Old Wine in New Wineskins: William Ockham and the Common Good in Context

Abstract

The present chapter investigates the use of the expression bonum commune in two political works by William of Ockham: the third part of the Dialogus and the Octo quaestiones de potestate papae. The choice of these works is motivated by the fact that they represent the final – and most mature – phase of the English Franciscan’s political reflection. Relying on the findings of previous scholarship, the author believes it is appropriate to focus on the use of the expression rather than on a determination of its meaning, which seems to be taken for granted by Ockham. The contribution highlights three main uses of the expression: (1) as a criterion for distinguishing, along the lines of Aristotle’s Politics, between upright and deviant constitutional forms; (2) as a limit to the exercise of power by a legitimate power; and (3) as “a conceptual device” that aims to relativise the conclusions of political theory (e.g., the identification of the best constitutional form), motivated by Ockham’s awareness of the intrinsic contingency and mutability of historical events. Indeed, safeguarding the common good in certain situations, according to the English Franciscan, may require a solution that deviates from the ideal paradigm. In the course of the analysis, it appears that Ockham, despite his reputation as an individualist philosopher, consistently applies the principle of the subordination of the individual good to the common good.

1 Introduction

A decade ago, Elodie Lecuppre-Desjardin and Anne-Laure Van Bruaene edited a volume bearing the title De Bono Communi: The Discourse and Practice of the Common Good in the European City (13th–16th c.). Their interesting introduction, where the editors try to draw some unifying conclusions from the rich material gathered in the collective volume, contains a remark that I would like to endorse: “The Common Good is a semantic chameleon.”¹ Lecuppre-Desjardin and Van Bruaene are first and foremost urban historians. Through the papers collected in the book De bono communi, they emphasize that the “Common Good” discourse can take various meanings according to the context of the sources. An appeal to the bonum commune can be used by a ruler to justify his authoritarian decisions or by his subjects, or by a part thereof, to set limits to the arbitrariness of the prince. An historian of the Italian communes has recently argued in favour of a specific historical context for the diffusion of the appeal to bonum commune in sources related to civic governments. According to his conclusions, “the common good” has been for a long time the political “slogan” of the popolo (that is, mainly craftsmen and merchants organized in guilds) against the magnates, who were accused of being the sole cause of the division of their city because their conflicting groups disrupted the internal peace of the commune with their never-ending hostilities.²

Moreover, Francesco Bruni’s La città divisa has shown that for many authors and preachers (especially Observant Franciscans), the common good is tightly linked to the denunciation of factions.³ In a broader perspective, Paolo Prodi has remarked that the appeal to the bonum commune is not the expression of a society that is pervaded by a sense of unity, as the romantic image of the Middle Ages indulged to think, but on the contrary, it is a reaction to the perception of growing pluralism. To the plurality of the (sometimes conflicting) bona, some authors reacted by pointing to the existence of a bonum that is common to the whole.⁴ Nevertheless, as Walter Prevenier writes, the “Common Good discourse” can be conservative, defending consolidated interests in each community, or progressive, aiming for change.⁵

If this is the case for political history, the situation is not substantially different for the history of political thought. Recently, E. Igor Mineo proposed to distinguish between at least two senses of bonum commune in the fourteenth century: one with more theological implications, the other with reference to material well-being. As champions of these different interpretations, he presents Remigio de’ Girolami (d. 1319/20) and Marsilius of Padua (d. 1342).⁶ Despite such efforts, the wide diffusion of the “common good” discourse has its counterpart in its sometimes frustrating vagueness. For this reason, instead of investigating the “common good” discourse in itself, it is more promising to study its relation to a specific aspect, for example – as it is the case for the present volume – the relationship between the “common good” and self-interest, or the individual good.

