et Vetera Nova Winter 2021 • Volume 19, Number 1 The English Edition of the International Theological Journal Co-Editors Matthew Levering, Mundelein Seminary Thomas Joseph White, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Book Review Editor James Merrick, Franciscan University of Steubenville Associate Editors Holly Taylor Coolman, Providence College Gilles Emery, O.P., University of Fribourg Paul Gondreau, Providence College Scott W. Hahn, Franciscan University of Steubenville Thomas S. Hibbs, University of Dallas Reinhard Hütter, Catholic University of America Christopher Malloy, University of Dallas Bruce D. Marshall, Southern Methodist University Charles Morerod, O.P., Bishop of Lausanne, Geneva, and Fribourg John O’Callaghan, University of Notre Dame Chad C. Pecknold, Catholic University of America Michael S. Sherwin, O.P., University of Fribourg Board of Advisors Anthony Akinwale, O.P., Dominican Institute, Ibadan, Nigeria Khaled Anatolios, University of Notre Dame Robert Barron, Auxiliary Bishop of Los Angeles, CA John Betz, University of Notre Dame Bernhard Blankenhorn, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Christopher O. Blum, Augustine Institute Stephen Brock, Pontifical University of the Holy Cross Peter Casarella, Duke University Divinity School Boyd Taylor Coolman, Boston College Michael Dauphinais, Ave Maria University Archbishop J. Augustine Di Noia, O.P., Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith Douglas Farrow, McGill University Anthony Fisher, O.P., Archbishop of Sydney, Australia Simon Francis Gaine, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Timothy Gray, Augustine Institute Nicholas J. Healy, Jr., Pontifical John Paul II Institute (Washington, DC) Russell Hittinger, University of Tulsa Paige Hochschild, Mount St. Mary’s University Andrew Hofer, O.P., Dominican House of Studies Dominic Legge, O.P., Dominican House of Studies Joseph Lienhard, S.J., Fordham University Steven A. Long, Ave Maria University Guy Mansini, O.S.B., Ave Maria University Francesca Aran Murphy, University of Notre Dame Thomas Osborne, University of St. Thomas (Houston) Michał Paluch, O.P., Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas Trent Pomplun, University of Notre Dame Christopher J. Ruddy, Catholic University of America Richard Schenk, O.P., University of Freiburg Michele Schumacher, University of Fribourg Janet Smith, Sacred Heart Major Seminary Christopher Thompson, St. Paul Seminary Thomas Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap., Capuchin College William Wright, Duquesne University Instructions for Contributors 1. Address all contributions, books for review, and related correspondence to Matthew Levering, mjlevering@yahoo.com. 2. Contributions should be prepared to accord as closely as possible with the typographical conventions of Nova et Vetera. The University of Chicago Manual of Style (16th edition) is our authority on matters of style. 3. Nova et Vetera practices blind review. Submissions are evaluated anonymously by members of the editorial board and other scholars with appropriate expertise. Name, affiliation, and contact information should be included on a separate page apart from the submission. 4. Galley-proofs of articles are sent to contributors to be read and corrected and should be returned to the Editors within ten days of receipt. Corrections should be confined to typographical and factual errors. 5. Submission of a manuscript entails the author’s agreement (in the event his or her contribution is accepted for publication) to assign the copyright to Nova et Vetera. Nova et Vetera The English Edition of the International Theological Journal ISSN 1542-7315 Winter 2021 Vol. 19, No. 1 Commentary Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. Order of Nature–Order of Love: Arguments against a Naturalistic (Mis-)Interpretation of Humanae Vitae. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrzej Kuciński 1 21 Articles Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John P. Joy A More Complete Reading of Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Same-Sex Unions.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matthew Rolling 33 63 Symposium: The Future of Catholic Theology: Reflections of Past Academy of Catholic Theology Presidents The Future of Catholic Systematic Theology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. The Future of Catholic Theology: A Question. . . . . . Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition: Challenges and Resources. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John Grabowski The Wisdom of the Cross Is the Wisdom of Charity: Thomas Aquinas’s Soteriology—an Anticipatory Refutation of Neo-Pelagianism and Neo-Gnosticism. . . . Reinhard Hütter Places and Times: Searching for a Theological Topica.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Richard Schenk, O.P. 83 97 111 135 163 Symposium: Biblical Thomism Introduction to the Nova et Vetera Symposium Containing Papers from the International Conference on “Studying Sacred Scripture with Thomas Aquinas,” Blackfriars, Oxford, June 1, 2019. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Richard Conrad, O.P. Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation. . . . . . . . . . . Piotr Roszak Thomas Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ in Psalm 16:2.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joel Thomas Chopp Discerning the Literal Sense: Bringing Together Biblical Scholarship and Dogmatic Theology.. . . . . . . . Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. 191 199 217 251 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis: Hebrews 2:9 as a Case Study. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jörgen Vijgen 269 Book Reviews Theological Negotiations: Proposals in Soteriology and Anthropology by Douglas Farrow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Joshua Farris When Christians Were Jews: The First Generation by Paula Fredriksen.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Giambrone, O.P. Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John Skalko Paul, a New Covenant Jew: Rethinking Pauline Theology by Brant Pitre, Michael P. Barber, and John A. Kincaid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrew D. Swafford 299 303 309 313 The English edition of Nova et Vetera is published quarterly and provides an international forum for theological and philosophical studies from a Thomistic perspective. Founded in 1926 by future Cardinal Charles Journet in association with Jacques Maritain, Nova et Vetera is published in related, distinct French and English editions. The English edition of Nova et Vetera welcomes articles and book reviews in theology, philosophy, and biblical studies that address central contemporary debates and discussions. We seek to be “at the heart of the Church,” faithful to the Magisterium and the teachings of the Second Vatican Council, and devoted to the work of true dialogue. Nova et Vetera (ISSN 1542-7315; ISBN 978-1-64585-093-9) is published quarterly by St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology, 1468 Parkview Circle, Steubenville, OH 43952. Nova et Vetera is distributed to institutional subscribers for the St. Paul Center by the Catholic University of America Press. 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Nova et Vetera Subscription Rates: • Individuals: one-year $40.00, two-year $75.00 International: one-year $60.00, two-year $115.00 • Students: one-year $30.00, two-year $50.00 International: one-year $40.00, two-year $70.00 • Colleges, Universities, Seminaries, and Institutions: one-year $110.00, one-year print + electronic subscription $150.00 International: one-year $135.00 To subscribe online, please visit http://www.nvjournal.net. For subscription inquiries, email us at novaetvetera@stpaulcenter.com or phone 740-264-9535. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 1–19 1 Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. Pontifical University of Saint Thomas Aquinas Rome, Italy Robert Cardinal Sarah’s recent The Power of Silence (2017) identifies the interior silence of the human person before God as a dimension of Christian spirituality urgently in need of renewal. Far from the simple absence of sound or refusal to communicate, a special type of silence is discovered as “the language of God,” both fruit of his presence in the soul and a stillness in which the believer hears his Word.1 This essay finds solid footing for a spirituality of silence in the life and teachings of a trusted master. Although Saint Thomas never composed a treatise on the subject, I argue that a rich theology of silence can be gathered from his writings and that this spiritual doctrine in turn enlightens the silence that enveloped Aquinas’s last days on earth. Interpreting the Final Silence of Saint Thomas It is well established that Thomas Aquinas abruptly broke off his theological work and barely spoke during the four months before his death in March 1274.2 However, the significance of this final chapter in the life of the saint 1 2 Robert Cardinal Sarah, The Power of Silence: Against the Dictatorship of Noise (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2017), 22 and 238. In his postface to the German edition, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI develops interior silence as a condition for a fruitful reception of Christ’s words (“With Cardinal Sarah, the Liturgy is in Good Hands,” First Things, May 2017, firstthings.com/web-exclusives/2017/05/with-cardinal-sarah-the-liturgy-is-in-good-hands). Accounts of Thomas’s final days can be found in Simon Tugwell, Albert and Thomas (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1988), 233–34, 265–67, and Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, vol. 1, The Person and His Work (Washington, DC: Catholic 2 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. is still debated today. While some scholars see in Thomas’s final silence little more than the collapse of his physical and mental health, others view it as an eloquent testament to his mysticism. Consequently, admirers of the saint are left to wonder whether anything of real value can be learned from this final moment of Aquinas’s life. What exactly brought about this silence, according to the available historical witnesses? Already, during the last year of Thomas’s life, graces of ecstasy and tears during Compline3 and Holy Mass seem to have become frequent. 4 Brother Reginald, the saint’s closest friend and faithful secretary, explained to Thomas’s sister Theodora that he had “frequently experienced raptures of spirit when immersed in contemplation, but never for so long a time.”5 Those close to Thomas described these sorts of “abstractions” as frequent, and they seem to have increased during his last months.6 Still, the final silence of Thomas was no such passing grace or abstraction. On December 6, 1273,7 during the celebration of Holy Mass, something happened to Friar Thomas which impressed him so deeply that, from that day to his death, he spoke very little and ceased all formal teaching and writing. 8 Bartholomew of Capua’s famous testimony states that, 3 4 5 6 7 8 University of America Press, 2005), 289–95. Compline was the only choral office, according to Tugwell, that Thomas attended regularly (Albert and Thomas, 263 and note 605). Paul Murray, O.P., Aquinas at Prayer (London: Bloomsbury, 2013), 27. Murray cites a concrete example of Holy Mass on Passion Sunday 1273, where Thomas had to be roused from an apparent ecstasy in order to continue the celebration. William of Tocco, Hystoria beati Thomae Aquinatis, ch. 47, no. 120, ed. D. Prummer, in Fontes Vitae S. Thomae de Aquino notis historicis et criticis illustrati, quoted by Bruno Forte, Il Silenzio di Tommaso (Casale Monferrato: Piemme, 1998), 23 (English translations are my own, since the English edition is not currently available.). Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:288–89. Such instances of Thomas lost in contemplation seem to range from intellectual problem solving (such as the famous dinner with King Louis of France) to apparently mystical favors (such as his ecstasy on Palm Sunday 1273). Still, an overly rigid division between the intellectual and spiritual seems foreign to the saint’s own spirituality. While the earliest sources merely state “around the time of the feast of blessed Nicholas” (a festo beati Nicolai circa), Peter Kwasniewski argues for accepting the precise date of December 6 (“Golden Straw: St. Thomas and the Ecstatic Practice of Theology,” Nova et Vetera (English) 2, no. 1 [2004]: 61–89, at 61). It must be pointed out that the saint was by no means totally mute after the experience of December 6. Not only did he communicate, minimally, with those caring for him, he also answered a few requests for his theological services—the papal summons to the Council of Lyons, an urgent question sent to him by the Abbot of Monte Cassino, not to mention the (unverified) meditations on Song of Songs Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 3 while Thomas celebrated the Eucharist in the chapel of Saint Nicholas, he “underwent an astonishing transformation,” and “after this Mass he never wrote nor dictated anything, and hung up his writing materials while in the middle of the third part of his Summa on the treatise of Penitence.”9 Perplexed, Reginald urged his master to continue his theological writing: “Father, how can you abandon a work so important for the glory of God and for the enlightenment of the world?” Thomas answered tersely, “Reginald, I can’t do it.” Aquinas’s final word on the matter, while discreet, casts a mystical light on his decision: “I can’t do it. Everything I have written seems but straw to me compared to what I have seen and has been revealed to me.”10 This testimony, generally accepted as credible, connects the loss of Aquinas’s ability or motivation to pursue theological work with some supernatural experience. Thus, the historical record already provides three arguments in favor of a voluntary and supernatural sense to Thomas’s silence. One, the witness of Aquinas’s spiritual life: graces of ecstasy were frequent during the last year of his life. Two, Aquinas’s health: though clearly fatigued, Thomas was by no means incapable of speech or thought. He communicated with his care givers, composed a short theological treatise upon request, and is said to have uttered a fervent prayer as he received the Viaticum.11 Three, Aquinas’s own reported words explain his choice to stop preaching and teaching as motivated by some private revelation. Understandably, this mysterious event has fascinated scholars. I group their various opinions into three main positions. Mystical. Admirers of the saint have been eager to interpret his final silence in a poetic or mystical light. For Josef Pieper, Aquinas was hushed by an experience of divine mystery: The last word of St. Thomas is not communication but silence. And it is not death that takes the pen from his hand. His tongue is stilled by the superabundance of life in the mystery of God. He is silent, not because he has nothing further to say; he is silent because he has been allowed a glimpse into the inexpressible depths of that mystery 9 10 11 for the monks of Fossanova. Thomas’s eloquent prayer before the Viaticum shows that he kept his wits and ability to speak until the end of his life. Processus canonizationis Neapoli, no. 79, 376s, in Fontes Vitae S. Thomae, ed. M.-H. Laurent (cited by Forte, Il Silenzio, 15). Processus canonizationis Neapoli, no. 79, 376s (Forte, Il Silenzio, 19). For the Viaticum prayer, see Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:293. 4 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. which is not reached by any thought or speech.12 Bruno Forte compares Thomas hanging up his writing materials to the Jewish musicians in exile hanging up their harps (see Ps 137): “Could words ever express the open wound of the soul? Where in exile, there is pain, the closer one is to the homeland. As guardian of the ineffable, only silent love remains, an icon of the last farewell.”13 Peter Kwasniewski firmly believes that the December 6 experience was “principally if not exclusively a mystical one.”14 Conservative. Other scholars take a more reserved view of Thomas’s last months. Jean-Pierre Torrell, for example, refers to the period as Thomas’s “final illness” and thinks it “hardly probable that it had a direct link with the December 6 experience.”15 A few have suggested that Thomas suffered a stroke, mental breakdown, or even a midlife crisis.16 Perhaps in favor of this position is the reported phrase: “The only thing I want now is that as God has put an end to my writing, He may quickly end my life also.”17 For James Weisheipl, “The physical basis for the event could have been . . . an acute breakdown of his physical and emotional powers due to overwork.”18 G. M. Pizzuti presents Thomas as “prey to increasing doubts about the value of his work” which would have sapped the theologian of “his will to finish the Summa.”19 Mixed. For Giles Emery, attention to the natural conditions of Thomas’s final silence need not exclude all supernatural influence.20 Simon 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 Josef Pieper, The Silence of St. Thomas, trans. John Murray and Daniel O’Connor (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 1999), 38. Pieper’s book is not a monograph on the silence of Aquinas, but rather a collection of three essays none of which treats Thomas’s final silence as their main subject. Forte, Il Silenzio, 17. Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 65. Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:293. As reported by Robert Barron, Thomas Aquinas: Spiritual Master (New York: Crossroad, 1996), 23–24. Reported by Bernardo Gui (Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 64). James Weisheipl, Friar Thomas d’Aquino: His Life, Thought, and Works (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1983), 322 (cited by Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 27). Tugwell confirms that Thomas was a “workaholic,” very reluctant to take time off (Albert and Thomas, 261). Torrell also reports the opinion of E. Colledge, who sees signs of “a serious cerebral stroke” (Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:294). Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:294. Torrell simply reports this opinion of Pizzuti without passing judgment. Giles Emery, The Trinitarian Theology of Saint Thomas Aquinas (New York: Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 5 Tugwell indicates signs of a physical collapse while at the same time describing December 6 as a “rapture” caused by an overwhelming experience of divine love and the mystery of the Eucharist.21 Torrell, after careful review of the evidence, concludes that a combination of both fatigue and intense mystical experiences “may be the most plausible” explanation.22 Paul Murray similarly considers Thomas’s final silence to be both physical and mystical.23 Robert Barron closes the debate with careful reserve: “Whatever explanation we offer, the simple fact of his remarkable silence remains.”24 The stunning power of whatever Thomas experienced at Mass, coupled with his characteristic discretion about his own spiritual life, would seem to leave the saint’s final silence forever cloaked in mystery. Thesis: Thomas’s Spiritual Doctrine on Silence Enlightens his own Personal Experience Without excluding a physical component from the December 6 event, I find a mystical interpretation of Thomas’s silence convincing and instructive from a perspective of spiritual theology. Behind the historical question (What happened and which interpretation best fits the evidence?), I see a valuable spiritual question: What can we learn about the spiritual life from Thomas’s silence? What experience of God can provoke such silence in a preacher? What is the value of the believer’s silence before God as a positive act of faith, hope, and charity? This passage from the historical to the spiritual requires some theological labor but promises to unlock the lasting, exemplary value of this event for students of spirituality. In this essay, I offer a new avenue for exploring the meaning of Thomas’s silence. None of the scholars cited above chose to examine what Thomas himself says elsewhere about silence, in the context of the moral and spir- 21 22 23 24 Oxford University Press, 2007), 395: “It should probably be ascribed to an extreme nervous and physical fatigue; but the last year of Thomas’s life is marked by deep spiritual experiences.” Tugwell, Albert and Thomas, 266–67. Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:295. Torrell describes the December 6 experience as an “ecstasy” (1:287). Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 27. Murray supports his opinion with interesting quotes from Johannes Tauler: “A man may die of a broken heart because God works in him so vehemently that it is more than he can bear. . . . Many a man has died of this, giving himself up so utterly to these wondrously great works that his nature could not endure it and collapsed under the strain” (28). Barron, Thomas Aquinas, 24. Torrell concludes in similar fashion: “Before these attempts at explanation, the reader can only suspend judgment” (Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:295). 6 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. itual life, as a possible means to understanding his decision to stop teaching.25 Only Murray indicates the path I wish to pursue, referring to a short text of Thomas on the silence which honors God as an interpretive key to his own final silence.26 Here, I argue that Thomas’s teaching indicates a positive, spiritual sense of the believer’s silence before God. Though not systematic or well developed, this doctrine is valuable, independently of the historical question about Thomas’s last days. It represents Aquinas’s contribution to a spiritual theology of silence. In addition, this work offers a more solid foundation for a mystical interpretation of Thomas’s final act. I do not pretend to explain Thomas’s personal experience by these texts alone. But if my work is compelling, it not only offers a fourth argument in favor of a mystical understanding of Aquinas’s final silence but also allows this last, spiritual “word” of the Angelic Doctor to speak to students and admirers alike. Silence Is Not a Formal Theme of Thomas’s Moral or Spiritual Doctrine Turning to the systematic theology of Aquinas in search of an elaborate doctrine on silence, the spiritual enthusiast is quickly disappointed. Silence is not conceptualized as a formal theme of his dogmatic or moral teaching, with no specific question or article devoted to it, and the term itself appears rarely in the Summa theologiae. In the prima pars, Thomas does compare the procession of the Eternal Word to the formation of an interior “word of the heart” (verbum cordis), which was not expressed “out loud” until the Incarnation.27 This metaphor, linking the interior formation of the human word to the procession of the Word in God, suggests a promising analogue for man’s spiritual silence in the very mystery of the Trinity. However, Aquinas does not pursue this reflection and silence is never formalized as an explicit theme in Aquinas’s theology of the Godhead. 25 26 27 Interestingly, Kwasniewski adopts a similar thesis from the opposite angle: Thomas’s silence, he thinks, provides the interpretive key to his writings. Here, I argue that Thomas’s writings help to interpret his silence. Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 28. Emery, in a subtler way, suggests that Thomas himself had an ineffable experience of the indwelling God about which he had written (Trinitarian Theology, 395). I develop this point below. See: Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 27, a. 1, ad 2; Super Matt 1, lec. 4, no. 112, and Super Heb 1, lec. 1 and lec. 3. Aquinas describes three stages of human communication—conception in the heart, words formed into speech, and the written word—in In I sent., d. 27, q. 2, a. 1 (cited by Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 70). Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 7 In Aquinas’s presentation of the moral life in the secunda pars, silence does not appear as a positive virtue where we might expect, neither as a fruit of charity alongside peace, nor in the domain of justice as an act of discretion, nor among the external acts of religion as a form of reverence, nor as an act of fortitude alongside patience or an act of temperance such as modesty of speech or humility. While certain types of immoral speech are denounced among the various vices (blasphemy, lying, boasting, etc.), one form of silence, taciturnity, is also identified as a vice, the fruit of harbored anger.28 Elsewhere, it is the spoken word, not silence, that Thomas often highlights as an integral part of the Christian life. Vocal prayer is useful for encouraging other members of the assembly and for exciting one’s own interior devotion.29 Special charisms of speech are given for the edification of the Church, such as prophecy or the gift of tongues.30 Preaching and teaching are noble services of the active consecrated life.31 And finally, Christ himself did not choose a solitary life of silence, but rather to “converse with men” so as to manifest divine truths through his example and teaching.32 Silence Was a Language Familiar to Thomas the “Mystic” This brief survey of the Summa might compel us to conclude that Saint Thomas does not accord any positive place to silence in the spiritual life. Moreover, the composed prayers of Aquinas which have survived contain no expansive imagery of silence or solitude.33 On the contrary, the saint prays for eloquence in teaching (Prayer Before Study) and exhorts his own tongue to “sing the Savior’s glory” (Pange lingua). Yet, to anyone familiar with the life of Aquinas, something here seems missing. The rather prosaic picture of silence which emerges from a cursory study of his Summa and written prayers contrasts starkly with what we 28 29 30 31 32 33 ST II-II, q. 48, a. 4. ST II-II, q. 83, a. 12. However, Aquinas acknowledges here that vocal prayer is unnecessary when “the mind is sufficiently prepared for devotion without recourse to such signs” and that devout persons often speak to God in the “heart.” Thomas elsewhere comments the “inexpressible groanings” of the Spirit (Super Rom 8, lec. 5) and describes prayer as a “cry from within” the heart (Super Psalmos 33). ST II-II, qq. 171–77. ST II-II, q. 181. ST III, q. 40 Below I will return to two prayers which refer to an ascetic sort of silencing the senses as a form of modesty (Prayer for Acquiring Virtue) and of silencing the passions (Long Prayer after Communion). 8 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. know about Aquinas’s own personal life and demeanor: he regularly avoided conversation and social encounters, preferring private prayer, study, and solitary walks.34 His quiet reserve earned him the nickname “dumb ox” from his fellow university students.35 In reality, Aquinas’s exterior silence was the fruit of a rich intellectual and mystical life. It is amply attested that Thomas was frequently “caught up in the things of heaven.”36 His ardent devotion for Holy Mass, while expressed in splendid hymns and prayers, often moved him to silent ecstasies and holy tears such that he had to be roused in order to continue.37 I have already noted Reginald’s testimony of the saint’s frequent raptures.38 So, if a spiritual silence seems familiar to Thomas the mystic, can it be entirely absent from the works of Thomas the theologian? Some think not. Murray suggests that a devout form of silence before God, “can be detected between the lines and words of almost everything he wrote,” suggesting a few avenues for a spiritual reading of Thomas’s silence: It is a silence, first and last, of attention to the Word of God, the silence of the grace of listening, the silence of a mind continually amazed at the radiant fullness of truth revealed in Christ. It is a silence of willing obedience to the will of the Father, and to the least movement of the workings of the Spirit. It is a silence of love, of Trinitarian communion, a silence of day-to-day intimacy and friendship. . . . It is a silence which, though contemplative of the fact that God is beyond all human thoughts, all human words, is never for a moment disdainful of the humble words we use when we try to speak of God. It is the silence of a mind utterly at rest in the contemplation of the truth, and yet ever restless in its search for deeper understanding. . . . It is the silence of a man, living for years in the midst of the ordinary squabbles and conflicts of [academia], who was yet able to be somehow at ease, and to live a quite extraordinary interior life.39 34 35 36 37 38 39 Tugwell, Albert and Thomas, 261–63. Tugwell, Albert and Thomas, 209. Ystoria sancti Thomae de Aquino, 203 (cited by Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 17; see also Tugwell, Albert and Thomas, 262). Tugwell, Albert and Thomas, 264; Forte, Il Silenzio, 23; Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 27. See above, note 4. Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 29. Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 9 Spiritual Senses of Silence from the Life and Writings of Aquinas If Aquinas does not formalize silence as a particular theme of his moral and spiritual doctrine, a little digging into his life and writings reveals the sort of appreciation for silence which we would expect from a theologian and man of prayer.40 His commentary on a verse from Jeremiah, “because the Lord our God has reduced us to silence” (Vulgate Jer 8:14), indicates different types of silence: Notice that there are different kinds of silence [nota quod multiplex est silentium]. The silence of stupor, “Silence fell upon every place” (Amos 8:3); the silence of security, “And the work of justice is peace, and the cult of justice is silence [cultus justitiae silentium]” (Isa 32:17); the silence of longanimity, “It is good to await in silence the salvation of God [bonum praestolari cum silentio]” (Lam 3:26); and the silence of a restful heart [silentium quietis cordis]. 41 Here, Thomas offers a few examples of “spiritual silence,” that is, positive theological acts of man before God: a silence of awe before some display of divine power, a silence of peace and security, a silence of hope, awaiting the fulfillment of divine promises, and a silence of the heart. While this list need not be considered exhaustive, it is enough to invite further study. Word searches in the “index thomisticus” yielded 193 cases of silentium (and conjugated forms) in 158 places and 872 cases of quies in 740 places. Of these occurrences, I retained only those most relevant to this theme. In addition, I examined Thomas’s commentaries on many verses of the Bible describing the silence of the believer before God. From this basis, I propose here a synthesis of four main types of spiritual silence in the writings of Aquinas. The Silence of Reverence42 A prominent feature of Thomas’s mysticism is his acceptance of divine 40 41 42 Bernard Gui, The Life of St Thomas Aquinas: Biographical Documents (London: Longmans, 1959), 36: “In Thomas the habit of prayer was extraordinarily developed” (quoted by Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 11). Super Jer 8, lec. 7, no. 222. The phrase is Pieper’s: “Man, in his philosophical inquiry, is faced again and again with the experience that reality is unfathomable, and Being is a mystery—an experience, it is true, which urges him not so much to communication as to silence. But it would not be the silence of resignation and still less of despair. It would be the silence of reverence” (Silence of St. Thomas, 110). 10 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. mystery.43 The Angelic Doctor does not hesitate to acknowledge the limits of our capacity to know God: “This is what is ultimate in the human knowledge of God: to know that we do not know God.”44 Thomas often underlines our ignorance of God, despite the gift of divine revelation: “Job rightly names it [i.e., our knowledge of God] a drop.” Again: “At the end of our knowledge, God is ultimately known as unknown.”45 Some authors consider the incomplete state in which Thomas left the Summa to be an enduring monument to the inadequacy of human reason before the mystery of God.46 However, Thomas’s apophatism should not be reduced to a negative appraisal of our capacities to know God. Rather, Aquinas presents our awareness of God’s transcendence as a positive act of reverence: We may speak of God in two ways. First, with regard to His essence; and thus, since He is incomprehensible and ineffable, He is above all praise. In this respect we owe Him reverence and the honor of latria; wherefore Ps 65:2 is rendered by Jerome in his Psalter, “Silence is praise to Thee, O God.”47 An insatiable seeker of truth like Thomas fittingly defends the legitimacy of rational inquiry about divine realities but stipulates that theology should be enveloped by a reverent silence: God is honored by silence, not because we may say or know nothing about him, but because, no matter what we say or learn about God, we are told that we will never be able to comprehend him: “However much you may glorify the Lord, He will always be still greater” (Sir 43:22). 48 The objection answered here cites Dionysius, “Giving honor to the 43 44 45 46 47 48 Affirmation from a public lecture by Murray at the Pontifical University of Saint Thomas, Rome, on February 21, 2017, echoing the title of his 2013 volume, “Aquinas at Prayer.” De veritate, q. 18, a. 2 ad 5 (cited by Pieper, Silence of St. Thomas, 64). See: Summa contra gentiles [SCG] IV, ch. 1; ST I, q. 13, a. 10, ad 5; In Boethius de Trinitate, q. 1, a. 2, ad 1 (all texts cited by Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 25, and February 21, 2017, lecture). See Josef Pieper, Guide to Thomas Aquinas (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991), 158 (cited by Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 67–68). ST II-II, q. 91, a. 1, ad 1. In Boethius de Trinitate, q. 2, a. 1, ad 6. Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 11 mystery, which is above us, by silence” (Celestial Hierarchy 15.9), and Scripture, “Silence itself is your praise” (Ps 65:2). It is striking that Saint Thomas welcomes the respectful silence before God urged by Scripture and the Fathers without resigning himself to total apophatism. Until the final months of his life, Aquinas never ceased to inquire into the nature and revealed mysteries of God. 49 At times, we see Aquinas respectfully halt a line of theological inquiry before divine things not revealed.50 And yet such reverent silence does not stop his quest for theological truths. A telling example is found in the saint’s personal prayer before study. He begins by invoking the Divine Word as the “Ineffable Creator” but goes on to praise his wonderful works and attributes, humbly asking for the graces needed for theological study and teaching.51 Similarly, before a lengthy treatment of the reasons for the Incarnation, Aquinas reflects: “If we contemplate the mystery of the Incarnation earnestly and reverently, we find there such a depth of wisdom that our human knowledge is overwhelmed by it. . . . That is why to all those who consider things reverently, the reasons for this mystery appear even more marvelous.”52 Pieper sees in this capacity to manifest a sort of hushed wonder before divine realities a testament to “the greatness of St. Thomas as a philosophical and theological thinker.”53 In his scriptural commentaries, Aquinas observes a reverent silence in persons who come into close contact with the mysteries of God. Job, for example, is moved to “cover his mouth” before God’s awesome power (see Job 40:3–5): “All these things show the greatness of divine wisdom and might which produce such marvelous effects. We understand that after Job had heard so many wonderful things . . . he was stunned and silent.”54 In Saint Joseph, too, Thomas sees a similar reverent silence. Joseph’s decision “to divorce Mary quietly” was motivated not by the suspicion of adultery but by a respectful silence before an evident divine intervention: “And wondering at what had happened, he covered in silence that mystery which 49 50 51 52 53 54 See ST II-II, q. 2, a. 10: “When someone has a will ready to believe, he loves the truth believed, ponders over it and applies himself to that which is believed, looking to find reasons for this truth.” See, for example, ST I, q. 20, a. 4, ad 3. After reporting different opinions on why the Lord loved Peter or John, Thomas drops the question: “It would be presumptuous to pass judgment on what belongs to God.” See “Prayer Before Study,” in The Aquinas Prayer Book, ed. R. Anderson and J. Moser (Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute, 2000). SCG IV, ch. 54 (cited by Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 26). Pieper, Guide to Saint Thomas Aquinas, 159. Super Iob 39. 12 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. he could not explain.”55 Finally, the disciples’ silence before an act of Jesus which they did not understand (see John 4:27) was not simply due to their ignorance, but rather motivated by reverence and holy fear: “The disciples’ reverence for Christ was shown by their silence. For we show our reverence for God by not presuming to discuss his affairs.”56 In this context of reverent silence, it seems fitting to discuss Thomas’s reception of Dionysius’s doctrine of noetic and mystical silence. For Dionysius, all the perfections we attribute to God fall short of his transcendent mystery.57 In addition, loving union with God also takes place in a mystical “silence” or “darkness” of the mind.58 For Dionysius, we honor “the ineffable realities” of God by observing “a chaste silence.”59 Aquinas confirms: we revere the ineffable things of God by keeping silence and not scrutinizing them, “and this comes from the chastity and holiness of the mind which does not push beyond its proper limits.”60 Thus, Thomas does welcome, to some degree, Dionysius’s noetic silence before God, but only considers the divine essence itself to be ineffable.61 However, Aquinas does not accept Dionysius’s call to silence without qualification.62 For Thomas, revealed truths come to the aide of our limited, natural intelligence, such that where the human intellect can say no more, the Word of God continues to speak: it is “only praise unenlightened by divine revelation that falls silent.”63 For Aquinas, the mysteries of God do not stifle but rather invite praise, study, and preaching. Whereas for Dionysius, mystical union plunges the believer into a “dark cloud” beyond all knowing, Aquinas’s mystic gazes upon God “through Scripture, tradition, and creation, and not without them.”64 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 Super Matt 1, lec. 4, no. 117, and Catena aurea super Matt 1, lec. 10. See Super Ioan 4, lec. 3, no. 623. Jordan Aumann, Christian Spirituality in the Catholic Tradition (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2001), 53 Aumann, Christian Spirituality, 52. Pseudo-Dionysius, De divinis nominibus 1.3.589B, in Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, ed. Colm Luibheid (Mahwah, MJ: Paulist, 1987), 50. Aquinas, In de divinis nominibus, ch. 1, lec. 2, no. 44. Aquinas, In de divinis nominibus, ch. 13, lec. 3, no. 993: “There cannot be a simple name or composite speech expressing God as he is in himself.” See also ch. 11, lec. 2, no. 895 Bernard Blankenhorn, The Mystery of Union with God: Dionysian Mysticism in Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2015), 438. Blankenhorn, Mystery of Union with God, 333. Blankenhorn, Mystery of Union with God, 461. Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 13 Silence of Recollection and Prayer A second form of spiritual silence discussed by Saint Thomas is the silence of recollection which disposes to prayer. For Aquinas, prayer is above all an “ascent of the mind toward God,” a surrendering and submission of the intellect prompted “by the will of charity.”65 This elevation of the mind requires a certain freedom from interior and exterior agitation. In his “Longer Prayer after Communion,” Thomas asks that the Eucharist “perfectly quiet my passions, physical and spiritual.”66 A favorite psalm verse of Thomas, “Be still and know that I am God” (Ps 45:10), inspires him to discuss a peace that is ordered to contemplation.67 Elsewhere, this verse speaks to Thomas of a certain “rest or stillness of the mind” as one of four conditions required to experience the indwelling of God in the soul.68 Explaining the superiority of the contemplative life over the active life, Aquinas explains that contemplation consists “in a sort of rest or quiet,” citing again the same psalm.69 Other texts further explore this stillness of the mind that disposes to prayer. Thomas thinks that silent petitions are more effective than spoken ones: “Mystically, we may understand that one more efficaciously calls upon Christ silently than by the exterior voice alone: ‘In silence and hope will be your strength’ (Isa 30:15).” However, the “quiet” in question here is more than just physical solitude or the absence of speech. In order to see God, explains the saint, “one must take the time to look, for spiritual things cannot be seen if one is absorbed by earthly things: ‘Take time and see that the Lord is sweet’ (Ps 34:8).”70 “Christ is not easily found,” Aquinas clarifies, “in the midst of men, or in the whirlwind of temporal cares; rather, he is found in spiritual seclusion: ‘I will lead her into the wilderness, and there I will speak to her heart’ (Hos 2:14); ‘Words of wisdom are heard in silence’ (Eccl 9:17).”71 Thomas interprets Jesus’s precept to “retire into your room and shut the door” (Matt 6:6) as an invitation to silent, interior 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 ST II-II, q. 83, a. 1, and a. 3. Aquinas Prayer Book, 83. Super Psalmos 45, no. 8. Super Ioan 1, lec. 15, no. 293. ST II-II, q. 182, a. 1. However, Thomas is careful to not oppose the two states of life. For Aquinas, the active life disposes to the contemplative life by rightly ordering the passions according to charity, and the contemplative life, in turn, nourishes works of the active life such as preaching. The sort of exterior silence observed by contemplative religious, evidently, is incongruous with active ministries (ST II-II, q. 185, a. 8). Super Ioan 14, lec. 6, no. 1941. Super Ioan 5, lec. 2, no. 728. 14 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. prayer: “By the chamber can be understood the secret interior of the heart . . . [and] the ‘door’ is the mouth: ‘Make doors and bars to your mouth’ (Sir 28:28) as though he said, pray silently.” Private prayer is generally silent and can be hindered by the presence of others.72 Silent prayer is a strong act of faith, manifesting our trust that God knows our hearts before express petitions. While Aquinas recognizes that “words help to raise the heart up to God,” personal prayer tends to a certain sobriety favored by silence: “In private prayer, when the affections are not excited to devotion by words, then no words need be uttered and the affections should be shut up. For, just as heat is diminished by evaporation, so are affections emptied out by words . . . and [it is helpful] to shut out the exterior senses and imagination.”73 The silence of recollection, then, is a voluntary effort of interiority, a sort of quieting of the sensible faculties, ordered to the contemplation and love of God, as we see in Thomas’s own prayer: “restrain my tongue, . . . keep my eyes from wandering glances, shelter my ears from noise, lower my gaze in humility, lift my mind to thoughts of heaven, above all that will pass away” in order to “love you and you alone.”74 Silence of Rest and Union Among the forms of spiritual silence listed above, Thomas included “the rest of the heart” (silentium quietis cordis). Aquinas calls “enjoyment” the delight and fulfillment experienced when we attain our true good and the will can “rest” in its desired end.75 God is supremely blessed, because the divine will rests in the possession and enjoyment of the most perfect good, the contemplation of himself.76 For the human person, our appetite will only find its full rest in heaven, but saints learn to rest in God, as the object of their desires, already here below.77 Union with divine things is attained not only by knowing them with the mind but also by loving them with the heart.78 The will cannot fully rest in earthly goods or works but only in 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 Super Ioan 6, lec. 2, nos. 575–76. Super Ioan 6, lec. 2, nos. 582 and 578. See also ST II-II, q. 83, a. 12 (see note 29 above for more on this passage in ST). From “To Acquire the Virtues,” Aquinas Prayer Book, 37. ST I-II, q. 11, a. 1; a. 3; q. 12, a. 2, ad 3. ST I, q. 26, a. 2, ad 2. In I sent., d. 1, q. 4, a. 1, ad 5. See also ST I, q. 12, a. 7, ad 1: “The blessed possess these three things in God: because they see Him, and in seeing Him, they possess Him as present, having the power to see Him always, and possessing Him, they enjoy him as the ultimate fulfillment of desire.” Aquinas, In de divinis nominibus, ch. 2, lec. 4, no. 191. Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 15 God himself, and this rest (quies in Deo) is experienced on earth primarily in prayer.79 Thus, in the rest of contemplation (quiete contemplationis) we have a foretaste of the spiritual rest of the heart that we will experience in heaven (quiete futurae gloriae).80 Elsewhere, Thomas explains that the indwelling presence of divine persons in the soul is the underlying source of this spiritual rest and enjoyment. By the grace of indwelling, the divine persons give themselves to the believer so that they may be known and loved, possessed and enjoyed.81 Writing on this enjoyment of the indwelling God, Emery speculates that this sort of experience is the likely source of Thomas’s final silence: “How can one fail to imagine that it was this which St Thomas experienced in December 1273 when he ceased to write, leaving the Summa unfinished?” Emery points to the “deep spiritual experiences” of Aquinas’s last year as “evidence” that “Thomas had come to the same reality of which he had spoken,” and that theological speech became insufficient to express the mystery he had encountered. In a delightful commentary on Jesus’s invitation to the first disciples to “come and see” (John 1:38–39), Aquinas explains that “the dwelling of God, whether of glory or of grace, cannot be known except by experience; for it cannot be explained by words.”82 Some graced experience, then, can bring the believer to a restful communion with the indwelling God, but this experience, for Aquinas, remains ineffable. 83 Saint John of the Cross confirms that “the most appropriate language for persons receiving such favors” is silence. 84 Hence, the spiritual silence “of the heart” is the rest of the soul in God, which can be experienced already in prayer until its perfection in eternal beatitude. 79 80 81 82 83 84 In II sent., d. 15, q. 3, a. 3. Super Ioan 11, lec. 3, no. 1495. See also Super Rom 13, lec. 3 In ST I-II, q. 4, a. 3, Thomas describes eternal life in terms of three principal acts: seeing, embracing, and enjoying, i.e., resting in the Beloved. ST I, q. 43, a. 3. On the divine indwelling as object of fruition, see Antonio Royo Marín, The Theology of Christian Perfection (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012), 51. Super Ion 1, lec. 39, no. 292 (cited by Emery, Trinitarian Theology, 395). Tugwell makes a similar claim, proposing that Thomas had a strong experience of rapture about which he had written (Albert and Thomas, 267). It seems that for Thomas the experience of the indwelling divine persons is ineffable, because the experiential knowledge or awareness of their presence is not a conceptual kind of knowledge; see Emery, Trinitarian Theology, 394. See The Living Flame of Love, stanza 2, no. 21, as quoted by Kwasniewksi, “Golden Straw,” 69. 16 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. Silence of Modesty and Humility A fourth type of spiritual silence, which may also shed light upon Thomas’s last days, is the silence of modesty and humility. In his prologue to the study of the particular virtues related to modesty,85 Thomas announces a question on “modesty as affecting words and deeds” but never, in fact, returns to the subject. We do have a request for modesty in the saint’s prayer “For Acquiring Virtue”: “Grant that I may always observe modesty in the way I dress, the way I walk, and the gestures I use, restrain my tongue from frivolous talk.” Modesty includes the refusal to disclose or unveil what should remain hidden, protecting the intimate dignity of the person from intemperance, curiosity, or vulgarization.86 In the life of Saint Thomas, the virtue of modesty takes the form of a self-effacing sobriety in his theological work and a noble privacy about his own spiritual life. Scholars have noted the impersonal character of Aquinas’s scholastic writing “His style is measured, austere, and impersonal, . . . decidedly reserved, plain-spoken, and ontological.”87 Aquinas almost never refers to himself or his own experience in his formal writing. According to his biographers, Saint Thomas was no stranger to such mystical phenomena as private revelations, divine locutions, visitations from the saints, holy tears, prophecy, miracles, and levitation88 and yet showed great reserve when asked about such favors.89 Yves Congar sees in Thomas’s self-effacement “an unprecedented example of purity, of priestly detachment and virginity.” This silence of modesty is the mark of a true servant: “The purity of his service of truth shines out from the fact that he scrupulously refrained from intruding himself into what he had decided to serve. . . . In this service he was pure by aiming to become, as far as possible, a pure instrument.”90 Occasionally, Aquinas’s systematic and scriptural works contain affirmations about the spiritual life which seem to be based, at least in part, on 85 86 87 88 89 90 ST II-II, q. 161, prol. See Catechism of the Catholic Church §§2521–22. Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 6 (similar remarks can be found on 15–17). Murray, Aquinas at Prayer, 18. Murray provides detailed references to Tocco’s biography for each phenomenon named here. Murray shares an anecdote of Reginald pestering Thomas until he finally admitted to having been visited and instructed on one occasion by Saints Peter and Paul (Aquinas at Prayer, 98). According to Tugwell, Thomas confided to Reginald, under a promise of secrecy, that he had often received theological insights from God in prayer (Albert and Thomas, 342). Yves Congar, “St. Thomas: Servant of the Truth,” in Faith and Spiritual Life, trans. A. Manson and L. C. Sheppard (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968), 67–85, at 77 (as cited by Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 77). Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 17 his own personal experience. This is pure speculation, but the surety with which Thomas speaks about certain favors suggests some first-hand knowledge. When discussing the Annunciation, for example, Aquinas speaks with an authority about supernatural visions that would seem implausible without some personal experience.91 He speaks with similar authority when describing graces of rapture.92 According to contemporaries of the saint such as William of Tocco, Thomas had experienced both visions and rapture. Hence, it seems justified to hear something of Aquinas’s own silence of modesty in his praise of Saint Paul’s discretion: Although he could have done so, the Apostle did not wish to say about himself certain things which went beyond his life and doctrine. Consequently, I refrain, so that no one may think more of me than he sees in me, i.e., in my outward conduct, or hears from me, i.e., from the doctrine of my preaching . . . and instruction, because they might perhaps think me immortal or an angel: “A man of understanding remains silent” (Prov 11:12).93 The silence of modesty also takes the form of humility.94 It is expressed at times by a quiet surrender to whatever the believer recognizes as coming from God. Meditating upon Christ’s silence during the Passion, Aquinas contemplates Christ’s humble submission to the divine will through suffering: “Jesus, because he chose to, did not give an answer, so that he might show that he was unwilling to overwhelm by words and to make excuses, since he had come to suffer. When Christ was silent, he was silent like a lamb.” Jesus’s silence before Pilate or Caiaphas is, then, a silence of obedience and humility before God. Silence manifests Christ’s meekness.95 Aquinas observes a silence of humility similar to Jesus’s in the attitude of the suffering believer before God. Thomas uses the verses “It is good to await in silence the salvation of our God. . . . He will be seated alone and in silence” (Lam 3:26, 28) to praise patient suffering and waiting without complaint. “Seated alone” manifests a depth of contemplation even in the midst of turmoil, while “in silence” shows that one awaits the gifts of God 91 92 93 94 95 ST III, q. 30, a. 3, ad 3. ST II-II, q. 175, aa. 1–2. Super I Cor 12, lec. 2, no. 469. ST II-II, q. 161, prol.: “We must consider next the species of modesty: first, humility, then . . .” Super Ioan 19, lec. 2, no. 2391. See also: Compendium theologiae I, ch. 227; Super Psalmos 38, no. 7; Super Matt 26, lec. 7, no. 2280; ch. Super Matt 27, lec. 1, no. 2328; and Super Heb 12, lec. 1, no. 667. 18 Gabriel Mary Fiore, C.S.J. with humility.96 If Aquinas’s own last days were marked by some illness or physical breakdown, this silence of humility in suffering is highly suggestive—a saint does not simply endure such trials but welcomes them in a spirit of surrender to God.97 Conclusion: The Message of Aquinas’s Final Silence So, what has this short study accomplished? First, I began by summarizing the scholarly debate over the interpretation of Saint Thomas’s final silence, making a case for a mystical meaning of the event: Upon the impact of a powerful, supernatural experience, the saint freely chose to abandon his theological work and to embrace silence until his death. I contributed a new argument in favor of this mystical interpretation: The saint’s act is fully coherent with his own spiritual doctrine of silence as a profound theological attitude of the believer before God. Second, I demonstrated that, even though the theme is not formalized as such in his systematic treatment of the moral life, Aquinas does, in fact, have a rich spiritual theology of silence. Inspired by the insights of two scholars who point to the saint’s own teaching as a possible avenue for understanding his final silence (Murray and Emery), I gathered together Thomas’s doctrine on the subject. From this work emerged four types of “spiritual silence,” elevating the debate from a physical impediment98 or simple renunciation to a theological act expressive of faith, hope, and charity. Third, Aquinas’s teaching on silence should prove valuable for spiritual theology, both at the practical level, providing attractive depth to ascetical and mystical silence, and at the speculative level, offering a framework for the theologian to compare and appreciate the silence of other saints. Each of the four silences are worthy of imitation and can be admired in any number of spiritual masters. Finally, what Thomas wrote about silence in the context of our relationship to God clarifies why he freely chose to stop his own theological labor. The work of Thomas the theologian enlightens the life of Thomas the mystic, as it well should. Thus, the “final silence” of Saint Thomas should 96 97 98 Super Lam 3, lecs. 9–10, nos. 108–10. Kwasniewski writes: “If this is right [i.e., that Aquinas was simply no longer capable of such work], Thomas was burdened with a cross to which he had to resign himself in humility and faith” (“Golden Straw,” 68). As stated above, I do not deny that some physical illness or fatigue could have contributed to the saint’s final silence (see the “mixed” position), but I affirm that this physical substrate did not remove Thomas’s ability to think, speak, or engage in theological reflection. Silence before God in the Life and Writings of Saint Thomas Aquinas 19 be understood as a silence of reverence, a religious respect and deference before the awesome mystery of God greater than what we can think or say about it; a silence of recollection, a quieting of the sensible faculties and stillness of the mind as the soul is drawn to the interior presence of God; a silence of rest, the rest of the will in God, tasted in passing graces and cleaved to in prayer, while eagerly awaiting the final rest to come in heaven; a silence of modesty and humility, as the saint declined to share what he had seen and humbly surrendered himself to God through the new weakness which had befallen him. The fact that Aquinas’s labor as theologian and preacher ended in silence possesses a unique eloquence all its own: “In St. Thomas, a Dominican vowed to communicate to others the fruits of his contemplation, we see language consummated in adoring silence.”99 Without wishing to profane Thomas’s final “word” with commentary, my work has sought to let it “speak.” By this his final lectio, the Angelic Doctor offers a lasting testament to the transcendence of God, “silence itself is your praise” (Ps 65:2), and to the ultimate goal of the theologian, nothing less than the vision of and union with the Object of his studies: “God inspired him to teach us in a final way: after teaching through his extraordinary writings, in the end he taught us also what the true goal of these writings is, namely, union with God.”100 This mystical end of theological labor finds an echo in the prayers of Aquinas: Nil nisi te, Domine. . . . Oro fiat illud, quod tam N&V sitio. . . . Te per cujus amore studui, vigilavi et laboravi.101 99 100 101 John Saward, Perfect Fools: Folly for Christ’s Sake in Catholic and Orthodox Spirituality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980), 83 (as quoted by Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 67). Michael Dauphinais and Matthew Levering, Knowing the Love of Christ: An Introduction to the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), 4 (as cited by Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw,” 75). “Nothing but you, Lord. . . . May it become reality, that for which I am so thirsty. . . . You, for love of whom I studied, kept vigil, and toiled” (this is my own compilation of excerpts from Aquinas’ prayers: the reported reply to an apparition of the Lord, Adoro Te Devote, and prayer before the Viaticum, respectively). Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 21–31 21 Order of Nature–Order of Love: Arguments against a Naturalistic (Mis-)Interpretation of Humanae Vitae Andrzej Kuciński Rome, Italy The Problem: Naturalistic (Mis-)Interpretation On May 13, 2010, during the second Ecumenical Church Conven- tion in Munich, Margot Käßmann, the former Chair of the Protestant Church in Germany, praised the “birth control pill” as a “gift from God” while speaking at the Catholic Cathedral of Our Lady in Munich. Her rationale was that “it is about the preservation of life, of freedom, which doesn’t have to immediately degenerate into pornography, as much as the sexualization of our society is, of course, a problem.”1 In contrast, the encyclical letter Humanae Vitae, authored by Paul VI, states: “Similarly excluded is any action which, either before, or at the moment of, or after sexual intercourse, is specifically intended to prevent procreation—whether as an end or as a means.”2 This conclusion is based on the natural law and the Church’s teaching that “each and every marital act must of necessity retain its intrinsic relationship to the procreation of human life.”3 These positions represent two contradictory views: On the one hand “life and freedom,” which claims to reflect the attitude toward life of today’s European mainstream, and on the other hand, supposedly restrictive and moralizing rules and judgments, which appear out of step with reality. The serious challenge the encyclical letter was to the mainstream attitude Die Welt, Käßmann preist Pille im Dom als Geschenk Gottes, November 13, 2010, https://www.welt.de/politik/deutschland/ article7615440/Kaessmann-preist-Pilleim-Dom-als-Geschenk-Gottes.html (translation mine). 2 Paul VI, Encyclical on the Regulation of Birth, Humanae Vitae (1968), §14. 3 Paul VI, Humanae Vitae, §11; see also Pius XI, Encyclical on Christian Marriage, Casti Connubii. 1 22 Andrzej Kuciński toward life, was demonstrated by the sharp protests which followed with unprecedented vehemence the publication of the papal letter, particularly in northern European countries. The encyclical letter became a genuine symbol of contradiction. One allegation that stood out among the various points of criticism was that of naturalism or biologism, according to which the Pope had translated biological laws into moral imperatives. In German-language literature, the opposition to the encyclical letter was seen as, among other things, a symptom of a departure from the neo-Scholastic approach to natural law theory with its focus on objective beings. The precepts of natural law in matters relating to contraception were criticized for defending a reactionary concept of nature, which had allegedly been adopted from times gone by, irrespective of later developments in science and society.4 In addition, general doubts were expressed with regard to the competence of the magisterium in matters relating to sexual morality. It was therefore argued that: “The encyclical Humanae vitae, which is based on a crude, to some extent virtually biologistic concept of nature, has contributed to discrediting the precepts of natural law in the Catholic sphere, as well.”5 The Pope’s reference to the physiological processes relating to the transmission of human life led to the fixation on the biological perspective: “If reference is made to the ‘laws written into the actual nature of man and of woman’ (Paragraph 12) and to something ‘repugnant to the nature of man and of woman’ (Paragraph 13) or to the ‘natural cycles immanent in the reproductive system’ (Paragraph 16), this is clearly of a biological See Andrzej Kuciński, Naturrecht in der Gegenwart: Anstöße zur Erneuerung naturrechtlichen Denkens im Anschluss an Robert Spaemann (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2017), 115–16. 5 Franz-Xaver Kaufmann, “Wissenssoziologische Überlegungen zu Renaissance und Niedergang des katholischen Naturrechtsdenkens im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert,” in Naturrecht in der Kritik, ed. Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenforde and Franz Böckle (Mainz: Matthias-Grünewald, 1973), 126–64, at 133. Other criticism along these lines is, for example, that the tendency of the new natural law reasoning to consider not only the historicity of human beings but also their progressive development “however, does not fit in with the encyclical Humanae Vitae, with its neo-scholastically confined concept of nature” (Alexander Hollerback, “Christliches Naturrecht im Zusammenhang des allgemeinen Naturrechtsdenkens,” in Böckenforde and Böckle, Naturrecht in der Kritik, 9–38, at 36). The redirection of the criticism of the magisterial concept of natural law toward sexual morality also became clear, for instance, at the conference of German-speaking moral theologians held in 1965 at Bensberg in Germany (see Wolfgang Waldstein, Ins Herz geschrieben: Das Naturrecht als Fundament einer menschlichen Gesellschaft [Augsburg: Sankt Ulrich, 2010], 9). 4 Order of Nature–Order of Love 23 nature; on this basis, birth control through artificial means is condemned as an intrinsically immoral act.”6 However, if a conclusion deduced from biology is applied to ethics, the encyclical letter can be criticized for using the naturalistic fallacy that an “is” necessarily leads directly to an “ought.” However, suggestions that the content of the encyclical is naturalistic, which consequently leads to a rejection of the precepts of natural law on which the encyclical hinges, must be emphatically rejected in the name of common sense (and all the more if the Church’s teachings are to be dealt with in good faith). If something which had previously been incorrectly defined is later rejected, then this is an inevitable consequence of this erroneous premise. This would mean attributing an interpretation to the positions of the Church’s teachings that the Church itself, in fact, does not advocate, simply for the sake of questioning said positions and eliminating them as legitimate courses of action. The fallacy of biologism, I would argue, results from a flawed analysis of the concept of nature on which Humanae Vitae is based. This essay will therefore begin by analyzing this concept and will then provide underpinnings in terms of moral philosophy. The Dual Dimensionality of Conjugal Acts With reference to the encyclical’s precepts of natural law, the statement in §12 is of paramount importance: “This particular doctrine, often expounded by the magisterium of the Church, is based on the inseparable connection, established by God, . . . between the unitive significance and the procreative significance, which are both inherent to the marriage act.”7 Only if both of these essential qualities are taken into consideration at the same time, will sexual intercourse in marriage “fully retain its sense of true mutual love,” the Pope continued. In other words, it is not some sort of biological order that needs to be respected simply because it exists; instead, the conditions of true love—the order of love—are what constitutes the meaning of the conjugal act in the first place. The final sentence of this entire section provides the key to this statement: “We believe that our contemporaries are particularly capable of seeing that this teaching is in harmony with human reason.” Appealing to reason opens up a broader perspective, something that transcends mere biology. The reasons for this harmony with human reason are cited in §13. Friedo Ricken, “Art, Naturrecht I:. Altkirchliche, mittelalterliche und römischkatholische Interpretationen, in: Theological Real Encyclopedia 24 (2000): 132–53, at 150. 7 Paul VI, Humanae Vitae, §12. 6 24 Andrzej Kuciński Imposing a conjugal act without regard to one’s partner is “no true act of love.” Furthermore, an act of mutual love frustrates God’s design if it impairs the capacity to transmit life (“qui facultati vitam propagandi detrimento sit”). Last but not least, respecting the laws of conception means acknowledging one’s own status, that is, as the minister of the design established by the Creator and not as its master. It is only on this basis that, in §14, Paul VI rejects certain practices which undermine the connection between the unitive significance and the procreative significance of the marriage act. In light of these statements, it is clear why a moral dimension is inherent to the conjugal act in the first place, why the marriage act must be subject to a morally relevant order because sexuality embraces the entire human being, the fullness of body and soul, as the Pope argues elsewhere (§9), referring to love which is “fully human,” love ”which is total.” In this case, the human being must not be regarded as a mere object, but as a subject participating in an action. In fact, the encounter between a male subject and a female subject suggests that there is a deeper dimension than a temporary (biological) experience of pleasure given to each other without the participation of the totality of one’s own person. This dimension of depth rests on the transmission of human life, where two subjects (need to) interact. However, the procreative dimension contains the spiritual aspect of mutual recognition, which the Bible uses as a synonym for sexually “becoming one flesh.”8 The law of nature which governs the human order of love cannot be interpreted as a law of biology, but as a rational structural law of moral virtue, which combines unio and procreatio to create a new level of significance.9 However, if it is a virtue, an attitude and not merely a specific action, the unitive and procreative dimensions of the conjugal act may form a unity even when not directly realized, providing that the two dimensions are not deliberately separated, which implies the possibility of using natural birth control. This possibility is based on a perception of sexuality as dynamics of love, where behavior is modified over time (e.g., sometimes abstaining Vincent Twomey refers to “mutual bodily recognition” as the beginning of the conjugal act and the source of its morality (“Verantwortliche Elternschaft in der Lehre der Kirche,” paper presented at a conference on Humanae Vitae, November 10, 2008, Seminary of Rolduc, Netherlands, p. 16). 9 This is according to Martin Rhonheimer, Natur als Grundlage der Moral: Die personale Struktur des Naturgesetzes bei Thomas von Aquin, eine Auseinandersetzung mit autonomer und teleologischer Ethik (Innsbruck: Tyrolia, 1987), esp. 136–39 (cited in Twomey, “Verantwortliche Elternschaft,” 17). 8 Order of Nature–Order of Love 25 from conjugal acts during fertile periods).10 This also shows that marital relations are not solely aimed at the transmission of human life, an often voiced criticism of the Church’s sexual morality (which, under certain circumstances, might by all means be tantamount to disregard for one’s partner), but that marital relations are aimed at the empowerment for action based on mutual bodily recognition, which implies the possibility of transmitting new life. In contrast to the preservation of the concept of the unitive significance and the procreative significance in natural conception, contraception is based on a dualism, according to Andreas Laun,11 where the human being is split into a disturbing part (fertility) and a welcome part (desire). The total gift of self, which is assumed in conjugal union, is thus degraded to a partial gift of self because one spouse tells the other, “I love you only in part because your femininity or masculinity might lead to a pregnancy, which I do not want,” and encourages him or her to manipulate his or her own nature in order to eliminate this effect. This cannot be qualified as genuine love because the other person is not unconditionally accepted in his or her suchness. The rejection of contraception in Humanae Vitae is therefore not motivated by biological laws, but by the equality of the two aspects of human sexuality, understood as a domain of personal choices based on freedom and reason. “What is at stake is not the integrity of the ‘order of nature,’ but that of human love, which is an ordo rationis and an ordo virtutis.”12 In §14 of his encyclical letter, the Pope also states that it is not admissible to argue that the allegedly lesser evil is to be preferred to a greater one or that fertility must be seen in the context of the totality of procreative acts of past and future which form a single entity, instead of leaving the outcome of each conjugal act open-ended. The Pope reminds us that the end never justifies the means. Even an isolated immoral action can therefore not be justified by drawing attention to good intentions or positive consequences expected for others. It has therefore become clear that the principle of the equivalence of the two aspects of human sexuality as stipulated in the encyclical letter is justified by the nature of love, which is born anew in every conjugal act. This love, in turn, is founded on the nature of humans, who are physical and spiritual beings in their relations to other beings. The task now is to See Twomey, “Verantwortliche Elternschaft,” 17. See Andreas Laun, Aktuelle Probleme der Moraltheologie (Vienna: Herder, 1991), 92–93. 12 Rhonheimer, Natur als Grundlage der Moral, 118. 10 11 26 Andrzej Kuciński examine this nature in greater detail in order to rebut the accusation of biologism. The Binding Naturalness of Nature Paul VI did not reject contraception because of its artificiality, but because contraception disregards the dignity of the human person. In the context of this essay, “natural” does not mean “ecological” or “environmentally friendly,” although this might be put forward as an argument against the use of chemicals in contraception. Natural birth control does not mean abstaining from the use of technical expedients (because natural birth control also involves, for instance, the use of thermometers and keeping records), but is a question of respecting the nature of sexual union. Furthermore, the difference is of a moral and anthropological nature because natural methods of birth control require a genuine dialogue and mutual respect of the subjects, which is necessary simply due to the differences in the respective rhythms of life of men and women. Momentarily refraining from union will strengthen the desire for union, while the potentially constant availability resulting from the use of contraceptives may, in the long run, destroy the allure of sexual encounter. According to Martin Rhonheimer, the difference between contraception and the calendar method of birth control can therefore not be described as the contrast between the artificial and the natural, but between the technical and the virtuous.13 This distinction helps us to understand the kind of nature that characterizes two sexually interacting subjects and to shed light on the natural order underpinning their love. In this context, the thoughts of the philosopher Robert Spaemann—who analyzed in detail the multidimensional nature of the human individual from a philosophical perspective—are groundbreaking. What is crucial for the description of human nature, according to Spaemann, is a key distinction which is pertinent, not least, to human sexuality. The specific nature of the human being as a composite of body and soul, consists of instinctive nature and reason, “which cultivates” the instincts. Neither the instinctive nor the rational elements of human nature are the sole yardstick of human actions; instead, it is only their interaction that permits a dignified human existence in all its facets. In this context, the benefit of reason is that it identifies the instincts and integrates them into the context of human life because: “Action begins . . . when we respond to our instincts, instead of simply being at their mercy.”14 This implies See Twomey, “Verantwortliche Elternschaft,” 17. Robert Spaemann, Glück und Wohlwollen (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1989), 213. 13 14 Order of Nature–Order of Love 27 that the human being’s humanization achieves its goal precisely because various elements of being human are not at odds with each other, but are merged to form an integral wholeness. In other words: “The primordial character of nature becomes the natural integral of the human person due to the power of reason.”15 Sexuality can therefore be referred to as a human singularity only through the amalgamation of survival of the species (progeny) and individual pleasure. Seen from this perspective, instinctive nature is not a mere instrument of freedom, but the representation of the person. The consequences are obvious: The normativity of nature cannot arise merely from its factuality (biological laws). Instead, one needs to rely on the power of recognition of a secular rationality which is to humanize the instinctive: “Only where [nature] is distanced through reflection, can it be both recognized in freedom and become a source of moral insights.”16 However, if one wants to understand the precise content of nature shaped and recognized through reason, one is well advised—in the tradition of Aristotle—to consider the perfection of the species that corresponds to the specific living being, and not a snapshot of the being’s behavior. This is what requires the use of reason. The determination of “what is right by nature” by applying reason to the human being’s bodily and instinctive nature correlates with another pair of concepts that expresses said interdependence in a somewhat different manner. The two concepts are “primordialism” (Naturwüchsigkeit; meaning a concept of genetic origin) and “naturalness” (Naturgemäßheit; a factor that is again determined by reason). Only the second type of nature has ethical relevance. It involves the challenge to acknowledge—instead of objectify—the other. This provides the opportunity to overcome the naturalistic fallacy: While the “is” implies the “ought,” it does not do so in the form of the respective factuality, but only in its form that has normative relevance, which comes about for human beings through the reason which determines naturalness. Not everything that human beings want at a given moment is part of their true nature; instead, it is what they normally want. When applied to the issue of birth control, this means that only a holistic reflection on the singularity of the sexuality of the human species allows conclusions to be drawn about objective and universally binding behavioral norms (such as the inseparability of the unitive and procreative significances) which would then no longer be available for arbitrary manipulation. Since human identity always manifests itself in the interaction between body and soul, rejection of the human being’s bodily nature as Kuciński, Naturrecht, 322. Spaemann, Glück und Wohlwollen, 218–19. 15 16 28 Andrzej Kuciński an ethical roadmap, in the final analysis, leads to the disintegration of the entire human being. There is a particular risk that such disintegration may occur when human beings define themselves exclusively as a spirit vis-à-vis a nature which is to be dominated. Due to the uncontrolled domination of nature, the individual in the end becomes the victim of his or her own desires and falls back into pure primordialism. This fact underpins the finding that, if dissociated from the rational order of love, sexual activity in the end destroys the sexuality itself and results in the opposite of what it originally promised. Human beings find perfection in a symbiosis both with surrounding nature and with the material substrate of their individuality, which also includes their sexuality. In this context, Spaemann speaks of using “remembrance to preserve” nature through actions.17 All in all, the reflection on the differentiated nature which underlies human sexuality proves to be a plea for respecting the foundations of human existence. What is needed, however, is an act of will recognizing that all of this does not constitute a compilation of random data describing reality, but a logical matter which has something to tell us. Anyone who is not prepared to perform this reflection will have to rely on empirical findings which, however, may lead to painful experiences if natural conditions of nature are ignored. Contrary to what one might think, these precepts of natural law—freed from the suspicion of naturalism—by no means prove to be an erratic monolith of unalterable norms outside the human person; instead, they turn out to be an ordinatio rationis18—an order of reason, which obtains objectivity through its participation in the divine lex aeterna. It is not mere naturalness, but only its order through reason that gives certain phenomena a moral character. Within this notion of objectivity, there is also room for subjectivity, which can be further defined by looking at the concept of personhood. Thus, it becomes clear that this integral view also preserves from neglecting the biological dimension of human nature. It gets its place as morally relevant within the natural teleology which people share with other living beings. The natural teleology means the inherent “directedness” of our faculties toward certain ends 19 which are based on biological processes and regularities but are at the same time identified and interpreted by reason. Robert Spaemann, “Art: Natur,” in Handbuch philosophischer Grundbegriffe, ed. Hermann Krings, Michael Baumgartner, and Christoph Wild, vol. 2 (Munich: Kösel, 1973), 956–69, at 965. 18 See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I-II, q. 90, a. 4. 19 See Edward Feser, “In Defense of the Perverted Faculty Argument,” in Neo-Scholastic Essays (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2015), 378–415, at 383. 17 Order of Nature–Order of Love 29 Moral determination of relationality through the ontology of the person Probably no other author has explained and elucidated Humanae Vitae from the perspective of a personalistic approach more intensively than John Paul II / Karol Wojtyła. In a memorandum which was composed by a group of moral theologians under his leadership as archbishop of Cracow prior to the encyclical and which encouraged Paul VI to publish Humanae Vitae, he made clear that the biological laws of human sexuality drew their ethical relevance from being part of the wholeness of the person, the unity of body and soul.20 Hence, an intervention in the structure of the sexual act is tantamount to an intervention into the essence of the person, and it is this very fact that makes contraceptive manipulation an ethically relevant matter.21 Moreover, the identity of the person includes his relationality, so that the individual is obliged to respect the rights of the other.22 In particular, the distinctive quality of the human being as a person with relations to others involves certain obligations, which underlines and explains the moral character of conjugal acts. However, these obligations apply, first of all, to the person himself or herself because he or she is called to strive for self-perfection using their own exclusive characteristics: reason and freedom. According to this view, the human being’s own dignity consists not only in rights claimed from others but also in obligations that must be integrated into the human being’s responsible actions.23 This includes self-control instead of being at the mercy of blind impulses. Laun therefore explains the obligation for a human design of one’s own sexuality by referring to Paul’s instructions addressed to married couples that they “The power of transmitting life is a gift of God, and it forms part of the totality of the human person. It is precisely in terms of this nature, taken as a whole, that man must reckon with this power and its specific structure. Therein his intellect discovers a biological law, which, although biological, is related to the human person as a unity of body and soul.” (Karol Wojtyła et al., “The Foundations of the Church’s Doctrine Concerning the Principles of Conjugal Life: A memorandum composed by a group of moral theologians from Kraków,” trans. Janet E. Smith as “The Krakow Document,” Nova et Vetera (English) 10, no. 2 [2012]: 321–59, at 329). 21 See Wojtyła et al., “Krakow Document,” 329–30: “The use of contraceptives constitutes an active intervention into the structure of the sexual act, and therefore of the action of the person; in this way, it is a violation of the person as a being gifted by sexuality, and of his biological laws.” 22 See Wojtyła et al., “Krakow Document,” 330: “Moreover, the structure of the person includes his relations to others: namely, relations between persons and relations between the individual and society. In all these relations there is a binding obligation to respect the rights and dignity of the person.” 23 See Wojtyła et al., “Krakow Document,” 330. 20 30 Andrzej Kuciński must not depart from one another. According to Laun, however, this is a norm of love, and not a licence for sexual licentiousness.24 The normative, personal design of a person’s own sexuality is also expressed by the distinction between uti and frui in the proclamation of John Paul II / Karol Wojtyła on moral theology in the tradition of Augustine. While uti refers to mutual use, frui means reciprocal self-giving.25 According to this model, contraception is regarded as an infringement on unconditional self-giving, which means loving the other for his or her own sake and not merely and not solely for the sake of the good one expects of the other.26 One of the key statements of Spaemann in his ontology of the person dovetails with this perspective: Persons in fact only exist in the plural.27 This constitutive relationality is based on metaphysical realism: The person is always more than what is perceived of him or her and must be respected in terms of his or her selfhood.28 The valorization of the individual goes so far that the person advances to become the paradigm of being. For this reason, the natural law must not be seen as an abstract set of rules but as universal ethics that remain open for the freedom of the subject determined by the person, and hence, the relations to others. Such a holistic approach to the reality of the person can help to prevent solipsistic confinement to individual subjectivity, while at the same time validating its ties to objective normativity in sexually determined interactions with another person. In summary: If one wonders how to respond to the objection of naturalism in the context of the precepts of natural law in Humanae Vitae, one needs to refer to the analysis of the concept of nature which underlies this doctrine. What is referred to as “nature” is neither the factual behavior nor the biological laws that govern human sexuality per se, but the singularity of the human person in his or her relation to others, which can only be understood using reason. The corresponding ontology of the person, which integrates sexuality into the holistic view of the person consisting of body and soul, illustrates the ethical character of sexual activity, which See Laun, Aktuelle Probleme, 91. See Twomey, “Verantwortliche Elternschaft,” 19; see also John Paul II, Apostolic Exhortation on the Role of the Christian Family in the Modern World, Familiaris Consortio (1981), §32. 26 See John Paul II, Familiaris Consortio, §32; see also Twomey, “Verantwortliche Elternschaft,” 19–21. 27 Cf. Consider the title of Spaemann’s book: Personen: Versuche über den Unterschied zwischen “etwas” und “jemand” (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1996). 28 Spaemann, Personen, 79. 24 25 Order of Nature–Order of Love 31 always encompasses the entire human being and must therefore be guided by a certain order that corresponds to human nature. The alternative is the disintegration, and hence degradation, of the person who disregards his or her own premises. Where human dignity is affected—and in the realm of sexuality, human dignity is eminently affected—the human being is deprived of his or her own discretionary power of disposal and called upon to accept—for the sake of his or her self-fulfilment—certain obligations, both to himself or herself and to others. In this way, the intangible order of personal human nature can be translated into the given order of love. N&V Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 33–61 33 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility John P. Joy Diocese of Madison, WI1 Prologue The First Vatican Council solemnly defined that the pope is infallible when he speaks ex cathedra, that is, from the chair of Saint Peter, which is the chair of truth: Therefore, faithfully adhering to the tradition received from the beginning of the Christian faith, for the glory of God our Savior, for the exaltation of the Catholic religion, and for the salvation of Christian peoples, with the approval of the sacred council, We teach and define that it is a divinely revealed dogma: that the Roman Pontiff, when he speaks ex cathedra, that is, when, exercising his office as shepherd and teacher of all Christians, in virtue of his supreme apostolic authority, he defines a doctrine concerning faith or morals to be held by the whole Church, possesses, by the divine assistance promised to him in blessed Peter, that infallibility with which the divine Redeemer willed his Church to be endowed in defining doctrine concerning faith or morals; and therefore, that such definitions of the Roman Pontiff are irreformable of themselves, and not by the consent of the Church. But if anyone, which God forbid, should presume to contradict this Our definition: let him be anathema. 2 John P. Joy is Senior Theologian to the Bishop of Madison and president of the St. Albert the Great Center for Scholastic Studies. 2 First Vatican Council, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church of Christ, Pastor Aeternus (1870), ch. 4 (translation mine). 1 34 John P. Joy With this definition the question as to whether the pope is able to speak infallibly at all has been finally settled; since then, theological discussion has centered on the subsidiary questions as to how often and under what conditions he does so. There are two errors to be avoided here. On the one hand, we must avoid the very real phenomenon of “creeping infallibilization,”3 according to which almost every utterance of the pope is regarded as being at least practically infallible. On the other hand, we must beware the equally dangerous tendency to interpret arbitrarily the conditions for papal infallibility so restrictively as to render the dogma almost meaningless. Paradoxically, these opposite tendencies seem to be almost equally widespread amongst Catholics in general. For one constantly encounters the idea that the pope has only ever spoken infallibly twice (in defining the dogmas of the Immaculate Conception and Assumption of Mary) and yet it is also everywhere assumed (often by the very same people) that no pope could possibly teach anything false in any of his official teaching on faith or morals. As is so often the case, the truth lies in between. There are many questions involved here that need to be untangled and so I have chosen the format of the medieval Scholastic disputation in an effort to bring some measure of greater clarity to the topic. There are two main questions to be considered concerning the infallibility of the pope: the first concerns the extension and limits of papal infallibility in general; the second concerns particular cases of papal teaching. Here we are concerned only with the first question. Question I: On the Extension and Limits of Papal Infallibility Concerning this first question, there are seven points to be considered: (1) whether the essential conditions for speaking ex cathedra are rightly enumerated as three; (2) whether the pope is able to teach any error at all in the exercise of his authentic magisterium; (3) whether the infallibility of the pope is limited to the exercise of his extraordinary magisterium; (4) whether the pope is able to speak infallibly when he confirms or reaffirms a doctrine already infallibly taught by the ordinary and universal magisterium; (5) whether the infallibility of the pope is limited to defining dogmas of divine and Catholic faith; (6) whether the infallibility of the See Wolfgang Beinert, “Unfehlbarkeit,” in Lexicon für Theologie und Kirche, 3rd ed., ed. Walter Kasper, vol. 10 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1993–2001), 390. See also Augustin Schmied, “‘Schleichende Infallibilisierung’: zur Diskussion um das kirchliche Lehramt,” in In Christus zum Leben befreit: Festschrift für Bernhard Häring, ed. Josef Römelt and Bruno Hidber (Freiburg: Herder, 1992), 250–72. 3 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 35 pope extends to the canonization of saints; (7) whether the pope is able to speak infallibly without explicitly addressing the universal Church. Article 1: Whether the Essential Conditions for Speaking Ex Cathedra Are Rightly Enumerated as Three? Objection 1. It seems that the essential conditions for speaking ex cathedra are not rightly enumerated as three. For Saint John Henry Newman enumerates four conditions, saying: “He speaks ex cathedra, or infallibly, when he speaks, first, as the Universal Teacher; secondly, in the name and with the authority of the Apostles; thirdly, on a point of faith or morals; fourthly, with the purpose of binding every member of the Church to accept and believe his decision.”4 Objection 2. Furthermore, Monsignor Joseph Clifford Fenton enumerates five conditions, saying that the pope is infallible when: “A) He speaks in his capacity as the ruler and teacher of all Christians. B) He uses his supreme apostolic authority. C) The doctrine on which he is speaking has to do with faith or morals. D) He issues a certain and definitive judgment on that teaching. E) He wills that this definitive judgment be accepted as such by the universal Church.”5 Objection 3. Furthermore, even if there are only three conditions given in the body of the definition of papal infallibility, we must add another condition, which is that the pope must be faithfully interpreting divine revelation and not inventing any new doctrine. For the First Vatican Council teaches that “the Holy Spirit was promised to the successors of Peter not so that they might, by his revelation, make known some new doctrine, but that, by his assistance, they might religiously guard and faithfully expound the revelation or deposit of faith transmitted by the apostles.”6 The Second Vatican Council also teaches that, “when either the Roman Pontiff or the body of bishops together with him defines a judgment, they pronounce it in accordance with revelation itself, which all are obliged to abide by and John Henry Newman, A Letter Addressed to His Grace the Duke of Norfolk on Occasion of Mr. Gladstone’s Recent Expostulation (London: Pickering, 1875), 115; see also Joachim Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi (Madrid: Biblioteca Autores Cristianos, 1955), no. 594. 5 Joseph C. Fenton, “Infallibility in the Encyclicals,” American Ecclesiastical Review 128 (1953): 177–98, at 186. 6 Vatican I, Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4 (Documents of Church Councils, ed. Norman P. Tanner, 2 vols. [Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. 1990], 2:816). 4 36 John P. Joy be in conformity with.”7 And again: “The Roman Pontiff and the bishops, in view of their office and the importance of the matter, by fitting means diligently strive to inquire properly into that revelation and to give apt expression to its contents; but a new public revelation they do not accept as pertaining to the divine deposit of faith.”8 On the contrary, Bishop Vincent Ferrer Gasser, in his official relatio delivered at the First Vatican Council, in order to explain the intended sense of the definition of papal infallibility, enumerates three essential conditions that restrict the infallibility of the pope: “The infallibility of the Roman Pontiff is restricted by reason of the subject, that is when the pope, constituted in the chair of Peter, the center of the Church, speaks as universal teacher and supreme judge; it is restricted by reason of the object, i.e., when treating of matters of faith and morals; and by reason of the act itself, i.e., when the Pope defines what must be believed or rejected by all the faithful.”9 I answer that it must be said that the pope speaks ex cathedra, and hence infallibly, whenever three essential conditions are fulfilled, and these pertain to the subject, the object, and the act of the teaching. This is evident both from Gasser’s relatio at the First Vatican Council and from the Second Vatican Council’s reformulation of the doctrine, according to which: “The Roman Pontiff, the head of the college of bishops, in virtue of his office, enjoys this infallibility when, [subject:] as supreme shepherd and teacher of all Christ’s faithful, who confirms his brethren in the faith (Lk 22:32), [act:] he proclaims by a definitive act, [object:] a doctrine concerning faith or morals.”10 Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that the first two conditions enumerated by Cardinal Newman are really only one, for the pope does not speak as universal shepherd and teacher otherwise than in virtue of his supreme apostolic authority. This can be seen in the reformulation of the teaching in Lumen Gentium §25, which places the phrase “in virtue of his office” prior to and outside of the enumeration of conditions contained Second Vatican Council, Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium (1964), §25. 8 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 9 Vincent Ferrer Gasser, The Gift of Infallibility: The Official Relatio on Infallibility of Bishop Vincent Ferrer Gasser at Vatican Council I, trans. James T. O’Connor, 2nd ed. (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2008), 49. Italics are in the original Latin text (Sacrorum Conciliorum Nova et Amplissima Collectio [hereafter, “Mansi”], ed. J. D. Mansi, vol. 52 [Florence, 1759; repr. Paris: H. Welter, 1901–1927], 1214 C). 10 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 7 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 37 in the cum (“when”) clause: that is, the pope is infallible, when . . . etc. Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that the first two conditions enumerated by Fenton are really only one in the same way as those enumerated by Newman; and the last two conditions enumerated by Fenton are likewise only one: for whenever the pope as supreme head of the Church issues a definitive judgment on a matter of faith or morals, then it follows as a necessary consequence that this judgment must be accepted as such by the universal Church. This too can be seen in the reformulation of the teaching in Lumen Gentium §25, which does not include the phrase “to be held by the whole Church” within the clause where the conditions for infallibility are enumerated. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that this argument reduces the dogma of papal infallibility to a meaningless tautology. For it amounts to saying that the pope is infallible whenever he speaks the truth, which is the same as saying that he always speaks truly when he speaks truly. But absolutely everyone is infallible in this sense. It should rather be understood that this “requirement” for the pope to speak in accordance with divine revelation when he defines a doctrine is not given as a condition by which to judge whether the pope has spoken infallibly, but as an assurance that when he does speak infallibly, then what he says will in fact be in accordance with divine revelation. This is why both Pastor Aeternus and Lumen Gentium place this teaching outside the enumeration of conditions for papal infallibility. Hence we should not say that, if the pope acting as supreme head of the Church were to define by a solemn judgment that there are four persons in the holy Trinity, he would not in that case have fulfilled the conditions for speaking infallibly, and hence that he could have, and in fact did, teach error. Rather we must say that, because the pope is infallible when he defines a matter of faith or morals by a solemn judgment, God will therefore prevent him from promulgating such a definition. In other words, the dogma of papal infallibility does not account for, but rather rules out, this hypothetical possibility. As for how God prevents the pope from solemnly defining a false doctrine, this could be by an external act of providence, by which God would cause the pope to lose his voice or his pen or even his life in order to prevent him from promulgating an erroneous definition; but we ought rather to believe that God ordinarily accomplishes this by the internal working of grace, by which he would move the pope to change his mind about a false doctrine he had intended to define. For this is more consistent 38 John P. Joy with the ordinary working of divine providence, which “reaches from end to end mightily, and orders all things sweetly” (Wis 8:1). Article 2: Whether the Pope Is Able to Teach Any Error at All in the Exercise of His Authentic Magisterium? Objection 1. It seems that the pope is not able to teach any error at all in the exercise of his authentic magisterium. For according to Joachim Salaverri, what is taught by the authentic magisterium of the pope is taught by the Church.11 And according to the Roman Catechism, “This one Church cannot err in faith or morals, since it is guided by the Holy Ghost.”12 Likewise, the Baltimore Catechism says: “The Church can not err when it teaches a doctrine of faith or morals.”13 Objection 2. Furthermore, according to Pope Saint John Paul II: “Alongside this infallibility of ex cathedra definitions, there is the charism of the Holy Spirit’s assistance, granted to Peter and his successors so that they would not err in matters of faith and morals, but rather shed great light on the Christian people. This charism is not limited to exceptional cases, but embraces in varying degrees the whole exercise of the magisterium.”14 Therefore, etc.15 Objection 3. Furthermore, according to the Second Vatican Council, the faithful are required to accept the teaching of the authentic papal magisterium with a “religious submission of will and intellect.”16 If, therefore, the pope were able to teach error in the exercise of his authentic magisterium, then Catholics could be required to accept something that is false, which would be opposed to the indefectibility of the Church. Therefore, etc. Salaverri, Tractactus de Ecclesia Christi, nos. 657–60; see also no. 892. Catechism of the Council of Trent (1566), trans. John McHugh and Charles Callan (Rockford, IL: TAN Books, 1982), 107 (I, a. 9). 13 Baltimore Catechism (1891), no. 526 (http://www.baltimore-catechism.com/ lesson12.htm). 14 Pope John Paul II, General Audience of March 24, 1993, §4 (English trans. from “The Holy Spirit Assists the Roman Pontiff,” totus2us.com/teaching/jpii-catechesis-on-the-church/the-holy-spirit-assists-the-roman-pontiff/). 15 Stephen Walford makes this argument in “The Magisterium of Pope Francis: His Predecessors Come to His Defense,” Vatican Insider, February 7, 2017, lastampa.it/ vatican-insider/en/2017/02/07/news/the-magisterium-of-pope-francis-his-predecessors-come-to-his-defence-1.34649513. 16 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 11 12 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 39 Objection 4. Furthermore, the pope is the final judge in matters of faith and morals. Hence, there can be no legitimate dissent from any papal teaching nor appeal to any other authority. But this would place the faithful in an impossible situation if the pope were at all able to teach error. Objection 5. Furthermore, according to Gasser’s relatio on papal infallibility, the First Vatican Council raised to a dogma the teaching of Saint Robert Bellarmine regarding the extent of papal infallibility.17 But Cardinal Bellarmine held it to be a pious and probable opinion “that the Sovereign Pontiff not only cannot err as Pontiff, but also that as a particular person he cannot be a heretic, by obstinately believing something false contrary to the faith.”18 Therefore, it is now a dogma of faith that the pope is in no way able to teach error in matters of faith or morals.19 Objection 6. Furthermore, according to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), propositions contrary to the non-definitive teaching of the authentic magisterium “can be qualified as false or, in the case of teachings of the prudential order, as rash or dangerous and therefore tuto doceri non potest.”20 But if all speculative propositions contrary to the teaching of the authentic magisterium are false, then all such propositions taught by the authentic magisterium must be true. Objection 7. Furthermore, according to Cardinal Johann Baptist Franzelin, in addition to the gift of “infallible truth,” which protects the ex cathedra definitions of the pope, there is also the gift of “infallible security,” which guarantees that all authentic papal teaching, even if not infallibly true, is at least infallibly safe, so that it would always be safe for the faithful to embrace it and could never be safe to reject it.21 Therefore, the authentic magisterium of the pope is at least practically infallible. Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 59. Robert Bellarmine, Controversies of the Christian Faith, trans. Kenneth Baker (Saddle River, NJ: Keep the Faith, 2016), 970. 19 Emmett O’Regan makes this argument in “The Heretical Pope Fallacy: The Official Relatio of Vatican I on the Dogmatization of St. Bellarmine’s ‘Fourth Opinion,’” Vatican Insider, December 11, 2017, lastampa.it/vatican-insider/ en/2017/12/11/news/the-heretical-pope-fallacy-1.34082024. 20 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), Doctrinal Commentary on the Concluding Formula of the Profession of Faith (1998), §10. 21 See Johann Baptist Franzelin, Tractatus de divina traditione et scriptura (Rome: Marietti, 1870), 116. 17 18 40 John P. Joy Objection 8. Furthermore, according to Cardinal Louis Billot, the non-definitive exercise of the authentic magisterium consists in probabilistic rather than in certain judgments. Thus, when the pope teaches a doctrine of faith or morals without intending to proclaim it definitively, he is to be understood as proposing that this doctrine is probably true (and therefore safe to hold) in light of current knowledge. Such teaching is “reformable” in the sense that the Church, enlightened by new knowledge, could later teach that the reverse is true. And yet this would not make the previous teaching false, since it was rightly considered probable at the time. Therefore, even the reformable teaching of the pope cannot be said to be in error. As Billot says: “That which is not safe now, looking at the present state of the question, can later become safe, when new evidence has appeared: and thus the decision declaring as safe that which was said before not to be safe, would not strictly speaking be a reformation of the sentence, but a new declaration not contrary to the prior one.”22 On the contrary, according to Pope Saint John Paul II, “The non-infallible expressions of the authentic magisterium of the Church should be received with religious submission of mind and will.”23 But if there are non-infallible expressions of the authentic magisterium, then it is possible for the authentic magisterium to teach error. For what is not infallible is fallible; and what is fallible is able to fail. I answer that it must be said that it is possible for the pope to teach error in the exercise of his authentic magisterium, although the divine assistance granted to him in virtue of his supreme office prevents this from occurring frequently. The charism of infallibility is bestowed on the Church by God in order to protect the faithful from being forced by holy obedience into error in matters of faith or morals. Since the solemn judgments or definitions of the pope are strictly binding in conscience, if the pope were able to err in such judgments, then all Christ’s faithful could be obliged to believe something against the faith, which would be contrary to the indefectibility of the Church, according to the words of Christ, “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matt 16:18). But when the pope teaches a matter of faith or morals in his authentic magisterium without speaking ex cathedra, then he does not require a definitive assent from the faithful. Hence, if he Louis Billot, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, q. 10, th. 19, in vol. 1, 3rd ed. (Rome: Giachetti, 1909), 437. 