OBJECT AND INTENTION IN MORAL JUDGMENTS
ACCORDING TO AQUINAS
JOHN FINNIS

I

U'flkueTBity Oollege
Unwersity of Oa:ford

NTENTION IS OF END, choice is of means. A human
aict specified by (and s? is co.rrect:ly
in terms
of) its end. A human act IS specified by (and so Is correctly described in terms of) its object. An a:ct which is bad by
reason of its object cannot be justified by its end (its: good intention) . A human a:ct is specified by (and so is correctly described in iterms of) its intention ....
Such a sequence of statements of St. Thomas ought to leave
an impression of confusion. That impression would be heightened by the traditional representation of his analysis of acting
in a schema of 12 terms signifying a sequence of psychological
acts involved in willing and doing something. For in this
analysis, intention seems to precede ·deliberating, judging, and
choosing, and so, as deliberating, judging, and choosing often
present themselves to consciousness distinctly, intention is
presented in this analysis as if it were a distinct content of
consciousness. When intention is so conceived, iit becomes possible to imagine that one can, so to speak, choose to direct
(an) intention to or withhold it from the various aspects of
one's chosen behavior, e.g. it.hose consequences which one
foresees and welcomes or those one chooses to bring about onJ.y
with regret.
To some contemporary moralists, such approving or regretting of consequences is precisely what engages or disengages one's will and thus one's responsibility; what Christians
or Jews used to regard as immoral can be uprightly done if
done merely as a means to good ends and only with reluctance,
I

JOHN FINNIS

regret, disapproval, i.e. if in no way approved or adopted as an
end, i.e. if not really intended. 1 Other modern moralists deny
that one's responsibility for consequences of deliberate behavior can be so dependent on an inner ruct of intending (as
distinct from the choosing and doing) ; they judge one responsible for everything one deliberately and with foresight causes. 2
So they too reject the " doctrine " of double effect which Christian moralists had articulated as a development or codification
of the elements of St. Thomas's discussion of self-defense, a
disoussion whose first premise is that a human ad is specified
(i.e. identified for the purposes of moral assessment) by its
intention. Today there are other moralists again who combine
the two foregoing lines of thought: they reject the doctrine of
double effect as giving exaggernted importance to choice
(means) over intention (end); one should take into account
alil foreseeable consequences of one's chorce and ensure that it
is likely to have a greater proportion of good than of bad consequences, and one must never approve (intend) any bad consequences-one may never deliberately cause them as ends
hut only as means, means which one deliberwtely causes, not
for their own sake, hut only for the sake of those proportionately greater good (or less bad) consequences which one does
intend. 8
1 Cf., e.g., Richard McCormick, S.J., "Medicaid and .Abortion," Theological
Studies 45 (1984): 716-717.
2 Cf. Bruno Schueller,
"The Double Effect in Catholic Thought: A Re·
evaluation," in McCormick and Ramsey, Doimg Evil to Achieve Good (Chicago:
Loyola University Press, 1978), 191: " ... 'intend as a means' and 'permit',
when referring to a non-moral evil, denote exactly the same mental attitude."
Schueller, "La moraliM des moyens," Recherches de Science Religieuse 68
( 1980) : 211 ( causilng moral evil is never justified, causing non-moral evils
is justified in pursuit of non-moral good of corresponding importance); 221·
2: "pour tous les biens dont la possession contribue au bien-etre de l'homme
... [q]uoi que l'on choisisse ... les consequences negatives qui resultent du
choix sont un pur moyen en vue des consequences positives qui en resultent."
s Cf. K.-H. Peschke, "Tragfaehigkeit und Grenzen des Prinzips der Doppelwirkung," Studia Moralia 26 (1988): 110-112, where Peschke states the
"principle of double effect" (which he ascribes to Catholic theology and attacks) in terms not of what is directly or indirectly willed or intended or
chosen or done, but in terms of what is directly/indirectly "caused."

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

3

All these influential cont·emporary positions are deeply confused and mistaken. Though the mistakes go wider than the
theme of this paper, the confusions (and equally that impression of confusion which I mentioned at the outset) could be
overcome by attention to rthe controlling elements of St.
Thomas's thought on intention and choice.
I shall focus on two of those controlling elements. (i) In
choosing, one not only intends as one's end some
benefit, bu.it also prefers one proposal offering such benefit to
one or more alternative availablie proposals offering the same
or some other intelligible benefit. (ii) In choosing means
(aidopting one proposrul for the sake of its intelligible benefit),
one not only constitutes that means as the (proximate) end
for any technique, procedure, or performance one may use to
do or carry out one's choice but also settles the end (the benefit) one invends.

I
The neo-scholastic schema proposed as a representation of
St. Thomas's analyses of deliberate human acts conveys both
the truth that any such act has its primary intelligibility as
means to end and the truth that will is always response to
reason's envisaging an intelligibly good objective. But these
two virtues of the schema are overwhelmed by its defects as
an interpretation of St. Thomas and ·an analysis of action.
A standard version: 5
1

what it seems intelligent to seek and secure. Of course, one's capacity
to seek and secure such benefit can certainly be harnessed by sensory, subrational desires, emotions, and feelings. I shall not further consider this
aspect of the matter, on which see Grisez, Boyle, and Finnis, "Practical
Principles, Moral Truth, and Ultimate Ends," American Journal of Jurisprudence 32 ( 1987) : 122-125.
(in all essentials) in, e.g., the notes by S.
5 The schema is found thus
Pinckaers, O.P. in Somme Theologique: Les Actes Humaines, tome premier
(Paris: Desclee: 1962), 414-437; the notes by T. Gilby, O.P. in Summa
Theologiae, vol 17 (London and New York, 1970), 211; and the introduction
to the La Somma Teologioa, vol. 8 (1958), 168 (with reservations by the
editor, T. Centi, O.P., 169-170).

4

JOHN FINNIS

Intelligence

Will

Conoerning ·the end

I. Simple understanding
3. Judgment: end is attainable

fl. Simple volition

4. Intention

Conoerning the means
5. Deliberation (consilium)
7. Judgment on means
(sententia/iudWium)

6. Consent
8. Choice. (electio)

Exeooting the choice

9. Direction (imperium/
praeceptum)
11. Application of intelligence
in e:reouting choice

10. Application (usus)
1.2. Enjoyment (fruitio)

That nothing in St. Thomas's discussions clearly corresponds
to phases 3 and 11 need not concern us. What should concern
us is that, in discussing the consensus, hel'e placed as phase
6, Aquinas himself always and unambiguously locartes it after
a sententia or iooicium concerning means: it is one's more or
les:s welcoming 1.'esponse to the practical judgment that some
action is an eligible and appropriate way of achieving some
end which seems to one to be desirable. But in the neo-scholastic scheme, the iooicium concerning means appears only as
phase 7, after consensus. 6
Why rthis apparent defiance of Aquinas's account, this reversal of the order of consent and judgment? In Ol'der, I
think, to preserve the alternating sequence in which will responds to inteUigible good; if consent is a response of will to
practical judgment, there would he no room for a distinction
between consensus and the ohoice itself, which the commenmotus appe6 See ST I-II, 15, 3c (potest ... esse consensus, inquantum
titivus applicatur ad id quod ex consilio iudicci.tum est); 74, 7, ad 1.

Oil.tl!ic'.l' AND INTENTION lN AQUINAS

hi.tors rightly 1 make the response precisely to judgment. But
here their most fundamental oversight becomes evident. In
drawing up their schema, they have forgotten something to
which the sounder of them often, i:f elsewhere, attend: the
fact that, by definition, choice is between eligible options, between mutually (he11e and now) exdusive praictical alternatives (proposals 8 :for action) .
Indeed, the whole neo-scholastic schema or diag11am hides
what St. Thomas makes central rto his account of choice: that
choice is between wlternatives, is an alterum alteri praeoptare 9
or praeeligere,1° an unum alteri praef erre,11 a praeacceptatio
wnius respectu alterius; 12 the decisive preferring of one a:lternativie to another or others. So, where praictical reasoning is followed by :choice, rthat reasoning must have "left something
open " to choice. More p!lecisely: choice, being an ruct of will,
and one which could have gone the other way, must be between alternativ;es each of which is shaped by reason. (Option B need be no more than: not to choose option A, for a
reason.) Any deliberation which ends in choice must have
1,See BT I-II, 13, 1, ad 2; 3c; de Ver. 17, 1, ad 4. Note: I am not suggesting that iudicium should be removed from its place immediately "prior
to " electia. I in no way deny the thesis articulated as no. 21 of the 24
Theses promulgated by the Congregatio Studiorum on 27 July 1914, as interpreted, e.g., by R. Garrigou-Lagrange,
O.P., De Beatitudine (Rome and
Turin, 1951), 253-4 (see also 222, 247, 260, 265). There is an "ultimate
practical judgment" that this (the option being chosen) is preferable (at
least for me, here and now); but the option thus being chosen was an option shaped by the prior deliberation which yielded more than one eligible
option, each shaped by deliberation and affirmed as choiceworthy by a practical judgment; and that it is this option rather than the other(s) that the
ultimate practical judgment declares preferable is settled by the choice (the
will's electio). Such seems to be the gist of the last, anti-Leibnizian sentence
of Thesis 21, and I agree with it: " sequitur ... electio judicium practicum
ultimum; at quod sit ultimum, voluntas efficit."
s" Obiectum ... voluntais proponitur ei per rationem." ST I-II 19, 3c.
" ... obiectum voluntatis est id quod proponitur a ratione ... ": I-II 19, 5c.
9" eligere est alterum alteri praeoptare ": In Sent. II 24, 1, 2c.
10 ST I-II 13, 4, ad 3; 15, 3, ad 3.
11 de Ver. 22, 15c.
ti BT I-II 13, 2c; discretio unius ab altero (ad 1) ; de Ver. 22, 15c.

6

JOHN FINNIS

yielded, not one judgment affirming the choioeworthiness of
an option awaiting adoption by the will, but (at least) two
judgments. (One of these judgments may be no more than:
there is l'eason not to act on the other.) And there is need for
choice because one responds to the attraction-<the different
attractions-of the respective alternative options which one
judges to be, each in its own way, a suitable way of doing or
getting or carrying on something one is interested in. Each of
those options, those eligibilia, arouses in one that form of willingness which St. Thomas calls consensus.
The point I am making against the schema is made clearly
enough in the heart of St. Thomas's discussion of consensus:
electio addit supra consensum quamdam relationem respectu eius
cui aliquid praeeligitur; et ideo
post consensum adhuc remanet
electio. Potest enim contingere quod
per consilium inveniantur plura ducentia ad finem, quorum dum quodlibet placet in quodlibet eorum consentitur, sed ex multis quae plaoent
praeaooipimus unum eligendo.13

choice adds to consent a certain relationship to that over which something else is chosen; and so one who
consents to something has not yet
chosen it. For it can happen that in
deliberating one sees that to the end
one desires there are a number of
means, each of which seems satisfactory and to each of which one
therefore consents; yet out of this
set of acceptable means one gives
preference to one, by choosing it.

The body of the same article makes it dear thait consent (and
therefore choice) is a movement of appetite ad id quod ex
consilio iudicatum est, towards what deliberation has judged
to he a suitable means to a desired end: appetitus eorum quae
13 ST I-II 15, 3, ad 3; he adds:
"Sed si inveniatur unum solum quod
placeat, non differunt re consensus et electio, sed ratione tan tum; ut consensus dicatur secundum quod placet ad agendum; electio autem, secundum
quod praefertur his quae non placent" [i.e. in the case where only one option is at all attractive]. If one bears in mind that there is only one final
integrating end, integrating a limited number of ends-for-their-own-sake
such
as life, knowledge, friendship, one will see that the case in which deliberation "happens" to find "plura ducentia ad finem," many ways leading to
something desirable, is the standard case of the morally significant situation; the case where only one possible course of action is attractive is perhaps rather rare, except in so far as prior choices have effectively and closely shaped one's commitments and dispositions.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

7

aunt ad finem praesupponit determinationem consilii, the consent to these means presupposes that deliberation, about one
at least of a range of possible means, has concluded. 14 Those
who set out the commentators' schema designed it as if deliberation must conclude to only one acceptable means, i.e., as
if the role of choice were really played by practical reasoning
and judgment.
Wherevier there is a choice to be made-i.e., in the standard
case of morally significant self-determination in action-neither
practical judgment nor the willingness St. Thomas calls consensus settles anything. There is a practical judgment or judgments affirming the suitability of an option or options eventua1ly rejected. And there is an interest in (consensus to) an
option or options which one does not adopt, make one's own,
act upon.
Should we, then, say that one also intended those suitable
and attractive bll!t ultimately rejected options for a;ction and/
or at least in1Jended the benefits (ends) for the sake of which
such options might have been chosen? After rull, in the schema,
intention is phase 4, as if it were something which arises and
has its role prior to any deliberation about alternatives, just
as deliberation is prior to choice. But if we said that one's intentions include options which one not only never carries out
but never even adopted, or benefits which one never made the
point of any choice, we would defy not only our common
speech hut also a primary element in St. Thomas's account of
intention. In that account, intention is of end (s) , and there
can of course be real interest in 'an end prior to and without
there ever ensuing any choice of means. 15 But even when we
have .an interest in an e11J<f in view,
,have 'as yet no relevant
intention (but only a[simplex}voluntas, whether of a bonum
universale such as human life. or of some mor,e specified object
of interest such as the life and health of such-and-such a set
of
.,
is intenti,on
and
a;;
settles on something as a· ip.eans. of. achievi:I:tgan. ell.di .Whait,is
'·-,'- ','.1,..:·
' '
•' ./
..

we

-

1' BT I-II 15, 3c.

1s BT

-

I-II 8, 3. '

8

JOHN FINNIS

thus adopted may be only a procedural (rather than substantive) means: in this case, one chooses (or perhaps spontaneously decides, by consensus without need for choice) to deliberate with a view to deciding upon means of substantively
realising the end or some end in which one is interested. But
whether it is such a procedural proposal one adopts, or a substantive proposal to ad, it is then (and only then) that one
can say that one has formed an intention-i.e., has adopted
such-and-such a means with the intention of ... :
intentio est actus voluntatis respectu
finis. Sed ... non ... solum em hoc
intendere dicimur sanitatem quia
volumus eam, sed quia volumus ad
eam per aliquid aliud pervenire.ia

intention is an act of the will bearing on an end. But we do not say
that we intend health simply because
we are interested in it as a desirable
end, but only when and because we
will to get it through something else.

Or again:
intendere in hoc differt a velle, quod
velle tendit in fine absolute; sed
intendere dicit ordinem in finem
secundum quod finis est in quem
ordinantur ea quae sunt ad finem.11

intending differs from willing, in that
willing is directed towards an end
unconditionally, whereas intending
signifies a relationship to end just
insofar as there is an end to which
means are referred.

So: there is no intending until there is adoption of means,
typically by choice. 18 And then, when there is choosing there
16 BT I-II 12, 1, ad 4, which is repeatedly referred back to throughout the
quaestio. In the passages whose omission is indicated by ellipses, .Aquinas
refers to the simple voluntas by which we absolute volumus sanitatem, and
the voluntas by which we appreciate (fruitio) having/getting it. See also
ibid., ad 3: " hoc nomen, intentio, nominat actum voluntatis, praesupposita
ordinatione rationis ordinantis in finem." .Also De Ver. 22, l4c.
u De Ver. 22, l3c; see also ad 16: "intentio est actus voluntatis in
ordine ad rationem ordinantem ea quae sunt ad finem in finem ipsum "; and
14c: "intentio dicitur inclinatio voluntatis in finem secundum quod ad finem
terminantur ea quae sunt in finem "; and the summary on velle, intendere,
and eligere at the end of 15c.
is This may seem to be bluntly contradicted by the last words of BT I-II,
12, 4, ad 3: "intentio finis esse potest, etiam nondum determinatis his quae
sunt ad finem, quorum est electio; there can be intention of an end even
when the means, which are what is chosen, are not yet determinate."
But
the whole sense of the ad 3 is in the opposite direction; it is a reply to an
argument that as movement ( s) of the will, choice, and intention differ as

OBJEC'.l' AND INTl!JNTlON lN AQUINAS

9

is intending, an only formally distinguishable aspect of what
is (as St. Thomas devotes a whole article to stressing) one and
the same act of will: "unus et idem subiecto motus voluntatis
est tendens in finem et in id quod est ad finem." 19 As a state
of affairs (res), the end is something distinct from the means
(as my being healthy is a state of affairs distinot from my taking medicine); but insofar as it is the intelligible benefit for
which I choose the means, the point of my choosing and doing,
the end is simply an aspect of one and the same object of
volition:
finis, inquantum est res quaedam, est
aliud voluntatis obiectum quam id
quad est ad finem. Sed inquantum
est ratio volendi id quod est ad
finem [,] est unum et idem obiectum.20

Insofar as it is a certain state of
affairs, an end is not the same object
of will as the means to it. But insofar as it is the reason for willing the
means to it, it is one and the same
object.

willing the means and willing the end differ; and the reply is : " motus qui
est unus subiecto potest ratione differe secundum principium et finem, ut
ascensio et descensio. . . . Sic igitur inquantum motus voluntatis fertur in
id quad est ad finem, prout ordinatur ad finem, est electio; motus autem
voluntatis qui fertur in finem, secundum quod aoquiritur per ea quae sunt
ad finem, vooatur intentio; cujus sign um est quad intentio finis esse potest,
etiam nondum determinatis his quae sunt ad finem, quorum est electio." On
any view, it is difficult to see how the possibility referred to in the last words
is a sign of that unity of intention and choice which it is the purpose of the
reply, of the whole article, and of the immediately preceding phrase to defend. To be consistent with the immediately preceding words, and with the
passages quoted above at notes 16 and 17, the phrase in question must be
understood as saying, not that there can be intention without choice, but
that there can be intention while many of the means necessary to put it into
effect remain undetermined. Thus, I can deoid.e (choose) to do something
about my toothache-what I call in the text a procedural decision-before
setting about finding a painkiller or a dentist, selecting a dentist, and fixing an appointment ...
Note also that the statement in fJT I-II, 19, 7c that "intentio ... se potest
habere ad voluntatem ... ut praecedens" does not contradict what I have
said; the sense of praeoedens meant here, as the whole of the corpus shows,
does not involve the notion of an intention existing without any voluntas (in
the sense of eleotio) •
19 fJT I-II, 12, 4c.
20 fJT I-II, 12, 4, ad 3: note that this is the reply to the objection that
iintentio 11.nd electio are ·distinct, and eleotio is the willing of means, there-

10

JOHN FINNIS

One's willing of the end in adopting ('and carryffig out) the
means-para;digmatically
by choice-is what intention is.21

II
In another way, the unity of ends and means is emphasized
by St. Thomas in his repeated but wideJy neglected teaching
that in choosing means one constitutes rthat means as the
(proximate) end for any technique, procedure, or performance
used to do or carry out that choice.22
" Means " is, of course, the standard but free translation of
id quod est ad finem, that which is for, or towards, an end.
In discussing intention and choice, Aquinas makes clear that
the means rererred to when we say that choice is of means are
human actions: " electio semper est humanorum actuium." 23
Technical " means," viz. implements, instruments, devices,
systems, and "procedures" 'as such (i.e., just insofar as they
could in principle be replicated by mwchines or other devices)
-none of these are means in the sense intended when we say
that choice is of means. Rather, technicwl means are means in
a derivative, participative sense, insofar as they are used in
the acting which is the (carrying out of) the means properly
so called. 24
fore intending an end cannot be the same movement of will as choosing the
means. The discussion in In Sent. II, 38, 1, 4c and ad 1 adds refinements:
it is in relation to means which have nothing desirable about them in their
own right that idem est motus voluntatis qui est in fi;nem et in illud quo<l
est ad finem (and in such a case, which is the one considered in ST I-II, 12,
4, ad 3, the end, as ratio volendi, stands to the means as form to matter, or
as light to color: In Sent. II, 38, 1, 4, ad 1) ; but where some means to an
end is itself desirable, i.e. is also itself an end in its own right, then there
can be two objects of will and two distinguishable acts of willing.
21 If one were confronted with an end so satisfactory
that no alternative
could have any intelligible attraction, then one could intend and adhere to
it without .any praeeligere. But that is not our situation.
22 This is richly illustrated
in G. E. M . .Anscombe, Intention (Blackwell,
[1957] 1985). See also, on this and other main aspects of this paper,
Joseph M. Boyle, "Praeter intentionem in Aquinas," Thomist 42 (1978):
649-665, esp. 652-3. See also n. 24 infra.
2s ST I-II, 13, 4c.
24 Ibid., and ad 1. A more exact account than any articulated
by St.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

11

This is am]oolated in St. Thomas's commentaries on the
Metaphysics ·and the Physics, in which he carefully shows both
why " means " is a good translaition of id quod. est ad finem and,
more importantly, why human means (actions) are themselves
characteristically also ends:
Non solum. autem ultimum., propter
quod efficiens operatur, dicitur finis
respectu praecedentium, sed etiam
omnia intermedia quae sunt inter
primum agens et ultimum finem,
dicuntur finis respectu praecedentium..25

It is not only the ultimate end, for
the sake of which the agent acts, that
is called end in relation to what precedes it; each of the intermediate·
means which are between the primary
agent and the ultimate end is called
an end in relation to what precedes it.

Or again:
Et ulterius [Aristoteles] addit quod
omnia quae sunt intermedia inter
primum movens et ultimum finem,
omnia sunt quodammodo fines: sicut
medicus ad sanitatem inducendam
extenuat corpus, et sic sanitas est
finis maciei; maciem autem operatur
per purgationem; purgationem per
potionem; potionem autem praeparat
per aliqua instrumenta. Unde haeo
omnia sunt quodammodo finis: nam
macies est finis purgationis, et purgatio potionis, et potio organorum.,
et organa sunt fines in operatione
vel inquisitione organorum..26

Aristotle adds, moreover, that all
those factors which are intermediate
between the primary agent and the
ultimate end are in one way or another ends: thus the doctor, for the
sake of improving health, shrinks a
distended body, and health is thus
the end of slimming; but slimming is
brought about by purging, and purging by some potion, and the potion is
prepared by him with certain implements. So each of these is in a way
one of the doctor's ends, since slimming is the purpose of purging, and
purging the purpose of the potion,
and the potion the purpose of the
implements, and the implements are
his goal when he is hunting for them
or setting about using them.

Thomas would, I think, apply to the account which I am here tracing a
further distinction adumbrated by him in his distinction between the four
orders in the prologue to his Commentary on the Nicomachewn lilthics
(Leonine ed., p. 4, lines 15-54), in particular the distinction between the third
order (of human acts precisely as chosen) and the fourth (of things used
or made) . For insofar as they are not chosen, but simply decided upon and
carried out in the execution of a choice but without need for further choice,
human performances themselves may pertain rather to the fourth order than
the third and should be distinguished from means stricto sensu, i.e. from the
precise object of choice. I shall not pursue the implications of this here.
2e In V Meta. lect. 2: ad 1013a35-b3.
26 In II Phys. lect. 5: ad 194b35.

JOHN FINNIS

Using the same medical example, the commentary
Metaphysics adds the necessary clarification:
Huiusmodi ... omnia sunt propter
finem; et tam en unum eorum est
finis aUerius. Nam attentuatio est
finis purgationis, et purgatio pharmaciae. Haeo autem intermedia
posita differunt adinviaem in hoc,
quaedam eorum sunt organa, sicut
instrumenta quibus medicina praeparatur et ministratur, et ipsa
medicina ministrata qua natura
utitur ut instrumento; quaedam vero
sunt opera, idest, operationes sive
actiones, ut purgatio et attenuatio.21

on the

In this way, all these factors are
means-to-an end, yet each of them
stands to another as end stands to
means. For slimming is the end of
purging, and purging of the medicines. But these various intermediate
factors differ from one another in
this respect: some of them are instruments, like the implements with
which the medicine is prepared and
administered, and indeed the medicine itself which, once administered,
is used by nature as an instrument;
but others are deeds, performances,
actions, like purging and slimming.

And it is the latter, the operations, actions, performances,
deeds, thwt are means in the strict sense, just insofar as they
are within the precise object of choice, the willing of means.
To which we can now add that just to the extent that some
prior activity empowers one to carry out one of these means,
that means stands to that prior action as end stands to means;
the reason for (point of) the prior activity is to get into a
position to he able to carry out the means to ... the ultimate
benefit of health. And ithis in turn explains why " intention,"
albeit that it is defined to be "of end," can be applied directly
or by some close analogy all the way down to the most basic
performance or omission, i.e., that performance or omission
the success of which is not rthe reason for any prior performance or omission. 28 Here we :find the reason, too, why "in re21 In V Meta., loc. cit., closely echoed in ST I-II, I, 3, ad 3: "idem actus
numero ... non ordinatur nisi ad unum finem proximum, a quo habet speciem: sed potest ordinari ad plures fines remotos, quorum unus est finis
alterius."
,2s" Omission" here is meant, of course, in a popular sense: a non-performance chosen as a means of obtaining some benefit, e.g. starving a child
to death in order to be relieved of the burdens of supporting it in later
years. Such omissions, as objects of choice, are morally significant actions.
On omissions or forbearances in a stricter sense, in which they are properly
contrasted with actions in genere moris, see n. 54 infra.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

18

lation to the act of will (unlrne the acts of other powers), to
say it is good by reason of its object is no different from saying iit is good by reason of its end-e:imept perhaps incidentally, inasmuch as one end depends upon another end, and one
willing on another." 29
As that remark of St. Thomas indicates, "obj,ect,. is a term
no more narrowly fixed in its reference than " end " and
" means." Just as a means to an end can be an end relative to
some prior means, so one can say that the whole nested set of
means/ends is one object, or one can equally say that each
means within that set is itself an object being pursued with
some further end in view, an object chosen with the intention
of. . . . Then, in the latter, more specializ,ed use of the term
"object," one will say with St. Thomas that object and intention are distinguished from each other by this, that "object"
signifies the proximate end and " intention " the further or
more remote 3 ()-remembering always that what is proximate,
and what further, depends upon where in the chain or nested
set of ends the speak:er's present focus of interest lies.31 But as
"object," "end," and "means" are all in this way relative, so
" intention " takes on the same :flexibility-a flexibility not
urged by loose thinking but by the very analysis of action.
Thus, as St. Thomas notes in one of his last works, by "intennon autem aliarum virium. Unde quan,29 "finis est obiectum voluntatis,
tum ad actum voluntatis, non differt bonitas quae est ex obiecto a bonitate
quae est ex fine, sicut in actibus aliarum virium: nisi forte per accidens,
prout finis dependet ex fine, et voluntas ex voluntate": ST I-II, 19, 2, ad 1.
Note also: "actus exterior est obiectum voluntatis ... ": ST I-II, 20, 1, ad I.
ao E.g., De Malo·, 2, 4, ad 9: "finis proximus actus idem est quod obiec·
tum"; 2, 6, ad 9: " actus moralis non habet speciem a fine remoto, sed a
fine proximo, qui est obiectum." Also In Sent. II, d. 36, un., 5, ad 5: " actus
aliquis habet duplicem finem, scilicet proximum finem, qui est obiectum eius,
et remotum, quern agens intendit."
a1 Thus, the obieotum is sometimes spoken of as including end as well as
chosen means (e.g. In Sent. II, d. 38, I, 4, ad 1; ST, I-II, 12, 4, ad 2), and,
conversely, the obieotum in the sense of "means" and "proximate end" is
often said to be "chosen," not "intended" (e.g. In Sent. II, d. 40, un., 2c),
but is often spoken of as intended: e.g. I-II, 12, 3c; 73, 3, ad 1 & 8, ad 3; II·
II, 43, 3c; 64, 7c.

JOHN FINNIS

tion " one can mean not only the intending of end but also the
willing of deeds, " and then it is true that, in good and evil
alike, what one does is what one intends-quantum aliquis
intendit tantum facit." 32 Intention in this broader sense, then,
is the measure (quantum
. . tantum) of precisely what is
chosen and done.

III
Few if any methodological principles are mol'e fundamental
to St. Thomas's entire work than the principle that acts are
specified by their objecis, and that to understand an act for
what it is is to understand it in terms of its object: per obiecta
cognosc[i]mus actus. 33 Equally fundamental to his methodology: things are to be understood and described primarily in
terms of what they are per se, not by what they are per accidens.34 In relation to acts done for a reason, these principles
are specified by a principle less alJ-pervaSiive in St. Thomas's
writings but clearly fundamental to his thought: what enddirected things are per se is to be described in terms of their
intention-is what their author (s) intend them to be:
operatio ... recipit speciem et nomen
a per se obiecto, non autem ab obiecto
per accidens. In his autem quae sunt
propter finem, per se dicitur aliquid
quod est intentum: per accidens
autem quod est praeter intentionem.35

action has its type and its name
from what is per se its object, not
from what is only incidentally its
object. But in things which are on
account of an end, whatever is intended is said to be per se, and what
is praeter intentfonem, outside the
intention, is said to be incidental.

:i2 De Mafo 2, 2, ad 8; quoted at n. 48 infra.
Likewise, ST I-II, 72, Sc;
species peccati attenditur . . . ex parte actus ipsius, secundum quod terminatur ad obiectum in quo fertur intentio peccantis.
33 "per obiecta
cognosc[i]mus actus, et per actus potentias, et per potentias essentiam ": in II de Anima lect 6 ( n. 308) ; " obiecta sunt priora
operationibus in via definiendi " (ibid n. 305) ; " obiecta praecognoscuntur
actibus et actus potentiis ": ST I 87, 3c; see also, e.g. I 77, 3c; I-II 18, 5;
72, le; in IX Meta. lect. 7. See also Finnis, Fundamentals of Ethics (Oxford University Press; Georgetown University Press, 1983), 20-21, 25.
34 "Nihil
autem specificatur per illud quod est per accidens, sed solum
per illud quod est per se ": in V Eth. lect. 13 (n. 1036) ; ad ll35al8.
as ST II-II, 59, 2c.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

15

Or again:
eicut enim in rebus naturalibus id
quod est per accidens non constituit
speciem, ita etiam nee in rebus
moralibus. In quibus quod est intentum est per se: quod autem
sequitur praeter intentionem est
quasi per accidens.se

For just as in natural things what
is incidental does not go to constitute
their type, so too in moral matters.
In moral matters, what is intended
is per Be, but what follows praeter
intentionem is, so to speak, incidental.

Irt is important not to confuse the distinction between the
per se and the per accidens with that between the propter se
and the propter aliud. 81 What is willed propter se is willed as
an end in itself, as an (not necessarily the) ultimate end, an
end considered desirable for its own sake, intrinsically, and not
as a means to some further end: some end like life or health,
knowledge, friendship, or practical reasonableness itself. 88 But
so ST 11-11, 39, le. This is undoubtedly the sense in which the Council of
Trent used the term "per se" in its canon on Justification, in the course
of defending the reality of free choice: " If anyone says that it is not in
man's power to make his ways evil, but that God performs the evil works
just as he performs the good, not only permissively but also properly and
per Be . . . : anathema sit": Sess. 6 [1547 A.D.], can. 6; Den111-Schoen.
1556. Neither as end nor as means does God in any way intend human evil
(the canon gives an instance: Judas's treachery); God merely permits it.
The defined dogma of faith pertains to God's permission of moral evil, human
sin-a foreseen and permitted side-effect of his creation of human free
choice. But the proportionalist willingness to intend pre-moral human evil
(the destruction or damaging or impeding of human persons in basic aspects
of their reality and fulfillment) jars against the massive tradition of theological reflection on the divine will and providence, expounded by Aquinas
and before him by St. John Damascene, insisting that for God to will per se
(i.e. intend) anythmg which intelligence would call an evil is inconsistent
with his holiness: see John of Damascus, De Fide Orthodo(J)a II, 29; Aquinas,
ST I, 19, 9; Patrick Lee, "Permanence of the Ten Commandments . . ."
Theological Studies 42 ( 1981) : 435-6. Especially illuminating is Aquinas,
De Ver. 5, 4, obj. 10 & ad 10, arguing that doing evil/causing harm (facere
malum) is wholly foreign to good persons, whether human or divine, but that
"ordering" evil/harm, by permitting it for the sake of eliciting some good,
3; 56, le; In Sent. I, 48, 1, 4c; etc.
37 For an example of this confusion, see James J. Walter, "Response
to
John Finnis: A Theological Critique," in Thomas G. Fuechtmann, ed, Oon·
sistent Flthic of Life (Kansas City: Sheed & Ward, 1988), 186-187.
ss Such ends are the basic human goods, the first principles of the practical
reasoning that shapes proposals for choice, and the ends of the virtues and

16

JOHN FINNIS

what is willed per se is what is intended, and what is intended,
as we have seen, extends down through the whole nested set
of means which are also ends of rthe agent's choosing and doing.
This implication of our earlier analyses is confirmed by a number of the passages in which St. Thomas is distinguishing between the per se and the per aoddens: the intentum, which
defines the act per se, extends to even quite proximate means,
means which are, moreover, desired in no way for their own
sake. 39
It is also important to see that the distinction between what
is intended and what is praeter intentionem is not got up for
the purpose of justifying some pre-ordained mpral ,judgment.
It is part and parcel of St. Thomas's fundamental understanding of reality: the basic te:xits ,are in his commentaries on the
Physics and the Metaphysics. 40 Moral judgments must take
account of this aspect of reality; moral norms must be understood as directing action precisely as it is to be understood in
the light of this real distinction.
The distinction between what is intended and what is outside the (intention and object of the) ad is a distinction to be
drawn in identifying just what act is being chosen and done in
genere moris. For, as St. Thomas often says (though never
explains with satisfying precision) , in conscience (prudent
practical deliberation and judgment) actions are to be assessed
not as they are in genere naturae, i.e. as physical behavior,
but as they are in genere moris, i.e. under the description
the moral precepts: see I-II, 10, le; 94, 2c; 100, llc; II-II, 47, 6c & ad
3; 56, le; In Sent. I, 48, 1, 4c; etc.
39 E.g. I-II, 76, 4c; II-II, 37, le; 39, le; 43, 3c; 64, 7c. See likewise
Cajetan on the last-cited text. Note that Aquinas sometimes links together
directe et per se, as opposed to indirecte vei per accidens, the distinction
being precisely that what is willed directe et per se is willed as a means: I-II,
76, 4 (choosing to remain ignorant of something, so as to remain undisturbed in some sinful course of conduct, is choosing ignorance directe et per
se; choosing to neglect one's studies in favor of some other activity, aware
that the upshot will be ignorance, is choosing ignorance only indirecte et per
accidens).
40 See in II Phy. lect. 8 (no. 214); in VII Meta. lect. 6 (no. 1382); in II
Meta. lect. 8 (nos. 2269, 2284).

OBJECT .AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

17

which is morally relevant, which is the description they have
as willed (and therefore as intended and chosen) .41
The distinction between behavior in genere naturae and
ads in genere moris is reaidily misunderstood; 42 people treat it
as conveying simply that behavior understood in genere naturae is assessed by comparison with moral norms and consequently judged and described in genere moris, i.e. with the
peculiarly moral predicates such as " just," " unjust," " virtuous," "vicious," and so forth. 43 A number of Aquinas's illustrmtions of the distinction are worded in ways which encourage this misunderstanding. This is no mere accident, but results from the fact that St. Thomas's interest in how behavior
of one and the same " natural " or physical type can constitute
morailly significant aicts of different types is an interest focussed
on the moral payoff. That is to say, it is an interest in the
cases where rthe difference of type entails a difference between
right and wrong, virtue and vice, moral goodness and moral
evil. Still, the importance St. Thomas attributes to the distinction between acts in genere naturae and in genere moris is
quite unintelligible unless we understand that talking of acts
in genere moris is no more and no less than talking of them
under the descriptions which enable the peculiarly moral
predicates to be accurately applied to them.
More particularly: acls are morally significant ·and are
41 E ..g. De Malo 2, 2, ad 13: "actus exteriores non pertinent ad genus moris
nisi secundum quod sunt voluntarii; acts external [to the will's own acts]
have a moral character only according as they are willed."
between " behavior" and " acts," in
·42 Notice that by thus distinguishing
line· with the distinction between iln genere naturae and im genere moris, I
(like Grisez and others) use a terminological distinction which has no clear
parallel in Aquinas (other than the latter distinction to the extent that it
is clear!) .
.&a See the critique of this misunderstanding
in Martin Rhonheimer, Nat111r
als <hunrUage der Moral (Innsbruck; Vienna: Tyrolia 1987), 327, n. 25.
But we should not fail to note that St. Thomas is willing to identify or
specify acts by reference to morally relevant circumstances which are praeter
intentionem and thus in a sense is willing to treat good and bad, right and
wrong, virtue and vice, as if they were somehow categories within the moral
order (see e.g. ST I-II, 18, 4 & 10), and that this is a source of confusion.

18

JOHN FINNIS

morally assessed in terms of their type, their intrinsic character, just insofar as they are willed, are expressions of the
agent's free self-determination in choice. More precisely: for
moral assessment and judgment, the act is what it is just as
irt is per se, i.e. just as it is intended, i.e. under the description
it has in the proposal which the agent adopts by choice-not
under some self-deceiving description offered by conscience to
conscience to rationailize evil, but under the description it has
in the praictical reasoning which makes the option (rthe proposa;l) seem to the chooser intelligent, eligible, " the thing for
me to do." Thus we have the core of successive articles in the
Commentary on the Sentences,. discussing Peter Lombard's rejection of the Abela:rdian " ethics of intention," 44 a rejection
which Aquinas regards as fundamentally correct but excessive:
actiones differunt specie secundum
diversitatem formarum, quae sunt
principia actionum, quamvis etiam
agentia specie non differant ...
Forma autem voluntatis est finis et
bonum, quod est obiectum et volitum;
et ideo oportet quod in actibus voluntatis inveniatur differentia specifica
secundum rationem finis. Et quia
actus sunt in genere moris ea; hoc
quod sunt voluntarii, ideo in genere
moris est diversitas speoiei secundum
diversitatem finis.45

actions differ in type, according to
the diversity of their forms (which
are the principles of actions), even
when what is acting does not differ
in type ... Now: the will's form is
the end and the good which is the
will's willed object . .And so there
must be differences of type in acts
of will, in accordance with difference
of end. And because acts have moral
significance from the faat that they
are aats of will, so there is morally
significant difference of type insofar
as those acts have diverse ends .

.4,,, See Peter Lombard, Sentences II 40. Lombard says here that, in relation to something wrongful (malum) per se, we should deny that its wrongfulness comes from purpose or will ( ew fine et voluntate, or secundum intentionem et causam). With this denial .Aquinas disagrees. His disagreement is not with the judgment that there are acts which, as he states, are
wrong in themselves and cannot in any way be rightly done (de se malus,
qui nullo modo bene fieri potest). It is with Lombard's denial that such acts
are wrong by reason of will, intention, purpose (finis).
Such acts, says
.Aquinas, are wrongful by reason of the acting person's will. There need be
nothing wrong with his intentio or voluntas intendens, his ultimate motivating purpose (finis ultimus), e.g. to give money to the poor. What is
wrongful is, rather, his choice, his electio or voluntas eligens, his immediate
purpose ( obiectus prowimus or finis prowimus) e.g. to forge this testament:
In Sent. II, 40, 2.
45 In Sent. II, 40, 1, le.

