The Thomist 71 (2007): 343-78

DIRECT REALISM AND AQUINAS'S ACCOUNT OF
SENSORY COGNITION
PAUL A. MACDONALD, ]R.
Bucknell University
Lewisburg, Pennsylvania

A

QUINAS RECENTLY has received renewed attention from
philosophers in the Anglo-American tradition who view
themselves as part of a broader movement in Thomistic
studies known as 'analytical Thomism'. The leading spokesman of
this movement, John Haldane, who coined its name, argues that
Aquinas serves "as a thinker from whom we can learn in our
efforts to answer speculative questions about the nature of mind
and of the world." 1 More specifically, Haldane and others argue
that Aquinas provides important insights for defending realism
within metaphysics, epistemology, and the philosophy of mind:
the position that the world both exists independently of the mind
and is intrinsically intelligible to the mind, able and in some sense
waiting to be known by the mind "as it is."

1 See John Haldane, "Analytical Thomism and Faithful Reason," in idem, Faithful Reason:
Essays Catholic and Philosophical (New York: Routledge, 2004), x. Haldane defends this
claim in "A Return to Form in the Philosophy of Mind," Ratio 11 (1998): 253-77; "Forms
of Thought," in Lewis Edwin Hahn, ed., The Philosophy of Roderick M. Chisholm (Chicago:

Open Court, 1997), 149-70; "Mind-World Identity and the Anti-Realist Challenge," in John
Haldane and Crispin Wright, eds., Reality, Representation, and Projection (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1993), 15-37; and "Realism with a Metaphysical Skull," in James Conant
and Urszula M. Zegleri.,eds., Hilary Putnam: Pragmatism and Realism (New York: Routledge,
2002), 97-104. For a further defense of this claim, see also Jonathan Jacobs, "Habits,
Cognition, and Realism," in John Haldane, ed., Mind, Metaphysics, and Value in the Thomistic
and Analytic Traditions (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), 109-24;
Jonathan Jacobs and John Zeis, "Form and Cognition: How to Go Out of Your Mind," The
Monist 80 (1997): 539-57; and John Jenkins, "Aquinas on the Veracity of the Intellect," The
Journal of Philosophy 88 (1991): 623-32.

343

344

PAUL A. MACDONALD,JR.

This paper is a deliberate exercise in analytical Thomism. 2 In
it, I engage Aquinas's own work as well as the work of thinkers
operating within (or at least familiar with) the Anglo-American
philosophical tradition in order to defend Aquinas's account of
sensory cognition as undergirded by a strong commitment to
direct realism. The direct realist holds that in cases of veridical
sensation, or sense experience, cognitive subjects enjoy direct
epistemic access to objective aspects or features (sensible aspects
or features) of the external world. Put more strongly: according
to direct realism, in veridical sensation cognitive subjects are in
direct cognitive contact not with private objects of sensory
consciousness, but with actual extrasensory and extramental
objects and states of affairs. What direct realism denies, therefore,
is that in cases of veridical sensation cognitive subjects and the
world meet at an interface. Sense experience does not mediate our
epistemic access to the world; it conjoins us to the world itself.
From a robust direct realist perspective, however, it is not
enough to claim that it is merely by having certain sense
experiences, or being caused to have certain sense experiences,
that we as cognitive subjects can be credited with genuinely
experiencing a world that exists independently of our minds. 3
According to the specific form of direct realism I articulate and
defend here, which I claim emerges from a proper study of
Aquinas's account of sensory cognition, it is only by having sense
experiences that possess definitive content-content that is
isomorphic or formally identical with the sensible features of
mind-independent
reality-that we can be credited with
occupying world-intending sensory states, in which we see, hear,
taste, touch, and smell objective aspects or features of the world
itself. Thus, it is by virtue of possessing the requisite content that
2 I have in mind the work of Norman Kretzmann, Eleonore Stump, Robert Pasnau, and
Anthony Kenny, in addition to the authors mentioned above. As will become clear, Pasnau is
more critical of Aquinas than the others.
3 Hilary Putnam makes this claim in his recent Dewey lectures. See Hilary Putnam, "Sense,
Nonsense, and the Senses: An Inquiry into the Powers of the Human Mind," in idem, The
Threefold Cord: Mind, Body, and World (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 3-70.
I will be giving an exposition of some of the claims Putnam makes in these lectures in the
pages that follow.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

345

the veridical sensations or perceptions we enjoy and possess bear
directly on the world, and thereby unite us to the world.
In defending this claim, I will be giving an exposition of what
I take to be the most important features of Aquinas's account of
sensory cognition: most notably, the operation of the external
senses, and secondarily, the role of the common sense and
phantasms. Interpreting Aquinas in the right light allows us better
to understand and appreciate his account of sensory cognition as
well as the nature and benefits of direct realism itself.
I. AQUINAS'S ACCOUNT OF SENSORY COGNITION:
THE EXTERNAL SENSES

Aquinas's account of cognition is based on the cornerstone
claim that we, as cognitive subjects, always experience and
apprehend the world as formed: all cognition of external objects
is cognition of form, or of external objects as formed. According
to Aquinas's metaphysics, the 'substantial' form of a material thing
is its inner structuring or ordering principle, or that which makes
a thing what it intelligibly is. A material thing is therefore a
composite of substantial form and matter. In addition, Aquinas
recognizes 'accidental' (nonsubstantial) forms, among which are
the sensible features of the external world, or the sensible properties that external objects actually possess. Thus, in cognizing
form, we sense and apprehend a material thing (or, as cognized,
an external object) as it is, as an objective aspect of the empirical
world that possesses objectively sensible features or properties as
well as an objectively knowable nature or essence (i.e., a material
thing as a composite of form and matter). 4 My task in this paper
is to explicate how it is that we cognize form-and specifically
sensible form. At the heart of Aquinas's account of sensory
cognition is the claim that all cognitive contact with form occurs
4 I am thankful to Greg Doolan for pointing out the distinction Aquinas makes in De Ente
et Essentia 2 between forma partis (which refers just to the substantial form of a form-matter
composite, a material thing) and forma totius (which refers to the whole material thing
composed of form and matter). The essence (quiddity) of a material thing includes form as
well as matter.

346

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

through a complex process of sensation and intellective abstraction in which the sensible and intelligible features or forms of
external objects respectively 'in-form' both the senses and the
intellect.
On the most basic level, cognition for Aquinas originates, as it
does for Aristotle, in sensation, which Aquinas claims cognitively
conjoins us to the sensible features possessed by external objects
themselves (and which, given his realism, exist independently of
sensation itself). He recognizes five basic external sensory
powers-sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell-all of which he
associates with a specific sense organ, and all of which he says
correspond to 'proper' sensibles (sensibilia) or qualities, such as
color, sound, temperature, flavor, and odor, respectively. 5 He also
recognizes 'common' sensibles such as size, number, and shape
that are sensible by more than one sense, and consequently do not
make a direct impression on any one sense. Common sensibles
(which belong to the category of quantity rather than quality) thus
"do not move the senses first and of their own nature, but by
reason of a sensible quality"; nevertheless, like the proper
sensibles, they still are sensible per se, since they affect the kind of
impression external objects make on the senses. 6 For example,
Aquinas says, "sense is immuted differently by a large and by a
small surface," or, we could say, by a surface that is large and
white versus a surface that is small and white. 7 So while common
sensibles do not impress the senses directly, they are sensed by us
(and hence remain per se objects of sensation) nonetheless.
Finally, Aquinas recognizes a third kind of sense object:
'accidental' sense objects such as Socrates, who is sensible per
5 Touch is unique in that it has several objects proper to itself: "heat and moisture, cold
and dryness, the heavy and light, etc." (II De Anima, lect. 13 [384)). All quotations from the
De Anima commentary will be from the Commentary on Aristotle's "De Anima," trans.
Kenelm Foster and Silvester Humphries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1951; repr.,
Notre Dame: Dumb Ox Books, 1994 ). See also the more recent translation by Robert Pasnau
in A Commentary on Aristotle's "De anima" (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1999).
6 STh I, q. 78, a. 3, ad 2. All quotations from the Summa Theologiae are from the
translation provided by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger
Bros., 1948).
7 Ibid.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

347

accidens rather than per se, insofar it is accidental or incidental to
the per se sensible-whiteness-that it also should be Socrates. 8
My thesis that Aquinas is a direct realist is limited, at least
initially, to Aquinas's claims regarding the cognition of proper
sensibles. (I will extend that thesis to include the cognition of
common sensibles in the final section of the paper.) My
exposition of Aquinas begins with his claim that direct cognition
of proper sensibles is possible because external objects, qua
external causes of sensation, impress themselves, and more
specifically, impress specific sensible features or forms-that is,
proper sensibles-on the senses. 9 Aquinas therefore understands
sensation to be a primarily passive act, the reception of sensible
forms (species) in the senses: "sense is a passive power, and is
naturally immuted by the exterior sensible. Wherefore the
exterior cause of such immutation is what is 'per se' perceived by
the sense. " 10 The idea here, as Aquinas further explains it, is that
the same sensible forms that are 'naturally' present in external
objects of sense are 'intentionally' present in the organs of sense.
As present in external objects, sensible forms enjoy a 'natural'
existence (esse naturale); as present in the organs of sense, sensible
forms enjoy an 'intentional' existence (esse intentionale). 11
Thus, the presence of sensible forms in the senses effects an
intentional change in the senses themselves. Aquinas writes:
Now, change [immutatio] is of two kinds, one natural, the
Natural change takes place by the form of the agent being received according to
its natural existence, into the thing changed, as heat is received into the thing
heated. Whereas spiritual change takes place by the form of the agent being
received, according to a spiritual mode of existence [esse spirituale], into the
thing changed, as the form of color is received into the pupil which does not
8

See II De Anima, lect. 8 (387).

9 Aquinas explicitly states that color,

odor, taste, and tactile qualities "have a fixed and
permanent existence in their subjects" (IIDeAnima, lect. 16 [439]). Sound, however, exists
only potentially in external objects; actual sound exists in the medium and thereafter the sense
organ (or the actual hearing of that sound). See ibid. (441).
10 STh I, q. 78, a. 3.
11 I will be using 'intentional' rather than 'spiritual' as the proper translation whenever
possible to avoid misleading the reader into thinking that 'spiritual' denotes something
exclusively 'inner' only to be associated with a dualistic, Cartesian philosophy of mind.

348

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

thereby become colored. Now, for the operation of the senses, a spiritual change
is required, whereby an intention [intentio] of the sensible form is effected in the
sensible organ. Otherwise, if a natural change alone sufficed for the sense's
action, all natural bodies would feel when they undergo alteration. 12

Recent interpreters of Aquinas have tried to explain intentional
change (here translated as 'spiritual' change) by relying on the
modern taxonomy of 'physical' and 'mental'. 13 But on Aquinas's
view it cannot be so neatly defined. For Aquinas, intentional
change does occurs in the bodily organ of sense (which means that
it must be in 'physical' in one sense) but in such a way that it
generates an act of sensation, or a cognitive act (which means it
must also be 'mental' in some sense). Furthermore, Aquinas argues
that intentional change occurs in the medium (e.g., the air) that
separates the organ of sense from the object of sense. 14 Yet he
claims that, even as intentionally informed, the medium does not
sense: so 'intentional' need not denote anything mental. How,
then, should we properly understand intentional change in
sensation, which Aquinas clearly argues is necessary for the
successful operation of the senses?
To start, we should analyze intentional change in sensation
(and hence sensation itself) by employing the Aristotelian
vocabulary of 'matter' and form', as well as 'potency' and 'act',
rather than the modern vocabulary of 'physical' and 'mental'.
Most basically, intentional change for Aquinas is the reception of
form in the relevant recipient (i.e., the senses or the medium)
without matter; and the reception of form without matter is "the
recipient being assimilated to the agent in respect of form and not
in respect of matter," or the recipient becoming like the agent in
12 STh I, q. 78, a. 3 (translation

modified). See also II De Anima, lect. 24 (553).

13 See, for example, D. W. Hamlyn, Sensation and Perception: A History of the Philosophy

of Perception (New York: The Humanities Press, 1961); Sheldon M. Cohen, "St. Thomas
Aquinas on the Immaterial Reception of Sensible Forms," Philosophical Review 91 (1982):
193-209; Robert Pasnau, Theories of Cognition in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1997); and Gabriele de Anna, "Aquinas on Sensible Forms and
Semimaterialism," The Review of Metaphysics 54 (2000): 43-63.
14 In all other cases besides vision there is both natural and intentional change in the
medium: sound, for example, reaches the ear through vibrations in the air. In the case of
visual sensation, however, there is simply intentional change in the medium: color reaches the
eye without tainting the air. See II De Anima, lect. 20 (493).

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

349

respect of form but not in matter. 15 Thus, intentional change in
sensation, or the reception of the form without matter in the
senses, is the cognitive assimilation of the relevant sensory power
(and hence the cognizer) to the relevant object of sense. Everi
more simply: intentional change in the senses-the actualization
of a sensory power by a proper sensible-just is the act of
sensation itself, which cognitively unites the perceiving subject to
the external object of sense itself.
We can strengthen this claim by recalling that in a thoroughly
Aristotelian framework (which Aquinas adopts) our powers of
sense are nothing more than capacities for being informed by the
sensible features or forms of external objects themselves. Or
again, our powers of sense are potentially oriented towards
veridical sensation and as such only can be actualized by external
objects themselves, when those objects impress their sensible
features or forms on the senses. Aquinas writes:
potency is nothing but a certain relationship to act. And without this likeness
there would be no necessary correspondence between this act and this potency.
Hence potency in this sense is not actualized from contrary to contrary, but
rather from like to like, in the sense that the potency resembles its act. 16

On Aquinas's Aristotelian view, veridical sensible encounter with
the world is possible because our external senses are, at bottom,
capable of being acted on by proper sensibles, and common
15 II De Anima, lect. 24 (553). I am following M. F. Burnyeat, who argues that "receiving
form without matter is not a physiological process underlying perceptual awareness. It is
perceptual awareness of something, a mode of cognition" (M. F. Burnyeat, "Aquinas on
'Spiritual Change' in Perception," in Dominik Perler, ed., Ancient and Medieval Theories of
Intentionality [Leiden: Brill, 2001], 141). Burnyeat therefore agrees that there are (a)
"material necessary conditions for perception," but disagrees that (b) "these necessary
conditions are material changes in the sense-organ" (ibid., 145). On Burnyeat's reading of
Aquinas, we can explain sensation fully as the actualization of a natural potency or power
without having to appeal to material or physical processes underlying the act of sensation
itself. So while there are indeed material conditions (conditions in the sense organ) that are
necessary for a sense organ to function properly, "these are static, standing conditions, not
processes or events underlying the act of perception" itself (ibid.). For Burnyeat's comparable
reading of Aristotle, see "Is An Aristotelian Philosophy of Mind Still Credible? A Draft," in
Martha C. Nussbaum and Amelie Oksenberg Rorty, eds., Essays on Aristotle's "De Anima"
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), 15-26.
16 II De Anima, lect. 11 (366).

350

PAUL A. MACDONALD,

JR.

sensibles by way of proper sensibles. Sensory power qua
'recipient' and sensible object qua 'agent' are linked by way of
what we can call a proper formal correspondence (sight to color,
hearing to sound, touch to temperature, taste to flavor, and smell
to odor), or what Aquinas, following Aristotle, calis a
correspondence of "like to like."
Commenting on Aristotle, Aquinas goes as far as to say that, as
suitably informed, each of our sensory powers "cannot err" in
putting us into cognitive contact with proper sensibles themselves:
What is perceived by one sense and by no other [is] in respect of which the
perceiving sense cannot err; thus it is proper to sight to know color, to hearing
to know sound, to taste to know flavor or savor. Touch, however, has several
objects proper to itself: heat and moisture, cold and dryness, the heavy and the
light, etc. Each sense judges the objects proper to itself and is not mistaken about
these, e.g. sight with regard to such and such a color or hearing with regard to
sound. 17

The point here is not that the senses are always perfect in their
operations: the eye, for example, can see properly only if there is
sufficient light illuminating the medium as well as the object of
sight, and the eye itself (as well as its component parts) is
functioning properly (i.e., subject to no malfunction). 18 Aquinas
says that it is "the very essence of each sense is that it is naturally
fitted to be affected by some such special object proper to itself.
The nature of each faculty consists in its relation to its proper
object. " 19 Thus, the formal correspondence that conjoins sense
organ or power with proper sensible (and hence external objects)
is underwritten not by perfectionism but by reliabilism, or what
17 II De Anima, lect. 13 (384). In De Veritate, q. 1, a. 9, Aquinas claims that truth is in
sense insofar as the senses judge sensible things as they are, even though they do not know the
truth of what they sense (unlike the intellect, which can reflect on the truth of its own acts).
He goes on to argue that "the judgment of sense about proper sensibles is always true unless
there is an impediment in the organ or in the medium" (De Verit., q. 1, a. 11; translation taken
from On Truth, vol. 1, trans. Robert W. Mulligan [Chicago: Regnery, 1952; repr.,
Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994].
18 See III De Anima, lect. 6 (664). For an exposition of proper functionality in
contemporary epistemology, see Alvin Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1993).
19 II De Anima, lect. 13 (387).

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

351

we also can refer to as a natural teleology, regarding the innate
ability of each of the senses to "judge the objects proper to
itself"-that is, accurately and truthfully to detect their proper
sensible objects, sensible forms, and hence external reality itself. 20
Ultimately, then, sensation on Aquinas's view is explicable only
in terms of the category of form, and what we can now identify
as formal causality: in sensation, the same sensible features or
forms that exist in things, and are objectively sensible by us, are
received in the senses, or causally inform the senses, thereby
activating our senses (already potentially oriented towards
sensation) and assimilating our senses (and us) to the world itself.
This transaction surely also involves efficient causality: a bodily
change in the organ of sense, which is affected by the presence of
sensible form. But this transaction cannot be reduced to efficient
causality. The bodily change that occurs in the organ of sense is
an act of sensory cognition, and Aquinas explains sensory
cognition in terms of the immaterial reception of form, which
means formal and efficient causality are both at work.
The temptation here, once again, may be to try to reduce
formal causality and hence sensory cogmt10n on the
Thomistic/Aristotelian view to something wholly physical or
mental. But as Miles Burnyeat points out, form for the
Tho mist/ Aristotelian is equally at home in the world and in the
senses, and as such, equally at home in the physical and in the
mental. He writes:
[T]he form which the sense-organ receives without matter is the very same form
as exists with matter in the object perceived. If it was not the same, perception
would not reveal objective truth. Form and matter are basic principles of
Aristotelian physics. Form's presence in the sense-organ without matter is
therefore as physical a fact as its presence with matter in the object perceived. If
its presence in the sense-organ is awareness, and awareness is a mental
2 °Kretzmann argues on Aquinas's behalf that in addition to the veridical act of sensation
"a semi-automatic, sub-deliberative kind of judgment occurs ... in the cognitive process, a
judgment that Aquinas assigns to sense itself, an ordinarily unexpressed judgment which, if it
were expressed generally would take the form of a crude realism: Extramental reality here and
now is as it appears to be" (Norman Kretzmann, "Infallibility, Error, and Ignorance," in R.
Bosley and M. Tweedale, eds., Aristotle and His Medieval Interpreters (Calgary, Alberta,
Canada: The University of Calgary Press, 1992), 174.

