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The idea of a specifically deliberative model of democracy, in which collective decisions are arrived at through public reasoning and discussion among equal citizens, is not new. Since about 1990, however, that idea has undergone a major revival – so much so that deliberative democracy is now firmly established as one of the most important positions in contemporary democratic theory. The reasons driving this revival are manifold, but three broad considerations stand out. First, many democratic theorists had become increasingly dissatisfied with the prevailing view that, because democracy imposes unrealistic demands on the time and attention of ordinary citizens, the business of making political decisions should be left to political elites who would then be held to account at election time. Democratic theorists sought to reject this elitist model of democracy in favour of a model that could allow ordinary citizens a much more effective say in the making of the political decisions by which they are bound. Second, the deliberative revival was also driven by a desire to afford a greater say to individuals and groups who, through no fault of their own, were politically marginalised. Partly, this was in response to the arguments of feminists and multiculturalists. But it was also in response to the more general failure of political elites to respond adequately to the interests and experiences of ordinary citizens or to advance the cause of social justice more generally. Finally, democratic theorists were also concerned with the quality of democracy itself.
The Christian faith confesses the openness of God and the openness of His reality. Classic Christian theology translates this openness into a structured concept of God by stating that the one divine nature (una substantia: Tertullian) knows of three divine Persons (tres personae: Tertullian). We see that a closed concept of God is rejected, since the concepts of natura and persona do not coincide. We may describe an absolutely closed concept of God as a concept where the notions of natura and persona coincide. The alternative form of monotheism knows of two processions (processiones) between the three Persons, which are generally acknowledged in thirteenth-century theology in terms of divine knowledge and will (Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas, Bonaventure and Duns Scotus).
We focus on the first production or procession which is the generation of the Son by the Father: the Father brings forth the Son, the Father generates the Son. The generation is eternal reality: it is the eternal reality of an invariable act of God in God (opus ad intra) and this activity of generation presupposes the potency to generate:
If the Father generates the Son, then it is possible that the Father generates the Son.
However, the Aristotelian notion of potency (possibility) cannot elucidate this theological proposition. On the contrary, it makes it inconsistent. Aristotelian philosophy of nature and change is based on potency language, but if we apply this notion of potency to (1), the consequent
In Lectura I 39.56 and 59 we notice quite an interesting feature: in reply to an objection to his theory of synchronic contingency (§§38–54) the young John Duns rejects a certain rule of logic. He also mentions the ars the rule under consideration belongs to:
Concerning the next objection: we deny that rule. Nevertheless, the disputational art of obligations is handed down very well by that master without this rule.
We observe that Duns is generous in his praise regarding the master who evidently was an expert in the field: a certain magister handed down the ars obligatoria very well. Apart from the term ‘magister’ in the expression ‘Magister Sententiarum,’ ‘magister’ refers to a philosopher, ‘philosopher’ taken in the modern sense of the word. With Duns, ‘magister’ refers to a philosopher and ‘doctor’ refers to a theologian. So the master referred to taught the ars obligatoria, but what does the ars obligatoria consist of?
The development of the ars obligatoria presupposes an ongoing development of the academic practice of debate and rational refutation. Theory sponges on reality. In matters theoretical, theory is parasitic on the practice of the theory. Subjects of theoretical reflection presuppose the inner dynamics of a practice wherein the art of debate, disputation, and refutation developed itself. The reality of an academic debate culture has to be considered the habitat of a growing ars obligatoria.
The Lectura and the Ordinatio contain many analytical and conceptual praenotanda or introductions which serve as preliminary analyses. The requirements of a theological revolution permanently press in the direction of new logical, semantic and ontological investigations. Important parts are theological parallels to Wittgenstein's philosophical investigations. The ordinary language of common life and common sense is the source of logical-philosophical creativity for the latter, the ordinary language of faith is so for the former, within the context of a powerful tradition of systematic theology. However, if we had the impression that Duns was driven by some religious wishful thinking we would easily mislead ourselves. Nothing is further from his mind. Apart from general human understanding and an open philosophical mind, the only ingredients required for studying Duns Scotus' philosophy are knowledge of medieval Christianity, its Latin and its Bible, and logical canons of consistency.
Attention must be paid to a series of topics important for understanding Scotus' way of analyzing systematic issues once we have cleared the way with some introductory remarks on the significance of his logical writings (§4.2): the subject matter of logic (§4.3), meaning (§4.4) and the problem of meaning and the problem of knowledge (§4.5), concept (§4.6), proposition (§4.7), negation (§4.8), truth (§4.9), logical impossibility and logical possibility (§4.10), elements of the theory of relation (§4.11) and a concluding section summing up John Duns' early development and its impact (§4.12).
