THE HIERARCHY OF TRUTHS
IN THE CATECHISM
AVERY DULLES,

S.J.

Fordham University
Bronx, New Yark

I

N ORDER to throw light on the question of the hierarchy
of truths in The Catechism of the Catholic Church, the topic
here being addressed, it may be best to move by stages. I
shall begin by saying something about the nature and purpose of
the Catechism, then turn to the meaning of the expression, " hierarchy of truths," and thirdly, in the main part of this article, discuss how the hierarchy of truths is or is not respected in the Catechism. Before concluding I shall add some remarks, fourthly, on
the question of the different levels of authority of different
doctrines.

The Nature of the Catechism
The Catechism of the Catholic Church was composed in response to the request of the Extraordinary Synod of 1985, which
declared in its Final Report: " Very many have expressed the
desire that a catechism or compendium of all Catholic doctrine
regarding both faith and morals be composed, that it might be,
as it were, a point of reference for the catechisms or compendiums
that are prepared in the various regions. The presentation of doctrine must be biblical and liturgical. It must be sound doctrine
suited to the present life of Christians." 1
From the beginning the new Catechism was conceived on the
pattern of the Roman Catechism, also known as the Catechism of
the Council of Trent. That catechism, published in 1566, was a
lFinal Report, II B (a) 4; text in Origins 15 (December 19, 1985): 444-

50, at 448.

369

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rather complete restatement of Catholic doctrine in the light of
the teaching of Trent. Like the Council out of which it grew,
the Roman Catechism gave special emphasis to the Catholic doctrine of the sacraments, which had been particularly contested by
the Protestants. The volume was written not for children or
catechumens but for pastors.
In conformity with the requests made in a number of the small
working groups (" circuli minores ") at the Synod of 1985, the
present Catechism was intended to be a full restatement of Catholic doctrine in the light of the Second Vatican Council. As a
compendium of all doctrine, it includes the teaching of the Church
on points that were not touched by Vatican II. The result is a
comprehensive summa incorporating the data of Scripture, the
heritage of the fathers and doctors of the Church, the pronouncements of popes, councils, and congregations of the Holy See,
testimonies of the liturgy, and memorable reflections of classical
theologians, saints, and spiritual writers. I know of no comparable instrument for ascertaining the relevant data from Scripture
and tradition regarding the full range of Catholic faith and
morals.
For readers professionally concerned with theology and religious education, the footnotes alone would be worth the price of
the volume. The notes contain some 4,000 biblical references,
more than 1,000 references to conciliar texts, more than 250
references to papal statements (more than half of them from
John Paul II), over 100 references to the Eastern and Western
codes of canon law, more than 100 to liturgical texts, and nearly 500 references to church fathers and ecclesiastical writers.
Like the Roman Catechism, this new synthesis of Catholic
doctrine is directed not to the simple faithful but to pastors. As
is stated in the Prologue, " this Catechism is addressed principally to those responsible for catechesis : in the first instance, to the
bishops as doctors of the faith and pastors of the Church. It is
offered to them as an instrument for the fulfillment of their task
of teaching the people of God. It is addressed, through the bishops, to the editors of catechisms, priests, and catechists. It will

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also be useful reading for all other faithful Christians " ( 12). 2
The present Catechism is composed for Catholics all over the
world, but the authors are quite aware that it needs to be
adapted to meet the needs and capacities of different groups.
They insist in the Prologue that those who instruct the faithful,
or compose other catechetical materials, should adapt their teaching to the culture, age, spiritual maturity, and the social and
ecclesial situation of their hearers. The present volume, as a comprehensive reference text for Catholics all over the world, does
not attempt this adaptation to particular groups, but it points
out how important it is that such adaptations be made by regional
catechisms and religious educators (24). In his Apostolic Constitution Fidei Depositum of October 11, 1992, Pope John Paul
II, promulgating the catechism, expressly stated that it is not intended to replace local catechisms duly approved by ecclesiastical
authorities, but is designed rather " to encourage and assist in the
writing of new local catechisms, which must take into account
various situations and cultures, while carefully preserving the
unity of faith and fidelity to Catholic doctrine." 8
From all this it is apparent that we are not dealing with a
pedagogical instrument designed for beginners, as the term
" catechism " might seem to suggest. The Commission responsible for the text considered suggestions that it be called a summary or compendium of Catholic doctrine, but they decided to
keep the title "catechism." As Cardinal Ratzinger explained in
his report to the Synod of 1990, the term "catechism" is to be
understood in an analogous sense. The size of the volume does
not prevent it from being called a catechism, since the Roman
Catechism, the so-called Dutch Catechism of 1966, and the Catechism for Adults produced by the German Bishops' Conference
2 Numbers in parentheses refer to paragraphs in the Catechism.
I am making my own translations from the Catechisme de l'Eglise Catholique (Paris:
Mame/Pion, 1992). I am writing without having seen the English translation,
which was approved, in revised form, by the Congregation for the Doctrine of
the Faith in January 1994 and first published in May 1994 by the Vatican
Press in collaboration with Pauline Publications in Nairobi, Kenya.
3 Apostolic Constitution Fidei depositum, English translation
in Origins 22
(January 14, 1993): 525-29, at 528.

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in 1985 are comparable in size. 4 These examples also make it
clear that there is nothing in the nature of a catechism that requires it to be written in the question-and-answer format familiar
to us from Luther's Small Catechism, the Baltimore Catechism,
and many others.
The production of the text was a gigantic task involving
hundreds of authors and consultants. The task was supervised
by a papally appointed Commission of twelve cardinals, six from
the Roman curia and six from dioceses. Cardinal Ratzinger, as
prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, served
as the president of this Commission. It was assisted by an editorial committee of seven diocesan bishops with special competence in theology and catechesis. This committee was helped by
a priest of the Eastern Rite who was an expert in Oriental theology. The actual composition was coordinated by Christoph
Schonborn, an Austrian Dominican who has since been appointed
an auxiliary bishop of Vienna.
The editorial committee, acting on the instructions of the papal
Commission, drew up an outline that wa& reviewed by the Commission in May 1987. A first draft was completed in December
1987 and was reviewed by the Commission in May 1988. A
second draft was prepared for discussion by the Commission in
February 1989. In November 1989 a "provisional text" was
circulated to all the bishops and bishops' conferences in the world,
and also to theological faculties and catechetical institutes, for
comment and criticism. About 1,000 replies were sent in, containing more than 24,000 suggested changes. The great majority
of the bishops were favorable to the Catechism and were satisfied with the revised draft as a basis for the definitive text. Their
suggestions were studied with great care.
One of the most persistent criticisms of the provisional text of
1989 was its failure to take account of the hierarchy of truths.
For example, the NCCB Ad Hoc Committee, chaired by Archbishop Oscar H. Lipscomb of Mobile, Alabama, stated: " A
4 Cf. Joseph Ratzinger, "Update on the Universal Catechism," Origins 20
(November 8, 1990): 356-59, at 358.

'THE HIERARCHY

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fundamental problem is that there is little discrimination among
the levels of doctrines or the so-called hierarchy of truths included in the draft, since statements are made and documents are
adduced of the mm;t diverse character." 5
In his introduction to a volume called The Universal Catechism
Reader, the editor, Thomas A. Reese, S.J., gave seven main
criticisms. The third was as follows :
The Catechism fails to distinguish what is essential from what is less
important in its teaching. Everything, from angels to the Trinity, is
presented without consideration of what theologians call the hierarchy of truths. No distinction is made between infallible teaching
and theological opinions. Ignoring these distinctions confuses the
faithful when something they thought was essential is later placed in
doubt or changed. Would it not be better to have a shorter statement
of the essentials of the faith? 6

Meaning of "Hierarchy

of Truths"

In order to indicate the exact import of these criticisms it will
be helpful to say a few words about the technical term "hierarchy of truths." The first official occurrence of this term is in
the VatiGan II Decree on Ecumenism, no. 11, which instructs
Catholic theologians in ecumenical exchanges to " remember that
there exists an order or ' hierarchy ' of truths, since they vary in
their relationship to the foundation of the Christian faith." The
term " foundation of the Christian faith " is not explained in this
text, but some light may be thrown on it from the acts of the
Council. In a speech of November 25, 1963, Bishop Andrea
Pangrazio of Gorizia, Italy, had suggested the importance of
considering " the hierarchical order of revealed truths through
which the mystery of Christ is expressed and of the ecclesial elements by which the Church is established." Following St.
Thomas, Bishop Pangrazio then distinguished between two levels
of doctrine: a higher category of truths "on the level of our final
5 "Ad Hoc Committee Report on the Universal Catechism," Origins 19
(April 26, 1990) : 773-84, at 776.
6 Thomas J. Reese, "Introduction"
to The Universal Catechism Reader,
ed. Thomas J. Reese (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1990), p. 9.

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AVERY DULLES,

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goal," such as the Trinity, the Incarnation, the Redemption,
God's merciful love, and eternal life in the perfect kingdom of
God, and a lower category of truths " on the level of means toward salvation," such as the sacraments, the hierarchical structure of the Church, and the apostolic succession in the ministry.
Christians, he observed, tend to agree on truths of the first category, which are of greater importance, and to disagree mainly
on truths of the second order, which are subordinate. 7
The actual phrasing of the sentence in the Decree on Ecumenism is drawn from Amendment 49, proposed on October 7,
1964. This amendment, in turn, reproduced in abbreviated form
a written submission made by Cardinal Konig of Vienna, who
stated that Catholic doctrines are differently related to the foundation and center of Christian faith, namely "Jesus Christ, the
Word who became incarnate for our salvation." 8
The term "hierarchy of truths " appears in several important
Roman documents issued since the Council. In none of these
cases does the term refer to the authority with which a doctrine
is taught or to the kind of assent required. It regularly refers
1 Andrea
Pangrazio, "The Mystery of the History of the Church," in
Council Speeches of Vatican II, ed. Hans Kiing et al. (New York: Paulist,
1964), pp. 188-92, esp. 191. For commentary see Patrick O'Connell, "Hierarchy of Truths" in The Dublin Papers on Ecumenism, ed. Pedro S. de
Achutegui (Manila: Loyola School of Theology, 1972), pp. 83-117; Yves
Congar, "On the 'Hierarchia Veritatum'," in The Heritage of the Early
Church, ed. David Nieman and Margaret Schatkin (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1973), pp. 409-20; and George H. Tavard,
"' Hierarchia Veritatum ': A Preliminary Investigation," Theological Studies
32 (1971): 278-89. Congar reproduces parts of his earlier article in his
Diversity and Communion (Mystic, Conn.: Twenty-Third Publications, 1985),
pp. 126-33. For a comprehensive discussion of the theme the reader will wish to
consult Ulrich Valeske, Hierarchia Veritatum (Munich: Claudius Verlag,
1968) and William Henn, The Hierarchy of Truths according to Yves Congar,
O.P., Analecta Gregoriana 246 (Rome: Editrice Pontificia Universita Gregoriana, 1987).
8 Tavard, " 'Hierarchia
Veritatum '," pp. 279-80. Following Tavard, who
quotes from the Latin text of Cardinal Konig, I have italicized the words that
were not incorporated in Amendment 49. Konig also distinguished between
" truths that belong to the order of the end " and others " that pertain to the
order of means of salvation."

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375

to the relations among revealed truths, some of which are regarded as more central or foundational, others as subordinate and
derivative. The following clarification is given by the Secretariat
for Promoting the Unity of Christians in its "Reflections and
Suggestions Concerning Ecumenical Dialogue" of September 18,

1970.
Neither in the life nor in the teaching of the whole church is everything presented on the same level. Certainly all revealed truths demand the same acceptance of faith, but according to the greater or
lesser proximity that they have to the basis of the revealed mystery
they are variously placed with regard to one another and have varying connections among themselves. For instance, the dogma of the
Immaculate Conception of Mary, which must not be isolated from
what the Council of Ephesus teaches about Mary as Mother of God,
presupposes, for it to be grasped adequately in an authentic life of
faith, the dogma of grace, to which it is linked and which in turn
must be grounded in the redemptive incarnation of the Word of
God.9
Various attempts have been made to articulate the foundational
mystery. Cardinal Konig, as we have seen, described it in terms
of Jesus Christ, the Word who became incarnate for our salvation. This Christological focus corresponds to several texts in
Vatican II. The Decree on Priestly Formation, for example,
speaks of " the mystery of Christ, that mystery which affects the
whole history of salvation " (OT 14). The Decree on the
Church's Missionary Activity speaks of "the mystery of the love
of God, who has called people to enter into a personal relationship with him in Christ" (AG 13). A more ample description
is presented by the Joint Working Group between the Catholic
Church and the World Council of Churches in a Study Document
of 1990:
9 "Reflections and Suggestions," IV, 4, a; official French version in Documentation Catholique no. 1571 (October 4, 1970) : 879; quoted in part in The
1993 Directory for Ecumenism, Origins 23 (July 29, 1993) : 131-60, at 152.
Other important occurrences of the term " hierarchy of truths " are in the
General Catechetical Directory ( 11 April 1971), no. 43, and in the Declaration
of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, Mysterium Fidei (24 June
1973), no. 4.

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Any attempt to describe this foundation on a conceptual level should
refer to the person and mystery of Jesus Christ, true God and true
human being. He is the one who said " I am the way, and the truth,
and the life " (Jn 14 :6). In the life, death, and resurrection of the
Son of the Father, God has come into our midst for our salvation,
and the Holy Spirit has been poured out into our hearts. In the
Spirit's power God has established his one church, enables its members to experience Christ in faith and to be witnesses to him, and
empowers the church to reach out to all humankind until all have
been gathered up in God's kingdom.10
In view of this series of texts we may conclude, I think, that
the heart of revelation, the fundamental mystery of our faith, is
simultaneously trinitarian, christological, and ecclesial. It refers
to the self-communication of the triune God in Jesus Christ,
through the Holy Spirit, received by the faithful in the Church
as a communion of life and grace.
The fundamental mystery is somewhat differently articulated
in different theological traditions. Orthodox theologians tend to
emphasize the holy tradition as expressed in the liturgy, the
creeds, and the dogmatic teachings of the seven ecumenical councils of the first eight centuries. Protestants, notably Lutherans,
tend to speak of the gospel, and even of the center of the gospel
("Die Mitte des Evangeliums "), by which they commonly understand the redemptive work of Christ, who justifies all who believe in him and put their trust in him. Some Lutherans treat the
Pauline doctrine of justification by faith as the central mystery,
the articulus stantis et cadentis Ecclesiae. Oscar Cullmann finds
the quintessence of Christian faith in the short summary statements of faith in the New Testament, such as " Christ is the
Lord." 11 Catholics, following Thomas Aquinas, often put the
accent primarily on the realities that will be contemplated in the
beatific vision, especially the triune God himself, and secondarily
on the Church and the sacraments, which foreshadow and lead to
10 " The Notion of ' Hierarchy of Truths ' : An Ecumenical Interpretation,''
No. 22, in Sixth Report of Joint Working Group between the Roman Catholic
Church and the World Council of Churches (Geneva: WCC, 1990), p. 42.
11 Oscar Cullmann, Unity Through Diversity (Philadelphia:
Fortess, 1988),
pp. 23-24.

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377

the eternal vision. Yves Congar, in the footsteps of St. Thomas,
distinguishes between truths that pertain directly and indirectly
to revelation, and within the category of directly revealed truths
he further distinguishes between those that refer to the triune
God himself, whom the blessed will see face to face ( theologia),
and truths that help us on the way to our final destination
( oikonomia) .12

Structural Features of the Catechism
The question before us is whether The Catechism of the
Catholic Church takes sufficient account of the hierarchy of truths.
In other words, does it present the reader with a miscellaneous
collection of disparate doctrines or does it set them in an organic
relationship in connection with the central Christian mystery?
An attentive reading will make it evident, I believe, that in spite
of the vastness and complexity of the contents, the Catechism is
structured with a view to bringing out the organic connection
in the materials. In its exposition of the words " I believe " at
the very beginning of the volume, the Catechism declares : " There
is an organic link between our spiritual life and the dogmas. The
dogmas are lights on the road of our faith, they enlighten it and
make it sure. Conversely, if our life is upright, our mind and our
heart are open to receive the light of the dogmas of faith. The
mutual links and the coherence of the dogmas can be found in
the totality of the revelation of the mystery of Christ" (89-90).
Having said this, the text goes on to quote the Decree on Ecumenism regarding the " hierarchy " of truths in Catholic doctrine
(90).
The Catechism as a whole is arranged in four parts: first, the
profession of faith; second, the celebration of the Christian
mystery; third, the Christian life; and fourth, Christian prayer.
These parts, though clearly distinct from one another, are vitally
interrelated. The object of faith is the Christian mystery (Part
I); that same mystery is celebrated in public worship (Part II);
it also guides the people of God in their behavior (Part III) ;
12

Congar, "On the' Hierarchia Veritatum ',"pp. 411-12.

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AVERY DULLES,

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and, finally, it grounds the life of prayer, whereby the people
praise God and make intercession for various needs (Part IV).
Thus the Catechism can declare:
" Great is the mystery of faith." The Church professes it in the
Apostles' Creed (Part I) and celebrates it in the sacramental liturgy
(Part II), so that the life of the faithful may be conformed to Christ
in the Holy Spirit to the glory of God the Father (Part III). This
mystery therefore demands that the faithful believe in it, celebrate
it, and live from it in a vital and personal relation with the living
and true God. This relation is prayer [the subject of Part IV]
(2558).
Pope John Paul II in his Apostolic Constitution calls attention
to the inseparability of the four parts : " The liturgy itself is
prayer: the confession of faith finds its proper place in the celebration of worship. Grace, the fruit of the sacraments, is the
irreplaceable condition for Christian living, just as participation
in the Church's liturgy requires faith. If faith is not expressed
in works, it is dead (cf. J as. 2 : 14-26) and cannot bear fruit unto
eternal life." 13
Because of this vital interpenetration or "perichoresis" among
the parts, the Catechism brings home to the reader the wonderful
unity of the mystery of God and of Christ, who is sent by the
Father, who becomes incarnate in the womb of the Blessed Virgin
Mary by the Holy Spirit, and who remains actively present in
the Church, especially in its sacraments, through the Holy Spirit.
This Christ, as the pope writes, " is the source of our faith, the
model of Christian conduct, and the teacher of our prayer." u
The trinitarian and Christological character of faith was less
clearly articulated in the Roman Catechism, which, as I have
said, gave disproportionate attention to the sacraments in order
to meet the crisis produced by certain Protestant denials. As
Bishop Schonborn points out, the Roman Catechism devoted
37% of its space to the doctrine of the sacraments and only 22%
to the creed. These proportions are happily reversed in the
present catechism, which devotes 39% of its space to the creed
1s Fidei Depositum, p. 528.
14 Ibid.

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and only 23 % to the sacraments. 15 Although the length of the
treatment given to a particular doctrine need not always correspond to its relative importance, greater space should generally be
devoted to doctrines that are most central to Christian faith.
Having seen something of the connections between the four
major parts, we may now turn to each part in particular. Within each of the four, the structure is such that the main elements
come easily into view.
Part I, dealing with the creed, is structured according to the
articles of the Apostles' Creed, which were originally intended
as a summary of the principal truths of the Christian faith. The
articles of the creed are themselves grouped under three main
headings, corresponding to the activities appropriated to the
Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Under the work of the
Father, the catechism discusses the creation and the fall. Under
the work of the Son, it takes up the redemptive activity of Jesus
Christ, and under the work of the Holy Spirit, it deals with
sanctification (the Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the flesh, and life everlasting).
The second part of the Catechism is structured about the seven
sacraments, all of which are seen as communications of the fruits
of Christ's redemptive work. The sacraments are expounded as
an ordered unity in which each of the seven has a vital place.
There are three sacraments of initiation, two sacraments of healing, and two sacraments in service of the mutual communion and
mission of the faithful ( 1211). In this organism the Eucharist is
said to have a pride of place as the "sacrament of sacraments."
"All the other sacraments are ordered to it as their end" ( 1211;
cf. Thomas Aquinas, ST III a, q. 65, a. 3).
Part III is structured according to the Ten Commandments,
which are themselves traced back to Christ's twofold commandment of love of God and neighbor, in terms of which the whole
i 5 Christoph Schonborn, " Alcune note sui criteri della stesura del Catechismo," L'Osservatore Romano (January 6, 1933) 1 and 4, at 1; also in the
same author's "Major Themes and Underlying Principles of the Catechism of
the Catholic Church," The Living Light 30 (1993) : 55-64, at 59.

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Decalogue is to be interpreted (2055, citing Rom 13 :9-10).
The entire Christian life is presented as a response to the gift
and call of God-a response made possible by faith and the sacraments, treated in the previous two parts. Because of this organic
relationship to the inner life of grace, the commandments do not
appear as external impositions but as consequences that flow
connaturally from the life of those who belong to the people of
the Covenant ( 2062). Only within that Covenant do the commandments receive their full meaning. The Decalogue is presented as a single indivisible whole, an organic unity, so that to
break any one commandment is to infringe on all the others
( 2069). There can be no dichotomy between one's duties to God
and to neighbor, or between personal and social ethics. Respect
for the human dignity and economic rights of others demands
personal virtues such as temperance, which moderates our attachment to the goods of this world (2407).
Part IV, on Christian prayer, is structured according to the
seven petitions of the Our Father, the prayer taught by Jesus to
his disciples. This prayer is expounded in such a way as to show
forth the inner connections between the first three petitions, directed to the glory of God, and the last four, pertaining to human
needs ( 2803-06). The prayer as a whole is shown to be, in the
admirable phrase of Tertullian, "the summary of the entire
gospel" (2761). Part IV, and the entire Catechism, are brought
to a fitting conclusion with the doxology ("for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever and ever ") and by a
meditation on the final Amen.
In addition to these major structural features, several other devices are used to prevent the reader from getting lost in the details. One such device is the use of smaller type for passages of a
historical or apologetical character and for complementary doctrinal expositions. For example, small print is used for the passages dealing with the history of the doctrine of the double procession of the Holy Spirit (the Filioque, 247-48) and for an
excursus on scientific theories about the origins of the world and
of the human race (283). The entire section on indulgences,

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printed in smaller type, is virtually a summary of the apostolic
constitution of Paul VI, Indulgentiaritm doctrina (1471-79).
Also in smaller type are the citations, mostly from patristic
and liturgical sources, selected with the view to enriching the
doctrinal presentation. Finally, each thematic section concludes
with a summary in italics expressing the main points in simple,
nontechnical language. Thus every effort has been made to emphasize the principal structural features so that the reader's attention will be focused on the main themes.

Features of the Content
The unity of the Catechism does not consist merely in its
formal structure but also in the very content. At the beginning
of the exposition of the creed, the authors state that the mystery
of the triune God is the central mystery of Christian faith and life.
Since it is the source of all the other mysteries of faith, and is the
light that makes them intelligible, it is the most fundamental and
essential element in the "hierarchy of the truths of faith" (234;
cf. 261). At this point the Catechism goes on to explain the distinction made by the fathers of the Church between theologia and
oikonomia, that is to say, between the inner life of the triune God
and the works by which God reveals himself and communicates
his life. As I have already mentioned, God's work of creation,
redemption, and sanctification is presented in the light of the
trinitarian mystery ( 236). The whole of creation takes its origin
from God and leads back to him as its final end. Thus the first
affirmation of the creed, " I believe in God," is held to be the
most fundamental ( 199). The golden thread that binds the entire Catechism into unity, the Leitmotiv, is the Most Holy Trinity
in its inner reality and in its action ad extra. All the truths of
faith are set forth in the light of this trinitarian mystery.
Besides being trinitarian, the Catechism is eminently Christocentric. The mystery of Christ therefore serves as a kind of
" second foundation" for the Catechism. 16 On the centrality of
16 The
term " secondo fondamento " is used by Schonborn,
note . . .," p. 4.

" Alcune

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the Incarnate Word the Catechism quotes John Paul II in his
apostolic exhortation on catechetics, Catechesi tradendae: "The
definitive aim of catechesis is to put people not only in touch but
in communion, in intimacy, with Jesus Christ: only he can lead
us to the love of the Father in the Spirit and make us share in the
life of the Holy Trinity .... In catechesis it is Christ, the Incarnate Word and Son of God, who is taught-everything else is
taught in reference to him-and it is Christ alone who teachesanyone else teaches to the extent that he is Christ's spokesman,
enabling Christ to teach with his lips." 17
The Christology of the Catechism is dynamic, since it explains
the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ as mysteries accomplished for us and for our salvation. The purpose of the incarnate existence of the Son of God is that we may be delivered
from the domination of evil and be brought to share in the life
he came to bring.
The treatment of the Church and the sacraments is closely unified with the preceding sections. "The mission of the Church,"
we read, " is not added to that of Christ and the Holy Spirit, but
is its sacrament: by its entire existence and in all its members it
is sent to announce and attest, to actualize and disseminate the
mystery of the communion of the Holy Trinity" (738). "The
final goal of the mission is to make human beings participate in
the communion that obtains between the Father and the Son in
their Spirit of love " ( 850). Since the sacraments are clearly
presented as actions of Christ and the Church, Part I flows
naturally into Part II.
The sacraments are also attributed to the Holy Spirit through
whom the saving power of Christ is operative in the Church
(1115-16). Quoting St. John Damascene on the Eucharist, the
Catechism states that the epiclesis, or invocation of the Holy
Spirit, is at the heart of the Eucharist and indeed of every sacramental celebration ( 1106). Thus the theology of the sacraments
17 Catechesi tradendae, 5-6; text in Vatican Council II, ed. Austin Flannery
(Northport, N.Y.: Costello, 1982), 2 :764-65; cf. Catechism of the Catholic
Church, §§ 426-27.

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383

is set forth not in isolation but in a trinitarian, Christological,
pneumatological, and ecclesial framework.
The same kind of integration carries through into Part III.
Morality is not simply a matter of adhering to an abstract moral
law grounded in some hypothetical state of pure nature. The
Christian life is explained as an imitation of Christ, as obedience
to his teaching and, yet more profoundly, as an exercise of communion with him, in such a way that we live in him and he in us
( 519-21). Those who believe in Christ become children of God
and temples of the Holy Spirit ( 1695), called as adopted children to follow in the footsteps of Christ and thus to advance toward the life of glory in union with their Savior ( 1709).
These statements are seen as applicable to all men and women,
inasmuch as all were created in Christ, the image of the invisible
God. This image, obscured by sin, has been restored through
Christ the Savior ( 1701). "By his incarnation the Son of God
has in some sort united himself to every human person" (521,
quoting GS 22). In Christ humanity learns its true dignity and
the sublimity of its vocation ( 1701). The beatitudes, quoted in
the Catechism according to the version of Matthew, depict the
true countenance of Jesus Christ and the vocation of the faithful
who associate themselves with him ( 1717).
The Christological dimension of morality is closely linked
with the pneumatological. Obedience to the great commandment
of love cannot be achieved without the help of the Holy Spirit,
whose charity is poured forth into our hearts ( 1964). The Christian virtues are sustained by the gifts of the Holy Spirit, which
in turn bring forth the fruits of the Holy Spirit (1830-1832).
The Christological motif, evident in the treatment of the
Church, the sacraments, and the moral life, carries through into
the final part, dealing with prayer. In the New Covenant
" prayer is Christian insofar as it is communion with Christ and
takes place in the Church which is his body" (2565). Jesus is
our model of filial prayer. The Our Father is the prayer that he
himself taught the disciples, and at many key points it corresponds
to the high-priestly prayer of Jesus himself as given in the Gospel
according to John, chapter 17. In both prayers concern is ex-

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S.J.

pressed for the sanctification of the Father's name, for the
Father's kingdom or glory, for the accomplishment of the Father's
will, for his plan of salvation, and for deliverance from the power
of evil (2750).
The treatment of prayer in the Catechism gives strong emphasis to the role of the Holy Spirit. Every time that we begin
to pray to Jesus, or to the Father through Jesus, it is the Holy
Spirit who, by his prevenient grace, is drawing us along the path
of prayer ( 2670-7 l). The Holy Spirit, who is the interior master
of prayer (2672, 2681), educates each person in the life of
prayer (2644) and forms the entire Church in the ways of prayer
(2623, 2650). The Holy Spirit also " intercedes for the saints
according to the will of God" (2634, quoting Rom 8:26-27).
In their treatment of particular questions, therefore, the authors of the Catechism have been faithful to the structural principles outlined above. The entire work, notwithstanding its
length and complexity, brings out the organic unity of Christian
faith and life. Everything revolves about the central mystery of
our salvation, the mystery of the triune God who comes to us in
Jes us Christ and who, by the action of the Holy Spirit, sweeps
us up into the divine trinitarian life.
Theological Qualifications
A final difficulty still remains to be discussed. When expressing
a desire for a clearer articulation of the hierarchy of truths,
some critics seem to have in mind the need for a sharper distinction between matters of faith, that are taught as irreversible or
irrevocable ( irref ormabiles), and other doctrines that are capable of being changed in the course of time. Even though the
term "hierarchy of truths," as it appears in official documents,
refers only to matters of faith, the Catechism does not restrict
itself to these. Quite evidently, noninfallible teachings should not
be proposed as if they were revealed and unalterable doctrines.
The authorities responsible for the Catechism, conscious of
these considerations, discussed the question whether to introduce
theological notes or qualifications such as one finds in many
manuals of instruction. These manuals customarily distinguish

THE HIERARCHY

OF TRUTHS

385

between matters of faith, Catholic teachings that are not of faith,
truths certain on the basis of reason, and theological opinions of
varying degrees of probability. In some manuals one finds as
many as a dozen distinctions, ranging all the way from defined
dogmas to tenable opinions.
The decision was made not to introduce theological notes of
this kind into the Catechism. It was felt that the task of assigning appropriate theological qualifications to particular articles
would better be left to the technical commentaries that would
follow upon the publication of the Catechism. 18 It seems to me
that the decision was a wise one. After all, the Catechism is not
a textbook for seminarians or future professors. The system of
theological notes, depending heavily on extrinsic authority, has
been under attack in recent years and is infrequently used in textbooks issued since Vatican II. To chop up the Catechism with
tags on practically every sentence indicating the precise degree of
certitude or probability attaching to it would destroy the continuity and would be highly distracting. Besides, the process
would lead to endless disputes, since the mere citation of a source
does not usually suffice to resolve the question of authority.
For the most part, the Catechism does clearly distinguish between matters of faith and other matters-a distinction that
should not be confused with the distinction between the primary
and secondary truths in the "hierarchy." The Trinity is called
"the central mystery of Christian faith" (234) and a " revealed
truth " ( 249). The Incarnation is called an " article of faith "
and the Resurrection " the culminating truth of our faith in
Christ " ( 638, cf. 648). The forgiveness of sins, the resurrection
of the flesh, and life everlasting are designated as truths of faith
proclaimed in the creed (976, 988, 991). Similar terms appear
in the Catechism's Mariology. With a reference to the Council
of Ephesus, the Church is said to " confess " Mary as Mother of
God ( theotokos) ( 495). Later we read that the Church " con18 In making this statement, as in the following few paragraphs, I rely in
part on the helpful article of Jean Honore, Archbishop of Tours, "L'Enjeu
doctrinal du Catechisme de l'Eglise Catholique," Nouvelle revue theologique
115 (1993) : 870-76, at 874.

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A VERY DULLES,

S.J.

fesses " the virginal conception of Jes us ( 496) and the perpetual
virginity of Mary ( 499). The dogma of the Immaculate Conception " confesses " that Mary was redeemed from the moment
of her conception ( 491 ) . The Assumption of Mary is characterized as a dogma proclaimed by Pius XII (966, fn. 1).
A variety of other terms are used for the binding doctrines of
the Church. The existence of angels is said to be " a truth of
faith " ( 328) ; original sin is called " a certitude of faith " ( 403).
On the basis of Florence and Trent the existence of Purgatory is
called " a doctrine of faith " ( 1031). In the case of transubstantiation the teaching of Trent is quoted, with the remark that
Trent is here summarizing the faith of the Church (1376). Regarding the existence and eternity of hell the Catechism states
simply that the teaching of the Church affirms these truths
( 1035). The e.t' opere operato efficacy of the sacraments is likewise said to be an "affirmation of the Church," with a reference
to Trent ( 1128). In the case of the doctrines of papal primacy
and papal infallibility the Catechism contents itself with quoting
the pertinent texts from Vatican II, without elaborating on the
kind of assent required (882, 891). 19
In the case of other Catholic doctrines the Catechism often
uses vaguer expressions. It states simply that " the Church
teaches " the immediate creation of the human soul by God and
the immortality of the soul ( 366). The same formulation is used
19 The Catechism is unequivocal in affirming that the faithful are obliged to
assent to truths that the magisterium teaches with the full authority received
from Christ when it proclaims either revealed doctrines or truths necessarily
connected with these. Paragraph 88 further asserts that even the " connected
truths," constituting the secondary object of infallibility, are to be accepted
with the assent of divine faith. This last assertion is contested by Francis A.
Sullivan in his note "The 'Secondary Object' of Infallibility," Theological
Studies 54 (1993) : 536-50. As Sullivan points out, the dominant opinion
among theologians in recent years has been that only truths revealed by God
can be accepted on a motive of divine faith. The Catechism seems to accept
the minority opinion. Possibly its statement is over-compressed and was intended to say only that nonrevealed but " connected " truths may be taught
irrevocably with the full authority of the magisterium. Because the Catechism,
as I shall presently point out, does not change the theological qualifications of
opinions previously taught in the Church, it should not be used as authority
for rejecting the opinion defended by Sullivan.

THE HIERARCHY

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387

regarding the state of original justice in which our first parents
were constituted ( 37 5), even though the corresponding footnote
refers to a very solemn statement by Trent sealed with an
anathema (DS 1522). These expressions seem to leave open the
precise dogmatic force of the affirmation in question. In many
cases where no indication is given about the faith-status of a
given teaching, the reader can reach a reasonable judgment from
the context, the manner of expression, and the doctrinal authorities adduced. 20
It may further be asked whether a given doctrine is raised to
a higher level of authority by reason of its inclusion in the Catechism. Pope John Paul II in his Apostolic Constitution Fidei
depositum recognized the Catechism as " a valid and authorized
instrument for ecclesial communion " and as " a sure norm for
teaching the faith." 21 This commendation could be understood as
conferring additional authority on the individual doctrines taught
by the Catechism, but it seems preferable to take it simply as a
general endorsement of the value of the Catechism as a reference
point for religious instruction. Cardinal Ratzinger himself declares in a recent article: " The individual doctrines that the Catechism affirms have no other authority than that which they already possess." 22
Conclusion
All in all, the authors deserve to be highly praised for the success with which they accomplished their difficult task in a relatively short space of time. The resulting work provides a rich
and harmonious synthesis of Catholic faith and moral teaching,
20 Compare the statements of Vatican II, in Lumen gentium 25, on the obligatory force of papal pronouncements. Vatican II, like the present Catechism,
generally refrained from spelling out the precise theological qualification attaching to its statements. Some general norms for ascertaining the qualifications were set forth by the Secretary General of the Council, quoting a Declaration of the Doctrinal Commission. See the Announcements of November 16,
1964, appended to the Dogmatic Constitution Lumen gentium in many editions.
21 Fidei depositum, p. 528.
22 Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, "The Catechism of the Catholic Church and
the Optimism of the Redeemed," Communio: International Catholic Review 20
(1993) : 469-84, at 479.

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AVERY DULLES, S.J.

in which the main lineaments are clearly visible. In answer to the
question implied in the title of this article we may conclude, I
think, that the hierarchy of truths has been duly respected. With
regard to the subsidiary question about degrees of binding force,
it must be recognized that, even though no effort is made to give
precise theological qualifications to every proposition, distinctions are made between creedal statements, dogmas, and less authoritative doctrines.
The whole system of Catholic truth is shown to be firmly
rooted in the loving action of the triune God, and especially in
Christ the universal Savior. The particular teachings set forth
under the headings of creed, sacraments, commandments, and
prayer are expounded in relation to this central mystery as their
source, their center, and their goal. While criticisms of detail
may be made regarding certain individual passages, there is no
warrant for the charge that everything is taught as though it had
the same degree of centrality or the same obligatory force.

EMBODIED HUMAN AGENTS INHABITING
A MATERIAL WORLD?
CHARLES

T. HUGHES

Chapman University
Orange, California

I. /n;troduction
HE CONCEPT of a "logically possible world" has
roven useful in the investigation of issues within many
ranches of philosophy, including the philosophy of religion.1 Since this paper includes an analysis of one "possible
worlds" objection to Christian theism, based upon the problem
of evil, it will prove useful to preface my discussion with a paragraph which summarizes some of the ideas important to the logic
of possible worlds.
Each logically possible world contains a complete set of compossible facts, which includes the past, present, and future of its
objects, properties, and relations. Those complete sets of compossible facts, each of which describes the way the actual world
could have been, have in common the truth of all logically necessary propositions (for example, 2 2 = 4, "Circles cannot be
squared "), and the falsity of all logically impossible propositions
(for example, 2 6 = 7, " Circles can be squared"), but differ
in their truth values with respect to at least some logically contingent propositions (for example, "Elephants exist" is true in
one or more possible worlds but false in all others, and "Unicorns exist " is true in one or more possible worlds but false in
all others). An impossible world includes an affirmation of the
falsity of at least one necessary proposition (for example,
,.._,(2 + 2 = 4)), and/or affirms the truth of at least one logical-

+

+

1 See Alvin Plantinga, The Nature of Necessity (Oxford:
Clarendon Press,
1974), chapters IX and X.

389

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CHARLES

T. HUGHES

ly impossible proposition (for example, " Logically necessary
propositions are false in all possible worlds "). 2 The actual
world, which is our world, is that complete set of compossible
propositions which describe the way things actually are. The
actual world, therefore, differs from other possible worlds in that
all of its contingent propositions correspond to the past, present,
and future of all of the objects, properties, and relations which
actually obtain. There is an on-going debate about the nature and
ontological status of possible worlds and their objects. 3
The purpose of this paper is to analyze and reject a particular
"possible worlds" objection to Christian theism, based upon the
problem of evil, which is not frequently discussed in philosophical
literature. The problem is this : If God must actualize a possible
world in order to provide human agents with the initial stage of
existence they require to develop freely as rational, moral, and
religious beings, who choose their own destinies, why did God not
create them as incorporeal agents within an immaterial world
which would, by its very nature, eliminate the physical dimension of evil and suffering which plagues the actual world? For it
seems, prima facie, that God could have realized his purposes by
actualizing an immaterial world, populated with human-like incorporeal agents, thereby avoiding all of the terrible evil and suffering made possible by physicality. Therefore, the existence of
the actual physical world, with all its evil and suffering, is evidence against the existence of God. 4
In order to show that the previously stated objection from evil
could pose a genuine threat to theism, I will first identify some
of my important assumptions in this paper, and then outline particular Christian ideas to determine how the " possible worlds "
2 For an argument that some impossible propositions are not self-contradictory, see Linda Zagzebski, " What If the Impossible Had Been Actual," in
Michael D. Beatty, ed., Christian Theism aml the Problems of Philosophy
(Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), pp. 165-183.
a Compare, for example, the positions of D. M. Armstrong, A Combinatorial
Theory of Possibility (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989) and
D. Lewis, On the Plurality of Worlds (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986).
4 Some interesting discussion of this type of problem can be found in Austin
Farrer, Love Almighty and Ills Unlimited (London: Collins, 1962), pp. 69-76.

