieval context offers an additional perspective that may also help the contemporary reader to situate and appreciate the career of modern virtue ethics and its theory. 54. See chapter 13.

chapt e r 2

albert’s ethical treatises

The Aristotelian Inspiration Natural virtue ethics, which had only just begun to glimmer as an object of sporadic philosophical interest in the Christian West in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, was greatly energized by the appearance in western Europe of Latin translations of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, the mother lode of virtue theory. This work, however, did not make its reappearance in the West in the form in which we now know it, that is, as a treatise comprising ten books or chapters. Rather, it filtered into the European countries piecemeal.1 Until the 1240s, only portions of the Ethics were accessible, 1. See A. Pelzer, “Les versions latines des ouvrages de morale conservées sous le nom d’Aristote en usage au XIIIe siècle,” RNSP 33 (1921): 316–41, 378–412, especially 326–35; R.-A. Gauthier, O.P., and J. Y. Jolif, O.P., “L’Éthique à Nicomaque dans le moyen àge latin,” in Gauthier and Jolif (eds.), L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 1 (Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain; Paris: Éditions Béatrice Nauwelaerts, 1958), 74*–85*; G. Wieland, “The Reception and Interpretation of Aristotle’s Ethics,” in CHLMP, 657–72. A thorough and highly technical review of the Latin transmission of these fragments is found in R. A. Gauthier’s edition Ethica Nicomachea Praefatio in Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 1 (Brussels: Desclée de Brouwer; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1974), xv–cli. C. J. Nederman (1989; 1989–1990) makes a strong case that, in the twelfth century, there had also been alternative sources of Aristotle’s theory of virtue and habitus prior to the appearance of fragments of the Nicomachean Ethics—notably Aristotle’s Organon, Cicero’s De inventione, and Boethius—and that this constitutes evidence of “an underground tradition” of Aristotelian virtue theory. He also thinks (1989) that this accounts for the slow and undramatic response to the appearance of Aristotle’s text in the first half of the thirteenth century.

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and different translations of some of these fragments appear to have been in circulation. Of these Latin fragments, the best known were: (i) the Ethica vetus, dating from the end of the twelfth century, by an unknown translator, comprising Books II and III (up to 1119a34) of Aristotle’s text; (ii) the Ethica nova, consisting of Book I and the remaining lines of Book III, which made its appearance after the Ethica vetus, sometime before 1230; (iii) fragments of Books VII and VIII usually referred to as the Ethica Borghesiana (after its manuscript provenance).2 The Ethica nova and the Ethica Borghesiana, in turn, appear to be the only surviving fragments from another Latin version, by an unknown translator, possibly Michael Scot, about 1215–1220. Well before Albert first arrived in Paris (about 1240–1241) these fragments were already in circulation. Happily, the study of these fragments of the Ethics escaped a prohibition against lecturing on Aristotle’s natural philosophy in Paris in 1210, later renewed by papal legate Robert Curçon in 1215. These allowances no doubt facilitated the composition of six known early commentaries on the Ethica vetus and Ethica nova dating mostly from the late 1230s and the 1240s.3 It’s clear that Albert the Great knew and used some of the fragmentary translations as they became available to him from the beginning of his writing career, even during the writing of his very first work, the (Tractatus) De natura boni in the late 1230s.4 Latin versions of the complete Nicomachean Ethics were wanting until Hermannus Teutonicus secured an Arabic-Latin translation (derived from Averroes’s Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, and sometimes cited as Translatio hispanica) in June of 1240.5 Another Latin translation, the Translatio alexandrina, began to circulate in 1243 or 1244. Both of these 2. These translated fragments have been edited by R.-A. Gauthier: Ethica Nicomachea: Translatio antiquissima libri II–III sive “Ethica vetus” et Translationis antiquioris quae supersunt sive “Ethica nova,” “Hoferiana,” “Borghesiana.” Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 2 (Brussels, Leiden: 1972). 3. For a useful description of these early commentaries and a summary of related scholarship, see Anthony J. Celano, “The ‘Finis Hominis’ in the Thirteenth Century: Commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics,” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge (hereafter AHDLMA) 53 (1987): 23–53, esp. 23–25; “The Understanding of the Concept of Felicitas in the pre-1250 Commentaries on the Ethica Nicomachea,” Medioevo 12 (1986): 29–33. See also O. Lottin, “Deux commentaries sur l’Ethica vetus des environs de 1230–1240,” in Lottin, Psychologie et Morale aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles, vol. 6 (Louvain: Abbaye du Mont César; Gembloux: J. Duculot, 1948–1960), 225–35 (hereafter PEM); and R.-M. Gauthier, “Le cours sur L’Ethica nova d’un maître ès Arts de Paris,” AHDLMA 42 (1976): 71–141. 4. O. Lottin, “Saint Albert le Grand et l’Éthique à Nicomaque,” PEM, vol. 6, 315–31, especially 316–21. 5. Gauthier and Jolif, “L’Éthique à Nicomaque dans le moyen âge,” 75*–76*.

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translations emerged at about the same time that Albert was composing or beginning to compose the centerpiece of his moral writings—the De bono. Finally, what Gauthier and Jolif call “the reign” of the Nicomachean Ethics really begins with the appearance (1246–1247) of a remarkable layered translation and commentary composed by Robert Grosseteste, first chancellor of Oxford University and bishop of Lincoln.6 Very soon after Grosseteste’s rich compilation became available to him, Albert the Great applied himself to fashioning a complete commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, replete with his own dialectical reflections cast in the format of a Parisian disputation or quaestio. The work, now edited and published under the title Super Ethica, was done as a series of exercises (lectures and classroom disputations) and transcriptions in 1250–1252 at the Dominican house of studies (studium generale) in Cologne where Albert then presided as master of studies (magister studiorum). Young Brother Thomas Aquinas attended these readings and lectures, and transcribed them—and, in some modest fashion, may have contributed to their content. Both in its earlier fragmentary condition and in the later complete version of Robert Grosseteste, Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics exercised a lasting influence on the thought of Albert. During his lifetime, he devoted a great deal of time and effort both to the exposition of Aristotle’s ethical theory and to the elaboration of his own moral doctrine. The four dedicated moral treatises he left us—two complete commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, and two independently wrought treatises on moral goodness—totaling 1,225 folio pages and 640 quarto-folio pages stand as evidence. In addition to this, there are other sections on moral theory scattered throughout his theological writings: notably, Book III of his Commentary (Scripta) on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard; similar materials in corresponding sections of his Summa theologica (currently being edited by the Cologne Commission under the title Summa de mirabile scientia Dei); and several independently scripted quaestiones that also belong to his ethical corpus, having to do mostly with his moral psychology and particular vices and minor virtues. Now, in medieval studies it has long been a truism that the content of a person’s doctrine must be studied in the light of the form of its presentation. This canon serves to underscore the importance of critically 6. Ibid., 77*.



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determining the most reliable and the most representative sources for an investigation into the moral theorizing of Albert the Great. A survey of the body of his ethical writings will show that the two middle works in his career, reflecting persistent and dominant concerns in Albert’s career as a theorist about the principles of natural morality, are the most reliable and representative: De bono and Super Ethica. Their special significance will become even more apparent (in chapter 3) against the background of earlier and contemporary compositions of that period. Accordingly, in the following pages I propose to show that these two compositions—especially the De bono—constitute centerpieces of Albert’s thought as both a moral philosopher and theologian. The De bono supplies an impressive experiment in crafting a synthesis of virtue theory; the Super Ethica, written roughly a decade later, supplies a highly refined and professional commentary upon Aristotle’s Ethics, replete with Albert’s own philosophical reflections, through the lens of which we can better appreciate both his earlier work and later modifications. (Tractatus) De natura boni Prior to the De bono, however, Albert had already grappled with the problem of constructing a synthesis of moral theory in which the groundwork of natural morality would receive thorough treatment before his discussion of the supernatural perfections. Evidence of this attempt is found in a fragmentary work entitled De natura boni.7 The treatise, often referred to in the literature as Tractatus de natura boni or simply Tractatus, was never completed. It also remained undiscovered until 1919.8 It was edited and published for the first time in 1974, and since then it has continued to attract some scholarly attention.9 7. Alberti Magni De natura boni (Opera Omnia, vol. 25 [1]), ed. Ephrem Filthaut, O.P. (Münster: Aschendorff, 1974). My own in-text references, in parentheses, give page and line(s). Often when referring to the text of an introductory argument or to the answer to that argument, I will give an in-text reference to the argument/answer itself (e.g., #2 or ad 2m respectively). More elaborate references to sections and divisions, usually in the notes, will be given in this order: tractate (in Roman numerals), part (pars) and chapters (capitula) in Arabic numerals. Where confusion is possible, I will also include the editor’s marginal boldface numbering: e.g., marg. #92. 8. F. Pelster, S.J., “Der ‘Tractatus de natura boni.’ Ein ungedrucktes Werk aus der Frühzeit Alberts des Grossen,” Theologische Quartalschrift 101 (1920), 64–90. See also O. Lottin, “Ouvrages théologiques de saint Albert le Grand,” PEM, vol. 6, 237–42. 9. Tarabochia Canavero, 1984, 1986, 1987; Müller, 2001; Schneider, 1980. Canavero (1987) supplies an Italian translation of the entire work. Regarding this translation, see note 33.

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Composed sometime in 1236–1240, before Albert’s first move to Paris in the early 1240s, De natura boni is most likely his first written composition, and certainly the first of his dedicated ethical output.10 The influence of Aristotle is unmistakable, but not heavy: there are a number of references to the Ethica vetus and the Ethica nova, and two references to the GreekLatin translation fragment of Book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics. Beyond allusions to these fragments, however, Albert does not refer extensively to other works by Aristotle, nor to the Arabian philosophers—another indication of the work’s early date. Consistent with most moral treatises at this time, there is also a very strong dependency upon St. Augustine, most noticeably in Albert’s metaphysics of the good, and especially in his definitions of the virtues. Indeed, it is not insignificant that the work’s title—De natura boni—is the same as that of a treatise written by St. Augustine. Albert’s De natura boni is a continuous exposition with no trace of the highly formalized scholastic-debate structure that characterizes a number of his Parisian and post-Parisian writings. Instead, there is a heavy reliance upon scriptural sources, Christian and patristic writers; and so the work has been viewed by some as primarily “a devotional work.”11 Even so, in the early pages there are important philosophical stretches and interesting clues to future developments. For instance, in the second opening paragraph, Albert announces that he will treat of created goodness from a specifically moral standpoint, “magis moraliter quam substantialiter” (p. 1; l. 17). As the phrase was intended to announce, Albert’s analysis of the good differs from a more comprehensive treatment of the good in a work written roughly a dozen years earlier, and studied by Albert, the influential Summa de bono (1225–1228) of Philip the Chancellor.12 Whereas Philip had sought to elaborate systematically a whole theological universe from the viewpoint of the good, which meant including a great deal of material outside the moral sphere proper, Albert clearly intended his De natura boni to stand as an independent, dedicated moral treatise. The projected plan, based upon an inherited classification of kinds or 10. De natura boni, Cologne ed. (Opera Omnia, vol. 25 [1], ed. E. Filthaut, O.P. [Münster: Aschendorff, 1974]), Prolegomena, vi. 11. Weisheipl, “The Life and Works of St. Albert the Great,” 20. 12. Philippi Cancellarii Parisiensis Summa de bono, ed. Nicolai Wicki, 2 vols. (Berne: Francke, 1985).



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levels of goodness, approximates that of the later De bono. Albert will treat successively of natural or physical goodness, moral virtue, grace, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, beatitude, the fruits of the Holy Spirit, and finally happiness and, again, beatitude (p. 1, ll. 18–24). (It is not clear why Albert’s text predicts two treatments of beatitude.) The first seven pages, in the broadest terms, discuss how natural goodness (bonum naturae) manifests itself in man, how it is lost, and how it is later recovered. The treatment relies heavily upon concepts (modus, species, ordo) drawn from the writings of St. Augustine. The really interesting philosophical analysis begins with the second tractate (De bono virtutis politicae, p. 8), which comprises three subdivisions. The first of these deals with a basic natural level of goodness in human actions which Albert calls “generic goodness” or bonum in genere. This foundational good, he tells us (p. 8, ll. 52–53), is the very first mode of goodness in the moral order (id quod est primum bonum in rebus pertinentibus ad mores). The second subdivision (pp. 10–29) contains a lengthy inquiry into the moral determinations supplied by circumstances (de bono circumstantiae). Historically, this section is innovative: it is most likely the first known instance in the Latin West in which an attempt, more serious than the customary mere mention or enumeration, has been made to incorporate a theoretical treatment of the role of circumstances into a wider moral synthesis. Contained in this section as well are the rudiments of a moral psychology: an analysis (pp. 26–29) of the notions of voluntariness (willingness), choice, and deliberation. The third and final subdivision focuses upon the perfection of virtue proper. In the actual composition of this early work, however, Albert seems to have lost sight of his original plan. Also, the anticipated treatment of fortitude (p. 39) is missing, perhaps excised by an unknown hand. Early on, in his treatment of the virtue of temperance, Albert launches into a discussion of chastity, virginity, and the virginity of the Blessed Virgin Mary; and all this takes up the remaining two-thirds—over eighty pages—of the treatise. No doubt realizing that he had drifted far from the mark, Albert abandoned this writing in disorder and incompletion. In later works he never alludes to it (as indeed he often does to his second ethical treatise). Nor did he return to finish the work. Instead he chose to begin afresh, and this second attempt culminates in the De bono. Even so, the early portions of the

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De natura boni are philosophically useful: they supply glimpses into Albert’s early concepts of moral goodness, the role of differentiating particulars, and his earliest venture into the moral psychology of human behavior. De bono The fact that Albert repeats a similar undertaking is significant: it suggests that the elaboration and organization of ethical data into a unified moral synthesis was of special concern to Albert. In 1951, the Cologne Institute, which years before had undertaken to publish critical editions of Albert’s corpus, issued a definitive text of the hitherto unpublished De bono.13 It was the very first opus to appear in the new and definitive forty-volume Cologne edition of the complete works which is gradually supplanting the venerable, but unreliable Borgnet (Paris, 1890–1899) series. The De bono constitutes one of the two most important and reliable sources for the study of Albert’s ethical theories. Indeed, as far back as 1919, the De bono had sparked the interest of Dominican scholar Martin Grabmann, O.P., who made an enthusiastic announcement of its discovery in manuscript form. He eagerly hailed it as the most important source for Albert’s moral doctrine: Only in the unpublished work De bono sive de virtutibus is there presented a system of Albert’s virtue theory; and above all, the greatest and most significant, cohesive text of his moral theory is placed at our disposal. All three parts of the Summa de creaturis, especially De bono sive de virtutibus, are significant precisely as systematic achievements. They are indeed the best evidence as well for the great German scholastic’s systematic knowledge.14

Grabmann went on (p. 81) to lament the tendency among scholars to dismiss Albert in cavalier fashion as one whose works lack overall unity, 13. Alberti Magni De bono (Opera Omnia, vol. 28), ed. H. Kühle, C. Feckes, B. Geyer, and W. Kübel (Münster: Aschendorff, 1951). My own in-text references, in parentheses, will cite page and lines or opening argument (#) and answers to arguments (e.g., ad 2m). Longer citations in the notes will often reflect the work’s structure: tractate (in Roman numerals), question, article (both in Arabic numerals), introductory argument (#) or answer to argument (e.g., ad 1m.), magisterial resolution (sol.) 14. “Nun durch das ungedruckte Werk De bono sive de virtutibus ist uns ein System der Tugendlehre Alberts dargeboten und überhaupt der grösste und bedeutungsvollste zusammenhängende Text seiner Moral zur Verfügung gestellt. Alle drei ungedruckten Teile der Summa de creaturis, am meisten de bono sive de virtutibus sind gerade als systematische Leistung bedeutsam, sind wohl die besten Proben auch für das systematische Können des grossen deutschen Scholastikers.” Drei ungedruckte Teile der Summa de creaturis Alberts des Grossen, 80.



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organization, and structural independence (“ohne innere Ausgleichung und einheitliche Durchdringung ..... kein selbständiges einheitliches architektonisches Gebilde ..... Systemlosigkeit”). To correct this false impression, he urged scholars to re-assess the merit and the talents of Albert in the light of the De bono, whose cohesive and systematic character he emphasized (“Alberts Sinn and Veranlagung für Synthese und Systematik”). For the better part of a century, scholars and reviewers have unanimously sided with Grabmann in underscoring the De bono’s orderly and systematic character, as well as its unique historical significance in being the first moral synthesis, by a Christian theologian, to have incorporated extensively the principles of Aristotle’s Ethics. In the “Prolegomenon” to the De bono (pp. xiv–xv), B. Geyer, one of the work’s four editors, remarks as follows: From the development of Albert’s ethical doctrine especially one can see the extent to which the views of Aristotle had penetrated Christian doctrine, and how, within the scholastic’s knowledge, they had been combined into one ethical system. In examining this question, our summa is of the greatest importance since it is the first systematic work that includes very extensively the doctrine of Aristotle.

Early publication reviews, e.g., I. Brady (1953)15 and F. Van Steenberghen (1953),16 repeatedly echoed the same opinions in much the same language. Early commentaries and reviews, then, were unanimous in stressing the importance of the De bono. It was seen as a premium source of Albert’s own organized thoughts as well as an important early witness to the impact of Aristotelian thought upon Christian moral doctrine. As if to confirm these early verdicts, leading researchers have relied upon passages from the De bono as an especially important witness to Albert’s thought. For more than four decades, Dom Odon Lottin, in a series of articles and in his epic Psychologie et morale aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles (1948–1960), drew upon both manuscript versions and the Cologne edition in his analyses of Albert. Grabmann (1926), Lottin (1931), Cunningham (1967), and Hufnagel (1974) also relied upon the De bono in their studies of Albert’s natural law theory and its place in the Middle Ages. More recently, there has also appeared a partial Italian translation and commentary (Tarabochia Canavero, 1987). 15. Franciscan Studies 13 (1953): 220. 16. “Cette première utilisation systématique de la morale aristotélicienne fait l’intérèt et la valeur historique de l’ouvrage d’Albert,” Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 48 (1953): 295.

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In reading the early appraisals, however, there is something in particular that catches the eye: the repeated use of the terms “synthesis,” “system,” or “systematic.” That is, the De bono is characterized in more comprehensive language as a systematic work, a composition that hangs together, a work in which there is evidence of organization and consecutive development in Albert’s thought and synthesis. That overarching verdict was publicly substantiated for the first time in two articles by me (1967, 1969) in which I demonstrated the integration of the moral determinants in the human act, the causal structuring of Albert’s doctrine of the natural virtues, and the unprecedented placement of natural-law theory vis-à-vis a general theory of moral goodness. Other than that, Albert’s organizational talents and the quality of his synthesis as a moral theorist have generally been overlooked and neglected. Indeed, an appreciation of this deep-structured aspect of Albert’s thinking presupposes a more technically elaborate knowledge of the De bono in relation to his other ethical writings, as well as within the much broader context of early-thirteenth-century moral treatises. The De bono stands last in a series of six more or less independent treatises or groups of treatises composed by Albert in the early and middle range of his career; and of these, only three need concern us as philosophically relevant: the De IV coaequaevis, the De homine, and the De bono itself.17 The De IV coaequaevis and the De homine, the only printed members of the series until 1951, are linked possibly by Albert himself to form what he calls the Summa de creaturis.18 Since the time of Grabmann’s 1919 piece, there was a tendency among modern scholars to refer to the entire series of six works as the Summa de creaturis; but that terminology is incorrect (as are other titles such as Summa prior and Summa Parisiensis).19 17. De bono, Prolegomena §1, ix; O. Lottin, “Les écrits d’Albert antérieures au Commentarire des sentences,” PEM, vol. 6, 269. 18. “Circa secundam partem Summae de creaturis restat quaerere de homine,” De homine, Borgnet ed., vol. 35, 1. I say “possibly” only because this introductory note could conceivably have been added by a later hand. 19. P. G. Meersseman, O.P., Introductio in Opera Omnia B. Alberti Magni O.P. (Bruges: Beyaert, 1931), 107–10; C. H. Scheeben, “Les écrits d’Albert le Grand d’après les catalogues,” Revue Thomiste 36 (1931): 260–92; De bono, Prolegomena §1, p. ix. Meersseman (p. 107) believes that Grabmann errs: the whole series cannot be called a Summa de creaturis because its treatment would extend to more than just creatures. Lacking as it does other important sections to fill out the plan of such a vast synthesis, the present series of treatises “non jam constitutuunt veram summam theologicam.” Even so, some writers continue to refer to a three-part Summa de creaturis, and even to a six-part Summa Parisiensis (e.g., R. E. Hauser, The Cardinal Virtues [Toronto: PIMS,



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Frequent references in the De bono to De IV coaequaevis and De homine clearly situate it as the last composition in the series; and this internal evidence is reinforced by historical indications from the manuscript and catalogue traditions.20 Moreover, the index tables from one of the manuscript sources suggest that as early as the thirteenth century, the De bono was already viewed as a sequel to, possibly as a continuation of, the De homine. It is conceivable, therefore, from these indications to conclude that the De bono coalesces with the De homine to form a third and integral part of the Summa de creaturis. Lottin himself offers this interpretation.21 Despite Lottin’s argument, however, the organic unity—the “fit”—of this allegedly tripartite summa is simply not that apparent. The evidence is still insufficient, and such an affirmation in this matter seems forced, at best hazardous. It seems more defensible to approach the De bono as an independently wrought moral composition in which Albert undertook to repeat, with greater acumen and skill, the failed experiment of his earlier “De natura boni.” The fact, too, that Albert himself and others later refer to the De bono as a summa, of course, does not invalidate its own status as a self-standing composition. Rather, it reinforces the work’s value as a major synthesis of moral theorizing and scholastic methodology, and as one of the best sources to examine Albert’s application of classical aretaics. The De bono (and the Summa de creaturis) are almost certainly the fruits of a standard medieval classroom exercise—the “disputed question.”22 As a transcription, the disputed-question format typically comprised the following features: (i) a title, identifying the issue or question; (ii) a sequence 2004], 5, 56; A. Tarabochia Canavero, “A Proposito del Trattato De bono naturae nel Tractatus De natura boni di Alberto Magno,” Rivista di Filosofia Neo-scolastica 76 [1984]: 371 n. 95). 20. De bono, Prolegomena §1, p. x; §4, p. xiv. Meersseman, Introductio, 110. 21. “La Summa de creaturis est un ouvrage didactique poursuivant un plan bien déterminé: l’oeuvre de la creation, la matière premiere, le temps, le ciel, les anges (De quatuor coaequaevis), et enfin l’homme considéré d’abord au point de vue psychologique (De homine) et au point de vue moral (De bono). Cet ouvrage n’a rien d’un Commentaire des Sentences, et il constitute un tout organique.” Bulletin de théologie ancienne et médiévale 8 (1959): #1130, p. 377. 22. De bono, Prolegomena, §1, p. ix; P. G. Meersseman, Introductio, 108, n. 1; I. Brady, “Two sources of the Summa de homine of Saint Albert the Great,” Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale (hereafter RTAM) 20 (1953): 222–71, especially 231–34; O. Lottin, “Nouvaux problèmes concernant la ‘Summa de creaturis’ et le Commentaire des Sentences de saint Albert le Grand,” PEM, vol. 6, 273–84. Lottin (p. 283) raises the question whether Albert may have presided over these disputations as a privileged “baccalaureus sententiarius” or as a full-fledged Parisian “Magister.” The first possibility may be considered since the De bono, certainly most of it, was written before his Commentary (Scripta) on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard.

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of positions or theses replete with quotations from authorities or references thereto; (iii) one or more rejoinders or counterarguments (often beginning with the formula “Contra” or “Sed contra .....” ); (iv) usually, but not always a magisterial resolution (“Solutio: Dicendum, quod .....”) that embodies the Master’s own thoughts ..... (v) followed by a series of responses to the original and opening theses. The flow and structure of this highly formalized exercise, then, is dialectical in that it comprises a critical review of relevant opinions, known positions, and possible (counter)arguments; a resolution that constitutes a reasoned statement of the author’s own position; and finally, responses to the assorted theses, usually in the light of the central resolution. There are established medieval precedents and academic practices, and even classical antecedents to this form of argument structure, that go back as far as Aristotle’s framing of an issue in terms of a problem (aporia) and listing competing opinions and beliefs (endoxa, phainomena).23 With special reference to the De bono, this most likely classroom-disputation origin is also suggested by the language Albert uses in his later Scripta super Sententias (Albert’s own commentary on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard) when referring back to it: he uses the word “disputation” either in its nounal or verbal form.24 Though probably not simply a direct and immediate transcription (reportatio), the De bono is obviously a written treatment of matter discussed in oral disputations. The carefully worked out arrangement of this work suggests that Albert composed the treatise at some later, more opportune moment when he was free to edit his material and organize it along certain lines of his own choosing—unlike, say, his commentaries on Scripture, Aristotle, and the Sentences of Peter the Lombard, where he was constrained by the order of another’s text. Here and there in De bono, Albert has inserted brief statements promising a later treatment of specific issues—indications which add up to show that he was indeed moving with an outline in mind. As a final product, then, De bono is a polished, stylized composition which may be studied by itself as an independent moral treatise, and as one in which Albert was free to assemble his material in accordance with his own plan. Moreover, Albert himself clearly favored the De bono as an important and faithful witness to his thought. This is evident both from 23. See Anthony Kenny, “The origins of disputation,” in CHLMP, 24–26. 24. See De bono, Prolegomena §2, pp. xi–xiii.



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the number of times he alludes to it in later works, and by a remark in his very last work wherein he observes, with satisfaction, that the work enjoys wide circulation: “Concerning these matters, a summa, entitled De bono, is already written, in which there is a methodical treatment of all the differences in goods and opposed vices. It is widely circulated and commonly owned.”25 Even so, the work’s value is compromised by its incompletion: from a number of passages predicting a later treatment of certain subjects, it is evident that the De bono is unfinished. For instance, the proposed (p. 85, ll. 4–5) sections on duties and friendship are not contained in the text. There are many statements as well which suggest that Albert’s natural ethic would be followed by a series of questions on the theological virtues, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and grace.26 In addition to these, he also announces a future treatment on sins and vices. Collectively, these theological references give some picture of the ambitious scheme of the De bono. As with the earlier De natura boni, Albert once again clearly intended to erect a vast synthesis—a summa, if you will—of natural ethics and Christian moral doctrine. Commenting upon this incompletion, the editor Bernard Geyer concludes(p. xi) that the proposed questions were never written, or have perished, or to this day are still unknown to us. It is possible, he admits, that Albert’s announcements in the De bono simply forecast later passages in his then-unfinished Scripta super Sententias. Lottin subscribes to this possibility: he suggests that the unfinished work of the De bono is taken over by Book III of Albert’s Scripta super Sententias.27 The last question of the De bono, entitled De iustitia speciali, is found only in the Oxford manuscript, but this is also the most reliable of all the manuscript versions. The editors (p. xiii) judge that it is an authentic question added by Albert himself, but at a later date because he now uses Book V of the Nicomachean Ethics. In the rest of the work, however, Albert used only the Ethica vetus, the Ethica nova, and some passages from Book VII of the Ethics.28 25. “De his tamen jamdudum facta est summa que intitulatur de bono, in qua disposite de omnibus differentiis bonorum et oppositorum malorum tractatum est: que multum vulgata est, et communiter habetur.” Summa theologica II, tr. 16, qu. 102, memb. 2, Borgnet ed., vol. 33, 259. 26. Prolegomena §1, pp. x–xi. 27. PEM, vol. 6, 269–70, n. 3. 28. Prolegomena §9, p. xx. See also O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 6, 319ff. Lottin shows that references made by Albert in De bono to Book VIII actually belong to Book VII. Albert was probably

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This brings us to the date of composition. It is now known that the Summa de creaturis and the De bono were written before Books II–IV of Albert’s Scripta super Sententias. The evidence for this is a convincing number of references in Books II–IV of Albert’s Sentences to specific passages in the De bono.29 Now since Albert himself has dated the composition of Book II, the latest limit for our moral treatise becomes 1246 or the beginning of 1247.30 And if, as is unanimously believed, the De bono and the Summa de creaturis stem from disputed questions held at the University of Paris, the earliest time limit could be 1240, since Albert may have first moved (from Saxony) to Paris as early as then. This period, 1240–1246, would cover both the time of academic disputations and the time taken to assemble the transcriptions of both the Summa de creaturis and the De bono. Different dates have been suggested, but the most probable range is that deduced by Lottin: 1240–1243/44.31 In conclusion, modern scholars have repeatedly hailed the De bono as an important systematic expression of Albert the Great’s moral speculation; and Albert himself refers back to it as a methodical treatment of virtues and vices. So far, however, the only real evidence for that comprehensive verdict comes from the studies of Cunningham.32 Composed after the De homine, in the period 1240–1244, the De bono does not necessarily constialready familiar with part of Book VIII. In the De IV coaequaevis he called this book the Liber de amicitia. See A. Pelzer, “Les versions latines,” 335, n. 1. The editors of the De bono had to use the Marchesi 1904 (uncritical) edition of the Ethica vetus and Ethica nova, but whenever necessary they corrected the Marchesi version with readings from two additional codices, and these revised texts are supplied in their apparatus criticus (Prolegomena §9 [3], p. xx). All references in my work to the Ethica vetus and Ethica nova will be to Gauthier’s 1972 critical edition in Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 2 (cited above in note 2). 29. Prolegomena §2, pp. xi–xiii; O. Lottin, “Nouveaux problèmes concernant la ‘Summa de creaturis’ et le Commentaire des Sentences de saint Albert le Grand,” PEM, vol. 6, 273–84; H. Pouillon, “La ‘Summa de bono’ et le Commentaire des Sentences d’Albert le Grand,” RTAM 8 (1936): 203–6. 30. “Iam enim elapsi sunt mille ducenti quadraginta sex anni.” In II Sent., ed. Borgnet, vol. 27, 139. 31. “Nouveaux problèmes,” PEM, vol. 6, 277–84. In sum, he argues that, since Book II of Albert’s own Scripta super Sententias was being composed around the end of 1246, and since the redactions of Books I and III preceded it, then, allowing a reasonable time for the latter, Albert would probably have begun work on Book I around 1243–1244, perhaps earlier. The period 1240–1243/44, then, would be a likely time for the disputation exercises and redaction of questions in the Summa de creaturis and the De bono. The dates suggested by Hauser (The Cardinal Virtues, 5, 56 n. 123)—1246–1248/9—seem too far off the mark. 32. “Albertus Magnus on Natural Law,” Journal of the History of Ideas 28 (1967): 479–502; “Albertus Magnus and the Problem of Moral Virtue,” Vivarium 7 (1969): 81–119.



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tute the last part of any supposed tripartite (let alone sexpartite) Summa de creaturis. On the contrary, it is more reasonable to view the De bono (which Albert himself sometimes refers to as a summa) as a polished, academic composition, written in the format of the disputed question, and organically structured according to principles of Albert’s own choosing. The work has been assembled in such a way that, although unfinished, it may still be studied as an independent, albeit incomplete synthesis of Albert’s theory of the principles of natural morality. Moreover, there are major treatments and important developments in the De bono that simply do not appear in Albert’s other ethical works. The most notable of these are his synthesis of the moral determinants of human action; his resultant causally structured theory of the natural virtues; the organic integration of the minor virtues or parts of virtues; and a revolutionary treatise on natural law theory. Were it not for the De bono, we would have little inkling of these major segments in Albert’s mid-career thinking.33 In the next chapter, it will become even more apparent that, given the relatively disjointed and unorganized status of moral treatises in the early thirteenth century, the De bono constitutes a bold and unprecedented undertaking—the centerpiece of Albert’s own distinctive moral philosophy. Albert’s Two Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics Super Ethica commentum et quaestiones Albert wrote two commentaries on the ten books of the Nicomachean Ethics. The earliest of these, hereafter cited as Super Ethica, derived from 33. This is why the general import of A. Tarabochia Canavero’s translation venture should be viewed with deep suspicion. Her Alberto Magno—Il Bene (Milan, 1987) fuses together an Italian translation of the entire De natura boni and translations of half or more of contents extracted from the De bono in order to more or less complete the plan of the natural portion of the intended synthesis in De natura boni. Tarabochia Canavero does this because she insists (p. 26) that there is a substantial uniformity of ideas, and no substantial change in doctrine, between De natura boni and De bono. Supposedly this enables her translation to re-present an integrated and unified account of Albert’s theory of the moral good. Tarabochia Canavero’s attempted fusion, however, is badly flawed: it leaves out important ideas and developments from the first part (Tractatus I) of De bono which are not prefigured in De natura boni; she greatly exaggerates the degree of agreement; and she overlooks both the unique achievements of the De bono and its much greater Aristotelian flavor and philosophical sophistication. Tarabochia Canavero also overlooks the most telling fact of all: Albert himself did not seem to think this way at all. He did not return to De natura boni, which he ignored thereafter, but chose instead to resume his ethical theorizing anew with the De bono—a work in which he took evident pride, and to which he later referred repeatedly.

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lectures and disputed-question exercises at the Dominican house of studies (studium generale) in Cologne, and was compiled between 1250 and 1252. Edited and published for the first time in two volumes by the Cologne Institute this work commands the distinction of being the first full-fledged commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics ever composed in the Latin West.34 Because the work comprises both textual exegesis (per modum scripti) and Albert’s own commentary in disputed-question format (per modum commenti), the editors have given it a title that reflects its structural complexity, even though it was not Albert’s own: Super Ethica commentum et quaestiones. My subsequent in-text references, in parentheses, will be to Super Ethica (along with page and line numbers). The completed work was highly esteemed and influential even within Albert’s own lifetime. Gauthier and Jolif call it “un chef-d’oeuvre d’érudition et de travail consciencieux” and “le meilleur, et de beaucoup, des innombrables commentaires sur l’Éthique que nous a légués le moyen âge.” 35 They add that even St. Thomas Aquinas’s commentary on the Ethics (1271–1272) pales by comparison. In the modern and contemporary era, Albert’s commentary continues to command respect for its professionalism and depth of understanding. Weisheipl adds an interesting note when he comments on Albert’s audacity, and the independence it must have taken to enter into such a project while Albert was in charge of theological studies at the Dominican school; he thinks it unlikely that Albert would have been able to carry this off at either the University of Paris or Oxford.36 According to St. Thomas Aquinas’s biographer William of Tocco, young Brother Thomas studiously attended and transcribed these lectures.37 For some time, it was thought that Thomas may have made his own contributions to the composition; and so for many years the question lingered as to how much Thomas had supplied, and whether the work faithfully represents the undiluted reflections of Albert himself. The question, I sub34. Alberti Magni Super Ethica commenteum et quaestiones ..... (Alberti Magni ..... Opera Omnia, vol. 14, 2 vols., ed. Wilelmus Kübel (Münster: Aschendorff, 1968–1987). My subsequent references are to book (in Roman numerals), the particular lectio or reading (in Arabic numbers), page, and lines. Since Albert’s commentaries in disputed-question format are not sequentially numbered, I do not include that kind of distinct reference to them. Rather, where confusion is possible, I also include the editors’ boldface numbers (#) in the margins. 35. L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 1 (1958), 79*. 36. Weisheipl, “The Life and Works of St. Albert the Great,” 29–30. 37. Super Ethica, Prolegomena §1, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), p. v.



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mit, reflects an unfortunate tendency to overlook and to minimize Albert’s creativity in the very process of lionizing the genius of St. Thomas Aquinas. Today, the question of the degree of Albert’s contributing role in fashioning this commentary seems to have slid further into the background where it belongs. Kübel, for example, concludes that this commentary is substantially the work of Albert himself.38 This seems to be the most likely case since, by this point in his career, Albert was very much in professional control of his own projects: he commanded the prestigious status of a Parisian master; at the time of this writing, he was already the most respected of the Dominican masters, and very much in charge of the Cologne house of studies and its curriculum; and he had already displayed academic and philosophic mastery in the work that is the centerpiece of his own moral theory, the De bono. Finally, through most of his career Albert was clearly on the cutting edge when it came to the study and application of Aristotelian ethical theory to philosophical and theological issues. Given the levels of bachelor student participation involved in orchestrating a disputed question, it’s quite possible that Thomas could have had a hand, say, in assembling opinions and authorities, in formulating possible (counter)arguments addressed in the actual classroom exercises, and also, of course, in the work of recording the debate.39 On the other hand, it is highly unlikely that Albert would have relinquished to any degree the important work of analyzing and dividing the text, or identifying which issues were to be debated in the quaestiones, their magisterial resolutions, and subsequent replies to the litany of positions in the light of the resolution. Quite simply, it is unlikely that, notwithstanding Thomas’s precocity, Albert allowed anything into his Super Ethica that he himself had not already excogitated, scripted, and approved. There is simply no evidence that it was otherwise. The Super Ethica uses the Greek-Latin translation of the complete Nicomachean Ethics made by Robert Grosseteste while he was bishop of Lincoln and placed in circulation around 1246–1247. This latter work itself, known as Liber Ethicorum, is no less remarkable for its rich variety, which partly explains why it (including its various revised forms) survives in nearly three hundred manuscripts.40 Grosseteste’s work comprises three 38. Super Ethica, Prolegomena §1, vol. 1, p. vi, ll. 9–10. 39. Anthony Kenny, “Medieval Philosophical Literature,” CHLMP, 21–24. 40. Bernard G. Dod, “Aristoteles Latinus,” CHLMP, 52.

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elements: (i) a complete Greek-to-Latin translation of the Nicomachean Ethics, really a revision of older complete translations of which the Ethica vetus, Ethica nova, and Ethica Borghesiana were fragments; (ii) translations of an assortment of partial Greek commentaries by known authors (Eustratius of Nicea [died ca. 1120]; Michael of Ephesus [fl. eleventh century]; Aspasius [fl. second century A.D.]) and two anonymous commentators; (iii) marginal notes and insertions (notulae) within the text, by Robert Grosseteste himself, of which we have only fragments.41 In his own commentary, Albert the Great made use of all these materials, as well as other translations including the Ethica vetus and Ethica nova. Indeed, when Albert cites another translation (alia translatio) it is not always clear which one he has before him; and when he refers to the “commentator [Graecus]” or “commentum,” he does not always distinguish between those texts and the glosses supplied in Grosseteste’s own notulae.42 The Cologne editors, however, supply accurate information and indicators in the footnotes as often as they can. Albert’s Super Ethica also contains several types of treatment not found in De natura boni and De bono: a brief Prologue in which he a raises methodological issues about the subject matter; the goal and the utility of ethics—very possibly a first in medieval philosophy; materials on friendship; and remarks on man’s natural end or happiness. The Ethica (Paraphrasis) Albert’s second commentary on the Ethics, which he often referred to as “Ethicorum” [Libri X ] is a more compressed treatment of the Nicomachean Ethics. It was written by Albert a decade after Super Ethica, that is, about 1262, although others have placed it five or more years later.43 Known traditionally as the Paraphrasis, it is found in an unreliable edition in volume 7 (1891) of the Borgnet (Paris, 1890–1899) collection. Happily, Jörn 41. See also Jean Dunbabin, “Robert Grosseteste as Translator, Transmitter, and Commentator: The ‘Nicomachean Ethics,’” Traditio 28 (1972): 460–72. 42. Super Ethica, Prolegomena §5, xii–xiii. 43. See Jean Dunbabin, “The Two Commentaries of Albertus Magnus on the Nicomachean Ethics,” RTAM (1963): 245; Jörn Müller, “Ethics as a Practical Science in Albert the Great’s Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics,” in W. Senner et al. (eds.), Zum Gedenken nach 800 Jahren Zugänge, Aspekte und Perspektiven (Berlin, 2001), 275–76; Weisheipl, “The Life and Works of St. Albert the Great,” 39, 575.



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Müller has made a critical edition of the first treatise of Book I in which Albert deals with methodological issues.44 For centuries, Ethica was the only one of Albert’s ethical treatises that was known to exist, and that existed in print. (Some day, not soon, it will appear as volume 13 in the Cologne edition under the title Ethica.) In any case, it seems certain that in its composition Albert was relying heavily upon the earlier commentary for much of his material. He still uses Robert Grosseteste’s popular translation of Aristotle’s Ethics, and there seems to be no evidence that he consulted William of Moerbeke’s revised version of the Grosseteste translation. Ethica is the fourth self-standing work Albert dedicated to moral theorizing, and a statement near the beginning personally attests why Albert finds this branch of philosophy (or theology) so important.45 All the other branches of knowledge, he remarks, perfect us in certain ways when it comes to knowing. But none of these improves the knower in his very being, in such a way that he might become morally good. Only the discipline of ethics commands this distinction: it alone makes its possessor good and morally worthy. Dunbabin points out that Albert evinces disapproval toward those scholars, presumably followers of Siger of Brabant, who study ethics merely as an intellectual exercise without the further aim of becoming good.46 On the contrary, the Aristotelian notion that the ultimate aim of studying ethics is to become good (ut boni fiamus) is one that Albert subscribed to all his life. Ethica lacks the clear divisions and crisp textual analysis found in his earlier commentary; nor does it include anything at all like the Super Ethica’s sophisticated commentary in the disputed-question format. Instead, Albert now interprets the text of Aristotle more summarily, in the manner of a paraphrase or gloss. This more cursory, abbreviated method was also practiced by Albert in some of his other commentaries, for instance in his commentary on the eight books of Aristotle’s Physics. Indeed, Ethica stands as one part of a gigantic, albeit uncompleted project to which Albert devoted himself in the years 1250–1273, namely, a user-friendly compilation and objective interpretation of the entire Aristotelian corpus for students, 44. Jörn Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei Albertus Magnus (Münster: Aschendorff, 2001), 325–58. 45. Ethica I, 1, 1, ed. J. Müller, p. 326, ll. 12–16. 46. Dunbabin, “The Two Commentaries of Albertus Magnus,” 249.

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confrères, and scholars in the Latin West. It was also a project that turned out to be fully consistent with the March 19, 1255, prescription in the Faculty of Arts at the University of Paris, which placed nearly all the works of Aristotle on the official teaching curriculum. Meersseman, however, points out the difficulty in dealing with the paraphrase corpus.47 Albert’s clearly stated intention is to present a purely philosophical portrait of the mind of Aristotle and the Peripatetics. Hence, warns Meersseman, we should not rely upon these paraphrastic commentaries as an accurate witness to Albert’s personal thought, let alone as an indication of his own preferred order and arrangement of material. The Ethica paraphrase poses no less serious difficulty. Moreover, unlike Albert’s first commentary and the two early moral treatises, he eschews any significant theological perspective or insights. Speaking of the Ethica, Dunbabin observes, “there is considerably less emphasis on explaining why Aristotle and the theologians apparently come to different conclusions. He rests content with occasionally reminding his readers that this is a purely philosophical work.”48 Here and there, it is true, Albert has inserted a number of digressions that indicate his own opinions, but no general rule can be laid down, other than the use of caution. Here, too, Albert promises to write as an Aristotelian, from the viewpoint of the Peripatetic school. At the same time, as Meersseman points out, he offers even fewer digressions than he usually does in his other philosophical commentaries. As a result, it is especially difficult in this work to arrive at Albert’s own independent thought. As with the earlier commentary, too, there are some major absences which underscore its limited value as a sufficient, let alone faithful, record of Albert’s primary moral vision. For example, we do not find here: Albert’s neo-Platonic foundational theory of goodness so evident in his first two treatises; his natural law theory; the adroit weaving together of moral elements into a causal grounding of virtue; any extended account of the integration of the minor virtues or “parts of virtue.” These sorts of absences, and the differences that separate this work from the earlier commentary, Super Ethica, do much to highlight the limitations of the Ethica. Scholars no longer have to rely upon it as the only 47. Introductio, 72 n. 1. 48. Dunbabin, “The Two Commentaries of Albertus Magnus,” 246.



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printed source of Albert’s natural-ethic theory. On the other hand, especially in recent years, a number of scholars have come to view Ethica more sympathetically as a useful source, and this usually means taking some of Albert’s disclaimers with a grain of salt.49 They now see it as a valuable tool for glimpses into how Albert conceives the work and boundaries of (Aristotelian) moral philosophy proper.50 It also serves to provide us with later refinements in Albert’s thought on selected issues. Dunbabin, for instance, sees a number of such positives in working with this last commentary. For one thing, there are some interesting changes in emphasis and tone. Also, Albert manages to underscore boundary and methodological differences between the philosophical and theological theorizing on such specific issues as lying and happiness. Accordingly, Dunbabin concludes her account with the following piece of advice: “The two commentaries must be seen together, the one balancing the other, and together making the most significant contribution to the study of Aristotle’s Ethics of the whole Middle Ages.”51 Müller also affirms a “complementary” value in this later paraphrase. He argues that “Ethica should be more definitely taken into consideration for the reconstruction of Albert’s philosophical ethics: only the combination of the two commentaries makes possible an adequate and coherent account of ethics as a practical science in Albert.”52 Albert’s Other Theological Works In some of Albert’s theological works, notably his own Commentary on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard (Scripta super Sententias) and his Summa theologica, there are moral sections. In the Scripta, the section is found in Book III within the section dealing with supernatural grace and the gifts of the Holy Spirit. As I shall indicate in the next chapter, this was the traditional setting of moral theorizing in the formal setting of a conventional theological text, and it is not surprising at all that Albert, the theologian, would produce this kind of work. From references in the De bono, 49. James Weisheipl, “Albert’s Disclaimers in the Aristotelian Paraphrases,” Proceedings of the Patristic, Medieval and Renaissance Conference 5 (1980): 1–27. 50. For example, Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, 73–79. 51. Dunbabin, “The Two Commentaries of Albertus Magnus,” 250. 52. Müller, “Ethics as a Practical Science in Albert the Great’s Commentaries,” 284–85.

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and in the Scripta (Book III), it seems that this section also takes over the theological portion of Albert’s vast synthesis that had originally been envisaged as part of the De bono itself—or at least much of it. While there are remarks in the Scripta on the cardinal virtues, it’s also clear that Albert is now thinking of these four virtues not in their humanly caused and purely natural setting, but now as divinely infused perfections. While they share the same names, they are treated as radically different kinds of virtue. As such, they represent a very different sort of theorizing which, except incidentally, need not concern us here. The moral section in Albert’s Summa theologica (1268–1274) is even shorter and less helpful than what is found in the Scripta. Once again, the context is unmistakably theological, and except for occasional comparative value and incidental remarks, the purely theological contents need not overly concern us here. Indeed, Albert’s treatment of the virtues and the morality of acts reflects a later theological conservatism and retrenchment inasmuch as this Summa—his last and unfinished work—returns to and follows the traditional pattern laid down more than a century earlier in Peter the Lombard’s Sentences. Quite simply, the value of this last work in understanding Albert’s natural moral theory, let alone its organizational quality, is minimal. Finally, Albert is the author of several disputed questions dealing with specific moral themes, mostly in the area of moral psychology and specific vices, and just recently assembled and published (1993) under the title Quaestiones, as volume 25(2) in the Cologne edition. These questions, three of which have to do with conscience and the innate moral principle of synderesis, were written in the period immediately after the De bono, and probably as exercises related to his commentaries on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard.53 They are useful primarily for their comparative value. In sum, then, Albert left behind a significant body of ethical theory, spread out through theological and distinctively philosophical writings, all 53. The relevant materials in Quaestiones (Cologne ed., vol. 25 [2]) are “De conscientia I” (pp. 21–37); “De conscientia II” (pp. 238–41); “De synderesi” (pp. 232–37); “De ratione superiori et synderesi” (pp. 12–20). While one of the editors, Albert Fries, raises doubts about the authenticity of “De conscientia I” and “De ratione superiori et synderesi” (Prolegomena, pp. ix–xii), I am inclined with Jörn Müller (2002, p. 8, n. ix–x) to accept their authenticity.



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of which testifies to the high seriousness in which he held the whole area of moral speculation and ethical theory. Two of these works, I have argued, are especially reliable sources for understanding his thinking. De bono, an earlycareer work which he often and confidently referred back to, is a valuable representation of Albert’s own thinking on the elements of natural morality and the natural virtues, and the order in which he chose to structure that doctrine. Super Ethica, a stellar commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, contains Albert’s own reflections—in the format of disputed questions—on a wide range of related ethical issues. Of all his works, De bono commands unique centerpiece status because it provides a model structure of his own choice and design in which we can follow the bulk of Albert’s independent moral theorizing on moral behavior and the virtues. It is also a work, as we shall see, that contains syntheses and configurations that do not appear in any of his other works. Of all Albert’s works, it is the one best suited to study his natural moral theory in its distinctively organic outlines.

chapt e r 3

the significance of albert’s moral treatises in early-thirteenth-century moral philosophy

For more than four decades during the last century, an impressive pioneering feat was carried out by one man in the field of the history of moral theory in the Middle Ages. The fruit of Dom Odon Lottin’s years of scholarly research has been conveniently assembled into a work of truly monumental proportions, his Psychologie et Morale aux XIIe et XIIIe Siècles. In its six volumes, Lottin meticulously traced out a series of problems in the area of moral theory and moral psychology, extending from the time of St. Anselm to St. Thomas Aquinas and later. Where printed editions of medieval sources were nonexistent, Lottin drew his texts from the best available manuscript sources. In addition to his careful examination of the doctrines themselves, the work provides a gold mine of technical and historical information. All in all, the series adds up to an impressive array of material that is the necessary starting point for any investigation into moral theorizing in the Middle Ages. No less indispensable are the perspicuous generalizations and conclusions that crown Lottin’s detailed researches. This chapter, in its aim to situate Albert the Great’s treatises, especially the De bono, within the broader canvas

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of early-thirteenth-century background, takes its start from a number of observations and conclusions in Lottin’s studies. The Status of Pre-Albertinian Moral Treatises In more than one place, Lottin has remarked that, although authors in the late twelfth and early thirteenth century were engaged in moral speculation, the emergence of moral treatises showing a logical sequence and organization in their material is a relatively late occurrence.1 Not only does he point to the slow emergence of systematic moral presentations, he has also indicated the scarcity of these treatises until the third and fourth decades of the thirteenth century. As the earliest and most salient experiments in this direction he cites the Summa aurea (1215–1229) of William of Auxerre, and Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono (1225–1228). Oddly enough, in his overall review, Lottin does not mention Albert’s De bono, yet the dates and authors cited bring us up to within roughly a dozen years of its composition in the early 1240s. In the last chapter, I argued that the De bono stands out among Albert’s other ethical works as the centerpiece presentation in which Albert chose to structure his own moral theory. Lottin’s remarks now suggest that, over and above its special claim in relation to the rest of Albert’s writings, the De bono may also command historical distinction—certainly, our attention—within a much broader context: that is, within the evolution and emergence of the systematized treatise in thirteenth-century moral theory. Another of Lottin’s observations is equally pertinent. Time and again, he has remarked that, prior to St. Thomas Aquinas, there is a conspicuous tendency among medieval thinkers to confuse the moral goodness of acts with supernatural merit.2 Underlying this confusion, really a reductionism, 1. “Les théologiens de la fin du XIIe siècle et des deux premières décades du XIIIe siècle remuèrent nombre de questions morales, mais sans en constituer encore des traités logiquement organisés. On peut avec assez de précision dater les premiers traités quelque peu systématiques. C’est Guillaume d’Auxerre qui, vers 1220, constitue le premier traité sur la loi naturelle, les vertus en général, la vertu de prudence. Vers 1230, le chancelier Philipe crée le premier traité sur la syndérèse; il perfectionne le traité du libre arbitre amorcé par Guillaume d’Auxerre. C’est au sein de l’école franciscaine, vers 1231–1235, que s’élaborent les premiers traités sur la loi éternelle, sur la conscience.” PEM, vol. 3, 595–96. Italics mine. See also vol. 4, 817–19. 2. “On maintint toutefois que le facteur de la bonté morale était la charité; avant saint Thomas d’Aquin, on confondait couramment bonté morale et mérite surnaturel.” PEM, vol. 4, 480. See also notes 4, 5, and 13 below.

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was the implication that the only kind of moral worth is that which derives from a divine infusion. Since Christian moralists at this time favored an almost exclusively supernatural perspective, there resulted theories of moral neutrality, so to speak, at the purely natural level of human conduct. (It is not entirely unlike the modern claim that without God there are no [objective] moral principles.) Now, since the time of Peter Abelard (1079–1142) in the early twelfth century (see below), the moral specification of human acts was, in varying degrees, explained by the agent’s intention or motives. And as it developed, the only kind of good intention was one rooted in charity—a supernaturally endowed love of God—and directed by faith. One might not be surprised to discover this attitude running through a literature that was largely preoccupied with the principles contributing to man’s eternal salvation. But the result came to be that little if any value was placed upon naturally acquired virtues. Seen through the higher medium of theological virtues (faith, hope, and charity), the natural cardinal virtues (fortitude, temperance, prudence, justice), celebrated in classical treatments by Plato and Aristotle and Cicero, appeared to be little else than essentially incomplete and imperfect qualities. This view of the naturally acquired cardinal virtues (also called “political” or “civil” virtues because they were prized traits of character found in citizens) was certainly equivocal: theologians may have called them “virtues,” but for most they were not regarded as moral virtues, or at least not really virtues. That attitude was very much consistent with, and influenced by, St. Augustine’s mature position when he wrote that “the virtues which it [i.e., the purely natural or pagan mind] seems to itself to possess ..... are rather vices than virtues so long as there is no reference to God in the matter ..... and therefore to be reckoned vices rather than virtues.”3 In Albert’s own time, this notion of the unworthiness of natural moral agency is still evident in a theory held by some Franciscan theologians (notably John of Rupella, Odon Rigaud, and St. Bonaventure) who viewed the human act, taken at the level of nature, as being essentially morally indifferent even though it be a fully deliberated act.4 3. De civitate Dei XIX, 25. Corpus Christianorum series Latina, vol. 47–48, pt. 2, ed. Bernard Dombart and Alphonse Kalb (Belgium, Turnhout: Brepols, 1955), 696, ll. 7–13. City of God XIX, 25, trans. Marcus Dods (New York: Random House, 1950), 707. For a more qualified discussion of St. Augustine’s position and his medieval and early modern interpreters, see T. H. Irwin, “Splendid Vices? Augustine For and Against Pagan Virtues,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 8 (1999): 105–27. 4. “Dès le début, avec Jean de al Rochelle, l’école franciscaine se refuse à doter de moralité des actes posés en vue d’une fin purement naturelle. Odon Rigaud a, dans le même sens, laissé tout



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Now, this “anti-naturalist” attitude is not unrelated to Lottin’s first observation concerning the lack of systematization in early moral treatises. Indeed, between the two there appears to be a real causal interaction. Lottin insists that this confusion between moral goodness and supernatural merit arose in large measure from faulty organization. “The principal cause of this in the twelfth century,” he emphasizes, “was the insertion of treatments on virtue within a doctrine of grace.”5 Peter the Lombard I The widespread confusion, diagnosed by Lottin, between natural moral worth and supernatural perfection as well as the minimization, or outright denial, of natural moral goodness stems largely from a manual of theology widely used at that time, the famed Sentences of Peter the Lombard.6 Placed in circulation between the years 1153 and 1158, the work is a compilation of extracts gleaned from scriptural and patristic sources to which Peter adjoined his own comments and explications. As to its architectonic structure, Peter follows a plan already adhered to in the works of some of his immediate predecessors, namely, the order of the Apostolic Creed. In two different places within this framework, he has inserted two moral treatises: in Book II, within the context of sin, and in Book III, following the treatise on Christ. Yet in either section, no room is made for a treatment of the naturally acquired virtues as such. True, in Book III, following the chapter on charity and preceding those on the gifts of the Holy Spirit, un champ de l’activité humaine en dehors de l’ordre morale....... Enfin, saint Bonaventure, plus logique qu’Odon Rigaud, et conformément à la thèse de Jean de la Rochelle, dénie toute moralité à un acte même délibéré, qui est rapporté à une fin purement naturelle. C’est dire ouvertment que seule l’intention de charité a le privilege de conférer un valeur morale aux actes objectivement indifférents. L’école franciscaine fidèle gardienne de la tradition augustinienne, a refusé droit de cité aux vertus des philosophes, rivant ainsi très étroitment le problème de la moralité à celui du mérite.” PEM, vol. 2, 488–89. 5. “On a pu voir combien malaisément se fit la dissociation des deux concepts d’honnêteté morale d’ordre naturel et de mérite surnaturel. La cause principale en fut, aux XIIe siècle, l’insertion des exposés sur la vertu dans la doctrine de la grâce. D’où une théorie sur l’intention n’étant estimée moralement bonne que dans la perspective de la fin dernière surnaturelle.” Lottin, “Les vertus morales acquises: sont-elles des vraies vertus? La réponse des théologiens de Pierre Abélard à saint Thomas d’Aquin,” RTAM 20 (1953): 38. 6. Petri Lombardi Libri IV sententiarum, 2nd ed. (Quarracchi, 1916), 2 vols. A helpful overview is given by Philippe Delhaye, Pierre Lombard: sa vie, ses oeuvres, sa morale, Conférence Albertle-Grand, 1960 (Montreal: Institute D’Études Médiévales, 1961). See also Marcia L. Colish, Peter Lombard (Leiden, New York, Cologne: Brill, 1994).

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Peter cursorily mentions the four cardinal virtues; but these are clearly conceived as divinely infused perfections, not as something naturally acquired.7 Apropos of the Lombard’s treatment, Marcia Colish writes that it shows “no interest in considering them from the perspective of any of the available philosophical definitions of them, whether Platonic, Aristotelian, or Stoic....... He does not treat them as natural virtues.”8 Indeed, not only in reference to this particular matter, but throughout the entire work, it has been remarked that there is a noticeable absence of the principles and precisions of philosophy.9 The result is “a notion of virtue which is plainly theocentric and Augustinian.”10 From passages in St. Augustine’s De libero arbitrio, the Lombard culls a definition of virtue which is really Peter’s own amalgam of the bishop’s words and the Augustinian idea of the gratuitous nature of grace: “a good quality of mind by which one lives aright, and which no one uses badly, which God alone effects in man.”11 The exclusively divine origin of virtue is even more unmistakably anchored when one of the Lombard’s disciples, Peter of Poitiers, supplied his own interpolation to this same definition by stressing that virtue is produced by God in man without any human contribution: “quam Deus in homine sine homine operatur.” 12 It is hard to imagine a statement about the exclusively divine origins of moral goodness more extreme than this one, since it renders the human agent virtually impotent in the moral sphere. Commenting upon Peter the Lombard’s definition, Lottin once again has occasion to remind us of the subsequent tendency in the twelfth century to equate extensively the goodness in human acts with supernatural merit.13 The re7. Sent. III, d. 33, cap. 1, vol. 2, 697ff. See O. Lottin, “Les vertus morales acquises,” 19 n. 23; and Delhaye, Pierre Lombard, 77–79. 8. Colish, Peter Lombard, vol. 2, 747. See also 504–7. 9. “À la place où ils figurent dans les Libri Sententiarium, les péchés et les vertus sont traités en rapport avec les données chrétiennes. L’éthique au sens profane du mot n’est guère présente dans cet ouvrage, non plus que la philosophie en générale.” Thomas Deman, O.P., Aux origines de la théologie morale, Conférence Albert-le-Grand, 1951 (Montreal: Institute D’Études Médiévales, 1951), 68–69. See also Delhaye, Pierre Lombard, 99–100. 10. Delhaye, Pierre Lombard, 33. 11. “bona qualitas mentis, qua recte vivitur, et qua nullus male utitur, quam Deus solus in homine operatur.” Sent. II, d. 27, cap. 5, vol. 1, p. 466. See St. Augustine, De libero arbitrio II (47–53), ed. W. M. Green, CSEL, vol. 74 (Vienna: Hoelder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1956), 81–87 nn. 178–200. 12. Sententiarum libri quinque III, c. 1; PL 211, col. 1041a. Emphasis added. Peter’s Sentences were written about 1167–1170. 13. “Pierre Lombard présente une définition de la vertu qui ne convient qu’à la vertu surnaturalle, quam Deus solus in homine operatur. De là, jusqu’aux temps de Saint Thomas d’Aquin,



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sult was either to ignore or to minimize the value of natural virtue, and to regard the Christian perfection of charity as the only genuine source—and cause—of moral goodness. It’s not at all surprising that the Lombard’s manual could be so influential in this respect since it served as the most popular theological manual—rivaled only by the Bible—up until the time of Martin Luther, and even later. Moreover, a major proportion of theological literature, often including philosophical speculation, over the next two centuries consisted of works which, in varying degrees, were modeled on the Sentences. These writings, whether they be commentaries proper (scripta) or the later and more independently wrought syntheses known as summae (such as those of William of Auxerre, Philip the Chancellor, and even Albert’s own Summa theologica), tended to perpetuate the original defect in Peter’s Sentences. No one can deny, of course, that there was a progressive increase in the attention and space given over to moral speculation; there were even new treatises inserted within the traditional Lombardian framework. But the bits and pieces of each man’s moral compositions generally remained scattered and disconnected, and the moral theorizing itself discontinuous and unintegrated. In the wake of Peter the Lombard’s school manual, the emergence of systematized moral treatises in which the material was arranged into an overall organic unity was slow to materialize. Quite simply, there was a dearth of moral synthesis.14 William of Auxerre’s Summa aurea Two of the earliest experiments in this direction hailed by Lottin will illustrate what has just been said. Both are especially significant: William la confusion, chez la plupart des moralistes, entre bonté morale et mérite surnaturel, confusion impliquant qu’il n’ya pas d’hônneteté morale en dehors du plan surnaturel; de là aussi la tendance chez les théologiens de mésestimer les vertus des ‘philosophes’ pour magnifier la seule vraie vertu, la vertu de charité.” PEM, vol. 4, 821. 14. Related to this is what C. J. Nederman (“Aristotelian Ethics before the Nicomachean Ethics: Alternate Sources of Aristotle’s Concept of Virtue in the Twelfth Century,” Parergon n.s., 7 [1989]: 58) describes as “the palpable lack of interest on the part of medieval thinkers (at least prior to c. 1250) in exploring Aristotelian moral doctrines,” and “the manifest apathy evinced by schoolmen towards Aristotelian moral theory between c. 1175 and 1225.” A. J. Celano (“The Understanding of the Concept of Felicitas in the pre-1250 Commentaries on the Ethica Nicomachea,” Medioevo 12 [1986]: 29) refers to the 1200–1250 period as “the period of tranquility concerning moral problems.”

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of Auxerre’s Summa aurea, because of its impressive innovations and conscious attention to order; and the Summa de bono of Philip the Chancellor, because of its direct and immediate influence upon Albert’s early compositions. Philip’s Summa is also noteworthy for his theory of the good and the way in which he classifies and configures its various instances. For this reason, I will treat of it toward the end of this chapter. Written between 1215 and 1229, William’s Summa aurea testifies to the growing concern at this time with moral theory and its attempted systematization.15 Moral doctrine proper takes up one half of the work, but in conformity with Peter the Lombard’s scheme, it is broken up into two treatises. The first of these is found in Book II. Dealing largely with the theological issue of sin, it also includes discussions on free choice, evil in general, and circumstances which accompany and modify sin. The second and longer treatise, comprising more than 950 pages in the modern printed edition, contains William’s theory of virtues.16 As one might expect from a work roughly modeled on the Sentences, this section has been placed in Book III, following the treatise on Christ, but several new developments are immediately evident. In this section, William has inserted two full-fledged treatises hitherto absent in theological syntheses: a lengthy but disjointed analysis of the cardinal virtues, preceded by another treatise on natural law.17 However, inasmuch as these two additions are preceded by his discussion of the theological virtues and followed by a treatment of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, William once again falls in line with the traditional procedure of discussing virtues within the context of grace. Indeed, despite both the expanded treatment accorded to cardinal virtue and his acquaintance with fragments of Aristotle’s Ethics, William still seems to favor the Augustinian notion of virtue. At one point, he 15. Magistri Guillelmi Altissiodorensis Summa aurea, ed. Jean Ribaillier, Specilegium Bonaventurianum, vols. 16–20, (Rome, Paris: Collegii S. Bonaventurae ad Claras Aquas, 1980–1987). See R-M. Martineau, “Le plan de la ‘Summa aurea’ de Guillaume d’Auxerre,” Études et recherches publiées par le Collège Dominicain d’Ottawa, Théologie, Cahier 1, 79–114. 16. This second section begins with Book III, tr. 10, vol. 18A (1986), p. 112, and runs nearly to the end of Book III at tr. 2, vol. 18B (1986), p. 1068. The pagination in the two volumes of Book III is continuous. 17. The innovative treatise on natural law is found in tractatus 18, pp. 368–85. In point of fact, the extended discussion of the virtues is uneven: it comprises several focused treatments of the cardinal virtues (e.g., tr. 19–21; tr. 28–29; tr. 42, qu. 4) separated by a wide variety of theological, religious, and biblical-related issues.



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states that the acquired virtues, of which Aristotle speaks, are not virtues absolutely.18 The similarity to St. Augustine’s comparison is unmistakable. Throughout the Summa aurea, there is conscious attention to order and system.19 Prefacing the questions on the nature of virtue in general is a broad discussion on the notion of the good.20 Goodness, William writes, is the end of virtue; and since the end is prior in intention to the means it behooves us to analyze the notion of goodness first. (A few years later in their own compositions, both Philip the Chancellor and St. Albert will imitate this procedure.) Then too, in the introduction to his newly inserted treatise, William continues to show a concern for orderly sequence in his presentation: Having spoken of the theological virtues we must now treat of the cardinal virtues [de politicis] before we speak about the gifts of the Holy Spirit, and for this reason: because concerning the cardinal virtues there can be no doubt as to whether they are virtues, but with respect to the gifts there is a question whether they are virtues....... Since, moreover, natural law [ius naturale] is the origin and principle of all virtues and their acts, we must first speak about natural law.21

The ensuing disquisition on natural law is perhaps William’s most significant contribution in the evolution of moral theorizing in the Middle Ages. It manifests the desire to supplement the data of revelation with the natu18. “Virtutes politice dupliciter sumuntur: quandoque enim dicuntur virtutes politice virtutes consuetudinales, de quibus agit Aristoteles, in Ethicis, que et in peccato mortali possunt haberi....... secundum primam sumptionem non sunt virtutes politice simpliciter virtutes.” Summa aurea III, tract. 40, cap. 2, vol. 18B, p. 770, l. 40–p. 771, ll. 70–71. However, William is not entirely consistent in this regard. In his preface to the treatise on the cardinal virtues (see note 21 below) he says that “concerning the cardinal virtues there can be no doubt as to whether they are virtues.” 19. “Ce qui frappe tout d’abord, c’est l’introduction des considérations d’ordre plus générale au début de chacune des parties morale de son oeuvre. C’est là un indice du progrès accompli dans la systématisation de cette partie de la théologie.” Roger Guindon, O.M.I., Béatitude et Théologie Morale chez saint Thomas d’Aquin (Ottawa: Éditions de l’Université d’Ottawa, 1956), 47. 20. “Quarta questio preambula ad virtutem est questio de bono, de quo prius agendum quam de virtutue, quia ponitur in diffinitione virtutis, et quoniam bonum est finis virtutis. Finis prior est in intentione quam illud quod est ad finem. Prius igitur investigandum quid bonum et quid bonitas.” Summa aurea III, tract. 10, cap. 4, vol. 18A, p. 143. 21. “Dicto de virtutibus theologicis, dicendum est de politicis, antequam dicamus de donis Spiritus Sancti, hac ratione, quia de virtutibus politicis est questio an sint virtutes, sed de donis est questio an sint virtutes....... quoniam autem ius naturale origo et principium est omnium virtutum et motuum ipsarum, ideo prius dicendum est de iure naturali.” Summa aurea III, tract. 18, vol. 18A, pp. 368–69.