23 Pope John Paul II, Address to the Bishops from the United States of America on Their Ad Limina Visit, October. 15, 1988, §5. 22 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 41 should err in such teaching, the whole Church would not necessarily be led astray by the error. Therefore, it is not necessary that this kind of teaching should be absolutely protected from all error. Yet it is more fitting that even this kind of teaching should be protected from frequent error, lest anyone be led to conclude that the Church “does not enjoy divine assistance in the integral exercise of its mission.”24 Moreover, according to the Second Vatican Council, the response owed by the faithful to the authentic magisterium of the pope when he is not speaking ex cathedra is a “religious submission of will and intellect.”25 According to the official notes provided by the Theological Commission at Vatican II, this text is intended to be understood in reference to non-infallible teaching. One note mentions that this clause was added “in order to determine further what assent ought to be given to the teaching of the authentic magisterium below the grade of infallibility.”26 When the text was later relocated, there is another note that “it seemed better to treat of the non-infallible magisterium of the Roman pontiff in the context of the magisterium of the whole episcopal body.”27 Thus it is clear that, according to the intended sense of Lumen Gentium §25, the authentic magisterium of the pope is not always infallible, which means that it may sometimes teach error. The religious submission of will and intellect that is normally due to the teaching of the authentic magisterium is a genuine interior assent of the mind, which has the character of opinion rather than knowledge or faith, since the doctrine is to be accepted as true though with the awareness that it could possibly be false.28 This assent may legitimately be withheld in certain cases, although to do so merely on the basis of one’s own private judgment would be rash and dangerous.29 However, assent must be withheld when the teaching in question clearly conflicts with any irreformable doctrine of the Church, a doctrine that has been taught infallibly. This is because, in the case of conflicting obligations, precedence must always be given to the stricter obligation (as the obligation to obey traffic laws may give way to the obligation to save lives); and the obligation to give definitive assent to the irreformable teaching of the infallible Church is a CDF, Instruction on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian, Donum Veritatis (1990), §24. 25 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 26 Acta Synodalia Sacrosancti Concilii Oecumenici Vaticani Secundi (Rome: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1970–1999), 2/1:255 (emphasis added). 27 Acta Synodalia, 3/1:250 (emphasis added). 28 See Thomas Aquinas, De veritate, q. 14, a. 1. 29 See: Donum Veritatis, §§24–31; Salaverri, De Ecclesia Christi, no. 675. 24 42 John P. Joy stricter obligation than the religious submission due to the non-infallible teaching of the authentic magisterium of the pope or bishops. This may be understood by analogy with the obligation of children to obey their parents. Just as children have a duty to obey their parents in all things, as long as their commands do not conflict with the higher law of God, so too the faithful children of the Church have a duty to accept the magisterial teaching of the pope and the bishops in union with him as long as their teaching does not conflict with the higher law of God’s own revelation infallibly proposed by the Church. The faithful must take care, therefore, to be well formed in the tradition of the Church, especially the sacred Scriptures, the common teaching of the fathers and doctors, the divine liturgy, and the infallible decrees of prior popes and councils, so that they may not be led astray if the bishops, or the pope, or even an angel from heaven should preach a gospel contrary to that which has been received from the apostles (see Gal 1:8). Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that when the pope or bishops exercise their merely authentic (non-infallible) magisterium, this is only said to be the teaching “of the Church” in an improper sense. When the pope teaches infallibly, then it can be said simply and properly that “the Church” teaches. But when the pope exercises his authentic magisterium without speaking infallibly, then it should be said more properly that the pope teaches. And thus if he should err in such teaching, we would say that the pope has erred and not that the Church has erred. An indication of this can be seen in the concluding formula of the Profession of Faith, which speaks in the first two paragraphs of the definitive assent owed to the infallible teaching “of the Church,” whereas the third paragraph speaks of the religious submission of will and intellect due to the non-definitive teaching “of the pope or college of bishops.”30 Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that in the same series of general audiences devoted to a catechesis on the Church, Pope John Paul II distinguishes the ordinary (merely authentic) papal magisterium, which is exercised continually, from the extraordinary or solemn papal magisterium, which is exercised only in ex cathedra definitions,31 and then proceeds to say that the pope is infallible “only when he speaks ex cathe CDF, Profession of Faith (1998). Pope John Paul II, General Audience of March 10, 1993, §3 (English in “The Roman Pontiff is the Supreme Teacher,” totus2us.com/teaching/jpii-catechesison-the-church/the-roman-pontiff-is-the-supreme-teacher/). 30 31 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 43 dra.”32 But if the pope is infallible only when he speaks ex cathedra, then he is not infallible when he does not speak ex cathedra, and therefore he is able to teach error, even in matters of faith or morals, in his authentic magisterium when not speaking ex cathedra. In order to uphold the objection, one would have to deny what Pope John Paul II teaches here, which would be to attribute error to the teaching of his authentic magisterium in a matter pertaining to faith, in which case the objection would fail. Therefore, the charism of the Holy Spirit’s assistance, about which the pope speaks in the passage quoted, cannot be understood as an absolute protection against error, such as is given in the case of infallible teaching, but should rather be understood as a grace of office, of which the pope must avail himself in order to benefit from, just as grace is given to the justified so that they would not sin, but not so that they could not sin. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that this same religious submission is also due to the teaching of the individual bishops, who are certainly not infallible, as the Second Vatican Council teaches in Lumen Gentium §25 and as history also proves by the example of Nestorius and other heretical bishops. But if the response due to the teaching of individual bishops, who are not infallible, is this same religious assent or religious submission, then we cannot conclude that the authentic magisterium of the pope is infallible simply from the fact that a religious submission of will and intellect is owed to it. Reply to Objection 4. To the fourth it must be said that although the pope is the final judge in matters of faith and morals, he is not always acting as final judge even in his official teaching, but only when he speaks ex cathedra. Hence, if there should be controversy over a doctrine taught by the pope in the exercise of his merely authentic magisterium, whereby he proposes a doctrine of faith or morals as true, but not in the form of a solemn or final judgment, then the faithful are not left without recourse. They can appeal to the same pope (or a future pope) to issue a definitive judgment on the disputed point and so remove all doubts. And as long as the pope does not do so, it is clear that he does not demand an absolute assent to his teaching. Reply to Objection 5. To the fifth it must be said that this argument assumes that the First Vatican Council, by raising Cardinal Bellarmine’s so-called Pope John Paul II, General Audience of March 24, 1993, §1. 32 44 John P. Joy “fourth opinion” to the status of a dogma, must also have dogmatized all the further reasons adduced by Bellarmine in support of his conclusion, of which one indeed was that extreme opinion of Albert Pighius which he calls “pious and probable.” But this does not follow. And it is especially absurd to suppose that it entails an endorsement of precisely that opinion which Gasser explicitly rejects as being contained in the meaning of the definition when he says: As far as the doctrine set forth in the Draft goes, the deputation is unjustly accused of wanting to raise an extreme opinion, viz., that of Albert Pighius, to the dignity of a dogma. For the opinion of Albert Pighius, which Bellarmine indeed calls pious and probable, was that the Pope, as an individual person or a private teacher, was able to err from a type of ignorance but was never able to fall into heresy or teach heresy. . . . From this it appears that the doctrine in the proposed chapter is not that of Albert Pighius or the extreme opinion of any school, but rather that it is one and the same which Bellarmine teaches in the place cited by the reverend speaker and which Bellarmine adduces in the fourth place and calls most certain and assured, or rather, correcting himself, the most common and certain opinion.33 Reply to Objection 6. To the sixth it must be said that this doctrinal commentary carries no properly juridical authority. For it was issued without the seal of papal approval by which, according to Donum Veritatis §18, the doctrinal decrees of the CDF participate in the ordinary (i.e., authentic) magisterium of the pope. It is therefore permissible for a Catholic theologian to hold that it simply errs on this point. Instead of describing propositions contrary to non-definitive magisterial teaching as false, it would be more accurate to describe all such propositions—and not only those of the prudential order—as rash or dangerous and therefore not able to be safely taught. For this would correspond more closely to the limited but real authority of the kind of teaching in question. That is, since it is not infallible, it could occasionally be false, and thus the contrary could be true; but because it is authoritative, there is a strong presumption of truth in its favor, on account of which it would be rash and dangerous to hold the contrary without sufficiently grave cause. Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 58–59. 33 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 45 Reply to Objection 7. To the seventh it must be said that Cardinal Franzelin was concerned to emphasize the authority of the authentic papal magisterium against those who would consider themselves free to disregard everything except infallible teaching. But he failed to consider the possibility of authoritative papal teaching that would be in conflict with the previous teaching of the Church. Reply to Objection 8. To the eighth it must be said that this objection proves only that non-definitive doctrinal judgments can be true even in cases where they are later reversed due to changing circumstances. But it does not prove that they must be true, which would be required in order to uphold the thesis that the pope cannot err in the exercise of his authentic magisterium. Article 3: Whether the Infallibility of the Pope Is Limited to the Exercise of His Extraordinary Magisterium? Objection 1. It seems that the infallibility of the pope is not limited to the exercise of his extraordinary magisterium, but extends also to his ordinary magisterium. For according to the Second Vatican Council, the pope as head of the Church possesses the same infallibility as the whole Church.34 And the Church is infallible both in her solemn (or extraordinary) judgments and in her ordinary and universal magisterium.35 Therefore, as Salaverri and many others have concluded, the pope must also be infallible both in his extraordinary judgments and in his ordinary magisterium.36 Objection 2. Furthermore, as Salaverri points out,37 the pope possesses the complete fullness of the supreme power of jurisdiction over the Church, which includes the power of the magisterium.38 But if the pope were not infallible in his exercise of the ordinary magisterium, then he would not See Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25; cf. Vatican I, Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4. See Vatican I, Dogmatic Constitution on the Catholic Faith, Dei Filius (1870), ch. 3; cf. Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 36 See, for example: Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, no. 647; Fenton, “Infallibility”; J. M. A. Vacant, Le magistère ordinaire de l’Eglise et ses organes (Paris: Delhomme et Briguet, 1887); Edmond Dublanchy, “Infaillibilité du Pape,” in Dictionnaire de théologie catholique (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1927), 7:1638–717; Paul Nau, “Le Magistère pontifical ordinaire au premier concile du Vatican,” Revue Thomiste 62 (1962): 341–97. This was an argument I defended in John P. Joy, “Cathedra Veritatis: On the Extension of Papal Infallibility” (STL thesis, International Theological Institute, 2012), 51–89. 37 Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, no. 647. 38 See Vatican I, Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4. 34 35 46 John P. Joy possess the complete fullness of magisterial power, since the gift of infallibility would then be more restricted in the pope than in the Church, for the Church is infallible in her ordinary and universal magisterium. Objection 3. Furthermore, according to Fenton,39 the extraordinary magisterium is exercised only in “solemn” judgments.40 But the pope is infallible whenever he speaks ex cathedra, and solemnity is not one of the conditions required for speaking ex cathedra.41 Hence, the infallibility of the pope is not limited to extraordinary definitions—that is, those issued with special solemnity—but extends also to ordinary (i.e., non-solemn) ex cathedra definitions. On the contrary, according to Gasser’s relatio on papal infallibility, “The pope is only infallible when, by a solemn judgment, he defines a matter of faith and morals for the Church universal.”42 But a solemn judgment is an exercise of the extraordinary magisterium; hence, the pope is infallible only in his extraordinary magisterium. I answer that it must be said that the infallibility of the pope is limited to the exercise of his extraordinary magisterium. The ordinary and universal magisterium, which is the magisterium of the whole Church dispersed throughout the world, is infallible when it proposes a doctrine of faith or morals “as to be believed as divinely revealed” or “as definitively to be held.”43 Now it is impossible that the pope should not likewise be infallible when he proposes doctrine in the same way, lest we fall into the error of the Gallicans by attributing greater authority to the Church than to the pope. But when the pope, as head of the universal Church, proposes a doctrine of faith or morals “as to be believed as divinely revealed” or “as definitively to be held,” then he speaks ex cathedra, and this is reckoned as an exercise of the extraordinary magisterium. According to Pope Pius IX, the distinction between the ordinary and the extraordinary magisterium of the Church is this, that the extraordinary magisterium is exercised in “explicit decrees of ecumenical councils or Roman pontiffs,” while the ordinary magisterium is exercised in the general teaching of “the whole Church dispersed through- See Fenton, “Infallibility,” 188–89. See Vatican I, Dei Filius, ch. 3. 41 See Vatican I, Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4. 42 Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 46. 43 See: Vatican I, Dei Filius, ch. 3; Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 39 40 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 47 out the world,”44 on account of which the First Vatican Council described the ordinary magisterium as “universal.”45 The two modes of infallible teaching possessed by the bishops, therefore, pertain to the distinction between being gathered in council and being dispersed throughout the world; but no such distinction is possible for the singular person of the pope, and so he possesses only one mode of infallible teaching. Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that this argument equivocates on the term “ordinary magisterium,” which means one thing when applied to the Church and another thing when applied to the pope. Now the term “extraordinary magisterium” refers unequivocally to the explicit and definitive teaching of the Church—that is, the infallible teaching of the Church that is tangibly enshrined in public documents of the supreme magisterium. But because the extraordinary magisterium has two essential characteristics (namely, that it is both explicit and definitive), two very different forms of teaching can be contrasted against it and each will appear to be “ordinary” by comparison, though in different ways. First, and more properly, the term “ordinary magisterium” refers to the definitive but non-explicit teaching of the Church—that is, to the infallible teaching of the Church that is not found in explicit decrees of popes or councils but is gathered instead from all the sources of theology, and especially from the plain sense of Scripture, the consensus of the Church Fathers, the consensus of Catholic theologians, the consensus of the bishops, or the consensus of the faithful.46 Secondly, however, the term “ordinary magisterium” is also sometimes used to refer to the explicit but non-definitive teaching of the pope or the college of bishops,47 which is more properly called the “authentic magisterium” of the pope or bishops.48 But since “ordinary” in this case simply means “non-definitive” or “non-infallible,” it is impossible for the pope to speak infallibly through his “ordinary” magisterium. This unfortunate ambiguity of the term “ordinary magisterium” has been a Pope Pius IX, Apostolic Letter Tuas Libenter (1863). See Mansi, 51:322 B; cf. Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, no. 552. 46 See Joseph Kleutgen, Die Theologie der Vorzeit verteidigt, 2nd ed., vol. 1 (Münster: Theissing, 1867), 97–115. I explore this topic more thoroughly in John P. Joy, On the Ordinary and Extraordinary Magisterium from Joseph Kleutgen to the Second Vatican Council, Studia Oecumenica Friburgensia 84 (Münster: Aschendorff, 2017). 47 See, for example: Pope Pius XII, Encyclical Letter Humani Generis (1950), §20; CDF, Doctrinal Commentary, §10. 48 See Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 44 45 48 John P. Joy source of untold confusion.49 It is as if one were to call an angel and an ape by the same name simply because neither is a man. Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that the reason why the pope is not infallible in his ordinary magisterium is not because of a defect of magisterial power, but precisely on account of its fullness. The infallibility of the ordinary and universal magisterium of the Church arises from the consensus of individually fallible teachers proposing a doctrine of faith or morals as definitively to be held. But when the pope proposes a doctrine of faith or morals as definitively to be held, his teaching is infallible of itself and not by the consensus of the Church. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that, although it is true that solemnity is not a condition for infallible papal definitions, nevertheless the term “solemn” is not used restrictively in the expression “solemn judgment,” as the objection supposes, but rather descriptively. That is, every infallible definition of doctrine, whether issued by pope or council, is intrinsically solemn, whether or not it is phrased in especially solemn language or issued with special solemnity of pomp and circumstance. There can be no ex cathedra definition which is not by that very fact a solemn judgment of the extraordinary magisterium. Article 4: Whether the Pope Is Able to Speak Infallibly When He Confirms or Reaffirms a Doctrine Already Taught Infallibly by the Ordinary and Universal Magisterium? Objection 1. It seems that the pope is not able to speak infallibly when he confirms or reaffirms a doctrine already taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal magisterium. For according to the doctrinal commentary of the CDF on the concluding formula of the Profession of Faith: “Such a doctrine can be confirmed or reaffirmed by the Roman Pontiff, even without recourse to a solemn definition. . . . The declaration of confirmation or reaffirmation by the Roman pontiff in this case is not a new dogmatic definition, but a formal attestation of a truth already possessed and infallibly transmitted by the Church.”50 Therefore, such acts of confirmation or reaffirmation As Richard Gaillardetz rightly notes in this connection: “Contemporary discussions of issues related to the magisterium have been hampered considerably by a lack of terminological consistency” (Richard R. Gaillardetz, Teaching with Authority: A Theology of the Magisterium of the Church [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 1997], 162n6). 50 CDF, Doctrinal Commentary, §9 (italics original). 49 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 49 of existing Catholic doctrine are not infallible. Objection 2. Furthermore, according to Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, commenting on Ordinatio Sacerdotalis, “The Pope is not proposing any new dogmatic formula, but is confirming a certainty which has been constantly lived and held firm in the Church. In the technical language one should say: here we have an act of the ordinary magisterium of the Supreme Pontiff, an act therefore which is not a solemn definition ex cathedra.”51 But if Ordinatio Sacerdotalis belongs to the ordinary papal magisterium precisely because it does not propose any new dogmatic formula, then it must be the case that the pope is only able to speak infallibly when defining new dogmas; and not, therefore, when confirming or reaffirming what has already been taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal magisterium. Objection 3. Furthermore, according to Archbishop Tarcisio Bertone, “If we were to hold that the Pope must necessarily make an ex cathedra definition whenever he intends to declare a doctrine as definitive because it belongs to the deposit of faith, it would imply an underestimation of the ordinary universal magisterium, and infallibility would be limited to the solemn definitions of the pope or a council.”52 Therefore, etc. Objection 4. Furthermore, the extraordinary magisterium of the pope is exercised in the act of solemn judgment, by which he settles controversies of faith. But if the pope confirms or reaffirms an existing Catholic doctrine, then he does not settle a controversy of faith, for there can be no controversy about a doctrine that has already been infallibly taught by the Church. Therefore, in such cases the pope does not exercise the extraordinary magisterium; and he is only infallible in his extraordinary magisterium, as shown above. Objection 5. Furthermore, it would be unnecessary to define infallibly a doctrine that has already been taught infallibly by the Church; and it would be unfitting for papal infallibility to be exercised unnecessarily; therefore, we ought not to suppose that the pope speaks infallibly when he confirms or reaffirms a doctrine already infallibly taught by the Church. Joseph Ratzinger, “The Limits of Church Authority,” L’Osservatore Romano (English), June 29, 1994; cf. Ratzinger, “Letter Concerning the CDF Reply Regarding Ordinatio Sacerdotalis,” L’Osservatore Romano (English), November 19, 1995. 52 Tarcisio Bertone, “Magisterial Documents and Public Dissent,” L’Osservatore Romano (English), January 29, 1997. 51 50 John P. Joy On the contrary, there is the practice of the Church. For according to Pope Pius XII, the Assumption of Mary was already a dogma infallibly taught by the ordinary and universal magisterium before he proceeded to confirm it as such by a solemn definition.53 I answer that it must be said that the pope is able to speak infallibly not only when he defines new dogmas, but also when he definitively confirms or reaffirms a doctrine already infallibly taught by the Church. For the purpose of the charism of infallibility bestowed on the pope by Christ is so that all Christ’s faithful would be able to know with certainty what they ought to believe in order to be saved. But doubts may arise in the Church not only with regard to legitimately disputed questions, but also when the established teaching of the Church is obscured by heresies and errors. And indeed, the need for an infallible judgment is all the more urgent in the latter case. Thus the purpose of infallibility would be frustrated if the pope were not able to issue an infallible judgment by which he confirms or reaffirms existing Catholic doctrine. Moreover, in order to avoid falling into the error of the Gallicans, we must hold that the charism of infallibility is not more restricted in the pope than in the Church, as said above. But it is clear from history that the Church is able to pronounce solemn and infallible definitions by which she confirms or reaffirms doctrines already taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal magisterium. For the Council of Nicaea solemnly defined the co-equal divinity of Christ, which had been infallibly taught by the ordinary and universal magisterium of the Church from the beginning, according to the words of Christ: “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30). Likewise, the Council of Trent defined the necessity of good works for salvation, which had always been taught infallibly by the Church, according to the words of Saint James: “You see then that a man is justified by works, and not by faith alone” (Jas 2:24). Therefore, the pope can also pronounce a solemn and infallible definition by which he confirms or reaffirms a doctrine already taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal magisterium, as Pope Pius XII did when he defined the dogma of the Assumption. Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that this doctrinal commentary carries no properly juridical authority, as shown above. So it is permissible for a Catholic theologian to hold that the commentary simply See Pope Pius XII, Apostolic Constitution Munificentissimus Deus (1950), §12. 53 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 51 errs on this point. Or perhaps one could also say that the commentary does not entirely exclude the possibility of a solemn definition confirming or reaffirming the infallible teaching of the Church, since it says only that this can be done without a solemn definition, thus leaving open the possibility that it could also be done with a solemn definition. Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that there are no grounds for such a restriction of the extraordinary magisterium to the defining of new dogmas. This error seems to have arisen from a partial reading of Cardinal Billot, who describes an ex cathedra definition as a “new doctrinal judgment” and contrasts this against the way in which papal encyclical letters typically instruct the faithful about things already within the teaching of the Church.54 However, Billot also proceeds to say that the term “defines,” as it is used at Vatican I in the definition of papal infallibility, “is to be taken indiscriminately, whether about a thing never before defined, or about a thing already previously contained explicitly in the rule of the Church’s magisterium, confirmed again by a new sentence and a new judgment of the pope; just as we see practiced in the ecumenical councils with regard to the appearance of new errors or the return of old ones.”55 Hence, the solemn definition of a truth already infallibly taught by the Church is indeed a new judgment, but the only thing new about it is the new act of reaffirming the same doctrine. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that this argument would hold only if the same doctrine could not be infallibly taught more than once, but there is no reason to suppose such a limitation. And in fact, many doctrines have been taught infallibly more than once. For example, that the Sacred Scriptures are divinely inspired has always been taught infallibly by the ordinary and universal magisterium, according to the words of Saint Paul: “All Scripture is inspired by God” (2 Tim 3:16); and yet this was solemnly defined both at Florence and at Trent, according to the words of Pope Leo XIII: “This is the ancient and unchanging faith of the Church, solemnly defined in the Councils of Florence and of Trent.”56 Reply to Objection 4. To the fourth it must be said that the solemn judgments of popes and ecumenical councils are always sufficient to settle controversies of faith, but it is not necessary that there be an actual contro See Billot, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, 640. Billot, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, 640–41. 56 Pope Leo XIII, Encyclical Letter Providentissimus Deus (1893), §20. 54 55 52 John P. Joy versy of faith, much less a legitimate one, in order for a solemn judgment to be given. According to Gasser’s relatio, the forty-seventh proposed emendation to the text of the definition of papal infallibility had to be rejected for this reason: “The reverend Father appears to restrict pontifical infallibility only to controversies of faith, whereas the Pontiff is also infallible as universal teacher and as supreme witness of tradition, the deposit of faith.”57 Reply to Objection 5. To the fifth it must be said that this objection neglects the essentially pastoral purpose of the magisterium. As Joseph Kleutgen says: Something can be universally taught and believed in the Church as revealed truth, and therefore the error opposing it can be rejected with certainty as heretical, and yet a judgment of the Church can still be necessary if the innovators succeed in winning a following, or in seducing even a single prominent member of the Church, or other men of great prestige, such that it is slightly doubtful, especially for the multitude of the faithful, upon which side the truth lies.58 Solemn judgments that confirm or reaffirm existing Catholic doctrine may not be necessary for the advance of sacred theology; but they are often very necessary for the salvation of souls, and that is the primary purpose of the magisterium. Article 5: Whether the Infallibility of the Pope Is Limited to Defining Dogmas of Divine and Catholic Faith? Objection 1. It seems that the infallibility of the pope is limited to defining dogmas of divine and Catholic faith—that is, to the primary object of the magisterium. For according to Bishop Joseph Fessler, in his book on the infallibility of the pope, for which he received a personal letter of thanks from Pope Pius IX, the pope is infallible only when he defines truths as divinely revealed or when he condemns errors as heretical,59 both of which pertain exclusively to the primary object of the magisterium. Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 74. Kleutgen, Die Theologie, 100. 59 See Joseph Fessler, Die wahre und die falsche Unfehlbarkeit der Päpste (Vienna: Sartori, 1871). 57 58 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 53 Objection 2. Furthermore, according to Gasser’s relatio, Vatican I left the question of the secondary object of infallibility in the same state in which it was before,60 and this was a state of free theological opinion.61 Hence, it cannot be conclusively asserted that papal infallibility extends beyond the definition of dogma or the condemnation of heresy. Objection 3. Furthermore, the teaching of the Second Vatican Council is commonly held to be non-infallible precisely because it did not define any new dogmas or condemn any errors specifically as heretical.62 And the infallibility of the pope is the same as that of the Church, as said above. On the contrary, according to the CDF it is a matter of Catholic doctrine that “the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium extends not only to the deposit of faith,” which is the primary object of the magisterium, “but also to those matters without which that deposit cannot be rightly preserved and expounded,”63 which refers to the secondary object of the magisterium. I answer that it must be said that the pope is able to speak infallibly not only in defining divinely revealed truths as dogmas of divine and Catholic faith, but also in defining matters of faith or morals that are necessarily connected to divine revelation. Here it should be noted that the primary object of the magisterium comprises every doctrine directly revealed by God and contained in the deposit of faith—namely, in Scripture or Tradition. Such doctrines can be infallibly defined by the pope as dogmas which must be believed by divine and Catholic faith (de fide credenda), the obstinate doubt or denial of which constitutes heresy.64 Such dogmas can also be defined negatively by the definitive condemnation of the opposing heresy. See Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 80. See Cuthbert Butler, The Vatican Council, vol. 2 (London: Longmans and Green, 1930), 216. 62 See, for example: Umberto Betti, “Qualification théologique de la Constitution,” in L’Église de Vatican II, vol. 2, ed. Guilherme Baraúna (Paris: Cerf, 1967), 217; Yves Congar, “En guise de conclusion,” in L’Église de Vatican II, vol. 3 (Paris: Cerf, 1967), 1367; Francis A. Sullivan, Magisterium: Teaching Authority in the Catholic Church (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2002), 121; Sullivan, Creative Fidelity: Weighing and Interpreting the Documents of the Magisterium (Eugene: Wipf & Stock, 2003), 167; Avery Dulles, Magisterium: Teacher and Guardian of the Faith (Naples, FL: Sapientia, 2007), 69–70, 76. 63 CDF, Declaration in Defense of the Catholic Doctrine on the Church, Mysterium Ecclesiae (1973), §3. 64 John Paul II, Codex Iuris Canonici [henceforth: 1983 CIC] (Vatican City: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1983), can. 751. 60 61 54 John P. Joy The secondary object of the magisterium comprises those truths pertaining to faith or morals that are not directly revealed, but are intrinsically connected to divine revelation by a logical or historical relationship and which are required for inviolately preserving and faithfully expounding the deposit of faith.65 Truths contained in the secondary object of the magisterium include philosophical truths presupposed to divine revelation, such as the existence of God, the immortality of the human soul, and the mind’s ability to know truth with certainty; theological conclusions that follow logically from divine revelation by the aid of natural reason; and dogmatic facts, such as the legitimacy of an ecumenical council or the validity of a papal election. Such truths can be infallibly defined by the pope as doctrines which must be held definitively (de fide tenenda). Although the denial of such doctrines would not constitute heresy in the strict sense, the doctrinal commentary of the CDF on the Profession of Faith says: “Whoever denies these truths would be in a position of rejecting a truth of Catholic doctrine and would therefore no longer be in full communion with the Catholic Church.”66 Such truths of Catholic doctrine can also be defined negatively by the definitive condemnation of the opposing error as false or proximate to heresy. The extension of infallibility to the secondary object of the magisterium is taught by the Second Vatican Council, which says: “And this infallibility with which the divine Redeemer willed his Church to be endowed in defining doctrine of faith and morals, extends as far as the deposit of revelation extends, which must be guarded inviolately and expounded faithfully.”67 For according to the Theological Commission’s official explanation of this text, “The object of the infallibility of the Church, thus explained, has the same extension as the revealed deposit; and therefore it extends to all those things, and only to those things, which either directly pertain to the revealed deposit itself, or which are required for the same deposit to be inviolably guarded and faithfully expounded.”68 And if the infallibility of the Church extends to the secondary object of the magisterium, then so does the infallibility of the pope. For the pope possesses the very same infallibility as that possessed by the Church, as shown above. Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that a semi-official letter of approbation for Fessler’s work as a whole does not necessarily imply an See John Paul II, Motu Proprio Ad Tuendam Fidem (1998), §§3–4. CDF, Doctrinal Commentary, §6; cf. 1983 CIC, can. 750, §2. 67 Vatican II, Lumen Gentium, §25. 68 Acta Synodalia, 3/1:251. 65 66 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 55 endorsement of every claim made within the work. And Gasser’s relatio explicitly denies that papal infallibility is limited to the definition of dogma and the condemnation of heresy in the way that Fessler would have it. For according to Gasser: The Deputation de fide is not of the mind that this word [“defines”] should be understood in a juridical sense [in sensu forensi] so that it only signifies putting an end to controversy which has arisen in respect to heresy and doctrine which is properly speaking de fide. Rather, the word “defines” signifies that the pope directly and conclusively pronounces his sentence about a doctrine that concerns matters of faith or morals and does so in such a way that each one of the faithful can be certain of the mind of the Apostolic See, of the mind of the Roman pontiff; in such a way, indeed, that he or she knows for certain that such and such a doctrine is held to be heretical, proximate to heresy, certain or erroneous, et cetera, by the Roman pontiff. Such, therefore, is the meaning of the word “defines.”69 Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that the question left unsettled by Vatican I was not whether the infallibility of the pope extends to the secondary object, but rather whether this secondary extension of infallibility is itself a dogma or “merely” theologically certain. This indeed remains an open question. But there can be no doubt that the extension of papal infallibility to the secondary object of the magisterium is at least a theologically certain conclusion and not merely a matter of free theological opinion. Moreover, the constant consensus of Catholic theologians regarding the certitude of this doctrine is sufficient evidence that it is to be held definitively in virtue of the infallible teaching of the ordinary and universal magisterium. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that this common opinion about Vatican II is not well-founded. It appears to arise from three sources. First, there is the example of prominent authors such as Fessler who arbitrarily limit papal infallibility to the primary object of the magisterium, as shown above. Second, there is the wording of the 1917 Code of Canon Law, which said: “Nothing is to be understood as dogmatically declared or defined unless this is clearly manifested.”70 Now the word “dogmatically” Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 92. Benedict XV, Codex Iuris Canonici [hereafter: 1917 CIC] (Vatican City: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1917), can. 1323, §3. 69 70 56 John P. Joy can be used in a broad sense to mean something like “fixedly” or “irreformably,” but it also has a narrower technical meaning which refers exclusively to the primary object of the magisterium. And so it seems to have been interpreted by many. But this is corrected in the 1983 Code of Canon Law, which substitutes “infallibly” for “dogmatically” so that the parallel canon now reads: “Nothing is to be understood as infallibly defined unless this is manifestly the case.”71 Third, there are the words of Pope Paul VI, who said that the council “did not wish to issue extraordinary dogmatic pronouncements,”72 and again, that it “avoided giving solemn dogmatic definitions backed by the infallibility of the Church’s magisterium,” and “avoided pronouncing in an extraordinary way dogmas endowed with the note of infallibility.”73 But if Paul VI is using the terms “dogma” and “dogmatic” in the broader sense of “definitive,” then we cannot infer from his words any restriction of infallibility to the primary object of the magisterium. And if he is using them in the stricter sense, then we can only infer from them that Vatican II did not in fact infallibly define any dogmas (de fide credenda), but not that it did not define (much less could not have defined) any truths of Catholic doctrine (de fide tenenda). Article 6: Whether the Infallibility of the Pope Extends to the Canonization of Saints? Objection 1. It seems that the infallibility of the pope does not extend to the canonization of saints. For according to John Lamont, in order to teach infallibly, the pope “must assert that his teaching is a final decision that binds the whole Church to believe in its contents upon pain of sin against faith.”74 But in the formula of canonization, as Lamont says: There is no mention of teaching a question of faith or morals, no requirement that the faithful believe or confess the statement being proclaimed, and no assertion that a denial of the proclamation is heretical, subject to anathema, or entails separation from the unity of the Church. The absence of these condemnations is itself an absence of the condition of the intent to bind the whole Church in 1983 CIC, can. 749, §3. Pope Paul VI, Address During the Last General Meeting of the Second Vatican Council, December 7, 1965. 73 Pope Paul VI, General Audience of January 12, 1966 (translation mine). 74 John R. T. Lamont, “The Authority of Canonizations,” Rorate Caeli, Aug. 24, 2018, rorate-caeli.blogspot.com/2018/08/the-authority-of-canonisations-do-all. html. 71 72 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 57 the sense required for an infallible teaching, because these assertions are what constitute binding the Church in this sense.75 Objection 2. Furthermore, the infallibility of the Church extends only to matters of faith or morals that are either contained in divine revelation or so closely connected with the deposit of faith that “revelation would be imperiled unless an absolutely certain decision could be made about them.”76 Now the sanctity of any particular post-apostolic Christian cannot possibly be contained in divine revelation; nor is it necessarily connected with divine revelation unless “the doctrine of a particular saint has been so extensively adopted by the infallible teaching of the Church that denial of his sanctity would cast doubt upon the teachings themselves” or unless “devotion to a saint has been so widespread and important in the Church that the denial of that individual’s sanctity would cast doubt upon the role of the Holy Spirit in guiding the Church.”77 But these conditions are not realized in many canonizations. Therefore, canonizations are not necessarily infallible. Objection 3. Furthermore, recent changes in the process of examining causes for canonization, such as the abolition of the so-called devil’s advocate and the reduction in the number of miracles required, have considerably lessened the reliability of these examinations, so that even if canonizations used to be infallible, they cannot be so any longer. Objection 4. Furthermore, in the ceremony of canonization there are prayers for the truthfulness of the decree of canonization, which implies the possibility that the decree could be false. On the contrary, according to Saint Thomas Aquinas: “The honor we show the saints is a certain profession of faith by which we believe in their glory, and it is to be piously believed that even in this the judgment of the Church is not able to err.”78 I answer that it must be said that we ought to hold that the infallibility of the pope extends to the canonization of saints. In the first place, it is clear that the pope is issuing a solemn judgment as supreme head of the Lamont, “Authority of Canonizations.” Lamont, “Authority of Canonizations.” 77 Lamont, “Authority of Canonizations.” 78 Thomas Aquinas, Quodlibet IX, q. 8, a. 16. 75 76 58 John P. Joy universal Church when he pronounces a typical formula of canonization, which is as follows: “For the honor of the blessed Trinity, the exaltation of the Catholic faith, and the increase of the Christian life, by the authority of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and our own, we declare and define that N. is a saint and we enroll him among the saints, decreeing that he is to be venerated as such by the whole Church.” Hence, the only question that arises is whether the canonization of saints falls within the object of the infallible magisterium as a matter of faith or morals. And here it must be said that the canonization of the saints is intrinsically connected with the holiness of the Church, which is one of the essential marks of the Church, and so falls within the secondary object of infallibility. For by the act of canonizing a saint, the pope not only declares that this saint is in heaven, but also establishes the liturgical veneration of this saint, so that the most holy sacrifice of the Mass should henceforth be offered in honor of this saint. And it would be contrary to the holiness of the Church if the whole Church would be obliged to venerate and to offer Masses in honor of a soul not in heaven. Moreover, according to Salaverri, the infallibility of the pope in canonizing saints has been implicitly defined.79 For on several occasions, the supreme pontiffs have expressly declared the infallibility of these judgments. For example, Pope Pius XI says: “We, as the supreme teacher of the Catholic Church, pronounce infallible judgment with these words.” And again: “We, from the chair of blessed Peter, as the supreme teacher of the whole Church of Christ, solemnly proclaim with these words an infallible judgment.” Likewise, Pope Pius XII: “We, the universal teacher of the Catholic Church, from the one chair founded on Peter by the word of the Lord, have solemnly pronounced with these words this judgment, knowing that it cannot be wrong.”80 Therefore, although it would not be heretical in the strict sense to deny the infallibility of the canonization of saints, it would be contrary not only to the common teaching of Catholic theologians but also to the express teaching of Popes Pius XI and Pius XII. Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that the definitive and binding character of the decree of canonization is sufficiently manifest in the formula of canonization through the use of the word definimus (“we define”). Lamont, however, objects that the presence of the word definimus in the formula of canonization is not decisive, saying: See Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, no. 726. All cited in Salaverri, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, no. 725 (trans. Kenneth Baker in Sacrae Theologiae Summa, vol. 1B [Saddle River, NJ: Keep the Faith, 2015], 273). 79 80 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 59 Nor can we suppose that the use of the Latin word definimus necessarily signifies the act of defining a doctrine of the faith. The word has a more general, juridical sense of ruling on some controversy concerning faith or morals. This general sense was recognized by the fathers of the First Vatican Council, and explicitly distinguished by them from the specific sense of definio that obtains in infallible definitions. 81 But this is the reverse of the truth. As we have already seen, the official relatio on infallibility does indeed distinguish between a broader and a narrower sense of the word “defines”; but it is the narrower sense which Gasser describes as “juridical” and which he rejects, while affirming that the broader meaning of the word obtains in infallible definitions, as noted above (a. 5, reply to obj. 1). Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that the canonization of every saint is sufficiently connected to divine revelation in precisely the way that the objection maintains on behalf of only some saints. That is, just as the denial of the sanctity of a saint who has already been widely venerated in the Church would cast doubt upon the role of the Holy Spirit in guiding the Church, so also would the denial of the sanctity of one whose veneration has been decreed for the whole Church for the future. Reply to Objection 3. To the third it must be said that the charism of infallibility rests on the promise of God, not on the reliability of the process. As such it guarantees only the truth of the final definition, not the prudence of making it. Just as the pope, when he intends to define a dogma of faith, ought carefully to investigate the sources of revelation in order to be certain of the truth he intends to define, so also, when he intends to canonize a saint, he ought carefully to investigate the sanctity of that person in life and the miracles worked by him after his death. Failure to do so places himself at risk of being directly prevented by divine intervention, but it does not cast doubt on the certainty of the canonization itself, if God in his providence has allowed him to pronounce it. For then the words of Christ apply: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matt 16:19). Reply to Objection 4. To the fourth it must be said that prayers for the Lamont, “Authority of Canonizations.” 81 60 John P. Joy truthfulness of the decree are inconclusive, since there is nothing unfitting in asking God to do that which he has promised to do. Article 7: Whether the Pope Is Able to Speak Infallibly without Explicitly Addressing the Universal Church? Objection 1. It seems that the pope is not able to speak infallibly when he does not explicitly address his teaching to the universal Church. For as Gasser’s relatio makes clear, the pope is only said to be infallible when he teaches as supreme head of the Church and “not, first of all, when he decrees something as a private teacher, nor only as the bishop and ordinary of a particular See and province.”82 But if the pope addresses his teaching only to a part of the Church, then he may be acting only as local bishop of Rome, or Primate of Italy, or Patriarch of the West, and not as head of the universal Church. Objection 2. Furthermore, according to the definition itself, the pope is only said to be infallible when he defines a doctrine as one that is “to be held by the whole Church,”83 which he cannot do if he does not address his teaching to the whole Church. On the contrary, according to Cardinal Billot: “It is not necessary for a papal document to be materially directed to all the bishops or faithful; it is enough that it pertains to the deposit of faith and there is present the manifest intention of putting an end to doubt by a definitive sentence not subject to further determination.”84 I answer that it must be said that, in order to speak infallibly, the pope must be acting as supreme head of the whole Church. This is most clearly manifest when the pope explicitly addresses the whole Church, as he frequently does in his apostolic constitutions and encyclical letters. But this can be made manifest in other ways. For example, in the encyclical letter Commissum Divinitus, which is addressed only to the clergy of Switzerland, Pope Gregory XVI explicitly invokes his supreme apostolic authority, which he does not possess otherwise than as head of the whole Church, when he infallibly condemns the Baden articles as follows: Gasser, Gift of Infallibility, 77. Vatican I, Pastor Aeternus, ch. 4. 84 Billot, Tractatus de Ecclesia Christi, 642. 82 83 Disputed Questions on Papal Infallibility 61 With the fullness of the apostolic power, We reprove and condemn the aforementioned articles of the meeting of Baden as containing false, rash, and erroneous assertions; as detracting from the rights of the Holy See, overthrowing the government of the Church and its divine constitution, and subjecting the ecclesiastical ministry to secular domination; and as proceeding from condemned premises. We decree that they should forever be considered condemned.85 Similarly, when the pope imposes a profession of faith on any individual or group as a condition for union with the Church, it is clear that he is acting as supreme head of the universal Church, as for example in the professions of faith prescribed by Pope Hormisdas for the Acacians (517), by Pope Innocent III for the Waldensians (1208), by Pope Gregory XIII for the Greeks (1575), or by Pope Benedict XIV for the Maronites (1743). For it is only as supreme head of the Church that he has the authority to determine the conditions for union with the Church. Reply to Objection 1. To the first it must be said that it is true that the pope may be acting only as the local bishop of Rome, or Primate of Italy, or Patriarch of the West in such cases. But he need not always be acting only in these more limited capacities, as is clear from what is said above. Reply to Objection 2. To the second it must be said that, if the pope, acting in his capacity as supreme teacher of the universal Church, imposes a doctrine of faith or morals on any part of the Church directly, then by that very fact he also indirectly imposes the same doctrine on the whole N&V Church. Pope Gregory XVI, Encyclical Letter Commissum Divinitus (1835), §16. 85 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 63–82 63 A More Complete Reading of Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Same-Sex Unions Matthew Rolling St. Gregory the Great Seminary Seward, NE In 2015, Adriano Oliva, O.P., released a text in both Italian and French considering two major themes in the Catholic Church under discussion: Catholics who have divorced and remarried outside the Church and persons in same-sex unions.1 Employing Saint Thomas Aquinas as well as Sacred Scripture and Tradition, Oliva claims that both can be lived in an acceptable way within the Catholic Faith.2 While the two arguments are seemingly connected only temporally, Sébastien Perdrix, O.P., shows how Oliva has sought to connect the two in a logical manner, namely, that sexual union between married couples is primarily about a union of spiritual love, while the physical aspect of their union is secondary and accidental.3 Therefore, stable unions between members of the same sex who share a spiritual love for one another is likewise acceptable. Oliva’s monograph led to a number of direct responses from both his Dominican confreres4 and Adriano Oliva, L’amicizia più grande: Un contributo teologico alle questioni sui divorziari risposati e sulle coppie omosessuali (Firenze: Nerbini, 2015); Adriano Oliva, Amours: L’Eglise, les divorcés remariés, les couples homosexuels (Paris: Cerf, 2015). 2 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 85, 126. 3 Sébastien Perdrix, O.P., Philippe-Marie Margelidon, O.P., and Pavel Syssoev, O.P., “À Propos d’ ‘Amours’ d’Adriano Oliva: L’Église, Les Divorcés Remariés et Les Couples Homosexuels,” Revue Thomiste 116 (2016): 476–77. See also Henry Donneaud, O.P., “Questions disputées sur l’essence et les fins du mariage selon Thomas d’Aquin,” Revue Thomiste 125, no. 4 (2015): 614–15. Donneaud’s article was written in response to a 2014 article by Oliva on the ends of marriage, but with an awareness of the publication of Amours. 4 Bernhard Blankenhorn, O.P., et al., “Aquinas and Homosexuality: Five Dominicans 1 64 Matthew Rolling academic peers,5 which have addressed some of his arguments in summary fashion. While the two topics are connected in Oliva’s understanding, I wish to focus on the arguments given in favor of same-sex unions. The discussions regarding same-sex inclinations and unions are particularly complicated by the fact that for at least some individuals, same-sex attractions feel natural, and they seek an explanation for such seemingly natural attractions. Likewise, sexual activity between members of the same sex does feel pleasurable to some individuals who thereby reason that such actions are natural and therefore good. This can lead to authors and intellectuals constructing an edifice to justify their feelings or intuitions. Such an argument and its conclusions as Oliva has put forward, however, will be placed in the wider context of human nature to give a proper sense of pleasure, goodness, and what is natural in light of man’s final end. After summarizing Oliva’s claims, therefore, I will argue that he fails to acknowledge and/or respect a variety of Thomistic distinctions in order to arrive at his false conclusion regarding the integration of same-sex unions into full communion with the Catholic Church.6 Adriano Oliva’s Argument Because Perdrix and his coauthors and Thomas Osborne have already summarized Oliva’s arguments, I will only present his arguments in the briefest manner. Oliva rightly notes that the magisterium’s argument against same-sex unions is based in large part upon the teachings of Saint Thomas Aquinas; therefore, he intends to use the Angelic Doctor’s own words to show how we might understand same-sex unions in a new and morally acceptable light.7 Respond to Adriano Oliva,” Angelicum 92 (2015): 297–302; Perdrix et. al., “À Propos d’ ‘Amours.’” 5 Thomas M. Osborne Jr., Review of Amours: L’Église, Les Divorcés Remariés, Les Couples Homosexuels by Adriano Oliva, The Thomist 80, no.1 (2016): 137–40. 6 Though they deserve consideration, I do not intend to respond to Oliva’s arguments as presented in the first half of his work, namely, on the reception of Holy Communion in the Catholic Church by those who are divorced and remarried outside the Church. Neither do I intend to treat of pastoral care for those who have same-sex inclinations, which is a consequence of a proper understanding of such inclinations. Further, this topic has been treated in the following magisterial document by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith: Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons (1986). 7 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 93. Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 65 Metaphysical Argument in Favor of Same-Sex Unions Oliva begins with a metaphysical argument based upon the text of Summa theologiae [ST] I-II, q. 31, a. 7. In this text, Thomas asks whether there are any pleasures contra naturam. Aquinas begins his response by distinguishing between nature understood qua species and qua individua. Man understood specifically refers to that which separates man from other animals, namely, his intellectual powers.8 His examples of the pleasures which follow from these features confirm this position: contemplation of the truth and doing what is virtuous.9 Man understood individually is associated with those powers which man shares in common with irrational beings. The pleasures which follow from this aspect of man’s nature include bodily preservation and pleasures related to food, drink, and sexual activity.10 Obviously, these pleasures correspond to the vegetative and sensitive powers of man’s soul, which Aquinas understands condivitur rationi.11 According to Saint Thomas pleasures following from man’s specific nature are natural without qualification. Among the pleasures following from man’s individual nature, which pertain to one’s lower powers, some are unnatural simpliciter.12 As examples of unnatural pleasures, Thomas lists the eating of earth or coal as well as cannibalism, bestiality, and sexual activity between two men.13 These pleasures deriving from one’s individual nature are only natural secundum quid, that is, as a result of some corruption.14 It is significant to note here that Oliva translates Thomas’s corruptio as an alteration.15 Whereas alteration is an accidental change in quality may Summa theologiae [ST] I-II, q. 31, a. 7: “Intellectus et ratio est potissime hominis natura, quia secundum eam homo in specie constituitur.” 9 ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7. See also q. 78, a. 3 and In VII eth., lec. 5, in which Saint Thomas argues nearly the same point with the same conclusions. 10 ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7. 11 ST I, q. 78, a. 1; De veritate, q. 25, a. 6, ad 4. 12 ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7. 13 ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7. 14 ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7; see also Anthony C. Daly, “Aquinas on Disordered Pleasures and Conditions,” The Thomist 56, no. 4 (1992), 611: “Thomas’s answer is that unnatural pleasures are in a way natural to unnatural states.” 15 Oliva’s Italian translation introduces a significant change into Thomas’s original. Thomas writes: “Contingit enim in aliquo individuo corrumpi aliquod principiorum naturalium speciei . . .Quae quidem corruptio potest esse vel ex parte corporis vel etiam ex parte animae . . .” (emphasis added). Oliva’s Italian translation reads, in English, approximately: “One may understand, in fact, that in this particular individual, one of the principles of the specific nature is accidentally altered” (L’amicizia più grande, 98). The central issue is that Oliva feels justified in changing the term corruptio to alterazione (my “corruption”) because such would be more 8 66 Matthew Rolling be good or bad for the subject who undergoes the change,16 corruption involves a change from being to non-being wherein a subject is destroyed.17 Such a translation masks the very specific sense of Aquinas’s understanding of such unnatural pleasures. Oliva claims that because these “alterations” (corruptiones) are found in the soul, they are to be considered equal with the pleasure of the contemplation of the truth and acts of virtue. Thereby what may be contra naturam speciei becomes secundum naturam for the individual.18 Therefore, since the principle of homosexual inclinations is in that most intimate part of man which expresses affection and love, it must be in accord with this individual’s human nature.19 It is important to note that Oliva distinguishes coitus masculorum from sodomy. In his understanding, while coitus masculorum is something ex parte animae, sodomy is opposed to reason and not in the soul but rather is a matter of purely venereal and physical pleasure is assigned to the body.20 Therefore, coitus masculorum cannot be contra naturam even if it does not correspond to one’s specific nature.21 While Aquinas concludes that all corruptions ex parte corporis or ex parte animae are non . . . secundum naturam humanam, Oliva argues that man only exists as a singular individual. Therefore, nature cannot simply be considered generically or at the level of species, but must be recognized as only existing in the individual.22 While he does not say so explicitly, what is natural to the individual is assumed to be according to nature simpliciter. Moral Argument in Favor of Same-Sex Unions Oliva’s second Thomistic claim is considered a moral argument. Because man, made in the image of God, is meant to exercise his intellect and will, man needs to realize himself in concrete actions.23 Since Oliva claims to appropriate to a modern audience.” In V phys., lec. 4, no. 2 See also Battista Mondin, Dizionario Enciclopedico del Pensiero di San Tommaso d’Aquino, 2nd ed., “alterazione” (Bologna: Edizioni Studio Domenicano, 2000), 32–33. 17 In V phys., lec. 2, no. 7. See also Henri-Dominique Gardeil, O.P., Introduction to the Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas: Metaphysics, vol. 4 (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2012), 303. 18 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 96. 19 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 100–101. 20 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 101. 21 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 101. 22 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 104. In defense of his claim, Oliva cites In VI metaphys., lec. 3, no.1205. 23 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 104. 16 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 67 have proven that homosexual inclinations, like the inclinations toward truth and virtue, are natural for man, individuals with such inclinations must exercise those inclinations for the realization of the image of God within him. While Oliva acknowledges the necessity of considering general principles of morality and exercising right judgment in accord with prudence, he argues that these considerations must be adapted to the singular, individual nature to seek the good of the individual.24 Further, every person is called to realize him or herself as such.25 Because homosexuality is connatural to certain individuals, those individuals can do nothing else but actualize their nature through particular actions, which includes following those inclinations which arise from homosexual inclinations. Oliva understands this principle of connaturality to be a rule of life for the individual.26 As such, this rule of life is used to aid the person with same-sex inclinations in verifying and living according to his or her inclinations. If one truly has such inclinations, one must follow this nature which he or she possesses.27 Furthermore, because such an inclination, if it is truly present, is to be considered natural for this or that individual, the natural right of such persons must be recognized, including their right to come together in love and to have that love recognized as both natural and supernatural.28 Having shown that such inclinations flow from their individual dignity as made in the image of God and are a natural expression of love, Oliva concludes that homosexual unions and homosexual acts are to be governed in the light of the law of Christian charity.29 By this, he means that persons in same-sex unions need only observe chastity in the same way that a husband and wife would in their marriage. Overcoming Difficulties Related to the Sexual Acts in Same-Sex Unions Having presented the arguments as to how one can understand same-sex inclinations and unions can be morally good, Oliva seeks to overcome objections regarding the nature of sexual activity within such unions. He considers Saint Thomas’s analysis of the command of God in Genesis 1:28 to “be fruitful and multiply.”30 In the Commentary on the Sentences, Aquinas explains why those called to celibacy for the sake of the Kingdom of Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 105. Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 106–7. 26 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 108. 27 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 107. 28 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 109. 29 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 110–11. 30 In IV sent., d. 26, q. 1, a. 2, ad 4; ST Suppl., q. 41, a. 2, ad 4. 24 25 68 Matthew Rolling God do not violate this command in Genesis. Oliva applies this conclusion of Saint Thomas to the current considerations. Thus, if one should have a connatural inclination toward sexual acts with members of the same sex in which procreation is clearly impossible, one should be considered freed from observing the command.31 According to the teachings of the Second Vatican Council, the Code of Canon Law,32 and §10 of Paul VI’s Humanae Vitae, the twofold good of the sexual act, unitive and procreative, need not always be present in cases where a husband and wife, for a just reason, abstain from sexual activity during fertile periods. In such cases, individuals are called to exercise their free will and responsibility in deciding such matters themselves.33 Oliva uses these principles from magisterial teachings to bolster his position that same-sex couples can rightly engage in sexual activity even if there is a not an openness to new life in their act. Oliva claims that, in Saint Thomas’s presentation of the secondary precepts of the natural law, a second grade of inclinations regards individual inclinations and admits of exceptions such as polygamy or coitus masculorum.34 With that, Oliva is confident in having shown the support of natural law, metaphysics, anthropology, theology, Sacred Scripture, and the magisterium for his position regarding same-sex inclinations and unions.35 Therefore, the Church and the state need only to help such couples to live out their love in a virtuous and authentically Christian manner.36 To the best of my understanding, these are the arguments which Oliva puts forward to support the naturalness of same-sex inclinations and the moral acceptability of same-sex unions from both a Thomistic perspective and a magisterial perspective. Analysis of the Arguments according to a Few Major Principles According to the claims which Oliva makes, it seems that one would be Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 113. Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 114. 33 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 114–15, 117 (see also 126). 34 See ST I-II, q. 94, a. 2, and Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 118. When one compares Oliva’s interpretation with the text of ST, one finds grave discrepancies. Nowhere in the text of Aquinas is there mention of exceptions to the natural law save in the case of those who are ignorant of its conclusions or those who are impeded by some obstacle (q. 94, a. 4). By definition, it applies to all. Further, there is no mention of the example of polygamy as something which permits certain individuals to take exception to such precepts; on the contrary q. 94, a. 3, ad 2, explicitly identifies concubitus masculorum as being against nature and therefore against the natural law. 35 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 116, 120. 36 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 122. 31 32 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 69 going against several major sciences and sources of authority if one is to go against the conclusions which Oliva himself makes. Perdrix, citing Bernhard Blankenhorn’s collaborative article and work by Thomas Osborne, shows that Oliva’s claims violate elementary rules of textual interpretation in two ways. First, Oliva ignores Thomistic texts which contradict his position, and second, he fails to read texts in their entirety.37 Osborne notes that Oliva’s claims are supported by secondary sources and textual interpretations which are “questionable,” scholarly “deficient,” and “polemical.”38 Blankenhorn and his coauthors find his interpretation of Aquinas to be “objectionable” and irresponsible.39 In addition to the criticisms presented by these authors, it is my intention to respond in a more complete way to Oliva’s claims, by focusing primarily on the philosophical arguments of Saint Thomas Aquinas, upon which the veracity of Church teachings are grounded. In order to sustain his position, Oliva has either ignored or equivocated on several key Thomistic distinctions in order to arrive at the bold claim that his position has the backing of both philosophical and theological sources. These include both general metaphysical and anthropological distinctions as well as particular distinctions which apply directly to his arguments regarding same-sex inclinations. General Distinctions Improperly Acknowledged In total, I wish to consider seven key Thomistic distinctions which, understood properly, lead one to conclusions contrary to those at which Oliva has arrived. The first distinction is that of specific and individual nature. This notion, which Saint Thomas employs in a variety of texts, can be understood in several, complementary ways. First, it must be recalled that in two significant discussions on the notion of nature, Thomas reduces natura to two principles: form and matter.40 As a result, specific and indi Perdrix et. al., “À Propos d’ ‘Amours,’” 480. As an example of ignoring the integrity of a text, one need only look at the passage from ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7 and the strong disagreement between Thomas’s text and Oliva’s reading of it, discussed in note 15 above. 38 Osborne, Review of Amours, 139: “He relies in this matter on the work of such figures as John Boswell, and he does not mention that this work is widely regarded as deficient in its scholarship and polemical.” See also 140: “Oliva relies on highly polemical and questionable scholarly works without indicating that they are controversial.” 39 Blankenhorn et al., “Aquinas and Homosexuality,” 302: “Overall, we find Oliva’s reading of Aquinas not only objectionable but irresponsible.” 40 See De principiis naturae I and In II phys., lec. 3. See also John F. Wippel, The Metaphysical Thought of Thomas Aquinas: From Finite Being to Uncreated Being (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2000), 311: “Thomas 37 70 Matthew Rolling vidual natures distinguish that which all men share in common from that which individuates one man from another.41 In ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, Aquinas uses it to distinguish that which all men enjoy as human beings from that which men share with other animals. While it seems to contradict the previous usage, it actually is closely connected. That which sets man apart from other beings is his rational power, which is completely immaterial, while that which man shares with other animals includes sensitive and vegetative powers, which are closely tied to one’s bodily principle.42 Thus, what Thomas assigns to an individual according to his specific nature pertains to his reason and will. That which he assigns to the individual according to his individual nature pertains to the lower powers of the soul as well as his material principle which the individual holds in common with irrational animals. That which pertains to an individual human according to his specific nature is not simply his or her soul, but more specifically, the rational powers of that same soul. That which condivitur rationi . . . ex parte animae is not that which pertains to man as a man, but to that which man shares with other animals. For this reason, we find Aquinas periodically referring to man’s nature simply as a rational nature so that one might understand that what is most fitting to man’s nature is what is most fitting according to reason, as the highest power in man and that to which the lower powers are subject.43 A proper understanding of Thomas’s use of the notions of specific and individual nature is, therefore, the first key to a correct understanding of ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, and the notion of disordered inclinations. The second distinction which is at play in Oliva’s arguments is that of the existence of a generic nature and the existence of an individual. As he rightly points out, generic natures only exist in concrete individuals; this is one of the key differences between a Platonic understanding of univer- finds it necessary to distinguish between that whereby a given material being belongs to its kind or species, and that whereby it is only an individual instance of that kind or species. As he sees things, the first point is accounted for by a principle of actuality within such a thing’s essence—its substantial form. The second finds its explanation in the presence of a distinct principle of potentiality within the same essence—prime matter. Because the receiving and potential principle limits the form or act principle, we may also say that the former, the matter, participates in the latter, the form.” 41 De veritate, q. 25, a. 6, ad 4; see also De ente et essentia VI and ST I-II, q. 51, a. 1; q. 63, a. 1. 42 De anima, a. 13, corp.: 43 ST I-II, q. 71, a. 2. See also q. 91, a. 2. Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 71 sals and a properly Aristotelian-Thomistic understanding of universals. 44 Further, he rightly argues that in ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, Saint Thomas is making a metaphysical claim about inclinations rather than a logical claim. Therefore, the specific nature must really exist, albeit only in the individual. Oliva wrongly implies that whatever is found in the individual, regardless of his specific nature, must be of the nature of the individual, precisely as a human being. 45 Understanding the distinction between specific and individual natures, as given above, one grasps that the individual nature is not something over and above the specific nature. Nor is the specific nature subsumed into the individual nature when the individual comes to be, as Oliva seems to suggest.46 Rather, the specific nature, always remaining what it is, is realized in this individual which enjoys certain unique characteristics which distinguish him from other members of the species. This, however, does not cancel out the features of the specific nature. To allow for an individual nature to change or cancel out a specific nature would lead to different specific natures. By such a position, we would end up in nominalism, rejecting the reality of a common nature shared by all members of the same species. 47 To say that Socrates is a man and Plato is a man would be void of intelligible content. Thus, we must acknowledge that a specific nature persists in the individual, and the individual nature does not have the power to alter the specific nature. The third key distinction is closely related to the previous two; it is the proper understanding of the relation and ordering of the body and the soul. As Oliva rightly points out, man is not a soul in a body as Plato might have understood man, but rather a unity of both body and soul. 48 As we have seen above, the specific nature pertains more to man’s soul while the individual nature pertains to his body. We could go further in saying that man, in some way, is a union of a specific nature and individual nature or a specific nature, realized in this individual. One should not conclude, however, that the two principles of man’s nature are on equal footing. Thomas clearly holds that matter is for the sake of form, not vice versa.49 Therefore, where contradiction and opposition arises between these two principles, the form—man’s rational soul—takes priority over the matter—man’s suitably composed body. Thus, if something is according to Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 104. Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 104. 46 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 105; see also 123–24. 47 Summa contra gentiles [SCG] II, ch.123. 48 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 115. 49 De anima, a. 8, obj. 3: “Materia sit propter formam et non e converso.” 44 45 72 Matthew Rolling his individual nature, but contrary to his specific nature, then according to Thomas, inclinations of the individual nature must be subordinated to inclinations of the specific nature. Of course, Oliva claims that same-sex inclinations are in the individual, not the species, which in Thomistic terms means it more properly pertains to the body than the soul. The right relation of body and soul, therefore, clarifies what Oliva seems to have obscured regarding the principles of man’s inclinations. Of course, Oliva has argued that because same-sex inclinations are in the soul, they therefore align with that part of man’s nature which is properly human, that is, man’s specific nature.50 This brings us to the fourth distinction which he fails to clearly incorporate, namely, that the soul can be divided into the lower and higher powers which are the sensitive and rational powers, respectively. Oliva follows Aquinas in stating that samesex inclinations are ex parte animae and in ascribing them to the individual. Falsely, Oliva assumes that because same-sex inclinations are in the soul, they are therefore the result of man’s rational powers.51 Following ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, from which Oliva has chosen to argue, it is clear that Thomas assigns the corruption of coitus masculorum to the sensitive powers of the soul, not the rational powers.52 Again, a proper understanding of Saint Thomas would lead one to conclude that because lower powers are subject to higher ones, the inclinations and operations of the sensitive soul must be governed by and judged in light of man’s intellectual inclinations and operations.53 With this principle rightly understood, one can read Oliva’s argument against sodomy as an argument against same-sex sexual activity as well.54 Therefore, one cannot simply follow same-sex inclinations because they are ex parte animae because one has to take account of both the sensitive powers of the soul and the rational powers. The fifth distinction pertains properly to the rational powers of the soul: the intellect and will. While these two powers are highest among all other powers of the soul, Thomas clearly understands them to enjoy a hierarchical relation as well. Because the inclinations of appetites follow upon a form, the object of the will is a good which is first apprehended.55 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 116. Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 100. See also Perdix et al., “À Propos,” 485. 52 Perdrix et al., “À Propos,” 485. 53 De veritate, q. 16, a. 1, ad 11. See also ST I, q. 63, a. 4, ad 2. 54 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 101; see also 121. 55 ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1. See also: ST I, q. 80, a. 1; q. 82, aa. 3–4. Lawrence Feingold writes: “A faculty of the soul can ‘desire’ its object in two fundamentally different ways: (1) as the object of the innate natural appetite, or (2) insofar as it is known to be a good for the creature as a whole (elicited and conscious desire) [citing 50 51 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 73 While in one passage Oliva seems to implicitly acknowledge the role of the intellect in determining moral principles and prudential judgment,56 he more frequently uses language which suggests that man ought to act under the influence of his free will without reference to his intellect.57 Such a position would imply that man’s most authentic acts involve the choice made in accord with his free will,58 especially when considering the exercise of his sexuality.59 The frequent reference to the free will or the exercise of one’s freedom and choice without a balancing reference to the will comes dangerously close to William of Ockham’s voluntarism. On the other hand, Saint Thomas is very clear regarding the interaction of the intellect and will. While the intellect is more noble than the will, absolutely considered, 60 Aquinas does acknowledge that the will moves all powers of the soul.61 This should not lead one to conclude that the will dominates the intellect in such a way that it enjoys supremacy over judgments of the intellect. Rather, the intellect moves the will as an end moves an agent while the will moves the intellect as an active power moving that which is in potency.62 Lest one fear an infinite regression between these two rational powers, Thomas says that the will is always dependent upon a prior apprehension by the intellect, but the contrary is not true.63 Therefore, in man’s exercise of his rational powers, a command by the will must be preceded and informed by a right judgment of the intellect, seeking the truth universaliter and particulariter. Cajetan’s commentary on ST I, q. 80, a. 1, ad 3, no. 5, and on I, q. 19, a. 1, no. 6]. In the former case, the desire for the object is always present in the very nature of the potency itself, as the unconscious tendency of the potency for its proper and fitting or proportionate act. Thomas speaks of this as the natural inclination or natural appetite of the potency. Beginning at the time of Suárez, this natural appetite or inclination is referred to by the technical term ‘innate appetite’ in order to distinguish it more clearly from a natural elicited act of the will. . . . Elicited desire, on the other hand, refers to a passage or movement from potency to act in the appetitive faculty itself. It is a conscious act of a man or animal. What previously was not desired, is now actually desired on account of the presence of knowledge of the goodness of that object which draws out (elicits) an act of desire from the sensitive or rational appetite” (The Natural Desire to See God according to St. Thomas and His Interpreters, 2nd ed. [Ave Maria, FL: Sapientia Press, 2013], 14–15). 56 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 105. 57 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 120–21; see also 125. 58 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 104. 59 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 114–15. 60 ST I, q. 82, a. 3. 61 ST I, q. 82, a. 4. 62 ST I, q. 82, a. 4. 63 ST I, q. 82, a. 4, ad 3. 74 Matthew Rolling The sixth distinction to be considered pertains to the Thomistic notion of inclinations. A more comprehensive reading of Aquinas’s texts as well as the contemporary literature demonstrates a much clearer understanding with regard to his notion of natural inclinations than Oliva suggests.64 Following the principle that that which is natural is good, Oliva concludes that individual inclinations, which are natural to this individual, must be good. This, however, is an over-simplified reading of the Angelic Doctor. As Saint Thomas writes in ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1, there are three kinds of appetites: a natural appetite, a sensitive appetite, and a rational appetite. 65 Each of these three appetites is always inclined to what is good insofar as they are inclined to objects which exist, and to the extent that they exist, they are good. 66 The natural inclinations of the natural appetite, which are simply the general objects to which the soul and its powers are naturally ordered, are always necessarily good. This is because the natural appetites are oriented ad unum, by the Author of our nature, and cannot be bad.67 On the other hand, the elicited appetites, as the sensitive and rational appetites are sometimes called, have the potential of being inclined ad multa, including things which are objectively evil.68 In addition to the distinction of inclinations as natural and elicited, we must also keep in mind the explanation of Aquinas with regard to the teaching of the Catholic Church as a result of original sin. As a result of original sin, all men have inherited the stain of concupiscence which is a natural inclination Daly, “Aquinas on Disordered Pleasures”; Robert Loyd Kinney III, “Homosexual Inclinations and the Passions: A Thomistic Theory of the Psychogensis of SameSex Attraction Disorder,” The Linacre Quarterly: Journal of the Catholic Medical Association 81, no. 2 (May 1, 2014): 130–61; Steven Jensen, “Is Continence Enough?,” Christian Bioethics 10, no. 2–3 ( January 1, 2004): 161–76; Janet E. Smith, “Are Natural and Unnatural Appetites Equally Controllable? A Response to Jensen’s ‘Is Continence Enough?,’” Christian Bioethics 10, no. 2–3 (August 1, 2004): 177–88. 65 ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1. See also De virtutibus, q. 1, a. 8. 66 ST I-II, q. 8, a. 1. 67 De veritate, q. 22, a. 3, ad 2. See also De veritate, q. 25, a. 1, corp. 68 William Wallace writes: “The first division of appetite is into natural and elicited appetites. Because things exist as they are and tend to continue in existence for a while, and because they operate as they ought to operate, they are said to have a natural appetite to exist and to operate. . . . Elicited appetites are those aroused by cognitive acts, and they are considered to be distinct parts or powers of the nature of a cognitive being.” (The Elements of Philosophy: A Compendium for Philosophers and Theologians [Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2012], 75). See also Feingold, Natural Desire, 14–15 (quoted in note 55 above). 64 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 75 toward evil. 69 Therefore, a Catholic ought to be all the more cautious with his natural inclinations, knowing the state in which he finds his human nature, both in its specific and individual features, disordered with respect to its inclinations. The examples of corruptiones given in ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, are clear examples of inclinations toward things which are disordered because they are not properly ordered to the end of man’s rational nature.70 In the case where one finds contradictory inclinations, we can follow the principle laid out above with respect to the various powers of the soul, namely, the ordering of lower to higher.71 Thus, it is not the standard of “connaturality” which determines something to be morally acceptable for the individual, but rather the rule of reason which determines the goodness or evil of man’s elicited inclinations.72 Closely connected to this consideration of the variety of inclinations is the seventh and final Thomistic distinction which I wish to identify: moral choices among various goods. It may seem painfully obvious, but there is a clear difference between deciding between something good and something evil and deciding between two things which are both good. As discussed above, in order to demonstrate that the command of Genesis 1:28 to “be fertile and multiply” need not apply in all cases, Oliva makes references to a text in Aquinas’s Commentary on the Sentences.73 In this Thomistic consideration of the binding nature of the precept to marriage under the New Law of Grace, Thomas argues that what binds in a general way for mankind may not be binding for particular individuals. Thus, he uses the examples of the farmer, the builder, and the contemplative. Each is necessary for the good of the community, but not all should be engaged in these tasks, for then other offices and tasks which are necessary for the good of the community would go unfulfilled.74 From the text, it is clear that Thomas wishes to show how celibacy for the sake of the kingdom is acceptable in light of the general precept to “be fertile and multiply.”75 These options all represent things which are objectively good and are See, for example, ST II-II, q. 136, a. 3, ad 1; see also q. 85, aa. 1 and 3. Daly draws a parallel between Aquinas’s treatment of original sin and the disorder of desire for pleasure from men having sexual interaction with other men (“Aquinas on Disordered Pleasures,” 605). 70 ST II-II, q. 118, a. 1, ad 3. For an example of disordered inclinations and dispositions, see ST I-II, q. 78, a. 3. 71 ST I-II, q. 49, a. 2. 72 ST I-II, q. 56, a. 4, ad 3. 73 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 120. 74 In IV sent. d. 26, q. 1, a. 2. 75 In IV sent. d. 26, q. 1, a. 2, ad 4. 69 76 Matthew Rolling suitable according to the rule of reason or according to divine law.76 Thus, one is free to choose among these goods insofar as it is suitable to the individual, including not obeying the general precept to “be fruitful and multiply.” To be more explicit, one may choose among any of these goods without performing some act which is morally evil. On the other hand, if one is always seeking that which is good, there can be no authentic deliberation when choosing between something objectively good and objectively evil. Any free choice in favor of something which is objectively disordered, when truly understood by the intellect, is a choice in favor of what is evil, leading one to vice. Oliva has falsely chosen to use Aquinas’s principle for making a choice among goods when making a choice between what is morally good and what is morally evil. Therefore, the comparison of the celibacy of religious life and the sexual activity of same-sex unions cannot apply as Oliva claims.77 Points Particular to Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions Employing the general, Thomistic anthropological and ethical considerations given above, I now address certain particular points which pertain directly to the argumentation presented with regard to the alleged moral goodness of coitus masculorum.78 The first point pertains to Oliva’s distinction between same-sex unions and sodomy. He holds that same-sex unions are based on a love which is exclusive and faithful, while sodomy is an inappropriate use of one’s sexuality for the sake of bodily pleasures.79 He claims that such a distinction is justified because the inclination for coitus masculorum is ex parte animae while sodomy regards venereal pleasures. By way of defense for his claim regarding sodomy, he cites ST II-II, q. 154, aa. 11 and 12, wherein Aquinas deals with the “unnatural vice.” While we have already shown the proper location of the corruption of coitus masculorum ex parte animae sensitivae, an analysis of articles 11 and 12 in question 154 brings same-sex unions and sodomy much closer than Oliva would make us think. In article 11, Thomas begins by showing how one might determine various species of the vice of lust. The first division is according to that which is contrary to right reason, but all forms of lust are contrary to reason. The ST I-II, q. 63, a. 2. Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 121–22. 78 I exclude one point which directly relates to the matter of same-sex inclinations and unions, that of permitting intemperance as incontinence, because the matter has been sufficiently addressed by Perdrix et al., “À Propos,” 475–77. 79 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 101; see also 121. 76 77 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 77 second involves that which is contrary to the sexual act.80 Within this second division, he speaks of four particular operations which are contrary to the sexual act, the third of which consists in sexual acts of men with men or women with women. Such acts are what Saint Paul refers to as the vice of sodomy.81 For Thomas, there does not appear a distinction between coitus (or concubitum) masculorum and sodomia. Rather, they are one and the same, and furthermore the unnatural sin is the worst of all species of lust.82 To be honest, it seems hard to imagine how one might act upon a same-sex inclination if not by means of coitus masculorum, which Aquinas identifies with sodomy. If Oliva views same-sex unions as merely Platonic friendships without any “sexual” activity, then he might have a case for dividing it against sodomy. Two facts, however, raise questions about such a position. First, we have seen Oliva describe same-sex unions as exclusive, free, and faithful, which is the same language used to describe marriage between a man and a woman, wherein sexual activity is a key element.83 Second, he employs distorted readings of the documents of Vatican II, the Code of Canon Law, and Humanae Vitae to justify separating the unitive aspect of the sexual act from the procreative aspect for the sake of justifying same-sex unions. Based on these two points, it seems clear that Oliva understands same-sex unions as including genital activity between two men or two women. In comparing these claims with Aquinas’s texts, such a claim that Saint Thomas would distinguish same-sex unions from sodomy is patently false. Even Oliva’s suggestive readings of the Condemnations of 1277 by Bishop Etienne Tempier of Paris and Cardinal Cajetan’s singular omission of a commentary for ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, or the baseless claim that the context of the discussion has changed between Aquinas’s day and ours cannot support the claim that same-sex unions are somehow understood by Aquinas or by the Church as being anything other than sodomy.84 ST II-II, q. 154, a. 11. ST II-II, q. 154, a. 11. See also In I Super Rom 4 and SCG III, ch. 122. 82 ST II-II, q. 154, a. 12. 83 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 116; see also 122. 84 According to Oliva, the Condemnations of 1277 by Bishop Etienne Tempier of Paris, forbidding the teaching of the connaturality of inclinations of the individual nature, and Cardinal Cajetan’s singular omission of a commentary for ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, both imply that Thomas’s position on the connaturality of same-sex inclinations was seen even in the thirteenth century as supporting same-sex unions (L’amicizia più grande, 95n7). A proper reading of specific and individual natures, however, disproves such a hypothesis. Oliva also claims that today’s socio-cultural context is much different from that of Saint Thomas; therefore, what may have been contra naturam in the thirteenth century need not be so in the twenty-first century [Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 96. Not only has Daly shown that Thomas’s 80 81 78 Matthew Rolling The second particular point regards three ways in which Oliva employs the principle of love with respect to same-sex inclinations and unions. First, Oliva claims that because two individuals of the same sex love one another in a way which is exclusive and free, their inclinations and union are morally permissible. 85 So long as the love between two persons of the same sex has certain good qualities, it must be good. This claim seems to risk severing love, a virtue rooted in the will, from truth, which is derived from the intellect. As we have shown above, the rule of reason measures the goodness of an act and, in this case, determines coitus masculorum to be morally unacceptable as being against man’s rational nature. Love without the balance of a true judgment of the intellect puts us on the path to Ockham’s voluntarism, as we noted above.86 On the contrary, love is properly understood as a virtue and every virtue, according to Saint Thomas, must be fitted to the rule of reason and reason to the eternal law. 87 As shown above, coitus masculorum, that is, sodomy, is contrary to both. Therefore, if one persists in arguing that love is the foundation of same-sex unions, then one has rendered love as something contrary to the end of man’s nature and to man’s reason. Second, because Oliva attributes this love to persons as persons, it seems to be understood as including their biological sex, 88 yet a person, as Oliva rightly states, is a union of body and soul. Thus, biological sex must play an important role in the expression of a love which is in according with the fullness of man’s nature and his end. Additionally, persons with same-sex attractions who choose to love someone with the same biological sex over and against those of the other biological sex do so precisely because of the person’s particular biological sex. That is, men with same-sex inclinations seek out other men and women other women, for that is the nature of such inclinations. Therefore, one cannot pretend that a person’s particular biological sex is not relevant in a person’s love for another. Third, Oliva seeks to link the notion of connatuunderstanding of same-sex inclinations and unions is much closer to the contemporary debate than Oliva suggests, but Oliva’s claim completely ignores the fact that Aquinas’s position is not based upon cultural norms, but upon the stable, unchanging nature of man (“Aquinas on Disordered Pleasures,” 611–12: “There are no grounds for asserting in the first place that St. Thomas was unacquainted with the essential elements of today’s concept of homosexual orientation. The main ingredients of it are implicit in his view, expressed in [ST I-II, q. 31] Article 7 and in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics [7.5]”). 85 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 101; see also 119. 86 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 117. 87 ST I-II, q. 63, a. 2; see also q. 61, a. 2, and q. 62, a. 2. 88 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 119. Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 79 rality in inclinations with its use in the context of the notion of love. 89 As stated above with respect to various appetites and their inclinations, such love in a rational animal must be subject to reason if it to be something truly good for the individual as a human being. Simply claiming that something is connatural to the individual does not suffice for moral acceptance, especially if it contrary to one’s specific nature. On all three points, Oliva’s modern, subjective notion of love as the foundation for same-sex unions, as contrasted with Aquinas’s objective notion of love as grounded in a stable, metaphysical order, fails to support same-sex inclinations and unions which Saint Thomas clearly holds as being contra naturam. The third particular point involves Oliva’s use of the notion of friendship. As the title of the Italian text suggests, the author wants the reader to understand same-sex unions in the same way that Aquinas understands marriage between a man and a woman, namely, the highest form of friendship.90 Oliva rightly presents friendship as something stemming from the rational powers of the soul, enhanced by the operations of the lower powers. Since he claims that the corruption which is coitus masculorum is rooted in the soul, it must clearly be a candidate for friendship. Oliva then conscripts the example of the friendship of David and Jonathan as a model for friendship between persons of the same sex.91 Given these claims, let us consider for a moment Aquinas’s words on friendship. In ST II-II, q. 25, a. 7, Saint Thomas provides five features proper to friendship: they wish to live and be together, they desire good for one another, they do good for one another, they take pleasure in one another’s company, and they are of one mind in what brings joy and sorrow.92 Conveniently, this article is considering whether sinners can love themselves, and in answering the question, Aquinas explains how these five features are applicable both to friendships among those who are good and among those who are wicked.93 Of the five, I would simply like to focus on the second and third features. In those who are good, friendship involves desiring and doing good for one another according to the standard of the interior man. On the other hand, those who are wicked desire and work against the spiritual goods of one another. Because this text is situated in the discussion of the theological virtue of charity, the interior man should not simply be equated with Oliva’s coitus ST I-II q. 26, a. 1. See also: q. 32, a. 3, ad 3; In II eth., lec. 5; Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 116. 90 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 108–9. 91 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 110. Perdrix et al., “À Propos,” 482. 92 ST II-II, q. 25, a. 7. 93 ST II-II, q. 25, a. 7. 89 80 Matthew Rolling masculorum ex parte animae sensitivae, but rather the highest spiritual goods which are determined according to human reason and divine law, as we have discussed above. This is confirmed by a statement in Summa contra gentiles III in which Aquinas explicitly states that in desiring the good for one’s friend, one desires the other’s goodness and perfection.94 He then goes on to speak of the goodness and perfection which God seeks for his creatures. More specifically, when Aquinas does write on marriage as the highest form of friendship, he clearly states that it is between a man and a woman because only they have the potential to perfectly fulfill each of the conditions of friendship seen in ST II-II, q. 25, a. 7.95 In particular, Saint Thomas notes that only man and woman can be perfectly united in the conjugal act, thus being one in body as well as in soul. Because this is the particular feature which Aquinas highlights as a particular cause of the uniqueness of friendship between husband and wife, same-sex unions are necessarily excluded from being identified as sharing in this highest form of friendship. To be very clear and direct, two individuals of the same sex engaging in any sexual activity by which they join themselves to one another by the insertion of one’s body parts into various orifices of the other person for the sake of sexual arousal and pleasure is not the conjugal act.96 It is not the two becoming one flesh. Rather, the conjugal act must involve a man and a woman and by its very nature be open to procreation.97 Therefore, Oliva’s claim that same-sex unions can be the highest form of friendship in the same way as SCG III, ch.95. SCG III, ch.123. 96 Perdrix et al., “À Propos,” 491. 