The Enduring Significance of Thomas Aquinas: Essays in Honor of Henk Schoot and Rudi Te Velde (Thomas Instituut Utrecht, 21) 9789042951105, 9042951109

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TABLE OF CONTENTS
A FITTING HONOR: THE ENDURING SIGNIFICANCE OFTHOMAS AQUINAS
GOD’S CAUSAL ACTS
THE ENDURING SIGNFICANCE OF AQUINAS’SCONCEPTUALIZATION OF EVIL AS PRIVATIO BONI
WE SHALL BE LIKE GODS: THOMAS AQUINAS ONDEIFICATION THROUGH FAITH AND LOVE
MANIFESTATION AND ENCOUNTER: REVELATION ASENCOUNTER IN CHRISTOPH THEOBALDAND THOMAS AQUINAS
THINKING ABOUT RACIAL DISCRIMINATION WITH THOMASAQUINAS: AN IMPETUS FOR FURTHER REFLECTION
WHEN LIES CAN BE EXPECTED
CITIZENS OF BABYLON AND THE NEW JERUSALEM:AQUINAS ON POLITIES AND THEIR VIRTUES
THE HOLY SPIRIT AND THE SACRAMENTS:THOMAS’ CONTRIBUTION TO UNDERSTANDINGTHE MYSTERY OF THE SACRAMENTS

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THE ENDURING SIGNIFICANCE OF THOMAS AQUINAS Essays in Honor of Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde

Anton ten Klooster, Harm Goris and Marcel Sarot (eds.)

T h o m a s I n s tit u u t U t r e c h t – P e e t e r s L e u v e n

THE ENDURING SIGNIFICANCE OF THOMAS AQUINAS

Publications of the Thomas Instituut te Utrecht (Tilburg School of Catholic Theology, Tilburg University, Netherlands) New Series, Volume XXI Editorial Board Prof. dr. H.W.M. Rikhof Prof. dr. H.J.M. Schoot Prof. dr. R.A. te Velde Managing Editor Prof. dr. H.J.M. Schoot

Anton ten Klooster, Harm Goris and Marcel Sarot (eds.)

THE ENDURING SIGNIFICANCE OF THOMAS AQUINAS Essays in Honor of Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde

PEETERS LEUVEN – PARIS – BRISTOL, CT 2023

A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

© Stichting Thomasfonds - Utrecht ISBN 978-90-429-5110-5 eISBN 978-90-429-5111-2 D/2023/0602/15 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm or any other means without written permission from the publisher.

TABLE OF CONTENTS A Fitting Honor: The Enduring Significance of Thomas Aquinas .  Anton ten Klooster

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St. Thomas and Gadamer on Phronēsis, Tradition, and Authority . 1 Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p. God’s Causal Acts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 Gaven Kerr The Enduring Significance of Aquinas’s Conceptualization of Evil as Privatio Boni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 Marcel Sarot We Shall Be Like Gods: Thomas Aquinas on Deification through Faith and Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59 Harm Goris Manifestation and Encounter: Revelation as Encounter in Christoph Theobald and Thomas Aquinas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Stefan Mangnus, o.p. Thinking about Racial Discrimination with Thomas Aquinas: An Impetus for Further Reflection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Anton ten Klooster When Lies Can Be Expected . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Lambert Hendriks Citizens of Babylon and the New Jerusalem: Thomas Aquinas on Polities and their Virtues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119 David Decosimo Original Sin without Fall? An Attempt at a Thomistic Reconfiguration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137 Rik van Nieuwenhove



TABLE OF CONTENTS

Aquinas on the Confessio Fidei . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Piotr Roszak A Puzzling Reading of a Controversial Parable: Some Remarks on Aquinas’s Exegesis of Luke 16,1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Marta Borgo The Significance of Thomas Aquinas for Contemporary Theology: Revisiting the History of the Research of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 Jozef Wissink Everything Related to God . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193 Pim Valkenberg The Holy Spirit and the Sacraments: Thomas’s Contribution to Understanding the Mystery of the Sacraments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 Herwi Rikhof On the Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217

A FITTING HONOR: THE ENDURING SIGNIFICANCE OF THOMAS AQUINAS Anton ten Klooster In 2017, Tilburg University awarded an honorary doctorate to prof. Eleonore Stump. On this occasion, Rudi te Velde recalled the cautionary words of Plato, “who believed that true philosophers ought to despise the honors presented to them by their fellow citizens; human praise only sees the appearance of philosophical quality.” Fortunately, he concluded his speech to the distinguished guest with the words of Aristotle: “In the arena of human life, the honors and rewards fall to those who show their good qualities in action.” 1 Both the editors of this volume and its contributors believe that the publication of The Enduring Significance of Thomas Aquinas is a fitting honor for two colleagues as they retire from Tilburg University: Henk Schoot, professor for the Theology of Thomas Aquinas, and Rudi te Velde, professor for the Philosophy of Thomas Aquinas. Of course, when a scholar of Aquinas uses the word fitting, he also sees the limitations of the words he uses. For example, “it is fitting that the word ‘person’ should be used of God; nevertheless it is not used in exactly the same sense of God as of creatures, but in a higher sense.”2 We use the word ‘fitting’ in similarly dissimilar way when we say this volume is a fitting honor. Not because we have any reservations, mental or otherwise, in presenting this work but because we know the two honorees to be modest colleagues. One might argue that it is not fitting that this Festschrift is published in a series that up until now has consisted of doctoral dissertations and conference volumes. But the name of Henk Schoot has been connected to the publication series of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht since the beginning. His dissertation Christ the ‘Name’ of God: Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ was the first publication in this series, in 1993. Since then, Schoot has been an editor for five of the volumes in the series. He was also the supervisor for the dissertations of Kevin O’Reilly, Stefan Mangnus, and myself, which were published respectively as volumes XV, XX and XVIII. So, it is indeed fitting that the occasion of his retirement should be marked with the publication of the present volume. It is also 1 Thomas Instituut Utrecht, Eleonore Stump Awarded Honorary Doctorate Tilburg University. Online at: https://www.thomasinstituut.org/nws.php?nws_id=166 Retrieved 2 February 2023. 2 STh I, q. 29 a. 3 resp.: “conveniens est ut hoc nomen ‘persona’ de Deo dicatur; non tamen eodem modo quo dicitur de creaturis sed excellentiori modo.”

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fitting that he receives this honor alongside Rudi te Velde, who since long functions as a colleague of Henk Schoot on the editorial board of the series. As director of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht at Tilburg University, Henk closely collaborated with Rudi. In the preparation of conferences, they would often play a leading role in setting a theme and inviting keynote speakers. Te Velde’s participation comes to the fore in his contributions to two volumes on virtue (XVI and XVII in the series), and a volume on divine transcendence (XIII). As we continue into a new ‘decade’ of publications with volume XXI, it is fitting that we use it to honor these two colleagues. The selection of authors reflects the interests and friendships of Schoot and te Velde. Present and former colleagues of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht have written contributions from their own disciplines, as have authors from other universities who have been valued speakers at the international conferences of the institute. These combined efforts have led to a rich collection, with reflections that tap into discussions of philosophy, dogmatic and moral theology, and mediaeval studies. Is it fitting that this collection be called The Enduring Significance of Thomas Aquinas? Some readers might interpret this as an attempt at making Aquinas fashionable, easing out what it is difficult to make it pleasing and acceptable to modern ears. Was this the big project uniting the two colleagues honored in this volume? “If it were so, it was a grievous fault, and grievously hath they answered it.” 3 Both te Velde and Schoot offered profound reflections on what theology is and what theologians do. In his inaugural lecture, Schoot made a plea for a “theological theology,” in the footsteps of Saint Thomas. He expressed the hope that “theology will once again start to include holiness more and more in its culture as a service to the sacred mystery of our faith.” 4 He consistently practiced theology thus, in his work as director of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht and as editor-in-chief of the European Journal for the Study of Thomas Aquinas. Similarly, te Velde stressed in his book Aquinas on God that theology is interested in the reality of God, after all “[w]hat the word ‘God’ stands for is never a matter of indifference, which one can decide freely to think about or not. God is always, in one way or another, a matter of ultimate concern.” 5 This awareness is reflected in his publications, and in the constructive criticism he offers to his colleagues William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, act III, scene II. Henk Schoot, Holy, Holy, Holy. A Plea for the Holiness of Theology, in Jaarboek Thomas Instituut Utrecht 26 (2017), 7-33. 5 Rudi te Velde, Aquinas on God: The ‘Divine Science’ of the Summa Theologiae, Aldershot 2006, 1-2. 3 4

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when they present new work. From both these colleagues, we can learn to read Aquinas with the greatest care, to listen, and to let Aquinas speak to us, rather than to make him the ventriloquist of our own preconceived notions and opinions. At the same time, letting Aquinas speak also means that we do not simply repeat Aquinas but bring our questions to his texts, and take his response seriously. In this volume, the reader will find contributions that focus on a careful reading of Aquinas, as well as essays that try to bring his theology in dialogue with questions that fascinate or puzzle us today. Hence, it is indeed fitting that we speak of an enduring significance of Thomas Aquinas, which does not imply the ‘perpetual validity’ of everything he said but reflects the ‘lasting fascination’ with Aquinas that is characteristic of both Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde. In their careers they have shared this with others, as colleagues, teachers, supervisors, and friends. It is fitting that we mark the retirement of two esteemed scholars of Thomas Aquinas with a volume that continues the conversations all of us so much enjoy having with them.

ST. THOMAS AND GADAMER ON PHRONĒSIS, TRADITION, AND AUTHORITY Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p. Central to Gadamer’s hermeneutical theory as expounded in Truth and Method is the notion of phronēsis, 1 drawn from book six of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics (NE). 2 Gadamer’s appropriation of this notion arguably cannot be understood, however, in isolation from two other main ideas, namely tradition and authority. Thus, for example, he writes that “The real force of morals […] is based on tradition.” 3 Gadamer, however, fails to elaborate on the relationship between phronēsis, on the one hand, and tradition and authority, on the other hand. His appropriation of Aristotelian phronēsis, moreover, fails to avoid the spectre of relativism on account of the absence of any theological foundation. Like his mentor, Heidegger, he rejects the possibility of proving the existence of God, a rejection that is grounded in a univocal metaphysics of being. 4 As a result human consciousness is for Gadamer completely embedded in the flow of history. 5 1 Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method trans. by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall, London/New York 2004, 310-21. Hereafter TM. 2 All references to Aristotle’s works are taken from The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. by Jonathan Barnes, Princeton, New Jersey 1984, 2 vols. 3 TM, 282. He continues: “They are freely taken over but by no means created by a free insight or grounded on reasons. This is precisely what we call tradition: the ground of their validity” (ibid.). 4 See S.J. McGrath, The Early Heidegger and Medieval Philosophy: Phenomenology for the Godforsaken, Washington, D.C 2006, 88, for a comment on Heidegger’s debt to Scotus in this regard: “Heidegger’s debt to Scotus manifests itself on the opening page of Sein und Zeit. Heidegger asks about the meaning of being, that is, to what essence (logos) does the word ‘being’ refer (SZ 2/1). He assumes a single meaning of being, a univocatio entis, which determines and makes possible all thinking and discourse. And he assumes that this notion of being is the a priori possession of Dasein; it is pre-understood in all that Dasein thinks and says.” 5 Jean Grondin in effect confirms the relativist current in Gadamer’s hermeneutics, albeit in attempting to acquit him of this charge: “The accusation of relativism … presupposes and defends an absolutist knowledge of the truth. This truth claims an absolute perspective (!) which the hermeneutics of facticity deconstructs, given that the very idea of a fundamentum inconcussum proceeds from a denial of temporality” (Jean Grondin, The Philosophy of Gadamer, trans. by Kathryn Plant, Chesham 2003, 112-13). Grondin maintains, on the contrary, that “we learn to see in the historicity of understanding the working mainspring of truth” (ibid., 113). The lack of any metaphysical moorings would however render the attainment of objective truth impossible. For an elaboration of this point, see Kevin E. O’Reilly, Transcending

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This criticism cannot be levelled against Thomas Aquinas. Thus, for example, his proofs for the existence of God are predicated on the very reality of change itself. 6 His argument for God as the final end of human existence proceeds according to the same logic as his cosmological proofs, that is to say, it is predicated on the notion of the impossibility of an infinite regress of cause and effect. 7 God, the First Truth and the Supreme Good, that is to say, the transcendent ground of all truth and goodness, is thus the ultimate object of both the intellect and will. Hence the ontological space in which the life of mind unfolds is, as it were, delimited by the divine truth and goodness, that is to say, by God as First Efficient Cause and God as Final Cause of all that exists. As will become evident, this theistic framework is operative in Thomas’s construal of prudentia on account of its relationship to scientia and sapientia, which correspond to Aristotle’s epistēmē and sophia respectively. Prudentia is in effect most fundamentally temporal in its constitution, a point readily discernible in light of the fact that three of its integral parts – namely memory, understanding, and foresight – 8 relate it to the past, to the present, and to the future respectively. Two other integral parts connect Thomas’s construal of prudence with Gadamer’s project, namely memory and docility. Memory in effect brings us into the domain of tradition, 9 while docility invokes the notion of authority of voices other than one’s own. 10 1. Gadamer on phronēsis Gadamer deems Aristotelian ethics to be of particular importance for the hermeneutical task since one and the same tradition “must time and again be understood in a different way.” 11 At issue is the relationship that obtains between the universal and the particular since understanding consists precisely in applying something universal to a particular situation. As Aristotle writes, practical wisdom (phronēsis) is concerned not only Gadamer: Towards a Participatory Hermeneutics, in The Review of Metaphysics 65 (2012), 841-860. 6 See STh I, q. 2, a. 3. The translation employed throughout is: Summa Theologica, 5 vols, trans. by Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Allen, Texas 1981. 7 See Kevin E. O’Reilly, Efficient and Final Causality and the Human Desire for Happiness in the Summa Theologiae of Thomas Aquinas, in The Modern Schoolman 82 (2004), 33-58. 8 See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 1, 2, and 6 respectively. 9 See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 1. 10 See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 3. 11 TM, 310.

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with universals but also with particulars for “it is practical, and practice is concerned with particulars.” 12 Crucially constitutive of the nature of phronēsis is the fact that it is bound up with human being and becoming: it cannot be detached from the human condition but is rather “determined by it and determinative of it.” 13 “We do not stand over against it,” writes Gadamer, “as if it were something we can acquire or not, as we can choose to acquire an objective skill, a techne.” 14 Gadamer also highlights the distinction that Aristotle makes between practical wisdom (phronēsis) and scientific knowledge (epistēmē). Mathematics furnishes a model of this kind of epistēmē, as also does metaphysics, “a knowledge of what is unchangeable, a knowledge that depends on proof and that can therefore be learned by anybody.” 15 Aristotle himself writes: “[S]ince scientific knowledge involves demonstration, but there is no demonstration of things whose first principles are variable (for all such things might actually be otherwise), and since it is impossible to deliberate about things that are of necessity, practical wisdom cannot be scientific knowledge … because that which can be done is capable of being otherwise.” 16 Practical wisdom does not possess the certitude of scientific knowledge since it cannot be abstracted from the particularity of the situation that is encountered. Enrico Berti, however, calls attention to Gadamer’s erroneous tendency to identify all practical knowledge with phronēsis. In this way Gadamer excludes the possibility of a practical science (epistēmē praktikē), which, as Berti explains, “in so far as it is a science, is a habit of the theoretical part of the reason, even if it has a practical aim, i.e., the acting well (eupraxia).” 17 Again, against Gadamer, the notion that practice must always presuppose theoretical truths emerges in the Politics. There Aristotle argues that it is not only ideas that are pursued for the sake of practical results that ought to be deemed practical but also and “much more the thoughts and contemplations which are independent and NE VI, 7, 1141b15-16. TM, 310. 14 Ibid., 315. Technē is the kind of knowledge ordered towards the production of an object external to the agent. It is the kind of knowledge exemplified, for example, in a carpenter who is skilled in fashioning things from wood. Aristotle defines technē as “the reasoned state of the capacity to make” (NE VI, 4, 1140a4). Phronēsis, in contrast, is “the reasoned state of capacity to act” (NE VI, 4, 1140a3-4). 15 TM, 312. 16 NE VI, 1140b33–1140b3. 17 Enrico Berti, The Reception of Aristotle’s Intellectual Virtues in Gadamer and the Hermeneutic Philosophy, in The Impact of Aristotelianism in Modern Philosophy, ed. by Riccardo Pozzo, Washington, D.C. 2004, 289. 12 13

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complete in themselves; since acting well, and therefore a certain kind of action, is an end, and even in the case of external actions the directing mind is most truly said to act.” 18 Alasdair MacIntyre directs what is essentially the same criticism at Gadamer. The phronimos, MacIntyre points out, is not simply someone “who is practically directed through habituation into the virtues and thereby toward the human good”; 19 he is also capable of reflecting on the moral life in order to achieve “some degree of theoretical understanding of the virtues, including phronēsis, and their relation to the human good.” 20 It is thus possible to apply this theoretical knowledge of practical concepts to action. Aristotle, in broaching the notion of the chief good of life, 21 asks at the outset of the Nicomachean Ethics: “Will not the knowledge of it, then, have a great influence on life? Shall we not, like archers who have a mark to aim at, be more likely to hit upon what we should?” 22 With knowledge of the chief good we are in the realm of theoretical wisdom (sophia), that is to say, “knowledge of the highest objects which has received as it were its proper completion.”23 Sophia is “knowledge (epistēmē) combined with comprehension [intuition] (nous), of the things that are highest by nature.” 24 According to Aristotle’s account in the Nicomachean Ethics, this knowledge relates to “things 18 Politics VII, 3, 1325b17–22. For another formulation of this interpretation, see Gerard J. Hughes, Aristotle on Ethics, New York 2003, 49. 19 Alasdair MacIntyre, On Not Having the Last Word: Thoughts on Our Debts to Gadamer, in Gadamer’s Century: Essays in Honor of Hans-Georg Gadamer, ed. by Jeff Malpas, Ulrich Arnswald, and Jens Kertscher, London 2002, 168. 20 Ibid. 21 For an overview of Aristotle’s conception of the Good and of philosophy, see Adam Adatto Sandel, The Place of Prejudice: A Case for Reasoning within the World, Cambridge, Massachusetts/London 2014, 194-201. 22 NE I, 2, 1094b23–25. C.D.C. Reeves, Practices of Reason: Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Oxford 1992, 97, argues for two kinds of eudaimonia in the Nicomachean Ethics. He explains: “Study expressing wisdom is primary eudaimonia; practical activity expressing phronēsis is secondary eudaimonia; and the latter is for the sake of the former.” This ordering, however, undermines the argument for two kinds of eudaimonia since the theoretical truths characterize the former and must perforce enter into the conditions for the fulfilment of the latter. Thomas’s interpretation in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics is preferable: “Now man’s whole life ought to be ordered to the supreme and ultimate end of human life. It is necessary, therefore, to have a knowledge of this end of human life. The explanation is that the reason for the means must always be found in the end itself” (In Eth., l. 2 [23]). For Thomas the end or chief good of human life is constituted by ultimate beatitude, that is to say, the vision of God for eternity. 23 NE VI, 7, 1141a18–19. 24 Ibid., 1141b2–3.

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noble and divine” 25 and entails the activity of contemplation. This contemplation entails a certain tension since, even though it is intermittent and thus unlike that enjoyed by God, for whom “the actuality of thought is life” 26 and whose “essential actuality is life good and eternal,” 27 it nevertheless seems to transcend the natural capacity of human beings. 28 At the same time this activity belongs to the intellect which “more than anything else is man.” 29 Ethics is indeed a human ergon yet its supreme realization involves the exercise of something divine in man. Gadamer’s parting of ways with Aristotle is instanced also in his attitude towards sophia, that is to say, theoretical wisdom. In Truth and Method this central concept in Aristotle fails to receive any thematic treatment, thus supporting Berti’s contention that Gadamer conceives phronēsis as the highest human excellence. 30 Gadamer thus clearly undervalues the primacy accorded to sophia by Aristotle at NE VI. As Berti also points out, he also “strongly downplays the value of the ideal of happiness in the sense of theoretical life, exposed by Aristotle in the final book of the Ethics.” 31 In general and most importantly, notes Berti, Gadamer “neglects almost completely the importance attributed by Aristotle to theoretical philosophy, in particular to metaphysics, in the whole of his philosophical system.” 32 As already noted, this downplaying of theoretical philosophy does not at all cohere well with Aristotle’s NE X, 7, 1177a15. According to Gauthier these “things noble and divine” range from the stars to the First Substance. See René-Antoine Gauthier, La morale d’Aristote, Paris 1973, 107–8. Although Aristotle does not elaborate on this point in NE, contemplation is clearly counted as the highest activity of man not simply because it perfects the intellect but also because “the objects of intellect are the best of knowable objects” (NE X. 7, 1177a21). Elsewhere Aristotle writes: “The scanty conceptions to which we can attain of celestial things give us, from their excellence, more pleasure than all our knowledge of the world in which we live; just as a half glimpse of persons that we love is more delightful than an accurate view of other things, whatever their number and dimensions” (On the Parts of Animals, I, 5, 644b22–645a4). 26 Metaphysics (hereafter Met.) XII, 7, 1072b27. 27 Ibid., 1072b28–29. 28 See NE X, 7, 1177b27–31: “But such a life would be too high for man; for it is not in so far as he is man that he will live so, but in so far as something divine is present in him; and by so much as this is superior to our composite nature is its activity superior to that which is the exercise of the other kind of excellence. If intellect is divine, then, in comparison with man, the life according to it is divine in comparison with human life.” 29 NE X, 7, 1178a8. 30 See Berti, The Reception of Aristotle’s Intellectual Virtues, 286. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., 287. 25

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understanding that practice always involves theoretical commitments. MacIntyre thus rightly critiques Gadamer’s approach in the following words: “The concept of phronesis cannot after all be detached from the theoretical framework of which it is an integral part, as Gadamer detaches it, and put to uses that do not presuppose some of Aristotle’s theoretical and indeed metaphysical commitments.” 33 This section has focussed on Gadamer’s reception of Aristotelian phronēsis or practical wisdom, which can be described as the ability to think well about “how to live a fulfilled and worthwhile life as a whole.” 34 This practical wisdom, which is bound up with human being and becoming, is to be distinguished from epistēmē and sophia, albeit Gadamer parts ways with Aristotle inasmuch as he [Gadamer] does not accord the same importance as Aristotle does to the way in which theoretical reason informs the life of phronēsis. 2. Gadamer on tradition According to Gadamer, the distinction between tradition and reason is an erroneous one as also is the more general distinction between reason and prejudice. Prejudice, he explains, “means a judgment that is rendered before all the elements that determine a situation have been finally examined.” 35 Tradition, as Adam Adatto Sandel puts it, is “the paradigmatic prejudice.” 36 The focus of Gadamer’s critique is the Enlightenment, whose fundamental prejudice is “the prejudice against prejudice, which denies tradition its power.” 37 The notion of prejudice, Gadamer points out, has however both positive and negative connotations. It certainly does not refer only to a false judgment, as is commonly thought in the wake of the Enlightenment critique of religion. An Enlightenment mindset will grant validity to a judgment only insofar as it can offer some methodological justification. The fact that this judgment might well be correct is of no relevance. The Enlightenment doctrine, moreover, regards authority as a MacIntyre, On not Having the Last Word, 169. Gerard J. Hughes, Aristotle on Ethics, London/New York 2001, 84. See NE VI, 5, 1140a24-28: “Now it is thought to be a mark of a man of practical wisdom to be able to deliberate well about what is good and expedient for himself, not in some particular respect, e.g. about what sorts of thing conduce to health or to strength, but about what sorts of thing conduce to the good life in general.” 35 TM, 273. 36 Sandel, The Place of Prejudice, 167. 37 TM, 273. See also ibid., 300: “This, precisely, is the power of history over finite human consciousness, namely that it prevails even where faith in method leads one to deny one’s own historicity.” 33 34

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source of undesirable prejudices. In this regard, it has in mind most particularly the Christian religious tradition. The consequences of this attitude inasmuch as it comes to bear upon Scripture scholarship are fraught with danger, Gadamer notes, since “[b]y treating the Bible as a historical document, biblical criticism endangers its own dogmatic claims.” Further on he writes that the Enlightenment is generally inclined to reject all authority and to place everything before the tribunal of reason. The written tradition of Sacred Scripture provides the preeminent illustration of this tendency since the possible truth of this tradition, like any other, “depends on the credibility that reason accords it.” “Thus the written tradition of Scripture, like any other historical document,” writes Gadamer, “can claim no absolute validity; the possible truth of the tradition depends on the credibility that reason accords it. It is not tradition but reason that constitutes the ultimate source of all authority.” 38 Historically, while this kind “prejudice against prejudice” did issue in some instances, as in England and France, in “the extremes of free thinking and atheism,” 39 such, however, was not universally the case. Gadamer, displaying his own Lutheran prejudices – conditioned no doubt by univocal metaphysics among other factors – 40 cites the German Enlightenment as exemplifying “the “true prejudices” of the Christian religion.” 41 A more historically attuned understanding of the Protestant Reformation and its hermeneutical consequences might, however, leave one bewildered at this assertion. Gregory’s observation concerning Luther’s doctrine of sola scriptura illustrates one aspect of what is in question: The assertion that scripture alone was a self-sufficient basis for Christian faith and life – independent in principle of papal, conciliar, patristic, canon-legal, and/or any other traditional authorities in conjunction with which scripture was understood in the Roman church – produced not even rough agreement, but an open-ended welter of competing and incompatible interpretations of Luther’s “one certain rule” (ein gewisz regel) or Karlstadt’s “naked truth.” 42

Ibid, 274. Ibid. 40 On this point, see Brad S. Gregory, The Unintended Reformation: How a Religious Revolution Secularized Society, Cambridge 2012, 25-73. 41 TM, 275. 42 Gregory, The Unintended Reformation, 94. 38 39

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In the midst of this “open-ended welter of competing and incompatible interpretations,” one might well ask what criterion emanating from the Reformation tradition could possibly salvage any vestige of a true prejudice. This problem is compounded by the fact that Luther, along with Calvin, was clearly indebted to nominalism. Michael Allan Gillespie states the point thus: “Although Luther was not principally a systematic theologian, he declared himself to be an Ockhamist and his theology was deeply indebted to the nominalist Gabriel Biel.” 43 Ironically, for Gadamer, it was metaphysical univocity and Ockham’s razor that led to “Descartes’s mechanical universe devoid of God’s presence.” 44 In other words, from univocal metaphysics and Ockham’s razor emerged the Cartesian “prejudice against prejudice” that Gadamer rightly decries. An engagement with Thomas would have averted this inner contradiction in Gadamer’s thought, opening it up to the horizons of participatory metaphysics and theological ethics that furnish what he was arguably striving after. It would also have furnished him with the conceptual paraphernalia required in order to secure his thought from the scourge of relativist tendencies for, in his own words, human reason is simply historically embedded and nothing more: “Reason exists for us only in concrete, historical terms – i.e., it is not its own master but remains constantly dependent on the given circumstances in which it operates.”45 In fact, he asserts, “history does not belong to us; we belong to it.” 46 43 Michael Allen Gillespie, Nihilism before Nietzsche, Chicago and London 1995, 26. Gillespie draws upon the following sources for this point: Ludger Meier, Research That Has Been Made and Is Yet to Be Made on the Ockhamism of Martin Luther at Erfurt, in Archivum Franciscanum Historicum 43 (1950), 56-67; Paul Vignaux, Luther commentateur des Sentences, in Études de Philosophie Médiévale 21 (1935); and William Courtenay, Nominalism and Late Medieval Religion, in The Pursuit of Holiness in Late Medieval and Renaissance Religion, ed. by Charles Trinkaus and Heiko Oberman, Leiden 1974, 52-53. Gillespie outlines Reformation thought’s development of the Ockhamist tradition concerning God’s omnipotence: “While the Reformers exalt this omnipotent God, they also seek to make him more accessible to man by turning to scripture and the heart, to feelings, conscience, and the certainty of faith achieved through revelatory experience. The God of the Reformation is less austere and remote than the nominalist God, more Christlike, closer to man, a God of love, still awesome and magnificent but less terrifying than the God of Ockham. Such a God, however, is still fundamentally arbitrary. He predestines men for salvation and damnation solely according to his will and without regard for their deserts. The Reformation thus accepts and proclaims the nominalist doctrine of divine omnipotence but seeks to reduce the terror that this induces by opening up a new way of understanding divine will” (Gillespie, Nihilism before Nietzsche, 26). 44 Gregory, The Unintended Reformation, 57. 45 TM, 277. 46 Ibid., 278.

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While he lays waste the Cartesian fundamentum inconcussum, therefore, he does so only by allowing thought to be subjected to the capricious winds of historical and societal conditioning. Before turning to intellectual horizons that have not gained entry into his hermeneutical consciousness, namely those offered by Thomas’s account of prudentia, the next section turns to a brief consideration of another element, i.e., authority, that enters into the dynamics of phronēsis as construed by Gadamer, an element that is intimately related to tradition since, as Gadamer expresses the point, That which has been sanctioned by tradition and custom has an authority that is nameless, and our finite historical being is marked by the fact that the authority of what has been handed down to us – and not just what is clearly grounded – always has power over our attitudes and behaviour. 47 3. Gadamer on authority According to Gadamer the issue of authority is one of two different expressions of prejudice, the other being overhastiness. Authority and overhastiness focus the attention of an Enlightenment mindset on account of its preoccupation with safeguarding reason from error. Hence the need for a “methodologically disciplined use of reason.” 48 While overhastiness occasions errors in one’s use of reason, authority is deemed to be “responsible for one’s not using one’s reason at all.” 49 As Matthew W. Knotts states the point, “Contemporary intellectual discourse is characterized by a general suspicion towards authority, viewing authority and appeals to it as a suspension or violation of rationality.” 50 Knotts notes that appeal to authority is all too often dismissed as obscurantist, anti-intellectual, and fideistic. Reason and authority are thus viewed as being antithetical to each other. This attitude in fact “marks a clear and self-conscious break with the foregoing intellectual tradition and represents a point of departure for Modernity.” 51 The Reformation embodies this attitude inasmuch as it rejects the doctrinal authority of the Magisterium and appeal to Tradition, believing that this rejection opens up the way to “the right use of reason in understanding traditionary Ibid., 281. Ibid., 279. 49 Ibid. 50 Matthew W. Knotts, Questioning Rationality: Gadamer’s Rehabilitation of Authority, in Studies in Spirituality 24 (2014), 43-62, p. 43. 51 Ibid., 48. 47 48

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texts,” 52 albeit Gadamer is lenient in his appraisal of this particular instance of a quintessentially modern rejection of authority and tradition which, he contends, need not lead to the kind of radical critique of religion as is found, for example, in Spinoza. 53 As already intimated, the result of the Enlightenment was the subjection of all authority to reason. The distinction between faith in authority and use of one’s own reason is of course an important one for it is clearly undesirable for one to allow authority to displace one’s own judgment entirely. An Enlightenment mindset nevertheless fails to appreciate the fact that authority can also be a source of truth. It tends instead to regard obedience to authority as blind obedience rather than an act of knowledge, “the knowledge, namely, that the other is superior to oneself in judgment and insight and that for this reason his judgment takes precedence – i.e., it has priority over one’s own.” 54 Recognition of the authority of persons is not, therefore, something irrational, that is to say, it is not an abdication of reason. Quite the contrary: it arises out of an appreciation that someone “has a wider view of things or is better informed – i.e., once again, because he knows more.” 55 Acknowledgement of authority is thus always connected with the idea that what it says “can, in principle, be discovered to be true.” 56 Such authority effects a TM, 279. See ibid. Gadamer writes that “especially in the field of German popular philosophy, the Enlightenment limited the claims of reason and acknowledged the authority of Bible and church” (ibid.). For an account of Spinoza’s attitude to ecclesial authority, see Matthew Levering, Participatory Biblical Exegesis: A Theology of Biblical Interpretation, Notre Dame, Indiana 2008, 212-18. Levering concludes thus: “Spinoza holds that Jewish and Christian religious communities, both claiming supernatural authority to interpret Scripture definitively, have radically distorted Scripture and (thereby) the religion of the common people. Scripture’s teaching can be summed up as God’s command to love one’s neighbour; any further doctrine comes not from Scripture itself (understood as a historical document), but from selfaggrandizing theologians. Losing sight of the key truth of love of neighbour, the common people have become embroiled in violence caused by interpretive controversies. Such violence, the very opposite of religion, mandates that the content of “religion” be left to individual interpretation understood as constituted solely by linguistic and historical exegetical study. As a private matter of interior love rather than of specific external acts, “religion” thereby avoids public controversies and is restored to the common people in accord with Scripture’s command to pious obedience. Thus understood, true religion involves not public truth but instead private obedience of will” (ibid., 118). 54 TM, 281. 55 Ibid. See also Hans-Georg Gadamer, Philosophical Hermeneutics, trans. by David E. Linge, Berkeley/Los Angeles/London 2004, 33-34. 56 Ibid. 52 53

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disposition in those who adhere to it to believe what can otherwise be proved by good reasons. Authority, moreover, is to be ascribed to tradition in a particular way since tradition is in effect grounded in the authority of what has been handed down to us and thus exercises a particular power over our attitudes and behaviour. 57 Morals are a case in point: “They are freely taken over but by no means created by a free insight or grounded in reasons.” 58 In general, Gadamer argues, we find ourselves situated within tradition and necessarily conceive its deliverances as being as it were part of us albeit, as Knotts clarifies, “Rational agents must not renege on their duty to reason, that is, to employ their own judgment in coming to a conclusion.” 59 We can thus be said to produce tradition ourselves inasmuch as we understand it, participate in its evolution, and thus further determine it ourselves. 60 For Gadamer authority and tradition are intimately bound up with each other and with reason. In this regard he emphasizes and rehabilitates the notion of prejudice since, although modernity has demonized it, properly understood it possesses positive connotations in addition to negative ones. It is in this vein that Gadamer believes the German Enlightenment to exemplify “the ‘true prejudices’ of the Christian religion.” 61 There are good reasons for rejecting this claim, among which is the univocal metaphysics – a dispositive causal agent in the emergence of the Cartesian mechanical universe – that informs Gadamer’s Lutheran worldview. One consequence of this worldview is philosophy’s denial of the possibility of engaging with transcendence. In contrast to Gadamer, Thomas expands the horizons of Aristotelian epistēmē (scientia) and sophia (sapientia), an expansion that is possible by the recognition that God is the first efficient cause of all that exists 62 and the final end of human existence, 63 while remaining faithful to Aristotle’s fundamental impulse in establishing an intimate link between theoretical and practical philosophy. In this regard prudence, for Thomas, presupposes knowledge of reality, a fact that is predicated on the practical intellect being an extension of the speculative intellect. This state of affairs means that even though scientia and sapientia are not moral virtues, they nevertheless play an important role in the moral life. Necessary for action, however, is not only the consideration of See ibid. TM, 282. 59 Knotts, Questioning Rationality, 52. 60 TM, 293. 61 TM, 275. 62 See STh I, q. 2, a. 3. 63 See STh I-II, q. 2, a. 8; and q. 3, a. 8. 57 58

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speculative reason but also the operation of practical reason. Since actions are singular, prudence concerns itself not only with universal principles but also with particulars, which are infinite in number. Hence, the need for memory, since “experience is the result of many memories as stated in Metaph. i. 1, and therefore prudence requires the memory of many things.” 64 Memory brings us into the domain of tradition. Docility is intimately related inasmuch as it entails an attitude of receptivity in the face of authority, which includes the great voices of tradition. Of particular import in this regard are the Church and the Word of God in Scripture, which furnish the conditions of objective prejudice not simply for the Christian religion but also for natural reason since grace perfects nature. For Thomas a harmony obtains between faith and reason and it is precisely on account of the faith aspect of this harmony that there is no contradiction in the invocation of the Scriptural and ecclesial foundations of prejudice, on the one hand, and the objectivity of speculative and practical reason, on the other hand. Thomas’s account of memory and docility, moreover, suggest ways in which the faith aspect of that harmony can be filled out. 4. Thomas on prudentia In contrast to Gadamer, Thomas’s account of prudence is informed by the implications of his epistemology and metaphysics, a point that is communicated by Josef Pieper in these words: “The pre-eminence of prudence means that realization of the good presupposes knowledge of reality. He alone can do good who knows what things are like and what their situation is.” 65 Indeed, Thomas’s conception of the intellect entails that reality in all its extension, that is to say, both speculative knowledge and practical knowledge, are bound up with each other. In this regard he argues, following Aristotle, that the speculative and practical intellects do not constitute two distinct powers but rather that “the speculative intellect by extension becomes practical.” 66 While under its speculative aspect the intellect directs what it apprehends to the consideration of truth, under its practical aspect it directs to operation. Thomas adds that “this is what the Philosopher says (De Anima iii. 10); that ‘the speculative differs from the practical in its end.’” 67 Thomas clearly intimates the penetration of the practical intellect by the considerations of the speculative intellect in these STh II-II, q. 49, a. 1. Josef Pieper, The Four Cardinal Virtues, Notre Dame, Indiana 1966, 10. 66 STh I, q. 79, a. 11, sed contra. 67 STh I, q. 79, a. 11. 64 65

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words: “[T]he object of the practical intellect is good directed to the operation, and under the aspect of truth.” 68 Pieper expresses this point thus: “[T]he chain by which the good is bound to reality is composed of the following links: objective reality, theoretical reason, practical reason, moral action.” 69 Three intellectual habits are fundamental to man’s theoretical reason’s grasp of objective reality, namely wisdom (sapientia), science (scientia), and understanding (intellectus). The first two, wisdom and science, are the ones that are the focus of the present discussion. 70 In an article devoted to the habits of the speculative intellect, Thomas relates them to truth that is not understood by the intellect immediately but rather by the inquiry of reason and is to be considered as having the nature of a term. 71 Truth is said to be in the intellect inasmuch as “it is conformed to the object understood.” 72 The thing understood, for its part, can be said to be true inasmuch as it is related to the intellect. This relation may be either essential or accidental. It is essential when the thing understood depends on the intellect for its being (esse); it is accidental when it is simply knowable by the intellect. Thus, for example, a building is related essentially to the intellect of the architect who has designed it but accidentally to other intellects since it depends on the former but not on the latter. Since we judge things with regard to their essence, Thomas argues, a thing is said to be true absolutely in so far as it is related to the intellect on which it depends. That is why “a house is said to be true that expresses the likeness of the form in the architect’s mind; and words are said to be true so far as they are the signs of truth in the intellect.” 73 Natural things are likewise true inasmuch as they attain the likeness of the ideas of them in the divine mind. A stone, for instance, is said to be true if it exhibits its nature according to the preconception of the divine intellect. As Thomas writes in his commentary on Aristotle’s Peri hermeneias, “all natural things are related to the divine intellect as artifacts to art, and therefore a thing is said to be true insofar as it has its

STh I, q. 79, a. 11, ad 2. Josef Pieper, Living the Truth, trans. by Lothar Krauth and Stella Lange, San Francisco 1989, 141. 70 I forego a discussion of intellectus in order to mirror the treatment of Gadamer’s account above. Admittedly, such a discussion would serve to throw further light on the objective moorings of Thomas’s construal of prudentia. 71 STh I-II, q. 57, a. 2. 72 STh I, q. 16, a. 1. 73 Ibid. 68 69

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own form according to which it represents divine art.” 74 Created things thus find themselves placed between two intellects. These things, from which the human intellect receives its scientific knowledge, measure our intellect while they themselves are measured by the divine intellect. 75 Thus, as Pieper remarks, “the truth inherent in all things in view of God’s mind is the foundation and root of their truth in view of the knowing human mind.” 76 The truth of things “resides primarily in the intellect, and secondarily in things according as they are related to the intellect as their principle.” 77 Both aspects are encapsulated in the definition, “Truth is the equation of thought and thing.” 78 Human beings are capable of knowing “the conformity of intellect and thing” 79 by means of composing (compositio) and dividing (divisio) rather than simply knowing “what a thing is” (quod quid est). 80 As Thomas writes in the De Veritate: “[T]ruth is found primarily in the joining and separating by the intellect, and only secondarily in its formation of the quiddities of things or definitions, for a definition is called true or false because of a true or false combination.” 81 In his commentary on Aristotle’s Peri hermeneias, he further elucidates the notion of compositio and divisio in the intellect. Compositio entails the comparing of one concept to another “as though apprehending a conjunction or identity of the things of which they are conceptions.” 82 Divisio, in comparing one concept to another, “apprehends the things to be diverse.” 83 In I Periherm., l. 3 [30] (accessed 09/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/en/~Peri) “For this reason,” Thomas continues, “the Philosopher says that form is something divine” (ibid.). For a discussion of this notion, see Lawrence Dewan, o.p., St. Thomas and Form as Something Divine in Things, Milwaukee, Wisconsin 2007. 75 See De Ver., q. 1, a. 2. The translation employed is Truth, trans. by Robert W. Mulligan, SJ, 3 vols, Indianapolis/Cambridge 1994. 76 Pieper, Living the Truth, 52. 77 STh I, q. 16, a. 1. 78 Ibid. 79 STh I, q. 16, a. 2. 80 Ibid. 81 De Ver., q. 1, a. 3. For a discussion of the first operation of the intellect, which grasps quod quid est, see John I. Jenkins, Knowledge and Faith in Thomas Aquinas, Cambridge 1997, 103-17. Jenkins offers a strong reading of the intellect’s first operation, that is to say, he argues that it is “always veracious in the sense that it is always directly true with respect to its ideas” (ibid., 114). 82 In I Periherm., l. 3 [26]. 83 Ibid. Alasdair MacIntyre claims that the Posterior Analytics is “an account of what it is or would be to possess, to have already achieved, a perfected science, a perfected type of understanding, in which every movement of a mind within the structures of that type of understanding gives expression to the adequacy of that mind to its objects” 74

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It is precisely the movements of the mind, occasioned by compositio and divisio, that undergird the notion of scientia since “the process of science of any given thing is, as it were, a movement of reason.” 84 Like the unity of any motion, however, the unity of a science is taken principally from its end or term, 85 which is furnished by the genus of knowable matter with which it is concerned. Scientia in effect deals with what is “the last in some particular genus.” 86 In geometry, for example, “the end intended is knowledge of magnitude, which is the subject of geometry; but in the science of building that which is intended as the end is the construction of a house, which is the subject of this art.” 87 Hence different kinds of knowable matter give rise to different habits of scientific knowledge. 88 In addition to truth as it relates to particular genera, there is also that truth which is “the ultimate term of all human knowledge.”89 We are here in the realm of that science (scientia) which is called wisdom (sapientia) and which is concerned with first causes and principles. 90 As Aristotle, on whom Thomas is commenting, writes, this wisdom “must be a science that investigates the first principles and causes.” 91 It is concerned, in the words of Aristotle, with “things that are knowable last from our standpoint,” albeit they are “knowable first and chiefly in their nature.” 92 Wisdom, in the light of its consideration of universal causes, “rightly judges all things and sets them in order,” 93 since universal judgment is necessarily based on knowledge of first causes. For Thomas, of course, God is the cause that is simply the highest and all things apart from Him participate in His Being as effects in their uncreated Cause. 94 (Alasdair MacIntyre, First Principles, Final Ends, and Contemporary Philosophical Issues, Milwaukee 1990, 25). 84 In Post. I Anal., l. 41 [362] (accessed 09/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/en/~Post). 85 See Aristotle, Physics V, 224b7-8. 86 STh I-II, q. 57, a. 2. See In I Post. Anal., l. 41 [362]. 87 In I Post. Anal., l. 41 [362]. 88 See STh I-II, q. 57, a. 2. 89 Ibid. 90 See In I Meta., l. 1 [35] (accessed 09/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/en/~Metaph). 91 Met., I, 2, 982b9-10. 92 STh I-II, q. 57, a. 2. Aquinas quotes Physics I, 184a18. 93 Ibid. 94 See De Heb., l. 2 [24]: “The effect is similarly said to participate in its cause, especially when it isn’t equal to the power of its cause—for example, when we say that air “participates” in sunlight because it doesn’t receive it with the brightness there is in the sun” (accessed 09/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/en/~DeHeb). On the notion of participation in Thomas, see Rudi te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas, Leiden 1995; and, Aquinas on God: The ‘Divine Science’ of the Summa Theologiae, Aldershot, Hants 2006, 139-42.

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He who knows God, therefore, “is said to be wise simply, because he is able to judge and set in order all things according to Divine rules.” 95 Here we are in the realm of cognitive participation in the Divine Wisdom. 96 Notably, and of particular significance for prudentia, is Thomas’s assertion that “the science that considers first and universal causes must also be the one that considers the universal end of all things, which is the greatest good in the whole of nature.” 97 To be clear: scientia and sapientia are intellectual virtues, not moral virtues – hence “a man is not made willing to consider the truth by the fact that he has science: He is only capable of it.” 98 These virtues are nevertheless intimately implicated in the life of prudentia on account of the fact that “The speculative intellect by extension becomes practical.” 99 Wisdom, moreover, so Thomas argues, “exercises judgment over all the other intellectual virtues, directs them all, and is the architect of them all.” 100 This assertion includes prudence, which Thomas treats as an

95 STh II-II, q. 45, a. 1. Thomas continues: “Now man obtains this judgment through the Holy Spirit, according to 1 Cor. ii. 15: ‘The spiritual man judgeth all things,’ because as stated in the same chapter (verse 10), ‘the Spirit searcheth all things, yea the deep things of God.’ Wherefore it is evident that wisdom is a gift of the Holy Spirit.” One might object that at this point we have left the realm of philosophy and entered into the domain of theology. While it is important not to confuse the formal objects of these disciplines, one ought nevertheless not to place faith and reason in two separate, hermetically sealed compartments. After all, as Denys Turner, commenting on canon 2.1 of the dogmatic constitution Dei Filius of the First Vatican Council, puts it: “That canon is intended as a statement of faith, concerning what a true understanding of faith entails about the capacity of human reason to know God, namely that it is possible for human reason to know God and that the God of faith is one and the same God as the God who can be known by reason” (Denys Turner, Faith, Reason and the Existence of God, Cambridge 2004, 4). Canon 2.1 reads: “If anyone says that the one true God, our Creator and Lord, cannot be known with certainty with the natural light of human reason through the things that are created, let him be anathema” (Denzinger, 3026). Pertinent in this context is the following assertion from Pope John Paul II: “Although faith, a gift of God, is not based on reason, it can certainly not dispense with it. At the same time, it becomes apparent that reason needs to be reinforced by faith, in order to discover horizons it cannot reach on its own” (Fides et Ratio 67). 96 On the notion of cognitive participation, see John Rziha, Perfecting Human Actions: St. Thomas Aquinas on Human Participation in Eternal Law, Washington, D.C. 2009, 184-256. For wisdom as participating in God as first cause, see ibid., 22021. 97 In I Meta., l. 2 [51]. 98 De Virt., a. 7 (accessed 09/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/la/~QDeVirt). 99 STh I, q. 79, a. 11, sed contra. 100 STh I-II, q. 66, a. 5.

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intellectual virtue. 101 That Thomas has prudence within his purview is clear moreover from the fact that, in arguing that wisdom is the greatest of the intellectual virtues, the first two objections counter that this distinction properly belongs to prudence. 102 In response, Thomas asserts that prudence is in effect related to wisdom as to its end: “Prudence considers the means of acquiring happiness, but wisdom considers the very object of happiness, viz., the Supreme Intelligible.” 103 In other words, while prudence is not concerned with ultimate things, which are the remit of wisdom, its command nevertheless “covers things directed to wisdom, viz., how men are to obtain wisdom.” 104 Thus, while it is not a moral virtue, Gregory M. Reichberg is nevertheless correct in maintaining that wisdom “merits a place of choice within the moral life,”105 inasmuch as, along with the intellectual virtues in general, it has a “special affinity with beatitude, the state of ultimate human fulfilment and the very end to which the whole of morality is ordered.” 106 In contrast to Gadamer, therefore, who simply brackets epistēmē and sophia in his treatment of Aristotelian phronēsis, Thomas, as MacIntyre notes, “follows Aristotle in holding that the knowledge of our ultimate end, so far as it is in our natural powers to achieve, belongs to the theoretical rather than the practical activity of the intellect.” 107 Thomas not only appropriates Aristotle’s account of phronēsis, however, but rather extends its range inasmuch as he transforms Aristotle’s construal of eudaimonia into a theistic key. Thus scientia, which pertains to the lower reason, attains to knowledge of eternal things while sapientia, which pertains to the higher reason’s contemplation of and participations

See STh I-II, q. 57, a. 5. See STh I-II, q. 66, a. 5, objs. 1 and 2. 103 STh I-II, q. 66, a. 5, ad 2. 104 STh I-II, q. 66, a. 5, ad 1. 105 Gregory M. Reichberg, The Intellectual Virtues (Ia IIae, qq. 57-58), in The Ethics of Aquinas, ed. by Stephen J. Pope, Washington, D.C 2002, 138. 106 Ibid., 144. Reichberg concludes his article with these words: “The moral virtues may very well possess the character of ‘virtue’ more completely than the speculative intellectual habits. They are nevertheless subordinate to the latter in the order of perfection, as what conduces to an end is subordinate to the end itself. Beatitude inchoate, science and wisdom are thus accorded a place of honor in St. Thomas’s architecture of the moral life” (ibid.). 107 Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, Notre Dame, Indiana 2003, 193. See In Eth., VI, l. 2 [1132]: “[W]e must say that the practical intellect has a beginning (principium) in a universal consideration and, according to this, is the same in subject with the speculative, but its consideration terminates in an individual operable thing.” 101 102

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in eternal things, informs the operation of prudentia. 108 Thomas’s treatment of the integral parts of prudence also supplement Aristotle’s account. Two of these parts, namely memory and docility, interestingly, in effect touch upon the notions of tradition and authority. 5. Tradition and authority in Thomas As in the case of Gadamer, Thomas follows Aristotle in maintaining that “to prudence belongs not only the consideration of the reason, but also the application to action, which is the end of the practical reason.” 109 Actions, however, are singular and so prudence involves the knowledge both of universal principles and the particulars that attend human action. 110 It is because singulars are infinite in number and reason is incapable of comprehending an infinite number of things that prudence must call upon experience and, hence, memory, since “experience is the result of many memories as stated in Metaph. i. 1, and therefore prudence requires the memory of many things.” 111 Memory, it should be noted, is the first of the integral parts of prudence treated by Thomas. 112 Experience, for its part, selects a finite number of representative singulars that occur as a general rule and “the knowledge of these suffices for human prudence.” 113 These memories, it could be said, have become part of a man’s being and becoming, that is to say, they enter into the constitution of the fabric of his character. Memory (memoria), along with understanding (intellectus) 114 and foresight (providentia), 115 render prudentia temporal in nature. 116 The fact that it can be “aided by art and diligence,” 117 moreover, situates man not only within the temporal horizons of his own time but serves to enhance his insertion within the historical, intergenerational flow of See STh I, q. 79, a. 9. STh II-II, q. 47, a. 3. 110 See STh II-II, q. 47, a. 3, sed contra: “The Philosopher says (Ethic. vi. 7) that ‘prudence does not deal with universals only, but needs to take cognizance of singulars also.’” 111 STh II-II, q. 49, a. 1. 112 See ibid. 113 STh II-II, q. 47, a. 3, ad 2. 114 See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 2. 115 See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 6. 116 On the temporal nature of prudence, see Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p., The Temporality of Prudence in Thomas Aquinas: Towards a Participatory Construal of Heidegger’s Sorge, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 90 (2016), 499-538, esp. 51729. 117 STh II-II, q. 49, a. 1, ad 2. 108 109

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human existence. 118 What Gadamer writes with regard to written tradition reflects Thomas’s experience: “It is not this document, as a piece of the past, that is the bearer of tradition but the continuity of memory. Through it tradition becomes part of our own world, and thus what it communicates can be stated immediately.” 119 Thomas himself is an exemplar of memory as a bearer of tradition. As Mary Carruthers comments, his experience was “consciously made up from … a mighty chorus of voices able to be summoned at will from the tablets of his memory.” 120 Most fundamental in this regard is Church teaching and the Word of God in Scripture. Indeed, for Thomas, these two realities are intertwined since as Wilhelmus Valkenberg remarks, for Thomas the tradition of the Church is largely “the tradition of explaining Scripture.” 121 Valkenberg adds: “In this vein, the Church and its tradition can be seen as vehicles for receiving and transmitting the Scriptures in a liturgical and doctrinal setting.” 122 The Fathers and Teachers of the Church, the Synods and the Magisterial documents – all play a crucial role in this reception and transmission. Thomas would arguably invoke the Church and its tradition for receiving and passing on the Word of God in Scripture in a liturgical and doctrinal context as the condition for what we have seen Gadamer refer to as “the ‘true prejudices’ of the Christian religion.” 123 This objective prejudice, as one might put it, arises from Here I leave aside the kind of memory that we share in common in with other animals, that is to say, “pertains to the cogitative power (also called particular reason), which associates particular intentions just as universal reason associates universal ones” (In I Met., l. 1 [15]). For a discussion of this point, see A. Leo White, Instinct and Custom, in The Thomist 66 (2002), 597-605, esp. 597-602, which deal with prudence and custom. The necessity of recourse to images for intellectual memory, however, ought to be noted. On this point, see De Memoria, c. 3 [327-28] (accessed 10/01/2023 at https://aquinas.cc/la/en/~DeMem.Tr2.C3.v451a2). 119 TM, 392. 120 Mary Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, Cambridge 2008, 84. 121 Wilhelmus G.B.M. Valkenberg, Words of the Living God: Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, Leuven 2000, 11. 122 Ibid. 123 TM, 275. For a book length treatment of Thomas’s theological hermeneutics, see Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p., The Hermeneutics of Knowing and Willing in the Thought of St. Thomas Aquinas, Utrecht/Leuven 2013. This study concludes thus: “In brief, in delineating what we have termed the hermeneutics of knowing and willing in Thomas’s thought, we have also shown forth the conditions that he considers to be necessary for objective judgment. If the argument of this work is correct, these conditions are Christological, Pneumatological, Trinitarian, and ecclesial. Throughout the course of our presentation of Thomas’s thought, we have made a point of showing how his thinking about theological issues is profoundly shaped by reflection on the 118

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memory’s linking of knowledge, tradition, and the transcendent. 124 It is, importantly, a function of grace which is “a participation of the Divine Nature.” 125 Once again we are provided with a bulwark – in the form of grace – against relativism. 126 Another integral part of prudence, namely docility, entails appeal to authority while facilitating this linking of knowledge, tradition, and the transcendent. 127 Insofar as prudence is concerned, we need to be taught by others since the particular matters of action which it engages “are of infinite variety” 128 with the result that no single individual is capable of considering them all adequately. Moreover, inasmuch as one is able to consider them, much time is required. Thomas emphasizes the necessity of learning from others, particularly from older people, “who have acquired a sane understanding of the ends in practical matters,” by way of appeal to Aristotle as well as to the Book of Proverbs and the Book of Ecclesiasticus. Thus, “the Philosopher says (Ethic. vi. 11): ‘It is right to pay no less attention to the undemonstrated assertions and opinions of such persons as are experienced, older than we are, and prudent, than to their demonstrations, for their experience gives them an insight into principles.’” And, “it is written (Prov. iii. 5): ‘Lean not on thy own prudence,’ and (Ecclus. vi. 35): ‘Stand in the multitude of the ancients (i.e., the old men), that are wise, and join thyself from thy heart to their wisdom.’” 129 While the reference in the main body of the response is to seniores (old men), a response to an objection widens the temporal scope biblical text. In addition to the Christological, Pneumatological, Trinitarian, and ecclesial dynamics of Thomas’s hermeneutics of knowing and willing, we must therefore also recognize their Scriptural character” (ibid.). 124 Here I adapt a phrase from Catherine Pickstock, After Writing: On the Liturgical Consummation of Philosophy, Oxford 1998, 71. The context is a discussion of Descartes, whose “system for the attainment of certitude (conceived as a punctum) challenges the prior significance of memory as a means which inseparably links knowledge, tradition, and the transcendent” (ibid.). 125 STh I-II, 110, a. 3. 126 See O’Reilly, The Hermeneutics of Knowing and Willing, for an extended argument in this regard. 127 For Thomas on the use of authority, see STh I, q. 1, a. 8, ad 2. For studies of Thomas’s use of authority, see M.D. Philippe, Reverentissime Exponens Frater Thomas, in The Thomist 32 (1968), 84-105; and, Leo J. Elders, Thomas Aquinas and the Fathers of the Church, in The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West: From the Carolingians to the Maurists, ed. by Irena Backus, 2 vols, Leiden/New York/Köln 1997, 337-66. 128 STh II-II, q. 49, a. 3. 129 Ibid.

