In Search of the Good Life

A Pedogogy for Troubled Times

Fred Dallmayr

• Publisher: The University Press of Kentucky
• Year: 2007
• ISBN:
  9780813138589
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Political Philosophy

The great German novelist Thomas Mann implored readers to resist the persistent and growing militarism of the mid-twentieth century. To whom should we turn for guidance during this current era of global violence, political corruption, economic inequality, and environmental degradation? For more than two millennia, the world's great thinkers have held that the ethically "good life" is the highest purpose of human existence. Renowned political philosopher Fred Dallmayr traces the development of this notion, finding surprising connections among Aristotelian ethics, Abrahamic and Eastern religious traditions, German idealism, and postindustrial social criticism.

In Search of the Good Life does not offer a blueprint but rather invites readers on a cross-cultural quest. Along the way, the author discusses the teachings of Aristotle, Confucius, Nicolaus of Cusa, Leibniz, and Schiller, in addition invoking more recent writings of Gadamer and Ricoeur, as guideposts and sources of hope during our troubled times. Among contemporary themes Dallmayr discusses are the role of the classics in education, proper and improper ways of spreading democracy globally, the possibility of transnational citizenship, the problem of politicized evil, and the role of religion in our predominantly secular culture.

Dallmayr restores the notion of the good life as a hallmark of personal conduct, civic virtue, and political engagement, and as the road map to enduring peace. In Search of the Good Life seeks to arouse complacent and dispirited citizens, guiding them out of the distractions of shallow amusements and perilous resentments in the direction of mutual learning and civic pedagogy—a direction that will enable them to impose accountability on political leaders who stray from fundamental ethical standards.

Part I

Prominent Searchers
in the Past

1. A Pedagogy of the Heart

Saint Bonaventure’s Spiritual Itinerary

Some eight hundred years ago, a young man in Italy received a summons to rejuvenate religious practices through a life of poverty and humble devotion. The young man’s name was Giovanni Francesco Bernardone, and he lived in the town of Assisi in Umbria. Following this summons, he divested himself of all worldly possessions and founded a religious order that spread rapidly throughout Europe.¹ Two years after his death (in 1226), he was canonized and became revered as Saint Francis. However, in his own lifetime, he was known simply as the poverello, a poor, humble mendicant following in the footsteps of his Lord. Eight centuries have passed since the poverello’s time, and his legacy is nearly extinguished. Societies and peoples everywhere have grown by leaps and bounds. During the past four centuries in particular, Western modernity has relentlessly embarked on a quest for “progress,” which basically means growth in all domains: scientific knowledge, economic wealth, and military-industrial power. Although beneficial in some respects, “progress” has also exacted a heavy toll—in particular, human addiction and subservience to growth. Poverty and the simple life—I mean the voluntary poverty of Francis, not the involuntary type still suffered by millions—have become nearly unintelligible to people swept up by the tide of consumerism and possessivism.²

Although he authored a series of beautifully stirring canticles and sermons, Saint Francis did not elaborate in writing many of his basic theological, philosophical, and pedagogical views, leaving that task to some of his devoted followers. Among the latter, the most prominent was Saint Bonaventure (1217–1274), who is also known as the “second founder” of the Franciscan order (he served as its Minister General for seventeen years) and as the “Seraphic Doctor” (in remembrance of the winged seraphim that appeared to Saint Francis on Mount La Verna in 1224).³ Compared with the poverello, the younger disciple was more scholarly and erudite in an academic sense. Educated at the University of Paris by some of the best teachers of the time, Bonaventure lectured at that university and finally received his magister of theology there, in the same year as Thomas Aquinas. Yet, despite his more academic leanings, he never moved far away from his spiritual mentor: no matter how philosophically and theologically refined, all his writings exude the gentle spirit and humble devotion of the saintly poverello.⁴ In this chapter I discuss some of Bonaventure’s writings in an effort to highlight his admirable blending of learning and devotion (or what Erasmus called the twinning of eruditio et pietas). I concentrate chiefly on two texts: “The Life of Saint Francis” (Legenda Maior) and “The Soul’s [or Heart’s] Journey into God” (Itinerarium Mentis in Deum). Following a discussion of these texts, I draw some parallels between Bonaventure’s itinerary and the pedagogical teachings of other religious traditions, and finally, I reflect on the contemporary relevance of his work, drawing attention especially to Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Heart.