The fourth Lateran Council coincided with the rise of the universities and of the new orders of friars, those of St Francis and St Dominic, and marked the beginning of a new era in the pastoral life of the church. When it called the direction of souls ‘the art of arts’ it made clear the purpose of the pastoral programme which its decrees laid upon bishops and clergy: an informed laity instructed by a reformed clergy. The clergy, who had to be disciplined, educated, orthodox and fitted by character and training for the direction of souls, were the key to its success. They had, in effect, to live good lives and to study theology. The friars grasped the full implication of the conciliar decrees and made a determined effort to put them into practice. Their studies always had a practical side: ‘the purpose of study is preaching, and of preaching the salvation of souls’, as Humbert of Romans (master general of the Dominicans 1254–63) put it. The studies of the friars were aimed at their apostolate of preaching in the pulpit and instruction in the confessional. This combination of learning and its practical application to Christian life made them indispensable to those committed to making a reality of the conciliar decrees.
The young John Duns was committed to the ideals and expectations of his Order and the renewal program of the Church. Initially, he had missed Paris. At Oxford he had already been professor designatus. Now, after about twenty years in Oxford, he sailed for France.
According to the Renaissance view of the development of Western philosophy there is a ‘breakdown of traditional thought’ around 1500. This approach leads to the paradoxical view that English and French, German and Italian, Spanish and Dutch, Scandinavian, Middle and Eastern European philosophy start only after 1500 and that modern European philosophy is not much older than American thought. Moreover, modern history of modern philosophy pays a great deal of attention to the great individual philosophers outside the universities. Hobbes and Descartes, Locke and Berkeley, Spinoza and Leibniz are those so privileged.
However, this approach begs some questions: can systematic thought of the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries be understood without taking into account university thought? Can the thought of the universities be understood without interpreting it in the light of the thirteenth-, fourteenth- and fifteenth-century universities? Can a realistic approach to the history of Western philosophy ignore the continuity of thought from about 1200 to about 1800? The European university shows a remarkable continuity between its birth in around 1200 till around 1800. The six first centuries of the Western university (±1200–±1800), consisting of two sets of three centuries, form one specific whole.
The traditional view overlooks medieval thought and the philosophical contributions of its Augustinian main line. The separation of modern languages from Latin and the separation of modern philosophy from medieval philosophy are linked with the separation of philosophy from theology, but what we now call theology is the key to understanding the dynamics of Western and medieval thought in an alternative way.
The originality of medieval philosophy and the creativity of its logic and theory of knowledge speak very much in its favor. Medieval philosophy may have been considered uninteresting because of its alleged lack of originality. However, its contributions are actually of tremendous cultural importance and they are theoretically interesting for modern philosophy and systematic theology. The reason is that many of its innovations do not have parallel theories in ancient philosophy. Medieval thought yields plenty of evidence refuting the popular view that systematic thought during these dark centuries was unilluminating, but the legacy of medieval theories is fresh and particularly conspicuous in logic and semantics, theology and philosophy. L. M. de Rijk brilliantly pointed out how creative medieval thought has been. In his important introduction to medieval philosophy, De Rijk lists four examples of original contributions that excel the inventions of ancient Greek, Hellenistic and Latin philosophy: terminist logic, which is in fact a part of the much wider phenomenon of the logica modernorum, the metaphysics of Thomas Aquinas, the critical theory of knowledge of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and a way of thought which differs markedly from necessitarian Greek philosophy. Duns Scotus' contributions to a critical theory of knowledge are the main theme of this chapter.
The union of existential and intellectual forces in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries created many theoretical innovations. Revelation influenced philosophy in terms of a specific theological model of thought.
From Parmenides onwards, ancient and medieval thought had a special liking for metaphysical speculation. No doubt, speculative thought was most influentially outlined by Plato and Aristotle. However, what the Christian thinkers achieved in metaphysics was definitely more than just applying and adapting what was handed down to them. No student of medieval speculative thought can help being struck by the peculiar fact that whenever fundamental progress was made, it was theological problems which initiated the development. This applies to St Augustine and Boethius, and to the great medieval masters as well (such as Anselm, Thomas Aquinas, Duns Scotus). Their speculation was, time and again, focused on how the notion of being and the whole range of our linguistic tools can be applied to God's Nature (Being).
The originality of medieval philosophy and the creativity of its logic and theory of knowledge make themselves felt in many contributions without any counterpart in ancient philosophy. Its novelties possess a tremendous cultural importance in general and great theoretical interest for modern philosophy and current systematic theology in particular.
In his important introduction to medieval philosophy L. M. de Rijk lists four examples of original contributions that excel the inventions of ancient Greek, Hellenistic, and Roman philosophy: (1) terminist logic (which is in fact to be seen as a part of the wider phenomenon of the logica modernorum); (2) the metaphysics of Thomas Aquinas; (3) the critical theory of knowledge of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries; and (4) a way of thought which markedly differs from necessitarian Greek philosophy.