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to include maiores, which can be translated as ‘ancestors.’ 130 The objection itself argues that docility arises from a natural disposition and is therefore not within the capability of everyone. 131 Thomas allows this much to stand: man has indeed a natural aptitude for docility just as much as he does for other things connected with prudence. 132 This natural aptitude, however, does not preclude personal effort with a view to attaining perfect docility. Hence the need for study, that is to say, a man must “carefully, frequently and reverently apply his mind to the teachings of the learned (documentis maiorum), neither neglecting them through laziness, nor despising them through pride.” 133 As Gadamer might comment, the docile person possesses the humility to acknowledge that another is superior to himself and that, for this very reason, the other’s judgment takes precedence over his own. 134 His docility moreover, as already intimated, serves memory as the bearer of tradition. While Thomas does not say so, one could say that the virtue of studiositas is a response to docility, aids memory, and therefore cultivates prudentia. 135 6. Conclusion Gadamer takes up the notion of Aristotelian phronēsis in the service of his hermeneutical investigations, thereby opening up valuable avenues of enquiry in this field. As has been demonstrated, however, he departs from Aristotle’s understanding of this virtue. In this regard, Gadamer was arguably ‘prejudiced’ by his proximate mentor, namely Heidegger, who

See STh II-II, q. 49, a. 3, ad 2. STh II-II, q. 49, a. 3, obj. 2. 132 STh II-II, q. 49, a. 3, ad 2. 133 Ibid. See Philippe, Reverentissime Exponens Frater Thomas, 100: “The disciple who recognizes the authority of the words or the writings of a teacher can […] use them in two ways: either he adheres purely and simply to these words or these writings of authority by considering them in themselves, receiving them as a quasi-definitive expression; or he can, while adhering to them, use them to obtain truth in an untiringly pursued research.” With regard to sacra doctrina Thomas writes that it “properly uses the authority of the canonical Scriptures as an incontrovertible proof, and the authority of the doctors of the Church as one that may properly be used, yet merely as probable” (STh I, q. 1, a. 8, ad 2). It also “makes use also of the authority of philosophers in those questions in which they were able to know the truth by natural reason” (ibid.). 134 See TM, 281. 135 See STh II-II, q. 166, a. 2, ad. 1: “Prudence is the complement of all the moral virtues, as stated in Ethic. vi. 13. Consequently, insofar as the knowledge of prudence pertains to all the virtues, the term studiousness, which properly regards knowledge, is applied to all the virtues.” 130 131

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maintained that phronēsis is independent of both epistēmē and sophia. 136 The absence of these elements of Aristotle’s account renders appeal to the divine impossible on a purely philosophical basis – a Lutheran prejudice, as it were. One can therefore discern a certain fideism in his reference to “the ‘true prejudices’ of the Christian religion.” 137 The force of Gadamer’s rehabilitation of authority and tradition, however, cannot be overestimated. While his own thought has been contaminated in some ways by the same intellectual currents that led to Enlightenment rationalism, with its “the prejudice against prejudice, which denies tradition its power,” 138 his account of authority and tradition nevertheless furnishes a devastating critique of this characteristic of rationalism. While this account manifests an awareness of the connection between phronēsis on the one hand and authority and tradition on the other hand, Gadamer does not probe this connection. Thomas, of course, wrote prior to the dynamics of “the prejudice against prejudice” inaugurated by Enlightenment rationalism. Unlike Gadamer, moreover, his prejudices are not informed by univocal metaphysics, one element of a worldview that led to a rejection of God’s ongoing activity in the universe and, ultimately, to an atheistic attitude. 139 Thomas’s unitary construal of the intellect, with its speculative and practical aspects – the latter being an extension of the former – means that Thomistic prudentia ultimately unfolds in the tension between God as first efficient cause of all that exists and God as final cause. 140 This ontological situatedness confers a moral significance on the intellectual Heidegger, in Being and Time, interprets the relationship that obtains between Aristotelian phronēsis and sophia in terms of separation and opposition. For an account of Heidegger’s position, see O’Reilly, The Temporality of Prudence in Thomas Aquinas, 502-10. 137 TM, 275. 138 TM, 273. 139 See William Desmond, Ethics and the Between, Albany 2001, 20: “Late medieval theology, with its dualistic outlook, slants God in a certain way: above and beyond perhaps, but in such wise that earthly creation shows fewer and fewer traces of divine presence; while down here, humans step into the newly cleared space of immanence, leveled for expropriation and appropriation. God’s dualistic beyondness devalues the earth. Hidden in that dualism is the relentless erosion of belief that the ground of value is an ultimate other, irreducible to human power. And this, despite all Descartes’ hullabaloo about God as absolute perfection, and so on. Again I agree with Pascal when he said: Descartes just needed God to give a fillip to creation, and then he no longer had need for God. And what is the fulfillment of the erosion? It is the hollow earth, our hollow earth, in whose hollowness Nietzsche’s shout about the death of God echoes and reechoes, until it becomes mere white noise, humming in the background of our postmodern chatter.” 140 On this point, see O’Reilly, Transcending Gadamer, 851-59. 136

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virtues of scientia and sapientia. At the same time phronēsis applies the deliverances of reason to the particularities of human action. This article has highlighted two integral parts of this virtue that play a significant role in this regard, namely memory and docility. These parts show forth the intimate connection between tradition and authority, on the one hand, and prudence, on the other hand, for memory in effect pertains to the dynamics of tradition, while docility relates to the legitimate place of appeal to authority in moral deliberation. The harmony of faith and reason that characterizes his thought allows one to surmise that, for Thomas, the Church and its tradition for receiving and passing on the Word of God in Scripture in a liturgical and doctrinal context constitute the condition for phronetic objectivity, that is to say, practical reason’s discernment of the appropriate means towards final beatitude, which discernment conduces to optimal human flourishing. 141 Here we are in the realm of grace, which Thomas describes a nothing other than “a participation of the Divine Nature.” 142 The future-oriented aspect of prudence is stronger in Thomas than in Gadamer and would merit further discussion with respect to the relevant integral part, namely foresight (providentia), which Thomas deems to participate in divine providence: “[H]uman providence is included under the providence of God, as a particular under a universal cause.” 143 Likewise, a discussion of synderesis, “the habit containing the precepts of the natural law, which are the first principles of human actions,” 144 would show forth further ways in which Thomistic prudence has the dynamics of objectivity inscribed within it in ways that are lacking in Gadamer’s construal of it. Finally, with an eye to hermeneutical concerns, one can say that while Gadamer evokes phronēsis as “a kind of model for the problems of hermeneutics,” 145 further elaboration of Thomas’s moral psychology would show how the fabric of moral character conditions in some way even one’s interpretation of the written text. Argumentative support of this hermeneutical claim is however beyond the confines of this article. See Philippe, Reverentissime Exponens Frater Thomas, 95: “Through faith, divine authority is truly introduced into the life of the intelligence of the believer, without being confused with the natural requirements of his intellectual life, but by raising up this life.” 142 STh I-II, q. 110, a. 3. 143 STh I, q. 22, a. 2, ad 4. For a brief exposition of the future orientation of prudence and its interaction with one’s past and present experience, see O’Reilly, The Temporality of Prudence in Thomas Aquinas, 519-20. 144 STh I-II, q. 94, a. 1, ad 2. 145 TM, 320-21. 141

GOD’S CAUSAL ACTS Gaven Kerr It is a standard feature of Aquinas’s classical theism, and indeed classical theism more generally, that God is utterly simple. The motivation for this affirmation in Aquinas’s thought stems from his conception of God as pure esse itself. As pure esse, God is subject to no potency, He is pure act; and as pure act, God cannot be composed in any way. Hence, not only is God lacking in all the standard forms of composition – essence and existence, nature and supposit, substance and accident, matter and form – but it is not even possible for there to be any composition in God given the lack of potency. 1 These same reasons for affirming God’s simplicity appear to conflict with Aquinas’s metaphysics of creation; for according to the latter, whilst Aquinas of course affirms that God is the creator of all things, he also affirms that God could have done otherwise in creation. Aquinas holds that God was free to create differently, and indeed not to create at all; in other words, there was no necessity on God’s willing to create. 2 This truth would seem to conflict with God’s simplicity and pure actuality. This is because were God free to create, it would seem that His choice to create and as He did is some contingent choice that He may not have made. That being the case, the act of will for this creation rather than another signifies an accident in God, thereby conflicting with His simplicity. Not only that, the specification of this act of will as one among many possible acts of will signifies that God’s will is actualised in this way or that depending on what He chooses, in which case there is some potency in God, which potency, again, is inconsistent with divine simplicity. Recently, modal collapse objections and their offspring have targeted this tension in classical theism. 3 What these objections amount For details see STh I, q. 3. For discussion, see Eleonore Stump, Aquinas, LondonNew York 2003, Chapter 3, and The God of the Bible and the God of the Philosophers, Marquette 2016; for an alternative to Stump’s view see Gaven Kerr, Aquinas, Stump, and the Nature of a Simple God, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 90:3 (2016), 441-454. 2 See for instance, STh I, q. 19, a. 3; De Pot q. 1, a. 5. Thomas’s position is that insofar as God is subject to nothing, there is nothing that constrains Him to create. That being the case, if He does create, He does so because He is good, and the production of creatures is to manifest that goodness. For discussion see Gaven Kerr, Aquinas and the Metaphysics of Creation, Oxford 2019, Chapter 2. 3 Ryan Mullins, Simply Impossible: A Case against Divine Simplicity, in Journal of Reformed Philosophy 7 (2013), 181-203, The End of the Timeless God, Oxford 2016, 1

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to is that given God’s simplicity, whatever agency He engages in is identical to His divine essence and so cannot be free but must be necessitated by the divine essence itself. With particular relevance to the issue being dealt with in this paper, these objections hold that God’s intentional act to create the world is identical to Himself, in which case His intentional act is necessary and not free. 4 Recently, the objection has been made that the only way to avoid modal collapse style objections is to abandon any pretence that God acts as a free determinate agent in creating; for if He is free to determine creation as He wishes, then there must be some determination of His will relative to what He creates, and this in turn would conflict with simplicity. Hence, God’s will, whilst causally efficacious, is indeterminate with respect to creation. 5 It would seem then that the classical theist is left in the uncomfortable position of either affirming the necessity of creation or denying that God’s creative causality determines creation.

137-143, 188-189; Joseph Schmid, The Fruitful Death of Modal Collapse Arguments, in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 91 (2022), 3-22; From Modal Collapse to Providential Collapse, in Philosophia 50 (2022), 1413-1435; Brian Leftow, Divine Simplicity and Divine Freedom, in Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association 18 (2015), 47-48, what Leftow calls modal Spinozism. Steven Nemes has also touted a similar objection inspired by the phenomenological thought of Michel Henry, A Critique of Divine Simplicity – https://wordsoflife.substack.com/p/a-critique-of-divine-simplicity, though at the time of writing this objection has not appeared in the literature. For a pointed response to Mullins’s modal collapse objection, see Christopher Tomaszewski, Collapsing the Modal Collapse Argument: On an Invalid Argument Against Divine Simplicity, in Analysis 79:2 (2019), 275-284. 4 Schmid puts it well in summarising an argument from Mullins, From Modal Collapse to Providential Collapse, 3: “…[G]od is identical to his intentional act to actualize this world. Since God exists necessarily, whatever is identical to God likewise exists necessarily. So God’s intentional act to actualize this world exists necessarily. But if God’s intentional act to actualize this world exists necessarily, then this world exists necessarily, since an omnipotent being’s intention(s) cannot fail to issue in the obtaining of its object(s). So this world exists necessarily”; see also Leftow, Divine Simplicity and Divine Freedom, 48: “On DDS, nothing in God is really distinct from anything else in Him. If so, then everything wholly within God— everything intrinsic to God—is identical with everything else in God. Suppose, then, that God’s intentions are wholly within God. If they are, it follows that they are all identical: God has just one intention. Further, God’s intention = His essence. God has His essence necessarily. So it seems to follow that He has His actual intention necessarily. But then it seems that He necessarily wills just what He does: that He could not have willed otherwise. DDS cannot be reconciled with divine freedom and contingency if God’s intentions are intrinsic or wholly internal to God.” 5 This is the thrust of Schmid’s argumentation in the papers referenced above.

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Whilst these objections take the doctrine of divine simplicity as their target, they presuppose an account of agency which entails that were God a free determining agent of creation, He must have some contingent act of will that occurs in Him with His creating of the world. That being the case, God cannot be the free creator of all things and yet simple as classical theists, Aquinas in particular, maintain. It is this presupposed (and indeed undefended) account of agency that I wish to focus on in this article. I contend that the aforementioned objections that leave us in the dilemma of either necessary creation or creative indeterminism presuppose an account of agency whereby the intention of the agent is something in the agent himself (in this case God) which plays an efficiently causal role in the agent’s action. Accordingly, on this view, when an agent undertakes some action, he forms some intention, and by means of that intention proceeds to act. So, for God, when God undertakes to create, He forms some intention of what He intends to create, and by means of that intention proceeds to create. The determinations of creation thus in turn will reflect determinations in the mind of God, and since these determinations are of creatures, they cannot be identical to the divine essence, and thereby signify accidents within the divinity. Either God’s intentions then must be identical to Himself (to preserve simplicity), and we are left with necessary creation, or He does not create with intentions, and we are left with indeterminism. Neither disjunct with its entailment is acceptable to the classical theist. In this paper, I shall argue that the account of intentional action presupposed in the modal collapse objections and their offspring is in fact the one defended by Donald Davidson over the course of his philosophical career. Davidson’s position is contrasted with that of Anscombe who rejects the view that intentional action requires the possession of intentions as intrinsic components in the mind of the agent thereby causing the agent’s action. That being the case, we have a competing view of intentional activity to the one presupposed by modal collapse objectors, and one that we can apply to God’s agency over creation. 6 My goal in this paper is to show that availing of this alternative It is also arguable that Anscombe’s account of agency is consistent with that of Aquinas. However the latter is not the topic of this paper, and indeed whilst I take Aquinas as a representative proponent of the consistency of divine simplicity and God’s creative agency, this paper does not require that Aquinas and Anscombe share accounts of intentional agency; for, as applied to God, Anscombe’s account of intentional agency not only permits the consistency of divine simplicity and God’s creative agency, but also provides a ready response to contemporary challenges to divine simplicity from God’s agency that presuppose a Davidsonian account of such agency. 6

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account of agency allows the classical theist to avoid the dilemma engendered by modal collapse objections. In what follows I shall lay out the differing accounts of agency adopted by Davidson and Anscombe, and demonstrate how contemporary objections to divine simplicity on the basis of God’s agency presuppose the Davidsonian model. Having done that, I will argue that adoption of the Anscombian approach to agency will allow us to hold that God can act as a free agent Who determines creation without threat to His simplicity. Hence, unless objectors defend their presupposed Davidsonian model of agency, the classical theist is unperturbed by their objections. 7 1. Agency A common and widespread account of agency sees all actions as species of events. On this view, events are what are properly basic, and they capture the causal relations in which substances are involved. But amongst these events are a special type that are termed actions. What distinguishes these actions from the events of which they are a species is intentionality. Actions then are categorised generically as events with the differentiating feature of intentionality. An action then is specified by its intention. On this view, the intention not only specifies the event and elevates it to the status of an action, but it is also taken to be the cause of the action. This is because the intention is formed in some mental space, and as so formed it motivates the agent to engage in the action. Hence, the intention is a mental event that acts in a causal manner to bring about the agent’s action. For every action the agent engages in, there is a corresponding intention formed in his mind that causes the agent to act.

7 This is but one of several approaches that can be taken to the challenge of the consistency of divine simplicity with God’s freedom in creating. Aquinas himself argues that whilst God wills the divine essence necessarily, creatures are willed as non-necessary means for the willing of the divine essence. In defending Aquinas, Stump, Kretzmann, and Pawl argue that counterfactual difference does not compromise divine simplicity, nor does it undermine immutability. See Stump and Kretzmann, Absolute Simplicity, in Faith and Philosophy 2:4 (1985), 353-382, Stump, Aquinas, 109-115, Timothy Pawl, Divine Immutability, in Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2009). Whilst all of these defences of divine simplicity are worthy of consideration, it seems to me that the objections considered in this paper focus on God’s agency as in some way compromising simplicity; hence, a directed response that explains how God can be the free agent of creation without compromising His simplicity is warranted.

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Donald Davidson defended the latter view of agency over the course of several articles. 8 His position was developed and modified somewhat in response to particular concerns, e.g. to specify the conditions for the description under which an action is intentional, to explain the individuation of an action and how an action once performed can have an effect prolonged into the future. Nevertheless, despite such developments, Davidson maintained the view throughout his career that actions are a sub-species of events specified by intentions and intentions are mental causes of the actions thereby specified. 9 In this respect, he adopted a position quite opposed to Anscombe’s, whose work on the philosophy of action in fact inspired his own. 10 Before considering Anscombe’s contrasting account of agency, it will be well to establish how the modal collapse objectors and their offspring presuppose the Davidsonian model. All of the authors noted in the introduction who propose modal collapse (or in Schmid’s case providential collapse) speak of God’s intentional act as being an item in the divine mind by which He creates. So in advancing modal/providential collapse objections, they all speak of the divine intention, will, choice as a distinct feature of the divine mind on the basis of which God creates, and given the doctrine of simplicity, viz. that whatever is in God is God, such an intention is necessary, in which case the agency which follows from it is necessary (Schmid’s position is slightly more nuanced insofar as he believes the way out of this is to deny any causal determination of God as agent; still Schmid’s proposal gains leverage through 8 Donald Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events, Oxford 1980, note in particular essays 1, 3, 5. 9 I refer to Davidson as representative of the causal view of intention. There are other defenders of this view; Rosalind Hursthouse cites Pears, McGinn, Davis, Shaffer, O'Shaughnessy, Goldman, Audi, Danto, Honderich, Lewis, Loar, see Intention, in Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplement 46 (2000), 84, n. 2. One can also find an antecedent of this view in David Hume’s definition of will: “the internal impression we feel and are conscious of when we knowingly give rise to any new motion of our body or new perception of our mind,” Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. 2, Pt. 3, Sect. 1. For a discussion of Hume in this regard see Peter Geach, Intention, Freedom and Predictability, in Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplement 46 (2000), 73-74. 10 For a helpful summary of Anscombe’s position and its context versus Davidson, see Frederick Stoutland, Anscombe’s Intention in Context, and Summary of Anscombe’s Intention, in Essays on Anscombe’s Intention, Anton Ford, Jennifer Hornsby, and Frederick Stoutland (eds.), Harvard 2011, 1-33. For a trenchant critique of the Davidsonian position and an affirmation of Anscombe’s position, see Rosalind Hursthouse, Intention, 83-105. For an account of the social and political context in which Anscombe wrote Intention and which, arguably, played a role in its genesis, see Rachel Wiseman, The Intended and Unintended Consequences of Intention, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 90:2 (2016), 207-229.

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presupposing the model of intentional agency whereby the intention is a distinct item in the divine mind through which God creates). 11 Accordingly, all of our modal/providential collapse objectors are motivated by what is fundamentally a Davidsonian model of intentional agency as applicable to God. That being the case, if we can provide an alternative to the Davidsonian model, we can avoid the modal collapse objections that presuppose it. That alternative account can be found in the thought of Elizabeth Anscombe. To introduce Anscombe’s views on intentional agency, we can turn to a characteristically opaque remark of Wittgenstein’s: “What is left over if I subtract the fact that my arm goes up from the fact that I raise my arm?” 12 Dense as this remark is, we can see what Wittgenstein is gesturing towards when we read it within the context of the Davidsonian position outlined above. On the latter, what is left over when we subtract the fact of the arm’s raising from my raising my arm is the intention as the mental event that causes the physical event of my raising my arm. In the context of this article, our modal collapse objectors hold that what remains independent of God and creation are God’s intentions by which He creates. By contrast, Anscombe holds that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, in virtue of which an action is intentional. 13 According to her, we See for instance, Mullins, The End of the Timeless God, 139-140, 188-189 where he speaks of God’s choices and willings as potentials in Him that stand to be actualised; in The Fruitful Death of Modal Collapse Arguments, and in From Modal Collapse to Providential Collapse, Schmid speaks of God’s intentions as items intrinsic to God by which He creates, thereby motivating his indeterminism solution to modal collapse. In Divine Simplicity and Divine Freedom, 48, Leftow speaks of intentions as items within the mind of God as bringing about what God means to create. Nemes explicitly holds that for God to act intentionally is for God to have an internal conscious ordering, and should that intentional action be directed at creation, God would then have contingent intentions that order Him towards creation: https://wordsoflife.substack.com/p/a-critique-of-divine-simplicity. As noted previously, Nemes has not yet (to my knowledge) presented this objection in the literature, yet it is another example of a serious philosopher who motivates a modal collapse objection to simplicity on the basis of a thoroughly Davidsonian view of intentional agency. 12 Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M Anscombe, Oxford 1991, n. 622. 13 Anton Ford, Action and Generality, in Essays on Anscombe’s Intention, 80. According to Ford, this is not a consequence of Anscombe’s rejection of psychologism; rather, he argues that her rejection of psychologism is a consequence of her thinking on intention. Ford points out that for the same reason Anscombe rejects behaviourism; for if an action is not intentional in virtue of being related to some psychological state, then neither is it intentional in virtue of being related to some overt behaviour. 11

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account for intentional action not on the basis of seeing such as within the same category of events as non-intentional actions; rather intentional actions occupy a category of themselves. On that view, intentional actions do not have an added feature from without, specifying them as intentional; rather they are intentional in themselves. Intentional actions then are sui generis and so not characterised in terms of appeal to some nonintentional event from which intentional actions are offset as a subspecies. According to Anscombe, an action is a means-end process that is intentional under some descriptions and unintentional under others. 14 For instance, my action of sawing a plank of wood is intentional under the description of sawing a plank of wood, but not intentional under the description of sawing Dr Smith’s garden fence. The agent’s knowledge is involved in the descriptions under which it is intentional, and as such an intentional action answers to a particular kind of ‘why’ question. For instance, someone may ask me why I am sawing the plank of wood, and there are any number of reasons I can give; by contrast, the irate Dr Smith may ask why I am sawing his garden fence, and all I can say is that I didn’t know I was doing that for I didn’t know it was his fence. Accordingly, if in performing an action someone asks: why are you doing that? And I give an intelligible answer as to why I’m doing it, the question has application; but if I answer that I didn’t realise I was doing it, e.g. sawing Dr Smith’s fence (or rapid blinking, or heavy breathing, or stroking my beard etc), then the why question does not have application and such things are not intentional actions, i.e. I wasn’t intentionally doing those things. 15 Anscombe notes the association of intentional action with answering to a ‘why’ question by illustrating the difference between an intentional action and a mechanical action. She asks us to imagine a door being closed, and we ask what made it shut. Let’s say some mechanical device making use of magnets shut the door. If we ask how that device shut the door, we would give an analysis of the mechanism; and if we were to ask further why the mechanism shut the door, we would go over how the mechanism works. By contrast, if we were to say that Jones shut the door, and in turn ask how he did so, we would say that he gave it a push. Of course, we can analyse the mechanics of Jones’s pushing, but if we were to ask why Jones shut the door, unlike the magnetic mechanism, we would not answer by going over the mechanics of how Jones closed 14 This is how Candace Vogler characterises Anscombe’s view; see Nothing Added: Intention §19-20, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 90:2 (2016), 229. 15 Intention, §4-6.

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the door, we would give his intention for acting, e.g. he shut the door to get some privacy to have a conversation. 16 In §19 of Intention, Anscombe makes clear that there is no advantage in thinking of an intention as something added to an action by which it is intentional. 17 She begins by making the assumption for a reductio: imagine some feature, I, by which an action is intentional. Now, recall that the intentional character of an action requires some description under which it is intentional; for as we have seen, the same action can be intentional under one description and not another. Now consider some action such as hammering. Anscombe distinguishes between what is actually done here and is thereby intentional, i.e. the hammering, and what is not actually done but simply occurs, i.e. the contraction of the muscles in hammering; she suggests calling the latter preintentional. If there is an added ingredient, I, making an action intentional, it cannot be added at the level of what is actually done, e.g. the hammering, since this is already intentional and so not made intentional by I. Hence it must be added at the preintentional level, i.e. at the level of what occurs. So, on this view, preintentional occurrence + I results in an intentional action. But which intentional action does it result in? I must be some description (or related to some description) determining the intentional action in question, but nothing about the preintentional occurrence, such as muscle contractions in this case, is capable of determining the descriptive content of I; and since I cannot appear on the intentional level, only on the preintentional, it is what Anscombe calls a happy coincidence that the ingredient I, which when added to an event makes it intentional, always accompanies the preintentional occurrence involved in our intentional actions. 18 So, the view that there is an intention added to an event making it an intentional action results in the presumably unwelcome outcome that the intention does not render the action intentional, but is simply regularly conjoined with the various preintentional movements that the agent Anscombe, The Causation of Action, in Human Life, Actions, and Ethics: Essays by G.E.M Anscombe, Mary Geach and Luke Gormally (eds.), Exeter 2005, 89-94. 17 Intention, Harvard, 1963, §19, 28: “We do not add anything attaching to the action at the time it is done by describing it as intentional. To call it intentional is to assign it to the class of intentional actions and so to indicate that we should consider the question ‘Why?’ relevant to it in the sense that I have described.” See Candace Vogler, Nothing Added, 229-233 for the context of Anscombe’s discussion in §19 (and §20) and the Davidsonian background. 18 Intention, §19, 29: “Then it is a mere happy accident that an I relevant to the wider context and further consequences ever accompanies the preintentional movements in which a man performs a given intention.” 16

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undergoes. Contrary to those who wish an intention to play a causal role in specifying the action as an intentional one, the intention so understood turns out to be nugatory and explanatorily worthless. As we have seen, an action is intentional when it answers to a particular kind of ‘why’ question, such that if you were to ask the agent why he was doing the action he could give a reason for it, e.g. I am doing X in order that Y may result. But the intentions involved in an action are not mental states that bring about the action. 19 We can exploit a famous example of Anscombe’s to illustrate her point. 20 The act of pumping with the intention of filling the water supply with the intention of poisoning the inhabitants in a building is just pumping, and filling, and poisoning. But as performed by an agent, these actions are performed for a reason, which reason answers to a ‘why’ question: why are you doing that? It is under this reason that the intentionality of the action is specified, but that intentionality is the form of the action itself, it is not something in the agent. The agent as involved in the action is striving to bring about some end which end in turn characterises the form of the action. But crucially, acting intentionally because of a reason does not mean that the reason caused the action in the manner of an efficient cause. 21 It is the agent who acts as cause, and should that action be answerable to a ‘why’ question, the agent acts intentionally. As we have seen from the argument in Intention §19, any analysis of an intentional action in terms of an intention causing the agent to act intentionally renders the inner intention explanatorily worthless. As Anscombe puts it elsewhere, action is not to be explained as efficient causality plus desire or mental state. 22 Furthermore, were the intention the cause of an action, then the action itself would not be answerable to a ‘why’ question and so not intentional. Consider that one who has been caused to act, does not act of himself; for if somebody causes me to do something, say, by frightening me and causing me to jump and spill a glass of water, then whilst I spilt the water, I did not perform the action. Were I to be asked why I acted Anscombe, The Causation of Action, 95: “The mistake is to think that the relation of being done in execution of a certain intention [sic], or being done intentionally [sic], is a causal relation between act and intention. We see this to be a mistake if we note that an intention does not have to be a distinct psychological state which exists either prior to or even contemporaneously with the intentional action whose intention it is”; see also Stoutland, Summary of Anscombe’s Intention, 28. 20 Intention, §23. 21 Stoutland, Anscombe’s Intention in Context, 6. 22 Anscombe, The Causation of Action, 96: “The teleology of conscious action is not to be explained as efficient causality by a condition, or state, of desire. Remembering that that was ‘what I did…for,’ does not have to involve remembering such a state.” 19

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thus, I could only exculpate myself and gesture towards the one who frightened me causing me to jump. Clearly my spilling of the water is not an intentional action; for I was made to do so by somebody else. 23 So if the intention is a cause of action, then the same follows: I am not the one who acts, but the intention caused me to act and so one cannot ask why I acted thus. Were the intention or some inner mental state the cause of my action, the action would not be answerable to the ‘why’ question, since that action, as something caused and not done by me, would be unintentional, and thereby involuntary. 24 We can relate the latter reasoning to McDowell’s exploitation of the Sellarsian myth of the Given in Mind and World. Therein McDowell reasons that appeal to a conceptualless Given to introduce traction on the mind’s spontaneity does not offer a justification for beliefs we have about the world. This is because, as lacking in conceptual content, the Given simply pushes up against the space of reasons, but cannot supply justifications, only exculpations. 25 We can run a similar argument with regard to the causalist view of intentional action. Were the intention to be the cause of the agent’s action, it would be a cause extrinsic to the action itself. On that basis, it would not be the agent who acts for a reason in performing that action, in which case the action would not be intentional. If asked why he so acted, the agent would not be able to supply reasons, for it was not he who acted insofar as he was only caused to act; rather,

23 It may be pointed out that both Aristotle and Aquinas hold that fear does not make an action involuntary, since when acting out of fear we are still acting on the basis of an internal principle and not by means of extrinsic force or ignorance, in which case being startled and bringing something about could still be seen as voluntary. See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, Bk. 3, Chapter 1 and Aquinas’s commentary on the same; see also Aquinas, STh I-II, q. 6 a. 6. However, it seems to me that there is a difference between acting out of fear and reacting because one is startled. Both Aristotle and Aquinas are discussing fear in terms of some evil that is known and acting so as to avoid that evil. In the case of being startled, whilst one is engaged intelligently with the world, one has no time to represent to oneself what causes the fright and act so as to avoid it, rather one simply reacts to what causes the fright, and in that case one is not acting out of fear, indeed one is not acting at all since one has not deployed one’s reason in engaging one’s will to avoid an evil. The reaction that occurs as a result of a fright is more like the act of a human rather than a human act. 24 Hursthouse, Intention, 84; see also Anscombe, Intention, §16 for a summary of the previous sections in which she argues that intentional actions answering to the ‘why’ question are not marked off by mental causality since involuntary actions involve mental causality. 25 See John McDowell, Mind and World, Harvard 1994, Chapters 1-3 for a presentation of this argument.

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to use McDowell’s terminology, the agent could only offer exculpations of his action, not justification. 26 Consistent with her views on intention, Anscombe offers an account of practical reasoning that does not issue in judgements that are propositional in format, but in actions. Accordingly, when one engages in practical reasoning, one does not arrive at the conclusion: therefore I ought to do X; rather, one simply does X. This is connected with her rejection of the causalist view insofar as were practical reason taken to issue in judgements of the form ‘I ought to do X,’ and the act of doing X to follow therefrom, the conclusion of such practical reasoning would function as a cause of one’s doing X. Davidson himself advocates the very view that Anscombe rejects, viz. that the conclusion of a practical inference expresses some normative content which one ought to do; it issues in a conclusion propositional in form rather than an action. In commenting, McDowell notes that the Davidsonian approach here equates the conclusion of a practical inference with a bit of theoretical reasoning, such that the latter seeks to arrive at some propositional truth. This, he claims, obscures the nature of practical truth that Anscombe appropriates from Aquinas, to the effect that practical truth is not the taking in of what is there to be known, but is in fact the cause of what it knows. Thus, whereas being wrong in the case of a piece of theoretical knowledge is not seeing the world as thus and so, being wrong in the case of a piece of practical knowledge is a failure in performance, i.e. a failure to act in accord with the knowledge that one has. 27 Anscombe affirms this view in her discussion of the practical syllogism which, in contrast to the scientific syllogism, does not result in a conclusion necessarily deduced from its premises, but in action.

26 McDowell runs a similar argument, though not in the same context as I do here, in Mind and World, Lecture 5. Note in particular what he says in §2, 89: “Kant says ‘Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind.’ Similarly, intentions without overt activity are idle, and movements of limbs without concepts are mere happenings, not expressions of agency.” 27 See John McDowell, What is the Content of an Intention in Action?, in Ratio 23:4 (2010), §1-4. For Anscombe, see Intention, §32 et seq, where she draws out this point by means of the example of the man seeking to buy items from a shopping list. For Aquinas see STh I-II, q. 3 a. 5 obj. 1 (cited by Anscombe in Intention, §48); whilst this is an objection that Aquinas considers, in his reply he does not reject what is said about the practical intellect viz. that it is the cause of what it knows. And indeed, we find this affirmed elsewhere that the practical intellect directs what is known to some operation, so that what is proper to the practical intellect is the operation or action, not some speculative item of knowledge, see for instance STh I, q. 79, a. 11, Sententia Libri Ethicorum (Rome: Leonine, 1969), lib. 6, lect. 2.

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Accordingly, the practical syllogism seeks to show that the action one takes is a reasonable one; but it does not lead ineluctably to action. 28 The latter goes hand in hand with a position Anscombe develops concerning causality to the effect that if we have an effect we can infer a cause, but simply because we have the cause, it doesn’t mean that an effect necessarily follows. In other words, an effect is not necessitated by its cause, even though it is derived therefrom. 29 To see how this is so we can modernise an example developed by Anscombe. We know that Covid-19 is a highly contagious disease. Hence, if one has caught Covid then it is because he came into contact with someone who had Covid. Nevertheless, simply because one has come into contact with somebody with Covid does not necessitate that one will catch Covid. 30 Anscombe’s point here is to show the falsity of a concept of necessity associated with causation that would insist that a cause of an effect is necessitating so it is impossible that the cause occur without the effect. As we have seen in the disease example, no such necessitation occurs. Not only that, but it is also more clearly the case that no such necessitation occurs in agency unless one is already convinced of the causal view of intention. For whilst it is the case that, say, the door shut because Jones pushed it shut, it is not the case that given Jones and the door and his goal of shutting the door that the door will necessarily be shut; for Jones could simply refrain from acting. On the causal view of intention, Jones cannot refrain from acting unless he forms another intention. By contrast, as we have seen on Anscombe’s view, practical reasoning does not involve the striving towards some propositional truth necessitated by the reasoning process. Rather, practical reasoning results in action, which action can fail to be in accord with the reasoning, but is not necessitated by that reasoning. The practical syllogism simply demonstrates that my action is reasonable, not that I must act.

Anscombe, Thought and Action in Aristotle: What is Practical Truth?, in From Parmenides to Wittgenstein: Collected Philosophical Papers Vol. 1, Oxford 1981, 6681. Anscombe critiques Aristotle somewhat here insofar as on her reading of him, he strives to bring the practical syllogism as close as possible to the scientific; and this tends to the affirmation that the action is necessarily deduced from the premises. 29 Anscombe, Causality and Determination, in Causation and Conditionals, Ernest Sosa (ed.), Oxford 1975, 63-82. 30 Ibid, 67: “…[W]e have found certain diseases to be contagious. If, then, I have had one and only one contact with someone suffering from such a disease, and I get it myself, we suppose I got it from him. But what if having had the contact, I ask a doctor whether I will get the disease? He will usually only be able to say, ‘I don’t know – maybe you will, maybe not.’” 28

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Accordingly, the causal view of intention goes hand in hand with the view that cases of causality are embedded within more general laws such that they are instances of the law that given a cause C an effect E necessarily follows. It is no surprise that Davidson himself is a proponent of just such a causal theory. 31 By contrast, Anscombe’s non-causal view of intention involves a view of causality that is not necessitating, particularly within the context of agency. None of this is to say that what the agent brings about occurs as a result of mere hap (as Anscombe says of the disease example); rather her point is to loosen the bond of necessity that is often associated with a kind of event causality whereby events of type A bring about events of type B. With that bond loosened, one can say in the case of agency that something will only follow if the agent brings it about, but not that it is the case that the agent must bring it about given the conditions of the agent. It should be clear at this point that when discussing the causal view of intention, we are thinking in terms of what Aristotle and Aquinas would have called an efficient or agent cause. Very often, this kind of causality is the only kind discussed in contemporary philosophy, and indeed, it is almost exclusively the kind of causality discussed in the context of intentional agency. Accordingly, on the causalist view, the intention is the cause of the agent’s acting; so, as we have been highlighting, the agent then is not the cause of the action, but the agent’s intention. It is this causal view of agency that Anscombe rejects, but this is not to say that there is no causality involved in intentional agency. This is because whilst Anscombe rejects the view that anything like an intention plays a causal role in the agent, the agent is still striving to bring something about, something of which the agent has knowledge. What the agent is striving to bring about can be said to play a causal role, but this would be a causal role distinct from that of efficient causality. Simply because there is a goal of which the agent has knowledge and strives to bring about does not mean that the agent is efficiently caused to bring that about. Nevertheless, the agency of the agent is focussed on that goal after which he strives. What this leaves room for within Anscombe’s account of agency is a kind of final causality that both Aristotle and Aquinas affirm. Such final causality does not exercise any absolute necessity on the agent; for as Aquinas explicitly affirms, the final cause only exercises conditional necessity on the supposition that one seeks to obtain it. 32 See Davidson, Causal Relations, in Causation and Conditionals, 82-94. Aquinas, De Principiis Naturae, c. 4, n. 24: “Necessitas autem conditionalis procedit a causis posterioribus in generatione, scilicet a forma et fine; sicut dicimus quod necessarium est esse conceptionem, si debeat generari homo. Et ista dicitur 31 32

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Nevertheless, on the latter supposition, the final cause exercises causality over the agent. This is an important clarification to make, because as we shall see in the next section, whilst there is nothing independent of God that causes Him to act in an efficient manner, God’s goodness is still the motivation for any action He undertakes and so functions as a final cause of His action, a final cause with which He is identical. Accordingly, whatever God wills He wills because He is good, but not because anything other than Him constrains Him to act. With this alternative account of agency in mind, we can turn to God’s agency in creating and see how an Anscombian approach will allow for God’s simplicity against the objections of our modal collapse objectors. 2. God’s act of creating As noted in the introduction, the problem under consideration is how God as the agent of creation could will other than He did without thereby undergoing some intrinsic change and thereby acquiring some new accident. This problem threatens Aquinas’s conception of God to its core, since it undermines God’s pure actuality whence is derived God’s simplicity. To see this, let us consider in a little depth some of Aquinas’s key commitments when it comes to the metaphysics of creation. Creation for Aquinas is the production of the total substance in esse. The creature then is an essence/esse composite and it is created precisely because it has been granted an act of existence (esse) from God. 33 In creating then God brings about a definite creature, indeed He brings about many of them. In order to do so, God must deploy His knowledge, will, and power to create. He deploys His knowledge insofar as there is a definite creature that He undertakes to bring about, e.g. a horse, a dog, a human. He deploys His will insofar as He opts to create some things rather than others. And He deploys His power to grant existence to what does not exist. 34

conditionalis, quia hanc mulierem concipere non est necessarium simpliciter, sed sub hac conditione, scilicet si debeat generari homo. Et haec dicitur necessitas finis.” 33 Aquinas, In II Sent d. 1, q. 1, a. 2: “Hoc autem creare dicimus, scilicet producere rem in esse secundum totam suam substantiam.” The same definition can be found in: ScG II, c. 17, De Pot q. 3, a. 1, STh, I q. 45 a. 1, De Sub Sep c. 10, n. 56. 34 STh I, q. 14: “…[O]peratio quaedam est quae manet in operante, quaedam vero quae procedit in exteriorem effectum, primo agemus de scientia et voluntate (nam intelligere in intelligente est, et velle in volente); et postmodum de potentia Dei, quae consideratur ut principium operationis divinae in effectum exteriorem procedentis.”

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God’s knowledge raises challenges for divine simplicity, challenges that Thomists have been active in addressing. 35 The particular issue being dealt with in this paper pertains to God’s will and power, since it concerns God’s acting as an agent to create and whether or not the variability of creation introduces some variability in God. Accordingly, let us explore God’s will and power in creation in a little more depth. God’s will is directed at the good of the divine essence itself. This is what God necessarily wills. God is not necessitated to will anything other than the divine essence, since as pure actuality there is nothing other than God that could actualise Him. Accordingly, if God wills anything other than the divine essence, it is because He chooses to do so. And His choice to do so is not because of anything in the things that He wills other than Himself, but because of the good of the divine essence itself. In other words, God wills to exist the creatures that He does so will as a nonnecessary means to will His own good. 36 The willing of creatures to exist then is that they may enjoy the good of the divine essence. As a willing of the good for creatures who did not exist to merit that good, creation is an act of unconditional love from God. 37 Nevertheless, in order to bring creatures into existence, God must use His power. Now, given divine simplicity, there is no distinction between God’s power and His use thereof. God’s power and His use are identical. 38 However, the effect of God’s power, the creature, is not identical to the power itself by which the creature is brought to be; for the creature’s act of existence is a limited act of existence proper to the creature and distinct from its essence, whereas God’s power is identical to the divine esse itself. With all this in mind, another key commitment of Aquinas’s metaphysics of creation becomes apparent, and it is to the effect that creatures are related to God by a real relation; for there is something in 35 See for instance Gregory Doolan, Aquinas on the Divine Ideas as Exemplar Causes, Washington D.C. 2008; for the particular context of creation see Kerr Aquinas and the Metaphysics of Creation, 58-62. 36 STh I, q. 19 a. 3. 37 This is a feature of the metaphysics of creation that is particularly emphasised by Kerr in Aquinas and the Metaphysics of Creation, Chapter 7. 38 STh I, q. 25 a. 1 ad 3.; De Pot q. 1, a. 1, ad. 8; ScG II, c. 9. For discussion of the Summa Contra Gentiles text see Norman Kretzmann, The Metaphysics of Creation: Aquinas’s Natural Theology in Summa Contra Gentiles II, Oxford 2001, Chapter 2, §5, note in particular 46: “…[S]ince in God there is no real (but only a conceptual) distinction between his power (to produce other things) and his activity (of producing other things), power is attributable to him not as the immediate source of his activity (and thereby the more remote source of its effects) but simply as the source of the effects …”

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the creature by which it is so related to God, i.e. its act of existence. By contrast, there is nothing in God by which He is related to creatures; for in creating God does not undergo some change or acquire some new actuality. Hence, God only bears a relation of reason to creatures such that He knows that in existing they are dependent on Him for their existence. Given that God does not bear a real relation to creatures, it follows that a change in creatures does not entail a change in God. 39 These key commitments of Aquinas’s metaphysics of creation would appear to generate the very problem that is the focus of this paper. Given what we have seen, God has willed some creatures to exist rather than others; and God uses His power to bring them into existence. This would suggest then that God’s will and power are focused in one way rather than another, and should God have willed to create other than He did (a possibility that Aquinas affirms), then God’s will and the specification of His power would have been different. God as the agent of creation then must vary with the variability of creation. Despite the foregoing, this is only a problem if we assume an account of agency more akin to Davidson’s than to Anscombe’s. Consider that on the Davidsonian model, for any action that we perform, that action is preceded by a mental event that causes the event of the action making it intentional rather than a mere occurrence. So given that God has created this world, some mental event occurred in God specifying the intention of the action He was prepared to undertake; and this mental event in turn brought about God’s action specifying it as the creation of this world. Should God have willed to create a different world, a different mental event would have occurred in God that in turn caused the event of His act of creating the different world. And if God refrained from creating, then no mental event would have occurred in God that would have caused Him to undertake to create any world. Accordingly, adoption of the Davidsonian account of agency in this context generates a problem for Aquinas who wants to maintain that God was free to do otherwise in creating without threat to the various other truths that he affirms about God. Not only that, insofar as on the Davidsonian view, practical reasoning issues in some propositional truth that presents the prospective 39 See De Pot q. 3, art. 3, note in particular: “Creatura autem secundum nomen refertur ad creatorem. Dependet autem creatura a creatore, et non e converso. Unde oportet quod relatio qua creatura ad creatorem refertur, sit realis; sed in Deo est relatio secundum rationem tantum… [I]n ipsa creatione non importatur aliquis accessus ad esse, nec transmutatio a creante, sed solummodo inceptio essendi, et relatio ad creatorem a quo esse habet; et sic creatio nihil est aliud realiter quam relatio quaedam ad Deum cum novitate essendi.”

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action to be undertaken as desirable, it would follow from this that in God’s case, before He undertakes to create, He engages in the divine equivalent of a practical syllogism which issues in a decree (‘Let there be…’) to create this, that, or the other world, and on the basis of that decree proceeds to create. Unite all of this with Davidson’s view that all singular acts of causation are a species of some general event causation such that an event of type X issues in an event of type Y, and we can see that when God undertakes to create, He evaluates the possibilities, chooses some range of them, forms the decree or intention to create, and on the basis of that the action results. Clearly, all of this is inconsistent with divine simplicity. If we turn to the Anscombian account of action, we can find a nice resolution to the problem. Recall that on the Anscombian account, there is no added mental event, the ‘intention,’ which causes the action and makes it intentional. Rather, an intentional action is sui generis performed for some reason under which description it is intentional. Now, insofar as the reason by means of which the action is performed is not the cause of the action, but the agent is, it follows that a difference in action is not a difference in reason for acting. This is because under the same reason the agent can perform a myriad of different actions or even none at all. So, for instance, I may have reason to quench my thirst, and under that reason a number of actions I perform are intentional (getting a bottle of water, going to the tap, boiling the kettle to purify water etc) such that if I were asked what I am doing in any of those actions, I could respond in terms of that same reason: I’m quenching my thirst. And not only that, given what Anscombe argues with regard to causality and determination, even if I have a reason to act in terms of quenching my thirst, having that reason is consistent with my not acting, precisely because reasons for acting are not causally necessitating of the action. What this goes to show is that the act of the agent is not some activity in the agent, but in what the agent brings about. 40 What the agent brings about in terms of his action is intentional because it is done for some reason. So, the intentionality of the action is not something in the agent, but something in the effect of the agent, i.e. the action. And insofar as there can be various actions all with different intentionalities performed for the same reason, and even no action at all consistent with that reason, one and the same reason can account for the intentionality of the different This indeed is an application of Aquinas’s wider metaphysical principle that the act of the agent is in the patient; for an analysis of Aquinas’s metaphysics in this regard see Gloria Frost, Aquinas’ Ontology of Transeunt Causal Activity, in Vivarium 56 (2018), 47-82. 40

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actions of one and the same agent. In other words, the agent is no different qua agent in performing different actions for the same reason or not at all. If we adopt the Anscombian approach, it is clear that God as the agent of creation must have some reason to act. On Aquinas’s account, God’s reason for the act of creation is the love that He has for Himself as good; indeed, whatever God wills, He wills because He is good. But as we have seen above, one and the same reason for acting is consistent with the performance of different actions or none at all. This is because the reason for action is not causally determining. That being the case, God is free to create this or that or nothing, not because to do so different mental events would occur in Him, but because He can have the same reason for acting, His love for Himself, regardless of what or whether He creates. On the Anscombian approach, God is not subject to a formed intention that exercises causal influence over Him. Nothing exercises causal influence over God; and in this lies the radical contingency of creation, viz., God is not subject to anything that would necessitate Him to create. Thus, the contingency in creation does not lie in God’s will being able to be this way or that way; rather the contingency of creation lies in God’s complete independence from any causal influence. 41 It is arguably the view more influenced by Scotus that would equate the contingency of creation with some variability in God’s will; whereas Aquinas’s view is that the creature is variable because God wills it to be so, not because God’s will is variable. 42 See for instance, De Pot q. 1, a. 5: “Impossibile est autem, id quod agit ex naturae necessitate, sibi ipsi determinare finem: quia quod est tale, est ex se agens; et quod est agens vel motum ex se ipso, in ipso est agere vel non agere, moveri vel non moveri, ut dicitur…et hoc non potest competere ei quod ex necessitate movetur, cum sit determinatum ad unum. Unde oportet quod omni ei quod agit ex necessitate naturae, determinetur finis ab aliquo quod sit intelligens. Propter quod dicitur a philosophis, quod opus naturae est opus intelligentiae. Unde si aliquando aliquod corpus naturale adiungitur alicui intellectui, sicut in homine patet, quantum ad illas actiones quibus intellectus illius finem determinat, obedit natura voluntati, sicut ex motu locali hominis patet: quantum vero ad illas actiones in quibus ei finem non determinat, non obedit, sicut in actu nutrimenti et augmenti. Ex his ergo colligitur quod id quod ex necessitate natura agit, impossibile est esse principium agens, cum determinetur sibi finis ab alio. Et sic patet quod impossibile est Deum agere ex necessitate naturae,” see also STh I, q. 19 a. 4 (first and second arguments) and ScG I, c. 44, n. 7 ‘Item.’ 42 For details see Thomas Osborne Jr., Human Action in Thomas Aquinas, John Duns Scotus, & William of Ockham, Washington D.C. 2014, 2-3; Gloria Frost, Aquinas and Scotus on the Source of Contingency, in Oxford Studies in Medieval Philosophy, Vol. 2, Robert Pasnau (ed.), New York 2014, 46-66. Frost notes that these are somewhat caricatures of the positions involved, and that a closer look at the texts reveals subtle similarities between Aquinas and Scotus; this is why I above refer to the view that is arguably influenced by Scotus. The difference between Aquinas and Scotus here is 41

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Having said all this, one may believe that the image of God’s agency with which we are here presented is that of a complete indeterminism; for if God acts for the same reason in creating whatever world He creates, then that reason does not determine what He creates. 43 But this too assumes the Davidsonian approach that God’s will being as it is is the cause of God’s acting, so that God’s agency is determined this way or that by some events in God’s mental life. 44 Once again, whilst God certainly acts for a reason, He is caused to act by nothing. The intentionality of His action then is not to be found in any act of will that causally precedes the action, but in the action itself. God’s action itself is the granting of esse to some creature; and insofar as this action is in the patient, i.e. in the creature, the form of the action is the form of the creature. This action itself is a determinate action since it is the existence of this or that determinate substance, but it does not signify a distinct actuality in God. Accordingly, God is causally responsible for everything that exists, and this is enough to avoid the attribution of indeterminism. 45 related to a deeper difference on how intellect and will relate in action, and in particular how the will is free. Aquinas holds that the freedom of the will resides in the intellect’s being able to know the good in a number of different ways, all of which can be willed. Scotus on the other hand locates the freedom of the will in its indifference to alternatives. For details see Osborne Jr. Human Action, Chapter 1. 43 In a different context, Joseph Schmid argues that the indeterminism of God’s causal agency is the only way out of the modal collapse problem, see his The Fruitful Death of Modal Collapse Arguments. He goes on to infer that such an escape from modal collapse is problematic for the classical theist insofar as it entails that God does not determine the nature of whatever He creates. 44 Schmid affirms this very thing when he writes: “But God’s (creative) intentional act(s), under classical theism, cannot be directed towards a specifc, determinate outcome. This is because under classical theism, God’s one, simple act (across all possible worlds) is numerically identical to God himself. Whether God’s simple act brings about an infinite multiverse, or infinitely many infinite multiverses, or a finite universe, or nothing at all—or anything in between—absolutely nothing about God himself and his states (e.g., intentions, desires, willings, etc.) varies.” It was precisely this view of intentional action, viz. that the intentionality of the action is explicable in terms of some state of the agent, that Anscombe argues against in Intention, in which case Schmid’s problem for classical theism only has bite if we reject the Anscombian approach and adopt the Davidsonian approach, something for which Schmid offers no justification. 45 Matthews Grant deploys a form of this reasoning, viz. that the determination of some things in relation to God is in the things themselves and not in God, i.e. they are extrinsic to Him, in Free Will and God’s Universal Causality: The Dual Sources Account, London 2019. Note what he says on 58: “On EM [Grant’s extrinsic model], God's willing, choosing, or intending E is not an act distinct from his causing E; it is just God's causing E for a reason.”

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Yet given that God acts for a reason which is multiply analysable, one may still want to insist that there should be some mechanism that triggers this realisation of the reason rather than that realisation. But this insistence presupposes the Davidsonian approach that for one action to be undertaken rather than another, there must be a prior intention in the agent that causes the agent to pursue this action rather than that. By contrast on the Anscombian account, the agent is the cause of the action, and the agent acts as he wants for whatever reason. For instance, in order to quench my thirst, I get up, walk at a leisurely pace, pick any cup (not exactly my favourite), and fill it with water (not juice, or cola, or beer). This action in all its steps is an intentional action. Each step is enacted for the reason of quenching my thirst. At no point was there an intention formed that (i) caused me to get up, (ii) caused me to walk leisurely, (iii) caused me to pick any cup, and (iv) caused me to fill the cup with water. The same reason for acting could be involved in an action whereby I got up and ran and grabbed my favourite cup and filled it with juice; indeed, I could have the same reason for acting and not act at all. Similarly with God, His reason for acting is the love that He has for Himself. His creation of creatures is a non-necessary means for His loving Himself. Like the above example, He could have chosen other means or none at all, but that doesn’t signify any difference in Him, only in the means. I have argued in this paper that challenges to divine simplicity which issue from the possibility of God’s creating other than He did or not at all are committed to a presupposed model of agency whose characteristic defender is Donald Davidson. On this model, actions are a species of event distinguished and caused by their intention. Were God to act differently or not at all there would be some difference in God. By contrast, on Anscombe’s account, an intention is not some mental event that accompanies an action making it intentional. Rather, the intentionality of the action is the form of the action itself under the description of which it can be categorised as intentional. On this view, any agent can perform many different actions or none at all without the agent being different, only the action. In God’s case then He can remain the same, but creatures can differ (or not be at all). On this view of agency, there is a consistency between God’s creative causality and the contingency of creation.

THE ENDURING SIGNFICANCE OF AQUINAS’S CONCEPTUALIZATION OF EVIL AS PRIVATIO BONI Marcel Sarot In a discussion of the problem of evil, Benjamin R. Tilghman also discusses Augustine’s view that evil is a privatio boni, a privation of good. According to Tilghman, on this view God created everything and everything that exists is good. There is […] an identity between goodness and existence so that if something is deprived of goodness it will not exist at all. Although everything is good, some things are better than others, that is, they possess more goodness. Thus there is a hierarchy, an order, of goodness and a corresponding hierarchy of existence. The things that stand closest to God have more goodness and more existence than those that are farther from God. It follows from this picture of the world that evil is not a substance, that is to say, it is not a thing. If it were a thing, then it would be good. Since evil is not a thing, it is not something that God created; God cannot be blamed for the existence of evil and is thus taken off the hook. 1 Though there is much to be commended in Tilghman’s analysis, in one respect it is quite obviously mistaken. The claim that evil is a privatio boni is not intended “to take God off the hook.” Tilghman reads Augustine as if he were answering David Hume’s version of the theodicy trilemma: “Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?” 2 For Augustine, this way of phrasing the problem of evil was inconceivable, since for him the goodness of God was a premise he saw no reason to doubt. 3 His question was not about the 1 An Introduction to the Philosophy of Religion, Oxford 1994, 188 (italics mine – MS). Cf. H.J. McCloskey, God and Evil, in God and Evil: Readings on the Theological Problem of Evil ed. by Nelson Pike, Englewood Cliffs, NJ 1964, 61–84: “Some theists seek a solution by denying the reality of evil or by describing it as a ‘privation’ or absence of good. They hope thereby to explain it away as not needing a solution” (65). 2 David Hume, Dialogues concerning Natural Religion ed. by Dorothy Coleman, Cambridge 2007, 74. 3 Gillian R. Evans, Augustine on Evil, Cambridge 21984, xi; cf. my Theodicy and Modernity, in Theodicy in the World of the Bible ed. by A. Laato & Johannes C. De Moor, Leiden 2003, 1–26.

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goodness of God in relation to evil. His question was about a plausible alternative for the dualism of Manicheism. The Manichees believed in two ultimate principles, good and evil, that in our reality are intermingled. God is responsible for everything good in creation, while the devil is responsible for everything evil. 4 The advantage of such dualism is that it distances God from evil, making it easy to assert God’s goodness. But this advantage comes at the price of denying God’s omnipotence. When Augustine abandoned Manicheism, he had to find a new explanation of evil, and found it in Plotinus’s view of evil as privation/nonbeing. 5 St Thomas Aquinas, who took the view of evil as privatio boni from Augustine and pseudo-Dionysius 6 and developed it, did not do so to exculpate God either. He used privatio boni neither to avoid dualism 7 nor because he was curious about the origin (in the sense of causa efficiens) of evil. For Aquinas it is obvious that every agent acts for an end, 8 and that the end must be good. 9 This applies both to God, the Creator of everything, and to human beings. It is against the background of this teleological structure of creation that Aquinas poses the question: if everything works for the good, how did evil come about? 10 Again, for Aquinas the view of evil as a privation of good takes center stage in his answer. This needs more explanation, which I will provide in the next section. Suffice it for now to state with Brian Davies that Aquinas, like Augustine, does not offer a “discussion of what contemporary philosophers have come to call the problem of evil. He has no book or essay on it. […] What now passes as the problem of evil goes 4 Johannes van Oort (ed.), Manichaeism and Early Christianity: Selected Papers From the 2019 Pretoria Congress and Consultation, Leiden 2021, passim. 5 Fran O’Rourke, Evil as Privation: The Neoplatonic Background to Aquinas’s De Malo, 1, in Aquinas’s Disputed Questions on Evil: A Critical Guide ed. by M.V. Dougherty, Cambridge 2016, 192–221, esp. 197–200. A good exposition of Augustine’s theory of evil can be found in John Hick, Evil and the God of Love, rpt of the 2nd ed. with a new preface, London 1990, 37–58. Cf. my Als de koppen van de Leviathan: Het begrip kwaad in de Westerse cultuur, in Jaarboek Thomas Instituut te Utrecht 36 (2017), 181–197, esp. 191–193 (DOI: 10.2478/ejsta-2017-0006); Adam Swenson, Privation Theories of Pain, in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 66 (2009), 139–154, 139 (DOI 10.1007/s11153-009-9202-4). 6 O’Rourke, Evil as Privation. 7 In ScG, he does mention Manicheism once in this connection: ScG III, c. 7, n. 12. 8 E.g., STh I-II, q. 1, a. 2 c. 9 E.g., STh I-II, q. 1, a. 6 c. 10 Rudi te Velde, Thomas over het ontologisch statuut van het kwaad, in Rudi te Velde (ed.), Thomas over goed en kwaad, Baarn 1993, 107–122, 107. Though Aquinas’s original question is not about the causa efficiens of evil, in his elaborate answer efficient causality does play a role.

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unmentioned in Aquinas’s writings.” 11 Since Aquinas does not address the modern problem of evil, it is not his intention to “solve” it by stating that evil is illusory either. To quote Davies once more, That is not his view […] and how could it be, given that he is a Christian theologian who acknowledges the reality of sin and believes in someone (Jesus of Nazareth) who was unjustly crucified following a ministry in which he acknowledged and tried to deal with suffering of different kinds? Aquinas recognizes very well that there is a lot of badness around, that all sorts of things are thwarted or suffering in all sorts of ways. 12 My reason for contributing an essay on evil as privation to this volume is twofold. Firstly, both of the two colleagues whom I intend to honor by this contribution, Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde, have written about Aquinas’s version of the meontic 13 view of evil, and my own thinking on it developed in discussion with their views. 14 And secondly, I agree with them on the lasting significance of Aquinas’s view of evil, and will develop my own views on that below. But first I will elaborate on Aquinas’s view of evil and discuss some objections against it. 1. Aquinas on evil as privatio boni Though Aquinas was not the first to discuss evil as a privation of good (nor was Augustine, by the way), his way of doing so became authoritative. It is often misunderstood, both because it is mistaken for a theodicy and because it is counterintuitive. In this contribution I want to explain – primarily on the basis of Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles – what brought Aquinas to this view. Subsequently I will discuss his arguments for this position and the most influential contemporary criticisms, including those of John Hick, and argue that they don’t succeed in refuting the privatio boni position. 11 Brian Davies, Thomas Aquinas on God and Evil, Oxford 2011, 6. See also Henk J.M. Schoot, Thomas van Aquino over God en het kwaad, in Jaarboek Thomas Instituut te Utrecht 33 (2013), 125–132, esp. 125–130. 12 Davies, Aquinas on God and Evil, 34. 13 The term ‘meontic’ (derived from Greek to mè on) is used by Hick, Evil and the God of Love, 182 for “non-being conceived as some kind of negatively positive or positively negative reality or influence.” A meontic view of evil sees evil as privation. 14 te Velde, Thomas over het ontologisch statuut van het kwaad; Schoot, Thomas van Aquino over God en het kwaad. In 2021, Rudi and I together taught a graduate course on God and evil.

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Aquinas discusses his view of evil as privatio boni in his two major works, the Summa contra Gentiles (ScG III, cc. 1–15) and the Summa Theologiae (STh I, qq. 48–49), and in his Quaestiones Disputatae de Malo (De Malo q. 1, aa. 1–3). Of these, the Summa contra Gentiles is the earliest. In Book III of this Summa Aquinas discusses God’s providence. His discussion of evil occurs early on in Book III, as part of his discussion of the role of final causality in creation. In the words of Daniel W. Houck, SCG3.1-15 […] contains Thomas’s most in-depth discussion of teleology, or what we might call “goal-directed action.” In the ST, Thomas frequently appeals to the principle that “every agent acts for an end,” without providing the reader with a defense or explanation of the truth of this claim (e.g., throughout ST I–II, qq.1–5). Here in the SCG, Thomas explains and defends the principle at length. 15 Though Aquinas does not devote the same amount of attention to the connection between final causality and evil as privation in STh and De Malo, we might suspect that his discussion in ScG is presupposed there, just like Aquinas presupposes other parts of ScG in STh without repeating them there. 16 In order to understand why Aquinas views evil as privation, then, we need to have a look at what he writes about the role of final causality in creation. Aquinas adopted from Aristotle the distinction between four types of causes: efficient, material, formal and final (STh II-II, q. 27, a. 3 c.). What we today call “causes’ Aquinas calls “efficient causes.” A final cause is “the end or that for the sake of which a thing is done.” 17 Now in ScG III, c. 2 Aquinas argues that final causality is more pervasive than one might be inclined to think; in practice, there is no efficient cause without final cause. When human beings act, and thus function as efficient causes, they always act for a definite end; it would make no sense to act without such end. The same applies to animals (e.g., a cat chasing a mouse) and to God. It even applies to unconscious substances; they cannot, of course, act for a purpose, but they can operate to bring about 15 Daniel W. Houck, Review of Brian Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles: A Guide and Commentary, in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 83/2 (April 2018), 209–212, quot. 211. 16 Thus, in ScG I, c. 13 Aquinas provides a thorough-going defense of the first of the five ways in which he defends the premises of his argument in STh I, q. 2, a. 3 c. See Houck, Review of Brian Davies, 210. 17 Aristotle, Physics II 3 194b33 (tr. Jonathan Barnes).

