The Thomist 68 (2004): 507-29

WHAT IS NATURAL LAW? HUMAN PURPOSES AND
NATURAL ENDS
ROBERT SOKOLOWSKI
The Catholic University of America
Washington, DC

E

THICS IN GENERAL, and medical ethics in particular,

are
obviously related to human self-understanding, to what we
could call philosophical and theological anthropology. Our
understanding of what is ethical and unethical is connected to
what we take ourselves to be. The relationship, however, is not
one-sided. It is not the case that we could work out a comprehensive description or definition of human nature as a purely theoretic enterprise and then apply this knowledge to practical issues,
the way we might work out some ideas in mathematics and then
apply them to problems in engineering and physics.1 Rather, the
working out of the definition and description of human nature is
at the same time the formulation of what we ought to be as human
beings, because the good or perfected state of man, which is the
issue for ethics, is what defines human being. The normative is
also the definitional. We cannot describe what man is without
specifying the human good, without showing what it is to be a
good (and consequently "happy") man. To want one of these
dimensions without the other would be like wanting to study
physiology, whether human or simply animal, without mentioning
health and its various contraries, such as illness, injury, and
impairment.
1 Even in mathematics, the relationship of theory and practice is not one-sided. Many

innovations in mathematics arise from real problems of computation, not from abstract
mathematics. The stimulus to mathematical thinking often lies in real-world questions.

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But human nature is more complicated than physiology. There
are few disagreements about what constitutes health and sickness,
but there are many opinions about what constitutes human
excellence. As Aristotle says, we all agree on a name for human
happiness, but we disagree very much on what makes it up. 2 Still,
the fact that we have at least a name in common is important; it
shows that we start with some common ground in this domain.
We may differ about the what of happiness, but not about the
that, nor do we differ on the fact that we want and need to be
happy. The reason we can argue about these differences is that
they all pertain to one and the same quest and target. The just
man and the hedonist might act very differently, but in some sense
they are aiming at the same thing. We are all concerned not just
about living but about living well, not just about life but about the
good life, and this little difference, between living and living well,
greatly complicates the human condition. In fact, it makes it to be
the human condition. When we say that man is a rational animal,
we do not just mean that he is an animal that calculates and draws
inferences; we mean, more substantially, that he is an animal that
is concerned about living well and not just living.
I. THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN ENDS AND PuRPOSES
To explore this complexity of human beings, I wish to discuss
the difference between ends and purposes. The distinction has
been formulated by Francis Slade, in a striking modern recapitulation of classical philosophical ideas.3
An end, a telos, belongs to a thing in itself, while a purpose
arises only when there are human beings. Purposes are intentions,
something we wish for and are deliberating about or acting to
achieve. Ends, in contrast, are there apart from any human wishes
2 Aristode, Nicomacbean Ethics 1.4.

Slade, "On the Ontological Priority of Ends and Its Relevance to the
Narrative Arts," in Beauty, Art, and the Polis, ed. Alice Ramos (Washington, D.C.: The
Catholic University of America Press, 2000), 58-69; and "Ends and Purposes," in Final
Causalityin Natureand Human Affairs,ed. Richard Hassing (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 1997), 83-85.
3 See Francis

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and deliberations. They are what the thing is when it has reached
its best state, its perfection and completion in and for itself. Ends
and purposes are both goods, but goods of different ontological
orders.
Purposes come into existence when human beings set out
thoughtfully to do something. Purposes are wished-for satisfactions in view of which an agent deliberates and acts. A man
might set various purposes for himself, such as becoming a lawyer,
supporting his family, going on vacation, or giving someone a gift,
and he will do various things toward achieving this purpose: he
will apply to law schools, get a job, buy tickets, or go shopping.
Once a man has a purpose, he articulates the various ways in
which the purpose can be achieved (this "shaking out" of means
toward the goal is called deliberation); he then performs the
action that, as far as he can see, is the best option in the present
circumstances (this selection is called choice).4 Thus, purposes
exist "in the mind" and not in things, and they exist only because
there are human beings. It would be correct but somewhat
misleading to say that purposes are psychological entities, because
they are more conceptual and logical than, say, moods or
emotions, but it would be true to say that they are part of our
thinking and that they are different from the ends found in things,
which are there independently of our wishes and actions.
Ends, in contrast, do not spring into being through human
foresight. They do not spring into being at all; they come about
concomitantly with the things they belong to. Things might spring
into being when they are generated or made or occur by accident,
but ends do not arise without the thing. An end is the finished,
perfected state of a thing, the thing when it is acting well as what
it is. To clarify this point, we must distinguish three kinds of ends.
First , some ends are, in principle, entirely unrelated to human
beings. The end of a tree is to grow, sprout leaves, nourish itself,
and reproduce: to be active and successful as a tree, as an entity
of this kind. The end of a zebra is to grow to maturity, nourish
4

Aristotle's analysis of wishing, deliberation, choice, and purposes is found in

NicomacheanEthics 3.1-5.

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itself, reproduce, and live with other zebras. Trees and zebras
function well as trees and zebras when they act this way, and we
know what a tree and a zebra are when we can say what it means
to act well as a thing of this kind. A zebra might break its leg or
be eaten by a lion, but possibilities like these do not define what
a zebra is. They are not part of what it is, its essence, which is
displayed most fully not when the zebra merely exists but when
the zebra is acting well.
Second, some ends belong to things that have come into being
through human agency. Artifacts and institutions, things brought
about by human making and agreements, have essences and ends.
It is not the case that only natural substances have a telos.
Consider an institution such as an art museum. Its telos is to make
works of art available for public viewing, and part of this activity
will be the acquisition and preservation of such works. The end
of a bicycle is the transportation of individuals, and the end of a
ballpoint pen is to be used in writing or drawing. In each case, the
end defines what the thing is. It is interesting and important to
note that even though artifacts and institutions are brought about
by human beings to serve our purposes and our ends, we cannot
change what they are. We might suppose that because we have
made them, we could turn them into anything we wish, but they
resist such manipulation; even as instrumental beings, they have
their own nature or essence and ends. They inhabit a niche in the
possibilities laid open in the world. We may have brought them
into being, but they do not become our purposes. They retain
their own ends and we have to subordinate ourselves to them.
To claim that institutions and artifacts have no definition, and
that they could be changed by us at will, would mean that they
could not be ruined or destroyed by us. Any change would just be
a redefinition, carried out by us, who would have freely defined
the thing in question in the first place. We could not really "spoil"
anything, but experience shows that we can and often do.
I would like to illustrate this understanding of ends by quoting
from a book review. The reviewer, Josie Appleton, describes a
book based on a series of lectures given by five directors of major

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museums in the United States and Great Britain. 5 The lectures
were given at Harvard in 2001-2002. Many of the speakers
complained about the tendency of museums to engage in all sorts
of activities unrelated to what we could call their proper end, such
as "inviting you to try on period costumes or make your own
ceramic pots." In describing the "key insight" of the book, the
reviewer says, "Each public institution has an essence, a reason for
its existence, be it making sick people well, improving general
welfare, or, in the case of museums, collecting and exhibiting
art." 6 She adds that an institution will keep the public's trust only
if "it remains true to its essence." These remarks are an excellent
expression of what ends are and the obligations they impose on
people who deal with the things in question.
We have listed two kinds of things that have ends: first,
nonhuman things like zebras, trees, and spiders; and, second,
human institutions and artifacts, such as museums and ballpoint
pens. There is a third kind that must be added to the list. Human
beings themselves have ends. They have an overall end, which we
could call happiness, and which is easy to name but difficult to
define; but there also are ends for the various powers that human
beings enjoy. There is a telos for human sociability, for example,
for human thinking, for human sexuality, for bodily nourishment,
for dealing with dangerous and painful things. There is also a telos
for human bodily and psychological health. It is especially this
third category, the ends of human nature, that gives rise to moral
problems. In this category it is most difficult for us to discover
what the ends truly are, because here our purposes and our ends
become most entangled with one another. Our inclinations and
desires give rise to purposes, and sooner or later a conflict arises
between what we want and what we truly are. It is quite easy to
see what the ends of nonhuman things are; it is more difficult to
unravel ends and purposes in regard to institutions and artifacts;
5 Josie Appleton, "One at a Time," review of Whose Muse? Art Museums and the Public
Trust (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), in the Times Literary Supplement, 26
March2004.
6 I particularly like the remark that a thing's "essence" is a "reason for its existence." A
classical metaphysician could not have said it better.

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but it is extremely hard to distinguish ends and purposes in regard
to our own nature and its powers. To explore this problem, we
must examine more carefully how ends and purposes come to
light. This essay will essentially be a study of the kind of truth
associated with ends.

II. How ENDS ARE DIFFERENTIATED FROM PuRPOSES
It is not the case that ends are presented to us all by themselves, separate from purposes. It is not the case that we first get
a clear, vivid idea of the ends of things, and then only subsequently attach our purposes to them. Moral issues would be
much simpler if this were so; indeed, if it were so, there would be
no moral problems. Our moral measures would be easily accessible. The human problem arises precisely because we have to
distinguish ends and purposes in our activity, and it is often
difficult to do so. Ends and purposes come to light in contrast
with one another. For example, the end of medicine is the
restoration and preservation of health, but a man might have
many different purposes in practicing medicine. He may intend to
heal people and keep them healthy, he may intend to earn money,
he may intend to become famous, he may intend to become a
politician, or, if he is a vicious agent, he may want to become
adept at torturing people. At first, medicine comes to us soaked
through with such purposes, often with many of them, and it
takes moral intelligence to make the distinction between what
belongs to medicine as such and what purposes we have in
practicing it. Obviously, the people who teach the medical student
will talk about the distinction, but ultimately the student and later
the doctor has to make the distinction for himself; the teacher
cannot make it for him. No one can make a distinction for anyone
else; a distinction is someone's mind at work. The telos and the
essence of the thing come to light for us precisely in contrast with
our purposes, and our purposes also come to light in contrast with
what belongs to the things themselves.
It is even misleading to say that ends and purposes come to us
entangled with one another. This way of putting it suggests that

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we already have differentiated the two but that they have at this
moment become enmeshed. Rather, what occurs is that the very
contrast between ends and purposes has not yet arisen, that the
very categories are not yet available. What we begin with precedes
the distinction, and the distinction needs to be made. It has to be
made, furthermore, not in placid contemplation of a neutral
scene, but in the tumult of desires, emotions, and interests, in the
thick of things.
Many of our purposes are compatible with the ends of the
things we are involved with. Earning income by being a doctor is
not incongruent with the end of medicine, but it can become so,
just as it can enter into collision with being a lawyer or a
statesman. This conflict happens when the purpose overrides the
end and works against it, when, for example, an estate lawyer
delays the execution of a will in order to increase his fee, or when
a doctor performs unneeded surgeries in order to be able to
charge the insurance company. Using a ballpoint pen as a
bookmark does not conflict with the end of the writing
instrument, but using it to pry things open may well do so.
Distinguishing the ends of things against the pressure of our own
purposes is analogous to distinguishing the just against the
pressure of our own interests. In both cases, we let the objectivity
of things come into our consciousness, but the objectivity enters
there not as a solitary visitor, all by itself; it enters by being
differentiated from what we want.
Is it possible that someone's purpose can coincide with the end
of the thing? Certainly, it can; a doctor can have as his purpose
here and now the restoration of this sick person's health. The end
of the medical art is in this case the purpose the physician has in
mind as he practices his art, and one hopes that a physician would
in general have as one of his purposes the end of the art of
medicine, that he would respect the end of his art and not let his
other purposes override it. But even when purpose and end
overlap, there remains a difference between them, and the
distinction still comes into play. One and the same good presents
itself under two guises, as the end of the art and as the purpose of
the agent. A formal distinction arises in the way the good appears

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even though the good, healing this sick person, remains materially
the same; the end does not turn into a purpose, and the purpose
does not become an end. The fact that the material good remains
the same might conceal from us the fact that there are two ways
in which it can appear, two faces that it can present.
Let us suppose that a given doctor does have healing as his
purpose in practicing medicine; his purpose is the same as the end
of the art. Even this would not be enough. Such a doctor would
still not think clearly if he assumed that healing is only his
purpose, or that it is only the purpose of his associates in the art,
and that no defining constraints came into play from the art itself,
apart from the purposes of the practitioners. If he thought this
way, he would not see or admit that healing, besides being his
purpose, is also the end of the art, and that he and his colleagues
could not define it in any other way; he would not see that he and
his colleagues should have as their central and non-negotiable
purpose the restoration and preservation of health. Medicine is so
defined not because society wants to determine it this way, but
because that is what it is.
III. BARRIERS TO THE DISTINCTION

Not everyone is able to distinguish the end from the purpose.
There are at least four types of people who are impeded from
distinguishing them: the impulsive, the obtuse, the immature, and
the vicious.
First of all, it takes a certain development just to be able to
have purposes. Children and childish people do not yet have
purposes. They want things, and they might want things in the
future, but they do not distinguish between what they want and
what they are doing now, that is, they do not "shake out" the
difference between purposes and the steps to attain them.
Children are, quite naturally, impulsive. They have not yet
developed the ability to think dearly about what they wish for,
nor can they distinguish between what they wish for and what
they can do now, nor can they discover optional ways of getting

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to what they want, nor can they determine which is the best and
most feasible way to get what they wish, nor can they, finally, take
the first step, as well as all the succeeding steps, to get what they
want. To articulate a situation and a desire in this way involves
practical thinking. It is the introduction of moral syntax into our
consciousness. Impulsive people have not developed this power of
reason, this power of practical categoriality. Their future collapses
into their present. Children are naturally impulsive, but some
people remain childish even as they get older. Thus, Aristotle says
that a young man, because of his impulsiveness and lack of
experience, is not an appropriate hearer of lectures on political
matters, and then he adds, "It makes no difference whether he is
young in years or youthful in character; the defect does not
depend on time, but on his living, and pursuing each successive
object, as passion directs. " 7
Second, we may have become adult enough to establish distinct
purposes and to determine the steps that lead to them, but we
may still be unable to appreciate the presence of other people
with their purposes. We permit entry into our awareness only of
what we want. We remain unable to see that other people have
their viewpoints and needs, that we are not the only agents
involved in our situations. To fail to be "objective" in this way is
to be what I would like to call "morally obtuse" as opposed to
being vicious. Someone who double-parks his car and blocks
traffic may not be malicious-he doesn't want to injure other
people-but he is morally obtuse. He is simply and happily
oblivious to the fact that there are other people in the situation
who are being seriously inconvenienced. His consciousness does
not expand enough to include the perspectives of others, even
though he is able to distinguish means and purposes in his own
case. A patient in a hospital room may keep the television playing
all night long "so that he can sleep," oblivious to the other
patients in the room. Such obtuseness is a failure in practical
thinking, but it is different from vice and also different from the

7 Aristotle, Nicomachean

Ethics 1.3.

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childishness in which one cannot distinguish a purpose from the
means of attaining it.
Third, immaturity is the state of mind in which we are unable
to distinguish what we (and others) want from the demands and
obligations of the world itself; that is, we fail to distinguish our
purposes from the ends of things. ·To be able to make this
distinction is to be "objective" in a new way, one different from
simply recognizing the presence of other agents. If we merely
recognize other people and acknowledge that they too have
purposes, all we would have is a world of cross-purposes and
ultimate violence, which would amount to a war of all against all.8
This is where the apotheosis of autonomy and choice leads.
Recognizing the ends of things and the ends of our own nature,
however, would help pacify this conflict. The only alternative to
such peace through the truth of things is the establishment of a
will that is overwhelmingly powerful, the sovereign or Leviathan,
who pacifies by decree and not by evidence, and for whom there
are no ends or natures in things. Let us use the term "moral
8 See Slade, "On the Ontological Priority of Ends," 67-68: "What happens when end is
reduced to purpose and consequence becomes visible in the films of Quentin Tarentino, which
picture a 'world' in which there are only purposes of human beings, a 'world without ends.'
In such a world there cannot be any congruity or incongruity of purposes with ends. There
being no ends by which purposes can be measured, all purposes are in themselves
incommensurate and incongruous with one another. This is a world in which everything is
violent, because there is no natural way for anything to move. But a world in which everything
is violent means that violence becomes ordinary, the usual, the way things are. The violent
displaces and becomes 'the natural.' ..• The violence shocks [us] because we are not nihilists,
because we are still measuring what people do in these films by a world in which there are
ends, not just human purposes •••• A world of purposes only is a world of cross-purposes, the
definition of fiasco."
Slade goes on to say that if the world had nothing but purposes the narrative arts could not
exhibit the forms of things and the forms of human life; it could only show off the style of the
artist who composes the work of art. Every life then becomes "a tale told by an idiot, full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing," with the difference that Shakespeare knows the
distinction between an idiot's tale and a human life, while T arentino does not. Slade compares
Tarentino with Kafka, who also describes a world without ends, but who knows how
terrifying it is; Tarentino, in contrast, finds it funny. Slade says, "A world of fiasco is a world
in which guilt is impossible, because guilt requires responsibility for actions, and there are
actions only if purposes are measured by ends." One should notice the idea that true human
action, true praxis, can occur only when the distinction between ends and purposes is at least
glimpsed by the agent.

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maturity" to name the ability to see that things themselves have
their own excellences that need to be respected if the things are
not to be destroyed. This virtue enables us to take up a viewpoint
that goes beyond our own desires and the desires of others.
Fourth and last, there is vice. We may acknowledge the ends
of things and the viewpoints of other persons, but we deliberately
and maliciously let our purposes override them. We fail in regard
to justice not because we are impulsive, obtuse, or immature, but
because we are unjust. We want to destroy the thing in questionthe educational institution, the work of art, the church-and we
want to injure others. We don't simply do unjust things; we are
unjust; we do not, say, simply commit a murder; we are
murderers. We have gotten to be this way because of the choices
we have made in the past. The inclination to destroy the thing is
always associated with some malice toward others; we destroy the
thing because it could be a good for others. 9
These, then, are four ways in which the truth of ends can be
occluded: impulsiveness, moral obtuseness, immaturity, and vice.
In any given case, the lack of moral insight into the ends of things
might be explained by some combination of these four, just as an
agent's deficiency might be caused by something intermediate
between weakness and malice. What we are discussing is the way
that the difference between ends and purposes comes to light,
which amounts to the way in which the truth of things is
disclosed. If we are to show how truth occurs, it is necessary to
show what impedes such an occurrence, what hides the truth. We
can appreciate a disclosure only in contrast with the forms of
concealment that are proper to the thing in question.

IV. How ENDS ARE DISTINGUISHED FROM CONVENTIONS
There is one more distinction that needs to be made in discussing how the ends of things come to light. We have examined
how they are played off against purposes, but they should also be
? On the role of malice and friendship in morals, see Roben Sokolowski, "Phenomenology
of Friendship," Review of Metaplrysics55 (2002): 451-70.

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contrasted with conventions, which are different from the
institutions and artifacts that we discussed earlier. Institutions and
artifacts exist independently once they are made, but
conventions-manners and morals-are ways in which we act as
human beings. They are more proximately related to our human
nature and its ends, because they indicate how we should conduct
ourselves, how we should become actualized.
We normally encounter the good and the bad, the noble and
the ugly, the obligatory and the prohibited, in our society's laws,
customs, manners, and morals. The challenge we initially
encounter in life is to make our inclinations, purposes, and
choices conform to the injunctions of our community. In most
cases it is right and good to conform to social norms, because they
are usually reasonable expressions of the natural good. Social
conventions and moral traditions, based on long and localized
human experience, are normally an embodiment of what is good
or bad in itself, the good or bad by nature. Our initial moral
challenge is to become "law-abiding citizens," people whose
purposes are in harmony with the laws and moral traditions of
their community. 10
Still, conventions cannot be the final word, just as our purposes
cannot be the final word. Sometimes conflicts arise in regard to
the moral traditions themselves and criticism is necessary. The
way things are done needs to be more adequately adjusted; but
adjusted to what? What else, but to the way things are? When this
sort of "crisis" occurs, we appeal at least implicitly to the ends of
the things in question; this appeal is made even by people who
may deny that things have ends. What else could one invoke?
Suppose, for example, that in a given community the art of
medicine routinely involved abortion, infanticide, and euthanasia,
and that it trained its apprentices in these procedures. P. D.
James's novel The Children of Men presents a !=hilling fictional
picture of a situation in which the sick and elderly are granted a
"quietus" (which they are not pleased to undergo). It is, first of
all, questionable whether under these conditions the medical art
10 Thus, for Aristotle, the first meaning of justice is the lawful

(NicomacheanEthics 5.1).

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could survive, because people would hesitate to go to doctors and
hospitals if killing were to be one of the available "treatments." 11
Acting against the end of the art will tend to destroy the art. But
suppose the art were being practiced in this manner; some people
would argue against using medicine to kill, and their argument
would be based both on human dignity and on the fact that this
aspect of "medicine" is opposed to medicine; it is opposed to the
essence and the end of the art. Their argument would be based on
the nature of the art as well as on the dignity of human nature,
that is, on the telos of each of the entities involved in the practice.
As another example, suppose that polygamy were accepted in
a certain community. 12 To argue that the practice should be
changed, one would appeal to one of the ends of marriage, and
the argument would be specific and concrete, showing that this
way of being married conflicts with the kind of friendship and
commitment that marriage "in itself" implies. Such conflicts
between an established convention and the way things ought to be
show that conventions do not cage people. Conventions can be
questioned and changed, and they are questioned when one thinks
that they do not properly express the reality they deal with (in
these instances, with the art of medicine and the institution of
marriage). The ancient practice of suttee in India would be
another example; the British abolished the practice not because
11 At one point in the novel, the protagonist, Theo, is in a museum in Oxford and passes
by the custodian, whom he recognizes as "a retired classics don from Merton." He asks him
how he is, and the custodian replies nervously, "Oh, very well, yes, very well, thank you ...
I'm managing all right. I do for myself, you know. I live in lodgings off the Iffley Road but I
manage very well. I do everything for myself. The landlady isn't an easy woman ••• but I'm
no trouble to her. I'm no trouble to anyone." Theo wonders what he is afraid of: "The
whispered call to the SSP that here was another citizen who had become a burden on others?"
(P. D. James, The Children of Men [New York: Warner Books, 1992], 120-21. The passage
is a fine expression of the radical individualism in the modern state: "I do everything for
myself."
12 Here is an interesting passage in which a writer fails to distinguish between customs and
the ends of things: "Monogamy, albeit in various different forms, was the norm in classical
antiquity, and it is still the norm in most Western civilizations (except in Utah). It is all too
tempting to see those features of our culture which we have retained since antiquity as
somehow natural for any human society, but of course there is no reason to make this
assumption" (Emily Wilson, "Why Exactly Do We Look Back?" Times Literary Supplement,
25 June 2004 [review of Simon Goldhill, Love, Sex and Tragedy]).

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they simply preferred other customs, but because it was contrary
to human nature and the nature of marriage.
This does not mean that the critic of a law or a practice has a
full, independent vision of the nature and end of the thing in
question and that he compares the convention with it; rather,
faced with the law or custom, he knows and says that "this is not
the right way to do things" (an observation that might well put
him into some tension with his fellows). He knows the end at first
more by negation than by positive insight. It is a contrastive
knowledge, not an independent vision, but it is still a grasp of the
thing itself over against its distortion. The true comes to light
against the established delusion. Thus, one of the ways that ends
are manifest is in contrast with custom and convention. 13
It is not the case, however, that we get a view of the thing's
telos only when there is a conflict between the convention and the
end. It is also possible for someone to have the insight that this
convention or this practice, this way of doing things, does indeed
reflect the end of the thing in question. It takes intellectual
strength to make this distinction, because we have to see one and
the same thing in two guises, as good by convention and also as
good in itself. Most of the time we simply accept the conventional
good on its face; it is the way everybody does things, and so it
must be right; it is the way things ought to be. To be able to give
arguments based not just on convention but on the way things are
is a more sophisticated achievement. It involves the recognition,
not attainable by everyone, that there are two kinds of "ought."
It is analogous to the physician's ability to see healing as both his
purpose and the end of his art.
In either case, whether we are distinguishing the ends of things
from conventions or from our purposes, we need to have a certain
intellectual flexibility. It is more than the power to distinguish one
thing from another. We need the ability to distinguish two
dimensions, two ways in which something can be good: as an end
or a convention, or as an end or a purpose. Distinguishing
this theme in an earlier essay; see "Knowing Natural Law," in Robert
Sokolowski, Pictures,Quotations, andDistinctions:Fourteen&says in Phenomenology(Notre
Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992), 277-91.
13 I have developed

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521

dimensions is more difficult than distinguishing things. When
people deny that there are natural ends to things, they do not
merely fail to distinguish one thing from another; they fail to
appreciate that there are two ways in which goods can present
themselves to us. The ability to make this distinction belongs to
practical as well as theoretic reason.
In the previous two sections we showed how ends are
differentiated from purposes, and we examined four obstacles to
that differentiation. In this section we have spoken about the
distinction between ends and convention. I now wish to make
what might seem to be a rather sudden leap in my argument; I
wish to introduce the notion of natural law. This topic might seem
different from what we have been discussing, but it really is not.
V. NATURAL LAW

I wish to use an important and illuminating observation by
Francis Slade, a way of defining natural law that has, I think,
considerable intuitive force. To the question, "What is natural
law?", one can answer very simply: "Natural law is the ontological priority of ends over purposes. " 14 Natural law is shown to
us when we recognize that there are ends in things and that our
purposes and choices must respect their priority. This
understanding of natural law would imply that our discussion of
ends and purposes in this essay has all along been a treatment of
natural law and the way it is manifested to us. The precedence of
ends over purposes occurs especially in regard to the ends that are
proper to human nature and its various powers. For example, the
ends built into human nourishment must be seen to govern the
way we eat, and the ends built into human sexuality must be seen
to govern the way we live with our sexuality. In both of these
powers, we ought not to be governed by what we simply want and
the purposes we set for ourselves; we must differentiate between
what we want and the reality and the telos of the thing we are
14 Slade formulated this concept of natural law in conversation. I am grateful for his
permission to use it in this essay. The formulation is implied in the title of his essay, "On the
Ontological Priority of Ends and Its Relevance to the Narrative Arts," cited above in note 3.

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ROBERT SOKOLOWSKI

dealing with. We must have a sense that our purposes must be
measured by the way things are, which means that they must be
measured by the way things should be. The distinction between
purpose and end has to dawn on us, and when it does dawn on us
we experience the pressure and the attraction of the way things
have to be. We encounter "the natural law."
We might be tempted to think of natural law as a kind of
codex, a set of imperatives that could be formulated in a purely
theoretic, systematic exercise, identifiable and arguable apart from
any particular moral tradition. 15 The use of the term law to name
what is good by nature reinforces this tendency. But if we think
of natural law in this way, we could easily be led into skepticism:
If the precepts of natural law are so lucid and rational, why is
there so much disagreement and so much obscurity about them?
The fact of moral controversy would, in this viewpoint, show that
natural law cannot be a codex, and if that is the only concept we
have of it, we might conclude that there is no such thing. If, on
the other hand, we recognize that not everyone will have a good
sense of the true ends of things (the impulsive, obtuse, immature,
and vicious are far less able to recognize them), and if we see such
ends not as grasped beforehand but as differentiating themselves
from our purposes and our conventions, we will be the more
ready to admit that this kind of natural law does play a role in our
moral thinking, in the way we evaluate situations arid agents. This
picture of natural law is more realistic and more persuasive
precisely because it accounts for the obscurities associated with
moral judgments.
It would also be obvious, furthermore, that we are obliged by
the ends that come to light in this way. The very fact that they
arise formally in contrast with our purposes shows that our purposes have to be adjusted in view of them; that is what an obligation means. The ends become manifest as what we should
respect. Only ends can make us accountable; our purposes have
nothing obligatory about them. Ends are not just an aesthetic
15 Writers trained as lawyers may be more prone to understand natural law as such a
system of imperatives or values.

HUMAN PURPOSESAND NATURAL ENDS

523

alternative to our purposes but a "law" in the nature of things. If
we are dealing with the thing in question (with medicine and
health, with nourishment or sexuality, with goods that we have to
share with other people), we dare not let our desires and purposes
be the only measure. The thing we are dealing with makes its own
demands on us, and it would be unworthy of us not to recognize
the excellence that belongs to it. If we genuinely are agents of
truth, we cannot let our wishes be the last word. There is a kind
of ontological, cosmic justice in being in harmony with the way
things are. This sense of obligation may not appear to the
impulsive, the obtuse, the immature, and the vicious, but would
we want to be the kind of agent that does not acknowledge it? An
end should show up for us first and foremost as that which it
would be unworthy of us to violate.
This sense of the noble should be the primary and the core
sense of moral "obligation." It is not that a law is imposed on us,
that we are fettered by an imperative, but that we would be
ashamed to act otherwise. Nobility obliges us in a way different
from commands. The nobility of what is good by nature shows up
most forcefully to the virtuous agent, who experiences it not as an
imposed duty but as the way he wants to be. It shows up also to
what Aristotle has described as the self-controlled person and to
the weak person, the enkratic and the akratic agents, but they
experience it more as an imperative and a command arising, to
some extent, from "outside" themselves, because their passions
are not in harmony with right reason. 16 But the paradigm, the case
that provides the focus for orientation, is found in the way the
virtuous agent encounters the noble: not as an imperative but as
the way he would want to be. In dealing with eating and drinking,
for example, a self-controlled or a weak person might find it
burdensome to eat and drink moderately, but a temperate person
would find it not a burden but the way things should be. It would
not be a matter of natural "law" as much as a matter of natural
decency.
16 Aristotle develops these important moral distinctions, between virtue, self-control,
weakness, and vice, in NicomacheanEthics 7.1-10.

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ROBERT SOKOLOWSKI

The sense of obligation that ends bring with them is reinforced
by the Christian doctrine of creation, and it is easier to think of
the ends of things as being part of a natural law when we understand the world to exist through God's creative wisdom. We then
discover not only a law in the nature of things but also a Lawgiver
who is responsible for the way things are. This reinforcement of
natural ends, however, also introduces a considerable danger. It
may tempt us to think of ends as really being the purposes of the
divine intelligence and will. This in turn might tempt us to delete
or dilute the notion of ends in themselves; we might think that
what look to us like natural ends are really, at their core, purposes
and not ends, because they are willed by God, and hence the
distinction between ends and purposes might be dissolved when
we move into the final and ultimately true context. We might also
tend to look to revelation for the more definitive communication
of the true ends of things; we might, for example, think that the
wrongness of certain practices is shown by their being condemned
by the Law of Moses and by St. Paul, not by their showing up to
human reason as incongruent with the ends of the things in
question. Such an appeal to creation and revelation might make
us more inclined to think of natural law as a codex rather than as
an experienced obligation. It is true, of course, that revelation will
often declare certain natural human practices to be good and
others to be bad, but these things also have their natural visibility,
and one can argue more persuasively about them if one brings out
their intrinsic nobility or unworthiness, their intrinsic rightness or
wrongness, as well as the confirmation they receive from
revelation.
Saint Thomas says that the natural law is promulgated by being
written in the human heart. As he writes, "The law written in the
hearts of men is the natural law [lex scripta in cordibus hominum
est lex naturalis]." 17 Aquinas also quotes a passage from St.
Augustine's Confessions, where Augustine also speaks about God's
law as written in the hearts of men, and of course both authors
harken back to St. Paul who, in his Letter to the Romans (2: 1417 STb 1-11, q. 94, a. 6, sed contra.

HUMAN PURPOSESAND NATURAL ENDS

525

15), says, "For when the Gentiles who do not have the law
observe the prescriptions of the law, they are a law for themselves
even though they do not have the law. They show that the
demands of the law are written in their hearts." We should
understand the full meaning of the words used for the heart in
such passages, cor and kardia. They do not connote the separation
of heart and head that we take for granted in a world shaped by
Descartes. We tend to think that the head or the brain is the seat
of cognitive processes and the heart is the seat of emotion and
feeling, but when Aquinas appeals to the heart, he is not saying
that the natural law is somehow given to our feelings or impulses
instead of our minds. Rather, he claims that we are able to
acknowledge, rationally, what the good is.
Premodern thought had not undergone the dissociation of
sensibility and rational thinking. In Greek poetry the heart, the
chest, and even the lungs were generally taken as the place where
thinking occurred. 18 There is something wholesome in this ancient
understanding; it is really the entire man, the person, who thinks
and knows, not the brain. The carpenter thinks with his hands,
the quarterback thinks with his legs and arms, and the speaker
thinks with the lungs, mouth, and tongue. We do have to
distinguish thinking from other human activities, but we should
not take thinking to be only isolated cogitation, only sheer consciousness. Furthermore, Robert Spaemann claims that in the New
Testament the word heart takes on an especially important
meaning. 19 He says the heart is taken to be a deeper recipient of
truth than the mind or intellect in Greek philosophy; it deals with
our willingness to accept the truth. It is an expression of our
veracity, our openness to the truth of things. Spaemann says that
the concept of "heart" in the New Testament "means something

See the classic study of Richard Broxton Onians, The Origins of Euro-pean Thought
about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate: New Interpretations of Greek,
Roman and Kindred Evidence, also of Some Basic Jewish and Christian Beliefs, 2d ed.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1954), chap. 2, "The Organs of Consciousness."
19 Robert Spaemann, Personen: Versuche uber den Unterschied zwischen "Etwas" und
'1emand" (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1996), 29-30.
18

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ROBERT SOKOLOWSKI

like the discovery of the person. "20 Still more specifically, in the
New Testament it is related to people's willingness to hear and
accept the Word of God in Christ.
I would suggest that when Aquinas says that the natural law is
written in the hearts of men, he is referring to the capacity for
truth that we described when we said that the natural ends of
things must be distinguished from our own purposes and from
convention. This elementary differentiation, this recognition that
my purposes are not all there is, and that the way we do things is
not all there is, is a way of being truthful that is achieved by the
heart, which if it is sound can cut through the impediments of
being impulsive, obtuse, immature, and vicious. I hope that my
study can serve as a phenomenological complement to Aquinas's
ontological analysis, in which he distinguishes between the various
kinds of law and shows that natural law is a participation in
eternal law. My descriptions have tried to shed light on how
natural law is "promulgated" in human experience. 21

20 Ibid., 30.
21 Aquinas's treatise on law is found in STh I-II, qq. 90-108. I have tried to show how the
ends of things come to light. My analysis does not claim that we intuit ends; they are disclosed
through a distinction, which is more rationally articulated than an intuition. We do not have
something simply present by itself to the mind; rather, we have something presented over
against something else, and one can discuss such a presentation in a way that one could not
argue about an intuition. A distinction, however, is not the conclusion of a syllogism. It can
be argued about and clarified, but it cannot be proved. Any attempt to prove a distinction begs
the question.
But making a distinction is not the only rational procedure associated with ends. It is also
possible to confirm something as naturally good. This is done by showing that the opponent
really cannot deny that the thing in question is good; he has to affirm it either in his actions
or in other things that he admits to be true, or at least in the way he presents himself and tries
to justify his actions in public. This procedure "proves" by refutation, and it is analogous to
the way Aristotle argues against those who deny the principle of noncontradiction and other
fundamental principles in logic and metaphysics (Metaphysics 4.3-8). The argument by
refutation is very important in philosophy generally and in ethics in particular; it is tied to the
making of distinctions and to the principle of noncontradiction, that is, to the establishment
of a rational speaker. It does not, however, bring out the first and original manifestation of
moral goods.

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527

VI. PHILOSOPHICAL AND THEOLOGICAL ANfHROPOLOGY

I would now like to pull together some conclusions concerning
the relationship between ethics and philosophical and theological
anthropology. Our understanding of ourselves as human beings is
related to our understanding of the good and virtuous human life.
This end or telos of human being is disclosed by virtuous action,
by human beings existing and acting well as human beings. The
primary manifestation of such being and acting is carried out by
good agents. It is revealed by reason, but by the practical reason
of good agents, who show what is possible, not primarily by the
theoretical reason of philosophers, theologians, or scientists. Once
the good life is manifested in action, philosophy can clarify and
consolidate what has been accomplished. It can distinguish the
various human lives, the various ways in which people seek
happiness, and it can bring out which of these is intrinsically
better than the others. 22 For example, one of the forms of
happiness that decent people seek is that of honor, of being
recognized by others as being good. People are motivated to good
actions by the promise of being honored for what they have done.
But, as Aristotle points out, honor cannot be the final telos,
because it is dependent in two ways: first, it depends on other
people, on those who bestow it; and, second, it depends on that
for which we are being honored (we want to be honored because
we are good, and so the goodness is more excellent than the
honor). 23 The "logic" of honor implies dependency; it is at best
penultimate. This philosophical clarification points us beyond
honor to virtue, and even virtue is not ultimate, because it is only
a disposition; it has to be exercised in order to make us truly
excellent and happy.
This little philosophical critique is an example of what
philosophy can do, but it presupposes that there have been good
agents and that people have sought happiness. Practical reason has
already been at work; honor and virtue have already come into
22 Philosophy also introduces its own perfection, but it is theoretic and not practical.
23 Aristotle, Nicomachean

Ethics 1.5.

