THE THOMIST
A SPECULATIVE QUARTERLY REVIEW
OF THEOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY

EDITORS:

THE DoMINICAN FATHERS oF THE PROVINCE OF ST. JosEPH

Publishers:

VoL. XXVIII

The Thomist Press, Washington 17, D. C.

APRIL, 1964

No.2

UNDERSTANDING ACCORDING TO
BERNARD J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

S

PART I

INCE the publication of Insight 1 there has been a gradually increasing awareness of the significance of Father
Lonergan's thought. Yet, those who attempt to study
Lonergan's works encounter serious obstacles. Many of his
basic ideas are developed in a theological context which the
philosopher finds unfamiliar; his most recent books are written
in Latin. Insight by-passes these theological and linguistic barriers. Yet, the non-scientist may find Insight's extensive development of scientific understanding an even more formidable
obstacle to his own understanding. Finally, the sheer bulk of
his book, the novelty of its methodology, and the complexity
of its development makes personal assimilation a difficult task.
A guided tour of Lonergan's thought may be of some assistance
1 Bernard
J. F. Lonergan, S. J., Insight:
(New York: Philosophical Library, 1956).

A Study of Human Understanding

97

Pages 97-258 reprinted

by Kraus Reprint

Co.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

in skirting these road-blocks. We hope to do this by concentrating on a theme which is central to Lonergan's thought, the
importance of understanding what understanding is. Except
for incidental remarks, criticism will be reserved to a third
article.
Here, a precautionary note is in order. The present study
is not intended to be an introduction to Lonergan's thought,
for adequate introductions have already been written. 2 Rather,
it pre-supposes a familiarity with Lonergan's basic positions
and attempts a synthetic view of his integral development.
This, unfortunately, implies that some points which cry out
for clarification are relegated to a sentence or a qualifying
phrase. Only by sacrificing such amplification could we present
an orderly over-all view of the variety of elements fused in his
synthesis.
One of the most distinctive features of Insight, the "moving
point of view," is motivated by the realization that understanding develops gradually. In the same spirit it may be well
to start by sketching the development of Lonergan's own understanding. As a part of his training as a Jesuit, Father Lonergan
studied philosophy at Heythrop College in England. While
there he also studied mathematics at the University of London.
Two books which influenced his ideas on the nature of knowledge at this critical period were Newman's Grammar of Assent
and Joseph's Introduction to Logic. 3 During his course of theology he worked in collaboration with another Jesuit who had
studied philosophy under Marechal. Thus, he was influenced
by the Louvain school in an indirect way. 4 After obtaining a
2 See Frederick
E. Crowe, S. J., "The Origin and Scope of Bernard Lonergan's
Insight," Sciences Ecclesiastiques, IX, (1957), 263-95; Andrew J. Reck, "Insight
and the Eros of the Mind," Review of Metaphysics, XII (1958), 97-107; Joseph
de Finance, S. J., "Une Etude sur !'intelligence humaine," Gregorianum, XXXIX
(1958), 130-36; Bernard Lonergan, S. J., "Insight:
Preface to a Discussion,"
Proceedings of the A mer. Cath. Phil. Assoc., XXXII (1958), 71-81; and the
reviews written at the time of publication.
8 Horace W. Joseph, An Introduction to Logic (2nd ed. rev.; Oxford:
Clarendon
Press, 1916).
• The similarity between Lonergan's development of philosophy and Marechal's

UNDERSTANDING

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99

doctorate in theology from the Gregorian University in Rome,
he concentrated on a protracted critical study of St. Thomas.
It was a problem-centered approach, tracing, in a detailed way,
the development of key questions in Thomas' predecessors,
remote as well as immediate, and the growth of Thomas' own
understanding. From these studies, and others, came the six
works which supply the principal basis for the present study.
1. The "Gratia" Series. 5 These articles do not treat Lon-

ergan's theory of knowledge directly. However, the detailed
causal analysis of mental and volitional operations given there
supplied a foundation for his later development.
The "Verbum" Series.6 This study was motivated by a
peculiar theological difficulty. St. Thomas attempted to give
some understanding of the doctrine of the Trinity by extending
and developing the psychological analogy which St. Augustine
had used. Many consider this Thomas' finest individual theological achievement. Yet, Lonergan felt, none of the standard
text books gave an adequate-or even an accurate-account
of the true theory of St. Thomas. Basic to Thomas' explanation was the analogy between the procession of interior words
and of love in the human mind and the processions of the Son
and Holy Spirit in the Trinity. To apply this analogy as St.
Thomas intended it one must first have an adequate understanding of the human operations used as an explanatory
analogate. This Lonergan endeavored to supply through
his protracted, massively-documented study of Thomas' own
theory of mental operations.
has been emphasized by Cornelius Ryan Fay, "Fr. Lonergan and the Participation
School," The New Scholasticism, XXXIV (1960), 461-87, and by James Collins in
his review of Insight (Thought, XXXII [1957-8], 445-46).
5 Bernard
Lonergan, S. J., " St. Thomas' Thought on Gratia Operans," Theological Studies, II (1941), 289-324; III (1942), 69-88; "St. Thomas' Theory of
Operations," Ibid., III (1942), 375-403; " St. Thomas' Thought on Gratia Operans,"
Ibid. III (1942), 532-78. Hereafter these will be referred to as " Gratia-!," etc.
6 Bernard
Lonergan, S. J., "The Concept of Verbum in the Writings of St.
Thomas," Theol. Studies, VII (1946), 349-93; VIII (1947), 35-80; VIII (1947),
404-45; X (1949), 3-40; 359-93. Hereafter these will be referred to as " Verbum-!,"
etc.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

At the end of the first article in this series Lonergan gave
an interesting insight into what seems to have been a turning
point in his own methodology. "I have begun, not from the
metaphysical frame-work, but from the psychological content
of Thomist theory of intellect: logic might favor the opposite
procedure but, after attempting it in a variety of ways, I
found it unmanageable." 7
3. Insight. Since this is the principal source of the present
study, we shall postpone a discussion of it until a proper background has been established.
4. Divinarum Personarum. 8 In many respects this Latin
text complements the Verbum series by summarizing the pertinent Thomist psychology and applying it to the doctrine of
the Trinity. Written for theological students rather than for
professional theologians, it is simpler and much less polemical
than the Verbum series.
5. De Constitutione Christi. 9 This is a study of the hypostatic union and of Christ's knowledge. In addition to the
treatment of consciousness which is of direct concern in our
present study, this work has an indirect but important bearing on any evaluation of Lonergan's theory of knowledge. One
of the sharpest criticisms brought against Insight was that
Lonergan's method of developing metaphysics on the basis of
a theory of knowledge was closer to Kantianism than to
Thomism. The present work, written since Insight, explains
the constitution of being in traditional metaphysical terms.
Lonergan's clear-cut definitions give a good basis for comparing his metaphysics with other interpretations of Thomism.
6. De Deo Trino: Pars Analytica. 10 This work supplements
Divinarum Personarum by outlining the positive theology
7 Verbum-!, 392. Here and elsewhere Lonergan uses " Thomist"
to refer to the
Saint and "Thomistic" to refer to the school, a usage which we shall follow.
8 Bernard
Lonergan, S. J., Divinarum Personarum Conceptio Analogica (Rome:
Gregorian University Press, 1957).
9 Bernard
Lonergan, S. J., De Constitutione Christi Ontologica et Psychologica,
(2nd. ed.; Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1958).
10 Bernard
Lonergan, S. J., De Deo Trino: Pars Analytica (Rome: Gregorian
Univ. Press, 1961).

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101

concerning the Trinity. In explaining the revelation of this
doctrine and the historical growth of human understanding
concerning it, Lonergan employs some of the methods of understanding explained in Insight. Such concrete and carefully
elaborated examples serve to clarify the more formal explanations of methods of understanding and illustrate their significance.
We divide this study into three general sections. First, relying chiefly on the Verbum series and Divinarum Personarum
we present a brief outline of Lonergan's explanation of St.
Thomas' cognitional analysis. Lonergan did not intend, in
these works, to present a complete theory of knowledge. He
wished, rather, to explain some pertinent ideas and terms used
by St. Thomas in his explanation of knowledge. This necessitated an extensive use of technical Latin terms. Since this
summary is intended to be an aid to the study of Lonerganbut not a substitute-we shall employ the same vocabulary
and concentrate on those aspects of the Verbum series that
complement Insight. 11 Such selectivity, unfortunately, entails
a somewhat disjointed collection of elements whose significance
will, we hope, be seen after the more orderly survey in the
second section.
The second and principal section, based chiefly on Insight,
summarizes Lonergan's cognitional analysis, his explanation of
the various methods of understanding, and the way in which
he develops a metaphysics. Finally, in the third article we
shall offer a tentative criticism of a few selected points.

I.

THOMIST

THEORY

OF UNDERSTANDING

Logically, one seeks to understand what it means to understand by first examining acts of understanding and then ana11 In the Verbum series he is presenting
St. Thomas' position, while Insight and
Divinarum Personarum represent his own views. It seems clear that he considers
the two views to be essentially the same. For example, in Divinarum Personarum,
p. 57, he says that intelligible emanation has been considerd historically in the
T'erbum series, philosophically in Insight, and that he now wishes to present the
same matter in a theological and speculative way.

EDWARD M. MACKINNON

lyzing the processes involved. This, in fact, is the general order
Lonergan follows. Since our purpose, however, is to present
rather than prove his conclusions, it will be clearer to begin
with the general doctrine and then supply the details.
The mind has two basic operations: seeking to know what
something is (" quid sit ") and to know whether something is
("an sit") . The first mental operation, seeking to know what
a thing is, begins with sense perception and the consequent
formation of a phantasm in the imagination, an operation
guided by the cogitative power. The active intellect illumines
this phantasm making the species which was potentially intelligible, actually intelligible, a process which may be called
objective abstraction. 12 This species, as impressed on the possible intellect, is called the "species qua." When the possible
intellect receives this it is said to be in the first act of apprehensive abstraction. 13 From the possible intellect in first act
proceeds an act of understanding, a second act. The manner
in which this second act proceeds from the first act is analogous
to the manner in which an action proceeds from a principle
of action, or to the relation of the act of existence to the
form. What is understood by this second act is called the
"species quae," the pre-conceptual object of understanding.
To put this a bit more simply, objective abstraction, illumination of the phantasm, constitutes the imagined object as
something to be understood with regard to its specific nature.
Apprehensive abstraction, insight into phantasm, is the actual
understanding of that which objective abstraction presents to
be understood. What is understood, the "species intelligibilis
quae," is identical with the quiddity of the material object
known. Thus, through insight into phantasm, or through a
preconceptual act of understanding, the intellect knows its
proper and connatural object, the quiddity of a material object.
Such an act of understanding cannot serve as the predicate
of a judgment; it is incomplete as a form of knowledge. The
intellect must express what it has understood, must produce a
12

Verbum-IV, 37.

18

Ibid.,

UNDERSTANDING

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103

"verbum," i.e., a concept or "intentio intellecta." 14 This production is not an automatic or quasi-mechanical process.
Rather, it is produced in rational consciousness because of a
rational awareness of understanding. The significance of such
a process, which Lonergan calls "intelligible emanation," 15
may be seen by contrasting it with other types of processes
or causal productions. A natural effect, such as rainfall, is
produced by a cause, atmospheric conditions and the pull of
gravity, and is intelligible precisely as caused. The intelligibility
in question is not due to any intelligence on the part of the
proximate cause. Rather, there is a passive and potential intelligibility in the process due ultimately to the fact that it conforms to the divine mind and can be known by the human
mind.
Intelligible emanation, the production of an inner word
expressing what is understood, is called intelligible not because
of its passive conformity to an extraneous mind, nor because
it has a potential intelligibility which some law might express.
It possesses, rather, an actual and active intelligibility because
it is the activity of intelligence in act. The intellect, understanding a quiddity in a phantasm, pivots on itself to produce
another object of thought, an inner word. This is not only
caused by understanding but is because of understanding. It is
an expression of what is understood precisely because and to
the extent that it is understood. Thus, intelligible emanation
is rational, or intelligible, not only because of the metaphysical
dependence of an effect on its cause-something proper to any
natural process-but especially because the inner word is produced in and through conscious awareness as the expression of
what is understood.
A simple example may clarify this rather abstract summary.
Man, confronted with a wheel, has as a phantasm simply a
wheel, an imaginative representation of sensible data. This
"The necessity of the inner word is explained in Verbum-1, 349-60; IV, 15; V,
368· and in Divinarum Personarum, pp. 80-84,
,; This is explained in Verbum-!, 380-91 and in Divinarum Personarum, pp.
esp. pp.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

phantasm, illuminated by the agent intellect, supplies the
matter for understanding. Yet, what is understood is something
that is not in the data, as sensible data. Through an insight
the intellect can grasp the distinctive quality of circularity as
due to a formal cause. This is grasped by penetration of the
phantasm making its potential intelligibility actual. Then the
intellect can express what it has understood through a concept,
" circle," or a definition: " a circle is the locus of points equidistant from a point within called the center." Such a concept
or definition is not an automatic process of sensation. It is an
inner word expressing what the intellect understands and can
be produced only if and when the intellect has grasped an
intelligibility potentially present in the data. The act of understanding, the "intelligere," considered as the ground for the
production of the verbum is called a" dicere." This procession
of the word from the act of understanding is used, when properly purified, as the created analogue of the procession of the
Son from the Father in the Trinity.
The second mental operation is concerned not with what a
thing is, but with whether it is. The result of this operation is
a judgment, a statement of the form: A is; A is not; A is B;
A is not B. Before outlining the process leading to such a
judgment, it would be well to explain how this differs from the
concept or definition resulting from the first mental operation.
The product of the first mental operation is a definition of
the quiddity which insight into the phantasm uncovers. This
definition may be apodictic or hypothetical, may simply express the quiddity as perceived or as known through causes.
In each of these cases the definition or concept is an "incomplex word." It is not a judgment concerning an object but a
conceptualization of what is known through direct understanding. Accordingly, it is neither true nor false, though it may
be more or less adequate.
A judgment, "this is a table," is not simply a synthesis of
the object perceived by the senses and the nature grasped by
the mind and expressed in a concept; it is the affirmation of a

UNDERSTANDING

ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S. J.

105

synthesis. For this reason it is called a "complex word" or a
composition (of quiddity and existence) .16 To posit such a
synthesis the mind must know the conformity of its judgment with reality. To establish such a conformity it is necessary to have a standard to which both are compared. Such a
standard can only be found in an examination of the inner
principles by which the intellect operates.
The first mental operation leads not only to insight, but also
to a coalescence of insights integrated in a hypothetical synthesis. Before the positing of a judgment, this hypothetical
synthesis has no formal truth value. It provokes a question
for investigation rather than establishes a thesis. To answer
the question implicit in any hypothesis and assent to the
answer as true, the intellect must grasp the necessary connection between the sources of its knowledge and the hypothetical
synthesis, for the intellect cannot know the proportion of its
act to an exterior thing unless it knows, in some way, the proportion of its active principle to exterior things. This requires
a reflective act of understanding. Following a clear statement
of St. Thomas, 17 Lonergan insists that this is not simply the
reflective character found in any act of judgment. Rather, it is
a se1£..:penetration which enables a person to know his own
essence and innate capacity to know truth. This does not mean
a metaphysician's knowledge of the soul's essence, which is a
conceptualization and refinement of this awareness. Rather,
the intellect is itself intelligible in act and this intrinsic intelligibility is realized through its exercise. 18 By a reflective awareness of this a person realizes that the universal nature understood and expressed in a concept is the nature of the singular
known in the phantasm. 19 This reflective knowledge supplies
the sufficient evidence required for positing the judgment,
16 This is developed in Verbum-H.
The terms "complex " and "incomplex" are
explained in Divinarum Personarum, p. 14.
17 Quaestiones Disputatae de Veritate, q. 1, a. 9, c.
18 Verbum-V, 368-9.
19 The evolution of St. Thomas' own understanding
of this point is explained in
Verbum-IV, 28-35.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

"This is a table." "This" denotes the observed singular;
"table" is a concept expressing the quiddity, or universal
nature, which insight, or apprehensive abstraction, grasped in
the phantasm of the singular existent. "Is" does not merely
link this abstract universal to the concrete singular. It affirms
that this universal is the nature of the this singular existent.
If we compare this second mental operation with the first,
we notice a distinct structural similarity. Both involve two
basic steps, an act of understanding and an intelligible emanation issuing from that act of understanding. Regarding the
second operation Lonergan wrote: ". . . in the present article
the contention will be that the intelligere from which the
judgment proceeds is a reflective and critical act of understanding not unlike the act of Newman's illative sense." 2 ° From
this second "intelligere " considered as a "dicere" proceeds
the judgment, the "verbum" proper to the second mental
operation.
So far we have been concerned with a functional description
of intellectual operations. Lonergan's metaphysical explanation of these operations was elaborated in the context of two
theological problems. To explain Thomas' treatment of the
interaction of grace and free will, Lonergan first analyzed
Thomas' idea of causality. 21 He applied this analysis to the
problem of the freedom of the will under grace. 22 The second
problem was to explain Trinitarian processions as intelligible
emanations from a principle which is not a cause. The complexity of these problems required a subtle and quite detailed
20 Verbum-!, 38. In a similar way Lonergan's stress on the direct understanding
of insight as something prior to conceptualization and his ceaseless campaign
against" conceptualism" would seem to be not unlike Newman's distinction between
notional and real assent.
21 Gmtia-ITI.
The key idea is that efficient causality is a formal content in the
cause and a real relation of dependence in the effect.
22 Gratia-IV.
By a careful distinction between the geneml problem of subordinated activity and the problem of action in time he tried to show that God's
pre-knowledge, which is atemporal, does not have the type of necessity proper to
absolute knowledge of a future act, nor does His will impose a necessity that
destroys contingence since His will is in accord with this knowledge.

UNDERSTANDING

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107

analysis. Here we shall outline only those aspects of the
analysis which are pertinent to the present study.
The term, "potentia activa," acquired two slightly different
meanings in the course of Thomas' intellectual development. 23
Lonergan dubs the first meaning, derived from Avicenna,
" active potency " while the corresponding "potentia passiva"
is translated "passive potency." Aquinas used this set, chiefly
in his early works and in his lectures for his students at Paris
to speak of the principle of an operation, which may, but need
not, produce an effect. In intellection, the passive potency is
the possible intellect while the corresponding active potency is
the species qua informing the possible intellect. In this sense
reception and actuation are compatible and, in fact, the act
of understanding requires the prior reception of a form.
From this active potency there are two processions. The
first, the pre-conceptual grasp of the intelligibility in the illuminated phantasm or the grasp of evidence sufficient to motivate a judgment is called a "processio operationis." That is,
the procession of this act follows from the operation itself in a
conscious but quasi-automatic way. The second procession, the
emergence of an inner word, i.e., a concept or judgment, is
something unique since it is the procession of an act from an
act rather than an act-potency relation. It is called a "processio operati" (rather than" operationis ") to indicate that it
does not follow automatically from the operation itself, but
depends on a grasp of the content.
To explain this Thomas had to expand Aristotle's dichotomy
between efficient cause, a principle of motion or change in something else or in the same thing as other (my hand moves my
foot), and nature, a principle of motion proper to the moving
body itsel£.24 What St. Thomas called a "processio operati"
includes the idea of procession (which "nature" does not include) but excludes the idea of "from another'' (which "efficient cause" includes). In us, the emanation of an inner word
23

24

Verbum-III is chiefly concerned with explaining the principles mentioned here.
This is developed in Verbum-V, 371-76.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

is a processio operati which has an intelligible as well as a productive aspect. It is intelligible because it proceeds from an
act of understanding precisely because of a rational awareness
of understanding. The analogous explanation of the procession
of the Word in the Trinity involves an intelligible emanation,
but not the productive aspect found in the created analogue.
The second sense of " potentia activa " is derived from Aristotle and is primary in Thomas' later works. While it does not
exclude the Avicennist sense it is different enough to cause
confusion if the differences are not explicitly noted. Lonergan
translates " potentia activa," when used in the Aristotelian
sense, as " efficient potency" and " potentia passiva" as "receptive potency." Aristotle's standard example of the heater
and the heated illustrates the meaning. In this sense, the
efficient cause of the act of understanding is, not the species,
but the object which causes the species. This follows from the
general principle that any efficient cause produces not merely
the form of the effect, but also the action consequent upon
this form. In fact, Lonergan insists, this principle applies not
only to the acts of sensing and knowing but even to acts of
willing in the sense that the final cause as object moves the
will.25
This schematic outline of Lonergan's metaphysical analysis
may be used to explain his teaching on the relation of knowledge to reality. He distinguishes five separate objects of
knowledge. 26
1. The Moving Object of Direct Unde1·standing.

This is the. actuated intelligibility of what is presented by
the imagination. In objective abstraction the illumination of
the phantasm constitutes the imagined object as something
whose specific nature is to be understood. Apprehensive abstraction, insight into phantasm, actually understands what
objective abstraction presents to be understood. On this basis
25

26

Verbum-III, 433-37. This was developed more fully in Gratia-IV.
Verbum-IV, 4; Divinarum Personarum, p. 80.

UNDERSTANDING

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109

Lonergan can explain an apparent contradiction in Thomas'
teaching. What is presented to be understood is the phantasm.
Hence, Aquinas repeatedly affirmed that in this life the proper
object of the human intellect is the phantasm. However, what
is intelligible in the phantasm is the quiddity of the material
object. Accordingly, it was no less natural for Aquinas to
affirm that the proper object of the human intellect in this life
is the quiddity of a material object. 27
Here, the distinction between the A vicennist and Aristotelian
sense of " potentia activa " is significant. The phantasm, illuminated by the agent intellect, instrumentally produces the
"species qua" and materially exhibits the "species quae," that
which is understood. As understood, it moves the mind. In
less technical language, the object known is a moving object
precisely because it is an object of thought; it is not first a
mover and then an object. The efficient causality of this moving is due to the efficient potency.
2. Terminal Object of Direct Understanding.

This is the essence expressed in a definition, concept, hypothesis, or "incomplex word." This object does not proceed
from direct understanding through some automatic causal
mechanism; much less does it precede it-as Scotism and Conceptualism would have it. 28 It is the intelligible emanation of
an act from an act, a process proper only to an intellectual
being.
3. Moving Object of Reflective Understanding.

This is the aggregate of evidence on an issue, i.e., on an
incomplex word presented as an hypothesis or problem. This
27 In
V erbum-IV
Lonergan cites
instances of the second affirmation
(in note 113) and 16 of the first (note l14).
28 In Verbum- I, note IU (p. 373) Lonergan explains Scotus' view and indicates
its historical significance. He feels that the general acceptance of the Scotist
position (often under the guise of pure Thomism) reduced the problem of understanding to a question of metaphysical mechanics and that this degenerate po.gition
had a dominant influence even outside Scholastic circles until Kant realized its
inadequacy.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

object is "moving" only inasmuch as the evidence is seen to
be sufficient to settle the issue. This involves a reflection on
the whole process of knowing, and its grounds in the ability of
the mind to evaluate correctly. Ultimately, this basis is the
virtue of wisdom which deals at once with reality and with
the first principles of demonstration, "We know by what we
are; we know we know by knowing what we are; and since
even the knowing in 'knowing what we are' is by what we are,
rational reflection on ourselves is a duplication of ourselves." 29
4. Terminal Object of Reflective Understanding.

This object is the true expressed in the form of a judgment.
It is in and through a judgment, something produced by the
mind, that formal knowledge of a real being is had. Only when
such a judgment is posited can there be formal truth or error.
5. The Transcendental Object: Reality.
Through the intellectual light by which it knows, the mind
is potentially all being. In the reflective act of understanding,
which grounds judgment, the proportion of understanding to
the whole universe is grasped. 30 Accordingly, the proper object
of the mind is being which is known imperfectly in prior acts,
but perfectly only in judgment. However, the concept of being
must include a conception of the total reality of the universe,
i.e., of whatever can be known. This is the transcendental
object corresponding to the innate thrust of the intellect.
vVe have been concentrating on the factors involved in an
individual act of knowledge. The same approach explains the
growth in intelligibility represented by synthesis. Many insights bring a knowledge of many quiddities. These coalesce,
not through a change in the quiddities, but through a new
insight, a grasp of a new intelligibility unifying these concepts.
Reasoning, in its essence, is simply the development of insight,
a motion towards deeper and more extensive understanding.
Lonergan expressed this succinctly in a later work, " Moreover St. Thomas was fully aware of the significance of explana29

Verbum-11, 78.

30

Verbum-V, 868.

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S.J.

111

tory syllogism: he conceived reasoning as simply understanding
in process, as moving from principles to conclusions in order
to grasp both principles and conclusions in a single view." 31 In
the concrete, reasoning involves a dialectical interplay of sense,
memory, insight, definition, critical reflection, and judgment.
But the characteristic note of true development is unification,
a movement in the direction of understanding more things
through fewer acts. 32
At the end of the Verbum series Lonergan summarized the
purpose of this protracted study, "My purpose has been the
Leonine purpose, vetera novis augere et perficere, though with
the modality that I believe the basic task still to be the determination of what the vetera really were. More specifically, my
purpose has been to understand what Aquinas meant by the
intelligible procession of an inner word." 83 To understand what
Aquinas meant, Lonergan insists, means understanding as
Aquinas understood. The problem of the vetera is fundamentally a problem of understanding, "A method tinged with
positivism would not undertake, a method affected by conceptualist illusion could not conceive, the task of developing
one's own understanding so as to understand Aquinas' comprehension of understanding, and of its intelligibly proceeding
inner word." 34
So much for the vetera, what of the nova? Can it be simply
grafted on to the vetera? Is it true that Thomists can solve
current problems simply by making explicit what was implicit
in the works of St. Thomas? Lonergan thinks not: ". . . one
may distinguish two developments of understanding. There
is the development that aims at grasping what Pope Leo's
vetera really were; there is the development that aims at effecting his vetera novis augere et perficere. To fail to distinguish
between these two aims even materially, as in the inclusion of
both within the covers of the same book, results not in economy
81

Bernard Lonergan, S. J., "Theology and Understanding," Gregoranium, XXXV

(1954), 633. See also V erbum-1, 380-385.
83 Verbum-V, 388-89.
82 Verbum-IT, 45-6.

•• Verbum-V, 390.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

but in confusion." 35 Stripped, by his own accord, of the proof
by citation, so familiar to scholastic philosophers, how could a
modern truly Christian philosopher operate? Lonergan's answer
to this question is really a post-fact reflection on what he had
attempted to do in Insight. "So I am led to suggest that the
issue, which goes by the name of a Christian philosophy, is
basically a question on the deepest level of methodology, the
one that investigates the operative intellectual ideals not only
of scientists and :philosophers but also, since Catholic truth is
involved, the theologians. It is, I fear, in Vico's phrase a
scienza nuova." 36

II.

INSIGHT AND UNDERSTANDING

The subtitle of Lonergan's book, "A Study of Human Understanding" precisely indicates its purpose. What he is presenting is not a theory of knowledge, much less a synthesis of the
contents of knowledge. It is an attempt to help the reader
realize what it means to understand, a realization which he can
only achieve by reflecting on his own successful acts of understanding and probing their significance. Having understood
the nature of understanding, a man is in a uniquely favorable
position to evaluate the contents of his acts of understanding.
All this is summed up in a sentence which, in quotation, may
read like jargon, but which is intended to summarize the positive content of Insight: "Thoroughly understand what it is
to understand, and not only will you understand the broad
lines of all there is to be understood, but also you will possess
a fixed base, an invariant pattern, opening upon all further
developments of understanding." 37
An immediate implication of this slogan is that Lonergan
himself must understand what it is to understand before he
can serve as an intellectual midwife for his readers. This he felt
he had accomplished by the long and laborious process through
•s Verbum-V,

893.
Bernard Lonergan, S. J., Review of Existe-t-il une Philosophie Chretienne?,
by Maurice Nedoncelle, Gregorianum, XL (1959), 183.
87 Insight, p. xxviii.
36

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ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

113

which he came to understand as Thomas Aquinas understood.
Though Lonergan's own understanding, as he clearly realized,
lacked the depth, the unity, and the comprehensiveness that
distinguished St. Thomas from all others, nevertheless, he
understands in the same way and with a conscious realization
of how he understood. Two insights into the nature of understanding seem to have been especially operative in determining the structure of Insight. First, understanding preceeds
conceptualization. Accordingly, one attempting to understand
what it is to understand must begin, not with the understood,
a catalog of the contents of knowledge, but with the recurrent
structure of the knowing activity itself. To grasp the nature
of this act one should begin with simple examples where the
click of insight is more easily and precisely isolated and gradually move towards more complex cases. This seems to explain
the ordering of the first part of his work, "Insight as Activity,"
which moves from mathematics through physics to common
sense:
" Thus, the precise nature of the act of understanding is to be
seen most clearly in mathematical examples. The dynamic context
in which understanding occurs can be studied to best advantage
in an investigation of scientific methods. The disturbance of that
dynamic context by alien concerns is thrust upon one's attention
by the manner in which various measures of common nonsense
blend with common sense." 38
Secondly, formal truth is only in the judgment. A judgment,
as we have seen is not just a linking of two concepts. It is the
affirmation of a synthesis. As such, it presupposes the elements
to be fused in the synthesis, the knowing activities by which
these elements are organized, and the reflective understanding
that penetrates the significance both of elements and activities.
Such a reflection grounds the judgment of self-affirmation implicit in all other judgments-we know by what we are, beings
with an intellect which is intelligible in act. H Lonergan's
development reversed the natural order of knowing and pre38

Ibid., p. X.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

sented the complete doctrine before explaining the steps that
lead up to it (as we have done for expository purposes), he
would be frustrating rather than encouraging the natural dynamism operative in the minds of his readers, the dynamism
which he wishes to bring to the focus of their reflective awareness. Accordingly, the book develops from a "moving" point
of view. It begins with a minimal aspect and a minimal context. Exploitation of this minimum raises further questions.
The attempt to answer these enlarges the viewpoint and leads
to further questions. The reader is expected to cooperate with
this process in an active intellectual way. He should not simply
assimilate the higher viewpoints presented in growing succession but reflect on the recurring dynamism, operative within
his own mental processes, a dynamism which leads him to
accept, to reject, or to work out alternatives to the higher
viewpoints Jeveloped by Lonergan. Insight is intended as an
invitation to perform a private and peculiar mental experiment, an experiment which repeats Lonergan's own personal
experience. Here we shall present the main lines of this unique
(or almost unique 39 ) "thought experiment" concentrating on
the aspects which might present difficulties for the general
reader.
30 It is striking to note the parallelism between this work and Michael Polanyi's
Personal Knowledge: Towards a Post Critical Philosophy (Chicago: Univ. of
Chicago Press, 1958). Where Lonergan reacts against conceptualism and stresses
understanding, Polanyi reacts against the ideal of objective impersonal knowledge
and tries to show the personal participation involved in all acts of understanding.
Part I of Insight is " Insight as Activity "; Part I of Personal Knowledge is " The
Art of Knowing." Lonergan insists that understanding precedes conceptualization;
Polanyi that the tacit component of knowledge precedes the articulate. Where
Lonergan teaches that judgment is the positing of a synthesis Polanyi stresses
affirmation as an act of self-commitment.
There are also some notable differences, especially in the second halves where
each tries to build a philosophy from his theory of knowledge. Polanyi is not a
philosopher by training and, in our opinion, is unable to effect an adequate
development of the implications of his insights. Though he treats theology, in no
sense is he a theologian. Lonergan lacks Polanyi's extensive knowledge of science
and personal participation in scientific activity. Yet the basic similarity remains.
Two outstanding polymaths spent years in an intensive effort to grasp the nature
of their own mental processes. Their totally independent studies yielded basically
the same dynamic structure of mental activities.

UNDERSTANDING

ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

SCIENTIFIC

115

UNDERSTANDING

The purpose of Inmght is to give an insight into insight,
that is, an understanding of what human understanding is and
what it implies. But what is an insight? In answering this
Lonergan begins with a classical example. Archimedes, according to the old legend, ran from the baths shouting "Eureka,"
when he discovered the law that bears his name. The sudden
insight, which so affected him, may serve as a basis for an
insight into insight. First, Archimedes had a particular problem, to determine whether King Hiero's crown was pure gold
or an alloy. This particular difficulty induced a certain type
or mental tension, a seeking after an answer whose general
form he anticipated, that is, a precise means of relating weight
and volume. Archimedes' observation,, that a body in a bath
displaces water, was hardly a novel experience. What was new
was his grasp of the significance of this observation in the light
of the problem that plagued him. The result of the combination was a sudden click of insight. In this simple example,
which doesn't pretend to be precise history, Lonergan uncovers
some of the distinctive features of an insight. First, it is a release to the tension of inquiry. That is, insights do not simply
happen in a random way. One has to approach experience with
definite questions in mind. An insight is recognized as meaningful only because it meets such a felt need or, in Lonergan's
terminology, a heuristic anticipation. Secondly, an insight
comes suddenly and often unexpectedly. Thirdly, it is primarily a function of inner conditions rather than external circumstances. In this it is sharply distinguished from sensation.
Fourthly, an insight pivots between the concrete and the
abstract. One obtains an insight by grasping the significance
of a particular experience-the displacement of water-and yet
realizes that the insight has a validity which extends far beyond
the particular experience. Finally, an insight passes into the
habitual texture of the mind. For the individual and the community to which it is transmitted a particular insight becomes

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

a part of the growing body of knowledge and a means of obtaining further, more refined insights. 40
Through other simple examples Lonergan shows how an
insight must occur to link a newly acquired concept with the
images that strain to meet it. The importance of insight as a
starting point of knowledge may be seen in the realization that
any deductive process must begin with primitive terms whose
correct application presupposes an insight into meaning.
This explanation of insight leads to three closely related
notions: higher viewpoints, in which many lower view-points
are integrated through the grasp of a more general intelligibility; inverse insights, the realization that there is nothing to
be grasped, that a circle and its radius, for example, are not
commensurable; and the empirical residue, positive data which
lack intelligibility in themselves but are connected with some
inner higher intelligibility. Particular times and places, for example, are unintelligible in themselves but are related to frames
of reference which are intelligible.
By extending this analysis, Lonergan develops what he designates "The Heuristic Structure of Empirical Method." 41 To
see what this means for mathematics we can consider another
simple example. It should be noted, however, that the purpose
of this analysis is to determine, not the nature of mathematics,
but the type of cognitional activity characteristic of mathematical thinking.
Let x be the unknown-is the way simple algebra proceeds.
What does this procedure imply? First, that the answer has
been anticipated in a general way; it must be a number.
Secondly, this intelligent anticipation generates the method by
which the answer may be found. The relations which the
unknown number, x, must fulfill are used as a means of determining what x is. Finally, the answer can be recognized as
' 0 Insight, pp. S-6. Since the rest of this article will follow the general order
of Insight it will not be necessary to give repeated references. We shall simply
indicate different chapters, when we summarize parts of them and points which
have a bearing on our evaluation of Lonergan's doctrine.
" Treated in chap. ii.

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S.J.

