Me fastidia que pasen estas cosas y tener que hacer este tipo de posts (no hay derecho). Este es mi pequeño homenaje a Xosé Luis. Os pongo un vídeo de la banda que dirigía, la banda de gaitas Axóuxere de Vallecas.

Xosé Luis descansa en Paz...

Clique aqui para assistir às dicas de como fazer uma festa bem animada!

É safe for work de um modo meio estranho, estão avisados. Zenial

Aleléx

Para quien no lo conozca, el Centro Gallego de Madrid está situado en el centro de la ciudad (al lado de la Puerta del Sol, en la C/ Carretas 14) y fue siempre el punto de reunión de la emigración gallega en Madrid. Tiene una historia de más de cien años y casi todos los gaiteiros de Madrid han pasado por su local. Así que si quieres aprender a tocar este apasionante instrumento no tienes más que ir por allí y matricularte. Todavía recuerdo cuando empecé a aprender a tocar y como no había más que este sitio para aprender (estaba de profesor Xosé Luis Calle). Allí conocí personalmente a gente como Ricardo Portela (sí, sí, el gran Ricardo, justo antes de ir a Galicia a grabar su disco Alborada en Cotobade), a Antón Corral, pertrechado con sus punteiros en distintas tonalidades, su xanfona y sus requintas o al gaiteiro Emilio Fernandez de A Fonsagrada con su gaita de colores raros, raros, raros... (ese gaiteiro tenía algo, tenía xeito...). En fin, había ambientillo ya os digo. Espero que este año nos lo pasemos muy bien entre todos.

Ya en el norte y al lado de la ciudad de Alcalá está el pueblo de Meco (el más alejado del mar de la península dicen) y en el que como he comentado otras veces su Escuela de Música cuenta con la gaita gallega como asignatura. Parece que este proyecto se consolida poco a poco y sus clases comienzan mañana y serán todos los lunes a partir de las 17:30 h hasta las 21:30h. Este año empiezo una vez más con ilusión y con las ganas de consolidar el joven grupo de gaitas. Parece mentira que haya un recuncho gaiteiro en esta parte de la Meseta.

Que suenen las gaitas...

Intai am vazut-o imbracata. Scruta imprejurimile si tanjea parca dupa un trup pereche. A tras pe dreapta si a-nceput sa se simta ca la plaja. Era prea de tot. Si prea de toata. Cu o jena minuscula s-a intins la soare; cu suficienta candoare cat sa dea alarma prin Herastrau. Mi-am zis "Ba, nu e-a buna. Cum kilu' meu sa vina o astfel de muiere in fatza atator ochi ca sa faca plaja unde nimeni altcineva nu face? Si de ce n-a parcat cu fundu-n sus mai hacana, spre boschetii de pe fundal? Prea se da in vazu' lumii."

Nu reuseam deloc sa mai dezlipesc degetul de pe declansatorul camerei foto. Doamna sau domnisoara nu reactiona nicicum. Pana ce, la un moment dat, se apropie de mine un biciclist si-mi zambeste de parca ma cunostea de 6 ani: "Auzi? Noi facem o camera ascunsa pe-aici. Suntem de la Antena1 - emisiunea lu' Gaita. Te superi daca nu mai fotografiezi? Se sperie trecatorii. Mersi mult." Si am lasat-o pe blonda sa-si faca treaba cu flacaii din peisaj. Cica ii ruga (mai mult pe-aia imperecheati) s-o unga nitzel pe spate. Nu sh' de cat succes s-a bucurat, ca ala din imagine n-a vrut, i-a dat eject direct. Apoi am plecat, ma plictisisem.

Il salut pe Gaita pe aceasta cale. Nu l-am vazut dinainte de a pleca in Canada. Ideea era inca in faza de proiect. Imi povestea cu regret ca se vede nevoit sa plece din Romania. Bafta din nou acasa!

Poco tiempo para contarlas (siempre la misma excusa) eso si ganas no faltan.

Vuelta al marco incomparable, Festival distinto. Banda de gaitas interesante (Charamuscas y su super versión de A Barroca). Inquedanzas no al completo pero haciendo de las suyas ;-). Dificultades para la organización pero superadas pese a quien pese (una edición más y a por la del año que viene). Esbardu como siempre perfectos (gracias Loli, y Chema). Gaiteira con mucho carisma (Marie) y super maja (moló tocar contigo, a ver si repetimos. El gorro no me lo pudiste dar en Lorient pero ha sido por causas ajenas a mi voluntad, es un poco largo y difícil de explicar). El Museo de la Mina (totalmente recomendable, de verdad) y una espicha combinación perfecta. Anabel Santiago en directo y con solo una guitarra y percusión = superconcierto. La Bagad de Lann Bihoué con un director alucinante (yo no perdí ojo) y por supuesto con la gente pendiente, como no, de Marie. Última noche del Festival bastante divertida y sobre todo inesperada (habrá que montar un cuarteto Alex). Y un descubrimiento a las tantas de la mañana reflejado en una servilleta de papel y que desarrollaremos en un futuro. Por ahora solamente deciros su nombre: Theremin.

