THE DOMINICAN SCHOOL OF SALAMANCA AND
THE SPANISH CONQUEST OF AMERICA:
SOME BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
THOMAS F. O'MEARA. O.P.
University of Notre Dame
Notre Dame, Indiana

S

ALAMANCA, northwest of Madrid and Avila and not
far from Spain's border with Portugal, preserves the
atmosphere of a medieval, Renaissance, and Baroque university even as it develops the schools and clinics of a contemporary center of studies. There are associations with Teresa of
Avila, who spent the night there just after her reform was approved by Rome, with the young Cervantes, with Luis de Leon
and Ignatius Loyola, and with John of the Cross, who was a
student there. A bridge from the time of Trajan spans the river
Tormes, and the Romanesque cathedral still reserves a chapel for
the Mozarabic rite.
The University of Salamanca
The city brings to mind sixteenth century Dominicans like
Francisco de Vitoria, often called the founder of international
law, and Domingo Bafiez, confessor to Teresa of Avila. The
Order of Friars Preachers, however, came to Salamanca in 1222
at the same time that Dominic's missions were taking root in
·Paris and Bologna; the friars founded a priory and soon a school
under the patronage of St. Stephen (San Esteban). The " Dominican School of Salamanca " means formally the line of great
theologians reaching from Diego de Deza at the end of the fifteenth century to Tomas de Lemos, a main protagonist in Rome
in 1607 in the controversy over grace entitled De Auxiliis. Today, after seven and a half centuries of existence, the Salamancan

SSS

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Dominicans remain a vital community, active m teaching, research and publishing.
My attention was directed to the Dominicans at Salamanca by
two volumes of essays reporting on congresses concerning the
"Dominicans and the Discovery of the New World." My interest was not church history but the history of theologies of how
grace might exist outside of explicit faith and sacramental baptism. The following report is a bibliographical survey of recent
research on a theological era and school. Focusing on the thought
of the theologians stimulated by the experiences of the missionaries in the Indies, it treats the Dominicans during the first decades after the voyages of Columbus.
In the 1480s, as it entered its golden age, the University of
Salamanca had a hundred professors and almost 7000 students.
University records begin late, but they show that in 1546/47, one
hundred thirty-four Dominicans were studying at the university,
and in 1598/99, eighty. J. L. Espinel has written. a historical
guide to the Dominican buildings and institutions. 1 The great
period of the Dominican school at the University began with
Diego de Deza ( 1480-1486), professor and archbishop of Seville,
and Matias de Paz (1518-1519), a professor of Scripture. Francisco de Vitoria (1526-1546) and Domingo de Soto (15321549) were its most gifted thinkers, but the school's achievements continued with Melchior Cano (1546-1552), Juan de la
Pefia (1561-1565) and Domingo Banez (1581-1604 ). These
t San Esteban de Salamanca, Historia y Gufa, Siglos, XIII-XX (Salamanca:
Editorial San Esteban, 1978); see also R. Hernandez, "Convento y estudio
de San Esteban," La Universidad de Salamanca (Salamanca: Universidad,
1989), pp. 369ff.; A. Martin Melquiades, "La Escuela de teologia de Salamanca," Atti del Congresso internazionale, Tommaso d'Aquino nel suo settimo
centenario, Tommaso d'Aquino nella storia del pensiero, 1 :2 (Naples: Edizione
Domenicane Italiane, 1975), pp. 242ff. A Salamancan Dominican of the 1930s,
Vicente Beltran de Heredia, pioneered research in the history of the university
and in the writings of the Dominican speculative masters. His writings can
be found in past issues of Ciencia Tomista (CT), and some of his books and
several recent collections of his most important essays are available from
Editorial San Esteban. Similarly initial research in the United States can
be found in the writings of Lewis Hanke.

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are joined by lesser figures like Pedro de Sotomayor (15601564 ), Mancia de Corpus Christi (1564-1576), and Bartolome
de Medina (1576-1581). The occupants of the chair in theology
of the liturgical hour of prime from Vitoria in 1526 to Bafiez's
retirement in 1604 were all Dominicans, while the chair of vespers
was held by Dominicans from Domingo de Soto's inception in
1532 to Pena's concluding lectures in 1565.
In the late autumn of 1486 and the winter of 1487, Christopher
Columbus was in Salamanca to explain his transoceanic plans to
professors in cosmology and the arts. While the university cosmologists were unreceptive, a catedratico in theology, Diego de
Deza, became his supporter (according to a letter from Columbus
in 1504), and according to firm tradition Columbus resided in
the Dominican's buildings for a while. De Deza was also tutor
for the son of Isabel and Ferdinand, Prince Juan, and so he could
support Columbus's plans at the court of the Catholic Monarchs,
and that support continued later when de Deza became archbishop of Seville.2
The sixteenth century is often designated "the golden age " of
the university and of the Dominican studium of San Esteban. An
important neo-scholastic and neo-Thomist revival was underway.
Some of the theologians who worked for a humane policy in the
Americas were later to be important figures in the deliberations
of the Council of Trent and in the changing theological discussions over spirituality, grace and free will, and moral theology.
Research and Congresses
In October, 1508, Thomas de Via Cajetan, the superior general of the Dominicans, urged the Spanish Dominicans to send
men to the Indies, and the first group arrived in 1509 or 1510.
This theme of Dominicans in the Americas, as Spain and Europe
were extending their geographical perspective, has called forth a
2 Ramon Hernandez, "Fray Diego de Deza, un hombre entre dos mundos,''
CT, 81 (1990), 495ff., and L. Espinel, "Colon en Salamanca,'' Congreso Internacional sabre los Dominicos y el Nuevo Mundo 2 (Salamanca: ESE, 1990),
pp. 16ff.

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flood of research, finding expression in congresses and books. In
the early 1980s, Spanish Dominican historians founded a special
group, HIVEDA, to work in this area in an intensive way, and
they planned a set of congresses, leading up to the Columbian anniversary. The first assembly was held in Seville in 1987, and
forty essays from it have been published as Actas del I Congreso
Internacional sobre Los Dominicos y el Nuevo Mundo. 8 A second congress was held in 1989, and its dozens of specialized articles are published by Editorial San Esteban (ESE) as Congreso
Internacional sobre los Dominicos y el Nuevo Mundo. Actas de
II Congreso Internacional. 4 A third congress focusing on the
seventeenth century was held in 1990 (that volume will also appear), while a concluding assembly will take place in Cadiz in
the anniversary year, 1992. In Rome in 1985, a conference was
held on the two figures of Francisco de Vitoria and Bartolome
de Las Casas; among those thirty-one studies are essays on the
relationship between the two Dominicans, on Vitoria's education, world-view and influence, and on natural law or pastoral
practice in Las Casas. 5 All in all, these hundreds of articles treat
a wide range of topics (pastoral as well as theological) like free
will, natural law, styles of evangelization, catechisms, schools, bishops, canon law, and libraries. ESE has also published the early
catechism by Pedro de Cordoba, O.P., Doctrin'a cristiana para
instrucci6n de los Indios; writings by Las Casas (Brevissima Relacion .. . ) and Vitoria (Doctrina sobre los Indios); the diary of
Tomas de la Torre, O.P., Diario de Viaje, Desde Salamanca a
Ciudad Real de Chiapas, 1544-1545. 6 Recent issues of the Salamancan Dominican journal in theology Ciencia Tomista (CT)
give further reports and articles in this area.
s (Madrid: Deimos, 1988), 1056 pages.
4 (Salamanca, ESE, 1990), 1037 pages. J. Barrado gives a history of
HIVEDA in Los Dominicos 2, pp. 7ff. and a lengthy report on the second
congress in CT 80 (1989), 393ff.
5 I Diritti dell'Uomo e la pace nel pensiero di Francisco de Vitoria e Bartolome de Las Casas (Milan: Massimo, 1988), 684 pages, including a bibliography of essays (pp. 309-321ff.).
6 All recent publications of Editorial San Esteban.

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The Dominicans have not been alone in studying their history.
Two volumes of similar essays on the Franciscans in the Americas
can be found in Archivo-lbero-Americano,7 and a second pair of
books offers two thousand pages of essays on their theology and
praxis in this period. 8 The Franciscans bring different, often
creative approaches to pastoral problems, as well as sometimes a
certain mystical and millenarian mentality. Stimulated by the important Augustinian in Mexico, Alonso de Veracruz, two volumes
of essays from an Augustinian congress in Valladolid in 1990 are
being published. 9 There are also dozens of essays in Evangelizaci6n y teologia en America (Siglo XVI). 10 Mention should be
made of an on-going series, Corpus Hispaniorum de Pace, begun
in 1963. Thirty volumes have appeared: some give documents
on issues confronting the imperial government and the church
from the first decades after 1492 ; others treat topics like evangelization. Two particular volumes are devoted to the Dominicans Pefia and Vitoria. Volume twenty-five, Francisco de Vitoria
y la Escuela de Salamanca. L'Etica en la Conquista Americana
(1492-1573) (FVE), 11 stands out as a collection of fourteen
essays on two topics : the polemics and deliberations between professors and government, and the influence of Salamanca. The Society will offer its own theologians writing on these issues, for
instance, Francisco Suarez, but with its foundation only in 1541
it does not take part in the work of the first decades. In the tenth
volume of this Corpus there is a good survey of the activity of the
1

Volumes 46 (1986) and 48 (1988) .

.s Actas del I Congreso Internacional sobre los Franciscanos en el Nuevo

Mundo (Madrid: Deimos, 1987); Los Franciscanos en el Nuevo Mundo,
Actas del II Congreso Internacional (Madrid: Deimos, 1989); see L. Gomez
Canedo, Evangelizaci6n y conquista: experiencia franci'scana en Hispanoamerica (Mexico: Pordua, 1977).
·9 For the works of Veracruz see volumes published by E. J. Burrus between
1968 and 1976, publications of the publishing house of Estudio Agostiniano at
Valladolid, and P. Cerezo de Diego, "El Pensamiento Americano de un Discipulo de Vitoria: Alonso de Veracruz," I Diritti, pp. 255.
1.0 (Pamplona: Universidad de Navarra, 1990).
11 (Madrid: C. S. I. C., 1984). A bibliography of manuscripts and early
publications in this area is in A. Rodriguez, " Fuentes y Bibliografia. Manuscritos," FVE, pp. 546ff.

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Jesuits and in volume twenty-five the thought and project of
Jose de Acosta from 1576.

Colonists and Critics in Espanola
The first Dominican missionaries to Espanola had been educated in a major theological center and were members of a
province influenced by reform movements (Cajetan's letter had
mentioned that " the friars may take their books with them " 12 ).
Articles by Ramon Hernandez and others give a picture of
Dominican evangelization in the years after 1510 through letters,
reports, and descriptions coming from the Dominican missionaries.13 There was a sense of being a community evangelizing
through preaching and an exemplary life; to this was joined a
conviction that living a poor life was necessary to preach the
Gospel to the Indians, and particularly to those who had already
begun to suffer from imperial Spain. The Christian message was
presented by beginning with the creation of the world and then
by tracing the nature and love of God up to Christ and his saving cross. 14 In the following decades, despite contacts with many
peoples, many Dominicans rejected rapid evangelization and
hasty baptism; they noted that Aquinas held that it was not
enough for those who freely wished to become Christians to know
the creed, but they had first to show by their life that they in12 Registrum litterarum fr. Thomae de Via Cajetani, O.P., Magistri Ordmis
(1508-1153), A. Meyer, ed. (Rome, 1935), p. 7.
13 See R. Hernandez, " Pobreza y evangelismo de los dominicos en Indias,"
CT 8 (1987), 437ff., and "Rasgos modelicos de la primera evangelizaci6n
lascasiana en America," CT 81 (1990), 499ff.; D. Barobio, et al, Evangelizacion en America (Salamanca, 1988); P. Castenda, Los Memoriales del
P. Silva sabre le predicaci6n pacifica y las repartimientos (Madrid: C. S. I. C.,
1983) ; A. Huerga, "La Obra intelectual de la Orden de Predicadores en
America," Los Dominicos 1, pp. 689-714; the lengthy article by M. A. Medina,
" Metodos y medios de evangelizaci6n de los Dominicos en America," Los
Dominicos 1, pp. 157-207 as well as other articles from the first congress and
the essays in "Special Number Dedicated to the V Centenary of the Discovery
and Evangelization of America: 1492-1992," International Dominican Information 291 (September, 1991), 114ff.
14 B. de Las Casas, Historia de las Indias 2 (Madrid: Biblioteca de Autores
Espaiioles, 1961), p. 134b.

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tended to be followers of Christ. 15 The Dominicans were convinced that a native clergy must be established and that a range
of educational projects would benefit the indigenous peoples.
Needless to say, this pastoral theology was not universal or
dominant.
On the Fourth Sunday of Advent, 1511, Anton de Montesinos,
one of the first four Dominicans in America, delivered in Santo
Domingo an initial, dramatically critical sermon against the mistreatment of the Indians. 16 Montesinos did not hesitate to call
this cruelty to the Indians-they were human beings like the
Spaniards-a mortal sin which would bring eternal damnation
(some scholars think that later back in Spain he wrote a defense
of the Indians which is now lost). Bartolome de Las Casas described Montesinos : " He had the grace of preaching, was sharp
in criticizing vicious people, heated, effective. . . . With great
animation he gave the first sermon on this subject, totally new
among the Spaniards on this island." 17 Letters of protest against
Montesinos soon reached Spain, and the royal court commanded
the superior of the Dominicans in Espanola, Alonso de Loaisa,
that he advise his preachers to temper their inflammatory
preaching.
In 1512 the Royal Council requested from the superior in
Espanola (and perhaps in Salamanca) Dominicans who would
present the critical position, and the Dominicans sent Montesinos
and Pedro de Cordoba to explain in person the situation. A commission of experts in theology and law was assembled the same
year in Burgos to consider colonial policy, for King Ferdinand
had accepted the idea that these issues needed study. The result15 J. A. Barreda, " Primera anunciaci6n y bautismo en la obra de Bartolome
de Las Casas,'' CT 80 (1989), 291ff.; I. Perez, "El 'tiempo dorado' de la
primera evangelizacion de America, hechura del Padre Las Casas,'' CT 80
(1989), 27lff. (both in Los Dominicos 2).
16 R. Hernandez, " Primeros dominicos del convento de San Esteban on
America," CT 77 (1986), 392ff.; "Doctrina Americanista de los te6logos de
San Esteban." in Humanismo cristiano (Salamanca: Caja de Ahorros y
Monte de Piedad de Salamanca, 1989), pp. 205ff.
11 B. de Las Casas, Historia de las Indias 3.

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ing laws treated largely conditions of work; in terms of admitting
the rights of the Indians, they were incomplete and deficient.
Matias de Paz, Dominican professor of Scripture at Salamanca,
was present at this first moment of Spanish critical reflection on
the conquista. Paz was reacting to both the Burgos meeting and
the reports of Montesinos' preaching when he wrote in 1512 Del
Dominio de los Reyes de Espana sobre los Indios, the first intervention of theologians on the problems of the Indies. 18 Paz
rejected denying the Indians their rights, dominion or social
structure because they lacked Christian faith (some Spaniards
even thought that the new life of baptism deprived the Indians of
their goods).
Now it is that the Indians, as is stated, after knowledge of the name
of Our Lord Jesus Christ has arrived, have most freely received the
sacrament of baptism. And so it seems that in no way is it licit to
hold them as slaves with " despotic rule " and those who so burden
them are held to restitution. . .. For through grace divine "jus"
does not take away that which is of human "jus ".19
But Paz's work is a circumscribed treatise of aspects of dominion
and is concerned with justifying papal jurisdiction over all peoples, albeit for preaching the Gospel.
By 1516 the Dominican superior in the Indies, de Loaisa, although defending a papally approved presence of the Spanish, was
questioning the growing number of opportunistic invasions. Meanwhile back in Spain in the 1520s, Bernardo de Mesa, preacher at
the Spanish court and designated bishop of Cuba, denied that the
Indians were natural slaves or were condemned to any loss of
freedom by their lack of faith; he observed that whatever commission was given to European monarchs by Pope Alexander VI
was given solely to preach Christ to new lands. A group of
Dominicans had already met in 1513 at the priory of St. Paul in
'18 V. Beltran de Heredia, "El tratado del Padre Matias de Paz, O.P. Acercera del Dominio ... ," Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 3 (1933), 133ff.:
see Hernandez, "Doctrina americanista," pp. 197ff. and "La Escuela Dominicana de Salamanca ante el Descubrimiento de America," in Los Dominicos l,
pp. lOlff.
io" El tratado ... ,'' p. 141.

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Valladolid to discuss ways of opposing further invasions (which
some Spaniards justified by recalling Joshua). 20 The reports of
Cordoba and later of Las Casas gave their confreres in Salamanca
a picture of the increasingly horrible conditions in the colonies.
This began, through countless letters and personal visits, an exchange in theory and praxis concerning the mistreatment of the
Indians, a conversation lasting for fifty years between the university professors in theology and the friars at work in what was
for them a new world. Carlos Baciero writes : " The Dominicans
were deeply involved with the problems of the Indians . . . and
possessed better information concerning the changing situation in
America, and they kept working to expand their knowledge." 21

Bartolome de Las Casas
Bartolome de Las Casas (1474-1566) was a missionary and a
colonial chaplain, but he was also a social activist, a writer and
speaker, and his thinking built upon the neo-Thomism of his
Salamancan confreres.
He went to Espanola in 1502 as a colonial adventurer and
participated in various expeditions and received an encomienda,
land with indentured Indians. Perhaps the first person ordained
in the Americas, he became a priest about 1512 and took part as
chaplain in the conquest of Cuba. Having first resisted the critical preaching of the Dominicans, he was converted on the feast
2 0 On these very early critics of Spanish policies, not all Dominicans, see A.
Garcia y Garcia, " El Sentido de las primeras denucias," FV E, pp. 72ff.
21 " Conclusiones definitivas de la secunda generacion," FVE, p. 416. There
is the rather eccentric theory that the efforts of the Salamancan friars were
not aimed at the Indians but at the refutation of the ideas of Protestant reformers; see Q. Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978), 2, pp. 135ff.; A. Pagden,
"Dispossessing the barbarian, ... " The Languages of Political Theory in
Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), pp.
79ff. The presentation mixes together Dominican and Jesuit thinkers from
over fifty years, and finds a few vague references to Luther in works on civil
society or church. For the Dominicans in Salamanca after 1510, Wiclif is a
condemned figure from the distant past, while Calvin's writings have yet to
arrive. This view runs contrary to the close link between the Dominican friars,
theologians or mission2ries.

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of the Assumption, 1514, and soon announced he was setting free
the Indians and working to end the encomienda system. He
sought advice from Pedro de Cordoba (whose letters must be
considered as very early defenses of the Indians 22 ) on how to
present to the king the agonizing situation of the exploited Indians. Las Casas returned to Spain in 1515 to formulate a peaceful alternative to colonialization. Diego de Deza, now Archbishop
of Seville, recommended him to the court. Ferdinand was dying
and Cardinal Cisneros supported the Plan para la reformacion de
.' , las I ndias, a plan for ideal communities of Spaniards and Indians;
it was written in the same year, 1516, that Thomas More published Utopia. The plan was brought back to America but was
blocked by the colonial administration and a further plan for an
enlightened missionary approach by Hieronymite friars, who
could not withstand the pressure of the colonists, failed.
Las Casas defended the Indians before the Spanish parliament
and Charles V in 1518 and 1519, and the Emperor accepted the
idea of founding free towns, for farming rather than mining, of
Indians and Spaniards in Venezuela. Violence on all sides in
the Americas made this project unsuccessful; returning to Santo
Domingo, Las Casas entered the Dominican novitiate in 1522 and
retired to work in parishes while laboring on historical studies of
the exploitation of the Indies (which he requested be published
after his death). In 1530 he was again stirred into action for the
Indians and published his pastoral plan The Only Method of Attracting All People to the Faith in 1537 and then, while awaiting
an audience with the Emperor in Spain, composed his Very Brief
2 2 R. Hernandez, " Pedro de Cordoba, primer mentor de la lucha por los
derechos del Indio," in " Doctrina Americanista de los teologos de San Este
ban," Humanismo cristiano, pp. 213ff.; see Saranyana, "Principales tesis
teologicas,'' Los Dominicos, 1, pp. 323ff.; V. Rubio, "Una carta inedita de
Fray Pedro de Cordoba, O.P.," Communio 13 (1980), 417ff. S. Boria, Fray
Pedro de Cordoba, O.P. (1482)-1521 (Tucuman: Universidad del Norte Santo
Tomas de Aquino, 1982); M. A. Medina, Una communidad al servicio del
indio. La obra de Fr. Pedro de Cordoba, 0.P., (1482-1521} (Madrid: Instituto Pontificio de Teologia 0.P., 1983); on Cordoba's catechism see J. I.
Saranyana, "Principales tesis teologicas de la 'Doctrina cristiana' de Fray
Pedro de Cordoba, O.P.," Los Dominicos 1, pp. 323ff.

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Account of the Destruction of the Indies. "The reason," Las
Casas wrote, " why the Christians have killed and destroyed such
an infinite number of souls [which Las Casas estimated in 1531
to be over a million] is that they have been moved by their wish
for gold and their desire to enrich themselves in a very short
time." 28 The practice of requerimiento was to announce (in
Spanish) to an Indian village the arrival of the preaching of the
Gospel and then to use any indigenous resistance to justify force
and bondage; in that way evangelization was joined to colonial
expansion. The "New Laws" of 1543, owing something to Las
Casas, seemed to guarantee some improvement. Las Casas was
named bishop of Chiapas (Guatemala), but his strict rejection
there of holding the Indians as bestowed property alienated the
laity and even some clergy who were arguing for exceptions. His
prophetic stance ended with him leaving his diocese, and travelling north to Mexico City, the center of opposition to the New
Laws. He was requested by the viceroy to remain in Oaxaca until
the threat of a riot over the arrival of the Dominican reformer
diminished. The New Laws remained but with a modification
which permitted the encomienda. After attending a meeting of all
2a Brevissima relacion •.. , p. 36. For the works of Las Casas in a critical
edition see P. Castaneda, ed., Obras Completas (Madrid: Allianza, 1980 ),
9 vols., and De Regia Potestate, Corpus Hispaniorum de Pace, vol. 8. For
the work Unico Modo .•. in English, see H. R. Parish, The Only Way (New
York : Paulist, 1991) . On Las Casas and others see the essays in I Diritti
dell'Uomo ... , Bartolome de Las Casas and in Symposium Fray Bartolome de
Las Casas. Transcendencia de su obra y doctrina (Mexico City, 1985), and the
volumes of Los Dominicos. An extensive bibliography of works by and on
Las Casas can be found in En El Quinto Centenario de Bartolome de Las
Casas (Madrid: Instituto de Cooperacion Iberoamericana, 1986), pp. 185-222.
Recent works on Las Casas and the Dominicans of the first decades have appeared in France: Le Rendez-vous d S. Domingo (Paris, 1990), Autour de
Las Casas (Paris, 1987), F. Orhant, Bortolome de Las Casas, Un Coloni-'
sateur saisi par l'evangile (Paris, 1991), and books by Marianne Mahn-Lot
like Bartolome de Las Casas et le droit des Indiens (Paris, 1982) and her editions of his writings. From Germany there are M. Neumann, Las Casas
(Freiburg: Herder, 1990), T. Eggensperger, Bartolome de Las Casas, Dominikaner, Bischof, V erteidiger der Indios (Mainz: Matthias-Grunewald, 1991),
J. Meier, Zeuge einer befreienden Kirche, Bartolome de Las Casas (Leutesdorf:
OTC, 1988).

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the bishops in New Spain he returned to Spain for good in 1547.
There at the age of seventy-six he vigorously opposed in verbal
and written debates after 15 50 the arguments of Juan Gines de
Sepulveda (whom Juan de la Pena described as " gifted in canon
law but mediocre in theology " 24 ) that the Indians were children
entrusted to Spain. At ninety he was still publishing works critical of the colonial system, opposing policies at the court and revising his historical writings. The ideals of Las Casas continued
and expanded in the work of some professors and in the lives and
writings of dozens of zealous followers throughout the Americas
like the Franciscan Juan de Zumarraga, first bishop of Mexico,
and bishops in Guatemala, Panama and Columbia. No small
number of priests, little known today, wrote their own " relations " attacking the condition of the Indians and offering
alternatives. 25

The Salamancan School
Ramon Hernandez's articles sketch the tradition of the Salamancan school from 1500 to 1600 in its theological critique of
colonial exploitation. 26 This " second Thomism " was a conservative theology, drawn from the scholasticism of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries and expounded in occasional pieces and in
commentaries on the Summa theologiae and the Sentences of
Peter Lombard. If Vitoria and Soto were the central and catalytic
figures, the tradition of writing on the Indies continued in Banez
and Cano, and some experts think that Juan de la Pena, lecturing
on the Summa theologiae in the 1550s and 1560s, ranks with
Debello contra insulanos, Corpus Hispaniorum de Pace, vol. 9, p. 212.
a list see G. Lohmann Villena, "La projecci6n en las Indias de las
doctrinas de Vitoria y Las Casas: de la teoria a la praxis," I. Diritti, pp.
140-151.
'2 6 The best survey of the school's theology defending the Indians as stimulated by Dominican missionary reports is R. Hernandez, " Doctrina americanista de los teologos de San Esteban" in Humanismo cristiano, pp. 197-351
(a shorter version, "La Escuela Dominicana de Salamanca ante el Descubrimiento de America," appears in the acts of the first congress ; Los Dominicos
I, pp. IOlff.).
24

25 For

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Vitoria. 27 One stimulus for the Spanish theological Renacimiento
in the sixteenth century was the burning issues raised by the
meeting of new peoples in the Americas. 28 Andres Martin Melquiades lists the following characteristics of this Spanish Dominican school, and aspects of its tradition and approach: ( 1) the
elimination of useless, antique or linguistic issues; ( 2) a continuity with the past, not only with Aquinas and previous Salamancan
friars but with Scripture and the Fathers; ( 3) an attention to
contemporary moral and pastoral issues ; ( 4) a literary clarity
and balanced judgment; ( 5) an interest in methodology but also a
search for truth in ideas which reflect realities-in short, a practical realism but one opposed to a positivism of logic and
authorities. 29
In researching this school there is much work to be done. Some
writings on the Indians (for instance, by Cano) exist only in
manuscripts, while some of the commentaries on the Summa
theologiae by professors like de Soto and Banez-precisely in the
areas of divine image, faith, baptism, grace and the headship of
Christ-are not yet published.

Thomist Theologians and the Human Person

L. Perefia gives a bibliography of " Academic Sources on the
Indies " which lists eighty-nine authors from all religious orders
between 1534 and 1588 who wrote on the situation of the Indians. so Experts distinguish three periods in the sixteenth century
of theological and pastoral conflict over the Indies as the church
came to the Americas. The years 1540 and 1570 were dividing
lines. A marked creativity existed in the first period; next came
27 For biographical and bibliographical information on Juan de la Pena see
his Ecclesiologia. Replica a la Iglesia de Lutero, R. Hernandez, ed. (Salamanca: ESE, 1987), essays by Hernandez, and Corpus Hispaniorum de Pace,
vol. 9.
28 V. D. Carro, "Introducci6n General," to Domingo de Soto, De la Justicia
y del Derecho ... Introducci6n Hist6rica y Teol6gico-Juridico, V. D. Carro,
ed. (Madrid: Instituto de Estudios Politicos, 1967-1968) 1, p. Liii.
29 Melquiades, pp. 243£.
ao "Fuentes Academicas Indianas (1534-1588), "FVE, pp. 661-699.

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a time of expanding theological reflection on the directions already established; the third period brought an acceptance of fixed
ecclesiastical and colonial institutions, discussions over precise
ethical and colonial issues, and a reflection of the problems and
themes of the Council of Trent. 31 Vitoria represented the central
period of exposition. His colleague and successor, Domingo de
Soto, presented in his De Dominio of 1535 and De Justitia et
Jure of 1553 mature critiques through natural law of using the
preaching of the Gospel to exploit the Indian nations : the Indians
have true civil power," for faith does not destroy nature but leads
it to its fullness." 32 The tradition continued with theologians like
Cano and Banez, well known for their writings in other theological areas. The Salamancans worked to formulate and present
convincingly a theory which was also a praxis. Rapid colonial
expansion, traditional and new issues brought shifts in philosophical and theological emphases. And yet, the authority of Aquinas
kept the thought-forms and conclusions much the same.
The Dominicans worked largely in a philosophy of human
rights grounded in the thought of Thomas Aquinas. Maurice
Beuchot sums up : " The school of Salamanca defended natural
law, a natural law based on the divine law and itself establishing
the basis of the law of nations. This key perspective of a theology
of law defended divine law because this proceeded from the free
and gratuitous revelation of God which helped the natural without destroying it. It defended a positive law of nations because
si For the 1560s and 1570s, see L. Perena, " La Escuela de Salamanca y la
duda indiana," FVE, pp. 319ff.
s2 De Justitia et Jure lib. IV, q. 4, a. 1. See Relecci6n "De Dominio ".
Edici6n critica :v Traducci6n con Introducci6·n ... , J. Brufau Prats, ed.
(Granada, 1964). On Domingo de Soto see V. Beltran de Heredia, Dominga
de Soto, Estudio biografico documentado (Salamanca: ESE, 1960); see also
Carro, La Teologia :v los Teologos-juristas espanoles ante la Conquista de
America (Salamanca: ESE, 1951), El Maestro Fr. Pedro de Soto (Salamanca: ESE, 1944). See too J. Brufau, " Revision de la primera generacion
de la escuela," FVE, pp. 383ff., a summary of his La Escuela de Salamanca
ante la conquista de America (Salamanca: ESE, 1988); "Francisco de Vitoria
y Domingo de Soto," Los Dominfros 2, pp. 43ff.

SALAMANCA

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this law, as interpreted within an Aristotelian-Thomist tradition,
... offered some universal norms," 33 It is a mistake to view the
thought of the Dominican Thomists as only political philosophy.
In some works and authors biblical themes and patristic citations
are prominent and in some they are not. Nonetheless, the foundation of this political theology lay in the scholastic interpretation
of the essentials of the Gospel through philosophy; this theology
had not yet been compartmentalized into, e.g., dogmatic and moral
theology. Behind the defense of natural rights lay a view of the
Creator as 'a planning and loving intellect whose orders of creation and of holiness followed similar patterns respecting the activities of created causes: this was not the view of an Ockham or
a Luther. The view of human nature, the challenge of the fallen
human condition, and the "time of grace" after Christ form the
background to philosophical and juridical questions. The ultimate principle is a theology of the incarnation brought to an intense form in Aquinas : grace does not remove, destroy or create
human nature but heals and enhances it, leading to that deeper
life which is its destiny. 34 Sermons, treatises, commentaries, lectures and meetings unfolded their reflections on civil law, canon
law, philosophy and theology defending the Indian nations. A
dominant theme was the defense of the rights of the Indians
against the various justifications for invasion, war, conquest and
enslavement. Here one can see five sets of issues: ( 1) the justifications for violence against native peoples based upon their religious practices; (2) the justifications for violence against native
peoples in terms of the natural law articulating true human behavior; ( 3) the pretensions of papacy and emperor to have dominion over non-Christian peoples; ( 4) the conditions for evangelization, the depth of preaching and the order of catechesis, the
degree of commitment of the neophyte and the timetable for baptism and the other sacraments ; ( 5) brief allusions to a theology
as B. Beuchot, "El primer planteamiento teologico-juridico sobre la conquista de America: John Mair," CT 68 (1976), 213.
34 Summa theologiae,I, 1, 1.

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of the image of God, the extent of the influence of original sin,
and implicit faith and the absence of faith. 85

Principles from the Summa Theologiae
The Dominican professors lectured on the thought of Thomas
Aquinas in Salamanca's university halls. Their basic arguments
affirming the rights of the Indians and criticizing the increasingly violent methods of the Spanish conquest (even the entire
conquista) were drawn from a few articles of Aquinas's Summa
theologiae. The neo-Thomist revival and membership in the
Dominican school kept them focused on the works of Aquinas.
They knew and argued against nominalist and Scotist positions,
and they referred briefly to a distant precursor of the Reformation, John Wiclif ( 1329-1384), condemned by an ecumenical
council, because his two books on divine and civil dominium
suggested that jurisdiction and political exercise and rights depended upon the presence of grace. This theology was cited as an
opinion which might justify the treatment of infidels as creatures
without rights (something Wicliff never foresaw), but no
Spaniard would want to be associated with a distant position
ecclesiastically condemned. The Salamancans' creativity, informed by two to six decades of contacts with missionaries,
teachers, and bishops in the Indies, lay in applying a few ideas to
a dramatically new situation.
The Salamancan defense of the Indians found support in one
particular question on faith by Aquinas. Indeed, from Paz to
Cano this question is a central source, and some of the writings
on the Indies are a gloss on the tenth question of the II-II in the
Summa theologiae. To combat the colonial excuses for exploitation the friars in chairs of theology expounded the distinction between negative and positive infidelity. " If unbelief is taken as a
pure negation," Aquinas wrote, " it is not a sin " ( 10, 1). Ignoras Las Casas lists six similar issues in his debate with Sepulveda (R. Hernandez, "Las Casas y Sepulveda frente a frente," CT 102 [1975], 232) and
Vitoria lists four ( [l] servants or slaves by nature? [2] sinners who cannot
exercise social dominion? [ 3] infidels who can have no human or social power?
[4] creatures lacking reason ?) ; De lndis, pp. 13f.

SALAMANCA

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ance of Christ (and consequently life without baptism) did not
in itself damn. The absence of the Christian message and faith
were not excuses for conquest, nor was forced entry into the
church for individuals or groups encouraged. Through no fault
of their own the Indians had not heard of Christ; their lack of
belief was not a sin but an absence. Like Cornelius they might
have " implicit faith since the truth of the gospel was not yet
manifest " ( 10, 4, 3).
In the same articles on faith Aquinas spoke against coercing
anyone, child or adult, into religion and church. The Dominican
of the thirteenth century rejected coercion in religion (" nullo
modo" [10, 8,]) because it was contrary to natural justice ("repugnat justitiae naturali" [ 10, 12] ) . The later Salamancan
Dominicans often mentioned that Scotus had offered an exception or two. 36 If an Indian people was involved in perpetuating
superstitious religion, dubious rituals, and practices against the
natural law, should they not be conquered? Were not actions
against the natural law (cannibalism and human sacrifice were
prominent examples) reasons for conquering and controlling
these nations? Soldiers, adventurers, viceroys, and colonists expected an affirmative answer. The Thomist theologians, however,
responded that civil leaders were not obliged to try to correct
every evil, to play God. In the Americas greater evils like warfare, conquest, and enslavement would result. Aquinas had
written that war might come " not indeed for the purpose of forcing belief ... but to stop those impeding faith " ( 10, 8), but force
in this defensive mode was always dubious because of scandal, i.e.,
permanently alienating a people from any interest in the Gospel
(10, 10).
The Indian culture had its special nature, goodness and identity. Indian political structures emerged out of natural law and
8 6 " Scotus argued that forcing infidels, even if they do not become true believers in their spirit, is less evil, for then they do not serve illicit laws with
impunity . . ., and later their offspring will be among the faithful." Domingo
de Soto, Commentariorum in IV Sententiarum (Salamanca, 1557-1560), dist.

V, q. 1, a. 10.

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O.P.

not from a humanity totally corrupted by the fall. Aquinas had
concluded: "Divine law's realm, which is from grace, does not
take away the realm of human law which is from natural reason " ( 10, 10). Neither the fact that the Indians were not Christians nor their involvement in questionable forms of cult or immorality argued for the employment of violence against them,
although such excuses had been eagerly sought and applied by
colonizing forces. Evangelization and baptism did not render
political structures invalid.
To fashion arguments against the justifications for war brought
forth by figures like Sepulveda-Aristotelian
natural servitude
and sins against the natural law-the Thomists built upon two
basic principles : the natural liberty of the Indians as rational
creatures made in the image of God, and a critique of the colonizing state's reasons for invading, conquering and enslaving the
Indian nations. Wars whose legitimacy can even be discussed,
Vitoria stated, result not from attacking people for their religious
and moral limitations but from a clash of positive quests for
freedom. 37 Baciero describes the generation of the 1530s and
1540s in this way: "They are preoccupied above all with resolving the human problem, with safeguarding the concrete rights of
the Indians by giving a new and definitive orientation .... They
want to offer a new model of Indian society which fosters a peaceful coexistence among Spaniards and Indians. The Indian problem has been amplified by so many direct testimonies from experience and direct contact, and this is a characteristic of this second
generation at Salamanca. The serious problem of the Indians in
this phase of maturation calls for the application of definitive
remedies ... " 38
This movement reached even to Rome and the papacy. Around
1535 a Dominican missionary, Bernadina de Minaya, interrupted
his evangelical labors to return to Spain to protest the treatment
of the indigenous. Since he found little support, he went to Rome
to complain to Paul III that the view of the Indians as subhuman
37 Baciero,

38 Baciero,

" Conclusiones," p. 455.
" Conclusiones," p. 456.

SALAMANCA

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573

was used as a shallow excuse for conquest. Minaya was continuing approaches to the papacy by Dominicans begun in 1512
and still pursued in 1535 by Julian Garces, bishop of Tlaxcala
(Las Casas in 1517 and Vitoria in 1532 had also challenged the
charge that the indigenous lacked freedom and intellect). Apparently taking seriously these representations and overcoming his
tendency to vacillation, Paul III issued in 1537 the pastoral letter
"Pastorate 0 fficium" to the Archbishop of Toledo, Primate of
Spain. The Pope began with the picture of one human race called
to eternal life and possessing " the nature and faculties enabling
it to receive that faith." Those living in all the vast regions of
"the Indies" were human beings with liberty and dominion, capable of faith and salvation, and they were to be drawn to the
Gospel by preaching and good example. The letter threatened
with excommunication those who deprived them of their goods
and dominion or who led them into slavery. 39 Two years earlier
Las Casas had written to the court that from Nicaragua twentyfive thousand slaves had been sent to Panama, and the same number to Peru. 40
We want to look further at theologians from two periods :
Francisco de Vitoria and Domingo Bafiez.

Francisco de Vitoria
Vitoria's is not the first theological protest, but he is a
theologian of human rights from that century and that school.
Entering the Order in 1505, he studied in Paris and was exposed
through Erasmus and others to humanist and nominalist perspectives which perhaps directed him toward concrete problems. He
studied in Paris with Peter Crockaert, a professor who in the
89 Denzinger-Schonmetzer,
Enchiridion Symbolorum (Freiburg: Herder,
1963), 1495; on the papal documents of this period see J. Muldoon, "The Spanish Experience," Popes, Lawyers, and Infidels. The Church and the Non-Christian World, 1250-1550 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1979), pp.
137ff., and on the Dominicans' influence on Paul III, Lewis Hanke, "Pope Paul
III and the American Indians," Harvard Theological Review 30 (1937), 65ff.
40 B. M. Biermann, "Zwei Briefe von Fray B. de Las Casas,'' Archivum
Fratrum Praedicatorum 4 (1934), 187ff.

574

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O.P.

lecture hall had replaced Lombard's Sentences with Aquinas's
Summa theologiae. Vitoria's lectures drew together contemporary social and ecclesial issues and the medieval text. 41 After
1523, he taught in Valladolid and after 1526 in Salamanca. He
wrote fifteen special treatises, among them the famous De lndis
(finished in 1532 and published in 1557) and De jure belli. As
his commentary shows, he found in Aquinas both framework and
insights for the issues of imperial Spain and Christianity 42 But
in 1539 a letter came from Madrid, from Charles V to the Dominican superior in Salamanca: it demanded the theologian's
cessation of publication and lecturing, the seizure of his manuscripts, and the prohibition of their circulation. Vitoria was already exhausted and sick; he stopped teaching in 1540, was unable to guide his texts toward publication, and died in 1546.
Victoria's thought was fashioned by what he learned of the invasions of Peru, Mexico, Guatemala and Chile, and this led him
to conclude that civil and canon law were not the field of battle.
Rather, the central issue was the theological and philosophical
nature of the human being. He saw all human beings as fundamentally equal : all were free and all were images of God; differences came from culture and education. Therefore, the Spanish
were not to exploit the riches of the Americas to the detriment of
the populations. The Indians had domination over their own
goods; their nations and towns were autonomous. Differences
between them and the Spaniards did not provide reasons for depriving them of their social and human rights. For Vitoria the
only reasons for a conquest which could be brought forward were
those which protected human rights-but such reasons were not
4 1 On Vitoria's intellectual life see the many essays in I Diritti, particularly
R. Hernandez, " Francisco de Vitoria en la crisis de su tiempo," pp. 31-62;
Hernandez's Un espanol en la ONU, Francisco de Vitoria (Madrid: EDICA,
1977), and his introductions to Doctrina sobre los Indios and Derechos
Humanos en Francisco de Vitoria, Antologia (Salamanca: ESE, 1984), and
"La Hip6tesis de F. de Vitoria," FVE, pp. 345ff. On the legal and canonical
sources of Vitoria and the issue of "dominium" see Muldoon, pp. 143ff.
4 2 And yet he could observe : " Some treat Aquinas or Scotus like a Gospel."
Hernandez, "Francisco de Vitoria," I. Diritti, p. 55.

SALAMANCA

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present in Spain's expansion of its empire. The Indians could be
confided to the tutelage of the Spaniards for a time so that their
human life might be improved, but free and prior consent must
be present. The emperor should rule over a community of free
peoples, and his laws were just when they preserved and promoted
the totality of their life. The Indians had a right to good government, one which was gradual and progressive, one which expanded education and permitted the imperfect social structures it
could not correct. At the end of his examination in De Indis of
the eight false " titles " which Spain proffered justifying its
colonialization, Vitoria concluded: "From this entire study it
appears one must conclude, that, if all these titles are false, the
Hispanic expeditions must cease." 43 L. Perefia observes: "This
project of colonial society defined by Vitoria and his disciples
surely constitutes the greatest revulsion ever against European
colonialization." 44 In his daily lectures, scholarly commentaries
and public " relecciones" Vitoria worked to attract committed
followers to his view.
The main university chairs of theology were occupied by disciples of
Vitoria. His manuscripts passed from hand to hand . . . The doctrine of peace acquired its real dynamism and identity in a community of thought; it unfolded within a common approach which found
completion in some great academic syntheses. For the faculty of
theology constituted the center of the schools, and the chairs of theology were the main channels for presenting his doctrine of dynamic
peace and helping it infiltrate national awareness. 45
Professors of a legalistic and conservative mentality, not to mention ministers of imperial power, objected to his beneficent principles admitting of few exceptions. But Vitoria saw Spain's dominance as temporary and legitimated by the free agreement of the
·4BRelectio de lndis, L. Perefia, ed. (Madrid: C. S. I. C., 1967), p. 98;
Relectio de lure Belli o Paz Dinamica, L. Perefia, ed., Corpus Hispaniorum
de Pace vol. 6 with bibliography, essays and writings from other Dominicans
on the topic of war in the Indies.
44 L. Perefia, "La Escuela de Francisco de Vitoria," I Diritti, p. 93.; see
L. Perefia, "Francisco de Vitoria: consciencia de America," Los Dominicos
2, pp. 93ff.
4 5 Perefia, "La Escuela de Francisco," p. 94.

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occupied nations. He argued for a new approach, a renewal which
was expressive of a theology and a philosophy of human rights;
it would end the numerous evils and unjustified institutions in
place in Cuba and Peru. Such a renewal would offer guidelines
for fashioning societies where all human beings, European and
Indian, Christian and non-Christian, would live not only in justice
but in increasing cultural progress. 46

Domingo Banez
Experts see in Bafiez, who occupied a chair of theology in Salamanca after 1581, someone continuing the teaching of Vitoria.
Bafiez did not compose many monographs on the Indies but
treated these issues in his commentary on the Secunda secundae
of the Summa theologiae, in the questions on faith, hope and
charity published not long after he began his lectures on this
text. 47 Elaborating the ideas of Aquinas on the perdurance of
natural rights in non-believers and on the positive relationship of
natural law to the arrival of grace, Bafiez (explicitly referring to
Las Casas and Vitoria) treated at length certain specific issues
like arguments cited to support the invasion of Indian villages
because of human sacrifice. The problem of Christian " liberty "
(Mt. 17 :26) had become prominent. This liberty might encourage the Indians to abandon all social structures and leadership
after baptism; or, strangely, it might imply that baptismal new
life brought the new Christian to the lowest rung of every social
ladder. Christian freedom is a deeper reality than escaping from
one society to another, and grace does not destroy the structures
of natural society. Moreover, non-Christians could have dominion over Christians. Interestingly, while compulsion was repugnant to true faith, Bafiez concluded that Indian peoples could be
compelled to hear preaching on the Gospel "at least once," but
then they should be free of pressure.
issues and
Decades of colonial expansion explain why
conclusions were complex. Like the practical issues of the Indies,
46 Perefia, " La Escuela de Francisco," pp. 94£.
4 7 See R. Hernandez, " Domingo Banez, Continuador de Francisco de Vitoria
en la doctrina internacionalista sobre las Indias,'' Los Dominicos2, pp. 6Uf.