117

such only because its determined anticipations have been fulfilled. In more general terms, the key to mathematical thinking is a heuristic structure which anticipates the answer in a
general way, generates the particular questions and procedures
which lead to this answer, and render the answer meaningful
once discovered.
Once this basic process is recognized it can easily be generalized. From initial images, such as the imaginative constructions of geometry, one obtains insights. These yield definitions
and postulates. Definitions and postulates guide symbolic
operations, and symbolic operations provide a more general
image in which the insights of a higher viewpoint are emergent.
These images and symbolic operations give the imagination a
distinctive role in mathematical thinking. 42
When one turns from mathematical to physical reasoning,
there are similarities and differences. The basic similarity comes
from the thinking process which starts with insight into experience and works towards a further understanding through systematic inquiry. Here there is an obvious difficulty. The end
determines the means. Yet the end, the discovery of a physical
law or the solution of a physical problem, is unknown. How
can the means, intelligent and systematic inquiry, be determined. The answer, once again, is found in a heuristic structure. One anticipates the unknown in a general way and use;:;
this very anticipation to determine the solution.
For example, to determine an unknown electrostatic field
one begins by assuming that the nature of the field is such
that it satisfies Laplace's equation. From this heuristic
assumption, plus suitable boundary values, one can determine
the result, a knowledge of what a particular field is. Here, as
always, Lonergan is primarily concerned with the nature of
the reasoning process rather than with the laws of physics.
This simple sketch of such a process leads to two general questions concerning the relations of these intellectual processes to
42 For a further
explanation of Lonergan's views on the nature of geometrical
reasoning see his article, "A Note on Geometrical Possibility," The Modem
Schoolman, XXVII (1950), 124-38.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

the matter understood and the significance of the general laws
used in the heuristic process.
Let us begin with the first point, the matter of physics, and
consider a simple case, a falling body. The body has a certain
color, shape, size, perhaps an odor; it can be pleasing, ugly,
desirable, and so forth. These are the qualities which are significant in relating the body to us. In the course of time the
scientist has learned to prescind from such relations and concentrate on the relation of the falling body to a set of clocks
and meter sticks. In this simple instance we can see the feature
which, Lonergan feels, distinguishes scientific from non-scientific reasoning: its focus on the relation of things to other
things rather than the relation of things to us. We can also
see the general nature of scientific insights, an abstraction of
such relations from the empirical residue which is left behind
as unintelligible.
The result of this procedure is a set of points, for example,
the time intervals in which different bodies fall a fixed distance
in a vacuum. The discrete nature of physical data distinguishes
it sharply from mathematics which works with a continuum of
data supplied by imagination. The observed points have a
distribution about a mean value. In the first stage of scientific
inquiry one concentrates on the mean value and ignores the
distribution as insignificant, as due to experimental error. This
leads to what Lonergan designates as classical heuristic structure. Its basic assumption is that similars are to be similarly
understood. For example, bodies which fall the same distance
in the same time are similar in this respect and must be similarly understood; that is, they must obey the same law. More
generally similar relationships between different types of bodies
are understood through similar laws. Gravitational and electrostatic fields, sound, light, and heat all obey an inverse square
law, for they exhibit similar relationships between field points
and source points.
The second question concerning the heuristic structure o£
physical reasoning is the nature of the general laws which this

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S.J.

119

heuristic structure employs. The historical process through
which these laws have been developed has led to certain insights
which are significant here. First among these is the invariance
of physical laws. This, in Lonergan's explanation, is due to
the fact that particular times and places pertain to the empirical residue and not to the intelligibility which scientific insight
abstracts. For example, the chemical law that two hydrogen
molecules plus one oxygen molecule yield two water molecules
totally prescinds from questions of time and place. When one
applies this invariance requirement to the laws of mathematical
physics an immediate difficulty arises from the fact that these
laws require a coordinate system, that is, a space-time framework. The solution of this difficulty is had in transformation
rules, directions for transforming laws from one space-time
framework to another.
Lonergan explains this procedure in terms of insights and
inverse insights. To see the use he makes of this may give us
an insight into his idea of science. Thus he writes:
So a direct insight into the significance of measurement yields the
anticipations of General Relativity; an inverse insight into the
insignificance of constant velocity yields the anticipations of Special
Relativity; and a restriction of this inverse insight to the context of
Newtonian dynamics yields the anticipations that sometimes are
named Newtonian relativity. 34

This and similar statements have provoked rather strong
criticism on the grounds that the physical theories involved
were not and can not be deduced in this simple way. In fairness, it should be pointed out that Lonergan is not attempting
to deduce the theory of relativity from his theory of knowledge. He is simply trying to indicate, in a generic way, the
mode of understanding implied by the formation of such a
theory and to situate this within his general development.
The next step in Father Lonergan's scientific development is
statistical physics, or, in his terminology, statistical heuristic
•• Insight, p. 45.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

structure. 44 All science begins by selecting from the data of
experience certain significant facts. For the physicist, these
facts are summarized in a discrete set of numbers, the results
of experiments. The classical physicist, as we have explained
him, concentrates on the mean about which these numbers
converge. However, one can study the distribution itself as
well as the mean about which the distribution converges. To
do this systematically one must anticipate in a general way the
type of laws which would govern such a distribution and utilize
this heuristic structure-or intelligent anticipation-as a tool
in furthering understanding. This procedure is the method of
statistical heuristic structure. Its basis is the inverse insight
which denies intelligibility to random differences.
The structure of scientific thinking generates its own rules,
which are called the " Canons of Empirical Method." These
canons are not intended as an imposition from without, like
the decrees of the French Academy concerning the proper use
of language, but are, rather, a grasp of the laws intrinsic to
scientific thinking, much as the British semanticists try to
uncover the laws actually operative in the use of language.
Of the six canons listed: selection, operations, relevance, parsimony, complete explanation, and statistical residues, we shall
consider only the implications of the canon of relevance. 45 The
scientist obtains pertinent insights because he approaches reality with appropriate questions. These questions are appropriate which aim at the intelligibility immanent in the data
of sense, the special type of intelligibility which has been found
to advance science. Questions concerning final, material, instrumental, and efficient causes lead the scientists away from the
data of sense. Questions concerning the relation of this data
to us lead to a different, non-scientific understanding. The
special intelligibility, immanent in the data of sense, which
the scientist seeks, resides in the relation of things to one
another, the relation of mechanical to thermal energy, of force
to acceleration, etc. This is really a species of formal causality.
.. Ibid., pp. 53-69 and chap. iv.

'" Ibid., pp. 76-78 .

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TO B. J. F. LONERGAN,

S. J.

121

Now that we have seen some of the details in Lonergan's
explanation of science it is possible to take a more general view
of the type of intellectual activity involved in scientific thinking.46 There are four basic steps. First is the observation of
data. This distinguishes empirical science from mathematics.
Secondly, insight into data. The same data may ground many
different insights. The class of insights which has been found
basic in science is insight into the possibility of a general law
relating the aspects which insight grasps as pertinent. A famous
example is Newton's insight into the possibility of a universal
law of gravitation. This realized possibility generates the next
step, the elaboration of the insight or set of insights in an
hypothesis or heuristic law, for example, in a differential equation. With these three steps a scientist still does not know
reality scientifically, for he does not know whether the insight
is valid, whether the hypothesis is true. Accordingly, a final
step is required, verification.
What scientific investigation verifies is not really an insightwhich has no formal truth value-but the scientific formulation grounded by an insight or set of insights. As we have seen,
Lonergan divides such formulations into two general classes,
classical and statistical. From this division two things follow.
First, there must be a relation of complementarity between the
two considered as cognitional activities. 4 ' That is, the relations
between data must be either systematic or non-systematic, to
the degree they are systematic, classical heuristic structure is
the correct basis for investigation and development; to the degree they are non-systematic, statistical anticipations must be
correct.
Secondly, though the two types of cognitional activities are
complementary, nevertheless their results can be integrated
into a coherent world-view. Lonergan attempts such an integration through his notion of emergent probability, the successive realization of a conditioned series of schemes of recurrence
with their respective probabilities of emergence and survival. 48
"'Ibid., chap. iii.

47

Ibid., pp. 108-15.

•• Ibid., pp. 118-89.

EDWARD M. MACKINNON

This principle is not intended, at this stage of the development,
as an explanation of the dynamic structure operative in the
universe. It is, rather, an explanatory idea, a heuristic framework to be filled by the patient scientific activity of specialists. As such, it could replace earlier frameworks which have
proved unsuccessful such as the Aristotelian universe of ordered
spheres, the mechanistic systems of the early modern scientists, or the Darwinian idea of a conditioned series of species
of things. We shall return to this idea in another context.

Common Sense Understanding
We have, perhaps, given enough of Lonergan's scientific
development to indicate his characteristic method of procedure. Scientific knowledge, as it has been explained here, begins
with things as known by us, but attempts to understand those
things by grasping their relations to other things. Or, to employ
Lonergan's terminology, the scientist aims at explanatory
rather than descriptive conjugates. Complementary to this is a
study of things inasmuch as they are related to us. This he
designates as common sense knowledge. 49 Unlike science, this
knowledge is essentially practical, a knowledge of the significance of concrete situations and rules of conduct appropriate
to the situation, a knowledge of how to get by, to get things
done, etc. The set of common sense insights revealed, for example, in a proverb is necessarily incomplete and must be
supplemented by an insight into a concrete situation to be
significant. Since common sense, like science, is simply intelligence in action, the same general pattern of experience, insight,
inquiry, higher insights, hypotheses, etc. may be uncovered,
though it generally is far less elaborate. We shall consider
only the distinctive features of this type of understanding and
its relation to scientific understanding.
The distinguishing characteristic of common sense understanding is the fact that it is based on the relation of things
to us rather than to each other. Accordingly, Lonergan begins
•• Ibid., chap. vi.

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ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

123

by considering the pattern of experiences proper to the subject,
i.e., the more or less controlled stream of consciousness that
constitutes the life of the individual and his attempt to realize
himself. The inner drive to know which stems from man's very
nature is operative, even in subconscious processes, in arranging the data of experience in such a way that valid insights
may emerge. However, the practical orientation of common
sense directing man towards making and doing presents the
possibility of rejecting undesirable insights or even of frustrating the ordered accumulation of related insights which constitutes normal and desirable growth. The systematic rejection of the insights to which the mind is naturallly drawn is
dubbed a "scotosis." The tension resulting from this rejection
can lead to psychoneurotic disorders.
Since common sense relates objects to a subject in a practical rather than a speculative way, it is determined to a great
degree by the significance which the objects of common sense
knowledge have in the particular culture to which the individual happens to belong. Accordingly, an understanding of
common sense understanding must include an appraisal of the
common understanding of groups and cultures. 50 The supreme
importance of such common sense understanding in unifying
and vitalizing a civilization is usually overlooked because common sense, with its practical orientation, tends to be unreflecting. Here historical, sociological, and anthropological studies
are important in bringing to conscious awareness the influence
of, for example, the rise of technology; the spread of capitalism;
and changes in political structures, in our habitual patterns of
thought and activity. Since collective as well as individual
common sense tends to be unreflecting, one who wishes to
understand common sense knowledge must consider and evaluate the biases which can impede the proper development of
this type of knowledge. On an individual level there are: the
bias resulting from the drive to satisfy neural demands which
can well up from the depths of the subconscious and inhibit
50

Ibid., chap. vii.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

the proper development of intelligence; and the bias of
" egoism," the tension between spontaneity with its concem
for the present, the immediate, for intersubjective relations,
and detached intelligence motivated by the pure desire to
know. On a collective level there is" group bias,'' the tendency
of any group to preserve its own proper goals and values even
when they lose their relevance for the general development of
civilization. Finally, there is "general bias," the tendency to
make the practical goals of common sense understanding dominate all others. While the first three biases generally produce
their own correctives by way of reaction, the general bias does
not, for it represents the highest integration which common
sense understanding achieves. Accordingly, Lonergan concludes, general common sense must ultimately be guided by a
higher normative science. It must submit to the detached intelligence which seeks out the inner direction of historical development, which alone is capable of uncovering the intelligibility immanent in the concrete data of science, of history, or
of culture.
How is common sense understanding related to scientific
understanding? 51 Common sense knowledge is primarily concemed with descriptive conjugates, a knowledge based on the
relation of things to us. Though this is not the type of knowledge that characterizes scientific thinking, nevertheless the scientist must employ this type of knowledge whenever he attempts to verify a law. An experiment, through which laws
are verified, relates objects to the experimenter as a knowing
being. It is primarily a "quoad nos" knowledge rather than
the "quoad se" knowledge characteristic of science. What is
needed, therefore, is a higher point of view in which these two
particular types of knowledge can be integrated. The key to
this higher point o£ view is the critical notion of a thing. It is
a notion grounded in an insight which grasps, not the relations
between data, nor the relation of objects to us, but a unity,
identity, whole in data. A thing is something with a concrete
51

Ibid., chap. viii.

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S. J.

125

unity. It is extended in space, perdures through time; yet is
subject to change. The notion of thing is a notion which depends in a critical way on the process of questions, insights,
hypotheses, and reasoning. To this critical notion of thing,
Lonergan contrasts the acritical notion of "body" the" already
out there now real." It is something which a man can know
through simple sense experience and direct knowledge without
any insights, questions, hypotheses, or investigations. It is
acritical whenever one makes the assumption, usually implicitly, that the notion of body corresponds to the object as it
exists. By using this distinction, Father Lonergan is able to
explain many of the difficulties and apparent paradoxes of science, such as the ultimate failure of all atomic models. These
failures, he feels, are due to the illegitimate transfer of descriptive conjugates to the realm of science. Implicitly, such a transferal is grounded in the naive notion of body rather than the
critical notion of thing.
We have summarized the first eight chapters of Insight and
their largely phenomenological treatment of the steps and
processes involved in mathematical, physical, and commonsense knowledge. Attention was focused on understanding
what it is to understand and on the progressive development
of understanding through higher insights, hypotheses, heuristic
structures and abstract systems. This irresistibly suggests the
more basic question: how does one know whether or not his
understanding is correct? Does a particular hypothesis explain
reality or is it merely an airy scheme?
Before one attempts to answer such questions, he must decide how to go about answering them. A traditional Thomist,
for example, might answer that understanding is correct when
it conforms to reality; a logical positivist that understanding
is correct if it is verifiable at least in principle; a tough-minded
pragmatist might equate correctness with workability; a sceptic
might reply that there is no ultimate answer to questions of
correctness. These solutions and the many others that could
be listed all have one feature in common. They presuppose

EDWARD M. MACKINNON

some norm for judging the correctness of the products of understanding which they then apply.
Lonergan's methodology, which is strictly adhered to, precludes the assumption of any pre-established criterion of correctness. His treatment of insight begins by recognizing the
fact that we do have insights and proceeds, according to his
"moving point of view" to analyze the cognitional activities
involved and to reveal certain structures immanent and operative in such activity. In much the same way, he investigates
the question of the correctness of insights by recognizing the
fact that we do make judgments that some insights are correct.
Accordingly, Lonergan begins on a descriptive level by listing
qualities characteristic of judgments and then proceeds to
analyze the implications of the fact of judgment. Further
questions such as the function of different cognitive faculties,
the agent and possible intellect, etc., or the relation of judgment to existence, are not treated in this section of Insight.
This does not imply that Lonergan denies the validity or significance of such questions. It is rather that he considers problems only in the order generated by his moving point of view.
Whoever wishes to understand what Lonergan is attempting
to do must accept this method of development, at least as a
working hypothesis.

Judgment and Reflective Understanding
An examination of the judgments men make reveals three
characteristic properties. 52 First, a judgment, as expressed in a
proposition, is the content of an affirming or denying, an agreeing or disagreeing. Secondly, a judgment is basically an answer
of "Yes " or " No " to a question for reflection, i.e., a question
of whether or not some proposition is true. Finally, a judgment
involves a personal commitment; it is a self-determination of
the man who makes the judgment. These conclusions follow
from a simple analysis of judgment as a fact of daily occurrence
•• Ibid., chap. ix.

UNDERSTANDING

ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

lfl7

and they invite a deeper analysis relating judgment to the
other elements of knowing.
If we consider the case of simple, direct knowledge of a perceived object it is possible to distinguish three levels in. the
process of knowing. First, there is the level of presentations,
the perceptual image, the touch, the sound. For an animal this
suffices; for a man it inevitably engenders questions: What is
it? why does it have these properties?; etc. These questions
lead to the second level, that of intelligence. From the previous
analysis we may distinguish two different aspects proper to this
level. First, there is an insight, a grasp of the intelligibility
latent in the data. From this insight flows, as a function of
intelligence, a concept, definition or hypothesis. For example,
a man looking at distant scenery grasps the fact that some
parts of his panorama cohere into a distinct. unity. This grasp
of a unity engenders a hypothetical formulation. "Are these
the ruins of an ancient castle?' This hypothesis is not at all
an automatic product of sensation but is rather the natural
manifestation of the dynamic drive of the mind to understand
the data of experience. An attempt to answer this question
with a "Yes " or "No " leads to a third level of cognition, the
level of reflection.
In analyzing this level, Lonergan begins, as always, with
the clearest aspect and proceeds towards the more obscure.
What is clear is that the level of reflection normally terminates
in a judgment, an answer of "Yes" or " No " to the question
intelligence asks. "Am I writing?" "Yes." "Do I stand on my
head when I write?" "No." Ridiculous as these examples
may be, they underline the fact that we do form judgments in
a spontaneous way and that we can be certain of the validity
of at least some of them. What we wish to do is to analyze the
way in which these judgments are formed. What induces a
man to place a particular judgment? If the judgment is reasonable there must be something which intelligence grasps to
motivate the judgment. It can not be the original direct insight,
for this begets the question which judgment attempts to

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

answer. It must be a new and distinctive sort of insight, an
act of reflective understanding which grasps the sufficient evidence motivating the judgment. 53 Yet, when is evidence
sufficient?
Since Lonergan's answer to this question is an important
link in his development, it is worthwhile to reflect on the significance the question has in the context. He is not trying to
justify any a priori rules distinguishing sufficient from insufficient evidence, nor does he even attempt at this stage to probe
the ultimate reason for sufficiency. He is simply trying to determine what it is that a person who judges grasps that allows
him to judge rationally. Lonergan's answer is, "To grasp evidence as sufficient for a judgment is to grasp the prospective
judgment as virtually unconditioned." 54 This reply requires
some explanation.
Every act of judging, as a rational act, requires a motive
which, in a sense, conditions the act. With respect to what is
affirmed, however, a judgment may be either conditioned or
unconditioned. Lonergan divides the latter into formally and
virtually unconditioned. What is formally unconditioned has
no conditions at all; what is virtually unconditioned has conditions which are fulfilled. It is reflective understanding which
transforms the conditioned, the hypothesis formed on the level
of intelligence, into a virtually unconditioned, affirmed or denied on the level of reflections.
A simple example may add flesh to these dry bones. A man
returns from work to find his house in ruins and judges, reasonably and moderately, "Something happened." On the level
of presentations he has two sets of data: the memory of his
home as it was and the chaos that confronts him. By a simple
direct insight he refers both sets of data to the same thing,
his home. This leads to a new and different sort of insight, the
knowledge of change engendered by the realization that the
same thing exhibits different individual data at different
times. From this flows the hypothesis, the conditioned; " Some•• Ibid., chap. x.

"' Ibid., p. 280.

UNDERSTANDING

ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S. J.

thing happened." When this is affirmed, " Yes, something
did happen," this particular process of knowing is complete.
But it is complete only because the nouveau-refugee grasped
the sufficient evidence, the fact of change, in an act of reflective understanding.
By burrowing a bit deeper Lonergan attempts to uncover
the features immanent and operative in cognitional processes
which enable one to distinguish between mere bright ideas and
insights known to be correct. Prior to the conceptual distinction between correct and incorrect insights there is, as introspective analysis shows, an operational distinction between
vulnerable and invulnerable insights. An insight is invulnerable
when there are no further questions to be asked on the same
issue. "Am I really sitting here?" "Yes," leaves no further
questions to be asked. "Why?" or "How am I sure?" lead
me into different issues. This simple analysis supplies the basic
element required to explain the virtually unconditioned judgment. The conditioned is: a given hypothesis or prospective
judgment is correct. The condition is: it is correct if and only
if there are no further pertinent questions. These conditions
are fulfilled for a given individual when he has an invulnerable
insight. In this case the individual is led by the dynamism
operative in his congitional processes to place a virtually unconditioned judgment.
Here an obvious difficulty arises. It may be that there are
further pertinent questions which simply do not occur to me.
This inadequacy is to be met by increased intellectual development and by a more critical investigation of the given problem. It can not be met by any solution which seeks to transcend the limitations of the human mind and compare the
insight with reality, the "already out there now real." The
judgment of the mind is based on the evidence known by the
mind. If the evidence seems sufficient to me, if I know of no
further pertinent questions, the natural dynamism operative
in my mind leads me to make a judgment and allows me to
feel secure in the judgment once made.
When one turns from simple direct judgments to an analysis

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

of the judgments that occur in common-sense knowing, science,
and introspection, he may discover essentially the same steps:
the conditioned, or prospective judgment; a link between the
conditioned and its conditions; and the fulfillment of the conditions transforming the conditioned into a virtually unconditioned. The added complexity arises either from the nature
of the link or the difficulty in fulfilling the conditions.
Common-sense, for example, is a name given to a large and
floating population of elementary judgments which everyone
makes, everyone relies on, and few analyze. Couched in the
imprecise language of description, it does not admit exact generalization. Its pragmatic orientation determines the nature of
its fulfilling conditions. Basically, the type of question reflective understanding seeks to answer is: "Is the proposed judgment adequate to the situation?" The proposed judgment
is shaped by one's habitual understanding and personal adaption to his particular environment. The new situation is known
by an informal learning process. A "Yes " fulfills the conditions
and renders the proposed judgment virtually unconditioned.
Scientific judgments exhibit a peculiar difficulty. Every
established position serves as a point of departure for deeper
questioning and further investigation. From the very dynamism of scientific development there are always further
pertinent questions on any given issue. It follows that the.
scientist can never reach the virtually unconditioned, that
there is always a gap between the conditions immanent in the
thrust of scientific intelligence and their fulfillment through
the procedures proper to science. Accordingly, scientific judgment is never more than probable.
These conclusions may be put in a more general way by
distinguishing between: an analytic proposition, such as,
" every A is B ," which may have a nominal meaning through
the definition of the terms "A" and "B," but has no existential significance; and an analytic principle, such as "all men
are mortal," whose terms do have an existential significance.
Physics, according to Lonergan, is based on provisionally analytic principles. That is, the terms (or more precisely, "par-

UNDERSTANDING

ACCORDING TO B. J. F. LONERGAN, S.J.

131

tial terms ") occur in probable empirical generalizations. They
are susceptible to indefinite revision due to the advance of
science. Mathematics is based on serially analytic principles.
That is, mathematics originally considered empirical reality
and sought to develop a systematic explanation through its
own enriching insight. The drive of inquiring intelligence led
to other, formally distinct, systems of the same generic form.
The ultimate goal of mathematics is to establish the totality of
systems in which enriching abstraction can confer intelligibility upon any matter, real or imagined.
To complete this part of the survey we must say something
about Lonergan's explanation of introspective knowledge. 55
The previous analysis of the way we know revealed three essentially distinct steps in direct knowledge: experience, understanding, and judgment. From a subjective point of view all
three have one feature in common; they are all conscious acts.
I am conscious of myself as seeing and feeling, desiring and
wondering, thinking and judging. This is not a special intuition
of myself nor is it a perception of myself as object. It is simply
an experience, the first level in the process of introspective
knowledge. As such, it can occasion questions for intelligence
and reflection. Thus, introspective knowledge, like direct knowledge, has three levels: experience, understanding, and reflection. Each can be considered in more detail.
The lowest level, experience, includes all acts of direct knowing and willing, of questioning and desiring. Man is not
conscious of himself except through his acts. Yet, it is himself
that he is conscious of, not of his acts as detached realities.
Intelligence, confronted with such experience, obtains an insight
into the significance and immanent intelligibility of the subjective experience. In the most basic case, for example, this
would simply be a grasp of what it means to be conscious. This
grasp is a pre-conceptual act of understanding which is had,
to some degree, by any intelligent being. This understanding, like any act of understanding, can lead to questions, hypotheses, and tentative definitions concerning the nature of
•• Ibid., chap. xi.

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EDWARD M. MACKINNON

consciousness, intelligence, etc. Reflection on the evidence supporting a given hypothesis (for example, the hypothesis Lonergan develops elsewhere that consciousness is simply the mode
of a being which has attained a certain grade of perfection)
leads to a judgment on its validity. Thus, analysis reveals
essentially the same structure in introspective knowing as in
the forms of knowing previously considered.
A failure to realize the points considered above has led to
many misunderiltandings. If knowing is thought of as essentially analogous to looking, then any act of knowing must
have a subject-object duality. In this case one must explain
how the mind perceives or intuits itself, a search which leads
to the pseudo-profundity of irrational obscurity. Such unfortunate opinions arise from a failure to recognize the distinctive
basis of introspective knowledge, the conscious experience of
oneself through one's acts, and from failing to distinguish
simple subjective experience from understanding. One experiences himself as subject, not as object. This experience suggests questions which can be given objective answers. In this
sense man can think of himself as an object of thought. 56
In a subsequent article we intend to show the relation between Lonergan's study of St. Thomas and the cognitional
analysis given in Insight and to treat further aspects of the
problem of understanding as explained by Lonergan.

(To be continued)
EDWARD M. MAcKINNON,

S.J.

Yale University
New Haven, Connecticutt
56 This problem is treated
in more detail in De Constitutione Christi, pars V.
Here consciousness is defined as internal experience, in the strict sense of the word
"experience," of oneself and one's actions. This conscious awarness psychologically
constitutes the "Ego" as experienced. However, the "Ego" as conceived is known
under the formality of intelligible. On this level a man can have an objective
understanding of himself. Similarly, the "Ego" is affirmed under the formalities of
true and of being. Only with judgment is there complete knowledge, a knowledge
whose structure is not essentially different from Qther complete acts of knowledge.
Only a proper realization of these distinctions makes it possible to treat the
subject as object without misrepresenting the distinctive basis of introspective

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

W

HENEVER the prophet spoke, his voice flared " like
fire " and struck "like a hammer shattering rock"
(Jer. 23: 29) . He whipped "a whirling storm that
bursts upon the heads of the wicked" (Jer. 23: 19). His words
came " from the mouth of the Lord," for the prophet "has
stood in the council of the Lord, . . . has heeded His word, so
as to announce it" (Jer. 23: 16, 18) .
God's word, heard through the voice of the prophets, not
only shattered rocks of stubbornness and prejudice, but it also
pulled down mountains of pride, and turned the rugged terrain
of persecution into the broad valley of peace. God's word laid
towards the revelation of "the glory of the Lord" (of. Is.
40: 3-5).

Biblical religion, established by the vigorous power of God's
word, surrounded its worshippers with peace and security.
Never, however, did the true prophets confuse peace with
sleep! Though thanking God for the " comfort " and the
" delight " of his word, the psalmist still prayed:
. that I might be firm,
. let me not stray .
. I cling to your decrees .
. I was prompt and did not hesitate (Ps. 118) .1

For many Israelites of Jeremia's day, as for many Jews and
Christians today, God's word erects a wall of false security
around a hunchbacked, snub-nosed religion. A lazy, sentimental people think to rest safely within the wall of God's
promise, and they say to one another, "Peace shall be yours!"
"No evil shall overtake you!" (Jer. 23: 17). Jeremia thunders,
"There is no peace!" (Jer. 6: 14).
The hammer of God's word had shattered their mind, and
1 This text is from Ps. 118 (119), which was composed under a strong prophetic
mfluence.

133

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

they had stopped thinking. The prophet crying out the word
of God prepared a super-highway so straight and so well
paved that even believers raced down it lulled by the monotony
of the way, many of them dozing off and crashing! Because of
a superstitious trust in the security of the Word of God, the
chosen people of Old Testament times provoked Jeremia's
scornful indictment:
They grow powerful and rich,
fat and sleek,
They go their wicked way (5:

f).

Nothing so quickly deforms and destroys the message of the
prophets than to accept it passively, with a yawn. Regretfully,
God confessed to Isaia, that his word can "make the heart of
this people sluggish, to dull their ears and close their eyes "
(Is. 6: 10) .
Many persons today accept the phrase, " The prophets,
God's voice," with a shrug of the shoulders. "Oh, yes!" comes
the soft drone of their reply, "What God speaks, the prophet
repeats. The Bible, consequently, is the word of God."
Is the word of God, we ask, just an eternal truth, whispered
into the prophet's ear and then solemnly mouthed with human
sound? How can such a word crash down like a hammer
shattering and pulverizing? How can it lift valleys and pull
down mountains and heroically change men's lives? God's
word, in fact, does more than change men's lives; it even asks
the sacrifice of life. God's word comes forth" a sharp two-edged
sword" (Apoc. 1: 16), cutting deeply, through the demands
which it makes, and if it encounters resistance, then, as God
declared through the prophet Osee, " I slew them by the words
of my mouth" (Os. 6: 5) .
There must, however, be more to God's word than idea and
sound. The apostle St. John declared that God's word was such
that it could not only be heard but it would also be "seen with
our eyes" and "felt with our hands" (1 John 1: 1).
God called his word " spring rain that waters the earth "
3), a river
(Os. 6: 3), "a mist covering the earth" (Sir.

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

135

running over like the Euphrates with understanding and like
the Nile sparkling with knowledge (Sir. 24:24 £.) . The word has
the" miraculous" power of water. No sooner does water touch
the dry earth of semi-tropical Palestine than a lush carpet of
green spreads across the land. No sooner does the word fall
upon a heart of good will than the fruit of faith and charity
appear.
Behind all this symbolism of hammer and sword, spring rain,
mist and river there abides a reality. This article investigates
the extraordinary reality contained beneath the phrase, " The
prophet speaks the Word of God!"

I. The Word of God in Ancient Near Eastern Culture
The answer to questions about the word of God must come
from the land which bred and reared the Israelite prophets.
This homeland, however, is vaster than the six thousand square
miles of Palestine. The prophet Ezechiel, alive with cosmopolitan ideas, could apply to himself and to his fellow prophets
what he addressed to the inhabitants of Jerusalem: "By origin
and birth you are of the land of Chanaan; your father was an
Amorrite and your mother a Hethite" (Ez. 16: 1-3). In an
ancient Israelite creed, the worshipper made this honest confession, "My father was a wandering Aramean who went down
to Egypt with a small household ... " (Deut. 26: 5) . These
references to Chanaan, Amorrite, Hethite, Aramean and Egyptian indicate that the prophetic style, like the people themselves, had deep roots in the Ancient Near East.
From studying the early literature of Egypt and Mesopotamia, we can conclude that the inhabitants of these countries
did not consider "the word " a product exclusively of the
intellect. The Ancient Near Easterns, and here we classify the
Israelites, never distingiushed between intellect and will; nor,
for that matter, did their thinking separate body and soul.
The Hebrew language possessed various words ordinarily translated intellect and will, body and soul; but never did these
words denote our highly abstract notions. The modern word
"body," for instance, presumes a philosophical mentality which

136

CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

can reason about man's material element which is distinct from
the soul, its source of life, but which is not to be identified with
a corpse, lying soul-less in a coffin. The Israelites never rose
to such abstract speculation.
The Hebrew word biisiir, ordinarily translated body, changes
its meaning like the colors of a chameleon. Its precise signification varies with the hues and tints of local circumstances.
In general, biisiir indicates a man who seems " all flesh! " We
today describe such a person as sickly or sensuous or unreliable. In the Bible biisiir does not so much represent a part or
a characteristic of a person but the person himself physically
weak (Is. 31: 3) or afflicted with sickness (Lev. 13: :'l-43); biisiir
is the person morally depraved (Gen. 6: :'l; :'l Paral. 3:'l: 8). What
is excellently translated "your lustful neighbors" 2 reads in the
hebrew "your neighbors of great flesh (biisiir)" (Ez. 16: :'l6);
biisiir can even mean anybody and everybody, corresponding
to our phrase "a seething mass of people" (Gen. 6: 1:'l; Is.
40: 5), yet the word can reach even still farther beyond our
concept so as to include animals (Gen. 6: 17; Num. 18: 15).
Finally, biisiir denotes a dead man (Gen. 40: 19).
Attention can be directed to other Hebrew words like spirit
(ru'alp), soul (nepes), man ('enos), and body (gewiyya). In
each case, however, the word does not designate a quality
separated from the person possessing it, but the person himself,
absorbed by one or other dominant trait.
According to this ancient "psychology," each man acted as
a totality, a single, living unit. 3 All of his faculties moved at
once, in concert unity. It is true our faculties do act in this way,
thoroughly dependent upon one another, constantly influencing
one another, but whereas we neatly distinguish a cold objective
concept of the intellect from the warm, subjective impulse of
the will, the Hebrews understood the reaction as " totality
thinking." An impulse of love vibrated in their understanding
In the translation sponsored by the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine.
Cf., B. J. LaFrois, ' Semitic Totality Thinking," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 17
(1955)
J. Pedersen, Israel I-II (London: Oxford University Press,
99-131.
2

3

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

137

of the act of knowing; a steady control of knowledge directed
the elan of the will. Man, with vigorous spirit (ru'af;,) reacted
against man with weak flesh (basar); man, rich in wisdom,
opposed man, impoverished with foolishness. It was always
man struggling with man in the arena of reality. This arena
could be confined to the reality of one man, so that the person
gradually evolved into the equality or disposition most dominant in him. As he became flesh or spirit, the full reality of
this person lived within that weakness or strength.
Johannes Pedersen, 4 Thorlief Boman, 5 and Claude Tresmontant 6 among many others 1 have investigated the ancient Near
Eastern psychology. Their investigations release the full
strength-perhaps, it would be more accurate to say, the full
blast-----of the divine word. The word, like the idea, vibrated
with the speaker's varied tones of character. The very concept
of word in the ancient Near East possessed resonances of far
wider extent than it had in ancient Greece. The Hebrew expression for " word," dabar signified: " to push " or " to drive
forward" according to Edmond Jacob 8 and Thorlief Boman; 9
"to go away with" in Gensenius' Hebrew lexicon. 10 The etymology of logos or lego, on the contrary, expressed the idea: to
collect, to order, to arrange.
In the earliest biblical traditions dabar, used as a noun, frequently designates an action or series of events. Abimelech
asked Abraham: "What had you in mind in doing this thing?"
• Op. cit.
5 Thorlief
Boman, Hebrew Thought Compared with the Greek. London: SCM
Press, 1960.
• Claude Tresmontant, A Study of Hebrew Thought. New York: Desclee, 1960.
7 Of special
value is The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man. University
of Chicago Press, 1946.
8 Edmond Jacob, Theology of the Old Testament
(New York: Harper, 1958) 128.
9

Op. cit., 65.

There is a minority opinion, which would divide diibiir into two different
words, though spelt and sounded alike; one means "to follow behind" or "to
push back"; the other, "to speak." cf., L. Koehler- Walter Baumgartner, Lexicon
in Veteris Testamenti Libros (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1951) 199; James Barr,
The Semantics of Biblical Language (New York: Oxford, 1961) the chapter
" Etymologies and related arguments."
10

138

CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

(haddabar hazzeh)

(Gen. 20: 10; cf. Gen. 22: 1; 24: 66; 3 Kgs.

11: 41). Because its meaning differs so much from our modern

notion of " word," it will often be difficult to recognize the
Hebrew dabar in the English translation of the Bible. Good
translators, as St. Jerome advised, "render sense for sense and
not word for word " (Letter LVII, 5) . This advice is especially
imperative when the word is dabar!
In very early Greek tradition logos "had nothing to do with
the function of speaking." 11 Homer, for instance, ordinarily
uses another word, muthos. "The deepest level of meaning in
the term logos did not denote action, not even the articulation
of a thought, but concerned itself with the well-ordered, reasonable content. 12 When the Greeks later accepted logos as the
term for word, they seized upon the deepest or the most speculative one possible. The Hebrews, on the other hand, chose a
term on the surface of life, involved in daily activity. Speaking,
therefore, implied more than a communication of well-arranged
thoughts; it achieved an active influence of one living person
upon another.
When a prophet announced : " Hear the word of God," he
was more than a teacher arranging his thoughts in logical
sequence, so as to elucidate a doctrine or truth; he was a herald
of divine presence. God was there in those words, irresistibly
"pushing" or " driving forward " the action which his words
uttered. The simultaneous " thrust" of speaking-acting is told
by Deutero-Isaia:
Things of the past I foretold long ago,
they went forth from my mouth, I let you hear of them;
then suddenly I took action and they came to be (Is. 48: 3) .

In this single verse Deutero-Isaia baffles our modern mind by
the ease with which he swivels from past to future to present.
Knowledge is communicated in the "long ago " yet no sooner
does it go forth from the mouth of God, Hl:::n suddenly, by
surprise, the action has been done.
God's word is God himself acting upon the listener. God
' 1

Boman, op. cit., 67.

'"Cf. ibid.

