A lecture at the Fifty-first Annual Meeting
of The American Catholic Philosophical Association, Detroit, April 16,
1977. Previously published in that Associa-tion's Proceedings, Vol.
LI (1977), pp. 132-143; French translation, “Le droit naturel et la
mentalité historique,” in Bernard Lonergan, Les voies d’une théologie
méthodique . . . , 1982. Reprinted as Chapter 11 of Third
Collection: Papers by Bernard Lonergan, edited by Frederick E. Crowe,
S.J., Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press/London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1985, 169-183.
Natural Right and Historical Mindedness
J. F. Lonergan, S.J.
The notion of collective responsibility
is not without its difficulty. One may claim that, as men individually
are responsible for the lives they lead, so collectively they must be
responsible for the resultant situation. But that claim is too rapid to
be convincing. No doubt, single elements in the resulting situation are
identical with the actions or the effects for which individuals are
responsible. But the resulting situation as a whole commonly was neither
foreseen nor intended or, when it does happen that it was, still such
foresight and intention are apt to reside not in the many but in the few
and rather in secret schemes and machinations than in public avowal.
It remains that if collective
responsibility is not yet an established fact, it may be a possibility.
Further, it may be a possibility that we can realize. Finally, it may be
a possibility that it is desirable to realize.
Such is my topic. What I have in mind is
the conjunction of two elements already existing in our tradition. From
the ancient Greeks we have the notion of natural right. From
nineteenth-century historical thought we have come to recognize that
besides human nature there also is human historicity. What we have to do,
I feel, is to bring these two elements together. We have so to develop
the notion of natural right as to make it no less relevant to human
historicity than it is to human nature.
A contemporary ontology would distinguish
two components in concrete human reality: on the one hand, a constant,
human nature; on the other hand, a variable, human historicity. Nature is
given man at birth. Historicity is what man makes of man.
This making of man by man is perhaps most
conspicuous in the educational process, in the difference between the
child beginning kindergarten and the doctoral candidate writing his
dissertation. Still this difference produced by the education of
individuals is only a recapitulation of the longer process of the
education of mankind, of the evolution of social institutions and the
development of cultures. Religions and art-forms, languages and
literatures, sciences, philosophies, the writing of history, all had their
rude beginnings, slowly developed, reached their peak, perhaps went into
decline yet later underwent a renaissance in another milieu. And what is
true of cultural achievements, also, though less conspicuously, is true of
social institutions. The family, the state, the law, the economy, are not
fixed and immutable entities. They adapt to changing circumstance; they
can he reconceived in the light of new ideas; they can be subjected to
Moreover, and this is my present point,
all such change is in its essence a change of meaning—a change of idea or
concept, a change of judgment or evaluation, a change of the order or the
request. The state can be changed by rewriting its constitution; more
subtly but no less effectively it can be changed by reinterpreting its
constitution or, again, by working on men’s minds and hearts to change the
objects that command their respect, hold their allegiance, tire their
loyalty. More generally, human community is a matter of a common field of
experience, a common mode of understanding, a common measure of judgment,
and a common consent. Such community is the possibility, the source, the
ground of common meaning; and it is this common meaning that is the form
and act that finds expression in family and polity, in the legal and
economic system, in customary morals and educational arrangements, in
language and literature, art and religion, philosophy, science, and the
writing of history.1
Still, community itself is not a necessity of nature but an achievement
of man. Without a common field of experience people get out of touch.
Without a common mode of understanding,
there arise misunderstanding, distrust, suspicion, fear, hostility,
factions. Without a common measure of judgment people live in different
worlds. Without common consent they operate at cross-purposes. Then
common meaning is replaced by different and opposed meanings. A cohesion
that once seemed automatic has to be bolstered by the pressures, the
threats, the force that secure a passing semblance of unity but may
prepare a lasting resentment and a smoldering rebellion.
As human nature differs from human
historicity, so understanding human nature is one thing and understanding
human historicity is another. To understand the constant, nature, one may
study any individual. But to understand the variable, historicity, one
has to study each instance in its singularity. So we come to what Alan
Richardson has named “historical mindedness.”2
This means that to understand men and their institutions we have to study
For it is in history that man’s making of
man occurs, that it progresses and regresses, that through such changes
there may be discerned a certain unity in an otherwise disconcerting
multiplicity. Indeed, historicity and history are related as object to be
known and investigating subject. In a brilliant definition the aim of
Philologie and later the aim of history was conceived as the
interpretative reconstruction of the constructions of the human spirit.3
The constructions of the human spirit were what we have termed man’s
making of man, the variable component in human ontology, historicity.