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ral principles of rational ethics, and a willingness to use the classic Latin sources to this end. Indeed, if the architectonic structure of Peter the Lombard’s Sentences and the Augustinian view of natural virtue continue to dominate the speculations of later moralists, the historian is able to discern yet another modest influence running alongside the Lombardian tradition and sometimes in partial opposition to it. Nor does one have to wait until the third decade of the thirteenth century to encounter this competing school of thought. Philippe Delhaye was among the first to show that already by the early decades of the twelfth century there were thinkers of a more sympathetic humanist strain who did not hesitate to accord some form of recognition to an ethics based upon reason and natural law, and distinguishable from Christian theology.22 These competing ideas are to be found in writings of the philosophi, or ethici or politici, that is, in the pre-Christian authors of antiquity: for instance, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Horace, Cicero, and Seneca. Delhaye shows that some of the twelfth-century thinkers, notably Peter Abelard, John of Salisbury, and Peter the Chanter confess a frank admiration for “moral philosophy,” and that in their writings they appeal to the authority of these classical moralists to substantiate the testament of revealed sources.23 This openness is epitomized in the claim by the Philosopher in Abelard’s Dialogue of a Philosopher with a Jew and a Christian that “men can be saved by natural law alone” (homines salvari posse sola naturali lege).24 More recently, C. J. Nederman makes a very strong case that, in the twelfth century, well before the appearance of the Nicomachean Ethics, moralists and theologians had been drawing upon alternative sources of Aristotle’s theory of virtue and the notion of habitus [hexis], through which the role of virtue is explained in metaphysical terms: notably, Aristotle’s Organon, Cicero’s De inventione, and certain works of Boethius.25 There was, Neder22. “La place de l’éthique parmi les disciplines scientifiques au XIIe siècle,” Miscellanea moralia in honorem Eximii Domini Arthur Jansen, Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium, series I, 2–3 (Louvain: E. Nauwelaerts, 1948), vol. 1, 29–44. 23. Luscombe writes that “among theologians it was Abelard who first in his time attempted a serious philosophical discussion of natural virtue and who first really put the human virtues upon the theological map.” D. E. Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), xxv. 24. Dialogus inter Philosophum, Iudaeum et Christianum, ed. Rudolf Thomas (Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag (Gunther Holzboog), 1970), 62, ll. 569–70. 25. Nederman, “Aristotelian Ethics before the Nicomachean Ethics, 55–75; “Nature, Ethics, and the Doctrine of ‘Habitus’: Aristotelian Moral Psychology in the Twelfth Century,” Traditio 45 (1989–90): 87–110.



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man argues (pp. 74–75), an “underground Aristotelianism.” It’s clear, too, that access to these earlier, alternative texts did much to encourage and to promote, among some at least, a competing notion of natural moral worth within a theological culture in which the Augustinian-theocentric conception of virtue generally dominated. Within the area of one specific problem, the problem of defining virtue, Lottin’s researches also reinforce Delhaye’s and Nederman’s theses.26 Alongside the traditional or Lombardian school, whose members adhered to the Augustinian definition of virtue, there were some who favored a philosophical definition of virtue, or who attempted to apply philosophy in their accounts of virtue, or who at least recognized some kind of distinction between the two orders of virtue that was not inimical to the concept of naturally acquired perfections. If there was not always active opposition between these two schools, there was at least a failure or disinclination on either side to acknowledge whatever value there might be in the other school’s theories. According to Lottin, both schools continued on their separate ways with few attempts to harmonize and reconcile their differing interpretations.27 Indeed, the situation exemplifies an overall tension traversing medieval thought: the problem of determining the respective roles of, and interrelationship between, natural reason and revelation in the Middle Ages. Even during the first half of the thirteenth century, when the incursion of Greek learning into the Latin West, especially the fragmentary versions of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, supplied a new impetus to the claims of moral philosophy, the traditional view with its Augustiniantheocentric definition of virtue tended to prevail. What may be more surprising is that this way of thinking spilled over into the overtly philosophical sector where one might have expected a more robust acknowledgment of the principles of natural morality. At about the same time that Albert was composing his two earliest moral treatises, a number of anonymous commentaries on the Ethica vetus and Ethica nova were clearly “reluctant to attribute virtue to human activity because such an opinion would have drawn criticism from the theologians.”28 One of these 26. O. Lottin, “La définition philosophique,” PEM, vol. 3, 103–15; “Les vertus morale acquises,” loc. cit., 19–24. 27. PEM, vol. 3, 149–50. 28. Text and reference in Celano, “The ‘Finis Hominis,’” 28. See also, by the same author, “The Understanding of the Concept of Felicitas,” 29–53.

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commentators voiced the opinion that “according to the theologian and truth, virtue does not derive from us, but from the first cause [God].”29 In general, these early commentaries saw the natural acquired “virtues” as little more than dispositional steps toward happiness which, in turn, derived from God—not from our actions—and which could not be experienced in this lifetime. In short, most of these early philosophical commentaries (with the exception of that of Robert Kilwardby), though clearly interested in Aristotle’s moral theory, still hesitated to grant it much in the way of effective human moral agency. The Elements of Natural Moralit y in Human Action In diagnosing the general situation of moral theory prior to St. Albert, we have just seen how medieval thinkers positioned their moral treatises within the wider framework of their theological syntheses, and the profoundly transformative effect that this had upon their minimalist view of natural virtue. There is yet another dimension to the problem of organization, this one internal to the moral treatise itself. It involves both identifying and configuring the elements which contribute to the moral specificity of human acts. What constitutes moral worth in our behavior? What factors, elements, or principles are necessary in order to perform a morally good action? How many are there? Granted that several may be involved, what are their interrelationships and interdependencies? Do one or more of these determinants dominate? With respect to the identification of these principles, there is a germane passage in Albert’s De bono wherein he states that a plurality of elements is required in a morally good act. He enlists the authority of PseudoDionysius, who says in Chapter IV of Concerning the Divine Names that the “the good is constituted by a total and single cause, but that evil originates omnifariously.” This is understood to mean that for virtue to exist there must converge all the circumstances together with the end harmonizing with the act as it is brought to bear upon its proportionate object. For there to be evil and vice, however, there suffices the corruption of any one of these just by itself.30 29. Celano, “The ‘Finis Hominis,’” 25 n. 9. 30. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 22m, p. 74. See also I, 3, 1, ad 6m, p. 38. Concerning the complex



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The same doctrine is repeated in Book II of Albert’s Scripta super Sententias, except that this time Albert underscores the end and the agent’s intention: In the constitution of the good act there must converge all the circumstances and the end and the agent’s intention. The good is caused only when all of these are simultaneously present in the manner of an integral whole which is made up of all its parts taken together at once. Evil, however, as Dionysius says, derives omnifariously, that is, from the corruption of any particular part, just as an integral whole is broken up when any one of its parts is destroyed. And so it is that there is no good act without a good intention, but it is not made good solely by the intention.31

At least in this phase of his career, Albert seems to have been quite consistent in this regard. Supported by a statement of the shadowy fifthcentury, neo-Platonic author Pseudo-Dionysius, Albert insists that moral goodness, more specifically virtue, derives from a fusion of all the elements involved: namely, circumstances, the agent’s intent, the end, and the act itself. Defectiveness or deficit in any one of these constituents vitiates the act. In the Scripta Albert states that intention is a necessary but not a sufficient condition of moral worth. A more thorough examination of Albert’s doctrines regarding the moral architecture of human actions unfolds in the central chapters of this book. I have briefly anticipated the Albertinian position merely to indicate one stand in the history of the problem—and a very balanced one at that. Prior to Albert’s arrival in Paris, however, this particular problem had been vexing theologians for more than a century. Peter Abelard Albert’s words are certainly a far cry from those written a century earlier by that intrepid figure of the twelfth century, Peter Abelard. In the two ethical treatises for which he is best known, Ethics, or Know Thyself and A Dialogue between a Philosopher, a Jew and a Christian, both probably writ(Pseudo-Dionysian and Aristotelian) origins of this principle, see the discussion in chapter 5, including notes 30–32. 31. “ad constitutionem boni oportet convenire omnes circumstantias et finem et formam in voluntate agente: et non constituitur nisi ab omnibus his simul per modum totius integralis, quod constituitur ab omnibus suis partibus simul acceptis. Malum autem, ut dicit Dionysius, fit omnifariam, id est, ex quolibet particulari defectu: sicut et totum integrale destruitur qualibet parte divisim destructa. Et ideo est, quod bonum non est sine intentione bona, licet non sit bonum ex sola intentione.” In II Sent., d. 41, a. 2, sol., ed. Borgnet, vol. 27, 643a.

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ten in the years between 1135 and 1140, Abelard distinguishes between an external human act or behavior (opus) and its effects, and the intention that precedes it.32 The term “intention” connotes an inner determination or choice to perform an external action. That is, it is a chosen internal act of the mind or soul (anima) distinguishable from the natural, spontaneous tendencies of appetite and the will. Now, our external activities in themselves are morally neutral: their goodness or turpitude accrues to them solely from the interior acts of intent and consent which precede them.33 “What is done is not what matters, but with what mind it is done” he writes in the Dialogue; and he remarks on the failure of ordinary language usage to distinguish between “acting well” (i.e., “with a good intention”) and “doing good” (which may not be done well at all).34 He uses the example of two men performing the same act (a hanging) from different motives (a zeal for justice, and revenge, respectively) to argue his point that the moral difference derives from the agent’s intention, not from the physical act itself, which is ethically indifferent.35 As long as consent is withheld, a disposition to evil or weakness cannot be called evil.36 On the contrary, if weakness is conquered such a tendency serves as an occasion for merit; nor does the pleasure accompanying a sinful act augment its turpitude. Much as in Immanuel Kant’s theory centuries later, then, the morality of our physical acts is a borrowed one, strictly derivative, and identi32. Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics, 42–53. “Cum itaque dicimus itentionem hominis bonam et opus illius bonum, duo quidem distinguimus, intentionem scilcet ac opus, unam tamen bonitatem intentionis....... Una itaque est bonitas unde tam intentio quam operatio bona dicitur.” Ibid., 46, ll. 4–7, 12–13. See also the parallel treatment in Dialogus inter Philosophum, Iudaeum et Christianum, ed. Rudolf Thomas, 160–171; trans. Pierre J. Payer, A Dialogue of a Philosopher with a Jew and a Christian (Toronto: PIMS, 1979), 158–69 (hereafter cited as Dialogue). For more detailed treatment, see John Merenbon, The Philosophy of Peter Abelard (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 251–97. For compact overviews of Abelard’s ethical theory, see Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics, xv–xxxvii; and “Peter Abelard,” in Peter Dronke, ed., A History of Twelfth Century Western Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 303–5. 33. “Opera quippe quae ..... eque reprobis ut electis communia sunt, omnia in se indifferentia sunt nec nisi pro intentione agentis bona vel mala dicenda sunt, non videlicet quia bonum vel malum sit ea fieri, sed quia bene vel male fiunt, hoc est, ea intentione qua convenit fieri, aut minime.” Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics, 44, l. 30–46, l. 1. Luscombe (46–47 n. 1) suggests that “Abelard may not have been the first in the twelfth century to propound that all actions are morally indifferent in themselves, for some writers of the school of Anselm of Laon discussed the same view.” 34. Dialogue (trans. Payer), 161. 35. Peter Abelard’s Ethics (ed. Luscombe), 28–29. See also Dialogue (trans. Payer), 161. 36. “Intention” and “consent” are closely allied interior modes of choice, but they signify different functions in the constitution of goodness or evil, sin and merit. See Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics, 42–43 n. 2.



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cal with that of the inner mindset or intention. God does not weigh the things we do, but rather the spirit in which we perform them. And so, Abelard remarks, those who crucified Christ, because they believed they were doing the right thing and intended as much, while they certainly did not do the right thing, nonetheless are not really culpable.37 As if anticipating future indictments of propounding a radical moral subjectivism, Abelard attempts to ground the morality of intention on a more “objective” footing. It is not enough, he says in his Ethics, that one’s intention seem to be good: it must really be good by conforming to God’s will. “And so an intention should not be called good because it seems to be good but because in addition it is just as it is thought to be, that is, when believing that one’s objective is pleasing to God, one is in no way deceived in one’s own estimation.”38 Otherwise, he observes, the acts of non-believers would be good like ours, since they too believed that their works were pleasing to God.39 Abelard also had a theory of natural virtue, one which draws upon the Aristotelian notion of habitus that was known to him through relevant passages in the Organon. Moreover, as Luscombe points out, he was clearly an innovator in this regard: “Abelard brought pagan moral themes into theology....... Among theologians it was Abelard who first in his time attempted a serious philosophical discussion of natural virtue and who first really put the human virtues upon the theological map.”40 In the Dialogue, Abelard has the Philosopher state that virtues and vices are among those things that “are of themselves and somewhat substantially called good or evil” (bona vel male ex se ipsis proprie and quasi substantialiter), unlike actions which in themselves are indifferent, and are called good or evil only by virtue of the intention from which they issue.41 Moreover, in his description of virtue, Abelard identifies it as an excellent habit of mind (optimus ..... animi ha37. Peter Abelard’s Ethics, 62 [ll. 5–8]–63; and Luscombe’s comments, n. 1. 38. Ibid., 55. 39. To ground the goodness of intention, Abelard appeals directly to the supernatural order, that is, to the will of God. To this extent, he aligns himself with the traditional theocentricAugustinian school. See J. Rohmer, La finalité morale chez les théologiens de saint Augustin à Duns Scot (Paris: Vrin, 1939), 37 n. 40. The same divine reference also appears (see below) in Abelard’s theory of virtue. These points also serve to remind us that whereas Abelard was anxious to explore and apply classical moral theory, he remains above all a theologian, and that his moral treatises for all that are still theological treatises. See Luscombe, Peter Abelard’s Ethics, xxxi. 40. Peter Abelard’s Ethics, xxv. 41. Dialogus, ed. Thomas, 117, ll. 23–25; trans. Payer, 111.

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bitus) that “molds us for the merit of true beatitude” (qui ad vere beatitudinis meritum nos informat).42 Commenting upon this particular passage, Lottin remarks upon the unmistakably theological nature of this theory.43 Curiously, however, these portions of Abelard’s ethical theory don’t seem to figure significantly in the most celebrated and notorious of his ethical theories—his stand on the exclusively intention/consent-based morality of actions. While he is prepared to admit that virtues are essentially good in themselves, and vices evil, the relationship of these acquired moral traits of character to human action itself is not developed in a way that might qualify his views on intention, or qualify his views on the indifference of human behavior. In short, there is a conspicuous gap between virtue and human action. It is too easy to brand Peter Abelard as a radical moral subjectivist and let it stand at that. What is often overlooked is that his position may stem from a reaction to legalistic moral doctrine.44 In the penitential and canonical literature of the time, it was common practice to codify acts according to their conformity or opposition to scriptural injunctions and canon law, and to prescribe penances. In contrast to this mode of excessive legalistic “objectivism,” Abelard had sought to centralize the role of individual intention, personal consent, and responsibility. But he did all this incautiously, and to such a degree that, within his generally conservative Christian community, he had scandalously undermined all objective basis for morality.45 It is not altogether surprising, then, that he was condemned for this doctrine at the Council of Sens in 1140. 42. Dialogus, ed. Thomas, 116, ll. 212–13; trans. Payer, 110. 43. “Nous voilà en pleine théologie....... tout en intégrant dans la vie du chrétien les vertus des philosophes, Pierre Abélard n’a pas voulu définir celles-ci sans référence explicite à Dieu, fin surnaturalle; sous les dehors du philosophe, Abélard reste théologien.” Lottin, “Les vertus morale acquises,” 15. 44. “Au XIIe siècle le problème s’est posé par reaction contre un morale trop preoccupé d’objectivisme. Le péché se définissait trop exclusivement par son oppostion objective à la loi divine. La tendance des livres pénitentiaux était de ramener l’aspect moral de la faute à son aspect juridique de désordre moral. C’est dans ce climat qu’il faut placer le réaction violent de Pierre Abélard prônant l’indifférence de tous les actes.” Lottin, PEM, vol. 4, 478–79. But see Luscombe’s rejoinder to this view in Peter Abelard’s Ethics, xxxii–xxxiii. 45. “De même s’il a pu affirmer que la moralité n’existe pas dans l’acte externe, c’est parceque’il n’a vu en celui-ci que son entité physique, ne soupçonnant pas qu’entre un acte consideré objectivement dans son entité physique et ce même acte consideré dans son entité morale subjective (celle de l’intention), il faut discerner le même acte dans son entité morale objective.” O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 4, 313.



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In the next hundred years and more, the doctrine of intention ran a tortuous course, due in large measure to the initial imprecision of its vocabulary.46 Suffice it to say that, with few exceptions, later moralists were prepared to recognize the primacy of intention and consent in the moral determination of human acts. The problem was not so much this, however, as to supplement Abelard’s simplistic theory of intention with other moral determinants or principles which would ground the morality of acts upon a more solid and less provocatively “subjective” footing. It was this search, originally sparked by the Abelardian crisis, which partly accounted for the growth of moral speculation in the next century and a half. Some thinkers will fall back on theories of law, and I will elaborate this trend in Chapter 11 when I discuss Albert’s theory of natural law. Others will seek to ground morality upon certain elements within the act itself, and within the moral psychology of human action, particularly the functions of reason, discerning judgment, and choice. Theories of moral virtue represent one facet of this doctrinal evolution. Moreover, in addition to the discovery and enlistment of new grounding principles there still remains the challenge of integrating these new data into a logically consecutive and cohesive synthesis. Peter the Lombard II A first significant step in the post-Abelardian crisis is found once again in Peter the Lombard’s Sentences. Not surprisingly, Peter enlists no less an authority than St. Augustine to confirm his thesis that certain acts are intrinsically bad and that no degree of good will or intention can erase their turpitude.47 This stand constitutes a firm reaction, only a few years later, to the Abelardian thesis of intention. End, or human intent/consent, is not the sole determinant of morality. Independently of what we may intend, some acts are evil in their very constitution—per se mala, per se peccata. They are non-subjectively or absolutely evil. Intention, the Lombard admits, determines the other kinds of external acts. An act that is inherently good, for instance, may be vitiated by a bad intent. 46. See O. Lottin, “L’intention morale de Pierre Lombard à saint Thomas,” PEM, vol. 4, 309–486; also “Le problème de la moralité intrinsèque d’Abélard à saint Thomas d’Aquin,” PEM, vol. 2, 421–65. 47. Libri IV sent. II, d. 40, c. 1, vol. 1, pp. 520–22.

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Moreover, in speaking about acts, different levels or kinds of goodness are discernible.48 All actions are ontologically good, in their very physical nature (essentia sui, id est, in quantum sunt).49 Unlike Abelard, the Lombard also believes that some acts may also be classified as objectively or naturally good. Feeding the hungry, for instance, in addition to possessing the ontological goodness of its physical nature is what he calls “generically good” (genere bonus) because it belongs to that class or genus called “works of mercy.” This generic goodness, though admittedly broad and still relatively indeterminate, is independent of the agent’s intention and consent: again, it is objectively good in an unspecific fashion. Nevertheless, it is still inferior to the perfectly good act which, in addition to possessing the goodness of essence and its generic class, issues from a good intention and is directed to a good end. The end that Peter the Lombard has in mind is supernatural, namely, charity or God.50 On the other hand, rather than refuse all goodness to the actions of non-Christians who lack faith and charity, he allows for a goodness of intention at the purely natural level.51 The extension of the notion of the good will allows for this, he says. Without contradicting it, he refers to one theory which says that operations aimed at the alleviation of natural wants (ad naturae subsidium) and the welfare of one’s relatives or neighbors are morally good. These statements, however, read in a spirit of concession. To account for moral goodness in acts, Peter reasons mainly within a supernatural perspective. 48. “auctatoritatem testimoniis et rationibus eorundum traditionem munivimus, qui dicunt, omnes actus essentia sui, id est, in quantum sunt, esse bonos, quosdam vero in quantum inordinatae fiunt, peccata esse. Addunt quoque, quosdam non tantum essentia, set etiam genere bonos esse, ut reficere esurientem, qui actus est de genere operum misericordiae; quosdam vero actus absolute ac perfecte bonos dicunt, quos non solum essentia vel genus, sed etiam causa et finis commendant, ut sunt illi qui ex voluntate bona proveniunt et bonum finem metiuntur.” Libri IV sent. II, d. 36, p. 504. The Lombard’s reference to “cause [causa....... ex voluntate bona] and the end” in the last line is both interesting and suggestive with respect to later precisions in Philip the Chancellor and Albert the Great. 49. There is ambiguity in the Lombard’s doctrine at this point: when he says that all acts (omnes actus) are good in their very being, does he means to include, or implicitly exclude, those acts that are per se mala, per se peccata? 50. “Finis autem bonae voluntatis beatitudo est, vita aeterna, Deus ipse....... Caritas ergo ..... finis omnis consummationis est, id est omnis bonae voluntatis et actionis, ad quam omne praeceptum referendum est.” Libri IV sent. II, d. 38, cap. 1, p. 509. 51. Libri IV sent. II, d. 41, cap. 2, pp. 524–25.



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By partially extending the notion of goodness beyond the rigid limits imposed on it by Abelard, Peter Lombard had indicated the lines and some of the language along which subsequent theories of the morality of acts evolved. Henceforth, moral speculation was characterized by analyses of additional elements which, over and above intention, contribute to the moral specification of acts.52 In the writings of one of Lombard’s disciples, for instance, a new and important dimension was added. Circumstances, wrote Peter of Poitiers (1168–1176), in some way influence the character of our deeds and must be taken into consideration.53 The point was only mentioned in passing; it received no further elaboration. But the formula bonum ex circumstantia reappeared often in later writers even though its role was never clearly spelled out. Interestingly, its significance was confirmed in other quarters: in 1215 the Fourth Lateran Council stipulated that confessors must recognize the importance of circumstances in measuring the weight of sins and their degree of sinfulness.54 Even so, one must wait until St. Albert’s De natura boni (ca. 1237–1240) for the first fullfledged treatise on circumstances; and later yet, until his De bono for their full integration into the moral architecture of human action. By the early decades of the thirteenth century, it was common for writers to discern several levels or modes of goodness in the human act: bonum naturae or bonum naturale, referring to the physical being of the act; bonum in genere; bonum ex circumstantia; bonum virtutis politicae; and finally, the consummate goodness of supernatural grace—bonum gratiae. But if this increased multiplicity of elements and the niceties of distinction manifest a development in both moral theory and its language, this same complexity was scarcely attended by orderly sequence and cohesiveness in presentation. Amidst this plurality of elements, some kind of intelligible synthesis was wanting. This, in turn, would presuppose clearly defined relationships between the various elements involved. In short, there was need for systematization and integration—for synthesis. 52. See O. Lottin, “Le problème de la moralité intrinsèque,” PEM, vol. 2, 421–65. 53. “Attendendae enim sunt omnes circumstantiae: a quo scilicet aliqud fiat, an a laico an a sacerdote, et quo loco et quo tempore, et huismodi.” Sententiae Petri Pictaviensis liber II, cap. 14, 4; ed. P. S. Moore, J. N. Garvin, and M. Dulong, Publications in Mediaeval Studies XI (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1950), 93. See also cap. 15, 3, p. 104, l. 58. 54. D. W. Robertson, “A Note on the Classical Origin of ‘Circumstances’ in the Medieval Confessional,” Studies in Philology 43 (1946): 6–14.

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Some feeling for this challenge is evident in a vast compilation of theology written in the years 1225–1228, the Summa de bono of Philip the Chancellor.55 The Summa, unquestionably one of the major theological compositions of this period, gives a good indication of the condition of moral theory immediately prior to Albert’s De natura boni. Indeed, the editor (p. 6) characterizes this work as being not a summa of dogmatic theology, but rather a “summa of moral theology.” It is doubly significant in this context because of its unmistakably direct influence upon Albert’s two early moral treatises.56 Philip’s work is a schoolman’s synthesis modeled roughly along the traditional lines of Peter the Lombard’s Sentences. It opens, however, with a disquisition (pp. 4–36) on the transcendental notions of being, the one, the true, and the good.57 In what appears to be a reaction to the Manichean dualism of good and evil, Philip tells us in his Preface that he proposes to expound his theology from the viewpoint of the notion of the good: “De bono autem intendimus principaliter quod ad theologiam pertinet” (p. 4, l. 41). Now, Dom Pouillon has warned us that, as far as the organization of material goes, the Summa is defective (“peu systématique”).58 Nevertheless, Philip’s proposal (pp. 4–5) to instill some kind of order into his material by employing the notion of goodness and its divisions as an architectonic principle is important as a precedent to St. Albert’s two earliest treatises. (Albert’s later statement of intended approach in the De natura boni— “magis moraliter quam substantialiter”—differs from, but clearly echoes an awareness of, Philip’s earlier vision.) Philip adopts a basic threefold division of the good: the physical good 55. Philippi Cancellarii Parisiensis: Summa de bono, ed. Nicolai Wicki, 2 vols. (Berne: Francke, 1985). 56. See Albert the Great, De bono, Prolegomena, §5, p. xiv. More detailed studies of Philip’s influence upon Albert and other theologians are given by O. Lottin, “Les vertus cardinales et leurs ramifications chez les théologiens de 1230 à 1250,” PEM, vol. 3, 153–86; “L’influence littéraire du chancelier Philippe,” vol. 5, 149–69 (for Albert, 164–67). Also R. E. Houser, The Cardinal Virtues: Aquinas, Albert and Philip the Chancellor (Toronto: PIMS, 2004), 42–56. See also N. Wicki’s comments, Philippi Cancellarii, vol. 1, 41. 57. H. Pouillon, “Le premier traité des propriétés transcendentales. La Summa de bono du Chancelier Philippe,” RNSP 42 (1939): 40–77. 58. Ibid., 42.



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(bonum natur[a]e), bonum in genere, and grace (bonum grati[a]e). The first third of the Summa deals with a universe of beings and its creation under the heading of bonum natur[a]e; and even here Philip’s moral focus is apparent in his subdivisions into natures that are and are not diminishable by evil (per malum culp[a]e). There follows a relatively short but intricate disquisition upon the notion of bonum in genere (pp. 327–52), and its antithesis, generic evil (malum in genere). Bonum ex circumstantia is a formula mentioned several times (e.g., pp. 32, 327) in the work, but receives no special treatment. Indeed, its role and significance are never clearly spelled out by Philip. The rest of the Summa de bono falls under the major theological category of grace. This includes a very long treatment of the cardinal virtues (pp. 744–1076) which, in turn, follows the sections on grace and the theological virtues, and precedes the treatment of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. As with the Summa aurea of William of Auxerre and the Sentences of Peter the Lombard, the cardinal virtues are treated after the theological virtues. It’s also apparent that Philip discriminates between the two orders of virtue: theological virtue is virtue absolutely (simpliciter), whereas natural virtue is not really virtue in the true sense of the word: “virtus politica ..... non est plena virtus nec vero nomine virtus” (p. 597, ll. 33–35). Accordingly, while the treatment of the cardinal virtues is long, it is apparent that Philip is interested in them primarily as they manifest themselves not as earned traits of character, but as divinely infused perfections. At a glance, too, one can see that the segments of a moral doctrine are present but, interspersed as they are among other matters which do not pertain to moral science as such, they lack unity and consolidation. Of all the definitions of the good, Philip favors the one that invokes no cause, but only a difference consisting in a negation: “The good,” he writes (p. 7, ll. 33–35), “is simply or in some way the undividedness of act from potency” (bonum est habens indivisionem actus a potentia simpliciter vel quodammodo). This formulation, couched as it is in terms of act and potency, is clearly Aristotelian, and also Avicennian in inspiration.59 The “act” in question does not signify human behavior but a more generalized notion of perfection (p. 19, ll. 78–79). Quite simply, the good signifies the fulfillment that accrues in some way to a corresponding potency. As that which 59. Aristotle, Metaphysics IX, 9; 1051a13–14. See N. Wicki, 6.

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completes and perfects a being’s potential, it inherently includes reference to the notion of end (p. 32). Philip’s preoccupation with order and structure is evident. Early on in the Summa (pp. 30–33) he supplies two possible classifications for what have now become the standard categories of goodness. The first of these arrangements involves a consideration of modes of the good according as they manifest themselves in the already traditional sequence of categories: bonum natur[a]e, bonum in genere, etc. This order of arrangement—the one that Philip himself will adhere to—is a formal classification dictated not by the inherent values themselves—for then bonum glori[a]e would command first place—but rather by their natural sequence (secundum naturam) and according to their order of acquisition (secundum viam habendi) (p. 33, ll. 73, 82). This first configuration begins with that which requires fewer principles to account for goodness, and moves upwards to that which requires a greater number. Underlying the whole classification, once again, is a conception of goodness formulated in the Aristotelian language of act and potency. This is the order that Philip himself will adhere to in structuring the broad outline of his Summa. An alternative scheme is also proposed, and it too is Aristotelian in inspiration (p. 32). Different instances of goodness are assimilable to the four causes itemized by Aristotle. The physical good of free choice is the efficient cause of goodness;60 generic good (bonum in genere) is the material cause. Bonum ex circumstantia corresponds to the formal cause since it accounts for the “form” or “mode” of the action. The final cause is grace. Now Philip, in reporting this “multiplication,” does not reject it outright, but he acknowledges it only on the condition that we recognize that the notion of the good, besides this possible fourfold causal manifestation, always manifests the distinguishing feature of finality. The primary and fundamental reference of the good is always to final causality. Accordingly, this particular causal diversification is a “multiplication” which is made “materially,” whereas the quintessential relationship of the good to the end weakens the usefulness of this kind of division, and ultimately lends itself more to the classification which is made “formally,” that is, according to the first natural hierarchy of goods. After mentioning the causal schema, Philip never really uses it again. 60. Philip clearly envisages nature-as-efficient-cause in terms of human choice or will: see 329, l. 76; and 342, ll. 14–15.



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In the Summa de bono, then, there are two accounts of the diversification of goodness. One proceeds “materially,” wherein the now widely acknowledged species of the good are assimilated to the four Aristotelian causes; the other “formally,” in which differences of act and potency constitute a natural hierarchy of perfections. Both are framed in Aristotelian language and principles. The two schema are especially relevant because both will later influence the structure and order in Albert’s two early treatises: In the proposed sequence of materials discussed or intended, both De natura boni and De bono generally adhere to the order of Philip’s ‘formal’ division; and I have already demonstrated how, in a highly original synthesis, the De bono configures the moral elements in human action by applying the causal model that had been little more than mentioned in passing by Philip.61 With specific reference to human acts, Philip distinguishes three different grades of goodness corresponding to levels of potency: generic goodness (bonum in genere), the “moral good,” and finally grace.62 Bonum in genere, a relatively indeterminate level of goodness intrinsic to the act, is explained through an ingenious application of Aristotle’s hylomorphic theory: “Genus in this case,” he writes, “is had by a conjunction of the form of the act with the object [materia] of the act, for the act of feeding, say, bespeaks a certain kind of form while the hungry person names the matter; and thus good is generically educed from the conjunction of the latter with the former” (p. 330, ll. 97–99). Yet it is still “pure matter” (materia pura) or “first potency” (potentia prima) in comparison to the additional moral specifications that accrue to human acts through circumstance and virtue.63 The status of generic goodness (and generic evil) as a moral factor, then, remains ambiguous in Philip, since he repeatedly distinguishes between generic and moral goodness, with the latter deriving from circumstances and/or appropriate intentions. He offers the suggestion, without contradicting it, that the in genere modes belong to the moral order only “materially,” but not “formally.”64 61. Stanley B. Cunningham, “Albertus Magnus and the Problem of Moral Virtue,” Vivarium 7 (1969): 81–119. 62. Summa de bono, 327, ll. 9–15; p. 342, ll. 11–17. 63. Ibid., p. 337, l. 74; p. 327, l. 11. 64. Ibid., p. 333, ll. 189–97. “Eating” or “walking,” without any reference to particulars or attendant circumstances, are the examples he uses. The distinction seems less convincing when

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Philip also fails to isolate and clearly delimit the respective roles of circumstances and intention. He says only that circumstances constitute the “form” or “mode” of the act; and so they can be construed as the “formal cause” of the good.65 In his introduction to the twenty-five-page section on generic good, he says (p. 327, ll. 7–9) that intention may be grouped under circumstances. Once again, however, this relationship remains equivocal, since end and intention are seen to function as the final cause of the good, but now he allows it to be included under circumstances which constitute the formal cause. The fact that Philip the Chancellor, following the lead of Peter the Lombard, tends to conceptualize the end in conventional theological fashion as something informed by faith and charity (e.g., pp. 338–39) means too that he envisages the moral goodness of human acts as primarily deriving from their supernatural directedness.66 The force of this observation is reinforced if we keep in mind the relative moral indeterminacy of generic goodness, and the uncertain moral status of intention itself, which functions now as a final cause, now as formal cause embedded within circumstances. In the Chancellor’s Summa, then, there is still evident the traditional wavering—and confusion—between moral goodness and supernatural merit. This same imprecision is even more apparent in Philip’s lengthy treatment of the cardinal virtues (pp. 744–1106). This treatise stands as an impressive contribution to the literature of the problem in the thirteenth century, and it served as a common source of theory and vocabulary to succeeding theologians.67 As already stated, it falls within the context of grace and it follows a disquisition upon the theological virtues. Philip’s distinction between the two orders of virtue is couched in Augustinian language of the higher and lower parts of the soul (p. 746). Theological virtues inform the exalted part of man’s spirit (ratio superior), whereas the he admits (p. 332, ll. 147–50) that certain acts, such as fornication or fasting, implicitly include (reference to) circumstances and their objects; and so “in these cases [i.e., fasting] it is difficult to recognize the difference between generic good and circumstance-based good [bonum ex circumstantia].” Since Philip does not distinguish—as do modern action-theorists—between “action types” or “action descriptions,” and concrete acts or “act-tokens,” the implication left hovering is that it is possible for there to be concrete, deliberated, but morally indifferent acts. 65. “causa formalis, huic enim assimilatur bonum ex circumstantia qu[a]e est forma vel modus actionis” (32, ll. 55–56). 66. See Lottin, PEM, vol. 4, 407. 67. See Lottin, PEM, vol. 3, 153–73.



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cardinal virtues perfect the lower part of the soul (ratio inferior). Or, theological virtues are those to be loved and cherished (frui), whereas cardinal virtues belong to the order of the useful (uti). Indeed, it is quite evident that Philip is mainly preoccupied with theological virtues, and among the cardinal virtues themselves he is concerned not so much with those that are naturally acquired as with those that are supernaturally infused. As a theologian mainly concerned with the factors which ensure man’s salvation, he cedes minor value to the naturally acquired virtues. At one point, within the context of the theological virtue of faith, he writes: “Note too that political virtue, although it could be called ‘virtue’ according to the ethicist, is not full-fledged virtue nor virtue in the true sense of the word, but only an ethical virtue; God-given virtue, however, is virtue absolutely.”68 In spite of this tendency to minimize, Lottin still believes that the recognition accorded by Philip to the naturally acquired virtues marks a significant advance over William of Auxerre.69 Philip has some acquaintance with early fragments of Aristotle’s Ethics, more precisely with the Ethica vetus in the translation of James of Venice.70 In discussing the sequence in which one might analyze the cardinal virtues he is partially cognizant of the order which Aristotle followed (p. 753, ll. 61–66). Philip does not follow this one, however, but adopts another sequence more in line with his own principles (p. 752, ll. 22–36). The order of the virtues, he writes, is determined by two considerations: the inherent value or dignity of the perfection which accrues to the agent, and the relationship which the virtue has to the same subject in which it resides. Now since prudence is the perfection of man’s rational faculty, and since the other powers in man are subservient to the ordination of reason, it follows that prudence stands first in order of dignity and priority. But it would seem that justice, which is also an intellectual virtue, would reflect the dignity of the subject even more than prudence. However, acts of justice have an immediate reference to someone or something outside the 68. “Et nota quod virtus politica, licet dicatur virtus secundum ethicum, non est plena virtue nec vero nomine virtus, sed ethica tantum virtus est, virtus autem gratuita simpliciter est virtus” (597, ll. 33–35). 69. “On le voit, Philippe est beaucoup plus accueillent que Guillaume d’Auxerre: tandis que celui-ci excluait les vertus acquises de l’organisme moral, la Chancelier les y introduit à titre de vertus imparfaites.” Lottin, “Les vertus morales acquises,” 31. 70. Wicki (ed.), Philippi Cancellarii, 46.

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subject (ad alterum), whereas prudence and its good effects remain selfcontained in the subject. Moreover, one must first know (through prudence) what belongs to others before one can observe those rights through justice. Furthermore, the other virtues and their corresponding acts are the conditions, as it were, for the exercise of justice, and are presupposed by it; they are “quasi materialia in comparatione ad ipsam.” Accordingly, in the order of his analysis, Philip assigns the fourth position to justice. Temperance will come immediately after prudence because it has a direct reference to the agent itself (actus eius est quoad nos), while fortitude, in third place, corresponds to external exigencies and the public advantage (commune commodum). Hence, the order in which he proposes to discuss the cardinal virtues and their parts is: prudence, temperance, fortitude, justice. At this point, it’s worth adding that the order in which a moralist arranges his analyses of the virtues is relevant: in telling us something about the writer’s organizing principles it nearly always supplies any number of indicators about his concept of virtue. This is especially true in the case of Albert’s early treatises. This brief sketch of Philip’s moral doctrine brings us almost to the eve of the composition of Albert’s first moral treatise, De natura boni, in the late 1230s. Because of this proximity, and because of Philip’s unmistakable influence upon this work and the De bono, the Chancellor’s Summa forms an indispensable link in our appreciation of the proximate influences upon Albert’s thought. And yet, as the following chapters will bear out, the differences in vision and intent between Philip and Albert are profound. In the one case we are dealing with a theologian whose sympathies fall more in line with the traditional school of theology and St. Augustine; in the latter case with a thinker anxious to exploit and adopt the new Aristotelian naturalism.71 At one point in his Psychologie et Morale, and most opportunely in a chapter devoted to the man himself, Lottin pauses to assess St. Albert’s historical significance.72 He does this effectively by diagnosing the condition of pre-Albertinian moral theorizing. Two features, he remarks, characterized these early speculations. Inasmuch as there was a noticeable tendency 71. See Lottin, PEM, vol. 3, 184–85. 72. PEM, vol. 3, 556–57.



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toward a preoccupation with particular cases of conscience, many of these early moral treatises may be called practical or casuistical. Secondly, they were all theological writings, and for three-quarters of a century the content and framework of theological summae had been ruled by Peter the Lombard’s Sentences. The results by now are obvious to us. If there was not always an active opposition to the uses of philosophy in this school, there was at least a spirit of indifference, oftentimes manifesting itself in a general reluctance to explore even the most elementary principles of moral philosophy.73 In the Summae of William of Auxerre and Philip the Chancellor, of course, one discovers impressive innovations; but even here the practice of including the elements of moral philosophy within a context of grace, together with the widespread tendency to minimize natural virtue, perpetuates itself. When Albert the Great appeared on the scene, he found comparatively little in the writings of his immediate predecessors to aid him in the elaboration of the philosophical portion of his enterprise, that is, in the development of a theory of natural morality. Necessarily he was thrown back upon his own resources, and for this reason he ranks as an innovator on many points. Lottin singles out the De bono as proof that it was mainly Aristotle who inspired Albert to undertake a philosophical investigation into the natural elements of morality. No less valuable than Lottin’s succinct characterization of pre-Albertinian thought is a second observation dovetailing with it.74 There is a discernible propensity among medieval moralists, writes Lottin, to employ their concepts in a rigidly univocal manner. Failure to render these notions flexible, by applying them analogically, is evident in the treatises on virtue. A univocal conception of virtue is unable to accommodate such seemingly disparate notions as theological virtues and moral virtues, intellectual and moral virtues, infused and acquired virtues. This tendency to dichotomize unnecessarily, especially between infused and acquired virtues, becomes even more pronounced after the time of St. Thomas Aquinas. “It would have been much simpler,” writes Lottin, “to say that the concept of virtue is analogical.”75 That is, Lottin continues, it is acquired moral virtue which realizes most perfectly the concept of virtue formed by theologically un73. See also the references above in note 14. 75. Ibid.

74. PEM, vol. 4, 819–20.

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aided human reason, and based upon human experience. Infused virtue, on the other hand, precisely because it is infused, realizes only imperfectly or analogically the notion of virtue conceived by natural reason, although in its very nature it is, for the theologian, more perfect than acquired virtue. The General Approach to Albert the Great’s Ethical Theory The preceding historical considerations now make possible a final statement of the issue confronting us in this enterprise. The enterprise comprises three elements: (i) the ethical theory of Albert the Great; (ii) the emergence of the organized moral treatise in the mid-thirteenth century; and (iii) the rediscovery of natural moral worth and the reclamation of human moral agency. In general, a survey of moral speculation prior to Albert reveals two related facets. One of these is the condition of the moral treatise itself, that is, its setting and the quality of its internal organization. The second facet is nothing less than the recognition accorded by medieval moralists to the purely human and natural elements of morality. Specifically, our greatest interest attaches primarily to Albert’s De bono and his Super Ethica in their historical context. In the previous chapter, I argued that of all his works the De bono is the best source and guide for studying Albert’s moral philosophy in its general outlines and in its arrangement of materials because in this work he was free to work out his own principles of order. Modern scholars have repeatedly pointed outs it merits in being a relatively independent, systematized treatment of Albert’s own ideas. The present chapter, however, has enlarged the scope of this work’s importance beyond the sphere of just Albert’s own writings. Given its historical placement, the De bono occupies a no less significant position when seen against the wider background of early-thirteenth-century moral theorizing. The traditional practice of writing on virtues within the context of grace and the supernatural virtues was neither an isolated nor an inconsequential move. On the contrary, the subsequent tendency to ignore or minimize the value of naturally acquired virtue shows that this type of structural arrangement determined the very substance of their moral doctrine. This fact did not escape Albert the Great. A statement in his earlier De natura boni, wherein he proposes to treat of goodness from a moral



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viewpoint (magis moraliter quam substantialiter), heralds a whole new approach, a departure from the traditional setting of the moral treatise still evident a few years earlier in the Summa de bono of Philip the Chancellor. The relevance of this statement, and the weight of Albert’s intent, carries over with equal force to the De bono a few years later. The various levels of goodness invoked by post-Abelardian thinkers, and which Philip the Chancellor had used as the mainframe in a vast theological summa, Albert will now apply with far greater economy and focus as structuring principles in a dedicated ethical treatise. Albert’s first two treatises are admittedly incomplete, yet in each of them his intent was to erect a moral synthesis beginning with the natural elements of morality, and only then moving on from there to a treatment of the strictly supernatural endowments. This called for a composition crafted independently of the traditional pattern of the Sentences. The De bono is salient testimony to Albert’s recognition that a coherent understanding of natural morality required an overhaul of both the setting and the internal structure of the moral treatise. If, as Lottin has so ably and repeatedly demonstrated, Albert the Great displayed originality and insight in dealing with certain problems of moral philosophy, there still remains a need to round out this picture by attending to the De bono from the point of view of its total organization. The work, moreover, contains treatments (e.g., the causal grounding of the virtues; the integration of the parts of virtue, and a treatise on natural law) that are not repeated in any of his other works. And in any comprehensive review of Albert’s moral theorizing it is nothing less than respectful and perspicuous to follow that same sequence of materials that he chose when the literature form allowed him to do so. Historically, Albert’s unprecedented Super Ethica has received as much acclaim as the De bono, perhaps more. Not only is it the first commentary on the complete Nicomachean Ethics in the Latin West, it is also a commentary of uncommon insight and acuity. Nor is it just a gloss upon or paraphrase of Aristotle’s words. On the contrary, Albert’s extensive use of the disputed-question format means that the text of Aristotle is closely examined not only ad litteram, but through a rich dialectical array of authorities, possible positions, and interpretive arguments. No less, the form of Albert’s resolutions (solutio; quod dicendum) assures us that in each of these magisterial determinations we see exactly what Albert thinks of this

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or that exercise of reason in the natural moral order. Indeed, these inserted commentaries are valuable supplements which serve three major functions: they amplify our understanding of corresponding treatments in the De bono; they also tell us a great deal about Albert’s interpretation and use of Aristotle; and finally, they effectively and faithfully disclose Albert’s own moral philosophy or at least what he regarded as philosophical treatment proper. Accordingly, I also rely upon the Super Ethica for what are some of the most refined and representative philosophical treatments in Albert’s corpus: the Prologue’s reflections on the practical “science” of ethics; friendship (amicitia); and man’s natural final end (felicitas civilis, beatitudo civilis, contemplatio). Inasmuch as I have been largely concerned with the setting of the De bono and the Super Ethica, these have been mainly external and contextual considerations indicating in outline rather than in any detail the special historical significance of these compositions. What now remains is an internal inspection of these works with the aim of securing a comprehensive understanding of the philosophical dimension of Albert’s natural moral theory—its content, its structure and general outline, and the interaction between them. I have chosen to make De bono, then, as the centerpiece of his own moral theorizing and in its arrangement, the primary subject matter in my analysis; and so in the following chapters special attention is given to it, and to the degree and quality of synthesis worked out between the elements of Albert’s moral theorizing. At the same time, however, I draw heavily upon corresponding and parallel materials in Albert’s other major moral treatises—notably, the Super Ethica and the De natura boni; to a lesser degree, the paraphrases in Ethica. I also work with other materials from the whole corpus of Albert’s theological and philosophical works, for comparative and corroborative purposes: notably passages from Summa theologica, his Commentary (Scripta) on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, and also a handful of independently wrought disputed questions on conscience and synderesis (from Quaestiones). Accordingly, my own examination will follow mostly the sequence of the De bono’s major divisions and subdivisions, without, however, attempting to cover in detail every question and article. A detailed exegesis, for instance, in the case of each of the cardinal virtues, the special subalternate virtues, and the passions, would be as unnecessary as it is cumbersome. In



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my own outline, however, there are two major exceptions to the De bono’s sequence. First, I shall lead off my study of Albert’s moral theory proper with an examination of his methodological reflections as laid out in the Prologue to the Super Ethica and in the initial pages of his second commentary, Ethica. The brief treatment in Super Ethica (in fewer than four folio pages) is the first of two dedicated analyses of the whole “science” of ethics and its very possibility as a practical science. It is certainly one of the most authoritative, if not the earliest, of such dedicated treatments in the Latin West, and provides valuable insights into Albert’s concept of the role and nature of natural moral theorizing. The corresponding introductory section in the Ethica, as modern scholars (e.g., Dunbabin and Müller) have indicated, supply important refinements and developments. I make this exception and insert this material first because I believe that in De bono, Albert was already committed to certain methodological principles not yet declared and explained. The second major exception to the De bono’s material arrangement is that my antepenultimate and penultimate chapters on friendship and man’s natural end rely almost exclusively upon the Super Ethica since the De bono, by virtue of its incompletion, simply does not contain such treatments. From indicators in De bono, it is apparent that Albert believed that these materials belonged in the elaboration of natural ethical theory, and that he would have included them had he finished the work. In general, then, my projected plan of study supplies, I submit, a judicious mix of materials from Albert’s corpus in such a way that both the philosophical and what Albert would view as the theological context of his remarkable enterprise are honored and respected. At the same time my procedure differs in at least one significant aspect from the approach of Jörn Müller’s impressive study of Albert’s moral theory.76 Müller supplies a “reconstruction” of Albert’s theory of happiness and beatitude (pp. 80–135) before attending to other portions of Albert’s ethics, notably the theory of natural virtue. This approach differs not only from mine, but from the structural arrangement in Albert’s two early treatises in which a theory of goodness, with obvious neo-Platonic influences, precedes the analysis of the morality of acts and the natural virtues. 76. Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophisches Ethik bei Albertus Magnus.

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chapt e r 4

meta-ethical reflections on “moral science” and its procedures

Natural Moralit y and the Viabilit y of Moral Science Both of Albert’s commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics include introductory sections in which he philosophizes upon a number of methodological issues. (This introductory procedure is simply not operative in the case of De bono and De natura boni.) The Prologue in Super Ethica presents these reflections in five relatively short quaestiones in which the treatment is focused, crisp, and succinct. Historically, it is noteworthy as one of the very earliest methodological reviews of the nature and scope of natural ethics in the thirteenth century. By comparison, the corresponding section in the later Ethica is more discursive and structurally less well differentiated when it comes to the two functions of exegesis and commentary. Editorially, too, the Ethica commentary is less reliable than Albert’s first commentary, the Super Ethica, because it still exists only in the two uncritical Jammy (1651) and Borgnet (1891) editions. Fortunately, Jörn Müller has now provided us with a critical edition of some of the relevant and interesting introductory sections in the Ethica.1 1. Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophisches Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, 325–58.

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The Prologue in Super Ethica identifies three salient issues attaching to the idea of “moral science” (moralis scientia): its subject matter (materia), its purpose or goal (finis), and finally its usefulness. The concept of “science” here refers to ethics as a speculative enterprise, and Albert clearly has in mind the kind of theoretical knowledge in Aristotle’s use of the term episteme, not the intellectual and moral virtue of here-and-now practical knowledge (Gr: phronesis) such as Aristotle discusses in Book VI of the Ethics. The three primary issues, in turn, are addressed in five disputationformat questions, the first of which asks “whether or not there can even be a science of morals [de moribus]?”2 This most radical of questions arises from a number of counter-indications worded in the language of knowledge, universals, and necessity. (1) Book VI of the Ethics says that every science deals with necessary things, but moral practice [mos], depending as it does on the will, is not something necessary. (2) In every science, knowing [scire] is the most valuable thing, but according to Book II of the Ethics, knowledge is of little or no value in morals. (3) Every science reaches its greatest perfection in the universal, but the knowledge of morals rests with particular actions. (4) In every science, the knowable [scibile] holds true for everyone in the same fashion, but morals do not hold for everybody in the same way. (p. 1, l. 58–p. 2, l. 1)

In sum, the concept of an allegedly moral science simply does not seem to measure up to the criteria of natural necessity, universality, and theoretical knowledge in the way that the other sciences do, and as Aristotle understands them to be in the Posterior Analytics. It is worth repeating, at this point, that Albert’s methodological overview of moral science in Super Ethica, if not the first such dedicated philosophical treatment in the thirteenth century, is certainly one of the very earliest to confront the legitimacy and scope of philosophical moral science with any degree of concentration and rigor. Given the dominance of moral theology up to this point in the medieval period, Albert’s Prologue is all the more salient, since it posed a challenging counterpoise both to prevailing theological perspectives on moral speculation rooted in Christian faith, and to the minimal status accorded to the natural and humanistic dimension of human moral agency. 2. Super Ethica, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), p. 1, ll. 56–57.



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In a series of short replies (p. 2, ll. 11–33), Albert addresses these opening negative challenges. First, he invokes the authority of Avicenna’s Logic to the effect that, in contrast to the science of being, which derives from the workings of nature, there can indeed be a science of the morals that result from our operations (p. 2, ll. 2–5). Since there can be a science of whatever has distinguishing differences and properties that can be demonstrated, by the same token there can also be a science of morals. In his responses (ll. 11–43) to the opening challenges, Albert writes: If we consider moral practice [mos] as it exists in reality [secundum id quod est], then it does indeed derive from a non-necessary cause, and does not fall within scientific demonstration. If, however, we consider it [moral practice] according to its very meaning and as a concept [secundum suam intentionem et rationem], then moral concepts [rationes morum] are necessary, and there can be a science of them. (ll. 14–16)

Indeed, he adds (ll. 16–19), there is even a similarity here between morals and the sorts of natural objects that are generated and corrupted by contingent causes. About such natural contingents there can still be natural science according to their universal reasons (secundum rationes universales ipsorum). And so, we are left to infer, there can also be a science of morals as long as we attend to their universal concepts. The notion of “universal reasons” or concepts in this question is pivotal: these reasons signify not only the ideas themselves and the element of universality in any science, but metaphysical necessity as well. “Universal reasons” co-signify, that is, the inherent intelligibility of real, extramental natures, both human and inanimate, to which these self-same rationes themselves correspond.3 As ontological principles, the intelligible structures in things—e.g., forms, essences or natures, properties, causes— can be expressed as concepts and encapsulated in definitions that mediate 3. This theme of universal and necessary “rationes” as the ground of certitude and science with respect to mutable contingents is invoked again by Albert in Book VI, lect. 5, sol. and ad 5m, vol. 2, p. 421. See also Müller, “Ethics as a Practical Science in Albert the Great’s Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics,” 278–79. H. P. K. Mercken, in “Ethics as a Science in Albert the Great’s First Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics” (1990, 253–254), however, describes rationes morum in terms of the agent’s intention and rationality and says that “these reasons are not necessary in any metaphysical sense.” Such an interpretation runs counter to the principle of suppositional necessity (ex fine) that is operative in Albert’s metaphysics of physical events and moral action. See note 5 below.

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between the knower and reality. Moreover, in their very formalization as ideas, these universal reasons or natures thereby “transume” and provide the foundational element of necessity required in all science. Similarly, moral concepts (rationes morum), reflecting as they do the intelligibility of moral realities, also command the same kind of scientific eligibility. Later in Super Ethica, Book VII, Albert voices an even more explicit linkage between universal principles and the prerequisite of the causal connection in scientific understanding. He remarks that if we were to consider moral practices only in their variable singularity, then we would not enjoy scientific certainty. All we can ever expect at that level of consideration is probable judgment, and therefore only opinion. On the other hand, if our moral practices “were considered from the standpoint of universal principles, they could indeed be known with certitude, and demonstrations about them could even be made, if they [the universal principles] were grasped as causes of morals [si accipiantur causa moralium]; and in this way there is a science of morals. And so the distinction obtains between a science of, and opinion about, operations.”4 In the context of validating the very concept of a “moral science,” this passage is especially germane because it combines the features of causality and universality in establishing the scientific credentials of ethical inquiry. There is another aspect to these universal reasons, forms, and causes worth considering. W. A. Wallace, working primarily with Albert’s paraphrastic commentary on Aristotle’s Physics, has shown that the Universal Doctor affirms more than one form of natural and scientific necessity.5 Over and above the raw physical necessity of material natures, Albert also recognizes another type of necessity in natural operations: suppositional necessity that arises from the anticipation or expectation of a certain end’s being achieved. Albert calls this necessity “ex suppositione finis” or “ex conditione finis.” In Albert’s natural philosophy, the end or final cause is that in 4. Super Ethica VII, 2, sol., vol. 2, p. 523. 5. W. A. Wallace, O.P., “Albertus Magnus on Suppositional Necessity in the Natural Sciences,” in Weisheipl (ed.), Albertus Magnus and the Sciences, 111–20. On p. 112, note the similarity in the language (proof, properties, subjects, and attributes) between Albert’s discussion of a demonstrative science of natural things, and his discussion of a science of morals in the “necessary reasons” portion (p. 2, ll. 6–7) of the Prologue to Super Ethica. See also Wallace’s “The Scientific Methodology of St. Albert the Great,” in G. Meyer and A. Zimmerman (eds.), Albertus Magnus— Doctor Universalis: 1280–1980 (Mainz: Matthias-Grünewald, 1980), 385–407, especially 391–93.



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which a natural process terminates, but it is also that which is ontologically prefigured and operative in the form itself. Accordingly, in the domain of scientific demonstration the necessity of natural operations (such as generation) is ultimately rooted in the end or final cause.6 The reason for this necessity, again, is linked to the metaphysical fact that form and end are indissolubly linked in any generative process since the end is prefigured in all natural forms. Thus, in Super Ethica III he later writes that “although the end is external in as much as it is an end, nevertheless it is still an intrinsic cause in so far as it is form because form and end come together as one [concidunt ad unum].”7 Now, while Albert does not explicitly invoke this concept of ex suppositione finis necessity in the present ethical context, it is worth pointing out that in this commentary material, and earlier still in De bono (as I shall show in chapter 6), Albert consistently acknowledges both the primacy and the formative power of the end or final cause in his use of the four causes to explain the emergence of the forms of virtue from natural human operations. It is why he has boldly described the final cause as the most powerful of the causes (potissima causa).8 It is evident, too, in the specifying role ultimately commanded by end in his accounts of the object of virtue (materia virtutis) and the material context of virtue (materia circa quam) wherein the metaphysical convergence of final cause with form is repeatedly affirmed.9 Suppositional necessity within human operations, I submit, has been repeatedly implied—at the very least intimated—in Albert’s earlier demonstrations in De bono, and it is a mode of ontological necessity consistent with the “universal reasons” which he now openly acknowledges in Super Ethica. These affirmations of necessity, then, support Albert’s commitment to a science of morals. Drawing once again from Avicenna, Albert goes on to add (p. 2, ad 2m) that this same science of morals can be either practical or instructive/theoretical (ut utens aut ut docens); and although knowledge does not greatly 6. “Sic ergo patet quod in disciplinis priora sunt pricipia sequentium, et ea quae sunt materialia sunt principia finis: sed in his quae fiunt propter aliquem finem, sive in artibus, sive in physicis fiant, e contrario est. Ibi enim (ut diximus) finis movet efficientem, et ab efficiente infunditur materiae motus, et sic finis est principium totius: et ideo est ibi neccesitas conditionis ex finis suppositione.”—Physica II, tr. 3, cap. 6, ed. Borgnet, vol. 3, 174b. 7. Super Ethica III, 9, ad 1m, 186, ll. 76–79. 8. De bono IV, 1, 1, ad 6m, 220, ll. 51–52, 56. 9. See chapter 6.

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add to practical use, it greatly enhances doctrine.10 Indeed, the applicability of moral science reaches its perfection in the particulars of moral action, whereas ethical doctrine reaches its perfection in universals. (Müller argues, convincingly I believe, that for Albert prudence serves as the “indispensable link between the subject matters of ethica docens and utens, between the ethical universal and the circumstances of action,” and that for this insight we have to turn to relevant passages in the later Ethica.)11 Finally, Albert adds (p. 2, ad 4m), particular moral acts and practices (mores) that enter into the application of moral doctrine vary among individuals, whereas the “universal reasons” that are operative at the theoretical level (doctrina) of this science are the same for all according to the Aristotelian concept of the medium, a medium understood as tailored to the individual’s situation (secundum medium determinatum “determinatione quoad nos”). It is evident that Albert, confronted by the eminently practical and individualized features of the moral life, is anxious to establish the theoretical credentials of ethics, and its status as a viable scientific enterprise. Mercken believes that Albert’s resolution in this very first question “marks a step forward in scientific theory as compared to Aristotle who is silent about the scientific status of moral philosophy, or rather appears to deny it any scientific status. For Aristotle, the alethic value of practical knowledge appears to be completely exhausted in the action which it directs.”12 Mercken also adds that nothing like Albert’s resolution is to be found in any of Grosseteste’s translated Greek commentaries. The Language of mos, mores, and consuetudo Before moving on, a word is in order here on Albert’s variable use of “mos” and “mores.” I have translated “mores” in an ethically positive sense as “morals” or “moral practices”; and, depending upon the context, it can also be translated as “morally good acts.” The translation problem is com10. The utens/docens formula, which originates with Avicenna, is a recurrent theme in Albert’s work, and was already invoked by others at this time. See also Georg Wieland, “Ethica docens— Ethica utens,” in W. Klaxen et al., eds., Sprache und Erkenntnis im Mittelalter. Akten des VI internationalen Kongressen für mittelalterliche Philosophie. Miscellanea Medievalia 13, no. 2 (Berlin, New York: 1981), 593–601. 11. “Ethics as a Practical Science in Albert the Great’s Commentaries,” 283. 12. Mercken, “Ethics as a Science in Albert the Great’s First Commentary,” 255.



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plicated by Albert’s use of another related term, “consuetudo” (adj.: “consuetudinalis”), also employed in the same context (and in the Latin fragments of the Nicomachean Ethics) to situate virtues and their origin, and usually translated as “custom,” “use,” or “habit.”13 Albert repeatedly states that mos and consuetudo differ, but it’s not always clear to what degree or in which respect. For the most part, “mos” refers to a morally appropriate practice or acts in which there is already an imprint of goodness, or at least an inclination toward the good act or toward the production of the good (mos tantum ad bona).14 Consuetudo, on the other hand, is more general (communius) than mos because it relates equally to both good and evil actions/ practices (quia consuetudo se habet ad bona et mala). Consuetudo, he tells us, is like a chain drawing us through preceding actions to that which needs doing (operandum), such that it is called a second nature (altera natura); whereas—and this part is unclear—mos nominates the act(s) from which consuetudo derives.15 And therefore, he concludes, “we call consuetudo that which is left behind with us from actions, but mos we speak of according to the ordering of actions toward that which originates from within them. And so on that account virtue is more correctly said to derive from mos than from consuetudo.”16 What seems to come through most clearly in this account is that mos is both the preferred term and state of affairs when talking about morally good actions, good practices, and the virtues, since it already—that is, “analytically”—signifies a disposition toward the good. Consuetudo, by contrast, seems to name a practice or custom which in comparison to mos is morally indeterminate, more a repetition of acts but one which still has the pull of a residual, formative pattern since it prompts new acts. Later, in chapter 6, when I discuss the genesis of virtue and its necessary conditions, it will become more evident why Albert makes these distinctions. Much of it has to do with the inner prerequisites that Albert (and Aristotle) lay down as necessary conditions for genuinely virtuous behavior (i.e., good 13. In several places (Super Ethica, p. 5, ll. 3–7; p. 92, ll. 1–6) Albert indicates his awareness of the ambiguity of these terms in relationship to their (transliterated) Greek antecedents (ethos, Hthike), and the semantic differences arising from different pronunciations of the first letter. 14. Super Ethica II, 1, sol., p. 92, marg. #102, ll. 6–20. 15. In De bono (p. 46, ll. 46–47), Albert describes consuetudo as an “act repeated over time” (actus multiplicatus secundum tempus). 16. Super Ethica, p. 92, ll. 16–20.

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intention, good discernment and judgment, and a suitable alignment of will and passions). Accordingly, mos and mores are best translated as good or morally appropriate practice(s) and sometimes as ethically or well disposed behavior. Consuetudo, on the other hand, is mostly taken to mean a comparatively indeterminate habit or pattern of repeated behavior in which the agent manifests much less, or perhaps no, inner engagement. The Unit y and Subject Matter of Ethics Question 2 of the Super Ethics Prologue moves on to deal with the problematic unity of moral science. Although Albert’s magisterial solution concentrates only on the relationship of ethics to Aristotle’s two other practical “sciences” of home economy and politics, these considerations, perhaps to the modern reader of ethical theory, may seem less germane than the issues raised in the opening challenges (p. 2, ll. 34–50), which have to do with differences between moral performance and the more intellectual aspect of contemplative happiness. How can the one, generic science combine treatments of such seemingly disparate notions as perfection, properties, operations, and habits in both the moral and contemplative orders? The third challenge (p. 2, ll. 44–50) is a variation on that theme: The human good is twofold, corresponding to the two parts of the soul—the affective, and the intellectual/contemplative. How, then, can the one science possibly comprise both morals, which perfect the affective part, and the manifold perfections of the various sciences, which belong to the intellectual/contemplative part? (There is also an Augustinian flavor to these challenges. As Mercken points out, affectus, referring as it does to the appetitive aspect of the soul, is an Augustinian term.)17 In his responses (p. 3, ll. 18–31), Albert underscores the ultimately practical alignment of moral theory. In this science, the value of the purely speculative is relevant only insofar as it promotes and enhances choice (inquantum facit delectionem), and this happens only when the speculative component has been acquired and then metabolized as it were (praeoptata) within the choosing apparatus. “And thus it [i.e., the theoretical portion of moral science] moves into the moral domain according as the will is brought to bear upon it, and it takes on the aspect of the ‘choosable’ [formam eligibilis], 17. “Ethics as a Science in Albert the Great’s First Commentary,” 257.



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becoming in this way something moral.” This transformation is no less true of what has been said about properties, operations, and habits: all these are unified under the idea of the “eligible,” in the sense of the “choosable” or having to do with choice, according to which they take on a moral character ..... because the moral au fond is that which proceeds from a deliberating will through choice (a voluntate deliberative per delectionem).18 Albert’s effort to harmonize within the boundaries of one science the competing claims between moral practice (mos humanus) and the seemingly more abstract, intellectual features (e.g., contemplative happiness, knowing, and science) of moral science takes on yet another focus in his analysis (p. 3, ll. 54–80) of the discipline’s subject matter. Albert simply distinguishes between two possible kinds of subjects in a science: that which is primarily intended or aimed at (id de quo principaliter intenditur), and that which is commonly treated in the science (id de quo communiter determinatur). Happiness (felicitas), as that which is principally intended, is indeed the subject of this science.19 But so too is the proximate feature of that which is choosable, which, issuing from a deliberating will, has to do with human actions; and this we call “human moral practice” (mos humanus). Albert goes on to add that insofar as the aspect of choice (forma eligibilitatis) and the will’s deliberation apply to happiness (both moral and contemplative), choice itself takes on moral significance (rationem moris). It seems that ultimately the final end confers moral significance on a universal scale, no less so upon the very act of choice itself even though Albert often speaks as if choice is an inherently moral event. The Practicalit y of Moral Science Indeed, it is within that common relationship to choice and deliberate will that every human good is united. Albert points out (p. 3, ll. 77–80) 18. Albert speaks more strongly later (Super Ethica, p. 6, ll. 56–58) when he writes that the agent’s “act and choice, which give form to morals, belong per se to the moral order.” The “per se” claim is significant with regard to the intrinsic moral status of acts. Elsewhere, e.g., De bono, Albert is more precise when he draws a distinction between the physical goodness of acts, their generic moral goodness, and their moral specificity. See chapter 6. 19. Taking his lead from Aristotle, Albert recognizes two kinds of happiness: that which arises from the practice of virtue, and that which derives from the intellectual activity of contemplating divine realities. In Lectio 7 of Book I (pp. 32–33), he offers a more ample commentary, and clearly subordinates the virtuous to the contemplative happiness (p. 33, ll. 7–13). See chapter 14.

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that when he speaks about the human good investigated in this science he does not mean something as abstract as a demonstrated conclusion, but rather that whose properties (passiones) are investigated. Here he seems to be saying that an abstract bit of reasoning or conclusion is not the principal goal of our ethical investigation, but rather that human behavior and its moral features are. This concluding rejoinder also serves as a prelude to the next question since it underscores again Albert’s vision of the thoroughly practical aim of moral science: ethics is not simply an intellectual exercise in logical reasoning, but rather a useful or practicable undertaking to reveal moral goods through their characteristics or properties. Near the very end of Super Ethica, Albert again raises this question when he asks “whether the end of moral science is to know or to act?”20 In his response, he remarks that certain things are worth studying because of their extraordinariness and greatness, others because of their supporting and evidentiary value. “But moral questions,” he adds, “do not have any great value over and above our own power, nor are they investigated for their own sake; nor are they of assistance in any other science. Accordingly, the fact is that in no way do we look into such issues simply in order to know, but only for the sake of acting [sed tantum operari].”21 Albert evidently has strong opinions on this point; and this is probably why, in his later Ethica, he appears to express disapproval of those scholars who practice ethical speculation merely as an intellectual exercise, without reference to selfimprovement.22 The fourth question (p. 4) in Albert’s Prologue to Super Ethica inquires into the end of moral science. Drawing once again upon Avicenna’s distinction between the theoretical and the applied modes of science, Albert repeats his observation that moral science can be considered in two ways: inasmuch as it is instructive (docens) its end is knowing (scire); but insofar as the science is practical (utens), the end is “that we may become good.” The 20. Super Ethica X, 17, vol. 2, p. 777, ll. 56–85. 21. Consistent with this is Albert’s claim that practical reasoning about what is to be done—the moral syllogism—terminates in the particular imperative of conscience that this act is to be performed. See Pierre Payer, “Prudence and the Principles of Natural Law,” Speculum 54 (1979): 63–64. 22. “Eruditio autem non provenit alicui in moralibus nisi per experientiam et perseverantiam in difficilibus artis. Non enim loquimur hic de auditore qui scientiam docentem audit in schola. Talis enim ad rationem confugiens quaerit philosophare et non esse bonus.”—Ethica I, tr. 4, ch. 5, p. 55a. See Dunbabin, “The Two Commentaries of Albertus Magnus,” 249.



