Liberalism and the Reason of Law
2020; Wiley; Volume: 84; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1111/1468-2230.12608
ISSN1468-2230
Autores Tópico(s)Law in Society and Culture
ResumoJohan van der Walt, The Concept of Liberal Democratic Law, London: Routledge, 2020, xiv + 267 pp, pb £27.99 There are a number of straightforward ways to establish connections between modern law and liberalism; indeed, it is so facile that one is inclined to regard the requisite links as intrinsic.11 See R. Mangabeira Unger, Knowledge and Politics (New York, NY: Free Press, 2nd ed, 1984) 72-76. J.W. Singer, ‘The Player and the Cards: Nihilism and Legal Theory’ (1984) 94 Yale Law Journal 1, 41-69; more recently, G. de Almeida Ribeiro, The Decline of Private Law: A Philosophical History of Liberal Legalism (Oxford: Hart Publishing, 2019). For example, one could simply follow the trajectory of substitutions that the tradition underwent with regard to what it took to be its major substantive concern. The original liberalism of private property,22 See C.B. MacPherson, The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism: Hobbes to Locke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962). which is in different ways epitomised in the work of John Locke33 See J. Locke, Two Treatises of Government (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, P. Laslett (ed), 1960). and Benjamin Constant44 See B. Constant, Political Writings (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, B. Fontana (trans), 1988) 213-220. , gave way to a liberalism that puts self-realisation and freedom of expression at the center. We associate the names of Wilhelm von Humboldt55 See W. von Humboldt, The Limits of State Action (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, J.W. Burrow (ed), 1969). and John Stuart Mill66 J. Stuart Mill, On Liberty (London: Routledge, J. Gray and G.W. Smith (eds), 1991). with this shift. The new liberalism of L.T. Hobhouse77 L.T. Hobhouse, Liberalism (Oxford: OUP, A.P. Grimes (ed), 1964). invested the persuasion with a social face that was again eclipsed when liberalism made its turn toward free movement of resources and returned triumphantly at the end of the twentieth century.88 For a historical account, see Q. Slobodian, Globalists: The End of Empire and the Birth of Neoliberalism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2018). Property, freedom of expression, economic mobility: No matter how one looks at it, the liberal vision is always articulated in legal terms. In spite of all shifts of emphasis, however, there has been a core of liberalism's association with law, namely freedom from interference or, pace ‘neo-Republicans’,99 See, notably, P. Pettit, Republicanism: A Theory of Freedom and Government (Oxford: OUP, 1997). freedom from domination.1010 See, most intriguingly, F.A. Hayek, The Constitution of Liberty (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1960) 17-20. Whatever end a liberal society is supposed to serve primarily, it uses parliaments and courts of law in order to erect bulwarks against state interference and to make sure that the rule of law is observed so that people can stand a fair chance to conduct their life in anticipation of how the state may react to their conduct. Curiously, none of these themes play a role in a book that claims to present not merely the concept of law, but, indeed, the liberal concept of law (the title is supposed to allude to the title of Hart's jurisprudential classic; 7). What readers encounter, rather, towards the end of this work is a concept of liberal democratic law that reads as follows (243): ‘Liberal democratic law consists of an anomic, unnatural, inorganic, nominalist and nonspiritual system of non-actualisable legislative rules that govern, reflect and sustain the divided life of the societies that they serve.’ None of this is, of course, reminiscent of Locke or Mill, let alone Milton Friedman.1111 See M. Friedman, Capitalism and Freedom (Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, 1962). In the final pages, the author goes on to amend this concept by including what he regards to be empirical conditions of the possibility of a liberal society, namely, social guarantees and fictional outlets for the ineradicable human appetite for cruelty or the desire to excel in honorable combat (246-247). The first parts of the following essay take a closer look at how the author develops this concept. It will be seen that it is entwined with a deflation of reason into a means to evoke attitudes. The concept of liberal democratic law defended by the author therefore comes perilously close to embracing some form of irrationalism. But this does not mean that the work lacks any merit. The second part engages with some of the author's amazing and powerful ideas. It attempts, however, to place them in a different context. It emphasises the relational nature of law and seeks to explain that constitutional authority has now taken the place of natural law. The concluding observations