The interpretative reconstruction of
those constructions was the goal set itself by the German Historical
School in its massive, ongoing effort to reveal, not man in the abstract,
but mankind in its concrete self-realization.
2. Natural Right in Historicity
It was the sheer multiplicity and
diversity of the practises and beliefs of the peoples of the earth that
led the ancient Greeks to contrast animals and men. The habits of each
species of animal were uniform and so they could be attributed to nature.
But the practises and beliefs of men differed from tribe to tribe, from
city to city, from region to region: they had to be simply a matter of
From that premise there followed a
conclusion. What had been made by human convention, could be unmade by
further convention. Underpinning human manners and customs there was no
permanent and binding force.
The conclusion was scandalous, and in the
notion of natural right was found its rebuttal. Underneath the manifold
of human lifestyles, there existed a component or factor that possessed
the claims to universality and permanence of nature itself.4 However, this component or factor admits two interpretations.
It may be placed in universal
propositions, self-evident truths, naturally known certitudes. On the
other hand, it may be placed in nature itself, in nature not as abstractly
conceived, but as concretely operating.5
It is, I believe, the second alternative that has to be envisaged if we
are to determine norms in historicity.
Now Aristotle defined a nature as an
immanent principle of movement and of rest.6
In man such a principle is the human spirit as raising and answering
questions. As raising questions, it is an immanent principle of movement.
As answering questions and doing so satisfactorily, it is an immanent
principle of rest.
Specifically, questions are of three
basic kinds: questions for intelligence, questions for reflection,
questions for deliberation. In the first kind the immanent principle of
movement is human intelligence. It thrusts us above the spontaneous flow
of sensible presentations, images, feelings, conations, movements, and it
does so by the wonder variously formulated by asking why, or how, or what
for. With luck, either at once or eventually, there will follow on the
question the satisfaction of having an insight or indeed a series of
relevant insights. With the satisfactory answer the principle of movement
becomes a principle of rest.
Still, intellectual satisfaction, however
welcome, is not all that the human spirit seeks. Beyond satisfaction it
is concerned with content and so the attainment of insight leads to the
formulation of its content. We express a surmise, suggest a possibility,
propose a project. But our surmise may awaken surprise, our suggested
possibility give rise to doubts, our project meet with criticism. In this
fashion intelligence gives way to reflection. The second type of question
has emerged. As intelligence thrust us beyond the flow of sensitive
spontaneity, so now reflection thrusts us beyond the more elementary
concerns of both sense and intelligence. The formulated insight is
greeted with such further and different questions as, Is that so? Are you
sure? There is a demand for sufficient reason or sufficient evidence; and
what is sufficient is nothing less than an unconditioned, though a
virtually unconditioned (such as a syllogistic conclusion) will do.7
It remains that the successful
negotiation of questions for intelligence and questions for reflection is
not enough. They do justice to sensitive presentations and
representations. But they are strangely dissociated from the feelings
that constitute the mass and momentum of our lives. Knowing a world
mediated by meaning is only a prelude to man’s dealing with nature, to his
interpersonal living and working with others, to his existential becoming
what he is to make of himself by his own choices and deeds. So there
emerge questions for deliberation. Gradually they reveal their scope in
their practical, interpersonal, and existential dimensions. Slowly they
mount the ladder of burgeoning morality. Asking what’s in it for me gives
way to asking what’s in it for us. And both of these queries become
tempered with the more searching, the wrenching question, Is it really
It is a searching question. The mere
fact that we ask it points to a distinction between feelings that are
self-regarding and feelings that are disinterested. Self-regarding
feelings are pleasures and pains, desires and fears. But disinterested
feelings recognize excellence; the vital value of health and strength; the
communal value of a successfully functioning social order; the cultural
value proclaimed as a life to be sustained not by bread alone but also by
the word; the personal appropriation of these values by individuals; their
historical extension in progress; deviation from them in decline; and
their recovery by self-sacrificing love.8
I have called the question not only
searching but also wrenching. Feelings reveal values to us. They dispose
us to commitment. But they do not bring commitment about. For commitment
is a personal act, a free and responsible act, a very open-eyed act in
which we would settle what we are to become. It is open-eyed in the sense
that it is consciously a decision about future decisions, aware that the
best of plans cannot control the future, even aware that one’s present
commitment however firm cannot suspend the freedom that will be exercised
in its future execution.