97 Codex Iuris Canonici, can.1055, no. 1; see also can. 1061, no. 1. Osborne writes: “[A. Oliva] compares such gay sex to polygamy among the patriarchs. Since there was a need for the patriarchs to beget many children, it was licit for them to pursue procreation with several women at the expense of their union with one spouse. Similarly, since gay persons are inclined to sexual acts that are not reproductive, it is licit for them to pursue sexual union with their partners apart from procreation. Oliva does not entirely separate procreation from marriage even if he fails to indicate their exact relationship. Although he thinks that gay sex is valuable for the sake of the homosexual union, he thinks that such union cannot be marriage precisely because its sex is not procreative” (Review of Amours, 140). Of course, Oliva uses Humanae Vitae §10 to defend his separation of the unitive and procreative ends of marriage, a claim which involves a false reading of that text, which is intended to explain how a husband and wife can exercise natural family planning by abstaining from intercourse during periods when the woman is fertile. This fails to respect the seventh distinction above regarding moral choices among goods or between things good and evil. 94 95 Saint Thomas’s Claims Regarding Same-Sex Inclinations and Unions 81 marriage between a man and a woman cannot be supported. Lastly, and perhaps most problematically, is a question regarding the other inclinations ex parte animae which Saint Thomas includes in ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7, and in the parallel text of lectio 5 of the eighth book of the Commentary on the Ethics. Recall that he speaks of coitus masculorum as well as coitus bestiarum and comendus homines as things which become connatural to certain individuals.98 If connaturality ex parte animae individui is a basis for justifying what is otherwise contrary to man’s specific nature, then it would seem that one would likewise have demonstrated that cannibalism and bestiality are morally acceptable for certain individuals. In attempting to argue that the modern discussion of homosexuality is different from that of Aristotle and Aquinas, a point which Anthony Daly convincingly refutes,99 Oliva states that we need to use different language and leave aside certain ‘superfluous examples’ in order to properly use Thomas’s claims in the contemporary discussion of homosexuality.100 Without ever addressing the consequences of his argument for cannibalism or bestiality anywhere in the text, the passage just cited may be the way in which Oliva argues that his position does not in fact justify cannibalism or bestiality. He might perhaps provide other distinctions for cannibalism or bestiality akin to the distinction between same-sex unions and sodomy. Nonetheless, such a simple and shallow dismissal of a very problematic conclusion does not suffice, given the consequences of such a conclusion.101 If Thomas is not interested in defending cannibalism or bestiality, it is difficult to see how he could be interested in defending coitus masculorum. Conclusion As Oliva repeatedly claims in his text, his conclusions justifying the moral goodness of same-sex inclinations and unions rest upon arguments which are taken from a variety of sources.102 Most importantly, he claims to have shown how Aquinas in fact upheld arguments in favor of same-sex unions. As has been shown above, such a claim is not as solid as Oliva would like the reader to think. In fact, a proper and complete reading of Saint Thomas’s philosophical anthropology leads one to the conclusion directly contrary to Oliva’s. Further, if Aquinas’s anthropology and ethics forms the foundation of the Church’s teaching, then Oliva’s claims to be in line with ST I-II, q. 31, a. 7. See Daly, “Aquinas on Disordered Pleasures,” 592–97. 100 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 98 101 Blankenhorn et al., “Aquinas and Homosexuality,” 301. 102 Oliva, L’amicizia più grande, 116. 98 99 82 Matthew Rolling Church teaching also fall apart. By a detailed consideration of the basic distinctions of Aquinas’s treatise on human nature in all its logical and ontological complexity, I have shown that the Angelic Doctor’s positions with regard to same-sex inclinations and unions is not what Oliva leads one to believe. Considering the relation between man’s specific and individual nature, between the body and soul, the lower and higher powers, the intellect and will, natural and elicited inclinations, and choices among various moral objects, we have laid the metaphysical grounding necessary for a proper consideration of same-sex inclinations and unions. If act follows being, then a proper understanding of what man is will lead to a proper understand of how man is to act. On the other hand, when one does not respect man in his fullness, he will fail to rightly understand the end to which man’s nature is rightly directed. Building upon these fundamental, anthropological, and ethical distinctions, I have addressed particular arguments by which Oliva argues in favor of same-sex unions. These claims, however, are based on false readings of Thomistic texts with regard to sodomy, love, and friendship. As stated at the beginning, I limited our considerations to the anthropological and ethical claims of Oliva. As such I have not directly considered the matter of the pastoral care of individuals with such inclinations, which deserves to be considered in greater detail.103 Nonetheless, such care should reflect this authentic metaphysical understanding of human nature and its ethical consequences. Osborne concludes at the end of his critique that few Thomists will be convinced by Oliva’s arguments.104 I would posit that, based on Aquinas’s arguments given above, we are only convinced that same-sex inclinations remain intrinsically disordered and the sexual N&V acts which follow therefrom remain morally unacceptable. See Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons (1986); see also the contribution by Pavel Syssoev, O.P., in Perdrix et al., “À Propos,” 493–502. 104 Osborne, Review of Amours, 140. 103 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 83–95 83 The Future of Catholic Systematic Theology Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. Capuchin College Washington, DC I am pleased and honored to have been asked by the editors of the English edition of Nova et Vetera to contribute an essay on the topic of the future of Catholic theology. Catholic theology, founded upon divine revelation and faithfully understood, interpreted, and enriched by reason, gives life to the Church and to the world at large. To my mind, there is no greater academic vocation than to be a Catholic theologian, for such a theologian employs his or her mind and heart, and even body, to contemplate and expound, in communion with the Holy Spirit, the divine mysteries of faith. Because I am a historical and doctrinal theologian by training, and have subsequently taught and written, for many years, on doctrinal issues within patristic, medieval, and contemporary theology, I will limit myself to examining the future of Catholic systematic theology. I will do so by emphasizing what I consider to be those elements necessary for a future vibrant Catholic doctrinal theology. Faith Faith is the foundational theological virtue, the sine qua non, necessary for the undertaking of Catholic theology. Without faith in what God has revealed, theology in the authentic Catholic sense cannot be achieved, for Catholic systematic theology is, by definition, the elucidating and expounding of the divinely revealed mysteries of faith. Thus, Catholic doctrinal theologians begin their task by laying hold in faith of what is professed in Scripture as traditionally understood since apostolic times and universally taught within the living ecclesial tradition. Catholic doctrine is but the traditional distillation of God’s revelatory acts and words that are narrated within the biblical texts. As Vatican 84 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. II’s Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, Dei Verbum, states: “Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture, then, are bound closely together. . . . Hence, both Scripture and Tradition must be accepted and honored with equal feelings of devotion and reverence. Sacred Tradition and sacred Scripture make up a single sacred deposit of the Word of God, which is entrusted to the Church” (§§9–10).1 Systematic theologians, if they are to be genuinely Catholic, are to make an act of faith in what has been entrusted and taught by the Church, and thus enact the theological virtue of faith. Cardinal Avery Dulles forcefully declared: “If one wishes to be Catholic, theology adheres to the faith professed by the Catholic Church. In the absence of the subjective attitude of faith—fides qua creditur—the theologian would lack the spiritual attunement needed to grasp the latent meanings of Scripture and tradition, and thus interpret them according to their divinely intended sense.”2 I am, therefore, convinced that this act of faith is essential to the future of Catholic dogmatic theology, for theology is itself, as Augustine and Anselm attested, faith seeking understanding. In treating whether theology is a science, Thomas Aquinas stated: “As other sciences do not argue in proof of their principles, but argue from their principles to demonstrate other truths in these sciences: so this doctrine (Christian doctrine) does not argue in proof of its principles, which are the articles of faith.”3 Thus, theology is not the seeking out of what is to be believed, as if it were yet to be known, but rather, having come to faith in what has been divinely revealed and made manifest, theology seeks a fuller knowledge of and love for what has been revealed. 1 2 3 All passages from the documents of the Second Vatican Council are taken from Vatican Council II, vol. 1, The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents, ed. A. Flannery (Northport, NY: Costello, 1975). Avery Cardinal Dulles, “Criteria of Catholic Theology,” Communio 22 (1995): 303–15, at 304. Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 1, a. 8. English translation is taken from Summa Theologica, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger Brothers, 1947). Pope John Paul II in his encyclical Fides et Ratio (1998) states: “Reason in fact is not asked to pass judgment on the contents of faith, something of which it would be incapable since this is not its function. Its function is rather to find meaning, to discover explanations which might allow everyone to come to a certain understanding of faith” (§42). In §65 of the same encyclical, John Paul II similarly states: “Theology is structured as an understanding of faith in the light of a twofold methodology: the auditus fidei and the intellectus fidei. With the first, theology makes its own the content of revelation as this has been gradually expounded in sacred tradition, sacred Scripture and the church’s living magisterium. With the second, theology seeks to respond through speculative inquiry to specific demands of disciplined thought” (see also §§66 and 73). The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 85 I would argue, nonetheless, that much of what has passed as systematic theology within the post-Vatican Church is superficial and specious. The reason for this negative judgment is that some of those who profess to be doctrinal theologians appear to have not fully grasped, in faith, the scriptural and doctrinal truths, “the articles of faith,” that comprise the Church’s faith. Rather, they have sought to proffer an understanding of the Gospel that does not comport with the living theological and magisterial teaching of the Church. 4 Moreover, many, but hardly all, present Catholic theology faculties, I believe, while presenting themselves as institutions of academic rigor, fail in their education of future theologians precisely because they do not educate their students within a Catholic academic milieu of faith.5 Theology is not seen as the fruit of a scriptural and ecclesial faith, but as the free expression of one’s own idiosyncratic theological creativity. In the end, one creates one’s own “faith,” that is, a “gospel” of one’s own theological making. One believes in one’s latest book.6 Such a theological enterprise has no future, for it is not moored to the perennial unchanging faith of the Catholic Church. In this light (or darkness) the future of Catholic systematic theology demands and is dependent upon faith-filled theologians who glory in the truth of what has been revealed, and to which Scripture testifies and to which the living theological tradition and ecclesial magisterium bears witness. Only as theologians who love the mysteries of faith will they be able to profess, defend, and advance the truth that they contain for the benefit of the Church and all of God’s people. Here, again, a living faith is needed. Catholic theologians must not only be sharp of intellect and competent in their respective fields of learning, but they must also be men and women of prayer who strive to live holy lives. Only within the lives of holy theologians can the Holy Spirit foster anointed theology, 4 5 6 For a fuller examination of the relationship between faith and theology and their relationship with the scriptural and magisterial teaching and tradition, see the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith’s Instruction on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian, May 24, 1990. In critiquing some present theological faculties, I do not want to imply that I am criticizing all of their members. Aquinas states concerning faith: “Now it is manifest that he who adheres to the teaching of the Church, as to an infallible rule, assents to whatever the Church teaches; otherwise, if, of the things taught by the Church, he holds what he chooses to hold, and rejects what he chooses to reject, he no longer adheres to the teaching of the Church as to an infallible rule, but to his own will. . . . Therefore, it is clear that such a heretic with regard to one article has no faith in the other articles, but a kind of opinion in accordance with his own will” (ST II-II, q. 5, a. 3). 86 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. that is, theology that not only expresses the truth, but also engenders and strengthens the faith of those who read and study it. The mysteries of faith are to be articulated in a manner such that they are borne to hearer and reader on the wings of the Holy Spirit. It is not by chance that all of the Doctors of the Church are Saints. At least to some extent, the future of Catholic theology is, therefore, contingent upon future “saintly doctors” of the Church. Only such men and women can foster an authentic renewal in Catholic systematic theology.7 Thus, I would also argue that the future of Catholic theology is partially reliant upon a renewal of Catholic theological education within our Catholic theological faculties and universities. Catholic theology faculties, in communion with their students, are to create a culture of living faith, a faith that gives birth to a living Catholic theology. Without a culture of living faith, Catholic faculties might graduate students who are academically trained, but their graduates will be less likely to engender, through their future teaching and writing, a knowledge of and love for Jesus and all the mysteries that he, literally, embodies.8 Sacred Scripture Catholic dogmatic theology, prior to Vatican II, has often been criticized for not being fully scriptural in its argumentation and content. Following the rise of Scholastic theology in the Middle Ages, with its use of quaestiones disputatae as the dominant philosophical and theological manner of education, post-Trindentine theology assumed a syllogistic, a text-bookish, method of explicating Catholic doctrine. In so doing, systematic theol7 8 Again, Cardinal Dulles states: “The best theology has always been nourished by personal and ecclesial prayer and by holiness of life” (“Criteria of Catholic Theology,” 310–11). In Fides et Ratio, John Paul II states that St. Bonaventure, in his Itinerarium Mentis in Deum, “invites the reader to recognize the inadequacy of ‘reading without repentance, knowledge without devotion, research without the impulse of wonder, prudence without the ability to surrender to joy, action divorced from religion, learning sundered from love, intelligence without humility, study unsustained by divine grace, thought without wisdom inspired by God’” (§105). While I am unable, in this essay, to treat more fully the theological and philosophical importance of John Paul II’s Fides et Ratio, I am compelled to note that its thought and spirit should permeate the heart and mind of every Catholic systematic theologian. I have treated, in previous essays, the importance of faith in relation to systematic theology. See: “Doing Christian Systematic Theology: Faith, Problems, and Mysteries,” Logos: A Journal of Catholic Thought and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002): 120–38, and “Faith and the Ecclesial Vocation of the Catholic Theologian,” Origins 41, no. 10 (2011): 154–63. The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 87 ogy, while preserving its clarity and conciseness, lost the vibrancy of its anointed biblical foundation and expression. While such a critique is often unfairly exaggerated (few theologians were better acquainted with Scripture than the Scholastics), Dei Verbum reaffirmed and so emphasized that “sacred theology relies on the written Word of God.” “Therefore, the ‘study of the sacred page’ should be the very soul of sacred theology” (§24). In the light of Vatican II’s exhortation, much contemporary doctrinal theology has returned to the sacred text so as to enliven anew the mysteries of faith. However, I think that if future systematic theology is to flourish, more still needs to be achieved. I hold this for two reasons. First, in accordance with Vatican II, doctrinal theologians need, with the utmost vigor, to reclaim Sacred Scripture as the life-giving source of their theological enterprise. Too often in the past, particularly immediately following the Council, Scripture has been commandeered by Scripture scholars who have subjected it to their own methods of study and interpretation. Many Scripture scholars have, then, enslaved scriptural interpretation to their own, often dubious, methods of analysis. In so doing, it frequently becomes impossible, so it appears, to ascertain what Scripture is actually proclaiming and professing. Because of this obfuscation, Scripture, as the soul of theology, becomes problematic. This situation has, in turn, so intimidated systematic theologians that they often became hesitant to employ Scripture within their own doctrinal sphere. They felt incompetent to engage adequately such erudite dissection of the scriptural text so as to ferret out its true and authentic meaning. In the end, the Church itself was robbed of her own book. The irony is that much scriptural scholarship has made itself irrelevant, for it has become tedious and dull. Some of the major scriptural commentaries written from the 1960s into the new millennium actually possess minimal life-giving theological content.9 This state of affairs can only be rectified when systematic theologians fearlessly liberate Sacred Scripture from the interpretive shackles in which it is still bound, and so reclaim it for the good of their own theological endeavors and the future of their discipline. Only then, can the sacred text be the soul of theology, for only then will Scripture be allowed to enliven the mysteries of the Incarnation, the Trinity, the Church, and 9 Happily, this situation is changing. Many of younger Catholic Scripture scholars have themselves abandoned, at least in part, the historical-critical method as the primary hermeneutical means for interpreting Scripture. They perceive Scripture for what it truly is—the well-spring of divine revelation which gives life to all theological endeavors. Thus, they have become accepted guides and welcomed friends of systematic theologians. 88 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. the sacraments—those mysteries that God has revealed through his Son in the Holy Spirit, the very mysteries that the Bible clearly proclaims and faithfully professes. Second, within the reclaiming of Scripture, systematic theologians must not only engage the Bible in order to enhance their own dogmatic studies, but more so, they must teach and write in a more scriptural manner. While maintaining all the proper philosophical and theological distinctions that must be made within the doctrines of the Church, theologians, nonetheless, must learn to undertake their specialties anew, that is, within the context of scriptural language and concepts. The use of scriptural language and thought is important for that language, and the revelation contained within it is the inerrant and inspired language in which the mysteries of the faith were first understood, defended, and proclaimed. It is the language of Jesus, the apostles, and the evangelists. In the course of the Church’s history, later theologians and councils employed language and concepts that are not found in Scripture. They did so in order to ensure that Scripture was understood and interpreted properly—in accordance with the mind of its authors. For example, theologians and councils distinguished between “person” and “nature” with regard to the Trinity and the Incarnation. The most unmistakable cases are the use of homoousion at the Council of Nicaea, and the use of “transubstantiation” at the Council of Trent. The first assures the biblical truth that Jesus, as the Father’s Son, is God as the Father is God, and that together they are the one God. The second affirms and confirms the words of Jesus himself, that the Eucharistic bread and wine are actually changed into his risen body and blood— Jesus is present as he exists now in the full reality of his risen glory. Thus, these dogmatic declarations protected the proper reading of the scriptural texts. The point here is not simply that past dogmatic theology came to the aid of protecting the authentic reading of Scripture, but that presently systematic theology must, for the sake of its own future relevance, newly utilize these past doctrinal statements so as to enliven the biblical text themselves. Systematic theologians do so not simply by recasting biblical language and concepts in more abstract theological terms and dogmatic concepts, though that may be important, but by remolding dogmatic and creedal statements once again into biblical language and recasting them into scriptural concepts. This once-more recasting of biblically founded doctrines into biblical language and concepts brings forth the fuller meaning and beauty of these inspired texts themselves. The inspired texts will assume more fully the force of the truth that they proclaim, and so will more readily be grasped and appreciated, in faith, by others—by both the non-believer and the faithful. While the Church’s living theological and The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 89 conciliar tradition is essential for the future of systematic theology, the doctrinal theologian must always remember that Sacred Scripture holds primacy of place as the original Spirit-inspired text. In this remembrance, Scripture becomes the life-giving soul of theology. In short, systematic theologians, for the future good of their own discipline, must learn to think biblically, to speak biblically, and to write biblically.10 The Fathers of the Church The principal examples of doing doctrinal theology biblically are the first of the Church’s theologians—the Fathers of the Church. These men addressed doctrinal issues, often in refutation of heretical positions, and they did so by mining Scripture. Irenaeus’s refutation of Gnosticism and his positive presentation of the faith, for example, was entirely biblical in nature. One of his prevailing arguments was that Scripture needed to be interpreted from within the tradition out of which it arose, a living tradition that resided in a “canon of truth” of the true Church. Similarly, Athanasius’s primary defense of the full divinity of Jesus again relied on the proper understanding of the sacred texts, texts that were often being misread and so misconstrued by those who denied that Jesus was the Father’s eternal divine Son. Yes, new distinctions and novel concepts, as noted above, were made within Athanasius’s, and later defenders of Nicaea, dogmatic exegesis of Scripture. Yet, it was Scripture itself that prompted such distinctions, and these innovative scripturally founded developments enlivened biblically proclaimed truths, such as the Trinity and the Incarnation. Thus, the Fathers of the Church offer an excellent example of doing doctrinal theology biblically as well as how doctrine, in turn, aids in the interpretation of Scripture. The Fathers thought and spoke biblically. For them Scripture and doctrine form, by necessity, a hermeneutical interpretative circle—each theologically enriching the other. Thus, I believe, the example of the Fathers of the Church offers a path forward for the future of systematic theology. Moreover, the Fathers of the Church also bear witness to the necessity of refuting erroneous theological positions. In the face of heresy, many of them are noted for their strong, confrontational, and even 10 I think this new perichoretic conjoining of doctrine and Scripture is what Pope Benedict XVI encouraged systematic theologians to do, by way of example, when he wrote his trilogy Jesus of Nazareth. I have attempted to follow and further Benedict’s example in my Jesus Becoming Jesus: A Theological Interpretation of the Synoptic Gospels, and in my forthcoming two-volume work, Jesus Becoming Jesus: A Theological Interpretation of the Gospel of John. 90 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. bellicose language—Athanasius, Cyril of Alexandria, Jerome, and John Chrysostom are examples. Their forthrightness may be jarring to the ears of the contemporary reader, but their very belligerent language manifests their resolute concern for the truth of Gospel. For them, theology is not a game of academic sparring. What was at stake was the integrity of God’s revelation, and so the salvation of humankind. They did theology, therefore, in a manner that I have come to call “High Noon Theology.” They were not afraid to step forward and confront specious theological positions even when their ecclesial, academic, and, at times, their very lives were at stake. Because of the doctrinal confusion that the Church presently experiences, and, I believe, will continue to experience in the foreseeable future, systematic theologians are called, whether they like it or not, to be ardent and courageous defenders of the faith. This promotion of the faith may be done in a manner that is less pugnacious than their forefathers, though not less candid and compelling. Their fighting the good fight of faith is primarily done for the sake of the faithful, of confirming them in the faith, the faith that they perceive as under attack, an attack wherein they are unsure as to how to respond with confidence, clarity, and peace. In doing theology at high noon, contemporary and future theologians, as did the Fathers, may place their ecclesial advancement and academic reputations on the line. They may not be “ecclesiastically correct” or “academically approved,” but they do maintain, as Catholic theologians, the integrity of their vocation and that of their discipline—which presently is no small achievement or honor. The Scholastics As intimated above, Scholasticism, particularly Thomism, after Vatican II appeared to have no future. For all intents and purposes, it was tossed into the dustbin of theological history. Its days had come to an end. Happily, this is now recognized as a false, though by some a still wished-for, prophecy. Instead there is presently a revival within Scholastic theology not only among a new generation of Thomists, but also a resurgence of interest in the thought of Bonaventure. Such a renewal bodes well for the future of dogmatic theology. I would, nonetheless, offer few encouraging comments. Historically, in the aftermath of Pope Leo XII’s encyclical Aeterni Patris of 1879, there was a renewal of Thomistic philosophy. Such a restoration is exemplified in the mid-twentieth century work of such philosophers as Jacque Maritain and Étienne Gilson. However, there was not a corresponding revival in Thomistic theology. Over the last thirty or so years, this lacuna has been rectified. Thomistic thought with regards to the The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 91 Trinity, the Incarnation, salvation, the sacraments, and doctrinal theology in general has been creatively rejuvenated. Such a renewal is all to the good and will, hopefully, contribute to the future of systematic theology. Nonetheless, in keeping with what I have already suggested, I think Thomists, among whom I would include myself, must continue to place Aquinas’s thought within a more biblical setting. This would not only breathe new life within his thought, but it would also make it more accessible to the clergy and especially the laity. While the truth of which Thomas speaks would be maintained, it would also now achieve a linguistic and conceptual scriptural beauty that would be more attractive to the contemporary student and reader. Moreover, and this is a small tiff I have with my fellow Thomists, we must ensure that we affirm Aquinas’s thought because we, as did he, hold it to be true, rather than we hold it to be true because Aquinas said it. Thomas would be pleased with the former, but he would be dismayed at the latter. For Thomas, the acceptance of a position on authority is the least acceptable of all arguments, except in the case of God and the Church’s ecclesial magisterium. More importantly, to be of the mind that absolutely everything that Thomas held is settled, stymies theological corrective development, even if that development would be a continuance of his thought. Likewise, such a mindset does not allow further theological creativity, the undertaking of new theological issues that Thomas did not address or did not address adequately due to the theological and cultural milieu in which he lived. To think that Aquinas properly addressed every possible question, though he did address more than most theologians will ever address, is to relegate theology simply to providing Thomas’s already available answers to every conceivable issue. Aquinas may give us the philosophical and theological principles and the foundational means for addressing a multiplicity of contemporary questions, but he cannot possibly provide the full answers, and sometimes the correct answers, which will meet the needs of present and future doctrinal theology. What I am suggesting, which all my Thomistic friends would agree, is a faithful, but creative, and sometimes corrective, use of Thomas. In other words, on behalf of systematic theology, theologians need to be Thomists as Aquinas was a Thomist. I would be remiss, as well as being accused of not being a loyal Franciscan, if I did not make a few comments concerning Bonaventure. Bonaventure’s thought, on the whole, is not as metaphysical or philosophical as that of Aquinas’s, or at least in the same manner. There is truth in Thomas being designated “the Angelic Doctor” and Bonaventure being titled “the Seraphic Doctor.” Yet, this difference provides its own appeal and 92 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. strength, for Bonaventure addresses theological questions from within what is perceived as a more “mystical” context. Moreover, he is suspicious of using a philosophy that appears to be independent of theology. For Bonaventure, philosophy is always at the service of revelation. For many, Bonaventure brings to light the beauty of the mysteries of faith, a warmth that touches the inner heart of its students and readers. Because of this charm, I notice, especially among a new generation of younger scholars, a resurgence of interest in Bonaventure’s theology, which, I believe, will also rightly contribute to the future of doctrinal theology. The interplay between the theology of Aquinas and that of Bonaventure cannot but help further the good of the Church and the people of God.11 Apologetic and Evangelistic All that I have discussed above concerning the future of systematic theology can be reduced to its end—to be apologetic and evangelistic. Only as doctrinal theology promotes and defends the Gospel of Jesus Christ as found within the Catholic Church will it have a future. Equally, and, maybe more so, only as doctrinal theology is evangelistic, aimed at the conversion of non-believers and the strengthening of the faith of those who believe, will it serve the ever present and future commission of the Church, that of proclaiming the Gospel to all nations and people. Both the apologetic and evangelical nature of doctrinal theology often come together, both in the classroom and on the written page, but, for the sake of clarity, I will treat them separately. More and more, Western secular culture comprises a virulent animus against Christianity and particularly against the Catholic Church. More so, within a significant number of countries there is a persistent persecution of Christians. This is especially witnessed within Muslim countries and their bordering countries wherein they maraud. China also provides a glaring example of Christian persecution. All of these, and other situations, need to be adequately addressed from a doctrinal perspective. Although secular Western culture may not be convinced by the arguments, yet, for the sake of the faithful, doctrinal theologians are to provide appropriate apologetic arguments in defense of Christianity and its beliefs, and thus affirm its rightful place within society. This defense is to be made not only within Western countries, but equally within Islamic countries and countries such as China. Religious freedom must be acknowledged as 11 While, in recent years, I have come to a greater appreciation of Bonaventure, I have customarily found that Aquinas approaches doctrinal questions and theological issues in a manner more in keeping with my metaphysical and philosophical interests. The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 93 a good and not as a threat—even if it continues to be perceived as such by religious and secular totalitarian regimes. Moreover, there is a growing movement that wishes to relativize all religions and religious founders. Such an effort is more insidious than outright persecution, for it is often encouraged and fostered in the name of fraternal love among people of all faiths. While peoples of all faiths are to respect one another and foster peace among themselves, yet truth is of the utmost importance, especially if it involves the truth that God himself has revealed through his words and actions. Thus, Catholic doctrinal theologians cannot, nor can those in ecclesial authority, undermine the singularity of the Catholic faith or the uniqueness of the Catholic Church. Rather, they are to teach that the fullness of the Father’s salvific revelation is found in the Incarnation of his Son, Jesus Christ, who has, through his sacrificial death and glorious resurrection, obtained forgiveness of sin, victory over death, and eternal life. Jesus is the universal Savior and definitive Lord, and only through faith in him, in communion with the Holy Spirit, are men and women once more recreated in his image, and so become children of his Father. Not to confirm and profess these truths is to denigrate Jesus, making him simply one of many founders of a religion, and ultimately such a denial is an insult to God his Father, who gave him the name that is above every other name whether in heaven or earth. Every knee is to bend and every tongue is to proclaim that Jesus alone is Lord to the glory of God the Father (see Phil 2:9–11). The fullness of this faith is found and is most fully made present within the Catholic Church. All of the above may have the appearance of Catholic triumphalism, but it is an honor that she has not bestowed upon herself, but one that Jesus, her Savior and Lord, has bequeathed to her in his love. Systematic theologians should never, then, be ashamed of or embarrassed by promoting these truths.12 Rather, the future of Catholic theology is dependent upon forthrightly making them known—such a making-known is to the glory of doctrinal theologians.13 For an explanatory defense of the singularity of Jesus and the Catholic Church, see the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith’s declaration Dominus Iesus: On the Unicity and Salvific Universality of Jesus Christ and the Church, August 6, 2000. Also, on the uniqueness of Jesus in relation to other religious founders, see my “The Will of God the Father: To Unite All Things in Christ,” Catholic World Report, June 3, 2019, catholicworldreport.com/2019/06/02/pope-francis-theuniqueness-of-christ-and-the-will-of-the-father/ This was written in response to the Abu Dhabi statement co-signed by Pope Francis and Sheik Ahmad el-Tayeb on February 4, 2019. 13 The above does not rule out the authentic need for dialogue with various Christian denominations or other religions. Rather, it is within such authentic dialogue that 12 94 Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M. Cap. Obvious from the above, systematic theologians, if they are to enact properly their vocation, are called to be evangelists. Since the pontificate of Pope Paul VI, there has been a renewed emphasis on evangelization. His groundbreaking Evangelii Nuntiandi (Encyclical Letter on Evangelization in the Modern World) is a clarion call to preach the entire Gospel to all peoples and nations (see §§25–39 and 49–58). He notes that “Jesus himself” was “the very first and the greatest evangelizer,” and, therefore, “evangelizing is in fact the grace and vocation proper to the Church, her deepest identity. She exists in order to evangelize” (§§7 and 14). John Paul II popularized the notion of a “new evangelization,” a revitalized effort of offering the Gospel to those who do not believe, and also a renewed preaching, a re-evangelization, of the Gospel within the Church herself. The notion that systematic theologians are to be evangelizers may, at first, appear to be beneath their paygrades. They are theologians after all. They teach in respected colleges and universities, and hold prestigious chairs. They write articles for esteemed academic journals and author books dealing with sophisticated theological issues. Most of them are not missionaries or catechists in far-flung lands where the Gospel has yet to be heard. Yet, to my mind, if doctrinal theologians do not evangelize within their classrooms, if they do not, at least to some extent, transform the classroom podium into an evangelizing tool, they are failing in their vocation, especially at a time when the students who sit before them know little or nothing about the Catholic faith. Likewise, although they may, in their writings, be treating the theological intricacies of the faith, yet even here they can do so in a manner that manifests the truth and beauty of what is believed. Dulles notes that to call Catholic theology evangelical, that is, an evangelizing theology, may appear odd, for such an understanding is associated with evangelical Protestantism or Pentecostalism. However, he declares that the call for a new evangelization demands “a renewal of Catholic theology, so that it may contribute to, rather than retard, the evangelical effort.”14 To foster and enhance the faith of one’s students and 14 the truths can be more clearly expressed and in a manner that can be more fully appreciated. Avery Dulles, “Evangelizing Theology,” First Things, March 1996, firstthings.com/ article/1996/03/002-evangelizing-theology. This article should be read in full by all doctrinal theologians and graduate students, for it discusses how such an evangelizing theology can be achieved, as well as the obstacles that it faces. To my pleasure, he writes that “in seeking the right principles for an evangelically oriented theology that is fully consonant with Catholic Christianity, we could not do better than look to the New Testament. The Gospels, the Acts, and the letters of Paul are permeated by such a theology.” In Fides et Ratio, John Paul II writes that one of The Future of Catholic Systematic Theolog y 95 readers is the supreme end of all theology. To offer one’s audience the gift of Jesus is to give them the greatest of “free handouts.” Conclusion I hope this essay is a worthy and helpful contribution so as to further the future of Catholic Systematic Theology. I have attempted to note some of its past and present weaknesses, as well as to offer positive suggestions going forward. I will conclude by making one last point. Catholic doctrinal theologians must always remember that the future of their discipline is an eschatological future. In all that they teach and write, they are advancing the coming of Jesus, for all doctrine is subsumed in him and all doctrine finds its completion only when he comes at the end of time, and so fully becomes who he is—the fully enacted universal Savior and definitive Lord. Presently theology is the contemplating of doctrine as “in a mirror dimly,” but when Jesus comes in glory, theologians, and all the faithful they have taught, will see him “face to face.” Now, theologians “know in part,” then they will “fully understand” (1 Cor 13:12). Until the knowing and loving of Jesus is fully consummated, Catholic theology will have a future.15 N&V 15 the charges entrusted by Vatican II to theology is “the task of renewing its specific methods in order to serve evangelization more effectively” (§92). Having said that, I believe that in heaven people will continue to engage their same grace-filled talents that they exercised here on earth, though now in a “heavenly” manner. Such an understanding is in keeping with everyone contributing to the heavenly life of the body of Christ. Thus, doctrinal theologians will continue to expound upon the mysteries of faith, mysteries that they now contemplate in their fullness. Thus, doctrinal theology truly has an eschatological future. The great spinoff of this is that all of the heavenly faithful will be extremely interested and will pay the utmost attention; and there will be no papers to correct or exams to mark—something of which we teachers have always dreamed. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 97–109 97 The Future of Catholic Theology: A Question Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. Fordham University Bronx, NY One who predicts the future inevitably sees it as an exten- sion of the present; radical innovations and ruptures cannot be foreseen. The railroad barons of the nineteenth century might have anticipated faster coast-to-coast trains; they could not have foreseen that, a century later, most passengers would cross the country through the air. Secretaries in early twentieth-century offices might have looked forward to more efficient typewriters; they could not have foreseen that their successors would sit in front of computer screens. Predicting the future of theology could be just as risky. But theology is not technology; it lives as the continuation of its own past. Revelation ended with the death of the last apostle; no third testament will be discovered and canonized. Tradition will continue to mean what has been handed down and received. And yet theology is carried out by living theologians, who do more than hand on the past: they reflect on the meaning of Scripture and Tradition for their own age, and on the message that the faith can offer that age. Racism, feminism, colonialism, environmentalism, for example, have entered theological reflection only in recent decades, at least as featured topics. In other words, theology is in continuity with its past in a way that other fields are not. I want to read a theologian who has mastered Augustine and Aquinas; I do not want to go to a doctor who follows the teachings of Galen. This essay, which is admittedly impressionistic, will fall into three parts. The first is an overview of Catholic theological eras in the past century and a half, roughly preconciliar, conciliar, and postconciliar. The second is an interpretation of these eras using categories on the meaning of “being” drawn from the work of Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI. The third presents some thoughts on the present state of theology and the directions it may be taking. 98 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. Three Eras of Catholic Theology The “Pian” Century, 1846–1958 As an exercise, reflection on the past century and a half may be enlightening. A helpful starting point is the “Pian century,” if “century” is taken a little broadly: from the election of Pius IX in 1846 to the death of Pius XII in 1958. (I lay a certain claim to the era since Pius XII died during my thirty-day retreat as a first-year Jesuit novice.) The era is also bracketed by two ecumenical councils, Vatican I (1869–70) and Vatican II (1962–65). The century may have been the high-water mark of papal authority, although that statement could easily be debated. The tone of much of the century was defensive, stoutly affirming Catholic faith and teaching as a barricade against rationalism, modernism, and historicism. It was the century of the Syllabus of Errors of Pius IX (1864) against the many errors of his time,1 the decree Lamentabili Sane promulgated under Pius X (1907) against the errors of the Modernists,2 and the encyclical Humani Generis promulgated by Pius XII (1950) against new tendencies in sacred science—that is, theology.3 The Pian century was also a Marian century, bracketed by the definition of the Immaculate Conception of Mary in 1854 4 and the definition of the bodily assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in 1950.5 Marian piety flourished, encouraged by the apparitions of Mary at Lourdes in France (1858) and Fatima in Portugal (1917). Theology, in that era, was dominated by neo-Scholasticism, encouraged by Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Aeterni Patris,6 which mandated the teaching of Christian philosophy in Catholic schools according to the mind of St. Thomas Aquinas. The characteristics of that century are easy to enumerate: neo-Scholastic theology, taught in Latin in Rome and in most seminaries, often as much Aristotelian as Thomistic, from textbooks written in Latin by The Syllabus was attached to the encyclical Quanta Cura, published on December 8, 1864, and comprised a list of eighty propositions to be rejected. The propositions were excerpted from Pius IX’s previous writings. 2 The Holy Office promulgated the decree Lamentabili Sane on July 3, 1907; the decree listed sixty-five errors of the Modernists. Pius X followed the decree with the encyclical Pascendi Dominici Gregis (September 8, 1907), which presented the doctrines of the Modernists more systematically. 3 Promulgated on August 12, 1950. 4 With the bull of Pius IX, Ineffabilis Deus, promulgated on December 8, 1854. 5 In the apostolic constitution Munificentissimus Deus, November 1, 1950. 6 Promulgated August 4, 1879. 1 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 99 professors at the pontifical universities in Rome; resistance to, and anxiety about, modern culture, exemplified in the Syllabus of Errors and the condemnation of modernism; fear of post-Kantian historicism, especially when applied to the Bible; and the intellectual near-paralysis in biblical studies that followed the condemnation of modernism. New Rumblings in the Pian Century But there is never a total absence of movement, of development, of originality. Among the most striking developments of the earlier twentieth century was the rise of historical studies, especially a return to, and a new evaluation of, the patristic tradition, the so-called ressourcement or, as opponents called it, “la nouvelle théologie.”7 As that period began, history and theology were distinct and often hostile disciplines, and the study of history was often the occasion for suspicion and anxiety.8 Seminary theology was deductive: principles were established and conclusions drawn from them, and these conclusions were then proved from the Tradition. Then, in the 1920s,9 the Dominicans at Le Saulchoir (then in Belgium) began to study St. Thomas’s “authorities”— that is, the authors he read and quoted—and thus to see him in his historical context. At the same time Étienne Gilson, searching for Descartes’s sources, reached back to the thirteenth century, and then discovered that one could not understand the thirteenth century without understanding the twelfth—a surprising assertion for its time. In Germany, Martin Grabmann distinguished four successive stages in medieval Scholasticism.10 In the 1930s, some theologians began to study the Fathers not to bolster A name given by Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange, O.P., to the work of Marie-Dominique Chenu, O.P., Henri de Lubac, S.J., and others. See Fergus Kerr, Twentieth-Century Catholic Theologians: From Neoscholasticism to Nuptial Mysticism (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 31. 8 The study of the history of dogma flourished among Protestants in the late nineteenth century; Adolf von Harnack is only the best known among many such historians. Without a doubt, one goal of these historians was to relativize dogma. Catholics came only later to write histories of dogma. At the time, the prevailing Catholic attitude was that the truth had no history. 9 Parts of the next few paragraphs are adapted from my article “Historical Theology in the Curriculum,” in Theological Education in the Catholic Tradition: Contemporary Challenges, ed. Patrick W. Carey and Earl C. Muller (New York: Crossroad, 1997), 266–79. 10 Martin Grabmann, Die Geschichte der scholastischen Methode: Nach den gedruckten und ungedruckten Quellen dargestellt, 2 vols. (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1909–11). 7 100 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. Scholastic theses but for themselves. The first were liturgists: Ildefons Herwegen and Odo Casel at Maria Laach were leaders. Anton Baumstark founded the science of comparative liturgy with his highly influential work Comparative Liturgy.11 In the same decade, Gilson published books on Anselm and Bernard, and Georges Florovsky wrote an important book on the Byzantine Fathers of the fifth to the eighth centuries. Jean Leclercq describes the two decades from 1940 to 1960 as the high-water mark of Catholic historical theology.12 Historical research moved beyond liturgy to theology itself. A litany of names is easily composed: Louis Bouyer, Lucien Cerfaux, Marie-Dominique Chenu, Jean Daniélou, Henri de Lubac, Romano Guardini, Bernhard Häring, Josef Jungmann, Jean Mouroux, Pius Parsch, Hugo Rahner, Karl Rahner, Edward Schillebeeckx. Authors began to interrogate the sources and to let them speak for themselves. It is easy to picture theologians reading through column after column in Migne’s Patrologies and marking paragraphs that impressed and moved them. Anthologies began to appear: Erich Przywara’s Augustine Synthesis in 1934,13 Hans Urs von Balthasar’s selections from Augustine’s writings on the Psalms in 1936,14 and his Geist und Feuer, a beautiful anthology of Origen’s writings, in 1938.15 Daniélou published an anthology of Gregory of Nyssa’s mystical writings.16 Despite the sufferings brought by World War II, remarkable new projects were undertaken. The first volume of the series Sources chrétiennes was published in 1942; the collection has now reached almost six hundred volumes. In 1959, de Lubac’s Exégèse médiévale began to appear. The famous series Théologie historique was founded in 1962. Originally Anton Baumstark, Liturgie comparée: Conférences faites au Prieuré d’Amay (Chevetogne: 1939). 12 See Leclercq’s excellent summary article, “Un demi-siècle de synthèse entre histoire et théologie,” Seminarium 29 (1977): 21–35. 13 Erich Przywara, Augustinus: Die Gestalt als Gefüge (Leipzig: Hegner, 1934). In English, An Augustine Synthesis, arranged by Erich Przywara, S.J., with introduction by C. C. Martindale, S.J. (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1936). 14 Aurelius Augustinus, Über die Psalmen, ed. and trans. Hans Urs von Balthasar, Christliche Meister 20 (Leipzig: Hegner, 1936). 15 Origenes, Geist und Feuer: Ein Aufbau aus seinen Schriften, ed. Hans Urs von Balthasar (Salzburg: Otto Müller, 1938). In English, Origen, Spirit and Fire: A Thematic Anthology of His Writings, trans. Robert J. Daly (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1984). 16 Jean Daniélou, S.J., From Glory to Glory: Texts from Gregory of Nyssa’s Mystical Writings, trans. Herbert Musurillo (New York: Charles Scribner, 1961). Daniélou revived interest in Gregory of Nyssa, who had been relatively neglected; the first volume of the series Sources chrétiennes was his translation of Gregory’s Life of Moses. 11 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 101 Vatican II: The Rhine Floods the Tiber17 The definitive end of the Pian era came with the Second Vatican Council. Less than four months after the death of Pius XII, Pope John XXIII, in January 1959, announced the convocation of an ecumenical council. Scores of histories of the Council have been written; only a few highlights can be mentioned. Even during the Council, the search for its meaning began. In the United States, one of the most widely read interpreters of the Council was the mysterious Xavier Rynne, who published a series of articles in the New Yorker entitled “Letter from Vatican City.” Rynne (years later the Redemptorist Francis X. Murphy admitted that he was the author18) interpreted the Council mostly in political terms: liberal versus conservative, traditionalist versus progressive, with the evil Cardinal Ottaviani as the archconservative villain and the northern European hierarchy and their theologians—the so-called Rhine Alliance—as the heroic good guys.19 One history of the Council, published shortly after it ended, was entitled The Rhine Flows into the Tiber.20 The turn from the theology of conclusions to the theology of sources was nowhere more evident than at Vatican II. Neo-Scholastic schemata were regularly rejected and replaced with earnest readings of the sources. Leclercq writes of “documents elaborated in a liturgical atmosphere, based on the Gospel, and prepared by experts imbued with the doctrine of the Fathers and of the theologians of the Middle Ages, but who were not ignorant of the currents of contemporary thought.”21 In the opinion of many, the great theological achievements of Vatican II are Dei Verbum, the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation; Lumen Gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church; and Sacrosanctum Concilium, the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. In contrast, Gaudium et Spes, the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, was greeted enthusiastically by some but raised “The Rhine floods the Tiber” is adapted from Ralph Wiltgen’s title; see note 20 below. 18 Xavier Rynne (Francis X. Murphy), Vatican Council II (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1999 [orig. 1968]), 581. 19 See Joseph T. Lienhard, “‘Faith of Our Fathers’: The Fathers of the Church and Vatican II,” in Divine Promise and Human Freedom in Contemporary Catholic Thought, ed. Kevin A. McMahon (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2015), 1–14. 20 Ralph M. Wiltgen, The Rhine Flows into the Tiber: The Unknown Council (New York: Hawthorn, 1967). 21 Leclercq, “Un demi-siècle,” 29. 17 102 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. questions and doubts in the minds of others. 22 Second Vatican and Second Thoughts The Second Vatican Council may have met at the best of times and the worst of times. The best of times: theologians of the Great Generation helped prepare and guide the Council and fostered its work: Yves Congar, de Lubac, Karl Rahner, Ratzinger, and many more. They were men trained in neo-Scholastic theology who knew the Tradition well but were also well aware of the shortcomings of neo-Scholasticism and ready to propose a new approach. Of course there was also opposition, some of it fierce, epitomized in the much-maligned Cardinal Ottaviani, and in the theologian Sebastian Tromp, often allied with Ottaviani. Backed by the Roman curia and the faculties of Roman universities, they represented the effort to continue the papal theology of the Pian era. But also the worst of times. A few years after the Council social turmoil broke out, in western Europe and in North America. Unrest among university students was growing, to climax in 1968, year of the soixante-huitards, still shorthand in much of Europe for the high point of dissent, protest, and rebellion. In the United States, opposition to the war in Viet Nam was moving toward fever pitch. In the Church, Andrew Greeley could write of the “new breed” of seminarians —energetic, questioning, activist.23 While no one at the Council in Rome could have said, “Don’t trust anyone over thirty,” enthusiasm for the new was widespread. Most Catholics first experienced the new wave in the Church in the celebration of the liturgy. Between the promulgation of Sacrosanctum Concilium, on December 4, 1963, and the formal introduction of the full novus ordo of the Mass on the first Sunday of Advent in 1969, changes and innovations came in a flood tide. Liturgical experimentation, some of it little less than bizarre, was widespread. More officially, the vernacular was See the account of the genesis and redaction of Gaudium et Spes by Joseph Ratzinger, “The Struggle over Schema 13,” in Theological Highlights of Vatican II, new ed. (New York: Paulist, 2009 [orig. 1966]), 212–14. 23 Andrew M. Greeley, “The New Breed,” America, April 22, 1964, 21–22, at 24–25. In this article Greeley included a passing remark that foreshadowed much that affected Avery Dulles in the years that followed (see below): “As a Jesuit college administrator observed: ‘For four hundred years we have been in the apostolate of Christian education, and now we suddenly find that our seminarians are demanding that we justify this apostolate.’ And a confrere added: ‘Jesuit seminarians are the most radical people in the American church —bar none.’ Neither of the two was opposed to the New Breed, just puzzled by them.” 22 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 103 introduced, piece by piece; Mass was celebrated facing the people; hymns in the style of popular, even secular, music were introduced; homilies became much more frequent in number, but not always better in quality; the dialogue homily appeared, a sign of democratization and perhaps of desperation. In regard to Church doctrine and authority, Pope Paul VI’s encyclical Humanae Vitae (summer 1968) also marked a break: the widespread rejection of Humanae Vitae meant that papal authority would no longer be accepted without question. Even before the Council ended, religious orders erupted into near rebellion. Religious left their orders and congregations in great numbers, and vocations declined precipitously. Many who stayed, especially women, abandoned the habit or religious dress, and often gave up their traditional apostolates (for women, teaching and nursing). The diocesan priesthood suffered a similar decline. Nor was theology exempt. To cite only one example, Father (later Cardinal) Avery Dulles published a book, in 1992, entitled The Craft of Theology, which marked a turning point in his thought.24 In the early decades after Vatican II, Dulles had been optimistic, but he later began to perceive events that troubled him. The hope that marked his early career yielded to a certain disappointment several decades later. He saw a breakdown within Catholic theology. The freedom encouraged by Vatican II had devolved into chaos. It is best described in his own words: At Vatican II (1962–65) a certain number of theological opinions that had previously been suspect seemed to win official endorsement. This shift contributed to a new theological climate in which novelty was not only tolerated but glorified. Many took it for granted that the heterodoxy of today would become the orthodoxy of tomorrow. To be a leader, then, was to venture onto new and dangerous territory, and to say what no Catholic theologian had dared to say.25 Avery Dulles, The Craft of Theology: From Symbol to System (New York: Crossroad, 1992). He was more severe in an article published six years later, in which he reviewed the proceedings of the meeting of the Catholic Theological Society of America for the preceding year, devoted to the Eucharist, and wrote, “my own conclusion . . . is that the 1997 convention of the CTSA confirms the presence of severe fault lines in contemporary American Catholicism, especially in the theological community” (“How Catholic Is the CTSA?,” Commonweal 125 [March 27, 1998]: 13–14). 25 Dulles, Craft, vii. 24 104 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. He continued: During the decades after Vatican II the Holy See and the bishops were almost powerless to prevent the dismemberment and reconstruction of Catholic theology by revisionist theologians.26 In summary: for a century or more, the Church tried to resist the turn to new categories in philosophy and theology—specifically, historicism, because it appeared to threaten the historicity of Scripture, and especially of the Gospels; and if the historicity of the Gospels were doubted, then the doctrine of the divinity of Christ would also, and inevitably, be threatened. The Second Vatican Council made peace, it seemed, with some recent intellectual movements, even if it did not uncritically accept historicism (and should not have). The postconciliar celebration of the Council’s achievements, however, was soon tempered, especially in light of movements that appeared to demand reforms far beyond those prescribed by the Council. “What we really need is Vatican III” was heard in more than a few quarters, and some of the heroes of Vatican II came to express deep discouragement about the path that had been taken: that the Council was not so much implemented as neglected in the rush for further “progress.” A Longer Perspective: Joseph Ratzinger and the Three Meanings of “Truth” The development of Catholic theology in recent centuries can be set in a larger perspective, one proposed by Ratzinger in his classic work, Introduction to Christianity.27 In the extensive introduction, Ratzinger meditates on the first and last words of the creed, “I believe” and “Amen,” and on “belief in the world of today.” In the subsection on the boundary of the modern understanding of reality and the place of belief, he discusses three basic attitudes toward reality, which he formulates concisely: “verum est ens,” “verum quia factum,” and “verum quia faciendum.” “Verum est ens,” “the true is what exists,” represents the ancient philosophical, the early Christian, and particularly the Scholastic understanding of the nature of truth and its relation to reality. “For the ancient world and the Middle Ages, being itself is true, . . . apprehensible, because God, pure intellect, made it, and he made it by thinking it.”28 For God, think Dulles, Craft, vii. Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity, trans. J. R. Foster, rev. ed. (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2004). 28 Ratzinger, Introduction, 59. 26 27 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 105 ing and making are one, and “things are, because they are thought.”29 For that reason, all being is intelligible, logos, truth.30 Human reason, logos, is participation in the one Logos. In this world, the work of man is contingent and transitory. Human things, contingent things, can be the object of scientia, but never of sapientia. The conviction that “verum est ens” was easily compatible with Catholic faith and theology, from the earliest years through the neo-Scholastic period. The creeds stated the truth, clearly and understandably. God could be known, in some way, by unaided reason. The Holy Scriptures were the unadulterated word of God. The Church could teach, authoritatively, in general councils, and did so at Nicaea, at Chalcedon, at Lateran IV, and at other councils. “Verum quia factum,” “it is true because it has been done.” Even at the beginning of the modern era, in Descartes, history was not seen as a science.31 Still, Descartes (despite what was just said) prepared the way for Kant and (in a certain way) for Giambattista Vico (1668–1744), “who was almost certainly the first to formulate a completely new idea of truth and knowledge and who . . . coined the typical formula of the modern spirit when it comes to dealing with the question of truth and reality.”32 “Verum quia factum”: the only thing we can truly know is what we have made or done ourselves. With this formula, the old metaphysics has evaporated. The true is not what God has made, but what we have made, because “real knowledge is knowledge of causes . . . ; we can truly know only what we have made ourselves.”33 True “knowledge is attainable only within the bounds of mathematics” (as Descartes already held) “and in the field of history.”34 With this assertion, theology was mortally threatened. History grasps only the singular; a universal dogmatic truth can never be asserted. Historicism, thus understood, first took over Protestant theology. Johann Salomo Semler (1725–1791) and Ferdinand Christian Baur (1792–1860) were the founders of what came to be called historical-critical theology. History of dogma arose as a theological discipline. Inevitably, historians of Ratzinger, Introduction, 59. Ratzinger notes that this is true only of Christian theology, which holds that God created everything, even brute matter. Ancient philosophers like the Stoics held that brute matter is an unintelligible surd. 31 As Ratzinger notes, in the medieval universities, the artes were only the first step towards real science, which reflects on being itself (Introduction, 60). 32 Ratzinger, Introduction, 59. 33 Ratzinger, Introduction, 61. 34 Ratzinger, Introduction, 61. 29 30 106 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. dogma discovered discordance and difference. Discordance and difference were interesting; unity and agreement were suspect. As one practitioner of historical-critical theology, David Friedrich Strauss, expressed it, “the true criticism of dogma is its history.”35 Catholics resisted the turn to historicism, as noted above. The Church of the nineteenth century erected a bulwark against historicism, to defend its unchanging teaching. But it was finally impossible to resist. One man can serve as a symbol of the dilemma, Joseph Turmel (1859– 1943), a French priest, ordained in 1882, who, by his own account, lost the faith on March 18, 1886, but decided to remain a priest and a scholar and fight the Church from within.36 He published extensively, often using the same data, mostly in patristics, to come to opposite conclusions, one orthodox and the other heretical, the latter published under a pseudonym. Turmel was a symbol of the dangers of historical research and thought: raw historical data, unguided by the teaching authority of the Church, could lead to wholly unacceptable conclusions. The Church’s larger opposition to historicism appears in the Modernist crisis and its aftermath. Eventually, though, the Church made peace with a moderate form of historical research, perhaps best not called historicism. Some of it was detailed above, in the theologians of the preconciliar and conciliar periods. Historical research could provide excellent and true knowledge, but it could not be used to deny unchanging dogma. Still, the tension has not been fully resolved. “Verum quia faciendum,” “it is true because it is to be done.” Truth is not about knowing the world, but about changing it. Ratzinger quotes Karl Marx: “So far philosophers have merely interpreted the world in various ways; it is necessary to change it.”37 In recent decades, a shift in David Friedrich Strauss, Die christliche Glaubenslehre in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung und im Kampfe mit der modernen Wissenschaft, 2 vols., repr. (Frankfurt: Minerva, 1984), 1:71. 36 See Joseph T. Lienhard, “The New York Review and Modernism in America,” Records of the American Catholic Historical Society of Philadelphia 82 (1971): 67–82. The New York Review was a scholarly journal published at St. Joseph’s Seminary, Dunwoodie, in the Archdiocese of New York. The Review ceased publication in 1908, after three volumes had appeared, either suppressed for modernism or closed down out of fear. Turmel published articles in more than half the numbers of the Review. Investigators eventually found that Turmel had published under at least seventeen pseudonyms and appeared on the Index of Forbidden Books under at least six names besides his own. The complete story of Turmel’s deceptions was set forth by Jean Rivière in Le modernisme dans l’Église: Étude d’histoire contemporaine (Paris: Letouzey, 1929), esp. 486–501. 37 Ratzinger, Introduction, 63. 35 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 107 theology that follows this principle, “verum quia faciendum,” has come to the fore. As Ratzinger puts it, “theologically, too, the manipulation of man by his own planning is beginning to represent a more important problem than the question of man’s past.”38 This shift comes to the fore in various forms of contextual theology: political theology, liberation theology, feminist theology, ecological theology, and others. It appears in recent attempts to deny that the natural law is a source of unchanging moral teaching, manifested, among other ways, in attempts to deconstruct John Paul II’s encyclical Veritatis Splendor. Ratzinger concludes ominously, man “does not need to regard it as impossible to make himself into the God who now stands at the end as faciendum, as something makeable, not at the beginning, as logos, meaning.”39 Whether contextual theology, if it is in the spirit of “verum quia faciendum,” can be reconciled with authentic Catholic doctrine, remains to be seen. Cardinal Ratzinger’s criticism of liberation theology offers at least a caution.40 The Future Seen from the Present One can note three changes in Catholic theology in the United States: 1. Theologians are no longer primarily clergy and religious, but lay men and women. 2. The locus of theology has moved from seminaries and religious houses of formation to universities and colleges. 3. The practitioners of theology may be bifurcating, with some moving toward religious studies, others more concerned with normative Catholic doctrine. Theologians Are No longer primarily clergy and religious, but lay men and women. Since Vatican II, theology in the United States has, to a large extent, become the domain of lay people rather than clergy or religious. The sharp decline in vocations contributed to this change. Some seminaries closed, and many religious orders closed their theologates. A new generation came along, lay men and women theologians. This is not to question the fidelity of lay theologians, but it is to say that priests and religious were Ratzinger, Introduction, 66. Ratzinger, Introduction, 66. 40 See Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, “Instruction on Certain Aspects of the ‘Theology of Liberation,’” dated August 6, 1984 (available at the Vatican website). 38 39 108 Joseph T. Lienhard, S.J. responsible to their bishops or religious superiors in a way that lay men and women are not. The locus of theology has moved from seminaries and religious houses of formation to universities and colleges. At the end of the Pian era, the locus for Catholic theology in the United States was seminaries. Until the 1960s, departments of theology were rare at Catholic universities, which offered mostly religious instruction—typically, apologetics and Christian marriage—often taught by unprofessional religious. As theology moved from seminaries to universities, it began to move, gradually, from theology in an ecclesial sense more and more in the direction of religious studies.41 Gradually these departments took on their own identity, often in line with the famous Land O’Lakes manifesto.42 Some kept the name “department of theology”; others adopted “theological studies” or “religious studies.” In line with growing interest in diversity, these departments hired faculty from outside the Catholic tradition: first, Protestant Christians, then Jews, and students of world religions like Buddhism or Islam. These departments—granted, to varying degrees— offer more and more courses in non-Catholic, and also non-Christian, religions. Catholic identity typically does not play a role in hiring. On the other hand, recent decades have seen the founding and growth of smaller, Catholic colleges, clearly committed to the Catholic faith and openly professing their Catholic identity. Many, but not all, were founded by lay people. To list names would be rash, risking omitting some fine Catholic colleges or being mistaken about others. But the movement is clear. The practitioners of theology may be bifurcating, with some moving toward religious studies, others more concerned with normative Catholic doctrine. I avoid words like “liberal” and “conservative,” or “traditional” and “progressive,” but one is tempted to invoke them. Among many younger Catholic Lienhard, “Historical Theology in the Curriculum.” In July of 1967 twenty-six executives from Catholic colleges and universities met at Land O’Lakes, Wisconsin (at a retreat and conference center owned by the Congregation of the Holy Cross), to prepare a position paper. They produced The Idea of a Catholic University, with Theodore M. Hesburgh, C.S.C. identified as the author (Land O’Lakes, WI, 1967, with no publisher identified) —actually a 10-page pamphlet, whose influence was hardly proportionate to its size. The work is often taken as Catholic universities’ declaration of independence from the Catholic Church and from the religious superiors of their founding orders and congregations. See James Tunstead Burtchaell, The Dying of the Light: The Disengagement of Colleges and Universities from their Christian Churches (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1998), 595. 41 42 The Future of Catholic Theolog y 109 theologians, fidelity to the Church’s teaching is an important value. Just as second thoughts about Vatican II have grown up, so a new generation is questioning the values of the post–Vatican II enthusiasts. * * * In conclusion, I put the phrase “A Question” into the title of this essay, and I end with the question unanswered. But I cannot believe that authentic Catholic theology is coming to an end, through self-dissolution. Rather, a Second Spring may have begun, and a new generation is ready to receive N&V the baton and go forward with fidelity, courage, and dedication. Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 111–134 111 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition: Challenges and Resources1 John Grabowski Catholic University of America Washington, DC In its penetrating analysis of the modern world, the intro- ductory statement of Gaudium et Spes, the Second Vatican Council’s Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, draws attention to a seeming paradox facing modern men and women. While scientific discoveries have unlocked mysteries of life and the cosmos and growing technological prowess has harnessed these discoveries to create stunning new possibilities in human life and culture, questions of the meaning of human life and existence have become ever more vexing and their answers even more elusive.2 An earlier draft of this paper was presented at the Academy of Catholic Theology Conference on May 21, 2019. I am grateful to the members of the Academy for helpful comments and feedback, particularly David Cloutier, Jennifer Miller, and Lawrence J. Welch. 2 See Gaudium et Spes §§ 4–10. To cite but one example, the Council fathers state: “As happens in any crisis of growth, this transformation has brought serious difficulties in its wake. Thus while man extends his power in every direction, he does not always succeed in subjecting it to his own welfare. Striving to probe more profoundly into the deeper recesses of his own mind, he frequently appears more unsure of himself. Gradually and more precisely he lays bare the laws of society, only to be paralyzed by uncertainty about the direction to give it” (§4). All citations from magisterial and curial documents are taken from the English translations on this website unless otherwise noted. R. A. Sigmond, one of the drafters of what became the final version Gaudium et Spes, puts it this way: “One of the most striking aspects in this diagnosis of modern man is that in the same measure that man accomplishes wonderful achievements in the area of nature and work, he becomes increasingly confused about himself, about his vocation and about the sense of his life. This is his greatest problem. This is the point, in the opinion of the Council, at which dialogue has to 1 112 John Grabowski The human person is increasingly seen as a question without a clear answer. The fifty-plus years since of the close of the Council have underscored the truth and profundity of this anthropological analysis. And often it is our highest technical achievements which most confound and bemuse us. Communication technology has made the globe smaller, enabling instantaneous and face-to-face contact between persons from all corners of the world. Yet this very technology increasingly isolates those living under the same roof from one another.3 The “information superhighway” of the internet puts an unprecedented wealth of information at people’s fingertips. Yet it also brings with it information overload, new possibilities for overt deception and “fake news,” limitless possibilities for aimless distraction and even addiction, 4 and a never-ending flood of content aimed at the basest expressions of the seven deadly sins.5 Social media platforms enhance communication and personal expression but also reinforce the idea that personal identity is self-created and malleable. Genetic modification of other organisms and the mapping of the human genome raise the question of whether similar procedures might be applied to genetically alter human beings. Improving medical technology increasingly blurs the line between therapy and “enhancement” of the human person.6 Pushed to begin” (“Unterlagen zur Geschichte der pastoralen Konstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von Heute,” IDOC Bulletin 66-2 and 66-3 [1966]: II.3; cited in Walter Kasper, “The Theological Anthropology of Gaudium et Spes,” trans. Adrian Walker, Communio 23 [1996]: 134). 3 Pope Francis diagnoses the problem in his usual straightforward fashion: “A family that hardly ever eats together, or that does not talk at the table but watches television, or looks at a smartphone, is a ‘barely familial’ family. When children are engrossed with a computer at the table, or a mobile phone, and do not talk to each other, this is not a family, it is like a boarding house” (General Audience of November 11, 2015). 4 For a review of some recent literature on Internet Addiction Disorder, see: C. H. Ko, J.-Y. Yen, C.-F. Yen, C. S. Chen, and C. C. Chen, “The Association between Internet Addiction and Psychiatric Disorder: A Review of the Literature,” European Psychiatry 27, no. 1 ( January 2012): 1–8; Internet Addiction in Children and Adolescents: Risk Factors, Assessment, and Treatment, ed. Kimberly S. Young and Cristiano Nabuco Abreu (New York: Springer, 2017); Daria J. Kuss and Halley M. Pontes, Internet addiction, Advances in Psychotherapy–Evidence-Based Practice 41 (Boston: Hogrefe, 2019). 5 For a thoughtful analysis of the presence of the seven deadly sins in modern life, relationships, and social structures, see Naming Our Sins: How Recognizing the Seven Deadly Vices Can Renew the Sacrament of Reconciliation, ed. Jana M. Bennett and David Cloutier (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2019). 6 For an analysis of different models of enhancement in relation to a theological Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 113 the limit, “enhancement” opens the door to the brave new world of transhumanism in which the very identification of what counts as “human” is put in question.7 Nowhere is this confusion more pronounced than in understanding sexual difference. While “gender” used to be the common word for describing this difference because one did not say “sex” in polite company, under the impact of existentialist and postmodern strands of feminism it is now a highly technical term whose meaning continues to be ever more rarified through ongoing contention. 8 This confusion is not simply a matter of academic debate. Some educational programs, in the effort to promote acceptance of transgender students, use concepts like “the gender bread person” or “the purple unicorn” to teach children that “gender” is a complex correlation of body awareness, (self-chosen) gender identity, gender expression, romantic attraction, and sexual attraction.9 Little wonder that social media platforms such as Facebook now recognize some seventy self-chosen “genders.”10 People who “misgender” others by using pronouns other than those chosen by the individual are subject to not just understanding of the person, see Gerald McKenny. Biotechnology, Human Nature, and Christian Ethics, New Studies in Christian Ethics (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 7 For theological resources for a response to transhumanism, see Justin Tompkins, “Developing Theological Tools for a Strategic Engagement with Human Enhancement,” The New Bioethics 20 ( 2014): 141–52. For an incisive critique of the transhumanist project from a Christian perspective which also utilizes Stoic insights, see Paul Scherz, “Living Indefinitely and Living Fully: Laudato Si’ and the Value of the Present in Christian, Stoic, and Transhumanist Temporalities,” Theological Studies 79 (2018): 356–75. 8 For relatively “non-partisan” histories and overviews of some of the differing iterations of modern feminism, see: Olive Banks, Faces Of Feminism: A Study of Feminism as a Social Movement (New York: St. Martin’s, 1981); Pamela Cochran, Evangelical Feminism: A History (New York: New York University Press, 2005); Dorothy Sue Cobble, Linda Gordon, and Astrid Henry, Feminism Unfinished: A Short Surprising History of American Women’s Movements (New York: Liveright, 2014); Rory C. Dicker, A History of U.S. Feminisms, revised ed. (Berkeley, CA: Seal, 2016). 9 See genderbread.org/ for “the gender bread person” and transstudent.org/gender/ for “the purple unicorn.” 10 See Rhiannon Williams, “Facebook’s 71 gender options come to UK users,” The Telegraph, June 27, 2014, telegraph.co.uk/technology/facebook/10930654/Facebooks-71-gender-options-come-to-UK-users.html. If individuals do not identify with any of these preset options, Facebook allows them to create their own (facebook.com/facebookdiversity/posts/last-year-we-were-proud-to-add-a-customgender-option-to-help-people-better-expr/774221582674346/). 114 John Grabowski social ostracism but, in some cases, the threat of criminal prosecution.11 The Church has recognized some of the dangers posed by these intellectual and social currents, offering a series of critiques of “gender ideology” over the last few decades as well as diagnosing some of the roots of this view. Important as this critique and accompanying diagnoses are, there is more to be said. The Catholic theological tradition, nourished by Scripture, offers resources for a deep and positive portrayal of sexual difference and its meaning. This paper will argue that in biblical and theological concepts such as sexual complementarity, the spousal meaning of the body, and—as the Gaudium et Spes indicates–a Christological anthropology, Catholic theology has the resources to account for both the unity of the human race and the difference of male and female who are together the image of God (see Gen 1:27). The paper will proceed by first examining some of the recent critiques of gender ideology put forward by the Church. It will then point to some of the cultural and intellectual shifts that helped to generate this ideology. This will be followed by a brief examination of some key theological concepts disclosed by Scripture and subsequent theological reflection: complementarity, the spousal meaning of the body, and the Christological and Trinitarian distinction between person and nature. A final section will mention a possible avenue for distinguishing without separating the sexually differentiated body and its cultural interpretation and indicate some questions which need further reflection. This paper is meant to provide something of a survey and overview. The issues treated here are each worthy of more detailed examination and analysis.12 The Critique of Gender Ideology In recent official teaching the Church has drawn attention to dangers posed by the idea that sexual difference is largely a social construct. The recent document by the Congregation for Education uses the description On recent cases in the UK, see Rachel del Guidice, “Police Question UK Journalist for ‘Misgendering’ a Transgender Woman,” The Daily Signal, March 19, 2019, dailysignal.com/2019/03/19/police-question-uk-journalist-for-misgendering-a-transgender-woman/. California has recently passed a law making it a criminal offense to “misgender” elderly persons (Mary Rezac, “California Bill Seeks to Punish ‘Misgendering’ with Jail Time,” Crux, September 2, 2017, cruxnow.com/ church-in-the-usa/2017/09/california-bill-seeks-punish-misgendering-jail-time/. The bill, which passed in October 2017, is currently being challenged in court. 12 Many of the papers given at the May 2019 Conference of the Academy of Catholic Theology at which this paper was first given provide much more in-depth analyses of ideas touched on here. 11 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 115 of this ideology provided by Pope Francis drawing attention to varying forms of an ideology that is given the general name “gender theory,” which “denies the difference and reciprocity in nature of a man and a woman and envisages a society without sexual differences, thereby eliminating the anthropological basis of the family. This ideology leads to educational programmes and legislative enactments that promote a personal identity and emotional intimacy radically separated from the biological difference between male and female. Consequently, human identity becomes the choice of the individual, one which can also change over time.”13 Building on such warnings given by Vatican dicasteries over the years, Pope Francis has warned about the ongoing “ideological colonization” of the family on the part of global elites.14 However, easily the most profound analysis of both the roots and trajectory of this ideology has been that provided by Pope Benedict XVI in his Congregation for Education, “Male and Female He Created Them”: Towards a Path of Dialogue on the Question of Gender Theory in Education (2019), §2, citing the apostolic exhortation Amoris Laetitia (2016), §56. The warning about the impact of this theory on marriage and the family was sounded with clarity in the year 2000 by the Pontifical Council for the Family in its document Family, Marriage, and “De Facto” Unions, §8: “Starting from the decade between 1960–1970, some theories (which today are usually described by experts as ‘constructionist’) hold not only that generic sexual identity (‘gender’) is the product of an interaction between the community and the individual, but that this generic identity is independent from personal sexual identity: i.e., that masculine and feminine genders in society are the exclusive product of social factors, with no relation to any truth about the sexual dimension of the person. In this way, any sexual attitude can be justified, including homosexuality, and it is society that ought to change in order to include other genders, together with male and female, in its way of shaping social life. The ideology of ‘gender’ found a favorable environment in the individualist anthropology of radical neo-liberalism. Claiming a similar status for marriage and de facto unions (including homosexual unions) is usually justified today on the basis of categories and terms that come from the ideology of ‘gender.’ In this way, there is a certain tendency to give the name ‘family’ to all kinds of consensual unions, thus ignoring the natural inclination of human freedom to reciprocal self-giving and its essential characteristics which are the basis of that common good of humanity, the institution of marriage.” 14 Pope Francis, Address to Meeting with Families in Manila, January 16, 2016. For a detailed examination of this ongoing effort especially in the EU, see the analysis provided by Gabriele Kuby, The Global Sexual Revolution: Destruction of Freedom in the Name of Freedom (Kettering, OH: Angelico Press, 2015). 13 116 John Grabowski final Christmas address to the Curia. Because of its incisive nature, the address is worth quoting at some length: The Chief Rabbi of France, Gilles Bernheim, has shown in a very detailed and profoundly moving study that the attack we are currently experiencing on the true structure of the family, made up of father, mother, and child, goes much deeper. While up to now we regarded a false understanding of the nature of human freedom as one cause of the crisis of the family, it is now becoming clear that the very notion of being—of what being human really means—is being called into question. He quotes the famous saying of Simone de Beauvoir: “one is not born a woman, one becomes so” (on ne naît pas femme, on le devient). These words lay the foundation for what is put forward today under the term “gender” as a new philosophy of sexuality. According to this philosophy, sex is no longer a given element of nature, that man has to accept and personally make sense of: it is a social role that we choose for ourselves, while in the past it was chosen for us by society. The profound falsehood of this theory and of the anthropological revolution contained within it is obvious. People dispute the idea that they have a nature, given by their bodily identity, that serves as a defining element of the human being. They deny their nature and decide that it is not something previously given to them, but that they make it for themselves. According to the biblical creation account, being created by God as male and female pertains to the essence of the human creature. This duality is an essential aspect of what being human is all about, as ordained by God. This very duality as something previously given is what is now disputed. The words of the creation account: “male and female he created them” (Gen 1:27) no longer apply. No, what applies now is this: it was not God who created them male and female—hitherto society did this, now we decide for ourselves. Man and woman as created realities, as the nature of the human being, no longer exist. Man calls his nature into question. . . . Man and woman in their created state as complementary versions of what it means to be human are disputed. But if there is no pre-ordained duality of man and woman in creation, then neither is the family any longer a reality established by creation.15 Benedict XVI, Christmas Address to the Roman Curia, 2012. Unfortunately, Pope Benedict’s attribution of these ideas to Rabbi Bernheim has been shown to be inadvertently mistaken. Jean-Noël Darde subsequently demonstrated (archeol- 15 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 117 Three points from Pope Benedict’s analysis deserve highlighting. First, he notes the cultural transition we have undergone from viewing “gender” as a social construct to now seeing it as an individually chosen or constructed reality. This is a significant part of how “gender” has come to be seen as fundamentally malleable and its number ever-expanding. Second, it is clear that in his view “gender” so conceived becomes a solvent to the very concept of human nature—we become self-creating subjects who lose sight of our Creator and his design for ourselves and the world.16 Third, notice that Benedict not only references the doctrine of creation, but the words of Genesis 1:27: “male and female He made them.” Like his predecessor, Saint John Paul II, Benedict XVI understood the depth and import of the opening chapters of Genesis for an understanding of the human person. Deconstructing Gender: Cultural and Intellectual Roots It is worth briefly extending some of this diagnosis in broad brush strokes. How did “gender” come to be separated from sex and ultimately voided of meaning except as self-chosen identity? Both massive cultural shifts and recent intellectual currents, often interconnected with one another, have played a role. Among the many effects of the Industrial Revolution in the West was its impact on the family, especially among the working classes. It was not just the long hours for meager pay to the men, women, and children who made up the desperate ranks of the working classes which pulled their families apart, but the very fact that the post–Industrial Revolution home was no longer itself a center of economic activity.17 This separation helped to alter the very understanding of children. Since work happened outside of the home, children no longer contributed directly to a family’s ogie-copier-coller.com/) that much of Bernheim’s address was plagiarized from a work by Fr. Joseph-Marie Verlinde, O.P., L’idéologie du gender: Identité Reçue ou Choisie? (Paris: Le Livre Ouvert, 2012). For an overview of the controversy, see R. R. Reno, “Rabbi Gille Bernheim’s Plagiarism,” First Things, May, 13, 2013, firstthings.com/web-exclusives/2013/05/rabbi-gilles-bernheims-plagiarism. 16 See Gaudium et Spes §36: “For without the Creator the creature would disappear. For their part, however, all believers of whatever religion always hear His revealing voice in the discourse of creatures. When God is forgotten, however, the creature itself grows unintelligible.” 17 In families in which the father became the primary person working outside of the home, this also had the effect of removing him from the family and limiting his ability to assist his wife in raising and forming their children. I am indebted for that insight to Jennifer Miller. 118 John Grabowski economic well-being as they did when work was done in the home or on a family business or on a family farm. Within the space of a few generations, the view of children held by many people flipped from the biblical view of them as blessing to a burden and a net drain on the family’s economic well-being,18 The fears about children’s negative impact were given pseudo-scientific dressing and extended to the planet as a whole by T. R. Malthus and his followers.19 This view of children as obstacles to work and economic gain engendered by the Industrial Revolution in its own way fueled the burgeoning Sexual Revolution through the search for more effective contraceptive technologies. The Sexual Revolution was not a wholly twentieth-century phenomenon; these shifting sexual mores were already in play in the nineteenth century. Victorian morality was in many ways a placeholder for conventional bourgeois morality in a culture that had largely abandoned both Aristotelian and Christian teleology in its sexual beliefs and behaviors.20 Advancing contraceptive technologies simply enabled and extended this ongoing abandonment. But it was oral contraception, developed in the latter part of the twentieth century, which served as the jet fuel of this revolution and took it to a new level. 21 The introduction of “the pill,” as it came to be known, produced skyrocketing rates of extramarital sex, unwed pregnancy, divorce, and abortion. The warnings of Pope Saint Paul See David McCarthy, “Procreation, the Development of Peoples, and the Final Destiny of Humanity,” Communio 26 (1999): 698–721. 19 Malthus’s 1798 work An Essay on the Principle of Population identified population growth as an ongoing cause of the poverty of the lower classes and a threat that could outstrip large-scale food production. Such growth could be curbed by positive checks (i.e., things which raise the death rate such as war, famine, and natural disaster) and preventative (i.e., contraceptive) means. Such fears were given a particularly shrill articulation in the midst of the twentieth-century expansion of the Sexual Revolution by Paul Erlich’s book The Population Bomb (New York: Ballantine, 1968), which predicted widespread famine due to over-population in the coming decades. 20 This is the argument of Michael Hannon, “Against Heterosexuality,” First Things, March 1, 2014, firstthings.com/article/2014/03/against-heterosexuality. Hannon builds in a number of ways on the analysis of Michel Foucualt, Histoire de la sexualité; vol. I: La Volonté de savoir (Paris: Gallimard, 1976). 21 These same technologies also helped to redirect the burgeoning women’s movement of the 1960s away from many of its initial goals of greater educational and economic opportunities for women (including mothers) in the public sphere and toward greater acceptance of non-marital sex, contraception, and abortion as keys to women’s equality with men. See Sue Ellen Browder, Subverted: How I Helped the Sexual Revolution Hijack the Women’s Movement (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2015). 18 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 119 VI in Humanae Vitae §17 concerning widespread adoption of contraception—a lowering of moral standards, greater moral confusion among the young, a loss of respect on the part of men for women, and the danger of government coercion—while visionary in their day, seem understated in retrospect. Social scientists have shown the prophetic nature of these predictions, as they have been more than vindicated through the most secular of social scientific measures.22 But what Pope Paul VI did not foresee and his teaching’s proponents have not fully explored is the impact of the revolution on our understanding of sexual difference. Effectively severing the longstanding theological, cultural, and social bonds between marriage, sex, and childbearing, the Sexual Revolution has given us sterile sex (backstopped by abortion), childless marriage, and— with an assist from assisted reproductive technologies—asexual reproduction. The shared fruitfulness of male and female which capacitates them to receive the gift of a child is thus rendered unimportant—peripheral to both sexual activity and the person who engages in it. What Paul VI identified as the “unitive” meaning of the conjugal act is reduced to mere pleasure to which the opposite sex and ultimately one’s own sex becomes unimportant. The line from the pill to Obergefell v. Hodges in our social conception of marriage is therefore not difficult to trace. 23 More difficult to discern, perhaps, is the impact of the revolution on personal identity. If, as will be argued below, sexual difference and its capacity for procreation are intrinsic to the person, it stands to reason that its cultural relativization will deeply impact the self-concept of those affected by it. Thus, there may be some connection between this destabilization of the sense of self as an embodied person and the rise in what is being described as “rapid onset” gender dysphoria.24 And perhaps, paralleling Mary Eberstadt’s diagnosis of the irrational character of the “will to See Mary Eberstadt, Adam and Eve after the Pill: Paradoxes of the Sexual Revolution (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2012), esp. 134–58. 23 Mary Eberstadt undertakes aspects of this analysis in tracing the rise of contemporary identity politics to the Sexual Revolution’s dissolution of the family (Primal Screams: How the Sexual Revolution Created Identity Politics [West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton, 2019]). 24 On this relatively new phenomenon, see Lisa Littman, “Peer Group and Social Media Influences in Adolescent and Young-Adult Rapid-Onset Gender Dysphoria,” Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry 57, no. 10 (October 2018): S73–S74, and Littman, “Parent Reports of Adolescents and Young Adults Perceived to Show Signs of a Rapid Onset of Gender Dysphoria,” PlosOne 14, no. 3, journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal. pone.0202330. 22 120 John Grabowski disbelieve” the evidence for the damaging effects of the Sexual Revolution in spite of massive evidence to the contrary, there is a growing impulse to employ medical technology to render individuals with gender dysphoria sterile in the process of cosmetically reconfiguring them to take on the appearance of the opposite sex in spite of strong evidence for negative psychological and medical outcomes for those who choose to “transition.”25 But these cultural shifts or “revolutions”—industrial, sexual, and technological—have been accompanied and to some degree enabled by intellectual currents. Pope Benedict XVI traced the roots of gender to the existentialist thought of Simone de Beauvoir. But de Beauvoir was simply bringing the ideas of Jean Paul Sartre into a feminist ambit.26 Eschewing the largely pro-life and pro-maternity impulses of the “first wave” of feminism in the nineteenth century, the “second wave” of feminism which arose in the twentieth century has tended to view women’s capacity to give birth as an obstacle to the social and economic equality which it sought.27 Denying the givenness of the body and human nature and viewing most of sexual difference through the lens of a socially constructed “gender” was a strategy in this pursuit. Downplaying difference in pursuit of equality, many feminist thinkers celebrated the sameness and interchangeability of the sexes. While few went to the extent of Marxist feminist Shulamith Firestone, who advocated “freeing women from the tyranny of reproduction” through replacing pregnancy with laboratory reproduction and abolishing the nuclear family by collectivized child-rearing, her work On this, see Lawrence R. Meyer and Paul R. McHugh, “Sexuality and Gender: Findings from the Biological, Psychological, and Social Sciences,” The New Atlantis: Special Report 50 (2016), thenewatlantis.com/publications/introduction-sexuality-and-gender, and Ryan Anderson, When Harry Became Sally: Responding to the Transgender Moment (New York: Encounter, 2018). 26 On de Beauvoir as the first existentialist feminist, see Prudence Allen, R.S.M., “Can Feminism Be a Humanism,” in Women in Christ: Toward a New Feminism, Michelle Schumacher, ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 251–84, esp. 270; cf. Michelle Schumacher, “Gender Ideology and the ‘Artistic’ Fabrication of Human Sex: Nature as Norm or the Remaking of the Human,” The Thomist 80 (2016): 363–423, esp. 369–70. Diana Ibarra argues that the first architect of the idea of gender as a social construct was actually Plato (“Es Aristoteles al ‘sexo’ lo que Platon al ‘género’?,” Devenires, Revista de Filosofía y Filosofía de la Cultura 12 (2011): 108–27. 27 On the pro-life and pro-maternity emphases of first-wave feminism, see Erika Bachiochi, “The Uniqueness of Women: Church Teaching on Abortion,” in Women, Sex and the Church: A Case for Catholic Teaching, ed. Erika Bachiochi (Boston: Pauline: 2010), 37–56. On the subversion of these impulses by the Sexual Revolution see Browder, Subverted. 25 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 121 crystalized an impulse within the some of the radical strains of secondwave feminism.28 Thus a Catholic feminist theologian such as Rosemary Radford Ruether could write: “Maleness and femaleness exist as reproductive role specialization. There is no necessary (biological) connection between reproductive complementarity in either psychological or social role differentiation. These are the works of culture and socialization, not of ‘nature.’”29 With Ruether and other early Catholic feminist theologians, there is also a conscious adaptation of a process metaphysic which dissolves the stability of divine and human nature into a more fluid “becoming” within an ecologically interdependent cosmos.30 Sometimes called “transformative anthropologies,” these approaches paved the way for the more complete dissolution of ontology in the postmodern turn embraced by many subsequent feminist scholars. Nature, along with the gender binary, can simply be deconstructed. For philosopher Judith Butler, not only is “gender” a construct, but so is “sex”—both are performed by the individual within specific matrices of power relations. Thus, in regard to sex she writes: “The body is not ‘sexed’ in any significant sense prior to its determination within a discourse through which it becomes invested with an ‘idea’ of natural or essential sex. The body gains meaning within discourse only in the context of power relations. Sexuality is an historically specific organization of power, of discourse, of bodies and of affectivity. As such, sexuality is understood by Foucault to produce ‘sex’ as an artificial concept which effectively extends and disguises the power relations responsible for its genesis.”31 Here we have a philosophical basis for the fluidity of bodily identity. There is no “there” there in the body, gender, or sex. The sexually differentiated person recedes into the pre-Christian persona—a mask or the role in a performance.32 Shulamith Firestone, The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution (New York: William Morrow, 1970), 221 (cf. 11). 29 Rosemary Radford Ruether, Sexism & God Talk: Toward a Feminist Theology (Boston: Beacon, 1983), 228. 30 In Ruether, the rejection of such dualisms is a stark denial of personal existence after death or any kind of resurrection. The individual energy of deceased human beings is simply absorbed into the collective personhood of God/dess (Sexism & God Talk, 257; cf. 256–57). 31 Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, Routledge Classics 36 (New York: Routledge, 1990), 92. 32 On the pre-Christian meanings of persona, see Aloys Grillmeier, S.J., From the Apostolic Age to Chalcedon (451), trans. John Bowden (London: Mowbrays, 1965), 125–26. 28 122 John Grabowski It is undoubtedly a fascinating “sign of the times” to witness the growing disconnect between more standard second-wave feminists still pursuing an egalitarian gender justice and those in subsequent waves influenced by queer theory, with the former worrying about the impact of things like biological males who identify as female competing in women’s athletics and the latter dismissing such concerns as “transphobic.” Having sown the existentialist wind, modern feminism now faces a transgender whirlwind which it helped to birth. Complementarity: Biblical and Theological Resources Turning to positive resources within Catholic theology for conceiving sexual difference, one concept put forward in both magisterial documents and theological discussion is the language of complementarity. At first glance, it might seem an unlikely and unhelpful candidate to express the rich reality of sexual difference. After all, it has been criticized from many quarters for a host of reasons. It has been rejected as denoting a faulty view of the human person in which individuals are seen as incomplete apart from the other sex.33 Feminist thinkers for some time have criticized the term as a kind of code for ongoing gender apartheid on the part of the Church—“separate but equal in theory” means “separate and unequal” in practice, inadequate to both Catholic sacramental theology and modern gender theory.34 And finally, some scholars have criticized the term as a late arrival to modern magisterial teaching, being introduced into magisterial teaching by Pope John Paul II.35 Sister Allen calls this “fractional sex complementarity” and contrasts it with her own articulation of “integral sex complementarity. See for example, Prudence Allen, “Integral Sex Complementarity and the Theology of Communion,” Communio 17 (1990): 523–44; see also Allen, “Fuller’s Synergetics and sex complementarity,” International Philosophical Quarterly, 32 (1992): 3–16. 