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ROBERT SOKOLOWSKI

play. Philosophy does not install the search for or even the
achievement of the ethical life. Philosophy can show the
intricacies of human action and choice, the relations among the
virtues of courage and temperance, and justice and friendship, and
other dimensions of the moral life, but it always assumes that
these things have been achieved by practical reasoning, which is
where human excellence and human failure first come to light,
where we first come to see what it is to be human. These
achievements are then capsulated, polished, and trimmed in moral
traditions, in poetry and narratives, in exemplars, maxims, and
customs, where practical and theoretic reason join forces with
literary skill to present a picture of how we can be. We measure
our lives and actions, we understand ourselves and our human
situations, in the light and the frame of such paradigms, and
occasionally we may need to distinguish between the way things
are and the way they are said to be.
Christians believe that God has revealed a deeper sense of
goodness and virtue (as well as a deeper sense of evil and vice).
Faith, hope, and charity, as gifts of God, dispose us to act in a
new context, in which we are elevated into God's own life,
through the redemptive actions of the incarnate Son of God. In
this domain, we do have a kind of "theoretical" priority of
knowledge over practical reason; we have to accept certain truths
about ourselves before we know we are able and obliged to act in
certain ways. However, this new dimension does not override the
evidences of natural practical reason. What seemed noble and
decent in the natural order remains so, and it is confirmed in its
goodness by being involved in this new context of grace. In fact,
grace intensifies the appeal of natural virtue, which now shows up
as not only as admirable, but also as a reflection of divine
goodness. Grace heals and elevates nature. For example, the
nobility of human friendship, which is a kind of pinnacle of
natural human virtue, is enhanced by becoming involved in
charity, which is the friendship that God extends to human

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beings. 24 As another example, the excellence of human marriage
is enhanced and its meaning deepened when it is understood not
only in the natural order, where it has two ends, the procreation
and upbringing of children and the mutual devotion of the
spouses, but when it is understood theologically to signify the
relation between Christ and the Church. 25 From its earliest times,
Christianity differentiated itself from its surrounding world by its
attitudes toward abortion, infanticide, and matrimonial fidelity.
It worked toward the elimination of slavery and gladiatorial
combat, it tried to limit warfare, and it changed the meaning of
wealth; as Evelyn Waugh has Lady Marchmain say in Brideshead
Revisited, "Wealth in pagan Rome was necessarily something
cruel; it's not any more. " 26 In all such instances, what Christianity
offers is not a set of new, unheard-of precepts, but a deepening of
what is already appreciated as good. The natural visibility
remains. Grace elevates and also heals wounded nature, revelation
expands and clarifies human reason. I would suggest that one of
the strongest arguments in Christian apologetics is the fact that
faith refurbishes what is naturally good. Such clarification of
goods is not only a moral theology but also a theological
anthropology, because it shows more clearly what human beings
are and what they can and should be-that is, what their ends
truly are.

24 On friendship as the highest moral virtue, see my essays, "Phenomenology of
Friendship," and "Friendship and Moral Action in Aristotle," Journal of Value Inquiry 35
(2001): 355-69.
25 St. Thomas Aquinas discusses bigamy and polygamy in IV Sent., d. 33, a. 1; see also STh
III (suppl.), q. 65, a. 1. He lists three ends of marriage: procreation and education of children,
mutual devotion, and expression of the relation between Christ and the Church. He says that
a multiplicity of wives would neither necessarily destroy nor impede the first end, it would not
destroy the second but it would seriously impede it, and it would totally destroy the third.
26 Evelyn Waugh, BridesheadRevisited (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1979), 127.

The Thomist 68 (2004): 531-43

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING, IMAGINATION,
AND NEO-ARISTOTELIAN REALISM
MICHAEL W. TKACZ
Gonzaga University
Spokane, Washington

I

N 1258, ALBERTTHE GREAT presided over a formal disputation

at the Dominican studium in Cologne devoted to questions
arising out of Aristotle's De animalibus. Preserved for us in the
reportatio of friar Conrad of Austria, these quaestiones treat a
series of zoological problems arranged in the order of Aristotle's
books. 1 In the nine questions corresponding to book 1 of the De
partibus animalium, Albert departs from his strictly zoological
observations to consider the proper method to be used by the
zoological investigator in his research. The first of these
methodological questions is whether scientific research is a
twofold process of reporting and explanation. 2 In the course of
defending an affirmative answer to this question, Albert makes it
clear that the ultimate explanatory goal of scientific research
presupposes a "narrative" or descriptive phase of investigation.
Without scientific description or reporting, there is nothing to
1 Quaestiones super De animalibus in AlbeTti Magni Opera Omnia (Miinster im
Westphalia: Aschendorff, 1955)( = ed. Colon) 12:281-309. This text should not be confused
with Albert's longer paraphrastic commentary on the De animalibus edited by Hermann
Stadler and published in Beitriigezur Geschichteder Philosophiedes Mittelalters(Miinster im
Westphalia: Aschendorff, 1916 and 1920)(= ed. Stadler), Bd. 15-16. On the date and order
of these works, see James A. Weisheipl, "Albert's Works on the Natural Sciences (libri
naturales) in Probable Chronological Order," in Albertus Magnus and the Sciences:
Commemorative Essays 1980, ed. James A. Weis_heipl (Toronto: Pontifical Institute for
Mediaeval Studies, 1'980), 572 [no. 11] and 572-74 [no. 13].
2 Quaestiones super De animalibus XI, q. 1 (ed. Colon., 12:218.11-62). Albert uses the
terms narratioand causarumassignatio:"•.• utrum in scientia sit modus processivus duplex:
narrativus et causarum assignativus" (ed. Colon., 12:218.14-16).

531

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MICHAEL W. TKACZ

explain, for there is nothing begging to be understood in terms of
its causes.3
Albert's remarks draw attention to a crucial issue in the
Aristotelian understanding of scientific method: the relationship
of scientific reporting and explanation. Explanation, of course, is
always in terms of demonstration of the cause, especially propter
quid demonstration. Demonstration, however, is the ultimate goal
of the scientific endeavor and as such must be the satisfaction of
something, a response to a need. This is why Aristotelians understand scientific research as a problem-solving activity and maintain
that before one can begin to solve the problem, one must know
what the problem is and possess a clear articulation of it as a
problem calling for solution. Scientific reports provide such an
articulation through their description of the subject under study;
without them, one cannot even begin the attempt at explanation.
There is, however, more to scientific reporting than this. If
such descriptive reports are to be the first step in an explanatory
process leading to causal demonstration, then they must treat their
subject matter in ways that suggest probable causal explanations.
This means that the function of such reports cannot be limited to
the setting of puzzles or the raising of questions. They must also,
through their dialectical form as measurement, quantitative
description, taxonomy, field-studies, systematic observation, or
controlled experimentation, bring to light the likely explanatory
candidates that can solve the puzzle or answer the question. This
is why medieval naturalists, such as Albert, held that the
predemonstrative phase of scientific research is so important. It
provides the necessary link between the initial encounter of the
investigator with the subject matter and his eventual grasp of its
cause in demonstration. 4
1 Quaestiones super De animalibus XI. q. 1 (eel Colon., 12:218.45-50): "Et ideo
Philosophus, tanquam sapientissimus et expertissimus in scientiis, in scientia ista procedit
primo narrando et secundo narratorum causas inquirendo et assignando, ostendens, quod nos
similiter debemus facere, vel annuens."
4 See Quaestiones superDe animalibus XI, q. 2 (ed. Colon., 12:219.11-25) where Albert
argues that, while scientific knowledge results from the demonstration of the cause,
description is also necessary as it provides the supposition of the effect to be known as caused.
Albert provides a fuller treatment in his De animalibus libri XXVI, XI, c. 2 (ed. Stadler,

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

533

How do measurement data, taxonomic descriptions,
observational reports, and other types of scientific reporting
suggest answers to the questions they themselves raise? What,
precisely, links the report of phenomena requiring explanation to
the causal demonstration in a manner that leads the researcher to
the explanatory cause? Recent work by Neo-Aristotelian
philosophers of science has focused on modeling as the means by
which this link is made. 5 Especially important in these treatments
has been the role of the imagination in the production of iconic
models of the reported phenomena that dialectically indicate how
they are to be understood. This has, perhaps, been most clearly
instanced by episodes in the history of science involving inferences
to unobservable entities. Jude Dougherty, for example, used the
Meitner-Frisch liquid-drop model of the atomic nucleus to
illustrate Aristotle's account of rational imagination. 6
The focus of these Neo-Aristotelian studies has been on the
structure or formation of the model itself. The present study will,
instead, focus on the structure of scientific reports and will
explore some of the ways in which it might suggest explanatory
models. In particular, the present investigation will have two
parts, both having to do with the reporting phase of research.
First, I will study the manner in which the problem is stated so as
to invite explanation as a solution. Important here will be the way
in which scientific reporting functions as a method of selecting
relevant phenomena. Second, I will study the manner in which the
data being reported suggest iconic representation of the
phenomena. Important in this regard is the way in which the
researcher's attention is directed to nonaccidental features of the
subject under study. As will become apparent, these two functions
of reporting are closely related and tend to appear together in
15:764-70).
5 The best recent Thomistic/Neo-Aristotelian study is William A. Wallace, The Modeling
of Nature: Philosoplry of Science and Philosoplry of Nature in Synthesis (Washington, D.C.:
The Catholic University of America Press, 1996). See also the review article on this book by
Benedict M. Ashley and Eric A. Reitan, The Thomist 61 (1997): 625-40.
6 Jude P. Dougherty, "Abstraction and Imagination in Human Understanding," in Nature
and Scientific Method, ed. Daniel O. Dahlstrom (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University
of America Press, 1991), 51-62.

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MICHAEL W. TKACZ

research practice. The modeling of theoretical entities which
cannot be directly observed provides an especially provocative
example of the power of scientific models and allows both
functions of scientific reporting to be studied. Therefore, the
Meitner-Frisch model of atomic fission will be used as illustration.
Unlike Dougherty's earlier study which concerned the formulation
of the model itself, however, attention will here be concentrated
on the reports of barium formation from uranium in the HahnStrassmann experiments which preceded the work of Meitner and
Frisch. The present study, then, seeks to complement earlier NeoAristotelian work on modeling with attention to the antecedent
conditions for model construction.
I. NEO-ARISTOTELIAN ANALYSIS OF THE
DISCOVERY OF NUCLEAR FISSION

In the early autumn of 1939, Niels Bohr and John Wheeler
published the first quantitative analysis of the process of nuclear
fission.7 In the introduction of their paper, they provided a brief
history of the research that made possible their account of the
mechanism of nuclear disintegration. This history begins with the
discovery of the neutron in 1932 and the subsequent determination by Enrico Fermi and his Roman collaborators that neutrons
can be captured by heavy nuclei to form new radioactive isotopes.
In the case of uranium, the heaviest natural element, this led to
the production of nuclei of higher mass and charge number than
previously known. Following up on these discoveries, German
researchers Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann found that neutron
bombardment of uranium isotopes resulted, surprisingly, in the
production of elements of much smaller atomic weight and
charge, most notably barium. The theoretical account of these
striking experimental results was provided by Lise Meitner and
Otto Frisch using the liquid-drop model of the nucleus. The
splitting of the uranium nucleus is described on the analogy of the
7 Niels Bohr and John Wheeler, "The Mechanism of Nuclear Fission," PhysicalReview 56
(1939): 426-50.

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

535

division of a spherical fluid drop into two smaller droplets
because of a deformation caused by an external disturbance. The
deformation is resisted by strong nuclear forces that are analogous
to surface tension in liquids. The mutual repulsion of electrical
charges in the heavy nucleus, however, diminishes the nuclear
binding forces, making the nucleus unstable enough that a
relatively small amount of energy is required to produce the
critical deformation that results in division. At the same time, the
nuclear division sets free a large amount of energy, calculated by
Meitner to be as much as 200 MeV. These calculations were
experimentally confirmed by Frisch and others. 8
This break-up of the unstable heavy nucleus into intermediate
elements was given the name "fission" by Frisch. Clearly, at the
heart of the discovery is the application of the liquid-drop model. 9
It was on the basis of this model that Bohr and Wheeler were able
to give a more or less complete account of the mechanism of
fission, tying together the theoretical account of Meitner and
Frisch with its subsequent experimental verification. Building on
Bohr's earlier theoretical work on the compound nature of the
nucleus,1° Meitner and Frisch used the analogy with liquids as a
way of making theoretical sense of the results of the HahnStrassmann experiments. Moreover, their application of the
model provided both predictive calculations and a basis for the
theoretical description of the mechanism of fission later given by
Bohr and Wheeler. 11
Jude Dougherty provides a Neo-Aristotelian analysis of this
moment in the history of physics by focusing on the intellectually
1 As reported by Bohr and Wheeler, "The Mechanism of Nuclear Fission," 426 n. 3. A
summary of the experimental history of fission was later given by Orto Frisch and John
Wheeler, "The Discovery of Fission," PbysicsToday 20 (1967): 43-52.
9 The term appears in the publication of the liquid-drop theory of Meitner and Frisch in
"Disintegration of Uranium by Neutrons: A New Type of Nuclear Reaction," Nature 143
(1939): 239-40, but it was first suggested by Frisch in a letter to Bohr in January 1939; see
Roger H. Stuewer, "Niels Bohr and Nuclear Physics," in Niels Bohr: A Centenary Volume, ed.
A. P. French and P. J. Kennedy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1985), 197-220, esp.
214-15.
10 See below, note 16.
11 On the origins of the liquid-drop model see Stuewer, "Niels Bohr and Nuclear Physics,"
208-10.

MICHAEL W. TKACZ

536

productive aspects of the Meitner-Frisch model. 12 He notes that
Meitner and Frisch were clearly searching for the causal explanation of phenomena that begged to be understood-namely, the
surprising results of the Hahn-Strassmann experiments. That these
results were surprising there can be no doubt, for not only did noone at the time suspect that the atomic nucleus could be divided,
but Meitner herself continued to expect for some time that the
mysterious substance produced by Hahn and Strassmann was a
"transuranic" element. 13 The curiosity of researchers was not
satisfied with experimental confirmation, which Hahn and
Strassmann quickly provided, but prompted the search for a
cause. Thus, Dougherty also notes the implicit realism of
researchers: no-one doubted that there was some unknown
mechanism behind the production of barium that required
articulation in some intelligible form. Finally, Dougherty notes
that this articulation understandably took the form of an analogy,
an imaginatively pictured source which would be rich enough in
its imagery sufficiently and accurately to articulate the causal
factors responsible for the known effects.
The reason for the imaginative form of the causal articulation
is the truth of the Aristotelian dictum that, in learning, the
knower proceeds from what is most familiar, but least known
through the precise articulation of its causes, to what is best
known through its precise causes, but least familiar. 14 The
behavior of liquid drops is quite familiar through sense perception. Moreover, careful observation by more or less direct
sensation provides the basis for accurate measurement of the
various accidents of fluid drops: relative spherical stability, surface
tension, surface disturbances tending to overcome spherical
stability resulting in elongation, division into smaller relatively
spherically stable masses, etc. The mathematical description of the
"Abstraction and Imagination," 54-56.
u Ruth Moore, Niels Bohr: The Man, His Science, and the World They Changed (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1966), 220-23. On the origins of the trans-uranium theory and its later
abandonment see Ruth Lewin Sime, Lise Meitner: A Life in Physics (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1996), 161-83 and 231-58.
14 Aristotle, Physics 1.1.184a17-21; Dougherty, "Abstraction and Imagination," 54-55.
12 Dougherty,

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

537

experimental results is thus tied to physical causes through the
known details of the familiar case serving as an iconic model for
the unfamiliar and surprising phenomenon requiring causal
explanation.
Aristotle's notion that thinking resembles perceiving underlies
this explanative function of iconic models in scientific research. 15
Intellectual capacity is a capacity to think and to judge. Thinking
involves imagination consequent upon sensation and, therefore,
images always accompany judgments. Unlike sensations, however,
images can be either true or false and are within our power to
refine and adjust. Given earlier research, 16 the nucleus was
imagined as a composite with a delimiting surface providing
relative stability. This suggested the liquid-drop image to Meitner
and Frisch, who refined and interpreted the image according to
the experimental results of Hahn and Strassmann. Moreover,
given that images can be taken either in their own right or as
likenesses of something else, the liquid-drop model possesses both
its own imagined properties and properties associated with the
reality being explained. Thus, the spherical stability of the drop is
seen in the image as consequent upon its surface tension. When
forces overcome this tension, the instability introduced results in
the eventual division into two spheres of relative stability.
Considered as a likeness of the nucleus, the liquid drop models
the strong binding forces of the nucleus in a way analogous to the
surface tension of the drop. These forces are overcome by the
disturbances introduced by neutron bombardment, resulting in a
fission (analogous to the division of the drop) and a large release
of energy accompanying transformation into relatively stable
lower elements. Each element of the model considered in this way
has specific quantitative value. Linking these values to
experimentally discovered measurements gives the iconic model
its explanative potentiality through its ability to exemplify the
15 Aristotle, De anima 3.3.427a20-22;

Dougherty, "Abstraction and Imagination," 56-60.

16 Notably Bohr's work on the composite nature of the nucleus and his suggestion of its

elasticity; see Niels Bohr, "TransmutationsofAtomicNuclei,"
Stuewer, "Niels Bohr and Nuclear Physics," 205-10.

Science86 (1937): 161-65; and

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MICHAEL W. TKACZ

form of what is being explained. As Aristotle would put it: "the
mind thinks the forms in the images." 17
Imbedded in the model is the expression of the nature
underlying the particular phenomena through which the model is
matched to reality in experimental observation. Uranium is known
to be a relatively stable element. At least one of its rare isotopes
(U235 ), exhibits a higher excitation energy and lower stability than
that of the more abundant uranium isotope, resulting in an
instability such that a comparatively small amount of energy will
be required for fission, resulting in the loss of one-fifth the mass
of the proton. Calculating from the lost one-fifth mass supplies
the 200 Me V energy set free by fission. Thus, the model provides
the basis of an abstraction to the nature of the nucleus and the
forces and modes accounting for its stability and instability. The
intellect is thus focused on the common features of mass-energy
conversion, atomic number, chemical behavior, and so on, and it
is in terms of these that the process of fission is defined and
understood. The judgment that fission has taken place is a noetic
intuition that apprehends these commonalities and their role in
the process under consideration as set out in the iconic model.
Through this model, then, the nature of lighter-element
production is demonstrated to be a nuclear fission.
II. SCIENTIFIC REPORTING AS
RELEVANT PHENOMENA SELECTION

When artificial radioactivity was discovered by Irene Curie and
Frederic Joliot in 1934, the existence of unstable nuclei had been
known for some time. Nobody, however, had considered that
such instability might be due to nuclear disintegration. 18
Nonetheless, this discovery encouraged new research on radioactivity including Fermi's work in Rome involving neutrons. It
was not long before the Roman team reported that neutron
bombardment of uranium produced some new radioactivity that
Aristotle, De anima 3.7.431b2.
R. Frisch, "The Discovery of Fission: How It All Began," Physics Today 20
(November 1967): 43-48, esp. 45-46.
17

18 Otto

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

539

they identified as being due to transuranic elements-that is,
elements beyond uranium (no. 92). As no such heavy element was
known to exist in nature, some researchers suggested that the new
substances were not elements number 93 or 94, but isotopes of
some known heavy element such as protactinium (no. 91). As a
consequence, Lise Meitner and Otto Hahn initiated a series of
experiments in Berlin to determine the question. They were able
to confirm that Fermi's new element was not protactinium, nor
was it an isotope of either thorium (no. 90) or actinium (no. 89).
This seem to confirm Fermi's characterization of the substance as
transuranic. 19
These results were already beginning to indicate that the real
problem concerned the structure of the nucleus as, in some way,
nonrigid. Chemist Ida Noddack suggested that the new substance
should not be called "transuranic" until its identity with any other
elements had been ruled out. As this suggestion implied the
possibility of a fissioning of a heavy nucleus into lighter nuclei, it
verged on the requisite focus on nuclear structure as the relevant
issue. At that time, however, both theory and experiment did not
encourage such an idea and Noddack's suggestion did not receive
much attention. 20 Thus, the scientific reporting at this stage of the
research did not yet articulate the experimental results in a way
allowing a clear selection of the relevant phenomena. 21
After Meitner's exile to Sweden on account of the Nazi
annexation of Austria, her research was carried on in Berlin by
Otto Hahn and Fritz Strassmann. In their studies of the new
transuranic elements, they precipitated a new element produced
by the Joliot-Curies and found some radioactive residue remained
in their test tubes. Attempting to find out what this radioactive
substance might be, they precipitated it again using some barium
as a carrier. They were surprised to find that the radioactive
19 Moore, Niels Bohr, 220-21. On the Meitner-Hahn "eka" chains of radioactive elements
identified in this research, see Sime, Lise Meitner, 161-83.
20 Moore, Niels Bohr, 221; see also Otto R. Frisch, "Llse Meimer," in Dictionary of
ScientificBiography(New York: Scribners, 1980), 9:262a.
21 An indication of how close the research came at this point is provided by Frisch, "The
Discovery of Fission," 46-47.

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MICHAEL W. TKACZ

materials precipitated with the barium. Checking to be certain
that no impurities had contaminated the barium distorting the
results, they were forced to conclude that the radioactive
precipitates must be either barium (no. 56) or the related element
radium (no. 88). Further testing showed that there was in fact no
isotope of radium and that the residual substance must indeed be
barium. 22
This result was astounding, for barium could only be produced
from uranium if the heavy nucleus somehow split. Hahn and
Strassmann published their surprising results 23 and now the
problem calling for solution was dearly delineated. Through their
careful rechecking of their work, Hahn and Strassmann were able
to select from among the various characterizations of the
phenomena that which was most relevant to the problem of the
so-called transuranics, namely, the production of a lighter
element. This, in turn, indicated that the problem was not the
existence and properties of the transuranics, but the stability of
the uranium nucleus itself.
Initially characterizing the new Fermi element as "transuranic"
is an example of a universal ut nunc, a theoretical characterization
of the phenomena that approaches the truth but is thought to be
in need of much greater refinement or even replacement before
actual explanation is obtained. It is, as some Neo-Aristotelians put
it, 24 a kind of verisimilitude that allows research to continue in a
certain direction, but with the provision that it may require
substantial revision before it can function as an adequate model of
the subject under study. This, in turn, allows the researcher to
turn his focus here or there as the data become progressively
better known and, in the end, reveal the relevant phenomena
requiring explanation through an iconic modeling process.
22 Moore, Niels Bohr, 223-25.
23 Otto Hahn and Fritz Sttassmann, "Uber den Nachweis und das Verhalten der bei der
Bestrahlung des Urans mittels Neutronen entstehenden Erdalkalimetalle," Die
Naturwissenschaften 27 (1939): 11-15. For the correspondence between Hahn and Meitner
on these experiments, see Sime, Lise Meitner, 231-58, esp.233ff.
24 John A. Oesterle, "The Significanceof the Universal Ut Nunc," The Thomist 24 (1961 ):
163-74.

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

541

III. SCIENTIFIC REPORTING AS ACCIDENT DIFFERENTIATION
As the search for the transuranic elements increasingly focused
attention on the structure of the nucleus, researchers were able to
differentiate the various accidental characteristics of nuclear
structure or function. Before a subject can be iconically modeled,
there must be a sufficiently clear distinction between its essential
or proper accidents and its merely incidental accidents. 25 In the
case of the discovery of fission, the crucial insight into the nature
of nuclear stability involved the use of the liquid-drop image as a
model for a proper accident of nuclei.
In the wake of Fermi's neutron experiments, Bohr had
proposed his compound model of the nucleus. 26 This, in turn,
suggested the question of the nature of nuclear stability. Before
the Hahn-Strassmann experiments, only fragments of nuclei had
been chipped away from heavy elements, but it was thought
impossible that a large amount of the nucleus could be split off at ·
one time due to insufficient energy. A nucleus was not something
brittle or solid that could be cleaved or broken. Bohr had, in fact,
urged a conception of the nucleus as elastic and later, following
Gamow, a liquid-drop conception. 27 The Hahn-Strassmann
results, then, drew the attention of theoreticians to the liquiddrop model as that most likely able to account for fission into
lighter elements. Moreover, it was clear that the model would
provide the essential properties of nuclear structure with respect
to the relationship of nuclear forces accounting for stability, not
simply an incidental feature of neutron absorption or radiation
production.
Princeton physicist John A Wheeler has noted 28 that what led
researchers to the idea of nuclear fission was not simply
25

Wallace, The Modeling of Nature, 27-28.

z;; See above, note 16.

Niels Bohr and Fritz Kalckar, "On the Transmutation of Atomic Nuclei by Impact of
Material Particles, I: General Theoretical Remarks," Matematisk-Fysiske Meddelelserdet
KongeligeDanskeVidenskabernesSelskab14 (193 7): 1-40; see also the discussion by Stuewer,
,
"Niels Bohr and Nuclear Physics," 208-10.
28 John A. Wheeler, "The Mechanism ofFission," PhysicsToday 20(November1967): 4952.
.
27

542

MICHAEL W. TKACZ

knowledge of the compound-nucleus and liquid-drop models, but
their distinction. It was the insight that the liquid-drop model is
a special case of the compound-nucleus model or, as he put it, "a
particular way of making [the compound] model of nuclear
structure reasonable." This is because the compound-nucleus
model accounts for particle arrival in the nucleus, but the liquiddrop model accounts for nuclear excitation. This becomes dear
when one recalls that tl;ie__c01cial insight of Meitner and Frisch
was that the uranium nucleus was a "wobbly uncertain drop,
ready to divide itself at the slightest provocation, such as the
impact of a neutron. "29 It was this that accounted for the relatively
little energy required to release the tremendous amount of energy
their calculations predicted. This modeled structural instability,
then, was the proper accident needed to make sense of the HahnStrassmann results. Moreover, it was the reports of the HahnStrassmann experiments that focused the attention of Meitner and
Frisch on the instability of the nucleus and away from other
accidents such as neutron absorption, radiation emission,
formation of isotopes, and so on.
CONCLUSION

The work of the imagination in constructing iconic models of
little-known physical phenomena and its connection to abstraction
is crucial in scientific explanation. Behind such construction,
however, lie the reports of researchers who provide the material
on which the imagination works. In these predemonstrative
reports, the material is not simply presented to the intellect as a
puzzle to be solved, but presented as already intellectually sorted
out-processed, one might say. This "sorting out" or "processing"
takes at least two forms. First, the puzzle is presented with an
indication as to which data are relevant to the puzzle's solution.
Some sorting through of the data is accomplished in the process
of posing the question or discovering the puzzling phenomena.
Often such sorting is explicitly taxonomic, as in certain kinds of
29 Quoted

in Dougherty, "Abstraction and Imagination," 53.

SCIENTIFIC REPORTING

543

biological research, but sometimes it is more closely related to the
experimental study of some little-known phenomenon, as in the
case of nuclear fission. It is always, however, a selection of the
relevant from the irrelevant in a way that suggests lines for further
research or theoretical explanation. Second, the puzzle is
presented to the intellect with a certain focus on what is essential,
and not merely incidental, to the solution demanded by the
relevant phenomena. Without such focus, the rational imagination
cannot begin the process of iconic imaging, for it has no picture
with which to start and no indication as to how the image is to be
developed in detail. Whether generated by careful observation or
by controlled experiment, scientific reporting always involves the
differentiation of accidents allowing researchers to focus on those
from which an image with explanatory potential can be formed.
A final point concerning scientific realism. Dougherty notes the
implicit realism of the researchers involved in the discovery of
nuclear fission. Clearly, Meitner and Frisch did not doubt the
existence of a mechanism behind the then truly puzzling
experimental results. Hahn and Strassmann also understood that
the surprising production of barium from uranium called for the
articulation of a then unknown property of the nucleus. Scientific
reports provide the link between the encounter of the researcher
with the reality calling for explanation and the intellectual act of
scientific explanation itself. There is indeed an implicit realism in
the activity of scientific reporting, for it presumes the possibility
of achieving an explanation not already evident in the phenomena
being reported. This indicates the presence of a yet unknown
underlying mechanism that can be articulated by means of a
model. Reporting is clearly not done for its own sake, but is a
stage of scientific inquiry that begs for completion in explanation.

The Thomist 68 (2004): 545-75

GRACIA AND AQUINAS ON THE
PRINCIPLE OF INDIVIDUATION
ANDREW PAYNE
St. Joseph's University
Philadelphia,Pennsylvania

I

N RECENT YEARSJorge Gracia has developed a nuanced and
sophisticated account of the nature of individuality and of the
principle of individuation. He has developed this view in part
by criticizing the standard Thomistic account of the principle of
individuation as dimensive quantity. The present essay seeks to
rehabilitate dimensive quantity by arguing against Gracia that,
rightly understood, it does explain the individuation of material
substances.
This requires a two-part strategy. First, the meaning of
dimensive quantity must be recovered by examining the roots of
this concept in Aristotle's Categories and Physics. The standard
Thomistic presentation of dimensive quantity in the writings of
Joseph Owens and Joseph Bobik is vulnerable to objections raised
by Gracia, and this makes necessary a review of selected passages
from Aristotle dealing with quantity. In particular, the notion of
position contained in these texts must be elaborated in order to
grasp the distinctive content of the concept of dimensive quantity.
Second, Gracia's objections to the Thomistic principle of
individuation must be considered in light of this fuller
understanding of dimensive quantity. It will be seen that these
objections are not compelling, and that dimensive quantity
provides a satisfactory principle of individuation for material
substances. In particular, Aquinas's discussion of numerical
difference in his commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate will be
545

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ANDREW PAYNE

defended. The upshot of these passages is that matter marked by
quantity and position will occupy a determinate place, whereas
two distinct material substances cannot occupy the same place
simultaneously. As a result, matter modified by dimensive quantity
is assigned to some determinate place and time, which suffices to
individuate material substances.
To limit the scope of this project, I will defend dimensive
quantity only as a principle of individuation for bodies or material
substances. In Scholastic usage, these are composite substances,
those constituted by the union of form and matter. Gracia rejects
dimensive quantity as a principle of individuation in part because
it cannot serve as a universal principle of individuation-that is,
one that could individuate nonmaterial substances such as angels,
God, Cartesian souls, abstract entities, etc. 1 According to Gracia,
it is the existence of each thing that is its principle of
individuation. For now I wish to put to one side the question of
whether we should look for a global principle of individuation, as
Gracia does, or attempt instead to find different principles of
individuation suited to different kinds of entities, although my
strong preference is for the latter option. 2 I will focus instead on
whether dimensive quantity provides a satisfactory principle of
individuation for material substances.
Furthermore, I will make no attempt to present the full teaching of Aquinas on dimensive quantity based on an historical survey of his writings. As commentators have noted, Aquinas seems
to change his mind or at least express his mind differently over
1 See Jorge Gracia, Individuality: An :Essay on the Foundations of Metaphysics (Albany,
N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1988), 155. Other works in which Gracia develops
his account of individuation are Suarez on Individuation, ed. Jorge Gracia (Milwaukee:
Marquette University Press, 1982); "Individuals as Instances," Review of Metaphysics 37
(1983): 39-59; and "Introduction: The Problem of Individuation" in Individuation in
Scholasticism: The Later Middle Ages and the Counter-Reformation (1150-1650) ed. Jorge
Gracia (Albany, N.Y.: State University of New York Press, 1994), 1-20.
2 This approach is taken by Lawrence Dewan, who speaks of individuality in Aquinas's
thought as a mode of being, where being is said in many ways. He sees in Aquinas a global
approach to the individual but not a single global principle of individuation, in light of the fact
that "in diverse levels of being there are diverse 'principles' of individuation" (Lawrence
Dewan, 0. P., "The Individual as a Mode of Being According to Thomas Aquinas," The
Thomist 63 [1999]: 424).

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

547

the course of his career when writing about the principle of
individuation. 3 I have focused on the E.xpositio super librum Boetii
De Trinitate, not because it contains the whole of Aquinas's
teaching on the principle of individuation, but because it is here
that we can see a fruitful elaboration of ideas drawn from Aristotle's physics. This is what is needed to mount a philosophical
defense of dimensive quantity as the principle of individuation.
I. DIMENSIVE QUANTllY:
THE TRADmONAL VIEW AND GRACIA'S OBJECTIONS

Investigation of the principle of individuation was and
continues to be one of the most fruitful sources of speculative
insight. Clearly the world is full of individual things, but how are
we to describe their individuality? What is the source of the
distinctness of different individuals? It is well known that
Aquinas's principle of individuation for composite substances is
quantity of matter or signate matter. These terms signify the view
that matter, when modified by the accidents of quantity and
dimension-or dimensive quantity-serves to distinguish one
particular composite of form and matter from another individual
of the same species. With modifications, this view appears in a
number of Aquinas's writings and has been accurately described
by Joseph Bobik and, more recently, by Joseph Owens. However,
it is not yet clear how the accident of dimensive quantity being
received in matter actually serves to individuate the different
members of one species of material substances. Partly for this
reason, Gracia has rejected the view that dimensive quantity is the
principle of individuation for material substances.
To gain entry to this debate, we can start with the observation
that all attempts to formulate a principle of individuality must
1 To gain a sense of the range of texts in which Aquinas discusses problems of
individuation, see Joseph Owens, "Thomas Aquinas (b. ca 1225; d. 1274)" in Gracia, ed.,
Individuation in Scholasticism, 173-94. Aquinas's earlier writings, in particular his
commentary on the Sentencesof Peter Lombard, are given careful attention in Joseph Owens,
"Thomas Aquinas: Dimensive Quantity as Individuating Principle," Medieval Studies 50
(1988): 279-310.

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ANDREW PAYNE

bear a common explanatory burden. They must shed light on the
principle of individuation and so explain the individuality of, for
instance, different human beings. The principle of individuation
will be that in virtue of which Peter is (1) indivisible or
incommunicable in the technical sense of being noninstantiable,
or not such that two or more things could share the property of
being Peter; and (2) distinct from all other members of the species
to which he belongs and indeed distinct from every other thing.
The principle of individuation must give full grounds for (1) and
(2), for the indivisibility and distinctness of Peter. If we need to
posit more than the principle of individuation to explain Peter's
indivisibility and distinctness, then we do not yet have an
adequate principle of individuation.
Aquinas describes the principle of individuation for composite
substances variously in various texts, but always settles on matter
modified by quantity. The standard presentation of this view
comes in the commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate. There
Aquinas speaks of matter as the source of the individuation of
form, resulting in diverse individuals of the same species:
Things in the genus of substance that differ numerically, differ not only in their
accidents, but also by their form and matter. But if it is asked how this form
differs from that, there is no other reason than that it Is in other signate matter.
Nor can there be found another reason why this matter is divided from that,
except on account of its quantity. Hence matter subject to dimension is
understood to be the principle of this kind of diversity.4

This reply to an objection contains in compressed form the major
ideas of Aquinas's description of the principle of individuation:
signate or designated matter, the sort of material thing one can
point at; the role of quantity in distinguishing signate matter, or
dividing this matter from that; and a connection between quantity
• Aquinas, Super Boet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 2, ad 4: "Ad quartum dicendum quod ilia, quae
different nwnero in genere substantiae, non solum different accidentibus, sed etiam fonna et
materia. Sed si quaeratur, quare differens est eorwn forma, non erit alia ratio, nisi quia est in
alia materia signata. Nee invenitur alia ratio, quare haec materia sit divisa ab ilia, nisi propter
quantitatem. Et ideo materia subjecta dimem;ioni intelligitur esse principium huius diversitatis"
(Thomas Aquinas, Expositio superlibnun Boethii de Trinitate, ed. Bruno Decker [Leiden: Brill,
1965], 144-45). All translations from this text are by the author.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

549

and dimension. Neither form nor matter by itself is sufficient to
explain individual composites of form and matter; the form is
what is shared among the different individuals of the same
species, while matter is shared by individuals of different species.
Only when quantity enters the picture as modifying matter, and
bringing with it dimension, do we have a sufficient explanation of
the fact of numerical diversity. As Owens puts it,
Matter seems to be visualized as a potentiality that gives rise to a threedimensional expanse yet lacks capacity just in itself to distinguish things in it one
from another. It has first to be conceived as divided into parts or units sealed off
each in itself by dimensive quantity. Each of them is thereby constituted an
individual object in its own right. 5

So far, this is the traditional presentation of dimensive quantity
as the principle of individuation in Aquinas. This provisional
answer to the question of how different composite individuals of
the same species are differentiated states that it is the parceling
out of matter into quantities bearing dimensions that establishes
composite individuals. One presentation of Aquinas's thought on
the principle of individuation would call a halt to the search for
the principle of individuation at this point, resting in matter
designated by dimensive quantity. Joseph Bobik summarizes as
follows the role of quantity in rendering matter distinct and, via
distinction of matter, making substantial form individual:
Thus, because prime matter is capacity for the accidental form of quantity, due
to the fact that matter is divided in distinct parts and situated in different places,
it is rendered capable of receiving within itself, being thus divided, these
substantial forms, this form in this part, this other form in this other part .... ff
a corporeal substance is in fact an individual, this is precisely because it partakes
(due to its partaking in prime matter) in a condition the very nature of which is
to render individual, or numerically distinct, that substance which is its subject.
This condition is the quantity of a natural body. 6
5 0wens, "Dimensive Quantity," 280.
'Ainsi, parce que la matiere premiere est puissance pour la forme accidentelle de quantite,
grace a laquelle cette matiere est divisee en parties distinctes et placee en des lieux divers, elle
est rendue capable de recevoir en elle, etant ainsi divisee, tel/es formes substantielles, telle
forme dans telle partie, telle autre forme dans telle autre partie •••• Si une substance corporelle
est actuellement un individu, c'est precisement parce qu'elle participe (en raison de sa

550

ANDREW PAYNE

This approach is helpful as far as it goes in laying out the relations
between such concepts as matter, substantial form, and quantity.
However, it does not go far enough. It remains obscure why and
how quantity is able to render individual the matter in which it is
received. Owens recognizes the need to address this issue:
The whole individuation of a body, both in its substance and in all its other
accidents, is made to depend upon quantity. But quantity, as an accident, has to
presuppose for its existence the individual substance upon which it depends for
its being. 7

And although he speaks convincingly of the need for material
substances to exist in matter subject to dimensions, Owens does
not show how this will secure for dimensive quantity, an accident,
the role of individuating substances. 8 Having some particular
dimension will be true of whatever exists as an individual material
substance, but why is this fact given the special role of being
responsible for the individuation of that material thing?
This failure to clarify the role of dimensive quantity in
individuating material substances has not gone unnoticed. It
provides the basis for objections to the Thomistic understanding
of the principle of individuation put forward by Suarez in the
sixteenth century and more recently by Gracia. Suarez notes that
dimensive quantity is typically construed as an accident, and so is
capable of being present in more than one subject. To summarize
very sketchily Suarez's intricate reasoning, he sets up a dilemma
for the Thomistic view of individuation: either the accident of
quantity is somehow localized to one individual, in which case its
status as an accident prevents it from being the source of that
thing's existence as an individual, or it is communicable to distinct
individuals, in which case it cannot be the principle of individuation, which must explain why individuals exist as nonparticipation a la matiere premiere) a un acte dont la nature meme est de rendre individuee,
ou numeriquement distincte, cette substance qui est son sujet. Cet·acte est la quantite
corporelle naturelle Uoseph Bobik, "La doctrine de saint Thomas sur !'individuation des
substances corporelles," Revue philosophiquede Louvain 51 [1953]: 18).
7 Owens, "Thomas Aquinas," 182.
8 Ibid., 185.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDIVIDUATION

551

communicable. 9 To the extent that a given dimensive quantity
does inhere in some subject, that subject must be constituted as an
individual apart from the accident of dimensive quantity, so that
dimensive quantity no longer plays the crucial individuating role.
Another way to see the force of this objection is to observe that
dimensive quantity as so far described will not serve as an
adequate principle of individuation. It meets condition (2)
described above, in that it explains how an individual will be
distinct from other members of the same species. Peter will have
or be partially constituted by one parcel of matter, and Paul will
be partially constituted by a different parcel of matter. But the
notion of dimensive quantity does not so far meet condition (1);
there is no way yet to rule out the possibility that two individuals
share simultaneously the same dimensive quantity. A quantity is
an answer to the question "How much?" or "How many?", so
that "2 quarts" or "3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet" are terms that refer
to quantities. These quantities may be instantiated in distinct
individuals: in 2 quarts of milk and in 2 quarts of coffee, or in a
cube of wood 3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet and in a cube of iron of
the same dimensions, or in a second cube of wood of the same
dimensions and quantity. In light of these considerations,
dimensive quantity may be communicable; the same dimensive
9 A sampling of Suarez's argumentation in Metaphysical Disputation V, section 3, ch. 11
as he sets up and attacks each horn of the dilemma in turn: "First, assuming ... that quantity
is not in prime matter but in the whole composite, and that it is destroyed when the substance
is corrupted, and that it is newly acquired for the generation of substance. From which it is
concluded that, absolutely speaking, numerically this substantial form is first introduced in this
matter and [then] quantity follows. Whence the argument is completed, because this form,
when it is understood to be received in this matter, is also understood to be received in a
matter distinct from the other. Therefore, that [i. e. the substantial individual] as such is one,
not with conceptual unity, but with real, singular and transcendental unity. Therefore, just as
it is undivided in itself in virtue of its substantial entity, so also it is substantially and
entitatively distinct from all others. Therefore, it does not have distinction through quantity •
• • • Second, we can proceed to the other view, that quantity is in prime matter and remains
the same in what is generated and corrupted. And then an argument no less effective is taken
from another place, because not only this matter in itself, but also [matter] as affected by this
quantity, can be under diverse forms and, consequently, in numerically distinct individuals.
Therefore, [matter designated by quantity] can no more be the principle of individuation than
matter alone [can]" (Gracia, ed., Suarez on Individuation, 81-83).