Lorient... La ciudad con el festival quizás más potente de Europa (junto con el Celtic Connections). Este año no pudo ser (no comment) pero me quedo con Pablo Devigo y su victoria en el McCrimmon. No tenía ninguna duda que lo iba a ganar (ves Alex), enhorabuena rapaz sigue así.

Menorca, Asturias... sitios distintos pero similares a la vez. Es curioso tener parajes tan distintos y tan chulos a pocas horas de casa.

Crema de Gaita y su concierto en Castrelos. Mola tocar en casa y a lo grande. Adiante.

Comentarios durante todo este tiempo y un descubrimiento como Priscilla Hernández (si es que la cosa hoy va de lows)... por no hablar del auge de Myspace (no se que pasa de verdad). También veo que Roncos en la ciudad está cada vez más presente por ahí, por que solo decir que gracias a tod@s.

Otro descubrimiento... un grupo que ya conocía pero que ahora les he prestado más atención, los oníricos y nórdicos Sigur Rós

Y el grupo y las clases aquí siguen... así que aquí estoy y aquí seguiré...

Por cierto, el sábado que viene teneis un serán en Pazos de Reis. Organiza Inquedanzas.

Ya no aguantaba más...

]]> http://jacquet.wordpress.com/?p=492 Tue, 02 Sep 2008 21:27:12 +0000 Patrick http://jacquet.fr.wordpress.com/2008/09/02/musique-celtique-galice/ On assiste aussi depuis quelques années à un retour de la musique traditionnelle galicienne, et notamment la gaita galega (cornemuse galicienne). Le renouveau de la culture galicienne, en particulier en musique, se cherche, entre autres, à travers la communauté de ce que l'on appelle aujourd'hui "les pays celtes", les Asturies, l'Écosse, l'Irlande et la Bretagne.

Carlos Núñez . D'une famille de musiciens, il commence dès huit ans l'apprentissage de la flûte, suivie de la gaïta deux ans plus tard. Il suit le conservatoire, où il apprend la musique classique. À treize ans, il se produit au Festival interceltique de Lorient. Il remporte dès sa première participation le trophée Macallan, qu'il remportera également les deux années suivantes.

[dailymotion id=k6Y7gZaUwfyjTU4aTS]

Traditionelle galicische Musik wird geprägt vom Einsatz von Dudelsack (galicisch Gaita), Leier und Harfe. Außerdem spielen Perkussionsinstrumente wie Tamboril (Kleine Trommel) oder Pandereta (Pandeiro) eine wichtige Rolle. Die Musik erinnert an die Musik aus keltischen Gebieten wie Irland oder die Bretagne und erfreut sich auch heute noch großer Beliebtheit in Galicien

Por suerte, esto todavía no ha terminado y  los días 12 y 13 de septiembre llega el tercero de los grandes  el Festival Intercéltico de Gaita de Orejo que cumple su XI edición. Un festival que apuesta por un cartel abierto a otras músicas.

Parece que están confirmados los siguientes grupos a falta de conocer el cartel definitivo:

Viernes 12 de Septiembre.

- The Klezmatics.
- Luétiga.

Sábado 13 de septiembre.

- Balfa Toujours.
- 17 Hippies.
- Urbalia Rurana.

ASOCIACIÓN MONTAÑESA PARA LA CULTURA Y EL OCIO.

... e a minha eu planto aqui, pra quando você quizer vir.

Ouverture ce mardi 5 août au palais des congrès du master class de gaïta, la cornemuse de la Galice et des Asturies. Est-ce un master, comme dans le système universitaire ? Pas du tout. Du moins en une journée, l’on peut être informé sur la gaïta, son évolution historique et apprendre comment se jouer de cette cornemuse. Une centaine d’étudiant assiste au cours.

La gaïta au peigne fin.

Sur le podium, deux formateurs galiciens commencent par présenter l’instrument. Alberto, l’un d'entre eux, présente les éléments qui composent la gaïta. Celle-ci comprend une poche que l’on remplit d’air et place sous l’aisselle, le bourdon, le chalumeau et le levriad.
L’instrument peut être accordé dans la gamme de Do (pour les aigus), soit en Ré (pour les médium) ou en Si (pour les graves).
L’on peut aussi changer de gamme en rajoutant des pièces qui, selon leur longueur, changent de note.
Traditionnellement, cette cornemuse est fabriquée en roseau. Actuellement, certaines gaïtas sont fabriquées en matière synthétique.
Cet instrument est utilisé en Espagne et au Portugal. Selon, les pays ou les régions, la gaïta présente des adaptations rythmiques propres. Après la théorie, place à la pratique. Les formateurs exécutent des airs de Galice devant un public attentif.