34 See, for example: Christine Gudorf, “Encountering the Other: The Modern Papacy on Women,” Social Compass 36 (1989): 295–310; Susan A. Ross, “‘Then Honor God in Your Body’ (1 Cor. 6:20): Feminist and Sacramental Theology on the Body,” Horizons 16, no. 1 (1989): 7–27; Tina Beattie, The New Catholic Feminism: Theology, Gender Theory and Dialogue (New York: Routledge, 2006); Susan A. Ross, Anthropology: Seeking Light and Beauty, Engaging Theology, Catholic Perspectives (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical, 2012), esp. 85–104; Katie M. Grimes, “Theology of Whose Body? Sexual Complementarity, Intersex Conditions, and La Virgen de Guadalupe,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion, 32, no. 1 (April 2016): 75–93; and Brianne Jacobs, “An Alternative to Gender Complementarity: The Body as Existential Category in the Catholic Tradition,” Theological Studies 80 (2019): 328–45. 35 Mary Ann Case argues that the concept was elaborated in the mid-twentieth century by Edith Stein and Dietrich von Hildebrand (though they typically used 33 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 123 A response to all of these objections is beyond the scope of this paper. Further, many of them have been effectively dealt with by others. Sister Prudence Allen in her historical research and philosophical reflection has shown that what she calls “integral sex complementarity” overcomes the concerns about viewing human persons as “fractional” beings or being a shill for an ongoing inequality which many feminist thinkers decry.36 The idea that complementarity has no foundation in Scripture and is a latecomer to magisterial teaching deserves to be challenged. The claim that the notion of complementarity was largely invented by Pope John Paul II is not accurate. It is true that the term or some equivalent of it appears in Catholic thought and magisterial teaching only in the twentieth century. It is also true that the Polish Pope gave one of the most developed articulations of the idea over the course of his pontificate. But his articulation had ecclesial and philosophical precursors. One can find the term or equivalents of it in speeches of Pius XII,37 John XXIII,38 the documents of Vatican II,39 and Pope Paul VI40 prior to the term Ergaenzung [“completion”] rather than Komplempentaritaet) but largely imported into Church teaching by John Paul II and Joseph Ratzinger. See her essay “Implications of the Vatican Commitment to Complementarity for the Equality of the Sexes in Public Life,” in Women’s Rights and Religious Law: Domestic and International Perspectives, ed. Fareda Banda and Lisa Fishbayn Joffe (New York: Routledge, 2016), 68–88. 36 Sister Allen’s multivolume work on the concept of woman is the definitive work on this topic in historical scholarship: The Concept of Woman, vol. 1, The Aristotelian Revolution, 750 B.C. – A. D. 1250 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1997); The Concept of Woman, vol. 2, The Early Humanist Reformation, 1250–1500 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2002); The Concept of Woman, vol. 3, The Search for Communion of Persons, 1500–2015 (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2017). Her historical work is invaluable, but her own positive articulation of her model seems to carry with it a note of Neo-Platonic or Jungian androgyny insofar as she sees masculinity and femininity as part of the make-up of every person. 37 Pius XII, “Address to Italian Women,” October 21, 1945, Acta Apostolicae Sedis [AAS] 37 (1945): 291–92. 38 John XXII spoke of the “necessary complementarity” (necessaria complementarietà) of man and woman; see “Convenuti a Roma,” AAS 53 (1961): 610–12. 39 See Gaudium et Spes §52: “The family is a kind of school of deeper humanity. But if it is to achieve the full flowering of its life and mission, it needs the kindly communion of minds and the joint deliberation of spouses, as well as the painstaking cooperation of parents in the education of their children. The active presence of the father is highly beneficial to their formation. The children, especially the younger among them, need the care of their mother at home. This domestic role of hers must be safely preserved, though the legitimate social progress of women should not be underrated on that account.” 40 Pope Paul VI, argued that using the language of equal rights was not sufficient; 124 John Grabowski its use by John Paul II. Philosophically the term emerged in the phenomenological personalism of twentieth-century Catholic converts such as Edith Stein and Dietrich von Hildebrand. 41 In his ground-breaking treatment of love in marriage, Die Ehe (1929), von Hildebrand stated that: “It would be incredibly superficial to consider as a mere biological difference the distinction between man and woman, which really shows us two complementary types of the human species.”42 Stein used Thomistic principles to argue for a similar understanding: “The insistence that the sexual differences are ‘stipulated by the body alone’ is questionable from various points of view. 1) If anima = forma corpis, then bodily differentiation constitutes an index of differentiation in the spirit. 2) Matter serves form, not the reverse. That strongly suggests that the difference in the psyche is the primary one.”43 In her historical research, Sister Allen locates the first fully articulated example of the theory in the work of Hildegard of Bingen in the twelfth century. 44 These ideas would be developed further in the long and fruitful pontificate of John Paul II. 45 The Polish Pope referred to complementarity numerous times in his teaching ministry. 46 Complementarity, for Saint John Paul II, pertains to the very existence and self-awareness of the person: The knowledge of man passes through masculinity and femininity, that an “effective complementarity” (complémentarité effective) between men and women was needed for a world which was harmonious and unified in its expression of difference according to God’s design, see his Address to the Committee for the International Women’s Year (French), April 18, 1975. 41 For a more complete overview of these thinkers and their influence on Karol Wojtyla/ Pope John Paul II see the excellent study by Prudence Allen, R.S.M., “Man-Woman Complementarity: The Catholic Inspiration,” Logos 9, no. 3 (2006): 87–108. 42 Dietrich von Hildebrand, Marriage: The Mystery of Faithful Love (Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute, 1991), 13. 43 Edith Stein, “Letter to Sister Callista Kopf,” in Self Portrait in Letters, 1916–1942, ed. L. Gelber and Romaeus Leuven, trans. Josephine Koeppel (Washington, DC: ICS, 1993), 99. 44 See Allen, Concept of Woman, 1:292–314, 1:408. 45 Allen suggests that Wojtyla encountered Stein’s thought through Roman Ingarden, who studied with her under phenomenologist Edmund Husserl; Wojtyla was a student of Ingarden’s in Krakow (“Man-Woman Complementarity,” 98). 46 See, for example, John Paul’s apostolic exhortation Familiaris Consortio (1981), §19, his apostolic letter Dilecti Amici (1985), §10, and his apostolic letter Mulieris Dignitatem (1988), §21. The treatment of complementarity in the “theology of the body” catecheses will be considered more fully below. Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 125 which are, as it were, two incarnation of the same metaphysical solitude before God and the world—two reciprocally completing ways of “being a body” and at the same time of being human—as two complementary dimensions of self-knowledge and self-determination and, at the same time, two complementary ways of being conscious of the meaning of the body. 47 His mature position would extend this complementarity to every dimension of the human person: “Womanhood and manhood are complementary not only from the physical and psychological points of view, but also from the ontological.” 48 The Vatican’s position paper for the 1995 Beijing Conference differentiated this reality further, speaking of a “biological, individual, personal, and spiritual complementarity.”49 Does this modern magisterial usage have a foundation in Scripture? A cursory look at the opening chapters of Genesis yields a number of distinct senses in which the sexes may be said to be complementary. Both accounts of creation offer strong affirmations of the basic equality of men and women in their fundamental humanity and in their creation in the image of God. Men and women together are designated priest stewards of creation by the first creation account. The second and older account designates woman as an ʿēzer kənegdô (a “helper corresponding” or “matching”) the man. But in the Hebrew text this helper is free of any notion of being “less than” as it does in modern English idiom, as God himself is designated as the “help” of Israel elsewhere in the Old Testament.50 Within this basic equality, these texts also affirm a variety of ways in which men and women might be said to be complementarity to one another. The first might be called a complementarity of “totality”—the idea articulated in the first account (Gen 1:1 through 2:2a) that humankind (ʾādām) is complete only as male and female (see Gen 1:27). A second could be described as “procreative” complementarity—that is, the way in which the bodily differences of male and female (zākār and nəqēbāh) enable them to receive the blessing of fertility (see Gen 1:28). A third could be called the complementarity of “alterity”—the way in which the John Paul II, General Audience of November 21, 1979, §1, in Man and Woman He Created Them [theology of the body catacheses], ed. Michael Waldstein (Boston: Pauline, 2006), 166 (emphasis original).. 48 John Paul II, Letter to Women (1995), §7. 49 John Paul II, Holy See’s Position Paper for Beijing (1995), 1.1. 50 Exod 18:4; Deut 33:7, 26, 29; Psalms 20:2; 33:20; 70:5; 89:19; 115:9, 10, 11; 121:1–2; 124:8; 146:5; Hos 13:9. 47 126 John Grabowski threshold of solitude (see Gen 2:18) is crossed by going out from oneself to relate to others. We realize our humanity in fellowship and friendship and we do so as embodied persons. We become an “I” when we recognize and give ourselves to a “Thou.” To integrate the teaching of the two accounts and to employ the language of John Paul II: “Man became the image of God not only through his own humanity, but also through the communion of persons.”51 A fourth could be called “spousal complementarity,” which adds to the previous idea the dimension of the sexually differentiated body and the way in which this makes possible the covenant of marriage. The second half of the second account of creation (Gen 3) makes clear that both the basic equality and every one of the senses of complementarity identified in the preceding analysis is attacked and destabilized by human sin. The Spousal Meaning of the Body The notion of complementarity bespeaks a kind of teleology of the body. The body may be likened to a compass which provides the person with a basic direction in life. To read the compass rightly and navigate by it, one needs the further “map” of revelation provided in Scripture and Tradition.52 Revelation clarifies that the world as a whole and the existence of the human person within it must be understood through the lens of gift—what John Paul II referred to as “the hermeneutics of the gift.”53 But what is the telos at which the body points? In the language of the Conciliar text, it is in giving oneself as a gift: “Man, who is the only creature on earth which God willed for itself, cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”54 As a composite of body and soul, such a gift necessarily includes John Paul II, General Audience of November 14, 1979, §3 (Waldstein, Man and Woman, 163; emphasis original). 52 Similarly, Angelo Schola argues that understanding the meaning of nuptiality upon perceiving the phenomena of sexual difference, love, and procreation depends upon the religious sense or upon divine revelation. See The Nuptial Mystery, trans. Michelle K. Borras, Ressourcement: Retrieval and Renewal in Catholic Thought (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2005), 96–97. 53 John Paul II, General Audience of January 2, 1980, §2 (Waldstein, Man and Woman, 179). In the same audience he goes on to explain: “The biblical creations account offers us sufficient reasons for such an understanding and interpretation: creation is a gift, because man appears in it, who is an ‘image of God,’ is able to the very meaning of the gift in the call from nothing to existence” (§4 [p. 180], emphasis original). 54 The Latin original reads: “hominem, qui in terris sola creatura est quam Deus propter seipsam voluerit, plene seipsum invenire non posse nisi per sincerum sui ipsius donum.” The fact that “man” is here homo and not vir indicates that the text has in view the whole of humanity—women and men—a point reflected in 51 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 127 the body and its inherent maleness or femaleness. This gift orientation of the body person manifested in sexual differentiation can be described as its “spousal” meaning. This idea too has deep roots in Scripture. To the dilemma of the first man’s solitude in the second story of creation (“it is not good for the man to be alone”; Gen 2:18), God responds with the creation of woman who, unlike the animals created before her, proves to be the ʿēzer kənegdô. Emerging from his covenant sleep, the man declares his allegiance to the woman: “This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; This one shall be called ʾiššāh, for out of ʾîš this one has been taken” (Gen 2:23). It is noteworthy that until this point in the narrative the text has used only the more generic term ʾādām to describe the human creature made by God. For the first time in the text we have the gender-specific terms used. The man does not here name the woman in the same way he named the animals in verses 19–20. Rather, for the first time he recognizes the meaning of his sexually differentiated body in light of her—he is not just ʾādām but ʾîš. Conversely, she too discovers the meaning of her reality as ʾiššāh (woman) in him. Sexual difference is thus revealed to be relational—ordering human persons toward one another. More specifically, it is disclosed as “spousal,” since the whole account of the creation of woman in Genesis 2:21–25 employs covenantal language and the text itself records the effect of the man’s declaration to be marital (2:24). John Paul II builds upon this foundation in his analysis of the spousal meaning of the body in his catecheses on the “theology of the body.” Commenting on the covenant declaration of Adam in Genesis 2:23 he states: The body, which expresses femininity “for” masculinity and, vice versa, masculinity “for” femininity, manifests the reciprocity and the communion of persons. It expresses it through gift as the fundamental characteristic of personal existence. This is the body: a witness to creation as a fundamental gift, and therefore a witness to Love as the source from which this same giving springs. Masculinity-femininity—namely sex—is the original sign of a creative donation and at the same time [the sign of the gift that] man, male-female, becomes aware of a gift lived so to speak in an original way.55 John Paul II’s further specification of the text in Mulieris Dignitatem §7: “Man— whether man or woman” (emphasis original). 55 John Paul II, General Audience of January 9, 1980 (Waldstein, Man and Woman, 183; emphasis original; text in brackets added by Waldstein from the Polish origi- 128 John Grabowski More than merely its capacity for sexual self-gift, the spousal meaning of the body refers to the body’s capacity to give and receive love in any state of life. It therefore applies equally to marriage and consecrated virginity or celibacy. Thus, the Polish Pope writes: “The nature of the one as well as the other love [marriage and perfect continence] is ‘spousal,’ that is, expressed through the complete gift of self. The one as well as the other love tends to express that spousal meaning of the body, which has been inscribed ‘from the beginning’ in the personal structure of man and woman.”56 Pope Francis draws extensively on this understanding of the spousal meaning of the body in Amoris Laetitia.57 But what about those in which this teleology of the sexually differentiated body is less obvious—so that the “compass” does not provide clear direction for the person? Certainly the dignity of the person, the goodness of the body, the call to communion with God and with others, and the integral nature of male and female in God’s plan and in marriage remain non-negotiable starting premises for Catholic theology, but how do concepts like the spousal meaning of the body or complementarity speak to those with intersex conditions or persons grappling with gender dysphoria? These are complex questions which deserve further analysis. Toward a Christological Anthropology The biblical and theological analysis thus far offered makes clear the need to account for both unity and diversity, equality and difference, in thinking about sexual difference. The parallel between this anthropological challenge and the “problem of the one and the many” which vexed the ancient world has been noted by scholars.58 Just as the revelation of the Trinity nal of the text). John Paul II, General Audience of April 14, 1982, §4 (Waldstein, Man and Woman, 431). 57 This is especially true of the discussion of erotic love. See Pope Francis, Amoris Laetitia, §§150–52, esp. §151: “In this context, the erotic appears as a specifically human manifestation of sexuality. It enables us to discover ‘the nuptial meaning of the body and the authentic dignity of the gift.’ In his catecheses on the theology of the body, Saint John Paul II taught that sexual differentiation not only is ‘a source of fruitfulness and procreation,’ but also possesses ‘the capacity of expressing love: that love precisely in which the human person becomes a gift.’” Other mentions of key concepts of the theology of the body in Pope Francis’s 2015 apostolic exhortation can be found in the treatments of: mutual submission in marriage (§156), consecrated virginity (§160), motherhood (§168; cf. §173), the “language of the body” (§216), and education in chastity (§284). Suffice it to say that this constitutes a deep engagement of the teaching of his predecessor. 58 See: Patricia Wilson Kastner, Faith, Feminism and the Christ (Philadelphia: 56 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 129 through the coming of Christ shattered the polarity of unity and difference by revealing that within the mystery of the Godhead the equality of the one divine nature is possessed by three irreducibly distinct divine persons, so here too the revelation of Christ points the way forward. To cite the text which has been rightly hailed by Walter Kasper as the “standard and short formula of the Pastoral Constitution,”59 Gaudium et Spes §22 states: “Christ the Lord. Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.” The fact of the Incarnation makes clear that sexual difference does not divide humanity on the level of nature. If women have a nature distinct from their male counterparts, then as (second wave) feminist theologians have rightly asked, how are women saved by a male savior?60 It is only insofar as we hold that the Son of God assumed a human nature common to men and women, that he is the Savior of the whole human race. In the words of Gregory of Nazianzus: “For that which He has not assumed He has not healed; but that which is united to His Godhead is also saved.”61 But how should the bodily difference between men and women be understood? For Aristotle sexual difference is simply an accident of the human substance due to a defect in the matter of the individual. The male seed in human generation should produce a replica of itself but either a material defect or some external interference (“a wind from the south which is moist”) disrupts the process resulting in a female—a “misbegotten male.”62 Aquinas utilizes Aristotle’s biology with its limitations but qualifies it in important ways. From Genesis he takes the idea the men and women together form the perfection of the human race in God’s plan. He goes so far as to opine that in the state of innocence human beings might simply Fortress, 1983), 55–60; John S. Grabowski, “Mutual Submission and Trinitarian Self-Giving,” Angelicum 74 (1997): 499–500; D. C. Schindler, “Perfect Difference: Gender and the Analogy of Being,” Communio 43 (2016): 197. 59 Kasper, “Theological Anthropology of Gaudium et Spes,” 137. 60 See: Rosemary Radford Ruether, “Can a Male Savior Save Women?,” in To Change the World: Christology and Cultural Criticism (London: SCM, 1981), 45–56; Anne Carr, Transforming Grace: Christian Tradition and Women’s Experience (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 52, 112; Elizabeth Johnson, “The Maleness of Christ,” in The Special Nature of Women?, ed. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, Concilium 1991/6 (Philadelphia: Trinity, 1991), 108–16, esp. 109. 61 Gregory of Nazianzus, Epistle 101 (to Cledonius), in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 2nd series, vol. 7, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature, 1894). 62 See Aristotle, De generatione animalium 2.3. 130 John Grabowski have determined the sex of a child by willing it.63 From Augustine he takes the idea that sexual difference is original to creation and endures in the resurrected state, dismissing the contrary opinion of Gregory of Nyssa as without merit. His position seems to be that sexual difference is a proper accident of the human composite. However, John Finley has argued that, while Thomas holds that the locus of sexual difference is in the body, it is possible to locate the basis of sexual difference within the soul using Thomas’s own principles.64 More recent Catholic theology, responding more directly to anthropological questions raised by second-wave and subsequent forms of feminism has focused more directly on the Christological and Trinitarian language of “nature” and “person” as a way to account for the unity and difference of the human race. So, John Paul II writes: “Their unity denotes above all the identity of human nature; duality, on the other hand, shows what, on the basis of this identity, constitutes the masculinity and femininity of created man.”65 Therefore male and female are two distinct ways of existing as a person within a common human nature. These distinct forms of personal existence are expressed through the two basic forms of human embodiment: “Masculinity and femininity express the twofold aspect of man’s somatic constitution . . . and indicate . . .the new consciousness of the meaning of one’s body . . . a ‘reciprocal enrichment.’”66 One can find this formulation widely echoed in recent theology. Kasper argues that male and female persons constitute “the two equally valuable but different expressions of the one nature of humanity.”67 Karl Lehmann speaks of the sexes as a “double issue” (Dopplelausgabe) or “persons in different but equal modes.”68 Michele Schumacher speaks of “one nature that necessarily exists in two modes or ‘expressions.’”69 D. C. Schindler holds that sexual difference “represents two ways of being a single kind of See Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, q. 99, a. 2. See John Finley, “The Metaphysics of Gender: A Thomistic Approach,” The Thomist 79 (2015): 585–614. 65 John Paul II, General Audience of November 14, 1979, §1 (Waldstein, Man and Woman, 161; emphasis original). 66 John Paul II, General Audience of November 14, 1979, §5 (Man and Woman, 165; emphasis original). 67 Walter Kasper, “The Position of Women as a Problem of Theological Anthropology,” trans. John Saward, in The Church and Women: A Compendium, ed. Helmut Moll (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1988), 58–59. 68 See Karl Lehmann, “The Place of Women as a Problem of Theological Anthropology,” trans. Robert E. Wood, in Moll, The Church and Women, 29. 69 Michele Schumacher, “The Nature of Nature in Feminism Old and New: From Dualism to Complementary Unity,” in Schumacher, Women in Christ, 40. 63 64 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 131 substance” as such representing the perfection of difference at the created level.70 Sexual difference is therefore an inescapable part of the embodied individual human being. Put more directly, sexual difference is accidental to human nature in general but essential to existing individuals. Aristotle and Saint Thomas note that it belongs to the nature of numbers (in general) that they be odd or even. However, any actually existing number will be only odd or even.71 If one makes 4 to be odd, it is no longer 4, but a different number altogether. As Finley observes, “odd and even, while not mutually relational within their being, are difficult to understand and articulate apart from the other, in this sense resembling male and female, which are mutually relational in their being, not to mention in their intelligibility.”72 But the human individual is a person—a “someone” and not merely a “something.” The relationality of sexual difference transcends being simply an inseparable accident of individuated matter.73 Since “the body expresses the person” or is the Realsymbol of the person, sexual difference communicates the irreducible uniqueness of the free human subject who is male or female. As such, it can be understood as a created relation constitutive of personhood analogous to the divine and spiritual relations of paternity, filiation, and spiration which we recognize in the Trinitarian communion personarum. And this fundamental human relation is itself the basis of other relations at the heart of personal existence—being a son or daughter, a sister or a brother, a husband or a wife, a mother or a father. Here is a further instantiation of the Council’s insight that the human person becomes intelligible in the light of Christ. The vexing conundrum of sexual difference begins to become clear with the aid of the Christological and Trinitarian distinction of nature and person (understood relationally). Though as a spiritual being God transcends biological sex, male and female who are made in the image of God have the call to communion inscribed in their very bodies.74 The compass of the body points us toward the love which is our origin and our fulfillment. Schindler, “Perfect Difference,” 216 (emphasis original). See Aristotle, Metaphysics 1.5.986a22–b1 and Aquinas, In X metaphys., lec. 11, no 2128. 72 Finley, “Metaphysics of Gender,” 607. 73 In different ways, this point is argued by both Schindler and Finley within an Aristotelian and Thomistic framework. 74 See John Paul II, Mulieris Dignitatem, §§7–8. 70 71 132 John Grabowski Distinction in Difference Returning to the critique of gender ideology found in recent magisterial teaching with which we began, a final nuance is added by Pope Francis. In Amoris Laetitia §56, the Holy Father echoes many of the concerns of his predecessor Benedict. He writes; Yet another challenge is posed by the various forms of an ideology of gender that “denies the difference and reciprocity in nature of a man and a woman and envisages a society without sexual differences, thereby eliminating the anthropological basis of the family. This ideology leads to educational programmes and legislative enactments that promote a personal identity and emotional intimacy radically separated from the biological difference between male and female. Consequently, human identity becomes the choice of the individual, one which can also change over time” [Synod on the Family, Relatio Finalis (2015), §8]. It is a source of concern that some ideologies of this sort, which seek to respond to what are at times understandable aspirations, manage to assert themselves as absolute and unquestionable, even dictating how children should be raised. However, Pope Francis adds an important further observation here: “It needs to be emphasized that ‘biological sex and the socio-cultural role of sex (gender) can be distinguished but not separated’” (citing Relatio Finalis, §58). Hence “gender” (or nurture) can be a useful way to talk about the manner in which culture impacts the way we think about difference, but it cannot be separated from the sexually differentiated body and the deeper metaphysical differences between men and women (i.e., nature).75 One way to begin to think about the significance of this qualification in light of the analysis above is to distinguish between the vocations, qualities, and roles of the sexes. Only men can be husbands and fathers— whether spiritual or physical and spiritual. Only women can be wives and mothers—whether spiritual or both physical and spiritual. These states in life further specify and concretize the manner in which the fundamental baptismal vocation to holiness is lived out.76 Such states draw upon and Catholic “new feminist” authors have argued that one of the intellectual tasks of our day is to articulate the intellectual basis for a “reunion” of sex and gender; see Barbara Voles, “New Feminism: A Sex Gender Reunion,” in Schumacher, Women in Christ, 52–66. 76 Further reflection needs to be devoted to the state of those living as adult single 75 Sexual Difference and the Catholic Tradition 133 actualize the distinctive gifts or “genius” of each sex. Recent Church teaching and “new feminist” theology has done much to highlight some of the distinctive gifts of women—for example, their “person-centeredness” which is enhanced by motherhood, their capacity to nurture life, and to build and sustain communion.77 Less attention has been paid to the genius of men,78 but things like initiative lived as generosity, using the things of the world in the service of authentic human flourishing,79 have been put forward in theological discussion. Where there is more room for flexibility and personal ability is in specific roles of the sexes within the family, society, and, to some degree, even in the Church. Recent Church teaching has emphasized the need for the gifts of women to be more fully manifested in both social and political life as well as in the Church. This same teaching has emphasized the shared authority of the married couple who engage in “mutual submission out of reverence for Christ” (see Eph. 5:21). 80 What has not yet fully been articulated is the ecclesiological counterpart to this “mutual submission” of men and women in marriage. The Church has definitively taught that this cannot be realized through Holy Orders because of the sacramental significance of the priest’s masculinity representing Christ the Bridegroom and in liturgical action in persona Christi. 81 But this exclusion leaves open the more positive question—how can the genius and gifts of women be better incorporated into the life of the Church? Providing an answer to Christians as a means to live out their basic baptismal call to holiness through friendship and Christian community. 77 See John Paul II, Mulieris dignitatem §18, Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF), Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Collaboration of Men and Women in the Church and in the World (2004), and Francis, Amoris Laetitia, §§168 and 173. 78 On this lack of development, see Christian Raab, O.S.B., “In Search of the Masculine Genius: The Contribution of Walter J. Ong,” Logos 21, no. 1 (Winter 2018): 83–117. Raab calls attention to expendability, agonistic differentiation, and exteriority in the order of nature, and (masculine) self-giving, the militancy of discipleship, and being a sign of divine otherness in the order of grace. 79 On this, see the insightful analysis Deborah Savage, who extends John Paul II’s analysis of creation in her “The Genius of Man,” in Promise and Challenge: Catholic Women Reflect on Feminism, Complementarity, and the Church, ed. Mary Rice Hasson (Huntington, IN: Our Sunday Visitor, 2015), 129–53. 80 See especially John Paul II, Mulieris Dignitatem §24. In Amoris Laetitia §156, Francis extends this same insight to the sexual relationship of the couple in marriage. 81 See the CDF’s Declaration on the Question of Admission of Women to the Ministerial Priesthood, Inter Insigniores (1976), and John Paul II, apostolic letter, Ordinatio Sacerdotalis (1994). 134 John Grabowski this question is one of the urgent tasks of both the Church’s pastors and the new feminism. Conclusion This paper has suggested that the body may be understood as a compass which provides the human person a basic direction in life. To “read” the compass rightly and navigate by it we need the “map” provided by revelation. In particular, through biblical and theological concepts such as sexual complementarity, the spousal meaning of the body, and a Christological anthropology, Catholic theology provides the further perspective needed to navigate well and to account for both the unity of the human race and the difference of male and female who are together the image of God (see Gen. 1:27). In his first encyclical, Redemptor Hominis, John Paul II wrote: “Man cannot live without love. He remains a being that is incomprehensible for himself, his life is senseless, if love is not revealed to him, if he does not encounter love, if he does not experience it and make it his own, if he does not participate intimately in it.”82 The sexually differentiated body is a visible sign of this need for love: “It is not good for the man to be alone.” It is also a sign of our vocation to communion—to the “sincere gift” of self in love. We are fulfilled only in communion and community with others. However, the fullness of the communion to which we are called transcends any merely human community. As the fathers of Vatican II note: “Indeed, the Lord Jesus, when He prayed to the Father, ‘that all may be one . . . as we are one’ (John 17:21–22) opened up vistas closed to human reason, for He implied a certain likeness between the union of the divine Persons, and the unity of God’s sons in truth and charity.”83 In revealing to us the mystery of God’s own life as a communion of persons, Christ as Son of the Father and Bridegroom of the Church reveals to us that the ultimate meaning of our own sexually differentiated existence is love—a love which will be fully realized in the Wedding Feast of the Lamb (see Rev 19:3–9; 21:1–4). N&V John Paul II, Redemptor Hominis (1979), §10. Gaudium et Spes §24. 82 83 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 135–161 135 The Wisdom of the Cross Is the Wisdom of Charity: Thomas Aquinas’s Soteriology—an Anticipatory Refutation of Neo-Pelagianism and Neo-Gnosticism Reinhard Hütter The Catholic University of America Washington, DC Although God may be surpassingly merciful, his mercy in no way obviates his justice. For a mercy that removes justice deserves much more to be called stupidity rather than virtue, and this does not befit God. —Thomas Aquinas1 In the justification of the ungodly, justice is seen, when God remits sins on account of love, though He Himself has mercifully infused that love. So we read of Magdalen: “Many sins are forgiven her, because she hath loved much” (Luke 7:47). —Thomas Aquinas2 Introduction In its opening paragraph, the 2018 Letter Placuit Deo [PD] of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on In III sent., d. 1, q. 1, a. 2, ad 4: “Quamvis Deus sit summe misericors, sua tamen misericordia nullo modo justitiae suae obviat. Misericordia enim quae justitiam tollit, magis stultitia quam virtus dici debet; et ita Deum non decet” (my translation). 2 Summa theologia [ST] I, q 21, a. 4, ad 1: “In iustificatione impii apparet iustitia, dum culpas relaxat propter dilectionem, quam tamen ipse misericorditer infundit, sicut de Magdalena legitur, Luc. VII, dimissa sunt ei peccata multa, quoniam dilexit multum.” All English citations from ST are taken from the translation of the Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger Bros., 1948). 1 136 Reinhard Hütter Certain Aspects of Christian Salvation states the very heart and center of the Catholic Faith by citing Vatican II’s Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, Dei Verbum: In His goodness and wisdom God chose to reveal Himself and to make known to us the hidden purpose of His will (cf. Eph 1:9) by which through Christ, the Word made flesh, man might in the Holy Spirit have access to the Father and come to share in the divine nature (cf. Eph 2:18; 2 Pt 1:4). The deepest truth about God and the salvation of man shines out for our sake in Christ, who is both the mediator and the fullness of all revelation [Dei Verbum §2].3 Immediately following this statement, the letter observes that “the teaching on salvation in Christ must always be deepened” (PD §1). One salutary way of deepening our present teaching on salvation in Christ is the constant returning to the sources, the ever renewed ressourcement in the theological patrimony of the Fathers, but also in the theological wisdom of that doctor of the Church, who synthesized the theological patrimony of the Fathers in such a way that for the longest time he has been called the “common doctor.” A ressourcement in Aquinas’s theology of the Cross does not need any extraordinary justification, yet it seems to be especially apposite in light of the analysis advanced in Placuit Deo of present recurrences of perennial heresies some of whose characteristic tenets have found their way into strands of contemporary Catholic piety and theology—neo-Pelagianism and neo-Gnosticism: Pope Francis, in his ordinary magisterium, often has made reference to the two tendencies . . . that resemble certain aspects of two ancient heresies, Pelagianism and Gnosticism. A new form of Pelagianism is spreading in our days, one in which the individual, understood to be radically autonomous, presumes to save oneself, without recognizing that, at the deepest level of being, he or she derives from God and from others. According to this way of thinking, salvation depends on the strength of the individual or on purely human structures, which are incapable of welcoming the newness of the Spirit of God. On the other hand, a new form of Gnosticism puts Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on Certain Aspects of Christian Salvation, Placuit Deo [PD] (2018), §1 (all quotations from PD will be from the Vatican website). 3 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 137 forward a model of salvation that is merely interior, closed off in its own subjectivism. In this model, salvation consists of improving oneself, of being “intellectually capable of rising above the flesh of Jesus towards the mysteries of the unknown divinity.” It presumes to liberate the human person from the body and from the material universe, in which traces of the provident hand of the Creator are no longer found, but only a reality deprived of meaning, foreign to the fundamental identity of the person, and easily manipulated by the interests of man. (PD §3)4 Pertaining to Christ’s Passion on the Cross, neo-Pelagianism and neo-Gnosticism might be best characterized as two distinct modern ways of “vacuating,” emptying Christ’s Cross by way of a profoundly problematic transignification of Christ’s Passion and death. Neo-Pelagianism would tend to regard Christ’s Passion and death as the paradigmatic liberating act that overcomes and abolishes all forms of sacrifice. In the background of this theological current stands the assumption that sacrifice emerged in the dawn of history as humanity’s unconscious attempt to curb the violence aroused by human beings’ mimetic desires through the election and punishment of a scapegoat. The central problem that according to neo-Pelagianism Christ’s Passion and death addresses and overcomes is not sin but rather violence. Humanity is not to be redeemed from sin but rather liberated from the cycle of violence and the very scapegoat mechanism to which violence gives rise and which in turn aims at channeling (and thereby curbing) the proliferation of violence. The unique contribution of Christianity and especially of Jesus is that through his crucifixion Jesus exposes the scapegoat mechanism, brings it thereby to conscious awareness, and consequently renders it non-functional. According to this construal, Christianity is an essentially post-sacrificial, ethical religion—ethos determines if not replaces cultus. Redemption means the liberation of humanity from the deadly scapegoat mechanism enshrined in The following important proviso that Placuit Deo rightly registers will need to be kept in mind whenever neo-Pelagianism and neo-Gnosticism are referred to in the subsequent considerations: “Clearly, the comparison with the Pelagian and Gnostic heresies intends only to recall general common features, without entering into judgments on the exact nature of the ancient errors. There is a great difference between modern, secularized society and the social context of early Christianity, in which these two heresies were born. However, insofar as Gnosticism and Pelagianism represent perennial dangers for misunderstanding Biblical faith, it is possible to find similarities between the ancient heresies and the modern tendencies just described” (§3). 4 138 Reinhard Hütter cultic sacrifice and for a redeemed post-sacrificial ethos of comprehensive love made possible and de facto established by Christ’s liberating act on the Cross. Neo-Gnosticism, by contrast, takes the Cross of Christ as a mere cipher disclosing a truth that radically negates and transcends this world—the abyss of the mystery of divine love radically obscured by a fallen world. The Cross—by negating this world of sin and flesh and darkness—points to this transcendent reality of spirit and light, a reality free from materiality, change, corruption, to be reached by way of an interior illumination such that one already now becomes free from bodily, familial, and socio-cultural determinations. The gnosis that the interior enlightenment grants unmasks these time-bound determinations as passing elements of an inherently fallen, fleeting, and ultimately passing world to which those illuminated by true “gnosis” do not belong but in which they still have to live—a quietistic, retired life of enlightened interiority. In neo-Gnosticism, the Cross of Christ is salvific only as a radical negation of this world of corruption. The illumination of one’s consciousness takes absolute priority over cultus and caritas, over Eucharistic worship and the embodied Christian discipleship in its concrete historical and socio-cultural contexts. As Placuit Deo reminds the bishops of the Catholic Church and with them all the faithful appropriately at this moment in the life of the Church, neo-Pelagianism and neo-Gnosticism are profoundly erroneous answers to the very question, the very mystery, that human persons are to themselves. Placuit Deo states: Man perceives himself, directly or indirectly, as a mystery: “Who am I? I exist, and yet do not have the principle of my existence within myself.” Every person, in his or her own way, searches for happiness and attempts to obtain it by making recourse to the resources one has available. However, this universal aspiration is not necessarily expressed or declared; rather, it is often more secret and hidden than it may appear, and is ready to reveal itself in the face of particular crises. Often it coincides with a hope for physical health; sometimes it takes the form of worrying about greater economic well-being; it expresses itself widely as the need for interior peace and for a peaceful coexistence with one’s neighbour. On the other hand, while the question of salvation presents itself as dedicated toward a higher good, it also maintains the character of endurance and of overcoming pain. Together with the struggle to attain the good comes the fight to ward off evil: ignorance and error, fragility The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 139 and weakness, sickness and death. (PD 5; my emphasis) What Placuit Deo condenses into one lucid paragraph, Aquinas elaborates in great depth in questions 1–5 of Summa theologiae [ST] I-II.5 All humans are wayfarers (viatores) on the road to some lasting happiness. Yet the happiness attainable in this life is, even at the very best, a transitory and fragile and hence inherently imperfect happiness. Perfect and everlasting happiness—beatitude—can only be achieved in the participated eternity in the vision of the Triune God and necessarily presupposes salvation—the justification and the deification of humans6—such that they can enter into beatitude. The way to and the way of beatitude is the One who says about himself “I am the way” ( John 14:6; see PD §11). At this very point Placuit Deo makes reference to an important passage from Augustine: “I am the way and the truth and the life” (Jn 14, 6). If you search for the truth, follow the way, because the way is the same as the truth. The goal you aim for and the way you must tread are the same. You cannot reach your goal following another way, for you cannot reach Christ through another way. You can reach Christ only through Christ. In what sense do you come to Christ through Christ? You reach Christ the God through Christ the man. Through the Word made flesh, you reach the Word that was in the beginning God with God. (PD §11)7 For a more extensive treatment of Aquinas’s profound and complex treatment of this central philosophical and theological problematic, see my Bound for Beatitude: A Thomistic Study in Eschatology and Ethics (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2019). 6 As Placuit Deo states: “The Christian faith has illustrated, throughout its centuries-long history, by means of multiple figures, this salvific work of the Son incarnate. It has done so without ever separating the healing dimension of salvation, by which Christ redeems us from sin, from the elevating dimension, by which he makes us sons and daughters of God, participants in his divine nature (cf. 2 Pt 1:4)” (§9). For a recent study of this motif at the heart of Aquinas’s soteriology, see Daria Spezzano, The Glory of God’s Grace: Deification According to St. Thomas Aquinas (Ave Maria, FL: Sapientia Press, 2015). 7 Augustine, Tractatus in Ioannem 13.4: “Ego sum via, veritas et vita ( Joan. 14, 6). Si veritatem quaeris, viam tene: nam ipsa est via quae est veritas. Ipsa est quo is, ipsa est qua is: non per aliud is ad aliud, non per aliud venis ad Christum: per Christum ad Christum venis. Quomodo per Christum ad Christum? Per Christum hominem ad Christum Deum: per Verbum carnem factum ad Verbum quod in principio erat Deus apud Deum” (Corpus Christianorum: Series Latinae, 36:132). 5 140 Reinhard Hütter One may read Aquinas’s teaching in his Commentary on the Gospel of John 14:6 not only as an exposition of Saint John, but also as a commentary on Augustine’s above reflections on this text: Then when he says, “Jesus said to him, I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” the question is answered. Our Lord was to answer about two things: first, about the way and its destination; secondly, about their knowledge of both (v. 7). He does two things about the first: first, he states what the way is; secondly, he gives its destination (v. 6b). The way, as has been said, is Christ himself; so he says, “I am the way.” This is indeed true, for it is through him that we have access to the Father, as stated in Romans (5:2). This answer could also settle the uncertainty of the faltering disciple. Because this way is not separated from its destination but united to it, he adds, “and the truth, and the life.” So Christ is at once both the way and the destination. He is the way by reason of his human nature, and the destination because of his divinity. Therefore, as human, he says, “I am the way”; as God, he adds, “and the truth, and the life.” These last two appropriately indicate the destination of the way. For the destination of this way is the end of human desire. Now human beings especially desire two things: first, a knowledge of the truth, and this is characteristic of them; secondly, that they continue to exist, and this is common to all things. In fact, Christ is the way to arrive at the knowledge of the truth, while still being the truth itself. . . . This is the reason why Christ referred to himself as the way, united to its destination: because he is the destination, containing in himself whatever can be desired, that is, existing truth and life.8 Aquinas, Super Ioan 14, lec 2. “Consequenter cum dicit dicit eis Iesus: ego sum via, veritas et vita, ponitur quaesitorum manifestatio. Duo autem dominus manifestanda proposuerat eis. Primo quidem viam et terminum eius; secundo quod utrumque scirent. Primo ergo manifestat primum; secundo secundum, ibi si cognovissetis me, et patrem meum utique cognovissetis. Circa primum duo facit. Primo manifestat quid sit via; secundo quid sit terminus, ibi nemo venit ad patrem nisi per me. Via autem, ut dictum est, est ipse Christus: et ideo dicit ego sum via et cetera. Quod quidem satis habet rationem: nam per ipsum accessum habemus ad patrem, ut dicitur Rom. V, 2. Competit etiam proposito quo intendit declarare dubitationem discipuli dubitantis. Sed quia ista via non est distans a termino, sed coniuncta, addit veritas et vita; et sic ipse simul est via, et terminus. Via quidem secundum humanitatem, terminus secundum divinitatem. Sic ergo secundum quod homo, dicit ego sum via; secundum quod Deus, addit veritas et vita. Per quae duo terminus huius viae convenienter designatur. Nam terminus huius viae finis est desiderii 8 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 141 Perfect human beatitude consists in unitive, that is unmediated, knowledge of the First Truth and the loving attainment of and union with the Supreme Good and everlasting existence. In virtue of his divine nature, the Incarnate Logos is the First Truth and the Sovereign Good in the single undivided act of eternal existence. He is truth and life in undiminished perfection. The human soul of the complete human nature that the second person of the Blessed Trinity assumes in the Incarnation fully is united, due to the grace of the hypostatic union, through its higher faculties, the intellect and will, with the First Truth and the Sovereign Good. The human soul of Christ is from the moment of the Incarnation on in the beatific vision. And through the instrumentality of the human nature the Son of God assumed as Incarnate Logos, Jesus Christ, the God-man in his very theandric constitution is the way to the Father. It is in the friendship of charity, the graced union of wills, through the sacraments of Baptism and Eucharistic communion, and in the imitation of Christ’s way of life that union with Christ’s human nature, and by way of it, also the union of charity with the whole Blessed Trinity is attained. This is the fundamentally Johannine logic of Aquinas’s soteriology—at the center of which stands his theology of the Cross.9 humani, homo autem duo praecipue desiderat: primo quidem veritatis cognitionem, quae est sibi propria; secundo sui esse continuationem, quod est commune omnibus rebus. Christus autem est via perveniendi ad veritatis cognitionem, cum tamen ipse sit veritas. … Sic ergo Christus seipsum designavit viam, et coniunctam termino: quia ipse est terminus habens in se quidquid desiderari potest, scilicet existens veritas et vita” (Marietti nos. 1867–69). 9 For a pellucid presentation of Aquinas’s theology of Christian satisfaction across the full spread of the Angelic Doctor’s biblical commentaries and theological works, see Romanus Cessario, O.P., The Godly Image: Christian Satisfaction in Aquinas, 2nd ed. (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2020). For a comprehensive defense and exposition of Aquinas’s Christology in critical dialogue with contemporary Catholic and Protestant Christologies, see Thomas Joseph White, O.P., The Incarnate Lord: A Thomistic Study in Christology (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2015), and for a systematic re-reading of Aquinas’s Christology in its Trinitarian constitution, see Dominic Legge, O.P., The Trinitarian Christology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017). For an astute theological defense of the beatific vision in the human soul of Christ, see Simon Francis Gaine, O.P., Did the Saviour See the Father? Christ, Salvation and the Vision of God (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2015). For a lucid account of Aquinas on the hypostatic union, see Joseph Wawrykow, “Hypostatic Union,” in The Theology of Thomas Aquinas, ed. Rik Van Niewenhove and Joseph Wawrykow (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005), 222–51, and for the metaphysical presuppositions and implications of Aquinas’s account of the hypostatic union, see Michael Gorman, Aquinas on 142 Reinhard Hütter The Original Order of Charity and Its Loss While most central to the Christian message of salvation, the doctrine of original sin is at the same time notoriously misunderstood and misrepresented.10 Contemporary neo-Pelagianism would flat-out deny the very reality of original sin and would dismiss the doctrine as a remnant of the dark ages of superstition and error, while contemporary neo-Gnosticism would affirm original sin but would mistakenly take it to denote a primordial ontological and moral devastation of the whole created order in consequence of the angelic fall, and a subsequent fundamental corruption of human nature, its faculties, and dispositions such that all human actions fall under the alienation of mortal sin with the consequence that all moral acts are fundamentally ambiguous. Neo-Pelagianism’s Enlightenment optimism and neo-Gnosticism’s Jansenist pessimism both miss the mark of the authentic doctrine of original sin. According to its authentic doctrine, as Aquinas defends it, original sin is a correlate to original righteousness, and both are essential entailments of a sound theology of salvation rooted in the witness of the Holy Scriptures and the theology of the Fathers. It has its root and center in the Pauline Adam–Christ typology (Rom. 5:12–21) that profoundly informed the theology of salvation of Irenaeus of Lyon, Origen, Augustine, Cyril of Alexandria—and especially by way of Augustine’s reception in Scholastic theology, also Aquinas. In its essence, “original sin” denotes simply the state of loss of an original gift, a loss that is the collective result of a free moral act in the state of original righteousness. Salvation in Christ, according to Aquinas, means first and foremost the restoration and surpassing perfection—through the Incarnate Lord’s Passion, death, and resurrection—of the original righteousness and the union of charity with God, now elevated by the very perfection of charity that includes the overcoming of sin and death in the surpassing act of the Son’s surpassing sacrifice in charity on the Cross to the Father. the Metaphysics of the Hypostatic Union (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017). 10 For still one of the most lucid and profound treatments of the doctrine of original sin ad mentem S. Thomae that has been published in the twentieth century, see Gustav Siewerth’s opuscule, Die christliche Erbsündenlehre entwickelt auf Grund der Theologie des Heiligen Thomas von Aquin (Einsiedeln: Johannesverlag, 1964). For the most extensive recent commentary on Aquinas’s treatise on sin in general and original sin in particular, see Thomas Aquinas, Die Sünde (Summa theologiea I-II, QQ. 71–89), with commentary by Otto Hermann Pesch, ed. Dominikanerprovinz Teutonia Cologne, Die deutsche Thomas Ausgabe 12 (Vienna: Styria, 2004). The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 143 Pertaining to the original state of humanity, Aquinas argues that from the first instance on humanity was created in an original graced union of charity with God characterized by friendship with God and the love of God above all things. The human intellect, will, and all the emotions were rightly ordered to God, the First Truth and Sovereign Good, thus constituting an original righteousness worthy of and inclined toward to the supernatural end to which God had ordered original humanity from the moment of its creation, the attainment of surpassing beatitude in the unitive deification of the beatific vision. The sin of the first parents issues in the loss of the original righteousness and graced union with God. Aquinas characterizes the state of this absence, that is original sin, as an aversio of the will from God and a destitutio of original righteousness, that is, essentially the absence of what was gratuitously given to human nature in the beginning, an absence that results in the de facto inability to love God above all things, to apprehend God’s surpassing holiness, glory, and praiseworthiness, and to pursue the supernatural end to which humanity was originally ordained and equipped—deification, that is, the everlasting union of intellect and will with God in vision and charity. Furthermore, this absence of original righteousness and graced union of charity with God has the characteristic of sin (peccatum) and guilt (culpa) because it consists in the free loss of a good (the original communion with God) that is entailed in divine love: original righteousness and original friendship with God are properties of the image of divine love realized gratuitously in the rational creature from the beginning, an image of God’s goodness— hence the participation in God’s goodness in the union of charity—and worthy of God’s holiness—hence original righteousness. Because original sin is the effect neither of a fated unavoidable event that befell the first parents nor of an unfortunate minor accident reflective of the immaturity and youth of the original couple but rather is the result of a free morally responsible act undertaken by the first parents in the intellective lucidity and volitional rectitude of original righteousness. The interior aversio of the human will from God and its consequent weakening characteristic of original sin Aquinas characterizes as a culpa, while everything befalling the will from the exterior as something contrarious, opposing, and frustrating has, according to Aquinas, the character of poena. Culpa and poena are essential aspects of original sin as a collective moral condition of humanity that characterizes the condition of human freedom and the human faculties as bereft of original righteousness and sanctifying grace, that is, bereft of the gratuitous elevation of human nature into the union of friendship with God that is a due to the created original image of divine love. Absent original righteousness, the powers of the human soul are left 144 Reinhard Hütter destitute of their proper original order whereby they are naturally directed to virtue. “Destitution” and “dissolution” denote a weakening that occurs when a rational creature created in a graced original relation to God finds itself bereft of this relation and the concomitant original order of its powers of mind and heart in disarray resulting in a diminished disposition to the good and a weakened resistance toward evil. Aquinas characterizes this dissolution of the proper original order of intellect, will, and the sense appetites characteristic of original sin as a fourfold wounding of human nature: As a result of original justice, the reason had perfect hold over the lower parts of the soul, while reason itself was perfected by God, and was subject to Him. Now this same original justice was forfeited through the sin of our first parent, … so that all the powers of the soul are left, as it were, destitute of their proper order, whereby they are naturally directed to virtue; which destitution is called a wounding of nature. Again, there are four of the soul’s powers that can be subject of virtue, . . . viz. the reason, where prudence resides, the will, where justice is, the irascible, the subject of fortitude, and the concupiscible, the subject of temperance. Therefore in so far as the reason is deprived of its order to the true, there is the wound of ignorance; in so far as the will is deprived of its order to the good, there is the wound of malice; in so far as the irascible is deprived of its order to the arduous, there is the wound of weakness; and in so far as the concupiscible is deprived of its order to the delectable, moderated by reason, there is the wound of concupiscence. (ST I-II, q. 85, a. 3) Actual sins are not simply unavoidable consequences of original sin; rather, they arise through the interaction of reason and will from the free will.11 See ST I-II, q. 75, a. 2: “We may distinguish a twofold internal cause of human acts, one remote, the other proximate. The proximate internal cause of the human act is the reason and will, in respect of which man has a free-will; while the remote cause is the apprehension of the sensitive part, and also the sensitive appetite. For just as it is due to the judgment of reason, that the will is moved to something in accord with reason, so it is due to an apprehension of the senses that the sensitive appetite is inclined to something; which inclination sometimes influences the will and reason . . . . Accordingly a double interior cause of sin may be assigned; one proximate, on the part of the reason and will; and the other remote, on the part of the imagination or sensitive appetite. But since . . . the cause of sin is some apparent good as motive, yet lacking the due motive, viz. the rule of reason or the Divine law, this motive which is an apparent good, appertains to the apprehension of the 11 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 145 And so, importantly, Aquinas argues: “Since the inclination to the good of virtue is diminished in each individual on account of actual sin, . . . these four wounds are also the result of other sins, insofar as, through sin, the reason is obscured, especially in practical matters, the will hardened to evil, good actions become more difficult and concupiscence more impetuous.”12 The original weakening of powers of the soul is characteristic of original sin; yet any de facto increase of their weakening is the result of actual sins. Besides contributing its respective increase of the four wounds of senses and to the appetite; while the lack of the due rule appertains to the reason, whose nature it is to consider this rule; and the completeness of the voluntary sinful act appertains to the will, so that the act of the will, given the conditions we have just mentioned, is already a sin” (“Per se causam peccati oportet accipere ex parte ipsius actus. Actus autem humani potest accipi causa interior et mediata, et immediata. Immediata quidem causa humani actus est ratio et voluntas, secundum quam homo est liber arbitrio. Causa autem remota est apprehensio sensitivae partis, et etiam appetitus sensitivus, sicut enim ex iudicio rationis voluntas movetur ad aliquid secundum rationem, ita etiam ex apprehensione sensus appetitus sensitivus in aliquid inclinatur. Quae quidem inclinatio interdum trahit voluntatem et rationem, sicut infra patebit. Sic igitur duplex causa peccati interior potest assignari, una proxima, ex parte rationis et voluntatis; alia vero remota, ex parte imaginationis vel appetitus sensitivi. Sed quia supra dictum est quod causa peccati est aliquod bonum apparens motivum cum defectu debiti motivi, scilicet regulae rationis vel legis divinae; ipsum motivum quod est apparens bonum, pertinet ad apprehensionem sensus et appetitum. Ipsa autem absentia debitae regulae pertinet ad rationem, quae nata est huiusmodi regulam considerare. Sed ipsa perfectio voluntarii actus peccati pertinet ad voluntatem, ita quod ipse voluntatis actus, praemissis suppositis, iam est quoddam peccatum”) (my emphasis). See also De Malo, q. 6. 12 ST I-II, q. 85, a. 3: “Per iustitiam originalem perfecte ratio continebat inferiores animae vires, et ipsa ratio a Deo perficiebatur ei subiecta. Haec autem originalis iustitia subtracta est per peccatum primi parentis, sicut iam dictum est. Et ideo omnes vires animae remanent quodammodo destitutae proprio ordine, quo naturaliter ordinantur ad virtutem, et ipsa destitutio vulneratio naturae dicitur. Sunt autem quatuor potentiae animae quae possunt esse subiecta virtutum, ut supra dictum est, scilicet ratio, in qua est prudentia; voluntas, in qua est iustitia; irascibilis, in qua est fortitudo; concupiscibilis, in qua est temperantia. Inquantum ergo ratio destituitur suo ordine ad verum, est vulnus ignorantiae; inquantum vero voluntas destituitur ordine ad bonum, est vulnus malitiae; inquantum vero irascibilis destituitur suo ordine ad arduum, est vulnus infirmitatis; inquantum vero concupiscentia destituitur ordine ad delectabile moderatum ratione, est vulnus concupiscentiae. Sic igitur ita quatuor sunt vulnera inflicta toti humanae naturae ex peccato primi parentis. Sed quia inclinatio ad bonum virtutis in unoquoque diminuitur per peccatum actuale, ut ex dictis patet, et ista sunt quatuor vulnera ex aliis peccatis consequentia, inquantum scilicet per peccatum et ratio hebetatur, praecipue in agendis; et voluntas induratur ad bonum; et maior difficultas bene agendi accrescit; et concupiscentia magis exardescit.” 146 Reinhard Hütter human nature, every sinful act leaves two things, a stain on the sinner’s soul (macula peccati) and the sinner’s guilt that makes the sinner liable to punishment (reatus poenae). First, the stain on the sinner’s soul. Aquinas argues that the human rational soul (intellectus; mens)—incorporeal and therefore subsistent, immediately produced by God13—has a twofold original splendor (nitor): one from the natural light of reason whereby humans are directed to their actions; the other from the illumination of the divine light, that is, the wisdom and grace whereby humans are perfected in order to do good and fitting actions. The rational soul has one fundamental characteristic that is central to all further considerations. It is a property of its spiritual nature: “When the soul cleaves to things by love, there is a kind of contact in the soul” (ST I-II, q. 86, a. 1). Consequently, when humans sin, they cleave to certain things contrary to the light of reason and contrary to the divine law. The loss of the splendor of the human soul is occasioned by such contact, which “is metaphorically called a stain on the soul.” Aquinas holds that “the stain of sin remains in the soul even when the act of sin is past.” For the stain “denotes a blemish in the brightness of the soul, on account of its withdrawing from the light of reason or of the divine law” (ST I-II, q. 86, a. 2). This stain of sin remains as long as the human remains out of this light, that is, until the human repents and returns to the light of reason and the divine law. Unless such a repentance and return occurs, the human rational soul continuous to be affected by the retained habitus of its aversio from reason and the divine law and precisely this retained habitus constitutes the stain of sin (macula peccati). The second thing each actual sin leaves after the act, is the sinner’s liability for punishment (reatus poenae) (De malo, q. 2, a. 2, ad 14). Significantly, Aquinas interprets this liability for punishment as a debt of punishment (debitum poenae).14 The sinner stands in the position of debtor in relationship to divine justice. What is actually due to the sinner under the order of divine justice is punishment—even if this punishment might not occur or be elevated into a different order. Whatever God decrees from all eternity in response to actual human sin—be it the sin of the first parent or all subsequent actual sins arising from human freedom—takes into account For a lucid recent exposition and defense of Aquinas’s position on this crucial teaching, see Adam Wood, Thomas Aquinas on the Immateriality of the Human Intellect (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2020). 14 Sent. IV, d. 21, q. 1, a. 3, qc. 2: “Ad secundam quaestionem dicendum, quod quicumque est debitor alicujus, per hoc a debito absolvitur quod debitum solvit; et quia reatus nihil est aliud quam debitum poenae; per hoc quod aliquis poenam sustinet quam debebat, a reatu absolvitur.” 13 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 147 the sinner’s position of debtor in relationship to divine justice.15 Actual sin, the free act of the rational creature, being either the absence of a due act in reference to God (a sin of omission) or an act contrary to what is due to God (a sin of commission), disturbs the universal order of divine governance. Actual sin introduces the reality of moral evil into the per se good order of creation and divine governance. And because God delights in the order of divine justice, the effect of a divine perfection, punishment is due as the payment that balances out the equality of justice. To simply disregard the order of divine justice, or cancel it, from God’s side would entail the divine dismissal of an effect of divine perfection, justice—an act of divine injustice that would contradict divine wisdom and is therefore impossible. The restoration of the order of divine justice, and with it also the restoration of the balance of the equality of justice, is an entailment of the perfection of divine justice, and therefore God delights in it, for God delights in everything that is good and perfect and that is nothing but the infinite goodness and perfection of God’s own essence and of all the perfections identical with the divine essence. Hence, the debt of punishment is an immediate and unavoidable consequence of the violation of the order of divine justice. And what God has decreed to remove the debt of punishment is satisfaction. Aquinas, importantly, observes that satisfaction is not the only way to address the debt of punishment, but rather is the most fitting way assigned by God to re-establish union of charity with God by way of removing the debt of punishment. Thus the order of divine justice is not negated but rather elevated into the order of divine charity. Sin is not only remitted, but rather the sinner restored to the original union of charity with God. Aquinas argues thus: The order of divine justice could have been accommodated differently by God than by way of removing the debt of punishment by way of satisfaction. If God had somehow willed to liberate humans from sin without satisfaction, God could have done so without acting against justice. In the tertia pars of the Summa theologiae, where Aquinas considers Christ’s Passion, he formulates this argument in a crisply condensed form. He states: A judge, while preserving justice, cannot pardon fault without penalty, if he must visit fault committed against another. . . . But God has no one higher than Himself, for He is the sovereign and Consequently, the Fathers of the English Dominican Province, in their translation of the Summa theologiae, render the liability for punishment (reatus poenae) itself as “debt of punishment,” a felicitous decision I will make my own in the following. 15 148 Reinhard Hütter common good of the whole universe. Consequently, if [God] forgive sin, which has the formality of fault in that it is committed against Himself, [God] wrongs no one: just as anyone else, overlooking a personal trespass, without satisfaction, acts mercifully and not unjustly.16 Note well, according to Aquinas, God is both merciful and just; mercy is as much a divine perfection as is justice; and in the absolute simplicity of the divine essence, mercy and justice are one.17 It is perfectly justifiable for a judge to practice mercy without injury to justice by forgiving the sin committed against him. Yet such mere forgiveness, as attractive as it might seem at first sight, Aquinas argues, does not free the human soul from the stain of sin, nor restore it to the order of divine charity. Yet the substitutionary satisfaction of Christ’s Passion and death on the Cross, as eternally decreed by God, does precisely that—while respecting the order of divine justice, it insures first and foremost the healing of the human soul and its restoration to the original union of charity with God. What motivates Aquinas’s argument from fittingness (convenientia) is, of course, the central datum of revelation that forms the very heart of the New Testament message, namely that Christ “by His Passion made satisfaction for the sin of the human race” (ST III, q. 46, a. 1, ad 3, echoing 1 John 2:2). ST III, q. 46, a. 2, ad 3: “Alioquin, si voluisset absque omni satisfactione hominem a peccato liberare, contra iustitiam non fecisset. Ille enim iudex non potest, salva iustitia, culpam sive poenam dimittere, qui habet punire culpam in alium commissam, puta vel in alium hominem, vel in totam rempublicam, sive in superiorem principem. Sed Deus non habet aliquem superiorem, sed ipse est supremum et commune bonum totius universi. Et ideo, si dimittat peccatum, quod habet rationem culpae ex eo quod contra ipsum committitur, nulli facit iniuriam, sicut quicumque homo remittit offensam in se commissam absque satisfactione, misericorditer, et non iniuste agit.” 17 Cf. ST I, q. 3, and ST I, q. 21, esp. a. 4, “Whether in Every Work of God There Are Mercy and Justice?” In the response to the first objection, Aquinas anticipates in a nutshell the way he conceives divine mercy and justice to be one in God, but to be ordered in God’s works by way of love such that justice is always grounded in mercy: “In the justification of the ungodly, justice is seen, when God remits sins on account of love, though He Himself has mercifully infused that love.” For a more detailed interpretation of the relationship of divine mercy and divine justice in the divine economy, see my essay “Human Sexuality in a Fallen World: An Economy of Mercy and Grace,” in San Tommaso, il matrimonio e la famiglia, ed. SergeThomas Bonino and Guido Mazzotta (Doctor Communis: Pontificia Academia Sancti Thomae Aquinatis; Atti XVI Sessione Plenaria) (Vatican City: Urbaniana University Press, 2019), 71–98. 16 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 149 In order to understand why satisfaction is most suitable (convenientissimum), one must appreciate, Aquinas argues, how the stain of sin (macula peccati) on the human soul is removed. It is evident, Aquinas holds, “that the stain of sin cannot be removed from the soul, without the soul being united to God” (ST I-II, q. 87, a. 6). For, after all, it was through being separated from God that the soul suffered the loss of its splendor. Aquinas conceives of the removal of the stain of sin and the attainment of union with God thus: First and foremost, the will is the faculty of the human soul by way of which the human is united to God in via. And therefore the stain of sin can be removed only if the will accepts the order of divine justice. Accepting the order of divine justice is the first and fundamental step of the removal of the stain of sin on the rational soul because this acceptance is identical with the re-ordering of the reason and the will to the divine law. A restoration to the original union of charity with God is impossible without the antecedent restoration of the sinner’s reason and will to the order of divine justice. Accepting the order of divine justice means for Aquinas one of two things: either humans on their own accord take upon themselves the punishment of past sins, or they bear patiently the punishment God inflicts on them. In both ways, Aquinas says, “punishment avails for satisfaction . . . and although satisfactory punishment, absolutely speaking is against the will, nevertheless in this particular case and for this particular purpose, it is voluntary” (ST I-II, q. 87, a. 6). Already in his doctrine of sin we encounter the central principle that governs Aquinas’s soteriology: Because a satisfactory punishment is in some way voluntary, it is transferable under one specific condition—to be one in will by the union of charity. Aquinas states: “Since those who differ as to the debt of punishment, may be one in will by the union of love, it happens that one who has not sinned, bears willingly the punishment for another: thus even in human affairs we see [people] take the debts of another upon themselves” (my emphasis). And so “one may bear another’s punishment, in so far as they are, in some way, one” (ST I-II, q. 87, a. 8). With this central principle Aquinas announces the key theme that later in the tertia pars of the Summa theologiae unites the sacraments with Christ’s Passion: “Christ bore a satisfactory punishment, not for His, but for our sins” (ST I-II, q. 87, a. 7, ad 3; my emphasis). Reflecting the overarching role he accords to charity from the state of original righteousness in friendship with God in the beginning to the surpassing perfection of charity in the beatific vision, Aquinas advances the argument from fittingness that a voluntary satisfaction in charity actually be most suitable (convenientissimum) for healing the soul from the stain of sin and for restoring it to the union of charity with God. In 150 Reinhard Hütter the state of original righteousness, because of the gift of sanctifying grace, humans adhered to God by charity.18 Original sin destroyed this adherence by charity to humanity’s final end, union with God. So what is at stake in satisfactory punishment is twofold: (1) satisfaction restores the order of charity by way of a substitutionary satisfaction accepted voluntarily in charity for the person wronged and for the wrongdoer; (2) substitutionary satisfaction presupposes a union of charity between the wrongdoer and the person who makes satisfaction.19 Remember, Aquinas holds that “when a soul cleaves to things by love, there is a kind of contact in the soul” (ST I-II, q. 86, a. 1). If the wrongdoer loves the person who makes satisfaction for him or her, there is a kind of contact in the soul of the wrongdoer with this person.20 And if this person is a divine person, there is a kind of contact in the soul of the wrongdoer with God. Christ is this divine person who in his human nature is priest and victim in one, who offered in his Passion and death voluntarily a substitutionary satisfaction for all human sin, and more importantly, in a supreme act of unitive charity with God the Father. Christ’s satisfaction for human sin in charity both to the Father and to the wrongdoer allows for, invites, and, by way of sanctifying grace, brings about a restoration of charity through which the human adheres again to his or her See ST I-II, q. 87, a. 3: “Now in every order there is a principle whereby one takes part in that order. Consequently if a sin destroys the principle of the order whereby [the human being’s] will is subject to God, the disorder will be such as to be considered in itself, irreparable, although it is possible to repair it by the power of God. Now the principle of this order is the last end, to which [the human] adheres by charity.” 19 Eleonore Stump put this crucial point—easily missed or misunderstood in Aquinas’s theology—in a felicitously succinct way: “Because, on Aquinas’s view, the point of making satisfaction is to return the wrongdoer’s will to conformity with the will of the person wronged, rather than to inflict retributive punishment on the wrongdoer or to placate the person wronged, it is possible for the satisfaction to be made by a substitute, provided that the wrongdoer allies himself with the substitute in willing to undo as far as possible the damage he has done. So Aquinas thinks that one person can make satisfaction for another only to the extent to which they are united, or that one person can atone for another insofar as they are one in charity” (Aquinas [New York: Routledge, 2003], 435). For a constructive development of Aquinas’s fundamental insight into a comprehensive systematic theology of atonement, see Eleonore Stump, Atonement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). 20 See ST I-II, q. 86, a. 1, ad 2: “The act of the will consists in a movement towards things themselves, so that love attaches the soul to the thing loved. Thus it is that the soul is stained, when it cleaves inordinately” (“actus voluntatis consistit in motu ad ipsas res, ita quod amor conglutinat animam rei amatae. Et ex hoc anima maculatur, quando inordinate inhaeret”). 18 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 151 final end, union with God. And adhering to God through charity inchoately attaches the soul to God such that the soul’s splendor is restored. Thus humans become again what they were created for in the beginning—to be in virtue of their union in charity with God imitators and thereby living images of God.21 It is apposite at this point to consider in greater detail Aquinas’s Christology, especially his understanding of Christ as priest and Christ as victim, Christ who bore in his Passion and death a satisfactory punishment for all human sin, a punishment borne voluntarily, and more importantly, as a supreme act of charity, which restores all humanity to the supreme divine order of charity. For it is in his Christology, especially his focus on Christ the priest and Christ the victim, where Aquinas spells out in detail what Placuit Deo adumbrates in broad strokes: Considering the salvific perspective in a descending manner, that is, beginning with God who comes to redeem humanity, Jesus is the illuminator and revealer, the redeemer and liberator, the One who divinizes and justifies the human person. According to an ascending vision, that is, beginning with the human person turning towards God, Christ is the High Priest of the New Covenant, offering perfect worship to the Father, in the name of all humanity: He sacrifices Himself, expiates sins, and remains forever alive to intercede on our behalf. In this manner, an incredible synergy between divine and human action appears in the life of Jesus, a synergy that shows how baseless the individualist perspective is. The descending perspective bears witness to the absolute primacy of the gratuitous acts of God; humility is essential to respond to his salvific love and is required to receive the gifts of God, prior to all of our works. At the same time, the ascending perspective recalls that, by means of the fully human action of his Son, the Father wanted to renew our actions, so that, conformed to Christ, we are able to fulfil “the good works that God has prepared in advance, that we should live in them” (Eph 2:10). (PD §9) See Daria Spezzano, “‘Be Imitators of God’ (Eph. 5:1): Aquinas on Charity and Satisfaction,” Nova et Vetera (English) 15, no. 2 (2017): 615–51. By now it will have become patent that Aquinas’s soteriology implicitly receives and transforms the Anselmian satisfaction theory. For a lucid discussion of this matter, see Rik Van Nieuwenhove, “’Bearing the Marks of Christ’s Passion:’ Aquinas’s Soteriology,” in The Theology of Thomas Aquinas, ed. Rik Van Niewenhove and Joseph Wawrykow (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005), 277–302. 21 152 Reinhard Hütter The Restoration of Humanity to the Order of Charity: Christ’s Priesthood and Passion on the Cross At the outset of his consideration of Christ’s priesthood, Aquinas enumerates three reasons why humans are required to offer sacrifice—“sacrifice” meaning, most broadly, everything that is offered to God in order to raise the human spirit to God: “First, for the remission of sin, by which [the human] is turned away from God. . . . Secondly, that [the human] may be preserved in a state of grace, by ever adhering to God, wherein his peace and salvation consist. . . . Thirdly, that the [human] spirit . . . be perfectly united to God: which will be most perfectly realized in glory.”22 Now, precisely these effects were conferred on us by the humanity of Christ: first, the blotting out of our sins (Rom 4:25), second, the reception of the grace of salvation (Heb 5:9), and third, acquiring the perfection of glory (Heb 10:19). And therefore Aquinas concludes, “Christ Himself, as [human], was not only priest, but also a perfect victim, being at the same time victim for sin, victim for a peace-offering, and a holocaust” (ST III, q. 22, a. 2). And so Christ’s priesthood expiates human sin, and this in two respects. For two things are required for the perfect cleansing from sins. They correspond to the two things sin comprises—namely, the stain of sin (macula peccati) and the debt of punishment (reatus poenae) (ST III, q. 22, a. 3). The debt of punishment is entirely removed by the satisfaction that Christ offers for all humanity to God the Father. The stain of sin is blot ST III, q. 22, a. 2: “Sicut dicit Augustinus, in X de Civ. Dei, omne sacrificium visibile invisibilis sacrificii est sacramentum, idest sacrum signum. Est autem invisibile sacrificium quo homo spiritum suum offert Deo, secundum illud Psalmi; sacrificium Deo spiritus contribulatus. Et ideo omne illud quod Deo exhibetur ad hoc quod spiritus hominis feratur in Deum, potest dici sacrificium. Indiget igitur homo sacrificio propter tria. Uno quidem modo, ad remissionem peccati, per quod a Deo avertitur. Et ideo dicit apostolus, Heb. V, quod ad sacerdotem pertinet ut offerat dona et sacrificia pro peccatis. Secundo, ut homo in statu gratiae conservetur, semper Deo inhaerens, in quo eius pax et salus consistit. Unde et in veteri lege immolabatur hostia pacifica pro offerentium salute, ut habetur Levit. III. Tertio, ad hoc quod spiritus hominis perfecte Deo uniatur, quod maxime erit in gloria. Unde et in veteri lege offerebatur holocaustum, quasi totum incensum, ut dicitur Levit. I. Haec autem per humanitatem Christi nobis provenerunt. Nam primo quidem, nostra peccata deleta sunt, secundum illud Rom. IV, traditus est propter delicta nostra. Secundo, gratiam nos salvantem per ipsum accepimus, secundum illud Heb. V, factus est omnibus obtemperantibus sibi causa salutis aeternae. Tertio, per ipsum perfectionem gloriae adepti sumus, secundum illud Heb. X, habemus fiduciam per sanguinem eius in introitum sanctorum, scilicet in gloriam caelestem. Et ideo ipse Christus, inquantum homo, non solum fuit sacerdos, sed etiam hostia perfecta, simul existens hostia pro peccato, et hostia pacificorum, et holocaustum.” 22 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 153 ted out by sanctifying grace, the principle of the divine life in the human being which the sinner receives through Baptism23 and which after its loss through mortal sin can subsequently be restored through the sacrament of Penance (ST III, q. 89, a. 1). For by grace the sinner’s heart is turned to God. Now, remember Aquinas’s principle: “When the soul cleaves to things by love, there is a kind of contact in the soul” (ST I-II, q. 86, a. 1). Since charity is an infused theological virtue, the originating principle of which is sanctifying grace, by charity the soul cleaves again to God—with whom there is therefore a kind of union of charity in the soul, which is the soul’s splendor. Aquinas argues that the priesthood of Christ produces both these effects.24 Three points are crucial. First, Christ’s satisfaction comports fully with divine mercy and divine justice: That [the human] should be delivered by Christ’s Passion was in keeping with both His mercy and His justice. With His justice, because by His Passion Christ made satisfaction for the sin of the human race; and so man was set free by Christ’s justice: and with His mercy, for since man of himself could not satisfy for the sin of all human nature, . . . God gave him His Son to satisfy for him. . . . And this came of more copious mercy than if He had forgiven sins without satisfaction. Hence it is said (Eph 2:4): “God, who is rich in mercy, for His exceeding charity wherewith He loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together in Christ.”25 ST III, q. 69, a. 4. Aquinas expresses the effect of Baptism most beautifully in his brief response to the question “Whether the Effect of Baptism Is to Open the Gates of the Heavenly Kingdom?” (ST III, q. 69, a. 7): “To open the gates of the heavenly kingdom is to remove the obstacle that prevents one from entering therein. Now this obstacle is guilt and the debt of punishment. But it has been shown above . . . that all guilt and also all debt of punishment are taken away by Baptism. It follows, therefore, that the effect of Baptism is to open the gates of the heavenly kingdom” (“Aperire ianuam regni caelestis est amovere impedimentum quo aliquis impeditur regnum caeleste intrare. Hoc autem impedimentum est culpa et reatus poenae. Ostensum est autem supra quod per Baptismum totaliter omnis culpa et etiam omnis reatus poenae tollitur. Unde consequens est quod effectus Baptismi sit apertio regni caelestis.”) 24 ST III, q. 22, a. 3: “For by its virtue grace is given to us, by which our hearts are turned to God. . . . Moreover, He satisfied for us fully, inasmuch as ‘He hath borne our infirmities and carried our sorrows’ (Is 53:4).” 25 ST III, q. 46, a. 1, ad 3: “Hominem liberari per passionem Christi, conveniens fuit et misericordiae et iustitiae eius. Iustitiae quidem, quia per passionem suam Christus satisfecit pro peccato humani generis, et ita homo per iustitiam Christi liberatus est. Misericordiae vero, quia, cum homo per se satisfacere non posset 23 154 Reinhard Hütter Second, Christ’s satisfaction allows for a human participation, if the human being is united with Christ in charity: Christ’s Passion is applied to us even through faith, that we may share in its fruits, according to Rom 3:25: “Whom God hath proposed to be a propitiation, through faith in His blood.” But the faith through which we are cleansed from sin is not lifeless faith, which can exist even with sin, but faith living through charity; that thus Christ’s Passion may be applied to us, not only as to our minds, but also as to our hearts. And even in this way sins are forgiven through the power of the Passion of Christ.26 Third, Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross restores humanity to the order of charity: “Christ’s Passion was the offering of a sacrifice, inasmuch as He endured death of His own free-will out of charity.”27 Satisfaction pertains to the debt of punishment, which refers to justice. Sacrifice, by way of which satisfaction is made, pertains to the restoration of the inchoate union between soul and God, which refers to charity. A sacrifice in perfect charity can make satisfaction precisely because in satisfaction the affection and devotion of the offerer is what is measured. And Christ’s human affection and devotion, because of the hypostatic union with the divine nature, were absolutely perfect. It is here that Aquinas’s understanding of Christ’s human nature as the instrument of his divinity comes into full play. He had inherited this theologoumenon from patristic theology.28 Christ’s sacrifice was pro peccato totius humanae naturae, ut supra habitum est, Deus ei satisfactorem dedit filium suum, secundum illud Rom. III, iustificati gratis per gratiam ipsius, per redemptionem quae est in Christo Iesu, quem proposuit Deus propitiatorem per fidem ipsius. Et hoc fuit abundantioris misericordiae quam si peccata absque satisfactione dimisisset. Unde dicitur Ephes. II, Deus, qui dives est in misericordia, propter nimiam caritatem qua dilexit nos, cum essemus mortui peccatis, convivificavit nos in Christo” (my emphasis). 26 ST III, q. 49, a. 1, ad 5: “Etiam per fidem applicatur nobis passio Christi ad percipiendum fructum ipsius, secundum illud Rom. III, quem proposuit Deus propitiatorem per fidem in sanguine eius. Fides autem per quam a peccato mundamur, non est fides informis, quae potest esse etiam cum peccato, sed est fides formata per caritatem, ut sic passio Christi nobis applicetur non solum quantum ad intellectum, sed etiam quantum ad affectum. Et per hunc etiam modum peccata dimittuntur ex virtute passionis Christi.” 27 ST III, q. 47, a. 4, ad 2: “Passio Christi fuit sacrificii oblatio inquantum Christus propria voluntate mortem sustinuit ex caritate” (my emphasis). 28 For this crucial aspect of Aquinas’s Christology, see Theophil Tschipke, O.P., Die Menschheit Christi als Heilsorgan der Gottheit unter besonderer Berücksichtigung The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 155 most efficacious for blotting out sins, because Christ’s human nature—as an instrumental cause—operated by virtue of the divine.29 How does one continue to remain united with this sacrifice out of charity through which Christ made a perfect satisfaction for the sins of all humanity? When considering Christ the priest and Christ the victim, Aquinas anticipates the answer to this question by pointing to the Eucharistic sacrifice: “The Sacrifice which is offered every day in the Church is not distinct from that which Christ Himself offered, but is a commemoration thereof.” He cites from Augustine’s De civitate Dei (10.20): “Christ Himself both is the priest who offers it and the victim: the sacred token of which He wished to be the daily Sacrifice of the Church.”30 Being Restored to the Union of Charity with God by Participation in Christ’s Sacrifice out of Charity Aquinas is very clear that there is only one explicitly revealed way to secure the effects of Christ’s Passion.31 One must be configured to Christ, der Lehre des heiligen Thomas von Aquin (Freiburg: Herder, 1940). Cf. the more recent French translation: L’humanité du Christ comme instrument de salut de la divinité (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2003). 29 ST III, q. 22, a. 3, ad 1. In order to support this understanding, Aquinas appeals to a famous passage from Augustine’s De Trinitate (4.14), a passage frequently cited by medieval theologians: “Four things are to be observed in every sacrifice—to whom it is offered, by whom it is offered, what is offered, for whom it is offered; the same one true Mediator reconciling us to God by the sacrifice of peace, was one with Him to Whom it was offered, united in Himself those for whom He offered it, at the same time offered it Himself, and was Himself that which He offered.” (“Licet Christus non fuerit sacerdos secundum quod Deus, sed secundum quod homo, unus tamen et idem fuit sacerdos et Deus. Unde in synodo Ephesina legitur, si quis pontificem nostrum et apostolum fieri dicit non ipsum ex Deo verbum, sed quasi alterum praeter ipsum specialiter hominem ex muliere, anathema sit. Et ideo, inquantum eius humanitas operabatur in virtute divinitatis, illud sacrificium erat efficacissimum ad delenda peccata. Propter quod Augustinus dicit, in IV de Trin., ut, quoniam quatuor considerantur in omni sacrificio, cui offeratur, a quo offeratur, quid offeratur, pro quibus offeratur; idem ipse unus verusque mediator, per sacrificium pacis reconcilians nos Deo, unum cum illo maneret cui offerebat, unum in se faceret pro quibus offerebat, unus ipse esset qui offerebat, et quod offerebat.”) 30 ST III, q. 22, a. 3, ad 2: “Sacrificium autem quod quotidie in Ecclesia offertur, non est aliud a sacrificio quod ipse Christus obtulit, sed eius commemoratio. Unde Augustinus dicit, in X de Civ. Dei, sacerdos ipse Christus offerens, ipse et oblatio, cuius rei sacramentum quotidianum esse voluit Ecclesiae sacrificium.” 31 It would go beyond the scope of this article to discuss Aquinas’s profound and still eminently pertinent theory of conceiving of the sacraments as instrumental causes. The theory of sacramental causality that he advances in the Summa theologiae is intimately connected with his account of the instrumentality of Christ’s 156 Reinhard Hütter and this occurs sacramentally in Baptism. Aquinas appeals to Romans 6:4: “For we are buried together with Him by baptism into death.” It is for this reason that at Baptism, no punishment of satisfaction is imposed upon the candidates, because they are fully delivered by Christ’s satisfaction. It is an altogether different matter, however, after Baptism. Aquinas states: “But because, as it is written (1 Pt 3:18), ‘Christ died but once for our sins,’ therefore [one] cannot a second time be likened unto Christ’s death by the sacrament of Baptism. Hence it is necessary that those who sin after Baptism be likened unto Christ suffering [configurentur Christo patienti] by some form of punishment or suffering which they endure in their own person” (ST III, q. 49, a. 3, ad 2). The undergoing of penance and, if necessary, purgatory is the requisite punishment of satisfaction for post-baptismal sins. The superior end of penance and purgatory, however, is not simply satisfaction but rather purification, the removal of those obstacles—the wounds of sin—that hinder the attainment of the ultimate end, our everlasting participation in divine beatitude. Aquinas regards Baptism as an objective incorporation into the Passion and death of Christ and consequently the communication of Christ’s Passion to every baptized person “so that he is healed just as if he himself had suffered and died” (ST III, q. 69, a. 2). And because Christ’s Passion is a sufficient satisfaction for all the sins of all human beings, the baptized person is consequently “freed from the debt of all punishment due to him for his sins, just as if he himself had offered sufficient satisfaction for all his sins” (ST III, q. 69, a. 2). Hence Baptism is the sacrament that accounts for the first consequence of sin, the debt of punishment. At this point it is apposite to turn to what is even more important, and what, according to Aquinas, is the true end of Christ’s Passion. Remember that he argues that the stain of sin on the soul can be removed only by the soul’s re-attachment to God in charity. For, after all, it was through being separated from God that the soul suffered the loss of its splendor. Aquinas thinks this re-attachment of the soul comes about by way of the will. For it sacred humanity that is operative in the sacraments. As an instrument joined to the instrumentality of the sacraments, Christ’s sacred humanity moves the graced person united to him towards perfection and finally to the surpassing participation in divine happiness, beatitude. The instrumentality of the sacraments contributes efficaciously to this end by renewing and deepening the graced person in the divine friendship of charity. For an instructive and penetrating account of the instrumental causality of the sacraments in Aquinas and the Thomist tradition, see Reginald M. Lynch, O.P., The Cleansing of the Heart: The Sacraments as Instrumental Causes in the Thomist Tradition (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2017). The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 157 is through the act of the will that the human soul adheres to God: “When the soul cleaves to things by love, there is a kind of contact in the soul” (ST I-II, q. 86, a. 1). And charity is exercised by the faculty of the will. So when the soul cleaves to God by charity, there is a contact in the soul, the soul is re-attached to God in charity—and that is nothing but the incipient union of the soul with God in charity.32 It is at this point that the surpassing significance of the Eucharist in its distinction from yet immediate correlation to Baptism becomes patent, for it is the Eucharist that strengthens and deepens the incipient union of the soul with God in charity. Aquinas states: Baptism is the sacrament of Christ’s death and Passion, according as [one] is born anew in Christ in virtue of His Passion; but the Eucharist is the sacrament of Christ’s Passion according as [one] is made perfect in union with Christ Who suffered. Hence, as Baptism is called the sacrament of Faith, which is the foundation of the spiritual life, so the Eucharist is termed the sacrament of Charity, which is “the bond of perfection” (Col 3:4).33 The key word here is charity, which, according to Colossians 3:4, is the bond of perfection. Unlike Baptism, which “is directly ordained for the remission of punishment and guilt” (ST III, q. 79, a. 5, ad 1), the Eucharist is given for those baptized into Christ’s death to be nourished and perfected through Christ. As is well known, Aquinas considers the Eucharist in two respects, as sacrament under the aspect of communion and as sacrifice under the aspect of offering. Considered as a sacrament, the Eucharist has a strengthening and perfecting power. According to the intensity of the bond of charity between Christ and the faithful as they devoutly receive Christ’s sacred Body and Blood, they grow in charity, and consequently they participate This incipient union of the soul with God in charity is the beginning of the mystical life to which every baptized Christian is called. See on this topic, indispensable for Christian existence in the twenty-first century, the important work by John G. Arintero, O.P., The Mystical Evolution in the Development and Vitality of the Church, 2 vols., trans. Jordan Aumann, O.P. (St. Louis: Herder, 1949). 33 ST III, q. 73, a. 3, ad 3: “Baptismus est sacramentum mortis et passionis Christi prout homo regeneratur in Christo virtute passionis eius. Sed Eucharistia est sacramentum passionis Christi prout homo perficitur in unione ad Christum passum. Unde, sicut Baptismus dicitur sacramentum fidei, quae est fundamentum spiritualis vitae; ita Eucharistia dicitur sacramentum caritatis, quae est vinculum perfectionis, ut dicitur Coloss. III.” 32 158 Reinhard Hütter with ever-growing devotion in the Eucharistic sacrifice by uniting in charity their own spiritual self-offering with Christ’s sacrifice to the Father. Considered as a sacrifice under the aspect of offering, the Eucharist has a satisfactory power pertaining to post-baptismal sins. If one were to consider only the quantity of what is being offered—the sacred Body and Blood of Christ of the one sacrifice on Calvary—this offering suffices to satisfy for all punishment. Yet crucially, Aquinas argues that in satisfaction, the affection and the devotion—in short, the effects of charity—of the offerer or the one for whom it is offered are weighed and not the quantity of the offering. Hence, Aquinas concludes, “although this offering suffices of its own quantity to satisfy for all punishment, yet it becomes satisfactory for them for whom it is offered, or even for the offerers, according to the measure of their devotion, and not for the whole punishment” (ST III, q. 79, a. 5). The measure of affection and devotion is the measure of the union of charity between the offerer or the one for whom it is offered and Christ. For it is by this charity that he is united with Christ’s sacrifice. Hence the unity in distinction of sacrifice and sacrament integrates the demand of justice into an ever-intensifying circle of union in charity with God. This is the sacramental pillar of the restored arc of the order of charity. The other pillar of the restored arc of the order of charity is the human participation by way of mercy, which is an effect of charity. Alms deeds stand out most crucially here because they integrate the demands of justice and satisfaction into the encompassing circle of the sacrifice in charity. For ultimately, both pillars denote offerings out of charity, that is, sacrifices “offered to God in order to raise the human spirit to God in charity” and thus restore the union in charity with God.34 This second pillar of the restored order of charity is emphasized strongly in Placuit Deo: “The salvific economy is also opposed to trends that propose a merely interior salvation. Gnosticism, indeed, associates itself with a negative view of the created order, which is understood as a limitation on the absolute freedom of the human spirit. Consequently, salvation is understood as freedom from the body and from the concrete relationships in which a person lives. In as much as we are saved ‘by means of offering the body of Jesus Christ’ (Heb 10:10; cf. Col 1:22), true salvation, contrary to being a liberation from the body, also includes its sanctification (cf. Rom 12:1). The human body was shaped by God, who inscribed within it a language that invites the human person to recognize the gifts of the Creator and to live in communion with one’s brothers and sisters. The Savior re-established and renewed this original language by his Incarnation and his paschal mystery and communicated it in the economy of the sacraments. Thanks to the sacraments, Christians are able to live faithful to the flesh of Christ and, as a result, in fidelity to the kind of relationships that he gave us. This type of relationality particularly calls for the care of all suffering humanity through the spiritual and corporal works of mercy” (PD §14; my emphasis). 