ANDREW PAYNE

552

quantity may be instantiated by two individuals of the same
species. As Gracia puts it,
[this account] would also be hard pressed to explain the noninstantiability of
quantity itself, which is supposed to account for individuation. For, what makes
dimensions noninstantiable when we know that in fact they can and are often,
separately or together, instantiated elsewhere?10

This passage provides the occasion for a more systematic
presentation of Gracia's position and his reasons for rejecting
dimensive quantity as the principle of individuation. He sees the
need to gain a firmer purchase on the question of the principle of
individuality by first addressing the nature of individuation and
individuality. What is distinctive about individuals is that they are
noninstantiable. Where other philosophers place in the foreground the facts that each individual is distinct from other
individuals and that each individual in our experience is qualitatively unique in some way, Gracia focuses on a feature of
individuals that is rooted deeper in the metaphysics of individuals
and less able to be defeated by such possible worlds as a universe
containing only one individual or a universe containing only two
qualitatively indiscernible objects. Individuals are those entities
which instantiate or exemplify universals but are not themselves
instantiated and indeed cannot be instantiated. 11 He then takes the
task of identifying the principle of individuation to be the task of
identifying the necessary and sufficient conditions for a noninstantiable individual to exemplify a universal. In his words, "We
shall be concerned with what an individual does and must have,
that a universal does and must lack, such that the individual is
noninstantiable while the universal is instantiable. " 12 On this
construal, the principle of individuation will be some aspect or
component of an individual that renders it particular and
noninstantiable, one that makes it the opposite of a universal.
From this perspective, Gracia raises a number of objections to
dimensive quantity as the principle of individuation. He classifies
10 Gracia, Individuality,
11 Ibid., 45-46.

12 Ibid., 141.

155.

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the quantitative theory of individuation as one among other
accidental theories, those that make some accident of an individual the principle of individuation. 13 All such accidental theories
are subject to the objection that they use an extrinsic feature of a
thing, an accident, to account for an intrinsic feature. According
to Gracia, "[A] particular quantity [e.g., a person's weight at a
given time] is something accidental to a thing, and therefore
cannot account for one of its basic ontological characteristics,"
namely, its individuality. 14 Also, as already noted, Gracia argues
that quantity cannot explain individuality in the sense of
noninstantiability because quantity is a repeatable and instantiable
feature. The quantities signified by such terms as "2 gallons" or "3
feet by 3 feet by 3 feet" can be shared by and exemplified by
different individuals, so they cannot be the necessary and
sufficient conditions for an individual's noninstantiability.
II. ARISTOTLE ON QUANTITY AND PosmoN

To answer Gracia's objections and to lay out the full resources
of the notion of dimensive quantity, it is necessary to investigate
the Aristotelian background of the category of quantity. Aristotle
begins his discussion of quantity in chapter 6 of the Categoriesby
announcing two different divisions within the category. The first
is the division of quantity into those quantities which are
continuous and those which are discrete. Aristotle gives as
examples of continuous quantities lines, surfaces, and bodies, as
well as time and place. These are all quantities that consist of
parts in direct contact with one or more part of the same quantity.
A line is a continuous quantity because it is made up of segments
each of which is contiguous to another segment on the same line.
Discrete quantities come with parts that are not in contact with
any other part of the same quantity. Examples of discrete
quantities are number and spoken speech. Each of these comes
with parts that can stand apart from every other part, as syllables
13 Another accidental theory of individuation is the spatio-temporal theory, according to
which individuation arises from a thing's location in space and time.
14 Gracia, Individual11y,155.

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of spoken speech are distinct from each other and as the parts of
a number lack a common boundary which both parts touch. 15
The second division of quantity is that between quantities
having parts with position relative to each other and those having
parts with no position relative to each other. A body which is a
continuous quantity will have parts with position relative to each
other: my body can be considered as made up of the parts at or
below my waist and the parts above my waist. It is in the nature
of these parts so considered that they will have a determinate
spatial relation to each other. On the other hand, number will not
have parts with position relative to each other. Five and five are
parts of ten, but it is not in the nature of these parts that they have
spatial relations to each other. Three and four are parts of seven,
but the nature of three is not defined by its position in space
relative to four.
As these examples show, continuous quantities in general are
those which consist of parts having position relative to each other,
and discrete quantities are those whose parts do not have position
relative to each other. The only exception to this coincidence of
the two differentia of quantity is time. Time has parts (past,
present, and future) of which the present touches both the past
and the future, but since only one part of time exists, the present,
it cannot be said to have position in relation to the other parts. 16
One important point resulting from the discussion of quantity
in Categories 6 is that quantity involves more than simply
measure. Previously we said that a quantity is the answer to the
question "How much?", an answer that might take the form of "2
quarts" or "3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet." Such answers give the
measure or dimensions of a thing but tell us nothing about what
the thing is made of or how its parts relate to each other. Indeed,
quantity as measure could be applied to an empty expanse of
space occupied by no matter at all, though such an empty expanse
occurs in our experience only under abnormal circumstances.
Although it is certainly legitimate to understand quantity in this
15 Aristotle, Categories4b2{}-5al 4. References to the Categoriesare to the Minio-Paluello
edition from the Clarendon Press.
16 Aristotle, Categories5a15-37.
·

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555

way, Aristotle's two divisions of quantity imply also a different
way of understanding quantity: namely, not as measure, but as
quantity of the thing measured. For this type of quantity, the
dimensions measured are dimensions of matter, and that matter
consists of parts standing in spatial relations to each other. In this
second way of understanding quantity, 2 quarts of milk is a different thing from 2 quarts of coffee, even though the dimensions
of each are the same. The fact that quantity can involve a thing
being constituted by parts will become important when Gracia's
objections to taking dimensive quantity as the principle of
individuation are considered.
Another important point that results from Categories6 is the
mapping of bodies and their parts on to place.
Place, again, is one of the continuous quantities. For the parts of a body occupy
some place, and they join together at a common boundary. So the parts of the
place occupied by the various parts of the body themselves join together at the
same boundary at which the parts of the body do. 17

So each body, and each part of a body, is associated with a place,
th-:mgh of course this may be only temporary as a body's place
may change through motion. The same reasoning holds for lines
and surfaces. Thus, all continuous quantities except for time will
occupy some place.
One concept Aristotle deploys in Categories 6 is that of
position. Since this concept will play a crucial role in describing
dimensive quantity, it will be helpful to offer a provisional outline
of it as it emerges from the Categories.As one of the differentia
of quantity, position is an attribute of one type of body, namely,
continuous bodies. Position consists in the configuration or
arrangement of the parts of these bodies relative to each other. So
when Aquinas speaks of matter or quantity as having position, this
should be understood as treating the body in question as made of
parts having position relative to each other. This raises the
17 Aristotle, Categories5a8-10. Translations of the Categoriesare by J. L Ackrill, taken
from The CompleteWorlis of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 1984).

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question of the relation between this technical sense of position
and the ordinary sense of the word in everyday language. The
term 'position' in English is synonymous or nearly so with 'place',
but it is important to keep separate the concept indicated by
Aristotle's word for position, thesis, and the concept indicated by
his word for place, topos, and also to keep both separate from our
concept of space. Position, as described so far, concerns the spatial
relations of the parts of a body relative to each other and within
the limits of that body. The place of a thing, on the other hand,
is defined at Physics212a 6-7 by Aristotle as "the boundary of the
containing body at which it is in contact with the contained
body." Place is understood here as coinciding with the outside
surface of a body, on the model of the container of that body. In
addition, a place is always the place of a thing, that which
occupies or fills it. As such it is different from our notion of space,
the expanse or void within which physical objects move but which
can conceivably be empty either momentarily or for any amount
of time.
Another aspect of position in the sense considered so far is the
requirement that when parts of a body have position relative to
each other, those parts are joined, directly or indirectly, to each
other as parts of the same continuous body. Otherwise, the notion
under consideration would not be the concept of the position of
the parts of a body relative to each other but the concept of the
position of the parts of a body relative to something outside the
body. Unlike discrete quantities, the parts of which are not or
need not be physically joined to each other, continuous quantities
have parts each of which must be physically joined to at least one
other part of the same body. When one part is joined to another
part, the two not only touch each other but their respective limits
unite or overlap to form another part of the whole body in
question. Although each part of a continuous body need not touch
every other particular part of that body and so need not be in
direct contact with every other part of that body, each part of a
continuous quantity will be joined to another part which is joined
to another part, and so on, until each part of a continuous

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557

quantity is in direct or indirect contact with every other part of
that quantity. 18
A third aspect of the notion of position may be mentioned,
although it will not be pursued in any detail here. This is the idea
that for the parts of a body to have position relative to each other,
the parts must have some permanent duration, however limited,
within the body they constitute. This suggestion comes from
Albertus Magnus, who claims that position involves three
individually necessary and jointly sufficient elements. Besides
situation or spatial relation within a body and being joined to each
other, for the parts of a body to have position "one part should
remain constant with another part in the same continuous thing,
so that it should hold together with the other part. " 19 Presumably
Albert's reasoning is that for parts of a body to have position
relative to each other they must remain together in existence as
parts of that body at least for some minimal amount of time. This
line of thought draws partly on the etymology of the terms for
position, which connect position with things being put or set in
some region (thesis in Aristotle's Greek, positio in Latin). If a part
of a body existed as a part for only an instant or never remained
in the same spatial relations to other parts of that body but
constantly altered its position relative to other parts, it would be
just as well to deny that that thing was even a part of that body.
It could with better reason be called a body in its own right or a
part of a different body and not a part of the original body. So for
parts of a body to have position relative to each other, they must
18 Perhaps anachronistically, this account of what it is for the parts of a continuous quantity
to have position relative to each other in the Categories is intended to reflect Aristotle's
description of the relations of contiguity and continuity in the Physics. Continuity is one
special case of contiguity. If two things are contiguous, then the limits of the two touch each
other, but in the case of continuity the limits also form a unity and so constitute one thing; see
Physics 227a6-17.
19 Albert speaks of the different aspects of position as follows: "Positionem autem habere
tria concernit, scilicet ut assignetur ubi in continuo sita sit particula, et ut una pars permaneat
stans in eodem continuo cum altera, et ut teneatur cum altera copulatione. Et quodcumque
horum trium deficiat, non habebit in partibus positionem ...• Positio autem in continuo dicit
permanentiam, quia positum est fixum immobile secundum esse., et ideo oportet ut dicat
permanentiam" (Albertus Magnus, Commentariain PraedicamentaAristotelis,lib. 2, tract. 3,
cap. 6, in ed. Vives [Paris, 1890], 81; translation by the author).

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have some minimal permanence as parts bearing spatial relations
to at least some other parts of that body. This third aspect of
position is intriguing because it forges a link between the notion
of position and the identity of material substances over time.
Precisely for this reason it stands outside of the focus of the
present paper, which is not the identity of material substances
over time but their individuation. However, this third aspect of
the concept of position allows us to understand why Aquinas
thought that dimensive quantity, his principle of individuation,
might also have served as a source for the identity of material
substances over time. 20
Previously it was noted that position concerns the configuration or spatial orientation of the parts of a body relative to
each other. Considered in this way, the position of the parts of a
body may be distinguished from their place and from the various
spatial relations they and the whole body they constitute bear to
20 One puzzling aspect of the discussion of dimensive quantity in the Expositio super
librum Boethii de Trinitate is that Aquinas expects his principle of individuation to do double

duty as the source of the identity of material substances over time. He says it is indeterminate
and not determinate dimensions that are the principle of individuation, because the latter
would not ensure that individuals remain the same in number over time: "Dimensiones autem
istae possunt dupliciter considerari. Uno modo secundum earum terminationem; et dico eas
terminari secundum determinatam mensuram et figuram, et sic ut entia perfecta collocantur
in genere quantitatis. Et sic non possunt esse principium individuationis; quia cum talis
terminatio dimensionwn varietur frequenter circa individuum, sequeretur quod individuum
non remaneret semper idem numero. Alio modo possunt considerari sine ista determinatione
in natura dimensionis tan tum, quarilvis numquam sine aliqua determinatione esse possint, sicut
nee natura coloris sine determinatione albi et nigri; et sic collocantur in genere quantitatis ut
imperfectum. Et ex his dimensionibus interminatis material efficitur haec materia signata, et
sic individuat fonnam, et sic ex materia causatur diversitas secundwn numerum in eadem
specie" (Super Boet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 2 [Decker, ed., 143]). On one reading of this passage,
Aquinas has simply failed to see that the issues of individuation and identity over time are
distinct, and so assumes without warrant that the principle of individuation can be expected
to function also as the source of identity over time. However, on a more charitable reading,
if dimensive quantity is defined by the position of the parts of a body relative to each other,
and if Aquinas is employing his teacher Albert's analysis of position as requiring permanence
of parts of a body over time, then he can allow that the issues of individuation and identity
over time are distinct and still claim to have found in position both a principle of
individuation and a criterion of identity over time for material substances. Spelling out this
claim and its full grounds would take us beyond the scope of the present essay, but the
possibility of using position both as principle of individuation and as criterion of identity over
time shows the richness of the concept.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDIVIDUATION

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the outside world. That annoying novelty of years gone by, the
Rubik's cube, is based on the fact that the parts of an object can
be rearranged even as the object as a whole remains in roughly the
same place and intact. So the position of the parts of the cube
relative to each other can change even as the place of the cube
remains constant. To distinguish further the concepts of position
and place, consider a man sleeping soundly in his seat aboard an
airliner as it wings its way from Philadelphia to Chicago. The man
is changing place quite rapidly, as the airplane carrying him
travels at the rate of several hundred miles per hour. However, his
position does not change at all; as long as he retains the same
posture, the parts of his body do not alter their configuration
relative to each other. Then when the plane lands in Chicago,
suppose further that it halts on the runway and waits for a gate to
become available for unloading. The man awakes and stretches his
arms and legs while remaining in his seat. The man now remains
in approximately the same place, but the position of the parts of
his body alters when he stretches. Based on these examples, we
can say that position and place are different attributes of a
material substance. Both properties depend in some way on a
material substance's being extended in space and having the
capacity to move and change, but they are independent of each
other in the sense that they must be defined differently and in the
sense that each can vary while the other remains constant. This
has the consequence that neither place nor position can be
reduced to the other. Nor can the weaker relation of
supervenience hold between them; if position supervened on
place or vice versa, then it would not be possible for position to
change while place remained constant.
At this point it is surely natural to look to Aristotle's Physics
and its discussion of place for further insight into the relation
between position and place. One commonality between position
and place in this text is that both are connected with
dimensionality. Aristotle speaks of six dimensions in the physical
world and groups the six into three pairs of contraries: up and
down, before and behind, and right and left. In different passages

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he speaks of these dimensions as characterizing both position and
place. While observing that all natural philosophers have used
contraries as principles, he treats position as a genus spanning
contrary dimensions:
The same is true of Democritus also, with his plenum and void, both of which
exist, he says, the one as being and the other as not being. Again he speaks of
differences in position, shape, and order, and these are genera of which the
species are contraries, namely, of position, above and below, before and behind.
(188a 22-25) 21

Within his discussion of the infinite in book 3, chapter 5, Aristotle
speaks similarly of place as a genus containing the dimensions:
"Further, every sensible body is in place, and the kinds or
differences of place are up-down, before-behind, and right-left"
(205b31-33).
The message of these passages is that both a body whose parts
have position relative to each other and the place that the body
occupies are to be described as having different areas or regions,
where these regions bear the relations of being above or below
each other, before or behind each other, or to the right or left of
each other. 22
Given the fact that dimensions apply both to places and to
positions, we can observe that a material body being in a place is
a sufficient condition for it to be constituted by parts having
position relative to each other. If a body is in a place, that place
will be characterized ·by the six dimensions. As Aristotle says,
"Each [of the four elements] is carried to its own place, if it is not
hindered, the one up, the other down. Now these are regions [or
parts, mere] or kinds of place-up and down and the rest of the
six directions" (208b11-14). If the place occupied by a body has
an up and a down, or an upper part and a lower part, then the
body occupying that place will also have an upper and a lower
part. These parts will be configured in space in relation to each
21 Unless otherwise noted, all translation &om the Physics are by R. P. Hardie and R. K.
Gaye and are drawn &om Barnes, ed., The Complete Works of Aristotle.
22 For a fuller discussion of the six dimensions and their role in Aristotle's account of place,
see Benjamin Morison, On Location {New York: Clarendon Press, 2002), 35-47.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

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other in a determinate way, with one part being above the other,
and so will have position in relation to each other.
If a material body being in a place is sufficient for that material
body to be made of parts having position relative to each other,
then the natural question to ask is whether the converse also
holds. Is being a body made of parts having position relative to
each other also a sufficient condition for that body being in a
place? Intuitively this seems to be true; if a body has parts which
have position relative to each other, then those parts need to be
somewhere, and the body as a whole will be wherever its parts
taken together are, and so will be in a place. The key idea here is
that any body is somewhere and so occupies some place. A body
is what it is qua body, having a determinate extension and shape,
in part because of the way that its parts have position in relation
to each other. So being a body made of parts having position
relative to each other will be sufficient for that body being in a
place. 23
One qualification is in order when speaking of the relation
between position and place. Strictly speaking, it is parts of a body
that have position in relation to each other; that is why Aristotle
speaks of position in the Categoriesas something relative (pros ti
[6b2-14]). Yet place for Aristotle is a nonrelative property of
whole bodies. There is a nonrelative up and down in the universe,
as can be seen in the fact that the simple elements of fire, air,
water, and earth go to definite regions of the universe when
unimpeded, regions whose place is not defined relative to an
observer or some arbitrary point in the universe. Also, place is a
property of whole bodies and not, strictly speaking, of their parts.
It would be strange to deny that the parts of a body are
somewhere and occupy some place, but they are not in their own
23 There is one exception to the general rule that whatever has parts having position
relative to each other is in a place. On the Aristotelian view of mathematical entities, lines and
plane figures are abstracted from material objects so that the mind represents them to itself
apart from matter. In this condition, they have position but not place. So Aquinas says (Super
Boet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 3, resp.) that mathematical objects are in place only by similitude and
not properly. Due to this special case, I say only that any body or material substance having
position will be in a place.

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place by virtue of being parts. They are in the place of the whole
of which they are parts, and they have place by virtue of their
relation to something else, namely, the whole to which they
belong. This is the idea behind Aristotle's cryptic comment in
book 4, chapter 5: "Nor is it without reason that each should
remain naturally in its proper place. For parts do, and that which
is in a place has the same relation to its place as a separable part
to its whole" (212b33-35). As a result of these qualifications,
some care must be taken in comparing position to place. This is
the source of such inelegant locutions as "a body being constituted
by parts having position in relation to each other" as the correlate
to "a body being in a place."
Other passages of the Physicsshow a further use of this relative
notion of position. This use goes beyond the parts of a body
having position in relation to each other and takes in the idea of
bodies having position in relation to each other. As Aristotle
develops his grounds for taking place to be something absolute, he
contrasts the place of a thing with its position, something that is
relative. Looking again at book 3, chapter 5, which speaks of the
six dimensions as regions or parts or kinds of places, we find the
following: "[l]he kinds or differences of place are up-down,
before-behind, right-left; and these distinctions hold not only in
relation to us and by position [pros hemas kai thesei], but also in
the whole itself" (205b31-34 ). 24 So there is an up and a down,
and a right and a left in the universe; as a result each body is in
some determinate place in the whole cosmos. But the passage also
suggests that the dimensions have application in a relative sense,
by position. Presumably this means that a body is also in front of
another in a line for movie tickets, or to the right of the car in the
left-hand lane on the highway. The distinction between relative
position of this sort and absolute place arises again in book 4,
24 Here I alter Hardie and Gaye's translation; they render thesei as "by convention" rather
than as "by position." But there is a clear sense in saying that things are up or down, right or
left in relation to us and our position; the same object, without moving at all, will be up and
down in relation to me if I move from below it to a point above it and so change my position
relative to it. This is the point that Aristotle makes at 208b15-19, discussed in the following
footnote.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDIVIDUATION

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chapter 1 as Aristotle works toward associating place with the
dimensions understood absolutely:
Now these are regions [or parts,
or kinds of place--up and down and the
rest of the six directions; nor do such distinctions (up and down and right and
left) hold only in relation to us. To us they are not always the same but change
as we change our position; that is why the same thing is often both right and left,
up and down, before and behind. But in nature each is distinct, taken apart by
itself.25 (208b11-19)

As we move relative to the chimney rising out of the roof of a

house, that chimney may be first up and then down, to the right
and to the left. This does not mean that the chimney has changed
its place, only that its position relative to us (and ours relative to
it) has changed.
III. AQUINAS ON DIMENSIVE QUANTITY

So far, we have seen that a material body being in a place is a
sufficient condition for it having position, and we have seen that
a body having position is a sufficient condition for a body being
in place. This means that a body having position is a necessary and
sufficient condition for a body being in place. At the same time,
as we have seen in the examples of the man seated on the
airplane, position and place are different attributes of a material
substance and can vary independently of each other. Also, in
addition to the parts of a material substance having position in
relation to each other, a material substance can have position
relative to another substance. It remains, then, to see how Aquinas
would be able to use the notions of quantity, position, and place
to argue that dimensive quantity, understood as a quantity of
matter having position, is the principle of individuation for
substances. To use Gracia's terminology, we can argue
al/a kata tifn thesin,
hop6& an straph6men,gignetaiand its mention of position. The force of the whole passage is
25 Again altering Hardie and Gaye's translation to capture the sense of

that up and down and so forth are constant in nature, but that the same thing can become up
and then down relative to us and in relation to our position, as we move or turn ourselves.

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that dimensive quantity provides the necessary and sufficient
conditions for a material substance to be noninstantiable.
The main source for this response to Gracia is Aquinas's
commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate. In laying out his view on
the source of diversity among members of the same species, or
numerical diversity, Aquinas focuses on quantity of matter. Such
an individual is this form in this matter, but neither form nor
matter as such is able to account for the 'thisness' of the
individual. Matter individuates form by receiving form as this
matter, and it is this matter only insofar as it is divisible, as
Aquinas tells us:
For form is not individuated through the fact that it is received in matter, except
insofar as it is received in this matter which is distinct and determined to here
and now. Matter however is not divisible unless through quantity. Due to this
the Philosopher says in the first book of the Physics that once quantity is
removed an indivisible substance remains. And in light of this, matter is made
this and determined according as it is under dimensions. 26

So the dividing or distinguishing of matter that we find in distinct
material beings of the same species requires quantity and proceeds
by assigning some dimension to these distinct quantities of matter.
At the same time, we should keep in mind that dimensive quantity
need not be quantity in the sense of measure, that which is
signified by "2 quarts" or "3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet," but also can
be the quantity of the thing measured, a quantity which is made
of parts having position relative to each other.
This becomes clear if we look closer at how Aquinas
understands division of matter in the first article of question 4 of
his commentary. This question addresses the cause of plurality,
and the first article of the question begins by linking a plurality of
things to their divisibility or their being divided. In light of this,
the cause of division will also be taken as the cause of plurality.
26 See Aquinas. Super Boet. tk Trin., q. 4, a. 2: "Non enim forma individuatur per hoc
quod recipitur in materia, nisi quatenus recipitur in hac materia distincta et determinata ad hie
et nunc. Materia autem non est divisibilis nisi per quantitatem. Unde Philosophus dicit in I
Physicorum quod subtracta quantitate remanebit substantia indivisibilis. Et ideo materia
haec et signata, secundum quod subest dimensionibus" (Decker; ed., 143)

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

565

To illustrate the division of composite things, Aquinas takes up
the division of quantity, and in particular a line. As Kevin White
remarks, the fact that this example comes at the beginning of
Aquinas's discussion of plurality and individuation and its
textbook quality indicate that it was devised expressly to guide
our understanding of the question as a whole. 27 "For one part of
a line is divided from the other through the fact that they have
differing situation [diversum situm], which is as it were the formal
difference of quantity having position. " 28 This example is put
forward to illustrate the idea that the formal cause of division in
composite and posterior things is diversity of simple and first
things.
If we step back from the larger aims of the article and focus on
this sentence, two important points arise which will help
illuminate Aquinas's approach to individuation. First, the division
which leads to diverse individuals is not crucially a matter of
parceling out quantities of matter in the sense of measuring
something 3 feet long. Individuality depends rather on the fact
that a quantity of matter is the sort of thing that can have
different parts with different positions relative to each other. The
formal cause of division in quantity, in the sense of the nature by
which the cause occurs, is diversity of "simple and first things."
The example which follows, a line divided into two parts, is
described as resulting in parts with diverse situation, where
situation is the formal nature of quantity having position. So
situation and position are the first and simple things, diversity in
which explains division in posterior and composite things, such as
material substances.
A second point is terminological. Here and in later passages in
the De Trinitate commentary, Aquinas will use the term situs in
explaining the individuality of material substances. I have used
'situation' to translate this, in the sense of a thing's being located
27 Kevin White, "Individuation in Aquinas's Super Boetium De Trinitate, Q. 4," American
Catholic PhilosophicalQuarterly 69 (1995): 547.
28 Aquinas, SuperBoet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 1: "Dividitur enim una pars lineae ab alia per hoc
quod habetdiversum situm, qui est quasi fonnalis differentia quantitatis continuae positionem

habentis" (Decker, ed., 134).

566

ANDREW PAYNE

or situated in space, but it is important to keep the term and its
associated concept apart from place and terms for place. Situs or
'situation' is said to be the formal difference of continuous
quantity, so it is the particular nature shared by those continuous
quantities composed of parts having position relative to each
other. The different parts of a line have diverse situation because
they are situated differently within the whole line. As such, situs
or situation cannot be place, which is conceived on the model of
a container fit for being filled with quantities of matter. Light is
shed on the relation between situs and place by Aquinas's
commentary on Aristotle's Physics: situs adds to the category of
"where" the idea of an order of parts in a place. 29 As a result, situs
is concerned with the spatial relations of parts of material
substances, as is position. This is not merely a terminological
point, since getting clear on the meaning of situs helps clarify
Aquinas's view on individuation and present it in its strongest
version. According to White, when Aquinas says that division of
quantity occurs in a line by the parts of the line having diverse
sitits, this means that "the different parts of a line are divided
because they have different places, place being, as it were, the
formal difference of positioned continuous quantity." Here White
takes situs as synonymous with place and as a result presents
Aquinas's doctrine of individuation by dimensive quantity as
ultimately a theory of individuation by place. 30 This is not a
satisfactory exposition of the meaning of situs; an object could
retain the same order of its parts even as it changes its place, and
so be unchanged in its situs while its place changes. And in light
of Gracia's criticisms of the spatio-temporal theory of individuation, we should be alert to differences between situation and
position on the one hand and place on the other, so as to interpret
29 See chapter 322 of Thomas Aquinas, In Octo Libras PhysicorumAristotelis F.xpositio,
(Rome: Marietti, 1954), 159.
30 "Aquinas states that place enters into the very ratio of dimension, apparently suggesting
that it is simpler than dimension, and hence that, according to the argument of Article One,
division of place somehow causes diversity of dimension. From the point of view of human
knowledge, at least, place seems to vie with quantity as the ultimate root of the discernment
of individuals and of the very notion of individuation" (White, "Individuation in Aquinas,"
555).

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

567

Aquinas's theory of individuation by dimensive quantity as
something other than the spatio-temporal theory.
Drawing on our review of Aristotle's discussion of quantity in
the Categories, we can observe that matter is a continuous
quantity and one that is constituted by parts having position in
relation to each other. That Aquinas views matter in this
Aristotelian light is shown by his reply to the third objection in
the crucial second article of the fourth question. That third
objection anticipates Gracia by proposing that all accidents are of
themselves communicable and so cannot serve as the principle of
individuation. Aquinas's reply to this objection points to a special
quality of the accident of dimensive quantity. "No accident has in
itself the proper nature of division, except quantity. From thence
dimensions have of themselves a certain nature of individuation
according to a determinate situation, insofar as situation is a
difference of quantity. "31 Situs here is the nature or property of
quantity having position, one of the differentia of quantity. So it
is not simply the fact of having dimensions that makes for
individuation in material substances, but in addition the having of
determinate position, which dimensions carry in their train.
Working still with the set of conceptual connections laid out in
the Categories and the Physics, we can say that matter having
some quantity will be characterized by some dimensions. Dimensive quantity involves matter having position, or more precisely
being made of parts bearing position in relation to each other. A
material substance which is made of parts having determinate
position relative to each other will also be in some determinate
place. This is why matter considered under dimensions is
determined to be this matter by being tied to some determinate
here and now.
Looking further afield in Aquinas's work, we can also
understand why he speaks of dimensive quantity as the source of
individuation and explains this using the notion of position. While
31 See Aquinas, SuperBoet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 2, ad 3: "Nullum autem accidens habet ex se
propriam rationem divisionis nisi quantitas. Unde dimensiones ex se ipsis habent quondam
rationem individuationis secundum detenninatum situm, proutsitus est differentiaquantitatis"
(Decker, ed., 144)

568

ANDREW PAYNE

discussing the presence of accidents in the Eucharist in the third
part of the Summa Theologiae, he states that dimensive quantity
is the subject of the other accidents remaining in the sacrament.
Dimensive quantity is able to play this individuating role because
of its connection to position.
So it is that dimensive quantity in itself has a certain individuation; we can
imagine many lines of the same kind, but all different because of their position;
and this position is part of the very idea of this quantity. For it is of the very
definition of a dimension to be quantity having position.32

This passage shows how Aquinas might reply to Gracia. A plurality of lines of the same length will all have the same quantity, in
the sense that measuring each will produce the same answer to the
question "How long is that line?" They are individuated not
merely by quantity as measure, but by their difference in position
relative to each other which puts them in different places. Yet it
is still fitting to speak of dimensive quantity as the source or
principle of individuation, since position is the specific difference
that distinguishes dimensive quantity from other species of
quantity. This points to a statement of the nature that is dimensive
quantity. Following the idea that a nature is defined by a genus
and a specific difference, the nature of dimensive quantity is
quantity having position. Rightly understood, the nature of
dimensive quantity includes position, so that whatever has
dimensive quantity will also be made of parts having position in
relation to each other and will therefore occupy a determinate
place. Division and incommunicability result from dimensive
quantity, since matter under the accident of dimensive quantity
will occupy a determinate location.
One sign that these reflections on individuation follow
Aquinas's own thought on the topic comes in the third article of
the fourth question of the commentary on Boethius. As I have
constructed the argument, quantity of matter involves dimensive
quantity, which implies that the matter is made of parts bearing
position relative to each other, which puts a given quantity of
32 Aquinas, STh ill, q. 77, a. 2. See Thomas Aquinas, Summa Tbeologiae 3a (London:
Blackfriars, 1965), vol. 57, p. 134. Translation by William Barden, 0. P. Emphasis in original.

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

569

matter in a determinate place. For this result to individuate
material substances successfully, it must be the case that no two
material substances can occupy the same place at the same time.
If two material substances could occupy the same place at the
same time, they both could have the same quantity of matter and
be assigned to the same determinate place. In that event, quantity
of matter would not serve to explain the individuation of the two
substances. And in fact, Aquinas devotes the third article of the
fourth question to ruling out this possibility. Barring divine
intervention, he says, two bodies cannot simultaneously be in the
same place and cannot be understood so to be. This is due to the
very nature of bodies and not to some superficial characteristic,
such as their density or impurity or corruptibility. Rather, we have
distinct bodies through division of matter, and this division of
matter can occur only when two bodies are distinct according to
situation [situs]:
[S}incethe division of matter occurs only through dimensions, from the nature
of which there is situation, it is impossible that this matter be distinct from that
unless they are distinct according to situation, which is not the case whenever
two bodies are put in the same place; from which those two bodies would be one
body, which is impossible. 33

It supports my interpretation of Aquinas's thought that he asks in
the same article whether two bodies can be in the same place
simultaneously and rules this out by drawing on the ideas of
situation and position.
IV. IN DEFENSE OF DIMENSIVE QUANITIY

Having attempted to formulate in more depth the notion of
dimensive quantity, we can turn now to reconsider Gracia's
objections to taking this property as the principle of individuation
33Aquinas, Super Boet. de Trin., q. 4, a. 3: "Oportet enim esse plura corpora, in quibus
forma corporeitatis invenitur divisa, quae quidem non dividitur nisi secundum divisionem
materiae, cuius divisio cum sit solum per dimensiones, de quarum ratione est situs, impossibile
est esse bane materiam distinctam ab ilia, nisi quando distincta secundum situm, quod non est
quando duo corpora ponuntur esse in eodem loco. Unde sequitur ilia duo corpora esse unum
corpus, quod est impossibile" (Decker, ed., 150-51).

570

ANDREW PAYNE

for material substances. As we have seen, these objections are two.
First, relying on dimensive quantity as a principle of individuation
involves using an extrinsic feature of a thing to explain one of its
intrinsic features, namely, its individuality. Second, dimensive
quantity is itself something instantiable and so cannot explain the
individuality or noninstantiability of a thing.
The first objection treats dimensive quantity as on a par with
any other accident, as something extrinsic to its subject. This relies
on the understanding of dimensive quantity as a measure, that
which is indicated by "2 quarts" or "3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet." In
reply, I would argue that dimensive quantity rightly understood
is different from other accidents like color or shape which are
indeed extrinsic to a material substance. Dimensive quantity
implies position, which is the configuration of the parts of a
material substance in three-dimensional space relative to each
other. Because of the particular configuration of these parts a
material substance will be measured as 2 quarts or will have the
dimensions of 3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet, but the position of these
parts is the source of these measurements and should not be
identified with them. Rather, the position of a body is an integral
part of that material substance's constitution. As such, a material
substance is extended in the six dimensions and constituted by
parts configured in some way relative to each other. A body's
position helps constitute it as the body it is, as an extended thing
located in some place. The matter of a material substance does not
have these features of being extended in dimensions and being
made of parts merely from an extrinsic source; rather, its position
or the configuration of its parts help make it the body that it is. So
for the same reason that matter is an intrinsic principle of a
material substance, the position of the parts of a material
substance and the resulting dimensive quantity of that material
substance are intrinsic features of that substance.
Gracia might argue that in fact position is more like such
extrinsic features of a thing as its color than it is like a genuinely
intrinsic feature. Socrates might have been paler in color if he had
spent less time in the agora of Athens under the hot sun of

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

571

Greece, but even so he still would have been Socrates, only paler.
Similarly, Socrates might have been a bit shorter, leading to a
slightly different determinate position of the parts of his body
relative to each other, but he still would have been Socrates, only
shorter. If this is so, or so goes the possible reply, position is not
intrinsic to the individuals it characterizes. But this reply rests on
a misconstrual of what sort of intrinsic feature is required in a
principle of individuation. To be intrinsic in the way envisioned
by this reply, a feature would have to be a necessary property of
the individual it modifies, and necessarily present in a determinate
way in order to individuate this particular individual. Any change
in that individuating feature would lead to a different individual.
But this is not Gracia's understanding of how the principle of
individuation operates. He thinks of the principle of individuation
as ensuring the noninstantiability of the individual, not its
uniqueness or its having one determinate set of features. The
proposed reply makes the individuality of Socrates consist in his
exemplifying whatever features are intrinsic to his being Socrates,
his Socrateity, while it leaves obscure exactly how Socrates
exemplifies those features and is noninstantiable. As such, this
approach to individuation collapses into the bundle theory of
individuation, according to which each individual is constituted
as an individual by bearing a set of features or some suitably
complex feature. Gracia is well aware of the drawbacks of such an
approach to the problems of individuation and disavows it. 34
Gracia's second objection to dimensive quantity comes closer
to the heart of the matter. The quantities indicated by terms such
as "2 quarts" or "3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet" seem to be instantiable
or communicable features capable of being shared by many
individuals, and so they do not seem suited to explain the
noninstantiability of individuals. Even if we construe dimensive
quantity as involving position, the configuration of the parts of a
material substance relative to each other, this does not alter the
essential fact that position itself is an instantiable and
communicable feature. Two material substances with the same
34 Gracia, Individuality, 92-94,

144-50.