SALAMANCA

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the theological issues had become intricate. And yet, seventy
years after his confrere, Matias Paz, first addressed the situation,
the same Thomistic texts were being employed to combat the
same colonial abuses.
We might end our considerations of the Salamancan theologians defending the Indians by looking at two facets of this
theological enterprise : one of strength, one of weakness. Study
and experience led this school to conclude that neither the pope
nor European Christian monarchs had jurisdiction over the Indian nations. The natural law which brought individual rights
also brought the structures of human societies, and these grace
met but did not destroy. Vitoria's chapter headings in the De
Indis repeatedly demolished the tenets "that the pope could entrust to the Spanish alone the preaching of the Gospel," or that
the pope is civil or temporal lord of the whole world or has any
jurisdiction over the Indies. De Soto concluded: "In the pope
there is no power which is merely temporal." 48
A marked weakness in their thought was the view of slavery.
Generally they could not escape from the texts of Aristotle holding that slavery was in theory possible. The Salamancans thought
that slavery could result from only one situation, being a prisoner
of a just war. Consequently war became for the colonists an instrument of legitimizing slavery: they sought excuses for wars
against towns so that the losers might legitimately be enslaved.
So abstract principles, even in their minimal exemplification,
opened the door to slavery in the Indies and were used to justify
the condition of slaves from Africa then beginning to arrive m
the western hemisphere. 49
In IV Sent., dist. 5, q. unica, a. 10.
de Mercado after spending some years in Mexico entered the
Dominicans in 1552 in Santo Domingo; at Salamanca he received further education so that he might teach in the Mexican university, and at the end of his
schooling in Spain published his Suma de Tratos y Contratos which discussed slavery. While he bemoaned the extension, conditions and effects of
slavery (his example was African slaves), he said there was general agreement that such commerce could be " a licit sale and de jure gentium." See
L. Sastre, "Teoria esclavista de Tomas de Mercado," CT 80 (1989), 27ff.
and his articles in Los Dominicos 1, pp. 675ff. and Los Dominicos 2, pp. 287ff.
48

49 Tomas

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THOMAS F. o'MEARA,

O.P.

Wider Grace
For Christianity-for Augustine and for Aquinas-there were
no people existing in a state of pure nature. The Indians were
neither automatically damned nor inhabitants of paradise but they
too lived in a world permeated by two atmospheres, sin and grace.
Aquinas had briefly pursued the mystery of how wider worlds
beyond Christendom might be touched by grace. 50 Grace might
reach the nations who had not heard the Gospel through theologies of baptism ex voto (III, 68, 2), implicit faith (II-II, 2, 7,
3), and the orientation of 'the first adult human act (I, 89).
There had been historical degrees of belonging to Christ (III,
8, 3), and the image of God was universally present in human
intelligence and freedom (I, 93). Aquinas concluded that God's
grace is not limited to sacraments (I-II, 113, 3). Scholars have
yet to examine all these themes in the commentaries of all the
Salamancan Dominicans in the sixteenth century.
Unfortunately for us, these theologians did not discuss the
issue of the existence of grace in the Indians' lives to any great
extent. 51 As an illustration of the shock of the discovery of the
Indies, we find Mattias Paz convinced that surely in the distant
past an Apostle or an apostolic disciple had once brought the
Gospel to "the Indies." But Vitoria's lectures on the Summa's
questions on faith (given between 1527 and 1534) did treat what
he called "this major question" of salvation and faith in Christ.
He noted that faith is a kind of knowledge and comes not as a
test or an obstacle but as a help moving us towards God. Vitoria
noted the different degrees of faith even among Christians, some
of whom are little instructed in the Gospel. Observing that
5'0

See Otto Pesch, Thomas von Aquin (Mainz: Matthias-Grunewald, 1988) ;

J. Quigley, Salvific Faith and the Non-Evangelized: An Appraisal of Aquinas'
Theology of Implicit Faith (Rome: Angelicum, 1984); G. Sabra Thomas
Aquinas' Vision of the Church (Mainz: Matthias-Grunewald, 1987) ; M.
Seckler, "Dan Haupt alter Menschen," Virtus Politica (Stuttgart: Fromann,
Holzboog, 1974), 107ff.; "Das Heil der Nicht-evangelisierten in der Sicht des
Thomas von Aquin," Theologische Quartalschrift 140 (1960), 38ff.
u Slight information drawn from often inaccessible texts of Vitoria, de Soto,
Cano and Banez is in L. Caperan, Le Probleme du salut des infideles, Essai
historique (Toulouse: Grand Seminaire, 1934), pp. 251ff.

SALAMANCA

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Aquinas considered the question of how people had faith in Christ
before the incarnation of Jesus, he concluded (but without ever
mentioning the populations newly contacted):
It must be said that those (living) in natural law were able to be
saved, as all say, if they believed God to be a rewarder to all seeking
him, and in that faith is included the faith in a Mediator .... So this
is the resolution of the Doctor (Aquinas) : in the law of nature
human beings can be saved with that faith which Paul states in
Hebrews, chapter eleven. We do not deny that in the law of nature
revelation of Christ has been revealed to many; moreover, in general, if anyone following nature's light would know those two thingsnamely, that God is and that God is a rewarder to those seeking
him-and worship God, that one would be saved.52
Vitoria concluded (apparently alluding to a special treatment of
this topic which he was planning) that an adult, even invincibly
ignorant of the Gospel, can be met by grace, " for a special conversation of God with the human being occurs always in the condition of the natural law and so a kind of revelation takes
place." 53 Here we have an early theory of how, in a psychological
milieu of grace, grace discloses in free action some kind of orientation and even content of " revelation " related to meaning and
love.
In the 1540s, Domingo de Soto found this an uncertain problem. For him the acknowledgements of God's existence and of
his rewarding relationship to humanity as well as a respect for
the natural law were openings toward justification. A kind of
actual grace aided these movements. There were degrees of implicit and explicit faith. And yet, too implicit a faith might require one more explicitly Christocentric before attaining its eschatological reward. 54
In the 1580s, Bafiez's theology of salvation outside of baptism
and prior to evangelization centered around the issue of implicit
52 Francisco de Vitoria, Commentarios a la Secunda secundae de Santo Tomas,
V. Beltran de Heredia, ed (Salamanca: ESE, 1932), 1, pp. 66f., 77ff.
53 Vitoria, Comentarios a la Secunda secundae, 1, p. 1, n. 11.
54 De Natura et Gratia (Venice, 1547), II, xi. An edition of this work
two years later (Paris, 1549) holds that more than reason's acceptance of
natural law is required.

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O.P.

faith and baptism of desire. This had been debated at length in
the second half of the sixteenth century by his predecessors like
Cano and de Soto but also by Franciscan and Jesuit theologians.
He began a treatment of baptism by noting that faith and grace
are necessary not as arbitrary rules from God but as unavoidable
means of encountering grace and eschatological life. Baptism
exists not only in its liturgical form but " in voto " : an intention,
will or orientation from which arise faith and love. At issue is
not the legitimacy of an acceptance of grc:1.ce by desire but the intensity and religious content of that desire. Does an implicit desire for that which baptism sacramentally and symbolically offers
suffice? It does when this intention holds a general but real intent of keeping the law of God and of pleasing God.55 This is
present in the newly discovered lands when people "do what lies
within them by observing the law of nature", for the Gospel has
not been universally preached effectively.56 On the one hand,
Banez argues against the purely spiritual baptism of some of the
Protestant reformers; on the other hand, his commentary shows
breadth but also careful qualifications in the treatment of grace
outside of baptism.
Still, the Salamancan Dominicans were sparse in their theologies of this topic. They were concerned with warding off the
attacks of those who believed that the Indians were by birth or
nature evil, that they were non-human, incapable of faith, fixed
in sin, or intrinsically immoral. From the Gospel and Aquinas
they learned that grace was tied to faith, and so, as the sixteenth
century progressed, discussions of degrees of implicit faith adequate for the arrival of salvific grace proliferated. The theologians
were obviously convinced that all Indian life would benefit from
the teaching and the morality of the Gospel as well as from learning arts and crafts. Perhaps the reports of cannibalism and human
sacrifice were exaggerated, but both Augustine and Aquinas
55 Comentarios ineditos a la tercera parte de Santo Tomas, q. 68, 2; V.
Beltran de Heredia, ed., II (Madrid: C. S. I. C., 1953), p. 179; see D. Banez

De Fide, Spe et Charitate ... Scholastica Commentaria in 2am 2ae
(Venice, 1602) II, a. 8, dub. ult. col. 362ff.
56 Commentarios ineditos a la tercera parte ... , pp, 182, 185.

SALAMANCA

AND THE SPANISH

CONQUEST

581

taught that original sin, unchecked by grace, was a contagion
which spread and easily corrupted human life, individual and social. That central text of the Summa theologiae, II-II, 10, 1,
after stating that negative infidelity was no sin, implied that
damnation might come not infrequently from other sins exacerbated by original sin. The theologians presumed evangelization
to be of value, indeed worth the sacrifice of the lives of their
many brothers who left Salamanca for Espanola, Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, and even more remote lands.

Salamanca and the Americas
Salamanca and the Dominicans at San Esteban contributed to
the modern law of nations, the foundations for social ethics, and
the defense of human rights over against encroachment by state
or religion. In theology they became famous for their positions
in the argumentation and exposition of Tridentine and Baroque
theologies of grace and freedom. Their writings, however, also
touched on the historical stages of religion and revelation and on
the psychological modes of the acts and degrees of faith.
Historians today are busy describing what they call the " projection" of Salamanca-the university and the Dominican school
-into Central and South America. That university provided the
first teachers, bishops and university professors in the Americas.
Scholars have researched several hundred people of some significance who studied at Salamanca and were connected with the
Americas. 57 The Dominicans founded a studium in Espanola in
1533, a single university chair of theology in 1534, and a uni5 7 See A. Rodriguez Cruz, Salmatica docet, La Proyeccion de la Universidad de Salamanca en Hispanoamerica, 1 (Salamanca: Universidad, 1977);
two more volumes are to appear. See A. Ortega, "El Humanismo Salmantino
en la conquista de America," Humanismo cristiano, pp. 135ff. and F. Martin,
"Universidades, colegio y otros centros de formacion," Humanismo cristiano,
pp. 7ff. A. Rodriguez Cruz, "La Influencia de la universidad de Salamanca
•.. , " Los Dominicos 1, pp. 663ff. offers an alphabetical list of 136 Domini·
cans active as teachers or missionaries in the sixteenth century; see also Cruz'
wider list, "Alumnos de la universidad de Salamanca en America," in FVE,
pp. 503ff.

582

THOMAS

F. o'MEARA,

O.P.

versity in 1538.58 And then they founded (from 1538 to 1791)
universities in Lima, Mexico City, Bogota, and Santiago, as well
as the universities of San Carlos in Guatemala, of Santo Tomas
in Quito, Ecuador, and of San Antonio in Cuzco, Peru.
A bibliographical study similar to these pages could be done for
the Franciscans or Augustinians, or for particular regions. The
range of the hundreds of essays appearing in this anniversary
year is wide. They treat unknown theologians and early bishops,
juridical tracts and theological commentaries, Matias Paz and
Juan de Zumarraga, Indian grammars and Indian art, catechisms,
styles of evangelical preaching, and the canon law of marriage as
interpreted for the culture of the Indians. A few of these articles
are repetitive and some are summaries of other essays. But anyone interested in the philosophy of human rights and ethics, in
issues like the presence of grace outside of baptism or the pastoral
expression of the Gospel in new cultures will be excited and sobered by many thousands of pages of research with more volumes
yet to appear.

58 A. Huerga, "La Obra intelectual de la orden de predicadores en America,"
Los Dominicos 1, pp. 703ff.

AQUINAS ON DISORDERED
PLEASURES AND CONDITIONS
ANTHONY

c. DALY, S.J.

St. Louis University
St. Louis, Missouri

I

T IS A COMMONPLACE that various philosophies, besides being supremely important intellectually and morally
to individuals, have exercised a powerful influence on culture through their proponents acting individually and in schools.
Sometimes, too, philosophers and theologians made venerable by
antiquity are cited in policy disputes, both secular and ecclesiastical, which have a definite political aspect. The obvious hope is
that the struggle can be won more easily with the added support
of a revered authority.
This seems to have been the case recently in the debate over
homosexuality. Bruce Williams, O.P., wrote a commentary 1 on
a letter from the Roman Catholic Congregation for the Doctrine
of the Faith, " On the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons,"
in which he adopts the position that the homosexual condition
cannot be considered "all right". He bases his argument explicitly on the scholastic maxim ' agere sequitur esse' (acting fol..,
lows being) ; if the action is distorted, so is the condition from
which it follows. But in disputing this position another commentator on the Roman letter, Gerald D. Coleman, S.S., 2 has
named Thomas Aquinas as a key scholastic philosopher who
should logically be counted as his own ally. Coleman seems to say

1 "Homosexuality:
The New Vatican Statement," Theological Studies
48(1987), pp. 259-77. My thanks to Jesuit Fathers Harry R. Kloeker, Robert
W. Mulligan, and David A. Wayne for advice and encouragement during the
preparation of this article.
2 "The Vatican Statement on Homosexuality,'' Theological Studies 48(1987),
pp. 727-34.

583

584

ANTHONY

C. DALY, S.J.

that although Thomas" would name the homosexual activity ...
as ' distorted '," he would not think of the homosexual condition
in this way. 3
Before entering in detail into Thomas's actual thought on the
matter, it seems important for humanitarian reasons to note specifically, as did the Roman Letter, Williams, Coleman, and
Thomas himself, that a disordered condition need not imply moral
culpability. The case is clearer when the disordered condition is
a physical handicap. 4 In that case it isn't morally wrong to be
handicapped, yet it isn't " all right " to be physically handicapped
either, except insofar as "it's all right" means that a person
would rightly accept and love himself or herself, handicap and
all. A disordered condition may involve a physical evil or perhaps a psychological evil, but does not necessarily involve a culpable moral evil.
With this proviso the way is open for a frank discussion of
Thomas' s actual ideas about homosexuality. They are certainly
worth the consideration of any contemporary philosopher or
theologian who might be interested in this issue, and for others
the subject involves a facet of the history of ideas well worth noting, expecially since from this angle it is easy to focus on
Thomas's general thought about disordered conditions and pleasures. The investigation also forms a case study in the way
Thomas used philosophy in forming and articulating his theology.
Here, despite the fact that much of the material as Thomas expressed it has a theological formality and purpose, it is from
philosophy that he derives his arguments, their thought structure, and their underlying insight.

Pleasures, Actions, Habits, and States
In order to help him refute Williams's point that a homosexual
8 Coleman, "Statement,"
pp. 732-34 (quotation from p. 733); Williams,
"Homosexuality," pp. 263-69.
4 See Williams, " Homosexuality," p. 266, quoting Marc Oraison, The
Homosexual Question (London: Search, 1977), p. 115; Coleman, " Statement,"
p. 734 and n. 30 (Coleman does not think of homosexuality as a distorted
condition). Thomas's thought on the matter is treated below.

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

CONDITIONS

585

orientation is a disordered condition, Coleman quotes Thomas
Aquinas, Summa Theologiae I-II, 31, 7. 5 Coleman argues that
Thomas had no idea of the contemporary notion of " homosexual
orientation", but were he aware of it or something like it, he
would logically have to call homosexual acts distorted, but would
not call the homosexually oriented person distorted. This seems
to mean Thomas would not call the homosexual orientation objectively disordered. 6 Coleman's use of "person" here seems to
contravene Williams's caution not to confuse the person as a
whole with a condition which is only part of the picture. 7 But
perhaps Coleman has simply not attended sufficiently to the distinction discussed above between a moral evil and a physical evil
such as a handicap.
In any case, a straightforward reading even of the occasionally misleading translation of Article 7 offered by Coleman (p.
733) indicates just the opposite from what he suggests it means.
Homosexual relations along with cannibalism and bestiality are
classed there by Thomas as activities which can be enjoyed only
by someone ailing psychologically. Parallel to these activities are
the eating of earth and coals, pleasurable to one suffering from
some dispositional disorder, and finding sweet things bitter, and
vice versa, as fever patients do. Thomas's obvious point is that
these activities are pleasurable to those who do them out of some
disordered state, either physical or mental. The pleasures, the
acts, and the states from which they proceed are inextricably
bound together and all are seen as disordered.
The point becomes inescapable when one looks at the whole of
Article 7, "Whether any pleasure is unnatural." According to
5 The reference as given in Coleman's article, 1-2, 31-39 (p. 733 n. 29), appears to have been a slip of the pen. It corresponds to the questions contained in vol. 20 of the Blackfriars edition of the Summa [St. Thomas
Aquinas, Summa Theologiae: Latin Text and English Translation, Introductions, N ates, Appendices and Glossaries (New York and London: Blackfriars
in conjunction with McGraw-Hill and Eyre & Spottiswoode); vol. 20,
Pleasure, 1975, tr. Eric D'Arcy].
e Coleman, " Statement," pp. 733-34.
7 Williams, "Homosexuality," pp. 267-69.

586

ANTHONY

C. DALY, S.J.

his usual format, Thomas first gives the view contrary to his
own "It seems that no pleasure is unnatural." This seems to be
the case, the argument continues, first because only something
connatural can satisfy a bodily appetite. Secondly, whatever is
against nature is violent and painful, not pleasant. Third, to become confirmed in one's proper nature, when this is sensed,
causes pleasure. But to become confirmed in one's proper nature
is natural, since a movement which tends toward the natural completion of each thing is a natural movement. The third point
identifies the process of realizing the potential of one's proper
nature as a pleasurable process. But since the change or movement which accomplishes this is natural in that it tends toward
the natural end or the complete development of each thing, no
pleasure is unnatural. 8
Thomas argues against these opinions when he expresses his
own view on the matter. Unnatural pleasures are in a sense
natural, he says, but only in that they are connatural with the
state capable of enjoying them, which in this case is itself contrary to human nature. Thus, strictly speaking and in an unqualified sense these pleasures and their connatural states are
contrary to human nature; nevertheless, in a qualified sense these
pleasures are natural to the state capable of enjoying them.
T e:i:tual Interpretation

Although this interpretation of Article 7 is arguable even from
the translation offered by Coleman, the translation should be
purged of its misleading elements if the case is to be made totally clear. The translation appears to be in fact a verbatim copy of
Eric D' Arcy's version in the Blackfriars edition (vol. 20, p. 25).
What follows is a transcription of the Coleman translation with
italicizing of phraseology I consider misleading in this context
and with numbering for easy reference.
8 Praeterea,
constitui in propriam naturam, cum sentitur, causat delectationem; ut patet ex definitione Philosophi supra posita. Sed constitui in
naturam, unicuique est naturale : quia motus naturalis est qui est ad terminum
naturalem. Ergo omnis delectatio est naturalis (Leonine edition).

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

CONDITIONS

587

Now with regard to pleasures of either of these two kinds, there are
some which are unnatural, absolutely speaking, ( 1) but may be called
natural from a particular point of view. For it sometimes happens
that (2) one of the principles which is natural to the species as a
whole has broken down in one of its individual members; the result
can be that something which runs counter to (3) tho nature of the
species as a rule,
to be in harmony nith nature for a particular individual, ( 4) as it beco1nes natural for a vessel of water
which has been heated to give out heat. ( 5) Thus something which
is (6) "against human nature" either as regards reason or as regards physical preservation, ( 5) may happen to be (7) in harmony
with the natural needs of this man (8) because• in hini nature is ailing. He may be ailing physically: either from some particular complaint, as fever-patients find sweet things bitter, and vice versa; or
from some dispositional disorder, as some find pleasure in eating
earth or coals. (9) He may be ailing psychologically, as some men
by habituation come to take pleasure in cannibalism, or in copulation with beasts or with their own sex, ( 10) or in things not in accord with human nature.
The original Latin runs
Secundum utrasque autem delectationes, contingit aliquas esse innaturales, simpliciter loquendo, ( 1) sed connaturales secundum quid.
Contingit enim in aliquo individuo corrumpi (2) aliquod principiorum naturalium speciei; et sic id quod est contra ( 3) naturam
speciei, fieri per accidens naturalo huic individuo; ( 4) sicut huic
aquae calefactae est naturale quod calefaciat. (5) !ta igitur contingit
quod id quad est (6) contra naturani hominis, vel quantum ad rationem vel quantum ad corporis conservationem, ( 5) fiat ( 7) huic
homini connaturale, (8) propter aliquam corruptionem naturae• in eo
existentem. Quae quidem corruptio potest esse vel ex parte corporis,
sicut ex aegritudine, sicut febricitantibus dulcia videntur amara et e
converso; sive propter malam complexionem, * sive aliqui delectantur
in comestione terrae vel carbonum, (9) vel aliquorum huiusmodi:
vel etiam ex parte animae, sicut propter consuetudinem aliqui delectantur in comedendo homines, vel in coitu bestiarum aut masculorum,
(10) aut aliorum hujusmodi, quao not sunt secundum naturam
humanam. 9
9 Emphasis added throughout.
The Latin here, and in all the quotations
from the Summa which follow, is from the Leonine edition. Here it varies
from the Piana edition employed by the Blackfriars edition only in punctua-

588

ANTHONY

C. DALY,

S.J.

If only the elements I consider misleading were changed, the
new translation would read

Now with regard to pleasures of either of these two kinds, there are
some which are unnatural, absolutely speaking, ( 1) but which are
in harmony with nature in a qualified sense. For it sometimes happens that (2) one of the natural principles of the species has broken
down in one of its individual members; the result can be that something which runs counter to ( 3) the nature of the species becomes
natural to a particular individual in respect to the qualification it
has undergone<, ( 4) just as it is natural for sonie particular heated
water to give out heat. ( 5) Thus it comes about that something
which is (6) against human nature either as regards reason or as regards physical preservation, (5) becomes (7) proportioned with his
own nature in the case of this man (8) '.be·cause of some corruption
of nature which exists in him. He may be ailing physically: either
from some particular complaint, as fever-patients find sweet things
bitter, and vice versa; or from some dispositional disorder, as some
find pleasure in eating earth or coals (9) or things of this sort. He
may be ailing psychologically, as some men by habituation come to
take pleasure in cannibalism, or in copulation with beasts or with
their own sex, ( 10) or with othe-r such things which are not in accord with human nature.
I want the quotation marks removed from " against human
nature " ( 6) because they seem to imply that Thomas does not
mean the phrase literally. In so far as this is implied the D' Arey
translation is misleading since there are no grounds in the Latin
text for such an interpretation. The other emendations represent a closer approach to a word-for-word translation. The freer
D'Arcy translation seems at these points to soften Thomas's
theme that unnatural pleasures are in a qualified sense natural to
an individual, but only in so far as a corresponding corruption
of nature exists in him; and that absolutely speaking the pleasure
in question and the corresponding corruption of nature are both
contrary to human nature. In the case of the last phrase ( 10), the
clause " or in copulation with beasts or with their own sex, or in
things not in accord with human nature" cannot be made to retion and in that the Piana edition has sicut for the Leonine sive marked with
an asterisk above. In his translation D' Arey, and after him Coleman, followed the Leonine edition in this detail.

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

CONDITIONS

589

place "or in copulation with beasts or with their own sex, or in
other such things not in accord with human nature." Curiously
the translation of Eric D' Arey in the Blackfriars edition reads
" or in other things not in accord with human nature " for Coleman's "or in things not in accord with human nature." Even
D'Arcy's translation, arguably, would be more accurate, I think,
if it read, " as some men by habituation come to take pleasure in
cannibalism, or in copulation with beasts or with their own sex
or with other such things, which are not in accord with human
nature."
Thomas's point about water ( 4) seems to be that in its natural
state water is cool and cooling, but if heated it becomes hot and
warming. He obviously uses the example of water for purposes
of illustration and doubtless does not mean to imply that hot
water is contrary to nature in the same sense that cannibalism is.

Implications
In Article 7 Thomas is paraphrasing a passage in Aristotle's
Nicomachean Ethics. Aristotle's point, which is discussed further below, is the same as Thomas's 'agere sequitur esse ', acting
follows being. For both, if the action is in a primary sense and
without qualifications unnatural, it proceeds from a disordered
state.
My overall inference is that even if either Thomas or Aristotle
had been convinced (along the lines suggested by Coleman) that
the homosexual orientation is in a primary sense not contrary to
nature, neither would have fallen into the inconsistency of saying,
on the one hand, that homosexual activities and their corresponding pleasures are disordered, and on the other hand that the condition from which they spring is not disordered. They would
instead have classed homosexual pleasures among those natural
pleasures enjoyed by some persons and not by others (such as
enjoying hot food in preference to cold food), a category listed
by Aristotle at the beginning of his discussion of pleasures contrary to nature and noted, received favorably, and illustrated with

590

ANTHONY

C. DALY,

S.J.

examples by Thomas in his commentary on that section of the
Nicomachean Ethics. 10
In this commentary Thomas expresses succinctly his view of
the relationship among actions, habits, and states. " Because
habits are diversified by a complete distinction of objects," he
says "corresponding habits will answer to these individual pleasures under discussion; thus some habits will be natural and others
unnatural." 11 Unnatural pleasures ( delectabilia non naturaliter)
arise in turn from a congenital malignant nature (ex natura
corporalis complexionis quam acceperunt a principio) or from the
onset of physical or mental sickness (propter aliquas supervenientes aegritudines corporales aut etiam tristitias animales).
As a third possibility Thomas says such habits can arise over
time through conditioning (propter malam consuetudinem). He
does not specify whether this conditioning is freely chosen or imposed by others. In either case the habit itself becomes a quasi
nature, a quasi mental illness (fit quasi quaedam natura) .12
Thus he views actions, habits, and states as linked together forming a whole which is either natural or contrary to nature.
In this Thomas is on the side of Williams, who worries about
the inconsistency of viewing the homosexual condition as not involving an objective disorder and yet maintaining for ecclesiastical
reasons that the activities connatural with it are not to be
practiced. 13
10 See Aristotle, E.N. 7.5, in the Oxford edition [Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea, ed. I. Bywater (London: Oxford University Press, 1894)], p. 139
(1148b), 11. 15-16; and Thomas Aquinas, In Eth. Nie. 7.5, in the Leonine
edition, vol. 47.2, p. 399, 11. 18-28. See at n. 19 below.
11 Thomas Aquinas, In Eth. Nie. 7.5: Et quia secundum diversitatem objectorum diversificantur habitus, necesse est quod singulis praedictorum delectabilium respondeant similes habitus, puta quod sint quidam habitus naturales,
et quidam non naturales (Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 399, 11. 42-46). The
Translation is that of C. I. Litzinger, Commentary on the Nicomachean
Ethics (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1964), p. 641. Cf. S.Th. I-II,
96,3,R.; 54,2,3; 60,1 ; 62,2.
1 2 See In Eth. Nie. 7.5, in the Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 399, 11. 29-35; p.
400, 11. 82-89. See at n. 29 below.
13 Williams, "Homosexuality," pp. 264-65.

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

CONDITIONS

591

As a curious consequence of this line of thought, if the homosexual condition is in fact contrary to nature one would conclude,
as Williams does, that a homosexually oriented person would be
under some sort of obligation to change his or her orientation if
possible.14 But on the other hand, if homosexuality is to be
classed among conditions experienced by some but not by others,
all of them natural in the primary and unqualified sense, not only
homosexuals but heterosexuals too (and that is the curious point)
would presumably be free either to remain as they are, or if it be
possible, to change their orientations as they see fit.
My point here, though, and in what follows, is not so much to
argue the question whether or not a homosexual orientation is in
fact an objective disorder, nor is it to discuss a possible obligation
to change orientation, but only to set the record straight on the
historical question of what Thomas actually said.

The Homosexual Orientation
As a crucial part of his argument Coleman maintains that St.
Thomas had no concept of homosexual orientation similar to what
is current today. 15 The basic elements of this concept include,
according to Coleman
a predominant, persistent, and exclusive psychosexual attraction toward members of the same sex. A homosexual person is one who
feels sexual desire for and a sexual responsiveness to persons of the
same sex and who seeks or would like to seek actual sexual fulfillment of this desire by sexual acts with a person of the same sex. A
distinction is drawn by a majority of authors on the subject between
the homosexual condition and the homosexual act.16
To this Coleman adds the notion that many or perhaps most persons do not choose to have a homosexual orientation; instead
they discover it as part of their makeup.17 Thus we have a con14 Williams, "Homosexuality,"
pp. 267, 274-75. See Coleman, " Statement,'' pp. 731-34.
15 Coleman, " Statement," p. 733.
1s Coleman, " Statement," p. 732, quoting George A. Kanoti and Anthony
R. Kosnik, " Homosexuality: Ethical Aspects," Encyclopedia of Bioethics 2
(New York: Free Press, 1978), p. 671.
11 Coleman, "Statement," pp. 731-34.

592

ANTHONY

C. DALY, S.J.

cept of the homosexual orientation which envisions 1) an abiding
condition, 2) which is sometimes if not most times discovered
rather than chosen, and, implicit in this point, 3) a disagreement
discussed by Williams as to whether the homosexual condition
arises genetically, through conditioning, through both together,
or variously in various cases.18

The Nicomachean Ethics
The textual evidence will not support the claim, though, that
Thomas, and before him Aristotle, were unaware of the basic
elements embraced by today's concept of the homosexual orientation; on the contrary, it is completely possible and even fairly likely that they thought something very similar to it. This is born
out in the case of Aristotle in the passage in the N icomachean
Ethics (7.5) which Thomas paraphrases in Article 7. The relevant sections are as follows
( 1) Epei d' estin enia men hedea physei, kai touton ta men (a)
haplos ta de (b) kata gene kai z66n kai anthr6p6n, ta d' (2) ouk
estin, alla ta men (a) dia per6seis ta de ( b) di' ethe ginetai, ta de
(c) dia moktheras physeis, esti kai peri touton hekasta (2) paraplesias idein hexeis·leg6 de (2c) tas theriodeis ... hoiois kairein
phasin enious ton apegri6men6n peri ton Ponton, tous men 6mois
tous de anthr6p6n kreasin, taus de ta paidia daneizein allelois eis
euokian, e to peri Phalarin legomenon. hautai men theriodeis, hai de
(2a) dia nosous gignontai (kai dia manian eniois, h6sper ho ten
metera kathiereusas kai phagon . . . ) hai de nosematodeis e (2b)
ex ethous, hoion trikon tilseis kai onukon troxeis, eti de antharkon
kai ges, pros de toutois he ton aphrodision tois arresin · tois men gar
physei tois d' ex ethous sumbainousin, hoion tois hybrizomenois ek
paidon.19
( 1) Some things are pleasant by nature, partly (a) without qualification, and partly ( b) pleasant for different classes of animals and
1s See Frank M. DuMas, Gay ls Not Good (Nashville: Thomas Nelson
Publishers, 1979), pp. 55-103. Even if cast in a deliberately polemic style and
featuring sometimes questionable generalizations drawn from the history of
culture, philosophy, and religion, this book is an interesting and scientifically
informed discussion of the issue of homosexuality. See Williams, "Homosexuality," pp. 265, 273-75, and n. 26 below.
rn Taken from the Oxford edition, p. 139 (1148b), 11. 15-19, 21-31.

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

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593

humans. Then (2) there are things which are not pleasant by nature, but which come to be pleasant (a) through physical disability,
( b) through habit, or ( c) through an [innate] depravity of nature.
We can observe characteristics corresponding to each of the latter
group (2), just as [we did in discussing (1), things pleasant by
nature]. I mean (2c) characteristics of brutishness, for instance ...
what is related about some of the savage tribes near the Black Sea,
that they delight in eating raw meat or human flesh, and that some
of them lend each other their children for a feast; or the story told
about Phalaris.
These are characteristics of brutishness. Another set of characteristics ( 2a) develops through disease and occasionally through
insanity, as, for example, in the case of the man who offered his
mother as a sacrifice to the gods and ate of her. . . . Other characteristics are the result of disease or (2b') of habit, e.g., plucking
out one's hair, gnawing one's fingernails, or even chewing coal or
earth, and also sexual relations between males. These practices are,
in some cases, due to nature, but in other cases they are the result
of habit, when, for example, someone has been sexually abused from
childhood.20
The numbers and letters in parentheses in the English text,
which I have duplicated in the Greek text, represent the translator Oswald's interpretation of a very challenging passage. If
his interpretation is in error it errs on the side of putting too
much definiteness into the categories Aristotle is discussing. For
instance, the translator has inserted in the second paragraph the
code '2b' which, judging from the first paragraph, indicates
" things which are not pleasant by nature, but which come to be
pleasant ... through habit." The insertion of '2b' in the second
paragraph thus seems to indicate that the items following it are
said by Aristotle to be caused by habit. But this is not necessarily
so, since '2b' has been inserted into a sentence which reads,
" Other characteristics are the result of disease or ( 2b) of
habit . ... "
On another front, the final sentence of the second English
paragraph could refer only to " sexual relations between males,"
2 0 E.N.
7.5. The translation is that of Martin Oswald, Nicomachean
Ethics: Aristotle (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill Educational Publishing, 1980),
p. 189. For Thomas's comments, see at n. 29 below.

594

ANTHONY

C. DALY,

S.J.

but it could as easily refer to the entire second paragraph, as
seems most likely to me. It could also conceivably refer in summary fashion to all the unnatural pleasures listed in both English paragraphs. If the final sentence refers only to "sexual relations between males," Aristotle is saying that sometimes they
are pleasant due to habit and sometimes due to nature. But he is
not specifying here whether the natural defect which is in some
cases the cause rendering homosexual relations pleasant is inborn or acquired through some disease. On the other hand if the
final sentence of the second paragraph refers either to all the items
in the second paragraph or to all the items in both paragraphs, it
is still not clear that Aristotle is here assigning only habit as the
reason why homosexual relations are pleasant to some persons.
He could mean that habit is only sometimes the reason.
Nor are these the only ambiguities. Another instance is represented by the very sentence in the second paragraph which received the translator's symbol '2b '. It could just as legitimately
be translated, " Other characteristics are the result of quasi-disease, i.e., of habit .... " But even in that case the possible interpretations of the last sentence would retain the same implications
as to Aristotle's view of the cause or causes of the homosexual
orientation.
Obviously the text cannot be pressed with respect to Aristotle's
idea of the origins of the homosexual orientation. This conclusion is strengthened by his reference to Phalaris in the first English paragraph quoted above. " The story told about Phalaris "
may refer to the sadism and cannibalism of that legendary king
of Acragas in Sicily, as Oswald suggests in a footnote, but it
could also refer to his pederasty, for which he was also noted. A
little later Phalaris is cited as afflicted either with brutishness,
which Aristotle seems to class as congenital, or with disease,
which Aristotle seems to class as acquired after birth, so that in
either case natural disability is the cause for Phalaris of his desire both for cannibalism and for pederasty. 21
21 To

further complicate matters, in his commentary Thomas identifies the

phrase to peri Phalarin /egomenon with torture: Et primo de his quae fiunt

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delectabilia propter perniciosam naturam hominum qui sunt quasi bestiales ...

. . . kai ton aphronon hoi men ek physeos alogistoi kai monon te
aisthesei zontes theriodeis, hosper enia gene ton porro barbaron, hoi
de dia nosous, hoion tas epileptikas, e manias nosematodeis. touton
d' esti men ekein tina eniote men monon, me krateisthai de, lego de
hoion ei Phalaris kateiken epithumon paidiou phagein e pros aphrodision atopon hedonen. . . .22
In the case of folly, those who are irrational by nature and live only
by their senses, as do some distant barbarian tribes, are brutish,
whereas those whose irrationality is due to disease, such as epilepsy,
or to insanity, are morbid.
Sometimes it happens that a person merely possesses one of these
characteristics without being mastered by it-I mean, for example,
if a Phalaris had restrained his appetite so as not to eat the flesh of
a child or so as not to indulge in some perverse form of sexual
pleasure. 23
To this last point it might be objected that Aristotle seems to
refer to pederasty in the case of Phalarus, whereas his earlier
reference seems to be to homosexuality generally, so that in
ascribing causes Aristotle might be referring to what he considers two separate matters. Aristotle is of course aware of the
difference between pederasty and homosexuality between persons
of similar age. 24 But he does not seem to be making a distinction
in this context, probably because he is not addressing homosexuality directly here. It comes up only as a part of his overall point
that unnatural pleasures derive from unnatural conditions. Like
the eye that focuses on a point of interest and leaves the rest of
the scene blurred, Aristotle is frequently casual in his treatment
ea quae dicuntur circa Phalarim quendam, scilicet crudelissimum tyrannum qui
in ipsis cruciatibus hominum delectabatur (Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 399,
11. 49-51; p. 400, 11. 61-63). Nevertheless, he notes the pederasty of Phalaris
later and may well consider it part of his brutish condition. See n. 30 below.
22 Oxford edition, p. 140 (1149a), 11. 9-15.
2a Oswald, Ethics, p. 190.
24 In Politics 2.4 Aristotle
distinguishes pederasty from homosexual relations between agemates and objects to both there because in that context
such love would be incestuous. Thomas interprets the whole matter as heterosexual incest. See the Leonine edition, vol. 48, p. 127, 11. 35-36, and p. 128,
l 1. 44-84.

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of items peripheral to his main argument. This tendency seems to
be in harmony with his announced principle that in any discussion only that precision need be employed which is proper to the
subject one is treating, and that strict precision is not possible
when treating human behavior. He enunciates this principle at
1.3 and 2.2 of the Nicomachean Ethics and Thomas notes and
accepts it in his commentary. 25
All in all, it is quite clear that Aristotle recognized a homosexual condition, that he saw it as contrary to nature, and that,
despite his vagueness and imprecision he seems to have envisioned
a condition which is not freely selected by the individual who has
it. Furthermore the weight of probability inclines heavily toward
the view that in Aristotle's opinion the love of male for male
arises either from conditioning-a man's experience of being
violated as a boy, for instance-or by reason of some mental illness, either contracted or perhaps even genetic.
Since heredity and conditioning are the two factors advanced
today-though not without controversy-as the putative causes
of the homosexual orientation, it is highly likely that Aristotle
had something close to today's notions in these respects. 26 This
in itself creates a good probability that St. Thomas had the same
idea.
Thomas's View
In point of fact in Article 7 Thomas names habit or conditioning ( consuetudinem-not necessarily habit personally initiated,
but perhaps imposed experiences, or even the custom of an area)
25 For Aristotle see in the Oxford edition pp. 2-3 (1094b), 11. 11-14, 23-27,
and p. 25 (1103b-1104a), 11. 26-27, 34-2. For Thomas's commentary see in
the Leonine edition, vol. 47-1, p. 11, 11. 7-18, 76-p. 12, 1. 84, and p. 80, 11.
15-24, 30-33, 56-p. 81, 1. 67.
26 An important controversy today centers on whether or not the homosexual
condition is a mental disorder. Although the American Psychiatric Association no longer lists homosexuality under this category, thousands of psychiatrists in this country and others abroad still regard it as such. See James P.
Hanigan, The Test Case for Christian Sexual Ethics (New York, Mahwah:
Paulist Press, 1988), pp. 23-26, and the bibliography under notes 16-22 on
pp. 32-33, and Frank M. DuMas's older Gay is Not Good, pp. 22-23, 127-28.

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as a cause of the homosexual condition. 27 However, this should
not be taken as the only cause he envisioned.
Like Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics, Thomas in Article
7 is speaking about homosexual acts only as an example of something -else which has his direct attention : acts which give pleasure
contrary to nature to persons who are deficient in their constitution for one reason or another. His treatment of homosexuality is
therefore a subordinate part of a larger argument, and although
he should be held to what he actually says on the topic, he should
not be presumed to be denying some further point-namely that
there might be a physical or even a genetic cause for the homosexual orientation-simply because he has not said so in this context. Indeed, certain material discussed below from his commentary on St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans makes it appear
likely that he did have heredity in mind.

Causes Variously Assigned
The subordinate nature of Thomas's interest in homosexuality
in Article 7 becomes more obvious through a comparison between
Article 7 and his commentary on the related portion of Aristotle's
Nicomachean Ethics (7.5). Between the two texts Thomas mixes
up the putative causes of some of the conditions he considers unnatural, attributing to genetic constitution in Article 7 what he
attributes to habit or conditioning in the Commentary on the
Nicomachean Ethics, and vice versa. 28 Thus in Article 7 he attributes cannibalism to habit or custom ( consuetudo), but in the
Commentary he attributes it to a genetically corrupt temperament
(perniciosa natura) or alternatively to acquired insanity ( orbitates : furia vel mania). In Article 7 the cause of eating coals
21 Quae quidem corruptio potest esse . . . ex parte animae, sicut propter
consuetudinem aliqui delectantur in comedendo homines, vel in coitu bestiarum
aut masculorum, aut aliorum huiusmodi, quae non sunt secundum naturam
humanum. See the section "Textual Interpretation" above for a fuller text
and translation. Here consuetudinem seems to include cultural conditioning.
See note 42 below.
2s For the text of Article 7, see the section "Textual Interpretation"
above.
The relevant text of the C ommenta.ry can be found in the Leonine edition in
vol. 47.2, p. 399, 1. 49-p. 400, 1. 89.

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and earth is a genetic dispositional disorder ( mala complexio),
while in the Commentary it is caused by habit or custom (consuetudo ).
Also, it is not clear in the Commentary that he rules out heredity as an alternative cause for eating coals and earth, homosexuality, and pulling out one's hair and biting one's nails, or, indeed,
that he rules out any of the causes for any of the conditions.
The classifications in the Commentary (7.5) run as follows:
... eorum vero quae sunt delectabilia non naturaliter, quaedam fiunt
propter orbitates, id est propter aliquas supervenientes aegritudines
corporales aut etiam tristitias animales ex quibus transmutatur
natura ad aliam dispositionem, quaedam vero fiunt delectabilia
propter malam consuetudinem quae fit quasi quaedam natura, quaedam vero fiunt delectabilia propter perniciosas naturas, puta cum
aliqui homines habent corruptas et perversas complexiones corporis
et secundum hoc sequitur quod in his sint pervertissimae tam apprehensiones imaginationis quam etiam affectiones sensibilis appetitus,
quas quidem vires, cum sint organorum corporalium actus, necesse
est quod sint corporali complexioni proportionatae. (Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 399, 11. 28-42).
Et primo de his quae fiunt delectabilia propter perniciosam naturam hominum qui sunt quasi bestiales, quia propter corruptelam
complexionis assimulantur bestiis. (p. 399, 11. 49-52).
Secundo ibi: Hi autem propter aegritudines etc., exemplificat de
his quae fiunt innaturaliter delectabilia propter orbitates. Et <licit
quod quibusdam fiunt delectabilia ea quae sunt contra naturam
propter aliquas aegritudines, puta propter maniam vel furiam aut
aliquid huiusmodi .... (p. 400, 11. 65-70).
Tertio ibi: Hi autem aegritudinales, etc., exemplificat de his quae
fiunt contra naturam delectabilia ex consuetudine. Et <licit quod
quibusdam accidunt innaturales delectationes propter interiorem
aegritudinem vel corruptionem provenientem ex consuetudine, sicut
quidam propter consuetudinem delectantur evellere sibi pilos et
corrodere ungues et comedere carbones et terram necnon et uti coitu
masculorum. Omnia autem praedkta quae sunt contra naturam
delectabilia possunt reduci ad duo: quibusdam enim accidunt ex
natura corporalis complexionis quam acceperunt a principio, quibusdam vero accidunt ex consuetudine, puta quia assuefiunt ad huiusmodi a pueritia. Et simile est de his qui in hoc incidunt ex aegritudine corporali, nam prava consuetudo est quasi quaedam aegritudo
animalis. ( p. 400, 11. 74-89).