EMBODIED

HUMAN AGENTS

391

objection to Christian theism could arise in the first place. After
that, I will discuss the nature of the " possible worlds " objection
and how, in principle, it might be rebutted by theists who possess
a great amount of knowledge. Finally, I will point out that,
despite a wealth of information in the Christian tradition which
seems relevant either to the affirmation or to the rebuttal of the
"possible worlds" objection, human epistemological limitations
rule out the likelihood of making a credible case either for or
against the plausibility of that objection to Christian theism.
First, then, I assume that the concept of " immateriality " or
" incorporeality " is an intelligible one. Indeed, if it is not, then
sceptics need not attempt to rule out God's existence with problems of evil, but may instead seek to do so by exposing the unintelligibility of the concept of God as a Spirit. Next, I assume
that a partially modified Platonic-Cartesian view of human beings
as mortal bodies inhabited by immortal, or conditionally immortal, spirits (the incorporeal part of which is essentially the
human agent) represents a contingent proposition, a proposition
which is true in one or more possible worlds and false in all of
the others. Hence, in one or more possible worlds, human-like
incorporeal agents could exist. I also assume that God's omnipotence means he is powerful enough to actualize any possible world
he so desires. Accordingly, I assume that an immaterial order,
inhabited by human-like incorporeal beings, is a possible world
and that God could have created it if he wished to do so. That is
how the problem arises on the basis of the assumptions I have
made. But how could the possible worlds objection arise specifically for Christian theism?

II. Christian Theism, Possible Worlds, and
Problems of Evil
Traditional Christian theists share many beliefs in common.
Among them are the following convictions :
( 1) God is an omnipresent, personal, and purposive Spirit who is

the omnipotent, omniscient, perfectly good, and loving creator of
the world.

392

1'. Rl1CHttS

( 1) means, roughly, that God is that divine immaterial agent
who seeks to achieve particular good ends in and through his
creation, and is everywhere present, all-powerful, all-knowing,
and performs all of his moral obligations, commits no evil, and
is intimately involved with and concerned about the well-being of
his creatures in the world-including that group of embodied
agents classified as human beings.
(2) There are incorporeal, finite, personal agents, called angels and

demons. Angels represent God, and demons represent the devil.
Our world is an important battlefield for angels and demons in
the war of God versus evil.
Some contemporary Christians reject ( 2). They believe that
the phenomena once attributed to angelic and demonic activity
(governance of the world's orderly operations, temptation, demonic possession, and natural disasters) are now better explained
by a modern doctrine of sin, and contemporary understandings of
psychology, and the natural and medical sciences. The biblical
accounts of angels and demons are thought of, by these Christians, as the mythology of an older culture which expressed its
concern with evil and suffering by reference to finite benevolent
and malevolent supernatural agencies. But even those Christians
who reject (2) will allow that it describes logically possible beings and states of affairs. And that admission, on the part of
Christians who reject (2), means that the possible worlds objection we are considering could count even against them. For, as
is apparent from ( 1) and ( 2), incorporeal agency is accepted by
Christians in the case of God, as well as in the case of finite beings like angels and demons, at least as a logical possibility.
Hence, one important element which lends credibility to the " possible worlds" objection has been granted by Christian theists.
But just as there are theoretical resources in (1) and (2) which
suggest that the "possible worlds" objection can be formulated
against Christian theism, the wider theoretical resources contained in the Christian tradition could also contain additional
elements needed for its more detailed formulation or its defeat.
How so?

EMBODIED

HUMAN

AGENTS

393

If Christians accept ( 2), even simply as a logical possibility,
then it may be that the revelatory, speculative, and literary resources within the Christian tradition could provide the foundation needed to derive guiding principles for the sound, imaginative construction of a possible immaterial world populated with
human-like incorporeal agents. After all, the Bible itself has many
passages which refer to the properties, organizational hierarchies,
and specific ministries or activities of angels and demons, with
respect to their interactions with God, each other, human agents,
and the created order. 5 In addition to that, medieval angelology,
and important creative literature, represent the most extensive
and sustained speculative effort in the Western tradition to depict
what finite, incorporeal, rational, morally responsible, and good
and evil extraterrestrial agents might be like. 6
Important medieval Christian thinkers, like Pseudo-Dionysius,
and St. Thomas Aquinas, engaged in a great deal of recorded
speculation about the nature of angels, demons, and the hierarchies and realms in which they live and labor. 7 Beyond the
medieval period, a number of modern and contemporary philosophers and theologians have written about angels. 8 With so much
5 A few examples of the information about angels and demons recorded in
the Bible are as follows: Angels are invisible or spiritual beings (Num. 22 :2231; Heb. 1 :14) ; immortal (Lk. 20 :36) ; holy (Mt. 25 :31) ; wise (2 Sam.
14 :17, 20) ; powerful (Ps. 103 :20) ; organized in ranks or orders (Is. 6 :2; I
Thess. 4 :16) ; concerned in human affairs (I Pet. 1 :12). Demons are ruled by
Satan (Mt. 12 :24-30) ; evil (Lk. 10 :17, 18) ; can overpower human beings
and possess them (Acts 19 :13-16; Mt. 8 :29).
6 See J aroslav Pelikan's section entitled " Angels" in The Melody of Theology: A Philosophical Dictionary (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1988)' pp. 1-4.
7 See Pseudo-Dionysius, Mystical Theology and The Celestial Hierarchies,
trans. the Editors of The Shrine of Wisdom (Letchworth: The Garden City
Press Limited, 1949) ; and St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles, Book
II, and Summa Theologiae, I, 50, 4. For a collection of sources representing
a historical Protestant Reformed view on angels, see Heinrich Heppe, ed.,
Reformed Dogmatics Set Out and Illustrated from the Sources, rev. and ed.
Ernst Bizer, trans. G. T. Thompson (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House,
1978)' pp. 201-219.
8 Three interesting contemporary authors are M. J. Field, Angels and Ministers of Grace: An Ethno-Psychiatrist's Co·ntribution to Biblical Criticism
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1971); Geddes MacGregor, Angels: Ministers

394

CHARLES

T. HUGHES

theoretical work already completed on finite incorporeal agents,
it might only take small adjustments in the existing work on
angels and demons to determine what human-like incorporeal beings would be like.
Furthermore, very creative Western minds have produced
works of literature which represent angels and demons, not to
speak of God, in ways which Christians have found beneficial in
helping them to understand how such beings operate in acting
out the great drama of divine redemption and judgment. Here,
I have in mind works such as Dante's DivinJe Comedy, John
Milton's Paradise Lost, and Goethe's Faust. A popular contemporary work is C. S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, which
provides us with a creative and insightful look at how a demon
might tempt a human being away from God and onto the path
which leads to Hell. The literature mentioned here may, then,
prove at least indirectly useful to those who wish to describe a
possible immaterial world inhabited by incorporeal agents in
order to support or defeat the possible worlds objection we are
considering.
( 3) All created persons will be resurrected from the dead in an embodied mode of existence. The " body " of resurrected persons
will be composed of, among other things, quasi-physical properties which are capable of enduring forever. Many of those resurrected agents will enjoy eternal existence with God and fellow believers in God's kingdom.
The traditional Christian belief in resurrection from the dead,
as including embodiment, has commonly been interpreted to imply
that there will be a material dimension of some kind to every religious believer's eternal existence. And if that is true, some might
suppose, then perhaps resurrected human agents possess bodies
in every possible world. If that were true, the objection we are
of Grace (New York: Paragon Book House, 1988); Mortimer J. Adler, The
Angels and Us (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1982). Adler's philosophical and theological bibliography on angelology is impressive and, rather
than duplicate it here, I simply commend it to the reader. Adler also believes
that any assertion like the one in (6), to the effect that human-like beings
could be incorporeal agents, represents an " angelistic fallacy" (see chapters
9-11).

EMBODIED

HUMAN

AGENTS

395

considering would be ruled out because there could be no possible world where human agents can exist apart from physical
embodiment. But it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to
prove that claim. In fact, I have assumed, in this paper, that
human-like incorporeal agents are possible beings, on a PlatonicCartesian model, who could inhabit an immaterial order. However, to suggest why my assumption is not wholly unwarranted,
let us reflect briefly on a New Testament passage which is thought
to be the classic Christian statement of embodied resurrection
from the dead.
St. Paul, in I Corinthians 15, discusses the future mode of
existence of those who choose an eternal destiny with God and
fellow believers in heaven. In the text, St. Paul contrasts our
perishable "natural bodies " (physical bodies) with the imperishable " spiritual or glorified bodies " we will be given when we
are raised from the dead. But even if we interpret I Corinthians
15 as teaching that the believer's future "spiritual or glorified
body " will be, at least, quasi-physical, that conviction alone does
nothing to show that the resurrection of the body is a logically
necessary truth, i.e., that it must be true in every possible world.
Instead, ( 3) appears to be a logically contingent proposition, i.e.,
true in one or more possible worlds, including the actual world,
but false in all the others. For it seems logically possible, on a
Platonic-Cartesian model, that God could simply permit the
mortal body of human beings to die while maintaining in existence the spirit of humans, which is the essential component of
those agents. Such beings would have to get used to incorporeal
agency, rather than continue utilizing the corporeal agency they
are used to, but there appears to be no decisive reason inJ principle why such adjustments could not be made. In some possible
worlds, therefore, God raises believers from the dead and equips
them with imperishable quasi-material bodies, and, in other possible worlds, God raises them simply as immortal, or conditionally immortal, spirits. And if the finite human spirit is the essential
human agent, then it was open to God to create human-like incorporeal beings at the outset. For that reason, and others mentioned above, we need not think that the traditional Christian be-

396

CHARLES

T. HUGHES

lief about the resurrection of human beings, which includes embodiment, is a necessary truth which rules out the particular
"possible worlds" objection we are considering.
( 4) God's purposes for human agents include providing them with
significant freedom to grow and develop as rational, moral, and
religious beings at an " epistemic distance " from their creator
in order to allow them to choose their own destinies.

( 4) is right because creaturely freedom would be swamped by
any direct awareness of God's presence and majesty. " Epistemic
distance," then, consists of a " screen," appropriate to the possible world in which it occurs, which denies finite agents any
initial or direct awareness of the divine presence and majesty.
This guarantees that agents are genuinely free to determine their
characters and destinies through their own long-term decisions
and actions.
One thesis which ( 4) suggests to many Christian theists, about
the actual world's function in God's plan, is this:
(5) To foster God's purposes for the existence of finite, free agents,
the present world must operate generally as an ordered, firststage theater for the rational, moral, and religious growth and
development of beings who are in the process of determining
their own destinies.
But, upon reflection, we discover that it is precisely such an
understanding of God, human existence, the physical world, and
incorporeal agents known as angels and demons, which generates
problems for theism based upon the actual world's evil and suffering. For, if God wished to create free agents, who are intended to determine their own destinies in and through a phase
of existence preliminary to eternity, why did God not do so by
creating them in a world which lacks the potential for as much
moral and natural evil as this world contains? Moral evil refers to the intentional wrong actions of free creatures and the
foreseen consequences of those acts. For example, cruelty, lies,
theft, and murder are all instances of moral evil. Natural evil
refers to every other event in the world which issues in diminished
lives, suffering, and death. Disease, famine, earthquakes, and
their bad consequences are all instances of natural evil.

EM130b1Eb HUMAN AGENTS

397

It is clear that the present physical order, with its interacting
energies and forces, further complicated by the intentional free
actions of beings who are working out their destinies, provides
the context not only for " Godward aspirations and illimitable
ideals " but also for massive amounts of moral and natural evils.
Hence, if theists are to maintain a morally unambiguous belief
in omnipotent and omniscient love, they must try to explain why
God permits so much evil and suffering in his world.
Theists have responded to that challenge with a theodicy, an
attempt to explain, in a plausible and morally justifiable way,
why God permits the evil and suffering which occur in the actual
world. A free will theodicy explains God's permission of moral
evil by reference to the divine objectives in creating free, personal
beings, and the goods which only such free agents can bring
about. There can be none of the great moral goods which significant freedom makes possible, theists argue, unless there is also
the potential for great moral wrongdoing. Therefore, the creaturely capacity for significant moral evil cannot be eliminated
without also removing the creature's ability to perform significantly good acts, choose his or her own destiny, etc. A natural
law theodicy explains God's permission of natural evils in terms of
the unavoidable possibilities inherent in a law-governed, physical
environment which is required for particular great goods. An
ordered material world shows discerning agents, through its
natural cause and effect operations, how to acquire the knowledge needed to produce and/or prevent good and bad actions and
events in the world. 9 Such a world, theists claim, provides free
agents with a calculable medium which makes possible their
physical growth and lands them with many responsibilities in interpersonal relationships, thus fostering their character-formation and choice of destiny.
But, when the quantity and types of the world's moral and
9 Richard Swinburne argues for the merits of such an environment in The
Existence of God (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), pp. 200-224; and
"Knowledge from Experience and the Problem of Evil," in William J.
Abraham and Stephen W. Holtzer, eds., The Rationality of Religious Belief
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987), pp. 141-167.

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CHARLES

T. HUGHES

natural evils are considered, sceptics have charged that it is unlikely that a God would have created human-like beings in a
world such as the present one. One form that this objection
takes is this: If God wishes humans freely to choose eternal life
in fellowship with him, why does God not create heaven directly,
thus by-passing the evil and suffering of the present world, or
any intermediary world where evil is possible?
One response to that objection is this: Given God's purposes,
it is not possible to create human agents, immediately in God's
kingdom, whose developed potentials and chosen destinies are
based on their own extensive past free choices and actions. For,
creatures who begin their existence engulfed by the vision of
God cannot choose and develop freely. Therefore, God's purposes
for human beings cannot be realized without them experiencing
a stage (or stages) of existence prior to heaven which protects
and fosters their free character-formation and destiny-determination.
But, given the ideas contained in ( 1)-(5), a sceptic could then
modify his or her point by raising the particular " possible
worlds" objection to theism with which I began this paper. That
objection claims that God could have accomplished his purposes,
without the physical dimension of evil which the actual world
contains, by creating incorporeal agents within a possible immaterial order. Now that we have seen how that objection can arise
against Christian theism, let us consider the problem more
directly.

III. Embodied Agents, a Material Order,
and God's Purposes
Why, then, did God create embodied agents within a material
realm? For if God could have achieved his creative purposes for
free, finite life with incorporeal agents inhabiting an immaterial
order, then it seems that he could have ruled out, in one creative
act, the possibility of all those natural and moral ·evils whose
sting depends upon physicality. For, in an immaterial realm,
there can be no physical disasters, and incorporeal agents would
suffer no physical pain or death, though such beings would cease

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to exist if God did not maintain them in existence. Therefore,
whatever explanatory merits free will or natural law theodicies
offer concerning God's permission of evil with respect to free,
embodied beings in the actual physical world, those theodicies
are irrelevant to the task of defending God's existence when the
prima facie advantages of creating incorporeal beings within a
possible immaterial order are considered.
If that is true, the sceptic's "possible worlds" objection to
theism may now be formulated in this way:
(6) If God exists, he would have created incorporeal agents whose
free character-formation and choice of destiny takes place within an immaterial order, in moral preference to the embodied
agents and physical order which actually exist. For an immaterial creation would achieve God's purposes for human-like beings while at the same time eliminating all those moral and
natural evils whose sting depends upon physicality. Therefore,
the existence of embodied agents in the actual world, with all of
its physically based moral and natural evil, is evidence against
God's existence.
However, if theists accept that ( 6) has placed the onus of
proof on them, could they, in principle, offer any considerations
which would make intelligible God's decision to actualize embodied agents within a physical order over incorporeal beings
in an immaterial world? Yes. The ideas summarized in ( 1)-(5)
above do contain some ammunition for speculative theists to use
in an attempt to defeat ( 6). For example, theists might attempt
to compare the actual world with the proposed immaterial realm
to derive reasons in support of the conclusion that the actual
world is better suited, overall, than an immaterial order, for the
realization of God's purposes regarding human (or human-like)
agents at the first-stage of their existence. But on what comparisons between the actual world and the possible immaterial
world might such a theistic case rely?
The comparisons used as an evidential basis for the theist's
case could be concerned with: (a) the nature of the " screen," in
both worlds, needed to provide epistemic distance between God
and free, finite agents with a choice of destiny; (b) the wider
range of character-forming and destiny-determining moral and

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practical responsibilities there are for embodied agents within a
material realm over against the comparatively limited range of
such responsibilities incorporeal agents would possess in a possible immaterial order; and ( c) the stronger motivations the actual material order's dangers and rewards provide, over an immaterial world's motivational forces, for agents to grow in knowledge, character, and the development of "culture" (i.e., religion,
politics, economics, the arts, the sciences, music, medicine, etc.),
which seriously affect the world and the quantity and quality
of its inhabitant's lives. If such a case could be developed and
rendered plausible, then, on the basis of the cumulative evidence
derived from (a)- ( c), theists could conclude that the theoretical
force of ( 6) against theism had been deflated.
However, it is here that the problems which confront both
theists and sceptics alike begin to unfold in earnest. One problem concerns the sheer quantity of controversial issues raised by
any attempt to deal with the elements which comprise ( 6). That
is, a whole host of highly controversial philosophical and theological issues would not only be raised in such an endeavor, but
would also have to be settled in order to affirm or rebut (6).
More important than that, however, are the epistemological difficulties which both theists and atheists face at this juncture.
The concern here is with whether or not a sufficient imaginative
grasp of the past, present, and likely future of the possible immaterial order, with respect to its objects, properties, and relations, is practically possible for humans to attain. If such knowledge is beyond our grasp, then no adequate picture of the " possible immaterial world," inhabited by "incorporeal (human-like)
agents," will be available for comparison with the actual world to
determine which one is better suited for the outworking of God's
creative purposes. And if that is true, then there would be no
adequate theoretical basis from which to extol the virtues or condemn the vices of an immaterial order in comparison to the actual
world.
But do the previous points mean we can get nowhere regarding a comparison of the actual world with a possible immaterial
world? It may mean exactly that. However, before I say more

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about the epistemological problem which confronts theists and
atheists here, let us see if any progress at all can be made with
speculation about comparison (a) above, from the theist's in
principle case, concerning the " screen " required in both worlds
to maintain epistemic distance between God and his creatures.

IV. Actual and Possible Epistemic Distance
Theists could claim that one consideration which contributes
to the intelligibility of God's creation of embodied beings in a
material realm is that the physicality of the cosmos provides the
" screen " needed to impose epistemic distance between God and
his creatures. 1 ° For, if agents were created out of spiritual substance alone, their intellectual and perceptual faculties would be
attuned entirely to the immaterial order and so to the presence of
other spiritual beings. 11 And, since God is an omnipresent Spirit,
1 0 Austin Farrer constructed a story to make just this point in Love Almighty and Ills Unlimited, pp. 69-74.
11 A rather different understanding of how an immaterial creation might
operate in this regard was supplied by George Berkeley (1685-1753) in A
Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (Indianapolis:
Hackett Publishing Co., 1982). Berkeley believed that immaterial substances
(minds and their ideas) are all that exist. Since "esse is percipi" ("to be is
to be perceived"), and all that the mind perceives are ideas, then the perception of material qualities does not mean there is some material substance
which exists independent of minds as the cause of those ideas. There is no
material substance; there are only minds and their perceived ideas. God, of
course, is the creator and perceiver of all there is, and, therefore, the cause of
the existence of the ideas, which are otherwise passive, in the minds of human
agents.
I have not utilized Berkeley's theistic immaterialism in my paper because:
(a) Berkeley believed that the immaterial world he conceived of was the actual world, while I believe that a material order exists beyond the mind; (b)
Berkeley's " screen " consists of ideas of sense that God causes to appear in
finite minds which convinces nearly everyone of the illusion of an external
material order ; and, ( c) God in my view, has a moral reason for not creating an immaterial order like the one Berkeley describes because: (i) it fools
almost all agents into believing there is a material reality, which lands them
with pseudo-responsibilities and grief over physical tragedy; and (ii) it makes
God a great deceiver for creating agents with intellectual and perceptual faculties which systematically mislead them about the existence and nature of
the objects, properties, and relations in the created order. I make several of
these same points in the text without reference to Berkeley. I have reserved

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his presence would be directly perceived by agents who would,
consequently, be engulfed by the vision of God. The net result of
that would be that God's purposes for creaturely freedom, and all
it implies, would be frustrated. But if agents were embodied (on
the Platonic-Cartesian model, for example), and inhabited a
physical order, they would be attuned, initially, to a material
reality with the result that God's omnipresence would be hidden.
If that is true, God would have reason to create a material screen
between himself and his creatures. But, to maintain an " epistemic distance " between God and creatures, must the postulated
" screen," from logical necessity, be a material order? No.
The previous considerations show only that, to protect significant creaturely freedom, there must be an " epistemic distance " between God and free, finite agents. But that does not
imply that a material order is required by logical necessity to
meet that need, or that an immaterial world necessarily excludes
the possibility of an epistemic distance between God and his
creatures. Hence, all that is clear at this point is that a material
creation, so far as we know, appears to be one legitimate candidate for the " screen " required between God and free agents.
And we may be able (or God may be able) to imagine other
types of "screens" which promote God's purposes but do not
include the potentials inherent in physicality for so much evil and
suffering. But, then, it appears, the necessity of epistemic distance itself no longer supports God's creation of the actual material world over an immaterial order. To make further progress
at this point, then, we must reflect upon this question : Could
God impose an epistemic distance between himself and his creatures in a possible immaterial order ?
It seems clear, upon reflection, that the concept of an immaterial world need not include, for its inhabitants, immediate or
Berkeley's philosophy for a footnote because I did not wish, within the confines of my paper, to spell out in detail Berkeley's theories or to become embroiled in the unique controversies they raise, or to describe how I might revise Berkeley's account of an immaterial world in order to contrast it to and
square it with my suggestions for one.

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direct awareness of the presence of God. For it would be possible
for God to place impediments directly into a finite spirit's mental
and perceptual faculties, thereby suppressing that agent's awareness of God's spiritual omnipresence. And God could ensure that
those mental and perceptual impediments could gradually be overcome through creaturely rational, moral, and religious efforts in
the direction of God. But, if that is true, does ( 6) then retain
its status as a credible objection to Christian theism? Not necessarily. For, if we can imagine plausible reasons which make
intelligible God's choice of a material screen over against a screen
in the minds of spiritual agents, then ( 6) could lose some of its
credibility. But are there such reasons? There appear to be.
That both the actual material world and possible immaterial
order can include epistemological distance between God and free
agents does not mean that the " screens," which provide that
barrier, are imposed at equal cost or with equal elegance in both
orders. A physical creation would function as a screen between
an omnipresent God and free agents since the material order does
not initially reveal immaterial realities to embodied agents. The
physical order would thus provide an epistemic distance between
God and human intellectual and perceptual capacities which were
created to interact initially with material realities and then,
through later efforts, with spiritual realities. On that view, God
would not need to interfere with the normal focus of embodied,
finite intellects and perceptual faculties.
But in an imagined immaterial order, where there would be an
omnipresent God and immaterial agents whose intellectual and
perceptual faculties were created to interact only with spiritual
realities, the barrier would have to be erected in the minds of the
agents themselves to prevent them from being overwhelmed by
the vision of God. This means that God would have to tamper
with the normal focus of the intellectual and perceptual capacities
of such agents, which might introduce unwanted complications
into their developmental capabilities. Consider this: It might
prove difficult to blind incorporeal agents to an omnipresent
Spirit, and yet maintain their capacity to perceive finite spirits,
without creating intellectual and perceptual disincentives to seek

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HUGHES

a Being who transcends their immediate awareness. For, if God
is a Spirit, finite spirits could find it very difficult to believe that
an omnipresent Being would be hidden from them in a realm the
very nature of which implies his immediately perceived presence.
If that is right, then God would have a reason to prefer the material screen over the screen internal to the minds of his creatures,
because the material screen does not require that God complicate
the process of creaturely development by directly frustrating the
natural focus of an agent's intellectual and perceptual faculties.
Beyond that, any suggestion that God should create in the
mind of incorporeal agents the illusion of living as embodied beings in a physical world would be unacceptable because : ( i) it
would land those beings with pseudo-responsibilities, like the set
of obligations which are based upon the physical well-being of
themselves and others; and (ii) it would make God a great deceiver because, while the evil and suffering which is based upon
physicality would not be real, the convincing appearance of such
evil would persist in the minds of deceived agents and cause most,
if not all of them, great distress. God, therefore, would have a
moral reason not to create agents with intellectual and perceptual
faculties which systematically mislead them about the existence
and nature of the objects, properties, and relations of a world
external to themselves.
"Fine," responds the sceptic, " but even if those considerations
are correct, by themselves they do not justify the creation of a
material world over an immaterial one, given the evil and suffering which occur in the actual physical order." That charge may,
of course, be either true or false. But neither theists nor atheists
may know how to proceed from there to determine which position is true and which one is false. In fact, to continue their
dispute at all could mean that they are forced to construct alternative accounts of an immaterial order to determine which of
them, if any, appears to be the most consistent and plausible.
But by then, theists and atheists will certainly have shifted from
a philosophical analysis of some of the problems raised by ( 6) to
the detailed development of particular " possible worlds " which
would not yield satisfactory results due to human epistemological

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405

limitations. In fact, the kind of analysis which theists and atheists
become involved in at that point may have more in common with
the literary analysis of fictional realms than it does with philosophical inquiry. There is nothing wrong with such literary analysis, but it will not finally succeed in helping theists and sceptics
to resolve the philosophical issues which were the original subjects of their dispute.
If we appear to have reached an impasse here, perhaps it is
best to examine some of the issues raised by ( 6) from the standpoint of epistemological limitations to see, strange as it may seem,
if we can advance our understanding of them.

V. Epistemological Limitations and Possible Worlds
The first point to consider, with respect to a possible worlds
objection like ( 6), or any solution to it, is that, in order to reach
a conclusion one way or the other, a prior commitment must be
made to a legion of controversial philosophical and theological
issues. And, since few philosophers or theologians may be inclined to grant each other's varied assumptions, that is a good
reason for avoiding the issue altogether. But this is not a good
reason to stop our inquiry. Many controversial topics require,
for purposes of discussion, that one have a prior commitment to a
host of contentious issues. Consider, for example, the numerous
and competing assumptions which naturalists and supernaturalists
bring with them to any discussion and interpretation of the evidence for and against an eternal post-mortem existence. My point
here is that we have to begin our analyses somewhere, and we are
not in a position to begin in a theoretical vacuum. Hence, philosophical inquiries which begin with numerous assumptions, each
one of which is guaranteed to generate controversy, is the price
one pays for a theoretical examination of important questions.
But are not the issues, raised by ( 6), problems that Christian
theism invites naturally by reference to some of its traditional
positions, especially in (2) and the Christian tradition about the
nature and activities of possible incorporeal finite agents? In
short, do the biblical data about such agents and their realm,
coupled with the information to be gleaned from medieval and

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modern angelology, and imaginative literary representations of
angels, demons, and their relations, afford us any assistance in
developing a description of a possible immaterial realm inhabited
by incorporeal agents? At a very general level, they do. But, as
helping us with the detailed information we need in order to
evaluate the merits or demerits of ( 6), the answer is negative.
Why?
The biblical accounts of angels and demons offer us very little
in the way of guiding theoretical principles by which to understand incorporeal agents and all of the other objects, properties,
and relations of the immaterial realm such beings are thought to
inhabit. During the Middle Ages, Pseudo-Dionysius, who probably lived in Syria during the fifth or early sixth century, attempted to synthesize Christianity and N eoplatonist thought.
His writings were taken as authoritative during the Middle
Ages because their authorship was originally (and wrongly) attributed to Dionysius of Athens, one of the few Athenians St.
Paul was able to convert to Christianity during his brief visit
there, which is recorded in Acts 17 :16-34. In his book, The
Celestial Hierarchies, Pseudo-Dionysius claims that the biblical
doctrine of angels sheds further light on the Neoplatonic idea of
"the great chain of being," by placing a hierarchy of incorporeal
beings (angels), in all of their layered rankings, between God,
the supreme Spirit, who dwells in heaven, and the material realm,
which is the habitat of human beings, who are embodied spirits.
The biblical data about angels, and Pseudo-Dionysius's account
of them, stimulated St. Thomas Aquinas to speculate even further about angels. St. Thomas believed that material substances
(which include human beings) are composed of matter and
form, and that immaterial substance (which included angels and
demons), consist of pure form. Human agents, according to St.
Thomas, each possess their own separate " substantial form " of
humanity (i.e., " that by which, or in virtue of which, a thing is
what it is ") ; they do not share a single common form of humanity, as the Platonists believed. What differentiates individual
human beings from each other is their matter, not their form,
even though the matter in question also distinguishes their sepa-

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rate substantial forms. But, if it is matter which individuates
similar substantial forms, and angels are pure form, how do we
tell the difference between individual angels like Michael and
Gabriel? St. Thomas's answer is that each pure form, each individual angel, is a unique member of its own species. Accordingly, Michael and Gabriel are classifiable as angels but their species
is particular, unique, and very different from the species of every
other angel.12 However, as interesting and as controversial as
St. Thomas's discussions of the nature and properties of angels
are, they leave one with the distinct impression that he claimed to
know much more about angels and their ordered realm than he
had any right to claim. The same evaluation, I believe, is true of
the earlier angelology developed by Pseudo-Dionysius. But what
reasons are there to believe that Pseudo-Dionysius and St.
Thomas overstepped the epistemological boundaries which limit
human beings?
One important consideration which makes it so difficult to
know, in detail, what finite beings like angels or demons would be
like, and how they would function, is their incorporeal nature.
Accordingly, one barrier for the human imagination here is that
our embodied e:i:istence colors both what and how we think, how
we act, and how we come to know and understand persons and
information. If, for example, it is true that angelic intellects gain
certain knowledge of reality through intuitive acts of their intellects, it will be very difficult for human agents, who think discursively and conceptually (and gain little certain knowledge
through those channels), to claim that they have angels and
demons entirely figured out. If that is true, then neither medieval
nor contemporary angelology is going to help us over the epistemological barriers presented by the various components which
make up (6).
Furthermore, to attempt to affirm or reject (6), we may be
forced into constructing a full-blown fictional account of a possible world, including the human-like immaterial agents. But
12 See St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I, 50, 4; and Anthony
Kenny, Aquinas, Past Master Series (New York: Hill and Wang, 1980), pp.
43-47.

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speculations about what human-like immaterial agents might be
like will suffer from the same epistemological difficulties attached
to theorizing about angels. Of course, philosophers_may attempt
to construct, imaginatively, the possible immaterial order and try
to spell out consistent boundary conditions to indicate which actions and events can and cannot take place within it. But we will
receive little help from such constructions in determining the
quantity of that possible world's evil and whether such a world
could achieve God's purposes for human (or human-like) existence. And here, in any case, we will have left philosophy and become authors and critics of the important details of imagined
possible realms. Admittedly, it takes creative imagination to engage in philosophical speculation. But when we attempt to describe a possible world which is as radically different from the
actual world as the one suggested in ( 6), we are left with a picture which, to say the least, lacks the kind of completeness in detail required for a proper comparison with the actual world along
the lines mentioned earlier. In fact, when philosophers and fiction
writers provide descriptions of worlds like the one suggested in
( 6), we are almost always given an account which depends on
the behavior of objects, properties, and relations in the actual
world, but stripped of physicality. However, the epistemological
difficulties inherent in the project of imagining what an immaterial world and its beiqgs are like and how much good and evil
they create and are subject to must appear to be prima facie overwhelming.
In order, then, to affirm (6), by justifying its crucial comparative conclusion, or to critique it for that matter, we would require a sufficient grasp of the past, present, and future of the objects, properties, and relations of the possible immaterial order
and the actual order, including their respective quantities of evil
and suffering. For, until we possess such knowledge, we might
very well jump to unjustified conclusions in any attempts at comparing a possible immaterial world to the actual world with respect to their quantities of good and evil and how well they function to fulfill God's purposes for human or human-like life. But
the knowledge required for that undertaking seems to be well be-

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yond human epistemological limitations. In order, therefore, to
receive a proper judgment on ( 6), we would have to rely on the
authority of a truthful being who possessed the knowledge required for such a comparison. And God, of course, is believed to
be such a being. But the only report we have, in Jewish and
Christian revelation, concerning God's attitude about the actual
world is found in Genesis 1 :31: "And God saw all that He had
made, and behold, it was very good."
In the end, therefore, neither Pseudo-Dionysius's nor St.
Thomas's accounts (or contemporary angelologies for that matter) can help us to decide about the issue raised by ( 6), one way
or the other. However, their discussions may also be limited because of their lack of theoretical attractiveness for many contemporary philosophers. Pseudo-Dionysius's and St. Thomas's impressive speculations are steeped in ancient Platonism. St.
Thomas tried to avoid an understanding of angels which utilized
Platonic notions but, with his notion of pure forms, he failed in
that endeavor. Accordingly, both Pseudo-Dionysius's and St.
Thomas' s angelologies lack, for most contemporary philosophers,
the kind of accepted theoretical guidelines required to make progress in the issues which surround ( 6) . In fact, many contemporary theists might be tempted to understand Pseudo-Dionysius's
and St. Thomas's discussions as interesting speculation about possible incorporeal agents or, simply, as accounts of fictional beings
described in the Bible and interpreted with N eoplatonic and Aristotelian metaphysical categories. But, in any case, such speculations do not seem to help us resolve, with the plausibility required, the issues raised by ( 6).
Beyond that, the fictional representations of angels and demons
which we find in Dante's Divine Comedy, Milton's Paradise Lost,
Goethe's Faust, or C. S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, are anthropomorphized in a way which makes them fascinating characters in a story but renders their depictions of little use in understanding what such beings would really be like and how they
would function. It could be said of such works that they represent
great fiction, but are, at best, of dubious value in resolving the
controversial philosophical and theological issues raised by ( 6).

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I do not mean, by my previous remarks, to commit myself
either to the existence or non-existence of angels and demons in
the actual world. My point is rather that the extensive knowledge we require about them and their habitat, in order to compare the advantages and disadvantages of that type of possible
world with the actual world, is not available to us. What we
would require for an adequate comparison of the actual world,
and its embodied agents, with the proposed possible world, and its
incorporeal agents, is knowledge of the past, present, and future
of the objects, properties, and relations of each realm with respect
to the quantities of good and evil they generate. I do not think,
however, that we can gain such knowledge no matter how hard
we speculate. And the work left for anyone who believes I am
wrong about this is a daunting task indeed.
But if the sceptic continues to claim that an immaterial creation would be better than the actual material world, we must
ask: "Better for what ? " For it seems extremely difficult, if not
impossible, to evidence the claim that incorporeal agents inhabiting an immaterial order would better be able to achieve God's
creative purposes, and with significantly less evil, than the actual
world with its embodied beings. Theists, therefore, appear to be
on more solid ground in this particular controversy than sceptics,
because the onus of proof is on those who wish to affirm that ( 6)
poses a strong objection to theism. And the likelihood of rendering ( 6) a plausible objection is slight indeed.
Finally, two other assumptions in ( 6) that are worth mentioning here, which the sceptic would need to know to affirm (6), are
these: First, there is the idea that the quantity of pain and suffering in an immaterial order would be significantly less than the
quantity in the actual world. To be sure, there would be no evils
in a possible immaterial order which depend upon physicality for
their sting. But whether human-like incorporeal agents could
perform wicked acts based on pride, envy, wrath, jealousy, etc.,
develop bad characters based upon the previously mentioned acts,
or suffer in numerous ways appropriate to an immaterial existence, must remain an open question. For even if we could measure the quantity of wickedness and suffering in both realms, and

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discover a way to find equivalences among them, we might discover that the quantities are similar, or even that an immaterial
order has more of its own kind of evil and/or less good than does
the actual world.
Secondly, there is the idea that an immaterial order would
foster God's purposes for human, or human-like, existence as well
or better than does the actual world. Here, we might discover
that God's initial purposes for human, or human-like, agents cannot be achieved in an immaterial order, even if that order possesses less evil, appropriately calculated, than does the actual
world. Hence, even if we could possess knowledge of an immaterial realm sufficient to justify an evaluative comparison with the
actual world, the immaterial world might offer inferior prospects
concerning the realization of God's purposes for human (or
human-like) agents than those offered by the actual world. And
if that were true, the theoretical credibility of ( 6) would be undermined. We do not know if the aforementioned considerations
are true or false, but we may conclude that the onus of proof,
with regard to justifying them, is on the one who affirms ( 6).
And the sceptic (as well as the theist) would not be able to overcome the epistemological barrier which confronts him or her in
that endeavor. After all, only an omniscient being, or God, would
possess the kind of knowledge needed to determine the credibility
or failure of ( 6). And, if there is a God, the actual material
nature of his creation shows us how he viewed the alternatives
among possible worlds.

VI. Conclusion
It has been my purpose in this paper to show why we must
resist claims as to the plausibility of the " possible worlds " objection from evil to Christian theism represented by ( 6). In
order to support my conclusion, I spelled out how particular
Christian theistic ideas, considered from the standpoint of possible worlds logic, made that objection to Christianity appear
both possible and plausible. I then developed part of an in principle theistic rebuttal to ( 6) in order to see how far I could get
with it. But, despite what could be considered a small amount of

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conceptual progress, the grave epistemological problems inherent
in the enterprise soon became apparent. For, in order to affirm
or rebut ( 6), we must possess sufficient knowledge of the past,
present, and future of the objects, properties, and relations of the
actual and possible worlds, as well as their quantities of good and
evil, to determine which one would better fulfill God's purposes for
human, or human-like, existence. But such information appears
to lie well beyond the limits of human knowledge, as I understand those limits anyway. Accordingly, even though (6) represents a possible world (or we assume that it does), we cannot
know enough about that world to compare it, adequately, with
this world for purposes of affirming or rebutting ( 6).
But even if I am right about the grave difficulties one would
face in an attempt to affirm or rebut ( 6), perhaps there are possible material worlds, inhabited by embodied human agents,
which would not only achieve God's purposes for human existence
but contain significantly less moral and/or natural evil than does
the actual world and as much or more good. If a possible world
like that could be described as one in every way like the actual
world, but lacking particular classes of evil, then it might serve
as a compelling "possible worlds" objection to theism in a way
that (6) does not. Unfortunately, however, I cannot go on to
discuss potential problems of evil like that within the confines of
this paper. 13
However, if the case I have outlined above is plausible, then
the theoretical forcefulness of ( 6) against Christian theism cannot be supported by human beings because of their epistemological
limitations. And even if it is true that there are far more pressing problems of evil for Christian theists to face and resolve, that
consideration alone does not eliminate the small amount of credibility Christian theism may have gained in the minds of some
sceptics with the discovery that a "possible worlds" objection
like ( 6) does not count against it.
13 For more on that subject, see my article entitled "Theism,
Natural Evil,
and Superior Possible Worlds," International Journal for Philosophy of Religion 31 ( 1992) : 45-61.

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It seems fitting to end my paper with a quotation from The
Celestial Hierarchies:
If you should point out that we have not mentioned in order all the
Angelic powers, activities, and images described in the scriptures, we
should answer truly that we do not possess the supermundane knowledge of some, or rather that we have need of another to guide us to
the light and instruct us ; but others have been passed over for the
sake of proportion, as being parallel to what has been given; and the
hidden Mysteries which lie beyond our view we have honoured by
silence.14

14 Pseudo-Dionysius, Mystical Theology and The Celestial Hierarchies, p.
68. I wish to thank Mr. Owen C. Watkins and Mr. William P. Welty for
reading an earlier draft of this paper and for making many helpful comments.