572

ANDREW PAYNE

external dimensions of 3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet could share the
same internal configuration of parts relative to each other, though
the two substances would be located in different places. In this
imagined example it is the different locations of the two
substances that does the individuating, so that in fact we are
dealing with the spatio-temporal theory of individuation, the
flaws of which Gracia has already detailed. So dimensive quantity
understood as involving position does not provide us with an
adequate principle of individuation.
In reply, I wish to concede that dimensive quantity is an
instantiable or general feature, but to challenge the assumption
that no instantiable feature can serve as an adequate principle of
individuation. Within Gracia's framework, the principle of
individuation, whatever it is, is either itself an individual or it is
a universal, an instantiable feature. Gracia claims that it cannot be
a universal, because the principle of individuation has the task of
explaining how individuals are unlike universals by being
noninstantiable. I would argue that this is true of most universals,
but that position is a special case. It is an instantiable feature, or
a universal, but it is responsible for matter being assigned to
determinate places.
To explain how an instantiable feature like position can
individuate material substances it is necessary first to enrich the
conceptual apparatus used to describe position and place. Gracia
approaches the problem of individuation using the distinction
between universals and instances: universals are instantiable
features, while individuals are noninstantiable instances of universals. But consider also the distinction between a determinable
and a determinate thing or quality. Color, for instance, is a
determinable feature; to say that a thing is colored leaves open
whether the thing is black, white, gray, blue, orange, and so on.
Any particular thing will have some particular shade(s) of color,
though, and will not be simply colored. Similarly, position and
place are determinables. Every material substance has some
position, in the sense that it is made up of parts extended
dimensionally which bear spatial relations to each other, and
every material substance is in place. But every material substance

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

573

will not simply have position or simply occupy place in general;
every material substance will be made up of parts bearing
particular, determinate spatial relations to each other and will be
in some determinate place.
I have introduced the contrast between determinables and
determinates using the example of color, a universal or
instantiable feature. A determinate color is also a universal. There
might be thousands of individuals which exemplify a particular,
determinate shade of green, and all of these individuals would be
exactly alike, considered as colored things. The same goes for
such universals as being human, being made of lead, and having
dimensions of 3 feet by 3 feet by 3 feet, all of which are
determinate and instantiable features. However, it is important to
notice that not every determinate feature is a universal or
instantiable feature. In particular, the determinate feature 'place'
is different. A determinate place is not a universal; it is simply
where a material substance is or can be. A determinate place is not
something that an individual exemplifies or that many individuals
exemplify. Of course, many different material substances can
occupy one and the same place at different times and so in a sense
can share a place. But this does not make that determinate place
a universal any more than the fact that two individuals can own
a particular automobile, with first one person owning the
automobile and then selling it to a second, makes that automobile
a universal. When first water and then air fills a jar, the two
bodies occupy the same place in turn. But this does.not mean that
they exemplify the same place; if they exemplify a universal, it
would be something like "being in this particular place at some
time." But that place is not identical with the universal mentioned
here; the place is what surrounds or limits first the one and then
the other body, and what those bodies fill with their parts. So a
place is not something exemplified by an individual or by many
individuals; it is simply the particular region where a material
substance is or can be.
A determinate place, then, is an individual. In addition,
whatever occupies a determinate place is itself an individual. A
universal is an instantiable feature, while an individual is what is

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ANDREW PAYNE

capable of exemplifying a universal. On this way of conceiving
universals and individuals, it is an individual that will exemplify
the instantiable feature of occupying this determinate place at
some time. We can formulate a universal "occupying this place at
some time" and this universal could be exemplified by many
individuals at different times, but this fact is based on the prior
fact that one and only one material individual occupies a
determinate place at a determinate time.
If a determinate place is an individual and is occupied by one
or more individuals, we can explain how a universal, instantiable
feature can be responsible for individuals being noninstantiable.
A determinate position is a universal or instantiable feature, but
one that is the source of things having or occupying determinate
places. A material substance has a determinate position if it is
made up of parts having determinate relations to each other. This
configuration of parts within a material substance is an instantiable feature, in the sense that different material substances
can be configured internally in exactly the same way; this would
be the case in the example of the two wooden cubes with equal
dimensions. But one such cube, in having its parts configured in
this particular way, will be extended in the six dimensions and
will occupy a determinate place. Although the two wooden cubes
may have the same internal configuration of parts, they cannot
occupy the same place simultaneously, thanks to the fact that two
bodies cannot occupy the same place at the same time. So by
having a determinate place, each material substance will be
incommunicable and noninstantiable; whatever has determinate
position will have a determinate place, and only one individual
can occupy that determinate place at a given time. This ensures
that dimensive quantity or quantity having position will meet the
first condition for a satisfactory principle of individuation, namely
that it must explain the incommunicability of individuals.
From the previous paragraph it might seem that it is the
difference in place that secures the individuation of our two cubes
of equal size. This is part of Gracia's second objection as
elaborated above; it might seem that position as the principle of
individuation is indistinguishable from the spatio-temporal theory

THE PRINCIPLE OF INDMDUATION

575

of individuation. But this is not so, since position is distinct from
and the source of a thing being such as to occupy place and have
spatio-temporal location. The position of a material substance, in
the sense of its parts being in spatial relations to each other, is
intrinsic to that substance. It is this configuration of parts in space
that is responsible for the material substance taking up or
occupying a place, something extrinsic to that substance. For a
material substance to be individuated involves, among other
things, being in a determinate place. But this is compatible with
holding that what individuates that substance, that which explains
its being an individual, is that material substance having quantity
and position, or dimensive quantity. So it is the dimensive
quantity of a body that is responsible for the place of that body.
We typically discern the individuality of material substances by
their distinct places, and in holding to dimensive quantity as the
principle of individuation we can happily affirm this. Yet still it is
the position of a body that is responsible for its place. As a result,
relying on dimensive quantity as the principle of individuation
does not reduce to the spatio-temporal theory of individuation.
By investigating the Aristotelian background of several of the
key terms in Aquinas's discussion of individuation in the Expositio
super librum Boethii De Trinitate, I hope that I have provided
further support for the claim that dimensive quantity, although it
is an accident, carries with it "a certain individuation." Gracia
bases his position on what seems to be unassailable logic: if to be
an individual is to be noninstantiable, and if dimensive quantity
is an instantiable feature by virtue of being an accident, then it
cannot explain the individuality of anything. Yet things are not so
simple; the special nature of dimensive quantity, that which is
composed of parts having position relative to each other, is such
that it is responsible for material objects having determinate
places. In doing so, dimensive quantity individuates material
objects.35

35 I wish to thank Daniel Novotny

and Jorge Gracia for their helpful comments on this
piece and for their insightful criticism of my approach to issues of individuation.

The Thomist 68 (2004): 577-600

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND THE EUCHARISTIC
THEOLOGY OF ST. THOMAS
MARK G. VAILLANCOURT
Staten Island, New York

0

NE OF THE PRINCIPAL treatises written

to defend the
doctrine of the real presence in the Eucharistic crisis of
the eleventh century, De corporis et sanguinis Christi
veritate in eucharistia libri tres, 1 by Guitmund of Aversa, contains
a fascinating vision of the Eucharist as a species domini, or
another postresurrection apparition of Christ, that calls for
further examination by theologians of our own day. Guitmund's
doctrine of the real presence, characterized by some authors as
"ultra-realist," 2 is actually far more faithful to the received
tradition and indeed anticipatory of the Eucharistic theology of St.
Thomas than was once thought. In fact, when compared to that
of Thomas, Guitmund's teaching on the real presence furnishes
much insight into just what the Angelic Doctor actually taught
about the Eucharist.
In order for the reader to appreciate this portrait of the
Eucharistic Christ, and to understand not only how it anticipates
the Thomistic synthesis, but indeed even lays the theological
foundations for it, I shall rehearse briefly the historical background of Guitmund's De corporis et sanguinis Christi and its
immediate context, the Berengarian crisis ofthe eleventh century.
1 See Mark G. Vaillancourt, "The Role of Guitmund of Aversa in the Developing Theology
of the Eucharist" (Ph.D. diss., Fordham University, 2004).
2 See J. Montclos, 1.Anfranc et Berenger: LA controverse Eucharistique du Xie siecle
(Louvain: Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense, 1971), 462; F. Vernet, "Eucharistic du IX a la fin
du XI siecle," Dictionnairede thiologie catholique5 (Paris: Letouzey et Ane, 1913),1228; J.
Geiselmann, Die Eucharistielehreder Vorscholastik(Paderborn: F. Schonigh, 1926), 375.

577

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

I will then discuss Guitmund's Eucharistic doctrine as it can be
found in De corporis et sanguinis Christi, and compare his
theology with that of St. Thomas Aquinas. Such an exposition
should illustrate not only the importance of Guitmund's insights
into the doctrine of the real presence, but also the extent to which
Thomas's Eucharistic doctrine was predicated upon them.
I. GmTMUND OF A VERSA AND THE
BERENGARIANCRISIS OF THE ELEVENTH CENTURY

Guitmund of Aversa was born sometime during the first
quarter of the eleventh century in Normandy, and joined the
Order of St. Benedict at the Abbey of the Cross in St. Leufroy.3
Around the year 1060, he began his theological studies at the
monastery of Bee, where he fell under the influence, and became
the faithful disciple, of Lanfranc, Berengarius's principal antagonist and chief proponent of Eucharistic realism. We know from
his own correspondence that around 1070 William the Conqueror
ordered him to leave France and travel to England. As an
enticement to remain in England, William offered him a diocese,
but Guitmund rejected the offer because of William's brutality
and the Norman hegemony over the British people. 4 He then left
England and returned to France. After his return to Normandy,
there was a movement to have Guitmund fill the see of Rouen,
but the attempt was blocked by his enemies.5 Subsequent to his
episcopal rejection, Guitmund sought permission from his abbot
to leave Normandy, and reside at a monastery in Rome, where he
assumed the name of "Christian. " 6 Upon his arrival, one
chronicler of the period wrote that "Pope Gregory VII received
See Notitia historica et litteraria (PL 149:1425A-1426B).
•See Guitmund. Oratio ad Guillelmum I Anglorum regem cum recusaretepiscopatum (PL
149:1509A-1512A).
5 According to Oderic Vitalis, Guitmund's enemies used the fact that he was the son of a
priest to block his election (see excerpt from Historia ecclesiastica5.17, appended to the end
of Guitmund's Oratio [PL 149:1512C]).
'See the anonymous De Berengariihaeresiarchedamnatione multiplici (PL 145:8B). See
also Theodoric Ruinart, Vita beati Urbani II papae (PL 151:78A).
3

GlTITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTIC THEOLOGY

579

him with joy and made him a cardinal. "7 We know also that in
February 1077, Gregory appointed him to a papal legation north
of the Alps.8 It appears that Guitmund continued to reside in
Rome after the death of Gregory VII, and was elevated to the see
of Aversa in southern Italy by Pope Urban II at the council of
Melfi in 1089, 9 where he remained until his death around 1095.
Guitmund is known to have authored four works: (1)
Confessio de sancta trinitate, Christi humanitate, corporisque et
sanguinis Domini nostri veritate; (2) Oratio ad Guile/mum I; (3)
Epistola ad Erfastum; and (4) De corporis et sanguinis veritate
Christi in eucharistia libri tres.10 It is the last work that constitutes
the main focus of this article. It is apparent from internal evidence
that it could not have been written before Hildebrand became
pope, 11 or after the Roman council of 1079. It was probably
written, therefore, while Guitmund was still in Normandy, before
he left for Rome, and very possibly before the council of Poitiers
in 107 5. Consequently, the publication of De corporis et sanguinis
Christi should be dated around the end of the Berengarian
controversy, that is, between 1073 and 1075.
Berengarius was born in Tours sometime between 999 and
1005. As a young Scholastic, he studied liberal arts and theology
in the cathedral school of Chartres under the bishop, Fulbert
(952-1028). In 1039 he was elected archdeacon of Angers, and
took up a teaching post at the cathedral school of St. Maurice, but
continued to reside in Tours. Sometime around 1048 his interest
in sacred Scripture 12 led him to study the biblical commentaries of
Ratramnus of Corbie, wrongly attributed to the ninth-century
Historia ecclesiastica5.17 (PL 149:15120).
See Paul Bernrieden, Vita S. GregoriiVII (PL 148:810).
' Robert Somerville, Pope Urban II: The "Collectio Britannica"and the Council of Melfi
(1089) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996), 53-57.
10 See also Jean Leclerq's "Passage authentique inedit de Guitmund D'Aversa," Revue
Benedictine 57 (1947): 213-14.
11 See Guitmund, De corporiset sanguinisChristi 3.42. The latest known edition of the
work was published by H. Hurter, in the collection Sanctorum patrum opuscula selecta 38
(Innsbruck: Libreria Academica Wagneriana, 1879). In my translation, I have used Hurter's
text and paragraph notation.
12 See Montdos, Lanfranc et Berenger, 48.
7

8

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

theologian John Scotus Eriugena. Berengarius also read De
corpore et sanguine domini by Paschasius Radbertus, the
Carolingian author of the first monograph ever written on the
Eucharist. 13 Berengarius embraced the Ratramnian view of
Eucharistic symbolism, and rejected Radbertus's earlier treatise,
which he regarded as the Eucharistic realism adopted by the
"common crowd." Berengarius considered Eriugena's doctrine, or
rather that of Ratramnus, as the faithful exposition of the
authentic tradition, expressed most notably by Jerome, Ambrose,
and Augustine.14 His ideas, however, soon provoked a public
scandal, and through the agency of Guitmund's mentor, Lanfranc,
then prior of the abbey of Bee, they found their way to Rome and
the council over which Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida
presided in 1050. Both at Rome and later that year in Vercelli
Berengarius was condemned in absentia; Lanfranc was present at
both sessions. At the Easter Council of 105 9, Pope Nicholas II
presided over 113 bishops assembled for the general business of
the Church. Cardinal Humbert drafted the profession of faith that
Berengarius, this time in attendance, was forced to sign:
I, Berengarius, unworthy deacon of the Church of St. Maurice at Angers,
knowing the true, Catholic, and apostolic Faith, condemn all heresy, especially
that of which I have hitherto been guilty, and attempts to assert that the bread
and wine that are placed on the altar are, after the Consecration, only a
sacrament [solomodo sacramentum] and not the true Body and Blood of Our
Lord Jesus Christ, and that they are not able to be touched or broken by the
hands of the priests or chewed by the teeth of the faithful [dentibus atten]
sensibly, but rather only sacramentally [sensualiter nisi solo in sacramento].
Moreover, I assent to the holy Roman and apostolic See and, concerning the
sacraments of the Lord's table, I profess with mouth and heart that I hold that
Faith that the lord and venerable Pope Nicholas and this holy Synod, resting on
the authority of the Gospels and the Apostles, have handed on to be held and
have confirmed for me: namely, that the bread and wine that are placed on the
13 Paschasius Radbertus was a monk of the Abby of Corbie; he was elected abbot in 844,
resigned his office in 851 and died in 865. His tteatise De corporeet sanguinedomini was
written sometime between the years 831 and 833, and the first edition was produced
exclusively for the insttucrion of his fellow monks. The second edition, which would receive
a far wider circulation, appeared over a decade later in response to a request by the Emperor
Charles the Bald, between the years 843 and 844.
14 Montclos, Lanfranc et Berenger,48-49.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTIC 11-IBOLOGY

581

altar are, after the Consecration, not only the Sacrament but the true Body and
Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and that they are in truth [in veritate] sensibly
and not only sacramentally touched by the hands of the priests and are broken
and chewed by the teeth of the faithful. I swear this by the holy and
consubstantial Trinity and by these holy Gospels. I pronounce that those who
will come forward against this Faith with their own doctrines and followers are
worthy of eternal damnation. But if I myself should at some point presume to
think, or preach, anything against these things, I submit myself to the severity of
canon law. I have read, and reread this, and sign it willingly.15

This statement on the real presence was ratified by the pope
with the unanimous assent of the bishops in attendance. It was, as
we shall see, the starting point for Guitmund's understanding of
the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.
II. THE EUCHARISTICDOCTRINE OF GUITMUND OF AVERSA

A) Guitmund and the Real Presence
De corporis et sangu.inis vertitate Christi in eucharistia is first
and foremost a defense of the 1059 definition, and its author was
undoubtedly justifying the Eucharistic doctrine of his teacher and
mentor, Lanfranc, whom he mentions often in the text with great
admiration. Guitmund's own Eucharistic theology, as it can be
found in De corporis et sangu.inis Christi, appears primitive in its
graphic portrayal of Christ's physical presence in the Eucharist.
This undoubtedly arises from the "shock value" already contained
in the language of the 1059 oath, for which his work is an
apology. A close study of the work, however, reveals profound
subtleties of thought that reflect sound theological principles.
These subtleties are at times truly innovative, and argue for a
Eucharistic realism that cannot easily be dismissed. They are most
notable in the distinctions that Guitmund makes, which in
themselves are important to his understanding of the substantial
change and sacramental character of the Eucharist, but are most
crucial in his explanation of the nature of the real presence.
15 Translation in J. T. O'Connor, The Hidden Manna: A Theology of the Eucharist (San
Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1988), 177. See also Denziger-Schonmetzer (DS) 690.

582

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

Upon careful examination of the text, one finds that Guitmund
uses two words to express the vision of the real presence of Christ
on the altar as the same body born of the Virgin. They are both
verbs that appear as passive infinitives in the Latin text, one taken
from the Berengarian oath, the other from the lexicon of post1059 Berengarian objections to the oath, and both are terms that
serve as points of departure for Guitmund's doctrinal exposition:
atteri and dissipari.16 An analysis of both will effectively unearth
those theological principles, and make clear his profound vision
of the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist as none other than
the true presence of the risen Christ himself.

1. The Body of Christ Is Chewed by the Teeth: Atteri
One of the first objections raised against the oath of 1059 is
that it contained language "grossly material" 17 or "carnalist, " 18
that is, that the body of Christ is chewed by the teeth in holy
communion, not just sacramentally (sacramentaliter)but sensibly
(sensualiter).19 Most theologians choose to shy away from the
language, or excuse it as an overreaction to Berengarius's
Eucharistic symbolism. Guitmund, however, embraces this term
with a certain sense of "Augustinian boldness," for he asks: "Why
is it not right for Christ to be chewed by the teeth?" 20 The
objection itself can be understood in only two ways: either it is
16 Thomas in his commentary on the 1059 oath (STh m, q. 77, a. 7, ad 3) , uses the word
masticari instead of atteri and dissipari,but the sense is the same, that is, these two words
taken together mean the one process of mastication during holy communion.
17 A. J. Macdonald, Berengarand the Reform of Sacramental Doctrine (Merrick, N.Y.:
Richwood Publishing Company, 1977), 131.
18 Montclos, Lanfranc et Berenger, 25.
19 In explaining the phrase non solummodo sacramentaliter,Lanfranc makes it clear that:
"the Church of Christ believes thus, that the bread is changed into flesh and the wine into
blood, and also believes unto salvation and rightly acknowledges it to be a sacrament of the
passion of the Lord, of divine propitiation, concordance and unity; the flesh and blood once
assumed from the Vtrgin, [is a sacrament] of each one of these things, each in its own way"
(Lanfranc, De corporeet sanguinedomini adversusBerengariumTuronensem[PL 150:415A]).
Thus Lanfranc recognized that the 1059 assertion of the real presence did not vacate the
sacramental character of the Eucharist.
20 Guitmund, De corporiset sanguinisChristi 1.10.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

583

not possible for God to will such a thing, or, even if he could, it
would be beneath his dignity to do so.
To address the first objection, namely, that it is not possible for
Christ to be chewed by the teeth, Guitmund adduces the allpowerful will of God. This was Paschasius's first principle in the
De corpore, and, true to that tradition, Guitmund makes it his
own. If God has willed it, there is nothing on the part of created
reality that can resist it, 21 for, to quote the Psalmist, "whatever
God wills to do, he does, both in heaven and on earth" (Ps
134:6). As one reviews the literature of the period, it becomes
clear that, for the defenders of orthodoxy, this principle trumps
all arguments. As author of creation, God can will a relationship
between Christ's body in heaven and the faithful on earth that
allows it to be touched by them in a physical way today, just as it
was when Jesus was still in this world.
Guitrnund's first subtle distinction then follows upon the
response to the first objection when he asks: "Just what do they
mean by atteri?"22 If by atteri, he says, they mean "to touch more
forcefully," then why cannot Christ be touched? Was not Christ
touched by Thomas and the holy women after his resurrection?
For if the body of the Lord could be touched by the hands of Thomas the
Apostle and the holy women after the resurrection, why can it not be touched
by the teeth of the faithful today, either lightly or more forcefully (that is
atten)-there seems to be no reason to prevent it.23

Once this distinction is made, namely, that atteri is no more than
an extension of the sense of touch, which is proper to physical
bodies, then it must be possible to touch Christ in the Eucharist,
with the teeth or the hand, or with any other part of the body.
For Guitrnund, the presence of Christ in the Eucharist is really
and physically the presence of the same body that was
encountered by the disciples in the postresurrection experiences.
There is no difference-in fact there is an identity between the
21 Ibid.
22 Ibid.
23 Ibid.

584

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

two. In Guitmund's view, the body of Christ seen on the altar is
the same body that has risen and ascended into glory, hence to
encounter one is to experience the other.
If, however, there is no question of impossibility, then what of
unsuitability? If this real presence were possible, since for God all
things are possible, would it not be unseemly for Christ to be
chewed by teeth? Guitmund responds to this objection with
another doctrinal principle, reminiscent of Philippians 2:6-11: the
humility of Christ. For would he who "was crushed [atten] by the
rods of the infidel, the crown of thorns, the cross, the nails, the
lance, by all the extreme irreligiosity that was within them" 24
refuse, for the sake of the same faithful, to endure that which was
less worthy, namely, to be crushed by their teeth? Guitmund
replies in the negative, for if Christ subjected himself to the
extreme humiliation of the passion, which meant that he
permitted his body to be crushed by sinful men, then it stands to
reason that he would also allow it to be touched by his faithful for
their salvation.
The next important, yet subtle, distinction on the atteri
discourse arises from the question as to whether or not "to press
more forcefully" means the same thing as "to wound." The
former pertains to the sense of touch which is natural to human
flesh, but the latter, Guitmund claims, belongs to the infirm
character of our mortal human nature, and since "the flesh of the
resurrected Lord retained what was of its nature, and lost what
belonged to that flesh in its infirmity," Christ can be pressed by
the teeth of the faithful with all the strength that is in them, and
they can never harm or wound him, for the flesh of the glorified
Christ, characterized by impassibility, is now impervious to any
form of injury or suffering.25
Guitmund's conclusion, which expresses his final word on the
defense of the language of 1059, is a typical refrain found
throughout the work:

24 Ibid. 1.11.

2S Ibid. 1.13.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

585

Consequently, since no impossibility prevents it, nor does the humility of Christ
abhor it {if in fact it is necessary for our salvation), and since there is no
possibility of defiling the Savior, or of wounding him bodily, and no other
reason why it would be unlawful to chew [atten] Christ with teeth-if in fact
atteri is understood as equivalent to "touch more forcefully" -then the argument
they advance against us is false and lacking force, saying as they do that: "It is
not right for Christ to be chewed [attert] by teeth. " 26

But if the body of Christ can be chewed by teeth in a way that is
both doctrinally defensible and reasonably understandable, one
could also ask about the logical consequence, specifically, is that
same body also "broken into pieces [dissipan], just like those
things that teeth chew and break into pieces?"27 As in the case
with atteri, so it is with dissipari:a close examination soon reveals
a great deal about Guitmund's understanding of the real presence.
2. The Body of Christ is Undivided: Dissipari
Guitmund emphaticly denies that a physical encounter with the
glorified body of Christ in holy communion implies in any sense
carnalism, or worse, cannibalism. No sooner does he affirm the
appropriateness of atteri than he qualifies its logical consequence,
dissipari:"Indeed, this too we also confess, that it is certainly not
right that by any form of violence-either by teeth or any other
means-for Christ to be broken up into pieces [dissipan]."28 It is
this notion of dissipari, construed in the context of "bodily
division" and applied to the Eucharist, that at first glance seems
to be a wild contradiction with the experience of the senses.
Nevertheless, when the subtle distinctions are again made known,
they bring to light Guitmund's most salient theological principles.
First, one must always remember that the principal object
under Guitmund's consideration is the Eucharist, which for him
is the body of Christ. On the level of presence,therefore, there is
no distinction between the body of Christ in heaven and the body
of Christ on the altar; the only difference is the manner of
26 Ibid. 1.14.
27

28

Ibid. 1.7.
Ibid. 1.15.

586

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

appearance. There is, nonetheless, a paradox presented to the
understanding, for the Eucharistic body of Christ on the altar is
seen to be broken in the fractio at Mass, but it must in fact be
unbroken, as the celestial and glorified body is unbroken in
heaven. The question, then, is "how can this be?" For Guitmund,
the answer to this mystery lies in the divine motive that makes
such a thing possible, for bodily division should not be regarded
as dividing up the whole, but rather, the feeding of the many by
the one:
For although the reason for the apparent division by the priest seems to be a
great mystery, nevertheless we should believe that when the venerable body of
Our Lord and Savior is distributed to the faithful, he has not divided himself
among the individual recipients, but rather we believe that he comes into
different members of the faithful by way of a participation in himself.29

Here one encounters another one of Guitmund's important
theological principles, which, although drawn from the tradition,
has been articulated by him in a way that has become standard in
Eucharistic theology ever since:
We can also say that there is as much of him in a little portion of the host as in
the whole host. Just as one reads about the manna, that neither those who
gathered more had more, nor those who gathered less had less. The whole host
is the body of Christ, therefore, each and every separate particle is the whole
body of Christ. Furthermore, three separate particles are not three bodies, but
only the one body. Nor do the particles even differ among themselves as if they
were a plurality, since one particle contains the entire body, just as the other
particles do. And so they should not now be called many particles, but rather,
one integral and undivided host, even though it seems to be divided because of
the priestly office.30

For Guitmund, then, the whole Christ is present entirely in each
part of the host, whether the host remains whole or is broken
during Mass, and the whole Christ is entirely present in the whole
host as he is in each portion of it. None of the different portions
of the fractured host in fact differ among themselves, for they are
29 Ibid. 1.16.
JO

Ibid.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

587

the one and the same Christ. The same would be true of a
thousand Masses offered at the same time, for in each Mass the
whole Christ would be present. Christ himself would not be
divided by either the different places or the individual priests, for
"at one and the same time in a thousand places the one and the
same body of Christ can be whole and undivided. "31
In order to illustrate the reasonable possibility of this doctrine,
Guitmund points to an analogy with the voice and the soul. Just
as the human voice can make known the thoughts of the human
heart to many ears at once without being divided in any way,
thereby allowing many ears that are touched by its sound to
receive the one and the same message, so in the same way the
body of Christ, which is one in heaven, can come to the many by
way of the sacrament without suffering any division in himself.32
In a similar way, just as the soul is not divided among the many
members of the body, but is wholly present entirely to each, so
the flesh of Christ is present to his body, which is the Church,
without being divided up in any way:
He then who has bestowed such power upon our soul, so that at the same time
it exists as one and the same and indivisible in each and every portion of its
body, why would he not give that dignity to his own flesh if he wished to? Is his
flesh not powerful enough to be whole and entire in the diverse portions of his
body the Church? And just as the soul would be the life of our body, would not
in a similar way the flesh of the Savior (by all means many times better than our
soul because of the grace of God) be the life of the Church? 33

In dissipari, then, just as in atteri, one finds another of
Guitmund's important theological principles, namely, the ability
of Christ to be whole and entire in every portion of the host as
well as to each of the faithful at one and the same time. Because
that body cannot be divided, it cannot be harmed. Nor is a
breaking of the host a cause of division in Christ's body. However
many times it undergoes division, it is not diminished, but instead
remains a means of multiplying the one for the sake of the many,
31 Ibid. 1.18.
32

Ibid. 1.19.

33 Ibid.

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

588

and at the same time renders a richly symbolic commemoration
of the Lord's passion.
To the objection that the testimony of the eyes is contrary to
all that he has asserted, Guitmund replies that the senses can be
deceived, often in little things, and always in this one. 34 For
Guitmund, what is absolutely essential on the part of the believer,
so as to pierce this great mystery, is faith, for the testimony of the
inner eye of the soul is to be believed over that of the carnal and
deceived eye.35 On this point, Guitmund offers a most interesting
query: "Is there any difference in the way that the eyes of the
faithful are deceived today, from the way that the disciples were
betrayed by their eyes with the different appearances of Our Lord
while he was still upon this earth?" And it is just this
consideration that leads us to perceive the bread and wine of the
Eucharist as just another appearance of the Lord, or a species
domini.
B) Guitmund's "Species Domini"

One of the most fascinating aspects of Guitmund's Eucharistic
theology is his understanding of the sacraments of the altar as
another postresurrection appearance of the Lord, that is, of the
same type as those various appearances of Christ recorded in
Scripture where he went unrecognized by his disciples. The notion
of the species domini has as its origin the theology of Paschasius,
but it has been expanded in its scope by Guitmund. In Guitmund's
theology, the real presence is simply a sacramental continuation
of Christ's earthly presence. According to Guitmund, Christ "is
wholly in heaven while his whole body is truly eaten upon
earth. "36 What one sees on the altar, therefore, is merely another
of the many appearances that Christ assumed while he was upon
the earth, when the disciples, although looking at him, did not
recognize him:
J4

Ibid. 1.22.

35 Ibid.
36 Ibid. 2.51.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTIC THEOLOGY

589

For when Mary Magdalene, weeping at the tomb of the Lord, saw the Lord
himself-was it not Jesus? But because she was deceived by the eyes, instead [of
seeing him] did she not think instead that she was seeing the gardener? Or, when
on the day of his own resurrection, he explained the Scriptures to two of his
disciples while they were walking along the way-was it anything other than
Jesus himself, acting as if he were a pilgrim? For it is written: "Their eyes were
held that they might not recognize him." Or, while the disciples were laboring
upon the sea, and they saw him walking upon the waters-who would dare to
say that it was not he, even though, because they had been deceived by the eyes,
they thought that he was a ghost?37

Consequently, if the eyes could view the true reality of the
sacrament, one would see the Lord Jesus in his own proper form
in the glory of heaven. Since, however, our fleshly senses fail us
in this matter, faith must substitute for vision.
In the tradition articulated by Paschasius, then, after the
consecration, the appearances of bread and wine cease to have
their own proper reality, but instead, owing to the miracle of
transubstantiation, they derive their new reality directly from
Christ himself. Viewed in this way, the "sacraments of the Lord's
Body and Blood" have lost all of their natural nutritive capacity.
in addressing the issue of stercorianism, 38 Guitmund
emphatically denies that "these sacraments" are subject to the
same laws of bodily digestion as normal bread and wine. 39 In fact,
so direct is the relationship between Christ and the "sacraments
of the altar" that Guitmund absolutely rejects any notion that they
can corrupt or decay. Christ can never know corruption, and the
Eucharist is Christ, the food of eternal life:
For to us, that Eucharist, that divine manna, is the heavenly bread from God. For
truly we receive from the sacred altars the flesh of the immaculate Lamb
rendered incapable of suffering, through which we both live and are healed from
corruption. This flesh can never be corrupted, nor perish, because although from
day to day it renews us, it never grows old. 40
Ibid. 1.23.
The tenn, that derives its name from the Latin tenn stercus, or "dung," denotes a
doctrine that applies to the objective nature of the Eucharistic species themselves, and their
subjection to the usual laws of bodily digestion.
39 Guitmund, De corporis et sanguinis Christi 2.13.
40 Ibid. 2.2.
37

31

590

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

This notion of the absolute impossibility of these "divine
sacraments" undergoing any form of corruption, either from
being reserved too long or from any other natural process, is a
decidedly Ambrosian thought, and one that will eventually draw
criticism upon Guitmund, but it is something that he emphatically
defends nonetheless. In Guitmund's theology, the species of the
sacrament derive their existence directly from Christ, and hence
are completely subject to his will, just as he manifested his glory
in the Transfiguration, or disguised his identity in the
postresurrection appearances:
[For] the Lord himself is reported to have shown himself to his disciples in
different manifestations [species].At one time he showed himself to them in the
customary appearance, at another in the transfigured splendor of the sun and
snow; at one time he showed himself as a pilgrim, another time he looked like
a gardener. 41

The sacraments of the altar, therefore, are a species, or appearance, of Christ (although not his proper, or natural appearance),
and as such are a manifestation of Christ's presence-a presence
that is brought about by transubstantiation.
C) Guitmund and Transubstantiation

It is admittedly anachronistic to use a thirteenth-century word
to describe Guitmund's eleventh-century theology, but, as we shall
see, the manner in which this tradition of the Eucharistic change
was received and understood in the Fourth Lateran Council was
precisely how Guitmund described it in De corporis et sanguinis
Christi. I contend, in fact, that Guitmund's overall contribution to
the elucidation of this doctrine was his theological lexicon on the
subject, which stood as a verbal backdrop to the doctrine's final
formulation. This fact can be readily shown by a discussion of the
substance-accident distinction in the sacrament. First employed by
Guitrnund, and then taken up by thirteenth-century Scholastics,
it became the centerpiece of their substantial change theory.
41 Ibid. 3.29.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

591

Towards the end of the first book of De corporis et sanguinis
Christi, Guitmund admits that the notion of this type of
substantial change poses a certain difficulty for some. In the
normal course of events, "when something is substantially
changed into something else [substantialiter transmutatur], it is
usually changed into that which did not exist before. "42
Nevertheless, in the Eucharist the change involves one reality
being transferred into another (in unum aliud transferatur), 43 or,
to be more specific, "bread and wine change into [transire] the
flesh and blood of the Lord. "44 And since such a change is beyond
our daily experience, Guitmund is tasked with explaining just how
such a thing is possible. According to him, there are four types of
change in nature that can be found in sacred Scripture. 45 The first
is creation from nothing; the second is its reasoned opposite,
annihilation. The third is the change of one substance into
something other than what it was beforehand, and the fourth is a
substantial change of one previously existing thing into something
that already exists. And this last type, "where that which exists
passes [transit] into that which already exists," is the one whereby
"bread and wine by a unique divine power are changed
[commutan] into Christ's own body. "46 Guitmund makes it clear
that "when we say the bread is changed, it is not changed into
flesh that was not yet flesh, but rather, into that flesh which was
already the flesh of Christ, a change which we confess occurs
without any increase in the flesh of the Lord himself."47 Such a
change can be known only by faith; 48 it is reserved by God himself
for his own body, 49 and has no equal in the created order. 50 It is
singular and unique, open only to the eyes of faith, yet it can be
understood from other types of change experienced in nature, and
42

Ibid. 1.31.

43 Ibid. 1.9 •

.. Ibid. 2.18.
45 Ibid. 1.38.
46 Ibid. 1.39.
47 Ibid. 1.31.
48 Ibid.
49 Ibid. 1.37 •
. so Ibid. 1.34.

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

is very similar to that which occurs in accidents inhering in a
substance.
Guitmund's understanding of the nature of the substantial
change in the Eucharist, as "one thing coming to be in another,"
is made clearest if one looks at his study of the relationship of
accidents to a substance. After treating creation, and its opposite,
annihilation, Guitmund points out what accidents themselves
seem to experience during an accidental change:
Concerning singular accidents which depart when others supervene, it would
appear that one cannot simply say that they become absolutely nothing.
Certainly, if they were something, they would be in a subject. But with contrary
ones supervening, they cannot remain in their subject, nor pass over [transmeare]
into another one. Therefore they become completely nothing, unless perchance
someone could say that they are changed [transmutan] into that which
supervenes. H this is so, then innumerable examples occur to us of those things
which are essentially changed [essentialiter transmutantur] into those things
which simultaneously exist. 51

In Guitmund's mind, this understanding of accidental change
offers an insight into the change that the substances of bread and
wine undergo at the consecration,
for as the accidents recede, just as we have said, either they are annihilated, or,
if they are changed fpermutantur], then they are changed into the arriving ones,
which in no small way would approach the matter we are investigating. 52

Based on this analogy, the Eucharistic change is one wherein the
substance of the bread, by means of a change in the order of
substance, becomes the preexisting reality of the body of Christ.
Articulated in this way, the substantial change in the Eucharist
parallels that of an accidental change observed in nature, that is,
the change whereby accidents that inhere in a substance are
changed into those supervening accidents that "arrive" in the
subject, the substance itself remaining the same. So for Guitmund,
as for Thomas, transubstantiation involves accidental change in
reverse; in other words, substances change while the accidents
Sl

Ibid. 1.38.