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

139

does not act in blind, uncontrollable movements but in a carefully determined way. There is a consistency about God; He
is trustworthy. Knowledge is imparted by His actions, but
the knowledge itself acts upon man. When the Jerusalem
priests mock the words o£ Isaia as gibberish, and with drunken
revelry roar out the refrain: "rule on rule, here a little, there
a little" (Is.
10), Isaia shouts that God's word will fall
upon them in the measured steps o£ dread and terror:
Rule on Rule, rule on rule,
here a little, there a little!
So that when they walk, they stumble backward,
13).
broken, ensnared, and captured (Is.
Each faint sound o£ the shortest syllable will act with fierce
revenge.
The Israelites shared the Ancient Near Eastern idea o£ the
word as an active, dynamic presence o£ the one speaking. If
the one speaking is God, then the word touched the earth with
the omnipotent, creative presence o£ God. Both in Egypt and
in Mesopotamia worshippers celebrated the mighty power o£
the word o£ their god.
There exists, for instance, the Hymn to Sin, the Moon god,
a bilingual text belonging to the reigu o£ Assurbanipal (668B. C.) but composed in the archaic languages o£ the Sumerians and the Akkadians o£ the third millenium. The hymn
proclaims the vitality o£ the god's sovereigu word. The opening
word o£ each line identifies the divine word with the deity:
You! your word settles down on the earth and green vegetation
is produced.
You! your word makes stout the sheepfold and the stall;
it makes living creatures widespread ....
You! your word who can comprehend it, who can equal it? 13
Many other quotations could be advanced from the Ancient
Near East, witnessing to a belie£ that the word contained within
18 Adapted
from the translation of Ferris J. Stephens in James B. Pritchard,
Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament
ed. (Princeton
University Press: 1955) 386; hereafter, ANET.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

its syllables the presence of the gods. Egyptian documents, in
fact, proclaim the creative power of the sacred word. One of
these announces that the Memphite god Ptah was the original
creator-god. The extant text dates only to the eighth century,
but linguistic evidence traces it back over another two thousand
years. The god Ptah is " heart" conceiving what is to be made;
he is "tongue" speaking and thereby creating. 14 Still another
Egyptian text of the 19th dynasty expresses an idea very
similar to Deuteronomy 8:3, "Not by bread alone does man
live, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of
the Lord." The Egyptian document thus addresses the god
Ptah, " ... you in whose mouth is the creative word." Commenting on this document, Hellmut Brunner notes that the
creative power of the word is not exhausted by the first work
of creation but extends energetically into each present moment. 15
With the ancients, the creative acts of the gods must continue into the contemporary life of the worshipper. Otherwise,
the world would crack apart and collapse into chaos. The
wondrous, divine act of stretching a firmament (or sky) into
the heavens to hold back the roaring of its depths or, as we
find in Egyptian texts, lifting the earth like mud out of the
fertile waters of the Nile, must continue in a cyclic rhythm of
life-birth, puberty, marriage and death.
The earth, the rain, the stars, the sun, these and all the
other "wondrous" elements of the universe became gods, offspring of the creator-god and themselves continuing the divine
work of creation year by year according to the seasons. Each
spring the moment of creation burst freshly upon the earth;
during the dry season of July-August when vegetation withered
and died, the people mourned the death of the gods. In Egypt
the cycles vary from those in Mesopotamia, but in both places
the people's reaction was basically the same. Death would have
been final, if the divine word of creation could not be spoken
again. The rainy season in Mesopotamia, or in Egypt the
14
15

Of., James A. Wilson, "Egyptian Myths," ANET, 5.
Cf., H. Brunner, "Was aus dem Munde Gottes geht," Vetus Testamentum 8

(1958) 429.

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

141

inundation of the Nile, was assured by the power of the sacred
liturgical word.
In this " mythopoetic conception of time," 16 life does not
continue on this earth as a straight line so that a point once
passed cannot be retrieved. Time proceeds in the divine-human
rhythm of ever recurring acts. The word which created the
world is spoken repeatedly-re-enacted liturgically at the sanctuaries of the gods. In Egypt, the great shrines of Memphis,
Thebes and Hermonthis were named "the divine emerging
primeval island." Each could claim to be the spot where the
primeval mud emerged from the waters of the Nile to begin life.
Through faith that the liturgical rites and sacred words reenacted and thereby renewed the first act of creation, they
recognized a divine power within the sacred, liturgical word.
This discussion has crisscrossed the ancient Near East from
Mesopotamia across the west into Syria and down into Egypt;
it has led us into the mysterious chambers of the ancient
sanctuaries. We have become involved in the recital and the
re-enactment of the sacred myths. What these myths were and
how they reflected the experiential, psychosomatic character of
ancient men are questions which we cannot pursue here. We
have investigated the intellectual and religious habits of the
Ancient Near East, so that we will understand the biblical faith
in the word of God. This word must not be fossilized into a
mere concept or idea, but rather be clothed with all the qualities of the one speaking. The word is the active presence of
the speaker.
Left to themselves the Israelites would have been no different from their Amorrite, Aramean and Chanaanite neighbors. The blood of these people flowed in the veins and
nourished the minds of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David and
the other great leaders of Israel. History evidences the close
ties between Israel and her neighbors. In language and architecture, in social practices and civil laws, even in the rubrics
of divine worship, Israel copied freely. When the children of
16 H. and H. A. Frankfort,
"Myth and Reality," The Intellectual Adventure
of Ancient Man, 2S.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

Abraham, however, seem to melt into the multitude of Ancient
Near Eastern peoples, they emerge from the crowd, separate
and unique. This religious difference is made clear from the
archaeological discoveries of Palestine. 11 History reveals the
Israelites, copying from their neighbors' architecture and agriculture, even from their language and worship, and yet history
also points out the uniqueness of Israelite morality and concept
of the deity. Why is Israel culturally very much the same, religiously very different? History raises this question, but only
theology can answer it by claiming the intervention of God.
For us at this moment the problem narrows down to this: like
her neighbors Israel proclaims the power of the divine word,
but unlike her neighbors Israel recognized within this word the
personal love and kindly interest of her God.
For love of your fathers he chose their descendants and personally led you out of Egypt by his great power .... This is why
you must now know, and fix in your heart, the Lord is God in the
heavens above and on earth below, and that there is no other
(Deut 4: 37-39).

Clearly this similarity of Israel to her neighbors was hazardous. The Hebrews were constantly in danger of absorbing not
only the cultural habits of pagan peoples but also their religious
beliefs and practices. In that eventuality the surrounding
nations would have peacefully destroyed Israel's identity as
a separate nation. Israel's greatness did not depend on what
she was but rather on who God was. The word of God in Israel
was different from the divine word in Mesopotamia or in Egypt
because of Him who spoke.

II. The Word of God, Bearer of Faith in a Personal God
When the cultic patterns of the Ancient Near East were in
danger of suppressing the word of a personal, loving God,
rolling it out flat and indistinguishable from the word of any
other god, then it was that the prophets arose and spoke. Their
17 Cj., W. F. Albright, The Archaeology of Palestine. Pelican Book, 1951; id.,
Prom the Stone Age to Chmtianity, ed. !l, Doubleday Anchor Book, 1957.

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voice was God's, calling the nation back to the faith of
Abraham. God had entered sacred history by speaking a word,
and through that word he pointed history in the direction of
world salvation. When Israel began to swerve into the way of
other nations, the prophets once again spoke the word of faith.
To understand the prophetic message, therefore, we must know
clearly the faith established in Abraham's soul by the word
of God.
When the word of God first came to Abraham, it called
to him:
Leave your country, your kinsfolk and your fathers' house,
for the land which I will show you;
I will make a great nation of you.
I will bless you and make your name great,
so that you shall be a blessing....
In you shall all the nations of the earth be blessed
(Gen. 12: 1-3).
The divine word transmitted a message about land, posterity
and blessing, but it was weighted with a mysterious element,
which remained unspoken, and which turned out to be far
more important than what the words actually said. God did
not explain at first the situation of the land and to the very end
Abraham remained a ger, an immigrant without citizenship.
Abraham had to wait upon God trustfuly and would eventually
be canonized not as a man of great possession, but rather as a
man of heroic faith. " Abraham believed God, who accredited
the act to him as justice" (Gen. 15: 6). Faith, which comes
from hearing the word of God (cf., Rom. 10: 17), relies upon
something not explicitly presented in the word. It is " the
evidence of things that are not seen" (Reb. 11: 1).
God's word to Abraham held a mysterious power, sweeping
the soul of the patriarch towards God and transforming him
into "the friend of God" (James 2: 23). The dynamic power
within the word was, of course, none other than God Himself,
speaking the word and thereby revealing the secret of His
divine life. The word pulsed with the personal love and the
tender concern of Almighty God.

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The word emerged from God's deepest life. It was not something created outside of Him, like the universe, but a sercet
thought, a mystery, at the very heart of His being. So deep
in God lies this mystery that it can be called God Himself.
Abraham's response to God's word was faith, an unconditional, total surrender of himself to God. As with God, so with
Abraham, the interchange involved nothing primarily material,
but rather something deeply personal-his very self.
The word of S<'ripture presents many examples of Abraham's
new life of personal faith. For instance, he will listen in on
divine soliloquies; he will hear God reasoning within Himself:
" Can I keep from Abraham what I am about to do? ... "
(Gen. 18: 17). "The friend of God "-El Khalit according to
the Arabic form-will not be surprised at any demand from
God. Love reacts that way.
Abraham quickly submits when he understands that God
wants the sacrifice of the child of promise, Isaac. The biblical
words manifest the poignant rending of someone closer to him
than his own life: "Take, I pray you, your son, your only one,
the one whom you love, Isaac" (Gen. 22: 2). Cornelius a
Lapide commented, " Quot hie verba, tot sunt stimuli, tot
tentationes." 18 Each word not only tempted Abraham but
coming from God it also contained the power of God's presence
so that God and Abraham were more closely pledged to one
another.
God will reward the heroic faith of Abraham. When Moses
later asked the name of the one speaking to him from the
burning bush, the first answer declared: " I am the God of your
father, the God of Abraham." This reply reflects as delicate a
charity as though a man today would suppress his own name
and for his son's sake call himself" the father of Jimmy Smith."
God was the father of Abraham, because by His word He
had begotten new life within the Patriarch. Life, it surely was,
for God's word had vitalized that area of Abraham's person
where Abraham was truly himself and no one else, where
11

Cornelius a Lapide, Commentarium in Genesim, xxii.

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Abraham thought, loved, judged, put to death and brought
back to life.
The faith of Abraham became the life-blood of his many
descendants. This life would be transmitted as it was originally
bestowed, through the word spoken by God to Moses and
through Moses to all the people.
God, it is true, performed great wonders as he brought
his people out of Egypt; the plagues, the miracle of the Red
Sea, the manna and the water. God acted stupendously in the
sight of all. "Yet with most of them," wrote St. Paul, "God
was not well pleased" (1 Cor. 10: 5). Unless God spoke his
word within the soul and unless the Israelite responded with
faith as did Abraham, the murmur of unbelief would continue.
God's great redemptive acts would continue to save and
redeem through the sacred word recited at the sanctuary. The
day of Moses endured in the word which was vibrant with life.
Hear, 0 Israel, the statutes and decrees which I proclaim in your
hearing this day .... The Lord, our God, made a covenant with us
at Horeb [=Sinai], not with our fathers did he make this covenant,
but with us, all of us who are alive here this day (Deut 5: 1-2).
Each generation responded with faith, yet even this answer
of faith was breathed into them by the utterance of God's word.
"Hear, 0 Israel!" Each listened, as God repeated what He
once spoke to Moses:
I have witnessed the affliction of my people Israel in Egypt and
I have heard their cry of complaint .... Therefore, I have come
down to rescue them (Ex. 3:7 f.) .
This life, begotten by the word within the soul of the people,
was the same as Abraham's, a personal bond, attaching God
and his people to one another. No word, of course, contained so
fully the life of God as the sacred name, Yahweh. What this
name really means is still controverted by scholars. Some question whether God in revealing this name added any new idea
to the heritage of biblical faith. 19 The name, according to these
19

This explanation finds its strongest support in Ex. 88: 18-!l8. Cf., M. M.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

scholars, succinctly expressed what had been the faith given
to Abraham. It pledged God's continuous presence, and by
responding with faith to this presence Israel came to know
God better and better. In this case, the sacred name Yahweh
confesses: He who is always there with you.
This "new" name, as the late Albert Gelin beautifully declared/0 becomes a prayer when spoken by man and a promise
when uttered by God. By it man asks of God: " Come, be
with me"; and by it God replies to man: "I am with you."
For man to hear this word, he must believe. As he hears it
with faith, his life becomes a waiting upon God. During each
moment of man's life, God reveals Himself by love and care,
and as man experiences this " word " of protection, he comes
to know the mystery of God. It is a knowledge which is life, for
it extends God's personal concern to every segment of man's
being.
The Mosaic tradition provides a second example of the
creative power of the word of God. This instance is drawn
from one of the earliest law codes of Israel, Exodus
German scholars have given it the name Bundesbuch, Book of
the Covenant.
Most of the laws are expressed conditionally; i.e., if such
and such happens, then this is what shall be done. 21 These laws
are called casuistic or case laws, because they represent a
Bourke, "Yahweh, the Divine Name," The Bridge Ill (New York: Pantheon,
where various explanations and a rather full bibliography can
1958)
be found.
20 A. Gelin,
"Messianisme," Dictionnaire de la Bible Supplement 5 (Paris:
Letouzey et Ane, 1957)
21 I. e., " When a man borrows an animal from his neighbor, if it is maimed or
dies while the owner is not present, [then] the man must make restitution. But
if the owner is present, he need not make restitution. If it was hired, this was
covered by the price of its hire" (Ex.
18-14) . Albrecht Alt, " Die Upspriinge
des israelitischen Rechts," Kleine Schriften zur Geschichte des Volk•es Israel I
(Munchen: 1958)
is greatly responsible for clarifying our idea of this
particular type (Gattung) of legislation. Some of its effects upon covenant
theology is classically presented by George Mendenhall, "Ancient Oriental and
ff. and "Covenant Form
Biblical Law," Biblical Archaeologist 17 (May 1954)
in Israelite Tradition," id. 17 (Sept. 1954) 50 fl'. These two articles are also
available from The Biblical Colloquium, 781 Ridge Ave., Pittsburgh,
Pa.

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

147

decision handed down by a judge on a particular case or
problem. Almost all ancient legal codes consisted of these
casuistic laws. 22 Hammurapi's code listed nearly three hundred such cases. These enactments were not properly laws; like
decisions of the United States Supreme Court, they established
a norm or precedent for the future. Each new case would
judged not only according to this traditional "norm" but also
on its own merits.
As we watch the Israelites share the jurisprudence of their
neighbors, we must admit that the children of Abraham seem
to fade into the common horizon of the Ancient Near East.
In many ways, moreover, the Hebrews were definitely inferior
to others, "because the biblical laws are scattered and disorganized in sharp contrast to the orderly and comprehensive
legislation of Hammurapi." 23 Just when the distinct genius of
Israel seems absorbed by the higher culture of other countries,
the Israelites step forward to stand alone. Their juridical
system is God's word.
Yet, so was Hammurapi's code the word of Shamash, but
the difference between Yahweh and Shamash, the sun god,
separated Israel from Babylon with a chasm deeper than
el ghar of the Jordan! Despite the highly personalized religion
of the Ancient Near East, Shamash remained a "power" subservient to Babylonian ritual, while Yahweh was truly a "person " who called Israel " my special possession, dearer to me
than all other people" (Ex. 19: 5). Israel's law expressed God's
personal wish for this beloved people; they must respond with
loving faith.
Faith in God's personal care-an element unspoken, merely
implied-such was Israel's obedience to God's law. The biblical
law code did not lay out a blue print, determining in advance
exactly what must be done inch by inch along the way. Casuistic laws provided only a "norm." The Chosen People must
wait obediently, as God through priest or judge defines each
22
23

Of., ANET, Part II "Legal Texts," pages 157-223.
Cyrus H. Gordon, Hammurapi's Code (New York:

Rinehart, 1957) 2.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

new case. For guidance the priest or judge has the precedent
of great leaders of old and their " casuistic laws." By studying
their forefathers' humble obedience to God and by sharing
God's kindly solicitude for his people, the judge will be able to
hand down an equitable decision. Just as the judge may not
approach a case with conceit or prejudice if his judgment is to
be God's word, the people too must react with humble acceptance if they are to hear divine accents in human speech. With
faith alive, the chosen people like Abraham will be led by the
power of the word. He who called himself " The God of Abraham " will then discharge the promise of his name Yahweh,
he who is always there with you.

Ill. The Word of God, Smothered by Material Hopes
God's word, like water, had fallen upon the land of Palestine
and immediately a rich carpet of green spread across the
countryside. The word was charged with such vitality and
produced such abundance, that men began to confuse the
abundance with the life, the effect of the word with the word
itself. Instead of listening to God as he spoke, Israel forgot all
about God and concentrated upon his promises. The worshipper confused God and his gifts.
This change came so easily that few persons noticed what
was happening. Blind trust in the power of God's word transformed that word into nothing more than an impersonal power
at the service of man. Religion slumped into superstitution.
Israel's keen, generous faith had been so dulled by material
interests and fleshly concerns, that the chosen people were
incapable of Abraham's heroic obedience and Moses' humble
meekness before God's word. They were too dull to sense the
mystery contained within the divine communication. "They
grow powerful and rich, fat and sleek. They go their wicked
way" (Jer. 5: 27-28) .
The prophets alone detected this insidious state of affairs.
They saw clearly that Israel's religion, founded upon the word
of God, was being corrupted from within by a superstitious

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149

trust in the divine word. Amos, the first of the "classical
prophets," 24 was well trained to spot this cancerous condition.
Years of pasturing sheep in the wilderness of Juda, not only
sharpened his vision to spot a lizard silently slithering across
the sand, but it also made him sensitively aware of deep-seated
human reactions. He was not fooled by the external grandeur,
the elaborate ritual and the pompous behaviour of Israel. He
detected beneath the polished veneer the frustration, the bitterness, the infidelity of the people.
Standing before the crowd of worshippers at Bethel sanctuary, he caught their attention by condemning one after another
of their enemies: Damascus, Gaza, Tyre, and the rest. While
the devotees were still clapping and shouting approval, the
desert-trained prophet fiercely turned on them:
For three crimes of Israel, and for four,
I will not revoke my word (Am. fl: 6) .
God's patience was exhausted; the number of offenses was
complete. "The time is ripe to have done with my people"
(Amos 8:2).
They sell the just man for silver,
and the poor man for a pair of sandals (Am. fl: 6).
The wealthy would assure themselves that the poor acted
justly. The law required that a man pay his debts. Lest this
law be violated, the poor were sold into slavery to defray their
expenses. What they owed, however, was the price of a pair
of sandals! These poor people must be sinners, so went the
thinking of the times, because God's word had promised wealth
and plenty to good religious folk.
Son and father go to the same prostitute,
profaning my holy name (Am. fl: 7).
God had promised to Abraham " descendants

as the stars of

24 This term is sometimes used to distinguish
the "writing prophets" from
the earlier prophets (Nebi'im) like Elias and Eliseus, who belonged to prophetic
bands and relied upon charismatic gifts.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

the heaven" (Gen. 22: 17) ; and so in God's holy name the
Israelites perform the fertility cult to consecrate their sex
and their family to God. Amos labeled this religion "profanity "
and its attraction lustful gratification. He would not even
employ the technical word for temple prostitute (qedesa) ; he
called the girl a na'iira, a young female with sexual appeal.
The wine of those who have been fined
they drink in the house of their god (Am. 2: 8) .

Strict justice inflicted fines upon transgressors, but the judges
used the proceeds to get drunk at sacred banquets! They held
both the fines and the sacrificial banquets to be God's will,
clearly legislated for in the Torah! God must have been well
pleased! In fact, he must have dozed off into sweet slumber
after receiving the gift of many flocks of sheep and large casks
of wine. In the popular mind, God had been turned into an
image of themselves, with animal lusts and moral indifference.
Externals were enough; wealth was the sign of blessing. Little
wonder Amos shouted "Woe!" at "those who yearn for the
day of the Lord" (Am. 5: 18) .
God's word, evidently, no longer summoned worshippers to
faith. It was nothing but a magic formula to insure success.
Once the sacred phrases were repeated in the temple liturgy,
the full effect of bounteous wealth must come. Man's response
was reduced to a superstitious trust in externals: the externals
of the liturgy and the externals of wealth. Lost was the interior
spirit of faith, whereby man could listen to the mystery of
God's love hidden within the word and make an unconditional
commitment of himself to the person of God.
The change crept so slowly and so surreptiously over the
faith of Israel that we almost question the fierce, uncompromising stand taken by the prophets. In defense of the prophets we
must admit that their holiness had bestowed on them a sharpness of vision far more intense than their fellow countrymen to
pierce to the heart of the matter. What they saw of Israel's
hard arrogance turned them against God's people. They wit-

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151

nessed the rejection of God's call. Israel was flaunting God's
love by abusing the gifts of his love. 25
God's goodness, it can be seen, was the occasion of this disastrous change. Was he too indulgent, too generous? No! but
Israel like a spoilt child used God's gifts to turn against him.
Ezechiel presents the entire history of Israel in terms of such
shameless ingratitude (ch. 16).
God was continuously warning his people against this obsession with comfort and wealth, not only by the moral demands
of the decalog but also by the punishment of eviJ.26 God even
disciplined Moses, Aaron and Miriam. 27 The Israelites, as the
theological introduction 28 to the book of Judges explained
" were quick to stray from the way their fathers had taken and
did not follow their example of obedience. . . . They would
relapse and do worse" (Judges Q: 17, 19) .
The Deuteronomic ensemble of Josue-Judges-Samuel-Kings
stressed repeatedly the evil effects of disobedience and infidelity. Lurking behind each word of this history, however, is
the material attitude of a people too crass and too dull for
this sublime teaching. The stories of Samuel, of Elias and
Eliseus, of David and Solomon, all pulse with excitement over
material gifts and marvelous deeds. Religion was following
the quick, smooth road of the miraculous; the silent way of
faith leading deep into the heart of God, was too steep and
forbidding and completely hidden by the bursts of splendor,
of wealth and prestige.
What could be done, when apostasy was being justified by
the name of religion? To David God had promised: "Your
house and your kingdom shall be confirmed before me forever "
(Q Sam. 7: 16) . In dedicating the temple, Solomon declared
that this tabernacle was the dwelling of God on earth, and
25 Cf., Ex. 16:17, "You took the splendid gold and silver ornaments
which I
had given you and made for yourself male images, with which also you played
the harlot."
26 Cf., Ex. 20:1-17; Num. 11:31-35; Deut. 8:6-20.
27 Cf., Num. U; !lO.
28 Judg. !l: 6-3: 6.

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

therefore every prayer directed towards this place must be
heard (cf., 3 Kings 8: 27-30). Later, when Jeremia flayed the
people for their sins, they feel no need to reform their morals.
They simply chant monotonously, "This is the temple of the
Lord! The temple of the Lord! The temple of the Lord!" (Jer.
7: 4). Possessing the temple, the Israelites say:
No evil shall befall us,
neither sword nor famine shall we see.
The prophets have become wind (Jer. 5: 12-13).

What was God to do, when faith in divine things was destroying faith in God? Was He to work more miracles and
distribute more wondrous delights? Such action would only
thicken the material spirit of their hearts. Yet, how could a
people so dull, so "sleek and fat," be made aware of their
apostasy from God?
God's answer to this seemingly hopeless situation was to raise
up a series of religious leaders, the like of whom has seldom
been equalled in any world religion, the prophets. The prophets,
on their part, would simply speak the word of God and then
wait for its full effects to be felt. Commissioning the prophets,
God said:
I place my words in your mouth! ...
To root up and to tear down,
to destroy and to demolish,
to build and to plant (Jer. 1:9-10).

Before God's word would be able "to build and to plant," it
must first go forth " to root up and to tear down." That is
precisely what it had done to Abraham and Moses. It had
uprooted the Patriarch from his native land that he might
follow God's word into a strange land (Gen. 12: 1-3); it had
torn down Moses' palace of Egyptian glory and demolished
his pride through desert austerity, that he might lead the
people to a covenant between themselves and God.

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153

IV. The Prophets, Men of the Word 29
Unlike priest or king, the prophet did not receive his office
automatically through membership in the sacred tribe of Levi
or in the royal house of David. The prophet relied upon some
credential other than noble blood. Neither did any public ceremony ratify and validate the divine choice.
The sacred oil which consecrated the prophet was different
from the oil which anointed the high priest and the king. Something far more sacred than olive oil was poured upon the
prophet. The "oil" of God's word flowed upon the heart of
the man chosen to be a prophet. Listen again to God's ordaining words to Jeremia:
Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
before you were born, I consecrated you,
a prophet to the nations I appointed you (Jer. 1:5).
"I consecrated you," or, in Hebrew hiqdO-Stikii. This same
Hebrew word is used when the high priest Aaron was ordained
with consecrating oil: "He [Moses] also poured some of the
anointing oil on Aaron's head, thus consecrating him (leqaddes6) " (Lev. 8:
.
Both priest and prophet were consecrated, but the " oil "
which set the prophet aside, for his special mission was the
word of God. This all-powerful word, as Jeremia confessed,
became " like fire burning in my heart, ... I cannot endure it "
(Jer.
9). It had grasped the will of Jeremia and set his life
upon a divine mission. No matter how poignantly he longed
"that I had in the desert a travelers' lodge that I might leave
my people and depart from them" (Jer. 9: 1), still, he could not
free himself from the strong grasp of God's word. On the day
of his ordination, Jeremia received the anointing of this divine
order:
Behold I place my words in your mouth!
This day I set you
over nations and over kingdoms (Jer. 1: 9).
29 They are sometimes
called the " writing prophets." This designation can give
the false impression that their primary occupation was to compose the divine

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

The prophetic consecration by the word of God was solemnized secretly and mysteriously in Jeremia's soul.
If a prophet like Jeremia did belong to a priestly family, he
disassociated himself from the privileged class. When he stood
before the people, he did not attract attention with the solemn
announcement: "Hear me, because I am a priest! " He said
very simply: "Hear the word of the Lord" (Jer. 7: 2). lsaia
may have taken advantage of his position at the royal court to
speak freely before the king; he certainly put to use his excellent education as state advisor. Never, however, did he draw
the power of his message from any of these class benefits, but
rather from the interior conviction that " I have heard from
the Lord, the God of hosts, the destruction decreed for all the
earth" (Is. 28: 22) . If, after the destruction is complete, "the
Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces," this too
happens "because the Lord has spoken" (Is. 25: 8) . The source
of prophetic strength was the presence of God's word within
the soul and upon the lips of the prophet.
The " classical prophets " even cut contact with the company
of "professional prophets." 30 Prophets like Amos, Osee and
Isaia never joined the association of N ebi'im nor did they
follow a separate community life. They do not seem to have
assembled even periodically with these groups, although saintly
men like Samuel (1 Sam. 9: 20) and Elias (4 Kings 2: 3) lived
at least intermittently among them.
The N ebi'im at first were fired with fervor and for a long
time sustained the loyalty of God's people. In later times, unfortunately, these professional prophets were absorbed with
selfish interests and used their reputation as a source of income.
Michea said contemptuously:
. . . regarding the prophets
who lead my people astray;
message on paper. The "classical prophets" were missionaries or evangelists of
the spoken word.
80 Professional prophets or nem'im deliberately chose this vocation, wore special
dress (4 Kings 1: 8), and in the fulfillment of their office relied heavily upon the
marvelous (1 Sam. 10:5-8; 19:fH-22).

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Who, when their teeth have something to bite
announce peace
But when one fails to put something in their mouth,
proclaim war against him (Mich. 3: 5).
In the face of such a shameful reputation, it is little surprise
that Amos snapped back at Amasia, the high priest of Bethel,
when this gentleman ordered Amos to "flee to the land of
Juda! There earn your bread by prophesying!" (Am. 7:
Amos resented the " accusation" of being one of the N ebi'-im.
With a contemptuous twist of his mouth, he replied:
I am no prophet,
nor have I ever belonged
to a company of prophets (Am. 7: 14).
Amasia's slur to" earn your bread by prophesying" portrays
the professional prophet as an ecclesiastic using his spiritual
office simply for material gain. In the case of the nebi'-im
prophesy merely provided an opportunity to predict (and thus
achieve) victory and prosperity for their royal masters. 31 In
return, the prince provided his loyal seers with wealth and
prestige.
Not even supernatural visions, granted personally to some
of the " classical " prophets, were ever invoked as divine proof
for the word of God. Amos (7: 1 ff.) and lsaia (6: 1 ff.) beheld
a mysterious vision at the same time as God spoke his " consecrating" word. These inaugural visions, whenever they
occurred, profoundly affected the prophets' character and deeply
colored their thought. Isaia, ever after, reverently spoke of the
"Holy One of God" 32 and Amos preached with stern finality. 33
In every instance, however, the prophet commanded a hearing
from the people, not because he had seen a vision from God
but rather because he could say: "Hear the Word of God!"
For too long a time now the word of God was being silenced
Of., 3 Kings

fl'.;
6-37; Jer.
26: 7-24; 29:8,
In this inaugnral vision God was praised by the seraphim with "Holy, Holy,
Holy is the Lord of Hosts " (Is. 6: 3) .
33 Many scholars hold that Am. 7: 1-9; 8: 1-3 contain
Amos' inaugnral vision.
The third and fourth vision say with finality: "I will forgive them no longer."
31
32

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CARROLL STUHLMUELLER

by the loud blasts of marvelous happenings. External wonders
were distracting men away from God; bells and trumpets accompanying the magnificent ceremonies of worship substituted
for good moral living. The people seemed almost to think that
majestic ritual could blind God to the sight of their immorality
and faithlessness. These people did not need more visions and
more miracles, a fact very' clear to the prophets. The land
groaned under the scourge of a famine, but it was "not a
famine of bread, or a thirst for water," declared Amos, but a
famine" for hearing the word of the Lord" (Am. 8: 11).
The classical prophets, we must admit, worked miracles. As
a " sign " to King Ezechia, Isaia commanded " the shadow cast
by the sun on the stairway . . . go back the ten steps it has
advanced" (Is. 38: 8) . Earlier Isaia had told Ezechia's father,
King Achaz, to " ask for a sign from the Lord, your God; let
it be deep as the nether world, or high as the sky" (Is. 7: 11).
These marvelous occurrences, however, were rare, and even
when these wonders were offered, the prophet still insisted more
emphatically upon interior faith. Isaia, in fact, had just finished
saying to King Achaz:
Unless your faith is firm,
you shall not be firm (Is. 7: 9) .34
When Ezechia exhibited the wealth of his kingdom before the
impressionable Babylonians, Isaia rebuked him for boasting
of human greatness instead of trusting in divine strength. Faith
was to be Israel's source of salvation.
Before investigating, how the word of God developed a spirit
of faith within the soul of Israel, we will look into the soul of
the prophet for the effects there of the divine word.
For Amos, dedication to the divine word was blunt obedience. A man of strong will, able to muster full strength to the
duty at hand, Amos quickly marched north to Bethel at God's
command: "Go, prophesy to my people Israel" (Am. 7: 16).
Amos spoke without sympathy, coldly enunciating the devas•• Isaia's word has a power here even because of his heavy diapason sound. In
'lebrew it runs thus: ki lii' te'iimenu, 'im lo' ta'iiminu.

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

157

tating Word of God. This word, which had transformed the
shepherd into a prophet almost against his will, remained just
as powerful in the announcement to sinful Israel: " I will crush
you into the ground" (Am. 2: 13) .
What was military obedience in Amos' disciplined soul was
agonizing acceptance in Osee's sensitive spirit. Osee endured
humiliation lower than the dirt on the street, as he retrieved
" yet again " a wife who had become the " beloved of a paramour" (Os. 3: 1) . Only thus will he be prepared to speak of
God's infinite, forgiving love. God had been betrayed again
and again, so that were a man in God's place, human anger
would flatly declare: "So much, no more!" Osee, however, was
thus to pour out the anguish of God's answer:
I am God and not man,
the Holy One present among you;
I will not let the flames consume you (Os. 11: 9).
At the same time God's word, spoken by Osee, was deadly:
. . . I smote them through the prophets,
I slew them by the word of my mouth (Os. 6: 5).
God however destroys only what is evil and harmful, so that
he can declare in the concluding message of Osee:
I will heal their defection
I will love them freely....
I shall be like the dew for Israel:
he shall blossom like the lily ....
I have humbled him, but I will prosper him
(Os. 14:5-6, 9).
No prophet, not even Osee, so laid bare the profound emotions of interior struggle as the one whose words are repeated
by the liturgy of Passion and Holy Week. From the start,
Jeremia begged God to send someone else because" I know not
how to speak; I am too young" (Jer. 1: 6). The prophet's own
weakness would reveal the source of his iron strength; his slowness in speech would prove God's statement: "I place my
words in your mouth!" (Jer. 1: 9). Only if they came from

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God could the words of such a diffident, fearful man become
in later Israel the most popular of all prophetic scrolls and
could men say of Jesus that he is Jeremia come back alive
(cj., Matt. 16: 14).
God's words sunk so deeply into the soul of Jeremia, penetrated so thoroughly every pore of his mind and heart, and
colored so profoundly every thought and reaction of the man,
that it is often impossible to distinguish God's word from
Jeremia's. This complete compenetration was achieved through
years of interior struggle. Jeremia's first hesitation in accepting
God's word was only the first of a series of tense arguments.
Jeremia finally poured out words almost blasphemous in fury:
You have indeed become for me a treacherous brook,
whose waters do not abide! (Jer. 15: 18).
Divine obedience had led the prophet down a river bed whose
waters vanish into desert dryness and he is abandoned to the
deadly wastes. Only by struggling in the depth of his heart
and by surrendering his whole self unconditionally could Jeremia and his future disciples deserve to hear from God: " I will
place my law within them and write it upon their hearts; I will
be their God and they shall be my people" (Jer. 31: 33).
God's word then inscribed on the hearts of the prophets, was
more than a truth to be believed; faith, we have already seen,
was more than a response of the intellect! God's word, in the
case of Amos, called for blind obedience. It ruthlessly cut into
the heart and mind of Osee and Jeremia and slew whatever it
could not conquer or did not want. It was ruthless, and yet,
somehow or other, the all-powerful God felt "my heart ...
overwhelmed, my pity stirred" (Os. 11: 8). Even though
Israel was "like a woman faithless to her lover," God begged
her repeatedly:
"Return, rebellious children" (Jer. 3: 14) .
God's word then came from God's deepest life and evoked the
prophet's most intense emotion. God's word given and received
was an interchange of life's love, hope and entire self.
To have promised wealth and to have worked miracles would
have distracted the prophet and his listeners from God's loving

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spmt. This distraction is actually the worst of infidelities, because it uses God's gifts to purchase sinful pleasure. The
prophets received the law of God's word on their heart, making
them out as God's very own. God chose them for this special
mission, in order that they might share with all Israel this
personal friendship with God. The prophets would perform
their mission, exactly as God acted towards them, by announcing the Word of God.