Jacques MATAND, RD Congo

Sin comentarios xDDDDDD

Tem músicas que marcam fases da vida da gente. Tem músicas que nos acompanham por mais tempo. "Slow Emotion Replay" é uma das minhas inesquecíveis.

Echadle un vistazo al video y si el primer minuto no os engancha, es que no teneis sangre en las venas.

TANZWUT - Meer

Wir wurden geblendet
Von magischen Lichtern
Den goldenen Kronen
Der Wellen geweiht
Wir stürzten uns lachend
Ins eigene Verderben
Vom Leben berauscht
Und zur Abfahrt bereit

Riechst Du die See
Spürst Du den Wind
Fühlst Du Dein Herz
Das zu tanzen beginnt

Wir sind wie im Fieber
Auf schaurigen Riffen
In eisigen Wogen Sirenen verfallen
Passieren die Wracks
Von den anderen Schiffen
Und hören dort tausend Posaunen erschallen

Riechst Du die See
Spürst Du den Wind
Fühlst Du Dein Herz
Das zu tanzen beginnt

Wir sind wie das Meer
Wie die schäumende Gischt
Die den Sand überspült
Und die Spuren verwischt

Wir sind wie der Sturm
Wie die Schreie im Wind
Wie das Herz eines Narren
Der zu tanzen beginnt

Ihr wolltet spass - 2004 

Mañana en Fuenlabrada con Inquedanzas a las 12 de la mañana en la Fiesta del Marisco (creo, siento no ser más concreto pero esto de no tener mucha información es lo que tiene). Baile, nécoras, percebes y demás para imagino una lluviosa pero intensa mañana.

Mientras tanto echad un vistazo a esos Días de Boda de Juan Pinzás, la primera película española con el diploma dogma de Lars von Trier. Cracks galegos aparecen en ella. La peli me gusta aunque igual a más de uno le parecera un rollo. Ojo al papel de Javier Gurruchaga (un crack).

Que vivan los novios...

Si quieres a las 22h en la Casa de la Cultura del pueblo.

Dice la leyenda que la muiñeira de Pontesampaio se tocó tras la mítica batalla y estos cañones inspiraron a un joven Ricardo Portela para poner nombre al cuarteto que montó con sus hermanos cuando eran niños en Viascón, es decir, Airiños do cañon de buxo. Parece ser que los famosos cañones no eran de buxo sino de roble.

Hoy os pongo dos videos que muestran dos versiones de la muiñeira de Pontesampaio, un tema conocidísimo y una joya musical gallega que ha llegado hasta nosotros gracias al cancionero de José Inzenga. Este tema en Do menor da mucho juego para hacer buenos arreglos. Al estar en una tonalidad menor no ha tenido igual tanta popularidad en Irlanda o Escocia como otra pieza mítica como Aires de Pontevedra, que fue "exportada" a la gaita escocesa hace años. Me gusta mucho también las variación sobre esta muiñeira que compuso Ernesto Campos y que está recogida en el libro De Pano Sedán. Pero volviendo a los vídeos en el primero Dani Bellón toca su versión y en el segundo el gran Ricardo Portela la toca en otra fenomenal versión con Bouza al tamboril (de Crema de gaita, por cierto tocan este domingo en la fiesta del Muiño en Coiro), Polo a la pandereta y Santi Cribeiro al bombo. Este último vídeo ya lo puse hace un tiempo pero por su interés y la ocasión vuelve con vosotros.

Quien le mandaría a Napoleón...

]]> http://ciliembru.wordpress.com/?p=122 Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:20:45 +0000 ciliembru http://ciliembru.fr.wordpress.com/2008/04/21/%c2%bfhay-quien-vele-por-el-folclore-en-liebana/

– Aquí hay una asociación sociocultural que se formó hace tres o cuatro años en Potes. Se llama El Ciliembru y está integrado por chavales jóvenes, y algunos se interesan por la gaita.

Respuesta de Santiago Miguel en la entrevista publicada ayer domingo en el Diario Montañes.

Aunque solo sea por leer estas palabras, merece la pena continuar.... 

dm-20-04-2008-santiago-miguel

Pincha en el enlace superior para ver o descargar la página en pdf.

La Taberna Elisa, para los que no la conozcan, es el templo del folk en Madrid. Hace años fue punto de encuentro y gérmen de numerosos grupos y ha sido un reducto de la música celta en una ciudad que es muy abierta en muchas cosas pero que en este aspecto (la música folk) la veo bastante por detrás de otras ciudades más pequeñas del norte de España y de otra gran ciudad como Barcelona. Esto es evidente en una pero lo curioso es que el panorama sea tan desolador en una ciudad de cuatro millones de personas. No hay un circuito estable para que los músicos puedan tocar y en los medios esta música no sale (exceptuando claro está a Radio 3 que es pública pero si no fuese por eso cero patatero) porque como es "minoritaria" no interesa. Pero tampoco quiero centrarme en los medios y la música porque habría que escribir varios posts (todo se andará). Ahora también está la taberna del León de Oro con sus sesiones de música irlandesa entre semana.