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Latin phrasing, “ut boni fiamus,” is taken directly from the Ethica vetus.23 This is a view on which Albert is consistent: he repeats it both in this work and in his other moral treatises.24 He then adds that because this science is practical, its knowing plays a directive role in our behavior (dirigens in opere); and whenever it is just that, the knowing component is further ordered to the end of acting (ad finem operis) and is not itself the ultimate goal. Finally, in question 5 (p. 4; also p. 13, ll. 20–27) of the Prologue, Albert also identifies the twofold method in which this science of morals goes about its business. Inasmuch as moral science is practical, and also because in ethics we have to speak figuratively and in general, then it proceeds by way of persuasive discourse. This kind of discourse has to do with influencing behavior only, not with the methodological requirements of putting together a treatise on morals and the good life. Insofar as moral science is theoretically instructive (docens), on the other hand, then the mode of procedure is overtly demonstrative, as with any other science. At the same time, neither moral science nor the discipline of home economy suffices of itself to effect its end—which is to become good—without the benefit of law (sine legislativa) which binds. In speaking of “persuasive discourse,” Albert does not specifically mention rhetoric, but he must certainly have had that mode of discourse in mind. Practical moral science, that is, unlike formal deductive inferences, will proceed by way of probable, for-the-most-part reasoning, and by the use of examples, comparisons, analogies, metaphors, and so forth. Even so, Albert’s elliptical statements, in this mid-career commentary, are both different and far more instructive than the very scattered and rudimentary indicators of procedure in his first two works. Intimations of Method in Albert’s De natura boni and De bono In Albert’s first two moral treatises, methodological indicators are minimal, at best elliptical. I have already indicated in chapter 2 that, at the 23. Ethica vetus, ed. Gauthier (Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 2), p. 7, l. 1. 24. Super Ethica, p. 4 (qu. 5), ll. 32–33, 42–43. On p. 13 (ll. 58–59) he remarks that the ultimate end is not pure knowledge but experience (experimentum) and use. See also De bono IV, 1, 1, ad 6m, p. 220, ll. 44–56; Ethica I, 1, cap. 6, ed. J. Müller, p. 353, ll. 5–6; also cap. 4, pp. 345–49.

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very opening of De natura boni, Albert states (p. 1, l. 17) that this first moral treatise will treat of the good in a moral fashion (magis moraliter quam substantialiter);25 and that this affirmation served both to announce its status as a distinctively moral treatise, and to distinguish this enterprise from the wider compass of theological speculation found in Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono. Internally, De natura boni also adopts a triadic framework early on to account for the presence of goodness in the agent, and at the first level of moral goodness (bonum in genere): how each of these manifests itself in itself and in its parts (in se ..... in partibus); how it is lost (qualiter ..... deficit); and how it is then recovered (qualiter ..... recuperatur).26 Other than these sparse indicators, De natura boni is silent on matters of method and procedure. In the opening lines of De bono, Albert simply assumes that one begins a moral treatise with a disquisition on the general meaning of good (secundum communem intentionem boni).27 As will be evident in the next chapter, such an approach is consistent with the neo-Platonic principles and sources that Albert used in spelling out his metaphysics of the good. At the same time, it appears to be inconsistent with Aristotle’s judgment that the discussion of the universal good is not really suitable in a treatise on ethics, but belongs rather to another branch of philosophy.28 Albert then announces his moves largely as acts of division—we might say today “analysis” or “analytical distinctions”—without any further indication of how one might have arrived at that point.29 In De bono, however, there are also instances of largely unannounced procedures in Albert’s moral theorizing. One of these we shall see in the next chapter, in his metaphysics of the good, when he indicates that the notion of participation is not enough to account for the presence of goodness in the universe. A theoretical understanding of the good must also include a causal reckoning of the genesis of instances of the good. That is, the aetiology of finite goodness must be disclosed using the Aristotelian model of fourfold causality. I shall illustrate how an application of this methodological requirement to his theory 25. De natura boni, Cologne ed., vol. 25(1), p. 1, l. 17. 26. Ibid., pp. 2, 9. 27. De bono, Cologne ed., vol. 28, p. 1, ll. 4–6. 28. Nicomachean Ethics I, 6; 1096a 28–35. 29. Ibid., I, 2, preface, p. 22, ll. 2–8; art. 1 & 2, pp. 22–27; p. 28, ll. 12–16.



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of virtue then unfolds in the following two chapters (chapters 6 and 7) in which one can see Albert using the four Aristotelian causes as an underlying framework in order to synthesize assorted ethical features in his own account of the genesis of virtue and moral agency. Another even more muted procedure has to do with the kind of queries and their order in which Albert approaches the cardinal virtues. In general, he tends—most evidently with the first two virtues of fortitude and temperance—to start off with a broad question on the very nature and definition of the cardinal virtues (Quid sit ..... secundum diffinitionem). He follows this with a query about the “matter” of the virtue, and then with another about its “act.” (In the first question on fortitude, Albert also includes an article dealing with its “end.”) This pathway accords partially and very loosely with a statement he makes in the first article on temperance when he speaks about “those things needed for a knowledge of virtue which are act, matter, the idea of the mean [ratio medii] and the idea of the difficult [ratio difficilis].”30 At the same time, however, there are nearly as many exceptions to this rough procedural guideline in De bono. In the case of prudence, for instance, the very first question (before asking what it is in its very definition and substance) demands to know whether it even is a virtue at all.31 Very nearly the same kind of question leads off the short treatise on special justice: “Whether there is any kind of justice that might be special justice?”32 The most conspicuous exception to this rather muted procedure, however, is the fact that the entire tractate on justice is prefaced by two quaestiones, comprising six articles, on natural right and law. The second article in the question on general justice also asks whether it is really a virtue of itself.33 As we shall see in later chapters, there were historical reasons why Albert would pose these kinds of queries. At the same time, they also mean that Albert, in the actual process of compilation, may have had to modify his procedure more than he envisaged at the outset. In sum, then, whether announced or not, Albert offers very little in the way of explicit methodology in his first two moral treatises. Rather, the intended features of order and synthesis are more evident in the resultant 30. III, 1, 1, sol., p. 117, ll. 45–47. 32. V, 4, art. 1, p. 300.

31. IV, 1, 1, p. 217. 33. V, 3, 2, p. 294.

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final structure of a treatise such as the De bono, scarcely at all in the earlier De natura boni. In both early treatises, Albert is simply not very explicit or, perhaps, even knowledgeable about issues of the methodology of moral theorizing. In the commentaries, of course, under Aristotle’s influence, he is much more instructive on methodological issues. In Super Ethica (as in his later Ethica), of course, Albert is bound to adhere to Aristotle’s arrangement of material, although he explains and justifies it with what certainly appears to be evident sympathy and agreement. The clear message from the commentaries, but even from the De bono, too, is that moral theorizing can and should proceed in an orderly fashion, with rigor, and that in so doing it can attain to the status of a “moral science.”

chapt e r 5

the metaphysics of the good

Both of Albert’s two early moral treatises, De natura boni and De bono, begin with a metaphysical investigation into the concepts of the good in general and the physical good (bonum naturae) before dealing directly with moral concepts. In this respect, Albert is imitating the procedure already adhered to by William of Auxerre and Philip the Chancellor in their summae. The implication, explicitly confirmed in one of Albert’s later works, is that in order to understand human or moral goodness, we must first of all recognize what we mean simply by “good.”1 This procedural primacy also reflects Albert’s preoccupation with neo-Platonic theories of the good, especially the doctrines of Pseudo-Dionysius. In contrast to this opening step, the later Super Ethica, we’ve already seen, begins with a Prologue dedicated to methodological issues of “moral science.” Indeed, in the commentaries, Albert’s discourse about the good is generally limited to more confined statements about this or that aspect of morally good actions and properties. 1. “Quia autem de moribus inquirimus secundum quod solus homo dicitur bonus vel malus, oportet nos altius ordientes de bono inquirere. Bonum enim hominis determinari non potest, nisi quid sit bonum intelligitur.”—Ethica I, 2, ca. 1; Borgnet ed., vol. 7, p. 17. Albert, however, does not announce it as a methodological procedure in his two earliest works.

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Even though Albert uses the word “definition,” it soon becomes evident that the introductory section in this initial moral treatise really provides little more than a notional awareness of the good at best. He opens with quotations from Genesis and Psalms affirming the goodness of God’s created nature, but in the pages that follow Albert is more attentive to notions in St. Augustine’s treatise of the same title, De natura boni: “mode, species, and order.” The Latin text of the Book of Wisdom (11:21) also says that God disposed all things according to “number, weight [pondus], and measure,” but it is Augustine’s language that prevails, and to which the second cluster is more or less assimilable. In these triads, Albert adds (p. 1, ll. 57–69), are reflected the Trinity, and the intrinsic ordering of all things to their divine source. Nor is it at all surprising to see this kind of interpretation applied to nature. Augustine’s triad was often cited through the centuries in the medieval theology of nature: it was invoked in William of Auxerre’s treatment of the good, in that of Philip of Chancellor, and it will continue to reappear in Albert’s later theological and moral works.2 As indicated toward the end of the last chapter, the ensuing discussion of natural good or goodness in De natura boni is framed in yet another triadic structure: Albert announces that he will discuss (pp. 2–8) how goodness manifests itself in man, how it is lost, and how it can then be recovered (qualiter haec bonitas se in homine ostendit, deficit et recuperatur). Each one of the three divisions, in turn, treats of the respective category of the good in itself (in se), and then in its parts (in partibus). While there are a few allusions to Aristotle in this very first work, Albert relies primarily upon Christian and scriptural sources. In particular, the narrative’s language is clearly dominated by Augustine’s oft-cited trinity of “mode, species, and order.” Compared to what follows, and even more so to corresponding treatments in Albert’s later works, there is very little in this opening section on the good in the way of sophisticated philosophical argument. Much more interesting material and treatments appear, however, when Albert, in the second tractate, moves into the moral sections proper on generic goodness (bonum in genere) and circumstances. 2. See A. Tarabochia Canavero, “A Proposito di Trattato De bono naturae nel Tractatus de natura boni di Alberto Magno,” Rivista di Filosofia Neo-scolatica 76 (1984): 353–73.



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The De bono In noticeable contrast to his first treatise, the opening article of De bono leads off with three distinctively philosophical definitions of the good (p. 1). Aristotle, in the opening lines of the Nicomachean Ethics, defines it as “that which all things desire” (quod omnia appetunt). Albert credits Avicenna with defining the good as the “undividedness of act from potency” (indivisio actus a potentia).3 Finally, Algazel is reported as saying that “the good is act, the possession of which is accompanied by pleasure” (bonum est actus cuius apprehensio est cum delectatione). Albert calls these “definitions,” and together with the dialectical arguments offered in support of each one, he regards them as valid. At the same time, he admits that, since such an abstract transcendental notion as the “good” cannot be exhausted in a single formula, these definitions are more appropriately called “attributions” (assignationes [p. 6, ad 12m]). That is, they do not completely circumscribe the good but only define certain aspects recognized through its effects. Nor does he view them as invoking a more ultimate cause. On the contrary, Albert, with his customary respect for experience, regards goodness itself as an ultimate which can be known only through its manifestations or effects— per posterius, scilicet per ea quae sunt ad finem (p. 7, ad 13m). As that which is desired, the good is intimately linked to the notion of end. Better still, as Albert tells us later on, it is the very condition of end qua end.4 The three definitions, therefore, are recorded in logical order (p. 7, ad 15m). The Aristotelian one is given by way of approach to the good or end. The second formula is quoted as describing the perfected good in itself. And Algazel’s definition characterizes the proper effect resulting from a union with the good. From the start, and just as Philip the Chancellor had done, Albert identifies the notions of perfection and fulfillment (actus, complementum) with that of the good.5 This is apparent in the definition imputed to Avicenna, which is clearly an attempt to express the absolute without enlisting 3. This definition as such is not found in Avicenna. It seems to have originated with Philip the Chancellor, who, in turn, attributed it to Aristotle. See De bono, p. 1, n. 13; p. 5, ad 6m. See also Wicki (ed.), Philippi Cancellarii, vol. 1, 6 n. 21. 4. “Bonum autem est condicio finis ut finis” (De bono, p. 14, l. 87); “bonum super ens addit relationem ad finem” (p. 20, l. 47). 5. See chapter 3 for the discussion of Philip’s metaphysics of goodness.

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something yet more ultimate. Though couched negatively as “undividedness,” this definition is more truly representative of the nature of the good than if it were to employ a positive term such as, say, “conjunction,” for then a third and mediating reality would be implied: namely, a unifying factor distinct from both the act and the potency.6 Hence the seemingly negative definition of Avicenna affirms a positive reality, the nature of the good in itself, this being a unity between any kind of potency or avidity and its corresponding perfection (actus). The “act” in question, however, does not stand simply for the operation issuing from some being, or for the fulfillment which is added to that same being by its substantial form. The notion of perfection here is rather one of fulfillment and completion which is added to a thing from the end (p. 6, ad 11m). The Avicennian definition, then, truly expresses the distinctive feature (propria ratio) of goodness, namely, an entity’s unity with its respective end (indivisio finis [p. 10, l. 52]). Now all things from inanimate bodies to intellectual creatures desire the good. Yet how can this be if some things do not even know what the good is? Albert’s reply to this question rests upon a distinction between the various levels of appetition in nature. On the one hand, there is “perfect appetite,” which is always accompanied by some form of cognition or apprehension. There is also “natural appetite,” which universally resides in all beings, and “which is nothing else than the aptitude and inclination of what is in potency towards perfection. This is in all things, and this is what is meant when it is said, ‘that the good is what all things desire’, just as Aristotle ..... says that matter desires form as the female the male and evil the good.”7 At the heart of every nature is an entitative yearning for the goodness that comes from fulfillment. Correlatively, it is the very quintessence of the good to be desired, if not knowingly and actively, at least according to this innate propensity (p. 7, ad 14m). Only goodness can be desired or at least that which is perceived here and now as good—in ratione boni ut nunc (p. 5, ad 5m). There is a summum bonum, God, and in Him, as its absolute and primary instance, is contained the inexhaustible and infinite richness of goodness (p. 9, ad 4m). His goodness is absolutely simple or undivided since in 6. De bono, p. 5, ad 6m, ll. 48–61. “cum indivisio non ponat aliquid”—p. 25, l. 37. 7. Ibid., p. 4, ad 1m. See also Super Ethica I, 1, p. 7, marg. #9, ll. 18–54.



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Him there is no degree of potency. All creatures, all created goods, even though standing as certain perfections in themselves, are nonetheless defective in comparison to God, who is the source of all goodness. Their goodness owes its presence to an influx of perfection from the supreme good; and the universal desire inherent in all things is simply a desire for this influx of perfection (p. 4, ad 2m). Or to put it another way—and this time Albert is consciously exploiting the neo-Platonic doctrines of St. Augustine and Pseudo-Dionysius—all things are good by participation in the sense that the first good or exemplar is reflected (relucet) in created goods.8 “Exemplarism,” then, tells us the mode of presence. Albert rejects any attempt to visualize this participation as a direct sharing in the nature of the supreme good. Rather, participation is taken to mean that each thing, possessing as it does a certain finite and particular instance of goodness, is ultimately reducible to the efficacy of the primum bonum as the cause of this goodness. As a particular instance (ratio particularis) of goodness, the creature only mirrors the supreme goodness. What is really possessed is a form of created goodness (ratio boni creati), and this as particularized in individuals through their differences and matter (p. 8, ad 1m, ll. 34–36; ad 2m). The Principle of Analogy In no way, then, can goodness as some sort of common nature be predicated univocally of an infinite God and His universe of finite creatures. On the contrary, to explain the unity in goodness between the supreme good and creatures, as well as among created goods themselves, Albert introduces the principle of analogy, more precisely that type of analogy which is called a “a community of proportionality”: To the fourth argument it must be said that the good which all things desire is not reducible to one species or to one genus, but to a community of proportionality in such wise that a distinction obtains between proportion and proportionality. For proportion, as Boethius says in Book II of his Arithmetica, pertains to quantity according to the different habitude of one quantity related to another quantity. Proportionality, however, pertains more ultimately to the quantity of things that 8. De bono I, 1, 2, pp. 7–8. Concerning Albert’s use of the emanationist “influx” metaphor, see Thérèse Bonin, Creation as Emanation: The Origin of Diversity in Albert the Great’s “On the Causes and the Procession of the Universe,” Publications in Medieval Studies, vol. 29 (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2001), especially p. 97, n. 1.

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are proportionate. And so we say that the proportionality and commensuration of all possible things in relation to a perfecting end is one; and the end of all things in this proportionality is one, and so too is the appetition which inclines all things to the end. (p. 5, ad 4m) It must be said that there is a community of proportionality, as was established earlier, which is reduced to the third mode of analogy. For although there is not one end that every good attains as its fulfillment, nevertheless there is one end beyond the order of creation to which every good inclines according to its power. And this end is the highest good. Other goods are not good unless they derive from it and tend back to it. (p. 10, sol., ll. 26–34)9

Every thing has some kind of natural inclination toward goodness. All creatures, in desiring their own particular perfections, are really moving toward a perfecting end which, by a community of proportionality, is one. More than once, Albert points to the writings of Pseudo-Dionysius, who has said that, corresponding to the different levels of nature and appetition discernible in the universe, there results a hierarchy of degrees in which perfection is shared by creatures.10 Intellectual and rational beings desire the good knowingly; sentient creatures reveal a desire for the good in their sensory appetites; other living things, without sense, desire the good by their innate urge to live; and finally, inanimate creatures tend to the good in their mere inclination to participate in being.11 All this is to say that creatures, by a movement commensurately one, desire an end which is also proportionately one: goodness. Even though all creatures do not actually attain to God as their fulfillment, nevertheless He is the absolute end, beyond the order of creation, toward which all of creation is drawn according to diverse specific powers and natures; and what creatures achieve on this natural level is rather a certain instance of created goodness. 9. In this same article, Albert discusses the types of analogy as found in Aristotle’s Metaphysics IV, 2, 1003a32ff. 10. I, 1, 2, sol., p. 8. On p. 7, ll. 72–78, Albert gives an exact quotation from Dionysius (in the translation of Joannes Saracenus [ca. 1167]) to this effect. See De div. nom. I, §20; Dionysiaca, ed. P. Chevallier, vol. 1 (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1937), 247–48. 11. Dionysius (transl. Joannes Saracenus): “Et bonum est (ut eloquia aiunt) ex quo omnia subsistunt et sunt, sicut ex causa perfecta deducta; et in quo omnia consistunt, ut in omnipotenti plantatione custodita et contenta; et ad quod omnia convertuntur quemadmodum ad proprium singula finem; et quod disiderant omnia, intellectualia quidem et rationalia, cognitive, sensibilia autem, sensibiliter, expertia sensus, naturali motu vivifici disiderii, carentia autem vita et tantum exsistentia, aptitudine ad solam substantiae participationem.”—De div. nom. IV, #16; Dionysiaca I, 168–69. This text is quoted exactly by Albert in De bono I, 1, 6, sol., p. 12, ll. 20ff. This same article also contains two more quotations from The Divine Names.



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The principle of analogy and the doctrines of Pseudo-Dionysius coalesce in Albert’s explanation of the relationship between creatures and God.12 The result is a universe conceived in classic neo-Platonic fashion as a hierarchy of beings issuing from, and tending back toward, an infinite good. Each thing desires and shares in goodness according to the level of its nature and powers. Our general concept of the good is broad enough to accommodate every instance of the good, both finite and infinite, since predication is made analogically in each case. By enlisting the principle of analogy, Albert has bestowed upon the notion of goodness a flexibility and unity which hitherto was missing in preAlbertinian thinkers. Philip the Chancellor, who attempted to synthesize his theological doctrines from the viewpoint of the good, does not seem to have explicitly incorporated this principle, though his thought approaches Albert’s.13 Using the principle of analogy, however, Albert attempts to assemble all the various degrees and kinds of goodness within an overall intelligible unity. What has been said of the good in general will be no less applicable to the elements of moral goodness: all these in some way will connote a perfection and an “undividedness of act from potency,” each of which has a certain intelligible setting within the more comprehensive notion of bonum. The notion of a universally innate appetency for perfection in creatures dovetails with the Albertinian doctrine of being. Every created being in some way is a composition of potency and act. Unlike the absolute simplicity of the divine goodness, the creature is a complex of potencies or dependencies so that at the heart of every thing there is some kind of imperfection in relation to the ultimate good and a corresponding hunger 12. Concerning Albert’s use of analogy, see Hampus Lyttkens, The Analogy Between God and the World (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells Boktryckeri, 1952),153–63. Lyttkens shows that Albert’s theory of analogy, both in the De bono and in other writings, is a blending of Aristotle’s notion of πρòς εν equivocity and the neo-Platonic notion of a hierarchy of finite beings participating in one character or nature which is perfectly realized only in the highest being. “We may therefore with some justification say that Albertus, notwithstanding his several classifications, is using a general type of analogy—analogia ad unum. The main structure then consists in a character being fully realized in the primary and incompletely in the secondary term of the analogy, and varies with the point of issue of the analogy and the nature of the relation.”—ibid., 161. 13. Philip’s use of analogy is infrequent and undeveloped: see the index listing for “analogia” in his Summa de bono, ed. N. Wicki, vol. 2, p. 1151. Instead Philip fluctuates between explaining the predication of the good as being made per posterius, per prius; directly and indirectly; equivocally, multipliciter and communiter: e.g., vol. 1, p. 19, ll. 79–82; p. 23, ll. 30–33; p. 343, ll. 24–25. He also speaks of a “unity of proportion” among created goods (p. 21, ll. 21–22).

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for an influx of perfection.14 It is not entirely devoid of goodness, but only relatively so.15 Yet even if it possesses a certain degree of perfection, it still remains susceptible to additional increments. Echoing the language of the Liber de causis, Albert says that ontological stability (fixio et permanentia) accrues to creatures through an influx of the good.16 When they have incorporated the desired perfection, beings are perfected in their very nature. Accordingly, the identity or undividedness which characterizes the good is commensurate with the unity or undividedness of being itself. In God, of course, there is absolute simplicity since He is untainted by even the least admixture of potency. So far the terms “influx” and “participation” have been used to describe this infusion of goodness into creatures. In article 6 and 7 of question I, Albert goes on to say that the addition of perfection is effected by “information” (pp. 10–12). Following closely certain statements made by Pseudo-Dionysius and the Liber de causis, Albert observes that being (ens, esse), absolutely considered, is prior in nature to the good. The good is subsequent, and is added to being by way of in-forming, or “information.” Or it may also be said that the good is “being related to end” (ens relatum ad finem) and so the added perfection of the end presupposes that of being (p. 11, ll. 41, 85–86). The words “influx,” “participation,” and “information” all convey the same idea. For Albert, goodness is scarcely a remote or transcendent ideal which creatures merely imitate. Rather, it is seen as a perfection that has been incorporated, metabolized as it were, within the creature. As an interiorized enrichment inhering intimately within each creature, the good consummates a corresponding potency or need, thereby enhancing the created nature in its very being.17 This is why the second definition of the 14. De bono I, 1, ad 7m–8m, p. 5, l. 67; p. 6, l. 18. 15. Ibid., and ad 3m, pp. 4–5. 16. Ad 2m, p. 4. In place of creatam (l. 69) read: increatam. See Liber de causis VIII, ed. O. Bardenhewer (Freiburg, 1882), 172. Concerning Albert’s knowledge and use of Liber de causis, see Bonin, Creation as Emanation, especially 3–4. 17. At the same time, one needs to be cautious about reading too much into some of these texts—or seeing too little. Albert’s appeal to analogy, his language of participation, and his doctrine of the compositional structure of creatures (e.g., quo est and quod est; actus and potentia)—all these certainly seem to belie the recent claims that there is little or no evidence that Albert holds a theory of participation, that indeed he has “no theory of participation,” and that his neo-Platonic influx-creation(-relucet) doctrine implies a metaphysical monism or “a monism of light.” See Jeffrey P. Hergen, St. Albert the Great’s Theory of the Beatific Vision (New York, Bern: Peter Lang, 2002), 92, 113–14, 148–51.



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good, “the undividedness of act from potency,” most truly captures the quintessence of goodness. Later it will become apparent that this metaphysical vision of the good is particularly relevant in its applicability to moral goodness. The good in its highest and supreme instance—the primum or summum bonum—by its very nature is diffusive and communicative of being (esse) just as the sun radiates light (p. 12, ll. 30–33). By the same token, God is also the conserving cause of each and every being. The Albertinian doctrine is directly inspired by the Divine Names of Pseudo-Dionysius. It points up the expansiveness and diffusive energy that pervades the good. The notion of the good cannot be conceptualized as something static, or as an abstract ideal to which things and agents must conform. On the contrary, at the heart of the entire universe of created being lies a restless ontological proclivity toward the good of completion, and the good, in turn, reciprocates with a proportionate increase in being. The problem of the relationship between created being and the good does not end here. In article 7, Albert boldly confronts the classic dilemma voiced by Boethius in his De hebdomadibus.18 In this treatise, Boethius had raised the question how natures or substances, from the very fact that they exist, are good, since they can scarcely be called absolute goods. If, as St. Albert has already done, we are prepared to admit that each and every thing is not entirely devoid of goodness, but only relatively so, might this not lead us to equate the being of creatures (esse) with their goodness (bonum esse)? In this article, Albert undertakes to clear up this old dilemma. The Good and Its Causes The solution offered by Boethius himself, Albert concedes, is “imperfect and obscure.”19 To clarify Boethius’s answer one must invoke a theory of causes.20 In a vocabulary highly redolent of Avicenna, Albert begins by 18. Quomodo substantiae in eo quod sint bonae sint cum non sint substantialia bona, ed. H. F. Stewart and E. K. Rand, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953), 38–53. Often cited as De hebdomadibus. 19. De bono, p. 14, l. 2. Boethius (De hebdomadibus, op. cit., pp. 46–48) had argued that the substance of creatures may be called good since it derives from, and participates in, the Prime Good in whom goodness and being are identical. 20. De bono, p. 14, ll. 37–52. For an argument against Albert’s final position, see I, 1, 1, #13, p. 4, ll. 33–41. For an analysis of the good and its causality in other works by St. Albert, see J. Pé-

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observing that nothing can exist (esse in effectu) except by a cause, since the effect owes its whole being to an antecedent cause. Now the four Aristotelian causes—form, matter, final cause or end, and efficient or agent cause—fall conveniently into two groupings. Form and matter, which we may also designate as act and potency or quo est and quod est respectively, are the intrinsic principles or constituent causes of a being. The end and efficient causes are its extrinsic causes. These combinations coincide in the production of things. At the same time, there is also an overlapping: the end or final cause co-exists in the agent cause as that which is intended (per intentionem); and the form exists potentially in the matter (per potentiam). The final cause is also the highest of all the causes; it is the “cause of causes.” Though completely unmoved and immobile in itself, it nevertheless moves all the other causes. As that which is desired, it effects movement in the efficient cause, and this in turn induces the material principle (or “that which is”) to receive the form. (Later, in Super Ethica, Albert is at pains to underscore the intrinsic causality of intention. He says “that although the end is external in as much as it is an end, nevertheless it is still an intrinsic cause in so far as it is form because form and end come together as one [concidunt ad unum].”)21 Armed with this hierarchical configuration of the Aristotelian causes, Albert is now prepared to interpret the relationship between the being of creatures and their goodness. Their being is given them by the efficient/ agent cause which moves the matter to the reception of form. Their goodness, on the other hand, derives from the end which moves the efficient/ agent cause as an object of desire and intention. According to their absolute and abstract consideration, the being and goodness of creatures, therefore, cannot be equated. They may be identified only through mutual inherence in one and the same subject or supposit. Goodness and being, or, if you will, nature, are not identical although in reality they are inseparable.22 It seems obvious, therefore, that for Albert any explanation of the good and its relationship to being merely in the language of participation (or ghaire, “La causalité du bien selon Albert le Grand,” Études d’histoire littéraire et doctrinale du XIIIe siècle, vol. 2 (Ottawa: Publications de l’Institut d’Études Mediévales d’Ottawa, 1932), 59–89. 21. Super Ethica III, 9, ad 1m, p. 186, ll. 76–79. 22. In Ethica, Albert writes: “Bonum igitur pertinet ad naturam et inseparabile est ab ipsa.”— II, cap. 6, ed. Borgnet, vol. 7, p. 26.



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emanation) does not suffice. All this does is to indicate broadly the kind of presence. Over and above this, one must explain both how and why such a presence by participation or influx comes about: that is, a causal explanation and knowledge of the good is required. To account for the origin of goodness in creatures, then, one must ground the explanation in the four ultimate causes of Aristotle. This innovative, Aristotelian-inspired resolution of the Boethian dilemma becomes a distinctive methodological principle in the “De bono”: When Albert comes to treat of natural moral goodness, its various elements, historically iterated from the time of Peter Lombard, will be systematically integrated according to this hierarchy of Aristotelian causes. This methodological principle, and its application to the intrinsic features of morality and to moral virtue, are simply not apparent in Albert’s other ethical works. The arrangement of articles in the first question of the De bono reflects a logical progression of ideas, and this is most noticeable in articles 1 to 7. Article 1 supplies us with a broad universal notion of the good abstractly conceived. The next four articles test the extension (communitas) of this notion. Article 2 states that every creature owes its perfection to a first or highest good by way of participation. But article 3 goes on to affirm the infinity of this summum bonum. How, then, can the same common notion of the good accommodate both an uncreated infinite good as well as a series of created finite goods (art. 4, pp. 9–10)? The difficulty is confronted in that same article when Albert invokes the principle of analogy, that is, a community of proportionality. It is this principle that bequeaths both flexibility and unity to our concept of the good. Article 5 (p. 10), though seemingly academic, also has to do with predication. Briefly, the problem raised is this: can goodness (bonitas), by an abstract predication, reflect upon itself in such wise that it may be said to be good (bona)? Such predication is possible, says Albert, as long as we conceive bonitas and bonum according to two different modalities: on the one hand, abstractly and absolutely conceived; on the other hand, as concretized, because of its convertibility with being, in the individual or supposit. Hence, a particular instance of goodness may be legitimately called good. Both terms in the proposition may not be abstractly conceived at the same time, but one must have concrete reference to the supposit, or to the action or to the end. Particularized instances of goodness, then, may be

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called good without falling into a vicious circle. The purpose of article 5 is to remove the threat of faulty predication. Articles 6 and 7 follow logically from the previous ones. Now the inquiry seeks to uncover the relationship of the transcendental bonum to being in general. Article 6 discloses this in terms of participation or “information.” Article 7 completes this account with the theory of causes. In short, Albert supplies his reader with a progressive metaphysical synthesis. One should not be surprised to find the last three articles of question I devoted to a study of the third major transcendental: the true (verum).23 There were recent historical antecedents for this procedure: both William of Auxerre and Philip the Chancellor, for instance, had included discussions of it in their treatises on the good. One can even find similar speculation in an early (1235–1240) commentary on the Ethica nova.24 Knowledge of one transcendental throws the status of the others into clearer relief. Like being, the true, according to its absolute consideration, is prior in nature to the good and so should not be confused with it.25 It seems that Albert’s purpose in these articles is to clearly outline the nature of the true, and so clear up possible misunderstanding. However, since these three articles appear to add little to a positive understanding of the good, let alone moral goodness, it is not necessary to enter the maze of intricate problems arising from the many definitions of the true. In point of fact, I submit that these last three articles (art. 8–10) were unnecessary: while they correspond to historical precedent, they might have been eliminated from the De bono without any loss to Albert’s moral theory proper. The Good as a Potestative Whole Question I of the De bono has laid down certain broad and general attributes of the good abstractly conceived. The theory of the good outlined therein abstracts from any specific type or instance of goodness. Beginning with question II (p. 22), particular levels or instances of the good are investigated. The procedure followed is one of division, wherein the concept of 23. De bono I, 1, 8–10, pp. 15–21. 24. See R.-A. Gauthier, “Le cours sur l’Ethica nova d’un maître ès Arts de Paris,” AHDLMA 42 (1976): 122. 25. I, 1, 10, ad 3m, p. 21.



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goodness is progressively analyzed into more precise elements or kinds. In point of fact, this method of analysis seems to have been directly suggested to Albert by his study of the De divisione of Boethius on which Albert later wrote a commentary. Mention of six possible modes of division as outlined by Boethius are itemized at the beginning of article 1 (e.g., the division of genus into species, or of whole into parts, etc.). Just before this, however, in his preface to question II, Albert observes that the first major division of the good distinguishes physical good (bonum naturae, bonum naturale) from moral goodness (bonum moris).26 Each of these disjuncts, in turn, is open to further subdivisions. The first three articles of question 2 are given over to a metaphysical analysis of the physical good. Some authors, writes Albert, have analyzed nature into component principles (p. 22, ll. 4–7). The Book of Wisdom (11;21), for instance, has said that God disposed all things according to “number, weight, and measure” (numerus, pondus et mensura). St. Augustine, in his oft-repeated formula, speaks of “mode, species, and order” (modus, species et ordo). And Albert credits Bernard of Clairvaux with yet another triad: “the one, the true, and the good.” How, then, are these authorities to be interpreted? How, for that matter, can these various claims be reconciled? In his response, Albert remarks that these suggested divisions of the good are parts of a “potestative or virtual whole.”27 In such a synthesis of parts, the perfection of the entire whole is realized or consummated only with the addition of the final and ultimate part. The resulting totality is a hierarchy of perfections. It consists of an ordered series of components in ascending degrees of value such that the higher part always presupposes, and virtually possesses the excellence of, the antecedent part. Virtual presence or possession means that whatever power or efficacy (potestas) the lower part has is contained as well—sublimated, if you will—in the nature of the higher. But this increase in excellence proceeds unilaterally: the lower cannot equal or share the power of the higher. Hence, “number” is virtually included in “measure,” and both of these in turn in “weight.” Since the lower virtually inheres in the higher, then, the perfection of the whole may be predicated perfectly of the ultimate constitutive part; of the 26. I, qu. 2, p. 22, ll. 3–4. 27. I, 2, 1, sol., p. 23.

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lower orders it may be predicated imperfectly (secundum diminutam perfectionem potestatis). The physical good is just such a whole. Albert’s use of the Latin agentive “potestativum” linguistically underscores his conception of the empowering dynamism of the good, a vision that might not be as evident in the less energetic expression “totum virtuale.” Though scholars have generally overlooked its importance, the principle of potestative whole turns out to be a recurrent notion in a number of Albert’s writings. Interestingly, it does not figure at all in De natura boni; but in other works written both before and after the De bono, Albert frequently invokes it in his attempts to integrate into one ordered whole a catenation of powers or perfections. The opening reference (qu. 2, art. 1) to various modes of division suggests that he was partly inspired by Boethius’s De divisione. On the other hand, in those places where Albert invokes this principle, the notions of a hierarchical assembly, and the virtual inclusion of the lower power in the higher, are usually attributed to the ever-shadowy Pseudo-Dionysius. The idioms totum potestativum and totum virtuale, however, are not to be found in these early authorities, but appear rather to have originated in Albert’s own time.28 In any case, Albert seems to have been among the very first to make wide use of this principle particularly in the area of the soul and its powers, and, as we shall see later, with respect to the special parts of virtue. A text in Albert’s later commentary on the De divisione of Boethius clearly admits the applicability of this principle in widely differing domains.29 The soul, Albert says, is a potestative whole. So too are geometrical figures such as the four-sided figure which virtually includes the triangle. The crowning perfection (complementum) in such totalities as these is had in the last and highest component since the superior is able to accomplish more perfectly the function of the inferior. The term “complementum” used here linguistically mediates as the connection between the notion of potestative whole with that of the good, already defined at the beginning of De bono as the undividedness of the potential element from its act or complementum. 28. O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 1, 501 n. 1. 29. “Animae et cuiuslibet potestativi distinctio est eadem que est figurae, in qua unum potestate est in alio, ut trigonum in tetragano. Et ideo complementum potestatis in talibus est in ultimo, quia quidquid potest in talibus potentia inferior, hoc idem excellentius potest potentia superior.” Tr. IV, c. 2; as quoted by the editors of the De bono, p. 23, n. 69.



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De bono is neither the first nor the earliest work of Albert to enlist the concept of potestative whole. In the De IV coaequaevis, for instance, Albert had already invoked this principle to account for the unity and order among angelic, civic, and ecclesiastical hierarchies.30 In the same passage, the good is also identified as a potestative whole: pleasure is a qualified good; the useful is a higher form of qualified good; and together with that which is good without qualification (honestum) they all constitute the whole good, according to differing and ascending degrees of perfection. An allusion in this text to the Divine Names of Pseudo-Dionysius signals the neo-Platonic influences at work here. From yet another text in the De IV coaequaevis, we read that the perfection of a potestative whole is present in each of its parts in varying degrees; but of the ultimate constituent of the whole, predication of perfection may be made absolutely (secundum totum posse).31 To put it another way, predication must be made analogically. In this way, Albert points out, the potestative whole differs from both the universal whole (totum universale) and the integral whole (totum integrale). A universal is shared by its subjects, not by degree, but equally and univocally. An integral whole, on the other hand, is composed of parts, and in this respect it is akin to the potestative whole. But it differs from the latter in this: in no way can the integral whole be predicated of any one of its parts. It is also worth noting that Albert makes extensive use of the potestative principle in his attempt to integrate the powers of the soul at its three levels of operation: the vegetative, the sensible, and the intellectual levels. Outside of the De bono, it is mainly in the context of this problem that we uncover most of our information about potestative wholes.32 By contrast, 30. De IV coaequaevis IV, qu. 35, art. 3, sol., ed. Borgnet, vol. 34, 532b. 31. “Dicendum, quod secundum Boethius quoddam est totum potestivum, et illud quodammodo est medium inter totum universale, et totum integrale. Totum enim universale est in qualibet parte sua, et praedicatur de illa; sicut enim probat Philosophus in VII Metaphysicae, quod est per essentiam est idem universali et particulari. Totum vero integrale non est in aliqua suarum partium, nec praedicatur de illis. Sed totum potestativum est in qualibet partium, licet non aequipotenter, sed in prima secundum minus, et in secunda ut potentius, et in ultima secundum totum posse.”—De IV coaequaevis, IV, 36, 2, part. 1, sol., ed. Borgnet, vol. 34, 540a. Albert repeats these distinctions in De bono II, 2, 10, p. 112. See also Albert’s De causis et processu universi I, tr. 1, cap. 9, Cologne ed., vol. 17 (2), ed. Winfrid Fauser, S.J. (Münster: Aschendorff, 1993), p. 17, ll. 57–65. 32. See especially De homine, qu. 6, sol., ed. Borgnet, vol. 35, 87b; qu. 7, art. 1, ad 8m, pp. 95b– 96a; qu. 8, art. 2, p. 105a. Also: Summa theologica II, tr. 12, qu. 70, memb. 3, ed. Borgnet, vol. 31, 25. See Bernard J. Muller-Thyme, The Establishment of the University of Being in the Doctrine of Meister Eckhart of Hochheim (New York, London: Sheed and Ward, 1939), 33–67. Later, St. Thomas Aquinas will also make use of this principle. See Carl Lofy, S.J., “The Meaning of Potential Whole in St. Thomas,” Modern Schoolman 37 (1959): 39–48.

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the concept is seldom mentioned in Albert’s two commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics. One major exception to this silence can be found in Book I of Super Ethica, where Albert writes that the nature of a potestative whole is such that whenever the lower power is conjoined to the higher, the former is thereby rendered more effective (efficacior, potentior) even with respect to its proper objects.33 In other words, the lower element is enhanced in its own function or operation by its sublimation within or fusion with the higher. He specifically cites as examples the irascible and desiring powers of the human soul which, he says, when conjoined to reason have, even in their own proper functions, a “moral noble act” inasmuch as they are now ruled by reason. Returning to the De bono, we find the notion of nature conceived as a potential whole amplified in the next article. In article 1 (of qu. 2), the kind of division suited to the good has been established. Article 2 (pp. 25– 27) moves on to consider the number of component elements (dividentes). Nine trinities of principles are listed, but an even greater number could be adopted.34 These nine trinities, in turn, fall into three ternate classifications corresponding to a threefold consideration of nature: “in itself, and in its operation, and in relation to man for whose cultivation nature was made” (p. 26, ll. 7–8). For our purposes, there seems to be little point in entering into this discussion with too much detail. Albert’s main concern is to provide his reader with a blueprint of what he sees to be the intelligible architecture of nature, and in this enterprise he will employ and reconcile the statements of different authorities. Even so, there are two points worth noting. First, as one of the metaphysical principles of the act itself, Albert speaks of “virtus.” The term is equivocal and appears in two of the triads.35 It may refer either to one of the powers of the soul, or to the qualitative determinations inhering in those powers. The second point worth noting is that the third and final ternate grouping in this section reflects the relationship of things to man. More precisely, these principles relate to man as affected by nature and by the operations of his own powers of knowing and 33. Super Ethica I 16, sol., Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 85, ll. 20–32. 34. This same material is covered again by Albert (ca. 1244) in his Scripta super Sententias I, d. 3, art. 16, Borgnet ed., vol. 25, 109–11; but in this slightly later treatment, ten trinities of principles are proposed. 35. De bono, p. 26, ll. 83ff.; p. 27, ll. 9ff.



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will (affectus). The lower orders of the perfection of nature and power are subordinate to this higher and distinctively human, affective order. It is in the human person, standing at the pinnacle of nature and modified in his intellect and will, that the perfection of natural goodness is consummated.36 Albert then concludes this analysis (p. 27, ll. 60–63) by pointing out that these elements of the potestative whole do not subsist by themselves; they can be realized only as substantialized in a subject, and in union with other principles. In sum, then, created nature, abstractly conceived, may be viewed as a hierarchy of essences which stand as integral parts of the comprehending whole. Nature discloses to the analytical mind, that is, an intelligible architecture. The idiom most commonly used to designate this synthesis is “potestative whole.” A necessary interconnectedness obtains between the constitutive principles themselves, and between the principles and the whole. The lower stages of perfection, that is, are in potency with respect to the higher ones; and the superior echelons virtually contain, and thereby enhance the functions of, the lower. In such hierarchies, the lower power cannot match the superior, but the superior in a more eminent fashion (non eodem modo, immo eminentiori) can accomplish the function of the lower.37 A created good (with any degree of complexity) is a potestative whole. Albert envisions such created goods as a synthesis of ascending elemental perfections. The parts may be distinguished by reason, but in reality their integration is effected through virtual embeddedness of the lower in the higher. This neo-Platonically inspired landscape of creation is significant not only in the order of nature as such, but in the moral order proper as well. When Albert comes to treat of the moral virtues, he will often characterize them as being potestative wholes, and in this way will attempt (with varying success) to effect the integration of the special parts of each cardinal virtue. At this point in the De bono, the general metaphysics of the good ends, and the elaboration of moral doctrine proper begins. The principles es36. Elsewhere, and only slightly later, Albert writes that the will (affectus) is the “highest power of the soul” (vis altissima animae)—In I Sent., d. I, art. 12,. Borgnet ed., vol. 25, 29a. 37. Super Ethica I, lect. 14, ad 3m, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), p. 72, ll. 7–10.

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tablished in question I and in the first three articles of question II will determine both the content and the formal organization of the moral section that follows. Before launching into this new and distinctively human domain of morality, however, it might be helpful to pause here in order to synopsize the Albertinian metaphysics of the good. 1) Viewed abstractly, the good is seen as that which is desired variously by the entire order of creation. By the same token, goodness is that which, in dynamic fashion, perfects being in its very nature. More properly, as Avicenna is credited with saying, the good may be defined as the intimate union—worded as the “undividedness”—between imperfect being and a higher proportionate perfection. Regardless of the level of created being in question, there is always, because of its very condition of finiteness, a potency toward further increments of perfection. In God alone the infinite richness of the good is realized. 2) Created beings stand as particular and limited instances of goodness. What they hold is shared or participated perfection. The whole universe of finite beings falls into the unity of the Christian neo-Platonic scheme of exit and return. That is, the divine goodness of God is ultimately both the originating principle and end of creatures. The terms “influx” and “participation,” however, do not by themselves suffice to explain the presence of goodness in creatures. A fully intelligible account of the genesis of goodness in things must also be configured in terms of the four Aristotelian causes. 3) Our concept of the good is a flexible one which applies to the whole universe of being, both to the infinite uncreated being as well as to the entire order of creation. Whereas the good universally connotes a unity between potency and its fulfillment in creatures, predication in each instance must be made analogically. This is possible because its unity as a concept is founded upon a community of proportionality discernible throughout the universe of being. 4) In order to study particular instances of the good, one proceeds by way of analysis (“division”). The various essences or levels which can be distinguished, however, are not unrelated. Rather, they are seen to be parts of an ordered series. This entire series or hierarchy is really an integrated or “potestative” whole in which the higher orders virtually contain the positive qualities of the inferior levels. The good is conceptualized as being



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such a potestative or virtual whole wherein the perfection of the whole is predicated of its parts analogically. 5) Procedure by way of division, the causal model, and the concept of potestative whole serve as the most apparent and primary organizational principles in this portion of the De bono. 6) Modern scholars, including Lottin, in commenting upon the historical import of the De bono, have repeatedly emphasized the work’s evident indebtedness to Aristotle. Albert’s metaphysical doctrine of the good, however, makes it no less apparent that this characteristic assessment, though not untrue, is incomplete, possibly misleading. Although he relies upon such Aristotelian notions as act and potency, and the doctrine of the four causes, the Universal Doctor also draws heavily from a number of medieval neo-Platonic sources, notably, St. Augustine, Boethius, the Liber de causis, and especially the metaphysical landscape of Pseudo-Dionysius. Indeed, by opening De bono with an elaborate metaphysics of the good, Albert even seems to be ignoring or resisting Aristotle’s advice against beginning an ethical treatise with an inquiry into the general idea of the good.38 In Albert’s later ethical works, this distinctively neo-Platonic influence is much less salient. Accordingly, De bono figures as a distinctive venue for witnessing how Albert weaves together neo-Platonic principles (e.g., participation, hierarchical assemblies, virtual inclusion of the lower by higher powers) and Aristotelian refinements (the four causes) into a distinctive and highly original synthesis. 38. Nicomachean Ethics I, 6, 1096a28–b35; Ostwald trans., p. 11.

part iii

The Architecture of Moral Goodness

chapt e r 6

the genesis of virtue Intrinsic Causes

Entering the Moral Realm: bonum in genere In De natura boni, Albert commenced his moral disquisition proper by pointing out a certain disjunction between the order of nature and the human moral order.1 Some things are not caused by human beings, such as the created things in this world; other things, however, are caused by us, namely, our voluntary acts, of which we are the masters. Now, just as in nature there is one primary thing—matter—which serves as the subject for additional forms, so too in our moral and willing behavior there is a primary subject that is still in potency to further moral specifications (through circumstances), which is called the “generic good”: Magis tamen placet, ut dicatur bonum in genere id quod est primum in rebus pertinentibus ad mores. It is evident that at this point Albert prefers (“Magis tamen placet .....”) to distance himself from what had become the traditional tendency to highlight the swingfactor in the generic good by virtue of which it could just as easily be vitiated by inappropriate circumstances.2 The generic good Portions of this chapter and chapter 7 appeared in Stanley B. Cunningham, “Albertus Magnus and the Problem of Moral Virtue,” Vivarium 7, no. 2 (1969), 81–119. 1. De natura boni I, Pars I, cap. 1, Cologne ed., vol. 25 (1), pp. 8–9. 2. In the same passage (p. 8, ll. 40–51), Albert also sidesteps a discussion of the

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(bonum in genere), Albert adds (p. 8, l. 65–p. 9, l. 1), is simply the human act brought to bear upon its appropriate object: actus solus super materiam debitam. For instance, the act of feeding a hungry person, abstracting from the particular circumstances of time, place, motive, and other personal features that surround the act, may be called good as a certain type—or level—of human action, as something generically good. Generic good, therefore, appears to constitute the very first moment in the moral order, and it is subject to further increments of moral perfection which are added to it through circumstances and the virtues themselves. Correlatively, there is also another category that is called “generic evil” (malum in genere), such as feeding someone already sated, or giving to someone that which ought not to be given, or killing someone who ought not to be killed (p. 9, ll. 4–6, 12–15). Admittedly, both generic good and generic evil, because of their relatively low grade of moral determinacy, can also be turned around by the subsequent modification of circumstances. For example, feeding the hungry can be vitiated by the motive of vainglory; and giving to someone to whom there normally should be no giving could be ameliorated if performed as, say, a penance. However, Albert’s principal focus in Pars I of the second tractatus of De natura boni is the inherent appropriateness of generic good, however modest, and its natural proclivity toward further moral enhancement. At the corresponding point in De bono, that is, immediately after the disquisition on natural good, Albert subdivides moral goodness into two primary sectors: consuetudinary good (bonum consuetudinis) and supernatural grace.3 “Consuetudo,” a term found in Ethica vetus, and normally translated as “custom,” “practice,” “habit,” and “usage,” was already used by medieval writers in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries to situate the naturally acquired virtues. Albert has already used this term in De natura boni to situate the origin and context of the natural virtues; and in the first third of this same work the term is used repeatedly to affirm the Aristotelian themes that habitual activity functions as a natural force in the difference between actions that are good secundum se (i.e., absolutely), and those that are only good in se (i.e., those that can vitiated). Such a treatment, he writes, requires a subtle investigation at some other time (subtiliter investigare alterius est nogotii). Later he returns to this issue in De bono I, 2, 6, Cologne ed., vol. 28, pp. 31–33. 3. De bono, p. 28 (marg. #50), ll. 11–16.



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generation of the virtues (and the vices), and that frequency and constancy are primary requirements. In De bono, too, he describes it as the “act repeated over time”: consuetudo est actus multiplicatus secundum tempus (p. 46, ll. 46–47). In De bono, consuetudinary good is said to comprise three levels or modes of goodness: the generic good (bonum in genere), the moral determinations that derive from circumstances (bonum ex circumstantia), and, of course, virtue itself. These divisions are inherited and assumed by Albert; tradition has already sanctioned them. Albert makes no attempt at this point to justify the classification by explicitly invoking a hierarchy of potencies and corresponding degrees of perfections such as Philip the Chancellor had done; but it is evident that this same scheme is operative here as well.4 These first three modes of goodness are natural, rationally discernible elements in the morality of acts whose investigation logically precedes the order of divinely infused perfection. A number of statements in De bono clearly indicate that an elaborate study of these supernatural perfections would follow later as part of the projected plan of the De bono itself.5 The De bono, then, heralds a notable departure from the traditional procedure adhered to in medieval moral treatises: there is to be an independent treatment of natural virtue, outside the context of Christology and grace, and preceding a disquisition upon the supernatural virtues. This is possible because the De bono is a work patterned independently of the Sentences of Peter the Lombard. Accordingly, we may anticipate a treatment of the acquired virtues more congruent with their purely natural status. Indeed, all through the De bono and elsewhere, Albert is keenly aware of the difference between the two moral orders. For instance, generic goodness, he tells us (art. 4, ad 5m, p. 30), is still immediately susceptible to the more specific moral determinations of virtue. This latter super-added determination, in turn, is still in potency to supernatural merit. Moral speci4. In Albert’s last work, Summa theologica I, tr. 4, qu. 26, memb. 1, art. 1 (De multiplicatione boni. Et penes quid sumatur), Borgnet ed., vol. 31, p. 231b, there is a defense of the longer and, by now, traditional classification of goods closely resembling that of Philip the Chancellor, and assembled according to the different kinds of powers. Grace (bonum graciae) is “elevated above the faculty of rational nature.” The prior and lower levels of goodness, on the other hand, assist rational nature (adjuvantia potentiam in facultate naturae rationalis). 5. See De bono, Prolegomena §1, pp. x(col. b)–xi(a).

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ficity, therefore, is already discernible at the natural level, and prior to the order of merit. Grace, the necessary condition of merit, neither destroys nor dispenses with nature, but rather, as its “most connatural” excellence, raises it to its highest state of perfection.6 The Material Cause of Virtue The human voluntary act and its moral ambiguity Generic good (bonum in genere) is clearly included within the moral order. Even though its status as a moral factor was not always clear among pre-Albertinian schoolmen, many of these same authors from the time of Peter the Lombard generally regarded it as the entry point in any discussion of morality. Consistently, in both of Albert’s early moral treatises, the first article in the specifically moral section is devoted to an analysis of generic good. In spite of this, however, Albert extends his analysis another step deeper, in the De bono, when he admits that the absolutely first consideration in moral speculation is not really generic good, but the voluntary act abstractly considered as such: The absolutely first thing in morals, however, is that which is susceptible to the condition of praise, which is virtue, or the condition of blame, which is vice, and this is the voluntary act brought to bear upon its object following choice and deliberation [secundum eligentiam et deliberationem]. For this act is susceptible to either of the contraries, and equally so. Generic good, however, does not signify the absolutely first principle, but rather something ordered to one of the contraries, that is, to the good of virtue. (art. 4, sol., p. 29)

We have here a precision that is absent from the earlier De natura boni. The voluntary act as such, a deliberated act bearing upon a definite object, is an abstraction distinguishable from the generic good. It is the act seen as being equally susceptible to the determinations of good or evil. In contrast to this, the generic good is really the same act, but this time conceived as already having a certain ordering or proclivity toward goodness. What Albert says here appears to be consistent with, though not the same as, later statements in the Super Ethica in which he writes that moral practice or 6. De bono IV, 1, 5, ad 12m, p. 241, ll. 4–7; V, 2, 2, ad 4m, p. 285; see also IV, 1, 5, #12, p. 237. In his commentaries on the Ethics, as well, Albert is always careful to delimit the two orders.



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custom (mos) is more directed to the good, while (merely) frequent or consuetudinary activity is more general (communius), having an equally open relationship to good or evil.7 Does all this mean that the voluntary act is inherently morally neutral? This question is explicitly raised in the De bono (qu. 2, art. 7; p. 33): “Whether in voluntary acts there is anything indifferent such that it is neither good nor evil generically [in genere] or when concretely specified [in specie]?” The notion that human behavior was morally neutral was a widely held belief in Albert’s own time and clearly traceable back to Peter Abelard, and indeed much further, all the way back to St. Augustine. (The focus of this belief was overt or physical human action; it does not seem to have been as much of a question where inner acts of choice and consent were concerned.) The possibility of ethically neutral zones also remains a perplexing issue in Albert’s own thinking; and a certain imprecision in his writings makes it difficult to disengage an unequivocal solution. When he explicitly raises this question in question 2, article 7, in De bono, he seems to have in mind both the action as generically good (in genere), and also the concrete human act as individuated through circumstances. At this point, it’s worth noting that Albert’s distinction between modalities or stages of human action does not entirely or clearly coincide with the distinction that modern philosophers draw between act-types (i.e., classes or kinds of action as signified by the description, e.g., “feeding a hungry person”) and act-tokens (e.g., John’s real, individual act of feeding a beggar on a cold December night at 8:34). For one thing, although the Latin phrase bonum in genere, which I have translated as “the generic good,” certainly seems to suggest a broad degree of generality in the way in which action may be spoken about, it was also intended, from the time of Peter the Lombard, to identify an incipient level of basic natural goodness in what we do, because there is often a natural fittingness or foundational alignment between the physical activity itself (e.g., the giving of food) and its intended object (a hungry person). Later, this deep-structured aspect of generic good became even more evident in Philip the Chancellor’s analy7. “Est enim consuetudo communius quam mos, quia consuetudo se habet ad bona et ad mala, et ideo consuetudo non excusat, sed mos tantum ad bona, et ideo dicit actum observatum decenter in aliquo tempore....... Et propterea dicitur ex more virtus quam ex consuetudine.”—Super Ethica II, I, 4, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (2), p. 92, ll. 6–20.

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sis when he ingeniously applied Aristotle’s hylomorphic principles of form and matter to the elements in generic good.8 Such a metaphysical reconstruction, however, is neither intended nor implied in the modern conception of action-types. Returning to the De bono, in the text quoted above (from art. 4), Albert seems to recognize three different modalities in human action: (1) the voluntary act as it is brought to bear upon its object (existens super volitum), and which issues from the acts of choice and deliberation (secundum eligentiam et deliberationem). (2) the same act viewed as equally susceptible (possibilis ..... aequaliter) to good or evil (ad utrumque contrariorum). Descriptions (1) and (2) combine to form what he has designated as being “the absolutely first principle in the moral order.” (3) the generic good, the human act as now ordered to one of the contraries, that is, to the good (or to evil in the case of malum in genere). Now, description #2 above would seem to suggest that the “absolutely first principle in the moral order,” unlike the generic good, is indeterminate with respect to good or evil, and therefore morally indifferent or neutral. However, this is also an act that is locked on to a specific object that has already been willed (volitum), and that has issued from will, deliberation, and choice. In other words, well before Albert explicitly poses the question (in article 7) whether there are or can be generic or concrete actions that are morally indifferent, there is already textual evidence that there are or may be morally indifferent actions, or certainly levels of action. Moreover, this way of talking seems to suggest that this mode of indeterminacy may be more than just an abstraction, since his allowance also seems to include specific acts that have already been willed or chosen, and are locked on to an object. Since Albert insists that it is also the absolutely first principle or moment in the moral order, this deliberately chosen yet morally indeterminate act (or level of acting) appears to be contradictory, or something at least verging on contradiction. It is contradictory because (i) Albert will later say that deliberated and chosen acts are morally determinate or spe8. Wicki (ed.), Philippi Cancellarii, vol. 1, p. 330, ll. 97–99.



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cific; and (ii) any real act materially entails an in genere level of morality. Later, in his second commentary on the Ethics of Aristotle, we find similar language, but even less of a distinction between generic good and the abstractly conceived voluntary act brought to bear upon its object.9 The explicit formulation of the problem of moral indifference in question 2, article 7 helps to resolve only some of this confusion. The opening arguments of article 7 preceding Albert’s own magisterial resolution identify two possible kinds of morally indifferent acts: the vain or futile act (vanum), and the useless or idle act (otiosum). A definition of the vain act derives from Aristotle’s Physics: it is that which is performed as a means to some end, but which falls short of that end.10 Now, that which is vain has been condemned by Holy Scripture (Psalms 4:3) wherein it is written (in the Latin Vulgate version), “Why do you love vanity and seek after lying?”; and so this kind of indifferent act ranks among those acts which are sinful. The definition of the idle act is taken from St. Gregory the Great’s Moralia: “The idle act is that which lacks the character of rightful necessity or dutiful service.”11 It too is condemned as sinful in the Vulgate version of St. Matthew (12:36) when Jesus states that “of every idle word men speak, they shall give account on the day of judgment.” On the basis of Holy Scripture, then, it would seem that the so-called morally indifferent acts are really bad actions. Albert is not opposed to this line of reasoning. In his reply he begins with a distinction between the theologian’s position, and that of the moral philosopher.12 According to the Christian theologian, no deliberated voluntary act is morally indifferent because he knows that all our actions should issue from charity, that is, from a love of God. Charity, an infused perfection by which we incline to God, is a universal virtue moving us to the acts of all other virtues.13 The ethician, on the other hand, philosophizing without faith and Scripture to guide him, is ignorant of any 9. In his second commentary on the Ethics, Albert does not distinguish as precisely between bonum in genere, primum bonum, actus voluntarius, primum subjectum, and “bonum, ante quod nihil est de bono moris et sub quo omne bonum moris comprehenditur.”—Ethica I, 1, cap. 6, ed. Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, p. 353, ll. 14–21. 10. De bono, p. 34, ll. 12–13. See Aristotle, Physics II, 6, 197b25–27. 11. De bono, p. 33, ll. 79–80. See Sancti Gregorii Magni Moralium lib. VII, c. 17, n. 58; PL 75, 800c. 12. De bono I, 2, 7, p. 34. 13. De bono IV, 1, 2, ad 23m, p. 227.

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such universal virtue presiding over the economy of the moral life (generale movens ad omnes actus voluntarios). He knows only of a specific number of acquired virtues, each of which has a defined sphere of moral influence. At this level, then, it appears that indifferent natural acts are possible, indifferent because they lack the information of charity. According to Albert, then, scriptural testimony supplies a whole new dimension to the morality of acts of which the philosopher is unmindful, and this is the reference that all human actions, external as well as internal, have to God. “Not everything futile,” continues Albert (p. 34, ll. 36–37), “is condemned [vituperatur] by the ethician, but everything futile is condemned by the theologian”; and so at one point, he classes the futile with the evil.14 The idle act, as defined by St. Gregory, is also an indifferent act, and it too is condemned by the Christian theologian. But in direct contrast to certain contemporary Franciscan authors, notably John of Rupella, Albert, in article 7, goes on to show what the otiosum is not. Now, as Lottin has pointed out, the Franciscan thinkers of this time regarded any act directed to a natural end as morally neutral.15 This is particularly evident in the writings of John of Rupella, who had said that acts which are aimed at the daily necessities of living, such as nourishing one’s self, are neither good nor bad; they are morally indifferent.16 In opposition to this attitude, Albert states that any act directed to the alleviation of our own natural exigencies or the pressing needs of others does indeed have the “character of rightful necessity” (ratio iustae necessitatis), and so it is not morally indifferent. These purely natural exigencies arise from the daily necessities of life and the toil of labor. Hence the activities of eating, drinking, and sleeping are not indifferent since they proceed from natural necessities; they fall within the morally compass. This applies as well to the less-than-necessary comforts of peace and rest, conversation, strolling, singing, and play, all of which dispel tedium and the fatigue of labor. For support, Albert appeals 14. Ad 1m, p. 34. 15. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 486–89. 16. “Indifferens dico quod, secundum se dictum, non sonat in bonum vel malum in moribus; et hic similiter attendendus est finis; ut ire et loqui. Si enim propter malum finem fiat, male fit et male appetitur. Si vero propter bonum, bene. Si vero propter finem naturalem, ut si appeto commedere propter necessitatem sustentationis solum, non est laudabile nec vituperabile; propterea est indifferens.” From the Summa de vitiis, quoted by Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 470 n. 2.



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to a passage in the Nicomachean Ethics (1108a23–27) in which Aristotle treats of wittiness (ευτραπελία) as a virtue. There is yet another very important dimension to this problem of the morality of acts. Albert says that every deliberated action is good or bad: We say that many things are done without deliberation, and these are neither indifferent, nor bad, nor good because they do not fall into the sphere of morality. Whatever things are done with deliberation, however, are good or bad, according as the futile act [vanum] is called evil. (ad 1m, p. 34)

Here Albert is pointing out the cornerstone principle of his rational ethics: reason is the indispensable condition of morality, while a non-rational or non-deliberated act is simply non-moral, that is, neither good, bad, nor indifferent. But as far as we can gather from his words, the futile action is still a deliberated or rational act. It is also an indifferent act whose full significance escapes the ethician, but which the theologian recognizes and so classifies among improper acts. In the realm of natural ethics, then, it is possible to have a deliberated, but morally indifferent, act. The principle that unaided natural reason is what essentially establishes the moral status of all acts is not accepted unconditionally by Albert. In the final analysis, the role of reasoning is found wanting; unlike the universally influential virtue of charity, natural reason does not universally determine the moral character of all our natural acts, and so the reason-principle must be supplemented by the data of the theologian. This opinion, a scripturally based theological insight, remains unchanged in later works.17 It is the one tension point I know of in Albert’s moral philosophy where he invokes a theological doctrine to impose a final resolution to complete or round out a piece of philosophical deliberation on an issue of significant weight. On the other hand, article 7 has done much to clear up the confusion arising from earlier statements made by Albert in article 4. In the latter, when he talked about the voluntary act’s being the absolutely first moment or principle in the moral order without, however, having any moral character or disposition, it now seems evident that Albert was talking not about individual acts, but about an abstraction. We can speculate about the 17. See In II Sent., d. 40, D, art. 3, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 27, p. 631b; “Quaestio de sensualitate et eius motibus,” art. 2, sol., in Quaestiones, Cologne ed., vol. 25 (2), p. 221, ll. 35–39; Super Ethica, Cologne ed., vol. 24 (2), p. 606, ad 3m, ll. 33–35.

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human act as a physical event or entity, logically prior to its supervenient moral properties. Such an abstract consideration, however, is not something that exists that same way in the real order. On the contrary, the first real moral coloring accrues to our behavior as generic goodness, that is, as bonum in genere in which there is a natural proportion between our activity and its object. That generic good is the first real introduction to the moral order. Concerning the intrinsic morality of acts, then, Albert’s theory betrays not only a certain ambiguity, but also a qualified acceptance of the role of reason as an adequate determinant of moral specificity. All the same, it is important to note that Albert is attempting to validate and to emphasize, to a greater extent than any of his predecessors, the purely rational and natural constituents in the morality of human acts. Every naturally virtuous act is a morally good act. Every rational or deliberated act is a moral act—with the added stipulation that futile and idle acts are morally unsuitable. Every generically good act is a morally good act, albeit at a relatively low grade of moral determinacy. In relation to his predecessors and contemporaries, Albert’s position represents a major advance. At the same time, he falls short of St. Thomas Aquinas, for whom every rational act is intrinsically and ineluctably moral (or immoral); and this why Lottin once characterized St. Albert’s position as a “midway point along the route of a strictly natural moral order.”18 Even so, Albert came remarkably close to anticipating the pure position of Thomas. Bonum in genere In De natura boni, Albert has already identified the generic good as the first stage of goodness in the moral order (primum bonum in rebus pertinentibus ad mores). In contrast to the tendency to interpret generic good as a relatively unstable mode that circumstances and intention can just as easily vitiate, Albert is clearly anxious to underscore both its real and conceptual primacy in the moral order. In the same breath, he also links it to the class of events in the universe for which we are responsible: that is, to the class of voluntary acts, words or deeds, of which we are the masters (quorum nos sumus domini).19 These remarks, in an article dedicated to defining bonum 18. “un mi-chemin sur la voie d’une moral strictement naturelle.” PEM, vol. 2, 489. 19. The passage in question (De natura boni II, 1, 1; p. 8, ll. 52–57) and its placement are a striking antecedent to the responsibility-affirming passage in the Prologue to the pars moralis of



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in genere, illustrate Albert’s positive appreciation of this incipient level of morality, and the human’s power to achieve goodness through one’s own free initiative. The primacy of the generic mode is further developed in the same work when Albert identifies it as the subject in which circumstances inhere; and according as either good or bad circumstances obtain, the result will be generic good or generic evil (malum in genere). It is really only at this point that Albert concedes (p. 9, ll. 7–8) the reversibility of generic morality: Unde et bonum in genere potest male fieri, et malum in genere potest bene fieri. In the chapter (pp. 9–10) immediately following these preliminary remarks, Albert, in three short articles, re-applies the same triadic schema that he used when he discussed natural good and its parts, when he asks “how generic goodness manifests itself in the human person, how it is lost, and how it is then recovered” (qualiter bonum in genere se in homine ostendit, deficit et recuperatur). The questions and their order are consistent with Albert’s concession that generic goodness may be vitiated by inappropriate circumstances; and they draw heavily from scriptural quotations and examples. The only really germane philosophical point, however, is found toward the end of this chapter (p. 10, ll. 28–45) when Albert underscores the formative incremental role of many operations in the development of moral qualities (multitudo operum ..... per assuetudinem multorum operum). Like the absolute consideration of the voluntary act, generic good is also an abstraction. This time, however, it signifies this same human act, not as being in a state of absolute moral indeterminacy or equal liability to good or evil, but more positively as something that is already both structurally good, and also disposed to further refinements. In De bono, Albert calls it a “first potency” to the good.20 (The term “potency” indicates that he is also thinking in accord with the principles voiced earlier by Philip the Chancellor.) In both of these earliest treatises, and also in his Scripta super Sententias, Albert refers to generic good as the “matter” and the “materia St. Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae, wherein Thomas proposes to deal “with man inasmuch as he too (like God [et ipse]), is the source of his own operations, having free choice, as it were, and the power to perform his acts [de homine, secundum quod et ipse est suorum operum principium, quasi liberum arbitrium habens et suorum operum potestatem].” Summa theologiae I-II, Prol. (Madrid: B.A.C., 1955), vol. 2, p. 3. 20. De bono I, 2, 4, ad 1m, p. 29.