352

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

phenomenon in the modern sense, then for Aristotle and Aquinas perception is
both physical and mental. ... Thus both natural and spiritual change fall within
the realm of physics, because both involve form. 21

In this passage, Burnyeat not only clearly underscores the
intelligible place of. form in Aristotelian physics, and hence a
broader, richer understanding of physical reality; he also
underscores the Thomistic/Aristotelian commitment to realism in
as the same form is present both with
sensory cognition.
matter in sensible things (naturally) and without matter in the
it ensures the objectivity and
organs of sense
directness of sensatipn itself. Or again, it is because the same
sensible features or rorms that are present in external objects
come to be present in the senses that we, as cognitive subjects, can
world-intending sensory states-that
be credited with
is, sensory states
content is isomorphic with (and hence
directed on) the sensib le features or forms possessed by external
.
objects themselves.
1

II. SENSORY COGNITION AND DIRECT REALISM

Aquinas is a direct realist concerning our ability to sense
objective aspects or features of the external world: in cases of
veridical sensation, our most basic sensory states, as suitably
configured by sensible forms, are in direct cognitive contact with
objective, external states of affairs. For example, our seeing
21 Burnyeat, "Aquinas on 'Spiritual Change' in Perception," 149. In "Is an Aristotelian
Philosophy of Mind Still Credible?" Burnyeat concludes that "Aristotle has what is for us a
deeply alien conception of the physical" (26) that is no longer credible in the modern (postseventeenth-century) world, given that it appeals to our naturally fitted powers of perception,
along with the real secondary qualities at which they are aimed, without further explanation.
More specifically, Aristotle's conception cannot account for how those powers of perception
emerged over the course of the evolution of life. This is not surprising given that, on
Aristotle's view, "the power of perception never emerged from anything" (Burnyeat, "Aquinas
on 'Spiritual Change' in Perception," 151). As Burnyeat further notes, Aquinas has an
explanation of sorts: God created animal life with the power perception intact (ibid.). Thus,
the Thomist need not abandon Aristotelian physics and metaphysics entirely; in fact, he can
offer a modified account that incorporates the evolution of life. God created the world with
the potential to evolve, so that animal life eventually acquired the cognitive faculties necessary
to experience the world as God intended and created it to be.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

353

redness, when our senses (and specifically, our visual sense
organs) have been impressed by an actual red object, just is direct
cognitive contact with the redness possessed by the object
itself-an objective, external feature of our environment. The
epistemic access is utterly direct because our seeing redness is
isomorphic with (or we could say, formally identical to) the
sensed object's being red. Put negatively, the isomorphism (or
formal identity) of sense and the object of sense ensures that no
cognitive "gap" or "space" separates our seeing redness from the
sensed object's being red. I emphasize this point in order to show
how Aquinas, following Aristotle, offers an account of sensory
cognition that honors the insight, central to direct realism, that
acts or episodes of sensation do not mediate and hence intervene
between cognitive subjects' epistemic access to the world; they (as
suitably configured or informed) conjoin cognitive subjects to the
world.
Consequently, and perhaps not surprisingly, Aquinas can and
should be read as offering a philosophical framework for
understanding sensation that refuses to equate sensory acts with
'sense-data' -construed as private mental episodes, or what Hilary
Putnam calls "mere affectations of a person's subjectivity"-that
conjoin us to the world only causally but not cognitively. Putnam
does not employ the distinction between efficient and formal
causality, but in his Dewey Lectures he clearly targets modern
causal theories of perception that reduce sensation to baldly
efficient causality. He argues that these theories, which claim to
be compatible with direct realism, in fact suffer from the same
crucial ambiguity that afflicts traditional empiricist theories of
perception. According to a causal account of perception, so
formulated as compatible with direct realism, cognitive subjects
can and do enjoy direct epistemic access to extramental objects
and states of affairs by virtue of standing in the appropriate causal
relations with those objects and states of affairs, and, more
specifically, by having suitably caused sensations of those objects
and states of affairs. The problem with this view, Putnam claims,
is that it makes a critical assumption regarding the nature of

354

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

suitably caused sensory states: namely, that they are so constituted
as to afford the requisite epistemic access. In other words, this
view assumes that it is merely by having certain sense experiences
that cognitive subjects can also be credited with genuinely
experiencing the world and, specifically, the external objects that
cause them to have those experiences.
As Putnam goes on to argue, even if the appropriately caused
experiences are identified with brain states-mere physical
processes or events that take place within the brain-rather than
the more infamous mental sense-data or 'qualia', "it [still] has to
seem magical that we can have access to anything outside our
'inputs'-those 'qualia' that I thought could be identified with
'physical occurrences'. " 22 According to Putnam, merely replacing
sense-data with perceptual inputs (the functional equivalent of
sense-data) does nothing to show how those perceptual inputs are
distinctly unlike their classical analogs and hence represent
something more than "the outer limit of our cognitive processing
[beyond which] everything . . . is connected to our mental
processes only causally, not cognitively. " 23 Arguing directly
22 Putnam, "Sense, Nonsense, and the Senses," 19. In a similar vein, John McDowell argues
that there is a distinct ternptation to equate sensory experience and appearances in particular
with what he calls a "highest common factor" precisely in order to account for how veridical
and nonveridical sensory experiences are often qualitatively indistinguishable. See in particular
John McDowell, "Criteria, Defeasibility, and Knowledge," in idem, Meaning, Knowledge, &
Reality (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998), 369-94. According to McDowell, the
problems generated by this view are obvious: when appearances are construed as comprising
a highest common factor common to veridical and nonveridical experience alike, then they
are at best defeasibly connected with the world-that is, they still "fall short" of the
facts-given that they are pictured as lying on the near side of an input interface that separates
cognitive subjects and the world. According to a 'disjunctive' view of appearances, however,
which McDowell advances as an alternative to the "tempting argument" he describes above,
appearances are either "mere" appearances, and thus nondisclosive of worldly facts, or direct
manifestations of how the world truly is, and thus direct manifestations of worldly facts. In
the latter case, sense experience no longer can be understood to be an intermediary that
interposes itself between the experiencing subject and the world: in the case of veridical
experience or awareness, what is sensed by us is not a highest common factor, but nothing less
than the world itself. For similar arguments see John McDowell, "Knowledge and the
Internal," in idem, Meaning, Knowledge, & Reality, 3 9 5-413; .and "The Content of Perceptual
Experience," in idem, Mind, Value, & Reality (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998),
341-58.
23 Putnam, "Sense, Nonsense, and the Senses," 16.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

355

against what he calls the 'Cartesian cum materialist' view (to
which he once subscribed), Putnam claims that the attempt to
identify sense experiences with brain states fails: there is simply
not enough content to the functionalist account (or an even to an
ideal psychological account) to specify in what consists the
relationship between sense experiences and perceptual inputs.
Putnam's conclusion, therefore, is that sense experiences are
neither reducible to physical states, nor are they something
"extra" over and above physical states. He says:
sensory experiences are not passive affectations of an object called a "mind" but
(for the most part) experiences of aspects of the world by a living being. Mind
talk is not talk about an immaterial part of us but rather a way of describing the
exercise of certain abilities we possess, abilities that supervene upon the activities
of our brains and upon all our various transactions with the environment but
that do not have to be reductively explained using the vocabulary of physics and
biology, or even the vocabulary of computer science. 24

The particular account Putnam offers here-what he calls 'natural
realism' -attempts to understand sensory experiences as exercises
of "certain abilities we possess" that cannot be reduced to "the
activities of our brains," even if they cannot be explained without
reference to those activities. In other words, "successful
perception is just a seeing, or hearing, or feeling, etc. of things
'out there'," rather than anything that occurs exclusively inside
our minds, brains, or skins. 25
The move Putnam makes here both to challenge a reductive
physicalism, which reduces sense experiences to mere physical
occurrences, and to uphold realism in sensation is thoroughly
Thomistic, even if it yields a thesis that is still largely negative.
Putnam is much clearer about what successful sensation is not
rather than what it is. Moreover, he eschews linking his natural
realism with any metaphysical (specifically Aristotelian)

Ibid., 37-38.
particular wording here comes from Hilary Putnam, "Sense, Nonsense, and the
Senses: An Inquiry into the Powers of the Human Mind," The Journal of Philosophy 91
(1994): 454.
24

25 The

356

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

commitments. 26 But we can extend his important insight if we
begin with the fundamental principle-itself central to both
Aquinas and Aristotle-that "successful perception is just a seeing,
or hearing, or feeling, etc. of things 'out there"' by cognitive
subjects whose sensory capacities (Putnam's "abilities") for seeing,
hearing, feeling, etc. have been actualized (for Putnam,
"exercised") by their proper objects: corresponding sensible
features or forms possessed by external objects themselves. Thus,
according to the Thomistic view, which explains sensory
cognition in terms of efficient and formal causality, veridical acts
of sensation conjoin cognitive subjects to the world not only
because they are suitably caused (here again we are honoring
Putnam's insight), but because they are suitably (i.e., intentionally)
configured and informed by the very sensible features or forms on
which they directly bear.
Before moving on to develop and defend these claims further,
we should note that it is indeed true on the Thomistic account
that sensory cognition is indirect in one sense. Actual physical
contact between sensible form and the corresponding organ of
sense is always indirect, insofar as sensible forms are first received
in the medium separating the sensible form from the corresponding organ of sense. But this claim in no way compromises
Haldane underscores this point in challenging Putnam's move to "enjoy the benefits of
epistemological realism without accepting aspects of its attendant metaphysics." See John
Haldane, "Realism with a Metaphysical Skull," in Conant and Zegleii, eds., Hilary Putnam:
Pragmatism and Realism, 97. In response, Putnam claims that he is not against Aristotelian
metaphysics per se; in fact, he embraces the Aristotelian principle that the "ways things can
be are both worldly-things 'out there' are some of those ways-and available to thought,
contrary to a sharp 'concept I property' dichotomy." (See Putnam, "Comment on John
Haldane," in Conant and Zegleii, eds., Hilary Putnam: Pragmatism and Realism, 108). So
perhaps the rift between Haldane and Putnam is not as large as it might seem. What Putnam
does reject is 'Aristotelian essentialism' or the "metaphysical fantasy" that "there is a totality
of Forms, or Universals, or 'properties', fixed once and for all, and that every possible
meaning of a word corresponds to one of these Forms or Universals or properties" (Putnam,
"Sense, Nonsense, and the Senses," 6). Of course, it is not at all clear that either Aquinas or
Aristotle (and consequently Haldane) accepts what Putnam deems Aristotelian essentialism.
One can be committed to the existence of form without being guilty of indulging in Putnam's
"metaphysical fantasy." See, for example, John Haldane, "On Coming Home to
(Metaphysical) Realism," Philosophy 71 (1996): 287-96. I defend the importance of
metaphysics in Aquinas's account below.
26

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

357

Aquinas's commitment to direct realism: on the contrary, direct
cognitive contact with proper sensibles such as colors is only
possible given the presence of a medium (in which light, for
example, can enter) that separates the organ of sense from the
object of sense. Aquinas writes:
An indication of this is the fact that if a colored body is placed upon the organ
of sight it cannot be seen; for then there remains no transparent medium to be
affected by the color. The pupil of the eye is indeed some such medium, but, so
long as the colored body remains placed upon it, it lacks transparency. There has
to be a medium, say air or something of the kind, which, being actualized by
color, itself acts upon the organ of sight as upon a body continuous with itself.
For bodies only affect one another through actual contact. 27

Without a transparent medium illuminated by light, colors cannot
be seen; without a medium filled by vibration and vapors, sounds
cannot be heard and odors cannot be smelled. Moreover, the
medium ensures the proper transmission of sensory form from the
object of sense to the organ of sense: the medium too is structured
by sensory form (via intentional change with or without natural
change), so it too serves as a formal cause of sensation. On the
Thomistic view, it is formal causality that ensures direct realism;
and formal causality is at work throughout the entire causal
process that generates veridical sensory acts.
From a distinctly modern point of view, it may seem strange,
at the very least, to locate sensible form in a medium such as air,
but this view (or bias) once again wrongly presupposes that
sensible form is something wholly extraphysical. Recall that on
the Thomistic view, with its basis in Aristotelian physics, matter
and form are basic principles of physical reality. Just as form's
presence in the senses is as physical a fact as is its presence in
material objects (which we have already established), so form's
presence in the medium is equally as physical a fact as is its
presence in material objects. Matter, the senses, and the medium
are all potencies that stand to be actualized by form; as such, they
are all equally disposed to be actualized by form. Recall, too, that
27 II De Anima, lect. 15 (432).

358

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

the Thomist affirms that efficient causality is at work in sensation:
sensation is surely inexplicable without appealing to efficient
causality, and hence efficient causes (which include physical
changes in the medium as well as bodily changes in the senses and
the cognitive subject himself or herself). The Thomist merely
causal
affirms that additional causal processes-formal
processes-are at work in sensation, and must be at work if the
veridicality of sensation is to be upheld.
What is at stake, again, is preserving realism and also finally
overcoming epistemological skepticism regarding the objectivity
of sensation. As Putnam points out, the tendency in modern
epistemology is to reduce sensations to purely subjective states,
completely internal to our sensory consciousness, precisely in
order to account for their immediacy and certainty: what can be
more certain than what occurs inside our own "heads"? But on
such a view, skepticism, if not explicitly endorsed, certainly
looms: what confidence can we have that our sensations of
redness, softness, or sweetness are not purely subjective? Do they
bear any connection with external reality? Aquinas's answer, in
part, is that sensation is, by definition, the actualization of a
sensory potency or power by an external object: were no external
object present, then no sensory experience of that object would
occur. But the skeptic may then ask: What confidence do we have
that the original cause of sensation is an external object, rather
than some more proximate cause (e.g., a physical occurrence in
the eye, in the ear, or on the tongue)? Here, the Thomist once
again has a ready reply: the cause of sensation is not only a
sensible object but sensible form, which structures the object
sensed, the power of sense, and the medium between them. Were
mere efficient causality alone to be at work, there would be no
guarantee that the causal genesis of sensation actually lay in an
external object. Presumably, any number of more proximate
points in the causal process generating sensation would be
sufficient to account for its occurrence, possibly rendering any
appeal to an external object as the originating cause entirely
superfluous. But for the Thomist, there can only be one formal

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

359

cause of sensation-sensible form-which originally inheres not
in the senses but in external objects themselves. Formal causality,
and its undergirding metaphysics, therefore simply eliminates
skepticism as a viable epistemological stance, at least concerning
sense experience.
III. THE METAPHYSICS OF DIRECT REALISM

At this point, the epistemological benefits of the Thomistic
view of sensory cognition should be dear. But from a distinctly
modern point of view, it may still seem that we only can gain such
benefits at a significant cost. Thomistic epistemological realism
carries with it certain nonnegotiable metaphysical commitments,
such as the actual existence of sensible forms or qualities in things
(and more broadly, the world itself). Aquinas, like Aristotle before
him, is unabashed about claiming that colors, sounds, flavors, etc.
are mind-independent constituents of external reality, but in
making this claim does he reflect a certain na"ivete towards what
these properties in fact are? Recently, Robert Pasnau has argued
that Aquinas should have been more sensitive to the now-familiar
distinction between primary and secondary qualities, and hence
the possibility of reducing secondary qualities (or sensible forms)
to primary qualities (e.g., sound as simply a kind of motion), thus
eliminating the existence of such "mysterious qualities" altogether. 28 Interestingly, Pasnau then goes on to argue that
Aquinas's view can be reinterpreted-dropping the Aristotelian
metaphysical distinction
between quality and quantity
altogether-in order to be made roughly compatible with modern
physicalism, which is "the view that the objects of our sensation
are the various physical phenomena that in fact produce our
sensations." 29 On this modified view, which "captures the spirit,
if not the letter, of Aquinas's theory of sensation," sensible forms
remain the causes and objects of sensation, but "whether these
28 See Robert Pasnau, Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature: A Philosophical Study of Summa
Theologiae la, 75-89 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 184-86.
29 Ibid, 185.

360

PAULA. MACDONALD, JR.

features turn out to be irreducibly qualitative or quantitative can
be viewed as an empirical, non-essential issue. "30
Pasnau's interpretation is suggestive; however, I would argue
that there is much about which to be suspicious in modern
physicalism. 31 It is by no means obvious-and common experience
in fact tells us otherwise-that the familiar sensible qualities things
possess can be successfully reduced to mere physical phenomena
that produce or cause sensation. If we are already suspicious, as
Putnam suggests we should be, towards attempts to reduce
sensory experiences to mere physical occurrences, or perceptual
inputs, that bear no cognitive relation to the objects they purport
to bear upon, then we should be equally suspicious toward
attempts to reduce sensory qualities to mere physical phenomena
that purportedly are able produce the requisite veridical sensory
experiences in us. For example, it is not at all obvious how
color-construed as mere a physical property of a surface that
bears no formal relation to our phenomenal experience of
color-can produce the requisite veridical experience of color in
us. Once we divest or drain external objects of sensible
forms-actual redness now reduced to merely physical properties
(whatever those may be) that cause the sensation of redness in
us-then we divest or drain our experiences of those objects of
any objectivity. On the Thomistic view, what ensures the
objectivity and, moreover, the directness of our most basic sensory
states is the formal identity or isomorphism of those states with
30 Ibid., 185-86.
31 The move to reduce sensible qualities to physical properties is, of course, not unique to
modern philosophy. In his commentary on Aristotle's De sensu et sensato, Aquinas notes
Aristotle's criticism of Democritus and other "Ancients," first for reducing all sensible objects
to objects of touch. According to Aristotle, this would mean that any sensory power (which
is distinguished according to the object) would be touch; which is obviously false, "because
other senses perceive through an external medium, and touch does not" (De Sensu et Sensato
10.44 2a29). The broader argument here (De Sensu et Sensato 10.442b 13) is that since sensory
powers are distinguished according to their objects, reducing proper sensibles to common
sensibles (e.g., size an dshape) eliminates the distinctness and the hierarchy of the senses (e.g.,
reducing flavor to shapes makes taste more disposed for discerning shapes rather than sight,
which is false). See Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle's "On Sense and What Is
Sensed" and "On Memory and Recollection," trans. Kevin White and Edward M. Macierowski
(Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 2005).

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

361

the sensible features or forms that things actually possess. Take
away sensible form, and formal causality in sensation is no longer
at work. It once again becomes a mystery how mere efficient
causality can produce sense experiences that bear on external
objects, and actually terminate in the sensible features those
objects possess.
The shorthand of this is that epistemological realism and
metaphysical realism go hand-in-hand: more specifically, what
grounds realism in epistemology is realism in metaphysics (or
ontology). To put this same point another way, it is the objectivity
of sensible forms-that is, the objective existence of real colors,
sounds, flavors, etc. that are qualitatively unique and distinctthat grounds the objectivity of our sensations of those forms. The
move here is not to populate the world with what Pasnau calls
"mysterious qualities," and thereby unnecessarily inflate a certain
metaphysical picture of reality, in order to offer an explanatory
account for realism in epistemology and specifically sense
experience. As we have already seen, while 'form' is an irreducibly
metaphysical category (sensible forms really do exist in things), it
is not exclusively a metaphysical category: sensible forms are
equally "at home" in the world, in the senses, and in the medium
that connects them. Thus, in understanding and explaining
sensory cognition, the Thomist does not first posit the existence
of sensible forms in the world and then offer an epistemology of
how we gain access to those forms. This mistaken move already
puts cognitive subjects and the world at a distance; it places the
world outside of our cognitive reach, and thereby indeed
threatens to shroud the world itself-and hence the sensible forms
or qualities contained therein-in an inaccessible mystery. Instead,
the Thomist begins with the unity of cognitive subjects and the
world in sensation (what modern epistemology in general
sunders), and hence the unity of sense and sensibiliain sensation,
and then explains that unity in terms of form (as well as formal
causality). Or again: instead of beginning with a metaphysics that
makes sensible forms or qualities wholly alien to us and our
cognitive grasp, the Thomist begins with our cognitive grasp of

362

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

those forms or qualities in sensation-forms or qualities that are
already familiar to us-and then explains that sensory grasp in
terms of form (as well as formal causality). 32
This constitutes a partial response to the bias against the real
existence of sensible forms (or at least the move to render them
inescapably and inaccessibly mysterious), but more needs to be
said. What exactly is the nature of sensible form, and is sensible
form at all intelligible from a more modern or contemporary
philosophical perspective? According to Aquinas, a sensible form
or quality is "actual" in two ways:
(1) So far as the object is actually being sensed, i.e., when its likeness is affecting
the sense-organ. In this way a sound is actual when it is heard. (2) So far as the
object actually is such that it can be sensed, but is such simply in its own
objective being, outside the senses. And in this way the other sense-objects, color,
odor, savor, etc. exist actually in colored or odorous or savorable bodies. 33

Two important points emerge from this passage. First, sensible
forms are actual in our sensing them, and "in this way a sound is
actual when it is heard." Second, sensible forms (other than
sound) are actual insofar as they can be sensed or perceived by us,
even if they are not actually being sensed or perceived by us (e.g.,
it is the nature of colors to be visible). This may lead us to align
Aquinas's view with modern 'dispositionalism', the view that
sensible forms are simply dispositions to produce the requisite
sensations in us. 34 Yet, according to Aquinas, while sensible forms
32 I am thankful to Tim Noone and others for emphasizing this point in response to a
version of this paper I gave at the annual meeting of the American Catholic Philosophical
Association (Society for Medieval and Renaissance Philosophy session), Granville, Ohio,
October 27-29, 2006.
33 IIDeAnima, lect. 16 (441).
34 The dispositionalist position (classically attributed to John Locke) should be familiar to
those also broadly familiar with debates in the epistemology and metaphysics of sense
perception, although, in giving an exposition of it and criticizing it, I am relying on
Christopher A. Decaen's analysis in "The Viability Of Aristotelian-Thomistic Color Realism,"
The Thomist 65 (2001): 179-222. Amongst modern commentators, Anthony Kenny may be
guilty of equating Aquinas's account of sensory cognition with dispositionalism, even though
he is trying to do justice to Aquinas's realism. He writes, "Now a sensory faculty, such as that
of taste, is nothing but the power to do such things as taste the sweetness of sweet objects. And
the sensory property, sweetness, is nothing but the power to taste sweet to a suitable taster.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

363

are indeed able to affect us in certain ways (even when they are
not actually being sensed by us), they still enjoy an objective
existence (or "objective being") apart from our sensing them. For
this reason, sensible forms cannot be defined solely in terms of the
ways in which they affect our senses, or in terms of their ability to
make us sense them in a certain way.
Here, then, is where the incompatibility with dispositionalism
lies. On the one hand, defining sensible forms as dispositions to
produce the requisite sensations in us obscures their objectivity
and hence independence from the way in which we sense them.
On the other hand, even if we grant the dispositionalist that
sensory forms or qualities are objective, defining sensible forms as
dispositions still obscures the objectivity of sensation itself, insofar
as it once again undermines our confidence that the way in which
we sense the world-or are disposed to sense the world-is in fact
the way the world objectively is. Redness, for example, really
exists in external objects, but not only in the sense that it is
capable of producing the visual sensation of redness in us. For the
Thomist, the redness we see in ordinary visual sensation is the
same redness that causes the visual sensation of redness in us
(which means 'redness-for-us' and 'redness-in-things' are formally
the same). Again, it is the isomorphism of our sensory states with
external reality that explains and ensures their objectivity.
The move here to define sensible forms as objective, nonrelational properties of objects may seem to lead us back towards
physicalism, which defines such forms as purely physical
phenomena, or quantitative properties of external objects. But as
we have already seen, a strict physicalism that reduces sensible
forms such as colors to physical properties-in the case of colors,
reflective properties embedded in an external object's surface-is
beset by intractable epistemological difficulties similar to the
Thus we can agree that the property in action is one and the same thing as the faculty in
operation, though the power to taste and the power to be tasted are of course two very
different things, the one in the sugar and the other in the animal. The sweetness of X just is
the ability of X to taste sweet. (Of course it is related to various chemical properties and
constituents of X; but that relation is a contingent one, to be discovered by empirical
research)" (Anthony Kenny, Aquinas on Mind [New York: Routledge, 1993], 35-36).