OBJECT

AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

19

But ends are more and less ultimate or proximate, and the
more ultimate can be said to be the intention with which the
more proximate, chosen object-most proximately, the outwal'd action itself, or the action's materia circa quam 46-is
chosen. So:
... voluntas dupliciter potest considerari: vel secundum quod est intendens, prout in ultimum finem
fertur; vel secundum quod est
eligens, prout fertur in obiectum
proximum, quod in finem ultimum
ordinatur. Si consideretur primo
modo, sic malitia voluntatis sufficit
ad hoc quod actus malus esse dicatur:
quia quod malo fine agitur malum
est. Non autem bonitas voluntatis
intendentis sufficit ad bonita tern
actus: quia actus potest esse de se
malus, qui nullo modo bene fieri
potest. Si autem consideretur voluntas secundum quod est eligens, sic
universaliter verum est quod a bonitate voluntatis dicitur actus bonus,
et a malitia malus.47

Willing can be considered under two
aspects, ( i) as intention, insofar as
it bears on an ultimate end, (ii) as
choice, insofar as it bears on a
proximate object ordered towards
that ultimate end. Then: (i) Wben
we take willing as intending, we can
say that the will's badness suffices to
make the act bad, since whatever is
done for a bad end is bad. Yet the
goodness of the intending will is not
sufficient to make the act good, for
the act may be bad in itself, an act
which in no way can it be good to
do. But (ii) if we take the will as
choosing, then it is universally the
case that the will's goodness makes
the act good, and the will's badness
makes the act bad.

46" actus aliquis habet duplicem finem: scilicet proximum finem, qui est objectum eius, et remotum, quern agens intendit": In Sent. II, 36, 5, ad 5; in
the ad 4m, Aquinas says that the materia circa quam (as opposed to the materia ew [or in] qua) "est idem cum fine, quia objectum finis actus est," and he
will repeat this quite straightforwardly in ST I-II, 72, 3, ad 2 and 73, 3, ad
l. See also In Sent. II, 40, l, 3c: "quia actus exterior comparatur ad voluntatem sicut obiectum "; later he will say that "actus exterior est obiectum
voluntatis, inquantum proponitur voluntati a ratione ut quoddam bonum
apprehensum et ordimatur per rationem: et sic est prius quam actus voluntatis: I-II, 20, l, ad l; "quia actus exterior constituitur in genere moris
inquantum est voluntarius,
oportet quod formaliter consideretur species
moralis actus secundum obiectum interioris actus; nam species actus consideratur secundum obiectum ": De Malo 7, 3c. See further Rhonheimer,
Naturals Grundfo,ge der Moral, 94-97, 318-343.
47 In Sent. II, 40, 1, 2c.
(The question of circumstances is left aside in
Aquinas's implicit assessment of the Lombard's position.)
Likewise ST In, 20, 2c: "Si igitur voluntas sit bona et ex obiecto proprio et ex fine,
consequens est actum exteriorem esse bonum. Sed non sufficit, ad hoc quod
actus exterior sit bonus, bonitas voluntatis quae est ex intentione finis: sed
si voluntas sit mala sive ex intentione finis sive ex actu volito, consequens

JOHN FINNIS

And, ten to fifteen years later, St. Thomas will say the same in
the De Malo:
Si ... sub intentione comprehendatur non solum intentio finis sed
voluntas operis, sic verum est, in
bono et in malo, quod quantum aliquis intendit tantum facit,4B

If by "intention" one understands
not only the intending of end but also
the willing of means, then it is true
to say that, in good deeds and bad
alike, what one does is what one
intends.

Before illustrating this, I should forestall a possible misgiving or misunderstanding. Does all this amount to saying that
one's moral :responsibiliti·es are exhausted by one's responsibilities to choose or to exclude actions of certain types described
in genere moris? By no means. Bonum ex integra causa,
malum autem ex quocumque def ectu. One has important responsibilities to avoid or prevent certain states of affairs which
are not included within the description in genere moris of one's
own or perhaps any one else's acts. Some of these states of
affairs may be picked out as being within one's moral responsibility (i.e., as being morally relev:ant cil'cumstances) precisely by being foreseen effects, though
(effects
praeter intentionem) , of one's own action. Still, consequences
(foreseen or unfol"eseen) which follow praeter intentionem
from what one does are not part of what one does; they are
within one's moral responsibility by virtue of moral principles
and norms quite distinot from those reasons (those moral
principles and norms) which l'equi:re or exclude doing certain
types of things.
I return fo the theme of intention's l'ole in the ioharacterizing,
the very identification, of actions. St. Thomas's clearest exest actum exteriorem esse malum." But I-II, 20, le adds a refinement to
the thought that a bonitate voluntatis dicitur actus bonus: " Bonitas autem
vel malitia quam habet actus exterior secundum se, propter debitam materiam
et debitas circumstantias, non derivatur a voluntate sed magis a ratione.
Unde si consideretur bonitas exterioris actus secundum quod est in ordina·
tione et apprehensione rationis, prior est quam bonitas actus voluntatis."
This, of course, in no way qualifies but rather confirms the general strategy
of judging the moral goodness and badness of behavior by judging it as it is
in genere moris, i.e. as willed, i.e. in ordinatione et apprehensione rationis.
48 De Malo 2, 2, ad 8.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

ample of the distinction between behavior in genere naturae
and the same behavior considered precisely as morally significant, as an act in genere moris, is: sexual intercourse with
someone not one's spouse and sexual intercourse with one's
spouse:
cum recipiat speciem ab obiecto,
secundum aliquam rationem obiecti
specificabitur actus comparatus ad
unum activum principium, secundum
quam rationem non specificabitur
comparatus ad aliud .... Si ergo
obiecta humanorum actuum considerentur quae habeant differentias
secundum aliquid per se ad rationem
pertinentes, erunt actus specie differentes secundum quod sunt actus
rationis, licet non sint species differentes secundum quod sunt actus
alicuius alterius potentiae; sicut
oognosvere mulierem suam et oognoscere mulierem non suam sunt aotus
habentes obiecta differentia seoundum
aliquid ad rationem pertinens; nam
suum et non suum determinantur
secundum regulam rationis; quae
tamen differentiae per accidens se
habent si comparentur ad vim generativam vel etiam ad vim concupiscibilem. Et ideo cognoscere suam et
cognoscere non suam specie differunt
secundum quod sunt actus rationis,
non autem secundum quod sunt
actus generativae aut concupiscibilis.
In tantum autem sunt actus humani
in quantum sunt [NB!] actus rationis. Sic ergo patet quod differunt
specie in quantum sunt actus humani.
Patet ergo quod actus humani ex
specie sua habent quod sint boni vel
mali.49

Since acts have their character by
reason of their object, one aspect of
its object may give an act a specific character in rel a ti on to one active principle when the same aspect
of its object does not give the act a
,specific character in relation to another active principle .... So, considering human acts' objects as they
differ in accordance with a factor
per se pertaining to reason, there are
acts which differ in character insofar as they are acts of reason even
though they do not differ in character insofar as they are the acts of
some other capacity. Thus, intercourse with one's own wife and intercourse with a woman not one's
wife are acts which have different
objects in accordance with a factor
.pertaining to reason-for being or
not being one's own is a matter
settled by a criterion of reason; but
such differences are incidental in relation to the generative capacity or
even to the sensory appetite. And
so intercourse with one's wife and
intercourse with another differ in
type insofar as they are [NB!] acts
of reason, but not insofar as they are
acfa of the reproductive capacity or
of bodily desire. But they are human
acts just insofar as they are [NB!]
acts of reason. So it is clear that
they differ in type preoisely as human
acts. Thus it is clear that human
acts by their type have something
which makes them good or bad.

49 De Malo 2, 4c; also
In Sent. IV, 26, l, 3, ad 5; ST I-II, 18, 5, ad 3.
This difference is a difference in object, i.e., in intention; that the one with

JOHN FINNIS

For there seems no reason to doubt that intercourse with someone not one's spouse can feel just the same as marital intercourse, involves the same psychosomatic dynamisms and performances, can be reproductive in just the same biological way
-will regularly, therefore, be the same sort of act in genere
naturae. But though non-marital inrtercourse can be very
human, can intend various sorts of benefits, even mutual benefits, it cannot have the object, the intention, of expressing a
permanent and exclusive commitmenrt to cooperation for the
all-round good of one's spouse and of children present and
future-cannot be the same sort of act in genere moris.
Likewise, the physical behavior and causality and outcome,
and even in some cases the emotional and imaginative accompaniments and sequelae, can be exactly the same in (i) a case
of shooting, foreseen as lerthal but chosen, as the only available
means of self-defense, as in (ii) a case of shooting to kill,
chosen to take advantage of circumstances which will support
the legal defense/excuse called "self--0.efense"; but lethal selfdefense and intending to kill. in the course of self-defense are
quite different acts in genere moris, even though some acts of
lethal
are immoral because unfairly careless about
the availability of non-lethal means of self-defense. Self-defense is, of course, a case carefully analysed in rthis way by
Aquinas; 50 other cases which illustrate the relevant distinctions may readily be added. For example: hysterecrtomy to
deal with a uterine disease is in genere naturae identical with,
whom one has intercourse is also someone else's spouse is a difference in circumstance rather than in object, though a circumstance which is so important
that it too changes the moral type (from fornication to adultery): De Malo
7, 4c. Notice, too, that the morally bad (unreasonable) act is judged as it
is, i.e. as an act of reason, i.e. of adopting by choice a proposal shaped by
intelligence
(though an intelligence
partially mastered by passions) :
"bonum per rationem repraesentatur voluntati ut obiectum: et inquantum
cadit sub ordine rationis, pertinet ad genus moris, et causat bonitatem
moralem [or malitiam moralem, insofar as the bonum is merely apparent:
ad l] in actu voluntatis ": ST I-II, 19, I, ad 3.
50 ST, II-II, 64, 7.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

but in genere moris quite different from, hysterectomy of the
same uterus to prevent a possible future pregnancy; administering pain-killing drugs rto l'elieve pain, with awareness that
they will also shorten life, involves the same behavior but is
not the same act as administering the same drugs to hasten
death and thereby eliminate pain; washing out the uterus with
a spermicidal solution to repulse a rapist's invasion of a
woman's body involves the same behavior but is not the same
act as washing out the same uterus with :the same spermicide
to prevent pregnancy as a l'esult of intercourse to which the
woman consented. And so forth. 51
This section's theme, confirming the pl'eceding section's
conclusion, has been tha:t what a human act is per se is what it
is intended as-what it thel'efore is, in genere moris. This
thesis has an implication already touched upon. The actus
exterior which St. Thomas's later writings, mol'e prominently
and systematically than his earlier, 52 distinguish from the actus
51 I entirely accept the contention of Garth Hallett [S.J.], Ohristian Moral
Reasoning (Notre Dame University Press, 1983), 23, that the appropriate
perspective for discussing all these matters is the perspective of the antecedent conscience (i.e. of practical reasoning in response to the question what
shall I do). But his inference that in this perspective intention " drops
from consideration" and one considers " sheer behavior such as aborting a
fetus, pre-marital intercourse, sending arms to El Salvador, legalizing marijuana, divorcing and remarrying, fixing prices, registering for the draft"
(loc. cit.) is entirely mistaken; no behavior can be identified as constituting
one of these actions without reference to the intentions of the parties, and in
most if not all of these cases there could be instances in which a person
deliberately behaving in the way Hallett has in mind would not be doing the
act described in genere moris by one or other of the forms used by Hallett:
e.g. one who removes a cancerous pregnant womb which he knows to be
pregnant need not be adopting the proposal to abort a fetus; an air traffic
controller who orders an aircraft loaded with arms to divert to El Salvador
to save the crew from a hurricane is not adopting the proposal to send
arms to El Salvador; a legislator who votes for an omnibus bill simply because it outlaws abortion, and who has tried to excise its provisions legalizing marijuana, is not adopting the proposal to legalize marijuana, i.e., is
not legalizing marijuana.
s.2 The distinction is present in his early works: see n. 46 above, and In
Sent. II, 40, 1, 2c; art. le of that quaestio had just stated the proposition I

JOHN FINN.IS

voluntatis is the outward act considered not as a piece of hem
havior in genere naturae but precisely as the doing of what
was chosen, i.e., as the carrying out of the proposal shaped by
intelligence and adopted by choice-i.e., considered under the
description which it had in the practical reasoning which made
it seem the thing to be doing. 53

IV
I return to the confused and mistaken positions which I
outlined at the outset.
Intention is a matter of what one chooses to do, not a matter of the emotions with which one makes or carries out the
choice. Many :things people choose to do they choose and do
with great repugnance and reluctance, " regretting " the steps
they take (" regvettable necessities ") . So " no one approves
of abortion," but many people choose it " as the lesser of two
evils." The young surgeon who with a great reluotance performs half-a-dozen "social indication" abortions, solely because otherwise he would not be allowed to become an obstetrician and help babies endangered in pregnancy and birth,
fully intends to abort and destroy the foetuses he aborts and
destroys. Their destruction is for him not an end in itself, but
am now advancing in the text, in this way: "hoc modo aliquid ad genus
moris pertinet quo voluntarium est; ideo ipsi actus voluntatis qui per se et
immediate ad voluntatem pertinent, per se in genere moris sunt; ... actus
autem imperati a voluntate, eliciti per alias potentias, [these are the acts
which the Summa will call exterior] pertinent ad genus moris per accidens,
scilicet secundum quad sunt a voluntate imperati . ... "
53 The refinements
and terminological adjustments in ST I-II, 20, 1-3 do
not affect the fundamental position reached in In Sent. II, 40, 2: Si ...
consideretur voluntas secundum quod est eligens [as distinct from intendens
in the narrow sense of intending a relatively ultimum finem], sic universaliter verum est quod a .bonitate voluntatis dicitur actus bonus, et a malitia
malus. For, as Aquinas goes on to point out then and there, the goodness or
badness of the choice depends on the goodness or badness of the deliberation
to which the choice is a kind of conclusion, and so the choice will be bad if
deliberation has (e.g.) proposed some bad object, even with a good intentions (i.e. as means to some further and good object in view).

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

is something he needs in order to show his competence and
willingness to participate in the health care system; it is a
means his choosing of which constitutes an end for (and in)
the carrying out of his technical performance in the operation.
In considering oneself (or others) morally l"esponsible for
what one intends-in that central sense of responsibility which
is the only sense relevant to the specific negative moral absolutes, such as do not blaspheme, commit suicide, commit adult:ery, kill. the innocent-one is not attributing any significance
to some supposed inner act somehow supplementing or reinfo:reing one's aJCt of deliberately doing (scil. of choosing to
do ... ) . There is no such preliminary or in any other way
supplementary inner act. Choosing to do something is what intending something is; to acknowledge that reference to intention can add something to talk of choice is simply to acknowledge that whatever one chooses to do has some point, is chosen
for some reason, with a view to some benefit; talk of intention
in the narrow sense simply picks out that point, that reason,
thrut supposed benefit.
What consequences, results, outcomes of one's choosing and
doing are to be judged intended and what are to be judged
side-effects (praeter intentionem) is not to be determined by
considering which consequences were foreseen or foreseeable
and which not, which wel"e physically immediate (" directly
were humanly important or
caused ") and which not,
emotionally imp11essive and which not, which are treated by
·convention and common speech as part of the action and
which not. It is settled simply by considering why one is doing
what one is doing, counting as within the proposal one has
adopted by choice everything which one wants for its own sake
or for the sakie of what one wants for its own sake, and describing ·each and every aspect of the behaviour just as, and
to the extent that, it is described in the practical reasoning
which identifies its point. 54 "The innocent may not be direct54 Omissions and forbearances, in the morally precise (contrast n. 28 supra)
sense of decisions not to do something, to avoid the bM. side-effects of doing

JOHN FINNIS

ly killed " does not mean: You must not take steps which result immediately in killing innocents. Nor does it mean: You
may take steps for the sakie of killing innocents so long as the
killing is neither desired for its own sake nor factually inseparable from what you do desire. Still less does it mean: You
may not kill the innocent unless doing so is a proportionate
means to some greater good such as saving more lives. It
simply means: You may not make the killing of an innocent
either your end (as in revienge) or a means (as in funding
abortions for the sake of securing equality between rich and
poor women) .55 Intention cannot be explained, and intentions
cannot be identified, by reference to what one " knowingly
gives rise to " or "deliberately causes " or "immediately and
necessarily causes" but only by attending to the course of
practical reasoning in the deliberation which ends in choice.
In sum: St. Thomas's account of inrtention, properly understood, yields much of the clarification essential to moral analysis. F\uller clarification will attend more thoroughly to the
distinctions which St. Thomas himself identified as :fundamental hurt did not systematically elaborate, between the four
orders: of nature, of reasonings, of choices, of techniques. 56
What is per se and what per accidens in one order does not
settle what is per se and per accidens in another; what is
it, require special attention: see the analyses of non-contraceptive periodic
abstinence in Grisez, Boyle, Finnis, and May, " ' Every Marital .Act Ought
to Remain Open to New Life': Toward a Clearer Understanding," The
Thomist 52: 399-408.
55 Thus " direct" killing of the innocent is explained as killing either as
an end or as a means, by Pius XII ( 12 Nov. 1944: Diso. <I: Radiomess. VI,
191-2), by Paul VI (Humanae Vitae (1968), footnote 14, and by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (de Abortu Pro'fmrato, 18 Nov. 1974,
para. 7; Donum Vitae, 22 February 1987, footnote 20). For similar explanations of " direct" in terms of " as an end or as a means," see Pius XII,
AAS 43 (1951): 838 (killing), 843-4 (sterilization);
AAS 49 (1957): 146
(euthanasia); AAS 50 (1958): 734-5 (sterilization).
On the question of
craniotomy, see Finnis, " Intention and Side-effects" in Frey and Morris,
eds., Liability and Responsibility (Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 57,
note 37; Grisez, Ohristian Moral Principles, 309, n. 5.
n6 See n. 24 supra.

OBJECT AND INTENTION

IN AQUINAS

27

naturally or technically intermediate between agent and end
does not settle what is means and what side-effect in the moral
order of choices made for reasons. There is much in St.
Thomas's vocabulary, as in the idiom of our own culture,
which obscures such distinctions and thus impedes the appropriation of moral truth, including certain truths which Aquinas
himself willingly affirmed.

MEANING IN A '.REALIST PERSPECTivE
STEPHEN

THERON

National University of Lesotho
Lesotho

D

I

ISCUSSION OF meaning and ref,erring in the terms
laid down in a classic article of Frege's has generated
a stereotyped attitude to the question in the minds of
many. It is simply assumed that meaning is, as it were, the
contrary of reference. In logic this is 11eflectedby the assumed
pamdigm of there being formal systems which al'e .called purely
formal to the extent that they are ' uninterpreted ', i.e. ·divol'ced
from all questions of reference.1
If as a matter of history we accept that modern logic has
grown basically out of Kantian soil, then it should not surprise that it is generally linked with a form of apriorism. The
violence of the movement against ' psychologism ' shows how
strong the danger is of linking the necessities of logic with
those supposed epistemic necessities the non-Kantian realist
can only regard as spurious. Anyhow this paper will be less
·directly about logic than about those supposed necessities. I
mean such constraints as Jonathan Bennett calls in general the
" veil of perception " 2 , ·as if perceiving, which should be an un:veiling or bringing to lighrt, at the same time obscures what is
seen or thought. The same idea recurs in the recent theory of
Veateh, Intentional Logic (Yale, 1952):
In trying to subsume ordinary intentional relations like that of subject.
predicate under the more abstract forms of a completely uninterpreted relational pattern ... treated simply as a one-term relation on a par with all
the . . . n-term real relations • . • mathematical logicians have in effect
changed the character of such intentional relations completely .... (pp. 7778)
:i See J. L. Mackie's Problems from Locke.
1 Of. Henry

30

STEPHEN THERON

'internal realism', just a more confusing name for transcendental idealism so far as I can see.
There is of course no sense to the idea of checking what we
claim to know against what we do not yet know. Yet he:re
we should not be discussing precisely truth but the quite
separate ontological question whether " THE WORLD is independent of any particular representrution we have of it"
(Putnam's notion of the 'metaphysical realism' he rejects),
whether "reality is altogether independent of experience," as
Michael Devitt argues. 3 This is a question of the being of the
world, which existed before I d1d. Even as concerns the present moment, the wor1d is such that I or you might not exist,
and this contingency of cognitive beings, severally or generally,
to the actual world, as a possibility inherent in it, may not
without more ado be identified with the quite different possibility of another world, like to this e.x:cept for the absence of
me or you. For the former is a real if passive possibility in a
thing, viz., the world, the latter is merely an alternative conception or idea of a different and merely possible thing. The
concept of my dog with a broken leg is a different concept from
that of my dog as healthy, but it is of the same dog, and that
is why I don't want him to break his 1eg. The world without
me was and would be the same world, though differently conceived.
This is the basic requirement of realism, which philosophers
have often violated, confusing the metaphysical with the
epistemological, the real with the certain. For example Descartes reasoned fallaciously from his being certain, as he
thought, of the soul's but not of the body's existence to the
ontological separateness of these two. Kant, again, seemed to
reason from duty as a pure concept or epistemic entity to the
real separwteness, as a positivie value, of the motive of duty
from any motive of pleasure or aspiration to happiness. Yet it
is possible, indeed probable, that in reality soul and body,
a M. Devitt," Realism and the Renegade Putnam," Nous 1983, p. 297.

MEANING IN A REALIST PERSPECTIVE

31

though distinguishable, do not have separate acts of existence,
,and, in any human existence, that the motive of duty both cannot and ought not to be separated from the distinguishable
motives of happiness or love.
The confusion is, I think, givien formal expression in Hume's
repeated principle, " whatever is conceivable is possible," which
can however be traced back to Duns Scotus' s formal disrtinction on the part of the thing (distinctio formalis a parte rei) :
"To eviery formal ,entity there adequately col'l1esponds some
being," 4-the same principle as that of Descartes's Sixth Meditation, comments Andre de Mauralt. 5 This is ib:iue even though
Scotus is using the principle to def end a more extreme realism
or :vemcation of ideas than the Aristotelian or moderate realism
P,utnam oaHs ' metaphysical.' lt has in common with idealism
or the associated pragmatism the confusion of the actual with
the epistemic that I mentioned.
W,e can, if we wish, refuse to speak of the truth of that which
is unconnected with any human knower. Truth, after all, is
in mente, as both Aristotle and Aquinas vigorously affirm.
But then we can no longer claim to decide the question of the
truth of realism; realism versus idealism is, after all, one question, the nature of truth and falsity another. Necessarily prior
to the truth of things is the being of ,things. Now the idea of
the truth of things is scarcdy intelligible in the analytical tradition. But even if we confine ourselves to the truth of speech
or thought, " it is the fact that a thing is or is not that makes
opinion or speech true or false." 6
Talk of ' representations ' in a sense gives the game away,
and certainly I should say there is no fobure in arguing for the
extra-mental real as an inferred entity. Rather, in knowing I
know that I know, as in sense-cognition I know, or sense, that
I sense, but this reflexive act, qua reflexive, is, logically if not
temporally, sooond. Dummett seems wrong in saying that for
Scotus, Rep. Paris. I, dist. 12, q.2 n.6.
Philosophica (Basle) 29 (1969): 113.
6 Aristotle, Categories 5, 4b8.

,4 Duns

5 Cf. Studia

32

STEPHEN THERON

the Scholastics fogic was the beginning of philosophy, the
starting-point. 7 For "logic is said to be concerned with the
way in which we speak of things; metaphysics with the' existence of things '." 8 Logic was also called the science of second
intentions. This suggests a primacy or 'starting-point' for
metaphysics, logic coming to the fore
subsequent reflection
back on the self as speaker or thinker. In this perspective
there is a c1ear analogy with epistemology, and it is historically
quite natural that a pan-logicism should have succeeded to a
pan-psyichologism or epistemologism. The opposition is relative to a wider agreement in not beginning with ' the existence
of things'.
This is why it is significant that Dummett, who believes, in
cont:riast to Hans S1uga's we11-argued view,9 ithat Frege was
a realist, says that nonetheless he might as well have been an
idealist since his achievement was to foee logic from epistemological presuppositions. lt is significant in at least allowing
for the continuity with Kantianism I claim to find. For it is a
serious question whether a realist comd devise a Fregeau logic,
declaring (sic Dummett) indifference to realism. Put dillerently, is not this indifference itself a metaphysical, indeed an
idealist sibance? Does it not condemn logic to being a :field of
study of the relations between pure, i.e. non-intentional concepts? 1 ° For the realist, though, logic is intentional, that is,
having first emphasized the difference between the o:Vder among
concepts as such and the order of that which they intend, viz.,
the objects of reference, its major care is to spell out the instrumentality of the logicrul entities, coillCept,proposition, argument, e.g., in predication. A realist, for example, will always
(ed. Edwards) .
7 " Frege," Enoyolopedia of Philosophy
s Robert W. Schmidt, The Domain of Logia aooording to Saint Thomas
Aquinas (The Hague, 1966), p. 46.
9 Hans D. Sluga, " Frege and the Rise of Analytic Philosophy,"
Inquiry
18 ( 1975) : 471-487; "Frege's Alleged Realism," Inquiry 20 ( 1977): 227-242.
10 "It is never anything but the connections
of our representations that
constitute the subject matter of our investigations." Lotze, Logik, 2nd ed.
1880, p. 491.

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

33

explicitly be able to distinguish the real relation of John to
Mary stated in" John is the husband of Mary" from the purely logical relation of John to what is predioated of him so as to
say what he is (Mary's husband), this being a relation not of
husband but of identity. 11
Of course people :feel as a difficulty in beginning with ' the
existence of things ' that they will he incompetently duplicating the work of the natural scientists. On this view there is no
properly philosophical ontological competence, only a logical
competence. 12

II
What wou:Ld such a philosophical ontological competence be
that differed radically from that of the natural sciences? If I
have given some reason to start with 'the existence of things'
and not with second intentions, then this question is of central
relevance, especially in view of my indicating, for realists, a
dependence of logic upon metaphysics. 13
As a matter of history, what was felt to be AriS'totelian verbalizing was abandoned in favour of Baconian experimentation, as if the new experimentrul science and the older philosophy of nature were basically the same type of inquiry, scientific method in the new sense mel'ely being more efficient.
But Bacon, Locke, anid the others wel'e mistaken about this.
Philosophy of nature, as distinct from natural science, is intrinsically bound up with a realist theory of meaning and is
in fact a sustained attempt to build up a scientific language,
in the
of Carnap one might say.
11 Cf. S. Theron, "Does Realism make a Difference to Logic?"
The Monist,
April 1986.
12 See the review of John C. Cahalan's Oausal Realism
(New York, 1985)
in Theologie und Philosophie ( G. Brtintrup), 1987, pp. 127-130:
Zur Kompensation seiner Inkompetenz wird er den empirischen Wissenschaftlern Naivitat vorwerfen, wenn sie ... unreflektiert annehmen, die
Dinge, deren Existenz sie in ihren Theorien behaupten, existierten unabhiingig von diesen Theorien.
1s See the discussion of the Anscombe-Lewis controversy in the article cited
above, n. 11.

34

STEPHEN THERON

When Quine defines a type of meaning (stimulus meaning)
as some thing or event or group of such elements in the world
(' the class of all the stimulations . . . that would prompt his
assent') he treads an Aristotelian path. 14 For Aristotle the
forms of things were the meanings of the words naming them,
to the extent that these forms were, by an ' intentional identirty ', the concepts the wol'ds most dil'ectly signified. In a sense
this is the opposite of the procedure of ostensive 'teaching of
words ' imagined by Wittgenstein. 15 Yet Aristotle could agree
with Quine that the stimuli, if indica.ted to the speaker (they
need not be ' pointed to ') , would prompt his assent." For
him though this would be incidental, a mere si,gn that that was
what was meant, while for Quine it seems constitutive of the
relevant class of things (e.g. 'evolving ocular irradiation patterns') whicih, for him too, is the (stimulus) meaning.
We can prescind from Quine' s phenomenalism here and
wonder why he needs this third, beihavioral feature of assent, a
mere necessary consequence, since if that is what the word
means who will know this if not the speaker? The word, according to him, means for the speaker the relevant (or present)
stimulus. Why can we not have here a realism of knowledge
and hence meaning of stimuli which on a different metaphysics
would straightway become a realism of knowledge of substances?
[M] eaning, supposedly, is what a sentence shares with its translation; and translation at the present stage turns solely on correlations with non-verbal stimulation.
The non-verbal correlates are the translation. Here though
meaning is shared between them and the sentence, a thought
inconsistent on the surface with saying that the sentence's
meaning, which irt has, is the translation, i.e., the translation
here does not in turn have a meaning. But of course translations usually do have meanings. Here it is the meaning.
14 W. V. Quine,
15 Philosophical

Word and Object S, p. 32.
Investigations, I, 6.

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

35

For Aristotle the 'translation in this prime sense would be
the conoept which is the natme of the thing (not correspondenoe but intentional identity) or, in this case, stimulus, intentionally p11esent in the mind and not a second entity at all.
For Quine, though, who takes sentenoes as the prime units of
meaning, even if they are of just one word, this notion of a
sort of proto-translation comes more easily. The contextual
principle indeed favors a close analogy between the world and
our language, as if they were two systems, more than does the
Aristotelian term-semantics. To make sentences the units of
meaning must be to project on to the world a structure charwcteristically mental (the picture theory of meaning), unless
one go on to drop the world ai1together. But for the Aristotelian,
we only construct sentences to rectify the insufficiency of our
original conoeptions got by abstraction (see below), bringing
together the substance and its quality, say, which we ha:d conceived apart, the man and his whiteness, not however again
mereiy to conceive a white man, who may or may not exist, but
to 1echo or enact the giv;en man's aot of being white (hence the
sentence is false if there is no such act, if the man is not white).
It is this capturing of existence uniquely in the judgment
which is the truth behind the contextual principle Dummett
olaims sophistication l'equires. In place of it the Aristotelian
has the comp1ex nature (genus and difference) of all rea1l definitions (see below) , which at least equally helps fulfil the need
rto explain " what it is for a whole language to function as a
language."
In fact on a realist view, the meaning of terms is not separable from what the substances (see below) referred to are and
what they naturally do (causal explanation) . For their meaning is their ,essence, understood always in refation to other
essences by means of the compositeness of definition. In so far
as there may be a limit to any possible realism (hence 'moderarte realism'), this limit will be on the part of the object,
not the knower. Realism, which is to say a theory of knowledge not merely feeding on itself, requires a non-material pres-

36

STEPHEN THERON

ence of the object known in the mind. This is the meaning of
meaning. For this very reason matter in itself, divorced from
form, is unintelligible, having, again, no actual being. In so
far as things are material and perishable they escape from language,16 but rto that same extent they lack being and truth,
the limitation, again, being on the part of the object. There
are no actual noumena that escape us.
Without further apology we can now offer a realist account
of natural substances pI"ecisely as a theory of meaning, the
meaning of our language. Part of this project will be to show
how even those principles we are pleased to regard as formally
logical are in fact derived a posteriori, like all our meanings
and intentions and understandings, from experience and, indeed, from the senses. This in itself should suffice to show that
our enterprise, mght or Wl'Ong, is pmperly philosophical.

m
"All being is true" (omne ens est v·erum), i.e. known or
knowable, is not the idealist tautology that everything the
mind can know is true, or that a.1l that is true is what rthe mind
can know. We do not live in an int erpreted world in that
sense, which is after a:ll no interpretation at all, making of man
or the self 'rthe absolute source' (Merleau-Ponty). Yet we
live, 1and our knowledge is ,a function of our life. Thus far
Wittgensrtein and eV<en Putnam are right; we confer meaning
on natUI"e, we make it intelligible; yet it is meaning we confer, abstracting and thereby liberating the a.ctual forms of
things. Anything else would be not meaning but distortion, an
unimaginable, literally indescribable chaos, even if the alternative is to make of man a privileged being and no mere part of
the natme he confidently and so naturally investigates (cf.
Plato: "the soul has learned everything ") . The element of
conferral comes in, I repeat, because of the unintelligibility of
1

16 For this vivid phrase, and for much else in my presentation,
I am indebted to some unpublished lectures by Herbert McCabe. The theses that
emerge, however, are my own.

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

37

matter in itself, its having only potential meaning. The endless
generation and corruption of forms becomes fixed and ' interpreted', as meanings, in the spiritual mind. This linkage of
meaning and ' spirit ' explains why Aquinas can see sensecognition as a spiritual change,1 7 a giving of significance to
things in the life of the animal, as intellectual cognition gives
them univ,ersal significance in the life of the human community.
"AM that is is true" means that all that is is apt .to be understood by us (and vice versa), not that only what we actually understand is or can he true. How it can be thart all that is is
apt to be understood by us (in so far as it is) is a different
question altogether; the reductive dismissal of this situation
though by immanentist dogmatism is blatantly incoherent.
There is no place in philosophy for free-floating systems of
ideas merely !'elated among themselves as objects, whatever
be the case in music or quantum physics.
,
For a realist almost the initial question is what are the units
or the carriers of reality or of being. Is there perhaps just one
unit, one being? Such a view would seem to exclude knower
and known, a duality, and indeed all change from one thing to
another. Something similar seems the case on an atornist view,
where all change is reduced to alterations of configuration in
the indestructible monaids. But these implausible views seem
to take their rise from a failure to consider that there might he
many kinds of units, many levels of unity of being, whether
mtom or elephant, just as there are many levels of discourse,
eaich equally legitimate where appropriate. Thus to be alive
is to exist at a certain level at which a certain level of discourse is the appropriate one. We men and women do after all
exist. One can ,fa,Jk of us in terms of our constituent atoms
(can one though?) but this indubitably abstracts from our
full reality, just as, moving in the opposite direction, one can
speak of men in terms of the species man.
17 Cf. articles in The Philosophical
Review, viz. Sheldon M. Cohen, "St.
Thomas Aquinas on the Immaterial Reception of Sensible Forms,'' .April 1982;
John J. Haldane, ".Aquinas on Sense-Perception," .April 1983. Haldane seems
to confuse immateriality and universai'".Y·

38

STEPHEN THERON

If men, elephants, and trees are ultimates in their own right,
then there are things (unlike the atoms) which begin and cease
to exist. This givtes us a world with at least two kinds of change
in it, that whe11e something begins to exist and that where
something happens to what already 'exists. Aristotle called
these substantial and accidental change (in his Physics), and
part of my aim here is to fasten upon the notion, I should say
the reality, of substance. I wish to show how closely it is associated with a sane philosophy of language, but without
the:veby ceasing to be part of a philosophy of nature in the old
sense.
This afber all is what is indicaited by the recent emphasis on
natural kinds and the discovery that "the extension of the
term is part of the meaning" where indexical terms are concerned. Thus Stephen Schwarz can say there can be " no
analytical statements with an indexical term as subject," 18 a
judgment harmonizing perfectly with what we find Aquinas
saying on real definitions.
But having mentioned philosophies of language, sane or
otherwise, as well as the idea of atoms as the basic units of
both being and speech, I think it will be helpful here to compare atomisrn in the philosophy of nature with logical atomism,
bearing in mind the non-analyticity of indexicals and the consequent corrigibility of their definitions, i.e., of essential predicrutions about them.
When Leibniz argued that il there are composites there
must he simples, he put this forward as a necessary truth about
the world or reality. "What the essential nature is is not a
mrutter of language but of theory construction." 19 In affirming
this necessity, Leibniz was not excluding possible error about
its necessity, due perhaps to something he had failed to consider. By contrast, if someone says that if there are composites
1s Stephen Schwarz, "Putnam on Artefacts," Philosophical Review, October
1978, pp. 566-574; cp. "Natural Kinds and Nominal Kinds," Mind 1980.
19 Putnam, "Is Semantics
Possible?" in Necessity and Natural Kinds, ed.
Schwarz (Ithaca, 1977).

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

39

there must be simples and he means by this to explicate not the
world but the term ' composite,' then there is no relevant way
in which he can be mistaken. He is virtually stipulating his
own usage.
In fact claiming 1that all statements of metaphysical necessity are just disguised tautologies or are ' analytic' is a failure
to note the above distinction. In such statements, or in essential predications (such as Leibniz by his 'must' implies about
composites), the logical relation (identity) of subject to predicate in the statement ma;de is most easily confused with the
non-logiml, transcendental relation of the thing with what it
is, its essence (composites and being composed of simples) in
rea.ility. I presuppose a thesis of realist logic here. Another example: it is a universal truth that whatever is A (where A is
any essence or qualiity) is not non-A, and this truth is prior to
what I would argue is its consequence, viz., that whatever is
said to he A cannot be said to be non-A.
Taking the derivation of simples from composites as a logical truth in fact creates an aprioristic demand for explanations
of an impossible charncter, in reaction to which incomplete explanation has to be justified in its incompleteness, pragmatically.20 In a realist philosophy, however, the bare idea of unity
(mirrored in the demand for ideally simple units) is distinguished from the rea;l units. There are as many levels of unity
as there are levels of being, with levels of discourse to go with
them, thus giving a legitimate non-pragmatistic sense in
which explanations can he incomplete.
Postulation of substantial change, we saw, is a direct consequence of such reailism: things are generated and corrupted
in a way not reducible to movement in the totality of elements.21 Corruptible substances, and not only imperishable
On Certainty:
"At the foundation of well-founded belief lies belief that is not founded."
( § 253) ; cp. Philosophical Investigations I, 87. Cf. S. Theron, " Morality
and Right Reason," The Monist, January 1983 (section IV).
21 E.g. Philosophical Investigations,
I, 60,
20 Cf. Wittgenstein,

40

STEPHEN THERON

particles, are the things which ultimately are. This may be
" a matter of language," but it is not a truth about language.
A consequence is th3Jt when we predicate of something what
it is, its essence, that without which it could not be what it is
and hence could not be at all, then our predication is in the
category of substance. Substance (or substances) is the name
for whait exists (o:r exist). Any othe:r entities only exist in substances and so are called accidents of substance. It is only in
the mind, Le. as a concept, that blueness (or events) might
seem to exist independently, although in fact it exists as an
accident of the man thinking it.
To predicate of something what it essentirully (and necessarily) is is not to make an ' analytic ' statement. In fact " any
horse is an animal " differs in logical type from " any unicorn
is an animal," by the fact that there are no unicorns. The second sentence can only be giving all or part of the meaning of
a iterm; the first states a truth about horses. That it is an
essential truth could not alter this, and in fact one might be
misitaken about the genus of horses not simply or not at rull
because one was mistaken about the word. I might believe
rthey were merely imitation animals or something else entirely.
Y:et this does not mean it is a mere matter of fact that horses
are animals. In contrast Schwarz argues against Putnam that
it is a mere matter of fact and " not part of the specification
semant1cally associated with 'pencil ' '' that penci1ls are artefacts.
What makes something a pencil are superlicial characteristics ...
analytically associated with the term "pencil'', not disclosed by
scie,ntificinvestigation.
So it is "not analytic that pencils are artefacts," but neither is
there an essence as of a natural kind, giving us an indexical
term. Pencils, Schwarz speculates, logically might grow ·(be
thought to grow) on trees. Here he makes the penetrating
Aristotelian remark that "nominal kinds do not support inWe don,'i dissect a chair 1 al') we might a snake, to

MEANING IN A REALIST PERSPECTIVE

41

find its essence. He might have added that we are not logically
bound to dissect more than one snake, though a few more
might be needed to exclude the practical risk of a deviant.
This though is non-logical, a matter of the universal " coming
to rest in the soul." 22 Something is a snake if it is one, if it
has the essential nature of snakes. " Something is a pet if it
satisfies certain descriptions." Pets are part of our language;
snake-nature is part of the world, maide intdligible by putting
it into our language. This, incidentally, shows why human
actions as natural are not rightly spoken of as variously identifiable under varying descriptions. The dog is by nature a
dog; an action itoo is first of all what it is.
Saying what something is, e.g. a horse, Aquinas calls a definitio of that substance. But the sentenJCe,about unicorns merely gives a word's meaning and hence, for him, is not a definition as so understood, i.e., of a substance, since there is no such
substance. 23
" Any horse is an animal " is of course not a complete definiition. We might s1ay a horse is an equine animail, leaving it to
zoofogists to spell out the implications of this. Saying what
substances are requires both genus and species, the specific
difference (' equine ') being needed to close or complete the
meaning of the genus. An open description is dosed to give a
unit of meaning, which has to be composite because meanings, which are essences as in the mind, are always understood
in relation to other meanings. To understand a being (what
a horse is) is to understand its plruce in a structural complex,
since this is how our minds work, on the model of talking
rwther than of seeing. As I indicated earlier we have here a
better alternative on the part of realists to the insight that a
wovd does not have complete meaning on its own. This did
not compel them to say irt only has meaning in sentences.
There are at at least two operations of the mind: the first, apprehension of essences, being the formation of language (alPost. An. II, 19.
Cf. Oomm. in II Post. An. VII, lect. 6.