34 The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 159 Some, however, might want to ask whether alms should be understood at all as acts of charity rather than exclusively as acts of justice. For Daniel 4:24 (according to the Vulgate) says after all: “Peccata tua elemosynis redime” (“Redeem your sins with alms”). And satisfaction is an act of justice. Aquinas responds to this objection, as usual, with a distinction. Almsgiving is reckoned among the works of satisfaction and hence as an act of justice insofar as the pity for the one in distress is directed to the satisfaction for one’s own sin. But insofar as almsgiving is directed to please God, it has the character of a sacrifice. And an act of mercy united with Christ in charity, that is, done for God’s sake, has the character of a sacrifice (ST II-II, q. 32, a. 1, ad 2 and 3). Aquinas defines almsgiving as “a deed whereby something is given to the needy, out of compassion and for God’s sake.” An alms deed is motivated by mercy and, since mercy is an effect of charity, alms deeds are acts of charity through the medium of mercy. Aquinas is adamant about this aspect of alms deeds. Whereas almsgiving can be materially without charity, to give alms “formally,” that is, genuinely for God’s sake with delight and readiness, is possible only with charity (ST II-II, q. 32, a. 1, ad 1). Aquinas usefully draws upon a traditional distinction of alms deeds and regards them as suitably reflecting the various needs of our neighbor. Seven bodily alms deeds correspond to the needs of the body: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing the naked, harboring the harborless, visiting the sick, ransoming the captive, and giving burial to the dead. Seven spiritual alms deeds correspond to the needs of the soul: prayer, instruction, counseling, comforting, reproving, pardoning the injury, and bearing one another’s burdens (ST II-II, q. 32, a. 2). What makes the discussion of alms in Aquinas’s theology so instructive is that, in his way of thinking, alms deeds follow the logic of sacrifice and satisfaction that already characterized the sacramental pillar of the restored arc of charity: the demands of justice—satisfaction—are integrated in the overarching dynamic of the sacrifice in charity. The human response of satisfaction to the demands of justice, paying the debt of punishment, is elevated to a participation in the sacrifice in charity. Instead of some sentimental super-added ornamentation of a nominal Christian way of life otherwise untroubled by charity, alms deeds are according to Aquinas—not merely in respect to their materiality but rather in respect to their formality—an integral and indispensable element of charity, the life of friendship with the Blessed Trinity. Participation in and increasing conformity to the caritas that when taken personally is the proper name of the Holy Spirit (ST I, q. 37, a. 1) has its proper expression for wayfarers in via ad patriam in alms deeds. They are nothing less than the heartbeat 160 Reinhard Hütter of the wayfarer’s caritas. To have a part in Christ’s sacrifice in charity is to live a life of sacrifice in charity—by way of participation in the Eucharistic sacrifice as well as by way of spiritual and corporal alms deeds. Enabled by sanctifying grace, informed by the theological virtues of faith, hope, and charity, and actualized by acts of mercy commanded by charity the wayfarer becomes a true image of the eternal caritas of the Blessed Trinity. Conclusion The one single bond that in Aquinas’s theological synthesis holds together the debt of punishment consequent upon sin, substitutionary satisfaction, Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross, and our participation in that sacrifice through Baptism, Eucharist, and alms deeds is the one bond of perfection, which is charity. Christ’s Passion on the Cross, the surpassing act of charity, liberates humanity from the estrangement and corruption of sin, restores humanity to God, and reestablishes the primordial order of charity, the friendship with God. The debt of punishment on account of sin is not simply cancelled through Christ’s expiation for the sins of the whole world. Rather, the debt of punishment becomes, in and through Christ’s substitutionary sacrifice in charity, the occasion for the sinner to be restored to the order of charity, a restoration in which the sinner’s participation is indispensable, indeed, crucial. Differently put, the debt of punishment—an indispensable entailment of divine justice—is transformed by the order of divine charity into an instrument that restores sinners to the union of charity with God, re-configures them efficaciously to the supernatural ultimate end, the beatific vision, and thereby constitutes them as wayfarers (viatores) of charity in via ad patriam. According to Aquinas, the wisdom of the Cross is the wisdom of divine charity—to extract the poison of sin through the economy of charity, whose principal effect is mercy, in short, the overcoming of the malice of sin by love and the restoration of the union of charity with God. Aquinas’s theology of the Cross is able to integrate the legitimate concern behind neo-Pelagianism—the unique character of Christ’s Cross issuing in a new way of life—and behind neo-Gnosticism—Christ’s Cross pointing to and disclosing the radical transcendence of the abyss of divine love. Yet at the same time, Aquinas argues—implicitly contra neo-Pelagianism—that Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross is not the terminus but rather the telos of all sacrifice, its perfection and at that the only truly efficacious sacrifice eph’ hapax, re-establishing through union of charity with the crucified Christ a new life in the union of charity with God— not as the substitute of sacrifice, but rather as its surpassing fruit. Contra neo-Gnosticism, Aquinas argues implicitly that Christ’s Cross is the way (via) to the Father and that this way leads to the heavenly patria by way The Wisdom of the Cross is the Wisdom of Charity 161 of God’s creation in the extant order of God’s providence through the sacramental body of the Incarnate and Risen Lord and through the viator’s own embodied moral rectitude and life of charity and mercy in spiritual and corporal alms deeds in one’s familial, social, cultural, and political contexts. Augustine famously stated: “God created us without us, but he did not save us without us.”35 Active participation in Christ’s sacrifice in charity is the way God chose most fittingly to restore the original union of charity with God and thus for sinners to become viatores and for viatores to become comprehensores—on the very way that is Christ himself and thus through becoming united in charity with Christ’s Passion and death on the Cross in a life that in via is shaped by spiritual and corporal works of mercy.36 Thus in his theology of the Cross—“sapientia crucis est sapientia caritatis”—Aquinas offers a still fecund and pertinent, albeit implicit, response to neo-Pelagian and neo-Gnostic distortions of Christian salvation identified in the letter Placuit Deo and maintains the fullness of the vision that Placuit Deo affirms: Total salvation of the body and of the soul is the final destiny to which God calls all of humanity. Founded in faith, sustained by hope, and working in charity, with the example of Mary, Mother of the Savior and first among the saved, we are certain that “our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body by the power that enables him also to bring all things into subjection to himself” (Phil 3:20–21). (PD §15) N&V This citation is found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church §1847, referring to Augustine, Sermon 169, no. 11 (PL, 38:923). The exact quote from Augustine’s sermon differs though a bit from the rendition offered in the Catechism of the Catholic Church: “Eris opus Dei, non solum quia homo es, sed etiam quia iustus es. Melius est enim iustum esse, quam te hominem esse. Si hominem te fecit Deus, et iustum tu te facis; melius aliquid facis quam fecit Deus. Sed sine te fecit te Deus. Non enim adhibuisti aliquem consensum, ut te faceret Deus. Quomodo consentiebas qui non eras? Qui ergo fecit te sine te, non te iustificat sine te. Ergo fecit nescientem, iustificat volentem” (my emphasis). 36 In greatly abbreviated catechetical form, Placuit Deo states the matter thus in §11: “Jesus gave us a ‘new and living way that he inaugurated for us through his flesh’ (Heb 10:20). Therefore, Christ is Savior in as much as he assumed the entirety of our humanity and lived a fully human life in communion with his Father and with others. Salvation, then, consists in incorporating ourselves into his life, receiving his Spirit (cf. 1 Jn 4:13). He became, ‘in a particular way, the origin of all grace according to his humanity.’ He is at the same time Savior and Salvation.” 35 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 163–189 163 Places and Times: Searching for a Theological Topica Richard Schenk, O.P. University of Freiburg Freiburg, Germany The phrases “signs of the times” and loci theologici are oft-cited head- ings for two intersecting themes in theological research that continue to provide an interpretative matrix and in their combination something of a sensus communis for perceiving many of the recently resurgent controversies in the Church of our day. The following reflections will attempt to show some commonalities and intersections between these two sites of theological discourse, including the need to situate both within a larger theological discussion. The first phrase has been a central and frequently used topos for the program of Catholic reform and updating, which not only achieved instant popularity but then also matured during the Second Vatican Council, thanks to some key ecumenical lessons, some of which meanwhile seem to have been largely forgotten. The phrase gained its initial currency especially with the publication of the vernacular versions of Pacem in Terris by Pope John XXIII between the first two sessions of the Second Vatican Council.1 It was assigned significant weight in the commission work on what would become Gaudium et Spes [GS] and especially in the drafts discussed in 1964. Even in today’s Italian version of the encyclical on the official Vatican website, the expression Segni dei tempi occurs eight times, introducing the sections beginning with §§21, 45, 67, and 75 and in footnote 1, with its citation of the first Italian version from 1963, where the phrase is used to articulate four of the major sections of the text. The seemingly secondary, Latin version posted on the same site lacks the corresponding terms (e.g., signa temporum) in the body of the encyclical text, but quotes Segni dei tempi in the Italian citation included in note 1. All citations from magisterial documents are taken from the Vatican website unless otherwise stated. All translations from others sources are original to the present author unless otherwise stated. 1 164 Richard Schenk, O.P. The “signs of the times” took on nuance and complexity in the final year of the Council, due in no small part to the influential interventions of Lukas Vischer, official observer from the World Council of Churches.2 At least since his critical letter of April 18, 1963, to those responsible for the commission on the laity, Vischer’s voice was welcome in particular for the development of what was still called schema XVII, soon schema XIII, and finally Gaudium et Spes.3 Particularly influential for the topic under discussion here was Vischer’s memorandum from October 1964, with reference directly to the amended “Zurich draft” (February 1964) of what was developing into Gaudium et Spes.4 Though less than six pages in length, Vischer’s widely distributed memorandum warned convincingly against viewing “the signs of the times” in an overly optimistic, even romantic, exaggeration of the beneficent divine dynamic immanent in cultural trends. Vischer’s alternative sense of the complexity and ambivalence of the signs of the times led already during the Council to that more qualified use of the term found in Gaudium et Spes §4 and to greater attention to the structures of sin frequently present in the signs of the times and their readings, anticipating the impressive Latin American reception of the theme in the first years following the Council.5 Although Vischer did not cite it as an argument, his sense of the biblical meaning of the task of scrutinizing the signs of at best ambivalent times corresponded more closely to the Zeitgefühl of a century marked spiritually by its two world The text of Lukas Vischer’s memorandum, entitled “Signa temporum,” was widely disseminated and can be found today among others in the Archives du Conseil Oecuménique des Églises, Geneva, 5.17. It will be cited here from Bishop Marco McGrath’s copy, preserved by University of Notre Dame Archives: Marcos McGrath Papers, Box 1, Folder 3, University of Notre Dame Archives, Indiana, USA (CMCG 1/03, UNDA). We will return to Vischer’s temporal semiotics after a consideration of loci-theology. The author wishes to thank the archivists at the University of Notre Dame for their hospitality and assistance. 3 See Charles Moeller, “Pastorale Konstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von heute: Einleitung,” in Das Zweite Vatikanische Konzil. Konstitutionen, Dekrete, Erklärungen. Kommentare Teil III, ed. Herbert Vorgrimler et al., Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche 14 (Freiburg: Herder 1968), 251–60. 4 See Norbert Tanner, “Kirche in der Welt: Ecclesia ad extra,” in Geschichte des Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzils, vol. 4, Die Kirche als Gemeinschaft, September 1964 – September 1965 (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters 2006): 317–18. 5 See Richard Schenk, “Officium signa temporum perscrutandi: New Encounters of Gospel and Culture in the Context of the New Evangelisation,” in Scrutinizing the Signs of the Times in Light of the Gospel, ed. Johan Verstraeten, Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 208 (Leuven, Belgium: Peeters 2007), 167–203. 2 Places and Times 165 wars and by much of what had occurred in their shadows. The excessive optimism of the myth that Vischer criticized as unbiblical would soon be out of date again, even in the wider cultural world of our times. Contrary to initial plans, the “signs of the times” were no longer read in GS, nor later by CELAM (Consejo Episcopal Latinoamericano [Latin American Episcopal Council]), merely as expressions of God’s good favor. The dialectic surrounding the signa temporum found a parallel in the reception of the second phrase, loci theologici, refigured in light of the attention paid in theological circles to the rediscovery of the importance of “place” in the cultural sciences. The significance of geographical and metaphorical place, as opposed to the notion of mere space, would eventually provide a new lens of “local” intentionality by which to look with greater nuance and precision than before at the debates on temporal semiotics focused on the theological significance of human history and cultural transformation.6 The following reflections will deal chiefly with recent developments of local or loci-theology. The intersection of these two fields of theological reflection on times and places became a major theme in the post-conciliar refiguration of Melchior Cano’s writings on the authoritative “places” or sources of theology, most especially the last of the loci that Cano himself had identified, the one that he predicted would be key to future theological work: the humanae auctoritas historiae.7 Notably, in German-language theology since the Council, two alternative attempts to develop Cano’s loci-theology emerged on the localization of theological sources, the authoritative place of human history in theology, and more specifically how these considerations might help the Church to fulfill the task identified in Gaudium et Spes as “the duty of scrutinizing the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel” (GS §4). While the distance between the two lines of development in local or loci-theologies might be narrowing in some of See above all Hans-Joachim Sander, “Theologischer Kommentar zur Pastoralkonstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von heute Gaudium et spes,” in Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzil, vol. 4, ed. Peter Hünermann and Bernd Jochen Hilberath (Freiburg: Herder 2005), 581–886. 7 In the following, the Latin text of Melchior Cano, De locis theologicis, will be cited according to the electronic version prepared and made available by Juan Belda Plans: scribd.com/doc/36459123/Melchor-Cano-De-locis-theologicis-latin. Belda Plans used his informal Latin edition as the basis for his Spanish translation of Cano’s magnum opus, adding an introduction, an apparatus of sources, and footnotes: Melchior Cano, De locis theologicis, ed. prepared for Juan Belda Plans (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos, 2006). The most obvious mistakes of the scanning program have been corrected here without further record. 6 166 Richard Schenk, O.P. the most recent theoretical discourse among leading specialists, the better known differences regarding place and time seem to remain paradigmatic for the current state of more broadly discussed controversies in much of German-language theology and ecclesiastical polity.8 Rival Retrievals of Theological Locality With characteristic parrhesia,9 Michel Foucault, whose work would become especially important to one of the directions in loci-theology, began a radio talk in 1966, “Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias,” with the bold claim: “The great obsession of the nineteenth century was, as we know, history. . . . The present epoch will perhaps be above all the epoch of space.”10 Foucault did not shy away from characterizing his own fascina See on the web page of the German Bishops Conference (DBK) the representative remark by its deputy president, Franz-Josef Bode, bishop of Osnabrück: “What is needed is a prophetically critical and at the same time positive, appreciative, and challenging perception of today’s realities. For the ‘listening heart,’ the one listening namely to the reality of human beings in their joys and hopes, their sorrows and anxieties (see GS §1), this reality will be come, perhaps not a source of revelation or faith, but a voice of God, expressing his will in the signs of the times, which can lead us to deeper theological insights” (katholisch.de/aktuelles/ aktuelle-artikel/absage-an-eine-alles-oder-nichts-moral). 9 See Joseph Pearson’s edition of the final English-language lectures that Foucault held in Berkeley in 1983. Michel Foucault, Fearless Speech (Los Angeles: Semiotext[e] 2001). Corrected by Foucault, they have also been made more accessible to German readers by Mira Köller’s translation as Diskurs und Wahrheit: Die Problematisierung der Parrhesia (Berlin: Merve, 1996). The characteristic dismissal of the New Testament sense of parrhesia in comparison to pre-Christian antiquity need not preclude a theological appreciation of Foucault’s analysis. 10 See the trans. by Jay Miskowiec, web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/foucault1.pdf. Michel Foucault, “Des espaces autres” (1967), in a redaction somewhat more prosaic than the initial radio talks. The text was included in the posthumous collection Dits et Écrits, 4 vols. (Paris: Gallimard, 1994), vol 4, no. 36, and translated into German by Michael Bischoff, in Schriften in vier Bänden: Dits et Ecrits, vol. 4, ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp 2005), 931–42, and reproduced in an influential collection of pioneering texts on theories of place, Raumtheorie: Grundlagentexte aus Philosophie und Kulturwissenschaften, ed. Jörg Dünne and Stephan Günzel (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2006), 317–29. The text of the earlier radio broadcast was translated for Foucault, Die Heterotopien, Der utopische Körper: Zwei Radiovorträge (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 2014), 7–22, 37–52. In an afterword, “Raum zum Hören” (67–92), Defert describes in detail the broadcasts, their transcription in the periodical, Architecture /Mouvement/ Continuité (October, 1984), and the minor redactions for Dits et Écrits. The explicit concept of “heterotopia,” which does not find the extensive discussion in Foucault’s works that its theological reception would suggest, 8 Places and Times 167 tion with cultural space as obsessive. He articulated the progression of the images of space dominant in successive historical epochs as a shift from (1) the medieval predominance of “emplacement,” where different beings had in advance their proper places, through (2) the sense of abstract and pluripotent “extension” in early modernity, to (3) today’s preoccupation with “sites” as constructed, neighboring places viewed in their qualitative difference from other such places. “Today the site has been substituted for extension which itself had replaced emplacement.”11 Shortly before his death in 1984 Foucualt recalled with critical irony the widespread rivalry that some twenty years earlier had played off one party against another in competition for the primacy of time or place before its counterpart.12 Without a doubt, however, the greater recent attention to the theological significance of place has qualified the kind of meaning sought in the signs of the times. The rival post-conciliar refigurations of Cano’s loci theologici confirm Foucault’s sense of site, at least inasmuch as they situate opposite sides for reading and reworking Cano’s topics, with different weights ascribed to what Cano called the loci proprii and/or the loci alieni of theology. Neither line of recent development is concerned with a rehabilitation of Cano’s personal, ecclesiastical, or political polemics, which have become ever more documented in recent research.13 Both of these newer directions see appeared several months prior to the radio broadcast in the preface to The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (1966). In the context of a reference to Jorge Luis Borges, Foucault contrasts the all-too stabilizing effect of utopia with the unsettling dynamic proceeding from heterotopia. The recent reception of Foucault’s brief references to heterotopia by local theologies is interested chiefly in this latter dynamic, e.g., Christian Bauer, Ortswechsel der Theologie. M.-Dominique Chenu im Kontext seiner Programmschrift Une école de théologie: La Saulchoir (Berlin: LIT, 2010). Other, more programmatic concerns of Foucault, notably the power dynamics hidden behind the academic management of scientific concerns, implicitly including the internal dynamics of theological faculties, have yet to receive comparable theological attention. This omission has not been advantageous for a frank and accurate analysis of the places of safety and risk within the academic professions of our times. 11 Michel Foucault, “Von anderen Räumen,” in Dünne and Günzel, Raumtheorie, 318. 12 Foucault, Die Heterotopien, 88. 13 See Ulrich Horst, “Die ‘Loci Theologici’ Melchior Canos und sein Gutachten zum ‘Catechismo christiano’ Bartolomé Carranzas,” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 36, no. 1/2 (1989): 47–92, and Boris Hogenmüller, “Cano und Carranza: Studien zur Authentizität von Melchior Canos Gutachten zu den ‘Comentarios al Catechismo christiano’ (1558) des Bartolomé Carranza,” Theologie und Philosophie 87 (2012): 18–24. 168 Richard Schenk, O.P. unrealized potential in an expanded and refigured consideration of the metaphorical use of topos. The kinds of authority associated with the loci proprii of theology have been understood by both lines of interpretation as distinctive witnesses to the faith (Bernhard Körner: Bezeugungsinstanzen), taken by diverse authors on both sides of the debate as corresponding to “extrinsic” or non-experiential sources of the faith of believers.14 Were the loci proprii the only sources of faith, the danger of extrinsecism would be difficult to avoid. For Cano himself, the loci proprii include (1) Scripture, (2) the oral Tradition of Christ and the Apostles, (3) the wider Church, (4) the Councils, (5) the Roman Church or Apostolic See, (6) the saints of the early Church, and (7) Scholastic theology and canonistic thought. Though, as Cano argues, the “authority” of these “authorities” differs from text to text and is often initially elusive (e.g., due to apparent conflicts between scriptural texts) but eventually accessible for each locus, these seven loci or topoi share with one another the direct intention to express the faith. In newer and thoroughly plausible interpretations, this list of topoi has been extended. The loci proprii enumerated by Cano himself have been broadened to include liturgy, ecumenism (pace Cano), and the spirituality expressed in the literary work of more recent believers, saintly in act or merely in potency. All are seen as distinct and irreducible dimensions of the loci proprii.15 Of a different genre, not initially or intentionally expressive of faith, are the three classes of loci alieni that Cano also identified for legitimate theological argumentation and, at least implicitly, for faith itself: (8) natural reason, taken latissime to include neighboring academic disciplines or sciences, augmented (9) by the work of philosophers or what since Hegel we have called the history of philosophy, and finally (10) by the work For a notable exception, see Bernhard Körner, Orte des Glaubens–loci theologici: Studien zur theologischen Erkenntnislehre (Würzburg: Echter 2014), esp. 249–54. 15 For the line of interpretation consistent in its maintaining the differentiation and also the unity-in-tension of loci proprii and loci alieni, see: Bernhard Körner, Melchior Cano, De locis theologicis: Ein Beitrag zur theologischen Erkenntnislehre (Graz: Styria 1994); Körner, “Welche Rolle spielen die loci theologici in der Fundamentaltheologie?,” in Wozu Fundamentaltheologie?, ed. Josef Meyer zu Schochtern and Roman Siebenrock (Paderborn: Schöningh 2010), 15–37; Körner, Orte des Glaubens. Körner develops here an interpretation first articulated by Max Seckler, “Die ekklesiologische Bedeutung des Systems der ‘loci theologici’: Erkenntnistheoretische Katholizität und strukturale Weisheit,” in Weisheit Gottes—Weisheit der Welt: Festschrift für J. Ratzinger zum 60. Geburtstag, vol. 1, ed. Walter Baier et al. (St. Ottilien: EOS, 1987), 37–65, included the following year in Max Seckler, Die schiefen Wände des Lehrhauses. Katholizität als Herausforderung (Freiburg: Herder, 1988), 79–104. 14 Places and Times 169 of historians. These three topoi, all positions of direct or indirect experience—potentially, if not actually, one’s own experience—by which or within which faith can be tested, affirmed, interrupted or revised (Körner: Bewährungsinstanzen). They are more “extrinsic”16 to the intentions of faith, but they are more intrinsic to the subjective experiential world of the believer. Were the loci alieni the only sources for speaking of the faith, the danger of “immanentism” would be difficult to avoid. Though not at first intended as expressions of faith, they are necessary for any adequate theological explication of what the faith is about. Though alieni in origin and character, they have become genuine loci theologici. Two movements in recent local theology can be distinguished by the “direction” of their interest in the two genera of loci. In German-language theology, the two most prominent, in good part rival attempts at a contemporary reading and development of Cano’s work on the “places of theology” could be described as “integrative” and “alienational” interpretations. The latter direction is most prominently represented by Hans-Joachim Sander’s initial reception of Elmar Klinger’s post-conciliar renewal of interest in Cano’s ideas. Sander’s own creative development of the possibilities of “local theology” is unsurpassed in German-language theology, generating an entire vocabulary of “local” theological terminology and identifying fields for its meaningful application. The alternative, more integrative project was developed thematically by Bernhard Körner’s systematic extension of Max Seckler’s responses to the criticisms of Klinger. The more integrative reading tries programmatically to maintain and synthesize the two genera of loci (proprii and alieni) in a relation that could be represented by the two foci of an ellipse; in this, it expresses many of the features articulated by Paul Ricoeur as the tension-in-unity of the idem and the ipse identities that a flourishing self must integrate with and for others in just institutions.17 The more alienational development of Cano’s topics, while occasionally endorsing the elliptical metaphor,18 sought by means of an Cicero will use the adverbial sense of extrinsecus to qualify the accidental relation of such topoi to the matter discussed, in Topica, 2.8: “Sed ex his locis in quibus argumenta inclusa sunt, alii in eo ipso de quo agitur haerent, alii adsumuntur extrinsecus, . . . extrinsecus autem ea ducuntur quae absunt longeque disiuncta sunt” (“Among the topoi in which arguments are involved, some of these belong to the very matter under discussion, others have been assumed from without [extrinsecus], . . . where the arguments drawn from without were initially missing and unconnected”). 17 See especially the 1990 studies by Paul Ricoeur, Oneself as Another, trans. Kathleen Blamey (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 18 For his earlier work, see Hans-Joachim Sander, “Die Kirchenkonstitution Gaud- 16 170 Richard Schenk, O.P. incompatible local model of the outside (das Aussen) and the “outsider” the normative dominance of what initially were foreign and uncongenial or “alien” places, sources, standards and situations of theology.19 Interpreters of this type refer frequently to the language of “heterotopology” in Foucault’s work, though with less concern for his more programmatic critique of contemporary non-ecclesial science and society. The alienational interpretation of Cano tends far more programmatically than its alternative or Foucault himself to equate the humanae auctoritas historiae with the authority of synchronic cultural trends in specific, contemporary milieux, close in their meaning to the earlier optimistic reading of “signs of the times.” The goal of theology is seen in the alienational model less as the search for a convergence of arguments drawn from irreducibly diverse sources into a faith identity (as in Seckler’s integrative development of Cano), and more as the emphatic preservation of a central place for the theologically normative and political power of that creative dissent from and within the magisterium which is drawn from a culture that does not ium et spes: Die pastorale Ortsbestimmung kirchlicher Identität,” in Kontroversen: Worum es sich in der Seelsorge zu streiten lohnt, ed. Bernhard Spielberg and Astrid Schilling (Würzburg: Echter, 2001) 13–18, at 16; and Sander, “Fundamentaltheologie—eine Theologie der Andersorte der Theologie. Stellungnahme zu Bernhard Körner,” in zu Schochtern and Siebnrock, Wozu Fundamentaltheologie?, 39–57. 19 See the observation by Klaus Müller on Sander’s earlier confusion of the metaphors of the ellipse with a nearly exclusive excentric: “On the credit-side of our ledger on this hermeneutic, I would include in the tally the identification of ecclesial identity with the figure of an ellipse. The stress just on the attention to be given to the alien character of what is addressed here falls, however, outside this elliptical logic” (“Auf Kenntlichkeit verpflichtet. Die Replik von Klaus Müller auf Hans-Joachim Sander,” in Spielberg and Schilling, Kontroversen, 27–29, at 27). Müller’s objection could well be sustained by contrasting the emphasis on alienational locality with the elliptical metaphor, implicit in Helmuth Plessner’s notion of the excentric positionality of the organic, with Remi Brague’s reflections on the eccentric identity of “Roman” culture, or again with John Henry Newman’s remarks on the deficiencies and excesses of the assimilative power of faith in the development of doctrine. It is too soon to say where the intriguing geometrical metaphor of the “Moebius strip” in Sander’s recent work will lead, which visualizes in three dimensions the twists of historical development and some of the difficulties involved in distinguishing between inner and outer sides of the Moebius strip, or between intrinsic and extrinsic sources of theology, and between insiders and outsiders in academic and ecclesiastical circles. The image could be cited to illustrate synthetic and/or alienational models of local theology. See the first of the four volumes planned in cooperation with Gregor Maria Hoff: Hans-Joachim Sander, Glaubensräume—Topologische Dogmatik, vol. 1, Glaubensräumen nachgehen (Mainz: Grünewald, 2019). Places and Times 171 otherwise tend to identify itself as Christian.20 The alienational development of Cano stands in the service of a robust assimilation of ecclesial identity to select aspects of contemporary Western society. Given the external sources selected (without much account of how or by whom), it is de facto though not de iure a force of ecclesial self-secularization. The loci alieni, including the site described by Cano in a long and innovative chapter eleven as historia humana, are viewed here chiefly rather as expressions of our own and our times’ immediate experience, articulated by increasingly “managed” sciences (8a), select late modern and postmodern philosophers (9a, notably Foucault and Charles Sanders Peirce21) and contemporary Western European cultural trends (10a), understood positively and paradigmatically as the signa temporum22 that urge an accommodation of present-day pastoral practice to contemporary thought and custom previously outside the Christian community.23 Cano’s See the critique of Seckler’s defense of plurality as still too integrative in Elmar Klinger, “Der Dissens—ein Prinzip der Evangelisierung,” in Fides quaerens intellectum: Beiträge zur Fundamentaltheologie. Festschrift für Max Seckler, ed. Michael Kessler, Wolfhart Pannenberg, and Hermann Josef Pottmeyer (Tübingen: Franke, 1992), 210–21. A pastoral theology and praxis “criminalized” by the magisterium is said to be “possible and necessary—for dogmatic reasons” (Elmar Klinger, Mich hat an der Theologie immer das Extreme interessiert: Elmar Klinger befragt von Rainer Bucher [Würzburg: Echter, 2009], 100). 21 Though sometimes simply referenced under the shorthand of “heterotopology,” more sustained developments of aspects of Foucault’s thought have been provided by: Bauer, Ortswechsel der Theologie, 1:131–56; Ulrich Engel, “Ortswechsel. Das Kirche-Welt-Verhältnis in der Pastoralkonstitution Gaudium et spes als theologischer Interpretationsschlüssel für die Sozialenzyklika Populorum progressio,” Angelicum 84, no. 3/4 (2007): 567–87; and, with an abstinence from the themes of cultural localization uncharacteristic of his earlier or later work, Hans-Joachim Sander, “Gott im Zeichen der Macht—ein Diskurs über die Moderne hinaus,” in Gottes und des Menschen Tod? Die Theologie vor der Herausforderung Michel Foucaults, ed. Christian Bauer and Michael Hölzl (Mainz: Grünewald, 2003), 105–25. 22 See, e.g., Kuno Füssel, “Die Zeichen der Zeit als locus theologicus,” in Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 30 (1983): 259–74. 23 For the interpretative primacy of the loci alieni above all in the sense of the signa temporum, understood here consistently as genuine developments but never also as potential corruptions, together with the synchronic sense of the locus theologiae alienus of human “history,” interpreted here (unlike in Cano) largely as the normative weight of contemporary social facticity, see the extensive work of Hans-Joachim Sander, “Das Außen des Glaubens—eine Autorität der Theologie: Das Differenzprinzip in den Loci Theologici des Melchior Cano,” in Das Volk Gottes: Ein Ort der Befreiung (Festschrift Elmar Klinger), ed. Hans-Joachim Sander and Hildegard Keul (Würzburg: Echter, 1998), 240–58; Sander, “Theologischer 20 172 Richard Schenk, O.P. sense of a diachronic temporality is thus replaced here by a synchronic fixation on our own present cultural facticity viewed with minimal regard for either older traditions or the saeculum futurum. Alienational interpretations develop “local” theology with four steps that lead progressively away from Cano’s own intentions: first, “loci-theology” means here less a unityin-tension of the two genera of loci than a decisive shift of gravity towards “alien” sources and contexts, an Ortswechsel; then, among the three groups of “alien” sources, “history” is accorded more weight than natural reason or philosophical discourse; and thirdly, history is considered less in its diachronic quality than as a synonym for select regions of the cultural world of our own times, typically without an account of how one “world” is preferred over another.24 The fourth difference is the most basic. In book 11, Cano thematized the difficult but not insurmountable challenge that conflicting historical claims can pose to those who wish to utilize history in theology and other sciences.25 He brings over twenty examples of contradictory claims to facts of sacred and secular history, but he then also resolves decisively or plausibly the conflicts. Cano offers a rough account of which historians are most reliable for which fields. Where a consensus of historical judgment is Kommentar zur Pastoralkonstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von heute Gaudium et spes”; Sander, “Fundamentaltheologie.” Although the language of heterotopy and alterity is dominant throughout, the assimilation of faith to contemporary social facticity and the rejection of the kind of theocentric characterization of the loci once suggested by M. Seckler moves this position nolens volens in the direction of interiority. Sander is developing here the line of interpretation first suggested by: Elmar Klinger, Ekklesiologie der Neuzeit: Grundlegung bei Melchior Cano und Entwicklung bis zum 2. Vatikanischen Konzil (Freiburg: Herder, 1978); Klinger, “Der Dissens.” 24 See on the official website of the German Bishops Conference (synodalerweg.de/ english/) the presentation of “The Synodal Path” 2020: “Four Forums that worked until September 2019 had been set up to prepare the Synodal Path. . . . These are preparatory working papers which will be used in the deliberations of future Synodal Assemblies. The four Forums established so far, dealt with the topics of‚ Power, Participation and Separation of Powers,’ ‘Sexual morality,’ ‘Priestly form of Life,’ and Women in ministries and offices in the Church.’” The refusal of the request by several participants on the “synodal path” to follow a suggestion by Pope Francis in his letter of June 29, 2019, to add a fifth forum on the renewal of the Catholic faith in the region reflects a choice for an alienational over an integrative model of theological locality. 25 Cano begins his response in chapter 5 of book 11 to the objections against the reliability of history and historians with the remark: “It is necessary to answer the contrary objections, even when that proves difficult” (“Non est facile contrarias obiectiones excutere, sed excutiendae sunt tamen”; Belda Plans ed., 350). Places and Times 173 reached, it can be viewed by the theologian as having the same certitude as evident human reason. By this process, Cano recalls Aristotle’s sense of “topics” as a method for developing rational plausibility in fields of initial uncertainty, but he also suggests that a genuine development of his own thought would demand a similar account of how to test and navigate the conflicting claims of social and political facticity. This need for adjudication among conflicting claims characterizes the entire work. No locus of theological argumentation, from the Scriptures to human history, can be of help without a corresponding method of scrutiny and examination.26 In sharp contrast, the synthetic or integrative interpretation of loci-theology seeks more programmatically than the alienational to read the abiding plurality and differentiation of necessary sources as key to the identification of a distinctive and genuine Christian faith. The flight from this identity can lead the alienational interpretation, despite its romantic emphasis of local terminology, towards what Marc Augé has described as the “non-place” of homogeneity and assimilation.27 What ceases to come from and inhabit a particular place and situation starts to resemble all others, and loses its “place.” The shopping mall, the airport, and the fastfood outlet are examples of contemporary non-places. The assimilation of Christian existence to a common sociological facticity, like the replacement (rather than the augmentation) of genuine theology by comparative religious and cultural studies, is in the greater danger of this form of placelessness. While claiming to develop Cano’s loci into a program of alienation from a previously situated ecclesial identity in favor of a more fluid accommodation to the factical experience of the present day, local systematic-pastoral theology of this type is less sensitive than its chief philosophical authority, Foucault, to the luctus et angor needed to interpret something like the signa temporum of the wider culture. Recent criticism by Manfred Lütz, Bishop Rudolf Voderholzer (Regensburg), and others of the scientific solidity of the Mannheim-Heidelberg-Göttingen (MHG) study offered in support of the four initial fora of the “Synodal Path,” cited above, questions whether the evaluation of the conflicting claims around current history has been adequate. For the MHG study, see “Sexueller Missbrauch an Minderjährigen durch katholische Priester, Diakone und männliche Ordensangehörige im Bereich der Deutschen Bischofskonferenz” on the official internet page of the German Bishops Conference (dbk.de/fileadmin/redaktion/diverse_downloads/ dossiers_2018/MHG-Studie-gesamt.pdf ), and for the review of the document by Manfred Lütz, reprinted in Die Tagespost, February 2, 2020, die-tagespost. de/kirche-aktuell/Manfred-Luetz-Missbrauchsstudie-mangelhaft-und-kontraproduktiv;art312,192172. 27 Marc Augé, Non-Places: An Introduction to Supermodernity (New York: Verso, 2008). 26 174 Richard Schenk, O.P. To some degree the theological debate between integrative and alienational developments of Cano runs parallel to the philosophical debate between Ricoeur and Foucault.28 Despite the pathos of otherness and (in Emmanuel Levinas’s sense) of the “exteriority” that should enrich theology, the alienational development of local theology threatens to lose the capacity for difference, including that which J. B. Metz, following Ernst Bloch, once described as “productive non-contemporaneity.”29 The alienational interpretation of Cano, claiming “the” contemporary experience of cultural facticity as the privileged locus for understanding the faith, must see the worry that Cano could possibly be identified as the “father of extrinsecism” (Körner), as “simply absurd.”30 In fleeing the Scylla of extrinsecism, it is threatened by the Charybdis of an intrinsecism in the shape of a new dispositive of what Metz has described as collective amnesia and simultaneity. The opposed argumentative goals of these two interpretative developments of Cano have also made for two very different assessments of Cano’s reception of Thomas Aquinas. A well-known historian in his own right and author of systematically important investigations on the thought of Aquinas,31 Seckler had pointed to the continuity between Thomas and Cano, notably on the theocentric sense of the loci proprii and the pluralism of sources needed to attain “epistemological catholicity.” In its systematically motivated critique of Seckler, the opposite alienational interpretation portrays Cano “as separated from Thomas in essence and by an entire world.”32 Key to this difference is especially Cano’s final locus alienus, the “witness of human history.”33 Neither interpretation denies the creative development of Thomas’s thought by Cano, occasioned in good part by the Reformation and the Europeans’ conquest of the Americas. For arguments that speak for Foucault’s alternative to Ricoeur’s sense of inclusivity, Patrick Gamez, “Ricoeur and Foucault: Between Ontology and Critique,” Études Ricoeuriennes / Ricoeur Studies 4, no. 2 (2013): 90–107. 29 See Johann Baptist Metz, “Productive Noncontemporaneity,” in Observations on “The Spiritual Situation of the Age,” ed. Jürgen Habermas, trans. Andrew Buchwalter (Cambridge: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 1984), 169–77. 30 See the email correspondence of Elmar Klinger, Mich hat an der Theologie immer das Extreme interessiert, 111. 31 See: Max Seckler, Instinkt und Glaubenswille nach Thomas von Aquin (Mainz: Grünewald, 1961); Seckler, Das Heil in der Geschichte: Geschichtheologisches Denken bei Thomas von Aquin (Munich: Kösel, 1964). 32 Klinger, Ekklesiologie, 24, cited frequently by H.-J. Sander, “Fundamentaltheologie,” 41–43, esp. note 8, in his summary of the debate between Klinger and Seckler. 33 Klinger, Ekklesiologie, 24, appropriated by Sander, e.g., in “Das Außen des Glaubens,” 245. 28 Places and Times 175 Cano himself describes his self-understanding as a student of Francisco de Vitoria (†1546) and a member of nostra familia Divi Thomae in his very willingness to expand upon and correct Thomas.34 Cano claims sensibly to have learned especially from Vitoria that an older master—and Thomas Aquinas in particular—is shown the greater reverence when his students are willing to correct his errors and fill in his omissions. Following Vitoria, Cano states that genuine reverence for the Thomistic commentary tradition demands this degree of variation and innovation.35 Vitoria had shown the way by laying the foundation of what would become known as the “law of nations.” Cano shows his support for continuing along Vitoria’s lines the School of Salamanca, especially in its critique of the Spanish exploitation of the Americas even after the Disputation of Valladolid (in the autumn of 1550 and the spring of 1551), quite in opposition to the de facto direction of the state and social policy of his time. Cano had served on the jury of the debates between J. Ginés Sepúlveda and B. de la Casas in Valladolid, in which representatives of the School of Salamanca failed to dissuade but also refused to accommodate dominant state policy or the social backing for the Spanish colonization of the Americas. In book 11, Cano criticizes Juan Ginés (“Gennesius”) de Sepúlveda (†1573) for false conclusions stemming from a weakness of historical reason.36 In concluding his major work, Cano poses, but also resolves, possible objections to the cogency of continuing Thomas’s basic theological project.37 That continuation must be able to correct what was wrong or too harsh, to supply what was lacking, to integrate overlooked sources, including neglected aspects of Aristotle (like the Topica), and to simplify and clarify what the pioneers had left entangled. Theology lives not only from its great innovative geniuses, but from the work of lesser spirits who complete their discoveries. Cano identifies the lack of a sustained and systematic account of the sources of theological argumentation as a gap not only in Thomas’s writings but in the history of theology as a whole, and he sets out to make up for this omission by developing the topics beyond what Aristotle and Cicero or their later reception had developed. Cano had shown this “congenial” development of Thomas’s basic intentions See the introduction to what would be the twelfth and final book of Cano’s De locis theologicis in the Belda Plans edition (for Cano’s frequent references to “Divi Thomae familia nostra,” see 166, 218, 303, 318, 382, 429, and 433). 35 See especially Cano’s prooemium to book 12 and the references in Klinger, Ekklesiologie, 23–35. Klinger’s habilitation shares with the defenders of a petrified Thomistic tradition the conviction that variation and innovation preclude continuity. 36 Cano, De locis theologicis 11.2 (Belda Plans ed., 339). 37 Cano, De locis theologicis 11.2 (Belda Plans ed., 416–28). 34 176 Richard Schenk, O.P. already in his commentary on the Summa theologiae, articulating nine loci theologici, though even they were merely implicit and scattered throughout Thomas’s work.38 What will appear in Cano’s opus magnum as the tenth locus of theology, human history (including biblical, ecclesiastical, and secular history), was rarely an explicit theme in Thomas’s work. While Cano in book 11 of his study on theological loci defends Thomas’s relative dating of John of Damascus, he does not look at Thomas’s reflections on history and its importance for theology, as found, for instance, at the beginning of Contra errores Graecorum. The explication of human history as a locus of theology is Cano’s most obvious development beyond the letter of Thomas’s thought. Cano senses that the recognition of human history will open new horizons, which he hesitates to predict, lest, as he put it, he might seem to be promising golden mountains.39 Thomas had reflected far more widely on the other two loci alieni, on his use of natural reason and the history of philosophy as necessary theological resources. For that project, Thomas drew only briefly on a dual use of the rhetorical category locus as authority in the sense both of a significant faith tradition and simply as writings or sources in general, including philosophical resources.40 Only to a lesser degree did Thomas offer mostly indirect reflections on history and experience that stand in continuity with Cano’s thoughts, be it in their integrative or their alienational interpretation. Unlike recent alienational models of local theology, Cano follows one of Aristotle’s more programmatic directions in the Topica, where the philosopher argues for the need to sort through and evaluate received theory and practice. As Oliver Primavesi recalled in his 1994 dissertation on Aristotle’s Topica, Aristotle’s own dual goal in this work, namely to draw conclusions from common language (the endoxa or widely accepted sayings) and to formulate considered arguments about uncertain matters, requires something quite different from the passive acceptance of social conversations at their face value.41 G. E. L. Owen had long ago shown that Aristotle, not just in the Topica, treats “what is said” (what theology knows today as signa temporum) like the physical phenomena that need to be Juan Belda Plans, Los lugares teológicos de Melchor Cano en los comentarios a la Suma (Pamplona: Eunsa 1982). 39 Cano, De locis theologicis, lib 11.2: “Nam quam magnus postea [historiae humanae usus] facturus sit, non audeo ego in presentia dicere, ne montes aureos videar polliceri” (Belda Plans ed., 338). 40 See Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 1, a. 8, ad 2. 41 Oliver Primavesi, Die Aristotelische Topik: Ein Interpretationsmodell und seine Erprobung am Beispiel von Topik B, Zetemata 94 (Munich: Beck, 1994). 38 Places and Times 177 “saved” by explaining how they come to appear other than they are.42 With his Topica Aristotle had initiated a form of dialectical reasoning about the realm of the merely plausible. The task which the treatise sets itself from the start is “to find a method by which we could develop conclusions drawn from probable sentences to address controversial issues and to offer answers that are free of contradictions.”43 If this is true regarding the place of arguments close to the essence of a controversial matter, it is no less the case when the arguments are connected to it only as “accidents”: the exclusive theme of books 2 and 3 (beta and gamma) of Aristotle’s treatise. It belongs, for example, to the central goals of the work to identify criteria for choosing what is truly best among the conflicting and accidental endoxa, say on the basis on what more closely corresponds to the proper good of the matter under discussion or to a reasoned judgment about which of two rival alternatives makes their agent good or not.44 As briefly noted above, Cicero’s comments on Aristotle’s project describe adverbially how accidental arguments can bear on a matter extrinsecus,45 presumably a source for Cano’s category of the locus alienus. Writing during the political and personal upheaval between Caesar’s murder and his own, at a time when Cicero turned away from earlier temptations to an all-too “pragmatic” and accommodating form of political discourse, and paying with his life for his open critique of the new political realities of his times, Cicero emphasizes the ars inveniendi of political debate to find an alternative to Realpolitik, scrutinizing publicly rather than passively following the initially contradictory signs of the times, for such contradictions do not disappear simply because sites of arguments arising extrinsecus are identified and drawn upon. “A place [locus] can be defined as the seat of an argument, an argument in turn can be defined as a reason for confidence in a dubious matters.”46 In book 11 of De locis theologicis, Cano recalls that, because on the one hand history seems so obviously necessary for theology and all the sciences, he worries if its necessity can be dealt with argumentatively, while on the other hand it might seem for opposite reasons impossible to negotiate at G. E. L. Owen, “Tithenai ta Phainomena,” in Aristotle: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. J. M. E. Moravcsik (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1967), 167–90. 43 Aristotle, Topica 2.1.100a. 44 Aristotle, Topica 4.3.118a. 45 See Cicero, Topica 2.88 (see note 16 above). 46 Cicero, Topica 2.8: “Itaque licet definire locum esse argumenti sedem, argumentum autem rationem, quae rei dubiae faciat fidem” (“And thus it is possible to define ‘place’ here as the seat of an argument and to define ‘argument’ as a reason that provides confidence in an uncertain matter”). 42 178 Richard Schenk, O.P. all, given the contradictions among sources and historians. Cano answers that the truth of history is neither too evident nor too elusive to no longer be in need of and capable of being strengthened in its rational plausibility. Of the alternative forms of local theology, the integrative model stresses more programmatically the abiding difference between loci proprii and loci alieni, Bezeugungsinstanzen and Bewährungsinstanzen for the faith. Only on that basis is it also able to take more seriously the need established by Cano for discourse among the diverse loci for theology. The “epistemological catholicity” (Seckler) sought here presupposes both a unitive goal and an abiding plurality of sources. A parallel could be drawn to the convergent plausibility sought by John Henry Newman in identifying seven notes of genuine development. Such notes need not only to complement one another but also to be scrutinized internally, for instance, to discern between too robust and too weak powers of assimilation, between preserved type and the changed appearance, or between the continuity of a principle and the discontinuity between the doctrines capable of expressing it in altered contexts.47 Innovation is a necessary but not a sufficient condition and criterion of genuine development.48 In denying the self-evidence of the significance of such varied authorities, Cano, too, underlines the necessity and the possibilities for plausible deliberation both within each authoritative place and among them all. Open Questions of Theological Spatiality Despite his critique of early Martin Heidegger’s “unabashed temporocentrism” and its lack of reference to embodiment, Edward S. Casey, one of the leading researchers into the history of the philosophy of place, has pointed to the importance of three structures of existential spatiality (daseinsmässige Räumlichkeit) articulated by Heidegger in Being and Time in 1927: failing distantiation (Entfernung), directionality (Ausrichtung), and regionality (Gegend).49 These headings can serve as existentially spatial John Henry Newman, An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine (1878) (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 1989). 48 See Reinhard Hütter, John Henry Newman on Truth and Its Counterfeits: A Guide for Our Times (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press 2000), 130–66. 49 See Edward S. Casey, The Fate of Place: A Philosophical History (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1998), 243–84; Casey, Getting Back into Place: Toward a Renewed Understanding of the Place-World (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993; repr. 2009); Casey, The World at a Glance (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2007). For a close examination of spatiality in Heidegger, see also the extensive work of Jeff E. Malpas: Place and Experience: A Philosophical 47 Places and Times 179 vectors for mapping out the situation demarcated by the recent theological emphases regarding times and places. The situation can be charted with reference to the still open question of what two momentous interventions at the Second Vatican Council in the preparation of Gaudium et Spes might still tell us today about the sensus communis of theologies of times and places. Failing Distantiation The description in Being and Time of the structural and inevitable “tendency towards nearness” in the work-world (a theme in chapter 3 of the first division) would have gained much had it also been applied analogously to the social world in the all-too-short following chapter.50 It is not just for tools in the work-world that the tendency to proximity and to being overlooked is a given that can be interrupted. The experience of other co-existents as missing (including the cherished deceased and the Desaparecidos) or broken, as not fitting in or as difficult for others to live or work with—all that will again call attention to those who might otherwise have been taken for granted or simply forgotten, but will call for something other than their replacement as instruments and human resources. The loss of an acknowledgement of the dignity of other human beings which Heidegger himself documented in the Black Notebooks was anything but abrupt. Not just for the philosopher, the instrumentalization of the divine and human Other is unavoidable with the loss of the distancing sense of something like timor filialis or the bonum honestum, the acknowledgement of the irreducibility of the other to my own projects and concerns. Such a loss of the distance that allows genuine proximity has led in less dramatic ways to what Alasdair MacIntyre has described as the overbearing predominance of the “manager” as characteristic of many of today’s societies,51 part Topography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1999); “Heidegger’s Topology of Being,” in Transcendental Heidegger, ed. J. E. Malpas and Steven Crowell, (Redwood City, CA: Stanford University Press, 2007); Heidegger’s Topology: Being, Place, World (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008); Heidegger and the Thinking of Place: Explorations in the Topology of Being (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2012). 50 See Richard Schenk, “The Place of Mimesis and the Apocalyptic: Toward a Typology of the ‘Far and Near,’” in: Contagion 20 (Spring 2013): 1–24. 51 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007). MacIntyre names the “manager” (as portrayed in a wider conversation as a transformation into the private sector of Max Weber’s state official), alongside the “therapist” (taken from the Freudian scholar Philip Rieff ) and the “aesthetic elite” chiefly addressed by the first two prominent character types. MacIntyre did not yet ask about the share by the 180 Richard Schenk, O.P. of that luctus et angor in which the Church too has its inevitable share (GS §1). The initial distance of the kind of alterity which could make possible a closer proximity can easily be lost in the social and ecclesiastical management of the Other. The corresponding question for local and temporal theologies can be formulated accordingly: What structures and forms of distantiation need to be strengthened so as to enable the more felicitous closeness to God and neighbor, to the culture, the cosmos, and the ecclesial communio? The question was very much in play near the end of the Council in a striking intervention by German-speaking theologians and bishops, most prominently by Karl Rahner. The most detailed commentaries on Gaudium et Spes, from Giovanni Turbanti52 to Sander,53 have described in detail these nearly successful attempts in the summer of 1965 to postpone or diminish the proclamation of Gaudium et Spes for a number of reasons, chief of which was the impression of an unfounded and uniquely untimely optimism about the cultural dynamics of the day. The influential “Animadversiones” or remarks by Karl Rahner on the amended Arricia draft of Gaudium et Spes, though long available in various archives,54 were published only recently.55 The various reasons for this puzzling delay in publication are unclear, but among them is the uncertainty about how to interpret the significance for today of the intervention of 1965 in light of the more dominant motifs in Rahner’s own thought and in the majority Church in this threefold sorrow of our times. Giovanni Turbanti, Un concilio per il mondo moderno: La redazione della constituzione pastorale Gaudium et spes del Vaticano II (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2000), 617–26. 53 Sander, “Theologischer Kommentar zur Pastoralkonstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von heute Gaudium et spes,” 650–69. 54 The Karl Rahner Archive in Munich has long housed the typed thirteen-page memorandum from the Rahner Archive of Elmar Klinger in Würzburg, no. 476, as well as Rahner’s handwritten draft (no. 453). The author wishes to thank the archivists for their hospitality and assistance. 55 Karl Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” in Sämtliche Werke, vol. 32/1, Ergänzungen und Register (Freiburg: Herder, 2016), xvii–xix and 289–323; see also 334–35. The editor, Albert Raffelt, has also contributed a perceptive German-language translation together with precise annotations. The edition is meant as a complement to Karl Rahner, Das Zweite Vatikanum: Beiträge zum Konzil und seiner Interpretation, ed. GüntherWassilowsky, Sämtliche Werke 21/1 and 22/2 (Freiburg: Herder, 2012). Raffelt’s edition also includes two pages (324– 25 and 526) of the address by Munich’s archbishop, Julius Cardinal Döpfner, a central figure at the Council, who in the name of ninety-one bishops (including Elchinger) made his own key passages from Rahner’s text in his address to the aula of the Council on 22 September 1965. 52 Places and Times 181 positions of post-conciliar and post-Rahnerian theology. Where the best alienational variant of the local theological account of Gaudium et Spes could express nothing but criticism for Rahner’s “Animadversiones,”56 still more recent studies by scholars in the United States, though also circulated prior to the publication of the text for a wider public and discussion, have taken up the open hermeneutical questions, interpreting Rahner’s remarks as a model even for today’s theological engagement with the problems addressed in 1965.57 Brandon Peterson shows a broad consensus among the German theologians and bishops in the final months of the Council about the weakness of the revised “Arricia” draft of 1965 of what will be promulgated as Gaudium et Spes. Peterson also showed that the disagreements in these circles had to do with the question of how best to approach the concerns expressed in the draft and, if the document was to be kept in substance, how then best to amend its positions. Despite widespread consensus among the German-speaking bishops and theologians regarding the excessive cultural optimism of the draft, Peterson sees the chief division even within this critical German-speaking subgroup as regarding the question of whether the text should move from Christology to an analysis of common cultural tenets (which he calls an “Augustinian” approach) or just the reverse, beginning with common cultural positions and disclosing from them the need for a Christology (which he terms a “Thomistic” methodology). Though not the topic of Peterson’s essay, the five points of critique leveled by Rahner at the content of the revised version of the Arricia draft (as of May 28, 1965), numbered below, overlap at key points with Vischer’s analysis in 1964 of the weaknesses of a one-sided reading of “signs of the times” in the Zurich draft. Rahner no longer needs to mention the signa temporum in his “Animadversiones.” And yet, Rahner’s “Remarks,” articulated under five headings, though they might sound (at least at first58) to be Sander, “Theologischer Kommentar zur Pastoralkonstitution über die Kirche in der Welt von heute Gaudium et spes,” 650–69. 57 See Brandon Peterson, “Critical Voices: The Reactions of Rahner and Ratzinger to ‘Schema 13’ (Gaudium er Spes),” Modern Theology 31, no. 1 (2015): 1–26; see also, although with less explicit attention to Rahner’s intervention, Joseph A. Komonchak, “The Redaction and Reception of Gaudium et Spes: Tensions within the Majority at Vatican II,” first published as “Le valutazioni sulla Gaudium et spes: Chenu, Dossetti, Ratzinger,” in Volti di fine Concilio: Studi di storia e teologia sulla conclusione del Vaticano II, ed. Joseph Doré and Alberto Melloni (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2000), 115–53 (also at jakomonchak.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/ jak-views-of-gaudium-et-spes.pdf ). 58 Peterson documents the continuity of the less “optimistic” arguments by Rahner 56 182 Richard Schenk, O.P. uncharacteristic for his thought, document an ecumenical lesson that had been accepted by the majority of German-speaking Catholic participants during the Council’s final months. (1) Not altogether different from the accompanying address by Oswald von Nell-Breuning, Rahner expressed his worry about the lack of a theological epistemology (theologica gnoseologia) for the novel theological and social-political claims made in the draft about the contingent matters of the world of today.59 Vischer had written less than a year before: The draft text does not say in what ways God speaks to us through the times. It names nowhere the criterion which would allow us to distinguish his voice from fraudulent voices. It never mentions that the phenomena of the times have an ambivalent character and therefore are not so easy to interpret. It simply asserts that God’s voice is heard in the times.60 (2) Rahner criticized the revised draft for its inattentiveness to the distinction and relations (theologia habitudinis, distinctionis et mutuae inclusionis) of the order of creation vis-à-vis the order of redemption. Vischer’s memorandum had articulated the following concern: We know that Christ has been raised to the right hand of God and rules over all things. Therefore we could never understand the revelation that has taken place in him, were we not at the same in this expertise at the Council with the qualifications that Rahner articulated in earlier and above all in later writings, arguably an intended and consistent if subordinate part of his own version of the dialectic that Erich Przywara had described as God’s being “In/Above” the controversies of the world. Peter Eicher showed in Offenbarung. Prinzip neuzeitlicher Theologie (Munich: 1977) how the different thematic emphases at least implied by this dialectic, while never completely absent in any phase from Rahner’s intentions, had dominated different stages of his work: (1) the effective philosophical mediation of theology, (2) the effective theological mediation of philosophy, and (3) the apophatic Aufhebung of philosophical theology into a less determinate or categorical form of thinking. Particularly this final moment is freer to express, if belatedly, the experience of human limitation. 59 Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:289. 60 Vischer, “Signa Temporum”: The draft does not state in what way God speaks to us through the times. It mentions no criterion which would enable us to distinguish his voice from any number of deceptive voices. It does not even mention that the phenomena of the times have an ambivalent character and so are not simple to interpret. The draft is content to assert simply that God’s voice is heard in the times.” Places and Times 183 time to keep the whole universe before our eyes, which is subject to him. We live and work under his dominion, but we are not the ones to first establish it. And at the same time we know, too, that his kingdom has not yet been completed.61 (3) Rahner criticized the revised draft of Ariccia for lacking an adequate theology of sin.62 Vischer had expressed parallel concerns about the use of “signs of the times” in the Zurich draft from the year before: Evil is and remains a powerful reality. Though it is not in a position to retain its victory, it nevertheless remains powerful today, and vis-à-vis the proclamation of the dominion of Christ it shows itself as particularly and pointedly powerful. Whenever we consider time, we therefore hear not just the voices of God but also the voices of darker, destructive powers. And we ourselves by no means stand simply on God’s side, but rather our eyes are often blind and captivated. We cannot so simply and easily perceive the voice of God in the times. The Holy Spirit must identify for us God’s voice in the midst of a sea of ambiguities. As a Church we must pray without ceasing that God will give us illumined prophets who are able to understand the phenomena of the times not just in a superficial manner, but in their profound reality. 63 (4) Rahner criticizes the comparative absence of an eschatological dimension in the text, including a sense that the transformation of history through the incarnation, passion and resurrection of Christ does not leave the world untouched. An adequate theology of history would teach us to expect an increasingly bitter antagonism between Christ’s disciples and the world in which we live: a “mundum in maligno positum.”64 This makes both dialogue and confrontation with innerwordly models of eschatology, like the Marxist one, possible and necessary. Rahner sees here too little of that “legitimate and necessary pessimism” that Christians should develop towards the world, and he calls for a renewal of a sense of the radicality of sin, to which handbook scholasticism had not given sufficient consideration.65 Vischer had suggested similar criticisms of the earlier draft: Vischer, “Signa Temporum.” Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:289. 63 Vischer, “Signa Temporum.” 64 Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:294. 65 Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:293–94: “A true and profound theol61 62 184 Richard Schenk, O.P. If we compare the biblical references to the ‘signs of the times’ with their mention in the draft, we will find that the two texts have little more in common than the expression itself. The New Testament understands by ‘signa temporum’ the characteristics which show our time to be an eschatological time. The signs are references to our great hope; they convert us to penance. Like many other New Testament concepts, this concept brings together, on the one hand, the hope which carries us and, on the other hand, the fact that we are living under the Judgement. The schema understands with ‘signs of the times’ rather the historical phenomena of today’s times, which we must correctly assess.66 (5) The fifth critical area that Rahner named in his “Animadversiones de Schemate” was the theological anthropology suggested by the revised Arricia draft. Rahner articulated five subordinate areas of anthropology for which a further revision of the text would be needed. In three of these five final areas of anthropological concern, an affinity to the issues identified in Vischer’s memorandum might be construed, although it did not address the broader issues of anthropology explicitly. (5.1) There is need for a kind of contemplation that includes a concern for action for the sake of redressing injustices that are part of the world of our times.67 Vischer, too, was concerned that the pastoral constitution, if too easily accommodationalist, would play down the practical challenges posed by the human condition and the events of human history. (5.2) For Vischer and Rahner, this attention to injustice must occur without the reduction of the contemplation of the world to a pragmatically narrow “moralism,” which Rahner describes here in surprisingly harsh terms as a particularly offensive deficit of the revised Arricia draft.68 ogy of sin is missing here. . . . Nowhere in the text is evident that depth of sin which cannot be eradicated from the world (matters on which a theology of original sin could shed far more light and with greater depth than was understood by scholasticism.” 66 Vischer, “Signa Temporum.” 67 Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:289–91. See the similar insistence of Aquinas that wisdom as a gift of the Holy Spirit necessarily extends to the regulae contingentium and to an urgent concern about the injustices that violate them: ST II-II, q. 45, a. 3, ad 2; a. 6, ad 3. 68 For Rahner, there is “aliquis ‘moralismus,’ qui schema pervadit, quique facile ‘taedium’ hominis moderni excitare potest” (“Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:297). Though not always false in themselves, the norms and idealistic exhortations, because all too dominant in the text, “facile nauseam movent.” Places and Times 185 (5.3) These twin revisions could be achieved only in the context of an overarching and not merely individualistic “theologia crucis,” which Rahner saw as sorely missing from the draft.69 Vischer had located the weakness of the earlier draft in an unbiblical optimism which cut it off from both a Christological emphasis and the hope associated with that more dramatic and troubled sense of history. The draft in its present form is too shallow and expresses too little of the significance of Christ’s coming for the course of history. It underrates the “dramatic” character of history and offers too “harmless” a picture of the world. For that very reason it is not capable of offering to the world any real hope.70 (5.4–5) By contrast, the remaining two anthropological themes that Rahner urges for inclusion in the document are of a different quality. They are the first and third in his enumeration (his 5.1 and 5.3), and they manifest a distance not from the anomalous optimism of the early 1960s but from the Gottesferne characteristic of recent centuries. Unlike the other remarks, these two remaining anthropological themes seem more characteristic of the major motifs of Rahner’s own thought at the time, with little (arguably too little) in common with the dominant concerns of Reformational theology or the Zeitgefühl of the twentieth century. These aspects of a theologically mediated anthropology point well beyond the immediate exigencies of the draft. Without using the term, Rahner first suggests (5.4; his “5a”) the inclusion of something like his own developed sense of a “supernatural existential,” a hypothetically contingent but, in reality, ever universal dynamic structure of factical human nature that enables, from the time of the first emergence of human beings, the unity of human self-salvation and salvation from without.71 For Rahner: “The anthropology in the draft is lacking a theology of the Cross. Those things that are mentioned, will not suffice, especially as this Christology is applied here uniquely to just one singular human. What is the “significance” of the Cross for the history of the world and of the human race as such?” (“Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:297). On Rahner’s own theology of death, see Gerd Neuhaus, Transzendentale Erfahrung als Geschichtsverlust: Der Vorwurf der Subjektlosigkeit an Rahners Begriff geschichtlicher Existenz und eine weiterführende Perspektive transzendentaler Theologie (Duesseldorf: Patmos, 1982). 70 Vischer, “Signa temporum.” 71 Rahner criticizes the Ariccia draft for its lack of the “key idea for the entire conception of the human being: the self-revelation of God to others, which, even though 69 186 Richard Schenk, O.P. In what Peterson wants to describe as a “Thomistic” rather than an “Augustinian” perspective, Rahner (in 5.5; his point “5c”) then describes it as the “doctrine of the Church that we know God not from God himself, but from ourselves, as creatures, in the end as spiritual creatures.” The distinctive take suggested here on the mediation of the relation to God through the relation to self and world implies, however, that quasi-formal structural participation in divinity as the fundamental dynamic of human spirit that Rahner had proposed in his earlier works. This means for Rahner’s “Animadversiones” that “Christian anthropology ought to and can easily [ facile] be so presented that the human beings of today, though infected by an obscure atheism, might come to see that their own interior existential experience implies inescapably that absolute mystery which we name God and which is made known to us only in the free acknowledgment of this experience.” 72 It might be argued that a greater sense of the difficulty (non facile) and of the distance to be overcome in order to know God on the limited basis of the experience of self and world, even for the mainstream of Catholic teaching and notably for Saint Thomas Aquinas,73 would have made possible a closer and more productive proximity to central concerns of the Reformational communities and of the cultures most marked by the world wars of the twentieth century.74 A less “apologetic” admission of the difficulty to believe (non facile) would, however, arguably be less of a distantiation from the spiritual situation of our age.75 In contrast to Rahner’s other remarks on the draft, this more apologetic distance from the signs of the times and contemporary history represents also less of an entanglement of Christians in the luctus et angor of the last it is supernatural and freely given, is also the foundation of a created natural order and thus ought to constitute the beginning of all anthropology” (“Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:295). 72 Rahner, “Animadversiones de Schemata,” 32/1:296. 73 See Aquinas, ST I, q. 1, a. 1, corp.: “”Because truth about God, investigated by reason alone, would reach humanity only in a few persons, and even then only after much time and still with an admixture of errors.” Even the First Vatican Council’s dogmatic constitution Deus Filius cites this as a limit of natural theology (DH, no. 3005), even while asserting the basic possibility of natural theology. 74 See Joseph Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1990) [originally: Einführung in das Christentum: Vorlesungen über das Apostolische Glaubensbekenntnis (Munich: 1968)]. For an attempt to situate the legacy of Thomas Aquinas between Karl Rahner and Martin Heidegger, see Richard Schenk, Die Gnade vollendeter Endlichkeit: Zur transzendentaltheologischen Auslegung der thomanischen Anthropologie, Freiburger Theologische Studien 135 (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1989). 75 See Joseph Ratzinger, Introduction to Christianity. Places and Times 187 century as a whole. Rahner’s “Animadversiones de Schemate” display two distinct movements of distantiation, moving away from different positions and heading in different directions. They make apparent the need to address other structures of theological spatiality. Directionality (Ausrichtung) As welcome as it is that Peterson takes up the question of what Rahner’s intervention of 1965 might still contribute today to the best possible contemporary reading of a pastoral constitution that meanwhile has been woven too seamlessly into the fabric and texture of Catholic thought to be torn out again without destroying (or in Newman’s terms, corrupting) it, equally questionable would be a reversion to the search for the direction of that new interpretation along the single line of a one-dimensional alternative, be it with Augustine or Thomas Aquinas, be it in terms of recent local theology in the alternative of loci alieni or loci proprii, be it in the context of semiotic temporality as the alternative of discontinuity or continuity with the past (which, again in Newman’s terms, in their pure forms as exclusive alternatives are both sources of corruption rather than development). Like innovation in terms of time, so too is a certain complementarity of directions a necessary but not a sufficient condition and criterion of genuine locality. No theology is coherent without a mix of affirmative and negative directions, but not every such mix succeeds in relating the human being to God. The contrary but not necessarily contradictory character of the two lines of reflection discussed here could be suggested by greater attention to Thomas the Augustinian,76 to Rahner the Augustinian (or perhaps better the Eckhartian), or to the synthetic and critical potential of the necessarily multiple loci theologici, multiple both between and within each of their two genera. The two points of departure identified by Peterson in rival suggestions for the draft could not both be used at the same time as a beginning by which to structure the text of Gaudium et Spes. In accord with the report by the chief editor of the Ariccia draft, Pierre Haubtmann, that seven out of ten Council fathers favored a starting point in the wider contemporary experience, followed by the ascending disclosures of and in Christ, this favored ordering of the themes, which had been set aside in the experiment of the Zurich text, was adopted once again for the final text.77 The two directions of theological discovery cannot both be used by the same text as See Aquinas the Augustinian, ed. Michael Dauphinais, Barry David, and Matthew Levering (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007). 77 See Peterson, “Critical Voices,” 6. 76 188 Richard Schenk, O.P. its starting point, but they can both find in the same text a non-contradictory affirmation and mutual enrichment through a complementary change in perspective. Léon Bloy’s remark on how the Cross of Christ shifts back and forth from his shoulders to ours, eliciting alternately compassion and pain, describes a similar Perspektivenwechsel, not a contradiction.78 A broad sense of the need for salvation, on the one hand, and clarity about that need stemming from articulate belief in the event itself, on the other, clearly differ, but they need not be contradictory. This distinction between legitimate vectors of theological perception leads to a discussion of the third constitutive of existential spatiality articulated in Being and Time. Regionality (Gegend) The structure constitutive of existential spatiality to which Heidegger even after Being and Time devoted the most attention was Gegend, by which he described various spaces within which concrete beings could encounter each other and be encountered in their being. For the determinate sense of Catholic theology, this analogous sense of regionality can frame several questions, including those of the external parameters of what is genuinely Catholic and of internal sites of legitimate rivals for and counterpoints to the most coherent syntheses. To borrow terms from the article by Peterson discussed above, it seems plausible that this region or “country” of what is Catholic must be defined by theologies beginning with contemporary human situations and by counterproposals beginning with Christ, as the mendicant renovatio accommodata of the thirteenth century made places for Saint Dominic’s beginning with the difficulty of his contemporaries to believe and then turning anew to God for help, and also for Saint Francis’s beginning with the crucified Christ and then turning anew to those whose suffering was reminiscent of his own. It has been one of the hallmarks of the Academy of Catholic THeology that it has brought into conversation theologians dedicated to each of these directions. It may not be helpful to group them neatly into Thomist and Augustinian camps, nor even to assign their directions as from below and from above, as from the world or from its Savior, or as proponents of Gaudium et Spes §1 (in its fourfold entirety) or of Gaudium et Spes §22. It is also more difficult than is often suspected to assess which direction of experience is the more “contemporary.” A “transcendental” (or better “transcendent”) beginning point that starts from ens summum as the primum cognitum or from a universal, supernatural, even uncreated participation in God’s own becoming is not See Léon Bloy, Pilgrim of the Absolute, ed. Raissa Maritain (New York: Pantheon, 1947). 78 Places and Times 189 as strictly “from below” as contemporary thought might seem to expect.79 The admission of the difficulty to believe (the non facile) is arguably less outdated.80 Whether this particular initial, Rahnerian distantiation from many signs of the times and much of contemporary history and philosophy, seemingly more reminiscent of the decades prior to 1848 than to those following 1918, is in fact the one most suited to identify both the Gaudium et Spes and the luctus et angor of our day is a decision that should be left to the contest of theologies within the region of Catholic debates for the most coherent account of faith and experience. As the reception of the Second Vatican Council has shown, such a differentiated region must be given not only space but also time for the coherent synthesis of heterogeneous claims and loci to mature. The hermeneutic of reform for a synthetic reading of the compromise texts of the Second Vatican Council only gradually showed its superiority to strategies of one-sided continuity or one-sided discontinuity.81 This multidimensional sense of the space and time needed for the convergence of competitive regional theologies has the advantage ascribed by classical mereology to what was termed the “potential whole”: the ability to acknowledge the need for heterogeneous parts (in as much as they are genuine parts of the same whole) without foreclosing debate about which parts more fully express the potentiality of the whole.82 N&V Karl Rahner’s programmatic criticism of Kant and Heidegger has often been downplayed or simply overlooked, made easier by the pseudonym attached in 1940 to his “Introduction au concept de philosophie existentiale chez Heidegger,” Recherches de science religieuse 30 (1940): 152–71, now in Sämtliche Werke vol. 2 (Freiburg: Herder 1995): 319–46 and 473–75, and to the revisions by J. B. Metz in the second edition of Hörer des Wortes, which eliminated the references to Heidegger and Kant as the rare and unfortunate exceptions to the philosophia perennis running from Plato to Hegel (Sämtliche Werke, 4:94–95). Taken together, they help us recognize the programmatic critique of Heidegger, more obvious in 1936, informing already the overall argumentative direction of Geist in Welt. 80 This long overdue reversal of the common pre-understanding of which epistemological starting point for the doctrine of God is more topical opens another field for applying Sander’s recent metaphorical use of the Moebius strip (see note 19 above). 81 See Kurt Koch, Das Zweite Vatikanische Konzil: Die Hermeneutik der Reform (Augsburg: St. Ulrich, 2012). For the critique of one-directional theology, see Koch, Universalität und Kirche: Zu einer notwendigen Beziehung mit Spannungen (Basel: Schwabe, 1999). 82 For the ecclesiological significance of the mereology of the potential whole, see Richard Schenk, “Eine Ökumene des Einspruchs. Systematische Überlegungen zum heutigen ökumenischen Prozess aus einer römisch-katholischen Sicht,” in Die Reunionsgespräche im Niedersachsen des 17. Jahrhunderts. Rojas y Spinola— Molan—Leibniz, ed. Hans Otte und Richard Schenk (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1999), 225–50. 79 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 191–197 191 Introduction to the Nova et Vetera Symposium Containing Papers from the International Conference on “Studying Sacred Scripture with Thomas Aquinas,” Blackfriars, Oxford, June 1, 2019 Richard Conrad, O.P. Director of the Aquinas Institute, Blackfriars Hall, University of Oxford Most of the papers in this issue of Nova et Vetera were delivered at an international conference on biblical Thomism hosted by the Aquinas Institute of Blackfriars Hall, Oxford, on June 1, 2019, and organized by Father Piotr Roszak of the Faculty of Theology of Nicolaus Copernicus University in Toruń. The Research Center for Biblical Thomism was created there in 2016. One of its aims is to provide Polish readers with translations and explanations of Saint Thomas’s commentaries on the Corpus Paulinum, but its remit is much wider: its members seek to offer a fresh perspective on Saint Thomas’s biblical commentaries and to make explicit the biblical theology that is implicit in his major theological works. The Research Center examines the sources of Saint Thomas’s biblical thought, including the Church Fathers and the medieval masters of theology, and brings his approach into conversation with contemporary biblical research and exegesis. The Aquinas Institute was delighted to be able to host this conference and so in a small way support the Research Center’s project. By way of an introduction to this collection, I offer some remarks on how fostering awareness of Saint Thomas’s interest in and use of Scripture may help us know him better, and enrich our own appreciation of Scripture. Awareness of St Thomas’s engagement with Scripture has grown over the last couple of decades. Already in the 1960s, Magi Books had made English translations of some of his scriptural commentaries available, and Saint Austin Press reissued Newman’s translation of the Catena aurea in 1997. Works discussing Saint Thomas’s use of Scripture include: Thomas Ryan’s 192 Richard Conrad, O.P. 2000 Thomas Aquinas as Reader of the Psalms; Wilhelmus Valkenberg’s 2000 Words of the Living God: Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas; and Michael Dauphinais’s and Matthew Levering’s 2005 edited volume Reading John with St. Thomas Aquinas. The work of the Research Center for Biblical Thomism contributes to the ongoing investigation of this aspect of Saint Thomas’s ministry. Nevertheless, I suspect that many students of theology, and even professional theologians, still know Saint Thomas as a systematic theologian who synthesized Aristotle’s thought with the Christian doctrinal tradition. Philosophers, very properly, regularly engage with Saint Thomas, and many scholars are aware of his role in the history of ethics and even of legal and political thought. But not many people know that he—as a typical thirteenth-century master of theology—spent a large part of his teaching time lecturing on Sacred Scripture. Indeed, not many people are aware how deeply Scripture pervaded the medieval Christian mind, as witnessed for example by the thirteenth-century Bible moralisée, and by the fourteenth- and fifteenth-century editions of the Biblia pauperum. Even those who do know this may subconsciously perceive Saint Thomas’s biblical commentaries as a side line; it is easy to see his Summa theologiae as his characteristic work, and as drawing on Fathers like Augustine and Pseudo-Dionysius, assisted by Aristotle and other philosophers, while Scripture provides “proof texts” as pegs on which to hang arguments, or even decorative quotations. At the beginning of the Summa, Saint Thomas makes clear that his subject is sacra doctrina, which I take to be the whole project of exploring, and handing on the saving truth that was revealed in Sacred Scripture1 and is to be pondered and handed on in the Church for as long as human souls animate mortal bodies. While time lasts, we need what can be likened to the straw that provides food and bedding for animals; we press forward in the hope of graduating to the children’s meat of the Beatific Vision. Saint Thomas’s stated policy leads us to expect the Summa to be deeply scriptural. But the Prologue tells us this “first degree course in theology” was intended to replace an existing system in which new students would jump onto the carousel of the program of biblical lectures already running in the studium they joined, and so meet doctrinal topics in the non-systematic order dictated by the exposition of books, presumably the books of Scripture. They might go over some topics more than once, and miss out others altogether. Does this mean that, after all, the Summa is meant to provide a thorough overview of doctrine to keep students on the straight-and-nar See ST I, q. 1, aa. 1, 5, and 8. 1 Introduction to the Nova et Vetera Symposium 193 row before they touch Scripture, a neat framework into which all Scripture study must be shoe-horned? No: fairly obviously, the “beginners” have already done a course in philosophy; but also, as Mark Jordan has argued, the Summa presupposes both a deep familiarity with Scripture based on liturgical contemplation and a commitment to be disciples of the Christ whom we meet in the Gospels and the sacraments.2 It is poised between an initial familiarity with Scripture and a return to the study of Scripture at a more informed, alert, and detailed level. We may indeed look to the Summa theologiae for what it draws from Scripture and what it helps us see in Scripture. It can be helpful to read the treatise on “One God” in questions 2–26 of the prima pars not primarily as an exercise in natural theology, but as setting out scriptural—chiefly Old Testament—revelation.3 To the exasperation of philosophers, the “five ways” of demonstrating God’s existence are given laconically; this makes sense if they are but a reminder of previous studies, and a peg on which to hang the discussion of how He Who Is, who cannot be compared to any creature, may still be known by us. Articles 11–13 of question 12 explain that, while we cannot know God’s essence in this life, revelation and grace do offer a higher cognition of God than reason alone can. Question 13 then explains that, in addition to the metaphors and parables mentioned earlier, 4 Scripture and doctrine apply certain nouns and adjectives to God analogically; when they say things like, “O Lord, you have become our refuge,” this implies no change in God; and the name Qui Est revealed in Exodus 3:14 is “the most proper.” Saint Thomas sensitizes us to the subtleties of biblical language and warns contemporary theologians to be more wary than they often are of supposing that, when Scripture speaks of God suffering, or angry, or changing, this must be literally true. Likewise he warns us not to suppose that because God literally is good, and love, we can comprehend, or “tame,” his goodness and love. The treatise on “One God” prepares for that on the Holy Trinity,5 a truth accessible through revelation alone. 6 The treatise on creation also employs revelation, though the questions on the hexaëmeron7 bring Gene Mark D. Jordan, Teaching Bodies: Moral Formation in the Summa of Thomas Aquinas (New York: Fordham University Press, 2017). 3 Cf. ST II-II, q. 1, a. 8, ad 1. 4 ST I, q. 1, a. 9; a. 10, ad 3. 5 Rowan Williams, “What Does Love Know? St. Thomas on the Trinity,” New Blackfriars 82 (2001): 260–82. 6 ST I, q. 32, a. 1. 7 ST I, qq. 66–74. 2 194 Richard Conrad, O.P. sis 1 into conversation with the latest astronomy. After expounding those elements of the “developed Aristotelian” psychology necessary for moral theology, 8 Saint Thomas tells us that the goal of the creation of the human being is that we should come to perfection as God’s image in an active communion with the Holy Trinity; here he draws on Augustine’s reflections on Genesis 1:26–27.9 Among much else in the Summa, we may note that the treatise on law comprises more than questions 91–97 of the prima secundae, which draws on philosophers and jurists, and is still widely studied. Saint Thomas also offers an extremely detailed analysis of the precepts of the Torah, which he sees as God revealing both primary and secondary natural-law precepts, and as providing an exemplar for future societies as they apply perennial natural-law principles to developing social and economic circumstances.10 In tertia pars, Saint Thomas breaks new ground by bringing into the systematic theology of the Incarnation a more detailed exploration of the Christ we meet in the Gospels. By comparison with, for example, the Summa Fratris Alexandri, book III, part 1, we find Saint Thomas sharing a common interest in Christ’s human psyche and what knowledge and graces it contained, in his prayer and merit, in his conception, transfiguration, Passion, resurrection and ascension. But Saint Thomas adds questions on Christ’s temptations, miracles, style of ministry, and style of teaching, thus urging us to incorporate into our Christology everything the Gospels tell us. As he was writing the Summa theologiae, Saint Thomas disputed various questions to help him clarify certain issues he would have to present more simply in the Summa.11 Likewise he commented on Aristotle. He ST, I, q. 75, prol.; q. 78, prol.; q. 84, prol. The treatise on the passiones animae is deferred to I-II, qq. 22–48. A careful account of the human psyche helps us see how beautifully God’s grace can “take flesh” in the “fabric” of human nature and life. 9 ST I, q. 93; see also D. Juvenal Merriell, To the Image of the Trinity: A Study in the Development of Aquinas’ Teaching (Toronto, 1990), and John P. O’Callaghan, “Imago Dei: A Test Case for St. Thomas Aquinas’s Augustinianism,” in Aquinas the Augustinian, ed. Michael Dauphinais, Barry David, and Matthew Levering (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 2007), 100–144. 10 Richard Conrad, “Aquinas on the Unfolding of Law” and “The Revision of Civil Law: The Torah Exemplifies Aquinas’ Principles,” Law & Justice: The Christian Law Review 183 (Trinity/Michaelmas 2019): 117–33 and 155-75 (respectively). 11 The Disputed Question on the Unity of the Incarnate Word seems to be contemporary with tertia pars. In a. 1, at the end of the corpus, St. Thomas articulates with increased sharpness the uniqueness of the Incarnation, a mystery we cannot reduce to any philosophical categories. Intriguingly, ST III, q. 17, a. 2, repeats the 8 Introduction to the Nova et Vetera Symposium 195 also commented on Scripture, partly because this was a teaching duty, and partly, I suspect, because ongoing engagement with Scripture would help him develop his own thought. In fact he had written his literal Commentary on the Book of Job while writing book III of the Summa contra gentiles, which deals with God’s providence. In that commentary, he looked very carefully into the precise details of the text of Job, to see what it tells us about the mysterious wisdom of God’s providence and about how demanding is the task of defending it carefully against critics. It is likely that Saint Thomas’s unfinished Commentary on the Psalms is contemporary with the Tertia Pars of the Summa theologiae. Father Roszak’s article in this collection focuses on the saving power of Christ’s obedience, which is one theme of the tertia pars, and so helps us see how fitting it was for Christ to quote the incipit of Psalm 22(21)—for, as Saint Thomas brings out, that psalm is one of the clear prophecies of Christ’s Passion and the victory it won. Joel Thomas Chopp’s article on Saint Thomas’s use of Psalm 16:2 (Vulgate 15:2) locates Saint Thomas within the reception history of that text, and helps us reflect on what medieval exegesis may offer today. Perhaps it is easier now than it was some decades ago to perceive the value of medieval exegesis, for the historical-critical method, which remains immensely valuable, has been joined by canon criticism, and is nowadays complemented by literary criticism, by research into reception history, and by other approaches. We might take St Thomas’s Mass and Office for the Feast of Corpus Christi as a reminder of the importance of the liturgy’s use of Scripture, which, besides the long readings of the Office of Readings and at Mass, almost playfully combines short passages into a tapestry in which they can spark off each other. In each of the responsories for Corpus Christi, for example, Saint Thomas deftly juxtaposes an Old Testament text to a New-Testament one.12 The liturgical, contemplative repetition of scriptural texts allows words and phrases suddenly to hit us afresh. Maybe this is what helped Saint Thomas break new ground in his mature theology of the “Seven Gifts” of the Holy Spirit, both in comparison with his earlier thought and in comparison with his contemporaries. In question 68 of the prima secun“metaphysical analogy” used before, perhaps because St. Thomas thought it might help “beginners”; but the way qq. 1–59 of ST III are arranged suggests to me that St. Thomas wanted to enlarge the scope of their study to embrace not only metaphysics, but also detailed reflection on Christ’s humanity and the whole sweep of his saving ministry. 12 For a detailed analysis of St. Thomas’s Corpus Christi Office, see The Feast of Corpus Christi, ed. Barbara Walters, Vincent Corrigan, and Peter Ricketts (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2006). 196 Richard Conrad, O.P. dae, he notices that Scripture does not in fact call them “gifts”: Isaiah 11 calls them spiritus. Thus he is able to present them as ways in which the Holy Spirit attunes us to his personal guidance, to his “inspirations” or, better, his “instincts.” Saint Thomas recognizes that, in the events and people Scripture tells us of, God provides us with a generous set of lessons which work in various ways—these are the “spiritual meanings.”13 But he also urges us to pay careful attention to the text itself. Besides working out whether some word is meant metaphorically or analogically, besides working out whether some passage is history or parable, and so on, we must pay attention to the purpose and argument of each Book. Doctor Jörgen Vijgen’s article in this collection shows how Saint Thomas saw Saint Paul’s letters (including Hebrews, which we now know is not by Saint Paul) as chiefly about Christ’s grace in its various dimensions, and how he applied the medieval method of divisio textus to Hebrews. This careful reverence for the text remains exemplary, even if, helped by reconstructions of Saint Paul’s historical context, modern scholars offer different analyses of the detailed structure of the epistles and of the trains of his thought. Arguably, Saint Thomas’s conviction that Saint Paul’s core focus is Christ’s grace remains a strong contender as the best interpretative key. It helps us distinguish the arguments that sometimes drove the writing of the epistles from the perennially important truths that they drove Saint Paul and the author of Hebrews to articulate. Saint Thomas worked before the danger arose of rigidly compartmentalizing scriptural study, natural theology, dogmatic theology, moral theology, and mystical theology. I have mentioned but a few of the ways in which, in his mind, Scripture interacted fruitfully with other disciplines. There is much that further research can bring out. But we can certainly see Saint Thomas as something of an exemplar for what Father Bruno Clifton calls for in his article: a reconnection between doctrinal theology and Scripture scholarship.14 We know more than Saint Thomas did about the historical circumstances in which Scripture developed, just as we know more about cosmology, biology, neurophysiology, and so on—the work of synthesis is more daunting. We might see as “parable” some passages Saint Thomas saw as straightforward history.15 But we live and work at an ST I, q. 1, a. 10. This reconnection is argued for and exemplified in, for example, Matthew Levering’s Scripture and Metaphysics: Aquinas and the Renewal of Trinitarian Theology (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004). 15 The Book of Jonah, in particular, comes to mind. 13 14 Introduction to the Nova et Vetera Symposium 197 opportune time for doing in our small ways what he was granted to do so outstandingly, and to present to the world something of the vision that the blessed possess, which is refracted to us through Scripture, that spring we N&V can never exhaust.16 See: ST, I, q. 1, a. 2; St Ephraem, Commentary on the Diatesseron, 1.18–19. 16 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 199–216 199 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation Piotr Roszak Nicolaus Copernicus University Torun, Poland Why the Psalms Matter for Biblical Thomism Saint Thomas Aquinas, after composing commentaries on several books of the Old and New Testament, commenced work on his commentary on the Psalms.1 The Psalms commentary originates in a period when commenting on the Psalms was a popular practice; in fact, many theologians began their careers with such works.2 Thomas, on the other hand, turns to the Psalms while in the prime of his theological career. Why did he start so late? There are no clear answers, but perhaps the history of commentaries on the Psalms throughout the Middle Ages may shed light on Thomas’s approach. Aquinas wrote Super Psalmos at a time that Martin Morard describes as a change of “epochs.”3 It seems that high Scholastic interest focused upon Enrique Alarcón, “Sobre el Comentario al Libro de los Salmos de santo Tomás de Aquino,” Espíritu 148 (2014): 430–39, at 431. Thomas’s commentary covers roughly one third of the Psalms (up to Ps 54) and breaks off abruptly. The Angelic Doctor is said to have ceased dictating it shortly before his experience on December 6, 1273. 2 Martin Morard, “Entre mode et tradition: les commentaires des psaumes de 1160 à 1350”, in La Bibbia del XIII secolo: Storia del testo, Storia dell’esegesi, ed. G. Cremascoli and F. Santi (Firenze: SISMEL-Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004), 323–52; James Ginther, “The Scholastic Psalms’ Commentary as a Textbook for Theology: The Case of Thomas Aquinas,” in Omnia Disce: Medieval Studies in Memory of Leonard E. Boyle, O.P., ed. Anne J. Duggan, Joan Greatrex, and Brenda Bolton (Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2005), 85. 3 Martin Morard, La harpe des Clercs: Réception médiévales du Psautier latin entre 1 200 Piotr Roszak Saint Paul and the synthesis of biblical theology.4 Neither Albert the Great nor Bonaventure produced written commentaries on the Psalms, and only in the fourteenth century do the Psalms return as a biblical book commented upon at medieval universities. Thomas’s distinctive take on the Psalms therefore invites the following questions: what kind of theological message do they reveal for Thomas’s sacra doctrina and how does it affect what is labeled as “biblical Thomism”? It is worth emphasizing that the term “biblical Thomism” does not simply refer to exploring forgotten texts of Aquinas.5 Rather, it consists essentially in following the method or “form” of the Angelic Doctor’s thoughts as the coordinates on which his doctrinal reflections can be located. Biblical Thomism gravitates toward biblical texts, circles around them, and builds a synthesis based on the testimony of Divine Revelation. It thus seeks to understand Aquinas’s biblical reasoning and thereby elucidate his speculative approach. Understood in this way, biblical Thomism approaches theology as the “resonation” of the Word of God.6 This resonation echoes the Fathers and gives birth to a synthesis via a continuous “unifying process” around the biblical center using all available knowledge and its consistent interpretation. Returning to Thomas’s commentary on the Psalms, then, we can only understand his style of interpretation by means of this unifying process. Thus, reading his Super Psalmos must unfold in tandem with reading those usages populaires et commentaires scolaires (Paris: 2008). See Gilbert Dahan, “Les prologues des commentaires bibliques (XIIe –XIVe siècle),” in Les prologues médiévaux: Actes du colloque international organize par l’Academia Belgica et l’Ecole française de Rome avec le concours de la FIDEM, Rome, 26–28 mars 1998, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2000), 427–70. See also: Robert Wielockx, “Au sujet du commentaire de saint Thomas sur le ‘corpus paulinum’ critique littéraire,” in Doctor Communis (Vatican City: Pontificia Academica Sanctae Thomae Aquinatis, 2009), 150–84. 