V. The Prophetic Word to Israel
The prophets, we have seen, continued the mission of Abraham and Moses; they sustained Israel's strong faith in a
personal God. But many centuries had passed since God had
first called Abraham and had directed Moses to the establishment of the Israelite religion. The nomadic, patriarchal existence of Abraham and the austere, desert wandering of Moses
were gone forever, and yet the spirit of these extraordinary men
must reappear in their descendants. One of the prophets exhorted the people:
Look to the rock from which you were hewn,
and to the pit from which you were quarried;
Look to Abraham, your father,
and to Sara, who gave you birth (Is. 51: 1-2).
In summoning a return to these heroes of the past, the
prophets disregarded many details of Abraham's and Moses'
lives. To express this truth more accurately, we can say that
the prophets saw a hidden, symbolic meaning in their forefathers' external mode of life. To be a ger like Abraham without homeland and citizenship; to be a wanderer like Moses
through desert wastes-these circumstances became types or
symbols of interior holiness for they revealed an heroic dedication to God-'s word. By the word of God, once spoken to
Abraham, and to Moses and now heard again in the prophets,
the spirit of the past will be reproduced in other hearts. The
deep, typical meaning will be fulfilled in other lives.
Our present concern is to see how the prophets achieved this

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reliving of the past. We will concentrate attention upon three
factors. First of all, in announcing God's word, the prophets
sounded no retreat from reality, but through faith imparted a
full meaning to reality. They did not issue the impossible order
of a return to the desert but they allowed the people to remain
where they were. Yet the prophets were not satisfied with conditions as they were! God's plans were so vast and stupendous
that the word will create a new world of happiness upon this
earth. In this second factor we sense the tension of the prophetic message. To remain humbly attentive to ordinary
things, so the prophets declared, prepared Israel to witness
wondrous things:
... awesome deeds we could not hope for,
such as they had not heard of from of old
No ear has ever heard, no eye ever seen,
any God but you,
doing such deeds for those who wait for him (Is. 64: 2-3).
A new creation is the reward for humble, abiding faith in God's
word.
Besides an acceptance of reality and a belief in a new creation, the prophetic message contained a third important element. God, who spoke through the prophets, was no stiff,
faceless deity but a God personally interested in his chosen
people.
1. The Meaning of Reality

The prophets did not summon any retreat from reality. To
be a loyal follower of Moses, the sons of Israel were not obliged
to dismantle their stone houses, abandon city life and begin a
nomadic wandering, pitching their tents wherever darkness
caught them. Some fanatic Israelites, the Rechabites, did oblige
themselves to this literal obedience to Moses. "All our lives,"
they confessed to Jeremia, "we have not drunk wine ... We
build no houses ... ; we own no vineyards or fields or crops,
and we live in tents" (Jer. 35: 8-10) .35 Never did the Bible
35

Another example of the Rechabite fanatic zeal for Yahwism and their extreme

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commit Israel to such an inflexible observance of the law; the
many adaptations incorporated into the Mosaic law, the modifications of later centuries, the existence of different applications,36 the very form of casuistic laws-all these features of
biblical law rule out an obstinate, unyielding obedience to
external rules. The stress is rather upon internal faith.
The prophets saw clearly that the cause of the nation's
irreligious spirit lay basically not in the externals of civilization.
There was nothing sinful about houses and crafts, architecture
and music. All through her history Israel borrowed freely from
her neighbors and yet maintained her own separate religious
identity. From the Canaanites she learned farming; from the
Philistines she received the secret of iron. Egypt contributed
her wisdom literature; U garit, her religious poems; Tyre and
Sidon, their architects and building material. Despite this
unabashed copying of foreign culture, Israel remained religiously distinct. Her interior faith was never suppressed by all
these external wrappings. Instead of that, her faith lived in
and through these externals, harnessing them to the service
of Yahweh.
Israel, therefore, was not obliged to flee to a never-never
land of Shangri-La but rather to direct the penetrating power
of faith upon the ordinary circumstances of life. Monstrous
Assyria, trampling like a lustful giant over the ancient Near
East, was but exercising the will of God who was disciplining
and so purifying his chosen people. Isaia, therefore, in speaking for God, called Assyria, "my rod in anger, my staff in
wrath" (Is. 10: 5). When God's work was completed, the rod
would be tossed aside. Assyria would crash to destruction like
the cedars of Lebanon roaring down a mountain precipice
(cf., Is. 10:33).
hatred for the abuses of city life is found in 4 Kings 10: 15-30. The Covenanters
along the Dead Sea, around the time of Our Lord, also went out into the wilderness
and to a certain extent undertook a very literal obedience to the Mosaic tradition.
36 One typical example is found in comparing the paschal laws of the north in
Deuteronomy with those of the south in the Priestly Tradition. Deut 16:7 stipulates about the paschal lamb: "You shall boil and eat it " while Ex. 12: 9 states
just as explicitly: "It shall not be eaten raw or boiled, but roasted whole." The
identical Hebrew verb bsl is used in both cases for "boil."

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How poignantly Israel wanted to escape to some other world,
rather than recognize God's chastening hand in Assyria! Such
an escape was as impossible as Jona's ridiculous attempt to flee
across the sea from "the God of heaven who made the sea"
(Jona 1: 9). God clearly acted in every movement and change
of Palestinian life, and consequently God could be found only in
these earthly involvements. Amos made that point very clear.
Draught or locust plague; blight or searing wind; pestilence or
death-all these catastrophes come from God ...
Yet you returned not to me,
says the Lord (Am. 4:6, 8, 9, 10, 11).
All these disasters were God's word, acting in their midst,
calling Israel back to personal love and loyal faith. These
calamities destroyed, only if they were not accepted as the
" word of God." In the depth of such darkness, faith became
an act of heroic fortitude.
When Habacuc complained about violence, ruin and misery,
God replied that he will act (or speak) by " raising up Chaldea,
that bitter and unruly people" to punish the wicked Jerusalemites (Hab. 1: 6). This answer provoked another question from
the prophet:
Why, then, do you gaze on the faithless in silence
while the wicked man devours
one more just than himself? (Hab. 1: 13) .
This time God's answer would be so important that it must be
written
Clearly upon the tablets,
so that one can read it even on the run ....
The words of life, deserving to be chiseled by iron on stone
tablets, are:
The just man lives by faith (Hab. 2:2, 4).
Faith is life; without it, man is dead!
Israel had only one way of life at her disposal, that of faith.

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Every other way of living was a living death. She could not
run away; she was obliged to find God by faith in all the human
surroundings of contemporary Palestine. This demand of faith
was heroic, because it compelled the wicked to accept the fire
of purification, while it constrained the good to remain patient.
God was not asleep but actively present in the storm.
Faith accepted the outstretched arm of God in all these
events; it heard the saving word of God in everything. God's
word acted and like rain it brought life. This sense of the
divine presence in earthly involvements was the prophets' first
great contribution to biblical life.
2. A New Creation
The life begotten of faith was actually a new creation. Here
is one of those many conundrums of prophetic thought. In
the midst of distress man wants to run away to a new creation
of his own making, to an " unreal " world different from what
he has at hand. The prophets forbade such a retreat from
reality. By remaining humbly subject to God's world and word,
the old was transformed into a new creation. What man strove
to acquire for himself, by himself, God was waiting to give.
Israel, however, must accept it as God's creation.
No prophet sang so lyrically of the new creation as DeuteroIsaia in ch. 40-55, and at the same time he is the prophet who
acclaimed with esctatic language the powerful word of God.
His message was so completely God's that his name has
vanished from the records and his inspired words were simply
added to the scroll of his master. 37 He is sometimes named the
"Great Unknown."
In speaking of the new creation, Deutero-Isaia will move
with the ease of a deft weaver, crossing one strand of thought
upon another. Each new idea, like a colored thread, adds its
own shade of meaning to the completed tapestry.
37 Here we follow the opinion that Chapters
40-55 were written not by Isaia of
Jerusalem who lived in the late eighth and early seventh centuries B. C. but by a
disciple of his during the Babylonian exile (587-537 B. C.). This latter prophet
had the teaching of his master sealed up in his heart (cf., Is. 8: 16) and through
divine inspiration applied it to the new circumstances of the exile.

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Crisscrossing through ch. 40-55 are: (I) a new creation, (2)
extending throughout the universe, (8) by which God cares
for the poor and lowly (4) and accepts the suffering of the
innocent in reparation for the sins of the wicked (5) but
especially does his new creative act transform the lives of the
children of Abraham (6) whom God will lead along a glorious
exodus back to the Promised Land. Each of these themes works
in and out of the two great strands of a new creation which
the word of God will achieve. We can attend to only a couple
of these themes, but this endeavor will aid us in appreciating
the prophetic doctrine of the word.
Now here in the Scriptures is the Word of God proclaimed
"with a richness of vocabulary, a mastery of style, and a personal intuitive grasp" 38 as in the majestic poems of DeuteroIsaia. So many of the strophes begin and rise to a climax in
the Word of God. In his divine commission as a prophet, the
prophet and his disciples are told to "speak tenderly to Jerusalem" (40: 2) . This voice is the one repeatedly crying out to
the exiles, and by its word it is pulling down mountainous
obstructions and lifting up depressive ravines. All will happen,
exactly as the word enunciates, " for the mouth of the Lord
has spoken" (40: 5) . "The word of our God stands forever"
(40: 8).
Besides this brilliant presentation of the Word of God,
Deutero-Isaia worked another key idea into this compositionthe notion of a new creation. In fact, the two ideas of " word "
and "creation" so delicately interchange, the transition from
one to another is so spontaneous, that the reader might almost
miss their double presence. The quick movement evidences the
prophet's mastery of the Hebrew language. Very frequently,
for instance, creation is a participle depending upon a verb to
speak. " The participle so closely coalesces with the principal
verb, that God speaks by, through and simultaneously with
the act of creating." 39 One instance where four participles
complete the idea of the principal verb is the following:
38 C. Stuhlmueller,
"The Theology of Creation in Second Isaias," Catholic
(October 1959)
Biblical Quarterly
•• C. Stuhlmueller, art. cit., 454.

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THus SAYS the Lord, the only God,

creating the heavens and stretching them out,
extending the earth with its covering of vegetation,
giving breath to the people upon it
and spirit to those who walk on it (Is. 42: 5).

If creation is accomplished through the act of speaking, then
the wisdom of the divine word guides the act of creation. This
statement has profound implications. God directs each act of
nature, whether they be ordinary acts of almost childish proportions like counting drops of rain and weighing "dust on a
scale" (Is. 40: 15) or grand deeds of majestic splendour like
marking "off the heavens with a span" (40: 12) and summoning the stars by name (40: 26). Small or mighty, each act
is so truly from God that the prophet exclaims:
Who has directed the spirit of the Lord,
or who has instructed him as his counselor?
Whom did he consult to gain knowledge?
Who taught him the path of judgment? (40: 13-14).
Because creation is an act of God's word, it must originate,
like the word, in the deep recesses of God's mind. It is not so
much the product of his hands as it is the thought of his
heart. Creation's principal purpose is not an exhibition of
power, leading man to acknowledge the existence of an omnipotent deity. In creating the world what God wanted more
than anything else was to draw man by love deep into his heart
where creation began.
It is not at all surprising, therefore, that Deutero-Isaia is
the prophet who sings exquisitely of the personal bond of love
between God and his people. He wrote those touching lines so
familiar to every Bible reader:
Can a mother forget her infant,
be without tenderness for the child of her womb?
Even should she forget,
I will never forget you.
See, upon the palms of my hands I have written your name
(Is. 49: 15-16).

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With delicate finesse he arranges his sentence-structure so that
the reader is intuitively aware of the presence of God. Even
the grammar of the Hebrew word is called into service, so
that the love of God may be presented in tones of beauty. In
one magnificent passage he juxtaposes over and over again,
yet never with monotony the personal pronouns: You (Israel)
and I (God). The Hebrew language easily adapts itself to this
procedure, but no Hebrew writer or speaker has used it to such
advantage as Deutero-Isaia. In Hebrew the personal pronoun
is ordinarily employed only for emphasis. These pronouns can
be added immediately to the verb, with the result that one
compact word contains verb-subject-object.
In the following
example each ka or ta sound signifies "you " while every i or ti
expresses " I " or " me."
But you (we'atta), Israel, my servant ('abdi),
Jacob, you whom I have chosen (b'/:wrtika),
offspring of Abraham my friend ('ohabi),
You whom I have taken from the ends of the earth (hel},ezeqtika)
you whom I have summoned from its far-off places (q'ra'tika)
You whom I have called my servant (l'ka 'abdi-'atw)
I have chosen you (b'l},artika) and I will not cast you
off (m''astika)
Fear not, I am with you ('imm'ka-'ani)
be not dismayed; I am your God (ki-'ani 'eloheka)
I will strengthen you ('immastika)
indeed, I will help you ('azartika)
Surely, I will uphold you (t'maktika)
with my right hand of justice
(Is. 41:8-10).
This I- Thou exchange booms like a heavy drum, sounds deep
like the great diapason tones of a pipe organ. The depth of
sound comes from the infinite reserve of God's love. Because
creation is so intricately linked with the act of God's speaking,
Deutero-Isaia can present it as an act of God's knowing and
loving.
It comes, therefore, as no surprise that God is specially
concerned with "the affiicted and the needy." The word of a
new creation is spoken especially for them. When "their
tongues are parched with thirst " so that they can no longer

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utter any human word, God comes to their relief by speaking
his divine word. Only the faithless would sneer at this kind of
help, but with faith the poor recognize the wonder of God's
creative word:
I, the Lord, will answer them; ...
I will open up rivers on the bare heights,
and fountains in the broad valleys ....
That all may see and know,
observe and understand,
That the hand of the Lord has done this,
the Holy One of Israel has created it (Is. 41: 17-fW).
To this divine Word Deutero-Isaia attributes every saving
work, even the redemptive role of the Suffering Servant. In
many ways, the songs of the Suffering Servant bring the Old
Testament doctrine of redemption to its point of fullest development. The doctrine of the expiatory suffering of the
innocent is here presented with a clarity as startling as the
tone of a tolling bell.
He was pierced for our offenses,
crushed for our sins;
Upon him was laid the chastisement of our peace,
by his stripes we were healed (Is. 53: 5).
This redemptive word could never have been spoken, had
the suffering Servant not been able to write:
Morning after morning
he opens my ears that I may hear (50:4).
The servant himself is swept forward into his redemptive work
by listening to the word of God. The servant further admits:
The Lord God has given me
a well-trained tongue,
That I may know how to speak to the weary
a word that will rouse them (50:4).
And by uttering God's word the Servant gathers all others into
the redemptive design of God.
This divine purpose, enunciated by the word, is a new

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creation. As always, Deutero-Isaia introduces the thread of a
new idea-here, the idea of sorrow and of the songs o£ the
Suffering Servant-only to enhance the depth of beauty in the
new creation.
If he gives his life as an offering for sin,

he shall see his descendants in a long life,
and the will of God shall be accomplished through him.
Because of his affliction
he shall see the light in the fullness of days ....
Therefore I will give him his portion among the great.
The word " creation " is not used, but the thought is present,
a new resurrection from the dead for the sorrowing people
of God.
3. God's Personal Concern
The prophetic message of the Word vibrated with the tones
of God's personal love. This feature of God's personal existence
is the final notion in our study of the prophetic mission of the
word. It has frequently entered this discussion, so that we can
now be very brief.
By their emphasis upon the Word of God, the prophets kept
the religion of Israel from destroying itself. God had revealed
himself to Abraham and Moses, it will be recalled, as a personal
God who loved and cared for his people and wanted their
loyalty and love in return. The early history of Israel recorded
the great promises of God, and religion unfortunately centered
more and more on what the people could get out of their
worship. The momentum of the people's faith was an eager
desire to receive more and more from God-a land, flowing with
milk and honey; children, numerous as the stars in the heavens;
a royalty, everlasting as God's fidelity; a temple where God
answered every prayer. Without full consciousness of what was
happening, Israel began to look upon God as a wealthy benefactor, an indulgent Father, an extravagant deity. Though God,
He was helplessly bound to his promises; regardless of the
people's sins He must be faithful to his word and bless Israel.
The prophets reversed this suicidal tendency in Israel's re-

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ligion and brought the people back to a personal God who is
strong in giving love and desirous of receiving the people's
love. Listen once again to God's reply through Osee to a presumptuous people:
It is love that I desire, not sacrifice,
and knowledge of God rather than sacrifice (Os. 6: 6) .
By his word, God destroyed everything which the people
were substituting for himself: land, city, temple, children,
family ties, government, king and priest. The dreadful catastrope of 587 ·B. C. could not be avoided once the prophets
spoke the devastating word of God. Osee therefore uttered
this sentence of doom:
For this reason I smote them through the prophets,
I slew them by the words of my mouth (Os. 6: 5).
This destruction, nonetheless, was meant to save the people.
If, as Isaia taught, God smote the Egyptians in order to heal
them (Is. 19: QQ), how much more truly would the sorrows of
his own people instruct them in the way of salvation?
As Jeremia told Israel:
Your conduct, your misdeeds, have done this to you;
how bitter is this disaster of yours (4: 18).
The punishment was deserved and was necessary. A personally
loving God, however, could react only with poignant sorrow,
and plead:
Return, rebel Israel, ...
I will not remain angry with you;
For I am merciful, ...
Only know your guilt (Jer. 3: 1fl-13).
Israel must recognize what is destroying her happiness in order
to find her way back to God. Jeremia's teaching rises in joy
and merry-making in Ch. 31:
I will turn their mourning into joy ....
Cease your cries of mourning,
wipe the tears from your eyes.
The sorrow you have shown shall have its reward
(Jer. 31:13, 16).

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Salvation, then, was the
knowledge of God's
love. If God drives the people. into exile, it is only that they
may be forced to return to him for help. To return, this word
is one of les mots-cles of all the prophets. We meet it with a
great variety of meaning in the Book of Emmanuel, Is. ch. 7-12.
In Is. 40:11 the thought of "return" is heard again in the
tender strains of a new song. 40 The return is to a personal God
who will be satisfied only when his people enjoy in their heart
the fullest posible happiness. Jeremia wrote of this religion
of the heart:
This is the covenant which I will make with the house of Israel
after those days, says the Lord. I will place my law within them,
and write it upon their hearts; I will be their God and they shall
be my people (Jer. 31:33).
Once this cor ad cor religion is established, God can trust his
people with his gifts.
The conviction that the Lord personally loves his people
induced the prophets to make high, moral demands. In other
words, the prophets did not begin as moral reformers. Their
primary intuition of faith glimpsed God's personal love and
interest. Such a God could never be satisfied with external
behaviour; he wanted his people's love in return. Very similar,
therefore, to the modern trend in Moral Theology, the prophetic movement stressed the primacy of charity, a supernatural, even mystical devotedness to God. From charity there
was derived the standard for all other virtues.
Now here was the moral code so well expressed as in the
Prophetic Torah of Michea:

Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
with myriad streams of oil?
Shall I give my first-born for my crime,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
You have been told, 0 Man, what is good,
and what the Lord requires of you;
Only to do the right and to love goodness,
and to walk humbly with your God (Mich. 6: 8).
4 ° Cf., I.s. 4Z: 10, "Sing to the Lord a new song." The new song book comprises
many lyrics of salvation.

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If God were just an impersonal power or simply a distant
governor, he would certainly be satisfied "with thousands of
rams " and " myriad streams of oil." But if God is an interested
Person, close to his people in a bond of love, then he wants
nothing less than the personal affection of his children. All
the works of the flesh cannot compensate for the refusal of the
soul to love. The beginning of such a love-bond between God
and his chosen people is a recognition by Israel of how unworthy she is of God's attention. Humility not only attracts
God's tender pity, but it also evokes from Israel a gracious
gratitude for undeserved love.
Because the prophets grasped so clearly God's supreme personal love for Israel, they understood all other truths in their
depth and expanse of meaning.
Jeremia and Ezechiel forbade the people to consider themselves just a mass of humanity, suffering indiscriminately for
everybody's sins and finding peace in just anybody's virtue.
Ezechiel expressed it this way: "All lives are mine; the life of
the father is like the life of the son, both are mine" (Ez. 18: 4) .
God loves each one personally, individually. This prophetic
doctrine of "personal responsibility" and all of its implications emerged from the prophetic understanding of God's
personal love.
Messianism too developed vigorously through faith in God's
personal concern for Israel. This growth is significant, because
the prophets so often saw Israel in a shambles of destruction
and apostasy. Threat and doom explode again and again in
prophetic preaching as the prophets condemn, argue, plead and
finally give up. Isaia began his ministry with this discouraging
prediction from God:
You are to make the heart of this people sluggish,
to dull their ears and close their eyes;
Else their eyes will see, their ears hear
their heart understand,
and they turn and be healed (Is. 16: 10).

To Jeremia God entrusted the dismal sentence:

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Behold, I make my words
in your mouth, a fire,
And this people is the wood
that it shall devour (Jer. 5: 14).

Although looking out on such bleak infidelity, the prophets
still foresaw a vista of future joy and light. Their staunch
faith in God's infinite, personal love could enable them to
predict such wonders as:
. . . songs of praise,
the lahghter of happy men (Jer. 30: 19).
Fear not, 0 land!
exult and rejoice!
for the Lord has done great things! ...
The threshing floor shall be full of grain
and the vats shall overflow with wine and oil
(Joel 2:21, 24).
There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain;
so the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the Lord,
as water covers the sea (Is. 11:9).

This messianic panorama of glory, like rays of sunlight,
shines from the heart filled with the knowledge of the Lord,
with the word of God. Knowledge, deep and personal, yet
extending to every inch of the universe, catching up all things
into the outstretched arm of God, into the depth of God's
infinite life-this saving knowledge came from God in his word,
reached other men through the prophets, and thus like rain
and snow coming down from heaven achieved the end for
which God sent it (cf., Is. 55: 11).

Conclusion
The Word of God, spoken by the prophets, was alive with
God's power. It was and is the presence of God. True to their
Ancient Near Eastern background, the prophets could not
consider the word just a "thought" or "concept" of the intellect. It was a thrust forward of all the powers of the one
speaking. If the speaker was God, then it brought man into
the dynamic, impelling presence of the Lord.
When God addressed Abraham, Moses, and his chosen people,

THE PROPHET AND THE WORD OF GOD

173

he often left the most important part of his message unspoken.
Here entered faith, a strong, unconditional surrender of one's
whole self to God. The word led Abraham forward to " the
land which I will show you" (Gen.
1). Abraham did not
know beforehand exactly where the land was, and when he was
assured that it was Palestine, he was not certain when or how
it would be acquired.
The land was to be accepted as a gift from a personally
loving God. Once the gift became a substitute for God, God
summoned the prophets.
These men of God restored the faith of Abraham among the
Israelites by calling out: "Hear the word of God." To hear
this life-giving word, Israel must not flee into a dream world
of unreality, but remain in her sorrowful situation. Only,
Israel must humbly acknowledge her guilt and recognize her
misery. In tender mercy God will then speak to the heart of
His people. The prophets will be His spokesmen, but their word
will be God's. The word will be God Himself, present to save
and to make happy, creating a new wonder for his people.
The greatest joy of this new wonder will be the personal bond
of love between God and each of his servants.
I will espouse you to me forever;
I will espouse you in right and in justice,
in love and in mercy,
I will espouse you in fidelity,
and you shall know the Lord (Os.
f.).
Israel will know God, when she receives this word of God
in her heart. By their own strong dedication to a personal
God, the prophets prepared for the messianic glory of the
Word of God, the second Person of the Holy Trinity. This
wonder, however, outwitted their most imaginative hopes (cf.,
Lk. 10: f.). It was the unspoken element in God's word to
them, as with faith they awaited the new creation which God
promised through his prophet Isaia.
CARROLL

Passionist Fathers Seminary
LouisviUtJ, Kllntucky

STUHLMUELLER,

C.P.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS OF ANTHROPOLOGY
TO ETHICS

T

HE thomistic theory of natural law presents a framework upon which to build an edifice of human morality
and it also points out the way in which the edifice
is to be built. Nevertheless, a fundamental deficiency accompaning this theory of natural law at the time of its formulation
was precisely a lack of the material without which the edifice
itself could remain little more than a framework. That material
was human experience. St. Thomas Aquinas, as opposed to
the natural law thinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, constantly insisted upon the great part played by
human experience in coming to know moral matters. 1 To be
sure, the people of his time had considerable human experience
and were also the benefactors of much human experience, but
their experience was largely the unreflective kind of experience
which we often term " common experience." It was for the most
part not a formal, catalogued type of experience such as we
find in modern critical history or the social sciences, nor was
it the result of experiment such as we find, for example, in
modern experimental psychology. In short, it was a prescientific
rather than a scientific kind of experience.
Today, on the contrary, we have a distinct advantage over
the middle ages in that we have at our disposal a number of
sciences which have as their goal precisely the cataloguing and
analysis of various aspects of human experience e. g., history,
biology, psychology, anthropology, sociology, etc. From these
sciences then there is obviously an abundance of material-the
collected, sifted, and measured material of human experience'" Ostendit insufficientiam motivi propter defectum experientiae: et dicit quod
ad hoc quod leges bene ponatur, oportet hoc non ignorare, quia debet aliquis multo
tempore considerare et multis annis, ut manifestum .sit per experientiam, si tales
leges vel statuta bene se habeant." In II Pol., 5; In VI Eth., 13; Summa Theol.,
I-11, 95, 2, ad 4; Sum. cont. Gent., III, 123.

174

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which should prove and already has, to a degree, proven fruitful
in adding to our knowledge of human nature and man's moral
being. This article has as its purpose the illustration of the
possible direction and results of the way in which anthropological knowledge might prove useful to the moral philosopher.

Anthropology and Ethics: Points of Influence
One might wonder, at the outset, in what possible way anknowledge could and should influence the thought
of the moral philosopher. As a matter of fact there are several
ways in which a knowledge of anthropology is of direct value
to him. In the first place, the primary concern of the moral
philosopher is the proper direction of human actions. The
moral philosopher attempts to determine the direction human
actions should take by determining the most general ends of
man. He derives these most general ends of man from a philosophical analysis of the common experience of man considered
simply as a rational animal. Further analysis may reveal a few
of the most general means to these most general ends of man.
But a problem arises at this point. The concretization of human
action takes place and must of necessity take place in situations
that are singular and unique. Consequently in the field of
ethics the most general guides to human action prove to be the
least useful to man. 2 In order to remedy this situation, then,
we need to know not only the most general means whereby man
may secure those basic ends demanded by his nature, but also
the more particular means whereby the more general means
may be attained.
An example will illustrate the point. The analysis of the
common experience of the nature of man as a rational animal
suggests to us that he is a being made for love, a love which
can only attain complete fulfillment in and through a society of
some kind. From this we conclude that one of the most general
ends of man is to love and to be loved and that the general
2 " •••
sermones enim morales universales sunt minus utiles, eo quod actiones
in particularibus sunt." Ila IIae, prologus.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

means to attain this end is in and through society. But the
question remains: what kind of society? It is precisely at this
more specific level that the sciences dealing with man can be
of immense value for the moral philosopher. Thus, for example,
the answer to the question just now raised cannot be determined in an " a priori " manner for the simple reason that it is
impossible to foresee the vast array of contingencies which will
enter into and affect, for better or worse, the concrete realization of any society. Rather the approach to the solution of this
problem is to be sought in the experience and results mankind
has gained in its attempts to set up different societies which
had as their purpose (whether avowed or not) the attainment
of man's most general ends which include his need for love. At
this point a knowledge of anthropology is clearly indispensible.
For its subject-matter is precisely the study of culture. From it
the moral philosopher may learn which societies are most apt
to bring about the fulfillment of man's basic need for love,
which institutions within society either help or hinder the
fulfillment of this need, and which of numerous other factors in
this complex business of social living contribute to or oppose
this most general end of man. In line with possibilities such as
these Benedict remarks, "It is possible to scrutinize different
institutions and cast up their cost in terms of social capital, in
terms of the less desirable behavior traits they stimulate, and
in terms of human suffering and frustration." 3
3 R. Benedict,
Patterns of Culture, Mentor, ed., (New York, 1934) p. 229;
" Examining different cultural systems, the anthropologist, working with other
specialists, might fairly endeavor to establish how far the premises underlying
action in this and that culture correspond with proved scientific truth or rest
on mythical or other bases: as, say, in interpretations of physical laws or of
sickness. He might help to rate technological efficiency in terms of tool performance
or resource productivity. He might venture some gr:;.ding of organizational effectiveness in terms of order and disorder, decision making and other criteria. He might
note the relative clarity of different symbol systems, or the contexts which favor or
militate against physical and mental health." F. Keesing, Cultural Anthropology
(New York, 1958) pp. 183-184; M. Edel and A. Edel, Anthropology and Ethics
(Springfield, Illinois, 1959) pp. 229-231; C. Brinton, A History of Western Morals
(New York, 1959) p. 448; Y. Simon, Critique de la Connaissance Morale (Paris,
1934) p. 123; A. Macbeath, Experiments in Living (London, 1952) p. 415; S.
Deploige, Le Conflict de la Morale et de la Sociologic (Paris, 1923) p. 316.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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In a study of anthropology one becomes aware of just how
ethnocentric are many of his own moral judgments-judgments
which affirm that such a thing ought to be done because it is
" in accord with human nature " or deny that such a thing
should be done on the ground that it is " not in accord with
human nature." This awareness of the ethnocentric nature of
many of our
judgments by no means implies that all of
our ethical judgments are without value. It should rather
awaken us to the need that they have to be subjected to a
critical reappraisal in order to determine precisely what this
value is. For, as Brandt has pointed out, such information can
hardly prove the whole or a great part of traditional Western
moral thought to be radically defective. But in order that what
is substantial in this moral thought be brought to light and
thereby be of aid in the solution of problems the world over,
its ethnocentric accretions must be purged from it. 4
Another value of anthropology for ethics is to be found in
the knowledge which it gives us of human nature. For human
nature as we actually find it is never "raw or pure human
nature." It is always human nature subjected to cultural conditioning of some sort. Anthropology is helpful in this regard
because it indicates what derives from or is peculiar to a particular culture and by contrast what is transcultural and
thereby fundamental to human nature as such. 5 One of the
main ways that anthropology does this is through knowledge
of cultural universals. For through these universals we are
given an indication of certain tendencies which are fundamental
to human nature. 6 Thus Kroeber suggests that we" delimit the
perimeters of historic human culture " in order to come to a
knowledge of human nature because "the limits of human
culture, both normal limits and extreme ones, are presumably
• R. Brandt, Hopi Ethics (Chicago, 1954) p. 12; cf. M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit.,
p. 234.
5 Macbeath,
op. cit., pp. 13-15; D. Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology (New York,
1953) p. 99.
6 C. Kluckhohn,
Mirror for Man (New York, 1949) p. 38; J. Krutch, Human
Nature and the Human Condition (New York and Toronto, 1959) p. 189.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

set mainly if not wholly by the normal and extreme limits of
congenital human nature." 7 And Benedict has suggested that
the degree of conformity permitted by the standards of a culture would show us how deeply certain tendencies are rooted
in man. 8
A knowledge of anthropology forces the moral philosopher to
be aware of the fact that ethical judgments can never be fully
understood when taken from the context in which they are
made or from the pattern of life of which they are a part. For
as morality influences other cultural institutions, these, in turn,
influence it. 9 For example, it is possible to understand the
Eskimo's killing of his aged parents only by taking into account
both the constant hardships of his physical existence and the
fact that it is his religious belief that his parents continue on
in the " other world" in the same physical state in which they
leave this world. Again, we see in our own history the relation
between the Puritan mentality and economics, i. e., the fact
that economic success was indicative that the successful one
was among the "Elect." The society of the Plains Indians,
dominated as it was by a war mentality, offers us an insight
into the relation that may exist between such an outlook and
the practice of sexual abstinence. And among the Zuni we see
the relation between the belief that most sickness is caused by
worry and the " ideal Zuni" pictured as one who lacks all
ambition and demonstrates little passion. 10
A final bearing that anthropology might have on the field of
ethics is that of providing a test for different ethical systems.
Thus, for example, Montagu has presented anthropological evidence to show that love is the "most important of all developers
of the potentialities of the human being," and that because of
7 A. Kroeber,
"Of Human Nature," Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, II
(1955) 199-200.
8 Benedict,
op. cit., p. 255.
9 Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 18, pp. 353-356; M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 84,
p. 223; Brandt, Ethical Theory (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, 1949) pp. 101-102;
Benedict, op. cit., pp. 224-226.
10 K.
Duncker, "Ethical Relativity," Mind, XLVIII (1939) 41-43; Benedict,
op. cit., Chapter IV; Macbeath, op. cit., Chapter VIII.

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179

this it is a great evil that mother and child be separated. 11
Moreover, Murdock has made the following point regarding
the indispensibility of the family, "Man has never discovered
an adequate substitute for the family, and all Utopian attempts
at its abolition have spectacularly failed." 12 Such anthropological evidence would indicate, at the outset, that evil effects
could be anticipated from any theory whatsoever proposing the
separation of mother and child and the breakdown of the
family, such as we find, for example, in the communes of Red
China.
It should be noted, however, that despite what has been
said of the value of social science to ethics, social science can
by no means replace ethics. For the function of social science
in this regard is simply to present the social facts to the moral
philosopher. As Johnston has pointed out, precisely because
they are descriptive the social sciences present to us a speculative knowledge of an operable object. 13 Only when moral
philosophy has subsumed them into an intelligible context of
its own, do these facts take on moral meaning. And social
scientists themselves point out that it is necessary for social
facts to have this moral meaning if social progress is to occur. 14

Cross-cultural Study: its Nature and Limitations
Since the remainder of this article presupposes the validity
of cross-cultural study, it might be well to point out several
problems connected with an undertaking of this kind. One
limitation encountered in such a project is that though the
11 M. Montagu,
Anthropology and Human Nature (Boston, 1959), pp.
cf. M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp.
R. Linton, "The Problem of
Universal Values," in Method and Perspective in Anthropology, ed. R. Spencer
(Minneapolis, 1954) p. 161.
12 G. Murdock," The Common Denominator
of Cultures," in The Science of Man
in the World Crisis, ed. Linton (New York 1945) p. 141.
13 H. Johnston,
" A Pattern for Relating Ethics and the Social Sciences," in
Ethics and the Social Sciences, ed. L. Ward (Notre Dame, 1959) p. 81.
14 J. Casserley, Morals and Man in the Social Sciences (London, 1951) p.
R. Redfield, The Primitive World and its Transformations (Ithaca, New York,
1953) pp.
M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

same norms may be found in different societies they may receive
different emphasis within those different societies or even different emphasis within the same society at different times.
Most cross-cultural studies, using a statistical method of some
sort, are unable to take this into account. In view of this,
therefore, we should not look for identities but rather simularities between cultures. 15 A problem arising in any crosscultural study of ethics is that of deciding just what is considered ethical in any society. Here the possibility of ethnocentricism enters in if we limit our judgment of what is considered to be ethical in another society by what we consider
to be ethical in our own society. 16
Another point to be mentioned is that if we do not find the
same values everywhere we cannot assume simply on the basis
of this fact that a disagreement between cultures exists. This
difference may be due to the fact that the values of the one
culture are unknown to another and, if they were known, they
would also be valued by that other culture, e. g., scientific
knowledge of medicine would be valued by the primitive if he
knew it. 17 In comparing diverse cultures, the particular need
of human nature being fulfilled by a particular institution
should be considered. Thus, Duncker suggests that if the possession of many wives in one culture is simply meant as a sign
of much wealth, marriage in that tribe should be compared with
trade in another tribe. And he concludes, " One would be less
prone to confuse diversity of cultural patterns with differences
in human nature." 18
The undertaking upon which we are about to embark must
expect to conclude with only limited results. As the author of
15 Linton,
"Universal Ethical Principles: An Anthropological View," in Moral
Principles of Action, ed. R. Anshen (New York, 1952) p. 659; Brandt, Hopi
Ethics, p. 247; Murdock, "Common Denominator," p. 124; M. Edel and A. Edel,
op. cit., p. 207.
16 J. Ladd,
The Structure of a Moral Code (Cambridge, Mass., 1957) p. 76;
M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 12.
17 A. Edel, Ethical Judgment:
The Use of Science in Ethics (Glencoe, lllinois,

1955) p. 215.
18 Duncker, op. cit., p. 46; cf. M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 192, p. 205.

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one recent work of this type points out, such a study as this
can only " suggest and sample some of the fruits that a cooperative study might produce." 19 There are a number of
reasons for this. In the first place, cooperative, interdisciplinary
research of this type is new. The transition from the illusion
of the complete self-sufficiency of each branch of knowledge to
the recognition of the real need for cooperative, interdisciplinary activity was by no means a small achievement. 20
Another important factor to be taken into consideration is
the limited state of anthropological knowledge today. Edel
has made the following remark in this regard, "When all the
complex factors to be analyzed are taken into consideration,
the search for invariants is not hopeless; it has scarcely begun." 21 Both Brandt and Ladd have pointed out that the
empirical description of the morality of diverse cultures has
been done only to a very limited extent. 22 And May Edel has
observed that between 1888-1938 only four articles in the
Amel'ican Anthropologist were devoted to morality. 23 Finally,
Macbeath, the author of one of the best works to date concerned with this kind of study, informs the reader that it took
him many years to prepare to write a book of this kind. He
points out that "the subject has been largely neglected by
recent and contemporary anthropologists . . . and much of
what they say has to be gathered from occasional remarks
19 A. Edel, op. cit.,
"Considering the extent of the field to be covered and
how little work has been done recently on primitive morality, all I can hope to
do in these lectures will be tentative and exploratory; and any conclusions at
which I arrive will be provisional. What I am really anxious to do is to call
attention to what seems to me a rich and largely unexplored field of moral material,
which I am satisfied is highly relevant to our ethical enquiries, and to express
the hope that others, both moral philosophers and social anthropologists, will
devote more attention to it, and either confirm or modify my tentative conclusions." Macbeath, op. cit., p.
20 A. Edel., op. cit., p.
21 Ibid., p.
cf. Redfield, op. cit., p.
Kroeber and Kluckhohn, Culture:
A Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions, Papers of the Peabody Museum
of American Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University, XLVII-No. I
175.
(Cambridge, Mass.,
22 Brandt,
Hopi Ethics, p. 4; Ladd, op. cit., p. 6.
23 M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 4.