Todos estos establecimientos dependen mucho de sus camareros. Al frente de La Elisa vuelve a estar el irrepetible Santi Barral, miembro del grupo Xtramonio y hermano del afamado constructor de bodhrans Victor Barral (por cierto estaba ayer en la Elisa y tuve con él una interesante conversación de cuyo tema hablaremos en un futuro). Y con Santi vuelven también los conciertos, lo cual es positivo porque hay un sitio más donde escuchar folk con regularidad. Esperemos que dure. Por de pronto este sábado 26 de abril un servidor tocará en formación de trío en la Elisa. Esperemos pasarlo bien y que vosotros también lo paseis. Será el sábado a las 23:30h en la C/Santa María 42.

Pero volvamos a Xuacu. Un gaiteru que descubrí hace muchos años en el recomendable e imprescindible Cd Xostrando y en el Cd del grupo Ubiña. Ganador del trofeo MacAllan ha tenido una gran influencia en muchos músicos de aquí y del extranjero y se ha convertido desde hace años en una referencia de la gaita asturiana. Autor de varios métodos para aprender a tocar la gaita asturiana, dirige desde hace años a la banda de gaitas Naranco de Uvieu. Aquí os pongo un vídeo de Xuacu tocando en la iglesia de Grao y otro vídeo con el grupo Tuenda en el alter ego asturiano del programa Alalá Camín de Cantares.

Nos vemos por la Elisa...

As will become evident in this third part, Contemporary philosophical conceptions of saintliness are characterised by their essentially ethical focus. As the first philosopher to be considered in this part of the genealogy put it: “we sometimes call a person a saint, or an action saintly, using the word ‘saintly’ in a purely moral sense with no religious implications.” Indeed, since J. O. Urmson wrote these words, it seems that the once occasional, philosophical usage has now become the norm. Certainly, there are those who do, quite legitimately, employ the terminology of saintliness as having religious connotations. However, such instances shall be overlooked herein for the following reasons:
1) The metaphilosophical reasons established in Part 1 of this thesis limits the utility of religiously based notions in explicating a philosophically adequate conception of saintliness; and
2) Contemporary philosophical works that employ saintly terminology of a religious bearing, I believe, constitute only a minority of the strictly Philosophical literature on saintliness; and
3) Contemporary philosophical works that employ saintly terminology of a religious bearing, I believe, have yet to revolutionise either philosophical conceptions of saintliness or Philosophy at large.

Let it also be noted that, as all the philosophers belonging to this third part of the thesis are, to the best of my knowledge, still living, I have therefore refrained from my earlier convention of providing the dates of each philosopher. Furthermore, I shall henceforth abandon the previous convention of addressing each philosophy according to the chronology of the philosophers’ lives. Instead, the order will be determined by the chronology of the philosophy itself, which will be indicated in each case.

3.1 Urmson and Supererogation

J. O. Urmson’s seminal article, ‘Saints and Heroes’ was published in 1958. Prior to this, the notion of supererogation had long been neglected in mainstream Ethics. Historically, however, it had been pivotal to many Theological debates. For instance (and as one may recall from the earlier section on Martin Luther (#1.4)), while the Roman Catholic Church held that the saints had, in their lifetimes, acquired a surplus of divine merit that the prayers of a (paying) supplicant could secure to intercede on one’s behalf, Reformation thinking maintained a notion of boundless duty that was most aptly expressed, as follows, in the Church of England’s Book of Common Prayer:
Voluntary works besides, over and above, God’s commandments, which they call works of Supererogation, cannot be taught without arrogancy and impiety: for by them men do declare, that they do not render unto God as much as they are bound to do, but they do more for his sake, than bounden duty is required: whereas Christ saith plainly, When ye have done all that are commanded to you, say, We are unprofitable servants (Article XIV).

Certainly, the concept of supererogation had also been functional in Ethics since at least the advent of Immanuel Kant’s philosophy, but Urmson’s article suggested to many that the way in which we characterise the exceptional actions of saints and heroes, as either supererogatory or not, can allow a greater insight into the nature of morality at large.

The central thesis of Urmson’s original paper was that, contrary to the way most ethicists were inclined to evaluate actions – according to only three moral categories – an additional type was required. The three pre-existing ethical categories of action were, according to Urmson: (1) the (duty-bound) moral; (2) the amoral (or nonmoral, as Susan Wolf would have it ); and (3) the immoral.
Urmson, conceiving of morality as a matter of duties and obligations, argued for the additional category of the supererogatory.
Why Urmson’s argument is significant to the genealogical account being advanced herein – although probably already betrayed by the title of his essay – is given by the fact that he argued that it is the actions of both saints and heroes that most clearly demonstrate the need for supererogatory categorisation. Leaving aside heroism for the moment, Urmson allows for a variety of definitions of the saint (and saintly action) as can be seen in the following quotations:
A person may be called a saint (1) if he does his duty in contexts in which inclination, desire, or self-interest would lead most people not to do it, and does so as a result of exercising abnormal self-control.