5 More about the Biblical Thomism and its proposals can be found in Jörgen Vijgen, ”Biblical Thomism: Past, Present and Future,” Angelicum 3 (2018): 263–87. See also the editorial introduction in Towards A Biblical Thomism: Thomas Aquinas and the Renewal of Biblical Theology, ed. Piotr Roszak and Jörgen Vijgen (Pamplona, Spain: Eunsa, 2018), and Matthew Levering, Participatory Biblical Exegesis: A Theology of Biblical Interpretation (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008). 6 Leo Elders, “Thomas Aquinas and the Fathers of the Church,” in Theological Innovation and the Shaping of Tradition: The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West from the Carolingians to the Maurists, ed. Ignaz Backus (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 337–66. 4 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 201 works of Saint Thomas in which he refers and quotes specific Psalms.7 The great number of these quotations in Aquinas’s answer to the theological question (often in the sed contra, but also in the corpus of the article) make the tissue of that question biblical, testifying to the psalmist’s argumentative value. At the same time, to grasp the full message of Aquinas, it is also necessary to take into account the Magna glossatura of Peter Lombard and to compare it to the tertia pars of the Summa theologiae [ST], which was written at the same time as the Super Psalmos. Precisely for that reason, our topic here will be a theme that is raised in both of these works: the Passion of Christ as a way of realizing our salvation. Therefore, in the hope of regaining Aquinas’s soteriological framework, we will rephrase Saint Anselm, raising the question “cur Deus crucifixus?” Why the Cross? Psalm 21 in the Vulgate—“Deus, Deus meus quare me dereliquisti?”—offers a particularly suitable pericope for such analysis. For Aquinas, Psalm 21 offers a lens through which to read the course of the Passion. From a hermeneutic point of view, Thomas interprets it ad litteram as a text illuminating the Passion of Christ, and he treats it figuratively as the story about David and his sufferings. As a type of lamentation, this psalm is interpreted by Aquinas as an integral part of five psalms that refer to Christ’s Passion. 8 Therefore, each psalm, although starting with groaning, anticipates salvation and thanksgiving. Thomas sees this same pattern in the way that Christ begins the prayer on the Cross; it is not an expression of despair but a recitation of the “way of salvation” that marks the beginning of his suffering. Hence, the perspective of interpretation, also supported by the title given the Psalm by Saint Jerome (“The Morning Stag”) foreshadows, as the other side of the coin, the resurrection.9 Generally speaking, Thomas’s interpretation of the psalm takes into account its linguistic nuances (i.e., in the Greek and Hebrew versions there is no verse 2, “look at me”) as well as heretical interpretations (i.e., Theodore of Mopsuestia and Arius). He focuses, especially at the beginning, on the significance of Jesus being abandoned by God the Father. On his account, this abandonment can be explained in the sense of the Father’s giving permission for the Passion, just like the prayer for taking the cup Michael Waldstein, “On Scripture in the Summa Theologiae,” Aquinas Review (1994): 73–94. 8 Aquinas mentions the following Psalms: 21, 34, 54, 68, and 108. See Super Psalmos 21, no. 1. 9 Jerome, Psalterium Iuxta Hebraeos, ed. H. de Sainte-Marie (Rome: Abbaye SaintJérom̂e, 1954), 32. 7 202 Piotr Roszak from Jesus can be treated as speaking on behalf of the members of the Mystical Body, or the corporeality of Jesus. The first part of the psalm, which is in the form of questions, is for Saint Thomas a manifestation of the attitude of Jesus as he considers the causes of his Passion. Thomas confronts general questions about why Christ suffers or is the abandoned innocent, given that the Old Testament is full of assurances about God saving the righteous, whose glory shines when the good prosper. These arguments seem for Aquinas strong and “amazing,” but the answer is also fundamental. Saint Thomas sees in the psalm the tension between the two salvations: temporal and eternal, originating respectively from the Old Testament and the New Testament. The abandonment concerns a temporal understanding, which is the foretaste of the eternal one. The same thought is expressed in a commentary on another psalm (19), in which Thomas notices two ways in which God saves, which are exemplified by the salvation of the people on Christ’s left and right side.10 For Aquinas, the true salvation is not only a release from evil, but also a rooting in the good. It is not just breaking free from the embrace of the enemy (as indicated by the Hebrew understanding of salvation, breaking out of the hopeless situation, as in the case of someone surrounded tightly by the enemy); it is about finding an unexpected path of rescue and gaining permanent access to the good. The concept of salvation, accomplished by Christ, is in the New Testament analogical to the relationship between the literal and spiritual senses of Sacred Scripture. The relationship between the two senses is by no means oppositional, in which one must be rejected if the other is to be accepted. It is not akin to a rocket that, when launched, loses unnecessary components along its flight path. For Aquinas, the spiritual sense is the development of the literal sense.11 Thus Thomas does not undertake a strict division into two senses even as his commentary follows a certain path that always begins with a literal sense.12 In the anthropology of Aquinas, man Super Psalmos 19, no. 5. Gilbert Dahan, “Le sens littéral dans l’exégese chrétienne de la Bible au Moyen Âge,” in Le sens littéral des Écritures, ed. Oliver-Thomas Venard (Paris: Cerf, 2009), 247; Andrzej Persidok, “¿Revolucionario o ‘genio simplificador’? Santo Tomás de Aquino en la Exégèse médiévale de Henri de Lubac,” Biblica et Patristica Thoruniensia 3(2015): 67–80; Ignacio Manresa “The Literal Sense and the Spiritual Understanding of Scripture according to St. Thomas Aquinas,” Biblica et Patristica Thoruniensia 3 (2017): 341–73. 12 See: Super Psalmos 8, no. 1; Summa theologiae [ST] I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 1. See also Piotr Roszak, “Exegesis and Contemplation: The Literal and Spiritual Sense of Scripture in Aquinas’ Biblical Commentaries,” Espíritu 65 (2016): 481–504. 10 11 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 203 does not come to spiritual matters directly, but rather through material means. That is also true with respect to salvation, which has to do with temporal liberation as the inchoatio of what salvation truly and fully is.13 What Is Causa Passionis? Soteriological “Lenses” of Psalm 21 During the Eucharist, the celebrant, when pronouncing Jesus’s Words of Institution (the Words of Consecration), prays: “At the time he was betrayed and entered willingly into his Passion [Qui cum Passioni voluntarie traderetur].” The preserved adverb [voluntarie, “willingly”] regarding the method is extremely important. It emphasizes that the death which Jesus Christ underwent was not accidental or even contrary to his choice. Neither was Jesus’s death an unfortunate coincidence, or the effect of a simple plot of opponents who caught him by surprise. Aquinas strongly underlines this characteristic of voluntary suffering by stating that “the Passion of Christ was dependent on his will,”14 reinforcing the point with expressions such as “he gave himself to death.” This invites a question: who or what is the “cause” of Jesus’s death? Thomas, using the Aristotelian description of causality (which, in the thirteenth century, was synonymous with the scientific approach), asks about the cause of the Passion. He offers a twofold response: Christ did not kill himself, but he was killed by others. These are the facts. So, in a sense, can Jesus be considered as the cause of his death and the resultant salvation that he brought? We are dealing here with modus dicendi, “a manner of speaking”—a category often used in Thomistic exegesis to describe a thought which must be taken into consideration in order to grasp the presented thesis. Aquinas uses the modus dicendi of considering Christ as the cause of his death to stress the voluntary aspect of his Passion. Jesus did not take actions which could have prevented his death. He could have avoided the Cross by the power of his divine nature, but that did not happen. By not fleeing from death, Jesus thus contributed to the effect of the Cross. It reminds us of someone who has not closed the window during the rain, says Aquinas.15 He or she is a cause of the wet floor in the room. In this way, Saint Thomas answers the question of how Christ wills his death. This opens the reflection of the true causa passionis and therefore the causative power of the Passion, which is the subject of question 47 of the tertia Piotr Roszak, “The Earnest of Our Inheritance (Eph 1:5): The Biblical Foundations of Thomas Aquinas’ Soteriology,” Przegląd Tomistyczny 23 (2017): 213–33. 14 ST III, q. 46, a. 9, resp. 15 ST III, q. 47, a. 1, resp. 13 204 Piotr Roszak pars. It is, however, worthwhile to begin with the analysis of the formulas which express the character of Christ’s death as a precursor to interpreting the soteriological meaning of Psalm 21 and its resonance with ST III. The Theological Meaning of Jesus’s Voluntarily Undertaking His Passion Early opponents of the Gospel perceived the death of the Christ, whom Christians recognized as God, as a scandal and stupidity. Saint Thomas observes in his commentary on the First Letter to the Corinthians that the Passion of Jesus appears to be to Jews a stumbling block, because they desired strength working miracles and saw weakness, suffering and to the Gentiles foolishness, because it seemed against the nature of human reason that God should die and that a just and wise man should voluntarily expose himself to a very shameful death.16 Jesus’s voluntary submission to death, however, reveals the power of God, which overcomes opponents’ reservations. In addition, Saint Thomas, in his commentaries and systematic works, gives several reasons for this action of God. His rationes show the motives of God’s action, indicating the harmony and appropriateness of God’s conduct. Among the main theological aspects of the death of Jesus, one which exceeds the simple statement of the fact of suffering is the “self-giving” that testifies to the double betrayal that the Son of God experienced.17 How can the Son’s betrayal by the Father be fitting when his betrayal by Judas and others exemplifies sin? The same action can be judged according to the ratio of the action: on the one hand, the Father betrayed his Son in his freedom and gives himself out of love, but in the case of others, Aquinas notes, the motivations for the betraying of Jesus are different: “Judas betrayed [tradidit] Christ from greed, the Jews from envy, and Pilate from worldly Super I Cor 1, lec. 3: “. . . Iudaeis scandalum, quia scilicet desiderabant virtutem miracula facientem et videbant infirmitatem crucem patientem; nam, ut dicitur II Cor. ultimo: crucifixus est ex infirmitate. Gentibus autem stultitiam, quia contra rationem humanae sapientiae videtur quod Deus moriatur et quod homo iustus et sapiens se voluntarie turpissimae morti exponat.” 17 Among the many terms used by St. Thomas it is worth mentioning the following: seipsum tradidit,; passus est voluntarie; voluntarie mortem sustinuit; voluntarie subiit; voluntarie mortuus fuit, dando se ad passionem, seipsum pateretur; ex propria voluntate; Christus propria voluntate est passus. 16 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 205 fear, for he stood in fear of Caesar; and these accordingly are held guilty.”18 Although the reasons Aquinas cites seem diverse, all of them transmit the same truth concerning the voluntary character of Jesus’s death. They not only reveal the fundamental doctrinal truths about Christ himself and his work of salvation but also offer an example of moral action that Christians are called to internalize in themselves.19 In this manner, they express the divine way of overcoming evil by a voluntary choice of the greater good,20 which is the essence of satisfaction.21 With the above in mind, what does it mean, then, to say that Christ entered “willingly” into his Passion? Willingness as an Expression of Power and Truth about the Divine Nature of Christ Aquinas starts his reflection with the question whether the Passion of Christ is necessary for the salvation of man, and he answers it using the twofold Aristotelian distinction concerning necessity. The first type of necessity (absolute) is one which by nature excludes its opposite. In this sense, the Passion was not necessary, because the choice of such a way of the human salvation was not the only one possible. However, it has become necessary in the other sense (conditional) when external factors are involved, such as if someone stands in our way and forces us to stop. Human sin led to the situation in which the death of Jesus offers a fitting response by God to evil. This necessity of the second type is expressed by the language of fittingness (convenientia), which is used by Saint Thomas both when considering the Incarnation and when considering the death of the Son of God on the Cross.22 Furthermore, Aquinas notes, the Passion of Christ was not necessary on the part of the Father who would impose his Passion on the Son; fulfilling the will of “the One who sent him” does not destroy the freedom of ST III, q. 47, a. 3, ad 3. Not so much as exemplum—external example to be imitated—but more as exemplar, that is a pattern to be applied in one’s action. 20 Super Psalmos 35, no. 3: “plus dat quam meruit”; Compendium theologiae [CT] I, ch. 217; In IV sent. d. 15, q. 1, a. 3, sol. 1, ad 2. That is why the Cross is “tota ars bene vivendi” (Super Gal 6, lec. 4). See also J. M. Meinert, “Divine Exemplarity, Virtue and Theodicy,” The Thomist 82 (2018): 235–46. 21 See Romanus Cessario, Christian Satisfaction in Aquinas: Towards a Personalist Understanding (Washington, DC: University Press of America, 1982). 22 ST III, q. 1, a. 1, corp. See also Mark Johnson, “A Fuller Account: The Role of ‘Fittingness’ in Thomas Aquinas’ Development of the Doctrine of the Atonement,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 3 (2010): 319–40. 18 19 206 Piotr Roszak the Incarnate Word. Similarly, there is no need for Christ himself to betray himself “internally,” because “his suffering was voluntary.”23 If, on the side of Christ, there is a consent to death, then he is a victim of an unjust trial and of evil, which is revealed during the Passion. What would such a decision prove? What does it signify? In the context of question 56 of ST III, the fruitfulness of the resurrection, Thomas exposits the Passion, paradoxically, as the manifestation of the “power of God,” which “destroys death,” just as the resurrection of Jesus is the efficient (and exemplary) cause of our resurrection and return to life.24 Why is the death of Jesus the “dying of death itself”? Does Christ’s voluntary acceptance of it matter? His acceptance of his human body was a union with “human nature” which, thanks to its relationship to the Word, gains the opportunity to overcome death. Jesus could save what he truly assumed. This emphasis in the Christology of Aquinas on the reception of the body exemplifies Thomas’s soteriological logic. On the other hand, it testifies to the status of the person of the Word who assumes the fullness of humanity without losing the fullness of his divinity. Saint Thomas explains, “Christ was not held fast by any necessity of death, but was ‘free among the dead’: and therefore he abode a while in death, not as one held fast, but of his own will, just so long as he deemed necessary for the instruction of our faith.”25 According to Aquinas, Christ’s voluntary death testifies to the fact that our death and that of Jesus are simultaneously similar and different. As he explains in the Compendium theologiae, death, which consists in separating the soul from the body in us, occurs necessarily or by nature (ex necessitate vel naturae). But in the incarnate Lord it occurred by means of his own power and will (ex potestate et propria voluntate).26 For we are subject to the natural finitude of being human, but in the case of the Incarnate Word, the power of divinity embraces both of his natures. Thus, his body and soul remain in unity by means of his divinity, and their separation requires a discrete act of his will that also manifests his power. This power over death manifests itself in his ability to “shout” from the Cross, which, according ST III, q. 46, a. 1, resp. ST III, q. 56, a. 1, ad 4. 25 ST III, q. 53, a .2, ad 2: “Christus autem nulla necessitate mortis tenebatur adstrictus, sed erat inter mortuos liber. Et ideo aliquandiu in morte mansit, non quasi detentus, sed propria voluntate, quandiu iudicavit hoc esse necessarium ad instructionem fidei nostrae.” 26 See Super Matt 27, lec. 2 (ed. Leodegarii Bissuntini). 23 24 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 207 to Aquinas, along with his taking a short time to die (velocius mortuus fuit)27 compared with the other convicts, contributed to the centurion’s attestation to Jesus’s divinity. This, in turn, leads Aquinas to a statement: Yet we may not aver that the Jews did not kill Christ, or that Christ took his own life. For the one who brings the cause of death to bear on a person is said to kill him. But death does not ensue unless the cause of death prevails over nature, which conserves life. Christ had it in his power either to submit his nature to the destructive cause or to resist that influence, just as he willed. Thus Christ died voluntarily, and yet the Jews killed him.28 Thus, Jesus’s willingness is an indication of his divine nature and his will, to which everything is subordinated. The particular relationship of Jesus to his own death, which reveals that he is not a purus homo (but always verus homo), is at the center of interpretation in Super Ioannem: But in Christ, his own nature and every other nature are subject to his will, just like artifacts are subject to the will of the artisan. Thus, according to the pleasure of his will, he could lay down his life when he willed, and he could take it up again; no mere human being can do this, although he could voluntarily use some instrument to kill himself. This explains why the centurion, seeing that Christ did not die by a natural necessity, but by his own [will]—since “Jesus cried again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit” (Matt 27:50)— recognized a divine power in him, and said: “Truly, this was the Son of God” (Matt 27:54).29 ST III, q. 47, a. 1, ad 2. CT I, ch. 230: “Non tamen dicendum est quod Iudaei non occiderint Christum, vel quod Christus ipse se occiderit. Ille enim dicitur aliquem occidere qui ei causam mortis inducit, non tamen mors sequitur nisi causa mortis naturam vincat, quae vitam conservat. Erat autem in potestate Christi ut natura causae corrumpenti cederet, vel resisteret quantum ipse vellet: ideo et ipse Christus voluntarie mortuus fuit, et tamen Iudaei occiderunt eum.” 29 Super Ioan 10, lec. 4: “In Christo autem natura sua et tota alia natura subditur voluntati eius, sicut artificiata voluntati artificis. Et ideo secundum voluntatis suae placitum, potuit animam ponere cum voluit, et iterum eam sumere: quod nullus purus homo facere potest, licet voluntarie causam mortis sibi possit inferre. Et inde est quod centurio videns eum non naturali necessitate mori, sed sua dum clamans voce magna emisit spiritum: Matth. XXVII, 50 recognovit in eo virtutem divinam dicens: vere filius Dei erat iste.” 27 28 208 Piotr Roszak Other terms that are associated with voluntarie, such as sustinere and subiit, refer to this understanding of the Passion, in which Jesus allows the suspension of his divine power. Both the divine and human will of Christ must together be willing his death, almost in a perichoretic manner. There cannot be contradiction between these two wills. Jesus’s willingness proves, as Saint Thomas notes, that his source of suffering is not only external, but also has an internal principium.30 Willingness illustrates the power of Jesus who overcomes death and iniquity. This is the reason why the mere physical presence of the Crucified among villains is not the most important point of the Passion narrative; rather, as Chrysostom observes, the conversion and introduction of a good villain to paradise is vital.31 And notably, the reader sees in the repentant thief a person who, willingly, has been converted to Jesus. The criminal now not only accepts his death as a just sentence but also embraces Jesus as the object of his love or desire. Above all, Jesus’s willingness expresses who he is: he is the Lord of nature, of life and, of death. This point is conveyed by Saint Thomas in Quodlibet I, where he stresses that Christ is true God and true man so that everything that is in him is in harmony with and subjected to what is divine (subiecti voluntati Christi). Christ’s humanity thus suffers and experiences happiness. By virtue of the unity of Jesus’s two wills, there was no redundantia between the higher and the lower actions of the soul, which does happen in the case of other people because of the natural connection between powers and the lingering effects of concupiscence. That is why one cannot speak of suicide with respect to Christ’s Passion and death.32 In this vein, Saint Thomas also explains the words of Christ, “Destroy this temple,” which Jesus intended to refer to his body. Aquinas analyzes the exact meaning of solvite; the Latin term indicates a solution rather than demolition, and he argues that the consent of Jesus should be treated in this way while actively opposing his enemies.33 Why, then, did Jesus agree to be tormented? As we have already noted, he did so to draw attention to the need for such torture to be inflicted upon him—“need” understood here in the absolute sense.34 His action invites reflection on why he suffered for us, pro nobis, when he was not required to suffer. Thomas reasons that Jesus respects our dignity and ST III, q. 48, a. 1, ad 1. ST III, q. 46, a. 11, ad 1. 32 Quodlibet I, q. 2, a. 2, resp. 33 Super Ioan 2, lec. 3. 34 Thomas distinguishes between necessity as coactionis and finis (see, e.g., ST III, q. 46 a. 1, resp.). 30 31 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 209 builds reciprocity with humankind. He could have saved humanity with one act of the will, but the choice of the Cross and death implies the inclusion of people into a certain process. The thematic key is to understand the communication between the members of the Mystical Body with its Head—a motif present in the entire commentary on the Psalms, where this unity is constantly emphasized as the heritage of Saint Augustine and his Christus totus.35 Therefore, Thomas does not exposit a legalistic understanding of the redemptive death of Jesus in the key of satisfying the wrath of God after the sin of man. Rather, he stresses the union of the faithful with Christ, a union based on solidarity, and this facilitates a true understanding of “reparation.” Aquinas expresses Christ’s willing acceptance of his Passion not only through direct phrases that emphasize this idea. The scriptural quotes themselves, which appear not merely as a simple illustration of theological truths, but rather as the opening and deepening of the studied subject, play an important role in his theological thinking.36 In the case of the voluntary aspect of the Passion, an important confirmation of the scriptural witness is the quotation from Isaiah 53:7—“oblatus est quia ipse voluit” (“He was offered because it was his own will”)—which Aquinas cites several times in his writings. We find it, for example, in the commentary on the Gospel of Saint Matthew: “We are going up to Jerusalem” (see Matt 20:18).37 It is the moment when Jesus is going to the city of Jerusalem with the will to suffer for the salvation of the world. Willingness as an Expression of Christ’s Obedience In his exegesis of Psalm 21, Aquinas leads the reader as if on two parallel levels. On the one hand, he focuses on the sense in which the Passion brings the salvation of man. On the other hand, he perceives it as part of the meta-plan of the whole history of salvation—the need for redemption and the conquest of evil. This macro scale is complemented by Thomas’s focus on the details of the account of the Passion. The first level emphasizes Jesus’s consent to the Passion. Thomas inter Augustinus, Enarrationes in Psalmos 142.3 (PL, 37:1846). See also Tarcisius van Bavel, “The ‘Christus Totus’ Idea: A Forgotten Aspect of Augustine’s Spirituality,” in Studies in Patristic Christology, ed. Thomas Finan and Vincent Twomey (Portland, OR: Four Courts Press, 1998), 84–94. 36 See Piotr Roszak, “The Place and Function of Biblical Citation in Thomas Aquinas’ Exegesis,” in Reading Sacred Scripture with Thomas Aquinas: Hermeneutical Tools, Theological Questions and New Perspectives, ed. Piotr Roszak and Jörgen Vijgen (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015), 115–39. 37 Super Matt 20, lec. 2. 35 210 Piotr Roszak prets Jesus’s death using his metaphysical coordinates of causality; therefore there is no problem for him that it is both voluntary (Jesus agreed to it) and the fault of the perpetrators. Jesus’s consent to death indicates that his Passion is not a mere historical accident. It has sacrificial significance. Aquinas writes: “Christ did not suffer death which comes of sickness, lest he should seem to die of necessity from exhausted nature: but he endured death inflicted from without, to which he willingly surrendered himself, that his death might be shown to be a voluntary one.”38 For Saint Thomas, the Passion ex propria voluntate signifies Christ’s acting in obedience to the Father.39 The Father does not give an order to the Son as something external. Thomas states: “It is indeed a wicked and cruel act to hand over an innocent man to torment and to death against his will. Yet God the Father did not so deliver up Christ, but inspired him with the will to suffer for us.”40 Aquinas points to three possible understandings of how the Father “betrayed” the Son: (1) in his eternal will, the Father preordained Christ’s Passion; (2) the Father inspired Jesus with the will to suffer by infusing charity; and (3) the Father did not defend him from torment. For Thomas, Jesus’s willingness dovetails with his obedience. This is possible when the “will to do” accomplishes something undertaken in freedom. 41 There is no obedience where man has no way out and cannot act otherwise. Moreover, when obedience concerns difficult matters, which undoubtedly includes choosing to die, it is even more praiseworthy. 42 It is clear, therefore, that voluntarie denotes more than a lack of “coercion.” It is a positive expression of the will of Christ, which is full of virtues inasmuch as “per obedientia intelligitur omnis virtus” (“inasmuch as all virtue is known through obedience”)43 The will to suffer for us is not an “empty,” autonomous will, free from being shaped by the good, but is rather emerging from the good and acting for the good. Christ’s willingness is evidence of this awareness of goodness. Saint Thomas deepens his reflection on the obedience of Christ when he develops the basis of the interpretation of the famous canticle of Philip ST III, q. 50, a. 1, ad 2: “Christus non sustinuit mortem ex morbo provenientem, ne videretur ex necessitate mori propter infirmitatem naturae. Sed sustinuit mortem ab exteriori illatam, cui se spontaneum obtulit, ut mors eius voluntaria ostenderetur” (emphasis added). 39 ST III, q. 83 a. 5, ad 5. 40 ST III, q. 47 a. 3, ad 1. 41 ST III, q. 47, a. 2, ad 2. 42 CT I, ch. 227. 43 Super Phil. 2, lec. 3. 38 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 211 pians 2. In Aquinas’s exegesis, obedience is identified with humility: Hence, in order to show the greatness of Christ’s humility and passion, he says that he became obedient; because if he had not suffered out of obedience, his Passion would not be so commendable, for obedience gives merit to our sufferings. But how was he made obedient? Not by his divine will, because it is a rule; but by his human will, which is ruled in all things according to the Father’s will: “Nevertheless, not as I will but as you will” (Matt 26:39). And it is fitting that he bring obedience into his Passion, because the first sin was accomplished by disobedience: “For as by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by one man’s obedience many will be made righteous” (Rom. 5:19); [“The obedient man shall speak of victory” (Prov. 21:28) ]. That his obedience is great and commendable is evident from the fact that obedience is great when it follows the will of another against one’s own. Now the movement of the human will tends toward two things, namely, to life and to honor. But Christ did not refuse death: “Christ also died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous” (1 Pet 3:18). Furthermore, he did not flee ignominy; hence he says, even death on a cross, which is the most shameful: “Let us condemn him to a shameful death” (Wis 2:20). Thus, he refused neither death nor an ignominious form of death. 44 Saint Thomas illumines the path of Christ’s obedience, which overcomes the disobedience of the first parents. The logic of the superiority of obedience is not a matter of comparison. Rather, it emphasizes the greater good which lies behind obedience: “Christ’s love was greater than his slayers’ malice.”45 It follows the metaphysical rule that “causes are similar to their effects.”46 Accordingly, in his commentary on the Letter to the Romans, Thomas points out that the death of Jesus is not pleasing to God on the basis of the death itself (ex communi mortis ratione), for God did not make death (see Wis 1:13). Nor does God approve the behavior of the assassins, whose action, on the contrary, deepens the wrath of God. The relevant reason for Jesus’s death must be that it is the cause of reconciliation between God and humankind. Thomas writes that such reconciliation Super Phil 2, lec. 2 (emphatic italics added). ST III, q. 48, a. 2, ad 2. 46 Super Rom 5, lec. 5. 44 45 212 Piotr Roszak proceeds from the will of Christ suffering, which was a will formed to the endurance of death, in obedience to the Father . . . and out of love for men. . . . From this aspect Christ’s death was meritorious and satisfied for our sins; it was accepted by God as sufficient for reconciling all men, even those who killed Christ.47 The essence of Jesus’s obedience is righteousness because it relies on the observance of the law and thereby makes people righteous. It does not contradict the motivation originating from “love,” since Christ is obedient because of love. 48 In an interesting way, Saint Thomas’s commentary on Psalm 21 foregrounds the will of Jesus to give himself up (se daret). In this context, the expression Christ’s votum appears, which is used by Saint Thomas to reveal the desire of Jesus. Together with related quotes, it builds a “semantic network” in which Saint Thomas observes: Christ repays these vows by giving himself to the passion, and furthermore when he gave his body for the food of the faithful. And so he says, “Vows,” that is, sacrifices: “I will repay,” on the altar of the Cross and the sacrifice of the faithful; and this I will do, “in the sight of those who fear him”—Ecclesiasticus 5: “He who fears the Lord, honors his parents.”49 The term votum/vota is mainly present in the liturgy (including the Mozarabic Rite), and in the corpus of Aquinas’s works in the sense of the voluntary commitment that Christ undertakes. It is a use of freedom which determines a specific goal. Super Rom 5, lec. 2: “. . . quod processit ex voluntate Christi patientis, quae quidem voluntas informata fuit ad mortem sustinendam, cum ex obedientia ad patrem, Phil. II, 8: factus est obediens patri usque ad mortem, tum etiam ex charitate ad homines, Eph. V, 2: dilexit nos et tradidit se pro nobis. Et ex hoc mors Christi fuit meritoria et satisfactoria pro peccatis nostris, et intantum Deo accepta, quod sufficit ad reconciliationem omnium hominum, etiam occidentium Christum.” 48 Super Rom 5, lec. 5. 49 Super Psalmos 21, 21: “Haec vota solvit Christus dando se ad passionem, et iterum quando dedit corpus suum in cibum fidelium; unde dicit, vota, idest sacrificia: reddam, in ara crucis et in sacrificium fidelium; et hoc faciam in conspectu timentium eum: Eccl. 3: qui timet dominum, honorat parentes.” 47 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 213 Willingness as “Sacrifice”: The Soteriological Sense of Jesus’ Death Thomas adds a further interpretive dimension to the voluntary nature of Christ’s death with his emphasis on its sacrificial character. Christ’s death may be described as a hostia—because of both the impurity/corruption caused by sin and the consent of Jesus’s will to submit to the Passion.50 Thomas, relying on the Augustinian theory of sacrifice, does not stress the placatio of God. Instead he sees the Passion as a deed so that “we may cling to God in holy fellowship, yet referred to that consummation of happiness wherein we can be truly blessed.”51 It is not about changing the will of the insulted person to appease him but rather about establishing a stronger relationship with God. This stronger relationship can be established if some good is offered. Thus, the sacrifice is about the power of good, which leads to intimacy; that is why sacrifice has always been combined with feasts which testify to such a community. Having found this good in the human nature of the Incarnate Word, God is appeased.52 Still, what is so “good” in the death of Jesus that it becomes a sacrifice which introduces man into a new communion with God? Saint Thomas’s answer to the question is multivalent and based on his interpretation of the Scriptures; his analysis of the Psalms has a clear impact on his thinking. Aquinas comments that the primary motivation for the Passion is love, and love is only possible in freedom of choice. If, then, the Passion is a maximal expression of love, it is also a maximal expression of choice, which, for Thomas, constitutes a great good that destroys the logic of evil. In the face of death, Jesus remains in goodness. Jesus incarnates divine goodness and reveals it fully in the hostile environment of his Passion and death as the solutio to evil. Thomas thus summarizes the effect in the following way: “Christ’s Passion wrought our salvation, properly speaking, by removing evils; but the resurrection did it as the beginning and exemplar of all good things.”53 This remotio mali happened, however, not by Christ’s fighting with evil directly, but rather through his increasing the presence of good even in a situation that seemed completely overwhelmed by evil. Thomas’s analysis of God’s fitting action indicates the way of God’s conduct: it is a kind of ST III, q. 22, a. 2, ad 2. ST III, q. 48, a. 3, resp: “. . . ut sancta societate Deo inhaereamus, relatum scilicet ad illum finem boni quo veraciter beati esse possumus.” 52 ST III, q. 49, a. 4, resp. 53 ST III, q. 53, a. 1, ad 3: “Passio Christi operata est nostram salutem, proprie loquendo, quantum ad remotionem malorum, resurrectio autem quantum ad inchoationem et exemplar bonorum.” 50 51 214 Piotr Roszak “race” for a greater good in which evil is left behind. Therefore, redemption and salvation allow man to realize the good which has become impossible due to sin. It is the submission to the power of love that transforms man and opens up goodness for him. This is how the possibility of truly deserving eternal life opens up for man. It is not by man’s collecting arguments to convince God in the future. It is rather his conviction that God offers a free cooperation with God’s grace. We are “God’s co-workers.” The merit consists in the participation in the good which manifests itself in the “‘ability to voluntarily endure’ [all] because of God, because of love.”54 That good found in human nature—in the voluntary death of the Incarnate Word and in the voluntary nature of Christ’s saving activity—is a gift of self. It rejects the image of a God who is looking for revenge and reveals God as self-giving. Furthermore, the exemplarity of Christ’s voluntary suffering is not about finding value in suffering as such, but seeing it as a means of expression, an opportunity to demonstrate obedience based on Christ’s example.55 Voluntarie as an Expression of Love For Saint Thomas, the voluntary attitude with which Christ accepts the Passion reveals his divine nature and obedience to the Father. More importantly, however, it reveals the love which grounds and effects the entire work of redemption. There is no love without this free choice.56 A sign of true freedom is the ability to sacrifice for another person.57 The voluntary death of Jesus is a sacrifice precisely because it is a “manifestation of love,” even as the perpetrators considered it a crime because sin deformed their ability to see and love goodness.58 Aquinas observes that, “in order to demonstrate the fullness of his love, on account of which he suffered, Christ upon the Cross prayed for his persecutors.”59 Love is the motive for the Father’s acceptance of the Son’s sacrifice. The concept of satisfaction is not about equalizing the accounts of evil, but about giving the insulted person something that he values more than the damage done by mankind. Thomas writes: “But by suffering out of love and obedience, Christ gave more to God than it was required to compen Super Rom 8, lec. 4: “voluntarie sustinet propter Deum ex charitate.” In II Sent., d. 40, q. 1, a. 4, ad 1. 56 In III Sent., d. 20, q. 1, a. 5, qc 1, resp. 57 Thomas’s understanding of merit is based on the free action of love. There can be no merit without free choice, and there can be no meritorious free choice which is not also an expression of love for God and neighbor. See ST I-II, q. 114, a. 5, resp. 58 ST III, q. 48, a. 3, ad 3. 59 ST III, q. 47, a. 4, ad 1. 54 55 Aquinas on Christ’s Will to Die and Our Salvation 215 sate for the offense of the whole human race.”60 Pardoning sins requires reparation, which is understood as “something” on the part of the one who forgives sins. Such reparation is an act of will that does a good. The Incarnate Word through his humanity offers satisfaction for all when he takes “a free death suffering from love.”61 Conclusion An analysis of Aquinas’s commentary on Psalm 21 in concert with ST III has shown the basic framework of the soteriology of Aquinas, thanks to which it is possible to discover the true meaning of “salvation” that emerges from the voluntary sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. This is essentially a very biblical concept of salvation. Thomas’s principle findings may be classified as four fundamental effects following from Christ’s Passion of ex propria voluntate. Jesus’s “sacrifice” is not that of a passive victim, neither is it the necessary payment required by a God who requires suffering for reconciliation. The key to understanding the sacrifice of Christ is the good that the Incarnate Word accomplishes through his human nature. Salvation signifies breaking the logic of evil by removing the obstacle on the way to achieving the good and replacing it with the “prototype of good” (an exemplar, which is the resurrection). From this perspective, the voluntary nature of Jesus’ death, professed during the celebration of the Eucharist, underlines that Christ remains God during the Passion. His voluntary acceptance of death means he does not prevent death from happening, yet it is not a positive wish for the evil of death. This, in turn, illustrates the true divine and human nature of Christ, as well as his choice of the path of suffering as an appropriate way to overcome evil. Voluntarie signifies not acting under the dictatorship of evil: the acceptance of the Passion denotes that the Son of God, in his greatest suffering (since for Aquinas, the suffering of the Incarnate Word is the highest suffering), in the world of evil, employs the logic that chooses the good and trusts the Father. His sacrifice allows man to do good deeds that, by becoming meritorious, lead to eternal life. To point to the Passion as taken up by Christ ex caritate is to emphasize ST III, q. 48, a. 2, resp.: “Christus autem, ex caritate et obedientia patiendo, maius aliquid Deo exhibuit quam exigeret recompensatio totius offensae humani generis.” As he explains in the body of the article, the greater is the immensity of love for which he suffered: (1) the value of life of God-man (2) and the overwhelming suffering and pain. It is expressed by the triad magnitudo–dignitas– generalitas. 61 Summa contra gentiles IV, ch. 55, no. 21. Cf. In III sent., d. 15 q. 2 a. 3 qc 3, resp. 60 216 Piotr Roszak satisfaction as a method of overcoming evil. Satisfactio is for Saint Thomas the defeating of evil with a greater good by virtue of the Father’s prior unity with the Son and not as something external. For this reason, the salvific power is not hidden in death as such, but in love as manifested in the voluntary acceptance of it. Vota Christi—this expression from Super Psalmos indicates the sacrificial meaning of Christ’s life and merit for our salvation. The desire for the salvation of man is linked with the gradual uncovering of its fullness, the transition from the “earthly” salvation to the spiritual one. Such are the words that Jesus says on the Cross, quoting Psalm 21: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” They do not comprise a question of Jesus, but rather a prayer of lamentation in which everything is directed toward the recognition of the situation of evil and the praise of God for his faithfulness and the gift of salvation. Thus, the soteriology of Aquinas, immersed in the biblical texts, is not juridical in the sense of a mere extrinsic exchange between God and sinners with Christ as a sacrifice. 62 Rather, it is grounded in friendship, since satisfaction can only be realized when both remain united by love. Christ’s satisfaction, therefore, results from his love and obedience. It does not change N&V God, but brings about a change in us.63 Matthew Levering, “Juridical Language in Soteriology: Aquinas’s Approach,” Angelicum 80 (2003): 309–26. 63 My gratitude goes to Shawn Colberg, Jörgen Vijgen, Enrique Alarcón, and Dawn Eden Goldstein for all their helpful suggestions. This article uses information gathered through the grant “Identity and Tradition: The Patristic Sources of Thomas Aquinas’ Thought” (2017–2020) funded from the resources of the National Science Center (NCN) in Poland, allotted following the decision no. DEC-2016/23/B/HS1/02679. 62 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 217–249 217 Thomas Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ in Psalm 16:2 Joel Thomas Chopp Wycliffe College at the University of Toronto Toronto, Canada Thomas Aquinas taught that God could have created a world differ- ent from our own or refrained from creating any world whatsoever. Thomas also held that this position was clearly taught by Scripture.1 He even goes so far as to describe the main alternative to this view—the belief that God created from natural necessity—as “false and utterly alien to the Catholic faith.”2 It seems fair to assume that he judged the theological stakes involved in the issue to be high. In De veritate, q. 23, a. 4, Thomas addresses a question that is integral to his account of divine freedom: whether God wills whatever he wills of necessity. After constructing a metaphysical account of voluntary action, in the concluding portion of his argument he writes: “Likewise, nor is there any necessity in [the divine will] with respect to the whole of creation, because the divine goodness is perfect in itself, and would be so even if no creature were to exist, for ‘he has no need of our goods,’ as is said in the Psalm [16:2].”3 It is not altogether obvious—at least if one starts from the working assumptions of modern exegesis—how the latter half of Psalm 16:2 (Vulgate 15:2) could be interpreted as concerned with divine freedom, let alone teach Aquinas, Summa contra gentiles [SCG] II, ch. 23 (Leonine edition [LE], 13:325, lns. 24–27). 2 Aquinas, Summa theologiae, ST I, q. 104, a. 3 (LE, 5:468). 3 Aquinas, De veritate, q. 23, a. 4, resp.: “Nec etiam inest ei aliqua necessitas respectu totius creaturae, eo quod divina bonitas in se perfecta est etiamsi nulla creatura existeret, quia ‘bonorum nostrorum non eget’ ut in Psal. dicitur” (LE, 22/3:663.222– 32.) English translations are my own unless noted otherwise. 1 218 Joel Thomas Chopp ing anything about the modal status of the relation between the divine will and the whole of created reality. 4 Read in a particular light, it could even appear plausible that Thomas’s citation of the psalm in this context amounts to little more than a pious veneer, hastily glued over a slab of philosophical abstractions. This essay argues that such appearances are mistaken. In what follows, I will not primarily be arguing for the veracity of Thomas’s doctrine of divine freedom, nor even presenting a full account of his views. My aim is more modest. The argument presented here aims to uncover how Thomas arrived at this reading of the psalm, understand how his exegesis relates to his doctrine, and suggest that—given certain beliefs about the nature of Scripture and its interpretation—Thomas’s reading is plausible. I conclude by considering obstacles to contemporary theologians following Thomas’s reading and provide possible solutions for overcoming them. My first section begins with an overview of Scholastic exegesis, followed by a brief description of Thomas’s doctrine of divine freedom within its thirteenth-century context. To understand how Thomas may have arrived at his reading of Psalm 16:2, my second section provides a series of vignettes of the reception history of this passage. This section begins with Augustine’s citation of the psalm at a critical juncture within book 1 of De doctrina christiana, followed by Peter Lombard’s incorporation of Augustine’s reading of the psalm in the Sentences. The section concludes with an examination of the Postilla super Psalterium of Hugh of Saint Cher. A third section provides a summary of Thomas’s interpretation of the psalm throughout his corpus and a brief consideration of the other scriptural passages that Thomas juxtaposed with the psalm. This section concludes with an analysis of the place of the psalm in Thomas’s doctrine of divine freedom, focusing on Super Psalmos 15 and De veritate, q. 23, a. 4. Fourth and finally, I conclude with a consideration of and response to obstacles for contemporary theologians who wish to follow Thomas’s reading of the text. Scripture & Divine Freedom in the Thirteenth Century An Overview of Scholastic Exegesis Thirty to forty years ago, it was not uncommon to construe the history of Note that the Vulgate follows the Septuagint (LXX) in numbering the Psalms, whereas most modern English versions followed the Hebrew enumeration. I will be using the Hebrew enumeration in what follows. 4 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 219 the development of Scholasticism as one of liberation from the scriptural text. While elements of this construal remain in some quarters, the consensus that Scholasticism was an almost exclusively philosophical enterprise with little interest in the sacred page has largely been abandoned. Historical research on the institutional and material conditions of theological education in the universities and a groundswell of research on medieval reception of the Bible have given us a clearer understanding of the place of Scripture in medieval theology.5 Biblical Thomism is partly an outgrowth of these advances in historical scholarship. Particularly for those unfamiliar with this body of literature, a few words about the reception of the Psalter and the exegetical practices employed at the time are necessary. The influence of early Christian biblical interpretation on medieval exegesis was pervasive.6 It was mediated to the schools through a variety of means: quotations and fragments of exegesis most often made their way into twelfth- and thirteenth-century discussions by way of florilegia, catenas, and sentence collections that excerpted portions of influential texts. One particularly influential source was the Glossa ordinaria, compiled in the middle of the twelfth century, which ensured the transmission of particular extracts from patristic and Carolingian sources that would inform later exegesis. The notes on the Psalter principally consisted in extracts from either Augustine’s Ennarationes in Psalmos or Cassiodorus’s Expositio Psalmorum, but also commonly some amalgamation of both.7 The most frequently consulted exegetical work in the twelfth-century schools—Lombard’s Magna glossatura—would largely follow the Glossa The mere fact that the first task assigned to a magister in sacra pagina was to give daily verse-by-verse expositions of Scripture, and that it was understood as foundational to the other two responsibilities—disputation and preaching—sits uneasily with the older historical construal. On the dangers of neglecting consideration of the institutional dimensions of medieval theological education, see James R. Ginther, “There Is a Text in This Classroom: The Bible and Theology in the Medieval University,” in Essays in Medieval Philosophy and Theology in Memory of Walter H. Principe, CSB: Fortresses and Launching Pads, ed. James Ginther and Carl N. Still (Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2005), 31–51. For an overview of the recent research on the medieval reception of the Bible, see Christopher Ocker and Kevin Madigan, “After Beryl Smalley: Thirty Years of Medieval Exegesis, 1984–2013,” Journal of the Bible and Its Reception 2, no. 1 (2015): 87–130. 6 Franklin Harkins describes early Christian interpretation as “an omnipresent foundational force” in medieval theology (“Medieval Latin Reception,” in The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Biblical Interpretation, ed. Paul M. Blowers and Peter W. Martens [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019], 651–66). 7 Lesley Smith, The Glossa Ordinaria: The Making of a Medieval Bible Commentary, Commentaria 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), 48. 5 220 Joel Thomas Chopp ordinaria in its selection of sources for the Psalms.8 The compilation of the gloss contributed to shifting the reception of the Psalms from the monastery to the schools, as well as the growing concern for increasingly finegrained analysis of the text and its doctrinal import.9 Lombard’s placement of David at the top of the hierarchy of prophets has also been identified as a significant contributing factor to the rise in commentaries on the Psalter in the thirteenth century.10 Early Christian exegesis was present not only in the reception of prior interpretations of individual texts, but also in the reading strategies employed to arrive at those interpretations. Twelfth- and thirteenth-century readers also employed juxtapositional reading, as well as what recent studies have termed “prosopological” and “partitive” exegesis, reading strategies that stretch back to the early Christian era. Juxtapositional reading is the practice of gathering together a constellation of scriptural texts and, through collation and ordering, bringing them to bear on one another as mutually interpreting.11 Athanasius’s Christological arguments from Proverbs 8 are a commonly cited example of this practice.12 Prosopological exegesis is the practice of identifying the speaker or recipient of an address within a poetic text as a particular person, often prompted by either ambiguities or interpretive tensions in the original text.13 Partitive Marcia L. Colish, “Psalterium Scholastocorum: Peter Lombard and the Emergence of Scholastic Psalms Exegesis,” Speculum 67, no. 3 (1992): 531–48, at 532. As Colish points out, Lombard’s gloss was not a mere repetition of the ordinary gloss—there is significant continuity between the sources, but a marked difference in the purposes to which those sources are put. See also, Smith, Glossa Ordinaria, 200–202. 9 Smith, Glossa Ordinaria, 1–12; Colish, “Psalterium Scholastocorum,” 531–33. 10 Martin Morard, “Hugues de Saint-Cher, Commentateur Des Psaumes,” in Hugues de Saint-Cher (†1263): Bibliste et Théologien, ed. Gilbert Dahan, Louis-Jacques Bataillon, and Pierre-Marie Gy (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2004), 102–3. 11 For Thomas’s employment of this practice, see Piotr Roszak, “The Place and Function of Biblical Citations in Thomas Aquinas’s Exegesis,” in Reading Sacred Scripture with Thomas Aquinas: Hermeneutical Tools, Theological Questions and New Perspectives, ed. Piotr Roszak and Jörgen Vijgen (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015), 115–39, and Roszak, “Principes et pratiques exegetiques dans l’Expositio super lob de Thomas d’Aquin,” Revue Thomiste 119 (2019): 5–30, at 10. 12 Ephraim Radner, Time and the Word: Figural Reading of the Christian Scripture (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2016), 210–15. 13 Peter’s identification of Christ as the speaker of the Psalms in Acts 2:22–41 and the author of Hebrew’s reading of Psalm 2:7 are examples of this interpretive strategy. On Acts 2, see Matthew Bates, The Birth of the Trinity: Jesus, God, and Spirit in New Testament and Early Christian Interpretations of the Old Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 153–55. On prosopological exegesis in 8 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 221 exegesis is the closely related strategy of identifying either the speech or the particular statements of the text under the aspect of either Christ’s humanity or divinity.14 That these two practices were intertwined is particularly evident in Scholastic interpretation of the Psalms. Following Augustine, medieval interpreters read the speaker of the Psalms as not only Christ in his two natures, but the Totus Christus, Christ and his members, the Church. Once Christ is identified as speaker of the Psalms, the text itself pushes the reader to this interpretive strategy, as it explains how speech inapplicable to Christ, such as confession of sin, can be explained—it is the Church that is repenting. Biblical interpretation at the turn of the thirteenth century also employed an increasingly sophisticated set of exegetical tools used to access the meaning of the text. One of the preferred tools of the thirteenth century was the divisio textus. John Boyle describes the practice as follows: Starting with the text as a whole, one articulates a principal theme, in the light of which one divides and subdivides the text into smaller units, often down to the individual words. A scholastic division of the texts has at least three essential characteristics. First, the interpreter articulates a theme that provides a conceptual unity to the text and commentary as a whole. Second, the division penetrates at least to the level of verse; it does not simply articulate large blocks of text. And third, because the division begins with the whole and then continues through progressive subdivisions, each verse stands in an articulated relation not only with the whole but ultimately with every other part, division, and verse of the text.15 This practice provided both the exegetical parameters and a unifying prin- the book of Hebrews, see Madison N. Pierce, Divine Discourse in the Epistle to the Hebrews: The Recontextualization of Spoken Quotations of Scripture, Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2020). 14 For an introduction to this reading practice focusing on Athanasius, see John Behr, The Nicene Faith, Part I: True God of True God (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2004), 208–15. 15 John F Boyle, “The Theological Character of the Scholastic ‘Division of the Text’ with Particular Reference to the Commentaries of Saint Thomas Aquinas,” in With Reverence for the Word: Medieval Scriptural Exegesis in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, ed. Jane Dammen McAuliffe, Barry D. Walfish, and Joseph W. Goering (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 276–83, at 276. 222 Joel Thomas Chopp ciple for thirteenth-century Scholastic commentaries.16 As such, the interpretive judgments made in the division of the text—for the Psalter, often occurring in either the prologue or the commentary on the first Psalm— should be consulted to understand the exegetical judgments within the commentary on individual Psalms. I have deliberately used the terms “practices” and “strategies” in order to emphasize that medieval exegesis was an act carried out under particular institutional and material conditions, and to highlight that these practices were not merely theoretical—they were not exclusively aimed at ascertaining the meaning of a scriptural text. They were partly that, of course. But they served contemplative, affective, and devotional ends as well. For example, Mary Carruthers has demonstrated at considerable length that dividing large texts into smaller more manageable units was one of the foundational techniques used to memorize Scripture.17 Divisio for the purpose of memorization and divisio as an interpretive strategy were not identical practices—the former was in use well before the thirteenth century. Nevertheless, given the foundational role of memorization within medieval academic culture, it seems likely that one of the motivations behind the development of the hermeneutical strategy was its heuristic usefulness in committing the text to memory.18 The deeply embedded role of memorization in medieval pedagogy has similar implications for understanding juxtapositional reading. Recent research on Thomas and Scripture often identifies Thomas’s commitment to the essential unity of Scripture as the material ground for this practice. And of course, this is true. Thomas did believe Scripture was a unified whole whose principal author was the Holy Spirit. Because of this, one passage of Scripture can clarify another, regardless of its location within In his foreword to his translation of Aquinas’s commentary on Ephesians (Albany, NY: Magi Books, 1966), Matthew Lamb notes that, whereas the twelfth-century commentaries tended to work through the text line-by-line and risked losing a sense of the whole, the divisio provided the means of relating the parts to the whole through the identification of the central theme of the text (26). 17 Mary J. Carruthers, The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture, 2nd ed., Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 122–39. Thomas Ryan has argued that the organization of Super Psalmos was constructed to aid in the memorization of Scripture (Thomas Aquinas as Reader of the Psalms [Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2000], 31–38). 18 The conscious training of memory was both a scholarly necessity—one did not have time to go searching through codices for a biblical text in the middle of a disputation—and a moral obligation, as memory was understood to be foundational to the virtue of prudence (Carruthers, The Book of Memory, 81–89). 16 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 223 the canon. However, the medieval use of juxtapositional reading was not solely grounded in a commitment to the unity of Scripture and its divine authorship. It was also enabled and motivated by the value placed on the memorial practices employed in the study of Scripture. The memorization of vast portions of Scripture—such as the book of Psalms, which was expected to be memorized in its entirety by both clergy and educated laity—allowed individual texts to be brought forward, juxtaposed, and collated in the mind of the reader. One of the motivations behind the memorization of Scripture itself was to enable just such juxtapositional readings.19 Moreover, these memorial practices were not cold, computational acts of retrieving bits of bare propositional knowledge. When one memorized a text, it was considered essential to “tag” the passage with personal and emotional associations that would assist in the act of recollection. How the text first affected the reader: if it instilled fear or reverence, desire or pleasure, as well as the sensible impressions—the smell of the room, the expression on the teachers face, the color of the ink on the page—were all taken to be indispensable aids in committing a text to memory.20 When these facets of medieval Scholastic pedagogy are taken into account, they give us a different perspective of the act of scriptural citation than paradigms that would construe Thomas’s invocation of biblical material as aimed exclusively at proving doctrine. It is also a picture more congruent with what Thomas himself says about the usefulness of Scripture in his famous comments on Isaiah 48:17—that it illumines the intelligence, makes glad the affections, inflames the heart, rectifies our labors, assists us in obtaining glory, and is useful for instructing others.21 Divine Freedom in the Thirteenth Century Medieval debates about free will were in several respects similar to our own. Free will was understood as a necessary condition for moral respon “Many scholars with normal vision also made themselves into libraries, because doing so enables the kind of richly concording and paralleling style of interpretation that we associate particularly with patristic and medieval exegesis” (Mary Carruthers, “Memory, Imagination, and the Interpretation of Scripture in the Middle Ages,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Reception History of the Bible, ed. Michael Lieb, Emma Mason, and Jonathan Roberts [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011], 214–34, at 215). 20 Carruthers, Book of Memory, 69–76. 21 Super Isa 48. On this passage, see Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, vol. 1, The Person and His Work, trans. Robert Royal, rev. ed. (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2003), 30–33. 19 224 Joel Thomas Chopp sibility: notions of praise, blame, desert, merit, and demerit presupposed volitional control over our actions such that they are “up to us” in an important sense. Free will was taken to admit of degrees: it could be increased or diminished, though it was generally agreed that there was a sense in which it could not be wholly lost. The availability of alternatives was understood as necessary to some forms of free action, but not others. Questions about the compatibility of various forms of necessity with free action were vigorously debated. There are nevertheless several structural differences in how medieval theologians approached the question. Free will was assumed to the faculty of an immaterial soul that possesses a rational nature. To further complicate matters, the subjects that make up much of the contemporary discussions of free will were treated under the distinct but overlapping categories of libera voluntas and liberum arbitrium.22 In most cases, liberum arbitrium referred to that which enables a subset of acts of the will, those brought about through choice between alternatives.23 Natural necessity was often understood to be compatible with libera voluntas, but not with liberum arbitrium—the paradigm case for the former was God freely willing the good with natural necessity. Theological considerations also played a more significant role in structuring debates about the nature of free will. At least since Anselm, definitions of liberum arbitrium were typically intended to be broad enough to range across intellectual natures—God, angels, and humans—and for creatures, in their various states (created, fallen, redeemed, damned, or glorified for humans; created, fallen, or confirmed in grace for angels). Different accounts drew from several authoritative definitions, giving this or that definition more weight depending on where the author landed on the debated issues. It was also assumed that liberum arbitrium came about through the faculties of intellect and will. While translating voluntas as “will” captures most of its medieval usage, liberum arbitrium is notoriously difficult to translate. The best candidates are “free choice” and “free judgment,” but neither is wholly adequate. The former tilts the question of priority in the direction of the will, whereas the latter toward the intellect. Given that one of the central debates of the thirteenth century was whether the will or the intellect exercises some form of priority in acts brought about through liberum arbitrium, the majority of the secondary literature leaves the term untranslated, a practice that I will adopt here. 23 Bonaventure was an exception to this general rule. He distinguished between liberum arbitrium as free and liberum arbitrium as deliberating, the latter enabling choice between alternatives; see Tobias Hoffmann, “Freedom without Choice: Medieval Theories of the Essence of Freedom,” in The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Ethics, ed. Thomas Williams, Cambridge Companions to Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 194–216, at 197. 22 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 225 Thomas taught that God possesses libera voluntas and liberum arbitrium.24 This was the majority view within the twelfth and thirteenth centuries—Peter Lombard, Philip the Chancellor, Albert the Great, Alexander of Hales, and Bonaventure all taught that God possesses liberum arbitrium in some sense.25 They differed in important respects on what precisely liberum arbitrium is—whether it is a power or habit; whether the intellect or the will exercises priority, whether liberum arbitrium is some third thing distinct from both intellect and will. But that it is what enables choice between alternatives, and that God possesses it—in a manner higher and more perfect than all other intellectual agents—was a point of collective agreement. More importantly, Thomas and the majority of his contemporaries held that creation itself was the product of divine choice and brought about through liberum arbitrium. This view creates a number of interesting conceptual difficulties. For example, it seems to run afoul of the common intuition that since God is omnipotent and perfectly good, he always does what is best. Abelard— redeploying an argument from Augustine’s literal commentary on Genesis—reasoned that if God refrained from creating good things that were within his power, he would be guilty of jealousy and injustice.26 Abelard concluded that God could not do more than what he does, better than what he does, or other than what he does. God, because he is the summum bonum, is incapable of increasing or diminishing in goodness. Nevertheless, God’s own ineffable goodness “stirs up” (accensum) God to will what he wills necessarily.27 This was not the only difficulty that Thomas’s view raised, nor was it the only line of argument Abelard deployed for the necessity of creation. However, the issues that these arguments raise are central to Thomas’s doctrine of divine freedom and what he takes Psalm 16:2 to be teaching about God and his relation to the created order. Aquinas, De potentia, q. 10, a. 2, obj. 5 and ad 5; SCG I, ch. 88 (LE, 13:239–40). Peter Lombard, Sentences II, d. 25, cc. 1–2 (all quotations of the Sentences come from Sententiae in IV libris distinctae, ed. Ignatius C. Brady, 3rd rev. ed., 2 vols. [Grottaferrata: Editiones Collegii S. Bonaventurae, 1971–1981]); Philip the Chancellor, Summa de bono, p. 1, tr. 4, q. 2, s. 2; Albert Magnus, Summa de creaturis II, q. 70, a. 6; Alexander of Hales, Summa universis theologiae II, p. 1, in. 4, tr. 2, s. 2, q. 3, ti. 3, m. 3, c. 1; Bonaventure, In II sent., d. 25, p. 2, a. 1, q. 2. 26 Abelard, Theologia christiana 5.30. Cf. Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram 4.16.27: “But if he were unable to create good things, He would have no power; if He were able but did not do so, He would be filled with envy. Therefore, because He is all-powerful and good, He made everything exceedingly good” (in The Literal Meaning of Genesis, trans. John Hammond Taylor, Ancient Christian Writers 41 [New York: Newman Press, 1982], 122). 27 Abelard, Theologia christiana 5.42. 24 25 226 Joel Thomas Chopp Reception History of Psalm 16:2 Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana 1.31 In the third chapter of De doctrina christiana, Augustine introduces a distinction within his doctrine of charity between things that are to be used and things to be enjoyed. “To enjoy a thing,” he explains in the fourth chapter, “is to cleave to it in love for its own sake. To use, on the other hand, is to order it toward obtaining that which you love, provided it is a proper object of love.”28 He explains this distinction through an illustration of an exile journeying to his fatherland where his true good lies. The exile can and should make use of land and sea transportation, and perhaps may encounter pleasures along the way. But suppose these pleasures delay the traveler, or cause him to lose interest in his home country? Likewise, we are exiles returning to our home, and we must make use of this world, not enjoy it. That which is to be enjoyed is the eternal and unchanging, to which all other temporal goods are ordered. As such, the Trinity alone is the proper object of enjoyment. Everything else in the cosmos is to be used, ordered toward the enjoyment of God. This distinction between use and enjoyment would exercise considerable influence on later theology and would also be the occasion of more than a few controversies.29 However, for our purposes, we are only concerned with how the distinction bears on Augustine’s reading of the psalm. Augustine’s first complication to the systematic employment of this distinction arises in treating humanity: are human beings to be used, enjoyed, or both?30 As beings made in the image and likeness of God, humans are incontestably great things. Furthermore, humans are commanded to love one another. Based on these two considerations, Augustine poses a further question: should people be loved by others for their own sake or the sake of something else? If the former, they are to be enjoyed; if the latter, used. Augustine concludes that humans are to be used. Note, however, that Augustine has modified what he means by use—in the formal definitions from chapter 4, use was not construed as a Augustine, De doctrina christiana 1.4.4 (all quotations of De doctrina christiana are translated from vol. 32 of Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina). 29 For a helpful overview of the influence of this distinction, see Kimberly Georgedes, “Uti/Frui Distinction,” in The Oxford Guide to the Historical Reception of Augustine, ed. Karla Pollmann and Willemien Otten, 3 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 3:1838–42. 30 Augustine, De doctr. 1.22.20. 28 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 227 form of love, only as a means for obtaining that which was loved.31 Here, Augustine expands the range of the use/enjoyment distinction to map onto two forms of love: diligere propter se, love for its own sake (enjoyment), and diligere propter aliud, love for the sake of something else (use).32 This expansion of the definition would pave the way for the next obvious question: it is abundantly clear from Scripture that God loves us, but what exactly is the mode in which he loves us, that of enjoyment or use? Augustine reasons: But if he enjoys us, he needs some good of ours, which no one of sound mind would say. For every good of ours is either [God] himself or from him. But can anyone find it obscure or doubt that the light is in no need of the brilliance of the things which it illuminates? Furthermore, the prophet clearly says: “I said to the Lord, you are my God, for you have no need of my goods.” Therefore he does not enjoy us, but makes use of us. Because if he neither enjoys us nor makes use of us, I cannot discover in what way he can love us.33 Our use of things and God’s use of us differs in one crucial respect. All of our uses—even the “use” of our love for our neighbor—are ordered toward some utility on our part, namely, the enjoyment of God. Our “use” of others “is brought into the project of our need,” as Oliver O’Donovan puts it.34 God’s use of us, in contrast, does not redound toward any utility on his part. He is not filling up any lack or need in the divine life whatsoever. Or, in the words of the psalmist, he has no need of our goods. Augustine, in what would become one of the more influential portions of his corpus, passed on a reading of this psalm as an explanation of how God loves his people grounded in the doctrine of divine beatitude. God perfectly possesses, loves, and rests in himself as the ultimate end, the summum bonum to which no other goods can be added. God could not need our goods any more than the light could need what is illuminated. When Augustine returns to this psalm in other texts, it is to consistently reinforce that all of God’s acts ad extra are done to benefit us, not himself.35 Finally, note that the context of the citation of this psalm is not Oliver O’Donovan, “‘Usus’ and ‘Fruitio’ in Augustine, ‘De Doctrina Christiana’ I,” Journal of Theological Studies 33, no. 2 (1982): 385–86. 32 Augustine, De doctr. 1.22.20. 33 Augustine, De doctr. 1.31.34. 34 O’Donovan, “‘Usus’ and ‘Fruitio,’” 389. 35 E.g., Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram 8.11.24. 31 228 Joel Thomas Chopp a discussion of divine freedom, or the necessity of creation, or the question of whether God could have refrained from creating the world. Augustine’s reception of the text is within a question arising in his doctrine of charity, and his response is through appeal to the psalmist’s declaration of divine beatitude. Peter Lombard, the Sentences Augustine’s argument from De doctrina would recur in no less conspicuous a text than the first distinction of book 1 of Peter Lombard’s Sentences. Chapters 1 and 2 rehearse the two central distinctions of De doctrina, between signs and things and between things to be used and things to be enjoyed. Lombard then adds two further definitions of use and enjoyment, both drawn from De Trinitate 10. “We enjoy the things that we know, in which the will finds delight for their own sake and comes to rest; but we use things by referring them to another thing that is to be enjoyed.”36 “To use is to take up something into the faculty of the will; but to enjoy is to use with the joy—not any longer of hope—but now of the thing itself. Therefore, everyone who enjoys, uses; for one takes up something into the faculty of the will with the goal of delight. But not everyone who uses also enjoys, if that which is taken up into the faculty of the will is desired, not for its own sake, but for the sake of another.”37 Lombard notes that this latter definition seems to imply that everyone in this life only uses God and does not enjoy him. He resolves the apparent conflict by distinguishing between proper, perfect, and full enjoyment, which the angels and the blessed possess, and the enjoyment of those who walk in hope, which is “not so full.” In the sixth article of chapter 3 of the same distinction, Lombard he poses the question of whether God enjoys or uses us, quoting the majority of De doctrina 1.31–32 in response, including Augustine’s citation of Psalm 16:2. He concludes by quoting portions of Augustine’s chapter 32: “Because he is good, we exist, and to the extent that we exist, we are good. Moreover, because he is also just, we are not evil with impunity; and to the extent that we are evil, so we exist less. Therefore, that use by which God uses us is referred not to his own utility, but to ours, and is referred only to his goodness.”38 The psalm—interpreted in this same Augustinian key— recurs in book 2, in the fourth chapter of distinction 1, where Lombard treats the question “for what is the rational creature created?” His answer Lombard, Sentences I, d. 1, c. 2. Lombard, Sentences I, d.1, c. 3. 38 Lombard, Sentences I, dist. 1, ch. 3. 36 37 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 229 is concise and to the point: to praise God, to serve him, and to enjoy him. But he is also quick to dispel the notion that the Creator, rather than creatures, profits from this arrangement. Lombard’s selection of Augustine’s use/enjoyment distinction also functioned as an organizing principle for the work as a whole. Kimberly Georgedes observes: “The significance of beginning his work on in bk. 1 on the Trinity with the uti/frui distinction is so obvious that modern authors tend to overlook it when dealing with the Sentences. The Trinity (bk 1) is the only thing one is allowed to enjoy, while everything else is to be used for the sake of obtaining one’s final end. Lombard returns to enjoyment in his discussion of the beatific vision in 4.49, thus coming full circle.”39 Lombard’s contributions to the reception history of Psalm 16:2 were twofold: first, the adoption of the Sentences as the standard theological textbook within university curricula ensured the wide dissemination of both the psalm and Augustine’s reading. The gradual development of the literary types of Sentences commentaries—from marginal glosses, to the “catchword” commentaries, up to the “classical” or “true” commentaries of the middle of the thirteenth century—would also create new hermeneutical pressures on the text, at once both more speculative and creative.40 Second, it is plausible that the inclusion of Augustine’s two other definitions of use from De Trinitate may have prompted later reflections on Augustine’s use/enjoyment distinction, as well as readings of Psalm 16:2, to attend to the nature of volition and how it relates to use and enjoyment. Finally, it is worth noting that the contexts of the two recitations of the Augustinian reading of the psalm are not within a discussion of divine freedom. Unlike Augustine, Lombard did explicitly address these questions, ultimately constructing an account of divine freedom that affirmed God’s freedom to do otherwise and his ability to refrain from creating the world.41 Lombard invoked a different collection of scriptural texts Georgedes, “Uti/Frui Distinction,” 3:1839. John Fisher, “Hugh of St. Cher and the Development of Mediaeval Theology,” Speculum 31, no. 1 (1956): 57–69, at 58–59. While the development of these literary types followed a progression toward greater complexity and relative independence from Lombard’s text, they should not be construed as a strict evolution, with the older forms dying away after newer forms arrive; see Philipp W. Rosemann, “Conclusion: The Tradition of the Sentences,” in Mediaeval Commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, ed. Philipp W. Rosemann, vol. 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 497. 41 E.g., in Sentences II, d. 25, cc. 1–2, where Lombard argues that God possesses liberum arbitrium, and in Sentences I, d. 42, where he is directly responding to Abelard’s view. 39 40 230 Joel Thomas Chopp when responding to those questions. Nevertheless, his contribution in this context is significant because we see an expansion of the logic of the Augustinian reading of the psalm outside of the context of the question of the use/enjoyment distinction, and with particular reference to questions surrounding volitional agency. Hugh of Saint Cher, Postilla super Psalterium Hugh of Saint Cher (1200–1263) entered the Dominican order in 1225; in 1230 he was appointed master in theology at the University of Paris and prior of the monastery of Saint Jacques. His Postilla in totam bibliam, began in 1229, was intended to supplement the Glossa ordinaria and bring it up to date with the concerns of the thirteenth century.42 While the date is uncertain, the Postilla was likely completed by 1244, just one year before Thomas’s first arrival in Paris with Albert. It was already at that point entering into common use, being cited by Hugh’s contemporary Guerric Saint Quentin prior to 1243, and then quoted extensively in Bonaventure’s commentary on Ecclesiastes (1253–1257).43 The prologue of Hugh’s Postilla super Psalterium drew heavily from the Summa super Psalterium of Prepositinus of Cremona, including the selection of Song of Songs 3:11 as the opening reflection, “Go forth, O daughters of Zion, and behold King Solomon, with the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, on the day of the gladness of his heart.”44 Hugh reads the “go forth” imperative as indicating the movement intrinsic to spiritual life. Whereas evil consists in moving away from God and turning toward self, turning toward the good consists in a threefold movement: first from flesh to spirit, second from nature to supernature, and third from the world to heaven.45 This movement is then mapped onto Augustine’s division of the three sets of fifty psalms, signifying the states of penance, justice, and glory, to which Hugh further corresponds three states of spiritual development: incipientium, proficientium, and perfectorum.46 Hugh follows Lombard in identifying David as the author, and identifies the subject matter as the Whole Christ—head and members, Bridegroom and Bride, Christ and the Church, “with their Smith, Glossa Ordinaria, 220–23. Beryl Smalley, The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1964), 273. 44 Morard, “Hugues de Saint-Cher, Commentateur Des Psaumes,” 112. 45 Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, prol., in vol. 2 of Opera omnia in universum Vetus et Novum Testamentum, 8 vols. (Venetiis: Pezzana, 1703), fol. 2r. 46 Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, prol., fol. 2r. 42 43 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 231 respective conditions and properties.”47 The authorial intention (intentio prophetae) is to set forth “how those who have been deformed in Adam were reformed in Christ.”48 Hugh’s treatment of Psalm 16 is consistent with this divisio: he begins by interpreting the opening imperative, “Conserva me,” through Christ’s high priestly prayer in John 17:11—“Father, keep them whom thou hast given me.”49 From the outset of Hugh’s commentary, the Whole Christ is praying the psalm. Turning to Psalm 16:2, he invokes 1 Corinthians 4:7—“What do you have that you did not receive?”—and then identifies three kinds of merit present in verses 1–2 of the psalm: of hope, of confession, and of humility. Hope is identified with 1b, “for I have put my trust in you”: confession with 2a, “I have said oh God you are my God”; and humility with 2b, “for you have no need of my goods.” In his comments on verse two, he notes that Christ says, “You are my God,” inasmuch as he is truly man, and because as he is truly man, God has no need of his goods. He continues: And this is the most proper reason that he is God, namely, because he needs nothing, but is most perfect, according to the text of Acts 17. “He does not need anything, seeing it is he who gives to all life, and breath, and all things.” To give life, that is most perfect. For the one who bestows life gives both to be and to be moved, and not the converse. Thus, Dionysus writes “He himself is the substantial good, extending goodness to all things, even as the light of the sun, without previous choice, by its very being illuminating all things that exist.”50 There are several interpretive issues at play here. First, note that, while the uti/frui distinction is not explicitly present, the logic of Augustine’s reading Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, prol., fol. 2v. Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, prol., fol. 2v: “Intentio Prophetae est in Adam deformatos ostendere reformatos in Christo.” 49 He also provides an alternative interpretation, where “Conserva me” could refer to his prayer to conserve his physical life. 50 Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, fol. 28v: “Et haec est propriissima ratio, quod sit Deus, scilicet, quoniam nullo indiget, sed est perfectissimus, secundum illud Act 17. Non indigens aliquo, cum ipse det vitam omnibus, et inspirationem, & omnia. Dare vitam, istud perfectissimum est. Qui enim dat vitam, dat et moveri, et esse, et non e converso. Ideo dicit Dionysus Ipse est substantiale bonum ad omnia extendens bonitatem, sicut Sol lumen non praeeligens, sed per ipsum esse illuminans omnia.” 47 48 232 Joel Thomas Chopp remains discernible. God is the source of all life, motion, and being—he is the substantial good—and cannot need anything external to himself. This interpretive trajectory is also deepened through its juxtaposition with Acts 17:25, Paul’s speech at the Areopagus in which he denies God could need anything from human hands and grounds his denial in his affirmation that God is the source of life, breath, and all things. Moreover, Augustine’s reading made use of the solar metaphor—the light is in no need of the brightness of those things which it has itself illuminated—reflected in the quote from Dionysius. Second, note that what Hugh draws from Acts 17 is the asymmetric relation between Creator and creature: God bestows life, motion, and being, not the converse. Third, Hugh’s prosopological reading of the psalm opens up a reflection on Christ’s two natures, paving the way for the comments on the next verse, which turns to Christ’s two wills. The following verse reads: “To the holy ones who are in his land, he has made wonderful all my desires [voluntates] in them.”51 Hugh takes the shift from second to third person to indicate the two natures of Christ, and that “desires” or “willings” is plural shows that there is not one, but many wills in Christ, though they are all related to two things: his will to die for our sin and to be raised for our justification.52 He then identifies four ways in which the will of Christ can be understood, associating each with a passage of Scripture and then expounding on how God has “made wonderful” each of them. First, as the divine will, as taught Psalm 113:11: whatsoever he pleased, he has done. Second, the will of resurrection, in which he was obedient to death (Phil 2:8). Third, the will of sensuality, in which he did not want to die: “Father, if possible, let this cup pass” (Matt 26:39). Forth, the will of compassion, as in Luke 19:41: “Seeing the city, he wept over it.” Thomas picks up several of these elements in his exegesis of this passage, to which we now turn. Thomas Aquinas on Psalm 16:2 Reception of Psalm 16:2 across Thomas’s Corpus Thomas cites or alludes to Psalm 16:2 in at least nineteen different locations across his corpus.53 The psalm occurs four times in the Sentences Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, fol. 28v. Hugh of St. Cher, Postilla super Psalterium, fol. 28v. 53 Ten of these occurrences contain an explicit reference to the psalm, and nine do not. 51 52 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 233 commentary, twice in De veritate, and twice in the Summa theologiae.54 In the exegetical works Thomas refers to it twice each in the commentaries on Matthew, John, and Ephesians, once in the catena on Luke (though technically, here he is relaying the citation from Bede), once each in the commentaries on 1 Corinthians, Job, and 2 Timothy, and then in a full treatment within the commentary on the Psalter.55 The variants use the verbs egeo or indigeo; the former is used in the Gallican Psalter, the latter in the Roman. Thomas uses a plural adjective and refers to God in the third person (“he has no need of our goods”) in thirteen of the citations; the other six maintain the second person discourse of the psalm with a singular adjective (“you have no need my goods”). The citation occurs in some predictable contexts given its prior reception history. For example, Thomas cites the psalm in his commentary on Job 22:3, the same text where Gregory cites the psalm in his Moralia, and that was picked up and transmitted by the ordinary gloss.56 Thomas’s assessment of Eliphaz in the text is more muted than Gregory’s—Eliphaz “did not grasp [Job’s] words according to the intention with which they were spoken.”57 The differences between Thomas’s and Gregory’s reading of this chapter align with their different judgments about the intentio of the book of Job. Gregory, along with the majority of the Latin reception before Thomas, took the intention of Job to be the commendation of Job as a moral exemplar of patience in the midst of suffering. On the other hand, Thomas identified the intention of Job as showing that human affairs are governed by divine providence.58 In this chapter, Gregory takes Eliphaz’s discourse to move from idle words to heinous lies until ultimately bursting into a flame of insults, which sets up Gregory for his allegorical reading of Job’s friends as representative of heretics, and Job as representing the Aquinas, In I sent., d. 45, q. 1, a. 2, obj. 3; In II sent., d. 1, q. 2, a. 1, obj. 3; d. 27, q. 1, a. 3, obj. 5; In III sent., d. 32, q. 1, a. 2, obj. 2; De veritate, q. 6, a. 2, obj. 8; q. 23, a. 4, corp., ST II-II, q. 81, a. 6, obj. 2; q. 88, a. 3, obj. 1. 55 Aquinas, Super Matt 21, lec. 1; 25, lec. 2; Super Ioan 1, lec. 4; 4, lec. 3; Super Eph 1, lec. 1; lec. 5; Catena in Lucam 17, lec. 4; Super I Cor 11 [reportatio Reginaldi de Piperno for v. 7]; Super Iob 22; Super II Tim 2, lec. 4; Super Psalmos 15. 56 Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob 16.2.2, (quotations from PL vol. 75); Biblia Latina cum glossa ordinaria: facsimile reprint of the editio princeps Adolph Rusch of Strassburg 1480/81, ed. K. Froehlich and M. T. Gibson, with introduction, vol. 2 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 1992), 415. 57 Aquinas, Super Iob 22. 58 On this development, see Gilbert Dahan, “The Commentary of Thomas Aquinas in the History of Medieval Exegesis on Job: Intentio et Materia,” trans. David L. Augustine, Nova et Vetera (English) 17, no. 4 (2019): 1053–75. 54 234 Joel Thomas Chopp Holy Church.59 In contrast, Thomas does not take Eliphaz to be insulting Job, but rather attributing to him a faulty doctrine of providence in which humans do not suffer punishments for sin.60 Nevertheless, Thomas’s reading of the psalm runs roughly along the same lines as Gregory—the words of the psalmist parallel Eliphaz’s claim that God’s goodness is not increased by human justice. Other contexts are less expected, such as the commentary on Matthew 21:3, which describe Jesus’s instructions to the apostles to procure the donkey on which Jesus would ride into Jerusalem, and where Jesus tells them that if anyone asks why they are taking the donkey to respond, “the Lord has need of it.” Thomas notes: “But there is a question according to the mystical exposition. Is it not said ‘he has no need of our goods?’ I say that he has no need, unless on account of our necessity and for his own glory. Everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved (Joel 2:32). And everyone who calls upon my name, I have created him for my glory (Isa 43:7).”61 But even here, Thomas was not the first to associate the psalm with this text. Alexander of Hales, for example, noted the apparent conflict between the psalm and Matthew 21:3 in his Sentences commentary.62 Turning to a brief overview of Thomas’s juxtapositional readings, on three occasions Thomas cites Psalm 16:2 alongside Job 35:7—“And if thou do justly, what shalt thou give him, or what shall he receive of thy hand?”— which he takes to be teaching close to the same thing as the psalm in interrogative form.63 In five other cases, Thomas juxtaposes the psalm with Isaiah 43:7: “And every one that calleth upon my name, I have created him for my glory. I have formed him, and made him.”64 This scriptural juxtaposition points to the doctrinal relation between divine beatitude and glory. Whereas divine beatitude is God’s perfect self-possession and rest in his own goodness, divine glory is its ad extra correlate—the shining effulgence outward of all of the goods that God is. The juxtaposition also safeguards one from supposing that God might somehow need creation in order to be glorified. If divine glory is the outward effulgence of divine beatitude, and divine beatitude is God’s perfect self-possession and rest in himself as the Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob 16.2.2. Super Iob 22. 61 Aquinas, Super Mat. 21, lec. 1. 62 Alexander of Hales, In I sent., d. 1, ch. 31. 63 Aquinas, Super Psalmos 15; Super Matt 25, lec. 2; Super Eph 1, lec. 5. 64 Aquinas, Super Matt 21, lec. 1; Super Ioan 1, lec. 4; Super Eph 1, lec. 1; lec. 5; Super I Cor 11 [reportatio Reginaldi de Piperno for v. 7]. 59 60 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 235 summum bonum, the notion of “need” can be seen as something of a category mistake, along the lines of supposing that the sun needs that which is illuminated by its rays, to pick up the Augustinian metaphor again. Both passages Thomas juxtaposes with Ps 16:2 (Job 35:7 and Isa 43:7) can be plausibly read as textual witnesses used to support the Augustinian reading of the psalm—that all of God’s acts ad extra do not redound to his own utility, but rather to our good. Thomas’s Reception of Psalm 16:2 in Super Psalmos Thomas likely began his Psalms commentary while in Naples in the fall of 1273, a work cut short by his illness in December and death the following March.65 While this text is among the latest of Thomas’s commentaries, it is not typically singled out as a particularly fruitful source for exploring Thomas’s exegesis.66 Compared with his other mature commentaries, the course on the Psalter tends to be more austere in both matter and form. Thomas’s Psalms commentary is at once more concise and more technical than Hugh’s Postilla.67 While he gives more attention to the literal sense and less to the allegorical than Hugh, Thomas’s divisio is also considerably more complex, accepting the tripartite division of the three fifties corresponding to penitence, justice, and glory, but then further dividing each group of fifty into groups of ten. Thomas also identifies the subject matter as Christ and his members, but does so within the context of an analysis of the four causes of the Psalter.68 Turning to his commentary on Psalm 16, Thomas takes the literal sense of the psalm to be in reference to David: “But because David also carried the person of Christ who was born of his seed, therefore certain things are posited concerning David, and certain things concerning Christ.”69 Thomas follows Hugh in glossing Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1:258. Eleonore Stump, for example, writes: “On the whole, the commentaries are clearly the product of the same outstanding mind that composed the Summa theologiae. With the possible exception of the cursory commentaries on the prophets and the Psalms, all of Aquinas’s biblical commentaries repay careful study, but three are worth singling out, the commentaries on Romans, the Gospel of John, and Job” (“Biblical Commentary and Philosophy,” in The Cambridge Companion to Aquinas, ed. Norman Kretzmann and Eleonore Stump [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993], 252–268, at 260). 67 For a helpful comparison of Hugh and Thomas’s commentaries on the Psalms, see Aaron Canty, “Hugh of St. Cher and Thomas Aquinas: Time and the Interpretation of the Psalms,” in Time: Sense, Space, Structure, ed. Nancy Van Deusen and Leonard Michael Koff (Leiden, Brill: 2016), 160–76. 68 Aquinas, Super Psalmos, prooem. 69 Aquinas, Super Psalmos 15. 65 66 236 Joel Thomas Chopp “Conserva me” through reference to John 17:11, adding that his hope in God was both for the eternal life of others and for himself in the glorification of his body. In his comments on 16:2 he follows Hugh in identifying the “Dixi Domino” with the act of faith in confession and Romans 10:10. He continues: And for so it is, “for you have no need of my goods.” And this is proper to God, because he is infinite goodness, and nothing can be added to him, because he is the substantial good, extending goodness to all things as the sun extends light, not by participation, but by its very being illuminating all things that exist. While something can be added to any other creature, even the saints, and on account of this something increases for them, and for that reason we are to some extent in need—but God alone does not need our goods. Job 33 [35:7] “If you do justly, what will you give him? Or what will he receive from your hand?” Jerome has “Because it cannot be well with us without you,” as though to say, “From this it is evident that you are my God, that you are my goodness, nor can it be well with me without you.” 70 Thomas follows Hugh again here, but with two noticeable differences. He does not cite Dionysus explicitly, and he modifies the quotation—whereas Hugh includes that the sun extends light “without previous choice [non praeeligens],” Thomas replaces the phrase with “not by participation [non per participationem].” Thomas was well aware of the wording of this text. In fact, Hugh did not cite the whole text either—whereas Hugh states that the sun gives light to all without previous choice, the text reads that the sun gives light to all neither by reasoning nor previous choice (non ratiocinans aut praeeligens; in Greek: ou logizomenos ē proairoumenos).71 Hugh had Aquinas, Super Psalmos 15. “Et ideo est, quia bonorum meorum non eges. Et hoc est proprium Dei: quia infinitae bonitatis est, et nihil ei addi potest, quia est substantiale bonum ad omnia extendens bonitatem sicut sol lumen, non per participationem, sed per ipsum esse illuminans omnia. Cuilibet autem alii creaturae potest addi, etiam sanctis, et propter hoc aliquid eis accrescit, et ideo aliquo modo indigent nobis: sed Deus solus non indiget bonis nostris: Job 33: porro si juste egeris, quid donabis ei, aut quid de manu tua accipiet? Hieronymus habet, quoniam bene non est nobis sine te: quasi, ex hoc apparet quia tu es Deus meus, quia tu es bonitas, nec mihi bene est sine te.” 71 Dionysius, De divinis nominibus 4.1.693b. (Greek from Corpus Dionysiacum I, ed. Beate Regina Suchla [Berlin: De Gruyter, 1990], 144; Latin from Aquinas, In de 70 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 237 already modified the quote in a way that avoids implying that God does not exercise rationality in his act of creation. Thomas cites this passage elsewhere in his corpus to suggest, most often in the objections, that God acts by natural necessity rather than will. Admittedly, a plain reading of the Areopagite’s illustration does seem to imply that creation is brought about by natural necessity—it is merely in virtue of the sun’s existence that it sheds light on all that is capable of illumination. Thomas’s solution is to interpret “non ratiocinans aut praeeligens” as referring to the universality of God’s communication of goodness to all created effects rather than to some.72 Rather than rehearsing the original wording and then offering his interpretation, in this context, Thomas skips straight to what he takes to be the proper sense of the text.73 Second, we can note the metaphysical point that Thomas makes in explicating what it means to be in need—in virtue of the passive potency for addition in all created things, they can increase and, therefore, are in some sense in need. But there is no sense in which God can increase.74 Thirdly, Thomas is aware of an alternative rendering of Psalm 16:2 that he attributes to Jerome, an item which we will return to in the conclusion. Thomas follows Hugh in verse 3 as well. After noting the unity of will between the Father and the Son, he adds that, insomuch as he was man, he fulfills the will of the Father. He also reads the voluntates as referring to the many wills of Christ: Moreover, Christ wanted many things: and this was for our benefit [utilitatem]. But what did he want? To suffer, to die, and to rise again, in order that we might live. Therefore, he says: God the Father, “he has made wonderful all my desires,” that is, has wonderfully fulfilled, “in them,” in whom? “Them,” in the saints who are in the land, that is, in the Church militant and triumphant.75 divinis nominibus 4, lec. 1). Aquinas, De veritate q. 5, a. 2, obj. 1; q. 23, a. 1, obj. 1; De potentia q. 3, a. 15, obj. 1; In de divinis nominibus 4, lec. 10; ST I, q. 19, a. 4, obj. 1 and ad 1. 73 On the conscious alteration of texts quoted from memory, see Carruthers, The Book of Memory, 111–18. 74 See SCG II, ch. 25. 75 Aquinas, Super Psalmos 15. “Christus autem multa voluit: et hoc propter nostram utilitatem. Sed quid voluit? Pati, mori, resurgere, ut nos vivificaret. Dicit ergo: Deus pater, omnes voluntates meas mirificavit, idest mirifice adimplevit, in eis, in quibus? Eis, in sanctis qui sunt in terra ejus, idest in Ecclesia militante et triumphante.” 72 238 Joel Thomas Chopp Thomas picks up and ties in the emphasis from verse 2—what Christ wills, he wills not for his own good, but for our benefit. However, the theme is here beautifully refracted through a soteriological lens: the Son, who has no need of our goods, wills to suffer, die, and rise so that we might live. The Father, hearing the voice of his Son, makes wonderful these willings by fulfilling them in his saints, the Church. To sum up, Thomas’s reading of Psalm 16:2 in this context combines the Augustinian interpretive trajectory set by De doctrina with a Christological focus. Christ himself is speaking to the Father, confessing that “you have no need of my goods.” Moreover, the prosopological reading of the psalm within its broader context brings in distinct theological resonances not always present in Thomas’s quotation of the psalm elsewhere. Thomas’s Reception of Psalm 16:2 in De Veritate In De veritate, q. 22, a. 5, Thomas addresses the question of whether the will wills anything necessarily. His argument in the respondeo runs as follows: everything that exists has a nature, and everything that has a nature is ordered toward something with necessity. Since the will exists, it has a nature, and therefore tends toward something with natural necessity. Since the proper object of the will is the good, it follows that the will is ordered toward the good with natural necessity.76 This natural ordination to the good was understood by Thomas to enable rather than undermine free will. God, the confirmed angels, and the blessed cannot but will the good, and they are not somehow less free than those capable of willing evil. Because of these considerations (and others) Thomas held that libera voluntas and natural necessity were compatible.77 However, just because the will wills something with necessity, it does Aquinas, De veritate, q. 22, a. 5, resp. (LE, 22/3/1:623–24). Note, this inclination should not be understood as somehow pre-rational. Properly speaking, the natural inclination of the will is the rationally apprehended good. See Stephen L. Brock, “Natural Inclination and the Intelligibility of the Good in Thomistic Natural Law,” Vera Lux 6, no. 1–2 (Winter 2005): 57–78. 77 This can be the source of some confusion, as Thomas often contrasts acts per voluntatem with acts per necessitatem naturae (e.g., SCG II, ch. 23; III, ch. 99; ST I, q. 104, a. 3), which could give the impression that the two are incompatible. However, here and elsewhere, he makes it clear that they are not (see: De veritate, q. 22, a. 5, ad sc 1; De potentia, q. 10, a. 2, ad 5). Thus, when Thomas argues against views that God creates from natural necessity, his arguments should not be taken to imply that only inanimate natural objects without knowledge or volition act from natural necessity. See Rahim Acar, Talking about God and Talking about Creation: Avicenna’s and Thomas Aquinas’s Positions, Islamic Philosophy, Theology, and Science, 58 (Leiden: Brill, 2005), ch. 3. 76 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 239 not follow that everything that is willed is willed with necessity. In the next article, Thomas defines the sense of necessity used here to as that which is “immutably determined to one thing.” 78 He then lists three senses in which the will is undetermined: with respect to its object, its act, and its ordination to the end. The will is undetermined with respect to its object because there are multiple different means to the final end, and therefore it can will this or that object so long as it is apprehended under the aspect of the good.79 The will is undetermined to its act because, for a given object, it always has the power of willing or not willing it.80 The ordination to the end is undetermined because objects can be wrongly apprehended—by finite intellects existing in a fallible state of nature—as good which are not in fact good. He picks up these categories in article 4 of question 23 and further distinguishes between the principal object of the will to which it is ordered by its nature and the secondary objects, which are ordered toward the principal object. The principal object of God’s will is the good, and thus God wills the good with the necessity of natural inclination. Given that God is goodness itself, this is another way of saying that God necessarily wills himself.81 Nevertheless, God does so freely. However, Aquinas is equally clear that God is not under any necessity concerning any other object. His rationale is grounded in his account of the relation between the means (or the secondary objects) and the end (or the principal object). If the means De veritate, q. 22, a. 6, resp.: “Quod ex hoc aliquid dicitur esse necessarium, quod est immutabiliter determinatum ad unum.” De veritate, q. 22, a. 6, resp. (LE, 22/3/1:627). 79 Given the convertibility of being and goodness, everything that exists is good in some respect, and thus can be apprehended under the aspect of the good. See De veritate, q. 21, a. 2 (LE, 22/3/1:595–98). 