Matthew Kempshall’s ground-breaking monograph shows how fruitful such an approach can be. Kempshall, however, does not deal in depth with authors who wrote after Remigio de’ Girolami. His treatment of William of Ockham (d. 1347/8) is limited to a few pages in his conclusion.⁷ Nonetheless, the English theologian is an interesting case-study because according to a traditional historiographical trend, Ockham has been interpreted as a champion of “individualism”. Historians of political thought such as Georges de Lagarde and Michael Wilks have in fact argued that Ockham’s metaphysics also influenced his approach to political philosophy in a decisive way. According to de Lagarde, he would have been a “forerunner” of modernity. This interpretation has already been criticised with good arguments, and the discussion does not need to be resumed here.⁸ Still, it is worthwhile to show that by examining the issue from the viewpoint of the “common good” as well, one can reach results that are at variance with de Lagarde’s interpretation.

Ockham is widely acknowledged as one of the most interesting thinkers of the later Middle Ages, especially for his contributions to logic, semantics, ontology, and philosophical theology.⁹ His contribution to medieval political thought derives from the second part of his life and intellectual activity. While in Avignon, he came in closer contact with the leadership of his own Order and eventually joined Michael of Cesena and a small but influential group of Franciscans who rebelled against pope John XXII in 1328, accusing him of heresy because of the stance he had taken regarding the poverty of Christ and his Apostles. The story has been told many times by excellent specialists, and there is no need to repeat it here.¹⁰ It is sufficient to recall that Ockham’s political and ecclesiological debates began from his defence of the Franciscan theory of Apostolic poverty. His first contribution to political thought is in fact a detailed, almost word for word confutation of John XXII’s bull Quia vir reprobus of 1329: the so-called Work of Ninety Days (c. 1332).¹¹ In this polemical work, Ockham develops his own account of the origins of ownership and dominion among humans after the anthropological changes brought about by the Original Sin.¹² Over time, Ockham, who had found a safe haven at the court of emperor Louis (known as the Bavarian) in Munich,¹³ focused his attention more and more on issues that played key roles in medieval political debates: the extension and limits of papal authority, the nature and role of temporal political institutions, particularly of the Empire, and the controversial relationship between temporal and spiritual powers. The Dialogus was planned by Ockham as a comprehensive account of the ecclesiological and political controversies of his time, structured as a dialogue between a Disciple and a Master. Usually, the Disciple raises the issues, poses questions, and occasionally makes comments, while the Master patiently presents different positions, listing arguments in favour and against them. This ambitious project was never brought to completion. We possess the first part, which deals with different aspects of the problem of heresy (including papal heresy) and which was finished by 1334. The second part was probably never written.

Around 1340, Ockham started working on the third part of the Dialogus, which contains what Arthur Stephen McGrade has called his “most systematic contribution to political theory”.¹⁴ It is divided into two treatises (both remained unfinished), the first dealing with the Church and papal power, and the second devoted to the Empire.¹⁵ The Octo quaestiones de potestate papae were written between 1340 and 1342 in response to a list of eight questions handed to Ockham in all likelihood by archbishop Baldwin of Trier.¹⁶ In this work, Ockham discusses, for example, whether the highest spiritual and temporal powers can belong to the same person and whether supreme temporal authority derives directly from God or not. The Octo quaestiones and the Dialogus (part three) represent, so to speak, the ripest stage of Ockham’s political thought. For this reason, in the present chapter, I will rely on both. To borrow another expression of McGrade’s, the Octo quaestiones and the Dialogus are “impersonal”.¹⁷ Comparing different possible positions and arguing in favour or against them, Ockham in fact never explicitly declares which opinion he holds, limiting himself to formulating the arguments in favour of different solutions. Although for a specialist, it is not difficult to recognize Ockham’s personal stance, the method he adopts allows for a more detailed and, in according to his intention, a more “objective” treatment of the issues at stake.¹⁸

John Kilcullen has written: “That government is for the sake of the common good is the leading idea of Ockham’s political philosophy.”¹⁹ As we will see, this is true, although to the best of my knowledge, Ockham never feels a need to define the common good. He apparently takes for granted that his readers understand what he is speaking about. Instead of trying to reconstruct the meaning of this expression from scattered remarks, it seems to me that it is more promising and more adequate to Ockham’s approach to concentrate on his usage of the expression bonum commune.