22 .Aristotle,

STEPHEN THERON

:ready, we saw, in some kind of verbal combination: notoriously the chi1d first uses ' Dada ' as an open genus word, applying
it 1to several men) ; the second, use of language to make true
judgments, saying what something 'is.
Thus when I say " this animal is a horse" I do something
.diflerent foom when I say" this horse :is brown" or tired or English. There is a special way in which the specific difference
operates on the genus to produce the species or definition. To
siay an animal is equine is to specify the kind of animality. To
say a horse is brown, ertc., is not to specify the horseness. A
brown horse is a horse in just the same way as a white horse,
but equine animality is different from canine animality, since
it is horses and dogs that exist. The meaning of ' animal' is
not thereby varied; it merely requires of itseH to be completed,
like a Fregeau function. To call something an animal is not to
finish signifying its animaility, as is calling it a horse. For
brownness, etc., lie outside of what it is to be a horse. Thus in
' the brown horse ' the plurality of words corresponds to a
plurality in reality. The plurality of 'equine animal' however does not :represent a plurality in the reality referred to
but a complexity in our way of grasping rthe single reality referred to. Thus (moderate) realism [s
to emphasize, relate, and contra-distinguish the different rea:lities of mind and
of world, neither confusing nor divorcing them.
This procedure of definition only applies rto entia per se, not
to entia per accidens, to what are accidentally treated by our
language as 'beings', like cities or prime-ministers or coalminers. For one is referring rto men who only happen to be
prime-ministers or coal-miners during shorter or longer periods.
' City ' :refers to all kinds of mixtures and rela.Jtions of entia per
se, such as men and stones. Hence one can call this procedure
the project of science in the Carnapian sense.
It excludes the empiricist notion of 'ostensive definition'.
'London' means a city. It does not mean London. It is
equiva:lent to ' this city ', which is a particular pointing depending on context, just as 'London' points to (but does not

MEANING IN A REALIST PERSPECTIVE

48

mean) London. For Aquinas the individual as such is unintelligible. Only the kind is intelligible. The meaning of
'London' is the meaning of 'city', of 'Socrates' that of
' man ', a rational animal. The propriety of a proper name
aidds no additional meaning, only an indication, such as ' this '
and 'that ' might also substitute for pointing.

IV
The claim to know reality involves the claim to distinguish
between different kinds or degrees of reality, between entia per
se such as men, dogs or blueness (accidents can be entia per
se) and entia per accidens (not to be confused with aiccidents)
such as postmen or cities. To know what something is is to
know what can be asked about it. Substance, on this view, is
the first thing known, condition equally for knowledge and for
something to be. It thus differs from Locke's idea of it as
" something I know not what," lying behind appearances or
'sense-data'. For
what was immediately experienced
was thel"eby immediately intelligible. Aquinas also stresses the
primacy of sense-·experience yiert sees it as only potentially intelligible material from which the mind can abstra!Ct the univiersal. For him, to begin to understand a thing is to have
some notion of what i t is so that one can talk about it. This
is its essence or nature by which it is a substance. To be intelligible is thus not to be experienced but to be put into language. The Lockean and Thomist interpretations of nihil in
intellectu nisi prius in sensu are thus completely diffel'ent. For
there to be knowledge we must first of all know what we are
talking about, the quod quid est, however vaguely, so as to
know what questions to ask. This difference lies behind some
puzzling features of Geach's treatment of 'abstractionism' in
Mental A.cts.
So scientific un:derstanding, again, is a matter of getting
back to the entia per se out of which our minds and everyday
language construct entia per acoidens, and of proceeding from
vague to more precise notions of these entia once discovered,
1

44

STEPHEN THERON

a process not at wll opposed to experiment. Aquinas sought
to build a language fitted to explain the actual essences of
things. This, however, involV'es looking for the cause.
For knowing how to talk about something cannot be claimed
to be the whole of knowing what something is. Knowing what
something is is also to have oertain expectations of it more
circumscribed than the range of logical possibilities (which
haV'e to do with speech about it). The laitter include the unexpected. But knowing what a dog is inoludes: ,expecting it to
go on four legs. This is not part of" what it takes to be" (the
essence of) a dog. There might be a dog which never went on
four legs. But this wou1d be abnormal, i.e., the expected property is in fact a proprium and not merely incidental.
In a sense the proprium belongs to the essence. It is a power,
tthe exe11cise of which might, at least logically, be inhibited, but
which is nonetheless defined by its object and hence real, even
if not exercised. Any dog can go on four fogs; any man is capable of laughter. So when we see a dog not going on four legs,
a man who neV'er laughs, an unfulfilled intention (to intend
properly is to intend to fulfil the intention), a deformed baby,
we seek for a reason, i.e., we look for a cause of what is not explained by the' information' (forma) we have.
This search for the cause is closely 11elated to our considerations about the uni¥ersal " coming to rest in the soul." It is
not only a mrutter of repeated observation (Hume's 'constant
conjunction ') since we do not then yet see why the cause is a
cause (e.g., why acupuncture relieves pain), though we may
become convinced that it does (as everyone knows wasps
sting). We have to go on to such a description of cause and
effect asr will make the causal relation perspicuous. Only then
do we "know the cause."
We can see here how the search for caJUses belongs to the
seal'ch for the ' natural units ', for substances, picking out in
their behawor what is or is not 'natural', to be expected.
Causes are thus to be understood in terms of things with
natures and natural tendencies. " The cause or explanation of

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

45

something is that whose natural tendency is to bring it about "
(McCabe, cf. note 16) . Finding this thing and seeing how its
tendency is natural ito it is analogous to the process of giving
real definitions (formation of language).
The scientific search for causes is the attempt to redescribe
the situation in terms of the entia per se involved and their
powers or propria. Of course we may be led to rthis, practically,
by the experience of "constant contiguity and succession," but
we have found the cause when there is no further reason why,
when the cause is e:ll'erting the powers of the thing that " flow
from its essence" (Aquinas) , i.e., when it is acting in virtue of
what it is. Such powers are a natural extension of the essence,
by which the cause itself exists. A dear example is the reproductive power of living things, bearing out Aquinas's statement that the cause produoes what is similar to itself (omne
agens agit sibi simile) . For this applies even when the final
effects are dissimilar from the agent or from one another, since
this depends upon the (dissimilar) subject in which the similar
form is induced, e.g., heat makes ice wet but hair dry. "Like
causes like " is actually the basic premise of science. It is
when we see the ' likeness ' in virtue of which an effect has to
be the result of its camse, e.g., when we redescribe a situation
in terms of heat transference or, say, mo1ecular motion, that
we are at least approaching the cause.

v
Matter, which I argued above is unintelligible divorced from
form, is for the same reason the principle of individuation. For
a substance to exist is for it to be that substance; for a horse
rto exist, even fo:r this horse, is for it to he a horse (1this is what
it needs to be, quod quid erat esse) . But we must also consider the perishability of substances, or of this horse, for in the
case of material substances the essence, although it implies
existence, also implies the contingency of this existence. Any
such thing might cease to, exist, by being changed into something else, e.g., a corpse .. This is not a mere abstrct logical

46

STEPHEN

THERON

possibility (something you 'Can say of it) but a real vulnerability of the substance considered, since here language is being
derived from what actually happens, rather than from hypothetical ways of seeing the world based on linguistic categories.
This vulnerability of such substances is their materiality,
and it is why we have the term mateiia. For living things to
be is to live (esse est vivere), but to have a form such as the
li£e of a horse or a dog is not to be simply speaking (i.e., not
for ever) but only for a time. This matter of things is not
an aspect of them; that would. be a form, intelligible. Their
matter is their unintelligibility as actual vulnerable individuals,
the way they escape from language, so that we can only point
or touch to identify ·them, i.e., it is the principle of individuation.
For to explain what di:ffel'entiates member A of a species
from member B of the same species, one cannot appeal to accidental differences (color, position) , which presuppose the distinction between the one and the other, as when I say the
one is white. 24 An accident presupposes the subject, as the nature (horseness) does not. No form at all can account for their
being two individuals of the same nature. There is simply a
difference of matrter, to be shown by pointing alone: this horse
is not that horse. It is a mistake to equate individuation with
spatia,l position. This position is nothing but a :relationship
to my body when I point and can always change while the individual remains the same. Space and time are rather caused
by this materiality of things, hence they are not simply intelligible (as Kant made plain after his fashion). Thus no
formal charruoteristic, contrary as this seems rto Kripke's idea, 25
suffices to identify an individual. Similarly, it is because our
understanding is of the natures of material things (underEnglebretsen, Ana,lysis, March 1987, pp. 92-93.
say that having the mother he had suffices to identify Hamlet (i.e.,
she is necessarily his mother) seems to reason in a circle, since she is referred to precisely as his mother, which Gertrude in herself might not have
become. Whatever is essential for being human, nothing is E;\ssential for being
this or that human.
24 Cf. George

25 To

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

47

standing itself being an essentially immaterial process) that
rthe mind needs the body and sensation as the way to acquire
these natures intentionally. There are for us no innate species;
the mind needs the body because of its object.

VI
This last point raises the topic of sense-cognition. Without
some account of it, a realist theory of meaning will hardly be
complete, especially as we have claimed that even the principles of logic (as indeed those of praxis or ethics) are derived
from it. Its omission in sevcernl other types of meaning-theory
seems a g11eat weakness, not justified merely by rejection of the
Lockean empiricism I myself criticized above. For without
there is no concept-formation.
Treatment of sensation in fact becomes a necessity once we
get away from the Cartesian paradigm of life as consciousness
(shared by Teilhard de Chardin and projected back by him
into sub-conscious things) which allowed us to "put the world
into brackets." For Aristotle and Aquinas living things are,
rather, those born to move themselves, first merely viegetatively, then by operations of sense, finally in the superior freedom
of intellect and will. Degrees of life are degrees of freedom,
and living things are true automobiles (cars are only imitation automobiles since they don't mov;e themselves and are
not entia per se; one part moves another).
But for the purposes of this paper I shall have to omit systematic treatment of life and sense-cognition, merely arguing
that such rtreatment is essential to a complete account of meaning. Instewd I move on to my promised aiocount of the induction of even the necessary principles of reason. By this
I hope to round off my attempt to :reconcile those estranged
partners, meaning and reference. A properly philosophical account of sense-cognition will, of course, treat of it as the perception of meanings (e.g., significances) for the life of the
animal concerned.
I have argued that such theories as that of' internal realism'

48

STEPHEN

THERON

cannot be put forward as alternatives to (external) realism.
Such a theory though might, I suppose, be seen as simply giving a very restricted content to " what there is." There is certainly something, be it the philosopher philosophizing, sense,data, or just the linguistic system or Lotze's "connections of
our representations." This is all that is needed to give us real
being and hence, we shaH see, give us the principle of non-contradiction as an absolute truth and not only a pragmatic postu-

late.
The answer to the question, what distinguishes language
from rull the other things that exist? would have to be, at least
in part, that it is our system of reference. It exists to point to
something else. And this is the posture it adopts even on the
most anti-realist view. It is the means by which and even the
milieu in which ey;erything else is viewed. We se1dom stop to
ask though (as does John Deely 26 ) how it is possible for language to refer at alt If the sentence "I have rtwo thumbs" is
used (and not merely mentioned as an aural or visual object,
consisting of four ' words ') , how am I able to see through it
to my having two thumbs? There is not really an isomorphism.
And if there were, what would it explain? One side of a ladder
does not begin to interpret or light up, much less refer to, the
other side, however many rungs: join them. 27
It is plain then that language does not 11efer in virtue of itself. No more do thoughts as the idealist conceivies them. Yet
it must be in virtue of thoughts that language refers, since it
does. Material texts, uninterpreted or not subject to interpretation, refer to nothing. They are just themselves. This means
we musrt depend on entities which are referring of themselves,
i.e., the being of which is to refer. These, of course, are mental
concepts and propositions. A substance whose being is only to
26 John Deely, "How Language Refers," Studie Internazionali
di JJ'ifosofia,
Autumn 1972; "The Ontological Status of Intentionality," The New f1cholastici8m 1972.
21 Cf. Henry Veatch, "St. Thomas's Doctrine of Subject and Predicate,"
in
St. Thomas Aquinas (1274-1974), Oommemorative Studies, (Toronto, 1974),
vol. 2.

MEANING IN A REALIST

PERSPECTIVE

49

refer seems hard to conceive, but not so accidents of a substance-thoughts are accidents of men-and particularly if
these are accidents with the weakest possible grasp on being,
viz., accidents which are ad aliquid, i.e., relations. Concepts,
propositions, even trains of reasoning, can thus be seen as simply our relating to things, the instruments of knowledge of
those things.
How does it all start? What are the first objects known?
What are the first propositions formed? There might seem a
dichotomy here, since the terms of propositions refer to the
natures of things (as 'term' refers to what a term is) and we
then predicate terms of other terms, in a sort of primo1idial two
term theory (not the same as a' two name' theory) which the
most esoteric theories of concept and obj,ect can never do more
than modify. But what makes us go from one term to two
terms? The:ve are dearly rtwo disparate intellecturul operations,
the apprehension of simple natures (which entails 'concept
formation' but does not consist in it) and rthe judgment. At
the beginning, however, they very nearly coincide; abstrootion
and induction, for which Aristotle had a common word, might
seem to be the same.
One might wonder why his discussion at the end of the
Posterior Analytics seems to go back and forth between abstraction 1an:d induction, between 1apprehension of a nature and
predication of one of another. However the fact that these
two operations al'le distinguishable does not mean that they
normally ooour separately. It is the most natural thing, after
all, to pass from the apprehension of a naJture from sense-experience to the judgment that this 'is the nature of the thing
sensed or whaJt that tiring essentially is:, and this is whrut Aristotle calls the universal's coming to rest in the soul, which
happens by a process of induction, evien if just one instance
should suffice (see abovce). For even then it is distinguished
from abstraction by being a judgment as to what something is.
Besides rthese inductions, howevier, which have to do with
the establishment of our knowledge of the natures of things

50

STEPHEN

THERON

and which are probable just as often as they are certain, there
is the induction of first principles, which is certain. Clearly
first principles cannot be got by deduction, since then they
would not he first.
An alternative might seem that the first principles are known
by inrtuition. Certainly our grasp of the principle of non-contradiction does seem intuitive in the sense of immediate. But
such immediate apprehension does not give us knowledge of
the principle as a considered judgment on which we can rely
in advance in all our reasoning. Intuition in itself carries no
such credentiails. To know the univ;ersal is not always to know
it as universal. Still, in understanding anything we understand
that it is something and understand too that what we thus
iconcomitantly understand applies to a11 beings. We implicitly
make the particular judgment " This thing which is is not
(and cannot here and now be) non-existent." This much is
intuitive or known without discourse (we feel an animal could
almost do irt) . But the conception of being as such will he
likely to require knowledge of many different beings, and hence
the knowledge of rthe universal principle of non-contradiction
wiH require induction from many such particular judgments.
And even if it did not and one instance sufficed, the mental
operation of universalization (i.e. induction) would be required
for the universal to " come to rest in the soul." In the case of
non-evident universal principles, this is what distinguishes induction, going hand in hand with abstraction of a common
nature, from a mere enumeration of coincident regularities.
"Ve pass from grasp of a factual connection to insight into a
necessary or essential connection. All we said about natural
kinds supports this. And the whole thing depends upon the
apprehension of reality in sense-experience.
For the senses in a way attain to the universal too, through
the vis cogitativa, whlch " apprehends the individual as existing under a common nature," the ratio particularis, also called
the vis aestimativa in non-rational animals, which unites into
some kind of unity the intentions of individual things, as a dog

MEANING IN A REALIST PERSPECTIVE

51

can develop a generalizied hatred of cats. Unless this were so,
argues Aquinas, it would not be possible to derive universal
knowledge from sense-knowledge:
Non esset possibile quod ex apprehensione sensus causaretur in
nobis cognitio universalis.28
This suggests that for Aquinas intellect in the newborn baby
is not anything actual at all but a pure potentiality waiting
to be activated by the particular cognition attained by the
senses (or at least, if entitatively actual, such an intellect is
not active). There is, we might almost say, no active intellect
before its activity, its creaitivity, is activated. On this view the
question of re:rulismseems to reduce to the verdict resulting from
a critique of sense-cognition. Can we, with Aquinas, say that
iudicium sensus est de re? The vis or sensus aestimativus,
which we call instinct and which may tell an animaJ, say that
a wolf is dangerous, has survival value, as we know. But the
only reason it has such a value is that the wolf is dangerous,
i.e., it estimaites truly. The idea of survival value should never
have been opposed to the idea of truth, the value of truth,
since it depends upon it. Any v;alue is a measure of truth:
truth in the area of sensation is a matter of the formalities of
significance for the ' community ' constituted by the organized
individual animal body or, at times, the whole species; what
has significance for the human community is ipso facto a truth
of intellect. That this last cannot be inverted in a pragmatistic
sense is shown, again, by the fact that the wolf is as dangerous
as the lamb estimates it to be, the mate estimated suitable for
reproduction is suitable for the purpose, as the continuance of
life demonstrates.

28 Comm.

in I Phys., n. 11; emphasis mine.

PLOTINUS AND THE APEIRON OF
PLATO'S PARMENIDES
JOHN

H. HEISER

Niagara Unwersity
Niagara University, New York

W

E USE THE TERM "infinite" so freely to designate what supposedly transcends something called
' the finite " that one might imagine the concept to
be entirely unproblematic. Greek philosophy's difficulty even
entertaining such an idea then appears as a sort of myopia,
which we in our superior enlightenment have escaped. I propose to examine the way in which one Greek mind, that of
Hotinus, came to entertain rthe idea. There may be no better
wiay to bring out the difficulties, as well as the possibilities,
inherent in a concept than to observe a first class philosophical
mind wrestling with it. I also hope rto show that we have a lot
to learn from Plotinus.
Plotinus's doctrine of the infinite has of course been examined before, on more than one occasion.1 But those who
have done so, judging from what they say or do not say, appear to find nothing puzzling in the concept of " infinite perfection" or" infinite being." "We" have come to understand
exactly what it means (or at least we bandy the term about
A. H. Armstrong, "Plotinus' Doctrine of the Infinite and
1 For instance:
its Significance for Christian Thought," Downside Review 73 ( 1955) : 47-58;
Leo J. Sweeney, S.J., "Infinity in Plotinus," Gregorianum 38 ( 1957) : 515535; 713-732; W. Norris Clarke, S.J., "Infinity in Plotinus: a Reply,'' Gregorianum 40 (1959): 75-98; John Whittaker, "Philological Comments on
the Neoplatonic Notion of Infinity,'' in The Significance of Neoplatonism, ed.
R. Baine Harris (Norfolk, Va.: International Society for Neoplatonic Studies,
1976), pp. 155-172. John M. Rist devotes the third chapter, "The Plotinian
One," of his Plotinus: The Road to Reality (New York: Cambridge Uninrsity Press, 1967) largely to the infinity of the One.

58

54

JOHN H. HEISER

as if we did). Greek difficulties are understandable (ailthough
it is hal'd not to be patronizing about them), but once we have
taken note of these difficulties the only question of interest
would seem to be whether Plotinus learned to discount them
and to talk as we do. In my view, the only way to appreciate
Plotinus's aichievement, and to learn from him, is to take these
difficulties with great seriousness and to stmggle through them
with Plotinus.
Another point most commentators overlook is something I
take to be both a frucit and a clue to much of what Plotinus
says about the Infinite Source of the universe. This is that, in
explaining why the One should be called " infinite," Plotinu!!
is presenting his e:xiegesis of a perplexing passage in Plato's
Parmenides. 2 Rather than following his own 1ine of thought to
the conc1usion that the One must be infinite, we see Plotinus
casting about for some meaning he can assign to a term he is
confronted with. I happen to think that his exegesis of Plato
is mistaken. This raises the interesting possibility that Plotinus's breakthrough, if it is a breakthrough and not an aberration, resulted by accident from a mis.take.
Before examining Greek views on the infinite, I should like
to play Socrates for a moment and examine the concept itself
of " infinite perfection." A bit of dialectic might help dispel
some of the complacency that surrounds it. As it stands, "infinitely perfect" is at least verbally self-contradictory, as if
one were to say " endlessly finished." This may explain why
even Plotinus never put it quite thaJt way. But even if we
can get around that, what could it mean for something to be
simply ignore the point, but Professor Armstrong,
2 :M:ost commentators
who is usually so alert to sources, makes the surprising statement that
"there is no clear evidence that Plato ever thought or spoke of the One or
Good as in any sense apeiron" ("Doctrine of the Infinite," p. 48). Professor
Rist goes further and claims that "the 'beyond Being' of Plato must mean
a finite Being in some way beyond other finite beings" (Road to Reality,
p. 24). But Rist appears to assume he and his readers share a common understanding of what it means to be "infinite," one that goes without saying. I am unable to make out what that is.

PLOTINUS

AND PLATO

55

"infinirtely perfect " ? Moving beyond the image of mere mindboggling size, let us begin with the explanation that is least
satisfactory, one which is at least suggested by some of the
"great chain of being" writers of the Renaissance and later.
If we establish a scale of perfection, and if we could " sight
up" that scale and see an "infinite distance" (whatever that
would mean), there at the "top" (whatever that could possib°l"y mean) ... no, we are obviously on the wrong track. The
idea of the " great chain of being " unquestionably derives
from Neoplatonism, but if N eoplatonism has any permanent
insight to offer, that insight suriely is that the infinite is infinite
by not being on the scale anywhere, even at its supposed " top
end."
So let us try something a bit less crude, less wedded to the
quantitative and imaginative. How about Descartes's notion
of the " Supremely Perfect Being " ? Things are called " finirte "
because they fall short of supreme perfection-are somehow
defective. The "infinitely perfect" wou1d thus be what is in
no way lacking in perfection. In itself this might just mean
what is at the very top of the
most perfect being
possible. But even Aristotle's God would have to be that, and
surely no one would seriously describe Aristotle's God as anything but finite in being.
"Lacking no perfection" has to mean more than this. We
have to reinstate the Platonic exemplarism that Aristotle rejected. " Lacking no perfection " must mean " comprehending
within itself the perfections of all other things "-not just the
top of the line, but Kant's Omnitudo Realitatis or Hegel's Absolute. And let's say "all possible things" (whatever "possible " might mean) . We shall see that Plotinus is willing to
call a being like this " infinite " in a certain sense, though not
simply or even mainly because of its comprehensiveness. But
as Plotinus rightly sees, the Omnitudo Realitatis is multiple,
sinoe reality is multiple. If such a conglomerate as this exists,
it surely belongs where he locaites it, in the second rank. The
ultimate Source of all things must be "infinite " for another
reason altogether, if infinite it is.

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JOHN H. HEISER

As I see it, the defeot in all these aocounts of infinite perfection lies in the fact that they are looking for a " positive
sense " of the term. Commentators on Plotinus appear to assume that there is such a "positive sense" and simply wonder
whether Pfotinus rnd or did not arrive at it. The best known
of aH discussions of this question, the " debate " between
Father Sweeney and Father Clarke, centered around whether
Plotinus's One was "intrinsically" infinite. Father Clarke
showed rather conclusively that the infinity of the One was
not a "mere extrinsic denomination" in Fwther Sweeney's
sense of the term, as if the One might he "merely finite intrinsically " for all we know. What prevented the debate from
being a total victory for Father Clarke, it seems to me, is that
the evidence Father Sweeney adduoed shows Plotinus's One
is not infinite in any "positive sense" either. And as Plotinus himself points out (V. 3 = 49, 14, 7 - 8), to speak negatively of the One is, in a different sense, to " speak about it
from the things that come after it." For Father Sweeney, who
saw this dearly enough, this was just another reason for calling the One's infinity "purely extrinsic." Apparently he expected an "intrinsic infinity" to be "positive." Father Clarke
was concerned with a larger issue-to defend the concept of
infinity that issues from negative theology. So it is unfortunate rthat he insisted on calling this a "positive infinity."
As I see it, this obscures the :veal insight of Plotinus and of
negative theology in general.

The Problem
From the time that the Pythagoreans began to envision the
infinite as needing ",limit" in order to constitute the world of
things, 3 the Greek mind was apt to understand the infinite in
a privative sense, as what lacked limit or definition and was
therefore incomplete. And however the old Ionians themselves
understood their "unbounded" physis, as soon as Aristotle
3 Aristotle, Physics U:L 4, 203a10-l2;
19; XIV. 3, 109lal5-18.

Metaphysics I. 5, 986al5-21; 987a15-

PLOTINUS

AND PLATO

57

came to identify that physis with what he called "matter," it
too tended to he thought of in this privaitive sense (see Physics
III. 7, 208al-4) .
Aristotle's own views on the infinite are explicit and unmistakable:
In the fourfold scheme of causes, it is plain that the infinite is a
cause in the sense of matter, and that its essence is privation, the
subject as such being what is continuous and sensible (ibid.
207b35-37) .

The infinite can only be said to " be " in the sense of potential being, and not unqualifiedly even in that sense, since it is
not a potential that could evcer be brought to full actuality (6,
206a8-M4). There can be no actual infinite, either in size or
number (7, 207a32-b20). It is potential rather in the sense of
a process (adding, dividing, temporal flow) that can go on,
so that" no matter how much you take, there is still the possibility of more" (6, 206b33-207al4). "Nothing is perfect
(teleion) which has no end (telos) , and the end is a limit "
UW7al3-l4) .
Aristotle finds this privative sense of infinite in Plato's
"great and small" (6. 206M4-29; cf. Metaphysics, I. 6, 987b
26-28) . The Philebus seems to bear this out. There, things
which aidmit of being " more or less " a:re shown to require
"limit " in order to enter into such definite ratios as " equal,"
"half," "double," etc. (26C-27C) . The same appears to be implied by Parmenides 158B-D, whe1'e the "other-than-ones"
a:re said to he " in themselves infinite in multitude " until they
partake of unity and thus receive limit.
But the Parmenides also uses the term "infinite" in another context. The one itself is " infinite " (apeiron) -both
the one of the first hypothesis, which is just one and nothing
else, and the one of the second, which is " one" and also "is." 4
4 The absolute one is apeiron because it can have no parts, and hence no
beginning, middle, or end, and so no limit ( 137D). The " one which is,"
just because it both "is" and is "one," must have these parts, each of
which in turn " is " and is " one" and thus has parts, and so on endlessly,
so that it must be "infinite in multitude" ( 142D-143A).

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JOlIN H. HEISER

Whatever Plato himself may have meant by this, he has set a
problem for Plotinus, who sees in these two " ones " his own
transcendent and originating principles of the universe-the
One and Intellect, the "one-being." Plotinus must find some
sense or senses of the term " infinite " that can properly apply
to these two " ones."

The Infinity of the One in VI. 9 = 9, 6
Plainly the One cannot be called " infinite " because it lacks
anything. But neither does Plotinus wish to take the One's
infinity in a purely negative
the way the voice is
called invisible," as Aristotle puts it (Physics III. 4,
-even though that sense is all Plato's 'argument requires. AU
Plato shows is that the term " limit " has no relevance to what
is absolutely one. Negations about Plotinus's One ,do not just
indicate irrelevance. They indicate the One's transcendence of
the predicates denied; it is " aboV'e " them and they are
"beneath " it. So since the term is not privative, and a merely
negative sense is inadequate, Plotinus must find a third sense.
I do not see how anyone who reads Plotinus could call this
thi11d sense " positive," so I shall call it a " transcending negative" sense. 5
It might seem even to an outsider that Plortinus has no
greait problem. Surely a principle that is " above " every form
of being-above being itself-and accessible to reason only
through negations must he called " infinite " from that fact
alone. Plortinus's own reasoning, it would seem, compels him
5 Plotinus
himself never explicitly distinguishes between a pure negation
and a transcending negation. Re is content to show that his negations do
not posit any "privation" in the One. They do not because they themselves
result from the denial of all "need." This is his point when defending his
denial of intellection in the One (VI. 7 = 38, 37, 24-31; cf. VI. 9 = 9, 6,
43-50; V. 6=24, 4, 1-4; 5, 1-11; III. 8=30, 11, 7-19). Still,
when there is question of "limits,'' it is one thing not to have or need limits
and another to exceed all limits. .As we shall see, this distinction begins to
appear as Plotinus attempts to distinguish the One's "infinity" from that
we must attribute to the point or to the number one. But the distinction
never becomes explicit.

PLOTINUS

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59

to call the One infinite. Since the meaning of a philosophical
term ordinarily emerges from the reasoning thait compels its
use, Plotinus ought to have no difficulty assigning a meaning
to the term in this case.
But if this is so, it is not apparent that Plotinus realized it
from the start. 6 And there really are difficulties. How does
one transfer " limit " and what is " beyond limit " from its
thought was moving in the direction
6 I will be claiming that Plotinus's
of St. Thomas Aquinas's notion of the infinite, although he never quite
reached it. As is well known, Aquinas held that the act of being, by which
a thing is, is limited by the essence into which it is received, so that an " unreceived" or " subsistent " Act of Being would on that account be " infinite."
He also numbers "infinite" among the negative attributes of God (see In
I Sent., d. 43, q. I, a. le; De veritate, 2, 2 ad 5; De potentia, I, 2c; Oontra
gentiles, I, 43; Summa theologioa, I, 7, I).
So I had best here take note of a claim made by some that Plotinus's
thought followed a more direct route than it in fact did. Witness the following: "Mais l'Un ne peut pas etre fini: 'par quoi serait-il limite?' (En.
V. 5, 10) .... En demandant a quoi l'Un devrait sa limite, Plotin affirme
implicitement que la limite a besoin d'etre justifiee, et qu'elle ne le peut que
par une decheance de l'etre. Le probleme du fini est pose et virtuellement
l'esolu dans le sense de saint Thomas." Thus Joseph de Finance, S.J., in
1JJtre et agir dans la philosophie de saint Thomas (2nd ed.; Rome: Librairie
editrice de l'Universite Gregorienne, 1960), pp. 47-48. Cf. Father Clarke's
expansion of this theme on pages 186-187 of "The Limitation of Act by
Potency: Aristotelianism
or Neoplatonism?"
in New Boholastioism 26
( 1952) : 167-194.
This Thomistic reading of Plotinus's question: "by what would the One
be limited?" seems warranted neither by the context nor by what Plotinus
habitually assigns as the cause of limitation. It is the higher which confers
limit on the lower by giving it form (see, e.g., V. l = 10, 7, 19 - 26; II.
4 = 12, 15, 18 - 23; 16, 5 -16; VI. 6 = 34, 18, 5 -11; VI. 7 = 38, 17,
14- 22). The context of V. 5, 10 would suggest that nothing can give the
One limit because it is the "first," and the source of all else. (Compare
lines 18-19 with an almost identically worded passage from a roughly
contemporaneous treatise--VI. 6 = 34, 18, 5 - 6 and the explanation which
follows the latter passage).
In order for something to be limited it must therefore be beneath the One,
but this is not to say that to be " limited" necessarily means to fall short
of the fullness of actuality. There is no question here of an " infinite source
and a limiting participating subject" such as Father Clarke professes to
find (p. 187). Despite this, I do not disagree with Father Clarke's main
thesis, that the "limitation of act by potency" is Neoplatonic.

60

JOHN H. HEISER

original spatial sense to a sense that is appropriate to the incorporeal? Plato did it by making "limit " mean "definiteness." And Plotinus had certainly read Aristotle's "nothing
is perfect that has no end, and the end is a limit." How can
"indefinite" or "imperfect" have any but a privative sense?
How could something be said to " transcend the perfect " ?
Anyway, for PJotinus the One is "perfect, and the most perfect
o.f all things " (V. 4 = 7, I, 23 - 24; cf. V. 5 = 32, 13, 36 38). How then can you call it apeiron?
Pfotinus's first attempt ait exegesis occurs in VI. 9 = 9, 6, I 11. Close reading of the text and contert makes it plain that
this is an e:xiegesis.7 He has not been foUowing a line of argument which compels him to conclude " therefore the One must
be called infinite." Instead he is explaining the sense the term
"infinite" must carry if one applies it to such an object as the
One has been shown to he. Plainly someone has applied itPlato undoubtedly-what can he mean?
He begins, ·as he usually does when 'attacking the term " infinite," by disengaging it from the spatial setting in which
Aristotle had so firmly plaiced it. 8 He does the same to the
related concepts of "one " and " great." The foUowing transfation is my own, as are all citations of Piotinus. When necessary they wiH be slavishly litel'.al:
What then do we mean by " one," and how is the term to be adjusted in our thought? We must hold the One to be
in a fuller
sense than the way the unit or the point get unity. In their case
the soul removes size and numerical plurality and ends up at a
7 By Proclus's
day, scholars had been discussing the infinity of the One
in the context of Plato's Parmenides, and schools of interpretation had
arisen (Proclus, Oommentarium in Platonis Parmenidem, Cousin ed., col.
1118, 9-33) . It could have been a school question even in Plotinus's day, if
we allow any weight to E. R. Dodds' findings in " The Parmenides of Plato
and the Origins of the Neoplatonic 'One'," The Olassical Quarterly 12
( 1928) : 129-141. See also John Whittaker, "Philological Comments," pp.
158-159 and notes 10 and 11.
s His use of the Aristotelian technical term adiewitetos (see Physics III.
4, 204al4) shows that he has Aristotle's analysis in mind. The term means
"not-completely-go-through-able."

PLOTINUS AND PLATO

61

minimum. True, it settle,s upon something without parts, but something that existed in the divisible and exists in another. But the
One does not " exist in another" (Parmenides 138A) nor among
the divisible, nor is it indivisible after the manner of an absolute:
minimum. It is the greatest of all things-greatest not in size but
in power .... The way we must understand its infinity is not as if
we could not reach the end either of its size or its number-<rather
we cannot circumscribe its power.

Infinity, then, implies " greatness," but greatness of power,
not extent. Now ,even Aristotle does not hesitwte to ascribe
"infinite power" to his Unmoved Mover (Physics VIII. 10,
266al0-b27; Metaphysics XII. 7, 1073a5-11). The motive
power of any corporeal cause will he exhausted in a finite time.
Hence the first moving c:mse must be incorporeal so as to
have the power to move the universe through endless time.
Aristotle is not here being inconsistent with his views on the
infinite in the Physics. Even though the subject of the "infinite power " is not " something continuous and sensible,"
still, a power is defined by its object, and its infinity is determined by the infinity of thait object. The infinite power of
Aristotle's God is the power to produce a temporally unlimited
movement-something
which is "continuous and sensible."
Thus " infinite power " reveals nothing of the inner essence of
the First Mov:er beyollld the foot .that it is not :a body or something of 1a body.
The relativ:e triviality of this sort of " infinite power " becomes apparent when contrasted with that of Plotinus's One.
P.lotinus aidopts Aristotle's, way of talking, but he has completely transposed the concept of power. The eternal circuit
of the heavens is among the least impressive of the One's
effects. The One is rthe "power of all things" (V. 4 = 7, 2,
38; V. 1 = 10, 7, 9 -10; ill. 8 = 30, 10, 1) . Its effect is not
just to keep the heavens in endless movement but to generate
the totality of being-the Platonic intelligible universe-and
thereby the visible universe as well, in one eternal explosion
of power.
Pfotinus habitually approaches the One through the world

JOHN H. HEISER

of Intellect and being it generates. 9 In order to be its source,
the One must be " beyond " and " above " this immensely rich
multiplicity. 10 So the expression "infinite in power" implies
a great deal about the inwardness of the One. Still, Pfotinus
has adopted the outward-looking term" power" to specify the
One's infinity, so that the term "infinite" stiU retains Aristotle's exrternal reference. There is no limit to what the One
can and does produce. If Plotinus has found a way to characterize the One in its own inwardness as " infinite," he has
not made it explicit. 11
E-v;entuaMy the " formlessness " and sheer unity of the One
will furnish Plotinus with a new and intrinsic, even though
negative, sense of the term "in:finiite." He had already alluded
to this formlessness earlier in the present treatise (3, 37-39),
but formlessness plays no part in his explanation of the term
"infinite." In V. l, the treatise immediately after VI. 9 in
9 I. 6 = 1, 4, 32 39; V. 9 = 5, 2, 24- 25; VI. 9 = 9, 3, 15 - 27; 5,
5-29; III. 8 = 30, 11, 33-37; V. 8= 31, 1, 1-6.
10 See esp. V. 4 = 7, 2, 34-44; VI. 9 = 9, 7, 18-21; V. 1=10, 7, 2126; V. 2= 11, 1, 1-6; III. 8 = 30, 9, 34-49; 10, 28-35; V. 5 = 32,
6, 1-15.
11 John Whittaker argues a thesis in "Philological
Comments " which, if
true, would make a futile exercise of much that will follow. If I understand him correctly, he claims that the Greek term apeiron has two "precisely opposite meanings "-that it "means " both "infinite in extent" and
also " infinitely small," or "infinitesimal."
I find nothing in his evidence
to warrant this extraordinary claim, but the reader will have to judge.
I take it that the primitive meaning of apeiron is "not having bounds"
(perata), that the primitive sense of "bounds" is spatial, that philosophers
may find analogous senses of the term " bounds," and that they may find
different reasons for denying "bounds " to something. Among these reasons,
one may be that a thing is unextended or otherwise without parts-not "infinitesimal," " unextended "-so that it has no "beginning, middle and end,"
and hence no "bounds." This is Plato's argument, and nowhere in any of
it does the concept of "infinitely small" or "infinitesimal" enter.
True, in VI. 9, 6 Plotinus talks of the mathematical point in terms which
suggest the infinitesimal but only to describe the process by which the mind,
in this (inappropriate)
case, reaches the notion of something "without
parts." This process may be infinite-not-completely-go-throughable"
in the
Aristotelian sense-but it is not the infinity of this process that justifies
calling the point itself "infinite "; it is the resulting "partlessness."

PLOTINUS

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68

Porphyry's chronology, he may seem to be taking this step in
chapter 7: "All things are from the One for the precise reason
that it is captured (cateicheto) by no form" (19-20). The
things that proceed from irt, on the other hand:
. . . are ousiai . . . for each of them is determined (horistai) and
has a sort of form. Being cannot oscillate in indefiniteness. It must
be
by limits and stability. But stability for the intelligibles
is definition and form, and it is through these that they achieve
subsistence (28-26) .