A HEIDEGGERIAN CRITIQUE OF AQUINAS AND
A GILSONIAN REPLY
JOHN

F. X. KNASAS

Center for Thomistic Studies
Houston, Texas

I

I

N HIS BOOK, Heidegger and Aquinas: An Essay on Overcoming Metaphysics, John Caputo investigates among other
points a claim of Etienne Gilson's followers. Their claim is
that Heidegger's charge of an oblivion or forgetfulness of being
cannot be pinned on Aquinas. 1 Aquinas escapes the charge because he alone in the history of Western philosophy deepens the
understanding of being to the level of esse. How could someone
who has seized upon the fundamental principle of being be guilty
of a forgetfulness of being? Caputo begs to differ. A Heideggerian would find the Gilsonian thesis unimpressive. What
Aquinas has done remains too ontical, for it still deals with things
and the principles of things. Something else escapes Aquinas's
eye, and Caputo variously expresses the Heideggerian dissatisfaction:

... esse for Aquinas means that act by which a thing comes to be
" real " rather than " present " in the original Greek sense of shining and appearing, revealing and concealing.... In St. Thomas the
original Greek notion of presencing as the shining in which all appearances shine, as a rising up into appearance, into manifestness, has
declined into an understanding of Being as "objective presence," the
presence of what is mutely there, as a sound in an empty room is
thought to be" there" in naive realism and common sense.2
1 John Caputo, Heidegger and Aquinas: An Essay on Overcoming Metaphysics (New York: Fordham University Press, 1982), pp. 100-1, 117-21.
2 Ibid., p. 199.

415

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JOHN

F. X. KNASAS

Also:
Hence, St. Thomas takes the being, not in its very Being-that is, in
its quiet emergence into manifestness-but in its character as something created.3
Then:
The metaphysics of actualitas is basically at odds with the meditative
savoring of the original sense of Being as presencing.4
Finally:
The early Greek experience of Anwesen, of the simple emergence of
things into the light, differs fundamentally from St. Thomas's metaphysics of actuality and science of first causes.5
Caputo's conclusion is that one cannot accept Heidegger's criteria
of S eindenken and think that Aquinas meets them. 6
But a Gilsonian might humbly take Caputo's correction and
still feel constrained to note that if the issue is being in the sense
of presencing, then another portion of Aquinas's philosophical
doctrine becomes relevant, viz., Aquinas's elaboration of the
mechanics of cognition. In sum, things are present to us insofar
as our form has been informed by their forms. Formal reception
of form allows us to become the really other without loss to ourselves. We are then sufficiently actuated to cause the presence of
the real as the term of our cognitional activity. 7
a Ibid., p. 200.
' Ibid., p. 201.
s Ibid., p. 209.
6 Ibid.
7 " ••• knowing beings are distinguished from non-knowing beings in that
the latter possess only their own form ; whereas the knowing being is naturally
adapted to have also the form of some other thing, for the species of the thing
known is in the knower. Hence, it is manifest that the nature of a non-knowing being is more contracted and limited; whereas the nature of a knowing
being has a greater amplitude and extension. That is why the Philosopher
says that the soul is in a sense all things." Thomas Aquinas, ST I, 14, 2c,
ed. Anton Pegis, The Basic Writings of St. Thomas Aquinas (New York:
Random House, 1945), Vol. I, p. 136. On the Aristotelian background, see
Joseph Owens, " Aristotelian Soul as Cognitive of Sensibles, Intelligibles and
Self," Aristotle: The Collected Papers of Joseph Owens, ed. John R. Catan
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1981), pp. 81-98.

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Once more, however, I believe that we have philosophers
speaking past each other. For Heidegger believes that presencing requires an understanding of being as an a priori condition.
Many texts to this effect exist. One of the most striking is from
Heidegger's The Basic Problems of Phenomenology (1927). I
would like to quote it at length. In detailing what he means by
"being" in the ontological difference between being and beings,
Heidegger says:
We are able to grasp beings as such, as beings, only if we understand something like being. If we did not understand, even though
at first roughly and without conceptual comprehension, what actuality signifies, then the actual would remain hidden from us. If we
did not understand what reality means, then the real would remain
inaccessible.... We must understand being so that we may be able
to be given over to a world that is, so that we can exist in it and be
our own Dasein itself as a being. We must be able to understand
actuality before all experience of actual beings. This understanding
of actuality or of being in the widest sense as over against the experience of beings is in a certain sense earlier than the experience
of beings. To say that the understanding of being precedes all factual experience of beings does not mean that we would first need to
have an explicit concept of being in order to experience beings theoretically or practically. We must understand being-being, which
may no longer itself be called a being, being, which does not occur
as a being among other beings but which nevertheless must be given
and in fact is given in the understanding of being. 8
8 Martin Heidegger, The Basic Problems of Phenomenology, trans. Albert
Hofstadter (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1988),
pp. 10-11. Also, see Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward
Robinson (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1962) : "Inquiry, as a
kind of seeking, must be guided beforehand by what is sought. So the meaning of Being must already be available to us in some way" (p. 25) ; "what
is asked about is Being-that which determines entities as entities, that on the
basis of which entities are already understood" (pp. 25-6) ; " But as an investigation of Being, [phenomenological interpretation] brings to completion,
autonomously and explicitly, that understanding of Being which belongs already to Dasein and which ' comes alive' in any of its dealings with entities "
(p. 96) ; "understanding of Being has already been taken for granted in projecting upon possibilities. In projection, Being is understood, though not
ontologically conceived. An entity whose kind of Being is the essential projection of Being-in-the-world has understanding of Being, and has this as
constitutive of its Being" (pp. 188-7) ; "If what the term 'idealism' says,

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JOHN

F. X. KNASAS

What is Heidegger saying about being? As I understand him, he
is saying that being is the expanse up and against which realities
are seen as realities. The driving idea is that the individual is
only known in the light of the universal. Undergirding this driving thought is Heidegger's description of what we experience.
Does not saying that we experience beings mean that the beings
are appreciated as instances of something larger, viz., being?
Similarly, to experience Fido as a dog means to experience Fido
as an instance of dog. But unlike dog, being is underived from
the beings that we experience. How could it be derived? Being
sets up experienced beings in the first place. Whenever we have
beings, we already have being. Hence, in the previous quote,
Heidegger says that being is "before" all experience of actual
beings and that the understanding of being is ". . . in a sense
earlier than the experience of beings." Continuing this a priori
construal of being, Basic Problems says that "the understanding
of being has itself the mode of being of the human Dasein." 9
amounts to the understanding that Being can never be explained by entities
but is already that which is ' transcendental ' for every entity, then idealism
affords the only correct possibility for a philosophical problematic" (p. 251);
"At the bottom, however, the whole correlation necessarily gets thought of as
somehow being, and must therefore be thought of with regard to some definite
idea of Being" (p. 252) ; " only if the understanding of Being is, do entities
as entities become accessible" (p. 255); "[Common sense] fails to recognize
that entities can be experienced ' factually ' only when Being is already understood, even if it has not been conceptualized" (p. 363) ; "All ontical experience of entities-both circumspective calculation of the ready-to-hand, and posibased upon projections of
tive scientific cognition of the present-at-hand-is
the Being of the corresponding entities" (p. 371); "[the paradigmatic character of mathematical natural science] consists rather in the fact that the entities which it takes as its theme are discovered in it in the only way in which
entities can be discovered-by the prior projection of their state of Being" (p.
414). In sum, Caputo, Heidegger and Aquinas, p. 53, remarks: "[In Being
and Time] Being is the meaning or horizon of understanding within which
beings are manifest. Thus instead of being an abstract concept, a vacuous abstraction when separated from concrete beings, . . . Being for Heidegger becomes the meaning-giving horizon, the transcendental a priori, which precedes
beings and renders them possible in their Being. It is not an abstraction drawn
from beings, but an a priori which precedes them."
9 Basic Problems, p. 16.

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419

Elsewhere, Heidegger says that being is what is closest to us. 10
His science of being is also called a transcendental science, for it
adopts the original sense and true tendency of the Kantian transcendental. As such, transcendental science is uninvolved with the
task of popular metaphysics that deals with some being behind
the known beings. 11 Finally, in the following chapter of Basic
Problems, Heidegger analyzes perceptual intentionality and
stresses that the uncoveredness of a being in perception means
that the being of the being has already been disclosed. 12
What would a Gilsonian Thomist say to all of this? What
comes most readily to mind is that the datum, viz., a consciousness of something as a being, fails to indicate necessarily an a
priori notion of being. For it may well be that the notion of being is immediately abstracted from things and subsequently employed to appreciate them as beings. Being is always found with
beings because it is simultaneously derived from them.
Why does this alternative view apparently not even occur to
Heidegger? The answer seems to be that the notion of being
used to grasp a thing as a being Heidegger considers to be applicable to immaterial beings, including God. In lines just previous to the above quote from Basic Problems, God, too, is described as a being and so is apprehended through being: " What
can there be apart from nature, history, God, space, number? We
say of each of these, even though in a different sense, that it is.
We call it a being." Likewise, Heidegger says elsewhere,
"[Being] is not God, nor [some] ground of the world. Being is
broader than all beings-and yet is nearer to man than all beings,
whether they be rocks, animals, works of art, machines, angels,
or God." 13 But how does a notion of being wide enough to include God come out of sensible things alone? The abstractive account of being chokes on this point. Better to say that being is
1 ° From Heidegger's "Letter on Humanism," quoted by William J. Richardson, Heidegger-Through Phenomenology to Thought (The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff, 1974), p. 6.
11 Basic Problems, p. 17.
1 2 Ibid., p. 67.
1s See supra, n. 10.

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JOHN F. X. KNASAS

not abstracted, or a posteriori, but is a priori. In short, because
being is wide enough to include God, then it is underived from
sensible things.
At this time it is noteworthy that Caputo mentions two sources
for Heidegger's thinking on being: Heidegger's university professor, Carl Braig, 14 and the sixteenth century Jesuit, Francisco
Suarez. 15 For both thinkers being is amply wide to include God.
This point is so true for Suarez that he regards the philosophical
treatment of God as a subdivision of ontology, or general metaphysics. On this notion of being, neither of these men was an
apriorist. Both were abstractionists. But in light of the incongruity between the notion of being that is "abstracted" and
the sensible data, is not an apriorism for being an implication
just waiting to be drawn? I believe so. And such an observation,
in my opinion, goes a long way to explain why Heidegger took
the a priori route.

II
If the mentioned incongruity constrains Heidegger to understand being as an a priori, then the Gilsonian need simply say
that it is by no means obvious that things are originally known
as beings in the light of such a grandiose notion of being. For
starters a much less ample notion of being will suffice, and as less
ample, the incongruity of its immediate abstract derivation from
sensible experience disappears.
Moreover, in Aquinas the notion of being that runs through
creatures fails to carry over to God, as Heidegger seems to think.
Aquinas variously expresses the notion of being common to creatures as ens commune and as ens inquantum ens. Later I will
elaborate it. Now let it suffice to say that Aquinas relates God
to ens commune not as an instance thereof but as the transcending
cause of ens commune. 16 God is not under ens commune but above
it. It is true that Aquinas sees esse as analogically common to
God and creatures. But again one must be careful to conceive
14 Caputo,

Heidegger and Aquinas, pp. 45-55.
pp. 69-70.
is In de Trin. V, 4c.
15 Ibid.,

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421

this position correctly. The analogon of esse is not even intelligibly prior to God. Rather, the divine analogate instantiates the
analogon. 17 God is esse subsistens. All other esse is esse accidentale. Aquinas traces esse accidentale to God not only causally
but also intelligibly. In sum, for Aquinas, unlike Heidegger,
even intelligibly speaking, nothing exists prior to God.
Heidegger has a much better case for the a priori status of
being in respect to what Aquinas calls the subject of metaphysics.
Aquinas's terminology of ens commune and ens inquantum ens
labels the subject of metaphysics. The terminology designates an
intelligibility that one appreciates as having a capacity of realization in non-bodies. 18 The intelligibility is separate from matter
both in being and in notion. As such ens is unlike man, horse, or
ass. These are natures admitting realization only in matter.
Aquinas also conveys this point by calling ens commune a transphysical commonality. 10 In this sense neo-Scholastics have used
the term "transcendental." 20 Besides harboring the possibility
17 Aquinas, In I Sent., pro!. q. 1, ad 2m. For a note on whether the analogy
between God and creatures is basically one of proportion or proportionality,
see John F. X. Knasas, "Aquinas, Analogy, and the Divine Infinity," Doctor
Communis 40 (1987) : 79, n. 32. Apparently for a fortiori reasons, Aquinas
has no hesitancy referring to God understood as ipsum esse as the primum ens,
aliquod ens, perfectissimum ens. See De Pot. Ill, Sc. In other words, God
can be called an ens not because he has esse but because he is esse. Cf. to
how " Deus est " is regarded as per se notum, ST I, 2, le.
1 8" We say that being [ens] and substance are separate from matter and
motion not because it is of their nature to be without them, as it is of the
nature of ass to be without reason, but because it is not of their nature to be
in matter and motion, as animal abstracts from reason, although some animals
are rational." Aquinas, In de Trin. V, 4, ad Sm; trans. Armand Maurer, The
Division and Methods of the Sciences (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of
Mediaeval Studies, 1963), pp. 48-9. Also, "In this [second] way being [ens],
substance, potency, and act are separate from matter and motion, because they
do not depend upon them for their existence. . . . Thus philosophical theology
[also called metaphysics] investigates beings separate in the second sense as its
subject .... " In de Trin. V, 4c; Maurer, Division, p. 4S. See also Aquinas,
In Meta., proem.
19 Haec enim transphysica inveniuntur in via resolutionis, sicut magis communia post minus communia." In Meta., proem.
20 Jacques Maritain, The Degrees of Knowledge, trans. Gerald B. Phelan
(New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1959), pp. 210-18.

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F. X. KNASAS

of realization apart from matter, ens commune encompasses a
composition. It is a composite transphy£ical commonality. Two
parts, substance as potency and esse as act, comprise the composition. 21
But various well-known attempts to formulate an aposteriori
source for the subject of metaphysics have both philosophical and
Thomistic problems. Both in whole and in part, I have told this
story before. 22 For present purposes I must at least in succinct
fashion repeat it.

III
For a neo-Thomist like Jacques Maritain the judgmental grasp
of the esse of sensible things causes the notion of being, ens inquantum ens, in all its analogical purity to burst forth in the mind.
When, moving on to the queen-science, metaphysics, ... the intellect
disengages being from the knowledge of the sensible in which it is
immersed, in order to make it the object or rather the subject of
metaphysics; when, in a word, it conceptualizes the metaphysical
intuition of being ... what the intellect releases into that same light
is, here again, first and foremost, the act of existing.23
21 " ••• potency and act divide common being." Previous lines identify potency and act as substance and being [esse]. For a sketch of the subject of
Thomistic metaphysics, see John F. X. Knasas, The Preface to Thomistic
Metaphysics (New York: Peter Lang Publishing, Inc., 1990), pp. 4-7.
22 " Immateriality and Metaphysics," Angelicum 65 (1988) : 44-76, and Preface, chs. 1-3.
2 3 Jacques Maritain, Existence and the Existent, trans. Lewis Galantiere
and Gerald B. Phelan (New York: Vintage Books, 1966), p. 26; similarly
on pp. 20 and 21. Then from The Degrees of Knowledge, p. 214: "From the
first instant in which it is grasped by the mind in a subject, [ens] bears within itself the possibility of being realized according to its proper significance
... in subjects which by their essence differ totally and absolutely from that
one. Such objects [ens, verum, bonum] are trans-sensible. For though they
are realized in the sensible in which we first grasp them, they are offered to
the mind as transcending every genus and every category, and as able to be
realized in subjects of a wholly other essence than those in which they are
apprehended. It is extremely remarkable that being, the first object attained
by our mind in things ... bears within itself the sign that beings of another
order than the sensible are thinkable and possible."

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423

Finally, "To have the idea of being, the act of existing must
have been affirmed and grasped in a judgment." 24
The philosophical difficulty with Maritain's approach to ens
commun'e is that it claims more from experience than experience
can give. From a number of judgments, I can see that esse is an
act that need not actuate this body or that body. Nevertheless,
in every case esse is still presented as the act of some body. From
the data there is no indication yet that esse possesses an ability
to actuate more than bodies. From judgmentally grasped esse,
Maritain draws an object too great for the data to bear. 25
Maritain's approach is also at odds with numerous Thomistic
texts on abstraction. Aquinas understands abstraction to be determined by the data. For example, animality does not include
rationality because the former is found without the latter. Hence,
in the De Ente et Essentia Aquinas remarks:
If plurality belonged to [humanity's] concept, it could never be one,
though it is one when present in Socrates. So, too, if oneness belonged to its concept, the nature of Socrates and of Plato would be
identical, and it could not be multiplied in many individuals.26

Later in the De Trinitate commentary, Aquinas also remarks:
We say that being and substance are separate from matter and motion ... because it is not of their nature to be in matter and motion,
although sometimes they are in matter and motion, as animal abstracts from reason although some animals are rational. 27
2 4 Existence and the Existent, pp. 25-6. Likewise in The Degrees, p. 218:
" The metaphysical transsensible, since it is transcendental and polyvalent
(analogous), is not only free from matter in its notion and definition but can
also exist without it. That is why the order to existence is embowelled in the
objects of metaphysics. If ... metaphysics descends to the actual existence of
things outside of time, it is not only because actual existence is the sign par
excellence of the intrinsic possibility of existence .... "
2 5 This criticism is found in Joseph
Le Point de depart de la
metaphysique V, ed. and trans. Joseph Donceel, A Marechal Reader (New
York: Herder and Herder, 1970), p. 146. In Metaphysics and the Existence
of God (Washington: The Thomist Press, 1960), pp. 158-9, Thomas C.
O'Brien also objects to an abstraction of ens commune simply from sensible
things.
26 De Ente, ch. 3, trans. Armand Maurer, On Being and Essence (Toronto:
Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1968), p. 46.
27 In de Trin. V, 4, ad Sm; Maurer trans., pp. 48-9.

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JOHN F. X. KNASAS

The comparison with animal suggests that ens inquantum ens is
abstracted as transphysical from data that includes some immaterial instances. Just as one would never abstract animal from rational if one knew it only in humans, so too one would never abstract being from matter if one grasped it only in bodies. The
need for such a procedure seems to be just the point of Aquinas's
remark at Summa Theologiae I, 85, 1, ad 2m:
There are certain things that can also be abstracted from common
intelligible matter, viz., being [ens], one, potency and act, and others
of this kind. They also can be without all matter, as is evident in
the immaterial substances [ u-t patet in substantiis immaterialibus].

IV
Where abstraction fails, perhaps the application of reasoning
will succeed. A posteriori Thomists who criticize Maritain along
the mentioned lines claim that the entry into metaphysics is consequent upon natural philosophy's demonstration of the immaterial.28 From the study of motion in the Physics, the natural
philosopher proves separate substance as a required immaterial
and immovable mover. From the study of intellection in the De
Anima, the natural philosopher proves the human soul to be immaterial. Such conclusions enable us to stretch our original notion of being so that it is seen to apply analogically both to the
material and immaterial orders. 29
Under critique, however, the natural philosophy approach
fares no better than Maritain's. First, a proof for the immaterial
on matter /form principles runs into a genuine Aristotelian problem. The proof appears to posit an efficient cause whose nature
is form alone. But on Aristotelian principles no pure form can
be an efficient cause. An Aristotelian scholar explains the irreconcilability this way:
28 James A. Weisheipl, "The Relationship of Medieval Natural Philosophy
to Modern Science: the Contribution of Thomas Aquinas to its Understanding," Manuscripta 20 (1976) : 194.
2 0 Ibid., p. 195.

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425

For the actuality of an efficient cause as such is, according to the
in the patient not in the agent. The finitude· of the
Aristotelian perfect Beings must inevitably bring them under strict
application of this norm. As long as the separate Entities are conceived essentially as finite and perfect forms, they cannot have any
actuality outside themselves. They cannot be efficient causes. There
is no room for efficient causality in the source of Being as conceived
by the Stagirite. 30
Metaphysics,

In other words, given Aristotle's equating of act with form, pure
act becomes pure form and so something essentially limited and
finite. It will, then, be unable to have any of its actuality outside
itself. Since an efficient cause has its actuality in the patient, pure
act conceived as pure form is not an efficient cause. This divorce
makes any purely hylomorphic reasoning for the immaterial
problematic. In a Thomistic perspective where the act of all acts
is esse, not finite form, pure form is relieved of the impossible
burden of being both pure act and an efficient cause. Pure act is
located in the line of esse. Hence, pure form is left free to perform
an efficient role. This Thomistic perspective, however, is metaphysical.
Second, the natural philosophy approach is also at odds with
the Thomistic texts. At Summa Theologiae I, 44, 2c, Aquinas
expressly says that reasoning based on matter /form principles
takes the philosopher to a first body only: " These transmutations (of essential forms) they attributed to certain more universal causes, such as the oblique circle, according to Aristotle .... " The oblique circle is a reference to the celestial sphere
that moved the sun. If the philosopher reasons further, the text
continues, it is on the basis of ens inquantum ens. This basis
is the metaphysical viewpoint. Also, in the commentary on
Boethius's De Trinitate, V, 4c, Aquinas restricts philosophical
knowledge of God and the angels to metaphysics. Both are
known only in metaphysics. The only other knowledge of these
immaterial beings is theological.
30 Joseph Owens, The Doctrine of Being in the Aristotelian Metaphysics
(Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1963), pp. 467-8.

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Philosophers, then, study these divine beings only insofar as they
are the principles of all things. Consequently, they are the objects of
the science that investigates what is common to all beings, which has
for its subject being as being. The philosophers call this divine science.... This is the kind of theology pursued by the philosophers
and that is also called metaphysics.31
Finally, in the commentary on the second book of Aristotle's
Physics, Aquinas explicitly assigns to metaphysics even the consideration of the rational soul as separable from matter. For the
natural philosopher considers form only insofar as it has being in
matter: " naturalis in tantum considerat de forma in quantum
habet esse in materia." Hence, natural science deals with the soul
only as a part of a generable and corruptible thing, not as a
separable part.
... how this form, i.e., the rational soul, exists insofar as it is separable and capable of existence without a body, and what it is according to its separable essence are questions that pertain to first philosophy.32
I find no Thomistic texts that unequivocally credit natural philosophy with a demonstration of immaterial being. First, In de
Trin., V, 2, ad 3m, is often cited in behalf of the natural philosophy approach. Aquinas is replying to the objection that natural
philosophy does treat what exists apart from matter and motion
because it considers the First Mover that is free from all matter.
In reply, Aquinas admits that natural philosophy treats the First
31 In de Trin.

V, 4c; Maurer trans., p. 44.
" But if any soul can exist separately from a body, then insofar as
it is not the actuality of such a body, it does not fall within the scope of the
philosophy of nature." In VI Meta., lect. 1, no. 1159; trans. John P. Rowan,
Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1961) II, p. 460. At In I Post. Anal. lect. 44, no. 11, Aquinas remarks
that the treatment of the intellect and reason, to the extent that these are
terms for the powers of the soul ( secundum quad significant potenciae quasdam), pertain to the consideration of the natural philosopher. That "power"
here fails to mean "faculty" is clear from Aquinas's forthright teaching elsewhere (In III Sent., d. XXXV, q. 2, a. 2, q• 1; De Ver. XV, 1; ST I, 79,
8) that intellect is not divided from reason as one power is divided from another. Rather, their division refers to distinct kinds of cognition. Intellect
refers to a certain apprehension without inquiry; reason (or science) refers
to certain cognition through inquiry. See also, In III de An. lect. v, no. 639.
32 Also,

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427

Mover which is " of a different nature from natural things " but
as the terminus of its subject that is about things in matter and
motion. This remark seems to catch Aquinas giving natural
philosophy proof of an immaterial being. Not necessarily, however. Bearing in mind Aquinas's distinction between terrestrial
and celestial matter (ST I, 66, 2c) and his references to the celestial bodies as first mover (primum niovens, C.G. I, 13, Quia
vero), it is not too far out of line to say that the immaterial first
mover about which Aquinas is speaking is a celestial mover free
from terrestrial matter. This interpretation would prevent the
text from contradicting Aquinas's claim a scant two articles later
that philosophers know God and the angels only in metaphysics.
In sum, nothing in this text necessarily goes beyond prinia pars
44, 2c.
Second, textual grounds exist for a metaphysical interpretation
of Aquinas's commentary on Physics VIII. These grounds include the following. Back in his commentary on Book II, Aquinas
insists,
... natural philosophy does not consider every mover. For there are
two kinds of moving principles, namely, the moved and the nonmoved. Now a mover that is not moved is not natural because it
does not have in itself a principle of motion. And such is the moving
principle which is altogether immobile and the first of all movers, as
will be shown in Book VIII. 33
A few paragraphs earlier Aquinas describes the consideration of
an immobile mover as a third philosophical study that he assigns
to metaphysics. Book VIII would, then, be metaphysics.
Also, in his commentary on Book VIII, Aquinas explains how
the first mover can have a temporal effect because it is a causa
universalis totius esse. Does not this move engender the interpretative possibility that even when the first mover is considered
as having an eternal effect, Aquinas is still understanding it as
a cause of esse? This leaves Aquinas's commentary on Book
VIII wide-open to a metaphysical construal.
33 In II Phys., lect. 11, n. 245; trans. Richard Blackwell, Commentary on
Aristotle's Physics (New York: Yale University Press, 1963), pp, 113-4.

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Further, the closing lines of the commentary state that Aristotle ends his general discussion of natural things with the first
principle of the whole of nature who is God. But the only preceding discussion of a primum principium is early in Book VIII.
There the First Principle is the principium totius esse, not of
forma substantiale. In sum, the commentary's closing lines also
seem to indicate that Aquinas regards Book VIII metaphysically.
Finally, third, Aquinas's remark at In III de Caelo, lect. l, no.
547, that natural philosophy "mostly" considers bodies because
it also considers the first mover and the intellective soul is also
indecisive. I have noted Aquinas saying that natural philosophy
considers neither the rational soul as separable nor the absolutely immobile first mover. Furthermore, the immediate context of
the De Caelo remark is Aquinas's argument for the conclusion
that the entire consideration of natural science is around bodies,
" tota consideratio scientiae naturalis est circa corpora." Since we
already know from In de Trin., V, 2, ad 3m, that for Aquinas
the consideration of a science involves not only a subject matter
but also the cause(s) of that subject matter, Aquinas's just
quoted conclusion is particularly damning. What other way is
left for natural science to consider non-bodies? I believe that the
remark that physics mostly considers bodies is likely talking about
generable and corruptible bodies. The mentioned first mover
would be an ungenerable and incorruptible heaven as the cause
of terrestrial bodies. The intellective soul would come in for
physical treatment simply as a part of a generable thing, not as a
separable part.

v
In the wake of these difficulties in the a posteriori attempts to
reach the subject of Thomistic metaphysics, it is no surprise that
a priori Thomists come along. The Transcendental Thomists, as
they are called, ground the transempirical subject of metaphysics
upon the human knower's natural intellectual dynamism to Infinite Being. Because of this dynamism we know that being is
not coextensive with bodies and so attain the subject of metaphysics.

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In my opinion, this turn to an a priori is not without a terrible
cost. Despite protestations of Transcendental Thomists, the objectivity of thought seems to be decisively compromised. The a
priori dynamism of the intellect to Infinite Being is a constitutive
factor in human consciousness. Consequently no way exists in
and through which one can check out the possibility of distortion
by the dynamism. Transcendental Thomists are sensitive to my
concern. The move they offer to address it is generally called
retorsion. 34 In sum, retorsion attempts to establish something
as true by illustrating that the attempt to deny it only affirms it.
But, in reply, how decisive a fact is retorsion? Is not retorsion
what you would also expect if the constitutive factor were mere8 4 See Joseph Donceel, "Transcendental
Thomism," The Monist 58 (1974):
81-3. Donceel remarks, "We have no intuition of our basic certitudes. We
do not see that or why they are true. We do not see that or why some of our
knowledge is absolutely certain, that or why every event has a cause, that or
why the Illimited Being exists. But we cannot not affirm it" (p. 83). See
also his translation of Emerich Coreth's Metaphysics (New York: Herder
and Herder, 1968), pp. 8-10. Likewise, for Bernard Lonergan, "Insight:
Preface to a Discussion," Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical
Association 32 (1958) : 79-81, there is no intuition of concrete, actual existence. Rather, we know "being" contains existential act by a reflection upon
our activity of questioning: " But, then, what can be the origin of the notion of existence, if neither sense nor understanding suffices? I think that, if
you will go back over the process just described, you will see that the notion
of existence emerged with the question whether the particularized concept,
this thing, was anything more than a mere object of thought. In other words,
just as existence is the act of being, so the notion of existence is the crowning component in the notion of being. But the notion of being is our desire
to know, our desire to ask questions. The crowning question is the question
for reflection, an sit? Is it so ? " ( p. 80) . As I understand Lonergan, our
questioning is propelled by the notion of being implicit in the intellect's natural
desire (p. 75). But that questioning peaks out in existential questions. Hence,
reality must include existential act. Obviously, this approach to actus essendi
makes sense only if the objectivity of the notion of being is assured. Like
other Transcendental Thomists, Lonergan appeals to retorsion here; see John
Haught, Religion and Self-Acceptance (New York: Paulist Press, 1976), pp.
134-141. Donceel's approach to first principles and Lonergan's approach to
actus essendi can be contrasted with Robert Renie's: "The principle [of contradiction] is, in fact, merely a recognition of the necessity of being in a given
act of existence." Method in Metaphysics (Milwaukee: Marquette University
Press, 1980), p. 56. Joseph Owens says the same, in Aii Elementary Christian
Metaphysics (Houston: Center for Thomistic Studies, 1985), pp. 269-71.

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ly a priori and not objective at all? I think so. With retorsion,
objectivity, or contact with reality, remains the nagging issue.
Transcendental Thomists will insist that in employing retorsion
they are merely following Aquinas's example of furnishing an
" indirect proof" of the principle of non-contradiction. In dealing
with deniers of the principle, Aquinas, commenting on Aristotle,
says that refutation is achieved provided that the denier " ... signify something by a word." If so, then " ... there is straightway
found to be something definite and determinate which is signified by the term distinct from its contradictory .... " 35
But it is anachronistic to understand the indirect proof of the
principle as applicable to a Kantian type of philosopher. The
deniers of the principle are still all realists. They may dispute
with Aristotle and Aquinas about the nature of the real, viz., it
is contradictory. Yet they agree that thinking is determined by
the real. This residual realism enables Aquinas to catch the
deniers in self-contradiction. All that is required is that the
deniers say something meaningful. In other words, if thinking
is determined by the real, then to employ words to say something
definite is to admit that something definite exists. Everything is
not its opposite, and so the principle is affirmed. On the other
hand, if the real is the contradictory, it is not definite and so
thinking itself should not be. But the Kantian denies this realism
consisting in the conformity of thought to reality. The Kantian
admits only that thinking is determined by thought itself. As a
result, performative self-contradictions in thinking point to what
may be exigencies in thought alone. There is no manifest way
to go beyond thought to the real. 36
Yet, if Aquinas does not intend to be a transcendental philosopher, it certainly appears that the inadequacies of the a posteriori
35 In IV Meta., lect. 7, n. 611; Rowan trans., op. cit., I, p. 248.
sa Aquinas's argument at ST I, 2, 1, ad 3m, for the existence of truth is
cited by Transcendental Thomists as Aquinas practicing retorsion; see most
recently, Stephen W. Arndt, " Lonergan: Cognitional and Volitional Process,"
American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 65 (1991): 58, n.25. But Aquinas's
argument depends upon ontologically affirming the principle of non-contradiction-something a Kantian would not do on the strength of retorsion alone.

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attempts to achieve the subject of Thomistic metaphysics logically
paint Aquinas into an a priori corner. Hence, as I see it, the
flashpoint between Aquinas and Heidegger is the subject of
Thomistic metaphysics and the inability to ground that subject
a posteriori. In Heidegger's eyes, Aquinas should frankly confess
that ens commune is an a priori. Furthermore, Aquinas should
see that his account of cognitional presence in terms of formal reception of form is lacking, for it makes no acknowledgment of the
a priori factor of being. Going this route also means giving up
traditional ontology understood as a search for the ultimate
causes of things. In its wake follows a phenomenological ontology that uncovers ourselves as projectors of the being in the light
of which we are conscious of beings. This is just what Heidegger
wants. 37
VI
I wish to defend Aquinas by upholding an a posteriori origin
for Thomistic metaphysics. Yet, I will not be returning to Maritain or the natural philosophy Thomists. Instead I pivot to Gilson and his trumpeting of Aquinas as a discoverer of the existential dimension of being. In an essay criticizing Maritain's intuition of being position, Gilson speaks of metaphysicians who lack
Maritain's intuition of being but nevertheless possessed an intuition of being simply in the sense of a grasp of the esse of sen3 7 " We are surmounting beings in order to reach being. Once having made
the ascent we shall not again descend to a being, which, say, might lie like
another world behind the familiar beings. The transcendental science of being
has nothing to do with popular metaphysics, which deals with some being behind the known beings; rather, the scientific concept of metaphysics is identical with the concept of philosophy in general-critically transcendental science of being, ontology." Heidegger, Basic Problems, p. 17. Also, "If we are
to understand the problem of Being, our first philosophical step consists . . .
in not 'telling a story '-that is to say, in not defining entities as entities by
tracing them back in their origin to some other entities, as if Being had the
character of some possible entity." Being and Time, p. 26. Hence, Caputo,
Heidegger and Aquinas, p. 98, remarks, " The Scholastic who wishes to respond to Heidegger's critique has to come to grips with the whole premise of
transcendental philosophy." This is the challenge that I accept in this paper.
Caputo also says, however (pp. 94 and 239), that in his Discourse on Thinking ( 1959) Heidegger gave up transcendental critique.

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sible things. 38 Among these meta physicians Gilson includes A vicenna, Aquinas, and Bafiez. Does this not imply that for Gilson
the transphysicality of ens, or what is called the third degree of
abstraction, is a non-essential for starting metaphysics? I repeat,
Gilson claims that Aquinas and others are metaphysicians and yet
they lack what Gilson calls Maritain's intellectual intuition of
being. What made them metaphysicians? Simply their grasp of
esse as the most profound principle in the sensible existents before us. It appears to me that Gilson is saying that a grasp of
Aquinas's essence/ existence sense of ens commune sufficiently
distinguishes the beginning of the metaphysical enterprise. The
inception of the enterprise has no need of the other transphysical
sense of Aquinas's notion of ens commune.
The consideration of beings in the light of their actus essendi
seems sufficiently distinctive for a speculative science. Natural
philosophy can be left to consider real bodies as habens f orma,
and the empirical sciences can take them up as various haben'S
accidentia. Both approaches leave room for a consideration of
sensible existents as habens esse. Though both presume esse
neither focuses upon it. What about transphysical ens as the subject of metaphysics? In the Gilsonian approach, ens commune
would describe the subject of metaphysics at a later and mature
stage. Metaphysical reflection upon actus essendi leads the
thinker to possible immaterial beings. This conclusion is the rational basis for expanding the essence/existence distinction beyond the material order.
38 " There comes a point where certain thinkers refuse to push beyond the
existent as existent (I' etant comme etant) ; they refuse precisely because they
do not recognize the intuition of being (/'intuition de l'etre) as the ultimate
and root of the existent (l'etant); such is for example the case of Duns
Scotus. Others, quite rare indeed, but Avicenna, Thomas Aquinas, Banez and
their successors, attest their existence, dare to affirm as the supreme act, the
esse in virtue of which the existent exists" (my trans.). Etienne Gilson,
"Propos sur l'etre et sa notion," San Tommaso e il pensiero moderno, ed.
Antonio Piolanti ( Citta N uova: Pontificia Academia Romana de S. Tommaso
d'Aquino, 1974), p. 16. For an extended analysis of Gilson's criticism of Maritain, see ] ohn F. X. Knasas, "Gilson vs. Maritain: the Start of Thomistic
Metaphysics," Doctor Communis 43 (1990): 250-265.

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I find Gilson's position apt for stymying the Heideggerian reduction of Thomism to an apriorism. If we can initiate metaphysics by a notion of being that highlights the existential dimension of sensible beings, we protect ourselves from being
forced onto an apriorist road. Contrary to Caputo's opinion,
Gilson's thesis of Being and Some Philosophers that Aquinas
alone was sufficiently attentive to the existential side of being is
relevant for answering Heidegger's charge of the oblivion of being among Western philosophers. Aquinas does not forget what
Heidegger calls Being in the ontological difference. Aquinas just
moves it to a latter stage of a posteriori metaphysical reflection.
If anyone has an oblivion of being, it is Heidegger. Heidegger
seems to be unaware of the merely existential notion of being by
which Aquinas initiates metaphysics.

VII
Before concluding, I must address a number of issues raised
by Gilson's position on the initiation of Thomistic metaphysics.
First, if Gilson is correct that Aquinas initiates metaphysics on
the basis of a notion of ens that harbors the essence/ existence
distinction and not the transphysical notion of ens, then why are
Aquinas's e.r professo treatments of the subject of metaphysics in
terms of transphysical en's? Why does Aquinas emphasize that
the subject of metaphysics is characterized by a separateness from
matter both in being and in notion? To these questions Joseph
Owens offers some relevant remarks. If I understand Owens, the
Thomistic texts express a circumstantial requirement rather than
a philosophical statement on the entry into metaphysics. The
texts express a medieval theologian's need to take Aristotelian
metaphysical terminology of the " absolutely separate " and give
it a non-divine reference. In this fashion the intellectual world
is made safe for revealed theology to be the consideration of God
in himself. 39 This medieval theological concern to launder the
39 Joseph Owens, " Metaphysical Separation in Aquinas," Mediaeval Studies
34 (1972) : 306. Also see Owens, "Aquinas as Aristotelian Commentator" in

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F. X. KNASAS

Greek terminology should not lead us astray on the entry point
of Thomistic metaphysics. Quoad se, ens is a transphysical intelligibility. It is realizable apart from matter. Accordingly,
Aquinas emphasizes this point to give the Aristotelian metaphysical terminology of " absolutely separate " a non-divine reference. But quoad nos, ens is first appreciated as habens esse. This
sense of ens is doctrinally sufficient to initiate metaphysics. 40
Second, but at In de Trin. V, le, does not Aquinas philosophically argue that the speculative sciences are differentiated by their
degree of separation from matter and motion? Aquinas does.
Hence, my talk about immateriality of metaphysics as merely a
circumstantial requirement is wrong. But at V, le, Aquinas explains that any number of possibilities exist for a third speculative science whose object includes independence from matter.
First, the science could deal with something that never exists in
matter, e.g., God and the angels. Second, it could deal with objects able to be in matter and apart from it, e.g., substance, quality, potency, act, etc. Third, the science could deal with both.
These manifold possibilities should cause one to hesitate to say
just how metaphysics is separate from matter. If metaphysics can
be independent from matter in the first way, then the interpretative possibility exists that its initial subject matter need not be
similarly marked. The precise point or points of immateriality
can be left to emerge in the unfolding of the science. In passing
I note that at In VI Meta., lect 1, no. 1163, Aquinas calls metaphysics separate from matter simply because it treats God and
angels.
Third, by starting with sensible beings, how can Gilson's approach be at all labeled " metaphysics "? " Metaphysics " means
"beyond the physical." But the term could still be retained insofar as Gilson's approach focuses upon the esse of the sensible
St. Thomas Aquinas on the Existence of God: Collected Papers of Joseph
Owens, ed. John R. Catan (Albany: State University of New York Press,
1980), pp. 4-12.
4o In my opinion, Summa Theologiae I, 44, 2c catches Aquinas in the act of
doing metaphysics on the basis simply of the habens esse sense of ens. For the
analysis of 44, 2c, see my Preface, pp. 74-89.