In the following, I first show an example of Ockham’s usage of “the common good” as a criterion in the classification of different constitutions. Such usage goes back to an established tradition, while sections three and especially four deal with functions of the common good that are more peculiar to him. The common good as a limit to the power of secular rulers and also to papal plenitudo potestatis, which is the object of section three. Section four is tightly connected to one of the main tenets of Ockham’s political thought. As John Kilcullen puts it: “Rules are needed, but since no humanly made rules can guarantee the common good in all the multifarious cases that will arise, individuals must be prepared on occasion to act without the rules or against the rules.”²⁰ What is usually the best institutional form can prove to be inadequate to safeguard the common good in a peculiar situation: therefore, political theory can allow for exceptional cases that require exceptional solutions. It seems to me that in Ockham’s political works, the common good functions as a “conceptual device” that relativizes the conclusions of philosophical analysis in the field of political theory. The last part argues that the originality of Ockham’s contribution lies more in the usage of the common good than in the way he conceives of it. Although he is a supporter of the idea of the natural liberty of human beings, he never renounces the traditional principle that the common good is superior to private good. In this sense, the title of the present chapter uses the metaphor of old wine (the concept of the common good) and new wineskins (its usage as a “relativizing conceptual device”).

2 The Common Good: A Criterion for Classifying Constitutions

The four books of Dialogus 3.1 deal with the power of the pope and the clergy. In book one, Ockham argues that the papal fullness of power finds its limits in what he calls “evangelical liberty”. The main issue of book two is the best constitutional form of the Church. The English Franciscan approaches this problem by resorting to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Politics, applying Aristotelian political concepts and arguments to the Church. Ockham’s preference for monarchy does not exclude that in some circumstances it can be necessary for the common good of the whole of Christendom to adopt an aristocratic constitution, that is, a sort of “plurality of popes”. This position seems to question the shared belief that Christ invested Peter with power over the whole Church. Books three and four deal with this question in a critical confrontation with Marsilius, who in the Defensor pacis had denied that Peter’s primate had any foundation in the Holy Scriptures or in the definitions of the Ecumenical Councils. Ockham concludes that Christ did de facto invest Peter with power over the whole Church, an historical truth that does not exclude a constitutional change in the Church, in case of necessity.²¹

A relatively well studied section of the Dialogus 3, in which Ockham makes intensive use of bonum commune, is treatise one, book two, chapters 3–8, where the Master is invited by the Disciple to explain some basic terms of Aristotle’s Politics that could sound obscure to experts in law and those who have not studied moral philosophy. With a happy choice, Jürgen Miethke dubbed these chapters of the Dialogus “basic concepts of Aristotelian politics” (“Grundbegriffe der aristotelischen Politik”).²² When it comes to the distinction between the different kinds of constitutions, Ockham’s choice is all but surprising. According to John Kilcullen’s translation:

Every government is either ordered chiefly to the common good or benefit (i.e. the good of the ruler or rulers and of the subjects) or not ordered to the common good. If it is ordered to the common good the regime is tempered and right; if it is not ordered to the common good the regime is defective and perverted.²³

Some lines later, the criterion is applied to “royal government”:

Such government differs from tyrannical rule because it exists for the common good, whereas tyrannical rule does not exist for the common good.²⁴

In the following chapter, Ockham deals with aristocracy:

The second kind of temperate, right, and just constitution is called aristocracy, namely that in which some few men, and the best, rule for the common good of the multitude, and not for their own good.²⁵