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scattered throughout their treatment of other subjects." 24 He
finds one of the main reasons for this in the fact that morality
appears to be concerned with the whole pattern of life and,
therefore, tends to be included in the examination of other
aspects of culture. Thus moral duties may also be religious,
social, economic or legal duties. And in view of the fact that
these kinds of duties themselves can only be fully understood
in the light of the pattern of the culture itself, i.e., that which
the people of that culture themselves judge to be right and
wrong, any special treatment accorded to morality itself as
an aspect of culture tends to be regarded as mere repetition. 25
Despite what has been said about the limitations and problems, however, some cross-cultural study and evaluation is
possible, even in our present state of knowledge. But for the
present it will probably be limited for the most part to the
discovery of negative rather than positive criteria, i.e., to the
discovery of what ought not to be done rather than what ought
to be done. 26
In order to see just how anthropologists might supply us
with at least some negative criteria whereby we are informed
as to what we ought not to do or to think, let us look at some
illustrations. Had the seventeenth and eighteenth century had
the advantages of anthropological knowledge, some serious
errors might have been avoided. Thus the Hobbesian conception of the state of nature as a war of all against all would
never have been looked upon as anything other than a fiction,
which in fact, it was; for, as Redfield has pointed out, precivilized man recognized moral obligations, 27 and both Malinowski and Montagu affirm that anthropological evidence
points to the fact that man is by nature a cooperative rather
than competitive or aggressive animal. 28 Rousseau's conception
Mac heath, op. cit., p. 22.
Ibid., pp. 26-27.
26 M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 232-236.
27 Redfield, op. cit., p. 140.
28 B. Malinowski,
A Scientific Theory of Culture and Other Essays (Chapel
Hill, North Carolina, 1944) p. 143; Montagu, op. cit., pp. 12-13.
2•

25

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183

of the state of nature would also receive some hard treatment
at the hands of the anthropologists. Thus Bidney brands the
assertion that natives lead care-free lives "a novelistic fiction."
As a matter of fact he points out the "tragic sense of life "
that pervades their lives. 29 And Benedict mentions that when
Linnaeus came across children who had been abandoned at
an early age in the forest, he was so struck by their sub-human
characteristics that he classified them as a distinct species
" Homo ferus."
He could not conceive that these half-witted brutes were born
human, these creatures with no interest in what went on about
them, rocking themselves rhythmically back and forth like some
wild animal in a zoo, with organs of speech and hearing that could
hardly be trained to do service, who withstood freezing weather in
rags and plucked potatoes out of boiling water without discomfort. 30

This is a far cry from the "noble savage" of whom Rousseau
spoke. Finally, several of Pufendorf's assertions would come
under anthropological attack. Thus when he remarks, " when
one sins against the natural law, he feels that he offends God," 31
Pufendorf commits the not uncommon error of some one raised
in western society and influenced by the Judea-Christian tradition in seeing a necessary connection between morality and
religion. However, as Linton and Macbeath have pointed out,
there is no necessary connection here. For the most part, it is
only with the rise of the higher, monotheistic religions that one
witnesses an association of this kind. 32 Pufendorf's assertion
that monogamy, 33 descent of a man's property through his
blood line, 34 and the father's priority over the mother in regard
Bidney, op. cit., pp. 408-409.
Benedict, op. cit., p. 11.
31 S. Pufendorf,
The Two Books on the Duty of Man and Citizen according
to the Natural Law, trans. F. Moore, The Classics of International Law, ed.
J. Scott, X (New York,
' 12 Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values," pp. 155-156; Macbeath,
op. cit.,
p.
p. 451.
33 Pufendorf,
op. cit., pp. 94-96.
•• Ibid., p. 65.
29

30

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RICHARD H. BEIS

to the children, property, etc., 35 is" according to nature" would
scarcely be challenged today because of its naivete. 36
Aside from these corrections of past errors, there are a
number of present errors that an attentive examination of the
data of anthropology would eliminate. Thus Mead has shown
us that the so-called "period of crisis" that takes place during
adolescence is not attributable to human nature as such but is
a phenomenon distinctly western in origin. 37 Kluckhohn and
Montagu have made it clear that the idea of racial superiority
is simply a myth." 8 Anthropological studies may also prove
to have a catalytic effect on some of our ideas regarding sex
and marriage. Thus Murdock points out that in view of the
quite frequent allowance of extramarital relations in various
societies, it cannot be maintained that sexual activity and its
regulation are the only reasons or indeed even the primary
reasons for marriage. 39 And Benedict and Macbeath have
shown that in a number of societies the economic motive is
the predominate motive for marriage. 40 Again, to one who
would claim that a society which continues to permit, much
less encourage, sexual activity outside marriage is bound to
become corrupted, Murdock makes the following reply, "The
vast majority of human societies make no attempt to confine
sexual intercourse to marriage through a generalized sex
taboo." 41 To one who would argue that divorce is wrong because of the traumatic effect that it has on the child, Macbeath
would reply that such may indeed be the case in Western
society. But he would immediately add that this by no means
proves that divorce as such is wrong. And he would give as
an instance, the effect of divorce in Bantu society. For among
35

Ibid., p. 97.

Cf., for example, Murdock, Social Structure (New York, 1949).
Macbeath, op. cit., p. 14.
38 Kluckhohn, op. cit., pp. 82-113; Montague, op. cit., pp. 4-5.
36 "From available evidence, however, it seems unlikely that a general prohibition
of sex relations outside marriage occurs in as many as five per cent of the
peoples of the earth." Murdock, Social Structure, p. 264, cf. pp. 5-10.
40 Benedict, op. cit., pp. 191-192, p. 224; Macbeath,
op. cit., pp. 174-175.
41 Murdock,
Social Structure, p. 268.
36

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the Bantu the closest tie is that of blood relationship and the
emotional satisfaction that those of western culture seek in
marriage is taken care of for the Bantu within the immediate
family and close kin. Furthermore, the children of a Bantu
marriage call their aunts and uncles indifferently father or
mother as the case may be and they live with their aunts and
uncles as well as with their mother and father. Keeping in mind
these facts and the fact that the Bantu look upon marriage
primarily as an exchange of property, it is understandable that
the occasion of divorce is among the Bantu rather like the
split-up of a business partnership and certainly involves very
little traumatic effect for either the parents or children. 42
Finally, Linton has noted that for the stability of society "permanence of matings" is considered a desirable thing and that
one of two opposing ways is usually adopted in different societies for accomplishing this end. In some societies premarital
chastity is enforced on the theory that one who enters marriage
without previous sexual experience will be deterred by timidity
from extramarital experimentation,
thereby preserving the
marriage bond. The other way proceeds on the assumption
that the permanence of marriage rests on physical and emotional adjustment. Consequently a period of premarital experimentation is looked upon as conducive to this adjustment as
well as satisfying one's curiosity about other possible partners.
Both ways have proven viable and both seem to have their
advantages and disadvantages.' 3 At the present time, therefore,
it would at least be an unproven statement to say that one way
is " better than " the other way.

Ethical Relativism
One position that must be considered in detail before it can
be said that anthropology has any positive relevance for ethics
is ethical relativism. Ethical relativism in this context means
simply that the only possible way of evaluating an ethical
judgment or position is in terms of the particular cultural pat42

43

Macbeath, op. cit., pp. 177-180.
Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values," pp.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

tern or way of life of which it is a part. For ethical judgments
and positions themselves are merely functions of the particular
society in which they happen to be found. 44 There are no transcultural criteria for evaluating all cultures nor are any possible.
Any attempt to set up such criteria is doomed to failure from
the outset because of the unavoidable, enculturated condition
of any thinker who would make such an attempt. 45 What
ethical relativism does not mean-and this anthropologists of
the most diverse outlook are agreed upon 46-is that any kind
of conduct is right for anyone. It means rather the opposite:
precisely because one has been raised in a particular culture
and has thus had his nature enculturated or determined in this
rather than in some other way, what is right for him is to act
according to the norms of the society in which he received his
particular enculturation. The basic point that the position of
ethical relativism wishes to maintain is that there neither is
nor can be any objective or scientific way of saying that one
kind of human behavior is better or worse than another kind
apart from the particular context in which they take place.
As Von Fritz has pointed out this is not a new position. What is
new is the assertion that it has been scientifically established. 47
The reasons for the rise of ethical relativism seem to be
multiple and to derive from both anthropological and non44 Kluckhohn
describes the position as follows:
". . . the simplest self-contained unit of conduct, which can justify or render
intelligible a final moral judgment is a way of life as a whole, or at least a very
substantial part of such a way of life." C. Kluckhohn, "Ethical Relativity: Sic
et Non," Journal of Philosophy, LII (1955) 668.
45 M. Herskovits,
" Tender-and Tough-Minded Anthropology and the Study of
Values in Culture," Southwestern Journal of Anthropology, VII (1951) 27.
46 Thus Kluckhohn remarks that ethical relativism does not simply mean " that
any set of customs and institutions, or way of life, is as valid as any other." He
describes this as " an inaccurate vulgarization " to which no anthropologist would
subscribe. And he says that to the above phrases must be added, " for a group
living under certain circumstances and having had a particular history." Kluckhohn, "Ethical Relativity," p. 668; cf. Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, p. 38; Montagu,
op. cit., p. 7; Herskovits, "Some Further Comments on Cultural Relativism,"
Ame1·ican Anthropologist, LX (1958) 269.
47 K. Von Fritz, "Relative
and Absolute Values," in Moral Principles of Action,
ed. Anshen (New York, 1952) p. 95.

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anthropological sources. One of the main reasons is to be
found in the sincere desire on the part of anthropologists themselves to avoid ethnocentricism as well as to make others aware
of this problem. Such, for example, is the reason for Benedict's
Patterns of Culture and for much of Boas' work. 48 Again it
was Boas and Rivers who in their destruction of the 19th
century anthropological theory of unilinear evolution offered
the idea of cultural pluralism in its place. 49 As Krutch has
pointed out, this was really a reaction to the attempt to reduce
man to " a few crude needs." 50 Thus Kluckhohn notes that
due to Boas' influence in America the period from 1910 to 1940
was devoted almost exclusively to the study of cultural diversities accompanied by a strong anti-theoretical bias on the part
of American anthropologists. 51
Abraham and May Edel point out a number of causes outside the field of anthropology which contributed to the rise
of ethical relativity. In the field of psychology the behaviorist
theory of Watson insisted on the pure plasticity of human
nature. In the field of philosophy the language analysts such
as A. J. Ayer would reduce all ethical statements to simply
expressions of emotion. In the field of politics Machiavellian
thought and spirit makes its only "fixed" principle that of
expediency. Finally, sociology was itself going through a period
of crisis marked by tendencies that were destructive rather than
constructive. 52
During the last two decades, however, there has been a
change among the anthropologists themselves regarding ethical
relativism. Thus, while retaining the methodological principle
that initial anthropological investigation of any culture must
seek to understand that culture in its own terms, the majority
of anthropologists today would not accept the philosophical
48 Bidney,
"The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," Anthropology
Today, ed. Kroeber (Chicago, 1953) p. 688; Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 285.
49 Bidney, "The Concept
of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 687.
5 ° Krutch,
op. cit., p. llO.
51 C. Kluckhohn,
"Universal Categories of Culture," in Anthropology Today,
ed. Kroeber (Chicago, 1953) p. 511.
52 A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 19-28; M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 24-25.

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principle of ethical relativism. As a matter of fact within recent
years ethical relativism as a philosophical position has, as we
shall see, been subjected to more and more serious attacks by
anthropologists themselves. Thus almost all the literature
referred to in this article is directly or indirectly an attack on
the philosophical position of ethical relativism. 53
As the anthropological .conception of human nature has
varied, so too has the position of anthropologists in regard to
ethical relativism varied. A. L. Kroeber, the late dean of contemporary anthropology, points out that there have been
three different generally accepted views of human nature in
the history of anthropology. The first was that held between
1860-1890. During this period, human nature was considered
as a constant and the whole of culture was explained in terms
of it. The second anthropological view of human nature lasted
from around 1900 to 1945. Human nature now came to be
considered as a pure plasticity which received its total determination from the culture in which it existed. As a result, the
doctrine of ethical relativism flourished. The third and latest
period from 1945 to the present is a period in anthropology
characterized by moderation. In this period one is witnessing a
return to the concept of human nature, but not in the nineteenth century sense of the term. For the return is much more
cautious, one that seeks to take into account some unity in
human nature, thereby allowing that it is truly a nature, while
at the same time it affirms the enculturated condition of human
nature, thereby rejecting any conception of a "pure human
nature." 54
In approaching the problem of ethical relativism it will be
necessary to spend some time considering the broader problem
of cultural relativism and seeking some solution to that problem. For, if cultural relativism is true, then, of course, ethical
relativism is also true. But should cultural relativism be shown
53 Cf. L. Ward, "The 'Natural
Law' Rebound," The Review of Politics, XXI
(1959) 114-130.
" 4 Kroeber,
"Of Human Nature," pp. 197-198; cf. Kluckhohn, "Ethical Relativity," pp. 663-664.

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to be false, it will be a strong indication that ethical relativism
is also false. Nevertheless, although the refutation of cultural
relativism is a necessary condition for the refutation of ethical
relativism, it is not a sufficient condition for such refutation.
It is still conceivable that although not all aspects of culture
are relative, that aspect of culture which has to do with
morality may be relative. Consequently the problem of ethical
relativism itself will have to be directly examined later.
Cultural relativism simply means that cultures are not able
to be compared in any way because they are diverse in all
ways. It may appear that different aspects or institutions
within them are comparable but this is an illusion because these
institutions while outwardly appearing the same take on meaning only when seen in the total context or cultural pattern of
which they are a part. But since cultural patterns themselves
are simply diverse and therefore, not comparable, it is clear
that their parts are in no way comparable.
A great many present-day anthropologists have reacted
against the theory of cultural relativism. One of their chief
reasons is to be found in the fact that such a position leaves
culture itself without an explanation. For if there is nothing
determinate within culture, as such, it could be anyway at all.
But if such were the case, if culture were a purely random sort
of thing, it would defy probability that there should be anything universal about it because that which happens always or
frequently does not, as Aristotle has observed/ 5 happen by
chance. But, in fact, we find quite a number of things that are
universal about all known cultures.
In the first place, unless the term "culture" itself is an
equivocation, we must concede that it is universal, that is,
wherever groups of men are found (and men live only in groups
unless because of some accident) culture or the works of man
are also found. Moreover, culture is itself a distinctly human
phenomenon as opposed to society which is found even in the
animal kingdom. For it concerns that heritage of mankind
55

Aristotle, Physics, II, 5.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

which has arisen from those powers which specify man from the
brute, namely, his power of abstraction and communication
through speech. 56 Finally, in all known cultures we do, in fact,
find quite a number of universals. Thus in every culture we
find: religion (belief in supernatural beings and in their aid) ,
government, morality, marriage and the nuclear family (parents
and children), law, leadership, belief in life after death, property (land, clothing, tools, etc.) , division of labor according to
sex, age, etc., mythology, language, concern with the acquisition
of knowledge, kinship systems, aesthetic expression (art, music,
dance, etc.) , education, security, love and friendship, food and
shelter, some degree of mutual trust, belief in some order in
universe (never pure chaos), non-utilitarian group activities
such as clubs, games, etc. 57 In the light of the universality
of these cultural phenomena as well as a host of others that
exist, 58 the position of cultural relativism becomes untenable.
Such a frequency of " accidents" makes them no longer " accidents" but elements that are in varying degrees necessary to
the human social situation.
In answer to the question as to why these elements exist
universally a great number of contemporary anthropologists
have replied that they exist as ways of fulfilling man's basic
biological, psychological, and social needs. In other words,
society is here conceived as having a job to do, namely, to
A. Kroeber, Anthropology, 2nd ed. (New York, 1948) pp. 7-10.
Murdock, Social Structure, pp. 2-8; F. Boas, "Anthropology," Sdections from
the Encyclopedia of Social Sciences, II (New York, 1947) 82-83; Kluckhohn,
Mirror for Man, pp. 23-26; "Universal Categories of Culture," pp. 520-521; Macheath, op. cit., pp. 76-83, p. 100; Kroeber, Anthropology; p. 289, p. 599; Brandt,
Ethical Theory, pp. 86-89; D. Bidney, "The Philosophical Presuppositions of
Cultural Relativism and Cultural Absolutism," in Ethics and the Social Sciences,
ed. L. Ward (Notre Dame, 1959) p. 53; Theoretical Anthropology, p. 64; A. Edel,
op. cit., pp. 171-173, p. 299; Malinowski, op. cit., pp. 55-66; Redfield, op. cit., p. 11;
Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values," pp. 153-165; "Universal Ethical
Principles," pp. 646-647; Casserley, op. cit., p. 100; M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit.,
p. 30.
58 " The files of the Cross-Cultural
Survey at Yale University are organized
according to categories· such as 'marriage ceremonies,' 'life crisis rites,' 'incest
taboos.' At least seventy-five of these categories are represented in every single
mw of the hundreds of cultures analyzed." Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, pp. 22-23.
58

57

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bring about the fulfillment of man's basic biological, psychological, and social needs. Therefore, 'in order that a society may
come into existence and continue to be, it must present a social
structure which satisfies at least minimally these basic needs
of man. 59 To the degree that a society accomplishes the fulfillment of man's basic needs it is considered good and to the
degree that it fails in this accomplishment it is considered bad.
It is in the light of criteria such as these that cross-cultural
evaluation becomes possible. 60
Having seen, therefore, the untenability of the position of
cultural relativism, we find ourselves led to suspect that the
untenability of ethical relativism may be shown in a similar
manner. For the fact that certain basic minimal conditions are
required in order to render man's social existence feasible and
59 " The members
of all human
face some of the same unavoidable
dilemmas, posed by biology and other facts of the human situation. This is why the
basic categories of all cultures are so similar." Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, p. 26;
" There is room for a wide variety in the kinds of lives men build for themselves,
but certain minimal standards must be met if these ' experiments ' are to be
successful at all . . . This common human nature sets limits to the forms that
any experiments in living can take, to the possible techniques of motivation, the
scope of sympathy, the effectiveness of sanctions.
Common needs, common social tasks, common psychological processes are bound
to provide some common framework for the wide variety of human behaviors that
different cultures have developed." M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp .. 30-31;
" Human nature is the locus of culture and the potentialities of human nature
may be said to set limits to the kind of cultural processes which may be introduced
and encouraged." Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology, p. 140; "Cultural Relativism
and Cultural Absolutism," p. 63; Malinowski, op. cit., pp. 9-10, pp. 37-38, p. 75 ff.;
Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles," p. 646; "The Problem of Universal Values,"
p. 149; Murdock, "Common Denominator," p. 125; Casserley, op. cit., p. 100;
A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 241-242; Redfield, "Relations of Anthropology to the Social
Sciences and to the Humanities," in Anthropology Today, ed. Kroeber (Chicago,
1953) p. 730; Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 287; Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit.,
pp. 172-176; R. Firth, "The Study of Values by Social Anthropologists," Man,
LUI, (1953) 148.
60 ".
•
•
biological, psychological, and sociosituational universals afford the
possibility of comparison of cultures in terms which are not ethnocentric ... ,"
Kluckhohn, "Universal Categories of Culture," p. 517; "The stability of a society
through time is a tribute to the efficiency of its institutions. On the other hand,
its failure to advance towards new and greater achievement betrays their limitations," Casserley, op. cit., p. 100; Malinowski, op. cit., p. 37; A. Edel, op. cit.,
pp. 241-242; Linton, "Universal Categories of Culture," p. 646.

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that morality itself is one of these basic conditions, suggests to
us that this basic condition itself has certain fundamental,
minimal requirements in order for it to be, due again to the fact
that the ways in which man's basic needs may be reasonably
satisfied are of limited variation.
As we approach this topic of ethical relativism we note that
of the names most usually associated with this position those
of Benedict and Herskovits stand to the fore. However, the
examination of Benedict's major work, Patterns of Culture,
the work most frequently cited as an illustration of her espousal
of the position of ethical relativism, reveals several things
that lead one to doubt that the intention of this work was
to promote the doctrine of ethical relativism. In the first
place, Benedict herself indicates to us that the book was written
simply in opposition to the ethnocentric tendencies of the
times. 61 Such an undertaking as this obviously does not
necessitate the adoption of the position of ethical relativism.
Secondly, as others have previously noted, 62 her own value
judgments appear frequently throughout the book. 63 Thirdly,
by such references as "human adjustments ... that are common and . . . inevitable in mankind," 64 " Since we are forced
to believe that the race of man is one species . . . ," 65 ". • • the
institutions that human cultures build up upon the hints presented ... by man's physical necessities ... " 66 she seems to
imply a conception of human nature that would not admit of
its pure plasticity. Fourthly, she allows for the possibility of
cross-cultural universals. Thus she speaks of "those few traits
that are universal or near-universal in human society" and
uses as illustrations of these belief in animism, exogamous restrictions upon marriage, belief in the human soul and afterlife.67 She speaks of "those responses that are specific to local
cultural types and those that are general to mankind" 68 and
Benedict, op. cit., pp. 9-10.
A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 213-214; Redfield, Primitive World, pp. 150-151.
68 Cf. Benedict,
op. cit., pp. 8, 9, 11, 18, 29, 95, 178, 200, 205, 230, 236, 247, 255,
and 256.
64 Ibid., p. 15.
'"Ibid., p. 17. 66 Ibid., p. 32. 67 Ibid., p. 17. 68 Ibid., p. 18.
61

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how as our knowledge of culture increases " we shall be able
to isolate the tiny core that is generic in a situation and the
vast accretions that are local and cultural and man-made." 69
Moreover, she notes that "the dominant traits of our civilization need special scrutiny. We need to realize that they are
compulsive, not in proportion as they are basic and essential
in human behavior, but rather in the degree to which they are
local and overgrown in our own culture." 7 ° Fifthly, she looks
forward to the day when society will receive "sane and scientific direction " as opposed to being allowed to drift at random
wherever it will as it has in the past. 71 In view of the points
just mentioned, therefore, and keeping in mind the fact that
anthropologists seldom express themselves with philosophical
precision, it appears that one must conclude not that Benedict
was a proponent of ethical relativism, but rather that she was
an ardent opponent of ethnocentricism. 72

The Po8ition of Herskovits
Let us turn then to Herskovits as being the foremost representative of ethical relativism today and examine his position
closely before offering any criticism of it. It is the position of
Herskovits that "Even the facts of the physical world are discerned through the enculturative screen so that the perception
of time, distance, weight, size and other 'realities' is mediated
by the conventions of any given group." 73 Having assumed this
position, it logically follows that it is impossible to establish any
cross-cultural criteria of evaluation and, therefore, that any
search for ethical universals would be doomed to failure from
the very outset. 74 Herskovits will admit that universals exist•• Ibid., p. 226.
70 Ibid., pp. 230-231.
71 Ibid., pp. 251-257.
72 Cf. M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 27.
73 M. Herskovits,
Man and His Works (New York, 1948), p. 64.
74 " But where are the cross-cultural
guides of the anthropologist? He, like all
human beings, has undergone enculturative conditionings to the standards of his
proper culture. Can his judgments be so Olympian that they are not influenced by
those standards? " Herskovits, "Tender-and Tough-Minded Anthropology," p. 27.

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but only in the formal sense, i.e., as abstract forms whose
content may be indefinitely varied. Thus, for example, morality
itself is a cultural universal. But the number of ways in which
it could be realized are infinite. 75 Herskovits' reason for adopting the position of ethical relativism aside from the epistemological one mentioned above seems to be that he, as Benedict,
is highly sensitive to the evils of ethnocentricism, especially
western ethnocentricism and its tendency to superimpose its
culture upon all others as "the best" regardless of their particular conditions and he seems to feel that the only position
that will effectively combat ethnocentricism is that of complete
ethical relativism with its "hands off" policy. 76 He states that
since the Second World War the historical development of
anthropology has been in the direction of ethical relativism 77
and that today (i.e. 1951 A. D.) almost all anthropologists
would accept the doctrine of ethical relativism.
As to this last assertion made by Herskovits, aside from
statements to the contrary by Kroeber and Kluckhohn that
we have already seen, it is the contention of this writer that
as of 1964 such an assertion would definitely not be affirmed by
the following anthropologists-Bidney,
Redfield, Linton, Murdock, Levi-Strauss, Firth, Asch, Ginsberg, Montagu, Edel,
Keesing, Casserley, Malinowski, Childe, Fortes, Hall, Mead,
Hallowell, Cooper, and Spiro. Undoubtedly there are others.
But this list is, I believe, sufficient to suggest that Herskovits'
statement is at least inaccurate.

Logic and Consequences
As we review Herskovits' position, we can see in its declaration of the cultural conditioning of man's perception of space
and time a certain affinity that it has with idealist metaphysics.
Thus Bidney observes that Herskovits quotes with approval
the opinion of the Neo-Kantian, Ernst Cassirer, that "experience is culturally defined." 78
M. Herskovits, Cultural Anthropology (New York, 1955) p. 364.
Herskovits, "Tender-and Tough-Minded Anthropology," p.
78 Bidney,
77 Ibid.
Theoretical Anthropology, p.

76

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The consequences inherent in the theory of ethical relativism
have brought forth reactions in both the fields of anthropology
and philosophy. For it has been pointed out that Dachau and
Buchenwald and all that these represent make it a bit hard
to consider all cultures as " coexisting and equally valid patterns of life which mankind has created for itself from the raw
materials of existence." 79 Moreover, there are a host of extremely urgent modern, international problems requiring for
their solution some sort of common morality. It is evident that
in this state of affairs the position of ethical relativism will not
be a popular one. 8 ° Finally, Bidney notes along the same line
that, "If there is a danger of imposing ethnocentric ideals and
institutions upon the adherents of alien cultures, there is
equally the danger that the liberal advocates of cultural laissez
faire may fail to correct gross injustices committed by those
who recognize no common human rights and values." 81
Another reason for Herskovits' position is to be found in the
fact that he believes that there is some necessary connection
between the methodological relativism of the practicing anthropologist and the assumption of the position of philosophical
relativism. Thus he speaks of their "logical sequence." 82
Several writers have pointed out, however, that no connection
necessarily exists between these two kinds of relativisms. 83 And
as a proof of their point they have, in fact, adopted the position of methodological relativism while opposing that of philosophical relativism. For they declare that there is no contradiction in proceeding in anthropological field work to treat each
society and its institutions purely in their own terms while
79 Benedict,
op. cit., p.
(I used this phrase of Benedict's because it is so
often quoted in support of the position of ethical relativism-not because I believe
that she subscribes to that position.)
Cf. Redfield, Primitive World, p. 148;
Bidney, "Cultural Relativism and Cultural Absolutism," p. 71.
80 A. Edel, op. cit., p. 18; Bidney, "The Concept of Value in Modern
Anthropology," p. 698.
81 Ibid., pp. 697-698.
82 Herskovits,
"Tender-and Tough-Minded Anthropology," p.
83 G.
St. Hilaire, "Cultural Relativism and Primitive Ethics," The Modern
Schoolman, XXXVI (1959) p. 180; Casserley, op. cit., p. 222; Bidney, "The
Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 691; Brandt, Ethical Theory, p.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

admitting the possibility, if not the fact, that after the individual examination of cultures, cross-cultural study will exhibit
a certain core that is universal and not simply relative to the
particular cultures concerned. Thus Kroeber remarks, " Realization of relativity is a needed first step, not the end of the
journey ... Successful discovery of regularities in human
history and culture can begin after a high degree of relativity
( = complexity)
of culture is assumed as a premise." 84
Herskovits' simultaneous insistence on the doctrine of ethical
relativism and the universal need for tolerance among cultures
and people within cultures has been the target of much criticism.85 For one is led to wonder whether the plea for tolerance
may not simply be " a reflection of a culturally developed
liberalism in the western world." 86 Furthermore, one is led to
wonder what it is that makes the doctrine of ethical relativism
a " good " doctrine and that of ethnocentricism a " bad " doctrine.87 And if one is to adjust to the culture in which he is,
when he goes from a culture that is non-ethnocentric to a
culture that is ethnocentric, should he become ethnocentric? 88
Moreover, an important psychological point overlooked by the
ethical relativist is the fact that unless men believe that their
basic moral values are in some sense absolute they can hardly
84 Kroeber,
"Critical Summary and Commentary," in Nlethod and Perspective
in Anthropology, ed. R. Spencer (Minneapolis, 1954) p. 286.
85 Herskovits,
"Tender-and Tough-Minded Anthropology," p. 28.
88 A. Edel, op. cit., p. 212.
87 " There are apparently
two kinds of ethnocentricism-a vicious and a benign
kind. The vicious kind of ethnocentricism involves belief in objective absolute
values and hence intolerance of other codes. The benign kind involves preference
for one's own value system, as well as mutual respect for those of other societies.
How it is possible to transcend ethnocentricism of the intolerant variety, if there
is no objective standard of comparison, is not explained." Bidney, Theoretical
Anthropology, p. 424; " ... the affirmation that we should have respect and tolerance
for the values of other cultures is itself a value which is not derivable from the
proposition that all values are relative. An anthropologist may wish to hold such
a position. But if he does so, it must be on other grounds." Firth, op. cit., p. 150;
Bidney, "The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 690; A. Edel,
op. cit., p. 82; Ladd, op. cit., p. 324; Redfield, Primitive World, p. 147; Brandt,
Ethical Theory, pp. 288 ff.; Keesing, op. ct., p. 182.
88 Bidney,
Theoretical Anthropology, pp. 424-425.

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be expected to act on them especially if such action is inherently difficult. In this sense Krutch points out that "'cultural
and moral relativism' is a doctrine repugnant to the nature of
man and that the attempt to build a society upon such relativism is certain to reduce him to a condition which he can come
to accept comfortably only in so far as he succeeds in dehumanizing himself." 89
Another problem with the position of ethical relativism is
that it logically excludes the very benefits that were thought
to follow from that position. For it was thought that because
no claim could be made to any transcultural criteria of evaluation any possibility of clandestine, ethnocentric impositions
of one culture upon another in the name of these criteria would
be eliminated from the very outset. As a result, tolerance for
all would be guaranteed. Actually the opposite is true. As long
as no common morality exists or is possible, what else can one
be but ethnocentric? Thus Bidney remarks:
So long as the attitude of cultural and moral relativism prevails,
ethnocentrism is unavoidable in principle. If we are told and believe that, in spite of so-called cultural universals, we share no
common human perspectives and no common rational values, and
that each individual is to adhere to the culture norms of his society
because it makes for individual adjustment and social integration
then there is no alternative to ethnocentrism. The members of
each society are bound to act as they have been conditioned by
their culture and to prefer its values to all others. To say that one
ought not to be ethnocentric under the supposed conditions of cultural relativism is to ask the impossible. 90
Bidney also points out the paradox that extreme liberalism
and extreme conservatism as regards moral values coincide at
the practical level. For they both oppose any objective statement of common, universal values: the liberals, i.e. the rela89 Krutch,
op. cit., pp. 183-184; " ... cultural relativists, in general tend to
assume that men would continue to adhere to, and respect, their cultural values,
even after they were convinced by the ethnologists that their so-called ' absolute;
and 'universal' values were but subjective delusions." Bidney, "The Concept of
Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 696; Theoretical Anthropology, p. 427.
00 Bidney, " Cultural
Relativism and Cultural Absolutism, pp. 65-66.

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tivists, because they fear that this will be used as a pretext
for ethnocentric interference in another society, the conservatives because they oppose anything that would appear to do
away with their position as an "elite" and certainly the recognition of common moral values would tend in this direction. 91
The only rational justification for man to rise above a completely ethnocentric outlook is to be found in some common
core of values. Only in this way can there be mutual tolerance
and respect for ethical differences. 92 In the light of this last
remark Bidney notes that the degree of cooperation in world
affairs which mankind has so far attained would not have been
possible without there being more concrete similarities of values
than ethical relativists care to admit. 93
Another argument for tolerance in the sense of non-interference between societies is what we might call the "cultural
pattern argument." The point of the argument is that the very
existence of the pattern of whatever particular culture may be
in question is itself proof that that pattern is a successful one
and, therefore, necessary for the survival of the group. To
interfere with this pattern might destroy it and eventually the
group which depends on it for its existence. The whole " pattern of culture" idea itself has recently come under attack. For
it presupposes that cultures are more close-knit than, in fact,
they are. Thus Casserley has pointed out that the theory of
the cultural pattern is not sufficient to characterize highly complex modern societies. "For the chief distinguishing characteristic of our society is precisely its lack of any one sovereign
culture pattern." 94 And he goes on to make the important
observation (in opposition to the cultural determinists) that
man in modern society is not, therefore, determined by a particular cultural pattern but must freely choose his pattern and
Bidney, "The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 694.
"Unless science can provide potentially universal cultural values capable of
winning ardent adherents, other methods will be found to fill this need, snch as
the mythological appeal to race, class, or nationality."
Bidney, Theoretical
Anthropology, p. 432.
03 llidney,
"The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 694.
"' Cas<>erley, op. cit., p. 97.
91

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maintain it in the face of opposing patterns. 95 Moreover, he
points out that such institutions as Christianity and the other
higher religions have not come into being and ceased to be with
particular cultural patterns. They originated in one kind of
culture, e. g., Christianity in Judea, and have long outlived that
culture. 96 Again Macbeath has pointed out, following the
functionalistic theory of Malinowski, that the "pattern of culture " theory really refers to how something is to be done, i.e.,
the attitude of mind or spirit with which something is to be
done rather than what is to be done. 97 Aside from these arguments directly against the "pattern of culture " theory itself
others have wondered just how really destructive it would be
of one culture if those of another culture sought to remove
institutions such as slavery, headhunting, persecution for witchcraft, etc. from that culture. 98
Krutch makes an interesting reply in answer to the assertion
that man can be determined in any direction by the cultural
conditions in which he exists. He notes that recent study of
animal behavior reveals that its limitation to the categories of
inborn or learned is no longer sufficient. For there is a third
type of behavior which is somewhat of a combination of the
two in as much as there is an inborn ability to learn in a certain direction rather than in another direction. Consequently,
though an animal may be taught to do something for which it
lacks this inborn ability, e. g., a robin taught to swim, this
process will be a difficult one as opposed to the one that accords
with the animal's natural ability. He extends this notion to
man and remarks of his possible enculturation in any direction,
"Perhaps you can condition an individual or a society to think
and behave 'unnaturally' just as you might teach a robin to
swim. But men who have been conditioned to think or behave
unnaturally are as unhappy and as inefficient as swimming
robins." 99
Ibid., pp. 98-99.
Ibid., pp. 105-106.
97 Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 88.
98 Brandt,
Ethical Theory, p. 292; St. Hilaire, op. cit., p. 195.
" 9 Krutch,
op. cit., pp. 174-175.

95

96

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RICHARD H. BEIS

Another uncomfortable consequence of the position of absolute relativism is that it would destroy the meaning and value
of the scientific method itself. For it would throw into doubt
its objectivity. Thus Rapoport has remarked. "So it is incorrect to say that the scientific outlook is simply a by-product of
a particular culture. It is rather the essence of a culture which
has not yet been established-a culture-studying culture.
Ironically, the anthropologists, who often are most emphatic
in stating that no noncultural standards of evaluation exist,
are among the most active builders of this new culture-studying
culture, whose standards transcend those of the cultures which
anthropologists study and thus give them an opportunity to
emancipate themselves from the limitations of the local
standards." 100
Those who propose the theory of ethical relativity often
speak of it as being "scientifically" established. 101 However,
it has been pointed out by several writers that if anthropology
is ever to be anything more than merely descriptive, if it is to
rise to a level that is truly scientific, which it can only do in
virtue of its ability to make generalizations, then of necessity it
must become comparative. Otherwise it remains only history. 102
And Kroeber observes, "Insistent recognition only of phenomenal variety, however true and however satisfying aesthetically, is necessarily sterile as an intellectual aim or achievement; just as belittling of variety is an intellectual evasion.
The variety must be overcome, not deplored, denied, or
shrugged off." 103
Opposing the doctrine of ethical relativism, Duncker proposes a thesis frequently mentioned in literature pertaining to
this subject. What this thesis really amounts to is taking the
100 A. Rapoport,
Science and the Goals of Man (New York, 1950), pp. 232-233
quoted in Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit., pp. 178-179.
101 Herskovits,
"Some Further Comments," p. 267; "Tender-and Tough-Minded
Anthropology," p. 24.
102 Casserley,
op. cit., p. 6; Malinowski, op. cit., pp. 40-41; Bidney, Theoretical
Anthropology, pp. 427-428.
103 Kroeber,
"Critical Summary," p. 286; cf. Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit.,
p. 177.