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thing, and the esse is being understood as beyond the nature
(praeter essentiam) of the physical thing. 41
Fourth, does not Gilson locate the Thomistic basis for conceiving the thing's existence as actus essendi in divine revelation? In his The Elements of Christian Philosophy, Gilson does
say that disputes among Thomists on whether to conceive existence as an act of the thing or the fact of the thing are an invitation for us to give up the philosophical way and to try the theological way. 42 According to Gilson, Aquinas's actus essendi interpretation of existence was inspired by God's ego sum qui sum
revelation to Moses. Aquinas took God to be saying that God is
pure existence. God's creation should reflect the divine nature in
a distinct act. Gilson says,
It is one and the same thing to conceive God as pure Esse and to
conceive things, so far as they are, as including in their metaphysical
structure a participated image of the pure Act of Being.43
The theologizing charge against Gilson also suggests Heidegger's
opinion from The Basic Problems of Phenomenology. Heidegger
appears to regard the essence/existence distinction among the
Scholastics as simply an ad hoc device fashioned to distinguish
creatures from God. 44 The philosophical basis of the distinction
is nugatory.
41 Likewise, Owens says, that " metaphysics " can be appropriately
used
" ... upon existence that is beyond the natures of things as these are grasped
through conceptualization, and that is apprehended only in judgment." See
" Actuality in the ' Prima Via ' of St. Thomas," in Catan, St. Thomas on God,
p. 203.
42 Etienne Gilson, The Elements of Christian Philosophy (Garden City,
N.Y.: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1960), p. 131.
43 Ibid., p. 131.
44 " The traditional discussion of the second thesis, that essentia and existentia, or possible existence, belong to each being, lacks a solid foundation and
a sure clue," Basic Problems, p. 78. Also, "The problem [of the relation between essentia and existential must be understood in the philosophical context
of the distinction between the concepts of the infinite being and the finite
being," Basic Problems, p. 81. Caputo, Heidegger and Aquinas, pp. 67-8,
correctly notes that Heidegger's subsequent Suarezian critique of the Thomistic distinction between essence and existence is insufficiently attentive to esse
as a prior principle within the concrete being.

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The above theologizing reading of Gilson fails to take account
of Gilson's assertions, even in The Elements, that for Aquinas
the thing's esse is apprehended by the intellect's second operation,
also called judgment. 45 Also, Gilson is on record that "what we
call Thomistic philosophy is a body of rigorously demonstrable
truths and is justifiable precisely as philosophy by reason
alone." 46 In my opinion, 47 Gilson's talk about a turn to theology
is merely his invitation for us to consider the hints, or suggestions, from revelation as to where the philosophical truth of the
matter may lie.
Nevertheless, some characterizations that Gilson makes of
judgment might cause the theologizing charge to arise once again.
Gilson at least gives the impression of equating the judgment
with the proposition. For example, " Existential judgments are
meaningless unless they are meant to be true. If the proposition
'Peter is' means anything, it means that a certain man, Peter by
name, actually is, or exists." 48 Also, "The formula in which this
composition is expressed is precisely the proposition or judgment." 49 Such an equation is unfortunate because judgment is
supposed to be the intellectual act that grasps the esse rei, while
45 " The second operation, which is the composition or division of conceptsthat is, the judgment-attains the thing in its very act of being .... This conclusion, so firmly asserted by Thomas Aquinas, has often been overlooked or
intentionally rejected by many among his successors. And no wonder, since it
is tied up with the Thomistic notion of the composition of essence and the act
of being in created substances,'' Elements, p. 232. See also Gilson, Le Thomisme: Introduction a la Philosophie de Saint Thomas D'Aquin (Paris:
Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1972), pp. 184-5 and 188.
46 Gilson, The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas (New York:
Random House, 1956), p. 22. Caputo, in Heidegger and Aquinas, p. 9, holds
that Aquinas's metaphysics was the "concealed, discursive, representationalone is tempted to say 'alienated '-way" of expressing Aquinas's animating
mystical experience. But Aquinas's metaphysics can be surmised within his
earliest works, e.g., the commentary on the Sentences and his De Ente et
Essentia, both written long before any evidence of Aquinas suffering mystical
experience.
47 See my "Does Gilson Theologize Thomistic Metaphysics? " in Thomistic
Papers V (Houston: Center for Thomistic Studies, 1990), pp. 14-16.
48 Gilson, Being and Some Philosophers (Toronto:
Pontifical Institute of
Mediaeval Studies, 1952), p. 201; also, pp. 196 and 202.
49 Gilson, Christian Philosophy of Aquinas, p. 41.

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the proposition at best only expresses esse. As Aquinas himself
points out, the enunciation, or proposition, signifies the esse rei
that the secunda operatio intellectus grasps ( respicit). 50 Gilson' s
equating of the judgment with the proposition results in the appearance of an undeveloped notion of the intellectual act of judgment itself that "respicit esse rei." The undevelopment might incline some to think that Gilson needs to theologize.
But this shortcoming can be handled by two remarks. First,
Aquinas generally describes the cognitional act of judgment this
way: " Our intellect composes or divides by applying previously
abstracted intelligibles to the thing." 51 This text, plus others, 52
enables the reader to understand that the intellect's second act of
composition and division is what Aquinas elsewhere describes as
the intellect's knowledge of singular existents. Such knowledge is
attained by a certain reflection, per quandam refiezionem, back
from the universal to the phantasm from which the universal had
been abstracted and in which the individual is presented.
Second, the task remains of explaining how judgment in the
described cognitional operation sense is a respicit esse rei rather
than simply the recomposition of an intelligible with some designated matter. As far as I know, Gilson nowhere performs this
task. The task, however, can be accomplished and the Thomistic
texts themselves provide the help. In sum, 53 they describe a consideration of the individual material thing itself as possibile esse
et non esse. Such a consideration appears to be generated from
data comprised of the thing really existing, on the one hand, and
the real thing cognitionally existing, on the other. 54 The consideration of the individual body as possible permits judgment to
recombine the abstracted intelligible with the individual in a £ash50 " ••• prima operatio respicit quidditatem rei; secunda respicit esse ipsius.
Et quia ratio veritatis fundatur in esse et non in quidditate, ut dictum est, ideo
veritas et falsitas proprie invenitur in sec1mda operatione, et in signo ejus quod
est enuntiatio, ... " In I Sent. d. 19, q. 5, a. 1, ad 7m; Mandonnet ed., I, 489.
51 Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles II, 96, Palam.
s2 See Knasas, Preface, pp. 131-4.
5 8 Aquinas speaks of individual generable and corruptible things as possibilia
esse et non esse at Summa Contra Gentiles I, 15, Amplius and II, 15, Praeterea.
5 4 For an elaboration of this point, see Knasas, Preface, pp. 83-5.

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ion that leaves the recomposition of the individual with its esse as
a further distinct and crowning moment in judgment.
The above sketch of judgment as the access to esse raises a
fifth and last question to which I want to respond. The multiplicity that presents the existentially neutral individual has as one
instance the thing really existing. I believe that a Heideggerian
would want to object to the naivete with which Aquinas accepts
this instance. To the contrary, a Heideggerian would insist that
a really existing thing is just a case of what Being and Time calls
the present-at-hand, and such a case comes before us in consciousness only because of our antecedent projection of being as presence-at-hand. In short, the theoretical attitude characteristic of
so much of Western philosophy is no exception to Heidegger's
thesis that Dasein is in the world as care. 55 So a Heideggerian
would subvert Aquinas's judgment approach to esse by giving a
phenomenological account of one of the key instances necessary
for the judgment approach.
In reply, I am not sure why one must adopt the Heideggerian
attitude towards what is present-at-hand. The best reason that
I surmise is Heidegger's noted insistence that beings, in whatever
sense, are seen only in the light of being. 56 In sum, we return to
Basic Problems at length quoted argument for the apriority of
being. But then my previous replies again become relevant. Why
cannot a notion of being as " present-at-hand" be understood as
immediately abstracted from various things present-at-hand
rather than projected upon them? In other words, it is encumbent upon the Heideggerian to show here some incongruity between the instances and the notion that would make the abstractive account of the notion questionable. Success in that task
would swing the account of the notion into the a priori domain.
55 " This transcendence [of entities thematized] in turn provides the support
for concernful Being alongside entities within-the-world, whether this Being
is theoretical or practical." Being and Time, p. 415.
56 Hence, Heidegger remarks of the theoretical science of mathematics, "it
consists rather in the fact that the entities which it takes as its theme are discovered in it in the only way in which entities can be discovered-by the prior
projection of their state of Being." Being and Time, p. 414.

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But I fail to see Heideggerians performing this task for the notion of being as present-at-hand. Nor do I see how the task could
be performed. Being as present-at-hand is not yet Aquinas's ens
commune and as such it has no features that prohibit its abstractive derivation from real existents.
In conclusion, Heidegger's a priori thinking about being can
make its best case against Aquinas vis-a-vis what Aquinas calls
the subject of metaphysics, ens commune. That argument is what
I have tried to anticipate and to defend Aquinas from.

CHARITY LOST: TBE SECtJLA'.RIZA Tf ON OF THE
PRINCIPLE OF DOUBLE EFFECT IN THE
JUST-WAR TRADITION
TIMOTHY

M. RENICK

Georgia State University
Atlanta, Georgia

0

N AUGUST 12, 1945, the city of Hiroshima still
smoldered, and President Harry Truman addressed
the American people :

We have used [the atomic bomb] against those who have attacked
us without warning at Pearl Harbor, against those who have starved
and beaten and executed American prisoners of war, against those
who have abandoned all pretense of obeying international laws of
warfare. We have used it in order to shorten the agony of war.1
Truman and his military advisers had made a calculation. Japan
was preparing for a last-ditch defense of the Japanese Islands.
The prospect was ominous, to say the least. The United States
had suffered eighty thousand casualties in the taking of the
smaller and less protected Okinawa just two months earlier;
120,000 Japanese soldiers had been killed (and only ten-thousand
taken prisoner). Strategists estimated that losses, both military
and civilian, from a full scale battle for Japan itself would exceed one million. Surely the tens of thousands killed by exploding
a bomb over Hiroshima was the lesser evil. Surely this was a
proportionate act : fifty thousand lives traded for a million. As
Winston Churchill wrote in support of Truman's decision: "To
avert a vast, indefinite butchery ... at the cost of a few explosions
seemed, after all our toils and perils, a miracle of deliverance." 2
1 Michael Walzer, lust and Unjust Wars (New York: Basic Books, 1979),
p.164.
2 Ibid., pp. 266-267.

441

442

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M. RENICK

From an ethical perspective, however, the act was anything
but a deliverance. I am not alone in this assessment. Advocates
of the just-war tradition including Elizabeth Anscombe, Paul
Ramsey, George Kennan, John Langan, and Michael Walzer
have condemned the bombing of Hiroshima by means of a shared
just-war argument. 8 The argument goes as follows, and it is a
good one.
In times of war, many actions are likely to have both good and
evil effects. One destroys an enemy's munitions factory (good
effect) but kills an innocent child in the process (evil effect). The
jus in bello of the just-war tradition, however, stipulates that an
action which has a " double effect " is permissible if and only if:
( 1) it is discriminate (i.e., the actor aims only at the good effect
and does not intend the evil effect, nor is the evil effect a means
to the end, however good); and (2) it is proportionate (i.e., the
good created by the act outweighs the bad) .4
Now, the argument continues, Truman's decision to bomb
Hiroshima failed the first criterion. It was not a discriminate act
because the evil effect (the killing of tens of thousands of J apanese civilians) was not unintended. In fact, the evil was the
very means to the good end. Although Truman himself claimed
to have selected Hiroshima as a target because it was "a war
s See, for example, G. E. M. Anscombe, "Mr. Truman's Decision," in Ethics,
Religion and Politics (Minneapolis, Minn.: University of Minnesota, 1981);
M. Walzer "Supreme Emergency," in Just and Unjust Wars; and John
Langan, "The American Hierarchy and Nuclear Weapons," Theological
Studies 43 (1982) : 447-467.
' I utilize here a helpful shorthand version of the principle of double effect
introduced by Paul Ramsey in War and the Christian Conscience (Durham,
North Carolina: Duke, 1961). More frequently, the principle is rendered by
means of four criteria: It is permissible to perform an act likely to have evil
consequences if and only if (I) the act is good in itself or at least indifferent;
(2) the direct effect is morally justified; (3) the actor aims only at the acceptable effect and does not intend the evil effect, nor is the evil effect a
means to the end, however good ; and ( 4) there is in the good effect a proportionately grave reason for permitting the evil effect. The shortened version
of the theory captures all components essential to my discussion and enhances clarity. I thus will make use of it throughout this essay.

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production center of prime military importance," not because he
sought to kill civilians, the facts indicate otherwise. If widespread
civilian casualties and property damage had not resulted on that
August day, Truman's admittedly good aim of "shorten[ing]
the agony of war " would not have been met. The killing of vast
numbers of Japanese civilians was the intended (and evil) means
to a good end, and hence the act was morally vicious.
As I have suggested, this is a potent moral argument and, I
think, one correct application of the just-war tradition's principle of double effect. But I would like to argue that there is a
second application-one which serves even more clearly and
swiftly to condemn Truman's decision and one which has profound implications for contemporary applications of just-war
principles. This second application holds that the bombing of
Hiroshima was not merely an indiscriminate act, it was a disproportionate one. The evil created by the act not only was intended;
the evil was disproportionate to the good.
This is in some ways a surprising claim. Even such opponents
of the bombing of Hiroshima as Anscombe, Ramsey, and Langan
grant that the act met the criterion of proportionality. 5 I would
like to suggest that this is not the case. I base this claim not on a
revised utilitarian calculus; I do not wish here to argue against
the belief of Truman's advisers that many more lives, both American and Japanese, would have been lost in an invasion of the J apanese Islands using conventional weapons than by employing
atomic weaponry.
Rather, I wish to argue that the concept of proportionality has
been significantly miscast by modern just-war thinkers and that,
when properly rendered, the concept demands more than that we
ensure our chosen act creates "more good than evil." In fact,
this essay will suggest that it is only by a historically corrupted
version of the principle of double effect, prevalent since at least
5 For example, Langan
writes: "American use of the bombs in August
1945 probably passed the test ... [of] proportionality (inflicting less harm
than would have been suffered by both sides in an allied invasion of the home
islands of Japan)." See Langan, p. 454. Also, see Anscombe, p. 65.

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1700 (and likely traceable as far back as 1600), that the bombing of Hiroshima is judged a proportionate act at all. This shift
is of more than historical interest. Indeed, I will argue that a
corrected version of the principle of double effect makes a crucial
difference in practical moral situations; it serves not merely to
" doubly" condemn the use of nuclear arms in Japan in 1945 but
also to proscribe their use anywhere at anytime. Finally, I will
contend that some of the most significant contemporary defenses
of nuclear deterrence from within the just war tradition, including those of Langan and Ramsey, hinge upon this adulterated version of the principle of double effect. When judged by the more
stringent standards of the original principle, I will argue, the
Ramsey and Langan arguments collapse.
How did the corruption of this central principle come about,
and what are the implications? An answer to these questions
must begin with a look at the historical development of the principle of double effect.

The Historical Roots of the Principle of Double Effect
Before proceeding, a few cautionary words are in order. What
follows is not intended to be a comprehensive history of the principle of double effect. Rather, through a discussion of the views
of a handful of representative figures, I hope to point to the corruption of a specific component of that principle.
In addition, one must remember a historical reality: although
the writings on self-defense in both Augustine and Aquinas have
figured importantly in the development of double effect, neither
thinker applies this aspect of his writings specifically to war
issues. Indeed, as James Johnson writes, " just war doctrine ...
is until the end of the Middle Ages focused foremost on the question of whether Christians may ever in the first place take up arms
(jus ad bellum) ; not the related question of what they may legitimately do after war has begun (jus in bello) ." 6 This does not
mean that our examination should begin only after the Middle
a James T. Johnson, Ideology, Reason and the Limitation of War (Princeton University, 1975), p. 41.

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Ages have come to a close and the formulation of a specific jus
in bello has taken place; we are concerned with the development
of a tradition, not merely its realization. What it does mean is
that we must be careful to view Augustine and Aquinas, in particular, as contributors to the early stages of a tradition and not
as participants in our present-day moral/philosophical dialogue
concerning double effect and warfare.
Indeed, some commentators have argued that there is no reason
to believe that Aurelius Augustine ( 354-430 A.D.) envisioned,
let alone advanced, anything analogous to the principle of double
effect. In De Libero Arbitrio Voluntatis, for example, Augustine
considers the issue of self-defense and determines the killing of
even an unjust aggressor to be immoral for the Christian. One
may not seek a good effect (the preservation of one's own life)
if it entails the causing of an evil one (the death of the
aggressor) .7
Yet the basis of Augustine's proscription is as important as the
outcome. Augustine condemns killing in self-defense not because
there is no distinction between the attacker and the victim : " the
death of one who lies in wait to kill another is less hard than that
of one who would merely save his own life." His censure is
based on the claim that in such situations the defenders " kill
for those things which ... they ought not to love," thus sinfully
placing their love of their own earthly existence above " the life
of the soul." 8
How does defending one's earthly life challenge one's spiritual
status? For Augustine, sinful acts are the result of "lust," that
is, of "blame-worthy desire." The moral life, on the other hand,
rests in part upon living in accordance with the infused virtue of
charity. Charity and the other theological virtues are distinguished from the " personal " or " natural " virtues (and other
pagan vices) by means of the fact that the former are directed
7 Augustine, De Libero Arbitrio Voluntatis (Charlottesville:
Virginia, 1947), pp. 9-10.
s Ibid.

University of

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wholly toward God. Charity " rightwises " the pagan virtuesdirecting them to God and other rather than self.9
Now, private self-defense, which can "only proceed from some
degree of inordinate self-love " according to Augustine, reverses
this direction and forces the actor to turn his or her back on
Christian charity. Although the temporal law may permit selfdefense (and its accompanying self-absorption), Augustine holds
" divine providence avenges it." 10
Significantly enough, the same virtue of Christian charity
which, for Augustine, condemns killing in self-defense often
mandates killing in defense of others. The just person must not
stand by as the innocent are slain. " For it is the wrongdoing of
the opposing party which compels the wise man to wage just
wars," Augustine writes. 11 Love of neighbor requires that he or
she protect the person who is unjustly menaced.
Two seemingly opposite positions emerge: Augustine proscribes violence used in defense of self and prescribes violence
used in defense of others. There is one constant. The virtue of
charity informs and fashions both stands.
This fidelity to charity becomes of particular importance for
our present discussion when we appreciate that, even in fulfilling
our duty to perform violence in defense of the innocent, we must
remain steadfastly faithful to the virtue of charity. This means
not only defending the innocent's life but also that of the aggressor if that is possible. Ramsey writes :
[According to Augustine] even the unjust assailant is worthy of
love. Thus the Christian may not act toward him unrestrainedly;
rather he should act so as to thwart the assailant's purpose, using the
minimum force necessary to do so. Thus ... one may not maim the
9 Augustine writes:
"For although some suppose that virtues which have
reference only to themselves, and are desired only on their own account, are
yet true and genuine virtues, the fact is that even then they are inflated with
pride, and are therefore to be reckoned as vices rather than virtues." For
Augustine, such so-called virtues are self-directed and " even the love of praise
is a vice." See Augustine, "On the Morals of the Catholic Church" in Basic
Writings of St. Augustine (New York, Random House, 1948).
10 Augustine, De Libero Arbitrio Voluntatis, p. 10.
11 Augustine, The City of God (London: Dent, 1940), XIX, 7.

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unjust opponent if it is possible to disarm him without doing so; one
may not kill the opponent if it is possible to secure the desired end
only by injuring him.12
Viewed in these terms, Augustine's role in the development of
the principle of double effect and his alternative to modern renderings of its criterion of proportionality are simultaneously evident. Christian charity may obligate us to seek a good effect (the
saving of an innocent life) even though it causes an evil one
(violence levied against an aggressor). But the virtue of charity
also places tight strictures upon the exercise of that obligation;
it commands us to minimize the evil done. It is not enough that
our act create more good than evil; summarily slaying the assailant would accomplish that since, according to Augustine, the loss
of an unjust life is "slighter" than that of an innocent. Augustine's demands are far more ·exacting; we must use only as much
force as is necessary to attain the good end, saving the life of the
victim.
This highly important concept, what I will refer to as " the
principle of minimum means," receives further expression in the
thought of Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274). 13 While in Aquinas
one finds an assessment of the morality of personal self-defense
very different than that offered by Augustine, one also encounters
a crystalization of Augustine's rudimentary concept of double
effect. In the Summa Theologiae II-II, q. 64, Aquinas writes:
A single moral act may have two effects, of which one is intended,
while the other is incidental to that intention. But the way a moral
act is to be classified depends on what is intended, not on what goes
beyond such an intention. . .. In light of this distinction, we can see
that an act of self-defense may have two effects: the saving of one's
own life and the killing of the attacker. Now such an act of selfdefense is not illegitimate just because the agent intends to save his
own life, because it is natural for anything to want to preserve itself
in being as far as it can.
12 Ramsey (1%1), p. 42, quoted by James T. Johnson, Just War Tradition
and the Restraint of War (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University, 1981); cf.
Ramsey, The lust War (Lanham, Md.: University Press of America, 1983),
p. 403.
1 s Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae II-II, q. 64.

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Hence, in one substantial sense, Aquinas breaks with Augustine:
a person may legitimately kill the unjust aggressor in self-defense,
not merely in defense of neighbor.
In a second sense, however, Aquinas echoes Augustine's discussion of defense of neighbor by placing stringent constraints
upon the act of self-defense-constraints
of central importance
to this essay. Aquinas continues :
An act that is properly motivated may, nevertheless, become vitiated
if it is not proportionate to the end intended. And this is why somebody who uses more force than is necessary to defend himself will
be doing something wrong. On the other hand, the controlled use
of counter-violence constitutes legitimate self-defense, for according
to the law it is legitimate to answer force with force provided it goes
no further than due defense requires. 14
Thus, Aquinas sees self-defense as presenting both a good effect
(the saving of one's life) and an evil one (the directing of violence against an aggressor). If an act is to be morally justifiable,
he asserts that one cannot intend the evil effect and that the act
must be proportionate. But Aquinas does not stop here; a person must also use " no more force than is necessary to defend
himself." He must minimize the evil effect. Hence, while
Aquinas's application of the virtue of charity is different from
that of Augustine, his unwavering allegiance to the virtue of
charity is not.
Yet even if Aquinas made no explicit mention of doing " no
more violence than is necessary," I would argue that the student
of Thomas's thought would have cause to inject such a reading
into the above passage. For amid Aquinas's elaborate theological
system, a moral obligation to minimize evil emerges as implicit
in his very use of the term proportionate. Let me explain.
Charity is, for Aquinas, the highest of the theological virtues,
the very embodiment of love. Charity allows us to perfect our
acts by enabling them to be wholly directed toward the supernatural end which redeems and completes our nature: God. 15 Al14

Ibid. (emphasis added).
Theologiae I-II, q. 62.

is Summa

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though on a practical level the dictates of charity tell us little
about how to act in a specific situation, 16 Aquinas's strong emphasis upon charity (and the virtues in general) conveys to us
one highly significant message about all moral choices : the
(most) perfect act is to be sought. To settle for anything less
is to forsake the charity which demands perfection and alone directs us toward God.11
Amid this virtue ethic, it becomes clear why an obligation to
minimize evil must be viewed as implicit in Aquinas's very use
of the term "proportionality." Quite simply: if one is to be true
to the exaction of charity, this term can entail nothing less. Infused charity demands the perfection of all human acts. If one
faces two options, both of which create more good than evil, one
must choose that option which creates the most good. To act
otherwise is to choose (and hence to intend) the commission of
some degree of avoidable evil.
It is thus more than a coincidence that in the previously cited
excerpts from the Summa, Aquinas uses the term "proportionate " and the phrase " no more violence than is necessary " interchangeably. The only truly moral act in a given situation is the
most moral act; the only truly proportionate act, the most proportionate act. It is, I will argue, primarily the post-Medieval reader
who interprets " proportionate " in anything but the sense
Aquinas intended-one inspired by the theological virtue of charity and its end of supernatural perfection.
It is significant to note that this principle of minimum means
bears decisively not merely on the issue of whether or not an action is proportionate but also on whether it is discriminate. When
threatened by an assailant, a person must "give evidence that he
does not share with the other man a mutual murderous intent,
16 Charity is infused by grace alone. How does one know whether
or not
one has been so favored? Aquinas's answer is simple: one does not. Thus,
while charity plays a central formal role in Aquinas's ethical system, the
student of Thomas is left to wonder whether charity can provide specific, practical knowledge of what one ought to do if one has no knowledge of when
(and if) charity informs one's deliberations.
17 Summa Theologiae I-II, q. 62.

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that ... he does not mean to kill him, by retreating as far as he
can, to the wall, to the ditch or other impediment before, if he
must, killing him in self-defense." 18 One cannot claim no ill intent if there is knowingly available an alternative choice which
would result in a lesser evil. Intentionally to choose the commission of a greater evil than is necessary is to vitiate the intention of the entire act. 19
Thus, Aquinas's views on self-defense emerge as highly important to the project of this paper. His rendering of double
effect entails strict moral restraints constituting the equivalent
of what I have termed "the principle of minimum means." And,
as for Augustine, these restraints are far from incidental to his
ethical perspective. They are an integral part of the principle of
double effect, and for a simple reason: they share with the other
components of that principle a common origin in the virtue of
charity. To reject the principle of minimum means is to reject
the ethical basis and impetus for the entire concept of double
effect.
Although his discussion of double effect in the Summa Theologiae is limited largely to his treatment of the issue of personal
self-defense, Aquinas does mention that exacting limits also exist
for the soldier acting for the general good : " even such men sin if
and to the extent that they are moved by some private passion." 20
Whether Aquinas would have agreed to a more general application of his self-defense arguments to the issue of warfare is the
source of considerable debate.
By the 16th century, however, other thinkers certainly had
drawn the connection. Francisco Suarez ( 1548-1617), the Spanish scholastic and leading Jesuit scholar of his day, is a fascinating case in point. Suarez writes: " Self-defense may sometimes
be prescribed at least in accordance with the order of charity.
The same prescriptions hold for the defense of the state, especial18 Ramsey

(1961), p. 42.
For an interesting treatment of this issue, see Anscombe, pp. 58-59.
20 Summa Theologiae II-II, q. 64, a. 7.

19

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ly if such defense is official duty." 21 Suarez's historically important conjoining of the ethical principles behind self-defense and
warfare is thus signaled in this passage, while the reference to
charity (and the fact that the passage derives from a chapter entitled "On Charity " in his work The Three Theological Virtues)
flags a second important fact: Suarez maintains strong links to
the Christian virtue tradition of Augustine and Aquinas.
As such, it is not surprising to find that his moral prescriptions
parallel those of Augustine and Aquinas in a substantial sense.
In his Treatise on Law, for example, Suarez explains what is
meant by the phrase "to practice a virtue": "Under this phrase
we include everything required in order that an act may be righteous and good in an absolute sense." 22 Hence, like Augustine
and Aquinas, Suarez holds that to act virtuously can mean only
one thing: pursuing that course of action which (most nearly)
attains perfection.
Given this brief introduction, one might find it surprising that
Suarez at times advocates the " slaying of multitudes " and the
"burning of cities" during times of war. \Vhat is left of the virtue of charity amid a theory advocating such atrocities? Quite a
bit, I believe.
For although Suarez speaks of slaughter, he also speaks of
limits. Indeed, Suarez has a remarkably developed conception of
noncombatant immunity. His rendering of the category includes
not only women and children, but also the disabled, those who
have surrendered, and adult males who have not carried arms.
" Only those who are clearly guilty" may be slain, writes Suarez,
and "only when there is most urgent cause." 23
Noncombatants, he concedes, sometimes fall to the violence of
war, but this can never be the intent of the slayer: " I hold that
innocent persons as such may in no wise be slain. . . . But incidentally they may be slain when such an act is necessary in
order to secure victory." Yet even "such a plan must be rejected
21 Francisco
Suarez, Selections From Three W arks of Francisco Suarez
(Oxford : Clarendon, 1944), p. 803.
2 2 Ibid., p. 240.
2a Ibid., pp. 841, 846.

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TIMOTHY M.

when the slaughter is not necessary for victory and when the innocent can be distinguished from the guilty." 24 Hence, even amid
a passage in which the slaughter of war is discussed, a stringent
version of double effect begins to emerge. The demands of pursuing a just war at times necessitate actions which result in the
"incidental" killing of innocent persons. But such killing can be
tolerated only when the innocent are distinguished from the guilty
to whatever extent possible. The evil must not merely be outweighed by the good created; the evil µiust be minimized.
Suarez's view of double effect is further elaborated in his discussion of the burning of cities. Here he writes that the burning
of enemy cities is permissible if:
. . . the death of the innocent is not sought for its own sake, but it
is an incidental consequence; hence it is considered not as voluntarily
inflicted but simply allowed by one who is making use of his right in
time of necessity. A confirmation of this argument lies in the fact
that it would be impossible through any other means to end the war.
In like manner, a pregnant woman may use medicine to preserve her
own life, even if she knows that such an act will result in the death
of her unborn child.... [But] save in times of necessity, the means
in question are not legitimate.... If the medicine is not absolutely
necessary to save the mother's life, but is perhaps necessary simply
as an aid to her better health, the life of the ichild should be given
preference.
Hence, even when the evil is the unavoidable side effect of the
proposed action, Suarez does not believe that this necessarily allows us to proceed with the act. We must first ask " whether or
not [the evil] may be allowed under such circumstances ... in
light of the order of charity; that is to say, we must consider
whether the good at stake in the case is to such an extent that
common good, that there is an obligation to expose oneself in its
defense to a peril so great." To establish that an act will create
more good than evil is not sufficient to justify an act; one must
demonstrate that any evil created is absolutely unavoidable according to the " order of charity." 25
24 Ibid.,
25 Ibid.,

p. 846.
pp. 847-848.

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In his " Introduction " to the Works of Francisco Suarez in
1944, James B. Scott asked of Suarez's beliefs in general, "May
it not be said that fundamentally these great conceptions of
Suarez are the modern conceptions of the international community? " 26 The events of 1945 indicate that the answer to
Scott's question was a sobering no. Would Truman have proceeded with the bombing of Hiroshima if he had adhered to
Suarez's simple, yet compelling, standard: Is it possible through
any lesser means to attain the legitimate end sought? Could not
the Americans have destroyed the legitimate military targets in
Hiroshima in a manner far less destructive to the civilian population than that of the chosen course? Truman's silence on these
crucial points indicates that much indeed has been lost since the
writings of Suarez.
What was lost, and how did this perdition come about? The
answers to these questions are doubtlessly complex historical
ones. But because of the importance of these questions to the
project of this essay, I would like to speculate about one possible
set of answers via a continuation of my historical narrative.
Space limitations necessitate that the discussion which follows be
neither comprehensive nor conclusive, but, if I am correct, it may
offer some cogent insights into the decline of charity in the justwar tradition.
My theory holds that the seeds of change were planted in
Suarez's own day. Ten years before Suarez wrote his treatise
on the virtues, the Italian jurist and Oxford law professor
Alberico Gentili (1552-1602) completed work on his De lure
Belli Libri Tres. In the work, Gentili rejects many of the wartime constraints advocated by Suarez. He cites, for example, a
half-dozen reasons for not respecting the noncombatant status of
women and children. Harbingering the arguments of Truman
centuries later, he writes: "And now you have . . . [another]
reason for not sparing this age and sex : . . . if the enemy has not
spared them in the past. ' Blessed is he who shall repay you and
shall destroy you and shall destroy your little ones by dashing
25

James B. Scott, "Introduction," in Suarez, Selections.

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M. RENICK

them against a rock,' says the Psalmist." 27 The reference may
be to the Judeo-Christian tradition, but this is hardly the spirit
of Christian charity we traced from Augustine to Suarez. It is
perhaps revealing to note that Gentili's work contains not a single
reference to charity. His arguments rest instead on a largely
secularized version of the natural law. The higher law of Aquinas
and Suarez (and the theological virtues on which that higher
law rests) are gone.
Johnson refers to the likes of Gentili as the " 16th- and 17thCentury Naturalists." Gentili is among the first prominent postmedieval western scholars to detach natural (now "international") law from its theological bases. As Joan D. Tooke
writes, Gentili's goal was to "treat international law as an independent scientific discipline, based on natural law and reason." 28
The foundation of the moral law was changing. Of course, as
with all such evolutions, the changes were slow and far from uniform. Although this new conception of natural law is strongly
evidenced in Gentili, there is little sign of it amid Suarez's unwavering allegiance to theological virtues.
The Dutch Protestant thinker Hugo Grotius ( 1583-1645)
represents an interesting transitional case. Grotius is widely cited
as a central contributor to the change from religious to secular
just-war theory. This is not because his great work, De Jure
Belli Ac Pacis, is free of theological influences. Quite the contrary: Grotius has a well-developed conception of Christian love
and mercy-a conception which demands constraints upon acts
of warfare which are every bit as rigorous as those of Suarez.
Combatants are to be distinguished from noncombatants, innocents must never be intentionally killed, and the unintentional
evil inflicted must be minimized. Yet when we look more closely into the writings of Grotius, we see that, although all of these
wartime constraints are demanded by "the law of love," not all
27 Alberico Gentili, De Jure Belli Libri Tres (Oxford: Clarendon, 1933), pp.
253-254.
28 Joan D. Tooke, The Just War in Aquinas and Grotius (London: 1965),
p. 193.

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are required by "justice." This important distinction deserves
closer attention.
Grotius writes that, although the rule banning the killing of
innocents "is not at variance with justice in an abstract sense,
it nevertheless is not in harmony with the law of love." 29 Elsewhere he asserts: "It is the bidding of mercy, if not of justice,
that, except for reasons that are weighty and will affect the
safety of many, no action should be attempted whereby innocent
persons may be threatened with destruction." 30
To understand why Grotius draws this rather curious distinction between what is required by justice and what is required by
love and mercy, one needs to recognize that for Grotius the law
of nature accords certain rights to all persons. These include
such things as the " right to property " and the " right to life."
When I exercise my rights, I am always within the bounds of
justice and permissible action. I am not, however, necessarily
doing what is truly moral. I have the right, for example, "to use
any degree of violence to ward off him who assails me, even if
he should happen to be free from wrong." But, Grotius continues,
"a right is [merely] that which is not unjust," and "often, in
fact, love for our neighbor prevents us from pressing our right
to the utmost limit." 31
Grotius's theological presuppositions are of great importance
to him; his commitment to the restraints placed upon the exercise
of human rights by the Christian " law of love" is sincere. Yet,
as Tooke has indicated, times were indeed changing. A secularized conception of international law was growing in prominence
and influence throughout Europe. Grotius's discussion is shaped
by these historical realities. The natural law is labelled " justice "
and " what is permissible " even though Christian love and mercy
often demand more. "A distinction is [thus] made," Grotius
writes, " between the word ' permissible ' as referring to that
29 Hugo Grotius, The Law of War and Peace (New York: Bobbs-Merrill,
1925), p. 723.
so Ibid., pp. 733-734.
31 Ibid., pp. 599, 18, 601.

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which is done with impunity, although not without moral wrong,
and to that which is free from moral wrong." 82
Two languages of moral discourse had emerged: one, a naturallaw language, founded on a secular conception of human reason,
which termed "just" all those acts which do not violate the
rights of others; the other, an older virtue language which gave
voice to the demands of Christian charity and labelled " just"
only that act which is most nearly perfect.
Many just-war scholars who followed appropriated Grotius's
distinction. Increasingly few, however, found cause to choose the
"truly moral" act over mere "permissibility." Johnson's words
about Franciscus de Vitoria apply equally well to Grotius:
" Though he still thought of the natural law as derived from divine law, later writers could use his language and reasoning without having to trouble themselves with his theological presuppositions." 88
The writings of Cornelius Van Bynkershoek (1673-1743),
judge and president of the Supreme Court at the Hague, extend
Grotius's logic to its logical conclusion. Bynkershoek explicitly
turns from his predecessors' reliance on theological presuppositions and toward the secular study of jurisprudence. Reason
alone is the " mistress of the law of nations," he writes. And
since reason has been perfected over time, reliance upon ancient
and medieval authorities is, for Bynkershoek, "to no avail." In
fact, throughout his writings, "facts and cases [are] taken by
preference from more recent history." 84
Given these facts, we should not find it surprising that Groabove and beyond the
tius's theological restraints-requirements
"justice" of the natural law-fall quickly by the wayside, their
philosophical foundations having been removed. Bynkershoek
writes:
s2 Ibid., p. 641.
88 Johnson

(1981), p. 174.
Van Bynkershoek, Quaestionum Jurus Publici Libri Duo (Oxford: Clarendon, 1930), p. xii.
84 Cornelius

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In defending war as a contest " by force," I did not say " lawful
force"; for in my opinion every force is lawful in war .... I know
that Grotius is opposed to the use of poison, and lays down various
distinctions regarding the employment of assassins. . . . But if we
follow reason, who is the teacher of the law of nations, we must grant
that everything is lawful against enemies as such. We make wars
because we think that our enemy, by the injury done us, has merited
the destruction of him and his people.35
Some wartime restraints do remain. But for Bynkershoek, there
is no compelling reason to extend such restraints beyond the
minimal requirements of justice. He explains: "Writers, as well
as military leaders, improperly confuse justice, which is the subject of the present inquiry, with generosity, a sentiment that often
appears in warfare. Justice is indispensable in war, while charity
is wholly voluntary." 36
With these words, the completion of a profound change in the
just-war tradition has been signaled. The obligation to charityan obligation which rests at the very heart of Augustine's rejection of self-defense, which is the source of Aquinas's demands for
stiff restraints on the exercise of double effect, and which inspires Suarez's search for the most "loving" means to legitimate
wartime goals-has become "purely voluntary."
And what is left of the principle of double effect? It has been
profoundly weakened. Proportionate and discriminate acts are
still sought by many just-war thinkers; " justice" demands this.
But the moral obligation to perform only the most proportionate
act-the obligation to minimize evil-consistently present in the
pre-1700 virtue literature, has been largely, if at times unconsciously, dismissed. 37 The perfection of an action through the
minimization of its evil effect becomes at best "voluntary" and
3 5 Ibid., p. 16.
36 Ibid., p. 641.
37 I here make the claim that the obligation to minimize the evil effect has
fallen into disuse by the most influential and the most representative spokespersons of post-1700 moral and political philosophy; I do not wish to make the
more sweeping historical claim that no one sustained the principle of minimum means, in particular, and the virtue ethic, in general, through this
period to the present day.