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effects that reflect their substantial forms (e.g., heat will generate heat, not cold). 18 In ScG III, c. 3 Aquinas argues “that every agent acts for a good.” 19 Intelligent beings try to avoid evil and to achieve the good, in the sense of that which they desire (ScG III, c. 3, nn. 3, 11; cf. II, c. 41, n. 8). For if they did not desire it, why would they select it as an end? Unconscious substances operate from a natural impulse for something that suits them and can therefore be called a good or a perfection. 20 Earlier on, Aquinas has argued that God is good, yes, goodness itself (ScG I, 37– 38) and that everything created by God is good (ScG II, c. 42, n. 7; cf. III, c. 3, n. 4); elsewhere, he expresses this by claiming that ens et bonum convertuntur (being and good are co-extensive). 21 It is this exposition of the pervasiveness of final causality that brings Aquinas to his discussion of evil in ScG III, cc. 4–15. If being and good are co-extensive and everything that is acts for good ends, how can we understand the presence of evil in the world? 22 This question is sharpened by the overall theme of ScG III: the providence of God, who is “the Ruler of all beings, and is ruled by none other. Nor is there anything that escapes His rule, just as there is nothing that does not receive its being from Him. As He is perfect in being and causing, so also is He perfect in ruling” (ScG III, c. 1, n. 4). Earlier on, Aquinas had described evil as a privation (ScG I, c. 39, n. 6) and as non ens (non-being) (ScG II, c. 41, n. 7). The first served to show that there can be no evil in God, and the second to show that the explanation for evil cannot be that it is caused by an evil principle (like good is caused by a good principle). Both of these descriptions are compatible with Aquinas’s view that being and good are co-extensive. However, they are also compatible with the view that evil is an illusion. In Book III, Aquinas gives a more nuanced definition of evil, more nuanced also than that of Augustine. In ScG III, c. 6, n. 1 Aquinas distinguishes between absence and privation. ScG III, c. 2, n. 2; cf. Brian Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles: A Guide and Commentary, New York 2016, 198–201. 19 ScG III, c. 3, n. 1 (tr. Vernon J. Bourke). 20 Cf. Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles, 213–215. 21 De Ver 21 and STh I, q. 5; cf. Jan A. Aertsen, The Convertibility of Being and Good in St. Thomas Aquinas, in New Scholasticism 59 (1985), 449–470; Rudi te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas, Leiden 1995, 44–65. On the coextensiveness of being and good in Augustine, see Hick, Evil and the God of Love, 49–53. 22 This question is not equivalent to that of theodicy, because the omnipotence and goodness of God are not at stake here. 18

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Absence: every finite being will lack some good characteristics because these do not belong to the form that is actualized in that being. Human beings have no wings, but that is no evil, because they are not supposed to have wings. Privation: it is an evil when birds lack wings or human beings lack hands. They lack some perfection that is included in their essential nature. 23 A privation, taken properly and strictly, is the absence “of that which one is born to have, and should have.” 24 Whether a characteristic counts as evil, then, is dependent on whose characteristic it is. Blindness, for instance, is an evil in human beings but not in Ganges River Dolphins (that do not have eyesight). ‘Evil,’ like ‘good,’ is a ‘contextually dependent’ term. 25 When Aquinas says that evils are privations, then, he is denying that they are substances or properties, not that they are real. A blind man really suffers from blindness. 26 We can now understand how Aquinas can assert that being and good are co-extensive without denying the reality of evil. Evil can be compared to rust: rust has no independent existence but is parasitic on iron. Rust corrodes iron and eats it away; nevertheless, rust can only exist as long as the iron it corrodes exists. When that has been completely eaten away, the rust itself no longer exists. It is the same with evil: evil is a corruption of good beings, corroding them and eating them away; nevertheless, evil can only exist by the grace of the fact that the good on which it is parasitic exists. 27 This, however, does not yet help to understand the cause of evil. If God, human beings, and all other beings always act for the good, how can we explain the presence of evil? In answer to this question, Aquinas mentions three types of causes of evil. Firstly, in some cases failing powers are the cause of the unintended evil. An example that Aquinas gives is that of a woman who gives birth to a misshapen baby as a result

Cf. STh I, q. 48, a. 3 c.; cf. Davies, Aquinas on God and Evil, 35–36. This distinction is taken from Aristotle, Cat. 10, 12a28–33 en Meta. 5.20, 1022b23–1023a8. 24 ScG III, c. 6, n. 1; cf. te Velde, Thomas over het ontologisch statuut van het kwaad, 108–111; Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles, 205. 25 Herbert McCabe, God and Evil in the Theology of St Thomas Aquinas, London 2010, 65. 26 te Velde, Thomas over het ontologisch statuut van het kwaad, 114–117. 27 The rust example is adapted from Marcel Sarot, Living a Good Life in spite of Evil, Frankfurt aM 1999, 42. Cf. ScG III, c. 7 and c. 11, nn. 2–6, Sarot, Als de koppen van de Leviathan, 193, and G. Stanley Kane, Evil and Privation, in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 11/1 (1980), 43–58, esp. 44–45. 23

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of a defect in the semen. 28 We may call this type of cause of evil a deficient cause. Secondly, we may strive for something good, and evil may be an unintended but not unforeseen side-effect. This is the case when a man, in order have sex with an attractive woman, commits adultery. Here, Aquinas presupposes that an act may be simultaneously good and evil: adultery is good in the sense that the sexual experience is desirable, bad in the sense that infidelity is morally evil. Elsewhere, Aquinas explains that the ambiguity of evil may be even more bewildering than this. An act may be physically evil, morally good and morally evil. The example he provides is that of Jesus’ death on the cross: 29 perspective Jesus’ experience

evil/good evil

which form? physical

why? dying on the cross is physically painful

the acts of those who execute Jesus

evil

moral

the execution of an innocent person is morally evil

the acts of Jesus

good

moral

giving one’s life for one’s friends is an extremely good thing to do

This type of ambiguity may lure people into committing evil, especially when, like in adultery, sensory satisfaction provides a stronger motive than rational or moral considerations. Unfortunately, this is often the case (ScG III, c. 6, n. 8). This type of evil is evil done, 30 and the evil is both voluntary and moral (ScG III, c. 6, n. 7). In moral evil failing powers do ScG III, c. 6, nn. 5–6; cf. c. 10, n. 7, in which Aquinas provides additional examples. The defect in the semen is mentioned not in ScG but in De Malo q. 1, a. 3 c. Cf. also Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles, 209, McCabe, God and Evil, 115. 29 STh III, q. 48, a. 3 ad 3; cf. Sarot, Als de koppen van de Leviathan, 189. 30 Evil done is a term of Herbert McCabe, God and Evil, 117 that is also used by Brian Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles, 204. 28

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not play a role; when evil is the result of the agent’s failing powers, no moral blame accrues to the agent (ScG III, c. 10, n. 11). Many of the wrongs people do fall in this second category. Thirdly, in many cases in nature generation of one thing (a good) cannot take place without corruption of another (an evil). 31 Thus, an apple has to rot (which is an evil for the apple) in order to become an apple tree (which is a good for the tree). It is the apple tree that is intended, though, and not the rotting of the apple. This type of cause resembles the second type in that both are accidental causes. 32 It differs from the second type in being a natural process that (given good conditions) necessarily takes place, rather than a freely chosen act. Moreover, in this case the relationship between privation and generation is a necessary one, as it is not in the previous type of cause. Apple trees never grow without apples first falling on the ground and rotting, but satisfactory sexual relationships may be obtained without adultery. It is now clear how Aquinas uses the view of evil as a privatio boni to explain how, when everything always acts for the good, evil may nevertheless occur: through failing powers, as an unintended side-effect, and because the generation of one thing may require the corruption of the other. It is also clear how he can see in evil a privation without denying its reality: it corrupts the form of something good without annihilating it entirely (for once it is annihilated the good on which the evil is parasitic no longer exists, and therefore the evil itself is annihilated as well). 33 And finally, it is now also clear why evil by itself cannot cause more evil: evil never exists by itself, but is always dependent on the good which it is corrupting. 34 This good-in-the-process-of-being-corrupted, however, is likely to cause evil, because its powers will fail, like those of the defective sperm leading to the misshapen baby in the example above. 2. Arguments against Aquinas’s position A counterexample that if often adduced against Aquinas’s view of evil as privation is pain. Pain obviously is an evil, but is it a privation? Brian Davies asks this question as follows: “It is, perhaps, easy enough to see why he might think that, say, blindness is nothing but the absence of sight, or that lameness is nothing but the inability to walk well. But can a similar ScG III, c. 6, n. 10, c. 10, n. 9. The distinction between deficient and accidental causes is taken from De Malo q. 1, a. 3. 33 ScG III, c. 9, n. 8, c. 12, nn. 1–2. 34 ScG III, c. 7, nn. 1–3, c. 8, n. 6. 31 32

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account plausibly be given when it comes to pain?” Isn’t pain “a positively bad state?” 35 Isn’t pain overwhelmingly real? Surely, pain is more than the absence of pleasure? On the other hand, it seems strange to speak of pains as if they were countable substances. Pains do not independently exist, but always exist in living beings, undermining their well-being. In this sense they are privations of good, even though we have the inclination to say that they are more than that. 36 If we concentrate on physical pains, as distinguished from mental pain, in these physical pains we can distinguish the bodily sensation, characterized by localization, duration, intensity, and quality, and an emotion of distress or displeasure. It is this emotion that makes people think that pain is necessarily disliked. Experiments have shown, however, that a pricking sensation steadily growing in intensity will be called a pain before it is disliked, so it is possible not to dislike a pain. 37 What, then, distinguishes pain from other sensations? Roger Trigg has argued convincingly that “It seems to have a distinct ‘feel’ about it.” 38 This “feel” he calls pain-quality, and this is, I suggest, what lends the positive character to pain. We all know how it feels, but it is difficult to describe it, like it is difficult to describe other unanalyzable qualities, e.g., red. 39 This pain-quality has a signal function, warning us for tissue damage; it motivates us to move away from the source of damage. 40 Painquality, then, has a positive function and should hardly be called an evil. Only when physical pain has no connection to actual or potential tissue

35 Brian Davies, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles, 216. On privation and pain, see also Todd C. Calder, Is the Privation Theory of Evil Dead?, in American Philosophical Quarterly 44/4 (2007), 371–381, esp. 373; Kane, Evil and Privation, 49–51; Swenson, Privation Theories of Pain. 36 On the following, see my God, Passibility and Corporeality, Kampen 1992, 167– 169. 37 See Roger Trigg, Pain and Emotion, Oxford 1970, 1–5. See also Bill Anglin and Stewart Goetz, Evil is Privation, in International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 13/1 (1982), 3–12, esp. 5–6. 38 Trigg, Pain and Emotion, 20. 39 Trigg, Pain and Emotion, 26. 40 Ben Seymour, Pain: A Precision Signal for Reinforcement Learning and Control, in Neuron 101/6 (March 20, 2019), 1029–1041, DOI: 10.1016/j.neuron.2019.01.055. Note that the Subcommittee on Taxonomy of the International Association for the Study of Pain has defined “pain” as “an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage” in Pain 6 (1979), 249–252.

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damage is pain an evil, but in that case an obvious privation has taken place, namely of that connection. 41 Another counterexample is that of moral evil, and the argument is similar to that based on pain. As John Hick states this objection, Cruelty is not merely an extreme absence of kindness, but is something with a demonic power of its own. Hatred is not merely lack of love, or malevolence merely a minimum degree of goodwill. It would be an arbitrary and unfruitful amendment of the dictionary, rather than an illuminating way of looking at the facts, to describe moral evils as merely privations of their corresponding moral goods. 42 Hick’s objection, however, does not do justice to what Aquinas is saying. Aquinas is trying to understand why a person might commit moral evil. His answer is: by trying to attain a good. Aquinas draws the following parallel: In the example of the man who throws his merchandise into the sea in order to save himself, he does not intend the throwing away of the merchandise but his own safety; yet he wills the throwing not for itself but for the sake of safety. Likewise, a person wills to do a disorderly action for the sake of some sensory good to be attained; he does not intend the disorder, nor does he will it simply for itself, but for the sake of this result. And so, evil consequences and sins are called voluntary in this way, just as is the casting of merchandise into the sea (ScG III, c. 6, n. 9). The dictator is cruel not because he wants to be so, but because he clings to his power; the problem is, that he does so in a “disorderly” way. What gives cruelty its ‘demonic’ power, is not the absence of kindness, deplorable as it is, but the absence of order in maintaining one’s power. Hatred is more complicated, because hatred is not always evil. God is said to hate evildoers (Ps. 5;5–6, 11:5); that hatred is good, not evil. It derives from a love of the good that was frustrated by these evildoers. When human beings hate other human beings, this hatred is more often than not motivated rather by them somehow standing in our way than by their doing evil. One may hate a rival, for instance, because he obtained a good one would rather have acquired oneself; here again, it is love of the good that leads to hatred. Hick is right, of course, that cruelty I am aware of the fact that the question whether pain can be interpreted as a privation of good is a complex one that deserves a more extensive discussion of a series of obvious counterexamples. That, however, requires a separate article. 42 Hick, Evil and the God of Love, 57; cf. Kane, Evil and Privation, 51–52. 41

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is no absence of kindness, hatred no lack of love; the fierceness of cruelty and hatred can be explained from the ruthless zeal with which a good is pursued. It is this fierceness that makes victims experience cruelty and hatred as evil forces in their own right. In Christianity, this often leads to the devil being viewed as a personal evil power almost as powerful as Godself. But this position is verging on dualism and goes against the grain of what Scripture is saying 43 (which is why Aquinas, who tries to articulate by metaphysical means what Scripture is saying in its own way, rejects it). A third objection adduced against Aquinas’s view of evil as privation is the privation theory of goodness: [W]e can just as easily say that goodness is the absence of evil as we can that evil is the absence of goodness. For instance, health is just as much an absence of disease as disease is an absence of health, and justice is just as much an absence of injustice as injustice is an absence of justice. So perhaps all created being is evil and goodness is the absence of evil. 44 If Aquinas’s view of evil as privation is interpreted as free-floating speculation, this might do. A glass that is half empty is also half full; why is it better to say that evil is absence of good than the other way round? Is it not true that to the extent that good is present, evil is absent? Yes, this is obviously Aquinas’s view: an object cannot be simultaneously good and evil in the same respect. Nevertheless, this reversal will not do. Remember that Aquinas began by stating that we always act for an end and that this end is necessarily desirable (and in this sense good). Subsequently, he tried to explain how evil came about. Recognizing that evil is a privation of good helps him to do this: evil is the result of deficient or accidental causation. In deficient causation, the powers of the cause fail, and in accidental causation, the cause aims at the good, but either does so in a disorderly way or cannot achieve this good (for A) without causing an evil (for B). If we suppose, however, that good is a privation of evil, that does not help in answering Aquinas’s question. The premise that we act for the good cannot plausibly be replaced by the premise that we act for evil because, even though we can think of cases that might perhaps be interpreted in that way, it is obvious that in most cases we do act for the good. In other words, only at first sight we might reverse Aquinas’s 43 44

Cf. Henry Ansgar Kelly, Satan: A Biography, Cambridge 2006. Calder, Is the Privation Theory of Evil Dead?, 375.

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definition without loss of meaning. On closer inspection, however, the reversal seriously reduces its explanatory power. 3. The contemporary relevance of Aquinas’s view of evil as privation We have seen above that Aquinas used the view of evil as privation to explain how, while people act with a view to the good, evil is so often the result. In this respect, little has changed, and still today Aquinas’s insights may help to explain the persistence of evil. It is a conventional wisdom that “A half-truth is even more dangerous than a lie. A lie, you can detect at some stage, but half a truth is sure to mislead you for long.” 45 An instructive example is that of Donald Trump, then president of the United States, who claimed in January 2018 on Twitter: “because of my policies, Black Unemployment has just been reported to be at the LOWEST RATE EVER RECORDED!” As Wikipedia comments, “the unemployment rate for black Americans was indeed at a record low, the rate had been consistently decreasing since 2010, seven years before Trump took office.” 46 So while Trump is correct that Black unemployment was at an all-time low, the claim that this had been caused by his policies was misleading. The fact that the claim is partly correct, however, adds to its prima facie credibility. Those who present the Russian president Putin as if he were merely evil cannot understand why he has the support of many Russians. It is precisely the fact that he tries to achieve what many Russians consider desirable – and in that sense good – that makes him a popular leader. The safety of Russia (perceived as endangered by the expansion of NATO towards the East) and the ideal of the greater Russian empire are desirable for many Russians. Recognizing these desirable ends – which, by the way, are not desirable for everyone – is not the first step towards embracing Russian imperialism, but rather a necessary condition for fighting it. The same mechanisms, by the way, are at work in the United States. One example is that of – once more – Donald Trump by then former United States president in his election denial claims and his encouragement of the attack on the Capitol Building. It is quite obvious that Trump is not interested in denying election results as a goal in itself; as long as the election results help him to come into power or stay in power, he loves election results. The same goes for the attack on the Anurag Shourie, Half a Shadow, Delhi 2016. The quote is given on many websites, but none refers to a specific page number and I have not been able to get hold of this book. 46 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Half-truth. Retrieved 28 December 2022. 45

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Capitol Building: that is motivated neither by a dislike of this building nor by an aversion to Congress. Trump’s problem was that Congress had convened a joint session to count electoral votes and confirm Joe Biden’s victory in the 2020 presidential election, and that this would inevitably lead to the end of his presidency. The goal Trump tried to achieve was to remain in power – a goal that he desired and that in that sense was ‘good.’ The insight that one and the same reality often can be judged differently from different perspectives, that evil and good are in various ways intermingled, and that what we judge to be good – in the sense of desirable – often makes us ignore evil can be of service not only when analyzing the behavior of contemporary politicians, but also in our own lives. It is the type of analysis that can help us understand and improve our own behavior, and to understand that of others as well. Some will claim that not all evil can be understood in this way, that some people are attracted to evil for its own sake. One can think here, for instance, of the death drive and death instinct, and of the destructive drive, in Freudian psychology, 47 of malicious torture, 48 and of mass atrocities. 49 Even if the meontic theory of evil is not universally valid, however, this type of counterexamples will not entirely obliterate the lasting value of Aquinas’s analysis. 50

Note that Freud introduced the death drive not to replace the pleasure principle but to complement it. See Sigmund Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, London/ Vienna 1922. 48 Calder, Is the Privation Theory of Evil Dead?, 377–378. 49 See, e.g., Peter Admirand, Destructive, Concrete Evil as Absence: A Re-evaluation of the Theory of Privatio Boni in the Context of Mass Atrocity, in Uneasy Humanity: Perpetual Wrestling with Evils ed. by Colette Balmain & Nanette Norris, Oxford, UK 2009, 41–51. 50 I would like to thank Roshnee Ossewaarde-Lowtoo for a helpful discussion of the issues discussed in this contribution, and her and the editors of this volume for helpful comments on an earlier version. 47

WE SHALL BE LIKE GODS: THOMAS AQUINAS ON DEIFICATION THROUGH FAITH AND LOVE Harm Goris In recent years, the topic of deification, also called theosis or divinization, of the human being has gained much attention in theology. What was once considered – or rather construed – as an exclusive hallmark of Eastern theology, is now being identified as equally important for classical Western theology. 1 There might be different reasons and motives for the current ‘revival’ of deification-theology in the West. Western scholars have become more familiar with Eastern theology and with the notion of deification in the Eastern and Western Church fathers. 2 The concept of deification also plays a key role in mystical theology, which is more attractive to the well-educated, liberal spiritual seekers in pluralist Western societies than traditional ecclesiastical dogmatics. But also for theologians who want to remain loyal to classical theology and the teaching and practice of the Church, deification might appear as a welcome alternative, or at least a corrective counterpart, to the ‘dark anthropology’ with its emphasis on sin, guilt, propitiation, and sacrifice, which, allegedly, characterizes Western Christianity since Augustine. Whatever the underlying motives are, we find that in the past few years, Anselm, Luther, and even Calvin have been reinterpreted as strong proponents of a doctrine of deification. 3 The same has happened to 1 Against the background of German idealism, Ritschl and Harnack framed deification as a (bad) characteristic key doctrine of Eastern theology. In the early twentieth century, Orthodox theologians like Ivan Popov, and especially Bulgakov and Lossky, adopted the Ritschl-Harnack narrative, but reversed the disapproval into appreciation: Mark McInroy, How Deification Became Eastern: German Idealism, Liberal Protestantism, and the Modern Misconstruction of the Doctrine, in Modern Theology 37 (2021), 934-958. 2 Cf. Emil Bartos, Deification in Eastern Orthodox Theology, Eugene 2006; Norman Russell, The Doctrine of Deification in the Greek Patristic Tradition, Oxford 2006; Jared Ortiz (ed.), Deification in the Latin Patristic Tradition, Washington 2019. 3 For an overview of the ‘revival’ of deification in Western theology in the late 20th century and a critical analysis of underlying motives, see: Roger E. Olson, Deification in Contemporary Theology, in Theology Today 64 (2007), 186-200; and Paul Gavrilyuk, The Retrieval Of Deification: How a Once-Despised Archaism Became An Ecumenical Desideratum, in Modern Theology 25 (2009), 647-659. For a good introduction into the doctrine of deification and its history, see Paul Collins, Partaking in Divine Nature: Deification and Communion, London 2010. Collins argues that the topic of deification was not totally absent from Western theology, especially in groups on the fringes of mainstream Christianity, like mystics, Anabaptists, Cambridge Platonists and American Revivalists. More historical details can be found in Called to

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Thomas Aquinas. Anna Williams, Daniel Keating, John Rziha, and Daria Spezzano have argued that deification is seminal to Thomas’ theology. 4 And although they never devoted a separate study to it, also Rudi te Velde and Henk Schoot have had a special interest in Aquinas’s view on deification; Rudi te Velde in his works on participation and Henk Schoot in his publications on the human beings as image of God. 5 The Latin word deificatio or deiformis and their derivatives do not occur often in Aquinas. They are mostly used in Christological discussions about the incarnation and in quotations from PseudoDionysius. But Aquinas uses other terms like ‘divine filiation,’ ‘adoption as children of God,’ ‘indwelling’ or ‘inhabitation of the Spirit,’ ‘union with God,’ ‘vision of God,’ ‘elevation to God’ and the like. 6 All of these be the Children of God: The Catholic Theology of Human Deification, David Vincent Meconi and Carl E. Olson (eds), San Francisco 2016 and also in Partakers of the Divine Nature: The History and Development of Deification in Christian Traditions, Michael J. Christensen and Jeffery A. Wittung (eds), Madison 2007. 4 Anna Williams, The Ground of Union: Deification in Aquinas and Palamas. Oxford 1999; Daniel Keating, Justification, Sanctification and Divinization in Thomas Aquinas, in Thomas Weinandy, Daniel Keating and John Yocum (eds.), Aquinas on Doctrine: A Criticial introduction, London 2004, 139-158; Bruce D. Marshall, Ex Occidente Lux? Aquinas and Eastern Orthodox Theology, in Modern Theology 20.1 (2004), 23-50; John Rziha, Perfecting Human Actions: St. Thomas Aquinas on Human Participation in Eternal Law, Washington D.C. 2009; Daria Spezzano, The Grace of the Holy Spirit, the Virtue of Charity and the Gift of Wisdom: Deification in Thomas Aquinas’ Summa theologiae (Diss. University of Notre Dame 2011), later revised as The Glory of God’s Grace: Deification According to St. Thomas Aquinas, Ave Maria 2015; Luke Davis Townsend, Deification in Aquinas: A Supplementum to The Ground of Union, in The Journal of Theological Studies 66.1 (2015), 204-234; Reinhard Hütter, Grace and Charity. Participation in the Divine Nature and Union with God: The Surpassing Contemporary Significance of Thomas Aquinas’s Doctrine of Divinization, in Espíritu 65 (2016), 173-199; Richard Cross, Deification In Aquinas: Created or Uncreated?, in The Journal of Theological Studies 69.1 (2018), 106–132; Fergus Kerr, After Aquinas: Versions of Thomism, Malden/Oxford 2002, ch. 9 ‘Deified Creaturehood,’ 149-161. 5 See e.g. Rudi te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas. Leiden 1995 and Henk Schoot, Thomas Aquinas on Human Beings as Image of God, in European Journal for the Study of Thomas Aquinas 38.1 (2020), 33-46. 6 Cf. Townsend, Deification in Aquinas, 211-227; Spezzano, The Glory of God’s Grace, 6-8, 15-16. On the conceptual richness of the term ‘deification’ in general, see Daniel A. Keating, Typologies of Deification, in International Journal of Systematic Theology 17 (2015), 267-283. To Gavrilyuk’s remark that “[t]he dearth of dogmatic precision has contributed to the concept's [i.e. of ‘deification] considerable fluidity,” Keating responds “This lack of dogmatic precision, though, may also be due in part to the summative quality of deification: it brings together all that the Father has granted us through Christ and in the Spirit” (281). One could argue that this also goes for Aquinas: Townsend, Deification in Aquinas, 233.

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terms indicate, in one way or another, a kind of closeness, direct contact, and intimacy between God and the human creature. A fundamental problem in all these terms is how to account for both connection and distinction between God and creature. How can we explain that the creature is closely related to God without negating the Creator-creature distinction? It is the very word ‘deification’ which best expresses the problem. The Latin deificare means literally ‘to make divine,’ which suggests a blurring of the difference between God and creature. Williams speaks of the “two poles of deification,” which she identifies as “the unbreachable divide between creature and Creator and the creature’s likening to the Utterly Other.” 7 Most commentators recognize that the distinction between Creator and creature is fundamental for Aquinas but I think a detailed account of how it can be reconciled with a doctrine of deification is lacking. 8 In my view, the “second pole of deification” should not be described as the “creature’s likening to the Utterly Other” but rather as “the intimate relationship between the human being and the triune God through grace.” As I shall argue, in Aquinas’s theology ‘similitude’ or ‘likeness’ with God always remains at the side of the creature. I shall try to show that the intimate relationship through grace is realized in the acts of knowing and loving Godself. Gilles Emery distinguishes between an ‘ontological’ assimilation to God (or presence of God) through God’s creative activity and an ‘operative’ or ‘intentional’ assimilation when the triune God becomes the object of human knowledge and love. 9 In this paper, I shall elaborate a similar distinction. First, I shall discuss two topics that are usually invoked in explaining Aquinas’s notion of deification, viz. participation (in God) and grace, and try to show that neither does the job. Next, I shall give three arguments for the claim that Aquinas links deification with our acts of Williams, The Ground of Union, 28. Williams states that Aquinas finds the middle between “the two poles” (Ground of Union, 42-45, 79-85). However, I don’t think she offers a convincing justification for this claim. Spezzano mentions that the distinction between Creator and creature “is essential to Thomas’ doctrine of deification” but she does not come back to it: The Glory of God’s Grace, 25-26. Rziha writes: “[H]umans do not substantially become God, but they do become divine by operation since their acts of knowing and loving God are divine acts” (Perfecting Human Actions, 83, note 183). I think Rziha hits the nail on the head, but his remark in the footnote remains rather isolated. See also note 10 below. 9 Gilles Emery, The Trinitarian Theology of Saint Thomas Aquinas, Oxford 2007, 374-404. According to Emery, the ‘operative’ assimilation is more emphasized in the Summa Theologiae in comparison with the commentary on the Sentences. 7 8

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knowing and loving God. These arguments are: the presence of God, the human being as image of God, and the sending of the Son and the Spirit. 1. Doctrine of participation Anna Williams writes: “[W]here we find references to human participation in divine life, there we assuredly have a claim specifically of theosis.” 10 This statement very clearly expresses the idea that participation is basic in a theory of deification. Gavrilyuk is more critical. He responds that “on the assumption of participatory metaphysics … all things are deified to unspecified degree: by participating in being, all existing things participate in God” and asks for “greater precision in using the term.” 11 With the work of Fabro and Geiger, philosophers have come to recognize ‘participation’ as a key notion in the thought of Thomas. 12 However, opinions differ about how to systematize Thomas’s use of the term. We might even wonder if Thomas has one, consistent, fully articulated, and logically structured doctrine of participation. Maybe his understanding of participation is more intuitive, organic, fluid, consisting of some very general ideas, which receive specific determinations only within a particular discussion context. After all, Aristotle already complained about the conceptual vagueness of Plato’s term ‘participation’ (metexis). 13 A key text in which Aquinas acknowledges that participation can have different senses, is in his commentary on Boethius’ De Ebdomadibus, where he mentions three modes of participation. 14 The first one is the logical participation of either a species in a genus or of a particular in a universal. The second one is the real participation of either a subject in an accidental form or of matter in substantial form. The third type of participation is that “of an effect participating in its cause, and especially 10 Williams, The Ground of Union, 32. Cf. also Keating, Typologies of Deification, 282: “A third core element of deification is a concept of participation that enables us to maintain a clear distinction between Creator and creature while at the same time to make sense of the real relationship between them and the genuine conveyance of divine life … to the creature that the Scripture describes.” 11 Gavrilyuk, The Retrieval of Deification, 651. 12 For an overview of interpretations of participation in Thomas by Fabro, Geiger, Wippel, and te Velde, see John Rziha, Perfecting Human Actions, 6-28. 13 See Aristotle, Metaphysics I, c. 6, 987b11-14 and c. 9, 991a22-23: The Complete Works of Aristotle. The Revised Oxford Translation, Jonathan Barnes (ed.), Princeton 1984, vol. 2, 1561 and 1566. 14 In De Ebdomadibus lc. 2 (Leonine edition 50: 271, 69-85).

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when it is not equal to the power of that cause.” The context in which Aquinas makes the threefold division of participation, is a discussion about a being (ens) participating in being (esse). However, it is not obvious under which of the three types Aquinas would classify the participation in being. 15 Wippel argues that Aquinas subsumes it under the third type, viz. of an effect participating in its cause, while te Velde thinks that “Aquinas has tacitly introduced a new [i.e. a fourth, H.G.] mode of participation here.” 16 Elsewhere, te Velde suggests that Aquinas leaves the question open in this text and only focuses on formulating a problem. 17 The confusion has to do with the conceptual vagueness with which Aquinas talks about ‘participation in being.’ Wippel distinguishes three different senses of ‘being’ in this expression. 18 Sometimes it means participation in esse commune, ‘being viewed in general,’ which Aquinas emphatically distinguishes from the divine esse subsistens. 19 Based on the observation that notional commonness – be it univocal or analogical – is the (implicit) distinctive characteristic of the first type of participation mentioned in the commentary of De Ebdomadibus, Jason Mitchell makes a strong case that participation in esse commune belongs to this first type. 20 The second sense that Wippel distinguishes, is participation in the divine being. I’ll come back to that. The third one is related to the first one but emphasizes that each thing participates in its own act of being (actus essendi). Daniel De Haan has argued this is an instance of the second mode of participation mentioned in the commentary on De The fourth issue of volume 82 (2018) of the Thomist features three articles by Jason Mitchell, Daniel De Haan, and Gregory Doolan that deal with this question. 16 John Wippel, Participation and the Problem of the One and the Many, in id., The Metaphysical Thought of Thomas Aquinas: From Finite Being to Uncreated Being, Washington 2000, 94-131, here 109, 116, 128; Rudi te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas, Leiden 1995, 79. For other interpretations (Elders, McInerny, Geiger, Fabro) see Jason Mitchell, Aquinas on esse commune and the First Mode of Participation, in The Thomist 82.4 (2018), 543-572, here 544-546 and Gregory Doolan, Aquinas on esse subsistens and the Third Mode of Participation, in The Thomist 82.4 (2018), 611-642, here 631-632, note 62. 17 Rudi te Velde, Participation: Aquinas and His Neoplatonic Sources, in Alexander J.B. Hampton and John Peter Kenney (eds), Christian Platonism: A History, Cambridge 2021, 122-140, here 128. Daniel De Haan notes that Aquinas actually only gives (some) examples of the three modes of participation and does not explicitly mention the formal criteria that demarcate them. Daniel D. De Haan, Aquinas on actus essendi and the Second Mode of Participation, in The Thomist 82.4 (2018), 573-609, here 575-577. 18 Wippel, Participation, 120-121. 19 For relevant passages in Aquinas, see Wippel, Participation, 110-114. 20 Jason A. Mitchell, Aquinas on esse commune and the First Mode of Participation, in The Thomist 82.4 (2018), 543-572. 15

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Ebdomadibus. He identifies the (intrinsic) potency-act distinction as the fundamental distinguishing feature of this second mode of participation and concludes that being (ens) participating in its own act of being is similar to the participation of a subject in an accidental form and of matter in substantial form. However, it is Wippel’s second meaning of participation in being which is relevant for our the discussion on deification. In many places, Aquinas writes that creatures participate in the divine esse, the divine goodness, the divine perfections, the subsistent esse, the first act, or the first ens. 21 It seems that the creature’s participation in the divine being belongs to the third type of participation mentioned in the commentary of De Ebdomadibus, viz. that of an effect participating in its cause. However, Aquinas also emphasizes that the divine essence always remains ‘unparticipated’ and ‘unparticipible.’ 22 The solution to this tension is that Aquinas very often adds the qualification ‘by similitude,’ ‘by assimilation’ or ‘by imitation’ to the creature’s participation in the divine being. He also uses the expressions ‘participation in a similitude of God’ and ‘participation in a divine similitude.’ 23 In doing so, Aquinas follows Pseudo-Dionysius. In his turn, Pseudo-Dionysius adopts the earlier Neoplatonic strategy of changing Plato’s idea of ‘participation’ as a relation between two terms, viz. the participant and the participated, into a three-term structure, viz. the participant, the participated, and the unparticipated. 24 While the etymology of ‘to participate’ (to take a part from) suggests a two-term relation, the philosophically more 21 Aquinas speaks of ‘participating in the divine esse’ in e.g. In II Sent d. 3 q. 1 a.5; STh III, q. 57 a. 4; Comp Theol, 1 c. 135; In De Div Nom c. 2 lc 4 n. 177. ‘Participating in the divine goodness’ occurs e.g. in: In II Sent d. 17 q. 1 a. 1 ad 6; ScG II, c. 32, n. 9; De Pot q. 7 a. 5 ad 7; STh I, q. 6 a. 4, STh II-II, q. 2 a. 3, and In De Div Nom c. 4, lc. 2, n. 292. ‘Participating in in divine perfections’ is mentioned e.g. in In I Sent d. 8 q. 5 a. 2 ad 5; d. 22 q. 1 a. 2; d. 44 q. 1 a. 2 ad 3; ScG II, c. 32 n. 9;. STh I, q. 14 a. 6. ‘Participating in the subsistent esse’ occurs only twice: De Malo q. 16, a. 3, obj. 6; In De Div Nom c. 4 lc 3 n. 318. ‘Participating in the first act’ in STh I, q. 75 a. 5 ad 1, Quodl XII, q. 5 a. 1, In De Trin q. 4 a. 2, and De Caelo III, lc 2, n. 552. ‘Participating in the first being’ in De Sup Seb c. 8. 22 E.g. In De Div Nom c. 2 lc. 3 n. 158, 160, 165; c. 2 lc. 4 n. 178; c. 11 lc 4 n. 934. Also STh I, q. 13, a. 9, ad 1: “Natura divina non est communicabilis, nisi secundum similitudinis participationem.” 23 E.g. In De Div Nom c. 2 lc. 3 n. 158 and ScG I, c. 29 n. 5. See also te Velde, Participation and Substantiality, 92-95 and Doolan, Aquinas on esse subsistens, 617623. 24 This reinterpretation started with Iamblichus. See Doolan, Aquinas on esse subsistens, 618, and te Velde, Participation: Aquinas and His Neoplatonic Sources, 130, note 18.

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sophisticated three-term structure leaves the divine essence unparticipated. Participation in the divine being ‘by likeness’ (or similar expressions) indicates two elements that prevent possible pantheistic readings. First, it points out that God is not a univocal but an analogical cause. Remember that the third type of participation mentioned in De Ebdomadibus speaks of the participation of an effect in its cause, “and especially when it [the effect] is not equal to the power of that cause.” The latter clause refers to analogical causes. 25 Whatever God causes in the creature does not exist in him in the same way as in the creature. The qualification ‘by similitude’ highlights the difference between cause and effect more than (or at least as much as) their similarity. All creatures participate in God “by some kind of assimilation, that is remotely and deficiently.” 26 In one text from the commentary on the Sentences, Aquinas seems to refer to the well-known phrase of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) when he writes “because in every similitude [between creature and Creator] there is a greater dissimilitude.” 27 Precisely in what they are said to share, e.g. being, God and creatures differ. For God is by his essence, while creatures are by participation. 28 Second, ‘similitude’ and cognate terms indicate the plurality of creatures and their distinctive natures or forms. Each creature has its own similitude through which it participates in the divine being and differs from other creatures. Thomas often uses the expression ‘participation by similitude’ in relation to the (infinite) plurality of divine ideas as exemplars in God’s creative activity. 29 This shows that the expression ‘by similitude’ rather emphasizes the distinctive particularity of each creature and how creatures differ 25 See De Pot q. 7 a. 5: “Quando vero effectus non adaequat virtutem agentis, forma non est secundum eamdem rationem in agente et facto, sed in agente eminentius … Unde si tota virtus agentis non exprimitur in facto, relinquitur quod modus quo forma est in agente excedit modum quo est in facto. Et hoc videmus in omnibus agentibus aequivocis, sicut cum sol generat ignem.” Cf. See also te Velde, Participation and Substantiality, 95-102 and id., Aquinas on God. The ‘Divine Science’ of the Summa Theologiae, Aldershot 2006, 110-112. In the background is the metaphysical principle “every agent produces something like itself” (omne agens agit sibi simile); cf, most recently, Daniel J. Pierson, Thomas Aquinas on Assimilation to God through Efficient Causality, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 96.4 (2022), 525–44. 26 STh I, q. 6 a. 4: “… per modum cuiusdam assimilationis, licet remote et deficienter.” 27 In I Sent d. 19 q. 3 a. 2 exp. txt. 28 Cf. te Velde, Participation and Substantiality, 281-282; id. Aquinas on God, 113115. 29 Cf. STh I, q. 44 a. 3 and In I Phys lc. 15 n. 135. Gregory Doolan argues that the exemplar causality of God is not intended when Aquinas speaks of the divine essence as the likeness of all things: Doolan, Aquinas on esse subsistens, 622-623. I am not convinced and I think that Doolan has a Scotist or ‘possibilist’ interpretation of divine

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from one another, and also from God, than expressing what creatures have in common among themselves and with God. In his creative activity, God does not communicate himself as himself, in his proper divinity, but as distinguished from Godself, in such a way that in each creature the identity of essence and being, which defines God, is negated in a determined manner. In conclusion, participation in the divine being or goodness or perfections is not useful in explaining the deification of human beings. First, because the qualifier ‘by similitude’ that Thomas almost always adds, makes this notion express more (or at least as much) the distinction between God and creatures and the formal distinctiveness of each creature than their commonality. Second, ‘participation in the divine being’ is a general notion in Aquinas’s metaphysics. It applies to all creatures. If this were a key concept in Thomas’ view on deification, it would rather point to the deification of all of creation, not only of humanity. However, there is one expression that plays a specific role in Aquinas’s theology of grace: participation in the divine nature. I shall argue that also this kind of participation is not the heart of Aquinas’s view on deification, but only indicates a condition. 2. Theology of grace Besides participation, grace is identified as key to Aquinas’s view on deification. In fact, it is precisely phrases like “grace is a participation in divine nature” which serve as proof. 30 Aquinas makes such remarks often with reference to 2 Peter 1, 4: “[S]o that we may become participants of exemplarity. First, God knows all possibles (likenesses of the divine essence) and then selects some to actualize: ibid. 639, note 79. I prefer an ‘actualist’ reading. On the discussion among Thomists about these different readings of God’s knowledge of possibles (Lawrence Dewan, John Wippel and Armand Maurer on the ‘possibilist’ and James Ross on the ‘actualist’ side), see Paul DeHart, What Is Not, Was Not, and Will Never Be: Creaturely Possibility, Divine Ideas and the Creator’s Will in Thomas Aquinas, in Nova et Vetera 13:4 (2015), 1009-1058. 30 STh I-II, q. 112 a. 1: “Donum autem gratiae nihil aliud sit quam quaedam participatio divinae naturae, quae excedit omnem aliam naturam … Sic enim necesse est quod solus Deus deificet, communicando consortium divinae naturae per quandam similitudinis participationem,” STh III, q. 62 a. 1: “Gratia nihil est aliud, quam quaedam participata similitudo divinae naturae,” STh I-II, q. 110 a. 4: “gratia … sit in essentia animae … ita [homo] etiam per naturam animae participat, secundum quandam similitudinem, naturam divinam, per quandam regenerationem sive recreationem.” See also In II Sent 2 d. 23 q. 1 a. 1, STh I-II, q. 50 a. 2, STh I-II, q. 62 a. 1 and ad 1, STh I-II, q. 110 a. 3, STh II-II, q. 19 a. 7, STh II-II, q. 163 a. 2, STh III, q. 2 a. 10 ad 1, STh III, q. 3 a. 4 ad 3, STh III, q. 7 ad 1, QD De An a. 7 ad 4 and ad 9.

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the divine nature (consortes naturae divinae).” As mentioned above, Aquinas speaks of participation in divine being, goodness or perfections within the general context of nature, but the expression “participation in the divine nature” occurs exclusively in the context of supernatural grace. Though it is not always clear what ‘grace’ means in these texts, at least in some texts it seems obvious that it refers to the gift of created, habitual grace as a quality of the soul. 31 In the course of the 20th century, the very concept of created grace came under severe criticism among Catholic theologians. 32 Many thought that (neo-)scholastic theology had deprived the notion of grace of its original spiritual and theological riches in Scripture and in the Church fathers. It had been turned into a dry and ossified technical theological term. Because of an almost exclusive focus on habitual, created grace (gratia creata), which became then separated from uncreated grace (gratia increata), that is from God himself, grace no longer expressed a direct relation to God and became a monadic property, a special, supernatural quality added to the human soul. Karl Rahner has been the most influential representative of this criticism. He does not completely do away with the idea of created grace, but prioritizes uncreated grace as “quasi-formal causality” or “(quasi-)formal communication” of the divine being to human beings. 33 It is prior to the gift of created habitual and also prior to actually knowing and loving God. Rahner writes: “This unification ... is already given independently of an actual knowing and loving embracing of the triune God by the human being, either through his supernatural acts of the theological virtues, or through the beatific vision and love in the consummation.” 34 Not only Catholic but also

See e.g. STh I-II, q. 110 a. 1 and a. 2, STh III, q. 7 a. 11. This criticism originated with De la Taille at the beginning of the 20th century: see Williams, The Ground of Union, 191, note 29. 33 Cf. Roger Haight, Sin and Grace, in Systematic Theology: Roman Catholic Perspectives, Francis Schüssler Fiorenza and John P. Calvin (eds), 2nd edition, Minneapolis 2011, 375-430, esp. 403-405. Rahner develops this idea especially in: Zur scholastischen Begrifflichkeit der ungeschaffenen Gnade in id., Schriften zur Theologie Bd. 1, Einsiedeln 1956 (first published in 1939). It continues to play a role in his later work: Patrick Burke, Reinterpreting Rahner: A Critical Study of His Major Themes, New York 2002, 48-53. 34 Rahner, Zur scholastischen Begrifflichkeit der ungeschaffenen Gnade, 363-364: “Diese Einigung ist ... schon gegeben unabhängig von einem aktuellen erkennenden und liebenden Umfassen des dreifaltigen Gottes durch den Menschen, sei es durch seine übernatürlichen Akte der theologischen Tugenden, sei es durch die beseligende Schau und Liebe in der Vollendung.” Translation and italics by me. 31 32

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Orthodox theologians like Lossky and Bulgakov criticized the Western idea of created grace. 35 One could argue that the strong focus on created habitual grace in Catholic theology arose only in the discussions about grace during and after the Reformation. 36 Among Protestant theologians legal conceptions of justifying grace became dominant. Following late medieval developments, their focus shifted to a specific interpretation of uncreated grace, viz. as God’s favor for the elect from all eternity. In their effort to highlight the contrast with Protestant views and to establish a specifically Catholic body of doctrine, post-tridentine Catholic theologians then emphasized the need for created habitual grace and characterized it as a monadic property of the soul of the believer. In my view, the one-sided focus on created grace in the history of Catholic theology is not a decisive reason to deny the relevance of the concept altogether. Also not in the theology of Aquinas. I side with Bruce Marshall, Daria Spezzano, and Richard Cross against Anna Williams that created grace has an important function in Aquinas’s theology, also in his later works. 37 However, one should also not overestimate its role, especially not in the context of deification. For Aquinas, habitual grace is supernatural; it is beyond the properties of human nature. But it is still on the side of creation and by itself does not bridge the gap between the Creator and the creature. This is already noticeable in the qualification ‘through (a certain) similitude,’ which Aquinas often adds when he mentions participation in the divine nature. 38 We already saw that this qualification serves to underscore the distinction between God and creature when talking about the participation in the divine being. Aquinas also characterizes grace as a participation in the divine goodness. 39 Terminologically, this does not differ from the way he talks about the participation of every creature in the divine goodness. 40

For references, see Marshall, Ex Occidente Lux?, 46 note 27. Cf. José Martin-Palma, Gnadenlehre: Von der Reformation bis zur Gegenwart. Handbuch der Dogmengeschichte, Bd. 3, fasc. 5b, Freiburg i.B. 1980. 37 See Spezzano, Glory of God’s Grace, 359-365, Appendix B, The Disputed Question of “Created Grace” in the Summa Theologiae, Marshall, Ex Oriente Lux?, 29-30, and Cross, Deification in Aquinas, 115-119. 38 See the quotations in footnote 30. 39 E.g. in De Ver q. 29 a. 5, STh I, q. 106 a. 4, STh I-II, q. 110 a. 2 ad 2, STh III, q. 3 a. 4 ad 3. 40 See references footnote 21. 35 36

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3. Deification by knowing and loving God I want to suggest that the idea of deification is not so much found in Aquinas’s doctrine of participation or his theology of (created or uncreated) grace but rather in the acts of the theological virtues, that is, in knowing and loving God. 41 I shall briefly discuss three topics in Aquinas’s theology that support this suggestion: image of God, the modes of divine presence, and the invisible missions of the Son and Spirit. Image of God There are some important changes in Aquinas’s understanding of the human being as image of God. 42 In the commentary on the Sentences, he locates it in our intellectual nature as such, in particular – following Augustine – in a threefold division of its active powers (memoria, intelligentia, voluntas or mens, notitia, amor) and also in the natural knowledge we have of spiritual substances, like our soul or God. In the Summa Theologiae, the image of God is no longer related to our natural powers or natural objects of knowledge but to the supernatural activities of knowing and loving Godself. Accordingly, Aquinas gives an interpretation of the traditional tripartition of the ‘image of God,’ based on that knowledge and love. 43 First, in the image of creation (imago creationis) all human beings have a natural aptitude (aptitudo naturalis) to know and love God. This aptitude, or being open to God (capax Dei), is not an active power but only a passive receptivity. 44 Second, when this natural aptitude is actualized by divine grace and a person “actually or habitually knows and loves God, though imperfectly,” we speak of the “image of recreation” (imago recreationis). And, finally, in the beatific vision, when we actually know and love God perfectly, we’ll have what is called “the image of similitude” (imago similitudinis). Just to be clear, 41 See also Cross, Deification in Aquinas, 115-119 and Jeremy Wilkins, Trinitarian Missions and the Order of Grace According to Thomas Aquinas, in Kent Emery et al. (eds), Philosophy and Theology in the Long Middle Ages: A Tribute to Stephen F. Brown, Leiden 2011, 689-708, in particular 691, 695-697. 42 See Klaus Krämer, Imago Trinitatis. Die Gottebenbildlichkeit des Menschen in der Theologie des Thomas von Aquin, Freiburg i.B. 2000, in particular 296-303 and D. Juvenal Merriell, Trinitarian Anthropology, in Rik van Nieuwenhove and Joseph Wawrykow (eds.), The Theology of Thomas Aquinas, Notre Dame 2005, 123-142, especially 127-132. 43 STh I, q. 93 a. 4. 44 Cf. Fergus Kerr, After Aquinas: Versions of Thomism, Oxford 2002, 231, note 2. The expression capax Dei per gratiam is derived from Augustine, cf. STh I-II, q. 113 a. 10: See also STh III, q. 4 a. 1 ad 2.

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this similitude is very different from the (general) participation in God’s being by similitude, discussed above; it refers to an interpretation of Gen 1, 26, going back to Irenaeus, of a distinction between similitude (by grace) and image (by nature). Divine presence A second topic that highlights the role of the acts of knowing and loving God, is divine presence in creation. Following Peter Lombard, Aquinas distinguishes three ways in which God is present. 45 First, there is a general mode by which God is present in all of creation as Creator and Ruler. Second, in a specific way, God is present in the believers as known and loved. Third, he is present in the mode of existential identity unique to Christ by means of the hypostatic union. Noteworthy is how Aquinas distinguishes between the first and the second mode of God’s presence in the commentary on the Sentences: In the first way, [God is present] only according to a similitude, insofar as in the creature some similitude with the divine goodness is found, but not so that it touches God himself (attingat ipsum Deum) according to God’s substance … In the second way, the creature touches God himself, considered according to his substance, and not only according to likeness. And this is by means of an operation, viz. when someone adheres to the first truth by faith and to the highest goodness by charity. And this is another way in which God is specially in the saints through grace. 46 Aquinas distinguishes God’s general presence to all of creation “according to a similitude with the divine goodness” from the way God is present to the creature who “touches God himself,” substantially, by knowing and loving him. Elsewhere, Aquinas writes that by his general omnipresence, “God touches immediately all things.” 47 Through grace,

45 See Peter Lombard, Sententiae, lib. 1, ds. 37 c. 1, (ed. Grottaferrata, 1971), 263. The first two modes go back to Augustine: see Adrian Fuerst, An Historical Study of the Doctrine of the Omnipresence of God in Selected Writing between 1220-1270, Washington 1951, 6, 17-18. 46 In I Sent d. 37 q. 1 a. 2. See also e.g. ScG III, c. 26 n. 16, STh I-II, q. 50 a. 6, In II Cor c. 6 lc 3 n. 240. 47 STh III, q. 6 a. 1 ad 1: “Deus immediate attingit quamlibet rem, causando et conservando.”

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we make full circle, so to say, and touch Godself. 48 Besides ‘touching God himself,’ Aquinas also uses expressions like ‘being with God,’ ‘having God,’ ‘union with God’ or ‘God dwelling in humans like in his temple’ to indicate the special way God is present in our knowing and loving him. 49 Invisible missions of Son and Spirit The final question of the treatise on the Trinity in Summa Theologiae I, and its culmination, is q. 43, on the missions of the Son and the Spirit. In article 3, Aquinas again mentions the different ways God is present in creation and distinguishes the “general way” of divine presence from the “special way,” when God is in the rational creature “as the known is in the knower and the loved one is in the lover.” And he repeats, “by knowing and loving [God], the rational creature touches upon Godself (attingit ad ipsum Deum) through its own activity.” 50 In a well-known passage, the answer to the second objection in article 5, Aquinas relates the “gifts of grace” by which we know and love God with the invisible missions of the Son and the Spirit: In order for a divine person to be sent to someone through grace, there must be an assimilation on his part to the divine person who is sent through some gift of grace (aliquod gratiae donum). Since the Holy Spirit is Love, it is through the gift of charity that the soul is assimilated to the Holy Spirit, and so the mission of the Holy Spirit involves the gift of charity. The Son, on the other hand, is the Word, not any sort of word, but the Word who spirates Love … Therefore, the Son is sent not through whatever perfection of the intellect but through the sort of formation (instructio) of the intellect by which one breaks forth into the affection of love. 51 In this text, the gift of grace by which the soul is assimilated to the Spirit is explicitly identified as the theological virtue of charity. Such is not the Cf. In I Sent d. 14 q. 2 a. 2. See e.g. In III Sent d. 10 q. 3 a. 1 qc. 1, STh I, q. 38 a. 1, STh I, q. 43 a. 3 (see next note), De Ver q. 29 a. 1 50 STh I, q. 43 a. 3: “Super istum modum autem communem, est unus specialis, qui convenit creaturae rationali, in qua Deus dicitur esse sicut cognitum in cognoscente et amatum in amante. Et quia, cognoscendo et amando, creatura rationalis sua operatione attingit ad ipsum Deum.” 51 STh I, q. 43 a 5 ad 2. 48 49

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case with the Son. Aquinas talks about a formation or edification (instructio) of the intellect which includes love. In the remainder of the text, Aquinas relates it with wisdom. However, I don’t think that the gift of grace by which our intellect is assimilated to the Son, needs to be limited to the gift of wisdom. The text answers to the objection that there are gifts to the intellect which can be had without charity, like prophecy and unformed faith. This suggests that faith formed by charity would also qualify as a gift which assimilates the human intellect to the Son. Moreover, in the preceding text, the answer to the first objection, Aquinas talks in the plural about “some gifts … which pertain to the intellect and by which the mission of the Son is acknowledged.” 52 It is through the theological virtues of faith, hope, and love and other gifts (in particular the gifts the Holy Spirit) that the Son and the Spirit are sent and given to us. Like habitual grace as a created quality of the soul, these virtues and gifts are created and so are the acts associated with them. 53 And that is how they are truly human acts. But what we believe in, hope for, and love, is the triune Godself, who dwells in us. 54 4. Conclusion Aquinas’s view on deification is often explained in reference to his doctrine of participation and/or of grace. I have argued that these doctrines only form the background, which also is distorted by historical, ideological disputes between Western and Eastern, and between Catholic and Protestant theology. For Aquinas, human beings become like the triune God by knowing and loving him, thus participating in God’s selfknowledge and self-love. It already starts imperfectly in this life and will be completed in the beatific vision. Locating deification in the acts of knowing and loving Godself enables Aquinas to keep together what Williams calls the “two poles of STh I, q. 43 a. 5 ad 1. The act by which Christ’s human soul knows and loves God is a created act, in contrast with the act by which Chirst in his divinity knows and loves God: STh III, q. 7 a. 1 ad 2. 54 Cf. STh I, q. 38 a. 1: “Aliae autem creaturae moveri quidem possunt a divina persona; non tamen sic quod in potestate earum sit frui divina persona, et uti effectu eius. Ad quod quandoque pertingit rationalis creatura; ut puta cum sic fit particeps divini verbi et procedentis amoris, ut possit libere Deum vere cognoscere et recte amare.” The “effects” of the divine persons that we use are the (created) theological virtues and gifts of the Spirit, but what we enjoy through these effects are the divine persons themselves. Aquinas also emphasizes that through the missions the whole Trintiy dwells in us: STh I, q. 43 a. 5. 52 53

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deification.” 55 The principles and acts by which we can know and love God through his grace, remain created, and constitute the one pole, but what (or better: whom) we know and love is the triune God himself, and this is the second pole.

55

See note 7 above.

MANIFESTATION AND ENCOUNTER: REVELATION AS ENCOUNTER IN CHRISTOPH THEOBALD AND THOMAS AQUINAS Stefan Mangnus, o.p. One of the great accomplishments of the Second Vatican Council is its reflection on and enrichment of the theme of revelation. In his book The Vision of Vatican II, Ormond Rush summarises this enrichment, compared to a predominantly propositional model of revelation that existed before the council (and that dominated the schema De Fontibus Revelationis that had been prepared for the council), in four points: 1. Revelation is primarily a dialogic divine-human encounter, not only a communication of truths; 2. Divine revelation, as God’s personal outreach embraced in faith, is therefore also a saving encounter for those who receive it; 3. Revelation takes place through divine actions in history and not just through the communication of words; 4. Revelation is not only something that happened in the past but a present reality, and indeed will only be fulfilled at the end of time. 1 In this article, I will focus on the first of these four points and show how revelation as encounter is present in the theology of Thomas Aquinas and Christoph Theobald. At first sight, Aquinas and Theobald might not seem to be likely conversation partners on this topic. Aquinas wrote his works about eight centuries before Vatican II, in a theological culture that asked different questions than the council did and asked questions differently. Christoph Theobald’s work, on the other hand, is not just an interpretation of the council but a further reflection of the theme of revelation for a postmodern culture. 2 With this article, I do not wish to suggest that what Theobald (or the Second Vatican Council, for that matter) writes about revelation is already present in the works of Thomas: that would not be true, and even if it were, it would not be very interesting. What I will show is that an understanding of revelation as encounter sheds new light on Thomas’s treatment of revelation and that, Ormond Rush, The Vision of Vatican II: Its Fundamental Principles, Collegeville 2019, 41. 2 This focus on a postmodern culture is visible in the subtitle of one of Theobald’s major works: Christoph Theobald, Le christianisme comme style: Une manière de faire la théologie en postmodernité, 2 vols, Paris 2008. In this article, I will not go into the debate whether ‘postmodernity’ is a helpful term to describe our time. For Theobald’s positioning in this debate, see Le christianisme comme style, I, 148-151. The theological appreciation of the development from modernity to postmodernity is what takes up part I of Le christianisme comme style (207-387). 1

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vice versa, Thomas’s account of revelation is relevant to the interpretation of revelation that Theobald presents. 1. Christoph Theobald: Christianity as style In several works published in recent years, Christoph Theobald has argued for an understanding of Christian faith in terms of ‘style,’ most extensively in his book Le christianisme comme style. In his work, he joins other scholars who have thought about ‘style,’ predominantly Friedrich Schleiermacher and Hans Urs von Balthasar. Theobald proposes an understanding of ‘style’ that brings the hermeneutical approach of Schleiermacher and the phenomenological approach of von Balthasar together. There are two presuppositions underlying Theobald’s approach. The first is a theological analysis of our time related to the transition from modernity to postmodernity: the debates in modernity about the introduction of the humanities in theology (historical scholarship first, later followed by other disciplines) and the development of a hermeneutical awareness have made that the depositum fidei, when it is understood as untouchable ahistoric centre of history is insufficient for understanding the Christian faith. Fundamental and dogmatic theology need to build up each other. 3 The second presupposition under Theobald’s stylistic approach is his interpretation of the pastoral orientation of Vatican II. This pastoral orientation is not a secondary application of ecclesial teaching that is forever unchanging in and of itself, but it is a constitutive element of that teaching because the Church’s teaching has the task of regulating the preaching of the Gospel as a relational phenomenon. In other words: there is no proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ without considering the person or people to whom the Gospel is to be proclaimed. In Theobald’s understanding, Vatican II clarifies this relation or encounter in two directions: by emphasising the historical and cultural context of the recipient of the proclamation of the Gospel on the one hand and the internal unity and coherence of the truths that are presented in this proclamation on the other. The relationship between these two elements is what Theobald describes as ‘the pastoral principle’ of Vatican II and is the normative background for his stylistic approach. 4

Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 204. Christoph Theobald, Christentum als Stil: Für ein zeitgemäßes Glaubensverständnis in Europa, Freiburg i.B., 2018, 34-35. Despite what the title might suggest, 3 4

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Christianity as ‘style’ is not meant as an aestheticisation of Christian faith but is directed towards an integration of the own context of the believer on the one hand and the internal coherence of faith on the other. By ‘style,’ Theobald refers to the Christian faith as a style of life, focusing on the internal unity between the form of Christian faith and its internal coherence, the unity between form and fundament. 5 Theobald paraphrases ‘style’ sometimes as ‘way of being’ or ‘way’ and opposes it to the positivism of the nineteenth century with its preference for ‘dogmatics’ as form. 6 The goal of Theobald’s stylistic approach to Christianity is not to discuss a particular doctrinal topic or ecclesiastical practice but to study the contents of the doctrinal, institutional, and sacramental economy of the Church in function of the forms they have appeared in throughout the history of the Church. 7 As to its substance, ‘style’ for Theobald receives its meaning from the “holy hospitality” of Jesus Christ. In the encounters of Jesus with people, encounters that were characterised by his holiness and his hospitality, God’s revelation took shape: it makes new encounters in our time possible. This auto-revelation enables a response in faith, “a way of living in the world” that is proper to the person responding to God’s revelation. 8 This way of life is a style that corresponds to what it signifies: God’s holiness. 9 This holiness can then be recognised as the mystery of the world and of history. 10 After this brief introduction to Theobald’s understanding of Christian faith as ‘style,’ I will now focus on a single aspect of his theology: revelation.