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Of the unnatural pleasures, some become delightful because of
privation, i.e., on account of some supervenient sickness of the body
or sadness of soul by which the nature is changed into a different
condition. Others become delightful because of evil habit which
brings about a quasi-nature. Still others become delightful because
of vicious natures, as happens when people have corrupt and perverse
bodily temperaments; and, accordingly both the perceptions of their
imagination and the affections of their sensitive appetite are most
perverse. Likewise, since these powers are acts of bodily organs,
they are necessarily proportionate to the temperament of the body.
. . . first those which are delightful because of the malignant nature
of men who are, so to speak, bestial since they are like beasts by reason of a corrupt temperament. . . .
Second, at " But some people [on account of diseases]," he exemplifies things that become delightful and are contrary to nature because of [privations. He mentions things which become delightful to
some contrary to nature because of] particular ailments, for example,
insanity or madness or something of this sort. ...
Last, at "Others become [morbid]," he offers examples of things
contrary to nature that become delightful by reason of habit. Some
enjoy unnatural pleasures because of mental unbalance or habitual
perversion. For example, certain men out of habit take pleasure in
pulling out their hair, biting their nails, eating coal and earth, and
having sexual intercourse with males. All the preceding can be reduced to two classes. Some people do them because of the tendency
of bodily temperament that they had from the beginning; others because of habit, becoming accustomed to things of this kind from childhood. Some people are like individuals who fall into this condition
by reason of physical sickness, for evil habit is a kind of psychological
sickness.29

In the last English paragraph the phrase " mental unbalance or
habitual perversion-interiorem
aegritudinem vel corruptionem
provenientem ex consuetudine" (11. 77-79)-represents a single
idea, an interior sickness or corruption caused by conditioning.
Under this third category which is composed of those who have
become "[morbid] ... by reason of habit-aegritudinales ... ex
consuetudine " are included the examples of those who pull out
their hair, gnaw their nails, eat coals and earth, and practice
2 9 The translation is by Litzinger, Commentary, p. 641. Material in brackets
has been inserted to conform to the Leonine text.

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homosexuality. The first major category is made up of men who
on account of their congenitally depraved nature are like beasts,
and the second major category includes those who act contrary to
nature because of diseases like insanity.
Thus in the last paragraph " All the preceding-Omnia autem
praedicta " and what follows seems to refer by way of summary
to the entire preceding discussion of the three major classes of
unnatural conditions. This would seem to mean that in Thomas's
mind any of the unnatural pleasures could be produced by any
of the three causes. The case of cannibalism supports this interpretation, for in the commentary Thomas lists it under the first
two categories, heredity and disease, and in Article 7 he lists it
under conditioning or habit.
On the other hand if " All the preceding-Omnia autem praedicta" refers only to items listed under the third major category,
" by reason of habit-ex consuetudine ", an interpretation apparently adopted by the editors of the Leonine edition who kept
it in the same paragraph with the discussion of the third major
category, Thomas would be indicating more clearly that he is not
trying to be precise or complete in placing the various phenomena
under the three categories. This because the sentence " All the
preceding-Omnia autem praedicta" lists " bodily temperment
. . . from the beginning-natura corporalis complexionis . . . a
principio " and " physical sickness-aegritudine corporali " in addition to " habit " as causes.
As if to confirm the conclusion that he does not assign conditioning as the sole cause of the homosexual orientation, Thomas
(following Aristotle) seems in the Commentary to class pederasty, which is not mentioned as such in Article 7, with the activities caused by congenital or brutish insanity or madness. 80
ao Et <licit quod contingit quandocumque quod aliquis homo habeat quasdam
praedictarum passionum innaturalium et non superetur ab eis, quod est simile
continentiae; puta si Phalaris tyrannus teneat puerum et concupiscat eum vel
ad usum comestionis vel ad incongruam delectationem veneream, ad neutrum
tamen eo utatur. (Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 401, 11. 181-88).
Phalaris, though, was earlier said to be congenitally brutish: Et primo de
his quae fiunt delectabilia propter perniciosam naturam hominum qui sunt

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The overall reason for these discrepancies in assigning causes
for the unnatural pleasures seems to be the point mentioned
earlier, that Thomas is not directly interested in examining these
practices or in giving an exhaustive list of their causes based on
a thorough examination of each of them. He lists them merely
as examples of activities yielding pleasures contrary to nature and
groups them together under causes which he thinks are at least
sometimes responsible for them.

Direct Treatments
There are places in his writings, though, where Thomas addresses homosexuality directly, even though his treatments are
brief and largely theoretical. Here again, although his theme is
theological it will soon appear that his understanding and discussion is entirely philosophical. For instance in his Commentary
on St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans Thomas says homosexuality,
i.e., men experiencing passion for men, not for women, and
women for women, not for men, is a condition contrary to human
nature because it is not open to conception.31 Thomas's argument
quasi bestiales, quia propter corruptelam complexionis assimulantur bestiis . . .
et similia sunt ea quae dicuntur circa Phalarim quendam, scilicet crudelissimun
tyrannum qui in ipsis cruciatibus hominum delectabatur (Leonine edition, vol.
47.2, p. 399, 11. 49-52; p. 400, 11. 61-63).
I am presuming that Thomas considers Phalaris brutish not only with respect to his enjoyment of inflicting pain but also in his enjoyment of
pederasty. Cf. n. 24 above.
s1 Alio modo dicitur esse aliquid contra naturam hominis ratione generis,
quod est animal. Manifestum est autem quod secundum naturae intentionem
commixtio sexuum in animalibus ordinatur ad actum generationis. Unde
omnis commixtionis modus ex quo generatio sequi non potest, est contra naturam hominis, inquantum est animal. . . . (In Rom. 1.8, Parma edition, vol.
13, p. 20, cols. 1-2). See S.Th. II-II,154,11: ... repugnat ipsi ordini naturali
venerei actus qui convenit humanae speciei : quod dicitur vitium contra naturam.
Quod quidem potest pluribus modis contingere. . . . Tertio modo, si fiat per
concubitum non ad debitum sexum, puta masculi ad masculum vel feminae ad
feminam, ut Apostolus dicit, ad Rom. I: quod dicitur sodomiticum vitium ...
Ad tertium dicendum quod luxuriosus non intendit generationem humanam,
sed delectationem veneream : quam potest aliquis experiri sine actibus ex quibus
sequitur humana generatio. Et hoc est quod quaeritur in vitio contra naturam.
See Contra Gentiles 3, 122.

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is not, as John Boswell alleges, that human beings should do what
animals are observed to do, nor is it that he saw "animal behavior as the final arbiter in matters of human sexuality." 32
Rather, men themselves, although they are human in their species, are animal in their genus, and in Thomas's analysis human
sexual organs, indeed all animal sexual organs, are intended by
nature for procreation. 88
When he speaks of the intention of nature, Thomas means
that its purposes and proper uses can be discerned by reason and
analysis. For Thomas the natural law exists first in the mind of
God, is mirrored in the order of creation, and is recognized by
the human mind. In God it is called the eternal law; as in the
universe and as perceived by the human mind, it is called the
natural law. 84 This natural law is derived from a consideration
of nature as it manifests itself generally, not from occasional
deviations from the norm. 35 In the near background is Thomas's
a2 Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginnings of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1980), p. 319.
In n. 63, pp. 320-21, Boswell himself gives evidence that this is not the case,
for there he mentions (and dismisses) some of Thomas's substantive arguments about human sexuality based directly on the human situation and independent of any appeal to the practice among the lower animals.
as See C.G. 3,122; S.Th. II-II,154,1,R.; and n. 31 above. For a survey of
Roman Catholic thought over the last 50 years concerning sexual morality
see Lisa Sowle Cahill's " Catholic Sexual Ethics and the Dignity of the Person: A Double Message," Theological Studies 50 (1989), pp. 120-50.
34 S.Th. I-II,91,1,R.: Et ideo ipsa ratio gubernationis rerum in Deo sicut
in principe universitatis existens, legis habet rationem. Et quia divina ratio
nihil concipit ex tempore, sed habet aeternum conceptum, ut dicitur Prov.
VIII, inde est quod huiusmodi legem oportet dicere aeternam. I-II,91,2,R.: ...
quasi lumen rationalis naturalis, quo discernimus quid sit bonum et malum,
quod pertinet ad naturalem legem, nihil aliud sit quam impressio divini luminis
in nobis. Unde patet quod lex naturalis nihil aliud est quam participatio legis
aeternae in rationali creatura. See I-II, 90,4; 19,4.
ss C.G. 3,122: Quia rectitudo naturalis in humanis actionibus non est secundum ea quae per accidens contingunt in uno individuo, sed secundum ea quae
totam speciem consequuntur (Leonine edition, vol. 14, p. 379, col. 1). For an
admirable defense of this concept against contrary arguments advanced today
see Theo G. Belmans, " L'immutabilite de la loi naturelle selon saint Thomas
d'Aquin," Revue Thomiste, 87(1987), pp. 23-44.

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idea that nature was designed rationally by God so that it constitutes a "treaty" between God and humankind who are bound
to respect it by living according to its design. 86
As Thomas explains in his commentary on Romans, God has
allowed the homosexual passions to develop among the gentiles
because the gentiles have culpably failed to acknowledge him as
God in his transcendent nature. Since the gentiles sinned against
God's nature in this way, as a punishment God has allowed their
own nature to become corrupted. 87 He did this not by actively
creating persons who are homosexually oriented, but by not supplying the grace necessary to keep human nature from degenerating. 88 Here too, if the theological concept of grace and even of
the activity of God are removed from consideration what is left
is the philosophical idea that the homosexual orientation represents a corruption of human nature. 89
Throughout his discussion Thomas speaks of the gentiles in
the plural and in a collective sense; he does not seem to be discussing the sin and punishment of individual persons. He names
three ways, for instance, in which the gentiles have sinned against
God and His nature: through idolatrous public worship, through
myths in their poetic expressions, and through their philosophical
traditions. 40 Thus he seems to envision gentile culture collectively failing to acknowledge God and His transcendence; as a punishment the homosexual phenomenon develops, presumably in a collective way, within these cultures. When he says, for example,
that gentile philosophers fail in their philosophic task of discovering and acknowledging the transcendent God (and names some
of the philosophers), 41 he does not imply that these philosophers
became homosexuals themselves, nor, even if some of them might
have, that they are the only ones in the gentile milieu who ex36" Mutaverunt jus, dissipaverunt foedus sempiternum '', id est jus naturale
(In Rom., Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 20, col. 1).
37 In Rom. 1.8, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 20, col. 2 and passim.
88 In Rom. 1.7, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 18, col. 2.
89 See especially In Rom. 1.7, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 19, col. 1.
40 In Rom. 1.7, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 19, col. 2.
41 Ibid.

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perience homosexuality as a consequence of this philosophic
failure. 42
More concretely, Thomas says that as a result of gentile failure
to acknowledge God and His divine nature, " God has given
them over to a base sensibility ... the interior sensibility according to which a man judges about how he should act." 43 Later
in commenting on Rom. 7 :14-20 he says men's judgment is sometimes perverted through conditioning (per habitum) or through
distorted desires. Thomas means that they actually think an evil
is a good. 44 He goes so far as to say that in this case the person
does not act freely at all; instead the person is actually controlled
by sin. 45 Thus Thomas has in mind a person who is oriented
toward morally evil acts to such an extent that he perceives the
acts and the orientations as goods. All of this is suggestive of the
view that some men and women are rendered homosexual through
4.2 Through Aristotle's
Politics Thomas was aware of culturally conditioned
homosexuality among the Celts, the Spartans, the Cretans, and among warlike
peoples generally. See Aristotle, Pol. 2.9-10, in the Oxford edition, p. 52
(1269b), 11. 23-27 and pp. 59-60 (1272a), 11. 22-26. For Thomas's comments,
see In Pol. 2.13,15, in the Leonine edition, vol. 48, p. 164, 11. 139-55, and pp.
173-74, 11. 72-81 and 113-25. See also n. 46 below.
4 3 Tradidit
illos Deus in reprobuni sensum. Dicitur autem hie sensus
hominis ... interior, secundum quern judicat de agendis ... (In Rom. 1.8.
Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 20, col. 2-p. 21, col. 1).
4 4 ••• in universali habent rectum judicium de bono; tamen per habitum vel
passionem perversam pervertitur hoc judicium, et depravatur talis voluntas in
particulari, ut non agat quod in universali intelligit agendum et agere vellet
(In Rom. 7.3, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 71, col. 1). Tradidit illos Deus in
reprobum sensuni. ... Dicitur ... sensus ... interior, secundum quern judicat
de agendis .... Ut faciant ea quae non conveniunt, idest ea quae a recta ratione discordant. . . . Repletos: ille enim videtur repleri iniquitate cujus
affectus est totaliter ad peccandum dispositus . . . (In Rom. 1.8, Parma edition,
vol. 13, p. 20, col. 2-p. 21, col. 1) .... lex naturae in aliquorum cordibus,
quantum ad aliqua, corrupta erat intantum ut existimarent esse bona quae
naturaliter sunt mala ... (S.Th. I-II, 94,5, ad 1. Cf. a. 6). Regarding culpability in following an erroneous conscience, see I-II, 19,5,6.
45 ••• ipse non agit, sed agitur a peccato: ille enim qui est liber, ipse per
seipsum agit, et non ab alio agitur (In Roni. 7.3, Parma edition, vol. 13, p.
71, col. 2).

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conditioning and strongly implies that their personal conscious
choice is not the determining factor. 46
Thomas's treatment of this topic might also reasonably be understood along the lines of heredity according to the way in which
he explains original sin and its effects. In treating Rom. S :12
Thomas stipulates first that only Adam is personally guilty of
the first sin in a primary sense. Others, he says, have imitated it
by their own personal sin, but still the sin of Adam is not in the
primary sense the personal sin of others. Nevertheless, everyone
suffers its consequences because everyone receives a damaged version of human nature from Adam.
According to the theory favored by Thomas the body is the
vehicle by which the defects in human nature due to original sin
are transferred from one generation to another. Thus an overly
irascible or mentally ill father would generate an offspring physically oriented toward irascibility or mental illness. In this scheme
the soul, which is the substantial form of the body, is seen as
matching the defective configuration of its body, and this is the
way it participates in the corruption brought about by original
sin. Obviously true homosexuals do not have offspring, but this
theory might well leave room for the recurring genetic development through combined sources of a strong disposition toward
homosexuality, or even of the homosexual orientation itself. In
any case it seems worth noting again that in Thomas's opinion,
the inborn defects in human nature brought about by original sin
are not to be considered voluntary or culpable in a personal and
primary sense.47
If Thomas's treatment of homosexuality is harmonized with
his view of original sin, a likely inference would be that he might
envision among the gentiles the emergence of a homosexual
4 6 For an explicit statement in a family context of the role conditioning can
play in determining a person's general orientation, see S.Th. I-II, 87,8,ad 1:
. . . filii in peccatis parentum nutriti proniores sunt ad peccandum : tum propter
consuetudinem ; tum etiam propter exemplum, patrum quasi auctoritatem sequentes. See also nn. 27 and 42 above.
47 In Rom. 5.3, Parma edition, vol. 13, p. 51.
Cf. S.Th. I-II, 81,1,R. and
pasim, qq. 81-87.

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orientation in some individuals based obliquely to some extent
on heredity. If this is added to conditioning as a possible cause
of homosexual orientation, the upshot would be a view of the
homosexual condition pretty much along the lines proposed by
Coleman. In detail, Thomas could have held 1) that some individuals have a sexual attraction exclusively toward members of
their own sex, 2) that they discover this orientation within themselves and do not initiate it by choice, 3) that it might be the
product either of heredity or of circumstances, 4) that it and its
accompanying life-style can take various forms which occur crossculturally, though perhaps not universally, and 5) that the homosexual orientation occurs consistently, though with less frequency
than heterosexuality. 48 Though not compelling with regard to
every detail, the preponderance of the evidence weighs in favor
of the likelihood that Thomas might have thought something very
much like this, in some respects explicitly, in others implicitly.

Agere Sequitur Esse
Throughout this discussion the notion that doing follows being has been attributed to Thomas as if its meaning could be
taken for granted; and indeed for the present purposes it very
nearly can be. But a closer look at Thomas's idea of this principle, especially as it applies to human nature, will add clarity.
In Thomas's thought 'acting follows being' means that what
an agent does-acting, or performing an operation-must be
based on what the agent is.49 This is true whether the agent is
inanimate, vegetable, animal, or human. In slightly different language, an agent can act only in accordance with its potency to
act, and its potency to act is a part of its makeup, a part of what
it is.50 This is true with regard to its own development, i.e., it
can become only that which it has a potency to become; 51 and it
is true of its operations on other things, i.e., it can only do what
Coleman, " Statement," pp. 733-34.
I,77,1.
50 S.Th. 1,54,1,3.
51 S.Th. I,54,2.
48

49 S.Th.

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it has a potency to do-and, of course what the recipient has a
potency to receive.52 Thus whenever any being is changed, with
respect to the change its potencies and their corresponding actions change also.
In the case of a human being, his or her human nature is
qualified by certain ' habits ', not only by habits in the sense in
which the word is used in the English language, but also by other
qualifications or specifications. For instance, some men or women
may be healthy or unhealthy, disposed to move quickly or slowly, of irascible temperament or of placid temperament, etc. In all
these cases, what the person can do depends in corresponding
categories upon these qualifications or ' habits '. 58
In the case of habits as the word is used in English, repeated
action conditions the sensitive appetites, 54 or the intellect,55 or the
will,56 so that the human potency is channelled in a certain direction, 57 and in such a way that this channelling resists change. The
person strongly tends to continue doing the things in question
and continues to be able to do them. 58 This is true in the case of
mental habits, like thinking about geometry, and in the case of
the virtues and vices. In most cases habits can be changed or
weakened through neglecting to do the related activities or by
doing their opposites.59
Habits themselves are regarded as potency with respect to the
activities to be performed, but in themselves they are regarded as
act in so far as each habit represents a specification of the general
power to act in a certain area of life so that it becomes the power
and inclination to act in a particular way. Thus a habit is act
with regard to the potency represented by the general power to
act in a certain area of life.60
The homosexual orientation as described above is a ' habit ' in
Thomas's parlance, either in the sense of a condition or qualifica52 S.Th. I,54,3.
5 8 S.Th. I-II,49,2;

56 S.Th. I-II,50,5.

51 S.Th. I-II,50,5,R.; 51,2; 54,1.
58 S.Th. I-Il,49,2, ad 3.
I-II,50,3.
55 S.Th. I-II,50,4.
59 S.Th. I-II,54,1,2,3; 53,1,2,3.
6o S.Th. I-II,49,3, ad 1, a. 4; 50,2, ad 3; 54,3.
5 4 S.Th.

51,1.

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tion of human nature accruing from hereditary causes or diseases,
or in the sense of a habit as the word is used in English, a habit
induced either by conditioning beyond one's choice, or by activities freely chosen.
Pleasures

In Article 7 the topic Thomas addresses directly is whether
there are any pleasures contrary to nature. Article 7 itself fits
into a general treatment of pleasure, which for Thomas is a delight which follows upon the possession of a good, 61 or, following
Aristotle, a delight which is the perfection of an operation or activity. 62 Thus pleasure will be good or bad in accordance with
whether the activity associated with the possession of the good
is itself good or bad. 63 This can be equated with whether or not
the activity is in accordance with reason. 64 Pleasure can be sought
for its own sake, but only as the crown or completion of an activity or of the possession of a good, 65 never without its proper
61 S.Th. I-II,2,6,R.:
Est igitur considerandum quod omnis delectatio est
quoddam proprium accidens quod consequitur beatitudinem, vel aliquam beautitudinis partem: ex hoc enim aliquis delectatur, quod habet bonum aliquod sibi
conveniens, vel in re, vel in spe, vel saltem in memoria.
6 2 See In Eth. Nie. 10.6 and 7, in the Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 569, 11.
75-77, 103-16 and p. 572, 11. 55-56, 58-62. See Aristotle, E.N. 10.4 and 5, in
the Oxford edition, p. 207 (1174b), 11. 31-33 and p. 208 (1175a), 11. 30-33.
6 3 See In Eth. Nie. 10.8, in the Leonine edition, vol. 47.2, p. 575, 11. 11-23.
Cf. Aristotle, E.N. 10.5, in the Oxford edition, p. 209 (1175b), 11. 24-29.
64 See S.Th. I-II,34,1,R.: ... ita et in moralibus est quaedam delectatio bona,
secundum quod appetitus superior aut inferior requiescit in eo quod convenit
rationi; et quaedam mala, ex eo quod quiescit in eo quod a ratione discordat .
. . . See In Eth. Nie. 3.10 and 22, in the Leonine edition, vol. 47.1, p. 148, 11.
67-100 and p. 193, 11. 166-78, and Aristotle, E.N. 3.4 and 12, in the Oxford
edition, p. 49 (1113a), 1. 29-(1113b) 1. 2 and pp. 64-65 (1119b), 11. 9-18.
6 5 I-II,2,6,ad 1: Dicendum quod eiusdem rationis est quod appetatur bonum,
et quod appetatur delectatio, quae nihil est aliud quam quietatio appetitus in
bono. . . . Unde sicut bonum propter seipsum appetitur, ita et delectatio
propter se, non propter aliud appetitur, si ly propter dicat causam finalem.
Si vero dicat causam formalem, vel potius motivam, sic delectatio est appetibilis propter aliud, id est propter bonum, quod est delectationis obiectum, et per
consequens est principium eius, et dat ei forman: ex hoc enim delectatio habet
quod appetatur, quia est quies in bono desiderato. See In Eth. Nie., 10.6, esp.,
in the Leonine edition, 11. 186-205 on p. 570 of vol. 47.2.

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

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good, or more accurately, never through a perversion of its
proper activity in such a way that it is not in accord with reason
or so that the proper result of the activity cannot occur. 66
Thus pleasure figures into Thomas' s analysis of what he regards as sexual aberations contrary to nature. In all the varieties-masturbation, bestiality, homosexuality, and heterosexual
practices rendered sterile by the manner of intercourse, sex acts
are engaged in which could never result in offspring. One does
such things, Thomas thought, in order to get venereal pleasure, 67
but in these cases the pleasure is contrary to nature because the
activities are contrary to nature. 68 In a proper act of intercourse,
on the other hand, the pleasure is proper because the act is
proper. 69 Thus it is not wrong to seek pleasure since as delight
in the possession of the good it is the crown and completion of
good activity, and it is properly sought along with the good which
is sought. But it is wrong to seek pleasure to the exclusion of the
good it is supposed to be associated with.

Some Possible Influences
That Aristotle might himself have been familiar with a theory
of genetic homosexuality is not at all surprising, since in the
Symposium his teacher Plato has one of the protagonists of the
dialogue, the comedian Aristophanes, give a thoroughgoing statement of it in the form of the myth of the original round people
in three sex groups, the members of each of which the god cut in
half. Those who were originally women on both sides are lesbians according to the definition of homosexual orientation discussed above, or something very much like it. Those who were
originally double men became male homosexuals, and those who
were originally male on one side and female on the other became
heterosexuals. 70
66 See nn. 31, 63, and 64 above.
67 See n. 31 above.
6 8 See the section on " Pleasures,

See I-II, 74,8,ob.4,ad4.
10 Plato, Symposium 189C-193E.
69

Actions, Habits, and States " above.

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ANTHONY

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St. Thomas apparently had not read the Symposium first hand,
but he knew of it through Aristotle's Politics and referred to it
in his Summa Theologiae. Thomas's reference is to an aspect of
the very passage which contains the myth of the round people,
namely that lovers seek communion. Although it is clear Thomas
realized Aristotle and Plato were speaking of homosexual lovers,
I have been unable to discover whether or not Thomas knew the
whole story of the round people.71
Yet another source known and quoted by Thomas contains a
remarkable analysis of homosexuality along the lines of the
modern concept of homosexual orientation. The work is the
Problemata, a sometimes charmingly peculiar investigation of
some puzzling phenomena in nature, mathematics, and music. It
was thought for a while to be the work of Aristotle, but certainly is not, and may have been built up by a succession of authors,
the last perhaps as late as the sixth century our era. 72
Book four concerns sexual intercourse, and no. 26 deals with
male homosexuality. The work names physical constitution and
habit or conditioning as the two causes of what actually amounts
to a homosexual orientation. The material dealing with physical
constitution is quite bizarre and might make amusing reading.
In any case, Thomas quoted no. 11 of book four in connection
with homosexuality and he could easily have been aware of the
material in no. 26. 7 3
A fourth source ·enshrines the concept of ' agere sequitur esse ',
though in a context which is certainly different from the possibly
morally neutral homosexual orientation which has been under
discussion here all along. Still, it ought to be introduced at this
point, as a way of focusing on the principle that acting follows
being. It is the Gospel dictum that "there is no good tree bearing bad fruit, nor again any bad tree bearing good fruit (Lk.
See S.Th. I-II,28,1,ad 2; Aristotle, Pol. 2.4; Plato. Smp. 191A; 192C-D.
The Works of Aristotle, ed. W. D. Ross, vol. 7, Problemata, tr.
E. S. Forster (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1927), p. vii.
73 See In Pol. 2.13 (Leonine edition, vol. 48, p. 164, 1. 149). Cf. n. 42
above.
11

1Z See

AQUINAS

ON DISORDERED

PLEASURES,

CONDITIONS

611

6 :43; cf. Mt. 7.17) ." Thomas uses an alternative expression of
this idea in the Summa when he says regarding vice, " Whenever
someone is in interior disarray with a disordered sensibility it is
inevitable that he be rendered incapable of performing the proper
activities; because each tree is known by its fruit, that is, man
by his deed, as is said at Mt. 12 [v. 33]." 74
Finally, on the level of common sense, no one would engage in
homosexual activity, even once, unless he or she were somehow
disposed to do so. The same, of course, is true of heterosexual
activity. Plato, Aristotle, and the Problemata seem to have recognized this and to have taken it as their basic starting point, and
it is an explicit and crucial part of Thomas's argument reviewed
above.
Summary
It is incorrect to say that Summa Theologiae I-II, 31, 7 leaves
any room whatsoever for the possibility that St. Thomas, while
continuing to maintain that homosexual activities are contrary to
human nature, would not have called homosexual orientation a
distortion had he been aware of today's concept of it. Such a
position would be quite contrary to his whole line of thought
regarding disordered pleasure.
He is at pains to point out that certain individuals do suffer
from a distortion at the constitutional level. This is precisely the
means he uses to answer the objections to his opinion that certain
pleasures are, strictly speaking, unnatural. The objections argue
that only activities connatural with a being can give it pleasure.
Thomas's answer is that unnatural pleasures are in a way natural
to unnatural states. Conversely, if he thought of the homosexual
condition as in accordance with nature, he would also have to accept homosexual pleasures and activities as such.
The second point is that there are no grounds for asserting in
the first place that St. Thomas was unacquainted with the essen74 S.Th. I-II,71,1,ad 3: Necesse est enim quod quandocumque aliquis interius
est male dispositus, habens inordinatum affectum, quod ex hoc imbecillis
reddatur ad debitas operationes exercendas ; quia unaquaeque arbor ex suo
fructu cognoscitur, idest homo ex opere, ut dicitur Matth. XII.

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tial elements of today's concept of homosexual orientation. The
main ingredients of it are implicit in his view, expressed in Article
7 and in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, that pleasures, habits, and conditions are bound up together. His comments on the Epistle to the Romans make it not only possible but
even likely that, by and large, he himself thought in terms of
today's concepts.

INDIRECT METHODS IN THEOLOGY:
KARL RAHNER AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST
NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

St. John's University
Staten Island, New York

T

HE PURPOSE of this paper is to discuss Karl Rahner's
emarks upon, and use of, what he called ' indirect methds' in theology.1 To my knowledge there has been little
analysis, beyond incidental treatment, of Rahner's scattered
references to these methods. 2 In the following pages I hope to
remedy this gap, and argue for two interdependent theses : First,
by construing Rahner's own theological practice in the light of
his remarks on the indirect methods, an apologetic method can
be discerned which could prove useful for contemporary theology. Second, reading Rahner from this perspective indicates
that his apologetic method is much more situation-relative and
occasionalist than has generally been recognized hitherto.
Two Kinds of Apologetics
A quick sketch of some aspects of the present theological scene
will help make these theses a little clearer and provide some cate1 My discussion of the indirect methods is based primarily upon the following sources: Theological Investigations (New York: Crossroad, 1961-1982)
(cited in the text as TI), vol. 6, " A Small Question Regarding the Contemporary Pluralism in the Intellectual Situation of Catholic and the Church",
pp. 21-30; vol. 11, "Reflections on Methodology in Theology", pp. 68-114;
vol. 16, "A New Task for Theology". Foundations of Christian Faith (New
York: Crossroad, 1978) (henceforth cited as FCF), introduction, pp. 1-23, et
passim.
2 See e.g., Anne Carr, The Theological Method of Karl Rahner (Missoula:
Scholars Press, 1977), pp. 267-9; Francis S. Fiorenza, Foundational Theology:
Jesus and the Church (New York: Crossroad, 1984) (cited as Fiorenza), p.
93. Both these interpreters consider the indirect methods to be synonymous
with the transcendental method. They then interpret the former in terms of
the latter, misguidedly, I will argue.

613

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NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

gories for the following discussion. According to William
Placher, 8 the contemporary situation in North American theology
is often characterized as one in which two rival models of theology are dominant, the revisionist and the post-liberal (Placher,
17-19). Placher discusses many aspects of each model; here I
want to look only at those features which bear upon their different conceptions of the nature of apologetics.
According to David Tracy, a leading practitioner of the revisionist model, theology in all its forms must be " determined by a
relentless drive to genuine publicness ". 4 In order to maintain
its public character, theology, like any discipline, must develop
a preliminary systematic argument by which to ground its possibility and to ·establish its claims to truth and meaningfulness.
This initial apologetics uses universal categories and proceeds in
accordance with general criteria, functioning in terms, that is,
which " all reasonable persons, whether ' religiously involved ' or
not, can recognize as reasonable" (Tracy, 57). Usually it takes
the form of a foundational explanatory theory of religious discourse which appeals to the universal nature of the deep structures of religious experience. This general theory of religion provides criteria for the subsequent theology, thereby maintaining
the latter's relevance for the general, non-Christian public. The
theological method considered appropriate is one which attempts
systematically to correlate Christian-specific claims with the deep
structures of human experience. 5
The post-liberal model, by comparison, is more concerned to
preserve Christian identity than to maintain the publicness of
Christian discourse. The task of theology is not primarily the
apologetic one of justifying Christianity to a non-Christian puba Unapologetic Theology: A Christian Voice in a Pluralistic Conversation
(Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1989) (cited as Placher).
4 David Tracy, The Analogical Imagination: Christian Theology and the
Culture of Pluralism (New York: Crossroad, 1981), p. 31 (cited as Tracy).
5 See the analyses in, e.g., George A. Lindbeck, The Nature of Doctrine:
Religion and Theology in a Postliberal Age (Philadelphia: Westminster
Press, 1984), chapter 2; and Ronald F. Thiemann, Revelation and Theology:
The Gospel as Narrated Promise (Notre Dame: U. of N. D. Press, 1985),
chapter 4.

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

615

lie. Instead the theologian should critically " describe and redescribe the character and relationship of Christian beliefs and practices for the purpose of sustaining and nurturing Christia,!l identity ". 6 The criteria employed in this second model are required,
therefore, to be intrasystematic: they are founded on, and usually
specific to, the practices of the Christian community.
Post-liberals believe that the revisionist model of apologetics
clings to a number of fallacious Enlightenment assumptions concerning the nature of rational argument. One assumption is the
foundationalist fallacy, i.e., the appeal to a special class of selfevident truths which are thought to be the foundation of all
knowledge in a specific sphere. The incorrigibility of these truths
is thought to be warranted by the peculiar way in which they
are known, namely by their imposing themselves upon us through
direct experience. 7 Another assumption is that we can begin an
argument from a neutral viewpoint, and/ or that we can arrive
by such an argument at an adequate account of some element
of human experience which is universal in scope. However, both
our perspectives on reality and our experience are deeply molded
by our place within particular traditions of thought and practice,
traditions which we are unable to transcend sufficiently to give
anything like a neutral account of universal religious experience. 8
More decisive for the post-liberals than these non-theological
criticisms of systematic apologetical arguments are the theological consequences of revisionist apologetics. Whether or not the
initial argument makes a strictly foundationalist move, the development of a general theory as the framework within which to
assess Christian claims tends inevitably to distort the subsequent
theology. Instead of Christian claims determining the explicative
framework, they end up being revised in order to fit the general
theory. Furthermore, the systematic correlation of Christian
claims and those of the larger society according to criteria derived from a general theory diminishes not only the identity of
6 William W erpehowski, " Ad Hoc Apologetics ", Journal of Religion, 66 :3
(1986), p. 286.
7 See Placher, chapter 2; Thiemann, Revelation, chapters 1 and 2.
s Placher, pp. 17, 156.

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:M. HEALY

Christianity but also its critical force within society. In the interest of publicness, Christianity ironically loses its distinctiveness, thereby becoming culturally irrelevant. 9
These philosophical and theological difficulties indicate to the
post-liberals that the attempt to develop a revisionist systematic
apologetics should be abandoned. Not that we should abandon
apologetics as such: Placher, for instance, argues forcefully that
" the logic of Christian faith drives us to conversation beyond the
borders of the Christian faith" (Placher, 167f.). But when we
do engage in " pluralistic conversation ", as he terms it, it must
be on an " ad hoc " basis.
What makes apologetics ad hoc? Negatively, ad hoc apologetics does not try, in the words of David Kelsey, to construct a
" comprehensive, coherent, and religiously neutral systematic
argument designed to exhibit the credibility of belief in God in
general and the Christian symbol system in particular ". 10 Positively, ad hoc apologetics develops arguments the force of which
remains situation-relative. That is, the apologist is to retain her
grounding within a particular tradition, and address herself not
to some abstract unbeliever, but to one who lives within a particular concrete historical and cultural situation. The basis for
such an address are some of the beliefs and practices both parties
share. Naturally, these commonalities will vary from case to case,
so no systematic rules can be developed to be applied in all cases
(Placher, 167).
As I noted earlier, it is my contention that Rahner's own theological practice can be understood as compatible with ad hoc
apologetics. Rahner, of course, is usually understood to be a
practitioner of the revisionist model of theology. 11 Later I will
9 A point made classically by Van Harvey, "The Pathos of Liberal Theology", Journal of Religion 56 (1976).
1 0 " Church Discourse and Public Realm ", in Theology and Dialogue: Essays
in Conversation with George Lindbeck, ed. Bruce Marshall (Notre Dame:
U. of N.D. Pr., 1990), p. 16.
n Besides the works of Carr and Fiorenza cited in note 2 above, see also,
e.g., W. V. Dych's interpretation of chapter one of FCF in A World of
Grace, ed. Leo J. O'Donovan (New York: Seabury, 1980); or Thomas
Sheehan, Karl Rohner: The Philosophical Foundations (Athens, Ohio: Ohio
U.P., 1987).

KARL RABNER AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

617

show how representative interpretations along such lines require
his theology to be inconsistent. Although such inconsistency is
indeed possible, the principle of charity suggests that we look for
an alternative interpretation. This I sketch out by first looking
at Rahner's notion of indirect methods, and then by discussing
the transcendental method, particularly with reference to the kind
of argument it uses and its function in Rahner's apologetics. I
will argue that the most coherent reading of Rahner requires that
his transcendental method be understood as an instance of the
indirect method, rather than vice versa.
This paper is not, however, m_erely to be an exercise in reinterpretation and rehabilitation. I hope at the same time to show
that by interpreting Rahner as an ad hoc apologist we can discern some examples of an apologetic method which may be used
profitably by those who seek, like Placher, to develop a way beyond the impasse of the revisionist and post-liberal models.12

Rahner's Indirect Methods
Rahner's notion of the indirect methods can best be understood
in the context of his views on the nature and task of theology. In
general terms, theology is a "necessarily ecclesiastical" discipline
whose task it is " to serve as the science of the proclamation of
the Gospel and ... [to] serve the people of our time" (TI 21,
5). Its subject matter is "the act and content of Christian ...
faith ", the Christian kerygma, which it represents in language
used by contemporary people. Theologians are to try to distinguish what is of permanent value in the Christian life from its
historically and culturally conditioned conceptual packaging,
which may no longer be useful for, and may actually distort, the
Church's proclamation of the kerygma. 18 As Leo O'Donovan
12 Although I have sketched out a specifically North American context for
my discussion, a similar problematic pertains in Europe. See Walter Kasper,
" Postmodern Dogmatics: Towards a Renewed Discussion of Foundations in
North America", Communio 17 (Summer 1990).
1s How, more exactly, Rahner does this is described in George Lindbeck's
Pere Marquette Theology Lecture, Infallibility (Milwaukee: Marquette U.P.,
1972), pp. 51-3.

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M. HEALY

points out, theology functions not only as faith seeking understanding, but as a practical and transformative discipline, " a
reflective effort to open Christian life to ever greater and more
active faith." 14 By showing that a Christian claim is something
that "can be lived out in a genuine way" (TI 21, 77), theology
serves the kerygma by aiding its call to the decision of faith. 15
Recent Catholic tradition has distinguished two ways in which
theology is to carry out its task, namely fundamental and dogmatic theology. The latter addresses those who are already within
the borders of the Christian faith, and attempts to demonstrate
the coherence of particular beliefs within the Christian system.
Fundamental theology has taken the form, since the Enlightenment, of a " scientific and systematic reflection upon the grounds
of credibility of Christian revelation and the obligation of faith "
(TI 16, 156). It is a deduction, arguing according to general
criteria, addressed ad extra, with the intent to convince nonChristians of the truth and meaningfulness of (the Roman
Catholic form of) Christianity. 16
Rahner contends that there has occurred a qualitative change
in the situation facing fundamental theology which has rendered
the discipline as traditionally conceived practically impossible today. Three factors are responsible for this change. The first and
most obvious, perhaps, is that the sheer volume of data to be
considered in order to make such an argument has become overwhelming. Theologians now face a number of sub-disciplines and
a plurality of methods, making them mere amateurs outside their
chosen specialty. Systematic theologians, for instance, cannot
hope to be sufficiently expert in exegesis, in moral philosophy and
so on, to use the materials specific to these disciplines with any
degree of conviction (TI 6, 23ff). In addition, they must digest
the data from a large number of other sciences and learn the
14 Leo O'Donovan, " Orthopraxis and Theological Method in Karl Rahner ",
Proceedings of the Catholic Theological Society of America, 35 (1980) p. 61.
15 See Rahner and Karl Lehmann, Kerygma and Dogma (New York: Herder
and Herder, 1969), p. 23.
16 See Fiorenza, for a discussion of the origins and development of fundamental theology.

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

619

many philosophical languages now used. Consequently it is impossible for any single individual (and Rahner rules out collaborative efforts) to bring together all the knowledge involved in
order to present a direct and unified argument for a particular
view of the world.
The practical difficulties consequent upon contemporary intellectual pluralism have led us to recognize a second factor, namely
the inescapability of our situatedness with relation to truth. We
cannot help but work with certain " philosophical preconceptions "
which are "subject to historical conditions and the limitations of
particular epochs" (TI 11, 74). Theologians must now "explicitly allow for ... the fact that their own recognition of truth
is subject to historical conditioning" (ibid, 77). There is no
possibility of transcending our particular view of reality to reach
a neutral vantage point and so create an argument which would
answer all counter-arguments to come. We can only reason within a tradition: " truth has something to do with institutional life
and practice " ; it is available only within particular historicalcultural contexts (ibid., 80).
One consequence of contemporary pluralism for fundamental
theology, therefore, is that it must explicitly recognize the necessity of beginning within a particular ecclesiological context.
Abandoning attempts to develop a neutral, non-perspectival

basis

for its argument, rational apologetics must " take as its startingpoint the average and representational awareness of faith to be
found in the Church as it exists in the concrete" (TI 11, 81).
The methodological issue for fundamental theology is further
complicated by a third factor, however, namely the new cultural
situation in which the Church finds itself. According to Rahner's
analysis in The Shape of the Church to Come,11 the loss of Christendom has resulted in the Church becoming an increasingly
marginalized community amid a neo-pagan and scientistic culture
(Shape, 33; see TI 14, 255f.). Tfie Roman Catholic Church's
membership has consequently changed from one which consisted
primarily of socialized Catholics drawn from the Catholic sub17 New

York: Seabury, 1974. Henceforth cited as Shape.

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M. HEALY

culture to a new kind of membership based upon personal decision. New members of the Church are called to belief in Jesus
Christ by their decision " in a critical dissociation " from " current ways of thinking and behaviour in [their] social environment" (Shape, 23).
Even after they have made a decision for faith, Christians
cannot isolate themselves from their cultural environment. They
must continue to use the prevailing discourse, with its philosophical assumptions and patterns of thought which are themselves often implicitly anti-Christian (Shape, 23). Consequently
many Christians continue to live in a way " remote from the
Gospel message " even while, sociologically at least, belonging
to the Church (Shape, 98; TI 14, 255). Each believer now lives
in" a situation of crisis for their faith" (FCF 6). To be a Christian is not a once-for-all decision, but an on-going task: " a person is always a Christian in order to become one" (FCF 306).
Thus in the modern Church of the diaspora (TI 10, 13) there is
no clear dividing line between Christians and non-Christians
(Shape, 74). 18
The changed situation demands " an aggressive attitude " on
the part of theologians to win over those both within and without
the Church to authentically Christian ways of thought and action
(Shape, 31). In response, Rabner proposes that apologetics be
reconceived as an address not only to those outside the Church,
but also, and even primarily, to those within who are engaged in
the process of appropriating their Christianity (see FCF 294,
e.g.). Those outside the Church, in fact, should be addressed only
on the assumption that they have already implicitly said ' yes ' to
Christ. For it is Christians now who need confirmation in their
faith, who need help to avoid a retreat into fideism, and who
18 In Two Types of Apologetics: a Rhetorical and Pragmatic Analysis (forthcoming), Kathryn Tanner develops a similar position in considerably more
detail. She argues convincingly that the assumption that there is such a sharp
boundary between believer and non-believer is at least partly responsible for
the present impasse between revisionist and post-liberal apologetic method.
Recognition that this is a false assumption would thus do much to dissolve
the problem.

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

621

need to be given " confidence from the very content of Christian
dogma itself that they can believe with intellectual honesty "
(FCF 12).
In response to the blurring of the borders between faith and
non-faith, the apologetical thrust of fundamental theology should,
Rahner believes, be combined with the perspective and material
concerns of dogmatic theology. The resulting apologetics will
attempt to be a " unity " of philosophy and theology in response
to the unity of these two forms of reflection " already present in
the concrete life of the Christian" (FCF 11).
Rahner proposes that the new apologetics use a form of argument differing from that of traditional fundamental theology.
This method can itself be " rationally justified" by generalizing
the probabilist approach in ethics to include philosophical and
historical issues, and by borrowing some suggestions from Newman (see TI 6, 27). Rather than arguing systematically and
deductively from self-evident principles, directly engaging all the
material issues involved, and seeking thereby to effect a strict
proof for the question at hand, an "indirect form of justification"
should be attempted (TI 11, 75).
Indirect apologetics begins from a particular perspective, i.e.,
faith " in its normal ecclesial form " (FCF 1). It addresses the
individual or group in such a way that their concrete situation
will bear upon the form and material content of the argument
(TI 11, 78). Instead of a universally valid argument designed
to vanquish all possible counter-arguments, the indirect argument
avoids direct treatment of all the material issues involved, and
takes the form of a case made to convince a certain set of people
to think about a particular issue in a certain way. The force
of the argument is not meant to be universally applicable; it remains an "incomplete proof" (TI 6, 29£.). Instead of proceeding systematically in a linear fashion, the aim is to convince by
showing a " convergence of probabilities," arguing from a variety
of perspectives in order to show the reasonableness of the proposed thesis (ibid.). Consequently indirect apologetics resembles
an argumentum ad hominem, but, Rather insists, there is nothing

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M. HEALY

to be ashamed of in this, since the very situatedness of the argument will throw light otherwise unavailable on the material
issues considered (TI 11, 78).
In sum the indirect methods differ from traditional fundamental
theology in three ways : a) they avoid systematic deductive arguments involving direct treatment of material questions which need
expertise in a multiplicity of disciplines; b) the argument is meant
to apply only " in the particular concrete situation" of those who
are to be addressed; and c) as situation-relative, the case made
through an indirect method does " not lay claim to any permanent or universal validity" (TI 11, 75).
Rahner's remarks on the indirect methods in theology are
clearly consistent with the two norms for ad hoc apologetics I
noted earlier. The summary above indicates that the force of the
argument of an indirect apologetics is situation relative, and does
not attempt to ground Christian discourse upon a neutral universally-applicable argument. I suggest then that these remarks
on the indirect methods be understood as a description of an ad
hoc apologetic method.