concern the historicity of the reasonableness that the law claims to embody. It takes the author awfully long to arrive at his concept of liberal democratic law. After having gone through the whole text one wants to caution readers not to spend too much time on anything beyond the introduction and the final chapter (for a similar, less forthright advice by the author himself, see xii). These parts raise important questions. The other chapters, by contrast, offer relatively protracted, amazingly unconnected, occasionally superficial and at certain points somewhat embarrassing interpretations of the works of others. Worse still, for the most part, the text does not go anywhere or arrive at conclusions. It, hence, not infrequently terminates in the tiring exercise of comparing authors from different ages (at the end of which readers can learn, for example, that Dworkin's way of thinking is part of the Aristotelian mode of rooting law in life; see 210). The text is protracted, for example, already at the outset where the author shares with readers his experience of reading Villey's and Schmitt's accounts of the history of ancient law and public international law, respectively (15-53). In the course of doing so it offers quite a bit of second-hand history of philosophy. For example, the few pages on medieval nominalism and voluntarism appear to have been taken right out of Villey (22-27). The chapters are also unconnected. Why the discussion of Antigone's predicament is followed by Protagoras’ homo mensura (64-66), which in turn gives rise to a discussion of actuality and potentiality (70-81), remains a mystery. The reader is also puzzled that Christian messianism supposedly offers some greater insight than – and not only an alternative to – the Aristotelian way of relating potentiality and actuality (the question would also have to go to Agamben, whom the author ostensibly follows here; 17, 80–81). Subsequently, the distinction between potentiality and actuality is paralleled with the distinction between auctoritas and potestas, which is of venerable ancient pedigree and perhaps for that reason one of Agamben's hobbyhorses.1212 See G. Agamben, Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, D. Heller-Roazen (trans), 1998) 44-48. Readers, however, cannot but scratch their heads when they realise that, while the collapse of the distinction between actuality and potentiality is apparently to be welcomed, the uniting of auctoritas and potestas in one hand necessarily leads to murderous regimes (84-85, 236). The demos never stands a chance of being regarded as more than an ominous fiction (104-115). Perhaps the author should have looked into Paine's Rights of Man, where he would have found a narrative account of how popular sovereignty worked in a revolutionary situation.1313 See T. Paine, Rights of Man (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, E. Foner (ed), 1984) 185-194. Without anything further, a discussion of the universal and the particular is pasted onto the debunking of the people and followed by a discussion of utilitarianism, law and economics, and, finally Hegel and Savigny (112-167). The reader is left in bewilderment, asking how this hangs together. The accidental nature of this intellectual history continues when the relevance of ‘life’ for both Hegel and Savigny triggers an introduction to the Free Law Movement and American Legal Realism (159-167). It is at this point, at the latest, that the discussion also turns out to be disturbingly superficial.1414 It could have occurred to the author, I add in passing, that one encounters at least three different versions of the general will in Rousseau's social contract: compromise, moral substance and universalisable law, of which the author identifies only the third (118). See W. Kersting, Die politische Philosophie des Gesellschaftsvertrags (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1994) 176. Relying on one-sided German secondary sources (166, footnote 123),1515 See for example O. Behrends, ‘Von der Freirechtsschule zum konkreten Ordnungsdenken’ in Recht und Justiz im ‚Dritten Reich‘ (Frankfurt aM: Suhrkamp, R. Dreier and W. Sellert (eds), 1989) 34. the Free Law Movement is presented as though it had paved the way for the jurisprudence of national socialism (165). But this misrepresents the thrust of the movement. The Free Law Movement did not advocate the disregard of legislation and should not be viewed isolated against its critique of German conceptual jurisprudence. Placing it and what appears to be its companion across the Atlantic – American Legal Realism – in the vicinity of ‘legal renewal’ in Nazi Germany must create the impression that Realism was about giving the ‘healthy moral sentiments of the people’ (gesundes Volksempfinden) free rein in legal discourse. Nothing could be further from the truth. Realism was not an intellectually shallow revolt of blockheads using the rallying-cry of ‘life’ against logic, rather it was about paying attention to facts and greater candor of moral