Treatise on Happiness Book

Q: What do a philosopher and a jazz musician have in common? A: They both make it up as they go along.

The title of this book is unintentionally ironic, since reading it is unlikely to bring anyone joy. Of course, any text written in the 13th century needs to be read within its historical context. On the other hand, we are now living in the 21st century, and since this is a work of philosophy -- a work which presumably aims at elucidating ultimate truths -- it is fair game to every manner of criticism which a present-day reader might bring to bear upon it.

Let's start with the fact that Aquinas takes it as a given that his readers are not only familiar with, but are expertly steeped in, the bodies of work of a great number of his predecessors. Thus, the editors of this volume labor under the burden of footnoting copious references which Aquinas seems to have assumed would be immediately recognizable to his readers. Given the era in which this treatise (actually just one small fragment of his much larger work, "Summa Theologica") was written, this is not an unreasonable assumption on the part of the author, since only scholars and theologians would have been expected to make up his target demographic.

This, however, points to one of the primary flaws with Aquinas' work: It contains a nearly continuous stream of appeals to various authorities. When he says that, "The Philosopher [Aristotle] states that..." he is assuming not only that the reader recognizes the specific reference within Aristotle's body of work, but that Aristotle's authority is self-evident. The reader is meant to accept Aristotle's authority unquestioningly, as a matter of settled fact. So, too, for Augustine, Dionysius, Boethius, Cicero, Gregory of Nyssa, and numerous other ancient thinkers as well. And naturally, Aquinas takes the Bible as revealed and absolute truth. To suggest that Aquinas should have proven each of his theses from the ground up, on their own merits and using his own words, would risk inflating this already tedious volume ten-fold, however.

Notably absent from Aquinas' references are any to Socrates, or, more precisely, Plato. This is perhaps because one of the points which Plato's body of work strongly suggests is that (as also implied by my epigram, above) philosophy is often mere sophistry raised to the highest level. A skilled philosopher can, in many cases, convince the reader that truth consists of the simple fact that one plus one equals three. A skilled philosopher can, indeed, argue this point so compellingly that it often confounds the reader, just as Socrates often confounded his audiences, turning their own assertions into absurdities with their willing consent and affirmation. Where Aquinas differs from Plato, however, is not that there is no deeper point to be made beneath it all, but that Plato at least had the good sense to write in an entertaining and engaging style. Aquinas, while still employing the Socratic method, follows an inflexible and tedious pattern of first presenting a series of arguments in favor of his antithesis, then a contrary thesis followed by counter-arguments which "prove" his thesis. This quickly becomes mind-numbing, and the contemporary reader is likely to wish that he had settled on either a more concise, or at least a more engrossing, literary form.

Next up is the fact that Aquinas is arguing as a theologian first, a philosopher second. It is my belief that a separation should exist between theology and philosophy, just as it ought to exist between church and state. By positing divine revelation and devotion to God as his ultimate truths, Aquinas takes the same easy way out which theologians have enjoyed long before and ever since his time. In addition, it is worth noting that he often cites the Bible when demonstrating both his antithesis and his thesis regarding one and the same question. This, in and of itself, points out the self-contradictory nature of Scripture, such that Aquinas' arguments often short-circuit themselves. This tendency also underscores the absurdity of basing one's philosophy upon religious convictions, if, indeed, it is assumed that philosophy is capable of describing any truths of an absolute nature.

Finally there is the fact, alluded to above, that this volume is simply one small piece of a much, much larger body of work. Until well towards the end, the reader is likely to still be wondering what over-arching points Aquinas is trying to make within his seemingly-endless morass of minutiae and hair-splitting. And even when he does tie his arguments slowly together toward the end of this treatise, the reader is left with a nagging sense that a deeper understanding of Aquinas' position would require enormous additional effort. Which, in the case of this particular reader, is unlikely to take place. And that is an absolute truth.