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circa quam” which, over and above the concept of matter, includes as well reference to the end of the act.21 And in these early works and passages, he repeatedly situates generic good as the “first subject,” which receives and supports the added determinations of circumstance and virtue. In De bono, it becomes obvious that in line with a fleeting suggestion once posed by Philip the Chancellor, Albert thinks of generic good as the material cause of virtue—as that upon which and out of which virtue will grow. To the standardized description of generic good—actus solus super debitam materiam—Albert adds a number of refinements. In this context, the notion of debitum (a quasi-juridical term which can be translated as “fitting” or “suitable” or “appropriate”) is not to be taken in the specific sense of just due (debitum iustitiae), a concept that occurs later in the De bono. On the contrary, the main purpose of these early questions in De bono (and De natura boni) is to render an intelligible account of the nature and genesis of moral virtue. Hence, if the debitum in question were the debitum iuris which derives from justice (as yet uninvestigated), we would be caught in a circular argument by trying to invoke a special virtue in order to account for virtue in general. No, the concept of debitum invoked here connotes a natural fittingness, a proportion between the act and its corresponding material target: for instance, feeding a hungry person, or teaching an ignorant person, or consoling a sorrowful person.22 It is a proportion between two incomplete natures, as it were. Hence as the first degree of moral goodness founded on a proportion, generic good appears as a true instance of the transcendental good which analogically embraces all instances of goodness through a community of proportionality. Conversely, generic evil signifies a “privation” of this proportion. In the history previous to Albert, a certain ambivalence attached to the formula bonum in genere.23 Sometimes it was viewed as a positive perfec21. De natura boni II, 1, 1, p. 9, ll. 1–5; cap. 2, ll. 29–31. De bono I, 2, 4, passim, pp. 28–30; art. 6, sol., p. 32. In II Sent., d. 36, K, art. 6, ad 3m, Borgnet ed., vol. 27, p. 592a–b. For a more detailed discussion on “materia circa quam,” see below. 22. De bono I, 2, 4, ad 8m, pp. 29–30. “Ad aliud dicendum, quod ulterius potentia est ad bonum circumstantiae; sicut et materia inclinata ad formam, non habens eam, dicitur bona per analogiam ad formam ad quam est proportionata; et haec est bonitas incompleta, eo quod fundatur in privatione, cum ordine tamen ad bonum.”—In II Sent., d. 36, K, art. 6, ad 6m, Borgnet ed., vol. 27, 592b. 23. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 464–65.



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tion, the first in a series of moral perfections. On the other hand, it was given an almost entirely indifferent status in which it was regarded as equally susceptible to corruption by intervening circumstances. Both themes are still discernible in De bono (and earlier in De natura boni). Generic good is a first potency, matter, and subject with respect to specific moral goodness. It is the act seen as having a disposition to goodness in the same way that matter is disposed to the reception of form. Albert also admits that it can be reversed and vitiated by the wrong kinds of circumstances.24 However, this possibility of moral conversion by circumstances, from generic good (bonum in genere) to a specifically individual action (malum in specie), does not really reflect its essence: it is more of an accidental property, a by-product, so to speak, of its low degree of moral determinacy. The true nature of generic good is its primacy as a moral subject, and its inherent proclivity to goodness—ad bonum magis quam ad malum. In short, Albert installs a positive emphasis on this century-old concept. The For mal Cause of Virtue: Circumstances In three places Albert dedicates substantial treatments to the role of circumstances in morality and moral reasoning: in De natura boni, the De bono, and the Super Ethica. This undertaking to include a theory of circumstances or differentiating particulars into the ethical literature turns out to be a major step in tracing the question of moral determinacy in the Middle Ages after Abelard’s provocative theory of intention. First invoked in the theological literature by Peter of Poitiers in his gloss (1168 to 1176) on the Sentences of Peter the Lombard, the role of circumstances had 24. One major problem here is that of predication, since there can be a formal opposition between the genus of an act (say, bonum) and the species (malum). See, e.g., De bono I, 2, 5, p. 31, ll. 3–34. Albert’s response is to argue that the genus in bonum in genere should be understood as a first matter or potency, subject to further specification, not as a universal form that is also embedded in specific predications (such as in, say, just or unjust, courageous or cowardly behavior). In other words, “genus” should be taken in a material sense, not in a formal or univocal sense. He is more clear about this in his commentary on the Sentences when he writes: “Ad aliud dicendum, quod bonum in genere, ut supra determinatum est, non dicitur in genere a generali forma includente sub ambitu praedicationis suae species multas, sed potius a prima potentia in moribus: et bonum ex circumstantia non respondet ei ut species de qua substantialiter sine conversione praedicetur in eo quod quid est, sed respondet ei ut determinans potentiam subjecti, quae potuit et bene et male fieri.” In II Sent., d. 40, art. 1, ad 3m, Borgnet ed., vol. 27, p. 625b. See also Ethica I, 1, 6, ed. Müller, p. 353, ll. 15–17.

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progressively come to be recognized in pastoral literature and canon law, then later by church authorities, as important determinants in weighing the sinfulness and the culpability of the sinner. Canon 21 of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) stipulated that confessors must inquire into “the circumstances of the sinner and the sin.”25 Even before that, however, in a different medieval genre, a centuries-long tradition of penitential literature had already been itemizing particular features that individualize the person of the sinner and the culpability of his or her deeds. At the same time, however, the theoretical elaboration of this moral element was wanting: “The penitential literature stressed discrimination between acts and their evaluation in the light of the stated circumstances. But in this literature all these things still remained inchoate and unorganized.”26 Albert’s De natura boni appears to have been the first known instance in which an attempt, more structured and serious than a brief mention or mere enumeration, has been made to incorporate a theoretical analysis of the role of circumstances into a wider moral synthesis. (Phillip the Chancellor had only mentioned circumstances; he had not developed that theme.) At the same time, there are both striking commonalities and differences between this earliest material in Albert’s De natura boni, and the later treatments in the De bono and the Super Ethica, all of which throw into relief Albert’s awareness of the issues at stake and the originality of his theorizing. As with the later De bono, the section in De natura boni on the circumstances (Pars II: De bono circumstantiae) is embedded within the tractate on the “political virtues,” and immediately follows the brief analysis of generic good. It is certainly the longest analysis of circumstances that Albert ever wrote, but also the least cohesive: it runs on for nineteen folio-size pages, including a long review of scriptural examples and four pages on the related concept of voluntariness. Cicero, Boethius, and Scripture figure as the primary sources when it comes to naming and enumerating circumstances, whereas in the concluding four pages on the concepts of the voluntary and the involuntary the influence of Aristotle, the Church Father 25. See D. W. Robertson, “A Note on the Classical Origins of ‘Circumstances’ in the Medieval Confessional,” Studies in Philology 43 (1946): 6–14. 26. Albert R. Jonsen and Stephen E. Toulmin, The Abuse of Casuistry (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 100.



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St. John Damascene (d. 749), and Nemesius of Emesa (ca. 400), whom Albert confuses with Gregory of Nyssa, predominate. The List of Circumstances In De natura boni (p. 10, l. 71) and later in the De bono, Albert attributes to Cicero’s De inventione what was by then a widely circulated list of seven circumstances: the agent or person (quis); the nature of the act, or what was done in the performance of the act (quid); the intent, motive, or reason for the act (cur); timing (quando); place (ubi); the manner of performance (quomodo); and finally the means or instruments involved (quibus auxiliis). In point of fact, this enumeration is found not in Cicero, but in Boethius’s De topicis differentiis.27 Cicero’s De inventione (I, c. 24, n. 34–39) actually itemizes a longer catalogue of circumstances or “attributes” which serve to differentiate the agent (persona) and his or her agency, and the business or work at hand (negotium). Moreover, Cicero himself had not used the term “circumstance.” Rather, within the context of distinguishing between broad philosophical issues or themes (quaestiones), and hypothetical or rhetorical cases (causae), he was concerned with identifying the particulars that enhance the credibility of the rhetorician’s account (narratio). Cicero speaks too of “confirmation” or proof as being “the part of the oration which by marshalling arguments lends credit, authority, and support to our case [causa].”28 The language of “quaestio,” “causa,” and “confirmatio” figures in later history, as well as in Albert’s own treatments. Most of Albert’s treatment in De natura boni is concentrated on the longer Ciceronian schema, including a discussion covering more than thirteen pages (pp. 12–26) of examples drawn from sacred Scripture. Six of the seven Boethian circumstances attributed to Cicero—but not the agent’s identity (quis)—are assimilated to the attributes that differentiate the activity or business at hand (p. 11, ll. 76–79). Near the beginning of his treatment (p. 10, l. 74–p. 11, ll. 1–2), Albert makes an observation that signals a profound shift of direction in circum27. De topic differentiis 1212D, trans. Eleonore Stump (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1978), 89. 28. De inventione, I, XXIV, 34; trans. H. M. Hubbell, Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1969), 68–69.

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stances theory. He quotes Boethius to the effect that the (seven) attendant circumstances give rise to the “rhetorical question” (substantiam rhetoricae quaestionis) understood as evaluative discourse having to do with judgments about praise or blame. “To our way of thinking, however,” writes Albert, “the attendant circumstances bring about the act of moral virtue.” (Secundum nos autem convenientes circumstantiae efficiunt opus virtutis civilis.) The statement, deceptively simple, signals a major shift in theoretical focus from the linguistic domain of judgment and statements to the ontology of moral acts: opus virtutis civilis. Albert is saying that circumstances are not just words, rhetorical qualifiers, that figure in moral arguments or courtroom exchange: on the contrary, the circumstances will now be treated as formal constituents of concrete moral actions, as elements of moral behavior.29 Albert reinforces this change of direction in the next few lines when he distinguishes between two meanings of “person”: for the rhetorician this feature nominates someone who is accused or exonerated in the judgment (quae in iudicium vocatur). For the ethicist, however, “person” signifies the agent who does something that is worthy or base (qui aliquid facit laude vel vituperio dignum). Later, in De bono, Albert will firm up this distinction by distinguishing between circumstances as rhetorical qualifiers, and singularia—real differentiating differences—which attach to human acts.30 In point of fact, these distinctions are the first in Albert’s ethical works— and possibly, I submit, in the history of Western moral theory—to alert us to three possible ways in which the theorist may talk about circumstances, what we today would call the “facts of the case”: 1. as linguistic or rhetorical refinements that inform judgments, legal and otherwise, of blame and praise; 2. as formative elements in the constitution of moral or immoral behavior; and finally, 3. as Aristotle had in mind, conditions that modify the willingness or unwillingness with which we act. 29. This turn is all the more remarkable when we compare it to one of the major directions in modern and contemporary moral philosophy: since at least the heyday of emotivism in the 1940s and 1950s, a great deal of energy has been dedicated to the language and logic of moral discourse, an emphasis just as evident today in, say, Benhabib’s Situating the Self (New York: Routledge, 1992) as it was in the earlier articles and books of C. L. Stevenson in the 1940s and 1950s. 30. De bono I, 3, 1, ad 1m, p. 38, ll. 33–38; I, 4, 4, ad 4m, p. 56.



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In his own treatment of circumstances, Albert adheres to the last two approaches. At the same time, Albert’s statement also signals an ontological shift from the domain of language to the universe of real activity—voluntary or otherwise. The primacy of the specifying and virtue-generating role accorded to circumstances also helps to explain the centrality of prudence in Albert’s virtue theory, since it is prudence that reinforces the judgment’s power to discern the moral identity of real and intended behavior. The catalogue of seven circumstances, widely invoked in the Middle Ages, derives from Boethius (who did speak of circumstantiae), but Albert believes that it derives from Cicero, and in his analysis of each item, in both De natura boni and De bono, he draws almost exclusively from statements and language in Cicero’s De inventione. The Boethian category of agent identity, or who (quis), is the only person-attributed circumstance, but Albert, relying upon Cicero’s ideas and language, analyzes it further into eleven more specific determinants: one’s name or identity (nomen); nature (e.g., nationality, age, gender); one’s manner of living (victus); fortune or luck (fortuna); acquired character (habitus; e.g., knowledgeable, virtuous); feeling, affects (affectio; e.g., joy, greed, anxiety); commitment (studium); counsel or advice (consilium); what will or has transpired (facta); occasion or mishap (casus); and, finally, what is or has been said (oratio). The remaining six categories of circumstance in the Boethian catalogue attach themselves to the work or business at hand. Following Cicero, Albert points out that the first two, namely that which is done (quid) and the “why” (cur), are included within the operation itself and can never really be separated from it, whereas the other four condition its generation (in gestione operis sive negotii). The circumstance “why” (cur; p. 12, ll. 17–20) also carries extra weight because it names a cause (dicit causam). Albert quotes Boethius, saying that “it is the cause of whatever is done, that because of which the deed is done.” This gloss, in conjunction with the earlier statement about circumstances giving rise to the act of civic virtue, supplies yet another indicator that, already in De natura boni, Albert is beginning to think in the direction of a cause-based concept of virtue. With the exception of cur, Albert also subdivides these six non-person categories into more detailed modalities, and continues to rely upon both Boethian and Ciceronian refinements. What is most noteworthy, however, about this whole section which catalogues the circumstances is that while

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Albert’s has much more to say about the ontological structure and ethical function of circumstances in De bono, his detailed enumeration of them in this later work (I, 3, 2, pp. 39–p. 40 l. 47) is a virtually word-for-word copy of that in De natura boni (I, 2, 1 and 2, pp. 11–12). He does not, however, repeat De natura boni’s more than thirteen folio pages (pp. 12–26) of examples drawn almost entirely from biblical examples and quotations. In the De bono, too, Albert is also fully aware of the “circumstances”—really, situational factors or components—itemized by Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics, and which partially coincide with the cluster of seven listed above. However in the two early treatises, he seems to favor the testimony of Boethius and Cicero, and reserves his use of Aristotle’s listing to the treatment of choice (I, 4, 6–8, pp. 54–66). A bit surprisingly, perhaps, Albert’s enumeration of the circumstances in Super Ethica manifests a continuing dependency upon, and preference for, the Ciceronian-Boethian commentary. In the question where he comments directly upon Aristotle’s enumeration, Albert first remarks that the “circumstances” are those features which render praiseworthiness or attenuate culpability; and he then re-applies Boethian and Ciceronian groupings to make Aristotle’s enumeration consistent with the former both in content and number.31 Again he distinguishes between the circumstance of personal identity or agent (persona operantis), and the other circumstances which modify the performance of the act and its object (quid, circa quid, quo [instrumento], cuius causa, in quo [tempus, locus], and qualiter). In point of fact, Aristotle had really enumerated only six conditions, whereas Albert claims seven. Albert does this by collapsing time and place into one category (in quo),32 and by expanding the nature of the act into two: quid (ex parte ipsius actus) and circa quid, which nominates the object of the act. At first reading, then, it might seem that the two theories coincide perfectly. In point of fact, the addition of circa quid adds an important qualification about the moral specificity of acts, and seems to coincide with an earlier notion (in De bono), materia circa quam. There are, however, greater differences in substance and intent between 31. Super Ethica III, 2, 2, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (2), pp. 149–51. 32. He explicitly defends this contraction (in ad 6m, p. 150, ll. 13–20) by arguing that in this type of moral discourse it is enough to make a general determination without getting into all the differences among circumstances (omnes diversitates circumstantiarum).



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Aristotle’s cluster of conditions and the Ciceronian-Boethian tradition of interpretation; and Albert himself seems to have discerned only some of that difference. For one thing, Aristotle does not really speak of “circumstances,” although translations frequently impute that notion to him (and the same is also true of Cicero). Rather, Aristotle speaks of the differentiating features in a particular situation or context (peristasis) in which a singular, concrete act is performed.33 Moreover, the Stagirite’s principal concern with these conditions is not that they determine the moral character of our actions, but rather to argue that ignorance of one or more of these qualifying features results in an act that goes against the grain (akousion). The Ontology of Circumstances In De bono, Albert points out that a better name for circumstances is “singularia” because the ethician (ethicus) is primarily concerned with concrete actions which are immersed in individuating conditions, and not simply with problematic or rhetorical questions.34 Strictly speaking, circumstances are universal or general considerations which are extrinsic to the act, and which give rise to the rhetorical syllogism and question. “Singulars,” on the other hand, are numerically particularized differences that characterize, and attach to, each and any act. One is universal and extrinsic to the act; the other is real and, as we shall see shortly, intrinsic to the action’s moral status. Nevertheless, in apparent deference to traditional usage and probably for the sake of convenience, Albert continues to use the term “circumstances,” in both De bono and Super Ethica, when what he really means is “singulars,” or the differentiating particulars of a situation. Circumstances inform our acts with the being of moral goodness (honestum) or evil (vituperabile). They do not constitute the underlying physical substratum of the human act as such, but they do confer upon it a moral determination, its very moral being and specificity. Hence, although extrinsic to the physical act as such, circumstances are nevertheless the intrinsic components of its morality: 33. See Gauthier and Jolif, L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2, 185–88. 34. De bono I, 3, 1, ad 1m (ll. 33–38), ad 4m, ad 5m, p. 38; I, 4, 4, ad 4m, ad 5m, p. 56. Much the same point is repeated in Super Ethica III, 2, [marg. #166], p. 148, ll. 65–66, when Albert writes that the circumstances are “singular conditions” that surround the person acting or the deed.

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To the first argument, therefore, we say that these qualifying principles [talia] do not give being [esse] to the act inasmuch as it is an act, but rather they give it being insofar as it is good or evil. And for this reason, although they are extrinsic to the act, they are not, however, extrinsic to moral goodness or evil.......35 Circumstances ..... give being to virtue and they are intrinsic to virtue.36

It is clear that Albert draws a line between the act conceived as a psychophysical entity, and its supervenient moral qualities or accidents. This appears to be consistent with those statements discussed earlier in which Albert distinguishes between the voluntary act, abstractly conceived as the absolutely first stage in moral discourse, and the generic good. It is also a position that Albert hangs on to in his Scripta super Sententias.37 In his Super Ethica, however, the distinction between the physical act and the modifications of circumstances is much less clear. While Albert does speak here and there of the “substance of the act” (p. 149, l. 13) and the “substance of the deed” (p. 149, l. 34; p. 150, l. 17), he now seems more intent on distinguishing between the moral species of a human act (which is a function of its having been willed or having issued from [an already] virtuous choice), and the modifications which attach to the act from circumstances. In this regard, his remarks on the roles of two of the circumstances quid and why (cur, cuius gratia) and their relationship to the dominant feature of end (finis) are particularly telling. In De bono, Albert is aware that the circumstance “what” (quid) raises some difficulty.38 Inasmuch as it identifies the nature of the act performed (e.g., adultery, homicide), then surely it intimately connotes the very “substance of the act.” How, then, can it function as a circumstance that only modifies when it already identifies the very substance of the act? In his responses to this line of reasoning, Albert does not unambiguously deny that this one circumstance co-signifies the essence or physical substrate of 35. De bono I, 3, 1, ad 1m, p. 38. 36. Ibid., ad 3m, p. 38. 37. “actus secundum se non ponit potentiam in moribus, sed efficitur extra mores: et ideo non est primum in genere, sed extra genus.” In II Sent., d. 36, K, art. 6, ad 3m, Borgnet ed., vol. 27, p. 592a. In d. 40, A, art. 1, p. 624a, the problem is explicitly raised: “Utrum bonum et malum sunt differentiae constitutivae actionis voluntarie in moribus?” The first initial argument suggests that bonum and malum are “formae substantiales” of the act. Albert, on the contrary, favors a supervenient or accidental moral specificity: “Dicendum quod bonitas et malitiae accidunt actioni” (italics mine). 38. De bono I, 3, 2, #9, p. 40. See the note immediately below.



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an act.39 But this connotation, he seems to be saying, is secondary and indirect. He underscores the fact that what quid really designates is the moral species of the act, that is, the act together with its material object as enveloped in, and specified by, certain circumstances—all of which confer moral reality upon the act (quae dat esse virtutis vel vitii), and which determine the degree of good or evil in our acts (in quantitate boni et mali). That still doesn’t seem to preserve quid’s status as a modifying circumstance. Later, in Super Ethica, Albert will add a number of qualifications which again do not entirely succeed in removing ambiguity. First, he distinguishes between “quid” (still understood as it is in De bono) and circa quid. The latter is the object or immediate target of the act.40 Then, in a highly elliptical text, he makes a remarkable statement. Ad tertium dicendum, quod actus secundum quod consideratur in specie sua, circumstat actum, qui relinquitur ex ipso, et sic est circumstantia, ut dictum est.41

In these lines Albert seems to be saying that the moral species of an act, that is, the act as morally specified (in specie sua) functions in the manner of an enveloping circumstance (circumstat actum) with respect to the core reality of an act which, in turn, remains both outside the moral specification and unchanged in its very substantiality (qui relinquitur ex ipso). This reading, I submit, is supported both by other texts in the Super Ethica,42 and by the earlier statements (already cited) in De bono and Scripta super Sententias. It means, that is, that Albert continues to draw a line between the nucleus of an act conceived as a psycho-physical entity, and its moral accidents, so to speak. Morality is something that accrues to an act, a supervenient quality added on to the nature of an external act. It does not permeate and define the whole act as it does for Thomas Aquinas, for whom the “human act” is through and through “a moral act.”43 At this crucial point, then, Albert 39. I, 3, 1, ad 1m, ll. 24–32. In this text he writes that the circumstance “quid” does not mean the act just by itself, but rather the act clothed in certain circumstances: “‘quid’ non importat actum solum, sed cum quibusdam circumstantiis” (italics mine). See also I, 3, 2, ad 9m, p. 41, wherein Albert’s words “sed potius species” (italics mine) qualifies his denial that “quid” signifies “the substance of the act.” 40. Super Ethica III, 2, marg. #167, p. 149, ll. 73–76. 41. III, 2, ad 3m, marg. #167, p. 149. 42. See, for example, Super Ethica III, 2, marg. #166, ad 3m, p. 149. 43. See Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 482–88; “Les éléments de la moralité des actes chez saint Thomas d’Aquin,” 394–98. Also, I. T. Eschmann, The Ethics of St. Thomas Aquinas (Toronto: PIMS, 2001), 55–56.

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partially aligns himself—obliquely, perhaps inadvertently—with a long theological tradition which tied moral goodness not to human acts as such but to divinely oriented intentions. Good and evil, therefore, attach to the agent and to his actions not so much from the act as such, but from the manner in which the act is performed. In De bono Albert states that circumstances are modes or ways of acting that inform the act with its moral specificity: The being of moral goodness, moreover, derives from the manner [in which the act is performed] rather than from the act itself in such wise that all the circumstances may be called “the manner.” And this is made clear by Aristotle in Book II of the Ethics where he says that “we are not just and temperate because we perform just and temperate acts, but because we act as just and temperate persons act [ut iusti et casti].”44

Albert cites Aristotle to reinforce his point that it is not just the doing of just and temperate acts that makes us to be so, but rather our acting in the manner of those who are already just and temperate.45 Moreover, the “ut” of “ut iusti et casti” in this text signifies the mode of circumstance, and not necessarily the already-acquired habitus of virtue itself.46 Obviously, I do not act already with the virtues of justice and temperance, since it is precisely these qualities whose genesis Albert is in the process of trying to account for. Virtues, at this stage in Albert’s account of the moral life, are not the preconditions of good acts, but rather the result of well-performed acts. (On the other hand, acts which issue from the acquired state of virtue itself are virtuous acts in the fullest sense of the term because they are informed by the virtue in question. In Super Ethica, Albert distinguishes between the imperfect behavior [motus] which precedes the formation of virtue, and the morally perfected actions [operationes] that issue from acquired virtue.)47 Circumstances (singularia, if you will), then, inform our actions with 44. “Esse autem honesti potius accipitur ex modo quam ex ipso actu ita, ut modus appellentur omnes circumstantiae. Et patet per Aristotelem in II Ethicorum, ubi dicit, quod ‘non sumus iusti et casti, quia operamur iusta et casta, sed quia ut iusti et casti.’”—De bono I, 3, 1, ad 1m, p. 38. 45. Ethica vetus II, 3 (Nic. Ethics 1105b7–9), ed. R. A. Gauthier (Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 2, p. 11, ll. 4–6). “Iustus autem et castus est non, qui hec operatur sed et qui sic operatur, ut iusti et casti operantur.” 46. De bono I, 4, 2, ad 14m, p. 50. 47. Super Ethica I, 9, ad 2m, p. 48; lect. 11, ad 2m, p. 58.



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moral specificity when they actualize the potency toward goodness (i.e., the generic good) which is already in these acts. Indeed, it is apparent that in De bono Albert envisages circumstances in the role of formal causes of an act’s morality. This formula has actually been suggested in the opening arguments of one of the De bono articles: “It does not seem that these should be called circumstances, but rather forms of the act....... Therefore, it seems that circumstances constitute the act as a formal cause.”48 In his resolution to this article as well as throughout the De bono and elsewhere, Albert is fully in agreement with this proposal. His only rejoinder is that these circumstances are not the intrinsic causes of the physical act as such, but of its moral complexion.49 That is, they are the formal and intrinsic cause of natural virtue. It is worth adding here, as well, that in describing circumstances as the “modes” or “forms” of our acts, Albert has followed out a line of reasoning first suggested, but left undeveloped, by Philip the Chancellor.50 Later, in Super Ethica, when he directly addresses the issue of whether circumstances contribute anything to the morality of acts, Albert supplies further refinements to the ontology of circumstances. Albert now distinguishes between an act that issues from the state of acquired virtue, and acts that receive their moral determinacy from circumstances only. The first source accounts for the “first being” of a moral act. Circumstances account for its second or secondary being. The distinction is intended to reinforce the Aristotelian theory that acts that issue from an already acquired state of virtue command a higher value and a higher order of formal reality because they are not just done, but are “well done.” The species of the moral act is twofold. One, inasmuch as the act issues from the agent [ab operante], and according as something is said to be well done; and this species of the deed [species operis] derives from the habit of virtue which imposes its formal stamp [modum suum] on the deed. This is the source of the first being [primum esse] of a moral act, and circumstance does not account for this kind of species. There is also another species of the moral act inasmuch it has to do with the judgment of men, and according as the degree of blame or praise varies with those features that manifest themselves extrinsic to the agent or to the business 48. I, 3, 1, #1, #3, p. 37. Italics mine. 49. I, 3, 1, ad 1m, p. 38. 50. “causa formalis, huic enim assimilatur bonum ex circumstantial quae est forma vel modus actionis.” Summa de bono, ed. Wicki, p. 32, ll. 55–56.

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at hand. This species derives from circumstance, and in this there is, as it were, a second being [secundum esse] to the moral act.51

Motive and Intention: cur, cuius causa, gratia cuius As with Albert’s predecessors and contemporaries, De bono also includes the element of cur or “why” within the catalogue of circumstances, and does not hesitate to link it to the agent’s intention.52 (In Super Ethica, following the Latin translation of Robert Grosseteste [cuius gratia, gratia cuius], Albert uses the phrase “cuius causa.”) It is that for the sake of which the deed is performed; and so, as Boethius says, it is a cause of that operation.53 Now, in De bono, Albert really raises the issue of intention only once; this is in answer to an opening argument, and so the treatment is very brief and incomplete.54 He mentions two kinds of intention. First, there is a “simple intention” which sets up an end, but which does not take into account the quality of the means or of the end itself, or the proportion between the two. This, Albert says, is a “foolish intention” (intention stulta). The other kind of intention is one informed and directed by faith. This is the theological notion of intention prevalent in Albert’s time and before, and whose inspiration is scriptural. Indeed, Albert’s argument (#10, pp. 40–41) refers to a passage from the Glossa ordinaria on Matthew’s Gospel (12:35), which says that “a good man draws his goodness from his heart’s store of goodness.” The treasure in a man’s heart, continues Albert, is his intention, and it is this which determines the degree of moral goodness or evil in our acts, and which God will judge. Is no other kind of intention conceivable? The issue at stake, once again, is the reality and degree of natural moral goodness in the moral theory of Albertus Magnus. Does Albert admit to an intention which, though not informed by faith, is nevertheless able to determine the value of some end 51. Super Ethica III, 2, sol., Cologne ed., marg. #168, p. 150. 52. “Similiter ‘cur’ dicit intentionem agentis.”—De bono I, 4, 4, #3, p. 54, l. 44. Regarding Philip the Chancellor’s doctrine on this point, see chapter 3. 53. “‘Cur’ autem dicit causam, ut dicit Boethius, quod ‘ea est uniuscuiusque facti causa, propter quam factum est’, ut parentem occidit, ut solus haereditatem possideret.”—De bono I, 3, 2, p. 39, ll. 80–83. 54. I, 3, 2, ad 10m, p. 42; #10, pp. 40–41.



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and the relationship of the means to the end. Surely the fact that thinkers of antiquity recognized and used the circumstance cur, which Albert himself seems to equate with the term “intention,” would suggest that in his mind he does not exclude the possibility. Yet, with special reference to this passage, Lottin believes this is absent from Albert’s thought.55 The brevity of this treatment in the De bono is significant. For a complete analysis of his theory of intention, Albert refers us elsewhere, namely to the as yet unwritten treatment in Book II of his Scripta super Sententias. This seems to indicate that, in his mind, the notion of intention is primarily theological: it is one informed by charity and faith, and so is out of place in the present discussion. To invoke the traditional concept of intention would nullify the purpose at hand: namely, to render an account of the genesis of natural virtue. Then, too, in a later section of the De bono, he states that the natural virtue may be distinguished from the theological perfections on the basis of natural and supernaturally orientated intentions.56 Even so, the concept of a natural intention remains an understated theme in all of Albert’s dedicated moral treatises. It is scarcely mentioned at all in Super Ethica. The reason, as I shall indicate shortly, is that Albert is most concerned to underscore the role of end (finis), which is not a circumstance, and its dominant influence upon the will; and his choice of concepts and language reflects this. To his mind, the circumstance “cur,” precisely because he sees it as something extrinsic to the moral species of an act, does not seem to command enough heft to bind the will to its end. For that very reason, it also remains, in Albert’s thought, an ambiguous concept whose constitutive role is both unfinished and uncertain. Must all the circumstances coincide in the formation of virtue, or does one suffice without the others? In answer to this problem, Albert leaves no doubt that all the appropriate circumstances are involved, although one or more of them may play a predominant role.57 At this point he credits Ar55. “Les vertus morale acquises, “ 33. 56. V, 4 (De iustitia speciali), 2, p. 301, ll. 66–70. In his Commentary on the Sentences, Albert admits to a natural intention: “Ad aliud dicendum, quod in tali actione sunt duae actiones morales, licet una sit naturaliter: et quoad diversas sui partes ab intentione diversimode informatur: est enim in moribus intentio principaliter movens: et cum ibi sunt duae intentiones, sunt duo moventia, et ad duo moventia [read: ab duobus moventibus] sequuntur duae actiones.”—In II Sent., d. 40, D. art. 1, ad 5m, ed. Borgnet, vol. 27, 637a. The same approach had already been taken by Philip the Chancellor: Summa de bono, ed. Wicki, p. 327, ll. 7–9; 338–39. 57. De bono I, 3, 1, ad 6m, p. 38. See also I, 5, 1, ad 22m, p. 74.

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istotle and Pseudo-Dionysius with the following doctrine: virtus est ex una tota et sola causa, vitium autem omnifariam. Virtue results from a unified convergence of all the elements or causes required, whereas the corruption or defectiveness in any one of the attendant conditions suffices to bring about evil. The wording of this principle is not only an amalgam of statements by two different authors; there is also a distortion in vocabulary.58 Pseudo-Dionysius had said that the good is characterized by a wholeness or entirety with respect to its contributing causes. This part of the larger principle reflects the strong influence of neo-Platonism in Albert’s thought at this phase of his career; and it is also consistent with Albert’s own conception of the good as a virtual or potestative whole. In the present context, Albert ties the principle down to virtue which is a specific kind of goodness. In Albert’s mind, then, virtue presupposes a convergence of all the appropriate circumstances. Up to this point in the De bono, Albert has analyzed the intrinsic causes of virtue. In their real and concrete settings, circumstances attach to and inhere in the generic good (bonum in genere) as in their primary subject. The same kind of affinity that generally unites act to its correlative potency obtains here as well. As formal or modal elements proportioned to the potency of the act, circumstances endow it with moral determinacy. The goodness which results from this fusion or “undividedness” is the specific goodness of virtue. (The same ontological structuring obtains in the order of evil or vicious behavior, but Albert’s focus is always on the good. Besides, it only takes one defective circumstance to undo and thereby vitiate the elaborate architecture of goodness.) At the same time, we need to remind ourselves that these stages have 58. The formulation of this principle, usually attributed by Albert to Dionysius, is really an amalgam of Aristotelian and Pseudo-Dionysian vocabulary, although the thought is genuinely Pseudo-Dionysian. The complete statement of the Pseudo-Dionysius reads: “Bonum ex una et tota est causa, malum autem ex multis and particularibus.”—De divinis nominibus IV, trans. Johannes Saracenus; Dionysiaca, ed. Ph. Chevallier (Paris: Desclée de Brower, 1937), vol. 1, 298–99. The other half of Albert’s quotation is found in the Ethica vetus VI, 1 (Nic. Ethics II, 5, 1106b35), Gauthier ed., p. 14, ll. 12–13: “Boni quidem enim simpliciter, mali autem omnifariam.” This particular fusion of Aristotle and Pseudo-Dionysius may also be found in Albert’s last work. See Summa theologica I, tr. 6, qu. 27, memb. 3, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 31, p. 278b; II, tr. 22, qu. 138, memb. 2, Borgnet ed., vol. 33, p. 464a. Whereas Pseudo-Dionysius speaks of the good and evil in general, however, Albert specifically applies the principle to virtue.



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been treated as abstractions. Since generic good and its modifications are distinguishable aspects of the moral act, we are justified in abstracting them from their proper concrete setting in order to give each a separate distinct consideration. In reality, however, what these abstractions signify exist only as integrated components of the individual act. The “Matter” of Virtue in De bono In De bono’s general metaphysics of the good (see chapter 5), Albert had made it clear that any account of the genesis of goodness must also include efficient and final causation. The final cause, as an object of desire, moves the efficient cause which, in turn, moves the matter to a reception of forms. Question 4 of Tractatus I, which is dedicated to an analysis of efficient causes of virtue, shows clearly that Albert is adhering to this principle. (At the corresponding point in the earlier De natura boni, there are weaker indicators of this direction.)59 Article 1 (pp. 43–46) of question 4, however, contains a discussion of what he calls the “matter of virtue” (materia virtutis). Since he has already treated of the generic good which is described in terms of “matter,” one might be surprised to see the same term and issue cropping up again. As it turns out, however, the formula “materia virtutis” in its present context is a far more comprehensive and richer notion than that used to describe the generic good. Furthermore, this article has also been prompted by certain statement in the Ethics of Aristotle in which it is said that acquired virtue has to do with pleasure (voluptas, delectationes) and pain (tristitia).60 If such is the case, then virtue should be situated and studied in reference to these connatural passions. But since these, in turn, are really the proper domain (materia) of fortitude and temperance, this would seem to limit the definition of moral virtue to only these two, thereby excluding at one blow the directly rational qualities of 59. In De natura boni, in his short introductory remarks (p. 26, marg. #59, ll. 13–17), Albert announces that there follows a discussion of the voluntary and the involuntary, choice and deliberation. “These,” he writes, “are the causes of the deed to which virtue attaches.” In his analysis of “voluntary,” he again voices the causal motif: “Dico autem ‘principium’ efficientem et causam operis, quod est ipse operans” (p. 28, ll. 74–75). 60. “Circa voluptates enim et tristicias, est consuetudinalis virtus.”—Eth. Vetus II, 2 (Nic. Ethics, 1104b9–10), Gauthier ed., p. 8, ll. 17–18. “Dico autem consuetudinem. Hec enim est circa passiones et operaciones.” Ibid., II, 5 (Nic. Ethics, 1106b16–17), p. 13, ll. 22–23.

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prudence and justice from the moral life.61 Some sort of clarification is needed. In the formula “materia virtutis”—materia circa quam is also used as a near equivalent—not one, but several distinguishable factors are welded together. It comprises the following features: (i) the act’s appropriate object (materia debita), which we have already encountered in Albert’s discussion of the act at the level of generic good (bonum in genere); yet over and above this it also includes (ii) reference to the agent’s motive (intention) and the end; and (iii) man’s appetitive powers together with their concomitant feelings of, say, pleasure and pain.62 “Matter of virtue,” then, is not just some mode of raw indeterminacy or low-grade potency. Rather, it is now meant to co-signify the formal specificity that accrues to an act from circumstances, from the proximate end intended and from the targeted object—so that by virtue of all of these, the act is understood to be a naturally specified human event. While materia circa quam is scarcely mentioned in Super Ethica, Albert does say there that this comprehensive notion “is somehow a formal principle in morals [et sic quodammodo est principium formale in moribus].”63 From these passages, too, Albert appears to be very close to the spirit of Aristotle. In their magisterial commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Gauthier and Jolif64 point out that for Aristotle (and the ancients) it was the individual case (περίστασις), the concrete situation in its radical singularity, that interested them, and not simply detachable circumstances, abstractly considered. Albert, we have already seen, along with most other medievals, however, also tended to conceive of circumstances in the plural, and as incidental features or accidents that attach to and modify the human act, but which, at the same time, are also generalizable in both rhetorical arguments 61. This is the argument proposed in De bono I, 4, 1, #2, p. 44. 62. De bono I, 4, 1, sol., pp. 44–45. “Ad aliud dicendum quod in veritate finis in moribus includitur in materia.”—II, 2, 3, ad 3m, p. 102. “Ad tertium dicendum, quod virtutes et vitia differunt per materiam, quae est finis intentionis.”—I, 5, 2, ad 3m, p. 77. “Ad aliud dicendum, quod materia, quae tantum est materia, non distinguit virtutes vel vitia, sed materia, quae est finis potentiae, sicut est appetitus vel pars appetitus; finis enim in moralibus potissima forma est, ut dicit Socrates.”—III, 4, 3, ad 3m, p. 192. “Sed materia circa quam frequenter est principium congnoscendi rem, praecipue in actibus animae, in quibus materia non tantum est materia, sed etiam finis.”—I, 2, 4, sol., p. 29. See also III, 2, 2, ad 1m, p. 137; II, 2, 4, ad 6m, p. 105. See also references below in note 66. 63. Super Ethica V, 2, ad 5m, Cologne ed., p. 312, marg. #367, ll. 25–26. 64. L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2 (1959), pp. 185–88.



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and philosophical analysis. Even so, Albert’s repeated application of materia virtutis and materia circa quam indicates a close kinship with Aristotle in his attempt to identify and to conceptualize the morality of actions in their situation of radical singularity. It’s also worth adding that De bono’s repeated application of the comprehensive materia formulas is an innovation. In De natura boni, there is little if anything to suggest that Albert thinks of matter as anything more than the proportionate object of the deed.65 There is no indication, that is, in his first work that he yet thinks of the term “matter” as comprising any of the embedded formal or teleological (finis) specifiers that he is later willing to include in De bono and Super Ethica. In the solution to De bono’s article 1 (of question 4), Albert explains that all acts and powers of the soul are distinguished by their corresponding objects. This is no less true of virtuous actions. The proximate object of the moral act is its moving cause or terminus (movens, finis), and what it does is to specify the indeterminate movement-to-goodness of the will that energizes any act. The element of finality—the most decisive feature of morality—dominates this entire network. Necessarily, bare matter without reference to end would fail to adequately differentiate human acts and their proportionate qualities. In this way, the terms “obectum,” “finis,” “opus,” “materia,” and “materia circa quam” are all intended to convey the same function of moral specification.66 In most cases, the end or terminus is simply the operation itself as virtuous; in the case of justice, we are later told, it is a result (operatum) distinct from the acting.67 Regardless of the type, it belongs to the very nature of these object-ends to specify and essentialize the kind of virtue attaching to each singular act.68 Now, our external actions are performed through bodily organs, and at the same time they are accompanied by affections or feelings (passiones) of pleasure and pain. These actions and their concomitant sensations issue directly from the sensible soul, that is, from the irascible and concupiscible 65. De natura boni, p. 9, ll. 3, 29–33. At most, the phrases “id circa quod” and “[ad materiam] circa quam operamur” are intimations. 66. De bono II, 1, 3, ad 1m, p. 90, l. 89–p. 91, l. 2. “Ad aliud dicendum quod in omni diffinitione passionis propriae et actus materia accipitur ut differentia constititutiva et formalis....... Et similiter est de actu, qui esse suae speciei et naturae ut a complemento accipit a materia, circa quam est.”—ibid., ad 2m, p. 91. 67. V, 4, 7, sol., p. 306. 68. I, 4, 2, sol., p. 49, ll. 42–46; ad 15m, p. 50, l. 70.

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powers of the human soul. Hence, Albert agrees with Aristotle that virtues may also be situated with respect to the passions, and pleasures and pains (circa passiones, circa delectationes et tristitias). At the same time, such statements, taken simply as they stand would not adequately define the scope of virtue since they ignore the other factors involved, especially a reference to the primary factor of final cause.69 Over and above the mere notion of passion, as we have seen, one must take into account the end or object of these appetitive powers, and indeed the entire complexus as signified by the term “materia.” Hence, because the specification of natural moral virtues is not satisfied merely by their reference to the passions, then by speaking analogically (differenter) we may say that the prudence and justice are also referable to them.70 In the De bono, then, the “matter” idioms are comprehensive formulas intended to circumscribe virtue in its real and concrete setting. They signify, to put it simply, a synoptic picture of the virtuous act in all its moral relations. Instead of connoting merely one aspect or facet of the moral act, the matter formulas suggest a totality of factors. Now, it is from its nature as just such an integrated convergence, and not merely from this or that particular element, that the human act derives its determination as a virtuous event. In this way, the architecture of virtue reflects the conditions of totality, convergence, and integration that characterize the Pseudo-Dionysian theory of the good: And blessed Dionysius agrees in Chapter 4 of On the Divine Names in saying that “the good is constituted by a total and single cause, but that evil originates omnifariously.” This is understood to mean that the reality of virtue requires all the circumstances together with the end, harmonizing with the act as it is brought to bear upon its proportionate object. For evil and vices, however, all that is needed is the corruption of any one of them by itself.71

The formation of virtue entails all the interlocking circumstances and the end which are proportioned to the act. This is consonant with the statement of Pseudo-Dionysius, and so aligns itself with the Albertinian vision of the good as something whole, integral, and complete. At this point, too, Albert’s account of the intrinsic causes or determinants of virtue is more or less complete. 69. I, 4, 1, ad 8m, p. 46. I, 5, 1, ad 22m (= ad 23m), p. 74, ll. 42–47. 70. I, 4, 1, ad 2m, p. 45. 71. I, 5, 1, ad 22m, p. 74.

chapt e r 7

the genesis of virtue Extrinsic Causes

By situating the virtuous act in a much wider context, article 1 (tr. I, qu. 4) of De bono undertakes to show how the formation of moral goodness rests upon a plurality of converging elements: the act itself, the (proximate) end, circumstances, the powers of man’s soul, and the accompanying sensations of pleasure and pain. The account of the genesis of virtue up to this point, however, has dealt with only two intrinsic causes. Given Albert’s metaphysics of the good, a complete examination must also include the active or efficient causes of morality, and the final cause (however we interpret this latter cause). The remaining seven articles of question 4 are devoted to an analysis of the efficient causes of virtue. A cautionary word, however: the term “extrinsic” does not mean outside the moral agent, but rather contributing causes which in some sense are extrinsic to the strict outlines of human action itself. Even here there is some equivocation: end (finis), as we shall see, is both extrinsic (as something intended, and not yet existent) and also intrinsic since, as something envisioned, it is internal to the formal structure of the intended act. At the corresponding point in his earlier De natura boni, immediately after his enumeration of the circumstances, but still within the section on circumstances (Pars II: De bono circumstan-

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tiae), Albert had announced (p. 26, ll. 13–17) that he will now deal with the concepts of the voluntary and the involuntary, with choice and the chosen (de prohaeresi et prohaeretico), with deliberation (de consilio et consiliabili), and with the will.1 “For these,” he writes, “are causes of the deed [causae operis] to which virtue relates.” This short announcement of intent marks Albert’s first excursion into moral psychology. It is no less important to note that these inner events and acts, by virtue of their placement, are viewed by Albert as both circumstances that condition our moral behavior, and also as causes of that conduct. While Albert had not yet explicitly adopted his causal model of virtue theory, it seems that the rudiments of this framework are already prefigured in this early work. The seminal status of this earliest treatment is also evident in at least one other respect: at only one-fifth the length, this section in De natura boni both doctrinally and philosophically is far less developed than the parallel section in De bono. The inclusion of this material at this particular juncture in the De bono (and also in De natura boni) is a philosophical innovation. In the traditional Augustinian-theocentric conception of virtue, with its emphasis upon the exclusively divine origin of what deserves to be called “virtue,” no such causal explanation was ever envisaged. Albert, however, is concerned with moral qualities acquired through our own natural efforts, and so the integration of these reflections within his general doctrine of virtue is both necessary and consistent with his purposes. In De bono’s long article dedicated to the proximate efficient cause of virtue, five positions are posited which would call for a direct supernatural intervention to explain the cause of natural virtue.2 In his resolutions, however, Albert outlines the natural setting and origin of moral virtue.3 It is directly and immediately caused by the exercise of human acts (ab opere). Within our nature lies an innate power or ability to develop these moral qualities. The capacity is innate, not the full-fledged virtue itself, which must be cultivated by a repetition of acts.4 In the solution to article 2 (p. 49), Albert goes on to add that this purely natural ability to generate virtue should not be conceived as something purely material and passive. Over and above the material aspects of nature, one must acknowledge the agentic features 1. Regarding these terms, see below. 3. Ibid., sol., and ad 1m–ad 4m, p. 49.

2. De bono I, 4, 2, #1–#5, p. 47. 4. Ibid., ad 6m, p. 49, ll. 74–78.



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in the production of virtue: right choosing (eligentia recta) and will. Quoting from Ethica vetus, Albert also invokes right reason (recta ratio), which is the correct discernment of the virtuous mean as we act within or from affective promptings (in passionibus). In other words, our inherent capability to perform virtuous acts ultimately stems from our powers of reason, will, and choosing.5 Hence, he concludes (p. 49, ll. 15–17), nature is not only a material or passive power, but in some ways it is also the efficient cause (in potentia efficientis) of virtue. (In the opposite case of involuntary behavior brought about by violence, the source itself would still be no less causative: “factiva causa, hoc est causa efficiens et cogens....... causa efficiens est extra compellens” [p. 52, ll. 85–86, p. 53, ll. 1–2].) In the same place, Albert goes on to say that the efficient cause of virtue is the operation seen in its dynamic activity (in agere) and not simply in its physical being (in esse) since this substratum, at least abstractly conceived, is really outside the moral order.6 A helpful analogy is that of manual laborers, who develop the particular limbs they use in their work to greater and stronger proportions than other men. So too in the case of virtue: its most efficacious cause (potissima causa) will be that immediate power of the soul which is called into play. Operations by their very nature (secundum rationem quae quid erat esse) issue in virtue.7 On the other hand, the bare exercise of actions without conscious attention to the particular conditions or circumstances involved would not really be an immediate efficient cause of virtue (ad 14m, p. 50). At most it could only be called a remote cause. As we shall see shortly, such actions would, to a certain extent, be involuntary by reason of such inattention or ignorance. Hence, just as the formal cause of virtue presupposes the material cause, so too the human operation itself, if it is to function as an adequate and direct cause 5. At this point in his career, St. Albert distinguishes between reason, will, and free choice (liberum arbitrium) as distinct powers. In De bono, he is not that much concerned with liberum arbitrium as such, let alone its psychological nature, but rather with the act of choosing—eligere, electio—which he tells us (p. 227, l. 51) is an act of liberum arbitrium, and which he views as the direct and immediate agent of virtuous action and virtue development. For related references, see note 20 below. 6. See chapter 6, notes 36 and 37. 7. I, 4, 2, sol., p. 49, ll. 42–46. (The phrasing “quae quid erat esse” is a Latin transliteration of Aristotle’s deep-structured determinant or form: to ti en einai. See J. Owens, The Doctrine of Being in the Aristotelian Metaphysics (Toronto: PIMS, 1978), 181–88. “Opus enim causat virtutem secundum sui essentiam”—De bono I, 4, 2, ad 15m, p. 50, l. 70.

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of virtuous behavior, presupposes the collaboration of the formal cause or circumstances. Within this context of moral generation, virtue is clearly situated as a potestative whole.8 Now, in any virtual whole no one part is a sufficient cause. Rather, the first part or constituent is necessarily presupposed by a second, and so on. It is, as Albert writes, in potency to subsequent augmentation: semper prior materialis ad sequentem. Hence, in the generation of the virtues many distinct acts are required. From the first operation there accrues to the soul a certain trace-disposition; and likewise this disposition is in potency to augmentation by a second, and so on. In itself, a disposition lacks the stability and permanence of a virtuous habit (ad 10, p. 50); it is easily displaced (facile mobile). Yet by a process of moral metamorphosis, many successive dispositions metabolize into a firmly anchored disposition or habitus. No definite number of operations can be assigned to this cumulative development. The first two articles of question 4 (tr. I) clearly manifest and reinforce Albert’s causal approach to virtue analysis. At the same time, they underscore the development that distinguishes this treatise from the earlier De natura boni. While intimations of the causal approach to virtue theory, and its material arrangement, are discernible in the earlier treatise, there is nothing like the sophistication and theoretical refinements of the De bono. The Remote Efficient Causes of Virtue So much for the proximate efficient cause of virtue. In Albert’s attempt to circumscribe the agent’s efficient causality in the moral order, the next step is to ascertain what he calls “the remotely efficient causes of virtue.” Such causes are remote because, as in the case of voluntariness9 and deliberation, they precede—if not temporally, at least logically—the human operation itself that directly issues in the formation of virtue. In his preface to this section, Albert observes that since human operations are voluntary, then it behooves us to analyze this notion of voluntariness.10 This can be 8. I, 4, 3, ad 9m, ad 15m, p. 50. 9. In my treatment of Albert, I use the terms “voluntary” (voluntarium) and “willingness” interchangeably. Not so in the case of Aristotle. 10. Tr. I, qu. 4, p. 50, ll. 79–89.



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thrown into relief by starting with negative considerations, that is, by contrasting it to that which is involuntary. Articles 3 and 4 (of question 4), therefore, deal with the two modes of unwillingness; article 5 establishes the positive nature of voluntariness. In this way, De bono follows roughly the same order, and many of the same issues and authorities, as found in De natura boni. The treatments in the De bono, however, are more ample and authoritative, the arguments and counterarguments much more philosophically informed and sophisticated, partly by virtue of their disputedquestion inspiration. A word of caution, however, regarding the language of voluntary and involuntary, and certain related concepts in this section. The term “voluntary” derives from the Latin word for will (voluntas) conceived, at least in the Christian era, as the inclinational or appetitive part of the higher or rational soul, and therefore of a more generalized and higher scope than mere sensual desire. It is this part of the human psyche to which freedom attaches or within which free action is rooted. Now, Aristotle is frequently cited in this context, and even the best English translations of Nicomachean Ethics (e.g., Ostwald, 1962; Rackham, 1956 [1926]) continue to use the terms “voluntary” and “involuntary” to translate his words hekousion and akousion. Even so, it is important to understand that, within his moral psychology, Aristotle does not have a will-backed theory of the voluntary. His discussion (especially Book III) has rather to do with situational features—violence, compulsion, ignorance of the particulars of a situation—that mitigate or impede our moral agency. Aristotle’s discussion is not about psychologically grounded willingness, let alone free will. This is why Gauthier, in his meticulous commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, translates hekousion as “de son plein gré,” and akousion as “malgré soi.”11 In English, for the first term, we might say “heartily” or “gladly” or “with good heart” or “with one’s consent”; for the akousioin, on the other hand, we might say “in spite of one’s self ” or “against the grain,” or “reluctantly.” It is misleading, then, to impute to Aristotle willful and against-our-will behavior. Simply put, Aristotle’s concern is not freedom or free choice—although it is tempting for 11. I rely here upon the interpretations of R.-M. Gauthier, La morale d’Aristote (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1963), 24, 40–43; Gauthier and Jolif, L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2, pp. 188–89, 194. See also Martin Ostwald’s comments in Nicomachean Ethics, trans. M. Ostwald (Indianapolis, New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1962), 52, n. 1.

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us to read that in anachronistically. Rather Aristotle’s focus has to do with conditions and extenuating circumstances whereby, had they been otherwise (in the case of involuntary acts), the agent could have, might have, or would have acted otherwise. The clue to such counterfactual possibilities is the reluctance, grief, or remorse that the agent experiences when he or she performs involuntary acts, and the presence of agreement or alacrity when the agent performs voluntarily. But it is not about freedom or free choice as the Christian medievals understood it. At the same time, it is not at all surprising that Albert himself would use “voluntarium” and “involuntarium” in this regard: Ethica vetus uses these very words, and so too does the later complete translation of Robert of Lincoln. Also, Albert does indeed have a developed concept of the will as part of his moral psychology, and he applies it generously in his theory of human action and personal freedom.12 Returning to the ensuing discussion (in De bono), Albert continues to rely heavily upon the Latin text of Aristotle, but also upon the words and commentaries of John Damascene and Nemesius of Emesa (whom Albert confuses with Gregory of Nyssa). There are two forms of unwillingness, writes Albert. Some acts are involuntary by reason of an external violence or compulsion worked upon the agent by an external force, without the agent’s cooperation.13 In the solution to article 3 (pp. 52–53), Albert also states that the external source (principium) in such violence is still the productive and compelling cause of the behavior (factiva causa, hoc est causa causa efficiens and cogens....... causa efficiens est extra compellens), and that the element of non-cooperation signifies the collapse of the moral agent’s own will and desiring with respect to the behavior in question (prolapsum propriae voluntatis vel concupiscentiae ad opus). Aristotle had also distinguished between the voluntary in terms of attendant affects: voluntary acts deserve our praise or blame, while involuntary acts result in regret (in the person acting), and compassion or forgiveness in others. Albert is certainly clear about this (p. 51, ll. 51–54), but in the De bono these pairs of criteria appear to feature a little less prominently than they do in De natura boni (p. 26). 12. See P. Michaud-Quantin, La psychologie de l’activité chez Albert le Grand (Paris: Vrin, 1966), 134–66. 13. De bono I, 4, 3, pp. 51–53. On p. 52, l. 83, add nihil between extra and conferente. See also De natura boni, pp. 26–27.



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Acts can also be involuntary by virtue of ignorance.14 The ignorance in question is an ignorance of the circumstances or singular determinants of the act. This may also be called “ignorance of the fact” (ignorantia facti) according as the deed is taken in its real setting, and as including the particular circumstances in which is it is immersed.15 Albert also distinguishes between this kind of ignorance and other forms of ignorance (mentioned by Aristotle) which do not result in involuntariness. The other kinds of ignorance Albert acknowledges (p. 26, l. 80–p. 27, l. 24) are: ignorance of circumstances which does not result in grief and regret when the agent later discovers the true situation (as when a man, in the darkness, mistakenly sleeps with someone not his wife, but who, with the morning’s discovery, does not experience regret); ignorance in one operation that is brought about through improper behavior of another kind (e.g., drunkenness); sinful ignorance of what one really ought (to know enough) to choose and desire; and finally, ignorance of the law. The last two are the kinds of ignorance that Aristotle says characterize the wicked person who has arrived at that state by choice, and who is morally unredeemable.16 Having outlined the kinds of involuntariness, Albert then undertakes to define the voluntary (I, 4, 5, pp. 57–59). Though he continues to allude to John Damascene and Gregory of Nyssa (really, Nemesius of Emesa), the wording of the definition that Albert relies upon derives from Ethica vetus: “The voluntary appears to be that whose source lies within the agent himself who recognizes the circumstances in which the act takes place.”17 In this definition two primary conditions are singled out. First, the moving principle must lie within the agent himself, thereby escaping the impediment of the act which is exteriorly coerced. Second, the agent must be cognizant of the circumstances, and in this way the act avoids unwillingness through ignorance. At the corresponding passage in De natura boni (p. 28, ll. 78–79), and apropos of the cognizance feature, Albert had written that the voluntary agent is one who would have “full and singular knowledge 14. De bono I, 4, 4, pp. 54–57; De natura boni, pp. 27–28. 15. De bono I, 4, 4, ad 9m, ad 10m, p. 57. 16. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1110b28–34. See also Gauthier, La morale d’Aristote, 39–41; Gauthier and Jolif, L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2, 182. 17. “voluntarium videbitur esse, cuius principium in se ipso cognoscenti singularia in quibus operacio.”—Ethica vetus I, 3 (Nic. Ethics, 1111a22–23), Gauthier ed. (Aristotles Latinus, 26, 1–3, fasc. 2), p. 26, ll. 24–24.

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of all the causal factors [omnium causarum] involved.” And immediately after those words, he then alluded (ll. 82–86) to Augustine’s Retractions, in which it is suggested that the voluntary means acting from “one’s own deliberate and conscious will” (voluntas propria et deliberative et consciens). Albert’s Concept of Choice (prohaeresis, eligentia, electio) Having outlined the meaning of voluntary and involuntary, De bono then announces (p. 59, ll. 19–25) three more questions specifically centering on the difference between the voluntary, and choice and deliberation: the first question deals with choice and the chosen (de prohaeresis et prohaeretico), the second with deliberation (de consilio et consiliabili), and finally the third with the distinction between these and the voluntary, and whether will is the sufficient cause of virtue (et utrum voluntas sufficiens causa sit virtutis). Behind this last theme lies the unmistakable specter of the conventional Augustinian-theocentric vision of virtue and the primacy of will. The sequence of materials also reflects a movement from the remote or background features to the more immediate causes of virtuous behavior. Once again, the ensuing treatment is far more developed than the parallel section in his earlier work. De natura boni (p. 29, ll. 13–23) had supplied only a paragraph which amounts to little more than a glossary. In that short passage, Albert equates the Greek “prohaeresis” with “right choosing” (eligentia recta), and the “prohaereticum” with that which has been well chosen (quod recte electum). The right kind of choosing, in turn, means selecting that which has been diligently sought out through deliberation (quod per consilium disquisitum est). Accordingly, that which can be deliberated (consiliabile) and the choosable (eligibile) are the same, but not simultaneous (idem ..... sed non sunt simul), since deliberation precedes choice. Finally, Albert calls right reason (recta ratio) that which acts according to what is right or lawful (ius) and in accord with virtue (secundum rationem virtutis). Except for a brief sequence of examples (p. 29) drawn from scriptural sources, this section in De natura boni is immediately followed by the general analysis of natural virtue. In De bono, however, Albert now realizes that these notions require more unpacking. Since we are primarily concerned with virtue, which is



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a species of the good, broad considerations about the will and the general notion of willingness (voluntarium) are insufficient. We need greater understanding of the catenation, as it were, of the individual acts which precede the formation of virtue. Voluntary goodness (bonum voluntarium), which is the object of the will, lacks determination; it is the good as such, the good absolutely conceived in abstraction from any particular type or instance.18 The particular acts of deliberation and choice which more immediately issue in virtuous operations also have this good ultimately as their end, but not as their immediate and proper objects. Rather, these latter acts are directly ordered to particular instances of the good, i.e., the means to the end. In talking about choice, Albert uses the Greek term used by Aristotle (prohaeresis) and its Latin translations as found in the Ethica vetus— “eligentia,” meaning literally “choosing.”19 In De bono (and also in De natura boni), Albert has very little to say about what was at that time in the thirteenth century becoming a popular formula to describe free choice, namely liberum arbitrium—a power that Albert views as distinct from both reason and will, although drawing upon the energies and functions of both.20 Instead, he refers the reader to his earlier and more elaborate treatment in the De homine, written just shortly before De bono. In his present focus upon the genesis of natural virtue, Albert seems perfectly content to rely upon the language of Aristotle, without unnecessary repetition of, or entanglements in, some of the more complex structures (and arguments) laid out in De homine’s moral psychology. Later, in his commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, however, he will refer more frequently to liberum arbitrium. Suffice it to say that in the present context, and following the definition of Aristotle, choosing or choice (electio) and deliberation (consilium) have three essential characteristics:21 From the perspective of its object, choice has to do not with the perceived end as such, but rather with particular 18. De bono I, 4, 8, sol., p. 65, ll. 64–65. 19. Albert equates these terms p. 59, ll. 29–30. 20. For fuller treatments, see C. McCluskey, “Worthy Constraints in Albertus Magnus’s Theory of Action,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 39 (4): 491–533. Also: Michaud-Quantin, La psychologie de l’activité chez Albert le Grand, 149–57; O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 1, 119–27; F. M. Drouin, O.P., “Le Libre Arbitre dans l’organisme psychologique selon Albert le Grand,” Études d’histoire littéraire et doctrinale du XIIIe siècle, 2nd series (Paris, 1932), 91–120. 21. De bono I, 4, 6, sol., p. 61.

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intermediate instances of the good, with those things that are debatable means to the end, and not even all questionable means (dubia), but more precisely those which reason discerns as being helpful in the pursuit of the end. Second, from the perspective of the power or faculty, if we think of the Aristotelian feature of desire in an extended fashion, then choosing also comprises a kind of willing (pro quadam voluntate) in the sense that under the aspect of usefulness it selects one from several possible means to the end. A third essential characteristic of choice is that we are the masters of these actions: actus quorum nos domini sumus.22 In all of our natural ethical behavior, we are sufficient agents. In this respect, however, we need to distinguish between acts and their resultant habits.23 We are masters of habits at their inception. Since it is impossible to ascertain just how much of an increment each operation makes to the formation of a habit, then we are to a certain extent “involuntary” in their possession. That, as we shall see, is because virtues and habits act as second natures disposing us to act in certain ways. The Final Cause of Virtue: finis, felicitas Up to this point, Albert has identified the material, formal and efficient cause of virtue. What does he have to say about the final cause? Even though there are indications that a treatment of the final cause of virtue was to be included in De bono, no distinct section or treatise dedicated to this mode of causality is to be found.24 The notion of finis, however, appears often enough in this moral treatise (and in his commentaries) that we are able to formulate at least a notional understanding of its meaning in Albert’s theory. In chapter 5, we saw that the good analytically includes a reference to end: of its very nature, the good is that which is desired, that toward which we incline in various levels of appetition. The notion of end, therefore, is 22. Ibid., p. 61, l. 31. See also I, 4, 2, #12, p. 48. Aristotle himself writes: “Operacionum quidem enim, ab inicio usque ad finem domini sumus, congnoscentes singularia.” Ethica vetus III, 8 (Nic. Ethics, 1114b31–32), Gauthier ed., p. 36, ll. 16–17. John Damascene is also quoted as a source of this statement: De bono I, 5, 7, #5, p. 62, ll. 56ff.; I, 4, 7, ad 4m, p. 64, ll. 23ff. 23. De bono I, 4, 8, ad 5m, pp. 65–66. 24. “Consequenter quaeritur de bono virtutis politicae....... Quorum primum est de virtute, secundum autem est de fine et perfectione virtutis, quae est felicitas.”—De bono I, 4, p. 43, ll. 3–5.



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necessarily analogical, and so as flexible and relative a notion as the good itself. Within any particular order or perspective, it always connotes that which is ultimately willed or desired: finis appellatur ultimum volitum in quocumque.25 In general, writes Albert, we can distinguish two kinds of final causes: a proximate or immediate natural end (finis naturae) which is intended in any one act, and the remote or ultimate end intended by the agent in all, or in a series of acts.26 This is true both of the order of nature as well as of the moral order. In the latter, we have already seen that the proximate end or object coincides with what has already been identified as the “matter of virtue” or material circa quam, the human act seen in all of its dynamic circumstantial complexity, which specifies and differentiates the various virtues and vices and their actions. (Later, in Super Ethica, Albert explicitly ties together end, intention, and form as an immediate intrinsic cause. He says that “although the end is external inasmuch as it is an end, nevertheless it is still an intrinsic cause insofar as it is form because form and end come together as one [concidunt ad unum]” [italics added].)27 Another distinction, partially overlapping the first, is that of “end of the deed” (finis operis), and “the agent’s end” (finis operantis).28 “End of the deed” signifies the immediate object or terminus of a particular action. In the case of generically good deeds, it would be the proportionate object (debita materia) of the act in question (e.g., the relief of a person’s hunger through the operation of giving food). In some cases, such as adultery, an act is generically evil, and regardless of the agent’s motive or other circumstances it can never be made good because the “end of the deed” is itself something inherently evil. The agent’s end, in contrast to the deed’s end, usually connotes a more remote or ultimate goal. Virtue, according to Albert, may be regarded either as the end of the act or the agent’s end depending upon which way we choose to view it. It becomes apparent that, in many ways, the concept of the agent’s end is more closely aligned to the intention with which the theologians had traditionally concerned themselves. The deed’s end, however, more closely aligns itself with Aristotle’s concept of an act’s inherent worthiness-as-an25. I, 4, 7, ad 13m, p. 64. 26. I, 4, I, sol., pp. 44–45. 27. Super Ethica III, lect. 9, ad 1m, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), p. 186, ll. 76–79. 28. De bono I, 2, 6, ad 6m, p. 33.

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end, which he believes is a necessary condition of virtuous behavior. It is primarily this inner teleology that seems to feature so conspicuously in Albert’s account of the specifying function in materia circa quam. De bono also includes sporadic indicators of Albert’s conception of man’s remote and ultimate ends: happiness in this life (felicitas viae) and supernatural beatitude in the next. I will discuss these later, in chapter 13, in which I deal with Albert’s concept of final ends. So much, then, for Albert’s account of the genesis of natural moral virtue. The next question, question 5 of Tractatus I, is an inquiry into the essence of virtue in general. The preceding articles, beginning with bonum in genere and ending with considerations of choice and deliberation, are clearly a sustained attempt to render an intelligible account of the natural origin of the acquired virtues. This undertaking is a striking innovation in the light of its absence in pre-Albertinian moral treatises. The Augustinian definition of virtue which attributed genuine virtue to a divine infusion, as well as the entrenched tradition of theocentric-virtue theory built on it, made such an inquiry appear pointless. St. Albert, however, clearly distinguishes between the order of humanly acquired virtues and those which are divinely infused.29 Since the acquired virtues are prior in nature to the latter, and since they can accrue to the agent through his/her own agency, an investigation into their origin is in order. The inquiry is causal, and in this way conforms to the principle, earlier established in his general metaphysics of the good, that any account of goodness must be framed in terms of the four Aristotelian causes. A Possible Boethian Connection It is possible, too, that Albert’s methodology in his treatment of the elements of morality and virtue may have been reinforced as well by his reading of Boethius’s De topicis differentiis.30 In Book II, where Boethius is discussing the relationships between definition, description, substance, 29. In Super Ethica III, lect. 6, pp. 169–70 (marg. # 190), Albert raises again the question whether we might be the causes of good deeds. He vigorously insists that we are fully capable of generating natural goods—bonum in genere, virtue and virtuous acts—through our own powers. He says, too, that it is false to claim that we can do so only through infused and superadded grace because we have the power of free choice, which is not determined to choose only the good. 30. PL 64, 1173–1218. Boethius’s De topicis differentiis, trans. Stump.