It is dear from this that to be such as to require limit and
form in order to subsist, under pain of being otherwise " indefinite "-infinite in a privative sense-is to be less rthan the
supreme. But to deny the need of a limit would appear to
yield at best a purely negative sense of infinity-" as sound
can be caill.ed invisible." What of lim'it itself-the intelligible
limit-is that not simply identical with perfection? Or is to
be "unlimited" to escape from some defect? This is not yet
clear. Irt wiH not become dear and explicit until Plotinus has
devoted considerable thought to the second level of infinity in
Parmenides-that of the" one-being."
lntelleot and Soul as Infinite
Parmenides 142D-148A raises a special problem for Plotinus.
Not only does Plato call the one-being "infinite," he calls it
" in£nite in
Perhaps Plotinus has read his Aristotle too well. At any rate he is uncomfortable with the suggestion that an ,a;ctuaNy existing multitude could be an infinite one.12 Yet he is convinced that Plato is here applying
12 Not only is multiplicity infinite, according to Plato, but number as well
( 144A). Plotinus discusses the infinity of things in V. 7 = 18, where he
seems to be arguing that in some sense there are forms of individuals. To
put some limit to the infinity this implies, he favors the theory of the
"eternal recurrence" (see 1, 10-13; 2, 17-23; 3, 14-19; and cf. VI.
I= 42, 1, 6-10).
As to number, he composed VI. 6 ·= 34, "On Numbers," ·partly to deal with
this question. "How is it number if it is infinite?" (2, 2) ; and "How can

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JOlIN H. HEISER

the term "infinite " to both Intellect and Soul.13 Plotinus himself never refers to either InteHect or Soul as "infinit'e in multitude " (apeiron to plethos) . Instead, consciously or not, he
changes Pfato's expression. These hypostases are "both infinite and a multitude" (apeiron te kai plethos-VI. 5 = 23,
9, 36- 37). This shifts the problem. Now it is not the multiplicity itself that is infinite, but the multiple being. In what
sense?
At times Plotinus answers this question in terms similar to
those he used of the One in VI. 9. InteUect and Soul are infinite in their "power." 14 But more frequently, he :finds another reason for calling these hypostases infinite, one which
relates to their mode of unity rather than to their power.
He expounds this sense of infinity for the :first time in VI.
4-5 = 22- 23, a set of treatises in which he examines the
relation of the intelligible universe to the sensible. In particular he examines how Soul, and therefore Intellect as well,
are present " entire in the whole and entire in eVoery single
part," to borrow a phrase from an earlier trewtise (IV 2 = 4,
such an infinite have existence and still be infinite? " ( 3, 1- 2). The answer is it cannot be infinite and still be a number, if by infinite you mean
the "indefinite" or the unlimited possibility of imagining one more than any
given number (18, 1-5; cf. 17, 1-14). Rather it is infinite "in the
sense that it is not measured. By what would it be measured? Rather, what
it is, it is as a totality, since it is one and all at once, and a whole as well,
and not confined by any limit, but it is what it is by itself. . . . What is
limited and measured is the sort of thing that needs to be held back by
measure from running off into infinity" ( 18, 6 - 11).
I have no very illuminating comment to offer on that, except that this
explanation is similar to his account of Intellect's infinity, as will appear.
But it is at least plo,usible there. How can it apply to infinite number?
·1s Plato calls the second one "infinite," but not the third (the "one-andmany" of 155E-157B; see V. 1 = 10, 8, 24 - 26; IV. 2 = 4, 2, 52 - 53).
Plotinus .applies the term both to Intellect, the "one-many," and to Soul,
"one-and-many," and for identical reasons, as will appear.
14 "How can the soul be infinite if it is fixed in its being? Its infinity is
in its power, meaning that this power is infinite, not as if it were divided
to infinity. After all, God too is not limited" (IV. 3 = 27, 8, 35 - 38; cf.
V. 7 = 18, 3, 21 -24; VI. 2 = 43, 21, 7 -11.)

PLOTINUS

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65

1, 65-66), a phrase which St. Augustine will bequeath to the
Christian theological trrudition.15
These treatises tend to be more rhetorical than scholastic,
and Plotinus does not make it clear and explicit that he is
defining a special sense of "infinite" there. This would explain something I find otherwise. inexplicable: why so many
commentators miss rthis sense of " infinite " altogether and remain convinced, despite massive 'evidence, that Plotinus is
talking only about "infinite power." I therefore ask the
reader's indulgence while I marshall the passages in which
Plotinus alludes to this sort of infinity. I will cirbe them all and
at length, because their cumulative effect is one of the strongest arguments for my interpretation of them. The first passage,
like his first reference to the infinity of the One, smacks of
e:x:egesis:
Therefore the fact that Soul is one does not do away with the
many souls, any more than being does away with beings. Nor
does the multiplicity in that world clash with its unity . . . the
many souls are distinct without standing apart, and they are present in one another without losing themselves .... The one Soul is
of such a nature as to contain all within itself. This is the way this
kind of nature is infinite. And this is how we must understand the
greatness of Soul, not in mass. Mass is small, and passes into
nothing if one starts removing parts. In that world there is no
such thing as removing parts-or if you did remove a part, no
deficiency would result. (VI. 4, 4, 84 - 5,. 8) 16
All souls are one in such a way as to be infinite as well.... Soul's
unity is not that of a quantity that can be measured; this is characteristic of that other nature which countexfeits unity and only
presents an image of unity by participation. That which is in
15 See, e.g., De immortalitate
animae 16; De trinitate V, 6; Flpistle 166, 2.
Saint Augustine applies the phrase to the individual soul and its body, as did
the medieval theologians after him. Plotinus's views on the relation of particular souls-including the World Soul-to Soul Universal (see IV. 9 = 8
and IV. 3 = 27, cc. 1-7) allow him to apply the same reasoning to all
Soul and the Universe as a whole.
16 The passage continues
with an allusion to an unusual expression in
Parmenides 144B3-4. He evidently had the Parmenides' account of the "onemany " in mind when he wrote these lines.

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JOHN H. HEISER

truth a unity is not put together out of many so that if you subtract anything from it the original unified whole is destroyed . . .
nor is it marked off by boundaries, so that, when other things are
added to it,. it would either ht: less for the fact that they make up
a greater quantity, or it would be torn apart in an effort to reach
their full extent .... If its unity is to be truly worthy of the name,
it
so that " one" can be predicated of it as an essential
must somehow be seen to have the nature opposite to itself-the
nature of multiplicity-in its own power. By thus having multiplicity not from outside but of itself, it will be really one, and in
its unity it will have a being that is both infinite and a miiltitude.
(VI. 5, 9, 12 - 37)
[The intelligible world] is one and infinite as well, and is all things
at once and contains each particular distinctly with a distinction
that is not separation. For how else coiild it be called infinite except because it contains all things at once-every life and every
soul and every intellect? And each of these is not cut off by
boundaries, and for this reason they are one as well. It would not
do for it to have only one life: it must have a life that is infinite
and yet one"-one in the sense that it has all these lives at once,
not heaped together into a unity, but taking their origin in a
unity and remaining in the source from which they arose--or
rather they did not arise,. but this is the way they have ever bee,n.
(VI. 4, 14, 3-12)
And how is [the intelligible] present [to the entire universe]? As
one life. For the life in a living thing does not extend only to a
point beyond which it cannot advance to the whole. It extends
everywhere. And if anyone is inquiring how, let him remember
that its power is not a certain quantity; divide it mentally to infinity and it always has the same power, fundamentally infinite.
For it does not have matter within itself, to make it diminish
along with the mass there is and thus become smaller. (VI. 5,
12, 1-7)

And finally a passage from a later treatise with a different
perspective:
Intellect is not the intellect of one individual, but is all Intellect.
Being all Intellect, it must be the knower of all things. So if it is
all, and of all, a part of it must also possess the entire and all
things. Otherwise it will have a part that is not intellect,. and it
will be composed of non-intellects and will be a heap piled together and waiting to become Intellect made up of all things. So it

PLOTINUS AND PLATO

67

is ako infinite in this way, and if anything derives from it there
is no diminution, either of what derives from it, since this is also
all things, nor of that from which it comes, since it was not some- 49) 17
thing put together out of pieces. (III. 8 = 30, 8,

It is evidenrt from the above passages that Intellect and
.are infinite because each, in its own way, is ".all things"
(panta) and an "aJll" or "universe" (pan) . But why should
that make a thing infinite? The visible universe is an " aill,"
and yet it is finite (Timaeus 30C-31B; 32C-34A). Plotinus accepts the finirtude of the visible universe without question (VI.
6 = 34, 2, 2 - 4; 17, 6 - 7; cf. V. 5 = 32, 9, 26 - 29) . How
could a disciple of Plato think otherwise? The intelligible universe must have a d:i:ff.erent way of being an "aH "-one that
permits it to be described as infinite. Evidently this is the incorporeal way which Plotinus elaborates in each of the selections when explaining the unity of this " all." The intelJigible
is an " all " which is one with a unity altogether superior to
that of the corporea;l " all."
In an earlier treatise alrewdy cited (IV. 2 = 4), he puts the
contrast between these two sharply and in detail:
There are things which are primarily divisible and by their very
nature sundered. These are such as have no part either identical
with another part or with the whole. One of their parts is necessarily less than the entire and the whole. These are sensible magnitudes and masses, each of which has its proper place, so that it
is impossible for the same thing to be in several places at once.
Opposed to this is ousia, admitting division in no way, partless and
indivisible, which has no extension whatsoever, nor does it demand
a place. (1, 11-

The defects in unity this passage attributes to bodily mulrtiplicity are eliminated on the level of ous-ia, along with their
consequences, if we are to believe Plotinus's account of ousia's
infinity. It is not" put together out of pieces" thait would be
"heaped together into a unity." It cannot be diminished by
u In this treatise, the relation of Intellect to the sensible universe is not
a consideration. See also VI. 7 = 38, 14, 11 - 23.

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JOHN H. HEISER

division into its parts, nor is it an aggregate to which you can
add more units and thus produce a greater quantity. Nor are
its constituent members separated by "boundaries." Instead,
in its own unity and self-identity it is " all of them at once,"
and this because they issue from its power. 18
Clearly an " all " of this description is free from the limitations of bodily multiplicity. If it is present .to the corporeal
(as Soul clearly is), there is nothing to prevent its being present " everywhere at onoe and as a whole." It need not becannot
over everything " like one sail covering
many people" (Parmenides 131B).
More than this. Aristotle argues rut length, both in the
Physics (III. 5) and in the De Coelo (I. 5-7), that the universe must necessarily be finite-an aggregate, finite in number, of bodies each finite in size. The argument appears to
hinge on just those charooteristics of bodies that Plotinus has
excluded from the intelligible. Remove these bodily conditions, and there is no longer any reason to call a universe
"finite." You can regard this from two points of view. As
the Philebus might put it, the universe, being sprutial, is capable of being "more or less." It consequently requires to be
given a" limit," in the sense of measure and number. The intelligible, on the other hand, is not susceptible of " more or
less " and consequently needs no limit of this sort. But you
can also take another perspective. I suppose it would be the
first to occur to us, and I do not think it was ·entirely absent
from Plotinus's mind, preoccupied as he was with the "all."
What is susceptible of " more or less," once given a limit, is
not the total of possibility. If there is in fact nothing beyond
the limits of the visible universe, this is due neither to the
intelligible nature of the line, the plane, the solid, nor to the
18 So there is an aspect of "power" involved.
The Plotinian genus is the
"power of its species " (or "parts ") and "makes" or " generates " them
(VI. 2=43, 9, 9-10; 10, 32-42; 19, 1-12, 35-42). "Power" in
the passage cited above in note 14 appears to have this as at least its primary
meaning.

PLOTINUS

AND PLATO

69

nature of spatially extended matter (VI. 6 = 34, 17, 5 - 15) .
The visible universe may be an actual " all," but it is not an
" all " of itself, nor is it all that is possible. The intelligible is
the "true all," not that " imitation " which men call the " all "
or "universe" (VI. 4 = 22, 2, l - 2) .
Removing bodily limits has a third consequence which has
rthe most significance for the present inquiry. The primary way
IV. Q characterized bodily disunity was to say that bodies
"have no pal't either identical with another part or with the
whole." Members of the intelligible universe are somehow
identical with one another-or " in " one another-and identical with the whole. As a consequence the "part" shares in
the infinity of the whole. Plotinus says this explicitly in V.
8 = 31, 9, 16 - 27:
He [the supreme God, or Intellect universal-there is a soul aspect
to a Plotinian god, but in this context it is the intellect aspect] is
one, and is all of them [the subordinate gods, each a particular
intellect], and each of them is the all; they are united as one,
differing in their powers, yet all are one by the unity of that manifold power. Rather, He, the one God, is all of them; for He loses
nothing when they come to be. They are all together, yet each is
apart by an interval which is not an interval, since none has sensible form. Otherwise one would be here and another somewhere
else, and each would not be all within himself. He does not contain different parts for the other gods and different for Himself,
nor is each of them a power that is cut up into parts, as it were,
and whose greatness could be measured by the sum of their sizes.
Rather it is a total power which goes to infinity; so great is He
that even His parts are infinite.

In VI. 4-5 the same doctrine takes on a more personal cast.
The individual, either through death or through death's rehearsal, philosophy, can become aware of his own infinity as a
member of the intelligible world:
Before our coming to be in this world, we existed in that other
world, men of another sort, some even gods-pure souls,, intellects
bound up with the entirety of ousia. We were parts of the intelligible-not fenced off or cut off, but belonging to the whole. In
fact even now we are not cut off. (4, 14, 17 - 22)

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JOHN H. HEISER

What is ours, and we ourselves, are reduced to being, and we go
back to it as we first came down from it. We have intellection of
the things there, not images of them or impressions. And if we
have not images, we are those things ... not by bringing them
down to ourselves, but by being ourselves in them. Since not just
we, but all others are those things, we all are those things. We,
and all together with us, are those things. Therefore all of us are
one. . . . At first one will not see himself as the all,. but then not
finding a point at which to call a halt and fix a limit to himself, he
will cease drawing a boundary to separate himself from the entirety of being, and he will go out to all of the all. (5, 7, 1-16) 19

V. 8, 4, 2-34 speaks of the gods and attendant souls of the
Phaedrus myth and what they contemplate in the " region
above the heavens " (247C-E) :
They see all things, not those things subject to becoming, but
those that have ousia, and themselves among the others. For all
things are transparent, and nothing is either dark or impenetrable.
Everyone:, and all things, are clear to every other one, down to
what lies within,. as light is to light. Each has all things in himself, and sees all things in every other, so that all things are everywhere, and all is all, and each is all, and infinite is the glory ....
In this world, one thing comes to be from one part and another
from another, and each thing is no more than a part; but there
each thing derives eternally from the whole, and is at once its
particular self and the whole. It gives the appearance of being a
part, but a sharp vision detects the whole in it .... The looker
sees and looks the more, and by gazing upon an infinite self and
infinite objects, he follows the bidding of his own nature. 20
10 Cf.

12, 16-19; III. 4 = 15, 3, 21-23; IV. 4= 28, 2, 10-14.
last two citations, as well as the earlier one from III. 8, 8, reveal that Plotinus's peculiar way of understanding the " one-many" owes
much to .Aristotle's contention that "the soul is in a way all things that
are" through intellect (De Anima III. 8, 43lb21) and that "in things
without matter, thought and what it thinks are identical" (ibid. 4, 430a3-4).
Plotinus treats the latter as a sort of school-maxim (see VI. 6 = 34, 6,
19-26, and cf. ibid. 15, 19-20; V. 9=5, 5, 30-31; V. 4=7, 2, 48;
VI. 7 = 38, 9, 26- 27). Bear in mind that for Plotinus the particular
forms of the intelligible world are not just "intelligibles," they are particular intellects (V. 9=5, 8, 1-3; VI. 7·=38, 9; ibid. 17, 25-39; VI.
2 = 43, 20, 1-3; 21, 1-6; and cf. V. 1=10, 9, 7-23). He seems to
take this as an obvious corollary of the identity of intellect and intelligible
as well as of the identity of part and whole in the noncorporea.l.
20 These

PLOTINUS AND PLATO

71

This is the point where the term " limit " assumes a new
meaning, and with it the term " infinite " or " unlimited." The
primitive spatial sense of " limit " implies the existence of
something " beyond " the limit. To be limited means to be
only so much and no more. Adopt Plato's way of transferring
the sense---make "limit " what determines the " more or less "
the idea of a " beyond " disapto be something
pears, except in the sense of an indefinite potential beyond the
actual. So also with Aristotle's "per£ection." In fact, that is
Aristotle's very point. What Plotinus has done is to restore to
the incorporeal sense of " limit " the implication of an actual
"beyond "-further actuality. If each member of the intelligible world were just "its own particular self," and not " at
once its particular self and the whole," they would each of
them fall short of the fullness of being. Ea.oh form of being, as
such, is a limitation of the fullness of being. The whole of
being " goes beyond " this or that form of being.
There is a subtle interplay of the quantitative and the entitative senses of the term "limit" in PiJ.otinus's account. In
point of fact, the intelligible
are not limited, since
each of them is one with the totality of being. It is the bodily
participants in being ibhat are thus limited. They are limited
quantitatively, so as to be but a part of the sensible" all," and
as a consequence they are also limited entitatively, so as to
havie only one form of being. Unlike the intelligible partiouiars,
which "derive eternally from the whole," they come to be
" one from one part and another from another," so that " each
of them is no more than a part." 21
Still, limit in this new sense exists in the intelligible as well.
An intelligible form is infinite only because it goes beyond the
"limits" of its own particularity, a particularity that is no less
n Cf. IV. 2 = 4, 1, 71- 76. What Plotinus is saying here becomes
clearer if we see it as the fruit of his reflection on Timaeus 30C-D. There
Plato compares the visible world, as containing all living beings, with the
" intelligible living being" which, in its way, "contains all intelligible living beings." See also the theme of the soul's descent into particularity in
IV. 8 = 6, 4, 10 - 21 and VI. 4 = 22, 16, 23 - 36.

JOHN H. HEISER

reaZ for being compri.sed in a higher unity. "The fa0t ithat Soul
is one does not do away with the many souls, any more than
Being does away with beings." And now that we can see the
intelligible limit too as a " denial o:f something more," the way
is open rto find a new meaning for the One's infinity as well.
Infinity and Formlessness
There is no way to determine when in his career Pfotinus
first saw a clear connection between the One's "formlessness"
and its aUeged infinity. I do not contend that it suddenly
dawned on him while he was composing VI. 4-5. The connecrtion may well have been in his mind when he wrote V. 1, 7.
But it does not appear unmistakably in his writings until
shortly after he finished VI. 4-5. He makes the connection first
in V. 5 = 82. Incidentally, this is the third in a connected sequence o:f treatises-III. 8 = 80, V. 8 = 81, V. 5 = 82, II.
9 =88 22-the first two o:f which expound the theme o:f Intellect's infinity and the infinity o:f its "parts." I have cited
both o:f them above. My point here is that this latter theme
:furnishes the logical ground for the new sense o:f infinity which
emerges in V. 5. It emerges first in chapter 6:
The ousia that is generated is a form (one would not refer to
something generated from that source as anything else). It is not
the form of a particular thing, but of the all, with nothing excluded. Therefore it is necessary that the source be formless.
Since it is formless, it is not ousia. Ousia must be a " this," and
such a thing is determined. But you cannot apprehend it as a
" this," for then it would no longer be the source, but only the
" this " you said it was. So if all things are contained in
being
that is generated, which of the things it contains will you call the
One? And since it is none of these things, it can only be described
as beyond them. But these things are beings and being. So it is
beyond being. The expression "beyond being" does not call it a
22 See Richard Harder, "Eine neue Schrift Plotins,"
Hermes 71 ( 1936) :
1-10; Plotino: Paideia antignostica.
Ricostruzione d'un unioo scritto da
JJJnneadi III 8, V 8, V 5, II 9, introduzione e comme11to a cura di Vincenzo
q1ento (Firenze: Felice le 14onnier, 1971),

PLOTIN'US

AND PLA'rO

73

" this," for it is not an affirmation, nor does it give it a name. It
conveys nothing but the negation of such talk. And in doing so, it
does not encompass the One. It would be absurd to seek to encompass that immense nature (ekeinen ten apleton physin perilambanein; £ - 15) .

A pleton is not the technical term apeiron but is a somewhat
poetical equivalent, partioularly in the context of " encompassing." That the One cannot be any of the things that proceed
from it is no new theme. 23 But now Plotinus is beginning to
relate this theme to the notion of infinity. The things that
prooeed from the One may, both collectively and individually,
be "infinite" in their own way, but this is by being multipleby constituting an " all." The One could not be any definite
thing except by being that thing alone and no other thing. If
it is to be infinite, then, its infinity must be of another order
altogether. It is infinite by being none of the things that proceed from it, but" beyond" them all as the source of all.
After this promising beginning, one with my thesis to propound would be hoping for something a bit different from
what he encounters in chapters 10-11, Plotinus's explicit treatment of the One's apeiria. This is the only other place in his
writings where he is unmistakably interpreting Parmenides
137D (or the only place, if you do not aiocept my case for VI.
9, 6). The verbal echoes place this beyond argument. 24 So possibly it is the text of Plato which leads Plotinus to follow the
line he takes.
Chapter ten closes with the earlier interpretation of infinity
which Plotinus never abandons (though candidly it has precious little support in the text of Plato) :
But neither is He limited. By what would He be limited? Yet He
is not infinite in th£: way size is infinite. What place is there
which He must reach, or what purpose would this serve, since He
2a See the passages

cited above, footnote 10.
Dodds, "Parmenides of Plato," p. 132, and H. R. Schwyzer's article
"Plotinos " in Paulys Realenzyklopadie
der klassischen Altertumswissensohaft, Band 21 (Stuttgart: Druckenmiiller, 1951), cols. 553-554.
24 See

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JOHN H. HEISER

has need of nothing? Rather it is as a power that He has infinity.
For He never changes, nor is anything lacking to Him, since beings which lack nothing exist through Him (18 .25
Chapter eleven carries the theme forward:
The term " infinite " applies also in the sense that He is not more
than one, nor is there anything which something of His might
border on (mede echein pros ho ho'l'iei ti ton heautou) . By being
one, He has no measure, nor is He involved in number. Therefore
the One is bounded neither with respect to another thing nor with
respect to Itself (out' oun pros allo oute pros hauto peperantai) for in the latter case it would be twofold. It has no shape either,
since It has no parts; nor does It have form (1- 5).
This is a crucial passage. Plotinus is specifying a second
reason for calling the One infinite, a reason derived from its
sheer unity rather than its power. But the passage is disappointingly cryptic.
Plotinus does not eqtl!ate absence of" shape" (schema) and
of" form" (morphe) with" infinity" or derive the latter from
the former. He treats them as distinct, though related, aspects of the One, as does the original text of Plwto (Plotinus
adds "form" to Plato's "shape"). One could wish he had
clarified their rel,ationship. The Parmenides infers the "infinity" of the one simply from the absence of " parts." " Measure " and " number " do not enter the argument. It is the
Philebus that tells us (25A-B) measure and number are what
give limits to a plurality.
There is a difficulty with Plwto's argument, if one wishes to
interpret tihe Parmenides as P1otinus does. ':Dhe argument applies just as well to such unities as the point and the numerical unit, and these are infinite only in the sense I have called
" negative." We saw Pilotinus .anxious ,to dristinguish the One
from rthese in VI. 9, 6. There he took the line that the One's
Unity must be compatible with a sort of " greatness." Here
he just says not only that the One cannot be meaSJUredor numbered, but also rthat it is not bounded by any other thing. The
25 On

the question: "By what would He be limited? " see above, note ti.

PLOTINUS

AND PLATO

75

reason for this latter is given in ironicail terms. The phrase
" horizein pros ti " means " border on something " (as Macedonia borders on Thrace), and of course the One does not have
" things of His," " regions," so to speak. But irony aside, the
conrtext (chapters nine and ten) makes it plain that the One's
solitary transcendence as the source of all things prevents
"any of it from bordering on anything." 26
The metaphor unmistakably alJludes to that " beyond "
which " infinite " impli.es and " infinite " denies for most of us
-the " beyond " which Plotinus restored to the concept of an
incorporeal " limit." The One might be finite if it were a plurality itself or a member of a larger plurrulity. It can be neither
of these things and still be the source of all that is.
This distinguishes the One from the point or the numerical
unit, but does it yield anything more than a negative infinity?
Perhaps not taken in itself, but in its argumentative contextthe movement beyond the many to the One-it does. Plotinus
is denying a condition that prevuils at the lower level where
being divides into its various forms. Each of these is only one
of the many forms of being, "bounded" by other forms, a
26 I do not think denying the One is "bounded with respect to itself" is
just a corollary of denying it has measure or number. If it were, the added
reason: "for in that case it would be twofold" would scarcely fit. It must
instead be an af.terthought designed to eliminate one last possibility.
It is difficult to say what it would mean for the One to be "bounded with
respect to itself." I think that the construction of pros hauto pepera.ntai is
influenced by pros ho· horiei etc., and that I would have been justified in
translating it " bounded by itself." I suspect Plotinus is following the pattern of disjunctive reasoning that characterizes the first hypothesis of the
Pa.rmeniaes. Consider the following example, which immediately follows
Plato's denial of "limit " and " shape," and to which Plotinus alluded in
VI 9, 6:
" .•. it cannot be either in another or in itself. If it were in another, it
would be encompassed all round by that in which it was contained .... If it
were in itself, it would have, to encompass it, no other than itself . . . and
so, in that case, the one would be no longer one, but two" ( 138A-B; Cornford's translation).
For something to " be in itself" has the same sort of odd ring ,as for it
to be "bounded by itself." Both seem to be added to eliminate a logical
rather than a real possibility.

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JOlIN H. HEISER

contraction of the fuMness of being. To deny limit in ,this sense
is to deny its proper effect as well. If " all things " are constituted a plurality by limiting forms that contract their being,
then their transcendent Source not only is without such limits
(negatively infinite) ; it escapes such limits and is transcendingly infinite.
This may be implied by V. 5, 11, but it is by no means apparent or explicit there, thanks, as I think, to the influence of
·the Parmenides. The One of the Parmenides, after aill, cannot
be said in any sense to "escape " or " transcend " limit. The
transcending sense of the One's infinity, forieshadowed in V. 5,
appears unmistakably in VI. 7 = 38, the treatise which devotes more attention then any other to the One's formlessness,
and relates it most dearly to infinity. The theme occurs first
in chapter seventeen. Piotinus is explaining how the multiplicity and variety of forms in Intel1ect can derive from a
source which does not contain multiplicity and arise in an Inte1lect which, before it was filled with forms, was itself devoid
of multiplicity:
When it looked at the One it was indeterminate,. It looked there
and was limited (horizeto), even though the One has no limit
(horon). Immediately upon looking towards a one, it is limited
by this one, and has within itself boundary (horon), limit (peras)
and form (eidos). The form is in
thing shaped; the shaper
was itself unshaped (amorphon; 14-18).

The question: how can the many come from the one? has
thus become: how can limit come from what is not limited?
Plotinus describes the " limiting " of Intellect here in much
the same terms he used in V. 1, 7. Until filled by the One, Intellect is (privatively) unlimited. The One "limits " it. Plotinus is mme explicit here that the absence of aH limit in the
One is a condition of :its doing this. l£ he had developed the
reason for this, we would have V. 5's second sense of "infinite."
But from all we can 'tell here the " infinity" of the One might
be the same merely negative kind that was all one could derive from V. L

PLOTINUS AND PLATO

77

It is more than this, of course. Chapter twenty-eight indicates as much by the" escape" metaphor.
And indeed the nature of the Good escapes altogether from matter, or rather it never in any way was near it. It has escaped into
the nature without form, from which the first form derives. But on
this subject we will speak later. (26- 29)

"Later" is chapters thirty-two and thirty-three. Although
eruch thing derives its goodness, proximately, from its form,
still form itself represents a defoct in comparison to the formles:s Good itself. The relation of formlessness to infinity is put
beyond doubt, with 1echoes from the Parmenides:
One who has reached the beautiful must look to see whence these
things and their beauty. This source cannot be any one of the,m.
It would then be only one of their number and would be a part.
Neither then will it be this or that form or some power; nor, for
that matter, will it be all the things that are generated and exist
on that level. It must instead be above all powers and above all
forms. The Source is the formless-not that which needs form,
but that from which all intellectual form derives .... Thus It is
none of the beings and all of them-none, because beings are
posterior to It; all, because all things come from It. With the
power to produce all things, what magnitude will it have? It will
be infinite. And if infinite, It can have no such thing as magnitude.
Magnitude belongs among the things that come much later. For
what of It could something equal, when that something was in
no way the same as It? To say It extends to always and to all
things is not to assign measure to It, or lack of measure either,
for how would it measure other things? It does not have shape
either. If there was something desirable whose shape and form
you could not grasp,. it would be supremely desirable and lovable,
and your love would be without measure. Love, even in this
world, has no limit because neither has the object of love. Love
of this object would have to be infinite. Consequently Its beauty
is of another order and is beauty above beauty. (32, 4-29) 21
·21 Cf .. 33, 14-22, with echoes from the Philebus: "Bring something to form,
and show it to the soul, and the soul looks beyond it for something elsethe thing that gave it form. Reason testifies that what has form, and the
form itself and the idea are all measured; this means that they are not
entirely self-sufficient or beautiful of themselves, but are mixed. Beautiful
things must be measured, bu.t n.ot the truly beautiful, or rather the above-

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JOHN H. HEISER

This is a passage befitting one of the most elevated and
eloquent of Plotinus's treatises. But amidsrt the rhetoric the
reasoning is plain. The One is both formless and infinite for
rthe identical reason-its solitary transcendence as the source
of all things. It might seem that PJotinus is here representing
the One's infinity as an infinity of power. But that is not what
he 'says. Rather, nothing is more powerful rthan the One or
equal to it, and this is its infinity-its solitary eminence as
the "power of all things."
I said above that the infinite power of the One implies a
great deal about the inwardness of the One. It is high time to
point out that what it implies is precisely the inner infinity of
the One. Infinite power means the power to produce the
" a11." And the One is seen to be infinite in itself from the fact
that it is the source of the "all "-the" power of all things"and consequently above the all. So these two senses of infinite unite--not a surprising development consMering the
unity we are dealing with. But formless infinity proves to be
the sense that has priority.

Conclusion
It should be apparent by now that my interest in this topic
is more than antiquarian. It is notoriorus1 that those who examine the thoughts of phil.osophers out of a properly philosophical interest are liable to distort those thoughts. I hope I
beauty. And if so, it cannot have any form or be a form. What is primarily
beautiful, the first, is therefore formless, and that is what beauty is-the
nature of the Good."
Cf. also VI. 8 = 39, 9, 34-43: "What would he say who had ascended
above Intellect and gazed upon what is there? That it just 'happened to
be' as he saw it to be? No, it does not 'happen to be' in any way-' happen' does not apply at all, only 'thus' and 'no other way but thus.' But
not even 'thus ' applies. With this term you would have defined it, making
it a 'this.' One who sees it is not entitled to say it is ' thus,' or for that
matter that it is 'not thus.' Which of the beings are you going to call it?
'Thus' applies to them. Once you see it as other than all things that are
'thus '-as mfinite rather-you will be able to enumerate all the things
that come after it and say it is none of them."

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PLOTINUS AND PLATO

have not been guilty of this. However fast and loose such
giants as Aristotle or Hegel may play with the history of philosophy, we pygmies, I think, ought to concentrate our efforts
on understanding a philosopher in his own terms, on the chance
he may see something we do not. Still, I should like to present
what I take to be :the significance of Plotinus's achievement on
the subject of infinity.
Plotinus has found reasons for ca:Hing both Intellect, the
" one-being," and the One " above being" infinite. He thought
this necessary becaiuse he believed thrut Plato's Parmenides
did the same. Plato undoubtedly does say :that a pure unity
must be " infinite," as must something which is both " one "
and" being." Some might think that Plotinus misinterpreted
the purpose of the Parmenides and therefore take his exegesis
to be " great strides in the wrong direction " with small benefit
to philosophy. I do not think things are quite that simple.
Whatever Plato's real purpose may have been, his arguments,
both in rthe Parmenides and in the Soph'ist (242C-245E; 252E258E; 259C-260B) , raise real problems for anyone who holds
that the ultimate source of the universe must be an unqualified
unity. Anyone who takes these problems seriously soon finds
himself deeply involved in a metaphysics of the one. Plotinus
has carried the ooncept of a transcendent infinite about as far
as a metaphysics of the one can take it; and this is a long way,
for the concept of a transcendent infinite largely is the product
of a metaphysics of the one and of the negative theology that
issues from it.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this study, Plotinus's account of how the "one-being" is infinite resembles more recent attempts, stemming from Descartes, 28 to establish a
1

:28 Descartes did not originate the notion of "infinite in a positive sense."
That goes back to later medieval theology (see Etienne Gilson, History of
Ohristian Philosophy in the Middle Ages {New York: Random House, 1955),
pp. 448-449). But Descartes bequeathed it to the modern world {see Meditation III, .Adam-Tannery ed. VII, 45, and his reply to Gassendi, Med. iii # 4).
Intellect's infinity is not in every respect positive; "infinite" is after all

80

JOBN H. HEISER

"positive sense " of " infinite." The inteHigible world, the
unity of all forms of being, is a true " all," so one and comprehensive thait "even its parts are infinite" through their
identity with the whole. Nevertheless these forms remain different forms of being, each of them in itself a limitation of
being, not as defining perfection but as limiting contraction.
This is how they constitute that multiplicity which is " being,"
and it is why "being," the complex of forms, cannot be the
ultimate origin of things. That origin must "escape" form
and be infinite for that reason. This, I submit, is a negative,
not a positive, sense of infinite; it is knowing the One " from
the things that come after it," by denying their limits.
A question still remains. So the One is infinite: an infinite
what? Not, surely, "infinitely one"? Plotinus would argue
that the question itseH involves a contradiction, since "what"
asks for a determination, and a determination is a limit. 29 But
turn the question round, and, without assuming you can say
" what " the infinite is, ask rather: so the finite are finite;
finite in what? If it turns out that the finite are finite in being,
and if this is itself due to " what " they are-to their determination-and if the " transcending negative" is meant to
deny just this sort of defect, then there ought to be some way
we can describe the One as " infinite in being " without supposing we are thereby determining it. The :reader will no doubt
have surmised I envisage the Thomistic way, which holds that
the act of being is not " what" any finite thing is.
But I believe we can learn something more from Plotinus.
Negations would appear to be logically parasitic on affirmaa negative term. Plotinus's account of it involves denial of bodily conditions.
Descartes too begins by denying the defects he finds in himself. But for
Descartes this is only to uncover the innate idea of supreme perfection that
makes such denial possible. Plotinus's denial of bodily division is also
grounded on the positive-a supposed direct grasp of the intelligible world
which leaves the negative behind. In ascending to the One, the mind cannot leave the negative behind without transcending itself as well.
29 See V. 5 = 32, 6, 20 23 and the passage from VI. 8 cited above in

note 27.

PLOTINUS

AND PLATO

81

tions. If our rational account of the Infinite is achieved
through negation, what grounds this negation? How does the
mind trans,cend the finite in order to deny it, if there is no
prior affirmative knowledge of the Infinite? Or, to put it in
terms of the Sweeney-Clarke debate, how can infinity be con"? Plotinus atceived negatively and stiH remain
tributes this transcendence to Intellect's "desire," which exceeds its capacity to understand and is a prior condition of
that capacity. 30 I 'believe he is right.

so V. 6 = 24, 5, 8 -

20 -

27;

9; III. 8 = 30, 11, 7 -

v. 3 = 49, 10, 50 -11, 6.

9; 22 -

25; VI. 7 = 38, 35,

HUME'S DIALOGUES AND THE REDEFINITION
THE PHILOSOPHY OF RELIGION
GEORGE

ScHNER,

OF

S.J.

Regis College
Toronto, Ontario

HETHER ONE IS rethinking the content of a
course and the place of one's study in the context of
a broader curriculum, or whether there is a moment
of fundamental questioning which grows out of rereading a
classic text or engaging in contemporary debates, such moments of questioning are essential. This essay proposes one of
those simple and general questions: in what does the work of
the philosophy of religion consist? My consideration of the
question, as will become evident, is an exercise in prolegomena,
and after this brief introduction there will be two parts to my
essay in which the context for a full answer to the question
will be explored, before a summary conc1usion will propose an
agenda for ful1ther work. Though concept clarification is essential to philosophical reflection, attention to historical development is of equal importance. The two inner parts of this essay
will give attention to both, first by discussing a specific texrt
and ,author, and then by sorting out some fundamental matters of definition.
My choice of a classic text and context is David Hume's
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. 1 Such a choice is not
to imply that the philosophy of religion begins there or that
Hume's notion of either philosophy or religion is: somehow
normative. On the contrary, I am entering rthe story in mid1 Dialogues Oonoerning N aturai Religion,
ed. R. H. Popkin (Cambridge:
Hackett Publishing Co., 1980). References will be indicated within the text
by page number.

88

84

GEORGE SCHNER,

S.j.

stream and am not of the mind that any philosophy is definitive. However, I wish to propose a reading of Hume's text
which can be very helpful not only to understand what he is
about but also to encourage a rethinking of what the philosophy of religion should be about.
Simply as a text, Hume's Dialogues is intriguing. He withheld its publication on the advice of seveml of his friends and
continued to revise it until his death, altering nearly every
page styJistica1ly and substantively changing all hut four sections. :Before he died, he ensured that his nephew David
would have the work published and was busy with some of the
most lengthy additions to the text in the last months before
his death. 2 The work and its contents dearly remained a matter of importance and preoccupation for Hurne, and both the
contents and form of the text present essentials of Hume's mature thought.
The apparent meandering of the text, as a dialogue among
the characters Cleanthes, Philo, and Demea, belies its careful
construction. Despite Cleanthes' accusation that Philo proposes his notions in a " rambling way," the logic of the text
is a masterpiece of exposition, movement, internal reference,
and cumulative rhetorical effect. David Livingston has recently discussed the
and narrative character of Hume's
writing considered in general as a philosophy of "common
life." 3 Hume is seen as both the critic of false philosophy and
the artificer of the true by means of the application of his principles of the association of ideas, of nrutural beliefs, of sympathy. In both efforts, Livingston finds Hume increasingly
employing narrative aocounts and dialectical argument as he
develops his ,thought, until in the Dialogues "inquiry is cut
free of all systematic constraints and allowed to proceed on its
own." 4 I find the insight into Hume's paradigmatic use of
2 These and other details concerning the Dialogues can be found in Ernest
C. Mossner, The Life of David Hume (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980).
s D. W. Livingston, Hume's Philosophy of
Life (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), esp. chapter two.
4 Livingston, 43.

HUME .AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

85

the narrative structure of historical inquiry a helpful clue, but
I wouJd modify Livingston's assertion of the abandonment of
systematic constraints in the Dialogues. Hume's corrective of
speculative systems does not mean that his own text is devoid
of a logic or ol'der quite in keeping with the demands of narrative structure, common life, and the past-entailing aspects
of language as story-lruden. Nor is his suspicion of the use of
systems of thought in the hands of " sagacious divines " simply the beginning of a critical philosophy of religion whose
principal efforts are to unmask the very tentative rational
character of religion. Perhaps an alternative understanding of
religion is operative here that can be developed in keeping
with the narrative logic at work.
In part, the purpose of this essay is to expose the details of
the skillful structure of the Dialogues and engage in some discussion of the ' system ' to be found there and the ' religion '
it points to. Though divided by Hume himself into twelve
parts preceded by an introduction, I propose that the text can
be read as consisting of four parts: an introductory section on
method, content, and the cast of characters, as in a play; a
section locating what follows as the relation of religion to culture generally; a third major section on alternative metaphors
for the god-world-self relation, which includes his discussion of
the various forms of the a posteriori and a priori proofs of the
·existence and nature of God, and his discussion of human suffering; and a final section relating religion and morality, which
returns the discussion to the relation of religion and education
in common life.
For those familiar with the typical textbook on philosophy
of religion, the topics contained within the Dialogues seem to
havie become somewhat normative for a certain group of such
texts. The tables of contents of such textbooks regularly address such issues as faith and reason, proofs for the existence
of God, God's attributes, revelation, the religious use of language, the religious dimension of experience, the problem of
religion and morality, religion and society. While such

86

GEORGE SCHNER, S.J.

terts have adopted the topics of Hume, they have more generally failed to adopt his preference for the narrative character
of common life and instead have rtaken as nonnative the language of a particular science or philosophy as the context for
their investigations. The degree to which such a framework for
discussing the issues has preferred the theory-faden to the
story-laden character of cultme and language casts the typical
issues of philosophy of religion in quite a different context
from the one in which we find them in the Dialogues.
A second purpose of this essay, then, is to explore an often
ov;erlooked yet essentia;l character of Hume's itext as a classic
which could be helpful to the philosophy of religion, not merely for a list of topics to be discussed but for ·certain presumptions about method and its :rela;tion to conitent, about the definition of both philosophy and :religion themselves, and about
the issues whi:oh undei1lie and unite the disparate rbopics contained in the Dialogues. 5

-IIronically, Hume p])oposes that a dialogue form will enliven
what could be quitie duU in a systematic presentation and deal
ably as well with the obscurity 1and uncertainty of the topic at
hand: the nature of the divine being. Hume will return seven
mom times to the matter of systems: first, throughout Part I
ithe problems of systems of thought, sioiences, and their first
principles, are severely challenged (3-12); at the end of Part
IV where a system of ideas is judged not more satisfactory an
5 A lengthy commentary will more successfully unfold the detailed evidence
for my reading of the text and engage the secondary literature as a whole
and in detail. Among the several thousand entries in both Hume bibliographies and in the yearly list in Hume Studies, some 200 entries might be
judged obviously pertinent, though none deal principally with its structure.
The lengthy studies most useful are: Anders Jeffner, Butler and Hume on
Religion (Stockholm: 1966) ; J. A. C. Gaskin, Hume's Philosophy of Religion (London: Macmillan, 1978); Norman Kemp Smith, The Philosophy of
David Hume (New York: Macmillan, 1964); and Stanley Tweyman, Scepticism and Belief in Hume's Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion {The
Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1986).