Rahner as practitioner of the indirect methods
In order to move beyond Rahn er' s remarks on indirect methods
to his actual practice, I could now turn to those arguments which
Rahner explicitly describes as examples of the indirect apologetics.
The aim would be, of course, to show how they are in fact consistent with the ad hoc approach. There are a number of such
cases made for various proposals, usually historical in nature,
including, for instance, the "historically indirect and immediately existentiell argument" (FCF 335) regarding the institution
of the Church by Christ (FCF 329ff.; see also TI 11, 77f.). I
will call these the ' narrnw ' versions of the indirect methods, for
they are all more or less brief, occur in the context of a larger
work, and refer to isolated historical proposals.
However, my thesis about Rahner's work pertains to more
than these narrow versions. I want to say that all Rahner's
apologetic work is ad hoc, including the large-scale, philosophically-oriented apologetic treatises Spirit in the World and Hearers

KARL RABNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

623

of the Word,1 9 together with FCF. These seem most obviously
revisionist in nature and are often the basis for interpretations of
Rahner's work as a whole. Hence for the remainder of the paper
I will discuss Rahner' s theological practice in terms of these
works, which, I will argue, are instances of what I will call the
' broad ' version of ad hoc apologetics.
The claim just made cries out for a discussion of Rahner's use
of the transcendental method. Transcendental arguments are
surely instances of a religiously neutral, systematic and comprehensive apologetical approach. They are meant (are they not?)
to transcend particularity to arrive at knowledge of conditions
which prevail universally. And they are an integral element in all
three of the works just mentioned. I will very briefly examine
two interpretations of Rahner's apologetics which view his work
from the perspective of the transcendental rather than the indirect
methods to see how they answer two key questions : First, what
kind of argument is the transcendental argument in Rahner's
apologetics? Second, what function does it have in his theology?
The first kind of interpretation is one which construes Rahner's
apologetics as an example of the foundationalist move. Perhaps
the most sophisticated example of this reading can be found in
Francis Fiorenza's Foundational Theology. 20 Here Rahner's use
of transcendental arguments is seen as an indispensable part of a
theological method which attempts to establish the truth of Christian claims. The method consists of two steps : The first " presupposes nothing of Christianity ", but develops a neutral transcendental (and existential) analysis of the universal religious dimension of human existence. The second step then correlates the
results of this analysis (namely that human subjectivity is
grounded on a pre-apprehension of divine presence) with specific
Christian claims (especially those having to do with Christology).
By showing how Christian claims are explicit symbols of the
transcendental dimension of human experience, the correlation
19Spirit in the World (New York: Herder and Herder, 1968) (cited as
SW); Hearers of the Word (New York: Herder and Herder, 1969) (cited
as HW).
20 See note 2.

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NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

has thus confirmed the truth of Christian beliefs (see Fiorenza,
278-280).
Fiorenza's subsequent criticism of this method of correlation
takes Rahner's putative use of foundationalist philosophy to task
(see Fiorenza, 280-282). He explains the problems associated
with the foundationalist move, making many of the same points
as the post-liberals (Fiorenza, 285-291). He points out that all
human experience, together with its theological interpretation, is
situated within a particular cultural tradition. And so he faults
Rahner's transcendental argument for its failure to take into account the " historical and hermeneutical dimension of human experience " (Fiorenza, 281 ) .
As we have seen, Rahner is quite aware of our profound socialization. So in effect Fiorenza has implicitly accused Rahner
of inconsistency: Transcendental arguments deduce universal,
ahistorical conditions of the possibility for a given; yet Rahner
has explicitly abandoned such arguments as impossible. The
principle of charity suggests that we should see if Rahner is in
fact using transcendental arguments to deduce necessary truths
about the religious dimension of human experience. Perhaps, instead, he is using transcendental arguments in a more philosophically sophisticated way consistent with his views on the indirect
methods.
According to Kathryn Tanner, 21 a transcendental argument
differs from simple proof by deduction. If the latter is successful,
belief in the premise is transferred to the conclusion. By contrast, transcendental arguments take the conclusion as the given,
and it is the conditions of the possibility which are argued for.
But transcendental arguments themselves come in two versions :
" strong " and " qualified ". In the strong version, the given is
unproblematic: it is the conditions of its possibility which are
argued for as necessary preconditions, which must be accepted if
we are to retain the given. If this version is used in fundamental
theology, the preliminary deduction becomes a once-and-for-all
21 God and Creation in Christian Theology: Tyranny or Empowerment?
(Oxford : Basil Blackwell, 1988) , pp. 20-24.

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

625

demonstration of what must pertain, if Christianity is to be
credible. It is this version of the transcendental argument which
Fiorenza assumes Rahner to be engaged upon.
Fiorenza is well-aware that the logic of this version of transcendental arguments is confused. S. Korner has pointed out that
all that is demonstrated are merely sufficient reasons for the
given; nothing can be said about their necessity.22 In the light of
cross-cultural studies showing the pluralism of human experience,
the uniqueness of the conditions must be demonstrated in addition
to their sufficiency. This requirement is ignored by the " strong "
version of the transcendental argument.
The second, qualified, version of the transcendental argument
is more modest in intent, and recognizes the logical possibility of
a plurality of metaphysical schemes. Here it is the given-that
for which the conditions of possibility are supplied-which is the
problem. The point of engaging in such an argument is therefore to support the given by providing suitable conditions; that is,
by demonstrating its internal coherence, getting rid of difficulties
as to its credibility, and so on. These conditions are recognized
as merely sufficient, and will vary depending upon time and place.
Hence the qualified version of the transcendental argument "must
be undertaken over and over again in relation to changing and
different schemata " (Korner, 331).
This qualified version of the transcendental argument is, I suggest, compatible with Rahner's own comments. He has never
claimed that his analyses are definitive, and in fact explicitly asserts that no " transcendental enquiry " is to be considered a oncefor-all demonstration of necessary conditions. Rather, such enquiries "must constantly be undertaken afresh" (TI 11, 90).
There is no intrinsic reason why qualified versions of transcendental arguments should not be used within an indirect apologetics. It is clear, too, that they can be compatible with the positive norm for ad hoc apologetics, namely, that the force of the
argument should be situation-relative.
"The Impossibility of Transcendental Deductions",
2 2 S. Korner,
Monist, vol. 51 (1967).

The

626

NICHOLAS

M.

HEALY

Yet even if Rahner can be read as using a qualified version of the
transcendental argument, and thus as innocent of foundationalism,
such an argument can still function as part of a revisionist apologetic strategy. A qualified transcendental argument is based
upon premises which are admittedly conditioned by a particular
cultural situation. But these premises may be used to formulate
a general theory which appears religiously neutral and reasonable
to all within that culture. The theory can then be used systematically to ground subsequent Christian claims. This use of transcendental arguments would then be in violation of the negative
norm for ad hoc apologetics. The theological problems will then
remain the same as for strong transcendental arguments, for
particular Christian claims can be distorted as they are correlated,
and revised to fit, with the general theory.
The problem of distortion is a central concern of a second kind
of critical interpretation of Rahner. This interpretation is distinct
from the first in that it understands Rahner to be using the transcendental method to ground, not the truth of Christian claims
(which is a matter of faith), but their meaningfulness. The best
recent example of this reading can be found in Bruce Marshall's
Christology in Conflict,23 which analyses the move from general
theory to particular doctrine specifically in terms of Christology.
Marshall understands Rahner to be making two key Christological assumptions. The first is compatible with pre-modern
theology, namely, that what is ultimately or salvifically significant
can be known only through knowledge of the unique individual,
Jesus Christ (Conflict, 10). Second, as a post-Enlightenment
theologian, Rahner also assumes that it is absolutely necessary to
develop a preliminary argument which grounds the meaningfulness of Christian claims about Christ (Conflict, 20). It is this
second assumption which determines Rahner's theological method,
which has two stages : In the first, a transcendental anthropological argument appeals to "general criteria of religious and moral
meaningfulness" (Conflict, 15) in order to develop a theory of
23 Christology in Conflict: The Identity of a Saviour in Rahner and Barth
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987). Hereafter cited as Conflict.

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

627

what salvation must be, and thus what Rahner calls an " absolute saviour " must look like. Then in the second stage, theology shows how the concept absolute saviour can be meaningfully ascribed to Jesus Christ (see Conflict, 21-32).
Marshall's criticism of Rahner depends upon the distinction
between two kinds of identity descriptions, the "particular " and
the " positive ". A person may be known concretely by reference
to features which indicate aspects unique to that particular individual. These would include ostensive reference ("that's the fellow over there ") or a (more or less complete) biographical recital. Alternatively, a person may be known abstractly, with
reference only to indeterminate features. In this case the individual is known positively as the one who functions in a role or
is an instance of a class, but who is otherwise unknown (see
Conflict, 42-7).
With this distinction in mind, Rahner' s Christology can be
faulted on two counts. First, by moving logically from the general concept " absolute saviour " to the person Jesus Christ, the
transcendental method leads to the loss of the " material decisiveness " of the particular identity description of Jesus Christ for our
understanding of absolute salvation. Thereby our knowledge of
the Christian notion of salvation is at least diminished and more
or less distorted. Second (and this is Marshall's key contribution to Rahnerian criticism), Rahner's method as described is
logically inconsistent with his initial assumption. Transcendental
arguments can explicate only the general and the abstract; a
transcendental Christology can thus deal only with the positive
identity of Jesus Christ, not with his concrete particularity. But
Rahner's first assumption is that Jesus' particularity is logically
indispensable for Christology. Therefore when he engages in
transcendental Christology, his method is inconsistent with this
initial assumption.
Marshall's criticism of Rahner is itself dependent upon some
vital hermeneutic decisions. Like Fiorenza, he understands the
function of the transcendental argument to be the first stage of a
two-stage revisionist apologetic strategy. He also understands the

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NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

transcendental Christology to be intended as part of Rahner's
theological redescription of the particular identity of Jesus Christ.
I believe both these decisions are misguided, and are responsible
for the putative inconsistency in Rahner's theology. In a paper
of this scope I am unable either to provide a detailed criticism of
Fiorenza or Marshall's interpretations, or to offer a properly detailed alternative reading of Rahner's texts. Instead I will offer
a sketch of an alternative reading of Rahner's large-scale works
which is guided by his remarks on indirect methods, and which
does not require inconsistency on his part.
As we have seen, for Rahner all Christian thought and action
is conditioned by its location within a given cultural milieu.
Christians have no choice but to make use of a selection of conceptual tools provided by their social environment. They do so,
as they have done throughout Christian history, by appropriating
the prevailing conceptuality for their own ends according to their
own criteria. However, their environment is neither static nor
universal, and so these Christianized conceptual frameworks will
over time show increasing inability to cope with new forms of
thought and action within the prevailing culture. Although the
Church can continue its proclamation of Jesus Christ, its task becomes unnecessarily impaired by the increasing inadequacy of the
conceptual framework it uses to relate Jesus Christ to other
sources of knowledge and experience (see FCF 13). It becomes
harder for Christians to bring their faith in Christ into every
part of their lives.
One important function of theology, then, is to appropriate the
prevailing conceptuality so as to broaden the impact of the Gospel
on Christian life. Theologians are to formulate a mixed discourse,
making use of the categories of the culture, but carefully reinterpreting them to accord with Christian criteria. This is not at all
the same thing as trying to find a sufficiently neutral discourse
that is acceptable to both Christians and non-Christians. Rather,
" secular " categories will be used to develop a conceptual framework within which to summon the prevailing " mentality to the
judgement seat of God" (TI 21, 77). This task is performed by

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

629

using the (necessarily qualified) transcendental method in its
broadest form, in which it functions to inquire into the linguistic
conditions which are suitable to support the undermined given,
i.e., the Christian kerygma.
Spirit in the World is an example of this kind of conceptual
appropriation. Here Rahner is not trying to develop a neutral
philosophy of religion as the first stage of a systematic revisionist
apologetics. Instead, SW is a metaphysical inquiry done within
the Christian tradition, subject to its criteria and its agenda.
Within the parameters of similar efforts by Augustine and
Thomas, Rahner appropriates and reinterprets the conceptuality
prevailing in Germany at the time of his writing. Part of the
conceptual apparatus which Rahner believes is useful for Christian proclamation is the transcendental method. For the turn to
the subject has inextricably linked the dialect of his culture to
anthropological questions. And since " every theology, of course,
is always a theology which arises out of the secular anthropologies
and self-interpretations of man" (FCF 7), theology must appropriate a discourse in which the new anthropologies can be addressed by Christian proclamation (and thereby summoned to
God's judgment seat).
Hearers of the Word can be read in a similar way. Leo
O'Donovan 24 has argued that HW
does not prescind from faith in order to inquire into its foundations;
instead it asks what understanding of reality (general ontology) and
what correlative understanding of the human world (metaphysical
anthropology) theology can appropriately use [my emphasis] in its
reflection on faith.
In both SW and HW, according to this reading, a qualified
version of the transcendental method is used to develop a conceptuality by means of which the Gospel can be shown to have a
bearing on all aspects of life within the prevailing culture. Subject from the outset to criteria drawn from the Christian tradition, there is no attempt at formulating a neutral conceptuality, or
one which would seem "reasonable to all" within a culture.
24 O'Donovan,

"Orthopraxis and Theological Method", p. 57.

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NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

Furthermore, both works are clearly addressed to Christians who
live within a particular culture: the force of their arguments are
relative to those who live within the Teutonic philosophical tradition. Both works can thus be interpreted as broad versions of ad
hoc apologetics.
Both SW and HW are Christian philosophies of religion, and
operate at a high level of abstraction. Marshall's concerns about
transcendental Christo logy can be addressed by looking at F oundations of Christian Faith, which, as a unity of fundamental and
dogmatic theology, reflects explicitly on dogmatic material. According to Rahner, one of the most important applications of the
indirect methods is in the area of the basic course for seminarians
called for by Vatican II (TI 11, 79). FCF is clearly Rahner's
attempt at constructing such a course. I have already noted some
sections in which narrow versions of the indirect methods are
used, but the work as a whole is indirect in approach. Rahner explicitly rejects the attempt to provide a systematic " foundation"
for faith ( FCF 9), and aims instead at presenting a " convergence of probabilities " which, it is hoped, will renew the decision
for Christ of Christians as they live out their faith (FCF 10).
The argument of the work should be read, then, as a " cas·e "
rather than a deduction; and as having an unsystematic, inductive
character, rather than a two-stage form. Its force is situationrelative, for it is addressed to a specific audience, and makes use
of a local conceptuality.
The express purpose of FCF is to reflect upon the " whole" of
Christianity. This does not mean that it intends to cover all the
theological loci in great detail, but that it looks at Christian faith
as it is lived concretely within a particular cultural situation from
a single vantage point, namely, the " idea " of Jesus Christ as
God-man or absolute saviour. Running throughout the early sections is the concern to open up secular discourse to a " universal
pneumatology " by means of which (as an " experiment ")
Rahner wants to " concentrate the whole of theology on the
mystery of Christ" (FCF 3).
The sections of FCF preceding the Christology chapter can be

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

631

read as equivalent to SW and HW: that is, they are intent on
appropriating the prevailing conceptuality in the interests of
Christian proclamation. Operating within the framework of
Christian faith "in its normal ecclesial form", FCF attempts a
" justification of faith by faith" (FCF 12). It uses the transcendental method to develop a discursive context out of some
commonalities between secular anthropology and Christian claims.
This mixed discourse is formulated in order that specifically
Christian claims can be made clearly and yet in accordance with
Christian criteria, and the call to decision for Christ understood.
By reinterpretation and appropriation of the self-understanding ,
of their culture, Rahner shows seminarians and other interested
parties how they can talk about Jesus Christ and his relation to
all aspects of human reality without retreating into fideism or
intellectual dishonesty.
The function of the transcendental Christology in FCF is to
abstract from Jesus' particular identity in the interest of universalizing him. Rahner takes certain positive concepts from
saviour, God-man,Christian talk about Christ-absolute
which he uses in the context of the mixed discourse. He is then
able to show how the realities of the culture can be absorbed into
what Christians want to claim is the larger reality of Jesus
Christ. In his section on " Christology within an Evolutionary
View of the World ", for instance, he appropriates and reinterprets a local (Hegelian) version of evolutionary thinking in order
to be able to talk of Jesus Christ " as the unsurpassable peak of
a universal history of grace" (TI 19, 10; FCF, 178-203).
My reading of the Christology of FCF, then, understands it as
not about the business of redescribing the particular identity of
Jesus Christ. This Rahner leaves to the exegetes and the historians who construct an " ascending Christo logy " ( FCF, 177). 25
FCF is not trying to be another Church Dogmatics with its small
25 Although Rahner no doubt thought of an ascending Christology as based
upon some form of historical reconstruction, his remarks suggest that there is
plenty of room for a narrative approach to redescribing the particular identity
of Jesus Christ.

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NICHOLAS

M. HEALY

print exegesis, and cannot fairly be compared with it. Nor is FCF
a Summa Theologiae, but is closer to the Compendium of Theology (see FCF, 2). Perhaps it is closer still in some ways to
Barth's Epistle to the Romans. For in its own distinctive way
FCF tries to challenge those assumptions of the day which function as conditions unsuitable to the preservation of a Christian
given. In Rahner's situation the given to be preserved is not so
much the Otherness of God as the fact that Jesus Christ is a
constitutive element of all aspects of human life, who is ignored
at our peril.
In this reading of FCF, Rahner's transcendental Christology is
consistent with his assumption concerning the logical indispensability of the particularity of Jesus Christ. The logic of his Christological argument does not move from the general to the particular. Rather it proceeds from the particularity of Jesus as "the
basic and decisive point of departure, of course" (FCF, 177). It
then moves on to " generalize " Christ in such a way that all
reality is absorbed by him. 26 This broad apologetics is practical
theology: its point is to help those who believe in Jesus Christ
let their encounter with him transform all aspects of their lives.
Admittedly the attempt to universalize Jesus can easily lead
to Christological and other distortions. But perhaps here too, as
Hans Frei once remarked, we have to cut our losses.27 To do so
becomes "theologically disastrous", according to Frei, only "if
it means either a complete elimination of philosophy as an issue
and a means for reflection in C4ristian theology, or a pathetic
obeisance to philosophy as the master key to certainty about all
reason and certainty, and therefore to the shape or possibility of
Christian theology'' (Frei 31£.). Neither alternative, I have
argued, is true of Rahner.
26 For a sophisticated discussion of the notion of absorbing non-Christianspecific truth into the Christian framework, see Bruce Marshall, "Absorbing
the World: Christianity and the Universe of Truths", in Bruce Marshall, ed.,
Theology and Dialogue (Notre Dame: Univ. of Notre Dame Press, 1990).
27 Hans Frei, "Barth and Schleiermacher:
Divergence and Convergence",
in James 0. Duke and Robert F. Streetman, edd., Barth and Schleiermacher:
Beyond the Impasse? (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988).

KARL RAHNER

AS AN AD HOC APOLOGIST

633

Conclusion
In the foregoing I have tried to sketch a way of reading
Rahner's apologetics which proceeds from the perspective of his
remarks on the indirect methods. Even in his large-scale works
and in his use of the transcendental method, I have suggested,
Rahner can be understood to operate in accordance with the
norms of ad hoc apologetic method. I have also tried to indicate
that in these large-scale works, especially FCF, we have a broad
version of ad hoc apologetics which, if used with a different conceptuality, might be an example for apologists in the North
American situation to follow in their attempt to get beyond the
impasse of revisionist versus post-liberal apologetics. 28

28 I'd like to thank James Buckley, Bruce Marshall, Russell Reno and Kendall Soulen for their comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

GOD AND THE STATUS OF FACTS
JOHN PETERSON

University of Rhode Island
Kingston, Rhode Island

E

I

VEN BEFORE mid-century, Platonism was in such retreat that Croce could call it "traditional philosophy."
By " Platonism " is meant any philosophy which admits
transcendent entities, be they individuals or universals. This
philosophy, complains Croce,
... has its eyes fixed on heaven, and expects supreme truth from
that quarter. This division of heaven and earth, this dualist conception of a reality which transcends reality, of metaphysics over physics,
this contemplation of the concept without or outside judgment, for
ever imprints the same character, whatever the denomination the
transcendental reality may bear: God or Matter, Idea or Will; it
makes no difference, while beneath or against each of them there is
presumed to subsist some inferior or merely phenomenal reality.1
Though few recent philosophers would follow Croce in his identification of philosophy with history, most would applaud the
Italian idealist's castigation of Platonism. Between their acts of
mutual criticism, idealists, existentialists, logical empiricists,
pragmatists, Marxists, philosophers of language, neo-Nietzschians, deconstructionists and most phenomenologists unite
against the transcendent. The metaphysics of Plato and Kant are
dead, they chant. No timeless Reality lurks behind appearences,
eluding eye, ear, language and inner sense.
Insisting on the reality of at least relational universals, the
early Russell for a time resisted the tide. But his abandonment
1 Benedetto Croce, " History as the Story of Liberty " in Morton White,
ed., The Age of Analysis (New York, 1964), pp. 50-51.

635

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JOHN PETERSON

of logical atomism weakened his case for Platonism and a turn
to empiricism followed. Moreover, even as he defended universals
in his early days, Russell shunned transcendent individuals. In
this effort his most celebrated ploy was the Theory of Descriptions, according to which commitment to individuals such as the
king of France and the golden mountain is eschewed. Less famous
was his move to spike that metaphysical individual known as
substance. This he did by attacking the traditional subject-predicate form of the proposition. If all simple propositions are of the
subject-predicate form and if true propositions map facts and
thirdly if there are no facts which cannot be mirrored by propositions, then, says Russell, either there is only one substance or
there are many substances between which there are no relations. 2
And under both alternatives-the one Spinozistic and the other
Leibnizian-substance is a hidden, transcendent thing which accounts for all phenomena without itself being part of any
phenomenon.
But be it from Croce or James or Dewey or Sartre or the
Marxists or Quine or whomever, is this anti-platonism really
justified? Are these celebrated philosophers right or even consistent in eliminating the transcendent? To see that they are not,
one need only consider the case of facts. If facts are timeless and
not temporal, then there are transcendent entities after all and the
anti-platonists are wrong. Take, for example, the fact that N apoleon was defeated by Wellington at Waterloo on June 18, 1815.
Defenders of temporalism as regards facts must either count this
as being a past fact or else hold that this fact is no different from
the historical event, "fact" being just another name for "event".
But both of these options fail. That facts are not events is shown
by the difference in how the following questions are answered:
(a) " Why did I not hold class this morning in Adams Hall " ?
and (b) "What is meant by saying that the statement ' I did ·not
hold class this morning in Adams Hall ' is true " ? While (a)
may be answered by citing some event which prevented my hold2 Bertrand

95.

Russell, The Problems of Philosophy (New York, 1975), pp. 94-

GOD AND THE STATUS

OF FACTS

637

ing class in Adams Hall this morning (for example, a fire broke
out in Adams Hall just before class), (b) is never answered this
way. Though the event of the fire in Adams Hall (or some other
event) may be what prevented my holding class this morning
in Adams Hall, it is nonsense to cite either that fire or any other
event as an answer to (b). Yet, a perfectly sensible answer to
(b) is that the statement referred to in (b) jibes with the (negative) fact that I did not hold class this morning in Adams Hall. It
seems, therefore, that facts are not reducible to events.
But the second alternative which is available to the defender
of temporalism as regards facts is no better. The idea of a past
fact is suspect. Facts, to be sure, may be about the past but from
this it neither follows nor is it the case that such facts are themselves past. The fact in question is undeniably a fact about the
past in the sense that the past event of Wellington's defeat of
Napoleon is referred to in the fact. But if facts which are about
the past in this sense are also past facts, it is wrong to say that it
is a fact that Wellington defeated Napoleon at Waterloo on June
18, 1815; rather we should say that it was a fact that Wellington
defeated Napoleon at Waterloo on June 18, 1815. So the notion
of past facts conflicts with ordinary language.
Logic too brooks no facts which are past. Cast in standard
logical form in classical logic, the statement, " Napoleon was defeated by Wellington at Waterloo on June 18, 1815" (N) becomes,
(N') "Napoleon [is] one who was defeated by Wellington at Waterloo on June 18, 1815 ".
The copula in (N') is tenseless. It does not oppose the "was"
in the predicate as the present opposes the past. Otherwise, it is
being claimed in (N') that Napoleon is now the person who was
then defeated by Wellington at Waterloo. Then the " is " in
(N') would be just like the "is" in "James is doing what he
was doing yesterday at this time". But as it is a condition of the
truth of any statement like this that the individual referred to in
the statement have present existence, it follows that (N') is false

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JOHN PETERSON

since Napoleon no longer is. But it is equally clear that the copula
in (N') does not express the past tense of the verb to be either.
Otherwise, the logical form of statements like this is systematically misleading; for the word "was " it should always be using the
word "is". To that extent, the subject-predicate proposition in
classical logic should in the case of true historical statements distort rather than reflect reality. Therefore, if we go by classical
logic then the fact on account of which (N') is true cannot be
said to be past any more than it can be said to be present. The
logical form of true subject-predicate statements in classical logic
indicates that the facts to which they refer are neither present nor
past.
To this it may be replied that (N) is not a subject-predicate
statement to begin with since " Napoleon " is not a logically
proper name. Rather, (N) should be analysed (following Russell) as,
(N") "There is an x such that x was the first emperor of France
and for any y, y was the first emperor of France if and only
if y = x and x was defeated by Wellington at Waterloo on
June 18, 1815 ".
But this substitution of modern for classical logic makes no difference. For in (N") does the first occurrence of the word "is"
express present or past tense? If the former, then what (N")
claims is that there is now an x such that x was the first emperor
of France and for any y, y was the first emperior of France if and
only if y = x and x was defeated by Wellington on June 18,
1815. But since there is not now such an x then (N") is false.
But this conflicts with the evident truth of ( N), and the purpose
of (N") is to explicate (N). But if the latter, i.e. if in (N") the
" is " in the logical operator, " there is an x " ( 3 x), expresses
past tense then the existential (3. x) (Dx) (in which' D' stands
for the predicate of ' being a dinosaur ') equally serves for
"There is a dinosaur" and "There was a dinosaur". And the
trouble with this is that since the former statement is false and
the later true, (3 x) (Dx) ends up being both false and true. No
less than is the case with the logical form of true subject-predicate

GOD AND THE STATUS

OF FACTS

639

statements, therefore, the logical form of true existential statements indicates that the facts to which they refer and which make
them true are neither present nor past.
II

But the problem with past facts runs deeper than this. It is not
just that they conflict with the languages of life and logic. For
if some facts are past then the statement, "There are past facts"
is true. But if so, then there is a fact which makes this statement
true, namely, the fact that there are past facts. But is this latter
fact past or present? If it is past then it no longer exists. But then
it is difficult to see how the statement " There are past facts " is
true, since there is no fact to which it corresponds. But if it is
present, then it must be countenanced that a present complex is
made up of constituents which are past. If you compare the supposed fact that there are past facts with the fact that there are
lions you find that they are alike in being existential and unlike
in that past facts figure in the one and lions figure in the other.
Each fact is therefore a complex of two things. Our supposed
present fact that there are past facts thus includes something past
as a constituent. But as any present complex thing evidently depends on present constituents, you cannot have such a complex
which is composed of past constituents.
To avoid this, defenders of past facts might deny in the first
instance that the fact that there are past facts is complex. They
would hold instead that facts are ultimate and irreducible. Recall
Quine's comment to the effect that while there are red barns and
red sunsets, there is no thing called redness which these facts include or exemplify. Doubtless facts are ultimate and irreducible
in a sense. The fact that A gave B to C is irreducible to the fact
that C gave B to A. And the fact that A gave B to C is also
irreducible to the fact that D gave B to C. Also, these same facts
are ultimate in the sense that they do not include other facts as
constituents. But facts are not irreducible in the sense that they
fail to include any constituents. Take the facts that grass is green
and spinach is green. The two facts are similar in being facts

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JOHN PETERSON

which concern things that are green. But they differ in that the
one concerns grass while the other concerns spinach. The two
facts must therefore each have a respect in which they are alike
and a respect in which they are different. And this implies that
each fact is a complex of these two respects.
Therefore, as it cannot be said that the supposed fact that there
are past facts is itself either present or past, it cannot be said that
the proposition "There are past facts" is true, in which case no
fact is past. But then it cannot be said that the fact that Wellington defeated Napoleon at Waterloo on June 18, 1815 is a past
fact. But as it clearly cannot be regarded as being a present or a
future fact either, then either the fact in question is eternal in the
sense of obtaining at all times or else it is eternal in the sense of
being timeless. But if it obtains at all times then so too do its
constituents. But no one can say that either Wellington or the
Battle of Waterloo exists at this time or for that matter at the
time of the assassination of Caesar in 44 ;B.C. Therefore, there is
no alternative to holding that the fact of Napoleon's defeat by
Wellington on June 18, 1815 is timeless. And as it is with this
fact so it is with all other facts.
But no sooner is it conceded that facts are timeless than a second problem surfaces. If any fact is timeless and is composed of
constituents, must it not be admitted that these same constituents
exist side by side with the fact itself? For it is difficult to see how
any eternal composite can be made up of constituents which are
not eternal but past. By analogy, if a certain spatial whole be
given, say the pen with which I am writing, it is difficult to see
how the constituents of that whole, say, the atoms which go into
it, can be anything else than spatial. Unless like Leibniz we take
matter to be phenomenal and not real, we should recoil at the
thought that the pen is composed of spiritual atoms. But then,
since it is a fact that Wellington defeated Napoleon at Waterloo
on June 18, 1815, then Wellington must exist even now, long
after his supposed death. Not only that but, on the same assumption of the eternality of facts and their constituents, it follows as
well that Wellington existed even before he was born. Short of

GOD AND THE STATUS

OF FACTS

641

denying the evident complexity of facts, therefore, how can it be
denied both that some facts are past and that Wellington still is?
The answer to this dilemma turns on distinguishing the Ideal
Wellington from the historical Wellington. 3 Under this gambit,
the things which figure in the eternal fact of Wellington's defeat
of Napoleon at Waterloo on June 18, 1815, Wellington included,
are themselves timeless. There is the Ideal Wellington who figures in many facts, including the fact in question, and there is the
real or flesh-and-blood Wellington who once figured in many
events, including the defeat of Napoleon, but who no longer
figures in any event at all. Thus it can be said that facts and
their constituents are eternal without implying that the real Wellington still is.
This solution to the dilemma seems to imply a full-dress Platonism. The Ideal world of facts and their constituents is radically set off from the world of events in space and time. The
flesh-and-blood Wellington who once engaged Napoleon is patterned after the Ideal Wellington who is a constituent of the fact
in question. And as it is with Wellington, so is it with the rest of
us. To the extent that we too enter into facts, we all of us have
a transcendent twin in Plato's heaven.

III
The grotesqueness of this consequence suggests a modification
of the Platonism. This consists of saying that facts and their constituents are eternal but Mind-dependent. Facts and their constituents are no separate entities under this revision but are rather
eternal exemplars in the Mind of God. The Ideal Wellington
after whom the historical Wellington is patterned remains eternal
but becomes, more plausibily, an Idea in God's Mind instead of
a separated Person.
Confirmatory support for this mind-dependent status of facts
a For a different purpose, namely, to account for the possibility of error,
Josiah Royce distinguished the Ideal John and Thomas from the real John
and Thomas. See Josiah Royce, "The Possibility of Error" in The Religious
Aspect of Philosophy (Boston, 1885).

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JOHN PETERSON

comes from ordinary language. Facts are often said to refer or
to be about things, just as if they had the feature of intentionality. Thus, physicians warn unconcerned patients that the medical
facts which they have discovered are about them. " These facts
are about you," the physician sternly advises his unserious patient, hoping to shake his apathy. Or a fisherman may say that
it is a fact about flounder that they feed on the bottom. In each
of these two cases the things which the facts are about are the
real patient and real flounder respectively, while the Ideal patient
and Ideal flounder figure in the facts which are about these same
things. Thus, just as some facts concern the past even though
they are not themselves past, so too some facts are about real
things and events even though they are not themselves real. But
intentionality being the mark of the mental, facts are about these
real things and events in the first instance only because they are
mind-dependent. Therefore, while they are eternal and not temporal, facts are not Platonic entities since, though they exist independently of our minds, they do not exist independently of
Mind. 4
To this it may be replied that the sense in which facts are about
something is not the intentional sense of " about ". Rather (so
the objection would run), facts are said to be about something
only because the " something" enters into the fact as a constituent. But if so, the conclusion cannot be drawn that facts depend on Mind, in which case no appeal to the alleged intentionality of facts succeeds in blocking the implication of Platonism to
which reference was just made. But the answer to this objection
is that it is plainly false. For in no intelligible non-intentional
sense is any complex whole said to be about one of its constituent
parts. An aggregate whole such as a pile of pebbles is not about
one of the pebbles; an organic whole such as a tree is not about
one of its branches; or a logical whole such as the class of all trees
is not about one of its members. By the same token, a fact in
4 This is not necessarily to imply a metaphysics of absolute Idealism such
as Hegel's or Royce's. For by "Mind" here may be meant the Mind of God
in a medieval Scholastic sense, and according to the Scholastics timeless truth
or facts exist eternally in God's Mind.

GOD AND THE STATUS

OF FACTS

643

which several things enter as constituents is not sensibly said to
be about one of its constituents in some non-intentional sense of
"about".
Second, it may be objected that facts are not really about something but that they are said to be about something elliptically, i.e.,
only because they are the ground of a true statement about something. Thus, it is said to be a fact about flounder that they feed
on the bottom only because the fact is the ground of a true statement about flounder, namely, "Flounder feed on the bottom."
The response to this objection, however, insists that the matter is
just the other way around. This is shown by the previous example of medical facts. When the physician emphasizes to his patient that the facts which he has discovered refer to or concern
him, he, the physician, is clearly speaking about the facts themselves and not about statements which may be made about those
facts. Our physician is trying to drive home to the patient that
the facts which he has discovered are about him and not about
some hypothetical patient. These same facts are not about the
patient only because statements which express these facts are
about the patient, but on the contrary, statements which express
these facts are about the patient only because the facts which they
express are about the patient. Otherwise, the consequence must
be swallowed that regardless of what our physician says or thinks,
the facts which he has discovered are really not about his patient
at all. And this despite his efforts to convince his patient that
they are.
Besides, if one insists that it is the statements or judgments
expressing facts, and not the facts expressed, which are intentional, then it follows that facts are independent of minds as well
as being timeless. But in that case, as was said, all of us have a
transcendent twin after whom we are patterned. But this is so
revolting that no one who sees this implication can continue to
deny that facts are non-intentional while all along conceding that
facts are timeless. So either facts are intentional or else (since
it cannot be held that facts are in time), all of us have a transcendent twin in Plato's heaven.

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JOHN PETERSON

On the assumption that facts are intentional as well as eternal,
therefore, there need not be a commitment to a Platonic Wellington as a constituent of the eternal fact that Wellington defeated
Napoleon at Waterloo on June 18, 1815. Instead, it may be said
that the Ideal Wellington which is a constituent of the eternal
fact in question is in God's mind as is the fact of which it is the
constituent.

IV
But with this we are brought to a final fork in the road. For
either the Mind on which facts depend includes the world or else
it transcends the world. Either Mind is like a Hegelian Absolute
or it is like the Christian-Hebraic God. Though both views have
difficulties, the former fails to cover the datum of memory. Suppose I am aware that I am now thinking about the same thing I
remember thinking about yesterday. For this statement to make
sense, the pronoun " I " in each one of its three occurrences here
must refer to a self of which my thoughts and memory are modifications. But if Mind includes the world (as in the Hegelian Absolute) then I am not a self at all but a thought in a larger Self.
Otherwise, Mind is not the organic unity which its defenders
claim it is but is rather a loose or aggregate unity of finite selves.
But to say of a thought that it is aware that it is thinking about
the same thing that it remembers thinking about yesterday is not
something which it is intelligible to say. Second, the same view
makes it impossible to distinguish voluntary from involuntary
action. Suppose one bank teller embezzles $20,000 while a second
teller surrenders $20,000 to an armed robber. Here it is correctly
said that the second teller acts under external compulsion whereas
the first teller does not. But if Mind includes the world and is a
true unity, then each teller is a thought or phase in a larger Self,
namely, Mind. But then the two actions cannot be distinguished
the way they just were. For to say that the one thought or phase
in the larger Self acts under compulsion whereas the other thought
does not is once again not something which it is intelligible to
say. It is agents or selves and not thoughts, phases or moments

GOD AND THE STATUS

OF FACTS

645

in a self which either act or do not act. And so it is agents or
selves and not thoughts, phases or moments in a self which either
act under compulsion or not. Third, if Mind includes the world
and is a true unity, then it is difficult to see how any one of us is
ever morally responsible. If I am nothing but a thought or a moment in the life of a larger Self then I am not a self in my own
right. " My" actions are in that case the actions of this larger
Self. But then it is to this larger Self and not to me that praise
or blame for actions is appropriately ascribed. This is true no
matter what view of moral responsibility is taken. For whether
" lack of external restraint or constraint " is sufficient for moral
responsibility (as the soft determinist holds), or whether in addition to this the power of choice is also required (as the free-will
theorist insists), it is a self and not a thought or a moment in a
self to which moral responsibility is ascribed. Thus, short of
abandoning the organic unity of Mind which is the centerpiece of
their system, defenders of the view that Mind includes the world
fail to cover the datum of memory, the difference between voluntary and involuntary action, and the matter of moral responsibility. And this is enough to conclude that the Mind on which
facts and their constituents depend transcends and does not include the world.
But then it seems that we are brought right back to the scholastic view that temporal things and events exemplify eternal
Ideas and facts in the Mind of God. Stated in terms of our
previous example, this comes down to saying that the event of
Napoleon's defeat by Wellington at Waterloo has as its eternal
Exemplar the fact of Napoleon's defeat by Wellington in the Mind
of God. Event and fact are thus the temporal and the atemporal
expressions respectively of one and the same state of affairs. It
is one and the same state of affairs of Napoleon's being defeated
at Waterloo which both occurs on June 18, 1815 and is in the divine Mind. This recalls the scholastic dictum that it is one and
the same universal which occurs in things (i.e. the universale in

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JOHN PETERSON

re) and which subsists in the Mind of God (i.e. the universale
ante rem). As Aquinas puts it in his De V eritate,
. . . the natural things from which our intellect receives knowledge
measure our intellect-as is said in the tenth book of the Metaphysics-but they themselves are measured by the divine intellect, in
Whom are all created things, just as all artifacts are in the intellect
of the artificer. Thus the divine intellect measures but is not measured ; natural things measure and are measured ; but our intellect is
measured, and it does not measure natural things but only artificial
things. 5

5 St. Thomas Aquinas, De Veritate I, 2 in Introduct-ion to the Metaphysics
of St. Thomas Aquinas, J. F. Anderson, trans. (Chicago, 1969), pp. 67-68.

CREATURES OF TRUTH
]ACK BoNSOR

St. Patrick's Seminary
Menlo Park, California

I

N HIS RECENT essay Philip Clayton enters into a conversation with Wolfhart Pannenberg about the latter's
notion of being. Clayton's work is a welcome contribution
on the thought of an important contemporary theologian. The
essay not only sets forth Pannenberg's position with clarity, but
raises some significant questions about his ontology, e.g. the temporal character of being and the proleptic nature of truth. Clayton
thinks with Pannenberg about these issues, questioning elements
of Pannenberg's ontology and suggesting alternative ways to
pursue the basic direction of his thought. 1
In the following essay I intend to continue the conversation
initiated by Clayton, focusing on Pannenberg's conception of
truth. Clayton correctly indicates the importance of Martin
Heidegger for Pannenberg's thought. Heidegger's understanding of human existence as temporality, and the relationship of
temporality to truth and being, have directly influenced Pannenberg. Heidegger's thought also reaches deeply into Pannenberg's
notions of truth and being through his retrieval of Hans-Georg
Gadamer. The relationship between Heidegger, Gadamer, and
Pannenberg on the nature of truth is my central topic.2
Pannenberg conceives of truth as the whole of history. He de1 Philip Qayton, "Being and One Theologian", The Thomist 52 (1988):
645-671.
2 For the sake of brevity I assume in this essay the basic relationship between Gadamer's thought and that of Heidegger, i.e. that Gadamer's hermeneutic has its foundation in Heidegger's philosophical anthropology. See
Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: The Seabury Press,
1975), 225-234.

647

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JACK BONSOR

velops what Clayton calls an eschatological ontology " in which
all being is dependent on the final completion of history." 3 Critical to this ontology is Pannenberg's notion of the history of the
transmission of traditions. Pannenberg takes over this notion
developed by form criticism. Using Gadamer's philosophical
hermeneutic, he understands the history of the transmission of
traditions ontologically. Specifically, Pannenberg holds that the
truth of Christian texts occurs in their on-going appropriation
within history. The truth of classic Christian texts (e.g. Scripture, dogma) will only fully occur at the end of history when
each text finds its final meaning within universal history.
In the first section of the following essay I set forth how
Pannenberg uses Gadamer's thought in order to ontologize the
history of the transmission of traditions. But Pannenberg's
eschatological ontology, his conception of truth as universal history, is very different from that of Gadamer and Heidegger.
Section one attempts to clarify this difference, indicating why
Gadamer and Heidegger insist on the radically historical and
finite nature of truth, rejecting any move to universal history.
In section two I take up Pannenberg's suggestion that we think
of the history of the transmission of traditions in Gadamerian
fashion, i.e. as an ontological process. But I do so without Pannenberg's move to universal history. In other words, I attempt
to think about the history of Christian truth from within the
historicist perspective suggested by the thought of Heidegger
and Gadamer.
Rejecting Pannenberg's move to universal history avoids elements of his thought (e.g. the proleptic nature of truth and the
introduction of temporality into God) which Clayton finds
problematic. 4 It does so, of course, by thinking about history and
Christian truth in a fundamentally different way from that suggested by Clayton. It seems to me that this different way of
thinking about Christian truth offers rich possibilities for contemporary theology.
s Clayton, 658.
4 Clayton, 656-667.

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OF TRUTH

I
A) Pannenberg, Truth, and the Transmission
of Traditions
Gadamer's thought plays a critical role in the development of
Pannenberg's theological hermeneutic. In turn, this theological
hermeneutic is an essential element in Pannenberg's conception
of truth as universal history.
Pannenberg addresses two familiar hermeneutical questions
raised by historical consciousness. First, the world views intrinsic to canonical texts are frequently strange and troublesome
to modern believers. The uncovering of Jesus' apocalyptic message by historical-critical scholars is a classic example of how
strange and troublesome historical consciousness can be. A good
deal of modern theology has striven to repress or translate Jesus'
apocalypticism into categories acceptable to the modern mind. 5
Here the second hermeneutical question appears. Christian
history is characterized by a plurality of frequently competing interpretations of Scripture and doctrine. While Christianity is
rooted in the truth claim of these texts, contemporary Christians
disagree with each other, and with Christians of earlier ages, on
what these texts mean. How then can there be a unity of faith,
a unity of Christian truth? How are we to understand the truth
claim of Scripture and doctrine?
Pannenberg turns to Gadamer's hermeneutic because it offers
a philosophical account of interpretation which addresses these
two questions. First, Gadamer seeks to maintain the difference
between the historical horizon of the text and that of the interpreter. The distance between the two horizons is underscored
rather than repressed or transcended. Gadamer's description of
interpretation suggests that the interpreter be aware not only of
the historical distance of the text, but also of her/his own historicity. Thus, the act of interpretation exhibits the radically historical nature of human existence and understanding. 6
5 Wolfhart
Pannenberg, Basic Questions in Theology
ress Press, 1970) 1 :144-145 (hereafter cited as EQT).
6 EQT, 1 :115-117.