52 Ibid.

GIBTMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTIC THEOLOGY

593

remain. Thus in Guitmund's doctrine, as in later Scholastic
theology, the substantial change in the Eucharist is a change that
takes place in the order of reality. In this case, the reality of the
bread gives way to the higher reality of Christ's body, and the
reality of the wine gives way to the higher reality of Christ's
blood. What remains are only the "appearances" of bread and
wine, which have retained their "likeness" to the former reality
that they once were, for "the substances [substantiae] of things are
changed, but, on account of horror, the prior taste, color and the
rest of certain accidents [accidentia], in so far as they pertain to
the senses, are retained. "53
III. GUITMUND AND THOMAS
A) Comparison

Two later developments in Eucharistic theology, namely, the
notion that the Eucharistic accidents exist without a subject54 and
the use of the word "transubstantiation" to describe the substantial change that occurs at the consecration,55 coupled with the
Aristotelian revival of the twelfth century, set the stage for the
comprehensive and systematic approach to Eucharistic theology
taken by St. Thomas, most notably his Summa theologiae. Written
towards the end of his life while residing in Naples, just a short
distance from Aversa, Thomas's theological exposition of the
Eucharist in the third part of the Summa embraces many of the
key elements already expressed in Guitmund's De corporis et
sanguinis Christi. 56 This suggests that Thomas may well have been
acquainted with Guitmund's text. Although Thomas never mentions Guitmund by name, the Thomistic synthesis itself, as we
Ibid. 3.28.
First taught by Algier of Llege Ct 1132) in De sacramentiscorporiset sanguinisdcminici,
and later defined at Constance in 1415 (DS 1152).
55 Found in the creed of Lateran Council Nin 1215 (DS 802).
56 A fact that lends some credence to O'Connor's insight that Guitmund's contribution to
the development of Eucharistic theology "anticipated some of the great synthesis of St.
Thomas" (O'Connor, Manna, 106.)
53

54

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

shall see, exhibits many points of convergence between the two.
This, I contend, makes the case for Thomas's use of De corporis
et sanguinis Christi in the development of his own Eucharistic
theology.
One obvious point of agreement between the two is the
acceptance of transubstantiation as a substantial conversion of the
elements of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, 57
while the "accidents" of bread and wine remain after the
consecration. These appearances persist, according to Thomas, in
agreement with Guitmund, so as to "avoid the horror" of eating
human flesh and drinking blood. 58 For Thomas, as for Guitmund,
this change arises out of the substance of the bread, such that the
substance of the bread itself is converted into the substance of the
body of Christ, and in a way that the former becomes the latter
through a complete and total substantial conversion that excludes
any possibility of annihilation. 59 In agreement with Guitmund,
Thomas teaches that the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist
is also a physical one. 60 With Guitmund, Thomas likewise explains
that the "whole Christ is under every part of the species of the
bread. "61 Finally, in a way strikingly similar to Guitmund, Thomas
asserts that when the "sacramental species" are broken or divided,
Christ's "true body" is not so divided because, first, that glorified
body is incapable of harm, and second, it is whole and entire
under each and every part, and this is "contrary to a thing
broken. " 62
There are, it must be admitted, a number of radical differences
between Guitmund and Thomas. In a marked difference from
Guitmund, who seems to hold that the subject of the Eucharistic
species is the actual body of Christ itself, Thomas himself adopts
a later theological development that the accidents exist without a
SI'h m, q. 75, a. 4.
SI'h Ill, q. 75, a. 5. Cf. Guitmund, De corporiset sanguinis Christi3.29.
59 SI'h m, q. 75, aa. 3 and 8. Cf. Guitimond, De corporiset sanguinis Christi 1.38.
60 SI'h m, q. 76, a. 1, ad 2. Thomas says "By the power of the sacrament there is contained
57

58

under it, as to the species of the bread, not only the flesh, but the entire body of Christ, that
is the bones, the nerves, and the like."
61 SI'h m, q. 76, a. 3.
62 SI'h m, q. 77, a. 7. Cf. Guitmund, De corporiset sanguinis Christi 1.13 and 16.

GillTMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

595

subject. 63 Thomas further states not only that these accidents exist
without a subject, but that neither can the body of Christ be
affected by such accidents, nor even altered in any way so as to
receive them. 64 Moreover, Thomas holds that all the other
accidents inhere in the one primordial accident of "dimensive
quantity," such that it is the medium whereby all the other
accidents are related to it, as though it were their subject. 65 In the
Eucharist, according toThomas, God makes this accident exist in
itself, so that it can in turn be the subject of the others. 66 The
"accidental complex" that makes up the Eucharistic species in the
Thomistic schema retains its natural properties because of this
metaphysical structure, such that these elements can corrupt, 67 be
burned, 68 and even nourish. 69
It is precisely on this very issue of the species and the physical
presence of Christ in the Eucharist that the critical difference
between the Eucharistic systems of Thomas and Guitmund
become clear. According to Thomas, in consonance with Guitmund, it requires faith to discern the presence of Christ in the
Eucharist, both for the merit of the faithful, and in order to
protect the mystery from the derision of the unfaithful. 70 Likewise, Thomas asserts that there is no deception in the sacrament,
since the accidents that are discerned by the senses are truly
present. 71 Guitmund, however, finds a certain level of deception,
which, although not in the sacrament, remains nonetheless in the
bodily eye. According to Guitmund's theology, then, one can
perceive Christ's presence only by faith: the species are real, for
there is a change in the substance, such that what was once bread
63 SI'h

m, q. 77, a. 1. Cf. Guitmund, De corporis et sanguinis Christi 3.28.

srh m, q. 77, a. t.
65 SI'h m, q. 77, a. 2.
64

66 SI'h m, q. 77, a. 1, ad 1. It would appear from this that, in the theology of St. Thomas,
the tactile experience of the communicant (i.e., that which is felt when the Eucharist is chewed
by the teeth) is the physical encounter with this accident.
67 SI'h m, q. 77, a. 4.
68 SI'h Ill, q. 77, a. 5.
69 SI'h m, q. 77, a. 6.
70 SI'h Ill, q. 75, a. 5.
71 Ibid., ad. 2.

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

still retains the likeness to bread, but is bread only in
"appearance." The "accidents" themselves, however, are always
the "prior accidents" of the bread, which God wills that they
should "manifest their own qualities." The reality for Guitmund,
then, is not bread, but the body of Christ. Thomas, on the other
hand, makes an all-important distinction, namely, that the proper
object of the bodily eyes are the external species, whereas the
proper object of the intellect, or the eye of the mind, is the
substance. Therefore, although what the mind intuits by faith is
really present, what the eye sees is likewise really there. 72
The above comparison reveals the following: for Guitmund,
the species are real, but they belong to the glorified body of Christ
and have been evacuated by the change in substance of their
natural properties, so that they can neither corrode nor give
nutrition. This fact comes from the very action of the substantial
change at the consecration itself, wherein Christ changes the
bread and wine into his own body and blood in a way that he
completely takes over their former reality and makes it his own.
Bread is no longer bread, but the body of Christ, and, in a similar
way, wine becomes the blood of Christ. Understood in this way,
it is not correct to speak of the "accidents of bread and wine"
since their former reality has passed away. Instead, Guitmund
refers to the "accidents of the prior essence of bread and wine,"
that is, the "accidents" of the former reality, for their new reality
is the speciesdomini. Thus, the glorified body, as it relates to the
species themselves, imparts existence to them and is contacted in
an "unmediated way" in them, and the accidents of the "prior
essence" of bread and wine, rather than inhering in nothing,
instead inhere in the species domini itself-the hallmark of
n Ibid. Cf. Guitmund, De corporiset sanguinisChristi1.22, where he says (speaking about
the apparent division in the host), "Therefore, although the host is thought to be broken by
violence, nevertheless what Christ himself wills must be believed, and not what the carnal
senses judge. Therefore, just as after the fraction of the host, single pieces seem less than the
whole host, so also in all those Masses the body of the Lord appears to be less than he is in
heaven. But this whole perception is only according to the senses, which just as they are often
deceived in many other things, are always deceived in this one. But if the eye of flesh cannot
perceive this, is this any reason to extinguish the eye of the mind?"

GIBTMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTIC THEOLOGY

597

Guitmund's realism. 73 For Thomas, however, the accidents are
real, but there is a "quasi-separation," since they inhere in
nothing, that is, in no proper subject. Hence in Thomas's system,
the accidents share the natural properties of bread and wine, with
the result that they can corrode and give nutrition. Because of this
quasi-separation, the accidents also lack the immediate "influence" of the glorified body that Guitmund's understanding of the
real presence yields, namely, the body of Christ being chewed by
the teeth, and the inability to undergo corruption.
By contrast with Guitmund, Thomas is a metaphysical realist
who upholds Eucharistic realism. Thomas is a realist because,
unlike Guitmund, he believes that these things which seem to
happen to the accidents (e.g., corruption, consumption by mice or
by fire), really do happen, and they can be explained satisfactorily
by the substance-accident relationship, begun with Guitmund but
developed only in later theology. Guitmund, on the other hand,
presents a Eucharistic realism that seems to denude the species of
bread and wine of their former natural properties, and this is
owing in large part to the perspective that he adopts. Guitmund,
unlike Thomas, takes as his point of departure an understanding
of the real presence that makes the body of Christ on the altar
identical with the glorified body of Christ in heaven, and then
reconciles that view with the apparent contradictions that have
been observed in the species. Thomas, on the other hand, accepts
changes to the accidents as actual changes, and then, by a process
of metaphysical reasoning, works his way inward to that same
understanding of the real presence that calls for an identity
between the body of Christ on the altar and the body born of the
Virgin.
B) Conclusions

The fundamental difference between the Eucharistic theologies
of Guitmund and Thomas, therefore, is that Guitmund's realism
73 This is my own interpretation of Guitmund's doctrine of the substance-accident
distinction, which allows the "accidents of the prior essence of bread and wine" to manifest
their own proper qualities in a way that is acceptable to the testimony of the senses.

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MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

extends to the Eucharistic species themselves, which makes them
what I have described as the species domini. This theological
perspective has been characterized by some as "ultra-realist, " 74
and constitutes a position that seems to undermine the sacramental character of the Eucharist. This article has shown that this
characterization of Guitmund's theology is inaccurate, and that
the difference between Thomas and Guitmund on this point is
more a matter of theological perspective than of doctrinal faith.
Guitmund, as mentioned above, begins his theological investigation with the truth of the real presence, and works his way
outward to the objective nature of the sacramental species.
Thomas, on the other hand, begins his theological study with the
objective nature of the Eucharistic species. Combining the
substance-accident distinction with an Aristotelian philosophy of
nature, Thomas reaches a conclusion that does not reject that
realism, but instead only moderates it, as the following illustration
will demonstrate.
For Guitmund, the body of Christ is chewed (attert) by the
faithful in the reception of holy communion, and that same body
is broken <frangi.)by the hands of the priest at Mass; yet that same
body is whole, entire, and unharmed, in such a way that the same
body can be divided up (dissipart)for the salvation of the people.
This happens because the food of the Lord's altar is the Lord
himself, and the sacramental elements, by divine power operating
through the ministry of the priest at the consecration, are
substantially changed (substantialitercommutan) into the body
and blood of the Lord, so that the Lord himself is substantially
present in them. What remains is just another postresurrection
appearance of the Lord, like that of the pilgrim to Emmaus, or the
gardener at the tomb. The accidents of what were bread and wine,
therefore, are no longer accidents of bread and wine per se;
instead, they have become a new "appearance of the Lord"
(species domini). To chew the speciesdomini, therefore, is to eat
the body of Christ, for, according to Guitmund's theology, the
reception of holy communion involves a physical contact
74 See above, note 2.

GUITMUND OF AVERSA AND EUCHARISTICTHEOLOGY

599

(sensualiter) with the risen Lord, just as Thomas the Apostle
touched the wounds of Jesus, or, as the holy women clung to his
feet.
Thomas, however, adopts a consistently realist perspective. For
him, the mind works by abstraction, so that what the intellect
perceives as happening truly happens. Yet the Eucharist is a
sacrament, and sacraments call for faith, and faith demands the
acceptance of the real presence as the same body born of Mary,
although present under sacramental forms. Thomas first resolves
the problem on an intellectual plane, for he makes it clear that the
object of the senses is the sacramental species, and the object of
the intellect is the substance. The former communicates truth by
abstraction, the latter by faith. By furnishing the quality of
substance to the Eucharistic species, the elements of bread and
wine themselves form the physical sensation that the mind
experiences, but faith says that it is the body of Christ that is eaten
nonetheless.
In the Thomistic schema, then, one eats the body of Christ in
the act of chewing the species because Christ is present under
them, whereas for Guitmund to chew the species is to eat the
body of Christ because the species are Christ. One may safely
conclude, then, that Thomas concurred with Guitmund regarding
the Church's immemorial teaching about the real presence of
Christ in the sacrament of the Eucharist, but Thomas built upon
this foundation a metaphysical construct of the accidents that is
acceptable to the senses. It is precisely here that St. Thomas
departs from the Eucharistic theology of Guitmund. Although
Thomas shared for the most part the doctrine of the real presence
as expressed in Guitmund's De corporis et sanguinis Christi, he
nevertheless diverged from it in his articulation of the substanceaccident distinction. By introducing a philosophy of nature into
his Eucharistic theology, Thomas was able to account for the
actual decomposition of the Eucharistic elements without
resorting either to a fideist conceit or to a denigration of the real
presence.

600

MARK G. VAILLANCOURT

Thomas's revision, therefore, from the perspective of
theological development, has departed from Guitmund's earlier
view of the Eucharist as a species domini. The purpose of this
article has been to reintroduce Guitmund's vision for the
consideration of contemporary theology. This revisiting of the
theology of Guitmund of Aversa, and its comparison with that of
St. Thomas Aquinas, not only may afford new insights into the
Angelic Doctor's understanding of the Eucharist, but may likewise
serve to guide the further development of Eucharistic theology in
the twenty-first century.

The Thomist 68 (2004): 601-32

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS, O.P.
EDWARDP. MAHONEY
Duke University
Durham, North Carolina

O

N SEPTEMBER2-4, 1994, a conference was held at Rodez,

France, honoring the Dominican Jean Capreolus, the
princeps thomistarum, on the 550th anniversary of his
death.jean Capreolus en son temps (1380-1444) is a collection of
studies originally presented at that conference. 1 The editors
present the volume with the hope that it will lead researchers to
return to Capreolus's own text. Two of the three editors have
since published an English translation of Capreolus's On the
Virtues.1
Special attention is paid in these studies to the context of
Capreolus' s life and labors, particularly his Defensiones theologiae
divi Thomae Aquinatis, during the fifteenth century. The editors
have wisely divided the volume into three parts. Part 1 presents
the historical context in which Capreolus lived, part 2 sets forth
his thought and intellectual activities, and part 3 studies the
questions of the early editions of his writings and his influence on
such Dominican thinkers as Cardinal Cajetan and Silvestro da
Prierio.
In an extremely helpful introductory essay, Reudi Imbach takes
up the intellectual context of Capreolus's work ("Le contexte
1 Jean Capreolus en son temps 1380-1444: Colloque de Rodez, ed. Guy Bedouelle, 0.P,
Romanus Cessario, O.P., and Kevin White (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1997).
2 John Capreolus, On the Virtues, trans. Romanus Cessario, O.P., and Kevin White, with
introduction by Servais Pinckaers, O.P. (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of
America Press, 2001). The editors of Jean Capreolus en son temps express their admiration
as well for the 1900-1908 edition of Paban and Pegues.

601

602

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

intellectuel," 13-22). Capreolus labored as a Bachelor at Paris
from 1407 to 1411, was then at Toulouse, and thereafter pursued
the editing of his work at Rodez (from 1426 to 1432). Imbach
observes that if one wants to know the intellectual climate in
which the Defensiones was written, one should turn to the
intellectual life of the last decade of the fourteenth century and
the beginning of the fifteenth century. He himself presents just
such an informative sketch of the intellectual scene at Paris during
that period. One approach would be to situate Capreolus in the
history of Thomism. Imbach himself appears to approve a
different approach, that is, to examine attentively the milieu in
which the project of the Defensiones was born. He is convinced
that it is possible to interpret the Defensiones as a reply to the
intellectual problems of the period. Imbach identifies some marks
of the boiling intellectual world in which Capreolus lived and
certain of his preoccupations. He notes the anti-Thomist stance of
various theologians and suggests that Capreolus represents one of
the attempts to return to past viewpoints. In this case, the return
is to the thought of Thomas Aquinas.
The picture that Imbach sketches emphasizes humanism, which
he takes to involve philosophical thought and to have reached its
zenith in the fifteenth century. He mentions its most celebrated
proponents and practitioners, namely, Petrarch, Coluccio Salutati,
Leonardo Bruni, and Poggio Bracciolini. He alludes to the discussions and debates regarding the superiority of medicine over
law and the superiority of the practical life over the theoretical.
He points to the connection between Italian humanism and
Parisian humanism in figures like Nicolas de Clamanges and Jean
de Montreuil. However, during the period when Capreolus was
at Paris the two thinkers who dominated the scene were Pierre
d' Ailly and Jean Gerson. Both men served at different times as
chancellor of the University of Paris and both played major roles
at the Council of Constance from 1414 to 1418 (15).
Three debates at Paris during this period enable us to form
some idea of the intellectual life at Paris during Capreolus's
youthful years. The first was the debate regarding the Roman de

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

603

la Rose. Jean Montreuil wrote a short treatise in praise of it,
which provoked various sharp replies, two of which were
authored by Christine de Pisan and Jean Gerson (ibid.). The
second debate followed upon the assassination of the Duke of
Orleans by messengers of the Duke of Burgundy on 23 November
1407. The murder was defended by Jean Petit on the grounds that
it was a matter of tyrannicide. It is striking that in his Defensiones
Capreolus does not cite or discuss the passages from St. Thomas
that the defenders and adversaries of Jean Petit had cited.
The third debate involved a Dominican, Juan de Montson,
who presented himself to be examined for the doctorate in theology and defended some ideas that disturbed some of those listening to him. Subsequently a convocation of the faculty condemned
fourteen propositions. Montson appealed to the pope. D' Ailly
headed a delegation to the pope, who condemned the
propositions in 1389. However, the Dominicans refused to accept
this outcome and were barred from the university until 1403. It
is noteworthy that several of the propositions in question concern
the topic of the Immaculate Conception of Mary. Montson was
simply defending the Dominican position against the Franciscan
and Scotist position prevailing at Paris at the end of the fourteenth
century. He claimed that his statements were Thomistic, and he
defended himself by invoking St. Thomas. Imbach cites D'Ailly's
remarks about Aquinas to show that what had been a conflict
regarding a professor had now been turned into a debate
regarding St. Thomas himself. D' Ailly questioned what it meant
to say that Aquinas's doctrine had been approved by the Church.
In his view, it meant merely that Aquinas's doctrine is useful and
can be diffused in the schools. While D' Ailly judges that this
doctrine does not contain errors against the faith, he does think
that it contains many incoherencies and contradictions. It is
particularly telling that D' Ailly accuses Aquinas of limiting divine
power and denying that there could be other worlds. He calls
heretical Thomas's view-condemned in 1277-that there cannot
be a plurality of angels in one and the same species. Finally, he

604

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

considers to be scandalous Thomas's thesis of the unity of
substantial form.
From these facts regarding D' Ailly's intervention to defend the
action of the faculty at Paris against Montson, Imbach draws three
conclusions which lead us to the very threshold of Capreolus's
Defensiones. The first is the observation that the entire critique
that D' Ailly directs against the thought of Aquinas is focused on
divine omnipotence, that is, the claim that Thomas has minimized
God's omnipotence. D'Ailly himself thus synthesizes the Scotistic
and nominalistic critique of Thomistic thought. The second
conclusion is that the anti-Thomist animosity that reigned in the
theology faculty at Paris around 1400 explains at least partially
how it is that a young Thomist who began his studies at Paris at
this moment could conceive the project of a defensio theologiae
Sancti Thomae. The atmosphere of sharp critiques directed against
Thomist thought enables us to understand better Capreolus's
remarks at the beginning of the Defensiones that the one thing he
wished to do was to recite the opinions that seemed to him to be
from the mind of St. Thomas (20). But Imbach is careful to add
that while Capreolus's project can be described as a return to the
authentic thought of St. Thomas, it is completed by a concern to
refute the various fourteenth-century adversaries of St. Thomas by
means of a metacritique. The goal of that metacritique is to render
fourteenth-century thought inoperative. Imbach sees a like
approach to the "novelties" of fourteenth-century thinking and a
like desire to return to the thirteenth century exhibited in Jean
Gerson's Contra curiositatem studentium. However, Imbach
observes (correctly) that Gerson wanted the return to be .to
Bonaventure (ibid.).
In the first part of the book, which is entitled "Capreolus en
son temps," key events in the political, cultural, and ecclesiastical
history of Rodez and environs are set forth by Jean Delmas ("Le
Rouergue au temps de Capreolus," 25-34) and Nicole Lemai"t:re
("La vie religieuse en Rouergue au temps de Jean Cabrol," 35-48).
The last two essays of part 1, which were written by Bernard
Montagnes, O.P. (49-55), and Pierre
(57-73), trace the

THE ACCOMPLISHMENTOF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

605

history of the Dominicans in the Midi and the place of Capreolus
in the Dominican convent at Rodez in the fifteenth century.
Capreolus finished hisDefensiones there on 14 September 1426.
But the work was not published until 1483 and then at Venice in
four volumes by the Sons of Octavianus Scotus. In her rich study,
Lemaitre has gathered references to Capreolus from various
archival and other scholarly sources.
The second part of the book, which presents the lines of
Capreolus's thought and his intellectual destiny ("Les lignes de
pensee et destin intellectuel "), contains eight key studies regarding
different aspects of Capreolus's philosophical and theological
thought. His honoric title as princeps thomistarum clearly
indicates his place as one of the most important commentators on
St. Thomas Aquinas. Nonetheless the question that naturally rises
is whether he is always an accurate commentator. It is faced by
the authors of the eight studies.
Lawrence Dewan, O.P., raises the issue of Capreolus's accuracy
in regard to his explication of the relation between essence and
existence. In a fairly terse essay ("Capreolus, Saint Thomas et
l'etre," 77-86), he declares Capreolus to be a faithful interpreter
of St. Thomas. Apparently he takes Capreolus' s reference to a real
distinction between the subsisting creature and its esse existentiae
to be genuinely Thomistic. Moreover, he considers Capreolus's
presentation in book 1, distinction 8 of the Defensiones to be a
veritable treatise on the act of being, the esse of creatures.
Accordingly, he proposes to sketch the systematic presentation of
the esse of creatures as found in that part of the Defensiones.
Dewan points out (79) that Pierre Auriol understood esse as
the very existence of the existing thing such that esse is identical
with the essence or the thing itself. Essence and esse cannot be
two beings or two things. Regrettably, Dewan does not address
himself to the question of how Capreolus handles the doctrine of
metaphysical participation and how he relates that doctrine ·to the
distinction of essence and existence. It would have been helpful
if Dewan had cited relevant studies of Joseph Owens and John
Wippel.

606

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

Jean-Luc Solere contributes to the volume a study on
Capreolus and the theory of the divine ideas ("Capreolus et la
theorie des idees divines,"' 87-108). He points out that that theory
and other topics such as human psychology and the problem of
the universals were revived toward the end of the thirteenth
century and discussed by Wyclif, Francis Meyronnes, John of
Ripa, William of Alnwick, Peter Auriol, and Durandus of Saint
among others. Capreolus, coming along a century later,
endeavors to erase all the traces that these attacks had left on St.
Thomas's theory. Solere singles out as the key notion in the
theory of the divine ideas that God is pure act from which there
unfold the divine attributes of divine simplicity, perfection,
infinity, immobility, and eternity. From this it follows that God's
very essence is his knowing, that he knows by means of his
essence, that God knows his own essence perfectly, and that God
knows more than his own essence, since he knows his essence as
imitable. Solere goes on to discuss the nature and role of the
divine ideas and thereafter to combat the views of Auriol and
Durand us.
Henry Donneaud, O.P., examines Capreolus's handling of
another fundamental doctrine of St. Thomas, namely, theology
considered as a science ("La theologie comme science chez
Capreolus,"' 109-29). He recounts that Andre Hayen wanted to
show that while St. Thomas himself considered theology to be a
science in the strict sense of the word his medieval disciples
refrained from doing so. Neither Hayen nor Jean Leclerq recognized the contribution of Capreolus. Donneaud insists that the
sole intention of Capreolus in the prologue of the Defensiones, in
contrast to others in the Thomist school, was to show that
theology is fully a science. His own aim is to examine the way in
which Capreolus conceived theology as a science in order to
ascertain on the one hand his more or less exact fidelity to the
thought of St. Thomas and on the other hand the pertinence of his
replies to the objections that such a position arouses. Donneaud
goes on to review St. Thomas's notion of the subalternation of
sciences and to focus on the key problem of the role of evidence

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

607

for critics of such a position. He cites Pierre Auriol, Gregory of
Rimini, William of Ockham, and Hervaeus Natalis. Capreolus
himself also refers in the prologue to John Duns Scotus and
Durandus of Saint Pourc;ain.Donneaud sees Capreolus as being in
a direct line from St. Thomas, insisting that there is no difference
between sacred theology and the natural sciences as regards
subalternation. He goes on to characterize Capreolus's position as
an indisputable archaism (incontestable archafsme), since it
displays a faithful adherence to the philosophical principles and
the intellectual world of St. Thomas, his master, and an indifference to the teachings of fourteenth-century Scholasticism.
Donneaud sees Capreolus as correctly establishing the meaning of
theology as a science for St. Thomas since he was free of the
deference to Aristotelian imperialism (imperialisme aristotelicien)
that marked other interpreters of that doctrine.
Gilbert Narcisse, O.P., writes a brief but interesting study on
the use by St. Thomas and Capreolus of arguments based on the
fitting or the seemly ("Rationalite theologique et argument de
convenance," 131-38). He discerns two very different approaches
in the theology of St. Thomas. On the one hand, there are the
methodological expositions regarding theological science along
with critical reflections on human knowledge of God. On the
other hand, there is the practice of theology in situ, the very
exercise of intelligence in a search for an understanding of the
mysteries of the faith and finally expounding them doctrinally. In
the judgment of Narcisse, the coming together of these two
perspectives-namely, critical reflections and practical exercisesought to allow us to grasp better the entire conception of theology
according to St. Thomas.
In regard to this subject, the journey of M.-D. Chenu is
interesting in that it exposes this conception of theological science
according to St. Thomas. Recent years have seen an oscillation, no
doubt significant in the history of Thomism, between the investigation of a truly scientific rationality, which presumes a certain
ideal of science, and the maintenance of the theologal foundation
of sacra doctrina. Taking into account historical vicissitudes,

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

notably those of Thomism and Augustinianism, what remains at
stake is a specifically theological rationality. Pere Chenu wound
up by discovering an equilibrium. This he accomplished by
extricating the Aristotelian theory of subalternation in its singular
application to theological science.
Narcisse states his desire to carry out one test of this oscillation
by comparing the respective place that St. Thomas and Capreolus
accord to the argument from the fitting (convenance) in the
question of the Incarnation. There are three major positions that
Narcisse sets forth: (1) Scotus's view that the Incarnation has no
connection to sin; (2) the view of the Thomists that Christ would
not have come if man had not sinned; and (3) Thomas's view
which stresses the hypothetical, namely, that it is more fitting
(convenientius) to say that the work of the Incarnation had been
ordered by God as a remedy against sin in such fashion that if
there had not been sin there would not have been the Incarnation.
Narcisse judges St. Thomas's usage of the argument from the
fitting to be quite nuanced in comparison to that of Capreolus.
One of the most interesting essays in the volume, at least for
philosophers, is that by Serge-Thomas Bonino concerning Pierre
Auriol's conception of cognition and Capreolus's critique
("Capreolus contra Pierre Auriol: Une certaine idee de la
connaissance," 139-58). The issue centers around Auriol's notion
of esse apparens, which he set forth in the first quarter of the
fourteenth century. At the very start of his Defensiones, when he
states that he intends to refute those who attack St. Thomas,
Capreolus names Auriol first before John Duns Scotus and
That is to say, Auriol is more
Durandus of Saint
generally Capreolus's particular adversary, and this is the case
regarding the nature of cognition. Bonino takes special care to
emphasize that it is an error to try to explain the intellectual
movement of the fourteenth century solely by reference to
William of Ockham, just as in the recent past it was an error to try
to explain the intellectual movement of the thirteenth century by
reference to Thomas Aquinas alone. Bonino points out that
Auriol's views are not an Ockamist miscarriage, that contempor-

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609

aries paid at least as much attention to Auriol's theory of
knowledge as they did to Ockham's, and that Capreolus himself
never mentions Ockham.
Bonino divides his discussion into two parts. In the first he
sketches the fundamental theses of Auriol's theory of cognition,
stressing those most frequently referred to in the Declarationes.
Bonino honestly admits the methodological difficulties involved
in such a reconstruction. For Auriol knowledge is that whereby
the object known appears to consciousness. Knowledge, phenomenality, and representation are all interconnected. The esse
apparens is a pure being of reason and is not to be identified
either with extramental real being or the intramental real being of
an accidental form. It is rather a purely intentional being (esse
intentionale). And while it is certainly in the soul, it is there by
virtue of the object known and not by virtue of a reality inhering
in the soul. That is to say, it is present objectively and not
subjectively. Auriol attempts to show the absolute necessity of
postulating esse apparensby appealing to experientiaeor illusions
(141-42).
Bonino goes on to summarize Auriol's attack on the cognitive
psychology of Aquinas. He recounts that Capreolus himself points
out the framework of St. Thomas's theory of cognition by noting
the fundamental roles played by the intelligible species and the
concept. Auriol on the other hand identifies the impressed
intelligible species with the act of cognition itself, denies all
activity to the possible intellect in the cognitive act, and rejects the
Verbum or concept as an immanent form terminating the act of
cognition. And yet while Auriol considers the intelligible species
and the act of cognition to be identical, he does see a distinction
of reason between the intelligible species and the act of cognition.
Bonino correctly reports that Capreolus refers to some of Auriol's
arguments as "echappatoires prolixes" (prolixae evasiones).
According to Capreolus, Auriol attacks the Thomist notion of the
Verbum head on as postulating an accidental form inhering in the
intellect. But then it can only be a singular reality, when in fact
the terminus of the act of cognition is the universal essence of the

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

known object. Worse yet, Auriol characterizes the Thomistic
notion of the Verbum or concept as an image (idolum) which is
the terminus of the gaze (aspectus) of the intellect. But if the
intellect rested in this image there would then result the absurdity
that the sciences would be about such images and not about
extramental things.
Kevin White's essay works in tandem with that of Romanus
Cessario, for which it serves as an introduction (although the
editors chose to place it after Cessario's). White's study concerns
on faith,
the views of St. Thomas and Durandus of Saint
but with an emphasis on the question of certitude ("Saint Thomas
et Durand de
La question de la certitude de la
foi," 165-75). White notes that Durandus composed three
versions of his commentary on the Sentences. Although he
attenuated the anti-Thomistic nature of some of his ideas in the
later versions, there still remain vestiges of the original version.
White therefore proposes to treat in particular a question that is
such a vestige, namely, whether faith is more certain than
scientific knowledge. Both in his early commentary on the
Sentences and in later works St. Thomas holds that faith is more
certain than science in regard to some fundamental points.
Durandus sharply disagrees, for he maintains that faith is not at all
more certain in any regard. The issue is one that could be called
a problem of the "psychological" order, namely, faith itself rather
than the object of faith. Durandus does not question the truth of
the articles of faith to which faith adheres but more precisely the
manner in which faith adheres to the articles. White judges
Durandus's point of view to involve an implicit rationalism. He
confines himself in this essay to presenting the position of
Durandus.
Durandus raises the question in the context of the seventh
question of distinction 23 in book III of the Sentences and there
seeks to clarify two relevant points. 3 The first is to explain that
the three phrases found in Augustine-namely, credere Deum,
3 See Durandus of Saint Pour9lln, In Petri Lombardi sententias theo/ogicas
commentariorum libri N (Venice: Guerraea, 1571; repr. Ridgewood, N.J.: Gregg Press,
1964), bk. m, d. 23, q. 7, fol. 255rb-255va.

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credere Deo, and credere in Deum, respectively-consider God as
the object of faith, the reason or moving cause for faith, and the
goal of the believer. The third phrase refers simultaneously to the
act of faith and the act of charity while the first and second
phrases designate the acts that correspond to the unique act of
faith.
The other point to be clarified involves a distinction Aquinas
often makes between two different certitudes, namely, the
"certitude of evidence" (certitudo evidentiae) and the "certitude
of adhesion" (certitudo adhaesionis). According to the former
certitude, knowing is more certain than believing, since what is
known is evident while what is believed is not. According to the
latter certitude believing is more certain than knowing, since
whoever believes adheres more firmly to what is believed than
does the person who knows adhere to what is known.
Durandus straightaway rejects this Thomistic distinction. He
argues first of all that certitude and falsity cannot coexist. But he
then observes that in fact firmness of adhesion can be found in
false beliefs. This is the case with heretics and all who obstinately
adhere to their false opinions. Accordingly, firmness of adhesion
cannot be of the essence of certitude. Durandus adds that simple
firmness of adhesion seems to be greater in scientific knowledge
than in faith, since we adhere more firmly to that from which we
can separate ourselves only with great difficulty. He therefore
considers false the Thomist view that a greater firmness of
adhesion renders faith more certain than scientific knowledge.
What is noteworthy is that Durandus omits reference to Aquinas's
explanation that it is the First Truth, namely, God, who
transforms the will in faith, providing a firmness greater than the
firmness achieved by human reason. White points out that by
concentrating wholly on faith and its object and abstracting from
the will and God's influence on it, Durandus presents faith in
purely intellectual terms.
Durandus next links together the two kinds of certitude with
Aristotle's distinction between secundum se and quoad nos.
Believing "in itself" is considered to be more certain than

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

knowing, since that which is believed is in itself more certain than
that which we know scientifically. However, from the perspective
of "by relation to us" (quoad nos) the opposite is the case, since
knowing scientifically is by relation to us more certain than
believing. This is a distinction made by Aquinas himself that
Durandus does not hesitate to reject, just as he had rejected the
first distinction. He justifies his rejection by three arguments, the
first two of which are based on passages from De anima and
Metaphysics.
The first argument is based on remarks of Aristotle, who points
out that the separate substances are more knowable in themselves
than are the sensible substances, although in regard to us they are
not more knowable but rather less known. Durandus denies that
such a distinction is relevant in the case of habitus and acts, since
they are more certain only insofar as they render their objects
more certain for us. If they are called "more noble" it is only
because of the nobility of their objects. Durandus then takes
Aristotle's remarks regarding nobility and certitude at the
beginning of De anima to mean that Aristotle divides nobility of
science into a nobility according to certitude and a nobility
derived from the nobility of the object. He goes on to reject
making a distinction between things that are better known
simpliciter and of themselves (secundum se) and things that are
better known to us if this is not correctly understood. He adds
that something is called knowable only from the knowledge of the
one knowing, since knowledge is a condition of the knower and
not of the thing known.
At this point White is careful to note that Durandus goes on to
appeal to the hierarchical nature of grades or levels of knowing.
Man holds the lowest grade or level among the intellectual
creatures (infimus gradus inter creaturas intellectuales). Accordingly not everything that is better known to man is better known
simpliciter. Rather is it least known. On the other hand, what is
better known to God is better known simpliciter, because it is
better known according to the highest knowledge (suprema
notitia). Moreover, what is better known to an angel is better

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613

known on a second level or grade (secundus gradus) insofar as the
knowledge of an angel is midway between God's knowledge and
man's knowledge. With these distinctions established, Durandus
explains that those things that are more sublime in their very
being (entitas) are known first by God and an angel, both of
whom possess an intellectual power that is itself more sublime
(sublimiorvirtus in cognoscendo ). Indeed Durandus speaks of God
and the angel as the highest knowers (supremi cognoscentes).
Durandus is now ready to turn back to the topic under
investigation, namely, whether the act of faith is more certain
than an act of science or vice versa. Although something that is
believed, for example that God is triune and one, is of itself more
certain and more known than many things known about creatures
in the manner already set forth, many habitus and acts of science
that are within us are more certain and more known extensively
and intensively than are faith and its acts. This is so because that
which has many modes of certitude is more certain extensively
and intensively. But such is the case extensively regarding science
with respect to faith, since science and its acts possess both the
certitude of evidence and the certitude of adhesion, if the latter
should indeed be called certitude. In contrast, faith possesses only
the certitude of adhesion. But this is also the case intensively,
since what contains the least doubt is the most certain. Scientific
knowledge cannot in any case contain any doubt, while faith can
and yet at the same time is itself preserved.
In his essay on the differing conceptions of faith held by St.
Thomas and Durandus of Saint
and commented on by
Capreolus, Romanus Cessario situates Capreolus in the
Dominican tradition ("Saint Thomas, Durand de
et Capreolus: Le debat sur la foi," 159-75). He makes much of the
distinction set forth by French-speaking theologians between the
"theologique" and the "theologal" so that they might make more
precise the manner in which the spirit and heart operate in
Christian life. The former designates the more speculative and
scientific while the latter describes the lived practice of the
Christian faith. Cessario acknowledges that the term "theologal"

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

has until now been rarely found in English but he notes that it had
been used by John Donne in the seventeenth century to refer to
the infused virtues of faith, hope, and charity. Cessario argues that
the nuance gained by the terminology of "theologal" is important
for taking account of the Thomist doctrine of faith. Indeed he
maintains that the very notion of a "theologal way" is to be found
in Capreolus's discussion of the virtue of faith and he expresses
his satisfaction that the English translation of The Catechism of
the Catholic Church has reintroduced this distinction. He suggests
that the idea of "the theologal way" makes reference to a
Christian existence that is lived more precisely as experience. We
possess once again the possibility of distinguishing in the
terminology itself between someone who has a "theological"
knowledge of the Christian religion and someone who lives these
Christian mysteries in a theologal manner. Cessario considers the
distinction of the theologal and the theological to enable us to
distinguish someone who knows about the Christian religion from
the believer who truly lives the Christian mysteries. Moreover, he
evidently thinks that Aquinas would have accepted speaking of the
experience of the Christian life. Indeed he notes that Aquinas
describes wisdom as.a "tasting" (gustus) of divine goodness and
speaks of the gifts of the Holy Spirit as producing a sort of
experiential knowledge of God (quasi experimentalis).
Saint Thomas presents as an argument for the theologal virtues
the fact that each person pursues a twofold goal in his life, one
proportioned to human nature and the other a happiness that
surpasses that nature. Accordingly the virtues of faith, hope, and
charity are special gifts from God to his creatures. These theologal
virtues are distinct from the intellectual and moral virtues since
they enable the human person to attain God directly. The moral
virtues only allow the believer to behave in a proper manner,
whereas the virtues of faith, hope, and charity allow the justified
soul to enter into a personal communion with the Trinity.
Cessario points out that Durandus effectively interprets the
phrase "credere in Deum" ("to believe unto God"), which issues
from a definition of Augustinian provenance, not as an act of faith

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615

but rather as the working together of faith and charity. Thomas
himself would argue that, while the movement toward God is
only perfect when charity is present, even a Christian lacking
charity-that is, someone whose faith is dead-can be described
as experiencing the beginnings of this movement toward God
precisely because believing implies the intellect and the will
together.
Cessario goes on to relate that the virtues that Saint Paul lists
in the First Epistle to the Corinthians (13: 13) show how the
intellect and the will can attain God. While charity must be
ranked first according to a hierarchical ordering of these virtues,
since it is the mother of virtues, faith comes first in the order of
coming-to-be. Saint Thomas states that there must be an object of
sense knowledge or intellectual cognition for every human
appetite. This means that in the case of the appetites of love and
hope their objects must be grasped by the senses or the
intellect-and thus faith must precede them. It is this intellectual
nature of faith demanded by Capreolus that provokes the
controversy between him and Durandus regarding the certitude of
faith. Cessario judges the basic error of Durandus to be his failure
to recognize that faith involves both the intellect and the will
together. His related error is to think that cognition produces
greater certitude than does faith. On the other hand, Capreolus is
better able to set forth the nature of the certitude enjoyed by faith
since he recognizes the role of the will and God's influence on the
will in faith. He considers the assent of faith to be much more
sure than the assent of scientific knowledge. Durandus failed to
understand that faith demands at the same time that the intellect
know the truth and that the will adhere to the truth. In a word,
faith puts love at the service of knowledge.
Durandus's view that empirical knowledge produces a greater
certitude reflects his error in regard to the role assigned to the will
in faith. On the other hand, since Capreolus does not distance
himself from considerations regarding the will and the influence
that God has on the will, he is able to identify the kind of
certitude enjoyed by faith. He takes the assent of faith to be much

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

more sure than the assent of scientific knowledge. Indeed the
firmness of adherence possessed by faith has its cause in the will.
This means that the understanding of the believer will sometimes
give assent to some proposition by reason of a command by the
will. As a result it will assent more firmly and more intensely than
does the understanding of someone who knows in a scientific
manner. The ultimate cause of faith being so powerful a virtue is
simply the believer's "firm and intense" adhesion to the Word of
God.
This observation Cessario develops further. Since the virtue of
faith is perfected by the intellect in conjunction with the will,
certitude of faith rests on a person's adhesion to God as First
Truth, as the Word. But this is exactly what Durandus refuses to
accept in his rejection of Thomas's account of faith as an
intellectual virtue.
In the last study of part 1, Servais Pinckaers concerns himself
with Capreolus's defense of St. Thomas' teaching on the virtues
(..La defense, par Capreolus, de la doctrine de saint Thomas sur
les vertus," 177-92). 4 Pointing out that Capreolus defended
Thomas's moral doctrine as based on the virtues and the gifts,
Pinckaers characterizes that doctrine as presented by Capreolus to
have much to tell us as we face contemporary moral problems and
issues. He also considers Capreolus's disciplined and precise
manner of procedure to have much to teach contemporary
students. Both his thinking and his reasoning are concise and
precise. Although Capreolus is not a commentator on St. Thomas,
he is in fact a defender of his thought against such critics as John
Duns Scotus, Peter Auriol, Durandus of Saint
and
others. His mode of defense is basically to present excerpts from
St. Thomas's writings that serve as replies to his critics. As a
result, Capreolus has Thomas speak for himself while he, in a selfeffacing manner, adds little of his own. In Pinckaers's judgment,
Capreolus reveals a penetrating theological mind and is "a good
representative of the Thomist school at war."
4 It should be noted that his study is all but identical with his foreword in the CessarioWhite translation of Capreolus, On the Virtues (xi-xxvi; see above, note 2).