Yet all questioning heads into the
unknown and all answering contributes to what we are to do. When I ask
why or how or what for, I intend intelligibility, but the question would
be otiose if already I knew what the intelligibility in question was.
When I ask whether this or that is really so, I intend the true and the
real, but as yet I do not know what is true or what will be truly meant.
When I ask whether this or that project or undertaking really is
worthwhile, I intend the good, but as yet I do not know what would be good
and in that sense worthwhile.
Questioning heads into the unknown, yet
answering has to satisfy the criterion set by the question itself.
Otherwise the question returns in the same or in another form. Unless
insight hits the bull’s eye, the question for intelligence returns. How
about this? How does that fit in? A self-correcting process of learning
has begun, and it continues until a complementary and qualifying set of
insights have stilled the flow of further relevant questions for
intelligence. In like manner questions for reflection require not just
evidence but sufficient evidence; until it is forthcoming, we remain in
doubt; and once it is had, doubting becomes unreasonable. Finally
questions for deliberation have their criterion in what we no longer name
consciousness but conscience. The nagging conscience is the recurrence of
the original question that has not been met. The good conscience is the
peace of mind that confirms the choice of something truly worthwhile.
I have been speaking of nature as a
principle of movement and of rest, but I have come up with many such
principles and so, it would seem, with many natures. There are different
questions: for intelligence, for reflection, for deliberation. Each is a
principle of movement. Each also is an immanent norm, a criterion, and
thereby a principle of rest once the movement is complete.
It remains that the many form a series,
each in turn taking over where its predecessor left off. What is complete
under the aspect of intelligibility, is not yet complete under the aspect
of factual truth; and what is complete under the aspect of factual truth,
has not yet broached the question of the good.9 Further, if what the several principles attain are only aspects of
something richer and fuller, must not the several principles themselves be
but aspects of a deeper and more comprehensive principle? And is not that
deeper and more comprehensive principle itself a nature, at once a
principle of movement and of rest, a tidal movement that begins before
consciousness, unfolds through sensitivity, intelligence, rational
reflection, responsible deliberation, only to find its rest beyond all of
these? I think so.10
The point beyond is being-in-love, a
dynamic state that sublates all that goes before, a principle of movement
at once purgative and illuminative, and a principle of rest in which union
The whole movement is an ongoing process
of self-transcendence. There is the not yet conscious self of deep sleep.
There is the fragmentarily conscious self of the dream state. There is
the awakened self aware of its environment, exerting its capacities,
meeting its needs. There is the intelligent self, serializing and
extrapolating and generalizing until by thought it has moved out of the
environment of an animal and towards a universe of being. There is the
reasonable self, discerning fact from fiction, history from legend,
astronomy from astrology, chemistry from alchemy, science from magic,
philosophy from myth. There is the moral self, advancing from individual
satisfactions to group interests and, beyond these, to the overarching,
unrelenting question, What would be really worthwhile?
Yet this great question commonly is more
promise than fulfillment, more the fertile ground of an uneasy conscience
than the vitality and vigor of achievement. For self-transcendence
reaches its term not in righteousness but in love and, when we fall in
love, then life begins anew. A new principle takes over and, as long as
it lasts, we are lifted above ourselves and carried along as parts within
an ever more intimate yet ever more liberating dynamic whole.
Such is the love of husband and wife,
parents and children. Such again, less conspicuously but no less
seriously, is the loyalty constitutive of civil community, where
individual advantage yields to the advantage of the group, and individual
safety may be sacrificed to the safety of the group. Such finally is
God’s gift of his own love flooding our hearts through the Holy Spirit he
has given us (Rom. 5: 5). For it was by that divine gift that St. Paul
could proclaim his conviction that “. . . there is nothing in death or
life, in the realm of spirits or superhuman powers, in the world as it is
or the world as it shall be, in the forces of the universe, in heights or
depths—nothing in all creation that can separate us from the love of God
in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8: 38-39).
3. The Dialectic of History
I have said that people are responsible
individually for the lives they lead and collectively for the world in
which they live them. Now the nonnative source of meaning, of itself,
reveals no more than individual responsibility. Only inasmuch as the
immanent source becomes revealed in its effects, in the functioning order
of society, in cultural vitality and achievement, in the unfolding of
human history, does the manifold of isolated responsibilities coalesce
into a single object that can gain collective attention.