364

PAULA. MACDONALD, JR.

difficulties that plague dispositionalism. Christopher
effectively makes this point in a recent article:

Decaen

Once the principle of physicalism is posited-that colors [for example] are
nothing more than "physical," that is, quantitative properties-it becomes
difficult to discern how this view can avoid having any anti-realistic core. Any
comprehensive reductionism must eliminate the thing reduced; this would
abandon altogether the Aristotelian-Thomistic view of color, where nature is
more rich, more diverse, than the metrically oriented physicalist takes it to be.
Put another way, if color is in reality a microphysical quality though it does not
appear as such, then the physicalist must say that colors are seen but not as
colors. Since the color is really the microphysical property, the color is seen only
indirectly, per accidens, by means of an appearance of an essentially different
order-color is merely what underlies an experience. The physicalist, by
distinguishing a color from its appearance or phenomenology, is forced to say
either that the per se object of sight is not the color but the appearance itself, or
that vision simply has no per se object. Either way color becomes invisible. To
Aristotle and St. Thomas, this should be dismissed as patently false. 35

In other words, if sensible forms such as colors are reducible to
microphysical properties-which makes them undetectable by
ordinary empirical observation-then they cannot be sensed by us
directly; even in veridical sensation they must remain hidden or
invisible. What we see directly are not particular colors "in
themselves" but rather mere phenomenological features that
underlie our visual sensations of those colors: the appearances of
those colors to us. Properly speaking, then, according to a strict
physicalism, we do not see colors at all. Physicalism not only
devolves into a gross anti-realism; it cannot acknowledge the
seemingly obvious fact (honored by Aquinas and Aristotle) that we
can and do see the true nature of colors themselves.
This is not to say that sensible forms have no place within
modern physics. While sensible forms are not reducible to
microphysical or quantitative properties, they certainly bear some
ontological relation to them. According to Decaen, 'primitivism'
tries to explain this relationship in terms of 'supervenience', so
that sensible forms such as colors are ontologically dependent on

35

Decaen, "The Viability of Aristotelian-Thomistic Color Realism," 204.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

365

or correlated with specific microphysical properties. 36 But the
nature of this relationship suffers from an explanatory ambiguity:
how exactly are colors and microphysical properties (two different orders of qualities) ontologically interdependent or correlative? The answer lies not within modern physics, but (perhaps
not surprisingly) within Thomistic metaphysics:
Herein lies the connection between colors as the immediate objects of sensation
and the quantitative microphysical properties of surfaces that are correlated with
individual species of colors. While the two are essentially distinct from each
other, they are related such that the former is to the latter as an accident to its
proper subject, as form to matter. This allows Aristotle and St. Thomas to join
the primitivists in rejecting color's identification with, and carte blanche
reduction to, microphysical properties, while at the same time giving a greater
intelligibility to what the physicalists and dispositionalists criticize as an ad hoc
and contingent correlation between color and the microphysical. From a
Aristotelian-Thomistic perspective, the notion of supervenience can be replaced
by the idea that colors are related to their microphysical subjects as form to
matter. 37

For Aquinas, external objects are composites of matter and form:
matter exists in potentiality to form, and form is the actualizing
principle of matter. Moreover, the form (whether substantial or
accidental) of an external object of sense only inheres in matter;
such form cannot exist without matter. Thus, as Decaen also
argues, a sensible form (e.g., color), qua physical accident, must
include in its definition a particular material principle or subject
(e.g., surface and its constitutive microphysical properties) in
which it is a present as a form, and without which it cannot be
found. 38 Thomistic metaphysics is therefore inclusive (it makes
room for primary and secondary qualities, or quantity and quality,
matter and form) without being reductive.

36 Ibid., 200-202.
37

Ibid., 206.

38 Ibid., 205-6.

366

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

IV. SENSORY COGNITION AND DIRECT REALISM:
COMMON SENSIBLES, THE COMMON SENSE, AND PHANTASMS
A) Common Sensibles

Having considered Aquinas's account of the role of the
external senses in enabling direct sensory cognition of proper
sensibles, we are now in a position to consider other key aspects
of his account of sensory cognition and their specific bearing on
interpreting Aquinas as a direct realist. First, we nfeed to consider
how far his commitment to direct realism extends. Does it pertain
solely to the cognition of proper sensibles, or does it also include
the cognition of common sensibles? Aquinas explicitly states that
common sensibles, like proper sensibles, are sensible per se; and
yet he also claims that "strictly speaking, only the special senseobjects are directly perceived [proprie per se sensibilia], for the
very essence and definition of ea.ch sense consists in its being
naturally fitted to be affected by some such special object proper
to itself. "39 It seems, for example, that size is only seen insofar as
the colors that inhere in objects that have size are seen; thus, it
may appear as if common sensibles such as size only can be seen
indirectly, or per accidens. 4° Furthermore, Aquinas says that
common sensible objects, like accidental sensible objects (and
unlike proper sensible objects), are not sensed infallibly, which
leaves room for further error, and hence lack of veridicality, in
the cognition of common sensibles. 41
While these claims may suggest that Aquinas has to modify, if
not abandon, his commitment to direct realism regarding the
cognition of common sensibles, other claims show otherwise. He
reminds us, first, that "sensation is a being acted upon and altered
De Anima, lect. 13 (387).
De Anima, lect. 13 (388).
41 In N Metaphys., lect. 12 (673), Aquinas writes, "while a sense may make a mistake
about common and accidental sense objects, it does not do this with regard to its proper
sensible object, except perhaps when the sensory organ is indisposed." See Thomas Aquinas,
Commentary on Aristotle's "Metaphysics, "trans. John P. Rowan, rev. ed. (Notre Dame: Dumb
Ox Books, 1995).
39 II

40 See II

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

367

in some way," and that, "whatever, then, affects the faculty in,
and so makes a difference to, its own proper reaction and
modification has an intrinsic relation to that faculty and can be
called a sense-object in itself or absolutely." 42 Second, he argues
that "an object may affect the faculty's immediate reaction in two
ways:" in one way, in respect to the agent or cause of sensation,
namely, proper sensibles, that causally inform the senses, and
consequently differentiate our sensations of colors, sounds,
flavors, etc.; in a second way, in respect to the kind of impression
that the agent makes on the senses. He writes:
For as sense-qualities affect the senses corporeally and locally, they do so in
different ways, if they are qualities of large or small bodies, or are diversely
situated, i.e. near, or far, or together, or apart. And it is thus that the common
sensibles differentiate sensation. 43

Moreover, in the Summa Theologiae, he argues that the likeness
(similitudo) of common sensibles, like the likeness of proper
sensibles, but unlike the likeness of things sensed accidentally, is
present in the senses directly and "of its own nature."
The knowledge of things by the senses is in proportion to the existence of their
likeness in the senses; and the likeness of a thing can exist in the senses in three
ways. In the first way, primarily and of its own nature, as in sight there is the
likeness of colors, and of other sensible objects proper to it. Secondly, of its own
nature, though not primarily; as in sight there is the likeness of shape, size, and
of other sensible objects common to more than one sense. Thirdly, neither
primarily nor of its own nature, but accidentally, as in sight, there is the likeness
of a man, not as man, but in so far as it is accidental to the colored object to be
a man. 44

Aquinas's claims here amount to the following. What ensures
direct realism in sensation is formal causality, or sensible forms
inhering in the senses, thereby conforming our senses to the
sensible forms or features that external objects actually possess.
This pertains primarily to proper sensibles. But the impressions
II De Anima, lect. 13 (393).
IIDeAnima, lect.13 (394).
44 STh I, q. 17, a. 2.

42
43

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

368

proper sensibles make on the senses-the way ih which they
actually inform the senses-differ according to the way in which
proper sensibles inhere in external objects: that is, whether they
are qualities of objects that are large or small, or are "diversely
situated" near or far, together or apart. What properly informs
the senses, then, are not sensible forms considered in isolation,
but the sensible forms of external objects that are structured by
proper sensibles and common sensibles. For example, what
informs the eye, and unites us to a given object of sight, is not
redness considered in isolation, but the redness of a large object
versus the redness of a small object; or the redness of a round
object versus the redness of a square object. As suitably informed,
or impressed, sensations of external objects unite us to the proper
and common sensibles that external objects possess (even if, as
Aquinas claims, we can be mistaken about common sensibles,
rather than proper sensibles, even in normal cognitive
circumstances). I take Aquinas here to be accounting for an
important feature of sensory experience: we do not simply see red
things; we see red things that differ in size, shape, and number.
Sensible form, whether proper to one sensory power or common
to multiple sensory powers, constantly impresses itself on our
senses in rich and varied ways; consequently, our sensory
experience of the world is rich and varied.

B) The Common Sense
Our sensory experience of the world is, moreover, unified.
Aquinas recognizes this fact. He argues that all sensory cognition
of external objects via the five external sensory powers terminates
in a further power of 'inner' sense, namely, the 'common' sense,
which serves as the "common root and principle" of all of the
external senses. 45 According to Aquinas, the common sense is a
sensory cognitive power that both enables us to discriminate
between varying sense objects and makes us aware of what we are

45 STh

I, q. 78, a. 4, ad 1.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

369

sensing (e.g., one "sees that he sees"). 46 Through the operation of
the common sense, we are able to discern white from sweet;
through visual sensation alone, we are only able to discern white
from green. That the common sense enables us to make such
comparisons also suggests-as Aquinas explicitly claims-that we
can be aware of the very act of sensing, a feat impossible for the
external senses alone.
The ability of the common sense to discriminate between the
objects of the various senses suggests to Aquinas that there is one
sensory power that enables us to perceive "simultaneously ...
both objects between which it discriminates. "47 For example, there
must be one sensory power that enables us to see something white
and taste something sweet in a "simultaneous apprehension" that is, in a singular act of perception-so that it can in turn
discriminate between, and hence compare, the sensations of
whiteness and sweetness. 48 The common sense, as the "root and
source" of all the external senses, therefore ensures that sensory
experience, is not, at any moment, limited to the operation of any
one of the external senses. As the terminus of our sensory powers,
it unites our disparate sensations of proper and common sensibles
into unified perceptions of the world, and therefore ensures that
at any moment of sensation we concurrently see colors and hear
sounds, or smell odors and taste flavors. This claim only
strengthens Aquinas's commitment to direct realism: because of
the operation of the common sense, our perceptual awareness of
external objects is both direct and unified. We can speak not only
of direct sensory cognitive access to particular sensible forms, but
also direct sensory cognitive access to sensible objects: objects that
possess certain colors, emit certain sounds and fragrances, and
display certain shapes and sizes.
It may seem as if the presence of a further power of inner
sense, namely, the common sense, in addition to our powers of
external sense, is superfluous. But from Aquinas's point of view,
46 Ibid., ad 2.
47

III De Anima, lect. 3 (601).
De Anima, lect. 3 (605).

48 III

370

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

As nature does not fail in necessary things, there must needs be as many actions
of the sensitive soul as may suffice for the life of a perfect animal. If any of these
actions cannot be reduced to the same one principle, they must be assigned to
diverse powers; since a power of the soul is nothing else than the proximate
principle of the soul's operation. 49

Clearly, Aquinas thinks that nature has outfitted us not with
superfluous powers of sense but with necessary powers of
sense-both outer and inner-so that we may properly fulfill our
intended role or telos as cognizers of the external world. The
common sense, to start, clearly plays this role. While the external
senses fulfill their telos by uniting us to their respective proper
sensibles, and common sensibles by way of proper sensibles, the
common sense fulfills its telos by uniting our disparate sensations
of proper and common sensibles into singular acts of perceptual
awareness. Were we not endowed with this sensory power, our
sensory access to the world clearly would be impoverished.
Pasnau, although he wrongly eschews Aquinas's metaphysical
commitments, rightly identifies the need for the common sense,
and offers a promising interpretation:
Imagine what it would be like if the various sensory powers did not have some
means for their various impressions to be synchronized. Imagine if, when the
ears heard something, an animal were unable to match that auditory impression
with the visual impression of the surroundings. Imagine if animals could not
discriminate between seeing and not seeing: if they were unable to recognize
when they are not seeing what they are looking for, or when their seeing is
unproductive because of too little light. Clearly, there must be some capacity
within an animal that allows the various sensory impressions to interact. This is
why Aquinas postulates a common sense. 50

C) Phantasia and Phantasms
More difficult to account for is the cognitive role of
'phantasms' -the imagistic 'similitudes' or 'likenesses' of perceived objects-which are produced by 'phantasia', itself a further

49 STh I, q. 78, a. 4.

so Pasnau, Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature, 19 8.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

371

cogrnt1ve power of inner sense. 51 Aquinas writes, "just as the
sensing subject is moved by sensible objects, so, in imagining one
is moved by certain appearances called phantasms. " 52 Now, while
Aquinas is clear that phantasms can be imaginatively produced
apart from the reception of form in the senses (but not without
the initial aid of the senses), the reception of form in the senses
does not occur independently of the production of phantasms.
The "movement" Aristotle associates with the natural functioning
of phantasia in producing phantasms does not occur
independently of sensation, but is "caused by the senses in their
act of sensing." 53 Moreover, the sensible form is received in the
phantasm, given that the phantasm retains and preserves the
sensible form. Aquinas says that "for the retention and
preservation of these forms, the phantasy or imagination is
appointed; which are the same, for phantasy or imagination is as
it were a storehouse of forms received through the senses. " 54
So on Aquinas's view, while the common sense, qua sensory
cognitive capacity, coordinates the various operations of the
external senses, thereby ensuring that our sensory access to the
world is not only direct but unified, phantasia, qua sensory
cognitive capacity, retains and preserves the impressions external
objects make on the external senses. This is not to negate the
obvious and important link phantasms have with occurrent acts of
sensation. Following Aristotle, Aquinas suggests that "imagination
would seem to be one of those cognitive dispositions or powers by
which things are perceived together with their differences," and
that it "bears only upon things sensed. "55 Moreover, while
certainly more subject to error than the external senses (which are
infallible regarding proper sensibles), phantasia remains "generally
truthful when it arises from the action of the 'proper sensibles'; I
mean, at least so long as the sensible object is present and the
image-movement is simultaneous with the sense-movement
51 STh I, q. 78, a. 4; STh I, q. 79, a. 4, ad 4; STh I, q. 84, a. 7, ad 2.

De Anima, lect. 6 (65 6).
IIIDeAnima, lect. 6 (659).
54 STh I, q. 78, a. 4.
55 IIIDeAnima, lect. 5 (638); IIIDeAnima, lect. 6 (657).

52 III
53

372

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

[quando motus phantasiae est simul cum motu sensus]." 56 And yet,
unlike the primary telos of the common sense, the primary telos
of phantasia does not seem to be to enhance or strengthen the
cognition of sensible form. 57 It is, instead, to process the cognition
of sensible form-veridical sensory states-into lasting sensory
impressions, which in turn serve as a reliable cognitive source or
base for gaining knowledge of the empirical world.
In order to develop this claim, we need to return to Aquinas's
principal reason for postulating powers of inner sense. We need
these powers in order to fulfill our role or telos as cognizers of the
external world. Aquinas makes an important distinction worth
repeating: "for the reception of sensible forms, the proper sense
and the common sense are appointed .... But for the retention
and preservation of these forms, the phantasy or imagination is
appointed; which are the same, for phantasy or imagination is as
it were a storehouse of forms received through the senses. "58
From Aquinas's point of view, it seems that cognition of sensible
form only requires the operation of the external senses and
common sense; were phantasia also necessary, then he would not
make the distinction between the cognitive role of the external
senses and common sense, on the one hand, and the cognitive role
of phantasia on the other. In short, any appeal to a cognitive
power in addition to the external senses or common sense in
explaining cognition of proper sensibles seems superfluous.
Nature already has generously outfitted us with precisely what we
need. Even if phantasms are generated with veridical sensation,
they are not necessary for veridical sensation.
Interpretive problems loom when we do try to make
phantasms necessary for veridical sensation. Eleonore Stump, for
example, argues that while phantasia serves on one level as a
power of imagination-we can produce phantasms or images of
objects not sensibly present-on another level it contributes
directly to the way in which we sense external objects and, more
56 III De Anima,

lect. 6 (664).
Aquinas explicitly states that the imagination apprehends a sensible thing (sensible form)
when that thing is absent, as if it were present (De Verit., q. 1, a. 11).
58 STh I, q. 78, a. 4.
57

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

373

specifically, to the way in which external objects appear to us. She
writes, "I think we should take phantasia as the cognitive power
that makes things appear to us or that gives us access to the
sensory data taken in by the senses; that is, phantasia is the power
that produces conscious experience which is a component of
ordinary sensing. "59 Without phantasia, she claims, we would be
like blindsight patients who receive visual inputs from the external
world through the senses but who report being blind because that
input is not available to their sensory consciousness. Consequently, "without the phantasms, the sensible species alone
would not produce conscious experience of what is being
sensed. " 60 That phantasms are necessary for conscious experience
is an interpretive, not a textual claim; but even as an interpretive
claim it suffers from difficulties. Even if the external senses are
not equipped to produce conscious experience of external objects
of sense-and it is by no means obvious that they are not-then
surely the common sense, to which Aquinas explicitly affords the
power of sensory recognition, is so equipped. Or perhaps the
operation of the external senses and the operation of the common
sense are jointly sufficient to produce conscious experience of
external objects of sense. There seems to be no reason, therefore,
to ascribe this capacity to phantasia, or a view of conscious
experience to Aquinas more generally.
Furthermore, the more we emphasize the role of phantasia and
phantasms in enabling and explaining ordinary sense experience,
the more Aquinas's commitment to direct realism is put in
jeopardy. If phantasms are produced in addition to our most basic
sensory states, which as suitably informed are already directed on
sensible form, then they further mediate and hence complicate
our sensory access to the empirical world. 61 If phantasms are the
59 Eleonore Stump, "Aquinas on the Mechanisms of Cognition: Sense and Phantasia," in
Stan Ebbesen and Russell L. Friedman, eds., Medieval Analyses in Language and Cognition
(Copenhagen: The Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters, 1999), 390.
60 Ibid., 3 91.
61 Kenny realizes this: it would be "regrettable" if Aquinas held the view "that external
sense-experience was accompanied by a parallel series of phenomena in the imagination"
(Kenny, Aquinas on Mind, 93).

374

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

end results of further cognitive processing (i.e., cognitively
processed sensory states), then their immediate connection with
the world-already established through the reception of sensible
form in the senses-becomes less clear, and is hence harder to
defend. Aquinas states that since phantasms are generated by the
senses in their act of sensing, they are related to such sensory acts
as effects to causes. And "just because effects, as such, are weaker
than their causes, and the power and impress of an agent is less
and less evident the further away are its effects, therefore
imagination is even more liable to fall into the error which arises
from the dissimilarity between the sense and its object. " 62 If, as
Aquinas claims, phantasms are less potent and reliable then
ordinary acts of sensation, how could they strengthen the bond
the senses already enjoy with their proper objects? Their role here
seems not only superfluous, but also potentially dangerous.
The interpretive move I am making here is not to denigrate the
veracity of phantasms. It is, instead, to steer us away from making
phantasms necessary components of ordinary sense experience,
which threatens to undermine Aquinas's commitment to direct
realism. As stated above, the primary role of phantasms is not to
enhance sensory cognition of external objects but rather to retain
and preserve sensory cognition of external objects through further
cognitive processing. 63 We now can say the following: while the
external senses and common sense enable immediate cognitive
contact with the external world, phantasia enables sustained
cognitive contact with the external world, even when external
objects of sense are not sensibly present, or acting on the senses.
That the phantasms furnish veridical and reliable sustained
cognitive contact with the external world is clearly due to their
causal connection to the activity of the senses: but this means that
being "generally
their veridicality and reliability-their
truthful"-is linked with their ability ongoingly to preserve the
cognitive contact we enjoy through the senses, not with any
lect. 6 (664 ).
Pasnau defends this view in Thomas Aquinas on Human Nature, 278-84. For a further
defense, that informs my own interpretation more directly, see also Dorothea Frede, "Aquinas
on phantasia," in Perler, ed., Ancient and Medieval Theories of Intentionality, 155-83.
62 III De Anima,
63

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

375

special ability to enhance that contact. Nature has ensured this for
our own good. Were we endowed solely with powers of external
sense and a common sense, without the power of phantasia, then
our cognitive contact with the world would be limited to what is
currently impacting our senses. There simply could be no
consistent and comprehensive cognitive contact with the world
over time. 64
That this sort of consistent and comprehensive cognitive
contact with the world is necessary becomes even more apparent
when we consider the role of phantasms in enabling and
explaining intellective cognition. Here, then, is where we see the
true telos of phantasia fulfilled. Phantasia furnishes the intellect
with a "storehouse" of sensible forms-both received and
synthesized by phantasia-from
which the intellect (and
specifically the 'agent' intellect) abstracts intelligible species or
forms. Phantasms, then, serve as a bridge between the world of
sense (i.e., the external world) and the world of thought. Without
the phantasms, the intellect could not fulfill its telos of
apprehending material things as they intelligibly are, which
remains hidden from the senses, given that the senses are directed
on sensible versus intelligible form in things. That phantasms are
particularly suited for serving as a cognitive source for intellective
abstraction, and subsequent apprehension of intelligible form, is
due in part to their greater durability and immateriality (and
therefore closer proximity to the intellect). "Phantasms," Aquinas
says, "differ from things of sense by their immateriality. For as we
have shown, the senses receive the forms of things immaterially,
and phantasms are nothing but movements started by actual
sensation. " 65 Moreover, insofar as phantasms furnish sustained
cognitive contact with the external world, beyond occurrent acts
of sensation, they provide a wider and richer base from which the
64 Frede writes, "phantasiai are an important cognitive source because they remain with
us over time. They make us independent of a constant external supply of sensory information
that is limited in range and may vary from moment to moment. Our long-term impressions,
by contrast, guarantee that the world we see, hear, and feel is a coherent world" ("Aquinas on
phantasia," 165-66).
65 IIIDeAnima, lect. 13 (792).