(Philadelphia:

Fort-

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JACK BONSOR

Second, according to Gadamer the act of interpretation applies
the claim of a text from the past to a new historical context. Interpretation brings the claim of the text to expression (language)
within the interpreter's historical horizon. This bringing to language is a creative act in which both the horizon of the text and
that of the interpreter are modified. A classic text has its effect
in history through its ongoing interpretation (application) within history's changing horizons. The text's truth is not fixed; truth
occurs in the text's interpretation. The text's truth has a history,
i.e. its effect within history. 7
Thus Gadamer's account of interpretation offers Pannenberg
an explanation of the second hermeneutical problem mentioned
above. That is, it shows why there necessarily exists a plurality
of interpretations of Christianity's canonical texts. Christian history is constituted by ongoing appropriations of the Christ event
within ever changing historical circumstances. Biblical scholars
have recognized this process at work in the formation of Scripture, calling it the history of the transmission of traditions. Pannenberg understands the entire history of revelation as the history of the transmission of traditions. Using Gadamer's account
of interpretation, Pannenberg views the transmission of traditions
as an ontological process in which the history of Christian truth
occurs, a truth that will only be complete at the end of history.
We must consider all of this more carefully.
For Pannenberg the truth claim of Christian texts must be understood in relationship to the revelatory events of history.
Scripture and doctrine attest to the events of God's historical
Self-revelation and their meaning. The relationship between
event and meaning is critical to Pannenberg's hermeneutic.
Every historical event occurs within an interpretive context
which constitutes its meaning. The original context can be retrieved through the historical-critical method. But Scripture and
doctrine also reflect the reception of the story of God's Self-revelation in a variety of contexts. The history of reception trans1

EQT, 1 :117.

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651

forms the meaning (and truth) of events as they are appropriated
in new contexts.
Jesus' resurrection is the best known and most important example, in Pannenberg's thought, of the relationship between
event and interpretive context. 8 The Easter events took place
within a context of eschatological expectation. That eschatological
horizon is intrinsic to the meaning of Christ's rising and continues
to make a claim on the contemporary interpreter. But Scripture
attests not only to the eschatological meaning of Jesus' resurrection. It also evidences the meaning of Christ's rising to first
century Christians in a variety of times and places. The delay in
Jesus' return, the death of the apostolic witnesses, and the acceptance of the faith by gentiles unfamiliar with apocalyptic categories
all led to the pluralism of theological perspectives on the Christ
event reflected in New Testament texts.
The history of Christian theology, doctrine, and practice is
similarly constituted by the reception of Scripture and traditions
in history's ongoing contexts. The doctrine of Christ's divinity,
for example, emerged in the transmission of Christian belief
from the Jewish-Palestinian context (of eschatological expectation) to the Hellenistic world (which thought in ontological
categories). 9 In his theological hermeneutic Pannenberg develops
a notion of Christian truth which takes account of the complex and

still changing relationship between God's revelatory acts in history, their Scriptural witness, and their ongoing reception (interpretation) in history.
Another example might help to clarify Pannenberg's position.
Joachim Jeremias's well known study of
parables distinguishes between the meaning of the parables in the context of the
gospels and what the parables originally meant for Jesus and his
audience. Jeremias's study seeks to identify how the application
of Jesus' parables to various ecclesial settings adapted and
changed their meaning. The meaning of the parables in the
gospels frequently reflects how the evangelists' churches had ap8 W olfhart Pannenberg, Jesus-God
minster Press, 1975), 66-73.
9 Jesus-God a11d Man, 115.

and Man (Philadelphia:

The West-

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JACK BONSOR

propriated Jesus' stories within the contexts of their own life
and problems. Identifying the effects of this process, Jeremias
seeks to relocate the parables in Jesus' own life setting and, thus,
retrieve their original meaning. 10
Jeremias's form critical work thus studies the history of the
transmission of the parabolic tradition. That is, it identifies what
the parables meant in their original historical setting and traces
the change in their meaning as these stories were applied within
different ecclesial contexts. For Pannenberg this history of the
parables' transmission is the ongoing history of their truth. It is
a history of the effect of Jesus' parables, a history which continues
to our day.
In other words, what is happening in the history of the transmission of traditions is exactly what Gadamer says occurs in any
act of interpretation. Christian history is the effective history of
the Christ event. It is the history of Christian truth. Scripture
and doctrine reflect moments in this history. In turn, the truth
of Scripture and doctrine is constituted by the history of their
effect (ongoing reception, interpretation).
Thus Pannenberg's Gadamerian interpretation of the history
of the transmission of traditions gives an ontological character
to this history. This is a critical element in Pannenberg's argument that truth must be thought of as universal history, a conception of truth very different from that of Gadamer. The
thought of Gadamer's mentor, Martin Heidegger, plays an important role in how Pannenberg distinguishes his conception of
truth from that of Gadamer. We can now consider this difference.
B) Truth as Universal History
Pannenberg observes that Christianity makes a claim to be
the truth. Thus, theology cannot avoid the question of truth itself "which in essence can only be one." Theology must offer a
unified view of all human experience, a notion of truth which
grasps" the unity of reality in which we live." 11
10 Joachim
Jeremias, Rediscoz•ering the Parables
Scribner's Sons, 1966).
11 BQT 2 :1-2.

(New York:

Charles

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653

OF TRUTH

That truth coincides with the entirety and unity of the real
is a fundamental premise within Pannenberg's thought. As we
shall see, it is not a premise of Gadamer and Heidegger. But before addressing that difference let us briefly consider Pannenberg's notion of truth.
The historical nature of truth is evident in Pannenberg's account of the transmission of traditions. The truth claim of texts
changes with the ever new, unanticipated events and contexts of
history. Pannenberg argues that the traditional Greek notion of
truth as the unchanging quiddity of beings, the underlying permanence of reality, cannot account for the historical nature of
truth disclosed in historical consciousness.12
But the biblical notion of truth is another matter. Emeth is not
a static quiddity but refers to the fidelity of God. It is the divine reliability which shows itself, and will continue to show itself, in the events of history. 13 Israel's historical experience was
of a divine Self-manifestation of constant fidelity showing itself
again and again. God alone was permanently faithful and could
be relied on to manifest that fidelity anew in the future. 14 The
Old Testament is the story of God's Self-revelation within history,
the manifestation of truth in ever new ways.
But how can one conceive of the unity of truth if truth changes
in history? Pannenberg establishes truth's unity by weaving together elements from the thought of Hegel, Dilthey and Heidegger. Clayton's essay offers an excellent summary of how
Pannenberg uses these three thinkers. 15 Our concern is the influence of Heidegger and Gadamer on Pannenberg's thought. A
brief mention of Hegel and Dilthey is, however, essential
With Hegel Pannenberg concludes that " historical change itself must be thought of as the essence of truth." The unity of
truth is the unity of history. For Pannenberg history's unity
" comes only from its end " and, in contrast to Hegel, that end
remains ahead of us, open and undetermined. 16
12 EQT 2 :4-5, 19-20.

15 Clayton,

1a EQT 2 :3; Clayton, 659.
14 EQT 2 :8-9.

16

651-658.

EQT 2 :21-23.

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JACK BONSOR

Pannenberg adopts and adapts Dilthey's understanding of the
relationship between meaning and history. Dilthey held that the
meaning of any particular is determined by its place within the
whole of history. While Dilthey concluded that " all assertions
of meaning are relative" since we cannot know the whole of history, Pannenberg turns to Heidegger to establish a proleptic conception of truth. 17
Pannenberg observes that Heidegger's analysis of Dasein in
Being and Time concludes that Dasein's fundamental mode of
being is temporality. Dasein finds itself thrown into a world
projecting itself onto possibilities. To be human is to become
rather than to be something. Only in the anticipation of death,
the end of Dasein's being as becoming, can Dasein conceive of itself as something complete, whole. Every act of Dasein has meaning only in anticipation of this end. Each present moment in
Dasein's existence waits on death to be what it will be as a part
of what Dasein finally is. The meaning of anything in Dasein's
history can only be asserted in anticipation of the end. Meaning
and the anticipation of the end, wholeness, are intrinsically related.
But, Pannenberg points out, Heidegger's analysis of Dasein
" brackets out " and neglects one critical factor. Individual existence cannot be abstracted from history since the individual is a
part of that history.
The fore-conception of a final future which alone yields the true
meaning of all individual events must therefore be, on the one hand,
something that points beyond the death of the individual, and on the
other hand, something that embraces the totality of the human race,
indeed, of all reality.
Only on the basis of an anticipated final future, the wholeness of
universal history, " is it possible to assign to an individual event
or being-be it present or past-its definitive meaning by saying
what it is." 18
11

EQT 2 :61-64.

18 EQT 2:62.

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Thus, for Pannenberg, any assertion of meaning or truth is intrinsically related to the anticipation of a final meaning, history
as a whole. The truth of texts that occurs within the transmission of traditions always implies the anticipation of a final truth
ahead. In turn, the truth within history is always provisional.
The final truth will only be attained at the end of history when
the transmission of traditions is complete, when every text (and
its effects) has its place within the whole that is universal history.
The central event of God's Self-revelation, Jesus' resurrection,
not only exemplifies Pannenberg's hermeneutic. In Christ's resurrection Pannenberg finds revelatory confirmation of his conception of truth as universal history.
Jesus preached the coming of God's kingdom within a context
of apocalyptic expectation. The divine fidelity manifest in Israel's
history would culminate in the establishment of the kingdom.
Jes us proclaimed the coming of God to power (the kingdom) at
the end of time-the establishment of divine rule. While Jesus'
message about the end of history and the coming of the kingdom
reflects a strange view of reality for people today, the meaning
of his message cannot be grasped apart from its apocalyptic context.
But, as Gadamer's thought anticipates, Pannenberg's interpretation of Jesus' apocalyptic message reflects a fusion of Jesus'
ancient horizon with Pannenberg's own horizon of German
Idealism. Specifically, Pannenberg interprets Jesus' message
through Hegel. Jesus preached God's lordship, the divine rule,
to be a future reality. " God" means rule, omnipotence, power
over all things. To have power over all finite beings " is intrinsic
to God's nature." Jesus identified that divine power with the future.19 God's lordship, the divine being, remains to be accomplished at the coming of the kingdom, in the future. 20 The coming of God at the end of history is an ontological occurrence, the
coming of God to be. Jesus' resurrection confirms his message in
19 Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and the Kingdom of God (Philadelphia:
The Westminster Press, 1977), 55.
EQT 2 :240.

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JACK :BONson.

that the end of history occurs proleptically in Jesus and his identification with the final kingdom constitutes his divinity.
God and truth thus coincide as the end of history. Jesus proclaimed the meaning of history, of human existence, in anticipating that end. Christian truth, all truths, are true precisely by
participating in what will finally be. Truths are provisional,
waiting on what their place will be at the end of history. Truth
is yet to be determined and everything in time " contributes to
deciding what the definite truth is going to be, also with regard
to the essence of God." 21
Pannenberg's introduction of temporality, of history, into the
being of God is the topic Philip Clayton addresses so well in his
essay. Clayton treats how Being and temporality might be
thought within Pannenberg's ontology. The present essay moves
in a different direction. I have attempted to clarify how Pannenberg draws a notion of universal history out of his retrieval
of Gadamer. I now propose to consider how theology might think
of the truth if one remains with a Gadamerian understanding of
the transmission of traditions, i.e. if one does not make Pannenberg' s Hegelian move to thinking of truth as universal history.
This task first requires that we differentiate the notions of truth
held by Pannenberg and Gadamer.
C) Pannenberg, Gadamer, and Heidegger on Truth
Pannenberg radically transforms the thought of Gadamer and
Heidegger when he uses it to attain a conception of universal
history. In this section I will explore the nature of this transformation. That is, I will try to sort out the differences between
Pannenberg and Gadamer (Heidegger) with an eye toward their
conceptions of truth.
A brief summary of Gadamer's understanding of the relationship between interpretation, truth and being is in order. Gadamer' s account of interpretation, and his notion of truth as an occurrence in a text's effective history, does not move toward the
unity of truth in universal history. Gadamer's thought has its
21 Pannenberg,

Theology and the Kingdom of God, 62-63.

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roots in Heidegger's philosophical anthropology which underscores the radically historical and finite character of truth. True
to these roots, Gadamer rejects any Hegelian conception of universal history. Interpretation is, for Gadamer, an event which
manifests the finite, historical character of human truth. 22
Following Heidegger's philosophical anthropology, Gadamer
argues that the ground of interpretation is Dasein's being as historical. To be human is to be thrown into a community with a
history and, thus, to participate in what has been.23 Gadamer understands Dasein's historicity linguistically. Existence within a
linguistic community, a linguistic tradition, constitutes the possibility of interpretation. Interpretation is an event within that
community, an event in which a classic text finds new expression.
The interpretation of a classic text is a language event, the fusion
of two horizons in which the claim of a text comes to new linguistic expression. Gadamer understands this movement of language, the linguistic occurrence of interpretation, to be the text's
truth. He ontologizes language. 24
As we have seen, Pannenberg adopts Gadamer's hermeneutic
in order to establish the ontological character of the history of
the transmission of traditions. But Pannenberg is aiming toward
his conception of universal history rather than Gadamer's linguistic ontology. Pannenberg avoids this conclusion by criticizing
Gadamer's neglect of the assertive character of language.
Recall that when Pannenberg interpreted Scripture he treated
not only the distance between the text and interpreter ( Gadamer's
concern), but also the gap between the text and the event it nar22 Hans-Georg
Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: The Seabury
Press, 1975), 319-323. See also, Ted Peters, "Truth in History: Gadamer's
Hermeneutics and Pannenberg's Apologetic Method" The Journal of Religion
55 (1975), n. 26, p. 42.
23 Gadamer, 235-253; Martin
Heidegger, Being and Time (New York:
Harper and Row, 1962), 434-444.
24 This paragraph is a brief summary of themes that recur and are developed
by Gadamer throughout Truth and Method. That interpretation is grounded
in participation within a tradition, see especially pp. 235-258. That participation in and appropriation of the tradition occurs through language, see especially pp. 397-431. That Gadamer ontologizes language, see p. 432.

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rates or interprets. Revelation, for Pannenberg, occurs in history.
Scriptural texts are moments in the transmission of traditions by
which events are appropriated and attain their truth. For example, we noted earlier Pannenberg' s distinction between the
resurrection as an event in its original context of meaning and
the later appropriations of the Easter faith in Scripture and the
doctrinal tradition. Pannenberg's evaluation of Gadamer consistently returns to the fact that a linguistic ontology ignores the
assertive character of language. That is, Gadamer's linguistic
ontology overlooks the fact that language posits an event in history (e.g. the resurrection) to which texts and the history of the
transmission of traditions refer. 25
With this move Pannenberg fundamentally breaks with
the anthropological-epistemological perspective which undergirds
Gadamer's hermeneutic. That is, Pannenberg introduces the
reification of truth and being Heidegger seeks to overcome.
Knowing the truth of history becomes a kind of conformity between the interpreter and an objective state of affairs. 26 History
takes on an objective status, as something happening within
which we participate. This is, of course, exactly what Pannenberg intends, for he is pushing Gadamer's thought toward a conception of universal history, of conceiving of history as something
whole. But it is exactly this kind of reifying thinking that
Heidegger rejects.
This difference between Pannenberg and Gadamer on the assertive character of language has its root in a deeper difference
concerning Heidegger's anthropology, a difference manifest in
Pannenberg's interpretation of the anticipatory nature of human
knowledge considered in the previous section. In order to establish the proleptic character of truth, that all assertions of truth
and meaning imply the anticipation of universal history, Pannenberg turns to Heidegger's anthropology. Dasein's being is constituted by its self-projection into the future. Only in the antici25 EQT 1 :121-132; Wolfhart Pannenberg, Theology and the Philosophy of
Science (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976), 177-179; Peters, 45-47.
26 Theology and the Philosophy of Science, 178.

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pation of death does Dasein conceive of itself as whole, as an entity in which each event of its existence finds its meaning and
truth. Pannenberg argues that Dasein's historical-social character requires that this anticipation be extended beyond an individual's death to the end of history.
Pannenberg's interpretation of Heidegger betrays the forgetfulness of being which characterizes the metaphysical tradition.
What Heidegger is after in describing Dasein's anticipation of
death is not to secure meaning and truth. On the contrary, his
goal is to underscore the radically finite and historical nature of
Dasein, truth, and the occurrence of being.
Dasein has no essence. It is no-thing. Heidegger's philosophical anthropology describes human existence as freedom for possibilities. Dasein finds itself thrown into a historical world projecting itself on possibilities taken from that world. Dasein is its
becoming. When is this becoming complete? When does Dasein
attain its being? In the anticipation of death Dasein faces the
fact that its becoming is only finished in death when it no longer
exists (becomes). Dasein is no-thing on its way to nothing. It is
never a being, a whole and completed entity, not even in anticipation since what is anticipated is nothingness (death). 21
To imagine a human life as something whole, as the attainment
of being is to miss the direction of Heidegger's thought. It is to
put human existence into the category of other things, to overlook its fundamental mode of being as existence (becoming). In
Being and Time this overlooking grounds the metaphysical tradition's reification of truth and being. A goal of Heidegger's philosophical anthropology in Being and Time is precisely to overcome
the tradition's reification (neglect) of being and truth.
For Heidegger, Pannenberg's notion of universal history is an
extension of the forgetfulness of being. History is not something
27 Being and Time, 279-311. See especially p. 310 where Heidegger describes
anxiety as bringing Dasein "face to face with the 'nothing' of the possible
impossibility of its existence. Anxiety is anxious about the potentiality-forbeing of the entity so destined, and in this way it discloses the uttermost possibility." Heidegger gives a similar description of Dasein in "What is Metaphysics?" Martin Heidegger: Basic Writings (New York: Harper and Row,
1977). 95-112.

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within which Dasein participates. Dasein alone is historical. 28 To
understand what Heidegger means when he says Dasein alone is
historical one must turn to his basic definition of human existence
as being-in-the-world. World is an existential. It is neither an
entity nor the totality of what exists. Rather world is a horizon,
an environment of coherence constitutive of Dasein's being, which
offers Dasein its possibilities. 29
Dasein's being is constituted by its becoming (freedom). Its
possibilities for being are taken from its world. Dasein's world
is not a private projection but a common environment (beingwith-others) in which Dasein finds itself already becoming
(thrown and falling). 30 Dasein' s world has already been established by others who have been there. When Dasein appropriates
a possibility from its world history occurs. History occurs in
Dasein's repeating what has been handed down. 31 History only
is in the event of repetition. 32 Pannenberg's notion of universal
history manifests the " forgetfulness " of the metaphysical tradition in that it reifies what is primordially an occurrence within
the horizon of Dasein' s freedom.
Gadamer's fusion of horizons is an application of Heidegger's
notion of history to the hermeneutical problem. The truth of a
text occurs in its appropriation, i.e. in its repetition. Truth and
history cannot be conceived of or imagined as having being apart
from this occurrence. 33 When Pannenberg unites the history of
the fusion of horizons (transmission of traditions) into universal
history he draws Heidegger's and Gadamer's thought back into
the metaphysical tradition they seek to overcome. History, truth
and being become something.
In his essay Clayton thinks with Pannenberg on the question
of being. I would like to pursue a different direction. PannenBeing and Time, 429-434.
Being and Time, 114-122; Martin Heidegger, The Essence of Reasons
(Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1969), 85-89.
30 Being and Time, 203-213.
31 Being and Time, 437.
32 Being and Time, 446.
33 Gadamer, 253.
2s

29

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berg's use of Gadamer to ontologize the history of the transmission of traditions seems to me a rich and pregnant insight. But
how might Christian truth appear if one stays with Gadamer
(and Heidegger), i.e. if one stays with the radically finite and
historical character of truth? How might we think the matter of
Christian truth if the history of the transmission of traditions
were the history of truth itself?
II
A) The History of the Transmission of
Christian Traditions
We begin with the faith conviction that the divine Word has
entered history in Jesus-his life, message, death, and rising. He
is God's Word spoken in history for us and for our salvation.
The history of the transmission of Christian traditions reflects
the dogmatic teaching of the Church that the divine Word spoken
in Jesus is fully human. As with every human word, its truth
occurs in its ongoing appropriation within history. In this manner the divine discloses itself while remaining ever mystery.
The divine Word was spoken at a particular time and place;
its meaning cannot be abstracted from that context. Thus Christians of every age must turn to Jes us of Nazareth in his historical
particularity, telling his story, repeating his words, imagining his
life. This has always occurred in Christian life through the
reading of Scripture, preaching, the liturgy, popular stories,
dramatizations, and so on.
In the modern period the historical-critical method has offered
a new and rich way to encounter Jesus. The historical method has
taught us that the Jesus of history is comprehensible only within
the history of the transmission of the Jewish tradition. The
Christ event occurred within the Palestinian Jewish community
of the first century. It was a community formed by Israel's long
and turbulent relationship with God. Jesus' message interpreted
the community's history and tradition. His stories, sayings and
actions frequently reflected a stance on the controversial questions
of his day. More, the community's tradition was the context

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for Jesus' followers to understand his message and fate. He was
the prophet of the eschatological kingdom. His death was the
salvific act of God's servant. His rising meant he would return
as Son of Man to bring God's kingdom. He was Lord, heir of
David, fulfillment of the promise.
In brief, the meaning of God's Word in Jes us is intrinsically
related to his historical context. But the Christ event also transformed the meaning of that context, of its classic texts and categories. For Christians the truth of the Hebrew Scripture is transformed by Jesus. The promise to Abraham, the passover, the
prophets' message, the servant songs of second Isaiah, the promise
to the Davidic line, all express a profoundly new truth. This
new truth constituted that community which was the early
Church.
The spread of the Christian community into the gentile world
transformed the ecclesial community, its relationship to Judaism,
its ritual, and its categories for understanding Jesus and his God.
The New Testament reflects canonized moments in this history,
moments disclosive of Christ's truth through that truth's appropriation by Paul, John, the synoptic evangelists, their churches,
and so on. In turn the New Testament has had its effect through
the appropriation of its texts in history. The history of this disclosure continues in every Christian age. Some moments of disclosure (dogma) have been raised by the Church to the same
level as Scripture, while others play their various parts in the
ongoing history of Christian truth.
B) Christian Truth
Gadamer, following Heidegger, understands truth as Dasein's
(freedom's) appropriation of possibilities. Specifically, for Gadamer the truth of texts occurs in their interpretation when their
claim (possibility for being) is applied in a new historical context.
Truth is a linguistic event. To be human is to be born into a
language, a linguistic community (tradition). Language constitutes the world in which Dasein exists and from which Dasein
takes its possibilities. Participating in a language is the ground
for the possibility of interpretation. In interpretation a classic

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text becomes an element of Dasein's world by entering that
world's language, by coming to expression in a new context. In
this way the matter at issue gives itself within history. 34
Thus, the divine mystery gives itself in the history of the transmission of Christian traditions. To be a Christian is to participate
in the community of faith, in a world constituted by the effective
history of the Christ event. Existing in this world the contemporary believer participates in the effective history of Scripture and
tradition, i.e. participates in the history of Christian truth. 85
By world is meant the forms of speech and activity which
characterize Christianity. I suggest Gadamer's linguistic tradition includes not only speech, but all the public activities that
constitute the coherence of a world. World is Mitw-elt, an environment-with-others of coherent relationships in which things
have their place.36 It is an environment of shared intelligibility,
an intelligibility one learns by being-in and with-others. Speech
is an essential element within a world but world also involves
shared activities and non-verbal symbol systems. A Christian
community is constituted by common speech and praxis. Doctrine, Scripture, the preached word, liturgy, sacraments, popular
piety, moral behavior, charitable work, and so on, together form
the world in which the Christian exists.
The elements which make up the Christian's world are the
effects of Christ's revelation in history. At each time and place
within history Christians appropriate the faith through these elements, applying them in different contexts and, thus, carrying on
3 4 Again, this paragraph
is an interpretation and summary of a significant
section of Gadamer's Truth and Method, pp. 397-447.
35 This proposal suggests that the classic notion of knowledge as memory
points to humanity's constitutive existence within a linguistic tradition. Memory
does not refer to Plato's forms. Nor does it suggest Rahner's hermeneutic
which rests on humanity's constitutive participation in the divine essence, that
humanity is the event of God's Self-gift. Rather, one remembers because by
coming to be in a language one already participates in what a tradition discloses.
3 6 Heidegger calls it a Dingzusammenhang, a framework or context within
which things have their place. Martin Heidegger, Basic Problems in Phenomenology (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1982), 163.

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the effective history of God's Word spoken in Jesus. This effective history is the history of Christian truth. Thus, truth cannot
be identified with any specific application (moment) in history.
Nor can truth be limited to Scripture, doctrine, or the discursive
speech of theology. All the elements which make up the world of
Christianity play their various parts in the disclosive history of
the transmission of traditions.
The divine mystery discloses itself in this history, and in doing
so draws us into itself. The call of faith is a call to submit to
truth's disclosure, to the divine mystery revealed in Christ, by
entering into and participating in his effective history.
While my remarks in this essay have emphasized history, this
emphasis does not exclude the divine transformative power of
grace. History is not reducible to varied and more complex arrangements of what has always been. At work in the history of
the transmission of traditions is the creative Word, giving itself
precisely in this history. Borrowing again from the thought of
Wolfhart Pannenberg, each moment in history possesses an uncontrollable, contingent, and new element. What human freedom
becomes in history, individually and collectively, cannot be reduced to a mere recombination of what has been. What freedom
becomes in history, and what history becomes in freedom, involves
a new and creative element. In this way Pannenberg argues that
God's creative power ought not to be understood as an act in the
past, but as a reality entering each present from the future. 37 I
suggest we understand the history of the transmission of traditions as the place wherein the divine mystery grants itself. But
I propose this understanding of God's creative presence in history
without Pannenberg's identification of the divine with the end of
history. Such an identification betrays the tradition's forgetfulness.
C) Forgetfulness
Theology and the tradition tend to identify a moment in the
faith's reception with the matter (Sache) itself, a tendency reflecting the metaphysical tradition's forgetfulness of being and
s1 Theology and the Kingdom of God, 51-71.

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truth. Heidegger sees this forgetfulness manifest in Christianity's
conception of truth as the conformity of the human mind wit4
that of the Creator. 38 Pannenberg argues that the traditional conceptions of God and truth are unable to account for history. 39
But Pannenberg's own notion of truth as universal history reflects
forgetfulness.
As noted earlier, Pannenberg's interpretation of Jesus' eschatological message is a classic example of the fusion of horizons.
Hegel's thought allows Pannenberg to think of the coming of the
kingdom as an ontological event in which God comes to be. The
being of God and the final meaning of history coincide. It seems
to me this is a rich and disclosive insight in the history of the
transmission of traditions. But our Gadamerian perspective
keeps us from Pannenberg's conclusion that in universal history
we have attained the nature of truth. Such a conclusion, reflecting the tradition's forgetfulness, conceives of truth as something
(even if by anticipation). It identifies a disclosive moment with
the matter itself. It belies the radically finite and historical character of truth's occurrence, mistaking a moment in history's disclosure for a discursive grasp of the matter itself.
The truth of God and humanity is disclosed in the history of
Christian belief and expression. Human finitude never grasps its
"object" but is grasped by it in the transmission of traditions.
New historical contexts disclose and conceal. While their insights
may be treasured in the tradition's transmission, no moment
within the tradition grasps the matter with discursive clarity. The
Truth at issue is the divine mystery, a mystery spoken but concealed within its effective history.
For example, Aquinas' appropriation of the faith within the
horizon of the Aristotelian tradition, as it came to him through
Avicenna and Maimonides, allowed Thomas to think the divine
mystery through the essence-existence distinction. In this context he could think of the divine reality as that Being in Whom
38 Martin Heidegger, " On the Essence of Truth," in Martin Heidegger:
Basic Writings, 121.
39 BQT 2 :2-21.

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being and essence coincide. Thomas could think of creation
through the Platonic category of participation, but participation
in being rather than essence.40
All of this remains a rich and disclosive moment in the tradition. But one must eschew any notion that Aquinas' distinction
attains the reality itself, a discursive grasp of the nature of God's
relationship with creation. This says too much. If one might
borrow from the notion of analogy, the divine mystery disclosed
in Aquinas' distinction is appropriately grasped only in negation.
It discloses only in the appreciation that it does not grasp the
reality itself.
D) The Unity of Truth
What then of the unity of truth, the unity of the transmission
of traditions, the unity of Christian belief across the ages? Pannenberg argues that Christianity's claim to be the truth requires
a unified view of reality. His conception of universal history
meets that requirement. But if we reject Pannenberg's notion of
the truth how can there be unity?
What unites the Christian tradition is what gets interpreted
in every age. The texts (Scripture, dogma, doctrine), rituals
( eucharist, sacraments), praxis, etc. which are elements in every
appropriation of the faith constitute the tradition's unity, the
unity of truth. The world of Christian belief is constantly changing in history. Yet there are perennial elements, things present in
every age. Each appropriation of the faith is precisely an application (interpretation) of these texts and practices in a new historical horizon. Thus Christians of every age participate in a
common language (speech and praxis) and that commonality is
the unity of Christian truth.
E) Error
Since human history is finite and sinful, every age's appropriation of the faith conceals and distorts as it discloses. Recognizing
4 0 David Burrell, Knowing the Unknown God (Notre Dame: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1986). Burrell's book shows how the work of Avicenna
and Maimonides prepared the way for Aquinas' conception of God.

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this requires a complex relationship with the tradition which
simultaneously respects, believes, and suspects what has been.
My comments thus far have emphasized the tradition as the
vehicle of truth. But our contemporary horizon of appropriation
discloses the distortive elements of tradition, leading to a hermeneutic of suspicion. The Christian tradition not only carries within itself the promise of ideal community with God and among
humanity, an ideal against which to judge social, economic, and
political conditions. The Christian tradition has also appropriated
and, thereby, abetted oppressive elements of the societies in which
it exists. Scriptural and theological apologies for slavery are a
classic example. Today feminist and liberation theologies, drawing on sources from both within and without the tradition, challenge the Church to recognize and rid itself of oppressive structures and ideology.
In more traditional fashion, the Church has found it necessary
to exclude forms of speech and behavior it finds inconsistent with
the tradition. It is to be anticipated, given humanity's finite and
sinful condition, that the need for such judgments will occur.
But two thousand years of experience also show that such ecclesial
judgments have proved both correct and reformable. One need
only consider how many Modernist heresies are now accepted as
orthodox, or the rehabilitation of Nestorius. 41
The point I would like to suggest with these observations about
error is that in all cases there exists no Archimedean vantage
point from which to render a judgment of truth. Error emerges
and is dealt with through an inner-ecclesial conversation, a conversation that frequently continues long after participants consider the issue resolved. Disputes over error, from questions of
orthodoxy to orthopraxis, from left and from right, are inevitable
within the history of the transmission of traditions. It seems to
this writer that a sense of the mysterious nature of what is going
forth in the history of the transmission of traditions ought to
give all believers pause about the certainty and finality of judgments about error.
41 Aloys Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition (Atlanta:
Press, 1975), 559-568.

John Knox

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F) A Concluding Word
In these brief remarks I have attempted to think with the tradition from within a new context, i.e. within a perspective suggested
by the thought of Pannenberg, Heidegger, and Gadamer. It seems
to me that Pannenberg's use of Gadamer to offer an account of
the history of the transmission of traditions is a significant contribution to the contemporary theological dialogue. Adopting
Pannenberg's position, but rejecting his move to universal history, has allowed us to appropriate in a new manner the central
Christian belief that God, revealed in Jesus, remains mystery. We
are creatures of truth, not its masters.

MOLTMANN'S POST-MODERN
MESSIANIC CHRISTOLOGY:
A REVIEW DISCUSSION
PAUL

0

1

D. MOLNAR

St. Johns University
Jamaica, New York

VER TWENTY-FIVE years ago Jiirgen Moltmann's
response to Karl Barth's suggestion that it might be
wise to " accept the doctrine of the immanent trinity
of God " 2 indicated the future of his theology: " in studying
C.D. at these points I always lost my breath. I suspect you are
right but I cannot as yet or so quickly enter into this right."
Moltmann believed he could present the " economic Trinity " in
such a way that " in the foreground, and then again in the background, it would be open to an immanent Trinity ... the Holy
Spirit is first the Spirit of the raising of the dead and then as
such the third person of the Trinity." 3
Moltmann's The Way of Jesus Christ reflects the same onesidedness that Barth had criticized in his theology of hope, and
this predicament leads to his own distinct messianic christology,
as we shall see. This third volume in Moltmann's systematic
theology, following his Trinity and the Kingdom and God in
1 The Way of J esits Christ: Christo logy fo Messianic Dimensions. By J iirgen
Moltmann. Translated by Margaret Kohl (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, a division of HarperCollins Publishers, 1990). Pp. vii + 388. $24.95.
This volume has a name index only. The Way of J esits Christ will henceforth
be cited in the text of this article by page numbers within parentheses, without
further qualification.
2 Karl Barth Letters 1961-1968, ed. Jurgen Fangmeier and Hinrich Stoevesandt, trans. and ed. by Geoffrey W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans,
1981)' p. 175.
3 Ibid., p. 348. Barth's Church Dogmatics is usually abbreviated as C.D.

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Creation,4 is intended to lead to a fourth volume on Redemption.
Like Moltmann's other works it is tightly written, difficult, intriguing and informative. His writing is clear and his position
certainly is developed with a commendable systematic rigor.
Throughout this book, which contains seven chapters with clear
headings indicating the topics to be treated, the reader is compelled to admire Moltmann's ability to weave together immense
amounts of scriptural and systematic data without losing his own
position in the process. While the wealth of information alone
makes this book worth studying, there is much more than information here.
Yet the problem with this book is apparent throughout, i.e.,
Moltmann attempts to reconceive christology not from a superior
knowledge of the person and work of Jesus Christ as presented
in scripture but from the community's experience of Jesus Christ
in the present. Hence he begins his own " pneumatological
christology " with the experience of discipleship (xiv) and argues
against the traditional christologies, on the basis of " Christopraxis" which he says is "the source from which christology
springs " ( 41). But can we say that our discipleship is the
"source" of christology when, according to Matt. 16 :17, flesh
and blood did not disclose who Jesus was-rather, this was revealed by God? This substitution of experience for a real action
of the trinity within history is the weakness of Moltmann's bold
attempt to revise christology. 5 I hope to show how this problem
affects Moltmann's method and conclusions. While I agree with
Moltmann's intention to present a christology which makes sense
in a post-modern environment, I hope to illustrate that by beginning with experience rather than with the Word of God revealed,
4 Jiirgen Moltmann, God in Creation: A New Theology of Creation and the
Spirit of God (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1985), pp. xv-365. Hereafter cited within the text of the article as Creation. J iirgen Moltmann, The
Trinity and the Kingdom: The Doctrine of God (San Francisco: Harper and
Row, 1981), pp. xvi-256. Hereafter cited within the text of the article as
Trinity.
5 As I indicated in Theological Studies vol. 51 (p. 684), this is also a serious predicament in his theology of the trinity and of creation.

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he is unable to escape the " J esuology " which he criticizes in
Rahner and the metaphysical view that " de-historicizes " the
events of Christ's life which he criticizes in Barth.
Method

Moltmann' s synthetic method attempts to integrate various
perspectives in order to find a holistic view of christology that
will overcome traditional metaphysical and more modern anthropological errors. His goal is to cease thinking of Christ " statically, as one person in two natures or as a historical personality"
(xiii) and instead to have a "doxological" christology grounded
on " the experience of men and women who follow Christ" (xiv).
For Moltmann, anyone who follows Christ will discover who he
really is and this cannot be based on the christological dogma of
the " patristic church " but on " the histories of the biblical tradition " (xv). Seeking " new interpretations of Christ " relevant
for the present, this christology, which itself is on the way toward
the consummation [as the title suggests] and is thus limited and
conditioned, represents a transition from metaphysical to historical and now to a post-modern christology " which places human
history ecologically in the framework of nature." This "newer
thinking takes up the old metaphysical thinking again, under the
conditions of ' historical thinking ', and in a cosmological perspective " and " integrates human history in the natural conditions in
which it is embedded " (xvi).
Among the many difficulties that follow from Moltmann's
method is the idea that " Jesus is Lord because God has raised
him from the dead. His existence as the Lord is to be found in
God's eschatological act in him, which we call raising from the
dead " ( 40). This very thinking refuses to admit that Jesus is
Lord because Jesus is the Lord as the pre-existent Word who
became flesh without surrendering his deity, as Augustine rightly
put it. 6 For Moltmann, Jesus' pre-existence as Son can only mean
6Augustine, The Enchiridion (Chicago: Regnery Gateway, 1961), # xxxv:
" He made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Himself the form of a
servant, not losing or lessening the form of God. And, accordingly, He was

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that in their mutual experience, the child Jesus and Abba " discover themselves ... In his relationship to Jesus, God becomes
' Abba ' ... this mutual relationship is constitutive for both persons and precedes the history they share " ( 143). Here Moltmann's own metaphysics of "relationality ", which cannot speak
of Jesus' divinity in an ontological sense but only as the power of
the resurrection working in his life, defines pre-existence by the
man Jesus' historical experience of God the Father. While we
are bound to the event of the resurrection to know God, Jesus'
existence as God is traced by scripture and the tradition to his
eternal sonship and not simply to the historical event of God's
having raised him from the dead. God actually existed as the
Lord prior to this event. 7
According to Moltmann's understanding, we meet a Jesus
who cannot have been the self-sufficient Lord of the universe even
while a man on earth who suffered and died for us. Rather, because "The economic Trinity not only reveals the immanent
Trinity; it also has a retroactive effect on it"
160),
Jesus actually reveals that suffering is part of God's loving nature from eternity (173ff.; Trinity, 57, 83). Any real notion of
Lordship applying to God's love revealed in Christ is reinterpreted by the experience of suffering drawing God into the fluctuations of creation itself.8 In his christology this leads Moltmann to argue that " What happens on Golgotha reaches into the
very depths of the Godhead and therefore puts its impress on the
trinitarian life of God in eternity " ( 173) ; since the historical
event and " the heart of the triune God " must be seen together
both made less and remained equal, being both in one, as has been said : but
He was one of these as Word, and the other as man." P. 44.
7 This same difficulty exists in the heart of Moltmann's doctrine of the
Trinity where he argues that "The Son is the Logos in relation to the world.
The Logos is the Son in relation to the Father" (Trinity, 108), and thus introduces the world into the being of God in eternity. Hence he is unable to
maintain with Athanasius, Augustine and Aquinas that the Word of God is
identical with his eternal Sonship.
s For Barth, God was deeply affected by creatures but not because of any
mutually conditioning relationship between himself and another. See, e.g., C.D.
2, 1, pp. 307ff., 312, 496, and esp. 510-511.

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"in a single perspective" (Trinity, 31) there can be no distinction between the immanent and economic trinity, and the essence
of divine sovereignty becomes suffering love rather than lordship.
This problem surfaces in many ways throughout this work; we
shall briefly explore some of them.

Jesus' Person and Work and The Two-Natures Doctrine
Moltmann argues that " Jesus' personhood does not exist in
isolation, per se; nor is it determined and fixed from eternity. It
acquires its form in living relationships and reciprocities ... "
( 136). The metaphysical concepts of nature or essence are not
helpful in understanding the person of Jesus because they define
"divinity and humanity by way of mutual negations ... finiteinfinite, mortal-immortal, passible-impassible ... " While the
Protestant concept of Christ's threefold office is one-sided and
the " more modern (and especially feminist) concepts about Jesus'
being as being-in-relationship take us a step further" Moltmann
will integrate various images to find "a fuller, richer portrait of
the person of Jesus Christ " ( 136) .
But the problem with this "holistic" method is clearly in
evidence here. Believing that the kingdom of glory is a higher
level of being which embraces nature and grace and will complete
both of these (Creation, 8) Moltmann contends that Jesus becomes the Lord as he experiences the Father (Abba) and as his
personhood acquires its form in relation to others. Hence, instead
of seeing Jesus as " true God or true human being " in his
dialogue with Judaism, Moltmann's christology will present an
"integral Christ" i.e., " One who will come" ( 4). "Anyone
who confesses Jesus as ' the Christ of God' is recognizing the
Christ-in-his-becoming, the Christ on the way, the Christ in the
movement of God's eschatological history " ( 33). Christ's titles
do not signify one who is the Lord who freely acts in our favor
but instead "God's eschatological history with Jesus" (33).
Thus " Even the raised Christ himself is ' not yet' the pantocrator" ( 32). The problem here is that the Christ who will
come is precisely the Incarnate Word who has already come. To

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speak of an integral Christ who will come rather than one who is
true God and true man means that we are left to choose one over
the other, when no such choice is actually required or possible.
This problem is also in evidence in Moltmann's conception of
the messianic secret: " Who he truly is, is to be manifested in his
death and resurrection" (138). Although we cannot be sure that
Jesus had hope for the resurrection Moltmann writes, " Whether
it is a post-Easter addition or not, the only path that leads out of
this total death is the invisible hope for the resurrection." Nonetheless " the ' messianic secret ' is a secret even for him himself "
(138). Hence Jesus' titles are not crucial to his history but" His
history is to provide the key to the titles " ( 138), and this history
is void of any substantial deity or implication that even Jesus
knew what the messianic secret might be. From this thinking
Moltmann concludes that " Jes us' true ' messianic secret ' is therefore the secret of his suffering. He did not ' claim ' the messiahship; he suffered it " and in the obedience thus learned, he " experienced himself as Son of God and messiah" (139). Clearly,
Jesus' Sonship and his being as messiah here represent a process
Hence Jesus is "the
(of suffering) which he "undergoes."
messiah on the way" and " the messiah in his becoming." " Jesus
does not possess the messiahship; he grows into it, as it were,
since he is moulded by the events of the messianic time which he
experiences" (139). While Moltmann wants to retain Jesus'
Sonship ( 166) his very definition of that Sonship is subject to
the nature of suffering love rather than the other way around. As
such it cannot be a self-sufficient act of God which is concealed
in the crucifixion and revealed to faith in the resurrection. It is
only in this process sense that Moltmann admits that, at the end,
Jesus "knew he was God's Son" (167).
Moltmann seeks " to come to grips with the specific experience
of Jesus' history of suffering and death" (139) by formulating
an " orthodox " adoptionism. But his attempt fails because he cannot ground the validity of the titles in the history of Jesus, God
and man; rather it is in light of his suffering and "experience of
God on the cross that the community of his people will determine
what the title ' Christ ' has to mean when it is applied to Jesus "

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(138-9). Hence, for Moltmann "The same Christ Jesus is not
the same for everyone, because people are different" ( 36) and
Jesus' actual resurrection becomes merged with the experiences
of the disciples, as we shall see.
Here Moltmann is consistent. On the basis of experience Jesus
is becoming the messiah in mutual coordination with the community, and this becoming itself can also be detached from his activity as the Son and located within the cosmos : " The epistemological foundation for the cosmic Christ ... is ... the Easter
experience" (281). Thus the power of the resurrection is hidden
in the cosmos (241, 280) and Christ's death itself is seen as a
transition which is already resurrection (249ff.). For Moltmann
the resurrection brings a " surplus " and added " value " to
Christ's death which Barth and Anselm missed by making reconciliation the " quintessence of soteriology; " but he concludes that
"Justifying faith is not yet the goal and end of Christ's history ...
it is the beginning ... " Since atonement is integrated into the
"event of the divine righteousness" ( 187), the new thing resurrection brings is not simply our reconciliation with God but a new
creation which is " more than the first creation " ( 188). By detaching new creation from the event of reconciliation, Moltmann
can describe our justification as only the beginning of Christ's
history and locate it in creation itself as it evolves beyond the
historical Jesus.
Moltmann also explains the differences between Jesus and John
the Baptist, arguing that " they are based on Jesus' unique baptismal experience" (89). Here Moltmann separates God's Word
and Spirit: " Jesus is uniquely endowed with the Spirit " and
"this leads to the divine Sonship" (90). We see this especially
in his treatment of Matt. 11 :27. He contends that "Until the
hour in Gethsemane, Jesus in his prayers always addressed God
exclusively and with incomparable intimacy as ' Abba ', my
Father. This suggests that the ' revelation ' to Jesus about which
Matt. 11 :27 speaks should be related to his baptism ... " (90).
The "no one knows the Son except the Father ... " thus means
that the man Jesus received a revelation from the Father; in addition, only the Gospel of John " talks about so exclusive and re-

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ciprocal a knowing between Jesus and God the Father . . . The
' Abba ' name for God gives Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom
a new quality, compared with John the Baptist ... " (90). The
problem here, however, is that Matt. 11 :27 really intends to say
that as the Son, Jesus is of the same being as the Father and so
he can, as no other man can, reveal God to those whom he chooses.
Significantly, Moltmann does not say that Jesus is God's only
Son who alone is the Way, the Truth and the Life; rather he
eliminates Jesus' eternal Sonship in this very thinking by explicitly arguing that the difference between John the Baptist and Jesus
is to be traced to a new quality in his preaching of the kingdom;
i.e., it is the kingdom of" the justice of mercy." Hence the source
of this "new quality" in Moltmann's thought is to be found in
the ' Abba' name for God rather than in Jesus' unique relation
with the Father as the Son who is God. Failing to distinguish
the immanent and the economic trinity leads Moltmann to ground
the uniqueness of the kingdom in Jesus' experience in relation to
the Baptist and then in his naming God Abba rather than his
being as God and man. Instead of arguing forcefully that Jesus
is the light of the world (Jn. 8 :12, 9 :5, 12-46) and does not have
to become this somehow or somewhere as conditioned by human
experience, Moltmann is led consistently to compromise God's
freedom by arguing that Jesus' personhood acquires its form from
his relationships ad extra. Hence Jesus cannot be the light of the
world even if we fail to recognize or to acknowledge this ; he
changes as we change.
Regarding miracles Moltmann contends that " In the context
of the new creation, these ' miracles ' [of the kingdom] are not
miracles at all " ( 107) and that " Jes us himself grows ... beyond
himself ... into the One whom he will be, God's messiah " ( 111).
Hence
The divine power of healing does not come from his side alone . . .
The heatings are stories about faith just as much as they are stories
about Jesus. They are stories about the reciprocal relationships between Jesus and the faith of men and women. Jesus is dependent on
this faith, just as the sick are dependent on the power that emanates
from Jesus ( 112, emphasis mine).