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terms, and the various topics along which we may organize and facilitate arguments, he singles out causes.31 More specifically, in certain kinds of argument the four Aristotelian causes (i.e., moving or efficient cause, end, form, matter) become “topics,” thematic linkages as it were, which structure the discussion about substances or the elements (species and genus) that make up their definitions. What is especially noticeable is that in this section, Boethius alludes several times to the cardinal virtues as examples to make his point. Next is the Topic which is called from causes....... Here is an argument from efficient cause. For example, if someone wants to show that justice is natural, he might say: the society of men is natural; the society of men produced justice; therefore, justice is natural....... Again, from the end....... If it is good to be happy, then justice is also good; for it is the end of justice that he who lives according to justice be brought to happiness. (trans. Stump, p. 53, ll. 8–33)

Several paragraphs before that (trans. Stump, p. 51, l. 15–p. 52, l. 8), Boethius had used the virtues, both singly (natural justice) and collectively to exemplify the process of arguing from the genus (virtue) to an accidental property that can attach to that genus (the advantageousness of justice); and from genus (virtue) to parts or species (justice, courage, temperance, and wisdom) of that genus being habits of a well-ordered mind. In both cases, genus (in this case, virtue) is akin to or analogous to what Boethius defines as being material cause, i.e., “that from which something comes to be or in which it comes to be” (trans. Strump, p. 51, ll. 5–7). In short, the topic of causes or “from causes” is a recognizable and sound form of discussion or argument; and virtue theory is easily assimilable to it. My point here is not that Boethius is the principal, let alone the immediate, inspiration behind Albert’s distinctive synthesis of the moral elements of human action into a causal grounding of virtue. That methodology has already been posited in Albert’s theory of the good, and inspired by Aristotle’s theory of causes; and the framework was more or less suggested— in outline only—by statements in Philip the Chancellor’s Summa. Besides, Boethius’s treatment of virtue in the framework of the four causes is nothing at all like what Albert will later produce. My point, rather, is that Albert’s Aristotelian-inspired causal grounding of virtue may have been or was reinforced by passages in De topicis differentiis in which Boethius speaks about 31. PL 64, 1187D–1189D; trans. Stump, 50–53.

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certain forms of argument that also draw upon Aristotle’s theory of causes, and which use examples drawn from classical virtue theory. Whether such reinforcement was consciously operative is moot since Albert, in the relevant sections of the De bono, does not refer to these same passages in Boethius’s Topics. But Albert does refer to different sections of De topicis differentiis in other parts of the De bono. Quite simply Albert knew and used this work, and may have been encouraged by it, more than his allusions suggest, to combine virtue theory with the four causes. Elements traditionally included in medieval moral treatises from the time of Peter the Lombard fall into Albert’s causal framework. Generic good (bonum in genere) and circumstances emerge as intrinsic causes of virtue. Intimations of this doctrine, to be sure, are found in Philip the Chancellor, but the consecutive and unified elaboration originates with Albert himself. For the first time, too, room is made in De bono (and before then, in De natura boni) for distinctive treatment of the role of circumstances in moral theory. A new treatise is also dedicated to the efficient causes of virtue. Here the inspiration is evidently Aristotelian, and Albert relies heavily upon the doctrine and language of the fragmentary Latin versions of the Nicomachean Ethics. (The incompletion of De bono robs us of a promised treatment of the remote final cause of virtue.) This whole sequence within De bono, as well as parallel sections in De natura boni, underscore the differences between Albert the Great and his immediate predecessor, Philip the Chancellor. Philip, it is true, had mentioned a possible division of the good based on the four causes. In contrast to Albert, however, Philip opted for a divisional treatment of the good based on a hierarchical series of forms or levels of goodness. The result of Albert’s causal account of natural moral goods, on the other hand, is a tightly knit, strikingly original synthesis of traditional, neo-Platonic elements and Aristotelian principles culminating in the perfection of natural virtue. Virtue, a particular instance of goodness, necessarily presupposes a total integration of its contributing elements. In this way, it accords with the Albertinian conception of the good as a potestative or virtual whole. Finally, Albert’s inclusion of such themes as voluntariness and choice as causal requirements in the generation of moral goodness highlights Albert’s reclamation of human agency in a way that simply was not evident in prior history. In a word, the entire synthesis is demonstrably humanistic.

chapt e r 8

the concept of virtue

Defining Virtue Article 1 of question 5 of De bono begins an inquiry into virtue in general. Albert proposes (p. 67, ll. 4–5) to deal first with the definitions of virtue, and second, with how these definitions apply to the individual virtues. In point of fact, question 6 (pp. 79–81) extends the issue of applicability when it poses three more queries about why there are four virtues, why they are called “cardinal” or “political” virtues, and about the “order” among them.1 In De natura boni (pp. 30–31) Albert had catalogued ten definitions of virtue, six of which were drawn from St. Augustine. In this earliest of Albert’s treatises, there is also a very close dependency upon Philip the Chancellor: all of these definitions are found in the Chancellor’s Summa de bono, and the first eight are listed in exactly the same order.2 The opening lines of De bono’s article 1, however, present four commonly cited definitions: two are Augustinian, another is from Cicero, and the fourth is almost an exact version of the Latin Aristotle.3 The De bono’s more par1. At the corresponding section (Pars III) in De natura boni (p. 29, ll. 83–85), Albert framed a broader, less finely tuned sequence of questions about the political or civil virtues in three parts: virtue in general, the four civil virtues, the parts of those four virtues. 2. Cf. Summa de bono, ed. Wicki, vol. 2, 525–26. 3. De bono I, 5, 1, p. 67, ll. 7–18.

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simonious selection of definitions indicates growth in the precision and critical insight of Albert’s later thought. The first definition in De bono clearly situates all virtue as a supernatural gift: “Virtue is a good quality of mind by which one lives aright, which no one uses badly, [and] which God effects in us without our help” (virtus est bona qualitas mentis, qua recte vivitur, qua nemo male utitur, quam deus in nobis sine nobis operatur). Though traditionally attributed to him, we know this definition to be a collage of words and phrases from St. Augustine.4 It is doubly distorted since it repeats (with the words “sine nobis”) Peter of Poitiers’s notion that God’s intervention really excludes our input (sine homine), thereby underlining the human agent’s moral impotence. Albert realizes that this is a definition of infused virtue, and that it does not authentically depict the naturally acquired virtues in their correct setting.5 At the same time, however, this definition was sanctioned by tradition. Indeed, since the mid-twelfth century, it had been the standard entry point in most discussions of virtue, but one which had led to a confusion of natural with supernatural virtue, and which had also fostered an attitude that minimized, ignored, or negated the natural virtues. Why, then, even bother to cite this definition? Albert may have begun his analysis of virtue proper with this Augustinian-theocentric definition out of deference to tradition. Most treatises on the virtues in this period of the Middle Ages began this way. It is more likely, however, that Albert’s primary purpose was both strategic and dialectical: by restricting this definition to the infused virtues, he could then set it aside, and proceed more effectively to throw into relief the special status of natural virtue. Moreover, the Augustinian definition’s reference to bona qualitas adds to its usefulness since it is absent from the other three definitions, and yet the phrase is necessary for an understanding of the metaphysics of virtuous habits. The notion of “quality,” writes Albert (ad 4m, p. 72), serves to situate virtue in its broadest genus, while the term “good” supplies the specifying difference. The last two definitions offered by the “philosophers” Cicero and Aristotle strike more closely to the heart of natural virtue. Cicero’s formula 4. For references, see chapter 3, notes 11 and 12. 5. De bono I, 5, 1, sol., p. 71; ad 9m, p. 73; ad 41m, p. 76. See also Super Ethica III, 6, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 169–70.



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emphasizes its status as natural habit in accord with reason: “Virtue is a habit of mind in harmony with reason and the order of nature” (virtus est animi habitus naturae modo [atque] rationi consentaneus).6 Similarly, in his definition, Aristotle also underlines the role of reason: “Virtue is a voluntary state of character lying in a mean, the mean relative to us, this being determined by reason and as the wise man will determine it” (virtus est habitus voluntarius in medietate consistens quoad nos, determinate ratione, et ut sapiens determinabit).7 But because Aristotle includes the notion of the mean (medietas) suitable for each individual, his definition, more than the others, discloses the very quintessence of virtue.8 The De bono’s controlled selection of definitions also seems to have been calculated to instruct in stages. Each highlights one or more of the significant features of virtue. At the same time there is a progressive unfolding in the precise determination of what virtue is and its peculiar type of goodness. We begin with its generic depiction as a “good quality.” The second definition of St. Augustine—“virtue is the order of love” (virtus est ordo amoris)—designates an ordering function within the affective domain. Cicero then defines it as a habit conforming to reason. Finally, its distinctive mode of goodness is established by Aristotle: it is the goodness of a choice-enhancing, voluntary habitus which informs the performance of an act, and which bears the imprint of reason and wisdom. The Metaphysics of Virtue Albert makes it clear (p. 71, ll. 73–76) that the good that we predicate of virtue is not simply the physical good (bonum naturae), or the “generic good” (bonum in genere), which is still a relatively indeterminate level of goodness, but rather “the formal good, which is absolute goodness and is quintessential to virtue” (bonum formale, quod est honestum et est substan6. Rhetorici Libri Duo qui vocantur de inventione II, 53, 159, ed. Ed. Stroebel (Leipzig, 1915), 147b. Trans. H. M. Hubbell, Cicero De inventione. 7. The definition given by Albert is virtually identical with that of Ethica vetus, Gauthier ed. (Aristoteles Latinus 26, 1–3, fasc. 2), p. 14, ll. 14–16 (Nic. Ethics II, 6, 1106b36–1107a1). My use of the term “voluntary” applies to the Latin “voluntarius,” and is not intended to translate Aristotle’s “προαιρετική.” 8. “Quarta vero [definitio] data est de virtute consuetudinali cuius in ea tangitur genus proximum et efficiens principale et quiditas substantiae.”—De bono I, 5, 1, ad 41m, p. 76. See note 31 below.

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tiale virtuti). Since the very nature of the good is its inherent attractiveness, the honestum is the most authentic instance of goodness because, as Cicero says, it is that which is desired for itself and not simply because of its usefulness.9 The honestum is that which is sought out for itself, as an end; and this is how we should think of virtue.10 It is this kind of good-in-itself or unqualified good which is predicated of virtue, and partly what Albert intends by the expression “bonum formale.” In developing this point, Albert says that the honestum is a potestative whole having parts.11 Now, since in any potestative whole the power and excellence (potestas) of that whole is predicated of any of its parts, it follows that virtue, which is a particular instance of the honestum, is also a kind of absolute goodness and so something desirable in and for itself. As an instance of goodness, virtue may be thought of in three different perspectives: as an end, as a means to some more ultimate end (i.e., happiness), and as the effect produced by some antecedent good.12 This last alternative clearly refers to the complex of features, including suitable circumstances and the generic good, which contribute to the formation of virtue. That it should be called an end is consistent with its nature as an intended good, as something inherently worthy and desirable. Even though we may view virtue in two different perspectives, as an end and as a means, there is no contradiction involved when we predicate both absolute good and usefulness of virtue. On the contrary, the useful good is itself a virtual part of the honestum, and so must necessarily reflect in some way the honestum.13 There is another distinguishing note: the goodness of virtue is necessarily rooted in the difficulty that we experience in the performance of mor9. I, 5, 1, #1, p. 67. See Cicero, De inventione II, 52–53, 157–61, trans. Hubbell, pp. 324–29. In 53, #159 (Hubbell, pp. 326–27), Cicero situates the cardinal virtues as parts of the honestum. It is worth adding, too, that Cicero, even in Albert’s commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, exercises a strong, sometimes dominant influence on how Albert conceptualizes the good of virtue and its parts. 10. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 3m, p. 72, ll. 51–53. 11. I, 5, 1, ad 1m, p. 72, ll. 21–26. 12. Ibid., ad 2m, p. 72. “Bonum enim, ut dicit Dionysius in libro de Divinibus nominibus, si perfectam rationem boni habere debeat, tria debet habere, scilicet, quod sit a bono, et in bono plantatum, et ad bonum.” Summa theologica II, tr. 16, qu. 102, memb. 2, Borgnet ed., vol. 23, 259b. 13. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 7m, p. 72. See also II, 2, 4, ad 1m, p. 104. See De IV coaequaevis IV, qu. 35, art. 3, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 34, 532b.



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ally good acts.14 These two notions—virtue and difficulty—cannot be dissociated. Virtue by definition is a dynamic operative perfection inclining us to the highest excellence (optimum), and the highest moral excellence is precisely that which is won with the greatest difficulty.15 Difficulty in another sense of the word helps to distinguish virtuous trait (habitus) from mere disposition. In this second meaning of the term, “difficulty” now designates not the arduousness we experience in acquiring virtue, but the tenacity with which virtuous traits inhere in us.16 Dispositions and habits share in the same mode of being (i.e., quality), and so they cannot be said to differ in this way. But a disposition, since it is a relatively shallow stage of moral development, is characterized by easy displacement (facile mobile). A virtuous habit, on the other hand, since it has been reinforced by repetition of the same species of act over a longer period of time, inheres more tenaciously in the human powers. It is characterized by firm adherence (difficile mobile). Yet even though distinguishable, these two modes of adherence are not opposed: the development of a disposition is a first stage in a career path which necessarily precedes the full-fledged virtue. Virtue is a compound of several factors, and so goodness is not the only element discernible in its makeup (tamen bonum not est totum esse virtutis).17 We must also take into account its being (ens) with which the good is convertible. Now, as the definitions have already stipulated, the mode of being proper to virtue is that of quality (ens qualitatis), and in a general definition of virtue, the term “quality” designates the genus, while the term “good” supplies the specifying difference.18 As a qualitative being, then, virtue is formal perfection. Moreover, the Cicero definition with its reference to “modo naturae” affirms virtue’s close kinship with form or nature: just as the form channels or specifies the natural movement of any one thing, so too virtue determines the soul’s power to act in accordance with the mean. Virtue, that is, informs the power with a sure-footedness 14. “omnis virtus radicetur in difficili et laborioso”—De bono I, 2, 6, sol., p. 108, ll. 14–15. See also I, 6, 3, p. 81, ll. 53–58. 15. “Cum enim virtus sit circa delectationes et tristitias optimorum operativa et optimum est, ubi est difficillimum”—I, 4, 1, ad 4m, p. 45, ll. 78–80. 16. I, 5, 1, ad 25m, p. 74. Also, I, 4, 2, ad 10m, p. 50. 17. I, 5, 1, ad 3m, p. 72. In this text, between numquam and accipiatur (l. 48) insert the following addendum: est totum esse secundorum, et ita est de bono. Si vero bonum. Also, habet (l. 62) should read habeat. 18. Ibid., ad 4m, p. 72; ad 25m, p. 74.

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and control in action more compelling than that of art or reason, so that under the guidance of its proportionate virtue this same power will move unwaveringly toward its object amidst a network of real circumstances.19 Hence, a virtue by its very nature is tendential. When speaking of prudence, Albert admits that we are not so much compelled to perform good actions by a mere knowledge of what is good as by the virtuous habit of prudence itself, “which inclines like a nature having art” (quod inclinat sicut natura habens artem).20 The agentive language repeatedly enlisted by Albert to describe the role of virtue—“perfective,” “operative,” “inclining,” “moving nature,” “virtue moves like nature”—clearly shows that to his mind these interiorized perfections are anything but static ideals: they are dynamic operative forms inclining the moral agent to moral excellence.21 As effectively caused by voluntary acts, virtue somehow retains an imprint of the will’s ontological bent toward goodness. Albert quotes from the Latin Aristotle to the effect that virtue is a “certain kind of will or something involving will” (voluntas quaedam vel non sine voluntate).22 Hence, when casting about for an authentic Aristotelian definition of fortitude, Albert, who is at a loss to discover an exact definition in the Stagirite’s own words, defines it agenticly simply as “operating for the sake of the good” (operans gratia boni).23 No less than the power of will, reason too is indispensable in the formation of virtue. Though both reason and will are rightfully distinguished as different human powers, they cannot in reality be divorced. As immaterial powers of the soul, they compenetrate in the exercise of every human act.24 19. Ibid., ad 17m, ad 18m, ad 19m, p. 73. When talking of the virtue of temperance, Albert says that its rule is more certain than the imperium of reason.—III, 1, 1, ad 38, p. 121. 20. IV, 1, 1, ad 2m, p. 219. 21. “virtus sit circa delectationes et tristitias optimorum operativa”—I, 4, 1, ad 4m, p. 45, ll. 78–79. “Est [prudentia] habitus voluntatis inclinans ad opus.”—IV, 1, 2, ad 19m, p. 226. “Virtus enim dicitur secundum quod est habitus perfectivus virium animae”—V, 3, 6, sol., p. 304, l. 90. “virtus operatur ut natura.”—IV, 1, 6, ad 2m, p. 243. “virtus per se inspicit medium ut natura movens et inclinans ad actum.”—II, 2, 8, ad 5m, p. 111. 22. I, 5, 1, #23, p. 69, ll. 52–54. This claim from the Latin Aristotle is quoted again by Albert in IV, 1, 1, #1, p. 217. Aristotle, Ethica vetus, Gauthier ed., p. 12, l. 7 (Nic. Ethics II, 5, 1106a4): “Virtutues autem voluntates quaedam, vel non sine voluntate.” “Voluntates” is the Ethica vetus’s Latin rendering of προαιρέσεις. Concerning the relationship Albert draws between voluntas and virtus, see ad 27m, ad 28m, ad 29m, pp. 74–75. “Ad aliud dicendum, quod velle generale est in omni virtute, sed tamen determinatur per materiam et potentiam, cui imperat, sicut irascibilis et concupiscibilis a voluntate, sed ordinantur a ratione.”—II, 2, 5, ad 3m, p. 106. 23. De bono II, 1, 1, p. 82, l. 34. 24. “Et sic ratio practica reducitur ad appetitum, et illius appetitus inquisitivus est de fa-



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Albert’s use of the word “reason” in reference to virtue, of course, always means practical reason, not merely speculative reason; and practical reason, as that which is directed to doing, always entails volitional impetus. Now, if we just consider them in themselves and abstractly, then virtues are certainly non-thinking or “irrational” natures. This is equally true of man’s lower sensible powers, the irascible and the concupiscible, in which fortitude and temperance reside respectively. On the other hand, inasmuch as these powers and their proportionate virtues have been brought into line with the ruling power of intellect in man, these lower powers and their virtues in some way may be said to participate in reason.25 This, Albert suggests (ad 13, p. 73), is what Cicero means when he describes virtue as a habit which is commensurate with reason. It is by reason of the subject in which they inhere that these same virtues are said to be in accord with reason. This too is what Aristotle intends when he remarks that we are not good or bad by nature, and that we are not praised or blamed with reference to the passions as such, but rather according to our acquired states of virtue or defect, and the manner—rational or irrational—in which we exercise these passions.26 It is true, as already said, that virtue guides our acts to moral goodness with the sureness of nature. Yet this supervenient accuracy, as it were, presupposes the inspection and rule of reason; for it is precisely this power which selects the end and discriminates among the manifold circumstances surrounding our actions.27 The imprint of reason left on virtue is reinforced time and time again by the repetition of deliberated acts of choice which serve as the immediate efficient causes of virtue. There is continuity between the agent’s acts of reason and his moral acts, and so the rule of reason is “transumed,” as it were, into the very fiber of virtue itself. It comes as no surprise, then, when Albert characterizes (ad 14m, p. 73) virtue as a sort of “derivative right reason” (ratio recta per effectum). Still, to speak of reason in general when defining virtue is not enough. ciendo vel non faciendo.”—I, 4, 7, sol., p. 63. See also IV, 1, 1, ad 1m, pp. 218–19; art. 2, ad 24m, p. 227; De homine, qu. 65, art. 2, ad qu. 2, Borgnet ed., vol. 35, 551b. 25. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 5m, p. 72, ll. 75–79. In Super Ethica I, 16, sol., Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 85, ll. 20–32, Albert writes that when a lower power is conjoined with a higher, the lower power is rendered more efficacious (efficacior, potentior), even with respect to its own proper functions and objects. 26. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 23m, p. 74, ll. 35–50. Ethica vetus, Gauthier ed., p. 11, l. 24–p. 12, l. 13 (Nic. Ethics II, 4, 1105b29–1106a10). 27. De bono II, 2, 8, ad 5m, ad 6m, ad 7m, p. 111.

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Moral virtue issues not simply from reason, but from reason informed by moral wisdom. Indeed, virtue cannot be divorced from prudential reason because it is prudence that determines both the end and the intelligible structure of each virtue.28 This is why there are really no natural virtues unless there is also prudence. However, one should not be too hasty in concluding that it is circular reasoning on Albert’s part to invoke a specific virtue in order to account for all the virtues, including prudence itself. In the first awakening of human moral activity, practical reason, unarmed by the full-fledged virtue of prudence but innately disposed to it, provisionally assumes the role as best it can. The pivotal role of prudence continues to unfold in article 1 of the next question, question 6 (pp. 79–80). The purpose of this article is to legitimize the number of cardinal virtues traditionally set at four. Albert regards previous attempts to justify this number as unsatisfactory. Any intelligent person, he remarks with a mild note of scorn, could easily refute them.29 He then undertakes to supply a more plausible argument. The virtues, says Albert, are perfections inhering within the powers of the human soul. One of these powers—reason—is the ruling member; the others are subordinate to it. Because of this ascendancy, the order of reason (ordo rationis) is imposed upon the subordinate powers. Therefore, reason which rules ultimately has the same reference (materia) or terminus as the other powers, i.e., the human moral act.30 Now, in the practical moral order, the rule of reason is determined through a consideration of the good. More specifically, it is focused upon a distinctively human kind of goodness, the mean which is found in the passions and their acts, or in relation to some external person or negotiation in the case of justice. Prudence is that moral quality which first of all fortifies practical reason in establishing the mean. Its primary role, writes Albert (p. 80, ll. 34–35), is to identify the mean: ostendens medium. Justice, a second perfection of reason according to Albert, preserves the mean in our right negotiations with others. At the level of the concupiscible and irascible passions, the mean is realized in the perfections of temperance and fortitude respectively. The order of reason, which is a practical knowledge of human moral goodness, is concretely realized when 28. IV, 1, 3, ad 12m, p. 232; art. 6, ad 7m, p. 244, ll. 38–41. 29. I, 6, 1, p. 80, ll. 18–20. 30. Ibid., ll. 24–26.



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translated into the mean. Abstractly viewed, the mean is virtue; in the real order, the mean constitutes, and so is, the morally good act. Since each of the other virtues depends upon prudential reason for the determination of its own medium, the rule of prudential reason ultimately pervades the entire economy of the virtuous life at all its different levels of activity. Natural moral goodness, therefore, can neither be, nor be understood, except in relation to this basic notion of the mean. The inspiration, of course, is obviously Aristotelian. With the Stagirite, Albert agrees that the quintessence of virtue is this aspect of medium or medietas.31 Virtue, by its very nature, is geared toward the act, and it directly mediates in the operation. Reason is too remote a factor, so to speak, to assure unwavering rectitude in the performance of difficult acts. But virtue, with the firmness of a nature, serves to bridge the gap between the judgments of right reason and our individual actions. As intimately inhering in the powers of the soul, virtue is immediately present to the operation and, more efficaciously than unaided reason, ensures that the agent will do the right thing.32 Each virtue within its own proper sphere embodies the rule of reason. Virtue has repeatedly been characterized as belonging to the genre of honestum—that which is inherently worthy, good without qualification. (This is a notion that Albert and others of his time drew from Cicero in order to describe the good of moral virtue.) Consistent with this is Albert’s conception of the primacy of the mean as a state of positive goodness. That is to say, even though flanked by extremes of excess and defect, it is in relation to the mean that the extremes of evil are measured and determined, and not vice versa.33 This relationship is unilateral. Evil is basically negative in origin: it consists of a recession or retreat from the perfection 31. “Omne enim bonum consuetudinis substantialiter existit in medietate.”—I, 5, 1, ad 30m, p. 75. “intelligitur medium quoad nos, et hoc est de substantia virtutis.”—ibid., ad 31m, p. 75. See also ad 34m, ll. 46–48. Aristotle: “Ideo secundum substanciam et ratiocinem que quid est esse significat, medietas est virtus. Secundum autem perfectum et boneum extremitas.”—Ethica vetus, Gauthier ed., p. 14, ll. 20–22 (Nic. Ethics II, 6, 1107a6–8). Albert quotes this passage from Aristotle in #32, p. 70. 32. See, for example, De bono III, 1, 1, ad 38m, ad 39m, p. 121. 33. I, 5, 1, ad 22m, p. 74; II, 1, 3, ad 13m, pp. 91–92; I, 5, 2, ad 2m, p. 77. Aristotle’s theory of the mean is still widely misunderstood and misapplied. See Stanley B. Cunningham, “Getting it Right: Aristotle’s ‘Golden Mean’ as Theory Deterioration,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics 14, no. 1, 5–15. It is important to appreciate that the language used by Aristotle when describing virtue as a mean or midpoint is metaphorical: see Gauthier, La morale d’Aristote, 64–70; Gauthier and Jolif, L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2, 142–51.

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of the mean. The formation of the mean, on the other hand, is positive in character, and is achieved independently of the extremes. It results, as we saw, from a concurrence of compatible factors, including right reason and sound choice. To suggest otherwise, namely that virtue arises as a compromise situated equidistantly between the extremes of excess and defect, would be tantamount to compounding good out of two evils.34 This positive interpretation of virtue coincides with what, at first glance, might seem a paradoxical description: the mean, because of its absolute goodness, says Albert, is really an extreme (extremitas).35 From the entire series of elements that contribute to make up the morally good act, virtue emerges as the culminating perfection. A number of times in De bono, Albert speaks of virtue as being the “ultimate in power” (ultimum potestatis, ultimum potentiae), remarks that are consistent with his theory of potestative wholeness.36 From Albert’s references, we know that this language of ultimacy owes much to statements made by Aristotle in the De caelo: Now when we speak of a power to lift weights, we refer always to the maximum....... since we feel obliged in defining the power to give the limit or maximum. A thing, then, which is capable of a certain amount as maximum must also be capable of that which lies within it....... This point need not trouble us, for we may take it as settled that what is, in the strictest sense, possible is determined by a limited maximum.37

What the Stagirite says here of power in general, Albert applies to one specific kind of power, the moral power or potentiality of virtus. At the same time, Albert’s remarks in this context should also serve to correct possible misunderstanding of the augmentative impulse of the acquired 34. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 33m, p. 75. See also the references in note 33 above. “Medium quoad nos nullo modo potest dici medium per participationem vel compositionem extremorum....... Si autem medium esset per compostionem vel participationem extemorum, medium virtutis de necessitate esset compositurm ex duabus militias, quod valde inconveniens est.”—Ethica II, tr. 2, cap. 4, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, 176–77. 35. I, 5, 1, ad 34m, p. 75, ll. 44–47. “Extremitas” in this sense is used in Ethica vetus, ed. Gauthier, p. 14, l. 22 (Nic. Ethics II, 6, 1107a7). 36. “Ratio autem virtutis semper vult esse in ultimo postestatis.”—III, 1, 2, sol., p. 124, ll. 41–42. “omnis virtus, secundum quod est virtus, est ultimum potentiae in re”—II, 1, 2, sol., p. 86, ll. 83–85. See also I, 5, 1, #24, p. 69; I, 2, 3, sol., #5, p. 27. See also Albert’s De caelo et mundo I, tr. 4, cap. 5, Cologne ed., vol. 5, ed. Paul Hossfeld (Münster: Aschendorff, 1971), 88, ll. 41–45. 37. Aristotle, De caelo I, 11, 281a8–19; Oxford translation.



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virtues. When De bono speaks of virtue as being a “moving nature” or “habitus” inclining us to hit the moral mark, we should not translate this to mean “habit” in the modern sense of the word, that is, a kind of psychophysiological determination compelling us to act unconsciously or without premeditation. Virtue, interpreted in this unreflective fashion, would constitute not a perfection, but a recession from the ideal of the thinking moral life. On the contrary, for Albert the virtues are acquired moral skills, rooted in the powers of the agent’s soul, and inclining those same posers to secure the maximum excellence of which they are capable.38 Viewed in this light, there is much more involved in the virtuous life than a weary repetition of identical acts. As Albert has pointed out repeatedly, human actions are individual operations morally specified by individual differences (singularia), and each new act involves a certain change in the attendant circumstances. Strictly speaking, it is highly unlikely that we ever could or would perform the same act, since the modifying circumstances themselves would have altered. In each case, the agent is confronted with a new complexity of conditions, a new “situation” requiring not a lessening of mindful attention, but a renewed inspection by practical reason. A virtuous habit is geared to enhance the agent’s selection of the mean in this act, here and now, surrounded by these circumstances. In this role, virtue does not substitute for reason as a kind of automatism. Rather, it is a quality promoting the agent’s powers to achieve their optimum. As this performance-enhancing quality, in the course of a virtuous life, advances from the stage of a disposition to a full-fledged, firmly rooted perfection, there is a progressive refinement both in the ability to hit the mark in each new set of conditions and in the power to act in a morally right fashion. Albert’s theory of the inventive role of prudence reinforces this fundamental conception of the architecture of virtue. The Mean and Prudence What is central to the structure of virtue is its character as a mean, that is, its inherent rightness in relation to which the defects of excess or deficit are measured. Immediately after the article dealing with the definition of 38. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 24m, p. 74.

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virtue in general, Albert states that in the individual virtues we may expect to find this same mode of perfection (medietas laudabilis et excellentiam et defectus vituperabilis).39 In De bono, however, it becomes increasingly apparent that his notion of the mean cannot be predicated of the several cardinal virtues in exactly the same way. Quite simply, it is not a rigid univocal notion. Though he does not explicitly invoke the term with reference to all the virtues, it is obvious that Albert conceives the mean as an analogical perfection. In each instance, certain adjustments or qualifications must be made. The problem becomes acute when he moves on to consider the nature of prudence. Indeed, the first article in the treatise on prudence (p. 217) asks whether it is even a virtue at all: an sit virtus? The question arises for both historical and philosophical reasons: first, there was the long-held view of prudence as being only or primarily a type of moral cognition (discretio); second, there was its designation by Albert and others as an “intellectual virtue” which resides in reason.40 How then can it be called a virtue, since a moral virtue resides in the passions and has to do with the passions; and the affective alignment of virtue has also been underlined by Aristotle when he describes virtue as being a “certain kind of will or at any rate involving will” (voluntas quaedam vel non sine voluntate).41 Indeed, Bernard of Clairveaux had said that his version of prudence—i.e., discretion—was not so much a virtue as the moderator and charioteer of the virtues (discretio non tam virtus, quam quaedam moderatrix et auriga virtutum), a metaphor posed centuries before in Plato’s Phaedrus to explain the relationship between reason and the subordinate passional powers of the tripartite soul.42 The point was driven home even more forcefully when Peter Abelard at one point flatly denied that prudence was a virtue at all because, as moral discretion, it is common to both good agents and evildoers.43 39. I, 5, 2, sol., p. 77, ll. 52–53. 40. See, for example, François Dingjan, Discretio: Les Origines patristiques et monastiques de la doctrine sur la prudence chez saint Thomas d’Aquin (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1967). Also, Lottin, “Les débuts du traité de la prudence au moyen age,” PEM, vol. 3, 255–82. For relevant texts in Albert’s De bono, see IV, 1, 1, sed contra, p. 218, l. 35. Both prudence and justice are described as residing “in ratione”: tr. III, Prol., p. 82, ll. 8–9; tr. IV, Prol., p. 217, ll. 6–8. 41. IV, 1, 1, #1 and #3, p. 217. The language derives from Ethica vetus, ed. Gauthier, p. 12, l. 7 (Nic. Ethics II, 4, 1106a3). 42. For texts and discussion, see Payer, “Prudence and the Principles of Natural Law,” 56. See Plato, Phaedrus, 253C–256E, trans. R. Hackforth (New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1952), 103–6. 43. Dialogus inter Philosophum, Iudaeum et Christianum, ed. Thomas, 117, l. 2033. Later (p. 118,



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Albert candidly admits that, strictly speaking, prudence does not have a proper medium because it is what he calls a “logical” virtue, that is, a virtue of the practical reason.44 The principle at work here, once again, is that not all the virtues manifest the mean in exactly the same way, because just as the object and scope (materia) of virtue varies in each case, so too will its mean. The kind of mean we discover in each case is proportionate to the “matter” of that same virtue. Now the phrase “materia virtutis” is an analogous one.45 In one sense it may name the definite and determinate material object of a sentient power, as opposed to the more indeterminate objects of immaterial powers. It is in the former sense that the irascible and concupiscible capacities of man, together with their respective virtues of fortitude and temperance, have a determinate matter. The reason for this is that, since the lower sentient powers of the soul necessarily operate in conjunction with material organs, they are physically restricted to one level of activity. There are powers of the rational soul, on the other hand, that do not depend on matter for their operations, and so they have a more unlimited scope of exercise. Their object, writes Albert, is any and every human act (accipiunt suum obiectum in materia qualibet). The powers which Albert has in mind, of course, are those of intellect and will. Now what is true of intellect is also true of those virtues which enhance it, and especially prudence, since it has the same acts and objects as the power of practical reason itself.46 Inasmuch as reason permeates every human act, by the same token prudence extends itself to all operations (and passions). Since it can preside over the whole field of human moral endeavor, the prudential act is not restricted to this or that level of action, nor is it limited to any one kind of material object. It has a determinate object not in the material sense, but in this sense only: that as a prudential act it officiates as an efficient principle of all other human acts. Abstractly conceived, of course, the virtue of prudence is really a formal perfection because it informs practical reason; but viewed concretely as the prudential act itself of reason, it is legitimate to speak of it as an “efficient” l. 2060) Abelard is more ambiguous when he repeats the same qualification as Bernard used (non tam ..... quam). 44. De bono IV, 1, 4, ad 7m, ad 10m, p. 235. 45. IV, 1, 3, ad 8m, p. 231. See also the earlier discussion of materia virtutis in chapter 6. 46. “Prudentia enim et ratio practica eosdem habent actus, eo quod ratio actum dat, prudentia autem informat eum per rationem iuris et expedientis et honesti.”—IV, 1, 4, sol., p. 234, ll. 34–36.

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principle. The efficient role of prudence has already been suggested by the phrase “ostendens medium.” 47 (Later, in Super Ethica, Albert will speak of prudence as “imposing the medium in every virtue” [ponens medium in omni virtute], as “the most perfect virtue from the perspective of goodness because to the virtues it supplies the form of goodness” [perfectissima ..... quia dat omnibus formam boni], and “their [i.e., virtues’] form as it were” [quasi forma ipsarum].)48 What amounts to the same thing is to say that prudence is ontologically geared to the discovery of all practicable objects (eligibilia ad opus) in terms of their rectitude, goodness, and use (per rationes iuris et honesti et utilis).49 Just as the imprint of reason is discernible in the constitution of each virtue, so too there is an influx of the rule of prudence into all the other virtues and their acts since its rule and acuity extend to all aspects of the moral life.50 Accordingly, since the object (materia) of prudence coincides with the objects of man’s other powers and virtues (i.e., the “choosable” [eligibile] and the “doable” [operabile]) and cannot be conceptualized in isolation from them, so too its medium is no less inextricably connected with that of the other virtues. Quite simply its domain is all human activity. In short, prudence ultimately does have a mean, not per se, Albert writes, but in a much wider sense in the economy of the moral life.51 In a qualified sense of the term, then, prudence is a mean, and so belongs to the category of moral virtue. Like the other virtues, it too is a perfection won with difficulty.52 But because of the imperium it exercises in the moral life, Albert too, repeating the language of Bernard of Clairveaux and Peter Abelard, says that it is not so much a virtue as the “charioteer of the virtues” (auriga virtutum).53 Indeed, without reason informed by prudence there cannot really be any authentic moral virtues. Without prudence to instruct us that this particular act is temperate or intemperate, this act just, this act courageous or cowardly, we cannot advance to the 47. I, 6, 1, p. 80, ll. 34–35. 48. Super Ethica I, lect. 8, Cologne ed., vol 1, p. 41, ll. 62–63, 71–72; p. 43, l. 12. 49. De bono IV, 1, 3, sol., p. 230; ad 5m, p. 230, ll. 58–59; ad 13, p. 232. The prudential act, says Albert, is “multiplex”; it can be analyzed into an ordered series of several act modalities or moments: IV, 1, 4, sol., p. 234. 50. IV, 1, 3, ad 11m, p. 232; ad 14m, p. 232, ll. 48–54. 51. IV, 1, 4, sol. #2 [marg. #447], p. 235, ll. 69–71. See also ad 11m. 52. IV, 1, 1, ad 4m, p. 219. 53. IV, 1, 6, pp. 242–244, especially p. 243, ll. 46–47.



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performance, let alone the possession of these other virtues.54 This is not to say that the possession of one virtue automatically entails the possession of all; it only affirms that the acquisition of the other virtues presupposes prudence as a necessary condition.55 The Mean of Justice No less than prudence, justice also seems to have presented a challenge to Albert when he sought to vindicate its status as a cardinal virtue. Prior to Robert Grosseteste’s complete translation of the Nicomachean Ethics (1246–1247), medieval ethicists were ignorant of Aristotle’s theory of justice as found in Book V. Those anxious to incorporate the data of classical philosophy into their moral treatises usually fell back upon Cicero’s definition of justice: “Justice is a habit of mind which gives every man his desert while preserving the common advantage.”56 The problem of delimiting the nature and role of justice, however, was complicated by other definitions in Scripture and the medieval glosses.57 A good deal of writing in the area of this problem consists in a multiplication of distinctions in the term “justice,” and attempts to reconcile these competing notions. What is probably Albert’s most independent and consecutive theory of justice is found in Tractatus V of De bono. The first two questions, dedicated to natural-law doctrine, I will examine separately in chapter 11. Question 3, devoted to general justice, offers no indication that Albert had yet read Book V of the Nicomachean Ethics. The fourth and last question of Tractatus V, entitled De iustitia speciali, is significant in the history of this issue because its contents reveal that Albert by this time was now familiar with Book V. Since we know that Albert had not read Book V prior to writing Book III of his Scripta super Sententias (which, in turn, was written after De bono), it follows that question 4 must have been inserted into 54. “habitus rationis [i.e., prudentia] est dirigens in tota vita et opere habitus aliarum virtutum et prospiciens, quid rectum vel non rectum sit in omni virtute.”—De bono IV, 1, 6, p. 243, ll. 50–53. 55. Ibid., ll. 86–91. 56. “Iustitia est habitus animi communi utilitate conservata suam cuique tribuens dignitatem.”—De inventione II, 53, 160, ed. Ed. Stroebel, p. 148b. My translation is that of E. M. Hubbell, 329. See O. Lottin, “Le concept de justice avant l’introduction d’Aristote,” PEM, vol. 2, 283–84. 57. Lottin, ibid., 286–87.

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De bono after an interval of some years.58 His returning to the scene is yet another indication of the premium Albert placed on this relatively early ethical treatise. Prior to his acquaintance with Book V, Albert states that justice is neither univocal nor equivocal, but an analogical perfection referring primarily to special justice, and secondarily to general justice.59 In addition, the second article of question 3 proposes a threefold interpretation of general justice that has its roots in the distinctions piled up by pre-Albertinian theologians.60 The first interpretation of general justice is clearly theological since it includes the infusion of supernatural grace into man’s soul. The contribution of grace is considered under three roles, and Albert clearly favors the second. This is to view grace, not in itself, “but according as it is in the virtues as in its parts, and the virtues in it as in the substance of the whole.”61 Conceived in this manner, general justice is a state resulting from a harmonious fusion between all the virtues and the perfection of supernatural grace. The result of this compenetration of the natural and supernatural orders of perfections is a state of general rectitude, a habitude of the entire soul, not simply of this or that power, such that there is a right and determinate ordering of all its powers to God, to their manifold objects, and among themselves.62 “And in my opinion,” writes Albert, “the effect of grace in virtue is general justice.”63 Taking into account his phrasing in the present text (“it [grace] is in the virtues as in its parts”), and later remarks in Book III of his Scripta super Sententias, it seems quite certain that Albert is thinking of this kind of justice as a potestative whole.64 This 58. See De bono, Prolegomena, §3, p. xiii. 59. V, 3, 2, ad 7m, p. 297, ll. 14–20. 60. Ibid., sol., p. 295. See also V, 4, 2, resp., p. 301; V, 4, 6, p. 304. For pre-Albertinian doctrines, see O. Lottin, “Le concept de justice,” PEM, vol. 3, 287–95. 61. De bono V, 3, 2, sol., p. 295, ll. 51–52. 62. V, 3, 1, passim, pp. 292–293; art. 2, ad 11m, p. 297. 63. V, 3, 2, sol., p. 295, ll. 65–66. Albert is also careful to stipulate (ibid., ad 8m, p. 297) that while general justice is not the same thing as grace, it cannot be separated from it. 64. Thus in III Sent., d. 36, A, art. 2, Borgnet ed., vol. 28, 668B, Albert writes: “Dicendum quod virtutes infusae et formatae connexae sunt, ita quod una habita habentur omnes. Hujus autem connexionis tres sunt species. Prima et praecipua est ex gratia, quae est totum potentiale ad virtutes: et ideo sicut totius potentialis perfectio consistit in omnibus partibus simul sumptis et in toto unitis, ita perfectio gratiae consistit in omnibus virtutibus simul sumptis et in toto unitis....... Tertia ratio connexionis est....... generalis iustitiae justificantis quae non permittit inesse aliquod vitium; et cum vitium non expellatur formaliter nisi per virtutem oppositam, oportet inesse omnes virtutes.”



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first mode of general justice is mentioned again by Albert in question 4 (De iustitia speciali), and he then adds that the philosopher can say nothing about it.65 In its second meaning or usage, general justice designates the possession of all the acquired virtues, and differs from the individual virtues only by a distinction of reason. This is “consuetudinary justice” (iustitia consuetudinalis). Question 3 has little to say about this kind of justice, but later De iustitia speciali offers additional comments. General justice in this sense pertains to the precepts of human and divine law, wherefore Aristotle calls it “legal justice.”66 This kind of justice is what the civic legislator intends, since he is concerned with integral moral perfection in his citizens, and not simply with a fractional inculcation of this or that virtue.67 This, Albert continues, is the meaning of Michael of Ephesus (commentator super ethica) when he writes that justice is an ensemble of all the virtues. A statement in the later Ethica paraphrase sheds additional light upon what Albert seems to have had in mind here: There is a certain kind of justice which is not properly called justice because it is not a habitus, but rather a certain kind of habitude, and it is the appropriate ordering [debita ..... ordinatio] of potestative parts to a potestative whole; just as we call the soul just when the appetitive parts are subordinated to reason, and a kingdom just when the individual powers are rightly aligned with the kingdom.68

The Ethica, as well as the De bono, then, looks upon general justice in this second sense as also being a potestative whole, that is, a simultaneous ensemble of all the natural virtues thereby constituting an integral perfecting of the whole soul. In its third meaning, general justice signifies the natural rectitude of man’s proper nature and station.69 This state involves every virtue, and so once again Albert observes that justice taken in this sense does not really differ from the individual virtues except from the viewpoint of “what is due” (debitum). The debitum in this case signifies not an obligation based on law or submission, but rather the fitting order or harmony of man’s na65. De bono V, 4, 6, resp., p. 304. 66. Ibid. See Aristotle, Nic. Ethics V, 1, 1129bll ff. 67. V, 4, 2, resp., p. 301, ll. 31–41; art. 6, resp., ll. 88–94. 68. Ethica V, tr. 2, c. 1, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, 340b. 69. De bono V, 3, 2, sol., p. 295, ll. 78–91.

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ture and his office as man. This third connotation of general justice, Albert admits, is not as common as the first two. He says little about it, and the divisions of justice proposed in question 4 do not mention it, but speak instead of “special justice.” In either of these three senses outlined by Albert in the De bono, general justice is not a special virtue actualizing any one power, but rather a state or habitude of general rectitude complementing the whole soul. The first mode of justice, because of its relationship to grace, exceeds the scope of philosophical speculation. The second mode equates justice with the general rectitude of the human soul consequent upon possession of all the consuetudinary virtues. These first two senses, if we take into account remarks made in Albert’s other works and the iterations of question 4, also envisage general justice as a potestative whole, that is, a state of excellence comprising possession of all the particular virtues. The last designation given to general justice by Albert is, by his own admission, relatively uncommon, and does not figure significantly in the doctrine of Tractatus V. In all three instances of general justice, however, the terms “justice” and “virtue” may be predicated only in a very broad and analogical sense, whereas they are predicated most properly of special justice. Even so, it is evident that in this initial treatment of general justice, Albert, without the inspiration of Book V of Aristotle’s Ethics, has lost considerable momentum in spelling out the contours of his natural ethic. Prior to his knowledge of Book V of the Nicomachean Ethics, Albert was able to say little more about the special justice than had his immediate predecessors: its debitum or object is the act of rendering to another what truly belongs to the other by special right (quod ex speciali iure suum est factum).70 In contrast to this meager observation is the brief but obviously Aristotelian doctrine of question 4. Special justice, we are told, is a genuine moral virtue with its own distinctive act and object.71 It has two subdivisions or parts. On the one hand, there is “restitutive,” “communicative,” or “directive” justice, which maintains or restores equality between the excess goods of one party and a deficiency of goods in another. On the other hand, there is “distributive justice,” which aims at an equality proportion70. V, 3, 2, ad 6m, p. 296. See also art. 1, ad 11m, p. 293. 71. V, 4, 2, pp. 300–302; art. 6, pp. 304–5.



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ate to the status and dignity of the person involved.72 In either case, its proper object or determinate matter is to preserve the mean of appropriate equality in the community, and this by a right distribution or restitution of that which belongs to the citizen. By holding to this mean, we avoid the possible extremes of surfeit in one member and paucity in another. In this way, then, special justice manifests the mean. Inasmuch as justice preserves the common good, and not simply the interests of the individual, it differs from the other cardinal virtues. Their end, writes Albert, is the individual human act itself. In contrast to this, the terminus of justice, though admittedly redounding to the credit of the agent, is really a result other than the act (aliquod extra, aliquid operatum).73 Now, at first glance, this would seem to disqualify justice as one of the moral virtues, for Aristotle has clearly stipulated that all virtue is a voluntary habit “lying in the mean relative to us” (quoad nos). The other three cardinal virtues fall into this framework. Justice, on the other hand, terminating as it does in an external result, constitutes what Albert calls a “medium rei,” which is other than a mean “quoad nos.” How, then, can we speak of justice as one of the cardinal virtues? In the last two pages of De bono, Albert simply asserts that the mean of justice, albeit a medium rei, is nonetheless proportionate to human nature, and so qualifies as genuine species of virtue.74 In his analysis of the genesis and nature of acquired moral virtues, Albert the Great has been concerned with establishing what he calls the “goodness of political virtues” (bonum virtutis politicae). In one article, he offers a defense for the titles given these natural perfections.75 They are called cardinal virtues because they are like the pivot (cardo), as it were, of the principal acts of the soul’s motive powers to which the acts of other virtues are connected. They are, then, the pillars of the morally good life upon which everything else depends. They are also called political or civil virtues, the virtues of the polis, because in their possession is realized the best condition of the citizens (optimum statum civium); and in a veiled al72. See Aristotle, Nic. Ethics V, 3, 1131a19–26. 73. De bono V, 4, 7, sol., p. 306. “Differencia autem quedam videtur finium; hii quidem enim sunt actus, hii autem circa hos opus aliquod.”—Ethica nova, ed. Gauthier, p. 65, ll. 6–8 (Nic. Ethics I, 1, 1094a3–5). 74. De bono V, 4, 7, ad 2m, ad 5m, pp. 306–307. 75. I, 6, 2, sol., p. 80.

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lusion to Aristotle, Albert states that all law aims at the inculcation of any of these virtues.76 This conception is humanistic in the strictest sense of the term. The political virtues are “human goods,” constituted as such through the determinations of prudence.77 In the face of the prevalent tendency which, in its allegiance to the Augustinian-theocentric definition of virtue, revealed general disdain of natural goodness, Albert’s positive insistence upon the genuine moral goodness of acquired virtue must have required something of what he writes about: courage. In sum, then, the political virtues for Albert the Great are species of absolute goodness (honestum), something desirable in and for themselves. More precisely, the mode of goodness peculiar to them is that of the mean. As dynamic qualities actualizing the soul’s powers, they incline those same powers to operate at a level of excellence. Now, as a thirteenth-century Christian theologian, Albert could only believe that the cardinal virtues play an intermediate and dispositive role in relation to the higher orders of happiness, beatitude, and grace, but this vision did not carry with it the conviction that in themselves these virtues are imperfect, let alone flawed qualities—as St. Augustine and his followers would have it. On the contrary, as embodying the mean, an instance of authentic goodness, each of them is a genuine virtue in the natural order. Underlying this conception is Albert’s awareness that the “good” and “virtue” are necessarily analogous in their manifestations. The term “virtue” is predicable of both natural and supernatural perfections, while on the natural level it is flexible enough to embrace differing realizations of the mean. In this way, Albert distinguishes himself from the common pre-Albertinian tendency to conceive of moral goodness univocally, that is, to restrict it to the order of infused perfections. 76. “Legislatores enim cives assuescentes, faciunt bonos; et voluntas quidem omnis legislatoris, hec est.”—Ethica vetus, ed. Gauthier, p. 6, ll. 5–7 (Nic. Ethics II, 1, 1103b2–5). 77. “Si autem respiciatur bonum hominis, secundum quod est hominis tunc prudentia tenebit principatum, quia haec etiam alia bona virtutum facit esse humana.”—De bono IV, 1, 6, ad 7m, p. 244.

chapt e r 9

the organization of the virtues

The Organization of the Cardinal Virtues The previous chapters dealing with the analogical concept of goodness, the genesis of virtue, and the nature of virtue in general have presented a partial picture of Albert’s moral theory against the wider background of the evolution of moral treatises in the thirteenth century. The organization of the cardinal virtues and the configuration of their subalternate parts constitute another facet of this overall enterprise. These various schemata are not insignificant: they supply additional glimpses into Albert’s concept of human moral worth as an organically integrated network of active moral virtues—within which there are hierarchies and context-dependent primacies. Here and there, for instance, Albert remarks that this or that virtue is “more pivotal” or “the most perfect” with respect to the other virtues depending upon the criterion adopted. The sequence in which the virtues are treated both reflects and reinforces these sorts of judgments. At the same time, issues of sequence and hierarchy are also important for architectonic reasons because they illustrate the structural features of organization and the quality of synthesis in Albert’s moral treatises. In the major moral treatises composed before the time of Albert’s De bono, there is little evidence of any appreciable attempt

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to establish an order of priority in the treatment of the virtues. Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono is a rare exception. (The issue simply does not arise in Albert’s De natura boni.) Basing his treatment on a twofold consideration—the inherent dignity of the subject in which the virtues reside, and the objects of the virtues—Philip the Chancellor had posited the following order for discussion: prudence, temperance, fortitude, and finally, justice.1 This particular issue of organization, however, is handled with some detail in at least four of Albert’s printed works. In De bono, it is the last question raised in the section devoted to virtue in general, and immediately precedes the treatise on fortitude.2 The same material is covered again in his Scripta super Sententias, and Albert concludes this passage by referring the reader back to De bono for a more complete analysis.3 There are at least two places in Super Ethica where Albert touches upon the issue.4 Finally, what is probably the most thorough consideration of the problem is found spread out through several chapters in the Ethica paraphrasis.5 The passages from both of these commentaries, of course, have to do with Aristotle’s textual arrangement of the virtues, but they also help us to understand Albert’s reasoning in his other treatises. In De bono, four tractates, each devoted to one of the cardinal virtues and its parts are arranged as follows: fortitude, temperance or self-mastery, prudence, justice. In this work, however, as well in the later Scripta super Sententias, several possible sequences are suggested, though the two accounts do not always agree. In De bono, we find these possible orders catalogued together with their determining principles: a. with reference to the priority of the soul’s powers (vires) in which the virtues adhere, this order obtains: prudence, justice, temperance, fortitude; 1. Summa de bono, ed. Wicki, vol. 2, 751–52. For an English translation of this section, see R. E. Hauser, The Cardinal Virtues: Aquinas, Albert and Philip the Chancellor (Toronto: PIMS, 2004), 94–97. 2. De bono I, 6, 3, p. 81. 3. In III Sent., d. 33, A, art. 3, ad 5m, Borgnet ed., vol. 28, 611b–612a. “Nota autem, quod multi ordines alii sunt instarum virtutum, et sufficientiae inveniuntur, quos nos tacemus: quia alibi longa valde disputatione inquisitum est de eis in communi, et de singulis in speciali.”—ibid., p. 612a. 4. Super Ethica III, lect. 8, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 180 [marg. #199]; lect. 12, 198–99 [marg. #225]. 5. Ethica III, tr. 1, cap. 23–tr. 3, cap. 1, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, 232b–254a.



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b. with reference to operations: prudence, temperance, fortitude, justice; c. w  ith reference to difficulty experienced and goodness: fortitude, temperance, justice, prudence; d. w  ith reference to moral practice (vis consuetudinis) through which virtue is generated: temperance, fortitude, justice, prudence. In the Scripta super Sententias, these are the orders laid down: 1. when virtue is considered abstractly in itself (in se): e. a ccording to the difficulty we experience in acting: fortitude, temperance, prudence, justice; f. according to their intrinsic goodness: justice, temperance, fortitude, prudence; 2. when virtue is considered in relation to the subject in which it inheres: g. prudence, temperance, fortitude, justice. Looking at this catalogue it is quickly evident that the priorities established in A and G are largely at variance since their determining principles—powers, and the subjects in which the virtues inhere—are identical. Account C of De bono is collectively determined by the same principles in accounts E and F of the Scripta, yet the resultant orders do not coincide. Interestingly, Albert remarks in De bono that account C seems to have been the order adhered to by Aristotle.6 How he could surmise this is difficult to say, since at the time of writing the De bono he had no more at his disposal than the first three books of the Ethics and fragments of Books VII and VIII. He would have needed Books V and VI, or some other indicator, to know the Aristotelian sequence. The fact that, in the actual consecution of treatises in De bono, Albert alters what he believes to be the Aristotelian arrangement, and treats of prudence prior to justice, suggests that in his mind he was not unquestioningly adhering to the Stagirite’s plan. What reasons, then, prompted Albert to treat of the cardinal virtues in De bono in the order that he did? It is possible, Albert concludes (p. 80, l. 65), to discover alternative orderings. Moreover, a number of times in De bono 6. De bono I, 6, 3, p. 81, ll. 57–58.

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Albert remarks that the cardinal virtues could be prioritized in any number of orders for different reasons, and so at one point he says that the question is of little importance.7 The fact that he has raised this issue in three of his four moral treatises, however, seems to belie this pretended insouciance. Moreover, there still remains the question why Albert followed the order he did in De bono. Why did he not simply imitate the order of Aristotle, or Philip the Chancellor’s for that matter? Indeed, why raise the issue at all? Since Albert has explicitly declined to commit himself in so many words on this point, we can only infer his reasons. As it turns out, his ordering seems to follow from his general theory of virtue (and also, as we shall see from his commentaries, from his own methodological preferences). On the last page of De bono, he says this: Virtue cannot be equally predicated of all the virtues, but rather is predicated primarily of fortitude. Hence Boethius says that from this virtue, all the others receive the name of virtue. And therefore the mean is understood in different ways.8

The concept of virtue is analogous, and this is why Albert can say that it refers primarily to fortitude. Now we already know from Albert’s general theory of virtue that the mean is realized most simply and evidently in fortitude and temperance. Prudence, it is true, has a mean, but not in and of itself (per se), since its role is to determine the mean of the other virtues; and what Albert calls the external mean (medium rei) of justice is an even less obvious realization of the mean “relative to us.” Then, too, fortitude and temperance reside immediately in the passions which, according to Aristotle, are the proper domain of virtue. And it is also in the exercise of their acts that the greatest difficulty is experienced. Prudence and justice, on the other hand, do not reside proximately in the passions. There seems to be one more principle determining Albert’s ordering of the virtue tractates: virtue conceived as a potestative whole. In examining the organization of 7. IV, I, 6, ad 7m, p. 244, ll. 19–22; See also ad 4m, p. 243; art. 1, ad 9m, p. 221. In these texts, Albert speaks not so much in terms of textual sequence as of the primacy (principatum, principalitas) and inherent worthiness (dignitas) of the virtues. 8. V, 4, 7, sol., p. 306, ll. 52–56. Albert repeats this claim about fortitude and the extended name of virtue several times in his writings: e.g., (about 1250) in Super Dionysium De Divinis nominibus, cap. 8, Cologne ed., vol. 37 (1), p. 365 [marg. #2], pp. 49–51. I have been unable to find anything like this attribution in Boethius. Albert probably has in mind a passage from Cicero, who says that all the virtues have received the name of virtue from the single virtue of fortitude. See Tusculan Disputations II, 18, §43; trans. J. E. King, 2nd ed., Loeb Classical Library (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London: W. Heinemann, 1950), 194–95.



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the special or subalternate virtues, or parts of virtue, it becomes evident that the feature of potestative wholeness manifests itself most evidently and perfectly in fortitude and temperance, much less so in the case of prudence and justice. Finally, before his knowledge of Book V of the Nicomachean Ethics, Albert may have believed that general justice, a state of the soul resulting from a fusion or totality of all the virtues, should naturally terminate the analysis of the individual virtues as their culmination. Statements in the paraphrastic Ethica confirm what can only be inferred in the De bono. The mean of justice is not the same as the mean of the other virtues, and so cannot be understood in the same manner.9 “Other principles [alia principia] and other presuppositions [aliae suppositiones] are required for its determination”; and, in the same breath, Albert refers his reader back to an earlier “special tractate” on justice—the treatment in De bono. Then, too, prudence appears once again under the designation of “intellectual virtue.” Materially, writes Albert, it is a moral virtue because it has to do with the whole sweep of the moral life; but formally it is not because its mean, right reasoning about all practicable objects, is not the same as this or that determinate mean.10 He concedes that prudence, as that which actively orders the passions and determines the mean in all our acts, commands an inherent priority over all the other virtues, but this does not mean that its treatment should precede that of the other virtues. The methodological principle that Albert invokes in Ethica—but which, at best, is only implied in the De bono—is that scientific investigation should begin with those things which can be determined by the first principles of that science, as well as by the fewest principles. This is why justice, which requires other principles and other suppositions, should not be treated first. Fortitude and temperance, on the other hand, realize most perfectly the notion of moral virtue because they require fewer and simpler principles in their determination, and because they are more immediately and directly engaged in our behavior (ad opera).11 Albert says that they are “more moral” (magis morales) and “more pivotal” (cardinaliores) than the other cardinal virtues.12 For this reason, their treatment in moral science 9. Ethica, III, tr. 2, cap. 1, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, pp. 235b–236a. 10. Ibid., p. 235a. 11. Ibid., III, tr. 3, cap. 1, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, 253b–254a. 12. Earlier, in his Scripta super Sententias III, however, Albert declares the very opposite when he insists that “none of these virtues is more a cardinal virtue than another....... one is no more

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precedes that of prudence and justice. Fortitude will be first because in its exercise one experiences the greatest difficulty, namely, control over the exogenous passions (passiones illatae), passions generated by exterior causes, such as the fear excited in war.13 By reason of the intensity of difficulty in its exercise, fortitude most truly fulfills the description of virtue as having to do with the “difficult and the good.” Again, Albert refers to Boethius (really, Cicero) who, speaking antonomastically, has said that “fortitude” is another name for virtue. (In Super Ethica [p. 41, l. 67] Albert says that, with respect to difficulty, fortitude is the most perfect—perfectissima—of the virtues.) Temperance exercises mastery over the endogenous passions (passiones innatae) of pleasure, but since these are not as great as the passions excited from without, its treatment will follow that of fortitude. In Super Ethica, Albert defends Aristotle’s prior treatment of courage, though less discursively than in Ethica. With respect to difficulty, he describes courage as “the most perfect” of the virtues, and says that it, more than the others, shares in the title of virtue (principalius participat nomen virtutis).14 Again, he refers to Boethius (i.e., Cicero) to the effect that fortitude, among all the other virtues, is properly called “virtue” (ipsa proprie vocatur virtus). In Super Ethica, too, he also defends the reason underlying Aristotle’s order for methodological reasons.15 In the sciences, one begins with the more certain, and with what is elemental. So, too, in moral science: discourse about particulars is more certain, more evident, and since the virtues which reside in the sense powers (i.e., the irascible and concupiscible powers) have more to do with the particular than the virtues of reason (prudence and justice) because these latter work with universals, then prior treatment belongs to the former. Notwithstanding the various possible sequences itemized by Albert along with their determining principles, his accounts in four different works appear to agree on certain broad meta-principles. Depending on the a cardinal virtue than the other, but all are equally cardinal virtues.” For the text in English, see Hauser, The Cardinal Virtues, 135. This contradiction may be more apparent than real since, in this earlier text from the Sentences, Albert may also have had in mind the infused cardinal virtues, not just those that have been naturally acquired. 13. Ethica III, tr. 1, cap. 23, p. 233b. Concerning the priority of fortitude, see also De bono IV, 1, 6, ad 4m, p. 243. 14. Super Ethica I, lect. 8, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), p. 41, ll. 67–69; III, lect. 8, p. 180, ll. 31–32. 15. Ibid., III, lect. 12, sol., p. 199, ll. 9–17.



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determining criteria applied (e.g., powers, operations, difficulty, intrinsic goodness), various priorities can be established. For Albert there seems to be no question but that prudence and justice command one kind of primacy in the moral order because of their inherent worthiness and the dignity of the subject in which they inhere. In De bono and in his commentaries on the Ethics, however, prior treatment is accorded to those virtues which are most evidently and immediately moral: fortitude and temperance. The reasoning is that these more simply and perfectly realize the defining features of the naturally acquired virtues. These features are: 1. virtue conceived as a mean “relative to us”; 2. the propinquity of virtue to the passions; 3. the difficulty experienced in the performance of virtuous action. To these, a fourth determining feature may be added by way of anticipation: 4. virtue conceived as a potestative whole. The Integration of the Subalternate Virtues In addition to the four cardinal virtues, classical authors of antiquity recognized a greater number of special virtues.16 Many Christian moralists, in turn, did not hesitate to incorporate these virtues into their own treatises. The two divisions most commonly acknowledged by medieval moralists in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were those proposed by Cicero and Macrobius (fl. 430 A.D.). The meaning of Cicero is evident: prudence, fortitude, and temperance have constitutive “parts.”17 The language of Macrobius, on the other hand, would seem to suggest that the special virtues of which he speaks are effects of the cardinal virtues rather than constitutive 16. For the pre-Albertinian history of this issue, see O. Lottin, “Les ramifications des vertus cardinals,” PEM, vol. 3, 186–91. Also, Hauser, The Cardinal Virtues, especially 228–33. 17. “Prudentia est rerum bonarum et malarum neutrarumque scientia. Partes eius: memoria, intelligentia, providentia.”—De inventione II, 53, 160, ed. Stroebel, p. 147b. “Fortitudo est considerata periculorum susceptio et laborum perpessio. Eius partres magnificentia, fidentia, patientia, perseverantia.”—ibid., 54, 163, p. 149b. “Temperantia est rationis in libidinem atque in alios non rectos impetus animi firma et moderata dominatio. Eius partes continentia, clementia, modestia.”—ibid., 54, 164, p. 149b. The divisions of justice or ius naturae (c. 53, 160–61) present a special problem; see chapter 11.

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parts.18 Now, it was not altogether uncommon practice for moral treatises of the twelfth century to include catalogues of the various virtues.19 Though not entirely ignoring Cicero, these writers for the most part favored the more detailed Macrobian classification. This is especially evident in the case of a work that was written shortly before 1150 and continued to exert considerable influence well into the thirteenth century, the Moralium dogma philosophorum, variously attributed to William of Conches and Walter of Chatillôn.20 In the thirteenth century up to the time of Albert the Great, both of the ancient classifications, or parts of both, were used indiscriminately. At the same time it becomes apparent that no real attempt was ever made to reconcile the various divisions, nor was there any appreciable effort made to reduce the special virtues to some kind of systematic order and unity.21 William of Auxerre in referring to the parts as species, and William of Auvergne in calling them parts, species, or branches (rami), contented themselves with offering only the most meager of indications as to the nature and interconnections of these parts.22 The early Franciscan writers in general remained almost totally indifferent to the issue—a silence quite consistent with their general attitude of disdain toward the natural virtues.23 All in all, the state of this problem mirrors the overall situation of the moral treatise in the 18. “prudentiae insunt ratio intellectus circumspectio providentia docilitas cautio....... fortitudo praestat magnanimitatem fiduciam securitatem magnificentiam constantiam tolerantiam firmitatem....... temperantiam secuntur modestia verecundia abstinentia castitas honestas moderatio parcitas sobrietas pudicitia....... de iustitia veniunt innocentia amicitia concordia pietas religio affectus humanitas.”—Commentariorum in somnium Scipionis I, 8, 7, ed. F. Eyssenhardt (Leipzig: Teubner, 1893), 518. 19. See O. Lottin, “Les ramifications des vertus cardinals,” 187–89. Also Ph. Delhaye, “Gauthier de Châtillon est-il l’auteur de Moralium dogma,” Analecta Mediaevalia Namurcensia, III (Lille, 1953), Appendices. 20. “Virtus igitur et honestum nomina diversa [sunt] res autem subiecta prorsus eadem..... . Inter has prudentia reliquas tres precedit quasi ferens lucernam et aliis monstrans viam. Eius enim est consulere, aliarum trium agere; consilium autem prevenire debet actum....... Huius partes sunt providentia, circumspectio, cautio, docilitas.” Das Moralium dogma philosophorum des Guillaume de Conches, ed. John Holmberg, vol. 1 (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells, 1929), 7. “Fortitudo est virtus retundens impetus adversitatis. Huius autem, partes sunt quecumque hoc efficiunt; he autem sunt magnanimitas, fiducia, securitas, magnificentia, constancia, pacienca.”—ibid., 30. “Huius virtutis [i.e., temperancie] partes sunt que in sedis motibus dominantur. He autem sunt modestia, verecundia, abstinentia, honestas, moderantia, parcitas, sobrietas, pudicitia.”—ibid., 41. See also J. R. Williams, “The Quest for the Author of the Moralium Dogma Philosophorum,” Speculum 32 (1957): 736–47; and Delhaye’s article, cited in note 19 above. 21. “Simples matériaux; personne encore ne songe à grouper sous des rubriques plus précises ces données purement analytiques.”—O. Lottin, “Les ramifications des vertus cardinals,” 188–89. 22. Ibid., 189. 23. Ibid., 190 n. 8.