376

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

intellect can abstract intelligible form, and to which it can return,
in order to perceive intelligible form (which is universal) existing
in particular material things. 66
Much more could be said and needs to be said about the
relationship of phantasia and the intellect, as well as the role of
memory and the cogitative power in enabling cognition of the
external world. 67 However, given the restraints of this articlewhich is a basic explication and defense of Aquinas's commitment
to direct realism in sensory cognition-I will conclude this section
by making one final point. Aquinas's commitment to direct
realism undergirds his account of intellective as well as sensory
cognition. Just as the senses, as suitably informed by sensible
form, bear directly on the sensible aspects or features of the
external world, so the intellect (and specifically the 'possible'
intellect), as suitably informed by intelligible form (according to
the immaterial mode of the intellect), bears directly on the
intelligible features or aspects of the external world. As Aquinas
puts it, "for the sense in act and the intellect in act are the objects
they actually sense or understand. " 68 In the former case, efficient
and formal causality, via the passive reception of sensible form in
the senses, ensures direct sensory cognitive access; in the latter
case, formal causality alone, via the abstraction of intelligible form
from the phantasms (and subsequent passive reception of
66 STh I, q. 85, a. 1, ad 5.
67 Aquinas says that both

memory and the cogitative power are unique sensory powers
insofar as they "owe their excellence not to that which is proper to the sensitive part; but to
a certain affinity and proximity to the universal reason, which, so to speak, overflows into
them" (STh I, q. 78, a. 4, ad 5). Frede finds the vis cogitativa to be "something of an
embarrassment for it seems to be an ability that is somehow in between sense-perception and
thought" (Frede, "Aquinas on phantasia," 170). However, the cogitative power should not be
dismissed so quickly: it plays an important role in Aquinas's overall account of cognition
insofar as it enables human persons both to recognize and to reason about particular sense
objects, precisely through its interaction with the intellect. According to A. Leo White, the
cogitative power also performs an essential role in determining both which individual acting
on the senses should be considered by the intellect for abstraction as well as how that
individual should be apprehended (whether generically or specifically); see A. Leo White,
"Why the Cogitative Power?" Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association
72 (1998): 213-27.
68 III De Anima, lect. 13 (788); emphasis added.

DIRECT REALISM AND SENSORY COGNITION

377

intelligible form in the intellect) along with the generation of
concepts, ensures direct intellective cognitive access. Thus, while
the phantasms do not play a role in enabling the senses direct
access to the external world, they do play a role (qua material
cause) in enabling the intellect's direct access to the external
world. 69 They ensure that thought, whose content is universal,
remains tethered to the particular objects that populate the
external world. 70
CONCLUSION

Given the pervasive tendency in modern philosophy to reduce
sense experiences to private episodes of sensory consciousness,
and thereby to distance our cognitive contact with the world
through the senses, direct realism in sensory cognition can be very
hard to explain and defend. However, Aquinas, like Aristotle
before him, offers an attractive and defensible view of sensory
cognition that I claim is not only deeply compatible with direct
realism, but also is explanatory of direct realism. Aquinas operates
with a richer conception of sensible reality as well as a richer
conception of the human person (and brutes, more broadly) as
endowed with the requisite array of sensory powers for cognizing
sensible reality directly. Far from working with an outdated
metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy of mind (or cognitive
psychology), Aquinas offers the contemporary philosopher-and
hence contemporary metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy
69 Aquinas puts the point this way: "it cannot be said that sensible knowledge is the total
and perfect cause of intellectual knowledge, but rather that it is in a way the material cause"
(STh I, q. 84, a. 6).
70 See STh I, q. 84, a. 7. This is important, for as Aquinas writes, "the proper object of the
human intellect, which is united to a body, is a quiddity or nature existing in corporeal matter .
. . . Now it belongs to such a nature to exist in an individual, and this cannot be apart from
corporeal matter: for instance, it belongs to the nature of a stone to be in an individual stone,
and to the nature of a horse to be in an individual horse, and so forth. Wherefore the nature
of a stone or any material thing cannot be known completely and truly, except in as much as
it is known as existing in the individual. Now we apprehend the individual through the senses
and the imagination. And, therefore, for the intellect to understand actually its proper object,
it must of necessity turn to the phantasms in order to perceive the universal nature existing
in the individual."

378

PAUL A. MACDONALD, JR.

of mind-essential resources for properly understanding the
world, ourselves, and our sensory experiences of the world. 71

71 I am thankful to Greg Doolan and three anonymous reviewers for The Thomist for the
thoughtful and detailed remarks they made to earlier versions of the content of this paper. I
am also thankful to the editors for allowing me the opportunity to revise the paper in light of
the reviewers' feedback.

The Thomist 71 (2007): 379-417

CHRIST THE PRIEST: AN EXPLORATION OF
SUMMA THEOLOGIAE III, QUESTION 22
MATTHEW LEVERING
Ave Maria University
Ave Maria, Florida

I

N HIS INFLUENTIAL Jesus and the Victory of God, N. T.
Wright comments on the relationship between historicalcritical biblical scholarship and theology:

It is a measure of the extent to which the split between history and theology has
dominated recent western Christian thought that writers of all shades of opinion,
from extreme orthodox to extreme radical, have tacitly affirmed that it is
difficult, if not impossible, to hold the two together, especially in talking about
Jesus. 1

He finds that those committed to theology often favor a
historically implausible "iconic" Jesus, while those committed to
history tend to assume that their research will "at least seriously
undermine" traditional Christology. 2 By contrast, Wright hopes
to show that rigorous historical research and rigorous theology
(which in his view must begin without presuppositions) belong
together.
The thesis to which Wright's historical research leads him is
that Jesus went up to Jerusalem at the outset of the feast of
Passover in order to offer his life as the sacrificial tribulation that
would trigger the eschatological inauguration of the kingdom of
YHWH in holiness. His sacrificial death "would be the new
exodus, the renewal of the covenant, the forgiveness of sins, the
1 N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis:
2 Ibid., 8.

379

Fortress Press, 1996), 7-8.

380

MATTHEW LEVERING

end of exile. It would do for Israel what Israel could not do for
herself. It would thereby fulfil Israel's vocation, that she should be
the servant people, the light of the world. " 3 According to Wright,
Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem sought to "enact, symbolize and
personify" the return of YHWH to Zion, to Jerusalem and the
Temple mount. 4 Jesus planned to enactYHWH's judgment upon
Israel by his suffering and death, and expected to be vindicated by
YHWH in a manner that would leave neither Israel nor the world
as it was before. Wright argues that, in Jesus' view, "the moment
had arrived for the great renewal, in which Torah would be
written on people's hearts. " 5
If Wright is correct, then one can distinguish four interrelated
ways in which Jesus understood his death. First and foremost, his
death would accomplish the eschatological restoration of Israel.
Second, by freely giving himself up to death, he intended to offer
himself as the perfect sacrifice. Third, his sacrificial death would
restore the holiness (and end the exile) of Israel. Fourth, and
correspondingly, his death would unify Israel and make it the
"light of the world." Wright observes that Jesus acted as though
"all that the Temple had stood for was now available through
Jesus and his movement." 6 Jesus fulfills Israel's Temple through
his priestly Pasch.
Given Wright's interest in the relationship of historical
research and theological inquiry, his project offers an opportunity
for examining anew Aquinas's theological treatment of Christ's
priesthood in question 22 of the Tertia Pars. Certainly Aquinas
brings to his analysis a number of doctrinal presuppositions about
Jesus, and he lacks Wright's knowledge of the Second-Temple
context in which the Gospels were written. Should Aquinas's
3 Ibid., 597. For Wright's historical approach see also his The New Testament and the
People of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992).
4 Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 615. As Wright later puts it, "he acted upon a
vocation to do and be for Israel and the world what, according to scripture, only Israel's god
can do and be" (ibid., 649).
5 Ibid., 646.
6 Ibid., 436. For interesting, ifoccasionally overreaching, discussion oflsrael's Temple, see
Margaret Barker, The Gate of Heaven: The History and Symbolism of the Temple in Jerusalem
(London: SPCK, 1991).

CHRIST THE PRIEST

381

theology of Christ's priesthood be relegated therefore to the
history of medieval thought, or does it still instruct contemporary
theologians about Jesus' "priestly" role?
In seeking to answer this question, I will first ask why Aquinas
considers Jesus to fulfill the role of "priest." Second, I will
examine Aquinas's theology of Christ's priesthood from the
perspective of the four aspects that appear central to Wright's
account of Christ's death: eschatological, sacrificial, sanctifying,
and unitive. While Aquinas approaches these aspects of Jesus'
priesthood somewhat differently than from Wright, I will suggest
that question 22 of the Tertia Pars, to which this essay is devoted,
theologically enriches the insights of Wright's historical research.
I. JESUS THE "PRIEST"

A) Jesus and Israel
Wright locates his understanding of Jesus firmly within the
context of ancient Israel. It is important to recognize that Aquinas
does the same. In asking whether the Messiah should be a priest,
Aquinas gives three reasons why one might answer in the negative.
Each of these reasons expresses a spiritualization of Christ, in
which he is set in opposition to Israel.
The first reason is that Christ is far greater than the angels
(Heb 1:4). 7 Aquinas quotes Zechariah 3:1, "Then he showed me
Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord." The
angel is greater than the high priest of Israel, and the angel, by
contrast to a high priest of Israel, offers no sin-offering. or cultic
worship. If the Messiah is far greater than the angels, then surely
the Messiah, too, would stand above the kinds of cultic offerings
the high priest of Israel was consecrated to offer. On this logic,
the Messiah should not descend, as it were, to the level of the
high priests of Israel, who offered bloody sacrifices. 8 Rather, he
7 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, obj. 1.
8 Although some of her exegesis seems a stretch, Margaret Barker has shown that some late

Second-Temple noncanonical texts envision a high priesthood that attains to the rank of the
angels. She comments for example regarding a text from 2 Enoch, "The process of passing

382

MATTHEW LEVERING

should raise the level of worship to that of the angels, an
intelligible worship of praise. From the premise that "a priest is
less than an angel," Aquinas draws the conclusion that "it is
unfitting that Christ should be a priest. " 9
The second reason is that the Old Testament prefigures the
New, and thus the reality of Christ in the New Testament
surpasses the realities in the Old Testament that prefigured him,
among them the Old Testament priesthood. 10 Here Aquinas
quotes Colossians 2: 17 (to which we can add 2: 16 by way of
context): "Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions
of food and drink or with regard to a festival or a new moon or
a sabbath. These are only a shadow of what is to come; but the
substance belongs to Christ. " 11 Aquinas points out in this regard
from earthly to heavenly life was indicated by the change of garments, from earthly clothing
to garments of glory, and the oil conferred the Spirit, Wisdom, Divinity. In other words,
Enoch the high priest was resurrected and transformed into an angel by his consecration as
a high priest. It is one of the complications of the Hebrew Scriptures that to consecrate, as in
the English, is literally 'to make holy', but Hebrew has the added complication that angels can
be known as holy ones. When a high priest was consecrated, he was literally made into a holy
one. Moses' radiant face as he came down from Sinai (Exod. 34.29-35) is an early example
of this belief in apotheosis, and also an early example of Moses absorbing the traditions of the
temple" (Margaret Barker, "The Angel Priesthood," in idem, The Great High Priest: The
Temple Roots of Christian Liturgy [New York: T. & T. Clark, 2003], 103-45, at 129).
9 Quotations from Aquinas's Summa Theologiae are taken from the translation by the
Fathers of the English Dominican Province (New York: Benziger Brothers, Inc., 1947). For
discussion of Aquinas's treatment of Hebrews 1:4 in his Commentary on the Epistle to the
Hebrews, see Antoine Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, grand pretre de l'ancienne et de la nouvelle
alliance: Etude du Commentaire de saint Thomas d'Aquin sur l'Epftre aux Hebreux (Paris:
Parole et Silence, 2004), 415f. Thomas Weinandy writes of Aquinas's commentary: "what
Aquinas does do is take seriously the inbuilt logical structure of the Letter to the Hebrews and
in so commenting on the first part of the Letter (chapters 1-10) he clearly articulates two
interrelated aspects that are essential to the Letter's argument: first, the fulfilment of Old
Testament revelation as found in the supremacy of the Incarnation and, secondly, the ensuing
fulfillment and supremacy of Christ's priestly sacrifice" (Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M.Cap.,
"The Supremacy of Christ: Aquinas' Commentary on Hebrews," inAquinas on Scripture: An
Introduction to His Biblical Commentaries, ed. Thomas G. Weinandy, Daniel A. Keating,, and
JohnP. Yocum [New York: T. &T. Clark, 2005], 223-44, at225). On Hebrews 1:4 see ibid.,
230.
10 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, obj. 2.
11 Cf. St. Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Colossians, trans. Fabian Larcher, O.P., ed.
Daniel A. Keating (Naples, Fl.: SapientiaPress, 2006), 65-67 (118-21). Parenthetical numbers
in references to Aquinas refer to paragraph numberse in the Marietti edition.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

383

that it is significant that Christ did not descend from the tribe of
Levi, to which the hereditary Old Testament priesthood belonged.
Christ is something entirely different from an Old Testament
priest. The implication is that his deeds could not rightly be
described as "priestly," since this would be to draw him once
more into the ambit of the Old Testament priesthood, and to
confuse the figure with the reality.
The third reason is that under the Old Covenant God in his
wisdom distinguished between lawgivers and priests. 12 As Aquinas
remarks, quoting Exodus 28, Moses was lawgiver, whereas his
brother Aaron was priest. Why did God set up this distinction in
his people Israel, if not to reveal something about the Messiah
who was to fulfill and transform the Law of Israel? In this respect
Aquinas quotes the well-known prophecy from Jeremiah 31:33
(to which I add verses 31-32 and 34):
Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant
with the house of Israel and the house of Judah, not like the covenant which I
made with their fathers when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the
land of Egypt, my covenant which they broke, though I was their husband, says
the Lord. But this is the covenant which I will make with the house of Israel after
those days, says the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it upon
their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And no longer
shall each man teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, "Know the
Lord," for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, says the
Lord; for I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.

The prophecy states that God will act again as lawgiver, but this
time he will inscribe his law in the very heart of each member of
Israel, so that all will know and follow the Lord. The actions of
the lawgiver will suffice to accomplish the forgiveness of sins and
the restoration of a holy people with whom God dwells intimately. If a lawgiver (a new and greater Moses) can accomplish so
much, who needs a new and greater Aaron, a new cultic priest?
The inscription of divine wisdom in the heart, and the action of
bloody cultic sacrifice, are obviously two quite different things.
Since "Christ is the giver of the New Law," Aquinas concludes
12 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, obj. 3.

384

MATTHEW LEVERING

that "it is unfitting that Christ should be a priest." Why would
cultic worship, on the part of Christ or on the part of his
followers, be necessary if God's wise law of love could be
inscribed directly on the heart? A spiritual worship here seems
entirely to replace cultic worship-as some modern readers of
Jeremiah have also supposed. Although Aquinas does not quote
them at this stage, one might also think of Jesus' words to the
Samaritan woman in John 4:23-24, "But the hour is coming, and
now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit
and truth, for such the Father seeks to worship him. God is spirit,
and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth."
Thus in all three objections raised by Aquinas to the
description of Jesus as a priest the guiding theme is the surpassing
of the carnal mode of the Old Testament by the spiritual mode of
the New-reflected already in the Old Testament through the
ministry of the angels, the prophecies of a Messiah, and the
distinction between priest and lawgiver. 13
13 For contemporary argumentation that cultic sacrifice, rooted in violence, has been
abolished by Christ, see the work of Rene Girard and those influenced by him. For Girard's
approach, see especially his Violence and the Sacred (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1977) and The Scapegoat (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986). For work
on sacrifice by theologians influenced by Girard, see, e.g., Raymond Schwager, Brauchen wir
einen Sundenbock? Gewalt und Er!Osung in den biblishen Schriften (Munich: Kosel, 1978);
Gil Bailie, Violence Unveiled: Humanity at the Crossroads (New York: Crossroad, 1995); S.
Mark Heim, Saved from Sacrifice: A Theology of the Cross (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
2006). Hans Urs von Balthasar discusses Girard's approach in Theo-Drama, vol. 4: The Action,
trans. Graham Harrison (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1994), 297-313. Balthasar points out
what is fundamentally lacking in Girard's approach: "God's forgiveness and the Cross (that
is, the bearing of sin) cannot be left in mutual isolation: they are related. In this case, it will
not be enough to follow Girard and Schwager in demythologizing the Old Testament picture
of God so that he changes from a violent, wrathful God and becomes a powerless God who
does not engage in retribution. What we have, in fact, is a new form of the problem latent in
both Old and New Covenants: What is the relationship between God's love and his justice,
particularly in the case of the Cross? God's justice, which Girard never acknowledges as
something primal, is evidently quite different from power. If we recognize this, Anselm's
presentation of the problem acquires a new significance" (312). Yet Balthasar agrees with
Girard, mistakenly I think, that the incarnate Son is a "scapegoat." See also Bruce Chilton's
extended survey and critique of Girard's view of sacrifice: Bruce Chilton, The Temple ofJesus:
His Sacrificial Program within a Cultural History of Sacrifice, 15-42 and Appendix 1. In
Chilton's view, the effort to understand sacrifice in any exhaustive fashion is misguided:
"Now that vigorous efforts have been made for better than a century to 'explain' sacrifice in

CHRIST THE PRIEST

385

B) The High Priest of the Letter to the Hebrews
Aquinas's fundamental answer to these objections comes from
the Letter to the Hebrews, which, he observes, freely uses the
language of "high priest" to depict Christ's work: "Since then we
have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens,
Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession" (Heb
4:14). 14 The quotation from Hebrews, however, does not yet set
forth what is meant by ascribing to Jesus a "priesthood." Aquinas
defines priestly ministry as follows: "The office proper to a priest
is to be a mediator between God and the people: to wit, inasmuch
as He bestows Divine things on the people, wherefore sacerdos
[priest] means a giver of sacred things [sacra dans]." 15 This priestly
mediation of divine gifting occurs, he goes on to say, in two ways.
First, priestly mediation occurs through faithful communication of divine teaching: "according to Mal. ii. 7: They shall seek
the law at his, i.e. the priest's, mouth." This section of Malachi,
which takes the form of a warning from the Lord, has to do with
the mission of priests to teach the truth about God and about the
covenant of life, and is worth quoting in full:

that manner, that is, by locating a primal or original explanation, and now that no such effort
has won support, there is some practical warrant to consider the possibility that no such
explanation exists" (39). Chilton grants that "violence, its concealment, its justification, and
its propagation are involved within institutions of sacrifice," but he denies that "violence may
be identified with sacrifice, in both its ritual and mythic components" (ibid., 27).
14 See STh I, q. 22, a. 1, sc. On Jesus' priesthood according to Aquinas's reading of
Hebrews 9, see Guggenheim,Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, part 2, chapter 7. Aquinas focuses on
Christ's priestly action in discussing Hebrews 9:11-14: see Guggenheim,Jesus Christ, Grand
Pretre, 286-307. See also Gilles Berceville, O.P., "Le sacerdoce du Christ clans le Commentaire
de l'epftreauxHebreux de saint Thomas d'Aquin," RevueThomiste 99 (1999): 143-58; Mario
Caprioli, O.C.D., "I! sacerdozio di Cristo nella Somma Theologica e nel Commento Super
Epistolam ad Hebraeos," in Storia de! tomismo (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana,
1992), 96-105; Weinandy, "The Supremacy of Christ," 236-40.
15 STh III, q. 22, a. 1. See also Serge-Thomas Bonino, O.P., "Le sacerdoce comme
institution naturelle selon saint Thomas d'Aquin," Revue Thomiste 99 (1999): 33-57; Gerard
Remy, "Sacerdoce et mediation chez saint Thomas," Revue Thomiste 99 (1999): 101-18; and
Roger Nutt's forthcoming essay in Nova et Vetera, English edition, 5 (2007).