Life of Saint Francis

Francis of Assisi died when Bonaventure was still a young boy, making it highly unlikely that the two saints ever met.⁵ Notwithstanding this distance, the younger man remained fervently devoted to the legacy of his spiritual guide, a fact evident in all his writings, but especially in his detailed and lovingly narrated story of Francis’s life. The story was commissioned by the General Chapter of the Franciscan Order and, in due course, emerged as the official biography of Saint Francis, sidelining some earlier accounts. In preparing his biography, Bonaventure conducted extensive research using available sources and also met and interrogated some of Francis’s early companions who were still alive at the time. In his own words, his chief aim was to “gather together the accounts of [the saint’s] virtues, his actions and his words—like so many fragments, partly forgotten and scattered—so that they may not be lost when those who lived with him pass away.”⁶ As this statement indicates, his aim was not simply to offer a factual account or a story of external events, but rather to illuminate through these events the saint’s spiritual motives and “virtues.” Ewert Cousins, in his introduction to the biography, finds in the text two main layers: one strictly chronological, the other thematic and spiritual. While the first recounts successive events in the saint’s life, the second illustrates his commitment to the “practice of virtues” and is thematically arranged under three main headings: self-overcoming (or purgation), illumination, and perfection.⁷

Proceeding in chronological order, the first several chapters of “The Life of Saint Francis” recount the time from his birth to the founding of the Franciscan order. In Bonaventure’s words, the young Francis “lived among worldly sons of men and was brought up in worldly ways” and, in due course, was assigned “to work in a lucrative merchant’s business.” Yet, “with God’s protection,” he did not abandon himself entirely to worldly attractions and “even among greedy merchants” did not “place his hope in money and treasures.” Still, he tended to be distracted by the external affairs of business, which drew him down to “earthly things.” A prolonged illness and a number of spiritual experiences slowly awakened him from these worldly distractions and prompted him to embark on an inner search. He began to withdraw “from the bustle of public business” and to seek out “solitary places” suited for prolonged prayer and meditation. Gradually his character came to exhibit the distinctive “Franciscan” features, especially a sense of humility and the love of poverty and the poor—a love manifest by his visits to the houses of lepers, whom he embraced while distributing alms. A decisive turning point, according to the biography, was the summons Francis received while praying in the church of San Damiano near Assisi. The summons called on Francis to “repair” the church, which he first interpreted to mean repairing the actual building; later, however, he realized that it also meant restoring the church’s inner spirit. Begging for funds and investing his own physical labor, he set out to repair not only San Damiano but also another nearby church and eventually a third church called Saint Mary of the Angels, or “Portiuncula,” where he subsequently took up residence and which became his favorite place. In Bonaventure’s words: “The holy man loved this spot more than any other in the world; for here he began humbly, here he progressed steadily, and here he ended happily.”⁸

Having repaired the physical structure of the churches, Francis proceeded to honor the deeper meaning of the summons by gathering a group of followers who could serve as the “salt,” or leaven, to rejuvenate the church. The guiding motto of the new fellowship was taken from the Gospel of Matthew (10:9), which says that followers “should not keep gold or silver or money in their belts, nor have a wallet for their journey, nor two tunics, nor shoes, nor staff.” As the number of followers grew, Francis decided to call the fellowship the Order of the Brothers of Penance, a religious community bound together by a set of monastic “rules” prescribing, above all, poverty and service. Armed with these rules, the poverello went to Rome to seek the approval of Pope Innocent III, who was skeptical initially. As Bonaventure records: “He hesitated to do what Christ’s little poor man asked because it seemed to some of the cardinals to be something novel and difficult beyond human powers.” Eventually, however, the pope relented and gave the new order permission to preach and spread the gospel in its own way. Encouraged by this permission and inspired by the religious zeal exhibited by Francis and his followers, a great number of people—both clerical and lay, men and women—began to flock to Assisi to share in the exemplary way of life exhibited by the poverello and his community. These people clearly were not attracted by the prospect of fame or worldly goods. In the words of Bonaventure, it was poverty and the example of a simple lifestyle that “made them prompt for obedience, robust for work and free for travel. Because they possessed nothing that belonged to the world, they were attached to nothing and feared to lose nothing.” Thus, this devout surrender and willingness to serve became the basis of a marvelous freedom: “They were safe everywhere, not held back by fear, nor distracted by worldly care; they lived with untroubled minds and, without anxiety, looked forward to the morrow.”⁹