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Yet, a Jesus who is dependent upon faith in order to have and to
exercise God's saving power is not the Jesus of the N.T. who was
accused of blasphemy for forgiving the sins of the paralytic and
then curing him; this saving faith looks away from itself toward
the sole source of salvation, i.e., Jesus himself. But Moltmann
will have none of this because for him the Protestant view of
justification is too one-sided ( 123-4, 186) and its fear of Pelagianism is "misplaced" (96). Thus, God's Spirit acts "beyond"
the person of Christ (94) and God's lordship points beyond itself (97). Here, detaching the Spirit from the Word means that
the lordship of God, who remains one in his actions ad extra, can
actually point beyond itself rather than toward the sovereign act
of grace by which our salvation, now accomplished in the history
of Jesus Christ, will one day be revealed. This explains why
Moltmann redefines original sin as violence and argues for what
can only be described as a modified view of works-righteousness
(127-37). In this way visible peace and justice can be equated
with salvation so that this power can be seen and described without faith.
There is no genuine realized eschatology governing Moltmann's thought since "justification is not a unique event ... It
is a process" (183, 186). Hence, "If the whole salvation of the
world has 'already been accomplished' in Christ's death on the
cross as Barth maintained, then the New Testament's futurist assertions about salvation are meaningless ... Christ's parousia
adds nothing new to salvation's perfecting" (318). Here Moltmann overlooks the distinction between justification and sanctification which Barth made to avoid the idea that our justification,
as a divine and human event in Christ's history, in any way needs
supplementation to be effective for us. Consequently our completely new lives as those converted to God by grace are really
hidden with Christ in God (Col. 3.3) and still need to grow and
eventually to be revealed when Christ returns. By contrast, Moltmann detaches our new life (the new creation) from Christ and
locates it in an " End-time process" which the resurrection set
in motion. This constantly leads him into pantheism such as when
he reinterprets the Nicene "begotten not made" to mean that

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" Creation Wisdom" appeared in the risen Christ, i.e., " She
[wisdom] is therefore also ine:ristant, or inherent, in all things "
(282) ; the risen Christ is "efficacious in ' the heart of creation,' "
and " in the human victims of world history" as well as "in
victimized nature too" (279) ; "the cosmic Wisdom-Christ will
come forth from the heart of creation" (280). This same thing
happens in his presentation of God's sabbath rest ( 302, 327;
Creation, 280-4). Instead of understanding the cosmic process in
light of Christ as he believes he should ( 118, 132, 251) Moltmann finds Christ within history and nature (279ff.). To that
extent he cannot distinguish the wisdom of God from the movements of the world and argues that the world is evolving toward
God (291; Creation, 233f., 204f.) ; that "nature and grace are
so closely interwoven that it is impossible to talk about the one
without talking about the other; " and that " the Spirit and the
Word-wait and strive in all things for the liberation of them all "
(291 ).
According to Moltmann, Christ is reconciler and ruler until " he
can hand over the completed kingdom to God the Father ' so that
God may be all in all ' ( 1 Cor. 15.25-28) ... for it is only with
Christ's parousia that 'the kingdom that shall have no end' begins" (319). This frequently repeated thinking (182, 191, 194)
stands in contrast with the many N.T. passages that speak of the
fact that the kingdom that shall have no end has already begun in
Christ's history, even as it was grounded in God's eternal election
to be for all people, and will be completed for us upon his return
just because he is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.
"Death is swallowed up in victory" ( 1 Cor. 15.54) in Christ.
Moltmann's thinking leads directly to the doctrine of the zimzum with its inherent pantheism: Creation originally refers to a
shrinkage process in God and his " issuing" forth (Creation, 87;
Trinity, 109-10); Redemption means "God derestricts himself
... so that he may be' all in all'" (329). For Moltmann "the
moment in which time enters eternity is the mirror image of when
time issued from eternity" (328) and "Eternity is one of life's
dimensions: it is life in depth. It means the intensity of the lived
life, not its endless extension " ( 331). While Moltmann correct-

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ly asserts that eternity is not an endless extension of time, he
falsely describes eternity as "one. of life's dimensions" i.e., the
dimension of depth; just as he originally incorporated nothingness into the Godhead by conceiving it as the condition for God's
act of creation. Since we are still within the sphere of anthropology and cosmology, however, when experiencing "life's dimensions " any hope built upon this foundation can only be a
projection based on self-experience; it cannot have the unshakable certitude of a knowledge gained from the Holy Spirit enlightening us about our past history as it was forever changed in
Christ's history and our new future which will be revealed when
Christ returns and consummates our salvation.

Anthropological and Metaphysical Christology
After noting the usual modern critic:isms of the traditional
christologies Moltmann rejects Barth's incarnation christology
( 52ff.) because " It is drawn from a general metaphysics of the
world " ( 53) even though Barth's entire theology [especially his
view of knowledge of God as a miracle] actually reflects the fact
that, for him, all genuine knowledge of God comes only from
Christ through the Spirit. Thus, it is an event which takes place
in faith as one's understanding is conformed by God himself to
the Word Incarnate. Moltmann follows Pannenberg, however,
and contends that Barth's metaphysical thinking supplants Jesus'
pathos with divine apathy, and that Barth's metaphysical distinction of creator/ creature eventually reduces christology to anthropology. For Moltmann " It is more appropriate, then, to start
from Jesus' special relationship to God [Abba] ... in order to
elicit from this mutual relationship between the messianic child
and the divine Father what is truly divine and what is truly
human" (53). The N.T.
is not concerned about the relationship between Christ's human and
his divine nature. It is concerned with Jesus' relationship as child
to the Father ... It is only the trinitarian concept of God which
makes it possible to understand God for Jesus' sake in his relationship as Father, and Jesus for God's sake as the child and Son of the
Father ( 53).

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Moltmann feels that the reason Nicaea saw Christ as king
(pantocrator), after the manner of the imperium, was because
orthodoxy was "in line with the emperor's concern for a unified imperial religion " ( 54). A " theocratic " unity of church
and Christian imperium led to chiliastic christology which sees
Christ triumphing over " evil and death-not to speak of his
enemies on earth, the Jews, the heathen and the heretics" ( 54).
Now that this theocratic union and the chiliastic dream have
vanished, we should abandon "the untimely dream of the pantocrator and the imperial church in the thousand years' empire "
( 54) and turn to the "one crucified." Must this not give way
to a christology of history beneath the cross? Moltmann opposes
both chiliastic christology and anthropological christology which
arose in opposition to it. Modern christology from below (J esuology) arose in a modern society where, for the first time, there
was a world constructed by " the will of human beings " detached
from " the order and rhythms of nature " ( 56). Modern society
no longer respected nature as did agrarian societies and exercised
mastery over nature [since " human interests " were its main
concern], thereby creating an identity crisis. Since the Enlightenment the humans, who were lords over the earth, needed humanization. J esuology sought to accomplish this by turning to the
subject. Turning to the" historical Jesus" therefore, made metaphysical christology irrelevant. With this shift from metaphysical
to anthropological christology " Salvation was no longer to be
found in the deification of human beings and creation. It was now
seen in the inner identity of the self-divided human being " ( 57-8).
Christ's incarnation, resurrection and miracles "no longer fitted
into the world picture of human domination over nature." Still,
Jesus' sinlessness was " like a divine ' miracle of love ' in the
moral world ... " ( 58).
This turn to the subject made knowledge utilitarian rather
than participatory and shaped Kant's view of doctrine with the
question: " ' Can anything practical be deduced from it? ' " Therefore " the divine nature of Christ and the eternal Logos were replaced by ' the idea of mankind in its morally complete perfection', which Jesus embodied." Jesus became " 'the personified

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idea of the principle of Good,'" (59). Here Moltmann shows a
profound grasp of the Enlightenment and the turn to the subject
which began with Kant; his presentation of this is brilliant. Yet
as we are seeing, his own christology is unable to overcome his
very solid critiques of Kant, Schleiermacher and Rabner because
it also begins from human experience. To that extent it precludes
any real sovereignty for God at the outset by attempting to integrate views which, according to scripture, cannot in fact be
integrated!
According to Moltmann " modern J esuology " replaces the
the question of essence with the question of utility and can be
seen in the theology of Schleiermacher and Rabner. Since, for
Schleiermacher, religion is grounded in the "feeling of absolute
dependence " Jesus is seen to differ from the rest of us " through
the unremitting potency of his God consciousness, which was the
veritable existence of God in him,'" (59). Accordingly," Christ's
divine nature becomes the existence of God in Jesus' consciousness" ( 59-60). As Jes us is the Redeemer because he is the prototype of human God-consciousness Moltmann objects that,
for Schleiermacher, Jesus' suffering merely corroborates his Godconsciousness and adds nothing new.
Because God-consciousness,as the feeling of absolute dependence, is
inherent in every human being, in however clouded and reduced a
form, the Christ idea is inherent in every human being too . . . ' The
Being of God' in Jesus is hence his perfect likeness to God. Jesus
is what every human being ought to be . . . ( 60).
Thus Moltmann justifiably concludes against Schleiermacher that
this "modern Jesuology" has made Jesus the "projection
screen " for all the fantasies of " true " human nature ( 61).
Moltmann argues that an " analogous constitution " is given
to Christ in Rahner's later writings. His "ascendence christology " gives a " mystical reversal " to his earlier " descendence
christology " setting it in the context of anthropology, " as its
perfecting." Thus the human being is human when God communicates himself (as in the incarnation) and when human beings
arrive at their true selves " God has communicated himself to
them ... In Christ, God's self-immanence and human self-trans-

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cendence coincide " ( 61). The idea of Christ in the " general
make-up of human existence " allows people to recognize Jesus as
the Christ. The " seeking idea of Christ " allows everyone to
" recognize the Christ in Jesus, if they discover in Jesus the
unique, supreme and perfect fulfilment of human existence in its
complete commitment to God ... To be a Christian is accordingly for Rahner to be explicitly human and to be human can mean
being an anonymous Christian " ( 62). Moltmann asserts that
Rahner's reversal of incarnational christology "into a christology
of self-transcendence " follows the views advanced by Kant and
Schleiermacher. " Rahner too ends up with Jesus, the perfect
image of God, because he equates ' the idea of Christ ' with fulfilled human existence " ( 62). Seeking to solve the " self-divided
human being " modern J esuology fails since it localizes salvation
in " the human heart; " salvation is thereby related to the inner
experience of self-transcendence but " not to the external conditions of society which evoke these inner experiences and crises. In
this respect it has to be termed idealistic " ( 63). While Moltmann certainly has recognized a malaise in modem christology
here, his " holistic " christology, which begins with experience,
does not solve it either.
This can be seen in Moltmann' s solution to the problem of
idealism. His objective referent is not Jesus Christ himself as
the author and finisher of faith but the external societal conditions which evoke inner experiences. This is significant. Moltmann's correction of modem Jesuology is to mold a Jesus according to his own questions: " Who really is Christ for the poor of
the Third World? and Who is Christ for us, when we make use
of their poverty for our own purposes?" "Who really is Christ
for us today, threatened as we are by the nuclear inferno?" (67)
And "Who really is Christ for dying nature and ourselves today? " Consequently, the new paradigm for christology includes
" the personal dimensions of modern J esuology; and they also
once more embrace the cosmological dimensions of the ancient
church's christology-this time on an ecological level" (68).
Clearly, Moltmann seeks to move beyond the impasse of a christology from above [this has " a general metaphysical theology as

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premise"] or from below [this has for its premise "a general
anthropology"] by turning to "the more complex processes of
coming to know Jesus Christ" (69). Hence "Jesus is known as
the Christ of God for the sake of the God of promise, and in this
process God is known as the Father of Jesus Christ" (69).
While Moltmann says that we must look at Jesus' humanity to
know his divinity and that we have to think of his divinity in
order to know his humanity, we have already seen that, since he
does not say that Jesus the man really is God in the flesh, and
since it is not Jesus in his actual uniqueness who is normative
for his christology, it seems quite clear that by divinity Moltmann means that the community ascribes a power to Jesus in
light of its post-Easter experiences.
This happens consistently in Moltmann's thinking. His own
adoptionist perspective cannot grant that Jesus is uniquely God
and man who, in this particular uniqueness, makes an absolute
claim on us any more than the J esuologists could. While Moltmann claims to overcome both Rahner and Barth, his own " metaphysical " christology of relationality dictates that he accept the
basic convictions of J esuology with the idea that he can overcome
its subjectivism in a synthesis which re-casts traditional christology from within the framework of the above-mentioned questions set by our modern situation. And his conclusions are invariably problematic. His own " eschatological christology " appeals directly to the N.T. against patristic and anthropological
christology ( 70). Such a christology sees a Christ who is on the
road and" in all the movements and changes of this history. God's
eschatological history with the world is at heart God's history with
Jesus, and Jesus' history with God. To be more precise: it is
the trinitarian history of the Father, the Son and the Spirit "
(71). Hence" the person of Jesus Christ changes and expands"
(71) and Jesus' fellowship with the poor, the sick, women and
Israel shows that he was also " dependent." Thus, Jesus' divine person, for Moltmann, is not identical with the fact that he
is a divine hypostasis as the Son or Word of God. Rather these
are trinitarian" relations in God ... divine self-relations in which
Jesus discovers and finds himself " ( 72). Here relationality

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leads Moltmann beyond the man Jesus who alone [as God's
eternal Word] is the answer to these questions, to the Spirit
which is suffering in the world's movements toward the future
(193; and Creation, 102) in virtue of a kenosis of the Spirit
(93f.). Instead of using metaphors from history [Christ's history]
to describe Christ's dying and rebirth, Moltmann uses metaphors
from nature (248). On the one hand this compromises the fact
that Christ actually died by claiming that "Christ's death pangs
are themselves the birth pangs of his new life" (249); he makes
the same claim for dying nature ( 194) and believes that even
after death we have a chance through faith to be saved ( 190).
On the other hand, since this is conceived as the Spirit giving
birth to Christ for eternal life, the Resurrection " does not interrupt the natural laws of mortal life " and "mortal life is open
for analogy with the wholly other, eternal life" (250).

Spirit Christology/Adoptionism
Moltmann's "pneumatological christology" illustrates how
his merging of the immanent and economic trinity issues in adoptionism. In spite of the fact that Irenaeus and others rejected
adoptionism from the very earliest years 9 and that adoptionism
was rejected again in its Arian form, Moltmann writes that
" The notion that there is an antithesis between an adoptionist
and a pre-existence christology is a nineteenth century invention " ( 74). Whereas the antithesis actually arose just because
seeing the truth that before all worlds Jesus was the eternal Son
of God excluded all subordinationism and adoptionism, Moltmann
asserts that Jesus' history " actually becomes the gospel" ( 7 5)
and that Jesus is essentially God's Son as a consequence of God's
Fatherhood embracing his whole existence. Christ does not become Son in time but is instead the messianic Son from the " beginning" i.e., his birth from the Holy Spirit (84). Here Moltmann's own attempt to overcome Jesuology confuses the Spirit's
action ad extra in connection with Jesus' birth with what is sup9

See Adolf von Harnack, History of Dogma, vol. 1, 19lff., and Henry Chad-

wick, The Early Church, 86-87, and 114.

MOLTMANN'S

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posed to be recognized as a unique spiration in eternity. Hence,
following Pannenberg, he believes the virgin birth is an " aetiological myth" (82) because he cannot "see any longer why
Jesus as Son of God should come into the world in a different
way from anyone else ... we do not have to assume any
natural intervention " ( 85). Moreover " The continuing presence of the Spirit in Jes us is the true beginning of the kingdom
of God ... This presence of the Spirit is the authority behind his
proclamation" and " The divine Spirit who indwells Jesus, initiates and makes possible the relationship of the Father to the
Son, and of the Son to the Father" (92). Consequently Jesus'
temptations recorded in the synoptics mean that when the tempter
" assails Jesus' divine Sonship ... What is in question here is not
a metaphysical divine Sonship, but the messianic kingdom of
Jesus ... " (92).
But that is exactly the problem. Moltmann separates the
messianic kingdom from the divine Son who is identical with the
man Jesus who was tested by Satan; yet in the traditional doctrine of the Trinity a clear order was seen in the immanent
Trinity in order to avoid just this conclusion. Moltmann displaces Jesus' divine Sonship with the power and authority of the
Spirit working ad extra. Whereas the possibility of the relationship of the Father to the Son consists in the fact that before creation, he was eternally begotten by the Father in the unity of the
Holy Spirit, Moltmann argues, in accordance with his belief that
the economic trinity has a retroactive effect on the immanent
trinity, that the Spirit who indwells the man Jesus makes possible
Jesus' eternal Sonship. This explains why Moltmann does not
trace the true beginning of the kingdom of God to an act of one
whose being already was that of God himself before its occurrence
in time and then to Jesus' miraculous birth from the virgin Mary.
It also explains why Moltmann believes that "Filled with the
Spirit, Jesus becomes the messianic Son of God " ( 93) and that
the person of the Son is actually formed because of Jesus' experience of God as Abba.
Here the problem of Moltmann's method is clearly in evidence.
For if the N.T. accounts of the virgin birth can be described as

686

PAUL D. MOLNAR

myths accounting for Jesus' origin rather than descriptions of
" biological facts " then Moltmann can hardly avoid making their
content the experiences of those who wrote them. To accept the
idea of myth here means that we accept the idea that God is defined by the experience of believers. Hence, on the one hand it is
perfectly logical for Moltmann to substitute his own belief that
Jesus is eternally born by the Holy Spirit as his divine mother
(83) for the Nicene belief that he was begotten by the Father
" before all worlds," and to deduce from this birth metaphor his
own unique emanationist pantheism. On the other hand it is entirely logical for him not to trace Jesus' origin to his eternal relationship with the Father and Spirit but to his " birth from the
Holy Spirit" (84).
Instead of allowing his thought to be governed by the historical event of the Incarnation described as a miracle by the N.T.
Moltmann argues that our " experience of the Spirit " allows us
to grasp the meaning of Christ's birth as "non-virginal" in order
to emphasize his true humanity. Yet that is the irony in his
christology; he genuinely wishes to stress Christ's true humanity
but cannot, because of his method. Christ's true humanity was
marked by the fact that it was taken from the virgin Mary by an
act of God in the person of his Son through the power of the
Holy Spirit. Hence his humanity was the humanity of the Word;
the idea that a non-virginal understanding of Christ's birth protects his true humanity results from a docetic idea of his deity
grounded in an experience of the Spirit rather than in the mystery
and miracle of Jesus' own unique history.
It is just here that Moltmann's adoptionist perspective eradicates a genuinely pre-existent Sonship for Jesus Christ and the
Holy Spirit. Hence
The Spirit does not ' create ' ; it ' engenders' and ' brings forth ', as
the birth metaphor says. If the messiah is called the Son of God,
then to be consistent we have to talk about the Spirit as his divine
' mother ' . . . The birth of the messianic Son of God ' from the
Spirit ' is the beginning and the sign of hope for the rebirth of human
beings and the cosmos through God's Shekinah (86).

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This is why the feminine side of God is to be sought in the Holy
Spirit rather than in Mary. Here Moltmann has merged the
unique action of the Holy Spirit in the history of salvation into
the inner trinitarian relations which existed before creation and
would have existed even if there had been no creation. Thus, instead of admitting that Mary is the mother of God in time, Moltmann argues that the Holy Spirit is the divine mother of the Son
and actually changes the creed by speaking about "the eternal
generation and birth of the Son.mo The implications of this problem for the contemporary discussion of language for God cannot
be discussed now, except to note that such a change in the creed
here leads exactly to the conclusions which the Nicene-Constantinopolitan creed sought to avoid, i.e., a reconstruction of the
image of God in the image of humanity. Consequently, it opens
the door both to polytheism and to pantheism.
Resurrectiow

How does Moltmann's view of the resurrection exhibit the difficulty which we have been exploring? He writes :
This confession [of the resurrection] says what Jesus is [Lord], on
the basis of his resurrection, but it does not say who he is. Only the
living remembrance of his life history and his message can say that.
That is why the earthly history had also to be brought into living
memory after Easter. Easter determines the form of belief in Jesus
Christ, but not its content. The content is determined by the history
of Jesus' life ( 140).
Any separation of form and content here would have to mean that
God's grace had become dependent upon and merged with history
itself. Making this distinction Moltmann can argue that "what is
most important for Jesus is his quarrel with poverty, sickness,
demonism and forsakenness, not his quarrel with the teaching of
the Pharisees and Sadducees" (99) whereas one cannot separate
ethical questions from truth questions. While Jesus brought the
gospel to the poor, Moltmann actually believes Jesus "discovers
10 Trinity, p. 167. Here there can be no distinction between God's eternal
self-sufficient love as Father, Son and Spirit and his free will ad intra and to
create a world distinct from himself; this is the kind of careful distinction
made by Athanasius.

688

PAUL D. MOLNAR

the kingdom of the poor, which is God's kingdom" ( 100) and
that Jesus " discovers the kingdom of God among the poor. The
poor need him, and he depends on them " ( 100) ; his view of
ethics ( 131 ) and of nature and grace ( 291 ) reflect the same mutual conditioning.
Whereas the traditional New Testament presentations view the
resurrection as an event in the life of Jesus which is the foundation for Jesus' Easter appearances and for the disciples' commission, Moltmann separates Word and Spirit once again and argues
that faith is not based solely on the resurrection appearances but is
just as strongly motivated by the " experience" of the Spirit.
Hence believing in the resurrection means being possessed by the
Spirit and participating in the age to come rather than believing
in a fact. But, having rejected Barth's view which he believes
reduces the resurrection to God's sovereignty and "de-historicizes
it" (231) and having accepted Troeltsch's axioms that a study
of history involves probability, correlation and analogy (while
rejecting his "pantheism "), what does Moltmann mean by the
resurrection?
He neither intends to adopt Bultmann's famous view nor does
he intend to embrace Troeltsch's historicism (228-9). Yet his
own starting point (experience) for analyzing the resurrection
causes him to reach the conspicuously docetic conclusion that
" Resurrection means not a factum but a fieri-not what was once
done, but what is in the making: the transition from death to
life " ( 241). Ironically Barth's view is emphatically historical at
just that point, insisting that the resurrection was a free act of
God's grace (justification) which "did not follow from his
death" ( C.D. 4, 1, 302-304). If, however, the resurrection does
not refer to a fact, i.e., the fact of Jes us' Easter history, as Moltmann holds, then it can be detached from that unique history and
allowed to function as a principle of becoming which Christians
use to ·explain the transition from death to life. Moltmann argues
that the resurrection is the foundation that "discloses the future
and opens history" (214) and that when we talk about Christ's
resurrection we must talk about " a process of resurrection. This

MOLTMANN'S

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689

process has its foundation in Christ, its dynamic in the Spirit and
its future in the bodily new creation of all things " ( 241).
But what dictates the meaning here? Is it a process of openness to new life which we experience and then find confirmed by
Jesus' resurrection? Or is it the risen Lord himself? Moltmann
contends that if we see the resurrection as a process we can integrate the ideas of Barth, Bultmann, and Pannenberg to correct
their one-sidedness (242). In this integrated whole Moltmann
discovers that Christ's resurrection is not an exception in the
nexus of causality (243) ; it is the beginning of the gathering of
mortality into the " immortal interplay of the eternal presence of
God " ( 243). Looking at the resurrection of Christ " from the
perspective of nature" (250) Moltmann concludes that it does
not interrupt "natural laws of mortal life," for if this were the
case it would be a " meaningless miracle " ( 250). Instead the
whole quality of mortal life has changed and with it the laws of
its mortality. Accordingly, Moltmann concludes that the new
creation which begins with the resurrection " issues from the
cosmic annihilation of death" (252). Hence Christ's own death
is itself already his new life ( 248) . And since there is a power
of the resurrection even in the flesh, he identifies this as "the
power of surrender" (262) and-ignoring the problem of sinargues that " Love is ... the immanent power of resurrection in
the flesh " ( 263). In other words Moltmann has clearly detached
the power of the resurrection from the specific history of Jesus
Christ and made it a principle inherent in nature itself. Since
this leads him to the pantheistic idea that " loving and dying are
simply the immanent sides of the resurrection and eternal life "
(260) and to similar ideas expressed above it is clear that he
himself is unable to overcome the pantheism he criticized in
Troeltsch.
With the rest of Christendom Moltmann certainly asserts that
the resurrection " is an event that happened to the Christ who
died on the cross . . ." ( 213) but then asks : " is the resurrection
an event, or an interpretation of faith?" (227). He argues that
it is only in the " interrelation" of Christ's exaltation and death
that " the raising acquires its special meaning" ( 213). Accord-

690

PAUL D. MOLNAR

ingly, it does not acquire its special meaning from the miraculous
power of the immanent trinity intervening in history from outside
because miracles have already been explained as natural processes.
Here Moltmann's method cannot allow Christ's actual death and
resurrection to be normative; rather he argues that " The ancient
church's doctrine of the two natures will have to be taken up
..:mce again in the framework of the post-modern, ecological paradigm, and will have to be newly interpreted" (215). From where
does the new view emerge? Just as " Dying and death can be integrated ... if there is hope for resurrection of the body" (260)
so for Moltmann our new view of the two natures emerges from
experience within the new framework.
Given this approach, however, it is important to stress that
Moltmann offers a docetic interpretation of the event. Consequently, Paul saw Christ ( 1 Cor. 9.1) " apparently in the form of
an inner experience" (216). Paul's own" conversion story" included the vision of Jesus in accordance with the model of calling
applicable to the prophets. Consequently, this model is appropriate
to grasping the experiences of the women at the tomb and the
disciples in Galilee. But it is just here that Moltmann's framework has imposed his meaning on the texts. He argues that
resurrection is not a projection of faith because it is grounded in
" visionary phenomena " which have as their foundation the
" inner experience" of those who had them. The controlling factor
then is not Jesus' bodily resurrection and appearances during the
Easter history; rather " the ' seeing ' of the risen Christ became
faith" (218).
Indeed Moltmann argues that the " visionary phenomena "
were "associated with ecstatic experiences of the Spirit." Hence
the early Christian faith in the resurrection was not based solely on
Christ's appearances. It was just as strongly motivated, at the very
least, by the experience of God's Spirit ... Believing in Christ's
resurrection therefore does not mean affirming a fact. It means being
possessed by the life-giving Spirit (218).
The expressions " Christ appeared " and " was seen" do not then
refer to facts within history existing independently of our faith;
i.e., facts which actually govern our faith. Rather these expres-

MOLTMANN 1 S POST-MODERN

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691

sions represent " the theological interpretation of these phenomena; " these " christophany conceptions " speak of a glory of
the Lord which will appear only at the end of the world (219).
Those who experienced these christophanies " became apostles,
both women and men-Mary Magdalene and Paul and the rest.
The anticipatory beholding of the glory of God in the face of
Jesus Christ led directly to the call to the apostolate ... " (219).
Notice that the visionary experiences are a self-enclosed entity.
They are the substance which gives rise to resurrection language;
they are what is then described and finally they become the basis
for the call to the apostles.
Jesus, the risen Lord, is actually quite powerless to act in this
scheme since the real power comes from the christophanies themselves (cf. esp. 220) .11 The resurrection, which is the beginning
of the " new creation ", then is dependent upon and indistinguishable from the experiences which give rise to the various christophanies ( 220). Here we see the real reason why Moltmann insists that Barth has de-historicized the resurrection, i.e., Barth insists that the " new creation " is a completed event in Jesus' history in which we may share by the grace of God through faith;
hence it is to be distinguished from the experience of the disciples and our experiences as their historical foundation (C.D. 4,
1, 340-1). For Moltmann the empty tomb is the external sign
of Jesus' resurrection and "the resurrection itself " is " the interpretation of the experience of Christ's appearances " ( 222).
The empty tomb does not point to the fact that Jesus actually
rose from the dead; instead it is an eschatological symbol which
describes the disciples " experiences with Jesus " ( 222). Hence
Christ's resurrection cannot be seen as a totally new beginning
grounded in a sovereign act of God; rather " the resurrection of
11 Barth astutely describes previous attempts to grasp the resurrection as
subjective or objective visions as smacking "too strongly of an apologetic
to explain away the mystery and miracle attested in the texts" (C.D. 4, 1,
340). In addition Barth writes "Let those who would reject it [the empty
tomb] be careful-as in the case of the Virgin Birth-that they do not fall
into Docetism" (ibid.).

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

Christ is still dependent on its eschatological verification through
the new creation of the world " (223).
This is why Moltmann actually ascribes weakness to God's nature : " If God really was in Christ . . . then Christ was crucified
in the weakness of God and rose in the power of God" (225). By
contrast, Karl Barth argues that " he is the One for whom it was
impossible that the resurrection of the dead should not take place
... He did not have to become this. He is from the very beginning the possessor of 'the power of an endless life' (Heb. 7 :16)
... Jesus Christ has the power of God because and as He Himself is it" (C.D. 2, 1, 606).

Trinitarian Implications
We return finally to the same concern which began this study:
the logical developments within Moltmann's christology which result from his failure to fashion a doctrine of the immanent trinity.
Moltmann brackets Jesus' eternal Sonship and traces the ground
of faith to Jesus' experience of suffering and to the community's
interpretation of his titles based on its eschatological experience
of him after Easter. Thus Moltmann insists that Jesus' last experience was God-forsakenness ( 167) while ignoring Luke's account of Jesus commending his spirit actively into his Father's
hands as the Son who had completed his earthly work. He also
argues that the divine power is dependent upon faith and that one
can experience the Spirit without affirming the resurrection as a
fact of history. And his holistic christology blends humanity and
divinity into an integrated whole: " That is why in his divine,
human and natural sufferings Christ gathers to himself the whole
suffering history of the world ... " (210). At times Moltmann
is literally unable to distinguish the Spirit from the cosmos : " The
evolutions and the catastrophes of the universe are also the movements and experiences of the Spirit of creation" (Creation, 16).
Moltmann sees " Christ as the power in the evolution of creation " ( 286). " His Spirit, immanent in the world, is the pulse
of the universe" (289).

MOLTMANN'S

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For Moltmann Christ's divinity and humanity are embraced
and synthesized in the kingdom of glory. The theology of the
pain of God therefore is the " divine co-suffering or compassion "
(178). "Israel's messiah king goes his way to the Roman cross.
The Son of God empties himself of his divinity . . . it is the path
of the divine love in its essential nature" ( 178). But what is the
divine love in its essential nature? For Moltmann it is suffering
love. Love that does not suffer is not divine. Here, again, he
clearly introduces history into God's nature ( 178-9; Trinity,
180) instead of showing how, in Christ's history, this history of
suffering and death has actually been transformed.
Moltmann's work is especially exciting in its perception of the
way theology has moved from the Enlightenment to the present.
He is very aware of the need to avoid anthropocentrism as well
as metaphysical views which lead to dualism; he also insists that
Christ alone is of central importance ( 42, 238). Yet, as we have
seen throughout this review, by beginning with experience rather
than with Jes us as the Word made flesh, Moltmann accepts the
basic starting point of anthropocentrism, thereby being led into
the very docetism he rejects by substituting his own metaphysics
of relationality for the traditional Nicene and Chalcedonian view.

WITTGENSTEIN'S
RrcHARD

W:

DOCTRINE OF SILENCE
McDONOUGH

The University of Tulsa
Tulsa, Oklahoma

ITTGENSTEIN HOLDS in the Tractatus that one
must be silent about certain matters, most significanty, ethical, aesthetic, metaphysical and religious ones.
( 4.1212, 6.42-6.421, 6.423, 6.522, 6.53, 7, etc.) This is connected with his view that " philosophy is not a body of doctrine "
( 4.112). John Churchill insists that these remarks mean that
Wittgenstein "requires real silence" about such matters (Cl,
166), meaning that one " cannot establish a philosophical discourse about logic, the world, and mind" (C2, 327). 1 This is
contradicted by Wittgenstein's own behavior, namely, the presence of such discourse in the Tractatus and Notebooks, and his
considerable discourse about such matters with Russell, Malcolm
and others. Churchill must (and does) hold, therefore, that the
Tractatus is inconsistent since it attempts to say what, by its own
lights, cannot be said (Cl, 171). He even holds that this inconsistency is intentional, i.e., he "see[s] Wittgenstein as ... willing to grasp the nettle of a self-refuting philosophical discourse"
(Cl, 171). Churchill even regards this endorsement of inconsistent philosophizing as " the plain sense " 2 (Cl, 171 ; C2, 328)
of remark 7 of the Tractatus!
1 In the text I have used the notation (Cl, x) and (C2, y) to refer respectively top. x and p. y of Churchill's original review (The Thomist, Jan. 1988)
and his " Response to Professor McDonough" (The Thomist, April, 1989),
and, similarly, (Ml, x) and (M2, y) to refer, respectively, to p. x and p. y
of my The Argument of the "Tractatus" (State University of New York
Press, 1986), and my reply to Churchill (The Thomist, April 1989).
2 Churchill stresses that he does not hold that there is a plain sense to the
entirety of what Wittgenstein wrote, but only to the injunction to silence (C2,
328). But if there are any remarks in the Tractatus with a plain sense, the
mystical remark # 7 is not one of them.

695

696

RICHARD

MCDONOUGH

The judgment that the Tractatus is inconsistent, certainly the
judgment that it is intentionally inconsistent, is itself incompatible with the text of the Tractatus. After his remark that
"What can be shown cannot be said" (4.1212), Wittgenstein
immediately adds that " In a certain sense we can talk about
formal properties of objects and states of affairs ... and in the
same sense about formal ... and structural relations " ( 4.122).
Following the text, one must distinguish between the sense in
which one can, and the sense in which one cannot, talk about
such matters.
It is for this reason, among others, that I distinguish between
two different senses in which one can say something, and two
different notions of communications in the Tractatus (Ml, pp.
216-45). One can communicate factual matters in the sense that
one can encode them in a picture and mechanically transmit that
picture-structure, via perceptible signs, to another subject. (Compare with the way " information ", in the form of physical structures, is transmitted, or "communicated", from one computer
to another.) This model of communication is mechanistic. One
cannot communicate religious and other matters because these do
not concern mere structuring of objects and so cannot be encoded
in a picture-structure. The conditions of the possibility of picturing, and therefore of mechanical transmission, are not satisfied
with regard to ethics, aesthetics, etc. ( M 1, pp. 216-45). 3
3 I have elsewhere argued that it is among the primary aims of the Tractatus
to articulate a mechanistic account of communication and among the primary
aims of the later philosophy to undermine that very picture. See my " Towards
a Non-Mechanistic Theory of Meaning," MIND 98 (1989); "The Limits of
the Enlightenment," Language and Communication 10 (1990); "A Culturalist
Account of Folk Psychology" in The Future of Folk Psychology (Cambridge
University Press, 1991); "Wittgenstein's Refutation of Meaning Skepticism"
in Meaning Scepticism (De Gruyter, 1991); "Wittgenstein's Critique of
Mechanistic Atomism," Philosophical Investigations 14 (1991); and "Plato's
Anti-Mechanistic Account of Communication," Language and Communication
11 (1991), esp. n. 8. The point in my book is that the account of the nondoctrinal character of philosophy, and the associated doctrine of silence, are
profitably understood as denials that the significance of philosophical language
can be accommodated within the mechanistic account of language and communication.

WITTGENSTEIN'S

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But though one cannot mechanically transmit " information"
about ethical, religious, etc. matters to another person, there is a
sense in which one can communicate about them. " Philosophical "
communication does not involve the communication of thoughtstructures, but it is an activity ( 4.112), and there is no indication
in the Tractatus that this philosophical activity cannot influence
other intelligent beings. On the contrary, philosophy sets limits
to natural science ( 4.112, 4.113), and it is tacitly presupposed to
be an intersubjective enterprise (Preface, 4.1121, 4.1122). So
why does Churchill continue to object to my interpretation, and
4.122 in the bargain, that the Tractatus holds there is a sense in
which one can say (communicate) these things?
The answer lies in Churchill's ambiguous notion of an interpretation. In his original discussion Churchill objected to my interpretation on the grounds that I " attribute to [my emphasis,
RM] the [Tractatus] an argument or doctrine" (Cl, 166). 4
Note that Churchill's issue was not, of course, whether one can
talk about the Tractatus from some other point of view, but was
whether one can, from within its own framework, ascribe views
to it. For the sake of clarity, let us call the ascription of views
to a work " interpretation ", and remarks about a work " criticism".
It is the question whether one can interpret the Tractatus to
which I respond in my reply: " Just as Churchill chooses not to
view his own interpretative pronouncements as violations of the
silence doctrine, while mine are violations, he also chooses not
to view his own ascriptions to [my emphasis, RM] the Tractatus
as doctrines, while again mine are" (M2, 320). The point would
seem to be clear. If Churchill objects to my ascribing '"views"
to the Tractatus, then he cannot do so himself. But he, like all
commentators, continually does, and must, do so. For example,
he sees an appeal to the " use-conception " of meaning to explain
4 Similarly, it is mere verbal manuvering to say that one cannot attribute
arguments to the Tractatus (Cl, 166; CZ, 328). If Churchill is now prepared
to admit that one can ascribe doctrines to the Tractatus then there is no reason
not to ascribe arguments to it as well (an argument just being a series of
doctrines which are cited to support another). And, in any case, what is one
to call remarks such as 2.0211 or 2.02331 but arguments?

698

RICHARD

MCDONOUGH

how "language links up with reality" (Cl, 169). It is pure
verbalism to deny that this ascribed view is not a doctrine. This
dawning realization may explain the changes in Churchill's position. Whereas he originally faulted my interpretation on the
grounds that it "attribut[es] to the book an argument or doctrine" (Cl, 166), in his later reply he writes" What is at issue
is construing Wittgenstein's doctrines in such a way that they are
consistent with proposition 7 " ( C2, 327-8). In his first discussion, the Tractatus cannot contain doctrines. In his reply it can.
Unfortunately, the founding confusion survives these terminological adjustments in Churchill's position. In his reply he
writes " Professor McDonough seems to suppose that I believe
that no one can consistently offer interpretative discourse about
[my emphasis, RM] the Tractatus" ( C2, 327). But the issue
which Churchill originally raised, and to which I replied, was not,
and could not be, whether one can consistently discourse about
the Tractatus. (Indeed, it is even difficult to know what it could
mean to hold that the Tractatus, or any other book, could preclude consistent discourse about it from some other point of
view!) It is whether one can correctly, within its own framework, ascribe views to it-whether one can consistently interpret
the Tractatus, not, of course, whether one can criticize it.
Churchill's continuing confusion over the interpretation of
propositions 4.112, 7, etc., is traceable to his contradictory
hybrid notion of an interpretation about a text. The notion is a
hybrid because it must do double duty. It is contradictory because the two duties are incompatible. The notion must refer to
an interpretation so that Churchill can make his own favorite
ascriptions (the use conception of meaning, etc.) to the Tractatus.
It must also refer to remarks about the text from some other point
of view, so that Churchill can claim not to violate the silence doctrine in his interpretation. Churchill must decide whether one can
interpret the Tractatus or only criticize it. But he cannot have it
both ways.
The issue is too important to lose in verbal obfuscations. There
is no need to regard Wittgenstein's philosophical activity, including his claims to have learned from others, as in any way illegiti-

WITTGENSTEIN'S

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OF SILENCE

699

mate, or regarded by him in the Tractatus to be so. Thus, in the
Preface to the Tractatus, Wittgenstein refers to his " task " and
invites others to "do it better". The incoherence of Churchill's
interpretation is that on it one can only make " interpretative remarks " about the Tractatus, but cannot even specify the content
of those remarks which one's "interpretative remarks" are
about-let alone try to do it better. It is Churchill, not Wittgenstein, who seems "willing to grasp the nettle of a self-refuting
philosophical discourse."

AN OBSERVATION ON ROBERT LAUDER'S REVIEW
OF G. A. McCOOL, S.J. 1
RoMANus CEssARro, O.P.
Dominican House of Studies
Washington, District of Columbia

B

ECA USE OF HIS scholarly commentary on the development of Roman Catholic theology in the 19th and
20th centuries, students interested in the history of this
period owe a debt of gratitude to Fr. Gerald McCool, S.J. In
a recent issue of this journal, Robert Lauder presented a clear and
sympathetic account of two major works, in which McCool identifies and evaluates the figures and currents that he considers of
central importance for a proper understanding of Roman Catholic
intellectual life from before the First Vatican Council (1869-70)
to after the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965). 2 On Lauder's
account, McCool records in these books " the movement within
Thomism from its reliance on the commentators Cajetan and
John of St. Thomas and the strong influence of hard-line Dominican Thomists such as Garrigou-Lagrange to the transcendental
Thomism of Rahner and Lonergan" (p. 308). In his most recent study, From Uniity to Pluralism, McCool concentrates on the
work of Joseph Marechal, Pierre Rousselot, Jacques Maritain
and Etienne Gilson. Lauder believes that " McCool correctly cites
these four thinkers as the key to Thomism's movement towards
a greater openness to other thought patterns" (p. 308), but regrets that McCool failed to go further and provide " a detailed
1 See Robert

E. Lauder, "On Being or not Being a Thomist," The Thomist

55 (1991): 301-319.
2 Gerald A. McCool, S.J., Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for
a Unitary Method and From Unity to Pluralism: The Internal Evolution of
Thomism (New York: Fordham University Press, 1989). The first volume
was originally published as Catholic Theology in the Nineteenth Centur31 (New
York: The Seabury Press, 1977).