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The key topics to which Pinckaers limits himself are four in
number: (1) whether virtuous habitus, either acquired or infused,
are necessary; (2) their location in the sensible appetite; (3) the
connection of these virtues; and (4) how the virtues and gifts are
distinguished. In regard to (1), the necessity of virtuous habits,
Pinckaers points to the sharp divide that developed at the
beginning of the fourteenth century between a morality based on
virtue, which Thomas derived from the Fathers, and a morality
based on individual actions. That latter morality, which would
triumph in the modern period, involved a basic freedom, a
supposed freedom of "indifference" that would be limited externally by law with its obligations and prohibitions. This morality
rejected the notion of habitus.
Not surprisingly, Pinckaers emphasizes that the very meaning
of habitus is in no way captured by our modern word "habit,"
which stresses the mechanical and diminishes human involvement.
On the contrary, a habitus involves a capacity to acquire and
exercise our craft (metier) as humans in accord with the true and
the good, and thereby brings about excellence in our actions and
progress in living. It must be carefully noted that the morality
built on good virtues, that is, the theological and cardinal virtues,
perfected by the gifts, presumes both the notion of natural
inclinations to the good and also an excellence of action that is
ordered to an ultimate end, namely, complete human perfection
and happiness. The habitus of the intellect and will provide them
with a needed stable disposition, a determination oriented toward
the perfection of their activities. The freedom of the morality of
habitus is a freedom for the good.
One of the major opponents of the morality of habitus, that is,
the morality set forth by St. Thomas, was Durandus of Saint
who makes a key distinction between the act in its
natural being (esse naturae) and the act in its moral being (esse
morale). According to the former, we can perform an action
independently of any consideration of its kind and its moral
quality, even that of being good or bad. The good or bad habitus
does not determine the esse naturae of the action. Rather it is the

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

conformity or lack of conformity to right reason that determines
the moral character of the action. For Durandus what is of basic
importance is the act in its singularity taken independently of
reference to habitus. A similar stance is found in the development
of casuistry and in contemporary consequentialism. All that is left
to habitus is a very secondary role of providing some continuity
by way of long-range motivation. Obviously such an approach to
moral thought is radically opposed to the viewpoint of St.
Thomas, for whom the human act is by its very nature moral and
involves the human will.
Pinckaers faults Capreolus for presenting a "defense" of St.
Thomas that accepts Durandus's way of setting up the problem by
way of the distinction between esse naturae and esse moris. He
clearly thinks that Aquinas would not have done so. Not
surprisingly, he approves Capreolus maintaining that the morality
of an action is based not on the action itself but on the knowing
subject as well as on the object, the circumstances, and the end.
Nonetheless Pinckaers does fault Capreolus for failing to see
habitus as rooted in natural inclinations of the intellect and the
will. Pinckaers thus takes Capreolus both to hold that the
determination of actions is derived entirely from habitus and also
to fail to realize the role played by the natural inclinations. He
even suggests that Capreolus may be here under the influence of
the notion of freedom of indifference.
Other arguments against habitus that Pinckaers considers are
taken from Durandus and Auriol respectively. The arguments
taken from Durandus are that the facility to perform certain
actions is due not to a habitus but to the acting subject itself and
that the habitus does not contribute to the intensity of the act.
One argument taken from Auriol is that virtue is a pure relation
of fittingness which can change as a person changes. Although
Capreolus rejects this point of view, Pinckaers observes that
Capreolus has conceded too much to the opponents of Thomas,
who fail to recognize the dynamic nature of virtue that brings
humans to realize the finality geared toward divine beatitude. He
then considers briefly an objection of the Franciscan, Peter Auriol,

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619

who is a favorite target for Capreolus. Auriol downgrades the
importance of virtus by construing it as an accidental being (ens
per accidens), a composite of a quality and a relation of
fittingness. In contrast, Capreolus holds that for St. Thomas virtue
is not a pure relation but contains a relationship to the subject and
the operation which is its goal.
A second key topic (2) is the locus of the moral virtues. In
opposition to John Duns Scotus, who held that the virtues are
located in the will, St. Thomas attributes virtues both to the will
and to sensible appetite. What is summarily rejected by Durandus
in Thomas's system is the notion of the infused moral virtues
which involve in turn the gifts that the Spirit bestows on the
Christian. As Pinckaers explains, for Thomas a moral theology
based on virtues leads ultimately to the doctrine of the gifts of the
Spirit. While Scotus rejects the need to involve the gifts,
Capreolus reaffirms the distinction between virtues and gifts
drawn by St. Thomas and replies in detail to the arguments of
Scotus.
A third key topic (3) pursued by Capreolus is St. Thomas's
teaching regarding the interconnection of the virtues. Their unity
is achieved through prudence (as regards the moral virtues) and
through charity (as regards all the virtues taken together). Saint
Thomas stresses that the moral virtues need prudence just as
prudence needs the moral virtues. All this rests on the close
cooperation of the spiritual faculties of the intellect and the will
underscored in Thomas's moral psychology and most evident in
his analysis of freedom and choice. In
John Duns Scotus
dissolves the link between these spiritual faculties and the virtues.
That is to say, for him a right prudential judgment could be
related to a bad choice. In like fashion, Scotus considers it to be
possible that one could acquire perfection in regard to one virtue
while being imperfect in regard to other virtues.
Pinckaers sets out with approval the replies of Capreolus. One
is that the virtue of prudence is not limited to the steps of
judgment and counsel but is also involved in the step of imperium
or command that provides the impetus to act from within the

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

acting subject. Another point made by Capreolus is that the
habitus of prudence is developed from experience over time and
cannot be the result of a single act. A morality that is based on
individual acts cannot explain all that is involved in prudence.
Pinckaers adds on his own that in a morality based on virtues
prudence presupposes deeply based intentions and a long-range
view. These order action to its ultimate end and also gain for
prudence higher criteria of judgment. It is in this way, according
to Pinckaers, that prudence is linked to charity.
In his conclusion, Pinckaers reviews what he has established
both about Capreolus and also about the significance of the
latter's contributions. He notes that he has not set forth all that
could be said about Capreolus's discussion of virtue. What is
important for Pinckaers is the noteworthy role that Capreolus has
played in the history of the rivalry between a morality that is
based on virtues and gifts and a morality that stresses individual
acts, downplays habitus and finality, and opens the way to
casuistry. Pinckaers praises Capreolus not for being an original
thinker-which he was not-but as a worthy defender of earlier
views, namely, those of St. Thomas Aquinas. He ends his essay by
expressing his gratitude to Capreolus "for having contributed
from afar to the current renewal of virtue-based morality."
The third part of the book has to do with the later history of
Capreolus's Defensiones and his subsequent influence ("La
posterite de Capreolus," 193-273). Guy Bedouelle presents a brief
sketch of the influence of Renaissance humanism on Dominicans
of the fifteenth century, that is, the period of Capreolus's own life
and work, along with some general remarks about the history of
Thomism among Dominicans of the period. He then treats of the
various printed editions of the Defensiones ("Les editions
'humanistes' de Capreolus," 195-207). He notes that there exist
at least forty five exemplars of the 1483-84 edition that was
published by Octavianus Scotus at Venice. The next edition was
also published at Venice but in 1515 by Georgius Arrivabenus, a
nephew of Octavianus Scotus. The subsequent edition was
published in 15 87-8 8 at Venice by the heirs of Hieronymus Scotus

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621

and was dedicated to Pope Sixtus V, a Franciscan. Another edition
was proposed for publication in the late seventeenth century by
Pierre Chastaignac, a member of the Dominican community of
Limoges, but it was never published. Brief notice is taken of it by
Bernard Montagnes ("Une edition de Capreolus projetee en
1686," 209-11).
Some note must be taken of Capreolus's influence on two
important Dominicans, namely T ommasso da Vio, known better
as Cardinal Cajetan, and Sylvestro da Prierio. In his study on
Cajetan and Capreolus ("Cajetan et Capreolus," 213-38), Andre
F. Von Gunten raises the issue of precisely how much influence
the Defensiones had on Cajetan's commentary on the Summa
theologiae. Martin Grabmann had claimed that most of Cajetan's
knowledge of the late Scholastics who were adversaries of St.
Thomas was drawn from Capreolus. Von Gunten raises several
questions: Why did Cajetan make use of the Defensiones? Was
Capreolus the sole source of such information for Cajetan? Did
Capreolus help Cajetan to penetrate the doctrine of St. Thomas?
And why did Cajetan mention Capreolus so often in his
commentary on the Summa theologiae?
After Cajetan was made Procurator General of the Dominican
Order in 1501, he was urged by his patron, Cardinal Olivier
Caraffa, to complete his commentary on St. Thomas's Summa
theologiae. Cajetan indicates both that repeated readings of
Thomas increase rather than decrease the difficulty of grasping his
sense and that outstanding Thomists, who frequently return to the
Prima pars again and again, affirm that they always perceive
something new. Cajetan even suggeststhat many theologians think
that they will gain a great name for themselves, both for their
genius and for their teaching, if they attack the Prima pars by their
contrivances. Indeed he considers John Duns Scotus to have
labored beyond others in this matter with illustrious subtlety and
power. He describes Scotus as almost striving to destroy
individual words of the Prima pars (215). When the matter
seemed to demand it, Cajetan himself solved difficulties,
especially those raised by Scotus. The purposes of Capreolus and

622

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

Cajetan are so alike that Von Gunten suggests that both wrote
Defensiones. It is therefore significant that in his commentary
Cajetan both regularly makes reference to Capreolus and also
mentions by name those who were opponents of Thomas's
teaching, including Duns Scotus, Pierre Auriol, Durandus of Saint
Pour\:ain, Peter Paulude, and Gerard of Carmel. But Von Gunten
indicates that there are occasions on which Cajetan reaches an
interpretation independently of Capreolus. He gives examples of
texts from John Duns Scotus that Cajetan knew on his own.
Von Gunten declares that Grabmann was right to hold that
Capreolus was the link providing Cajetan with knowledge of the
medieval philosophers and opponents of St. Thomas, whose
works had not come down to him. Without the collaboration of
Capreolus Cajetan would never have had contact with a great part
of these various opinions. However, Von Gunten adds that
Grabmann erred in restricting Cajetan's sources to Capreolus,
since Cajetan apparently had other sources, including texts,
whereby he had contact with the thought of such figures as John
Duns Scotus, Durandus of Saint
and Gregory of Rimini.
Some of their arguments as found in Cajetan are not to be read in
Capreolus. Nonetheless Cajetan does on occasion tell his reader
to read more on a particular issue in Capreolus.
Von Gunten raises two key issues. One is whether Cajetan
accepted some of the interpretations of St. Thomas put forth by
Capreolus and the other is whether the way of understanding the
thought of St. Thomas is uniform in Capreolus, Cajetan, and
subsequent Thomism. By necessity Von Gunten can only give
brief attention to these challenging points. He does so by
comparing the views and discussion of Capreolus and Cajetan on
particular topics. The first of these is whether man in the present
state of fallen nature can through his natural abilities and without
grace do a morally good act. Capreolus follows Gregory of Rimini
rather than St. Thomas on the need for such a special aid
(auxilium}, though he does attribute this position to St. Thomas.
Some later Thomists followed Capreolus on this question. Von
Gunten also examines the views of Capreolus and Cajetan on the

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

623

principle of individuation, concluding that Prierio, Javelli, and
Sylvester of Ferrara follow Capreolus. Another topic raised
regards the formal constituent of created personality
(personalitas), that is, the suppositum.
In the conclusion to his study, Von Gunten declares that there
is a continuity but not an identity between Capreolus and Cajetan.
In his determination to defend St. Thomas, Cajetan made
abundant use of Capreolus's work.
The activity of those who were opposed to St. Thomas's
doctrine must be situated at the mid-point of the fourteenth
century, though there had already been opposition at the end of
the thirteenth century. His thought generated strong reactions
which led his disciples to defend it. But it was Capreolus who was
the first to set forth a global defense of St. Thomas. By the end of
the fifteenth century the Thomists-at least in Italy-held
Capreolus in high regard for the service rendered by his
Defensiones. But while Capreolus provided the basis for an
exposition of St. Thomas's doctrine, Cajetan stressed the
arguments that justified that doctrine and that therefore weakened
the point of view of St. Thomas's critics. Even today there are in
the Thomist school defenders and opponents of Cajetan.
Another important Dominican who made use of Capreolus
during the Renaissance period was Silvestro da Prierio. Michael
Tavuzzi ("Capreolus dans les ecrits de Silvestro da Prierio, O.P.,
1456-1527," 239-58) reviews the history of the early, very limited
diffusion of the Defensiones in manuscript form. Only rarely did
any Thomist writer of the late fifteenth and early sixteenth
century make reference to it. One example is Petrus Negri in his
Clipeus Thomistarum, published at Venice in 1481. Earlier in
1477 Lorenzo de Medici had given a handsome manuscript copy
of book 1 of the Defensiones to the library of the Dominican
convent of Saint Mark's at Florence. Dominic of Flanders, whose
Quaestiones in XII Metaphysicorum was published only in 1499,
apparently had knowledge of book 1 of the Defensiones much
earlier. Dominic's work was one of defense of St. Thomas and
involved providing passages from Thomas's writings in a manner

624

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

very similar to the procedure of Capreolus himself. Indeed in the
Thomist tradition Capreolus was viewed as the Prince of Thomist
Theologians and Dominic as the Prince of Thomist Philosophers.
But by reason of its great length even after its publication in 148384 Capreolus's Defensiones seemed to demand shorter versions,
that is, summaries of different sorts. Those who authored such
summaries included Paolo Barbo da Soncino, Isidore degli Isolani,
and Bartolomeo Spina. The largest and the most influential was
that written by Silvestro da Prierio.
Silvestro da Prierio joined the Dominicans of strict observance
in 14 71. He studied with Peter of Bergamo and Dominic of
Flanders at the Dominican studium generale in Bologna. His
fellow students included Girolamo Savonarola and Paulus Barbus
da Soncino. Later in 1489-90 he was himself the master of studies
at the same studium generale. After receiving his doctorate in
theology from the University of Bologna in 1498 he served as
regent of studies at the studium generale in 1499-1502 and again
in 1510-11. In 1515 Pope Leo X named him a professor of
theology at the University of Rome, the Sapienza, and Master of
the Sacred Palace, a post he held until 1527. He was much
involved in papal dealings with Luther, Erasmus, Reuchlin, and
Eck. But he showed interest in Capreolus throughout his
ecclesiastical career.
Prierio wrote an enormous work on Capreolus that was
composed of two parts, both published in 1497. The first part,
which was known as the Compendium Capreoli, is a summary of
the Defensiones. The second part is known as Additiones in
Capreolum. T avuzzi notes that it gained some attention in
Germ'any, and he cites references to it in Karlstadt and Eck. He
also underscores that while the Compendium lacks originality as
a theological work the Additiones are far more interesting since
Prierio extends the discussion beyond what Capreolus sets forth
in regard to some topics. He mentions and discusses an
extraordinary number of Scholastic writers, both those who are
well known and others who are less well known. He even
disagrees with Capreolus on some topics, of which T avuzzi

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

625

provides examples. One is the claim by Prierio against Capreolus
that Aquinas never maintained a real distinction between the act
of intellectual cognition (intelligere) and the concept (conceptus
mentis; verbum).
Prierio also planned an ambitious comprehensive work on
Aquinas entitled Conflatum ex S. Thoma. In Tavuzzi's judgment,
had it been completed it would have rivaled Cajetan's
commentary on the Summa theologiae and Silvester of Ferrara's
commentary on the Summa contra Gentiles. It contains a very
large number of passages from St. Thomas's works, and it serves
as a summary of St. Thomas's whole thought. The structure of the
Confl.atum follows the order of the Summa theologiae. The
original plan was for it to consist of four volumes divided according to the Prima pars, the Prima secundae, the Secunda secundae,
and the Tertia pars. Although Prierio finished different sections,
all that was published in a first volume at Perugia in 1519 was that
part of the work that corresponded to the first forty-five questions
of the Prima pars. Tavuzzi argues that other parts that Prierio had
finished were circulated in manuscript form; he provides a list of
sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers who referred to a
second volume.
There is one striking policy that Prierio adopts in the
Conflatum that is clearly held in opposition to Cajetan: namely,
to deny that there were any real changes in doctrine between St.
Thomas's commentary on the Sentences and his Summa
theologiae. Prierio explains such seeming changes and
developments by maintaining that the Sentences commentary does
not contain St. Thomas's own views. Since he was at the time of
its composition merely a Bachelor, he was often merely reporting
commonly held positions. On the other hand, when he composed
his Summa theologiae he was a Master of theology and so
exercised the right to present his own views.
The Additiones had as their purpose to defend St. Thomas
against rival medieval traditions, representatives of Scotism and
Nominalism and others such as John Duns Scotus, Durandus of
Saint
Henry of Ghent, Pierre Auriol, and Gregory of

626

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

Rimini. All are mentioned many times in the Conflatum.
However, their positions are quickly dismissed by borrowings
from the objections raised by Capreolus and summarized by
Prierio in the Compendium. On the other hand, the polemic in
the Conflatum is basically a defense of that which Prierio believes
to be the authentic doctrine of St. Thomas over against erroneous
interpretations set forth in the Thomist tradition by Cajetan in
particular. Tavuzzi is quick to point out that Cajetan had already
attacked Prierio in his De cambiis (1499) and commentary on the
Prima pars (1507), though not by name.
In Tavuzzi's judgment the prime significance of the use that
Prierio makes of Capreolus in the Conflatum is not so much to
achieve a true interpretation of the thought of St. Thomas as it is
to engage in a polemic against Cajetan's very personal
interpretations of St. Thomas. The Defensiones of Capreolus
simply provided Prierio with arguments that he could use against
Cajetan. In fact Tavuzzi points out that there are references to
Capreolus on almost every page of the Conflatum. But he is also
careful to add that at times Prierio sets forth discussions that rise
above the narrow preoccupations of his dispute with Cajetan. One
such discussion regards the difference of opinion within the
Thomist school regarding God's knowledge of future contingents.
Prierio presents Capreolus as the author of one of the three
opinions on this topic. And while he considers Capreolus to be the
"father of all theologians of our time" (pater omnium theologorum nostri temporis), from whom all Thomists have derived
something good, he shares with Capreolus a harsh evaluation of
the worth of Pierre Auriol, a stand no doubt inspired by the
Defensiones.
The last study in the volume, that of Norman J. Wells,
concerns Capreolus and other late medieval theologians on the
subject of eternal truths ("Capreolus et ses successeurs sur les
verites eternelles," 25 9-73 ). To appreciate Capreolus' s position on
the question of the aeternae veritates and its influence on other
thinkers Wells proposes first to give both background and
foreground material on the issue. By establishing the influences on

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

627

Capreolus we will be better prepared to assess the significance of
his position. In doing so we will be enabled to evaluate the impact
of his point of view on such later Thomistae as Cajetan, Soncinas,
Sylvester of Ferrara, Javelli, Banez, and Soto.
Wells begins by sketching the historical context dating back as
far as 1241 and a condemnation issued by William of Auvergne at
Paris. The bishop condemned as erroneous the claim that there
are many eternal truths other than God. Both in 1243 and 1256
General Chapters of the Dominican Order instructed that this
error be deleted from all copy books. Toward the end of the
thirteenth century, Richard of Middleton expressed his misgivings
regarding the position of Henry of Ghent both with regard to
eternal essences endowed with their own essential being (esse
essentiae) and also with regard to many essential and necessary
aeternae veritates. Later in the fifteenth century, Dionysius the
Carthusian had similar fears and expressed them by citing the very
text in which Middleton criticizes the position of Henry on
aeternae veritates in the light of the condemnation of 1241. But
Wells then points out that Capreolus, the princepsthomistarum,
was actually influenced by Henry of Ghent's position regarding
the eternal essences, their essential being, and their eternal truths.
Capreolus treats the question of the eternal essential truths in
his defense of St. Thomas's position on the question whether a
subsisting creature is to be identified with its own existential being
("Utrum creatura subsistens sit suum esse existentiae"). Wells
points out that Capreolus himself presents five conclusions, but he
judges it sufficient to examine only the first, which affirms that no
subsisting creature is its own esse. He defends St. Thomas's
response by citing only four texts from his works. However, Wells
is careful to note that in fact Capreolus appears to put greater
emphasis on auctoritates such as Aristotle, Augustine, Robert
Grosseteste, Albert the Great, and Averroes than on St. Thomas
himself.5

5 For further relevant discussion, see Norman J. Wells, "Capreolus on Essence and
Existence," The Modern Schoolman37 (1960): 1-24.

628

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

In the first argument, in order to establish the per se et non per
aliud character of the essences of creatures, in opposition to the
per aliud et non per se status of the esse or existence of creatures,
Capreolus accordingly gives due consideration to the first mode
of predicating per se. In the case of Rosa est rosa, the quiddity of
the rose does not belong to the rose by virtue of some extrinsic
active cause (aliqua causa agens extrinsica).The proposition itself
is eternally true whether or not there are roses. This means of
course that both the essence of the rose and also its eternal truth
are uncreated.
Against an unnamed opponent who maintains that the essence
and the eternal truth are necessary only on the supposition of a
creative efficient cause, Capreolus carefully distinguishes two
usages of the copula est. In the one usage, the copula signifies the
actual e:xtramental existence of the subject of the proposition
whereas in the other usage the copula indicates the truth of the
proposition, which is signified by the link between the subject and
the predicate. Wells remarks appropriately that in Capreolus's
eagerness to establish the eternal validity of nonexistential and
nontemporal propositions he goes so far as to say that what is
nothing at all can be said to exist and that ens can be predicated
of that which does not really exist. Both Aristotle and Averroes
are used as authorities for this remark.
Another authority to whom Capreolus makes appeal is
Augustine in the De libero arbitrio. When Augustine says that
seven and three are ten not only now but always, Capreolus takes
him to be talking about an uncreated and necessary essential
eternal truth. Capreolus insists that the eternal and uncaused
truths and essences maintained by Augustine, Albert, and Thomas
are eternally true in the divine intellect and are identified with the
divine ideas. What is rejected by Capreolus is that the essences
and existences of creatures come forth from a creative efficient
cause, since that would mean that the divine ideas are creatures.
Nonetheless, Wells finds Capreolus raising doubts regarding
the views of Augustine, Albert, and Thomas. In particular,
Capreolus attributes to St. Thomas the view that both the

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

629

existence and also the essences of creatures are forthcoming from
a creative efficient cause. Wells sees Capreolus taking over the
position of Henry of Ghent, who maintained a twofold sort of
divine causality, namely, divine efficient causality and divine
exemplary causality. The essences and their eternal and necessary
esse essentiae are forthcoming from God in terms of an eternal
exemplary type of causality by which God's knowing endows each
essence with an intelligible and quidditative esse (esse intelligibile
et quidditativum). The contingent existence of creatures is
forthcoming from God acting as an efficient creative cause.
However, the causally dependent essence, in the first instance, is
not properly speaking created. Creation relates to contingent
existence and to an efficient cause and not to necessary essences
and a formal, extrinsic, and exemplar cause.
Having set forth Capreolus's position in a general fashion,
Wells raises a number of critical points. He notes first of all that
Capreolus grants a primacy and priority to essence over existence
and to necessary essential truths over contingent existential truths.
He notes secondly the importance given to essential eternal
uncreated truths which are not uncaused. Wells also points out
problems that arise in regard to the subject of the uncreated
eternal truths. Given the uncreated status of the essences of
creatures in Capreolus' s position, those essences are not creatures.
Nor are they God. One can then ask whether or not this is
tantamount to a multiplicity of eternal truths that are not God,
since they are caused-the very position that was condemned in
1241. And does not the identification of the uncreated eternal
essences and eternal truths with the divine ideas result in the ideas
being multiple in such fashion that the simplicity of the divine
essence is compromised?
Another set of criticisms set forth by Wells regards predication
and the truth of propositions. He chides Capreolus for coming
dose to confusing esse essentiaewith the use of esse that treats of
esse veritatispropositionis.The latter concerns entia rationis,that
is, intramental beings of reason, and also privations like blindness,
negations, and chimeras. Wells therefore asks what could

630

EDWARD P. MAHONEY

differentiate nonexistential
essential proposmons
from
nonexistential propositions that deal with beings of reason? He
proposes as one possible answer that the truth of essential
propositions would be based on an eternal esse essentiaewhile the
truth of propositions dealing with privations, negations, and
chimeras would be based on a being of reason (esse rationis).
Wells turns in the last part of his article to a consideration of
the stance that some later Thomists took in regard to Capreolus's
views on essence and existence. He begins by characterizing the
Defensiones as providing a model of a defensive style and of a
defensive interpretation of St. Thomas's views on essence and
existence. Both Soncinas and Cajetan used Capreolus in their
comments on the Sentencesof Peter Lombard in order to defend
Aquinas. Soncinas uses the same argumentation that Capreolus
derived from Albert and others to show that the essences of
creatures are per se et non per aliud, in contrast to their existence
which is per aliud et non per se. However, while Capreolus was
wary about attributing to St. Thomas this position regarding the
essences of creatures as uncreated, Soncinas shows no such
reserve. And while he accepts Henry of Ghent's teaching on the
twofold character of divine causality, namely, causa exemplaris
and causa efficiens,he never mentions Henry. His position is like
that of Capreolus for he takes both essence and existence to be
causally dependent on God. Yet though the essences of creatures
are caused they remain uncreated. Soncinas eventually changed
his position in his Quaestiones metaphysicalesacutissimae. He
there rejects the twofold relationship of the essences of creatures
to the divine causality. Instead he accepts that humanitas and
lapideitasare produced by God as from the first cause, that is, an
efficient cause. According to Wells this move by Soncinas is a
major event in the history of Thomism for he has purged from the
position of Capreolus any dependence on Henry of Ghent's
celebrated teaching on the eternal and necessary exemplary
causality of the esse essentiae of the essences of creatures. But
what is remarkable is that Soncinas goes on to maintain that even
if God did not exist the proposition "Man is an animal" would
still be true. Wells rightly asks if Soncinas is not thereby

THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF JEAN CAPREOLUS,O.P.

631

maintaining that there are eternal truths which are neither simply
God nor creatures, the very position condemned in 1241.
In the remaining pages of his article, Wells discusses Soncinas
on essential propositions as well as his critique of Hervaeus
Natalis and the defense of the latter by Javelli. He ends his article
by emphasizing that while there is disagreement between
Soncinas, Hervaeus, andjavelli, all three are opposed to Henry of
Ghent and Capreolus on the noncreative exemplary causality of
the essence of creatures. For them essences before their creation
have an existence that is identical with the existence of their
cause. Later Thomistae would have to address the question
whether there can be many created eternal truths.
A short conclusion completes the volume. In terms of the
traditional periodization, the editors see Capreolus's century as a
time of "transition" between the medieval Scholasticism of the
thirteenth century and the rise of humanism.
The editors note that a superficial view of the situation would
lead us to believe that Capreolus did not break new ground but
only repeated the theology of St. Thomas and did so defensively
as the title of his work, Defensiones, indicates. Such an impression
is mistaken. The editors consider the very title of Capreolus's
work to connote at the same time both a conservative spirit as
regards doctrine and also a positive atmosphere in theological
debate. These traits reappear in the later posterity of Capreolus's
thought, beginning at the end of the fifteenth century, most
notably among the authors of the Compendia. Examination of the
printing of his work during the humanist period and the role that
his thought played in theological controversies within the Church
at the time of the confrontation with the Reformation indicate
that his posterity and its relevance are greater than had been
thought.
The editors go on to ask what the figure of Capreolus
represents in the debates of his time, debates which have in fact
recurred throughout the course of Christian thought from its very
beginnings. One could characterize that figure by the refusal to
put up with a rupture of theological thought that might otherwise
seem inevitable and indeed intrinsic. Rather does Capreolus aim

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EDWARD P. MAHONEY

to bring things back toward a center, that is, toward a unity to be
regained. That unity, which is evidently God Himself, explains
why theologians and philosophers continue to speak of divine
ideas and eternal truths. However, they differ as regards the
manner in which they discover the center of theology. In the case
of Capreolus, he does this by way of a defense of the thought of
St. Thomas Aquinas, since he is convinced of the danger of
advancing the role of philosophy in man's approach to God. The
editors rightly note that this is not a new question in Christian
thought. Indeed the tension between Athens and Jerusalem
already occupied the very first centuries of Christianity.
As regards this issue the editors explain that it is a profound
Thomistic conviction that the believer is in fact a "philosopher"
in the first sense of the term, namely, one committed to the love
for and study of wisdom. They take St. Thomas to have addressed
the concern of the Church Fathers by giving a Christological form
to his response regarding the eternal truths. Indeed St. Thomas's
Summa theologiae would have been inconceivable without the
revelation of Christ, the Verbum, who transmits to us that which
St. Thomas and Capreolus calls sacra doctrina, which is simply
that which God knows regarding himself and which he shares
with the blessed.
Regarding this statement about sacra doctrina, the editors
emphasize that it is based on an experience of God. This fact
explains why the respective positions of St. Thomas and
Capreolus are not completely acceptable or even simply communicable in the context of a modern conception of academic or
scientific life. We are at a great distance from the original
conception of the medieval university.
The thought of Capreolus, even if it was principally developed
at Paris, shines forth from a provincial convent of the Midi in
France, in a town that did not even possess a university. This
miracle of a unity of life and thought which made Capreolus a
princeps is the placing in operation of the Dominican intuition
uniting prayer, study, and contemplation.

BOOK REVIEWS
Spea/Ungthe IncomprehensibleGod: ThomasAquinason the Interplayof Positive
and Negative Theology. By GREGORY P. ROCCA, 0.P. Washington, DC:
The Catholic University of America Press, 2004. Pp. xxv + 412. $64.95
(cloth). ISBN-0-8132-1367-3.
Gregory Rocca's book is a uniquely valuable contribution to the literature of
Thomism. It is at present the most complete and careful coverage we have of St.
Thomas's position on how we can speak intelligibly, philosophically, about God.
We must be able to speak positively about God, yet he remains a mystery that
exceeds the power of our finite minds to grasp comprehensively. Speaking the
Incomprehensible God is about Aquinas's remarkable balancing act between
positive and negative theology, as they are called technically. All competent
Thomists admit the presence of both strands of theology (philosophy of God) in
St. Thomas. But they differ, sometimes significantly, on how they interpret the
relation between the two paths, the relative importance of each and the relation
of priority between them.
The author has the balance between positive and negative theology in St.
Thomas exactly right, and expresses this central message of the book beautifully
in two early paragraphs:
The Dionysian path to God is fundamentally twofold: the way of
negation and the way of affirmation, or more precisely, the way of
negation based on God as the transcendent Beyond and affirmation
based on God as Cause of all things.
As we shall see, Aquinas will often interpret the Dionysian
maxim about God's absolute unknowability to mean something quite
different than what Dionysius originally intended. Aquinas will also
elicit a threefold path from the statements of Dionysius, and he will
tend to emphasize a domesticated version of the Dionysian via
negativa, inasmuch as in his hands it becomes a "way" comfortably
at ease within the contours of the positive theology. (25)

The author goes on to develop each point in detail-first of all negative
theology, then analogy, and finally positive theology. (I would have preferred if
he had handled first the positive bond of similitude deriving from creation, then
the negative as a qualification of this. But he has preferred to move from

633

634

BOOK REVIEWS

negative to positive theology.) First he develops the incomprehensibility of God,
then the via negativa as a part of the threefold path of affirmation through causal
similitude, negation of any attributes containing imperfection or finitude in their
meaning, and reaffirmation of the perfection in its preeminent transcendent state
in God. Both these points he handles well, taking us carefully through all the
relevant texts in St. Thomas.
The author next deals with analogy as the tool for speaking positively about
God. He does this first in Aristotle, then follows all the windings of Thomas's
successive attempts to develop a general theory of analogy to meet the needs of
his own much richer metaphysical vision. Aquinas tries persistently-and
unsuccessfully-to fit these constructs into the framework of Aristotle, but he
ends up dropping them, one by one, as inadequate to handle the intrinsic
proportional similitude between God and creatures that is required by his own
metaphysical vision, which goes far beyond Aristotle. The Aristotelian theory, as
shown by the examples adduced by the author, is radically inadequate to explain
any really intrinsic proportional similitude between its analogates, let alone
between substances, and least of all between God and other beings. The author
admits that the one general theory St. Thomas tries to defend most
explicitly-namely, that analogy holds when a given positive attribute is
predicated of one primary analogate intrinsically and properly, and of all the
other analogates only by some relation to the primary one, as food as cause of
health in an animal and clear urine as an effect of health-in fact prescinds from,
is "neutral" toward, whether the relation in the secondary analogates indicates
an intrinsic similitude or not with the primary one.
This may be a helpful general linguistic theory of analogy, and is always
present in some way in all the Thomistic uses of analogy. But by itself it is not
enough to express Thomas's own rich metaphysical theory of the bond of
intrinsic proportional similitude between God and his creatures based on his
creative act of sharing his own perfections with them in diverse positive, though
limited, ways. Aquinas finally comes around, in his later works from the Summa
contra Gentiles and the Summa Theologiae on, to stating simply and clearly his
own version of the special analogy required to speak meaningfully of the relation
between God and creatures that flows from creation. Thomas describes this in
terms of analogy based on the ontological structure of participation between
creatures and God, "predication by participation," as he calls it. When a higher
cause, especially a universal and transcendent one like God, shares his goodness
and perfections in various finite modes of participation with lower beings caused
by it, this generates a shared bond of intrinsic though limited similitude between
all the effects and their source, which can only be described in analogous
language (ScG I, c. 32; De Pot., q. 7, a. 7, ad 2; STh I, q. 13, a. 5; etc.) And since
"participation" denotes an intrinsic similitude between effects and their cause,
the analogous language expressing it must also signify intrinsic similitude
between all its analogates. This theory of analogy and its metaphysical
foundation go far beyond Aristotle and any of his theories or practice of analogy.
I wish the author had explained ·and emphasized a little more strongly and

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clearly at the end of his study of analogy this notion of analogous predication by
participation as Aquinas's principal tool in explaining how we can speak
positively about God. He does, however, later on in chapter 9, speak beautifully
of "Participation: Aquinas's Christian View of the Universe." He is clearly aware
of the central importance of participation in the metaphysics of Aquinas, but in
his long patient examination of the detail of the texts the clear vision of the
forest sometimes gets submerged in that of the trees. Lastly, one of the most
important points the author makes in his treatment of analogy is that for Thomas
analogous terms do not become analogous as isolated concepts, but only when
linked to judgment, that is, as actually predicated of diverse subjects-contrary
to some other Thomistic traditions, such as seems to be the case with Cajetan
and his school of commentators, on whom the author has an illuminating
commentary in chapter 5.
In the third part of the book, "Crucial Truths about God," the author unfolds
piece by piece the main contents of what we can say positively about God: the
existence of God, creation, the likeness between creatures and God, the real
distinction between esse and essence in all creatures, the immanence and
transcendence of God, the divine infinity, eternity, etc. Then in a final part on
"The Divine Names," building on what has gone before, he sums up how we can
speak intelligibly of God in positive human language that yet respects and leaves
intact the unsoundable depths of the divine mystery. It would take too long to
discuss all these points in detail, but the author handles them carefully and well.
There is a mine of informative explanation to be explored here. In his many
detailed footnotes the author shows an amazingly broad acquaintance with the
whole range of relevant scholarly literature on almost all points. Readers can
only be most grateful to have available such a rich treasury of well-informed,
well-balanced commentary on Aquinas's philosophy of God.
In a very rich and eloquent conclusion the author sums up what he considers
the unique contribution of St. Thomas: namely, his carefully balanced
interweaving of positive and negative theology that reveals "the tensioned
structure of any truth about God" (a beautifully terse and insightful phrase!). He
shows the importance for the life of the Church of such a grounding of the
intelligibility of its religious and liturgical worship of God, where we must
somehow speak meaningfully of God in word and action. And it is a muchneeded corrective to the common practice of so many contemporary continental
philosophers of religion who routinely, following the lead of Heidegger and the
postmodernists, overemphasize the negative-theology path almost to the
exclusion of the positive.
Aquinas insists that it is possible, though difficult, to come to know the
existence of God, creation, and some of his main attributes by the resources of
philosophical reason under its own power; he also believes that he has shown
how it can be done. Rocca is nevertheless convinced that Aquinas is primarily
guided and motivated, although he is not always aware of it, by an implicit
background of the light of faith in his discovery of the nature of God as infinite
subsistent pure act of being, and of God as the transcendent, gracious and

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absolutely free Creator of a radically contingent universe. This may well be the
case historically, although I tend myself to go along with St. Thomas in granting
a stronger power to reason. Or can we not say that although the first discovery
of one of these truths may well come from the illumination of faith, this very
light then clarifies and focuses the natural light of our human reason so that it
itself now clearly sees the intrinsic, even the unique, intelligibility of the truth in
question? But the author's reflections, based on his immense knowledge of the
texts, deserve the most serious critical meditation.
My one regret is that in his summary of the conclusions of the book at the
end he did not reaffirm more strongly and explicitly what I consider the central
philosophical message of the book, so beautifully stated in chapter 1, on the
priority of relation between the positive and negative theology in Aquinas. That
is, the foundational relation between God and creatures is that of creation, which
generates the basic similitude between creatures and their Source that grounds
the positive path of theology, and that only within this positive foundational
relation does the negative theology fit "comfortably" as a set of purifying
qualifications to preserve the unsoundable depths of the divine mystery
underlying all.
W. NORRIS CLARKE, S.J.
Fordham University
Bronx, New York

Thomistes OU de l'actualite de saint Thomas d'Aquin. By S.-TH. BONINOET AL.
:Editions Parole et Silence, 2003. Pp. 279. 23 € (paper). ISBN 2-84573179-5.