458

TIMOTHY

M. RENICK

at worst ( as at times with Bynkershoek) " unreasonable." We
have, in short, arrived at the modern and, I believe, corrupted
rendering of double effect.
It is now clear that President Truman's decision to explode
an atomic device over the city of Hiroshima has far more in
common with the cold calculations of Bynkershoek than with the
Christian charity of Augustine, Aquinas, and Suarez. Truman
can tell us that he "used the bomb against those who attacked us
without warning at Pearl Harbor, against those who have starved
and beaten and executed American prisoners of war " only to the
extent that he shares Bynkershoek' s view that the civilian
population and its army are equally our enemy. He can attempt
to justify the bombing as an effort to eliminate legitimate military targets within Hiroshima only because he is blind to the
double effect stricture that one employ the minimum means necessary to attain one's legitimate moral end. This allegiance to the
views of Bynkershoek is, perhaps, not surprising. Truman was a
secular politician acting in the international arena; Bynkershoek
was a secular jurist writing for that arena.
What is surprising is to find Christian moralists and just-war
advocates like Ramsey, Anscombe, and Langan term the bombing
of Hiroshima a "proportionate act." In so doing, they unintentionally adopt and sustain Bynkershoek's belief that, in addressing the criterion of proportionality, we are not obligated to seek
the best action, only a minimally permissible one.
The risk present in this failure to maintain a " principle of
minimum means " is a real one, and it is dramatically evidenced
in what is, perhaps, the leading contemporary defense of nuclear
deterrence from within the just-war tradition: the arguments of
Ramsey and Langan. It is with a look at these arguments, as well
as some thoughts about the importance of restoring charity to its
central place in the just-war tradition, that I conclude this essay.

The Significance of Recapturing Christian Charity:
The Example of Nuclear Deterrence
For Paul Ramsey, an appraisal of the morality of nuclear deterrence begins with one of the central tenets of Christian ethics :

CHARITY

AND THE JUST-WAR

TRADITION

459

"It is never right to do, or to intend to do, evil that good may
come of it." 38 In the deterrence context, this rule translates as
follows : if deterrence requires genuinely intending massive nuclear use, it is clearly wrong even if a good effect (peace) results.
Such massive use (involving as it would the deaths of countless
noncombatants) is, for Ramsey, an evil of the greatest order and
utterly reprehensible; its intent cannot be justified regardless of
consequences. 39
Yet Ramsey holds effective deterrence need not rest upon the
intent to employ nuclear weapons in a massive and immoral way.
The United States need not plan to direct its bombs at Russian
cities and population centers. Nuclear weapons can be used indiscriminately, but they are not necessarily indiscriminate
weapons. A strong deterrent exists, according to Ramsey, from
"the prospect of what is irremediably there in the nature of justly planned warfare in the nuclear age." He explains: " It is
moral to mount a deterrent whose effects flow from shared fear of
the 'collateral' damage unavoidably connected with the targeting
... [of] nuclear weapons upon legitimate military objectives."
Such licit collateral damage, Ramsey argues, would be sufficient
to deter aggression on both sides." 40
The structure of this argument leaves Ramsey with one fundamental task; he must support his claim that the use of nuclear
weapons can indeed be part of "justly planned warfare." Ramsey
argues:
the manufacture and possession of a weapon whose only use is [immoral] ... and the political employment of it for the sake of deterrence is likewise immoral. Seriously threatening to kill a man for a
good end ... is the same as threatening to kill him for an evil end.41
In short, if nuclear weapons cannot be lawfully used in particular
and real wartime circumstances, they cannot be lawfully manufactured. The nuclear deterrent collapses.
A number of contemporary ethicists, ranging from Francis
Connell in the 1960s to John Langan in recent years, have joined
38 Ramsey

(1981), p. 358.

ag Ibid., p. 250.

40

Ibid., pp. 333, 315.
(1961), p. 162.

41 Ramsey

460

TIMOTHY

M. RENICK

Ramsey in the search which ensues. The results are often fascinating. Throughout the 1960s, the classic case of legitimate use
of nuclear weapons was held to be the employment of a nuclear
bomb against an enemy fleet at sea. But Ramsey suggests that a
more plausible scenario exists: "to justify 'possession' for the
sake of deterrence one does not have to invent possible legitimate
uses for nuclear weapons, such as their use against ships at sea.
Many a military installation in the nuclear age is fifty miles or
more in diameter " and hence a legitimate target for a (tactical)
nuclear strike.
In his 1982 article, "The American Hierarchy and Nuclear
Wea pons," Langan writes : " ... it is comparatively easy to construct hypothetical cases in which nuclear weapons are used
against specifically military targets in a way which does not produce disproportional collateral damage and which does not involve direct attack on noncombatants." Langan goes on to suggest as instances of such use " tactical weapons directed against
concentrations of enemy tanks " and " strategic weapons aimed
at enemy missile silos." 42
Given our historical examination of double effect, we can understand why these scenarios were selected. They do indeed provide instances of justifiable nuclear use by the standards of the
modern rendering of double effect. The employment of a nuclear
bomb against a large military installation, for example, might indeed meet both the requirement of discrimination (as long as the
intent of the attack is in fact military, and not civilian, destruction) and proportionality (as long as the strategic worth of the
target outweighs the evil of collateral civilian deaths). Similarly,
disarming an enemy fleet at sea or a squadron of tanks on land
by nuclear attack is conceivably a proportionate act by the current rendering of the concept. More lives are saved by the reduction of the enemy's destructive power than are lost by the use of
tactical nuclear weapons.
But if my argument in this essay is correct, the Christian bases
of the just-war tradition demand that we do more by our actions
42

Langan, p. 454.

CHARITY

AND THE JUST-WAR

TRADITION

461

than merely create a greater sum of good than evil. We must
minimize the evil done, and we must be willing to sacrifice to do
so, if we are meaningfully to call our actions moral. 43 It is by this
stiff, but essential, standard-the standard of Augustine, Aquinas, and Suarez-that these scenarios fall short.
Could, for example, we ever claim that the use of nuclear
weapons to wipe out a battery of enemy tanks minimizes the evil
involved? Perhaps few noncombatants would be killed,· perhaps
the radiation introduced into the environment would not prove
catastrophic, perhaps the war would not escalate into a full
nuclear exchange. But each of these concerns would be eliminated
or greatly reduced by the use of conventional weaponry in destroying those same tanks.
The case of the isolated military installation and the enemy
fleet at sea strain to minimize damage to civilian populations so
as to produce a greater sum of good than evil. But again the
question must be posed to Ramsey and Langan : Do nuclear
weapons represent the option that introduces the least amount of
real and potential evil and the greatest amount of good into these
situations? Could not conventional weapons achieve the same
military objectives while minimizing the risks of escalation and
dangers inherent in introducing nuclear arms into the physical
and psychological environment? 44
In the scenarios of Ramsey and Langan, the use of nuclear
weapons is not the most proportionate means to the legitimate
military end. Quite the contrary: it is the least proportionate act
among those which nevertheless produce more good than evil. In
Grotius's terms, nuclear use is the least "moral" act of those
which fall under the heading of "justice." And for the Christian who takes the demands of the virtue of charity seriously,
such an act is not just at all.
discussion of this is1me, see Walzer, pp. 154 ff.
argument here raises the important issue of how much risk is too
much risk for the military to assume in minimizing the evil effects of military
action. For the likes of Aquinas and Suarez, this issue created little problem;
the virtue of prudence stood beside and in unity with the virtue of charity,
and counseled the inevitable balancing which must take place. Walzer, pp. 154
ff., is once again a good source for a contemporary discussion of this issue.
43 For an insightful
44 My

462

TIMOTHY

M. RENICK

Admittedly, reliance upon conventional weapons in these situations might demand added sacrifice from the military; immediate
risks to its personnel and equipment likely would increase. It
also might demand added sacrifice from each of us; even amid
a world of reduced threat of
warfare, a sincere commitment to a military force in which conventional weapons fulfill the
role currently served by nuclear devices would likely result in
significantly higher costs to taxpayers (one need only note the
incredible costs and personnel required by United States/United
Nations forces to " deter " by conventional means the Iraqi advances in the Persian Gulf in 1990). But for the supporter of
the just-war tradition, this is how it should be. Christian charity
-and its obligation to minimize evil-demands nothing less.
Indeed, it was the belief that we should have to make no more
sacrifices, that we had given enough, that shaped President
Truman's decision to bomb Hiroshima. It is the belief that we
should have to make no more sacrifices, that the opposing side
has surrendered its rights to be treated as human, that too often
defines conceptions of the enemy, any enemy, today.
Such sacrifice on behalf of an enemy people is not, as Bynkershoek would have us believe, " generosity " and hence " purely
voluntary." According to the just-war tradition, it is morality.
The person who accepts personal risks on behalf of the enemy is
merely living up to the very principle which was the historical
fount of double effect and much of the just-war tradition: the
virtue of charity.
The enemy is not an " other " uniformly worthy of annihilation; the enemy is our neighbor, worthy of respect and love to
whatever e:cten:t possible. From the advances of a lone attacker
in medieval times to the destruction of an entire city on an August
morning in 1945, this is a lesson that makes a profound practical
difference in wartime situations. And it is a lesson that the tradition tragically has forgotten. 45
45 The author would like to thank the late Paul Ramsey, Jeffrey Stout,
Michael Walzer, and the members of the "Religion, Peace and War" Group
of the American Academy of Religion for their helpful comments on earlier
versions of this paper.

DOES KANT REDUCE THE COSMOLOGICAL
PROOF TO THE ONTOLOGICAL PROOF?
JOHN PETERSON

The University of Rhode Island
Kingston, Rhode Island

K

ANT ARGUES in the Dialectic that the cosmological
proof fails because it feeds on the central proposition of
the ontological proof. 1 The ontological proof he has in
mind is that of Descartes. 2 The proposition he refers to, call it
H, is that the highest being is a necessary being. In Descartes's
proof in the fifth Meditation H is construed as asserting that
existence is found in the concept of ens realissimum, the highest
being. From the fact that I cannot conceive a triangle whose
angles do not equal two right angles it does not follow that a
triangle exists. This is because having angles that equal two right
angles belongs to the concept of a triangle while existence does
not. It follows in the view of Descartes that because I cannot conceive a non-existent ens realissimum existence belongs to the concept of an ens realissimum. Kant denies that the inconceivability
of a non-existent ens realissimum implies that consequence. For
the inference assumes that existence is a predicate and it is not.
Otherwise, says Kant, the concept of a hundred real dollars is different from the concept of a hundred imaginary dollars and it
is not. On this point Aquinas agrees with Kant. You can know
perfectly well what a phoenix is, says Aquinas, even if you do
not know there is a phoenix, showing that existence adds something to the essence or concept of a phoenix. 3 Be that as it may,
1 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, translated
by Norman Kemp
Smith (London, 1958) A 603, B631ff; pp. 507 ff.
2 Ibid., A 602, B 630; pp. 507 ff.
3 St. Thomas Aquinas, On Being and Essence, translated
by A. Maurer
(Toronto, 1949), p. 46.

463

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JOHN

PETERSON

as Kant believes that H falsely assumes that existence is a predicate, he concludes that the cosmological proof fails for the same
reason the ontological proof fails.
How the cosmological proof requires H Kant spells out by
distinguishing two phases in the proof. The first phase gives the
appearance that the proof is radically different from the ontological proof since, in the minor premise of this phase ( CP 1-2 below), appeal is made to experience. At its onset, therefore, the
cosmological proof does differ from the ontological proof which
shuns experience altogether and proceeds by concepts alone. But
in the view of Kant, this difference masks the ultimate dependence of the proof on the same proposition, H, which governs the
ontological proof. And this is made evident in phase 2 of the
proof. Phase 1 of the proof goes as follows :

CPl
1 If anything exists, an absolutely necessary being must also exist.
2 Now I, at least, exist.
3 Therefore an absolutely necessary being exists.
What at best CPl shows is that there is a necessary being and
not that the necessary being is the highest being or God. What
must be added is what Kant calls the nervus probandi of the
cosmological proof, namely, that the necessary being is the highest being. But this final conclusion of the proof is deduced only
by invoking H, says Kant. I here summarize Kant's review of
phase 2 of the proof :

CP2
1 If every necessary being is the highest being then some highest
being is a necessary being (by conversion per accidens).
2 What is true of some highest being is true of any highest being.
3 Hence, if every necessary being is the highest being then any highest being is a necessary being (from 1 and 2).
4 But if " a necessary being is the highest being" implies " the highest being is a necessary being," then " the highest being is a necessary being " implies " a necessary being is the highest being "
(from 3 and conversion simpliciter).
5 But, H, the highest being is a necessary being (by definition).
6 Therefore, a necessary being is the highest being (from 4 and 5).

KANT

ON THE COSMOLOGICAL

PROOF

465

CPl-3 and CP2-6 are then joined to yield the final conclusion
that God or the highest being exists. This, at least according to
Kant, is the way any cosmological proof must run. But then since
the cosmological proof depends on H and H according to Kant
is rendered H', " the concept of the highest being includes the
concept of existence," the cosmological proof assumes the central
proposition of the ontological proof.
But it may be objected that Kant is wrong in assuming in the
first instance that H is rendered H' or that any cosmological
proof must run from " X is a necessary being " to " X is the
highest being." For example, in his celebrated "third way," St.
Thomas Aquinas defines a necessary being not as a being the
concept of which includes existence but as a being which cannot
not be. 4 And it cannot be assumed that these definitions come to
the same thing. Therefore, it cannot be said that a cosmological
proof that goes from " X is a necessary being " to " X is the
highest being" necessarily requires H'.
But a defender of Kant would retort that this is a difference
that makes no difference. For even if by "necessary being" is
meant " a being that cannot not be " and this is irreducible
to H', no one validly infers the existence of the highest being
from the existence of a necessary being. You do not show there
is a highest being just because you show there is a being that
cannot not be unless you at least show there is at most one being
that cannot not be. But from this proposition ·even Aquinas dissents. Angels (or for that matter any other finite separate substance) as well as God are in the view of Aquinas necessary beings or beings that cannot not be.5 Aquinas, then, is one with
Kant in denying that " X is the highest being " follows from
"X is a necessary being." Otherwise, angels receive a metaphysical promotion to divinity.
But more fundamentally, Aquinas would deny Kant's assumption that a cosmological proof must take the form of inferring the
existence of the highest being from the existence of a necessary
4 St. Thomas
5 St. Thomas

Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Ia, q. 2, art. 3.
Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles II, 30, 1and2.

466

JOHN

PETERSON

being. In fact, Aquinas's own proof in his On Being and Essence
(call it the "sixth way," SW) proceeds not along the lines of
CP 1 and CP2 at all but rather as follows :
SW
If there is a being in which essence and existence are distinct there
is a being in which essence and existence are indistinct.
But there is a being in which essence and existence are distinct.
Therefore, there is a being in which essence and existence are indistinct.

SW differs from the cosmological proofs which are the targets
of Kant's criticism just because "being in which essence and
existence are distinct " in SW is not equated with " contingent
being " and " being in which essence and existence are indistinct "
in SW is not synonomous with " necessary being." Though any
being whose essence and existence are identical is a necessary
being, not all necessary beings are beings in which essence and
existence are identical, according to Aquinas. Further, the highest being of God is necessarily a being in which essence and
existence are identical in his view. Therefore, since it is not
to begin with a case of deducing the highest being from a necessary being, SW falls outside of the circle of cosmological proofs
at which Kant's criticism is aimed. Says St. Thomas in this
" sixth way " :
Now, every essence or quiddity can be understood without anything
being known of its existing. I can know what a man or a phoenix is
and still be ignorant whether it exists in reality. From this it is clear
that the act of existing is other than essence or quiddity, unless,
perhaps, there is a being whose quiddity is its very act of existing ....
Now, whatever belongs to a being is either caused by the principles
of its nature, as the capability of laughter in man, or it comes to it
from some extrinsic principle, as light in the air from the sun's influence. But it is impossible that the act of existing be caused by a
thing's form or quiddity (I say caused as by an efficient cause) ; for
then something would be the cause of itself and would bring itself
into existence-which is impossible. Everything, then, which is such
that its act of existing is other than its nature must needs have its
act of existing from something else. And since every being which
exists through another is reduced, as its first cause, to one existing

KANT ON THE COSMOLOGICAL

PROOF

467

in virtue of itself, there must be some being which is the cause of
the existence of all things because it itself is the act of existing alone.
If that were not so, we would proceed to infinity among causes, since,
as we have said, every being which is not the act of existing alone has
a cause of its existence.... 6
Here in SW, Aquinas moves from "X is a being in which
essence and existence are identical " (I) to " X is God or the
highest being " ( G). But this is valid only if, assuming I is
true, there is at most one being whose essence is its existence
(M) and being a being whose essence is its existence enters into
the concept of the highest being ( D).
For his part, though, St. Thomas would defend M and D. As
regards M, Aquinas would proffer the following reductio: suppose there are two beings, X and Y, in each one of which essence
and existence are identical. Then, since they are two and not one,
neither one of them is identical with its essence. Otherwise, to be
such a being is either to be X, in which case Y does not exist, or
to be Y, in which case X does not exist. But then in each one of
them, in X and in Y, essence and existence are distinct. And so,
the supposition that there are two (or more) beings in which
essence and existence are indistinct is contradictory: it implies
that in these same beings essence and existence are distinct.
To see this more clearly, consider an analogy: suppose essence
and existence are identical in Socrates. Then, Socrates is his
essence, or in other words, to be human is to be Socrates. But
since Socrates and Plato are two humans, to be human is not to
be Socrates. Hence, essence and existence are not identical in
Socrates. Accordingly, to say that there are two beings, X and
Y, in which essence and existence are identical is at the same time
to say that in these same beings, X and Y, essence and existence
are not identical.
Second, as for D, Aquinas would once again turn a reductio.
For suppose being the one being whose essence is its existence
does not enter into the concept of the highest being. Then something external to the highest being is the cause of the existence
6 St. Thomas

Aquinas, On Being and Essence, pp. 46-7.

468

JOHN PETERSON

of the highest being. But no being, not even a necessary being,
is the highest being if it causally depends for its being on another
thing. Therefore, D is true and the highest being by definition is
a being whose essence is its existence.
If, therefore, M and D are true, does not G follow, namely,
that X, the one being whose essence is its existence, is equivalent
to the highest being? For if M, D, and I are all of them true, G
follows. Thus :

SW'
I There is something X whose essence is its existence.
M There is at most one being whose essence is its existence.
D Being something whose essence is its existence enters into the
concept of the highest being.
Hence G, Xis God or the highest being.

Nevertheless, to this a defender of Kant has a reply. For he
would object that, coupled with the evident truth that the concept of something whose essence is its existence includes the concept of existence ( C), D above implies H'. And to the extent
that it does, Aquinas's "sixth way" does assume in the end that
existence is a predicate of the highest being. This Kantian reply
(KR) is spelled out as follows :
KR
D Being a being whose essence is its existence enters into the concept of the highest being.
C The concept of something whose essence is its existence includes
the concept of existence.
H' Hence, the concept of the highest being includes the concept of
existence.
To conclude, it must be conceded that Aquinas's " sixth way "
is not a token of the type of cosmological proof which is the target
of Kant's criticism (i.e. CP-1 and CP-2). Unlike the model
Kant has in mind, it has nothing to do with deducing " X is the
highest being" from "X is a necessary being." For reasons different from Kant's, Aquinas too rejects this inference, as was
shown. Nonetheless, Kant would insist that Aquinas's admittedly unique proof reaps no advantage from this, that the difference

KANT ON THE COSMOLOGICAL

PROOF

469

makes no difference so far as escaping H' is concerned. For to
make its case, SW needs D. And D, along with the evident
proposition C, implies H'. It seems, therefore, that despite being a horse of a different color among cosmological proofs, SW
is still caught in Kant's round-up of such proofs one and all of
which turn on the central proposition of the ontological proof.
And so, to the question that entitles this paper the answer can
only be that Kant does reduce the cosmological proof, even
Aquinas's more circumspect version of that proof, to the ontological proof.

THE ANALOGIES OF BEING IN
ST. THOMAS AQUINAS
RICHARD

LEE

New School for Social Research
New York, New York

I

N HIS Commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard,
Aquinas offers three modes of analogy. 1 The three modes
offered there are referred to, though not by the names given
them, throughout his works. It remains a curious fact, however,
that Aquinas varies his opinion as to whether analogy of attribution or analogy of proportionality (sometimes referred to as
analogy of proper proportionality as attribution is ref erred to in
the literature as analogy of proportion) is the proper mode of
analogical predication. In fact, as we shall see, Aquinas himself
imports elements of the analogy of attribution into the analogy of
proportionality.
What needs to be investigated, then, is what characterizes these
two modes of analogy; what makes them both analogy; why do
they differ. Before understanding the specific nature of each form
of analogy, however, one should understand why Aquinas appealed to analogy in the first place. Finally, one should attempt to
grasp what the implications of each form of analogy are for
Aquinas's metaphysical system and why he seems to favor the
analogy of attribution over that of proportionality at crucial
points in his thought.

Why analogy?
In general, one can say that Aquinas uses the concept of analogy (and that of proportionality) to solve two problems. On the
one hand, the concept of analogy is used to argue that God does,
1 In I sent., 19. 5. 2, ad 1.

471

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RICHARD

LEE

in fact, have knowledge of his creatures. The issue here is that the
intellect knows in proportion to the thing known. However, God
is infinite and if he knows anything finite he would know that
thing in proportion to the created, finite thing. Since there is no
proportion between finite and infinite, God cannot have any
knowledge of his creatures. 2 The element of knowledge, however,
is not merely a preface to the discussion of the types of analogy.
Aquinas argues that we can name a thing insofar as it is
known. 3 Since we have no concept of God (in his essence), we
cannot name God, at least in the same way we name other things.
On the other hand, Aquinas uses analogy to fill a metaphysical
gap in his system. For he agrees with Pseudo-Dionysius and
Maimonides that we cannot know God in his essence. Therefore,
any names that we apply to God are not names which tell us
anything about God. Aquinas is well aware that the God of
revelation is not a God about whom one ought to speak. To
say anything at all about God is already to say too much; it is
already doomed to failure because of God one should not speak.
However, this situation leaves Aquinas in a peculiar position.
For he takes seriously the Aristotelian dictum that a thing is
known only when its principles are known. 4 If God is the principle, something must be known of him if anything is to be known
at all. There must be some way to speak of God.
Aquinas sees in analogy a middle ground between these two
positions. For what he seeks is a mode of predication that lies
between univocity and equivocity. In other words, he seeks a
mode of predication that predicates the same thing in a different
way of two (or more) things. In univocal predication the same
term is applied according to the same ratio. 5 Thus, the community
2 This

is the issue, for example, in De V eritate, q. 8, a. 1, ad 6; De Veritate,

q. 2, a .3, ad 4.

Cf. Summa Theologiae I, 13, 1, c.
For example, cf. Physics I, 1.
5 One is tempted to render ratio as " definition." However, it is not clear
that definition is enough. Clearly, in univocal predication the definition must
be the same (e.g., predicating animal of man and ox). But is it enough that
only the definition is the same? Is there not some metaphysical element lack3

4

THE ANALOGIF'.$ OF BEING

473

that applies to univocal predication is one of identity. The concept of animal, for example, refers in precisely the same way to
the animality of both man and ox. As far as animality is concerned, man and ox are the same. In equivocal predication, there
is absolutely no reason why the same term should be predicated
in the way it is. It is not necessary, nor even necessarily explicable, why the term dog, for example, is applied both to the star
and to the animal. In equivocal predication, it could always have
been otherwise and the fact that the same name is used obscures
the fact that different concepts of the mind are referred to by that
name.
Analogy, then, would occupy a middle terrain. For the same
name would be predicated partly in the same way and partly in a
different way. Analogy would borrow from equivocal predication
the difference that obtains between each of the analogates. It
would borrow from univocal predication a certain form of community. It remains to be seen, however, if analogy can walk in
this middle ground without straying into equivocation on the one
hand or univocation on the other. Whatever the result, it is clear
that analogy provides Aquinas with a suitable terrain on which
he can maintain a community of some sort between God and
creatures.

Analogy of Attribution
Aquinas was not yet a master of theology when he discovered the form of predication called analogy. 6 In his Commentary
on the Sentences, as noted above, Aquinas offers three ways in
ing in " definition " that allows not only of linguistic community but also of
metaphysical community? I will leave the word ratio untranslated to keep
both the linguistic element and the essential reference of that linguistic element intact.
6 I will leave aside here discussions of whether or not analogy is Aristotelian.
Aquinas certainly argued that the pros hen structure necessary to Aristotle's
metaphysics was the same as his concept of analogy. Any attempt at making
such an argument today must surely deal with the criticisms of it leveled by
Pierre Aubenque, " The Origins of the Doctrine of the Analogy of Being,"
trans. Z. H. Bilgin, Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1
(1986) : 35-46.

474

RICHARD

LEE

which analogy can be understood: according to intention but not
according to being (analogy of attribution), according to being
but not according to concept (analogy of inequality), and according to both being ( esse) and the intention (analogy of proportionality). 7 Aquinas there considers what came to be called
the analogy of proportionality analogy properly speaking. The
analogy of attribution is analogy, but is less dignified than the
analogy of proportionality. The analogy of inequality is not analogy at all, and therefore will not be treated here. However, it
should be noted that while Cajetan rejects this mode of analogy,
he highlights a very interesting aspect of this mode :
. . . a community conceived according to this mode of analogy does
not indicate one nature simply, but embraces within itself many
natures which have an order among them.8
It is precisely this question of order, especially of the order of
perfection, that will become crucial in the discussion of the analogy of proportionality.
The analogy of attribution is an analogy in which the proper
ratio of the primary analogate is realized in one thing only and is
attributed to the others by priority and posteriority. The classic
example is the concept of health which is applied to the animal,
and to the diet and to urine. Aquinas calls this analogy solely as
regards the concept because there are not diverse beings involved,
but only the attribution of the concept differs. The being ( esse)
of health relates properly only to one of its predications, that of
animals. All other analogous predications refer to this one proper
predication by priority and posteriority.
This order of priority and posteriority, according to Cajetan,
is understood in terms of the four causes. 9 In the example, the
diet is the efficient cause of health; the animal, as the underlying
subject, is the material cause of health. Urine, however, does not
easily fit into the scheme of four causes. For urine is a sign of
7 In I sent., 19. 5. 2, ad l.

De Nominum Analogia Tractatus, ed. Hyacinthe-Marie Robillard,
0. P. (Montreal: Les Presses de l'Universite de Montreal, 1963), pp. 2830. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own.
o Ibid., p. 34.
8 Cajetan,

THE ANALOGIES

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health, not a cause of health. But as a sign it is able to refer to
one of the four causes of health, especially to the underlying subject of health. The analogy of attribution, whether Aquinas refers to it by that name or not, always includes an order of some
sort.
In the Commentary on the Sentences, for example, Aquinas
refers to the order of prior and posterior: "[analogy can be understood] according to intention only, and not according to being: and this is when one intention is referred to many by priority
and posteriority, which does not have being unless in one .... " 10
The order that arises in this type of analogy is derived from the
being of the proper ratio of the analogous term. In other words,
the proper ratio of the term has being only in one of the analogates. In the example of health cited above, the ratio of health
has its being only in the animal. All other predications of health
are derived, then, according to the order of priority and posteriority related to this one proper signification.
Cajetan explains this insertion of order and relation to a primary intention by arguing that in one of the analogates the whole
ratio of the analogous name is saved. 11 Therefore, what distinguishes this from equivocal predication is the fact that while the
ratio of the analogous name is properly applied only to the primary predication (e.g., health is applied properly only to animals), the predication of the same name to other things (e.g.,
urine, diet, medicine) is not without its reason. Its reason comes
from the order of priority and posteriority in relation to the one,
proper mode of predication.
The phrase " according to intention only and not according to
being" can now be properly understood. For Aquinas, analogy
always arises out of difference. Where there is no difference there
is no need for analogy. Thus, in delineating the three modes of
analogy, Aquinas names them according to the source of their
similarity and difference. The analogy of attribution is an anal10

In I sent., 19. 5. 2, ad 1.

p. 48: "In hac analogia nomen commune non salvatur formaliter
. .m
. pnmo
. .... "
ms1
11 Cajetan,

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ogy of the intention of the names. For there is no difference in
the being of the analogous name in each of the analogates. The
being of the analogous name is only had by one of the analogates,
the primary analogate. 12 It is the intention of the terms that differs in each of the analogates. Thus, the analogy, that which
brings together difference, is of the intention of the terms in that
the ratio of the terms is not the same, but ordered toward one.
The analogy of attribution attempts to justify the predication of
a term that has various intentions in various predications. In
other words, this mode of analogy attempts to say that while this
form of predication appears equivocal, it is saved from equivocity
by introducing some reason for the predication of the same term.
While Aquinas himself does not understand this order solely in
terms of the four causes, this is the move that Cajetan makes. 13
The difficulty in determining the order that arises in the analogy
of attribution as one of cause and effect is that Cajetan cuts off
other forms of order. Most importantly, Cajetan refuses to
countenance perfection as the source of order in this mode of
analogy. As will be seen below, Aquinas comes to rely very
heavily on perfection as the origin of order in analogy, thus being able to understand the analogy of being in ter11fS of a hierarchy of perfections.
The reason for Cajetan's rejection of perfection in this mode of
analogy seems clear. Cajetan, following Aquinas's lead, reserves
perfection for the analogy of proportionality. The crucial question, then, is whether the introduction of order is unique to analogy of attribution. This question, however, can only be answered
by viewing the analogy of proportionality. 14
12

In I sent., 19. 5. 2, ad 1.

1a Caj etan, p. 34.
14 It should be mentioned that this form of analogy seems to translate best
Aristotle's pros hen. This has been argued, for example, by Aubenque, op. cit.
Aubenque, however, sees that the medievals, and Aquinas especially, erred in
continually trying to understand this relation in terms of proportionality, which
is foreign to Aristotle's pros hen structure. While I agree that to understand
the pros hen in terms of proportionality would be a mistake, I will argue below that the misunderstanding is precisely the reverse: Aquinas continually
understands proportionality through the analogy of attribution.

THE ANALOGIES

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Analogy of Proportionality
Aquinas never mentions proportion of any kind in the passage
of the Commentary on the Sentences from which Cajetan draws
his concept. Rather, Aquinas refers to an analogy according to
intention and according to being. However, proportionality becomes a useful concept for looking at other texts of Aquinas on
analogy. First, however, the question should be asked: what,
then, does go on in this passage from the Commentary on the
Sentences and why does Cajetan (who sets a whole tradition of
writings on analogy) claim that this is proportionality?
The passage from Aquinas is disturbing. He has already interpreted analogy in terms of two poles : the intention of the
analogous name, and being [esse]. Analogy of inequality is analogy according to being only; analogy of attribution is an analogy
according to intention only; analogy of proportionality is analogy
according to both the intention of the term and being. These two
poles serve as poles of difference which the analogy must bring
under some sort of community. 15 In analogy of attribution, as we
saw, there is a community (or a sort of unity) that gathers
around the intention of the name. It is the intention of the name
that
this sort of predication from being purely equivocal.16 The analogy of attribution, as we saw, makes no attempt
to bring the analogates together in terms of being, for that is
impossible.
15 I use the term community in order to highlight a difference between Aristotle and this medieval tradition. For in Aristotle, "analogy" is a term reserved for a kind of unity, although the weakest form of unity : "Again,
some things are one according to number, others are one according to species,
others are one according to genus, and others are one according to analogy.
. . . They are one according to analogy if they are related as a third to a
fourth,'' (Metaphysics, Bk. 5, Ch. 6, 1016b32 ff.). But analogy in Aquinas is
made to function in some respects as a form of unity and in others as a form
of community much more akin to Aristotle's pros hen structure. On this point,
cf. Aubenque, op. cit.
16 Cajetan concedes that the logician, who refers to the intention of the name
only, will call this form of predication " equivocal,'' op. cit., p. 46. Thus, the
force of the analogy would be to bring equivocal intentions under a sort of
community. This remark also highlights the fact that analogy is a metaphysical concept.

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Aquinas, then, leaves us in a perplexing situation. For this
last form of analogy, i.e., according to intention and being, is the
most difficult because it is the most forceful. For it argues, in its
very definition, that both the intention of the term and the being
of that term are different in each of the analogates. Neither of
the analogates is identified in the intention of the common term,
nor are they identified with the being of the common term. What,
then, is the basis for the analogy, what brings these things of
absolute diversity into community?
The basis for this community is not named proportionality in
this text of Aquinas. Rather, Aquinas argues that there is something of the being of the analogous names in every one of the
analogates, but there is a difference of perfection. 11 A strong difference among the members of the community needs a strong
force to bring them into the community. Certainly, the order of
perfection is a force of such strength. The question, which will
be addressed below, is whether this order of perfection differs
enough from the order of priority and posteriority. In other
words, is it not the case that the introduction of this type of order
either makes this form of predication an analogy of attribution
or even univocal predication?
Cajetan tells a different story. For he reads in this form of
analogy a different force, a weak force, that brings the analogates
into a community:
An analogy is called proportionality when the name is common and
the ratio of that name is the same proportionally.
Or thus: an analogy is said to be according to proportionality when
the name is common, and the ratio of that name is similar according to proportion.18
The community in an analogy of proper proportionality, then, is
brought about through a similarity of relations. It is the classic
form of analogy: a :b: :c :d. The community depends not on the
similarity of the 'a' and the 'c ', nor of the 'b' and 'd '.
17

In I sent., 19. 5. 2, ad 1.
op. cit., p. 50, emphasis added.

1 8 Cajetan,

THE ANALOGIES

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479

Rather, this form of analogy, at least formally, is indifferent to
the terms involved. It focuses on the similarity of the relation of
one pair to the relation of a second pair. Nothing is said about
the relation of one term from the first pair to a term from the
second pair. In other words, if 2 is to 4 as 3 is to 6, there is absolutely no relation (at least not necessarily) between the 4 and
the 6. Thus the basis of this form of analogy, according to
Cajetan, is the similarity, indeed the identity, of the proportions
of each pair. "The analogous name refers to diverse things but
is united according to one proportion." 19
Aquinas certainly was aware of this sort of analogy. In his
Disputed Questions on Truth, Aquinas names two sorts of analogy: proportion and proportionality. 20 In the analogy of proportionality, each analogate is in a proportion to another and what
is attended to is the proportion of each pair. Now this sort of
analogy is what is needed to predicate something of God and
creatures that is not equivocal (in this case scientia). Proportionality is able to perform this task because it does not argue
that there is a proportion between God and creatures, infinite
and finite.
Early in the Disputed Questions on Truth, Aquinas defined
the terms proportion and proportionality. There is a proportion
between two and four and that proportion is double. There is
proportionality, as we saw above, between six and eight because
six is double of three and eight double of four. 21 Here again,
Aquinas argues that if we are to understand a relation between
creature and Creator, we must understand it according to proportionality.
19 Ibid.,
20

p. 60.

De Veritate, q. 2, a. 11, c. It is clear, in my opinion, that Cajetan uses

this text as the primary source for the analogy of proportionality. For while
he does not cite this text, he uses the same example that Aquinas does here:
the analogy of corporeal vision and intellectual vision (cf. Caj etan, p. SO) .
The fact that Cajetan reads this discussion of analogy into the text of the
Commentary on the Sentences could have opened the door for a radicalization
of analogy. The nature of this radicalization will be discussed below.
21 De Veritate, q. 2, a. 3, ad 4.

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Analogy as Radical Indeterminateness
Analogy as strict proportionality, as we find in Cajetan as well
as the texts cited from the De V eritate, is a radical form of
analogy. If the term that is predicated of both God and creatures
is being, then the analogy appears to be :
God :being: :creature :being
But in order for this predication to be analogical and not univocal
the " being" in each case must be understood as different terms.
Thus the true analogy would appear as :
God :God's being: :creature :creature's being
This is a situation of radical indeterminateness because such an
the appearance of being in each of the pairs as more than simply
an iteration of the same term. The being in each pair must be
completely different and united only by proportionality. Being
can be predicated of God and creatures not because the same being
is predicated in each case, but because the proportion that obtains
between God and God's being (whatever God's being may be)
and creature and creature's being (whatever creature's being may
be) is similar.
This is a situation of radical indeterminateness because such an
analogy makes no claims about the relation between the being
that is predicated in each case. Put more strongly, there is no
relation between the being predicated of God and the being predicated of creatures. The analogy arises not because the " being"
is the same (or even related) ; rather, the analogy arises because
of a relation of that " being " to something else. This is the only
way to save the infinitude of the infinite.
There is, however, a danger inherent in this form of analogy.
Certainly there is a relation of cause and effect that obtains between God and creatures. In this sense, God does function as
the " ground " of Being, as the Being of beings. However, God
stands, in a certain sense, outside the realm of Being. 22 Certain22 This argument is hinted at by Jean-Luc Marion in God Without Being,
trans. Thomas Carlson (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp.
xxiii-xxiv.

THE ANALOGIES

OF BEING

481

ly, there is precedent for thinking God outside of Being, as the
creator of the realm in which Being operates who stands outside
that realm.
But there is an important difference. Can it be argued that God
stands outside of Being while at the same time proving, especially using cause and effect, that God exists? In other words,
Aquinas's radicalization of the analogy would destroy his proofs
for the existence of God. But this destruction is not only brought
about by placing God completely outside the realm of Being. The
destruction, and a more serious destruction, is of the principle of
non-contradiction. The principle of non-contradiction is obviously based on a binary system: either being or nothing. But the
radical analogy of proportionality offers a third possibility: being,
nothing, and God's being (which remains always indeterminate).
Insofar as any proof rests on the principle of non-contradiction,
it becomes impossible to prove the existence of God. In fact, one
may wonder what sort of proof of anything could be offered without the principle of non-contradiction. 23
However, analogy of this mode does serve its function. It does
insert a ratio into the predication of terms such as being (and, in
fact, all the transcendental perfections) of God and creatures.
Being, then, is understood as a proportion and the predication is
not equivocal of God and creature because there is a similarity of
proportions that forms the basis (or "fundament" in Cajetan's
terms) of the analogous predication. But we have seen that the
systematic price that is paid for this success is high.

Determining Analogy
Aquinas, contrary to the assertion of Cajetan, does not seem to
prefer the analogy of proportionality. Over and over again,
23 To my mind, this is precisely the danger that Duns Scotus saw in Thomistic analogy. Scotus argues that if we allow for analogical predication then
a syllogism is not possible. This impossibility rests on the fact that such a
syllogism, if it could be formulated at all, would include a fourth term (the
fourth term arising precisely from the " third possibility " I am arguing for
here). Any syllogism with four terms proves nothing. Cf. Opus Oxonienses,
dist. III, q. 1-3.

482

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Aquinas returns to the analogy of attribution in order to understand the predication of being of both God and creature. Most
strikingly, however, stand the Summa Theologiae and the Summa
Contra Gentiles. These texts are " most striking " because of the
specific disregard for the analogy of proportionality. This disregard, however, comes not from the nature of analogy itself, but
from the systematic concerns of Aquinas's thought.