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early decades of the thirteenth century: some materials have been inserted in a haphazard fashion, but no appreciable integration or synthesis has yet been worked out between the elements involved. Philip the Chancellor, however, accorded more attention to the issue of the special virtues. His divisions of the cardinal virtues differ considerably from those of Albert the Great, but his analysis of fortitude is significant as a forerunner to the direction that Albert will take. Philip adopts the sixfold division of the Moralium dogma philosophorum, but in contrast to William of Auxerre prefers to identify the special virtues not as species, but as “conditions” or “dispositions.”24 He also calls them “integral parts,” and like the acts to which they correspond, these parts are hierarchically ordered according to discernible stages in the courageous act: beginning, middle, and end. The special virtue of magnanimity guides us at the inception of the rational undertaking of frightening things; our firm hope of attaining the end (fiducia) aids us during the central process of the act; while highmindedness (magnificentia) ensures the felicitous consummation of great and worthy acts. No one part may be called fortitude absolutely, yet each contributes partially to the being of fortitude; and so “the being of fortitude is completed in them” (completum est esse fortitudinis in istis). Albert on Fortitude The intended treatment of fortitude in De natura boni is missing, and so Tractatus II of De bono is Albert’s first known analysis of this virtue. Question 1 of this tractate is dedicated to a consideration of courage in general, and precedes the study of its special virtues. This procedure and division, in which the consideration of a political virtue in general precedes the analyses of subalternate parts, repeats itself in the subsequent treatises on temperance and prudence. (The treatise on justice is too different to include in this pattern.) Since much of what Albert says about fortitude in general in De bono (pp. 84–98) also emerges in his treatment of its subalternate parts, and in many other statements here and there throughout his remarks on virtue in general, I shall only briefly itemize the salient features in his overall theory of courage in De bono, question 1, articles 1–6. 24. Summa de bono, ed. N. Wicki, vol. 2, 806, 823–24.

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•A  lbert relies primarily upon the definitions of Cicero and Aristotle. In De inventione, Cicero had defined courage as the “deliberated undertaking of dangerous tasks and the enduring of hardships.”25 Since Albert claims not to find a succinct definition in Aristotle, he summarizes the Stagirite as saying that “courage has to do with enduring dreadful things, and functions for the sake of the good [fortitude sit circa terribilia sufferens et operans gratia boni]” (p. 82, ll. 24–34). But further on (p. 88, ll. 70–78), he offers a more elaborate description which is closer to Aristotle’s own description: “Accordingly, he is courageous who endures and fears the right things, for the right motive, in the right manner, and at the right time, and who displays confidence in a similar way. For a courageous man feels and acts according to the merits of each case and as reason guides him.”26 • Structurally, the exercise of fortitude comprises two phases: an initial undertaking (aggredi) of arduous feats; second, the sustaining (sustinere, perpessio) of these frightening challenges. The quality of fortitude is greater in the sustaining and carrying-through phase than in the undertaking. (p. 84, l. 68–p. 85, l. 4) •F  ortitude mediates directly and primarily in the exogenously induced emotions, notably fear; and the matter of courage is characteristically that which we find to be difficult. Now, the most difficult exogenous emotion we can face (passio illata in ultimo) is the fear of externally imposed death (mors illata) in situations of great danger. This type of fear, then, is the “principal matter” of fortitude, and also because, unlike natural death, it originates from an act of willing and choice. (p. 86, l. 81–p. 87, l. 11) • The extremes or defects which help to situate the mean of courage are (excessive) fear on the one hand, and reckless disregard or foolhardiness (audacia) on the other. But even here, further qualification is necessary. The phenomena of fear and daring can be conceived simply as natural episodes (ut passio tantum) or as habitual states (ad habitum). As episodic events, instances of fear are not necessarily opposed to courage, but as habitual states they are.27 For instance, when speaking of fear, there can 25. “Fortitudo est considerata periculorum susceptio et laborum perpessio.”—De inventione II, 54, 163, ed. Hubbell, p. 330. 26. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics III, 10, 1115b 17–20; trans. M. Ostwald, p. 70. 27. De bono II, 1, 4, sol., p. 92; art. 3, ad 7m, p. 91.



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be the simple experience of fear within the agent which does not disorder reason and therefore does not detract from the act of courage. This is a natural experience or “rational fear” because it makes the brave agent circumspect as he cautiously undertakes to act with an awareness of the dangers involved. Such fear is also a “good fear” because there are things that the courageous person should fear. By the same token, there are also risks that the courageous agent should venture into. Indeed, the virtue of courage is essentially constituted by daring to undertake risks and fearing those things that ought to be feared (Constituitur enim substantialiter habitus fortitudinis ex audere audenda et timere timenda). • In point of fact, there appear to be four extremes to fortitude: to boldly risk everything and to venture nothing; to fear everything and to fear nothing.28 With respect to these four extremes, however, Albert remarks that there is still only one right mean (quorum unum est medietas). • Th  e distinctive act (actus proprius) of courage is to endure difficulty that has been chosen for the sake of the good, as and when reason requires, and for whatever cause it is required. Again, the act of enduring and sustaining presupposes the initial act of undertaking or risk. (p. 90, ll. 66–70) • In Book III of the Nicomachean Ethics (ch. 8 [11]), Aristotle had distinguished five divergent or imperfect types of character which only resemble, but are not really the same as, courage. In his final article (art. 6) on courage in general, Albert raises the question of how we can distinguish between authentic fortitude and its counterfeits. In his response (p. 97, ll. 34–41), he says that these inauthentic forms resemble true courage only in their material application (in materia), that is, in the areas of emotion,29 but such imitations still lack three essential features: the ruling determination of right reason (regitiva rationis per ordinem rectum); being informed by a second-nature trait of character—i.e., the virtue itself of fortitude—which is congruent with reason (informatio habitus in modum naturae rationi consentientis); and, finally, a willed end—that is, a finis intentus—understood as something which is greater and more ultimate than, say, mere expediency or convenience. 28. III. 1, 4, sol., p. 128, ll. 30–34. See also II, 1, 4, ad 4m, ad 5m, p. 93. 29. “Materia” in this context refers to passional impulses or emotion. The term is also used in this way in his treatise on temperance. See, for example, De bono III, 1, 1, sol., p. 117, especially ll. 51–63.

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In the second question, Albert moves on to an analysis of the parts of fortitude. Cicero had said that there are four: high-mindedness (magnificentia), confidence (fidentia), patience (patientia), and perseverance (perseverantia).30 Albert unhesitatingly adopts this classification and discusses the parts in this same order. The last two articles of question 2 consider the adequacy of this enumeration, and the order of the parts. In article 10, Albert makes a significant resolution: The moral virtues are certain kinds of powers and their parts are potestative parts as is usually the case with all spiritual wholes and parts. Moreover, the whole is certainly predicated of its parts in an imperfect manner; and the parts have an order such that the act of the first part is eminently included [supponitur] in the second part, and something added, just as we have said elsewhere. And thus the parts of fortitude have been enumerated above.31

This is stated within the context of fortitude, but Albert is also speaking of the cardinal virtues in general. Each of them is a certain kind of power with constituent parts, and so it is like the other immaterial totalities or virtual wholes with which we are already familiar. The perfection of the whole virtue is predicable, albeit imperfectly, of its parts. An order obtains among the parts in such fashion that the act of the first virtue-part is sublimated in that of the higher, and in the higher there is superadded some new kind of determination. Again, in the courageous performance two moments are discernible: the undertaking (aggredi), and the sustaining (sustinere) of that undertaking in the face of fearsome opposition. The perfection of fortitude is realized more perfectly in the latter, the sustaining, than in the former.32 That is, the act of sustaining supplies the ultimate moment and maximum perfection in the exercise of fortitude; and it, of course, presupposes the initial act of undertaking. Without the inception we obviously would not engage in sustaining an action. Now, in the same way that the sustaining process presupposes the undertaking, its two virtues of patience and perseverance entail those of high-mindedness and confidence, which are the virtues enhancing the undertaking. And the virtue of perseverance succeeds that of 30. See note 17 above. 32. II, 1, 1, ad 1m, p. 84; art. 3, sol., p. 90.

31. De bono II, 2, 10, sol., p. 112.



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patience as being the crowning excellence of fortitude.33 An order of vertical dependency, then, descending from the highest to the lowest part, configures these special virtues into the organic unity of a cardinal virtue. A text in Albert’s earlier De IV coaequaevis had situated virtual or potestative totality as a mean between two other kinds: the “universal whole” and the “integral whole.”34 In article 10 of De bono, Albert repeats the distinction, this time with reference to the virtue of fortitude.35 In the case of the integral whole, especially one of a material nature, the whole is neither present in, nor predicable of, the part (ad 2m). A universal, by comparison, is perfectly predicable of all of its instances. The potestative whole (i.e., fortitude), on the other hand, resembles the integral whole in that it is an integration of parts, but over and above this it is also predicable of these parts. That is—and here it differs from the universal whole—fortitude is predicated imperfectly of the lower virtue-parts, and perfectly of the ultimate constitutive part, i.e., perseverance (ad 1m). In short, predication is made analogously. In his distinctive theory of the potestative whole, Albert has repeatedly said that the higher part entails or virtually includes (i.e., in a higher or more eminent fashion) the efficacy of the lower power. Moreover, he adds that the perfection of the whole is perfectly predicable of the ultimate component. This, however, does not mean that the highest element, prescinding from all the subordinated parts, suffices by itself to establish the whole perfection. On the contrary, Albert repeatedly insists that the moral efficacy or power of the potestative whole derives from the collection and simultaneous union of all the parts (“in partibus potestativis concurrentibus,” “in partibus et in partium collectione et unione”) and not just from the highest.36 The special virtues, in turn, are distinct and divisible entities. The higher, it is true, also comprises the power of the lower, but an inferior virtue can be possessed and operative without an agent possessing the higher.37 Perfect fortitude, however, is its parts and exists in its parts. If only one or a few of the subalternate virtues are cultivated, then actions 33. II, 2, 11, sol., p. 113. 34. De IV coaequaevis IV, 36, 2, part. 1, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 34, 540a. 35. De bono II, 2, 10, p. 112. 36. II, 2, 2, ad 1m, p. 101, l. 78; art. 3, ad 4m, p. 102, ll. 78–79; I, 4, 2, ad 9m, p. 50. See also De causis et processu universitatis a prima causa I, tr. 1, cap. 9; Cologne ed., vol. 17 (2), ed. Winfrid Fauser, S.J. (Münster: Aschendorff, 1993), p. 17, ll. 57–65. 37. De bono II, 2, 2, sol., p. 101, ll. 67–73.

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and their agents are courageous only in a partial fashion, and not without qualification (fortes secundum quid et non simpiciter).38 The highest part, in this case the special virtue of perseverance, does not exhaust the perfection of the whole of fortitude. Rather, it is its most ultimate manifestation, and the whole perfection of fortitude may be predicated of it only because it entails the contributions of the lower parts as the conditions for its own existence, and because it virtually includes those same perfections. In short, the lower virtue-parts, therefore, are still distinctive and necessary constituents of the virtual whole—fortitude. As contributing toward the completed power of a cardinal virtue, these special parts of fortitude are also special virtues, not simply disposing conditions.39 Some of the Ciceronian special virtues, in turn, are also analyzable into parts; and Albert sometimes speaks of them as if they too might be viewed as minor potestative wholes.40 This may be what he has in mind when he reduces the classification of Macrobius to the primary division of Cicero as being “parts of parts.”41 In the treatises on temperance and prudence, Albert continues to favor the Ciceronian divisions to which all other classifications are reducible. Interestingly, there is a notable modification, even a softening, of Albert’s earliest position on the parts of courage in his later commentaries. In Super Ethica he says that fortitude is a “special virtue,” and therefore does not include subalternate species (non habet sub se aliquas species).42 Courage does indeed have a “special matter” and a “special act,” but it is not called a “cardinal” virtue because it is a “genus” of some such species for the reason that any virtue that is indivisible as to its species can be nominated “cardinal.” This is why, according to Albert, Aristotle does not speak about parts, but rather deals with the distinguishing properties of fortitude. By comparison, Cicero enumerates as parts of fortitude certain features or aspects of the courageous person which attach to fortitude (quaedam annexa 38. Ibid., ll. 67–70; II, 2, 2, ad 2m, p. 101. 39. II, 2, 2, p. 101 is dedicated to this issue. Albert clearly has in mind the claim made by Philip the Chancellor (reference above, note 24) that the parts of fortitude are “conditions” or “dispositions” only. In question 2, articles 2, 3, 4, pp. 101–5, Albert repeatedly underscores the substantially aretaic status of these parts of fortitude. 40. II, 2, 3, ad 4m, p. 102; ibid., sol. #2, p. 103. 41. II, 2, 11, p. 113, ll. 44–45. 42. Super Ethica III, lect. 10, ad 1m, p. 190 (marg. # 210).



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fortitudini ex parte ipsius fortis). What Cicero posits, Albert now says, is not the quintessence of fortitude, but rather “five modes which do not manifest the full meaning [perfecta ratio] of courage, but only some aspect of it [aliquid ipsius].”43 The name of “fortitude,” then, does not apply to these modes univocally, but analogically (per prius, per posterius).44 This last rejoinder is certainly consistent with Albert’s earlier theory, but the change in status of the parts of virtue from “virtue” to that of “modes” is certainly a new qualification, if not a softening of his earlier position. Much the same change in theory also holds in Ethica.45 Again, Albert invokes the authority of Cicero’s De inventione as positing five “species of true fortitude,” “‘species’ meaning a quality that disposes the agent to be brave, without which a truly brave person would never exist.”46 A few lines latter (p. 250a), he adds that, from their definitions, it is apparent that these species are really qualities of the brave person rather than “parts of fortitude” (patet quod illae sunt potius qualitates fortis quam partes fortitudinis). In Super Ethica, Albert had also anchored the Ciceronian qualities in the structural phases of undertaking (aggredi) and sustaining (sustinere); but in both commentaries there is not a hint of potestative-whole integration of the species/modes of courage. At the same time, however, this silence and the altered status of the “parts of fortitude” are understandable since, in the commentaries, Albert is primarily preoccupied with the meaning of Aristotle’s text, not necessarily with reinforcing his own earlier position or with assimilating the Ciceronian tradition to Aristotle’s data. Temperance Temperance or self-mastery over our manifold desires is an acquired state or habitus perfecting the agent’s concupiscible power, an affective power of appetition diffused throughout the zone of our sensory powers. In the first article of De bono’s Tractatus III, Albert leads off with Cicero’s definition, which he tends to favor: “Temperance is firm and well-considered control 43. III, lect. 8, sol., p. 181, ll. 51–55. 44. III, lect. 10, p. 190. 45. Ethica III, tr. 2, cap. 10, Borgnet ed., vol. 7, 249b–250a. 46. “Tullius ..... quinque ponit verae fortitudinis species: species vocans qualitatem fortem disponentem, sine quibus vere fortis nunquam invenitur.”—ibid., p. 249b. Constantia, presumably the fifth species, is assimilated to confidentia.

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[firma et moderata dominatio] [exercised by reason] over lust [libidinem] and other improper impulses of the soul.”47 Albert favors this definition because it more than the other definitions cited captures the necessary defining features of act, subject matter (materia), and the notions of the mean and difficulty.48 Even so, he adds, Cicero does not as strictly define temperance in terms of chastity as do some other philosophers. Primarily temperance has an interior reference since, as Albert repeats time and again, it mediates immanently in the realm of the endogenous passions. Just as the proper subject of fortitude, we saw, is the irascible power and its emotions of anger and fear, so in the case of temperance its proper subject—that which it modifies and in which it resides—is the concupiscible power whose proper object is the manifold of pleasure generated by the innate sense of touch (tactus), including taste. At the same time, temperance commands a secondary, outer-directed influence inasmuch as it also mediates in the public observables of our life such as dress, the way we walk, the quest for honors, family size, our speech and deeds, even laughter.49 At the same time, however, Albert admits that the scope of temperance must also be extended to include a certain moderation of the irascible power. Temperance, more precisely the subvirtue of clemency, “communicates the sweetness of its own affective power to the irascible power lest the stern irascible power sink into rage.”50 Such a possibility, he adds, stems from his theory of psychology, which states that these sensory motive powers of the human person compenetrate, so to speak, and are interrelated through common acts. The various parts or species of temperance, then, may be distinguished by their “matter” according as they are referable either to the concupiscible power as their direct and primary subject; or to those affections (passiones) in the concupiscible power which have an external reference; or to the irascible power to which the efficacy of one of its parts, clemency, extends.51 Albert speaks of temperance or self-mastery as another potestative whole whose power (posse, potestas) is made up of a series of parts.52 Cicero had 47. De bono III, 1, 1, p. 114, ll. 15–17. See Cicero, De inventione II, 54, 164, trans. Hubbell, p. 331. In his nearly literal quotation, however, Albert omits Cicero’s explicit reference to “reason,” but retains the broad notion of animus. 48. De bono III, 1, 1, sol., p. 117, ll. 45–55. 49. De bono III, 1, 2, sol., p. 124; IV, 2, sol., p. 190, ll. 12–17. 50. III, 4, 1, sol., p. 187. 51. III, 4, 2, ad 1m, p. 190, ll. 6–20; III, 4, 5, ad 1m, p. 194. 52. III, 4, 5, ad 1m, p. 194; III, 2, 1, 2, sol., p. 136, ll. 86–88; III, 4, 1, sol., p. 187, ll. 61–63.



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divided temperance into three major species: continence, clemency, and modesty.53 The De bono adopts this division and proceeds to analyze it and further subdivisions in this order. Having a direct reference to the concupiscible power is the virtue of continence. Clemency, as we already noted, modifies and enhances the acts not only of the concupiscible power proper, but also acts to temper the irascible power of the soul lest it slip into excessive rage.54 Modesty pertains to the external sensibles which generate pleasure in the concupiscible power of the agent’s soul. The person who is perfectly temperate, in full self-control, must be developed in all of these areas; and so, the full efficacy (perfectum posse) of temperance derives from a synthesis of these parts.55 Moreover, because external behavior always has fundamental reference to the agent’s interiority, an interconnectedness obtains between these special virtues. Continence is the basic and primary constituent of temperance since its subject is directly the concupiscible power. The other virtues have fundamental relationship to it. Thus, clemency is an exterior manifestation of continence seen as modifying the irascible power. Modesty, no less a special part of temperance, imposes measure upon the exogenous pleasures, and has a fundamental reference as well to a person’s internal continence.56 Structurally, this organic unification in the parts of temperance differs from that of courage: the parts of temperance, which have both internal and external reference, combine themselves more in a horizontal or lateral fashion, in contrast to the vertical ascendancy of parts in the virtue of fortitude (and, as we shall now see, of prudence). Once again, the more detailed classification of the subalternate parts of temperance as posited by Macrobius and the Christian moralists are reducible to the dominant Ciceronian division as parts of parts.57 Prudence Cicero divided prudence into three parts: memory, intelligence, and foresight (providentia).58 Albert adopts this as his primary classification, and treats of these parts in the same order. As its principal parts, these 53. See note 17 above. 54. De bono III, 4, 1, sol., p. 187. 55. Ibid., ll. 61–66; III, 1, 2, ad 3m, p. 124. 56. III, 4, 4, sol., p. 193; art. 3, sol., p. 192; art. 5, ad 3m, p. 194. 57. See “De partibus continentiae,” pp. 136ff.; and III, 4, 4, pp. 192–94. 58. See text above, note 17.

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three principles constitute the perfection of prudence.59 In his discussion of prudence, Albert does not explicitly invoke the formula “potestative whole,” but he does call one of the parts, intelligence, a “potestative part,” and it seems obvious that he is still working with this principle in mind.60 This time, however, he does not refer to the parts as virtues; they are simply “parts” or “habitus.” Albert’s overall hesitancy is understandable: ontologically, the Ciceronian parts of prudence are much closer in status to epistemic acts and powers, and much less similar to acquired moral qualities as in the case of fortitude and temperance. On the other hand, Albert’s retention of “potestative” language in unifying these epistemic functions appears to be consistent with passages in his De homine, in which he had already invoked the concept of potestative whole and parts to integrate the powers of the human soul.61 Intelligence is the light (lumen) or discernment (discretio) which here and now guides the agent in his consideration of particular acts amidst a network of real circumstances.62 Foresight, on the other hand, is that part of prudence which directs us in a consideration of future contingencies.63 Memory, however, is the principal component (summe necessaria) of prudence because, as the residual imprint of past events, it guides and controls our present judgments and decisions about the future.64 As the element linked to experience, it is presupposed by the powers of intelligence and foresight so far as these latter parts determine our acts of choice with respect to present and future contingencies. The parts themselves are distinguishable according to differences in succession of time: past, present, and future.65 All these properties and their linear positioning reinforce the status of prudence as virtual or potestative whole in which the integration appears to be vertical, and the dependency hierarchical. Again, the Macrobian classification (reason, understanding, circumspection, foresight, docility, and caution) is reduced to that of Cicero, not as parts of parts this time, but rather as “conditions” and “effects” of the three primary parts.66 59. IV, 2, 5, sol., p. 255, ll. 64–66. 60. IV, 2, 3, sol., p. 255. 61. De homine, qu. 6, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 35, 87b; qu. 7, art. 1, ad 8m, pp. 95b–96a; qu. 8, art. 2, p. 105a. 62. De bono IV, 2, 3, sol., p. 252, ll. 58–60. 63. IV, 2, 4, p. 253. 64. IV, 2, 2, sol., p. 249, ll. 73–76. 65. IV, 2, 5, sol., p. 255, ll. 66–71. 66. Ibid., ll. 71–76.



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Justice In the last chapter, we saw that there are texts in De bono, as well as in his other works, indicating that Albert conceptualizes general justice as a virtual or potestative whole. It is no one single virtue, but rather a state of the soul—more of a habitude, he says, than a habitus—whose whole reality consists in the possession of all the virtues.67 For this reason, it aligns itself, but in a less tidy fashion, with the Albertinian conception of virtue as a potential whole. Is this true as well of special justice? Except for one text in which Albert suggests that the acts of the other virtues are “material” in relation to the act of justice (materiales ..... ad actum suum), there is little evidence that he thought of it as such.68 At this point, then, the value of virtual or potestative wholeness as a unifying principle appears to have nearly petered out. In sum, pre-Albertinian moral theorists had spoken of a number of special virtues, but, with the possible exception of Philip the Chancellor, scarcely any attempt had ever been made to systematize these data. Albert appears to have been the first to attempt seriously to craft such an integration by unifying these special virtues as parts of organically structured potestative wholes in which, ideally, a higher virtue-part in a more eminent fashion or subliminally comprises the efficacy of the part(s) below it. In the same way, he also sought to reconcile disparate historical testimonies by assimilating the longer Macrobian classifications to those of Cicero. The resultant syntheses are consistent with Albert’s earlier accounts of the nature and causes of virtue in general wherein he had stated that virtue is a potestative whole efficiently inducing certain kinds of desirable behavior. This notion, in turn, derives from the theory of created goods as being intelligible hierarchies of multiple ascending principles. Albert’s theory of the potestative integration of the virtues reinforces as well his vision of the dynamism of the virtues and their status as moral organisms which enhance our natural ability to live the good life. We are now in a position as well to see that the degree to which the in67. V, 3, 1, ad 11m, p. 293, ll. 76–79. 68. V, 3, 1, ad 12m (= 11m), p. 293, ll. 82–83. This phrase, moreover, is similar to another used by Albert to describe the relationship of the lower part in any potential whole to its superiors: “semper prior materialis est ad sequentem”—I, 4, 2, ad 9m, p. 50.

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dividual cardinal virtues reflect the feature of potestative totality had some influence in determining the sequence of the four treatises on the principal virtues. Virtual totality is most simply and evidently realized in the vertical hierarchy of fortitude, and less so in the horizontal divisions of temperance, while in the case of prudence and general justice the principle is still operative, but progressively less easily discernible. In this issue, as well as in the area of the genesis of virtue, we have some of our best glimpses into Albert’s preoccupation with the organized presentation of moral theory. The principles determining this synthesis of the elements of morality are already prefigured in his general metaphysics of the good—an influence that is scarcely operative at all in the later Aristotelian commentaries. The result, too, illustrates once again that Albert is not merely an eclectic thinker, a recorder of opinions, and a proselytizer of Aristotelian doctrine, but rather a profoundly original theorist who wove together the data of classical and Aristotelian ethical theory into a strikingly original moral synthesis with evident neo-Platonic overtones.

chapt e r 10

the passions

Following the analyses of temperance and its parts in De bono, and prior to the tractate on prudence, Albert the Great inserted a treatise on the passions. This treatise—actually, a quaestio comprising seven articles—does not stand alone: it is still part of the tractate on temperance. The seven articles which he devotes to this difficult subject matter appear to constitute the first systematic treatise on affective psychology ever composed in the Latin West.1 It was partly inspired, no doubt, by the new interest in philosophical psychology in the 1240s arising from commentary literature on Aristotle’s De anima.2 Its wider historical significance seems even more striking in the light of observations by a contemporary psychologist, seven and a half centuries after Albert’s foray into a theory of the emotions, that our modern understand1. “À la rencontre d’une affirmation aristotélicienne sur la matière où s’exerce la tempérance et des considérations du Chancelier sur la force déployée par les martyrs chrétiens, Albert parvient en effet à rédiger et à insérer dans une oeuvre théologique le premier exposé systématique de que l’on appelerait maintenant psychologie affective, aussi embryonnaire q’il soit.”—P. Michaud-Quantin, “Le traité des passions chez saint Albert le Grand,” RTAM 17 (1950): 119. See also, by the same author, Le psychologie de l’activité chez Albert le Grand, 91–113. For an overview of medieval theories, see Simo Knuuttila, “Medieval Theories of the Passions of the Soul,” in Henrik Lagelund and Mikko Yrjönsuuri (eds.), Emotions and Choice from Boethius to Descartes, Studies in the History of Philosophy and Mind, vol. 1 (Dordrecht, Boston, London: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), 49–83 (Albert, pp. 69–71). 2. Knuuttila, “Medieval Theories of the Passions of the Soul,” 69.

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ing of the emotions has been “slighted by research over the years, leaving the emotions a largely unexplored continent for scientific psychology.”3 Albert’s placement of these materials within a medieval moral treatise is no less original. The term “passio” in this context signifies the feelings or emotions generated in man’s sentient appetitive powers by agreeable or disagreeable objects and situations. For Albert, as for Aristotle,4 a passion is an affection of the body-soul complex; it involves both corporeal modification and an impulse or form of movement that is rooted in the sentient powers of the soul. In the twelfth and early-thirteenth centuries, the Stoic listing of the passions (known through the writings of St. Augustine and Boethius) was the most popular: pleasure, pain, hope, and fear.5 Another partially overlapping classification, this one dating back to Nemesius Emesenus (whom Albert believes to be Gregory of Nyssa) and John Damascene, listed pleasure, sadness (tristitia), fear, and anger. The individual passions upon which Albert focuses in his dedicated treatise are pleasure and joy (voluptas, delectatio, gaudium), sorrow or distress (tristitia), hope, and fear.6 More on the pleasure and love-inclining aspects of affectivity will also figure prominently in Albert’s concept of friendship (see chapter 12). Interestingly, he does not regard anger (ira) as one of the elemental passions because it involves a desire to avenge.7 Moreover, there are two broad categories of the passions: endogenous passions, or those originating in us from within the organism (passions innatae), and these episodes (or qualities) occur within the concupiscible power; and those impulses excited in us by external causes, the exogenous passions or passiones illatae which are experienced within the irascible power of the soul.8 Albert ranks as a pioneer in this special area of affective psychology, and so his notions of the passions and the language he employs sometimes lack clarity. Moreover, in a number of these articles, notably in article 2 (pp. 197–206) where no magisterial resolution is given, it is not easy to 3. Daniel Goleman, Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ (New York, London: Bantam Books, 1995), xi. 4. See, for example, Aristotle’s De anima, I, 1, 403a25ff. 5. See Knuuttila, “Medieval Theories of the Passions of the Soul,” 66. 6. See also De bono I, 4, 1, #3, p. 44, ll. 25–27. 7. III, 5, 2, ad 43m, p. 206. 8. For more on the translation of these two category terms, see also Hauser, The Cardinal Virtues, 124 n. 13.



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disengage Albert’s own thought from his commentaries on the authors he cites. For example, Albert wavers as to the metaphysical status of the passions. His confusion, Knuuttila points out, is occasioned partly by statements in Aristotle’s Categories and later commentators (notably Boethius) having to do with the allegedly qualitative or non-qualitative nature of the passions of the soul.9 Albert appears to vacillate on this question: in different places he first calls the passions qualities; then motions which actualize the appetitive powers; then, again, qualities produced by these motions.10 To clarify in any detail his own doctrine on these and many other points, and to distinguish between Albert’s own doctrine and the authorities he quotes, would simply carry us too far afield into both the complexities of his moral psychology and into the much-neglected area of affective psychology in the thirteenth century. Nevertheless, as relevant to the overall organization of the De bono, it is important to understand why Albert, the originator of a dedicated treatise on the passions, chose to insert it into a work on ethics, and why he did so at this particular place. Is its placement nothing more than an afterthought, or are there reasons, doctrinal or historical, prompting him in this move? Michaud-Quantin, for instance, finds this insertion, at this place, surprising.11 One would have expected to find this material, he writes, in the earlier De homine (where Albert deals at length with the psychology of the soul), or strictly within the context of the voluntary and the involuntary. Certainly, it is true to say that for his material Albert found very little to aid him in the writing of twelfth- and thirteenth-century thinkers. For this reason he has had to rely so much upon the speculations of two early Eastern writers, Nemesius Emesenus and John Damascene. There are reasons for such a paucity of sources. In the Latin West, there had always been a marked tendency among theologians to condemn the passions as disorderly, sinful impulses, or to ignore and minimize them in their treatment of human nature, because they were seen to reside in the lower part of man’s soul.12 When pre-Albertinian writers did mention the term “pas9. “Medieval Theories of the Passions of the Soul,” 70–71. 10. De bono III, 5, 1, p. 196, ll. 28–29, 42–44; p. 197, ll. 5–10; 5, 2, p. 208, ll. 37–41, 91–95. 11. La psychologie de l’activité chez Albert le Grand, 92. 12. “Du point de vue moral, les passions avaient été l’objet d’une attitude hostile de la part des auteurs de XIIe siècle. Actitivités de l’âme sensible et donc inférieure, elles no pouvaient guère avoir un autre sort. Les écoles mystiques les condemnaient, en termes qui rappellent parfois le stoï-

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sio,” it most commonly designated the sufferings of Christ and the afflictions of the martyrs.13 For Albert the Great, on the other hand, under the obvious influence of Aristotle, whom he quotes on this point, the passions are an integral part of human moral psychology. They are principles that in themselves are neither good nor evil: they are non-moral.14 They become good, that is, they become the “matter of virtue,” to the extent that they incorporate the “order of reason.”15 In view of this moral relevancy, the passions would seem to deserve a place in the De bono. Furthermore, in the prologue to these questions, Albert affirms the usefulness of such a study: For since fortitude in its entirety exists in the exogenous passions, temperance with its parts, on the other hand, in the endogenous passions, it seems helpful to define the passions, especially since the holy authorities, namely Gregory of Nyssa [i.e., Nemesius Emesenus] and John Damascene, define them.16

Indeed, the treatment of the passions belongs in a treatise on the consuetudinary virtues.17 Albert is fully aware that he is taking an unprecedented step by including these questions in a moral treatise, and so he supplies reasons for doing so, one of which is the above appeal to authority. Moreover, the inclusion of this subject matter appears to be perfectly consistent with what we have already seen of Albert’s doctrine of virtue, and with the principles which he has borrowed from Aristotle. Since virtues, especially fortitude and temperance, have to do with the passions, a finer understanding of the passions themselves adds to our knowledge of at least these two virtues in their proper setting. Michaud-Quantin, I believe, is much too severe when he accuses Albert of losing sight of moral considerations in the treatise itself.18 On the contrary, Albert states that he will treat only of those passions or definitions of passion which relate to virtue or vice.19 Still, it remains for us to consider why Albert chose to insert the treatise at this point in the De bono—as the concluding articles in the traccisme, sans d’ailleurs les étudier réellement. L’opinion du Lombard, qui les ignore dans son étude de l’homme, peut facilement se déduire du fait qu’il les écarte de la psychologie du Christ pour ne pas nuire la perefection de sa nature humaine.”—Michaud-Quantin, “Le traité des passions,” 99. 13. Ibid., 91. 14. De bono I, 5, 1, ad 23m, p. 74, ll. 35–47. 15. I, 6, 1, p. 80, ll. 21–41. 16. III, 5, p. 195, ll. 3–6. 17. Ibid., ad 27m, p. 204, ll. 78–80. 18. “Le traité des passions,” 119. 19. De bono III, 5, sol., p. 196, ll. 35ff.; ad 4m, ll. 77ff. See also art. 2, p. 204. Articles 6 and 7 are directly ethical in their preoccupation with the relationship between passion and merit.



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tate on temperance. Why, for instance, did he not include this matter in question 4 of tractate I, where his concern with the “matter of virtue” had already led him to remark upon the intimate connection between virtue and the passions? Or, as Michaud-Quantin has already suggested, why did he not attach these articles on the passions to the section on the voluntary and the involuntary, since the former—the passions—clearly influence the latter? The reasons for Albert’s choice, in this case no less historical and authoritative than doctrinal, also seem to have been prompted both by the place in which Aristotle talks about pleasure, and by the role accorded to the concept of passion in Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono. In Book III of the Nicomachean Ethics, after the treatment of fortitude and within the discussion of temperance, Aristotle pauses to identify the kinds of pleasure.20 Admittedly, the treatment is brief, and it is concerned with only one of the passions, pleasure. Yet this may have suggested to Albert that his own treatise on the passions should be situated close to the treatise on temperance. I have already remarked that pre-Albertinian thinkers in general did not concern themselves with the affective psychology of the passions. This is not altogether true in the case of Philip the Chancellor. In his Summa, Philip distinguishes between two meanings of the word “passio.” 21 In the first sense, passio signifies one of the ten Aristotelian metaphysical categories, namely being acted upon (pati). This obviously has no special reference to affective psychology. In the second meaning recorded by Philip, however, passio designates a quality in the irascible power. Philip treats only of the passions (e.g., distress [tristitia]) associated with the irascible power, and principally as they are related to martyrdom.22 The concept of passion commands no distinctive ethical service. Even so, Philip’s ensuing discussion of the passions of the irascible power constituted a modest precedent for subsequent theologians. To Albert, no doubt, this move may have meant that the inclusion of a study of the passions within his own moral treatise was justified. In addition to this, Aristotle’s remarks on pleasure would certainly have suggested to Albert the necessity for expanding the treatise on passions to include the endogenous 20. Nic. Ethics III, 13, 1117b29ff. 21. Summa de bono, ed. N. Wicki, vol. 2, p. 810, ll. 374–383. 22. See Michaud-Quantin, “Le traité des passions,” 92.

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passions which reside in the concupiscible power and are clearly the “matter” of temperance. The resulting synthesis, containing material pertinent to both fortitude and temperance but not simply to one, was then placed by Albert after the two tractates dedicated to these virtues. Albert’s treatise, though partly inspired by remarks of Aristotle and Philip the Chancellor, exceeded both their accounts in its scope and wealth of material. There are other possible reasons. The treatment of temperance and its parts—not including the section on the passions—already takes up eighty folio pages, by far the longest section in the De bono, and roughly twice the length of any of the tractates dedicated to the other three cardinal virtues. In this respect, it repeats the disproportion, if one may call it that, of the earlier De natura boni. Concerned as it is with the whole compass of pleasure and its constraints, this tractate in De bono speaks about a wide range of embedded and subordinate virtues (e.g., clemency, modesty, chastity, respect, moderation, purity, sobriety, thrift). It also expatiates upon an associated range of practices and institutions, both social and religious: abstinence, fasting, sobriety, chastity, purity, virginity (including the virginity of the Virgin Mary), widowhood, and the appropriate clothing for virgins and widows. While the latter sections on virginity, the Virgin Mary, and widowhood command nothing like the length that they do in De natura boni, it is evident that Albert still believes that they constitute valid models and subject matters in a moral treatise on the natural virtues. More to the point, however, the compass of human pleasures and their appropriate restraints seem to have suggested to Albert that a treatment of natural passions and emotions very much belongs in a larger context, namely temperance and associated forms of constraint. Albert’s experiment in this area is not without later historical import. An innovation in itself, Albert’s study of the passions in De bono stands as a major precedent for the treatise on the passions in the moral section of St. Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae.23 Thomas, however, will reverse his master’s order when he treats of the passions prior to his study of the habits and virtues. 23. Summa theologiae I-II, qq. 22–48.

part iv

Morality, Obligation, and Law

chapt e r 11

natural law

The last tractatus of De bono is devoted to the theory of justice. At the beginning of this section Albert inserted two questions which constitute an innovative treatise on natural law (ius naturale).1 The pages in these two questions constitute the principal and definitive source for St. Albert’s natural-law theory. Its significance is no less appreciable within the broader context of the historical evolution of natural-law theory in the Middle Ages. Up to this time, only one other extensive treatise on natural law appears to have been written by a theologian or philosopher: the section on law in William of Auxerre’s Summa aurea prefacing his analysis of the cardinal virtues. Philip the Chancellor’s Summa de bono, in which natural law is scarcely mentioned, does not figure significantly in the history of this problem.2 In contrast to this conspicuous silence among pre-Albertinian theologians and philosophers, theories of natural law are found in the writings of the decretists, or canon lawyers, of this same period, and I shall mention some of these later. An earlier version of this chapter appeared in Journal of the History of Ideas 28, no. 4 (October–December 1967): 479–502. 1. Prior to Albert the Great and even in his own writings, the terms “ius” (right) and “lex” (law) are often used interchangeably. 2. O. Lottin, Le droit naturel chez Saint Thomas d’Aquin et ses prédécecesseurs, 2nd ed. (Bruges: Beyaert, 1931), 39.

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With reference to Albert’s own writings, Lottin, who once described this part of the De bono as a “treatise remarkable for its scope and originality,” has relied exclusively upon these two questions in his analysis of Albert’s notions of right and law.3 The only other significant source for Albertinian natural-law theory is found in Book V of Super Ethica. The material therein comprises eight problem issues (dubia), each of which is presented in the disputed-question format. Because he is writing a commentary, this section includes a number of modifications and word usages not present in De bono: for instance, the word iustum is used throughout as an equivalent to ius and ius naturale. That is an interesting variation because, in also using the word for that which is naturally just and appropriate, it underscores Albert’s conception of ius and ius naturale as signifying that which is really and objectively suitable. However, other than the occasional new distinction, there do not appear to be any major developments in Albert’s natural-law theory.4 These eight brief articles quite obviously lack the scope and systematic development of thought that we find in the earlier treatise on law in De bono. That’s not at all surprising since Aristotle does not deal with natural right/law as it was conceptualized in later Stoic and medieval traditions. Accordingly, De bono contains the most thorough and technically elaborated treatment of natural right and law within the entire Albertinian corpus, and one to which Albert does not hesitate to refer his reader in a later writing.5 Now, one problem generally overlooked by Lottin and other scholars concerns the place of law within the whole of Albert’s moral philosophy, and more specifically its relationship to virtue. (As I indicated in chapter 1, the relationship between law/obligation and virtue is a defining theme in modern and recent-modern moral philosophy.) De bono, as an independent moral treatise in which Albert was free not only to express his own theory but to establish his own arrangement of material as well, is our best source to consult for an answer to this problem. In this chapter, I shall demonstrate that the content of this treatise on law, as well as its position within 3. Ibid., 42. 4. “Dans son Cours sur la Morale d’Aristote ..... saint Albert est amené à parler, un seconde fois, du droit naturel. On ne voit cependant se dessiner aucune idée nouvelle.”—O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 85. 5. “Hic autem, qui vult, potest inducere longam quaestionem de legibus et iure naturali quam disputavimus in tractatu De iustitia.”—In III Sent., d. 40, art. 4.



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the De bono, constitute a radical departure from the general pattern of moral speculation at this time in which the spirit of legalism was prevalent. Pre-Albertinian Theorists Two conditions make such a comparative viewing feasible: the late emergence of systematized moral treatises, and the scarcity of expositions on law by theologians and philosophers. A representative view of the most commonly conceived connection between law and virtue in the twelfth and the first half of the thirteenth century will emerge if we consult three major and influential treatises, two of them composed in Albert’s own lifetime: Alan of Lille’s De virtutibus et de vitiis et de donis Spiritus Sancti; William of Auxerre’s Summa aurea; and part 3 of the Summa Fratris Alexandri, the moral section of which is generally believed to have been written by the Franciscan John of Rupella. Alan of Lille’s work, composed around 1160, has been appraised as “greatly contributing to a more technical elaboration of the treatise on virtues” in the Middle Ages.6 It is of special interest in the historical evolution of the definition(s) of virtue because Alan is confronted with a seeming conflict between the theocentric-Augustinian definition of virtue of Peter the Lombard, and the philosophical descriptions proposed by Peter Abelard and his school (habitus animi optimus, habitus mentis bene constitutae).7 In addition to this, he is also confronted with more than one definition by the classical philosophers, for he reports that according to Aristotle virtue belongs to the genus of “quality,” while Cicero, in De inventione, seems to treat of the virtues as species of natural right (species naturalis iuris).8 By natural right, Alan continues, is meant everything in a thing bestowed upon it by nature. Virtue, then, belongs to the genus of quality, and at the 6. “Le traité d’Alain de Lille sur les vertus, les vices et les dons du sant-Esprit,” PEM, vol. 6, 42. Lottin’s article includes a valuable introduction to the work (pp. 27–43), as well as a critical edition of the text (pp. 45–92). This edition, because it makes use of more recently discovered versions, supercedes an earlier one that had appeared in Mediaeval Studies 12 (1950): 20–56. Richard Newhauser, The Treatise on Vices and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepolls, 1993), states that “for the reasoned attention to, and emphasis on, systems of virtue,” Alan’s treatise “is unprecedented in the treatises on vices and virtues before the work of the Schoolmen” (p. 123). 7. “Le traité d’Alain de Lille,” 41. 8. Ibid., 47, ll. 18–35.

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same time it is a species of natural right conferred upon the soul at creation. It would seem, then, that the convergence of the terms “genus” and “species” fulfills the strict logical requirement of a definition. Yet Alan goes on to say that what is really conferred upon us at creation is not the fullfledged virtue, but merely a disposing quality. The virtues at the moment of their inception are merely “potencies.” To become full-blown perfections, these qualitative potencies must be developed through our actions or “use.” Essentially, the implanted seminal potency is a quality, but since its subsequent growth and completion depend upon our performance, it is only accidental to it that it should ever become a virtue: accidentale est enim ei si esse virtutem, sed substantiale est esse qualitatem. In order for this qualitative potency to graduate to the dimensions of virtue, two conditions must coincide in our “use”: attention to obligation or duty (debitum officium) and to the appropriate end (debitum finis).9 If our actions do not conform to both of these, then we cannot be said to possess virtue. The end that Alan has in mind is God. What is more immediately relevant to our problem, however, is his notion of right duty. “Since officium,” he writes, “is the act of any person conforming to the customs and laws of the country [secundum mores et instituta patriae], the officium of the Christian religion is the act of any person in conformity with the customs and laws of the Church. Moreover, the customs and laws of the Church are that a man’s actions be directed to God and performed in a spirit of charity.”10 It is quickly evident, of course, that Alan of Lille’s conception of virtue, though starting with a naturally grounded and philosophical description, ends up seen from a decidedly supernatural perspective. What is even more significant, however, is the relationship he draws between virtue on the one hand, and custom and law (mores et instituta) on the other. Our innate proclivities toward perfection are not virtuous in and of themselves. They become that if and only if we act in conformity with the laws (and practices which have the force of law) of the Church. We have here a legalistic conception of morality in which conformity to 9. “Videamus ergo que concurrunt ad hoc ut potentia virtus sit. Duo concurrunt: officum et finis, ut ait auctoritas [Boethius]: virtus in duobus consistit: in officio et fine, ut scilicet quis utatur illa potentia que est virtus secundum debitum finem et secundum debitum officium.”—Ibid., 48, ll. 31–35. 10. Ibid., 49, ll. 3–8.



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law precedes the growth of virtue as its defining condition and indispensable cause. Sixty or more years later we find a similar priority of law to virtue affirmed by William of Auxerre in his Summa aurea (1215–1229): “Since natural law (ius naturale),” he writes, “is the origin and principle of all the virtues and their acts, it behooves us to treat first of natural law.”11 Now, it is true that, unlike Alan of Lille, William in this present text speaks of natural right or law, and not of the positive written law of the Church. Even so, the difference is not really that great when we stop to consider what William understands by natural law, and the historical influences at work in the shaping of his thought. When the decretists of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries came to treat of natural law, they did so with the traditional vocabulary and techniques proper to the study of positive or prescribed law.12 This very practice of clothing their theories of natural law in the language proper to the study of civil and canon law was bound to produce misconceptions of the former. One of the dominant figures in this tradition of natural-law theory was the canonist Rufinus, in whose Summa decretorum (1157–1159) there is an attempt to codify in a broad fashion the content of natural law into “commands,” “prohibitions,” and the remoter “demonstrations” deducible therefrom.13 Now William of Auxerre, as we have just seen, proposes to add a treatise on natural law prior to his treatment of the virtues. Central to his doctrine is the Rufinian division of natural law/right into precepts, prohibitions, and demonstrations.14 These divisions are analyzed by William in terms of obligation: precepts and prohibitions oblige us absolutely, whereas the force of obligation in “demonstrations” depends upon circumstances. 11. “Dicto de virtutibus theologicis, dicendum est de politicis, antequam dicamus de donis Spiritus Sancti....... quoniam autem ius naturale origo et principium est omnium virtutum et motuum ipsarum, ideo prius dicendum de iure naturali.”—Summa aurea III (t. 1), tr. 18; ed. Jean Ribaillier, Spicilegium Bonaventurianum, vol. 18A (1986), pp. 368–69. 12. See below. 13. “Consistit autem ius naturale in tribus, scilicet: mandatis, prohibitionibus, demonstrationibus. Mandat namque quod prosit, ut: ‘diliges Dominum Deum tuum’; prohibit quod ledit, ut: ‘non occides’; demonstrat quod convenit, ut: ‘omnia in commune habeantur,’ ut: ‘omnium una sit libertas,’ et huiuismodi.” Die Summa Decretorum des Magister Rufinus I, d. 1, ed. H. Singer (Paderborn, 1902), 6. 14. “praecepta enim et prohibitiones iuris naturalis semper et simpliciter obligant. Demonstatationes sunt que ad tempus et secondum quid obligant, quarum opposita secundum casus emergentes licet fieri”—Summa aurea III (t. 1), tr. 18, cap. 1; ed. Ribaillier, vol. 18A, p. 370, ll. 32–35.

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The obligational force of natural law is refracted as well in another triad of categories: primary, secondary, and even tertiary necessity.15 To put it briefly, the main feature in terms of which William interprets natural law is the binding force of obligation and necessity. These precepts of natural law, he tell us, “are primarily and principally given to habilitate us towards the acquisition of cardinal virtues.”16 It must have seemed perfectly logical and consistent to William, then, that his theory of natural law should preface his disquisition on the virtues. Hence, his conception of law as naturally prior to virtue, and the conditioning source of it, reveals itself as the dominant architectonic principle of order in this moral section on the virtues. Moral wisdom, which is not the same thing as the virtue of prudence, per se rests upon the precepts of natural law which are inscribed in the human heart.17 This apparent spirit of legalism is even more pronounced in another part of William’s Summa. Well after the treatises on natural law and the virtues, he embarks upon a new section which is to be primarily about morals: After theological questions we move on to moral questions in which we learn about external acts and particular cases. I say this for the most part, because among the following questions there are some as well which are theological. Now, we divide these moral questions in two: that is, into precepts and sacraments or into questions concerning precepts and questions concerning the sacraments.18

It was not uncommon for theologians of this period and later to formulate the major division in their theology in terms of “faith and morals” (fides et mores). This division reappears in the translated text above, for the impli15. Ibid., cap. 5, p. 382, l. 25–p. 383, l. 70. 16. “Si queritur propter quid data sunt praecepta naturalia ..... Dicimus quod data sunt ad merendum, sed non primo et principaliter, immo data sunt primo et principaliter ad hoc, ut habilitent nos ad habendum virtutes politicas et per virtutes politicas veniamus ad theologas per quas meremur.”—Ibid., cap. 3, p. 377, ll. 63–67. 17. “moralis vero scientia non potest esse virtus, quoniam per se innnititur naturalibus preceptis que naturaliter scripta sunt in corde hominis et secundum naturalia non est laus vel vituperium.”— ibid., cap. 1, p. 389, ll. 35–38. 18. “Post questiones theologicas accedendum est ad questiones morales quibus instruimur in operibus exterioribus in casibus singularibus. Hoc autem dico pro maiori parte, quia inter questiones sequentes sunt etiam quedam que sunt theologice. Dividimus autem eas in duo, scilicet in precepta et sacramenta, sive in questiones de preceptis et questiones de sacramentis.”—ibid., tr. 44 (De Questionibus Moralibus), ed. Ribaillier, vol. 3 (t. 2), p. 830, ll. 3–8.



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cation reads all too clearly that the earlier questions of the Summa aurea, even those including William’s theories on natural law and the cardinal virtues, belong not so much to moral science as to the theology of faith. Only now are we really embarking upon the elaboration of moral science (mores), an investigation, moreover, that reduces itself in large part to an examination of laws and particular cases.19 Whereas both Alan of Lille and William of Auxerre affirm the priority of law to virtue in their moral treatises, no real demonstration has yet been offered to justify this order of speculation. In John of Rupella there is an explicit defense given for this mode of procedure. In addition to the many scattered and unedited treatises attributed to him, it is now generally agreed that John is the author of a pas moralis contained in Book III of the Summa Fratris Alexandri.20 It was being written at about the same time which St. Albert was engaged in work on the De bono, that is, around 1241–1245. For this reason the work supplies us with an immediate background of information concerning contemporary views on law, and in particular certain trends of thought in the Franciscan school. In his treatise, John of Rupella explicitly asks about the order obtaining between law and virtue: Iuxta hoc secundo quaeritur de ordine praeceptorum et virtutum, quod horum est prius.21 In his own resolution to the question there is an unequivocal statement and defense of the natural priority of law to virtue: lex sive praecepta legis naturaliter sunt priora virtutibus. As proof, he observes that God, the summum bonum, moves in two ways: as the beginning (principium), and the end (finis) of creation. When God is viewed as the origin of creatures and their goodness, we find embedded in creatures a corresponding obligation (debitum) to conform to their principle. Law is situated in this context, that is, at the point where creatures 19. O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 3, 556, and R. Guindon, Béatitude et théologie morale chez saint Thomas d’Aquin (Éditions de l’Université d’Ottawa, 1956), 49 n. 115, have both remarked upon the prevalence of casuistry in moral treatises of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. William of Auxerre’s preoccupation with “particular cases” (casus singulares) places him in that tradition. But Guindon (p. 49) prefers to interpret the text of William cited above “comme un témoin du passage de la conception qui avait prévalu jusqu’alors à une formation plus scientifique des problèmes moraux.” Even so, it is still a legalistic notion of morality. 20. See V. Doucet, O.F.M., “Prolegomena in librum III necnon in libros I et II ‘Summa fratris Alexandri,’” Alexandri de Hales Summa theologica, vol. 4 (Quaracchi, 1948), ccclx–ccclxvii. 21. Libri tertii Summae Fratris Alexandri Pars II, inqu. 3, tr. 2, sec. 1, qu. I, tit. 1, cap. 4, art. 2, vol. 4 (Quaracchi, 1948), 420–21.

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issue from their maker. It is law that dictates the debitum bonum to these creatures and holds them to the good. Virtue is situated in the second context. It consists in the aptitude to obediently pursue the good already dictated to us.22 The essence of virtue, then, is obligation and obedience; it is submission to law. In point of fact, this article provides the justification for the architectonic structure of John’s moral treatise: a disquisition on law precedes his treatment of the virtues.23 This emphasis upon the centrality of law within the moral order is no less apparent in the Prologue to John of Rupella’s unedited Summa de praeceptis.24 The passage in question is of special interest because, like Albert the Great, John proposes to cast his moral doctrine within the framework of the four Aristotelian causes. In the particular designation given to the material cause, however, he differs radically from Albert: “The material cause of morals,” writes John, “are the laws of God.” Indeed, it is these laws that constitute the moral order (esse morum). This brief survey of three major moral treatises written before the middle of the thirteenth century shows that the medieval theologians commonly thought of virtue primarily in terms of law and obedience to law. In both William of Auxerre and John of Rupella, this alleged priority of law to virtue reveals itself as the architectonic principle determining the very structure and arrangement of material in their treatises. It might be rash to insist that all the moralists at this time shared in this juristic conception of ethics; but taking into account the slow emergence of systematic moral treatises and also the fact that within the history of this evolution these three works figure as major influential contributions, it seems evident that the general tenor of speculation was indeed legalistic. 22. “Ad sextum quod obicitur de obedientia, similiter dicendum quod obedientia uno modo est lex sive ipsius legis, alio modo est virtus: debitum enim obedientiae est lex, ipsa vero habilitas ad bonum exequendum per obedientiam virtus est. Unde secundum quod est legis, respicit debitum, et sic ab eadem radice; secundum autem quod virtus, respicit executionem debiti, et ideo ab alia radice est.”—ibid., art. 1, ad 6m, p. 420. 23. Ibid., Pars II, inqu. 1, Prol., p. 313. 24. “Sciendum est igitur quod, cum tota catholica inquisitio determinetur per fidem et mores, morum inquisitio complete determinatur per causas. Causa materialis morum secundum catholicam acceptionem sunt praecepta Dei, forma gratia, finis gloria, auctor non homo tantum, sed gratia Dei secum, quia gratia cum libero arbitrio. Praecepta sunt morum manifestiva vel instructiva ..... gratia directiva; gloria morum est premium....... Omnibus ita positis, primo dicemus de differentiis preceptorum in quibus consistit esse morum.”—as quoted by Guindon, Béatitude et théologie morale chez saint Thomas d’Aquin, 89 n. 75.



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A quick glance at the outline of Albert’s De bono and the place in which law is discussed would be enough to indicate a departure from this traditional emphasis upon the centrality of law. The work opens with a metaphysics of the good in which there is no mention of law. A disquisition upon the causes of virtue, preceding the detailed analysis of the virtues themselves, grounds the origin of virtue not in law, but in human action seen in all of its dynamic complexity. The section on law is found toward the end of the extant text of the De bono, in the last tractate. It is placed here, Albert remarks several times, because the notions of ius and lex serve as determinations in the definition of justice, and he has in mind here statements made by Cicero and St. Augustine.25 These affirmations, however, read as mere arguments from authority. Behind them lies Albert’s whole philosophy of law dictating such a move. Natural Right : Innate or Acquired? Before launching directly into this part of De bono, the modern reader, lest he misconstrue the spirit of Albert’s moral philosophy, should be forewarned about the use of the term “right” (ius). When Albert, or any of the medieval moralists for that matter, speaks of “natural right” (ius naturae, ius naturale) or “right of reason” (ius rationis), this should not be translated into the modern sense of “individual” or “subjective right.” In the thirteenth century, “right” means that which is objectively right.26 “Right of reason” does not mean personal right to which my opinions or individuality entitle me, but that which is objectively and universally appropriate for rational nature. 25. “Sed quia in diffinitione iustitiae cadunt ius et lex, oportet primum quaerere de illis.”—De bono V, p. 259, ll. 5–6. “Consquenter quaerendum est de iustitia, quae per ius et legem a Tullio determinatur et denominatur.”—ibid., qu. 3, p. 290, l. 3. Cicero, De legibus I, 15, 42, ed. K. Ziegler (Heidelberg: F. H. Kerle, 1950), 40: “Quodsi iustitia est obtemperatio scriptis legibus institutionisque populorum.” “Quodsi ius, etiam iustitia.”—ibid., c. 18, n. 48, p. 42. “Consequenter quaeritur de lege, per quam etiam diffinitur aliquando iustitia, eo quod iustum esse dicatur, quod leges praecipiunt.”—De bono V, qu. 2, p. 281, ll. 3–4. The inspiration behind this last text is St. Augustine: “quia homo est enim, servit vivendo fideliter, quia vero etiam rex est, servit leges iusta praecipientes et contraria prohibentes convenienti vigore sanciendo.”—Epistulae #185, c. 5, n. 19, ed. A. Golbacher, CSEL, vol. 57 (Vienna: Tempsky; Leipzig, G. Freytag, 1911), 17, ll. 21–24. The prohibitive role assigned to law by St. Augustine is treated with strong reservation by Albert. See De bono V, 2, 1. sol., p. 262, ll. 20–23, 58–62. 26. O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 97.

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Prior to the Universal Doctor, the terms “right” and “law” are used interchangeably. Both in doctrine and procedure, however, Albert distinguishes between these concepts: question 1 of the treatise deals with right; question 2 with law. The first article in question 1 opens with a definition from Cicero’s De inventione: “The law of nature is that which is not born of opinion, but implanted in us by a kind of innate instinct.”27 A number of other definitions and descriptions of natural right alluded to by Albert in these articles, notably those of Isidore of Seville, Gratian, St. Augustine, and William of Auxerre, show that he was conversant with the statements of the most important authorities, both classical and medieval, in this area. Taking his start from the opinions and statements already worked out by earlier and contemporary thinkers, Albert moves on from there to present his own doctrine of natural law in the traditional language already familiar to his readers, but the resulting synthesis is distinctive and original. Natural right, he points out, is a habitus co-created with, and innately impressed upon, the human rational soul. No one, Albert believes, unless he be wanting in reason, would ever seriously question that it is a habitus.28 This innate habitus is a unified ensemble of the first and most ultimate principles of human morals directing us in our human actions.29 Its content or nature is variously described by Albert in several places as embracing universal moral principles directing us in our actions (universalia iuris illa dirigentia nos in opere; universalia morum), first principles of right (prima principia iuris), first seeds (prima semina), or seeds of moral goodness (seminaria boni pertinentia ad vitam).30 The seminal character of these principles, we shall see later, has special significance with respect to written law. The more universal and indeterminate these principles are, the more truly they pertain to natural right. As an example he cites from 27. Albert’s quotation is certainly accurate, but the text of Cicero is open to variant readings: “naturae [natura] ius est, quod non opinio genuit, sed quaedam in natura [innata] vis insevit [inseruit]”—De invent. II, 53, 161, ed. Stroebel, p. 148b. Cicero gives nearly the same definition elsewhere: “ac naturae quidem ius esse, quod nobis non opinio, sed quaedam innata vis adferat.”—ibid., 22, 65, p. 105b. 28. De bono V, I, 1, #8, p. 260, l. 41. “Patet ergo ex his, quod ius naturale est habitus.”—ibid., p. 263, l. 83. “Et ideo oportuit illum habitum in nobis concreari, sicut etiam habitus concreatur qui est principiorum speculativorum.”—ibid., ad 3m, p. 264. 29. Thus, in article 3, he writes: “quod ius naturale non est nisi in principiis ultimis et est ipsa principia”—V, 1, 3, sol., p. 274. Italics added. 30. V, 1, 1, & 2 &3, pp. 263–75 passim.



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St. Matthew the Golden Rule (7:12): “So always treat others as you would like them to treat you,” as well as the Ten Commandments set down in Exodus (20:1–17). These universal principles, writes Albert, are all included within natural right, and inscribed in every person by the very fact that he/ she has reason. It is precisely this relationship to reason which he moves to discuss in article 1, and which he continues to develop in the following article as well.31 He points out that in the theoretical or speculative intellect, prior to the operation of understanding or science, there is a twofold potency. There is first of all potency with respect to knowledge of the instruments, and knowledge of these in turn serves as the principle of our completed science or understanding. To illustrate this, he cites the case of the child who does not yet know how to write. First of all, the child is in potency to a knowledge of the instruments involved: pen, ink, parchment. Subsequent to his knowledge of these, the child is still in potency to a mastery of writing itself. This analogy serves to illustrate a similar situation in the moral order. In our practical intellect, which directs us in our operations, there is implanted a habitus which is a knowledge of right (scientia iuris, scientia boni). This innate wisdom, however, is only a “first potency”; it is still open to a more precise and determinate formulation of the universal principles indeterminately contained therein. In order that these principles be made explicit, we still require a knowledge of the terms (notitia terminorum) in which the universal principles are formulated. Thus, the knowledge that stealing and adultery are wrong is embedded in our natures as part of natural right; but for us to possess this knowledge as completed acts of understanding—“thou shalt not steal,” “thou shalt not commit adultery”—we still need an acquired knowledge of the meaning of “stealing” and “adultery.” Hence, Albert concludes, the knowledge of these principles is implanted absolutely by nature (per naturam simpliciter), but it is also gained in a qualified fashion (per accidens) through an acquired knowledge of the terms involved. The human intellect, in itself a potency, is devoid of knowledge (tabula rasa) at birth not with respect to this absolutely implanted habit, but only with respect to the acquired knowledge of terms.32 31. V, 1, 1, sol., p. 263. 32. Ibid., ad 1m, p. 264.

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Among pre-Albertinian thinkers there appears to have been complete unanimity in the belief in the innate character of natural right. When the Universal Doctor insists that natural right is implanted in us “absolutely,” he aligns himself with a tradition stretching back through the Middle Ages into classical antiquity. It was Cicero himself who had established this line of thought when he spoke of a “certain innate instinct” (quaedam in natura [innata] vis); and St. Paul (Rom 2:14–15)—quoted by Albert in the opening lies of his solution—reminds his readers of the law engraved in the hearts of men. Hence it became commonplace among the canonists and theologians alike to identify the insertion of this universal law with nature itself, or, in the case of humans, to equate the insertion and knowledge of these principles with “natural reason.” William of Auxerre was at pains to emphasize the radical innateness of natural law.33 Starting from the writings of St. Augustine, William had argued that the human soul, created in the image of God, has a vision of the divine essence, and along with that a knowledge of the supreme goodness, a knowledge of true justice, in short, a knowledge of the principles of natural right—all this without the benefit of any sense experience! As Lottin remarks, there could scarcely be a more Platonic position. It is clear, however, that Albert finds these previous accounts inadequate. Though adhering to a basic innateness of the habitus of first principles, he nevertheless has attempted to supplement that theory with his own doctrine of the necessity for an acquired knowledge of the terms. The Aristotelian inspiration behind this innovation is evident in the startling relationship Albert posits between the Ciceronian concept of “innate instinct” and the power of agent intellect.34 The in natura [innata] vis, Albert insists, is nothing else than the light of our own agent intellect, which makes known to us the terms of the principles, and subsequently a completed understanding of, and assent to, the innate moral principles themselves. In this way, the power of the human intellect appears to be an active and indispensable contributor to our knowledge of these principles. At the same time, as we will see in greater detail, this strictly limits natural right to the human species. At this point, then, Albert seems to have reached a position midway between earlier theories and the philosophy of St. Thom33. O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 34–35. 34. De bono V, 1, 1, ad 11m, ad 12m, p. 265.



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as Aquinas, for whom natural law is not essentially an innate habitus of first moral principles, but rather a product of reason (aliquod per rationem constitutum) consisting in judgments.35 Synderesis The subject in which these principles of natural right are embedded is practical reason. More specifically, they inhere in an active power of reason called by some “naturale iudicatorium,” by the Greeks “synderesis.” 36 Armed with these principles, practical reason is directed and assisted in its practical judgments concerning what is to be done and what needs to be avoided. Since very little is said about synderesis in De bono, we may safely assume that Albert is still relying upon his treatment of this concept in an earlier work. In De homine, he has already told us that synderesis is a special power (vis) of the soul in which are inscribed the universal principles of natural right.37 He exploits a certain parallel first suggested by William of Auxerre between the speculative or theoretical reason on the one hand, and practical reason on the other.38 William claimed that just as in the theoretical intellect there are certain innately implanted first principles aiding man in the area of speculative truth, so too in the practical order of human behavior there are certain universal directive principles through which the practical intellect is aided in its discernment between moral good and evil, principles moreover that are not acquired by human effort, but that are simply the content of natural law inscribed upon the human mind. The immediate subject or substratum of these is synderesis. St. Albert is certainly not the first of the medieval thinkers to speculate 35. Summa theologiae I-IIae, 94, 1. 36. De bono V, 1, 1, sol., ad 14m. “potentia respiciens universalia iuris ..... est synderesis, in qua est lex naturalis.”—V, 2, 3, ad 3m, p. 289, ll. 19–21. 37. De homine, qu. 71, art. 1, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 35, 593. “synderesis est vis cum habitu principiorum juris naturalis”—ibid., ad 3m. For fuller treatments of this concept in Albert, see Payer, “Prudence and the Principles of Natural Law: A Medieval Development,” 55–70; and Christian Trottman, “La syndérèse selon Albert le Grand,” in W. Senner et al. (eds.), Albertus Magnus ..... Perspektiven, Quellen und Forschungen zur Geschichte des Dominikanerorders, n.s. 10 (Berlin, 2001), 255–73. 38. See O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 123–26; also “Le droit naturel,” 35. William of Auxerre also situates the principles of natural right in synderesis, and then further equates synderesis with the Augustinian notion of higher reason (ratio superior).

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on the role of synderesis in the moral life. In his lengthy investigation into the theories of synderesis in the Middle Ages, Lottin was the first to demonstrate that prior to Philip the Chancellor this notion and the problems related thereto appear a number of times in the writings of both the canonists and the theologians.39 Indeed, nearly seventy years before Albert had ever tackled these questions, that is, around 1175, one of the decretists, Simon of Bisiano, had already anticipated the Albertinian position by equating natural right with synderesis.40 These earlier thinkers, however, were mainly preoccupied with two problems: the indestructibility of synderesis, and its infallibility as a guardian of the moral order directing man to moral goodness. Theologians and canonists alike looked to it as an indefectible and stable element in human nature, an abiding source of direction and rectitude in man which survived despite his sinful defections. There was not always the same unanimity, however, when it came to the question of the infallibility of this principle. Reason can and does err in its moral judgments, and so to some this seemed to mean that synderesis as well was not altogether immune to error.41 For our purposes, it is not necessary to enter into this maze of questions. Suffice it to say that, from the middle of the twelfth century, the recurrence of the concept of synderesis sparked a number of questions, but almost invariably these questions dealt only with its properties, that is, with its inextinguishable and infallible character. What was almost totally neglected was an appreciation of synderesis within the general framework of the human moral psychology, and so a deeper understanding of its very nature within the economy of the moral life. Other than a more or less general agreement that it was implanted within the mind, and William of Auxerre’s more specific linkage between it and the Augustinian notion of “superior reason,” the basic question What is synderesis? remained largely unanswered. Moreover, the questions devoted to an analysis of its properties had not yet grouped themselves into a full-fledged technical treatise. The merit for this impressive undertaking falls to Philip the Chancellor. Seen in the light of this earlier tradition and the doctrine of Philip, the full significance of Albert’s position becomes apparent. 39. “Syndérèse et conscience aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles,” PEM, vol. 2, 103–349. 40. Ibid., 108; 74, n. 3. 41. Ibid., 137.