HUME .AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

87

ultimate cause than a material one (33); third, at the end of
Part V where having no system is judged preferable to having
an unsettled one (38); fourth, the end of Part VI where skepticism, polytheism, and theism are all " on a like footing "
(43) ; fifth, at the end of Part VIII where the statement is
made that all religious systems have "insuperable difficulties"
and that " no system ought ever to be embraced with regard
to such subjects (53);" sixth, in Part XII, where the suspense
of judgment, the rejection of false systems, and the comparison
of the sev,erail "systems" of thought present in Part III (a
seventh instance,
and now presented with precision
dialectically
are presented just before the final resolution of the Dialogues in Hume's definition of religion in relation to morality. Part VII does not have a similar direct reference to the matter of systems, other than rthe mention of a
" system of cosmogony " (45) . However, I would oonsider
Cleanthes' assertion that " we must stop somewhere " (47)
and ultimately make a choice of first principles or ultimate explanations as bringing forward the axiom Philo has already
stated: " When you go one step beyond the mundane system,
you only excite an inquisiti¥e humor which it is impossible
eV'er to satisfy" (31). Hume's judgment about systematic
thought seems dear, anrd we shou1d read his skcepticism about
the reality of the tr:ansoendent as part of this pervasive hesitancy about systemrutic philosophic thought.
Two matters now a;rise: first, rthe term " system " deserves
a short note, and second, the notion of a "choice " here expressed wiH be developed to carry my exposition forward.
Conoerning the term " system " it is helpfuJ to a:11ude to its
double usage in the Dialogues, as both 'system of thought'
and 'system of the world.' It seems obvious that Hume cannot intend a simple isomorphism of thought and world, and
the very movement of the whole second section of the Dialogues is a presentation of a series of alternative construals of
the world, involving a progressively less personal and rational
transcendent dimension. Thus within the sections on the argu-

88

GEORGE SCHNER, S.J.

ment f:mm design, as to both order ,and teleology, I detect a
series of optional metaphors being proposed, ordered according to a principle of increasing coincidence of the transcendent
with the immanent, with the entire series consisting of options
ea:oh with its own difficulties but ea:ch available for choice
upon yet another principle.
A due to the resolution of the urge to go beyond the mundane, to resolve the ambiguities, is surely found at the end of
Part IX, when Philo asserts that it is only persons of a " metaphysical he&d " who find the argument a priori a convincing
one (57). The references to an unwarranted transfer of
strategy from mathematics to matters of natural religion is
surely a reference to rationalist metaphysics of a Cartesian
sort. We might remember, too, that Kant will confront the
fol.'ce of such a remark in his :first Critique, nonetheless leaving
rational theology an empty affair. Whatever the case for intertextuality might be, Hume's text clearly does not hold that
the obscurity of religious matters can ever be ul.timately
clarified, and the references in this paragraph of two sentences
in Part IX of the Dialogues lea;d us to the second and third
chapters of the Natural History of Religion. 6 Several phrases
and words are of particular importance: " abstrnct reasoning,"
" metaphysical head," " habit of thinking," " good sense,"
" inclined to religion," " deficiency in arguments," and " other
sources." Let me briefly recall the context of the History in
which these matters are discussed.
Hume published the History in 1757, and also had completed the firsrt draft of the Dialogues about the same time.
The passages of particular importance for the present matter
are found at the end of chapter two and the beginning of
chapter three. Hume argues that 1the origin of religion does
not lie in the faculty of reason, and, in a passage comparable
to chapters three and four of Freud's Future of an Illusion,7
6 David Hume, The Natural History of Religion, ed. H. E. Root, Stanford:
Stanford University Press, 1956.
trans. J. Strachey (New York; W. W.
7 S. Freud, Future of an Illusion,
Norton and Co., 1961).

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

89

describes the emotional life of humanity and the inevitable
rise of a search for the transcendent. In the fo.1lowing chapter,
this time a preview of the latter part of Schleiermacher's second speech in On Religion, 8 Hume briefly describes the work
of the imaginrution in the development of the initial urges to
religion. A rational, in the sense of logically argued and evidential, exposition of the reality of the transcendent is not possible, but a notion and sense of the transcendent constructed
by the creative imagination is possible as an answer to a true
human need.
men's
Religious principles, what Hume will call
dreams," are not straightforwardly a matter of abstract rational choice. On the contrary, the motive and drive behind
their construction are the appropriate union of passion and
imagination in a search for and naming of the " unknown
causes" which are the "constant object of our hope and
fear." Religion seems, then, dependent upon both the passions
and imagination of human beings in that effort of narrative
discourse which Livingston claims is at the heart of Hume's
understanding of the human enterprise. Undoubtedly, it is to
Hegel that the philosopher of religion must look for a full,
conscious exploration of the relrution of imagination, narrative,
and the passion which is, for Regel, the inner dynamic of the
dialectic of self, other, and absolute Spirit, which all weave together the design which is internally religious.
A lengthier study could explore the relation of Hume's nortions of the imagination and the passions to the matter of religion. The suggestion here is merely that a treatment of arguments for the nature and existence of God is not essentially a
matter of the assessment of abstract or contextless reasonings.
That is not to suggest 1that such arguments or construruls of
the world and the companion image of God would he any more
likely to prove anything when so considered. Nor am I surreptitiously suggesting that Hume's text will somehow ultis F. Schleiermacher, On Religion, trans. J. Oman (New York: Harper and
Row, 1958).

90

GEORGE SCHNER, S.J.

mately defend religion, let alone Christianity. Rather, I am suggesting that attention to the rudimentary construal of religion
at the beginning and end of the Dialogues wiH not only heip to
make better sense of the Dialogues themselves but contribute
to a mol'e useful study of religion by philosophy.
Returning to the text, then, I will set aside the seven parts
on the a posteriori argument, the single part on the a
argument, and the two parts discussing the suffering of humanity and will attend to the disoussions of the :first and final
parts where the definition of religion is primary. The weight of
the other parts, the import of their conclusions, is to be understood only in the context of the definition of religion and its
relation to education, piety, and culture. 9
Both Parts I and XII distinguish religion ,as piety from the
theories proposed by the theologians and philosophers concerning the reality of God. No longer is theology pl,aced at the
apex of the ascending trivium and quadrivium, a reference to
the medieval sensibilities then being set aside as Aristotle and
Aquinas gave way to Newton and Descartes. Rather, religion
is to be rthe s1lent partner of morality, a habirtua!l reverence to
be taught early to tender minds, the inclination which is always far more effective than " the most pompous views sugges'ted by theological rtheo:ries and sysi::ems" (83) . The " assuming arrogance " of philosophy will be no threat to habits
long established in the heart. Both false philosophy and false
religion must be rejected in favor of the 011der and demands
of the common life.
It is to be expected, then, that in both the first and the last
parts of the D'ialogues (and elsewhere) there are to be found
discussions of the possible " systems " of thought: stoic, platonist, aristotelian, and skeptical; possibilities are again laid out
9 Similarly, chapters four through ten of the Natural History of Religion,
which detail the absurdities of historical religions and their fundamental
similarity as to tenets, expression, and external relations, present a series of
metaphorical and narrative developments of the fundamental definition of
:religion presented in chapter two and three, with the imagination as a link
between the two.

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

91

m part m under the names of dogmatism, skepticism, stupidity, good sense, and mysticism (and even atheism, if we add
;to the list C1eanthes' remarks at the beginning of P.art IV) ;

and reprised in Pa11t XII with diwlecrticalprecision, when Hume
contraists theist 1and atheists, skeptics and dogmatists, each pair
dissimilar only by verbal disputes. In conjunction wirth these
systems three options seem to be available: first, the option of
an arbitrary adoption of one or other as advantageous to the
domination which the divines wish rto ensrure; second, the dismissal of such systems' demands as voiced by C1eanthes' when
he says simply: " I have found a Deity; and here I stop my
inquiry" (82); and thfrd, :the alliance of religion with no system and its silent operation in connection with the morality
of our ,common life.
To engage just two commentators, I might note here that
both Gaskin and Tweyman conside,r at length just where
Hume's own convictions lay among these alternatives, and
commentators generally a:cknow1edgeHume's pre£e11enoo for a
mitigated skepticism, though even that is to be held " diffidently." When it comes to defining religion, however, Gaskin and
Tweyman arrive at opposite conclusions: Gaskin, that belief
in God is not a natural belief or an irrational one, but " a reasonable belief with minimum content; " 1 ·0 and Tweyman, that
"belief in an intelligent designer of the world satisfies all the
criteria of a natural belief .and, therefore, must be regarded as
being such a belief." 11
I should think that a great deal depends upon the settlement of this issue. It might resolve itself into the intricacies
of the transcendental philosophy of Kant, in which such a
" natural belief " is understood to be a regulative belief, forever empty, yet open to an inevitable anthropomorphism
which, oddly, Kant allows at the end of rthe " Appendix to the
Transcendental Dialectic " on " The Regulative Employment
10 Gaskin,

Hume's Philosophy of Religion, 126.
Skepticism and Belief, 132.

:1.1 Tweyman,

GEORGE SCHNER, S.J.

of the Ideas of Pu11e Reason." 12 The work of the imagination
of the inner parts of the
is evident in this first so1ution, and
Dialogues might be considered instances of the perhaps infinite
variety of possible constma:ls of a mere ideal of veason, to use
Kant's terminology. Or, we might follow out the matter in an
Hegelian or Schleiermachian fashion, variousJy disposing of
the work of the imagination and the normativity of any one
metaphor or image. If, on the other hand, Gaskin is correct,
and belief in God is not a natural belief, what does it mean to
say thait it is a reasonab1e belief, and what is left of it once the
inner parts of the Dialogues have been considered? Gaskin's
own conclusion is that Hume is an " aHenuated deist " who
clearly does not acknow!ledge the existence of the Christian
God (or any other historic religion's god, for that matter), but
does hold in 1a dispassionately skeptical fashion " belief in an
intelligent origin of natural order " and thus a religion " whose
sole observance is the morality which would anyway have been
followed for other reasons ' were there no god in the universe.' " 13
Such then is the ' silent operaition ' which is the only operation of a belief in God that Hume allows. A passage from Part
I of the Dialogues characterizes the attitude Hume seems to
advocate. Speaking of how we ought to treat theological reasonings he says: "We are like foreigners in a strange country
to whom everything must seem suspicious, and who are in
danger eV'ery moment of transgressing against the laws and
customs of the people with whom they live and converse. We
know not how far we ought to trust our vulgar methods of
reasoning .in such a subject, since, even in common life and in
that province which is peculiarly appropriated to them, we
cannot account for them and are entirely guided by a kind of
instinot or necessity in employing them." (7)
In the beginning of Part XI, Philo presents: three supposi12 I. Kant, Oritique of Pure Reason, trans. N. Kemp Smith (New York:
St. Martin's Press, 1965), pp. 568-69.
1s Gaskin, 173.

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

93

tions which present this same strangeness in another form. He
offers three possibilities: a terrestrial stranger who is taught
ithat there is a benevolent and wise origin for the world and
therreupon assumes it to be a well ordered and good world; a
stranger similarly taught who, when faced with rthe actual
world makes arguments to account for the evils in it; or a
third individual who encounters the actual world and finds a
consequent belief in a benevolent and all-powerful God untenable. No adherence to any "system" of thought will disuade the last, every system but skepticism will ultimately fail
the second, and any system might be empfoyed by the first,
but to what efioot as to the world we know? The nature and
existence of God, as an ·essential part of religion, however proposed and developed by passion and imagination, argued for
or against by systems of thought, named as natural or reasonable belief, ultimaJtely is or is not true religion only if it functions as that silent partner " within the order of common life
to 'humanize' conduct by giving men a pious regard for the
sacredness of their common order." 14
My analysis of the Dialogues in this essay aims to give no
more than the general outline of what must be done in a
lengthy study, with a wary eye toward already valuable commentary and discussion. I hav;e suggested that attention to the
structure of the text lays bare a context for the unfo1ding of
the seven metaphors within the definition of religion and its
alliance with morality-a context which unites the discussion
through its preference for common life and dialogue over systems of thought. Yet the dialogue itself moves us from the
problematic of " systems" through the proposal of varying
choices for habitual thinking based upon varying notions of
the worM. To say that Hume has succeeded in the section of
the arguments in discrediting them definitively is, of course,
to beg the question as to whether they are truly arguments at
all. and prov;e anything. What Hume does accomplish is to en14 Livingston,

332.

94

GEORGE SCHNER,

S.J,

oourage the reader to think of such expositions side by side,
much like the side-by-side thinking of religions in the History,
so that their mutual relativity and varying though equal inadequacy is grasped, I havie called them metaphors. Perhaps
a better term could he used, but in any case the construal of
self, world, and God through philosophic concept in conjunction with the work of imagination and passion is shown to be
multiple.
-IIThe acute reader wiH, I hope, havie noticed that a concept of
fundamental importance to the sort of analysis I am proposing is the notion of "common life " and its attendant notions
of narrative structure and the story-faiden character of language. Having borrowed the terminology from Livingston's
comprehensive situdy of Hume and applied it to a single text
and topic, I have purposely allowed it to function precisely
as a notion, an undefined, presumed, and problematic term.
As such it is essentially helpfui not only for my analysis of
Hume but equrully for the pivoting of this essay into the conceptual c1arificartion which I have promised in the introducsecond part of my attempt at a reassessment of the
question of the nature and work of philosophy of religion.
Is the philosophy of religion to be pursued as the work of a
philosophy which scrutinizes religion, a philosophy which invents religion, or ,a philosophy which is employed by religion
and developed in its service? All three understandings are
surely present in the history of philosophy and in the history
of that pecuHar mode of thought and speech we call the ' philosophy of religion.' :Ejen Schmitz has some years ago considered just what the proliferation of " philosophies of , . ."
might imply, 15 Schmitz's insiscbenoeupon the need for the openness of philosophic investigation to the other constructions of
human thought, speech, and action are especially pertinent to
'.1.5

K. Schmitz, "Philosophy of Religion and the Redefinition of Philosophy,"

Man and World 11 (1970): 54-81.

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

95

the matter of religion. In a sentence intended to be the leaven
of many a loaf, let me simply say that discussion of the origins,
history, and varieties of the philosophy of :religion must range
widely through the issues of dominance or service, critique or
support, of the religious dimension of human life and the
foundation of the articulation of that dimension in narrative
accounts.
Two further remarks must he added. First, in a certain
sense, the philosophy of religion in its manifold appearance has
been operative since the inception of philosophy itself, though
it can be located as a more :recent preoccupation by the factually late usage of the phrase in the modern period. However, I
would differ with those who assume that modem philosophy
of religion begins with Hume and prefer to locate its fundaments in
even perhaps, given Descartes's own
dialogue partners, in the skeptics of the sixteenth century.
This choice is based upon a search for the origins of the obscuring of the determinative character of narrative and common life in understanding religion. Second, as l\ifichael Jo
Buckley, has most recently reminded us in his masterful study
of the origins of modern atheism, 16 the study of religion,
whether philosophical or theological, cannot really he S'epamted from a parallel investigation of the ever-present shadow
which denial, redefinition, or simple neglect of the religious dimension casts upon the equally protean reality that religion is.
His analysis, which shows the replacement of the biblical narrative with certain forms of philosophical argument, importantly illuminates the paradox of Hume's appreciation for narJJative logic and his simultaneous neglect of narrative, perhaps
inevitable in those times. In effect, "religion" is being redefined with a particular use (or even neglect) of the biblical
text as a key ingredient in that redefinition.
It is to the term " religion " that I now rturn, since wonderment about what a contemporary philosopher of religion
16 Michael J. Buckley, At the Origins of Modern Atheism
Yale University Press, 1987).

(New Haven:

96

GEORGE SCHNER, S.J.

ought to be doing depends upon just what " religion " is considered to he. W. C. Smith has laid bare the hisrtory of that
word in brief form: 17 passing from the earliest usages in the
Graieco-Roman world to designate the virtue of religiosity and
the habit of piety, through its adoption by Christianity to
name a specific virtue, to its gradual displacing of the terms
" faith " and " belief " to become, with the term " Christianity," a term to designate a particular comp1ex of thought,
word, and action as now commonly understood. Hence, the
philosophy of religion, strictly so cal1ed, arises with the complex of possibilities generated by the interaction in medieval.
Europe of what we now call world religions, the tensions of the
Reformation, the redefinition of rationality in the Enlightenment, and most particularly rthe modern versions of " natural "
religion. Since ,this period also marks the origins of modern
atheism, the philosophy of religion as it is now understood and
practised is often a critique of positive religion, a reduction of
the religious to another dimension of human life, or even the
conceptual invention of religion, which is now supposed as the
core of any historical faith and determinative of the value and
truth of what such historic faiths might contain. Eaich of these
possibilities has been developed and ,continues to be def,ended,
both in philosophical and theological contexts.
Hume is not far from the mark, then, when throughout the
Dialogues he parallels questions concerning just how we are
to understand what human rationality is, what the transcendent is, and what the world is. Religion is not only variously
understood by atheism, skepticism, dogmatism, theism, and
common sense, but it is also V'ariously constructed by these
"systems" of thought. Hume's mistrust of these systems and
of the religion they construct is a mistrust with which the contemporary philosopher of religion might begin. Is it possible
that many of the issues philosophy of religion has come to consider as its proper field of investigation are the result of a re11 W. C. Smith, The Meaning and Jilnd of Religion
Books, 1964).

(New York: Mentor

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

9'1

definition of religion (or invention of it)? Quite di:ffe1,entquestions might arise if it were the :rule that, whether it is phifosophy of (i.e., on or about) religion or philosophy of (i.e., belonging to or used by) a particular faith, philosophy of religion must always be concerned with a historical faith and its
community.
Of course, a particular historical religion is a :reality which
consists of multifarious phenomena of social and personal life
as well as the complex of stories, rituals, artifacts, even buildings, not to mention linguistic realities which accompany
them. The philosopher of religion, then, might he thought to
have to range rather widely if he or she is to "think through"
even one historic faith in the transcendent. I havce now articulated the point of contact between my all too brief consideration of Hume and my effort at conceptual clarification.
A given historical religion constitutes, or intends to constitute, a particular form of "common life." The essentially
communal, all-prevasive demands of early Christianity, of its
social structures, its texts, its heroes gives ample evidence of
the content of such a notion. To the extent that Christianity
became the culturally dominant reHgion of Western Europe, it
became the common life of western civilization. But the very
factors which I have noted as being at the origin of modern
philosophy of religion mark the subtle but sure dissociation of
the sensibilities of Christian belief from the life-blood of western culture or, worse, the maintenance of the externalities of
such belief devoid of the transcendent mystery, the personal
immanence, and the historical identity in Christ of the object
of Christian faith. Inasmuch as the fundamental reality of
Christian belief (or of any other historic religion) ceases to be
the inner core of the common life under consideration, the
study
is not the study of a " religion." Or, if the
philosopher excises conceptual or experiential problems from
the consideration of their situation in the common life of the
religion, it is no longer the religious use of language and
thought which is under considera.tion.

98

GEORGE SCHNER,

S.J.

I can further clarify my suggestion by referring to a typology
which George Lindbeck has developed to understand recent
developments in Christian theology and to propose ways in
which to understand the study of Christian doctrine, worship,
and ,Jife.13 Briefly put, Lindbeck proposes three models for
understanding religion and its doctrines. One is the cognitive
propositional model, in which religion and doctrine are conceived of as truth claims about objective realities. Another
is the experiential expressivist model, in which they are expressions of inner personal experience. The third is the oultural
linguistic model, in which :religion is construed as a culture,
and doctrine as the rules of grammar which are the deep structure of what is said and done within that cultme. The first is
recognizable precisely as a model of religion and doctrine when
it ceases to be the " common life," and its ,defense is, as historically happened in Christianity, a matter of philosophical
argument on rational principles devoid of the narrative structure essential to it. The second model is the :reaction, for the
sake of rational credibility, against the
from the common life, as is evident in the enterprise of Schleiermacher, particularly his On Religion. H Lindbeck presents a constructive
proposa1, it might he named more a matter of retrieval of what
is essential, namely the rediscovery of Christianity as a cultural
linguistic complex, a form of common life. These models are
also evidenced in the recent history of Christian theology. The
dominance of the cognitive propositional model gives way in
liberal Protestant and Catholic thought to the experiential expressivist model, only to be challenged by neo-orthodoxy in
such individuals as Karl Barth, whom Lindbeck would interpret to he an instance of the third model. To unpack these examples and the models they illustrate is to engage in a discussion of varying theories of the human person, of society and
culture, of the reality of God, and of the nature of knowledge.
Something of all three conceptions of religion and doctrine
18 George Lindbeck,
The Nature of Doctrine
Press, 1983) .

(Philadelphia:

Westminster

HUME AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

99

l'langes through Hume's Dialogues. The disoossion of religion
as habit and piety in the form of inclusio and the reduction of
it to being the helpmate of morality, though a silent partner at
that, ref.loot a priority of the cultural linguistic model, as
does Hume's suspicion of systems of thought. But this model
is not the usual one which determines the analysis of the now
classical issues Hume considers in the inner parts of his text.
The other two models of religion and doctrine yield the more
typical discussions.
The inner parts of the Dialogues could be understood as a
search for propositions to state cognitions or for expressions to
utter inner experience. If they are the former, then Hume's interlocutors must be arguing over sentences dependent upon a
philosophy of the religious use of language which is highly
problematic. In a work which is exhaustingly analytic, Anders
Jeffner, after determining all the varieties of sentence possible
in a given religion (and adverting to the importance of both
the individual and social authentication of the use of such sentences), concludes that the most problematic of the sentences,
i.e., those claiming to refer to the ·existence and nature of a
transcendent reality, can only be used if a choice is made to
engage in metaphysical discourse. 19 Hume long precedes him
in observing the necessity of the same prior choice.
On the other hand, if the inner parts of the Dialogues on the
variety of metaphors for God and the problem of human suffering are considered according to the experiential expressivist
model, then the issues are dealt with by an appeal to inner
experience or conviction, which obviates the necessity of strict
logical exposition or, rather, requires a justification and explication on quite different grounds. No longer is the question at
hand whether human speech can adequately and rationally refer to the transcendent dimension through propositions which
can be known to be referentially true, but rather it is a question
of whether adequate expressions of inner convictions can be
19 Anders Jefl'ner, The Study of Religious Language (London:
1972).

SOM Press,

100

GEORGE SCHNER,

S.J.

found and justifications given of how such sentences express
that inner experience rather than an objective referent. Or, it
must he shown how such exp!'lessions and their correlated experiences are proper operations of human subjectivity.
If, however, true 11eligionis that silent operation and minimal
cognitive content about the transcendent which accompanies
morality in common life, then Hume's Dialogues are a valu,able paraidigm for the philosophy of religion, though the irony
ris that the very form of life which he takes as normative need
not be the form of life which any given philosophy of religion
would consider. On the contrary, the common life he presumes
as normative by definition could only support the kind of religion which a mitigated skeptic could diffidently hold.
The context for the inner parts, then, if understood within a
cultural linguistic model of religion and doctrine, 1eaids me to
:find Hume's text, despite Hume's conclusions, much more
helpful for the philosophy of religion than if it is dealt with by
either of the other models. Hume is quite right to begin the
discussion of any number of aspects of religious belief, language, and practice by asserting their existence as human
habits which structure a culture and its symbols. Furthermore, the arguments concerning God's nature and existence are
a series of imaginative construals of the complex of self, world,
and God. The sentences used are not really propositions to
be tested by observation or proved by logical testing, nor simply arbitrary assertions of inner convictions; rather they are
sentences which give the rules by which the enactment of the
construals can take place. They are to be tested by their place
in the " common life " and the use of systems of thought to
support or critique them cannot be on any other base. The
irony is that Hume's presumption of" common life" need not
be the one he makes, and in fact the common life he did reflect in his writings is the very source of the kinds of philosophies of religion which I question. Finally, Hume clearly does
not admit a normative narrative which would limit the metapho11s possible and give both external and internal limits to the

HUME .AND PHILOSOPHY

OF RELIGION

101

imaginative construal of both the immanent and transcendent
operation of God. If, however, it is correct to insist upon such
a narrativ;e and the common life it founds as the essential context for any philosophy of religion, then something that is both
similar to yet different from Hume's Dialogues is possible.
My essay has been heuristic in both its parts. A long labor
would be needed to comment upon the whole of Hume's text
and develop my interpretation 1and critique of it. An even
l:ongerlabor would be necessary for the construction of a philosophy of religion which would consider the tra:ditional questions
in terms of alternative models of religion and doctrine.

HISTORY AS ARGUMENT FOR REVISION
IN MORAL THEOLOGY:
A REVIEW DISCUSSION
GERMAIN

GRISEZ

Mount Saint Mary's College;
Emmitsburg, Maryland,

J

OHN MAHONEY, S.J., forme11ly a professor of moral
theology at Heythrop College and now the Frederick
Denison Maurice Pro£essor 0£ Moral and Social Theology
at King's Col1ege, London, presented the Martin D'Arcy
Memorial Lectures in Campion Hall, Oxford, in the spring of
1982. He now has expanded these lectures and published
them, with extensive notes, in a book which is both erudite and
readable. 1
To save space, I shall not summarize Mahoney's book here, 2
nor shaH I deal with various interesting ideas in it which deserve discussion among professional theologians. Rather, I
shall evaluate the book from a single, rather narrow point of
view: its appropriateness for use as a historical introduction
to Catholic moral theology. I <think that a thorough eva1uation of this work from this point of view is important, because
there is very little material in English suitable for the purpose,
and so Mahoney's weU written and current book is likely to
be widely considered for 8Jdoption in seminaries and universities
as a required text to provide background for students in moral.
In my judgment, this book should not he used for this pur1 The Making of Moral Theology:
A Study of the Roman Catholic Tradition (New York and Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987). References to this
work will be made in the text (in parentheses) .
and sympathetic review by Richard A. McCormick,
2 See the descriptive
S.J., Tablet (London), 3 October 1987, 1061-62.

103

104

GERMAIN GRISEZ

pose. For Mahoney (1) holds dissenting positions,
does
not accept Vatican
teaiching concerning the methodological
requwements for mo:val theology, (3) takes positions which appear to deny infallibly proposed teachings or to impugn the
magisterirum's infallibility, (4) rejects the Holy Office's 1956
Instruction on Situation Ethics and commends views at odds
with it, and (5) uses history to support the revisionist side of
the current debate rather than off.ers an even-handed historical.
introduction to morraJ. theology.
1. In an earlier book, Mahoney asserted positions which are
inconsistent with Catholic teaching. 3 In the present book,
Mahoney presupposes and implicitly reaffirms such dissenting
positions.
a) Mahoney criticizes the magisterium's refusal to expand
the principle of totality beyond its application to the parts and
whole of a single person's organism and then adds:
The mind was concentrated simply on the act of bodily mutilation
and the circumstances in which this might be argued to be morally justifiable. In other new areas of medical practice such as fertility testing, artificial insemination, and in vitro fertilization it is
possible to see a similar exclusive concentration on the act of marital intercourse as the only proper exercise of man's reproductive
faculty and a corresponding judgement of any other act as no
more than a frustration of that faculty irrespective of the total
context and purpose of such activity. (311) 4.

This criticism entirely omits the actual arguments which the
magisterium offers for its positions in these matters.
b) Mahoney says: " One of the most central and now most
controverted features of classical moral theology has been the
maintaining that many types, or classes, of moral act are inherently evil and absolutely forbidden" (311-12). As examples he lists lying, suicide, abortion, sterilization, masturbaa Bioethics and Belief: Religion and Medicine in Dialogue (London: Sheed
and Ward, 1984). He argues against the inviolability of innocent human life
from conception ( 85), rejects Pius XII's teaching concerning artificial insemination ( 17) , and so on.
4. With a reference in note 27 to Bioethics atnd Belief, 12-18.

REVISION

IN MORAL THEOLOGY

105

tion, premarital and extrirunaritail intercourse, and divorce, as
well as contraception. (SU). He says that "the assault on
such
absolutes has been a particularly noticeable feature
of much recent writing in moral theofogy" (SU), sympathetically summarizes that assault (SU-17) , but ignores theological work defending exooptionless moral norms. This narrative is part of the description. of the " pattern in renewal "
of moral theology called for by Vatican II. In this way Mahoney makes it clear that he considers the "as,sault on such
morail absolutes" to be part of the" pattern in renewal." Thus,
without explicitly asserting it, Mahoney shows that he rejects
the constant and most firm teruching of the Church on. all
these matters.
c) Again, and still describing what he considers part of the
pattern in renewal, Mahoney says:
Theories of choosing the lesser of two evils, or more positively of
choosing the best in the circumstances, of compromise, of proportionality, of situated or limited freedom, and others, appear to be
so many acknowledgements that moral theology cannot today simply content itself with elaborating a list of moral universals without also carefully perusing their absolute or relative character,
notably when they may, or may 'appear', to come into conflict in
particular situations or for particular individuals. (329)
Mahoney plainly thinks that these various current attempts
are a move " to judge that, far more frequently than has been
suspected, what diverse individuals consider God requires of
them is in actual fact what God does 'objectively' require of
them, as legitimate personal diversities " (330) . Thus, Mahoney expresses general, although not specific, approval of the
sorts of theories he lists and in this way implicitly contradicts
the Church's constant teaching, reaffirmed by John Paul II,
that "there exist acts which, per se and in themselves, independently of circumstances, are always seriously wrong by
reason of their object." 5
2. Vatican II teaches: " Sacred theology rests on the written
5 "Reconciliatio

et Paenitentia,"

AAS 77 ( 1985) : 221-22.

106

GERMAIN GRISEZ

word of God, together with sacred tradition, as its primary and
perpetual foundation." 6 And: " The task of authentically interpreting the word of God, whether written or handed on, has
been entrusted exclusively .to the living teaching office of the
Church, whose authority is exe11cised in the name of Jesus
Christ." 1 When it mentions the Church's living teaching office
here, Vatican II refers to (and so incorporates by reference)
the teaching of Pius XII in Humani generis that theologians
must defer to the magisterium in interpreting the deposit of
faith. 8 Mahoney does not accept these methodological requirements of Catholic theology. Instead, he treats the magisterium
(and appears to treat Scripture itself) as having merely relative value, which can be offset by his own reasoned judgments
and by other authorities.
a. Mahoney suggests that teaching authority belongs by
right to theologians as mruch as to popes and bishops and that
the superiority of the hierarchical magisterium over that of
theologians was an accident of history (119-20). In this context, Mahoney says that it was
. . . in Pius XII that the claims of magisterium in the Church to
the complete prerogative of the hierarchy and the papacy were
most strongly expressed, with his references to 'the living Magisterium' and 'this sacred Magisterium' in a significant personification and use of the capital letter, and with his warning to theologians that they were not to consider themselves teachers, or
magistri, of the Magisterium. (HW)
Later Mahoney states Pius XII's teaching concerning the relationship between the roles of theologians and the magisterium
and quotes a relevant passage from Humani generis to which
v;atican II refers (160) . However, Mahoney fails to mention the Council's reference to this teaching of Pius XII, dismisses the teaching, and suggests (161) that "it was to come
,as something of a change when the Second Vatican Council "
e Dei Verbum, 24.
1 Dei Verbum, IO.

s See DS 3886; cf. Optatam totius, 15, n. 31.

REVISION

IN MORAL THEOLOGY

107

taught as it did with respect to various responsibilities of the
faithful as a whole and various segments of the Church (16162) . In this way, Mahoney insinuates without explicitly asserting that the Council's teruching supersedes that of Pius XII
and rullows theologians to proceed aiu tonomously rather than
def er to the magisterium.
b. Mahoney reduces the authority of the hierarchical magisterium to a mere juridic3Jl. authority and relativizes that authority by describing various other types of authority, including that of theologians, as if persons who have those other
types of authority had no obligation of religious assent (17172). Later in the book, Mahoney says: " ... it might be observed that, to the extent that the faithful are not found to
give their assent to a particular piooe of moral teaching by the
M agisterium, to that extent the fome of the teiruching may be
open to question" (222-23). Mahoney then asserts the authority of Christian personal experience and says:
Not, of course, that such experiential authority is necessarily selfauthenticating, far less infallible. It needs probing and testing, as
do other forms of authority. But it cannot be substituti;:d for in
its contribution to the total harmony of diverse authorities which
together go to make up the human expression of the fundamental
authority of the Spirit of Christ within his Church. (flfl3)

Thus, Mahoney suggests that theologians need not defer to
the hierarchical magisterium e:x<cept insofar as its judgments
form part of a consensus (" harmony of diverse authorities")
which alone manifests the " fundamental authority of the
Spirit."
c. Again, in discussing the impact of Humanae vitae, Mahoney takes up the question," ... is dissent from non-infallible
teaching a morally legitimate option for a member of the
Church?" (!WI). His reply begins: "The short answer is,
yes. A less short answer is, yes hut. And the long answer is,
yes provided that certain conditions are adequately fulfilled ''
(291). The subsequent discussion (291-99) acknowl,edges no
way in which what Mahoney calls (293) " the extrinsic reli-

108

GERMAIN

GRISEZ

gious factor of hie;rarchical authority " should determine the
judgment of a member of the Chmch who has " good l'eason to
judge to the contrary" (£93) . Dissent is possible: "For the
influence of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of the faithful, as
described by Pope Paul, is envisaged purely as disposing them
to be :receptive, whereas it might be a more positive one of
refining, qualifying, or even correcting the papal teaching "
(295) . Since the Spirit works through a variety of channels,
"not only is disagreement well-nigh inevitab1e, but it is a;lmost
essential, or at least normal" (9W6) .
d. In discussing moral p1ura]ism as an element of what he
proposes as a pattern in renewal, J\fahoney treats the magisrberium as one theological party among others. The magisterium's
... expressions of disapproval cannot themselves be exempted
from the fundamental questions which the possibility of pluralism
:raises. In matters of morality, in the first place,. there is scrutiny
of the Magisterium's own choice of method and the extent to
which, for instance, natural law theory, and one version of it at
that, is to be considered a moral method particularly privileged or
even required by the Gospel to the exclusion of all others. (336)

Again, Mahoney treats the magisterium and liberation theology as parties claiming " to possess a monopoly of method" (336) and suggests that such claims can be relativized: " ... some moments in history and some oultures may
call for a particular method in preference to others or even for
lhat time and pla.ce to the e:x:clusion of others" (337).
e. Mahoney criticizes the " predilection for the will and the
power rather than the mind of God, which is to be found by
and large in Scripture, as in Augustine [and others]" (245) for
what he claims follows from it:
One consequence of this is to view the divine-human relationship
as a continual series of border incidents and demarcation disputes.
The more; one accords to man, the more is being subtracted from
God; and tragically, the more one immerses man in the filth of his
own sins and corruption, the more one is aiming at exalting the
divine mercy and goodness in his deigning to extricate and save
man. (24G)

REVISION

IN MORAL THEOLOGY

109

Whether or not what Mahoney thinks he finds in Scripture is
really to be found there, if he presumes to judge Scripture and
find it wanting-and he seems to do that here-he makes it
<Jlear that he does not consider Scripture normative for theological work.
3. Mahoney takces various positions which appear to deny
infa1lible teachings or to impugn the infallibility of the magisterium in teaiching which has been or seems to have been infallibly proposed.
1a. In treating the teaching of the Council of Trent on
integral confession of sins in the sacrament of penance, Mahoney omits from his translation (23)-without a mark to
indicate the omission-the words, " et omnibus post baptismum
lapsis iure divino neeessariam existere " 9 and does not mention (22-32) the relevant canon,1° which definitively teaches
the requirement iure divino of integral confession. Instead,
he treats the requirement of integrity as a source of " one of
the major defects which connection with auricuhr confession
brought about in moral theology-its preoccupation not just
with sin, but with sins" (31). In this way, he insinuates that
this requirement could and should be :rejected.
b. After having sketched its historical background in Augustine, Mahoney states (52) Trent's teaching that God does not
command the impossible 11 and even l'efors to the relevant
canon. 12 However, his reflections on the principle (55-57)
strongly suggest that Mahoney does not aocept it in the sense
in which the Church understood and stiU Ul'lde:rstands it.
Rather, he seems to 3/Ccept it only in the sense that a norm
which the Church proposes as a divine command need not be
considered truly such if its fulfillment is (or seems to be)
" impossible."
c. Commenting on Lateran IV's legisfation on annual confession, Mahoney points out that it raised the question whether
"sins " meant only mortaJ sins; he then says: "And so was
9 DS 1679.
10DS 1707.

11 DS

1536.

12 DS 1568.

no

GERMAIN

GRISEZ

born the notorious line of self-questioning and the inevitable
literature on whether various types of behaviour or individual
aotions constituted a mortal sin to be confessed, or were
'only' venial sins" (20-21). Later in the book, Mahoney
commends a theory of fundamental option according to which
" actions which another tradition has considered baid in themselv;es, or in their 'object '," nevertheless " can be absorbed by
the subject as real stages of internal growth if the subject
genuinely considers them to be such" (221). Together, these
passages suggest thait Mahoney does not accept the traditional
distinction between mortal and venial sin without which one
cannot understand and assent to Trent's definitive teachings
that there are mortal sins other than infidelity 13 and that intiegral confession is required by divine law. 14
d. After arguing that the meaning of " morals " in Vatican
I's definition of papal infallibility raised difficulties (143-56,
165-66) , Mahoney asserts that Gasser deliberately evaded
these difficulties (166) . He then goes on to impugn the definition itself, at least insofar as it bears on infallibility in papal
definitions in moral matters:

In the more than a century since this extraordinary and infallible
moral magisterium of the papacy was solemnly defined it has never
once been manifestly exercised. [Note omitted.] One explanation
of this remarkable sequel may be that the First Vatican Council
was too soon in the history of the Church to raise and answer so
complex a question definitively, that the time was not ripe (which
is very different from saying a definition was inopportune), and
that, in any case,. the pressures of personalities and events, both
inside and outside the Church, did not lend themselves to the
patient and dispassionate sifting of evidence and argument which
the subject patently re,quired. (166-67)
Mahoney adds further considerations which tend to impugn
the definition as a whole (167) .
e. Mahoney treats the development with respect to " Outside the Chmch there is no salvation" as an example of inis DS 1544, 1577.

14

DS 1679, 1707.

REVISION IN MORAL THEOLOGY

111

creasing regard for subjective factors in moral responsibility
. However, in doing so he suggests that the Church
now understands this dogmatic statement in a sense other than
it formerly did. Mahoney says, for ·example, tha.t Leonard
Feeney "wished to apply with all logical rigour the Church's
express traditional belief in the statement of Cyprian that' outside the Church there is no salvation'" (199). In a subsequent passage, although Mahoney says that the teaching has
been " refined and qualified," he strongly suggests that the
Church's present teaiching contradicts her former "infallible
teaiching ":
We have already seen how the Church's understanding of its infallible teaching that there is absolutely no salvation outside the
Church has had to be refined and qualified. Being outside the
Catholic Church is not such an absolute and unmitigated evil and
disaster as it was for centuries considered, and not just by reason
of invincible subjective ignorance and divine goodness. God is now
acknowledged more freely to be at his saving work also outside the
Church and particularly among other Christian bodies, through
what were until comparatively recently considered the depraved
practices and cultures of benighted pagans and the heretical and
false religious ceremonies of Protestants and others. (fllO)

In making this argument Mahoney implies that the Church
has erred in teaching which sihe solemnly defined and intended
to propose inf.wllibly. (Mahoney seems to wish to show by this
line of argument that all exoeptionless ·moral norms now can
be rejected, even if they hav;e been proposed in a manner
which fulfills the conditions which the Church recognizes for
'infallible teaching.)
£. Mahoney quotes (158) Vatican I's tea1ching concerning
the infallibility of the ordinary magisterium. 15 Nevertheless, in
his discussion of the impact of Humanae vitae, he uses the
premise (drawn from Msgr. Lambruschini) that "assent of
theological faith is due only to definitions properly so-called "
1s DS 3011.