A person may be called a saint (2) if he does his duty in contexts in which inclination, desire, or self-interest would lead most people not to do it, not, as in the previous paragraph, by abnormal self-control, but without effort.

We may also call a person a saint (3) if he does actions that are far beyond the limits of his duty, whether by control of contrary inclination and interest or without effort.

As I have established the metaphilosophical parameter precluding empirically unjustifiable existential and/or psychological characterisations from my conception of saintliness (MP#4), the apparent distinction between the first two definitions put forward by Urmson is seen to collapse. That one particular saint may be seen to muster great self-control in order to accomplish a particular saintly action, whereas another may seemingly achieve the same result ‘without effort’ is irrelevant to the differentiation of the characterisation of a particular action or person as saintly, as one is morally indistinguishable from the other. For instance, the latter, effortless saint may have been raised in a manner more conducive to the saintly demeanour, or alternatively, while not being seen to exercise great self-control at any one particular time (i.e. in performing a particular saintly action), may, nonetheless, have so completely devoted themselves to practices such as prayer and meditation, that the exercise of self-control took place gradually, consistently and over a long period of time, so that any one particular saintly action might seem ‘effortless’ to the onlooker.
As to why Urmson felt it necessary to make the distinction at all – apart from wanting to provide the most comprehensive characterisation possible – it is fair to assume that Urmson’s conception was reflective of the mainstream tendency to place ethical significance on an agent’s intention. Regardless of this, the suggested differentiation between the two is superfluous to both Urmson’s overall thesis, and to my own explication, and therefore shall not be dwelt upon any longer.

It is the third definition offered by Urmson that is central to the present discussion, as it is held by Urmson both to most adequately characterise saintliness in general, and to warrant the adoption of the category of supererogation into any future ethical theorisation. Indeed, as we can see by the phrasing of this third definition (i.e. “whether by control of contrary inclination and interest or without effort” ), here the question of effort collapses, for, as I mentioned above, it is essentially superfluous to the argument being advanced. What is significant, according to Urmson, is that the saint’s actions go ‘beyond the call of duty’.
What exactly this means for my own explication of a philosophically adequate conception of saintliness is a point of some complexity.
On the face of it, the distinction that Urmson draws between the saintly actions defined by #1&2 and #3 appear coherent enough:
- Each of us is bound by moral duties. While the obligations our morality places on us are comprehensive (#1&2), there nonetheless remains the potential to do more than ordinary morality demands. Such actions are argued to be supererogatory, and are best exemplified by saints (and heroes) (#3).
Difficulty arises, however, when we note that Urmson admits, quite reasonably, “no intelligent person will claim infallibility for his moral views.” The problem then, is that, while Urmson conceives of morality as consisting of ‘duties’ which one can either fulfil, neglect, or (in the case of saints and heroes) exceed, one cannot know for certain what exactly these duties might be, or how one stands with regard to them. Take, for instance, the non-supererogatory saint of Urmson’s first two definitions: if their actions really take place in contexts that “would lead most people not to do it [themselves]”, then how will one be able to distinguish between these non-supererogatory actions and the supererogatory actions of the third type of saint?
As Urmson goes to lengths to establish, saints themselves can provide no solid ground by which to determine whether or not an action is supererogatory. He therefore concludes that “there is no action, however quixotic, heroic, or saintly, which the agent may not regard himself as obliged to perform.”
Therefore, if the saint has no greater insight into how any one of their actions stand with regard to the moral categories of duty, and the rest of us unsaintly-types also have no assured knowledge, then who is to say which actions are duties and which are not? This difficultly is augmented when one considers that, by definition, non-saints are disinclined to perform saintly actions of even a non-supererogatory nature. If the majority of people would fail to perform a particular action, then given that there is no way of ascertaining one’s duties for certain, it seems that the non-saints would surely fail to recognise a non-supererogatory action as such.
Urmson is, for the most part, able to sidestep this difficulty in his discussion of saintliness, as all of the scenarios he examines involve specific, institutional roles such as ‘soldier’, ‘doctor’, ‘monk’, and even ‘granddaughter’ (which is given as having the potential to enable first and second types of non-supererogatory saintly action). In all of these cases, Urmson emphasises the obligations that the role is commonly thought to demand, so that any action that ‘goes beyond’ can be seen as supererogatory. The problem with this approach, however, is that these roles do not characterise human life in general, and so the question is left begging.
If, however, the role of an undifferentiated human being is determined normatively (as would seem to be implied by Urmson’s explication of his Utilitarian morality), then the distinction between the first and second types of saintliness, with that of the third, ultimately seems untenable. If there is no strict sense of the role of a human being and the obligations thereby demanded of them, then all good actions that the non-saintly majority would feel disinclined to do, will surely be deemed exceptional.
All that can be legitimately held of Urmson’s characterisation of the saint, then, could be stated as follows: A person is a saint if they act ‘morally’ in contexts in which inclination, desire, or self-interest would lead most normal people not to do so.
Unfortunately, as Urmson’s conception of saintliness has now been stripped of its core thesis, that which remains seems unconvincing (eg. one who gives their spare change to a beggar is a saint). It does, however, suggest yet another metaphilosophical restriction that must be placed upon this thesis:
[MP6] A philosophically adequate conception of saintliness must not be founded upon contentious metaethics.
Let it therefore suffice to have both exposited and criticised Urmson’s seminal thesis as part of the genealogical account of The Philosophy of Saintliness, and, moreover, to note that it seems fair to concede that saintliness must be in some sense exceptional. Exactly what one is to understand of such exceptionality, however, will have to wait until Part Four.