There is no need to continue listing further examples of the same kind since Ockham is following here the tradition of the mediaeval reception of the Politics, which had established itself mainly in the second half of the thirteenth century. Both Thomas Aquinas’ commentary on Aristotle’s Politics and its continuation by Peter of Auvergne employ bonum commune with regard to the classification of constitutions,²⁶ although William of Moerbeke, in translating from Greek, had chosen “commune conferens”.²⁷ As we might expect from a Master providing his Pupil with an elementary introduction to the key-terms of Aristotelian political philosophy, Ockham is treading a familiar path: being ordered or not to the “common good” is the litmus test to establish whether a given constitution is “tempered and right” or not. One would look in vain for an analysis of the concept of the common good. To give just one example, Ockham finds it necessary to explain what “politeuma” means in Aristotle’s Politics. Referring tacitly to Peter of Auvergne’s commentary in this part of the Dialogus, the Master says that according to some interpreters, this Greek word can signify “the imposition of the order of the constitution”, secondarily the “imposer of it”, and thirdly the constitution itself.²⁸ While devoting so much attention to the meaning of a rather unusual foreign word (politeuma), Ockham does not offer any deeper scrutiny of the signification of a key concept such as the “common good”, not to speak of a discussion about the means of establishing what the “common good” is for a given political community. Ockham really seems to take its meaning for granted. The reader finds only dispersed remarks: for example, the punishment of evildoers and the safety of subjects are tightly connected to the common good.²⁹ The same holds true for the possibility of electing a ruler when needed, lest the existence itself of the community is put in jeopardy.³⁰ According to Matthew Kempshall, “Ockham understands the common good not as the life of virtue, but as the social necessity of peace and tranquillity”.³¹ Kempshall’s claim is correct, especially in the context of the opposition he himself establishes between authors who understand bonum commune as a fulfilment of human ethical potential and those, such as Marsilius or Ockham, who support a “minimalist” interpretation of the common good. This does not entail, however, that Ockham explicitly defines bonum commune in such terms: this is rather the result of Kempshall’s own analysis.³²

3 The Common Good as a Limit to Power

A second function performed by bonum commune in Ockham’s political writings is to put limits on the exercise of power by authorities. According to Ockham’s account in his Breviloquium (most probably written shortly before 1342), political authority is a consequence of the original sin: to counter the anthropological change brought about by the Fall, God granted to humankind (not only to Christian believers) the power of designating rulers. Different forms of government derive from this original capacity and are therefore the result of human initiative.³³ In an ordinary situation, subjects are bound to obey a legitimate sovereign, but his power is not unlimited: they are not his slaves because every human being enjoys what Ockham calls dignitas humana (“human dignity”), by which he means that every human being intrinsically possesses a status that must be respected.³⁴

Dialogus 3.2 offers, in several places, evidence of the fact that the common good sets limits to the power of a legitimate ruler. In this last, unfinished part of Dialogus, Ockham discusses first whether it is beneficial for humankind to be ruled by one secular monarch, that is, by a universal emperor (book one). Book two investigates the extension and limits of imperial power, and book three, which is only a fragment, tackles the thorny question of the possibility, for an emperor, to intervene in spiritual matters.³⁵ The Master explains to the Pupil that even in the most powerful form of royal government, which is not bound by laws, the monarch has a fullness of power but only “in respect of things relating to the common good”.³⁶ In several cases, the common good imposes a limit on the ruler. For example, the emperor, although he is above positive laws, is not allowed to punish a crime according to his discretion if his decision can harm the common good.³⁷ Again, the civil law maxim “what has pleased the king has the force of law”, which medieval authors knew from collections of the Roman law,³⁸ is interpreted by Ockham restricting its scope to decisions which are not in contrast with the common good.³⁹ A similar limitation is imposed on the principle “error principis facit ius” (mistake by the prince makes a law); strictly speaking, this brocard is not contained in civil law texts, but circulated widely in Ockham’s time.⁴⁰ At any rate, according to the English theologian, the maxim is valid only if the error made by the prince does not conflict with bonum commune.⁴¹ Ockham summarizes his position on this matter when the Master claims that human society (societas humana) is obliged by what he calls a general agreement (pactum generale) to obey rulers (and in this specific case, the emperor), but only if what they order is in accordance with the common good:

It thinks that the general agreement of human society is to obey kings in those matters which pertain to the common good. And so human society is under an obligation to obey the emperor generally in those matters which profit the common benefit, but not in other matters about which it does not doubt that they do not profit the common good.⁴²

Ockham’s usage of the “common good” to circumscribe the exercise of power by the sovereign is not peculiar to him. One of the most famous examples is Godfrey of Fontaines, who, in his quodlibeta dating to the mid-90s of the thirteenth century, has recourse to bonum commune in order to set limits to both royal and papal power. Kempshall has dealt persuasively with this aspect of Godfrey’s contribution to the common good discourse.⁴³ Still, as seen above, the English Franciscan is more systematic in his appeal to the common good to avoid an “absolutistic” interpretation of legitimate secular power. He is in fact persuaded that a monarchy differs substantially not only from tyrannical rule, where the ruler acts in favour of his own private good, but also from despotic rule, where the dominus treats his subjects as slaves:

For in a despotic regime the ruler has so great a lordship that he can use his slaves and any other property whatever that belongs to his rulership of this kind not only for the sake of common good but also for his own good, as long as he attempts nothing contrary to divine or natural law; but the ruler in the royal government mentioned above can use subjects and their property however he pleases for the common good but cannot use them however he pleases for his own good, and they are therefore not his slaves but enjoy natural liberty.⁴⁴

4 The Common Good as a “Conceptual Device”

As anticipated in the introduction of the present chapter, Ockham resorts to the “common good” (1) to distinguish tempered constitutions from defective ones, (2) to set limits on the exercise of legitimate power also in the context of right constitutions, and (3) to draw some conclusions based on his political theory, which is dependent on the contingent situation. For example, safeguarding the “common good” differentiates monarchy from tyranny, draws the boundaries of the action of a legitimate monarch, and can be the main reason to transform a monarchy into an aristocracy if this change is made necessary by a peculiar historical context. According to the Venerabilis Inceptor (as Ockham was later called), although it is possible to put forward convincing arguments (rationes) in favour of the superiority of monarchy above other forms of government, such superiority cannot be considered absolute. Ockham claims it to be dependent on circumstances because they can change the way in which “the common good” is attainable. A telling example is contained in Dialogus III, treatise 1, book 2.⁴⁵ As mentioned above, the context of this passage is where the English Franciscan argues in favour of the possibility of a plurality of popes. This bold claim has understandably attracted the attention of scholars.⁴⁶ For the present purpose, however, the argumentative way in which Ockham corroborates this claim is more relevant. His point of departure is a comparison between monarchy and aristocracy, partly inspired by Aristotle’s discussion in book three of Politics. On request of the Pupil, the Master formulates arguments and counterarguments. Chapter two consists of a long list of rationes that attempt to prove that it is not beneficial for the Church to have only one head. The first ratio is based on an argument put forward by Aristotle, according to which it is unjust that when many are equal in virtue, only one of them rules over the others. The answer of the Master can be read in chapter 15:

To the argument by which Aristotle seems to prove absolutely and without distinction or qualification that it is unjust that some should rule his similar and equals because equal office and rank is due to equals in virtue, it is answered that when it can come about suitably and usefully that office and rank is given to equals, then this should be done, and Aristotle is speaking with reference to this case. But when it is not possible or not useful or less useful, especially to the common good […] then, without any injustice, indeed justly […] someone can be promoted in rank and offices over his similar and equals.⁴⁷