Christentum als Stil is not the German translation of Le christianisme comme style, but a study in its own right. 5 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 52. 6 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 201. 7 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 130. 8 “Une manière d’habiter le monde.” Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 18-20 9 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 475-476. Theobald does not use the term ‘analogy’ in his text, but from the context it is clear that he uses ‘holiness’ in an analogous sense. In his inaugural lecture, a plea for the holiness of theology, Henk Schoot analysed the ways holiness is used analogically by Aquinas. This inaugural lecture was published in English as Henk J.M. Schoot, Holy, Holy, Holy. A Plea for the Holiness of Theology, in Jaarboek Thomas Instituut te Utrecht 26 (2006), 7-33. 10 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 699, 705.

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2. Revealing mystery “Revelation is primarily a dialogic divine-human encounter, not only a communication of truths,” stated Rush, interpreting Dei Verbum. 11 This primacy of the self-communication of God leads Theobald to formulate three conclusions. First: God has nothing to reveal to us that we could or will at a certain point in the future be able to discover for ourselves. That is the fundamental reason why there can be no opposition between faith and reason, why revelation does not mean a diminishing of the autonomy of reason. Secondly: God has only one thing to reveal to us, and that is Godself, specifically: Godself as the goal of creation. This second point is an expression of what is unique in the Christian faith: the access to the intima Dei in Jesus Christ through the Holy Spirit. Only God, after all, can give us access to God. Thirdly: After God has expressed himself fully in his Son, he can fall silent. What more could be added to his complete self-expression in the Son? Revelation is completed and cannot but be followed by his silence and the freedom of human beings to relate to God’s self-expression. 12 In his remarks about God’s self-expression, Theobald warns that this self-expression is not to be reduced to texts from Holy Scripture alone: that is the road that leads to fundamentalism. When God’s self-expression is reduced to just that, what tends to be forgotten is that the prophetic revelation, characteristic of the Old Testament, disappears in the New Testament. It is replaced by the relation Jesus Christ has with his disciples and sympathisers. After he has said everything, after the Word of God has become incarnate, the entrance to God’s silent intimacy is opened only in the relation between the Son and those who participate in him. 13 After all, the revelation in Christ is not just a notification but a form of encounter from which the contents of faith cannot be separated. It is precisely this connection which is the fundament of Theobald’s stylistic approach, as we saw: the unity, possibly even the identity of form and content, determine not just the aesthetic judgment on the style of a work of art or the ethical judgment of a form of life, but in the end the philosophicaltheological judgment on the credibility of Christian belief as well.14

Rush, The Vision of Vatican II, 41. Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 153-154, 164, 710. See Christoph Theobald, Le courage de penser l’avenir: Études oecuméniques de théologie fondamentale et ecclésiologique, Paris 2021, 63-65. 13 Theobald, Le courage de penser l’avenir, 64. 14 Theobald, Christentum als Stil, 53. 11 12

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3. Manifestatio in Thomas Aquinas From Christoph Theobald’s interpretation of revelation, I now move on to Thomas Aquinas’s. In the past, studies of Thomas’s theology of revelation often focused on the texts in which Thomas discusses prophetic revelation, predominantly on the questions on prophecy in the Summa Theologiae. 15 Christoph Berchtold has shown that a second concept is essential for understanding Thomas’s theology of revelation: manifestatio. 16 Nowhere in his corpus does Thomas systematise his understanding of revelation as manifestatio, which makes it impossible to describe manifestation in the way that is possible for his understanding of prophecy. It is clear that Thomas uses manifestatio in different ways: sometimes in a more everyday sense of ‘becoming visible,’ at other times in a stronger theological meaning in the sense of revelation. In the latter case, Thomas uses manifestatio predominantly in the context of the revelation in Jesus Christ, which goes beyond the revelation in the Old Testament: “In Novo Testamento facta est manifestior revelatio.” 17 This sense of manifestatio can be found in many places in Thomas’s oeuvre. Still, there are a few places where its meaning as revelation is notably apparent: in the commentary on John (predominantly the commentary on John 1-5), and in the quaestiones in the Summa where Thomas gives his theology of the mysteries of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. 18 In what follows, I will concentrate mainly on these texts. I will discuss three elements from Thomas’s understanding of revelation as manifestatio, which are important for Theobald’s understanding of revelation as well: manifestatio as encounter, the role of testimony, and hearing and seeing as the senses of this revelatory encounter. 4. Manifestatio as encounter When Thomas discusses the manner of life of Christ in the Tertia Pars of the Summa Theologiae, he begins by asking whether Christ should have lived a solitary life instead of associating with humans. In his response to this question, Thomas does not just discuss the pros and cons of solitary life and living among people. Instead, he starts by giving a fundamental principle underneath the reasons he then proceeds to provide: Christ’s STh II-II, qq. 171-174 Christoph Berchtold, Manifestatio Veritatis: Zum Offenbarungsbegriff bei Thomas von Aquin, Münster 2000. 17 De Ver q. 12, a. 14 ad 5. 18 STh III, qq. 27-59. 15 16

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manner of life had to be in keeping with the end of his incarnation, because of which he came into the world. Christ’s way of life must be in accordance with the motives for his incarnation. After stating this principle, Thomas gives three motives for the incarnation that are pertinent to the question, the first of which is: Now he came into the world, first, that he might manifest the truth (ad manifestandum veritatem). Thus he says himself (Jn 18, 37): “For this was I born, and for this came I into the world, that I should give testimony to the truth.” Hence it was fitting not that he should hide himself by leading a solitary life but that he should appear openly and preach in public. Wherefore (Lc 4, 42-43) he says to those who wished to stay him: “To other cities also I must preach the kingdom of God: for therefore am I sent.” 19 The second reason Thomas gives is that Christ came to free men from sin; therefore, he gave us an example by seeking those who perish. The third reason is “that by him ‘we might have access to God,’ as it is written (Rom 5, 2). And thus it was fitting that he should give human beings confidence in approaching him by associating familiarly with them.” 20 The manifestation of the truth requires familiarity with people. This manifestation is a manifestation of God, to whom Christ is the way: “by him, we have access to God.” Thomas describes the way this goal is attained as familiariter conversari with people, without limitations in whatever form, and without criteria beforehand, as Berchtold has remarked. 21 The relevance of encounter reappears a few quaestiones later, when Thomas asks whether Christ should have committed his doctrine to writing. Thomas replies that it was fitting that Christ did not do that and gives as his first reason for his position: First, on account of his dignity: for the more excellent the teacher, the more excellent should be his manner of teaching. Consequently, it was fitting that Christ, as the most excellent of teachers, should adopt that manner of teaching whereby his doctrine is imprinted on the hearts of his hearers; wherefore it is STh III, q. 40, a. 1. STh III, q. 40 a. 1: “Tertio, venit ut per ipsum habeamus accessum ad Deum, ut dicitur Rom. V. Et ita, familiariter cum hominibus conversando, conveniens fuit ut hominibus fiduciam daret ad se accedendi.” 21 Berchtold, Manifestatio Veritatis, 219. 19 20

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written (Mt 7, 29) that “he was teaching them as one having power.” 22 In his commentary on this argument, Jean-Pierre Torrell rightfully draws the attention towards the quotation from the Gospel according to Matthew. Without this quotation, it would be difficult to understand why an oral transmission of Christ’s teaching should be preferred above a written one. The quotation from Matthew shows that Thomas is not just thinking of the transmission of information but of the word that Christ speaks on his own authority to the hearts of people: this word will reverberate through the ages in the hearts of people by the working of the Holy Spirit. 23 The second reason Thomas gives continues this thought: the excellence of Christ’s doctrine is such that it cannot be expressed in writing. Thomas is thinking of Jn 21, 25, and of Augustine’s interpretation of this verse that not the world would be too small to contain the books describing all the things Jesus did in terms of space, but in the sense that the capacity of the readers of the Gospel would be insufficient to understand everything. Writing alone is inadequate for the manifestatio of Christ’s teaching: the live transition from the person of Jesus Christ to the people was therefore fitting. Thomas gives a third reason to explain why it was fitting that Christ did not commit his teaching to writing. I will return to that reason later. In Thomas’s commentary on the Gospel of John, the significance of the encounter with Christ in the context of his manifestation emerges as well. When Jesus, answering the question of the first disciples where he lives, replies with “Come and see,” Thomas stresses in his commentary that the dwelling of God, whether of glory or grace, cannot be explained in words and cannot be known except by experience. The reply to the invitation to “come and see” is a diverse affair: it happens by believing and working, by experiencing and understanding. 24 In the commentary on the encounter with Nicodemus, Thomas stresses that it is in the encounter, in the dialogue, with the patient replying to questions and reasoning of Jesus, that Nicodemus can grow into the faith that Christ is more than the rabbi for which Nicodemus took him in the first instance. The title of ‘rabbi’ for Christ is correct but it is insufficient because Christ taught in a manner unlike other men. Some teachers teach only from without. Christ, however, also instructs within. STh III, q. 42, a. 4. Jean-Pierre Torrell, Le Christ en ses mystères: La vie et l’oeuvre de Jésus selon saint Thomas d’Aquin, 2 vols, Paris 1999, I, 251. 24 In Joh 1, 39 §292. 22 23

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Thomas clarifies this with reference to Jn 1, 9: “He was the true light, which enlightens everyone.” According to Thomas, it is only this true light that gives true wisdom, and this is something that no human person can say. 25 In the commentary on Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman, Thomas draws attention to the process of this encounter: “He did not reveal (manifestavit) himself to this woman at once because it might have seemed to her that he was speaking out of vainglory. But now, having brought her step by step to a knowledge of himself, Christ revealed himself at the appropriate time.” Thomas contrasts this encounter with the occasion when the Pharisees ask Jesus to speak openly (Joh 10, 24). In them, there is no desire to learn but only to test Christ, Thomas states. There was no real encounter, and so Christ did not reveal himself to them. 26 The manifestation in which Christ reveals God cannot be reduced to a mere transfer of knowledge. To allow people access to God, the first disciples needed to live with him in a familiar way. Only in that way their hearts could open up to the working of the Holy Spirit, and was it possible for there to be a process in which God reveals himself to us in the whole of our lives, with our believing and working, experiencing and understanding. 5. Testimony Theobald discusses the importance of testimony both in the context of preaching the Gospel to a secularised society and in terms of Christian theology as a subject within academia several times in his works.27 He writes: “The point of departure of any argument for the credibility of Christian faith is to be located in the credible behaviour of the witness.” 28 Theobald describes this behaviour as ‘holiness’ in imitation of Christ, God’s holy one. In the first instance, the credibility only is the credibility of the person to whom it is assigned. It is only at a second, argumentative level that it can carry a normative claim, at least implicitly. This means that Christian faith can only become credible or justified a posteriori when it follows the actual hospitable holiness which makes itself available to the other. The ‘style’ that Theobald proposes as form and In Joh 3, 2 §428. In Joh 4, 26 §619. 27 Following the French sociologists of religion Dubet and Hervieu-Léger, Theobald, discussing secularisation in Western Europe, speaks of an “exculturation of Christian faith” in: Theobald, Christentum als Stil, 23. 28 Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 496. 25 26

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content of Christian faith is this holy hospitality which makes it possible to experience what it confesses. On the one hand, Christian faith cannot leave out a claim to truth: for that reason, the hermeneutical process of explaining the Christian faith is indispensable for Theobald. On the other hand, Christian faith cannot be thought of without the believing subject being implicated: it is only when the believing subject is involved that the rational potentialities which are implied in the acts of faith and hope become visible in what Theobald, referring to 1 Thess 1, 5 and 1 Cor 2, 4 calls “the only place of demonstrating faith,” the actual practice of faith of the faithful and of the Church. 29 To this argument for the importance of testimony in Theobald, the theology of Thomas has two things to add. I will discuss a third aspect of testimony in Thomas in the next section. The first addition is that Thomas, prompted by Scripture, speaks about Christ as a witness. Thomas allocates being a witness to Christ according to his humanity: “Christ, as God, is truth itself; but as human, he is its witness.” 30 Christ as witness manifests the truth that he himself is. When Thomas, in the commentary on John, comments on Christ as ‘Light,’ the keyword ‘manifestation’ is again the key to an interpretation of what it is that the divine Light does. Thomas writes: For as light is not only visible in itself and of itself, but through it all else can be seen, so the Word of God is not only light in himself, but he manifests all things that are made manifest (manifestans quae manifestantur). For since a thing is made manifest (manifestetur) and understood through its form, and all forms exist through the Word, who is the art full of living forms, the Word is light not only in himself but also as manifesting all things (omnia manifestans); “all that is made manifest, is light” (Eph 5:13). And so it was fitting for the Evangelist to call the Son ‘light’ because he came as “a revealing light to the Gentiles” (Lk 2:32). 31 At this place in the commentary, Thomas compares Christ and John the Baptist as witnesses. They both testify but in different ways. John’s office as a witness is great because one can only testify about something in the Theobald, Le christianisme comme style, 496-497. See also 296-297, 346-349 and 480-481. 30 In Joh 3, 32 §533. 31 In Joh 1, 7 §118. 29

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measure in which one has shared in it. Bearing witness to divine truth indicates knowledge of that truth. Christ, however, is the perfect witness of the truth; John and other prophets only are witnesses in so far as they participate in divine truth. This is a participation in grace, which Thomas distinguishes from participation that is the core of being created. About this participation in grace, Rudi te Velde writes: Grace not only enables man to act in a divine-like manner but it even informs his essential being; the human nature receives a likeness of the divine nature whereby he becomes ‘God by participation’ and is born again as ‘child of God’. Through grace the human soul becomes conformed to God in a successive process of spiritual growth and learning. 32 What Thomas is presenting with the help of the idea of participation is not miles away from what Theobald develops with the concept of holiness: after all, this holiness is based on the holy hospitality of Christ that became visible in his encounters with people, as we saw before. What Thomas adds is the consideration of ‘participation’ in terms of creation and in terms of grace. I return to Summa Theologiae III, q. 42 a. 4, the question of whether Christ should have committed his doctrine to writing for the second theological addition. Before, we saw two of Thomas’s reasons why it was fitting that Christ did not commit his teaching to writing. Thomas adds a third reason: it is fitting “that his doctrine might reach all in an orderly manner: Himself teaching his disciples immediately, and they subsequently teaching others, by preaching and writing.” 33 This is an argument Thomas uses more often: it belongs to God’s wisdom that the gifts and mysteries of God are given to some, who then pass them on to others. The fundamental idea is situated in Thomas’s theology of creation: that it is greater for God to allow people to participate in creation than if God alone were the cause of everything. This is the place where Thomas’s understanding of creatures as causae secundae is to be located. 34 What is true of the order of creation is true in salvation history as well. We receive God’s revelation mediated by other people and the preaching of the Church. God makes us participants in his revelation of 32 R. te Velde, Aquinas on God: The ‘Divine Science’ of the Summa Theologiae, Aldershot 2006, 164. 33 STh III, q. 42, a. 4. 34 Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas: Vol 2, Spiritual Master, Washington D.C. 2003, 234-242.

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Godself: this revelation is to be received and passed on to others by the witness of the Church and by the life and work of all the baptised. 35 This last point by Thomas is especially pertinent to Theobald’s thinking about the place of testimony. The need for a form of testimony as ‘holy hospitality’ is not just a consequence of a postmodern society which does not easily open up to a teaching that is only taught intellectually. It is also part of the honour of human beings and the order of creation and salvation history that we become participants in God’s revelation. 6. Hearing and seeing When Thomas, in his commentary on Fourth Gospel, gives a divisio textus of Jn 1, 14b-51, he makes a remarkable choice. 36 Thomas structures the whole of Jn 1 in two parts: v. 1-14a speaks about the divinity of Christ, v. 14b-51 about the way the divinity of Christ is manifested. 37 This manifestation is subsequently structured according to the senses of seeing and hearing. Both, Thomas states in the divisio textus, are briefly mentioned (seeing in v. 14b: “we have seen his glory”; hearing in the testimony of John the Baptist in v. 15), and then clarified: seeing in v. 1618, hearing in v. 19-51. This divisio textus shows a pattern that Thomas recognises in the Fourth Gospel. The incarnate Word is made known through seeing and hearing: it is seen in the signs and miracles that Jesus did and in the things Jesus underwent in his passion and death. It is heard both in the testimony of others about Jesus and in what Jesus says about himself in the discourses and dialogues in the Gospel. It is through these senses, the senses of encounter, that Christ’s divinity is manifested. As for seeing, Jn 1, 18 (“No one has ever seen God”) helps Thomas to distinguish between what can be seen and what cannot. The commentary on this verse makes it abundantly clear that what has not become visible in the incarnation is the divine essence. Thomas’s Christology is an apophatic theology, and Thomas has no hesitation in applying the most apophatic verses of Scripture (like Is 45, 15 and 1 Tim 35 Thomas uses this same argument when discussing both Christ’s nativity and his resurrection. Both were fittingly made known to some, through whom it was to be made known to others. Nativity: STh III, q. 36, a.2. Resurrection: STh III, q. 55, a. 1. 36 For a study on the divisio textus as an essential instrument to understand Thomas’s commentary on John, see Stefan Mangnus, The Divinity of the Word: Thomas Aquinas Dividing and reading the Gospel of John, Leuven 2022. On seeing and hearing in the commentary on Jn 1, 14b-51, see 137-169. 37 In Joh 1, 1 §23.

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6, 16) to the Son incarnate. 38 The divinity of Christ remains invisible to our bodily eyes and to our imagination and our intellect as well. It can never be comprehended by any creature, not in via, not even in patria. It is, however, because the Son shares in the incomprehensibility of the Father that he is the competent teacher who teaches us first-hand about the triune God. At the end of the commentary of this part of the Gospel, Thomas asks what Christ has made known except the one God that Moses had already made known. What did Christ add to Moses? Thomas’s answer almost seems a throwaway remark: “It added the mystery of the Trinity and many other things that neither Moses nor any of the prophets made known.” 39 What has been seen because of the incarnation? If ‘seen’ is understood as ‘fully grasped’ or ‘comprehended,’ the answer is: nothing. If ‘seen’ is understood as ‘made known in a human, limited and participated way,’ the answer is: ‘everything’: the triune God, grace, and our salvation. In the previous section, I mentioned two theological notions that are important in Thomas’s discussion of testimony. ‘Hearing’ is a third notion. In the commentary on Jn 1, ‘hearing’ means testimony: witnesses make Christ’s divinity known. Being a witness requires participation in the divine mystery, as we saw before. When Thomas discusses the testimony of John the Baptist and the first disciples, he adds two more aspects of testimony. The first is that it belongs to testimony to point away from itself and towards Christ. John the Baptist is a prime example of this. This Christ-oriented character of the witness is not just relevant for those who have seen Jesus; it is a task for all witnesses, including those who are preachers, Thomas states, commenting on Andrew, who immediately after having begun to follow Jesus, brings his brother Simon to Christ. 40 The second is that testimony is not an end in itself: it has to bear fruit. The commentary on the calling of the first disciples in Jn 1, 35-51 shows what Thomas understands as the fruit of the process of bearing witness. It has a returning pattern: the witness brings someone to Christ, and the process comes to completion in the encounter with Christ. 41 Revelation, understood in this way, is circular in form: Christ manifests himself to a person, who consequently becomes a witness to him. This witness 38 It was Henk Schoot who showed that Thomas’s Christology is apophatic: Henk J.M. Schoot, Christ the 'Name' of God: Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ, Leuven 1993. 39 In Joh 1, 18 §222. 40 In Joh 1, 42 §302. 41 The parallel structure is clearly recognizable in the three divisiones textus Thomas gives. See In Joh 1, 37 §284; In Joh 1, 40 §298; In Joh 1, 45 §315.

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proclaims Christ to someone else, and this testimony bears fruit in the encounter with Christ manifesting himself. In his discussion of revelation, Theobald, too, discusses the senses of seeing and hearing. He interprets them as the senses of the sensus fidei. It is part of his stylistic approach that hearing and seeing go together in the act of faith. He calls faithful listening ‘stereophone.’ The Christian faithful listens to three voices at the same time. The first voice is that of the Gospel being proclaimed, the verbum externum. The second voice is that of the word that resonates in a person’s conscience, the verbum internum. These two voices are related to one another: listening combines what is being proposed in a pastoral encounter or in the Church’s preaching with listening to the inner voice that interprets and verifies what it has heard. After the revelation of God in Christ, God falls silent: his word only becomes audible in human words and in the inner voice of conscience, which receives and interprets these words. Theobald sees this classical Christian hermeneutics at work in 1 Thess 2, 13. Next to these two voices, a third needs to be heard, according to Theobald: the many voices of those who do not find themselves within the Christian tradition. In those voices, God’s ‘speaking silence’ might be heard as well. Listening ‘in stereophone’ means integrating these three voices. Whoever listens to the words of Scripture only, proclaimed in the liturgy or elsewhere, runs the risk of descending into fundamentalism. Whoever only listens to the voice of their conscience isolates himself and easily falls into moralism or a certain pietism. Whoever contents himself with a good interpretation of one’s own time and reduces Christian faith to merely ‘see-judge-act’ loses the depth of faith. It is only in this simultaneous, ‘stereophone’ listening to all three of these voices that God’s word can be heard in the present time. 42 Theobald understands seeing predominantly as observing the signs of the time, which also forms the third voice of ‘stereophone’ listening. Seeing adds the perspective that allows for the messianic vision of God’s kingdom of peace reigning on earth to become visible in the encounter with and the relation to the other. In this way, in the events in our individual and collective lives, the vision of the unity of the whole of creation becomes noticeable. 43 For Aquinas and Theobald, revelation is a matter of seeing and hearing. Seeing for Thomas is seeing Christ, who makes known the triune God, grace, and our salvation in a way that respects God’s mystery. For 42 Theobald, Le courage de penser l’avenir, 65-67, 71-73. See Theobald, Christentum als Stil, 113-118. 43 Theobald, Christentum als Stil, 118, 122.

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Theobald, it is a way of looking at the encounters we have in our lives and recognising the signs that show the messianic vision of a world in peace. Hearing for Thomas is participating as a witness in the circle of revelation that begins with Christ who makes himself known, and ends in the encounter with Christ. For Theobald, it is ‘stereophone’ listening to the word proclaimed, the interior voice of conscience and the voice that speaks through the other. The two approaches differ in direction but do not exclude each other. 7. Conclusion Relating Thomas’s theology of revelation as manifestation and Theobald’s theology of revelation as encounter shows how both approaches can enrich each other. It sheds new light on Thomas’s understanding of revelation as a process that is not just cognitive but involves the whole person. It shows Thomas’s attentiveness to the process of formation in faith and to what I have called the circle of revelation. In Thomas’s theology, there are aspects that could be developed in a stylistic approach to revelation in the sense that Theobald proposes. The place and function of the witness as part of God’s plan for salvation history is one such aspect; the circle of revelation that Thomas develops is another. Bringing these two approaches together might further develop the understanding that the Second Vatican Council presents of revelation as primarily a dialogic divine-human encounter.

THINKING ABOUT RACIAL DISCRIMINATION WITH THOMAS AQUINAS: AN IMPETUS FOR FURTHER REFLECTION Anton ten Klooster When we claim that the work of Thomas Aquinas has enduring significance, it implies that it can be beneficial in addressing current questions. In this contribution, I will offer my reflections on issues related to racism. This is a wide-ranging subject, which requires more detailed analysis and nuance than a single chapter can offer. But given the challenges of our time, it is helpful to bring these questions to our study of Aquinas. It will help us to see the depth of the Church’s anti-racist teaching, but also what deeper human weakness drives racial prejudice. In my contribution I will first sketch the Church’s teaching on racism from two key documents (1). Then I will respond to the objection that Aquinas himself was part of a system that enabled the injustice of slavery. I contend that his theology in fact does the opposite (2). Building on reflections by Therese Cory, I will try to further develop a Thomistic response to questions of racial injustice. Here, my focus will be on two things: memory and the common good (3). In the final section, I will present what Aquinas has to offer us today, but I also note the things that he had a blind spot for (4). By pointing out various ways of engaging questions of racism in relation to the work of Thomas Aquinas, I hope to offer an impetus for further reflection on racial justice. 1. The church and racism The Catholic church has pronounced its views on racism in several teaching documents, including the Catechism. 1 In these documents, several notions of ‘racism’ are engaged: it can be an explicit ideology, but it can also present itself in the form of prejudice or societal injustice. What is certain is that the use of the term racism is not restricted to explicit racial bias. Whatever racism the church identifies in different times, the response is marked by a recurring appeal to “the radical equality and brotherhood among all people.” 2 In this contribution, I want two focus on two documents: the 1937 encyclical Mit Brennender Sorge from pope Pius XI, and reflections by the Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace (PCJP). This latter document was presented in 1988 and in 2001 it was published again, preceded by a reflection on the state of affairs on racism 1 2

CCC #1935, cf. Gaudium et Spes #29. Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church, #144.

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since the publication of the first document. 3 It is interesting because in it, we find a sustained reflection on the question of racism as well as the Church’s role in tackling racial discrimination. In the Pontifical Council’s reading of history, racial attitudes were a byproduct of the violent colonization of the so-called New World. Where the 1988 document is rather apologetic with regard to the role of the church, the 2001 document builds upon the mea culpa of pope John Paul II during the Jubilee of 2000, and calls for conversion, a purification of memory, and reconciliation. This second document also notes that after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the rise of globalization the situation with regard to racism “has regrettably not improved, indeed it has perhaps deteriorated, at a time when the movement of peoples has continued to increase and the intermingling of cultures and multi-ethnicity have become ‘social facts.’” 4 One of the proposed responses to this problem is human rights education. The PCJP documents offer an analysis of the current situation, how we’ve gotten there, and what principles can help us in our pursuit to eliminate racial discrimination. In Mit Brennender Sorge, pope Pius XI offers a very principled reflection on what is wrong with the exaltation of race in the first place. 5 We can summarize his argument, using our own terms, by saying that to him attributing moral value to the category of race is both unreasonable and unchristian. It is unreasonable because it denies the natural order, and it is unchristian because in the case of Nazi Germany it builds on the idea of an impersonal God. Much ink has been spilled on the supposed significance or insignificance of the encyclical in its context, but its strong condemnation of racism certainly still rings true. “None but superficial minds could stumble into concepts of a national God, of a national religion; or attempt to lock within the frontiers of a single people, within the narrow limits of a single race, God, the creator of the Universe,” the pope writes. 6 We should certainly notice the stronger wording of “single race” in the original German: “in die blutmäßige Enge einer einzelnen Rasse einkerkern zu wollen.” This is a direct assault at the Nazi ideology of Blut und Boden, and by extension of Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace, The Church and Racism: Toward a More Fraternal Society, 1988; Contribution to World Conference against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance, 2001. 4 PCJP 2001, #4. 5 We need to read this encyclical not only against the backdrop of racial antisemitism in Germany but also that of Italian fascism, which had advocates in the Vatican. See: N. Valbousquet, Race and Faith: The Catholic Church, Clerical Fascism, an the Shaping of Italian Anti-Semitism and Racism, in Modern Italy 23-4 (2018), 364-367. 6 Pius XI, encyclical Mit Brennender Sorge, #8. 3

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any theory that tries to argue there is an inherent difference in dignity or moral quality in a given racial group. With a strong emphasis on natural law, Pius XI argues that racial prejudice is unreasonable because it discerns an order that is contrary to the one willed and given by the Creator. He also argues that Nazi ideas are in essence pagan, when he critiques the “so-called pre-Christian Germanic conception of substituting a dark and impersonal destiny for the Personal God.” 7 Because we believe in a personal God, who is deeply invested in the future of the human race, terms as ‘greatness’ or ‘superiority’ say next to nothing about our ultimate destiny. The true fulfillment of human persons is found in their union with God, not in a Romantic idea of glory or a victory of bodily strength. 8 With these things in mind, let us turn to Aquinas. We will see that his theology helps us to appreciate the unity of the human family, as well as the moral weakness that undermines it. It will also help us to see the importance of the “purification of memory” that the PCJP calls for. But before we do these things, we must direct our attention to the man himself. 2. Aquinas on slavery, race, and ‘the other’ Thomas Aquinas was part of a society that was not equal and democratic in the way that we understand those terms today. Several commentators, some of whom I will engage in this contribution, have argued that the theology of Aquinas does contain the elements needed to think about human dignity in today’s world. While I agree with this argument, I do think that several spirited defenders of Aquinas conveniently gloss over problematic passages or tendencies in his work on ‘others’ like Jews and Muslims. We do well to note that the notion of ‘race’ was unknown to Aquinas. As the 1988 PCJP document also notes, the idea that one group is superior to the other based on supposed racial differences begins to develop with the colonization of the Americas. Might this have been legitimized by Aristotle’s infamous claim, followed by Aquinas, that some people are naturally fit to serve? We must note two things in this regard. First, while Aquinas does consider some people better off with “a wiser whom he serves,” this distinction is not made on racial grounds but

Pius XI, Mit Brennender Sorge, #11; #15 in the German edition on the Vatican website. 8 Cf. Pius XI, Mit Brennender Sorge, #24, on the immortality of the soul rather than the survival of a people. 7

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on the grounds of intelligence. 9 This thesis has its own problems, of course. Second, Bartolomé de las Casas argued that even supposed ‘barbarians’ bear the imago Dei. And, more importantly to our discussion, Edward Feser explains that to De las Casas “there could not, in principle, be a race of barbarians in this sense, for it simply makes no sense for there to be a race of people who have the basic powers of rationality that other human beings have, with all the moral duties under natural law which that entails, and yet, generation after generation, are always fundamentally stunted or crippled in their capacity to use those powers.” 10 It was precisely Aquinas he employed for his argument, and De las Casas believed to have proposed nothing that could not be proven by the principles of Aquinas’s doctrine. 11 Aquinas on Jews and Muslims When engaging in discussions on Christian theology and race, we should also pay attention to the portrayal of Jews. I use the term ‘portrayal’ to indicate that the question here is not that on the complicated relationship between supersessionist theology and (theological) antisemitism. 12 Rather, the question is: did Aquinas reinforce negative images of Jews that might somehow feed a racial prejudice? In a joint article, Henk Schoot and Pim Valkenberg argue that Aquinas “contributes in no way to the hysterical folktales that circulate at the time about crimes Jews allegedly commit. Aquinas, as the scholar he is, reads Jewish authors, in translation, and defends the Christian faith also in light of Jewish considerations, and does so in a manner that is detached, respectful and firm,” and they conclude that “any anti-Jewish verbal abuse is absent from STh II-II, q. 57 a. 3 ad 2: “Ad secundum dicendum quod hunc hominem esse servum, absolute considerando, magis quam alium, non habet rationem naturalem, sed solum secundum aliquam utilitatem consequentem, inquantum utile est huic quod regatur a sapientiori, et illi quod ab hoc iuvetur, ut dicitur in Pol.” 10 E. Feser, All One in Christ: A Catholic Critique of Racism and Critical Race Theory, San Francisco 2022, 24-25. Others argue that De las Casas in his defense of ‘Indians’ in fact constructed racial theories. E.g. D. von Vacano, Las Casas and the Birth of Race, in History of Political Thought 33-3 (2012), 401-426. Von Vacano notes that De las Casas’ suggestion to replace ‘Indian’ slavery by that of Africans dates from “before his conversion,” 402, n. 4. I thank Carmen Coya for her suggestions for my discussion of De las Casas. 11 D.M. L’Antigua, The Freedom of the Gospel: Aquinas, Subversive Natural Law, and the Spanish Wars of Religion, in Modern Theology 31-2 (2015), 325. 12 This issue has been discussed in great detail by M. Tapie, Aquinas on Israel and the Church: The Question of Supersessionism in the Theology of Thomas Aquinas, Eugene 2014. 9

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his works.” 13 These are important observations, just as the observation that to Aquinas, “the Jewish people are Christ’s own.” 14 At the same time, Aquinas, as a man of his time, seems to take for granted the notion that the ‘disbelief’ of Jews legitimized certain discriminatory measures. 15 To Aquinas, Muslims are even more ‘other’ than Jews: they do not expect a Messiah and were not as present as Jews in the countries he lived in. Whereas Jews are charged with a general ‘unbelief,’ one could summarize Aquinas’s objection to Muslim ideas with the charge of ‘misbelief’. In some cases, Muslims and Jews are grouped together. For example, both groups are said to believe the “fable” that eternal happiness involves any form of corporeal delight. 16 There is one instance where Aquinas does veer toward what could be considered verbal abuse. In the Summa contra Gentiles he not only claims that Mohammed seduced his followers with promises of carnal pleasure, but also that the wise refused to believe him and that he was followed only by “beastly, desertwandering men.” 17 Some authors have suggested that Aquinas adopted this expression from his contemporary and confrere Raymond Martin, but another study argues that Aquinas himself is the source of this unusual outburst. Interestingly, Martin makes it explicitly ethnic by speaking of “Arabs.” 18 Aquinas’s phrasing is problematic because it suggests a certain moral quality (beastliness) is typical to a distinct group (desert wanderers). While the passage is problematic and certainly feeds certain stereotypes, it is also the exception to the rule of an emotionally detached discussion of theological differences. When we turn to his reflections on skin color, we find further support for the idea that Aquinas’s theology provides no basis for racial discrimination. A person’s black- or whiteness is “the property of an individual within a species,” and “as far as his species is concerned, for Thomas, man is neither white nor black.” 19 So, while Aquinas may condone slavery and social discrimination, he provides no racially 13 H. Schoot, P. Valkenberg, Thomas Aquinas and Judaism, in Modern Theology 201 (2004), 55. 14 S. Mangnus, The Divinity of the Word: Thomas Aquinas Dividing and Reading the Gospel of John, Leuven 2022, 122. 15 Schoot, Valkenberg, Thomas Aquinas and Judaism, 56-58; Tapie, Aquinas on Israel and the Church, 11-12, n.15. 16 ScG III, c. 27 n. 11, cf. Sermones XIX, lines 145-148. 17 ScG I, c. 6 n. 7: “Et etiam non aliqui sapientes, in rebus divinis et humanis exercitati, a principio crediderunt: sed homines bestiales in desertis morantes (…).” 18 S. Wiersma, Pearls in a Dunghill: The Anti-Jewish Writings of Raymond Martin O.P. (ca 1220 – ca. 1285), dissertation, Tilburg University, 2015, 91-92. 19 G.G. LeNotre, “In the Human Heart”: A Premodern Philosophy of Race and Racism in Thomas Aquinas, in Proceedings of the ACPA 92 (2018), 305.

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motivated arguments for these practices. The whole notion of racial discrimination would seem irrational to him. This does not mean he is not prone to certain biases, as we have seen in the previous paragraph. In this regard, we should also note a curious passage in the Sentences commentary, where Aquinas quotes Jerome who “relates about a certain woman who bore a black son due to the fact that at the time of intercourse she saw a black image.” 20 It’s hard to know where to begin in commenting on this. The naivety of it all at least attests to the fact that he thinks skin color is an accidental trait, and that is an important observation for the present discussion. To conclude this brief survey of Aquinas’s thought on race, I think an honest summary of his thought would be to say that racial discrimination is unimaginable to him, in two senses of that word. First, because of the time he lived in he did not have the word ‘race’ in his vocabulary, because he believes physical differences between people are due to where they are from geographically rather than a group they would belong to racially, or whatever word he would have used. 21 Second, it is unimaginable because race does not belong to the essence of our being. Regardless of whether race would be in blood, genes or elsewhere, it does not define a human person and his or her intrinsic worth. 3. Becoming just and building a just society Several authors have tried to tackle the question of how Aquinas would respond to racism. Many of these consider racial bias as an expression of a moral weakness, that can be overcome by reason. But there is a growing attention to the fact that social justice is in fact the end of Aquinas’s political thought. Here, I want to discuss both of those aspects: how can racism be addressed both as an individual moral failure and as a social injustice? Therese Cory integrates personal and communal aspects in a Thomistic definition of racism: “Racism is a certain kind of injustice due to group membership, in which someone is rendered more or less than she is due, on account of her racial identity—either from a private individual, or from the community.” 22 I will explore both these aspects further and add to the personal aspect considerations on fear and prudence. When 20 In II Sent d. 20 q. 2 a. 1 ad 2: “sicut etiam Hieronymus narrat de quadam muliere quae peperit filium nigrum propter hoc quod in tempore coitus vidit imaginem nigram.” I thank Harm Goris for the reference. 21 Cf. LeNotre, “In the Human Heart,” 302-303. 22 T. Cory, A Thomistic Approach to the Moral Evils of Racism, in Church Life Journal, online at: https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/a-thomistic-approach-tothe-moral-evils-of-racism/ Retrieved 11 November 2022.

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addressing social justice, I will also explore whether the ‘memory’ of such a thing as slavery or segregation laws is corrigible not only on the personal but also on the communal level. Remembering and acting rationally On the personal level, racist actions are unjust: a person is not given their due place in society or unjustly denied opportunities that are granted to others. Cory acknowledges that this is a moral evil: “In willing wrongly, I am actively bringing forth from myself something twisted and deficient.” 23 But why do we will wrongly? For Aquinas, the nature of sin is “ultimately psychological,” as Steven Jensen explains: we end up doing evil not because we pursue it as such, but rather because our perception of the good is warped. 24 It is worth noting that this is one of the ways in which Aquinas demonstrates his optimistic view of the human person. Applied to our case: people who think and act in a racist manner are confused, rather than evil. And these sentiments form the basis for their moral actions. In this regard, Aquinas is certainly optimistic about human nature. But I would add something else. They are not just confused about what is due to their fellow citizens, in some cases they are also afraid of them because the color of their skin. Bryan Massingale speaks of “tacit understandings” by which black skin is associated with certain negative characteristics. One not-so-subtle example happened after hurricane Katrina: Associated Press ran similar photos, captioning one of a black man as “looting” a store and that of two white men as “finding bread” from a store. 25 In a Thomistic understanding, we must understand this type of fear as a passion in need of correction by reason. By this, I do not mean that reason simply rejects or accepts certain passions. Rather, the will exercises command over certain passions, for example when rational reflection helps to quell the passion of anger. 26 LeNotre argues that for Aquinas, racist sentiments would likely fall under the passion of hatred, which “is unique among the passions because it can extend universally.” A racist does not hate an individual but “a supposedly common nature” that is “the socially and racially constituted subject.” 27 We can also think that some hate an apparent evil, such as the commixture of blood or being Cory, A Thomistic Approach to the Moral Evils of Racism. S. Jensen, Sin: A Thomistic Anthropology, Washington D.C. 2018, 7. 25 B.N. Massingale, Racial Justice and the Catholic Church, Maryknoll 2010, 30. 26 N. Kahm, Aquinas on Emotion’s Participation in Reason, Washington D.C. 2019, 5-6, 206-211. 27 LeNotre, “In the Human Heart,” 309. 23 24

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“replaced” by migrants. Passions must fall under the sway of reason: this is what happens when the child learns not to fear the flushing toilet for example. It realizes that it will most likely not be sucked in and that it is in fact the master of the toilet because it has control over the flush handle. The child will remember this lesson, and act accordingly. Memory is therefore an important aspect of making moral choices and using or forming memory properly is important to moral formation. This may seem counterintuitive to the modern reader. We often think of memory as something morally neutral: it is the capacity to retain past events, smells, images, feelings and other things. Having a bad memory should not be held against a person. But on closer inspection we realize that we often do attach moral meaning to the capacity to remember. Spouses are praised or blamed for respectively remembering or forgetting an anniversary, we are inpatient with children who “forgot” to perform the tasks assigned to them, and we scoff at politicians who claim to have “no active memory” of impactful events. Humans remember, and so do non-rational animals. Grey squirrels for example remember where they buried the nuts they found. 28 The human person has some features in common with other animals, such as the squirrel. 29 Our capacity to remember is one of those things, yet there is a significant difference because as rational animals, humans are able to remember abstract things and are able to “mine” their memories. Aquinas’s theory of memory can be pieced together from different parts of the Summa Theologiae but there are two main ways to consider it: as a capacity that the human person possesses as an animal, specifically a rational animal, and how that capacity functions as part of the virtue of prudence. This means that memory has to do with the capacity to remember past things and that it informs present decision-making. Memory informs prudence -our “moral navigation system” so to speakbecause we draw lessons for future actions from our recollection of past events. 30 Aquinas reflects on this extensively in the Summa Theologiae. To avoid danger, any animal must have the capacity to “receive the forms of sense objects” but also the capacity “to retain and conserve them.” 31 If animals only needed to be aware of what they should either pursue or avoid, sensory perception would be enough. But a sheep needs to remember that a wolf is dangerous, and a bird “collects straw, not because L.F. Jacobs, E.R. Liman, Grey Squirrels Remember the Locations of Buried Nuts, in Animal Behavior 41 (1991), 103-110. 29 Cf. S.J. Jensen, The Human Person: A Beginner’s Thomistic Psychology Washington D.C. 2018, 51-63. 30 STh II-II, q. 49 a. 1, in particular ad 3; cf. I-II, q. 56 a. 5 ad 3. 31 STh I, q. 78 a. 4 resp. 28

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it pleases its senses, but because it needs it for building its nest.” These notions of “dangerous” and “useful” do not come from the immediate sensory perception but from the power of memory. The bird does not sense that straw is useful for building its nest, but it can estimate that this is the case. Memory preserves notions of danger and usefulness under the heading of “pastness,” so to speak. What distinguishes humans from nonrational animals is how they perceive these things, or “intentions” as Aquinas calls them. A sheep has an instinctive association, where “wolf” means “danger,” “bleat loudly” and “run.” But humans can collect memories, reorder, and compare them. It is therefore that we speak of an estimative power in animals, but of a cogitative power in humans “which comes upon intentions of the kind in question through a process of comparison” 32 The distinction between human and animal memory is further specified in the subsequent question. In response to the first objection, Aquinas claims that “the memory which retains thoughts is not common to us and the beasts. For thoughts are not retained in the sense part of the soul but rather in the body-soul unity, since sense memory is an organic act.” 33 Animals do not understand that they are remembering past events, nor can they actively search or collate their memories. Instead, by instinct they remember useful and dangerous things. Going back to our question: a person may have learned to associate “black skin” with “danger,” but unlike a sheep that person can label that association as unreasonable and discard that association. As rational creatures, we are capable of letting go of fears that are irrational and make us cause harm to others. 34 Reflecting further on this we may see that the mechanism we use to learn from our memories is also vulnerable to manipulation. Fake news and trolling depend on it. By consistently making associations, such as “vaccine” and “death,” or “immigrant” and “violence,” online trolls seek to create a memory not of an event that the subject experienced but of a supposed social event. Here, prudence has to play its role to discern what memory is truthful and should inform moral deliberation. This virtue has its place in the power of reason. As a result of original sin, the wound of ‘ignorance’ has been inflicted on human nature “in so far as the will is deprived of its order towards good,” and reason has been “blunted,” especially “with regard to moral decision.” 35 STh I, q. 78 a. 4 resp. STh I, q. 79 a. 6 ad 1. 34 N.E. Lombardo, The Logic of Desire: Aquinas on Emotion, Washington D.C. 2010, 88, 171. 35 STh I-II, q. 85 a. 3 resp; cf. I-II, q. 56 a. 2. 32 33

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Racism as an impediment to the common good There is an increasing awareness that the definition of “racism” cannot be restricted to negative sentiments or harmful actions by individuals on the basis of skin color. Cory argues in a follow-up article on racism that there are also forms of material injustice that do not come from the will of an individual. Such racism, she says, is “an evil or defect in a social structure for distributing common goods, such that the structure, in its functioning, produces injustices, distributing to some more or less than they are owed.” 36 Assuming such an evil exists, would the individual have a responsibility to remedy it? To Cory, the answer is yes because the individual is bound to love his or her neighbor, and this means that they will the good of their neighbor. I do not disagree with this line of reasoning, but I think we can take a broader approach and that Aquinas offers ways to do that. We all have a responsibility to contribute to the bonum commune. This is a broad term that describes the social conditions under which all citizens can flourish. This is an inclusive term: it is a common good because it includes the good of all the citizens, family members, or whoever belongs to a given community. The common good is not a greater good. Such a notion could be conceived as an extreme version of utilitarianism, which would legitimize excluding one class of citizens to promote for another class of citizens a supposed greater good such as economic prosperity, victory in war or something of the sort. 37 What is this bonum commune to Aquinas? To answer this question we must first consider why humans live in political societies anyway. Michael Krom explains that social contract theory assumes that society is formed for practical reasons: it allows us to live in peace and security. But to Aquinas, political life “is a response to the natural desire for happiness,” it is by living with others that we can thrive. 38 We build cities, just as we pursue virtues, because we are naturally inclined to do so. He adds that “he who first instituted the city was the cause, for men,

T. Cory, A Thomistic Approach to Structural Racism, in Church Life Journal, online at: https://churchlifejournal.nd.edu/articles/a-thomistic-approach-to-structuralracism/ Retrieved 11 November 2022. 37 This would be more “the benefit of a dominant caste and “the greatest good of the greatest possible number”: T. Gilby (translation), Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae: Law and Political Theory, London 1966, vol. 28, appendix 4: ‘Common and Public Good,’ 172. 38 M.P. Krom, Justice and Charity: An Introduction to Aquinas’s Moral, Economic, and Political Thought, Grand Rapids 2020, 122-126. 36

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of the greatest of goods.” 39 It is in that community that the human person pursues his or her good, alongside others. Still, Aquinas struggled to define the common good. Mary Keys suggests that he did not finish his commentary on Aristotle’s Politics because he is not satisfied with the philosopher’s approach, and he instead wished to reinforce the role of the common good in ordering society. 40 What is clear is that for a society to be just, both its laws and its citizens will need to possess this quality. And a law in the proper sense is one that is ordained to the common good. 41 One way in which a society might be considered racist is when it has laws that promote vice rather than virtue. A law that impedes the rightful participation of members of certain ethnic groups in education and the labor market, incites people to not give due consideration to the interests and dignity of their fellow citizens and thus contributes to forming a habit of injustice. The most extreme example of this would be a formal or de facto Apartheid system. Such a system does not promote a common good but favors the interests of one group of citizens over everyone else’s. This is also damaging to the group that the system seeks to benefit, since it corrupts the striving toward the good of the members of that group. This is of course an extreme example. As Cory explains, material injustice can often exist without bad intention. 42 When injustice exists without bad intention, how does it come about? The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops calls for an examination of “where the racist attitudes of yesterday have become a permanent part of our perceptions, practices, and policies of today, or how they have been enshrined in our social, political, and economic structures.” 43 The magisterium affirms that structures of sin can exist. 44 But in its description of sinful social structures it “has always resisted In Pol I c. 1/b: “concludens ex premissis quod in omnibus hominibus inest quidam naturalis impetus ad communitatem ciuitatis, sicut et ad uirtutes; set tamen sicut uirtutes acquiruntur per exercitium humanum, ut dicitur in II Ethicorum, ita ciuitates sunt institute humana industria. Ille autem qui primo institutit ciuitatem fuit causa hominibus maximorum bonorum.” 40 M.M. Keys, Aquinas Aristotle, and the Promise of the Common Good, Cambridge 2006, 19, 23-24. 41 STh I-II, q. 90 a. 2 resp.: “Et ideo omnis lex ad bonum commune ordinatur.” 42 Cory, A Thomistic Approach to Structural Racism. 43 USCCB, pastoral letter against racism Open Wide Our Hearts: The Enduring Call to Love, Washington D.C. 2018, 16. Online at: https://www.usccb.org/resources/open -wide-our-hearts_0.pdf Retrieved 15 December 2022. Cf. Conor Kelly, Pinpointing Structural Racism (2020). Online at: https://catholicmoraltheology.com/pinpointingstructural-racism/ Retrieved 15 December 2022. 44 E.g. John Paul II, Sollicitudo Rei Socialis #36-37; Catechism of the Catholic Church #1869; Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church, #119. 39

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claims that structures arise independent of the choices of persons within them, and most often has assumed that structures are the intended creation of those persons.” 45 Social sin is in some ways analogous to original sin: it is not an actual sin of you or me, but we all live in a world marked by its effects, and are also hurt by it ourselves. It would be interesting to also reflect on these ‘wounds of sin.’ 4. Confronting racism today: lessons from Aquinas In this brief reflection, I hope to have shown that the work of Thomas Aquinas has to offer something valuable for understanding some of the root causes of racism, and why it is not simply a negative sentiment but a personal and social moral evil. In conclusion, I would like to point out some of the limitations and stress the need for continued reflection on this topic. As I have said, Aquinas is optimistic about human nature, and he believes that negative sentiments can be corrected by the use of reason. He helps us to construct a sort of ‘moral psychology’ of racism. His reflections on prudence and memory concern the moral progress of an individual. More work would need to be done on if and how this translates to societies. The “purification of memory” that the PCJP called for is a collective exercise, that needs a further theological grounding lest it become merely a vengeful attempt to erase the past. 46 We are also confronted here with the blind spot Aquinas seems to have for structural sin. His reflections on the common good may be a starting point for this, because this idea helps us to understand racism as an assault on the good of both those who suffer from the effects of racist prejudice and those who either perpetrate prejudice or are heirs of unjust systems. Even though we can rightly criticize certain sociological interpretations of the presence and origins of racism, we do well to remind ourselves of the simple fact that when we strive for racial justice, we strive to realize the common good in its proper inclusive sense. In its more recent pronouncements, the magisterium has emphasized that racism is not a thing of the past but that “instances of racism continue to shame us, for they show that our supposed social progress is not as real or definitive as we think.” 47 When we look at our D.K. Finn, What Is a Sinful Social Structure?, in Theological Studies 77-1 (2016), 140. 46 For a theological approach of this “purification of memory,” see: International Theological Commission, Memory and Reconciliation: The Church and the Faults of the Past (1999), in particular #1.4. 47 Pope Francis, encyclical Fratelli Tutti #20, cf. #97, 266. 45

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times, we see the rise of antisemitic sentiments in various circles, which was fueled by the uncertainty of the Covid-19 pandemic. We may almost grow accustomed to the use of dehumanizing language about immigrants, think only about how terms as “deluge” and “criminals” are used to paint a diverse group of migrants with one dark brush. The conspiratorialist and racist tendency come together in wild theories on a grand remplacement. To me, Aquinas is helpful in confronting these sentiments. In his own curious but also emotionally detached way he helps us to ask the right questions. He helps us to understand the depth of the teaching of Pius XI, that racism is deeply unreasonable and contrary to the main tenets of faith. The better we understand this, the better we can teach and live this. Even though he lived in a society that was very different from ours, his stated disinterest in racial difference as a marker of moral quality sounds surprisingly refreshing against the backdrop of our time. While I believe the work of Thomas Aquinas has enduring significance to this question, I would not do justice to the master if I did not also note what further questions need to be asked. Social science in particular has shown us that there are subtle forms of racism and exclusion that can appear when we discuss the ‘other.’ By this distinction we place that person or group apart from ourselves, and we run a risk of forgetting that they belong to the ‘us’ of the human family. With some hesitation I also note that the notion that a soul is neither black nor white may be attractive in the sense that it serves a sort of great equalizer, but that it may be challenged by certain lived experiences where ethnicity is very much perceived as part of the ‘soul’ of a group and its members. To be black in the United States, for example, is a very particular experience that ingrains certain insights, as Vincent Lloyd argued. 48 Lloyd certainly would agree that these are not essential traits but would probably think the term ‘accidental’ is somewhat dismissive. Here we are entering into the finer nuances of a modern discourse, for which we can learn from Aquinas but also need to go beyond Aquinas. Something similar is the case in our discussion of systemic injustice: we can understand how it undermines the common good, but we will need further reflection to understand this complex phenomenon more fully. Laws may be just or unjust, but how do we recognize a gradual corruption of our laws? Yet, I believe that both the content and style of Aquinas’s moral theology has enduring significance. He shows us how to take a step back and reflect in a cool and collected manner on personal and social faults. His analysis of

48

Vincent W. Lloyd, Black Natural Law, Oxford 2016.

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the deeper structures of human action and social justice help us to confront the questions of today. 49

I thank my colleagues of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht for their feedback on an earlier version of this contribution. Our passionate discussion convinced me of the importance of academic reflection on this topic. Most of all I thank my Doktorvater Henk Schoot for teaching me in word and deed the virtues required of a theologian. 49

WHEN LIES CAN BE EXPECTED Lambert Hendriks There are probably only a few moral issues, where doubts regarding a possible solution are so widely acknowledged as the problem of lying. Despite the fact that it is a very common human act and a well-known sin, still the discussions on the permissibility of a lie are continuously ongoing. The sinfulness of a lie is not debated as such, but in many specific circumstances, a too radical approach of truth telling causes some doubts on how to act. In our post-truth society, this moral issue is even more relevant, now that many people are accustomed to hearing lies or halftruths. They usually condemn falsehoods, but still consider it unavoidable that they have to deal with them. In this article, a brief overview will be given of the moral debate until now, as well as an attempt to give an acceptable moral evaluation of falsehoods when they seem unavoidable. Following Saint Augustine’s De Mendacio, Aquinas strongly condemns lies as opposed to the truth, which should always be the object of communication between human beings. Nonetheless, not always are lies considered expressions of evil acts by a person who manipulates the truth. This goes for debates in the political arena, but also for students who respond to the professor, who has just asked whether all have thoroughly read the indicated pages of a book. Besides these everyday situations, the famous ‘Gestapo-debate,’ about a good person being asked by Nazis whether Jews are hidden in the house, has not come to a satisfactory conclusion. 1 As a premise to the many aspects of lying that will be discussed, it should be clear that the following reflections about truth and falsehood are rooted in a Western culture, where truthfulness is commonly appreciated. The psychological background to this premise is quite interesting, but beyond the scope of this article. 2 1 Whether or not that person should lie about the whereabouts of the Jews has often been debated in relation to Thomas’s account on lying, of course also in relation to Kant’s famous ‘murder at the door’ in his “Über ein vermeintes Recht aus Menschenliebe zu lügen.” See, e.g., M. Puffer, Three Rival Versions of Moral Reasoning: Interpreting Bonhoeffer’s Ethics of Lying, Guilt, and Responsibility, in Harvard Theological Review 112:2 (2019), 168, 174, 182; C. Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm Against Lying, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 86(2012), 120-121, 134; L. Dewan, St. Thomas, Lying and Venial Sin, in The Thomist 61(1997), 279, 287. 2 For a more detailed psychological background on truthfulness and lies, see: H. Lukesch, Lügen und Täuschen. Eine psychologische Perspektive, in J. Müller/H.-G. Nissing (Hrsg.), Die Lüge. Ein Alltagsphänomen aus wissenschaftlicher Sicht, Darmstadt 2007, 87-101.

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1. The definition of ‘lying’ A concise definition of lying can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. This book reveals unintentionally a major point of the problematic history of the morality of a lie. After quoting Saint Augustine’s definition, viz. “A lie consists in speaking a falsehood with the intention of deceiving,” 3 in the next paragraph the Catechism defines lying as “to speak or act against the truth in order to lead someone into error.” 4 These definitions are adequate, but it is quite interesting that a change had been made to its definition, after the subsequent publication of the normative Latin text in 1997. Before that publication, the definition in the Catechism read: “to speak or act against the truth in order to lead into error someone who has the right to know the truth.” This change alludes to the debate on whether lying is only the case when someone has a right to the truth. However, an official change in teaching before and after the publication of the editio typica of the Catechism is not really plausible. 5 When it comes to the definition of lying, the communication of a falsehood, contrary to a person’s inner conviction, forms the essence of the moral act. Also, it is by definition an intentional act. Although, of course, it is possible to speak falsehoods unknowingly, the act of lying consists always of a moral act that is intentionally done. We will discuss various additional elements, like the deceiving goal of lying and the right to know the truth, later on, but the locutio contra mentem can be considered the most basic element of a lie. 6 This also means that a lie is not by definition a statement that contradicts reality. It contradicts what is in one’s mind. 7 This broadens the discussion of course particularly in a post-truth era, where the accent is put more on one’s personal convictions, rather than on an objective and knowable truth. However, this makes it even more evident that lying is something that is not extinct in a posttruth society: the problem of untruth, falsehoods and deception is just as present as in other times. Augustine, De Mendacio IV,5, quoted in Catechism of the Catholic Church. 2nd Edition (=CCC), Washington D.C. 2019, paragraph 2482. 4 CCC, 2483: “contra veritatem loqui vel agere ad inducendum in errorem.” 5 Cf. J. Smith, Fig Leaves and Falsehoods, in First Things 2011. 6 A very extensive and detailed study has been published by: G. Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, Freiburg i.B. 1962. He discusses the definition of lie from page 262 onwards. 7 Cf. M. Cozzoli, Bugia, in F. Compagnoni et al., Nuovo Dizionario di Teologia Morale, Milan 1990, 107. 3

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Despite the important caveat, that lying opposes one’s thoughts and not reality per se, the malice of lying has to do with a falsification of truth. The relationship between people, after all, requires a communication of truth and reality, and every attempt to distort the truth is always opposed to good acting, even when the measure of sinfulness may vary. 8 As we will see, the necessity to always communicate truthfully has been particularly underlined by Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, but famous is also Kant’s radical position in rejecting the possibility of lying. 9 Because lying opposes truthfulness by definition, it is also clear that lying is an intrinsically evil act. In what follows, we will see some of the ways in which one tries to find solutions for circumstances where a radical way of truth telling becomes questionable or at least uncomfortable, but even those solutions never diminished the general appreciated validity of the seventh commandment (Ex. 20:16; Dt. 5:20). 10 The evaluation of lying as intrinsically evil, has been authoritatively underlined by Augustine, e.g. in De Mendacio and Contra Mendacium. 11 The influence of Augustine on the Western solid condemnation of lying is substantial, since after him – along the lines of Gregory the Great and Thomas Aquinas – the repudiation of lying remained absolute. In the Eastern tradition, the firm stance of Augustine was not absorbed so much and the possibility of exceptions remained present, as it was present also in the West, before Augustine. 12 The firm view of Augustine was not motivated merely by recognizing lying as speaking or acting against the inner convictions of

8 This has been thoroughly elaborated by: E. Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt? Politik, Medien, Medizin, Justiz, Wissenschaft und die Ethik der Wahrheit, Freiburg i.B. 2000. 9 Kant dedicated a short but famous essay to this subject: Über ein vermeintes Recht aus Menschenliebe zu lügen, in I. Kant, Werke in sechs Bänden, Darmstadt 1975, 637643. 10 See also: M. Stone, In the Shadow of Augustine: The Scholastic Debate on Lying from Robert Grosseteste to Gabriel Biel, in A. Speer (ed.) Miscellanea Mediaevalia. Veröffentlichungen des Thomas-Instituts der Universität zu Köln. Bd. 31, Berlin/New York 2004, 277ff.; K. Demmer, Lüge, in Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche. Bd. 6, Freiburg i.B. 20063, 1105-1106. 11 Augustinus, De Mendacio and Contra Mendacium, in Patrologiae cursus completus (PL). Tomus 40, Paris 1845, 487-518 and 518-548. 12 Cf. B. Ramsey, Two Traditions on Lying and Deception in the Ancient Church, in The Thomist 49 (1985), 504-533. Here especially 514 and 531: “We may risk saying, in any case, that the more widespread view in both East and West, until the time of Augustine, was the one that permitted occasional deception.” See also: Stone, In the Shadow of Augustine, 283; Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht, 27ff.