This praise of the gifts of faith leads Bonaventure quite naturally to a discussion of the various ethical and spiritual virtues exemplified in Francis’s life. First among these virtues is self-overcoming or austerity, that is, the taming and redirection of the selfish desires and appetites of the ego. This taming is a first and necessary step on the path toward any kind of ethical life. As Francis used to say, “it would be difficult to satisfy the needs of the body without giving in to the earth-bound inclinations of the senses” and thus becoming attached to worldly goods in a slavish way. Hence, he was alert and carefully “watched over himself” so as not to lose the freedom required for the pursuit of his calling. Still, practicing austerity did not cause him to lose a sense of balance or moderation. “He was not pleased,” Bonaventure writes, “by an over-strict severity that did not put on a heart of compassion and was not seasoned with the salt of discretion.” Among all the virtues, none are as closely associated with Saint Francis as humility and love of poverty. For the poverello, humility was “the guardian and the ornament of all the virtues,” and he strove “to build himself up on this virtue like an architect laying the foundations.” Attachment to this virtue prompted Francis to shun clerical offices and monastic rank orders. He preferred “to obey rather than command,” Bonaventure states. “Therefore he relinquished his office of General [of his order] and looked for a guardian whose will he would obey in all things.” Humility and love of poverty went hand in hand. Seeing that poverty was the “close companion” of Jesus but widely rejected by the world, Francis was eager to embrace it and to encourage others to follow his example. In Bonaventure’s stirring words: “No one was so greedy for gold as he was for poverty; nor was anyone so anxious to guard his treasure as he was in guarding this pearl of the gospel.” When speaking about poverty, Francis himself was fond of quoting from Luke (9:58): “The foxes have their holes and the birds of the air their nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”¹⁰

Bonaventure turns next to what Cousins calls the domain of inner “illumination,” which includes the virtues of piety, charity, and zeal for prayer. Piety, in Francis’s case, had a broader scope than the English term suggests; like the Latin pietas, it denoted not only devotion and reverence but also kindness, affection, fidelity, and compassion. Thus, the poverello’s piety “drew him up to God through devotion,” but it also attracted him to his neighbors and fellow human beings with kind affection and compassion and even prompted him to turn to nature and the animal kingdom in a mode of “universal reconciliation with each and every thing.” Regarding his fellow human beings, the biography tells us that Francis “responded with a remarkably tender compassion to those suffering from any bodily affliction” and that “his soul melted at the sight of the poor and infirm.” Regarding nature and the animal kingdom, Francis was filled with the most “abundant piety, calling creatures, no matter how small, by the name of brother or sister, because he knew they had the same source as himself.” As with piety, charity in Francis’s life had a broad meaning, embracing not only almsgiving but also love and loving surrender (caritas, agape). In Bonaventure’s words: “The ecstatic devotion to his (kind of) charity so bore him aloft into the divine that his loving kindness was enlarged and extended to all who shared with him in nature and grace.” Praying, likewise, carried extensive connotations; instead of being an occasional or intermittent activity, prayer pervaded all aspects of the saint’s life. “Whether walking or sitting, whether inside or outside, working or resting,” the biography states, “he was so intent on prayer that he seemed to have dedicated to it not only his heart and body but also all his effort and time.” Instead of being a chore, praying was a “delight” to the poverello, who had already become “a fellow citizen of the angels.”¹¹