3.2 Wolf and Moral Perfection

Susan Wolf’s now famous essay, ‘Moral Saints’, was published in 1982. Similar to that of J. O. Urmson’s, its central thesis was intended to demonstrate inadequacies in the prevailing Ethical theories of the time. Explicitly, her central premise was that “a person may be perfectly wonderful without being perfectly moral.” This is further to suggest that there are nonmoral goods that are worthy of our respect, admiration and personal aspiration. Wolf sought to demonstrate this position, negatively, by taking the then predominate ethical systems of Utilitarianism and Kantianism to their limits. Her ‘moral saint’ was the undesirable outcome intended to demonstrate the conclusion that “morality itself should not serve as a comprehensive guide to conduct.”

A ‘moral saint’, as Wolf defines it, is (i) “a person whose every action is as good as possible, a person, that is, who is as morally worthy as can be.” She offers the further gloss on how we, as contemporary Western citizens, might ‘pre-theoretically’ characterise moral sainthood as (ii) “a life dominated by a commitment to improving the welfare of others or society as a whole.”
While these two definitions may not initially appear dissimilar, I ultimately want to condemn the former and accede to the latter. To appreciate why and how I think that this is necessary, a closer exposition of Wolf’s argument is required.

Wolf’s essay opens: “I don’t know whether there are any moral saints. But if there are, I am glad neither I nor those about whom I care most are among them.” Her motivations for such an aversion to moral sainthood (as was defined above) is that such a life would leave little to no room for indulgences in or the development of nonmoral activities or virtues respectively. That is to say, as Wolf puts it: “…if the moral saint is devoting all his time to feeding the hungry or healing the sick or raising money for Oxfam, then necessarily he is not reading Victorian novels, playing the oboe, or improving his backhand.” This extreme and unwavering moral focus, Wolf argues in a manner reminiscent of Aldous Huxley , would inevitably result in the moral saint being of a particularly bland personality. As she puts it: “A moral saint will have to be very, very nice… The worry is that, as a result, he will have to be dull-witted or humourless or bland.”
Wolf acknowledges that in actual cases of moral saints (according to the second definition), we happily discover “idiosyncrasies or eccentricities not quite in line with the picture of moral perfection” given by her first definition. However, she fails to take this realisation to its proper conclusion and so redefine her characterisation. Admittedly, this shortcoming is merely the result of her overarching argument that if one were to follow most moral theories to the letter, one will inevitably neglect certain nonmorally valuable aspects of life. However, I nevertheless think it fair to claim that, along the way to making this essentially academic point, Wolf wantonly besmirches the reality of the concept of ‘saintliness’.