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The first question posed by Philip the Chancellor is a new and original attempt to arrive at some understanding of synderesis in its very nature prior to a discussion of its properties. Is it a power of the soul (potentia animae), he asks, or a connatural habit inhering in the soul from birth?42 A number of authorities and arguments have been assembled in defense of either position. These two seemingly disparate lines of thought, however, are not really in conflict: Philip answers by way of compromise that synderesis is an innate “habitual power.”43 A habitual power, he tells us, is one which is more readily and easily disposed to its act because it is not impeded in the performance of its operation, unlike reason, for instance, which can experience difficulty in judgments.44 Synderesis is a motive power which moves man’s faculty of free choice by dictating to it the good and restraining it from evil. In this exercise it moves not toward this or that particular good, but rather inclines us to the element of common goodness found therein. Its movement belongs simultaneously to the cognitive order and to the affective or appetitive order, but primarily to the latter: Motus autem eius est tam cognitionis quam affectionis, sed magis proprie affectionis.45 In the same section, Philip even goes so far as to assert that synderesis is identical in subject with the natural will. Yet even though it stands mainly on the side of will, he is anxious to draw several qualifications which will avoid too complete an identity between these powers. The objects of both synderesis and our natural will are rationally determined moral goods (rationalia bona). Natural will inclines toward these purely and simply as a mere power, but not as a “habitual power” free from impediments. Moreover, whereas synderesis inclines solely toward rational moral goods, the scope of the will’s appetition is less determinate because it embraces goods both of the rational and the infra-rational orders: quia est respiciens et rationalia bona, et naturalia, et vitalia.46 In other words, the much wider latitude of the will’s inclination makes it relatively indeterminate in its movement toward goodness. Synderesis appears to be a superadded habituation or power coalescing with the will to insure in the human agent a permanent and indefectible inclination in the direction of moral goodness. Although William of Auxerre and some of the decretists had made syn42. Wicki (ed.), Philippi Cancellarii IIII, qu. 2, 3 (De synderesi), 192, ll. 1–6. 43. Ibid., p. 194, l. 66. 44. Ibid., p. 199, ll. 116–121. 45. Ibid., ll. 114–115. 46. Ibid., p. 195, ll. 80–81.

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deresis the subject of natural right, Philip seems to ignore this line of reasoning altogether. As an affective power, synderesis operates not so much on the side of reason, but rather as an efficient cause insuring the will’s movement toward moral goodness. It is also worth adding that, subsequent to Philip’s treatment, there is a noticeable tendency among the Franciscan theologians to perpetuate this voluntaristic interpretation of synderesis. It is especially evident in the writings of St. Bonaventure, who speaks of synderesis as a “certain kind of natural weight” (naturale quoddam pondus) residing in the will, and infallibly steering it toward the moral good.47 Now, in contrast to this current of voluntarism stemming from Philip the Chancellor and others, Albertus Magnus has underscored the cognitive nature of synderesis: it is situated primarily on the side of reason, and along with it the principles of natural right. Statements in both the De homine and the De bono are in agreement on this point. Further corroboration can be found in an independently wrought disputed question, compiled by Albert a few years later (ca. 1248–1249), Quaestio de synderesi.48 In this later treatise, Albert writes that “synderesis is a certain kind of motive power in possession of the universal principles of natural right [quaedam potentia motiva per habitum universalium ius], having something of knowledge and something of appetition, but situated more on the side of knowledge.”49 In the same article, he also describes it as the “light” and the “spark of conscience.”50 Simply because he uses the words “power” (potentia) and “force” (vis) to describe synderesis, however, should not lead us to assume that Albert has in mind a new faculty or power distinct from both intellect and will. On the contrary, it is more reasonable to believe that this “special power of the soul” for Albert is simply the practical intellect itself considered as endowed with the universal principles of natural right, and thereby innately 47. In II librum Sententiarum, d. 39, art. 2, qu. 1, ed. Quaracchi, vol. 2 (1885), 910. St. Augustine, in turn, is the original influence behind the weight metaphor when he writes that “my love is my weight; by it I am borne withersoever I am borne” (Confessions XIII, 9, 10). See also Etienne Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of St. Augustine (New York: Random House, 1960), 134; 310 n. 29. 48. In Alberti Magni Quaestiones, Colognne ed., vol. 25 (2), 232–38. 49. Ibid., art. 1, p. 234, ll. 29–33. “dicendum quod synderesis est quaedam potentia cognitiva sicut intellectus, habens aliquid de appetitivo ex eo quod instigat ad bonum”—ad 4m, p. 234, ll. 50–52. 50. Ibid., art. 1, p. 233, ll. 56–57; p. 235, ll. 23–24.



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habituated to an abstract understanding of human goodness.51 These informing principles serve as formal determinations directing and assisting the practical intellect of man in its operations.52 As the subject of these principles, the inclination or activity of synderesis is no less dynamic than in Philip the Chancellor, but it is exercised not as an efficient cause propelling the will to goodness, but rather in the line of formal causality, and in the cognitive order as well.53 Albert has squarely situated the principle of natural right in reason, and more than other thinkers before him he has attempted to define that close union. Article 2 of question 1 is a logical continuation of that theme: it examines the nature and scope of natural right conceived as an integral element in rational nature. This close relationship to reason culminates in a conception of natural right which sets Albert apart from the prevailing notions of natural law in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. Albert versus the Canonists Article 2 addresses the number of ways in which we may speak of natural right.54 It opens with a verbatim quotation from the work of one of the decretists, composed shortly after 1215, Johannes Teutonicus’s Glossa ordinaria on the Decretum of Gratian, in which there are recorded five different meanings of the term “natura.” 55 Now, the first two definitions speak simply of “natura,” while the last three speak as well of “ius natu51. “Sans doute d’après Albert comme d’après les maîtres franciscains l’inclination au bien moral est essentielle à la syndérèse, mais cette inclination ne suppose pas une faculté distinct de la raison pratique, puis quelle est connaturelle à celle-ci.”—O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 342. 52. “Unde ius naturale asciscit honestum et prohibit contrarium per modum iudicantis”— De bono V, 2, 2, ad 2m, p. 285. “Et vocantur universalia iuris illa dirigentia nos in opere”—V, 1, 1, sol., p. 263, ll. 22–23. “quaedam sunt universalia dirigentia in opere, per quae intellectus juvatur ad discretionem turpis et honesti in moribus”—De homine, qu. 71, art. 1, sol., Borgnet ed., vol. 35, 593. 53. “Or, Albert le Grand parle de ‘raison théoretique’ et de ‘raison pratique,’ et insère la syndérèse en celle-ci. A ses yeux, la syndérèse n’est donc pas un motion venant de la volunté, mais plutôt une directive émanant de la raison. On reconnaît ici l’influence d’Aristotle. L’intellectus practicus n’est pas la cause motrice de l’activité humaine, mais il en est la cause directrice. En conséquence, aux yeux d’Albert, la syndérèse n’agit pas dans l’ordre de la causalité efficiente, mais dans celui de la causalité formelle, en dictant à la conscience les norms fondamentales de la conduite morale.”—O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 2, 214. 54. V, 1, 2, pp. 268–71. 55. For the text from the Glossa ordinaria, see O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 23 n.2.

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rale.” In point of fact, all five definitions are interpretations of natural right which have already appeared in the works of other authors. According to Johannes Teutonicus, “nature” may first of all be taken to mean that innate procreative power by which things produce their like. This seems to extend to inanimate as well as animate nature. Second, “nature” may refer to the impulse or instinct of sensuality in animal nature terminating in the activities of desiring, procreation, and the rearing of the young. In this second sense, Albert comments, natural right would be that to which we are inclined by the natural concupiscence of our senses. Third, nature signifies the natural instinct of reason (instinctus naturae ex ratione proveniens) and this gives rise to the right known as equity. According to this natural right, all things are said to be common in time of dire necessity. In its fourth usage, natural right is seen to be a collection or ensemble of natural precepts: e.g., “thou shalt not steal,” “thou shalt not commit adultery.” Fifth, natural right is equated with divine right (ius divinum). Now it is evident that Johannes Teutonicus’s catalogue reads as a kind of hierarchy that begins with nature in its broadest sense as a principle of generation common to animate as well as inanimate being. From this most universal signification of nature, there is a progressive ascent to the higher grades of nature and right: to animal nature, rational nature and “equity,” precepts known to reason, and finally divine right. The hierarchy itself is probably Johannes’s most influential contribution to this one area of naturallaw theory, because its impact will be clearly discernible in later theologians, beginning with William of Auxerre. But the five definitions themselves do not originate with his Glossa. All of them have already appeared in canonical summae prior to Johannes in which it had become common practice to record a number of definitions. Four of them, for instance, appear after 1188 in the Summa of Huguccio.56 The Summa Lipsiensis (ca. 1186) records a total of six definitions without indicating any preference.57 Three definitions are found in Sicard of Cremona (ca. 1180);58 four in the Summa Monacensis (1175–1178);59 five in the Summa of Stephen of Tournai (ca. 1165–1167).60 This survey does not pretend to be complete, but it does give a picture of the tendency among the decretists to pile up a number of definitions with56. See O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 109–10. 57. Ibid., 108. 58. Ibid., 19 n. 3. 59. Ibid., 107. 60. Die Summa des Stephanus Tornancensis über des Decretum Gratiani, ed. J. F. von Schulte (Giessen, 1891), 7.



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out a corresponding increase of precision in their understanding of natural right—a fact that Albert will later remark.61 On the contrary, in the minds of many there prevailed a conception of natural right so wide and unwieldy as to encompass the whole realm of animate and inanimate nature. At least two classical authorities known to the canonists seem to have encouraged this latitude in their thinking. The Digesta (known also as the Pandectae) of Justinian, compiled in 593 A.D., records a fragment of the Roman jurisconsult Ulpian (d. 228) in which natural right is extended to all animal nature in contrast to the “right of peoples” (ius gentium), which is restricted to the human race.62 The definition of natural law from this fragment became classic in the history of jurisprudence: “Natural right is what nature teaches all animals” (Ius naturale est quod natura omnia animalia docuit). Either this sentence or a formulation closely approximating it appears in nearly every one of the major summae of canon law in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The same holds true for the expressions used to describe some of the functions attributed to natural law: the union of male and female; procreation; the training of the young (educatio). This is not to say that in all cases Ulpian’s definition was to prove entirely acceptable without qualification. Gratian, in his Decretum (ca. 1140), chose to ignore it, and Rufinus some fifteen years later explicitly limits natural right to the human species.63 Henceforth, a number of the decretists, though continuing to report a series of definitions, will relegate the broad notion of Ulpian to a minor or secondary position, concentrating their exegeses instead upon those definitions which linked natural law to human reason, to moral precepts and prohibitions, and to God. This is true of many, that is, but not of all. The anonymous author of the Summa Monacensis, for instance, sees no reason not to extend natural right to the whole order of creation, for the sun in its revolutions is said to be ruled by the law of nature (regi iure naturali).64 61. See below for the translation of the text corresponding to note 69. 62. “Ius naturale est, quod natura omnia animalia docuit: nam ius istud non humani generis proprium est, sed omnium animalium, quae in caelo, quae in terra, quae in mari nascuntur [avium quoque commune est]. Hinc descendit maris atque feminae coniugatio, quam nos matrimonium appellamus, hinc liberorum procreatio et educatio: videmus etenim cetera quoque animalia istius iuris peritia censeri....... ius gentium quasi quo iure omnes gentes utuntur.” Justinian’s Institutes I, 2, trans. Peter Birks and Grant McLeod, with the Latin text of Paul Krueger (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1987), 36. 63. Die Summa Decretorum des Magister Rufinus, ed. Singer, 6. 64. For the text, see O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 107, ll. 1–5.

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In view of these testimonies, the language in the passage from the Glossa ordinaria quoted by Albert may have been chosen with greater deliberateness than might appear at first sight since the first two and broadest definitions speak simply of “natura,” while the last three introduce us to “ius naturale.” Albert, nevertheless, in the next paragraph treats all of them as interpretations of natural right. The second authority occasioning widespread confusion in the classical and medieval conceptions of natural law is once again the Ciceronian formula which attributes natural right to a “certain innate instinct” (quaedam in natura [innata] vis). Medieval theologians and canonists, pointing to Boethius or Aristotle as their authority, commonly equated the innata vis in question with natura conceived as a generative or procreative principle.65 Albert himself mentions that this is one opinion.66 Up to this point, I have spoken mainly of interpretations of natural right in the writings of canon lawyers. History dictates this selection since it was primarily the decretists, not the theologians, who showed an interest in the problem of natural law. As remarked earlier, William of Auxerre was really the first of the theologians to break with this long tradition of silent indifference. Not only does he repeat the classical definition of Ulpian, but in his own doctrine of natural law William incorporates as well the broadest of all conceptions as found in the Summa Monacensis. The result is another hierarchy of natural-law forms, much like that of Johannes Teutonicus, corresponding to three levels of community in nature: “special natural right” is natural right taken in its strictest sense, and this is found only in those beings possessing reason; “more universal natural right” pertains to the whole realm of animal nature; finally, “the most universal natural right” (ius naturale universalissimum) is nothing else than the law and harmony of all creation, inanimate as well as animate.67 The first two Dominican masters to hold chairs in theology at Paris, Roland of Cremona (1229–1230) and Hugh of St. Cher (1230–1235), betray a noticeable dependence upon William’s Summa in their descriptions of natural law. In these writings there is a literal repetition of doctrine, vocab65. See De bono, p. 260, n. 82. 66. Ibid., V, 1, 1, #12, p. 260. 67. Summa aurea IV, tr. 17, cap. 3, qu. 2, sol., ed. Ribaillier, Spicilegium Bonaventurianum, vol. 19 (1985), p. 395.



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ulary, and even the same authorities cited by William (e.g., Plato’s Timaeus and St. Augustine).68 Albert’s verbatim quotation from the Glossa ordinaria, his many allusions to Gratian throughout the treatise, and his obvious familiarity with the Summa aurea offer ample evidence that he was conversant with the history of natural-law speculation. A statement in the seventh argument of article 2, written apropos of the passage from the Glossa ordinaria, sheds some light on his attitude toward these previous treatments: If perchance it should be said that this distinction is without art or reason, as is the custom among the decretists to posit distinctions, the question then remains in what sense nature is to be taken when we speak of natural right.69

It is apparent that Albert is critical of these earlier attempts to define natural law. The distinctions posited by the decretists, and in particular the fivefold distinction of Johannes Teutonicus, lack “art and reason” because they fall short of a critical resolution that shows skill and thought. In short, the decretists have not yet arrived at an understanding of natural right. This is something which Albert reserves to the theologian.70 Albert’s own doctrine (pp. 270–71), succinctly stated in the second sentence of his resolution, marks a departure from what he has characterized as the “custom among the decretists to posit distinctions.” Without a proliferation of definitions, he states simply: “est enim ius naturale nihil aliud quam ius rationis sive debitum, secundum quod natura est ratio” (p. 270, ll. 24–25). Natural right is nothing else than what is objectively right and fitting (debitum) for rational nature. In calling it the debitum of reason, Albert is using a term, borrowed from the jurists, which normally signifies legalistic obligation. In the present context, however, debitum or ius rationis has a more ultimate meaning, a profoundly metajuridical meaning: it signifies that which is proportionate to, and commensurate with, human nature—and known to be such by natural reason. This becomes apparent from his analysis of the meaning of “nature.” 68. For texts, see O. Lottin, “Le droit naturel,” 115–16. 69. De bono V, 1, 2, #7, p. 269. 70. “These and similar remarks do not, of course, concern the jurists’ work as such but their competence in questions of the ratio iuris which, according to Albert and the other contemporary theologians, lie outside the jurists’ own domain, namely casuistry.”—I. T. Eschmann, O.P., “St. Thomas Aquinas and the Two Powers,” Mediaeval Studies 20 (1958): 185 n. 27. See also p. 183.

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The meaning of “nature as reason” (natura ut ratio) may be viewed in three ways: where “reason” is understood primarily as nature, or primarily as reason, or equally as nature and reason.71 If taken primarily as nature, then natural right is seen to operate as the principle of those actions directed to the welfare and preservation both of the individual (e.g., acquiring food, clothing, home, and bed, and the enjoyment and protection of health), and the species (e.g., marriage, progeny, and the enjoyment and protection of both). But Albert is anxious to stipulate that even though the emphasis at this level of natural right is upon the natural impulse of nature, this by no means excludes reason, and even more precisely “right reason.” Only a nature which is rational is the subject of natural right. Although training (educatio), nourishing, and procreation are common to animal nature in general, they do not fall within the compass of natural right unless in some way they share in reason and are morally virtuous acts.72 At the second level of natural right, the emphasis rests upon the rational element in human nature, and to this belong religion, justice, and the moral excellence (honestas) of man in himself and in relation to others. Yet these forms of moral excellence involve not simply an element of pure reason, but other elements in human nature as well. To natural right considered in this way belong the precepts of the Decalogue, according as they are taken generally and as indeterminate principles, and, in short, any kind of absolute goodness (honestum). In a third sense, where natural reason signifies equally both reason and nature, natural right encompasses all that which right reason determines to human benefit and use. Albert adds here that we are now speaking of natural right as of seeds of goodness (prima semina), not of an ensemble of particular cases and specific decrees. Albert is concerned with showing how widely the influence of the right of reason extends itself to every level of human activity. But natural right in all cases is a moral fundament grounded in reason, not just in mere animal or unspecified nature. At least six times throughout the De bono’s 71. Albert’s threefold division is undoubtedly inspired by a similar division proposed by Philip the Chancellor in his Summa de bono (De iustitia, qu. 8), p. 1026, ll. 60–70. In this passage, one of the few in which Philip interests himself in problems of natural law (ius naturale), the Chancellor distinguishes the degrees of specificity in the dictates of natural law. Thus, natura ut natura dictates man’s union with woman; natura ut ratio dictates that he know one woman, not many; finally, ratio ut ratio dictates that a man know only that woman joined to him in lawful marriage. 72. De bono V, 1, 2, ad 4m, p. 271.



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treatise on law he explicitly repudiates the broader conceptions of natural law which stretch it beyond the range of human nature and reason. “We do not agree with that distinction posed by some,” he writes, “namely, that natural right may be spoken of in many ways, and that in one way it is common to us and the beasts.”73 The fact that, in the course of this treatise, he insists not once or twice but six times upon this precision gives us some idea of the importance he attaches to this precision. His words are an unequivocal repudiation of the tradition dating back to Roman times. What is proposed in its stead is a humanism wherein natural right appears as an integral element proper to practical reason. Quite simply, natural right is “human right.”74 While it is true that some of the canonists, notably Rufinus, had already partly anticipated the Albertinian reservations, Albert, through intimately linking the principles of natural right to human reason, has provided a philosophical justification for his assertions. In article 3, Albert moves on to consider the very content of natural right.75 He begins with two quotations. In his classical definition of natural right in the De inventione, Cicero had enumerated as well the contents of natural right: religion (religio), respectful duty (pietas), gratitude (gratia), revenge (vindicatio), reverence (observantia), truth (veritas).76 Gratian, reporting on the words of Isidore of Seville, offers a longer classification, and in this passage quoted by Albert we can discern the influence of Ulpian: the union of man and woman, the succession of children, the education of boys, the common possession of all things and the same freedom for all, the acquisition of those things which are harvested from sky, earth and sea; likewise the restitution of a deposited item or entrusted money, the repelling of violence with force.77

These are the only two major authorities enlisted by Albert. But the problem of ascertaining the content of natural law was complicated for 73. V, 1, 1, ad 12m, p. 265, ll. 74–76. See also ad 2m, p. 264; ad 19m, p. 267; art. 2, ad 4m, p. 271; ad 1m, p. 270; V, 2, 2, ad 10m, p. 286, ll. 68–76. In the treatise on natural right (iustum) in Super Ethica, the wider non-human senses of natural are not mentioned, but the second and third dubia (Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 356–58) repeatedly underscore the embeddedness of natural right in human nature and reason. 74. “ius naturale non nisi in principiis ultimis iuris humani et est ipsa principia.” De bono V, 1, 3, sol., p. 274, ll. 27–29. 75. V, 1, 3, pp. 271–76. 76. De invent. II, 53, 161, ed. Stroebel, p. 148b; II, 22, 65, p. 105b. 77. De bono V, 1, 3, pp. 271–72. Albert’s quotation is exact. Cf. Decretum Magistri Gratiani, d. I, c. 7, ed. E. Friedberg, Corpus Uris Canonici Pars Prior, 2nd ed. (Leipzig, 1879), 1.

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the medieval theologians and philosophers by another division proposed shortly after Gratian’s. Around 1149, Roland Bandinelli (later to become Pope Alexander III) spoke of all law as comprising precepts, prohibitions, permissions, and counsels.78 Ten years later, the decretist Rufinus was to echo much the same doctrine, but this time with specific reference to natural law: Natural law comprises three things: namely, commands, prohibitions, demonstrations. For it commands that which is beneficial, such as “thou shalt love the Lord thy God.” It forbids that which harms, such as “thou shalt not kill.” It demonstrates that which is fitting, such as “all things should be had in common,” “let there be the same freedom for all,” and things of this sort.79

Henceforth, nearly all the decretists, and William of Auxerre as well, adopt this triadic division of natural law into commands, prohibitions, and demonstrations. This kind of analysis, however, was to produce a curious effect. The reduction of natural law to a number of categories, the subsequent endeavor to multiply examples and fit them into these categories, and the catalogue of functions envisaged by Gratian and others—all this proliferation of distinctions reads as so many attempts to codify natural law in much the same way as these same authors were teaching and studying a codified canon and civil law. From this custom of borrowing language and techniques proper to a study of written, positive law, there had developed a tendency to speak of natural as if it too were the same as written law. Albert’s Conception of Natural Right Albert’s approach marks a departure from this tradition of juridified natural law. I have already indicated that in the last article (art. 2) he simply defines natural right as that which is the objective right as embedded in, and known to, rational nature. In the present article (art. 3), he neither divides natural right into a number of categories, nor attempts any enumeration of precepts. He simply points out that a diversification of natural right is effected through its varied objects and circumstances: 78. “Omnis enim lex consistit in praceceptis, prohibitionibus, permissionibus, consiliis.”— Die Summa Magistri Rolandi, ed. F. Thaner (Innsbruck, 1874), 3. 79. For the Latin text, see note 13 above.



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Following our earlier statements, we say that natural right resides only in the ultimate principles of human right and, as has been shown, it is those principles. For just as the speculative intellect does not have one principle by which it knows all knowables, so too the practical intellect does not have one principle by which it knows all practicable objects. Rather, just as the principles of the speculative intellect are diversified through diverse objects, so too the principles of the practical intellect are diversified through diverse actions, and the conditions of those acting, and place and time.80

There is no one principle guiding the practical intellect just as there is no one single principle assisting the speculative intellect in its understanding of manifold reality. When Albert speaks of natural right as a habitus, he simultaneously conceives of a nature with its own unity and economy. Nevertheless, that “habit” in its very unity embraces a diversity of ultimate universal principles and is those principles. The principles themselves do not accrue to the intellect as so many clearly formulated directives. On the contrary, their very plurality is effected by a diversity in the multiple objects—that is, choices and actions to be performed—of the practical intellect, as well as by a diversity in the attendant circumstances and conditions confronting the moral agent. Albert seems to have been the first to realize that the custom of classifying natural right/law not only destroys its unity by substituting for it a kind of a priori multiplicity, but leaves unanswered as well the more ultimate question about the causes of that very diversity. In the same article and elsewhere, Albert then moves on to distinguish three ways in which principles and acts fall within the compass of natural justice or right: essentially, suppositively, and particularly. Essentially belonging to and constituting natural right are those most universal and ultimate principles of which mention has been made in article 1: e.g., the Golden Rule, the Decalogue. Mention of these, however, is not intended to exhaust the substance of natural right. Rather, by reason of their obvious probity and relative indeterminacy they exemplify the kind of principle Albert has in mind when attempting to explain the nature of natural universal right.81 In the second way, “suppositively,” there are natural acts 80. V, 1, 3, sol., p. 274, ll. 27–35. 81. The laws of Moses and Christ, far from being indeterminate, appear to be quite specific. Albert admits that these laws, recorded in Scripture, do indeed pertain to written law (ius scriptum). They do not, however, differ substantially from natural right. Without adding to the content of natural right, they supply greater specification and clarification. See De bono V, 1, 3, ad 6m, p. 271; V, 1, 1, ad 24m, p. 267; V, 2, 2, ad 11m, p. 286; V, 2, 3, ad 2m, p. 288.

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determined by these first principles and presupposing them (supposita communia illorum principiorum). Such are the goods and acts listed by Cicero and Isidore of Seville (and Gratian) in their divisions of natural right. Such instances owe their origin to natural reason, but they are obviously of a more determinate or concrete nature than the first ultimate principles. Finally, those things pertain to natural right “particularly” which have been established by popular ordinance, the deliberations of a ruling body, and the pronouncements of wise men. The suppositive and particular determinations, especially the latter, do not derive in their totality from natural reason, but entail as well the practical intellect’s consideration of the concrete conditions and circumstances in which the agent finds himself. Let there be no misunderstanding of Albert’s purpose in presenting this threefold stratification. It is neither a division of natural right into three compartments, nor a hierarchy in the manner of those of Johannes Teutonicus and William of Auxerre. Rather, it is an attempt to view in its totality the scope and influx of natural right as seen through a prism of progressive diversifications and specifications. Essentially, the inner possession (habitus) of natural right is the most ultimate and universal principles of goodness and right. The other two manifestations of natural law are not absolute and essential, but rather participations. That is to say, they are extensions of these ultimate principles into the less universal positive rights and specific operations of the moral agent. (Later, in Super Ethica, Albert will add a new precision: natural right may be considered formally with reference to the very notion itself of reason-mandated right; or materially in its application to the actions which it prompts and specifies.)82 In these more specific levels we move into the area of human, positive, and written laws, where a number of features other than natural reason intervene: the will of man; the consent and approval of peoples; covenants; diversifications through circumstances of time, place, events and affairs, persons, and so forth.83 Especially at this third level, we are dealing with “particular cases” which are reducible to natural right not simply or absolutely, but only per accidens, as Albert writes, precisely because of the addition of these other features. Opinion, not simply unalloyed reason, is now at work in the formulation of written and positive right since we now cope with things which by their 82. Super Ethica V, lect. 11, ad 8m, Cologne ed., vol. 14 (1), 357. 83. De bono V, 1, 1, ad 9m, pp. 264–65; art. 3, ad 11m, ad 12m, p. 275.



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very nature are variable and probable.84 This is not to say that, at this level, rights rest upon doubt (arising from a confrontation of contradictories) and ambiguity (arising from confrontation with equal possibilities), but rather upon that which seems highly likely and appropriate in the counsels of wise persons because little or no reason militates against it. Moreover, even though the determinations of written and positive right do not derive in their entirety from reason, they nevertheless look to the role of reason and bear its imprint. They are certainly not determinations contrary to reason. All right ultimately stems from nature and participates in natural right; if not, then it is not right, but injustice (inuria).85 Natural right is the metajuridical basis of all subsequent human rights and laws. Albert’s constant emphasis upon the seminal character of these first principles now becomes clearer. The principles of natural right, he tells us, are “first seeds” which are inherently present in the public laws and decrees of rulers and wise men as well as in the human and written laws which derive therefrom.86 They are intimately present as principles and directives assisting the work of prudential reason amidst a real network of conditions and circumstances.87 Acts or rights which are seemingly antithetical, e.g., community of possession and private possession, can stem from one and the same natural law because different objects and conditions effect a difference in how the principles are applied.88 The habitus of natural right is one in its inclination toward goodness, but as refracted through different states and conditions this one force can pluralize itself in different manifestations. Law Question 2 of the treatise on justice is devoted to a discussion of law (lex). Of the three definitions reported in article 1,89 the one attributed to Cicero, though not authentically Ciceronian, is favored by Albert in his magisterial resolution: “Law is written right ordering the good and prohibiting the contrary” (lex est ius scriptum asciscens honestum prohibensque 84. V, 1, 1, ad 8m, p. 264. 85. V, 1, 3, sol., p. 274, ll. 50–58; ad 12m, p. 275. See also note 86. 86. V, 1, 1, ad 10m, p. 265. 87. For a fuller discussion, see Payer, “Prudence and the Principles of Natural Law,” 55–70. 88. De bono V, 1, 3, ad 6m, ad 7m, p. 275. 89. V, 2, 1, pp. 281–83.

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contrarium).90 He then proceeds to tie it in with Aristotelian doctrine. In the Nicomachean Ethics, notes Albert, Aristotle states that it is the aim of every lawmaker to promote virtue in the citizenry; and so political science includes laws as to what people shall do, and from what things they shall refrain. The end of law is the same as that of political wisdom: it is the human good (humanum bonum). Now for Albert, the pseudo-Ciceronian definition seems to coincide with this ethico-political philosophy since it too gives as the end of law the promotion of moral excellence and the prohibition of evil. Honestum, as we already understand, is the term favored by Albert throughout De bono to signify the mode of goodness proper to virtue. The end of law, then, as envisaged by Albert is primarily the growth of virtue in people. Prohibitions against evil are only incidentally (per accidens) the end of law; they are made only when there are impediments or obstacles to goodness. This emphasis upon the positive end of law distinguishes itself from a tradition we have already seen dating back to Rufinus, and even earlier to St. Augustine, wherein prohibitions were made to be an essential constituent of natural law. Whereas goodness signifies its end, “written right” designates the genus in the definition of law. Albert argues that his above definition is still a valid formulation of natural law, since “scriptum” in this case may be taken in a much wider or metaphorical sense to mean “written by the finger of God and inserted in the human heart.”91 The last two articles in question 2 deal with the divisions and differences in laws. “Law” is an analogous term signifying four main laws: the law of nature, the law of Moses, the law of grace, and the law of sin.92 Since I am concerned with Albert’s natural-law theory I will ignore the other three distinctions, which have a long theological history. One of the most significant passages in these two articles is one containing an explicit defense of Albert’s distinction between ius and lex: To the second objection, it must be said that law pertains more to obligation arising from the command of rational nature, whereas right pertains to the deliberations about practicable objects through rational nature; and thus the difference 90. It is found for the first time in the Summa decretorum of Stephen of Tournai. Cf. De bono, p. 46, n. 70. 91. De bono V, 2, 1, ad 1m, p. 282, ll. 24–26. 92. V, 2, 3, sol., p. 288.



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between natural law and natural right is clear. Hence, natural right adopts the good and prohibits the contrary through the manner of one judging. Natural law, however, effects these two functions through obligation and rule or precept. And thus the difference is clear.93

In a few sentences, Albert has given us his doctrine of natural law in a nutshell. “Law” derives from the Latin word “to bind” (ligare).94 Its goal is moral excellence, which it effects by means of obligation, command, and precept. “Right,” on the other hand, moves us to moral goodness through the work of reason (per modum iudicantis). Its influence is rooted in the deliberations of right reason concerning what the agent needs to do (cogitationes operabilium). The notion of “right,” then, is both ontologically and ethically prior: it is the universal knowledge possessed by the person of what is good, fitting, and commensurate with rational nature. But this same habitus or repertoire of first principles carries with it the force or impulse (instinctus) of nature inclining us to goodness.95 Thus Albert speaks of natural law as an “inclining nature” (inclinans natura).96 That inclinational or instinctual movement is how Albert conceives the element of “obligation” attaching to natural law. Natural law for Albert the Great is scarcely something static. Nor is it a defined code of precepts, prohibitions, and legislation covering a host of particular cases. Rather, it is a dynamic, embedded determination of the practical intellect inclining the agent to human natural goodness through his or her understanding, judgments, and affective nature. In an age when natural law was commonly treated in the jural language of dictates, prohibitions, and restrictions, and where as a result it came to be conceived as if it too were positive law, Albert has launched a striking reversal of an old thinking pattern. The division of his treatise into a question dedicated to ius followed by another on lex both reflects and clarifies this move. The quintessence of natural law for Albert is not obligation and prohibition, but the innate wisdom of practical reason. Obligation, not in the sense of a restriction, but rather in the sense of a moral-gravitational pull toward perceived goodness, naturally and necessarily follows upon this. Ius and lex, therefore, though distinguishable, are two facets of the one reality: the de93. Ibid., ad 2m, p. 285. 95. V, 1, 1, ad 19m, ad 21m, p. 267.

94. Ibid., ad 1m, p. 285. 96. V, 2, 3, ad 3m, p. 289, ll. 13–14, 43.

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bitum rationis. The result is a flexible and analogical notion of law wherein a priority belongs to natural law because it is the metaphysical and metajuridical foundation of all subsequent human rights, laws, and obligations. In this way, Albert reverses the traditional procedure of viewing natural law through the lens of positive law.97 Law and the Moral Life We are now in a position to view synoptically the place of law within the overall framework of Albert’s moral theory, and knowing this to appreciate as well the differences in theory, spirit, and order that distinguish his science of ethics as found in the De bono from earlier and contemporary medieval speculations. There should be no underestimating the importance which Albert assigns to natural law. At one point he writes that “natural right is the light of morals [lumen morum] impressed upon us according to the nature of reason.”98 Not only has he made it the cornerstone of all subsequent written positive laws, but its influence as an embedded source or habitus of directive first principles penetrates as well the deliberations of practical reason in the area of particular cases and individual acts. As intimately present to the human mind, natural right necessarily extends to every aspect and corner of the virtuous life. More proximately, the principles of natural right, without usurping the role of prudence, immediately co-instruct the work of prudential reason in ascertaining the quality of goodness in all our moral actions and their objects.99 Now there is a world of difference between this vision and the outright legalism of the representative moralists reviewed at the beginning of this chapter (and in chapter 1). For Alan of Lille and John of Rupella the principal cause and source of virtue was conformity to prescribed law. The same was true of William of Auxerre, who made natural law—conceived in terms 97. “Une remarque du même genre peut se faire au sujet de cet autre concept fundamental, celui de loi. L’idée la plus obvie qu’on en a est celle de la loi positive humaine, émanant de la raison pratique du législateur en vue du bien commun de la société et portée à la connaissance des citoyens par une promulgation officielle. Or, quand on en vient à définer la loi naturelle et surtout la loi eternelle, on est obligé d’assouplir les éléments de la définition classique; n’eût-il pas été plus simple de proclamer que le concept de loi est analogique?”—O. Lottin, PEM, vol. 4, 820. 98. De bono V, 1, 2, #8, p. 270, ll. 5–6. 99. IV, 1, 3, ad 1m, ad 5m, p. 230.



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of positive law—the “origin and principle” of virtue. The result in all three cases is a juridified ethic wherein law and obligation figure as pivotal notions in the domain of moral goodness. Consistent with this is the internal order of their treatises: law precedes the disquisition upon the virtues. For Albert the Great, on the other hand, there is a great deal more to the life of natural goodness than mere conformity to law. At least two major factors could be said to have contributed to his thinking in this regard: the influence of classical virtue theory (known to him through Cicero, Boethius, and Latin fragments of the Nicomachean Ethics), as well as Albert’s own distinctive and highly original conception of natural law. For the Universal Doctor, the direct and immediate cause of natural virtue is not adherence to law, but the right human act viewed in all of its dynamic complexity. That complexity of human activity analyzed into its four Aristotelian causes precedes his detailed disquisition upon the virtues themselves. Natural law is treated toward the end of the extant text of the De bono within the context of general justice because it is an integral element in human nature contributing to a state of general rectitude (debitum generale).100 Natural law is not an exterior norm to which we must conform, but an interior perfection of reason guiding and prompting the agent to the just life from within as part of the architecture of our natural moral agency. 100. V, 4, 2, resp., p. 301, ll. 31–41.

pa rt v

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chapt e r 12

friendship

In modern ethical theory, certainly between the period of Francis Bacon and Montaigne and the 1980s, one finds comparatively few philosophical analyses (outside of Aristotelian scholarship) dedicated to friendship theory. Cartesian man as isolated mind and Thomas Hobbes’s preoccupation with the human solitary condition seem to have been influential in this regard.1 Medieval thinking was no different: after all, theologians were focused on the relationship between God and man, and in that preoccupation they were disinclined to speculate on the relationship of affection between humans.2 Modern medieval scholarship, in turn, has clearly mirrored that history of neglect. Even today, one would be hard pressed to find much in the way of friendship theory in the philosophical literature about the Middle Ages. Lottin’s monumental historical compilation, for example, does not mention the notion at all. Such neglect is puzzling because in the Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle dedicates the longest treatment of any of his ethical principles—Books VIII and IX—to an elaborate discussion of 1. See, for example, Lorraine S. Pangle, Aristotle and the Philosophy of Friendship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 3. 2. A notable exception is Aelred of Rievaulx (1109–1166), who in his De spirituali amicitia (1164–1165) undertook to rewrite Cicero’s De amicitia for Christian readers. See Aelred of Rievaulx, Spiritual Friendship, trans. Mary Eugenia Laker, S.S.N.D. (Washington, D.C.: Cistercian Publications Consortium Press, 1974). There is no evidence that Albert knew or used Aelred’s work.

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friendship. Up to this point in time, Albertinian scholarship in particular has continued to ignore this concept within the larger picture of Albert’s moral speculation. Now, Albert himself, it is true, scarcely mentions friendship in De bono. In the prologue at the very beginning of Tractatus II, he briefly announces that after his analysis of the individual virtues, and after his treatment of duties (de officiis), we can expect a third section dedicated to friendship, “which, according to the philosophers Aristotle and Cicero, is founded on virtue.”3 There is no trace of either of these intended sections on duties and friendship in the extant text of De bono, and yet the classical Ciceronian and Aristotelian inspiration is evident. Similarly, the concept of duty is scarcely mentioned in the earlier De natura boni, and friendship not at all—one more indicator that Albert’s ambitions as an ethicist greatly expanded between the earlier and later work. For whatever reasons, those intentions never materialized. Since both of Albert’s commentaries on the Ethics, however, do include philosophical analyses of friendship, it would be remiss not to include some analysis of this theme in our exposition of Albert’s natural ethical theory. Unlike his general reference to duties, to which he did not return, Albert did return twice—in his philosophical commentaries—to discourse at length upon friendship, something he did not repeat elsewhere in his theological treatises. Moreover, since the first of these commentaries, Super Ethica, includes Albert’s own independently wrought philosophical reflections in disputed-question format, it seems appropriate to concentrate our study on these materials in order to garner some understanding of what Albert did say, and what he might have said about friendship had De bono been completed according to plan, and what he likely would have said had he been in possession of Books VIII and IX of the Ethics. Quite simply, the Super Ethica materials will provide us with the most reliable source of this aspect of Albert’s own natural ethic. The same arguments cannot be made for our including a section on duties—a concept inspired by Cicero—since Albert simply did not develop this concept in any of his ethical treatises.

3. De bono, Cologne ed., vol. 27, p. 82, ll. 5–6.



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Friendship and Goodness in Super Ethica Albert opens his commentary on Aristotle’s lengthy treatment of friendship with a quotation from Cicero, who writes that “friendship is nothing other than the harmony between things divine and human, with goodwill and love.”4 Since, Albert adds, this harmony or agreement (consensio) is itself a certain kind of movement within the human spirit (quidam motus humani animi), it has to do with ethics; and so it is “necessary,” he insists, that the ethician deal with it.5 It’s likely, too, that Albert may have used Cicero’s testimony to reinforce his own (and Aristotle’s) view of friendship as an active state that mediates between the life of virtue and a person’s final states of natural happiness. Aristotle had written that friendship (philia) “is some sort of excellence or virtue, or involves virtue.”6 Albert agrees fully with Aristotle that friendship is an active state intimately connected with the virtuous life. Friendship, he comments, in one sense is virtue, and in another sense involves virtue as something that follows upon the possession of all virtue.7 Repeatedly, Albert’s commentary stresses the inherent metaphysical connectedness between friendship and moral goodness. Just as there are different levels of goodness—the useful (utile), the pleasurable (delectabile), and the authentic or unqualified good (honestum)—so too there are three different kinds of friendship based upon these modalities of the good: friendship based on usefulness (amicitia utilis), friendship based on pleasure (amicitia delectabilis), and friendship rooted in unqualified goodness (amicitia honesti; amicitia quae fundatur super honestum). This hierarchy of goods, 4. Super Ethica VIII, Cologne ed. vol. 14 (2), p. 591, ll. 4–6. Cicero, Laelius de amicitia c. 6, no. 20; trans. W. A. Falconer, De Senectute, De amicitia, De divinatione (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1964 [1923]), p. 130. 5. Super Ethica VIII, p. 591, ll. 8–11. Friendship could also be considered from the point of view of politically enacted law or as a purely natural phenomenon.—ibid., ll. 75–90. 6. Nicomachean Ethics VIII, 1, 1155a3–4; trans. M. Oswald, 214. For introductory comments on Aristotle’s theory, and the evolution of the concept of friendship, see Gauthier and Jolif, L’Éthique à Nicomaque, vol. 2, 655–59; Gauthier, La morale d’Aristote, 123–27. See also Pangle, Aristotle and the Philosophy of Friendship. The political, practical, and juridical aspects of friendship in Aristotle’s text reflect earlier senses of the word philia, in which interior sentiment or feeling do not figure as prominently as they do in our current usage. 7. “Dicendum, quod amicitia est quodammodo virtus et quodammodo cum virtute ut consequens omnem virtutem.”—Super Ethica VIII, lect. 1, sol., p. 592, ll. 49–51. Elsewhere (p. 610, l. 41) Albert calls virtue the “foundation” (fundamentum) of “true friendship.”

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he insists, is “essential” in distinguishing between these broad categories or “modes” of friendship.8 Friendship is predicated analogically of these various modes. From these, in turn, we must distinguish the several species of natural friendship such as friendship between father and sons, or between a husband and wife, or the political friendship between a ruler and his subjects, in all of which a more specific bonding feature and context bind the parties together.9 Friendship that is rooted in the moral excellence (honestum) of virtuous people, and in a desire to genuinely benefit the other for the sake of the other, is greater and more truly friendship than the “imperfect friendship” based on the attractions of mere utility or pleasure.10 These latter can devolve into mere desire (concupiscentia).11 In honestum-based friendship, on the other hand, we choose to socialize with truly good people (congregare ad honestos) and to avoid the company of those who are morally depraved.12 While pleasure-based and utility-based friendships assuredly have their place in our social life, Albert, like Aristotle, is primarily interested in understanding, and developing the concept of, the highest and most profound form of friendship. “All friendships,” he writes, “are measured against honestum-friendship”; and this is the same kind of friendship he has in mind when he writes that “goodness in the loved one is the very meaning of the object of friendship” (ratio obiecti amicitiae).13 The morally corrupt person, on the other hand, does not experience friendship within himself, let alone with others, because he does not seek to live in harmony with others, for the sake of community with them. Rather, he withdraws to live within himself.14 The most there could ever be among corrupt persons is a “certain kind of agreement (concordia) to perform evil.”15 Friendship and the Virtues In various places throughout these pages, Albert will sometimes concede that friendship can be identified with this or that virtue—e.g., be8. VIII, 3, sol., p. 600, ll. 32–35. 9. VIII, 5, ad 3m, p. 612, ll. 37–40; lect. 7, sol., p. 619, ll. 66–87. 10. VIII, 2, sol., p. 598, ll. 24–32; ad 3m; p. 597, ll. 18–19; sol., p. 600, ll. 29–45. 11. Lect. 4, p. 607, ll. 20–21; lect. 5, p. 611, l. 46. 12. VIII, lect. 2, ad 3m, p. 587, ll. 11–15. 13. IX, 1, sol., p. 655, l. 17; VIII, lect. 6, p. 614, ad 1m, ll. 67–68. 14. IX, 5, p. 673 (marg. #795), sol., ll. 35–39. 15. VIII, 8, sol., p. 625, ll. 13–15.



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nevolence, temperance, justice—but it really should be conceptualized as following upon the possession of all the virtues, as an “effect” of all the virtues. This, indeed, is “true friendship,” whereby we incline toward the good (honestum) in others.16 While friendship is not necessary for mere existence, it is certainly necessary in order to live well. And so, writes Albert, friendship is necessary both to function well in our active lives, and to operate well as a perspicuous agent in the contemplative life (necessaria et ad bene operandum in vita active et ad bene intelligendum in vita contemplativa).17 The contemplative is one who avoids the madding crowd, and even though we can picture the contemplative living a solitary life, it is nonetheless necessary that the contemplative have a select coterie of friends and associates with whom he can confer and discuss; otherwise he or she cannot understand truth perfectly, and will not be happy. In an obvious allusion to the Avicennian definition of goodness, Albert suggests that in a “moral friendship” either of the partners may be thought of as a “potency,” as it were, which is fulfilled through the enhancement (complementum) supplied by the company of the other, and this is something which neither partner by himself would otherwise have enjoyed.18 The Universal Doctor also undertakes to refine still further the situation of friendship with special reference to some of the virtues. Because friendship is between persons, and because it involves working together and sharing activities, goods, and services—this, too, in the case of useful and pleasurable associations—there is a kind of overlapping between it and the realm of justice. Albert confronts this issue head-on, and applies the principles of end and subject area (materia) to distinguish between the two concepts.19 Against Aspasius and Michael Ephesus, who appear to have viewed friendship as a form (species) of justice, Albert argues—at first, a little unclearly—that the two goods differ “according to the formal structure of virtue” (secundum formam virtutis). Friendship and justice, to be sure, share behavioral context and reference (materia). They also share in the end, not just the remote end, but also the proximate end. At the same time, however, they do not share their own distinctive ends (non tamen proprio). If we consider things from the perspective of that which is right16. VIII, 1, sol., p. 592, ll. 64–67. 17. VIII, lect. 1., sol., p. 593; lect. 5, sol., p. 610 (marg. #714). 18. VIII, lect. 2, sol., p. 596, ll. 16–17, 24–29. 19. VIII, 9, sol., p. 627, l. 92–p. 628, l. 28.

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fully our just due (rationem debiti), then the determinations of what is mine and thine is very much the proper subject matter of justice. When, however, we look at things from the perspective of two persons brought together by the same function or role, voluntarily working together toward a common benefit, and in such a way that each one wishes as much for the other’s advantage as he does for his own, then we are dealing with friendship. Accordingly, justice and friendship coincide when it comes to subject matter (e.g., possession or ownership claims), but that same shared subject matter is perfected differently in each case because the formal determination of friendship lies in the binding and the bonding of our affections, whereas the formal determination of justice lies in what is equitable (in aequalitate proportionis). And so friendship is not a species of justice except in a non-specifying material sense. Similarly, friendship and justice both differ and converge as to their end because each of them is ordered to the business of conducting one’s life with others; but friendship does that through the activities of sharing and living together, justice by attending to that which is proper and rightfully due. Albert is also at pains to distinguish between friendship and the virtue of benevolence or goodwill, repeatedly situating goodwill as an antecedent and as a kind of causal impetus (quasi efficiens) which contributes to the development of friendship in a non-intrinsic fashion. To the claim that benevolence is the source (principium) of friendship, he writes: Hence, I state that benevolence is understood to be the principle of friendship as that which is not something [already] in it but rather as an efficient cause because the constant inclination toward the good of another, which is benevolence, perfects friendship by making one work in cooperation. And friendship is said to come about through long duration, not through its own essence, but through a cause....... for the distinctive principle of friendship is that which is essential to it namely absolute goodness [honestum].20

Later he adds that “benevolence is related to friendship as something preceding it whereas goodness [honestum] is related to friendship as something essential upon which friendship is grounded just as similitude rests upon quality.”21 20. IX, 6, ad 4m, p. 675, ll. 68–79. 21. IX, 6, ad 4m, p. 676, ll. 65–68. Before this Albert had already written (p. 674, ll. 80–85) that benevolence is not a superlative instance of goodness. It has only an imperfect act, and is not



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Friendship, Attraction, and Love Albert freely uses the language of love (e.g., amor, amatio, amare, amatus, caritas) in his theorizing about friendship, and he uses this language to underscore the feature of natural attraction that lies at the core of friendship. Attraction-loving (amatio) has both a passive and an active side.22 Inasmuch as it arises from the impact of an object upon our affective powers (affectum), it belongs to the genus of “passion.” However, inasmuch as something is informed by the object (per speciem obiecti), it also inclines us to that which is loved, and so is also something here akin to an operation. Once again, as we already saw in the case of his adding a section on the passions (see chapter 10), Albert is clearly a pioneer in the realm of affective psychology when he undertakes to distinguish between the various levels of affectivity. Thus, in answer to the challenge to distinguish between these various modes, he writes: Attraction-based loving [amatio] or love [amor] is a simple movement of affection [motus affectus] toward the other; hence, it can exist as affection both in the rational part of the soul and in the sentient part. But delight [dilectio] adds to this the feature of choosing the loved one from among many, and so it resides only in our rational part. Benevolence, on the other hand, adds to all this the feature that someone wishes good for whoever is loved, and causes it to exist in the loved one. Charity [caritas], however, is that which holds the loved one beyond great price, and so it is a virtue and the extreme of benevolence. Now friendship implies and contains [concludit] all these, and still further it adds to them the feature of reciprocated affection of which the friends are not unaware [redamationem non latentem].23

Evidently, then, there are several forms of attraction and emotional response and embrace which contribute to the phenomenon of friendship. Since the above text describes a purely natural ordering of a person’s inner affective space, the “charity” of which Albert speaks should not be taken to mean the theological virtue. In this context, “charity” simply nominates a kind of unstinting love that does not ration itself. These distinctions are reinforced in a later passage in which Albert really a complete virtue or habit, but rather an aptitude (habilitas). Nonetheless benevolence is still a praiseworthy quality. 22. IX, 8, ad 7m, p. 683. 23. VIII, 3, ad 7m, p. 601, ll. 72–82.

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itemizes some of the properties that distinguish the modes of loving arising from attraction (amatio), benevolence, love (amor), and friendship: It must be said that the four differ in this way: friendship and benevolence are calm because they reside in the rational part in which passion properly speaking does not reside nor indeed the motion of passion. Love [amor], however, is sometimes calm inasmuch as it resides in the rational part, and this is the love of friendship. And sometimes it, love, is in motion as when it is the love of desire [amor concupiscentiae] because as such it is a kind of passion since passions properly take place only in the sentient part of the soul according to which change comes about as it is said in Physics VII. Attraction-loving [amatio], however, is always in motion because it is, as it were, the road to the love of desire. For just as whitening [albatio] and white differ, so too attraction-loving and love differ, and just as attractionloving is the source [principium] of desirous love, so benevolence is the source of friendship, as already has been said. ..... Benevolence, however, occurs instantly [statim] without forethought, whenever someone’s worthiness is seen or heard. And therefore Aristotle said that it is spur-of-the-moment.24

Love (amor), in contrast to benevolence, is “intrinsic to friendship and therefore cannot be called its source [principium] but much more an element or an act resulting from it.”25 Yet another challenge asks how the following four are related to friendship: namely, benevolence, moral practice or goodness (mos sive honestum), love, and beneficence. Albert replies that “benevolence is related to friendship as something that precedes it; goodness, however, upon which friendship is founded is essential....... Love, however, follows [friendship] on the side of affectivity, beneficence on the side of effect.”26 A number of points emerge from the passages quoted above. First, Albert envisages the realm of human affectivity as a panoply of ascending urges, affections, and feelings in which choice, selflessness, requital, and awareness supply distinguishing elements. Second, there is a compenetration of these affections, as when attraction-loving moves into desire, or when love enters into friendship and/or issues from it. At the same time, the distinction between love (amor) and attraction-based love (amatio) is not always clear and distinct, since amor-love can become the love of desire; and it is not always easy to see in Albert’s account how the movement of 24. IX, 6, sol., p. 676 [marg. #799], ll. 4–27. 26. Ibid., ad 4m, p. 676.

25. IX, 6, ad 3m, p. 676 [marg.# 800].



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attraction-loving (amatio) distinguishes itself from outright desire or desirous love (amor concupiscentiae). Third, friendship stands at the pinnacle of this hierarchy of affectivity and, in a manner not unlike the principle of potestative wholeness, implies and comprises all these moments.27 Fourth, while authentic friendship involves feelings and emotions, it is certainly not reducible to mere affectivity: friendship involves choice, more precisely, choice informed by the virtues; and it involves as well the interpersonal activities of living and working together. At the same time, friendship is quite obviously not without feeling. In a number of texts, Albert writes that while friendship is not just feeling, it is certainly not without feeling.28 The Causes, Conditions, and Foundation of Friendship The causes and foundations of friendship(s) are varied. While goodness in the loved friend constitutes the “very meaning of the object of friendship,” Albert tells us, it is not the total or sufficient cause.29 Other conditions and causes are involved. For instance, Albert reminds his reader that when Aristotle speaks of friendship, he has in mind an active state that characteristically embraces four properties: attraction-love of the good (amatio honesti); requited loving (redamatio); benevolence; and the shared quality between friends of “not being unaware” of their shared love and its value (non-latentia).30 Then, too, while friendship, more precisely “moral friendship,” is not reducible to raw-nature impulse, it does indeed have a natural foundation. Referring to the ancient theory of contraries or opposites, Albert speaks of a root source whereby the human being is necessarily inclined to friendship (ad radicem, ex qua necessario inclinatur homo ad amicitiam), and this is nothing else than the need for assistance or support since none of us is self-sufficient.31 Purely “natural friendship” covers the kind of friendship that obtains between a husband and wife, and between a father and his children, in which the bare act of propagation suffices to 27. Albert does indeed invoke the principle of potestative wholeness in reference to the “perfect friendship” of amicitia honesti: p. 600, ll. 37–45; p. 603, ll. 57–59. 28. VIII, 5, ad 3m, p. 609, ll. 24–25; sol., p. 612, ll. 15–17. 29. VIII, 6, ad 1m, p. 614, ll. 67–69. 30. VIII, 6, sol., p. 614, ll. 55–57. 31. VIII, lect. 2, sol., p. 596 [marg. #695], ll. 7–10.

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account for the causal origin of this friendship. Similarly, the bonding between brothers is a natural friendship that arises from, and is grounded in, the paternal friendships between a father and his sons; but fraternal love is still less than that first paternal friendship (minor quam prima), because it is not as directly grounded as that which directly originates in propagation.32 While physical nature is invoked to explain the foundation of such friendships, it does not suffice as an account: since natural love is more imperfect than “moral friendship” which complements and perfects the former, more things are needed for “true friendship” than for purely natural love.33 Friendship requires for its fulfillment the kind of community in which there is a sharing in activities (communicationem in operibus), and also the cooperation and mutual pleasure from living together whereby friendship is nourished and fostered.34 The social features of living together and sharing in activities reinforces Albert’s (and Aristotle’s) concept of friendship as primarily an active, not simply a habitual, state. This is why at one point Albert broadly characterizes the “act of friendship” in terms of “living and working together.”35 Friendship and Self-Love The principle of self-love also enters into the concept of friendship as another of its requisite conditions, but with an important qualification. Albert writes that although friendship according to its full meaning is not simply a relationship of self-love [non sit ad seipsum], nevertheless the beginning of friendship [principium amicitae] does lie in one’s relation to one’s self. For when a person holds himself in relation to another just as he relates to himself, then he is a friend of that other person; and so it is that these kinds of constituent features bring about friendship between one’s self and another.36 32. VIII, lect. 12, pp. 639, 641. 33. VII, 6, ad 4m, p. 614. 34. VIII, lect. 12, sol., p. 639 [marg. #753], ll. 22–29; ad 1m; lect. 5, ad 2m, pp. 609–10. “causa autem amicitiae est communicatio”—p. 654, ll. 14–15. 35. VIII, 7, sol., p. 621, ll. 38–39. At the same time, Albert writes that friendship must also be considered as a habitus that resides in the soul, in ratione—VIII, 5, sol., ad 3m, p. 609. 36. IX, 4, ad 1m, p. 665, ll. 28–34.



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Friendship, however, is not reducible to self-love; it is not simply a new state that somehow issues from our own self-love. Rather, the manner and degree in which one esteems one’s own self becomes the touchstone by which we measure our relationship to others. It is in this sense that selfesteem or self-love becomes a condition, one more determinant in our friendship for others. In a later text Albert adds further refinements to this concept of selflove as a condition of friendship: It should be said that the virtuous person loves himself most of all absolutely [maxime simpliciter], but yet in a qualified sense [secundum quid ] does not so love himself....... For when it is said that he loves himself with respect to his very own self [secundum seipsum], the phrase “with respect to” can be said to pick out a special characteristic of his nature. And because the special characteristic of human nature is the mind [intellectus] which is a specifying difference, then the virtuous person, because he esteems himself with respect to the good things of the mind, most of all values himself with respect to his very self. And so indeed his resulting love is not a solitary [privatus] love because in his nature he does not differ from others. Accordingly, he [the friend] values in all others this thing that he cherishes within himself even though the principal source [principalitas] of his love lies within himself inasmuch as love issues from his own nature. However, the qualifier “with respect to” [secundum] can also refer to the situation of the individual person [condicionem suppositi]. And in such fashion, vicious people esteem themselves with respect to their own selves. For they prize themselves in the good things of their material parts which are in themselves, and according to which they differ from others. Accordingly, their [self-]love remains solitary just as each of them differs from others as an individual subject [secundum suppositum]; and self-centered love such as this is the root of all evil.37

In specifying the relationship between self-love and friendship’s love of the other, we should not interpret Albert’s comments in the above texts as stipulating mere temporal or causal priority, let alone self-love’s superiority. He is not saying, for instance, that self-love grows into friendship with another. Rather, authentic friendship for another person is analogous to healthy self-esteem, because the former is motivated by an attraction to the goodness in others just as our own self-esteem rests upon our own virtuous development. The role of self-love or self-esteem in Albert’s theory of friendship, then, is bivalent. First, self-esteem functions as a necessary condition 37. IX, 9, sol., p. 685 l. 79–p. 686, l. 7.

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or status enabling the moral person to engage in honestum-friendship with a partner. Second, self-esteem is also criterial in the sense that it becomes the measure of genuine friendship with the other. In the light of self-esteem, we can gauge the quality of our friendship for others. For all that, however, self-love is not something superior to other-directed friendship. Writes Albert: “A good person can experience friendship toward himself, but not as something consistent with the perfect idea of friendship.”38 This interpretation is consistent with those texts in which Albert underlines the necessity and spiritual advantages of friendship in our lives: friendship benefits the individual for whom friendship with the other serves as a moral enhancement. The corrupt person, by contrast, loving only himself in his material possessions, remains in a state of isolation. It is evident that Albert’s theory of friendship includes a number of overt references to causation. Although Albert, in this section of his commentary, does not explicitly invoke the model of the four Aristotelian causes (as he did in De bono’s metaphysics of goodness and the genesis of virtue), it is tempting to believe that something akin to this may be at work here as well. In such an interpretation, the good itself (honestum, but even too the lesser modalities of use and pleasure), as that which constitutes the “essential” and “distinctive” feature, can easily be construed as the formal cause of friendship. It is, after all, the defining property that distinguishes “moral friendship” from the impulses of natural friendships. The material cause might be said to be the whole panoply of human affectivity in all of its restless and tendential energy toward the other, and which is in potency to formal determination by the honestum-as-chosen. Albert has also told us that the activities of choice and living and working together are necessary elements in the development of friendship, and so these might be interpreted as supplying the efficient cause. The final cause, once again, would be the honestum in combination with the continuing virtue enterprise or, more ultimately, man’s ultimate happiness. As in Albert’s other statements about the metaphysical convergence of final cause and form, the desired and intended good or honestum coincides with that which is prefigured in the form-as-cause. It is tempting, I repeat, to envisage this architecture of friendship. But if it is really there in Albert’s own mind, it remains unannounced. 38. IX, 4, sol., p. 666, ll. 47–48.



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In summary, then, friendship arises from a combination of moral integrity, spontaneous non-deliberated impulses, and chosen and deliberated activities. First off, authentic friendship is preceded by and rests upon a state of virtuous development sufficient to enable the agent to appreciate goodness in others, and to engage in appropriate associations. Included in that state of integrity is the virtue of goodwill or benevolence whereby a person wills the good of another, not necessarily with any degree of specificity. Self-love or self-esteem which arises from a state of moral integrity figures as both an enabling and criterial condition in the development of authentic friendship with others. As well, there are present elements of a purely natural inclination arising from man’s ordinary insufficiency and the normal desire in creatures for improvement and metaphysical completion. There are, as well, the elements of spontaneous attraction and desire in which the element of affectivity is most evident. In addition, there is also the more tranquil and stable form of love which resides in the rational part of man. At the same time, friendship also requires the more active elements of choice, living and working together, and a certain epistemic quality—an awareness (usually worded obliquely in the language of “not being unaware”) of requital and the benefits of friendship. While there are indeed these kinds of assorted conditions and causes, the essential or defining feature in Albert’s concept of friendship is the notion of honestum-love, that is, an attraction of some metaphysical depth experienced by the partners with respect to that which in itself is worthy of respect in the other. Finally, friendship includes, as well, feelings of delight and pleasure. In many ways, then, the experience of friendship both recapitulates and extends the life of virtue with remarkable symmetry: it entails the possession of the virtues; it is defined by its attachment to goodness; it entails right judgment, choice, and ethical behavior; it engages the full range of moral and affective psychology; as something good, it gives pleasure and delight; it enhances the human social condition; and, finally, it is an important part of true and complete happiness. It is evident that for Albert, as much as for Aristotle, friendship as “some sort of excellence or virtue, or involving virtue,” belongs foursquare in a treatise on moral science. It is very much an important human achievement within the narrative of our lives, and something that we as moral agents are well equipped to master.

chapt e r 13

last ends and happiness

The Final End and Happiness in the De bono Since there is no question or treatise in De bono dedicated to man’s last end, it is not easy to reconstruct adequately Albert’s thought on this issue—at least at this point in his career. As with the earlier De natura boni, the De bono was supposed to include such a treatment. The preface to question 4 in the first tractatus clearly promises such a move: after a detailed analysis of the natural virtues, we may expect a disquisition upon “the end and perfection which is happiness.”1 Both early works, however, were abandoned short of completion, and so fall short of this proposed endeavor. Consequently, in De bono we are left with only a few tantalizing and cursory remarks about the final end of man, tantalizing because in these years attempts by others were made in the philosophical literature to define and situate man’s end. Whether we choose to call it happiness (felicitas) or something else, Albert says in one text, is not our present concern.2 Presumably, refinements in doctrine and terminology were to be made later on. Inasmuch as it is the end, it is something desired for its 1. De bono I, 4, p. 43, ll. 3–5. 2. II, 1, 5, sol., p. 94, ll. 36–39.

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own sake, and so something absolutely good (bonum honestum). There are several statements, however, in which Albert distinguishes between happiness in this life (felicitas, felicitas viae), the happiness known and experienced by non-Christian thinkers (philosophi) as that to which the natural virtues are essentially ordered, and “eternal beatitude”—man’s supernatural end—which was not known to the ancients, and which is not possible without the infusion of grace and meritorious works.3 By contrast, De natura boni had mentioned only the Christian concept of beatitude within the context of supernatural grace. De bono’s distinction between the two ends is also worth remarking for historical reasons. Before and during Albert’s early career, theologians generally ignored or dismissed the possibility of earthly happiness. Happiness does not and cannot occur in this life. Rather, it is a direct endowment of God, after death. Under the influence of this prevailing theological perspective, there was also a tendency in the first half of the thirteenth century to assimilate what was known of Aristotle’s concept of natural happiness (as initially outlined in Book I of the Nicomachean Ethics) to the Christian doctrine of eternal beatitude. This pattern of assimilation is strikingly evident in a number of largely anonymous early commentaries on the Ethica nova, written in a period shortly before and at the time of De bono’s composition.4 The result was not only a severe distortion of the meaning and text of Aristotle, but also yet another diminution of human potency within the natural moral order. In one of the earliest of these commentaries (erroneously attributed to John Pecham), there is even a reluctance to use the term “felicitas” when discussing the human earthly end, along with 3. I, 4, 7, #13, p. 63; III, 1, 1, ad 31m, p. 121. In this second text, Albert also seems to acknowledge another distinction: man’s created end (which he does not explicitly mention here) and an uncreated end (finis increatus). Elsewhere (p. 45, ll. 1–11), Albert also speaks of an end which is intended in all of our acts, and this is “the perpetuity of nature.” He also speaks of the end which is generally intended in all of our virtuous acts, and this he calls “beatitude or happiness.” 4. See Lottin, PEM, vol. 1, 505–34; M. Grabmann, “Das Studium der Aristotelischen Ethik an der Artistenfakultät der Universität Paris in der ersten Hälfte des 13 Jhs,” Mittelalterliches Geistesleben (Munich, 1956), vol. 3, 128–41; R.-A. Gauthier, “Le cours sur l’Ethica nova d’un Maître ès Arts de Paris,” AHDLMA 42 (1976): 71–141. See also Anthony J. Celano, “The Understanding of the Concept of ‘Felicitas’ in the Pre-1250 Commentaries on the Ethica Nicomachea,” Medioevo 12 (1986): 29–53; “The ‘Finis Hominis’ in the Thirteenth-Century Commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics,” AHDLMA 53 (1987): 23–53; “Act of the Intellect or Act of the Will: The Critical Reception of Aristotle’s Ideal of Human Perfection in the 13th and Early 14th Centuries,” AHDLMA 57 (1991): 93–119.

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a telling statement that virtue does not originate with our efforts, but directly from God (virtus non sit a nobis, sed a prima causa).5 The theological interpretation was also encouraged by a corruption of the Latin translation of Aristotle’s text, which identified human happiness with an otherworldly state not unlike that enjoyed by angelic natures (beatos autem homines ut angelos [instead of beatos ut homines]).6 At the same time, there was also a corresponding tendency in some of these early commentaries to view the natural cardinal virtues as little more than means or dispositions with respect to man’s eternal end. The enduring influence of the Augustiniantheocentric view of “natural” virtue, then, is still very much evident even within the overtly philosophical sector. In the light of these earlier and contemporary testimonies, Albert’s reclamation of the natural dimension of human moral agency—including happiness—stands out as being all the more remarkable. The De bono’s few and brief comments upon the natural end of man also reflect the fragmentary condition of Aristotelian sources which Albert had to work with in the early 1240s. In these years he did not have the more elaborate treatment contained in Book X of the Ethics, although he would certainly have been cognizant of the relevant passages on happiness in Ethica nova (i.e., Book I). At the same time, the De bono’s fleeting distinction between natural happiness and eternal beatitude ought not to be hardened into an antinomy or divorce between the order of virtue and the order of merit, or between a presumed closed order of natural perfections and the order of supernatural perfections. On the contrary, for Albert the theologian, grace should be seen as the perfection and fulfillment of nature.7 There are additional texts in De bono that point to Albert’s understanding of an intimate relationship between the virtues and happiness.8 Hap5. See A. Celano, “The ‘Finis Hominis,’” 25, n. 9. Celano also demonstrates that the commentary by Robert Kilwardby, written about 1245, is the only one in this early group of commentaries to differentiate between the concept of natural happiness, as outlined by Aristotle, and the theological concept of supernatural beatitude. Given the date of De bono’s composition (in the early 1240s), it is safe to say that Albert was affirming this distinction between the two orders of happiness at about the same time as Kilwardby’s commentary, possibly a short time earlier. 6. See A. Celano, “The Understanding of the Concept of ‘Felicitas,’ ” 52; and “Act of the Intellect or Act of the Will,” 97. 7. IV, 1, 5, ad 12m, p. 241, ll. 4ff.; V, 2, 2, ad 4m, p. 285. See also IV, 1, 5, #12, p. 237. 8. “quia felicitas dicit actum secundum perfectam virtutem animae”—III, 5, 3, ad 8m, p. 209, ll. 29–30. “Sed tamen secundum hos actus non determinat de virtutibus Macrobius, sed potius secundum quod coniunguntur felicitate viae, quae est perfectio animae secundum perfectam



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piness, we read, is a dynamic perfection (actus) of the soul which is consequent upon the possession of all the perfected virtues. The presence of only one (supposedly) complete and perfected virtue would not suffice, but rather the possession of each and every natural virtue is required in the attainment of happiness.9 In this respect, the role of prudence is paramount. With reference to happiness, Albert says that it enjoys a “more excellent act” because it guides us to the primum bonum, God, wherein the greatest happiness is found.10 Nevertheless, not just prudence but all the virtues are essentially ordered to, and consummated in, happiness. Happiness is truly the end and perfection of natural virtues in relation to which they also stand as so many necessary steps or means. These indicators in De bono show that Albert already understood and accepted the Aristotelian idea of eudaimonia through and in the virtuous life; but for all this, the De bono gives only a sketchy idea about the final end of man. For instance, Albert does not yet distinguish between happiness arising from the active possession of virtues—what he will later call in his commentaries “civil happiness”—and happiness consisting in contemplation. At this point in his career he would have been less clear about the doctrine of contemplation as developed in Book X of the Nicomachean Ethics. In spite of this frustrating silence, however, a significant feature of Albert’s thought comes to light. It concerns his method of procedure. Happiness is that in which the virtuous life and, presumably, friendship culminate. As so many necessary steps or necessary conditions in the acquisition of happiness, their treatment would seem logically enough to precede the analysis of happiness. This order of inquiry is consistent with the approach previously laid down by Albert for defining and understanding the good in general: “inductively, that is, through means to the end” (per posterius, scilicet per ea quae sunt ad finem).11 In this respect, the De bono’s architecture differs radically from the modern reconstruction of Albert’s natural moral virtutem.”—IV, 1, 4, ad 7m, p. 234, ll. 86–89. “Ad aliud dicendum, quod felicitas non consistit in uno et idcirco per unum non est ingressus ad ipsam. Est enim felicitas actus secundum omnem perfectam virtutem animi.”—I, 6, 2, ad 2m, p. 80. 9. I write “supposedly” since an isolated, perfectly formed virtue without the other fully formed virtues is purely hypothetical: in Albert’s virtue theory, such an isolated phenomenon is impossible, since the development of each virtue entails corresponding and proportional development in each of the other cardinal virtues. 10. IV, 1, 2, ad 16m, p. 226. Prudence is an “essential part of happiness.”—ibid., ad 19m, p. 226, l. 91. 11. I, 1, 1, ad 13m, p. 7.