As a matter of fact, along these lines the Master is using the appeal to the common good to weaken arguments that would potentially be in favour of a plurality of popes. If accepted, Aristotle’s argument would lead to the conclusion that when there are several people in a community who are equal in virtue, aristocracy is the best constitutional form. Ockham, however, does not maintain that in every case in which there are several members of the Church who are equally apt to take charge, it should be ruled by more than one pope. He concedes that in many cases, it is better for the common good of the Church to have only one head even in the presence of more people who are equal in virtue. Nevertheless, there can be situations in which it would be detrimental to the common good of the Church to elect only one person as supreme authority. Only in this latter case should Christians choose more than one pope.⁴⁸

A similar argument can be found in Ockham’s Eight questions on the Power of the Pope, known as Octo quaestiones.⁴⁹ In question three, he discusses whether by Christ’s institution it pertains to the pope and the Roman Church to entrust the emperor and other secular rulers temporal jurisdictions, which otherwise they may not exercise.⁵⁰ The formulation of the question is rather complicated, but it is not difficult to imagine that Ockham’s answer is “no”, although in the text itself, it is left open for the reasons already mentioned above. Ockham is in fact a prominent defender of secular autonomy vis-à-vis curial supporters of papal fullness of powers. In chapter one, Ockham has developed an argument to the contrary that concludes in the following way:

It remains, therefore, that no community is best ordered unless it is under one head upon whom the jurisdiction of all others depend. But the totality of mortals is a community of persons able to have communion with one another, in which many are prone to discord and dispute; therefore, it is not best ordered unless it is under one head upon whom all the jurisdiction of all other depends. But that one head cannot and should not be anyone but the highest pontiff.⁵¹

This is a common way in which Ockham’s curial adversaries argue. According to them, the reason why the emperor cannot be the supreme head is that a secular ruler, even a supreme one, cannot be entrusted with decisions concerning faith because he could be an infidel or a pagan. Therefore, if the best-ordered community needs unity, this can be guaranteed only by the supreme leader of the Christian church.

In chapter nine, Ockham phrases a counterargument (which we know to be his own)⁵² along the following lines: the end of the best regime is to secure the attainment of the common good. Every feature of the regime that is compatible with the attainment of the common good is therefore admissible. Ockham continues:

It does not conflict with the best regime but is compatible with it, if the jurisdiction or power of some person or of persons within the community does not at all depend upon the supreme ruler of the community or was not established by him, provided no one who does wrong in that community is thereby able to escape just and due punishment. For something that does not detract from the common good, though it somewhat reduces the honour or power of the ruler, does not seem to conflict with the best regime, since whoever exercises the best rule is obliged not to seek his own power or honour but the common good and the good of others.⁵³

This passage does not reveal so much because Ockham admits that the certainty of punishment of wrongdoers is a constituent of the common good. Rather, it is because of the role the concept of the “common good” plays here. The common good functions as a sort of “device” that enables Ockham to justify modifications of the best regime in theory, making it dependent on the attainment of its proper end. In this case, his objection allows him to argue in favour of a community in which not every jurisdiction depends on one single head. He acknowledges an autonomous secular sphere, provided that the attainment of the common good is not hindered. In the unfortunate event that the secular power fails in its duties, the ecclesiastics are “occasionally” authorised to intervene. The distinction between what is preferable “regularly” and what can be right “occasionally”, due to the circumstances, is in fact a Leitmotiv of Ockham’s political thought and was recognized as such. In his Defensor minor, Marsilius of Padua criticises his fellow refugee on this point too, dismissing Ockham’s distinction regulariter/in casu as “rhetorical statements”.⁵⁴

Ockham does not try to describe the contents of the “common good”. Most probably, this is because he is persuaded that human affairs are extremely contingent. Therefore, a definition of bonum commune cannot be given once and for all. Rather, the “common good” plays an important role in his contribution to political discourse as a “conceptual device”, which allows him to relativize even his own conclusions. One could remark that he is not alone in adopting such argumentative strategies. Just to mention one example, Augustine of Ancona (c. 1241–1328), in his staunch defence of papal fullness of power, justifies, in the name of the common good, a subversion of the usual procedure concerning fraternal correction in the case of papal heresy.⁵⁵ Still, Ockham’s recourse to the “common good” stands out because it is much more systematic and consistent in its application to matters such as Church constitution, which authors like Augustine of Ancona considered immutable.