consequentialism in comparison with legal doctrine.1616 See for example F.S. Cohen, ‘Transcendental Nonsense and the Functional Approach’ (1935) 35 Columbia Law Review 809. The more the checkered history unfolds, however, the more the superficiality becomes apparent. The German public law scholar Rudolf Smend is squarely put into the ‘Aristotelian’ camp (210-211). This is as nuanced and fine-grained as it can get if it does not occur to you that the relevance of ‘life’ in Smend's geisteswissenschaftlicher Methode may reflect the influence of Wilhelm Dilthey,1717 See W. Dilthey, The Formation of the Historical World in the Human Sciences (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, R. Makkreel et al (trans), 2002). Theodor Litt1818 For a summary statement of Litt's ideas concerning ‘the science of life’ (Lebenswissenschaft), see T. Litt, Denken und Sein (Zurich: S. Hirzel Verlag, 1948). and other varieties of the philosophy of life (Lebensphilosophie).1919 See H. Schnädelbach, Philosophy in Germany 1831-1933 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983) ch V. For a contemporary critique that includes Husserl, whose work may have left an imprint on Smend, see W. Rickert, Die Philosophie des Lebens: Darstellung und Kritik der philosophischen Modeströmung unserer Zeit (Tübingen: Mohr, 2nd ed, 1922). See generally K. Rennert, Die ‚geisteswissenschaftliche Richtung‘ in der Staatsrechtslehre der Weimarer Republik: Untersuchungen zu Erich Kaufmann, Günther Holstein und Rudolf Smend (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1987). It pains the reader when the position of Carl Schmitt, who professed ‘Ordnungsdenken’ throughout the time that he catered to interests of the Nazi government, is presented as though he called it ‘Ortungsdenken’ (38). One should not, at least not without further explanation, attribute to Schmitt a concept that he did not use himself to characterise his view (again, 148, 226). In fact, the author's doing so seems to originate from a mishap in the translation, for on page 38 he actually speaks of ‘“concrete order” thinking or Ortungsdenken’. The German term used by Schmitt was, of course ‘konkretes Ordnungsdenken’, or, more precisely, ‘konkretes Ordnungs- und Gestaltungsdenken’.2020 See C. Schmitt, On the Three Types of Juristic Thought (Westport, CT: Praeger, J. Bendersky (trans), 2004). In footnote 24 on page 38 the author refers to the German original edition of this work. There is no mention of Ortungsdenken in this pamphlet that advocates Ordnungsdenken. Matters become worse when the author mistakes Hart's internal aspect of rules for an attitude of acceptance or endorsement (178-179). As is well known, Hart referred to the internal aspect of – or viewpoint on – rules in order to explain that people obtain guidance by using them as critical standards.2121 Hart's terminology is shifting. See H.L.A. Hart, The Concept of Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1961) 84-90. Being guided by rules does not in and of itself amount to their substantive acceptance. One can obtain guidance by adopting the internal perspective even if one is substantially detached from the relevant normative standard. One can, for example, point out to adherents of a religion that their understanding of their professed faith is misguided by speaking from what they regard to be their relevant point of view.2222 This decisive contrast between the internal and the external point of view concerns the question whether someone is either ready to use a rule as a critical standard or merely interested in predicting behavior. See Hart, ibid, 87. It is conceded, however, that Hart often uses the standard case in which those accepting a rule as the relevant standard are also ready to follow it in their own conduct. One can accept what their religion teaches as the relevant standard for their conduct without thereby accepting this standard for oneself. The author's conflation of guidance and substantive acceptance plays a central role for his outlandish claim that Kelsen2323 Since Kelsen's theory of democracy puts compromise at the centre, he is also taken to be one of the purveyors of the idea of pluralism (203, 210). But in their legal theory, both Kelsen and Hart were merely interested in the question under which condition the normative quality of the legal system is possible and not in recognising that a liberal society is pluralistic. For both, the legal system is taken seriously as normative only from the internal point of view. See, aside from Hart, H. Kelsen, Introduction to the Problems of Legal Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, B. Litschewski Paulson and S.P. Paulson (trans), 1992) 34-35 (on the ‘existence of legal science over a millennium, which … serves … the intellectual requirements of those who concern themselves with law.’). Any consistency with pluralism that comes from the simultaneous social relevance of the internal and the external perspective is entirely accidental. There is no necessary connection – as the