386

MATTHEW LEVERING

And now, 0 priests, this command is for you. If you will not listen, if you will
not lay it to heart to give glory to my name, says the Lord of hosts, then I will
send the curse upon you and I will curse your blessings; indeed I have already
cursed them, because you do not lay it to heart. Behold, I will rebuke your
offspring, and spread dung upon your faces, the dung of your offerings, and I
will put you out of my presence. So shall you know that I have sent this
command to you, that my covenant with Levi may hold, says the Lord of hosts.
My covenant with him was a covenant of life and peace, and I gave them to him,
that he might fear; and he feared me, he stood in awe of my name. True
instruction was in his mouth, and no wrong was found on his lips. He walked
with me in peace and uprightness, and he turned many from iniquity. For the
lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and men should seek instruction from
his mouth, for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts. But you have turned
aside from the way; you have caused many to stumble by your instruction; you
have corrupted the covenant of Levi, says the Lord of hosts, and so I make you
despised and abased before all the people, inasmuch as you have not kept my
ways but have shown partiality in your instruction. (Mal 2:1-9)

One form of the priestly mediation of divine gifting, therefore,
consists in the communication of divine instruction or teaching.
The second form involves the mediation of human offerings to
God, both thanksgiving/praise/petition offerings and sin offerings.
Following Hebrews, Aquinas states that a priest
offers up the people's prayers to God, and, in a manner, makes satisfaction to
God for their sins; wherefore the Apostle says (Heb. v. 1): Every high-priest
taken from among men is ordained for men in the things that appertain to God,
that he may offer up gifts and sacrifices for sins.16

These "gifts and sacrifices," even when offered by human beings,
come from God in the sense that God creates and sustains
everything in being. The very offering of these "gifts and
sacrifices," furthermore, is an exercise in divine gifting because
the offering does not change God, but rather changes the offerers
vis-a-vis God. God gifts us by enabling us to offer our gifts to him.
16 STh III, q. 22, a. 1. For discussion of Aquinas's treatment of this verse in his
Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, comparing Christ's priesthood to the Aaronic
priesthood, see Guggenheim,Jesus Christ, GrandPretre, 159-67. See also Albert Vanhoye, S.J.,
Old Testament Priests and the New Priest According to the New Testament, trans. J. Bernard
Orchard, O.S.B. (Petersham, Mass.: St. Bede's Publications, 1986]), 116-20. Vanhoye argues
that the text describes the high priesthood, not the Jewish priesthood in general.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

387

In turn, our sacrifices to God aim to restore us to justice and
holiness, so that we can dwell with God.
If this is what the Letter to the Hebrews means by the fullness
of the priestly office-namely, mediating God's gifting and the
people's (healing and deifying) participation in this giftingChrist, says Aquinas, fulfills this office most perfectly. 17 Just as the
Levitical priests taught the Torah and offered sacrifices on behalf
of the people, Christ mediates the divine gifts to us both by his
teaching and by his offering of the perfect sacrifice on the Cross.
To describe this twofold work, Aquinas turns to two biblical texts:
For through Him are gifts bestowed on men, according to 2 Pet. i. 4: By Whom
(i.e. Christ) He hath given us most great and precious promises, that by these you
may be made partakers of the Divine Nature. Moreover, He reconciled the
human race to God, according to Col. i. 19,20: In Him (i.e. Christ) it hath well
pleased (the Father) that all fullness should dwell, and through Him to reconcile
all things unto Himself 18

Through Christ's priesthood, human beings become "partakers
of the divine nature" and are reconciled to God. Thus Christ is
the perfect priest, and indeed the only priest who can truly
17 For further discussion see Jean-Pierre Torrell, O.P., "Le sacerdoce du Christ clans la
Somme de theologie," Revue Thomiste 99 (1999): 75-100; Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand
Pretre, especially part 3; Vanhoye, Old Testament Priests and the New Priest according to the
New Testament, 133-36 and elsewhere. AB perfect, Christ's priesthood transcends the
priesthood of the Old Testament, which could only prefigure it: his priesthood is not a
continuation of the Levitical priesthood. Yet neither does his priesthood negate the Levitical
priesthood, since the latter participates in its fulfillment in Christ.
18 STh III, q. 22, a. 1. For Aquinas's account of deification, see Daniel A. Keating,
"Justification, Sanctification and Divinization in Thomas Aquinas," in Thomas G. Weinandy,
Daniel A. Keating, and John P. Yocum, Aquinas on Doctrine: A Critical Introduction (New
York: T & T Clark, 2004), 139-58. Keating remarks, "It is noteworthy that among the several
citations of 2 Pet. 1:4 in the Summa, the densest concentration appears in his Treatise on
Grace .... Here we see quite clearly that Thomas' doctrine of grace is, in fact, a doctrine of
divinization whereby God deifies the soul by granting to it (through Christ) a participation in
his very nature. The biblical account of our new nature-of the new creation in Christ-is in
fact at the centre of Aquinas' concern. By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are regenerated
and given a new nature in Christ, enabling us to live a new way of life characterized
principally by charity. For Thomas, this new, graced nature is our participation in the divine
life" (154). See also A. N. Williams, The Ground of Union: Deification in Aquinas and Palamas
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999).

388

MATTHEW LEVERING

accomplish the mediation of divine gifting-healing
and
deification 19-that God wills to bestow. Because of who Christ is,
he is able to mediate these divine gifts through his human actions.
As the Letter to the Hebrews emphasizes, he mediates divine gifts
with an efficacy that far exceeds what a merely human, and thus
sinful and weak, priest could achieve.
The power that enables Christ to be such a priest requires
explanation. Aquinas offers such an explanation in his replies to
the three objections, which, as we recall, focused upon the idea
that the Messiah should entirely transcend the carnal and cultic
office suggested by the term "priest."
With respect to the first objection, Aquinas notes, following
Pseudo-Dionysius, that the angels, too, possess "hierarchical
power." 20 Hierarchical power in this sense is not the power to
dominate, but the power to teach, heal, and uplift. It is the true
meaning of "power." But how could Jesus, as a human priest,
possess more hierarchical power than the angels, as Hebrews
claims? Aquinas responds that "Christ was greater than the angels,
not only in His Godhead, but also in His humanity, as having the
fullness of grace and glory. " 21 That is to say, by the indwelling of
the Holy Spirit transforming his human nature, Christ received
hierarchical power. The Holy Spirit, whom in the Prima Pars
Aquinas names as "Love" and "Gift," 22 bestows hierarchical
power upon Christ. This power is the power to mediate divine
19 The themes of "image-restoration" (healing) and "image-perfection" (deification) recur
throughout Romanus Cessario, O.P., The Godly Image: Christ and Satisfaction in Catholic
Thought from Anselm to Aquinas (Petersham, Mass.: St. Bede's Publications, 1990). See also
idem, "Aquinas on Christian Salvation," in Weinandy, Keating, and Yocum, eds., Aquinas on
Doctrine, 117-37. As Cessario notes in the latter essay, "the essentially cruciform pattern of
Christian life harmonizes the themes of image-perfection and satisfactory suffering" (127).
20 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, ad 1.
21 Ibid.
22 See STh I, q. 3 6, a. 1; I, qq. 3 7-3 8; as well as Augustine, De Trinitate, books 5 and 15.
See also the extraordinarily rich biblical reflection on these Augustinian names for the Spirit
in Joseph Ratzinger, "The Holy Spirit as Communion: On the Relationship between
Pneumatology and Spirituality in the Writings of Augustine," in idem, Pilgrim Fellowship of
Faith: The Church as Communion, ed. Stephan Otto Horn and Vinzenz Pfniir, trans. Henry
Taylor (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2005), 38-59.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

389

gifting, divine love. Because the degree of transformation of his
human nature by the indwelling Holy Spirit makes his human
nature greater than any graced angelic nature, Christ, according
to Aquinas, "had the hierarchical or priestly power in a higher
degree than the angels, so that even the angels were ministers of
His priesthood. "23 It is evident that we are dealing with an
understanding of priestly power far different from what the
understanding of power would be if the Holy Spirit were not the
source of Christ's power. Following Hebrews 2:9, which teaches
that Jesus "for a little while was made lower than the angels,"
Aquinas observes that Jesus' passibility makes him like "those
wayfarers who are ordained to the priesthood. " 24
Yet can "hierarchical power," understood as the mediation of
kenotic divine gifting, withstand "power as domination"? On the
Cross, Christ gives the divine answer: true hierarchical power will
accomplish its work of mediation despite the most devastating
abuses that worldly power, the distortion of love and gift, can
devise. If this were not so, the forgiveness of sins would lose its
warrant. This explains Aquinas's replies to the second and third
objections. Aquinas differentiates Jesus' priesthood from that of
others because "Christ, as being the Head of all, has the
perfection of all graces" -thereby holding that Jesus stands above
the Old Testament priesthood and unifies in himself the offices of
priest, prophet/lawgiver, and king. 25 Aquinas thereby supposes not
23 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, ad 1. See also Albert Vanhoye, S.J., "The Expectation of a Great
High Priest in Messianic Times," in idem, Old Testament Priests and the New Priest according
to the New Testament, 43-47.
24 STh III, q. 22, a. 1, ad 1. See Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, 131-39.
25 See STh III, q. 22, a. 1, ad 2 and 3. See also Benoit-Dominique de La Soujeole, O.P.,
"Les tria munera Christi: Contribution de saint Thomas ala recherche contemporaine," Revue
Thomiste 99 (1999): 59-74; Yves Congar, 0.P., "Sur la trilogie: Prophete-roi-pretre," Revue
des sciences philosophiques et theologiques 67 (1983): 97-115. For Christ as prophet, priest,
and king in Hebrews according to Aquinas's commentary, see Guggenheim, Jesus Christ,
Grand Pretre, 535. Regarding Christ's tria munera and believers' participation in them, see
also Herwi Rikhof, "Thomas on the Church: Reflections on a Sermon," in Weinandy,
Keating, and Yocum, eds., Aquinas on Doctrine (New York: T. & T. Clark, 2004), 204-5.
Rikhof observes, "Thomas refers to the triplet priest-king-prophet. He uses it to explain the
name 'Christ'. He also uses it to indicate the dignity or excellence of Christ, with an emphasis
on his sanctifying work. Moreover, he uses the triplet with regard to the Christian and

390

MATTHEW LEVERING

that Jesus will dominate over the worldly, but only that the
Christological mediation of divine gifting will not be rendered
"powerless" but instead will be shown to be powerful despite
operating in the very midst of sin. As St. Paul puts it, "where sin
increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in
death, grace also might reign through righteousness to eternal life
through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Rom 5 :20-21).
II. JESUS' PRIESTLYWORK: FOURAsPECTS

For Aquinas as for Wright, then, Jesus' priestly action locates
him within the context of Israel, even as he also transcends this
context. Recall now the four aspects of Jesus' priestly action, his
"hierarchical power," that we noted in Wright: eschatological,
sacrificial, sanctifying, and unitive. In what ways does question 22
of the Tertia Pars enrich our understanding of these dimensions
of Jesus' priestly action?
A) An Eschatological Action
Contemporary biblical scholars use the word "eschatological"
in accord with the meaning it had in Second-Temple Judaism,
where it meant ushering in, through the Day of YHWH, the
messianic age of the restoration of Israel as a holy people who
dwell with God. Does any comparable notion play a role in
Aquinas's theology of Christ's priesthood? For Aquinas, Christ's
priestly action inserts time (treated and fallen, and in Christ
redeemed and elevated) into divine eternity, into the life of the
indicates a relationship between the two anointings. Again, one can perceive here a connection
with Lumen Gentium, or rather with the Codex which translates Vatican H's insights within
its definition of the christifideles: by baptism the faithful participate in the threefold task of
Christ" (ibid., 205). In a footnote, Rikhof notes that, given the absence of any reference to
Christ's anointing in the Summa Theologiae's question on Christ's priesthood, "It seems
therefore stretching the evidence too far if one argues that Thomas presents a more or less
complete munus triplex doctrine" (ibid., 222 n. 26). The reality of the munus triplex is present
in Aquinas's account of Christ's person and work, but a complete doctrine, if by that one
means a systematic elucidation, is lacking.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

391

triune God. 26 Christ's priestly action thus marks the everlasting
presence of God among his people, YHWH's permanent "return
to Zion. " 27
One of the key problems for an "eschatological" understanding
of Jesus' words and deeds in Israel, however, is that little seems to
have changed after his death and resurrection. 28 It comes as no
26 See Matthew L. Lamb, "The Eschatology of St. Thomas Aquinas," in Weindandy,
Keating, and Yocum, eds., Aquinas on Doctrine, 225-40. Lamb writes, "The sapiential
eschatology of Aquinas, building upon patristic eschatologies, understands the eschatological
and apocalyptic passages in Scripture as revealing the transformation of the whole of creation
so that it fully manifests the divine wisdom, beauty and goodness. This contrasts with those
who view these passages as involving or portending widespread devastation or ultimate doom.
A wisdom approach indicates clearly how what is catastrophic from the viewpoint of this
world is only the purification needed for transition to the kingdom of God" (ibid., 236).
27 For a historical-critical defense of Wright's claims about the ongoing exile and the
eschatological restoration inaugurated by Jesus, see Craig A. Evans, "Jesus and the Continuing
Exile of Israel," in Carey C. Newman, ed., Jesus and the Restoration of Israel: A Critical
Assessment of N. T. Wright's '7esus and the Victory of God" (Downers Grove, III.: Inter Varsity
Press, 1999), 77-100. Evans comments, "It is interesting to reflect on Jesus' use of traditions
from Daniel, Zechariah and Isaiah. All three of these books play a major role in Jesus'
theology; and all three reflect periods of exile in the life and history of Israel. Daniel reflected
an exilic perspective, ostensibly the Babylonian exile but in reality the Seleucid period of
oppression and terror. Zechariah stems from the exilic period and entertains hopes that
Israel's kingdom will be restored under the leadership of the 'two sons of oil' (Zech
4:14)-Zerubbabel of Davidic descent and Joshua the High Priest. Second Isaiah calls for a
new exodus and a new Israel, which he dubs the 'servant' of the Lord. Jesus' use of these
books, indeed his being informed and shaped by them, is very revealing. It strongly suggests
that Jesus identified himself and his mission with an oppressed Israel in need of redemption
and that he himself was the agent of redemption. He was the Danielic 'Son of Man' to whom
kingdom and authority were entrusted. He was the humble Davidic king of Zechariah's vision
who entered the temple precincts and offered himself to the High Priest and took umbrage
at temple polity. And, of course, he was the eschatological herald of Second Isaiah who
proclaimed the 'gospel' of God's reign and the new exodus" (ibid., 99-100).
28 This is the point that Dale C. Allison, Jr., presses in his response to Wright's Jesus and
the Victory of God ("Jesus and the Victory of the Apocalyptic," in Newman, ed., Jesus and the
Restoration of Israel, 126-41). Allison sees no reason to assume that the eschatological
descriptions of cosmic change employed by Jesus and his followers were intended
metaphorically. For Allison, Jewish apocalyptic prophecies (including those of Jesus) remain
radically unfulfilled by Jesus: "The last have not become first, nor have the meek inherited the
earth. Maybe, in the person of Jesus, we can speak of the initial or proleptic victory of God.
But that victory remains agonizingly incomplete, and we cannot, if I may so put it, yet speak
of the victory of the apocalyptic" (ibid., 141). Wright responds to this concern: "An
eschatological reading of Jesus demands, I believe, that we get used to thinking in terms of the
dialectic between achievement and implementation" ("In Grateful Dialogue: A Response," in

392

MATTHEW LEVERING

surprise, for instance, that Albert Schweitzer's view that Jesus died
expecting the end of the world, given that the world did not end
in any evident sense, tended for some time to dampen enthusiasm
for Schweitzer's insights into Jesus' "eschatological" worldview. 29
Yet for Wright and Aquinas, Jesus' priestly action is better
understood as the beginning of the eschatological "day" rather
than the "end of the world." Recall Zechariah's announcement
that the "day of the Lord" (Zech 14:1), a day of profound
tribulation and restoration, will inaugurate "continuous day (it is
known to the Lord), not day and not night, for at evening time
there shall be light" (Zech 14:7).
Does Christ's priestly action constitute a "continuous day," a
mediation of the divine gifting that endures forever? Aquinas
prepares his affirmative response by noting three reasons why the
answer might be no. The first objection states that Christ's priestly
action cannot be eschatological because it has no part in the
eschaton. Christ's action does not pour out eschatological
blessings, but rather at best prepares for the eschaton. In this
respect Aquinas quotes Isaiah 60:21, "Your people shall all be
righteous." While this may come about through Christ's priestly
action, that action has no place in it, because "those alone need
the effect of the priesthood who have the weakness of sin. " 30 The
saints in heaven do not have the weakness of sin, while those in
hell can no longer benefit from priestly expiation. On this view,
a radical divide exists between historical redemption, to which
Jesus' work belongs, and the eschaton. The messianic age is here
separated radically from the work of the Messiah. The Messiah
might have "eschatological" intentions, but no continuity exists
between the Messiah's work to usher in the eschaton and the

Newman, ed., Jesus and the Restoration of Israel, 244-77, at 272; cf. 261-72 for Wright's full
discussion), although Wright seems to have primarily this-worldly ethical implementation in
mind.
29 On Schweitzer's views see the different readings of Allison and Wright in Newman, ed.,
Jesus and the Restoration of Israel, 129-30, 262.
30 STh III, q. 22, a. 5, obj. 1. This article takes up the question, "Whether the priesthood
of Christ endures for ever?"

CHRIST THE PRIEST

393

eschaton itself. Jesus' Cross, on this view, is not an eternally
significant event.
The second and third objections likewise limit Jesus' priestly
action in accord with the limitations of its historical plane.
Granted that Jesus' priesthood "was made manifest most of all in
His passion and death, when by His own blood He entered into
the Holies (Heb. ix. 12)," one can observe that Jesus died once
and rose from the dead. 31 Therefore Jesus was once a priest and
is such no longer, since he dies no longer but instead enjoys
everlasting life. Likewise, since a priest mediates the divine gifting,
Jesus is priest as a man, not as God. In his human nature, Jesus
can mediate to other human beings; in his divine nature, he can
act directly in the bestowal of divine gifts, in an unmediated
fashion. Priestly mediation belongs to Jesus as man. Aquinas
points out, however, that for three days, Jesus' body and soul
were separated in death. One cannot call a separated soul a
"man," nor can one call a corpse a "man." During this period of
death, then, Jesus could not have acted as a priest; and thus his
priestly act does not instantiate a "continuous day," but instead
marks a historical rupture, whatever its other effects. His priestly
action could not itself be fully "eschatological," because his
priestly action and the eschaton are disjoined. In a nutshell, his
death has no place in the eschaton.
The position of the objectors sounds rather like that of some
contemporary biblical scholars. If Jesus envisioned his death as the
trigger for the eschatological age, the "eschaton" itself-the
restoration of Israel-would involve not his death but his
triumphant vindication, when he will eat and drink once more
with his followers. As he says to his disciples after giving them the
wine as his "blood of the covenant" at the Last Supper, "Truly, I
say to you, I shall not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that
day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God" (Mark 14:25).
It must be emphasized, then, that Aquinas affirms that the fullness
of the eschaton is not marred by death. He observes, "The Saints
who will be in heaven will not need any further expiation by the
31 Ibid., obj. 2.

394

MATTHEW LEVERING

priesthood of Christ" and "Christ's passion and death are not to
be repeated." 32 Underscored by texts elsewhere in the Tertia Pars,
Aquinas holds that Christ's priestly action inaugurates the
eschatological day, both in this world by reconstituting Israel in
holiness as "Christ's mystic body" 33 and in the world to come (as
Aquinas interprets it) by opening "the Holy Way" prophesied in
Isaiah 35: 8 by which "the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and
come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their
heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing
shall flee away" (Isa 35: 10). 34 But the actual eschaton does not
require Christ's ongoing suffering. 35
Because of what it achieves, Christ's priesthood endures
forever. Aquinas explains, "In the priestly office, we may consider
two things: first, the offering of the sacrifice; secondly, the
consummation of the sacrifice, consisting in this, that those for
whom the sacrifice is offered, obtain the end of the sacrifice. " 36 It
endures in its end or goal. In Aquinas's understanding of causality,
Ibid., ad 1 and 2.
III, q. 49, a. 1.
34 Aquinas writes in STh III, q. 49, a. 5: "it is on account of sin that men were prevented
from entering into the heavenly kingdom, since, according to Isa. xxxv. 8: 'It shall be called
the holy way, and the unclean shall not pass over it.' Now there is a twofold sin which
prevents men from entering into the kingdom of heaven. The first is common to the whole
race, for it is our first parents' sin, and by that sin heaven's entrance is closed to man. Hence
we read in Gen. iii. 24 that after our first parents' sin God 'placed ... cherubim and a flaming
sword, turning every way, to keep the way of the tree oflife'. The other is the personal sin of
each one of us, committed by our personal act. Now by Christ's Passion we have been
delivered not only from the common sin of the whole human race, both as to its guilt and as
to the debt of punishment, for which He paid the penalty on our behalf; but, furthermore,
from the personal sins of individuals, who share in His Passion by faith and charity and the
sacraments of faith. Consequently, then, the gate of heaven's kingdom is thrown open to us
through Christ's Passion."
35 By contrast Hans Urs von Balthasar argues that Christ's suffering and death-as an
experience of hellish infinite "distance" from the Father that encompasses every possible
created alienation from God-belongs analogously to the life of the Trinity, and thus to the
kingdom of God as a participation in the Trinitarian life. For a critical evaluation of
Balthasar's position, see Matthew Levering, Scripture and Metaphysics: Aquinas and the
Renewal of Trinitarian Theology (Oxford: Blackwell, 2004), chap. 4.
36 STh III, q. 22, a. 5. Cf. Denis Chardonnens, O.C.D., "Eternite du sacerdoce du Christ
et effet eschatologique de l'eucharistie. La contribution de saint Thomas d'Aquin a un theme
de theologie sacramentaire," Revue Thomiste 99 (1999): 159-80.
32

33 STh

CHRIST THE PRIEST

395

the goal of the action inheres in the action itself; likewise, when
the goal is achieved, the action that brought about the goal is not
lost, but instead shares in its completion or consummation. The
consummation of Christ's priestly action is eternal life. Therefore,
eternal life belongs to Christ's priestly action as its goal, and in
this sense Christ's priesthood endures everlastingly. Eternally, the
consummation enjoyed by the saints in heaven depends upon
Jesus Christ. In this respect Aquinas quotes Revelation 21:23,
"And the city [the heavenly Jerusalem] has no need of sun or
moon to shine upon it, for the glory of God is its light, and its
lamp is the Lamb. " 37 The "Lamb standing, as though it had been
slain" (Rev 5 :6), is Christ the priest. Even though in heavenly
glory he no longer performs his priestly action of expiatory
sacrifice, the heavenly glory enjoyed by the saints is enjoyed
through him as the priestly mediator. His sacrificial action is
consummated in the heavenly communion of the saints. Quoting
Hebrews 10:14, "For by a single offering he has perfected for all
time those who are sanctified," Aquinas observes that "the virtue
[power] of that Victim endures forever." 38
Even so, however, does the Old Testament, whose promises
Jesus came to fulfill, envision an "eternity" that is not an
extension of historical time? Is Aquinas's understanding of the
"eschaton" fundamentally and unavoidably at odds with the
resources available in the Old Testament for envisioning an
"eschatological" restoration? Following the Letter to the
Hebrews, Aquinas suggests-and I would agree-that his
understanding of the eschatological significance of Christ's
priestly action accords with the liturgical pattern described by
Leviticus 16, which gives instructions for Israel's observance of
the Day of Atonement. He states, "Now this [eternal]
consummation of Christ's sacrifice was foreshadowed in this, that
the high-priest of the Old Law, once a year, entered into the Holy
of Holies with the blood of a he-goat and a calf. " 39 In Leviticus
37 STh III, q. 22, a. 5, ad 1.