Moreover, specialists have remarked that Ockham insists on the right/duty of every individual Christian to resist anyone who menaced the common good of the Church. As Takashi Shogimen happily puts it, “Ockham does not envisage the individual’s service to common good as a matter of consent. It is a matter of contestability”.⁵⁶ The Venerabilis Inceptor advocates the right of resistance of every Christian, even of women and children, when the common good of the Church is in jeopardy. Needless to say, a scenario in which the pope falls into heresy is the most serious menace to the whole Church. Therefore, the appeal to the “common good” can perform a further function in Ockham’s political thought. It is not only fundamental in individuating the best political solution in each situation, but it is also the main justification for resistance.

Ockham’s insistence on the right of every individual to defend the common good, even against a vast majority that can endanger it, should not lead us to the conclusion that the English Franciscan is here opposing individual good and the common good. The coincidence of right and duty in this case makes it difficult to claim that the individual Christian who resists a heretical pope is acting to safeguard her or his own self-interest. On the contrary, it seems that she/he has the duty to defend a good that is common to all faithful, even at risk of her/his personal safety. Individual good is ordained to the common good.

A further passage taken from Dialogus is revealing:

It belongs to natural liberty that no one can use free persons for the user’s advantage, but it is not contrary to natural liberty that someone should use free persons reasonably for the sake of common good, since everyone is obliged to prefer common to private good.⁵⁷

Ockham’s use of the “common good” in this passage is once again that of a “device” that suspends – so to speak – the ordinary state of affairs: the natural liberty of the subjects is limited by the needs of the common good.

5 Conclusion

In conclusion, it seems that a rather conventional idea of the common good and its relationship to individual good (the old Wine) is used by Ockham with some originality (the new Wineskins). Focusing on the usage of the expression, it is possible to assess that the “common good” can be, rather obviously, a means of distinguishing right constitutional forms from corrupt ones (part 2). Safeguarding the common good can restrict the range of a sovereign’s actions even in exercising his legitimate power (part 3). Less obviously, the common good can function as a “relativizing device” (part 4), so that what is regularly the best solution can be in casu temporarily put aside for the sake of the common good in a specific situation.

Reading Ockham’s pages on the subject, one cannot avoid the question of who is entitled to establish what is beneficial to the common good in each situation because (especially from the perspective of present-day radical relativism) Ockham’s position seems to leave the possibility open to arbitrariness or – even worse – to resemble some theories of the “state of exception”.⁵⁸ As a matter of fact, Ockham never attributes the right of defining the common good to any person or institution. Every human being can be mistaken, regardless of the office held. Moreover, in Ockham’s “minimalist” interpretation of the infallibility (or indefectibility, for that matter) of the universal Church, no institution, not even the Council, is preserved from the risk of falling into error.⁵⁹ On the other hand, Ockham firmly believes in the possibility of discovering truth by means of rational discussion: this attitude (maybe too optimistic) clearly inspires the method he adopts in his “impersonal” works. According to him, “political truth” exists and has an objective dimension, and it is open to what Ockham calls recta ratio. Despite his reputation as an individualist thinker, for the English Franciscan, the critical examination of arguments can reach results that are valid for every rational being.⁶⁰ This persuasion goes hand in hand with Ockham’s idea that natural liberty is not opposed to the common good and must in certain circumstances give way to it. When he legitimizes the resistance of small groups or even of a single individual, he does not do so because they defend their own private good but because they struggle for the common good that is in danger by the majority.⁶¹ For this reason, while recognizing that Ockham’s usages of the “common good” cannot be wholly reduced to earlier, more traditional positions, it does not seem adequate to see in Ockham’s political writings the beginning of that gradual shift that eventually resulted in a sort of divorce between the common good and individual good.