701

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discussion of the presence of St. Thomas's insights in the thought
of Rahner and Lonergan . . . the two most influential Catholic
thinkers of the latter half of the twentieth century" (p. 318).
Apart from this reservation, which even Lauder considers " a
backhanded compliment " (p. 318), I observe no point either at
which Lauder takes issue with how McCool narrates the history
of Catholic theology from roughly the middle of the 19th-century
to the present or where he suggests alternative approaches for interpreting the significance of the individuals and events that figure
prominently in McCool's narrative.
In his Foreword to T. M. Schoof's A Survey of Catholic
Theology 1800-1970, Fr. Edward Schillebeeckx warned its
readers against making the book " a kind of ' theological canonisation ' of the theologians mentioned to the exclusion of
others." 3 I would like to sound a similar note of caution with
respect to McCool's version of the history of Thomism. For while
I share Lauder's appreciation of McCool's careful scholarship, I
am not at all convinced that McCool has uncovered the whole
story, nor that his interpretation of the events which he chronicles
warrants the lavish praise that Lauder bestows on it. In particular, I suggest that Lauder uncritically adopts McCool's attitude towards certain Dominican theologians who, even though
they remain little known in the English-speaking world, still contributed to the upbuilding of theological culture entre les deux
guerres. For example, in From Unity to Pluralism, McCool describes the Dominican Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange as a "conservative" Thomist (p. 212), which, in the context of the narrative as McCool relates it, sounds more like ideological pigeonholing, than an honest attempt to describe adequately what a
philosopher such as Kenneth Schmitz recently referred to as the
"structured" Thomism of Garrigou-Lagrange. 4 In the same
s T. M. Schoof, A Survey of Catholic Theology 1800-1970, Foreword by
Edward Schillebeeckx (New York: Paulist Newman Press, 1970), p. 4.
4 In the first lecture, " In the Beginning : New Paths for Ancient Teachings" of the 1991 McGivney Lecture Series entitled "At the Center of the
Human Drama: The Anthropology of Karol Wojtyla/Pope John Paul II."
The four lectures will be published by The Catholic University of America
Press.

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manner, McCool talks about a "Thomistic Counter-Attack" to
some of the early initiatives of Henri de Lubac and Jean
Danielou; moreover, and what is more important, the author
pays these scholarly interventions by certain Dominican theologians little notice (pp. 212-13). Remarks of this tone and omissions of such a kind presumably explain, however, why Lauder
employs without demur a phrase like "hard-line Dominican
Thomists" (p. 308), but they also give one, I suggest, further
reason for pause before embracing in every respect Lauder's account of McCool's work.
It is not my intention to chide Lauder for writing a review of
McCool's two books different than the one that I would have
written. But I do wonder whether Lauder attempted to make an
independent assessment of the work done by certain Dominican
Thomists, such as the French moral theologian M.-Michel
Labourdette, 0.P., who, until his recent death, taught at the
Dominican Center of Studies in Toulouse, or the speculative theologian M.-J. Nicolas, O.P., who still remains active in theological circles. If he had, I respectfully submit that such research
would have provided grounds for some critical observations
about McCool's telling of the neo-scholastic story. I think that
the recent work of Alasdair Macintyre demonstrates that such
an expectation is not without foundation. For example, MacIntyre's discussion of the catalytic role that Antonio Rosmini
played in the neo-scholastic movement at the middle of the 19th
century illustrates how fresh perspectives on the data and nuanced
accounts of the conclusions can open up new ways of appreciating
the intellectual heritage of scholasticism. 5 To tell the truth, MacIntyre's recent research itself should dissuade scholars from read5 See Alasdair Macintyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry: Encyclopaedia, Genealogy, and Tradition (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1990), especially chap. 3, "Too Many Thomisms?" where
the author remarks on how some recent Catholic theologians, on the grounds
"that Karl Rahner's theology stands in precisely the same relationship to
Heidegger's philosophy as that in which Rosmini's stood to Kant's, have
argued strenuously that Rosmini ought to be interpreted in a way that frees
him from the imputation of pantheism" (p. 71).

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ily canonizing any particular version of the Thomistic story. Furthermore, I maintain that theologians such as Labourdette and
M.-J. Nicolas represent a current in 20th-century Thomist
thought whose contributions to the formation of theology have
not yet been fully appreciated in the standard account of how
Roman Catholic theology developed in the 20th century. I would
tentatively describe their brand of Thomism as " realist," and I
offer the following short account in order to provide one example
of how certain Dominicans tried to sustain theological pluralism
in the 1940's.

* * *
A little over 45 years ago, there occurred a significant theological exchange between two groups of young French intellectuals.
In the meantime, the names of the participants have gained international notoriety in most theological households. On the
Jesuit side, we find Danielou, the recently-deceased Henri de
Lubac, Bouillard, Fessard, and, then still among their ranks, the
Swiss von Balthasar. Among the Dominicans, Labourdette, M.J. Nicolas, and Bruckberger. But in 1945 these scholars were
just emerging from the long period of theological hibernation
which the recent hostilities in Europe had imposed on them. Although wartime conditions restricted such enterprises as publishing, these religious still remained intellectually active. The adversities in Europe apparently provided them with the seclusion
necessary to develop their respective theological cultures. And as
Dialogue thCologique makes clear, Jesuits and Dominicans had
used this time well in order to develop their distinctive approaches
to the development of the theological project. Their dispute,
which effectively marks the beginning of the " conciliar " debate,
effectively centered on the nature and the sources of theological
wisdom.
Shortly after the Second World War, Michel Labourdette,
0.P. inaugurated the debate. In an "Etude critique," which appeared in the summer issue of Revue Thomiste in 1946, the Dominican moral theologian took issue with a major assumption of

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" Les orientations presentes de la pensees religieuses," which referred to an article published earlier that year by Fr. Danielou in
Etudes (April, 1946). In this _article, the French patrologist
argued that the study of the Fathers should result in more than a
mere presentation of historical data. Rather, he continued,
patristic studies can furnish " a most appropriate nourishment for
contemporary man, because we recover in the Fathers a certain
number of categories which are precisely those of contemporary
thought and which, moreover, scholastic theology had let slip
by" (p. 10). Labourdette, however, took this remark for something more than a disinterested evaluation of current trends in
theology. He rather understood it as the announcement of a
program for Jesuit research. We can easily understand, then,
why he felt obliged to raise some critical questions concerning the
actual purpose and nature of several Jesuit scholarly undertakings. In brief, Labourdette questioned whether the Jesuits were
using their interest in la theologie du retour aux sources as a
cover to challenge the authoritativeness of Thomistic systematics
in theology. But his deeper concern centered on upholding the
importance which Roman Catholic theology traditionally ascribes
to a metaphysics of being and a broadly-construed realist epistemology.
It may come as a surprise to some that the objects of Fr.
Labourdette's "critique" included the publication of " Sources
chretiennes " and the recently inaugurated collection of monographs, "Theologie." Editions Aubier-Montaigne published the
latter. But Editions du Cerf undertook " Sources chretiennes,"
so that the celebrated translation of patristic texts owed its very
existence, it seemed, to an enterprise under the auspices of Fr.
Labourdette's own Dominican brothers in Paris. The irony implicit in this turn of events, it is true, belongs to another chapter
of the history which narrates theological developments in postwar France. But we can surely infer that some differences of
perspective prevailed among certain theologians at the two
Dominican studia of Le Saulchoir (Paris) and St.-Maximin
(Toulouse).

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During its roughly half-century of existence, Le Saulchoir
exercised an unequivocal influence in Roman Catholic theological
circles. In addition, because of the international distinction
which some of its members, for example, the late Fr. Chenu and
Fr. Congar, achieved, scholars commonly recognize the historical
methods and motifs of Le Saulchoir theology as harbingers of a
significant theological direction taken during the course of the
Second Vatican Council. But the Dominican studium in the south
of France, first at St.-Maximin (Var) and later at Toulouse, also
developed its own theological emphasis, one, moreover, which retained an enthusiasm for the medieval and later scholastic tradition of realist metaphysics. The massive work of J.-H. Nicolas,
SynthCse dogmatique (Paris, 1985) provides a contemporary
sample of the work done by those formed in the Toulouse school.
In any event, Fr. Labourdette decidedly represents this latter tradition of French theology.
Consequently, one could argue that in 1945 the progress of
French theology owed as much to disparity of theological outlooks among certain Dominicans in Paris and Toulouse as it did to
a friendly dialogue between Dominicans and Jesuits concerning
the status of the patristic auctoritates in contemporary theology.
In any case, the exchange between Labourdette and " un groupe
de theologiens jesuites " was short-lived. Eventually, the Jesuits
replied to the Dominican alarm sounded against what one might
call today the alleged " hidden agenda" of their literary undertakings in the mid-40's. And Labourdette in turn replied to their
explanations. Subsequently, the Provern;al Dominicans gathered
together the " pieces of the debate " and published a small book.
Thus we possess the small book entitled Dialogue theologique
(Les Arcades, Saint-Maximin, Var, 1947). R.-L. Bruckberger
introduced the volume, which contains Labourdette's original
" etude " (complete with a new series of references which help
the reader identify the points chauds of the debate), the official
Jesuit "Reponse," which had appeared in Recherches de science
religieuse 4 ( 1946), and a fresh rebuttal by Labourdette. The
Dominicans blandly explained the need for a special publication

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as follows: " La solennite et la publicite de la Reponse qu'on
vient de lire ne nous permettaient pas d'attendre la parution du
prochain fascicule de la Revue Thomiste." In short, the matter
was so pressing that they could suffer no delay. The French
systematician and spiritual author, M.-J. Nicolas, 0.P., then recently elected as provincial of the Toulouse Dominican province,
concluded the volume on an irenic note in which he explained his
vision for " le progres de la theologie et la fidelite a Saint
Thomas."
Notwithstanding the polemical context of this exchange,
Dialogue theologique throws considerable light on the origins
and subsequent directions of Roman Catholic theology in the latter half of the 20th century. The present article seeks neither to
recount the details of the controversy nor to judge the claims
made by either party in the debate. Suffice it to observe, however, that the Jesuits successfully continued their scholarly publications. One might, of course, argue that their desire to reach
closure on the controversy so that all in the Church might singlemindedly pursue the tasks " plus ardues, mais magnifiques auxquelles nous conviait recemment le Souverain Pontife" (p. 75)
probably attained a certain fulfillment at the Second Vatican
Council. And even if it remains a moot point in 1991, we can
only speculate to what extent Pius XII, the Sovereign Pontiff in
1945, would have accepted French theology of the late '60's and
'70's as" ad majorem Dei gloriam et ad aedificationem Ecclesiae."
On the other hand, Dialogue theologique does offer us a succinct summary of some common starting-points which both theological traditions apparently embraced after the Second World
War. Fortunately for us today, the anonymous redactor of the
Jesuit reply collected in a single paragraph at the beginning of
the " Reponse " the principal critiques developed by Labourdette
in his " etude." At the time, this maneuver must have seemed
like a massive example of quoting_out of context, for Labourdette
railed against the Jesuit sense of fair play. But some 45 years
later, we are fortunate to possess such a neat catalogue of controverted issues. Indeed, the chorus of complaints might even

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appear to some as revelatory of certain manifest imbalances with
which contemporary theology must eventually deal.
Allow me, then, to cite this long paragraph in which the Jesuits
summarize the complaints registered by Labourdette against
their way of doing theology.
Fr. Labourdette does not want one to profess ' the essential historical
relativism of each human expression of divine truths.' He does not
want Christian thought to be ' wrongly ashamed of its past.' He does
not want to see ' theological wisdom swept away by the here-todaygone-tomorrow.' He does not want historical method to become
weighed down by a ' pseudo-philosophy ' which 'replaces the metaphysical notion of speculative truth with the more modest notion of
historical truth.' He does not want one, under the pretext of critiquing 'progress in theology,' to undertake 'an interminable reformulation of our conceptions about God.' He does not want a 'nominalist philosophy ' which, through a veritable caricature ' of the intellectual life,' argues that ' human intelligence . . . can only formulate
concepts, and that these concepts remain empty abstractions, so many
logical symbols, as it were, of only pragmatic value.' He does not
want to deny that ' the divine message addresses itself to our intellects as well.' He does not want to subscribe to ' a complete abandon
of speculative truth.' He does not want to say that the truth remains
' inaccessible ' to us, nor to deny that the human spirit can grasp,
' by means of its best abilities, a truth which surpasses the limits of
the merely temporal'. He does not want, in the final analysis, metaphysics and theology to be judged ' according to the categories of
aesthetics.' He does not want to look for ' nothing more from a
[theological] teaching than that it awake in us a sense of the beautiful or lead us into an incommunicable experience.' Finally, he does
not want to doubt that there are ' in the domain of human knowledge '
some ' definite conclusions.'
And isn't Fr. Labourdette correct to insist on these points! But
what is more important, we share his concerns.
Thus, the Jesuit authors identify a progression of important
theological concerns which they themselves judged adequate to
summarize Fr. Labourdette's concerns. And they hasten to
affirm that they too consider these matters serious ones for the
future of theology. " Tout cela, certes, nous ne le voulons pas plus
que lui" (p. 77).
However, the Jesuits do not find themselves entirely in accord with Labourdette' s views. As the rebuttal unfolds, they

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709

argue that Labourdette seems to confuse Thomism with the
Gospel. " Catholic truth," they insist, "always surpasses its conceptual formation. And this is all the more true of any attempt
to formulate scientifically Catholic truth into an organized system." And for good measure, the Jesuits inform Fr. Labourdette
that they personally are acquainted with several excellent Thomists who do understand the difference between "a system of
thought and the truth" (p. 92). The Jesuits reckon, moreover,
that these better deserve the name Thomist. Or, at least, they
represent a superior class of theologians. All in all, the " Reponse " struck some hard blows to a young Thomist who sought
only to defend his master's fundamental intuitions concerning
the nature of authentic theological discourse, namely, that it ultimately derives from and depends upon the sacra doctrina, which,
in Aquinas's view, constitutes the most personal expression of
divine wisdom. 6
It is my intention neither to resolve nor to renew the theological quarrels of a half century ago. Some authors, including Fr.
McCool and Robert Lauder, see in this spirited exchange between
French clerics the burgeoning of a movement which liberated
Roman Catholic theology from the domination of a specific form
of scholastic philosophy. At the same time, other theologians will
undoubtedly recognize that the issues raised by Fr. Labourdette
actually embody so many oracles against the chief weaknesses of
the theology which later developed, in part, as a result of the
ressourcement movement. At least, these shared concerns of both
Jesuit and Dominican theologians highlighted the principal
dangers which would mark the eventual transition from the
" unity " of scholastic theology to the pluralism of contemporary
theological discourse. But for the purposes of this present review,
I would like to remark only on the fact that in 1945 both Jesuits
and Dominicans agreed that Labourdette's complaints as formulated by the Jesuit redactor accurately pointed out directions
6 See Summa theologiae Ia q. 1, a. 6: "Sacra doctrina goes to God most
properly as deepest origin and highest end, and that not only because of what
can be gathered about him from creatures . . . but also because of what he
alone knows about himself and yet discloses for others to share."

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ominous and undesirable for the future of Roman Catholic theology. For his own reasons, Fr. McCool chose not to point out
this unusually important agreement when he refers briefly to the
exchanges that took place between the Proven\al Dominicans
and the Jesuits. 7
Fr. McCool's chronicle surely provides an impetus for further
work in the history of the neo-scholastic period. However, I
contend that in order to make a fully-informed judgment about
the evolution of Thomism, about the merits of the commentatorial
tradition, especially from the mid-15th to the early 17th century,
and indeed on the texts of Aquinas themselves, we require a
scientific tool that presently does not exist. I refer to a proper
history of Thomism ab initio. Such an enormous undertaking, it
is true, will require the collaborative efforts of scholars of different expertise and a considerable expenditure of time and resources. But I respectfully suggest that until such a work is completed, both philosopher and theologian will be unable to assess
properly whether the present status of Thomism as both McCool
and Lauder understand it actually represents an advance for
Roman Catholic theology.

1

See From Unity to Pluralism, pp. 212-216.

BOOK REVIEWS
Men Astutely Trained: A History of the Jesuits in the American Cen·
tury. By PETER McDONOUGH. New York: Free Press, 1992. xxi
616 pp. $24.95.

+

Last summer in Paris, sitting at one of the sidewalk tables that line
the Boulevard S. Germain, a young Jesuit priest just finishing his doc·
toral studies narrated some of the horror stories associated these days
with " the j oh market." Having suffered through my own variation on
that theme, I could only share with him the results of my own experi·
ence. This novelty in the Jesuit stance provides Peter McDonough with
a major theme in his narrative, for he describes the change in the So·
ciety " from a rule-governed hierarchy to a role-driven network " (p.
459). He locates this transition in what he calls " the American century," roughly from 1900 to 1965. McDonough's study, an exciting and
profitable read, traces the shift from Aquinas to the Age of Aquarius.
Especially for an extern (i.e. a non-Jesuit), he has taken on a formidable challenge.
Generally well received by the Jesuits, Men Astutely Trained tells
how American Catholicism moved from an immigrant church to an
upwardly mobile society. In the shifting loyalties, aggravated by the
Second Vatican Council, Jesuits and their institutions felt the crunch.
Since this innovation, loosely identified with " the democratization of
culture," has precipitated the Society of Jesus "into the most serious
crisis in its history " (p. xiv) , McDonough must do a counterpoint he·
tween the inner life and its external expressions. So the saga gains both
breadth and depth.
Without denigrating the accomplishment, at once earnest and literate,
I want to take issue with the hook. As one of my colleagues taught me
many years ago, we cannot stimulate discourse if everybody is con·
tinually agreeing. First then, I want to comment on the flawed methodology. Next, I will say something about its thesis and conclude with
a few reflections on "modernity."
For Jesuits of my generation, the work of Malinowski proved normative. The anthropologist spent ten years among the natives who in·
habited the Trobriand Islands in Melanesia. It apparently took that
long for him to understand the stories and symbols, their myths and
rituals. When he put his encyclopedia together, he could describe their
institutions and social structures. In short, he worked from the inside
out. McDonough, on the other hand, works from the outside in. In my

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opinion, this represents a major failing in methodology. Two consequences flow from this deficiency.
The author is never able to relate the works of the Society to the
principal texts of the Society. The Spiritual Exercises, for example,
does not rate even a mention. The Constitutions merits a fleeting reference on p. 160. St. Ignatius himself does not appear. Divorced as he
is from the principal experience of Jesuits, our author cannot provide
an adequate understanding for any of their priorities. This awareness
makes his claim to present "the inside of the Society of Jesus" (p.
462) somewhat pretentious. Because he does not have the interior life
in focus, many of the readings strike me as unnecessarily cluttered. He
has yet to recognize the validity of John Stuart Mill's principle, "No
man's synthesis can be greater than his analysis." While he has not
left out three-fourths the data, perhaps he has neglected one-half.
Secondly, he does not acknowledge Jesuits principally as churchmen.
Instead, he makes us look like an acephalous torso. The church-con·
nection reveals a major dimension to understanding the Society's coherence and institutions. It does not occur to the author that Jesuit
priests are also bound to the universal discipline of the Church as
found, for example, in the Codex Juris Canonici (1917). According to
the Pio-Benedictine Code, all priests (and not just Jesuits) are expected
to recite the breviary, to stay away from politics, and to avoid all
"spectacles" including baseball games. Moreover, it is not entirely
true to say that Jesuits acted independently of local bishops. Jesuits
were able to establish their schools precisely because the local bishop
invited them and encouraged the work. The ecclesial dimension becomes especially important in estimating the relationships of the Jesuits
to the pope, what St. Ignatius has called " the principle and foundation
of the Company." If Jesuits, then, consider the family as a sacred
unit and if they preach and teach as much, they are simply reflecting
the doctrinal position of the Church, as found, for example, in the
encyclical of Pope John Paul II, Familiaris consortio (22 Nov. 1981).
McDonough's petulance on this point seems uncharacteristically jejune.
Because he neglects the interior life of the Society (all the more
damaging because the documents are available) and because he either
ignores or prescinds from the larger Church order, what happens? He
has to read the history of the Jesuits in the United States as an allegory
of the American experiment. As the larger American society went, so
too did the fortunes of the local Jesuits. This kind of hyponoia, much
prized by the Fathers of the Church, reminds me of Dr. Johnson's judgment on Gulliver's Travels: " When once you have thought of big men
and little men, it is very easy to do all the rest." So here. Once you
magnify the American context and minimize the ecclesial, the Jesuits
look like silly amateurs indeed.

BOOK REVIEWS

713

The hook may well have originated in an awareness of a relationship
between two Jesuits: Father Daniel Lord in St. Louis and Father John
LaFarge in Manhattan. Indeed, if the first half of this text reads like
a tale of two cities, it really presents another variation on Merle Curti's
thesis which asserts a dichotomy between the man of action and the
man of thought. While McDonough writes very intelligently about the
Institute of Social Order in St. Louis, he makes this institution the
touchstone and norm for Jesuit orthodoxy, competence, savoir-faire.
If Jesuits were not engaged in social magisterium, the argument goes,
they were not doing the work of the Society. Unfortunately, this kind
of reasoning leads him into a number of fallacies, all of which our
author should have managed during his years at Brooklyn Prep. Right
away, I see fallacies of composition and division, the false dilemma,
and especially the consequent: "So-and-so is doing the work of the
Society. Therefore, he must he involved in a labor school." So much
for his thesis.
According to McDonough, the Jesuits in the U. S. moved from an
agrarian atavism to a postmodern sensibility without ever quite becoming contemporary. In order to buttress this element in his argument,
he speaks about " the detritus of modernism " (p. 353) and " the antimodernist repertoire " {p. 363) . As far as I can determine, he is
claiming in various ways that Jesuits are "anti-modern" and against
modernity (p. 75) . In this respect, he presents us with a large, if equally obvious, equivocation. He is playing on " modernism " as used in a
specifically theological context and " modernity " as found in either a
cultural or an aesthetic context.
Nothing in the book persuades me that McDonough understands
either the fact or the significance of the " oath against modernism "
imposed by Pope St. Pius X in 1910. But to use the oath against
modernism, fundamentally a religious exercise, as a hermeneutic ploy
to justify the Jesuit defense of " timeless truths " and " eternal verities "
seems entirely meretricious. The posture, however, enables him to rail
at the classical course (p. 374), to set up a false dilemma "between
authority and autonomous action" {p. 455), and to belittle the Jesuits
working in the high schools as "tinkerers of genius" (p. 428). If
only the Jesuits would get themselves up-to-date!
McDonough clearly knows what constitutes contemporary competence, intellectual productivity, and academic standards. If he speaks
realistically about the " formidable bureaucracies " that comprise
modern universities, he laments the fact that the Jesuit system "encouraged a humanistic rhetoric rather than a scientific temper" (p.
456). By his standards-fundamentally
Dominican, I submit-the
Jesuits do not measure up. Nor are they likely to. In the Church, the
Dominicans have traditionally favored the intellectualist approach to

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learning; the Jesuits lean to the voluntarist. Possessed of a unitary
academic model, he is really arguing for Aristotle's analogy of attribution. Apparently, no one of his 200 plus Jesuit contacts told him that
Nastri prefer St. Thomas and his analogy of proper proportionality.
The historian Daniel Boorstin spent 25 yeari!l writing his trilogy on
The Americans. What emerges from this analysis? Boorstin points out
that Americans like ambiguity, that they function best amid flux; ambivalence becomes their proper medium. For this reason, I have accepted
Nathaniel Hawthorne as our most central writer. He situates American questions within a landscape of chiaroscuro. The Jesuit experience
in the United States belongs essentially to the same landscape. But today, as formerly, it remains a landscape of questions. McDonough,
on the other hand, has too many certitudes, too many answers, too much
high definition-what Henry Adams regards as "mere facts." Instead
of illuminating the landscape from within, his study inevitably recedes
into the larger ambiguity reserved for what Wallace Stevens has called,
" Prologues to what is possible."
JOHN P. McINTYRE, S.J.
Saint Paul University
Ottawa, Ontario

The Dilemma of Freedom and Foreknowledge. By LINDA TRINKAUS
ZAGZEBSKI. New York: Oxford University Press, 1991. viii
215 pp. $29.95.

+

As a Christian and a philosopher, Linda Trinkaus Zagzebski wants
to understand why it is reasonable to affirm that we remain free despite
God's infallible knowledge of our future acts. Moreover, she is not content simply to demonstrate that this affirmation involves no logical con·
tradiction, for "reasonable people expect more" (p. 33) than a merely negative result. Hence the author sets herself the more ambitious
task of working toward a positive solution that would explain why the
compatibility of divine foreknowledge and human freedom is plausible
and not a bare logical possibility. The hook sorts out recent opinions
on the subject and sketches an original position that she hopes will
advance the discussion.
Zagzehski begins by constructing the most formidable version of the
dilemma. Assuming that God is infallible and essentially omniscient,
that the past has a kind of necessity that the future lacks ("accidental
necessity"), and that this necessity can he transferred (in some sense)
from the antecedent to the consequent of a conditional proposition,
the dilemma may he stated as follows:

BOOK REVIEWS

715

(1) Necessarily, God believes at time t 1 that I will do S at t 3 if and
only if I do S at t 3.
(2) It is accidentally necessary at t 2 that God believes at t 1 that I
will do S at t 3.
(3) If (1) and (2) are true, then it is accidentally necessary at t 2 that
I do Sat t 3.
(4) It follows that it is accidentally necessary at t 2 that I do S at t 3.
( 5) But if it is accidentally necessary at t 2 that I do S at t 3, I do not
do S at t 3 freely.
(6) Therefore, I do not do S at t 3 freely.

Much of the first chapter is devoted to establishing that this form of
the dilemma is more resistant to solution than any other, especially the
so-called problem of future truth.
Zagzebski goes on to evaluate three broad approaches to solving the
dilemma. In Chapter 2 she takes up the " timelessness " solution. Its
proponents, among whom the author numbers Boethius, Thomas
Aquinas, Eleonore Stump, and Norman Kretzmann, negate premise (2)
of the foreknowledge dilemma by contending that God is not in time.
Zagzebski considers this an acceptable negative solution to the dilemma
and sees in it the potential to ground a more comprehensive, positive
solution. Nonetheless, she refrains from subscribing wholeheartedly
to the timelessness solution because it confronts one with a dilemma at
least as perplexing as the one it solves. She puts the problem this way:
like the past, eternity is fixed, for it is constituted by a state of affairs
about which we cannot do anything; therefore my future acts are determined no less by God's timeless knowledge than by God's foreknowing them in a strictly temporal sense.
In Chapter 3, Zagzebski considers the " Ockhamist " approach. A
solution qualifies as " Ockhamist in spirit if it (a) takes accidental
necessity seriously ... , (b) assumes that God exists in time, and (c)
denies that God's beliefs are accidentally necessary" (p. 66). Contemporary efforts of this kind typically either distinguish between
" hard " and " soft " facts about the past and attempt to show why
God's past knowledge pertains to the latter category, or define accidental necessity in such a way that it does not apply to God's past
knowledge. Zagzebski explains at length why she remains unpersuaded
by the results of these investigations.
Rather than dismiss the whole approach outright, however, she proceeds to outline a solution of her own which meets the Ockhamist criteria but contains a crucial foreign element. Standard Ockhamist solutions tend to presuppose that " if God knows M, that is a bit of knowledge distinct from his knowing that G" (p. 88). To this anthropomorphic view Zagzebski opposes the position of Thomas Aquinas, who
maintains that God's knowing is a single, simple, unchanging act whose
primary object is the divine essence and whose secondary object is

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everything else as grounded in the divine essence. She concludes that
"God's mental state of knowing is the same in all possible worlds" (p.
88) and that "God's knowing state is essentially a state of knowing
his own essence and only accidentally a state of knowing, say A rather
than not·A" (p. 89). The relevant analogy, according to Zagzebski, is
visual: when, for instance, we see the face of a child, we sometimes see
the mother's face "reflected" in it; the child's face is the primary object of our seeing, and that object remains the same whether or not we
see in it the secondary object, the reflection of the mother's face. Similarly, "the difference in contingent truths in different worlds is the difference in what is ' reflected ' in God's essence in different worlds " (p.
90). Hence Zagzebski denies premise (1) of the foreknowledge dilemma: "God's belief at tl does not strictly imply my act, since the
numerically same belief occurs in worlds in which I do not perform
the act in question" (p. 91). Furthermore, this way of conceiving divine knowledge undercuts premise (2) of the dilemma by showing that
the category of accidental necessity does not apply to divine knowledge.
In the first place, the author contends, if God has but a single epistemic
state, then accidental necessity applies either to the whole of divine
knowledge-which is implausible-or to none of it. In the second
place, even if, as Ockhamists suppose, divine knowing is in some sense
temporal, it is only accidentally so; essentially, it is atemporal, and so
"there is no worry that [it acquires] the special property of fixity or
accidental necessity that essentially temporal events acquire automatically" (p. 95) . Zagzebski notes that her solution, which she dubs
"Thomistic Ockhamism," is equally effective against the apparent dilemma generated by God's timeless knowledge of our future acts.
Zagzebski leads off Chapter 4 by stating that the compatibility of
divine foreknowledge and human freedom implies the truth of two subjunctive conditional propositions, namely, "If I had done S at t, then
God would have believed prior to t that I would do S at t," and " If
God had believed prior to t that I would do S at t, then I would have
done S at t " (p. 98) . But what precisely do these propositions means?
Does the first imply that God's prior knowledge causes my act? Does
the second imply that my act causes God's prior knowledge of it? A
lengthy discussion of backward- and forward-looking counterfactuals,
however, leads the author to conclude that neither of the propositions
implies a causal relation.
In Chapter 5 Zagzebski reviews the third type of solution, which explains God's foreknowledge of future contingent acts by positing a
" middle knowledge" whereby God knows what any free being would
in fact freely choose in every possible set of circumstances. This
" Molinist " position heads toward an expressly' positive understanding
of the interrelationship of human freedom, sin, divine freedom, and

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divine providence. But Zagzehski calls the Molinist view into question
by arguing that knowing the totality of circumstances relative to some
possible free act does not provide sufficient grounds for God to determine whether that act would in fact occur. What does provide sufficient
grounds is God's knowledge of the actual world-which means that
middle knowledge ends up being dependent on the very reality it was
supposed to explain.
Chapter 6 includes two more of the author's own solutions to the foreknowledge dilemma. The first attacks premise (5) by claiming that
God's foreknowledge " modally overdetermines " my free act-i.e., it
makes my act accidentally necessary in some sense, hut without causing it. The second solution, which is reminiscent of Molina's theory of
divine concourse, conceives of God as aiding my free choice, whatever
it happens to he, so that God and I are joint causes of my free act and
neither of us is able to cause the act without the other. On this view,
although God foreknows and is a cause of all my acts, those acts remain
free, which contradicts premise ( 5) of the dilemma. Both of these
solutions can he applied to the timeless knowledge dilemma as well.
In an effort to get beyond the essentially negative solutions she has
proposed thus far, Zagzehski suggests that we might explain God's
knowledge of the future by thinking of God as perceiving the universe
in four dimensions. This model shows how everything that exists in
time can he present to God all at once, yet it avoids the difficulties as·
sociated with the view that God is timeless.
An appendix to the hook contains a new dilemma purporting to
show that the notion of an " essentially omniscient being " contradicts
our assumption that the past and the future differ in ontological status.
Zagzehski says that although this dilemma is even more troublesome
that the dilemma of freedom and foreknowledge, Thomistic Ockhamism
has the resources to resolve it.
Zagzehski provides a competent, technically detailed, and unpolemical exposition of contemporary currents of thought on this perennially
engaging topic, and she does so with the reader always in mind, paus·
ing frequently to review where she has been and where she intends to
go. The text is dense hut rewards the reader with frequent bursts of
incisive commentary. The author possesses a generous measure of
common sense which makes itself felt in a healthy suspicion of any line
of thought that wanders too far from our ordinary ways of understanding the world.
As an attempt to make progress toward solving the dilemma of divine foreknowledge and human freedom, however, the hook is not entirely successful. Three shortcomings seem worth mentioning here.
First, the author provides no criteria for determining whether an
analogy-especially an imaginable one-is helpful or misleading. Is

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she justified in conceiving God's knowing on the analogy of human
seeing, or in conceiving God's relation to my freedom by using as a
model the image of a benevolent neurologist who is not in time and
who has placed a mechanism in my brain that allows him to reinforce
all my choices? Second, the notion of a " positive solution " needs refinement. Surely Zagzehski would agree that there are limits to what
we can know in this life about God; hut when she says that the kind
of solution she has in mind requires an explanation of " God's knowing
mechanism" (p. 178-9), it is not clear just where she thinks those
limits might lie. Third, I suspect that for Thomas accidental necessity
pertains as much to the present as to the past, for it attaches not only
to what was in act hut also to what is in act; perhaps, at least in some
cases, it is equivalent to the "necessity of the present," the "innocuous kind of necessity" (p. 39) that Boethius says is entailed by God's
eternal knowledge of temporal being.
These problems all point to the hook's lack of a unifying method.
Zagzehski's approach is markedly eclectic; in the end one is left
wondering how-or whether-the various stances she takes throughout
the hook could he worked into something at least suggestive of a comprehensive position or synthesis. " Thomistic Ockhamism " is the clearest case in point. Thomas himself reasons from divine simplicity to the
unitary act of divine knowing. Zagzehski borrows the latter concept
and claims that it can he predicated of God even if God's knowing is
temporal, so long as one distinguishes between what God knows essentially and what God knows accidentally. But suggesting that God is in
time, or positing any distinction between essential and accidental in
God, is tantamount to denying divine simplicity-the very attribute
that allowed Thomas to conceive of God's knowing as unitary in the
first place! The elements of Thomas's synthesis are interdependent, in
the sense that they are mutually defining; his concept of a single,
simple act of divine understanding belongs within that precise context;
in another context it may well he meaningless.
The question about God's relation to human freedom can he handled
effectively only within the framework of a comprehensive philosophical
synthesis. To attempt to handle it before one has assembled the basic
components of that framework is to invite the kind of ad hoc solutions
that not only fail to meet the issue head on, hut also tend to obscure it.

J. MICHAEL STEBBINS
Boston College
Chestnut Hul, Massachusetts

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719

An Apology for Apologetics: A Study in the Logic of lnterreligious
Dialogue. By PAUL J. GRIFFITHS. New York: Orbis, 1991. ISBN:
0 88344 761 4. pp. 113.
Jesus Christ at the Encounter of World Religions. By J. DUPUIS. New
York: Orbis, 1991 (ET: Robert R. Barr, from French, 1989).
ISBN: 0 88344 723 1. pp. 301.
Griffiths presents a rigorous argument for the possibility of con·
tradictory claims between different religious communities. His inspira·
tion, as he acknowledges, is William Christian Snr. His basic argu·
ment is: " If representative intellectuals belonging to some specific religious community come to judge at a particular time that some or all of
their own doctrine-expressing sentences are incompatible with some
alien religious claim (s) , then they should feel obliged to engage in both
positive and negative apologetics vis-a-vis these alien religious claim(s)
and their promulgators" ( 3) . He takes negative apologetics to be a
critique of arguments made against one's own religious claims, showing
that such arguments fail or are inconsistent or incoherent. Positive
apologetics shows how a particular religious community's doctrines are
cognitively superior, in some respect(s), to another religious community's doctrines. It is essential for this enterprise that only methods
of argumentation and criteria of knowledge acceptable to the adversary
are employed. This requires the acceptance of natural theology.
Griffiths is well aware of the lion's den he is entering, as his proposals
run counter to much scholarship in the area of interreligious dialogue,
so he spends three chapters apologetically tackling the lions. The objectors (who mainly remain in notes) include Derrida, Barthes, Winch,
Lindbeck, Hick, Huxley, Nasr, Plantinga and others, although Mac·
Intyre is curiously missing. This technique has the advantage of isolating and presenting arguments, without falling into problems of cor·
rect exegesis of opponents. And this is also its weakness, as objectors
will sometimes feel caricatured or misunderstood-as is surely the case
with Plantinga and in one instance, Hick.
First, he tackles objections that sentences from one tradition are
either incomprehensible or incommensurable with those of another,
convincingly showing that the strong versions of both claims are self·
defeating and unsustainable. Weaker versions still allow for his proj·
ect-or so he thinks. This is where Maclntyre's work should have been
considered. Then he tackles various theories of religious language (following Lindbeck's typology). He argues against non-cognitive accounts
that reduce beliefs to the credibility of causes for holding beliefs, a
position incapable of asserting its truth over other views because of its

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own presuppositions. He follows Lindbeck in criticizing experiental expressivism, and then turns upon Lindbeck's own form of rule theory
(which is ambivalent regarding cognitive claims) , arguing convincingly that to suggest that only sentences uttered confessionally and with
performative function can possess ontological truth is confused (42) .
In a brief review it is not possible to rehearse Griffiths's careful argumentation.
Griffiths then sets about tackling two types of universalists: Hick and
Huxley. Of Hick, he argues that some criteria are required to discern
true from false religions (e.g. Jim Jones) and in so doing such a position needs to support and develop such criteria, thereby effectively introducing apologetics. He neglects to deal with Hick's pragmatic criteria of beneficial ' fruits ' evident in adherents, but the logic of his
argument can be applied to Hick's proposals. Using Katz and Zaehner,
he argues against the esoteric universalism of the philosophia perennis.
(The arguments of Robert Forman's recent book, The Problems of Pure
Consciousness, are strangely neglected, despite Griffiths's being a contributor to that collection.)
Finally, he tackles objections against positive apologetics-first, on
the grounds that it has a negative effect on interreligious relations.
Logically, this need not be the case, although Griffiths is well aware that
the political context of apologetics can obscure its proper goal: deeper
critical understanding, learning and problem solving. Then, in sustained dialogue with Planting a, he argues against the objection that
success is impossible. It is impossible only if " knockdown drag-out"
( 64) argumentative victory is expected. Griffiths suggests the cumulative-case argument and gives instances of such successful apologetics
(medieval Islam and Christianity, early Indian Hinduism and Buddhism). In response to anti-foundationalist positions that do not seek
to justify themselves, Griffiths's criticism is that this is an unacceptable
" retreat into fideism and its inevitable concomitant, sectarianism "
(73). This is surely name-calling apologetics, for fideism and sectarianism are not logically or historically concomitant and one cannot
criticize fideism for being fideistic. The same weakness can be found
in Griffiths's treatment of traditions relying entirely on self-guaranteeing
authoritative sources. Such communities may well be incapable of
arguing without their privileged texts, and the considered rejection of
natural theology for religious reasons is not adequately dealt with by
Griffiths.
Believing that he has established the validity of his initial plea for
interreligious apologetics, Griffiths stipulates the conditions when such
apologetics should not be carried out: whenever they are part of military, economic, or cultural imperialism. The American academy is
deemed neutral in all these respects and can therefore be the location

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721

of such apologetics. This is questionable. Griffiths would have done
well to consider Said and Macintyre on this point.
Nevertheless, his last chapter is a wonderful example of apologetics
in action regarding the notion of ' person ' or ' self ' in Buddhist-Christian debate. Griffiths outlines a positive apologetic assault on the
Buddhist notion of no-self, arguing that there is no effective way of defending individuating continua within or across lives (karmic continuity.) In so doing, he awaits a reply and a continuing debate. Here,
despite his distinctions, there is apparent a thin dividing line between
negative and positive apologetics.
This is a very stimulating, challenging and fresh approach to the
area of interreligious dialogue which should not be ignored by anyone
interested in this issue. Dupuis's concern and aim is quite different
from that of Griffiths's. His central task is to show how a high Christology leads to a considered and positive evaluation of the world religions.
Dupuis begins by surveying different views of Christ found in neoHinduism, relying heavily on M. M. Thomas. He shows that Hindu
Christologies pose important questions to Christian theology, not always dissimilar from contemporary western challenges. He then pursues the possibility of a meeting point between Hindu and Christian
Christologies. Such a meeting point, following a recent tradition
sterning from Abhishktananda (and the early Panikkar) , is found in
the heart of Advaita with its affirmation of oneness with Brahman
(aham brahmasmi) being viewed as the truth of Jesus's union with
the father (ego eimi). While admitting this may not be the Advaita
of Sankara (or, one may add, for most Hindus), Dupuis suggests the
possibility of a Christian advaita which transforms advaita in restoring to the Absolute " a communion value, and to the human self the
inalienable consistency of personhood " ( 66) . This is unashamedly
"fulfilment theology". From advaita Christians also learn that "communion in divinity and with the divine cannot be conceived only according to a finite model " ( 66) .
Chapter four launches us into the theory of religions. Dupuis rejects a "narrow ecclesiocentric view of salvation" (97) allegedly in
keeping with Vatican II (although he admits there are unresolved tensions within the documents) , and prefers to develop a theology of
" presence ": that is, the affirmation of the presence of Christ and his
Spirit within the world, which of course includes the world religions.
His central argument is that as Christ is constitutive of salvation, then
all grace everywhere is the grace of the triune God. Here he brings
out the trinitarian dimensions sometimes lost sight of in Rahner's
anonymous Christian. He then shows the biblical notion of salvation
history constituting four differing, but related, covenants: Adamic,

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Noachide, Abrahamic and Mosaic, and Jesus's. The second allows for
a valid affirmation of God's covenanting with the world religions, and
for their continuing validity up until a proper existential confrontation
with the gospel. At times Dupuis is dangerously close to an a priori
affirmation of all religions (120), and like Rahner sometimes neglects
the ubiquity of sin and the possible distortion of truths when contained
within an entire system which may obscure or misconstrue them-as
Congar has so rightly noted.
Dupuis brings out the implications of this theology of presence
arguing that salvation comes through the structures of other religions,
analogously to Israel in the Hebrew bible. Hence, salvation is possible
without explicit confrontation with the gospel. Here two points are
worth making. First, he rightly defends Rahner against the charge of
gnosticism: that the only difference between explicit and implicit
Christianity is a matter of knowledge. Second, he is wrong to equate
and then quickly dismiss von Balthasar's with Kiing's (superficial)
criticisms of Rahner ( 150, note 44). Von Balthasar's critique of the
supernatural existential goes to the heart of the nature-grace debate
which may be said to be the key to both Christology and the subsequent
view of other religions. In failing to engage properly with von Balthasar, Dupuis's case lacks full rigour and credibility.
His development of Rahner's thesis is most clearly seen in chapter
seven, where he introduces the Spirit to make sense of the notion of
Christ's hidden presence, such that "the influence of the Spirit reveals
and manifests the activity of Christ" (153) found, for instance, in
agape. He also employs the category of inspiration, associated with the
Spirit and neglected in recent theology, to argue for the inspirational
status of non-Christian " holy " texts. I agree with Dupuis's argument,
although I think he tends to promote a depersonalised form of pneumatology as text, rather than co-equally stressing the role of the Spirit
in the community as interpreter. After all one can have the New Testament being read and practiced heretically. The promise of the Spirit
as interpreter and performer of texts is more dynamic and fruitful and
further justifies Dupuis' own argument for the incorporation of nonChristian texts into the Christian liturgy. This neglect of the ecclesiological dimension of Christology is a major weakness.
Dupuis then inspects the relationship of the Jesus of history to the
Christ of faith in the context of religious pluralism. He maintains the
indissoluble link between the two and criticizes the prevalent tendencies
to separate them (Hick, Knitter, Race on the one hand, and Troeltsch,
Tillich and Pannikar on the other. This is a welcome detailed critical
appraisal of Pannikar's work.) He also criticizes Christologies that
deny Jesus as constitutive of salvation, although what could have been
a useful critique of Kiing is somewhat dissipated. There are some ex-

BOOK REVIEWS

723

tremely incisive judgments on a range of modern writers and tendencies. What is outstandingly useful here is the way Dupuis shows how
the most conservative of high Christologies can also he the most open
and critically fruitful in engaging with other religions.
The final chapters contain a fine exegesis of Vatican II and postconciliar documents regarding the confused and fluid status of interreligious dialogue in relation to evangelization and mission. Dupuis
promotes the view of dialogue as mutual evangelization and as essential
to the mission of the church, although there is slight ambivalence in
his comments that dialogue does not involve explicit proclamation
(228). Why not, in some instances?
While Dupuis's hook is an excellent statement of an orthodox inclusivist high Christology, there are certain weaknesses within his approach. First, the clash of faiths and the fragmented discontinuities so
clearly evident are too easily harmonized in an evolutionary picture of
salvation history. Second, his Christology could he more trinitarian and
ecclesiocentric. For example, he neglects the apophatic elements of
Christianity and its possible relation with traditions like Buddhism, and
while he denies any real difference between eastern and western pneumatologies, his own preference for the western tradition could have
been more starkly contrasted with some dangers that have entered the
debate by those trying to utilize an allegedly more eastern pneumatology.
His ecclesiocentric neglect diverts attention from the way in which
communities are so deeply shaped by their practice of texts and the
consequent difficulties of comparison across different textual world
views. Such problems should not however obscure Dupuis' incisive and
powerful vision of Christ at the center of all salvation history.
GAVIN D'COSTA
University of Bristol
Bristol, England

Dissonant Voices: Religious Pluralism and the Question of Truth.
By HOWARD A. NETLAND. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans,
1991. xii
323 pp. $17.95 (paper).