38 Ibid., ad 2. See Guggenheim,Je'sus

Christ, Grand Pretre, 520-33.

39 STh III, q. 22, a. 5. See Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, 70-71,

elsewhere.

467-68, and

396

MATTHEW LEVERING

16, God commands that the people of Israel, through the work of
the high priest, make atonement "once in the year because of all
their sins" (Lev 16:34). On this day alone, the high priest may
enter into "the holy place" (Lev 16:2) in the Temple and sprinkle
the sacrificial blood "upon the mercy seat and before the mercy
seat" (Lev 16:15), the mercy seat on the ark of the covenant being
where "I [YHWH] will appear in the cloud" (Lev 16:2). In order
to make expiation for the people, the high priest enters into the
very dwelling-place of the Lord with Israel. The divine presence
there is so powerful that normally anyone who dared enter this
holy place would die (ibid.).
This historically concrete holy place, Aquinas suggests, evokes
the transhistorical holy place where God dwells in the glory and
majesty of the divine eternity. Christ enters as priest into that
transcendent holy place. As Hebrews states,
But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, 40
then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not
of this creation) he entered once for all into the Holy Place, taking not the blood
of goats and calves but his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. (Heb
9:11-12)

The eschatological restoration of Israel hardly need exclude such
a transhistorical dwelling with God, since Israel knew that, in the
words ascribed to Solomon at the dedication of the Temple,
"heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain thee [God]; how
much less this house that I have built!" (1 Kgs 8:27). 41
40 The RSV includes a footnote here: "Other manuscripts read good things to come."
Aquinas had this latter version of the verse.
41 For the trans-historical dimension of the Temple, see Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion:
An Entry into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), part 2. Levenson states,
"Whereas Sinai, as we saw in Part I, represents the possibility of meaningful history, of history
that leads toward an affirmation, Zion represents the possibility of meaning above history, out
of history, through an opening into the realm of the ideal. Mount Zion, the Temple on it, and
the city around it are a symbol of transcendence, a symbol in Paul Tillich's sense of the word,
something 'which participates in that to which it points.' For the two tiers, the earthly and the
heavenly, are not closed to each other, but open, and interpenetrating on Zion" (ibid., 41-42).
This sense of "interpenetration" of the transhistorical and the historical explains, Levenson
argues, why "Jewish tradition did not accept the finality of the destruction of the Temple and
the absence of the redemption of which it was taken to be the symbol. On the contrary, the

CHRIST THE PRIEST

397

Thus, although Aquinas does not have Wright's knowledge of
Second-Temple understandings of Israel's "restoration," he
develops a nuanced view of the eschaton and places Christ's
priestly action at the center of this eschatological consummation.
Christ's priesthood stands as the eschatological turning point,
both on earth (the new Israel) and in heaven.
B) A Sacrificial Action
What does Aquinas say about the sacrificial character of
Christ's hierarchical power? He raises the question of whether
Jesus intended to die a sacrificial death, and by consequence
whether Jesus saw himself as a sacrificial victim. 42 There are two
obvious problems with this view, in addition to a third problem,
less obvious but equally troubling. First, Jesus did not kill himself,
nor was he slain by priests. Could he really, then, have envisioned
his Cross as a sacrificial offering? Those who crucified him
certainly did not intend to offer cultic sacrifice (thus making Jesus
an unlikely sacrificial victim), and whatever Jesus' intentions, he

Jewish liturgy gives eloquent testimony to the longing for the reconstruction of the shrine and
its city. The longing for the Temple was, as we have seen, a prominent theme in biblical times.
It was only rendered more intense by the absence of the physical object of this passionate
desire .... Throughout history, there have always been some Jews who wish to see not only
God's presence, but also that of his people Israel restored to Zion even before the end of time.
And thus it is appropriate that the movement for the restoration of Jewish sovereignty should
have acquired the name Zionism, after the mountain tied so closely to the fortunes of the
people Israel. However much Zionism may resemble a typical modern nationalism with the
unfortunate consequences for outsiders that such movements entail, we should still not
overlook Martin Buber's point that 'this national concept was named after a place and not,
like the others, after a people, which indicates that it is not so much a question of a particular
people as such but of its association with a particular land, its native land.' For the modern
Zionist the ancient association of the people of Israel and the land of Israel has been rejoined.
This return to the land was possible because for the most part, the Jewish tradition did not
spiritualize the concept of Zion/Jerusalem/the land of Israel to the extent that it ceased to have
any reference to real history" (ibid., 179-80). For further reflection, from a Christian
perspective, upon the significance of the land of Israel see Gregory Vall, '"Man Is the Land':
The Sacramentality of the Land of Israel," in David G. Dalin and Matthew Levering, eds.,
John Paul II and the Jewish People (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, forthcoming).
42 STh

III, q. 22, a. 2.

398

MATTHEW LEVERING

had no choice in the matter as he hung dying from the Cross (thus
making him an unlikely sacrificial priest). 43
Second, if Jesus was in fact acting as a priest in his Passion,
then he himself was the victim, and he thus was a human sacrifice.
Not only is the idea that God would desire human sacrifice
appalling, but in the Old Testament God frequently condemned
human sacrifice, which was a mark instead of pagan idolatry and
moral corruption. Aquinas quotes in this vein Psalm 106:38 (to
which I will add verses 36-37), "They served their idols, which
became a snare to them. They sacrificed their sons and their
daughters to the demons; they poured out innocent blood, the
blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the
idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood." The
"they" described here, of course, is the people of Israel. The
Psalmist and Aquinas, like modern archeologists, were well aware
that the Israelites offered worship to gods other than YHWH. The
fact that the people of Israel offered up human sacrifice not only
does not legitimate human sacrifice in God's eyes, but makes it
even more appalling to suppose that Christ himself intended to
offer a human sacrifice. 44
See ibid., obj. 1.
Ibid., obj. 2. In this vein, Mark Heim, having presented the range of contemporary
criticisms of sacrificial accounts of Christ's Cross, rightly observes that they "assert no minor
flaw in Christianity, but a consistent fault line in the whole foundation that runs from
distorted views of God to spiritual guilt fixation to sacrificial bloodshed to anti-Semitic
persecution to arrogant ignorance of world mythology. All this adds up to a fatally skewed
faith, revolving around a central narrative based on sacred violence and the glorification of
innocent suffering" (Heim, Saved from Sacrifice, 27). Following Rene Girard's argument that
"sacrifice" is to be understood as human beings' effort to undo "bad" violence by means of
supposedly "good" (sacred) violence, Heim seeks to preserve the place of the Cross within
Christianity by arguing that the Cross is the ultimate repudiation of sacrifice: "The way of life
that follows on the cross depends on recognition that the death of Jesus ought not to happen.
It is not God's recipe that innocent suffering is the way to restore peace: God's purpose (to
end such a pattern) is superimposed on that event of humanly sanctified violence. Sacrificial
scapegoating is not something invented by those under the spell of the passion narratives, but
something revealed and opposed there. Just as it is an error to think that it is somehow a
Christian requirement to be a victim of redemptive violence, so it is an error to think there is
a Christian responsibility to administer it" (ibid., 252). Heim summarizes his position:
"Scapegoating sacrifice is the stumbling block we placed between God and us. It is a root sin
buried in our life together. The passion is a divine act revealing, reversing, and replacing our
redemptive violence, which we so long and tenaciously hid from ourselves in the very name
43

44

CHRIST THE PRIEST

399

The third problem is less evident, perhaps, but appears equally
difficult to resolve. Priests consecrated sacrifices to the Lord; the
consecration was an integral part of the offering. But the human
nature of Christ, by the indwelling Holy Spirit, "was from the
beginning consecrated and united to God. "45 Therefore why
should Christ's human life be offered in sacrifice to God, if the
very purpose of ritual "sacrifice"-namely, consecration and
union of the offering with God-has already been completely
achieved in Christ? 46
Without at first directly resolving these problems, Aquinas
explores Christ's Passion in light of the Old Testament sacrifices.
He takes this approach because St. Paul interprets Christ's Passion
through this Old Testament lens: "And walk in love, as Christ
loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and
sacrifice to God" (Eph 5:2). 47 On the one hand, the Old
Testament itself recognizes the spiritual core of "sacrifice." In this
respect Aquinas quotes Psalm 50:17 (to which I add verses 1416):
Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, 0 God, thou God of my salvation, and my
tongue will sing aloud thy deliverance. 0 Lord, open thou my lips, and my
mouth shall show forth thy praise. For thou hast no delight in sacrifice; were I
to give a burnt offering, thou wouldst not be pleased. The sacrifice acceptable to
God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not
despise. 48

If the words of this psalm are true, however, why does God
elsewhere command Israel to perform animal sacrifice? Aquinas

of the sacred. When our sin had so separated us from God and built our peace on blood, God
was willing to come and die for us, to bear our sin and suffer the condemnation that we visit
upon our victims and so deserve ourselves. God saved us from our form of reconciliation,
healed us of our dependence on that sad medicine" (ibid., 329).
45 STh III, q. 22, a. 2, obj. 3.
46 Ibid., obj. 3.
47 Quoted in STh III, q. 22, a. 2, sc.
48 On the sacrifice of praise, cf. Thomas F. Ryan, Thomas Aquinas as Reader of the Psalms
(Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2000), 130-31, 133. For Aquinas, as Ryan says
earlier, "the Psalms are not simply about Christ or prayer but about Christ praying" (108).

400

MATTHEW LEVERING

turns to Augustine for insight into this question. In City of God
Augustine, also with Psalm 50 in view, comments,
If in times gone by our ancestors offered other sacrifices to God, in the shape of
animal victims (sacrifices which the people of God now read about, but do not
perform) we are to understand that the significance of those acts was precisely
the same as that of those now performed amongst us-the intention of which is
that we may cleave to God and seek the good of our neighbour for the same end.
Thus the visible sacrifice is the sacrament, the sacred sign, of the invisible
sacrifice. 49

Augustine does not underestimate the importance of "signs" for
human beings. Since we do not gaze directly upon intelligible
realities, but rather acquire knowledge of them through sensible
realities, we require sensible signs to unite us in true worship of
spiritual realities. 5° Following Augustine, Aquinas interprets the
animal sacrifices of the Old Testament as important sensible signs

49 Augustine, De civitate Dei 10.5 (City of God, trans. Henry Bettenson [New York
Penguin, 1972], 377); Aquinas quotes the last sentence of this textinSTh III, q. 22, a. 2. Both
Augustine and Aquinas agree with Mark Heim that bloody sacrifice is by no means an end in
itself. For Heim, following Girard, Christ's sacrifice makes possible charitable union with God
and neighbor precisely by ending bloody sacrifice, now replaced by a communal meal: "The
Last Supper can be seen in continuity with Jesus' practice of table fellowship, giving it an
explicitly liturgical tone that casts it in explicit contrast with sacrificial practice. Instead of the
rite of scapegoating sacrifice that lies at the base of historical human community, and instead
of the cultic rite of animal sacrifice that reproduces its logic of exclusion and violence, this
new community is founded on the communion meal. The early church was continually
amazed and thankful that this table brought into one circle those who otherwise would be
irrevocably separated by purity boundaries, who otherwise would be scapegoating each other
and shedding each other's blood" (Heim, Saved from Sacrifice, 233-34 [cf. 232]).
50 Aquinas argues that before original sin, because of the right ordering of the higher and
lower powers of the soul, "the first man was not impeded by exterior things from a clear and
steady contemplation of the intelligible effects which he perceived by the radiation of the first
truth, whether by a natural or by a gratuitous knowledge" (STh I, q. 94, a. 1). Nonetheless,
sacrifice belongs to the natural law: "it is a dictate of natural reason in accordance with man's
natural inclination that he should tender submission and honor, according to his mode, to that
which is above man. Now the mode befitting to man is that he should employ sensible signs
in order to signify anything, because he derives his knowledge from sensibles. Hence it is a
dictate of natural reason that man should use certain sensibles, by offering them to God in sign
of the subjection and honor due to Him" (STh II-II, q. 85, a. 1). See also STh I-II, q. 101, a.
2; I-II, q. 102, a. 3.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

401

that assisted the people of Israel in offering the spiritual sacrifice
God requires.
Observing thus that the animal sacrifices of the Old Testament
are not to be despised, Aquinas turns his attention to the fact that
God ordains such a complex sacrificial system for Israel. He
connects this sacrificial system with the diverse purposes of
sacrificial offering. In this regard, he names three purposes, on an
ascending scale: the remission of sin, the preservation of the state
of grace, and perfect union with God. 51 The first purpose belongs
to the very rationale of the divinely ordained priesthood, both
that of the Old Testament and that of Christ. Here Aquinas
quotes Hebrews 5: 1, "For every high priest chosen among men is
appointed to act on behalf of men in relation to God, to off er gifts
and sacrifices for sins. "52 If the first purpose pertains to the
sacrificial system in general, the second purpose has to do in
particular with "the sacrifice of peace-offerings," as described in
Leviticus 3. The state of grace is a state of "peace." Finally, the
third purpose particularly involves the burnt offerings described
in Leviticus 1, because such offerings signify the perfect union of
human beings with God in the state of glory. 53
Recalling, then, that the center of any "sacrifice" is the
invisible sacrifice of charity signified by the visible sign, how
might the Old Testament sacrifices assist in understanding St.
Paul's depiction of Christ's Passion as a priestly action of
"sacrifice"? 54 First as regards the three purposes of sacrifice: does
51 STh III, q. 22, a. 2.

Ibid.; cf. Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, 160-61. Following Serge-Thomas
Bonino, Guggenheim argues that neither Aquinas nor Hebrews has in view "priesthood" in
a general sense common to Israel and other nations. Rather, Aquinas recognizes that what is
at issue is the role of the Aaronic priesthood. As Guggenheim states in this regard, "Saint
Thomas reflects on priestly mediation, and still more the mediation of the high priest, from
within the Old and New Covenants" (161). See also Bonino, "Le sacerdoce comme institution
naturelle selon saint Thomas d'Aquin," 34-35.
53 STh III, q. 22, a. 2.
54 Anscar Vonier, O.S.B., cautions in his classic A Key to the Doctrine of the Eucharist
(repr.; Bethesda, Md.: Zaccheus Press, 2003) that "no theory of sacrifice could ever
adequately meet the case of Christ's sacrifice on the Cross. It is a sacrifice so entirely sui
generis that it has to be defined by itself" (105) and that "the whole ancient sacrificial rite was
figurative of Christ's sacrifice on the Cross. This means that we are to explain the ancient
52

402

MATTHEW LEVERING

Christ's Passion remove our sins, draw us into God's "peace," and
unite us to God in glory? Aquinas answers with three biblical
passages, corresponding respectively to the three purposes: Christ
"was put to death for our trespasses" (Rom 4:25), he "became the
source of eternal salvation to all who obey him" (Heb 5 :9), and
he unites us to God in glory "since we have confidence to enter
the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus" (Heb 10:19). By his Passion
and death, then, Christ fulfills the three purposes of the priest
offering sacrifice. His sacrifice is also "once for all" (Heb 9:26):
"For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who
are sanctified" (Heb 10:14). Aquinas states with regard to the
Eucharistic sacrifice instituted by Christ,
The Sacrifice which is offered every day in the Church is not distinct from that
which Christ Himself offered, but is a commemoration thereof. Wherefore
Augustine says (De Civ. Dei x. 20): Christ Himself both is the priest who offers
it and the victim: the sacred token of which He wished to be the daily Sacrifice of
the Church. 55

The commemoration, as sacramental, truly unites the Church to
Christ's historical sacrifice. 5 6
Although we will explore how his shedding of blood takes
away sins in more detail when discussing the sanctifying
dimension of Christ's priesthood, we can already say that Christ
accomplishes, in a unique and transcendent way, a sacrificial
mission. Even so, what is offered in Christ's sacrifice is his human
sacrifices through the sacrifice of the Cross and not vice versa" (106).
55 STh III, q. 22, a. 3, ad 2.
56 For Aquinas on Hebrews 10:14 see Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, 474. For
recent theological discussion of the Eucharistic sacrifice see Yves Congar, O.P., Lay People in
the Church, trans. Donald Atrwater, rev. ed. (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1965), 165f.;
Avery Dulles, S.J., "The Eucharist as Sacrifice," in Roch Kereszty, O.Cist.,ed., Rediscovering
the Eucharist: Ecumenical Conversations (New Yark: Paulist Press, 2003 ), 17 5-87; idem, "The
Death of Jesus as Sacrifice," Josephinum]oumal of Theology 3 (1996): 4-17; William T.
Cavanaugh, "Eucharistic Sacrifice and Social Imagination in Early Modern Europe,'' Journal
of Medieval and Early Modem Studies 31 (2001): 585-605. For an example of contemporary
mainstream Catholic rejection of Eucharistic sacrifice as taught by the Council of Trent, see
Robert J. Daly, S.J., "Sacrifice Unveiled or Sacrifice Revisited: Trinitarian and Liturgical
Perspectives," Theological Studies 64 (2003): 24-42; idem, "Eucharistic Origins: From the
New Testament to the Liturgies of the Golden Age," Theological Studies 66 (2005): 3-22.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

403

life. Can that life appropriately be conceived as a sacrificial
victim? What kind of priest would offer his own life in sacrifice?
This is the difficulty pressed, against the weight of the New
Testament language, by the objections that we reviewed above. Is
there a sense in which Christ's human life could be appropriately
conceived as a sacrificial victim?
In addressing this question, Aquinas begins by emphasizing that
the passive sense of "victim," which we associate with animal
sacrifice, does not apply to Christ's Passion. If Christ is a
sacrificial victim, he is such only as an active agent, the person of
the Son of God, moved throughout by the charity with which the
Holy Spirit graces Christ's human nature. 57 The fundamental
offering of his human life, then, is the active offering that he
makes spiritually, not the more passive submission of his flesh to
the nails of the Roman soldiers (although according to Aquinas,
Christ, as the incarnate Son, actively permits even this apparently
wholly passive submission of the flesh). 58
57 Miroslav Volf thus emphasizes that the significance of the Incarnation for understanding
the crucifixion: "If we view Christ on the cross as a third party being punished for the sins of
transgressors, we have widely missed the mark .... Christ is not a third party. On account of
his divinity, Christ is one with God, to whom the 'debt' is owed. It is therefore God who
through Christ's death shoulders the burden of our transgression against God and frees us
from just retribution. But since on account of Christ's humanity he is also one with us, the
debtors, it is we who die in Christ and are thus freed from guilt" (Miroslav Volf, The End of
Memory: Remembering Rightly in a Violent World [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2006],
117). Volf goes on to observe, "We also miss the mark if we believe that Christ's suffering
somehow encourages the abused passively to accept their abuse. The message of the cross is
not that it is legitimate to 'force people to serve in functions that ordinarily would have been
fulfilled by someone else,' as Dolores Williams has stated. Since no third party is involved, in
Christ's Passion no one is forced to do anything for anyone else. Substitution is a gift initiated
and willingly given to wrongdoers by the One who was wronged, not a burden of service
placed on an outsider. And it is a gift that, far from signaling the passive acceptance of abuse,
most radically calls into question such abuse. For it condemns the wrongdoing while at the
same time freeing the wrongdoers, who receive forgiveness in repentance, not just from
punishment and guilt but also from the hold of the evil deed on their lives" (ibid., 117). While
"satisfaction" seems to me a more fruitful term than "substitution,'' Volf's reflections on
Christ's Passion are theologically rich.
58 As Vonier says, however, "To entirely spiritualize the oblation and make of it exclusively
an act of the created mind and will would be the abolition of the sacrifice; all sacrifices are of
the things that are bodily .... To give to Christ's crucifixion and death only moral worth,
even if it be to an infinite degree, is not the whole of Christianity; there is something besides