Further, the normative source of meaning
is not the only source, for the norms can be violated. Besides
intelligence, there is obtuseness; besides truth there is falsity; besides
what is worthwhile, there is what is worthless; besides love there is
hatred. So from the total source of meaning we may have to anticipate not
only social order but also disorder, not only cultural vitality and
achievement but also lassitude and deterioration, not an ongoing and
uninterrupted sequence of developments but rather a dialectic of radically
It remains that in such a dialectic one
finds “writ large” the very issues that individuals have to deal with in
their own minds and hearts. But what before could be dismissed as, in
each case, merely an infinitesimal in the total fabric of social and
cultural history, now has taken on the dimensions of collective triumph or
disaster. Indeed, in the dialectic there is to be discerned the
experimental verification or refutation of the validity of a people’s way
of life, even though it is an experiment devised and conducted not by
human choice but by history itself.
Finally, it is in the dialectic of
history that one finds the link between natural right and historical
mindedness. The source of natural right lies in the norms immanent in
human intelligence, human judgment, human evaluation, human affectivity.
The vindication of natural right lies in the dialectic of history and
awesomely indeed in the experiment of history. Let us set forth briefly
its elements under six headings.
First, human meaning develops in human
collaboration. There is the expansion of technical meanings as human
ingenuity advances from the spears of hunters and the nets of fishers to
the industrial complexes of the twentieth century. There is the expansion
of social meanings in the evolution of domestic, economic, and political
arrangements. There is the expansion of cultural meanings as people
reflect on their work, their interpersonal relationships, and the meaning
of human life.
Secondly, such expansions occur on a
succession of plateaus. The basic forward thrust has to do with doing,
and it runs from primitive fruit gatherers to the wealth and power of the
ancient high civilizations of Egypt, Mesopotamia, and other lands.
Development then is mainly of practical intelligence, and its style is
the spontaneous accumulation of insights into the ways of nature and the
affairs of men. There also is awareness of the cosmos, of reality being
more than nature and man, but this awareness has little more than symbolic
expression in the compact style of undifferentiated consciousness.
An intermediate forward thrust has to do
mainly with speech. Poets and orators, prophets and wise men, bring about
a development of language and a specialization of attention that prepare
the way for sophists and philosophers, mathematicians and scientists.
There occurs a differentiation of consciousness, as writing makes
language an object for the eye as well as the ear; grammarians organize
the inflections of words and analyze the construction of sentences;
orators learn and teach the art of persuasion; logicians go behind
sentences to propositions and behind persuasion to proofs; and
philosophers exploit this second-level use of language to the point where
they develop technical terms for speaking compendiously about anything
that can be spoken about; while the more modest mathematicians confine
their technical utterances to relations of identity or equivalence between
individuals and sets; and similarly the scientists have their several
specialized languages for each of their various fields.
On a third plateau attention shifts
beyond developments in doing and in speaking to developments generally.
Its central concern is with human understanding where developments
originate, with the methods in natural science and in critical history
which chart the course of discovery, and more fundamentally with the
generalized empirical method that underpins both scientific and historical
method to supply philosophy with a basic cognitional theory, an
epistemology, and by way of a corollary with a metaphysics of
On this plateau logic loses its key
position to become but a modest part within method; and logical
concern—with truth, with necessity, with demonstration, with
universality—enjoys no more than marginal significance. Science and
history become ongoing processes, asserting not necessity but verifiable
possibility, claiming not certitude but probability. Where science, as
conceived on the second plateau, ambitioned permanent validity but
remained content with abstract universality, science and history on the
third plateau offer no more than the best available opinion of the time,
yet by sundry stratagems and devices endeavor to approximate ever more
accurately to the manifold details and nuances of the concrete.
These differences in plateau are not
without significance for the very notion of a dialectic of history. The
notion of fate or destiny or again of divine providence pertains to the
first plateau. It receives a more detailed formulation on the second
plateau when an Augustine contrasts the city of God with the earthly city,
or when a Hegel or a Marx set forth their idealistic or materialistic
systems on what history has been or is to be. A reversal towards the
style of the first plateau may be suspected in Spengler’s biological
analogy, while a preparation for the style of the third plateau may be
discerned in Toynbee’s A Study of History. For that study can be
viewed, not as an exercise in empirical method, but as the prolegomena to
such an exercise, as a formulation of ideal types that would stand to
broad historical investigations as mathematics stands to physics.11
In any case the dialectic of history, as we are conceiving
it, has its origin in the tensions of adult human consciousness, its
unfolding in the actual course of events, its significance in the radical
analysis it provides, its practical utility in the invitation it will
present to collective consciousness to understand and repudiate the
waywardness of its past and to enlighten its future with the intelligence,
the reasonableness, the responsibility, the love demanded by natural
Our third topic is the ideal proper to
the third plateau. Already in the eighteenth century it was anticipated
in terms of enlightenment and emancipation. But then inevitably enough
enlightenment was conceived in the well-worn concepts and techniques of
the second plateau; and the notion of emancipation was, not a critique of
tradition, but rather the project of replacing traditional backwardness by
the rule of pure reason.