HQ

GERMAIN GlUSEZ

(293). Thus, Mahoney implicitly rejects Vatican I's teaching
on the infallibility of the ordinary magisterium. 16
g. After disoussing 1the reactions of various episcopal conferences to Humanae vitae, Mahoney says:
The development of the theology of the local Church in more recent years, then, may be considered to provide a conte,xt, in the
light of Humanae Vitae, within which further papal pronouncements might be considered more explicitly as directed not to souls
but to Churches at various levels of regional or national self-identity. (279)

This suggestion would limit the pope's power to teach the universal Chmch, and thus seems to intimate a rejection of papal
primrucy as defined by Vatican I.17
4. Mahoney criticizes and apparently rejects the 1956 Instruction of the Holy Office on ' Situation Ethics ' 18 and commends subjectivist and relativist views at odds not only with
that Instruction but with constant and most firm Catholic
teaching that there are objective and unchanging moral truths
e.xduding specific kinds of acts as always and everywhere
wrong.
a. Mahoney initially implies his rejection of the Church's
teaching on situation ethics by saying: " Not many members
of the Church are clear on exwctly what is meant by ' situation ethics', but most are sme that it should be avoided like
the plague" (205). He assumes the acceptability of the concept of human nature presupposed by situation ethics and
argues that, given that conoept, the approach is not relativist .
.16 He simply ignores Vatican II's treatment of the same matter in Lumen
gentium, 25. On this treatment,
John C. Ford, S.J., and Germain Grisez,
" Contraception and the Infallibility of the Ordinary Magisterium," Theological Studies 39 ( 1978) : 258-312; German Grisez, "Infallibility and Specific Moral Norms: A Review Discussion," Thomist 49 (April 1985) : 248287; "General Introduction," in Germain Grisez, et al., The Teaching of
"Humanae vitae": A Defense (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1988), 7-32.
17 DS 3064.
:1.s DS 3918-21.

REVISION

IN MORAL THEOLOGY

113

Referring to the Instruction, Mahoney says: "And it is less
than aoourate to condemn such conclusions with the emotional
charge of relativism as if they were not based on objective
data " (206) . Defending the situationist concept of moral
judgment, he says: "What Pius XII's analysis and condemnation did not sufficiently rtake into account was that situation
ethics raises a fundamental issue about the relation of insight
to argument which cannot be settled by simply dismissing one
or the other as of no account" (209) .
b. Mahoney rtalms out of context (207-23) various elements
of scriptural doctrine, Church teaching, the theology of St.
Thomas, and so on. With these authorities, he insinuates subjectivism, when, for example, he says of a way of viewing
morality which he commends:
It is this way of viewing morality, also, which makes more sense
of those areas where objectivity and subjectivity appear to be in
conflict or contradiction-actions which another tradition has considered bad in themselves, or in their 'object', but which the subject may honestly not see in that light. (221)
c. Mahoney also expresses approval of efforts to "throw a
bridge across the gap between" objective and subjective moral
determinants in a way which implies subjectivism. For example, in a passage already quoted in part (in 1-c, above) he
says:
It may appear, then, that various current attempts to incorporate
particulars into the science of moral theology, with all the mental
and systematic adjustments which that implies, is a move to throw
a bridge across the gap between 'objective' and 'subjective'
morality and to judge that, far more frequently than has been
suspected, what diverse individuals consider God requires of them
is in actual fact what God does ' objectively' require of them, as
legitimate personal diversities. (330)
d. Again, Mahoney discusses with approval recent attention " to the possibility and indeed the inevitability of pluralism in theology, including moral theology" (335) and assumes that method plays a determinative role:

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GRISEZ

What is in question increasingly includes moral cultural pluralism
which is similar to, but more thoroughly acknowledged than, the
occasional difference which circumstances will make to the application of principles. At heart it concerns a pluralism in moral
method which could result in a pluralism in beh:J,viour as the result of which of various diverse methods is adopted and applied.
(332)

Mahoney's final judgment on such pluralism, in a passage already quoted in part (in 2-d, above) , suggests that he at least
tentatively rucc:epts the relativity of moral methodology, and so
of morals:
It may furthe.r be advanced that part, but perhaps only part, of
an answer to the question of competing methods in morality, or to
claims to possess a monopoly of method, whether on the part of
the Magisterium or of liberation theology, may be that at any
moment in history one can act only according to what knowledge
and insight are available 0 but that some moments in history and
some cultures may call for a particular method in preference to
others or even for that time and place to the exclusion of others.
(336-37)

Thus, Mahoney suggests the relativity of morality to varying
historical and cThltural conditions.
5. Finally, in my judgment, this book is not a work of objective scholarship but of advocacy-an apologia for Mahoney's moral-theological views. He introduces the work as an
exploration of the history of mora,l theology (vii). But Mahoney does not use historical method, as he explains:
Rather than proceed, howeve.r, in the manner of a history, on a
broad chronological front from New Testament times to the present in describing events in moral theology in an even-handed way
without attention to what hindsight had identified as the highways, as distinct from byways, in moral theology, it seemed more
fruitful to approach the subject in a more thematic manner and
to select for historical description foilowed by reflection and comment what eme.rged upon consideration as the eight most significant aspects in the history of moral theology. (vii-viii)

The method Mahoney a,dopts combines dialectical and persua-

REVISION

IN MORAL THEOLOGY

115

sive argumentation. Historical narrative is used only instrumentally.
a) Dialectical arguments proceed from premises assumed to
be aooepted as true by the reader, or commended on the authority of their wcceptance by large numbers, or by " the
wise," or by some outstanding source. Thus, Mahoney treats
widespread dissent from Humanae vitae as if it legitimated
itself (271-301). (He simply ignores the widespread and persistent assent to and support of the teaching of that encyclical.) Similarly, Mahoney assumes (309-37) that those developments in recent moral theology with which he agrees
constitute the renewal in moral theology for which Vatican II
calls. (He ignores those developments in recent moral theology with which he disagrees.) And Mahoney invokes Scripture, the teaiching of the magisterium, St. Thomas, and so
forth whenever he finds them serviceable. (He almost always
ignores such authorities when they challenge the positions
which he advocates.)
b) Persuasive arguments proceed from desires assumed to
motivaite the audience (reader) or seek to arouse the audience's (reader's) feelings. Mahoney often uses such arguments.
For example, he says of the Celtic Penitentials:
They constitute at best an unsuccessful attempt to apply with
some degree of humanity an appallingly rigid systematized approach to sin, and no one ever appears to have asked the serious
theological question to what end (other than social order) all this
suffering was really being imposed. (7)

Of confession from 1215 until after Trent:
In the meantime, however, an often inadequate and frequently almost illiterate clergy was charged with administering to the laity
a procedure which was acknowledged by all to be embarrassing
and onerous on the,m.

After saying that moral theology in former times attempted to
take into account subjective factors and uncertitudes:
Yet, by the same token, it was the Church's growing tradition of
moral theology which was itself heavily responsible for increasing

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GERMAIN GRISEZ

men's weakness and moral apprehension, with the strong sense of
sin and guilt which it so thoroughly strove: to inculcate or reinforce, and the humiliations and punishments with which it drove
its message home. (28)

Again, at the end of chapter six, Mahoney drives home a major
point by comparing poems by Wordsworth and Robert Frost
(256-58) . And at the end of the book, in a section which is
onJy weakly linked to his previous arguments, Mahoney evokes
devout and warm feelings to commend the views he advocates
(341-47)'

CHRIST, MORAL ABSOLUTES, AND THE GOOD:
RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY*
SERVAIS PINCKAERS,

O.P.

University of Fribourg
Fribourg, Switzerland

C

I
ARLO CAFFARA'S Living in Christ (which appeared

in Italian in 1981) was well worth the translating. It
presents a fairly complete exposition of Christian
moral teaching in a readable style and convenient format and
provides principles needed to address the ethical problems
most widely discussed today. It is a synthesis of traditional
basic ethics which has been revised in the light of profound
reflection on values and broa,dened to include the contributions
of Christian revelation and tradition. Because of these factors,
this book helps us to understand recent stances of the Magisterium towards moral problems by attempting to show the motivations behind these stances.
Compared with ethics manuals used in Catholic teaching
during recent centuries, this work indicates considerable progress on both philosophical and theological levels and thus responds to the Council's express desire for a renewal of moral
theology.
The author's reflection focuses on the philosophy of values,
*Books considered in this essay: Carlo Caffara, Living in Christ: Funda·
mental Principles of Catholic Moral Tea,ching, trans, Christopher Ruff (San
Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987); William E. May, Moral Absolutes, Catholic Tradition, Current Trends and the Truth (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1989) ; Eberhard Schockenhoff, Bonum Hominis: Die anthropologischen und theologischen Grundlagen der Tugendethik des Thomas von
Aquin (Mainz: Matthias-Grunewald-Verlag,
1987).

117

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O.P.

which he directs to the consideration of the human person.
Moral Vialue, the first 'given' of human experience, is specific
to the person and can be defined as the development of man
qua man aecording to his own nature. Va1ues are reflected in
the moral norms which manifest them and receive from them
their universality and unchangeable character. They extend
into the judgment of conscience, which a:gplies them to a concrete person in the particular circumstances of his action. We
thus have a personrulistic view of morality, whose objectivity
and truth are rooted in the exigencies of reason in conformity
with the dignity of the free and responsible person. The natural law, written in the human heart and inscribed by the God
of the Covenant on the two tables of the deoologue, brings out
in relief the fundamental commandments.
This exposition of momlity is at the same time frankly
Christian and reintrodu.ces important dimensions into Catholic
moral teaching. The neglect of these dimensions in classic
manuals could 1egitimately be deplored; too great a separation
was effected between moral and dogmatic theology, spirituality
and Scripture. But here all you need do is look at the table
of contents to realize the care with which the author has reopened the lines of communication, not only on the ideological
level but also on the basis of Christian experience, which undergirds the entire study. This comes through notably at the
end of eruch chapter, in lengthy quotations from spiritual authors entitled " Meditation of the Bride."
To summarize briefly, the book is divided into three parts:
I. The Foundation: the Fundamental Principle of Christian
Ethics; II. The Mediation: Living in Christ in History; III.
The Response: the Actualization of Life in Christ.
Part I shows the Trinitarian dimension of Christian morality: it is a life in Christ, a development of union with His person begun in Baptism, growing under the ruction of the Holy
Spirit and his Gifts, reaching to the glory of the Father who
called him in creating him.
Thus morality is itself explicitly Christian. The author

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

119

brings things to a climax by showing how in God's historical
design the moral life, which proceeds from the dignity of man,
finds its fulfillment in man's consent to the creative action
which has destined him to share in the divine life, freely offered
in Christ. The act whereby God wills us to be persons is the
same act by which He orders us to Himself. Our predestination
in Christ is, therefore, the ultimate foundation of morality, the
definitive guarantee of respect for the person and of the commandment that we should love others as God loves us.
Part II treats of the " mediations " of the moral life or the
imitation of Christ, which is the norm of the believer. They
are three: Revelation, the natural law, and conscience. Revelation is first expressed in the apostolic exhortation. On this
point the aiUthor is to be congratulated for having shown the
New
texts to be a principal source. (In the manuals
these texts were practically relegated to the margin of ethics
and mentioned only parenthetically.)
Then there is moral
tradition and the Magisterium of the Church, which guarantees
the fidelity of the transmission. Then there are the livies of the
saints as paradigms. Finally come the theologians, with their
role of reflection and verification but without teaiching authority.
Man's a,lliance with Wisdom, the Creator, is shown in natural law, a law which has unconditional value even before a
person's affirmation of God's exist·ence, an affirmation to which
it points. It is important to distinguish between the fundamental norm and the more particular faws of precept. The
fundamental norm concerns man as such, the person as seen
abs(jlutely, and proceeds from right reason; it has intrinsic
value, independent of our consideration of it as an end. (The
author thus speaks from an ethicail rather than teleological
perspective.) The fundamental norm is expressed in unchangeable, universal norms, for example, in the cardinal virtues and
their relationship to the natural inclinations that need to be
integrated into the life of the person. The unity of the person
establishes a hierarehy of va1ues, which prevents them from

HO

SERVAIS PINCKAERS,

O.P.

conflicting. Reason shows us moraJ. values without, however,
causing them, for they come from creative Wisdom. Ethical
knowledge is always in a state of development because it is
situated in history, but this does not impede its continuity.
The Magisterium has the right to rteruch these rational norms,
which are necessary in order to make Christ's teaching practicable.
Conscience personalizes values and moral norms, guiding us
from the universal to the particular situation by means of
practical judgment. The judgment of conscience always
obliges, even if it happens to be erroneous. However, conscience is not the supreme judge of good and evil; it needs to be
formed by ever seeking the truth with the aid of the Spirit,
charity, and the sacraments, in collaboration with the Magisterium.
Part III describes man's response to the call to life in Christ
in terms of the interior ruct of the will. Freedom flows from
the personal will as it is rooted in reason, open to universal
being and good. This makes us free in the context of all
limited, created goods. Choice occurs when a person's good is
evaluated in relation to moral norms, the unconditional requisites for a person's fulfillment. Choice begins with the
first act of moral freedom made by a child with the help of
grace. The Holy Spirit, by an interior attraction, renders us
free in regard to sin and emotions or passions. Our actions acquire their moral goodness on three conditions: a right intention, the nature of the action in relation to values, the circumstances. Consent to the moral value is achieved through the
virtues which perfect the will and the other faculties. First,
there are the moral virtues which coincide with the varying
dimensions of the human person. But beyond these there are
needed, for the truth of the human person in his being in
Christ, not only the theological virtues, which dispose us to
wet in Christ, but aJ.so the Gifts, which open us to the wholly
free and unlimited wction of the Holy Spirit. These, going beyond the merely moral life, lead us into contemplation and pure
mysticaJ love.

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

As opposed to consent to a moral va1ue, sin intervenes as a
voluntary decision to choose an evil action, whether intrinsically evil or evil because of circumstances. There is no such
thing as a philosophical sin, hut we ought to distinguish between mortail sin, a complete deviation from the moral law
and our ultimate end, and venial sin. Sin originates in concupiscence, understood as hardness of heart, and in the refusal
to believe in one's dependence on the decision of the Creator.
Between these two poles of consent and sinful refusaJ lies a
process of conversion in which three stages can be noted:
baptism with faith, the struggle against concupiscence, and
death to self and submission to the Spirit in union with the
cross of Christ.
The book closes with a treatment of the decalogue, which
the Church has appropriated as the fulfillment of our faith in
Christ and as the expression of the basic demands of charity.
In speaking briefly of the commandments, the author touches
on several contemporary problems: sexuality, abortion, suicide,
capital punishment, euthanasia, :religious liberty, etc. Finally,
he relates the decalogue to the Sermon on the Mount, the expression of the faw of the Spirit which fulfills the 01.d Law. In
this way we oan compare the Christian life with the journey of
the Hebrew people to the Promised Land.
The author has succeeded in the difficult enterprise of a :renewed exposition of basic morail teaching. He has shown its
relationship to Christ and the Church, to the spiritual life and
the experience of the saints, to the virtues and Gifts of the
Holy Spirit, and this without in any way diminishing the rational character and universal human dimension of moral
norms. In this consideration, at once universal and individual,
focused upon the human person, the author discusses many
contemporary problems with nuanced strokes, reconciling simplistic views which are sometimes too easily aiccepted.
Looking at this synthesis as a whole and in its overall plan
and trying to gi¥e its cha:raderistic features, I would say that,
while integrating the virtues and Gifts, it maintains the pri-

SERVAIS PINCKAERS,

O.P.

ority of the post-tridentine ethical foundations.-norms or laws
of obligation, conscience, free and sinful actions-but deepens
them to the level of a philosophy of the human person and
vai1ues. Personally I should prefer to shift the center of gravity
of ethics in the direction of the virtues, seen as qualities of the
human person and spiritual inclinations to the source of freedom, which wou1d allow for the reintroduction in ethics of the
treatment of happiness (of which the author has spoken very
little). Morality of norms, morality of virtues: they are not
mutually e:rolusive and both are legitimate. But all the same,
the emphases and perspectives are different.
One point might arouse in the reaider a certain confusion
hard to express: the frequent transition from a rational and
persona1istic ethics, such as would obtain even without relationship to God, to a Christological ethics, which the human
person could not adhere to without Christ. The problem is
very delicate; it is a question of the " supernatural " and at
,the same time of the centra;l role of Christ, at once man and
God. There is always the danger of crystallizing the positions
into what might crudely be termed a Christification or sacralization of the naturail and a naturalization of the Christian
contribution. There is a kind of subtlety in the harmony between human nature and the Gospel which we sometimes find
paradoxicail but which must be maintained . if we would be
faithful to the richness of the Christian mystery.
Is it permissible to chalfonge the substitution of the word
"norm " for " law," on the grounds that some modern dictionaries refer us from " law " to " norm " ? The usage is widespreaid, and we can hardly reproach the author for following
it in order to be understood. " Law " makes us think of an
externail rule, "norm" of an internal, rational rule. In my
opinion, it is yielding too far to the atmosphere of rationalism
pervading our own era and milieu to abandon a term that is
essential to Christian and biblical vocabulary and to general
philosophy as welL Wou1d it be possible to repl,aice " law " by
" norm " in translating the Bible without immediately experi-

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

123

encing the resulting hardening and inadequacy? Could we
talk, for example, about the new Norm insteaid of the new or
evangelicail Law? We would encounter the same problem in
ancient philosoph:UcaJllanguage where laws are works of wisdom
rather than the expression of an authoritarian will. It wouM
seem better to me to giV'e .the word " faw " a suppleness and
variety of vailues which would make it capable of signifying
an interior and spiritual law as well as an external and constraining one.
Another occasionally surprising thing I have noticed is the
absence of a demonstrated relationship between actions and
virtues •and their objects; this is doubtless drue to the perspective focussing on values and the human person, objectivity being based primarily, wecording to ·the ·aiuthor, on the exigencies
of personal nature. Thus among the conditions of morality not
mentioned by the author is the classic one, the object in the
intention; in its place he notes rather the relation of the ruction
to the order of morail values. As to circumstances, it is not
brought out olearly that these are secondary elements, and
this gives the term an extreme, if not excessive breadth.
Similarly the virtues, and consequently sins, are not defined wccording to their objects, and this obscures their precise distinction and connection-a problem that reappears• at the
level of a;ctions.
I also note a rather Augustinian stress on the role of concupiscence as the origin of sins causing the loss of liberty.
Finally, the pages devoted to contemp1ative consent (p. 175177) , which reestablish the bond with the mystical, could have
perhaps made use of some precisions and nuances so as to
avoid the accusation of quietism, which they sure1ly do not
deserve.
In conclusion I should like to note the beautiful deseription
on p. 231 of all the elements which enter into the composition
of the Christian life and their ordering. This is an exeellent
resume of the book.
Despite these few criticisms, which are less reproaiches than

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SERVAIS PINCKAERS,

O.P.

elements of dialogue and suggestions for adjustment, I consider this book a very valuable contribution fo a constructive renewal of Catholic moral teaching.

n
Wi11iam May's Moral Absolutes, Catholic Tradition, Current Trends and the Truth describes clearly and informatively
the difficult problem of the existence of absolute moral laws,
a problem which is at present causing division among Catholic
tea;chers of ethics. The author gives an honest and ca:lm assessment of the state of the question, taking up the main arguments of the school of "revisionists "-so caHed in relation to
traiditional ethics-and then answering these candidly, point
by point, with solid :reasoning.
There are four chap-bers. The first introduces the discussion
and gives a brief historical ba;ckg:round extending from the
Didache and the Fathers of the Church through Vatican
Council II and including the Middle Ages and the period of the
Council of T1,ent. May makes it easy to see the constancy of
the categorical stands that were takien, the " absolutes," in the
condemnations of abortion, infanticide, adultery, fornication,
and contrruception. This study obviously had to be limited to
a few sampHngs from ea:ch period. It is regrettable, however,
that nothing was taken from New Testament teaching, which
is the principal source of Christian trndition.
A word about Ockham, in connection with Duns Scotus,
could have thrown light on the distant origins of the problematic "revisionist " position our:rent today. Ockham, in fact, rejected the sole absolute of love for God which Duns Scotus
held, arguing that if God should command someone to hate
him, this act of obedience would be morally good. All precepts would thus be rendered :relative. But douhtless the author was merely intel'ested at this point in showing the historical continuity of the tea;ching on absoJute precepts in ethics.
The second chapter sets out the four main arguments which

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

125

have led "l'evisionist" moralists to question the existence of
absolute principles and to reduce them to the level of concrete
norms which they call " behavioral material."
First there is the historicity of moral norms, caused by the
evolving nature of man and the societies in which moral rules
have been developed (p. 26 :ff). Then comes the method used
by the "revisionists": the establishment of norms based on
the consideration of goods on a "pre-mora1l" or " ontic" level
and their evailuation according to the principle of proportionality or of preference. Thus, that act is good which in itself
and in its effects results proportionately in the most good and
the least evil. If there is a good end in view, it becomes pos·sible to perform an act with evil results, given a proportionate
reason (p. 29 ff) . The third point the "revisionists" make is
that it is necessary to consider the " wholeness " or " totality "
of a moral act, notably the actor's intention and all the circumstances and results of the act (p. 34 ff). Finally the" revisionists" appeal to ancient tradition, particularly to certain texts of St. Thomas alluding to moral norms which hold
only "in most cases," thus admitting exceptions (p. 38 ff).
The logical conclusion following from this combination of arguments is that there are no concrete, absolute norms valid without the possibility of an eX!ception,for an eX'ception may be required in view of an unforeseen historical situation or a unique
combination of circumstances or by a judgment of proportionaility, which calls for the acceptance of a certain evil for the
sake of a greater good.
The author answers, notably in his third chapter, that the
historic dimension of man cannot eliminate the universal character of human nature together with the basic goods which it
includes (p. 43 ff) . The principle of proportionality, on the
other hand, founders on the impossibility of finding a unity
of measure whereby to compare goods. Further, if one could
demonstrate that one good proportionately outweighed another, this would seem to destroy the liberty needed in order
to make a moral choice (p. 46 :ff). The desire to consider all

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O.P.

the circumstances of an action and situation does not prevent
a person from being able to judge that an act is evil because
some important element vitiates it, according to the principle:
good from its total causality, evil from any defect (p. 56 ff).
In this oonneotion it wou1d be good to take note of the distinotion between the essential elements of an action, its object and purpose, which determine its moral nature, and the
secondary elements, which are properly speaking circumstances
and which can only more or less change the goodness or badness of the action. We too often use the term' circumstance'
to designate any element whatsoever of an a:ction. In the concrete, if we consider the short- or long-term effects, the number
of ' circumstances ' can be without limit, and this renders a
definite moral judgment praiotically impossibJe. Moreover the
author seems to me to reduce the object of the action to the
relation of means to end (pp. 41, 57, 61-fl) . In contrast, postTridentine moralists have stressed the object faicly heavily but
reduced the rorle of the end too much. .According to St. Thomas
(ST, la-Ilae, q. 18, a. 6), the notion of object is broader than
that of end, the latter being the object of the interior aiction,
as distinguished from the matter, which is the object of the
exterior action. The thing that characterizes St. Thomas's position, in relation to modern voluntarism, is the coordination of
reason and wilil in forming a human ruction; this leads to the
corulition of object and end in determining the nature of the
act, it being understood that the :finality too has its objectivity.
It is not too difficult for the ruuthor to show that the precepts of the Decalogue rullow of no e:x;ceptionsfor St. Thomas,
and that some of his texts have been interpreted in too biased
a manner (p. 58 ff) . Furthermore St. Thomas's ethical structure is different from that of moralists after Trent, including
the " revisionists," in that his is an ethics of virtues and not of
obligations or norms. Ris focus is on the context of a person's
morwl qualities and not on that of a pre-morwl external object.
It is impossible to interpret St. Thomas correctly without taking into consideration the intemction of the organism of vir-

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

U7

tues, for this regulates his eth:iical system and gives to precepts
their sense and foree.
In Chapter Four the author cono1udes to " the truth of moral
absolutes." He justly criticizes the theory of the fundamental
option insofar as it serves to separate a person's life choice
latter do have somefrom the actions of his daily
thing to say about our moral quality. He explains the moral
absolute by distinguishing in St. Thomas two kinds of practical truths included among the first principles of the moral
law. In the first place there are fundamental goods, the objects of natural inclinations (Ia-Hae, q. 94, a. 2), among them
knowledge of truth and harmony with others. These principles do not of themselves permit us to distinguish between
The moral discernment of
morally good and bad
choices can only be exercised by means of a practical truth of
another kind, the fundamental norm of love of God and neighbor (p. 72 ff). In regard to this fundamental norm and the
integral development of man which it includes, the absolute
morail prooepts show us, in their negative form, what
constitute our moral being and development.
It seems to me that acco11ding to St. Thomas the knowledge
of truth (and in speaking of the natural inclination he is precise: the truth about God) forms a part of the moral quaility
of an inclination towards the good. The knowledge of truth
cannot he absolutely neutral or pre-moral with regard to the
good; it constitutes it as a true good. Here again we encounter
the association of reason and w:iihl; ·the object is truth and goodness. It is the same with love, which cannot be good if it is
not true or authentic. And further, the author spontaneously
associates truth and goodness when he speaks of precepts, as
in his title: " The Truth of Moral Absolutes."
And so we are dealing here with !a solid book, well thought
out and weM argued and going straight to the point. It prowdes a good introd'Ulction to the problematics and current discussions of absoilute moral precepts and presents a firm, ra-

SERVAIS PINCKAERS,

O.P.

tional basis for traditional Catholic tea-0hing on a fundamental
and very timely question. 1
Obviously the author's thought could he further developed,
notably in its relation to Scripture, and calls for some additional treatment and fine tuning. But what is presented here
is of high quality and merits commendation.

III
"Bonum hominis "-what is man's good? This question
can leave no one indifferent. And so, Eberhard Schockenhoff's
Bonum Hominis, which dea,}s with it at length, merits our attention. It answers the question with a basic notion which is
surfacing more and more today, even in American philosophy:
the notion of virtue. Differing from the focus on actions, preva1lent notably in casuistry, the idea of virtue would have us look
at a man's qua.liJties, which underily moral ruction and give it
its human dimension. Giving a fondamential place to virtue
presupposes a certain anthropology and an entire reorganization of moral ethics. More, it renews the concept of man's relationship to God, for Christian revelwtion has given rise to
virtues of a quite special character, such as faith, hope, and
charity. Ey focusing on man's good and on virtue, the author
puts his finger on a live nerve in current debates on moral
the specificity of Christian moral ethics and its relationship to human values. Must we choose between an ethical
system based on reason and one based on faith? As the book
is finely constructed, it is well worth the effort of a careful
pemsal.
The author has taken as the basis of his work St. Thomas's
moml studies, culminating in the Summa Theologiae, where
the virtues effectively comtitute the pillars supporting the entire mora.l edifice. He has treated the texts of the Angelic
Doctor in a manner at once faithful and fresh. Viewing the
1 See on this topic:
Servais Pinckaers, Ge qu'on ne peut jamais faire: La
question des actes intrinsiiquement mauvais. Histoire et discussion (Fribourg, 1986).

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

129

wiholie structure from the vantage point of the concept of
vmtue, he pauses at eaich key principle, art eaich stage of the
progressing thought, to clarify and modify ideas in the light
of the discussions and interpretations which have taken place
since St. Thomas's time. The author knows how to take a personrul and jusrti:fiable stand. For each problem posed, he provides a lrucid, integral question and a comprehensive answer in
harmony with his own line of thought. The study of the texts
is compact and wehl researched and makes judicious use of
the historical method in order to draw out the e:mct thought.
The interpretatiou is nuanced and does not hesii.tate to develop
St. Thomas' s thought rut times or to criticize some of his positions. The author knows, too, how to demonstrate the timeliness of Thomas's teaching despite diffel'enicesof probJematics
and language, and thus to draw his age closer to our own.
The work responds to the demands of the materiaJ with skill
and breaidth. It is obviousJy not possible to go into detail
here; I can only consider the aJUthor's plan in brief and outline
its principail features, though I regret having to pass over some
very interesting aspects.
Let me note, first of ahl, that the author has had the e:x;cellent
idea of including a resume at the end of each ooapter and sec·
tion of his book. This is definitely a reruder's aid, but it would
be a mistake to read only the resumes and not profit from the
precise analysis contained in eruch section.
The book is divided into three pallts. The first considers
the roots of the Thomist:iic coll!cept of virtue as found in St.
Thomas's bib1ical and philosophical commentaries and in his
earliest theological works: his expfanation of the beatitudes
according to St. Matthew, his commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, and on the Fourth Book of Peter Lombard's
Sentences, and his Summa contra gentiles.
The second and longest part elaborates the systematic development of St. Thomas's teruohing on the vil'tues in his theology. Here are the chapters marking the stages of his
thought: the concept of man created in the image of God as

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linked with his being destined to happiness as his final end
(2) ; the connection between virtue and the concept of freedom (3); the role of the passions in the development of virtue (4); an in-depth study of "habits" (5); the systematic
exposition of the concept of virtue (6); the infused virtues
and the action of God in man (7) .
The third part focuses on the theological virtues. The work
ends with a conclusion in the form of eight theses showing the
essential principles and validity of a morality of virtues in our
times.
I should like to outline briefly the genera,! scope of the work.
I congratulate the author for having paused at the outset over
the commentary on St. Matthew, thus showing us the evangelical roots and Christian character of St. Thomas's thought
on happiness and the virtues. Here we touch a sensitive point:
the reduction of these two essential notions to a philosophical
level often makes the treatise on happiness preponderantly
Aristotelian, virtue being seen solely as the result of human
effort.
The analysis of St. Thomas's commentary on the Ethics
'shows his grea.t fidelity to Aristotle's thought and at the same
time his ability to go beyond him discreetly and bring forward certain texts in Christian revelation regarding such basic
themes as the pre-eminence of the contemplative life over the
active life (in view of man's happiness in God beyond this
present life) . Let me add that a definite factor here is St.
Thomas's Dominican religious experience, the context of his
Efe and reflection.
In his commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, St.
Thomas has shown initiative in introducing a first elaboration
on his teaching on the virtues in general and on habits (III
Sent., d.
q. 1); Schockenhoff aptly relates this to Thomas's
equally origina,I study of happiness (IV Sent., d. 49) , where he
already makes an association between Aristotle and the Bible.
The Summa contra gentiles, where St. Thomas is free of
Lombard's plan, still does not consist of a systema,tic body of

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the virtues; the perspectiV'e he adopts here is that of the divine
government of the world, whi!le a consideration of virtue requires an anthropologicrul viewpoint. Perhaps the confrontation with Jewish and Arabian thought, if theocentric, led him
to set aside the more human viewpoint.
I might ,add that the tert of other works of St. Thomas
.toUJching on the doctrine of the vil'tues will be intmduced by
the author later on in the course of his systematic study.
The roots of the teaching on the virtues are definitively
found in the bihlicaJ. concept of man created in the image of
God and develop in the consideration of the :finaility which
orders us to God as to our fina,l happiness. Such is the perspective dominating the entire field of ethics put forward in the
Summa. It furnishes the dynamic framework within which the
virtues are traiced 1as the principal moving forces behind moral
action. The author shows clearly how in these decisive studies
St. Thomas's anthropology is set in a perspective which is
theological, not merely philosophical, and indeed establishes
agreement between the two. Fo:r example, the happiness man
can attain hel'e below opens onto the happiness of the next
world and ris a preparation for it.
We can only applaud this re-appreciaition of seeing happiness, our final end, as the cornerstone of ethics and this recognition of the primacy of theofogy in St. Thomas's thought,
though in strict accord with philosophical :reflection. Philosophy and theology are not separated hut converge under the
aegis of an intelligent faith.
I should mention a problem of great importance which the
a;uthor was unable to deal with, but which has important bearing on the updating of the morality of virtues: the elimination of the treatise and consideration of happiness in modern
ethics of obligation and duty. Do we have the courage to put
happiness back at the head of moral theology, and how are we
going to consider it? The author for his part has clearly seen
the correlation between man's destiny to happiness and the
virtues.

SERVAIS

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The author takes fuU account of the Thomistic concept of
freedom, whj,ch is basic to his teaching on virtue. The coordination between nature and free wiH orders the latter to the
good, seen in its objective reality as corresponding to desire
and as the som1ce of perfection. Thus human freedom is itself
orde:ved to the universal good, towa11ds which it moves by way
of human acts. The structiurail rather than psy;chological analysis of these acts rests upon the intemction of intelligence and
will. In this framework freedom to sin remains accidental, a
sort of deficien1cypossihle because of the condiition of cl'eaturehood.
Again we see the re-establishment of a coordination between
man's freedom and God through the desire for the good, like
that between the inteUigence and will whicih work together in
a free act to assure its quality. The good is no longer simply
whatever is dictated by the Law but answers rather to a spirituail desfre and leads to perfection.
As a preparation for the study of virtue, the author devotes
a chapter to the passions. The perspective is a far cry from
that of the olassical manuals, which saw the passions as primarily obstacles to freedom. The passions, or sensible movements, divided into two kinds the irasciMe or concupiscibJe,
related to affeetivity or aggression, 1are destined to collaborate
in man's perfection through the formation of virtue, for virtue
involves the entire personaJity in doing good. Sensibility can
evcen be the seat of moral virtues, such as fortitude and temperance. Doubtless sensibility can offer resistance and lell!d us
astray; but the work of virtue is precisely to reestablish it in
an active harmony with our spiritual faculties. It seems apposite to note a,lso tha.t St. Thomas treats of the passions as
a theologian, leading directly in his analyses, as is the case with
love and hope, to the study of the theological virtues.
The author rightly lingers over St. Thomas's extensive and
original study of habits, a fundamental notion for the elaboration of an ethics of virtue, hut one in which the ethics of obligation or duty has lost a,IJ. interest. Doubtless that sort of

RECENT MORAL THEOLOGY

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ethics is responsible for the disappearance of the term" habit"
from our western la.nguages; we no longer seem to have a word
to designate this human reality, which is nonetheJess part of
our everyday experielllCe: the aJCquired disposition to perform
actions of high quality, as of an artisan who has mastered his
trade (or of an artist or scholar or anyone who has acquired
proficiency in some ructivity).
The 1mthor notes that habit is defined first of all in its relationship to the nature of a being and secondly in its apt relationship to the action proceeding from it (in view of the end
and perfection proper to a person). Habit thus qualifies the
man in his personal being as wehl as in his actions. It is not an
extrinsic ,disposition facilitating moral action; it facilitates
moral aietion in its soul"ce, in the indivd'uail person, and confers
on that person the power to act with spontaneity and ease,
with a view to his own perfection.
The author's most interesting observation is his demonstration that haibit acquires the strength which distinguishes it
from a simple disposiition not only because of its rootedness in
the subject through its exeroise but even more because of the
very good which is the object of the aiction. This opening to
the good and to what we might ca,lJ the infLux of its J:'lealityimplies a receptiVie quality in habit, which complements its operative side.
Since St. Thomas srtudies habits with virtues in view, this
distinction of the two facets of habit is a direct preparation
for his tea:ching on the infused virtues, theological and moral,
which more directiy activate the receptive disposition of the
habit. The power of these virtues will be all the gJ-eater becaiuse of the underlying strength of God, who is their final
object.
In the devdopment of his thought, Schockenhoff maintains
that, far fl"om considering the infused virtues as something accessory derived from habits, we must see them as a " first
form," hecaJUse of the specific opening out to the good and to
God, the soume of good, which they actualize.