The Case of the Summa Contra Gentiles
In the chapters beginning with Chapter 29 of Book I and running through Chapter 34, Aquinas treats all the issues surrounding the analogy of being. Following the movement of these texts,
the systematic concerns that Aquinas has regarding predication
of names of God and creatures becomes clear.
Aquinas begins with a discussion of the similarity between
God and creature. Immediately, the discussion is moved onto
the terrain of cause and effect. 24 In turning towards cause and
effect, the problem becomes one of deficiency : the effect is deficient in terms of its cause. This has two effects: ( 1) Cause and
effect immediately inserts an order of priority and posteriority
(ontological as well as temporal) and ( 2) the deficiency immediately inserts an order of perfection.
Aquinas then speaks the dictum "It is the nature of action
that the agent acts similarly to itself since each one acts according to what is in act." In other words, each agent acts according to the act it itself has, i.e., its form. Since each thing acts
only according to its form, a certain continuity is inserted into
nature. Since each thing acts according to its form, the form of
the effect is found in the cause going forth in some way, but according to a different mode of being and a different ratio.
Aquinas admits that this means that the cause is called equivocally.
At this point, we are fully prepared to accept the analogy of
proportionality. For even with the order of priority and posteri24 Summa Contra Gentiles I, 29: "Effectus
non conveniunt cum eis in nomine et ratione."

enim a suis causis deficientes

THE ANALOGIES

OF BEING

483

ority that is brought about in the cause and effect relation, the
cause is itself equivocal. Because of the equivocity of the cause,
a community of proportionality could be arrived at in the predication of any name of both cause and effect. All the more so since
the form of the effect is a result of the equivocal mode of being
and ratio of the cause in the effect.
But Aquinas departs rapidly from this situation in arguing
that one could say that the creature is like God, but God is not
like the creature. The reason for this is simple : in God there is
perfection, while in the creatures there is ''deficient participation." But what is the nature of this deficient participation? For
if it is the case that both God and creatures participate in some
one thing, then there is not equivocation (nor even analogy) but
univocation. For greater or lesser participation does not negate
the fact that it is the same ratio referred to in each. For even if
God participates in being perfectly and the creature to a lesser
extent, it is still the same being in which they both participate.
This same being would have the same ratio, and thus this predication would be univocal.
As Aquinas goes on to discuss whether this predication of a
name of both God and creatures is univocal, he continues to frame
the discussion in terms of cause and effect. In terms of logic, a
term is univocal if the intention of the term is the same. But
logic has no need to consider the natures of the things involved
in predication. 25 But if we consider the natures of the things, we
are left in a dilemma. For then the ratio of the term is derived
from the form of the thing. When the form is thus considered,
one cannot help but see a difference:
For the effect which does not receive the form according to a species
similar to that by which the agent acts, is not able to receive the name
from that form according to univocal predication.26
It is obvious that when the subjects in question are God and
creature, there is always a disparity in the form passed on in
25 Cf. Caj etan,

p. 28, 46.

26 S1tmma Contra Gentiles I, 32.

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causality. The creature never receives the form of the agent in
this case.27 Thus, since the name is of the form, there can be no
univocal predication of God and creatures.
Again, we have not moved away from the analogy of proportionality. In fact, this is precisely the situation which sets up
such an analogy in, e.g., the De Veritate. For even though the
general framework is causality, in this situation, causality is not
enough to bind the subjects (God and creature) into a community
because there is not a univocal transmission of forms. Thus,
Aquinas could still argue that this sort of predication is proportional in that the proportion of God to God's form is the same
proportion of the creature to its form. This would allow for the
equivocity of causality that Aquinas is attempting to maintain
here while still not making the predication univocal.
Aquinas, however, offers another argument against univocal
predication. Something which is predicated according to the
order of priority and posteriority is never predicated univocally.
This is because the definition of the prior is always included in the
definition of the posterior. In other words, the names would not
have the same ratio because the ratio of the posterior would include that of the prior, plus something else, whereas the ratio of
the prior includes only itself. Now things which are predicated
of God are always predicated according to priority and posteriority. Thus, there is no univocal predication of God and creatures.
But what is the nature of this order of priority and posteriority? Although it may be temporal, it is not necessarily, or rather
primarily, a temporal order. The argument from the intention of
the name seems to indicate a logical order. In other words, the
posterior cannot be defined without the prior, but not vice versa.
But we have seen above that the ratio of the name is derived
from the form of the thing. Thus the logical order itself refers to
a metaphysical order, i.e., a metaphysical hierarchy of forms.
This reading is made complete in Aquinas's conclusion to the
argument:
27 Ibid.

THE ANALOGIES

OF BEING

485

Since everything predicated of God is predicated essentially, being
is said [of God] as if it were his essence itself, and good as if goodness itself; concerning the others [i.e., the creatures] predications
are made by participation, just as man is said of Socrates not because
he is humanity itself, but because he has humanity.28
The introduction of the order of participation means that
Aquinas is no longer able to recover the analogy of proportionality. The first argument leaves completely undetermined the form
that is predicated of God and creature. In that sense, the being
which is predicated of God is allowed to be completely other than
the being which is predicated of creature. This situation, as noted
above, is one which calls for the analogy of proportionality. Here,
however, Aquinas has removed the otherness. For it is the same
thing in which the creature and God participate. Or, more precisely, it is the same being which God is essentially and which
beings have. In deficient participation, there is no room for
analogy because participation needs univocal predication. In
participation, both the name and the ratio of that name must be
the same. If they were not the same, there would be no way to
show that one thing participates in the specific other. The only
thing that separates the being that God is from the being that
creatures have is an order of more or less perfection, perfection
being understood as more or less participation. But the more or
less is of the same thing.
The reason for this shift is found in Aquinas's discussion of
whether there is equivocal predication of God and creatures. The
ultimate necessity for a predication other than equivocal is that
if there were only equivocal predication of God and creatures,
then there would be no way to argue from creatures back to God.
This is an unacceptable consequence for Aquinas. One reason is
immediately obvious. If the predication of the term "being,"
e.g., were equivocal when predicated of God and creatures, then
no proof for the existence of God is possible. Obviously, Aquinas
does think that such a proof must be possible. And the very pos28 Ibid.

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sibility of a proof must not come from revelation alone, but must
be found in natural reason.
This leads to a more serious implication. For if Aquinas
breaks the bridge that links the principle of all things to those
very things of which it is a principle, then the rational order of
the world is lost. It is lost precisely because it ceases to be a
rational order. The order of the world then becomes unintelligible to reason. At best, the order of the world must then be
revealed completely from above. At worst, the order of the world
becomes subject to God's absolute will which stands outside
reason. Neither of these situations is acceptable to Aquinas.
Finally, Aquinas argues that the predication of names of both
God and creatures must be analogical. Analogical predication
can be understood in two ways: 1) Something is said with respect
to some one thing, e.g., as the animal is said to be healthy because
it is the subject of health, medicine is said to be healthy as it is
the cause, urine as its sign; and 2) Something is said not with
respect to something other than the two, but one of them itself,
e.g., being is said of substance and accidents according to which
accidents have being with respect to substance. 29 Names that are
predicated of God and creatures, according to Aquinas, are predicated according to the second mode.
The two modes are the same insofar as the predication of the
names in diverse ways finds its justification with reference to
something, some one thing. In the first mode, that one thing is
not a member of the analogical community. In the second mode,
the one to which the name refers is itself a member of the community. Thus, the difference is that in the first mode, there is
an external reference which binds the analogates into a community. In the second mode, there can only be an order of perfection that relies on the notion of participation that was analyzed
above.
Thus, in the second mode, the analogical predication is not
evenly distributed. For, in the example of being, the name
29 Summa

Contra Gentiles I, 34.

THE ANALOGIES

OF BEING

487

"being" properly refers to substance. Being is not said of substance analogically for in this predication the whole ratio of the
term is saved. Rather, analogy only becomes an issue when one
uses a term to apply to something in which the whole ratio is not
saved. It is clear that, over and over again, Aquinas views this
situation-in which the whole ratio is not saved-as a situation
of participation. The situation of participation is one in which
the predicate is said of one subject properly, i.e., the whole ratio
is saved in the predication, and is said of the other subject insofar
as it participates in the predicate of the first. But the participation is, again, of the same predicate. Thus, in deficient participation there really is no analogy at all.
Conclusion

It is clear that there are many concepts of analogy in Aquinas.
This situation makes it difficult to speak of " the concept of analogy in St. Thomas Aquinas." Furthermore, there is not a simple
development of the concept. Throughout his works, these varied
concepts of analogy stand almost side by side. Therefore, one
finds difficulties in making any definitive statements about analogy in Aquinas such as : it is the introduction of Platonism, it is
an attempt to think God beyond being, it is the attempt to make
the infinite intelligible to the finite. While all of these play a role
in some of the concepts of analogy, any one of them is easily
falsifiable in the texts.
Nevertheless, it remains true that analogy is the central concept of Aquinas's metaphysical system. For, on the one hand, it
attempts to distill from the effects of creation the order of that
very creation. It makes this attempt by reasserting a continuity
of being throughout every level, from the finite to the infinite.
On the other hand, it attempts to take seriously Aquinas's existentialism in that it attempts to think each being with its own act
of existence.
These two attempts, however, are not compatible. 30 Yet both
30 Ralph Mclnerny,
in Studies in Analogy (South Bend: Notre Dame
University Press, 1968), divides the texts of Aquinas on analogy into those
which maintain that there is a ratio communis and those that do not. That

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attempts need to be maintained. Cajetan saw this as well. For
in his reading of the analogy of proportionality he constantly imports the central aspect of the analogy of attribution: the concept
of order (either of priority and posteriority or of perfection). 81
The analogy of proportionality is, indeed, a dangerous concept of
analogy. For it disrupts the ontological continuity of creation. It
makes any attempt to argue from effect to cause impossible, thus
ruling out any proof of the existence of God. It calls into question the principle of non-contradiction, the very basis of any
syllogism at all. And, finally, it denies the very idea that, concerning God, his effects stand in loco definitionis. 32
Thus, any simple resolution of one concept of analogy into another is impossible. Aquinas maintains both with equal force .of
argument, and continues to do so throughout his writings. This,
however, is no simple contradiction, a slip of the pen, a lapse of
memory. It is a demand made upon him in his attempt to think
a radical concept of existence in a world that must be always already ordered.
division can be mapped onto the two attempts outlined here. However,
Mclnerny seems to think that, in the end, Aquinas decides that there is no
ratio communis in analogical predication. But the option, as I see it, is not so
easily defined as an either/or. Aquinas needs to have it both ways and never
attempts a reconciliation. For Aquinas wants to maintain that each being (including God) has its own act of existence. This means that there can be no
ratio communis, at least in the analogy of being (and the same would hold true
of any of the transcendentals). At the same time, he needs to maintain a continuity in the field of being such that there remain only two options, either
being or nothing. This means that he must assert that there is a ratio communis, especially in the analogy of being. Mclnerny fails to see the systematic
importance of the analogy of being and therefore fails to see that Aquinas
needs to maintain both options.
31 Cajetan, op. cit. This is why Cajetan is so important in the discussion of
analogy. For his reading shows, contrary to his written intention, that Thomistic metaphysics needs both sorts of analogy.
32 Cf. Summa Theologiae I, 1, 7, where the idea of the effect standing in
loco definitionis is raised. However, for the contrary position cf. Summa
Contra Gentiles I, 32, where this line of argument is cut off in order to insure the absolute disproportion of God and creature.

AN IMPORTANT NEW STUDY OF
THOMAS AQUINAS: JEAN-PIERRE TORRELL'S
INITIATION A SAINT THOMAS D'AQUIN
WALTER

B

H. PRINCIPE, C.S.B.

Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies
Toronto, Canada

EFORE BECOMING professor of theology at the Universite de Fribourg, Jean-Pierre Torrell, O.P., was a
member of the Leonine Commission. This editorial experience, together with his continuing association with members
of the commission, enables him in his new work, Initiation a
saint Thomas d' Aquin: Sa personne et son oeuvre, to clarify and
frequently modify previous research conclusions about the life
and work of Thomas Aquinas. 1 Thus other recent studies in this
area, e.g., those of James A. Weisheipl and Simon Tugwell, will
have to be reassessed in the light of Torrell's findings in this important volume.2
Torrell, however, does more than examine the dates and places
of Thomas's career and writing: as the book's subtitle and introduction make clear, his aim is to present the person of Thomas
Aquinas in his context. This he does in a warm but measured
fashion, situating Aquinas in his times, following Thomas's
journeys about France and Italy on his intellectual apostolatea true ministry in the Dominican tradition-portraying him as
1 In the series Vestigia: Pensee antique et medievale 13 (Fribourg
Suisse:
Editions Universitaires; Paris: Cerf, 1993), pp. xviii, 592.
2 See Weisheipl, Friar Thomas d'Aquino: His Life, Thought, and Works,
2nd ed. (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1983), and
Tugwell, trans., ed., introd., Albert & Thomas: Selected Writings, The Classics
of Western Spirituality (New York-Mahwah: Paulist Press, 1988), introd. [to
Thomas Aquinas], pp. 201-351.

489

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H. PRINCIPE,

C.S.B.

often nearly overwhelmed by the duties of this apostolate, yet
vigorous and lively in defense of the faith and of the legitimate
role of reason, a warm friend to many con,freres and others, a
loyal and sometimes deeply involved member of his family. Torrell is especially adept at linking Thomas's apostolic activity with
his profound and distinctive spirituality; this augurs well for Torrell's promised companion volume, which will deal far more
thoroughly with Thomas's spirituality than was possible within
the editorial constraints of his earlier article in the Dictionnaire
de spiritualite. 3
New conclusions about the place and dating of
Thomas's works
Here, first, will be given a summary, with occasional comment,
of this study's significant new conclusions about the place and
dating of Thomas's works. Torrell accepts Weisheipl's view that
Aquinas did his initial biblical commentary at Cologne before
coming to Paris in 1252 and spent the years 1252-1256 working
on the Scriptum super Sententiis. The "bref catalogue" at the
end, prepared by G. Emery, O.P., states that this work is the
"fruit of his teaching as bachelor of the Sentences at the begin;..
ning of his first stay in Paris ( 1252-54) ; its redaction had not yet
been completed when he began his activity as Master ( 1256)"
( 485; emphasis mine). Weisheipl, with whom Torrell agrees as
to Thomas's having done his cursory teaching of the Bible at
Cologne, holds that Thomas lectured on the Senten:ces for the
four years, 1252-1256 (71, 358); Tugwell seems to hold the same
position when he speaks of Thomas "writing [his lectures on
the Sentences] up for publication as he went" (211). Torrell's
limitation of the teaching of the Sentences to 1252-1254 is based
on the university statutes prescribing that this teaching be completed in two years ( 66), after which the candidate for the
mastership would be a " formed bachelor " ( baccalaureus
formatus) whose main task would be to assist the master of
3

See his "Thomas d'Aquin," Dictionnaire de Spiritualite 15 (1991), cols.

718-73.

INITIATION

A SAINT THOMAS

D 1 AQUIN

491

theology with his disputed questions ( 58). This would mean that
Thomas spent two whole years, 1254-1256, carrying out this
rather minimal duty, redacting the Sentences (a task not completed until the beginning of his period as a master of theology),
and composing two small works, the De ente et essentia and the
De principiis naturae. Although the Scriptum is a lengthy work
that would require considerable time for its final redaction, one
wonders whether the university statute was observed so rigorously and whether Thomas, who was a rapid worker, would have
been thus relatively unemployed for two years or whether in fact
he might have spread his lecturing on the Sentences over most if
not all of these four years.
Torrell accepts the opinion of Leonard Boyle, 0.P., that the
text of MS. Oxford, Lincoln College lat. 95, which speaks three
times of an alia lectura fratris Thome, is a reportatio of Thomas's
new series of lectures on the Sentences begun in Rome in 12651266 but left unfinished since he abandoned this commentaryform in order to construct his own independent work, the Summa
theologiae. Summarizing Boyle, Torrell indicates that the alia
lectura mentioned in this reportatio would in fact be for the
Roman reporter the original Parisian Scriptum super Sententiis. 4
With respect to the Summa theologiae, Torrell agrees with
W eisheipl about the dates of the different parts, except for the
prima secundae, which he concludes was written in 1271 (for
Weisheipl it was completed toward the end of 1270). Torrell is
somewhat unclear about the early questions of the tertia pars:
the " chronologie sommaire" ( 481) lists all its 90 questions at
Naples and only the secunda pars at Paris, but in the main text
Torrell holds that it was probably begun in Paris at the end of
winter of 1271-1272 (214, cf. 300-301, 487), and he quotes,
albeit with justifiable diffidence, the opinions of Eschmann and
Glorieux that 20 or 25 questions were done in Paris (214; 381-

82).
4 Later on Torrell seems to forget this point and speaks of Aquinas's lectures
at Rome on the Sentences in 1265-1266 as an alia lectura (233-234). From
our later viewpoint, of course, they do constitute an alia lectura with respect
to the Parisian Scriptuin, but such usage might lead to confusion.

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H. PRINCIPE,

C.S.B.

As Torrell suggests (299-300), the matter is important for
the debate about Thomas's view as to whether the person or supposit of Christ had one esse or two. Torrell's terminology, although rather ambiguous-" deux esse clans le Christ . . . correspondant a ses deux natures "-at least avoids the mistake of
some who speak of each nature having ITS esse; for Thomas only
the person or supposit, never the nature, is the subject of esse,
the nature being a quo by which a person is or has esse, not a
quod that is or has esse.
Torrell suggests that the question De unione Verbi incarnati
and Summa theologiae III, q. 17, a. 2 are "practically contemporary." Weisheipl's view seems preferable: " ... in all probability Thomas wrote no more than the first few questions [of
the tertia pars before he left Paris]. Question 17 is certainly later
than the disputed question De unione" by four or five months
unless Thomas dictated it on the journey to Naples (313; cf.
307). In either case, Thomas would have had time to re-think
the unusual vocabulary of the De unione when repeating his
fundamental position in the Summa.
The Summa contra Gentiles: With respect to this work, Torrell here as elsewhere applies the new research of his confrere of
the Leonine Commission, R.-A. Gauthier, 0.P., to conclude that
the first 53 chapters of book one, although written at Paris before the summer of 1259, were revised in Italy, where the rest
of the work was completed between 1260 and 1265.
The disputed questions: W eisheipl held that the disputed question De anima is to be dated February-April 1269, in the second
Parisian period, but Torrell, like Tugwell before him although
with more detailed arguments, holds that it comes from his stay
at Rome, 1265-1266. As for the disputed question De malo, Torrell follows Louis-J. Bataillon, 0.P., of the Leonine Commission, by making a distinction that is important for its dating:
the dispute itself may have been earlier than its redaction ( 1266,
1267, after 1270 for some questions), whereas the date of publication was probably around 1270 for questions 1-15 and 1272
for question 16.

INITIATION

A SAINT

THOMAS D'AQUIN

493

This distinction between dispute, redaction, and publication
may be linked with a valuable insight offered by Simon Tugwell.
Commenting on the " embarassing number of his writings " in
the last years of Thomas's life, Tugwell suggests (245) that this
approach-revision of earlier works or lecture-notes at the time
of publication in order to take account of new (especially Greek)
sources-might be applied more broadly to Thomas's writings
and might help to explain a problem that puzzles Torrell as well
as so many others, that is, how did Thomas accomplish so much
in this period? Bataillon's and Tugwell's suggestions might also
explain how Thomas could have found time in the second Parisian period for a personal revision of his Lectura super I oannem,
a point to be discussed shortly.
With respect to Aquinas's other disputed questions, Torrell
does not mention two, Utrum anima coniuncta cognoscat seipsum
per essen1tiam and De immortalitate animae, which have been
published for some time and are generally accepted as authentic
by scholars (Fries, A. Dondaine, and Eschmann for the first,
Pelster, A. Dondaine, and Eschmann for the second). 5 They are
not listed among the inauthentic or doubtful works (pp. 523525), and it would be interesting to have his opinion about them. 6
Biblical commentaries: Torrell also brings new light to bear on
several of the scriptural writings. He places the Expositio super
Isaiam ad litteram in the Cologne period as part of Aquinas's
work as a biblical bachelor, together with the Super leremiam et
5 See Weisheipl, pp. 366-67 and 479 (in the corrigenda et addenda of 1983).
Both questions have been edited by Leonard A. Kennedy. The first: "The
Soul's Knowledge of Itself: An Unpublished Work Attributed to St. Thomas
Aquinas," Vivarium 15 (1977): 434-55; the second:" A New Disputed Question of St. Thomas Aquinas on the Immortality of the Soul,'' Archives
d'histoire doctrinale et litteraire du moyen age 15 (1978) : 205-223.
6 C. Van Steenkiste is skeptical about Thomas's authorship of the question
De immortalitate. Noting some evidence that he considers against Thomas's
authorship and some for it, Van Steenkiste would like "an ' external ' argument (an attribution or witness) in order to be convinced of the authenticity
of the question" (Rassegna di letteratura tomistica 15 (1982: for the year
1979) : 33-34. The edition of the question Utrum anima ... is simply noted in
Rassegna di letteratura tomistica 13 (1980: for the year 1977): 44, without
comment about its authorship.

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WALTER

H. PRINCIPE,

C.S.B.

Threnos (Weisheipl and Eschmann had already suggested
Cologne for this second work; Tugwell, who sees Thomas in
Paris already in 1251, assigns both to this year). Torrell agrees
with Tugwell that the Lectura super M atthaeum belongs to the
second Parisian regency, likely in 1269-1270 (Tugwell: 12701271), whereas Weisheipl had dated it 1258-59, in the first
Parisian regency. Torrell, with help from G. de Granpre of the
Leonine Commission in Ottawa, assigns the commentary on
Romans to Naples, 1272-73, rather than to the second Parisian
regency (Weisheipl's view). Its first 8 chapters show Thomas's
correction of the scribes; the rest is a report of class lectures.
The Lectura super I oann<em is moved back to 1270-1272
(Weisheipl had dated it 1269-1272). Torrell rather too quickly
and, in my opinion, with insufficient reasons rejects the witness
of Bartholomew of Capua and Ptolemy of Lucca that Thomas
himself revised the reportatio made by Reginald of Piperno
(290). A few years ago, L.-J. Bataillon, O.P., told me he accepted this witness and said that because it was personally revised by Thomas, this commentary gives us a very special entry
into Thomas's mind and thought in this important scriptural
commentary. Thomas's "other occupations at this period"
(290) might not have been quite so extensive as Torrell thinks
(see the opinions of Bataillon and Tugwell, mentioned above,
about his works being extended over a longer period of time; the
same will be seen to apply to his S ententia super M etaphysicam).
C ommen:taries on Aristotle: Torrell, like Tugwell before him,
uses the work of R.-A. Gauthier on the manuscripts of the Sentencia Libri De Anima to correct earlier views placing it in the
second Paris regency and to date it toward the end of the stay
at Rome, specifically 1267-1268. Again with the help of
Gauthier's personal research, Torrell is able to date the Sententia
super Physicam at the beginning of the second Parisian period
(1268-1269) rather than Weisheipl's date, Paris, 1269-1270.
The S ententia super M etaphysicam has presented problems.
Torrell thinks it was begun at Paris in Thomas's second regency
and could have been completed at Naples; in his opinion it was
probably redacted at Naples in 1272-1273 and is anterior to the

lNITIATION

A SAINT THOMAS

D' AQUIN

495

Sententia super Librum De caelo et mundo. However, Professor
James P. Reilly of the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies,
who is editor of the work for the Leonine Commission, concludes
from his studies that it was composed over a number of years
(for one thing, the different translations of Aristotle's text that
are used may indicate this) and that it was completed about
1270. 7 Such a gradual completion of this work would fit with the
views of Bataillon and Tugwell, mentioned above, about a time
lag between redaction and publication for some of Aquinas's
works and the time available to him at this period.
Other works: The date of the treatise, De aeternitate mundi,
is much debated. Torrell opts for 1271 in preference to the date
of 1270 preferred by Weisheipl and others. As for the Compendium theologiae, dated by W eisheipl at Paris or Naples between
1269 and 1273, Torrell follows the hypothesis of a few scholars
who suggest that only the second, incomplete part was written at
Naples and was interrupted by Thomas' s death; the first part, because of the similarity of some of its chapters to the Summa contra Gentiles, would be dated shortly after this work, that is in
1265-1267 (the Roman period). This argument based on similarities is open to questioning. Why could Thomas, writing at
Naples a treatise in simple form for Reginald of Piperno, not have
gone back to his own Con:tra Gentiles and used it as the basis for
the Compendium? The Contra Gentiles, written in series of
straightforward paragraphs like those to be used in the Compendium, would suit his purpose better as a model than the Summa
theologiae or his quaestiones, whose complicated form (questions,
articles within questions, arguments, sed contras, responses and
replies) makes simplification difficult. Further, a remark made in
my research that in the Compendium Thomas slightly refines his
statements about the Habitus-Theory of the Incarnation made in
the Summa theologiae and earlier works led C. Vansteenkiste to
7 Professor Reilly gave me this conclusion personally.
It is based on his
recent studies for the edition. For his earlier preparatory study on the different translations used by Aquinas see his " The alia littera in Thomas
Aquinas's Sententia libri metaphysicae," Mediaeval Studies 50 (1988): 559-83;
this article does not enter into the questions of dating.

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H. PRINCIPE,

C.S.B.

think that this point " could be useful for dating this writing,'' 8
that is, that it might serve to show that it was written at the end
of Thomas' s life.
With respect to the Officium de festo Corporis Christi, Torrell,
basing his views on recent research by P.-M. Gy, 0. P., and R.
Zawilla, concludes that its " attribution to St. Thomas can scarcely be reasonably brought into doubt any longer " ( 190). Of
great interest is the important and quite strong new manuscript
evidence, together with internal arguments, that Torrell marshals
to "incline to favor" Thomas's authorship of the Adora Te
devote, something that had been frequently questioned in recent
years ( 193-197).

The person of St. Thomas Aquinas
As has been said, Torrell gives many fine insights into the person of St. Thomas. These include his " first sketch of a portrait,"
related to Thomas's childhood, early studies, and Dominican vocation ( 18-25) ; the insights into his spirituality that can be
gleaned from his early commentary on Isaiah ( 40-52); Thomas's
lifelong devotion to his magisterial duties of commenting on
Scripture ( 79-86) and pastoral preaching ( 101-108) ; the sharpness, even vehemence, of his interventions to defend Mendicant
religious life ( 109-139) ; the insights into Thomas' s views of the
vocation of the theologian given in his Contra Gentiles ( 15 7-63)
and the link of his theology with a life of prayer (228-32); his
Eucharistic piety (197-99) and devotion to the Fathers (203206) ; his combination of patient humility with lucid firmness
and lively vigor in his sometimes isolated position in the debates
with his opponents during his second Parisian regency ( 284-86).
Torrell shows Thomas always ready to comply with the wishes
of his community and to render service of all kinds : lecturing at
the Dominican convent of Orvieto (not at the papal curia, a
s See his review, in Rassegna di letteratura tomistica 9 (1977: for the year
1974) : 384-385, of "St.Thomas on the Habitus-Theory of the Incarnation,"
in St. Thomas Aquinas, 1274-1974: Commemorative Studies, 2 vols., ed.
Armand A. Maurer (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1974)
I, pp. 381-418.

INITIATION

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497

mistaken notion that should finally be laid to rest) ; organizing
a studium at Rome; replying (sometimes with barely concealed
irritation) to various requests for his opinions on theological and
other contemporary questions; composing a number of works at
the request of others.
The pages on Thomas's work habits, especially his use of
secretaries, are intriguing, as is the important insight into the
change of Thomas in his latter years toward a more affective approach to theology ( 350-60). The person and spirituality of
Aquinas also become clearer through Torrell's remarks on the
thoroughly developed theology of the entire life of Jesus in the
tertia pars of the Summa theologiae (382-89). Final important
insights are given in the chapter on Thomas's last months and
death, in which Torrell carefully examines the testimony of many
witnesses about the events, his relations with his family, and his
personal holiness (ch. 14). The significance of Thomas' s daring
originality comes home as one reads the final two chapters (1516) on the controversies, condemnations, and final canonization
of Thomas in the years after his death.

Further remarks
Because Jean-Pierre Torrell is preparing a second volume on
Aquinas's spirituality, we shall have to wait for it to see his
presentation of some important points one might have otherwise
looked for in this already lengthy study. More will likely be said
about the originality and importance of Thomas's doctrine of
esse or the actus e.xistendi, by which he goes far beyond Aristotle
even though this advance is sometimes masked by Thomas' s frequent use of the Stagirite's language and concepts. The contributions of Etienne Gilson (barely mentioned in this work), Anton
Pegis, Cornelio Fabro, Joseph Owens, Armand Maurer and
others should help here. Important as it is for all of Aquinas's
theology, for spirituality this insight is the key to the remarkable
link he makes between God's transcendence and immanence with
respect to all creatures and indeed for all the relations of creatures
to God.

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H. PRINCIPE,

C.S.B.

In his future discussion of the Summa theologiae Torrell will
also undoubtedly give more emphasis to Thomas's situation of the
missions of the Son and Holy Spirit as the cohesive bridge between the inner life of the divine persons and their presence and
activity in creation and salvation-history. Likewise, one will look
for greater attention to the prologue of the prima secundae and
its questions on beatitude as the crucial foundation for what may
be Thomas's most original contribution in the work, the moral
and spiritual doctrine of the entire secunda pars (apt matter, of
course, for spirituality conceived broadly).
A few minor remarks about the present work. On page 47
Torrell makes a distinction between "purs instruments" and
"veritables causes secondes" that seems to downplay Thomas's
views on the positive causative contribution of instrumental
causes; Aquinas sees a proper causality for every instrument and
in a remarkable way applies the notion of instrumentality to free
human agents. This is especially the case with Christ's free
human activities and passions : these Thomas constantly describes
as instrumental causes of corresponding effects in Christ's work
of salvation-a doctrine, it might be noted, that allows Aquinas
to recapture for western theology the rich Pauline and patristic
theme of the role of these saving mysteries.
More might have been said about the contents of the Super
Boetium De Trinitate (pp. 97-99). As Torrell remarks, it contains his most thoroughly developed elaborations of the epistemology of the sciences. This is especially true of its discussion of
theology, which forms an indispensable background for the
shorter treatment in question one of the Summa theologiae; its
other important parts might also have been detailed a bit more.
Among the immediate predecessors with whom Aquinas should
be compared, one that bears mentioning is the Summa Fratris
Ale.xandri both for Aquinas's doctrines (e.g., the indwelling of the
Trinity, as L.-B. Cunningham's study has shown) and for some
aspects of the plan of the Summa theologiae. And in presenting
Thomas's use of the four causes in his commentary on the Psalms,
Torrell might have mentioned the considerable recent work in
the history of biblical exegesis that shows the entry of the four-

INITIATION

A SAINT

THOMAS

D' AQUIN

499

cause approach among authors in the decades preceding Thomas's
commentaries.
Finally, a number of scholars are mentioned without reference
(pp. 40, 346, 347) and some of these names do not appear in
the bibliography. On the other hand, the work is beautifully
printed and presented in a handy size, and misprints are rare.
These minor criticisms should take nothing away from the
magnificent achievement given us by this distinguished scholar.
It will be an indispensable tool for every student of Thomas
Aquinas, and it is good news for those less familiar with French
that it is soon to be translated into English (as is already being
done for several other languages) and will be published by the
Catholic University of America Press.

REFLECTIONS

ON PANNENBERG'S

SYSTEMATIC
PAUL

THEOLOGY 1

D. MOLNAR

St. John's University
Jamaica, New York

R

AD ING P ANNENBERG leaves no doubt that one is
encountering an intellectual giant. His thought is clear,
systematic, comprehensive, and fact-filled. In many respects this book is exciting; topics are introduced and developed
with details from scripture, from obscure and renowned Protestant theologians, from Aquinas, Augustine, Origen, Duns Scotus,
Barth, Jiingel, Moltmann, Rahner, and many others until Pannenberg's own position is clarified and fully developed. Its six
chapters explore : 1 ) how truth is the foundation of systematic
theology; 2) how the concept of God relates to this truth (natural
theology) ; 3) how the reality of God is understood in relation to
other religions; 4) how to understand revelation; 5) the trinity;
and 6) the unity and attributes of God. This last lengthy chapter
( 337-448) presents a very challenging description of God's attributes arguing that " the trinitarian life of God in his economy
of salvation proves to be the true infinity of his omnipotence "
( 415). Hence the doctrine of the trinity makes it possible to
speak correctly about God's immanence and transcendence without falling into pantheism, dualism, modalism, or subordinationism. This book is essential reading for any serious student of
theology. Because of its complexity and difficulty, however, we
shall focus on the relation of theology and philosophy and briefly
explore the roles of experience and faith, natural theology, the
1 Wolfhart
Pannenberg, Systematic Theology, Volume 1, trans. Geoffrey
W. Bromiley (Grand Rapids : William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company,
1991).

501

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

trinity, revelation, God's being and act, and the person and work
of Jesus, with a view toward seeing how Pannenberg's philosophy affects his theology.
In spite of his view that Rahner may succumb to " subjectivism " through a consensus theory of truth ( 14, n.22), many
of Pannenberg's ideas, e.g., that "Nonthematic knowledge of
God" is real and " part of our original situation " ( 115), and
that, in the context of modern secularism, the word " God " still
reminds us that "the wholeness of human existence has become
an unanswered question" (71), would resonate positively with
a Rahnerian method. And while he believes Barth did not succeed in grounding the doctrine of the trinity in revelation ( 327,
296), he contends that Rahner made progress with his thesis of
identity, even though by allowing the Father to remain transcendent, he did not go far enough and should have seen that the
Father " has made himself dependent upon the course of history "
( 329, emphasis mine).
While Pannenberg deliberately intends to emphasize God's
freedom and to avoid subjectivism (36ff., 127ff., 376-7, 391,
419), as when he argues that dogmaticians do not decide what is
true, but only God decides ( 56), fundamental problems do affiict
his approach to theology from the beginning. For example:
The natural theology of the philosophers had formulated a criterion
for judging whether any God could be seriously considered as the
author of the whole cosmos, and Christian theology had to meet this
criterion if its claim could be taken seriously that the God who redeems us in Jesus Christ is the Creator of heaven and earth and thus
the one true God of all peoples ( 79).
The obvious question which arises here is whether it is philosophy
or God the creator, known through faith, who determines the
meaning of creation and redemption; problems connected with
this assertion arise within each chapter.
Even though Pannenberg recognizes the problem of establishing our knowledge of God by negating our limited experience
( 184£., 406), he actually attempts to understand God's being in
terms of the limits of creaturely experience when he argues that
finite knowledge " is grounded especially in the time-bound nature

PANNENBERG'S

SYSTEMATIC

THEOLOGY

503

of the knowledge" ( 54). Thus all of our statements about God,
who is not an object in the world, "rest on anticipations of the
totality of the world and therefore on the as yet nonexistent future of its uncompleted history " ( 55, emphasis mine) ; following Descartes, he writes " We attain a sense of the infinite only
by negation of the limit of the finite "; while our direct unthematic awareness of the infinite cannot be defined as an "awareness of God," it is "on the basis of experience and reflection"
that we can then say that " the nonthematic awareness of the infinite was an awareness of God " ( 114). Hence " the designation
of Yahweh as God and the Christian attributing of deity to Jesus
Christ make sense only on condition of an established pre-Christian and ·extra-Christian use of the word ' God ' " ( 68).
Here meaning is in fact established by our prior understanding. Thus, in spite of Pannenberg's opposition to moving from
the general to the particular to understand the Christian God
( 190), this is exactly what he does: " the term 'God' as a general designation is important ... as a condition of the intelligibility of talk about God " ( 68, emphasis mine). But the condition for speaking about the Christian God is the reality of God
in his Word and Spirit and not a prior concept of God. This unwarranted logical leap leads Pannenberg to conclude that the term
God, while needing correction by Christian revelation, " is still
speaking of the same thing that people have hitherto known by
the name ' God ' " ( 69) ; several crucial difficulties follow in
Pannenberg's theology, among which is his inability to show that
his view of God is actually not grounded in experience and to
that extent defined by philosophy.
This is a serious predicament because he consistently contends
that Barth did not escape subjectivism just because Barth insisted
on the need for faith at the outset ( 44ff ., 304). And while Pannenberg sees much good in Aquinas's theology, he consistently
criticizes him for understanding God from the idea of a first cause
rather than from the economy (Sf., 22, 343, 365) ; this leads to
his extraordinary view that it is the unity of the trinitarian God
rather than the trinitarian distinctions which is hidden " in the
process of history " ( 340). He will not ground God's unity in

504

PAUL D. MOLNAR

the Father as ongm, or in the concept of God's unity as substance, or as Spirit or love, but then actually grounds his view in
the idea of the infinite ( 349ff.), finally arguing that " only with
the help of the concept of the infinity of God" ( 357) will he
avoid confusing God with the finite. Here the God of revelation
is synthesized with the God of natural theology; hence God's
nonthematic presence in creation is identical with " the specific
form of the existence of God as Father, Son and Spirit ... "
(359).
There are two serious problems then with Pannenberg's attempt to establish his theology by negating human experience.
First, it grounds the truth of our apprehension of God in the e.:rperience of anticipation rather than God's Word and Spirit; this
leads to the idea that theology must continually justify itself before the bar of philosophy, especially by asking and answering the
question of whether God exists with modern secular culture
( 49ff.). But if the truth of theology is grounded in God alone,
as Pannenberg indeed stresses, then theology does not have to
justify itself before philosophy, whose norm is not necessarily
the God of the Bible. And the theologian who is guided by faith
to understand the trinitarian God would never seek to leave the
sphere of faith, which thrives upon the objectivity of God, to ask
whether God exists. This is the question of unbelief. And to ask
it inevitably means setting up a norm for truth alongside God's
Word and Spirit. For Pannenberg dogmatics "cannot begin directly with the reality of God ... [for] the reality of God is initially present only as a human notion, word, or concept" (61).
This thinking frequently leads to ambiguities, as when Pannenberg argues that knowledge of God is possible only by revelation
but that " this is not to say what is the kind of revelation by
which God makes himself known" (189). The very thought
that God can be known only by revelation without knowing the
kind of revelation involved leads to inconsistency.
On the one hand Pannenberg leaves the sphere of faith to make
the content of faith credible in a universally acceptable way; thus,
systematic theology " must establish a starting point for the reconstruction of the truth claim of Christian doctrine in its media-

PANNENBERG'S

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THEOLOGY

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tion by the reality of the religions in which it is historically embedded " ( 196). And the God of philosophical theology (as infinite) performs a criteriological function for Christians who
modify this idea by ascribing attributes to this God ( 393ff.,
95ff.). Yet this prior concept " is not itself the God who acts in
the economy ... " ( 393). But if this is not the God who acts
for us in the economy, why should this general idea be a minimal
condition for talk about the reality of God as Pannenberg contends ( 394) ? Here the content of faith becomes questionable
from a point outside itself and the ground is thus set for a synthesis of reason and revelation through the idea of the true infinite as this is negated and transcended by the Spirit:
The thought of the holiness of God and the understanding of the
essence of God as Spirit bring us closer to a resolving of the contradiction [between the antithesis of infinite and finite]. They express the fact that the transcendent God himself is characterized by
a vital movement which causes him to invade what is different from
himself and to give it a share in his own life ( 400, emphasis mine).
Yet nothing causes God to " invade " what is different from him.
We must actually recognize his free good will in creating, reconciling, and redeeming if we are not to deduce God's actions ad
extra from the very nature of God's internal movement itself, as
Hegel actually did.
On the other hand Pannenberg insists that theology already
has a starting point established by God: " Materially only God,
or his self-revelation in Jesus Christ is fundamental " ( 1 Cor.
3 :11, 61, 298) . Yet his method suggests that we cannot begin
thinking about this God from within faith because, in accordance
with God's will, this God is debatable in world history. But, while
God has willed to be known in world history in a way in which
he can be ignored or rejected, this does not mean he actually
authorizes his community to doubt his existence in order to know
it.
Second, this thinking leads Pannenberg to make God's being
contingent upon: history itself. Hence he argues that the truth
that Jesus is the Son of God depends upon contingencies within
history: "The statements are true if the conditions hold" ( 56).