This is a somewhat unplaceable book, but-especially to readers of The
Thomist-no less interesting for that. Its editor, Pere Serge-Thomas Bonino, 0.
P., who is editor likewise of the Revue Thomiste, regards it as the "manifesto" of
the "Toulouse School" of Thomism-which is simultaneously a Fribourg
(Switzerland) School, as the provenance of the essays contained in this volume
suggests. But for reasons underlined by the archbishop of Vienna, Cardinal
Christoph Schonborn, in his foreword, the term "manifesto" is also felt to be a
trifle risky, owing to what might be deemed its inappropriately partisan and
polemical connotations. So by a play on words the introduction puts its emphasis, rather, on what the book makes manifest. And this-we are informed-is
not a "party" at all but rather the continuing intellectual vitality of the tradition
of thought stemming from Thomas, above all in its power to contribute to
"contemporary doctrinal debates, both in philosophy and theology" (11).
One would like to know (but discretion forbids enquiring) what was the
editor's first reaction when he received the Schonborn preface. The cardinal

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seems grateful for the renaissance of not merely historical but also doctrinal
interest in Thomas's corpus-as shown, for example, by Veritatissplendor and
Filies et ratio, the Pope's "two most doctrinal encyclicals" (5). He appears even
more preoccupied, however, by a possible new Thomistic bid for conceptual
hegemony in Catholic thought. Accordingly, his preface sounds a somewhat
minatory note. A new generation of Thomist writers may well represent a grace
for the Church. But this will only be a fruitful grace if they avoid the arrogance
of which previous Thomistic revivals were guilty. Thomas is the doctor
communis not because his distinctive fashion of organizing the intelligible
content of revelation imposes itself to the exclusion of all others. He is the
common doctor precisely because of the quality of his openness to receive from
as many strands as possible of the philosophiCal, biblical, and patristic tradition.
We remember that Cardinal Schonborn's own first love was the Greek Fathers,
who saved a number of European Dominicans of his generation from NeoModernism at a time when Thomism was seen-even in the Dominican Order
in, say, France-as politically hardly recuperable, whatever the regrets this
aroused. So he fires a warning shot across the bows of these Dominicans, who
with one exception are considerably younger than himself. Schonborn is certainly thinking of the conflict in the 1940s and 1950s between Henri de Lubac,
S. J., (a lover of the Fathers first if a Thomist a good second) and one of the
heroes-if not the principal hero-of the new Toulouse-Fribourg revival, MarieMichel Labourdette, 0. P., (a Thomist as committed to the commentators as to
Aquinas himself).
In fact, Labourdette, an extraordinarily intelligent and well-read man, did not
deny the need to nourish Thomism from without, which could include a fresh
reading of its own sources. He simply affirmed the desirability of maintaining its
structural principles. And this fits with Bonino's account of what is distinctive
about the Thomism represented by these pages. This will be, Bonino explains,
a Thomism that is anxious to study Thomas in his historical context-without,
however, incarcerating him there. It will treat Thomas as a sapiential master for
whom theology is more primary than philosophy-without, however, denying
the diverse epistemological bases of these disciplines in the way sometimes found
in the High Anglican interpretation of Thomas in the Radical Orthodoxy
movement. It will be seriously interested in the major Thomistic commentators
who are unlikely to have got absolutely everything wrong or added nothing
whatsoever of value-without, however, excluding the possibility that any given
commentator may have missed quite a good deal. The new Thomism will then
proceed to deploy the resources thus acquired by putting them at the service of
contemporary theology, philosophy, and, more widely, culture-without,
however, concealing the fact that these are the resources of a tradition which
possess, therefore, their own coherence and cannot simply be turned into a
quarry for this or that disparate purpose.
The essays that make up the meat of the book-and which, evidently, the
editor understands to embody this ethos--are grouped into five constellations.
An opening section considers fundamental theology and so corresponds, broadly

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speaking, to the initial question of the Prima pars. In what manner does Thomas
practice theology, exegesis, and philosophy, within the unity of his exploration
of sacra doctrina? The first of a trio of doctrinal sections considers in turn the
theology of God, One and Three, and of the human person not only made in
God's image but considered in his or her "integral reality." This is followed by
a group of essays on "Christ and the Church," including there a sketchy but
suggestive approach to Thomism and ecumenism as well as a more audacious
proposal about (Thomism and) interreligious dialogue. The final doctrinal
heading provides the rubric for five contributions brought together as "morals
and spiritual life." The book ends with two useful chronicles of Thomism after
Thomas, some bibliographical advice for French-speaking readers, potted
biographies of the authors and a postword from Pere (now Cardinal) Georges
Cottier, the erstwhile Theologian of the Pontifical Household.
I began this review by calling this book "unplaceable." The difficulty of
identifying its real subject matter arises from the very different approaches of
these essayists to the topics assigned. Some are content with a straightforward
exposition of St Thomas's thought. Others not only make little or no reference
to Thomas's actual writings, they deal with issues he hardly addressed. They do
so, however, according to principles imagined, whether credibly or otherwise,
to be internal to his thought. Thus the account of Thomas's Christology by
Gilbert Narcisse would satisfy the most exigent historical theologian, whereas
Charles Morerod's idea that the Thomistic contribution to the official bilateral
dialogues in the modem ecumenical movement should consist in investigating
the philosophical presuppositions of the high contracting parties is a request for
an entirely novel initiative. The most valuable essay for a student of the historical
Thomas is almost certainly
Garrigues's study of Thomist
anthropology which, by a subtle reading of, especially, De malo makes a
convincing case that the "personalist" element in Thomas's account of human
agency has been insufficiently appreciated. This has implications for how
Thomas evaluated not only the voluntary, concrete, and singular, but also the
dialectic of intellect and will in man's union with God. It should also be said that
the level of conceptual demand varies greatly, from the limpid simplicities of
Gilles Emery on questions about God in Thomas and today, to the high
refinement of Emmanuel Perrier on "sources of law [or possibly 'right', =
droit]," which is probably more pertinent to British than to American readers
since much of it presumes the Continental-type jurisprudence now entering the
English legal system through the incorporation of European Union law.
Personally, I found most useful in this collection Henry Donneaud's survey
of the French Thomism of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries which includes
material not easily available elsewhere. I found rather alarming BenoitDominique de la Soujeole's request to consider what is valid in the truth- and
value-systems of the nonbiblical religions "participated ecclesiality" (162): that
is a formula which, precisely by trespassing on terrain otherwise allotted to the
non-Catholic Christian churches and ecclesial communities, proclaims its own
excessiveness. ("Ecclesiality of desire"-De la Soujeole's alternative etiquette-is

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less objectionable.) Thierry-Dominique Humbrecht's essay, "God and Being, or
the New Covenant," will very likely prove the most useful in Anglophone
countries to professional teachers of Catholic philosophy and theology. Since
phenomenology's "theocentric tum," the issue of the relation of God and being
now has a widely recognised pertinence that only Thomists generally appreciated
before. That in itself is a testimony to the perennial value of the tradition of
Thomist thought which these (mostly) still young men, or men in young middleage, are continuing with courage, learning, and that peculiar French combination
of spirituality with intellectual flair.
I noticed with pleasure the name of Hans Urs von Balthasar, invoked
positively and at a crucial point in Humbrecht's argument-though a Balthasarian connection is subterraneously present likewise in the discussion of the
beautiful in Narcisse's article on the realism of St Thomas. This is a book with
very few footnotes or perhaps he would have mentioned his own doctoral thesis
which compared Balthasar's mind-set as disclosed in Herrlichkeitwith Thomas's
appeal to convenientia, or revelatory "fittingness" -itself, he argues, a category
of theological aesthetics. Among the "new masters," Balthasar's writing is surely
one direction in which Thomists could look in order to amplify the theological
resources of their tradition-not, of course, uncritically, or without the necessary
adjustments that foundational Thomist principles may suggest. This would only
be, after all, to repay the compliment Balthasar himself paid Thomas in treating
his Christian metaphysic as the high-point, ontologically speaking, of the West.
AIDAN NICHOLS, 0. P.

Blackfriars
Cambridge,England

Act & Being: Towardsa Theology of the Divine Attributes. By Colin E. Gunton.
Grand Rapids, Mich.: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2003. Pp. ix+
162. $29.00 (paper). ISBN 0-8028-2658-X.
A reworking of a set of public lectures, this book proved to be the author's
last, as Gunton died unexpectedly in 2003 after a prolific thirty years as a
Reformed theologian in England. As the preposition in the title indicates, the
work is not a systematic exposition of the divine attributes themselves but a
critical discussion of the way they have been and ought to be treated. The first
four chapters raise the various theological issues at stake in how and what we
predicate of God's nature and character, but for the most part they offer a
sustained criticism of the classical manner of attribution. The last four chapters
are more constructive, although Gunton's own proposals for theological
predication and brief discussions of certain attributes are neither fully developed

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nor neatly presented. Although one can appreciate a few of his criticisms and
even the general trajectory he wishes treatment of the attributes now to take,
those of more Catholic theological sensibilities will have difficulty identifying
with his general discounting of the tradition's development, based as it is on a
Barthian tendency to oppose philosophical reasoning about what God must be
against revelation's account of God's historical actions on our behalf.
In the preface Gunton says his original intention to offer a more comprehensive treatment of the attributes gave way to a growing dissatisfaction with
how the tradition came to define proper theological predication. In his
assessment, the doctrine of the divine attributes was often done by using the
wrong method, developing the wrong content, and treating things in the wrong
order (8). Early Christian theologians emulated the Neoplatonic approach to
characterize God as essentially that which the world is not. In favoring a
cosmological method of philosophical abstraction from the imperfections found
in the world, the tradition displaced the Old Testament as the proper theological
foundation of the doctrine of God and neglected to draw God's character more
positively from his saving actions in the economy. While explicitly critical of
Origen, Pseudo-Dionysius, John of Damascus, and Aquinas, Gunton especially
indicts The Divine Names for the tradition's excessively negative approach to and
characterization of God, one that conceived the relation of God and the world
as opposed to one another, in marked contrast to what the incarnation implies.
Gunton criticizes the method for its emphasis upon the unknowability of God
because it discounts what divine revelation is meant to provide for us and the
manner we are given to know it-not by philosophical deduction but by the
mediating work of the Son and Spirit to make the Father known. Insisting that
the economy, and the incarnation especially, give us knowledge of God's actual
being, he rejects the Thomistic position that theological language is analogical in
favor of Scotus's claim that it is univocal. In the end Gunton does not say that
the classical attributes of God in the tradition are mistaken; rather, his lament is
that "the negative, metaphysical and impersonal attributes so dominate the
discussion that the personal and action-based attributes [such as love and
holiness] appear to have been marginalized" (51).
To reverse the tradition's shortcomings, Gunton advocates an approach that
knows God not by abstracting from the world but by attending to how the
incarnation makes God known within the structures of space and time. His
driving question is, what difference does the Trinity, understood both
economically and immanently, make in a theological account of the divine
attributes? In light of the economic Trinity, the account the divine attributes
must be more narrative in form and founded upon divine action as beginning in
the Father, put into effect through the Son, and brought to completion or
perfection by the Holy Spirit. The Trinitarian acts of creation, salvation, and
redemption serve as a better context for treating the divine attributes more
positively because divine action occurs within and for the world and entails no
dualistic opposition between matter and spirit. Articulating what constitutes
God's character in light of the Trinitarian form of divine action serves .to

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overcome the tradition's rather monadic conception of the divine attributes that
developed on the principle opera ad extra trinitatis sunt indivisa.
In regard to the immanent or eternal Trinity, Gunton wonders how the
divine attributes differ in light of the truth that God is eternally a communion
of three persons in relation. Gunton insists "that treatments of the being or
essence of God must be trinitarian from the outset" (98), since our knowledge
of God is known in a Trinitarian way by the mediatorial work of the Son and the
Spirit. The graced privilege of knowing the hypostases-knowledge in the form
of personal relation given us in our koinonia with God achieved in the
economy-gives us knowledge of the essence of God, since the "three persons
are the being of God, and if we know the Father through the Son and in the
Spirit we know the being of God" (112). Ultimately Gunton seeks a three-subject
account of each divine perfection because the attributes refer not to the divine
nature but to the persons. However, instead of delivering the goods and
articulating what the attributes are in light of the Trinity, Gunton continues his
reading of the tradition, referencing a few rather non-Trinitarian treatments of
the attributes that he unconvincingly says are closer in spirit to his project. He
does, briefly, redefine some attributes in terms of God's historical action-for
example, divine omnipotence is not so much pure, unrestricted power but the
action of God in the cross of Jesus, while divine immutability is economically the
constancy of God from creation through redemption. One of the more
constructive contributions in the work is a reworking of Barth's rather voluntarist understanding of divine freedom to one that is ordered by the Spirit
towards communion. Yet in the end Gunton does not offer a Trinitarian account
of all the divine attributes but a discussion of the proper attribute of each divine
person. Following St. Paul'sTrinitarian benediction in 2 Corinthians 13:14, he
identifies the Father's primary characteristic as love (ay<im]),the Son's as grace
or mercy (Xaptc;},and the Holy Spirit's as fellowship or communion (x0tvwvia).
The love that is the Father is the origin and end of all economic acts, grace the
form of that love made manifest in the world by the Son's redemptive act, and
communion, with knowledge and freedom, the sanctifying and perfecting action
of the Holy Spirit.
It is important to note that Gunton does not subscribe to the current fad in
contemporary theology that simply rejects many classical attributes like
immutability or impassibility. Though he admits that the tradition was "not
naive" and "had good reason to say the things that it did about God" (22), he
never stops to wonder how a method of predication with all the faults he
ascribesto it was able to generate a list of attributes which he does not really find
problematic in themselves, only in the priority given to them (109). His reading
of that tradition is superficial and unsympathetic, where differences in form,
method, and emphasis are taken to imply a fundamental antithesis of content.
He maintains that the negative way should be rejected absolutely (154 ), primarily
because it opposes God and his creation. Yet for all of its philosophical
borrowings the tradition fundamentally rests upon the biblical doctrine of
creation, and thus looks to the cosmos, known in the light of faith to be made

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in the Logos and ordered by the Spirit, for evidence of God's
power,
and goodness. The tradition, which was not wanting for commentaries on
Genesis, never set God and the world in a relation of opposition but rather
contrasted their respective properties, seeing the characteristics of each as
opposite precisely because the Uncreated cannot be identified with the created.
Gunton's appeal to the doctrine of the incarnation for a univocal understanding
of God's nature does not work because the incarnation presupposes this
nonidentity of the divine and human at root in the doctrine of creation. And his
claim that "in light of the gospel we must be free to confess that we are granted
to know the very being of God" (111) tends to overlook the complementary
scriptural teaching that our knowledge is imperfect (e.g., 1 Cor 13:12) or, as
Rahner put it, that even in his self-revelation God remains mysterious. In his
insistence that the economy privileges us with knowledge of God not otherwise
available to us, Gunton obfuscates the distinction between the knowledge of
faith where we know that God is love, holy, three persons, etc., and the
knowledge of understanding pursued in theology where we search for the best
way to express what is God's love, holiness, etc.
As much as Gunton helps one to see value in a more explicitly Trinitarian
account of the divine attributes, his approach gains only by losing. It is one thing
to hold that the divine essence should be treated with reference to the divine
persons; it something else entirely to hold that nothing ought to be said specifically or directly of the divine essence itself. A "problem that is intrinsic to the
tradition, Catholic and Protestant alike, [is] to treat natures as things which have
attributes. But natures are not hypostases, and so do not have attributes" (149).
What Gunton really attempts is an account of the attributes with no reference to
the divine nature; only definitions of divine perfections framed in an hypostatically and economically distinct manner pass muster. Thus his redefinition of
divine simplicity rests not on the absolute oneness of the divine essence, but
upon the perichoretic communion that cannot be broken (122-23). What this
seemingly subtle change excludes is the possibility of predicating the perfections
of the nature to each person singly, not just communally. St. Gregory of Nazianzus taught that "each person considered in himself is entirely God" (Oratio 40,
41), but this indiscriminate sense of the divine perfections is lost by treating the
attributes always in reference to the hypostases in their economic or immanent
relations. In the end this approach confounds the difference between the attributes and the personal notions, between what is true of God as God and what
is distinctly true of each person in relation to the others. It
tends to lose the
important benefit (very much needed in many contemporary theologies of God)
that comes from discussing the divine nature qua nature: theological appreciation
of its transcendent disparity over any created nature, including our own.
MICHAEL A. HOONHOUT

The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.

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Will There Be Free Will in Heaven? Freedom, Impeccability, and Beatitude. By
SIMON FRANCIS GAINE. London and New York: T & T Clark, 2003. Pp
141. $40.00 (cloth). ISBN 0-567-08950-9.

The beatific vision excludes the possibility of sin. Thus George Wall
concludes that the blessed are unfree. John Donnelly, conversely, sacrifices the
impeccability of the blessed in favor of their freedom (3-7). According to Simon
Francis Gaine, Wall and Donnelly are led to these unorthodox views because of
an inadequate conception of freedom. Gaine intends to show not only that the
freedom of the blessed is coherent with the beatific vision, but that freedom,
correctly understood, has its fullest development when the blessed are in
complete possession of God and when they are no longer subject to sin. What
leads one to see a tension between freedom and impeccability is the understanding of freedom as "freedom of indifference." The tension is solved,
however, when one adopts the patristic and Thomistic conception of freedom,
which the author, borrowing an expression from Pinckaers, calls "freedom for
excellence."
Gaine investigates the problem of freedom in heaven mostly from the
theological perspective. His main interest is seemingly to defend the orthodox
view of eschatology according to which freedom is supremely possessed by the
blessed. The framework of the problem of freedom in the presence of the
universal good is clearly theological, yet it is also of great philosophical
relevance: what is at stake is the understanding of the pedect mode of freedom
and the definition of freedom. The question of the freedom of the blessed thus
bt:comes a litmus test for an author's understanding of freedom and a test case
for the coherence of his psychology and moral theory. The historical approach
to this question gives rise to an interesting observation: "It seems that the more
voluntarist a theologian becomes, the more he must perhaps limit the freedom
of the blessed in order to maintain an orthodox position on impeccability" (84).
The main authors Gaine studies are Aquinas, Scotus, Ockham, and Suarez.
He first examines Suarez, who is significant as an historian, as it were, of
medieval philosophy, and as one of the most influential thinkers to transmit
medieval thought to modernity. Suarez provides us with a helpful conceptual
tool by distinguishing between an intrinsic cause (i.e., the vision of God) of
impeccability and an extrinsic cause (i.e., God's providence or grace}. Suarez
attributes the intrinsic view, a position he himself adopts, to Thomas, while he
classifies Scotus's and Ockham's views as extrinsic (16-21). Regarding the
question of how there is freedom in the blessed, Suarez reviews the classical
solutions of Augustine and Anselm of Canterbury for whom freedom,
understood as freedom from the slavery of sin (Augustine) and as the power to
preserve rectitude (Anselm},is fully realized in heaven. But Suarez considers this
an equivocal use of the notion of freedom, since in its core, freedom means for
him not freedom from sin, but freedom from obligation and absence of necessity.
In this regard, Suarez admits that the blessed are free to a certain extent, but due

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to the necessitating character of the divine vision, this freedom is diminished (2132).
On Scotus's account, the finite will of a creature has essentially the power to
do otherwise than it does. This does not change in the vision of God. Though
one cannot unwill or "nill" (nolle) happiness, one can always turn one's attention
away from happiness and thus "not will" it (non velle). The vision of God does
not by itself alter the will's capacity to turn away from God. It is God, not as
beheld, but as providing a special grace, who prevents the blessed from sinning.
God extrinsically determines the will so as to remain steadfast in the free
enjoyment of the beatific vision (35-68).
Ockham understands freedom as freedom of indifference: whatever the
practical intellect dictates, the will has the power to will its opposite. The will
does not necessarily will the good in general and it is capable of willing evil as
such. The will is thus equally free to will or to nill beatitude and to will or nill
God. Even when God is clearly seen, there is no necessary beatific act of fruition.
Precisely because the beatific act is entirely caused by God, the blessed cannot
nill God: this is what guarantees the perpetuity of beatitude and the impeccability of the blessed. Freedom of indifference remains in the blessed with regard
to those acts which are not sinful. Ockham extends the scope of freedom toward
evil under the aspect of evil, and yet limits the self-determination of free acts in
heaven: he safeguards the impeccability of the blessed only by assuming that the
acts of fruition of the blessed are not caused by them but by God (71-84).
If the conception of freedom as something completely unlimited results in the
denial or reduction of freedom in the state of perfection, we may have to rethink
what freedom really is. Caine's discussion of an adequate understanding of
freedom is dependent on Pinckaers's analysis of the discrepancy between
freedom of indifference and freedom for excellence. Freedom of indifference is
detached from the natural inclination to the good and to happiness. The desire
for happiness as the ultimate end is no longer what gives unity to the moral life;
rather, morality is seen as the continual subordination to law, the law being an
expression of the will of the lawgiver (God or political authority). Freedom for
excellence, conversely, is the development of the natural inclinations to the
good, the true, etc., by means of the moral virtues. It is a freedom that grows in
proportion to the stable adherence to the true good. The closer ohe comes to
God, who is the fulfillment of all desire, the more perfect is one's freedom for
excellence (87-102).
The test case of the beatific vision does not jeopardize the freedom for
excellence, but rather confirms the adequacy of this understanding of freedom.
In the possession of God, freedom is fulfilled. There is no tension between
freedom and impeccability. In its consummation, freedom is a gift of grace.
Grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it (119-28). But if freedom for
excellence in its completion is essentially the unfailing adhesion to the good, in
which sense do the blessed still enjoy free choice (liberum arbitrium)?Aquinas
offers an answer to this question. God, though necessarily willing his own

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goodness, freely decides to share his goodness with creatures. The blessed angels
have no tendency to opposites with regard to God; rather, they freely exercise
a role in divine providence with regard to humans. They are no longer free to sin
(which constitutes not a perfection but rather a defect of the will), but they are
free to choose among opposites, with the order of the end kept in view. In
similar fashion, the saints in heaven can still exercise free choice, though they
cannot depart from God (128-34).
Gaine offers us an elegant solution to the theological problem of freedom in
its eschatological dimension. He does not neglect the philosophical relevance of
this question, since he is interested in elaborating an adequate definition of
freedom. Yet he does not exhaust the rich philosophical potential implied in the
problem: while he examines at length the relation between free choice and
impeccability, he could have addressed other important topics in more detail,
(e.g., the relation between freedom and necessity and the compatibility of
freedom and determination). In order to achieve this goal, a more detailed
discussion of each author's notion of freedom or free choice outside of the
contexts of eschatology would have been necessary. A closer look at medieval
conceptions of free choice and of freedom reveals that the opposition between
freedom of indifference and freedom for excellence is inadequate to describe the
problems at hand. Medieval authors developed the two notions of freedom in
order to solve different difficulties, and these two notions are in fact not
incompatible: freedom of indifference focuses on the contingency of the act of
free choice, whereas freedom for excellence accounts for the relation between
freedom and the attainment of one's end. The real question, which Gaine does
indeed to some extent address, is the place of natural inclinations in an author's
psychology and ethical theory: are acts of free choice elicited independently from
inclinations to happiness or not? A greater philosophical awareness could also
have rendered Gaine more attentive regarding his use of the notion of "free
will." Does he consistently intend liberumarbitrium?H so, then "free choice" or
"free decision" would have been a better translation, because whether freedom
is rooted in the intellect or in the will or in both is a matter of debate. Perhaps
some of these limitations could have been avoided had Gaine made more use of
secondary sources, including important non-English literature. These
reservations set aside, Gaine offers us an interesting and engaging study that uses
a specific theological problem to investigate a problem of general relevance: the
correct understanding of freedom.
TOBIAS HOFFMANN

The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.

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Alasdair Macintyre. Edited by MARK C. MURPHY. Contemporary Philosophy in
Focus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Pp. 219. $65.00
(cloth), $23.00 (paper). ISBN 0-521-79042-5 (cloth), 0-521-79381-5
(paper).

The unified project of Alasdair Macintyre's later work, beginning with After
Virtue, constitutes an important contribution to the study of philosophy.
Nevertheless, secondary works on Macintyre have until recently been restricted
mainly to journal articles and book reviews, many of them critical, with much of
that criticism based on misinterpretation. Errant critics have faulted Macintyre
for constructing a fairly conventional but entirely unworkable metaethical
theory, for trying to advance Thomistic natural law while rejecting the
metaphysics presupposed by it, and for allowing religion or ideology to drive his
work. The mixed quality of this criticism-some of it produced by respected
scholars-may confirm Maclntyre's comment on the ways that audiences hear
lectures (Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, 2), but it certainly indicates the
need for good secondary literature on Macintyre. AlasdairMacintyre, edited by
Mark Murphy, will go a long way to help fill this need.
The book focuses on Maclntyre's "After Virtue project." The authors of the
seven essays provide some measured criticism, but the explication of MaCintyre's
position remains the focus of the book from beginning to end, and that end is
pursued with considerable clarity. These writers come from a variety of
specializations and show a real interest in Maclntyre's ideas; their work places
Maclntyre's philosophy in the broader context of contemporary thought, reveals
some of the crucial influences on its development, and identifies some of the
criticisms of it. Gordon Graham offers a very useful study of Maclntyre's account
of the role of history in the work of moral philosophy. Jean Porter explores the
meaning and implications of Maclntyre's theory of tradition. Stephen Turner
gives an excellent introduction to Maclntyre's work in the philosophy of the
social sciences. J. L. A. Garcia offers an interesting reading of MaClntyre's
critique of modern moral philosophy. David Solomon provides a
exposition of Maclntyre's assessment and critique of contemporary moral
philosophy. Mark Murphy's own contribution to the book is a study of
Maclntyre's political philosophy. Terry Pinkard completes the volume by
examining MaClntyre's critique of modernity.
Solomon's essay, "Macintyre and Contemporary Moral Philosophy," is easily
the most important contribution to this book. Writing with the authority of a
friend and colleague, Solomon traces the development of Maclntyre's ethical
positions, and places his contribution to contemporary moral philosophy within
the broader debates over metaethics, normative ethics, and applied ethics.
Solomon draws on works from all stages of Maclntyre's career, beginning with
his unpublished master's thesis, Tbe Significance of Moral Judgments, to show
that "the continuities in Maclntyre's ethical thought are more important than the
changes in it" (114 ). Solomon demonstrates that "Maclntyre's reputation as an

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outsider to mainstream academic moral philosophy is misleading." His
philosophy has, in fact, developed in and through his engagement with
contemporary ethical thought. Solomon traces Maclntyre's critique of
conventional metaethics, from the criticism of Moore's intuitionism and
Stevenson's emotivism in his master's thesis, through his criticism of Hare, and
of conventional normative theories, both Kantian and consequentialist, to the
synthetic achievement of After Virtue. Noting that Maclntyre's ethical theories
"do not fit neatly" into any of the four standard categories of normative ethics
(deontology, consequentialism, virtue ethics, and anti-theory), Solomon shows
what Macintyre shares with and rejects in each of them. Solomon ends by
addressing two lines of criticism that have been advanced against After Virtue: (1)
that Maclntyre's assessment of contemporary moral culture is wrong, and (2)
that Maclntyre's characterization of the limitations of human inquiry is
inconsistent with his claim "to be a moral realist whose central theoretical
ambition in ethics is to achieve the truth (not just warranted assertibility) about
ethics and to provide rational support for the claim that what is achieved is
truth" (145). Solomon's essay should become a standard reference in any future
work on Macintyre.
Turner's "Macintyre in the Province of the Philosophy of the Social
Sciences" will also prove to be of great value to the study of Maclntyre's work.
The theory of rationality that Macintyre develops in Whose Justice? Which
Rationality? and Three IOval Versions of Moral Enquiry has more in common
with the philosophy of science than with conventional epistemology, and this
chapter helps to explain how Maclntyre's theory of rationality developed.
Turner opens a perspective on Macintyre that situates his later work on
rationality within his work in the philosophy of the social sciences. Turner's
selection of texts will prove useful to any student of Macintyre who is looking
for a starting point to probe these issues.
Murphy's chapter, "Maclntyre's Political Philosophy," provides a clarifying
summary of Maclntyre's political views. Readers of After Virtue may be familiar
with Maclntyre's claims that "Natural or human rights ... are fictions" (After
Virtue, 70) and that "What matters at this stage is the construction of local forms
of community within which civility and the intellectual and moral life can be
sustained through the new dark ages that are already upon us" (After Virtue,
263). Murphy shows how these claims fit into the larger picture of Maclntyre's
concern with natural law, the role of common goods in shared deliberation, and
the impossibility of engaging in shared deliberation in the political structures of
modem states (which Macintyre has compared to "giant utility companies"
[Dependent Rational Animals, 132]). As is the case with Turner's article, the
breadth of Murphy's documentation will make this an excellent starting point
for further research.
One more especially valuable feature of the book is Graham's summary of
Maclntyre's history of the rise of Hume in the Scottish Enlightenment in Whose
Justice? Which Rationality? Responding to Robert Wokler's complaint that

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Macintyre misrepresented Francis Hutcheson as a "conservative" rather than as
a "vigorously critical reformer" of Scottish education (25; citing Robert W older,
"Projecting the Enlightenment" in After Macintyre [Notre Dame: Univesity of
Notre Dame Press, 1994), 116), Graham clarifies the issues at play in one of the
most difficult parts of Whose Justice? Which Rationality? Graham's answer
vindicates Macintyre against Wokler's complaint and highlights what Macintyre
takes to be the crucial break in philosophical history that leads to the emotivist
culture described in After Virtue.
This book provides an excellent introduction to Maclntyre's philosophy, but
the picture that it draws is incomplete because the book lacks any sustained
discussion of his metaphysics. Porter considers some of the epistemological
implications of Maclntyre's Aquinas Lecture (51-52); Murphy addresses
Maclntyre's account of natural law (167-70) and raises a question about
Maclntyre's metaphysics (195 n. 7); but neither follows this thread to consider
the metaphysics presupposed by After Virtue, described to some extent in Whose
Justice? Which Rationality? and Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry, and
declared quite explicitly in the Aquinas Lecture. Others have written on this
topic (see Thomas Hibbs, "Maclntyre's Postmodern Thomism," The Thomist 57
[1993): 277-97; Kent Reames, "Metaphysics, History, and Moral Philosophy,"
The Thomist 62 [1998): 419-43); and Christopher Lutz, Tradition in the Ethics
of AlasdairMacintyre: Relativism, Thomism, and Philosophy [Lanham, Md.:
Lexington Books, 2004)). The absence of a study of Maclntyre's Thomism leaves
this introduction to his later work incomplete, and ignoring Maclntyre's
metaphysics has troublesome implications for at least one of the chapters in the
book.
Pinkard's chapter includes an extended, though somewhat implicit, defense
against Martha Nussbaum's assertion that Maclntyre's later work indulges in
nostalgia for an orderly Catholic past that has never really existed (Martha
Nussbaum, "Recoiling from Reason," New York Review of Books 36 no. 19
[1989}: 36-42). "Any reasonably close reading of his work ... belies such an
interpretation," Pinkard declares (181), and that is certainly the case. But the
reading that Pinkard presents does not adequately address Maclntyre's moral
realism, his defense of Thomistic natural law, or his embrace of the classical
metaphysical tradition presupposed by both of these. One might be left
wondering why a highly qualified scholar like Nussbaum would accuse
Macintyre of nostalgia in the first place. Pinkard recognizes Maclntyre's realism
(186-87, 190) but otherwise ignores the metaphysical thel!le altogether, and
draws two conclusions that seem out of place: (1) "In Maclntyre's view ••.
moral reality itself changes as conceptions of the good themselves change-there
is neither one moral reality out there waiting for us to respond to it, nor a
substantive constraint bound up with the formal conditions of constructing such
a reality" (184); and (2) "the problem of the existence of a 'natural' standard of
practical reasoning-taking 'natural' here in its eighteenth-century sense as
embodying those standards that are 'fixed' in contrast with the variable standards

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of 'positive' law-appears just as acute for Macintyre, who eschews appeal to
pre-Galilean conceptions of nature, as it is for the Kantians who accept the same
thing." Pinkard does not draw the important distinction between Maclntyre's
philosophical methods and his substantive positions. Maclntyre's philosophical
method is entirely contemporary, and this may tend to conceal his metaphysical
commitments; but he uses contemporary philosophical resources to mark out the
limits of those resources, to identify the questions that those resources cannot
address, to mark out an intellectual space that a properly constituted metaphysics
could fill, and to suggest that at least one tradition of inquiry is already at peace
with the fruitfulness of its own approach to those problems (see Maclntyre's
response to Susan Coleman in "A Partial Response to My Critics" in After
Macintyre, 300). What Pinkard provides, then, is an excellent account of
Maclntyre's methods that overlooks a crucial part of the trajectory of
Maclntyre's work.
Graham's question about "The Disquieting Suggestion" of After Virtue marks
a different kind of problem. Graham asks: "What are the moral equivalents of
widespread riots, factories being burned down, books destroyed, physicists
lynched? What is the counterpart to the Know-Nothing political movement? And
when did all this happen? And where?" He answers that "in subsequent pages
[Macintyre] records no social and political episodes of the type that mark his
imaginary history of science that have hitherto gone unnoticed" (16). This is
simply not the case. In chapters 4 and 5 of After Virtue, Macintyre identifies the
predecessor culture to emotivism as the secularized Protestant culture of certain
parts of northern Europe, and identifies the analogous event as the Protestant
Reformation (an event that displaced moral philosophy and submitted the
monastic centers that studied it to considerable violence) and argues that the
scientific revolution only compounded the problem. Solomon explains: "Our
ability to know and act in accord with the divine law was denied by the
voluntarism of the Protestant reformers and their acceptance of a strong doctrine
of original sin, while the teleological conception of nature at the heart of the
classical conception of human life was abandoned with the acceptance of the new
mechanistic science" (135). Identifying the counterpart to the Know-Nothing
movement and the predecessor culture to emotivism in After Virtue is crucial to
understanding Maclntyre's decision in Whose Justice? Which Rationality? to
discuss the history of the enlightenment in Scotland rather than in France (see
After Macintyre, 299), a decision that some critics found altogether
unfathomable (19). This minor oversight takes little away from the value of
Graham's chapter, however, as his study of Maclntyre's history of the Scottish
Enlightenment makes the issues involved very clear.
Another minor difficulty arises in Porter's chapter on Maclntyre's use of the
term "tradition." Porter's exposition is excellent, but it includes a critique that
seems to be inconsistent with that exposition on at least one point. Porter
identifies some of the conditions that are required "for an encounter between
two rival traditions to take place" that could allow one tradition to gain insights