author recognises (203) – between Kelsen's Pure Theory and liberal democracy. What is, socially, written into the pure theory of law is entirely different from it. The legal system as reconstructed by Kelsen appears to be like the machinery serving a detached authority somewhere at the outskirts of an empire. It exists for civil servants only, and these are eager to keep each other in check. The law does not speak to the ‘subjects’. The common people are only relevant insofar as their behavior keeps the production of more law going. During the period of the Habsburg Monarchy, the relationship between the imperial offices in Western Galicia and a population ignorant of the official language probably matched this picture. Kelsen's legal system is the universalisation of the colonial situation of Western Galicia into the idea of law. The law is deeply foreign, deeply arrogant and deeply susceptible to arbitrariness. and Hart, possibly along with Kant, are major trailblazers of the liberal concept of law simply because they accommodate the coexistence of the internal and the external perspectives on law (178, 210, 223). The author seems to identify the latter with what Kant called ‘legality’,2424 See I. Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2nd ed, M. Gregor (trans), 2017). Legality is conformity with law, regardless for the reasons leading thereto. that is, an outward and possibly internally unengaged (‘detached’) mode of observing the law (153).2525 ‘Obedience’ in Hart's parlance. See Hart, n 21 above, 110. But possibly more nuance is required here. Legality and the internal viewpoint on law are perfectly compatible with one another, as not least legal positivists such as Kelsen have contended.2626 See Kelsen, n 23 above, 34. Relentlessly, however, the author insists that Hart is ‘profounder than many legal theorists who engage with his work realize’ (169) once his work is set against the background of history of metaphysics of which he may have not been aware (171). The great insight that the author attributes to Hart is that the law is sustained not only by those adopting an internal perspective, but also by those approaching it externally (179). If law was rooted in life2727 The author advocates a ‘lifeless’ theory of law, 199. – by which the author means wholehearted endorsement by those following it – it would not be liberal (179, 210.) For what Hart thereby acknowledges is the reality of social division (203-204): ‘Liberal democratic law ultimately depends on the possibility of sustaining adequately satisfactory relations between those subjects of law that have an internal perspective to law, and those that have an external perspective.’ Under this condition, the author contends, no group's moral ‘essence’ is ‘actualized’ in the law. The people remain outside of it (204). The most awkward misreading, however, concerns another one of the author's intellectual heroes, namely Giorgio Agamben. The author lets Agamben say (in quotation marks that remarkably also contain parentheses) that Saint Paul ‘[wrote in Greek, but thought in Yiddish]’ (80). This is, in spite of the use of quotation marks, not a quote from Agamben who on the pages cited by the author refers to Jakob Taubes who replied to Emil Staiger's comparison of Paul's Greek to the German of medieval Ashkenazi Jews, called ‘Yiddish’. Staiger reportedly said that Paul's Greek was like Yiddish. Van der Walt does not seem to get this and refers again to the ‘Yiddish Saint Paul’ (81). In fact, he attributes to Taubes the observation that ‘Saint Paul was the one who wrote in Greek but spoke Yiddish’ (238). But that's all wrong. What Agamben recounts on the pages of The Time That Remains is the joke made by Staiger that the Letters of Paul were not written in Greek, but in Yiddish2828 See G. Agamben, The Time That Remains: A Commentary to the Letter to the Romans (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, P. Dailey (trans), 2005) 4. and Taubes humorous reply to it that this was the explanation why he, Taubes, as a Jew, understood them. In the preface, the author puts the cards on the table (xii). The book, he says, has ‘two aims’. It is supposed to present an argument about liberal democratic law. At the same time, the argument is to emerge from the ‘language and format of a textbook that can be used in the teaching of legal and political theory’. What holds both aims together is a project of ‘distillation’. The whole protracted enterprise is supposed to ‘distill’ the concept of liberal democratic law from the mash of a metaphysical tradition that is located between commitments to physis and nomos by stripping the tradition of its slag and to arrive at a ‘purified’ idea (13): ‘The argument proceeds by bringing both these conceptions of nature to a boil, so as to extract from them, through a process of conceptual distillation, the ethereal substance of liberal democratic law.’ The result of composing and heating up the brew is that the presentation of the materials prevails over the argument. Actually, it drowns the argument in long-winding excerpts from the literature. Arguments are never really made. Matters are often only posited, apparently with the understanding that they are already known by the initiate. The guarantee of the right to life depends on the exclusion of some life from protection (83). Apparently, this is so because Agamben has said so. The fusion of auctoritas and potestas in one person transforms the state into a killing machine (84, 96). The explanation is that this reflects Agamben's ‘profound understanding of the totalitarian regime that the National Socialist movement became’ (96). The book does not argue, it is merely taking sides (such as taking the side of Protagoras against Aristotle, 74). Even at its very core, it uses rumination rather than argumentation. This is not least manifest in the fact that one particular paragraph representing the gist of the book is repeated time and again on several pages (5, 62, 196, 222, 243). It represents van der Walt's nomos to which we shall return below. The book does not explain whether the distillation process is a historical process that is driven by the forces that are part of the brew or by the author's predilections. It never explores intellectual victories or defeats; it just expresses likings and disdain. For example, the preference for recognising the reality of social division and cultural plurality is matched with the distain for rooting law in ‘life’ (166-167, 227). Rooting law in life is supposed to mean the law becomes ‘reduced to an internal perspective sustained by one social group (usually by a majority) at the complete cost of an external perspective held by another social group’ (179).2929 The author continues: ‘In other words, to be or to become rooted in life, law has to give up all liberal democratic pretensions that purport to respect the equal worth of the external and internal perspectives to law that inform divisive social pluralities’ (179). And this is – ostensibly – bad. But it is far from self-evident that the predominance of one homogeneous group over others exhausts all conceivable relations between ‘law’ and ‘life’. Approaching law from the perspective of ‘life’ can mean to take interest into account and to explore the human needs and real conflicts underlying their representation in legal vocabulary. ‘Life’ does not in and of itself designate homogeneity, as the author posits. Nevertheless, unperturbed by doubt, the message of the book takes its shape through a concatenation of ‘likings’ or ‘dislikings’ of certain ideas. Expressions of disgust are frequent: demos: boo! (111-113, 231–232); potentiality: bad! (17, 74, 67, 234); kosmos, order, natural law: dreadful! (7, 18, 227). But there are also traces of exhilaration: sovereignty: cool! (229); nominalism: yeah! (23, 229). Put in metaethical terminology, this exercise amounts to what emotivism believes to be the true significance of moral judgment, namely, to elicit agreement or revulsion.3030 See C.L. Stevenson, The Emotive Meaning of Ethical Terms (1937) 46 Mind 14. This is remarkably consistent with what reasoning is implicitly taken to be able to accomplish in this book. The question remains, however, whether intellectual cheerleading is of any avail when it comes to attaining one of the project's objectives. According to the author the book is ‘informed by the concern that the age of liberal democracy is currently running the risk of coming to an end without anyone ever having understood clearly what it really was about’ (xi). Apparently, both the impending demise and the lack of understanding are to be regretted, for liberal democracy ‘remains the only plausible political position for anyone who considers the fundamental freedom of all individuals to develop autonomous lives the core value of human existence’ (10). But how are the ayes and nays of intellectual posturing supposed to provide us with a clear understanding of liberal democracy and its value? I, for one, understand (1) to formulate a precept alerting us to the dangers of cynicism and nihilism. As human beings, we cannot live together without seriously believing in right and wrong. When talking about right or wrong we should mean to say what ought or ought not to be done. We feel the burden of responsibility for our views only as long as we are serious.3131 Admittedly, even the first principle is beset with the problem that believing the truth is independent of a will to believe. See B. Williams, Truth and Truthfulness (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002) 135. This is, indeed, a liberal idea that was defended at great length in Mill's On Liberty.3232 See n 6 above. Mill argued that even a belief that we hold with utmost certainty must be susceptible to challenge, if only to reassert us of its correctness. This is a performative contradiction argument that appeals to the autonomy of reason. One would not respect the autonomy of reasonable agreement if one forced people to believe certain things or to act as though they did. Before