There is little consensus among historians on the ancestry of Eleftherios Venizelos. The document most relied on by Venizelos' biographers is an extract from a letter sent by Venizelos to the Cretan chieftain Constantinos Diyenakis or Daskaloyannis, who had asked him (on 19 August 1899) to recount his origins. Of his father Kyriakos, Venizelos wrote:
While still very young, he participated in the great struggle of 1821 as the secretary of Koumis, the chieftain of Selino, with whom he endured the siege of Monemvasia. He was later awarded the medal of the revolutionary struggle. Three of his brothers were killed during the revolution, while another, Hadji Nikolos Venizelos, was sent with two other Cretans to negotiate with the chieftains in Greece at the start of the Greek Revolution … Exiled in 1843 by the Turkish government, which confiscated his shop and his land, Kyriakos remained outlawed but was again exiled during the 1886 revolution; he finally received permission to return to Chania in 1874.
Kyriakos was a remarkable young man, bright, ambitious and resilient. Born in poverty during the most bloody upheaval in Greek history, he survived deportations, exiles, bankruptcies and persecutions to become a man of importance and distinction in his native country.
The Venizelos family is first recorded in the village of Mournies; later they moved to Chania, where Kyriakos carried on his father's business, touring the province of Chania selling household goods. He was known as a dependable merchant to the peasants of the Chania area and soon built up a modest personal fortune.
At the dawn of the twenty-first century a more or less general consensus in Greek politics acclaims Eleftherios Venizelos (1864-1936) as the most important statesman in Greek political history and the creator of contemporary Greece. Although it would be rash to dismiss this as plain mythology about the man and his political achievements, there can be at the same time little doubt that a Venizelos cult is growing in Greek political thought. Recognition extends far beyond the intellectual sphere and permeates public opinion at large, as evinced by innumerable avenues and squares named after him in Greek towns and cities. Statues and monuments are multiplying throughout the country and, in a decision of telling significance, the new major international airport, built in Athens in the 1990s, has been named the ‘El. Venizelos Airport’.
All this is a rather recent development. The general adulatory consensus concerning Venizelos emerged in the late twentieth century, in the wake of earlier strong passions and divisions about the man and his politics that had dominated political debate and public feeling in Greece for most of that century. Throughout his active political life and during several decades following his death Venizelos had been the object of the deepest admiration and devotion, as well as of the strongest contempt and hatred on the part of his respective followers and opponents. These feelings at times ran so high that they led to profound divisions in Greek politics. The divisiveness around Venizelos' personality and politics pervaded all writing about him as well.
In May 1928, Venizelos staged a come-back in politics despite his oft-stated commitment never to do so. The survivor of the great duel that had rocked the Greek state and the country's society since 1915 was fully aware of the tremendous symbolism of his act. For nearly two decades his name defined the principal cleavage in Greek politics. His presence in the political arena was likely to rekindle old passions and open old sores.
The elder statesman had returned to Greece in April 1927. He stayed at Chania, in his native Crete, and repeatedly stated his intention not to return to politics. He did, however, express interest in public affairs, particularly through letters to Georgios Kafantaris, the leader of the Progressive liberals and minister of finance in the coalition government of Alexandros Zaimis. Venizelos' practice proved extremely irritating to his former lieutenant. Failing to secure the unconditional endorsement of his policy, Kafantaris stepped down from the party leadership and resigned his cabinet post. The majority of his followers decided to throw in their lot with Venizelos.
In a brief statement issued on 23 May 1928, Venizelos announced his decision to resume the leadership of the reconstituted Liberal Party. His reentry was a far cry from his meteoric advent in the aftermath of the 1909 military coup. He envisaged his new role as stabilising, if not outright conservative.
Venizelos was less devoted than Trikoupis to the principle of the superiority of parliamentary politics over all other forms of democratic governance. His own inclination was toward the Aristotelian division of politics into pure and corrupt versions. He was therefore less concerned with the political system than with its actual operation. This view of politics naturally placed the burden of state management on the persons in power, rather than on the system of politics. Success, therefore, would depend mostly on the attributes of the personalities who were placed, by choice or chance, in the key posts of power. When Venizelos restored the damaged prestige of the monarchy, after the 1909 coup had challenged its legitimacy, and reinstated King George as the arbiter of parliamentary politics in 1910, he was depending entirely on the moderation and prudence of the particular monarch for the viability of the institution. He could anticipate neither the assassination of George nor the character of Constantine, who replaced him on the throne in 1913. Before the National Schism, Venizelos had encouraged a bipolar system of governance in which the head of state and the head of government shared substantial authority. His hope was that the grateful monarch would be willing to grant his consent on vital issues of reform and foreign policy.