80 Thomas’s description of the will as undetermined with respect to its object and act corresponds to what would be later called the freedom of specification and the freedom of exercise. This passage is one of the principal reasons to be wary of claims—first made by Dom Lottin, but then picked up by Bernard Lonergan and others—that Thomas’s account of liberum arbitrium underwent significant change from De veritate (1256–1259) to De malo (1270–1272). For critical assessments of the development thesis, see: Kevin L. Flannery, “Voluntas Aristotelian and Thomistic,” in Acts Amid Precepts: The Aristotelian Logical Structure of Thomas Aquinas’s Moral Theory (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2001), 111–43; Daniel Westberg, “Did Aquinas Change His Mind about the Will?,” The Thomist 58, no. 1 (1994): 41–60. 81 As Lawrence Dewan points out, God’s willing of himself is not to be taken causally, but rather as “loving himself,” and “delighting in his own being and goodness.” Lawrence Dewan, “St. Thomas, Norman Kretzmann, and Divine Freedom in Creating,” Nova et Vetera (English) 4, no. 3 (2006), 495–514, at 504. 78 240 Joel Thomas Chopp are perfectly proportioned to the end—such that without them the end cannot be obtained—if the end is willed necessarily, so is the means.82 But if there is more than one means to the desired end, then the agent is presented with alternatives—to will this means or that means depending on the judgment and choice of the agent. We now arrive at the final section of Aquinas’s argument and the quotation of the psalm: Therefore, it is evident that from the love which God has for his goodness, there is no necessity in the divine will with respect to willing this or that concerning a creature; likewise, nor is there any necessity in it with respect to the whole of creation, because the divine goodness is perfect in itself, and would be so even if no creature were to exist, for “he has no need of our goods,” as is said in the Psalm [16:2]. For the divine goodness is not the kind of end that is produced by means to an end, but rather an end in the sense that the things ordered to it are produced and perfected.83 The ultimate ground for Thomas’s doctrine of divine freedom vividly expressed here lies in the contingent relation between divine beatitude and the whole of creation.84 To summarize, Thomas held that everything that has a nature is necessarily ordered to its proper object. The proper object of the will is the good, and thus all natures with a will—whether human, angelic, or divine—will the good with natural necessity. Since God is goodness itself, he wills himself with natural necessity. Further, everything that exists and that can be the object of the will is either a means to an end or an end itself.85 Because nothing external to God—no creation, whether possible or actual—is proportionate to the divine goodness, God possesses the freedom to create this world or that world, or refrain from creating any world whatsoever.86 On Thomas’s account, saying that God creates out of natural De veritate, q. 23, a. 4, resp. (LE, 22/3/1:662). De veritate, q. 23, a. 4, resp. (LE, 22/3/1:663). 84 Commenting on Thomas’s argument in this article, John Wippel states that we find here “the key to Thomas’s defense of divine freedom,” namely, “the lack of proportion, the lack of any kind of equality between the goodness and perfection of any creature or any number of creatures whether actual or possible and God’s infinite goodness and perfection.” John Wippel, “Thomas Aquinas on God’s Freedom to Create or Not,” in Metaphysical Themes in Thomas Aquinas II (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007), 232–33. 85 Aquinas, In I sent. d. 1, q. 4, a. 2, expos. 86 More specifically, Thomas held that in virtue of God’s self-knowledge of the 82 83 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 241 necessity implies that creation itself is an adequate object of the divine will—it is the only means for achieving the final end. But this would imply, contrary to the declaration of the psalmist, that God has need of our goods in order to achieve his final end, or, contrary to the Augustinian reading of the text, that creation itself is the final end, and that he enjoys and rests in those things which he has made rather than himself. In short, it would imply an agonistic doctrine of divine beatitude.87 Compare Augustine’s reflection on God’s rest on the seventh day, occurring in the paragraph just before the text Abelard invoked in his axiological argument for a necessary creation: It should be pointed out also that God’s rest, by which He is happy in Himself, had to be revealed to us so that we might understand what the meaning of rest is as applied to us. The truth is that this term describes only that state in which God makes us sharers in the rest which He has in Himself. God’s rest, therefore, when rightly understood, is His independence of any need for any good outside Himself. Hence, our unfailing rest is in Him, because we attain happiness in the good that is God, but God does not attain happiness in the good that we are. We are in our measure a good coming from God, who made all things exceedingly good, including ourselves. There is no other good thing apart from God that He did not make, and therefore He needs no good outside of Himself because He needs not the good He has made. This is His rest from all the good works He has wrought.88 Note the similarities with De doctrina 1.31: God rests in himself, finds happiness in himself, enjoys himself. Further, divine beatitude—God’s perfect self-possession and rest in himself—serves as the explanatory grounds for why he does not stand in need of his creation. infinite number of different ways that creatures could participate in his goodness, there was an infinite hierarchy of increasingly better worlds that God could have created (ST I, q. 25, a. 6; SCG I, ch. 81). 87 For a helpful articulation of the contrast between agonistic accounts of divine beatitude and Thomas’s doctrine, see Tyler Wittman, “The Logic of Divine Blessedness and the Salvific Teleology of Christ,” International Journal of Systematic Theology 18, no. 2 (2016): 132–53. 88 Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram 4.16.27 ( J. H. Taylor trans., 121–22). The relation between Ps 16:2 and this text could be categorized as somewhere between allusion and paraphrase. 242 Joel Thomas Chopp Summary of Thomas’s Reception of Psalm 16:2 Several facets of Thomas’s reading of Psalm 16:2 bear the marks of the text’s prior reception history. Its occurrence in Augustine’s exposition of God’s mode of love for humanity as use rather than enjoyment, as well as his reading of the psalm as a confession of God’s perfect beatitude in himself, are both reflected in Thomas’s interpretation of the text. This is even more evident when Thomas’s exposition of the use/enjoyment motif in distinction 1 of the Sentences commentary is taken into account. While he does not reference the psalm in his discussion of the motif, in the exposition he defines the enjoyable as that which has the ratio of an end, and the useful as that which has the ratio of the means to the end, which is clearly consonant with Thomas’s argument in De veritate.89 At minimum, we can say that Lombard’s inclusion of Augustine’s use of the psalm in De doctrina at the beginning of the Sentences ensured continuing reflection on the passage. A bit more speculatively, it seems plausible that his inclusion of the alternative rendering of the use/enjoyment motif from De Trinitate would prompt later reflection to bring considerations of volitional agency to bear on the distinction. Hugh’s Postilla was also influential for Thomas’s reading of the psalm in his commentary, where he follows Hugh’s juxtapositions of John 17:11, Romans 10:10, and the quote from Dionysus. Where Thomas appears more innovative, at least with respect to the prior sources surveyed here, was in expanding the logic of Augustine’s reading of the psalm to its implications for the doctrine of divine freedom. Augustine’s views on divine freedom resist easy classification.90 Yet we have seen that Thomas’s reading of this psalm runs along the grain of Augustine’s thought, perhaps what could be called an instance of Aristotle working in service of Thomas’s Augustinianism. Once his metaphysical analysis of the nature of voluntary action is in place, consideration of Augustine’s teaching of God’s perfect possession of himself as the ultimate end yields Aquinas, In I sent. d. 1, q. 4, a. 2, expos. While some texts suggest that Augustine sees creation as grounded in the divine will and resulting from free choice, others—such as those Abelard invoked—seem to construe creation as necessitated in some way by the divine goodness. Nevertheless, as Ronald J. Teske cautions, the question of whether or not God could have refrained from creating the world was not one that Augustine ever explicitly considered, and therefore considering how he might answer requires some amount of speculation (“The Motive for Creation According to Saint Augustine,” in To Know God and the Soul: Essays on the Thought of Saint Augustine [Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2008], 155–164; see also RobertHenri Cousineau, “Creation and Freedom: An Augustinian Problem: ‘Quia Voluit’? And/or ‘Quia Bonus’?,” Recherches Augustiniennes 2 [1963]: 253–71). 89 90 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 243 a resolution to the tension surrounding divine freedom in Augustine’s corpus. Thomas’s prosopological reading of the psalm in his commentary also underscores the distributed nature of the doctrine of divine freedom. Consider Christ’s will to suffer, die, and rise again spoken of in his commentary on Psalm 16:3, where he refers to the same collatio of texts as he does in his commentary on Psalm 21: Psalm 39:9; 1 Thessalonians 4:3; and John 6:38–39. As Piotr Roszak shows in his analysis of Thomas’s commentary on Psalm 21 in this symposium, Thomas argues that the efficacy of Christ’s passion and death depends on his acceptance of death willingly, and not by natural necessity. For Aquinas, the modal status of the divine will with respect to the whole of created reality lies at the foundation not only of creation, but of soteriology as well. Reading with Thomas Aquinas How did Thomas arrive at his reading of this psalm? Given the reception history sketched above, it appears plausible that Thomas’s reading was informed by Augustine’s reflection and interpretation of the text in De doctrina 1.31, and mediated by Lombard’s inclusion of his reading in the first distinction of the Sentences.91 The extent to which one judges Thomas’s reading to be plausible will depend, in part, on prior judgments concerning the role of reception history within scriptural interpretation, and the validity of the exegetical practices that he employed. Space does not allow for an argument in favor of either of these factors. Nevertheless, even granting that the consideration of the reception of the text of Scripture within the Church can help guide our exegesis, and that the current revival of figural interpretation and all that it entails—prosopological and partitive exegesis, juxtapositional reading, and the like—is both good and salutary, there remain three potential obstacles to following Thomas’s reading of this psalm. First, with very few exceptions, English translations do not render Psalm 16:2b as “you have no need of my goods.” The reason lies in differences between the Masoretic Text (MT) and the Old Greek (OG) texts, with the Vulgate following the latter. In the Septuagint (LXX), the clause in verse 2 reads, “hoti tōn agathōn mou ou chreian echeis,” which the I do not intend to make any direct, causal claim here, as if one could draw a clear, unbroken line through these historical vignettes to Aquinas’s reading. Rather, if one were to plot an interpretative trajectory of the text beginning with Augustine, given the evidence above, Aquinas’s reading would fall more or less within its parameters. 91 244 Joel Thomas Chopp New English Translation of the Septuagint (NETS) translates, “because you have no need of my goods.” In contrast, the MT reads “ṭôbātî bāl ʿālêkā,” which most English versions translate, “I have no good apart from you.” If one grants priority to the Hebrew over the Greek text, it is not clear that the broadly Augustinian reading built on the LXX/OG is sustainable. The second difficulty is contextual: even if one judges the Vulgate’s rendering as plausible, the question remains whether the Augustinian interpretive trajectory coheres, or is even consistent, with the surrounding context of the psalm. By this, I do not intend to limit the criteria of contextual coherence to arguments concerning the original human authorial intent, but rather to play by Aquinas’s own interpretive rules laid out in De potentia.92 The first rule is to not attribute anything obviously false to the teaching of Scripture. The second is to not exclude possible interpretations that are compatible with the circumstantia litterae, which, as Boyle puts it, requires that an interpretation more or less fits the words and their context.93 The third difficulty is figural. All of the readings surveyed above identified Christ as the referent and speaker of the psalm. While it is obvious how David can proclaim to the Lord, “You have no need of my goods,” if it is ultimately Jesus who is praying the Psalter, in what sense can the eternal Word say this to the Father? Turning to the textual difficulty, it is not merely the case that the OG and the MT disagree. There is also considerable variation between other textual traditions. Greek Sinaiticus and Alexandrinus: “Because you have no need of my goods [hoti tōn agathōn mou ou chreian echeis]” (nets). Aquilla: “My goodness is not upon you [agathosynē mou ou mē epi se].” Symmachus: “My good is not without you [agathon moi ouk estin aneu sou] .” Vaticanus: clause is missing. Aquinas, De potentia, q. 4, a. 1, resp. John F. Boyle, “Authorial Intention and the Divisio Textus,” in Reading John with St. Thomas Aquinas: Theological Exegesis and Speculative Theology, ed. Michael Dauphinais and Matthew Levering (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2005), 3–8. 92 93 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 245 Latin Jerome (Gallicana) / Vulgate: “Because you have no need of my goods [quoniam bonorum meorum non eges].” Jerome (Hebraicum): “My good is not without you [bene mihi non est sine te].” Peshitta: “And my goodness is from thee.”94 Targum: “truly my good is not granted except by you.”95 Symmachus, Jerome’s Hebraicum, and the Targum supply the negative prepositions “without” or “except,” which has suggested the emendation of bilʿādêkā.96 Sinaiticus, Alexandrinus, and Jerome’s Gallican Psalter read as it appears in Augustine and the later tradition. Aquilla comes the closest to a literal rendering of the MT, the Peshitta lacks a negative particle, and the clause is not present in Vaticanus. The MT itself does not admit of straightforward interpretation.97 The two main difficulties for our purposes are (1) whether ṭôbātî is taken as active (the good done by the speaker) or passive (the good received by the speaker) and (2) the sense of the preposition ʿal, (“over”/“above”/“upon,”), whether bāl is read as a negative particle or an assertive. A brief consideration of Jewish reception of the text provides examples for both active and passive senses of ṭôbātî. Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki (Rashi) interprets this verse as “my goodness is not incumbent upon you,” meaning God is not obliged to reward him.98 Rabbi Joseph Kimhi reads it as active, and The Peshitta Psalter According to the West Syrian Text, ed. William Emery Barnes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1904). 95 The Targum of Psalms, ed. Martin McNamara, Kevin Cathcart, and Michael Maher, trans. David M. Stec (Collegeville, MN: Michael Glazier, 2004). 96 Roger T. O’Callaghan, “Echoes of Canaanite Literature in the Psalms,” Vetus Testamentum 4, no. 1 (1954): 166. O’Callaghan argues against the emendation, suggesting that this may be a case where bāl is used as an assertive rather than a negative particle. 97 Samuel Terrien notes the obscurity and likely corruption of the text (The Psalms: Strophic Structure and Theological Commentary [Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2003], 175); Jacob Leeven goes further, describing verses 2–4 as “baffling,” and in need of “a somewhat drastic operation” to bring it back to health (“Textual Problems in the Psalms,” Vetus Testamentum 21, no. 1 [1971]: 48–58, at 52). 98 Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms, ed. and trans. Mayer I. Gruber, Brill Reference Library of Judaism 18 (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 226. 94 246 Joel Thomas Chopp along the same lines as the Vulgate and the LXX/OG: “‘The good I do is not done to Thee,’ meaning that it does not reach Thee (personally), for one cannot dispose for, or help, or give to Thee.”99 Rabbi David Kimhi (RaDaK) disagrees with his father and follows Rashi and Moses ben Samuel ha-Cohen as reading ṭôbātî as active. What can we conclude from these considerations? Minimally, we can say that the LXX/OG and the Vulgate’s reading should not be ruled as entirely incompatible with the Hebrew text. However, particularly when the diversity within the ancient textual traditions is taken into account, neither can an obvious case be made from the LXX/OG to a reconstruction of its Hebrew Vorlage that unambiguously aligns with the Vulgate’s reading. By my lights, the most that could be said is that the text of the psalm cited by Augustine and interpreted throughout the sources surveyed above is compatible with one possible, if not very plausible, rendering of a difficult Hebrew passage. Does this mean that Augustine and the later tradition’s reading of the psalm should be abandoned if one gives authoritative priority to the Hebrew text? Not necessarily. First, the Septuagint’s reading of this psalm had significant implications for its reception, even within the New Testament canon. In Acts 2:25–28 Luke reports Peter quoting verses 8–11 from the LXX/OG: “I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand so that I will not be shaken; therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; moreover my flesh will live in hope. For you will not abandon my soul to Hades, or let your Holy One experience corruption. You have made known to me the ways of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence” (NRSV). Whereas the Hebrew text could be easily understood as David’s current trust and reliance on God for his present safety, the Septuagint’s use of terms—“in hope” from Greek ep’ elpidi versus “in security” from the Hebrew lābeṭaḥ; “to see corruption” from the Greek idein diaphthoran versus “to see the pit” from the Hebrew lirʾôt šāḥat— suggests a postmortem hope.100 This, in turn, encouraged prosopological readings of this psalm by the early Church as the words of Christ, such as found in Peter’s sermon at Pentecost.101 In short, everyone who affirms Peter’s David Kimhi, The Longer Commentary of R. David Kimhi on the First Book of Psalms (I–X, XV–XVII, XIX, XXII, XXIV), trans. R. G. Finch, Translation of Early Documents III: Rabbinic Texts (London: Macmillan, 1919). 100 This is not to suggest that Peter could not have made his argument without recourse to the Septuagint. See the discussion in I. Howard Marshall, “Acts,” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, ed. D. A. Carson and G. K. Beale (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2007), 513–607, at 537–39. 101 For an overview of the translational issues and their influence on this psalm’s recep99 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 247 reading of the psalm is going to have to deal with some aspect of this worry. Second, and perhaps more significantly, as noted in his commentary on the Psalms, Thomas was aware of the textual difficulties with this passage. Following his typical practice of interpreting textual variants, his response was to provide a reading of Jerome’s text that was consistent with the LXX/OG and the Augustinian interpretive trajectory. Thomas, at least, did not see the alternative version as somehow undermining his reading of the psalm. Concerning the contextual challenge, the immediate context suggests that Psalm 16:2 is something of an idol polemic. The verses immediately following read: As for the saints in the land, they are the noble, in whom is all my delight. Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows; their libations of blood I will not pour out or take their names upon my lips. In contrast to the gods of the nations, the God of Israel does not need to be served by human hands. Aquinas’s reading of the text is coherent with this sense and could be understood as a deepening or even radicalization of the idol polemic. It is not merely that the God of Israel is not in need of human servants for food, worship, and glory; he has no need of the entire created cosmos. It is not even possible for him to pass into any kind of need or lack. Particularly when Acts 17 is brought to bear on this psalm, Aquinas reading clearly does not prejudice the circumstantia litterae. Finally, there is the figural challenge with respect to Christ praying the Psalter. Thomas does not explicitly note the apparent incongruity of the Son saying to the Father, “you have no need of my goods.” However, Hugh does, and employs partitive exegesis to resolve the tension. As the speaker of this psalm is the Son in his two natures praying to the Father, meus is said with reference to Christ in his human nature, which Hugh understands to be displaying the radical humility of the Son. This reading was not entirely innovative—Cassiodorus, for example, in his commentary on the psalm writes: “The Son speaks to the Father in the role of the servant, so that we may realize clearly that in the one person of the Lord there are two natures, the one lowly matching our weakness, the other wonderful in tion history, see Susan Gillingham, Psalms Through the Centuries, Wiley Blackwell Bible Commentaries Series (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2018), 105–11. 248 Joel Thomas Chopp accord with His power.”102 Hugh was here following patristic interpretive precedent, and it remains a viable way forward for contemporary interpreters who wish to follow Thomas’s reading of the psalm. Conclusion Upon closer inspection, it turns out that Thomas’s citation of the Psalm 16:2 within his argument in De veritate was not a thin veneer applied to some other substance of dubious origin. Thomas’s reading ran along the grain of Augustine’s exegesis of the psalm and was informed by the text’s prior reception, aware of the interpretive implications of textual variants, and consonant with the circumstantia litterae. A full account of the scriptural shape of Thomas’s doctrine would need to consider a much broader range of texts, but for now, a few preliminary conclusions can be drawn about the implications of this study for biblical Thomism. First, while Thomas’s exegesis bears the marks of Augustine’s influence, it is equally as clear that he does not merely repeat Augustine’s reading. It is not a mere repristination.103 Thomas’s metaphysical analysis of voluntary action is employed to better understand the teaching of the psalm, and in so doing, he further mines the text for its dogmatic implications for divine freedom. This, I think, is instructive for thinking through the role of reception history in the various resourcement projects being undertaken in both Catholic and Protestant theology. Augustine guided Thomas, but he also saw with and beyond him. So similarly, the challenge of biblical Thomism, as I see it, is to adopt this same posture to Aquinas. As Don Collett recently observed, there was no golden era of biblical interpretation, no age that serves as “the pinnacle and consummation of exegetical wisdom,” and as such, we are free to learn from all.104 Nevertheless, biblical Thomism is a research program that has promising antidotes to a set of particularly modern exegetical maladies. The challenge is to continually ask how his reading of Scripture might deepen our own, even as we think Cassiodorus, Explanation of the Psalms, ed. and trans. P. G. Walsh (New York: Paulist Press, 1991), 161–62. 103 The same can be said of Thomas’s Augustinianism in general; “Thomas is an ‘Augustinian’ in the sense that, like all of Augustine’s greatest interpreters, he engages with and elaborates upon Augustine’s insights in a manner that challenges us to think afresh about the realities known and loved by Augustine.” (“Introduction” in Aquinas the Augustinian, ed. Michael Dauphinais, Barry David, and Matthew Levering [Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2007], xxiv). 104 Don C. Collett, Figural Reading and the Old Testament: Theology and Practice (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2020), 27. 102 Aquinas on Divine Beatitude, Freedom, and the Speech of Christ 249 afresh about the realities to which Scripture points. Second, Thomas’s reading of Psalm 16:2 points to one antidote in particular that attention to Thomas’s exegesis can contribute to the broader theological landscape: Thomas’s dogged insistence on not separating biblical and speculative theology. In much of contemporary philosophical theology, Scripture is treated either as irrelevant when touching on philosophical questions or useful only for setting up broad philosophical parameters for a range of acceptable views. In both cases, metaphysical considerations have little—if anything—to contribute to the task of reading Scripture. Thomas’s exegesis differs sharply from these approaches. As Gilles Emery puts it, “speculative theology is not superimposed on or juxtaposed with the biblical text, but is part and parcel of the biblical reading: it aims at disclosing the doctrinal meaning of the ‘letter,’ the literal sense, of the Gospel.”105 By practicing just this sort of scriptural and speculative theological reflection, biblical Thomism offers what I take to be a more fruitful approach to the questions facing contemporary theology.106 N&V Gilles Emery, The Trinitarian Theology of St Thomas Aquinas, trans. Francesca Aran Murphy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 20. 106 My thanks to Daniel Houck, Nathan Chambers, Peter Highley, and Phil Brown for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay, and especially to Matthew Levering, along with the organizers and participants of the 2019 graduate student conference hosted by the Center for Scriptural Exegesis, Philosophy, and Doctrine at Mundelein Seminary. 105 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 251–267 251 Discerning the Literal Sense: Bringing together Biblical Scholarship and Dogmatic Theology Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. Blackfriars Hall Oxford University Remarks on the Situation Much of recent biblical scholarship involves a severing of the ties between exegesis and dogmatic theology. For many historical critics, exegesis is the domain of technically trained experts in ancient languages, philology, and culture while theology is characterized as, at best, a spiritual reflection only vaguely related to the intentions of the Bible’s authors, or at worst, a later overlay that effectively obscures those intentions.1 Robert Barron’s typical complaint about the lack of theological engagement in biblical exegesis is a lacuna that, mutatis mutandis, can also be leveled at dogmatic theology. For years the call has gone out—and has been heeded— for study of the Bible to integrate message and meaning into its work.2 But has a similar plea been made (or heeded) for theology to integrate in turn the results of exegesis into its work?3 While the methodological discus Robert Barron, “Biblical Interpretation and Theology: Irenaeus, Modernity and Vatican II,” Letter & Spirit 5 (2009): 189. Note: all biblical translations in this article are my own. 2 Cambridge University Press’s Old Testament Theology (ed. B. Strawn and P. D. Miller) and New Testament Theology (ed. J. Dunn) are just two examples of biblical commentary series with the goal of theological interpretation. 3 Robert D. Miller’s Many Roads Lead Eastward: Overtures to Catholic Biblical Theology (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2016) is a precious example of an attempt to bridge 1 252 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. sion centers on increased theological interpretation of the Bible, a similar discussion oriented towards dogmatic theology’s engagement with exegesis, theological or otherwise, seems under addressed.4 Barron’s assessment of the regard in which theology is sometimes held by the Bible’s “historical critics” may be accurate; but it belongs to theology at least as much as biblical scholarship to rectify this negative perception, in my view, by responsible engagement with each other. It is a truism to acknowledge that context matters for meaning. But in the case of Scripture, the depth of context demands considerable evaluation to consider the meanings found in such a complex collection of texts. It is my contention that for a rich and robust theology, scholars must draw upon the full range of exegetical resources provided by biblical scholarship, the “domain” of “ancient languages, philology and culture” in Barron’s words. This means that the way forward does not call for an altering of perspective on our various disciplines, but, on the contrary, recognition that current critical biblical research is relevant for theology, just as theology should be recognized as the ultimate goal of exegesis. If Scripture is the “soul of theology” (Dei Verbum §24), theology as such needs at least awareness of the exegetical conversations. It seems fitting to be led by Thomas Aquinas in order to conceptualize this necessity. While the precise scope of sacra doctrina as presented by Aquinas is arguable, it is clear that its relationship with Sacra Scriptura is fundamental, a relationship sufficiently close that Brian Davies notes that, “for [Aquinas] sacra doctrina and sacra scriptura can be used interchangeably.”5 And yet at the same time sacra doctrina seems to refer to the fruits of the study of Scripture, always in agreement with Church teaching (Summa theologiae [ST] II-II, q. 5, a. 3, ad 2). In other words, sacra doctrina is not something different from or additional to Scripture but is expressive of the truth contained therein (ST I, q. 1, a. 8, ad 2; II-II, q. 1, a. 9, ad 1), for which reason it “can borrow from the other sciences, not from any need to beg from them, but for the greater clarification of the things it conveys” (ST I, q. 1, a. 5, ad 2).6 It is such borrowing, enriched and clarified by this gap. Ten years ago, I suggested that this imbalance was not recognized in two reviews for New Blackfriars: Review of Opening Up the Scriptures, ed. C. Granados and L. Sanchez-Navarro, New Blackfriars 90, no. 1028 (2009); Review of Theological Interpretation of the New Testament, ed. K. J. Vanhoozer et al., New Blackfriars 91, no. 1033 (2010). 5 Brian Davies, “Is ‘Sacra Doctrina’ Theology?,” New Blackfriars 71, no. 836 (1990): 144. 6 “. . . accipere potest aliquid a philosophicis disciplinis, non quasi ex necessitate eis 4 Discerning the Literal Sense 253 appeal to the full range of human knowledge, that enables the student of sacra doctrina to pluck these fruits, something that Thomas Gilby recognizes in Aquinas’s own work: “The way is not a narrow cutting, but a highroad; the Summa does not keep its eyes down, but looks around, and often at objects not at all ecclesiastical.”7 Taking the lead from Aquinas’s own method, then, it seems that theologians would be well advised to make use of the sciences that Barron lists, namely ancient languages, philology, and culture (not to mention history and archaeology), or at least to refer to the scholarship that has made use of them, in the practice of their scripturally ensouled discipline. The Literal Sense Rather than pursuing questions concerning the nature of the theological discipline, I want to illustrate the relevance of biblical criticism for the wider theological project from the biblical critical perspective. First, I will briefly sketch how the tradition has situated biblical criticism in theology before turning to two examples. As a point of departure, we can ask in what way(s) do we expect the biblical text to manifest revelation? What type of witness is the Bible? Put another, more venerable way, how are we to evaluate the senses of Scripture? In the Thomistic schema, what is foundational to understanding Scripture, and hence sacra doctrina as a whole, is Scripture’s literal sense (ST I, q. 1, a. 10). But the scope of this literal sense needs careful evaluation. As Robert Miller reminds us, the literal sense is not “‘taking the text literally,’ which is not what it has ever meant.”8 John Barton prefers to speak of the plain sense, which is polyvalent and yet finite in scope: Classic texts such as the Bible lend themselves to reading and rereading precisely because there is always more to be found in them; they answer not one question, but a plethora of questions. But they do so, I would argue, through what they can possibly mean, given the constraints of convention, genre, time, semantics; they cannot mean indigeat, sed ad majorem manifestationem eorum quae in hac scientia traduntur (for ST I follow the translation in the Blackfriars edition, Summa Theologiae [London: Eyre and Spottiswode, 1964]). 7 Thomas Gilby, “Appendix 6: Theology as Science,” Blackfriars ed. of ST, vol. 1, no. 29. 8 Miller, Many Roads, 78. See also Pontifical Biblical Commission, The Interpretation of the Bible in the Church (1993), II (“Hermeneutical Questions”), B (“Meaning of Sacred Scripture”), 1 (“The Literal Sense”): “The literal sense is not to be confused with the ‘literalist’ sense to which fundamentalists are attached.” 254 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. simply anything you like.9 For Aquinas we cannot correctly understand the biblical text without the literal sense: “All meanings are based on one, namely the literal sense” (ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 1: “Omnes sensus fundentur super unum, scilicet litteralem”). But again, this prioritization does not counsel fundamentalism, as Davies acknowledges. It would be wrong to take this as meaning Aquinas was, quite simply, what we would now call a ‘biblical fundamentalist,’ for his own practice in commenting on Scripture suggests that he would willingly have endorsed the attempt to learn about the origins of biblical texts and to read them in ways they were intended by their authors rather than in ways which ignore the context and beliefs of those from whom they came.10 In fact, Aquinas describes the various genres that can be found “under the one general heading of the literal sense” (ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 2), including the metaphorical or “parabolical” sense, which is “not the figure of speech itself, but the object it figures” (ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 3). In other words, the literal sense of a passage may be metaphorical. Pius XII acknowledged Scripture’s range of idioms in his 1943 encyclical Divino Afflante Spiritu, §37. No one who has a correct idea of biblical inspiration will be surprised to find, even in the Sacred Writers, as in other ancient authors, certain fixed ways of expounding and narrating, certain definite idioms, especially of a kind peculiar to the Semitic tongues, so-called approximations, and certain hyperbolical modes of expression, nay, at times, even paradoxical, which even help to impress the ideas more deeply on the mind. For of the modes of expression which, among ancient peoples and especially those of the East, human language used to express its thought, none is excluded from the Sacred Books, provided the way of speaking adopted in no wise contradicts the holiness and truth of God. John Barton, The Nature of Biblical Criticism (Louisville, KY: Westminter John Knox, 2007), 113. 10 Davies, “Is ‘Sacra Doctrina’ Theology?,” 145. 9 Discerning the Literal Sense 255 Reviewing the comments of Barton, Davies, and Pius XII, we can see that there is a recurring insistence that appreciation of the context within, through, and for which the scriptural texts were produced is necessary to understand them. Yet, there is equal acknowledgment in the tradition that understanding the context is not straightforward. The truth of faith is contained in sacred Scripture, but diffusely, in diverse ways and, sometimes, darkly. The result is that to draw out the truth of faith from Scripture requires a prolonged study and a practice not within the capacities of all those who need to know the truths of faith. (ST II-II, q. 1, a. 9, ad 1) The “prolonged study” that Aquinas urges is also encouraged by Pius XII. The Church’s scholars are to employ a range of human sciences to contextualize the Scriptures. What is the literal sense of a passage is not always as obvious in the speeches and writings of the ancient authors of the East, as it is in the works of our own time. For what they wished to express is not to be determined by the rules of grammar and philology alone, nor solely by the context; the interpreter must, as it were, go back wholly in spirit to those remote centuries of the East and with the aid of history, archaeology, ethnology, and other sciences, accurately determine what modes of writing, so to speak, the authors of that ancient period would be likely to use, and in fact did use. (Divino Afflante Spiritu §35) Finally, we should also acknowledge that it is in the nature of science to advance human knowledge as more data is recovered, which can alter the parameters of a discipline. While we might begin with the Thomistic schema, current research leads the scholar beyond what Aquinas imagined. Biblical science has advanced in detail and in depth since the Middle Ages. Historical imagination now commands improved techniques to reconstruct the circumstances of Scriptural composition and to appreciate the practical preoccupations of the writer, not merely his timeless theological message. Criticism is now more versatile about literary “genres”; less committed to Graeco-Latin usage and less content than the medieval were with the pure signification of words, symbols, and events, it sees them in the stream of history 256 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. moving to their prophetic fulfilment. The trend is towards giving the literal sense a fuller content, sensus litteralis plenior, reinforced with elements from the spiritual senses described by St Thomas.11 All this means that new information brought by the study of culture, archaeology, history, and epigraphy influences how biblical texts are evaluated and thus should influence theology if it is to base its work on Scripture. Let me put it another way. A theologian’s primary appeal to the Bible as source of revelation is as a canonical (hence completed) collection of texts. This is entirely appropriate. Yet, while it does not lie ordinarily within the field of theological study, the process by which the text reached its canonical form cannot be irrelevant to theological application. Questions of a literary and theological nature are informed by diachronic issues, for example, the choice to present source material in a particular way, just as acknowledging the Bible as canonical and hence socially authoritative contextualizes the text-critical and source-critical questions. For understanding the Bible, it matters how the text came to be and dismissing this ostensibly non-theological research as irrelevant risks diminishing the persuasiveness of any theological argument. Returning to the language of Scripture’s senses, while it would seem that the literal sense is fundamental for theology, is not always straightforward to evaluate the literal sense of a particular biblical passage. If I can put it like this, theology needs the sciences of biblical scholarship because they are engaged in discerning the literal sense. Discerning the Literal Sense: Two Examples To illustrate the contribution of these sciences to theology, I am going to give just two examples where biblical criticism reveals and negotiates the complexity in discerning the literal sense. I have deliberately chosen passages where nothing of major doctrinal importance is at stake. This is to enable analytical clarity. My claim that discerning the literal sense is essential for theology indicates a procedural hierarchy. The sciences of biblical criticism are employed as the first step in biblical engagement and then (it is my hope that) the discovered data is taken into consideration when scriptural passages are reflected upon in theological work.12 Since I am going to concentrate on the first analytical step, this is best exemplified if doctrinal Gilby, “Appendix 12: The Senses of Scripture,” in Blackfriars ed. of ST, vol. 1, no. 4. 12 See Miller, Many Roads, 76–88, for his comparable methodological proposal. 11 Discerning the Literal Sense 257 commitments are allowed to emerge later in the approach.13 The examples have also been chosen because they involve passages that are taken from different literary genres. There is no “one approach fits all” to biblical texts and part of discerning the literal sense is to establish which approaches are relevant and which questions are most productive in each case. In the first case, Judges 9:7–21, topographical data make a relevant contribution; in the second, Sirach 3:21–25, the complexity of textual transmission is of significance. Topography Chapter 9 in the book of Judges relates the tale of Abimelech’s rise to be leader of Shechem and his fall from power. It is a story thought to come from the region of Shechem with likely antiquity, at least in oral transmission, to the tenth century BCE, albeit bearing some marks of later editing.14 Part of this story is a cautionary fable told by Abimelech’s surviving brother Jotham as he flees after Abimelech has killed all their other siblings. We find Jotham’s fable in 9:8–15: “The trees went out to anoint for themselves a king” (v. 8).15 The protagonists in the fable are a variety of representative flora who are seeking to constitute a monarchical political system (likely incorporating the whole of the plant kingdom although this is not clarified) under a sovereign who is chosen from among them. I think it is safe to assume that discerning the literal sense of these verses is straightforward. Any reader should be happy to agree that trees do not talk, engage in administrative procedures, or make kings of each other. In other words, it is clear that the literal sense of Judges 9:8–15 is metaphorical, or in Aquinas’s nomenclature, “parabolical” (ST I, q. 1, a. Of course, approaching the Bible confessionally means we can never free ourselves from the doctrinal issues revealed in the Scriptures. My point here is merely that scholars should be open to all data and accept or reject exegetical proposals for theological reflection based upon reasoned knowledge of the questions raised. 14 See, e.g.: Hanoch Reviv, “The Government of Shechem in the El-Amarna Period and in the Days of Abimelech,” Israel Exploration Journal 16, no. 4 (1966): 252–57; Robert D. Miller, Chieftains of the Highland Clans: A History of Israel in the 12th and 11th Centuries Bc (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012), 120; Israel Finkelstein, The Forgotten Kingdom: The Archaeology and History of Northern Israel (Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 2013), 160; Finkelstein, “Comments on the Abimelech Story in Judges 9,” Ugarit-Forschungen 47 (2016): 74; Finkelstein, “Major Saviors, Minor Judges: The Historical Background of the Northern Accounts in the Book of Judges,” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 41, no. 4 (2017): 435. 15 For this discussion of Judges, I use my own translation from the Hebrew. 13 258 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. 10, ad 3).16 Indeed, it is this generic clarity that identifies Jotham’s speech as fabulous.17 Let us now look at the fable’s setting in the wider story of Abimelech. The opening scenes in Judges 9 are at Shechem, a settlement in the north of Israel that features significantly in the biblical literature. Shechem (near modern day Nablus) was located at the eastern mouth of a valley between two hills and to the west of a plain.18 The hills are Mount Ebal to the north and Mount Gerizim to the south, two sites that are linked in Deuteronomy 11:29 and 27:11–13 and Joshua 8:33. Mount Ebal rises to 3,084 feet, while Mount Gerizim is 2,890 feet tall. The valley of Shechem between this high ground is at approximately 1,950 feet above sea level, roughly one thousand feet below the summits. In the story, after the news that Abimelech has eliminated his fraternal rivals has circulated, Jotham takes action. “They told Jotham and he went and stood on the top of Mount Gerizim and he lifted up his voice and called and said to them, ‘hear me lords of Shechem and God will hear you’” (Judg 9:7). This verse relates that Jotham is on top of Mount Gerizim when he addresses his parable to the Shechemites, which begins in verse 8. That is, Jotham is standing about a thousand feet above the settlement and between two-thirds and one mile from the settlement as the crow flies. Are we to wonder how the lords of Shechem hear Jotham’s parable when he is stood so far away from them? Judges 9:7 is specific that Jotham stands “on the top of Mount Gerizim” and it is not clearly meant metaphorically. Are It may be that greater distinctions between metaphor and parable (which signifies through a story) are needed in theological language than Aquinas allows, perhaps in the same way as he himself carefully distinguishes between metaphor and analogy (ST I, q. 13). 17 Continuing to follow Aquinas, I should note that the object that is signified by the figure (see ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad. 3) of Judg 9:8–15 is not self-evident, and thus the content of the passage’s literal sense—the fable’s meaning—still requires interpretation. As I have explained, there is a procedural priority beginning with establishing the type of literality the passage has before moving to analysis of its signification. See Miller, Many Roads, 76–88. 18 “Jerome’s statement, ‘Shechem, which is now called Neapolis,’ apparently equated the two sites, but Eusebius stated that Shechem was ‘in the suburbs of Neapolis,’ and the Madaba mosaic map, which depends on Eusebius’ Onomasticon, shows Shechem a short distance SE of Neapolis. Thiersh’s discovery of a major ancient fortification system at Tell Balâtah seemed to establish Tell Balâtah, rather than Nablus, as the site of ancient Shechem, and the identification has not since been seriously questioned” (Lawrence E. Toombs, “Shechem (Place),” in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. David Noel Freedman [Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1992], 1:174–75). 16 Discerning the Literal Sense 259 we to understand the literal sense of verse 7 to be the recounting of actual events? As we have seen, Aquinas approves of Scripture’s metaphorical language (ST I, q. 1, a. 9). When classifying Scripture’s senses, he places the parabolical within the literal sense (ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 3). The case of Judges 9:7, however, seems to resist Aquinas’s classificatory summary. Unlike the parabolic sense perceptible in 9:8–15, verse 7 seems to be “straightforwardly recorded,” which Aquinas categorizes as “history” (ST I q. 1, a, 10, ad 2: “. . . nam historia est . . . cum simpliciter aliquid proponitur”), raising the practical question of how anyone heard Jotham’s parable. The Pontifical Biblical Commission offers a solution. When it is a question of a story, the literal sense does not necessarily imply belief that the facts recounted actually took place, for a story need not belong to the genre of history but be instead a work of imaginative fiction.19 But discerning “when it is a question of a story” is precisely the issue at hand and while this reading might be acceptable for books like Ruth, Esther, or Job, it is not clear whether we would want to assign most of Judges to “imaginative fiction.” If we are to receive the account with narrative license, dismissing Jotham’s audibility as a non-issue, then we also cannot accept the Thomistic schema that what is related is straightforwardly history (“simpliciter historia est”) without modification. 20 Aquinas does not discuss Judges 9:7 specifically and I am sure that he never visited Shechem and Mount Gerizim, so it is likely that the practicality of Jotham’s proclamation did not occur to him. But considering the convergence of data (textual, narrative, topographical) it does not seem as if we can simply assign verses 8–15 to parable and verse 7 to history and leave it at that. It seems as if a text related cum simpliciter is not a principle sufficient to characterize a biblical verse as history. The literal sense requires a more nuanced evaluation. While the practicality of Judges 9:7 may seem a trivial problem to raise, my purpose is to show that there are some better and some worse Pontifical Biblical Commission, Interpretation of the Bible in the Church, II.B.1. Aquinas also thinks that “historical” and “literal” are interchangeable labels for the foundational sense of Scripture: “qui est historicus vel litteralis” (ST I, q. 1, a. 10). These exegetical points further demonstrate the need for refinement of theological concepts beyond Aquinas, between history and literality; between metaphor and parable. 19 20 260 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. questions to put to biblical passages and, what is more, which are the better questions is not always self-evident. The data from philology, literary criticism, history, and so on should guide us to ask the most relevant questions of the text. For Judges 9:7–21, the topography draws attention to locations that carry their own symbolism and meaning. So, rather than spending energy postulating an ancient pulpit on the slopes of Mount Gerizim, 21 we are led to concentrate upon the literary pragmatics of proclamation and the symbolism evoked by the site, for instance drawing on other references to the two mountains in Deuteronomy 11:29; 27:11–13 and Joshua 8:33. 22 Briefly, Gerizim is the mountain of blessing, with Ebal the mountain of curses. We immediately see an irony in the apparent curse of Jotham’s parable being pronounced from Gerizim and this knowledge should suggest many avenues of biblical and theological reflection. It is not my intention to develop this analysis here, but I present this example from topography simply to show how apparently non-theological data helps to establish which questions are most productive for drawing out the theological teaching of sacred Scripture. Textual criticism Pius XII endorsed the science of textual criticism because the original text, “has more authority and greater weight than any even the very best translation, whether ancient or modern” (Divino Afflante Spiritu §16; see also §§17–18). The challenge that this science faces, however, is the near impossibility of retrieving the “original text” with certainty. There are no autographs, which means that all extant textual witnesses to the Bible are copies. In the case of the Old Testament in particular, these copies come from many centuries after any proposed date of production and frequently betray signs of editing.23 Further, the Bible’s different books have been received into the canon from different language versions and one of them, the Septuagint in Greek (LXX), is itself a translation for which we do not have the underlying Hebrew. What is more, there are plural witnesses to each version and an original priority cannot be See Barry G. Webb, The Book of Judges, New Internation Commentary on the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012), 275. 22 A comparison of Judg 9:7 with these texts reinforces this approach to the literal sense, since all speak of pronouncements made from the summits of the mountains without concern for practicality. 23 Of course, the issue of dating books of the Bible at their point of origin is itself fraught with complexity. 21 Discerning the Literal Sense 261 securely granted to one of them. Sifting these witnesses has become ever more complex with the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls and other scriptural fragments from the Judean desert, whose texts boast an antiquity that aligns them with (or sometimes trumps) other claimants to originality despite the evident fluidity in textual transmission that these ancient witnesses display.24 I have argued that it matters how the biblical text came to be and textual criticism makes a significant contribution to understanding this development. A related contribution is to deepen the literary perspective on a scriptural passage by comparison of variant readings. Variants also reveal how different communities have understood the biblical text in its translation and reception. All of this research provides material for theological reflection, beginning with ascertaining the most productive questions on which to reflect. As a brief example of this science, I have chosen to look at the first scriptural quotations appealed to by Aquinas in the Summa: Sirach 3:22, quoted in ST I, q. 1, a. 1, obj. 1, followed up by Sirach 3:25 in response in ad 1. In the first instance, Aquinas only gives the first four words of verse 22; in his Latin Bible the full verse reads: Things too high for you, do not examine/ and things too strong for you, do not seek out/ but those things which God commands you forever understand/ and do not be curious about his many works.25 Aquinas cites the first half of the first bicolon, giving a flavor of Ben Sira’s advice as an objection to the study of theology: the “things too high for you.” In his response to this objection Aquinas continues his reference to Sirach 3 with an appeal to verse 25, a brief verse he cites in its entirety: For many things beyond the sense of man have been shown to you.26 First, I would like to draw attention to how, in the very first article of For an introduction to all these issues, see Paul D. Wegner, A Student’s Guide to Textual Criticism of the Bible: Its History, Methods and Results (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006). 25 “Altiora te ne scrutaveris/ et fortiora te ne exquisieris/ sed quae praecepit tibi Deus illa cogita semper/ et in pluribus operibus eius ne fueris curiosus” (for the biblical texts, the translations are my own). 26 “Plurima enim super sensum hominis ostensa sunt tibi.” 24 262 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. the Summa, Aquinas’s citation of Scripture encourages the student to bring the whole context of Sirach 3 to bear on the debate he initiates. In this first article the debate is about the appropriateness of the theological project. This procedure exemplifies what Aquinas goes on to argue through the ten articles of the first question; the foundational place of Sacra Scriptura as sacra doctrina. Although it falls outside of Aquinas’s frame of reference, we shall see how acknowledgment of the complexity of our textual witnesses to sacra doctrina enriches this debate. It is not surprising that, in his scriptural references Aquinas seems to follow his Vulgate, the late fourth-century Latin revision by St Jerome.27 Jerome’s work, however, extended only to the books of the Hebrew Bible (and not the Deuterocanonical books of the Greek Septuagint) and the Gospels. The rest of the Vulgate Old and New Testaments come from the Vetus Latina [“OL” for “Old Latin”] translation tradition, though the Vulgate edition shows its own variants from the OL.28 Sirach is an enigmatic piece of literature with a complex textual history. It was accepted into the Old Testament in Greek as a translation from Hebrew by Jesus ben Sira’s grandson, explained in the book’s prologue as found in our Bibles. A medieval Hebrew witness to the book was only discovered in 1896 as part of the Cairo Genizah collection.29 Jordan Schmidt summarizes the textual development: The grandson translated Jesus ben Sira’s work from Hebrew into Greek in ca. 117 BCE. After this the Hebrew underwent some expansion, which was most likely an accretion of various sayings and glosses, and then someone else made a revised translation that was based on the first translation of the Greek as well as the expanded form of the Hebrew. This second text form of the Greek is what we have in the Lucianic and Origenic recensions of the LXX. By and large, the Old Latin [OL] corresponds to the first translation of the Greek, but it does have some of the expanded readings too, sometimes coming closer to the Hebrew than the Greek. Perhaps as early as the 3rd century CE, the expanded See Wegner, Student’s Guide to Textual Criticism, 289–92. Vetus Latina or “Old Latin” is the collective title for the large and diverse body of Latin biblical translations used by Christians from the second century until about the eighth century, by which time the Vulgate had established itself as the standard Latin translation. 29 See Janet Soskice, Sisters of Sinai: How Two Lady Adventurers Found the Hidden Gospels (New York: Random House, 2009), 239–42. 27 28 Discerning the Literal Sense 263 Hebrew text was also translated into Syriac. In the course of transmission, other additions made it into the Hebrew—some of them were retrojected from the Syriac, while others were glosses. This form of the Hebrew is what we have in the Cairo Genizah manuscripts.30 Sirach’s history of transmission shows that biblical texts were not always regarded as monolithic and unchangeable witnesses and that rather there was a fluidity in copying and editing by scribes, which is significant considering that these copies are the only witnesses to the biblical text we have. This fact in itself provides an important datum for considering theological issues such as inspiration, divine authorship, and the type of witness to revelation the Bible is. Returning to the particular verses under consideration, in the LXX text, Sirach 3:22 seems to reflect only the first bicolon as it appears in the Vulgate—“What is commanded you, these things understand / for you have no need of hidden things”—while verse 25 is not in the earliest texts of the LXX. The Hebrew of verse 22 is comparable to the other witnesses—“On what is authorized concentrate / for you have no concern with hidden things”—but verse 25 does not correspond to the Latin: “Without a pupil, light is lacking/ and without knowledge, wisdom is lacking.” Finally, the Syriac version is nearest to the Hebrew—“What is authorized for you understand / for you have no concern with hidden things”—but has its own take on verse 25: “He who does not have the eye’s pupil lacks light / in what you are devoid of knowledge you should not be promising instruction.” Overall, it appears as if verse 22 in the Latin witness is twice as long as in the other versions, while verse 25 does not correspond at all. Schmidt gives his assessment: The OL reflects the Hebrew pretty well, though it makes explicit the references to God: i.e., the divine passive is translated as an active with God explicitly named as the subject. Also, there are a few interpretive glosses mixed in. The Vulgate then adds more material to smooth out the translation (I don’t know the source of the additions). Regarding the Latin, it seems to me that 3:22 = LXX 3:21–22a, Jordan Schmidt, private communication of 2019. I am grateful to my colleague Jordan for his help with Sirach’s textual development. 30 264 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. and then 3:23 = LXX 3:22b. After that it gets more complicated because the Vulgate and the OL are different. It seems that Vulgate 3:24 = LXX 3:23a and then Vulgate 3:25 = LXX 3:23b. However, the Vulgate of v24 is a plus compared to the OL. So v23 of the OL was likely the original translation of v23a of the LXX, and then v25 of the OL (which is identical to the Vulgate version) is the translation of v23b of the LXX. It seems that v24 of the Vulgate was added to smooth out the translation. Regarding the Greek of v25, it is found only in the Origenic recension whereas the Lucianic has only v25a. Given the fact that Hebrew v25 doesn’t go with either the preceding or the following, it could be a later addition in the Hebrew that was then picked up in the later revised translations of the Greek. The fact that it is not found in the OL would support this. However, v25 is found also in the Syriac (though slightly different in formulation), which would suggest that if v25 is an addition, it was made rather early. The Greek corresponds to the Hebrew fairly closely in all of these verses. The differences that do exist between the Hebrew and Greek could be a function of the content. In 3:21–22 Ben Sira instructs his students to accept human limitation of knowledge as well as his authority to determine the limits of their inquiry. Likely he has in view astrologically inclined groups who espoused and sought esoteric knowledge. Perhaps the grandson is trying to deemphasize the stress laid on humility and acceptance of authority for his Greek audience.31 Where does this analysis leave the theologian? I have pointed out that the very complexity of Sirach’s different versions must stimulate reflection on theological issues, such as the nature of divine inspiration, the place of the author, translator or reviser in this process, and the manner in which biblical texts are the font of revelation. The data from textual criticism ensures that these vital questions are raised. Secondly, Schmidt suggests ideological and social motives as a reason for the particular variants for Sirach 3:21–25. Revision in response to audience expectation across the translations surely has something to say about how any “final form” of the text is received for theological analysis. As I have argued above, it matters how the biblical text came to be. Finally, returning to my initial comment Schmidt, 2019 private communication. 31 Discerning the Literal Sense 265 that Aquinas’s references encourage taking in the whole context, comparison of all four versions of Sirach 3:21–25 allows a multi-dimensional reading of Ben Sira’s advice on the nature of teaching. In Sirach 3 we find an exhortation to humility and docility when being instructed. This counsel is prefaced by verses 17–20 [v. 20 = Vulgate v. 21]. My child, perform your tasks with humility / then you will be loved by those whom God accepts. The greater you are, the more you must humble yourself / so you will find favor in the sight of the Lord. For great is the might of the Lord / but by the humble he is glorified. This pericope establishes the context for the passage under consideration. For ease of comparison, the following table presents the text of Sirach 3:21–25 with the four language versions in parallel with my translation. The textual variation of this text does not substantially change the point that is being made, but rather lends a multi-dimensionality to the advice, enriching the point that Aquinas is making in ST I, q. 1, a. 1, about sacra doctrina and its basis in revelation. Drawing the versions together, my own reflection is as follows. Both humility (v. 21 [Vulgate v. 22a]) and docility are necessary (v. 22a [Vulgate v. 22b]) in the face of remarkable and hidden things. This receptive attitude enables the apprehension of things beyond human understanding (v. 23b [Vulgate v. 25]), but only those things that God has chosen to reveal (v. 23a [Vulgate v. 24]). This is because the pursuit of the hidden with a purely human curiosity can lead to evil (v. 24 [Vulgate v. 26]). The passage seems to be about grace and the God-given capacity to raise the mind to the supernatural, while warning against seeking things outside of God’s revelation for mystical answers that cannot lead to the divine. In the words of a New Testament author, “Do not be led astray by all kinds of strange teachings” (Heb 13:8–9; cf. Sir 3:26–28). 266 Bruno J. Clifton, O.P. LXX Sirach 3:21–25 21 Things too troublesome for you do not seek / and things too strong for you do not examine 22 What is commanded you, these things understand / for you have no need of hidden things 23 With the remarkable things among your works do not be concerned / for more than the understanding of men has been shown to you 24 For their speculation misleads many / and wicked suspicion falls on their minds 25 ----------- Syriac Sirach 3:21–25 21 Things too hard for you do not seek / and things too strong for you do not investigate 22 What is authorized for you understand / for you have no concern with hidden things 23 But with the rest of his deeds do not be vexed / because things greater than you have been shown to you 24 Because many are their human opinions / and evil forms which lead astray 25 He who does not have the eye’s pupil lacks light / in what you are devoid of knowledge, you should not be promising instruction. Vulgate Sirach 3:21–26 21 Because great is the power of God alone and he is honored by the humble 22 Things too high for you, do not examine / and things too strong for you, do not seek out / but those things which God commands you forever understand/ and do not be curious about his many works. 23 For it is not necessary for you to see with your eyes those things which are hidden 24 Unnecessary things, do not examine / and do not be curious about his many works 25 For many things beyond the sense of man have been shown to you 26 For their suspicion deceives many / and has detained their senses in emptiness Hebrew Sirach 3:21–25 21 Things too wonderful for you do not seek / and that which is hidden from you do not search out 22 On what is authorized concentrate / for you have no concern with hidden things 23 About what is kept from you do not be bitter/ because things greater than you have been shown 24 Because many are the machinations of the sons of Adam / and evil imaginations which lead astray 25 Without a pupil, light is lacking / and without knowledge, wisdom is lacking Discerning the Literal Sense 267 Summary I have argued that the sciences of biblical criticism—ancient languages, philology, cultural studies, history, and archaeology—are relevant to and indeed necessary for theology as they stand. It is not primarily an altered methodology in these sciences that is needed as much as awareness in theology of the relevance of these methods’ exegetical results. For the avoidance of prejudice, I deliberately chose examples in which not much is at stake doctrinally, but it should be clear from this discussion that taking on board the implications of scholarship’s robust evaluation of biblical texts is even more important where the authenticity of Church teaching is in question. The point I have tried to make is twofold: first, it matters for its interpretation how the biblical text came to be; secondly, the literal sense of a passage, and hence which are the best questions to address to it, is frequently not self-evident. If theology is to find its basis in God’s revelation and its literal sense (ST I, q. 1, a. 10, ad 1), then to discern the literal sense we need the “technically trained experts” of biblical scholarship.32 Without this data to inform our reflection, theological arguments risk losing their persuasiveness and become detached from the reality in which the Bible is rooted. To conclude with the warning found only in the Syriac translation of the book of Sirach: “In what you are devoid of knowledge N&V you should not be promising instruction” (3:25). See Barron, “Biblical Interpretation and Theology,” 189. 32 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 269–298 269 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis: Hebrews 2:9 as a Case Study Jörgen Vijgen Major Seminary Saint Willibrord Heiloo, The Netherlands “Biblical Thomism,” a term coined by the American theologian Matthew Levering, constitutes, together with the emphasis on the patristic sources of Saint Thomas and the renewed discovery of the commentatorial tradition of Thomism, one of the most vibrant features of contemporary Thomism. Its dynamic is rooted in its twofold aim.1 Historically, biblical Thomism aims at uncovering the methods and sources of Saint Thomas’s the principal task as magister in sacra pagina, which consisted in reading and commenting on the Holy Scriptures. This approach should not be limited to his biblical commentaries or the scriptural references in his systematical works but can also include a reconstruction of the central ideas of Saint Thomas’s commentary on a book of the Bible for which we do not have a commentary, as has been demonstrated recently by Serge-Thomas Bonino in his book St. Thomas Aquinas: Reader of the Song of Songs.2 In doing so, biblical Thomism further aims at contributing to overcoming the typically modern gap between exegesis and speculative theology or to contribute to what Joseph Ratzinger in his famous 1988 lecture “Biblical Interpretation in Conflict” has called the “Method C” within biblical exegesis, that is to say, a perspective on Scripture which takes advantage of the strengths of “Method A” (the patristic-medieval exegetical approach) and “Method B” (The historFor more on this, see Jörgen Vijgen, “Biblical Thomism: Past, Present and Future,” Angelicum 95, no. 3 (2018): 263–87. 2 Serge-Thomas Bonino, Saint Thomas d’Aquin: Lecteur du Cantique des cantiques (Paris: Cerf, 2019). See also my review in Nova et Vetera (English) 18, no. 2 (2020): 723–29. 1 270 Jörgen Vijgen ical-critical approach), while being cognizant of the shortcomings of both.3 In this contribution I would like to draw attention to his Super Epistolam ad Hebraeos, his commentary on the Letter to the Hebrews, which still remains somewhat overlooked, by way of an analysis of Saint Thomas’s reflections on Hebrews 2:9. For in these reflections he offers the contemporary reader an overview of his exegetical methods and as such his analysis can function as a case study for his biblical exegesis and an introduction to the way he reads the Scriptures. First, however, I present Saint Thomas’s arguments for why one should not separate the three features mentioned above. Next, I briefly introduce his Super Epistolam ad Hebraeos before offering in the final part a detailed analysis of Hebrews 2:9. Distinguish to Unite Although for practical purposes a division of labor is often necessary, it would be contrary to both the mind of Saint Thomas, as well as his explicit teaching, were one to separate these three features (the Scriptures, Church Fathers, and the commentators) so that his thought becomes detached from the tradition that formed his work and subsequently brought his work to us. Rather, due to the role of the Holy Spirit in history, there exists for Saint Thomas a profound unity between the reading of Scripture and its transmission and interpretation throughout the ages. Saint Thomas argues, often with reference to Ambrosiaster’s phrase Omne verum, a quocumque dicatur, a Spiritu Sancto est (“All truth, by whomever it is spoken, is from the Holy Spirit”), in favor of God’s causal action with regard to the formal, efficient and exemplary role of the Holy Spirit in the constitution and recognition of any truth whatsoever. 4 In particular regarding the truth of Scripture, Saint Thomas emphatically rejects an absolute separation between the inspired nature of the Scriptures and their subsequent interpretation. On the contrary, as he explains in one of his quodlibetal questions, the interpretation is itself a gift of the Holy Spirit so that at any given time in history the Holy Spirit is both the author and the interpreter of the Scriptures in so far as the “spiritual man” (1 Cor 2: 15) possesses the Holy Spirit and judges accordingly.5 The sed contra of Here the work of Matthew Levering and Matthew Ramage in particular come to mind. 4 For an in-depth analysis, see Serge-Thomas Bonino, “‘Toute vérité, quel que soit celui qui la dit, vient de l’Esprit saint’: Autour d’une citation de l’Ambrosiaster dans le corpus thomasien,” Revue thomiste 106 (2006): 101–47 (now collected in Bonino, Études Thomasiennes [Paris: Parole et Silence, 2018], 113–56). 5 Asking whether all that the saintly doctors have said is from the Holy Spirit, St. Thomas writes in Quodlibet XII, q. 16[17]: “Dicendum quod ab eodem Spiritu 3 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 271 the same article expresses this even more clearly: To the contrary: It belongs to one and the same person to do something for the sake of a goal and to lead to that goal. But the goal of the Scriptures, which stems from the Holy Spirit, is the erudition of man. This erudition of man from the Scriptures, however, cannot exist unless by way of the expositions of the saints. Therefore the expositions of the saints are from the Holy Spirit.6 Such a Spirit-filled and Spirit-led reading of the Scriptures leads Saint Thomas to observe that the Scriptures themselves, when properly read, act upon its readers in protecting the integrity of their faith as well as in valuing those readers upon whom the Scriptures acted in a similar way in the past. He writes: Because when we preserve the Sacred Scripture, it is we who are preserved by the Sacred Scriptures and it is we who are assured by the Sacred Scriptures to preserve those who have preserved the Sacred Scriptures. Therefore, one has to preserve not only what is handed on in the Sacred Scriptures but also the sayings of the saintly doctors [sacris doctoribus] who have preserved Sacred Scripture in its integrity.7 scripture sunt exposite et edite. Vnde dicitur, I Corinthiorum II: Animalis homo non percipit ea que Dei sunt . . . , spiritualis autem etc.; et precipue quantum ad ea que sunt fidei, quia fides est donum Dei. Et ideo interpretatio sermonum numeratur inter alia dona Spiritus sancti, Corinthiorium XII [It is by the same Spirit that the Scriptures are interpreted and published. For it is said in 1 Cor. 2:14–15: But the sensual man perceiveth not these things that are of God . . . but the spiritual man [judgeth all things]; and especially regarding matters that pertain to the faith for faith is a gift of God. And thus the interpretation of sayings is numbered among the other gifts of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 12:11)]” (Leonine edition [LE], 25/.2:421, lns. 22–28; translation mine, with Scripture translations from the Douay-Rheims translation). 6 Quodlibet XII, q. 16[17]: “Contra. Ad eumdem pertinet facere aliquid propter finem et perducere ad illum finem; set finis scripture, quae est a Spiritu sancto, est eruditio hominum; hec autem eruditio hominum ex scripturis non potest esse nisi per expositiones sanctorum ; ergo expositiones sanctorum sunt a Spiritu sancto” (LE 25/2:421.15–21). Unless otherwise noted, translations are my own. 7 Aquinas, In divinis nominibus, ch. 2, lec. 1, no. 125: “Quia dum nos custodimus sancta ab ipsis custodimur et ab ipsis confirmamur ad custodiendum eos qui custodiunt sancta. Oportet enim non solum conservare ea quae in sanctis Scripturis sunt tradita, sed et ea quae dicta sunt a sacris doctoribus, qui sacram Scripturam 272 Jörgen Vijgen The qualification “in its integrity” (illibatam) is of course of importance here. Saint Thomas is not saying that the Scriptures and their saintly readers operate under the same mode of inspiration. He is fully aware that the Fathers have added personal opinions to their biblical exegesis about which they have erred.8 As Leo Elders writes: “The writings of the Fathers . . . are sources of doctrine insofar as they convey what is contained in the Bible and their doctrine has been received by the Church.”9 Moreover, because the Holy Spirit does not only move the intellect but also the will to perform actions worthy of “spiritual men,” the actions of the saints are a tool for how to interpret what that same Spirit has told us in the Scriptures. Following the lead of Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas writes: For, although we fail to understand many things that are written for us, we can gather their meaning from the deeds of the saints, and thus learn in what sense we are to interpret them. It is on this account that the Holy Spirit, Who speaks by the Scriptures [loquitur in Scripturis], inspires the actions of the Saints [movet sanctos ad operandum)]. St. Paul tells us the same truth when he says, “Whosoever are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God” (Rom 8: 14).10 In other words, one cannot confine the function of the Scriptures to a passed event in the history of the transmission of the faith which would then be followed by Tradition and the Church. On the contrary, Scripture is the work of the same Holy Spirit who governs the Church; the Holy Spirit, who brings to fulfillment from Christ’s ascension to Christ’s return the work begun by Christ, is the same who “loquitur in Scripturis” and who “movet sanctos ad operandum.” Hence, it is the same Spirit who is both author and interpreter of the Scriptures.11 Such a structural correlation illibatam conservaverunt.” See Quodlibet XII, q. 16[17], ad 1. 9 Leo Elders, “Thomas Aquinas and the Fathers of the Church,” in Theological innovation and the Shaping of Tradition: The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West from the Carolingians to the Maurists, ed. Ignaz I. Backus (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 337–66, at 340. 10 Aquinas, De perfectione spiritualis vitae, ch. 21 (LE, 41B:94.157–60), trans. John Procter, O.P. (Westminster, MD: Newman, 1950 [orig. 1902]). St. Thomas is influenced by remarks in St. Augustine’s De mendacio, ch. 15. 11 See Romanus Cessario and Cajetan Cuddy, Thomas and the Thomists: The Achievement of Thomas Aquinas and His Interpreters (Minneapolis, MN : Fortress, 2017), and my review in Nova et Vetera (English) 17, no. 1 (2019): 291–96. For a concrete 8 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 273 between the sacred text and the reading of the text forms part of the theological justification for the twofold aim of biblical Thomism. A brief note on the third feature of contemporary Thomism, the role of the commentatorial tradition as an integral part of the unity of the Thomist tradition, is in order. The observation by Romanus Cessario and Cajetan Cuddy that “those who follow and interpret Aquinas faithfully commit themselves to the project as an ecclesial vocation” at the service of evangelization, that is to say, as “developing a sanctified intelligence for service to the church’s ministry” resonates deeply with Saint Thomas’s view cited above (“eruditio hominum ex Scripturis non potest esse nisi per expositiones sanctorum [the erudition of man from the Scriptures cannot exist unless by way of the expositions of the saints]”).12 The Challenges of Aquinas’s Super Epistolam ad Hebraeos In these last few decades numerous studies have appeared which examined either Thomas’s exegetical methods in general or a particular biblical commentary.13 Far less scholarly work has been done on Saint Thomas’s exegesis of the Letter to the Hebrews.14 One reason for this apparent lack of interest could be the considerable textual problems of the text of the commentary as transmitted to us in the Marietti edition. While we do not need to go into the details here, it is useful to recall that we possess two rather different student notes or reportationes, a short version and a long version. The longer version is thought to be the one written down by Saint Thomas’s socius, Reginald of Piperno but was only discovered in the sixteenth century by Remigio Nanni, who incorporated parts of it, mainly example see Michael O’Connor, Cajetan’s Biblical Commentaries: Motive and Method (Leiden: Brill, 2017), and my review in Biblica et Patristica Thoruniensia 11, no. 3 (2018): 361–66. 12 Cessario and Cuddy, Thomas and the Thomists, xvi. 13 See, e.g.: Reading John with St. Thomas Aquinas: Theological Exegesis and Speculative Theology, ed. Matthew Levering and Michael Dauphinais (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2005); Reading Romans with St. Thomas Aquinas, ed. Levering and Dauphinais (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2012); Reading Sacred Scripture with Thomas Aquinas. Hermeneutical Tools, Theological Questions and New Perspectives, ed. Piotr Roszak and Jörgen Vijgen (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2015); Towards A Biblical Thomism: Thomas Aquinas and the Renewal of Biblical Theology, ed. Roszak and Jörgen (Pamplona, Spain: Ediciones Universidad de Navarra, 2018). 14 An excellent introduction is Thomas Weinandy, “The Supremacy of Christ: Aquinas’ Commentary on Hebrews,” in Aquinas on Scripture: An Introduction to His Biblical Commentaries, ed. Thomas G. Weinandy, Daniel A. Keating, and John P. Yocum (London: T&T Clark International, 2005), 223–44. 274 Jörgen Vijgen of the first six chapters, into the printed edition. From there onward, this text prepared by Nanni became the one that was printed in subsequent editions, including the Marietti edition.15 For the moment, very little research has been done to clarify the relation between these two versions, let alone the sources which influenced Saint Thomas. While these textual questions certainly present a difficulty for us readers and might explain the apparent lack of interest for the commentary, the fact that the epistle itself presents the contemporary reader with significant challenges is equally as important. It presents the reader with a world which in many ways lies beyond the empirical and which even is more powerful than the empirically observable world. Hence, the importance of angels therein. Moreover, one of its central themes, Jesus’s sacrificial suffering in obedience to the Father, does not resonate well in today’s culture of absolute autonomy. Furthermore, as Luke Timothy Johnson observes, the epistle’s suggestion that suffering “is not merely something that falls upon people from outside but rather the inevitable concomitant of obedience to God’s promises, as exemplified in Christ’s passion, is a very demanding one.” This is particularly the case if some of the readers of Hebrews “make moral ambiguity and tolerance for wrongdoing the mark of maturity and consider suffering virtually equivalent to evil.”16 Saint Thomas, however, commenting beautifully on Hebrews 12:3 (“For think diligently upon him that endured such opposition from sinners against himself that you be not wearied, fainting in your minds”) and following Saint Augustine, presents the Cross as the place where Jesus reveals the perfection of his virtue and becomes a model for all to follow: The reason for this is that the remedy for every tribulation is found in the cross. For obedience to God is found there: he humbled himself, being made obedient (Phil 2:8); so is piety towards one’s parents, for he provided for his mother there; and also love of neighbor; hence, he prayed for sinners: Father, forgive them for they know not what they do (Luke 23:34); walk in love, as Christ loved you and delivered himself for you (Eph 5:2); and For more elements of textual criticism, see the only book length study of his Super Heb: Antoine Guggenheim, Jésus Christ, grand prêtre de l’ancienne et de la nouvelle alliance: Étude du commentaire de saint Thomas d’Aquin sur l’epître aux Hébreux (Paris: Parole et Silence, 2004). 16 Luke Timothy Johnson, Hebrews: A Commentary (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2006), 2. 15 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 275 patience in adversity: I was dumb and was humbled and kept silence from good things: and my sorrow was renewed (Ps 39:3); he shall be led as a sheep to the slaughter, and shall be dumb as a lamb before his shearer, and he shall not open his mouth (Isa 53:7); and final perseverance in all things; hence, he persevered to the end: Father, into your hands I commend my spirit (Luke 23:46). Hence, an example of every virtue is found in the cross: the cross was not only the altar on which he suffered, but the chair from which he taught (Augustine).17 A final challenge worthy of mentioning deals with Jewish–Christian relations and in particular with the much-disputed issue of Christian supersessionism, present so it seems in Hebrews and in Aquinas, that is to say, the view that, in the words of Matthew Tapie, “the Christian claim that with the advent of Christ, the Jewish law is fulfilled and obsolete, with the result that God replaces Israel with the Church.” 18 Obviously, Aquimas, Super Heb 12, lec. 1, no. 667: “Et huius ratio est, quia in quacumque tribulatione invenitur eius remedium in cruce. Ibi enim est obedientia ad Deum. Phil. II, 8: humiliavit semetipsum factus obediens. Item pietatis affectus ad parentes; unde ibi gessit curam de matre sua. Item caritas ad proximum; unde ibi pro transgressoribus oravit. Lc. XXIII, 34: Pater, dimitte illis, non enim sciunt quid faciunt. Eph. V, 2: ambulate in dilectione, sicut Christus dilexit nos, et tradidit semetipsum pro nobis. Item fuit ibi patientia in adversis. Ps.: obmutui et humiliatus sum, et silui a bonis, et dolor meus renovatus est. Is. LIII, 7: sicut ovis ad occisionem ducetur, et quasi agnus coram tondente se obmutescet, et non aperiet os suum. Item in omnibus finalis perseverantia; unde usque ad mortem perseveravit. Lc. XXIII, v. 46: Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum. Unde in cruce invenitur exemplum omnis virtutis, Augustinus: ‘crux non solum fuit patibulum patientis; sed etiam cathedra docentis.’” Unless otherwise noted, all English translation of Super Heb is from in Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, trans. Chrysostom Baer, O. Praem (South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 2006).The exact quotation from Augustine is: “Facit quod faciendum admonet, et exemplo suo suos instruxit praeceptor bonus, ut a filiis piis impendatur cura parentibus: tamquam lignum illud ubi erant fixa membra morientis, etiam cathedra fuit magistri docentis (“The good Teacher does what He thereby reminds us ought to be done, and by His own example instructed His disciples that care for their parents ought to be a matter of concern to pious children: as if that tree to which the members of the dying One were affixed were the very chair of office from which the Master was imparting instruction”) (In Iohannis evangelium tractatus 119.2 [Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina, 36:658]; English trans. from Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, series 1, vol. 7). See also Sermon 234, no. 2 (PL, 38:1116) and Sermon 315, no. 5[8] (PL, 38: 1430). See also Thomas’s Sermon 18, Germinet terra, in particular part 3. 18 Matthew Tapie, Aquinas on Israel and the Church: The Question of Supersessionism 17 276 Jörgen Vijgen I can merely draw attention to these challenges. However, and insofar as these challenges are perceived as counter-cultural, they might lead us to explore in more depth Saint Thomas’s commentary. Hebrews 2:9 and Its context In this contribution, I will limit myself to expounding Saint Thomas’s reading of a single verse, Hebrews 2:9, which reads in the Douay-Rheims: But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels, for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor: that, through the grace of God he might taste death for all [Vulgate: Eum autem, qui modico quam angeli minoratus est, videmus Jesum propter passionem mortis, gloria et honore coronatum: ut, gratia Dei, pro omnibus gustaret mortem]. In particular, I will be focus on the last part: “that, through the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.” The reason for this approach is that Thomas’s commentary on the centerpiece of salvation, the salvific death of Christ, exhibits, as we will see, many of the features of his exegesis and can therefore function as a case study for his biblical exegesis. Before doing so, however, it is worthwhile to place this verse into context. As in his other biblical commentaries, Saint Thomas takes the traditional topical approach, focusing on the subjects being discussed. The two central subjects of the Hebrews are logically interrelated. For if it can be shown that Christ’s excellence takes precedence over all the angels, prophets and priests, which is the subject of chapters 1–10, respectively the angels (ch. 2), Moses (ch. 3), and the Old Testament priests (chs. 4–10), then one is justified to explain to the faithful how one can be joined to Christ and to admonish them to do so, which is the subject of chapters 11–13. The first subject is therefore foundational and is already contained in the first three verses of chapter in the Theology of Thomas Aquinas, foreword by Pim Valkenberg (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2014), 23–24. For a constructive engagement with Tapie, see Matthew Levering, “Aquinas and Supersessionism One More Time: A Response to Matthew A. Tapie’s Israel and the Church,” Pro Ecclesia 25 (2016): 395–412, and Levering, “Blood, Death, and Sacrifice in the Epistle to the Hebrews According to Thomas Aquinas,” in So Great a Salvation: A Dailogue on Atonement in Hebrews, ed. John C. Laansma, George H. Guthrie, and Cynthia Long Westfall (New York: T&T Clark, 2019), 120–43. Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 277 1. These verses show us not only the full divinity of the Son, and in particular his co-eternity (“splendor of his glory”), consubstantiality (“the figure of his substance”), and equality of power (“upholding all things by the word of his power”), but also that it is as incarnate that the Son inherits everything, for it is as incarnate that the Son overcomes sin (“making purgation of sins”) and provides a new covenant. Having emphasized in chapter 1 the Son’s full divinity, Thomas turns to the life of the Word made flesh. He finds in the citation of Psalm 8 in verses 5–8 an overview of all the mysteries of the life of Christ, that is to say, his Incarnation, Passion, resurrection, ascension, and return at the final judgment.19 “What is man” refers to the cause of the Incarnation, that is to say, the sinful human race, unworthy of God’s kindness. “The son of man that you visit him” describes the Incarnation itself. As he explains in his commentary on Psalm 8, while God has visited the entire human race in the past, he now visits “in particular this man assumed into the unity of the supposit.”20 “You have made him a little lower than the angels” applies to the incarnate Word in suffering and death as man. He explicitly rejects that Christ in his Passion lost the fullness of his divinity or was somehow diminished in anyway. Even the fact that in Luke 22:43 an angel appears to Christ on the Cross strengthening him should not for Thomas be read as if Christ needed the angel’s strengthening, but rather as a reinforcement that Christ’s Passion as man made him lower than the angels because, as Hebrews 2:16 says, “surely it is not with angels that he is concerned but with the descendants of Abraham.” The final verses of the citation from Psalm 8 speak of the resurrection, ascension, and final judgment. He explores the last aspect in particular more fully in his commentary on Psalm 8. Hebrews 2:9, and in particular the final part—“ut, gratia Dei, pro omnibus gustaret mortem”—contains the centerpiece of salvation, the salvific death of Christ. According to Saint Thomas, it describes Christ’s Passion from three perspectives: “First, from its cause, when he says ‘that, Heb 2: 5–8 reads: “For God has not subjected unto angels the world to come, whereof we speak. But one in a certain place has testified, saying: what is man, that you are mindful of him? Or the son of man, that you visit him? You have made him a little lower than the angels: you have crowned him with glory and honor and have set him over the works of your hands. You have subjected all things under his feet [Ps. 8]. For in that he has subjected all things to him he left nothing not subject to him. But now we see not as yet all things subject to him.” I use the Baer translation (see note 17) and he uses the Douay-Rheims translation. 20 Super Psalmos 8, no. 5: “Quia licet totum genus humanum visitaverit, specialiter tamen illum hominem assumptum in unitate hypostasis.” 19 278 Jörgen Vijgen through the grace of God’; second, from its usefulness, when he says ‘for all’; third, from the manner, when he says ‘he might taste.’”21 In what follows I will analyze these three perspectives more closely. The Grace of God as the Cause of Christ’s Passion He starts out by explaining that God’s grace alone (sola gratia Dei) was the cause of Christ’s Passion; that is to say, the Father gave his only begotten Son as having to suffer in his human nature entirely out of grace.22 He invokes John 3:16 (“For God so loved the world, as to give his only begotten Son”) and Romans 5:8 (“But God commendeth His charity towards us: because when as yet we were sinners, according to the time, Christ died for us”) to clarify the Father’s love as the motivating cause “of the good which is grace.”23 Commenting on this verse from Romans 5, he emphasizes that the Father “was not moved to do this by our merits, since we were still sinners,”24 “for love is shown by a gift.”25 Christ’s Passion was, therefore, “given freely.”26 The emphasis here on the freedom of the Father’s gift should not be read as standing in contradiction with the meritorious nature of Christ’s Passion. Inasmuch as he bore his suffering willingly—that is to say, inasmuch as he was resolved to fulfill God’s will—he merited salvation. For Saint Thomas this follows from the reality of Christ’s human nature and free will. “It is evident that whosoever suffers for justice’s sake, provided that he be in a state of grace, merits his salvation thereby, according to Matt 5:10: ‘Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’s sake.’”27 This example shows that, because Saint Thomas’s observations often stem directly from following the flow of the words of Scripture, a careful conclusion on the whole of a topic needs to depend on his systematical treatment of the topic. Super Heb 2, lec. 2, no. 123. For St. Thomas, the being made “little lower than the angels” in Heb 2:9a does not refer to the nature of the divinity, nor the human nature absolutely considered, but solely to the human nature as suffering; (see Super Heb 2, lec. 2, no. 122). 23 Super Ioann 3, lec. 3, no. 477. 24 Super Rom 5, lec. 2, no. 299. He refers to Eph 2: 4: “God who is rich in mercy, on account of the exceedingly great love wherewith he has loved us, while we were still dead in sins, has raised us to life with Christ.” 25 Super Ioann 3, lec. 3, no. 477: “nam dilectio ostenditur per donum.” See also Super Heb 9, lec. 3, no. 444 where, commenting on Heb. 9: 14a (“How much more shall the blood of Christ, who by the Holy Spirit offered himself unspotted unto God. . .”), he notes that it is the Holy Spirit who caused Christ to shed his blood by the spiration of divine love, love of God, and love of neighbor which was infused into Him. 26 Super Heb 2, lec. 2, no. 123. 27 Aquinas, Summa theologiae [ST] III, q. 48, a. 1. 21 22 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 279 One of the features of his exegesis is the presence of alternative explanations, introduced by vel or aliter or equivalent expressions, without a judgment which one is correct. This feature attests both to the primacy of God as the author of the Scriptures28 and to what Gilbert Dahan has called a souplesse or absence of well-defined limits of scriptural interpretation.29 Saint Thomas proposes an alternative reading which only makes sense for someone reading Hebrews in Latin; at least textually, it is incorrect for someone reading the original Greek. In Greek, chariti, from charis (grace) is dative and can only be dative, and means “by grace” or perhaps “in/with grace.” It is found on numerous occasions within the New Testament, for example in Ephesians 2:8 (“For by grace you have been saved, through faith”) or 1 Corinthians 15: 10 (“By the grace of God I am what I am”). In the Latin Vulgate translation, however, the equivalent word gratia in gratia Dei can grammatically be both an ablative and a nominative. In the former case, it would be construed similarly to the Greek dative: “by the grace of God.” In the latter case, it would be translated as “the grace of God,” so that the entire passage would indicate that Christ himself, who is the Grace of God, might taste death for all. For someone like Saint Thomas, who was not able to read Greek, this is a plausible reading. But why did Saint Thomas offer this reading? The reason he mentions explicitly is the fact that it comes from the Glossa Augustini. His reverence toward the Fathers and in particular towards Saint Augustine is well known.30 However, and at least to my knowledge, one cannot find in Augustine’s writings a text in which Augustine argues for the nominative case of gratia. In Robert of Melun’s (ca. 1100–1167) Quaestiones on the Pauline letters from around 1150, we find a rare example for such a read Because God is the primary author of Scripture, it is possible that God could mean multiple literal meanings “but without any such meanings on the part of the author”; see John F. Boyle, “Authorial Intention and the ‘Divisio Textus,’” in Levering and Dauphinais, Reading John with St. Thomas Aquinas, 3–8, at 7. See also Aquinas, De potentia, q., a. 1, where he writes that it belongs to the dignity of Scriptures to “adapts itself to man’s various intelligence, so that each one marvels to find his thoughts expressed in the words of divine Scripture.” 29 Gilbert Dahan, “Tradition patristique, autorité et progrès dans l’exégèse médiévale,” in Les réceptions des Pères de l’Église au Moyen Âge, ed. Rainer Berndt and Michel Fédou (Münster: Aschendorff, 2013), 349–68. Note however: “But this freedom is part of the predefined framework of a tradition and cannot be the spontaneous product of a charismatic, individual approach” (361). 30 See Leo Elders, Thomas Aquinas and His Predecessors: The Philosophers and the Church Fathers in His Works (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2018), ch. 6. 28 280 Jörgen Vijgen ing.31 Most likely, however, he found this reading in Peter Lombard’s own commentary on Hebrews.32 These misattributions either by Saint Thomas himself, the reportatores, or even the scribes of the text of the commentary on Hebrews we possess at the moment were all too common in the Middle Ages. I would offer another reason which he does not mention. The nominativus gratia can function as a metonymy by associating two closely related concepts. “Grace tasted death” because Christ is grace as well as the auctor gratiae, the author of grace. This is also the reading proposed by Hugh of Saint Cher’s Postilla.33 Thomas finds corroboration for this reading in John 1:17, where it is said, “Grace and truth come by Jesus Christ.” As he Robert of Melun, Quaestiones de Epistolis Pauli de epistula ad Hebraeos, ed. R.-M. Martin (Louvain, Belgium: Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense, 1938), 293: “Hence the Apostle adds: ‘But we see [ Jesus], who was made a little lower than the angels, etc.’; ‘made a little lower,’ I say, so that ‘the grace of God, that is to say, the Son of God, might taste death for all’ assumed in the flesh. For he could not die in his divinity” (“Unde et Apostolus supponit: Eum autem qui modico quam angeli minoratus est,videmus, etc., minoratus est dico,ut gratia Dei, idest Filius Dei, pro omnibus gustaret mortem incarne assumpta”). 32 Peter Lombard, Collectanea in omnes Pauli apostoli Epistulas: ad Hebraeos, ch. 2: “And this is so that the grace of God, that is to say, that he himself who is the grace of God (because he freely gives, or because he is freely given to us), might taste death. Or such that it is in the ablative case, meaning: that the grace of God, that is to say, through the grace of God, which man did not merit, he himself might taste [death]. ‘Might taste’ in a proper sense because death is bitter or because it quickly goes by. For, just as he who tastes experiences briefly [what is tasted], after a brief moment of time he immediately rose from the death” (“Et hoc ideo ut gratia Dei, id est ipse qui est gratia Dei, quia gratis dat, vel quia gratis datus est nobis, gustaret mortem.Vel ita, ut sit ablativi casus hoc modo: ut gratia Dei, id est per gratiam Dei qua homo non meruit, ipse gustaret, proprie dixit gustaret, quia amara est mors, vel quia cito transiit. [Chrysost.] Breve namque intervallum in illa faciens confestim surrexit, sicut qui gustat breviter experitur”); (PL, 192:419). 33 Hugo of St. Cher, Postilla (Venetis: Nicolaum Pezzana, 1703), 7:241b: “. . . grace of God, that is to say, that he himself who is the grace of God, who freely gives. … Or grace of God in the ablative case, that is to say, through the grace of God the Father, who freely gives the Son” (“Ut gratia Dei, id est, ipse, qui est gratia Dei, qui gratis omnia dat. . . . Vel gratia Dei, ablative, id est, per gratiam Dei patris, qui gratis dedit filium”). Both Hugh and Thomas refer to Isa 9:6 and John 3:16. For more on the relation between Aquinas and Hugh of St. Cher, see Gilles Berceville, “Les commentaires évangéliques de Thomas d’Aquin et Hugues de Saint-Cher,” in Hugues de Saint-Cher (+ 1263), Bibliste et théologien, ed. Louis-Jacques Bataillon, Gilbert Dahan, and Pierre-Marie Gy (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2004), 173–212. 31 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 281 explains in commenting on that passage in the Gospel of John, Christ is the author of grace insofar as he is the originative cause of all graces and possesses the gifts of the Holy Spirit without measure because of Christ’s consubstantiality with the Spirit.34 In this fullness one can participate according to the measure which Christ grants to each. “Grace has been given to each of us according to the degree to which Christ gives it” (Eph 4:7).35 Thomas thus uses Scripture to interpret Scripture, in accordance with the analogia fidei, or analogy of faith, that is, the understanding of individual texts on the basis of the whole as an inspired text. Surprisingly, given his extensive knowledge of the Church Fathers, Saint Thomas does not appear to be aware of another difficult issue in the interpretation of this verse, which was perhaps also worthy of comment. A number of both Eastern and Western Fathers, and some later manuscripts, read the Greek as chōris theou (“apart from/except God”) instead of chariti theou (“by the grace of God”), the earliest patristic attestation of both variants being that of Origen, who found no difficulty with both readings of Hebrews 2:9.36 Various explanations have been given to account for the two readings, such as a scribal lapse or the introduction of a marginal gloss, which, inspired by 1 Corinthians 15:27, intended to clarify that, although Hebrews 2:8 speaks of everything being in subjection to God, God himself is not made subject to Christ.37 Or the variant Super Ioann 1, lec. 10, no. 202; see also Super Ioann 15, lec. 1, no. 1993. See Super Eph 4, lec. 3, no. 205. 36 See Origen, Commentary On the Epistle to the Romans., Books 1–5, trans. Thomas P. Scheck (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2001), 216 (PG, 14:946) and 351 (PG, 14:1036). See also Origen, Commentary on the Gospel According to John, Books 1–10, trans. Ronald E. Heine (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1989), 85–86, and Origen, Commentary on the Gospel According to John, Books 13–32, trans. Ronald E. Heine (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1993), 324–26. Of particular help in this regard has been the fact that Krista M. Miller, who wrote an MA thesis on the topic at the Dallas Theological Seminary, was willing to share her work with me, for which I am grateful. Appendix I of her thesis (40–64) gives an exhaustive list of citations from the Fathers on the matter (“Evaluating the Reading Χωρὶς Θεοῦ in Hebrews 2:9 in Light of Patristic Evidence,” [master’s thesis, Dallas Theological Seminary, 2010], scholar.csl.edu/ma_th/25). For St. Thomas’s reception of Origen, see Jörgen Vijgen, “Aquinas’s Reception of Origen: A Preliminary Study,” in Thomas Aquinas and the Greek Fathers, ed. Michael Dauphinais, Roger Nutt, and Andrew Hofer (Ave Maria, FL: Sapientia Press, 2019), 30–88. 37 This reconstruction “assurément fort conjecturale” (“certainly very conjectural”) is offered for example by Albert Vanhoye, Situation du Christ: Hébreux 1–2 (Paris: Cerf, 1969), 298–99. 34 35 282 Jörgen Vijgen chōris theou was intended to clarify that Christ did not die for God.38 Many contemporary scholars favor chariti because it offers an easier reading, or because, conversely, chōris theou read as “apart from God” or even “forsaken by God” introduces the difficulty of the much-disputed question of Christ’s abandonment by God, which, as Ceslaus Spicq has argued, stands in contradiction to one of the central claims of the Letter to the Hebrews, that is to say, the claim that the death of Jesus is to be attributed to the divine will.39 Some have argued that chōris theou does not offer a more difficult reading at all, given that the author “is talking about the suffering of Jesus as a human, i.e., how he suffered in his human nature,”40 or, given that the Son’s participation in the human condition extends as well to death as the final absence from God. 41 What is more important for our purposes is the claim that there was a theological motivation behind the variant, that is to say, the claim that charati became standard because chōris had been associated with Nestorianism. In effect, Philoxenus (ca. 440–523), Oecumenius (sixth century), and Theophylact of Bulgaria (ca. 1050–1108; a writer introduced to the Latin West by way of Saint Thomas) each believe Nestorius to be the originator of chōris theou. Theophylact, providing evidence that this view prevailed through the centuries, writes in his commentary on Hebrews: “But the Nestorians, falsifying the Scripture, say ‘apart from God, he might taste death on behalf of all,’ in order that they might contrive that the deity did not coexist in Christ who was crucified inasmuch as the deity was not unified with him in terms of person but in terms of relationship.”42 This has led some scholars, most notably in the Bart Ehrman school, to cite this variant as evidence par excellence of his thesis that orthodox For a short overview of the proposals in this regard, see Craig R. Koester, Hebrews (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2001), 218–19. 