examining which reading is actually the author's, it should be noted that (3) does not necessarily follow from (2). Engaging in the attempt to persuade others of what fails to persuade them is not illiberal. It is just futile and possibly even annoying. It may seem as though the matter is different when it comes to coercion. But coercion and, hence, eliciting legal behavior – outward conformity – from people is not per se illiberal. Threatening people with penalties for murder is not illiberal vis-à-vis those who get a kick out of killing other people. It is, even if perhaps undesirable, morally permissible. The use of threats and force would be impermissible only in instances where we legitimately disagree. Hence, inferring (3) from (2) is correct only in cases where we have to accept disagreement. I am afraid, though, that the author is of the view that we potentially disagree on everything (76): ‘The question that the human race is facing today will have to be decided without anyone being able to stage cogent philosophical or scientific claims regarding the ‘good life’. But this, again, implies that societies are illiberal unless, as the author contends, they are built on a patchwork or ‘… constellation of compromises reached in the face of differences of opinion …’ (8). It is safe to conclude, a fortiori, that (2a) is clearly not the interpretation favored by the author. His rejection of all nomoi (except his own) does not make him predisposed to even conceive of some view as erroneous. All views are equal, no view is better than any other. (2b), however, according to which reason can only emerge from free endorsement, is not a plausible candidate either. There are moments at which the author comes close to endorsing this view, for example when he says the following (6): ‘Dogmatic insistence on the appropriateness or correctness of liberal democratic principles obstructs the unique mode of political praxis that these principles demand.’ As is well known, such insistence is the Achilles heel of ‘militant democracy’,3333 For an introduction, see J.-W. Müller, ‘Militant Democracy’ in The Oxford Handbook of Comparative Constitutional Law (Oxford: OUP, M. Rosenfeld and A. Sájo (eds), 2012) 1253. that is, the use of the coercive force of the state against anti-democratic political groups, which is both unavoidable and at odds with liberal democracy. It is unavoidable because it would be deleterious for a democratic polity if it tolerated its intolerant enemies;3434 See K.R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies: New One-Volume Edition (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994) 581, fn 4. it is, however, also inconsistent with it since a liberal democracy is supposed to rest on free support by its citizenry not least for the reason that it leaves room for disagreement. Such support, however, can be reasonable only if it is uncoerced.3535 And this would have to include, arguably, support of penal laws that protect democracy against self-subversion. Any use of threat of violence in order to sustain liberal democracy asphyxiates its free endorsement by reason and hence puts into question whether it is indeed worthy of support. The author, however, does not address this predicament. He exhibits, therefore, no interest in interpretation (2b). Rather, he seems to support militant democracy, for he says that liberal democracy ‘… must and will respond forcefully in the face of any threat or pressure’. He merely cautions that it should do so with the awareness that its current institutional forms neither exhaust nor fulfil the idea (7). (2b) is also not a plausible candidate in the face of this tacit endorsement of relativism (233). It needs to be doubted, hence, whether according to the author there is anything like reason as something that we share and that undergirds the principles of liberal democracy. Reason would give us a unified perspective and make us seek the unconditional foundations of the conditions. The author does not seem to be terribly charmed by such an ambition. In fact, it is to be expected that he would dismiss it as metaphysics (‘boo’). It is reasonable to conclude, then, that it is rather (2c) what (2) is supposed to say. Unsurprisingly, it confirms and generalises the emotivist deflation of reason3636 See, notably, A. MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2nd ed, 1984) 23-25, 34. that we noted already above and that is reflected throughout the book. If all reasons are person-relative, reasons actually cannot persuade. They can only fit into an already existing set of beliefs held by some person or group.3737 Put in modern metaethical terms, reason and reasons are always and already related to existing attitudes and beliefs. See S. Street, ‘Constructivism about Reasons’ (2008) 3 Oxford Studies in Metaethics 207, 208, 212 fn 12, 220, 224, 231. Reason is then confronted with the problem that it no longer functions as such, for it fails to move the intellect. This i
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