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theory in Jörn Müller’s recent scholarly work.12 Müller supplies an elaborate analysis (pp. 80–135) of Albert’s concept of happiness/eudaimonia prior to his analysis of Albert’s theory of the natural virtues. That order of Müller’s analysis and presentation, however, reverses the order in which Albert himself intended to discuss these elements in his first two moral treatises, when he was free to choose his own order and arrangement of material. The Two Modes of Natural Happiness in Super Ethica The fact that De bono is so sparse in this part of Albert’s moral philosophy means that in order to secure an understanding of his theory of natural happiness, we need to pay close attention to what he wrote, about a decade later, in Super Ethica. As I have already argued, in chapter 2, this commentary with its distinctive philosophical explorations cast in the disputed-question format constitutes our most reliable source of Albert’s theory of natural happiness. In this first commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Albert discusses the concepts of happiness and man’s last end in two places: Book I, lectures 7–15, and throughout much of Book X, especially the lectures (11–16) dealing with contemplative activity. There are related materials as well in Book VI, where Albert discourses upon the virtue of wisdom and its relationship to contemplation. For Albert, as for Aristotle, there are perfectly good reasons for including such a study in an ethical treatise. For one thing, happiness is the “subject” of this “moral science,” in the sense that it is that which is principally intended, and for the sake of which other things, notably the virtues, are investigated.13 Happiness is also the “ultimate perfection of human nature,” and that to which human life is ordered.14 Beginning with the concept of man’s greatest good (summum bonum), Albert quickly links the concept of man’s greatest good with the operations of the rational soul—reasoning and intellection—and thereby with the two concepts of natural happiness.15 As Albert repeatedly makes clear 12. Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, n.s. 59 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2001). 13. Super Ethica, Prologue, Cologne. ed., vol. 14 (1), p. 3, ll. 61–64. 14. X, lect. 10, sol., vol. 14 (2), p. 744, ll. 46–50. 15. I, lect. 7, vol. 14 (1), pp. 32–33 [marg. #35].



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in both Book I and Book X, he agrees with Aristotle in distinguishing between two levels and kinds of happiness: there is the happiness of the citizen—civil happiness, which comprises and arises from an integral life of virtue; and contemplative happiness, which derives from the highest activity of the human intellect. They are not equal, nor do they command the same value: It must needs be said that contemplative and civil happiness can be thought of in two ways: either according to worthiness and goodness, and in this way contemplative happiness is much more worthy because it has to do with what is best in the person, and is less referable to something else. Or, the two happinesses can be considered according to the usefulness of life’s necessities, and from this perspective civil happiness has a stronger claim [potior], but in a qualified sense.16

(Albert speaks freely of both kinds of happiness in Book I, and so oftentimes the object of his remarks has to be inferred from the context.) As the actions of a reasoning entity, the soul’s actions have to do with contingencies or external deeds; and at this level its highest good is civil happiness. In relation to the soul’s intellectual attainments, however, its distinctive end and excellence is nothing less than contemplative happiness. Thus, while there are two orders of human highest goods, the one, civil happiness, is really subordinate as something “material and dispositive” in relation to the other, contemplative happiness. Ultimately, then, only one supreme good for man may be posited. And yet, while civil happiness is not an absolute perfection, it is still “perfect” at its own level of being (perfectum in genere) as something comprising all the worthy elements of its class because it includes all the well-established cardinal virtues.17 In a more immediate and direct fashion than in the case of contemplative happiness, civil happiness requires the contributions of the moral virtues, especially the virtue of prudence, and so it is a phenomenon of the whole person, body and soul, since the life of virtue also has to do with passions of the sentient order. At the same time, we must not think of civil happiness as a general habitude or as a quiescent state of the soul. Instead, Albert 16. X, 13, sol., p. 761. Albert’s interpretation of Aristotle in terms of there being two distinct orders of happiness was rejected by Aquinas, but was very influential among subsequent commentators. See A. J. Celano, “The ‘Finis Hominis’ in the Thirteenth-Century Commentaries”; also, “Act of Intellect or Act of the Will,” 99. 17. I, 7, sol., p. 34, ll. 26–31.

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views it as an operation following upon a specific virtue, prudence, and a specific power, reason.18 Moreover, it takes place in this life; it is not something that takes place after death.19 The reasons for the inherent superiority of contemplative over civil happiness are both epistemological and metaphysical. First, while reason (ratio) is the distinctive and essential power that defines human nature, the moment of understanding is itself the end, the culmination of the process of reasoning, and therefore superior to the latter. (In one place, Albert says that reason is “hidden understanding”—intellectus obumbratus.)20 Accordingly, the epistemic mode proper to civic happiness and the life of virtue— i.e., the activity of reasoning—is always conducted for the sake of arriving at some form of understanding, and ultimately that includes as well the highest intuitive moment of contemplation. Second, contemplation in its highest manifestation has to do with “the very highest entities,” with “things divine,” that is, with God.21 By virtue of the superlative worthiness of its object(s), then, the intellectual act of contemplation stands as a superior cognitive mode. Absolutely speaking, Albert writes, contemplative happiness is more worthy and better than civil happiness because it is chosen only for itself, and not for the sake of something higher.22 In the opening lines of his commentary on Book X, as if to reinforce this inherent superiority, Albert describes contemplative happiness as the “perfect operation of the speculative intellect” and as “a certain kind of imitation of the divine intellect.”23 At the same time as he distinguishes the higher level of contemplation from the lower level of the mind’s reasoning activity, Albert is adamant in his optimism about the radical soundness of reason, and its fittingness as 18. Lect. 15, sol., pp. 75–76. 19. Ibid., sol., p. 59 [marg. #59]. 20. X, 13, ad 3m, p. 760, ll. 54–55. 21. X. 9, sol., p. 742, ll. 8–9; 11, ad 1m, p. 748, l. 34; ad 1m, p. 752, ll. 16–17; sol., p. 754, l. 27; 16, sol., p. 775 [marg. #927], ll. 4–6. Since Albert is commenting on the text of Aristotle, he often speaks of the divine in plural form in a way that reflects the multiple divine entities addressed by the ancient philosophers: e.g., the “separate substances” or “unchangeable entities” in Aristotle’s Metaphysics XII. In point of fact, however, Albert the Christian believer has in mind only his God. Other substances—e.g., angelic substances—may be called “divine” in an analogical fashion to the extent that they derive from and hold their being from God. See, for example, Super Ethica X, 15, sol., p. 766; also lect. 16, sol., p. 774 [marg. #926]. 22. I, 7, sol., p. 35 [marg. #37], ll. 35–40. 23. X, 1, p. 708, ll. 13–15, 25.



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the agent of our happiness. “Reason of itself,” he insists, “is always right and rectifies all the other powers of the soul.”24 Only incidentally (per accidens), he continues in the same passage, is it ever deflected from the course of rectitude by anger or desire in the reasoning process—and that only at the level of the minor premise, as it applies itself to the task at hand.25 Because the distinctive task of the human person is the work of reason, it necessarily follows that it is also the same thing as working for the good.26 In this regard, the virtue of prudence is especially instrumental in facilitating the goal of reason- and virtue-grounded happiness, because it both enhances the acuity of practical reason, and because it directly accounts for the “form” and “medium” of all the other virtues.27 To say this is also to say that happiness necessarily entails the possession of all the virtues (oportet quod in felicitate congregentur omnes virtutes).28 While happiness has to do with the reasoning and intellectual part of the soul, it would be wrong to conclude that it does not also include pleasure. On the contrary, as with Aristotle, the first part of Albert’s commentary on Book X—lectures 1–9—has do primarily with the concept of pleasure. Quoting Aristotle to the effect that pleasure is the unimpeded activity of a distinctive and characteristic condition as determined by our natural state, Albert characterizes the pleasure element of happiness as a profound experience of flourishing, an expansiveness and tranquility of the soul (superfloritio ..... diffusio et quietatio) that harmoniously and directly arise from the unimpeded exercise of its distinctively human exercise of intellection.29 Happiness is, quite simply, the greatest of pleasures (maxima delectatio). Happiness includes no less the pleasure that derives from acting 24. I, 8, p. 40, ll. 80–84. 25. For Albert, the structure of moral deliberation is typically represented as combining a major premise or proposition comprising a universal moral principle (e.g., theft is always wrong), a minor premise of a more particular application (e.g., expropriating this money would be an act of theft), and an inference or conclusion (e.g., therefore, taking this money is wrong). The conclusion of moral reasoning may also be viewed as the resultant behavior (or abstinence) itself. For Albert, universal moral principles as intimately and innately rooted in synderesis, are always right and indefectible. But the pull of passion can warp the judgment in the minor premise: e.g., taking this money is something that appeals to me, and therefore seemingly “good” or acceptable. In classical and medieval aretaics, a high premium is placed on prudence precisely because it fortifies the otherwise righteous work of practical reason by arming it (along with temperance and fortitude) against the alluring distortions of wayward passion. 26. Super Ethica I, 8, p. 40, ll. 84–87. 27. I, 8, pp. 41–43. 28. Ibid., p. 43, ll. 2–3. 29. I, 9, sol., p. 49.

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in a state of virtue; and Albert reminds his reader that he who does not experience satisfaction from doing the virtuous thing does not yet possess the virtues (sed non ut iusti et casti).30 Albert’s enterprise of reclaiming natural moral agency is evident in his insistence that we are the authors of our own natural happiness. When it comes to securing the interior goods that are the essential constituents of natural happiness, the individual by himself is self-sufficient (solus unus homo sufficit sibi).31 To the question “whether happiness comes from God?” Albert replies that “our actions are the cause of the happiness of which Aristotle is here speaking. Nonetheless, we say that God is the first cause from which derives every good which, following upon our activities, belongs to virtue or art or to the aforementioned happiness. But here we are inquiring about the proximate cause.”32 Natural happiness is a human achievement, not a divine endowment. Only in a quasi-formal sense, that is, as a certain kind of likeness of the divine goodness, can this level of human happiness ever be called divine; and in that way our finite happiness is most divinelike and greatly imitative of God with special reference to the activities of perfect control or contemplation.33 For this kind of happiness to obtain, however, it does not have to derive immediately from God.34 Contemplation and Happiness In a question about the length of time required to achieve contemplative happiness, Albert remarks that, even though the intellectual experience of contemplation can take place in an instant, a long period is required for the contemplative to develop the requisite power (nisi habitus sit confirmatus).35 Writes Albert: 30. Ibid., ad 2m, p. 50 [marg. #50]. 31. I, 7, ad 4m, p. 34, ll. 51–53. 32. I, 10, sol. p. 55, ll. 44–49, italics added. 33. Ibid., ad 3m, p. 55, ll. 59–56. See also X, p. 708, ll. 24–25. 34. Albert invokes a metaphysical analogy to reinforce his point: the perpetuity of the enduring species is said to be divine by imitating God’s eternity, as much as that is possible. That kind of imitation, however, takes place through individual, natural activities spread over an endless succession of similar things, that is, in members of the species. But unlike the perpetuity of the species, which extends ad aeternum, it is possible for natural human happiness, as a formal imitation of the divine good, to be completed in one individual within a finite period of time. See I, lect. 11, ad 3m, p. 58, ll. 15–22. 35. X, 12, ad 1m, p. 757 [marg. #904].



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[E]ven before death one can experience this [contemplative] happiness ..... nor is death the end or the measure of length of time when it comes to the generation itself of happiness; for already by then happiness will be established when the passions are allayed by means of the moral virtues and the acquired capability [habitus] of the stable contemplative. This will require more time for some, less for others. But it is true that in order for happiness to flourish [ad bene esse felicitatis], it is necessary for it to continue unto death because, as Boethius says, to have once been happy is a kind of punishment.36

True happiness is not a one-time occurrence, but something continuous, something that is closer to a career pattern than a desultory phenomenon. Based on his own (and the Aristotelian) concept of the human intellect and the notion of a separable soul, Albert also believes it is possible for contemplative happiness to occur after death, and that it can occur in the separately subsisting soul. More immediately, however, earthly contemplation figures in Albert’s account as the ultimate mode of human activity and fulfillment, one which presupposes a considerable degree of development and discipline, and freedom from assorted obstacles. He writes: It must needs be said that to contemplate, depending on how it is understood in this context, means an unimpeded operation of the intellect directed to the end of happiness. Now an obstacle may lie in the acting subject or within an acquired habit of character [ex habitu]. The impediment that might arise from within the subject would have to be removed by the moral virtues which liberate a person from the tumult of the passions which throw the work of contemplation into confusion. On the other hand, an acquired habit is freed from impediment when it possesses the effective means for concluding the proposed function [of contemplation], and through repeated use is able to operate without difficulty. Moreover, the contemplative enterprise is directed to the end of happiness when all the things that may be contemplated are grasped [accipiuntur] in relation to the ultimate principle in the contemplation of which lies the greatest happiness, namely, the contemplation of the first being. For when the intellect operates in such fashion, then nature abundantly blossoms forth [superfloret ipsi] in as much as through its own activity it reaches to its very highest point, and therein lies its most happy operation.37

Again, Albert uses the language of superlatives (superfloret) to describe this culminating moment of natural human activity. Even in the highest levels 36. Ibid., ad 2m, p. 757. 37. X, 16, sol., p. 774 [marg. #926].

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of happiness, the moral virtues still figure very much as necessary prerequisites since they are needed to quell the sorts of inner tumult and distractions that would interfere with contemplation. Earlier in his commentary, Albert had already stated that the moral virtues are still operative in contemplative happiness, not as “eliciting the ultimate act [of contemplation]” itself, but rather as arming the agent against the kinds of disturbance that might impede the speculative act itself.38 But the acquired discipline that Albert does have in mind as the immediately necessary condition for grasping all things in relation to the highest principle, though not named in the text quoted above, is something higher and more exalted than the moral virtues: wisdom (sapientia). Contemplation and Wisdom When Albert makes these remarks about contemplative happiness he is, of course, talking about purely natural contemplation. Later in Book X, he also calls it “philosophical contemplation” because it is the intellectual mode of happiness discussed by ancient philosophers, most notably Aristotle. (To it he contrasts supernaturally induced contemplation, which requires “the light infused by God,” and which is the kind of happiness discussed by Christian theologians).39 The virtue directly involved in this kind of “philosophical” exercise is wisdom (sapientia), which, Albert writes, serves the moral agent when it “elicits” the act of contemplation. To the question whether contemplation requires one or more virtues, he writes: I say that contemplative happiness is the operation of one virtue, namely wisdom, functioning only so as to elicit the act of contemplation, and in the light of which any contemplative act whatsoever possesses the goodness of virtue. But wisdom serves to complete the understanding of many things [sed completive est plurium] because there has to be particular branches of knowledge through which universal principles are inferentially applied to particular conclusions.”40

In this way, he adds, wisdom parallels the “elicitive” function of prudence in its relationship to civil happiness and the other moral virtues. 38. X, 12, ad 4m, p. 757. 39. X, 16, sol., pp. 774–75. 40. Lect. 11, sol., p. 748, ll. 22–27. In ad 1m, ll. 32–33, he repeats the “eliciting” feature of wisdom.



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What Albert writes about contemplation and wisdom in Book X presupposes what he has already said in Book VI. Wisdom commands primacy among all the intellectual virtues because it is more exalted and worthy in the act of contemplation, and because it has to do with those things which are first in nature and lie greatly beyond our intellect.41 It is the virtue contributing most effectively (potissime), beyond all others, to contemplative happiness.42 Wisdom is an acquired habitus differing from the other virtue-capacities [habitibus] with reference to its subject matter, its properties, and its mode of operation. For its subject is being, absolutely considered, whose properties it reflects upon; and it proceeds by way of the highest causes. It is also the virtue of the other [intellectual] virtues [virtus ipsorum], not as an internal component, but rather as ordering all the others because “it is the function of the wise person to order and not be ordered” as Aristotle says at the beginning of Metaphysics I [982a 17–18]. And so just as prudence may be called the virtue of all the moral virtues, although it exists distinct from them even though something of it is shared by them, similarly something of wisdom is shared by all the intellectual virtues.43

Wisdom is “the head of the other sciences” because of its authoritative primacy.44 Its mode of understanding, from the point of view of the knowing agent, is the most sought after among all the other acquired disciplines as the most powerful (potissimum) of life’s rewards, as the ultimate object of desire. And from the perspective of knowledge itself, wisdom is no less the ultimate perfection because, as that which has to do with being absolutely, the other sciences draw from it the very existence (esse) of their principles, definitions, and subject matters. In all of this an unmistakable hierarchy prevails: All actions are ordered to contemplation, and all contemplations are subordinated to the contemplation of wise men which in turn has to do with separated substances....... And therefore, the foremost work of man, to which all others are reducible, is the contemplation of separated substances, and in this way, wisdom makes the soul flourish.45

Albert’s language (e.g., p. 458, ll. 51–53) sometimes tends to equate wisdom with “metaphysics or first philosophy or divine science,” and that is 41. VI, 9, sol., p. 455. 43. Ibid., ad 2m, p. 456. 45. Lect. 10, sol., p. 460, ll. 36–39, 42–45.

42. VI, 9, p. 456, ll. 25–26. 44. VI, 10, sol., p. 459; lect. 9, sol., p. 457.

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not really surprising given Albert’s agreement with Aristotle that the highest form of understanding is our contemplation of the divine and of the entities closest to the absolutely divine. And this is why he also sometimes speaks about “philosophical contemplation” (to which he contrasts “theological contemplation”).46 However, when he directly confronts the issue of the relationship between the act of contemplating and the act of philosophizing, he draws a more tightly cinched distinction: “The activity of philosophizing,” Albert writes, “is broader than the act of contemplating because philosophizing is the act of one who views things in the spirit of wonder [admirantis]. Such a person, reflecting upon the existence of things [quia] and extending himself to a knowledge of their causes [propter quid ] does not yet have the perfected virtue of wisdom.”47 The act of contemplation takes place at a much higher level of epistemological expertise in which the intellect moves much less discursively, and more immediately, and intimately attaches to its object. At the same time, it is abundantly clear from Albert’s hierarchical schema that for him, as for Aristotle, philosophical reflection and learning—as well as the acquisition of moral and the other intellectual virtues—are the avenues one must take in order to elevate oneself to this most exalted of human activities. Quite simply, contemplation is the culmination of the human natural enterprise. Contemplation in Altered and Other States Natural happiness in itself, because it entails a solid virtuous grounding, is not really something fragile; but since it is rooted in the subject’s will, which in turn can be deflected from the path of virtue, it can be altered (transmutabilis) by external misfortunes, or perhaps lost, but only by corruption of the will.48 What Albert seems to be saying is that external misfortunes cannot really alter the state of happiness in its essentials, but in particular actions the wise and happy agent is indeed capable of making flawed choices. However, since the truly blissful person has the virtuous development and the voluntary wherewithal to cope with such challenges, there is, in situations of adversity, an opportunity for his or her 46. X, 16, pp. 774–75. 47. Ibid., ad 1m, p. 774. 48. I, 11, sol., ad 1m, ad 2m, p. 60; sol. #2 (col. b), p. 60 (marg. # 62).



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moral goodness to actually shine forth. In his remarks, Albert continually reinforces the notion of the agent’s responsible role in natural happiness. In one of his resolutions, he argues that virtuous operations in a certain sense are the controlling causes (dominae sicut causa) of happiness.49 Human activities that issue from established states of virtue essentially determine one’s state of happiness as its proximate cause. Even the manifold formative acts that precede developed states of virtue must also be reckoned as determinants of happiness, this time as its remote causes (dominantur in felicitatem ut causa remota). There is, in short, a narrative-like continuity running through the career of the virtuous life—acquisition, the possession and exercise of natural virtue, natural happiness—so that for Albert we are truly responsible over the span of a lifetime both for the existence and for the quality of our natural happiness. Consistent with this is what Albert says about the praiseworthiness of our virtuous behavior and our hard-won happiness. We’ve already seen, too, that Albert believes contemplation to be possible after death. On the supposition that our souls do indeed continue to exist after death, philosophical reason cannot tell us anything about the actual status of these souls, let alone how they are related to our world of the living.50 Rather, these kinds of things can only be known through the medium of a higher infused light—the supernatural virtue of faith; but that does not stop Albert altogether from adding a number of inferences about after-death contemplation. After-life contemplation, he tells us, would have to be a very different kind of exercise of the intellect, one that would then operate without abstraction, since it would have to operate without the images that derive from bodily organs.51 To this and indeed to natural contemplation in general Albert juxtaposes “theological contemplation,” arguing that the two activities differ as to requirements, end and object: [T]heological contemplation accords in some way with philosophical contemplation, and in another way differs; whence they are not at all the same. That is to say they agree in this: that even in theological contemplation there is an intellectual inspection of some spiritual things without emotional distraction in the 49. I, 12, sol., p. 64. 50. I, lect. 13, sol., p. 71. 51. I, lect. 11, sol., ad 2m, p. 59; lect. 13, ad 2m, p. 72, ll. 1–6.

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contemplating subject or the impediment of doubt on the side of a faith directed to repose in God which is the height of happiness. However, theological contemplation differs from philosophical with respect to the virtue requirement [habitu], in end and in object. The two contemplations differ in the virtue required because theological things are contemplated through the light infused by God, whereas the philosopher contemplates through the acquired virtue of wisdom. The two contemplations differ with respect to end because theological contemplation holds that the ultimate end lies in the contemplation of God in paradise [in patria], but for the philosopher it lies in the vision whereby he sees up to a point in this life. And the two contemplations differ too in object, not so much in substance but rather with respect to the manner because the philosopher contemplates God in as much as he grasps Him as a certain kind of demonstrative conclusion; but the theologian contemplates Him as existing beyond reason and intellect. Accordingly, there is a different way of contemplating because the philosopher enjoys certitude through demonstration upon which he relies, whereas the theologian relies upon first truth for its own sake, and not because of reason even though he has that too. And so the theologian views God with a sense of awe, but not the philosopher.52

The philosopher’s contemplation of God is really captured, in a purely intellectual fashion, as the conclusion of a demonstration. Accordingly, it is highly abstract and decidedly indirect. By contrast, the theologian enjoys a much more direct vision of the same object, God, and while he too proceeds by way of an intellectual pathway, the result is much more experiential, suffused as it is with a spiritual sense of awe. Finally, in his distinctively theological treatises, Albert holds that in paradise human souls (and angelic natures) enjoy the highest mode of beatitude.53 This is a beatific state in which the blessed enjoy a vision of God which is made possible by a light greater than even faith, the light of glory (lumen gloriae). This exalted, supernaturally induced state is nothing less than the infused face-to-face vision of God. In summary, then, Albert’s theory of natural happiness continues to exemplify the spirit of Christian humanism that characterizes his moral theory. Both levels of happiness, civil and contemplative, are forms of human agency, each of which necessarily entails a bedrock of virtuous development. Civil happiness is the experiencing of pleasurable well-being and 52. X, 16, sol., pp. 774–75. 53. See Hergen, St. Albert the Great’s Theory of the Beatific Vision.



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self-esteem that accompanies the process of living an active and integrated virtuous life, including friendship. It is not a passive habitude, a settled state of affairs, but rather a continuous and sequential career of flourishing during the course of this earthly life. Contemplative happiness, by comparison, is a purely intellectual activity which entails the active possession of both moral and other intellectual virtues and capacities, as well as the allied experiences of friendship. It, however, is the pinnacle of natural human activity, one which can and does continue after death. Albert’s concept of twofold natural happiness, then, reflects both the core feature of responsible achievement in Aristotle’s Ethics, and the neo-Platonic qualities of ascendancy, hierarchy, and potestative wholeness. “Theological contemplation” does not necessarily dispense with these lower and purely natural levels of blessedness, but immeasurably exceeds them; and only the theologian is equipped by his faith to speculate about this exalted experience. Finally, as a Christian theologian, Albert also believes in and writes about a third and absolutely highest mode of happiness: beatitude or beatific vision, which comes about in human souls and angelic natures only in and through a direct, divine intervention.

chapt e r 14

conclusion Albertus Redux

It is a sad irony of medieval scholarship that the volume of research dedicated to St. Thomas Aquinas should have inadvertently done so much to obscure Albert the Great’s contributions to the whole field of moral philosophy. As Dom Odon Lottin and others have established, there is a considerable intellectual gulf between the consummate acumen of Aquinas and the moral theorizing of, say, Philip the Chancellor, William of Auxerre, and John of Rupella. Without in any way detracting from the genius of Aquinas, I have tried to show that Albert the Great did much to bridge that gulf, and that he did so by providing a robust philosophical ethics within his own wider theological enterprise. There is yet another offense embedded within the historical eclipse of Albert’s works. Too often, the developments that Thomas inherited from his mentor, and from which so much of his own speculation took flight, are tacitly assumed by many to be wholecloth creations of Thomas himself. Another assumption growing out of the first has been that Albert was, therefore, weak when it came to elaborating his own theory, and that he was a collector and transmitter of erudition, rather than an original theorist in his own right. Such a verdict, I argue, is as undeserved as it is unkind, at least in the moral sector. The truth is that the remarkable

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synthesis of moral doctrine in the pars secunda of Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae owed much in inspiration and moral imagination to the earlier developments of Albertus Magnus. The bulk of Albert’s signature work in moral philosophy unfolds between the late 1230s (De natura boni) and the early 1260s (the Ethica [or Paraphrasis]). Within that roughly twenty-five-year span, I have argued, De bono and Super Ethica command special attention as the most representative and reliable sources of Albert’s own thought. In particular, De bono, more than any of his other works, reflects the overall structure and arrangement of materials in which Albert chose to configure much of his own moral theorizing, especially in the area of virtue ethics and natural-law theory. Albert took what was sometimes little more than a ragtag assortment of incipient moral notions—the concept of natural goodness, generic moral goodness (bonum in genere), circumstances, the human passions, the natural cardinal virtues and an array of other lesser aretaic qualities, natural law—and he fused them into something which had not yet made an appearance by the 1240s: a coherent philosophical theory of the morally good life. Later in his commentaries, he would present his views on friendship and natural happiness. In all of this philosophical exploration he was greatly aided by early Latin translations of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, at first only fragments, later (by the late 1240s), complete versions. Other classical and early Christian authorities were also influential: Cicero, Macrobius, Boethius, Pseudo-Dionysius. In a masterful fashion, Albert metabolized and applied these classical and early Christian-era sources within a new and very different context: the medieval culture of thirteenth-century Christian academies. He did it well, and his works—especially De bono and Super Ethica—demonstrate both the originality of his content and his genius for organization, coherence, and synthesis. Albert wove all of these materials and classical influences into a sizeable body of ethical literature that stands out for its originality, its bold reclamation of human values and moral agency, and no less for the quality of its organization and synthesis. Against the background of earlier thirteenth-century treatises, the features of order and synthesis are most strikingly evident in De bono, an unfinished work in which Albert was free to establish his own order of presentation (unlike, say, his commentary literature, where he was compelled to follow the plan of Aristotle’s text). The De bono is unique, as well, in

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that it initially elaborates a theory of the good in which neo-Platonic conceptions of hierarchy and potestative wholeness combine with Aristotelian elements—most notably, the notions of act and potency, form and matter, the four causes. The resultant metaphysics of the good methodologically determines the arrangement and the sequence of the different segments of his moral philosophy: the causes of virtue, the concept of virtue, the ordering and inherent structuring of the virtues, natural law, friendship, happiness. (For the materials on friendship and happiness, we rely primarily upon his Super Ethica.) The degree to which Albert was able to weave these elements and influences into a coherent and orderly presentation underscores both his originality and his insight into the methodological requirements of elaborating a “moral science” worthy of its name. Albert was far more than a collector and recorder of classical moral notions. At least with respect to his moral philosophy, there is now more than enough evidence to puncture the old cliché that Albert had little or nothing to offer in the way of innovation and organization. Nor should Albert’s value as a moral theorist simply end with the thirteenth century. We also need to look between the lines to essay what he has to say to modern readers and ethicists. In chapter 1, I indicated that the eclipse of virtue ethics in modern philosophy resulted from a number of deeper causes and misconceptions. That general climate of disarray included as well the distortion, if not the near disappearance, of particular cardinal virtues. This offers a much wider historical perspective in which both to situate Albert’s originality, and also to appreciate how certain devolutions in modern virtue theory parallel the situation in which Albert the Great found himself writing. Among the points of comparison that most clearly suggest themselves are the following. First, the pattern of a progressive retreat from classical virtue theory in modern moral philosophy (until very recently) both mirrors and partly recapitulates the medieval experience. Prior to Albert’s enthusiastic embrace of classical aretaics, the very idea of natural virtue that commanded moral worth was a will-o’-the-wisp, an irregular phenomenon at best, and then only among a daring few. Certainly, in the twelfth and very early thirteenth centuries, little more than vestiges of it were discernible. This background to Albert’s philosophical initiatives analogously prefigures much of the modern era. “Analogously,” I say, because modern virtue theory was not openly challenged by a widespread theological insistence upon the divine origin of virtually all moral



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worth. There were, however, other competing modern isms and ologies— notably utilitarianism, intuitionism, emotivism, and deontology—which did much to discourage modern ethicists from paying even a little if any attention to the claims of virtue theory. Second, prior to the mid-thirteenth century, theologians for the most part had been indifferent, even hostile, when it came to including any theory of natural virtue within the wider context of their theologico-moral treatises. Even when fragments of Aristotle’s Ethics became available, most Christian scholars were surprisingly diffident when it came to acknowledging, let alone embracing, Greek and Latin naturalism in their own moral theories. There is an echo of this in the modern attempt to truncate morality by restricting it to other-regarding virtues (such as justice). While this is not the same as the long-lived medieval attachment to the Augustiniantheocentric conception of virtue, along with the corresponding tendency to ignore, minimize, or deny the very possibility of natural virtue, it is certainly analogous to the medieval experience. More explicitly, the modern correspondence here is that so many moral theorists throughout the course of modern history should have been either resistant or indifferent to the richness and amplitude of classical virtue theory. This indifference is even more puzzling when we take into account that not a few of the British theorists (cited in chapter 1) emerged from an educational system in which, from their early school years, they were exposed to the Greek and Latin classics. Many, that is, were probably at least aware of classical-virtue lore; they simply ignored or dismissed it in their later writings. Finally, the modern preoccupation with deontological ethics repeats the medieval experience. For centuries, modern moralists, in their preoccupation with what we ought to do, have stressed the concepts of conformity to principle, duty, and obligation—in short, doing the right thing. Virtue, if such a thing even existed within their conceptual schemes, was secondary at best. Worse still, it was exiled to the shadowy inner realm of motives and feelings, where it was said to have little if any connection with the morality of acts, and where eventually it dropped out of philosophical interest. The modern mindset, in turn, recapitulates the medieval experience prior to (and even during the lifetime of ) Albert the Great wherein conformity to law—obedience—was made to be the necessary condition of virtue. That same legalistic ideology even translated itself into the structure of many moral treatises, wherein a section on law preceded the treatise(s) on virtue.

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Albert, we saw, was the first to institute a striking reversal of that pattern. My comparative approach, I submit, also indicates that there has been something anemic about the modern philosophical portrait of moral experience, that something has been subtracted from the modern philosophical portrait of living a good and moral life. For too long the modern ethicist has been preoccupied with doing the right thing in a conformist fashion, and that too-often unquestioned vision has been encouraged, indeed “validated,” by the burgeoning field of applied or professional ethics. Given that kind of focus, it is not altogether surprising that philosophical energies in the modern era and recent-modern period should have largely channeled themselves into certain areas of analysis: moral reasoning and argument; moral decision making; the language of morals; the logic of moral discourse; and most recently moral discourse and communication. The developments in these areas have been impressive, but even collectively there is something one-sidedly intellectualistic in all of this. The moral life, for the most part, is pictured as a cerebral quest on the path toward doing the right kind of thing: of reasoning and thinking and arguing and communicating in the best or most defensible ways. It engages the head and the faculty of speech, but it seems to have left something out: the connective tissue, the moral fiber of virtue. Consider, too, the contemporary emphasis upon character growth and good habits that figures so prominently in the self-help literature of healing and recovery. Virtue ethics, at least as presented by Albert the Great, engages much more than just the head and our faculty of speech. Rather, the moral life is portrayed as an enterprise that engages the whole person—body and soul, reason and passion, choice and action, friendship, a career of virtue acquisition, and virtuoso performance. The acquired complex of virtues, then, becomes the habitude wherein we live out our lives as morally developed agents, friends, and citizens. In that way an ethics of virtue commands both a more lifelike appearance and a more realistic connection with the business of living well. In this regard, Albert’s elaborate metaphysics and his moral psychology did much to shore up his virtue ethics. It’s questionable whether many modern virtue ethicists (with the obvious exception of Dent) are prepared to go anywhere near that far to ground their own virtue theories. Even so, I believe that the modern ethicist can learn something from attending closely to Albert and the medieval parallels I have identified.



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Contemporary virtue theory, of course, does not have to remain frozen in the mold of Aristotelian or Albertinian aretaics. While the cardinal virtues do indeed provide what I believe to be an indispensable framework, other virtue qualities, perspectives, and applications are both likely and welcome. For instance, given the pluralistic and multicultural society in which most of us now live, I believe that virtue ethics, if it is to continue flourishing beyond its current resurgence, will have to reflect more sharply the values that define an inclusive society: acceptance, respect, and tolerance. At the same time it will also have to refine for us the limits and indeed the very meaning of tolerance itself and its applications (e.g., gay marriage). The same might be said of such oftentimes tenuous qualities as, say, loyalty, allegiance, and competitiveness. Given the cultural and sectarian splintering in our times, these are qualities about which we need greater understanding. Also, the current philosophical recognition of epistemic responsibility offers a compelling example of the way in which virtue ethics and the concept of moral agency should find greater applicability in deciding what constitutes good knowing or knowing well, and in helping to determine what kinds of practices and institutions promote it. At least some of these examples of virtue-ethics development, I submit, have special relevance in these times as we define ourselves more and more as an informationbased economy and, from a darker perspective, as what has been dubbed an “age” or “century of propaganda.”1 Immersed, too, as we are in a global economy, where corporate power increases hand in hand with socioeconomic disparity and environmental damage, there is a corresponding need not only to realign ourselves with the virtues, but also to envisage what new dimensions and applications that virtue ethics may have in a rapidly changing world. Quite simply, the virtues as distinctive talents or skills enhance our agency. They modify the ways in which we perceive and judge, act and socialize, and treat others (as do also the corresponding vices). By their nature, the virtues have greater heft and behavioral impact than mere beliefs or abstract ideas. In a less than perfect world, we cannot afford to ignore them; and in heeding the virtues, we still have something to learn about the good life from Albert the Great. 1. A. P. Foulkes, Literature and Propaganda (London: Methuen, 1983), 1; Edward S. Herman, Beyond Hypocrisy: Decoding News in an Age of Propaganda (Montreal, New York: Black Rose Books, 1992); Anthony Pratkanis and Elliot Aronson, Age of Propaganda: The Everyday Use and Abuse of Persuasion (New York: W. H. Freeman, 1991).

bibliography

The following abbreviations have been used in the notes, and in the items below: AHDLMA Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge. Paris. CHLMP Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg, eds. Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982.

CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum. Vienna.



PEM Odon Lottin. Psychologie et Morale aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles. 6 vols. Louvain: Abbaye du Mont César; Gembloux: J. Duculot, 1948–1960.



PIMS Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Toronto.



PL Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus, Series Latina. 221 vols. Paris, 1844–1864.



RNSP Revue Néo-Scolastique de philosophie. Louvain.



RTAM Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale. Louvain.

The most recent and most comprehensive bibliography in the area of Albert’s moral theory is found in Jörn Müller, Natürliche Moral und philosophisches Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, n.s. 59 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2001), 403–49. It includes, as well, a listing of earlier and relevant bibliographies (408–9). A bibliography of modern virtue-theory scholarship can be found in Robert B. Kruschwitz and Robert C. Roberts, eds., The Virtues: Contemporary Essays on Moral Character (Belmont, Calif.: Wadsworth, 1987),

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237–63. More recent discussion and listings can be found online in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (“Virtue Ethics”) website: http://plato.Stanford.edu/ entries/ethics-virtue/#Bib. A selected bibliography of related medieval and modern sources is also included in R. E. Houser’s The Cardinal Virtues: Aquinas, Albert, and Philip the Chancellor (Toronto: PIMS, 2004), 236–47. For an online account of a contemporary research project in the area of medieval virtue ethics, see “A Genealogy of Morals: The Cardinal Virtues in the Middle Ages” at http://www.let .kun.nl/­l.Bejczy/research.html (as recorded on 5/26/2004).

Classical and Medieval Primary Sources Peter Abelard. Dialogus inter Philosophum, Iudaeum et Christianum. Ed. Rudolf Thomas. Stuttgart–Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag (Gunther Holzboog), 1970. ———. A Dialogue of a Philosopher with a Jew and a Christian. Trans. Pierre J. Payer. Toronto: PIMS, 1979. ———. Ethica seu liber dictus scito teipsum. In Peter Abelard’s Ethics, ed. and trans. D. E. Luscombe. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971. Aelred of Rievaulx. Spiritual Friendship (De spirituali amicitia). Trans. Mary Eugenia Laker, S.S.N.D. Washington, D.C.: Cistercian Publications Consortium Press, 1974. Alan of Lille. De virtutibus et de vitiis et de donis Spiritus Sancti. In “Le traité d’Alain de Lille sur les vertus, les vices et les dons Du saint-Esprit,” ed. O. Lottin. PEM. Vol. 6, 45–92. Albertus Magnus. Opera Omnia. Ed. Augustus and Aemelius Borgnet. 38 vols. Paris: Vivès, 1890–1899. (Cited as Borgnet ed.) ———. Opera Omnia. Ed. Institutum Alberti Magni Coloniense. Münster: Aschendorff, 1951–. (Cited as Cologne ed.) ———. Alberto Magno—Il Bene. Trans. Alexandra Tarabochia Canavero. Milan: Rusconi, 1987. ———. De bono. Eds. H. Kühle, C. Feckes, B. Geyer, and W. Kübel. Cologne ed. Vol. 28. 1951. ———. De caelo et mundo. Ed. Paul Hossfeld. Cologne ed. Vol. 5 (1). 1971. ———. De causis et processu universitatis a prima causa. Ed. Winfrid Fauser, S.J. Cologne ed. Vol. 17 (2). 1993. ———. De natura boni. Eds. E. Filthaut and P. Simon. Cologne ed. Vol. 25 (1). 1974. ———. Ethica. Borgnet ed. Vol. 7. 1891. ———. Ethica, Lib. I, tract. 1. In Natürliche Moral und philosophische Ethik bei Albertus Magnus, ed. Jörn Müller (Münster: Aschendorff, 2001), 325–58. ———. Quaestiones. Eds. A. Fries, W. Kübel, and Henry Anzulewicz. Cologne ed. Vol. 25 (2). 1993. ———. Super Ethica: Commentum et Quaestiones. Ed. W. Kübel. Cologne ed. Vol. 14, pars I (1968), pars 2 (1987). Alexander of Hales. Alexandri de Hales Summa theologica. 4 vols. Quaracchi, 1924–1948.



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index

Abelard, Peter, 48, 54, 57–60, 119, 170, 172, 209 Abstraction, 118, 120, 123, 125, 152, 267 Act: and abstraction, 125; futile, 123; idle, 121; indifferent, 121–23; morality of, xi, 56, 58, 63, 75, 117, 121–24, 135; non-moral, 123; tokens and types, 119. See also Involuntariness; Voluntariness Affectus, 86, 109, 186, 247 Agent, 3, 15, 23, 50, 69–70, 86, 90, 102, 129–31, 136–37, 145, 147n5, 150–51, 155–56, 164, 167, 169, 177, 189, 191, 193, 196, 221, 231–32, 235, 237, 245, 253, 261, 264–66 Alan of Lille, 209–11, 236 Analogy, 97–100, 103, 262n34 Anger, 194, 200, 261 Anscombe, G. E. M., 8–9, 12 Aquinas, St. Thomas, x–xi, 12, 20–21, 26, 39, 46–47, 71, 107n32, 124, 135, 227n70, 270 Architectonic, 49, 54, 64, 179, 212, 214 Augustine, St., 28–29, 48n3, 50n11, 61, 70, 97, 105, 111, 119, 159–61, 178, 200, 215–16, 218, 222, 227, 234 Avicenna, 83, 84n10, 95–96, 101, 110 Beatitude, xi, 29, 60, 75, 178, 255–56, 268–69 Being, 41, 62–64, 81, 98–104, 110, 133– 34, 137–38, 147, 163, 181, 224, 249, 260n22, 263, 265. See also Ens; Esse Benevolence, 314, 17, 246–49, 253

Bentham, Jeremy, 15–16 Boethius, 4, 22, 24, 54, 97, 101, 105–7, 111, 128 130–32, 138, 156–57, 182, 184, 200–201, 210, 226, 237, 263, 271 Bonum: and analogy, 97–99; causes of, 101–4; ex circumstantia, 63, 65–66, 68n64, 68n65, 117, 126n22, 127; definition of, 94–97; formale, 161; honestum, 255; in genere, 29, 63, 65–67, 90, 94, 115–19, 121, 124–27, 140, 142, 156, 158, 161, 271; as potestative whole, 104–9 Cause(s): efficient, 146–48, 164; final, 66, 68, 82–83, 102, 141, 144–45, 154, 158, 252; formal 66, 68, 127, 137, 147–48; of friendship, 249–50, 252– 53; of good, 101–5, 156n29; of happiness, 262, 268; material, 118–27 Celano, Anthony J., 25n3, 51n14, 55n28, 56n29, 255n4, 256n5, 256n6, 259n16 Charity, 14, 48–49, 51, 62, 68, 121–23, 139, 210, 247 Choice, 29, 52, 61, 66, 86–87, 118–20, 125, 132, 134, 141, 146, 147n5, 149–54, 156, 158, 161, 165, 188, 196, 221, 248– 49, 252–53, 274. See also Prohaeresis Cicero, 4, 18, 22, 48, 54, 128–29, 131–33, 159–63, 165, 167, 182, 184–86, 188, 190, 192–97, 209, 215–16, 218, 229, 232–33, 237, 242–43, 271. See also De inventione Circumstances, 29, 52, 56–57, 63, 67– 68, 84, 94, 115–17, 119, 125, 127–40,

289

290

Index

Circumstances (cont.) 142, 144–48, 150–51, 155, 158, 162, 164, 169, 196, 211, 230–33, 271. See also Bonum ex circumstantia; Singularia Cologne Institute, x, 30, 38 Complementum, 95, 106, 245 Concupiscible power, 193–95, 200, 204 Consuetudo, 84–86, 116–17, 119. See also Habitus Contemplation, 262–69; after death, 263; and altered states, 266–68; and happiness, 262–64; the light of glory (lumen gloriae), 268; object of, 263; and philosophy, 264, 268; theological, 268 Colish, Marcia L., x, 50 Courage. See Fortitude Cunningham, Stanley B., 31, 36, 67, 115, 167 Cur, 121, 129, 131, 134, 138–39. See also Intention Custom. See Mos Debitum, 175–76, 210, 213–14, 227, 237; debita materia, 155; iuris, 138; iustitiae, 126; officium, 210 De bono, x–xii, 21n48, 23, 26–37, 39–40, 43–47, 56, 63, 64n56, 67, 70–75, 79, 83, 85n15, 87n18, 89–93, 95n4, 96n6, 97n8, 98n11, 99n12, 100n14, 101n20, 103–4, 106–9, 111, 116n2, 116n3, 117–21, 125–45, 148–52, 153–56, 158–60, 161n8, 162n10, 162n11, 162n12, 163n14, 163n17, 164n23, 165n25, 165n26, 165n27, 167n32, 168–70, 171n44, 172n49, 173–85, 187, 188n27, 189n29, 190n32, 191, 194n47, 194n48, 194n49, 195, 196n62, 197, 199–202, 204, 207–9, 213, 215, 216n28, 218n34, 219, 222, 223n52, 226n65, 227n69, 228n71, 228n72, 229n74, 229n77, 231n81, 232n83, 233n88, 234, 236–37, 242, 254, 256–58, 271 Definition: of acts, 121; of choice, 153; of good, 94–96, 100; of natural law, 216, 225–26, 229, 234; of virtue, 9, 50, 55, 91, 141, 156, 160–61, 163–64, 173, 178, 188, 193–94, 209–10, 216 Decalogue, 228, 231 Decretists, 207, 211, 220–21, 223–27, 230 De homine, 32–33, 36, 107n32, 125n19, 153, 165n24, 196, 201, 219, 222, 223n52

De inventione, 24n1, 54, 129, 131, 161n6, 162n9, 173n56, 185n17, 188, 193, 194n47, 209, 216, 229 Delhaye, Philippe, 49n6, 50n7, 50n9, 50n10, 54, 186n19 Deliberation, 29, 87, 118, 120, 123, 141n59, 146, 148, 152–53, 156, 261n25 De natura boni, x–xii, 25, 27–30, 33, 35, 37n33, 40, 63–64, 67, 70, 72, 74, 79, 89– 90, 92–94, 106, 115–16, 118, 124, 126–29, 131–32, 141, 143, 145–46, 148–53, 158–59, 180, 187, 204, 242, 254–55, 271 Den Uyl, Douglas, 5n2, 15n30, 16–17 De topicis differentiis, 129, 156–58 Difficulty, 162–63, 172, 181–82, 184–85, 189, 194, 221, 263 Digesta. See Pandectae Disposition, 11–12, 16, 58, 85, 123, 127, 148, 163, 169 Division: as analysis, 90, 105, 110–11, 235; of the good, 64, 66–67, 106, 108, 158; of natural law, 211, 228, 230; of theology, 212; of virtues, 187, 192, 195 Dunbabin, Jean, 40–43, 75, 88n22 End, 62n48, 66, 89, 95, 98, 138, 145, 254, 257, 260; absolute, 98; and act, 56, 89, 121, 126, 134, 143–44, 153, 155, 177, 187; and agent’s intention, 57, 61–62, 68, 138–39, 155; as analogical, 155; as cause, 83, 102, 156–57; and choice, 153; and circumstances, 139, 144, 165; and contemplation, 267–68; of creation, 213; and death, 263; of duty, 210; and form, 83, 102, 155; and friendship, 245–46; as fulfillment, 96, 98; and the good, 154, 156, 162, 234; and happiness, 254, 259, 263; as moral determinant, 87, 142–43; of moral science, 88; natural, 40, 74–75, 82–83, 122, 255–57; of passions, 144; practical, 88, 89n24; prior, 53; proximate, 142, 145, 155, 245; supernatural, 62, 68, 255–56; ultimate, 17, 98, 110, 155, 162, 189; of virtue, 53, 91, 153, 157, 166, 177, 187, 255; wrong, 19. See also Beatitude; Felicitas Ens, 95n4, 100, 163 Eschmann, Ignatius T., O.P., 12, 135n43, 227n70 Esse, 100–101, 134–35, 137, 143, 147, 163, 167, 187, 214, 263, 265



Index

Ethica (of Albert), x, 40–43, 74–75, 79, 84, 88, 89n24, 92, 93n1, 102n22, 121n9, 127n24, 168n34, 175, 180, 183–84, 193, 271 Ethica: Ethica Borghesiana, 25, 40; Ethica nova, 25, 28, 35, 36n28, 40, 55, 104, 177n73, 255–56; Ethica vetus, 25, 28, 35–36, 40, 55, 69, 89, 116, 136n45, 140n58, 147, 150–51, 153, 154n22, 161n7, 164n22, 165n26, 167n31, 168n35, 170n41, 178n76. See also Nicomachean Ethics Ethica: docens/utens, 84 Ethical treatises of Albert. See De Bono; De natura boni; Ethica; Quaestiones; Super ethica Ethicus, 54, 145 Eustratius of Nicea, 40 Extremes, 167–68, 177, 188–89 Felicitas, 25n3, 51n14, 55n28, 74, 87, 154n24, 156, 254–57. See also Beatitude; Contemplation; Happiness Finis. See End Foot, Philippa, 5, 19 Formal cause. See Cause(s) Fortitude, 3, 15, 18, 19n41, 29, 48, 141, 165–66, 171, 182; counterfeit, 189; definition of, 164; and difficulty, 184, 188; parts of, 185, 187, 190–93; and the passions, 188; positioning of, 70, 91, 180–81, 183–85; as potestative whole, 190–93; 198; species of, 193 Friendship, 3, 8, 14–15, 35, 40, 74, 200, 241; as active, 250; and affectivity, 248–49; and benevolence, 246, 248; causes of, 249–52; and charity, 247; and choice, 248–49; and happiness, 257, 269, 271; and honestum, 244; and justice, 245–46; and love, 247– 48; moral, 245, 250, 252; and the moral life, 274; natural, 244, 249–50; and necessity, 249; and pleasure, 243; and self-love, 250–53; and sharing, 250; utility, 243; and virtue, 244–45, 253, 257 Good. See Bonum; Honestum Gauthier, René-A., O.P., 24n1, 25n2, 25n3, 25n5, 38, 89n23, 104n24, 133n33, 142, 149, 151n16, 154n22, 161n7, 167n33, 243n6, 255n4 Geach, Peter, 9, 19 Geneology of Morals (research program), 7 Geyer, Bernard, 30n13, 31, 35

291

Gilson, Étienne, 21, 222n47 Glossa ordinaria, 128, 223, 226–27 Grace, 23, 29, 36, 43, 49, 52, 63, 65–68, 71–72, 117–18, 156n29, 174, 178, 255–56 Grabmann, Martin, O.P., xii, 21, 30–31, 32n19, 255n4 Habitus, 24n1, 54, 59, 131, 136, 148, 161, 163, 164n21, 169, 173n54, 173n56, 175, 189, 193, 196–97, 209, 216–19, 231–33, 236, 250, 262–63, 265 Happiness, 1, 8, 23, 29, 43, 75, 86, 167, 252–69; as act, 260, 262, 264, 267; and agency, 262, 267–68; and beatitude, 178, 269; as a career, 262–63, 267, 269; causes of, 262, 267; civil, 257, 259; contemplative; 86–87, 257, 260, 262–64; after death, 263; as divine-like, 262; and intellect, 260–61, 269; natural, 40, 243, 255–56, 258, 262, 269; obstacles to, 263; and pleasure, 261; and prudence, 257n10, 259; as subject of moral science, 258; supernatural, 56, 156, 256; types of, 87, 259, 268; and virtue, 260–61, 264, 267; and wisdom, 264–66. See also Beatitude; Felicitas Hare, R. M., 18 Hartmann, Nicolai, 5n4 Hauser, R. E., 22, 32n19, 36n31, 180n1, 184n12, 185n16, 200n8 Hermannus Teutonicus, 25 Hierarchy: of affectivity, 249; of being, 99, 109–10; of causes, 103; of goods, 66–67, 98, 105, 117, 179, 243, 272; of natural law forms, 226, 232; of virtue, 198 Hobbes, Thomas, 15 Honestum, 107, 133, 161–62, 167, 178, 186n20, 223n52, 228, 233–34, 243–46, 248, 252–53, 255 Hume, David, 13–15 Ignorance, 17, 133, 147, 149, 151 Influx, 97, 100, 103, 110, 172, 232 Inglis, John, xin3. 22n53 Innatism, 44, 96, 98–99, 146, 210, 216–19, 221, 224, 226, 235 Intention, 8, 48, 53, 57–63, 68, 81, 86, 102, 124, 127, 138–39, 142, 155. See also Cur Involuntariness, 128, 141n59, 146–47, 149, 150–52, 154, 201, 203

292

Index

Irascible power, 194–95, 200, 203 Ius, 152, 207–8, 215, 216n27, 222; definition of, 216, 227, 234–35; divinum, 224; gentium, 225; innate, 216, 218, 226; naturae, 185n17, 215; naturale, 53, 207–8, 211, 215, 216n28, 216n29, 223, 225–27, 228n71, 229n74; rationis, 215, 227; scriptum, 231n81, 233; scientia iuris, 215, 227. See also Lex James of Venice, 69 Johannes Teutonicus, 224, 226–27, 232, See also Glossa ordinaria John Damascene, 129, 150–51, 154n22, 200–202 John of Rupella, 48, 122, 213–14, 236, 270 Justice, 3, 5, 11, 14–16, 18–19, 48, 58, 69–70, 91, 126, 136, 142–44, 157, 166, 173, 180–81, 183, 185, 187, 197, 207, 218, 231, 233, 273; as analogical, 174, 176; and the common good, 177; definition of, 173, 215; distributive, 176; and friendship, 245–46; general, 173–76, 183, 187, 198, 237; as habitude of general rectitude, 175–76; legal, 175; mean of (medium rei), 173, 177, 182–83; as potestative whole, 174, 176, 183; restitutive, 176; special, 174, 176–77, 197; theological, 174; as virtue of reason, 184, 228 Kant, Immanuel, 6n7, 17 Knuuttila, Simo, 199n1, 199n2, 200n5, 201 Legalism, 209, 212, 236 Lex, 207, 213, 214n22, 215, 219n36, 230n78, 233–35 Liber de causis, 100, 111 Liberum arbitrium, 125n19, 147n5, 153 Locke, John, 10n16, 13 Lottin, Dom Odon, O.S.B., 25n3, 25n4, 27n8, 31–33, 35–36, 46–47, 49–51, 55, 60, 61n46, 63n52, 64, 68n66, 68n67, 69–71, 73, 106, 111, 122, 124, 126, 135n43, 139, 153, 170n40, 173n56, 173n57, 174n60, 185n16, 186n19, 186n21, 207–8, 213n19, 215n26, 218–20, 223n51, 223n53, 223n55, 224n56, 225n64, 227n68, 236n97, 255n4, 270 Louden, Robert, 7n12, 19 Luscombe, D. E., 54n23, 58n32, 58n33, 58n36, 59

MacIntyre, Alasdair, 5–6, 9, 19 Macrobius, 4, 22, 185, 192, 195, 256n8, 271 Marenbon, John, xin3 Materia, 67; as cause, 118, 126; circa quam, 83, 125, 132, 142–43, 156; debita, 142, 155; and end (finis), 142, 166, 245; and form, 126; as object, 67, 83, 171–72; and the passions, 189; as subject matter, 80, 194, 245; virtutis, 83, 141–43, 171 McDowell, John, 6n5, 12 Mean, 13, 91, 147, 161, 163, 166–67, 169, 178, 185; as analogical, 170–71, 182; of courage, 188; as defining feature, 194; and extremes, 167–68; of justice 173–77, 182–83; of prudence, 166, 169–72, 182–83; and reason. 167, 183 Meersseman, P. G., O.P., 32n19, 33n20, 33n22, 42 Mercken, H. P. K., 81n3, 84, 86 Merit, 47, 49–50, 58, 60, 68, 117–18, 202n19, 256 Metaphysics, 12, 81, 265, 274, of the good, 28, 90, 93–111, 141, 156, 198, 215, 252, 273; of virtue, 160–69 Methodology, 22, 33, 75, 82n5, 91–92, 156–57 Michael of Ephesus, 40, 175 Moore, G. E., 9, 11 Moral: accidents, 135; agency, 8, 22, 48, 56, 72, 80, 91, 149, 237, 256, 262, 271, 275; determinacy, 32, 37, 61, 116, 124, 127, 137, 140; goodness, xii, 8, 20, 23, 26, 30, 32, 47, 49–51, 57, 62, 67–68, 87n1 8, 90, 93, 99, 101, 103–5, 116, 126–27, 133–34, 136, 138, 158, 165–67, 178, 216, 220–22, 235, 237, 243, 267, 271; indifference, 48, 58n33, 68n64, 120–23; neutrality, 48; philosophy, x, xi, 4, 7–12, 20, 22–23, 37, 43, 54–55, 71–74, 84, 123, 130n29, 208, 215, 258, 270–72; practice, 80–81, 87, 118, 181, 248; psychology, 8n13, 26, 29–30, 40, 46, 61, 146, 149–50, 153, 201–2, 220, 274; science, 64, 80–82, 84, 86–89, 92–93, 183–84, 213, 253, 258, 272; species, 134–35, 139; specificity, 56, 87n18, 124, 132, 134, 136–37; theory, ix, x, xii, 72–8, 11, 20–23, 26–27, 30, 39, 44–47, 51n14, 52, 56, 59nn39, 63–64, 74– 75, 86, 104, 130, 138, 158, 179, 198, 236, 268 Morality, 6, 8, 10–11, 13–14, 16–16, 18n38, 18n40, 18n39, 19, 103, 110, 118, 125, 198; of



Index

acts, xi, 56, 58, 63, 75, 117, 1212–24; causes of 145, 156; and circumstances, 127, 133, 137, 143; and finality, 143, 145; generic, 125; of intention, 59–61; intrinsic, xi, 133; natural, 27, 37, 45, 55–56, 71–73, 79; and virtue, 9–11, 273 Moralium dogma philosophorum, 186–87 Mos, 80–81, 84–87, 119, 248 Müller, Jörn, 40n43, 41n44, 44n53, 79, 277 Natural law. See Ius naturale Necessity, 8, 80–83, 121–22, 212, 218, 224; suppositional, 82 Nederman, C. J., 24n1, 51n14, 54 Nemesius of Emesa (Nemesius Emesenus), 129, 150–51, 200–202 Neo-Platonism, 42, 57, 76, 90, 93, 97, 99– 100, 107, 110–11, 140, 158, 198, 269, 272 Nicomachean Ethics, x, xi, 4, 7, 18n41, 23–26, 28, 35, 37–40, 45, 51n14, 54–55, 73, 79, 81n3, 85, 95, 108, 111n38, 123, 132, 142, 149, 151n16, 153, 158, 162n9, 173, 176, 183, 188n26, 189, 203, 234, 237, 241, 243n6, 255, 257–58, 271. See also Ethica: Ethica Borghesiana, Ethica nova, Ethica vetus Obligation, 4–8, 13–14, 17, 19, 23, 175, 208, 210–14, 227, 234–35, 237, 273. See also Debitum Odon Rigaud, 48 Ontology: of moral acts, 130; of circumstances, 133, 137 Organization: of the virtues, 179–98 Pandectae of Justinian, 225 Participation, 90, 97, 100–104, 110–11 Passion, 74, 86, 141, 144, 165–66, 170–71, 182–85, 194, 199–204, 248, 259, 263, 271 Person, 109, 128, 119, 125–26, 140, 129–31, 133, 150–51, 166, 177, 192–95, 217, 244, 250–53, 259, 261, 265–66, 274 Peter the Lombard, 49–51, 61–63, 65, 68, 118–19, 158, 209 Peter of Poitiers, 50, 63, 127 Philip the Chancellor, 28, 51–53, 62n48, 64–70, 73, 93, 95, 99, 104, 117, 125–26, 137, 139n56, 158–59, 180, 187, 192n39, 197, 203–4, 220–23, 228n71, 270 Phillips, Derek L., 18

293

Pieper, Josef, 6 Pleasure, 8, 58, 95, 107, 141, 143, 145, 184, 194–95, 200, 203–4, 243–44, 250, 252–53, 261 Potency, 65–67, 95–97, 99–102, 109–11, 115, 117, 125, 127, 137, 140, 142, 145, 210, 217, 245, 252, 255, 272 Potestative whole, 104–11, 140, 148, 162, 174–76, 182, 185, 191, 193–94, 196–97 Prichard, H. A., 10–11 Prohaeresis, 152–53. See also Choice Pseudo-Dionysius, 56–57, 93, 97–101, 106–7, 111, 140, 144, 271 Quaestio, 26, 129, 199, 222 Quaestiones (Albert’s on ethics), 26, 44, 74, 123n17, 222n48 Quality, 14, 50, 72, 135, 138, 160–61, 163, 166, 169, 188, 193, 203, 209–10, 236, 246, 247n21, 249, 252–53, 267 Reason, 13, 54, 61, 69, 72, 108, 123–24, 154, 161, 164–65, 167, 170–71, 189, 194n47, 196, 216–17, 219, 220–21, 224–26, 228–29, 233, 261; debitum of, 227; higher, 219n38, 220; instinct of, 224; natural, 55, 72, 74, 117n4, 123, 218, 227–28, 232; philosophical, 267; as power, 147, 161, 164, 166, 170, 175, 194, 219, 222, 274; practical, 165–66, 169, 171, 219, 229, 235–36; prudential, 18, 166–67, 171–72, 184, 188, 233, 236; right, 147, 152, 165, 167–68, 189, 228, 235, 261; right of, 215, 217, 223, 228–29, 232 Rhetoric, 89 Robert Grosseteste, 26, 39–41, 138 Rufinus, 211, 225, 229–30, 234 Schneewind, James B., 6n7, 13 Science: moral, 65, 80–89, 92, 183–84, 213, 253, 258, 272 Seeds of goodness, 216, 228, 233 Self-love, 250–52 Sentences. See Peter the Lombard Sidgwick, Henry, 9, 17 Singularia, 130, 133, 136, 151n17, 154n22, 169. See also Circumstances Substance, 101n19, 134, 135n39, 156, 174 Summa aurea. See William of Auxerre Summa de bono. See Philip the Chancellor

294

Index

Summa fratris Alexandri, 209, 213 Summa monacensis, 224–26 Super Ethica, x, 26–27, 37–40, 42, 45, 72–75, 79–80, 82–83, 85n13, 85n14, 85n16, 87n18, 88, 89n24, 92–93, 96n7, 102, 108, 109n37, 118, 119n7, 123n17, 127–28, 132–39, 142–43, 155, 156n29, 160n5, 165n25, 172, 180, 184, 192–93, 208, 229n73, 232, 242–43, 258, 260n21, 261n26, 271–72 Synderesis, 44, 74, 219–23, 261n25 Synthesis, 4, 9, 20–21, 23, 27, 29–33, 35, 37, 44, 51, 61, 63–64, 67, 73–74, 91, 104–5, 109, 128, 157–58, 179, 187, 195, 198, 204, 216, 271 Systematic, 20, 30–32, 36, 47, 186, 199, 208, 214 Tarabochia Canavero, A., 27n9, 31, 33n19, 37n33, 94n2 Theory, 16, 68, 236, 270; of action, 153n20; of analogy, 99; approach to, 72, 148; of Aristotle’s mean, 167n33; of causes, 101, 104, 157–58; of circumstances, 127, 129; of the end, 154; of friendship, 241, 243n6, 251; of the good, 32, 37n33, 42, 52, 75, 104, 144, 157, 272; of happiness, 75, 258, 268; hylomorphic, 67; of intention, 139; moral, ix, x, xii, 7–8, 11, 20, 21n48, 22–23, 24n1, 26–27, 30, 37, 39, 43–48, 51n14, 52, 56, 59–60, 62–64, 71, 74–75, 86, 104, 130, 236, 241; of natural law 31–32, 37, 42, 61, 207–8, 212, 224; of virtue, xii, 3–9, 12–13, 18–20, 23–24, 30, 37, 52, 54, 59, 75, 131, 156–58, 182, 237, 257n9, 258, 272–73, 275 Temperance, 3, 5, 11, 14–15, 18–19, 29, 48, 70, 91, 136, 141, 157, 165, 171, 180–85, 187, 189n29, 192–96, 198–99, 202–4, 246 Transcendentals, 64, 95, 104, 126 Translatio Alexandrina, 25 Translatio hispanica, 25 Triad, 90, 94, 105, 125, 212, 230 Ulpian, 225–26, 229 Ulrich of Strasbourg, 21

Universal principles, 17, 82, 217, 219, 222, 231–32, 264 Universal reasons (rationes universales), 81 Van Steenberghen, Fernand, 21n50, 31 Virtue: acquired, 72, 136–37, 141, 178, 268; as analogical, 71, 170, 174, 176; Augustiniantheocentric concept of, 22, 50, 54–55, 146, 152, 156, 159–60, 178, 209, 256, 273; cardinal, 3–4, 6–7, 11, 13–16, 18–19, 22n52, 44, 48, 50, 52–53, 65, 68–70, 74, 91, 109, 157, 159, 162n9, 166, 170, 173, 177–85, 187, 190– 92, 198, 204, 207, 212–13, 256, 257n9, 259, 271–72, 275; definition of, 9, 50, 55, 156, 163, 178, 209; infused, 44, 50, 65, 69, 71–72, 117, 121, 156, 160, 178, 184n12; intellectual, 265–66, 269; logical, 171; parts of, 42, 73, 106, 183, 193; political, 128, 159, 177–78; theological, 35, 48, 52–53, 65, 68–69, 71 Virtue ethics, 3–4, 6–7, 271–72, 274–75 Voluntariness, 115, 118–21, 123–25, 128, 131, 134, 141n59, 146, 148–53, 161, 164, 177, 201, 203, 266 Von Wright, G. H., 5n4, 18 Wallace, James D., 6, 18 Wallace, W. A., O.P., 82 Walter of Chatillon, 186 Warnock, G. J., 16, 18–19 Whole: integral, 57, 107, 191; potestative, 104–11, 140, 148, 162, 174–75, 182 185, 191, 193–94, 196–97; virtual, 105, 111, 148, 148, 192 Weisheipl, James A., O.P., x, xii, 20n44, 28n11, 38, 40n43, 43n49 Wieland, Georg, 21, 24n1, 84n10 William of Auxerre, 47, 51, 65, 69, 71, 93, 104, 186–87, 211, 213–14, 216, 218–19, 221, 224, 226, 230, 232, 236, 270 William of Conches, 186 Wisdom, xi, 3, 13, 17–18, 157, 161, 168, 212, 217, 234–35, and contemplation, 258, 264–66, 268 de Wulf, Maurice, 20

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