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from its rival to help overcome an epistemological crisis. These include (1)
"genuine contact" which entails "sustained contact" and that adherents of each
tradition "remain sufficiently open to consider the claims of the rival tradition
seriously," and (2) the ability "to recognize that the alternative presents a
genuine rival, that the alternative offers a distinct account of the same realities
with which they themselves are concerned" (48-49). This is a good statement of
Maclntyre's position. Differing traditions, even traditions that rival each other,
can coexist in mutual ignorance or mutual dismissal for an indefinite amount of
time. It is only when the adherents of one moral tradition find themselves in an
epistemological crisis that they are likely to take a keen interest in the moral and
intellectual resources of their rivals (this was a key point in Maclntyre's
"Epistemological Crisis, Dramatic Narrative, and the Philosophy of Science,"
Monist 60 (1977]: 45 3-72). Maclntyre's theory of tradition is not a conventional
metaethical theory; it is, more humbly yet more profoundly, an account of the
ways in which real traditions.may interact when their committed adherents are
trying to solve real problems. So when Porter turns to criticism a few pages later,
it is surprising that her questions seem to suggest that Macintyre is offering a
conventional metaethical theory: "[I]t is not clear how the rival claims of
disparate moral traditions could be adjudicated. Indeed, it is not clear that there
could be sufficient genuine conflict between moral traditions for them to count
as genuinely rival traditions" (54). Consequently, she raises this question: Can
unrelated traditions challenge each other? If Porter's preceding description of
Maclntyre's position is correct-and I am convinced that it is-then the answer
is that it depends on whether and to what extent contingent circumstances bring
the adl:erents of such traditions into genuine contact. As Macintyre insists in
"Epistemological Crises," such crises cannot be manufactured. The question of
how to adjudicate the rival claims of disparate moral traditions seems more at
home in the conventional metaethics that Macintyre rejects.
Murphy's book would be worth its price for its bibliography alone, but it
would be equally valuable if it contained only the essays by Solomon or Turner.
Dependable in its interpretations, well documented, and highly readable, it will
help professionals, students, and general readers to understand Maclntyre's
thought and its importance, along with some of the more significant criticisms
that have been advanced against it. While the lack of a discussion of Maclntyre's
Thomism leaves it incomplete, AlasdairMacintyre goes a long way to help fill the
need for good secondary literature on Macintyre, and it raises the bar in the
study of Alasdair Macintyre to a new level.
CHRISTOPHER STEPHEN LUIZ

Saint Meinrad School of Theology
Saint Meinrad, Indiana

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Litterature et theologie: Une saison en enfer. By OLMER-THOMASVENARD, O.P.
Geneve: Ad Solem, 2002. Pp. 505. 47 €.ISBN 2884820051.
In the years immediately following Vatican II, Thomists often despaired of
Aquinas having any further influence on Catholic thought. In fact, more recent
years have seen a remarkable rediscovery of Thomas Aquinas himself, and of his
relevance to our intellectual milieu. An integral part of this fresh appropriation
has been theological as well as philosophical; indeed, most recently (under Josef
Pieper's inspiration) we have put pay to that bifurcation of theology and
philosophy which bedeviled neo-Thomism and has been institutionalized in
Catholic colleges and universities in North America. We have seen how closely
such a reading was tied to a modernist bifurcation between reason and
everything else. The merit of postmodern reflection has been to restore
Newman's reminder {bolstered by Gadamer) that all inquiry is at root fiduciary,
so faith can count as well as a mode of knowing-provided it profits from that
critical assessment which each Abrahamic tradition has espoused in its better
moments. Olivier-Thomas Venard's amazing work fits into the genre just
described, moving it astutely in the direction of literary studies: a second subtitle
reads "Thomas Aquinas: Poet Theologian," while the principal subtitle is taken
from the masterwork of Rimbaud.
Briefly, the intent of the author-a Dominican teaching at the Ecole Biblique
in Jerusalem-is to recover the literary potential of Aquinas's composition of his
theological inquiry, notably in the Summa Theologiae, and to do so by facing off
his mode of expression with the poetic oeuvre of Rimbaud. This requires him
initially to show how theological inquiry must be literary through and through.
He accomplishes this by deftly deconstructing the conceptualist ethos that
dominated neo-Thomism, and doing so from a careful clarification of the sense
in which Aquinas himself purposed to establish theologia as a scientia. We have
come to eschew translating those terms precisely to keep readers from importing
contemporary notions into a medieval discourse. And it turns out that medieval
discourse proves far more congenial to the postmodern sensibility in which we
all live, even if it may take a work like this to persuade us of that fact. While
Venard's guides are multiple, two especially reflect the dimensions of this work:
Marie-Dominique Chenu and George Steiner (notably his RealPresences).Chenu
insisted on historical appropriation of Aquinas in the face of ideological retrieval,
while Steiner has effectively reminded poststructuralist literary critics how their
attempt to erase the author is rooted in their original denial of a creator. In fact,
Venard's work is designed to show how Aquinas's literary strategies, especially
in the lapidary prose of the Summa, can be compared to poetic composition in
the way they succeed in manifesting what cannot be expressed directly.
Along the way, Venard shows how Aquinas's analogical use of language
employs metaphor effectively and judiciously to make its point, thereby
deconstructing the way in which conceptualist Thomists needed to sever analogy
from metaphor. In fact, this reminder could encapsulate the entire thesis of
Venard's exploration: analogous discourse in divinismust always retain a hint of

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metaphor, since the primary analogate--God-resists conceptualization, as does
the res significata of any divine name. That means, of course, there can be no
"theory of analogy" short of a set of judiciously assembled reminders: in a
postmodern reading of Aquinas sensitive to its medieval setting, Wittgenstein
prevails! Philosophers wedded to a conceptualist mode have never been able to
make sense of "analogy"; the literary maneuver proposed here (in an astutely
philosophical mode) could help enlarge their appreciation of medieval modes of
inquiry by showing how attention to literary composition can effectively improve
an inquiry of philosophical theology. That will, however, require sustained
work-not simply because conceptual univocity offers a handy default mode for
philosophers, but also because this study is a demanding one, as a summary of
the sections reveals.
The book is unabashedly theological in tone, tracing a sustained attention to
verbal composition to the emanation of the Word in God. It is this focus that
legitimizes the author's literary scrutiny of the Summa in the initial section:
"From Theology to Literature." What follows-"From
Literature to
Theology" -takes its initial steps with Arthur Rimbaud to espouse the literary
vocation of a poet, as that call has fascinated poststructuralists in their quest for
a transcendence devoid of a disturbing divinity. Venard takes Steiner a step
further to show how an explicitly Trinitarian model of Word can effectively (and
uniquely?) restore "the lost Word" for which so many continue to search. Then
from the "poetic of God in the thirteenth century" we are moved to an effective
(yet always proleptic) symbol of presence in the Eucharist. Part 3-"Rhetorical
Synthesis and the Summa Tbeologiae"-begins with a penetrating analysis of the
"burnbg bush" (Exod 3), juxtaposing and interweaving Gilson's insight into its
role of privileging esse for medieval thought with postmodern aspirations for
poetry. Here is where the inquiry reaps philosophical fruit, exalting that mode
of inquiry dubbed convenientia by medievals, and found wanting by later
theologians hoping for more direct articulation, if not proof, of matters divine.
Venard makes masterful use of Aquinas's proposal of theology as a "subalternate
scientia," likening it to astronomy as it makes use of mathematics, to remind us
how theologians must alter the philosophical categories that will prove
indispensable to them. (This chapter speaks directly to analytic "philosophers of
religion," though without directly addressing them.) So we are treated to a
reconstruction of the task of theological composition, with an eye to a scientia
which must proceed so conscious of its subject as at best to attempt to display
that subject as an object, since conceptualization will not only fail to be adequate,
but when proposed can so mislead as to falsify its object (i.e., since adequacy is
what conceptualization seeks and promises).
Finally, we are treated to three "impressions" that might help us to grasp the
centrality of the "person of Christ" to this work which proposes to "englobe all
the historical actions of Jesus . . . in an original and holistic work of
manifestation: as the Word, incarnate, never ceases to be the first and supreme
sage," and whose composition "'coincides with a vital conception of creation
continuing at each instant, as a work common to the triune God, yet whose

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master pattern is the Word-Son" (458). These "impressions" derive from
Aquinas's commentaries on Aristotle, in this case, the Metapbysics and Posterior
Analytics. From the first, we are directed to "Aristotle's inquiry into the most
appropriate way to come to know the nature of things" (459). Here, it seems,
every relevant form of inquiry is demanded, though all need to be sifted; poets
have their place as well, though it will be relativized. What counts, of course, is
the act of sifting, which Aristotle identified with the dialectic of Plato. From the
Posterior Analytics, we are treated to the vexing issue of foreknowledge needed
to come to know anything-the famous "Meno-problem, which leads us into the
presumption dear to both Aristotle and Aquinas, of a "profound harmony
between the steps of reason and processes of nature" (466)-yet one for which
Aquinas's creation-centered scheme can more effectively account. Finally, also
from the Posterior Analytics, we note how one must recognize "wisdom as a
habitus for first principles" (468), and we are invited to link this commentary on
Aristotle with Aquinas's commentary on John, where "Christ is explicitly
designated as the unique principle of science" (479) as, of course, the Word
though whom the universe is created. So this work mimics the journey of
discovery which is the Summa, and does do by detailing for us the manner in
which it has explicitly been constructed, and the relevance such construction has
to our efforts to understand in these arcane arenas. Such a rediscovery of
Aquinas's genius for literary composition can return us to an attentiveness which
conceptualist modes of thought had all but obscured, and reawaken our
appreciation of the literary challenges that constructing an authentically
analogous mode of discourse will pose. Caveant scriptores, yet accomplishments
like this one can display the fruits of genuine apprenticeship to a literary master
of philosophical theology. We are promised two successor volumes, to carry this
thesis into more explicitly philosophical and then theological domains. The
second has been completed, and the third is in process. Ad multos annos!
DAVID B. BURRELL, C.S.C.
University of Notre Dame
Notre Dame, Indiana

The Very Rich Hours ofJacques Maritain: A Spiritual Life. By RALPH MCINERNY.
Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2003. Pp. 235. $32.00
(cloth). ISBN 0-268-04359-0.
The Very Rich Hours of Jacques Maritain is a relentless statement of the
relationship between philosophy and faith in the man whom Yves Simon called
the only genius in Catholic philosophy in three hundred years. It is also
Mclnerny's testimony to the sanctity of Maritain and the magnificent

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he was for Catholic students of philosophy during the golden years of twentiethcentury Thomism, which supported philosophizing in an atmosphere of faith.
The intriguing title shows that the real biography of Maritain is a spiritual
biography, which Mcinerny divides according to the liturgical day. Using the
hours from Matins to Compline as the frame for the birth-to-death events of
Maritain's life and work, Mcinerny begins the book with an "invitatory": an
account of the visit of Edith Stein in 1932 to the Thomistic Study Circle at the
Maritains' home in the Paris suburb of Meudon. Mcinerny uses her visit to
illustrate the spiritual as well as intellectual attraction of the Maritains' lives and
thought, in this case an appeal felt by a brilliant young philosopher who would
one day become a saint.
For those who have read much of Maritain, this book may disappoint, for it
is not a thorough treatment of the Maritainian corpus. Neither is it an intensive
examination of Jacques's spiritual life in the typical way of spiritual biography,
which would have required more personal details about his life in Paris, Toronto,
etc., and included correspondence with spiritual intimates and testimonies from
friends. The real audience for the book is persons wanting a provocative account
of philosophy as found in a Catholic thinker whose fundamental interest was
faith, sanctity, and union with God.
Mcinerny repeats the factual elements of Maritain's life, ones familiar to
readers of Maritain and to be found in other works, including Raissa's evocative
memoirs, We Have Been Friends Together and Adventures in Grace. He writes
interestingly of the distinguished and rather secular Parisian family into which
Jacques was born in 1882; of his youthful friendships with Charles Peguy and
Ernest Psichari; of Jacques and Raissa's student days at the Sorbonne, first under
the influence of skeptical professors, and then listening to the lectures of Henri
Bergson, through whom "their metaphysical gloom began to lift" (17). In 1904,
the year of their marriage, they read Leon Bloy's novel The Woman Who Was
Poor and then met Bloy, a man contemptuous of philosophy but heroic in faith,
who became their godfather. Bloy answered their question of why one lives. The
answer: to be a saint. Jacques and Raissa were convinced that their baptism into
the Catholic Church would separate them from family and friends and even the
very activity of philosophical thought. But two years later they began to study
the writings of St. Thomas after meeting the Dominican theologian Humbert
Clerissac, who told Jacques that Christian life is based on knowing that God is
Truth. Bloy was the occasion of bringing rest to their hearts and souls, Clerissac
and St. Thomas of bringing certitude to their minds.
Mcinerny also writes of well-known public intellectual/spiritual events in
Maritain's life, such as Jacques's initial acceptance and eventual rejection of
Action Fran9lise; his and Raissa's association with notable French artists like
Jean Cocteau and Andre Gide; his friendship with eminent Catholics with whom
he sometimes quarreled: George Bernanos, Paul Claudel, and Reginald GarrigouLaGrange; his North American period in the 1940s and 1950s, particularly at
New York and Princeton; his ambassadorship from France to the Vatican
following World War II; the death of Raissa in 1960; and his last years at

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Toulouse with the Little Brothers of Jesus. He also describes the unusual
occurrence early in Jacques's career when a young French soldier, Pierre Villard,
who had once taken a course from Jacques and whom he later spiritually
counseled, died in combat in 1918 and left Jacques a sizeable inheritance. That
bequest supported Jacques and Raissa in their work, including the study circle
at Mendon, which became a center of both philosophical study and spiritual life.
Naturally, the association most to be noted in Jacques's life is that with
RaYssa. According to Jacques's own avowal she was the greatest influence on his
life and work. Some have questioned the merits of her poetry or the depths of
her spirituality, but it is dear that Jacques doubted neither. He believed his wife
to be a fine poet, but more importantly he believed she was a saint. In 1912,
Jacques and Raissa took a vow of chastity, not because of any hesitation about
the goodness of sexual love but from a desire to follow one of the counsels of the
evangelical life. Jacques and Raissa's life together for sixty years was, in the midst
of intellectual combats, personal illnesses, and the tragedies of the great wars, the
story of two people in love with each other and God. Raissa died on 4
November 1960 and soon after Jacques read her journals and published them.
He saw Raissa as a mystic of high order and felt her spiritual journals were of the
rank of Therese of Lisieux and John of the Cross.
Mcinerny is a master teacher of the vast literature Maritain produced as he
manages-along with the main theme of the book-to attend to many essential
ideas in Maritain's philosophical work and to summarize Thomistic principles
that animated Jacques's work. One easily finds in Jacques's writings instances of
his contemporaneity, his desire to reach people, including thinkers of his time;
01te also finds a recurrent anti-modernism. Mcinerny reminds us of Maritain's
detestation of the modern turn from the transcendent in philosophy and culture
and his unremitting campaign against all modern philosophers (whom in other
ways he often admired) from Descartes to Kant to Sartre, who denied the
intelligibility of being and the primacy of the other in cognition. His anti- and
pro- attitudes towards the modern mind were associated not only with his
commitment to the perennial philosophy of St. Thomas but also with his
ultimate religious motivation and his conviction of the goodness in the heart of
the common man, who spontaneously seeks the transcendental dimensions of the
true, the good, and the beautiful and whose natural reason achieves a
preconceptual outline of metaphysics.
For some persons interested in Maritain's philosophy, it was his work in
aesthetics and politics that was most significant. Also dearest in these fields is his
application of Thomism to modern life and his trust in the human instinct for the
beautiful and the good. Concerning art and poetry, he said that the soul of the
artist or poet inevitably inclines to something beautiful to be made. His analysis
emphasizes the artist's and writer's awareness of his unique creative intuition,
manifesting an attention to the personal in art that has evolved over the
millennia and finds its source in understanding God as a Trinity of persons. Such
aesthetics in the hands of Maritain guided him in fulfilling his and Raissa's
resolve, during their retreat year of 1919, as Benedictine pblates living near

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Solesmes, to enter into the world of high culture. Thus, the Thomistic Study
Circle involved an apostolate to the artists and poets who came to Meudon.
Jacques and Raissa encouraged their artist friends, including famously atheistic
and sinful ones, towards Catholicism. They felt that such artists, in their creative
intuition, had, in and beyond their personal torments, a light and desire for the
Beauty that redeems.
During the 1930s Maritain turned to political questions, publishing his
masterful political-philosophical work, Integral Humanism, in 1936. Underneath
anthropomorphic humanism and its forms of democratic governments there is
an authentic inspiration that proscribes partisanship, seeks a just and transcendent balance of political views, and entails an ultimate assent to the divine.
The natural-law theory of Aquinas and other classical thinkers has been lost sight
of but still can be present-along with its gospel foundations-in practical
conclusions, as in an agreement on human rights. Maritain did not seek a sacral
polity but, rather, one in which Christian faith is exercised with tolerance
throughout pluralistic societies, in which it remains the case that the common
man has, by inclination, a grasp of the goodness of the precepts of the natural
law.
Was Maritain the quintessential Thomist Mcinerny claims he was? Mcinerny
says that Maritain scrupulously analyzed the texts of Aquinas but that when he
wrote he sought to show the contemporary relevance of St. Thomas's principles.
He had taken to heart Leo XIII's exhortation about applying St. Thomas to the
present age. And in Maritain's use those principles had one end in view, the link
between reason and faith.
Maritain's book on Christian philosophy appeared in 1933. Wanting to
preserve the autonomy of philosophy, he said that certain, significant, and
ultimate knowledge can be had through reason alone. Yet he had one exception
for faith's influence: while theoretical reason suffices to achieve certainties about
God or an angelic order, in the practical historical order of decision about
concrete moral acts reason alone is not enough. Since we are ordered to but one
end, a supernatural one, an adequate moral philosophy depends on the higher
light of faith and theology.
Maritain's life work, and Mclnerny's book, invite us to wonder how a
Catholic's faith affects his philosophy without violating the rights of the natural
intelligence. Many Catholic philosophers will keep their own spiritual and
intellectual lives more separate than Maritain did his, and this constant tying of
the two in Mclnerny's book will distract or disturb them. On the other hand,
there are Gilsonians who hold that Maritain never appreciated St. Thomas's
theological use of philosophy.
The question remains: in what way did Maritain's faith affect his
philosophy-apart from his distinctive notion of moral philosophy adequately
considered? Mcinerny profusely demonstrates the fact of some sort of
connection between Maritain's philosophy and his faith. He does not explain the
connection, though what he repeats from Maritain about the distinction between
the nature and the state of philosophical reason is helpful. Of its nature

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philosophical wisdom requires only reason. But the attainment of that wisdom
can be helped or harmed by the state, or subjective condition, of the thinker
(e.g., living in an environment supportive of faith or one contrary to it). I think
analogously of Maritain speaking of the teacher of mathematics or astronomy or
engineering, a teacher who does not believe in a Christian mathematics, etc., but
who possesses Christian wisdom and whose "teaching overflows from a soul
dedicated to contemplation" and which can convey to the student "an unspoken
intimation of the immortal value of truth, and of those rational laws and
harmony which are at play in things and whose primary roots are in the divine
intellect" (The Education of Man: The Educational Philosophy 9f Jacques
Maritain, edited with an introduction by Donald and Idella Gallagher [Garden
City, N.Y.: Doubleday and Company, Inc, 1962], 136).
I add a few comments on this provocative question of the connection
between faith and reason. First, is there a proper positive dependence of the
Catholic philosopher on the authoritative teachings of the Church? Do, and
ought, revelation, Church doctrine, and theology influence our philosophy only
negatively? Did the Tridentine Church from 1900 to 1960 play a significant role
in Maritain's philosophical thought and commitments? Have some of us who
received our higher education in America in the 1940s and 1950s had more
trouble than we ought in grounding our personal philosophizing because of an
inappropriate dependence on the link made by Leo XIII and other popes of St.
Thomas and the intelligibility of Catholic faith? But the greater question is this:
are there atemporal certainties of revelation, doctrine, and, yes, theology that
support the perennial philosophy of St. Thomas, Jacques Maritain, and
potentially all Catholic philosophers?
Second, the ailing Yves Simon, in his last, dramatic lecture at Notre Dame,
said he himself preferred not to engage in the religious references or the
apostolic concern one finds constantly in Maritain's philosophical writings,
because he preferred a way that insured epistemological purity and logical rigor.
No doubt Maritain also greatly valued such purity and rigor, yet evidently he did
not feel they were threatened by bringing up so regularly, in all of his writings,
the religious, the theological, and the mystical. In spite of the rich association of
reason and faith in Maritain's work, no Christian philosopher-as Simon himself
went on to note in the same lecture-has been more insistent than Maritain in
asserting the distinction between philosophy and faith, in arguing for the
autonomy of philosophy, in dedicating himself to being, which is intelligible to
human reason.
We can suppose in Maritain a great integrality of soul in which he
experienced the proportions and linkages between his faith and reason. He had
a heroic capacity to relate to both God and world This union without confusion
of the things of heaven and the things of earth was Maritain's glory. He had a
continuous willingness to allow the higher life and light of faith to absorb and
assist him, to find analogies between faith and reason, and even, perhaps, to view
mystically the philosophical order itself. Mcinerny says of Maritain: "The ideal
of the intellectual life that he embodied inspired generations of laypeople who

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decided to devote their lives to philosophy or to theology or to see whatever
they did sub specie aeternitatis" (80). Perhaps it was this last and sublime factor
that Maritain encouraged or helped elicit most from his students and readers. I
suspect that Maritain's experience of God, and his seeing things from God's
point of view, were the principal causes of the religious references in his
philosophical writings. But, no matter how absorbed in God or how divinely
inspired is one's understanding of things now, and even in eternity, one ought
never to let go of the realm and rights of sense and reason. This conviction of the
value of creation, including human intellection, was the source of Maritain's
fidelity to the philosophical order.
Third, a given Catholic philosopher could be a saint who never admits the
light of faith in any way into his philosophy. Another Catholic philosopher could
be avoiding deep faith in and love of God, an openness to holiness, and even a
needed renunciation of his philosophical reason. Are we Catholic intellectuals
humble when we hesitate on the quest for sanctity? How many of us when we
were young and heard and read the words and knew of the way of Jacques
Maritain were moved to a kinship of life and thought? How many of us have
been open to the same sort of immolation of philosophical thinking as Jacques
was early in his adult life and have refused the sacrifice? The natural, and
supernatural, cognition of God and all things as related to God is not particularly
present in the Catholic college and university today, not just because of a proper
and passionate dedication to the relative autonomy of participated being and the
rights and demands of reason but also, sometimes, because of our lack of faith
and courage: our professional cowardliness, humiliation, and lust, our dalliance
caused by an adoration of the earth, and our dilatoriness in looking at the face
of God.
In any case, I finished Mclnerny's book with gratitude to the director of the
Jacques Maritain Center for writing it as he has and being as he is.
RONALD E. LANE
College of Saint Benedict
Saint Joseph, Minnesota

Knowing Persons: A Study in Plato. By UOYD P. GERSON. Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2003. Pp. 291. $55.00 (cloth). ISBN 0-19-925763-9.
In the Neoplatonism of Plotinus, all elements of the world lie between the
One, which is fully actual and transcendent, and matter, which is mere
potentiality and the sheer deprivation of being. This world view has both
epistemological and ethical dimensions. As matter is brought into being through
its attraction to the One, so too does it gain in intelligibility and form such that

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the resultant objects are fit to be comprehended by the soul. Though attached to
a body, the soul may purify itself through asceticism and contemplation and rise
up toward the source of existence and truth. Down to the present day, the
Plotinian outlook has exerted a tremendous influence on the study of Platonism
itself, with the result that it has become almost an historical truism that Plato
posits supersensible forms or ideas, eternal and transcendent, that condition the
material world of sensible objects. Yet it often seems that Plato fails to specify
precisely the relationship between forms and particulars-sometimes speaking
as if forms were strictly separate and apart from particulars and sometimes as if
forms were present in and seen through particulars. Neoplatonism, therefore,
presents itself as a clarification of Platonic philosophy, by fixing the ambiguous
status of forms vis-a-vis particulars and describing the series of intermediary
elements.
I offer the preceding comments to illustrate the sort of Platonism that is
assumed in the background of Lloyd Gerson'sKnowing Persons:A Study in Plato.
Gerson's central thesis is that a distinction between "human being" and
"person," or alternatively, between "embodied soul" and "disembodied ideal"
underlies Platonic philosophy. He suggests that once this distinction is
appreciated, it renders various aspects of the Platonic dialogues more clear and
coherent. Broadly speaking, the Platonic philosophy to which Gerson refers is
a two-world metaphysics consisting of the priority of the forms and the
posteriority of the material, sensible world. The soul's task both intellectually
and morally is to free itself as much as possible from the body, to distance itself
from sensible things, and to rise up toward the intelligible forms. As Gerson
states, "One of my main contentions is that Plato's account of personhood or the
self has to be understood from the •top down,' i.e. within the context of his
hierarchical metaphysics" (9-10). Once Plato's dualistic metaphysics is stipulated,
it serves as a framework for a conceptual resolution of his notion of person: "we
shall discover that there are good textual grounds for insisting that Plato
distinguishes between the endowment of personhood and the achievement of
personhood and that our endowment-the persons we are here below--does
stand to an ideal of achievement roughly as images stand to their eternal
exemplars. H this is so, much of what Plato says about person can be illuminated
by bringing the metaphysics to bear on the psychology" (3). Thus, Gerson's
thesis could be reformulated as follows: given this fixed metaphysical
background, a concept of 'person' can be posited that is in logical harmony with
it. The bulk of the book consists in a reading of various passages from the
dialogues in light of the "embodied souVdisembodied ideal" distinction. Chapter
2 focuses on the manner in which this distinction plays out in the Phaedo;
chapter 3 deals with the division of the soul in the Republic and Phaedrus;
chapters 4 and 5 discuss the accounts of knowledge in the Republic and
Theaetetus, respectively, and how these views touch on the concept of 'person';
and chapter 6 rounds out the book with short discussion of the Timaeus,
Philebus, and the LAws.

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Gerson holds that the distinction between "embodied soul" and
"disembodied ideal" overcomes the simplistic psychological dualism between
body and soul often attributed to Plato, and he holds that this misunderstanding
arises due to the fact that Greek has only one world for "person" and "human
being", namely, anthropos. Consequently, "[s]ince he [Plato] does not have a
technical or even semi-technical term for 'person' as distinct from the ordinary
words for a human being ... it is not an entirely straightforward matter to show
exactly how the distinction is operating in a given text" (2). Thus, when Gerson
writes that "Plato does indeed wish to distinguish between human beings and
persons" or "for Plato, a person is a soul and a human being is a composite of
soul and body" (ibid.), he is not referring to Plato's descriptions of persons as we
find them in the dialogues, since on the surface no such distinction can be seen;
rather, he is referring to the intended meaning discovered in the dialogues and
uncovered through his own analysis of them. Hence, his method consists in
positing the distinction between "embodied soul" and "disembodied ideal,"
applying it to the dialogues, and then setting out to find whether this distinction
is contained within them. The payoff of this method is that it allows Gerson to
discern connections between various Platonic doctrines not previously
apparent-for example, to bring Platonic ethics and psychology into more of a
logical harmony with its metaphysics and epistemology (see, e.g., comments on
3-4 and 9-10 as well as chapter 4 on the Republic's account of knowledge); to
show the motivations in Plato's mind from one doctrine to the next, from
dialogue to dialogue (see, e.g., 48-49, 97-98, 149, and 157 for comments
concerning how Plato deepens his account of personhood in order to buttress
moral a:id epistemological doctrines); and to restore certain other teachings to
a logical consistency (see, e.g., the discussion of akrasia at 40-49).
There is no doubt that Gerson's distinction-the "separation thesis," let us
call it-reflects something of the spirit of Socrates' arguments in which the soul
is represented as sometimes abiding in, sometimes separate from, a body, but
always superior to the body and its proper ruler. Moreover, in certain dialogues
the theme of the soul's superiority to the body is sharpened and intensified to a
degree that approaches Gerson's distinction-most notably, the discussion of the
Phaedo where the theme of dying looms large and where philosophy itself is
defined as preparation for the separation of body and soul (see Phaedo 63e-69d,
81a-84b, and 114c in the concluding myth). Yeti wonder whether the separation
thesis sufficiently captures the nuances and complexities of the Platonic
treatment of the soul and body across all the dialogues. Consider the account of
the soul in the Republic. A central concern of the dialogue is the taming of eros
and thumos, passions associated with the body but also amenable to reason and
calculation. While there is no doubt that the Republic deemphasizes the role of
the body and trumpets the rule of reason, are we warranted in concluding that
the dialogue's main ethical and educative advice is that the body is bad and
contaminating and that the soul needs to escape from its confines and those of
the material world generally? After all, a central teaching of the Republic does
appear to be that an integration of reason and desire is a precondition of political

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life and that this integration culminates in the person of the philosopher-king.
One could argue that it is the philosopher-king who lives most consciously and
fully in the material world precisely because he understands the eternal principles
that govern it and therefore achieves the harmonization of body and soul most
perfectly.
It is not my aim here to argue for this "harmonization thesis" but only to
suggest that Gerson's study could be viewed as a platform from which to begin
a broader consideration of Platonic philosophy. Indeed, even in those dialogues
where the "ideal of disembodiment" or Plato's "other-worldliness" is at its
height, the separation thesis still might be shown to be an aspect of a larger thesis
positing a harmony of body and soul. So the Phaedo, for example, which places
the greatest emphasis on separation of body and soul, also describes a subsequent
reunion of the two in a future life. The proofs for the soul's immortality
explicitly point to the soul's ongoing return to the body (see 72a-d). Indeed,
Socrates' initial arguments in the Phaedo use the notion of "recollection" to
argue for the soul's existence prior to entering a body and thus concern
embodiment rather than disembodiment. Even in the concluding myth, Socrates
says that the path to Hades "is neither one nor simple" and that individuals,
"having undergone [in Hades] what they must and stayed there for the appointed
rime ... are led back here by another guide after long periods of rime" (107e108a). That separation is a moment in a greater circular motion of the soul
through the cosmos is evident in the myths that concern recollection,
immortality, and reincarnation in the Meno (81b-d), the Phaedrus (248a-250c),
and the Republic (614b-62ld). More generally, all of Plato's eschatological
myths-including those where separation predominates over circularity, such as
the myths of the Gorgias (523a-527e) and the Phaedo-present themselves as
backdrops for the soul's behavior and self-understanding in its present
incarnation.
If such a step is taken to bring the separation thesis into greater harmony
with the Platonic myths in which the soul is at the center, it would also help to
resolve some tensions in Gerson's assessment of Plato's notion of "person." First,
the soul's relation to the body need no longer be exclusively characterized as a
kind of schizophrenia or "Stockholm syndrome" (276), since the soul's procession through the cosmos brings it to a better comprehension of the demands
of embodied life through its comprehension of the principles that govern the
material world. Second, it would obviate the necessary though unstated
implication of Gerson's analysis that the philosopher feels this sense of divided
personality most acutely and painfully, since he is closest to the "disembodied
ideal" and so most conscious of his ineliminable attachment to the body (cf.
statements about the philosopher on 277 and 279-80). Rather, the life of the
philosopher would best integrate body and soul precisely since he attains the
most perspicuous view of the world and sees the body in its proper place. Third,
this would substantiate Gerson's claim-a tenuous one in my view-that
embodiment is an image of disembodiment and that the life of practical
judgment is an image of the theoretical life of pure knowledge (see, e.g., 278).

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Indeed, the separation thesis implies that the practical life is in opposition to the
theoretical life, since the practical life increases the individual's interest in and
dependence upon the material world. By identifying separation as a moment in
the greater cycle of harmonization, one could explain the widening vision
acquired by the soul as it proceeds through the cosmos as an extension of the
perspicuous understanding of concrete circumstances required for practical
judgment. In sum, Knowing Persons presents a view of the Platonic dialogues
whose basic interpretative principle brings to light a central aspect of the Platonic
cosmos. The discussions of the dialogues found in the book are worthy of
consideration and valuable to scholars, even if one does not hold that separation
is the ultimate aim of Platonic philosophy.
JOE MCCOY

The Catholic University of America
Washington, D.C.

A Catholic Responsein Sixteenth-CenturyFrance to Reformation Theology: The
Works of Pierre Dore. By JOHN LANGLOIS. Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen
Press, 2003. Pp. 328. $119.95 (cloth). ISBN 0-7734-6697-5.
The Dictionnairede spiritua.liteentry on Pierre Dore, O.P. (written in 1957),
noted that the mid-sixteenth-century works of this spiritual and controversialist
writer had not yet been systematically studied. With this monograph, John
Langlois, 0.P., has enriched our bibliographical knowledge of Dore's numerous
publications and has taken up three areas of his teaching for systematic
examination.
After an introduction surveying the perceptions and judgments on Dore
advanced by historians, a chapter sketches the setting of his life and work as a
friar who entered a priory of the reformed Gallican Dominican Congregation in
1514 and then pursued studies in Paris to the doctorate in 1532. A helpful
overview of Dore's publications follows, which is supported by an appendix on
the first publication of each, on the known reprints, and on their presence today
in forty libraries. Dore published thirty-five works between 1525 and 15 69, with
an exceptional burst of productivity in vernacular works in 1538-41. The works
draw extensively on Scripture, at time straining texts to find in them spiritual
nourishment in metaphorical expressions or apologetical support for Catholic
doctrine and practice, contrasted with Protestant teaching.
A first systematic chapter treats Dore's vernacular instructions on lived
religiosity, in which the Reformation sola fide is countered by insistence on faith
formed by love, with faith as the root, hope the trunk, and charity the branches
of our tree of life. The "ways to paradise" go along paths sketched by the

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Matthean beatitudes, each connected with a reward, in accord with with the
Catholic doctrine of merit. A narrative such as Jesus' encounter with the woman
of Samaria shows that the first grace is granted gratuitously, though it then leads
to God asking us to become active in good works on his behalf. Augustine enters
with the contrast of creation sine nobis and salvation only cum nobis, but
Aquinas's influence is pervasive even without extensive citation, hardly needed
by Dore's lay readers.
A chapter on the Eucharist and priesthood reviews works aiming to counter
Calvin, with emphatic teaching on Christ's gift of his body and blood, present
by transubstantiation, as the remedy for the deleterious effects of original sin.
One should hear, listen attentively, and hold adamantly to the word of Christ,
"This is my body," where the neuter hoc must refer to corpus, not to a masculine
panis. But while Dore was constrained to meet Calvinistic arguments, his works
press on to explain the ceremonies of the Mass in a way intended to engender
devout attendance. He instructs on the rightful dispositions for receiving Holy
Communion and even quietly lifts a passage from Calvin to insist on more
frequent reception of this medicine of our weakness and bond of intimacy with
God than was heretofore the rule.
The third systematic chapter, on the virtuous life, features Dore's longest
work, L'image de vertu (1540, with six reprints}, which draws on the whole of
Scripture to set before the reader the very perfection of a godly life, as given
exemplary concrete form in the Blessed Virgin Mary. One should contemplate
the virtues of Mary so as to grow in desire for them and to pray earnestly for her
help in gaining them. Dore knows well our daily struggles, and presents God's
grace which triumphed in Mary as essential to ordering our divided hearts.
Temptations should not lead to morose doubts, for they are signs that the devil
wants to upset one's progress in virtue. Strikingly, L'image includes a defense of
Mary's Immaculate Conception. Dore cites a typical argument then regnant in
the Parisian Faculty of Theology, namely, the quasi-definition issued by the
Council of Basel (in 143 9, when in schism from Pope Eugenius IV), but he goes
on to show the presence of immaculist doctrine in the early works of Aquinas (he
cites Aquinas here, but with only partial accuracy). For Dore, a foray into
doctrinal history is less important than the demonstration in Mary of God's
grace fully triumphant, offering us a pledge of our eventual transformation by
the same grace.
Langlois devotes space to the immediate French context of Dore's work,
especially to his close connection with the House of Guise and other women of
the nobility to whom he dedicated some works. I would suggest a larger
European context in the "theology-for-piety," which is being recognized as a
significant category of religious writing in the fifteenth century. The Parisian
Chancellor Jean Gerson is something of a father figure in this development,
which has been studied by Bernd Hamm of Erlangen, who coined the term
Frommigkeitstheologie,and Christoph Burger of Amsterdam. Langlois practically
defines the category with regard to Dore's desire to edify, inspire, and inflame
the heart on the.basis of a solid theology that nourishes the intellect (83).

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Throughout Langlois's study, Dore's question-and-answer catechism, the
Dyalogue instructoire (1538, six repints to 1545) serves to illustrate his
instruction on the fundamentals of Catholic faith and doctrine. The work was
the first adult catechism in French, brought out even before the Parisian Faculty
of Theology framed its twenty-six Articles of Faith in 1543. Late in the book it
is termed a forerunner of Canisius's catechisms (1555 and after) and the
Catechismus Romanus of 1566. But a more natural connection would be with the
work that in fact succeeded it in France, Emond Auger's Catechisme et sommaire
de la religion crestienne (Lyon, 15 63), published during Dore's lifetime, with the
same anti-Calvinist concerns of his work. Auger swept the French catechetical
field in the late sixteenth century, and the differences with Dore's Dyalogue
would certainly be instructive.
A final issue to be addressed in integrating the works of Pierre Dore into the
history of Catholic spiritual instruction would be to characterize their relation
to the popular piety that went before and then followed after. Clearly, as a
Doctor of Paris, inventive adapter of scriptural narratives, and close reader of
Aquinas, Dore represents a move beyond the hyperactive devotionalism of
pilgrimages, shrines, relics, patron saints, and indulgences that flourished in
Europe around the year 1500. He inculcates a recentering and refounding in
Scripture and central doctrines. But what about the religiosity that followed?
Jean Delumeau characterized this in numerous works, based mainly on French
materials, as a religiosity of anxious fear over the danger of losing eternal
salvation. Dore shows something else, a more holistic piety, being inculcated in
works of the mid-sixteenth century, and so raises a question about the Delumeau
theses, at least about their applicability to the decades just before the outbreak
of the French religious wars.
JARED WICKS, S.J.

John Carroll University
University Heights, Ohio