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

And, " The Easter event is not merely the basis of the knowledge that Jesus of Nazareth even in his earthly form was the
eternal Son of God, but also decides that he was this by giving
retrospective confirmation . . ." ( 331, emphasis mine). Indeed,
" The self-distinction of the Father from the Son is not just that
he begets the Son but that he hands ov.er all things to him, so that
his kingdom and his own deity are now dependent upon the Son"
(313, 322, emphasis mine).
This is why he argues that the revelation of God's name to
Moses "will take on its content only from God's future action in
history" (207), and opposes the idea of revelation as self-revelation. Pannenberg transfers the mystery of God's self-sufficient
action in history to people who identify God's nature "by appeal
to prior events that were known" (204). Therefore " the request for the divine name points beyond the communicating of
the name to future experiences of divine action in history "
(205). While Pannenberg explicitly opposes grounding knowledge of God in experience ( 65ff.) it is clear that his method,
which appeals to the experience of anticipation for veracity,
causes him to ground theological truth in the human subject
in this way. Experience is here the locus of Pannenberg's idea
that God's revelation actually is contingent on the outcome of
history. Thus he can introduce not only the idea of " the field
theories of modern physics " to explain the working of the trinity, but he allows the " idea of a universal force field," rather than
God's Word and Spirit, to determine his thinking ( 382f.). The
result is that he describes the immanent trinitarian relations as
" eternal forms " of the divine essence (implying that God is
eternally manifest ad extra and that there is no actual trinity
existing before the economy). Although Pannenberg clearly
wishes to maintain God's freedom by directly opposing Schleiermacher's idea that God needed to create and is dependent on the
world ( 419), this logic causes him to compromise that freedom.
Thus he also argues that " with the creation of a world God's
deity and even his existence become dependent on the fulfilment
of their determination ... " ( 390, emphasis mine). This kind of
dependency may be required in a theory of field relations where

PANNENBERG'S

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all reality is interdependent (383, and 312£., 322) but it is certainly not required when speaking of the trinity, since all fulfillment of God's promises is contingent only on his free grace and
not at all on the outcome of history. Pannenberg thus does not
consistently describe creation as a free act of God but says it
" rests on the fact that the Logos distinguishes himself in eternity
from the Father" ( 421) ; this blurs the distinction between the
immanent and economic Trinity which, at other times, Pannenberg clearly maintains ( 327, 330f.).
The philosophical idea of mutual conditioning compromises
God's actual freedom. Thus, instead of maintaining the traditional order within the Godhead which sees the Father begetting
the Son, and the Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son,
Pannenberg believes this would rule out a " genuine mutuality "
( 311). Since the Father would not be Father without the Son
Pannenberg asks :
Does that not mean that in some way the deity of the Father has to
be dependent on the relation to the Son ... ? The Father is not begotten of the Son or sent by him. These relations are irreversible.
But ... the designation ' Father ' might well involve a dependence
of the Father on the Son and thus be the basis of true reciprocity in
the trinitarian relations (312, emphasis mine).
Here, however, true reciprocity is not dictated by the being
and action of God who is one in such a way that he does not need
a second and a third so that the coinherence of Father, Son, and
Spirit does not make them dependent but rather expresses their
free mutual relatedness. Rather, it is dictated by the fact that Pannenberg has introduced history into the Godhead in such a way
that, in some sense, history determines the outcome of the
Father's relation to the Son within history. This of course is the
" Hegelianism" Pannenberg both opposes ( 158, 228, 295ff.,
314) and espouses ( 172ff.) ; it leads logically to the modalism
Pannenberg explicitly rejects ( 389, 425) : "the divine essence
overarches each personality" ( 430) and "love is a power which
shows itself in those who love ... Persons do not have power
over love. It rises above them and thereby gives them their self-

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

hood .
This applies especially to the trinitarian life of God "
(426-7).
Analyzing Rom. 16 :25-27 Pannenberg separates God's being
and act by arguing that " the content of revelation is not God
himself but the mystery of his saving decree " ( 222). Yet the
mystery of God's saving decree cannot be separated from God
anymore than functional and ontological Christology can be separated. Pannenberg also separates Jn. 1 :1-2 from Jn. 1 :14 contending that because Jn. 1 :1-2 does not refer to God's speaking,
Barth was mistaken to identify Jesus directly with the Word.
God is the Author of the Word but he is not directly the content
except in John 1 :1-2 ... In general God is not the content of the
Word ... When we think of God's self-revelation we have to think
of it as mediated by his action . . . ( 243).
He argues that the content of Heb. 2 :3-4 refers to "Jesus'
message of salvation" (237) and substitutes "the basic thought
of a revelation of the deity of God by historical acts" ( 227).
Here we no longer must rely on " exceptional miraculous events "
(229). Pannenberg thus opposes directly equating the Word of
God with Jesus Christ (235ff.). To equate self-revelation with
God's Word has magical overtones, smacks of authoritarianism,
involves " faith subjectivism " (242), and ignores both the complex form of revelation and the fact that God is not always the
content of revelation (243). It follows that " Jesus Christ as the
direct Word of God is to be integrated into this [saving] plan
and understood in light of it" (236). Yet, if Jesus is the Word,
then, as Barth correctly insisted, he cannot be integrated into any
plan; the plan is understood from the light which comes from
him. Pannenberg is willing to think of the Son as " the Mediator
of the words of God (cf. Matt. 11 :25-27) and not himself the
Word" (235, cf. 251) just because he is unwilling to allow the
logic of Jn. 1 :14 to be dictated by the being of the Word described in Jn. 1 :1-2. In other words, in Jn. 1 :1-2 Jes us as the
Word is God; it is the Word which became flesh and it is Jesus,
the Word, who gives meaning to salvation. Pannenberg cannot
admit this because "the various experiences of revelation ... do

PANNENBERG'S

SYSTEMATIC

THEOLOGY

509

not have God as their direct content . . . All of these contribute
to God's making himself known in his deity, and to that extent
they are all factors in the history of the divine action ... " ( 243).
Here the experience of revelation has certainly displaced God's
action in his Word. Hence, while Barth insisted that only God
could reveal God and that God does not need history to make
himself known, Pannenberg argues that various experiences of
revelation contribute to God making himself known and explicitly
turns to Hegel to assert that " God can be known only through
himself" (94). His meaning is thus quite different from Barth's.
Pannenberg means that wherever philosophical theology conceives God's nature, even if only to contest the God of Christianity, this must be part of God's self-revelation in history.
Hence, our theoretical proof of God is revelation. Christian theology therefore must concede critical function to philosophical
theology (95). Pannenberg thus appeals to Descartes, claiming
that Barth unjustly scorned him (106), and attempts to rehabilitate Christian truth claims, not by referring to God's Word
and Spirit, but on the foundation of innate knowledge of God
( 109ff.), since the God in whom one then believes becomes the
philosophical infinite one already knows. Pannenberg's notion of
God's indirect presence in history "has the systematic function
of integrating the various experiences of revelation to which the
biblical writings bear witness" (243). But the Bible does not
bear witness to experiences of revelation at all; it attests God's
mighty acts of revelation and salvation in the experiences of
Israel, in the person of his Son and in the Church which is united
to his Son and thus to the Father by the Holy Spirit.
Because Pannenberg has made experience (which includes the
idea of God) the starting point and basis for what he says about
Jesus, he is quite ambiguous about Jesus' relation with God. He
will not equate Jesus with God, arguing that Jesus' references to
the future kingdom show his difference from God. But is Jesus
different from God as man or as Son who became man and who
is, as such, distinct from the Father while being one in deity?
Here Pannenberg makes no clear distinction. First he says
" Jesus expressly differentiated God the Father from himself ...

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

the Father [is] 'greater' than he is"; second he says " If the
differentiation of God as Father from his own person is thus constitutive for Jesus' message and attitude, he also realized that he
was very closely linked to the Father in his work" (263). What
exactly is the nature of the differentiation here? The first statement clearly should refer to Jesus' human subordination to God,
while the second should refer to his person (as Son). Yet, Pannenberg blends the first with the second so that Jesus' human
differentiation from the Father is indistinguishable from his distinction as Son. This is crucial. For here Jesus cannot have the
authority of God himself to lay claim to his elect and empower
them in freedom. Rather, " he claimed for his message an authority which far surpasses all human authority" (264, emphasis
mine). But Jesus' message of forgiveness claims far more than
this, i.e., that he, in his person, can forgive sins. For Pannenberg
however only Jesus' opponents misunderstood him as being equal
to God (263). And, given the fact that knowledge of God is
really a human work, from our unthematic pre-understanding to
our identifying Jesus' message about the Father, the critical question remains: is it the power of the Son which is the only way to
the Father or is it Jesus' message which is decisive for our knowledge of the truth? This problem is heightened by the fact that
Pannenberg grounds the differentiation of the Father and Son
in an historical event, thus compromising the eternal relation of
the Father and the Son : " The differentiation of Father and Son
is grounded in one and the same event, in the message of
Jesus ... " (272, emphasis mine). Yet while we might admit
that the ground of our understanding of Jesus' sonship is his
message (cf. 300f.) and action together, still our understanding
must be clearly differentiated from Jesus' eternal being in distinction from the Father which is its condition. Pannenberg
does not do this. Hence in attempting to overcome sabellianism,
modalism, and subordinationism he says " we must begin with
the relation of Jesus to the Father as it came to expression in his
message ... " ( 324, emphasis mine).
Against Barth, Pannenberg contends that Jesus' deity is
grounded in " his relation to the Father " ( 304). But, accord-

P ANNENBERG' S SYSTEMATIC

THEOLOGY

511

ing to Pannenberg' s description, Jes us' relation is a merely human
relation which gives rise to the idea of his eternal Sonship after
the resurrection (265ff.). And while the man Jesus did indeed
relate to God through the Spirit, Pannenberg argues that the
Spirit, rather than the Word, is the "mode of God's presence in
Jesus ... " ; "the working of the Spirit in him is the basis of
Jesus' own sonship" (267f.) and indeed" The Spirit was earlier
given to the Son ... so as to equip him for his work" ( 321). All
of this makes more urgent the question of whether Jesus' relation
with the Father is an eternal divine relation which would make
the man Jesus utterly unique as the Son of the Father. Pannenberg asserts " The relation of his message and work to the Father
forms the foundation of the confession of the divine sonship ... "
( 304) and is inadvertently led by the logic of his method toward
adoptionism.
Jesus distinguishes himself from the Father "by subjecting
himself to his will as his creature ... " ( 310, emphasis mine) ; in
this way "he showed himself to be the Son of God and one
with the Father ... He is the Son of God as in his person he ...
honors ... the claim of the first commandment ... " ( 310). Since
Jesus distinguishes himself from the Father by subjecting his will
as creature to the Father, any genuine eternal distinction between
the Father and Son as the irreversible basis of what takes place
in history remains quite ambiguous. Hence an overtly adoptionist
conclusion follows:
As Jesus glorifies the deity of the Father by his sending and in his
own relation to the Father, he himself, in corresponding to the claim
of the Father, is so at one with the Father that God in eternity is
Father only in relation to him. This distinguishes Jesus from all
other human beings who follow his call ... (310).
History and eternity are now reversed. It is the human relation
of Jesus to the claim of the Father which makes Jesus so much
at one with God that in eternity they have a unique relation.
Consequently, "The eternal Son is first ... an aspect of the
human person ... Hence self-distinction from the Father is constitutive for the eternal Son " ( 310). Indeed " the difference between Father and Son in God's eternal essence, depend upon, and

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PAUL D. MOLNAR

take place in, the fact that God as Father is manifest in the relation of Jesus to him . . ." ( 311, emphasis mine) .
Despite the important concerns discussed above which stem
from Pannenberg's attempt to ground systematic theology in a
" philosophical theology " it must be re-emphasized that few contemporary theologians have the breadth of understanding and insist upon speaking about truth as rigorously as Pannenberg does.
His trenchant and extraordinary development of dogmatics is
thus a most stimulating attempt to overcome inadequate forms
of objectivism and subjectivism. This first volume of Pannenberg's systematic theology has stimulated and will continue to
stimulate theological discussion in an ecumenical way on these
and many other important issues. For these reasons anyone interested in serious theological and philosophical endeavor will
wish to thank W olfhart Pannenberg for this lasting contribution.

BOOK REVIEWS
The Craft of Theology: From Symbol to System. By AVERY DULLES,
S.J. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company, 1992. Pp.
x
228 with index. $22.50 (cloth).

+

The catholicity of Avery Dulles's method in The Craft of Theology
is best demonstrated by the broad compass of his self-chosen label,
"postcritical theology." Postcritioal theology, he states, puts no un·
fair demands on the reader to conform to the spirit of the age nor does
it imply that previous approaches (precritical, critical, paracritical) are
obsolete. Postcritical theology seeks to make the ecclesial character of
theology more recognizable than has most Catholic theology since the
Second Vatican Council (viii). Postcritical theology takes its cues
from a variety of sources: Polanyi's attention to the tacit dimensions
of knowing, Lonergan's understanding of the dynamics of conversion,
the "sense of the faithful" in Johann Adam Mohler, the recovery of
the tradition in John Henry Newman and Maurice Blondel, and the
postliberal theology of Albert Outler and George Lindbeck. Alongside
these more traditionally oriented sources, The Craft of Theology also
explores the social and symbolic dimension of ·the divine self-com·
munication (22). To this end, Dulles employs Ricoeur's theory of the
symbol in order to extract " the latent meaning of the classical doctrine
of the hypostatic union " and Habermas's notion of an ideal speech
situation in his anthropological analysis of the symbolism of sin as
"anti-communicative" (27, 33).
Dulles's latest work is a carefully structured synthesis of the typologies and constructive proposals which his readers have encountered
in previous works. Even though the twelve chapters were originally
composed for different occasions, Dulles intends the work " to have
greater unity than a simple collection" (ix). The first four chapters
are devoted to questions of theological method, including the develop·
ment of fundamental theology or apologetics. The next two chapters
deal with Scripture and tradition as sources of theology. The seventh
chapter specifies the role of the ecclesiastical magisterium in systematic
theology and includes a discussion of " the delicate problem of theological dissent." This is followed by two chapters on the relationship
of theology to two cognate disciplines, philosophy and physical science.
Without calling for a specifically Christian or Catholic philosophy,

513

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BOOK REVIEWS

Dulles nonetheless raises the question of whether " the intimate connection between systematic theology and the type of metaphysical realism that was embodied in scholasticism, both medieval and modern "
can ever be adequately surpassed (ix-x, 133). Chapters ten and eleven
pick up the thread of chapter seven by addressing the place of university theology in the service of the Church and the question of academic freedom. The final chapter develops the argument that ecumenism-both interreligious and intra-Christian-is
best understood
not as a separate branch of theology but as a dimension of all good
theology.
As in Models of Revelation (1983), his fundamental theology derives
principally from a theory of symbolic mediation of doctrines. In The
Craft of Theology, Dulles is prudent to address the charge of subjectivism commonly made against his theory of symbolic mediation and
analysis of models (50-52). His theory of symbolic mediation, he
states, is closer to the symbolical theology of Karl Rahner than to the
less dialectical " experiential-expressive " theory exemplified by Schleiermacher's statement that " Christian doctrines are accounts of the
religious affections set forth in speech" (18). As with Rahner, symbolic realism for Dulles rests upon a theological anthropology that takes
corporeal existence in a historically constituted, communal body as a
real, symbolic expression of the human spirit.
Dulles's theory of symbolic communication is supposed to accord
greater cognitive import to religious symbols than does the view that
symbols are merely expressions of the inner sentiments of the faithful
(17-18). In Models of Revelation, Dulles defined the cognitive value of
the symbol as surpassing the passing mood of the subject and " giving
rise to thought" (137, 153). In The Craft of Theology, however,
Dulles frequently reverts to a less nuanced position. Sometimes he
equates symbolical theology with critical reflection upon a non-discursive human evocation of an interior state:
[R] ecognition of the symbolic or evocative character of revelation
can be vitally important. Apologists, missionaries, and pastoral theologians cannot be content to establish doctrines by means of formal
proof. They must be attentive to what is being communicated on the
subsidiary and even the subliminal level by the Church's whole manner of speaking and acting (25).

This passage suggests that symbolical theology is supposed to uncover
a non-discursive or subliminal meaning to every religious doctrine.
This view of symbolical theology is unsatisfactory in two respects.
First, it is difficult to see how creeds and other dogmatic propositions
could arise from this view of the symbol " in order to," as he says in
the earlier work, " give stability and added power to the symbolism of
primary religious discourse" (Models of Revelation, 153). Second,

BOOK REVIEWS

515

this view lends the impression that the cognitive import of the symbol
is never patently expressed in the language of doctrines but only present below the surface of language. Dionysius the Areopagite, one of
Dulles's paradigmatic symbolical theologians (18), defended the cognitive aspects of symbolical theology more clearly:
We use whatever appropriate symbols we can for divine things. With
these analogies we are raised upward toward the simple and unified
truth of intelligible visions (The Divine Names, 592c).

For Dionysius symbols are manifestations of a divine truth which fully
transcend knowing and speaking but are not necessarily opposed to
knowing and speaking. For Dulles symbols sometimes seem like imaginative modes of expression for human communication whose cognitive
status in discursive language is somewhat unclear. Apart from these
ambiguities, some will also wonder whether a theology that is always
communicated through symbolic mediation will ever be able to do
justice to the flexibility and possibilities inherent in that tradition
(from Thomas Aquinas to Hans Frei) which accords primacy to realistic narrative in Scripture.
As the subtitle suggests, the book seeks to systematize not catalogue
different models of theology. Dulles's examples of creative theological
systems are those of Aquinas, Calvin, Suarez, Tillich, Rahner, and
Pannenberg (52). Just what sort of systematic unity is proper to Christian theology for Dulles? The investigations of models and root metaphors for practicing theology, he argues, demands coherent and intelligible unity. He maintains that the intelligibility of a theological
system is found within the practices and traditions that are handed on
by the witness of faithful believers. He would also seem to agree with
recent theological antifoundationalists (but not only with them!) that
even as Christian communities incorporate extra-systematic truths and
insights into their own traditions from the world religions, from a diversity of philosophical schools, and from modern science, there is
nonetheless no higher nor more universal synthesis of faith's knowledge that lies outside of the community called Church (19, 51). Theological axioms, he maintains, " cannot be reliably interpreted except by
believers who have acquired the necessary skills through their participation in the community of faith" (10). From this it follows that
Dulles's system is based more upon the so-called " indirect method" of
Karl Rahner than upon Rahn er' s strictly transcendental method (cf.
TI XI, 77). Dulles states that " systematization in theology can never
be complete, for the true object of theology is the unfathomable mys•
tery of God" (10). Here he would appear to be in agreement with
Aquinas's contention that the unity of a theological system cannot be
greater than the formal interest engaged (secundum rationem fomzalem
objecti, ST Ia. 1, 3.

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Dulles's new book cannot be accused of treating theological doctrines
only in the abstract. He submits his own commitments to systematic
rigor and fidelity to the ecclesiastical magisterium to the test by addressing the question of academic freedom for Catholic theologians.
The following three statements, if not taken in isolation from one another, are representative of the position which he defends:
Popes and bishops have no mandate to tell the theologian how to do
theology, beyond the negative mandate of seeing to it that theology
does not undermine the life of faith itself. Theology, therefore, pos·
sesses a certain freedom over and against the hierarchical magisterium. Without that freedom it could not be theology, and hence it
could not be of service to the Church. The medieval axiom non an·
cilia nisi lib era holds for theology (169) .
I find myself in apparent disagreement with Curran, who maintains
that academic peers would be qualified judges, provided that they
consulted widely and in depth with peers in the specific area of
competence of the theologian being investigated (215, n.11).
According to a long·standing Catholic tradition, pastoral judgments
concerning purity of doctrine are, in the last instance, the prerogative of the ecclesiastical magisterium (174).

The last two statements are not meant to withdraw the first statement's
recognition of the freedom of inquiry necessary for theology. Following Sapientia Christiana, Dulles reminds Roman Catholic theologians
that brilliant and innovative theological syntheses were historically possible in the Catholic Church without the desideratum for " a second
magisterium" of academic theologians based upon the claim that a
Roman Catholic theologian's fidelity to the Roman Catholic tradition
can only be rightly judged by scholarly peers.
Before concluding, I would like to raise some questions. The Craft
of Theology wisely includes some reflections on the culmination of all
symbolic manifestations in Christ as " ' the real symbol ' of God's grace
and forgiveness" (28). This important christological foundation to
his notion of the symbol was already present in Models of Revelation,
chapter X, " Christ, the Summit of Revelation." What appears to be a
significant development of his thought since Models of Revelation is
the mention in The Craft of Theology of an explicitly trinitarian theology of divine self-communication (37-39). Would this bring Dulles's
" system " into agreement with the notion, implicit in Lumen Gentium
and defended by von Balthasar, of divine, intra-trinitarian communion
as the basis of an ecclesial reflection on the Christian faith? Dulles's
relative silence on the immanent trinity suggests a preference for a
psychological model, but his theory of the Holy Spirit as the completion of " the intra-divine process of communication " might admit of
other possibilities.

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BOOK REVIEWS

My second concern is whether Dulles needs to develop more explicitly the liturgical dimension of the tradition as a type of tacit knowing. To be sure, Dulles is open to seeing the divine liturgy as an important source for what he refers to as " traditioning " (cf. 33-34) .
Furthermore, his personal commitment to the traditional liturgy's
unique mode of communication can be quite passionate, as when he
states:
In countries such as the United States young people cannot even
imagine what it must have been like to live in the Catholic Church
of fifty years ago. They frequently worship in churches or auditoriums barren of shrines and statues. They are ignorant of the an·
swers that their parents or grandparents memorized out of a catechism. They know practically no prayers by heart, and are perhaps
unable to say the Angelus or the Rosary. They are so open to the
world that they are almost drowning in secularity (101; cf. also 19).

Nevertheless, personal conviction seems to give rise to little theoretical
reflection about why this sort of symbolism is so central to the Catholic
tradition. Liturgy's function in communicating the rule of faith of
Christian communities receives no separate chapter and appears as a
decidedly secondary source of theological reflection. Here he could
perhaps have been illuminated by Jean-Luc Marion's philosophical
meditations on the symbolism of the Eucharist as presence and gift.
The Craft of Theology will serve as absorbing reading for graduate
students who are just beginning to study theology. That is not to say
that Dulles's book is only an autobiographical retrospect on the profession which he has ably practiced for more than half a century. Whether
understood as a stimulant to ·thinking judiciously about the living tradition of the Catholic church or as a guide for contemporary ecclesial
communities of different confessions seeking to recover the catholicity
of the Christian tradition, Dulles's system will be a no less than invaluable resource to Christian theologians.
PETER

J. CASARELLA

The Catholic University of America
.Washington, D.C.

"Un maitre en theologie: Le Pere Marie-Michel Labourdette, O.P."
Revue Thomiste 92, No. 1 (January-March, 1992). Toulouse:
Ecole de theologie, 1992. Pp. 428. 130F.
This collection of twenty essays serves as an intriguing introduction
to the life and thought of the Dominican professor and moral theologian P. Marie-Michel Labourdette, who worked for most of his religious life at the Dominican studium of St. Maximin of the Province

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BOOK REVIEWS

of Toulouse. Prefaced by two contributions of biographical interest,
and completed by a comprehensive bibliography, the core selections
crystalize around two poles of interest. First, they explore the character of Labourdette's thought and methodology, both as a churchman
and a Thomist. Especially enlightening here are the essays by M. Larive,
" Quaedam impressio divinae scientiae, la theologie selon le P. Labourdette" and 5.-Th. Bonino, "Le thomisme du P. Labourdette." Second,
other essays succeed in capturing this Thomistic thinker in flight, as
it were, as his incisive powers of analysis and synthesis reveal themselves in his treatment of various theological questions. I would especially recommend here A. D. Mongillo's "La fin derniere de la personne humaine," C. J. Pinto de Oliveira's "La prudence, concept cle
de la morale du P. Labourdette," and T.-D. Humbrecht's "Le peche
originel selon le P. Labourdette." These essays skillfully coalesce and
complement each other, forming, as with the variously tinted panes of
a stained-glass window, a multi-colored illumination of their subject.
What emerges from this well-composed assemblage is a devoted
homage to a theologian creatively faithful to his inherited traditions.
This creative fidelity to the depositum fidei, and to a Thomistic legacy
invigoratingly alive in his own work, forms the intellectual principle
by which P. Labourdette sought to perceive and understand the many
new insights and developments that cannot help hut teem before any
alert, twentieth-century mind. P. Lahourdette addresses himself to
theological issues using an approach both classical and flexible, deep,
yet clear. This clarity is of such an order that it reveals to the contemporary reader aspects of traditional theological investigation that
have been muted, obscured, or entirely forgotten by the more fragmented and contentious discourse of our day. Whether one agrees with
or takes exception to his reasoning, his voice, listened to attentively,
has both a timbre of intellectual honesty, and a harmonious fidelity to
the twofold demands of reason and revelation.
For in today's theological climate, it seems that fidelity to the universal claims of tradition often evokes suspicions of intellectual rigidity
and extrinsicism, where imagination and historical engagement play at
best a secondary role. Conversely, theological imagination implies a
license to surpass, if reason so demands, the boundary lines of doctrine
and dogma. Fidelity and creativity seem intrinsically irreconcilable.
Fidelity excludes the daring of exploration, while creativity in the contemporary cultural climate almost demands an exceeding of the norms
that have previously guided our discourse. That the two can indeed
exist together in theological thought, indeed serve each other and
cause each other to thrive sympathetically (rather than symbiotically)

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519

is a forgotten truth, a truth that emerges in considering the work at
hand.
How this creative fidelity is achieved is best suggested by Humbrecht
at the end of his essay (the shaky translations here are my own):
"This is why the effort of the theologian must bear upon the establishment of the given, but with the assurance that a part of this given
eludes him. 'I believe [here quoting P. Labourdette] with all my
heart in everything that the Holy Catholic Church believes concerning
original sin; but what she believes she still does not herself know completely and distinctly; that must emerge little by little into her awareness. This could take longer than our life span; it's necessary to know
how to live with this problem; but the faith is not thereby altered in
the least.' "
Thus for P. Labourdette faith, faith in both revelation and the stewardship of revelation in and by the church, becomes not just the starting point for theological investigations, but the light that continues to
guide the investigations of natural reason. This is nothing new. But
a brief description of the Thomism of P. Labourdette as it is reflected
in this work may remind us of the credibility of this approach.
P. Labourdette charts a middle course between the deadly shoals of
" fixisme," where the works of St. Thomas are seen as an atemporal,
closed system, and " historicisme," where the significance of these
works dissolves in the strong currents of historical relativism. For P.
Labourdette, the works of St. Thomas, and their influence throughout
history, embody a kind of noetic style (P. Labourdette maintained a
friendship and extensive correspondence with Maritain), a conviction
of the correlation between the ontological and intelligible worlds. What
is, is knowable (the body of ennonciabilia) , and so communicable, as
the apprehension of universals by each human intellect. Since intellect
is a human quality, it participates in the development of the human
toward God. Yes, we know universally, but we also know dynamically.
The locus of our knowledge is here placed in the communal and salvific historicity of human ends. As the faithful progress and develop
towards their ultimate happiness in God, so too does their knowledge
of revelation and the unfolding of its interpretation in history.
The authority of St. Thomas, then, for P. Labourdette, comes not
from any conclusive and exhaustive mastery of the content of revelation, but rather from his grasping the truth of the organic development
of reality towards its final end in God. With the coming of St. Thomas,
sacra doctrina can now be framed by a scientific method. The genius
of St. Thomas here consists in his creation of a theological science,
based in the reality of being, that enables the theological mind to explore progressively both the givens of revelation and
changing

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aspects of these givens as they are examined in the light of the new
discoveries encompassed by natural reason. If the terms I use in this
description seem passe, it is only because we are forgetful of the light
they can shed when employed by a thinker such as P. Labourdette.
As with his French Dominican contemporaries, P. Chenu and P.
Congar, P. Labourdette directed much of his effort to defining Thom·
istic studies in the light of modern historical research and criticism.
In the work of P. Labourdette, a conception surfaces not just of how
thought, influenced by a particular historical modality, influenced
Thomas and Thomism, but also of how Thomas and Thomism influenced and modulated the thought of particular epochs. This theological point of view of P. Labourdette leads him to see the manifestations
of theological insight throughout the ages as a progression, where
human knowledge, in its organic growth, develops a clearer and clearer
understanding of God's speaking to it. This is why the embrace of ressourcement by P. Chenu and P. Congar was inadmissible to the master
of St. Maximin, for he saw in this phenomenon a return to a less developed stage of God-thought, a return to a pre-scientific era where
the effective tools of philosophical categories as yet lay undiscovered,
and where the ground gained in the resolution of theological issues by
such categories would be ceded, only to be opened once again to question and dispute.
If there is one virtue that emerges from these essays that readers of
all theological stripes can admire, it is the assiduous manner in which
P. Labourdette seeks a self-awareness of his philosophical and theological suppositions. The careful examination of terms, the distinctions
made between them, the diligent sounding of all perceivable intellectual
currents combining in the flow of his thought, all these make for a
body of thought as conscious as any of its genesis and methodology.
By the same token, this attunement to his intellectual heritage and
atmosphere gives to his work an ability to detect and fruitfully inquire into the new insights of the age. Thus the reader appreciates
the way in which P. Labourdette's own thought developed and refined
itself as it matured. A good example of this maturation is the above
mentioned essay by Humbrecht on P. Labourdette's study of original
sin.
P. Labourdette addresses the subject of original sin in a number of
writings comprising two major periods. The first period extends from
1949 to 1958 and consists of a series of articles in the Revue Thomiste,
along with a monograph, Le Peche originel et les origines de l'homme,
which appeared in 1953. The second period, from 1973 to 1982, consists of writings appearing, in various poorly disseminated editions, as
Cours sur le peche originel. During the first period, P. Labourdette

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situates the encounter upon a plane where the understanding of the
faith comes to terms with the then quite alive polemics of evolutionism
(Teilhard) and monogenism vs. polygenism. Here, the newly formulated objects of knowledge and reason are configured in more or less
scientific terms, leaving the believing theologian the task of reconciling
theological and scientific truth. During the second period, we see the
constellation of terms, propositions, and arguments undergoing a shift,
as a new understanding of the historicity of scripture takes shape. As
Humbrecht observes: "It is no longer a debate involving only two
terms (the scientist and the believer) , but a debate involving three (the
scientist, the givens of the faith, and the theologian)." Indeed, the confrontation of faith with scientific knowledge is now largely displaced,
both from a desire to avoid all forms of concordism as well as from
the observation that the elements of the former debate had found a new
equilibrium. This shift, along with the crucial introduction of the term
"peche du monde" (perhaps best translated as "structures of sin")
as well as a new scriptural emphasis where the writings of St. Paul
illuminate the accounts in Genesis (rather than vice versa), cause P.
Labourdette to change an essential term of his conception of original
sin from one of a transmission of a nature to that of a loss of a grace.
When P. Labourdette inserts such a concept as original sin into this
intellectual crucible, the result is a tempering and refinement, where
human faith and reason become more firmly and integrally fused. The
process moreover relies upon a careful and honest study of the new
formulations of the truths of reason, whether in historical or scientific
terms-a study made fruitful by P. Labourdette's lively understanding
of the tools and temperament of St. Thomas. When these presentations
do raise questions in the reader's mind, the challenge is to make such
questions as sharp and penetrating as the propositions they address.
In several places, this collection mentions " la parution imminente "
of P. Labourdette's Cours de theologie morale, bringing to light one of
the " plus belles figures " of contemporary Thomism. From reading
this fine collection of essays, I cannot help but foresee the arrival of an
important contribution to the current discourse on virtue theory and
moral theology in general. Until then, we have this eminently worthwhile collection to study, to contemplate, and, as by a healthful contagion, creatively to explore.
KEVIN McCAFFREY,

Dominican House of Studies
Washington, D.C.

O.P.

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The Reason of Following: Christology and the Ecstatic I. By ROBERT
P. ScHARLEMANN. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992.
Pp. 214. $32.50 (cloth).
Robert P. Scharlemann is Commonwealth Professor of Religious
Studies at the University of Virginia. Writing in the tradition of Bultmann's observation that speaking of God requires speaking of oneself,
he conceives of christology as a distinctive form of reason, a philosophical/theological anthropology in which the logic of discipleship
occupies a prominent place. Accordingly, The Reason of Following is
a sustained pursuit of " an articulated understanding of the nature and
constitution of human being" (p. 1), a theme which Scharlemann sees
as a component of christology which has wrongly been eclipsed by
other dimensions in more traditional presentations.
The goal of Scharlemann's work is to bring into view " the nature
of the relation that is implied when it is reported, for example, that
Jesus said' Follow me! ' and there were those who 'immediately' followed. . . . What is the nature of the ' following ' on the part of those
who will ' immediately ' follow the summons of one whose name is ' I
am ' ? And who is the ' I ' of the ' I am ' in the person who makes
the summons? " (p. 88) . Each of the four themes sounded in this cita·
tion-the call to discipleship, the immediacy of following, the identification of Jes us as ' I am,' and the designation of the specifics of the
disciples' relationship to Jesus as an example, but no more than an ex·
ample, of a broader possibility of human existence-is a fundamental
element in Scharlemann's conception of christology.
Operating on the principle that the traditional definition of a human
being as a rational animal can be replaced by the existential definition
" ' I ' am here " (cf. p. ix) , Scharlemann devotes two lengthy introductory chapters to explicating the significance of this shift from
" what " a human being is to " where " and " when " it is. Dr.awing
especially on Descartes, Luther, Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Fichte,
his studies of the subjectivity and being of the self accent the import·
ance of the I as subject and explore the differences between the I of
pure actuality shown in the method of doubt, the I of pure possibility
shown in the anticipation of death, and the I of pure freedom shown in
the evocation of trust. Against this background, reflections on the na·
ture of following envisage an additional possible I, one summoned by
the call to be wholly in the world, in finite freedom.
Before investigating the christological relation as " a rational form
of its own" (p. viii), Scharlemann offers a preliminary analysis of
modes of thinking. Distinguishing between thinking ("the openness

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523

of the self to what is other than thinking" [p. 62]) and reason ("the
configuration of this openness" [p. 62], i.e., "a definite way in which
the self is related to its other through an activity " [p. 103] ) , he
argues that thinking always appears in one of two basic modes: understanding of being, or faith in God. These two modes-not to he confused with forms of reason-cover the entire field of thinking: " When
we trust anyone at all, we are trusting God, just as, when we understand
anything at all, we understand being" {p. 76). While aware that his
implied definition of faith differs from those of the Christian theological
tradition and is not serviceable for purposes of historical theology,
Scharlemann opts nonetheless for a terminology which draws " as
clearly as possible the parallel between faith and understanding as two
modes of thinking whose own object is as such beyond the understanding of being and the faith in God " (p. 77).
Turning to the specific form of reason which is the hook's chief
concern, Scharlemann devotes a central chapter to " The Exstantial I
in Christological Reason." After a critique of traditional christologies,
he adumbrates a christology which seeks to depict the self of discipleship as one in which " the other to which the self relates itself is the
inwardness of the self without being a projection from that inwardness " (p. 96) . Appealing to the principle that the notion of the self
as related to the other logically admits of two terms and two sources
of origination of action, and using Schleiermacher and Tillich as examples of analogous procedures, Scharlemann argues to the formal {not
necessarily actual) possibility of an acoluthetic ( christological) reason
distinct from science, art, and morality.
These distinctions are further examined in a detailed analysis of
"Forms of Reason: Theoretical, Practical, Aesthetic, Acoluthetic," as
Scharlemann seeks to describe systematically "possible ways for the
self to be related to its other in the world " {p. 123) . Arguing that
acoluthetic reason would be authoritarian were it not the I of selfhood
that is encountered exstantially, he conceives of Christ as the disciples'
" I am," such that following him is a coming to themselves. As a relationship of subject to subject, acoluthetic reason is readily distinguished from theoretical reason, which concerns the relationship of subject to object. Yet it is also to be distinguished from other forms of
reason in which both terms are personal beings: from ethical {practical) reason, in which "the subjectivity of the other appears as 'you'
or 'he {she, it)'" {p. 120) rather than as the exstantial I, and from
aesthetic reason which, unlike acoluthetic reason, is characterized by
obliviousness on the part of the self. In contrast to all of these types,
" christological reason is ... that form of reason in which the inward
I is related to the exstantial I through the authority . . . that enables
the following" (p. 124). While clothed here in Christian vocabulary,

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acoluthetic reason is envisioned as a universal human possibility, not
dependent upon either Christian material or theistic reference for its
actualization.
An ensuing study of acoluthetic reason analyzes the characteristics of
the exstantial I as distinguished from the everyday, the owned, and the
disowned I and explores the possibility of distorted ( contrarational)
forms of each of the various types of reason. Authentic acoluthetic reason promotes freedom and truth; it is by nature so utterly free of
compulsion that a negative response to the christological summons
" Follow me " is as legitimate as the response given in discipleship.
Shorter concluding chapters on " Textuality: The Inscription of the
Self " and " Christology and Theology " round off the work with treatments of two specific issues. Using as an example selected aspects of
the history of the interpretation of New Testament resurrection texts,
Scharlemann presents texts (any texts, not only the biblical ones used
for purposes of illustration) as inscriptions which can render present
the inscribed self and thus mediate encounter with the exstantial I.
Final reflections repeat the insistance that acoluthetic reason may hut
need not he theological, consider the relationship of theological exclusivism and christological uniqueness, and outline a possible path between exclusivism and pluralism through comparative evaluation of
symbols.
As Scharlemann clearly acknowledges, The Reason of Following
seeks neither to present a christology in the traditional sense nor to develop a comprehensive christology in his own sense of the term. A!lsessment of his work must make due allowance for the deliberately
limited scope of his undertaking. It would appear, however, that, as a
result of the definition of christology and the reduction of christological
reference to existential interpretation of the Johannine " I am " and
the summons to immediate discipleship, the explicitation of what confession of Jesus as the Christ implies about the believer replaces, rather
than complements, the explicitation of what that confession says about
Jesus. While it is impossible to judge definitively on the basis of the
present text, it would seem that the foundation laid in this volume
would not suffice to provide a basis for construction of a satisfactory
christology.
Despite its limitations from a christological perspective, The Reason
of Following is a contribution to anthropology which will interest
those conversant with existentialist (especially Heideggerian) terminology and attracted to that line of philosophical thought. Its apparent
presumption that concrete moral obligation necessarily infringes on
freedom and its portrayal of what appears to he ultimately discipleship
of oneself require critical scrutiny. Within its given framework, how-

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ever, Scharlemann's work is carefully reasoned, and should serve to encourage further reflection on the manner of human existence that is
implied in the relation of discipleship.
The book is in general well-printed, but there are some errors. The
title of Chapter 4 is given incompletely in the table of contents. On p.
79, read intellectus quaerens fidem for intellectuals quaerens fidem.
JOHN

P. GALVIN

The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.