+

This hook, written by an assistant professor of religious studies at
Tokyo Christian University who is also an Evangelical Free Church
missionary in Japan, contains a lucid and coherent argument in defense of Christian exclusivism. Its author values clarity and reasoned
argument over sentiment, and has faith in the power of those virtues
to solve deep problems, such as those set for Christians by the facts of

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religious pluralism. This faith has enabled him to produce a book of
considerable power; it has also led him at points to oversimplify exceedingly complex problems. This is scarcely surprising since oversimplification is a perennial temptation for those who value clarity.
Netland understands Christian exclusivism to assert at least the following claims: that the "defining beliefs" of Christianity-nowhere
listed, but defined formally as that set of beliefs whose acceptance is
entailed for any individual just by being an "active Christian in good
standing "-are all true; that the defining beliefs of non-Christian religious communities are false where they conflict with those of Christianity; that salvation is to be had only through hearing and properly
responding to the gospel of Jesus Christ; and that evangelization-the
active proclamation of the gospel to those who have not yet accepted
it-is an unavoidable duty for faithful Christians. Netland further
thinks that Christian exclusivism, understood in this way, requires and
rests upon a high christology and a strong view of the truth and divine inspiration of the biblical text.
None of these positions is uncontroversial, as Netland recognizes, and
the cluster of views that he calls Christian exclusivism has long been
out of favor in the mainstream of Christian theological thought, both
Catholic and Protestant. It carries conviction, indeed, only among
evangelical Protestants and small cadres of unreconstructed pre-Vatican
II Roman Catholics. Netland thinks Christian exclusivism deserves a
wider hearing, and that it should finally be adopted by all Christians
as the proper way to think about religious pluralism. He therefore
needs to meet the standard objections to the position, and this book is
largely an extended attempt to do so.
In the first five chapters Netland meets objections which, if successful, would make both Christian and other varieties of religious exclusivism untenable. If the arguments in these chapters are successful
they establish only the modal claim that Christian exclusivism is possibly true-that the defeaters of it canvassed here do not in fact defeat. To this end Netland argues in chapters 2-3 that there are, as a
matter of fact, prima facie incompatibilities among the defining beliefs
of the world's major religious communities, and that Christian exclusivism therefore has purchase. In chapter 4 he argues, against W. C.
Smith, D. Z. Phillips, and others, that the concept of propositional truth
not only has application to religious beliefs, but is also unavoidable in
such contexts, and that noncognitivist readings of religion inevitably
fail. He needs to argue this since his version of Christian exclusivism
is predicated upon a propositional view of truth. And in chapter 5 he
argues that at least some criteria for the assessment and adjudication
of prima facie oppositions among the doctrines of religious communities do exist and can be applied.

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725

In the opinion of this reviewer, the positions argued for by Netland
in these chapters are largely correct, and are badly in need of serious
discussion by theologians. But I do not think that his arguments establish the truth of his claims. Indeed, it would be very surprising if they
did, for Netland needs to defend among other things a propositionalist
theory of truth, an extraordinarily subtle and complex task only the
surface of which is scratched here. I suspect that Netland's philosophical training is not adequate to this part of his work; he certainly
shows no acquaintance with the debates about propositionalism in contemporary anglophone semantics and philosophy of mind, and makes
the astounding claim that propositionalism is " widely accepted in contemporary philosophy " (p. 115). In fact, it is probably more widely
rejected than accepted, and is certainly deeply controversial.
In addition, it is not clear that Netland needs to establish that there
are tradition-neutral criteria of assessment and adjudication in order to
ground the possibility that what is believed by some religious persons
may be false while what is believed by other religious persons may be
true. Alasdair Mcintyre, among others, has recently set forth powerful arguments that deny the existence of such tradition-neutral criteria
while still affirming the possibility of being able to demonstrate the
preferability of some religious beliefs to others. This position needs to
be engaged if Netland's systematic ambitions are to be realized.
In spite of these weaknesses, Netland's arguments for the possible
truth of Christian exclusivism do raise the right questions, and do
point to the fact that these questions have not been resolved in the
ways that defenders of pluralism so often assume. These first chapters
are the strongest part of the book.
In chapters 6-8 Netland offers a detailed analysis and critique of
John Hick's position on religious pluralism; a rejection of the (different) pluralistic christologies offered by Hick and Paul Knitter in
favor of a broadly Chalcedonian position; and a defense of the need
for Christian evangelism and its possible combination with some
forms of religious tolerance and interreligious dialogue. The arguments
in these chapters address, for the most part, not the conditions of the
possibility of the truth of Christian exclusivism, but rather the claim
that Christian faith entails commitment to certain strong christological
claims, and to the practice of evangelism.
I find Netland's arguments in this section of the book much less
convincing. He is perceptive in his analysis of the weaknesses in Hick's
position, and possibly correct that the Chalcedonian formulae are consistent with the thrust of the New Testament documents in ways that
neither Hick's nor Knitter's christologies are. He is also obviously correct that christological discussion is unavoidable for any Christian who
wants to develop a position on religious pluralism. But he apparently

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does not see that the christological options are not exhausted by the
relatively crude positions taken by Hick and Knitter on the one hand,
and a naively literalistic reading of the New Testament on the other.
And this, I think, is because his own arguments as to what is required
for faithful Christians rest upon a one-dimensional reading of the New
Testament, a reading whose basic assumptions are themselves nonbiblical. But here too, as with the question of truth, the issues are
enormously complex, the literature is vast, and Netland can do no more
than gesture at the nature of the problem.
Of special ethnographic interest is Netland's survey in chapter 7 of
the range of current evangelical opinion on the difficult question ( dif •
ficult, that is, for a Christian exclusivist) of what happens at death to
those who have not accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ, either because
they are "informationally B.C." (i.e., they have not heard it), or because they were "chronologically B.C." (i.e., they lived before the
gospel was proclaimed). Such discussions have a flavor of solemn absurdity to those outside the evangelical fold; their very occurrence
should call into question some of the commitments that give rise to
them, and they make apparent the severe ·difficulties inherent in the kind
of nonbiblical reading of the biblical materials referred to in the pre·
ceding paragraph.
In all, Professor Netland's book deserves wide reading and discussion. It covers too much ground too quickly, hut it has the great
virtue of showing both what must he argued if Christian exclusivism
is to he held true, and that these arguments are not yet resolved.
PAUL J. GRIFFITHS
University of Chicago
Chicago, Illinois

Myeh and Metaphysics in Plato's Phaedo. By DAVID A. WHITE. Selins·
grove, Pennsylvania: Susquehanna Univ. Press, 1989. 316 pp. $45.

David White has written a commentary to the Phaedo in order to
make clear the purposes its myths serve. There has been a tendency
among some interpreters to brush aside this question in their exclusive
attention to the arguments of the Phaedo. One of the principal virtues
of White's book is to demonstrate that a proper philosophical understanding of the Phaedo cannot so ignore its myths.
His demonstration gains support from his insight that the Phaedo is
Socrates' swan song. To those who wonder that he does not regard
his imminent death a misfortune, Socrates replies by comparing him·
self to swans in the following ways:

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You probably think that in prophetic skill I am inferior to swans. They,
when they perceive that they must die, although having sung their whole
life, do then sing mightiest and best (pleista kai kallista), rejoicing that
they are about to go away into the presence of the god whose servants
they are .... Because they belong to Apollo, they have prophetic powers;
and foreseeing the good things in Hades they on that day above all others
sing and are glad.
But I suppose myself to be in the same service as the swans, dedicated
to the same god, to have the prophetic skill from our master no less than
swans, and to be released from life no less dispirited (84e4-85b7).

The Phaedo, then, expresses Socrates' joy, and though he has sung
mightily and well his whole life, on this day he sings pleista kai
kallista.
White draws attention to this feature of swan song, that the death
day's is best, and goes on to predict the same feature within the death
day: " as an agent of Apollo, Socrates will speak longer and better the
closer he gets to death" (127). The structure of the Phaedo confirms
to some extent this prediction. As White notes, " the final proof is the
longest of the arguments demonstrating the immortality of soul and
. . . the concluding eschatological myth is the longest of the various
attempts to depict the afterlife; presumably then both the final proof
and the eschatological myth are also the ' best ' of their respective types
of discourse" (127).
I find White's application of the swan song convincing, with one
qualification. He translates pleista kai kallista as " most and best "
(126), and understands "most" specifically as a superlative of size:
"longest." This reading is too narrow: one established meaning of
pleista in connection with song is as a superlative of musical volume:
" loudest." Indeed I see nothing wrong in imagining Socrates, with
growing joy and excitement, talking louder at each new stage of the
dialogue. But I think that reading pleista exclusively as a superlative
of musical volume is also too limited. I suggest that pleista here be
understood as a superlative of magnitude in general: perhaps " greatest " or " mightiest " conveys this sense in English better than " most."
This more general reading allows us to perceive an increase not only
in magnitude of size and volume, but also in magnitude of importance.
The Phaedo comes to the end in, as it were, a mighty crescendo, with
the ultimate fortissimo being Socrates' very last words, which are
neither myth nor argument but command, and which, though not at all
long, are plausibly seen as the mightiest and finest note of the whole
piece: "Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius. Be careful; pay the debt."
Before turning to White's account of myth in the Phaedo, I must
praise his interpretation of these last words of Socrates. One owes a
sacrifice to Asclepius on recovering from disease. What disease does
Socrates have in mind?

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In Twilight of the Idols, Nietzsche articulated what has come to be
a prevailing interpretation: "To live--that means to be a long time
sick" ("The Problem of Socrates," tr. Hollingdale). On this reading,
death is seen as a release from human suffering. The problem, as
White persuasively shows, is that " Socrates could not regard death as
producing such a release and remain consistent " with his final myth
(277). According to that myth, "those who have just died" are first
divided into " those who had praiseworthy and holy lives and those
who had not" (113dl;4). As one would expect, the had-nots continue,
some forever, in their suffering, if only as purification. The hads, by
contrast, move up from their previous dwelling " inside [since under the
air of] the earth" to a dwelling "upon the earth" (114b8-c2). This
higher life, though " much longer " and " without sickness," is still
plainly mortal and bodily (lllb2-3). Only at the end of that higher
life will " a part, who have sufficienty purified themselves by philosophy," graduate to an entirely bodiless life which is "finer yet"
(114c2-5). But there is no guarantee that these higher-ups will not
backslide in their life and return after their eventual death to further
suffering, as in the eschatological myths of the Republic ( 619b-d) and
Phaedo (248a-c). Hence White's assessment of the Nietzschean inter·
pretation seems correct: " Socrates' request to Crito cannot be intended
to thank Asclepius for his release from human ills in the sense of a
'final' escape" (277).
This clears the way for White's own interpretation. His insight is to
see that Socrates is repaying the god for " provisionally healing a philosophical illness" (281): misology. At 88c-9lc-" a brief section
spanning the exact center of the dialogue" (132)-Simmias and Cebes
raise devastating objections to Socrates' first argument for the immor·
tality of the soul, which had semed to the company utterly valid. The
objections cause a crisis in confidence: how can we trust any argument, now that we have seen how the " absolutely convincing " can be·
come "utterly discredited" (88d2-3)?
Just as with misanthropy, the experience of betrayal can cause
hatred. And, Socrates says, " it is impossible that any suffering can
be worse than having a hatred of argument" (89d2-3). The reason is
that those who suffer from this disease "end (teleutontes) by believing
that they are wiser than anyone else, because they alone have· discovered
that there is nothing stable or dependable either in facts or in argu·
ments" (90cl-4, tr. Tredennick). Socrates' verb "to end" is a pun:
it also has the meaning to die. Though White does not notice the pun,
he sees the connection: " the ultimate consequence of misology is a
kind of self-destruction in which what is destroyed is that aspect of the
self represented by active reason. But if human beings are in fact de·
fined by rationality, then to succumb to misology is to embrace a kind

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of death" (134)-one worse than bodily death: Socrates would prefer
Phaedo to cut off his hair to mourn not Socrates' death, but the argu·
ment's death (89b). Thus a human being can have no greater reason
for making a sacrifice to Asclepius than to have been healed of
misology.
The proper course of action, when we find ourselves betrayed by
arguments, is not to accuse arguments of being incapable of validity,
but rather to recognize ourselves as still intellectual invalids (90e); this
is the beginning of health. This of course is the familiar Socratic
thesis of the Apology: that to recognize one's own ignorance is the best
way to begin the care of one's soul, and the best that human beings
have attained in intellectual health.
Another familiar Socratic feature is that Socrates describes himself
as sharing this disease with the company (90e). But Phaedo, looking
back at the conversation at the very moment he relays it-and here we
are at the very center of the dialogue-states that although " he had
often marveled at Socrates before, never more than " at what Socrates
then did (88e4-5): note again how Socrates' last song is like a swan's
in magnitude, here, of marvelousness) ; he marvelled at " how well
Socrates healed" them (89a5). Surely this philosophical healing
brings upon the company the obligation of a sacrifice to Asclepius, an
obligation which Socrates would want us to take care of above all and
not forget.
Let me turn now to White's main concern. Given the principle of
the swan song, and that Socrates had throughout his life regarded
philosophy as the " greatest kind of music " ( 6la3-4), it is no surprise
that the Phaedo is full of philosophical argument. But the longest and
best argument in the Phaedo is followed by-in the place of highest
importance before Socrates' last words- a singularly long and complex
myth. Evidently myth has an importance at least as great as argument.
What is this importance?
White states or suggests many answers.
(1) "All attempts [by reason] to demonstrate soul's immortality will
require reinforcement by some sort of mythic configuration" (18).
(2) Human "philosophical nature may not represent the best that
humanity offers with respect to apprehending a partial knowledge
of the good; " thus myth serves to " supplement " reason ( 173) .
(3) Socrates' explanations require him to "explore nondiscursive
regions-the language of belief shading into myth. These regions
are essential to the problem because the good as such can be expressed only according to their coordinates" (178).
(4) "It is necessary to [use myth] if one wants as complete a per·
spective on the good as it is humanly possible to secure " ( 179).

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(5) "The mythic details provide what might be called discursive possibilities derived from the arguments preceding it" (238).
(6) Myth makes us "more open to the fundamental character of the
metaphysics that grounds it, a metaphysics that becomes indistinct
the closer one moves to articulating the principles that animate
it" (268).

It is not clear how all of these answers can be right. For example, answers ( 1) and (4) make reason and myth necessary complements of
each other, but in ways that are prima f acie incompatible, as reinforcers
and as alternate perspectives. By contrast, in ( 6) and ( 3) reason appears unnecessary, again in ways that are prima facie incompatible, as
blindness and hypermetropia to the truth. Again, answers (2) and (5)
both make myth a supplement, but in (2) to the imperfect, in (5) to
the apparently only incomplete.
It is a defect of White's work that these answers are left undeveloped
to such a degree that it is difficult even to assess their mutual consistency. But there is a graver defect: common to all his answers is
the diagnosis that rational argument in one way or another lacks the
character to reveal all truth; such answers tend in these ways to mistrust rational argument; in these ways they are kinds of misology. It
is far better, and far better in particular as an interpretation of Plato,
to diagnose our need for myth as a condition of the human soul rather
than of rational argument.
To find the point of myth in the condition of the human soul rather
than argument itself is hardly new; it is the essence of Hegel's reading:
However much ... Plato's mythical presentation of Philosophy is praised,
and however attractive it is in his Dialogues, it yet proves a source of
misapprehensions; and it is one of these misapprehensions, if Plato's
myths are held to be what is most excellent in his philosophy. Many
propositions, it is true, are made more easily intelligible by being presented in mythical form; nevertheless, that is not the true way of presenting them .... The myth belongs to the pedagogic stage of the human
race .... When the notion attains its full development, it has no more
need of the myth (Lectures on the History of Philosophy, sec. I, ch. III,
tr. Haldane and Simpson).

For Hegel, the particular condition of the human soul necessitating
myth is the less than full development of the rational element, which as
such needs something more user-friendly than pure argument. Unfortunately, how unargued myth can educate, can indeed even be directed at, the rational element of the soul is left unexplained.
A much more recent representative of the non-misologic reading is
Kenneth Dorter:

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731

Even Socrates' comparatively sophisticated audience shows itself, like
Cebes, not in command of its emotions (59a-b), and Plato would hardly
have expected his dialogue's audience to be generally more sophisticated
than this one. Such people might not find the philosopher's beliefs incomprehensible, but it is questionable how strong a hold they could have
on them if their irrational emotions were not made allies of these beliefs.
Where the subject matter is not an emotionally charged one such considerations might be irrelevant, but a subject could hardly be more emotionally charged than that of the Phaedo, as the spectator's reactions witness (Plato's Phaedo: An Interpretation [Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1982], p. 8).

For Dorter, the particular condition of the human soul necessitating
myth is found in the insubordination of its " irrational emotions " to
the ruling, rational element of the soul. On this reading, argument is
needed to address the rational part, and myth the irrational emotions of
the soul. White does not directly consider this interpretation by Dorter.
But he is sensitive to the crucial problem with Dorter's reading (cf.
White, 20). If the soul were bifurcated into rational and irrational
parts, to which argument and myth were separately addressed, there
could be no explanation why the myth shares as it does a conceptual
content with the argument. Indeed there could be no explanation why
the myth has a conceptual content at all. More than just an enchanting
tune, a myth requires meaningful lyrics.
Dorter was right to seek an explanation of the point of myth in a
divided soul. He was wrong not to divide the soul according to Plato.
In the Republic, with its elaborate model of the soul as state, Plato divides the rational part of the soul, corresponding to the Guardian class,
into two further parts, corresponding to the Rulers and Auxiliaries.
Both further parts are therefore rational, hut with the following distinction. In the ruling element is " understanding, which leads and governs " (428e8) , while the auxiliary part has " the power which preserves belief through all circumstances," the beliefs given to it by the
ruling element (429b9-c2). Incidentally, Aristotle observes this same
subdistinction of the rational element, into " that which trusts in reason, and that which has reason i.e. thinks things through" (Eth. Nie.
1.7, 1098a4-5).
Accordingly, in the Republic Socrates does not recommend that the
auxiliary part of the state (and by analogy that part of the soul) be
given the argumentative training which leads to understanding. Rather,
it should be treated as wool is with color-fast dye: we ought "to contrive ... how best they might accept and trust in the dictates " of the
ruling element (430a2-3) . A primary way to achieve this effect recommended in the Republic is the telling of myth: children not yet able to
follow arguments can comprehend and be molded by myth (377a-c);
presumably the auxiliary part of the soul, which has the function of

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preserving belief, not understanding truth, will he effectively molded by
the same technique.
This bipartite view of the rational element of the soul, therefore, provides an explanation of the importance of myth as well as argument in
Plato in those dialogues in which Plato subscribes to such a bipartite
theory of soul. It is an important confirmation of this interpretation,
then, that the middle dialogues of Plato make extensive use of myth,
while the early, 'Socratic' dialogues do not. There is no question that
the middle dialogues do accept this bipartite theory. The early dialogues, to he sure, nowhere argue explicitly against a bipartite theory
of rational soul, hut to see that the Socratic dialogues cannot accept
such a theory, recall that, on a standard interpretation of those dialogues, Socrates denies that knowledge can he rendered helpless in the
grip of strong passion, i.e. that one's knowledge can suffer " impotence" (akrasia, cf. Prt. 352b-357e). On the bipartite theory, however,
it is obvious that akrasia is possible (cf. Rep. 442c-d).
To sum up: I have praised White for his eye-opening revelations
that the structure of the Phaedo is like a swan song, and that the illness of which Socrates and company are healed is misology. And I
have found it ironic that White does not see that his misologic inter·
pretation of the point of the Phaedo's myths is inconsistent with the
second revelation. Finally, I have suggested that a non-misologic interpretation is satisfactory.
It is a misfortune that the Platonic-Aristotelian distinction of the
rational element into a part which can understand argument and a part
which can comprehend unargued assertion and command has not been
well marked in the history of philosophy, which has substituted cruder
counterparts to reason: irrational emotions or non-rational will. It is
relatively unimportant that when we work with the cruder distinctions
we stumble in interpreting the Phaedo. The real trouble comes when,
with a cruder distinction in hand, we observe, as we must, that there
is more at the heart of human life than rational argument. If everything but argument is outside rational discourse, rational discourse begins to look an insignificant part of human expression. If nothing but
argument is the concern of the rational self, the rational self begins to
look an insignificant part of the human being. But, as modern and
contemporary philosophical exploration has shown, to look outside the
rational for the truth about the human being is to risk the destruction
of philosophy.
GEORGE RunEBUSCH
Northern Arizona University
Flagstaff, Arizona

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733

The Giving and Taking of Life: Essays Ethical. By JAMES TUNSTEAD
BURTCHAELL. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame
Press, 1989. xiv
304 pp. $29.95.

+

One looks forward to the writings of James Burtchaell not only because his judgments are almost always on the side of the angels hut
also because his mastery of the English language often enables him to
say in a few words what writers of lesser skill say in volumes.
This is a collection of previously-published essays on a wide range
of topics including contraception, abortion, the use of biotechnology in
human reproduction, the use of fetal tissue in medical therapy, law in a
pluralist society, liberation theology, the morality of terrorism and the
relationship of religion to politics. In its own way, this hook poses well
the moral questions of how we and " nature " are to relate to the newly
emerging generation of technology. Because the articles are so diverse,
it is not possible to give a detailed account or critique of each of them,
and rather than doing that I will focus attention only on the issue of
ethics and the newly emerging technology which will have a profound
impact on not only our personal lives, hut also our society and politics.
And to an even greater extent, newly emerging technological developments will have an enormous impact on the way in which our race
regenerates and orients itself in the future.
On a case-by-case basis, Burtchaell raises these issues with great
force and clarity, even though his understanding of nature and technology is not entirely clear. He suggests that nature is far more subtle
and vital than we commonly assume and that it has its own ways of fighting hack against our technological assaults against it. Our attempts to
control and manipulate nature through technological means provide
nature with an opportunity to protect itself hy striking hack at us in
ways previously unimagined. Using technology to bend nature to our
will is much like the Australian Aborigine who vainly tried to throw
away his boomerang!
What is most striking about this hook is the contradictory way in
which Burtchaell employs the concept of nature to determine the morality of certain enterprises. This contradiction is seen most clearly hy
comparing his assessments of artificial contraception and technological
transmission of human life. The contrast is so sharp that the issue of
the foundations of his thought can he called into question. When one
compares his favorable assessment of artificial contraception to his
critical evaluation of technological reproduction of human life, one
wonders if there is an underlying principle guiding his moral deliberations or whether it is merely his intuitions, likes and dislikes (strongly

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colored and shaped by his cultural setting) that determine his evaluations.
In "'Human Life' and Human Love", Burtchaell vigorously criticizes the substance, form and arguments of the encyclical Humanae
Vitae. For him, the great flaw in this encyclical was the weight it gave
to the distinction between natural and artificial contraception and the
absolute condemnation visited upon the latter. Seeing little difference
between more natural methods of contraception like natural family
planning and the use of the pill, Burtchaell argues that artificial contraception should have been given some kind of moral permissibility by
Pope Paul VI (P. 99). But it is not clear why he gives limited support
to artificial birth control after one reads his harsh criticisms of it:
But the venture of technology overshot its original goals in several unforeseen ways. America now has the highest rate of teenage pregnancy in
what we like to call the developed world. The incidence of sexual prom·
iscuity, venereal disease, abortion, marital collapse, fatherless children,
child abuse and abandonment, wanton breeding by the thriftless (and
dusky) poor is probably higher than at any time in our national history.
The founders [Margaret Sanger and Marie Stopes] did concede that their
program might not immediately achieve its desired results. But that was
because of the lack, in their time, of an ' ideal ' contraceptive. Its development was to be expected from further assiduous scientific research.
Seventy years and much assiduous research later, the same message is
still bravely recited. With more technology-more instruction in contraception, more availability of contraceptives, and more abortion as a failsafe backstop-all of these problems can be licked (P. 127).

Even further he writes:
The naivete of the technicians seems never to have been jolted by any
suspicion that their massive scheme of helpful contrivances might itself
have been one of the surest stimulants of irresponsible sexual activity
(P. 129).

Contraception has also brought us "[A]n entire generation of adults
poisoning their capacity to parent" (P. 142). With all of this, it is
hard to understand why he criticizes the Vatican for condemning arti·
ficial contraception as an "intrinsically denatured act" (P. 140).
But while strongly favoring " artificial " contraception, Burtchaell is
a strong critic of the use of artificial methods to generate life. Are we
to conclude from this that artificiality is permissible in efforts to curb
generation but abhorrent when used to generate life? In his article
"The Child as Chattel", he rightly argues that the "artificial" generation of children through IVF and other contemporary biotechnology
causes serious harm to children, parents and society. The fundamental
problem with our technologists is that they believe our actions (or
technologies) derive their meaning not from their inherent direction

BOOK REVIEWS

735

or force, but from the wishes we have for them (P. 147). Yet he will
not accept the notion that the contraceptive action has an inherent
meaning or message which is contrary to what he claims is the proper
relationship between science and nature.
He argues that the Catholic Church should approve artificial contraception as have other Christians Churches such as the Anglican
Church at Lambeth (Pp. 106-8). However, he says little of the fact
that these Churches have shown little concern for the Christian tradition
on this issue and have carried that lack of concern to other areas:
ordination and ministry, sexual ethics and abortion. And he does not
seem to see that the Churches which have approved artificial contracep·
tion do not stand as a credible model for a Church which takes its
heritage seriously and which envisions itself as having been charged
with an authoritative teaching ministry. Even further, he omits any
mention of the ban the Orthodox Churches have maintained against
contraception in recent years.
He compares the heavy-handed manner in which the teachings of
Humanae Vitae have been imposed on the Church to the way in which
the papacy in the middle ages and early modern era vainly attempted
to assert its authority over secular rulers. But a more apt comparison
could be drawn between the way in which the Church vainly taught
against the practice of jousting, duelling and gunfighting right up to
the First World War and its teachings against contraception. Both of
these teachings were propounded consistently for centuries and yet both
were in large part ignored by major segments of the laity. This suggests that a future post-technological society with more perceptive
awareness of the intricacies of nature might well look on the practices
of contraception as having been similarly misguided.
Burtchaell strongly opposes technological intervention to promote
generation through IVF, but he raises few questions about allowing it
to inhibit or prohibit generation through contraception. He sees quite
clearly the divisive and harmful effects of allowing technologists to be
the creators of children, but he appears somewhat blind to the harm
that allowing technology to determine conception can do to couples.
Burtchaell is fond of criticizing official Church pronouncements for their
stylistic and rhetorical inadequacy, and one gets the impression he
would like to see them all written in his own breezy style. Because of
these criticisms and because of the absence of any systematic character
to his own work, one suspects he does not fully understand the philosophical rigor in these official statements.
While he is undoubtedly an extremely competent writer and in possession of an engaging literary style, one wonders how qualified he is
as a rigorous and systematic moralist. This question needs to be raised
because of his apparent allergy to the major moral and philosophical

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debates now raging in contemporary Catholic morality. For example,
one searches this volume for an essay on the debate between Grisez
and Finnis and their opponents but nothing is found. This silence leads
one to suspect that his judgments do not flow from a foundation of
moral principles hut rather from his own vaguely articulated intuitions.
Burtchaell rightly criticizes the use of human fetal tissue in transplantation for therapeutic purposes because these procedures violate the
canons of informed consent. It is more accurate to say that these tissues
are " harvested " from the fetus rather than donated because no legitimate informed consent was given to their removal. His moral criticisms of these procedures are correct, but I fear they may not have
much impact on contemporary advanced technologists who usually subordinate ethical concerns to scientific and technological advances. Few
of these researchers would forsake what appears to be a promising scientific or technological advancement for the sake of an ethical scruple.
Rather than raising only ethical objections to their research and proposals, a more effective approach would be to show that more ethically
tolerable technological and scientific areas of research are also more
advanced and sophisticated in their technological and scientific character. Many scientists would not curb or redirect their research solely
for ethical reasons, but they would modify it if shown that their research is not only ethically tainted but is also scientifically and technologically backwards. This implies that, to gain credibility in the scientific community, bioethicists in coming decades will have to show
that morally flawed technology and scientific research is also unsophisticated and retarded science. They will have to be aware of not only
the ethical deficiencies in research protocols, but also of their scientific
deficiencies as well.
By way of example, human fetal tissue transplantation to cure diabetes should be shown to be not only unethical, but also in violation of
the canons of advanced scientific research. Burtchaell seems to agree
with claims that human fetal tissue transplants have exceptional therapeutic potential, but this has not been proven in the human domain.
And he seems to be unaware of the extraordinarily difficult problem of
controlling their release of therapeutic substances. To effectively criticize
these protocols bioethicists should also recommend more sophisticated
research to replace them, such as procedures now being developed to
genetically bind insulin-producing islet cells to " immortalized " cancer
cells. These cells would be placed in controlled release devices that
would protect the cells from the immune system of the patient and in
turn would protect the patient from the cancer cells. Because these
cells are " immortal ", they could produce insulin for an indefinite
period of time and would not need to he replaced at regular intervals.
This is the elegant and sophisticated technology that fulfills the canons

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737

of sound scientific research that bioethicists should espouse to drive
out the rather crude and barbaric practices of transplanting " baby
brains " into the heads of the elderly and senile. The persuasive bioethicist of the future will have to be more discriminating in his or her
judgments of the scientific and therapeutic efficacy of procedures.
One would hope that this volume on the giving and taking of human
life would have included reflections on the contemporary human
genome mapping project, for the success of this project will profoundly
influence how life is transmitted in the twenty.first century. This project
aims at identifying each and every gene in the human genome along
with its specific function in order to identify and treat genetically-related diseases such as sickle-cell anemia, diabetes and Trisomy 13.
However, a less well-advertised agenda aims at using this information
for little less than positively eugenic purposes. Whether contemporary
high technology should be allowed to assume this role will be the great
biomedical debate of the twenty-first century, dwarfing both the abortion and euthanasia debates, and it is unfortunate that Burtchaell does
not begin to address that issue in this volume.
Burtchaell's essay "Moral Response to Terrorism" is an insightful
piece, for it suggests that contemporary technology is partly responsible for the rise of present-day terrorism. The development of mass
armies equipped with the weaponry made available by modern hightechnology has destroyed the effectiveness of traditional conventional
warfare. The only means of warfare that hold out any promise of success today are nuclear war, high-technology warfare, guerilla warfare
and terrorism, and it is terrorism which is now the preferred choice of
the dispossessed and militarily weak, even though its rise has again put
the common man in jeopardy. Democratic processes and the mass army
were supposed to protect the security of the common man, but they
have failed in this mission by giving the politically disenfranchised no
other means to strike at oppressors than through terrorist attacks.
Burtchaell argues well ,that the response of organized political societies to terrorism is crucial, but fashioning a properly ethical response
to a terrorist act is extremely difficult. The terrorist acts to provoke not
a juridical but a political response from authorities. But usually societies respond to terrorist acts by denying moral legitimacy to the terrorist's claims, and they criminalize the action in an attempt to gain
moral superiority over the terrorist. The difficulty with most of these
" juridical " responses to terrorism is that they latch onto the unethical
demands or acts of terrorists and use these to deny all moral legitimacy
to their demands. The ethically and politically effective response to
terrorists would be one which takes into account their morally legitimate
claims and tailors responses to those claims. Burtchaell rightly suggests
that the standard one·sided response is unwise, and can only bring poli-

738

BOOK REVIEWS

tical ruin, for what is required is a proper legal response to their illegal
acts and a properly political response to their political acts.
Burtchaell is usually close to the truth in his ethical judgments, hut
one is often uneasy with these judgments either because of some glaring
inconsistencies or because they do not seem grounded on a solid theoretical basis. He is possessed of some remarkably clear insights and
a powerful rhetorical style, hut these suffer from his inability to string
these insights into a consistent outlook on these critical biomedical
issues.
ROBERT BARRY, O.P.
University of Illinois
Champaign-Urbana, Illinois

Image and Spirit in Sacred and Secular Art. By JANE DILLENBERGER.
New York: Crossroad, 1990. Pp. 217. $29.95.
In the quarter century since the close of Vatican II, it is surprising
how few Catholic seminaries in this country have followed the Council
mandate that called for the study of sacred art by candidates preparing
for ordination. On the contrary, the preconciliar ambivalence toward
the arts in general, and the visual arts in particular, has been superseded by an incipient iconoclasm that has flourished hand in hand with
the liturgical renewal. In the exuberance of throwing out the vestiges
of preconciliar culture, hasty reformers have unwittingly embraced new
art forms that are all too often lacking in aesthetic or spiritual value.
Their untrained eyes predictably gravitate toward the insipid, the
garish, and the gaudy. Much of what has been lauded as Catholic art
in the past two decades finds itself as hopelessly outdated as the burlap
banner. Catholic culture has devolved into Catholic kitsch.
It is ironic that the most eloquent voice for the study of art in
American seminaries today belongs not to any priest or prelate, hut to
a Protestant woman, Jane Dillenherger, who has established a long and
distinguished career teaching in theological seminaries. These include:
Drew Theological Seminary, San Francisco Theological Seminary, the
Pacific School of Religion, and the Jesuit School of Theology in Berkeley. The Harvard-educated Dillenherger is the author of numerous
hooks and articles dealing with art and religion. That she foresaw a
career dedicated to rebuilding bridges between these two long-estranged
fields of study was evidenced early on when she sought an inter-disciplinary doctoral degree with a dissertation committee that would include
the theologian Paul Tillich alongside the eminent art historian Erwin
Panofsky. The innovative proposal was denied. Undaunted, Dillen·

BOOK REVIEWS

739

berger later went on to establish at the Graduate Theological Union in
Berkeley a doctoral program of studies in the Arts and Religion, the only
one of its kind in the United States, where theologians, artists, and art
historians collaborate in the education of future church leaders.
Jane Dillenberger's latest book, Image and Spirit in Sacred and
Secular Art, is fitting testimony to a career that has stretched over five
decades. The hook is a compendium of essays and lectures addressed
to "the inquiring, intelligent adult who has little or no formal background in the visual arts." The offerings include such diverse subjects
as "The Image of Evil in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Art"
(what would have been her dissertation topic under Tillich and Pan of·
sky), "Picasso's Transformations of Sacred Art," "The Appearance
and Disappearance of God in Western Art,"" Lucas Cranach, Reformation Picture-Maker," and "Images of Women in American Art." Al·
together, ten essays have been included in this Crossroad publication
which is generously filled with 133 reproductions of works discussed
in the text.
The overarching theme of this hook is to look at visual images and
analyze how they have changed through successive cultural eras. In
doing so the author makes every attempt to connect art and religion
with everyday life. In her introductory essay, "Looking for Style and
Content in Christian Art," Dillenberger calls on all viewers to discard
their private prejudices as they gaze upon artworks: "Nothing less
than a kind of self-abdication is demanded of us by a great work of
art. It asks us to see it, if only for a few moments, in terms of the vision
that it represents and expresses." Only by placing biases in check can
the viewer hope to share in the artists's vision, a truly creative interval
for the beholder, which the art critic, Bernard Berenson, called "the
aesthetic moment," that experience wherein the perceiver and the per·
ceived " become one entity; time and space are abolished and the
spectator is possessed by one awareness." When ordinary consciousness
is renewed, the viewer feels " as if he had been initiated into illuminat·
ing, exalting, formative mysteries. In short, the aesthetic moment is a
moment of mystic vision." Truth, both Dillenberger and Berenson
would agree, is not imparted by the spoken or written word alone.
Truth can he visually perceived when not blinded by prejudice.
The discarding of prejudices in viewing a work of art, Dillenherger
points out, is necessary for the educated as well as the uneducated. She
attacks feminist theologian Elizabeth Moltmann-Wendel for her declaration that representations of the Magdalen as a sinner are sexist.
"What is left of the great male sinner?" Moltmann-Wendel asks, adding " What would our tradition look like if it had made Peter a converted pimp? " Dillenberger rebuts the feminist for her ignorance of
art (and its concomitant theology) with the comment, " She is appar·

740

BOOK REVIEWS

ently not aware of the tradition in art in regard to Peter's denial and
repentance, both repeatedly represented. El Greco at different times did
five paintings of St. Peter in Tears, many of them with the same posture
and general format of his Penitent Magdalene paintings. For Protestants of the time, Peter was the apostle who denied Christ whereas for
Roman Catholics and El Greco, St. Peter was the first pope and the tears
shed after his repentance became a symbol of the sacrament of confession." Putting imagery and hagiography in historical context, Dillenherger points to the popularity of repentant Magdalen themes in the
seventeenth century as evidence of Catholicism's post-Tridentine reaffirmation of all seven sacraments, especially penance. Far from being
sexist, such imagery is the epitome of art collaborating with dogma,
and in the words of Emile Male, " Beauty consuming itself like incense burned before God in solitude, far from the eyes of men, became
the most stirring image of penance conceivable."
The hook deals with secular art as well, and it compares the various
canons of beauty reflected in the works of artists coming from different
geographic and historical backgrounds. But the most provocative issue
in Jane Dillenherger's writings comes with her defense of Abstract Expressionism as a mode for conveying the numinous in art. Pointing out
that Jackson Pollock, Barnett Newman, and Mark Rothko were each
called upon to design chapels, she laments that their religious works
were appreciated more by the world of art than by the world of religion, giving credence to Thomas Messer's dictum that " Today the art
museum is the Temple."
At the very least, Mrs. Jane Dillenberger is for our own century what
Mrs. Anna Jameson was to the nineteenth-century. Jameson, an Anglican Englishwoman, traveled throughout Europe and wrote voluminously on art, reawakening in her contemporaries an appreciation for the
signs and symbols found in Christian imagery. On the other hand,
Professor Dillenberger has demonstrated, particularly in this book,
that it is not enough to merely recapture the past if a living artistic
tradition is to survive. Like the French Dominican, Pere Couturier,
who stands as a pivotal figure in the rapprochement between artists
and the church in the middle of this century, Jane Dillenberger makes
a convincing argument for the educated eye discovering the spirit in
new and ever-expanding forms of visual expression.
MICHAEL MORRIS,

St. Mary's College
Moraga, California

O.P.

GENERAL INDEX TO THE THOM/ST
VOLUME 56 (1992)
ARTICLES
PAGE

Beissel, Robert C. The Modality of Being
Bonsor, Jack. Creatures of Truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Brown, Montague. Aquinas on the Resurrection of the Body . . . . . .
Cary, Phillip. On Behalf of Classical Trinitarianism: A Critique of
Rahner on the Trinity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cessario, Romanus, O.P. Robert Lauder on G. A. McCool . . . . . . . .
Colombo, J. A. Rahner and His Critics: Lindbeck and Metz . . . . . .
Crosson, Frederick J. Reconsidering Aquinas as a Postliberal Theologian [Marshall] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . •
Daly, Anthony C., S.J. Aquinas on Disordered Pleasul'es and
Conditions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • . . . . . . . .
Felt, James W., S.J. Fatalism and Truth about the Future . . . . . . .
Healy, N. H. Indirect Methods in Theology: Karl Rahner as an Ad
Hoc Apologist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Heaney, Stephen J. Aquinas and the Presence of the Human Ra.tional Soul in the Early Embryo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Incandela, Joseph M. Duns Scotus and the Experience of
Freedom
.... ......... ...... .... .................. .. ..
Jones, L. Gregory. The Love which Love's Knowledge Knows Not:
Nussbaum's Evasion of Christianity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Keenan, James F., S.J. Distinguishing Charity as Goodness and
Prudence as Rightness: A Key to Thomas's Secunda Pars • . •
Kondoleon, Theodore J. God's Knowledge of Future Contingent
Singulars : A Reply [Craig] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Landen, Laura, O.P. A Thomistic Analysis of the Gaia Hypothesis:
How New is This New Look at Life on Earth'? . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
McDonough, Richard. Wittgenstein's Doctrine of Silence . . . . . . . . .
Marshall, Bruce D. Thomas, Thomisms and Truth [Crosson, Roy] . .
Martinez, German, O.S.B. An Anthropological Vision of Christian
Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Molnar, Paul D. Moltmann's Post-Modern Messianic Christo1ogy . .
O'Meara, Thomas F., O.P. The Dominican School of Salamanca and
the Spanish Conquest of America: Some Bibliographic Notes

49
647
165
365
701
71
481
583
209
613
19

229
323
407

117
1
695
499
451
669
555

INDEX OF ARTICLES (Continued)
PAGE

Peterson, John. God and the Status of Facts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Phillips, Winfred George. Rahner's Transcendental Deduction of
the Vorgriff . . . . . . . . . . . . . . • . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Reno, R. R. Christology in Political and Liberation Theology . . . . .
Roberts, Mark. Necessary Propositions and the Square of
Opposition
...........................................
Roy, Louis, O.P. Bruce Marshall's Reading of Aquinas . . . . . . . . . . .
Stinnett, Timothy R. Lonergan's Critical Realism and Religious
Pluralism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Tardiff, Andrew. The Thought-Experiment: Shewmon on Brain
Death . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

635
257
291
427
473
97
435

REVIEWS
Bourgeois, Daniel. L'un et l'autre sacerdoce. ( Cessario, Romanus,
0.P.)
................................................
Burtchaell, James T. The Giving and Taking of Life. (Barry,
Robert, O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Casey, John. Pagan Virtue. (Porter, Jean) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Cessario, Romanus. The Moral Virtues and Theological Ethics.
(Macintyre, Alasdair) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . •
Dahlstrom, Daniel, ed. Nature and Scientific Method. (Landen,
Laura L., O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
D'Costa, Gavin, ed. Christian Uniqueness Reconsidered. (Phan
Peter C.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Dean, William. History Making History. (Mangina, Joseph L.) . .
Dillenberger, Jane. Image and Spirit in Sacred and Secular Art.
(Morris, Michael, O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . .
Doran, Robert M. Theology and the Dialectics of History. (Verlin,
Michael) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Dummett, Michael. The Logical Basis of Metaphysics. (Riska,
Augustin)
............................................
Dupuis, J. Jesus Christ at the Encounter of World Religions.
(D'Costa, Gavin) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ellos, William. Ethical Practice in Clinical Medicine. ( O'Rourke,
Kevin, O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Farley, Edward. Good and Evil. (Quinn, Phillip L.) . . . . . . . . . . . .
Griffiths, Paul J. An Apology for Apologetics. (D'Costa, Gavin) . .
McDonough, Peter. Men Astutely Trained. (Mcintyre, John P.,
S.J.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

162
733
349
339
351
361
540
738
160
356
719
359
525
723
711

INDEX OF BOOKS REVIEWED

(Continued)
PAGE

Martin, Christopher, ed. The Philosophy of Thomas .Aquinas.
(Anderson, Robert D.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mulholland, Leslie A. Kant's System of Rights. (Wood, Allen W.).
Netland, Harold A. Dissonant Voices. (Griffiths, Paul J.) . . . . . . . .
Ols, Daniel. Le Christologie Contemporanee. (O'Connor, James T.)
O'Rourke, Kevin & Benedict Ashley. Healthcare Ethics. . (Barry,
Robert, O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
O'Rourke, Kevin & Dennis Brodeur, Medical Ethics. (Barry,
Robert, O.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
O'Rourke, Kevin & Philip Boyle. Medical Ethics: Sources of Catholic Teaching. (Barry, Roberl, 0.P.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ramirez, J. M. De vitiis et peccatis. (Johnson, Mark F.) . . . . . . . .
Rousselot, Pierre. The Eyes of Faith. (McCool, Gerald A., S.J.) . .
Simon, Yves R. An Introduction to Metaphysics of Knowledge.
(Dennehy, Raymond) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Tilley, Terence W. The Evils of Theodicy. (Quinn, Phillip L.) . . .
Tracy, David. Dialogue with the Other. (D'Costa, Gavin) . . . . . . . .
Trau, Jane Mary. The Coexistence of God and Evil. (Quinn,
Phillip L.) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Van Beeck, Frans Jozef. God Encountered. (Rocca, Gregory, 0.P.)
White, David A. Myth and Metaphysics in Plato's Phaedo.
( Rudebusch, George) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .
Woznicki, Andrew N. Being and Order. (Lauder, Robert E.) . . . . . .
Zagzebski, Linda T. The Dilemma of Freedom and Foreknowledge.
(Stebbins, J. Michael) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

149
535
723
533
545
545
545
344
145
154
525
530
525
141
726
151
714