39 See Ceslaus Spicq, L’Épitre aux Hebreux, 3rd ed., vol. 1 (Paris: Gabalda), 419. For a recent discussion, see the articles by John Betz, Anne Carpenter, Gilles Emery, and Kenneth Oakes on Christ’s kenosis in the symposium in Nova et Vetera (English) 17, no. 3 (2019): 769–892. 40 Alan C. Mitchell, Hebrews (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2007), 67. 41 This is the central point of Richard J. Ounsworth, “Hebrews 2.9 and the Soteriological Journey of the Son in the Ecclesiology of Hebrews,” in The New Testament and The Church: Essays in Honour of John Muddiman, ed. John Barton and Peter Groves (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2016), 52–63. I thank Fr. Ounsworth for his insightful comments after the lecture and for sending me this chapter. 42 Trans. Miller in “Evaluating the Reading Χωρὶς Θεοῦ in Hebrews 2:9.” For the Greek and Latin text see Theophylact of Bulgary, Expositio in Epist. ad Hebraeos, ch. 2 (PG, 125:209–10). 38 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 283 scribes have corrupted Scripture. 43 There are at least two difficulties with this claim. First, prior to Nestorius the reading “apart from God” appears in texts of Origen, Ambrose, and Jerome, and therefore it could not have originated with Nestorius. Second, Ehrman bases nearly the entirety of his argument on the patristic support of Origen. He cites Origen when he states that chōris theou “was acknowledged by Origen himself as the reading of the majority of manuscripts of his own day.”44 Contra Ehrman, Origen is not of the opinion that a heretical interpretation necessarily follows from reading chōris theou. He is aware that such a heretical interpretation is possible—that is to say, “apart from God” might lead to the incorrect idea that God and Christ exist apart from each other, which is contrary to John 10:30, “I and the Father are one”45—but when reading it as “except God,” Origen writes, “you have the sense in which God alone has immortality.”46 If we return to Saint Thomas, it is remarkable that all this is absent from his commentary on Hebrews as well as from his other writings. It is remarkable for a number of reasons. First, as I have argued elsewhere, Saint Thomas held the exegetical writings of Origen in high regard, so much so that most likely he had excerpts from his commentary on John, in which Origen discusses these variants, especially translated for him. 47 Theophylact of Bulgary, an important witness to the prevailing view that chōris theou was inserted to combat the Nestorian heresy, was introduced to the Latin West precisely by Saint Thomas’s efforts at having his texts translated while composing his Catena aurea. 48 Moreover, despite Bart D. Ehrman, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 146–50; Ehrman, Studies in the Textual Criticism of the New Testament (Leiden: Brill, 2006), 320–4; Ehrman, Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why (San Francisco: Harper, 2005), 144–48. 44 See Ehrman, Orthodox Corruption, 146–50 45 Origen, Entretien d’Origène avec Héraclide 4.9–16 (Paris: Cerf, 1960), 62. 46 Origen, Entretien d’Origène avec Héraclide 27.6–8, 107 (English: Treatise on the Passover and Dialogue of Origen with Heraclides and His Fellow Bishops on The Father, the Son and the Soul, trans. Robert J. Daly, Ancient Christian Writers 54 [New York: Paulist, 1992], 77). 47 See Vijgen, “Aquinas’s Reception of Origen.” 48 See: Jane Sloan Peters, “Quidam Graecus: Theophylact of Ochrid in the Catena Aurea in Ioannem and Lectura Super Ioannem,” in Dauphinais, Nutt, and Hofer, Thomas Aquinas and the Greek Fathers, 244–73; Giuseppe Carmelo Conticello, “Théophylacte de Bulgarie, source de Thomas d’Aquin (Catena aurea in Ioannem),” in Philomathestatos: Studies in Greek Patristic and Byzantine Texts Presented to J. Noret, ed. B. Janssens, B. Roosen, and P. Van Deun (Louvain, Belgium: Peeters, 43 284 Jörgen Vijgen his limited knowledge of Greek, Saint Thomas possessed a keen eye for the intricacies of textual criticism both when commenting on Aristotle and when commenting on Scripture, in the latter case mostly due to his reading of Saint Jerome. 49 Expressions for instance such as alia littera or secundum aliam litteram occur frequently in his writings (176 times, to be exact, seven of which are in his commentary on Hebrews). Finally, his biblical commentaries are filled with discussions of both early Christian heresies and those contemporary to his days. Among these, he considered Nestorianism and monophysitism as the two greatest Christological errors, critiqued by the Chalcedonian definition of Christ as one person/ hypostasis in two natures. In fact, Saint Thomas is the first Scholastic of the High Middle Ages who quotes the text of Chalcedon directly. In his commentary on Hebrews, Saint Thomas, as Daniel Keating has shown, consistently reads the text within the context of what Keating has called a “two nature exegesis,”—that is, Saint Thomas explains a given text from Hebrews “according to one or both of the natures in Christ.”50 At this point, I can only draw attention to the remarkable absence of any discussion of these variants in Saint Thomas’s works. Why he did not do so must remain a question for now. The Usefulness of Christ’s Passion Grace tasted death hyper pantos, in Latin pro omnibus, for all, says Hebrews 2:9. Saint Thomas comments, “ecce utilitas”—“behold the usefulness.”51 He does not enter into a question that can be raised on the basis of the Greek text, the question whether pantos (“all”) should be read as neuter (every thing) or as masculine (every person). The former possibility would entail that Christ’s salvific death concerns not just all human beings but also angels and the material cosmos. Origen, most notoriously, defends this possibility for several reasons. He defends a literal reading of Job 25:5 (“the stars are not pure in his sight”), whereas Saint Thomas reads this passage as a comparison (simile) to elucidate the corruption in 2004), 63–75. See Elders, Thomas Aquinas and His Predecessors, 151–56. For more information on medieval textual criticism, see Gilbert Dahan, “La méthode critique dans l’étude de la Bible (XIIe–XIIIe s.),” in La méthode critique au moyen âge, ed. Mireille Chazan and Gilbert Dahan (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2006), 103–28. 50 Daniel Keating, “Thomas Aquinas and the Epistle to the Hebrews: ‘The Excellence of Christ,’” in Christology, Hermeneutics, and Hebrews: Profiles from the History of Interpretation, ed. Jon C. Laansma and Daniel J. Treier (London: T&T Clark, 2012), 84–99, at 86. 51 Super Heb 2, lec. 2, no. 124. 49 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 285 man.52 Neither can the much-used phrase from Ephesians 1:10 (“to bring all things together under one head, things in heaven and things on earth, in Christ”) be called upon in such a maximalist sense, as Saint Thomas makes abundantly clear when commenting on Ephesians 1:10: Everything that is in heaven, namely, the angels. Christ did not die for the angels, but in redeeming mankind “he shall fill the ruins” (Ps 109:6) left by the sin of the angels. Beware of the error Origen fell into, as if the damned angels were to be redeemed through Christ; this was only a figment of his imagination.53 He even thinks that the Nicene Creed incorporated the expression “for us men” (propter nos homines) to specifically exclude this error of Origen who “alleged that by the power of Christ’s Passion even the devils were to be set free.”54 Saint Thomas takes a rather different perspective, a perspective to which he already alluded in his prologue. In a typically medieval fashion, he introduces his commentary with a prologue which uses a passage from elsewhere in the Bible to shed light on the principal theme of the epistle. In this case the thema is Psalm 85:8, which reads in the Vulgate: “There is none among the gods like unto Thee, O Lord, and there is none according to Thy works.” This verse expresses Christ’s excellence in terms of both who Christ is and what he does. Christ is more excellent than any angel, prophet, or priest, who can be called gods merely by participation whereas Christ is God by nature. Christ’s works, moreover, extend to every part of creation (“All things were made by Him” [John 1:3]); he alone is able to illuminate rational creatures (“That was the true light, Compare Origen, Commentarii in evangelium Joannis 1.257 (trans. Heine, p. 86) with Aquinas, Super Iob 25 (LE, 26/2:143.74–91). Although Origen accounts for the possibility that Job 25:2 is said “hyperbolically,” his subsequent explorations do not show he takes this possibility seriously. 53 Super Eph 1, lec. 3, no. 29: “Omnia, inquam, quae in caelis, id est Angelos: non quod pro Angelis mortuus sit Christus, sed quia redimendo hominem, reintegratur ruina Angelorum. Ps. CIX, 6: implevit ruinas, et cetera. Ubi cavendus est error Origenis, ne per hoc credamus Angelos damnatos redimendos esse per Christum, ut ipse finxit.” 54 Compendium theologiae I, ch. 220 (LE, 42:173.8–11). The reason for the irrevocable nature of the demon’s will has to do with his fixity of the will from the start, and this due to his purely intellectual nature. See Serge-Thomas Bonino, Angels and Demons: A Catholic Introduction (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2016), ch. 10. 52 286 Jörgen Vijgen which enlighteneth every man” [John 1:9]), as well as to justify the saints to a new life through him (“And the life was the light of men” [John 1:4]).55 This excellence of Christ is therefore the material (materia) of the Letter to the Hebrews. In the same prologue, he furthermore signals out two features of the epistle which distinguish it from the other Pauline letters. Not only is the principle subject unique among the Pauline letters, insofar as it is the grace of Christ as Head as such, but also—and equally importantly, I think—among the Pauline letters, Hebrews is uniquely addressed to the Hebrews, whereas all the other letters are addressed to the gentiles and their leaders. 56 Regarding its audience, he explicitly writes: “He [Paul] wrote this epistle against the errors of those converts from Judaism to faith in Christ who wanted to preserve the legal observances along with the Gospel, as though Christ’s grace were not sufficient for salvation.”57 It is this audience and their claims which provide Paul with the thematic ordering of the epistle, for Thomas immediately continues, “hence [unde] the letter is divided into two parts.”58 The exposition of the excellence of Christ (chs. 1–10) and the joining to this most excellent Christ through faith (chs. 11–13), the two parts, clearly have an apologetic function as well as a concrete purpose. The exposition on the excellence of Christ has as its purpose to show the “excellence of the New Testament over the Old” and the faith in Christ that should follow from this excellence. In other words, in showing why and how Christ excels every creature as well as their ability to respond to Christ’s headship in grace, he logically must also deal with the means of salvation as uniquely exemplified in Christ’s headship. Differently put, the sufficiency of Christ’s grace is inextricably connected to and follows from his excellence as Head. With this in mind, what Saint Thomas actually has to say about the pro omnibus of Heb. 2:9 becomes more intelligible. Employing the famous or notorious method of distinction, he writes: Super Heb, prol., no. 3. An indication of the importance of this audience is the fact that it allows Thomas to give three reasons why the Letter to the Hebrews does not mention Paul’s name: Paul considered himself apostle to the Gentiles, he knew his name was an obstacle to the message he wanted to convey to the Jews, and he did not want to cause envy among the Jews because of his (Paul’s) own excellence. 57 Super Heb 1, lec. 1, no. 6. 58 Super Heb 1, lec. 1, no. 6. 55 56 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 287 But for all can be understood in two ways: either so that it may be an accommodated distribution, namely, for all the predestined, since it is only in the predestined that it is efficacious. Or as applying absolutely to all so far as sufficiency is concerned; for of itself it is sufficient for all: who is the savior of all, but especially of the faithful (1 Tim 4:10); he died for all in general, because the price was sufficient for all. And if all do not believe, he nevertheless fulfilled his part (Chrysostom).59 As he writes elsewhere more succinctly when commenting on Hebrews 9:28 (“So also Christ was offered once to exhaust the sins of many. The second time he shall appear without sin to those who expect him unto salvation”), Christ’s salvation becomes efficacious only to those who are “subject to him by faith and good works.”60 He also uses this distinction to further qualify the potentially maximalist cosmological reading of Ephesians 1:10 (“Everything that is in heaven and what is on earth”), as exemplified by Origen, and 1:20 (“Making peace through the blood of his cross, both as to the things that are on earth and the things that are in heaven”), when he writes: “This must be understood in reference to the sufficiency [of his redeeming actions], even though, with respect to its efficacy, everything will not be re-established.”61 One can find these elements as well in the tertia pars of the Summa theologiae, where he regards all people as potentially united to Christ because his power is sufficient for the salvation of the Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 125. Super Heb 9, lec. 5, no. 477: “He does not say of all because Christ’s death, even though it was enough for all, has no efficacy except in regard to those who are to be saved: for not all are subject to him by faith and good works”; italics in Baer’s trans.). 61 Super Eph 1, lec. 3, no. 29. Commenting on Heb 12: 15 (“See to it that no one fail to obtain the grace of God”), St. Thomas explores the conundrum of the fact that on the one hand “the grace of God is lacking to no one . . . just as the sun is not lacking to the eye of the blind,” and on the other hand an obstacle for grace is not always removed. He concludes succinctly: “That an obstacle is removed from somebody, this is by the mercy of God; that it is not removed, this is by His justice” (Super Heb 12, lec. 3, no. 688). This touches upon the related but not identical question of if and how the human placement of an obstacle can resist the divine motion and if such a resistance is not a self-contradiction. On this, see Serge-Thomas Bonino, “Contemporary Thomism through the Prism of the Theology of Predestination,” in Thomism and Predestination, Principles and Disputations, ed. Steven A. Long, Roger Nutt, and Thomas Joseph White (Ave Maria, FL: Sapientia Press, 2016), 29–50. 59 60 288 Jörgen Vijgen whole human race, and yet only the divinely predestined will reduce this potentiality to act by having faith.62 Hence, “no condition of men [is] excluded from Christ’s redemption.”63 In employing the distinction between sufficiency and efficiency, Saint Thomas is by no means original. 64 The origins of the sufficiency–efficiency distinction can be traced back to Lombard, who in his Sentences observes that Christ offered himself on the Cross “for all with regard to the sufficiency of the price, but only for the elect with regard to its efficacy, because he brought about salvation only for the predestined.”65 It became, as Arthur Landgraf has shown many years ago, the classic solution to the question of relating universal and particular salvation. 66 Lombard’s influence is not limited to a borrowing of a classical distinction. In commenting on Hebrew 2:9, Thomas closely follows Lombard’s own Hebrews commentary, including the use of a quote from a homily on Hebrews by John Chrysostom’s (349–407), as can be shown in the following table: ST III, q. 8, a. 3, in particular ad 3: “Those who are unbaptized, though not actually in the Church, are in the Church potentially. And this potentiality is rooted in two things—first and principally, in the power of Christ, which is sufficient for the salvation of the whole human race; secondly, in free-will” (all trans. from ST is from that done by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province [New York: Benziger, 1947]). 63 ST III, q. 36, a. 3. 64 Even posing the question of whether a medieval thinker is original displays a somewhat misplaced and typically modern emphasis on originality as the hallmark of the search for truth. The Schoolmen were fundamentally traditional, as is shown by the well-known remark about dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants. As John of Salisbury points out, the advantage of seeing more and farther than their predecessors is not due to a keener vision or a greater height, but “because we are lifted up and borne aloft on their gigantic stature” (Metalogicon 3.4 [Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 98]). 65 Peter Lombard, Sentences III, d. 20, c. 5: “. . . pro omnibus, quantum ad pretii sufficientiam: sed pro electis tantum, quantum ad efficaciam, quia praedesitnatis tantum salutem effecit” (ed. Grottaferrata [1981], 128, lns. 5–6). 66 Arthur Landgraf, “Die Unterscheidung zwischen Hinreichen und Zuwendung der Erlösung,” Scholastik 9 (1934): 202–28, reprinted in Dogmengeschichte der Frühscholastik, vol. 2/2 (Regensburg: Pustet, 1954), 329–58. 62 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 289 Peter Lombard, Glossam in Thomas Aquinas, Hebraios 2:9 (PL, 192:419B, Super Hebraisos 2, no. 236) lec. 3, no. 125 John Chrysostom, Homilia IV (PG, 63:38) Gustaret, dico, pro omnibus, scilicet praedestinatis qui per ejus mortem redempti sunt et salvati. Vel pro omnibus hominibus, generaliter mortuus est, quia omnibus pretium suffecit. Ideo proprie dixit pro omnibus, quia non pro fidelibus tantum, sed pro mundo universe mortuus est. Et si omnes non credunt, ipse tamen quod suum est implevit. Sufficiens enim quantum ad se omnibus est. I Tim. IV, v. 10: qui est salvator omnium, maxime autem fidelium. Chrysostomus: pro omnibus hominibus generaliter mortuus est, quia omnibus pretium sufficit. Et si omnes non credunt, ipse tamen quod suum est implevit. Ut gratia Dei pro omnibus gustaret mortem: non pro fidelibus solum, sed pro universo orbe terrae; nam ipse quidem mortuus est pro omnibus. Quid tum autem, si non omnes crediderunt? Ipse quod suum erat implevit. Et proprie dixit, Pro omnibus gustaret mortem. That he might taste, I say, for all, namely for the predestined who by his death are redeemed and saved. Or he died for all in general because the prize was sufficient for all. Hence he said rightly for all because he died not for the faithful only, but for the whole world. And if all do not believe, he nevertheless fulfilled his part. (trans. mine) For of itself it is sufficient for all: who is the savior of all, but especially of the faithful (1 Tim 4:10); he died for all in general, because the price was sufficient for all. And if all do not believe, he nevertheless fulfilled his part (Chrysostom). (from Baer trans. given in note 17) “That by the grace of God He should taste death for every man,” not for the faithful only, but even for the whole world: for He indeed died for all; But what if all have not believed? He hath fulfilled His own part. (trans. from Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, series 1, vol. 14) Christ’s death is sufficient for all because, despite what the human response will be, at least “he himself nevertheless fulfilled what is his [ipse tamen quod suum est implevit]. In this sense, it belongs to God ex officio to save and for this reason he became incarnate and was given the name ‘Jesus,’ which is identical to ‘Savior.’”67 See Super I Tim 4, lec. 2, no. 164: “And we endure because of the hope of life, because we hope in the living God, who is the Savior of the present and the future life. And because of God’s work, which is to save. Isa 43:11: there is no savior besides 67 290 Jörgen Vijgen Far from introducing a foreign element in to the scriptural text, a proper exegesis requires, so Saint Thomas thinks, the use of the (for him) classic distinction between sufficiency and efficiency as a way to do justice to Hebrews 2:9 in light of the whole of Scripture. Such a holistic exegesis, integrating Scripture, the Fathers, and his Scholastic predecessors, enables Saint Thomas, moreover, to show that it fits well with the Nicene Creed as a magisterially promulgated regula fidei. The Mode of Christ’s Passion Recall that the phrase under investigation reads “through the grace of God he might taste death for all.” The mode of Christ’s Passion is expressed by “to taste death,” which Saint Thomas does not consider identical to “to die.” On the contrary, given that the metaphor of “tasting death” belongs to the literal sense, he explores its various meanings in depth. The first thing he does is to assign a temporal meaning to the verb “to taste” by noting that the verb “to taste” contains the idea of moving quickly rather than lingering on, similar to someone who merely sips at a drink rather than taking in the entire drink. Hence, Christ merely tasted death and then “he rose at once.” Saint Thomas seems to have borrowed this idea either directly from the homily by John Chrysostom I mentioned above68 or indirectly from Hugh of Saint Cher’s Postilla.69 He also finds inspiration for this reading in Psalm 110, which the author of Hebrews uses frequently to establish a connection between the death and resurrection of Christ and the establishment of Christ’s new priesthood. In particular Psalm 100:7—“He will drink from the brook [de torrente] by the way [in via]; therefore he will lift up his head”— gives Saint Thomas the occasion to depict Christ’s death as the death of a wayfarer (viator) who quickly (statim) drinks from a brook, which indicates his Passion, and then crosses it, which indicates his resurrection.70 Such a me. This is God become incarnate and called Jesus. Matt 1:21: For he shall save his people from their sins. And Jesus is the same as Savior, because he saves with a bodily salvation which extends to all; hence he says of all men. And with a spiritual salvation which extends only to the good; hence he says, especially of the faithful.” 68 John Chrysostom, Homilia IV: “Et proprie dixit, pro omnibus gustaret mortem” (PG, 63:40). 69 Hugo of St Cher, Postilla, 7:241b: “Pro omnibus gustaret mortem, id est, experiretur breviter dolorem mortis, cito enim transit” (compare with Chrysostom’s sermon in the third column of the table above). 70 Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 126: “Might taste: behold the manner. For a person who has not eaten or drunk much is said to have tasted. Hence, because Christ did not continue in death but rose at once, he tasted death: he shall drink of the torrent in the way (Ps 110:7). One who is on the way hurries.” Commenting on Matt 16: 28 (“Amen I say to you, there are some of them who stand here, who will not taste Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 291 temporal understanding of “to taste” fits well with a contemporary observation. The Vulgate uses two expressions for the Greek brachy: paulo minus in Hebrews 2:7, and modico in 2:9. While the Latin points more to a spatial meaning “a little lower,” the Greek can have both a spatial and a temporal meaning: “for a short time.” Unaware of the Greek original but inspired by Isaiah 54:7— “For a brief moment [modico] I have forsaken thee”—Thomas intimates a temporal meaning, “since the Passion lasted for a small time.”71 The longer version of the commentary explains further that Christ tasted death only for a little while in order to express his hope in the resurrection of his body. Saint Thomas finds this expressed in Psalm 15:10: “Because Thou wilt not leave My soul in hell; nor wilt Thou give Thy holy one to see corruption.” In commenting on this verse of Psalm 15, a psalm which prefigures Christ’s triumph by way of the Cross over principalities and power (Col 2:15),72 he comments that the Christ’s time spent in hell served to prove both the “truth of his humanity” and the truth of him possessing “a true body.”73 The tasting of death does not merely refer to intended unity of Christ’s Passion and resurrection. Saint Thomas observes: “Taste is a discerner of flavor; hence, one who tastes discerns more than one who drinks.”74 As if to refute the claim that a mere tasting of death stands in contrast with a “real” death in the full sense of the word, Saint Thomas turns death, till they see the Son of man coming in his kingdom”), he writes: “Sinners are swallowed up by death, but the just taste death” (Super Matt ch. 16, lec. 3, no. 1416). For the brook as indicating His passion, see the comment on John 18:1 (“Haec cum dixisset Jesus, egressus est cum discipulis suis trans torrentem Cedron”) in Super Ioann 18, lec. 1, no. 2274: “It is fitting for this mystery that he cross a brook, because the brook indicates his passion” (trans. Fabian Larcher and James Weisheipl [Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2010]). 71 See Super Heb 2, lec. 2, no. 109: “Secundo dicitur paulo minus quantum ad durationem, quia modicum duravit. Is. LIV, 7: in modico dereliqui te, et cetera.” 72 See Super Psalmos 15, no. 1: “This is the title of Christ, who was triumphant through Cross: triumphing over them in himself, despoiling the principalities and powers (Col. 2:15). Here it is being indicated therefore that in this Psalm the kingdom of Christ is particularly treated. He raises the question in the same place of whether Christ possessed the virtue of hope and responds: “It should be said like this: he indeed hoped for the eternal life for others but for himself he hoped for the glorification of his body. The glorification of his soul, however, he possessed from in the instant of his conception.” 73 See Super Psalmos 15, no. 7: “The reason is that the resurrection requires the union of body and soul. Therefore the soul conjoined to the divinity did not have to remain in hell but she had to remain there until the moment the truth of his humanity and of his true flesh might be proven.” 74 Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 126. For the Aristotelian foundations of this claim, see In II De anima, lec. 21, nos. 506–7. 292 Jörgen Vijgen things around and claims that in tasting one arrives at a more profound knowledge of a substance than in actually consuming that substance. In other words, Christ really did experience death and pain. Here also, as in numerous other places in his biblical commentaries, we find Thomas using Scripture to refute the position that Christ assumed an illusory or imaginary body (Manichaeus), or that, even if his body was real, he did not assume a rational soul (Apollinaris).75 The expression “tasting death” as used by Scripture, therefore, refutes the idea that Christ did not truly experience pain or death because he had an imaginary body.76 This apologetic function of Scripture is, as I have argued elsewhere, a striking feature of his exegesis and what motivates him to explicitly recommends the study of Scripture as a protection against heretics. 77 Saint Thomas further observes that “tasting or not tasting lie in the power of the taster [in potestate gustantis].” Given that the recitation of Scripture, in particular within a liturgical context, stimulates verbal similes, this immediately brings to mind for Saint Thomas John 10:18: “potestatem habeo ponendi animam meam.” In other words, Hebrews 2:9 affirms that it was Christ who gave himself up to death; he was not forced into it but embraced his sufferings and death willingly: “I have the power to lay down my life.”78 Elsewhere, commenting on Gal 1: 4 (“ Who gave himself for our sins”), he makes the same point (sponte se obtulit) by stringing together our verse with Ephesians 5: 2 and Titus 2: 14: “Christ also hath loved us and hath delivered Himself for us” (Eph 5:2); “That He might taste death for all” (Heb 2:9); “Who gave Himself for us” (Titus Here one has to take into account that the death of Christ refers to his body only. In fact, when collecting the sayings of the Fathers on Matt 16:28 and Luke 9: 1 in Catena aurea he quotes St. Ambrose and Rabanus Maurus to the effect that the effect that the “tasting of death” mentioned in these passages refer to the death of the body and not of the soul. 76 Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 126: “Furthermore, taste is a discerner of flavor; hence, one who tastes discerns more than one who drinks. Therefore, to indicate that he tasted death and pain, and that his death was not imaginary, as Mani and Apollinaris claim, he says that he might taste death; Lam 1:12: O, all you that pass by the way [attend and see, if there be any sorrow like to my sorrow].” 77 See Super Titus 1, lec. 3, no. 24 : “Ut custodiant [doctrinam sanam] contra haereticos . . . per studium sacrae Scripturae.” See my essay “Scripture as a Guidepost for How Not to Read Scripture: Aquinas on the Apologetic Function of Scripture,” in Thomas Aquinas, Biblical Theologian, ed. Michael Dauphinais and Roger Nutt (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Academic, 2020). 78 For more on this, see the contribution of Piotr Roszak in the present issue of Nova et Vetera (English). 75 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 293 2:14).79 Moreover, the fittingness of the mode of Christ’s Passion never stands alone, but always exists in view of its goal: “grace is ordered to glory.”80 In other words, the acceptance of death on Christ’s part is ordered toward the glory of the adoptive sonship of the children of the heavenly Father. In this sense, Saint Thomas can write: “For He only tasted death, since He did not accept it except so that through the merit of the Passion He would be perfected. For His very perfection is His glorification.”81 Saint Thomas concludes his observations by noting that “to taste” expresses “the bitterness of death [mortis amaritudinem], which is experienced by taste,” recalling Lamentations 1: 12 (“O, all you that pass by the way, attend and see if there be any sorrow like to my sorrow”) and Isaiah 24:9 (“the drink shall be bitter to those who drink it”). Is this observation merely reflective of a typically medieval sense of devotional piety? There are serious problems with this view. 82 The verse from Lamentations occurs frequently in Saint Thomas’s writings and in particular in his early Super Isaiam 53, the chapter on the Suffering Servant. Commenting on the meaning of novissimus in the Vulgate of Isaiah 53:3 (“despectum, et novissimum virorum, virum dolorum.”), he writes, “On the word ‘most abject’ [novissimum], note that Christ was the most abject of men, first of all because of the bitterness [acerbitatem] of his suffering,” and illustrates this once again with Lamentations 1:12. 83 In his final years, he returned to this same verse as a key Super Gal. ch. 1, lec. 1, no. 14. Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 127: “Gratia vero ordinatur ad gloriam.” 81 Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 128 (emphasis mine). 82 In so far as devotion is nowadays often equated with mere sentimentality, the question in itself already contains an anachronism. St. Thomas considers devotion to be a virtue and therefore to contain an act of the will concerned with “to give oneself readily to things concerning the service of God” (ST I-II, q. 82, a. 1). This is not to say that he does not value the accompanying affections of such an act. See for instance ST I-II, q. 82, a. 4, ad 3: “Tears are caused not only through sorrow, but also through a certain tenderness of the affections, especially when one considers something that gives joy mixed with pain. Thus men are wont to shed tears through a sentiment of piety, when they recover their children or dear friends, whom they thought to have lost. In this way tears arise from devotion.” See the foundational contribution by Leo Elders, “The Inner Life of Jesus in the Theology and Devotion of Saint Thomas Aquinas,” in Faith in Christ and the Worship of Christ: New Approaches to Devotion to Christ, ed. Leo Scheffczyk (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1986), 65–80. 83 Super Isa 53 (LE, 28:216.149–52): “Nota super illo verbo, novissimum, quod Christus fuit novissimus, primo propter doloris acerbitatem. Thren. 1: o vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite, et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus” (LE, 28:216.149–52). See also In Symbolum Apostolorum, a. 4. 79 80 294 Jörgen Vijgen to exploring why the sufferings of Christ were indeed the greatest. 84 In fact, when the Doctor Eucharisticus was asked which sign was the greatest, Christ giving his body to us for food or Christ suffering for us on the Cross, he was adamant in choosing the latter, for the measure and proof of a man’s love consists in what he is willing to lose out of love for others. In his Passion and death Christ surrendered His most precious possession, his own life.85 It is this prevalence which causes him to insist that Christ’s real presence is not merely the presence of the body and blood of Christ, but of the body that was given for us and the blood that was poured; that is to say, it is Christus passus who is really present. 86 As Jean-Pierre Torrell has pointed out on numerous occasions, the conformity to Christ in his Passion is a key element of Saint Thomas’s spirituality. 87 Peter Kwasniewski has observed, following Ulrich Horst, that Jerome’s striking phrase nudum Christum nudus sequi (“following naked ST III, q. 46, a. 6, sc: “On the contrary, it is written (Lam. 1:12) on behalf of Christ’s Person: O all ye that pass by the way attend, and see if there be any sorrow like unto My sorrow” (“Sed contra est quod habetur Thren. I ex persona Christi, attendite, et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus”). Jean-Pierre Torrell remarks: “If no one has suffered as Christ has, it is less so because of the quantity or quality of the sufferings endured than on account of the person who suffers, the Word of God himself in his humanity” (Encyclopédie. Jésus le Christ chez saint Thomas d’Aquin: Texte de la Tertia Pars (ST IIIa) traduit et commenté, accompagné de données historiques et doctrinales et de cinquante textes choisis [Paris : Cerf, 2008], 570). 85 See Quodlibet V, q. 3, a. 2 [6] (LE, 25/2:371.44–52). His reasoning here is an excellent example of the interplay of Aristotle and Scripture. The sed contra, that is to say, the scriptural authority is John 15:13 (“Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends”). First, he uses Aristotle to argue that self-love, as the willing of the good for oneself, is the measure of every kind of love. If for the sake of another someone wants to disregard the good that one wants for oneself and self-love is the measure, it follows that this love for another is the highest love. This is confirmed by Prov 12:26: “He that neglecteth a loss for the sake of a friend, is just” (Douay-Rheims). There are three goods one wants for oneself: exterior things, the good of the body, and the good of the soul. Just as it is a greater sign of love to want to loose an exterior things for the sake of a friend, so also to will the loss of the soul in death for a friend constitutes the greatest sign of love. 86 See: ST III, q. 73, a. 5, ad 2; q. 73, a. 6; q. 74, a. 1; q. 79, a. 1. For recent treatments: see Matthew Levering, Paul in the Summa Theologiae (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2014), 49–75; Reinhard Hütter, Bound for Beatitude: A Thomistic Study in Eschatology and Ethics (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2019), 175–92 (ch. 3). 87 See Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, vol. 2, Spiritual Master (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2003), 118–20, 141–43; Torrell, Christ and Spirituality in St. Thomas Aquinas (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2011), ch. 5. 84 Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 295 the naked Christ”) is a leitmotif in Thomas’s portrayal of the sequela Christi.”88 Moreover, given both the particular nature of Christ’s suffering as the Word of God incarnate and the fact that the “the humanity of Christ is the way by which we come to the divinity,”89 Saint Thomas extols the Cross above all other things as belonging to the sequela Christi: But among all that Christ did and suffered during His mortal life, the example of His most holy Cross is, above all other things, proposed to Christians for their imitation. He Himself says, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Mt 16:24). St. Paul also, speaking as though crucified with Christ, and exulting only in His Cross, says (Gal 6:17), “I bear the marks of the Lord Jesus in my body,” being a diligent follower of the example of the Cross.90 The principle mentioned above that grace is ordered to glory also enables Saint Thomas to use the patristic image of Christ as the Divine Physician in order to emphasize the “bitterness of death” as a salutary mean because final salvation can only occur after death. “Just as a physician tastes a medicine so that a sick man may not loath it, but drink it more securely, so Christ himself . . . tasted death, so that no one might flee from death; since without death there is no salvation.”91 Peter Kwasniewski, “Golden Straw: St. Thomas and the Ecstatic Practice of Theology,” Nova et Vetera (English) 2, no. 1 (2004): 61–90, at 80. See also: Ulrich Horst, “Was hat Thomas von Aquin veranlassst, in den Predigerorden einzutreten,” Archa Verbi 6 (2009): 102–20; Horst, “Thomas von Aquin und der Predigerorden,” Rottenburger Jahrbuch für Kirchengeschichte 17 (1998): 35–52; Horst, “Christ, Exemplar Ordinis Fratrum Praedicantium, According to Saint Thomas Aquinas,” in Christ Among the Medieval Dominicans, ed. Kent Emery Jr. and Joseph P. Wawrykow (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1998), 256–70. These studies are now collected in Thomas von Aquin. Predigerbruder und Professor (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2017). 89 Compendium theologiae I, ch. 2 (LE, 42:83.14–15). 90 Aquinas, Contra doctrinam retrahentium, ch. 15 (LE, 41CL69.80–89; in An Apology for the Religious Orders; trans. John Procter, O.P. [London: Sands, 1902]). See also Super Matt 16, lec. 3, no. 1408; In Symbolum Apostolorum, a. 4, and Sermon Germinet terra (LE, 44/1:290–592). 91 Super Heb 2, lec. 3, no. 128: “Gustavit etiam, quia, cum ipse adduxerit filios in gloriam, sicut medicus gustat medicinam ne infirmus abhorreat sed ut securius bibat, ita ipse gustavit mortem, ut quia sine morte ingrediente necessitate, non est salus, nullus mortem refugiat.” For the patristic sources see Rudolph Arbesmann, “The Concept of ‘Christus Medicus’ in St. Augustine,” Traditio 10 (1954): 1–28; Michael Dörnemann, “Einer ist Arzt, Christus: Medizinales Verständnis von Erlösung in 88 296 Jörgen Vijgen Furthermore, this “devotional” exegesis of the expression “to taste death” as referring to the “bitterness” of Christ’s death seems inextricably connected to Saint Thomas the Dominican friar. The early account of the first members of the Order of Preachers, the Lives of the Brethren (Vitae fratrum) by Gerald de Frachet, written between about 1255 and 1260, contains several testimonies of the brethren’s devotion to Christ’s Passion (the Cross, the Five Wounds, etc.).92 Seen in this light, one can concur with the apt description of Antoine Touron (1686–1775), the French Dominican biographer and historian. In his biography of Saint Thomas, first published in 1737, he devotes a chapter to “sources from which Saint Thomas has drawn science and wisdom.” In describing the second source as “the knowledge and love for Jesus Christ and His Cross” (the first being “intimate union with God through continual prayer”), he notes: “The Cross of his Savior was his first Book, the great object of his meditations, the rule of his entire life. It is at the foot of the Cross that he humiliated his mind in order to merit the understanding of the Mysteries. At the foot of the Cross he purified his heart in order to render it able to receive such understanding. . . . This divine wisdom, which the Apostle acquired in the third heaven, the beloved disciple on the breast of the Savior, Saint Augustine in the Scriptures, Saint Thomas learned at the feet of the Cross. The wounds of Jesus Christ were the masters whom he consulted in his doubts, and to whom he listened in his difficulties. . . . It is from this source that he drew the principles of his science, the abundance der Theologie der griechischen Kirchenväter des zweiten bis vierten Jahrhunderts,” Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 17 (2013): 102–24. Most likely, however, Hugh of St. Cher is St. Thomas’s direct source. Compare the passage of St. Thomas with Hugo of St. Cher, Postilla, 7:241vb: “To taste. By this it is indicated that he could not be detained in death. Chrys. Just as a physician does not need to taste the nutriment that is prepared for the infirm but tastes it beforehand so that the infirm may be given the confidence to taste, so also men were afraid to receive death. Hence he himself did not have to die as is said in John 14 [30]: ‘The prince of this world cometh and in me he hath not anything’” (“Gustare. In hoc notatur quod non potuit detineri in morte. Chrys. Sicut medicus non habens necessitatem cibaria, quae infirmo praeparata sunt gustare, gustat inde prior, ut infirmo fiduciam gustandi praebeat; ita homines formidabant mortem suscipere ; ideo ipse non habens necessitatem moriendi sicut dicit Ioan. 14. [30] Venit Princeps mundi hujus ; & in me non habet quincquam”). 92 Vitae fratrum Ordinis Praedicatorum, ed. B. M. Reichert (Louvain: Typis E. Charpentier and J. Schoonjans, 1886). A few examples: 4.5.1; 4.24.9; 5.1.2; 5.2.8; 5.3.16; 5.6.4–5. One example of a later date is Heinrich Seuse, for whom the contemplation of Christ’s “suffering humanity” (gelitnen menscheit) is the way to arrive at the “heights of the divinity” (Deutsche Schriften, ed. Karl Bihlmeyer [Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1907], 205 [in ch. 2: “Büchlein der ewigen Weisheit”]). Saint Thomas Aquinas’s Biblical Exegesis 297 and purity of his doctrine.”93 Finally, what Touron captures in his biography about the importance of Saint Thomas’s devotion to the salvific suffering of Christ for his theology resonates perfectly with what a generation earlier Vincent Contenson (1641–1674) set out to do in his Theologia mentis et cordis. In one of the opening chapters, entitled Commercium theologiae et pietatis (“The Communication or Fellowship of Theology and Piety”), he laments the fact that many have been adding to the concise presentations of Saint Thomas himself unsuitable perplexities so that “you could very well call it dialectics instead of sacred doctrine.” Not only is the result foreign to the mind of Saint Thomas but it deters many from studying theology “because the sterile speculation dries up piety and almost extinguishes it.” He advises his readers, in fact, that it is better to ignore theological truths if the only reason they want to know them is out of curiosity, which is “the concupiscence of the eyes.” An “integral Thomistic theology” (theologiae thomisticae integrae), however, recognizes the primacy of God’s initiative94 and the response by someone pure of heart, as Saint Augustine writes: “So he who holds charity in his conduct grasps both what is plain and what is hidden in divine words: It is a love that asks, a love that seeks, love that Antoine Touron, La vie de S. Thomas d’Aquin de l’Ordre des Frères Prêcheurs, Docteur de l’Église, avec un exposé de sa doctrine et de ses ouvrages (Paris: Gissey, 1740), 363. Touron’s original French (a very valuable but also very difficult to find work) reads: “La Croix du Sauveur fut son premier Livre, le grand objet de ses méditations, la règle de toute sa vie. C’est aux pieds de la Croix qu’il humiliot son esprit, pour mériter l’intelligence des Mystères; et qu’il purisioit son coeur, pour se rendre capable de la recevoir. Là, il apprenoit le secret d’entrer dans la vérité par la charité, et de rapporter toutes ses connoissances à celle de Jesus-Christ, de soi-même et de son salut. . . . Cette divine sagesse, que l’Apôtre avoit apprise dans le troisième Ciel, le Disciple bien-aimé sur la poitrine du Sauveur, saint Augustin dans les Ecritures; saint Thomas l’apprenoit aux pieds du Crucifix. Les plaies de Jesus-Christ étoient les maîtres qu’il consultoit dans ses doutes, et qu’il écoutoit dans ses difficultés: c’étoit comme autant de bouches qui parloient à son coeur, et dont ce coeur docile entendoit parfaitement la langage: c’est de cette source qu’il tiroit les principes de sa science, l’abondance et la pureté de sa doctrine: c’est de là que sortoient des rayons, à la saveur desquels il approfondit en peu de tems tout ce qu’un Théologien peut sçavoir, tout ce que l’esprit humain paroît capable de pénétrer dans les vérités de la Religion. Si la vivacité de sa foi, son amour pour Jesus-Christ crucifié, et son attention à écouter celui, qui dans les infirmités de la chair est la sagesse incréée, augmentoient tous les jours; il recevoit aussi continuellement de nouvelles preuves de la bonté de Dieu.” 94 He refers to 1 John 2:20 (“You have been anointed by the Holy One, and you know all things”) and 2:27 (“You have no need that any one should teach you; as his anointing teaches you about everything”). 93 298 Jörgen Vijgen knocks, love that discloses and love too that abides in that which has been disclosed.”95 Or in the words of Contenson himself, “Gustanda sunt prius divina mysteria quam videnda per speculationem” (“The divine mysteries are first to be tasted before they are seen through speculation”)96 Conclusion In our detailed analysis of Thomas’s commentary on Hebrews 2:9, we have come across many of his hermeneutical methods and features of his biblical exegesis such as the divisio textus, the admission of different readings of even a single word, the Christological reading of the Psalms, the influence of the Fathers, mediated by Peter Lombard and possibly by Hughes of Saint Cher’s Postilla, Scholastic distinctions, the analogy of faith, warnings against heretical readings of a passage, and an interest, albeit limited, in issues of textual criticism and misattributions of sources either by him or his scribes. As such, his analysis of this verse might serve as an excellent example of how Saint Thomas reads Scripture. Whether his analysis of this verse can still be fruitful today—that is to say, whether it can function as an example of reading Scripture with Saint Thomas—does not depend, arguably, so much on the details of his exegesis but rather, or much more, on the philosophical and theological assumptions with which one approaches the biblical text. This means, to put it slightly differently, whether Saint Thomas can still speak from the heart to the heart of his readers in a Newmanian fashion (cor ad cor loquitur), as his Dominican N&V brothers Vincent Contenson and Antoine Touron intimated. This phrase strings together an excerpt from Augustine’s Sermon 350 (PL, 39:1534) with his De moribus Ecclesiae 1.17.31 (Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum, 90:35–36). Contenson further invokes De doctrina christiana 1.36.40—“So anyone who thinks that he has understood the divine scriptures or any part of them, but cannot by his understanding build up this double love of God and neighbour, has not yet succeeded in understanding them” (trans. R. H. P. Green [Oxford: Clarendon, 1995], 49)—and Confessiones 4.11: “Of what use to me then was my intelligence, swift to run clear through those sciences, of what use were all those knotty books I unravelled without the aid of any human teacher, when in the doctrine of love of You I erred so far and so foully and so sacrilegeously?” (trans. F. J. Sheed [New York: Sheed and Ward, 1943], 80). 96 Vincent Contenson, Theologia mentis et cordis, seu speculationes universae sacrae doctrinae pietate temperatae, e Patribus, Sancto potissimum Augustino ac Doctore Angelico D. Thoma derivatae (Venetiis: Joannes Baptistam Recurti, 1727; first published 1675), 11 (bk. 1, diss. 1: praembula, appendix II: Commercium theologiae et pietatis). 95 Nova et Vetera, English Edition, Vol. 19, No. 1 (2021): 299–320 299 Book Reviews Theological Negotiations: Proposals in Soteriology and Anthropology by Douglas Farrow (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2018), 288 pp. Frank Sinatra’s “I did it my way” sums up a not too uncommon theme in contemporary culture. Arguably, this captures the end of Western classical liberalism and its infatuation with individualism (i.e., the view that a society should be justly governed on the basis of individual rights of which egalitarianism is at the heart). But, there is another problem endemic to the history of theology for which it is a fitting analogue, namely, Pelagianism (i.e., the heresy that humans are not affected by original sin and, in fact, are quite capable of choosing good or evil and satisfying the just demands of God). Pelagianism, at its core, places the utmost value in what we as humans do and what it is that we bring to God. However, and unmistakably, the Christian message is one where God the Son descends to give us the gifts of life and blessing from which Christ brings us to God. Both Protestantism and Roman Catholicism have rejected Pelagianism as an adequate feature of the Church Catholic’s soteriology and anthropology. If it could be shown that one of these sub-traditions led the way to Pelagianism, at least in practice, then the provoking question would inevitably follow: “Should I move my membership?” This is one theme that is picked up throughout Douglas Farrow’s excellent foray into Protestant soteriological and anthropological issues. In Theological Negotiations, Farrow is convinced that Roman Catholicism is the one true Church and Protestantism is a deviation or aberration from the Tradition. He attempts to show that Protestantism leads to all sorts of deviations from the Church like antinomianism and Pelagianism. The first half of Theological Negotiations is concerned with the nature and tendency of Protestantism toward antinomianism. In it, Farrow offers the reader an excellent analysis of why philosophy has played an essential role in the process of clarifying biblical claims and an aid in systematizing the material aspects of the Bible so as to grant form to it. He recognizes that intrinsic to God’s revelatory process is an interpretive community that God not only providentially safeguards from error but also that God has provided mechanisms for which to preserve the Church from error (e.g., John 16:13; 1 John 4:2). In other words, the Church Catholic is necessary to the transmission of the Gospel 300 Book Reviews and intrinsic to the process. Call the relationship between philosophy and the Bible one of “faith seeking understanding” following Anselm, but it is the Church’s reception that is so crucial to the arrival at theological truth. In other words, philosophy and biblical truth (e.g., exegesis and biblical theology) are insufficient themselves. Systematic and practical theology are the goals interior to the Church’s function of proclaiming the Gospel to the next generation, so in this way Farrow has helpfully illuminated the “evangelical” nature of Roman Catholicism, when by “evangelical” we mean something to do with the Christological mission that is ancillary to the Church’s role in transferring the good news to the world, Farrow also gives the reader a careful analysis of nature and grace, but it is inaccurate to suggest this is unique to Roman Catholicism. Many theological authorities in the Protestant sub-tradition do not depart from the Thomistic framework on nature and grace. Excising nature and its attending creational realities including the moral law would render grace incoherent. But, like the Roman Catholic sub-tradition, Protestantism’s theologians have many complicated ways of working out the relation between nature and grace. Chapters 3 and 4 are theologically robust and substantive to both Roman Catholics and Protestants. In these chapters, Farrow advances a case for both antinomianism and Pelagianism that unironically begins with Martin Luther—the great Reformer who challenged, or attempted to challenge, the Roman Catholic Church. Farrow does so, in part, by calling into question Luther’s understanding of justification (namely, the doctrine of Christ’s imputed righteousness) and sanctification, which either renders us Pelagians because sanctification is wholly the result of our actions after justification (as our justification is complete by Christ’s righteousness imputed, according to Luther), or, alternatively, renders us entirely passive in the process. I should simply note that the relationship between justification and sanctification is quite complicated in Protestantism after Luther, so a dismissal of what Protestantism has to offer on the subject might not be charitable. Chapter 4 is, in my opinion, the most sophisticated chapter theologically. Farrow does a masterful work in dismantling variations of penal substitution atonement where Christ assumes the debt of punishment on behalf of humans—a view of which has become commonplace in Protestantism after Calvin. Some variants of penal substitution, especially in contemporary evangelicalism, take it that the message of the Gospel is simply that God vents his wrath on his Son for us. Farrow does a wonderful job illuminating the complex distinctions of satisfaction versus punishment, temporal debts versus eternal debts, and private versus public offenses (although I do not recall him using that kind of precision in his language). In this way, Farrow exemplifies the virtues of Book Reviews 301 “faith seeking understanding” and he gives an implicit call to Protestants for clarity. Yet, while it is implicit, he seems to take this as an objection to Protestantism generally for which I must push back and say that this call should be a call to both Roman Catholic and Protestant theologians. The Protestant tradition is not somehow beholden to Calvin’s penal substitution theory of atonement, nor is it beholden to the aberrations of the view that takes Christ’s principle act as one that bears the very fury of God. In fact, the Protestant tradition has a complex relationship to Anselm’s satisfaction theory, the moral government, and penal substitution. In other words, there is not one monolithic view of the atonement (although I should register that there are parameters, which rule out some models of atonement, e.g., the “moral influence” theory). The most potentially damning of all challenges comes up in chapter 5. Farrow attempts to make the case that Protestants are beholden to a kind of Pelagianism he calls “doxological Pelagianism.” His argument is fascinating, but I find myself unconvinced. His concern is that Protestant liturgy is practically a form of Pelagianism precisely because Christ’s sacrificial offer is no longer accessible to us in the liturgy, but, instead, as James Torrance argues, it tends toward the idea that the Eucharist is our work that we offer to the Father in heaven rather than Christ’s actual work of which we partake. What is at stake, then, and as any student of Church history knows, is Christ’s presence in the Eucharist. And, his presence cannot simply mean that he is present to believers in their hearts or that in God’s general providence he is present, nor that God is somehow present to his material creation generically, but that Christ is present specifically and concretely (although I should register one more item and that is that many historical articulations of transubstantiation have failed to account for Christ’s particularity in the bread and wine and not simply those elements bearing the properties of body and blood—the generic problem). Without delving into the specifics of Farrow’s argument for transubstantiation, I find myself unconvinced that transubstantiation is the only way to make sense of Christ’s concrete presence. I agree with Farrow that any view that leans in the direction of memorialism is unsatisfying and neither Catholic nor catholic, but that still leaves consubstantialism and some version of impanation on the table (no pun intended) for discussion as views consistent with the earliest instances of the redemptive community in the first few centuries of Church history. There are of course two pulsating questions to answer for which Farrow is deeply concerned. First, is transubstantiation a view of the Church which only later developments made clear? Second, is it the only way of making sense of Christ’s actual presence in the sacrificial meal? I will grant 302 Book Reviews that it is possible I have missed some nuance in Farrow’s argument, but his claim amounts to the view that the “Christian” understanding of the meal as Christ’s presence just is transubstantiation. This strikes me as extravagant. On a positive note, Farrow helpfully shows why Aristotelianism is not essential to transubstantiation—an assumption commonly made by Protestants. I must state that I am Protestant, but I do not believe the term Protestant captures the best of the sub-tradition because it highlights a perceived reactionary movement in ecclesiastical history rather than notates a positive demarcation from other sub-traditions. I much prefer the term Reformed catholic, even Reformed Catholic as the theologian William Perkins would call it, and the best of what catholicism has to offer can be found in Anglicanism. I imagine my distaste for the term Protestant is parallel to the distaste that Catholics have for the term Romanism, but let me say a bit more about what I take to be catholic, or Reformed Catholic. By that term, I mean more than simply that my denomination signs onto the Nicene Creed or that it is doctrinally consistent with the creedal tradition. I also intend more than what is often called “mere Christianity” or the watered down ecumenism. In good Anglican spirit, historically speaking, Anglicans not only sign on to the ecumenical councils as authoritative, but they endorse a Tradition (with theological authorities intrinsic to that Tradition) as such that we receive. This is a clear contrast with the picture of the rebellious revolutionary Luther, warranted as it is. Rather, as a catholic (or Catholic), what Anglicans are after is continuity of tradition that preserves doctrine and transmits the incarnational presence of Christ in the Church’s sacramental practice. It seems to me and others that Apostolic succession with conciliar authority and right liturgy are necessary, possibly sufficient, for the preservation of right doctrine and right practice. With this in mind, Anglicans agree with much of what is found in Farrow’s critique of Protestant tendencies. We share the belief that mere symbolism and memorialism are liturgically insufficient and are outlying positions in catholic Christianity, but to suggest the stronger thesis that transubstantiation just is the Church’s view is dubious. Undoubtedly, this sort of objection to all sub-traditions other than Roman Catholicism is one for which I will return in my reflection for years to come. Theological Negotiations is a wonderful piece of systematic theology. It bears the fruit of evangelical theology while maintaining a substantive formal role for a traditional and confessional authority structure. Farrow is versed in the modes of reasoning of contemporary systematic theology exemplifying care and clarity of expression. Although Farrow is acerbic at times, his reflections are often refreshingly ecumenical. Roman Catholic Book Reviews 303 theologians and Reformed Christians will benefit from Farrow’s seasoned reflections. Unconvinced that all of Protestantism yields doxological Pelagianism, Farrow helps us, Protestants, see the proclivity to do it “my way.” On this, we are agreed that the preservation of the Gospel as we share in the heritage of our Fathers is of the utmost importance. N&V Joshua Farris Alpine Christian School Alpine, TX When Christians Were Jews: The First Generation by Paula Fredriksen (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2018), 272 pp. By natural disposition, I am inclined to follow the (now not so) New Criticism, but Paula Fredriksen has written a book that begs for a good old-fashioned Freudian reading: When Christians Were Jews: The First Generation. The title hides an autobiographical interest, for Fredriksen is herself a Jew who was a Christian. Still more: she is a former-Catholic Jewish historian of early Jewish Christians, who on her last page rejects her own catchy title as a distorting anachronism. “Christians” did not yet exist in that far-away first generation, she confesses, only misguided Jews who thought that they would be history’s last. In the meantime, of course, when the world did not end, these misguided Jews somehow turned into misguided Christians, and the book ends as an ethical thrust aimed at “one of the West’s most sustained fonts of anti-Judaism” (183), namely Christianity, a faith built on layer upon layer of illusion. Lamentable as Christian anti-Judaism surely is, one wonders if a moralizing font of vulgarized ex-Christian “Jewish” anti-Christianism, dispensing seductively packaged speculative historical reconstructions, is what better Christian–Jewish relations really needed. At the base of the study stands a sharp variant on a perfectly benign first principle of historical reason: Jesus was a Jew. From here, with characteristic verve, the book—which is a kind of smashed-together summary of positions developed in her previous works (e.g., Jesus of Nazareth, King of Jews [1999] and Paul, the Pagan’s Apostle [2017])—launches out upon Fredriksen’s long-standing enterprise of rethinking and rewriting the entirety of Christian origins as a fully Jewish story. Such a project is obviously unobjectionable as far as it goes, though it takes many turns and pronounces many judgments that can and really should be disputed and resisted. A few 304 Book Reviews select issues will be evoked below. In essence, for Fredriksen, Jesus was a doubly duped victim, bilked by the failure of history to end and swindled by a mismanaged political game, a religious enthusiast who, by a bungled act of Roman plotting, unwittingly founded a new Jewish lunatic fringe: a crowd of mentally “marginal Jews” made in his image, a first-century sect of blundering and impervious prophetic dullness. Such a formulation freely sounds unfair and overstated. It is actually rather accurate, however, and at least serves to signal the problem of genre at the outset. Professionally responsible as it strives to be and personal as it inevitably is, the text is in every way a typical trade-book: meant for mass consumption (and mass sales) and thereby sold to (well-selling) sensationalistic views. In this connection it is merely the latest, well-paced and well-written iteration of the “Jesus the Failed Millenarian Prophet” series—which, like Star Wars books, at some point all start to look the same, with some minimal rearrangement of wookiees and death stars. The genus is well-known. Atop the turn to apocalyptic Judaism and a misled Jesus—now classic with its Schweitzerean pedigree—comes the accustomed citation of Leon Festinger and company’s When Prophecy Fails: A Social and Psychological Study of a Modern Group that Predicted the Destruction of the World. This combination of historical and sociological modeling then spins out the whole paradigm. Jesus was gravely mistaken in his expectation of the imminent end of the world and, on this point, his followers proved to be good disciples—even better than the master. For, again and again, they re-tried the same prophecy, repeatedly getting it wrong in their turn, reinterpreting and reviving the discredited view with a dense ingenuity born of complete and excitable delusion. In Fredriksen’s reconstruction, we thus trace the arc through four specific eschatological let-downs: Jesus at his final Passover; then again when the resurrection appearances stopped; once more during the tense showdown with Caligula; and finally, during the Great Revolt against Rome. This chronicle of an unrelieved string of the first generation’s end-time errors marks the way in which Albert Schweitzer’s original Jesus-centered vision has been expanded into a full, integral history of early Christianity’s incorrigible eschatological madness. Fredriksen’s text mounts its argument through five chapters. The first is foundational in placing Jerusalem front and center and contending that Jesus, like most Jews of the period (Paul included and the Essenes at Qumran excluded) actually had nothing against the Temple. That this position further proves Jesus’s blithe contentment in general with the way things were in the Second Temple world va de soi for Fredriksen, it seems. All signs of halakhic friction, tensions, and other challenges to the system Book Reviews 305 from within fall out of view as irrelevant data. This is at root an E. P. Sanders–type move, privileging deeds over words and plotting the hero in serene relations to his Jewish surroundings. The second chapter takes up the thread and works toward an interpretation of Jesus’s turning over of the money changer’s tables (Sanders!), which on the basis of chapter 1 can now signal no antagonism towards the religious establishment. Here Fredriksen makes a significant option for John’s chronology, with the result that a giant hole is left in the (Synoptic) account of the reason for Jesus’s crucifixion. As she hunts for the cause, she astutely observes that Jesus was arrested and killed, but not his disciples. Thus, she concludes, Pilate knew that Jesus and his followers posed no real practical political threat. This leads her to the provocative assertion that he was accordingly crucified as “King of the Jews” in order to disabuse, silence, and scatter the over-excited crowds who at this feast were suddenly claiming him as Messiah—an opinion of himself that Jesus never shared or entertained. Jesus was thus the direct victim of his own uncontrolled popularity, which fed on his own over-excited expectation of the end. The conceit that Jesus had no messianic pretensions has a long (and dubious) history, of course. What is interesting to observe here is that what Schweitzer understood to be the forced either–or choice between his view and that of William Wrede—namely between an apocalyptically minded Jesus and one who never thought he was the messiah—is a both–and in Fredriksen’s portrayal. Jesus oddly stumbles into his post-mortem messianic identity precisely because of his contagious eschatological fixation— yet not as the literary invention of Mark, as Wrede supposed, and still less to “turn the wheel of history,” as Schweitzer preferred, but rather through a Roman prefect’s miscalculated gambit. Pilate’s mocking titulus, pure political invention for policing the crowds, is the true proto-Evangelium: the historical rock on which the Christian faith stands in Fredriksen’s alternative vision. One must admire the bravado of this anti-Gospel. Jesus had no enemies, only too much success; and he was never rejected on any side. He occupied no personal place within his kingdom proclamation, which had no place, in fact, for anything other than the end of the world. This alone sufficed, it seems, to make him madly popular. Demonstrations of moral authority and brilliant newness at most served to engender further unanimous excitement about something other than Jesus. No one imagined “perhaps this is the one” (at least prior to that final Passover) and no one ever countered that the old wine was good—not even in those fateful final days. Reading against the grain of the sources is too weak to describe this aggressive revisionist strategy. Fredriksen has somehow lifted Ernest 306 Book Reviews Renan’s “Galilean Spring” and managed to make it the background for Jesus’s Judean Passion. That all fault falls squarely upon Pilate’s head and Roman hands will, of course, be reckoned as a well-measured corrective of the pernicious blood libel. Chapter 3 must naturally confront the failure of Pilate’s deadly reductio ad absurdum to disband the excited throng. This means addressing the disciples’ experience of the resurrection and working to explain how this Jesus, whose (unwanted) messianic credentials had just been rather rudely undermined, nevertheless became “Christ.” As Fredriksen recounts it, this process is essentially a double cycle of eschatological disappointment turned to glorious Christological profit, by the raising of Jesus and by the creation of the Parousia expectation. In a word, the resurrection appearances—the disciples’ first efforts to hold on to Jesus’ immanent kingdom dream after it was forcibly blunted by his crucifixion—worked nicely for a while; but then these experiences curiously stopped and the world went unobligingly on. The resourceful believers accordingly re-prophesied their way out of this new jolt of “cognitive dissonance” by creating the coming Son of Man. At least theologically considered, the reduction of the resurrection to an idée fixe is certainly the most pivotal move that Fredriksen must make. Quite apart from the momentous assumption that the New Testament makes no claims upon this score that merit any serious historical interest or reflection, the notion that for the early believers the resurrection exclusively concerned a way to sustain hope in the very immanent end, and neither revealed nor confirmed anything special about Jesus’s personal divinity requires quite a comprehensive jettisoning of primitive traditions. It also exposes a staggering insensitivity to early Christian experiences and expressions of realized eschatology. This is a major point and a major blindspot in Fredriksen’s whole narrow construction. Subsequently functionalizing the “Son of Man” sayings as concocted props for the maintenance of the happy eschatological illusion further fails to account for the variegated character of this tricky material, which is more complex than Fredriksen’s opportunistic “coming on the clouds” motif would admit. That scholars (and non-scholars) should be permitted to not believe in the resurrection may be generously granted. Still, one begins to wonder whether in this one-dimensional reconstruction it is not perhaps Paula Fredriksen who is tenaciously clinging to a single stubborn idea. The following two chapters continue the experience of déja vu and it is not critical to trudge through every detail. We encounter additional Christological metamorphoses, like the scripturally resourced “Davidization” of Jesus (who by the titulum was made a king in spite of himself). Book Reviews 307 The phenomenon of mission becomes an apostolic “improvisation” that coopted Greeks who had a preexisting attachment to Judaism, entering them into the prophetic expectation of an end-time ingathering of the nations. Ultimately, two Roman face-offs close the show with fitting fireworks, but not of the sort sufficient to pull down history’s final curtain. At the conclusion of the book, it is hard to know where precisely to engage. There are, in fact, great swaths of common ground and even useful formulations and insights along the way. Still, one wishes to jump off so often than it is probably best not to board this train of thought at all. At the level of “historical Jesus” methodology, I might gesture only to one major opening move, where another line should be taken: a clear vote for Dale Allison over Sanders. Discounting the huge bulk of sayings materials and ignoring the whole shape and role of memory in the Jesus the tradition, as Fredriksen à la Sanders does, is not the most likely approach to plant us on historical terra firma. It is quite certain to erase the key vestiges of the “Christology of Jesus.” Allison’s “gist” arguments also result in the familiar failed millenarian prophet, of course. Here I can only say that I have addressed this issue elsewhere (including recently in the pages of this journal). For me, without draining any apocalyptic sap, Jesus’s Judaism is much broader and more nuanced than the picture we conventionally get and has (among other things) much more rabbinism in its blood than these scholars of the radical Schweitzer school seem ready to see. The deep heritage of Schweitzer’s specific brand of “Jewish Jesus” in an express nineteenth-century German Protestant loathing for rabbinic religion should not be simply bypassed in this connection. Christian (and ex-Christian) constructions of Judaism are not uncomplicated creations. Nor is Jewish identity sovereignly free of all influence from such Christian ideas (i.e., Peter Schäfer’s Die Geburt des Judentums aus dem Geist des Christentums). For those minded to get the story of Judaism straight, the lesson should thus be clear. Buying in on the premise of an apocalyptic disorientation in the deepest DNA of Christianity is quite certain to come back and bite Judaism in the end (all the more so, as those first Christians were Jews)—which is good reason to get this key question of expectation correct. After all, an acute state of readiness that God might at any moment intervene and bring salvation—the infamous Christian Naherwartung (which, note bene, was not dropped as a doctrine with the first generation)—is perhaps not, in the end, so structurally different from the notion of a Tzadik Ha-Dor, the idea that every generation might potentially be the one worthy to see the Lord’s Messiah. Ample room exists in both cases for fanatic paranoia, sluggish apathy, and various attitudes of alacrity in-between. 308 Book Reviews If a clarification of Jewish–Christian relations is accordingly at stake in these questions about Jesus and his first believers—and it is hard to avoid such ecumenical implications—it seems to me that Fredriksen has above all worked one monumental disservice to Jewish identity. In rejecting Jesus for herself, as she has every right in the world to do, she refuses to allow a historical “No” to be spoken by first-century Jews. In fact, she has not even allowed those first Christians who were Jews to speak their own robust “Yes.” Like Jesus himself, all they can do is cling to an illusion for which he himself is superfluous dressing. Is it not precisely the prime duty, however, in a genuine dialogue in these delicate matters first to acknowledge and respect the intellectual and spiritual space both to make and to refuse a real messianic claim about this particular Jew? In the last analysis, Fredriksen’s project invites reflection on religious epistemology and specifically the relation between historical intelligence and confessional conviction. In a word: Are the sorts of reconstructions elaborated in this book reasons not to accept Christ as the Church proclaims him? Or is this tradition of scholarship instead so much historical cover for a decision inevitably made in conscience on different intellectual and personal grounds? For, whether Christian faith can co-exist in any meaningful sense should the essential view of this book be true is a very earnest question. At least since Schweitzer, both Liberal Protestants and Modernist Catholics have made strenuous efforts to assimilate Fredriksen-like visions into the Christian creed. For my part, I vigorously doubt that such theological acrobatics convince and Fredriksen’s conversion to Judaism should be taken as her own agreement and honest answer to the question. The fundamental incompatibility of this book with the Christian account of Jesus is obviously not in itself a rebuttal for non-believers. Yet, the annihilation of the Christian faith by a pretended explanation should at least appear to interested outsiders as a serious obstacle in their right understanding of the phenomenon of this same faith. In the City of God, Augustine reports an oracle of Apollo recorded by Porphyry. It is the answer to a man inquiring how to dissuade his wife from her Christian belief. “Let her continue as she pleases, persisting in her vain delusions [inanibus fallaciis], and lamenting in song a god who died in delusions [ fallaciis]” (City of God 19.23). That a modern Jewish scholar might heartily agree with an ancient pagan voice about the derisible character of Christianity and Jesus is permissible enough. (They are less likely to follow when Porphyry goes on to say that the Jews did well to condemn Jesus to a shameful death). Augustine responded by asking who was so foolish not to recognize that such words were “composed by a clever man with a Book Reviews 309 strong animus against Christians” (translation adapted from newadvent. org). In the same line, it is also permitted if a modern Christian scholar sees matters likewise and wonders whether this latest installment in the old “Failed Millenarian Prophet” series might not fit well under the title of a clever article Fredriksen also authored: “Mandatory Retirement: Ideas in the Study of Christian Origins whose Time to Go has Come.” N&V Anthony Giambrone, O.P. École Biblique Jerusalem Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal (New York: W. W. Norton, 2016), 340 pp. Frans de Waal’s 2016 Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? is an exciting read into the baffling and brilliant world of what goes on inside non-human animal heads. Given the sheer number of studies published in the late twentieth century on animal cognition, de Waal does an amazing job presenting many of them in a highly readable fashion with just enough detail to understand the importance and rigorous facets of the research (or in some cases not so rigorous), but without making the detail overwhelming. The extensive bibliography at the end of the book provides ample material for any curious reader interested in further research regarding any of the scientific studies. Much of what is presented in the book would present a big challenge for any contemporary Cartesians who may hold, as Descartes did, that animals are mere automata. If non-human animals are self-moving machines devoid of cognition, then how do chimpanzees learn to stack boxes high enough to reach objects overhead? De Waal tells the famous story of Sultan the chimpanzee who accomplished such a feat without any prior training or teaching (65). Further, if non-human animals have no emotions, then what of the two bottlenose dolphins who came to the rescue of a third after the explosion of a stick of dynamite (133)? De Waal’s book presents many challenges for the Cartesian mechanistic view of animals. Most people today, however, need not be persuaded that that the Cartesian view is wrong. On a popular level the overwhelming view is that there is no significant difference in kind between the cognition of non-human 310 Book Reviews animals and that of man. It is this view that de Waal himself espouses throughout the book, and for which he provides much evidence, although at times his phrasing sounds a bit like dogmatic worship of Darwin. Nevertheless, if Darwin is right, he is right. And given the contemporary biological and psychological courses of study, Darwin appears to be the most reasonable view. But an older, middle view, between the extremes of Cartesian automata and Darwinian cognitivism has been forgotten by many scholars. This is the view of the Aristotelian tradition. Aristotle held a more nuanced view of animal cognition: animals are not mere machines devoid of cognitive states, but neither do they possess all of the same kind of mental faculties that man has—“In all animals other than man there is no thinking or calculation but only imagination.”1 In the footsteps of Aristotle, Avicenna and Aquinas also did much to develop a rich account of animal cognition. De Waal seems to be completely unaware of the middle ground of the Aristotelians concerning animal cognition. Most of the case studies de Waal mentions remain perfectly compatible with the Aristotelian tradition (albeit, perhaps in its more developed forms): ravens have cognitive perspective-taking (147–48); apes imitate other apes (153–54); thrushes cognize ahead in gathering food for their young (205–6); rats remember in which part of a maze they encountered chocolate before (211); and wasps recognize the faces of other wasps (70–71). But various challenges remain for the Aristotelian. De Waal provides various cases of what he takes to be reasoning in non-human animals. Many of these cases are not reasoning in the Aristotelian sense: reasoning (for the Aristotelian) is coming to know another proposition from two prior propositions that are known. De Waal mentions Sadie, a chimpanzee who could cognize when a box had a fruit in it and when another box did not: [The experimenters] placed an apple in one [box] and a banana in another. After a few minutes of distraction, Sadie saw one of the experimenters munching on either an apple or a banana. This experimenter then left, and Sadie was released to inspect the boxes. She faced an interesting dilemma, since she had not seen how the experimenter had gotten his fruit. Invariably, Sadie would go to the 1 Aristotle, De anima 3.1.433a11–12l, in On the Soul, trans. Jonathan Barnes, vol. 1 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), 688. See also Ethica nicomachea 1.7.1098a1–5). Book Reviews 311 box with the fruit that the experiment had not eaten. (54) De Waal takes this as evidence that Sadie engaged in disjunctive reasoning, but there are other explanations. Could it not just be that Sadie first cognized the presence of an apple in one box and the presence of a banana in the other? Then cognized that the apple in the experimenter’s mouth had been removed from its box? Sadie could still easily cognize that the banana might be in its box just by memory without making any sort of disjunctive argument. What de Waal takes as reasoning can just as easily be explained by mere association and memory: Sadie just recalls the banana has not been removed from its box. Humans may arrive at the same result by means of disjunctive reasoning (e.g.: “It’s either in the first or second box”; “It’s not in the first box”; “Therefore, it’s in the second box”), but the fact that humans arrive at the same result by disjunctive reasoning does not entail that disjunctive reasoning is the only way to arrive at the same result. As Aquinas says, higher faculties can do what the lower do, but in a more eminent way. So, just because something is done by man using a higher cognitive faculty does not entail that all similar cases must be done by the same faculty in other creatures. De Waal, however, mentions one stronger case: Years later the Spanish primatologist Josep Call presented apes with two covered cups. They had learned that only one would be baited with grapes. If Call removed the tops and let them look inside the cups, the apes chose the one with grapes. Next, he kept the cups covered and shook first one, then the other. Only the cup with grapes made noise, which was the one they preferred. This was not too surprising. But making things harder, Call would sometimes shake only the empty cup, which made no noise. In this case, the apes would still pick the other one, thus operating on the basis of exclusion. (54). What is going on in the above case? It sure looks like the ape was engaging in reasoning of the form: 1. The grape is either in the first or second cup. 2. It’s not in the first cup (because it doesn’t make a noise when shook). 3. Thus, the grape is in the second cup. 312 Book Reviews This is a strong objection–––one which Aristotelians and Thomists need to take seriously. Mere adamant insisting the ape is not reasoning will not do. We need to take a hard look at the data and ask further questions like: How many times did the ape fail? Did the ape choose the grape correctly on the first test? Do adult humans choose the grape correctly on the first test? Are human toddlers just as successful? Depending upon how these questions are answered, they may show some reason to doubt that the case really is proof of disjunctive reasoning in apes. Besides the occasionally challenging case to the Aristotelian-Thomistic tradition, de Waal also mentions other cases that should give reason to believe that, even if the Aristotelian-Thomistic tradition is not mistaken about animal cognition, there is certainly a lack of adequate and consistent terminology to describe all the cognitive activities occurring within the animal’s head. Some apes have a type of political life, having hierarchical social structures; others seem to be able to “understand” the perspective of other apes; and some animals seem to be able to cognize that they themselves don’t cognize x. Under what act/s of the estimative power would these cognitive objects fall? These cases, among others, call for an expansion of the object of the estimative power beyond mere apprehension of particular intentions, or intentions of harm and benefit. I am not saying that such cognitive objects cannot fall under the aspect of particular intentions, or that none of these cases of cognitive awareness cannot be explained by reference to the harm/benefit binary, but that even if the standard Thomistic line is true that the estimative only perceives particular intentions under the aspect of harm/benefit, these particular intentions still have a deep multifaceted nature to them that requires further elucidation. In short, more detail ought to be added to the proper object of the estimative power, and more detail ought to be given to the steps of animal action. Just as Aquinas gave detailed steps to human action, so too ought we give detailed steps to non-human animal action (though not necessarily in the same manner). As Thomists, we should not be afraid of sharpening our theories in light of sense experience. Aristotle did not arrive at his rich account of animal cognition (see Historia animalium 9) out of thin air or through mere armchair philosophy, but rather engaged in some active work with the animal world. If we wish to honor Aristotle and those following him in the Aristotelian tradition, we must not merely repeat what they said out of mere deference to their authority, but rather because we wish to see whether what they said is true. And to really know that we must engage in arguments, which ought to take full advantage of the world of sense experience. To that end, de Waal’s book has done us a great favor in providing Book Reviews 313 us with a written testament of decades worth of experience. Perhaps, his interpretation of sense experience is not always accurate, but such is where N&V we must start. John Skalko St. John’s Seminary Brighton, MA Paul, a New Covenant Jew: Rethinking Pauline Theology by Brant Pitre, Michael P. Barber, and John A. Kincaid (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2019), 253 pp. This book is a fabulous accomplishment. It is thoroughly ecumen- ical, making extensive use of ancient Jewish sources, as well as engaging contemporary Jewish scholars, such as Mark Nanos, Nahum Sarna, Jon Levenson, and Jacob Milgrom—in addition to interacting at length with contemporary Paul scholars from various backgrounds such as Michael Gorman, John Barclay, Doug Campbell, E. P. Sanders, James Dunn, and N. T. Wright. In fact, the foreword is written by Gorman, who commends this work heartily. Taking as their starting point the scholarly consensus over the last generation that Jesus and Paul must be understood within their first-century Jewish context, the authors locate Paul along the axis of an “apocalyptic new covenant Jew” (38–42, 93–4). After all, Paul calls himself a “minister of the new covenant” (2 Cor 3:6). Referring to Paul as “new covenant Jew” seems to be a novum with these authors, as they put forth a strong case that this interpretive framework can synthesize the chief insights of other proposals (and leave aside their respective weaknesses)—proposals such as understanding Paul as a “former Jew,” an “eschatological Jew,” or a “Torah-observant Jew” (see 13–38). Each framework has passages that commend it: for example, Paul speaks on occasion of a life under the law which he has left behind (see Gal 1:13–14; hence “former Jew”); on the other hand, Paul speaks positively of the law (see Phil 3:4–6; suggestive of the “Torah-observant” position). Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid share perhaps the most affinity with Sanders, Dunn, and Wright, who encapsulate the “eschatological Jew” interpretive framework—though as we will see, Pitre and company clearly chart out their own path, not aligning with any one school of thought. What Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid do affirm along with the eschatologi- 314 Book Reviews cal Jewish framework is that Paul did not reject his old “religion” and start a new one; rather, the chief difference between Paul and his former life lay in the fact that he came to believe that the new creation had dawned in Christ. That is, in Christ, the hope of the prophets—such as the new covenant and the gift of the Spirit found, for example, in Jeremiah 31:31–34 and Ezekiel 36:26–27 (both of which are alluded to in 2 Cor 3:6, where Paul describes himself as a “minister of the new covenant”)—has come to fruition in and through the Paschal Mystery of Jesus Christ. On the other hand, Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid diverge from Wright and company, for example, with their analysis of Paul and Jewish apocalyptic thought. Pitre and company draw close links between various Jewish apocalyptic texts and Saint Paul’s teaching—not to suggest any kind of direct literary connection, but to propose that Paul “breathes the same air,” as it were (67). These authors part with the “eschatological Jew” framework in their thorough insistence that the “new covenant” in which Paul locates himself is not merely chronological—it is not just that Paul lives after the Cross which has now inaugurated the new age. Rather, for Paul, there is also a vertical dimension. Paul, as an apocalyptic “new covenant Jew,” believes the heavenly new creation has broken into the present order, a point Paul makes explicit in 2 Corinthians 5:17 when he describes anyone in Christ as a “new creation” (see 73 and 88), as well as in his teaching that members of the new covenant are children of the heavenly Jerusalem—the “Jerusalem above” (Gal 4:26). As we will see, these authors also diverge from Sanders and company in their treatment of grace in Paul. Again, throughout this book with each theme, there is not just an exegesis of select Pauline texts; there is a rich feast of texts from ancient Judaism, where the authors judiciously demonstrate parallels with Paul. In this manner, the authors disclose the conceptual matrix of Paul and his Jewish contemporaries, showing the fertile context in which Paul came to understand the mystery of Jesus as the fulfillment of these Jewish hopes. As Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid draw out, one consistently finds in Saint Paul both continuity and discontinuity—continuity with respect to apocalyptic Jewish hopes and expectations, and discontinuity in the sometimes unexpected way these hopes are fulfilled in Jesus. For Paul, Jesus taps into the Jewish expectations of the time, and yet transcends them. Chapters 3–6 respectively treat Christology, atonement, justification, and the Lord’s Supper. This pattern of continuity and discontinuity continues throughout. With regard to Christology, the authors draw on Chris Tilling’s work, Paul’s Divine Christology, which engages the overall pattern of Christ’s relation to believers (and how it tracks with the way in which ancient Jews Book Reviews 315 thought of their relation to Yhwh). Much like their own work, Tilling’s contribution lies particularly in disclosing overall patterns and themes, instead of simply exegeting of a few significant passages. Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid write: Chris Tilling has shown that the case for a “divine Christology” in Paul can be demonstrated not merely by examining specific passages such as the Christ hymn (Phil 2:5–8) but also by examining the overarching pattern of how Paul’s depiction of Christ’s relationship with believers consistently maps onto Jewish conceptions of God-relation. Instead of simply focusing on particular Pauline texts and their potential Christological implications, Tilling looks at larger patterns in Paul’s thought, analyzing how they conform to the way Jews spoke about God’s unique relationship with Israel. . . . In other words, Paul explicates Christ’s relationship with believers in terms that Jewish readers would have associated exclusively with the one God of the Shema (Deut 6:4–6). (122–23, emphasis original; see also 124–25) However, we should not get the wrong impression: Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid engage in very thorough and rigorous exegesis, particularly of key passages. But larger patterns are often highly instructive and can provide significant illumination when they are properly secured. Just to give one example, ancient Jews commonly held that the Old Covenant was mediated by angels; yet some contemporary scholars (e.g., Bart Erhman) hold to an angel Christology in Paul. However, this runs against the trajectory of Paul’s thought: if Christ were merely an angel, how would the New Covenant be superior to the Old—since both would then have been mediated by angels? Accordingly, the authors write: “Paul identifies the torah of Moses as that which was ordained by ‘angels’ (Gal 3:19), and then contrasts it with the new ‘covenant’ of Christ (Gal 4:21–5:1). This would seem to indicate that Christ must be greater than an angel” (121; emphasis original). Another more nuanced point that the authors unpack is that what sets Yhwh apart for ancient Israel is not just that he is worshipped, but that he is offered sacrifice (see 114, where the authors cite 1 Chron 29:20–22 in support). Accordingly, the authors note that the Enochic Son of Man of 1 Enoch is also “worshipped,” which is part of the purported evidence for an “angel” Christology regarding Jesus. Yet the authors point out important differences between Jesus and the Son of Man of 1 Enoch, which in the end show a greater similarity between Jesus and God (“Lord of the Spirits” in 316 Book Reviews the text discussed below) than with the angelic Son of Man in 1 Enoch: Though the Son of Man is “worshipped” (1 Enoch 48:4–6; 62:9), this takes place on earth, whereas Paul says that “at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth” (Phil 2:10). In addition, the Enochic Son of Man is not somehow dynamically present on earth while also being in heaven, as Christ is for Paul. Nor do believers invoke the Son of Man figure directly as Paul speaks to and is spoken to by Christ. Rather, Tilling makes the case that the relational dynamic involving the Lord of Spirits is more like Christ than the Son of Man figure in 1 Enoch. Strikingly, Paul even calls Christ the “Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8), the same term 1 Enoch uses for “the Lord of the Spirits”—that is, God (cf. 1 En. 40:3; cf. 1 En. 22:14; 25:3; 27:3, 5). In short, if one were pressed to compare Paul’s teaching to what is found in 1 Enoch, one would have to admit that his understanding of Christ-relation has far more in common with the Lord of the Spirits than with the Enochic Son of Man (125, no. 120, emphasis original). Another key work utilized by the authors is that of Barclay, the Anglican scholar who has contributed tremendously to our understanding of “gift” in the ancient world—thereby providing background for Paul’s teaching on “grace,” the divine gift given in Christ (see 134–37). For example, in the modern era, we tend to think of a gift as having “no strings attached,” that is, having no expectations of reciprocity (see 134). Yet, Barclay has shown in Paul and the Gift that this notion actually stems from Martin Luther and was not the assumed sentiment of the ancient world (134). Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid explain: The truth is Paul’s original audience would not have assumed that gift-giving was motivated by “pure altruism.” While ancient gifts were bestowed freely, it was also understood that they were imparted with certain expectations. . . . Consistent with ancient gift-giving, Christ’s gift—“grace”—also comes with expectations; in particular, it entails participation in the self-giving of Christ (which, as we shall see, grace also makes available). (135–36; emphasis original) This analysis leads quite naturally to their treatment of justification, which they argue Paul understands ultimately with reference to divine sonship—sharing in the sonship of Jesus Christ. In fact, they understand Book Reviews 317 this feature as fundamentally what Paul’s “Gospel” is about (see 251–53). Drawing again from Barclay, the authors part company with the standard line of Sanders and covenantal nomism—namely, that “getting in” the covenant is a matter of grace, but “staying in” is maintained by works. Rather, for Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid, it is grace all the way through. That is, grace gets us in and grace empowers us to stay in: In sum, Barclay shows that Paul avoids viewing the divine and human actors as somehow in competition with one another. Instead, the apostle believes God is doing nothing less than transforming human agency. The works believers perform are now truly Christ’s works—but they are not only Christ’s works since believers are “co-workers” with him by grace. (169; emphasis original). The authors go on to speak of “cardiac” righteousness, the transformation of the heart wrought by the gift of the Spirit in the New Covenant, in fulfillment of key Old Testament prophecies (e.g.: Deut 30:6; Jer 31:33; Ezek 36:26–27). Thus, the authors understand justification to have a juridical component, but not to the exclusion of the moral and transformative dynamic: “For Paul, justification is juridical, but the divine decree corresponds to the reality of the believer’s character, which is changed by the power of grace” (196; emphasis original) What is particularly compelling about this book is how seamlessly rigorous exegesis (of which I am barely scratching the surface) slides into important aspects of the Catholic tradition. For example: “Paul identifies adoption as the ultimate purpose of the coming of the divine Son: ‘God sent his Son . . . so that we might receive adoption as children [huiothesian]’ (Gal 4:4–5)” (198; emphasis original). Grace, therefore, entails a share in divine life: “This union with Christ entails nothing less than being conformed to the image of God’s Son (Rom 8:29), such that the believer is now empowered to live a life of pistis, faithfulness. . . .They [believers] do not simply imitate him but participate in his sonship” (209; emphasis original). (From the dogmatic tradition, I have tried to bring out these same ideas by retrieving the thought of Matthias Scheeben in my 2014 Nature and Grace: A New Approach to Thomistic Ressourcement [Pickwick], 170–79). This rapprochement between detailed exegesis and the tradition continues especially in the last chapter, where the authors treat the Lord’s Supper in Paul. Again, it should be stressed that this rapprochement of which I speak is in no way forced or artificial; as the non-Catholic Michael 318 Book Reviews Gorman put it in the foreword, this work is one with which Pauline scholars of all stripes will have to reckon. Nonetheless, it is extremely significant that the authors are able to demonstrate an organic continuity of Saint Paul’s texts and the later tradition. Here, the Catholic tradition in which these authors have been formed perhaps disposes them to be more attentive to matters which other generations of Pauline scholars have neglected—the classic example of which is the Lord’s Supper in Paul. Given that 1 Corinthians 11 is one of our four key witnesses to the Institution narrative, it is surprising that it has received relatively little treatment in Pauline scholarship, a lacuna likely related to the anti-liturgical ethos in which modern biblical scholarship first arose (see 222–23). Continuing to underscore Paul as an “apocalyptic Jew,” the authors begin this chapter by treating the pneumatic body of Christ’s resurrection (see 1 Cor 15:44) and the Christian hope of sharing in this same reality (see 213–14). “In short: just as Christ was glorified, those who belong to him will also be glorified. The resurrected body is a ‘spiritual body’ because of the ‘life-giving spirit’ identified with Christ” (215). For Paul, there is an ecclesial shape to salvation: “What Christ has done in his personal body he now accomplishes in his ecclesial body” (220). As Jesus enters into the eschatological suffering—as expected by ancient Jews to be the precursor of the new age—so, too, believers enter into his sufferings, and thereby his resurrection (see 216–20). This is the context for understanding the Lord’s Supper, as an entrance into the full mystery of Christ—both his sacrifice and resurrection. The authors provide extensive background of Old Testament resonances behind Paul’s Eucharistic texts (e.g.: Exod 24:3–11; Isa 53:10–12; Mal 1:11), all pointing to the monumental significance of the Eucharist for Paul (see 229–35). Yet, standard treatments of Paul’s well-known comment about “being guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord” (1 Cor 11:27) contend that what is in view for Paul is simply the mistreatment of the poor (taking “body” here as a reference to the Body of Christ, i.e., the Church). While the authors acknowledge that the rich–poor divide is indeed part of Paul’s point, there is more to it—a point made apparent by Paul’s reference to being guilty of the body and the blood of the Lord (1 Cor 11:27). In other words—and here is another example of thematic exegesis that is not reduced to mere grammar and syntax—nowhere is the Church described corporately as the blood of Christ. The presence of “blood” in this passage is a clear Eucharistic allusion; thus, while the problem does concern the mistreatment of the poor, the passage in question is also about receiving the Book Reviews 319 Eucharistic elements unworthily: The attempt to downplay the significance of the bread and wine itself minimizes the crucial fact that Paul warns against becoming “guilty of the body and blood of the Lord” (1 Cor 11:27). Notice here that Paul speaks not only of “the body”—which of course can be applied to the church as a whole—but also of the “blood of the Lord” [tou haimatos tou kyriou] (1 Cor 11:27). Nowhere in Paul’s letters does the apostle ever use the blood of Christ as an image for the church—a point that suggests that an offense against the elements of the meal themselves is his primary meaning (225). The authors go on to describe how, for Paul, receiving the Eucharistic bread actualizes communion with Christ (226). As Paul states, “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Cor 10:17). The authors conclude: According to Paul, participation in the elements of the Lord’s Supper is a participation in the body and blood of Christ (1 Cor 10:16–17), which is effected through the Spirit (1 Cor 12:13; 6:17). In other words, through the working of the Spirit, the bread and wine becomes “spiritual food” and “spiritual drink” (1 Cor 10:3–4), uniting believers to the body and blood of the risen Lord. In the Lord’s Supper, then, participants have a foretaste of the resurrected body and the life of the world to come. . . . While Paul does not (of course) use the language of “real presence” or “transubstantiation,” to insist that “spiritual” is merely a metaphor resists the eschatological and Christological realism of Paul’s language (246–47; emphasis original). In sum, the command shown by these authors of contemporary New Testament scholarship and the corpus of ancient Jewish texts is astounding. For this reason, this book will continue to receive significant attention from leading Pauline scholars of all backgrounds for some time to come. A cursory glance at the endorsements shows this to be true, as they include such names as Craig Keener, Thomas Stegman, and Michael Bird, not to mention Michael Gorman’s having written the foreword. If there is one complaint, it is that the authors could have more fully engaged the phrase “works of the law” and the way in which 4QMMT of the Dead Sea Scrolls seems to illumine Paul’s meaning. Read against 320 Book Reviews the backdrop of 4QMMT, the meaning of this important Pauline phrase appears to refer primarily not to the moral law, but to the ceremonial law.1 The authors are aware of this connection, as they write early on: “For Paul, we would suggest, ‘the works of the law’ were quintessentially but not exclusively circumcision and other such markers” (53; emphasis original). Similarly, later on in the chapter on justification, the authors write: “What Paul wants to stress is that circumcision—or for that matter, any other work done apart from the Spirit’s power—is insufficient” (192). Perhaps the reason for not taking up this connection more vigorously lies in the authors’ desire to distance themselves somewhat from Sanders and company, in order to ensure a more robust Pauline account of grace with the help of Barclay: again, grace is requisite not just to “get in” the covenant, but also to “stay in.” Barclay’s work is exceedingly helpful (and theologically accurate), in that it shows that the gift of grace for Paul empowers one to live a life in the Spirit—in which case the supposed attempt to attain salvation merely by our own efforts is a moot point from the start. That said, the import of 4QMMT is also helpful for demonstrating that Paul is not critiquing a so-called Jewish works-righteousness or a proto-Pelagianism. Both of these avenues—Barclay’s account of the divine energizing power of grace and 4QMMT’s ability to show that Paul primarily pits faith against the ceremonial works (not good works pure and simple)—are helpful in reassessing what Paul means by justification by faith and how his teaching here is compatible with his insistence upon the necessity of good works for salvation (see Rom 2:6, 13). That said, the work of Pitre, Barber, and Kincaid is extremely welcome and to be warmly commended. It is sure to get a wide and broad readership. Indeed, Catholic biblical scholarship has taken a significant step forward with this publication. N&V Andrew D. Swafford Benedictine College Atchison, KS 1 See John Bergsma, Jesus and the Dead Sea Scrolls (New York: Image, 2019), 210–13.