Time and Eternity. By BRIAN LEFTOW. Ithaca: Cornell University
377. $42.95 (cloth).
Press, 1991. Pp. xii

+

This is a considerable book on a considerable topic-the logical relation of time to eternity, the possibility of a simple God's knowing
temporal events, and their presence in God. The book aims to make
sense of and defend the claim that God is in fact timeless, and to explore the relations between such a timeless being and temporal beings.
The book is thus something of a tour de force which, as Professor
Stump herself remarks in a review, no subsequent discussions of the
topic will be able to neglect. It is also a mine of information about
discussions of this venerable topic, ancient, medieval, and modern, with
special emphasis on contemporary controversies.
After plainly setting out his working assumptions, Leftow examines
the possibility of the timeless and the logic of eternity. He argues that
timeless entities do, or at least can, exist, whether or not God exists
and is timeless. He argues further that if God exists and is timeless,
" coexisting " with time does not make God temporal. Proper discourse
of the eternal requires its own peculiar " eternal-present" tense.
The author then turns to the classic discussions of these topics in
Augustine, Boethius, and Anselm. His treatment of Boethius is mainly based on the contemporary interpretation by Eleanor Stump and
Norman Kretzmann-indeed a great deal of the first half of the book
consists in fencing with their view. Leftow argues that Stump and
Kretzmann are correct in concluding that the Boethian concept of eternity is that of " atemporal duration," though he thinks they arrived at
this conclusion for the wrong reasons.
Having argued that one can understand Boethian eternity in terms of
a form of duration, Leftow goes on to maintain that one can also understand it on the model of an extensionless point. At the same time,
he maintains that God's life has earlier and later "positions" in a
manner that this reviewer finds reminiscent of the Whiteheadian view

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of the genetic analysis of an actual occasion, or perhaps even of White·
head's conception of divine everlastingness.
In the long run, however, Leftow finds the Boethian view (at least
as interpreted by Stump and Kretzmann) unsatisfactory. The reason
is, if I have got it right, that he thinks that for Boethius as well as for
Thomas Aquinas and others, God is aware of temporal things inasmuch as they are "present to God" in God's eternity. At the same
time Leftow supposes (mistakenly) that for Aquinas God's knowledge
is that of an observer, and he goes on to write: "Now if a temporal
thing is really present to God, it seems to fallow that God and that
thing exist simultaneously" (161, my emphasis). I fail to grasp how
that seems to follow, unless one confuses the ontological order with the
intentional, hut on the supposition that it does follow, Leftow argues
that Boethius can't have it both ways: that God's knowledge, not being
simultaneous with temporal events, is not foreknowledge and so does
not impede human freedom, yet is truly omniscient, and so simultaneous with temporal events after all.
Leftow then turns to the view of Anselm, which he judges more defensible, for he believes he finds in Anselm a position in which the
temporal events that God knows are in a real sense thereby in God,
and so simultaneous with God's knowledge of them. "On this alternative, ... temporal events occur all at once in eternity, in addition to
occurring at various points in time .... Temporal events occur at once
for God and really do occur at once, in eternity" (219).
Consistent with this preference for the Anselmian view is Leftow's
preference for interpreting the statement " God ' sees ' all temporal
events happen at once " as meaning " what God sees is all temporal
events occurring at once" rather than " God's 'seeings' of all temporal
events all occur at once" (315f.).
After making a case for God's timelessness in Anselmian terms,
Leftow applies this theory to questions of freedom and foreknowledge,
creation, space, personhood, divine omniscience, change, and religious
experience. He concludes that God's timelessness is compatible with
His life, His being personal, having knowledge and will, being free,
and responding to creatures. On Leftow's view, "events all occur in
the frozen simultaneity of eternity. But that is just one way they
occur " (360) .
Leftow's method is mainly analytic and logical. His philosophic viewpoint, I judge, is broadly Platonic as distinguished from Aristotelian
or Thomistic. His argument, for instance, that there necessarily is at
most one eternal being lies entirely on the level of essence, overlooking
the act of existing ( esse) ( 71) . Even when he deliberately sets out to
develop three ways to understand degrees of existence (8lff.), he does
not do it in terms of participation of esse hut in terms of character and

BOOK REVIEWS

527

of fixity and of temporality. He also accepts without qualm the now
popular notion of " possible worlds," and describes his position as
"quasi-Molinist" (262).
Ideally the book can be evaluated fairly only by someone with technical expertise in this area equal to that of the author. But since most
readers of the book will not measure up to that any more than does
this reviewer, it may be acceptable to suggest here something of how
the book looks from a more pedestrian perspective.
( 1) On the positive side, the book contains a wealth of information
on this complicated topic, especially concerning contemporary controversies.
(2) Leftow makes an excellent analysis (286ff.) of the timelessness
even of a human act of understanding, and so also a good case for the
possibility of a divine timeless event of understanding.
( 3) He develops interesting religious implications of the thesis that
we are always "present to " God in eternity.
( 4) He points in the right direction-namely to human personsin explaining freedom, though as we shall see he does not, in my view,
carry this out satisfactorily.
( 5) The 361 pages of this difficult book constitute elaborate grounds
for his own conclusion: " I have argued that God is beyond and in a
sense above time. But I have also argued that this does not diminish
His efficacy within it. The God I depict can have the greatness both
of the philosophers' transcendent source of all and of the believers'
living Lord. If my arguments are sound, there is just no need to choose
between the two" (361).
(6) It is rash to criticize Mozart, but in Peter Shaffer's play
Amadeus, the Emperor was groping to express why he was not entirely pleased on hearing Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio. "Too
many notes, Your Majesty? " queried the Director of the Imperial
Opera. "Very well put," exclaimed the Emperor, " too many notes.
. . . There are in fact only so many notes the ear can hear in the
course of an evening."
This hook has too many notes. It would be better were it leaner.
At least it would he more accessible. As it is, the author tirelessly runs
down every side trail of controversy, so that the reader is often at a
loss to follow the main direction of the argument. The impression is
one of trees rather than of the forest. For example, the author's penchant for including everything moves him on several occasions to contrive hypothetical, tangential speculations as to how philosopher X
would " likely " object in such a way; and to that objection one might
respond so and so; and philosopher X would likely retort as follows,
etc. ( 126, 220, 222f., 225). (This even in the case of living philosophers who could very well be asked what they hold.)

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(7) Another factor that renders the book opaque is the author's
fondness, in the modern manner, for acronyms-which do not, by the
way, appear in the index. Readers will find themselves awash in an
acronymic sea of TI, AD, SKTE QTE, ET, TI* (not, however, the
same "TI" as in the first instance), ST, MTOA, T, AND T*, and so
would do well to compile a running list of the pages on which these
expressions first appear. Rare is the reader who can read a book like
this cover to cover, and those of us who must perforce read it in bits
and pieces cannot easily keep track of these cryptic expressions.
(8) Throughout, the author tends to spatialize both time and eternity (e.g., 113, 120, 214) and even seems to allow them a kind of
autonomous existence (32, 113, 120, 124, 141, 149, 274).
(9) The author conflates "things" with "events," and even speaks
of " events of beginning" (very curious sorts of " events" indeed)
(78).
(10) Leftow, it seems to me, fundamentally misreads Boethius, and
so throughout thinks that Boethius's position about divine knowledge
is in need of being "rescued." For he thinks that according to Boethius, "the existence of an eternal God's knowledge is somehow simultaneous with the existence of temporal things" (265; and see once
again 161). Yet by the end of The Consolation of Philosophy Boethius was at pains to argue that God's knowledge is precisely not foreknowledge, and he was able to claim this by asserting that God's knowledge is characterized not by the temporal events that are its object but
by the superiority of God's power of knowing. This latter point gets
no attention in the present book. On the contrary, Leftow espouses an
Anselmian doctrine in which temporal events themselves have, from
eternity, a togetherness within God " in the frozen simultaneity of
eternity " ( 360) , a position which seems to me to be more rather than
less vulnerable to fatalistic implications.
( 11) The author makes much of what he calls the " Zero Thesis:
the distance between God and every spatial creature is zero. This zero
distance is always between the whole of God and every creature "
(222). In the absence of any suggested useful sense that can here be
attributed to the word " distance," it is hard to see what use this thesis
can have.
(12) Leftow explicitly rejects analogical predication about God and
favors some form of univocity (239, n. 20).
(13) Having correctly pointed out that "not just beliefs and desires but persons contribute to the explanation of actions" (256),
Leftow then develops this in terms of the person's underlying character,
rather than of the person's acting, the activity of the agent as such.
He proceeds to argue-disastrously,
as it seems to me-for the following thesis: "6. for all agents S and acts A, even if S does A freely,

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any agent qualitatively identical with S would do A in a situation
qualitatively identical with S's" (257).
( 14) The " would " in the above statement is the " would " of
Molina, and the author acknowledges that his theory resembles that of
Molina (262). For a reader who cannot swallow Molina's "futurihles,"
a good deal of Leftow's argument falls apart.
In the end, then, we have here a hook that verges on the monumental hut that will he diversely judged-as is normally the caseaccording to the philosophic stance of the reader. Surely it is a hook
that cannot he ignored.
JAMES

w. FELT, S.J.

Santa Clara University
Santa Clara, California

Wittgenstein on Ethics and Religious Belief. By CYRIL BARRETT. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991. Pp. xiv
285. $44.95 (cloth).

+

Since his editorship in 1974 of the volume Lectures and Conversa·
tions: Aesthetics, Psychology, and Religious Belief, Cyril Barrett's
name has been associated with the interpretation of Wittgenstein's views
on ethics and religious belief. At last we have in hook form his comprehensive exposition of this important dimension of the philosopher's
thought. Barrett ranges from the Notebooks 1914-1916 all the way to
remarks in On Certainty that stem from only a few days before Wittgenstein's death. In addition to placing pertinent remarks of early and
late periods in the context of the relevant major works and their chief
themes, Barrett also expounds and analyses such shorter, more explicit treatments of ethics and religious belief as the " Lecture on
Ethics," the "Remarks on Frazer's Golden Bough," and the remarks
collected in Vermischte Bemerkungen (Remarks on Culture and Value).
The hook is sympathetic in tone-perhaps too much so. The reader
quite often feels-as I will make plain in what follows-that Barrett
interprets Wittgenstein in a way that obscures the strangeness of his
thought, tending to assimilate it too readily to the mainstream of
Western theological reflection.
Barrett has a three-fold program: "to show that (a) what Wittgen·
stein has to say on ethics and religious belief was for him of the ut·
most importance, if not sole importance; (h) his views on these subjects did not radically alter throughout his life, appearances to the
contrary notwithstanding; and ( c) what Wittgenstein said about ethics
was intimately interwoven with what he said about religious belief "
(xiv) . The elements of this program call for different sorts of evalua·

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tion. Clearly Wittgenstein thought ethics and religious belief were im·
portant. So the question is whether Barrett's claim, that for Wittgen·
stein they are the most important elements of his work or even the only
important elements of his work, is an exaggeration. Barrett takes as
determinative such remarks as Wittgenstein's statement to Ludwig
Ficker that the point of the Tractatus is ethical, and he must explain
or discount the fact that the vast hulk of his work has little obvious
hearing on ethics or religion. Or if the hulk of that work is ethical and
religious, then these terms come to mean, in a Wittgensteinian context,
something quite different from their senses in Barrett's somewhat
domesticated reading. As for the third element in the program-the
interweaving of ethics and religion-this, too, is a question of degree.
And the question is whether Barrett's analysis, keeping as it does to
relatively standard notions of what constitutes religious belief, really
does justice to Wittgenstein's insistence that religion must he a way of
life rather than a body of doctrine. But it is Barrett's second thesis
which is most interesting, most difficult to understand, and most
promising, if it is true, for helping us to understand Wittgenstein's
thought on ethics and religion. Barrett writes: " Wittgenstein did not
abandon his earlier views on ethics and religious belief with their attendant notions of the mystical, transcendental, inexpressible, viewing
sub specie aetemitate. . . . (T) here is no compelling reason to assume
such a radical change of view and . . . all the features of the earlier
views can he fitted into the new conceptions of language-games and
forms of life" (xiii). Can it he that what Wittgenstein has to say
about religious belief in the 1930s and 1940s is the manifestation of
the viewpoint of the Tractatus in the context of the new understanding
of language? How does it fit in that context? And how are we to understand the Tractatus so that the later remarks on religion are a
continuation of its position rather than a departure? This last ques·
tion is the topic of the hook's Part One: The Earlier Wittgenstein.
The world·picture of the Tractatus is a tightly organized system of
stark simplicity, articulated with considerable difficulty through a vo·
cahulary reliant on terms such as " language," "logic," " fact,"
"proposition," "object," "world," "subject," and of course "sense,"
"nonsense," "God," and "the mystical." The crucial question is this:
How much of their ordinary sense must these terms sacrifice in order
to do their work in the Tractarian system? Quite a lot, in my view.
And because of that loss rather than in despite of it, the world of the
Tractatus is remote from the world of orthodox assumptions about the
self, God, and the world. In Barrett's view they lost much less, and so
his vision of the Tractatus makes it much more promising to approach
its elements picemeal. And that is the structure of Part One: succes-

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531

sive chapters on the Unsayable, Ethics, the Will, the Mystical, and God.
I think this organization reflects an inadequate accounting of the radical nature of Wittgenstein's world-picture. But the crucial argument,
both for the interpretation of the Tractatus and for the claim that Wittgenstein never essentially changed his mind about these things, is in
Chapter One.
Barrett's thesis depends on the answers to these questions: What is
the right understanding of Wittgenstein's analysis of certain sorts of
(putative) propositions as senseless or nonsensical; and what should
we make of the claims that domains beyond the. facts are ineffable and
that regarding them we must maintain silence? After an introductory
sketch of the basic structure of the Tractarian world-subject, names,
facts, proposition-Barrett
turns to the " nonsensical " language of
philosophy, the key to the interpretation of the "higher" nonsense.
His claim is apparently straightforward: that there is no conflict between the declaration of philosophy as " nonsense " and the rest of the
book. That is, there is a technical sense in which philosophizing is
nonsense, but it is only a technical sense. Expressions of value or of
metaphysics are not " devoid of sense " (23), and the distinction Wittgenstein makes, on Barrett's view, is between discourse about the facts
and discourse that is not about the facts. There is, in this reading, no
stringent doctrine of the ineffable in the Tractatus, nor is the ringing
injunction to silence adequately discussed: "What we cannot speak
about we must pass over in silence" (TLP 7). Surely this most famous
line of the book needs more attention than Barrett gives it in an argument that claims, in effect, that Wittgenstein was not actually recommending silence.
There is an inevitable prima facie contradiction in the Tractatus. On
the one hand the book is full of apparently well-formed propositions
which convey to the reader tolerably clear meanings (most of the time).
But on the other hand the book itself repudiates its own standing as
sense-bearing language. By its own criteria its propositions fall in the
domain of nonsense. There are only two kinds of strategies for working this out. One strategy is to accept the contradiction, to admit this
awkwardness, and to understand Wittgenstein as making one illicit
foray into the domain of the nonsensical, somehow getting it all
straightened out once and for all, and then slamming the door on explicit philosophizing with his dictum of silence. On this view he meant
what he said and the contradiction stands as a clue to the fundamental
incoherence of the world-picture expressed in the book. The other
strategy, Barrett's, is to supprnse that one has to interpret the "nonsensicality " of philosophy in such a way that it isn't really nonsense
but just language of some sort other than fact-stating. In this reading

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"nonsense" is a technical term in the Tractatus. Indeed, Barrett
writes: " Perhaps Wittgenstein was unwise to use the term " nonsensical" (26). He would have preferred "unsayable," though he notes
that it preserves the problem of explaining how the unsayable can none·
theless be said.
This issue is critical for the following reason. If the Tractatus contains a strict doctrine of the inexpressible and really does enjoin silence, then Wittgenstein's later permissiveness toward religious expression is a change of position. But if Barrett is right, the permissiveness
is there from the beginning.
For my part, I hear two very different positions being articulated.
In 1929-30 we find Wittgenstein saying that the essence of religion has
nothing to do with whether anything is said or with whether what is
said is true, false, or even nonsensical. He also says to go ahead and
utter nonsense. (These things are said in conversations with the Vienna
Circle.) But at the beginning of the decade we find the emphatic proposition 7 with its closing word " silence " (or in German schweigenkeep quiet). And we find Wittgenstein writing to Ludwig Ficker that
others are "just gassing," while he has put ethics in its place by being
silent, and to Paul Engelmann that " if only you do not try to utter
the unutterable then nothing gets lost," and urging Engelmann to " cut
out the transcendental twaddle." We also find him giving up philosophy on the ground that there is nothing more to say. I contend, then,
that the first of the two interpretive strategies must be counted correct
for the following reasons: (a) it is the clear sense of the text, (b)
Wittgenstein supports it in evidence outside the text-letters to Ficker
and Engelmann, and (c) Wittgenstein's own professional behavior supports it. If ethics and religion were only technically nonsensical and
were the whole point of his work, why did he adopt silence? Barrett
says that " what cannot be said cannot be said at any great length "
(26). But if it really can be said somehow, why not go on and on?
Mystics generally have been either mute or garrulous. Wittgenstein in
the 1920s was as close to mute as he could be, and that counts decisively against Barrett's thesis.
Within his reading, Barrett examines ethics, the will, mysticism, and
God, seriatim. But he is obliged to criss-cross back and forth among
these closely interlocked topics. His command of the relationships
among different texts is admirable: the Notebooks are used amply to
shed light on the Tractatus. But he consistently comes at Wittgenstein
with an eye to interpreting his meaning in relation to more usual and
traditional conceptions of these topics. For example, he attempts to
construe the remarks on ethics in such a way as to provide for moral
evaluations of particular actions. He finds that the moral qualities of

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533

actions depend, not on the states of affairs brought about, but on the
will of the agent, thus making Wittgenstein some kind of intentionalist
(33). He is puzzled by Wittgenstein's remark that the will is a boundary or limit of the world, and by the idea that somehow the world
should " wax and wane as a whole " ( T LP 6.43; Notebooks 73) . In
a similar way he finds Wittgenstein's affinity for solipsism puzzling,
regarding it as an oddity to be explained away rather than as a clue
to the delicately built structure of the Traotarian world-picture.
It is the case, however, that Barrett sees clearly the following aspects
of Wittgenstein's early view of ethics: (a) that ethical judgments are
absolute, not relative; (b) that ethics is entirely transcendent, stemming from some source entirely outside the world of facts; ( c) that
ethics has nothing to do with theories; and ( d) that ethics is neither
to be explained, nor is ethics explanatory of anything. In all this
Barrett is on target, and he has enough correct here to set up the problem of continuity with the views of the later period. The same is true
of his analysis of the ethical will, where Barrett rightly diagnoses
Wittgenstein as portraying ethics as an attitude of accepting attunement
with the world. He objects that this forfeits our capacity to contrast
Hitler and Mother Teresa (61), and seeks a way of reconciling Wittgenstein's view with our ordinary desire to call some actions good and
others evil. This leads him into a discussion of the solipsism of the
Tractatus, which he takes as applying to each individuated subject. So
the solipsistic assertions of the Tractatus are a sort of dramatic way of
talking about the perspective of each subject. This construal has the
admirable virtue of grappling Wittgenstein's view into contact with
common sense, but it is also a softening of a hard (if not ultimately
incoherent) doctrine. In a similar way Barrett's reading tones down
Wittgenstein's dicta on the mystical and God. Despite the excellent
account of the mystical mentioned above, he goes on to assimilate
Wittgenstein's meaning to traditional and well-known problems, weakening its impact (83-4). He sees the God of the Tractatus fitting
" rather well " into " the pantheon of the philosophical gods," having
" all the essential attributes of a monotheistic God " ( 106) . What I find
odd about this conclusion is that Barrett notes-but discounts-all the
textual elements in the Tractatus that pull the idea of God toward identity with the world and the solipsistic self, and the logical form of
things. The theology of the Tractatus in fact inclines toward a sort of
egopantheism that is fairly well distant from traditional monotheism.
By a determined effort of domestication, made difficult by Barrett's
own extensive command of texts and issues, he attributes to Wittgenstein a set of attitudes toward ethics and religious belief that are in
my view less radical than the ones the philosopher in fact held. This

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fact complicates our analysis of the next, critical, argument: That Wittgenstein retained these views throughout his later work. Barrett sees
two major problems to be overcome in arguing that the early ideas on
ethics and religious belief persisted in essentially the same form to the
end of his life. They are, first, that the " theory of language-games"
destroys the clean Tractarian distinction between a unified realm of
fact and a domain of value; and second, that the " theory of languagegames " produces an apparent relativism. His sketch of the emergence
of the concept " language-game " is fundamentally sound, though he
tends toward the all-too-common construal of the concept as a principle
of linguistic taxonomy. This fallacy-taking "language-game" as a
boundary-marker for distinguishing separate domains of discourse
rather than as a tool for making occasional distinctions for the purpose
of clearing up specific confusions-is the root of much that is wrong
with the application of Wittgenstein's thought to religious belief. For
example, Barrett writes, " anyone who attempts to refute a statement or
expression belonging to one language-game according to the rules of
another, entirely different one, is making a mistake" (119). This
claim, at this level of generality, would give rise to a radical relativism,
which some defenders of religious belief have sought to exploit. While
that is not Barrett's strategy, he does meld the early view of value with
the language-game account in this way: " expressions of value . . .,
though nonsensical insofar as they are attempts to say what cannot he
said, nevertheless belong to a language-game with its own particular
rules" (127). But rather than plumping for the unsayability of ethics
in Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein uses the "language-game
theory's" emphasis on multiplicity to argue for a sophisticated (but in
my view erroneous) descriptivism. (See PI 77, where Wittgenstein
states that "good" has "a family of meanings.") Barrett explores the
survival of the picture-theory of the proposition in the later work, and
parlays it into a very insightful discussion of " seeing-as," a much under-attended discussion in Philosophical Investigations Pt. II. And
Barrett rightly emphasizes the link of " seeing-as " with ethics: getting
the sense of an ethical judgment depends on the ability to see a situation under a certain aspect. And this leads Barrett to a brief hut intriguing discussion of " aspect-blindness."
Is Wittgenstein a relativist? After extensive discussion of varieties
of relativism-conceptual, ethical, and religious-Barrett concludes that
he is not a " hardline " relativist but " a relativist of sorts " ( 159).
That is, differences of opinion in ethics and religion cannot be settled
" by measurement or by statistics, by crucial experiments or acid tests "
(160). The reason is that those procedures belong to different language-games. Wittgenstein's view-according to Barrett-always leaves
open the element of choice and does not insist that differences in ethics

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535

and religion must be marked by mutual incomprehensibility. So Wittgenstein's is a "mild and moderate relativism" (160). But there is
still the problem of the standing of his notion of absolute value. Barrett's analysis is this: though Wittgenstein never discusses absolute
value in the later work, we are not obliged to believe that he must have
abandoned it, since an ethical or religious judgment may be absolute
within its linguistic/conceptual context. To this it might be objected
that an absolute judgment whose scope is limited to a specified context is not absolute in the sense seemingly intended in the Tractatus
and the "Lecture on Ethics."
Within this view, Barrett goes on to discuss a variety of topics
treated by Wittgenstein in the later period: religious similes, miracles,
mystery, the meaning of life, the grounding of religious belief, the
sense of primitive religious practices, and the doctrine of predestination. He offers an admirable account of the way Wittgenstein discusses
religious similes, emphasizing that they have to be " taken " in the right
way (a question of " seeing as "), that they are not themselves explanatwns nor are they to be explained, as if into literal rendering, and that
they are the mode through which wonder is conveyed. Clearly Barrett
is right in seeing similes as a development out of the Tractarian sensibility. The question is whether it is essentially the same as the view
of the Tractatus. I think it is importantly different. Where the Tractatus enjoined silence on the ground that religious expression could
only be nonsense, Wittgenstein later envisaged religious expression as
importantly different from other modes of discourse. But he does not
stigmatize it as nonsensical or proscribe it. Nor, contrary to some readings of his lectures, do I believe that he wanted to map our religious
language-games as taxonomic entities.
When he takes up the grounding of religious belief, Barrett relies on
the lectures and on remarks from Culture and Value. He finds Wittgenstein emphasizing three elements of belief: precariousness, trust, and
certainty. In this he again shows his own somewhat Kierkegaardian
inclinations, citing with approval characterizations of religious belief
as being non-rational and involving choice not based on reasons (the
leap of faith). He also emphasizes, rightly, the practical dimension:
" For Wittgenstein, whatever understanding of faith there is must be
found in praxis, in the way of living, in the believer's life" (188).
Barrett stresses that for Wittgenstein " religious belief in the Resurrection cannot be mistaken or absurd in the same way " as a secular
belief, because " Christian religious beliefs transcend the natural and
belong to the realm of redemption and salvation" (202) and that
" An essential feature of religious belief is that it is not grounded in
rational argument" (205). He concludes that the views of believers
and of non-believers do not connect sufficiently to generate genuine

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controversies and contradictions. Thus, in the end, his view of Witt·
genstein on religion hinges on the theme of insularity among language·
games. Yet this does not extend to dogma and theology. There, propo·
sitions ("concerned with words, with formulae, with speculation and
argument") may generate genuine disagreement, contradiction, and
controversy (207-8). But this distinction raises problems. It may be
the case that a praxis simply is, and is not right or wrong or contra·
dietary of something else, though one practice may rule out another.
But beliefs seem to belong on the propositional side with dogmas and
theologies, unless we adopt a purely expressivist account of people's
statements of belief. If theological assertions may run into conflict,
why may not statements of belief? Is it clear that many statements of
belief are not just theological propositions?
Something is missing from this program of analysis. Wittgenstein's
emphasis on the groundlessness of the belief and on the non-rational
practices at the root of our most sophisticated world-pictures is not
limited to religious belief. As is evident throughout On Certainty, and
as the central argument of Philosophical Investigations shows (I mean
the argument about rule-following), it is Wittgenstein's contention that
all belief and all dealing with words finally rests on unanalyzed human
biological capacities and social conventions. We don't yet know what
sort of distinctiveness religious beliefs and practices have until we have
fleshed out the general point and situated religious uses of language in
the general picture of anti-foundationalism. It is of course not Barrett's
fault that Wittgenstein did not give such an account. But when Witt·
genstein excoriates Frazer for supposing that primitive people act from
mistaken causal theories, the essential point is the same as when he
calls our expectation that the future will resemble the past " something
animal" (OC 287, 359, 474). The inductive inferences of everyday
life do not rest on a theory any more than does the raindance of a
primitive tribe. So we do not have that clean contrast between rational·
ly and non-rationally grounded beliefs that is needed to portray Witt·
genstein's later view of religion as " essentially the same" as his earlier
view. Yet Barrett is on strong ground when, following Wittgenstein's
critique of Frazer, he notes that the farmer's chief point is to guard
against the latter's supposition that scientific " correctives " can and
should drain away the mystery that primitive religious practices ex·
press. He also rightly points out Wittgenstein's tendency, in the remarks on Frazer, to overstate an exclusively expressivist view of primitive religion. This is a useful corrective.
I have mentioned above one of the chief awkwardnesses Barrett ac·
knowledges for his program: The fact that Wittgenstein wrote very
little about ethics in his later period. This fact is odd if, as Barrett
contends, the topic remained at the center of his philosophical concern.

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537

Without bringing into doubt the fact that Wittgenstein continued to
hold ethics-the actual quality of his life-as a subject of utmost importance, it is possible to question whether that topic lay at the center
of his philosophical inquiries. Barrett argues that for Wittgenstein
ethics remained transcendent, absolute, inexpressible, and non-utilitarian, and that it had to do with the overall quality of one's life. He
compares him to Heidegger and Sartre (glancingly) and differentiates
him from the tradition of moral inquiry going back to Socrates. In so
doing he unconvincingly implies that " ethics " meant the same for
Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, the Stoics, Augustine, and Aquinas (242).
This argument is, to my mind, the most strained in the book, and leaves
the reader assured neither that Wittgenstein in his later work had a
developed view on ethics nor that philosophical, as opposed to practical,
ethics consumed his attention.
Barrett concludes with several insightful remarks about the nature of
Wittgenstein's philosophical work. He writes: " His thoughts cohere
but not in a way that he could display" (259). Wittgenstein himself
was aware of this problem. And again " Though Wittgenstein has offered many valuable insights into the language of ethics and religious
belief, his personal idiosyncrasies and indecisions have to some extent
flawed his account and led others to flaw it still further" (258). This
is certainly true, and Wittgenstein himself shows his awareness of it in
the preface to the Philosophical Investigations. If Barrett had taken
this truth more to heart, his book would have had less the feel that it
has: a project of sorting and piecing together the true view lost amid
the fragments. Instead it might have had a more appropriate cast: a
project of assembling and sifting for meaning a variety of fragmentary
observations, some more or less resembling earlier views, some representing developments out of them, and some representing changes.
I do not think there is a settled view of ethics or religious belief in the
later work. There is a marvelously fertile collection of observations,
hints, arguments, and expressions of personal sentiment. All this develops out of the worldpicture of the Tractatus, but not in the way that
Barrett argues. I think we see in the later Wittgenstein a yearning for
the old, clean, but now impossible doctrine of ineffability. This yearn·
ing obstructs, in fact, other possible developments-directions
Wittgenstein might have gone with his thought toward a more anthropological account of the meaning and function of religious belief. His leads
in this direction are clearest in the " Remarks on Frazer's Golden
Bough " and faintest perhaps in the remarks on Culture and Value.
This fact is evidence that the nostalgia is strongest when his own existential Angst is most to the fore.
Despite my disagreements with Barrett, I cannot refrain from ex-

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pressing my admiration for his work and for the wealth of sensibility
he brings to the interpretation of a most difficult thinker. Anyone who
is seriously interested in Wittgenstein's thought on ethics and religion
should encounter the mind of Cyril Barrett through this volume.
JOHN

CHURCHILL

Hendrix College
Conway, Arkansas

Faith and Political Philosophy: The Correspondence Between Leo
Strauss and Eric Voegelin, 1934-1964. Trans. and ed. by PETER
EMBERLEY and BARRY COOPER. University Park, Penn.: The Penn·
sylvania State University Press, 1993. Pp. xxvi
368. $45.00
(Cloth).

+

Those of us who have followed the development of Leo Strauss's and
Eric Voegelin's thought with passionate interest over the years owe a
debt of gratitude to Professors Peter Emberley of Carleton University,
Ottawa, and Barry Cooper of the University of Calgary for presenting
us with yet another opportunity to reflect upon certain well defined
aspects of the thinking of these important political philosophers, and to
confirm views that we have long held about the cordial relationship
that existed between these two men, despite frequent reports to the
contrary.
Prefaced by an insightful "Introduction" by Emberley and Cooper,
which almost constitutes a commentary on the correspondence, Faith
and Political Philosophy is divided into three parts. In Part One, the
editors present us with their English translation of the fifty-two extant
letters (a few letters appear to have been lost) exchanged between
Strauss and Voegelin during the years 1934 to 1964. (For the most
part, Strauss and Voegelin corresponded with one another in German.)
Because Strauss wrote most, if not all, of his letters longhand, the
editors inform us that some passages from Strauss's letters were especially difficult to decipher, and that, on occasion, they had to have re·
course to German-speaking persons familiar with the German academic
idiom of the 1930s and '40s in order to make sense of what was said.
Voegelin, it seems, also had trouble decoding Strauss's handwriting,
and admits on one occasion to being unable to read the writing or
make sense of Strauss's point. By contrast, Voegelin, we are told, was
very much easier to transcribe, since his letters, although, on average,
longer than Strauss's, were typewritten. Part Two contains four essays,
two by each of the philosophers, on the relationship of reason to reve-

BOOK REVIEWS

539

lation-a central theme of the letters, a theme that is explicitly addressed in the letters dating from the late 1940s and early 1950s, and
tacitly present in much of the remaining correspondence that is of an
academic nature. This theme also attracts the attention of all of the
commentators in Part Three, and is plainly the source of the title for
the book. All four essays are familiar to Strauss-Voegelin scholars,
having been published in various venues. And, finally, Part Three is
a collection of eight commentaries on the correspondence by recog·
nized scholars, some of whom are frankly famous in academic circles
and beyond (e.g., H. G. Gadamer, who, for my tastes, should have had
more to say about Voegelin) . These commentaries are generally of a
very high quality, although curiously, given the theme, most of the
commentators seem to be more attuned to modern reference points
rather than to the ancient ones with which both Strauss and V oegelin
were often in dialogue. The effect of this is particularly noticeable
with respect to observations made about V oegelin. Voegelin frequently
saw himself in debate with the fathers of the early Church (as his piece
" The Gospel and Culture " bears witness) , and unfortunately this
is not obvious from these commentaries. Still, while exploring the im·
plications of the positions taken by Strauss and Voegelin in light of
their formally published writing, the commentators make many interesting and,
times, controversial observations about one or both of
the letter-writers. In this brief review, we will limit ourselves to commenting solely on parts One and Three.
This said, perhaps we might open with a general observation about
the nature of the correspondence as a whole. As one might expect, the
content of the correspondence between Strauss and Voegelin is by no
means solely academic and intellectual. A good part of the correspond·
ence deals with the exchange of information on forthcoming publications by both scholars, travel plans, the eccentricities of the editors of
a journal who wish to publish a piece by V oegelin and are using Strauss
(an associate editor) as an intermediary, and frequently with acknowledgements of an article or a book received. Along more academic lines,
there is a small part of the correspondence that deals with works by
third parties read and critiqued by one or other of the letter-writers,
who are quite capable of making blistering comments, the heat from
which can still be felt today, more than forty years after. And, of
course, there is that part of the correspondence that is of particular
interest to students of Strauss and Voegelin, and that deals with issues
related to science, reason and revelation, historicism, etc.
With all of this in mind, let us turn our attention to Part One and
to the central and very explicit theme of the letters between the years
1949 and 1951, namely, the relationship of reason to revelation or

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BOOK REVIEWS

philosophy to religion. Strauss, it seems, defends a point of view that
had widespread currency amongst Jewish and Islamic scholars in the
Middle Ages, and that has an affinity to the Latin Averroist reading
of the relationship of reason to revelation, although strangely no commentator in Part Three mentions the possible connection. Strauss contends that "philosophy is radically independent of faith," and ought
never to be associated with faith, presumably in the manner in which
Voegelin associates the two. In Strauss's estimation, the truth of phi·
losophy is not related to the truth of faith or revelation, and the consistency of one truth with the other truth should not be a factor in the
evaluation of either. Man, it seems, has to learn to live with both
truths, contradictory though they may be at times. Again, shades of
Latin Averroist theories of the double truth come into view. Voegelin,
for his part, makes the opposite case. He argues that faith and reason
are most certainly not independent of one another, but issue out of
man's attentiveness to and concern for the exigencies set by his experiential being and knowledge. That is, what we have come to know as
reason and revelation are aspects of the one same awareness of our
experiential encounter with Ultimacy-aspects which, on the one hand,
give rise to philosophical discussion, and, on the other hand, religious
discourse.
Evidently, Strauss and Voegelin do not only differ with one another
over the relationship between faith and reason. These letters serve to
remind us that they also have very different conceptions of philosophy
and its possibilities, of reason and revelation, and of the relationship
of reason to revelation (as we have seen), and, most importantly, of
who man is. And with the exception of the last difference, having to
do with who man is, all of these differences get an airing from the
commentators.
Given this, it must be acknowledged that there are some rather
strange and somewhat amusing assertions made in the letters. At one
point, Strauss informs Voegelin that his reading of the relationship
between reason and revelation is more consistent with Catholic thinking on the subject than is Voegelin's understanding of these matters.
His exact words to V oegelin are: ". . . my distinction between revelation and human knowledge to which you object is in harmony with the
Catholic teaching. But I do not believe that you accept the Catholic
teaching. Here a considerable difficulty could result, from your getting
rid of the principle of tradition (in distinction from the principle of
scripture), and Catholicism is most consistent in this respect" (p.
88£.). Of course, the fact is that Strauss's position is not immediately
recognizable as being " in harmony with the Catholic teaching " on
the subject (and if the commentators had been a little less attuned to

BOOK REVIEWS

541

modern reference points, they might have noticed it). Mainstream
Catholic thinking has never argued in favor of the independence,
radical or otherwise, of reason and revelation. Rather, it has, in a
more or less consistent manner, for almost eighteen centuries, defended
the opposite view, namely, that there is something like continuity between reason and revelation, and that revelation comes along, not to
contradict-never to contradict-but to go beyond and perfect reason,
to supplement it in those places where it is silent on an important
issue, e.g., on the importance of charity beyond justice. In fact, it perhaps should be noted that, with the exception of a brief period in the
Middle Ages, the position that Strauss defends regarding the relationship of reason to revelation has not been a subject of serious debate
amongst mainstream Catholic scholars (because it was deemed to have
been settled in the interests of the continuity between reason and revelation) since the time of Tertullian, and Tertullian (who defended a
position not unlike Strauss's inasmuch as he argued in favor of independence, though he sided with revelation against reason), we must
remember, lost in his struggle to convince his fellow Christians that
philosophy was the foolishness of the world. In a strange way, the fact
is that, if either Strauss or Voegelin is to be judged for his consistency
with Catholic teaching on the subject, the decision leans and should
perhaps go in favor of V oegelin, and not Strauss.
This leads me to make a general observation on the commentaries in
Part Three, since anything too specific in the context of a short review would not succeed in doing justice to writing that is generally
of a very high quality. Apart from the high caliber of the commentaries, the one thing that strikes the reader is that the majority of the
pieces have a modern, and perhaps too modern, resonance. This may
explain why at times rather awkward statements are slipped into the
text between some of the most insightful passages one can read anywhere. As an example of what I have in mind, consider the following.
Amidst an extremely elegant piece, one commentator permits himself
to make the following observation: " When Strauss again and again
declares that philosophy is wholly independent of faith, one wonders
what actual or historical philosophy he could possibly have in mind,
except perhaps the philosophy of the contemporary classroom, or those
innumerable species of philosophical positivism that Strauss holds
wholly in contempt" (p. 269). On a different issue, and within the
context of an equally persuasive essay, another commentator writes:
" Strauss stated that he believed that his ' distinction between revelation and human knowledge ... is in harmony with the Catholic teaching.' Although Voegelin's reply to this statement is not extant, it is
highly likely that he would have accepted it as historically accurate "
(p. 239). And there are other statements of a similar nature.

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Finally, in the interests of formality, mention ought to be made of
the fact that this very interesting and highly recommendable work has
neither a bibliography nor an index. However, this certainly does not
detract from the value and importance of this piece, and ultimately is
understandable in view of the nature and structure of the work. One
has difficulty conceiving how one might have included either.
MABEN

Concordia University
Montreal, Quebec

wALTER POIRIER