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one’s mind, but also by the intention of leading someone into error. 13 This intentio fallendi is also for many other authors the basis of a lie, 14 because the will to deceive would actually bring about the malice of the act. The love for truth is so important to Augustine, that he is eager to compare it with chastity as one of the requirements for a person’s sanctity. Just as chastity should be scrupulously preserved, also truth should always be among the most important values to safeguard a person’s salvation. 15 Therefore, the absoluteness of the prohibition of lying is related to the necessity to put the eternal life above the temporal life. This makes it for Augustine impossible to lie, even to save someone’s (temporal) life: 16 one cannot save someone’s body by losing the soul in lying. 17 2. Thomas’ account of lying For Aquinas, the essence of the moral act of lying lies in the telling, or at least communicating, falsehoods. Being a moral act, also the intention to do so is of major importance. Without the will to lie, after all, there is no lying, even when unwillingly falsehoods are told. Just as there is lying, when unintentionally communication is in fact truthful. 18 Thomas analyses lies in various ways: according to their nature in relation to the truth, according to the intention of the person lying and according to the intended end. The first division is called by Aquinas, an “essential division of lying itself, because lying as such is opposed to truth.” 19 The second division reflects that falsehoods can be communicated for various reasons and, hence, have different forms of gravity. A lie can be brought about in the context of fun (jocose lies), because of an experienced necessity (officious lies) and because of evil, in order to injure someone (mischievous lies). Of course, the last type of lies are the most grievous forms of lies. Besides these different intentions, there is a third and more general way of structuring lies, and this is “with respect to their relation 13 Cf. Augustinus, De Mendacio, III.3: “Culpa vero mentientis est in enuntiando animo suo fallendi cupiditas …” 14 Cf. G. Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht, 94-95. 15 Cf. Augustinus, De Mendacio, XIX, 40-XX, 41. See also: Ramsey, Two Traditions on Lying and Deception, 512-514. 16 Cf. Ramsey, Two Traditions on Lying and Deception, 512 and B. Honings, Il Catechismo della Chiesa Cattolica, in Apollinaris, 73(2000), 421. 17 Cf. Augustinus, De Mendacio, VI.9: “Quod si absurdum et nefarium est, cur animam suam quisque mendacio corrumpat, ut alter vivat in corpore…” 18 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae II-II (=S.Th.), 110,1. 19 Cf. S.Th. II-II, q. 110, a. 2 (Translation of the Fathers of the English Dominican Province, New York 1948).

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to some end.” At this point, Aquinas includes the question, who is actually being harmed or profits from lying. 20 In accordance with Augustine, Aquinas confirms in many ways that lying can never be good. The reason for this fact lies in the very definition of a lie. “[A] lie is evil in respect of its genus … for as words are naturally signs of intellectual acts, it is unnatural and undue for anyone to signify by words something that is not in his mind.” 21 Because Thomas thus relates the malice of lying strongly to its being unnatural by nature, as a corruption of the meaning of communication, consequently the reason for the lie is of very little importance. Therefore, the ‘intention to deceive’ is not essential at all for Aquinas. 22 He considers it a secondary element, because to him the aspect of truth telling is far more important. Yet, of course, the aspect of deception is an evident element to lying, without which the act loses its sense. 23 Thomas is very much aware of the psychological factors in human acting. As such he recognizes how lying can have different levels of sinfulness, since lying can also be done for good motives. These motives don’t change lying into good acting, but they diminish the sinfulness: “the greater the good intended, the more is the sin of lying diminished in gravity.” 24 The difference between mortal sin and venial sin in this context, has even led to the conclusion that lying as a venial sin should not always be rejected. 25 For Aquinas, the judgment about lying is intrinsically linked to his approach of truth. It is undue for a person to express to others, what he knows to be untrue in his mind. Truth consists of a link between reality and a person’s convictions; this link is expressed by communication, which should always be directed to communicating truth. 26 This Cf. ibid. Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3: “Mendacium autem est malum ex genere … cum enim voces sint signa naturaliter intellectuum, innaturale est et indebitum quod aliquis voce significet id quod non habet in mente.” See also: STh II-II, q. 69 a. 1 and 2; q. 70 a. 4; q. 110 a. 4; q. 113 a. 1 and 2. 22 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 1: “Quod autem aliquis intendat falsitatem in opinione alterius constituere fallendo ipsum, non pertinet ad speciem mendacii, sed ad quandam perfectionem ipsius…”; STh II-II, q. 110 a. 1 ad 3. 23 Cf. Stone, In the Shadow of Augustine, 297; Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 179; Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 271. 24 STh II-II, q. 110 a. 2: “quanto bonum intentum est melius, tanto magis minuitur culpa mendacii.” See also: q. 110 a. 4. 25 This position is defended by the already quoted: Dewan, St. Thomas, Lying and Venial Sin. 26 Cf. STh II-II, q. 109 a. 1 and 1 ad 3; q. 109 a. 2; q. 110 a. 3. 20 21

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communication can be brought about through speech, but also through signs, or virtually in any other way. 27 Even being silent is a way of communication, although it is also clear that it can be prudent (and, hence, good) to hide the truth: not by lying, but by staying silent. 28 The strong social aspect that characterizes Thomas’ evaluation of lying, can also be recognized in the reason that Thomas gives for his moral judgment: because of their living together, it is of the greatest importance that people are not harmed in their confidence in one another and in their communication. 29 3. Aspects of the moral evaluation A thorough reflection on the above-mentioned elements of lying, brings about some questions that ask for a further evaluation. The separate position of jocose lies is not much debated, 30 nor is it relevant for the initial question of this article. Likewise, the evaluation of an evil lie causes no problems, as its evil character is evident. Before turning to the actual question of the admissibility of lying in certain cases, it is important to note that this does not regard the situation of a perplex conscience. In that case, after all, the permissibility of lying is not disputed, but in fact the moral act is not contradicting a certain judgment of conscience (but rather a doubtful, or there is no judgement at all). Consequently, sinfulness in these cases is vastly diminished or absent. Many situations that cast doubts on the sinfulness of lying, can already find a satisfactory evaluation on this level. It may happen often that when someone’s life is in peril, when there are high values at stake, or when there is an extreme complex moral or social situation, that someone’s conscience is genuinely not able to arrive at a certain judgement about how to act or speak. The best way of good acting would undoubtedly be always to tell the truth, or at least to state that telling the truth is not possible. This, however, seems not always appropriate. For this reason, early writers, like Cassian or John Climacus give the impression that lying is sometimes admissible. The question even rises, if at times lying could be morally Cf. STh II-II, q. 111 a. 1. Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3 ad 3. 29 Cf. STh II-II, q. 109 a. 3 ad 1. See also: q. 109 a. 3 ad 3, as well as: Thomas Aquinas, Collationes in decem Praeceptis, XXIX. See also: Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 126. 30 Although Augustine would also consider this type of lies sinful, as does Aquinas, but the latter recognizes that “a jocose lie is not a mortal sin in perfect men, except perhaps accidentally on account of scandal” (STh II-II, q. 110 a. 4 ad 5). 27 28

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mandatory, e.g., when someone’s life can be saved by it. 31 Also, many authors have given attention to the fact that in the Bible there are some accounts of lying, where it seems that God not only condones it, but sometimes even rewards it. 32 Particularly, the example of the Egyptian midwifes in Exodus 1 is used quite often, since the Bible expressly states that they were rewarded. Thomas Aquinas, however, safeguarding his position of categorical sinfulness of lying, points out that their lie “was not meritorious.” 33 At first sight, the question of the permissibility of lying could be easily resolved by maintaining its inadmissibility, but problems appear when a lie is meant to produce a good effect or even to avoid serious harm. These types of lies, categorized as officious lies, are subject to various interpretations, where it comes to the measure of guilt. It is conceivable, after all, that somebody lies without being culpable. The example of a perplex conscious was already mentioned, or the situation of social pressure, even to the point where there is a moral impossibility to speak or react truthfully. The real problem is on the level where one has to decide, if such an act can in itself be good or even virtuous. Both the ‘Gestapo-question’ and Kant’s judgement on informing a murderer truthfully about a friend’s whereabouts have already been mentioned as characteristic examples of the problem at hand. To many, it feels strongly unjust to give up someone’s life so easily in order to keep one’s own conscience clean. 4. Solutions that have been debated As is adequately pointed out, the fact that lying can count widely on a negative moral judgment, does not at all mean that lying is virtually nonexistent. It rather means that one tries to look for its justification. 34

31 This is elaborated by Ramsey in Two Traditions on Lying and Deception, 515ff. Probably the most indicative is his quote from the Apophtegmata, where abba Alonius says to abba Agathon: “If you do not lie, you prepare many sins for yourself.” Of course, context is needed for a proper understanding. See also: L. Dewan, St. Thomas, Lying and Venial Sin, 293. 32 See: Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 132ff.; Puffer, Three Rival Versions of Moral Reasoning, 181; Ramsey, Two Traditions on Lying and Deception, 514f.; Stone, In the Shadow of Augustine, 284f. 33 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3 ad 2. 34 Cf. Lukesch, Lügen und Täuschen, 97.

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a. The right to the truth Although it remains uncertain for what reason the change to the Catechism has been made, one of the plausible reasons is that having a right to the truth, from a fundamental point of view, is not something that can be denied to someone. That is precisely the reason that Aquinas calls every lie a sin, because one naturally ought to express what is in one’s mind. 35 It is through the definition of a lie as it was propagated by Hugo Grotius, that a person’s right to the truth begins to play an important role. 36 In order to make the clause for a right to the truth work, a distinction is needed between merely not telling the truth (falsiloquium) and lying. The first, after all, is objectively the case, every time when something said or expressed does not converge with something that is believed to be true. It is a mere material fact, without a moral judgement. It will only be judged to be a lie, in the case when rights are violated. 37 Consequently, whenever there is no such infringement of rights, e.g., in the case of an officious lie, actually there would be no lie at all. Another approach, but with the same essence, relates lying to a ‘communicable truth.’ This means, that lying is by definition limited to situations where truth can also be communicated to the other. When the other person has no right to the truth at hand, failing to express this truth therefore cannot qualify as a lie. 38 b. The good intention of the acting person Already in the earliest times of the Fathers of the Church, albeit a minority, there could be found some understanding for lies in situations where telling the truth would be severely harmful for somebody. 39 This

35 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3: “innaturale est et indebitum quod aliquis voce significet id quod non habet in mente.” 36 Cf. H. Grotius, De iure belli ac pacis, III,1,xi. 37 Cf. Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 127 and also Cozzoli, Bugia, 108. 38 Cf. Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 264; C. Kaczor, Can it be Morally Permissible to Assert a Falsehood in Service of a Good Cause?, in American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 86:1(2012), 97-109, here 102. Kaczor mentions the evident example of the seal of confession as an illustration to this theory, but it should also be kept in mind that saint John of Nepomuk was not an example of speaking falsehoods about a confession heard, but of keeping silent. 39 In Cozzoli, Bugia, 107, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, John Chrysostomos, Hilary, and John Cassian are mentioned.

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determination consists of the judgment of a person’s intention as good, notwithstanding the declaration of falsehoods. 40 For Aquinas, however, although the will to deceive “does not belong to the species of lying, but to a perfection thereof,” 41 the intention does imply the will to act badly. Consequently, Thomas would not agree that a good intention could ever justify a lie, which is intrinsically disordered. Nonetheless, the good intentions can indeed justify that the truth is prudently hidden “by keeping it back.” 42 So, notwithstanding Thomas’s intrinsic analysis of lying, focusing on the falsehood itself, the good intention of a person is also for him reason to avoid a too rigid attitude. According to Ramsey, even in Augustine this bipartition can be found, of on the one side an unequivocal condemnation of lying, and on the other side an understanding attitude towards a person who lies with a good intention, when no other solution seems possible. 43 However, it would not do justice to the Christian tradition to conclude that a good end could justify lying unconditionally. But also for Aquinas, the most important thing is not the material truth as such, regardless of the intention, but the person behind the truth. Truth telling is always about communicating the person as himself. 44 c. The attempt to avoid telling lies Two ways have been explored to avoid lying. One is the so-called mental reservation, the restrictio mentalis, which expresses truth in such a way, that the person communicated with cannot easily recognize the whole truth, which the communicator has in mind. In Catholic moral theology the restrictio mentalis has come to be accepted, usually on the condition that there is an important reason to do so, that the other has no right to the

Cf. Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 45: “Nicht als ob Chrysostomos die Lüge einfachhin erlaubt hätte! Voraussetzung dazu sind gewisse Notstände (Kriegslüge, politische Lüge) sowie eine edle Absicht.” 41 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 1 and ad 3. 42 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3 ad 4. 43 Cf. Ramsey, Two Traditions on Lying and Deception, 510. Nonetheless, one needs to consider that in reality these types of lies are rather exceptions. See: Lukesch, Lügen und Täuschen, 98. 44 Cf. STh II-II, q. 109 a. 3 ad 3: “veritas qua aliquis et vita et sermone talem se demonstrat qualis est….” See also: Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm Against Lying, 123 and 126. 40

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truth, 45 and that there is no obligation to plainly manifest the truth. 46 Whereas the strict form of restrictio mentalis, which makes it impossible for the other to know the truth, has been condemned, there is also an acceptable form that depends more on the context of what is said or communicated, the restrictio late mentalis, from which the truth could still be deduced. 47 Here expectancies start to play a big role, because the permissibility of the restrictio late mentalis lies in the fact that the other could theoretically know that what is said, is not the whole truth. The other way is the dissimulatio, which is likewise a way to lead someone astray, although lying as such is avoided. In this case, one takes advantage of the fact that words can have a different meaning for the communicator and for the listener. For Aquinas dissimulation can sometimes be acceptable, whereas a lie is always to be condemned. 48 Referring to Augustine, Aquinas states that the truth should sometimes prudently be hidden, by means of dissimulation. 49 Tollefsen draws attention to the fact that Thomas states that simulation can be properly called a lie (in STh II-II, q. 111 a. 1), whereas he also justifies the use of dissimulation in the previous question (STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3 ad 4). Rightly Tollefsen indicates that the solution should be found in the determination, if there is an assertion made, or not so. 50 Indeed, it is quite different if dissimulation is used to hide the truth, or if through dissimulation actively something untrue is communicated. The basic rule to all this is that at least there should be no active speaking of untruth. d. Lying cannot be avoided Some have come to realize that lying might not even be avoidable. It is Dietrich Bonhoeffer who comments on Kant’s example of the murderer 45 An example is someone’s claim that “person A is not at home.” The restrictio mentalis consists in the fact that the second part of the thought, viz. “to see you,” is not being said. Cf. H. Jone, Katholieke moraaltheologie, Roermond/Maaseik 1953, §369-370. 46 As there would be, e.g., to a judge, to a confessor or a superior. See for example: J. Aertnys/C. Damen, Theologia Moralis, t.1, Turin 1950, §998. 47 Cf. Cozzoli, Bugia, 108. The never allowed restrictio pure mentalis is not based on an ambiguous meaning of what is said, but rather leaves the truth out, making it impossible to know what is actually meant. See also: A. Bondolfi, Mensonge, in Dictionnaire encyclopédique d’éthique chrétienne, Paris 2013, 1308. 48 Cf. Bondolfi, Mensonge, 1302. 49 Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 3 ad 4: “Licet tamen veritatem occultare prudenter sub aliqua dissimulatione…” 50 Cf. Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 131, as well as 121.

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asking for a friend’s whereabouts, and describes how sometimes there is no right solution. 51 Both speaking and being silent result in a wrong action, either giving up the commandment not to lie or the life of a friend. This would be the difference between doing God’s law or doing God’s will. However, this division – that reminds of the difference that some moral theologians make between a right action and a good action – cannot ultimately satisfy. 52 Nonetheless, in Christian history sometimes a moderate use of telling lies was accepted, considering them an art of ‘medicine.’ Applying an expression already used by Plato, John Cassian and others consider such a lie a pharmakon. It is the beneficent use of the lie that resembles a medicine in cases where there is a real emergency, while at the same time excluding the use of lies beyond such exceptional cases. 53 Whether or not the lie can be seen as a medicine, for some scholars it has become clear that lying in some situations simply cannot be avoided or even has become an instance of good acting. 54 This position recognizes lying as part of a normal human situation, where lies have become unavoidable. The only persons who should not to lie at all, according to this position, are the perfecti, whereas all the others could take refuge to lying as a venial sin, with only little guilt. For some, to consider a lie to be a venial sin is different from considering it immoral. Lying stays illicit as such but should sometimes be accepted nonetheless. A venial sin, after all, does not fulfil the typical characteristics of a sin, that would lead a person away from his end, which is God. 55 Although it seems hardly a good solution to call an act good which at the same time should be

51 Cf. Puffer, Three Rival Versions of Moral Reasoning, 168. It is quite interesting to note how Kant himself defends the moral absolute, stating that even the decision to lie unwillingly can cost the friend’s life: “Bist du aber strenge bei der Wahrheit geblieben, so kann dir die öffentliche Gerechtigkeit nichts anhaben; die unvorhergesehene Folge mag sein welche sie wolle… [H]ast du aber gelogen, und gesagt, er sei nicht zu Hause, und er ist auch wirklich (obzwar dir unbewußt) ausgegangen, wo denn der Mörder ihm im Weggehen begegnete und seine Tat an ihm verübte: so kannst du mit Recht als Urheber des Todes desselben angeklagt werden.” Cf. Kant, Über ein vermeintes Recht, 639. 52 Cf. Puffer, Three Rival Versions of Moral Reasoning, 170 and 182. See also: John Paul II, Veritatis splendor, 65. 53 Cf. Bondolfi, Mensonge, 1299. See also: Plato, Republic, III, 389b; Johannes Cassianus, Collationes, XVII, 17 “Quod venialiter mendacio sancti tamquam elleboro usi sunt.” 54 Cf. e.g., Dewan, St. Thomas, Lying and Venial Sin, 293 and 295; or Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 79. 55 Cf. ibid. and Stone, In the Shadow of Augustine, 288-289, 291.

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qualified as an, albeit venial, sin, already Gregory the Great acknowledges various levels of guilt and the right to a legitimate defense, when a right to the truth seems to be violated. This can be seen as a way out of a too rigoristic Augustinian approach. 56 Thomas Aquinas underlines that lying is not by definition a mortal sin, not even for the perfect. 57 The fact that objectively sinful acts might still not be culpable, is indeed something that pertains to sound moral reasoning. Nonetheless, this is not an easy solution for moral problems. After all, the Magisterium has both expressed that “particular circumstances surrounding an objectively evil human act, while they cannot make it objectively virtuous, can make it ‘inculpable, diminished in guilt or subjectively defensible,’” 58 and also that “circumstances or intentions can never transform an act intrinsically evil by virtue of its object into an act ‘subjectively’ good or defensible as a choice.” 59 5. When lies can be expected Something that the described solutions to the problem of lying have made clear, is that some situations require an evasion of the truth in some form or other. Alongside the various solutions emerges also another aspect that should not be forgotten in the moral evaluation of lying: the fact that lies are sometimes to be expected. The fascinating article of Alexander Pruss tries to cover this aspect when he discusses lying in the context of the language that is expected by the other person. 60 The expectations of someone can determine in which sense assertions are made. If somebody participates in a game, false assertions are never considered lies. Is someone expecting a serious reply, on the other hand, then false assertions are repudiated as lies. Reflections like these become possible when moving from considering a lie objectively, as something said which is not in conformity with somebody’s mind, to a more subjective approach, where the focus shifts more to the listener. 61 In everyday life, many instances of expected falsehoods can be found. These expectations have an influence on the meaning of the human Cf. Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 87-88. Cf. STh II-II, q. 110 a. 4 ad 5. 58 Cf. Enchiridion Vaticanum, 4, 198 (the ‘caso Washington’). 59 Cf. John Paul II, Veritatis splendor, 81. 60 Cf. Pruss, Lying and Speaking your Interlocutor’s Language, 441: “To speak one language deceitfully when your interlocutor is expecting another is to lie…” 61 Cf. Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 131; Smith, Fig Leaves and Falsehoods; Cozzoli, Bugia, 107. 56 57

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act. Common questions, like ‘how are you doing?’ are often used in conversations, but the replies are rarely truthful assertions. Such questions are mere formalities, more than a sincere looking for the truth. When both the sender and the receiver are aware of this custom, it is an unproblematic way of truthful communication. The expectancy of the other plays an essential role. One step further would be to acknowledge that sometimes truth should not be expected. Illustrative to this situation is the question of a professor who asks a large group of students if everybody completed the assignment. He possibly expects a truthful answer but the question is if he can really have that expectation under the given circumstances. It is clear that there is a notable difference in expectations between a publicly asked question and a professional question in a personal dialogue with a student, where indeed truth telling is imperative. In the same way, the murderer in Kant’s example or the Nazi in the ‘Gestapo-dilemma’ might expect to hear the truth but this expectation is at the same time unreasonable. What is more, in situations where there is a serious threat or plain evil, it is very unlikely that someone’s answer is given an unconditional credibility. 62 These reflections raise the question as to why the truth should not be expected in some situations. Besides the already mentioned instances of courtesy or conventions, where an honest reply is often not asked for, there is also the situation where a question can be considered an immoral intrusion of someone’s personal space. In the same way, nobody would claim that a stranger should be given a truthful answer when he asks for somebody’s health condition, amount of salary or pin code. Of course, the best solution would be to honestly reply that an answer can’t be given, but this seems not to be possible in every situation. Not always is it prudent to point out the truth, even if that truth is that it cannot be communicated. 63 Whether or not a truth is communicable, however, does not only depend on formal conditions, like the canonical restrictions of a confessor, but also on the way in which someone’s personal space is invaded. Truth can hardly be a fair reply to the intrusive nature of questions in some situations. In those situations, lying can take on the meaning of self-

Cf. Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 134. In the famous ‘nescio’ question, also Aquinas hints to this fact when he states that a confessor can state ‘not knowing’ what has been told to him “tantum ut Deus.” Cf. In IV Sent d. 21, q. 3, 1 ad 3. See also Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 173-174. 62 63

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defense. 64 If someone’s private sphere is threatened, then it is not immoral to defend oneself against such an intrusion, and this form of selfdefense can even be expected. In the same way, it can indeed be heroic not to react to a physical attack and just undergo the injustice that is suffered but it is not immoral to engage in legitimate self-defense, even when it would of course be best if there was no violence altogether. However, the lie that follows after an unjust intrusion of someone’s personal space can be expected, just as a physical self-defense is expected by the attacker, and as such, this lie shares in the evaluation of expected lies. A final remark, in this line of reasoning, regards the common untruths that make part of diplomacy or politics. Whereas the first resembles the instance of the ‘courteous untrue assertions,’ the second also often has to deal with the fact that others might not have the right to the true, or at least that there is experienced an intrusion of the reality as it is known to the politician. 65 6. Conclusion Although Aquinas is somewhat less rigorous than Augustine, he also does not see any exceptions to the commandment not to lie. Acknowledging various levels of culpability is as far as he is willing to go when it comes to moral solutions. 66 Although this attitude is sympathetic and beyond doubt also virtuous, the question remains if allowing the assertion of falsehoods could in some instances still be good acting. It seems that the complexity and even malice that is often present in every-day life, makes a too basic approach impossible. 67 A part of the solution can be found in the fact that sometimes the truth is not expected, or at least should not be reasonably expected. Sometimes prudence gives cause to state something differently than the truth as it is known to someone. Whereas this expectancy by itself can be interpreted in a too subjective way, like the ‘right to the truth,’ as if someone could decide if truth is to be expected by someone else, there is See, e.g., Müller, Die Wahrhaftigkeitspflicht und die Problematik der Lüge, 275ff.; Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 108. M. Puffer goes as far as shifting the guilt of the lie to the one who unjustly asks for the truth: Three Rival Versions of Moral Reasoning, 174. Tollefsen strongly opposes the possibility of lying in such cases: Tollefsen, Augustine, Aquinas, and the Absolute Norm against Lying, 129. 65 With regard to lies in politics, see also Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 320ff. 66 Cf. Schockenhoff, Zur Lüge verdammt?, 79. 67 For Janeth Smith this is reason to attribute to Aquinas a “pre-lapsarian concept of the world.” Cf. Fig Leaves and Falsehoods. 64

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another element that plays an important role in the moral evaluation. This is when the lie is at the same time a way of self-defense against an unjust invasive search for the truth by someone who should not do so. It is this combination of the untruth as a necessary defense, and the reasonable expectancy not to get to the truth that seems to make a lie sometimes acceptable in a specific context. Moral evaluations are seldom completely satisfactory, and also in this case, the necessary relationship between the moral absolute of not lying and the numerous distinctions concerning seemingly legitimate falsehoods cannot find an easy solution for a problem of all times. What has become clear, though, is that besides the important commandment of not lying, there exist a variety of moral realities, from the moral impossibility to make a truthful assertion until the acceptance of venial sin, to justify a reality that seems impossible to avoid. In this article we have evaluated the reason for which this justifiability can exist, namely the expected untruth as a result of an unjust invasion of the truth. The more concise definition of lying in the second edition of the Catechism has taken away the idea that there could exist an easy way to justify lying in a specific case, namely when someone has no right to the truth. This is to say that in the current situation we are left with a more complex reality: prudent considerations need to do justice to both the truth and to the reality of a broken world. After all, it remains true that lying is something that should be considered harmful but sometimes the truth can be harmful just as much. 68

68

Cf. Gregory the Great, Regula pastoralis, III, 11.

CITIZENS OF BABYLON AND THE NEW JERUSALEM: AQUINAS ON POLITIES AND THEIR VIRTUES David Decosimo Throughout his mature work and even stretching back to the Sentences Commentary, Thomas’s explanation and understanding of the relation between acquired and infused moral virtues is marked by a striking and distinctive pattern. Every time he takes up the topic in detail, he characterizes acquired and infused moral virtues as the virtues proper to distinct cities, earthly and heavenly. Acquired and infused moral virtues, he says, perfect humans for distinctive forms of political life: the natural life of earthly politics ordered directly to the common good and the graced life of the New Jerusalem ordered directly to beatitude. Even as the city of God is radically ultimate and unqualifiedly primary, Thomas claims these virtues are non-interchangeable. They are principles of specifically distinct conduct, ruled by and ordered immediately to the common good and beatitude respectively. More, acquired virtue has a vital place in Christian ethical life. For a Christian, Thomas says, “is not only a citizen of the earthly city, but also a participant in the heavenly city of Jerusalem” (De Virt q. 1 a. 9). 1 Christians, in other words, are dual citizens. 2 As such, they need distinct sets of virtue to perfect them in relation to these two cities. This is the primary and indeed exclusive way in which Thomas describes the relation between acquired and infused moral virtue. Further, more strikingly, in all his mature treatments of this subject, Thomas explicitly draws on both Ephesians 2:19 – “You are citizens…of God’s household” – and Politics III, wherein one person can (and often needs to) possess multiple, specifically-distinct sets of cardinal virtues. Yet, amidst a tide of renewed attention to the relation between acquired and infused moral virtues, in which most claim that Thomas regards the two as incompatible or sees acquired virtue as irrelevant for Christian life, this pattern and these references have gone completely unremarked. 3 In what follows, I set that right. 1 All translations are mine from the Latin of Corpus Thomisticum, Fundación Tomás de Aquino, (2013), Corpus Thomisticum, http://www.corpusthomisticum.org. 2 I set aside those uninvolved in earthly civic life, e.g. hermits. 3 For bibliography see Angela Knobel, Aquinas and the Infused Moral Virtues, South Bend 2021, and David Decosimo, Mediating Grace: How and Why Thomas Aquinas Affirmed the Compatibility of Acquired and Infused Moral Virtue, in Studies in Christian Ethics, 2023, forthcoming. Three recent exceptions prove the rule regarding neglect of CP in relation to this topic. Mary Key’s Aquinas, Aristotle, and the Promise

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I show that Thomas envisions acquired and infused moral virtues as the virtues of distinct polities, earthly and heavenly. He does so precisely to show their compatibility, importance, and, indeed, cooperation in Christian ethical life. While Thomas’s entire vision in Commentary on Politics III deserves sustained attention, our aim is to elucidate that vision only as it concerns the relation between infused moral and acquired virtue. 4 Nonetheless, our efforts will shed some light on that more general framework. Exegetical disputes aside, amidst global debate concerning Christianity’s and the church’s relation to politics, grasping Thomas’s vision of the importance and role of acquired virtue in Christian life and its cooperation with and subordination to infused moral virtue is profoundly consequential. It matters for the actuality of the church’s vision of formation and political life alike. 1. Thomas’s Politics III-inspired vision: having and using multiple specifically distinct sets of cardinal virtues Across the Summa Theologiae, the Sentences Commentary, Disputed Questions on the Virtues, and his Commentaries on Nicomachean Ethics and the Politics, Thomas explicitly and repeatedly affirms a number of important, interrelated, and strangely neglected claims concerning cardinal virtues. 5

of the Common Good, Cambridge, 2006, mentions STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4’s reference to Politics but explores neither that nor acquired/infused moral relations (234-5). Aristotle in Aquinas’s Theology, Gilles Emery and Matthew Levering (eds.) Oxford 2015, scarcely mentions Politics apart from Levering’s Aristotle and the Mosaic Law, and Christopher Franks’s Aristotelian Doctrines in Aquinas’s Treatment of Justice. Franks notes acquired and infused justice are ordered to civic good and God’s household respectively but neither connects this to Politics nor explores its significance for acquired/infused relations (164). His cursory, two pages on acquired and infused justice suggest they’re incompatible and contradict CP (164-5). Thomas Osborne’s Thomas Aquinas on Virtue, Cambridge 2022, begins to remedy the neglect, but his careful treatment remains brief and almost exclusively focuses on only one of CP III’s important distinctions (132-5, 154-5). I am indebted to Henk Schoot’s excellent and careful, Citizens of Jerusalem: Thomas Aquinas on the Infused Moral Virtues, in The Virtuous Life: Thomas Aquinas on the Theological Nature of Moral Virtues, H. Schoot and H. Goris (eds.), Leuven 2017, 19-20, for helping inspire the line of inquiry pursued here. 4 I pursue this work in a forthcoming article. 5 Lest someone doubt In Pol represents Thomas’s views, every claim I rely on from In Pol I show Thomas also explicitly endorses or presupposes in STh or De Virt.

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First, he repeatedly says there are specifically distinct sets of cardinal virtues proper to distinct political regimes – and those regimes alone. Thus, and precisely in explicating the acquired/infused moral virtue relation, Thomas explains, “The Philosopher says in Politics III that the virtues of citizens are diverse according as they are well ordered in relation to diverse polities” (STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4). 6 There are distinct, noninterchangeable sets of cardinal virtues proper to democracy, aristocracy, and monarchy. 7 Democratic justice, prudence, courage, and temperance, for example, order one to the democratic civic good alone and are specifically distinct from aristocratic or monarchic counterparts. Having one set does not enable one to live well in another regime, for it gives knowledge and inclination to its civic good alone. Secondly, Thomas contends that, in some regimes, there are specifically distinct sets of cardinal virtues proper to subjects and rulers respectively. 8 “The virtue of the ruler and of the subject,” he claims, citing Politics III, “differ in species” (STh II-II, q. 47 a. 11 ad 2). Within some regime, these virtues incline a person to the distinctive activity of either subjecthood or of rule. Like regime-specific virtues, they are noninterchangeable. “There are, however, many kinds of polities … and by distinct virtues humans are ordered well to diverse polities. For democracies are upheld in one way, and oligarchies in another way, and tyrannies too” (In Pol III.3.1). And In Pol III.4.3. Besides these explicit affirmations, Thomas repeatedly claims there are distinct species of law corresponding to distinct regimes, aristocracies, democracies, etc. (STh I-II, q. 95 a. 4; q. 107 a. 1; Sententia Ethic., lib. 5 l. 2 n. 2.), and STh’s entire treatment of law deploys this distinction. Law aims to make men virtuous, diposing them to the good to which some species of law is ordained (I-II, q. 92 a. 1, q. 96 a. 2). It follows that answering to these specifically diverse laws and regime are specifically diverse civic virtues (I-II, q. 105 a. 3, II-II, q. 50 a. 1 and ad 2 and ad 3, cf. In III Sent d. 33 q. 3 a. 1 qc. 4 arg. 5). Likewise, and nuancing In Pol III.3.1, it follows that virtues of citizens in just regimes are truly virtuous, whereas “virtues” of citizens in unjust regimes are false, which Thomas says explicitly in STh II-II, q. 50 a. 1 ad 2 (cf II-II, q. 47 a. 13). Neglecting this, Osborne thinks regime-specific virtue refers simply and only to habits of regime-preservation, irrespective of their goodness, Thomas Aquinas, 132-4. This has consequences for the rest of interpretation. 7 We can set aside the question of how different two regimes must be to require distinct species of virtue, since acquired and infused moral virtues and their regimes are obviously specifically different. Likewise, the question of the relation between regime-specific civic virtue and a generic, idealized civic virtue doesn’t bear on my claims. 8 “The virtue of a ruler and that of a citizen are different” In Pol III.3.6 and III.3.11. And see, e.g., STh II-II, q. 58 a. 6; q. 47 a. 12; and II-II, q. 50 a. 1 and q. 50 a. 2 and ad 2 and ad 3, where Thomas contrasts regnative prudence, proper to a king, with political prudence, proper to a subject. 6

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Thirdly, Thomas contends that, often, the set of cardinal virtues that perfect a person in relation to their individual, private good are specifically distinct from the virtues that perfect a person in relation to the common good. 9 He refers to these as the virtues of a man as man and of man as citizen (De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10). “The virtue of a given citizen and of a good man,” he writes, again citing Politics III, “are not the same” (STh I-II, q. 92 a. 1 ad 3). We’ll return to this distinction, but the particular version of it concerning us is one between cardinal virtues ordered to a person’s private, individual good and those ordered to the common or civic good. Think of the difference between acting temperately to honor your own rational nature and doing so for the common good, or acting for your friend because he’s your friend and doing so for the common good (STh I-II, q. 93 a. 6). I will call these “individual” and “political” or “civic”

9 “The virtue of a citizen and that of a good man are not the same, absolutely speaking” In Pol III.3.6 and 1 and 4. There are multiple intersecting complexities we can safely set aside. Thomas means different things in different contexts by both (a) “virtue of a human/good man/man as man” and (b) “virtue of a citizen.” Likewise, “common good” refers variously to, e.g., an authentic, civic common good (whether, again, of a real regime or idealized earthly political community), the natural end of humans, and God himself (cf. STh I-II, q. 90 a. 3 ad 3, q. 91 a. 4 and 5, q. 94 a. 3 ad 1, q. 95 a. 4, q. 96 a. 3, q. 109 a. 3, STh II-II, 50.2 ad 3; De Virt q. 1 a. 9). One clearly textually attested version of this (a)/(b) distinction is that between (a*) virtue ordered narrowly to perfecting one’s individual rational nature qua individual rational nature, one’s “private good” (STh I-II, q. 96 a. 3), and (b*) virtue ordered to the common good of some good, actual regime or idealized earthly political community (STh I-II, q. 19 a. 10, q. 94 a. 3 obj. and ad 1, q. 90 a. 3 and ad 3, q. 96 a. 3 and ad 3, STh II-II, q. 50 a. 1 ad 3, q. 50 a. 2 and ad 3). STh II-II, q. 58 a. 6 s.c. is especially clear: quoting Aristotle, Thomas says “many are able to be virtuous in what’s particular to themselves but not able to be virtuous in things to do with others,” and citing Politics III, he explicitly identifies this with (a) and links general justice with (b). Another version, the only Osborne conceives, distinguishes (a`) virtue ordered to the natural end and (b`) “virtue” ordered to regime-preservation, Thomas Aquinas, chapter 4. But Osborne’s reading simply cannot hold for De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10, for (1) De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4 has (b) as superior and as parallel to infused virtue, ordering (a) which is inferior and parallel to acquired virtue, but (a`) is clearly superior to (b`); (2) (a`) is simply acquired virtue but Thomas would certainly call it that here if that’s what he meant, for he refers to it in the preceding sentence. (a*) is something like desert-island virtue, subordinate, to domestic virtue and civic virtue. Henceforth, I set this issue aside and presume this version of the distinction, but my overall argument concerning the acquired/infused relation swings free of this and is compatible with Osborne’s or other interpretations. By “common good” I mean that to which the “earthly city” is rightly ordered, the idealized or regime-specific robust common good of flourishing political life.

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virtue respectively. 10 Political virtue is higher, answering more fully to human nature, for it orders a person to the higher end of the common good. These and all the virtues mentioned above are acquired virtue: virtue attainable by human action, rather than infused by grace. But we will see that Thomas conceives of infused moral virtue as or as saliently like a certain regime-specific virtue. To these distinctions Thomas adds two points. Building on this framework, he claims repeatedly across these texts that one person can possess more than one species of these distinct sets of cardinal virtues, whether multiple distinct regime-specific virtues, ruler- and subjectspecific virtues, individual and civic virtues, all of these, or some combination. Thus: The subject…who is free and good does not have only one [species of] virtue, for example justice. Rather, his justice has two species: one according to which he is able to rule well, and another according to which he is able to be a subject well. And so it also goes for the other virtues (De Pol III.3.11).11 Here, Thomas envisions one person with distinct sets of ruler- and subject-specific cardinal virtues. These multiple sets of enable distinct sorts of action, oriented to distinct ends. Aside from the explicit textual evidence affirming their compatibility, note that these virtues are habits belonging to distinct species and are not contrary to one another. Just so, someone can have more than one set, just as someone can have multiple specifically distinct habits of science. 12

“Individual virtues” are not individualistic or selfish. They can regard, e.g., a friend’s good (STh I-II, q. 96 a. 3). 11 See the preciously cited texts and especially De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4, STh I-II, q. 96 a. 3 and ad 3. In STh II-II, q. 50 a. 1 and 2, esp. ad 1 and ad 3, Thomas distinguishes regnative prudence which is proper to the ruler of some regime (50.1) and political prudence which is proper to the subjects. Within regnative prudence, he distinguishes between varieties proper to distinct polities, but notes that all are simply denominated “regnative” (q. 50 a. 1 obj. and ad 2). Thomas also distinguishes political from individual prudence (q. 50 a. 2 ad 3). Misconceiving the operation of justice, Franks incorrectly claims acquired and infused justice produce materially identical acts, a point the passage above also contradicts, Aristotelian, 164. 12 In contrast, one cannot have a vice and its opposed virtue, for they are directly opposed. Also, some virtue will be architectonic for an agent, by which she’s disposed most fundamentally and puts to use all her other virtues. For the Christian, this is theological and infused virtue. See Mediating Grace, forthcoming. 10

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Finally, Thomas explicitly envisions distinct species of these virtues working together in an agent’s life and action. 13 A higher species of virtue can command the elicited act of the virtue of another, lower species. The commanding virtue (e.g. civic virtue) “mediates” the act of the lower virtue (e.g. individual virtue) so that, even as it is necessarily ordered directly to its own proximate end (e.g. private good), it is “referred” by the superior virtue to the higher end to which that virtue is directly ordered (e.g. common good). The lower virtue’s operation is attributed to the higher virtue, even though it is not properly the higher virtue’s (STh II-II, q. 32 a. 1 and ad 1). 14 Thomas builds his entire account of the acquired/infused moral virtue relation on this vision of multiple specifically distinct sets of cardinal virtues and their cooperation. Indeed, every time he discusses that relation in his mature work, he explicitly invokes this vision and Politics III, where it’s most fully elucidated. He uses the case of distinct, specifically distinct cardinal virtues to elucidate the relation and cooperation between infused moral virtues and acquired virtues, to help us see how and why one person could have, need, and put them to use together. Most strikingly, Thomas does not merely treat Aristotle’s framework as a useful analogy, he claims that acquired virtues and infused moral virtues actually are virtues of distinct polities, human and divine, earthly and heavenly. And he claims dual citizenship for Christians (STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4; De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10 and ad 4). 2. Illustrating Thomas’s vision Whether we find this Aristotelian framework persuasive, it suffices that Thomas did. While my aim here is not to vindicate this vision, I do want to suggest it has some plausibility, for understanding Thomas’s view requires discerning its rationality and intelligibility. As noted, Thomas distinguishes between subject- and rulerspecific cardinal virtue and claims one person can possess both (De Pol III.3). It’s easy to see why Thomas would think a king or president would require virtues distinct from those of an excellent subject. Rulers must set laws and provide direction for the entire political community, discerning and shaping the civic good, while given citizens need only seek that good

De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4; STh I-II, q. 93 a. 6 and ad 3; STh II-II, q. 47 a. 11 ad 3, See, Decosimo, More to Love, 51-54, Mediating Grace, forthcoming and STh II-II, q. 3 a. 1 ad 3, q. 23 a. 2, q. 58 a. 6, q. 81 a. 1 ad 1, De Virt q. 1 a. 12 ad 20, 13 14

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– often in subjection to the ruler’s determination of it. 15 These are distinct kinds of conduct. We can imagine, for example, a virtuous citizen ascending to political office having to acquire new virtue, an ex-president possessed of both species, or, less happily, the former Prince Harry. Likewise, Thomas’s distinction between civic and individual virtue and the possibility of someone possessing both is relatively easy to grasp. Martin Luther King, Jr., who was famously a womanizer, arguably possessed civic but not individual virtue, whereas Jimmy Carter, supposing he was a mediocre political leader, plausibly possessed individual but not civic virtue – and some especially saintly people seem like Carter in this respect. 16 We can also imagine someone like Joan of Arc or Dorothy Day who possessed civic and individual virtue alike. Alternatively, there are regimes so bad that civic but not individual virtue is impossible or in which individual virtue precludes whatever semblance of civic virtue such regimes admit. Perhaps more challenging to grasp is Thomas’s contention that there are specifically distinct sets of non-interchangeable cardinal virtues proper to distinct regimes: democratic virtues, aristocratic virtues, and so on. These civic virtues are ordered to the civic good of different sorts of polities, and each civic good is an end laying down formal rules for due action and passion thereto, for “the end...set[s] the rule for that which is ordained to the end” (STh I-II, q. 1 prooemium). Virtues, for Thomas, are not all-purpose tools for doing good but exclusively responsive to particular determinate ends and reasons. If excellence at basketball neither entails nor constitutes excellence at soccer or tennis, despite all involving balls and nets, much less does democratic virtue suit and incline one to the domestic or monarchic good. A given species of virtue represents a particular disposition of will, practical reason, and passion whereby we readily discern, incline, and proportion ourselves to a particular reason for acting indexed to some determinate end. 17 Seeking the civic good require rightly understanding and envisioning it. Civic virtue requires stable readiness and inclination in loving and acting for it. Just because one loves the civic good of this polity, with this kind of government and civic good, hardly mean one understands, let alone loves, the civic good of some other polity. This seems especially clear if we consider radically different political regimes: ancient Athens or ancient Jerusalem, medieval Paris or medieval Cahokia, Thomas’ claim, e.g., that rulers are in some sense “above the law” (STh I-II, q. 96 a. 5 and ad 3). And see I-II, q. 92 a. 1 and ad 1. 16 Suppose King is not vicious, but simply lacks the individual virtue of temperance. 17 Regarding this paragraph’s claims, see Decosimo, Mediating Grace, forthcoming. 15

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reformation Amsterdam, Victorian England, mid-century United States, contemporary South Korea or Tunisia. The striking material differences in the ideal citizens and rulers which mere invocation of these conjures, manifests deeper underlying formal differences in the habits that constitute civic virtue in each, answer to their distinctive civic goods. 18 Even the differences between rulers and citizens within these regimes is striking. And the courage required for excellent citizenship in constitutionally pacifist Japan obviously differs from that proper to a warrior society like ancient Athens. As the particular form of perfected and ideal political life differs in each, so too do the habits that incline to and in their exercise help constitute them. If we imagine transplanting persons among these places, it’s clear they would have to learn how these communities conceived the civic good and unknown whether they would develop love and facility in acting for it. This is so even if they were virtuous citizens in their own polity. The differences go far deeper than customs, language, and the like, to the norms and ideals of excellent citizenship and civic flourishing proper to each. History and fiction are full of stories of people encountering radically different ways of life or experience revolutionary regime changes for which any virtue they may have had did not prepare them. We can think of Ben Hur moving between Jerusalem, a slave galley, and Rome – and back. Or of a young Queen Elizabeth having to develop one species of virtue proper to her role in the United Kingdom and quite another in regard to her different role in relation to the Commonwealth nations. And we can imagine them both – or a refugee – coming to possess multiple specifically distinct sets of virtue. Finally, however differently they are structured, nearly all contemporary nations have naturalization processes. Beyond extended residency and an oath, most require candidates to demonstrate substantial knowledge of the nation’s history, language, and government. We needn’t imagine naturalization processes test for regime-specific civic virtue to discern a widespread consensus that having been even a virtuous citizen of some other regime is regarded as insufficient for and distinct from being an adequate citizen, let alone a virtuous citizen, of a new regime. As alien as Thomas’s notion of polity-specific virtues might initially seem, an almost universal contemporary practice displays similar logic. But consider a case Thomas himself treats.

18

See In III Sent d. 33 q. 1 a. 2 qc. 4 ad 2 and Mediating Grace, forthcoming.

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3. Thomas’s case study: conversion, citizenship, and “a firm love for the common good” Using Politics III, Thomas argues that the Old Law was altogether right and wise to prohibit aliens who settled among God’s people from immediately participating in Israel’s political life, even as it welcomed their full religious participation immediately upon conversion. The reason, he explains invoking Aristotle, is that even if these immigrants convert, “they may not yet have a firm love for the common good” (non habentes adhuc amorem firmatum ad bonum publicum) (STh I-II, q. 105 a. 3). 19 His claim is that civic virtue – reliably understanding, loving, and acting for a regime’s civic good – takes time. The delay in citizenship, he notes, tracked a nation’s relation to Israel: closer relations meant less time. Yet even Egyptian migrants, among whom Thomas stresses the Jews “had been born and brought up,” had to wait three generations. For Thomas, even deep cultural similarities, lived familiarity, shared experience, or possessing another regime’s civic virtue is not the same as “firm love” for and ordination to a given civic good. Most striking and most significant for our purposes are Thomas’s comments regarding the convert’s immediate admission to Israel’s religious life, even as citizenship remains delayed for generations. Vitally, Thomas frames the article as much in relation to “the Church of God” as to Israel (STh I-II, q. 105 a. 3 obj. 1). Indeed, his first objection quotes Peter after his vision about welcoming Gentiles into the Church: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him” (Acts 10:34-35). The objection contends, rightly in Thomas’s view, that “those who are accepted by God must not be excluded from the Church of God,” but then claims that the Old Law’s exclusion of aliens from citizenship in Israel is wrong. Thomas responds by distinguishing between Israel’s civic life and her religious life, between nation and “Church of God,” common good and beatitude. “The law,” he writes, “excluded the people of no nation from worship of God or from that which pertains to the soul’s salvation… But in temporal things, insofar as they pertain to the common life of the people, everyone was not immediately included” (STh I-II, q. 105 a. 3 ad 1). It is one thing to be rightly ordered to God and possessed Thomas so endorses Politics III that he uses it to display the “fittingness” (conveniens) of God’s revealed law. See Levering, “Mosaic.” And see In IV Sent d. 24 q. 2 a. 1 qc. 1 arg. 3 where Thomas uses Aristotle’s vision to elucidate even ecclesial governance.

19

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with theological and infused virtues; another to be rightly disposed directly to the common good. The radical conversion of an alien, Gentile pagan through circumcision entails the full complement of charity and infused virtue and immediate, full participation “as a native born in the land” in God’s worship, “God’s church.” 20 But it takes time, Thomas claims and says divine law teaches, to be rightly ordered to the common good as proximate end, disposed and inclined by civic virtue. This is so even for those truly ordered to God and possessed of infused virtue, for that’s precisely who he has in view here. For Thomas, even if infused virtue enables one to avoid sinning, they do not entail “firm love for the common good.” Otherwise, there would be no reason for delayed citizenship in those who convert. In short, Thomas here not only endorses the non-interchangeability of regime-specific virtue but the non-substitutability of infused moral virtues for acquired civic virtues: they do not entail or enable due ordering to the civic good as proximate. These converts necessarily received theological and infused moral virtues. Yet, as Thomas has it, this does not entail or constitute “a firm love for the common good.” Infused moral virtues are not acquired civic virtues and do not do their work. Thomas even identifies a rule-proving exception to the citizenship law. In certain cases, “by dispensation (dispensative),” citizenship can be granted immediately “because of some act of virtue.” Both examples he cites, those of Ruth and Achior, involve them in explicitly embracing Israel’s civic good. Ruth devotes and binds herself to Naomi and her people, her religious profession flowing out of this mundane commitment. 21 In Achior’s case, his courageous counsel against attacking Israel is an act of wisdom and justice for his nation’s civic good, rightly predicting defeat should they attack Israel. But is precisely what leads him to be delivered to Israel. His great “act of virtue” has to be his telling the Israelites all they needed to know of their enemy’s plans in order to defend themselves (Judith 6, esp. 20). Civic virtue does not come immediately, but Achior has so decisively started on his way that he can be entrusted with citizenship upon his later conversion. His framing of Israel as “God’s Church” and usage of Acts 10, which treats Gentile entrance into Israel’s worship as entrance into the Church, and his reference to the “soul’s salvation” close any gap between the Church and Israel’s worship. Additionally, note that while not all under the Old Law possessed “charity and the grace of the Holy Spirit,” Thomas insists that those did who, rather than fear of punishment, “looked principally to spiritual and eternal promises.” These “belonged to New Law” (STh I-II, q.107 a. 1 ad 2). Of all people, pagan Gentile converts were precisely such people! 21 Cf. STh I-II, q. 105 a. 4 ad 6. 20

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In sum, the possibility of possessing more than one set of specifically distinct cardinal virtues is explicitly affirmed by Thomas, entailed by his vision’s logic (for there is no in principle limit to the number of nonopposing specifically distinct habits someone may have), and plausibly evident in history and experience. Further, we have just seen him claim that infused virtues and right relation to God do not in themselves entail or constitute “firm love” for the civic good. This overarching framework, we will see, grounds his account of the relation between acquired and infused moral virtue. They are specifically distinct civic virtues ordered to earthly and heavenly cities, respectively. This also entails their compatibility and cooperation, which he explicitly affirms in De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4 precisely by describing one species of cardinal virtues using another species. 4. The Politics-inspired framework as basis for Thomas’s vision of acquired and infused moral virtues Thomas discusses the acquired/infused moral virtue relation twice in his mature work. In both cases, STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4 and De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10, he explicitly builds on Ephesians 2:19 and Politics III’s vision of specifically distinct sets of cardinal virtues. 22 Even Thomas’s early Sentences Commentary, his only other extended treatment, frames the distinction precisely as he will in STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4 and De Virt: acquired and infused virtues perfect a man in regard to distinct “lives,” the vita civali and vita spirituali. 23 Acquired and infused moral virtue as the civic virtues of two cities Consider STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4: The Philosopher says in Politics III that the virtues of citizens are diverse according as they are well ordered in relation to diverse polities. And, in the same way also, infused moral virtues – through which men are well ordered in regard to their ‘being citizens with the saints and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19) Thomas mentions acquired and infused moral virtues together forty-two times, treating them in detail thrice: STh I-II, q. 63 a. 4, De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10, and In III Sent d. 33 q. 1 a. 2, esp. qc. 4 and ad 2. I treat De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10 together, as the latter builds on the former. 23 In III Sent d. 33 q. 1 a. 2, qc. 4: “They perfect a man in different lives: acquired in civic life, infused in spiritual life, which is from grace, according to which a virtuous man is a member of the Church.” 22

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– are distinct species from acquired virtues, according to which men are well ordered to human affairs (res humanas). Citing Politics III, Thomas here invokes its notion of distinct, regimespecific cardinal virtues to explain the difference and relation between acquired and infused moral virtues. And, citing Ephesians, he says that humans are citizens of two distinct polities, earthly and heavenly. Yet Thomas does not merely use the distinction between regime-specific virtues to illustrate the acquired/infused moral virtue relation. Rather, here, in his most extended direct treatment, he elucidates acquired and infused moral virtues precisely as virtues of different polities. They are or can be regarded as distinct, regime-specific virtues, civic virtues of distinct polities. Infused moral virtues are virtues proper to the heavenly city, those “through which men are well ordered in regard to their ‘being citizens…of the household of God.’” Acquired virtues are those proper to the earthly life, those whereby men “are well ordered to human affairs (res humanas).” Thomas’s vision in q. 63 a. 4 becomes even clearer when we consider his Commentary on Ephesians 2:19. There, he claims the church is “a political communion,” a “city of saints” with God as its King (In Eph. 2.6.125). “It is a city” (civitas est) (In Eph. 2.6.124). “In every city,” Thomas continues, “four [things] must be in common: one ruler, one law, the same symbol, and the same end… These four are in the Church” (In Eph. 4.2.197). The heavenly city, whose citizens include God’s pilgrim people, has its own civic virtue – ordered directly to its end, ruled immediately by its law. That is what infused moral virtues are: the civic virtues proper to citizenship in the city of God. In q. 63 a. 4, then, Thomas claims there are two species of civic virtue, acquired and infused, corresponding to two cities, earthy and heavenly. Each perfects a person in relation to these almost incomparable polities. Infused moral virtues relate humans to the same material objects as do other civic virtues – justice, prudence, courage, temperance – “yet in relation to God” (STh I-II, q. 63 a. 3 ad 3), in view of beatitude as proximate end and lex divina as immediate rule (STh I-II, q. 63 a. 2). Acquired virtues relate humans to the matter of civic virtue in direct view of “human affairs,” that is, with right reason as immediate rule and common good as proximate end. 24 Where infused moral virtues relate

24 Following Augustine, the “earthly city” or “Babylon” has two distinct senses in Thomas’s thought. It can name the sinful domain of self-exaltation over God (e.g. In Eph. 2.6). Or, as here, in De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10, In III Sent d. 33 q. 1 a. 2, and his

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humans to one another immediately as actual or possible heavenly citizens, acquired virtues relate humans immediately as citizens and neighbors in the earthly city. As it is necessary to have polity-specific cardinal virtues to live well in distinct regimes, even as some polities are higher and better than others, it is even more necessary to have virtues suited to earthly and heavenly citizenship respectively, acquired and infused virtues. 25 “Even saintly men raised above this world,” Thomas writes, “because nevertheless they live in the world with others, must seek the peace of Babylon” (In Matt. 22.2.1788). This they do by acquired virtue – but always, as we will see, with the active mediation of infused. The Christian’s dual citizenship These same points are at the heart of Thomas’s other mature treatment of the acquired/infused relation, De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and 10, only here Thomas deploys another Politics III distinction, that between individual and civic virtue. And he presses the point even further, claiming in De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4 that acquired and infused virtue cooperate, with infused moral virtue using acquired virtue just as civic virtue can use individual virtue. Consider De Virt: The good of man varies according to various ways of considering him… For the good of man insofar as he is man is that his reason be perfected in knowledge of truth and his lower appetites ruled according to the rule of reason…But the good of man insofar as he is a citizen is that he be ordered according to the city in respect of everything. And, because of this the Philosopher says in Politics III that virtue of a man insofar as he is a good man [i.e. individual virtue] is not the same as the virtue of a man insofar as he is a good citizen [i.e. civic virtue]. But man is not only a citizen of the earthly city, but also a participant in the heavenly city of Jerusalem, whose ruler is the Lord, along with the angels and all the saints, whether they are ruling in glory and resting in the homeland, or are still pilgrimaging on earth, just as the Apostle [says] “You are citizens with the saints…and so on” (Eph 2:19). Man’s nature is not sufficient that he be a participant commentaries on Jeremiah 29 and on Matthew 22, the imperfect but truly good life of earthly politics and community. 25 On the heavenly city’s more encompassing character not obviating the need for virtues ordered to what is subordinate cf., STh I-II, q. 63 a. 2 and STh II-II, q. 47 a. 11 ad 3.

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in this [heavenly] city, he must be elevated to this by God’s grace. Thus…[the] virtues which are a man’s insofar as he participates in this city…are infused in us by a divine gift. But the virtues which are in a man…insofar as he participates in the earthly city do not exceed the power of human nature, hence man is able to acquire them by his natural power, through his proper actions. As in q. 63 a. 4, Thomas uses Politics III and Ephesians 2:19 to claim that acquired and infused virtues are virtues proper to distinct cities, earthly and heavenly. Citing Politics, Thomas claims there are different correct ways to understand humans – as individual rational creature and as political animal – and distinct corresponding species of virtue ordered to the ends proper to humans so understood: individual and civic virtue. From Politics, it seems man’s truest nature and highest end is his being ordered to the common good “in respect of everything,” with civic virtue as his most unqualified perfection. But Ephesians, Thomas says, shows that “heavenly citizen,” had by grace, is actually the most perfect and unqualified human identity, with infused virtue answering to this nature and its end. Where acquired virtue perfects a man to “participate in the earthly city,” infused perfects man for “the heavenly city.” Infused and acquired virtues are virtues of distinct cities. But Thomas goes beyond q. 63 a. 4. Here, he explicitly claims that Christian’s have dual citizenship. “Man,” he says, “is not only (non solum) a citizen of the earthly city, but also a participant in the heavenly city.” His diction allows no other conclusion. Christians are citizens of both heavenly and earthly cities. They thus need virtue answering and ordering them to full excellence in each: acquired and infused virtues. 26 And just as one person can have – and might need – individual and civic or democratic and monarchic virtues, so to a person can have acquired and infused moral virtues, perfecting them for earthly and heavenly citizenship respectively. Politics III and Paul’s insistence that Christians are citizens of heaven allows Thomas to show the difference, compatibility, salience – and, we will see, cooperation – of acquired and infused moral virtue.

26 Theological and infused moral virtue enable a person to avoid sin and do acts that indirectly contribute to the civic good as a side effect of acting for beatitude as proximate end. See Mediating Grace, forthcoming.

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Civic virtue mediating individual virtue as the model for infused moral virtue’s mediating acquired virtue Thomas’s Aristotelian and Pauline framework culminates in De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4’s vision of the cooperation of these two species of civic virtue, acquired and infused: Because there can be no merit without charity, acts of acquired virtue are not able to be meritorious without charity. But together with charity other virtues are infused, hence the acts of acquired virtue are not able to be meritorious except by the mediation of infused virtue. For virtues ordered to a subordinate end are not able to be ordered to a superior end except by the mediation of a superior virtue – just as courage, [namely the courage] which is the virtue of a man qua man, does not order its act to the political good, except by the mediation of [that] courage which is the virtue of a man qua citizen. The operation of lower, individual virtue, which produces an act ordered immediately to its own end of the private good, is commanded by civic virtue and by its mediation ordered to the common good. Both virtues are equally active, but higher has primacy. It’s precisely the same with infused and acquired virtue. Infused virtue commands and “mediates” acquired virtue’s operation, ordaining it to beatitude by its own proper operation. Acquired virtue’s act, though ordered to the civic good and proportionate to nature, “counts” as infused virtue’s act and, by mediation, as referred to beatitude. 27 That’s how it becomes meritorious. Even Thomas’s explanation here is an exception that proves the rule. Rather than cast his explanation in terms of regime-specific virtues, he uses the textually adjacent, structurally parallel distinction between individual and political virtue which we just saw in De Virt q. 1 a. 9 and which also appear in a. 10’s corpus. Why? Because – as we’ll see – it is extremely complicated to structure an example of mediating by using the distinction between regime-specific virtues. It’s far easier to imagine someone ordering the act of their individual virtue to the civic good by the mediation of their civic virtue. And by the time Thomas was writing De Virt q. 1 a. 10, he had already done exactly that, even using the particular example of courage. Thus, in STh I-II, q. 96 a. 3 and ad 3, Thomas gives an example of civic virtue using individual virtue and, by mediation, ordering it to its 27

It’s so “counting” (e.g. STh II-II, q. 32 a. 1 ad 2) it’s good enough for God!