When Wolf characterised the moral saint as one whose every action is as good as possible, she envisioned not a saint as such, but something like a prudish monster or machine who wouldn’t sleep or eat or sing or cry unless it would have a positive effect on the welfare of others. Whereas the second definition’s phrasing of “a life dominated by [morality]” allows pragmatic room for the moral saint to breathe, as it were, Wolf takes the first definition’s idealism to be quite literal. That is to say that if a moral saint really is to be “a person whose every action is as good as possible”, then not only will the saint’s breathing be a matter of Utilitarian consideration, but their capacity for achieving moral goods must be superhuman (if not absurd). As Wolf herself says, “given the empirical circumstances of our world, it seems to be an ethical fact that we have unlimited potential to be morally good, and endless opportunity to promote moral interests”.
It may be objected that this criticism of Wolf’s argument is too single-minded and sweeping in its exposition; that she does go some way to providing pragmatic considerations to temper her position. Although I acknowledge that she does indeed doubt whether such an (un)ideal type could ever exist in reality, I maintain that her point is essentially academic, and at the cost of good sense.
To make this clear, let me draw attention to a common phenomenon surrounding (religious) saintliness: veneration. Without veneration, admiration, or even inspiration, how could it possibly come about in the real world that a ‘moral saint’ (i.e. someone who we couldn’t stand ) would be regarded as a saint of any type? The answer for Wolf is easy: she has a definition. Whomsoever fits the theoretical mould, is labelled a ‘moral saint.’
Here we can espy the heart of the matter. I am only too happy to concede that the ‘moral saint’ of Wolf’s first definition is disagreeable in so far as their obsession with moral goods would prevent them from recognising other nonmoral goods, such as beauty, or human excellence in fields ranging from the culinary arts to gymnastics. Any person who was so excessively obsessed with moral concerns that they were unable to perceive that, say, one knife might be ‘better’ at cutting than another, would certainly be “suspect[ed] of missing a piece of perceptual machinery.” But to call them a ‘moral saint’ is surely an abuse of the term. Such an undesirable person would be (as Wolf herself maintains) frowned upon as a neurotic prude or an excessive pedant.
In contrast, the moral saint of Wolf’s second definition might well be regarded positively as a saint. A person who led “a life dominated by a commitment to improving the welfare of others or society as a whole,” while perhaps not the only model worthy of our respect and/or aspiration, could indeed have the potential to be regarded positively as a saint, given the all too often dire circumstances of our world. Admittedly, to be the spouse or friend of such an individual would undoubtedly be a demanding position – even if one shared their interests or goals. But the same could be said of any Olympic athlete or dedicated PhD candidate.
The type of exemplary figure (moral or nonmoral) whose obsessive interests utterly prevented them from appreciating excellence in other fields, would indeed be a sorry person to either be or to know. As Wolf puts it: “a life in which none of these possible aspects of character are developed may seem to be a life strangely barren.”
That such a person, with respect to morality, could be called a ‘saint’ is misguided. The althete who trains every minute of the day and wins every competition they enter might be labelled an ‘athletic saint’, even though they are disliked for their personality and/or humanity. That the same could also be true of a ‘moral saint’ is nonsense. It is intrinsic to the nature of morality (in this case, improving the welfare of others or society as a whole) that it is seen to be ‘good’ in both the moral and the nonmoral senses of the word.

Such criticisms are not thought to be a refutation of Wolf’s overall position. Rather, they are a defence of what I regard to be intrinsically positive connotations for the terminology of saintliness. If we think back to the definitions given in the introductory stages of this thesis, by ‘saintliness’, for the purposes of my genealogical investigation, the required ‘family resemblance’ rests principally on a shared use of terminology. In this light it is clear that such a defence is essential to the current undertaking. This will become especially apparent, for as I mentioned, in Part Four, the notion of veneration and/or admiration will be argued to be essential to my conception of saintliness.

3.3 Gaita and Saintly Love

Earlier, when introducing Augustine (#1.1), I quoted from Albert Camus’ The Plague, where the character of Jean Tarrou asked, “Can one be a saint without God?” There I suggested that this question could be interpreted in a number of ways, one of which was: ‘Without faith in God, is it humanly possible to muster the type of will necessary for performing saintly acts?’ While this particular issue wasn’t a concern at that stage of the investigation, when one looks to the philosophical conception of saintliness advanced by Raimond Gaita in his works, Good and Evil: an absolute conception, and A Common Humanity: thinking about love & truth & justice, this question is seen to be highly pertinent.

In both of Gaita’s major works, he invokes the notion of saintly love as being revelatory of the heights of morality. Gaita claims from his own youthful experience of a nun who tended to severely afflicted patients with no trace of condescension whatsoever, that when one witnesses such acts of saintly love, the wonder it produces in the ‘witness’ provides irrefutable proof of the objective reality of goodness (and thus, morality at large).
Gaita is by no means the first to align saintliness with ‘love of the unlovable’. In his work, The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis argues that Charity is the highest of the four types of love (the others being Eros, Affection, and Friendship). In a manner typical of the Christian writer, Lewis characterises Charity as essentially being a matter of ‘loving the unlovable’ and further suggests that this ‘Gift-love’ is essential to our understanding/knowledge of God himself:
Divine Gift-love in man enables him to love what is not naturally lovable; lepers, criminals, enemies, the sulky, the superior and the sneering. Finally, by a high paradox, God enables men to have a Gift-love towards Himself.