Moving along the path of self-overcoming and inner illumination, Francis steadily climbed to the summit of spiritual virtues, which are scriptural understanding, power of preaching, and union with the divine. As Bonaventure notes, Francis was not a learned man in the sense of academic or scholastic training; however, the fervor of his devotion allowed him to penetrate more deeply into scriptural meanings than did most theologians. Thus, he managed to probe the “hidden depths” of scriptures, and “where the scholarship of the [academic] teacher stands outside, the affection of the lover briskly entered within.” Not a gifted preacher, and actually “unskilled in speech” (2 Corinthians 11:6), Francis succeeded in overcoming this defect through his spiritual devotion, becoming an effective and widely acclaimed spreader of the gospel. His words, Bonaventure comments, were “like a burning fire” filling the minds and hearts of listeners “with admiration.” The reason was not rhetorical finesse but the soundness of the proclaimed message: “It made no pretense at the elegance of human composition, but exuded the perfume of divine revelation.” The ultimate pinnacle of Francis’s spiritual ascent was the union or communion with the divine, manifest by the imprinting of the Lord’s stigmata on his body. This transformation happened on Mount La Verna, where he had retreated to pray and fast for forty days. In the words of his biographer: “By the Seraphic ardor of his desires, he was being borne aloft into God; and by his sweet compassion he was being transformed into him who chose to be crucified because of the excess of his love.” The transmutation was accompanied by the vision of a seraph with six wings descending from heaven and covering the saint’s body; as subsequent events proved, healing powers resulted from the angel’s touch. According to Bonaventure, “Thus it was established that these sacred marks were imprinted on him by the power of the One who purifies, illumines and inflames through the action of the Seraphim.”¹²

Following the event on Mount La Verna, Francis had only two more years to spend on earth. Despite mounting infirmities, he devoted these years to prayer and service. “He was ablaze with a great desire, “Bonaventure writes, “to return to the humility he practiced at the beginning, and to nurse the lepers as he did at the outset.” When his final days approached, he asked his friars to bring him to his favorite church, Saint Mary of the Portiuncula. There he stripped himself of his monk’s habit, allowing himself to be clothed only in a beggar’s tunic; having lived his life “out of zeal for poverty,” he did not wish to wear a garment in his final hours “unless it were lent to him by another.” In this manner, the poverello “fell asleep in the Lord” on October 3, 1226. Learning of Francis’s passing, Pope Gregory IX quickly proceeded to gather evidence of the friar’s saintly life and submit that evidence to his cardinals, even those “who seemed less favorable to this cause.” Having received unanimous endorsement, the church completed Francis’s canonization in 1228, two years after his death. The healing powers deriving from the seraph’s embrace continued to show their effects in subsequent decades and even centuries. Bonaventure concludes his biography with these words: “So, from the day of his passing to the present, in different parts of the world, he radiated forth with remarkable miracles through the divine power that glorified him. For the blind and the deaf, the mute and the crippled, paralytics and those suffering from epilepsy, lepers and those possessed by evil spirits, the shipwrecked and the captives—all these were given relief through his merits.”¹³

The Soul’s Journey

For Bonaventure, the life of Saint Francis was in many ways the perfect example of what constituted the core of spiritual learning and ascent. All the virtues of the poverello—from self-overcoming (purgation) to illumination and perfection—illustrated the kind of ethical-spiritual pedagogy that, in the biographer’s view, was capable of guiding human beings steadily on the path of salvation. In philosophical and theological terms, this kind of pedagogy antedated Saint Francis of Assisi, although he managed to embody it in the most admirable way. In Cousins’s words, with a genius for speculative synthesis, Bonaventure “produced a type of spiritual summa that integrates psychology, philosophy, and theology.” Grounding himself in Augustine and Anselm of Canterbury, he “brought together the cosmic vision of the Pseudo-Dionysius wit...