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I hesitate to agree with the author when he says that the infused virtues are the first actualization of the notion of habit,
for it seems to me that St. Thomas has drawn on the latter
first in the context of human experience; hut these virtues can
doubtless be considered as a fuller actualization. In any case,
the author quite rightly highlights the receptive aspect of
habits. This enables him to correct the usual,. too human concept of the virtues, which might be called " activist," and to
restore to the notion of virtue its flexibility and analogical
·character, which allows us to apply the term to the infused as
well. as to the acquired virtues. This correction is indispensable
i:f we are to construct the organism of the Christian virtues
soundly and to demonstrate how, being vitally united, the theological and mol'lal virtues are in mutual harmony. Nor should
we overlook the Gifts of the Holy Spirit, which effect in a
very specirul way, even more directly than do the infused virtues, a disposition to he open to the divine action. According
·to St. Thomas the Gifts are necessary for the perfection of
Christian activity. Unfortunately the Gifts of the Holy Spirit
have been relegated to the scrap heap of ethics; it should come
;as no surprise that the infused moral virtues have fo1lowed
after them.
It is impossiil:llleto detail all the author's analyses regarding
virtue. The foregoing paragraph explains why he devotes a
special chapter to the defense and expJanation of St. Thomas's
1eaahing on the infused mor:a1 virtues before taking up the
theological virrbues. Concerning the term " virtue ", he rightly
notes the convergence, in the thought of St. Thomas, of the
Amstotelian " centrality " and the bibE1eal " dynamism," facilitaited by the sole translation virtus in the Latin bible. With
the help of this enriched no·tion, St. Thomas could integrate
material received from many tmditions and buiM from them a
harmonious organization of virtues involving all of man and
covering the entire fielid of ethics. In this synthesis the theo1ogica;l virtues are not set apart as one segment of ethics,
relatively undeveloped, as the classical manuals tended to leave

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them. From within, the theofogical virtues Ol'der all the faculties and virtues to true happiness, as to their ultimate end.
With obvious delight anrd with nuances as weH, the author
explains and defends the thesis on infused moral virtues proposed by St. 'l\homas, willch was attacked by Duns Scotus and
a host of others who think that charity suffices to set in motion tihe acquired moml virtues. First thel'e is a question of
perspective: St. Thomas does not start out to construct an
edifice of the virtues in order to pJruce charity at its summit;
on the contrary, he begins with charity in order to show how
it penetmtes all the fraculties and stirs up in them the virtues
necessary for their coHaboration, i.e., the infused moral virtues.
St. Thomas bases his argument on fittingness, theological
rather than metaphysical; it springs from his wonder at the
work of God, who even on the natural plane uses secondary
caiuses to contribute to his action.
I wou1d add that the teaching on the infused moral virtues
onJy makes sense in an ethical setting which estahlishes a comdination between grace and free wiH as weU as between the
v;arious faculties of man. It would no longer be comprehensible
in an ethical construct of commandments, in the manner of
Scotus, where the moral life tends to become conoentmted in
the will (or freedom) and virtue in ciharity alone.
The chapters on the theological virtues are ¥ery interesting.
Faith, seen as an assent to the First Truth, reveals to man
that total happiness is the ultimate end of his whole life. It is
the first movement of the spiritual creature's return to God,
giving us a spiiriturul instinct and a light on our path. Seen
thus, faith has an eschatrulogical structure and appears as an
anticipation of eternal life. The author is rather more cautious
in showing the practical dimensions of faith. This is an aspect
which St. Thomas never explains but which can be discerned
in his treatment of the Gift of Wisdom, whose pmctieal activity
it with charity. The Gifts of the Spirit give
a pneumatologica1 dimension to ·the moral life, and the imitation of Christ provides it with a model. As for moral judg-

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ment, faith supports reason and prevents errors, even in the
case of truths a.ocessible to reason yet nevertheless revealed.
The author's oaution here is doubtless explained by current
discussions which oppose a rational, autonomous ethical system and an ethics of faith (Glaubensethik) , For my part, I
would go further than he does in affirming the practical function of faith and its role in ethics. The intervention of faith
in morality has been too limited, confined to some obligations
concerning the Creed and the Act of Faith. Faith has been
separated too much from morality. If St. Thomas places faith
at the head of the virtues, this means that with hope and
iciharity it enlightens and inspires all of a Christian's activity
from within. He defines the New Law as the grace of the Holy
Spirit, received through faith in Christ (including faith in redemption and in the siacraments), working through charity.
Does this not mean that faith illumines and charity animates
aU vivtues, a.II acts? Faith, however, should be placed not in
competition but in concof'dance with reason, which it strengthens, rectifies when necessary, and surpasses in the line of perfection. It can even effect changes in the pmct:Uoal judgment,
for the measure of the infused virtues is different from that of
rthe acquired virtues and is more demanding (Ia-Hae, q. 63,
a, 4) . This is also tr:ue in the way the Gifts of the Holy Spirit
interact with the virtues whiJch they perfect, according to St.
T\homas's beautiful article interpreting the beatitudes (q. 69,
a. 3). I would simply like to note tihat the Angelic Doctor indiioates the differences a1ocmding to the order of perfection,
which is proper to an ethics of the virtues, and not merely according to the question of permission and prohibition, which
,tends to emphasize the least obJigation possible. Since there is
a connection between the virtues and Gifts, and they form an
organic unity, we shou1d not hesitate to say that the light of
faith, refracted no:tabJy through Gospel teaching, can enlighten
and renew aH the actions, judgments, and prructica.l criteria of
the Christian, without in any way denying reason. Unfortunately the teruching of the New TeS!tament has been put in

RIWENT' MORAL THEOLOGY

137

parenthesis, relegated to the margin of ethics, so that moralists
are dispensed from adverting to it, although it was a primary
source for the Fathers and for St. Thomas.
The author devotes a good chapter to the virtue of hope,
which was usually covered in two pages in the ethics manuals.
Having as its object the happiness promised by God as an
ultimate end, surely hope, from our viewpoint, must be the
principle of our actions directed towards this higher
end. In response to the interpretation of Moltmann, who reproaches 8t. Thomas for having transformed Christian hope
into a transcendant aspiration, the author shows how the
virtue of hope differs from simple desire; by depending on divine help as its formal object, at once active and waiting, hope
has an esohatalogioaJ. capacity for God-one cannot reach out
for less than God-which includes and measures temporal
hope. The author explains how prayer is the expression of hope
rand gives a keen analysis of the Gift of Fear. Hope also has a
communitarian dimension, thanks to charity which moves us
to hope for others.
I note in passing: the author refers to my study on the virtuous natme of hope in ,the 1958 Revue Thomiste, which establishes the posteriority of " On Hope " to the Secunda Secundae.
He was not aware of my revision of this article in The Renewal
of Christian Ethics (Tournai, 1964), where I modified my position in favor of the posteriority of the Summa (pp. 231-233).
There is also a chapter there entitled: " Can One Hope for
Others?"
The author believies it is necessary to maintain the existence
of hope in Christ and in the Messed in view of the
of the Mystical Body, and tries to deve1op St. Thomas's
ithought in this sense. But was there not something mol'e than
our kind of hope in Christ, he who possesses al1l the divine help
which underlies our hope?
The chapter devoted to cha,rity crowns the work with a remarkable analysis of the definition of charity as friendship
with God, a definition proper to St. Thomas. The ruuthor has

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:to address the difficult problems of interested and disinterested
lo¥e, of physical or ecstatic love according to Rousselot, of the
subtle ambiguity of vocabulary found in the whole mnge of
love. He thinks, as do P. Geiger and I, that one must interpret the idea of love in St. Thomas in terms of its highest
form, friendship, as found in spiritual creatures; " ilove" is
especially the love of friendship, the love of the good of a personal being, in and for himself. From this point of view we
can understand the natural love which dmws beings towards
God as a primitive Yes (Ur-Bejahung) to the good, taking
in man the form of an aspiration to the perfection of the good.
But charity presupposes a divine initiative, the communication of happiness, which alone can be the basis of a friendship between man and God because of their extreme inequality. Thus a new centering of love is at work: it no longer has
its center in the natural love of oneself but in the very love of
God, the sourrce from which there flows a love of self and of
neighbor which shares in the love God has for us as creator and
also, in the my;stery of Christ, as friend. Such is the love which
ought to infonn a.II the virtues, not modifying their na;ture but
breathing into them a mode of vital growth along the lines of
:moral perfection in its va.rious &tages.
I note here an interesting problem from Aelred of Rievaulx's
Spiritual Friendship, written in the twelfth century, which the
author does not mention. Aelred hesitates before the definition
of charity as friendship because charity requires love of enemies
but friendship and emnity aJ'e contraries.
This concept of charity as friendship alrlows for some excel11ent developments on the themes of love of self and love of
others. I mereJy note here that all the discussions which have
taken place on the problem of love have suffered greatly from
the disappearance of the theme of friendship from the field of
ethics in the course of the last centuries. This prevents one
from maintaining the preponderant role of charity, and as a
result love becomes identified almost inevitabJy with subjective and interested desire or its negation. The aiuthor's anal-

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yses contribute to restoring friendship to its rightful place, and
this is in the best interests of moral theology.
The author concludes his work with eight theses demonstrating the va1ue of an erthiics of the virtues; St. Thomas furnishes
us with a model for such an ethics, for our timely reflection.
S111oh a system stresses the quality of the human person and
brings out both the stability of human activity and the creative dynamism it inspires. Virtue involves all of man's faculties, including his sensibility; it develops a;ccording to a pedagogicail process; it makes possrible a judgment of connaturality
-this allows ethical science to approach all the nearer to concrete 1ruction, prudential judgment, and experience.
An ethics of the virtues is naturally oriented towards the
fuller good of man, towards happiness as an ultimate end, and
is thus directly related to the divine promises of Christian
revelation. It views Christian e;thics not as an appendage but
as the summit towards which moral action in its totality is
ol"dered, by means of the theological virtues. It enables us to
build an ethical system at once human 1and Christian, enjoying the mtional autonomy vitally accorded to a reflection of
faith. Animated by charity, an ethics of the virtues engenders
a dynamic of quaility being and quality action; it opens up an
infinirte road, the via caritatis. True, it does not solve all problems, hut it does plaice us in a better position to deal with
them.
Like many others, Schockenhoff stumbles over the reason
St. Thomas gives for placing the virtue of justice in the will:
rtihe w:iJH natu:rially tends towards the proper good of the subbut it needs a virtue in order to tend towards the good of
another because the latter exceeds one's own good (De virtutibus in communi, art. 5) . St. Thomas admits however of a
natmial love for others and notably for the common good, and
this is the ba;sis for the superiority of justice among the virtues
'(fa Hae, q. 66, a. 4 and Ila Ilae, q. 58, a. 12) . Could this
problem be I"esolved by drawing a parai1lel to what St. Thomas
says about friendship? Love for self comes first and is the
source of friendship with others, because eaeih of us is a sub-

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stantial unity and there is inevitably a certain distance between us and others, even in the heart of our communion.
Given this distance to be bridged, which is most apparent when
extema1 action aecording to an objective standard, such as
justice, is involved, one's natural love for others needs to be
strengthened, perfected by a virtue. This is not to say that
natura1l lov;e is limited to self-love, but that it does need to go
beyond itself towards others in order to devdop its natural
inclination. This does not happen, aictuaUy, vv"ithout a progressive adjustment between one's self and the other, which calls
for and forms a virtue, the steady, strong wiM to give the
other his due.
In his conclusion the author shows how ethical science can
reach, thanks to the concept of virtue, the very threshold of
concrete wction. True enough. But I think it would he appropriate to add that the reality of virtue goes still further: virtue
is formed in the very experience of persona;! action, in the repetition of good acts, and the knowledge thus gained returns towards this concrete action as towa!'ds its end; this engenders
that dynamic cimular motion between knowledge, praietical
judgment, and active experience,
is proper to ethical
science. In an ethics of the virtues, the connection between
knowledge and wction seems to me much closer than in an
ethics of obligations or imperatives. There remains, of course,
the difficulty of passing from concepts and words to the l'eaJity
of ructs and virtue.
I congratufate the author on his bibliography: it is largely
international and aidequate, even though certain titles are
missing. Finally, good notes mal{le the book easy to use. (I
note two errors in names: B. Duroux and V. de Couesnongle.)
We have here excellent material for rea:ding anrd for consultation. The problems encountered are fundamental and
very timely: the existence and organization of an ethical system whiah wiH be a,t once Christian and rationa1; questions
'about happiness and the vi11tues, human and theological. This
is an outstanding contribution to the effort for the renewal of
moria1l theology, asked for by the Council and desired by many.

BOOK REVIEWS
The Recovery of Virtue: The Relevance of Aquinas for Christian Ethics.
By JEAN PORTER. Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press,
1990. Pp. 208. $24.95 (cloth).
On Faith: Summa Theologiae 2-2, qq. 1-16 of St. Thomas Aquinas.
Translated by MARK D. JoRDAN. Readings in the Summa the·
ologiae, Vol. 1. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame
Press, 1990. Pp. 208. $9.95 (paper).
Two recent publications well serve the growing interest in what
Aquinas has to say about virtue, human and divine. First, Jean Porter
carefully studies the general " moral theory of Thomas Aquinas's
Summa theologiae in the light of the problematics of contemporary
Christian ethics, Protestant as well as Catholic " (p. 13) . Her work
incorporates a readable introduction to the main components of
Aquinas's moral philosophy: a realist conception of the good, the instantiation of that good in the world of human actions and goals, and
the ordering of choice towards the good through virtue. Secondly,
Mark Jordan introduces a new translation in a " spare but accessible
English" (p. 18) of the treatise on faith (Summa theologiae Ha-Hae
qq, 1-16). Since both volumes concern the secunda pars of Aquinas's
Summa theologiae, we can suitably examine their merits in this single
review.
The Recovery of Virtue aims at drawing the thought of Aquinas
into a clearer dialogue with those who write about theological ethics in
the English-speaking world. Accordingly, Porter prefaces her fine
study with a fair, though brief, survey of Catholic moral theology since
Vatican II and summary accounts of the dominant themes in the works
of Gene Outka, James Gustafson, and Stanley Hauerwas. She th.en
turns to a " reconstruction of the more strictly philosophical components " of Aquinas's moral theory as contained in the Summa theologiae.
In chapter 2, Porter explains some basic notions which undergird
Aquinas's general theory of morals, for example, his notion of goodness as something real; the premise that what is good or best for anyone is so in virtue of its being of a certain kind; the assertion that the
self remains a legitimate " object " of theological charity; the view
that one discovers intelligibility and organization within the created
order; and finally, the conviction that the final perfection of the ra-

141

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tional creature transcends the limits which creatureliness itself imposes.
In chapter 3, Porter gives a fine account of Aquinas's action theory,
illustrated by the sorts of good examples that Aquinas himself would
have used today.
Thomas Gilby once remarked that end so dominates the secunda pars
that it should he read through to say what it means. Porter's first three
chapters render a clear, organized analysis of Aquinas's moral teleology.
Still, I would like to raise two small issues which may suggest lines for
further inquiry. First, Porter asks whether Aquinas's teleological frame
of reference allows for performing actions " without reference to any
wider aim" (p. 76). As examples of those things which one can simply
desire for themselves, she proposes engagement in or with: " fine music,
a life of service, chocolates, children, religious ecstasy, sexual ecstasy
... the list is endless" (loc. cit.). First of all, this list of examples
seems to ignore a basic distinction between a finis cui and a finis cuius
gratia, or the difference between something that is sought for itself and
something which is sought for the sake of a further end. A person may
never virtuously subordinate children and (service to) other people to
his or her own goals or purposes (including delight). We can render
them their due according to the diverse types of justice, even expect to
receive something good from them in theological hope, and above all
love them in theological charity. But we can never turn them into a
finis cnius gratia. On the other hand, fine music, chocolates, and ecstasy
both sexual and religious (if by the latter one means created thoughts
and feelings about God and not union with God himself) always remain
instrumental, that is, they can never virtuously serve as a finis cui.
If we take Porter's example, Aquinas's teleological framework includes the chocolate ice-cream cone eaten because I like chocolate ice·
cream cones. Why? The eating of the ice-cream cone falls under the
" wider aim " of temperance, specifically the type of the cardinal virtue
which regulates the pleasures of the table, i.e., the virtue of abstinence
(ST IIa-IIae, q. 146, a. 1). Similarly, listening to fine music falls under another specific type of temperance, eutrapelia (ST Ha-Hae, q. 168,
aa. 2 & 4); pursuing sexual ecstasy under chastity (ST Ha-Hae, q.
151, aa. l & 3) and so forth. And in each case, the end remains the
reality which constitutes the object of the act, not the pleasure which
arises as its consequence (cf. ST Ia-Hae, q. 2, a. 6; q. 4, aa. l & 2).
The second reservation deals with whether one can study Aquinas's
Summa and, as Porter admits she does, bracket " its more properly
theological components " (p. 32) . She rightly observes that Aquinas
assigns a profound role to the theological virtues in the moral life.
However, it is difficult to explain that role without reference to the
whole economy of Christian salvation: the efficacy of Christ's human.

BOOK REVIEWS

143

:nature, the sacraments of the new dispensation, the Trinitarian indwelling, and the final goal of supernatural beatitude as theological
faith instructs us about it. Porter reduces all this to " inner harmony
and unity of life" (p. 67; cf. also p. 160) and thereby skews Aquinas's
virtue theory a bit. For example, she asserts that "the life of grace
does add at least one new quality to the cardinal virtues, namely patience, which is one aspect of infused fortitude " (loc. cit.) But for
Aquinas, grace changes much more. Moreover, the secunda pars clearly recognizes an acquired virtue of patience. It is true that ST Ila-Hae,
q. 136, a. 3 (not a. 2) seems to indicate the contrary, but Aquinas's
general theory supposes that reason alone can require a person to persist in the pursuit of an honest good even in the face of the sufferings
which that pursuit entails. And in the reply to the second argument
(Ha-Hae, q. 136, a. 3, ad 2), Aquinas actually distinguishes the "political" or acquired virtue of patience from the infused; the former remains "commensurate with human nature." The commentatorial tradition puzzled over this unusual presentation of the virtue of patience;
the generally accepted conclusion holds that the patristic spiritual tradition influenced Aquinas's decision to make a special point of the
infused virtue of patience. In any event, the theological virtues enter
into Aquinas's Christian ethics in a way that makes bracketing them
difficult.
Chapters 4-6 discuss Aquinas's treatment of the cardinal virtues,
Porter begins with the virtues of personal discipline, circa passiones,
(the affective virtues) in chapter 4, then turns to the virtues which
make up cardinal justice, circa operationes, in chapter five, and finally
treats prudence (and the theological virtues) in chapter 6. For :reasons
which remain unexplained, she reverses the order which Aquinas himself follows in the seczmda-secundae, namely, prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. The author does not emphasize the integrating
role of prudence in the moral life. Two especially important articles
for interpreting Aquinas's virtue theory, namely, whether there can he
virtue without intellectual virtue and whether there can be intellectual
virtue without moral virtue (ST Ia-Hae, q. 58, aa. 4 & 5) are cited
only once each (p. 164 & p. 156). I suspect that as a result, the author
tends to overstate the distinction between the virtues circa passiones and
circa operationes, for example, "justice, unlike temperance and fortitude, is oriented directly toward the good of others, and of the community as a whole, and not toward the good of the individual " (p.
124). Or, in order to distinguish between the real mean (medium rei)
of justice and the relational mean (medium rationis) of the virtues of
personal discipline (ST Ia-Hae, q. 64, a. 2), Porter affirms that "the
norms of justice provide definite content to the otherwise open-ended

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notions of temperance and fortitude" (p. 156; cf. also p. 153). Curi·
ously, this discussion of the virtues fails to emphasize the important
category of virtue as habitus.
These points, as I said, simply suggest lines for further reflection.
All in ,all, The Recovery of Virtue remains quite faithful to the main
lines of Aquinas's moral theory. And I remain confident that Jean
Porter will continue her valuable contribution of bringing Aquinas's
moral theory into contact with other problematics in theological ethics.
The author clearly accomplished her goal of showing the relevance of
Aquinas for Christian ethics today. I suggest that her book will serve
the highly constructive purpose of introducing Aquinas to an audience
which only now is beginning to recognize the merits of the Summa
theologiae for moral theory.
Since it renders Aquinas accessible to those who may he put oft by
his style and vocabulary, Jordan's translation of the treatise on faith
meets an important need. This volume contains neither paraphrase nor
concise translation. We have a complete and competent translation
based on carefully selected textual evidence (pp. 22, 23) . The notes
and index of authoritative sources also help the student appreciate
how much Aquinas depended on his theological and cultural forerunners. Jordan thoughtfully provides a brief introduction to each
" key authority ": Scripture, Augustine, Pseudo-Dionysius, Gregory the
Great, etc. The brief introduction provides the essentials which a beginner in medieval studies requires to read Aquinas's own text intelligently.
One also appreciates the author's attention to terms which have spe·
cial meaning in Aquinas's vocabulary but which may be lost on the
modern reader, e.g., salus (p. 71), beatitudo (p. 149), commnnicari
(p. 199), sacramentum (p. 231), praeceptum (p. 267). Other explicative notes, though kept to a minimum, untangle major knots in medieval
theology and philosophy and help the student get to the point of
Aquinas's argument. Those who teach the theological virtues will welcome this volume as a textbook for classroom use. Indeed, the complete relevance of Aquinas's moral theory requires that one fully appreciate his purpose in putting the Summa theologiae together, namely,
to help those who are beginning theological studies in whatever context. Theological faith, hope, and charity remain essential features of
this plan. I look forward to the appearance of subsequent volumes in
this series.
RoMANUS

Dominican House of Studies
Washington, D.C.

CEssARIO,

O.P.

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Luther on Thomas Aquinas: The Angelic Doctor in the Thought of the
Reformer. By DENIS R. JANZ. Veroffentlichungen des Instituts
fiir Europiiische Geschichte Mainz, Abt. Religionsgeschichte, Bd.
124. DM
140. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1989. Pp. ii
38 {cloth).

+

As Denis Janz, specialist in the late medieval context of Luther's
thought (Luther and Late Medieval Thomism, 1983), points out in the
"Prospectus," a study of Luther's understanding of Thomas has an
inherent appeal, for, " rightly or wrongly, Thomas and Luther are inevitably regarded as the standard-bearers of Roman Catholicism and
Protestantism" {p. 1). The recent completion of the necessary critical
indices has made the task possible, and the result is a fine and necessary contribution to the work of all scholars interested in the thought
of these two pivotal Christian thinkers.
The method of Janz is straightforward: assemble the references to
Thomas in Luther's works, organize them into appropriate categories,
exegete their meanings, and discern important tendencies or perspectives common to these texts. Then "the accuracy of Luther's understanding and the cogency of his critique " can be evaluated from the
perspective of twentieth cenrtury historical knowledge {p. 2). Janz
recognizes that there are significant hermeneutical difficulties inherent
in such a study and that any evaluation " may well imply a notion of
history as progress, perhaps even a confidence in the intellectual superiority of modernity over the past " (p. 3) . The result bears out the
soundness of his approach.
Chapter I examines "Luther on the Person of Thomas." Luther, sharing in and contributing to his time's distinctive theological polemic, had
no shortage of epithets for Thomas, from " Sophist " to " beggarly
paunch " {p. 4) . The remarkable thing is the surprising number of
complimentary things he has to say. At different times of his career
Luther referred to Thomas as " this holy man " or " a man of ' great
genius ' . . . woefully misunderstood " {p. 5) . A most interesting example is the different uses he makes of a story of Thomas's struggle
with despair when near death, when Thomas faced his Anfechtung by
holding the Bible and saying "I believe what is in this book" (p. 8).
Sometimes Luther cites it as an example of the weakness of implicit
faith; but other times he makes no critical comment on Thomas, and
the story implies the victory of faith over despair. These different uses
show the ambiguity of Luther's attitude toward Thomas as a person,
and what in balance seems to be " grudging respect " for an " example
of how great persons can at the same time be seriously mistaken " (p.
10).

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Chapter U, which comprises the bulk of the hook, carefully examines
the substantive issues on which Luther mentions and responds to
Thomas: experience, the use of Aristotle, Scripture, penance and indulgences, the Lord's Supper, monasticism, justification, law, baptism,
angels, papal authority, purgatory, and the veneration of images. On
some of these issues Janz sees only a minor critique of Thomas by
Luther and sometimes little real difference between their positions.
Both Luther and Thomas give primacy to the literal sense of Scripture,
and "both teach that the Church and theology stand under the authority
of Scripture" (p. 30). On this question Luther's critique has more to
do with the Thomists than Thomas. In regard to penance and indulgences Luther criticizes Thomas's view, though here again there is distortion of Thomas by the Thomists, which Luther correctly suspects
(pp. 44-45) .
Though Luther disagrees with Thomas's understanding of the Lord's
Supper, he feels Thomas was entitled to his opinion; what he cannot
bear is how Thomas has been raised " to the level of an infallible
teacher," with his opinions transformed "into articles of faith" (p.
48). Justification, the heart of Luther's thought, is "a relatively insignificant issue " in his critique of Thomas, as Luther eventually
comes to understand better the key place Thomas gave grace (pp. 60,
61) . Luther sees Christ as the " abrogation " of the law and criticizes
Thomas for not seeing it this way; however, this is a linguistic misunderstanding of Thomas, probably based on Gabriel Bicl's teaching,
so that Thomas and Luther are in fact much closer on this issue (p.
64). And Luther does not seem to link any extreme papalism with
Thomas, rather seeing " the exaggeration of papal authority among his
contemporaries," the interpreters of Thomas (p. 73). Thus, on several
questions of great importance to Luther as a reformer, Thomas's
thought itself, when properly understood, comes in for mild or almost
no criticism.
Yet on other issues Luther sees a sharp difference between himself
and Thomas. Luther sees Aristotle's "reign" in theology as corrupting
the Pauline understanding of justification, though Janz sees him misunderstanding the way Thomas uses Aristotle. Janz also criticizes
Luther's interpretation of Thomas's view of baptism; while Thomas sees
a spiritual power in the water, it is not in the "crudely materialistic"
way Luther thinks (p. 68). Luther well understands (and criticizes)
Thomas's view that monasticism is a superior kind of Christian life,
entailing " the equation of monastic vows with baptism "; Luther instead sees " an intrinsic equality between lay and religious vocations "
(p. 55). On the matter of angels Luther argues against what he sees
in Thomas as " a purely speculative angelology which goes far beyond
the data of revelation" (p. 71). And later in his life Luther comes to

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deny the existence of purgatory, seeing such an idea, in his own words,
as " contrary to the fundamental article that Christ alone, and not the
work of man, can help souls" (p. 75). Thomas's understanding of the
veneration of images also, in Luther's mind, has led to many abuses.
On these issues Luther disagrees with Thomas, sometimes strongly and
sometimes with little passion.
But the most important difference Janz sees that Luther makes between himself and Thomas is the place of experience in theology. Luther
sees theology as, in his own words, " an experimental wisdom, not a
doctrinal one," so that" Experience alone ... makes one a theologian"
(p. 14). On the other hand Luther sees Thomas lacking "an experi·
iential dimension," yielding a speculative theology " powerless to reach
the inner depths of the person" (p. 15). For Janz this is the key difference between Luther and Thomas. "In seeing this, Luther's critique
was an extraordinarily perceptive one. For what Luther perceives here
is a fundamentally different way of doing theology" (p. 16). In Janz's
view this difference supports Otto Pesch's distinction between " existential" and "sapiential theology." Yet Janz's point raises important
questions. Is experience as unimportant in Thomas's method and as
key in Luther's as Janz describes it to be, and in the ways he describes
it? Scholars might disagree on the question. As for its place in Luther's
thought, it may be as Janz puts it: experience is important because
" theology is done from within the experience of faith " having " this
experience as its theme" (p. 16). However, it could also be said that
for Luther experience is revelatory when it is addressed and measured
by 'the Word of God, a qualification Janz does not mention here. Janz's
point is thought-provoking but could use more exposition and discussion.
Chapter III, " Luther on the Authority of Thomas," presents an important conclusion Janz draws from Luther's references to Thomas:
Luther saw " the movement of Roman Catholic theology in the late
15th and early 16th centuries ... [as a move] from a situation of
theological pluralism to the triumph of Thomism," so that " Thomism
now exercised a hegemony, indeed a tyranny, in the Church" {p. 95).
As part of the late medieval " W egestreit " (not only the viae moderna
and antiqua but also the viae Thomae, Albertistae, Scotistae, etc.) ,
Luther engaged in these theological controversies (p. 83) . But eventually he broke with all these scholasticisms and, while still understanding himself to be a Roman Catholic theologian, began more carefully
to examine the authority of Thomas's teaching in the light of Scripture,
the Fathers, and reason {pp. 85-86). In 1520-1521, Luther came to a
key conviction: he saw Thomism no longer as " merely one faction
among the late medieval theological schools. It was rather . . . the
preeminent one, and the Church ... a 'Tho:mist Church'" (p. 91).

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Luther would never depart from this conclusion. And since " the
Church had become the ' Thomistic Church,' it was no longer ' Catholic.'
His alienation from it was inevitable" (p. 95). Janz argues this interpretation in a convincing manner.
Chapter IV, "Luther's Knowledge of Thomas," addresses the common scholarly opinion "that Luther's knowledge of Thomas was minimal" (p. 97). Janz finds it otherwise. Luther read Gabriel Biel intensively and thus would have been exposed to Biel's "generally accurate presentations of Thomas's teaching" (p. 101). Further, Luther
probably had first-hand knowledge of Thomas's writings. The libraries
in both Erfurt and Wittenberg had extensive holdings of Thomas's
works. There is evidence in his writings that Luther had read at least
parts of the Summa contra gentiles, the opusculum " De Angelis," and
the Summa theologiae (p. llO). And to compare him with other
scholars of his time: "Luther's knowledge of Thomas is superior to all
16th century theologians with a non-scholastic, humanistic background,"
and it was probably better than that of some lesser Thomists such as
Prierias and Tetzel (pp. 111, 112). Janz concludes that "Modem
Luther-scholarship has for too long a time seriously underestimated
Luther in this regard" (p. 113).
Janz states in the " Retrospectus " that he has attempted to understand what Luther meant by one pithy characterization of Thomas
which he made in 1524 and which he held to for the rest of his life:
" Thomas Aquinas-the source and foundation of all heresy, all error
and the obliteration of the Gospel" (p. 114). How should such a
statement be understood? Luther had grudging respect for Thomas
hut believed he had been wrong on many points; yet the worst part
was the authority Thomas had been given by his followers. For Janz,
Luther believed that what " Thomas had humbly offered as opinion was
now regarded as infallible teaching. . . . the crucial error was that of
his followers in transforming his opinions into articles of faith " (p.
US). These are the most important discoveries of Janz's exegesis of
Luther on Thomas.
Luther on Thomas Aquinas especially deserves recommendation for
the way it brings together far-flung texts and studies them for their
possible significance. In some places one might wish for a fuller exposition, with mention of other contemporary Luther scholars. However, the strengths of the book far outweigh this criticism. Denis Janz
has provided a very fine study for Lutheran and Thomistic scholars, and
his conclusions will provoke debate and further inquiry into both these
theological giants (and their traditions) for some time to come.
ANDERS

Catholic University of America
Washington, D,C.

s. TUNE

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149

Thomas Aquinas and Gabriel Biel: Interpretations of St. Thomas
Aquinas in German Nominalism on the Eve of the Reformation. By
JOHN L. FARTHING. Duke Monographs in Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 9. Durham: Duke University Press, 1988. Pp. x
265. $22.50 (cloth).

+

In this hook, John Farthing examines the use made by the fifteenth·
century theologian Gabriel Biel of the thought of Thomas Aquinas.
Contemplating the various aspects of what he calls the ' dialogue ' between Biel and Aquinas {see e.g., pp. ix, 58, 191), Farthing wants to
determine the extent and quality of Biel's knowledge and appropriation
of Thomas's thought. Biel was a major shaper of contemporary theological opinion, who stood in the Occamist tradition in theology. Yet,
although he himself shared Occamist presuppositions in theology and
usually came out in various theological disputes on the Occamist side
(pp. 5, 6, 8, 13-14, 16, 28, 33, 56, 122), as has long been recognized
Biel often made a determined effort in his analyses to become acquainted with, and to repor·t, the thought of significant non-Occamist
theologians, including Thomas Aquinas. Farthing thus justifies the
present study by asking how precisely Thomas figures in the ' theological enterprise' of Gabriel Biel: Farthing wants to know how Biel used
Aquinas and what Biel learned from his reading of Aquinas (pp. ix, 68). While Biel's significance for late fifteenth-century thought in itself
justifies a study of his theological project and method, Farthing also
believes that this hook on Biel and Aquinas is warranted on other
grounds as well. Martin Luther learned much about scholasticism
through his mastery of Biel's corpus. Hence, by establishing the quality
of Biel's study and reporting of Aquinas on various theological questions, Farthing prepares the way for a future study of Luther's knowledge of Aquinas, a task however that he will leave to others (pp. x, 5,
7).
Thomas Aquinas and Gabriel Biel is divided into ten chapters. After
a brief Preface in which he provides the rationale for this study and
an opening chapter on Thomas Aquinas and the via moderna, Farthing
looks in turn at Biel's reading of Aquinas in the subject areas "God
and Creatures," "Christ and Mary," "The Human Condition,"
"Ethics," "Church, Ministry, and Worship," "Sacraments," "Justification," and "Eschatology; " the tenth chapter, entitled "Post
Thomam," summarizes the principal results of Farthing's research.
After listing in an early footnote the hooks on Aquinas which he has
found especially useful on each subject, Farthing in each chapter examines Biel's citations of Aquinas on the topic at hand. As he pro-

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ceeds through each chapter, Farthing is careful to indicate when Biel
has misread or misquoted Aquinas, offering in these instances possible
reasons for Biel's errors. The longest chapters are on ethics and on
sacraments (Chapters Five and Seven), reflecting Biel's own greater interest in these aspects of Thomistic theology (pp. 103, 191).
On the basis of this close study, Farthing offers the following general conclusions about Biel's reading of Thomas Aquinas. On the whole,
Biel is accurate in his reporting of Thomas's thought on various questions: Farthing claims that " statistically speaking, it is exceedingly
rare for Biel to lay himself open to the change of infidelity to Thomas's
intention" (p. 193). Second, Biel exploits Thomas's expertise more on
' practical ' than on ' speculative ' matters; the greater number of
Thomas citations in Biel have to do with ethics and practical issues associated with the sacraments (pp. 58, 94, 191, 195-96). Third, Biel
holds Aquinas in esteem because he sees in Thomas a thinker who
shares his interest in summarizing and reporting fairly the thought of
other theologians. In this regard, Biel often uses Aquinas as one today
would use a' theological encyclopedia' (the term, in fact, is Farthing's;
see pp. 26, 132) . Biel wants to provide for his own time as extensive
as possible a spectrum of opinions on a given question ; to this end he
takes over Aquinas's characterizations of different theological opinions
on the question at hand. Fourth, while Aquinas's thought is usually
fairly reported, Biel does occasionally misrepresent Thomas's position
on important matters. The most glaring example comes in Biel's discussion of justification, where he indicates that for Thomas it is the
sinner who must take the first step in conversion from sin to God.
Scholars have long been aware of Biel's misreading Aquinas on the
question of the preparation for the first grace. However, Farthing does
make an original observation on this issue. Oberman argued that Biel's
error on Thomas's position was due to his preference for Thomas's
Scriptum on the Sentences of Peter Lombard over the later Summa
theologiae. In the Scriptum, Thomas's language, at least, is ' semi·
Pelagian,' suggesting that people take on their own the first step to
God, preparing themselves hy morally correct action for the infusion
of grace. In the Summa, on the other hand, in the light of his subsequent reading of such rediscovered works of the later Augustine as De
praedestinatione sanctorum, in which Augustine attacks those who
claim that the sinner must, and can, take the first step to God, Thomas
insists that God, not the sinner, initiates the conversion of the sinner.
Hence, in Oherman's view, Biel's has 'misstated Thomas' only in the
sense of reporting the teaching of the early Thomas. Farthing, however, notes that in ascribing the preparation for the first grace to human
initiative, Biel cites not the Scriptum but the pertinent text from the

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151

Summa theologiae. As Farthing shows, on the basis of his own rather
optimistic view of human capabilities, Biel is in fact simply misreading
the later Thomas on this question (p. 159) .
Farthing has produced for the most part a fair and judicious account
of Biel's knowledge and use of Aquinas; Thomas Aquinas and Gabriel
Biel is a satisfactory study of the interpretation of Aquinas by this important thinker, active on the eve of the Reformation. Nevertheless,
there are at least three problems with this book, each of which detracts
somewhat from its value. First, the order of Farthing's chapters is
puzzling, at least in terms of the thought of Thomas Aquinas. Why
does Farthing proceed in this order? Is it because for Farthing this is
the most convenient way to organize the truths of the Christian faith
and is the best standard according to which to measure Biel's reading
of Aquinas? Or, is this the order preferred by Biel himself in his systematics? What is clear, however, is that the order followed by Farthing
in this study of Biel's use of Aquinas does not conform to any major
systematic presentation of Christian theology by Thomas Aquinas himself. If this order of procedure is meant to reflect the order of Thomas's
Scriptum on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, for example, the chapter
on Christ would come after the one on the human condition, and the
discussion of justification would not he treated distinctly from the
chapter on the sacraments (especially penance). Similarly, Farthing's
order is not that of the Summa theologiae. If it were, the chapter on
Christ would he more closely aligned with those on sacraments and
church and ministry.
Yet in Aquinas the order of procedure is neither capricious nor incidental to the arguments and claims that he wishes to advance. In any
given systematic work, Thomas adopts the precise order of procedure
that he does because he sees the structure of the work as contributing
in a real way to the full articulation of his most fundamental insights
into Christian truth. In a review of this kind, it is clearly impossible
to go into much detail on the controlling insights of Thomistic theology.
It suffices to note that for Aquinas the task of theology is to proclaim
and to reflect on the transcendent God, who in freedom 'communicates'
God (God's own perfection) to what is not God, both in creating and
sustaining the world and, in particular, in bringing people to share in
God's own life in heaven (the beatific vision). The various parts of
Thomas's systematics are shaped by this insight and each contributes
in its own way to disclosing God's encounter with the world. Structure
and content in Aquinas are intimately related, and his overarching
theological vision, which stands behind the determination of the basic
structure of ·the work, is expressed in detail in each part of his systematics. But Biel (and Farthing) has changed Thomas's order and, more·

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over, has looked at Thomas principally (simply?) as a resource for
knowledge of theological opinions on a variety of discrete issues.
Thomas's comments on these issues are looked at separately, generally
in isolation from Thomas's comments on other parts of his system and
certainly without explicit reference to the basic orientation and thrust
of Thomas's thought. By looking at Thomas so narrowly, has Biel lost
sight of the controlling insights of Thornas's theology? Is he even aware
of the basic orientation of Thomas's thought? These are important
questions about the ' encounter ' between Thomas and Biel. In leaving
them undiscussed, Farthing leaves us uncertain of the depth and quality
of Biel's reception and appropriation of Aquinas.
In the same vein, the organization of one of Farthing's chapters is
misleading, at the least. Why does Farthing discuss in his third chapter
" Christ and Mary " rather than devoting an entire chapter to Christ
alone? Obviously, there are clear connections between Christ and Mary;
and in the Summa theologiae Mary does enter Thomas's theology as
part of the treatise on Christ. But, as the Summa makes clear, Thomas
has but a limited, secondary interest in Mary, one that certainly is not
on a par with his fascination with Christ. Thomas evinces interest in
Mary only to the extent that she sheds light on the mystery of Christ:
she has value only in relation to her Son who bridges the gap between
God and the world, making possible the movement to God. Hence,
Farthing obscures Thomas's emphasis on Christ and relative lack of
interest in Mary by treating them together in this chapter. Is his decision to organize the chapter in this way indicative of the relative
weight attached by Biel to the Mother of God? If it is, then Farthing
should have used this opportunity to state emphatically how far in fact
this fifteenth·century thinker had departed from Thomistic thought.
Secondly, Farthing is occasionally deficient in his presentation of
Thomas's theology. A project such as this study of Biel's reading of
Aquinas requires a solid knowledge of both Biel and Aquinas. Farthing apparently has mastered Biel and for the most part has a good grasp
of the main conclusions of Thomas's religious thought. Yet there are
times in the hook in which Farthing fails to note some of Thomas's
most important and characteristic ideas on an issue, thus making it
more difficult for the reader to assess Biel's knowledge of and fidelity
to Aquinas. A prime example is found in the second chapter on " God
and Creatures,'' in which inter alia Farthing contemplates the different
ways in which Biel and Aquinas look at the world in relation to God.
Farthing could have done a much better job in this chapter on the
question of the contingency of the world. As a good disciple of Ockham,
Biel makes great use of the distinction between the two powers of God,
the absolute and the ordained. According to God's absolute power, God

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could have structured the universe in any number of ways known to
God. But God has settled on the present order in the creation of what
is not God. By stressing the dialectic of the two powers, Biel establishes
the contingency of the world: the world could be otherwise, and that it
has its present form is due simply to God's determination (ordination)
to create the world in this form. Thomas, of course, also knows the
distinction between the two powers of God and hence the present order
of things is as ' contingent ' for Thomas in this sense as it is for Biel.
But, crucially, Farthing does not add that Thomas conceives contin·
gency even more radically than does Biel. Exploiting the distinction
between essence and existence, in describing the creation of things
Thomas notes that creatures receive not only their natures but their
esse as well from God. That they exist at all is due simply to God's will
to bring them into existence, to communicate to them their appropriate
esse which mirrors the divine esse. In other words, then, in describing
' God and creatures ' according to Aquinas, Farthing is not thorough
enough in portraying Thomas's insistence on the radical dependence
of creatures on God: what-is-not-God is utterly dependent, for both
essence and existence, on the creative activity of the God who freely
and without need wills the being of the world.
Similarly, in the sixteenth century, Catholics and Protestants were
divided over the question of the certainty of salvation. One of the more
interesting discoveries of recent Thomas scholarship, however, is that
the position of Aquinas on this issue is close to that of Martin Luther.
As Pfiirtner in particular has demonstrated (Luther und Thomas im
Gespriich [Heidelberg, 1961]), when he speaks of hope, Thomas anticipates Luther's claims with regard to the certainty brought by faith. By
hope, one is joined to the God who makes possible salvation, and thus
Thomas states that by hope one can he certain of one's own salvation.
Although he lists Pfiirtner's hook as one of his authorites on Thomas's
teaching on justification (p. 238, n. 2), Farthing does not mention
Thomas's similarity to Luther in this regard, and accordingly does not
mention whether Biel recognized this claim in Thomas's treatment of
hope and so passed Thomas's insight on to his own readers. (Farthing
does briefly discuss what he calls ' the assurance of salvation' [p. 136];
however, he is treating here the rather different question of sacramental
efficacy, i.e., under what conditions can Christians be confident that
grace is in fact offered through the sacrament.)
The most serious problem with the hook, however, emerges from
Farthing's failure (following Biel's lead) to delineate Thomas's understanding of theology (or, to use Thomas's preferred term, sacra doctrina) and its modes of procedure. Although his principal goal is to
grasp more firmly Thomas's contribution to Biel's theological enter-