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higher end. Virtues are specified by their formal objects, and here those are the “individual’s private good” (bonum privatum alicuius personae) and the “common good” (bonum commune). 28 These specify individual and civic virtues, respectively. Someone could undertake an act of courage either “in order to preserve the city or in order to preserve the right of his friend.” He does the former by civic virtue, the latter by individual virtue. But, Thomas explains, the acts of both these specifically distinct virtues can be ordered to the common good, even as individual virtue is not proportionate to it. In particular, these acts can be ordered to the common good either “mediately” (mediate) or “immediately” (immediate). Every virtue’s “act can be ordered to the common good…either mediately or immediately” (STh I-II, q. 96 a. 3 ad 3). Civic virtue’s act is ordered immediately to the common good: that is its proximate end and formal object. While individual virtue’s act is ordered immediately to the private good, which is its proximate end and formal object, its act can be ordered mediately to the common good by civic virtue mediating it. Civic virtue puts it to use. This is exactly what De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4 describes, what it means for the “courage, which is the virtue of a man qua man, [to] order its act to the political good … by the mediation of [that] courage which is the virtue of a man qua citizen.” (De Virt q. 1 a. 10 ad 4). To take q. 96 a. 3’s example, for the sake of the common good (civic virtue) I defend my friend to uphold his right (individual virtue). I act for my friend, as a friend, in view of my private good, which encompasses those directly related to that good: as a reason for my acting, this is an operation of individual virtue. But I also act for the common good: I intend a polity where citizens and friends courageously defend one another’s rights. And that is an operation of civic virtue. I act both for my friend and for the common good, but the latter plays a primary role in my doing the former, for the good of the whole community is greater than my or my friend’s good. So too when it comes to infused and acquired virtue: Believing it’s fitting just now for and in view of beatitude, I act directly for the common good as proximate end (e.g. fighting a just war, considering a policy proposal, feasting on July 4th, paying taxes) maintaining beatitude as remote end. In immediate view of beatitude, by infused virtue I discern an act immediately ordered to the common good is fitting and undertake that act by acquired virtue. Yet infused virtue remains equally active throughout, mediating this action, rendering it meritorious, for I do it most

28

See too STh II-II, q. 58 a. 6 sc and n.8 above.

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fundamentally for beatitude. 29 Such is Thomas’s vision, structurally identical to civic virtue’s use of individual virtue. 5. Conclusion Thomas’s use of the political/individual rather than the regime-specific distinction is, I noted, an exception proving the rule. It’s easy to imagine civic virtue mediating individual virtue’s activity. Constructing an example using distinct regime-specific virtues is far more challenging, but I conclude by doing just that. Imagine a commonwealth containing distinct federated cities, analogous to the U.S. where there is a national government along with states possessed of their own government. While the commonwealth as a whole is monarchic, Nora’s city is a democracy. She’s a citizen of city and commonwealth alike. 30 As a citizen of the commonwealth, she must always order her actions to it, at least as final. Thus, she pays commonwealth taxes which go to its military budget, and she volunteers with a national pension program. While these are specific cases where she acts immediately and directly for the commonwealth’s good, even when she does something directly aimed at her city’s good – volunteering on its school board – she still intends her direct contribution to that good to contribute to commonwealth’s good as a whole. Her seeking the commonwealth’s good is a primary reason she directly seeks the city’s good. Intending the commonwealth’s good sometimes demands acting directly for the city’s good. As a citizen of her city, Nora also has a duty to act directly for its good, which she does in paying city taxes and volunteering in mayoral elections. But even in doing this, she also intends the good of the commonwealth, taking as a reason for her acting directly for the city’s good her seeking the whole commonwealth’s good. That end is always present, either alone and proximate or above the city’s good and remote. We thus see how her commonwealth virtue can command and mediate

29 All of this must be understood in relation to the distinct reasons for acting and the relations among them: for common good, the agent undertakes an act immediately ordered to the private good. Distinct operations and movements of will, practical reason, and passion answering to these two distinct, ordered reasons, and their relations, with each effected by specifically distinct virtues. Civic virtue effects those operations answering to the common good; individual virtue those answering to the private good. See Mediating Grace, forthcoming. 30 Suppose she has these citizenships independently.

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the operation of her city-specific virtue, ordering it to the commonwealth’s good. This is obviously messier and more complex than Thomas’s individual/civic virtue example. But more than that, we must note how it and even Thomas’s own example differ from the relation and cooperation between acquired and infused moral virtue. Regardless of Nora’s will, given the polity’s very structure, her acts for either the commonwealth or the city always redound to one another, whether she intends that or not. Likewise, acts ordered immediately to beatitude will always redound to the earthly city’s good, even if the agent has no intention of such contribution. But, here, unlike Nora’s case, the reverse is not true: acts ordered immediately to the common good make no such incidental contribution to beatitude. The only relation they can have at all is through the mediation of grace and infused virtues. In this and so many respects, the city of God is a commonwealth like no other. Yet, for Thomas, that does not finally mean that acquired virtue is irrelevant to that heavenly city or unimportant for Christian ethical life. Rather, by drawing on Paul’s claim that Christians belong to a heavenly city and using Aristotle to figure acquired and infused moral virtues as civic virtues of distinct polities, Thomas moves beyond illustration to actuality. The actuality of Christian citizenship in this life, as Thomas has it, demands not only infused moral but acquired virtue. And this acquired virtue, for its part, represents the perfection – the fullest actualization – of the human being and human nature that can be had apart from sanctifying grace.

ORIGINAL SIN WITHOUT FALL? AN ATTEMPT AT A THOMISTIC RECONFIGURATION Rik van Nieuwenhove The doctrines of sin (including original sin), guilt and forgiveness have been important concerns in the writings of both Rudi te Velde and Henk Schoot. 1 In this chapter I want to return to this cluster of topics, paying attention to original sin in particular. What follows is, admittedly, a mere sketch at providing a Thomist re-reading of a key Christian doctrine that appears to be in need of radical revision in light of post-Darwinian developments. Other recent publications have engaged with this topic, but none, insofar as I can tell, from a Thomist perspective, with one or two notable exceptions. 2 The aim of this paper is not to subject theological discourse to scientific findings. To the extent, however, that traditional doctrines of original sin rely on scientific views that have become highly questionable, they are in need of revision. As Ian McFarland put it: “It is now beyond dispute that there was no point where human existence was characterized by immunity from death, absence of labour pains, or an ability to acquire food without toil. Nor are the facts of evolutionary biology consistent with the descent of all human beings from a single ancestral pair (monogenesis).” 3 In this essay I will assume that this assessment is 1 See for instance, Rudi te Velde, Evil, Sin and Death. Thomas Aquinas on Original Sin, in Rik van Nieuwenhove and Joseph Wawrykow (eds.), The Theology of Thomas Aquinas, Notre Dame IN 2005, 143-66 and Henk Schoot (ed.), Tibi Soli Peccavi:. Thomas Aquinas on Guilt and Forgiveness, Leuven 1996. 2 For a recent discussion from different angles, Augustinian-Reformed (Hans Madueme), Moderate Reformed (Oliver Crisp), Wesleyan (Joel Green), Eastern Orthodox (Andrew Louth), and liberal Catholic (Tatha Wiley), see J. B. Stump and Chad Meister (eds.), Original Sin and the Fall: Five Views, Downers Grove IL 2020. The notable exception to the Thomist perspective is Daniel Houck, Aquinas, Original Sin, and the Challenge of Evolution, Cambridge 2020. There is also an important paper by Matthew Ramage, Putting the Last Adam First: Evolution, Suffering and Death in Light of Kenotic Christology, in Michael Dauphinais, Andrew Hofer and Roger W. Nutt (eds.), Thomas Aquinas and the Crisis of Christology, Ave Maria FL 2021, 279-302. An excellent older book that influenced my way of thinking (especially on negatio) is authored by Laurent Sentis: Saint Thomas d’Aquin et le mal, Paris 1992. 3 Ian McFarland, The Fall and Sin, in John Webster, Kathryn Tanner and Iain Torrance (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Systematic Theology, Oxford 2010, 143. McFarland had given a more in-depth outline in his book In Adam’s Fall: A Meditation on the Christian Doctrine of Original Sin, Oxford 2010. For a brief

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correct and will therefore refrain from engaging with theologians who accept monogenism, whether or not they argue for an alleged coherence with evolutionary theory, or whether they simply reject it on the basis that theology and science are separate disciplines. As suggested, a willingness to take the findings of evolutionary theory seriously should not be seen as a denial of theology’s integrity or superiority as an architectonic science in the Thomist sense. On the contrary, my goal is to integrate the findings of evolutionary theory into a broader theological framework. While there has been some movement in Catholic theology in relation to the traditional teaching of original sin, Nicholas Lombardo offers a fair assessment when he writes in a recent contribution that “no alternative constructions of original sin have yet gained anything approaching consensus among Catholic theologians.” 4 This is not surprising. A reconfiguration of original sin has implications for our understanding of many other Christian doctrines, including creation, grace (and specifically the mutual relation between grace and nature), providence, and our understanding of God (incl. theodicy). In this contribution I can only touch upon some of these issues and merely begin to explore the potential of Thomist thought for constructing an account that remains faithful to key insights of the tradition while recognising the scientific consensus that McFarland alludes to. 1. Thomas Aquinas on original sin: sources and prospects As is well-known, Thomas equates original sin in formal terms with the loss of original justice, and materially with disordered concupiscence. 5 The latter element is Augustinian. Augustine’s doctrine of original sin was shaped by his opposition to Manichaeism (in reaction to which he affirmed the goodness of God and his creation) and Pelagianism (which denied our dependence on divine grace). Augustine believed that the first human couple, Adam and Eve, through their disobedience to the divine critique from a Thomist perspective, see Daniel Houck’s recent book (cf. footnote 1), 169-74. 4 Nicholas Lombardo, Evil, Suffering and Original Sin, in Lewis Ayres and Medi Volpe (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Catholic Theology, Oxford 2019, 149. In broader terms, divergent views on the topic of original sin only partly reflect denominational divisions (with Evangelical theologians usually adopting a more traditional perspective, arguing for monogenism and historicity of the Fall, whether or not this is compatible with evolutionary theory) but more often than not transcend denominational divisions. 5 STh I-II, q. 82, a. 3. I am using the translation by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province, Westminster 1981.

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command, became subject to unruly desires (i.e., concupiscence), death and suffering. 6 Adam’s seminal nature was vitiated by sin 7 and through the sexual act, in which our concupiscence is particularly manifest, it is passed on to future generations: all of humankind has been condemned “as it were in its infected root.” 8 For Augustine, then, original sin as the descendants of Adam know it, consists mainly in unruly and riotous desires. Death, then, is not a natural process but a punishment for original sin. 9 If there is ambiguity in Augustine’s oeuvre in relation to the issue whether concupiscence should be regarded as sinful in its own right, or whether it is merely an inclination to sinfulness (the view the Council of Trent was to adopt 10), Anselm of Canterbury shifts the focus by arguing that original sin consists in a loss of original justice. 11 He also clarifies that injustice should not be identified with experiencing unruly appetites per se but in consenting to them. 12 Anselm offers some further insights that Thomas was to adopt. For instance, he characterizes punishment as something that is against the will, which means that only rational beings

De Civ. Dei, XII, 22. De Civ. Dei, XIII, 3: “[H]uman nature in him was vitiated and altered, so that he experienced the rebellion and disobedience of desire in his body, and was bound by the necessity of dying; and he produced offspring in the same condition to which his fault and its punishment had reduced him, that is, liable to sin and death.” I use the translation by Henry Bettenson, St Augustine. The City of God, Harmondsworth 1984, 513. 8 De Civ. Dei, XIV, 26 (tr., 591). Also De Civ. Dei, XIII, 3: “[T]he whole human race was in the first man, and it was to pass from him through the woman into his progeny, when the married pair had received the divine sentence of condemnation” (tr., 512). 9 The connection Augustine establishes between original sin (and its penalty, namely death) and sexuality has become a target of major criticism. I will neither elaborate nor defend it. It does, however, allude to a deep anthropological insight (which often finds expression in literature and even music, e.g., Isolde’s Liebestod), namely the intimate connection between eroticism and death. 10 The Council of Trent clarified that original sin cannot be identified with concupiscence itself, because those who have been baptized (and whose share in original sin has therefore been remitted) still suffer the inclination to sin (concupiscence). It does not appear entirely clear what Augustine’s own view was on this matter. See also Houck, Aquinas, Original Sin, 27. 11 De Virg. Conc. ch. 3, English translation as ‘On the Virgin Conception and Original Sin’ from Brian Davies and G. R. Evans (eds), Anselm of Canterbury. The Major Works, Oxford 1998, 357-89. 12 De Virg. Conc., ch. 4 (tr., 363): “From this we see that the injustice is not in the essence of these appetites, but in the uncontrolled rational will that follows them.” 6 7

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(angels and humans) can be ‘punished.’ 13 Also, he reiterates the Augustinian teaching that evil is privatio boni. As he explains in his characteristically crisp and lucid manner: “As injustice is nothing but the absence of justice that ought to be there, evil is nothing but the absence of the good that ought to be there.” 14 Now Adam lost the grace which he was in a position to keep for those begotten from him, so that all generated through the nature given to him are bound by his debt. 15 A key assumption of Anselm’s theory is that the entirety of humanity existed “causally and materially” in Adam in a seminal manner. 16 We exist in Adam ‘as seed’ but in ourselves we exist as individual persons. Original sin is therefore truly ‘a sin of nature,’ not a personal sin. The following passage, where Anselm discusses the condition of infants, summarizes some of his central insights: Indeed, the fact that the justice that they ought to have is not in them is not due to personal will, as in Adam, but a lacking in nature, which their nature took on from Adam. For in Adam, outside whom there was nothing of human nature, human nature was stripped of the justice that it had, and continues to lack it unless it is aided. By this argument since nature subsists in persons, and there are no persons without nature, nature makes the persons of infants sinful. Thus the sin of Adam is transmitted personally in all who are by nature propagated from him, and is in them original, or natural. 17 Whereas Adam sinned through his own will, we sin “through the natural necessity” which is the outcome of Adam’s personal will. For Anselm, then, original sin is “the original inability to have justice.” 18 In broad terms Thomas’s account is considerably shaped by Anselm’s. De Virg. Conc., ch. 4. Animal suffering is, therefore, not penal. De Virg. Conc., ch. 5 (tr., 365). Thomas adopts this view, and I hope to draw out its significance for a reconfigured notion of original sin. 15 De Virg. Conc., ch. 10. He continues: “Through this needless sin, from which it could not redeem itself, human nature, which was entire in Adam so that nothing of it existed beyond him, dishonoured God. It lost the grace given to it which it was always able to keep for those to be propagated from it, and it brings on the sin with the accompanying penalty for sin whenever it is propagated by the property of generation given it” (tr., 370). 16 De Virg. Conc., ch. 23 (tr., 379). 17 De Virg. Conc., ch.23 (tr. 382). 18 De Virg. Conc., ch. 29 (tr., 388) After baptism, the inability remains but without accompanying fault. 13 14

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According to Thomas, prelapsarian Adam enjoyed an original rectitude, which consisted in reason being subject to God, the lower powers to reason, and the body to the soul. 19 Thomas claims that the subjection of the body to the soul and of the lower powers to reason was not natural but due to the gift of grace: “otherwise it would have remained after sin.” 20 The prelapsarian subjection of reason to God was “not a merely natural gift, but a supernatural endowment of grace.” 21 Thomas, therefore, combines the Augustinian and Anselmian accounts by defining original sin formally as the absence of original justice, and materially as disordered concupiscence. Following Anselm, Thomas crisply characterizes original sin as ‘the lack of original justice’ (defectus originalis justitiae). 22 From the dissolution of the harmony in which original justice consisted, a disordered disposition ensues, which is why original sin can be called a ‘sickness of nature.’ 23 It is effectively a congenital habit arising from a vitiated origin. 24 In summary, combining Anselmian and Augustinian insights, Thomas defines original sin formally as the lack of original justice whereby the will is subject to God, while materially it consists in the disorder (inordinatio) of the other powers, making us turn in an unruly manner to goods that pass away. 25 How, then, is original sin transmitted? Thomas contends that humanity, descending from Adam, consist of “many members of one body.” He first draws an analogy with a hand that is implicated in an evil act (e.g., murder) when executed by the entire person: In this way, then, the disorder which is in us, descendants of Adam, is voluntary, not by our (personal) will, but by the will of our first parent, who, by the movement of generation, moves all who originate from him, even as the soul’s will moves all the members to their actions. (…) So original sin is not the sin of this person, except inasmuch as this person receives his nature from his first parents. 26 With a reference to Augustine, De Civ. Dei XIII, 13 and De Pecc. Mer. et Remiss., I, 16. 20 STh I, q. 95, a. 1. 21 STh I, q. 95, a. 1. Thus, inner existential harmony is not natural. Thomas’s contemporaries did not share this view. They claimed that Adam was not created in grace but he received this endowment before he sinned. 22 STh I-II, q. 81, a. 5 ad 2. 23 STh I-II, q. 82, a. 1. 24 STh I-II, q. 82, a. 1 ad 3. 25 STh I-II, q. 82, a. 3. 26 STh I-II, q. 81, a. 1. 19

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Throughout his discussion Thomas relies on a biological notion, namely the generative impulse of Adam, to explain the transmission of original sin. 27 How this biological perspective coheres with the claim that we are somehow participating in Adam’s will, remains obscure. Still, the view that our deficiency is being transmitted through our nature (natura corrupta) effecting the will of each of us, remains an important insight, which I will try to recuperate in what follows. Given that evil is not an entity, 28 we should not understand Thomas’s notion of natura corrupta in a reified, substantialist sense. Original sin refers primarily, not to a deficient human nature as such, but rather to a lack of theocentric intention or focus, which results in a lack of serenity and an inability to lead a life in accordance with reason and divine law. 29 Original sin is not a ‘thing’ but a way of relating, or rather: failing to relate, to God. 30 In my account, then, I will argue that original sin consists materially in our emotions running riot and failing to consider

STh I-II, q. 81, a. 1; a. 1 ad 2; a. 3; a. 4, etc. De Malo q. 1, a. 1. 29 In STh I-II, q. 109, a. 2, ad 2 Thomas characterizes sin briefly as “falling short of the good, which is appropriate to something in accordance with its own nature” (deficere a bono quod convenit alicui secundum suam naturam). He continues: “Now just as every created thing only has being from another, and considered in itself is nothing, so it needs to be conserved in the good appropriate to its nature by another. But it can fall short of the good by itself, just as it can fall away into non-being by itself, if it were not conserved in being by God.” The parallel between God’s creative act, and God’s bestowal of grace to lead us unto our ultimate goal, is closely drawn. Elsewhere, in STh I-II, q. 109, a. 8, he phrases it as follows: “Sinning is nothing else but departing from what is according to nature” (recedere ab eo quod est secundum naturam). 30 This intentional or relational account finds expression elsewhere: In STh I-II, q. 86, a. 2 Thomas writers that when a sinful act has passed, the soul no longer stands in its former relationship (habitudo) with God. It should be noted that Thomas describes the effect of sin in terms richer than mere concupiscence. In STh I-II, q. 85, a. 3 he suggests that the results of sin are four wounds: ignorance (depriving reason from its direction toward truth), malice (depriving the will from its orientation toward good), weakness (whereby the irascible appetite is no longer able to face the difficult), and, finally, the wound of concupiscence (whereby the appetite is weakened in its ability to temper the pleasurable). 27 28

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rationally natural and divine law 31 but formally it is the lack of theocentric focus, or inattentiveness (negatio) which can only be remedied by grace.32 Rather than original sin resulting in the loss of the supernatural aid of original justice (as traditional accounts have it), it may be better to conceive of original sin as our unwillingness to respond to our calling to share in God, which can only be remedied by the reality of grace beckoning and operating within us. In this reading, there is no need to posit a mysterious Fall from grace. Human sin does not trump the evergreater offer of God’s grace and call to share in his life. On the contrary, grace is an ever-present invitation and assistance to become more fully human and Christ-like. 33 While this tentative proposal will be fleshed out in the remainder of this paper it may be useful to note that it retains two elements of Thomas’s account of original sin: formally, it consists in our lack of theocentric intentionality, which can only be remedied by the offer of grace; materially, this lack manifests itself in what the Augustinian tradition calls concupiscence, the riotous and chaotic desires that seem to elude the control of reason and the divine law. While this account may circumvent some of the problems associated with the notion of a historical Fall, it raises some significant questions in its own right. Does this proposal not implicate God in an ‘evil’ creation? Does it veer toward a Manichean worldview that Thomas, as a Dominican friar, was at pains throughout his life to combat? Again, how can we make sense of the claim that we are ‘guilty’ because of an 31 In a proximate way, the human will is (or should be) subject to human reason; in a higher way to divine law, which is the mind of God (STh I-II, q. 71, a. 6). Accordingly, sin can be defined in a theological manner as “an act against God.” Philosophically, it can be defined as “contrary to reason” (STh I-II, q. 71, a. 6 ad 5). See also STh I-II, q. 87, a. 1 where he offers a threefold scheme (reason, human law, divine law). 32 I will not discuss the question whether there are any who do not receive this grace. Even with a fallen nature we can still certain perform good things (building houses, cultivating land,…) but we can no longer will “the whole good which is connatural to us” (totum bonum sibi connaturale) (STh I-II, q. 109, a. 2). Thomas allows for a natural love for God, no matter how weakened in a postlapsarian world, with God’s providence particularly extending to some (the elect) through grace. 33 On this point I find myself in agreement with James Alison in his classic book The Joy of Being Wrong: Original Sin through Easter Eyes, New York NY 1998, 137-38: “None of this is to suggest that there is a theology of original sin in the Old Testament. There is in fact no unitary understanding of sin in the Old Testament, nor a unified hermeneutic key by which to interpret the many different understandings of sin which are to be found.” He expresses the core idea of his book as follows: “It is (perhaps) the central claim of this essay to show that original sin (…) is not foundational at all. It is the revelation of a failed, futile foundation” (170).

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apparently ‘natural’ deficiency in our theocentric intentionality, which can only be remedied by the gift of grace? Does this not render God ‘liable’ or indebted to creation? In what follows I will attempt to address some of these questions. I will argue that the deficiency is not ‘natural’ but has a ‘voluntary’ dimension by examining Thomas’s notion of negatio; I will commence, however, by addressing the relation between the goodness of God and the presence of evil in our world. 2. God and evil First, we should recall that Thomas is happy to assert that God is the origin of evil, both in its natural and moral instantiations. 34 This view is closely associated with his notion of evil as absence of goodness, already alluded to. Evil does not have a substantial, entitative reality. God is therefore not the direct cause of evil but its condition of possibility: God does not create sin but he creates ‘Everyman’ (‘Adam’ in Thomas’s account), who happens to sin. This claim strengthens my argument for the compatibility of the reconfigured account of (original) sin and the affirmation of divine goodness. It is true that in this proposal our very createdness implies the possibility of sin. This is, however, not Manichean. Thomas himself makes a similar point in STh I, q. 63, a. 1 when discussing the sin of angels (where we encounter sin in its essence, so to say). It is worth quoting the text at some length: Any creature endowed with intelligence, whether angel or not, if considered simply in its nature, can act wrongly (potest peccare); and if any be found impeccable, this is a gift of grace, it cannot be due to the creature’s nature alone. And the reason is that a wrong act is simply one which deviates from the rightness that a given action ought to have, whether in the sphere of natural production or art or morals. There can only be one action that can never so deviate; namely, that done by an agent whose power to act is one thing with the rule itself that should direct the action.

34 In STh I, q. 49, a. 2, for instance, he writes: “The evil which consists in the corruption of some things is reduced to God as the cause. And this appears as regards both natural things and voluntary things.” Thomas’s strong anti-dualist (antiManichean) or monist perspective leads, paradoxically, to the conclusion that God is the origin of everything, including (albeit indirectly and in a privative sense) evil.

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This agent Thomas mentions in the last sentence is, of course, God. Thomas continues with giving the example of an engraver whose ‘rule’ would be his own hand. It would follow that he could never engrave but rightly. If, on the other hand, the rightness (rectitudo) of the work is measured by a rule other than the power in his hand, it is always possible that his work be done either well or not well. The analogy is clear: the divine will is its own rule and has no end or measure beyond itself. A created will, in contrast, only acts aright insofar as it conforms to the rule of God’s will, which is the ultimate measure. Thomas concludes: “Therefore it is only the divine will that can never go wrong; and every created will—considered simply within the limits of nature—can go wrong (potest esse peccatum).” 35 Hence, the very fact that we are created opens up the possibility of a chasm between what we idealiter should do (or be) and morally problematic actions (sin) by the mere fact that our will does not coincide with the rule of divine rightness itself. This does not impinge on the notion of divine goodness, according to Thomas. In order to develop this point I now would like to consider Thomas’s remarkable views on the origin of evil in ScG III, c. 10. 36 3. Negatio and voluntary, non-natural inattentiveness In the text from ScG III, c. 10 Thomas tackles the question of the origin of sin, offering some rich insights that can be applied more broadly to a reconfigured understanding of original sin, both in primaeval-collective and individual terms. When giving an account of the origin of sin, it will not do, Thomas says, to refer to another sin, for this would simply be begging the question, and invite a regress ad infinitum. Nor can we claim that it is due to an exclusively natural deficiency, for this would imply that the will sins in every act; virtuous acts, however, show this not to be the case. Nor can we attribute it to chance or accident, for then there would be no moral fault (peccatum morale) in us in the first place. Thomas, therefore, has to find a cause of sin that is not a moral fault, nor natural, and yet voluntary. Thomas first reminds us how our decision-making process occurs. Reason identifies some things as good, after which the will inclines us to STh I, q. 63, a. 1. See also Herwi Rikhof, Thinking about Sin and Forgiveness, in Henk Schoot (ed.), Tibi Soli Peccavi, 1-19, especially 9-11 and Laurent Sentis, Saint Thomas d’Aquin et le mal.

35 36

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pursue one of these goods. We sin when we pursue a good that is at variance with our proper good (e.g., the pursuit of sensual pleasure through illegitimate sexual activity), or if we do not pursue a good that we should be pursuing. This can occur because we choose not to consider it. This act of choosing involves the will, for the decision to pursue something or not lies within the power of the will itself. The actual act of considering, however, is itself pre-moral: “[I]f reason considers nothing or considers any good whatever, that is still not a sin until the will inclines to an unsuitable end. At this point, the act of will occurs.” 37 Thomas appears to suggest that the root of sin is a fundamental inattentiveness, a lack of consideration, or an absence of wanting to see what is good or bad. He calls this deficiency (defectus) a mere negation (sola negatio), not unlike silence or darkness. 38 This is voluntary (it is up to our will whether or not we consider the good properly) but it is pre-moral: it is only when the will actually makes a choice in light of this lack of consideration, that a sinful choice occurs. 39 It seems to me that these intriguing insights of Thomas can be applied in a broader way to reconfigure a notion of original sin, which consists in a negatio of our divine calling. 4. Some objections I will consider a number of objections to this proposal. First, one might argue that it seems unfair to characterize this state of negatio as an incipient state of guilt (as I do), especially seeing that it is not itself sinful but a mere voluntary inattentiveness, which will (and does) result in sin. In reply, I would question the connotations of the notion of ‘guilt’ in this objection, which we generally consider to be oppressive. This, however, may itself be a reflection of our very sinfulness. As Kierkegaard taught us: it is not repressive but actually liberating to acknowledge that we are guilty before God. Kierkegaard argues that recognizing our guilt before God is an affirmation of our createdness, its insufficiency, and ScG III, c. 10 [17] I use the translation by Vernon Bourke, Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles. Book III: Providence, Part I, London 1975, 61. 38 De Malo, q. 1, a. 3. 39 In De Malo q. 1, a. 3 he revisits this theme in terms of taking into consideration the rule of reason and God’s law. If we proceed to make choice without considering this rule, we are guilty, just like a carpenter is responsible when he does not cut a piece of wood straight because of his failure to use a ruler or measuring bar. Likewise: “[T]he moral fault of the will consists in the fact that the will proceeds to choose without using the rule of reason or God’s law, not simply in the fact that the will does not actually attend to the rule” (Translation by Richard Regan from Thomas Aquinas. On Evil, ed. by Brian Davies, Oxford 2003, 72). 37

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dependence on God. It is also a necessary requirement to suffer afflictions obediently. 40 I want to maintain, with the tradition, that original sin implies a guilt before God shared by all humans. Here we need to recall that the ‘guilt’ of original sin is not a forensic notion for Thomas but an intrinsic one: it refers to a defectus naturae, which can only be remedied by grace. The inattentiveness to God’s calling perpetuates the lack or failure of our nature. It is not a sinful act but a state of alienation. Both in the traditional account and my own, original sin does not refer to sinful acts but a broken orientation toward God. Thus, the ‘guilt’ associated with original sin consists in voluntary inattentiveness to God’s calling and points to our inherent need of grace and fulfilment in God. This retains the core of the traditional meaning of original sin in the formal sense. Some may want to object that it seems rather frivolous to attribute the torrents of sinfulness (genocide, murder, rape, theft, …) to a mere ‘inattentiveness.’ Against this, I would argue that lack of attention to God’s rule or goodness is not something superficial. It permeates every aspect of our existence. 41 Ultimately, our sinfulness finds its origin in our inability to attend to reality and in ignoring the most fundamental aspects of being human by failing to be sensitive to our orientation toward God. It is a profound blindness to God’s beckoning, a staggering deafness to his calling. In short, I am arguing that original sin consists in a negatio of our divine calling. Following hints from Thomas, this state of lack does not denote a sinful act in its own right, nor is it natural, but it has a voluntary dimension (at least as soon as self-consciousness and reason have been attained, be it at the level of primaeval species or at individual level). Does God in creating a less than perfect human nature incur a liability toward offering grace? Thomas would reject that God is indebted to creatures. The very notion of grace implies that it is gratuitously given, excluding the notion of debt. 42 The bestowal of grace thus perfects 40 See for instance, Kierkegaard’s ‘Ultimatum’ at the end of Either/Or or ‘The Gospel of Suffering,’ Third division, IV from Up-building Discourses in Various Spirits (SKS 8, 366-83). Kierkegaard’s notion of guilt may be more forensic (Lutheran) than Thomas’s more intrinsic account. The more forensic account (where guilt and especially forgiveness are being attributed by God, rather than referring to an inherent failure or perfection (being made just) respectively) does not cohere all that well with my proposal to read original sin in terms of an inherent imperfection or lack that can only be remedied by grace. 41 See Simone Weil on the central role of attention in her book Waiting on God. Hannah Arendt’s account of evil (e.g., Eichmann in Jerusalem. The Banality of Evil) also offers interesting resources to develop this point. 42 STh I-II, q. 111, a. 1 ad 2: “[G]ratia, secundum quod gratis datur, excludit rationem debiti.”

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creation; it can be seen as a genuine recreation that perfects our nature. As Thomas writes in a beautiful text from his Commentary on 2 Corinthians 5:16-17: Creation is a change from nothing to existence. But there are two kinds of existence, namely, of nature and of grace. The first creation was made when creatures were produced by God from nothing to exist in nature; and then the creature was new but became old by sin: “he has made my flesh and my skin waste away” (Lam 3, 4). Therefore, a new creation was required by which we would be produced to exist in grace. This, too, is a creation from nothing because those who lack grace are nothing (cf. 1 Cor 13, 2). 43 In this proposal, grace is needed to perfect human nature, which has an implicit orientation toward goodness, no matter how vitiated by sinful tendencies. Following Henri de Lubac, we can say that it avoids ‘a doctrine of immanentism’ (where the supernatural becomes ‘naturalized’ or abolished) as well as a ‘dualist’ account, in which nature and supernature are juxtaposed, and grace is ‘added on’ in an extrinsic manner to a nature that already has its own integrity. 44 On the contrary, grace is supernatural in the sense that it is a quality infused into the soul and not a distinct nature “added to the soul as a sort of cloak.” It is a divine quality that assimilates us to God and makes us share in his own life. 45 A reconfigured account of original sin therefore stands or falls with a theology of grace – but that will have to be developed in a different forum. 46

In II Cor., c. 5, lc. 4, n. 192, translation by F.R. Larcher, B. Mortensen and D. Keating from Saint Thomas Aquinas. Commentary on the Letters of Saint Paul to the Corinthians. Biblical Commentaries. Vol. 38 Latin/English Edition of the Works of St Thomas Aquinas, Lander WY 2021, 482. 44 Henri de Lubac, The Mystery of the Supernatural, New York NY 2012 and A Brief Catechesis on Nature and Grace, San Francisco CA 1984. 45 These sentences are inspired by Louis Bouyer, and quoted by Henri de Lubac in A Brief Catechesis, 46. 46 I am grateful to my Durham University colleagues Prof. Lewis Ayres, Prof. Simon Oliver and Prof. Karen Kilby, as well as Prof. Nicholas Lombardo o.p. for discussion and comments on an earlier draft of this paper. 43

AQUINAS ON THE CONFESSIO FIDEI Piotr Roszak St. Thomas Aquinas’s reflections on faith in the Summa Theologiae (IIII, qq.1-16) contain many issues that are still intriguing nowadays, although until recently they seemed out of theological fashion, such as the question of implicit faith, the meaning of the articles of faith or the creed itself. Within the framework of his reflection on the theological virtue of faith, it is worth noting the question of its confession, which Thomas does not limit to the recitation of the creed, but rather puts into the wider existential context of the Christian. Not only intellectual adherence (assensus) at the individual level is important for the life of faith, but also the absence of fear of publicly professing that faith. Are Aquinas’s reflections relevant to the contemporary experience of faith in the secular context that often eliminates religious symbols from public places? What is the strength of the confessio, if some people, hearing it – even in the midst of media ridicule – convert? What helps and what hinders effective confessions of faith? Why is it so important in the development of spiritual life, as evidenced by the fact that the ‘transmission of the creed’ was an important part of the process of Christian mystagogy? All of these questions are important for grasping the Thomistic version of apologetics, which, trying to justify the rationality of faith, seeks to remove obstacles to its full development by making its confession possible. The key term confessio is not limited in Thomas to the question of the proclamation of the creed during mass. Aquinas’s writings speak of a confessio Dei that concerns the three divine persons and includes the confession of sins. He distinguishes between aperta, realis, libera confessio, but also false (simulata, falsa confessio) or sincere confession. There is confession of the truth, the name of Christ, and the Trinity. In this article, we will draw attention to the basic distinctions of the confession of faith according to the object of the confession, the manner (with the mouth and with affirmation by actions), and the purpose (towards God or neighbor). As an illustration, we will refer to key biblical texts analyzed by Aquinas, such as Peter’s confession at Caesarea Philippi (cf. Mt 16) and Rom 10, 10, as well as the sense of a good confession made by Christ himself during his earthly life (cf. 1 Tim 6, 13). We will then discuss the virtues that strengthen the confession of faith and the attitude that opposes it: blasphemy.

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1. Confessing with one’s mouth For Thomas, the profession of faith is the external act of faith, which manifests itself in many ways, including through other virtues and their actions. The inspiration of faith is crucial because it directs the attention towards the goal of faith, and this goal is related to love, to the true good, towards union with God which man strives for. In the context of contemporary secularism, Christians adopt two strategies: one avoids challenging the culture with an open message about Christ, limiting oneself to living according to the Gospel and hoping that it will raise questions about the sources of such an attitude. The other relies on a clear proclamation of Jesus, making a public profession of faith, including through gestures, symbols. Which attitude would St. Thomas recommend? It seems that St. Thomas recommends striking a balance, opposing the reduction of faith to a merely outward recitation of the creed or to an ostentatious provocation with one’s behavior, but also showing the need to confess in the right place and at the right time. He devotes attention to these themes in two inconspicuous articles of question 4 from a treatise on faith in the Summa Theologiae. However, it is worth beginning with the epistemological status of the creed uttered by the Christian. a. Do we believe in the Credo? The creed and articles of faith The creed is a summary of the truths of faith, which is organized in the form of articles: the object of faith is thus briefly presented, which protects against misconception. As a teacher, Thomas was keen to organize systematically what Christians believe, as evidenced by his Compendium Theologiae, In Symbolum Apostolorum and the Summa Theologiae. For Aquinas, creating or changing the creed falls under the Pope’s authority, since it expresses the faith of the Church and the Pope is precisely the one who has custody of the whole community. Although St. Thomas perceives the truth of faith in terms of sentences, the epistemic value of faith is not limited to this linguistic construct. The act of believing does not refer to verbal formulations, but to the res that is expressed in these formulations. 1 Thus, one believes not in the sentences but in what they signify, that is, the reality that is grasped in the form of assertions. In this way, the truths of faith expressed in 1 STh II-II, q. 1 a. 2 ad 2: “Actus autem credentis non terminatur ad enuntiabile, sed ad rem, non enim formamus enuntiabilia nisi ut per ea de rebus cognitionem habeamus, sicut in scientia, ita et in fide.”

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‘articles’ – harmonized organically into a whole, for this is indicated by the root, the Greek arthron, which means ‘joint’ – are essentially concerned with those truths of faith which are related to eternal life. They were not invented but, according to Thomas, developed as a result of the transition from implicit to explicit belief: 2 thus it is the extraction (assumptum) from already existing truths. 3 The formulation of the creed shows what faith is directed towards. It is (1) not limited to the conviction that God exists, but (2) implies an attitude of trust in God and (3) an organization of life in such a way that everything points towards him. The creed thus combines these three aspects. It values the precision of statements expressing the truth of faith, but also encourages the affect to move towards God, since credere in Deum implies a certain dynamism of striving, as indicated by the Latin in. This is not so much due to grammatical rules as to Aquinas’s theological conviction that the profession of faith, uttered by the individual believer, nonetheless takes place from the person of the whole Church, which is united together by faith. Now the faith of the Church is a living faith; since such is the faith to be found in all those who are of the Church both in number and by merit. Hence the confession of faith is expressed in a symbol, in a manner that is in keeping with the living faith, so that even if some of the faithful lack living faith, they should endeavor to acquire it. 4 The evocation of living faith, faith formed (fides formata) by love, is crucial here for understanding the meaning of the creed. Its translatability from the truth discovered to its belovedness, and through the modification of life that it has produced – will be its full expression. Confessing the creed with the mouth is the beginning, not the finale. Repeating and understanding the creed is an aid on the path of developing faith, not just a calming of conscience. Authentic love cannot abstract from the truth of the creed, although today many people negate the relationship between dogma and moral life. For Thomas, knowledge of truth guarantees a quality of love, and thus it is not in spite of the creed but through its confession that STh II-II, q. 1, a.7c. STh II-II, q. 1, a.9, ad 1: “Et ideo fuit necessarium ut ex sententiis sacrae Scripturae aliquid manifestum summarie colligeretur quod proponeretur omnibus ad credendum. Quod quidem non est additum sacrae Scripturae, sed potius ex sacra Scriptura assumptum.” 4 STh II-II, q. 1, a. 9, ad 3. 2 3

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Christian morality is built. Thomas notes that the creed was formulated in order to manifest the true faith, rejecting erroneous approaches. 5 This is the basis for the new edition of the symbol and the historical explanation of the multiplicity of arranged symbols of faith. This is how Thomas interprets, for example, the Symbol of Athanasius, which drew up a declaration of faith, not under the form of a symbol, but rather by way of an exposition of doctrine, as appears from his way of speaking. But since it contained briefly the whole truth of faith, it was accepted by the authority of the Sovereign Pontiff, so as to be considered as a rule of faith. 6 This is why new symbols were created after the death of the apostles, not by adding something to the Apostolic Creed, but by illuminating what had been contained in it in a difficult way, always on the basis of Scripture. 7 And since certain formulations had been misinterpreted, the role of the subsequent ones was to clarify the meanings: it was not a matter of creating a new faith, but that it should be magis expositam. If faith is a full understanding, thanks to the light of grace, so the symbol leads to a harmonization of the faith of the faithful with the faith of the Church. Hence Aquinas treats the symbols of the Church Fathers as declarativum in relation to the Apostolic, noting that some of them were written during a period of persecution and others when peace had already reigned and could be peacefully expounded. Significantly, Thomas links them to their recitation in the breviary prayer, as recited in the morning (in prima) and at the end of the day (in completorio) “as though it were against the darkness of past and future errors.” 8 Confessing such a faith expressed in a symbol for its fullness and effectiveness, needs a faith formed by love, however, confessing even by an unformed faith is not a sin, although it does not bear all the fruit. 9 b. To confess publicly Thomas’ consideration in the Secunda Secundae of whether it is always good to profess faith publicly, is noteworthy. The situation in Southern Spain comes to mind, when publicly calling for faith in Christ and for a In III Sent d. 25 q. 1 a. 1 qc. 3 ad 4. STh II-II, q. 1 a. 10 ad 3. 7 In III Sent d. 25 q. 1 a. 1 qc. 3 ad 2. 8 STh II-II, q. 1 a. 9, ad 6. 9 In III Sent d. 25 q. 1 a. 2 ad 4. 5 6

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discussion with Muslims about Muhammad ended in bloody death sentences and eventually the provincial synods forbade such ‘exposure’ of the followers of Christ. Thomas seems to think along the same lines, in that he does not regard as laudable a public profession of faith that leads to a stirring (turbatio) but does not bring with it a benefit for the faithful. 10 The key is utilitas: if a public confession or disputation has some benefit for the faithful, for instance by demonstrating the error of others, or strengthening fellow believers, then regardless of the possible reactions of those around one should confess the faith publice. The principle that Thomas develops in such cases is to point to the appropriateness of ‘place’ and ‘time,’ and the criterion is negative, that is, the non-appearance of some of the good associated with it, or something derogatory to the honor of God. When, through the believer’s silence, his timidity, no good would appear, then the necessity of confession arises. It is not necessary to speak of one’s faith immediately without being asked, but once one has been asked, it is necessary to confess it. Otherwise the interlocutor might get the impression that either one has no faith or one’s faith is not true. Such avoidance of bearing witness to one’s faith could be harmful to the other person who could turn away from faith through such taciturnitas. 11 This approach to the question of when a confession of faith is necessary follows from an interpretation of commandments formulated in positive and negative terms: while the latter apply always and everywhere (e.g. do not kill), those recommending – positively – some action are always inscribed in the context of time and goodness. Avoiding evil is an absolute obligation, whereas judging something to be good requires not only the good matter of the act but also the circumstances (e.g. the obligation to tell the truth does not imply the necessity to reveal information to a terrorist about victims hidden in the house). In the New Law, St. Thomas notes that an attitude of confession of faith is commanded and its denial forbidden, according to the words of Christ, whoever confesses him before men, he will also confess him before the Father (cf. Mt 10, 32-33). 12 In this context, St. Thomas considers St. Peter’s confession of faith at Caesarea Philippi. In making an exegesis of this passage in his Commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, 13 he begins by emphasizing the merit of the confession: Christ, when asking whom his disciples thought II-II, q. 3 a. 2 ad 3. STh II-II, q. 3 a. 2c. 12 STh I-II, q. 108 a. 1c. 13 In Matt c. XVI, lc. 2. 10 STh 11

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he was, did not ask out of ignorance but to give them the opportunity to confess. And the merit is all the greater when things are done privately, since the reasoning of the crowd promotes shallowness of thought, Aquinas notes. Confessing in private, rather than in front of a crowd, has greater significance in this context. In turn, Peter’s own confession that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the Living God” is his personal one, but also on behalf of others. This confession does not stop at the fact that Christ is anointed in his human nature – such were the prophets and kings – but recognizes in him the Son of God. The praise of this confession expressed in Christ’s description of him as the ‘blessed,’ is due to the fact that Peter recognized in Christ the natural son of God, not the adopted one, and did it first. He did not follow the ‘flesh and blood’ or Jewish tradition, but it was revealed to him by the Father, and he accepted it. This confession of Peter is the bedrock on which the Church is built, although Thomas specifies that it is Christ himself who is the foundation, and the disciples by participation. In Peter’s case, this participation involves a confession of faith in Christ (Petrus inquantum habet confessionem Christi). And it is a faith that Peter then confesses with deeds: as when during a storm on the lake, he asks Jesus to tell him to come to him: he does not say to pray for him, but that he might come to the Savior. At the same time, Thomas notes that Peter’s denial of Christ on Good Friday amounted to a mortal sin. 14 He denied the faith in a place where his testimony was required and would have been beneficial to the salvation of his hearers. Lying in matters of faith – Aquinas quotes Augustine’s view – is something perniciosissimum. From this lack of confession of faith, moreover, blasphemy was born, and this is compounded by the oath he took of not knowing Christ. c. Triplex confessio: fidei, peccatorum, gratiarum actionis Thomas repeatedly introduces a classification of different kinds of confessions: these are usually arranged in threefold divisions. What they all have in common is Aquinas’s conviction that confession is the recognition of goodness, the acknowledgement of God as good, and trust in that goodness. If one wishes to confess God, one is not so much pointing to a list of his attributes or qualities, but recognizing that the good one does, has its ultimate source in God as the first cause. In the Letter to the Romans, we find St. Paul’s statement that confessing the faith with the mouth leads to salvation: ore autem confessio fit ad salutem (Romans 10, 10). Against this background, 14

Quodlibet IX, q. 7 a. 1c.

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Thomas lists three confessions necessary for salvation. The first is the confession of one’s iniquity (confessio propriae iniquitatis), which has a penitential dimension. The second refers to a confession by which man acknowledges the goodness of God, who out of mercy bestows benefits on man. This is what thanksgiving to God consists in. And the third confession applies to the divine truth (confessio divinae veritatis), which is strictly a confession of faith. This is what leads to salvation and the courage to confess such faith in the face of persecutors and those entrusted to one’s spiritual care. 15 In the Summa Theologiae such a division appears: A threefold confession is commended by the Scriptures. One is the confession of matters of faith, and this is a proper act of faith, since it is referred to the end of faith as stated above. Another is the confession of thanksgiving or praise, and this is an act of latria, for its purpose is to give outward honor to God, which is the end of latria. The third is the confession of sins, which is ordained to the blotting out of sins, which is the end of penance, to which virtue it therefore belongs. 16 In Aquinas’s Commentary on the Book of Psalms, on the other hand, written in a succinct style appropriate to that work, it appears that: Now, there are three kinds of confession: namely, that of faith – “confession is made unto salvation” (Rom 10, 10). “I said I will confess” (Ps 31, 5); that of sins: “confess your sins to one another” (Jas 5, 16); and that of praise: “give glory to him in the sight of all who live” (Tob 12, 6). 17 Nevertheless, they all point to the differences between a creed understood as expressing the goal of faith, which is eternal life with Christ, and a confession as manifesting, as it were, the means to reach that goal. d. How to profess faith? A separate thread that preoccupies St. Thomas Aquinas is the manner of professing the creed. Sometimes Aquinas seeks a symbolic explanation for the way it is recited during the liturgy, as when he observes that a priest intones or begins the creed and then the choir takes up the chant, an indication that faith expressed by the Symbol is beyond human natural

In Rom c. X, lc. 2. STh II-II, q. 3 a. 1 ad 1. 17 In Psalmos 9, n. 1. 15 16

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abilities. 18 By ourselves, by virtue of our own intelligence and without the support of grace, we are not capable of professing the creed. The profession of faith is an expression of adherence to the faith, which requires firmitas that does not permit any doubt, since it cannot fail as it concerns the divine truth. It is a call not to falter in faith, but to make the profession of faith in a “simple way, that is, without pretense,” as it is specified in the Super Decretales. 19 This is possible when one takes into account the moral demands expected of the one who makes such confessions, that they come from a pure heart, a good conscience, and an unfeigned faith. For Aquinas, simplicity of confession means freedom from error, access to the faith of the Church, which does not cause dilemmas but allows the truth to be read in all of its fullness. The presence of faith in man and the resulting subiectio, subordination to God, is the condition for a good confession. For Thomas, faith is not a declaration, but the beginning of eternal life, entry into communion with God. Confession is a manifestation of the faith one has, which is why the commandments on confession in the Old Testament are also relevant, since they refer to this relationship with God. 20 2. Confess with actions For St. Thomas, confessing does not merely involve an intellectual affirmation of certain truths, proclaiming them ‘with the mouth,’ but naturally leads to concretization through action, a certain “stabilization of faith.” 21 He explicitly notes: “confession of faith consists in a protestation not only of words but also of deeds.” 22 The Christian way of life (conversatio) is not accidental, but flows from contemplation of the mysteries of faith. Morality flows from what one believes in. This truth is particularly strikingly revealed in the words of Aquinas commenting on St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians where it is said that “our way of life is in heaven” (Phil 3, 20). For Thomas, this means that earthly life is perfected through contemplation and love of heavenly things and the “action in which is contained the reflection of that which is heavenly.” 23 Thus opens up the prospect of a confession of faith by works, which may

In IV Sent d. 8 q. 2 a. 4 qc. 3 expos. Super Decretales n. 1. 20 STh II-II, q. 16 a. 1 ad 4. 21 In II Tim c. II lc. 2: “…doctrinam quam praedicat ore, stabiliat per opera.” 22 STh II-II, q. 14 a. 1 ad 1. 23 In Phil c. III, lc. 3, n. 143. 18 19

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even be regarded as a ‘spiritual sacrifice,’ as he suggests in the Exposition of the Letter to the Hebrews. 24 The overcoming of a purely intellectualistic approach to faith is also evidenced by the fact that confession of faith is, for Thomas, a way of dwelling in the pilgrim Church, as he evocatively conveys in Super Psalmos commenting on Ps 37(36), 3: “Have confidence in the Lord and do well, dwell in the land and remain faithful.” Confession is not a simple cognitive act, but an entry into community and inheritance (for this is the biblical sense of ‘land’), taking root and thus bearing fruit. 25 This link between faith and its manifestations is analyzed by Thomas on several levels, as evidenced by his understanding of the protestatio fidei, as well as the possibility of making a profession of faith not in words but ‘in deeds,’ which he elaborates on the example of Christ who made ‘a good profession of faith for Pontius Pilate’ (1 Tim 6, 13). Let us look at these three aspects. a. Fidei protestatio/manifestatio/confessio Far from treating faith as a mere intellectual attestation to the truth, Aquinas considers that a part – and not merely its consequence – is the protestatio fidei effected by external words or actions. Confession is the act of faith, and thus the confessio is not merely a sign, a witness, but its manifestation, and therefore of vital importance.26 St. Thomas is familiar with the concept of ‘interior faith’ (fides interior), 27 but he uses it to show (in analogy with formed and unformed faith) that it works through love, that is, it is able to direct other acts of virtue, not just doing something for them, but commanding, conducting them. Therein lies the difference between ‘confession,’ which is one’s own act of faith, and other manifestations of the presence of faith, made visible by other virtues. In this sense, Thomas speaks of the protestatio of the faith of Abraham 28 who, against temporal (natural) hope, believed the hope of grace that he would be the father of a great nation – of which circumcision was the outward sign. By the notion of protestatio, St. Thomas did not merely mean the phenomenon of revealing, as accidents reveal substance, in the present, but he relates it to describe the situation under the Old Covenant where In Heb [rep. vulgata], c. 3 lc. 1. In Psalmos 36, n. 2. 26 STh II-II, q. 12 a. 1 ad 2. 27 STh II-II, q. 3 a. 1 ad 3. 28 STh I-II, q. 102 a. 5 ad 1. In Gal c. II lc. 4. 24 25

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the observance of ceremonial rites was an expression of faith in Christ, since they were a foreshadowing of Christ himself. For Aquinas, justification can only be brought about by faith in Christ, and this was possible implicitly as well as explicitly after his Incarnation. St. Thomas notes that it was the same faith, except in the case of the Fathers where it was faith in the expected Savior to come, and in the case of Christians in the One who had already come. 29 The power of salvation was not in the rites themselves, nor in the sacrifices offered, but only as a protestatio of faith in Christ, 30 as he explains in the Summa Theologiae: However, it was possible at the time of the Law, for the minds of the faithful, to be united by faith to Christ incarnate and crucified; so that they were justified by faith in Christ: of which faith the observance of these ceremonies was a sort of profession, inasmuch as they foreshadowed Christ. Hence in the Old Law certain sacrifices were offered up for sins, not as though the sacrifices themselves washed sins away, but because they were professions of faith which cleansed from sin. 31 At the same time, Thomas notes that this protestatio could be performed in words or deeds (verbis et factis), testifying to the intrinsic worship of God. This, in turn, makes sense, like the whole liturgy, when it is an expression of faith and does not become a mere ritual. The Thomasian understanding of worship is founded on this connection, as the life of faith. 32 It is not surprising that not only the sacraments of the Old Law but also those of the New are understood in this category as protestationes fidei. 33 Therefore, Thomas can conclude that omnis religio, sive cultus Dei, est quaedam fidei protestatio – manifestation of the inner worship of God. 34 It is through this that he is able to distinguish the virtue of religion from faith and to point out precisely the difference between the two, since “religion is not faith, but a confession of faith by outward signs,” 35 and its purpose is to direct everything in life towards God as the ultimate goal. In this way, Thomas at the same time reveals the meaning of the manifestation of faith, which for him involves ordinatio, the directing of man towards God, the ordering of the sphere of his action: STh I-II, q. 103 a. 4c. In Psalmos 49, n. 5. 31 STh I-II, q. 103 a. 2c. 32 STh III, q. 63 a. 4 ad 3. 33 STh III, q. 72 a. 5 ad 2. 34 STh I-II, q. 103 a. 4 c. 35 STh II-II, q. 94 a. 1 ad 1. 29 30

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Just as religion is a protestation of faith, hope and charity, whereby man is primarily directed to God, so again piety is a protestation of the charity we bear towards our parents and country. 36 Protestatio understood in this way is for Thomas naturally connected with baptism, although in this case having faith as habitus looks different in the case of children and in that of adults, in whom it is revealed in the form of external signs – protestatione fidei facta per aliquod exterius signum. 37 As regards children, faith without signs is sufficient, but not the habitus alone because the motus of this faith present in the internal profession of faith of the one who makes it in relation to the child (e.g. the parent), is needed as well. The confession of faith is also closely linked to such possession of the spirit of Christ (Rom 8) which leads to virtuous acts. The soul as a principle of action, manifests itself in the fact that the Christian lives the life of Christ and thus, in imitation of Christ, dies to sin in order to live, in accordance with Gal 5, which speaks of crucifying one’s own flesh with its vices and lusts. From this, for St. Thomas, follows the possibility of a Christian suffering not only for the sake of the words of the creed that he utters, but also for his way of living according to the Gospel, which may simply involve “suffering for doing any good work, or for avoiding any sin, for Christ’s sake, because this all comes under the head of witnessing to the faith.” 38 Thus, the Christian, by confessing the faith by deed, becomes a witness, 39 since according to one of the definitions confessio est testimonium fidei interioris. 40 This is the spirit in which the quotation chosen by St. Thomas to interpret the Book of Psalms should be understood, in accordance with his customary rule governing the explanation of the prologue. The passage in question is from the Book of Sirach: “In all his works he gave praise to the Holy One, with words of glory to the Most High” (In omni opere suo dedit confessionem sancto, et excelso in verbo gloriae – Sir 47, 9). It suggests the theme of all the psalms, which is to confess God in all of one’s actions, his actions (the fourfold work of God: creatio, gubernatio, reparatio, glorificatio) in the

STh II-II, q. 101 a. 3 ad 1. In IV Sent d. 1 q. 2 a. 6 qc. 2c. 38 STh II-II, q. 124 a. 5 ad 1. 39 In Psalmos 47, n. 3. 40 In Heb [rep. vulgata], c. XI lc. 2. 36 37

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form of praise. In this context, to confess God by one’s conduct is to praise him for the blessings received. b. Confessing one’s faith through action Although faith is a virtue that perfects the intellect (though many atheists think the opposite, that it does not help thinking, which is due to a misunderstanding of what faith is), it is also a virtue that perfects action in such a way that it leads to the ultimate goal, which is salvation. The ordering that takes place through faith (ordinatio in statu salutis) flows from the power of the confession of faith, internally by the utterance of words and externally by action. 41 This confessio per opera leads to the attainment of the thing hoped for, and in order to attain it one must not deny it, neither in prosperity, nor in the face of adversity. 42 External attitudes, including the sacrifices offered, are a way of expressing faith and thus, for example, the acceptance of Abel’s sacrifice is for Thomas – following the interpretation of the Letter to the Hebrews – in fact an acceptance of Abel’s faith. 43 The matter of such a ‘confession’ can therefore be not only a verbal profession of faith, but any virtue which has Christ as its object. 44 For the performance of an act of any virtue by someone who witnesses to Christ is essentially a testimony to his goodness, since he is the author – by his grace – of every good in us. This is why the making of a profession of faith, for example by martyrs defending their virginity, is for Thomas the reason for their veneration in the Church. This broader view of witness through fidelity to the principles of the Gospel opens up the perspective of a wider understanding of the profession of faith. This resonates particularly strongly with Thomas when interpreting St. Paul’s words from the First Letter to Timothy, where Christ is referred to as having made a good confession before Pontius Pilate. c. Christ who made a “good confession” - 1 Tim. 6, 11-16 Many of the details of the confession of faith, the circumstances and the ways in which it was made, are presented by St. Thomas in his commentary on St. Paul’s Pastoral Epistles, especially the First Epistle to Timothy. In the face of the persecution and misunderstanding faced by In II Tim c. II lc. 3. In Heb [rep. vulgata], c. X lc. 2. 43 In Heb [rep. vulgata], c XI lc. 2. 44 In IV Sent d. 49 q. 5 a. 3 qc. 2 ad 9. 41 42

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the first communities – and it is well known that fake news about Christians was popular, as evidenced by the activity of the apologetic fathers – St. Paul presents the profession of faith in terms of spiritual warfare. There appears a call to make a bona confessio in front of many witnesses, taking as an example Christ himself, who “made a good confession of faith under Pontius Pilate.” What kind of confession of faith can there be, if, as Thomas argues, Christ did not have the theological virtue of faith? In Christ’s case, it is about faithfulness to the Father and the confession that he is his Son, which is also the content of our faith. 45 Christ bears witness to this before Pilate. But in the Commentary on 1 Timothy, Thomas focuses on the imitation of this ‘confession’ by those placed at the head of communities, understanding the call to make a good confession in a double key. It is about the commitment to spiritual warfare for the good, which those receiving ordination vow to do (in ordinatione), but also about proclaiming faith in such a way as to serve it (in praedicatione), 46 – which is the interpretation of the Glossa. 47 At the same time, it is precisely for this – for being able to profess the faith – that they should give thanks. 48 3. Virtues and gifts to strengthen confessio On the path of professing faith, the Christian is strengthened by the virtues and gifts of the Holy Spirit, as well as by the sacrament of confirmation. This is intended to “strengthen in the confession of faith against the pressures of the world.” 49 But it is also necessary for man to have the virtue of fortitude (fortitudo), which in itself, however, is not the cause of the confession of faith. Aquinas does not agree that, in the case of fear of confession, it is enough to remove the obstacles (timor vel erubescentia) that stand in the way. Faith itself needs to be strengthened. Help from the virtue of fortitude can be a cause per accidens of the confession of faith, and thus ‘enable’ or empower such witness. It is worth noting this observation of St. Thomas because there can sometimes be a temptation to reduce difficulties in professing faith to psychological issues. The key remains the need to revive faith, and fortitude only helps, not replaces, the necessity to believe. 50 In I Tim c. 6 lc. 2. STh II-II, q. 184 a. 5c. 47 Quodlibet III, q. 6 a. 3c.; see also De perfectione c. 16c. 48 In II Cor c. IX lc. 2. 49 In IV Sent d. 6 q. 2 a. 1 qc. 3 ad 2. 50 STh II-II, q. 3 a. 1 ad 2. 45 46

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Effective confession of faith requires the support of the gifts of the Holy Spirit, which for Thomas is the susceptibility of man to yield to the inspirations of the Spirit. 51 He mentions two gifts of the Holy Spirit that can be useful. The first is the gift of comprehension (donum intellectus), which is a supernatural light given to man in order that he may properly apprehend the truth and penetrate further into it. It is not a matter of fully understanding all mysteries, but of being convinced that the things observed do not contradict the truth professed. For during mortal life it is not possible to grasp the truths of faith according to how they are in themselves, but it is possible to grasp other truths which are connected with faith. 52 Thus, this gift is a special aptitude in the field of conduct, because of its sensing of what is connected with faith, which must be defended with courage. It is a gift in which the speculative and the practical are united: it is responsible for ensuring that the human mind, enlightened by grace, grasps the supernatural truth towards which a welldisposed human will must be directed. 53 This gift grants the right perception of the goal (its perceptio, i.e. something more than assensus accomplished by faith), the conviction that it is worthwhile, and the ability to answer the question ‘why we believe.’ The second is the gift of knowledge (donum scientiae), which manifests itself in the fact that man ‘knows’ what he ought to believe, distinguishing the truth of faith from its imitation. The ability to abide by the true faith is a gift of the Spirit, by forming a firm and correct judgment about it. It is therefore the gift of ‘discernment,’ which aims at the certainty of faith, and on this depends the quality of one’s witness and continuance on the path of righteousness. 54 The ability to ‘manifest’ what one knows, thanks to the gift of knowledge, already belongs to the charism (gratia gratis data) which consists of the grace to lead others on the path of faith and to refute the arguments of those who oppose faith. 55 4. Opposition to a profession of faith: blasphemy The attitude opposed to confession of faith is, for Thomas, blasphemy, which in analogy to confession can take place both ‘with the mouth’ and ‘by deed,’56 in the latter case becoming a sacrilegium. For St. Thomas, blasphemy is the denial of God, of what befits him by nature, and thus the STh II-II, q. 8 a. 5c. STh II-II, q. 8 a. 2c. 53 STh II-II, q. 8 a. 4c. 54 STh II-II, q. 9 a. 3c. 55 STh II-II, q. 9 a. 1 ad 2. 56 STh II-II, q. 14 a. 1 ad 1. 51 52

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apprehension of his goodness. It means attributing something evil to God, the source of goodness, but also attributing the traits or prerogatives of the divine to a creature. Thomas notes that it is not just a cognitive matter, but, as in the case of faith animated by love, it is also possible here to disgust the will that puts obstacles in the way of God’s honor. 57 It is not just about “disgusting oneself with God’s goodness,” 58 but to oppose it actively, hence this attitude is an opposition to what confession of faith means. 5. Conclusion A brief analysis of the understanding of confessio in the writings of St. Thomas Aquinas shows the wide range of meaning of the term, which brings much light to the understanding of the tasks of apologetics. There are times when there is a need for ‘confessors’ rather than ‘martyrs’ – as referred to by the liturgical feasts in the calendar: people who boldly proclaim faith in word and conduct. It is an attitude of consciously valuing faith and the fact that it is not an ideology but a discovery of the truth, through which a proper orientation of the will towards what is of value and the true supernatural good, is achieved. It is not limited to the believer alone but to those who live alongside him or her, like a light – in accordance with the words of Christ, so that our light may shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify the Father who is in heaven (cf. Mt 5, 16). I cannot conclude these reflections without thanking prof. Henk Schoot, whose academic activity associated with the Thomas Institute in Utrecht at Tilburg University was also, in its own way, a profession of faith. In his cultivation of theology and following Aquinas in this, he addressed many issues in his work that helped many readers per dilectionem et confessionem, 59 thank you for bearing witness to the profession of faith through theological endeavors. It is the discovering of the meaning of sacra doctrina that teaches to contemplate the created world through the prism of God.