Subsequent centuries have brought forth
the antitheses to the eighteenth-century thesis. The unique geometry of
Euclid has yielded to the Riemannian manifold. Newtonian science has been
pushed around by Maxwell, Einstein, Heisenberg to modify not merely
physics but the very notion of modem science. Concomitant with this
transformation has been the even more radical transformation in human
studies. Man is to be known not only in his nature but also in his
historicity, not only philosophically but also historically, not only
abstractly but also concretely.
Such is the context within which we have
to conceive enlightenment and emancipation, not indeed as if they were
novelties for they have been known all along, but in the specific manner
appropriate to what I have named the third plateau. As always
enlightenment is a matter of the ancient precept, Know thyself. But in
the contemporary context it aims to be such self-awareness, such
self-understanding, such self-knowledge, as to grasp the similarities and
the differences of common sense, science, and history, to grasp the
foundations of these three in interiority which also founds natural right
and, beyond all knowledge of knowledge, to give also knowledge of
affectivity in its threefold manifestation of love in the family, loyalty
in the community, and faith in God.
Again, as always, emancipation has its
root in self-transcendence. But in the contemporary context it is such
self-transcendence as includes an intellectual, a moral, and an affective
conversion. As intellectual, this conversion draws a sharp distinction
between the world of immediacy and the world mediated by meaning, between
the criteria appropriate to operations in the former and, on the other
hand, the criteria appropriate to operations in the latter.12
Next, as moral, it acknowledges a distinction between
satisfactions and values, and it is committed to values even where they
conflict with satisfactions. Finally, as affective, it is commitment to
love in the home, loyalty in the community, faith in the destiny of man.
We come to our fourth topic. It is the
critique of our historicity, of what our past has made us. It will be an
ongoing task, for the past is ever the present slipping away from us. It
will be an empirical task but one within the orbit of human studies and so
concerned with the operative meanings constitutive of our social
arrangements and cultural intercourse. Accordingly, it will be a matter
of the research that assembles the data, the interpretation that grasps
their significance, the history that narrates what has been going forward.13
It remains that all empirical inquiry that reaches scientific status
proceeds within a heuristic structure. Just as mathematics provides the
theoretical underpinning of the exact sciences, so there is a generalized
empirical method or, if you prefer, a transcendental method that performs
a similar role in human studies.14
It sets forth (1) general critical principles, (2) a basic division of
the materials, and (3) categories of analysis. On each of these something
must be said.
The general critical principles are
dialectical.15 We have
conceived emancipation on the third plateau to consist in a threefold
conversion, intellectual, moral, and affective. But we do not postulate
that all investigators will be emancipated. If some have been through the
threefold conversion, others will have experienced only two, others only
one, and some none at all. Hence we must be prepared for the fact that
our researchers, our interpreters, our historians may exhibit an eightfold
diversity of results, where the diversity does not arise from the data but
rather from the horizon, the mindset, the blik, of those conducting the
A basic division of the materials is
provided by the three plateaus already described. There will be meanings
such as prove operative in men of action; further meanings that involve a
familiarity with logical techniques; and a still further plateau of
meanings that attain their proper significance and status within a
methodical approach that has acknowledged its underpinnings in an
intentionality analysis. It is to be noted, of course, that all three
have their appropriate mode of development, and that their main
developments differ chronologically; still, the proper locus of the
distinction between the plateaus is not time but meaning.
Categories of analysis, finally, are
differentiations of the historian’s concern with “what was going forward.”
Now what was going forward may be either (1) development or (2) the
handing on of development and each of these may be (3) complete or (4)
incomplete. Development may be described, if a spatial metaphor is
permitted, as “from below upwards”: it begins from experience, is enriched
by full understanding, is accepted by sound judgment, is directed not to
satisfactions but to values, and the priority of values is comprehensive,
not just of some but of all, to reveal affective conversion as well as
moral and intellectual. But development is incomplete when it does not go
the whole way upwards: it accepts some values but its evaluations are
partial; or it is not concerned with values at all but only with
satisfactions; or its understanding may be adequate but its factual
judgments faulty; or finally its understanding may be more a compromise
than a sound contribution.