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ethical relativists at their word regarding the non-comparability
o: institutions and customs within different cultures and paradoxically enough accusing them of being " abstract" when
they compare what they call the" same" institution in different
cultures. His point is that circumstances are not extrinsic to
an act but enter into the very essence of the act so that to
change the circumstances is to change the act. 104 Moreover, he
believes that "given the same situational meanings an act is
likely to receive the same ethical valuation." 105 Others have
implicitly adopted at least a modified form of this thesis in
explaining such things as parricide, infanticide, etc. Thus the
killing of one's parents in a culture where the physical conditions of existence render life extremely hard and where one's
religious belief is that a person continues in the next world
in the same physical state in which he left this life is really,
according to Duncker's thesis, a different act from what it
would be in a culture where such conditions do not exist
precisely because it has a different meaning. 106
A final point to be noted is the acute observation of Kluckhohn and Kroeber that paradoxically enough it was due precisely to the analytic comparison between diverse cultures that
ethical relativism itself arose and yet today that same doctrine
denies even the possibility of valid cross-cultural comparison. 1D7
The reason that ethical relativism had to arise in this way is
seen in the fact that utter diversity is simply unintelligible.
In the words of Florence Kluckhohn, " ... certainly it is only
within a frame of reference which deals with universals that
variation can be understood. Without this framework it is
not possible to deal systematically with either the problem
of similarity and difference as between value systems of
104 "For ethical valuation
is not concerned with acts as abstract events in spacetime. The ethical essence of an act depends upon its concrete pattern of situational
meanings." Duncker, op. cit., p. 43.
105 Ibid., p. 44.
106 A. Edel, op. cit., p.
Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 100; M. Edel and A. Edel,
op. cit., p. 56.
107 Kroeber
and Kluckhohn, op. cit., p. 177.

RICHARD H. BEIS

different societies or the questions of variant values within
societies ... " 108

The Claim of Empirical V erifioation
One of the most important points in the discussion of ethical
relativism was the claim that the position of ethical relativism
had been scientifically validated. Just how valid is this claim?
It would be well to inquire first what the ethical relativist
has in mind when he says that the theory of ethical relativism
has been "scientifically validated." What he seems to have in
mind is that much empirical data points to ethical relativism.
For, as Herskovits notes, the theory of ethical relativism itself
is not new. What is new is " the massive documentation that
derives from the great body of comparative data bearing on
variation in custom ... " 109 Now there is no question about
the fact that the data spoken of do show considerable ethical
variation among different societies. But this is not all that
the data show, for they are after all (recalling Kluckhohn's
remarks) comparative. Along with the diversity a surprising
degree of similarity is also exhibited. And in view of the functional nature of society this is not really too surprising. These
ethical similarities have come to have the name, ethical universals. Let us take a look at a number of them. The following
list (by no means complete) represents some ethical universals
admitted by anthropologists themselves or by those closely
associated with anthropology.
1. Prohibition of murder or maiming without justification. 110
2. Prohibition of lying at least in certain areas e. g. oaths,

etc. 11
108

F. Kluckhohn,

"Dominant and Varient Cultural Value Orientat:-:ms," in The
and

Social Welfare Forum (New York, 1951) pp. 108-109 quoted in Kroeher
Kluckhohn, op. cit., p. 174.

Herskovits, "Some Further Comments," p.
Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles," p. 657; Bmw, Anthropology and
p.
"Anthropology," p. 97; Bidney, TheoAfodern Life (New York,
retical Anthropology, p.
Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 95; Kroeber and Kluckhohn,
op. cit., p. 177.
111 Boas, Anthropology and Modern Life, p.
Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit.,
p. 177; Macbeath, op. cit., p. 289; Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles," p. 657.
100
110

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203

3. Right to own property

(land, clothing, tools, etc.) .112
4. Economic justice: reciprocity and restitution. 113
5. Preference of common good over individual good. 114
6. Demand for cooperation within group. 115
7. Sexual restriction within all societies. 116
a. Incest prohibition within nuclear family. 117
b. Prohibition of rape. 118
c. Some form of marriage demanded. 119
d. Prohibition of adultery, with only a few strictly
limited legal exceptions. 120
e. Opposition to promiscuity in the sense of having a
large number of partners. 121
f. Lifelong union of the spouses is the ideal. 122
g. Exogomy (further determination of incest taboo) .123
8. Disrespect for illegitimate children. 124
112 Kroeber, "Critical
Summary," p. 285; Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles,"
p. 655; Boas, "Anthropology," p. 79; Macbeath, op. cit., p. 289.
113 Boas, "Anthropology,"
p. 84; Casserley, op. cit., p. 107; Linton, "T11e Problem
of Universal Values," pp. 158-159; Macbeath, op. cit., p. 215; Kluckhohn, "Ethical
Relativity," p. 672; Kroeber, "Critical Summary," p. 284.
114 Boas, "Anthropology,"
p. 97; Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles," p. 659;
Macbeath, op. cit., p. 209.
115 Boas, "Anthropology,"
p. 97.
116 Murdock,
"Common Denominator," p. 4; Linton, "Universal Ethical Pru1ciple.s," p. 651; Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, p. 32; Casserley, op. cit., p. 62;
Kroeber, Anthropology, p. 60; Krutch, op. cit., p. 185; Malinowski, op. cit., p. 26.
117 Murdock,
"Common Denominator," pp. 140-141; Linton, "Universal Ethical
Principles," p. 653; Boas, "Anthropology," p. 85; Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology,
p. 452; Kroeber, Anthropology, p. 60; Kluckhohn, "Ethical Relativity," p. 672;
Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 95; Keesing, op. cit., p. 183.
118 Linton,
"Universal Ethical Principles," p. 651; Kluckhohn, Mirror for Men,
p. 218; Boas, Anthropology and Modern Life, p. 219.
119 F. Boas, The Mind of Primitive Man
(New York, 1922), p. 172; Murdock,
"Common Denominator," p. 140; Casserley, op. cit., p. 107; Linton, "Universal
Ethical Principles," p. 652.
120 Malinowski,
op. cit., p. 113; Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles, p. 653.
121 Linton,
"Universal Ethical Principles," p. 652.
122 Ibid.
1· 28 Murdock,
Social Structure, pp. 47-48; Kroeber, Anthropology, p. 400.
124 B. Malinowski,
Sex and Repression in Savage Society (New York, 1927)
p. 212 quoted in Macbeath, op. cit., p. 137.

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RICHARD H. BEIS

9. Reciprocal duties between children and parents: parents
-care for and train children; children-respect, obey,
and care for parents in old age. 125
10. Loyalty to one's social unit (family, tribe, country) .120
11. Provision for poor and unfortunate. 127
12. Prohibition of theft. 128
13. Prevention of violence within in-groups. 129
14. Obligation to keep promises. 130
15. Obedience to leaders. 131
16. Respect for the dead and disposal of human remains in
some traditional and ritual fashion. 132
14. Desire for and priority of immaterial goods. 133
18. Obligation to be a good mother. 134
19. Distributive justice. 135
20. Inner rather than external sanctions considered better. 136
21. Courage is a virtue. 137
9.2. Justice is an obligation. 138
One objection to a list of this type is that we do not yet have
enough empirical data to make any such generalizations. The
objector will often admit the possibility of future generalizations as well as the possibility that further research may show
125 Kluckhohn,
"Ethical Relativity," p. 672; Boas, "Anthropology,"
p. 97;
Linton, " Universal Ethical Principles," p. 652.
126 Linton, "Universal
Ethical Principles," p. 655.
127 Ibid., p. 656.
128 Kroeber and Kluckhohn,
op. cit., p. 177; Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology,
p. 452; Boas, Anthropology and Modern Life, p. 219; Linton, "Universal Ethical
Principles," p. 656.
129 Linton, Ibid., p. 659.
130 Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 289.
131 Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values," p. 159.
132 Krutch,
op. cit., pp. 177-178; Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit.
133 Krutch,
Ibid., p. 186.
134 M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 34.
18 ° Krutch,
op. cit., pp. 68-76.
136 M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 224.
137 Kroeber,
Anthropology, p. 60.
138 Macbeath,
op. cit., pp. 52-53.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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us that it is impossible to make such generalizations. While
admitting that much empirical work remains to be done in
this area, I would simply point to the names of the leading
anthropologists associated with this list as rather convincing
evidence that even at the stage of anthropological knowledge
as of 1964 some generalizations are in order. Thus Ralph
Linton, a leading anthropologist himself, has remarked, " Information is now available on a large number of cultures which
are so widely distributed in time and space that they provide
an adequate sample for comparative studies." 139 Moreover,
the cross-cultural survey at Yale University, which is probably the world's leading source for comparative studies, though
begun as late as 1937, by 1943 had 500,000 cards containing
full or substantial information on 150 cultures. 140 By 1945
George P. Murdock, the founder of the Survey, mentioned that
the empirical backing of some statements that he made regarding the nature of the family came from the" careful analysis of
220 societies " 141 and by 1949 he had a working base of
societies. 142 In view of these facts it
empirical data from
certainly seems that Linton's assertion is justified although, as
with any empirical science, the generalizations themselves may
prove subject to some modification in the light of further
empirical discoveries.
There are several things to be noted in regard to the socalled ethical universal. In the first place, its realization takes
place in an analogical rather than in an univocal manner, i.e.,
while it exists in all or almost all societies, it, nevertheless, may
not exist in them in exactly the same way but in somewhat
different ways. 143 As Linton has noted, while all societies require
truth-telling in certain cases the North European is almost
unique in requiring verbal truth in virtually all cases. 144 And
Linton, " Universal Ethical Principles," p. 658.
G. Murdock, Outline of Cultural Materials, (New Haven, 1950) p. XIII.
141 Murdock,
"Common Denominator," p. 140.
142 Murdock, Social Structure, p. 140.
us A. Edel, op. cit., p. 204; Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values," pp.
150-152; Krutch, op. cit., pp. 177-178.
1"
Linton, "Universal Ethical Principles," p. 657.
139

140

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RICHARD H. BEIS

Kluckhohn has noted that few universals of this kind are
identical in content. 145 For this reason he prefers to speak of
them as "moving absolutes" or "conditional absolutes" and
opposes them to what he calls" metaphysical absolutes" (those
absolutes which are identical in content) ,146
A second point is that the ethical universal does not have to
be in the present nor to have been in the past an ethical universal in order to be an ethical universal by its very nature.
In other words, it is quite possible that many things which are
not universally accepted ethical prescriptions are by their very
nature such that some day they will be universally accepted by
mankind. Thus as in the past we have seen the abolition of
slavery become universally accepted, in the present we are
witnessing the rise of the subjected peoples of Africa and Asia
to the freedom and dignity proper to every man simply because
he is a human being. 147
Thirdly, when anthropologists speak of universals they usually also include the phrase "or near-universals." Some of the
universals mentioned in the list do admit of a few exceptions.
But Kluckhohn has remarked on this point, "The traits of a
zoological species are not the less objective or in a sense 'universal ' because of the occasional birth of ' sports ' or monstrosities." 148 And the Edels have suggested that when a society
is found that lacks the near-universal the viability of that
society should be brought under examination in order to see
what degree it is able to accomplish its function which is the
fulfillment and satisfaction of human needs. 149
Fourthly, the reader may recall that Herskovits will admit
of " universals " but only as being empty forms the content of
which will admit of indefinite variation. At least three leading
Kluckhohn, "Universal Categories of Culture," p. 519.
Kluckhohn, "Ethical Relativity," p. 678.
147 " Some phenomena
although expressed in the mode of a particular culture
turn out to be transcultural, and some phenomena although very specifically
wedded to a particular culture are capable of trans-cultural systematization."
A. Edel, op. cit., p. 210.
14 " Kluckhohn,
"Ethical Relativity," p. 676.
149 M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., p. 42.
145
146

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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TO ETHICS

:l07

anthropologists, Kluckhohn, Linton, and Bidney have explicitly
denied this assertion while its implicit denial is certainly to be
found in those anthropologists listed above who admit to the
existence of ethical universals and of their being meaningful.
Let us quote a rather extended passage from Kroeber and
Kluckhohn which goes right to the heart of the matter.
Nor is the similarity between cultures, which in some ways transcends the fact of relativity, limited to the sheer forms of the universal culture pattern. There are at least some broad resemblances
in content and specifically in value content. Considering the exhuberant variation of cultures in most respects, the circumstance
that in some particulars almost identical values prevail throughout
mankind is most arresting. No culture tolerates indiscriminate
lying, stealing, or violence within the in-group. The essential universality of the incest taboo is well-known. No culture places a
value upon suffering as an end in itself; as a means to the ends of
the society (Punishment, discipline, etc.), yes; as a means to the
ends of the individual (purification, Mystical exaltation, etc.), yes;
but of and for itself, never. We know of no culture in either space
or time, including the Soviet Russian, where the official ideology
denies an after-life, where the fact of death is not ceremonialized.
Yet the more superficial conception of cultural relativity would
suggest that at least one culture would have adopted the simple
expedient of disposing of corpses in the same way most cultures
do dispose of dead animals-i. e., just throwing the body out far
enough from habitations so that the odor is not troubling. When
one first looks rather carefully at the astonishing variety of cultural
detail one is tempted to conclude: human individuals have tried
almost everything that is physically possible and nearly every individual habit has somewhere at some time been institutionalized in
at least one culture. To a considerable degree this is a valid generlization-but not completely. In spite of loose talk (based upon an
uncritical acceptance of an immature theory of cultural relativity)
to the effect that the symptoms of mental disorder are completely
relative to culture, the fact of the matter is that all cultures define
as abnormal individuals who are permanently inaccessible to communication or who fail to maintain some degree of control over their
impulse life. Social life is impossible without communication, without some measure of order: the behavior of any " normal" individual must be predictable-within a certain range-by his fellows
and interpretable by them. 150
160

Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit., p. 177.

208

RICHARD H. BEIS

It seems to me that Linton and Bidney have made a fundamental point in their opposition to the limitation of ethical
universals to mere hollow forms when they state that the ethical
content in all cultures is in a large degree the same but relativity enters in at that point in different cultures where it has
to be decided which aspects or parts of the ethical content are
more important and should, therefore, receive the greater emphasis.151 Looking at ethical institutions functionally, this is
what we might expect. For every culture will have to have
present certain basic, minimal requirements in order for it to
function at all. But once these requirements are present the
further question will remain as to the way in which these are
to be interrelated. Here, of course, variability will enter in because of the different conditions, history, experience etc. of
that culture. For example, two fundamental elements of human
nature that have to be dealt with in any human society are
those of man's desire to be esteemed by his fellow-man and
his sexual desire. But one culture may choose to emphasize the
former element in man's nature and not be too concerned with
the latter element. Consequently, the slightest offense to one's
honor may result in a life-and-death-duel while sexual deviations are treated as matters of secondary importance. On the
other hand where sexual control and moral virtue are often
identified, the opposite is frequently the case.
Fifthly, it is to be noted regarding the ethical universal
that the fact of its universality is by no means to be identified
with its desirability i. e., the fact that it is universal does not
mean that it ought to be universal. For slavery not too long
ago in human history was universal but it is obviously far from
desirable as an institution to which a human being ought to be
subjected. And today equal rights for all members Gf the
human race, though not yet universal, are nevertheless, desirable in virtue of man's common humanity. It seems to me,
therefore, that the precise function of an ethical universal as
established by the anthropologist is simply to indicate ten151 Linton, "Universal
Ethical Principles," p. 659; Bidney, "Cultural Relativism
and Cultural Absolutism," p. 62; cf. Brandt, Ethical Theory, p. 95.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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209

dencies that lie within human nature. 152 The answer to the
question as to whether or to what degree these individual tendencies ought to be brought to realization will be determined
in the light of one's conception of man and man's most general
ends. Thus such pheonmena as slavery and war may indicate
that there lies within man a certain aggressive tendency. But if
we think of man as by nature a free, rational, and social being,
there may be some question as to whether this tendency should
be allowed completely unrestricted expression.
A final point to be noted is that the concern with ethical
universals and a common morality by no means excludes ethical
variation in all levels other than the most general level. For
such a situation is neither possible nor desirable. It is not possible because, as Kroeber has suggested, the diversity of cultures is itself indicative of one of the main elements of manhis freedom. There is no diversity to be found in the societal
existence of the ant or the bee. 153 And it is not desirable
because of the varying conditions with which man has to cope. 154
Human Nature
The basic presupposition in any existential grounding of
human knowledge of moral values is that human nature exists
and possesses a certain fundamental unity. In opposition to
this presupposition there has existed the doctrine of "primitive
mentality" and the famous question of " the psychic unity of
mankind." An examination of the mentality of primitive peoples
152 " Uncle id quod invenitur in omnibus aut pluribus, videtur esse ex inclinatione
naturae ... " In Eth., VII, 13.
153 " This notorious
plasticity or variability of human culture is due precisely
to the. fact that its content and forms, its substance, are non-genetic, and are
therefore exempt from the overwhelmingly repetitive and preservative influence of
heredity." Kroeber, "Of Human Nature," p. 196; cf. Anthropology, p. 9.
154 "Absolute
ideals and varing cultural content are quite compatible in theory
and practice. It is fallacious to assume that absolute ideals imply fixed modes of
action regardless of the human situation. Morality and government are arts
precisely because the moral man and the statesman must evaluate the changing
reqairements of the particular situation while adhering to basic fixed principles."
Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology, p. 378; Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, p. 174;
Boas, "Anthropology," p. 87.

210

RICHARD H. BEIS

led certain social scientists and others to the conclusion that
the "mentality" of the primitives is so inferior to that of
civilized man that the primitive mentality must be different
in kind from that of civilized man. Thus the psychic unity of
mankind was brought into doubt and the theory came into
being that different sections of "mankind" might be at different levels of evolution. Of course, it logically followed that
there could be no universal human morality because there was
no universal human nature on which it might be based and to
which it might apply.
Today, however, there has been a fairly general abandonment
of this view among anthropologists and a return to human
nature, albeit a rather cautious return. 155 Thus Ladd in a recent
work calls such a view an " outdated view" and again applies
the Greek definition of man-a rational animal-to all men. 15
It is interesting to note that Boas, the anthropologist who did
most to combat the 19th century anthropological theory of
unilinear evolution which rested on the presupposition of a
conception of the unity of human nature and who led the way
in anthropology in the direction of concentration on cultural
diversity, remarked as early as 1911: "Observation has shown,
however, that not only emotions, intellect, and will-power of
man are alike everywhere, but that much more detailed similarities in thought and action occur among the most primitive
peoples." 157 And we see a reaffirmation of this same outlook
some 36 years later when he says: "It does not seem necessary
to assume on account of these cultural viewpoints that primitive man has a type of mind different from that of civilized
1)

155 " there
is a return in our times of a conscious concern . . . with human
nature . . . understood to refer to the characteristics of all human beings as
acquired in whatever society." Redfield, "Relations of Anthropology," p. 730;
" Other students of human differences turn to a consideration of the resemblances
that one man bears to any other, and after denying for quite a time that psychic
unity exists, anthropologists now take a more sympathetic interest in something
not too different, universal human nature." Primitive World, p. 90; cf. Macbeath,
op. cit., p.
106 Ladd, op. cit., p. 2; cf. Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology, pp. 3-4.
157 Boas, The Mind of Primitive Man, p. 155.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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Qll

man. His intellect deals with the phenomena of the world in
the same way as ours, but with a different knowledge which
admits what we should call supernatural interference with the
laws of nature." 158 The late dean of present-day anthropology,
A. L. Kroeber, has stated: "Actually, of course, though it
cannot possibly be uncovered in its purity, original or pure
human nature exists as a theoretically separable and essentially
constant component in the Chinese, Italian, and hundreds of
other ethnic and social groups, which are fusion products of
genetic, individual-accidental, and socio-cultural influences." 159
And Benedict, whose work, Patterns of Culture, as we have
seen, is often taken to be a leading source of the doctrine of
ethical relativism, remarks in that same work that "we are
forced to believe that the race of man is of one species ... " 160
Finally, Montagu in a work that, as he states in its Preface,
is the result of some thirty years experience in the field of
anthropology, makes the following observation: "The message
that the whole integrated body of anthropology yields is that
beneath the superficial differences, the texture of the hair, the
color of the skin, the cultural differences, is the human being
who holds his humanity in common with every other human
being, and that it is this that we must respect and cherish." 161
Kroeber suggests some reasons for the general acknowledgment among anthropologists today that such a thing as "universal human nature" exists. In the first place, such a concept
is of great heuristic value in the field of social science. Therefore, " The anthropologist continues to make the assumption
because if he is impartial he finds that with it his work on
culture leads to coherent and productive conclusions, but without it he bogs down before he has begun." 162 Thus, for example,
it is only on the assumption that some basic unity exists in
Boas, "Anthropology," p. 108.
Kroeber, Anthropology, pp. 196-197.
160 Benedict,
op. cit., p. 17.
161 Montagu,
op. cit., p. 5; cf. Murdock, "Cornlljon Denominator," p. 1!t6; Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, pp. 22-23; A. Edel, op. cit., p. 120; Macbeath, op. cit.,
p. 16 ff.; Kroeber and Kluckhohn, op. cit., p. 178.
162 Kroeber, Anthropology, p. 573; cf. Casserley, op. cit., pp. 219-221.
158

159

212

RICHARD H. BEIS

human nature that the transmission of culture in space i.e.,
from population to population, and in time, i.e. from generation to generation, can be understood. For culture would not
be able to be transmitted from population to population as it
often is with ease, rapidity, and sometimes with very little
change nor could it be transmitted from generation to generation without serious modification if it encountered diverse
genetic strains in that transmission. 163 Secondly, anthropologists today distinguish sharply between society and culture. 164
Society is found even among the animals, e. g. the bee and the
ant; culture is proper to man. Thus Kroeber remarks that
organic factors alone cannot explain cultural traits or complexes because " another set of factors also becomes operative:
ideas, beliefs, and the practices and affects attached to themcultural manifestations such as no sub-human animal shows." 165
The reason no sub-human animal shows manifestations of this
type is the fact that "cultural activity, even of the simplest
kind, inevitably rests on ideas or generalizations " 166 and
Kroeber denies that subhuman animals have either the power
of generalization or of speech, properly speaking. The sounds
they emit are simply "subjective expressions." 167 Another
distinguishing characteristic of animal "society" is that here
the individual is absolutely sacrificed for the community. Such
is not the case in human society, for there is always at least
a dim awareness that the individual is at the same time a
person. 168
One of the main reasons anthropologists rejected the concept
of common or universal human nature was their belie£ that
so-called "human nature " was, in fact, purely plastic and,
therefore, completely molded and determined by culture. Opposing this position, Bidney points out that "The attempt on
the part of the organic, as well as the superorganic, determinists
to reduce the cultural process to an automatic process of
natural selection disregards the essentially human and unpreKroeber, Ibid.
Ibid., p. 9.
165 Ibid., p. 310.

Ibid., p.
Ibid., p. 41, pp. 67-70; "Of Human Nature," p. 196.
'" 8 Kroeber, Anthropology, pp. 33-40.

168

168

164

167

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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TO ETHICS

dictable element in the cultural process, namely, the normative
choice of distinctively human cultural values." 169 And he takes
a position in direct opposition to cultural determinists when
he asserts that, on the contrary, it is human nature which lies
at the origin of culture and not culture which determines the
origin of human nature. However, he is careful not to resurrect
the error of nineteenth century anthropology in attempting any
sort of deduction of culture and the cultural process from
human nature. (You will recall the above remark that the
present-day "return to human nature" is a cautious return.)
He sees rather a constant interplay or interdetermination between human nature and culture. 170

The Progressive Knowing of Moral Values
Another important point to examine is what anthropology
has to say about the progress of mankind in moral knowledge.
The reasons for entering into this topic will appear shortly.
For the present note that we have already established two
necessary presuppositions for a discussion of this kind. It was
necessary first to present a refutation of ethical relativism
because obviously if all ethical values are relative to their
cultures and their cultures themselves are subject to change
there can be no criteria to determine moral progress or regression. Secondly, the establishment of some uniformity of human
nature was necessary for a like reason. For if human nature
were " purely plastic," there would be no reason why it would
be better for it to be one way rather than any other way.
The idea of progress itself is a rather new idea in human
history. Most of mankind throughout most of history has
looked upon the world as essentially static. When the idea
of change entered into one's conception of the world, it was
Bidney, Theoretical Anthropology, p. 334.
In brief, all cultural phenomena are composed of two disparate elements,
namely, the element of nature, conceived in physical, biological, psychological, or
social terms, and the element of human creativity and choice. There are purely
natural phenomena which are conceived through themselves alone. All cultural
phenomena are natural phenomena modified by human effort and interaction." Ibid.
169

170 "

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RICHARD H. BEIS

usually looked upon in terms of a decline from a former golden
age. Only in the eighteenth century did the notion of progress
become a doctrine. In the nineteenth century it received great
reinforcement from the Darwinian theory of evolution. While
some modification of the theory of progress appears in the
twentieth century (even doubt in some areas), it is, nevertheless, still a theory that is very much with us today. 171
In treating of the way in which moral values are known
we might begin with Bidney's observation that the whole
problem of moral values is treated by the ethical relativists as
if only two alternatives existed: either one must accept a doctrine of fixed absolute values or a doctrine of complete ethical
relativism. He suggests a third possibility-the progressive
knowing of moral values. And he does it on the epistemological
principle that there exists a reality which is independent of our
thought and to which our ideas progressively conform in coming to know reality. For he regards moral reality as being in
this respect the same as any other reality that we seek to
know. 172 Amplifying further his position that man's knowledge
Kroeber, Anthropology, p.
"Reality as an ontological existent independent of man is an absolute
object to which our ideas progressively conform in the course of our quest for
knowledge by scientific methods." Bidney, " Cultural Relativism and Cultural
St. Thomas Aquinas
Absolutism," p. 68; Theoretical Anthropology, pp.
expresses this same idea when he remarks: " ... quia humanae rationi naturale esse
videtur ut gradatim ab imperfecto ad perfectum perveniat. Unde videmus in
scientiis speculativis quod qui primo philosophati sunt, quaedam imperfecta tradiderunt, quae postmodum per posteriores sunt magis perfecta. Ita etiam est in
operabilibus. Nam primi qui intenderunt invenire aliquid utile communitatis
hominum, non valentes omnia ex seipsis considerare, instituerunt quaedam imperfecta in multis deficientia; quae posteriores mutaverunt, instituentes aliqua quae
in paucioribus deficere possent a communi utilitate." I-II, 97, 1, c.; A leading
contemporary thomist, J. Maritain, also agrees with the position of Bidney as
the following quotations illustrate: "In other words, our knowledge of moral
laws is progressive in nature. The sense of duty and obligation was always present,
but the explicit knowledge of the various norms of natural law grows with time ...
Also, we may think that the knowledge of the particular precepts- of natural law in
all of their precise aspects and requirements will continue to grow until the end of
human history." J. Maritain, On the Philosophy of History, ed. J. Evans (New
York, 1957) p. 105; "That progress of moral conscience is indeed the most
unquestionable instance of progress in humanity." Man and the State, p. 94.
171

172

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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215

of moral values is inherently progressive, Bidney offers with
approbation the following quotation from Immanuel Kant:
". . . in man those mature faculties which aim at the use of
reason shall be fully developed in the species, not in the individual .... " 173 And he comments as follows: "That is, man
has a capacity for reason which is historically developed in the
history of human society but not in the experience of the
individual, since the life of the individual is far too short to
achieve complete rationality." 174
A point that the anthropologists are careful to make clear
is that the moral progress they have in mind is progress in
moral enlightenment-not progress in moral goodness i.e., in
the conformity to moral values already accepted. In respect
to this latter issue they doubt that there is much variation
from one generation to the next. Thus Macbeath remarks:
Moral goodness consists in loyality to the operative or recognized
ideal, whatever the content of this ideal may be, and, therefore, it
does not change. But the content of the ideal itself changes. It
may be more or less enlightened, richer and more comprehensive
or narrower and more circumscribed, its parts more or less consistent, its provision for the needs of human nature more or less
adequate. Therefore the acts in which moral goodness manifests
itself and the ends which the morally good man pursues change. 175

Though many twentieth-century anthropologists will admit
that a kind of progress in moral knowledge has taken place in
the course of human history, the nineteenth-century doctrine
of a necessary, unilinear progress is in the twentieth century
strictly taboo. This is due largely to the great influence of
Boas, who in reacting to the doctrine of unilinear evolution of
Tyler, Frazer, and others came to lay stress on both the fact of
the historical relatedness of cultures and on the great need for
a thorough empirical examination of singular cultures prior to
any comparative study of them. The kind of progress of which
many contemporary anthropologists and those closely associBidney, "The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p.
Ibid.; cf. Kroeber, Anthropolo[J'1J, p. 301; Redfield, Primitive World, p. 161.
175 Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 435; cf. Brinton, op. cit., p. 436.
173

174

RICHARD H. BEIS

ated with anthropology will admit is a slow, uneven, halting
kind of progress: a kind of progress that is much more in line
with the human way of doing things. 176 Thus Kluckhohn
remarks: " If one defines progress as the gradual enrichment
of human ideas and subjects, there can be no question that the
potential resources of human culture in general and of most
individual cultures have steadily increased." 177 And he quotes
Childe as follows: "Progress is real if discontinuous. The upward curve resolves itself into a series of troughs and crests.
But in those domains that archaeology as well as written
history can survey, no trough ever declines to the low level
of the preceding one, each crest outtops its last precursor." 178
Redfield gives us a clear statement of the matter when he
remarks: "The standards as to the good have changed with
history. The moral canon tends to mature. The change is far
from steady, and the future course of the ethical judgment is
not, it seems to me, assured to us. But in this sense-that on
the whole the human race has come to develop a more decent
and
measure of goodness-there has been a transformation of ethical judgment which makes us look at noncivilized
peoples, not as equals, but as people on a different level of
human experience." 179
176 " ••• the kind of change the Victorians labeled as ' Progress ' is more uneven
and jerky, more subject to lapses or 'decadence,' slower, and much more unpredictable, than the Victorians thought." Brinton, Ibid., p. 435; Murdock, Social
Structure, pp. XIII-XIV; Kroeber, Anthropology, pp. 6-7.
177 Kluckhohn,
Mirror for Man, p. 55.
178 V.
Childe, Man Mak·es Himself (London, 1936) quoted in Kluckhohn,
Mirror for Man, p. 55.
179 Redfield, Primitive World, p. 163; "To ground human values in some account
of human nature and the human situation need not involve overlooking the
possible development of human nature and possible changes of quality in the
human situation ... The full understanding of what is discovered as a new value
may come only in terms of seeing it in terms of man's needs and problems in a
fuller setting; but recognizing such a value may itself bring a refinement in the
conception of these needs and problems." A Edel, op. cit., pp. 295-296; " I spoke
of this process as if individuals or groups of individuals arrived at their conception
of the good life as the result of the slow and painful process which has been
called the dialectic of experience, that is, the process by which men arrive, as
the result of trial and error, through failure and disappointment and partial

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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217

Bidney has given us perhaps the most extended exposition of
a theory of the progressive knowing of moral values. He raises
the following question, "If culture is a direct, necessary expression of human nature, how is one to explain the evolution of
culture patterns in time?" 180 He replies by stating that the
only possible solution to this problem is to be found in the
admission that "human nature, like culture, evolves or unfolds
in time." 181 Thus while man's fundamental natural potentialities have been and will continue to remain the same throughout
time, the actualization of these same potentialities takes place
and must of necessity take place in time. For human nature
exists in time. Therefore, an active polarity exists between
human nature and culture. For it is in virtue of human nature's
attempts at self-cultivation that culture is produced. But it is
the cumulative effect of all that culture has preserved of human
nature's attempts at self-cultivation that reacts on human
nature and stimulates it to further development. This theory
explains both the unity and diversity of actual concrete enculturated human nature, that is, human nature in the only
way in which we find it. Unity is explained by the admission
that human potentialities are basically the same in all men.
Diversity is explained by the fact that different cultural patterns encourage or discourage, as the case may be, development
of different human potentialities. 182
In treating the progressive knowing of moral values one
might wonder what criterion should be used to determine
whether or not such progress has actually taken place. The
reply to this question begins with the observation that man is
success, at their idea of what will satisfy their nature and its needs. But while I
believe this is what has happened in the history of the race, it certainly has not
happened in the experience of any man known to history or anthropology."
Macbeath, op. cit., p. 67; cf. Von Fritz, op. cit., pp. 116-118; Casserley, op. cit.,
pp. 67-68; Bidney, "The Concept of Value in Modern Anthropology," p. 698;
"Cultural Relativism and Cultural Absolutism," p. 68; Kluckhohn, Ethical Realitivity," pp. 675-676; Krutch, op. cit., p. Hl; Malinowski, op. cit., p. 16, p. 144;
Montagu, op. cit., p. 27.
180 Bidney,
Theoretical Anthropology, p. 76.
181

182

Ibid.
Ibid., pp. 81-84, p. 419, pp. 431-432, p. 466.