404

MATTHEW LEVERING

This point places at the forefront a crucial distinction between
Christ's priesthood and the actions of Old Testament priests vis-avis their sacrificial victims: Christ the priest did not slay himself
in sacrifice. Rather, through his active spiritual agency, he allowed
himself to fall into the hands of those who sought to kill him. As
Aquinas puts it, "of His own free-will He exposed Himself to
death" and "freely offered Himself to suffering. "59 In allowing his
enemies to kill him, he did not kill himself, but rather allowed
their wickedness to take its course. Aquinas refers here to the
Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53, who in dying for "our iniquities"
(Isa 5 3 :5) does not kill himself but allows his persecutors to do
their will: "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened
not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a
sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his
mouth" (Isa 53:7). 6 Christ, like the Suffering Servant, is a
sacrificial victim, but he is not a human sacrifice, because the only
sense in which he is a sacrificial victim is the sense in which he
allows his enemies to do their worst. In this sense, however, it is
indeed his human life that, in freely and lovingly bearing our sins,
he offers to the Father in a perfect priestly action. 61

°

the moral worth of the suffering and dying Christ, there is the sacrifice" (Vonier,A Key to the
Doctrine of the Eucharist, 107-8). Not Christ's love alone, but Christ's love in union with his
spilling of his blood changes the world. It remains the case that, as Romanus Cessario states,
"it is not the sacrifice of his body on the altar of the cross in which this perfect worship
formally consists, but his personal offering of obedience and love" ("Aquinas on Christian
Salvation," 125). Thus when speaking about the crucifixion and death of Christ it is necessary
to interpret "the efficacy of Christ's sufferings and death in relation to his human soul" (ibid.)
without thereby leaving out the bodily dimension of his action.
59 STh III, q. 22, a. 2, ad 1 and 2.
60 Quoted in ibid., ad 1. Drawing largely upon 1 Enoch, Margaret Barker proposes that
"the Servant figure was modeled on the one who performed the atonement rites in the first
temple"(Barker, "Atonement: The Rite of Healing," in idem, The Great High Priest, 42-55,
at 54).
61 For further discussion see Cessario, "Aquinas on Christian Salvation," 123-25. Cessario
comments, "Three features of Aquinas' theology of satisfaction merit careful attention. First,
Aquinas locates the essence of Christ's sacrifice in the perfect meshing of his human will with
what the Father from all eternity wills for the salvation of the world. Aquinas offers no
support for those who would advance a theory of penal substitution as the mechanism by
which the benefits of Christ reach the human race. Love, not punishment, dominates Aquinas'
account of the efficacy of the Passion. Thus and second, the love and obedience of the
Incarnate Son inaugurates the new dispensation. Christ reveals the perfection of the beatitude

CHRIST THE PRIEST

405

C) A Sancti"fyingAction

Even if God certainly does not then require a passive human
sacrifice-and thus does not require a human sacrifice at all-does
he nonetheless require a human victim? This question turns our
attention to the "sanctifying" dimension of Christ's priestly
action. Why should Christ's suffering and bloody death serve to
make us holy? Why does the eschatological and sacrificial
expiation of sins come about through the suffering and death of
Christ?
First and foremost, God requires neither a human sacrifice nor
a human victim. He needs nothing from creatures. One cannot
emphasize enough that God did not institute the sacrificial
worship of Israel because he desired blood. In the chapter of City
of God quoted by Aquinas, Augustine observes, "When he [the
author of Psalm 50] says that God does not want sacrifices he
means that he does not want them in the way supposed by the
fools, namely for his own gratification. " 62 Yet God does desire the
salvation of human beings. God "desires all men to be saved and
to come to the knowledge of the truth" -the truth that "there is
one God and there is one mediator between God and men, the
man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all" (1 Tim
2:4-5). Why would Christ the mediator give "himself as a ransom
for all"? How could Christ's suffering and death be the efficacious
expression of God's desire for "all men to be saved"? 63
that he himself teaches as constitutive of the new law: 'Blessed are those who are persecuted
for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven' (Matt. 5: 10). Third, Christ fulfils
the role of Suffering Servant as described in Isaiah and in the Pauline writings. Although the
biblical theme of the Suffering Servant has occasioned an unbalanced theological presentation
of Christ's suffering, Aquinas presents Christ's obedience to God's plan of salvation without
suggesting a vengeful God who exacts a terrible punishment from an innocent victim. Instead,
he points to the example of virtue which Christ exhibits for our edification. In sum, the heart
of Aquinas' salvation theology lies in the loving service ofa priest-Son to God" (ibid., 124-25).
Cf. Hans Urs von Balthasar, Theo-Drama: Theological Dramatic Theory, vol. 5: The Last Act,
trans. Graham Harrison (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1998), 256-69.
62 Augustine, De civitate Dei 10.5 (Bettenson, trans., 378).
63 It is here that Anselm's doctrine of satisfaction goes astray, in Mark Heim's view: "The
classic penal substitutionary theology of atonement (we will take Anselm as its representative)
constructs the terms of just such a hidden transaction. It posits a cosmic bargain that takes

406

MATTHEW LEVERING

In order to accomplish the salvation of human beings, Aquinas
points out, God does not need human action. No human being
can forgive sins. If God wills to forgive sins, he needs no human
cooperation to do so, since the forgiveness of sins is entirely his
prerogative. In this regard Aquinas quotes Isaiah 43:25, where
God says, "I, I am He who blots out your transgressions for my
own sake, and I will not remember your sins. " 64 It would seem,
then, that as regards the forgiveness of sins Christ's priestly
action-which, as the action of the mediator, is Christ's action as
place on a plane quite distinct from the historical reality of the crucifixion" (Heim, Saved from
Sacrifice, 297). For Heim "the Anselmian view of the cross is defined by two major additional
steps. The first is the decision to privilege legal images to represent the basic dynamic of 'death
for us.' ... The second step is to conflate this legal framework with a vision of divine justice
that dictates God's purpose in suffering death. If Christ steps in to intercept a blow meant for
us, where does that blow itself come from? It is occasioned by our sin (so far, a view fully in
accord with the general tradition). Anselm's departure is to insist with new systematic rigor
that it is actually coming from God. What we need to be rescued from is the deserved wrath
and punishment of God. God wishes to be merciful, and so God becomes the one to be
punished on behalf of us all. God strikes the same blow that God protects us from" (ibid.,
299). Heim goes on to note that "[t]he key error is to refer both the meaning and need of
Jesus' death to its character as an offering to God. What Anselm rejects at the level of human
community, he re-creates at the level of community between God and humanity, a community
whose reconciliation depends on the offering of an innocent victim. Most important, Anselm
presents God as the one who requires this sacrifice and also as the one to whom it is offered.
Scapegoating is a human practice, and Anselm is clear that such a practice cannot solve our
estrangement from God. But in his view God has taken over a human scapegoating sacrifice
(the execution of Jesus) and turned it into a unique scapegoating sacrifice of unimaginable
magnitude. God is doing what human sacrifice does, but on a much larger scale, and one time
only. God has not stepped into the process to oppose it, but to perfect it. Sacrifice to end
sacrifice is an accurate and biblical way to describe Jesus' death, but it is an ambiguous and
delicately poised idea. Anselm has taken it to mean that God does the same thing that human
scapegoaters do, taking it to an ultimate extreme. Instead of God throwing a wrench into the
gears of human sacrifice, Anselm's God has endorsed that machinery, borrowing it to perform
the biggest and most effective sacrifice of all. Jesus has become our all-purpose scapegoat,
whose suffering generates an infinite reservoir of merit that, like his shed blood, can be
dispensed through the sacraments" (ibid., 300). As Heim concludes, "These are fatal steps"
(ibid.), because "[r]ather than a strategic act of resistance to overthrow sacred violence, the
cross becomes a divine endorsement of it" (ibid., 302). In response to Heim's eloquent and
incisive critique, two questions should be posed: Is there a relational, personal "order" of
justice (an "order" of offering what is due) inscribed in the very being of rational creatures
(against the view of an extrinsic "divine wrath") that our sins against God and against other
human beings wound? Does Jesus' active self-sacrifice, in which the defining element is love,
make him a passive "scapegoat"?
64 STh III, q. 22, a. 3, obj. 1.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

407

man, not as God-is of no account. Another difficulty arises from
the fact that, even if Christ's suffering and death were supposed
to be a sufficient "ransom," Christians continue to pray for the
forgiveness of their sins and "the [Eucharistic] Sacrifice is offered
continuously in the Church." 65 Again it would seem that Christ's
human (priestly) action has hardly been sufficient, even if one
were to suppose that it could be sufficient.
In light of these difficulties, Aquinas takes his bearings from
three New Testament verses in particular: Romans 3: 24-25, "they
are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption which
is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as an expiation by his
blood"; Hebrews 9:14 (to which I will add verse 13), "For if the
sprinkling of defiled persons with the blood of goats and bulls and
with the ashes of a heifer sanctifies for the purification of the
flesh, how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the
eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify your
conscience from dead works to serve the living God"; and John
1:29 (the words of John the Baptist), "Behold, the Lamb of God,
who takes away the sin of the world!" In each case, Jesus'
sacrificial "blood" clearly causes, according to the New
Testament, our sanctification. How could this be so?
Aquinas proposes two ways, both having to do not with a
change in God, but with a change in human beings. Christ's
priestly action does not cause God to forgive us by an outpouring
of love, but rather removes the impediments in us to God's
merciful outpouring of love. The change in us sanctifies us. But
how, specifically, does Christ's priestly action accomplish a
change in us? Aquinas first observes that we possess two
impediments to our reception of God's mercy. Namely, our hearts
are "stained" by sin, in that we willfully turn away from God's
mercy, and in addition we owe a "debt of punishment" due in
justice to those who willfully turn away from God. The twofold
problem, then, is that our hearts are evil and that our evil merits
punishment. We require, therefore, a twofold interior change:

65

Ibid., obj. 2.

408

MATTHEW LEVERING

first, our hearts must be turned back to God (removing the
"stain"), and second, our "debt of punishment" must be paid. 66
In human relationships, we can understand that a man who
murders out of hatred not only needs healing in his heart, but also
owes a debt of punishment to those he has off ended. If one steals
money, one cannot solely have a change of heart and experience
true repentance; one must also make recompense for the injury of
the theft. These juridical cases, however, seem ill-suited to the
human relationship with God. We already owe everything to God,
and God's mercy is infinite. Why would God demand punishment
or recompense from us? Why would not simply healing our hearts
be sufficient?
In setting forth Aquinas's position in this respect, I will not
limit myself to texts from question 22. Aquinas certainly holds
that Christ's priestly action heals our hearts. Inquiring into
whether Christ's Passion was the most fitting way of liberating
human beings from sin, for example, he notes,
In the first place, man knows thereby how much God loves him, and is thereby
stirred to love Him in return, and therein lies the perfection of human salvation;
since the Apostle says (Rom. v. 8): God commendeth His charity towards us; for
when as yet we were sinners ... Christ died for us.67

Similarly, he remarks upon the relationship that the members of
Christ's mystical body have to their Head and observes that
Christ's merit in suffering for the sake of justice redounds to all
his members. 68
66 See ITh III, q. 22, a. 3; the quotation from Hebrews comes from the sed contra and the
quotation from John comes from the reply to the third objection. As Volf says (in critical
dialogue with Kierkegaard), "Love includes a concern for justice and is not opposed to it. The
two, love and justice, come together in forgiveness. Because forgiveness presupposes that the
claims of justice are valid (blame being prerequisite to forgiveness), repentance is an
appropriate way for the wrongdoer to receive the gift of forgiveness and then cease to be
remembered as guilty" (Volf, The End of Memory, 174).
67 STh III, q. 46, a. 3.
68 STh III, q. 48, a. 1. On Aquinas's use of the phrase "corpus mysticum," see Martin
Morard, "Les expressions 'corpus mysticum' et 'persona mystica' clans !'oeuvre de saint
Thomas d'Aquin," Revue Thomiste 95 (1995): 653-64. In this regard Henri de Lubac, S.J.,
Corpus Mysticum, 2d ed. (Paris: Aubier, 1949) caused some misunderstanding. De Lubac
argues that in the early Middle Ages the Eucharist's intrinsic ecclesial referent was lost due to

CHRIST THE PRIEST

409

Why then should Christ's priestly action also operate as an
expiatory sin-offering, as a satisfaction of the "debt of punishment"?69 In addition to using the New Testament texts noted
above, Aquinas approaches this question through Isaiah 5 3 :4 ("he
has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows") and Jeremiah
11:19 ("I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter"). 70 Such
texts might be seen as implying an extrinsic juridical relationship
between creature and Creator. Aquinas, however, recognizes an
order of justice inscribed in the very heart of human beings'
relationship with God and each other. Justice is not extrinsic to
a shift in theological terminology: the phrase "corpus mysticum" came to mean the Church
rather than the Eucharist, with the result that ecclesiology became overly juridical. De Lubac
holds that Aquinas's theology reflects a late stage of this deleterious shift due to the use of
"corpusEcclesiae mysticum" rather than "corpus Christi mysticum." Morard, however, shows
that Aquinas's theology does not in fact evidence such a shift. De Lubac's thesis has received
wide circulation through Michel de Certeau, The Mystic Fable, trans. Michael B. Smith
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). In popularized form, one finds the thesis in the
criticisms made by Paul McPartlan against medieval ecclesiology in his Sacrament of Salvation:
An Introduction to Eucharistic Ecclesiology (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1995), 37-38. As
regards the ninth- and eleventh-century debates, Ephraim Radner has challenged de Lubac's
thesis (while otherwise accepting it): see Ephraim Radner, The End of the Church: A
Pneumatology of Christian Division in the West (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 20810, 228-39. John Milbank takes up the thesis in his Being Reconciled (London: Routledge,
2003), 122-37, although he makes an exception for Aquinas and Bonaventure. Typical of the
popularization, which cannot be blamed on de Lubac, is Joseph M. Powers, S.J.'s claim that
the cultic priesthood gradually displaced the Eucharistic community between the eighth and
thirteenth centuries (see Joseph M. Powers, Eucharistic Theology (New York: Herder and
Herder, 1967), 26-31.
69 On Christ's Cross as "satisfaction" for sins, see the following studies, which are both
historically and speculatively rich: Emmanuel Perrier, O.P., "L'enjeu christologique de la
satisfaction" (I) and (II), Revue Thomiste 103 (2003): 105-36 and 203-47; Rik Van
Nieuwenhove, "St Anselm and St Thomas Aquinas on 'Satisfaction': Or how Catholic and
Protestant Understandings of the Cross Differ," Angelicum 80 (2003): 159-76; Romanus
Cessario, O.P., The Godly Image: Christ and Satisfaction in Catholic Thought from Anselm
to Aquinas; idem, "Aquinas on Christian Salvation," especially 121-34.
70 STh III, q. 22, a. 3. The quotation from Jeremiah appears in the third objection. For
contemporary debates regarding the meaning of Isaiah 53 and its interpretation in the New
Testament and later Christian writings see, e.g., Bernd Janowski and Peter Stuhlmacher, ed.,
The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources, trans. Donald P. Bailey
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2004); William H. Bellinger, Jr. and William R. Farmer,
eds.,]esus and the Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 and Christian Origins (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity
Press International, 1998). See also Christopher R. North, The Suffering Servant in DeuteroIsaiah: An Historical and Critical Study, 2d ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963).

410

MATTHEW LEVERING

any personal relationship. Aquinas does not recoil from the New
Testament's juridical language, which he understands to express
the intimate, yet wounded, relationship between the creature and
the Creator. Even so, does God in fact demand "recompense"? If
sinful human beings suffer from their self-inflicted wounds, why
should a sinless human being suffer on their behalf, thus
perpetuating, in some sense, the history of human suffering (even
so as ultimately to end it)? Could not God sanctify human beings
without any further suffering, let alone the agonizing suffering of
the incarnate Son of God?
Indeed, Aquinas affirms that God could have sanctified human
beings in another way: "speaking simply and absolutely, it was
possible for God to deliver mankind otherwise than by the Passion
of Christ, because no word shall be impossible with God (Luke i.
37)." 71 In willing the Passion of Christ, God was not constrained
by the order of justice, as if God, like a human judge, had to exact
the proper penalty for the crime. On the contrary, he was entirely
free. Aquinas points out that unlike a human judge, "God has no
one higher than Himself, for He is the sovereign and common
good of the whole universe. " 72 When human beings sin against
God (and all sin is ultimately against God), we wound our
relationship with him-a relationship that, like any relationship,
is constituted by an order of justice. God can mercifully forgive
sins against himself without exacting just punishment, "just as
anyone else, overlooking a personal trespass, without satisfaction,
acts mercifully and not unjustly. " 73 Why then did not God simply
forgive all sins in this way, rather than through the bloody death
of his incarnate Son?
Guided by the Scriptures, Aquinas answers that God freely
chose the most merciful way to re-establish the justice between
humans beings and God lost by sin. Aquinas gives a number of
reasons why salvation through Christ's Passion is more merciful
than God simply forgiving our sins by fiat. The central reason has
to do with the dignity that God gives human beings by allowing
STh III, q. 46, a. 2.
STh III, q. 46, a. 2, ad 3.
73 Ibid.

71

72

CHRIST THE PRIEST

411

our injustice to be healed from within human nature. The dignity
of human cooperation and achievement would be entirely lost if
God had simply forgiven our sins by fiat. The seriousness of
history, of human free actions, would have been lost. If God
simply forgave sin by fiat, furthermore, he would not have
conquered sin by uniting to himself a human nature in the person
of the Son, a union which is the greatest possible affirmation of
human dignity. The hypostatic union grounds human dignity in an
unfathomably rich manner. Jesus Christ, a man, establishes justice
between humankind and God by his Passion, and this human
achievement by which we are made holy is possible because this
man, while fully human, is the Son of God: "Although Christ was
a priest, not as God, but as man, yet one and the same was both
priest and God." 74
When discussing Christ's Passion, then, Aquinas frequently
returns to God's merciful promotion of human dignity in the
chosen path of salvation. He observes with regard to Christ's
achievement as the new Adam, for example, that "it redounded to
man's greater dignity, that as man was overcome and deceived by
the devil [in Eden], so also it should be a man that should
overthrow the devil; and as man deserved death, so a man by
74 STh III, q. 22, a. 3, ad 1. Citing the Christology of the Council of Ephesus, Aquinas goes
on to observe here, "Hence in so far as His human nature operated by virtue of the Divine,
that sacrifice was most efficacious for the blotting out of sins." See also the beautiful
discussion of the purpose of the Incarnation in STh III, q. 1, a. 2. Christ's priestly action is his
human action of his Passion, but his human action, one must recall, is the action of the Son
of God (since Christ is one Person). Aquinas observes, "Satisfaction may be said to be
sufficient in two ways-first, perfectly, inasmuch as it is condign, being adequate to make
good the fault committed, and in this way the satisfaction of a mere man cannot be sufficient
for sin, both because the whole of human nature has been corrupted by sin, whereas the
goodness of any person or persons could not make up adequately for the harm done to the
whole of the nature; and also because a sin committed against God has a kind of infinity from
the infinity of the Divine majesty, because the greater the person we offend, the more grievous
the offense. Hence for condign satisfaction it was necessary that the act of the one satisfying
should have an infinite efficiency, as being of God and man. Secondly, man's satisfaction may
be termed sufficient, imperfectly-i.e. in the acceptation of him who is content with it, even
though it is not condign, and in this way the satisfaction of a mere man is sufficient. And
forasmuch as everything imperfect presupposes some perfect thing, by which it is sustained,
hence it is that the satisfaction of every mere man has its efficiency from the satisfaction of
Christ" (SI'h III, q. 1, a. 2, ad 3).