STh II-II, q. 13, a. 1 ad 1. STh II-II, q. 13, a. 4c. 59 STh II-II, q. 13 a. 3c. This research was funded in part by National Science Centre, Poland, 2019/35/B/HS1/00305. 57 58

A PUZZLING READING OF A CONTROVERSIAL PARABLE: SOME REMARKS ON AQUINAS’S EXEGESIS OF LUKE 16, 1 Marta Borgo “Deification properly understood can make man perfectly human: deification is the truest and ultimate hominization of man.” 1 With these words the “genuine or Christian sense of ‘deification’” is resumed in the 1982 document Theology-Christology-Anthropology licensed by the International Theological Commission, in a “small excursus,” rather dense indeed, specifically dealing with the image of God in man. 2 The Christian (contemporary) meaning is intended here in opposition also to the Greek patristic one, according to which, as a consequence of the Incarnation of the Word, man can become God. Made in the image of God, man is called to share in divine life, but in order to actually participate in it he must be helped by God’s grace, especially through the sacraments. At the core of this process of moral transformation, which is first of all a conversion, the International Theological Commission put the event of the Incarnation and the Person of Christ: just as his becoming man in no way affects the perfection of his divine nature, so his divinity does not affect his human nature at all, indeed it “perfects it in its original condition” as a creature made in the image of God. Though for the Christian it will not reach its fullness until the beatific vision, this deification begins already during an earthly life inspired by Christ and lived in the heart of the Church. Although the term deificatio does not occur in Aquinas’s sermon XV, Homo quidam erat diues, its opening section seems to address precisely this topic and develops it in the same direction as the aforementioned Vatican document. Formulated in less rigorous language than that used in Aquinas’s more commonly known works, this text poses some difficulties of interpretation, 3 but nevertheless allows us to glimpse some profound intuitions animating his theological reflection on the creation of man in the image of God, which is here at the same time exegetical and exhortative. Commissio Theologica Internationalis, Documentum “Desiderium et cognitio Dei,” in Enchiridion Vaticanum 8. Documenti ufficiali della Santa Sede (1.1.198225.1.1983), Bologna 1984, §438 (English transl. available here: https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/cti_documents/rc_cti_inde x-doc-pubbl_en.html). 2 Ibid., §428, 435-9. 3 P. Krupa, Arystoteles w Kazaniach Św. Tomasza Z Akwinu, in Przegląd Tomistyczny 21 (2015), 157-72, p. 168-72. 1

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Preached by Aquinas in Paris at the beginning of the 1270s, the sermon Homo quidam erat diues bears witness to Thomas’ theological teaching. As is typical of his academic sermons, it is divided into two parts, which he delivered separately, specifically on the ninth Sunday after the Trinity, the sermo in the morning and the collatio in the evening. 4 While in the first part Aquinas analyzes only the opening verse (thema) of the Gospel of the day (Luke 16, 1), in the second part he takes into account all the rest of the parable. In this way he combines two different exegetical styles – the so-called sermo modernus with a more traditional, homiletic approach –, which is quite characteristic of his manner of preaching. Concerning specifically the exegesis of the thema, also original is his choice of dwelling at length on its very beginning – There was a rich man – and of focusing on both the terms “rich” and “a man.” 5 It is with an intense and puzzling passage from this innovative section that I intend to deal in what follows (XV, lin. 44-74). In this context, Aquinas seems to make an odd use of the notions of similitude and image, which leads him to speak of the humanity of God in an unusual and problematic way. In order to prove that such a text is consistent with some of Aquinas’s important positions concerning the relationship man as an image of God bears to his Creator, and to show indeed that these lines are relevant to the reconstruction of Aquinas’s understanding of the deification of man, I will proceed as follows. After having expounded on the contents of the text (1), I will focus on some of its difficulties (2). I will conclude by providing some indications for a coherent reading of it (3), also in the light of the aforementioned 1982 document, whose approach is on the whole congruent with the cornerstones of Thomistic doctrine on the subject. 6 1. Aquinas’s sermon XV After a brief prothema, Aquinas starts by hinting at the profound lesson offered by the complex parable of the dishonest steward. Against pride and haughtiness, Jesus intends to restate that no man is lord, allowed to do whatever he likes. Man is simply a keeper of riches he does not truly 4 Sermo XV, ed. by L.J. Bataillon, Paris 2014 (ed. Leon., t. 44/1), 227-42. See also id., The Academic Sermons, transl. by M.-R. Hoogland, Washington D.C. 2010, 214-32 (quoted hereafter, with some modifications). 5 Bataillon, Préface [XV], in Thomas Aquinas, Sermones, ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 228b-29. 6 For a general introduction to Aquinas on these topics see J.-P. Torrell, Saint Thomas d’Aquin. Maître Spirituel, Paris 2017, 109-212, 472-73, with bibliography. See also, more recently, H.J.M. Schoot, Thomas Aquinas on Human Beings as Image of God, in European Journal for the Study of Thomas Aquinas 38 (2020), 33-46.

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possess, since his wealth originates ultimately in God. 7 Then Thomas announces the structure of his bipartite sermon. Two persons are involved: the lord, who represents God (in the sermo), and the steward, who represents man (in the collatio). With respect to the lord, first his condition is characterized: this lord is a man. Next, his wealth is described, with the mention that he was rich. Finally, we find how he takes care of his riches, by the mention of his steward. It is on the first of these three points that we shall focus. Thomas begins by offering a brief explanation of it, before proceeding to a more developed analysis, also tripartite: First, I say, the condition of the person of the lord is touched upon, where it says “a man.” This man is God. Although God, insofar as the [assumed] human nature is concerned, truly is a man (sit uere homo), he cannot be defined or understood (circumscriptus uel comprehensus) with respect to his divine nature. And yet he is called a man (dicitur homo) here insofar as his divine nature is concerned because of three things: the similarity, the intimacy, and what is proper [to man]. First, I say that God insofar as the divine nature is concerned is called a man by reason of the similarity [between the two]. 8 Before focusing on the first reason why the phrase “homo quidam” can designate God, Aquinas’s other two explanations are worth mentioning. In fact, his understanding of the notions of familiaritas (lin. 75-111) and 7 Sermo XV (transl. Hoogland, 215): “Some believe that they are without a yoke, and to them it seems that whatever they like is allowed to them. And in order to take away this haughtiness from our heart, the parable about the steward is presented to us” (cf. ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 233, 23-6). 8 Ibid., 215-6 (ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 233, 36-45). See Thomas Aquinas, Sermons, transl. by J.-P. Torrell, Paris 2014, 247-8, but his reading of lin. 40-45 is questionable: “Mais on dit qu’il est homme quant à sa nature humaine pour trois raisons […] Je dis d’abord: [alors qu’il est Dieu] de par sa nature divine, on le dit homme à cause de sa ressemblance [avec nous].” – According to Bataillon, Deus (l. 37) “forsan legendum Christus.” This conjecture possibly concerns the whole section under consideration here, where the term Deus recurs several times, twice with the delimitation “insofar as the divine nature is concerned” (quantum ad naturam diuinam). Notice however that, although Aquinas’s audience should have been familiar with the principle of the communicatio idiomatum, and the use of reduplicatio (cf. STh III, q. 3, a. 2; q. 16, a. 4), in this exegetical context Thomas’ scope seems broader, and intentionally not technical about Christ’s names. The focus is broadly on dici, potentially also in a merely figurative way, and it is never narrowed down to esse. On the rule of the communicatio idiomatum, see H.J.M. Schoot, Christ the ‘Name’ of God. Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ, Leuven 1993, 147-155.

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proprietas (112-30), as involving some relation of God to men, not only of man to God, will contribute to make clear how similitudo must be taken. As he would have it, God can be called man because of “his delight to live with people,” so great “that it was not enough for him to live with them in a spiritual way, but that he wanted to take on our flesh, so that he could live with human beings in a physical way.” 9 The relationship of proximity established by God with man is compared to that which a king can entertain with a poor man. As the latter cannot refuse to reciprocate this friendship with his sovereign, so “we ought to apply ourselves to being intimate with him,” which we do by opening our hearts to Christ in order to let God to come in. However asymmetrical, this relationship presupposes – according to Aquinas’s conception of friendship between unequals – some convergence, some similarity, between God and man, which does not arise as a result of the Incarnation, however much it may be strengthened by it. Equally broad, and not exclusively Christological, is the third explanation that Thomas provides for the attribution of humanity to God. Once again, Aquinas puts emphasis on a relationship that brings God closer to man than to any other creature, by identifying something that they have in common. In this case it is a distinctive property of man (proprium hominis), which is possessed in the highest degree by God first. Interestingly, the property indicated by Aquinas is neither man’s intellectual capability nor his power to make himself whatever he wants. 10 It is his natural meekness (esse mansuetum), as a consequence of his sociability, that is put forward here as a distinctive human property. For, like God and unlike all the other animals, man is capable of benevolence (benignitas). Taken in the sense of affability, humanity is treated here as a true and proper divine attribute, in which only man can participate, despite his unbridgeable distance from God’s goodness. While in the second explanation (familiaritas) the descending perspective – of a God coming closer to man, so to speak – was not only juxtaposed but somehow more clearly emphasized than the ascending one – of an unattainable God to whom man must try to resemble –, here the ascending perspective prevails. As before, however, some similarity between man and God is presupposed. Accordingly, the first explanation provided by Aquinas (viz. God being called a man because of the resemblance between them) ends up playing an almost foundational role with respect to the other two. Whence the importance of an attentive reading of the previous section of Aquinas’s sermo. 9

Hoogland (transl.), Academic Sermons, 217 (ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 234, 77-85). See however later in the sermon, ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 238, 311-13.

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After having announced that “man” can be truthfully predicated of “God insofar as the divine nature is concerned,” and that because of their similarity, Aquinas provides what seems to be a threefold account for such a statement, which leads to a moral exhortation. The first argument provided is drawn from ordinary language (secundum communem modum loquendi) (i); the second from the Bible (ii); the third possibly from common experience (iii). [i] According to our ordinary way of speaking, things are named by the names of their images (res nominantur nominibus suarum ymaginum), and images by the names of things. [ii] We read about this similarity of God with man (de ista similitudine Dei cum homine) in Gen. 1, 26: “Let us make man to our image and likeness (ad ymaginem et similitudinem nostram).” Amidst the other lower creatures, man enjoys this privilege, [i.e.] that man is created to God’s image: not with respect to his body (non corporis), but with respect to his mind (set mentis). And for this reason he is chosen above other creatures. [iii] The image of Hercules is called (uocatur) Hercules and Hercules is called by the name of his image (Hercules nomine ymaginis sue). And [in the same way] God is called a man. If man is created in the image of God, he ought to be careful to keep himself uncorrupted and pure. 11 A sort of a fortiori proof of this moral conclusion follows. As it would be blasphemous to cover in mud or spit upon a wooden image of Christ, corrupting the image of God that is in the human soul is an even more outrageous behavior, “because much more excellent is the image of God in the soul than the image of Christ in wood.” In order to restore, to renew indeed, such an image, ruined by sin, man is called to follow in Christ’s footsteps. Aquinas’s dependence on Augustine is, in this exhortative section, much closer than it may seem at first sight. In fact, Augustine’s sermon IX on the Old Testament lies at the origin not only of an explicit quotation made by Thomas (lin. 64-66), but more generally of the structure of this last argument; 12 and even of the entire section, which appears to presuppose Augustine’s theory of the image, also recalled in

Cf. Hoogland (transl.), Academic Sermons, 216, with note 13 (see ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 233, 45-234, 58). 12 Augustine of Hippo, Sermones de vetere Testamento, IX, 15, ed. by C. Lambot, Turnhout 1961, CCSL 41, 137, 541-45. 11

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sermon IX. 13 After having stigmatized the human attempt to make God similar to man, which conflicts with the divine will to make man similar to him, Augustine clarifies what this similarity entails. God does not promise to make us such as he is, but calls us to imitate him in some way, to be images of him. What kind of images? Augustine mentions five examples of images. He contrasts, first, the son as an image of the father to the image of a man reflected in a mirror. While the image of the father in the son is secundum aequalitatem substantiae – the son resembles his father also insofar as he is a man like his father –, this is not the case with a man’s mirrored image, which is not the same thing, of the same nature, as he is. Then Augustine moves on to contrast the image of God in the Son – who is what the Father is – to the image of God in creatures, and he compares the latter to the emperor’s image on coins, which is quite different from the emperor’s image that can be found in his own son. “You too are God’s coin,” concludes Augustine, but unlike coins minted by the emperor, “you are God’s coin with intelligence and life of a sort, so you can know whose image you bear and to whose image you are made.” 14 As we shall see, some of the remarks made by Aquinas in this section of his sermon fit less easily than others into the theoretical framework underlying these Augustinian examples. And yet they seem consistent with the background on which Aquinas builds his own theory of the image in other contexts. 2. Some knots to untie While Aquinas’s purpose may sound coherent enough in the perspective of a one-shot hearing of his sermon, that is within a completely oral-aural context, any meticulous reader of Bataillon’s edition will wonder about the consistency of this first explanation of the reason why God can be called a man in virtue of their similarity. Part of the difficulty comes from the fact that in the more strictly argumentative part of the section Thomas seems to proceed by accumulation, so that the articulation of his reasoning remains elusive. Not only the relation between the biblical authority (Genesis 1, 26) and respectively the aforementioned arguments (i), from ordinary speech, and (iii), from common experience, is less than clear; also how (i) and (iii) relate to each other is doubtful: does Aquinas reiterate the same point, or does he add some new elements as he moves from one to the other? 13 14

Ibid., 9, 125, 340-126, 357. Cf. id., De diversis quaestionibus LXXXIII, q. 74. Id., Sermons I (1-19) on the Old Testament, transl. by E. Hill, New York 1990, 267.

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Two contextual elements must be taken into consideration. First, the literary genre of the text under review. Of course, one cannot expect the logical-argumentative rigor of a systematic treatise in a sermon addressed mainly to young students in theology as a moral and spiritual exhortation. Moreover, the manuscript tradition of this sermon consists of three copies of the same reportatio, which Aquinas never revised. However faithful to the master’s words the reporter may have been, in taking his notes he may have selected the information to be recorded in a way that affects the clarity of Aquinas’s original discourse. Therefore, it may be the case that certain notions are expressed here less accurately than in other works on the same topic. This calls for a charitable attitude from contemporary readers confronted with potential incongruities, as would appear to be the case here. The root of the problem is philosophical, but the ultimate matter is theological. At stake is the notion of similarity or resemblance, which Aquinas seems to attribute to God with respect to man, not only to the latter with respect to God. 15 Whence the possibility for God to be said man, in some way that calls for clarification. Is this attribution to be taken merely metaphorically, or does it imply something more, ontologically or morally speaking, about God’s relationship with man? 16 Aquinas has made clear immediately beforehand that God is truly man, essentially man, in virtue of Christ’s human nature, while Christ’s divine essence could not be reduced to some specific nature. Accordingly, as any other circumscribed nature, “man” cannot be predicated essentially of “Deus quantum ad naturam diuinam.” Yet, is “man” comparable to any other common concrete name, so that also “donkey” or “stone” could be predicated of God in exactly the same way? In fact, the term “man” can designate only the main part of a human being, the noblest and immaterial part of him. And in virtue of his intellect man is to the image of God, unlike any other creature. This is why as a name to be predicated of God it may have some special status, falling somewhere between the names which are predicated of God only metaphorically – since their definition entails something material –, and the names which can be predicated analogically of both God and the creatures, since their meaning does not involve any imperfection. 17 Is there room for some convenientia between God and men, so that we could go so far as to state that God, in his divine Sermo XV, ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 233, 48-49; 234, 54-56. For his standard position see ScG I, c. 29 (ed Leon., t. 13, p. 90b). 16 In De Div Nom I, lc. 3, nn. 101-102. On divine names and analogy according to Aquinas, see R. te Velde, Aquinas on God. The ‘Divine Science’ of the Summa Theologiae, Aldershot 2006, 95-122. 17 De Ver q. 2, a. 11 co. (ed. Leon., t. 22, 79, 178-93). 15

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nature, is a man in the same way we affirm of him that he is good? The way in which Aquinas delimits in his Christology the affirmative answer to the question whether the proposition “Deus est homo” is true suggests otherwise. 18 While the human nature cannot be properly and truly predicated in the abstract of the divine nature because of the distinction between them, insofar as they converge in a single suppositum, the name “man” can be predicated of the name “God,” meaning both a common nature taken concretely. In fact, the Person of the Son, who is God, is a suppositum of human nature. Therefore, the proposition “God is man” is true and per se by reason of the suppositum, not by reason of the form or nature the name “God” signifies, so that “man” can be said neither of the whole Trinity nor of the Father or the Holy Spirit. To avoid doctrinal inconsistencies, the affirmation of Aquinas as a preacher must then be taken at some figurative level. Thomas bases his explanation on the “ordinary way of speaking.” However, the picture is complicated by the fact that there appears immediately, and with a key role, the term “image,” which is certainly a technical term for Aquinas. Moreover, it is this term imago, not only similitudo, which ensures the crucial connection Thomas establishes with verse 1, 26 of Genesis (lin. 49-50); and only “image” recurs repeatedly after this biblical quote. How this term should be taken, especially with respect to similitudo? Are they used as simple synonyms or must we assume that also in common language every image entails some specific kind of similarity to its model, while two things can be similar to each other without one being the image of the other? Aquinas’s paraphrase of Genesis 1, 26 is quite standard here. However, some perplexities arise if we try to contextualize it into the wider framework he provides. The quote from Genesis is preceded by the statement that in ordinary speech things (res) are called by the names of their images (ymagines) and images by the names of the things they represent. After the biblical quote, Aquinas provides instead what is likely a practical application of this usage: the image of Hercules is called Hercules and the latter by the name of his image. Awkwardly, both statements sound unusual. 19 Indeed, if from a

STh III, q. 16, a. 1-2, 4; In III Sent d. 7, q. 1, a. 1. Sermo XV, ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 234, with note 54-56 about the sources, where Bataillon underlines that the example of Hercules is used here in a different way than usually, since according to Aquinas Hercules cannot be said to resemble his statue. Actually, in these lines the focus in on the linguistic level (uocari) and the resemblance between Hercules and his statue is not openly mentioned. And yet, already on a linguistic level, the example sounds unconventional. 18 19

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common-sense perspective 20 we can admit that a statue representing Hercules may be designated as “man” or even “Hercules” – respectively in virtue of the kind of bodily shape sculpted in the marble and of the realistic traits in the sculpted body and face, which make the statue indisputably more similar to Hercules than to Mercury 21 –, it is not immediately clear what Thomas has in mind by saying that res are called by the name of images, as for example Hercules by the name of his image. Unfortunately, this side of the twofold example is precisely the one intended to clarify in what sense “man,” i.e. the image, can be predicated of “God,” i.e. the res. 22 On the other hand, if we look closely, in the case of “man” as an image of God, even the more intuitive case of the image called by the name of the res, i.e. of God himself, turns out to be equally problematic. Except Jesus, can man be called “God”? The analysis of some occurrences of “image” and “Hercules” in Aquinas’s corpus proves useful. Some elements emerge, that, though not totally decisive, are at least significative for reconciling this passage of the sermon with Thomas’ usual understanding of the notions of similitude and image. The first point to be addressed concerns the thing named after its image. Neither “statue” nor “man” in the superficial sense of “having a human-like shape” seem to be in question here insofar as neither are usually predicated of Hercules in common speech. Furthermore, one may doubt the way in which the phrase “secundum communem modum loquendi” should be ultimately understood. A clue comes from the distinction which Aquinas draws elsewhere between different ways of understanding and expressing the notion of imago. In order to be an image of Y, X must imitate Y in a certain respect Z, representative of Y’s own nature. “Image” in its proper sense is said only of X; however, it happens that Z and also Y are called “images” according to an improper (abusive) usage of the term. Properly speaking, in fact, what is imitated by the image – the res in the sermon (Y) – is not an image, but an exemplar. 23 20 Philosophically speaking Aquinas does not share this point. Cf. De Ver q. 2, a. 11 ad 8 (ed. Leon., t. 22, 80, 271-76): “Hoc nomen animal imponitur non ad significandum figuram exteriorem in qua pictura imitatur animal verum, sed ad significandum interiorem naturam in qua non imitatur […].” 21 In I Periherm 3 (ed. Leon., t. 1/1*, 15, 55-62): “[…] ymago Herculis secundum se quidem dicitur et est cuprum, in quantum autem est similitudo Herculis nominatur homo.” Cf. also De Ver, q. 22, a. 14 co. (ed. Leon., t. 22, 647, 71-7). This twofold dimension of artifacts is particularly relevant in the discussion about worship of sacred images, evoked in Serm XV, lin. 58-63. 22 ScG IV, c. 26 (ed. Leon., t. 15, 102b): “sic consideratur divina similitudo in homine sicut similitudo Herculis in lapide: quantum ad repraesentationem formae.” 23 In I Sent d. 28, q. 2, a. 1 co.; ad 2; STh I, q. 93, a. 5 ad 4.

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This may be the insight behind the general statement by Aquinas as a preacher, who would however shift the focus from the generic denomination “imago/res” to more specific levels of denomination. The imago-exemplar correlation is specifically applied by Thomas to the case of God in his relationship to the creature in various contexts. If “image” is taken in the proper sense of “that which imitates another thing” (X), the divine essence cannot be an image. Rather, it will be the exemplar (Y), while the creature will be its image. In this same sense, however, the Person of the Son can be the image of the Father. Indeed, “Image” is a name proper to the Son. The divine nature can instead be called “image” in the improper sense of “the respect under which the imitation is” (Z), either with respect to the Son or to the creature as images in the proper sense (X). 24 All in all, therefore, however improperly, one can speak of God as an image of creation. Notice that, in this framework, the concept of “image” with respect to God is, strictly speaking, applicable only to man, but broadly speaking, it may be applied to every creature; and this from a twofold perspective. On the one hand, the divine nature may be taken as an image of every creature in an improper sense, insofar as it is an exemplar imitable under different respects. On the other hand, any creature is an image of its corresponding divine idea, existing as an immaterial model in the divine intellect. This variety of uses of the term “image” allows us to glimpse some room for an interchange of names between images and res. This reference to the divine ideas in particular, makes plausible the notion that the names concerned are actually the same for the images, i.e. the extramental things, and the res, i.e. their corresponding prototypes, both of which bear ultimately on the formal aspect of things. 25 It is worth mentioning that, according to Aquinas, this same pattern may be observed in artisanal production, wherein a craftsman reproduces in some material substrate an extramental model he can observe and, in any case, the idea of the artifact in his own mind. If we adhere to this model of images/things and add a further level of similarity, which would be mental representation, the case of Hercules with respect to his image can be taken in another way, assuming that the name to be predicated is “Hercules.” 26 This possibility emerges from other contexts in which the same example appears, albeit for different purposes from that of the sermon. For example, Aquinas mentions Hercules’ image in order to clarify how mental forms represent extramental things and he maintains that the latter are in any case Ibid., a. 2 co. De Ver q. 3, a. 1 co. 26 Cf. Hoogland (transl.), Academic Sermons, 216, n. 10. 24 25

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represented by the former in the same way as the image of Hercules provides a representation of Hercules, wherever Hercules would be. 27 Accordingly, when looking at Hercules’ portrait or when thinking of him in his absence, I can still name the true Hercules “Hercules” in virtue either of the image of him that I can bring to mind or of his painted image. If attention is turned to the representative dimension of the image of Hercules, the true Hercules indeed becomes the end of his own image. 28 It is therefore enough to have seen an image of him, e.g. a statue, or to have a representation of such a statue in my mind, to obtain an intellectual “similitudo” of the real Hercules 29, which makes me able to call Hercules “Hercules,” if I should bump into him. 30 3. Toward a coherent reading Although these parallels help to explain what the presuppositions of Thomas’ extremely compressed argument could be, it is less clear how effectively they help to formulate a correct interpretation of the thesis in support of which it is formulated, and its implications. For instance, it remains difficult to see how the term “similitudo,” which is somehow introduced by Aquinas as the key-term of the entire section, must be ultimately understood, especially in the light of the example of Hercules, which in this formulation implies a relationship of mutual similarity between any kind of thing and its corresponding image – a thesis rejected by Aquinas, in whose view there is not reciprocal resemblance between two relata ordered according to anteriority and posteriority as far as the shared form is concerned. 31 Additionally, it is not clear whether the possibility of man being called “God” is to be admitted. Evidently, Aquinas does not draw such an affirmative conclusion. Yet, it could be derived from the premises he assumes, no less than the conclusion he effectively draws, viz. that God can be called a man.

27 In IV Sent d. 50, q. 1, a. 4 co. (ed. Parma 1858, 1251): “formae in anima existentes repraesentant res quae sunt extra animam […] sicut imago Herculis aequaliter repraesentat Herculem, ubicumque sit Hercules.” 28 STh I, q. 103, a. 2 ad 2. 29 De Ver q. 8, a. 5 co. (ed. Leon., t. 22, 236, 107-16): “[…] ex statua Herculis visa potest formare quandam aliam similitudinem quae sit ipsius Herculis immediate; sed haec cognitio iam est alia ab illa qua cognoscebam Herculem in statua sua [...].” 30 STh I, q. 13, a. 1 co. (ed. Leon., t. 4, 139): “voces referuntur ad res significandas, mediante conceptione intellectus.” 31 De Ver q. 4, a. 4 ad 2; q. 23, a. 7 ad 11.

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To resolve these doubts, a comparison with a brief section from sermon V’s collatio proves to be more effective. 32 Some expressions and biblical quotations that remind of sermon XV, occur in sermon V, which dates to November 1271. In this text it is the characterization of Christ as “rex hominis” to be explained in virtue of man’s likeness as an image of him (propter ymaginis sue similitudinem). As in sermon XV, the terms ymago and similitudo occur; and the quotes from Genesis 1, 26 and Colossians 3, 10 (with Ephesians 4, 24) are introduced as a warning against the corruption of the image of God in man, due to sin, and as an exhortation to renew this image, by taking off the old man and clothing with the new one. On a few topics, however, Thomas’ expresses himself in sermon V in a way slightly different from that of sermon XV. First, concerning the place of man in creation. In sermon V, man is said to belong to God in a special way, since he bears the image of God in a more perfect way than any other creature. 33 Next, the role of Christ in the renovation of this image, is made more explicit: “God has sent his Son, in order to reform this image that is deformed by sin [...]. How are we renewed? Surely when we imitate Christ. This image, deformed in us, is perfect in Christ. Thus, we ought to bear the image of Christ. [...] ‘Imitate Christ’: the perfection of the Christian life consists in this.” 34 On theses bases, some precisions about sermon XV can be tentatively made. First, with respect to the key-term “similitudo,” which is to be understood here ultimately as indicating the resemblance of man to God insofar as concomitant of the image: a specific kind of similarity, not just any resemblance, and in particular not vague resemblance. Indeed, “similitudo” can be taken as also connoting a certain degree of perfection in this specific kind of resemblance. Among the senses of “similitudo” Aquinas usually lists, there is in fact also the meaning of resemblance as “subsequent to image.” No matter how imperfect it is as an imitation, one image may still be more perfect than another, provided that it is more similar to its model than the other. 35 As bearer of this special kind of resemblance, which admits different levels of perfection, man is related to God by a real relation. Such a relation is first of all ontological, insofar as it is rooted in creation itself: God creates man in his image and resemblance by providing him with an intellectual soul. Accordingly, God can be called “man” rather than “donkey,” because in virtue of this Sermo V, Ecce rex tuus, ed. Leon., t. 44/1, 65, 271-66, 304. Ibid., lin. 275A-277A (274B-276B); but see STh I, q. 93, a. 3, concerning angels. Cf. Sermo XV, 233, 50-234, 54. 34 Sermo V, 66, 289A-303A (cf. 286B-304B); cf. Hoogland (transl.), Academic Sermons 72. 35 STh I, q. 93, a. 9 co. 32 33

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image man is more similar to God than any other animal is, and he is so in this specific respect. What is more, this likeness is not an invariable mark in man, which remains as it was once impressed by God: as it is “diminished and obscured by the sin,” deformed and reduced to nothing, 36 such an image is also susceptible to being renewed, improved, that is made more and more similar to God, the model to which man tends indefinitely. 37 For, man is not yet the image of God, but he is such an image in the making, called by his Creator to become such an image. 38 These variations of degree do not concern the ontological structure underlying the image, since man as a substance cannot be more or less human. What is involved is by contrast his moral dimension, his choice to unfold more or less fully his humanity in exercising his distinctive and, so to speak, deiform faculties. The conclusion that Thomas has not actually drawn, but that in some way could follow from his premises “secundum communem modum loquendi” – that is, man can in turn be called “God” – should therefore be understood as a description of this process of assimilation, “at the same time [of] transformation and union” to God, who ennobles man by allowing him to “become through grace what the Word is by nature: Son of God.” 39 Into this framework also the phrase “similitudo Dei cum homine” can fit without misunderstanding, insofar as it does imply no reciprocity of the relationship of likeness of man with respect to God, but it means the imitability of God-exemplar by man, and by man especially. 40 As we have noticed, in sermon V the focus of the discourse is explicitly on Christ, who is king of humankind because of man’s likeness as an image of him. Moreover, Aquinas puts emphasis more specifically on the twofold perfection of the image of God which is in Christ himself. For Christ is perfect resemblance, Image, of his Father as true God, and perfect image of God as a (perfect) man. 41 The perspective is not exactly the same in sermon XV where Aquinas focuses on God. Interestingly, this Trinitarian perspective is put forward also in other contexts dealing with the creation to the image of God, where he maintains that “God as Trinity

V, 66, 286A-289A (283B-286B), with sources. In II Sent d. 16, exp. litt. 38 STh I, q. 93, a. 5 ad 4. 39 L.-T. Somme, Thomas d’Aquin. La Divinisation dans le Christ, Genève 1988, 11 and 17. 40 Cf. De Ver q. 4, a. 4 ad 2. 41 D. Ols, ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ ΕΝ ΑΝΘΡΩΠΟΤΗΤΙ. Considerazioni sulla cristologia di S. Tommaso, in Aquinas 30 (1987), 289-304, p. 302-4. 36 Sermo 37

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made man to his image, that is to the image of the whole Trinity.” 42 The Christological dimension is not ignored in sermon XV, but it is less emphasized. And yet, if the whole argument is reread by keeping in mind from the beginning the perfection of the Son’s similitude to the Father as well as the perfection of the image of God impressed in Jesus, the meaning of the whole section appears more clearly. God can be called “old man,” “a man” or “new man,” in virtue of the similitude all of them have to him and because of the dynamic character of such an image. However, the more perfect the image taken into consideration may be, the less the examples formulated by Aquinas seem counter-intuitive. In fact, the perfection of the image implies a maximum of resemblance with respect to the reality imitated, up to equality under a specific respect between them. This is why a perfect image can be not only called by the name of the reality imitated (and vice versa), but it is also truly identical to such a reality under a relevant respect, i.e. as far as their nature or formal aspect is concerned. “God is (called) a man” is therefore a proposition all the truer the more the man in question conforms to the perfect man who Jesus is. The example of Hercules designates only the starting point of the process of elevation towards God which every man is supposed to undertake. Describing God as a man, bringing him down so to speak to the level of man, Aquinas incites by contrast man to rise towards God, to rediscover, renew and cultivate the image of God he bears in him and to undertake a daily journey towards holiness. 43 For deification of man is not a story just to be postponed to eternal life, but an everyday adventure lived in the footsteps of Christ. This transformation cannot take place without grace, so that “it certainly depends on us to live as children of God, but it is up to God Himself to adopt us as his children, and it is only from this initial gift that it is possible for us to grow in this life.” 44 To put it in the words of the 1982 document from which we started, “Redemption does not, in a general way, simply convert human nature into something divine, but renews human nature along the lines of the human nature of Jesus Christ.” 45

STh I, q. 93, a. 5 ad 4 Cf. F. Ryan, Formation in Holiness. Thomas Aquinas on Sacra Doctrina, LeuvenDudley 2007, 147, 163, 169. 44 Somme, Thomas d’Aquin, 74; cf. te Velde, Aquinas on God, 160-9. 45 Enchiridion Vaticanum 8, §438. 42

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THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THOMAS AQUINAS FOR CONTEMPORARY THEOLOGY: REVISITING THE HISTORY OF THE RESEARCH OF THE THOMAS INSTITUUT UTRECHT Jozef Wissink When I was asked to provide a contribution to this volume, I was told that all authors would be invited to reflect on the significance of Thomas’ thought for philosophical and theological reflection in our own time. In 1997/1998 I wrote a book in Dutch about Thomas Aquinas with the subtitle: “the significance of his theology for our time.” I realised that I had to revisit my old research. In this article I shall do three things. I will start by sketching some historical information about the origins of the book. 1 Secondly, I will present the content of the book: the methodological choices, and the themes explained and brought into dialogue with current discussions. The reason for this presentation is that the book has never been translated into English. Finally, I want to comment on the different ways a classical text can turn out to be relevant now. 1. The origins of the book The history of research on Saint Thomas in the Thomas Instituut Utrecht starts with Professor Ferdinand de Grijs (1931-2011). He was an openminded theologian and a disciple of Saint Thomas. It had become clear to him that Thomas is predominantly a Magister in Sacra Pagina, a theologian, also when his thought reaches metaphysical depths. He also had a keen eye for the predominantly negative character of all God-talk. Finally, he was keen on Thomas’ attentiveness to the analysis of our use of language, especially when we are thinking and speaking about the mysteries of faith. In 1989 he founded the Thomas Instituut Utrecht to establish a research program based on these insights. Between 1990 and 1995 this institute could welcome five dissertations on the theology of

1 Jozef Wissink, Thomas van Aquino: De actuele betekenis van zijn theologie. Een inleiding, Zoetermeer 1998 (2nd ed. 2003). In translation: Thomas Aquinas: The Significance of his Theology for our Time. An Introduction, Zoetermeer 1998/2003.

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Saint Thomas. The authors were: Pim Valkenberg, 2 Henk Schoot, 3 Jan van den Eijnden, 4 Harm Goris, 5 and Carlo Leget. 6 To raise funds, de Grijs also started with the ‘Stichting Thomasfonds’ (Thomas Foundation). One member is of special interest in the history of my book: mr Rudolf Brenninkmeijer, a member of a distinguished business family with a serious interest in theology. His only condition for participating in the board of the Thomas Foundation was that after the board meetings on technical and financial affairs, members of the research group would present their findings, and the board could discuss these presentations with them over dinner. Sometime in 1996 or 1997, Rudolf Brenninkmeijer proposed that a book should be written about the dissertations. It should be written in Dutch for non-specialists with an interest in theology. Thus, the research published in the dissertations would become fruitful also for the Church at large. The board of the Thomas Foundation welcomed this proposal and invited me to be the author. I accepted the invitation. My condition was that I should be allowed to find my own way of doing the work. I was not inclined to make five popularizing summaries of the existing dissertations. My program was: a) to make a book that could function as an introduction to Saint Thomas as a theologian; b) to present the way we had learned to read Saint Thomas in our Utrecht research institute; c) to bring our findings in dialogue with contemporary problems and solutions in order to discover whether or not Saint Thomas helps us in dealing with those questions. In the course of writing I discovered what format the book should get. I chose key texts from the Summa Theologiae and introduced these texts by presenting the current discussion on the selected themes in the philosophy and theology of our time, followed by showing the context of the chosen text in the structure of the Summa. Then after a close reading of the text I could conclude by bringing the findings in dialogue with the current discussions presented at the start.

2 W.B.G.M. Valkenberg, Did not Our Hearts Burn? Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, Utrecht 1990. 3 H.J.M. Schoot, Christ, the ‘Name’ of God, Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ, Leuven 1993. 4 J.G.J. van den Eijnden, Poverty on the Way to God: Thomas Aquinas on Evangelical Poverty, Leuven 1994. 5 H.J.M.J. Goris, Free Creatures of an Eternal God: Thomas Aquinas on God’s Infallible Foreknowledge and Irresistible Will, Leuven 1996. 6 C.J.W. Leget, Living with God: Thomas Aquinas on the Relation between Living on Earth and ‘Life’ after Death, Leuven 1997.

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2. The content of the book The corpus of the book consists of seven close readings of central texts from the Summa. Four of them were chosen because dissertations about the theme were at my desk. The text about Christ represents the dissertation of Henk Schoot (see note 3). The text about God’s infallible knowledge of future contingent events represents the dissertation of Harm Goris (see note 5). The text about suicide was chosen because of the dissertation of Carlo Leget (see note 6). The text about the poverty of Christ is connected with the dissertation of Jan van den Eijnden (see note 4). That means that I did not include a text connected to the dissertation of Pim Valkenberg. The reason is that the theme of the function of Scripture in Thomas’ theology in a sense is omnipresent in the Summa. When I had completed my seven close readings I reread Valkenberg’s dissertation and found that my readings confirmed his findings. So, I only have to explain my reasons for including three other texts that were not related to the dissertations of our Utrecht research program. The text of the five ways to ‘prove’ that God is (STh I, q. 2, a. 3) was chosen because the Utrecht school was often challenged to explain especially this text: does this text not prove that Thomas was also a philosopher, who defended natural theology? The reason for the choice of the text about the invisible missions of the Son and the Spirit (STh I, q. 14, a. 13) was that the theme of this text is the goal to which the complete discourse about the nature of God and about the trinity of this God is directed. All abstract questions are meant to help interpret the biblical texts about the missiones of the Son and the Spirit. Finally, I wanted to read Thomas’ text in which he defines virtue by giving Augustine’s definition of the theological virtues. I chose the text in order to create a certain equilibrium between the three parts of the Summa. After adding a short conclusion I could give my work into the hands of prof. Henk Schoot who took care of editing the book. I still am grateful for his accurate and creative performance on this task. 3. Finding the current meaning of Thomas’ theology seven times a. Five ways to prove that God is (STh I, q. 2, a. 3) When we talk about the ways to prove that God exists, we should note that the need to prove God’s existence has changed in character after philosophy had become an autonomous discipline and after in the sixteenth century atheism had again become a live option in Europe. At

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that time these ways to God became proofs of God’s existence and part of what some centuries after Thomas has been called ‘natural theology’. The main problem these proofs tried to tackle was whether one could be certain about God’s existence. In both aspects the five ways of Saint Thomas differ from later proofs. During his lifetime, atheism was a way of thinking of the past, not a present and threatening reality. In the five ways, Thomas was not looking for certainty because he already was certain. This appears from the text quoted in the sed contra: “In the person of God in Ex. 3,14 it says: I am who am.” 7 The quote also shows that Thomas is not looking for a ‘God in general, ‘ but for the being of the triune God, the God of Moses, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. He is looking whether and how faith in this God can show itself confirmed by the human experience of our world. Does the world provide hints towards this God, the Creator and Redeemer? If this is what Thomas is doing, much theological research still is doing nowadays something like it. For example, a Dutch theologian, Anton Houtepen, shows how many themes of Christian moral theology direct us towards a really good life, suitable for whom we are anthropologically and what we today are longing for. 8 b. God’s knowledge about contingent future events (STh I, q. 14, a. 13) In contemporary Continental theology God’s omniscience does not receive much attention. Most theologians emphasize the existential importance of the fact that we are known by a loving God. Omniscience and eternity are not denied, but seen as presuppositions of our salvationhistorical knowledge of God. They receive attention when they appear in salvation history, e.g. when we talk about God’s providential care for our earth and God’s predestination of human persons to eternal life. The picture becomes quite different when we look at the Anglo-Saxon world and specifically at Anglo-Saxon philosophers of religion. In dealing with the theme, they put to use all possible acuteness of logical analysis. By reading these authors, one learns to read Saint Thomas and vice versa. From them one can learn that Saint Thomas argues with the logic of what ‘to know’ means. When I know something in truth, the known is necessary. In a loose sense I ‘know’ the weather of tomorrow, in a strict sense I have no more than the best possible guess of our meteorologists. Aquinas would agree with the statement that for our human minds strict knowledge of strictly future contingents is not possible. If God’s 7 STh I, q. 2 a. 3 s.c. “Sed contra est quod dicitur Ex. 3 ex persona Dei: ego sum qui sum.” 8 Anton Houtepen, God, An Open Question, New York 2002.

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knowledge is taken as the perfect form of complete human knowledge, then from God’s infallible knowledge of future contingent events it would follow that everything future is necessary. Goris in his dissertation (see note 5) called the thesis of the necessity of all future events, when known by God, ‘temporal fatalism.’ But here the negative theology of Aquinas comes in: what does God’s eternity imply for God’s knowledge? The first implication is that we cannot speak about God’s knowledge at a given time-moment of an event at a later time-moment. The second is that we cannot speak about God’s knowing as expressed in propositions because that means discursive and temporal knowledge, which is incompatible both with God’s simplicity and with God’s eternity. Harm Goris points out nicely, that when W.L. Craig 9 ‘for convenience’s sake’ proposes to speak about God’s knowledge as an infinite quantity of true propositions he in fact is proposing to forget that we talk about the eternal God. If we would follow him, we would not think about God but about an infinite computer database. The significance for our time is that Saint Thomas does not speak immediately about divine mysteries, but that he first gives good analyses about the nature of time (not an infinite line consisting of atomized time moments, but a flowing from past to a dramatic now, going towards an open future), and a good analysis of our knowing and the logic of knowing and only then points to the fact that we do not know what precisely God’s eternal, infinite knowing is. We should not speak about mysteries too soon and in that way prevent thoughts, we should neither be too late, because then we would reduce God’s mystery to a problem only. c. The invisible missions of Son and Spirit towards those who share in grace (STh I, q. 43, a. 6) Saint Thomas distinguishes the visible missions of the Son and the Spirit from their invisible missions. The visible mission of the Son concerns his incarnation, life, death and resurrection. The visible mission of the Spirit is associated with the visible signs of his presence, e.g. the appearance of the dove at the baptism of Christ and the appearance of flames and tongues above the apostles at Pentecost. The invisible missions regard the gift of grace to human persons. In the current discussion on the Trinity the division between the treatise on the One God (De Deo uno) and the treatise on God’s trinity (De Deo trino) is generally criticized. As I have already indicated, I 9 W.L. Craig, Divine Foreknowledge and Human Freedom: The Coherence of Theism. Omniscience, Leiden 1991, 11.

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defend the thesis that Saint Thomas is not making this division. In some editions of the Summa Theologiae one can find these terms as titles, but these were added later when people were accustomed to them because of the theological handbooks of the time. Another division that is criticized is that between the Trinity as God-in-Himself (the immanent Trinity) and the Trinity as revealed in salvation history (the economic Trinity). Karl Rahner and Karl Barth are famous for their ways of connecting these two. Of course, this could give the impression that there are two Trinities or two states of the Trinity. So C.M. LaCugna proposes to stop talking about God as He is Himself, as Kant said that we should not try to reach the Ding-an-sich. 10 She ends up talking about God who is essentially in a relationship with our world and with us and who reveals himself in Christ and the Spirit. Here two serious questions are to be asked. Firstly, can God in this way be confessed as the free Creator of all things that exist? He would be God even if He had not created the world. Is the otherness of God not threatened, when He in this way becomes part of the whole, that contains Himself and his creation? 11 And secondly, does LaCugna not repeat the old heresy of Sabellius, who spoke about two manifestations as temporal masks of God who is and remains only one? LaCugna rightly states that the distinction between the immanent and economic Trinity easily leads to misunderstandings. Saint Thomas does not know this terminology and makes a different distinction. He distinguishes between things we say about God ab aeterno and things we say ex tempore. That we say some things about God ab aeterno does not mean that we don’t say them in time, but that some things are said about God as belonging to Him from eternity to eternity. In the second way of speaking, we talk about God acting in our history and these acts have a date, they locate events in history. When interpreting propositions of this kind, we should carefully be aware that God is eternal and that the dates are valid only on our side. This distinction looks much like the modern distinction between immanent and economic Trinity, but Saint Thomas makes it clear that he wants to distinguish between two ways of speaking about the same God. He refuses to think about two phases in God or two kinds of being God. C.M. LaCugna: God for Us: The Trinity and Christian life, San Francisco 1991. I am here referring to the ‘Christian distinction,’ as developed by Robert Sokolowski in his great book: The God of Faith and Reason: Foundations of Christian Theology, Notre Dame 1982. The thesis is that God, when He is Creator of all things, does not differ from the world (everything) as creatures among each other differ. He differs differently. This implies that one cannot add up God and creation, such that God and creation would be more than God alone. 10 11

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d. What is virtue? (STh I-II, q. 55, a. 2) In answer to the question about the essence of virtue, Saint Thomas gives the response of Saint Augustine who gives his definition of the infused virtues of faith, hope and love (De libero arbitrio II, 19). For Aquinas as well as for Augustine, these theological virtues are the most important ones. The other virtues are recognized as good realities, when they function within the context of a life in faith, hope and love. Saint Thomas has been influenced by Aristotle in his reflection on human virtues, but his first interest is theological. That means that he would prefer the life of the heroine prostitute who at her early death wishes to go to God above a very decent life without faith, hope and love. Moral and spiritual experience should not be separate realms. These insights are often forgotten in moral theology and philosophical ethics, which are more concerned with the fulfilment of duties than with the formation of adult persons, with love and care for the communities that have received and educated them. Saint Thomas teaches a virtue ethics. This type of ethics had long been forgotten and had a bad reputation. In our times, virtue ethics has been recovered by Alasdair MacIntyre 12 and others and is once more appreciated. In this type of ethics we encounter attention for aspects that are neglected in forms of ethics that concentrate on laws, duties and norms. Virtue ethics does not limit itself to the question whether human acts are good or bad, but also draws attention to the fact that by getting accustomed to certain types of acts one becomes what one is doing. A person who often realizes acts of justice becomes a just person. In some mixed versions of virtue ethics and legalistic ethics one considers virtues as means to law fulfillment. In real virtue ethics it is the other way around: laws are important as means to acquire virtues and so to become a good person. Virtue ethics also pays attention to the role of emotions in attaining the good human life: emotions have their own role under the political governance of reason. So the virtue of temperance is the result of good moderation of our appetites. Another merit of virtue ethics is that our eyes are opened to the social aspects of ethics: one acquires virtues in concrete communities and societies. In the fifth text of Aquinas on which we comment after this one, a text about whether suicide is permissible, we shall meet some of the advantages of this approach.

12 See, e.g., Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, London 1985 (second edition).

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e. Is suicide permissible? (STh II-II, q. 64, a. 5) I contrast Aquinas’s views on suicide with those of the Dutch Reformed theologian H. Kuitert. 13 Kuitert defines suicide as “the intentional termination of one’s own life.” This is a clear definition. The problem is that it is very broad: for Kuitert the death of an airplane pilot who could have saved himself by his ejector seat, but did not do so to avoid crashing the plane in a densely populated city is also a case of suicide. Aquinas would say that the analysis of the pilot’s act should imply an analysis of what meaning life, death and community have for this pilot. In other words, our analysis of his act should respect the character of his decision as an actus humanus. What are his intentions? Kuitert reads the text of Aquinas on suicide and I think that he tries to treat it fairly. Kuitert rejects the arguments of Thomas and defends the permissibility of suicide. When Aquinas says that life is good, Kuitert interprets this as an empirical generalization: most people consider life to be a good but change their opinion in situations where life is experienced as meaningless or as a torture. At first sight Kuitert and Aquinas ask the same question, but their frame of thinking is so different that at the end we see that they ask very different questions indeed. Ultimately, Kuitert asks whether it is under all circumstances a duty to preserve one’s life. Saint Thomas asks whether real suicide can be an act of justice. To put it somewhat bluntly, can we say to the person who on purpose without other intentions kills himself: “Indeed, your life was worthless; if you had not killed yourself, we should have been obliged to do it (of course via the appropriate ways: as a death penalty legally imposed and executed)?” Thomas discusses suicide within the context of his treatment of the virtue of justice. This perspective leads to other questions than the question whether suicide is permissible within the frame of a legalistic ethics. For Kuitert, the desire to preserve one’s life is dependent on the judgment that life is good. For him, this judgment is an empirical generalization: does one still have pleasure in life or not? Within the context of justice, suicide is a judgment on the worth of one’s life. Can we affirm the judgment of the person who commits suicide? In Kuitert’s approach, the person who no longer wishes to live is an exception to normality. For Thomas, such a person is someone with a divided will: this person still has the wish to preserve life, but also has a death wish (often for understandable reasons). On this view, the suicidal person is closer to 13 H. Kuitert: Suïcide: Wat is ertegen? Zelfdoding in moreel perspectief, Baarn 1983 (I translate the title: Suicide, What is against it? Suicide in Moral Perspective).

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what we can also recognize in ourselves. The approach of the question from the perspective of the virtues also raises questions with respect to the quality of social life: do we sufficiently communicate both publicly and personally to one another that also the life of ill, weak and unsuccessful persons is valuable, even if their ‘market value’ is negative? f. The mystery of Christ: can we say that “a human being has become God?” (STh III, q. 16, a. 7) O.H. Pesch has warned that the question treated here is part of a very difficult section in STh III: STh III, qq. 3-36. He calls it a book sealed with seven seals, which beginners should leave alone. 14 I dared to sin against his advice because the dissertation of Henk Schoot is such an excellent guide that I was confident not to get lost. The difficulty is partly due to the fact that Aquinas thinks about his question against the background of the dogma of Chalcedon. Not every reader has sufficient knowledge of the history of this dogma and among the ones who have such knowledge, many do not want to use it as a starting point. For that reason I have chosen Kuitert and Piet Schoonenberg as discussion partners in order to see what input Thomas can have in the current debate. We say that the Word has become human and we rightly do so. We say that a human being is God and we rightly do so. But can we also say that a human being has become God? Here Saint Thomas answers that we cannot rightly do so because in this sentence we treat ‘human nature’ as independent from the act in which God unites this nature to the hypostasis of the Word, the Son. In other words, we imply two hypostases, which means that we take the condemned position of Nestorianism. Henk Schoot in his explanation of this question and the ones surrounding our question has shown beautifully that Aquinas maintains his emphasis on our not-knowing God in his Christology as well. The term unio hypostatica is used to show that the union between God and man in Christ is different from all other ways of unity between God and the world that we know of. It does not serve to specify what exactly this unity is and how it comes into being. Here, Thomas is a good interpreter of the Christological dogmas because these do not solve the mysteries of God-in-Christ either, but reject solutions of the problems that destroy the mysteries.

14 See O.H. Pesch, Thomas von Aquin: Grenze und Grösse mittelalterlicher Theologie, Mainz 1988, 411.

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Harry Kuitert argues in favor of leaving the Christological dogmas behind. 15 He provides two arguments. According to the first, the Greeks constructed a jigsaw puzzle that cannot be solved. According to the second, the terminology is so incomprehensible that even the Greeks did not understand each other. The first argument misses the point we made about negative Christology: the biggest mistake would be a puzzle where everything would fit because then the mystery of Christ would be subjected to the logic of philosophy. Christ should not fit into our schemes. Against the second argument it should be said that there is a positive side to the misunderstandings between the Greek theologians: it is caused by the process of inculturation of the Christian faith. In order to understand the mystery of Christ, they have recourse to their Greek way of thinking. Still, this way of thinking should be adapted to the mystery of Christ. The result should not only be a Hellenization of Christ, but also a conversion of Greek thinking to Christ. The result is indeed a terminology that never could have been used this way by Plato or Aristotle. The discussion with Schoonenberg is entirely different. Schoonenberg does not reject the dogma of Chalcedon, but wants to reinterpret it because of the current (also pastoral) needs of the faithful. In his earlier work 16 he had already argued for the thesis that in Jesus there is a human person in order to avoid the impression of Jesus as a stringpuppet. Schoonenberg argues for the person of Jesus coming into being in the act of Gods incarnation. In his later great work 17 he works out this thesis. One could speak of Word, Spirit, Wisdom as principles in God. In Word- and Spirit-Christology these principles could be conceived as personalizing principles that personalize the human Christ so that he becomes a human person. This act has a personalizing effect on the Word and the Spirit too so that the effect of the incarnation is that the trinity in God becomes a trinity of three persons. One could object that in this way salvation history enriches God because God becomes a trinity in a more concrete way. Schoonenberg understands that this sounds like Hegel or process theology. He tries to prevent this by saying that what he intends 15 H.M. Kuitert, I Have my Doubts: How to Become a Christian without Being a Fundamentalist, London 1993, 121-126. 16 P.J.A.M. Schoonenberg, Hij is een God van mensen: Twee theologische studies, ’s Hertogenbosch 1966 (English translation of the title: He is a God of Human Beings: Two Theological Studies). 17 P.J.A.M. Schoonenberg, De Geest, het Woord en de Zoon: Theologische overdenkingen over Geest-christologie, Logos-christologie en drieëenheidsleer, Averbode-Kampen 1991 (English translation of the title: The Spirit, the Word and the Son: Theological reflections on Spirit-Christology, Word-Christology and the Doctrine of the Trinity).

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is a way of self-change, brought about by God himself. Nevertheless, it still looks as if Schoonenberg is writing a biography of God. When being Creator of all there is implies that God has continuous primacy over all there is, that He is never a second cause, then Schoonenberg asks us to forget at least for a moment that God is Creator of all there is. I think we are not allowed to forget for one moment that God is Creator. We are bound to know less than Schoonenberg thinks he does. g. The poverty of Christ (STh III, q. 40, a. 3) The final text of the Summa that I explained in my book is about the question whether it was convenient that Christ was living as a poor man. When we ask where this question is debated nowadays, we discover only two contexts with real interest in the question. The first context is the discussion about the vow of poverty in religious life. The second is the role of poverty and solidarity with the poor in liberation theology. As partner in dialogue I have chosen Jon Sobrino because he is a member of a religious order, and has given many beautiful reflections in Christology and deep spiritual motivations for living with the poor and their aspirations. In Thomas’s treatment of the poverty of Christ it is remarkable that he emphasizes the meaning of poverty with regard to Christ’s preaching office. Greed is a bad motive for preaching God’s love and the suspicion of greed is a motive to distrust both the message and the preacher of the message. This is one of the places where Thomas’s background as a member of the ordo praedicatorum comes into the foreground. He provides a more theocentric argument when he associates voluntary poverty with the virtue of humility. Regarding the meaning of what Thomas remarks on poverty in connection with the preaching office of Christ for our time, it is noteworthy that the Second Vatican Council in Lumen Gentium 8 gives a similar motive in its plea for a poor Church. When we look at Aquinas from the perspective of liberation theology, it becomes clear that our modern context differs very much from the medieval context Thomas lived in. Though many historians have shown that in the growing cities of the thirteenth century we see the seeds that ultimately come to fruition in our neoliberal capitalist society, it is obvious that this could not be seen then in the way it is now. We certainly perceive a moral horror about what a commercial society brought about, but the mechanisms leading to the pernicious results we see today were not yet obvious.