In contrast to this, Gaita would be loath to commit his philosophy to a metaphysical foundation such as Lewis’s. Rather, he makes it explicitly clear that his position, although sharing certain commonalities, is not intended to be in anyway religious – Christian or otherwise:
Despite my disavowals, many readers have taken Good and Evil to be (implicitly) a religious work, or to require religious commitment if its arguments are to be pressed home. I persist with my disavowals…

But here we strike upon what might be construed as an inconsistency; for while Gaita is only too happy to characterise the behaviour of figures such as Mother Teresa (and indeed the majority of religious saints) as expressive of saintly love, he claims that his position holds him to no (religiously) metaphysical commitments whatsoever: “My affirmation is as firm and unreserved as it is metaphysically groundless.”
This point has not gone unnoticed. In his essay, ‘Saintliness and The Moral Life; Gaita as a Source for Christian Ethics’, Mark R. Wynn suggests that “Gaita’s scheme at points invites completion in religious terms, above all in so far as the love of the saints depends for its possibility (given the cultural-linguistic traditions that obtain in our world) upon the language of religion.” Indeed, as Gaita himself admits:
I doubt that the love expressed in the nun’s [saintly] demeanour would have been possible were it not for the place which the language of parental love had in her prayers”

But while Wynn wants to take such reliance upon religious language as indicative of the veracity of its concomitant metaphysical commitments – a move which both Gaita and I regard to be unwarranted and unconvincing – I would like now to consider Gaita’s position in and of itself.

When reading of ascetic mystics such as Henry Suso, it is easy to conjecture that non-parapsychological explanations can adequately account for such seemingly paranormal phenomena: i.e. that it is psychologically understandable that those engaged in extreme self-mortification and fasting would eventually come to hallucinate the physical embodiment of whatever abstract metaphysical concept that one was obsessively fixated on, be it God, The Devil, Jesus or a deceased loved one. But in the case of saintly love the matter is certainly more complex and subtle.
As Wynn quite rightly points out: “the language of religion … offers (as a matter of contingent, historical fact) our richest, most sustained exploration of the thought that we are all intelligibly the object of love …” The veracity of his following conclusion is not so obvious: “secular saints … will owe their capacity for such conduct to the availability of concepts that ultimately have a religious origin.”
Here we can espy the unjustified tendency to align what even Wynn himself suggests to be ‘a contingent fact’, with what is subsequently held to be necessary. Certainly, it must be acknowledged that acts of pure charity will be described in terminology that bears a religious etymology. Indeed, such a concession was even made in the introduction to Part One of this thesis (#1.0). However, that its etymology is religious need not entail that its essence must be also. Take, for instance, the now widely secularised character of ‘Santa Claus’: that his title is a phonetic corruption of ‘Saint Nicholas’ surely doesn’t preclude an atheist from (surreptitiously) giving their children presents on Xmas day without any attendant metaphysical commitments.
What is at issue here, is whether or not an individual can muster the type of will necessary for undertaking saintly acts without faith or belief in a religion, and I can think of no compelling argument as to why a secular, atheistic world-view could not likewise provide the psychological support required of saintly love. Indeed, Gaita writes explicitly that “the work of saintly love is not always done by religious people,” and cites Primo Levi’s If This Is Man as providing such an example.
On this point, then, we must tentatively concede Gaita’s claim that his philosophy, although reminiscent and even reliant upon religious language, does not compel him to religiously metaphysical commitments. Such an outcome accords well with the metaphilosophical parameter pertaining to the ability to produce empirical evidence in support of psychological assertions concerning saintliness (MP#4). However, while it seems fair to presume that Primo Levi’s example of a secular saint is believed to be congruent with Gaita’s own notion of saintly love, there remains the alternative possibility that Gaita’s notion saintly love will not be compelling for all. As there is no conclusive argument to decide the question generally, I must leave the matter unresolved.

3.4 Conclusions

In Part Three, the following has been established:

(#3) Contemporary conceptions of saintliness are essentially concerned with ethical implications.
(#3.1) J. O. Urmson’s 1958 essay, ‘Saints and Heroes’ occasioned the advent of the Contemporary Era of the Philosophy of Saintliness. His attempt to delineate three types of saintly acts/attitudes unfortunately collapses, as his metaethical foundations are unable to suggest how one could differentiate one instance from another with any certainty. With respect to my own explication of a philosophically adequate conception of saintliness this conclusion was to recommend a further metaphilosophical parameter (MP#6).
(#3.2) Susan Wolf’s essay, ‘Moral Saints’, in its attempt to indicate a deficiency in the Ethical thinking prevalent at the time, unfortunately besmirched the terminology of all things saintly. It was argued that Wolf’s was an essentially academic point, and neglected the intrinsically positive connotations that the concept of saintliness must bear so as to be pragmatically applicable in reality.
(#3.3) Raimond Gaita’s notion of saintly love, although not utterly original, did suggest that we revisit an issue that was sidestepped at the outset of this thesis (see #1.1). The question of whether an ethical dependence upon religious language commits one to metaphysically religious commitments was answered in the negative, in agreement with Gaita’s own insistence. As to whether an individual could muster the type of will necessary for performing saintly actions, in accordance with MP#4, again I sided with Gaita in the negative with respect to his own conception. However, generally the matter was left unresolved.