218

RICHARD H. BEIS

a creature of needs-physical e. g., economic, environmental,
physiological, reproductive, etc.; spiritual e. g., knowledge, love,
aesthetic experience, freedom, etc.; and social e. g., equality,
acceptance, concern for the welfare of others. But (and this is
the important point) man is not simply a haphazard aggregate
of needs; he is a self-conscious unity. What has to be satisfied is not simply a chaos of isolated needs but a person. Consequently the satisfaction of the needs themselves can only take
place to the degree that each assumes its proper role as a part
of a well-ordered structure which has as its purpose the satisfaction or realization of the self as a whole. Self-realization
in and through this ideal structure is then the end of man and
the degree to which a particular culture realizes this ideal will
mark the degree to which it has been successful precisely as an
experiment in living. 183
Anthropologists suggest a number of reasons, apart from
epistemological necessity, which help to account for the progress of moral knowledge. Redfield mentions cross-cultural
communication 184 and Macbeath points to the rise of great
moral teachers. 185 Kroeber and Linton observe that the rise
of the higher religions gave a great impetus to moral progress
both by their de-emphasis of bloody sacrifice and their concern
with the whole of humanity. 186 Redfield points out that with
the advance of the technical order the moral order also tends to
advance in order to fill the gap that separates it from the new
technical order. 187 Thus with the advances made in transport'lltion and communication as well as in man's power to destroy
188 "Now
none of the ways of life which result from the efforts of different
peoples to embody the moral ideal is entirely adequate. The different patterns of
behavior which constitute them are never entirely consistent and the provision
which they make for the different needs of human nature are never entirely
adequate. Therefore, the formal ideal, of which at best they are only imperfect
expressions, stands over against them as the critic of their imperfections and a
challenge to further progress." Macbeath, op. cit., pp. 414-415, cf. p. 59, p. 64, p. 78.
184 Redfield, Primitive World, pp. 82-83.
185 Macbeath,
op. cit., pp. 438-440.
186 Kroeber,
Anthropology, pp. 310-313; Linton, "The Problem of Universal
Values," p. 158.
187 Redfield,
Primitive World, pp. 74-77.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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219

himself we witness the appearance of the United Nations.
Redfield also points out that the advent of civilization itself
was decisive in regard to moral progress. For here new conflicts arose that demanded new moral solutions. Thus the purpose of education in primitive society was to reproduce the
current mode of life. Its purpose in civilized society is to change
society itsel£.188
Finally, it might be asked what examples the anthropologists
would offer as proof that moral progress has actually taken
place. Anthropological literature contains quite a number of
them. Boas, Linton, the Edels, and Macbeath speak of the
advance that was made when the notion of humanity was
extended beyond the members of the in-group to include all
men. 189 In line with the recognition of man's common humanity
one finds such corollaries as the abolition of slavery; 190 the
continuing struggle for human equality; 191 the rise of the
position of woman; 192 the rise of internationalism; and the
conscious fight against poverty, disease, and ignorance for the
benefit of all members of the human race. 193 Kroeber, Duncker,
and Macbeath point out the deepening recognition of the
individual as a person and not just a member of a group. 194
Kroeber, in fact, uses as a characteristic distinguishing human
from animal societies the fact that in animal societies the
individual is absolutely sacrificed to the community 195 and
Duncker notes that among primitives the individual tends to
Ibid., p. 83, p. 1£0.
Boas, "Anthropology," p. 84; Linton, "The Problem of Universal Values,"
pp. 157-158; M. Edel and A. Edel, op. cit., pp. 88-93; Macbeath, op. cit., pp.
357-358.
100 Kluckhohn,
Mir1·or for Man, p. 55; Kroeber, Anthropology, p. 801.
10 ' " ••• Western Roman legal universalism,
with its thesis that all men, regardless of family, color, race, or religion, are equal under the law. This is something
novel in the cultures of the world." F. Northrop, "Cultural Values," in Anthropology Today, ed. A. Kroeber (Chicago, 1958) p. 676; Brinton, op. cit., p. 437;
Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, p. 55; A. Edel, op. cit., p. 18.
102 Kluckhohn,
Ibid.
193 A. Edel, op. cit., p. 18, pp. 316-317; Krutch,
op. cit., p. 5.
194 Kroeber,
Anthropology, pp. 38-40; Duncker, op. cit., p. 43; Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 445.
195 Kroeber,
Ibid.
188

189

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RICHARD H. BEIS

be considered in his role as a "limb of the group" rather than
a person in his own right. 196 Again, in line with this recognition we find increasing opposition to totalitarian states, 197 the
elimination of torture as a judicial procedure, beatings as a
legal punishment, execution with torture, and slaughter of war
prisoners/ 98 and, finally, an increasing emphasis on the primary
value of interior morality. 199

Social Engineering
The term, social engineering, appears frequently in the
literature of contemporary anthropology. In such a conception
we see a fundamental value that anthropology holds for ethics.
It is the important contribution that anthropology has to make
toward the construction of future ethics. For if we take into
account that all men seek the fulfillment of their needs and
ciesires in a unified structure consistent with their nature as
persons, that virtually all of man's needs and desires in some
way require society for their fulfillment and, finally, that
societies themselves are but so many attempts or experiments
at the concretization of the ideal structure just mentioned, then
the analytic study, exposition, and subsequent synthesis of
the best elements of all these experiments could lead to a
society of the future governed according to the most beneficial
principles discovered up to that time. Such a society itself,
to be sure, would be far from perfect nor would it be able to
lay aside its nature of also being an experiment. For the actual
or concrete realization of the ideal structure appears to be that
which is never attained but is only indefinitely approached.
The idea of consciously planning a society rather than just
"letting it happen" has some dangers as well as some great
possibilities. 200 But perhaps this "either-or" situation must
Duncker, op. cit., p. 48.
A. Edel, op. cit., p. 18.
108 Kroeber,
Anthropology, p. 801.
169 Macbeath,
op. cit., p. 444.
200 "No society has yet attempted
a self-conscious direction of the process by
which its new normalities are created in the next generation. Dewey has pointed
106

167

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

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TO ETHICS

221

always be faced in order to advance-and it seems to be a
fundamental tendency in human nature to advance or " to die
trying" as the aphorism goes. Benedict suggests one of the
values inherent in this approach. She remarks that future
societies by becoming aware of their non-absolute character, by
becoming aware that they themselves are simply experiments
in living or attempts at realizing the ideal structure for man,
will tend to make more allowances for individual differences or
deviations from the cultural pattern as certain societies have
done in the past with no apparent detriment either to their
existence or functioning. 201 She concludes her discussion of
this subject with the following observation: "Tradition is as
neurotic as any patient; its overgrown fear of deviation from its
fortuitous standards conforms to all the usual definitions of
the psychopathic." 202
In answer to a frequent objection against any undertaking
of this sort Kluckhohn submits Edwin Embree's penetrating
refutation of that objection:
Many people think it visionary to try to improve our own lives
and relationships. They feel they have closed the whole subject
with " You can't change human nature."
Well, we haven't changed the nature of the physical universe,
but by understanding it we have turned it in myriad ways to our
service and our convenience. We didn't set aside the force of gravity
when we learned to fly. We didn't have to amend the laws of stress
and strain, we only had to understand them, in order to build
bridges and skyscrapers or to drive engines a hundred miles an hour.
We didn't change the climate, yet by central heating we make
ourselves comfortable through the coldest winters and by aircooling devices we are beginning to have equal comfort in the hottest summers. We didn't alter the laws of biology to breed fleet
out how possible and yet how drastic such social engineering would be. For some
traditional arrangements it is obvious that very high prices are paid, reckoned in
terms of human suffering and frustration. If these arrangements presented themselves to us merely as arrangements and not as categorical imperatives, our
reasonable course would be to adapt them by whatever means to rationally
selected goals." Benedict, op. cit., p. 251.
201 Ibid., pp. 251-252.
202 Ibid., p. 252.

222

RICHARD H. BEIS

horses and fat hogs, to grow corn and wheat of far finer quality
than anything known in a wild state, even to devise such serviceable hybrids as mules and grapefruit.
So with human nature it is not a matter of " changing " the
fundamental drives and instincts; it is simply a matter of understanding these forces and turning them to more constructive and
wholesome channels than the strifes and frustrations that make up
so much of life, even in the midst of our material plenty. 203

Conclusion
We have pointed out several values that a knowledge of
anthropology holds for the ethician. First of all, such knowledge may aid him in deciding what course of action is to be
taken in certain cases. For by revealing to him the relative
successes and failures of particular kinds of societies and social
institutions, he is given more particular guides to human action.
Secondly, anthropological knowledge places human nature in
its proper perspective. Through it the ethician is made aware
of the fact that all existing human nature is enculturated, and
yet, at the same time, anthropology, far from abandoning the
ethician to a complete agnosticism in regard to human nature,
provides him with the means of determining, at least to some
degree, what is proper to human nature and what derives from
culture. Finally, an ethician who is constantly in touch with
anthropology becomes highly sensitive to the ethnocentric
nature of many of his own moral judgments as well as those
of others about him, and he is thus led to see that
judgments can rarely be understood apart from their cultural
contexts.
We have also examined the position of anthropological,
ethical relativity, and we have seen the contradictions that lie
at the heart of this position-especially when it attempts to
assume values of its own. Moreover, we have seen that its
claim of being " scientifically established" is, in fact, unsubstantiated. As a result, the position and claims of the anthro208 E. Embree,
"Living Together," a pamphlet from the Institute for Psychoanalysis (Chicago, 1941) quoted in Kluckhohn, Mirror for Man, pp.

SOME CONTRIBUTIONS

OF ANTHROPOLOGY

TO ETHICS

!l23

pological, ethical relativist present no real obstruction to the
use of anthropology by the ethician.
At the outset of this article we indicated the teleological
nature of its ethical assumptions. Later, when looking for a
criterion in the light of which the progressive knowing of moral
values might be judged, we pointed to the fact that the very
structure of man reveals him to be a creature of certain fundamental needs. This inherent connection between structure and
finality or between formal and final causality is precisely what
thomist ethics has always recognized. There are certain ends
toward which man tends and which he ought to pursue simply
because of what he is-and he is first and foremost a person.
It is, therefore, clear that thomist ethics provides a context
particularly adapted to the incorporation of ethically meaningful anthropological data.
Perhaps the most fruitful suggestion of this article will prove
to be that of the progressive knowing of moral values. Herein
lies the solution to the absolutist-relativist dichotomy in the
field of ethics. For this position, which considers our knowledge
of moral values to be inherently progressive, is seen to include
both structure and process, thereby preserving the respective
intuitions of both the absolutist and the relativist while at the
same time discarding the unreal " absolutes " of each. As a
result, the way to the future lies open to a progressively newer
and deeper ethics based upon the ever-increasing, scientifically
refined experience of mankind. This future and especially the
possibilities which anthropology holds for a future science of
ethics Kluckhohn refers to when he remarks:
Anthropology is no longer just the science of the long-ago and
far-away. Its very perspective is uniquely valuable in investigating
the nature and causes of human conflict and in devising means
for its reduction. Its all-embracing character gives anthropology
a strategic position for determining what factors will create a world
community of distinct cultures and hold it together against disruption. It has methods for revealing the principles that undergird
each culture, for deciding to what extent a culture possesses people.
It is singularly emancipated from the sway of the locally accepted.
When asked how he happened to discover relativity, Einstein re-

224

RICHARD H. BEIS

plied, " by challenging an axiom." As a consequence of their crosscultural research anthropologists are freer to disbelieve something
that appears, even to their fellow scientists of the same culture,
necessarily true. In the present stage of world history the apparently unbridgeable gap between several powerful and competing
ways of life can be surmounted only by those who can constructively doubt the traditionally
RICHARD

Maryknoll Seminary
Glen Ellyn, IUinois

••• Kluckhohn, Ibid., pp. 218-219.

H. BEIS

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

I

I

N his contribution to An Etienne Gilson Tribute, Vernon
J. Bourke suggests that there is "a possibility that metaethics could be associated with Thomistic ethics." He
asks this question: " Is there room and need £or an overview
o£ the ethics o£ Thomism, analogous to the sort o£ thing that
analysts do in metaethics? " 1 He suggests that there is such a
need and that the distinction between " writing and thinking
about ethics, and working out ethical problems" is an important one. Contemporary analysts have described this distinction as that between normative ethics and metaethics. A
normative ethic is an actual moral code or system o£ morality,
and normative ethics include the principles o£ a moral system,
the actual making o£ moral judgments or decisions, and the
attempt to justify or support such judgments. For example,
the judgment that a given individual should keep a promise
or the general maxim that promises should be kept would be
instances o£ moral judgments and these, as well as the attempt
to justify them by supporting data, would be classified under
normative ethics. Normative ethics would also include other
kinds o£ activities such as preaching, advising, and moralizing.
A metaethical statement, on the other hand, is a statement
about the nature, uses, or meaning o£ moral judgments, moral
concepts, and moral reasoning. Take these examples: "Moral
judgments are expressions o£ emotion." "Moral judgments are
autobiographical statements." "Moral judgments are cognitive
and refer to non-natural properties." These statements are all
statements about the meaning or nature o£ moral judgments.
They are not themselves moral claims or attempts to justify
1 Vernon J. Bourke, "Metaethics
and Thomism," in An Etienne Gilson Tribute,
edited by Charles J. O'Neil, Marquette University Press, 1959, p.

226

WILLIAM T. BLACKSTONE

moral claims. Although there are borderline cases of judgments
which are difficult to classify as ethical or metaethicaV in
general the distinction is a reasonably clear one.
Although Professor Bourke is primarily concerned with the
effect or relation of metaethics on Thomistic moral philosophy
and does not pretend to set forth a metaethical analysis of
Thomistic ethics, he does to some extent perform metaethical
analysis. He observes, for example, that the Thomist views
ethics as a demonstrative science, although the degree of precision in ethics is less than that of some other parts of philosophy or science. He suggests that it is " a question whether
Thomistic ethics should be regarded merely as a demonstrative
science. Perhaps it is also a wisdom." 3
Note that Professor Bourke is talking about ethics. He is not
prescribing conduct or action, making moral judgments, or
attempting to justify such judgments. He is talking about the
nature of moral reasoning. In talking about moral reasoning
(which is not the same thing as to reason morally) he introduces a distinction between ethical reasoning viewed as a
" wisdom " and ethical reasoning viewed as demonstration or a
" sort of syllogistic." Moral reasoning may be viewed as demonstrative, the conclusions of ethical argumentation being logically coercive. Moral reasoning may also be viewed, to use
Bourke's works, as a "wisdom," in which case presumably the
conclusions of ethical argumentation would not be logically
coercive. Or ethical reasoning may be viewed as a combination of these, which is, I think, Bourke's suggestion.
What we want to make clear is that Professor Bourke is
doing metaethics when he talks about the nature of moral
reasoning and that one of the fundamental problems for the
metaethicist in Thomism is that of analyzing and clarifying
the nature of moral reasoning in the philosophy of Thomism.
In this paper we will present at least a partial metaethical
analysis of Thomistic moral philosophy. This will involve an
• See Kai Nielsen, "Speaking of Morals," The Centennial Review, vol. II, No. 4,
Fall, 1958, for a discussion of such borderline cases.
3 Bourke, op. cit., p. 24.

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

analysis of the nature and meaning of moral judgments and
the nature of moral reasoning in Thomism. (Of course, the
questions and issues raised by the metaethicist are not confined to any particular system of ethics such as that found in
Thomism but apply to any and all ethical systems or moral
discourse.) I do not pretend that this will be a complete and
adequate analysis. Such a task would be beyond the scope of
this paper. However, a number of aspects of Thomistic ethics
will be analyzed to some extent and this will constitute at
least a partial metaethical analysis of Thomistic ethics.

II
First, let us address ourselves to the question of the nature
or meaning of moral judgments or ethical statements themselves. Bourke correctly observes that a number of contemporary philosophers engaged in metaethical analysis assert that
ethical judgments are non-cognitive or emotive. Moral judgments do not assert anything that can be true or false. They
only express one's emotion or feeling and persuade or exhort
others to adopt the same moral attitude that the speaker has.
For the emotivist, moral judgments do not even state that one
has certain feelings. To maintain that they do would make one
a cognitivist-and a subjectivist on the metaethical planefor moral judgments would be autobiographical statements
verifiable by reference to autobiographical data (whereas the
contention of the emotivist is that moral judgments are not
verifiable at all) . Ayer and other emotivists attempt to draw a
sharp line between the metaethic of emotivism and the metaethic of subjectivism. 4
Now it is clear that the Thomistic analysis of the meaning
of moral judgments will not agree completely with that of the
subjectivist or the emotivist. In a sense the Thomist agrees
with the subjectivist, for both the Thomist and the subjectivist maintain that moral judgments are cognitive. As
Bourke notes, "the Thomistic ethician seems to assume that
• A. J. Ayer, Language, Truth, and Logic, New York, 1946, p. 109.

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ethics is a purely cognitive discipline." However, the Thomist
and subjectivist differ on what moral judgments assert, the
former maintaining that they assert something about the objective world whereas the latter maintains that they assert something about the subject, namely, that he has certain feelings
or attitudes. It is obvious, since the Thomist maintains that
moral judgments assert something about the objective world,
that the Thomistic position differs radically from the metaethic of emotivism. Does the Thomist differ completely from
the emotivist position? I think not. Bourke himself notes that
the non-cognitivists may be "partly right." Ethical conclusions
are not of the same character as those of mathematics or
physics, for in ethical reasoning a strong attempt is made to
influence one's conduct. To this extent the emotivist is correct.
Moral judgments are not "merely abstract or speculative
truths." They also have emotive, exhortative and persuasive
force. Bourke would agree (and the Thomist would agree)
that moral judgments express emotion, or, in the language of
the Thomist, moral judgments have an affective-appetitive
character. But Bourke and the Thomist would also insist that
" there is something wrong with denying all cognitive meaning
to ethical sentences." Furthermore, to insist that moral judgments are cognitive, as the Thomist does, "does not mean
that we should ignore the affective-appetitive character of these
utterances." 5 Bourke's view (and the Thomistic view) is that
moral judgments have both cognitive and non-cognitive components. The emotivist analysis is incorrect in denying any
cognitive component. On the other hand "it must be admitted
that Thomistic ethicians often handle value judgments as if
they were nothing but truths of fact," 6 and they too, Bourke
implies, are mistaken. Bourke's view is that ethical statements
do have objective import or alia-reference but they "are not
as directly and immediately verifiable as factual assertions." 7
Given these remarks it is clear what Bourke or any Thomistic
metaethicist must do. He must make perfectly clear the Thorn5

Bourke, op. cit., p. 26.

6

Ibid., p. 26; my italics.

7

Ibid., p. 27.

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istic analysis of ethical judgments by specifying the sense in
which ethical judgments are referential and have objective
import (cognitive meaning) and the sense in which they have
an "affective-appetitive character" (non-cognitive or emotive
meaning).
Bourke himself is opposed to the cognitive analysis of moral
judgments set forth by the ethical intuitionist, and he objects
to the interpretation that "the concept of intuition, by which
moral values are apprehended as objective realities ... is a
distinctive feature of Thomistic moral philosophy." 8 To suggest that all we have to do is "go around intuiting real values
is a parody on the thought of Thomas Aquinas." But if the
Thomistic metaethic is not the intuitionist version of cognitivism, then precisely what is it? Bourke does not make this
clear and we must now attempt to specify more clearly the
type of cognitive metaethic to which the Thomist adheres. In
doing this we will also present (as we indicated that we would
earlier) a metaethical analysis of the nature of moral reasoning in the philosophy of Thomism. These two issues 1) the
nature of moral judgments, and 2) the nature of moral reasoning, although distinct, cannot be separated by the metaethicist. In fact there seems to be a relation of logical entailment between one's answer to "1" and one's answer to "2."
It is clear, for example, that if moral judgments are interpreted
as puTely emotive, then moral reasoning cannot be viewed as a
process of demonstration but rather simply as an attempt to
persuade. For on the emotivist view, moral judgments are not
statements or propositions-the sort of thing that can be
demonstrated. They are simply occurrences, expressions of
emotion.
Now there are a number of different kinds of normative
concepts and normative judgments in Thomistic ethics. There
are at least the concepts of" good,"" right,"" materially good,"
"morally good,"" morally obligatory,"" objectively right," and
8 Ibid.;
Bourke cites Gerard Esser, S. V. D., "Intuition in Tho!''.istic Moral
Philosophy," PToc. Amer. Cxth. Philos. Assoc., XXXI (1957), p. 176, as maintaining this view.

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the various normative judgments in which these normative
concepts occur. Of these concepts "good" and "right" and
the judgments in which they occur are the more basic or fundamental ones in Thomistic ethics. Thomistic moral philosophy,
then, is complicated by the fact that a number of normative
concepts and distinctions are employed and it is further complicated by the fact that these different normative judgments
involve reference to a multiplicity of factors including human
intentions or motives, consequences, the beatific vision, "right
reason," the "mean" between extremes, natural law, natural
rights, "essential human nature," God's law, and human law.
The task of the metaethicist is that of analyzing moral judgments and moral reasoning in Thomistic moral discourse. This
involves not only a classification of the different kinds or normative judgments within the Thomistic scheme, but also an
analysis of the meaning and the interrelationships of at least
the moral concepts noted above and those factors (natural
law, natural rights, consequences, etc.) to which moral judgments refer.
We have suggested that" good" is the basic normative term
in Thomism, and many philosophers have recognized that
Thomistic ethics is eudaemonistic and teleological. Thomas
places Aristotle's eudaemonism and teleology within a Christian setting so that "happiness" and the "end of man" are
given somewhat different meanings than those specified by
Aristotle. Although both Thomas and Aristotle emphasize the
perfection of man as a rational being, Thomas views this perfection and man's real happiness as the vision of God-attainable only in the next life. No matter how the "good" is defined, however, it is clear that Thomistic moral philosophy is
basically teleological. As Copleston puts it, " the idea of the
good is paramount" for the Thomist. 9 What is meant by the
concept of the "good" being paramount is that the concept of
a " right" act derives its meaning from the relationship of
that act to the "good." What makes an act morally right is
• F. C. Copleston, A quina.• (Pelican Book), London, 1955, p. 198.

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

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the fact that it is a means to the attainment of the good (as
defined by the Thomist) . This means, it seems to me, that
beatitudo or the vision of God is that which has intrinsic worth
or intrinsic value, whereas morally right acts have extrinsic or
instrumental value, to use some distinctions employed by
ethicists. Morally right acts derive their value from their relation to man's end or good. Thus one contribution towards
clarity (and clarity is one of the basic concerns of the metaethicist) in regard to Thomistic moral philosophy is the specification of the relationship between the two fundamental
moral notions of "the good" and "the right.''
The specification of this relationship is also of fundamental
use in setting forth the cognitive aspects of moral judgment
in Thomism. At least part of the meaning of the claim that a
given act is morally right is that that act will produce or will
probably produce the good for man. Assuming that "the good
for man " is given some clear meaning by the Tho mist (we will
see that there are difficulties in this regard) , then it would
appear that at least in part moral judgments would be properly analyzed as descriptive, factual claims. To use the language of some metaethicists, the Thomist may turn out to be
a" value reductionist "-one who translates or reduces all moral
judgments to purely descriptive, factual claims. Note that I
say that the Thomist may turn out to be a value-reductionist.
Although there is some evidence for this claim, the fact that so
many factors are involved in the Thomistic position (at least
the seven factors enumerated above) makes it difficult to substantiate this claim. The fact that for the Thomist moral judgments involve in the last analysis a reference to "natural law"
or" God's law" may further support the claim that Thomistic
ethics is value reductionistic. That an act is right may be
translated to mean that it is an instance of or that it conforms
to "natural law" or" God's law" (the presumption being that
acts which conform to natural law or God's law are conducive
to or are a means to man's final end or good) , and the claim
that an act conforms to natural law or God's law may be inter-

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preted as a descriptive factual claim, especially if natural law
for the Thomist is, as Meyer states, "an expression of the objective essential relations in things." 10 We have not as yet analyzed the meaning of "natural law" or "God's law" (certainly a task for the metaethicist) so that the meaning of the
claim that an act conforms to natural law or God's law is not
clear. However if it is made clear and interpreted as a factual
claim (we will note later that this interpretation is challenged
by some philosophers), then this cognitive interpretation of
moral judgments is compatible with the further Thomistic
claim that ethics is a demonstrative science. Certainly the
metaethicist must analyze and clarify the phrase " demonstrative science," but it is at least clear that one must have statements or propositions, not expressions of emotion, before one
could speak of a thing as a "demonstration" or a "science."

III
Without further specifying at this time what is to be meant
by conforming to natural law or God's law, let us turn to an
examination of the nature of moral reasoning for the Thomist.
At least in part the Thomist sets up what appears to be the
deductive model for moral reasoning. As Copleston puts it,
"the natural moral law in its totality therefore consists of a
multiplicity of precepts of varying degrees of generality. But
at the same time all these precepts are virtually contained in
the fundamental precept that good is to be pursued and evil
avoided." 11 Presumably moral precepts with less generality
can be deduced from those with more generali.ty. To use one
of Thomas' own examples, from the precept that the species
should be propagated and children educated, one can deriYe
the precept of monogamy on the ground that this precept is
required for the proper care and upbringing of children. And
all moral precepts are in some sense contained in the principle
that good is to be pursued and evil avoided (principle of
synderesis) .
10

n

Hans Meyer, The Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Louis, 1945, p. 479.
Copleston, op. cit., p. '218.

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The problem for the metaethicist here is the meaning of
"deduce" and "derive" as used by the Thomist. Is logical
deduction what is meant? Surely, if ethics is to be viewed as a
" demonstrative science," then logical deduction must be what
the Thomist means. Bourke indicates that this is the case in
his reference to the theory of proof originating in Aristotle's
Posterior Analytics which most Thomists use. But if logical
deduction is what is meant, then to refer to Thomas' own
example, can we logically deduce the precept of monogamy
from the precept that the species should be propagated and
children educated? Monogamy as a practice may be a means
to the attainment of species propagation and proper child care
and education. And there are many other means and practices
equally conducive to these ends. But I fail to see the relation
of logical entailment between the precept of propagation and
child care and the precept of monogamy. Furthermore, as
Copleston notes, all moral precepts for the Thomist are " virtually contained in the fundamental precept (the principle of
synderesis) that good is to be pursued and evil avoided." But
what is meant by "virtually contained?"
Again, is what is
meant logical entailment? Bourke would say no. He states:
"Kant's rule (principle of universalizability) endeavors to offer
a way in which one can tell what acts are good. St. Thomas'
rule does not; it tells you to do them, when they are good, not
to do them, when they are evil. This indicates the futility of
trying to make a rationalistic deduction of specific moral duties
from the principle of synderesis." 12 Bourke, I think, interprets
Thomas correctly on this point. But if no rationalistic deduction of moral duties can be inferred from the principle o£
synderesis, then in what sense are the moral rules of varying
generality "virtually contained" in that principle? Copleston
also suggests that we cannot deduce specific rules or duties
from the principle of synderesis. He states that "the word
'deduction' can be very misleading; and what Aquinas actually says is that other precepts of the natural law are' founded
12

Bourke, op. cit., p. 27.

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on ' or ' based on ' the precept that good is to be done and evil
avoided. The concrete good for man can be known only by
reflection on human nature as known in experience." 13
We might note that Copleston, in talking about the nature
of moral reasoning in Thomistic moral philosophy, is doing
metaethics. He is certainly correct that the term " deduction "
can be used in misleading ways. But the term "founded on"
and "based on" which Copleston suggests that we substitute
for "deduction'' in Thomistic moral philosophy are at least as
ambiguously used as the term "deduction." They too, then,
require considerable analysis and explication. In fact, all the
terms used by the Thomist in describing moral reasoning require metaethical analysis. Thomas himself, for example, says
that "every human law has the nature of law in so far as it is
derived from the law of nature. If in any case it is incompatible with the natural law, it will not be law, but a perversion
of law." 14 Aside from the need for complete analysis of the
notion of "natural law," it is clear that one must analyze the
notions of" derive," "incompatible," and "perversion" in order
to be clear about the nature of moral reasoning in Thomism.
Certainly many Thomists consider the entire Decalogue as
conclusions derived from first principles o£ natural law and
possessive of the same immutability as natural law. The natural law itself is viewed as being founded 15 on the transcendent
eternal law of God. It is the task of the metaethicist to analyze
these claims, to find out what is meant by the claim that
"natural law is founded on divine law," to find out what is
meant when it is said that" the Decalogue is derived from first
principles," or that the rules of morality are "virtually contained " within the principle of synderesis. If logical deduction
is not intended, then the meaning of the claim that ethics is a
"demonstrative science" must be radically altered.
Although the Thomist sets up the
model for moral
Copleston, op. cit., p. 224.
Summa Theologica, Ia, Ilae, 9.5, 2.
15 Copleston,
op. cit., p. 214.
13

14

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235

reasoning and speaks of remote and direct derivations of norms
from naturallaw/ 6 he fails to show that any specific norms are
actually logical entailments of other norms. There is also the
further problem of specifying the manner in which experience
or empirical data is related to moral reasoning for the Thomist.
Copleston states that for the Thomist "the concrete good for
man can be known only by reflecting on human nature as
known in experience." But this appeal to experience can mean
several diffet:ent things. It could mean that experience teaches
one what sort of consequences follow from certain sorts of acts
or what means are conducive to certain ends. This kind of
empirical data could well be incorporated into the premises of
a moral argument, and if this is what is intended by the appeal
to experience, the metaethicist must show how this data fits
into moral reasoning. Copleston specifically states, however,
that the good for man can be known by" reflecting on human
nature as known in experience." The Thomistic contention,
here, I think, is that natural law (moral rules governing human
conduct) can be discovered by examining human nature. Now
a number of questions arise here. Is this process of discovery
empirical? Do we infer these rules by watching human beings
and their behavior? And if this is what is meant, then surely
the problems centering around the "is"-" ought" dichotomy
arise. Can we infer (Is it logically permissible?) normative
conclusions from purely descriptive premises? And if this kind
of inference is not involved, then is the notion of "human
nature" itself normative-not merely descriptive? What of
the Thomistic view that there is an" essential human nature?"
What is meant by this claim and is there such a thing?
These questions are all fundamental ones which the metaethicist in Thomism must ask and answer. All of them involve
the two fundamental points of metaethical analysis, the nature
of moral judgments and the nature of moral reasoning. A
complete analysis of these issues would go well beyond the
scope of this paper. I would, however, like to enumerate and
16

See Meyer, op. cit., p. 60i.

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briefly discuss at least seven issues in Thomistic ethics which
require, it seems to me, metaethical analysis. It is not intended
that these seven issues are exhaustive. This brief account could
be used as a point of reference for a more detailed analysis.

IV
(1) The Principle of Syndere8is.

Specification of the nature and status of the principle of
synderesis ("good is to be pursued, evil avoided") is a task
for the metaethicist. Presumably this principle plays an important role in Thomistic ethics. Although the Thomist maintains that no specific duties can be rationally deduced from
this principle, nonetheless he claims 17 that all moral precepts
are "virtually contained" in this principle. The meaning of
this claim and the meaning of the principle itself must be
analyzed by the metaethicist. We have already seen the difficulties surrounding the meaning of the phrase " virtually contain." There are also difficulties centering around the meaning
of the principle of synderesis itself. Some philosophers, for example, would claim that the sentence "good is to be pursued,
evil avoided" turns out on analysis to be the tautology that
"we ought to do that which we ought to do, and we ought not
to do that which we ought not to do." The Thomist sometimes
speaks of the principle as a "habit" 18 or as an "instinct." 19
This leads one to interpret the principle as a psychological
generalization similar to the principle of psychological hedonism, the thesis that human beings always pursue that which
they consider good and avoid that which they consider evil.
On this interpretation the principle of synderesis is not even
normative but rather descriptive of man's psychology. Furthermore, on this interpretation the relationship of this principle to
morality or moral rules requires elucidation (the relation of
" is " to " ought ") .
See Copleston, op. cit., p. 218.
See Bourke, op. cit., p. 27.
10 See Copleston, op. cit., p. 223.

17

18

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(2) The meaning of" good" in Thomistic ethics.

We have noted that Thomistic ethics is teleological and we
have seen that man's final good-that which realizes his potentialities in the highest degree-is beatitudo, vision of God or
"possession " of God. Since the concept of "good" is paramount, as Copleston states, in Thomistic ethics, a morally right
act being defined as an act which is a means to the attainment
of the "good," it is crucially important that the meaning of
"good" be clear. The task for the metaethicist is to make this
concept (and judgments in which it occurs) clear if possible,
and if not, to show the vagueness and ambiguity of it. In the
ethics of Thomism, it seems to me, there is a serious problem
with the concept of "good," for the Thomist maintains that
man's supreme or final end or good can be known only through
revelation. To many philosophers the appeal to revelation as
a means of knowing is objectionable, but a more fundamental
objection is that the meaning of man's final good-beatitudois not made clear by the Thomist. What does it mean to be
"in possession of God?" Are there any ways of testing for this
state of affairs? Although the Thomist maintains that we can
have some knowledge of the good for man without revelation,
man's final good can really only accrue in the next life. This
introduces a serious problem concerning the meaning of the
concept " good " (some philosophers would suggest that there
is no way in principle of testing for this state of affairs) and
equally serious difficulties for the concept of a "right act,"
since the latter is defined as an act which is conducive to man's
good.
(3) Analysis of "natural law" and "natural rights."

The notions of divine or eternal law, natural law, and natural
rights are very important in Thomistic ethical and political
philosophy. We have seen that in some sense natural law is
"founded upon" divine law, and it is also the case that natural
rights are "founded upon" natural law. We have already
noted the difficulties centering around these relationships and

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the notions of "founded upon," "based on," and " derived
from." But there is an even more fundamental problem with
the meaning of the phrases "divine law," "natural law," and
"natural rights." The Thomist views natural law as ontological
in character. It is "the complexus of tendencies towards ends
and inclinations to actions which are based on the constant
essences of things. By these inclinations each thing fulfills its
own purposes and establishes the order in the things of nature." 20 The natural law includes all the prescriptions required
to fulfill the essence of human nature and man's ultimate end.
Natural law has objective and universal validity.
Now the analyst or metaethicist has a number of questions
to ask about the claim that there is a natural law or laws.
What kind of claim is it that these are natural laws? Is it
empirical? And if so, what is the data which supports the
existence of moral laws. Furthermore, men have certain natural
rights because there is natural law. What are these rights and
is it an empirical claim that we have them? One philosopher
says that "propositions about natural law and natural rights
are not generalizations from experience nor deductions from
observed facts subsequently confirmed by experience." 21 MacDonald's position is that "the theory of natural law and natural rights confounds reason with right and both with matter
of fact and existence." 22 Another way of putting this is that
the natural law theorists confuse analytic and synthetic propositions in their view. They attempt to extract natural moral
laws from essential human nature. But essential human nature
is that which is expressed in the definition of "human being"
and the natural laws would be simply analytic entailments of
this definition. However, " by logical fusion of the characteristics of two different types of proposition, statements about
natural rights tended in this theory to be represented as stateMeyer, op. cit., p. 464.
Margaret MacDonald, "Natural Rights," in Knowledge and Value, edited by
Elmer Sprague and Paul Taylor, New York, 1959, p. 6·t6. Reprinted from Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 1947-48.
20

21

''Ibid.

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ments of necessary natural fact." 23 MacDonald further contends that 1) "men do not share a fixed nature, nor, therefore,
are there any ends which they must necessarily pursue in fulfillment of such nature"; 24 2) "standards are determined by
human choice, not set by nature independently of men"; 25
3) the reason "natural rights" were considered to exist independently of organized society was " in order to emphasize
their basic or fundamental character. For words like freedom,
equality, security, represented for the defenders of natural
rights what they considered to be the fundamental moral and
social values which should be or should continue to be realized
in any society fit for intelligent and responsible citizens ....
In short, ' natural rights ' are the conditions of a good society"; 26 4) assertions about natural rights are value utterances and value utterances are not analytic or synthetic
propositions but " records of decisions.'' " To assert that ' freedom is better than slavery' or 'all men are of equal worth'
is not to state a fact but to choose a side. It announces,' This
is where I stand.'"; 27 and 5) "there are no certainties in the
field of values. For there are no true or false beliefs about
values, but only better or worse decisions and choices." 28
The above are some conclusions drawn by an analyst or
metaethicist from a study of the doctrine of natural law and
natural rights. I do not pretend that the summary is exhaustive, nor do I intend to express agreement with her conclusions.
I simply want to point out the need for metaethical analysis of
the doctrine of natural law and natural rights in Thomistic
moral philosophy and the farreaching implications that such
an analysis might have. It is clear, for example, that if a
Thomist would accept Professor MacDonald's analysis, then
the notion that natural law has "objective and universal
validity " must be radically altered. Of course, if one accepted
Professor MacDonald's analysis, then one would cease to be
a Thomist.
•• Ibid., p. 644.
•• Ibid., p. 649.

•• Ibid., p. 650.
•• Ibid., p. 65!!-3.

27 Ibid., p. 654.
•• Ibid., p. 658.

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( 4) The role of reason and the relation of fact and value.

We have noted the problems centering around the deductive
model of moral reasoning used by the Thomist. We have also
noted that the Thomist appeals to experience as a factor in
moral reasoning. The task of the metaethicist is to clarify the
roles of "experience," "deduction" and "reason" in the
Thomist moral philosophy. The Thomist claims that" reason"
has many roles in relation to ethics. Apparently it cannot only
inform us of the means to an end but it can discover and
direct man to what is " objectively good." Taking an example
from Copleston, "both the burglar and the seducer can be said
to be acting ' rationally' if they take the appropriate means to
the fulfillment of their respective purposes. But since neither
burglary nor seduction is compatible with the attainment of
the objective good for man, the activities of the burglar and
the seducer are not in accordance with 'right reason.' If it is
said that moral conduct is rational conduct, what is meant is
that it is conduct in accordance with right reason, reason apprehending the objective good for man and dictating the means
to its attainment." 29 One can act rationally, then, without
acting in accordance with "right reason." Reason, then, has
at least the functions of 1) informing us of the means to certain ends (the sense in which both the burglar and seducer act
rationally) , 2) informing us of the proper or right means to
certain ends, and 3) providing knowledge of the natural law
or the proper ends or goals of man. The appeal to "right reason" involves a reference to reason apprehending and following the natural law. If reason can perform these functions (and
perhaps others), then it would appear that for the Thomist
rational argument could resolve or settle any ethical disputeas long as the disputants agreed to proceed rationally. This
view, however, has been seriously challenged by many contemporary metaethicists. It is claimed by A. J. Ayer, Paul
Edwards, Charles Stevenson, H. Feigl 30 and others who have
29

Copleston, op. cit., p. 205.