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From the perspective of solidarity with the poor, we miss among the arguments of Aquinas that the poor are good company, that Jesus wants to meet them as neighbors and friends. The strength of Aquinas is his emphasis on living with God as the greatest value. Sobrino may add that this living with God is really challenged and realized where we live with the poor. 4. Conclusions about the significance of Aquinas’s theology for our time My first conclusion is that the format of my book has been a fruitful discovery. By entering the discussions in our time about the themes that Thomas discussed in his texts, my reading of Saint Thomas was automatically a way of syntheologein (as Karl Rahner called it), doing theology together with Saint Thomas. It prevented an escape from theology by asking only the historical question of the influence of Saint Thomas on many thinkers of today. The real question remains: would we miss something when we would not have studied Saint Thomas for a long time, especially when we also have the task of thinking about current questions and discussing them with real opponents. The proof of the pudding is in the eating: therefore it was good to have seven dialogues with texts of Saint Thomas and with later developments and discussions in our own time. When the context of reading texts of Aquinas is one of syntheologein, the question about their importance for current debates cannot be separated from the reading process itself. The readers do not read with empty heads, fill their heads with insights of Saint Thomas, and then look around in the strange surrounding of the modern world. The Utrecht research group consisted of people who were influenced by the nouvelle théologie of de Lubac, Congar, Chénu, Rahner, and Schillebeeckx, but also by Wittgenstein and other Anglo-Saxon analytical philosophers. Other influences could be mentioned: the hermeneutical philosophy of Paul Ricoeur, the great Protestant theological tradition of Karl Barth and Paul Tillich, and the Dutch Protestant theologians who were colleagues at the universities. A reader receives a text always within a context: quidquid recipitur, ad modum recipientis recipitur. There is already a dialogue between the texts of Saint Thomas and the current context before one starts to ask for the meaning of Saint Thomas for our debates. Without the influence of analytical philosophy and its attention to language, we would perhaps not have noted to what extent Saint Thomas is attentive to how words and sentences function, what their implied logic is, how they help us to know things and events and can cause

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misunderstandings when used for things and contexts for which they were not coined. When none of us had read much Barth or Rahner, we would perhaps not have noted to what extent Saint Thomas values negative theology. I remember how as a group we read and discussed Robert Sokolowski’s excellent book The God of Faith and Reason: Foundations of Christian Theology. 18 To me this book revealed to what extent the negative theology of Saint Thomas is linked to a deep understanding of the mystery of God as Creator of all there is. In this way we see how discovering the relevance of the texts of Saint Thomas is a complicated hermeneutical process: our reading is part of many ways of reading Saint Thomas in our own time. But precisely in this way, these texts turn out to be classical texts, i.e. texts where every new generation finds sources for its own search for understanding our faith and our world. In the epilogue of my book I concluded that sometimes the significance of texts of Saint Thomas for our time is immediate, e.g. when contemporary discussions share the same question and partly use the same methods. An example is the dialogue between contemporary religious philosophers about God knowing futura contingentia and Aquinas. Sometimes his significance for our time is more indirect, e.g. when his frame of thinking is very different from ours. Take, for example, his five ways to ‘prove’ that God is and his approach to suicide. Here, Thomas’s approach can help us to become conscious of our own presuppositions by showing us different possibilities. A third kind in which reading Thomas can be significant for our time, is by showing that contemporary theologians who disagree with Thomas misunderstood his texts. In these situations, revisiting Thomas not only helps to remove this misunderstanding, but also contributes to a better understanding of what is at stake in the theological debate. Reading Thomas, therefore, remains a worthwhile enterprise. I am most grateful to all people who have helped me to read his texts closely. Among them I explicitly want to thank Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde.

18

See footnote 11.

EVERYTHING RELATED TO GOD Pim Valkenberg In order to give my contribution to this volume in honor of Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde some historical context, I start with a short review of the first activities of the Thomas Instituut in Utrecht. I must confess that I often have the tendency to look away whenever I come across a piece of writing with a title such as “the enduring significance of Thomas Aquinas,” because I usually classify such a publication as unoriginal and apologetic. Oftentimes, the author wants to assure us that Thomas Aquinas is still relevant, despite all the changes in the academic study of philosophy and theology. Yet, it makes sense to use this somewhat wornout formula when honoring Prof. Rudi te Velde and Prof. Henk Schoot, since they were among the first scholars to join the original impetus by Prof. Ferdinand de Grijs to show that Thomas Aquinas is indeed relevant for contemporary philosophy and theology. When De Grijs took the initiative for the Werkgroep Thomas van Aquino—later renamed Thomas Instituut te Utrecht—and its Jaarboek at the beginning of the 1980s, almost no theologian, at least in the Netherlands, thought of Thomas Aquinas as a valid source of contemporary academic initiatives. 1 At that time, I wanted to write my Master’s thesis about contextual forms of theology such as liberation theology or feminist theology, but ten years later I defended my dissertation about the place and function of Scripture in the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas. 2 In hindsight, it was one of the first works in the blossoming field of studies about Aquinas and Scripture, but at that time it seemed a far cry from the contextual studies that my colleagues at the Catholic University in Nijmegen produced. When the department of theology decided to start a new program in religious studies with interreligious dialogue at its core in 1991, I widened the scope of 1 The first Jaarboek of the Thomas Instituut te Utrecht was published in 1981. The first volume contains reports of the first two research projects initiated by the Werkgroep Thomas van Aquino, by Jan van den Eijnden OFM (133-36), and Pim Valkenberg (137-38). Rudi te Velde joined the Werkgroep in 1984 and wrote his first contribution to the Jaarboek in 1986; Henk Schoot wrote his first contribution in 1985 and joined the Werkgroep in 1987. The integral text of the first twenty annual volumes (Jaarboeken) can be consulted at https://www.thomasinstituut.org/index.php?info_id=80. 2 The original edition was published in 1990 as “Did Not Our Heart Burn?” Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Dissertation Katholieke Theologische Universiteit Utrecht, 1990). A revised edition was published as Words of the Living God: Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, Leuven, 2000.

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systematic theology to include theology of religions and the study of Judaism and Islam specifically. Soon I discovered that this new direction in a sense brought me back to exciting new possibilities in the study of Thomas Aquinas when I met David B. Burrell C.S.C. with whom Henk Schoot had spent considerable time as a visiting scholar at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana. 3 Burrell visited the Thomas Instituut in December 1990 and the text of his presentation was published in the Jaarboek of the same year. 4 A year later, Burrell was the main speaker at the annual conference of Dutch systematic theologians on God as Creator. When Henk Schoot defended his dissertation in 1993, David Burrell returned to Utrecht, and the Thomas Instituut organized a lecture with discussion on Burrell’s new book Freedom and Creation in Three Traditions. 5 Ten years later, David Burrell invited me to come to the University of Notre Dame as well when my plans for a sabbatical leave in South Africa did not materialize. I used my time in South Bend to write a book about Muslim-Christian dialogue and theology in the context of Abrahamic partnership, in which I considered Thomas Aquinas (1224/51274) and Abu Hamid Muhammad al-Ghazālī (1058-1111) as masters of the past who guide us on our way toward God. 6 While I spent most of my time reading and analyzing Al-Ghazālī in order to better understand the theological backgrounds of my Muslim dialogue partners, I realized that I also needed to make clear what specific interpretation of Thomas Aquinas formed my point of departure in this exercise in comparative theology. I characterized that interpretation as a reading that is attentive to the notion of God’s hidden presence in Aquinas, and I connected this reading not only with some of the theologians at the Thomas Instituut in Utrecht, but also with Edward Schillebeeckx o.p., whose work I read and discussed with students in Nijmegen. 7 In this fashion, I brought together what I learned in Utrecht, South Bend and Nijmegen to show how it has 3 See Henk Schoot, ’Visiting Scholar’ aan de ‘University of Notre Dame’ (U.S.A.), 1987-1988.” in Jaarboek 1988 Werkgroep Thomas van Aquino, Utrecht 1989, 11520. 4 David B. Burrell, C.S.C., Freedom of Creatures of a Free Creator, in Jaarboek 1990 Thomas Instituut te Utrecht, Utrecht 1991, 5-23. 5 For a summary of the book, the lecture and the discussion, see Pim Valkenberg, De onvergelijkbare gave van ons bestaan. David Burrell over schepping en vrijheid in drie tradities, in Jaarboek 1993 Thomas Instituut te Utrecht, Utrecht 1994, 189-215. 6 Pim Valkenberg, Sharing Lights on the Way to God: Muslim-Christian Dialogue and Theology in the Context of Abrahamic Partnership. Currents of Encounter, 26, Amsterdam-New York 2006. 7 Sharing Lights, 213-19.

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influenced me to use insights from Thomas Aquinas in my work as a comparative theologian. I’m aware that I am no longer a scholar of Thomas Aquinas in a narrow sense of the word, but I’m convinced that some important insights from Thomas Aquinas determine the way in which I approach the contemporary fields of theology of religions and comparative theology. In the two parts of this contribution, I want to show how I have learned the contemporary relevance of Thomas Aquinas through the guidance of Edward Schillebeeckx o.p. in the theology of religions, and of David Burrell C.S.C. in comparative theology. 1. Theology of religions: extra mundum nulla salus When I started working as a systematic theologian at the Catholic University of Nijmegen in 1987, the school of theology was housed in a wing of the Albertinum, the monastery of the Dominican friars at that time. At the same time, I finished my dissertation on Thomas Aquinas, and so it was no coincidence that I read the works of Edward Schillebeeckx o.p. with a special interest in his Thomistic sources. 8 I remember vividly how Schillebeeckx himself at that time would rather emphasize how his theology had become entirely different since he decided to make a new start with his book Jesus: An Experiment in Christology in 1974. I can see how it was necessary for him to indicate a few clear fault lines, and indeed it is clear that his theology changed quite a bit during and after the Second Vatican Council, and again in the 1970s. Later researchers, however, tend to discern more continuity than Schillebeeckx himself asserted, so that the opposition that he construed between his early work on Thomas Aquinas and his later theology is certainly “too schematic.” 9 When I started teaching in Nijmegen, Schillebeeckx was working on a book that was published in 1989 in Dutch as Mensen als verhaal van God. This book was meant to be the third part of a trilogy about Jesus, starting with Jezus: het verhaal van een levende (1974; English: Jesus, 1979), continuing with Gerechtigheid en Liefde, genade en bevrijding (1977; English: Christ, 1980), and finished with Mensen als verhaal van God (1989; English: Church, 1990). The English titles suggest that Schillebeeckx has conceived a project well in advance and executed it accordingly in the form of a trilogy. But, as he writes in See Pim Valkenberg, The Thomistic Roots of Schillebeeckx’s Theology, in T&T Clark Handbook of Edward Schillebeeckx, edited by Stephan van Erp and Daniel Minch, London 2020, 19-28. 9 Erik Borgman, Edward Schillebeeckx: A Theologian in His History, transl. John Bowden, London 2003, 197. 8

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his foreword: “This book is about the life of men and women and their bond with God as God has become visible above all in Jesus of Nazareth, confessed as the Christ by the Christian churches—which are increasingly aware that they live in a secular world amidst other religions. The book was originally intended to be an ecclesiological third part of the trilogy I announced some time ago. It was to be the completion of Jesus (1974, English translation 1979) and Christ (1977, English translation 1980). And so it is, but not from the perspective that I originally planned.” 10 Schillebeeckx is aware that he wants to write about Christians as people who live in a secular world amidst other religions. Even though he still sees the Church as the place where Christians come together as witnesses of Jesus’s way toward the kingdom of God, inspired by the Spirit, and with a mission in the world, the Church becomes in a certain sense instrumental as a sacramental presence in the world and a light to the gentiles. 11 A clear sign of this shift is the fact that Schillebeeckx begins with a discussion of the Council of Florence-Ferrara and its famous statement in 1442 that “the holy church of Rome firmly believes, confesses and proclaims that no one – not just the heathen but also the Jews, heretics and schismatics – outside the Catholic church can have a part in eternal life …” 12 Even though he states that he does not want to “turn the old adage round completely and compose another to set against it: extra mundum nulla salus,” this is in fact exactly what he does in the pages that follow: the second paragraph of chapter one has “no salvation outside the world” as title. 13 The central notion here is that God is creator of the entire world, and therefore “religions and churches are not salvation, but a ‘sacrament’ of the salvation that God brings about in the world he has created: through men and women in a very particular context.” 14 This notion of the church as sacrament of salvation has deep roots in Schillebeeckx’s theology, not the least in his dissertation on the sacramental economy of salvation from 1952, and a second book on Christ as sacrament of the encounter with God from 1959. 15 Following the basic structure of Thomas’s Summa Theologiae, Schillebeeckx argues Schillebeeckx, Church: The Human Story of God, New York 1990, xiii. See chapter III.4 (pages 144-86) in Schillebeeckx, Church. 12 Schillebeeckx, Church, xvii. 13 Schillebeeckx, Church, xviii, 5. 14 Schillebeeckx, Church, 13. 15 Henricus Schillebeeckx, De sacramentele heilseconomie. Theologische bezinning op S. Thomas’ sacramentenleer in het licht van de traditie en van de hedendaagse sacramentsproblematiek, Antwerpen-Bilthoven 1952; Christus, sacrament van de Godsontmoeting, Bilthoven 1959. See also Valkenberg, The Thomistic Roots of Schillebeeckx’s Theology, 22-23. 10 11

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that Christ and the sacraments belong together in the return of creatures to God, in which the sacraments are an extension of God’s incarnation in Christ, who in his humanity is the main sacramental instrument of our salvation. Some scholars argue that such a structure seems to make Christ superfluous since the discourse on his salvific function comes after the discourse on God and on human beings has been completed; in a similar way, one could argue that Schillebeeckx makes the church secondary and almost superfluous in his theology of religions. The basic argument in his book Church is, however, that the Church is instrumental in the economy of God’s salvation. God is the basic source and the final end of humanity and the world; Christ and the Church are sacramental instruments for human beings to find God’s salvation given to the world. Ultimately, this argument goes back to Thomas Aquinas and his insight that sacra doctrina, holy teaching or theology, is not about religion and religious institutions, but about God and everything related to God as creator and final goal of the universe. 16 2. Comparative theology: omnia sub ratione Dei In the first section of this chapter I have argued that Thomas Aquinas is relevant as source of inspiration for contemporary theology of religions, and I have indicated how this is the case in the theology of Edward Schillebeeckx, whose work I studied and taught in Nijmegen. Yet, at a certain moment, the theology of religions seemed to lead me into an impasse, and I could only find a way out of that impasse by turning toward the new field of comparative theology. It is no coincidence that this turn was confirmed and stimulated by discussions with David B. Burrell C.S.C. at the University of Notre Dame during my first sabbatical leave in 2004. 17 Yet, even though the form of theological engagement with other religions changes, the inspiration by Thomas Aquinas became visible again along very similar lines. While the field of comparative theology has roots that go back at least to the work of missionaries and crosscultural scholars such as Bartolomeo de las Casas, Matteo Ricci, and Roberto de Nobili, and to scholars of religion who coined the phrase in the 18th and 19th centuries, it makes sense to trace back the origins of what is sometimes called the

STh I, q. 1 a.7: “Omnia autem pertractantur in sacra doctrina sub ratione Dei, vel quia sunt ipse Deus, vel quia habent ordinem ad Deum ut ad principium et finem.” 17 See chapter six, Three Theologies of Religions and the Role of Comparative Theology, in Sharing Lights on the Way to God, 163-210. 16

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“new comparative theology” to 1985. 18 Most scholars associate the beginnings of this new comparative theology in the United States with either the “confessional” approach by a group of scholars from Boston College, or the “metaconfessional” approach by a group of scholars from Boston University. 19 Yet, from a historical and philosophical perspective David Burrell started to write about something very similar in his study Knowing the Unknowable God: Ibn-Sina, Maimonides, Aquinas, which he characterized as “a study, undertaken in the conviction that philosophical theology must henceforth entail a comparative inquiry among major religious traditions.” 20 Burrell continued this project in his books Freedom and Creation in Three Traditions (1993) and Faith and Freedom: An Interfaith Perspective (2004), and finally Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology (2011). 21 Yet, the roots of this project are clearly connected to Burrell’s analysis of the work of Thomas Aquinas, which formed the point of departure for Burrell’s connection with Ferdinand de Grijs, and thus with the Thomas Instituut in Utrecht. As already mentioned, Burrell became an important guide to the linguistic analysis of Aquinas in Henk Schoot’s dissertation, while not hiding his admiration for Rudi te Velde’s dissertation. 22 Because of this influence of Thomas Aquinas, Burrell’s form of comparative theology is different

See Pim Valkenberg et al., Introduction, in A Companion to Comparative Theology, edited by Pim Valkenberg with Marianne Moyaert, Kristin Johnston Largen, James Fredericks, and Bede Benjamin Bidlack, Brill’s Companions to Modern Theology 2, Leiden 2022, 1-27; Francis X. Clooney, S.J., Catholic Roots for the Discipline, in A Companion to Comparative Theology, 31-49. 19 The most prominent names in both groups are Francis X. Clooney, S.J., whose article Sacrifice and its Spiritualization in the Christian and Hindu Traditions: A Study in Comparative Theology was published in Harvard Theological Review 78 (1985), 361-80, and Robert C. Neville, whose book series in the Comparative Religious Ideas project at Boston University started to be published in 2001. For collaboration and differences between the two approaches, see Neville, On Comparative Theology: A Confucian Case, in A Companion to Comparative Theology, 419-45. The terms “confessional” and “meta-confessional” are used by Catherine Cornille in her Meaning and Method in Comparative Theology, Hoboken N.J. 2019, 18-34. 20 David B. Burrell, C.S.C., Knowing the Unknowable God: Ibn-Sina, Maimonides, Aquinas, Notre Dame IN 1986, ix. 21 David B. Burrell, C.S.C., Freedom and Creation in Three Traditions, Notre Dame IN, 1993; Faith and Freedom; An Interfaith Perspective. Challenges in Contemporary Theology, Malden MA 2004; Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology, Chichester 2011. 22 See David B. Burrell, Aquinas: God and Action, London 1979; Henk Schoot, Christ, the ‘Name’ of God: Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ, Leuven 1994; Rudi te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas, Leiden 1995. 18

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from both the confessional and the meta-confessional approach to comparative theology. In the previous section about theology of religions, I pointed to the notion of sacramentality as a hidden Thomistic key for the contribution of Edward Schillebeeckx; in this section, I will point to the notion of creation as a Thomistic key for the contribution of David Burrell to comparative theology. Quite often, Burrell points to a saying by Joseph Pieper, that “creation is the hidden element in the philosophy of St. Thomas.” 23 When Sr. Marianne Farina, C.S.C., and I wrote about the contribution of David Burrell to Jewish-Christian-Muslim comparative theology, we indicated three characteristics of his work: its rootedness in experiences of interreligious friendships, its inclusion of medieval and modern philosophical traditions, and its nourishment by the religious life of the Congregation of the Holy Cross. 24 His friendship with two Dominican friars in interreligious settings, Marcel Dubois in Jerusalem and Georges Anawati in Cairo, enabled him to see that similar intercultural and interfaith achievements were already at work in Thomas Aquinas. In particular, he starts to analyze how the distinction between Creator and creatures works at a fundamental level in our discourse. One of the ways to express this distinction is to say that in God existence and essence coincide, and another is to say that the relation between God and everything else is asymmetrical; Thomas Aquinas expresses this as the difference between relatio realis and the relatio rationis tantum, meaning that all creatures are dependent on the Creator for their existence, while the Creator is in no way dependent on the creatures. In Burrell’s works, this type of analysis extends to an analysis of human freedom as created freedom, which is a specific characterization of who we are as human beings that the three Abrahamic religions have in common. 25 Burrell’s analysis indicates a fundamental level of reflection that emphasizes the common origin and destiny of humans as creatures over specific reflections about modes of salvation. This may seem to lead towards a comparative neglect of the specificity of the Christian message of salvation through Christ and the Church. 26 Yet, again, I think that one See, for instance, Burrell, Faith and Freedom, xix, 64, 116, 118, and 177. Marianne Farina, C.S.C. and Pim Valkenberg, David B. Burrell and the Horizon of a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Comparative Theology, in A Companion to Comparative Theology, 197-211. 25 See the first chapter, Free Creation as a Shared Task for Jews, Christians, Muslims, in Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology, 9-24. 26 See, however, Burrell’s remarks in chapter seven, Respectfully Negotiating Outstanding Neuralgic Issues: Contradictions and Conversion, in Towards a JewishChristian-Muslim Theology, 165-87. 23 24

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may discern here the influence of the way in which Thomas Aquinas speaks of God the Savior as showing us the way of truth in himself and giving us the benefits of his sacraments as means to reach salvation. 27 In this approach, the Church is first of all the communion of saints in whose lives the final end becomes an eschatological reality: “So it seems inevitable that each of these traditions, but especially Christianity and Islam which project dramatic end-time scenarios, would have to find ways of incorporating the attraction of that goal into a trajectory leading to it.” 28 Interreligious friendships thus become glimpses of guidance toward the ultimate end. Of course, this is a broadening of a topic that Thomas Aquinas did not address as such, but it is inspired by the broadness that characterizes Aquinas’s take on God-talk: holy teaching is related not to religious traditions but rather to God and everything related to God as beginning and end. 29 Therefore, the goal of comparative theology cannot be to enhance and enrich the self-understanding of any religious tradition. Rather, according to Burrell, the goal has to be formulated in terms of mutuality and God-centeredness: mutual illumination in clarifying the grammar of divinity. 30 This notion of mutual illumination shows why he prefers postponing questions about truth: “The truth (or falsity) of a religious tradition, then, is not open to our assessment; the best we can do is to attend to the witness given, and where that results in holy men and women …, then we have at hand the only evidence we can possibly have for the truth of a tradition.” 31 At the beginning of this section, I mentioned the distinction between confessional and meta-confessional approaches in comparative theology. I have explained why Burrell’s approach does not entirely match with the confessional approach. Yet it is also clear that his approach is not a meta-confessional approach, because there is no doubt that Burrell in his interreligious outreach remains rooted in the Christian tradition, even more specifically the religious life of the Holy Cross community. We therefore need to find a third approach that does justice to the three characteristics of his comparative theology that we mentioned before. In a recent specification or her earlier distinction between confessional and meta-confessional approaches, Catherine Cornille crates space for a third category between confessional and meta-confessional comparative theology that she names interreligious comparative theology. She See the prologue to Summa Theologiae III. Burrell, Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology, 129. 29 See footnote 16. 30 Burrell, Knowing the Unknowable God, 2; id., Friendship and Ways to Truth, Notre Dame IN 2000, 6. 31 Burrell, Towards a Jewish-Christian-Muslim Theology, 181-82. 27 28

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specifies that it “focuses on the possibility of enrichment and illumination of both of the traditions involved in the comparative theological exercise.” 32 The theologians whom Cornille mentions as examples of this approach are all doing their comparative theological work in relation with Buddhism or Hinduism: Perry Schmidt-Leukel, John Makransky, Aloysius Pieris, John Cobb, and Paul Knitter. 33 I would argue that David Burrell’s approach to comparative theology is very similar to this group in its stress on mutual or reciprocal illumination as goal of comparative theology, but also because of his emphasis on interreligious friendships as opportunities for this mutual illumination on our way toward God. 34 In this manner, the dialogue with the religious other and the attempt to understand both the other and oneself better is a God-given opportunity to gain a better insight into both the possibilities and the limits of our understanding of God. 35 Thomas Aquinas, Ferdinand de Grijs, Edward Schillebeeckx and David Burrell all contributed to this insight, as did Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde in their own manners.

32 Catherine Cornille, Comparative Theology: More than Comparing Theologies, in A Companion to Comparative Theology, 583-604, at 597. 33 Cornille, Comparative Theology: More than Comparing Theologies, 598-600. 34 See David B. Burrell, Dialogue Between Muslims and Christians as Mutually Transformative Speech, in Criteria of Discernment in Interreligious Dialogue, edited by Catherine Cornille, Eugene OR 2009, 87-99; Some Requisites for Interfaith Dialogue, in Learned Ignorance: Intellectual Humility among Jews, Christians, and Muslims, eds. James L. Heft, S.M., Reuven Firestone, and Omid Safi, Oxford 2011, 23-33. 35 The main source here is the story of the men of Emmaus in Luke 24. See the original title of my dissertation (note 2), and Learned Ignorance and Faithful Interpretation of the Qur’an in Nicholas of Cusa (1401-1464), in Learned Ignorance, 34-52; A Faithful Christian Interpretation of Islam, in Faithful Interpretations. Truth and Islam in Catholic Theology of Religions, eds. Philip Geister, S.J. and Gösta Hallonsten, Washington D.C. 2021, 165-82.

THE HOLY SPIRIT AND THE SACRAMENTS: THOMAS’ CONTRIBUTION TO UNDERSTANDING THE MYSTERY OF THE SACRAMENTS Herwi Rikhof An inquiry into the Holy Spirit and the sacraments in Thomas’ theology seems right from the beginning doomed to failure. 1 In the Tertia Pars of the Summa Theologiae, in the general introduction to the Sacraments, one of Thomas’ innovations that have considerably influenced the later theology of the sacraments – he hardly mentions the Spirit. Christ on the other hand appears repeatedly in those quaestiones. A confirmation of the often expressed complaint that the theology of the West has forgotten the Spirit (Geistvergessenheit) and has concentrated exclusively on Christ (christomonism)? 2 But before we reach that conclusion, it might be a good idea to recall the remarks Schillebeeckx makes in his De Sacramentele Heilseconomie about those quaestiones. 3 In a “somewhat long” introduction Schillebeeckx’s main concern is to place the quaestiones about the sacraments in the proper context of the Summa Theologiae. He refers to the exitus – reditus cycle and argues that Thomas proceeds step by step, ‘progressively’. The Tertia Pars – the quaestiones about Jesus Christ and the quaestiones about the sacraments – is therefore not a more or less accidental addition, but the top of the pyramid. 4 It is a truly salvation-historical approach to questions and topics like grace Thomas discussed earlier in the Secunda Pars in a metaphysical and ethical manner. In a footnote Schillebeeckx specifies this and since this specification is crucial to my inquiry, I’ll quote most of it. “This progressive consideration explains why S. Thomas’ tract on grace (I-II qq. 109-114) makes dogmatic-theologically such a shabby impression and is so emphatically moralizing developed (see e.g. I-II In this contribution to honor my former colleague Henk Schoot I have combined some recent research mainly on the sacraments with research I did in the context of the Thomas Instituut on Thomas’ theology of the Trinity and his theology of the Holy Spirit. 2 J. Moons, The Spirit and the Church. A Redaction-Historical and TheologicalHistorical Analysis of the Pneumatological Renewal in Lumen Gentium. Leuven 2018, 1-4; see also J. Freitag, Geist-Vergessen - Geist-Erinnern, Vladimir Losskys Pneumatologie als Herausforderung westlicher Theologie. Wurzburg 1995, 31-57. 3 Dr Henricus Schillebeeckx o.p., De Sacramentele Heilseconomie. Theologische bezinning op S. Thomas’ sacramentenleer in het licht van de traditie en van de hedendaagse sacramentsproblematiek. Antwerpen/Bilthoven 1952. 4 Schillebeeckx, Heilseconomie 9; cf. the prooemium to the Tertia Pars: ad consummationem totius theologici negotii. 1

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q.109 and 114), while the very essence of grace (I-II q. 110) turns out mediocre theologically. But the dogmatic consideration of grace we find somewhere else, in the Christology (III q. 8) and in the doctrine of the sacraments (III q. 62) and in the tracts on the seven sacraments, while the theological basis was studied in the tract on the Trinity (I q. 43, de missione divinarum personarum) where S. Thomas founds precisely the whole of grace in the Trinity self and the mission of Son and Spirit.” 5 I have quoted this footnote, because of Schillebeeckx’s remarks about grace. In Thomas’ discussions about the sacraments, grace is a central concept. Schillebeeckx correctly refers to q. 62 about the effects of the sacrament. Grace is the principal effect. But also in the discussions about what a sacrament is (q. 60) and whether sacraments are necessary (q. 61), one constantly finds references to grace, either be it in terms of sanctification or in terms of salvation. 6 Right from the beginning, it is clear that Thomas mentions grace with regard to the receiver, the human person, to us. In q. 61 about the necessity of sacraments, the human person is mentioned in all the four articles. But also in q. 60, in the discussion of what a sacrament is, the sacraments are determined again and again by referring to the human person, to our salvation, to our way of getting to know something, to our nature. When Thomas discusses the number of the sacraments, it is not strange that he points to an anthropological basis of the seven with reference to a certain conformity between the spiritual and the physical life. 7 These elements suit the perspective of the Tertia Pars, as it is concerned with our way to salvation. 8 With this in mind, it is not surprising that the Spirit is not mentioned that often in the quaestiones about the sacraments in general. But still, is that all that can be said or has to said? Schillebeeckx’s remarks suggest that in order to discover Thomas’ views on the role of the Holy Spirit in the sacraments we should not only look at those quaestiones on the sacraments in general

Schillebeeckx, Heilseconomie, 17, note 44. STh III, q. 60. a. 2, c. ad 1, ad 2, ad 3 ; a. 3, obj 2, obj 3, c., ad 2; a. 3, obj 1 obj 3; a. 5, obj 2, obj 3, c., ad 2, ad 3; a.6, sed contra, c.; q. 61 a.1, obj 1, obj 2, obj 3, sed contra, c., ad 2, ad 3; a. 3, obj 3, sed contra, c.; a. 4, c. 7 STh III, q. 65, a.1c: “Vita enim spiritualis conformitatem aliquam habet ad vitam corporalem, sicut et cetera corporalia similitudinem quandam spiritualium habent.” 8 STh. III, Prooemium: “Quia salvator noster dominus Iesus Christus, teste Angelo, populum suum salvum faciens a peccatis eorum, viam veritatis nobis in seipso demonstravit, per quam ad beatitudinem immortalis vitae resurgendo pervenire possimus, necesse est ut, ad consummationem totius theologici negotii, post considerationem ultimi finis humanae vitae et virtutum ac vitiorum, de ipso omnium salvatore ac beneficiis eius humano generi praestitis nostra consideratio subsequatur.” 5 6

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but also at those quaestiones earlier in the Summa where Thomas discusses the theological basis of the history of salvation. 1. The theological basis Schillebeeckx points to the quaestio about the missions, q. 43 of the Prima Pars, as the theological basis of the sacraments and grace. That certainly is a crucial quaestio, not just for the theology of the sacraments, but also for the whole of the Summa. 9 But it seems to me that a remark Thomas makes in an earlier quaestio of the Prima Pars, q. 32, is also relevant and that it provides a good and important access to what Thomas thinks about the history of salvation. Moreover, a quaestio about one of the titles for the Spirit can provide insights that elucidate what Thomas says about the mission of the Holy Spirit. 10 Quaestio 32 In quaestio 32, on knowing the divine persons, Thomas remarks that the knowledge of the divine persons is necessary for us for two reasons: in order to understand the creation and in order to understand the salvation of the human race. In both cases Thomas qualifies understanding with recte, correctly, underlining and emphasizing the necessity of that knowledge. Moreover, he remarks that the correct understanding of salvation is principalius, more important than the correct understanding of creation. 11 Remarkably enough, Thomas does not give reasons why he

9 See e.g. G. Emery, La théologie trinitaire de saint Thomas d’Aquin, Paris 2004, 427. Chr. Schmidbauer, Personarum Trinitas. Die trinitarische Gotteslehre des heiligen Thomas von Aquin, St Ottilien 1995, 645. 10 The translations of Thomas’ texts are mine; I have consulted the ‘Blackfrairs edition’ and the translation by A. Freddoso www3.nd.edu/~afreddos. 11 STh I, q. 32 a. 1 ad 3: “Ad tertium dicendum quod cognitio divinarum personarum fuit necessaria nobis dupliciter. Uno modo, ad recte sentiendum de creatione rerum. Per hoc enim quod dicimus Deum omnia fecisse verbo suo, excluditur error ponentium Deum produxisse res ex necessitate naturae. Per hoc autem quod ponimus in eo processionem amoris, ostenditur quod Deus non propter aliquam indigentiam creaturas produxit, neque propter aliquam aliam causam extrinsecam; sed propter amorem suae bonitatis.Unde et Moyses, postquam dixerat, in principio creavit Deus caelum et terram, subdit, dixit Deus, fiat lux, ad manifestationem divini verbi; et postea dixit, vidit Deus lucem, quod esset bona, ad ostendendum approbationem divini amoris; et similiter in aliis operibus. Alio modo, et principalius, ad recte sentiendum de salute generis humani, quae perficitur per Filium incarnatum, et per donum Spiritus Sancti.” For an analysis of Thomas’ reasons with regard to creation

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thinks the correct understanding of our salvation is more important. He just mentions that our salvation is accomplished by the incarnate Son and by the gift of the Holy Spirit. This short statement is important for at least two reasons. First, Thomas does not only mention the incarnation, the mission of the Son, but also the gift of the Spirit, the mission of the Spirit. The history of salvation is therefore determined by two missions. This implies that neglecting or forgetting the mission of the Spirit amounts to an incorrect understanding of our salvation. Given this, one could say, programmatic view on the history of salvation, it would be strange to suppose that Thomas would not consider the Spirit when discussing the sacraments that are necessary of our salvation. One has to assume he does pay attention to the Spirit and to the mission of the Spirit. An inquiry into the role of the Holy Spirit in our salvation seems therefore meaningful and important, if only to show that the complaint of Geistvergessenheit is not correct with regard to Thomas. Second, Thomas indicates that in order to understand creation and redemption, knowledge of the divine persons is required, or to put in terms commonly used in the renaissance of the theology of the Trinity that has taken place in the last decade: knowledge of ‘the immanent Trinity’ is required for understanding the ‘economic Trinity.’ 12 The terms ‘economic’ and ‘immanent’ can lead to some misunderstanding and therefore the terminology already found in the patristic era seems preferable: oikonomia and theologia. These two terms refer to two different types of language or two different layers of language in the theology of the Trinity. Oikonomia refers to the reflection on the presence and activity of the Trinity in our reality and theologia to the reflection on the Trinity self. 13 The language used in the oikonomia is often close to the narrative and sometimes argumentative language of Scripture, while the theologia often shows a more contemplative and reflective use of language hardly found in Scripture but found in the writings of the Fathers of the Church and the later theologians. Still, the see H. Rikhof, The Treasure of St. Thomas’ Theology of the Trinity, in New Blackfriars 97 (2016), 250-265. 12 The terms ‘economic’ and ‘immanent’ Trinity are introduced by K. Rahner in the formulation of the axiom that can be considered to be basic to that recent renaissance: K. Rahner, Der Dreifaltige Gott als transzendenter Urgrund der Heilsgeschichte, in J. Feiner, M. Löhrer (eds), Mysterium Salutis. Grundriß heilsgeschichtlicher Dogmatik, Einsiedeln 1965-1981, Bd 2 (1967), 318-401, esp. 327-329. 13 see for the following H. Rikhof, The Current Renaissance of the Theology of the Trinity. A Reconstruction, in International Journal in Theology and Philosophy 70.4 (2009), 423-457, 441-446.

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central term in the theologia is processio, a term that can be found in Scripture, as can the central term of the oikonomia: missio. To avoid another possible misunderstanding, one has to add that the distinction between these two layers of language or two different kinds of language is not something typical for the theology of the Trinity, but that it can be found in ordinary language as well. We can talk about a person by telling stories of what he or she did and by using terms that give a description of that person (tall or short, young or old) and often indicate a certain judgement (intelligent or stupid, trustworthy or devious). The relation between these two layers of language, between the oikonomia and the theologia, is somewhat complicated both in ordinary life and in theology. From a historical and epistemological perspective, in theology the oikonomia often precedes the theologia, while from a systematic and (sometimes) pedagogical perspective the theologia precedes the oikonomia. The part on Jesus Christ in the NiceneConstantinopolitan Creed that is part of the Sunday liturgy is perhaps the best known example of theologia (“God of God.” ) preceding oikonomia (“who for us, men, and for our salvation, …:”). In Thomas’ theology, one can often see this pattern. Apart from these two levels of language, one can discern two further layers of language in the theology of the Trinity. Relatio and persona are terms that belong to a layer of language that shows a level of reflection on both missio and processio. A reflection on the actual use of language about the Triune God can be found when the so called ‘rule ad extra’ is mentioned – that the Triune God acts as one with regard to our reality – and when the so-called ‘appropriation’ is evoked to explain the use of certain titles that are common to all three persons but that are used (or ‘attributed’) for some reason to one person especially, e.g. ‘Creator’ to the Father since the Father is the beginning of all. Thomas uses these reflections when discussing the missions. So, Thomas indicates that in order to understand the oikonomia correctly, to understand correctly what the Triune God does in our reality (both in creation and salvation), what the missions of Son and Spirit amount to, we need theologia, we need (some) knowledge of who God is, who Father, Son, and Spirit are. These two reasons will return in what follows. Quaestio 43 The ultimate quaestio of the discussion of the divine persons is concerned with the missiones, the active presence of Son and Spirit in the world, especially in mankind. The term missio does not only refer to the one who

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sends, but also to the destination of who is being sent. One can even say that Thomas’ concern in this quaestio is mostly with the destination. In a. 2, he clearly indicates that the term ‘mission’ includes time: the missio is only temporal. 14 In the sed contra of a. 3, he quotes Augustine’s claim that the Holy Spirit (!) proceeds temporally, and that is, Thomas adds, to sanctify creatures. In a. 4, Thomas refers to John 14, 23 as the second objectio and understands this as “the indwelling of the whole Trinity in us.” In the ad 2 Thomas does not contradict this quote from John. On the contrary: he underlines it. The effect of grace is even from the Father, but he qualifies that answer by pointing out that since the Father is not from another, ‘being sent’ does not apply to him. In a. 5, “the indwelling of the entire Trinity in us” and the quote from John 14 return and since the effect of the missiones is the main focus, namely the new way of being present, of inhabiting both the human intellect and the human affect, ‘we’ are in the focus as well. In a. 6, Thomas asks whether there is an unseen mission to all in grace and gives a positive response. In the final two articles, Thomas discusses the visible missio of the Spirit and the connection between (temporal) missio and (eternal) processio, but even there Thomas refers to the effect (a. 8 c) and the workings of human understanding: that it is connatural for the human person to be lead from the visible to the invisible (a. 7 c). Another feature, rather relevant to the central question of this inquiry, is that Thomas in quaestio 43 is mainly concerned with the invisible mission of the Spirit. Thomas indicates that the quaestio is de missione personarum, but the plural does not always return in the quaestio. Moreover, Thomas does pay attention to the visible mission, especially in a. 7, but in a. 3 and a. 5 and a. 6, the discussions are about the invisible mission. These two points require further explanation. Thomas does, of course, mention the mission of the Son several times, but mainly in the first two articles that are concerned with conceptual clarifications. In a. 3, the first and foremost article about the content or effect of the mission of the persons, the Spirit is mentioned four times in the objectiones and the sed contra. But more importantly, Thomas in the corpus of this article uses several times terms that evoke primarily the mission of the Spirit. Thomas opens his reply with the thesis he is going to explain and defend: “it fits a divine person to be sent according to a new way he exists in someone; to be given according to

14

STh I, q. 43 a. 2 ad 3: “unde missio solum est temporalis.”

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being had by someone. Neither of these occur unless through sanctifying grace.” 15 The way Thomas formulates his thesis calls for attention. Thomas uses here two verbs: ‘to send’ and ‘to give.’ To the first verb he connects “present in a new way in someone,” to the second “had by someone.” The difference between ‘present’ and ‘had’ is also a difference of perspective. In both cases, the verbs refer to the divine person and the human person, but in the first case the attention goes primarily to the divine person, in the second case primarily to the human person. Thomas refers here to two verbs that are used frequently in Scripture for the mission of Son and Spirit, but while ‘to send’ is used both for Son and Spirit, ‘to give’ is almost exclusively used for the Spirit. That use is mirrored in Thomas’ explanation of the thesis. He first concentrates on ‘to send,’ and secondly on ‘to give,’ or more precisely on ‘being had.’ In the part dealing with ‘to send,’ Thomas does not use the terms ‘Son’ or ‘Spirit,’ but he speaks of God who is present as the known in the knower and the loved in the lover. Thomas refers here to the two faculties typical of the rational creature: to know and to love. These two faculties are traditionally related respectively to the mission of the Son and the Spirit. At this stage, though, Thomas does not specify this, nor does he discuss the relation between the two missions or the two faculties. He returns to that later, in a. 5. But by introducing those two faculties, Thomas in fact discusses both the mission of Son and of the Spirit. In this part of his answer, Thomas uses two other terms found in Scripture: ‘to inhabit’ and ‘temple.’ 16 While in Scripture ‘to inhabit’ is connected to the Father and Son or to Trinity, the term ‘temple’ in Paul connects clearly to the Spirit. 17 One could argue that at this stage of the argument, this explanation should be enough and that this explanation of the effect of the missions is a sufficient answer to the question of this article: what does

STh I, q. 43 a. 3c: “Respondeo dicendum quod divinae personae convenit mitti, secundum quod novo modo existit in aliquo; dari autem, secundum quod habetur ab aliquo. Neutrum autem horum est nisi secundum gratiam gratum facientem.” The Blackfriars translation adds twice ‘the verb’: “the verb ‘sent’ rightly applies to a divine person in that he is newly present in someone; the verb ’given’ in that he is possessed by someone.” A. Freddoso translates strangely enough the first aliquo with something. 16 STh I, q. 43 a. 3c : “… secundum istum specialem modum Deus non solum dicitur esse in creatura rationali, sed etiam habitare in ea sicut in templo suo.” 17 With regard the inhabitation of the Trinity: Joh 14, 20.23; Eph 2, 22; I John 4, 1316; with regard to ‘temple’: 1 Cor 3, 16; 6, 19; cf. Rom 5, 5; 8, 9.11.15; Gal 4, 6; cf.also 1 John 4, 15. 15

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the invisible mission amounts to? 18 But Thomas has used two verbs in his thesis, so another step dealing with ‘to give’ is not so strange. Still, it feels somewhat superfluous. But given the intention with which Thomas starts his Summa Theologiae, – to present what belongs to the sacra doctrina shortly and clearly – one should not reach this conclusion too quickly. 19 On the contrary, such a ‘superfluous’ addition calls for an investigation: does Thomas add something on purpose, something that is therefore relevant and perhaps even important or not? The similiter with which Thomas opens the second part refers to the second verb used in the thesis. Thomas does not repeat it but concentrates straightaway on the result also mentioned in the thesis: ‘to be had’. “We are said to have something only when we can freely use or enjoy it.” The formulation ‘use or enjoy’ might sound like an accidental phrase but is not. Thomas has used it before, and it might be good to have a look at that earlier quaestio in order to understand what Thomas is saying here. Quaestio 38 In quaestio 38, Thomas inquires after one of the titles given to the Spirit: Donum, Gift. The first question he asks is whether this is a name referring to the Spirit as divine person. As he often does, Thomas starts with a short analysis of our ordinary language. First, he remarks that ‘gift’ implies an aptness to be given and that that aptness is present both in the giver and in the recipient. The giver can only give a gift, if the gift is his or hers to give and the recipient is given the gift to be his or hers, to be in his or her possession. Then he remarks that to have or possess something means that “we can freely use or enjoy it, as we please.” Thomas introduces here a distinction with old roots in Roman philosophy (Cicero) and in the theology of Augustin. ‘To use’ (uti) refers to a rather different attitude than ‘to enjoy’ (frui). While ‘to use’ implies a certain form of instrumentality, ‘to enjoy’ does that not and while ‘to use’ involves some external purpose, to enjoy does not. ‘To use’ a friend is not the same as ‘to enjoy’ a friend. Augustine connects frui with God and uti with created things. Sin occurs when the reverse takes place. Thomas applies this general analysis to the having of a divine person by human persons. The application is not really straightforward. Thomas first points to the special place of the human persons, the rational creatures, by setting them apart from the other creatures. The divine

18 19

STh I, q. 43 intro: “secundum quid divina persona invisibiliter mittatur.” STh I, prologus: “quae ad sacram doctrinam pertinent breviter ac dilucide prosequi.”

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person can only be had by the human person. 20 In doing so, he also specifies the difference between uti and frui: he connects frui with the divine person, and uti with the effects of the divine person. 21 He then points out the fact that in some cases (quandoque) rational creatures reach this. This cautious remark indicates that this ‘having,’ although it happens to a creature, does not belong to creation, for then it would happen to all creatures. This ‘having’ belongs to the history of salvation. It happens when the rational creature “becomes a participant in the Divine Word and in the proceeding Love in such a way that it can freely really know and correctly love God.”22 The term ‘freely’ indicates the active role of the human person in this process. But Thomas adds that the human persons cannot attain this ‘having’ by their own power: it has to be given from above (desuper). In this formulation he employs purposely the term ‘to give,’ as is clear from the closing reminder: “to be given is used when we have something from elsewhere.” 23 When Thomas asks in the second article of this quaestio whether ‘Gift’ is a ‘personal’ name that is proper to the Spirit, he again begins with some general remarks about the concept ‘gift.’ He refers to Aristotle who stipulates that ‘gift’ properly understood entails no return. Thomas explains that this means that a gift is not given with an intention of retribution and that thus a gift implies gratuitous giving. 24 It might be a sign of a modern sensitivity to find it remarkable that Thomas refers to this stipulation of Aristotle, for there are philosophers who rather recently have argued that gifts always imply a return. 25 But it might also be the case that Thomas introduces an element here that clearly belongs to the view on grace as found in Scripture and that implies a rather radical critique on a spirituality dominated by merit STh I, q. 38 a. 1c.: “…nisi a rationali creatura Deo conjuncta … Unde sola creatura rationalis potest habere divinam personam.” 21 STh I, q. 38 a. 1c.: “Aliae autem creaturae moveri quidem possunt a divina persona, non tamen sic quod in potestate earum sit frui divina persona et uti effectus ejus.” 22 STh I, q. 38 a. 1c.: “Ad quod quandoque pertingit rationalis creatura ut puta cum sic fit participes divini Verbi et procedentis Amoris ut possit libere Deum vere cognoscere et recte amare.” 23 STh I, q. 38 a. 1c.: “Sed ad hoc quod sic eam habeat, non potest propria virtue pervenirie. Unde oportet quod hoc ei desuper detur; hoc enim dari nobis dicitur, quod aliunde habemus.” 24 STh I, q. 38 a. 2c.: “sciendum est quod donum proprie est datio irreddibilis, secundum philosophum, idest quod non datur intentione retributionis, et sic importat gratuitam donationem.” 25 For a short summary of that discussion among French philosophers see H. Rikhof, The Retrieval of Grace, in P.C. Beentjes (ed.), The Catholic Church and Modernity in Europe, Vienna 2009, 77-89. 20

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and performance. 26 In that case one should also acknowledge this sensitivity, that is to say: Thomas does not just make a ‘general’ remark here, but introduces a critical element in the discussion. His next step is to point to love as the deep structure for such a gratuitous gift. Thomas specifies this with ‘to will good for someone else.’ This step prepares for the application of this conceptual analysis of ‘gift’ to the Spirit as Gift. Since the Spirit proceeds as Love, he proceeds as the first Gift. 27 The addition of ‘first’ is important as appears from a quotation from Augustine that concludes his argument: “Through the Gift that is the Spirit the many gifts are divided under the members of Christ.” This quote comes from a discussion about a text from Ephesians where Paul uses both the singular and the plural. “To each of us is given grace to the measure of the donation of Christ. That is why it says, he ascended on high, he took captivity captive, he gave gifts to men.” 28 Augustine explains that Paul quotes a Psalm here (68,18) and that both the Psalmist and Paul use the plural “because through the gift which the Holy Spirit is in common to all the members of Christ, many gifts which are proper to them severally are divided among them. They do not each have all the gifts, but these have some and those have others, although all have the gift by which their special gifts are distributed to each, that is the Holy Spirit.” And Augustine continues with quoting 1 Cor 12, 2: “All these does one and the same Spirit achieve, distributing them severally to each as he wills.” 29 So, Thomas quotes Augustine’s central argument and this argument is not an afterthought, but the point of the whole argument. Using a somewhat different terminology, one can say that Thomas (and Augustine) clearly indicate that the gratia increata is the basis of the gratia creata. Thomas’ earlier remarks about the importance of the Gift of the Spirit in q. 32 are echoed here.

Perhaps the most telling example is the Pharisee praying in the temple: Lc 18, 9-14; cf. also Mt 6, 1-6.16-18. 27 STh I, q. 38 a. 2: “Ratio autem gratuitae donationis est amor, ideo enim damus gratis alicui aliquid, quia volumus ei bonum. Primum ergo quod damus ei, est amor quo volumus ei bonum. Unde manifestum est quod amor habet rationem primi doni, per quod omnia dona gratuita donantur.” 28 Eph 4, 7-8. 29 Augustine, de Trinitate, XV, 34; translation E. Hill o.p., The Works of Saint Augustine. A Translation for the 21st Century. New York 2016, 422-423. 26

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Quaestio 43 With this explanation of uti vel frui and the Spirit as the ‘first Gift’ in mind, we can return to q. 43 a. 3 and can appreciate Thomas’ closing argument and clearly see that it is not a rather superfluous addition, but, on the contrary, the main point or focus of his response. Thomas does mention uti vel frui to start with as part of a general remark about ‘having.’ But he only uses frui in the theological application: “… to have the power to enjoy a divine person.” From what follows the divine person he has in mind is the Holy Spirit: “The Holy Spirit is had and inhabits the human person. Hence, the Spirit himself is given and sent.” 30 Thomas’ concentration on the Holy Spirit returns when he discusses the invisible mission of the Son in a. 5. Right from the beginning, it is clear that this discussion is not just about the invisible mission of the Son, but also about the relation between the two missions. The three objectiones conclude all more or less explicitly that only the Spirit is sent invisibly. And in all three objectiones, one can sense the impact of the remarks made in that closing part of a. 3 about the connection between the indwelling of the Spirit and sanctifying grace (gratia gratum faciens). The response of a. 5 is somewhat disappointing, since Thomas repeats his earlier remarks in a. 4 about the indwelling of the Holy Trinity including the reference to John 14, 23 and concludes that both the Son and the Spirit are sent invisibly. But the interesting remarks are to be found in the responses to the objectiones, especially to the second objectio. In the answer to the first objectio Thomas starts by referring to his earlier remarks about the Holy Spirit as the first Gift; therefore all gifts as gifts are attributed to the Spirit. Then he adds that some gifts are attributed to the Son, since they pertain to the intellect. 31 The phrases “all gifts as gifts” and “some gifts because of their specific meaning” show that Thomas is making an order like genus and species. The consequence of this becomes clear in the ad 2. 30 STh I, q. 43, a. 3 c.: “Similiter illud solum habere dicimur, quo libere possumus uti vel frui. Habere autem potestatem fruendi divina persona, est solum secundum gratiam gratum facientem. Sed tamen in ipso dono gratiae gratum facientis, Spiritus Sanctus habetur, et inhabitat hominem. Unde ipsemet Spiritus Sanctus datur et mittitur.” 31 STh I, q. 43 a. 5 ad 1: “…quod, licet omnia dona, inquantum dona sunt, attribuantur Spiritui Sancto, quia habet rationem primi doni, secundum quod est amor, ut supra dictum est; aliqua tamen dona, secundum proprias rationes, attribuuntur per quandam appropriationem Filio, scilicet illa quae pertinent ad intellectum et secundum illa dona attenditur missio Filii.”

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While in the answer to the first objectio Thomas makes use one of the language rules that belong to the theology of the Trinity, namely ‘appropriation,’ in the answer to the third objectio he applies another rule, namely that the divine persons cannot be separated ad extra. That rule does not imply though, as too often in the history of theology has been concluded, that their activity cannot be distinguished, or in other words, that a proprium cannot be indicated. 32 Thomas does precisely that: with regard to the effects of grace, the invisible mission of the Son results in “the illumination of the intellect” and the invisible mission of the Spirit results in “the inflaming of the affect.” 33 This answer places the invisible mission of the Son next to the invisible mission of the Spirit. To use the earlier terminology: two species of one genus. In the answer to the second objectio, Thomas’ remarks indicate that this view is too easy. Thomas starts with a short but extremely profound remark: “… by grace the soul is conformed to God.” The next step is the application of this to the mission: when a divine person is sent to a human person, the human person is ‘assimilated’ to the divine person, who is sent by grace. One would expect as a next step a further specification of the two missions more or less along the lines of the first part of the response in a. 3: one mission to the intellect and one mission to the affect, a specification also found in the ad 3 of this article. Thomas does move in that direction, but he does not start in the usual way: with the assimilation of the soul to the Son. He starts with the assimilation of the soul to the Spirit. He then mentions the Son, but with a crucial qualification: not just any word, but “the Word breathing Love.” And Thomas underlines this qualification: “Therefore the Son is not sent to perfect the intellect, in some way or another but with such an instruction that the intellect bursts out in the affect of love.” 34 32 See e.g. H. Mühlen, Der Heilige Geist als Person, Münster 1988 (5th impression) par. 10: Das Axiom ‘In Deo omnia sunt unum, ubi non obviat relationis oppositio‘ und die inhabitatio propria des Heiligen Geistes, 306-327; K. Rahner, Der Dreifaltige Gott, 330, 366-7. 33 STh I, q. 43 a. 5 ad 3: “Si autem quantum ad effectum gratiae, sic communicant duae missiones in radice gratiae, sed distinguuntur in effectibus gratiae, qui sunt illuminatio intellectus, et inflammatio affectus. Et sic manifestum est quod una non potest esse sine alia, quia neutra est sine gratia gratum faciente, nec una persona separatur ab alia.” 34 STh I, q. 43 a. 5 ad 2 : “ … quod anima per gratiam conformatur Deo. Unde ad hoc quod aliqua persona divina mittatur ad aliquem per gratiam, oportet quod fiat assimilatio illius ad divinam personam quae mittitur per aliquod gratiae donum. Et quia Spiritus Sanctus est amor, per donum caritatis anima Spiritui Sancto assimilatur, unde secundum donum caritatis attenditur missio Spiritus Sancti. Filius autem est

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2. Conclusion This inquiry into Thomas’ view on the (invisible) mission of the Holy Spirit does, firstly, show that Thomas does pay attention to the role of the Holy Spirit in the history of salvation. He is faithful to the ‘program’ he indicates in q. 32. There is, therefore, no reason to accuse Thomas of Geistvergessenheit. Secondly, this inquiry also gives some indication of what Thomas means when he mentions the gift of the Spirit as required for a correct understanding of our salvation. The gift of the Spirit, the gratia increata, is the core of grace, the gratia creata. We do not understand our salvation profoundly enough when we do not recognize the presence of the divine persons in us and when we do not recognize the crucial role of the Holy Spirit in the process of transforming us to children of God. Thirdly, because of this crucial role of the Holy Spirit living faith is ‘knowledge with love.’ 35 An insight not always fully recognized in the Church and in our lives. The sacraments are tools we creatures require since our spiritual life “has some conformity” to our bodily life. 36 When Thomas discusses the sacraments in general, his attention starts with the bodily aspect, with the signs, but again and again one can notice his attention to the spiritual aspect, to grace, as well. Perhaps one has to say that within these quaestiones Thomas presupposes too much what he discussed earlier and what he maybe considers to be too obvious to mention again and again. He discusses the role of the Holy Spirit rather implicitly in the quaestiones about the sacraments in general, but he discusses that role explicitly and clearly in the earlier quaestiones I have analyzed. Schillebeeckx has never published the second part of his Sacramentele Heilseconomie, but the scheme for that part can be found in the Introduction. Chapter VI bears the title ‘Sacramental grace’ and is divided in three sections: a historical overview, a section on Thomas’ doctrine and the development of his thinking, explication of this doctrine. In this third section there is a paragraph entitled: ‘The sacramental grace and the divine missions. Role of the Holy Spirit.’ 37 It would be too presumptuous to suppose that this contribution on the role of the Holy Spirit in the sacraments could be that paragraph and fill that gap verbum, non qualecumque, sed spirans amorem, … Non igitur secundum quamlibet perfectionem intellectus mittitur Filius, sed secundum talem instructionem intellectus, qua prorumpat in affectum amoris …” 35 “cum amore notitia”: a quote from Augustine de Trinitate IX, 10. 36 “ … vita enim spiritualis conformitatem aliquam habet ad vitam corporalem.” STh III, q.65 a. 1c. 37 Schillebeeckx, Heilseconomie, XX.

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completely. Much more would be needed: not just a reading of the quaestiones about the sacraments in general, but also about the different sacraments in particular, and not just about the Summa Theologiae, but also about other systematic writings, and, of course, Thomas’ commentaries on Scripture. But I hope I did fill that gap at least a little.

ON THE AUTHORS Marta Borgo is SNSF researcher in the project Senses of Being at the Universität Luzern. David Decosimo is director of the Institute for Philosophy and Religion at Boston University and associate professor of theology and ethics. Harm Goris is assistant professor of theology at Tilburg University. Lambert Hendriks is rector of the Major Seminary Rolduc in Kerkrade and teaches moral theology. Gaven Kerr is lecturer in philosophy at St. Patrick’s Pontifical University in Maynooth. Anton ten Klooster is assistant professor of moral theology at Tilburg University. Rik van Nieuwenhove is professor of medieval thought at Durham University. Stefan Mangnus, o.p. is assistant professor of systematic theology at Tilburg University and pastoral supervisor. Piotr Roszak is professor of theology at the Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p. is assistant professor of moral theology at the Angelicum, Rome. Herwi Rikhof is professor emeritus of systematic theology at Tilburg University and was director of the Thomas Instituut Utrecht. Marcel Sarot is professor of fundamental theology at Tilburg University. Pim Valkenberg is professor of religion and culture at the Catholic University of America in Washington D.C. Jozef Wissink is professor emeritus of practical theology at Tilburg University.

Publications of the Thomas Instituut te Utrecht Vol. I

Henk J.M. Schoot, Christ the ‘Name’ of God. Thomas Aquinas on Naming Christ, 1993 Vol. II Jan G.J. van den Eijnden ofm, Poverty on the Way to God. Thomas Aquinas on Evangelical Poverty, 1994 Vol. III Henk J.M. Schoot (ed.), Tibi soli peccavi. Thomas Aquinas on Guilt and Forgiveness, 1996 Vol. IV Harm J.M.J. Goris, Free Creatures of an Eternal God. Thomas Aquinas on God’s Infallible Foreknowledge and Irresistible Will, 1996 Vol. V Carlo Leget, Living with God. Thomas Aquinas on the Relation between Life on Earth and ‘Life’ after Death, 1997 Vol. VI Wilhelmus G.B.M. Valkenberg, Words of the Living God. Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, 2000 Vol. VII Paul van Geest, Harm Goris, Carlo Leget (eds.), Aquinas as Authority. A Collection of Studies presented at the Second Conference of the Thomas Instituut te Utrecht, December 14-16, 2000, 2002 Vol. VIII Eric Luijten, Sacramental Forgiveness as a Gift of God. Thomas Aquinas on the Sacrament of Penance, 2003 Vol. IX Mark-Robin Hoogland c.p., God, Passion and Power. Thomas Aquinas on Christ Crucified and the Almightiness of God, 2003 Vol. X Stefan Gradl, Deus Beatitudo Hominis. Eine evangelische Annäherung an die Glückslehre des Thomas von Aquin, 2004 Barbara Roggema, Marcel Poorthuis, Pim Valkenberg (eds.), The Three Rings. Vol. XI Textual Studies in the Historical Trialogue of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, 2005 Vol. XII Fáinche Ryan, Formation in Holiness. Thomas Aquinas on Sacra doctrina, 2007 Vol. XIII Harm Goris, Herwi Rikhof, Henk Schoot (eds.), Divine Transcendence and Immanence in the Work of Thomas Aquinas, 2009 Vol. XIV Matthew Kostelecky, Thomas Aquinas’s Summa contra Gentiles: a mirror of human nature, 2012 Kevin E. O’Reilly, o.p., The Hermeneutics of Knowing and Willing in the Thought Vol. XV of St. Thomas Aquinas, 2013 Vol. XVI Harm Goris, Lambert Hendriks, Henk Schoot (eds.), Faith, Hope and Love. Thomas Aquinas on Living by the Theological Virtues, 2015 Vol. XVII Harm Goris, Henk Schoot (eds.), The Virtuous Life. Thomas Aquinas on the Theological Nature of Moral Virtues, 2016 Vol. XVIII Anton ten Klooster, Thomas Aquinas on the Beatitudes. Reading Matthew, Disputing Grace and Virtue, Preaching Happiness, 2018 Vol. XIX Henk Schoot, Jacco Verburgt, Jörgen Vijgen (eds.), Initiation and Mystagogy in Thomas Aquinas. Scriptural, Systematic, Sacramental and Moral, and Pastoral Perspectives, 2019 Vol. XX Stefan Mangnus, o.p., The Divinity of the Word. Thomas Aquinas Dividing and Reading the Gospel of John, 2022 Vol. XXI Anton ten Klooster, Harm Goris, Marcel Sarot (eds.), The Enduring Significance of Thomas Aquinas. Essays in Honor of Henk Schoot and Rudi te Velde, 2023

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