Again, the handing on of development may
be complete or incomplete. But it works from above downwards: it begins
in the affectivity of the infant, the child, the son, the pupil, the
follower. On affectivity rests the apprehension of values. On the
apprehension of values rests belief. On belief follows the growth in
understanding of one who has found a genuine teacher and has been
initiated into the study of the masters of the past. Then to confirm
one’s growth in understanding comes experience made mature and perceptive
by one’s developed understanding. With experiential confirmation the
inverse process may set in. One now is on one’s own. One can appropriate
all that one has learnt by proceeding as does the original thinker who
moved from experience to understanding, to sound judgment, to generous
evaluation, to commitment in love, loyalty, faith.
It remains that the process of handing on
can be incomplete. There occur socialization, acculturation, education,
but education fails to come to life. Or the teacher may at least be a
believer. He can transmit enthusiasm. He can teach the accepted
formulations. He can persuade. But he never really understood and he is
not capable of giving others the understanding that he himself lacks.
Then it will be only by accident that his pupils come to appropriate what
was sound in their tradition, and it is only by such accidents, or divine
graces, that a tradition that has decayed can be renewed.
Our fifth observation has to do with the
ambiguity of completeness that arises when first-plateau minds live in a
second-plateau context of meaning, or when first- and second-plateau minds
find themselves in a third-plateau context. On the first plateau what has
meaning is action; lack of completeness is lack of action; and so when the
first-plateau mind examines a second- or third-plateau context, he
diagnoses a lack of action, and insists on activism as the only meaningful
course. On the second plateau there is the further range of meanings
accessible to those familiar with classical culture. Second-plateau minds
have no doubt that activists are just barbarians, but they criticize a
third-plateau context for its neglect of Aristotle or Hegel.
However, such remarks as the foregoing
should not be taken to imply that plateaus are uniform. For instance, the
third plateau, characterized by method, also is marked by a whole series
of methodological blocks. Linguistic analysts and Heideggerian
pre-Socratics would confine philosophy to ordinary language. Offspring of
the Enlightenment restrict knowledge to the exact sciences. Critical
historians may praise human studies provided they are value-free.
Humanists are open to values generally yet draw the line at such
self-transcendence as is open to God.
Sixthly and finally, beyond dialectic
there is dialogue. Dialectic describes concrete process in which
intelligence and obtuseness, reasonableness and silliness, responsibility
and sin, love and hatred commingle and conflict. But the very people that
investigate the dialectic of history also are part of that dialectic and
even in their investigating represent its contradictories. To their work
too the dialectic is to be applied.
But it can be more helpful, especially
when oppositions are less radical, for the investigators to move beyond
dialectic to dialogue, to transpose issues from a conflict of statements
to an encounter of persons. For every person is an embodiment of natural
right. Every person can reveal to any other his natural propensity to
seek understanding, to judge reasonably, to evaluate fairly, to be open to
friendship. While the dialectic of history coldly relates our conflicts,
dialogue adds the principle that prompts us to cure them, the natural
right that is the inmost core of our being.
April 12, 2008
B. Lonergan, Collection, 1967, pp. 254-255.
A. Richardson, History Sacred and Profane, 1964, p. 32.
Peter Hünermann. Der Durchbruch geschichtlichen Denkens im 19.
Jahrhundert (Freiburg: Herder, 1967), pp. 64-65, 106-108.
Leo Strauss, Natural Right and History (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1953), p. 90.
Cf. Eric Voegelin, “Reason: The Classic Experience,” The Southern
Review, Vol. X (1974), pp. 237-264.
Aristotle, Physics, II, 1, 195b 21-22.
B. Lonergan, Insight, 1957, Ch. 10.
Ibid., pp. 207-242, 627-633, 696-703, 718-729.
On the human good, B. Lonergan, Method in Theology, Ch. 2.
On horizontal and vertical finality: Lonergan, Collection, 1967,
pp. 18-22, 84-95; also Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, X, 7, 1177a
Lonergan, Method in Theology, p. 228.
Lonergan, Insight, pp. 387-390.
Lonergan, Method in Theology, Chs. 6-9.
Ibid., Ch. 1.
Ibid., Ch. 10.