30

See A. J .Ayer, Language, Truth, and Logic, New York, 1946; Paul Edwards,

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

241

investigated the role of reason and rational argument in ethical
disputes that reason has an important but a limited role. The
use of reason can make ethical disputants aware of the facts
involved in the circumstances, including various means that
can be used to attain certain ends. And to the extent that
ethical disagreement is based upon differences in awareness
of the facts in the circumstances, then it is probable that the
disagreement can be rationally resolved. But if the ethical
disagreement is not rooted in factual disagreement or " disagreement in belief," as Stevenson would put it, but rather in
"disagreement in attitude" or fundamental normative differences, then resolvement is possible only through persuasion,
compromise, or perhaps even abuse or force. Reason (these
analysts argue) cannot justify certain ethical norms as correct
ones as opposed to others.
Now this is a very serious challenge to the claim of the
Thomist that reason (with the exception of the need for revelation at a certain point) has an almost unrestricted role in resolving ethical disputes. Certainly the Thomist allows that
many men will not proceed rationally, but if they do, the
Thomistic position is that reason can resolve ethical disputes,
even those rooted in disagreements on fundamental normsfor reason can discover the correct norms. It seems to me to
be a very crucial issue on the metaethicallevel that the Thomist
analyze, explicate, and support his position on the role of reason in ethics. This would also involve saying something about
the relation of "is" to "ought" and perhaps something about
the relationship between ethics and epistemology.
(5)

The meaning of "contradicting

nature."

Another point requiring metaethical analysis in the ethics of
Thomism can be shown by drawing a parallel with Kantian
ethics. In Kantian ethics the notion of "consistency'' and
The Logic of Moral Discourse, Glencoe, Illinois, 1955; Charles Stevenson, Ethics
and Language, New Haven, 1944; Herbert Feigl, "Validation and Vindication: An
Analysis of the Nature and Limits of Ethical Arguments," in Readings in Ethical
Theory, edited by John Hospers and Wilfred Sellars, New York, 1952.

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" contradiction" play a key role in the basic moral principle,
the principle of universalizability. Kant tells us that we must
be able to consistently will that the maxim of one's action be a
universal law if one's act is to be moral. He further speaks of
certain acts or maxims of action contradicting or violating nature. An important problem for the metaethicist in Kantian
ethics is to make clear the meaning of Kant's use of the notions
of "consistency " and " contradiction." Only when this is done
can the basic principle of Kantian ethics-the principle of universalizability-itself be clear. Kant himself sometimes can be
interpreted as using "contradiction" in the formal logical sense,
sometimes not.
Now there is a similar problem in Thomistic ethics. The
Thomist speaks of "reason seeing the irrationality " of certain
actions, meaning by this that reason sees that certain actions
or maxims of action " contradict" natnre or a "natural impulse
implanted by God." 31 The problem for the metaethicist here,
as in Kantian ethics, is to find out the meaning of " contradicting nature." Is formal contradiction intended? Or is the term
being used in a much looser sense? A similar problem arises
when the Thomist says that " God would deny Himself if He
were to relinquish His order of justice." 32 What does the term
" deny " mean in this claim?
(6) Analysis of the relationship of fundamental

moral con-

cepts-good, right, obligatory, etc.
We noted earlier tha,t "good" is the fundamental normative
term for the Thomist and the term " right" derives its meaning
from its relationship to "good." A right act is an act which
is conducive to man's good. Now in fact there is an entire
host of normative concepts or phrases in Thomistic ethics which
require analysis by the metaethicist not only concerning their
meaning but also concerning their interrelationships with one
another. For example, an act may be "materially good" with··
out being "morally good." In fact a "materially good" act
31

Copleston, op. mt., p. !US.

•• Meyer, op. mt., p. 494.

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

243

may be a "morally bad " act. Furthermore a "morally good "
act need not be a "morally obligatory" act, although it may
be. It is also possible for one to do that act which is " objectively right" and yet act immorally in doing it. The metaethicist, in giving an analysis of the meaning and relationship
of these normative concepts would introduce a great deal of
clarity.
(7) Classification of different kinds of statements and claims
found in moral philosophy.

Another contribution which the metaethicist can make concerning Thomistic moral philosophy or any system of ethics is
that of providing a scheme of classification for the various
kinds of statements and claims found in moral discourse. Very
important in this classification scheme would be the distinction
between ethical statements and metaethical statements. But
many other kinds of statements or activities take place in
moral discourse and it is important to be able to distinguish
the differences between these various kinds of statements and
activities. Aside from 1) the making of actual moral decisions
or utterances and 2) the making of statements about the logic
and meaning of moral utterances (metaethical statements),
one finds 3) empirical statements about the means to attain
the good life, 4) descriptions and explanations of moral experience, 5) a great deal of preaching and advising, and 6) the
attempt to justify or validate moral ideas and practices. There
are probably other kinds of statements and activities found in
discourse, and I do not pretend that the above is an
adequate classificatory scheme. But the importance of having
such a scheme should now be clear. Such a scheme would
enable one to discern and classify the kind of claim being made
and ascertain the kind of evidence, if any, relevant to it. For
example, if one claims that certain means will produce certain
ends, we know this is an empirical claim verifiable or falsifiable
by the use of the scientific method. But if one is preaching or
advising, the scientific method is not relevant in the same sense.

244

WILLIAM

T. BLACKSTONE

A different kind of data would also be relevant to a description
or explanation of moral experience than that relevant to determining means-ends relationships. Certainly the kind of data
relevant to a metaethical claim would be different from that
relevant to an ethical claim. Our point is that if one is able to
classify the kind of claim being made in moral discourse, one
can determine the kind of data relevant to it, if any, and
thereby avoid a great deal of confusion which might (and
does) accure without such a classificatory scheme.

v
Let me repeat that I do not claim that the seven areas designated above are the only ones requiring metaethical analysis
in Thomistic moral philosophy (or in any moral philosophy) .
I would argue, however, that they are key points for analysis.
Let me also say I have not attempted to set forth a complete
metaethical analysis of Thomistic moral philosophy. That is
far too large a task for one paper. However, I do think that our
discussion about the nature of moral judgments and of moral
reasoning along with our brief discussion of the seven factors
enumerated above constitute in part a metaethical analysis of
Thomistic moral philosophy. Each of the seven factors enumerated (as well as others) requires much more analysis and detail.
Without introducing a meta-metaethical level of discussion,
I would like to close by suggesting another issue which requires careful analysis. That issue is the relationship between
metaethical theories and normative ethics. I have addressed
myself to this issue in some detail elsewhere 33 and I refer the
reader to that essay. I will make only one or two observations.
A number of contemporary metaethicists claim that metaethical
theories are morally neutral. This may well be the case in the
sense that a given metaethic does not entail any particular
normative views or judgments. For example the metaethic of
emotivism-the view that moral judgments are non-cognitive
33 See W. T. Blackstone,
"Are Metaethical Theories Normatively Neutral?,"
The Australasian Journal of Philosophy, vol. 39, no. 1, 1961, pp. 65-74.

THOMISM AND METAETHICS

245

expressions of emotion-does not commit one or entail any
moral view such as euthanasia or trial marriage. However,
there are other relationships between metaethical views and
normative ethics which might well affect the moral life. The
metaethic of emotivism, for example, changes our conception
of what we are doing when we make moral judgments and our
view of justification in ethics. As Frederick Olafson 34 puts it,
acceptance of the emotive metaethic makes one feel that
rational principles are not operative for morals and that one's
moral judgments are non-logical acts of preference. The case
can be put, I think, even stronger than that stated by Olafson.
It appears that one's metaethical account of the meaning of
ethical terms and statements actually logically entails a particular account of moral justification. Take the metaethic of
subjectivism which views the meaning of ethical statements as
autobiographical statements of approval or disapproval. This
metaethic would entail a particular account of moral justification, namely, that the only data relevant to the justification of
moral judgments are the autobiographical facts of personal
approval or disapproval. Or take the metaethic of emotivism.
This metaethic views ethical judgments as non-cognitive expressions of emotion and such a view certainly logically entails
that moral judgments cannot be justified as true or false since
moral judgments do not assert anything. For those who adopt
the metaethic of emotivism, if there is disagreement in moral
attitude between two disputants who agree on the facts of the
case, there is no method of resolvement beside persuasion, compromise, or abuse. On the emotivist scheme, all the reasons
relevant to a purely moral disagreement (as opposed to a disagreement in belief) are persuasive reasons, for, as Ayer puts it,
moral principles have "no objective validity." Thus one analytic entailment of the emotivist metaethic is that all ethically
relevant reasons are persuasive reasons. Without noting other
metaethical theories, our point should be clear: The manner
"'Frederick Olafson, " Metaethics and the Moral Life," Philosophical Review,
vol. 65, 1956.

246

WILLIAM T. BLACKSTONE

in which one is to justify moral judgments depends logically
upon what those judgments are i:p.terpreted as meaning.
The point we wished to make is that there are important
relations between metaethics and normative ethics, and since
there are a number of different metaethical theories (subjectivism, emotivism, objectivism, etc.) , then the question arises
as to which metaethic is correct. What are the criteria or tests
whereby it can be shown that a given metaethic is correct and
others incorrect? 35 This question would certainly involve the
Thomistic moral philosopher. The Thomistic metaethic is a
type of cognitivism and objectivism, and the Thomist must,
if he is to be consistent with his emphasis upon the role of reason, show that his metaethic is the correct one. Not only is
there need then, for a metaethical analysis of Thomistic moral
philosophy, there is also need for a discussion of the validity
and criteria for the validity of metaethical theories themselves.
WILLIAM

T. BLACKSTONE, PH. D.

University of Georgia,
Athens, Georgia

•• See W. T. Blackstone, op. cit., for some discussion of this issue.

NOTES ON OUR CONTRIBUTORS
Edward M. MacKinnon, S. J., Ph. D. {theoretical physics, St. Louis University) who has written for scientific journals and contributed philosophical articles to The Modern Schoolman, Thought, The International Philosophical Quarterly, is now engaged in post-doctoral research on the.philosophy of science at Yale University, New Haven,
Conn.
Carroll Stuhlmueller, C. P., S. T. L., author of commentaries on Leviticus
and the Gospel of St. Luke for the Paulist Press and Liturgical
Press series, a frequent contributor to scholarly journals including
Catholic Biblical Quarterly, The Thomist, Worship, continues his
research at the Passionist Fathers Seminary, Louisville, Kentucky,
where he is professor of Scripture.
Richard H. Beis, M.A., Ph. D. {Notre Dame University) past instructor
at St. Norbert College, West de Pere, Wisconsin, contributor to
·The Modern Schoolman, and Assistant Professor of Philosophy at
Maryknoll Seminary, Glen Ellyn, Illinois, is engaged in research
studies of Analytic Philosophy in its relation to Thomism.
William T. Blackstone, M.A., Ph. D. {Duke University) author of Philosophical Analysis and the Problems of Religious Knowledge, whose
studies in ethical theory have been published in many philosophical
journals, is in the Department of Philosophy and Religion at the
University of Georgia, Athens, Georgia.
Michael Stock, 0. P., Ph. D. (Angelicum) a frequent contributor to scholarly journals, co-author with Francis J. Braceland, M.D. of Modern
Psychiatry: A Handbook for Believers, is now Lector Primarius and
Professor of Psychology at St. Stephens College, Dover, Mass.
Bernard J. Cooke, S. J., S. T. D., Chairman of the Department of Religious
Education at Marquette University, contributes often to theological
periodicals, including Theology Digest, Catholic World, Perspectives,
and is active in the renewal of catechetics.
James M. Egan, 0. P., S. T. D., whose theological studies have appeared
in The Thomist, Cross and Crown, Angelicum, and other journals,
is Chairman of the College Division of the Dominican Educational
Association and Professor in the Graduate School of Theology, St.
Mary's College, Notre Dame, Indiana.
Rev. Kevin Seasoltz, 0. S. B., J. C. D., of St. Anselm's Abbey, Washington,
D. C., who teaches in the Department of Religious Education of
The Catholic University. of America, is author of a book recently
published by Herder and Herder, entitled The House of God.

247

BOOK REVIEWS
The Geography of Intellect. By NATHANIEL WEYL and STEFAN PossoNY.
Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1963. Pp. xiii and
with
index. $7.95.
This is a book which you open with a sense of excited anticipation,
which gradually becomes flawed with bits of dismay, and finally succumbs
to a sense of disappointment. On reflection, you might find that your
original anticipations were not wholly frustrated, but no amount of reflection will dispel the feeling of having been let down in some sense, and
let down in a way you would not have originally expected.
The subject of the study, The Geography of Intellect, is almost bound
to exert a fascination on anyone who is educated enough to know even a
little of the world's history. We all know that there are differences in
men's intelligence, and that at some times and in some places, some people have shown more communal intelligence than others. But what is the
explanation for those sudden extraordinary leaps and crests of intellectual
brilliance which have won everlasting glory for a small town in Greece, or a
medieval city on the Italian peninsula, or for a race or a class of people,
who through their genius have contributed to human weal all out of proportion to their numbers? What lies behind Athens in the fifth century B. C. and Florence in the fifteenth A. D., and the intellectual superiority of the Jews and the Scots, and the dominant role of the Brahmins?
Again, why are there people alive today, ignorant, poverty-stricken and
dejected, and incomprehensibly living in the ruins of a splendid civilization
their ancestors created? What happened to these people in the interim?
The authors propose to answer such questions as these, and many more,
with the best evidence and reasoning modern science and scholarship can
afford, and to a degree they do so. But in the course of the book, so
much data is admitted which is at best shaky and sometimes downright
misleading, and so much energy is spent pleading a special case, to the
detriment of perfect objectivity, that the reader begins to feel himself
unfairly imposed upon.
On the matter of data, it would be impossible to list all the questionable
citations, but a few may be mentioned as examples. On page 57, correlations between intelligence and brain capacity and shape are given, as
positive, from .08 to .34. The authors grant that these are small, but in
fact they are statistically insignificant. On page 91 they cite a tabulation
from a report which, they note themselves, does not identify its references
and is slovenly! In both these cases, the materials cited favor one of their

248

BOOK REVIEWS

249

special pleadings. On page llS, they give statistics from a report which,
they again note, has been criticized for misquoting material and relying
on secondary, inaccurate and valueless work. If this is so, why use it?
On pages 124-H?5, they use population figures for European nations computed in 1600 A. D. as a basis for calculations of intelligence ratios for
these countries from llOO to 1400 A. D., assuming the relative distributions
would not have changed much. This seems like a large assumption. In the
section on 'Genius after the Reformation ' (p. 128 f.), they use statistics
based only on scientists and composers of high rank, as if genius could
not be found among poets, dramatists, statesmen, lawyers, diplomats, theologians, engineers, military men, etc., or as if the figures which might be
derived from weighing in these lines of endeavor would not change the
picture noticeably. In discussing ethnic differences in I. Q. (pp. 159-160),
the authors lean on tests taken in the 1920's and 1930's, when the cultural
factors influencing the results were not yet clearly appreciated. Later
(pp. 176-177), they use results of I. Q. tests in which the differences of
social and economic environment were ironed out, but for groups which
have radically different motivations; these results are intended to represent purely ethnic differences. Scientific reporting of this sort tends to
shake a reader's confidence.
Throughout the book the authors are building up a case for a position
which has a strong grip on their feelings. It is a position, moreover, supported by a practically conclusive array of evidence. In essence, Weyl and
Possony hold that there are innate racial differences of psychic as well as
physical endowments, and that some races are demonstrably abler than
others. Moreover, within a race, there are differences of endowments
which spread out over a wide range. Now the great advances of civilization are the work of the endowed elite, all other conditions operating
favorably, and all men have benefited immeasurably from their labors.
An elite, however, whether of race or class, can be dissipated and frustrated by genetically unsound reproductive patterns. The future progress
of mankind depends therefore on conserving and enhancing the gene pools
of the highly gifted, and insofar as policies can be constructed to influence
such a delicate matter, they should be shaped towards building up the
genetically superior lines of men.
This line of argumentation is eminently reasonable and based on the
solidest kind of evidence. Nevertheless, it by no means enjoys widespread
acceptance nowadays, principally because it seems to run counter to deep
and strong sociological and political currents. The twentieth century is the
century of the rights of man and the rights especially of the underdog.
This is the era of the enfranchisement of everyman, the glorification of
the common man and wholesale assistance to the underprivileged. These
are worthy goals and goals passionately espoused by many men and women

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BOOK REVIEWS

of high intelligence and character. But to make progress in realizing these
ends, against the resistances of custom 1 prejudice and privilege, many
protagonists of the common man have felt that it was necessary to deny
the existence of inborn racial and even individual differences. They have
felt that equality of rights and opportunities must imply equality of native
talent; that assertions of innate differences leads inevitably to social injustices. This is not necessarily true, of course, but, in fact, prejudice and
privilege have bolstered their positions by racist doctrines.
We have a real dilemma, therefore. The facts of the matter lead to the
conclusion that there are racial differences, and the realities of history
indicate that mankind would do well to enhance them. But the contemporary struggles for social justice are so bitter that this position, however
true, gives ammunition to the cause for discrimination and inequity. Weyl
and Possony report that some scientists have even suppressed data which
showed inborn differences and engaged in covert and overt persecution of
colleagues who proposed theories of racial differences. Neverthless, I believe the authors would have been far more effective for their own views
if they themselves had adhered rigorously to the best available data, and
only the best, and themselves kept a temperate tone in presenting their
case. Towards the end of the book, their feelings become more and more
evident, as they begin to resort to sneers and vituperation to overcome
their opponents. They do not seem ready always to grant the sincerity of
proponents of racial equality, nor have they answered the practical question concerning the effect their book will have in the present situation.
Some races, for example, the Negroes in the United States, are facing problems of enormous dimensions in their fight for equal rights. Racists will
use the Weyl-Possony book to support their position, and the authors'
bias against the Melanoids is going to give them unnecessary advantages.
In spite of the defects outlined above, The Geography of Intellect has
many fine points to recommend it. It does line up in a rather impressive
way the various factors which have gone into the formation and destruction of elite classes and races, and in many instances seems to have arrived
at all the major keys to given situations. Some of the factors are those
which would have been expected-temperate or cold climate, productivity
high enough to support a leisured class, and rewards for intellectual
endeavor favor increase of talent; wars and revolutions which destroy the
gifted, and unwillingness of the elite to bear family responsibilities disfavor it. But there are also factors which might never have been suspected-the influence of electric storms on intelligence and talent, the
influence of lead poisoning on the Roman aristocracy are examples of less
known factors which have had some importance in the history of intellect.
In all instances, the authors have been particularly careful to show how
the factors at work have managed to modify the genetic balances in the

BOOK REVIEWS

populations under consideration. They have done an especially excellent
study on the causes for the intellectual superiority of the Jewish people.
They have not, however, been especially generous to the cause of religion.
They aver that a drought was the principal cause of the spiritual triumph
of Christianity (p. 65) . Christianity is designated simply as an Oriental
religion-a matter of argument from several points of view (p. 111). To
use the term ' idle, masochistic monasticism of the Egyptian Christians'
suggests either no acquaintance with the original sources of our knowledge
about the Fathers of the Desert, or some unusual usage of the words
'idle' and 'masochistic' (p. 1H!). That there is an inverse correlation
between clerical celibacy and enlightenment is acceptable only if eugenics
is taken as a value superior to Christian spirituality (p. 139). And finally,
it is annoying to find theological opinions_:_" This was perhaps theologically
dubious since the Gospels had declared that Christ's death was foreordained
and the will of God "-in a sociological line of reasoning (p. 115).
On the whole, then, The Geography of Intellect has many rewarding
pages and many irritants and many real disappointments. As an early
essay into a broad area of enquiry, it has a good deal to recommend itself.
Subsequent workings of the materials should precise and expand our
understanding of the relations of intelligence to time and place, race and
class, climate and food and the rest. Further studies would perhaps benefit
from a full and precise description of what is meant by intellect and the
ways intellect can operate differently at different levels.
MICHAEL STOCK, 0. P.
St. Stephen's College,
Dover, Massachusetts

Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God. By E. ScHILLEBEECKX,
0. P. New York: Sheed and Ward, 1963. Pp.
$4.50.
The Church and the Sacraments. By K. RAHNER ( #9 in the series Quaestiones Disputatae). New York: Herder and Herder, 1963. Pp, 117.
The recent appearance of Schillebeeckx's Christ the Sacrament of the
Encounter with God and Rahner's The Church and the Sacraments provides an extremely interesting opportunity to see two of the top theologians in the contemporary Church discussing from slightly different
points of view the relationship of Church and Sacrament. For a professional theologian it is in a sense even more interesting to see each of these

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BOOK REVIEWS

two great theologians, fully aware of the present day developments in
the Church's theological life, dialoguing with the achievements of past
theologians in the areas of Sacramental theology and ecclesiology.
Schillebeeckx's book, in particular, points to the fact that the faith life
of the Church and its theological development proceed by way of cumulative or organic growth rather than by an abandonment of one position
to adopt something new. It is really quite instructive to examine the way
in which the old insights and the " structural " approach to the study of
Church and Sacramental life are transformed by the new orientation which
has come from biblical studies and the liturgical revival. The same thing
is true of Rahner's essay, though the fact that it is a much shorter treatment means that he has not entered into as detailed a reanalysis of Sacramental theology as has Schillebeeckx. No one could accuse either of these
two theologians of being out-moded or mired in problems or solutions of
the past, yet both of them have managed to treat in a new fashion all the
standard questions classically handled in Sacramental theology.
For one who is interested in the present day pertinence of the thought of
St. Thomas Aquinas, Schillebeeckx's book is particularly illuminating.
Many of the insights which one associates with present-day biblical theology are utilized to form a synthesis with the theological principles of
St. Thomas Aquinas. Drawing as it does from the tradition of Dominican
theology, it is not surprising that Schillebeeckx's theological approach is
very radically Thomist, but in the best sense of that term. His mastery
of the internal structure and basic insights of the theology of St. Thomas
makes it possible for him to introduce profound theological synthesis into
some of the insights derived from present-day research.
Taken together these two books provide us with an excellent structural
basis for approaching the new avenues of study in the theology of Sacrament and Church. They only touch upon the great task which faces us
of exploring the Christian anthropology contained in the sacramental nature of Christianity and, more specifically, the supernatural dimension of
symbolism as it occurs in the Church's life. However the orientations they
have provided for a synthesis of all the myriad data now impinging on
theology will be invaluable as a guide for the creative theologian. What
they have done, and it is a most important contribution, is to build a
bridge between the historic gains already achieved in the area of sacramental theology and the new developments which lie ahead of us.
Both books contribute key insights to something which has been much
discussed in the past couple of decades though not always with clarity:
the ecclesial dimension of Sacrament. At a time when many authors are
referring to the community aspects of Christianity, when it is pastorally
important to explain the way in which Sacraments express the living
reality of adherence to Christianity, it is important that clear theological

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253

explanations of the link between Sacrament and Church be provided
Certainly, after the appearance of these two books no one could say that
we are without the direction we need in this particular area.
Schillebeeckx's book with its clear connection of the mystery of sacramentality as found in Christ himself, the Church, and the Sacramental
ritual has done a pioneering task in showing the intrinsic unity of the
sacramental principle of Christian life. Taken together the two books
point out quite clearly the inadequacy of our standard divisions of dogmatic
theology. It becomes quite obvious that one cannot discuss the actual
historical reality of the Incarnation apart from examining the mystery of
the Church and its expression in Sacramental act; nor can one discuss
either of the latter two points in separation from the entire mystery of
Christ. Though neither of the authors emphasizes the point in his book,
we can rather readily draw the conclusion that new structurization of our
theological investigation is demanded because of the way in which theological insight is taking place at the present time in the Church.
On the surface the two books strike one as being very much alike. They
are both very cognizant of the heritage of tradition which must be woven
into any valid rethinking of faith. Both are a masterly utilization of the
thought and insights of St. Thomas Aquinas' theology. Both are drawing
heavily and with great theological acumen from the scholarly acquisi··
tions in the area of biblical theology and Sacramental theology. In a sense
both are taking the same position with regard to the close unity of Incarnation and Church and Sacrament and the only difference between them
to which either book explicitly alludes has to do with the interpretation
of the Sacrament of Confirmation-and on this point Schillebeechx's criticism of Rahner seems to overlook the nuances that Rahner introduces into
his distinction between Baptism and Confirmation.
However, under the apparent similarity there does seem to be a rather
important difference of point of view. Schillebeeckx's approach, with all
its utilization of more contemporary understandings and language, tends
to be more controlled by the older structures and questions. Though it is
not said by way of criticism, his book is in many respects a more traditional approach, an excellent example of the way in which a fundamentally
Thomist point of view is capable of gathering into itself the finest of the
more recent theological insights. Actually, this is one of the great values
of the book: it is a living proof that one need not jettison the great
insights of scholastic theology in order to come to grips with modern problems and modern points of view. On the other hand, Rahner's essay
represents an approach to the standard questions from a mentality that is
much more characteristic of the present-day intellectual world. Whereas
Schillebeeckx in a sense absorbs the old into the new.
Perhaps the place in the two books where this underlying difference is

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BOOK REVIEWS

most apparent is in their discussion of presence-a question which obviously is central to both works. Schillebeeckx is obviously very aware of the
importance of this notion and his treatment of it is very clear and incisive,
yet (as evidenced on page 61) he approaches an understanding of presence
from the point of view of St. Thomas' analysis of causality, thus immediately classifying and delimiting the basic reality of presence.
Rahner, on the other hand, grounds his whole treatment on the notion
of divine presence in human history, and allows this notion to re-evaluate
the ordinary causal analysis of the Church's life and Sacramental expression. To this extent it would seem that there is greater amplitude in
Rahner's treatment, greater possibility of opening up new avenues of
insight.
Pointing to the difference of approach is not intended to indicate the
superiority of either contribution but rather to highlight a tension which
exists and must always exist in really creative theological endeavor. For
this very reason the simultaneous appearance of these two first-rate examples of theological thought marks a major contribution to our present day
development of theology.
BERNARD CooKE, S. J.
Marquette University
Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Greek Myths and Christian Mysteries. By HuGO RAHNER. New York:
Harper & Row, 1963. Pp. xxii + 399. $10.00.
It was surely not outside the intention of the author of this fascinating
work to contribute to a subsidiary, yet radical, debate going on among
Christian scholars on the subject of the tension between hebraic and
hellenic modes of thought, of the roles they have played in the formulation
of Christian doctrine and Christian culture, of their usefulness in the contemporary renewal of the Catholic Church.
Champions of the hebraic modes of thought disdainfully dismiss the
hellenic modes by reducing them to Plato, and even then, to the weaknesses of his thought, as though the Christian Fathers had been completely
unaware of these. Is it with these men in mind that Fr. Rahner writes:
"The eighteenth century was guilty of a disastrous misunderstanding of
the nature of Greek piety when it projected its own ' enlightenment ' into
the Greek soul. Such illuminati, for whom every kind of mysticism, everything that is dark and sinful, everything that expresses a yearning for redemption, is ' an alien drop in Greek blood,' are even today not wholly
out of supply. Yet if they were right how could we explain the hidden
longing in myth and mystery? How could we even grasp the secret meanings behind the Odyssey? " (p. xx).

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255

Indirectly, Fr. Rahner pays tribute also to the role of the rational elements in Greek thought in the formation of Christian doctrine and culture, when he stresses the point that the Church freely employed the
Greek myths and mysteries only after she was in firm possession of her
own teaching. It was the reflective and rational modes of Greek thought
that were used by her to come into this possession. (Coincidentally,
Lucien Legrand, in an article entitled: "Creation as a Cosmic Victory of
Yahweh," digested in Theology Digest, XI, 3, 154-158, makes the same
point in regard to the freer use of mythical elements in the later books
of the 0. T. These were the books that also betray the influence of
hellenic modes of thought.)
Fr. Rahner's direct concern is with the religious modes of Greek thought
and the rich part they played in the expression of Christian thought. He
expresses it so finely and so pointedly for our day: " What is here contained is a gift to that living round-table, made up of men who believe
that our Western civilization has broken down only in order that it may
be born anew, to the Eranos of those who dimly perceive the truth, as
did Plato in his immortal seventh letter, and can behold the kingdom of
eternity through the ruins. These are the men who know the comforting
law of the spirit, that the demon in man is only permitted to tear down
so that the angel in man with faltering hand may trace out the sources
of new life. Palaces only collapse so that treasures may be laid bare; idols
begin to rock, but only so that altars may be freed upon which a purified
spirit may sacrifice" (p. xiii) .
The unity of this work is a testimony to the power of thought and
purpose of the author. All the material has appeared elsewhere; yet the
method is always uniform: a brief, yet adequate, presentation of the
origin of the myth or mystery; its development as the expression of the
highest religious aspirations of the Greek people; its transformation, in the
light of revelation, into a powerful vehicle of Christian religious experience.
It almost seems as though every sentence builds up in the reader the
ruling purpose of the author " to show forth with what gay freedom of
spirit the Greek Christian, in the forming and interpretation of his own
mysteries, laid hands upon the treasures of the past so that he might lay
them upon his own altar. All the lamps of Greece, so he boldly believed,
burn for the sun which is Christ" (p. xix) .
There are three main parts to the work. Significantly, the first is called
simply, Mysterion. The first chapter is a magnificent presentation of the
notion of the mysteries as found in their late Greek development and of
the mystery which is Christianity. The uniqueness of the Christian mystery is strongly emphasized; its capacity for assimilation is also stressed.
In illustration the author chooses the mystery of the Cross, the mystery of
Baptism, and the Christian mystery of Sun and Moon. This latter mystery

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BOOK REVIEWS

is intimately linked with the liturgical year, as is evidenced from the chapter titles: "the Easter Sun" and "the Christmas Sun." In a parallel
consideration of " the Christmas Moon " and " the Easter Moon," the
author is able to bring out the deep reverence of fourth and fifth century
Christians for Mary and the Church. There is important evidence here
for the doctrinal development in the Church with regard to Mary and
the Church herself.
The second part is entitled: The 'Healing of the Soul. This contains an
absorbing study of the symbolism of moly, the soul-healing herb of Hermes
and mandragora, the everlasting root of man. Especially in the Christian
handling of the latter, do we find evidence of the profound conviction on
the part of the Church that the healing of man, his justification, is not
merely an extrinsic declaration of non-guilt, but a profound transformation
of the whole man. Yet there is a vivid awareness of the depths of sinfulness and corruption that will be overcome only at the final transfiguration.
Holy Homer is the title of the final part. It is a delight to read. Especially the incident of Odysseus and the Sirens. He and his crew sailed
past them unharmed because he plugged the ears of the crewmen with
wax and had himself securely tied to the mast. A Christian application of
this is found in Hippolytus, " and, as in the Clementine defence of humanism, Odyesseus, who ' in full knowledge approached close to death,'
is held up as a model of conduct. The prudent hero, tied of his own free
will to the mast . . . (which, of course, is the Cross) ... is the exemplar
of the spiritually mature Christian who concerns himself with the doctrine
of the heretics without endangering his soul, hearing but not following "
(p. 363). However, simple souls are advised still to stuff their ears. How
many simple souls are there left in the Church today?
The translator, Brian Battershaw, is to be congratulated for a very
vigorous English version. Many readers will also be grateful for his thoughtfulness in furnishing translations for all the German books, periodicals and
articles quoted in the footnotes. He did not indicate those that had been
translated into English. There is an index and eleven excellent illustrations.
JAMES

St. Mary's School of Theolo{/y,
Notre Dame, Indiana

M. EGAN, 0. P.

t.l57

BOOK REVIEWS

Worship in Scripture and Tradition. Edited by MASSEY H. SHEPHERD, JR.
New York: Oxford University Press, 1963. Pp. 178. $4.50.
The shift in relationships among various Christian thinkers from cold
coexistence to cordial cooperation has resulted mainly from ecumenical
efforts, but the effect of the new state of affairs is that many theological
questions have to be probed afresh by both Catholic and Protestants alike.
Catholic efforts to rethink the theological problems of the liturgy over the
past sixty years have climaxed in the recent Constitution on the Sacred
Liturgy. Protestant efforts along the same lines, though more recent and
elementary, are reflected in Worship in Scripture and Tradition. A collection of essays by members of the North American Theological Commission
on Worship of Faith and Order, the volume includes studies prepared
Protestant scholars, especially in
during the years 1954 through
Europe, have for some time concerned themselves with the evolution of
Christian worship, but the present collection of studies indicates concern
for the underlying theological content of worship as it developed in the
Bible and in the early Church tradition. Of special interest is the essay
by J. Coert Rylaarsdam of the University of Chicago. Recognizing many
insights of lasting value in the Old Testament worship, R. points out also
the defect of Jewish cult in its inability to accomplish a complete acknowledgment of God on the part of man. Communion between Creator and
creature is restored only through Christ who established the liturgy of
the New Law as the instrument through which He would transmit the
effects of His redemptive death and resurrection to all men. Writing in
the same vein, the other authors too set forth constructive reevaluations
of what they believe to be of primary importance for a liturgical renewal
among Christians and for their reunion in the one Church as the Body of
Christ. In short, the book is a worthwhile contribution of Protestant
biblical and liturgical theology to the contemporary ecumenical dialogue.
KEVIN SEASOLTZ,

St. Anselm's Abbey,
Washington, D. C.

0. s. B.

BOOKS RECEIVED
Armstrong, A. H. and Markus, R. A. Christian Faith and Greek Philosophy. N.Y.: Sheed and Ward, 1964. Pp. ix, 162. $3.50.
Bennett, Jonathan. Rationality. N. Y.: Humanities Press, 1964. Pp. vii,
123. $2.50.
Bougerol, J. Guy. Introduction to the Works of Bonaventure. Transl. from
the French by Jose de Vinck. Paterson, N. J.: St. Anthony Guild
Press, 1964. Pp. xiv, 240. $6.00.
Galen on the Passions and Errors of the Soul. Transl. by Paul W. Harkins,
with introduction and interpretation by W. Riese. Columbus, Ohio:
Ohio State Univ. Press, 1963. Pp. 136. $4.75.
Gilbert, Sister Mary, From the Darlcroom. N. Y.: The Bobbs-Merrill Co.,
Inc., 1964. Pp. 64. $3.50.
Guttmann, Julius. Philosophies of Judaism. Transl. by D. W. Silverman.
Intro. by R. J. Zwi Werblowsky. N. Y.: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston, 1964. Pp. x, 464. $7.50.
Maritain, Jacques. Dieu et la Permission Du Mal (Textes et Etudes Philosophiques). Paris: Desclee de Brouwer, 1963. Pp. 111.
McLean, George F. (ed.). Teaching Thomism Today. Washington, D. C.:
Catholic Univ. Press, 1964. Pp. xi, 394. $5.95.
Niedermeyer, Albert. A Compendium of Pastoral Hygiene. Transl. by
F. Buonanno. N.Y.: Joseph F. Wagner, Inc., 1963. Pp. xiv, 367.
Papay, Joseph L. Metaphysics in Process. Madison, N.J.: Florham Park
Press, 1963. Pp. xiv, 347.
Relations Humaines et Societe Contemporaine (Synthese Chretienne, Directives de S. S. Pie XII, III). A. F. Utz, J. F. Groner, A. Savignat
and H. T. Conus, editors. :Fribourg: Editions St. Paul, 1963. Pp.
xvi, 1446.
Rohde, Peter. S¢ren Kierlwgaard. Trans!. with a foreward by A. M. Williams. N. Y.: Humanities Press, 1963. Pp. 164. $5.00.
Ryan, Mary Perkins. Are Parochial Schools the Answer? N. Y.: Holt,
Rinehart, and Winston, 1964. Pp. ix, 176. $4.00.
Sabourin, Leopold, Les Noms et les Titres de Jesus (Themes de Theologie
Biblique). Paris: Desclee de Brouwer, 1963. Pp. 327.
Sirala, Aarne. The Voice of Illness. Foreword hy l' . .J. Tillich, introduction by G. Booth. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1964. Pp. x, 9214.
$4.50.
Y zermans, Vincent A. Death and Res1trrection. Collegeville, )\,finn.: The
Liturgical Press, 1963. Pp. 92. $2.00.