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prise, Farthing does not look at Thomas's detailed reflections on sacra
doctrina in the first question of the Scriptum, question two of the commentary on Boethius's De trinitate, the introductory chapters of the
Contra gentiles, and, especially, the first question of the Summa theologiae (I, 1). Consequently, Farthing has failed to perceive the flaws
in Biel's understanding of Aquinas in this regard. In particular, Farthing does not take into account the implications of ST I, l, 8 (especially
ad 2) , in which Thomas describes the ' hierarchy of authorities ' in
theology and in the process establishes the role of reason in the theological enterprise. This description of the function of reason in
istic theology is intimately connected with Thomas's earlier (see a. 1)
discussion of the need for the revelation which stands as the basis of
both faith and theology. God has called people to a transcendent goal,
to share in God's own activity of self-contemplation and love. Left to
their reason, people would not be aware of this goal to which they have
been called. Nor would they know the way to God, through the graceaided actions which prepare them for the beatific vision and bring them
closer to God. Hence, to facilitate human salvation, God speaks to people in a human key, revealing to them through scripture both their
transcendent goal and all they need to know to come to God.
While unaided reason cannot know God directly (as God knows God)
or know God as the transcendent end of human existence or know the
way to God, Thomas adds that reason does have a significant place in
theological work. In the first place, reason can help one gain a better
sense of the ' wisdom ' of what has been revealed by God. The transcendent truths of faith are not anti-rational or opposed to reason: what
God has done and revealed for human salvation has a logic, an appropriateness in terms of divine wisdom, that the theologian seeks to grasp
ever more firmly. Moreover, the different parts of the faith-the
'articles of faith '-are intimately connected, and one implies another.
Hence, the theologian seeks to make patent how the truths of revelation are connected and cohere. The theologian also has a more defensive
task, the defense of the faith against the attacks of the opponents of
orthodox Christianity. When the attacks come from Christian heretics
and are focussed on one or another of the articles of faith, the ortholox
theologian refers to the connections between this and the other articles
of faith, rebutting the heretic by demonstrating that the erroneous position is out of keeping with the other truths held by a Christian. When
the attacks are more philosophically oriented, advanced by non-Christians, the orthodox response follows a different strategy. Again, the assumption is that the truths of the faith, while transcendent, are not opposed to reason. Hence, when an opponent of orthodox belief characterizes some tenet of faith as opposed to reason and endeavors to

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demonstrate its falsity, the theologian upholds the faith by showing conclusively that it is the objection to the faith that does not hold.
Thomas does not, however, affirm one final contribution of reason to
the theological enterprise, one that if he were to allow would undoubtedly he the most significant. In Aquinas, the person begins with an act
of faith in God's revealing word about God, human salvation, and the
path to salvation through Christ. Reason enables one to understand
better the wisdom of what is affirmed by faith; it also defends the faith
against its attackers, both from within and from without. But faith is
never replaced by reason and knowledge. One does not end up proving
or demonstrating by reason-and hence knowing-the truths of faith.
In Thomas Aquinas, the theological journey that begins in faith and
proceeds on the basis of faith always remains within the confines of
faith.
To claim otherwise, to conclude that for Thomas one not only can
illumine and defend the faith by reason but also can demonstrate by
rational argument the truths of the faith is to misconstrue thoroughly
Aquinas's analysis of 'faith and reason.' As presented by Farthing,
however, it is clear that Biel has so misinterpreted the teaching of
Aquinas on the role of reason in theology. Scattered throughout
Thomas Aquinas and Gabriel Biel are numerous statements to the effect
that Biel perceived in Aquinas an undue confidence in the powers of
reason to prove the truths of the faith (pp. 18, 20, 28, 29, 34, 91, 105,
112, 119, 120, 14 7, 148, 192-93). A striking instance comes in the
course of reviewing Biel's use of Aquinas in the treatment of the
Filioque (pp. 16-17). Farthing observes that Biel and Aquinas are in
agreement on this basic feature of Trinitarian doctrine, meaning by
this that they both assent to what has traditionally been affirmed in the
West about the procession of the Holy Spirit. But Biel and Aquinas
(purportedly) come to this truth in different ways. Thomas evinces
what Farthing calls a ' positive' estimation of reason and so advances
arguments that are designed to prove that the Spirit proceeds from the
Father and the Son. For his part, however, Biel insists that the Filioque
can he held by faith alone, affirmed solely on the basis of scriptural
testimony and ecclesiastical determination, and thus he rejects the rational proofs offered here by Aquinas. In short, then, Biel has misread
Aquinas on the place of reason in theology and a major part of his
critique of Aquinas is consequently aimed at a position never in fact
advanced by Thomas.
Biel's misreading of Aquinas on theological method has the effect of
placing in doubt the overall quality of his encounter with Thomas.
Towards the end of the hook, Farthing concedes as a general observation that Biel would have profited from a more thorough consideration

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of theological method in Aquinas (p. 193; see also pp. 57 and 173).
But this is not sufficient. Farthing should have acknowledged that Biel's
recurrent critique of the supposed ' positive ' use of reason in Aquinas
is beside the point and that, by thinking that Thomas is trying to
' demonstrate ' the faith, Biel has carelessly dismissed much that is interesting and valuable in Aquinas. By bringing Biel's error to the fore,
Farthing would have made clear to the reader that in this crucial respect, the dialogue between these two thinkers has completely broken
down.
JOSEPH

WAWRYKOW

University of Notre Dame
Notre Dame, Indiana

The Reshaping of Catholicism: Current Challenges in the Theology of
Church. By AVERY DULLES. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988.
Pp. 276. $19.95 (doth).
Each of Dulles's twelve articles commends itself no less as a chapter
in this collection than when it first appeared separately between 1984
and the end of 1987. In ensemble, " they give," Dulles remarks in his
Preface, " a fair sampling of the issues the Catholic Church has had
to face in the two decades since the Council." Whatever the leading
Catholic ecclesiologist in America has to say about specific problems in
Church renewal deserves careful attention. A positive general evaluation of the book is all hut a foregone conclusion. Still, a review can
perform that opening survey of contents that will lend precision to a
reader's anticipation of what the author has singled out as the current
challenges.
Four chapters take up the task of interpreting the texts of Vatican
II, not as a species of source-criticism but in light of post-conciliar
difficulties. Chapters 2 ("The Basic Teaching of Vatican II "), 5
("Vatican II and the Recovery of Tradition"), and 8 ("Vatican II
and the Purpose of the Church") emerge from a situation of divided
opinion. They also apply the Council's teaching as a solution. Chapter
7 ("The Church and Communications")
likewise engages conciliar
texts, along a more speculative line. Chapter 1 ("American Impressions of the Council") joins with 2 in opening the book at a somewhat more popular level.
The other chapters employ conciliar teaching to formulate theological answers to some important questions. These are questions which
trouble not only the hierarchy and the theologians but also ordinary

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members of the Church, as they come to terms with the Church's renewed self-understanding. Chapter 3 (" The Emerging World Church
and the Pluralism of Cultures") picks up where Karl Rahner's wellknown address at the Weston School of Theology in 1979 left off.
Dulles accepts Rahner's argument that Vatican II achieved the first
official self-actualization of Catholicism as a world church. Taking the
resulting problem of inculturation as the current phase in the relation
between Christianity and culture, Dulles specifies the relation between
two cultures as "cultural reciprocity." He leaves behind the simple,
familiar contrast between classicism and a non-normative concept of
culture. His ecumenical research enters into Chapter 4 ("The Meaning
of Catholicism: Adventures of an Idea "), which places Vatican II in
the context of two centuries of Protestant-Catholic discussion on the
essence or basic idea of Catholicism.
Intra-Catholic pluralism turning into opposition underlies most of the
hook, hut Chapters 5 and 6 ("Authority and Conscience: Two Needed
Voices") treat two such polarizations thematically. In 5 Dulles finds
Dei V erbum open to an understanding of tradition as the handing on
from generation to generation of the " tacit knowledge " whose content is the lived awareness of the God of Jesus Christ. Chapter 6 does
not admit a second, alternative magisterium, hut it does situate hier·
archical teaching amid the several sources of authority accepted by
Catholicism-Scripture, tradition, the whole People of God, and theologians along with the hierarchy. And, in the formation of personal
judgments and decisions, conscience has its own authority.
A theology of communication follows from each of five models of
the Church. Chapter 7 shows how this, in turn, implies a distinct approach to evangelization, use of mass media, and episcopal and papal
teaching. Chapters 8 and 9 {"The Church, Society, and Politics")
discuss the tensions inherent in the Church's mission, which is at
the same time both eschatological and directed toward the temporal
order. The priority of the eschatological mission {salvation) is unmistakeable in the documents of Vatican II. But this does not remove an
obligation toward humanization (civilization) . Episcopal teaching on
the moral aspects of public policy belongs to both aspects of mission.
It gives guidance toward salvation in the making of moral choices, but
the content of these choices, often involving justice, has after-effects in
the temporal order in the form of enlightenment and the promotion of
the common temporal good. It is significant that Dulles describes Catholic social doctrine as a social philosophy, not a theology of society.
Chapters 10 ("The Extraordinary Synod of 1985 ") and 11 ("The
Teaching Authority of Bishops' Conferences") focus directly on collegiality in the episcopate. The Synod displayed some tension between

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a neo-Augustinian school of thought preoccupied with supernaturalist
concerns (worship and holiness) and a communitarian, humanistic
search for justice, peace, and reconciliation. Prominent ecclesiastics
and episcopal conferences took diverging positions stemming from
their variant models of the Church, as mysterium or as communio.
Chapter 11 concentrates on the American bishops' The Challenge of
Peace (1983) and Economic Justice For All (1986). These documents
proceed from the concept of the Church as communio, in which the
Spirit acts in all members. As Archbishop Rembert Weakland points
out, this is also the idea of Church informing the pastoral letters'
dialogical mode of teaching. An episcopal conference has, Dulles
aserts, " real doctrinal authority " hut exercises it to varying degrees,
depending on the nature of the subject-matter taught and the kind of
pronouncement made.
In chapters 8, 9, 10, and 11, some readers may find too many challenges to the Church in .the Church and too fow in the concrete suffering of refugees, victims of human rights abuses, and those living in
chronic malnutrition, poverty, and institutional injustice.
Ten principles stated as theses form the hack-hone of chapter 12
("Ecumenism and the Search for Doctrinal Agreement").
The
nuanced, synthesizing judgments oriented toward what is really possible
are worthy of an entire theological commission. The tenth thesis holds
that, " for the sake of doctrinal agreement, the binding formulations of
each tradition must he carefully scrutinized and jointly affirmed with
whatever modifications, explanations, or reservations are required in
order to appease the legitimate misgivings of the partner churches."
Those whose commitment to Christian unity takes the form of involvment in the ecumenical movement may he less surprised than others
that chapter 12 concludes the hook. Chapters 1 through 11 allow the
conclusion that each particular challenge, with its varying resolutions,
also affects the unity of Catholicism, a condition for ecumenism. Moreover, the method of dialogue, so important to the American episcopal
conference, as chapters 7, 9, and 11 make clear, likewise finds its direct
and essential use in chapter 12. Dulles's orientation from start to finish
is not only toward the revealed truth held in faith, nor only to the
community in this common truth, hut also il:o the actualization of this
community in the new condition of theological pluralism (chapters 111) and of ecumenism (12). The Reshaping of Catholicism ministers
to Catholic and Christian unity in revealed truth, at the same time that
it seeks understanding of that truth.
A review of The Reshaping of Catholicism for The Thomist need not
forego raising the question about how Dulles views Thomas Aquinas in
this hook. It has long been Dulles's tendency to locate Aquinas among

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the understandable but regrettable facts that made the renewal of Vatican II necessary. Models of the Church (1974) had the Common
Doctor securely fastened to papal centralism, at the heart of the error
that is institutionalism. This error exaggerates the status of institutional structures, as if they were the very raison d'etre and purpose for
which the Church exists. Correlatively, this reduces the interior life of
grace, faith, hope, and charity to being means towards institutional
strength. When the end, interior life, seems to have become the means,
and the structural means appear as if they were the end, practical con·
fusion results.
Then too, Aquinas was assigned the uncomfortable position of some
responsibility for a retrograde view of revelation, in Models of Revelation ( 1983) . It is not surprising, then, to discover that three out of the
five references to Aquinas in The Reshaping of Catholicism situate him
in that pre-conciliar life and thought in need of aggiornamento.
Two other references allow a different view to emerge, ever so slightly. One is a remark on the ecumenical value of Yves Congar's recovery
of Aquinas's doctrine on the procession of the Holy Spirit, a doctrine
which emphasizes the divine mystery over any and all formulations. Another reference notes that, from Pope Leo XIH's Rerum Novarum to
John XXHI's Pacem in Terris, papal encyclicals developed a social
doctrine " in many respects an updating of the ideas of Thomas
Aquinas and other medieval theologians." Aquinas may have been used
as a bulwark of institutionalism, but his thought also played a large
role in that renewing of the Church's mission to society which was incorporated into Vatican II's Gaudium et Spes.
The most intriguing attitude toward Aquinas, however, occurs outside the sphere of remarks in which Dulles makes direct statements,
evincing a deliberate judgment. If appeal can be made not to the
mind of the author hut to the text itself, one sentence in particular becomes highly significant because it treats a theme in Aquinas important to one aspect of ecclesial renewal.
In chapter 4 of The Reshaping of Catholicism, Dulles adverts to a
Protestant objection that " the heavy machinery of ecclesiastical mediation in the Catholic Church tends to impede rather than assist the living relationship of the believer to Jes us Christ" (p. 73). Admitting
that some nineteenth century Catholicism could have given such an impression to an outsider, he then states that " Twentieth century Catholicism, especially under the star of Vatican II, is more conscious that
the institution is not an end in itself but that it must express and mediate
the Spirit" (ibid.). As was true in Models of the Church, this critique
of institutionalism is based on the affirmation that the interior life in
the Spirit is primary, the structures and external realities are second-

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ary. The latter dispose toward {mediate) and help in the expression
of (pertain to the use of) the grace of the Spirit. In professing the
priority of the Spirit, The Reshaping of Catholicism could hardly be in
greater agreement with the Summa theologiae. This theme in Dulles
suggests how Aquinas can be linked to ecclesial renewal: Aquinas's
thought on the New Law can assist the Church in continually re-acquiring its own divinely given internal order.
FR. THOMAS HUGHSON,

S.J.

Pontificial Biblical Institute, ! erusalem;
Marquette University, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Choice: The Essential Element in Human Action. By ALAN DoNAGAN.
Studies in Philosophical Psychology, R. F. Holland, ed. London
and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987. Pp. x
197.
$29.95 (cloth).

+

Readers of Donagan expecting a book in the style of The Theory of
Morality will be surprised; Choice: The Essential Element in Human
Action is far more compact and demanding. In setting out to support
his thesis that the "propositional attitudes" (the term is taken from
Russell) of beliefs and wishes explain choices which, in turn, explain
human actions, the author considers a plethora of views and objections
of both contemporary and traditional philosophers: Gilbert Ryle-whose
Concept of Mind Donagan considers a classic of analytic Aristotelianism-Roderick Chisholm, Donald Davidson, Anthony Kenny, John
Searle, Alvin Goldman, Elizabeth Anscombe, Bertrand Russell, Plato,
Aristotle, Aquinas, Wittgenstein, Quine, and Frege. At times the reader
may wish that fewer theorists were appealed to, or perhaps that his or
her familiarity with the views referred to were more extensive, or at
least that (although not in the case of Frege) they were explicated in
more detail. Further explication, however, could obscure hopelessly the
line of reasoning of the author. While he appears to wish to give credit
every place it is due, he also wishes to clarify the genesis of significant
objections to be met by a defensible action theory.
Happily, Donagan himself provides an overview of his project, which
he calls a " Plan for an Investigation of Human Action on Socratic
Lines." This is proffered in chapter one after the author has discussed
the " Socratic tradition in the theory of human action " and the question "Should the Socratic tmdition be jettisoned as folk psychology?"

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As these sections provide the foundation for Donagan's thesis, they are
briefly summarized here.
Considering both Aristotle and the " mediaeval Aristotelian " Aquinas
to be in the Socratic tradition, Donagan emphasizes Aristotle's role in
distinguishing human from animal action. Possibilities for acting are
represented in the human intellect in propositions, toward which one
can take various attitudes. Those philosophers who hold that such
propositional attitudes cannot explain human action are challenged.
Donagan then takes on those cognitive scientists who reject as " stagnant " and rooted in folk beliefs the Socratic theory of action. He
rather impressively presents the problems involved in admitting, as do
the " scientific psychologists," the practicality of employing the notion
of propositional attitudes in history and natural sciences (which seem
to exist in a context of history) , while at the same time actually :rejecting the existence of such attitudes and hence their theoretical validity. Indeed, Donagan brings home the point that it is simply incon·
sistent to hold both that there are no beliefs and that the belief that
there are beliefs underlies a stagnant research program.
Having thus sustained his position :regarding propositional attitudes
in general, Donagan summarizes, chapter by chapter, his "contem·
po:rary Socratic " plan for examining the actions of rational animals.
It will be helpful to sketch this program, filling in crucial portions.
In chapter two the author contends that bodily or mental actions are
events that are individuals insofar as they are " changes or persistences
in states of continuing individual objects" (p. 38). Propositional attitudes are states, but their arising and persistence in being as energeiai
are events that explain ,actions. Building on Aristotle's teaching and
that of his mediaeval successors, in chapter three Donagan argues that
beliefs and wishes, or the cognitive and appetitive propositional at·
titudes, explain choices which in turn explain actions.
In chapter four Donagan elucidates Durnmett's :revision of the
Fregeau semantical theory, which he opts for " out of prudence " (p.
31). This provides a necessary backdrop for discussing, in chapter
five, the apparent circularity of a theory that avoids counter-examples
to the definition of actions as doings explained by the doer's propositional attitude only by describing such doings as actions. Since Donagan
considers his argument here to render the mediaeval Aristotelian action
theory defensible {p. 20), a brief elaboration of it is in order.
One may, suggests Donagan, be tempted to characterize in this way
the choice that makes the event of your arm's going up to he an action:
One may say that the choice is (stated in propositional attitude form)
that there occur a raising of your arm by you. The problem with this
way of speaking, Donagan continues, is that " raising by you of your

BOOK REVIEWS

arm," unlike " a going up of your arm," itself describes an action.
Since Donagan wants to defend the thesis that choices explain actions,
he considers any explanation that is itself in terms of action to be
deficient, " epistemically circular " (p. 87). So, while insisting that the
content of the choice must somehow incorporate a description of the
event in question as an action, Donagan, following Searle, proposes that
it be formulated as [choosing] "that a going up of your arm occur
that will be explained by that very choice." A choice that explains action, then, is "self-referential," i.e., is a choice that the relevant event
occur and he explained by the choice that it occur. Now choosing involves certain presuppositions, for example, that one is able to bring
about the event. Only if these presuppositions are true does a choice
self-referentially explain an event, because if, for example, you are incapable of raising your arm, then the condition that the event be explained by the choice that it occur is not met. For " [ i Jn choosing that
a certain bodily or mental event occur and be explained by that choice,
you are plainly not choosing that it be so explained even though what
is presupposed in your choice is false" (p. 91, Donagan's emphasis).
These considerations of presuppositions dispose of apparent counter·
examples to Donagan's analysis of actions-e.g., a case in which A is
not able to raise his arm, yet chooses to do so, and B does it for him.
This is not A's action, for despite the fact that the raising of the arm
may be explained by A's choice, it is not self-referentially explained,
since a necessary presupposition is false--namely, that A can raise his
arm.
This explanation neatly handles a range of cases, but a seemingly obvious objection to Donagan's claim to have escaped circularity arises.
Does not the presupposition that one can raise one's arm revive the
reference to action? At least Donagan formulates this sort of presupposition in a way that involves such an action-notion when he says that
one may believe that one can touch one's toes {pp. 90-91).
The remaining chapters include an analysis of intentions (chapter
six) ; a defense, both employing and diverging from Searle, of the
claim that explanations of action in terms of propositional attitudes are
causal {chapter seven); and a reassertion of the reality of will not as
desire or belief hut as an intellectual appetite or " a general power to
choose intellectual appetitive attitudes" (p. 21) which the possessor
may freely exercise {chapters eight, nine, and ten).
In the hope that the above synopsis conveys the flavor and scope of
Donagan's project, I shall now confine my remarks to certain claims
about the nature of willing that may he of interest to readers of this
journal.
Donagan stresses that will is not equivalent to felt desire ( epithumia) ,

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163

both in his own view and in that of Aristotle and Aquinas. Yet, at least
according to St. Thomas, one cannot choose a course of action or an
object that is not in some way attracting, recognized as interesting, or
positive. True, such attractiveness need not be tantamount to felt desire, hut " good " in the saying " Whatever is sought is sought under
the aspect of good " does not simply convey goodness or completeness
according to some standard which is of absolutely no interest to the
agent.
In the light of this, one wonders what Donagan could mean by holding that ,the desire a human being chooses to act on is " a matter of
which he wishes most to act on " (p. 138, my emphasis) . One might
suppose from his subsequent discussions that " wishes " here means
" wills " in the broad sense of deciding or electing, i.e., a settling upon.
Yet then what could it mean to say, as he does, that some wishes we
elect to gratify? If one wills (=wishes) to act on a desire, is not that
in a wide sense electing, or freely selecting, to act on it, so that all willings (=wishings) regarding a desire are such elections regarding it?
Moreover, Donagan clearly distinguishes wishes from intentions and
choices (p. 142) . Yet he cannot he claiming that one always selects
that which is most attracting, since any determinism is strongly opposed by him.
Indeed, in his discussion of incontinence the author argues against
the claim that one must choose that believed to be, in Davidson's terms,
"all out for the best" (p. 154). Davidson contrasts this kind of best
with "the best all things considered," contending that the incontinent
man chooses what is the " all out best " to do even though he understands that another action is the best " all things considered" (p. 149).
Now it is not clear, at least from Donagan's summary, how this explana·
tion differs from one that simply asserts that one can choose something good insofar as it is, say, an instance of pleasure, which is attracting, over something else good according to what comports with
human nature, which may also appear attracting. Could not in this
case the " all out best " he viewed as that just because one has decided
to act on the basis of the standard of simple self-gratification, which
may be more, or less, attracting than another criterion
Donagan holds that we simply can choose an option judged worse
than another, hut it might be helpful to distinguish selecting what is
best on a standard already adopted and selecting what is best in some
other sense. It might well he the case that if one is selecting only on
the basis of an already adopted standard, one would have to pick the
best. But the issue of freedom concerns the adoption of the standards
themselves, which may not be comparable in terms of the better or the
best, so that the question becomes whether or not one must select the

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more or most attracting. But, it might be postulated, the very role of
attraction is as a medium to bring us to look at just what we are get·
ting ourselves into when we make individual choices-in other words,
to get us to the point of recognizing the ultimate alternatives, the
grounds of attraction, with which we are faced. Surely this is no argu·
ment for freedom but rather presupposes it, along with a teleological
structure frowned upon in many contemporary circles. But our language at least suggests the indicated priority: one does not speak of
the more attracting as the better unless the specification has been made
that the standard for judging will be attraction; to judge on this basis
implies that one has already adopted it.
Of special interest in the last few chapters are the following discussions: the relation of intending and choosing to the concepts of them
(p. 158); believing as acting (pp. 158-60); human action as incorporating effects (pp. 162-63) ; determinism, including compatibilism (pp.
165-73 and 182-88); the presupposition of freedom (pp. 179-83). In
these it becomes clear that Donagan is at odds with a fair number of
analytic and other philosophers, and indeed, with respect to the forceful chapter ten, he notes early on that what he has to say will persuade
no one not already convinced. This underscores the nature of the yet
formidable enterprise in which Donagan is engaged: not a demonstra·
tion for free choice, hut a formulation and elaboration of the Socratic
theory of action and a response to the most persistent challenges to the
intelligibility, rationality, and coherence of that theory.
Inasmuch as Donagan's basic stance is elucidated in the last three
chapters, those readers less than well-versed in the analytic tradition
may find it profitable to peruse them first. Still, they may find significant portions of this book tough going. Moreover, Donagan's expres·
sion is at times ambiguous ; in a number of places his antecedents are
unclear and his terminology confusing (e.g., to which two sentences is
he referring on page 88?). Even though the contexts reveal the author's
intent, such sloppiness for one so obviously concerned with precision of
thought is both frustrating and perplexing. So, too, might he Donagan's
lack of references to support alleged positions of Aquinas (p. 54),
given the nature of the author's endeavor to defend mediaeval Aris·
totelianisn. And might not readers benefit from learning of the detailed
interpretation and critique of Aquinas's action theory by Donagan in
The Cambridge History of Later Mediaeval Philosophy?
Nevertheless, for anyone genuinely concerned with the issue of free
choice, this hook is worth scrutiny. Problems surrounding the question are presented in a fresh way, and the analytic background proffered
is invaluable to those interested in exploring this approach. Most
edifying is the seriousness with which Donagan takes up contemporary

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arguments. He meets them head on, on their ground; whether or not
he is deemed successful, he presents a challenge not only to the philosophers he adduces but also to anyone in the Thomistic tradition who
has judged confrontation with contemporary critics to he fruitless.
JANICE

L. SCHULTZ

Canisius College
Buffalo, New York

Authority and Leadership in the Church: Past Directions and Future
Possibilities. By THOMAS P. RAUSCH, S.J. Wilmington, Del.:
Michael Glazier, 1989. Pp. 158. $15.95.
Rather than offering a sustained study of the question of authority
and leadership in the Church, Rausch presents a collection of essays
related to the topic. The format reflects the book's genesis: much of
the material was developed for the 23rd Faith and Order Conference of
the Texas Conference of Churches on the subject "Authority in the
Body of Christ." Although the title does not reflect the hook's ecumenical focus, readers who want a general introduction to the present
status of agreement in ecumenical discussion of authority and ministry
may find Rausch's hook helpful.
In " Authority in the Ecumenical Dialogue " Rausch reviews and
summarizes the ARCIC Final Report, the Lutheran-Roman Catholic
Dialogue, the WCC Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry text, and the Consultation on Church Union. The emerging consensus on the value of
ordained ministry in these documents indicates that this ministry is
permanent, although the threefold ministry of bishop, presbyter, and
deacon stands in need of reform. Rausch notes that the documents do
not limit " valid " ministry to ordained ministry in communion with
the historic episcopate. As for the shape of ministry in the church of
tomorrow, not surprisingly, he identifies shared responsibility and collegiality as the marks of the future exercise of authority. Among the
important issues still unresolved by the churches are Petrine ministry
and primacy and the problem of the " reception " of ecumenical documents.
The chapter on authority and reception, originally published in
Theological Studies, may well be the most original contribution of the
book. It broadens the discussion of reception from its historical
" classical " understanding as " the acceptance by local churches of
particular ecclesiastical or conciliar decisions " to an ecumenical understanding of the concept as " the acceptance by one church of a theo-

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logical consensus arrived at with another church, and ultimately, the
recognition of the other church's faith and ecclesial life as authentically Christian (p. 103) ." He concludes that (1) reception is more properly understood as a process rather than as a juridical determination,
(2) it also involves formal decisions on the part of church authorities,
(3) it cannot be reduced to the acceptance of doctrinal formulations,
and (4) the norm for recognizing a common faith is not agreement with
a particular ecclesial position but agreement with the apostolic tradition. Ultimately, reception involves the whole church and is not the sole
product of theologians or church authorities. Ecumenical dialogues will
only be effective when they enter into the practical life of the churches.
In "Imaging Tomorrow's Church: Models of Christian Unity"
Rausch summarizes four models of church unity: organic union, conciliar fellowship, reconciled diversity, and communion of Churches. He
opts for the fourth model. The chapter does not offer any new information to someone familiar with ecumenical discussions, but it does serve
as an introduction for the neophyte.
Rausch's image of authority in the future lies somewhere between a
strictly hierarchical or institutional model and a more egalitarian
model. His final chapter, " Authority in Tomorrow's Church," predicts
that the church of the future will be " ordered " in the sense that it will
combine an authoritative ordained ministry (based on the church's
apostolic office) with a recognition of multiple and diverse charismatic
gifts. He retrieves Karl Rahner's suggestion that recognition of charism
for leadership in an individual may result in that person's " relative"
ordination for a particular local community. Authority of the future
will be collegial with a more participatory style of decision-making.
The renewed papacy will encourage not only a more participatory style
of decision-making but also a broader participation in the formulation
of church teaching. He suggests that representatives of particular
churches could elect the Bishop of Rome.
One of the inherent tensions within the book is the question of
whether to look at authority issues as issues within the Roman Catholic
church, an " ad intra " focus, or whether to examine authority from
the perspective of ecumenical concerns and the Roman Catholic Church's
relationship to other Christian churches, an " ad extra " concern. There
does not seem to be a clear choice for either, and this lack of clarity
leads to unevenness and a certain discontinuity among the chapters.
They range from a chapter summarizing controversial issues illustrative of the problem of authority and dissent, to a very brief chapter on
the authority of Jesus in the Scriptures, to a twenty-seven page chapter
on authority and leadership in church history, to the chapters related
to ecumenical issues.

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167

The first chapter," Who Speaks for the Church?," for example, even
though it initially compares Protestant and Catholic approaches to
authority, focuses on major controversies within the Church, including
the withdrawal of Hans Kiing's and Charles Curran's missions to teach
as Catholic theologians and the threat of dismissal from their religious
community of those American sisters who had signed a statement claiming that there exists a plurality of positions among Catholics on abortion. Other controversial topics raised in this chapter range over clerical celibacy, the position of women in the Church and the question of
their ordination, and official church positions on sexual ethics.
The problem is that, having raised these controversial issues as
illustrations of the tensions within the contemporary Catholic community, Rausch does not offer any concrete suggestions for their resolution.
He concludes the chapter with three models of church authority: authority as hierarchical, authority as charismatic, and authority as
pluralistic. The final and preferred model is explained in one paragraph, and there is no attempt to relate it to the critical concerns outlined earlier in the chapter. Since Rausch's final chapters reveal his
position towards authority to be much more moderate and nuanced
than his initial chapter might suggest, his first chapter is misleading as
an introduction.
Much of the polarity in discussions on authority arises from the
contrast between a hierarchical model, which identifies authority exclusively with the ordained ministry, and an egalitarian model, based
on the democratic principle that every member is equal to every other
member and has an equal voice in decisions. Often the egalitarian
model is falsely identified with what is called the charismatic structure
of the church, wherein there is a diversity of gifts and ministries that
operate independently of ordained offices. Rausch's option for a pluralistic model of authority in the first chapter as well as his acknowledgment of the necessity of recognition of ministry through ordination in
the last chapter witness to his attempt to find a middle road between
these two polarities. He sketches the principles of such a middle position in broad strokes but does not fill in the outlines.
The crux of the problem seems to be how to reconcile an ordained
ministry, which by definition creates a hierarchy of authority in the
church, with a broader participation by the laity. I suspect the answer
lies in a strong emphasis on the principle of subsidiarity in the theology
of the local church, combined with a theology of the universal church
which sees it as a communion of particular churches. The tension in
the church today is not simply between those who exercise authority
and those who feel themselves to be disenfranchised, but between a
hierarchical and universalist model of the church as an institution,

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which operates with the help of curial congregations, and a theological
model of the church as a communion of communions, which allows for
a certain autonomy and diversity at the level of the particular church
within a more encompassing unity. The authority of the local church is
sacramentally based in the consecration of its bishop, the priesthood of
the laity, and the Eucharist by which the church is constituted. It is unfair for a reviewer to rewrite an author's book, but I would suggest
that the principles of order, collegiality, shared responsibility, renewed
primacy, etc., with which Rausch concludes his hook will only become
operative within a renewed understanding of the church. The question
of authority and leadership within the church cannot be addressed apart
from a consideration of the nature of the church itself.

SusAN K. Woon
Saint Mary College
Leavenworth, Kansas

Twentieth Century in Crisis: Foundations of Totalitarianism. By LARRY
AZAR. Dubuque, Iowa: Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company. Pp.
xi
317. $24.95.

+

The Nazis were responsible for the murder of 12 million humans:
7 million Christians, 5 million Jews. Adolph Eichmann, " The Engineer
of Death," alone was responsible for the killing of fifteen persons a
minute, or nine hundred an hour, at <the extermination camp at Birkenau. The atrocities committed at Belsen, Maidanek, Sobibor, Treblinka, Auschwitz were so brutal and enormous in nature that both before and immediately after the war these acts were disbelieved by both
Jews and non-Jews. As shocking as these atrocities were, they were
completely legal under German law! Hitler assumed power by legal
means and was cognizant of acting within the boundaries of civil legislation: "We stand absolutely as hard as granite on the ground of legality." Under the civil laws of Germany at the time, the Nazis were lawabiding citizens; they were neither criminals nor subject to punishment for their acts. When committed by the Nazis, genocide was legal
and praiseworthy.
The Nazis were not alone in committing atrocities. By 1945, the
Japanese murdered six million Chinese; it is estimated that in the
"Rape of Nanking" one thousand females were savagely raped every
night during a six week period. Between 1949 and 1957, Communist
Mao Tse-tung was responsible for the murder of over lO million per-

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169

sons; a conservative figure places the number of people killed during
his reign at 35 million people. And totalitarian Stalin reduced the
Russian population by 12¥2%, and some 16 million persons were imprisoned in concentration camps at the end of the war: " The revolutionist does not stop at lying, robbery, betrayal and torture of friends,
even murder of one's own family; everything which contributes to the
triumph of the revolution is morally good." Fascism, Communism, and
Nazism alone are responsible for the murder of over 63 million human
beings. Are such acts crimes, and if they are, what law has been violated? No totalitarian is an outlaw, since the tyrant is the law and
determines values.
Because " punishment is only possible if a law has been violated "
(nulla poena sine lege) and it is unjust to punish a person by a law
created ex post facto, what is the basis for prosecuting Nazi and other
war criminals? Under what law are tyrants to be judged and punished?
More generally, what is the criterion for placing a value on civil law?
Azar's answer is natural law; its rejection leads to the tyranny of
will and feeling characteristic of twentieth-century totalitarianism. In
classical thought, man is social by nature and has a duty to obey a law
residing within him as a moral agent. Without a distinotive nature and
a normal mode of functioning caused by that nature, values are impossible (pp. 207-295).
Azar contends that the roots of present-day totalitarianism are historically traceable to a materialism that eliminates the classical difference between man and brute and seeks to extend Darwinian evolutionism from its limited biological sphere to the social and political domains. Nazism is examined in detail, since the Nazis defended their
actions at Nuremberg as lawful and just (pp. 103-199). It is amazing
that the profession with the largest percentage of members in the Nazi
party was the medical profession; 65% of all physicians were members of the party. Teachers constituted 30% of the total number (p.
191).
The major thesis of Azar's work is that Nazism is applied biology.
Ultimately it arose from the supplanting of Descartes's mathematicism
by Hegel's organicism and then the applying of Nietzsche's Social
Darwinism to values and religion.
After discussing such preliminary notions as the classical understanding of philosophy and science and the difference between a factual and a value judgment, Azar summarizes Aristotle's metaphysical
account of the categories as irreducible to each other. This leads to
the classical position that politics is dependent upon ethics and psychology and ultimately upon metaphysics (pp. 1-18).
Opposing this classical Weltanschauung is Descartes's view that

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practically identifies two of Aristotle's categories (substance and quantity). In effect, Aristotle's physical universe has vanished into a mathematical one, fit for quantitative analysis. Unable to solve Descartes's
" mind-body " problem, later thinkers and psychologists will identify
the mind with the brain. Then the full reductionism and mechanism
associated with the materialism of the nineteenth century will come into
existence. The reduction of psychology to biology will in turn mean
the rejection of man's freedom, dignity, and essential superiority over
other animals. The classical view that only man is rational and moral
is .then rejected as unscientific and intellectually indefensible. The
wedding of psychology to biology will eventually prove to he disastrous
for ethics and political values (pp. 18-54) .
On behalf of values and against mechanism, Hegel's theocentric
Weltanschauung, emphasized teleology, organic interrelationships, spirituality, reason, and mind. Going further than classical thinkers,
Hegel argued that, since the universe constitutes one concrete totality
or system, God is the universe and that the state is the manifestation of
God on earth, i.e., it is divine. And since God is completely independent, this deification of the state means that the state is sovereign. Despite differences, twentieth century political ideologies take their point
of departure from Hegel's thought. These ideologies cannot he understood, however, without the doctrine of evolution, for which Hegelianism served as a congenial background.
Azar examines Darwinian evolution briefly and Nietzsche's philosophy of evolutionism in greater detail as essential ingredients in the
birth of contemporary ideologies, especially Nazism (pp. 55-101).
According to Darwin, since " no line of demarcation can he drawn
between species," man is essentially the same as other organic beings,
the difference being one of degree only, not of kind. In nature's selection of the fittest in the struggle for life, inequality is the rule, since
extinction is the norm, survival the exception. In applying these biological findings to man, racial inequality is a law of science, since it
is a law of nature of itself. Darwin is a racist: the inferior black race
is for the sake of the superior white race, the former mediating between
animals and man on the evolutionary scale. Where nature proclaims
" Let the strongest live and the weakest die," conflict is a necessary
and natural consequence. Struggle, conflict, inequality, and the preservation of favored races are scientifically grounded in Darwinian evolution. Further, the rejection of the traditional metaphysical doctrine
that quality and quantity cannot he the principle of specification leads
ultimately to the denial of any objective basis of morality and its relationship to God. The origin of new species is a natural, not supernatural occurrence. God is superfluous (pp. 55-85) .

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171

With God dead, Nietzsche extends Darwinian evolution to the political and social areas. Azar considers his doctrine of the will to power,
his praise of war, struggle, and strength, his view on the inequality of
men, and his deep hatred of Christianity and democracy as determining factors that molded Hitler's own outlook. Whereas Nietzsche had
no political power, Hitler did. After discussing other versions of totalitarianism {pp. 103-146), Azar considers in detail the rise of Nazism
in the context of this Nietzschean milieu. Azar contends that Nietzsche
whispered, as it were, into Hitler's ear and is, at least indirectly, the
source of Nazism.
Within this background, Azar discusses numerous Nazi atrocities as
practical consequences of this philosophical position, lending support
to the view that when philosophers disagree, blood is shed. The memory
of Auschwitz destroys the myth that biology and science have no relationship to politics. The fact that in the name of science more than 63
million people were murdered by the three major totalitarian ideologies
of the twentieth century demonstrates how morally infantile and bankrupt we are, in spite of our technological genius and accomplishments;
these are the dark ages. The need for natural law and its importance
as the ultimate justification for democracy and value judgment is
argued in detail {pp. 146-295).
Azar's book is excellent for many reasons: it clearly demonstrates
the consequences of attacking natural law morality; it is written with
vigor, enthusiasm, and indeed humor, even with its seriousness of purpose; its style is most readable and lucid; it is scholarly in exposition,
up-to-date in presentation, and fair in presenting opposing views; it is
a treasury of primary source material, allowing scientists, politicians,
ethicians, and philosophers to speak for themselves, and thereby rooting
its explanations and argumentation in the teXts, rather than in generalities and summaries; it takes a position and argues for it, unlike many
other philosophical works today; it recognizes that the different perspectives in values are dependent upon but not identical to one's ultimate understanding of man and reality; it respects the past, not because it is old, but because it often is a prologue to the future. These
reasons would be sufficient to recommend this book highly to professional philosophers and students enrolled in ethics, political philosophy,
and legal philosophy courses.
Azar's work is excellent for still another reason. It is a paradigm of
how those committed to the realism of Aristotle and Aquinas should defend their positions today. Some people develop a deep hatred for old
traditions, because the advocates of the old are often mesmerized by
arid technical formulas that befit the dead rather than the living.
Thomism has been charged, with some justification, with repeating

BOOK REVIEWS

stock formulas that have as much hearing on our world today as the
gods of Homer. A living Thomism is one that shows that in our world
traditional insights are not only defensible and valuable in the practical
realm but also rationally applicable to present problems and needs.
Azar's work is an excellent philosophical model for those who strive
after a living Thomism.
RICHARD lNGARDIA

Saint John's University
Staten Island, New York