412

MATTHEW LEVERING

dying should vanquish death. " 75 The proper penalty for sin against
God is death; as St. Paul puts it, "the wages of sin is death" (Rom
6:23). This is so both because sin, in wounding the relationship of
human beings to God, disorders the human person interiorly and
leads ultimately to the rupture of the soul and body in death, and
because what Adam and Eve strove for was immortality on their
own terms rather than as dependent creatures, and so separated
themselves willfully from the source of life. The penalty of death
is not an extrinsic requirement of a wrathful god, but rather
belongs intrinsically to the relational wound or rupture that sin
brings about.
It pertains to human dignity that the relational wound be
healed from within, from the side of human beings. Jesus Christ
makes satisfaction, heals the wound, by paying our penalty of
death without, as a sinless man, owing it. Jesus' overflowing
justice-the glorious goodness of his created charity, obedience,
and humility as the incarnate Son of God-heals the woundedness
of human beings' relationship with God by restoring superabundantly the lack of goodness that characterizes humankind due
to the history of sin's destruction of human goods. Baptism unites
us, Christ's members, with his glorious goodness in his salvific
death:
Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were
baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into
death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we
too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a
death like his, we shall certainly be in unity with him in a resurrection like his.
(Rom 6:3-5)76
75 STh III, q. 46, a. 3.
76 In his recent Saving Power: Theories of Atonement and Forms of the Church (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2005), Peter Schmiechen seeks to uncover, among other things,
"the relations between theories of atonement and the formation of the church-its basic
structure, faith, life, and work" (353). In the context of his inquiry, he observes that Anselm's
"theory of the restoration of creation ... concludes with a direct connection with the
sacrament of the Lord's Supper. The benefits of Christ, received from God the Father, are
shared with believers who follow the mandates of Scripture and participate in the sacramental
life of the church" (ibid., 357-58). Could this theory of atonement, Schmiechen asks, exist
outside the bounds of a sacramentally organized Church, for which Anselm's theory provides

CHRIST THE PRIEST

413

Reconciliation with God is accomplished in Christ's Pasch, rather
than being merely a "word" spoken to us.
Similarly, commenting in the Summa Theologiae on Romans
3:24-25, Aquinas affirms that God's will that Christ's Passion
make satisfaction for all sins "was in keeping with both His mercy
and His justice. "77 He goes on to explain:
With His justice, because by His Passion Christ made satisfaction for the sin of
the human race; and so man was set free by Christ's justice: and with His mercy,
for since man of himself could not satisfy for the sin of all human nature, as was
said above (Q. 1, A. 2), God gave him His Son to satisfy for him .... And this
came of more copious mercy than if He had forgiven sins without satisfaction.
Hence it is said (Ephes. ii. 4): God, who is rich in mercy, for His exceeding
charity wherewith He loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened
us together in Christ.78

Here we discover why an eschatological messianic tribulation, as
Wright shows, was expected to inaugurate the restoration of Israel
through the outpouring of the eschatological blessings of holiness.
As the son of Abraham and the David through whom all nations
are to be blessed (cf. Gen 12:3; 22; 2 Sam 7:13), Christ pours out
the eschatological blessings not only through the justice that his
priestly action achieves, but also, as we have seen, through the
"a theological rationale" (ibid., 358)? He thinks that it could, but he remarks nonetheless that
"if Jesus participates in our life to restore the creation, then our sacramental participation in
his life is a natural and reasonable mode of transmission" (ibid., 359-60) and he adds that "the
interpretations of sacrifice, renewal (Athanasius), and restoration (Anselm) are tightly linked
to sacramental transmission. These associations are so strong that it is difficult to decide
whether it is the historical association or a truly natural link between interpretation and mode
of transmission" (ibid., 361). Schmiechen argues that Luther's understanding of Christ's saving
work results in a new form of the Church: "Perhaps the strongest example of how a shift in
the interpretation of Jesus' death and resurrection leads to a reformulation of the church is the
sixteenth-century use of justification by grace. Once the focus shifts to the proclamation of the
gospel as the Word of promise, attention shifts from human works offered to God to the
human response of faith as trust of the heart. But to allow such proclamation and response to
be at the center of worship and teaching, the shape of the church must be altered. Thus, a
vernacular Bible, a new catechism, the sermon (vs. the homily), and a new hymnody come into
being to enable proclamation, while the hierarchy of the religious and laity is demolished in
favor of the priesthood of all believers" (ibid., 358).
77 STh III, q. 46, a. 1, ad 3.
78 Ibid.

414

MATTHEW LEVERING

divine mercy and love that it reveals. Christ's incomparable
manifestation of divine love stimulates human beings to love God
in return, and Christ in his Passion displays the virtues-among
them "obedience, humility, constancy, justice" -that "are
requisite for man's salvation." 79 If God loves us so much as to
become one of us, and suffer and die for us, then "man is all the
more bound to refrain from sin, according to 1 Cor. vi. 20: You
are bought with a great price: glorify and bear God m your
body." 80

D) A Unitive Action
What about the unitive dimension of Christ's priestly action?
In seeking the reason for the Letter to the Hebrews' statement
that God designated Jesus "a high priest after the order of
Melchizedek" (Heb 5: 10), Aquinas holds that "the excellence of
Christ's [priesthood] over the Levitical priesthood was
foreshadowed in the priesthood of Melchisedech," in part because
Abraham, from whom the Levitical priesthood descended, tithed
to Melchizedek. 81 But the deeper reason, in Aquinas's view, has to
do with how Melchizedek's priesthood foreshadows the unity
accomplished by Christ's priestly action, a unity that could not be
accomplished by the Levitical priesthood. The Levitical
priesthood was unable to accomplish a lasting unity in holiness.
Instead, the people of Israel continually offered new sacrifices,
and these sacrifices did not succeed in establishing a holy people.
79 STh III, q. 46, a. 3. Here Aquinas quotes 1 Peter 2:21 (to which I will add verses 22-25),
"For to this [the patient suffering of injustice] you have been called, because Christ also
suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps. He committed
no sin; no guile was found on his lips. When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when
he suffered, he did not threaten; but he trusted to him who judges justly. He himself bore our
sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds
you have been healed. For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the
Shepherd and Guardian of your souls."
80 STh III, q. 46, a. 3. See the valuable study of Karl Olav Sandnes, Belly and Body in the
Pauline Epistles (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).
81 STh III, q. 22, a. 6. On Christ and Melchizedek in Aquinas's Commentary on the Epistle
to the Hebrews, see especially Guggenheim, Jesus Christ, Grand Pretre, part 2, chap. 5. On
Christ and Melchizedek, see also Vonier,A Key to the Doctrine of the Eucharist, 148-49.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

415

If they had, then the people of Israel would never have looked for
a Messiah. As Aquinas puts it, the Levitical priesthood "did not
wash away sins" and "was not eternal. " 82
By contrast, Jesus' priestly action is "once for all" (Heb 9:26);
his sacrifice never needs to be repeated, because it permanently
establishes holiness. His priesthood is "eternal": no high priest
ever takes his place. If it is by means of communion in the
Eucharist that human beings participate in the unity in holiness
that Jesus' priestly action establishes, then the primacy of the
symbolic role of Melchizedek's priesthood becomes clear: the
Levitical priesthood symbolizes sacrifice (through the shedding of
blood), while Melchizedek's priesthood symbolizes communion
(through the bread and wine). Fallowing Augustine's view that the
many grains united in the bread and the many grapes united in the
wine symbolize the unity of the Church, Aquinas affirms that as
regards "the participation of this sacrifice and the effect thereof,
wherein the excellence of Christ's priesthood over the priesthood
of the Law principally consists ... the former was more distinctly
foreshadowed by the priesthood of Melchisedech" than by the
Levitical priesthood. 83 Since human beings receive the effect of
Jesus' saving sacrifice (and thus of the Eucharistic sacrifice)
through communion in faith in the Eucharistic elements,
Melchizedek's priestly offering of bread and wine best symbolizes
the unitive dimension of Jesus' priestly action. The unitive
dimension of Christ's priesthood explains for Aquinas why Jesus'
priesthood receives its primary definition through the Letter to
the Hebrews' application of Psalm 110:4, "Thou art a priest for
ever, after the order of Melchizedek" (Heb 5:6; 7:17).
The fruit of Jesus' sacrifice, and of the Eucharistic sacramentsacrifice that re-presents Jesus' sacrifice, is the unity of the people
of God, the mystical body of Christ, in the holiness attained in

q. 22, a. 6.
ad 2; see also STh III, q. 75, a. 2, obj. 3 and elsewhere for the citation from
Augustine's tractate 26 on the Gospel of John.
82 STh III,
83 Ibid.,

416

MATTHEW LEVERING

and through Jesus' sacrifice. 84 Jesus dies not for himself or his
own needs, but to unify all others in himself. 85 Saint Paul speaks
of the Father's "purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for
the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven
and things on earth" (Eph 1:9-10). The Father "has put all things
under his feet and has made him the head over all things for the
church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all"
(Eph 1 :22-23). Aquinas explains therefore that "it is not fitting for
Christ to be the recipient of the effect of His priesthood, but
rather to communicate it to others. " 86 His priestly action is the
source of all unity in holiness, both of Israel (as the fulfillment of
Torah and Temple) and of the Church: "Christ is the fountainhead of the entire priesthood: for the priest of the Old Law was
a figure of Him; while the priest of the New Law works in His
person. " 87
Emphasizing the unitive aspect of Christ's Pasch, Aquinas
concludes his discussion of Christ's priesthood by attending to the
symbolism of Melchizedek' s offering of bread and wine. He refers
to the statement in Hebrews 7 :2 that Melchizedek "is first, by
translation of his name, king of righteousness, and then he is also
king of Salem, that is, king of peace. " 88 As the true "king of
righteousness" and "king of peace," Jesus Christ, through his
priestly action, has the power to unite the human race in the
holiness of God. By washing away sins, Jesus' eternal priesthood
establishes the unity of the "church of God" (Gal 1:13). The
restoration that Jesus accomplishes thereby blesses all nations. 89

84 See most recently Gilles Emery, O.P., "The Ecclesial Fruit of the Eucharist in St. Thomas
Aquinas," trans. Therese C. Scarpelli, in idem, Trinity, Church, and the Human Person:
Thomistic Essays (Naples, Fl.: Sapientia Press, 2007), 155-72.
85 STh III, q. 22, a. 4.
86 Ibid.
87 Ibid.
88 See STh III, q. 22, a. 6, obj. 3.
89 For further discussion of the themes treated in this essay, see Levering, Sacrifice and
Community, especially chaps. 2 and 3; and Matthew Levering, Christ's Fulfillment of Torah
and Temple: Salvation according to Thomas Aquinas (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame
Press, 2002), as well as the further secondary sources cited in both works.

CHRIST THE PRIEST

417

CONCLUSION

Engaging a wide array of themes in Aquinas's theology of
salvation, I have argued for the theological cogency of his account
of Christ's priestly action. In contemporary theology, many
consider that Aquinas goes too far in his appreciation of sacrificial
and "satisfactory" suffering, which seems at best overly juridical
and at worst monstrous. Others hold that Aquinas does not go far
enough, largely because he somewhat limits the scope of Christ's
human suffering and does not locate it within an intra-Trinitarian
distance or rupture. By contrast, I find Aquinas's theology of
salvation instructive for understanding more deeply the realities
taught in Scripture. What one makes of Aquinas's theology of
salvation depends upon what one makes of question 22 of the
Tertia Pars. This is so not only because of the wide range of
themes addressed here, but also because the topic of Christ's
priesthood requires attention to his historical context in Israel,
which contemporary historical research has explored particularly
deeply. As I hope to have shown, contemporary historical
research does not undermine Aquinas's theological approach, but
rather exposes even more clearly the theological depth of his main
lines of inquiry. In seeking to know Jesus better as the true high
priest-whose work is eschatological, sacrificial, sanctifying, and
unitive-Christians will continue to find valuable instruction in
Aquinas's teaching in question 22.

The Thomist 71 (2007): 419-50

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE:
APPRECIATING THE ORIGINALITY OF AQUINAS 1
PAUL GONDREAU
Providence College
Providence, Rhode Island

T

HE ANCIENT GREEK DRAMA Oresteia recounts the story
of how the young Orestes, after avenging his father's
murder by slaying the killer, Orestes's own mother, must
flee from the relentless pursuit of the dreadful Furies. These latter
are the pre-Olympian earth goddesses who avenge the killing of
one's kin. Eventually, the Olympian goddess Athena convinces the
Furies to suspend momentarily the pursuit of blood vengeance
and allow a trial by jury to settle Orestes's fate. During the trial,
the Furies, not without due cause, make their case for just
retribution. After a tie vote results in a hung jury, Athena, mindful
that blood vengeance leads to unending carnage, intervenes and
casts the deciding vote in favor of Orestes, thereby acquitting him.
Pointing out that the tie vote legitimates the Furies' case,
Athena follows by offering the Furies a place, albeit a subservient
one, among the Olympian gods, where they will serve no longer
as goddesses of blood vengeance but as protectors of households.
They accept, and become transformed into the Eumenides-in
Greek, "the friendly ones." That is, they take their place as earth
goddesses who subordinate their lower instinctive desires for
blood vengeance to the wise judgment of the higher gods, like
Athena. Dwelling in the sky on the top of Mount Olympus, these

1 This paper was offered at a conference honoring the eightieth birthday of Fr. Servais
Pinckaers, O.P., in October 2005, at the University of Fribourg, Switzerland.

419

420

PAUL GONDREAU

higher gods follow the guidance of reason and enlightened
wisdom.
One of the many lessons to be gleaned from Aeschylus's drama
is the invaluable insight it imparts on the nature of human
emotion and its relation to reason. The lower instinctual drives,
the emotions, exemplified in the Oresteia by the desire for just
retribution on the part of the Furies, are not bad in themselves
and might be quite legitimate. For this reason, they should not be
eradicated from human life. Movements of the lower appetites,
the emotions play an integral and essential role in our lives,
paralleling the way the Furies, once transformed into the kindly
Eumenides, go on to play an integral and essential role in the
Olympic pantheon as protectors of households. But because the
emotions belong to the lower, impulsive dimension of the human
person, they are by nature subordinate to our higher faculties and
ought to be subservient to the commanding role of human reason,
of our higher cognitive power, represented in the Oresteia by
Athena and the other Olympian gods. Reason's role, as Aeschylus
understands it, is harmoniously to integrate the lower drives, the
emotions, into human life in a balanced way, neither suppressing
them outright nor giving them free reign over our actions.
Aeschylus provides us with a view of human emotion and its
relation to our overall good that resonates well with St. Thomas
Aquinas's vision of the role of the passions in the moral life (and
thus with a view, we should add, that helps offset the infamously
one-sided read on Greek tragedy offered by Sigmund Freud). If
one can look to Aquinas as the standard-bearer for a genuine
morality of human affectivity, it is because of his almost singular
affirmation of the essential role the passions play in the pursuit of
moral excellence. On this score, the noted moral theologian
Servais Pinckaers asserts that Aquinas's regard for the role of the
passions in the moral life, particularly as he outlines it in his
Summa Theologiae, marks a "unique" achievement "of remarkable
genius." 2
Servais Pinckaers, The Sources of Christian Ethics, trans. Mary T. Noble (Washington,
D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1995), 224; and idem, "Reappropriating
Aquinas's Account of the Passions," in The Pinckaers Reader: Renewing Thomistic Moral
2

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

421

In what follows I shall attempt to corroborate Pinckaers's
claim. To this end, I shall focus on two particular points: (1) the
moral vision of human affectivity implied in Aquinas's decision to
place his systematic study on emotion, the treatise on the passions,
in the Secunda Pars of the Summa Theologiae, that is, in the part
of the Summa that deals with morals; and (2) Aquinas's insistence,
indebted to Aristotle but taken to heights that may have surprised
even the Philosopher, that the passions play an active
collaborative role in the work of moral virtue, that human
emotion becomes rational by participation. On this last point
Aquinas stands in sharp opposition to the prevailing philosophical
tradition. In a word, Aquinas's position falls between the two
extremes we see frequently proposed in the history of
philosophical thought, the one excluding emotion from moral
action and the other identifying emotion with moral duty as such.
I shall close this essay with a brief examination of this history.

I. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE LOCATION OF THE
TREATISE ON THE PASSIONS

A) Movements of the Animal-like Sensitive Appetite
Aquinas ties the emotions, and human affectivity in general, to
the sensory (or sensitive) appetite. He links them, in other words,
to our internal animal-like inclination to bodily goods or evils
perceived by the senses, and to the eventual procurement or
evasion of these sense goods or evils. The passions, then, are
movements of this lower animal-like inclination to sense goods or
evils, movements that are natural to the human condition. 3
Contrary to its usage in modern parlance, where it often connotes
fits of affective vehemence, the term 'passion', for Aquinas, means
simple sensate (or lower animal-like) movements of the soul
which are natural to the human condition: "Man is similar to
other animals in his sensitive nature," Aquinas explains, "hence,
Theology, ed. John Berkman and Craig Steven Titus (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 2005), 273-87, at 273-74.
3 Aquinas, Expos. super lob ad litt., on 6:4.

422

PAUL GONDREAU

reactions that follow upon the sensitive nature are present in man
naturally, just as they are in other animals. "4 Mindful that passion
(passio) signifies for Aquinas simple sensate movements of the
soul, I shall use the terms 'passion' and 'emotion' as rough
equivalent renderings of the Latin passio.
Aquinas recognizes that the human experience of emotion
confronts us with a paradox. On the one hand, because we share
our internal affective ordering to created bodily goods in common
with the animals, our passions are expressive of the "animal" side
of human nature. On the other hand, we are not mere animals,
and we therefore experience emotion in a unique fashion. The
interplay that our lower sensitive appetite enjoys with reason and
will, our highest faculties, introduces a whole new dynamic into
the human experience of emotion. 5 In addition to our internal
affective ordering to created bodily goods, from which arise the
emotions, we enjoy a higher appetitive ordering: that of the will
which orders us internally to the universal good, the summum
bonum.

B) Emotion and the Hylemorphic Makeup of the Human Being
This twofold appetitive inclination to the summum bonum and
to goods of the body does not mean that the human being suffers
4 In STh I-II, q. 22, a. 3, sc, Aquinas cites John Damascene's definition of passion (found
in De fide orthodoxa 2.22 [De fide orthodoxa. Versions of Burgundio and Cerbanus, ed. E. M.
Buytaert (St. Bonaventure, N.Y.: Franciscan Institute, 1955) , 132]; cf. Nemesius of Emesa,
De natura hominis 15 [Nemesius d'Emese De natura hominis. Traduction de Burgundio de
Pise, ed. G. Verbeke and J. R. Moncho, Corpus latinum commentariorum in Aristotelem
graecorum, suppl. 1 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1975), 93]) as "a movement of the sensitive appetitive
faculty in response to the perception of something good or bad [passio est motus afJ{Jetitivae
virtutis sensibilis in apparitione bani et malt]."
5 STh I-II, q. 24, a. 1, ad l: "Considered in themselves the passions are common to both
man and animal, but as commanded by reason (a ratione imperantur), they are proper to
man." As Pinckaers ("ReappropriatingAquinas's Account of the Passions," 2 7 6) observes: "[At
the outset of the treatise on the passions] the problem of the moral quality of the emotions
situates them in relation to reason and will, and attributes to them a dimension they do not
have among the animals. St. Thomas considers them as human emotions, integrated in the
human composite." See also Stephen Loughlin, "Similarities and Differences between Human
and Animal Emotion in Aquinas's Thought," The Thomist 65 (2001): 45-65.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

423

from an internally truncated ordering. For Aquinas, the human
person is not a disintegrated self. He is a unified, integrated being.
The Cartesian tendency to internalize only the life of the mind,
according to which the appetites and emotions serve as mere
mechanized tools of the mind, and the passions inhabit their own
lower animal sphere with little or no interaction with the life of
the mind, yields, from a Thomist perspective, an inadequate,
disembodied anthropology.
Aquinas of course opts to ground his view of these two
appetitive orderings-and of their integration in view of man's
moral good-in a robust metaphysical conception of the human
being as a body-soul, or matter-form, composite. In Aquinas's
system of thought, which assiduously observes the Scholastic
principle that action follows being (agere sequitur esse),6 it is
paramount to see how man's hylemorphic (matter-form) makeup
stands as the backdrop of all his moral action. Human affectivity
provides an ideal case in point of this, for two principal reasons.
The first centers on the way human emotion uniquely
expresses our matter-form constitution. Aquinas points out how
an emotion involves, in every case, some kind of change in the
body, such as an increased heart rate, trembling of the hands,
flushing of the face, hormonal and biochemical changes (the
chemical oxytocin, for instance, has been linked to emotional
feelings of love). The bodily alteration (or what Aquinas terms the
transmutatio corpora/is) of a passion accounts for why
biochemical and neurological phenomena are so intimately bound
up with the emotions (and why, today, psychopharmacology and
neuropsychology can be of therapeutic benefit in certain cases of
emotional imbalance). In point of fact, the transmutatio corpora/is
is so essential to every movement of passion that we could not
even undergo emotion if we did not have bodies (which explains
why God and the angels are not subject to emotion).
At the same time, Aquinas is careful not to reduce the emotions
solely to the biochemical or to the neurological (as, for example,
6 See STh I, q. 89, a. 1; HI, q. 55, a. 2, ad 1; III, q. 19, a. 2, sc; and III, q. 77, a. 3.
Ultimately, this methodology observes the order of Aristotle's De anima and was followed
throughout the Middle Ages.

424

PAUL GONDREAU

if we would reduce love to the release of oxytocin, or happy
feelings to the chemical endorphin). The transmutatio corporalis
represents merely one essential component of an emotion,
namely, its material component. There is also its formal element.
This Aquinas identifies with the internal movement itself of the
lower sensitive appetite. 7 What specifies an emotion is the
psychical motion (inclination) towards a perceived bodily good
(or avoidance of a perceived bodily evil). An emotion always
involves a change of disposition in the person who undergoes it;
that is, an emotion issues only after the lower sense appetitive
ordering has been acted upon.
With the transmutatio corpora/is marking the material
component of every emotion and the internal movement of the
sensitive appetite its formal component, we can see how the
passions belong both to the body and to the (sensitive) soul
(though in different respects). They stand out as body-soul
phenomena, or as psychophysiological states, to use one author's
term. 8 The sensitive appetite (a power of the soul) acts by means
of a bodily organ, as Aquinas affirms:
[T]he sensitive appetite differs from the intellectual appetite, or the will, in the
fact that the sensitive appetite is a power of a bodily organ, whereas the will is
not. Every act of a power that uses a bodily organ depends not only on a power
of the soul, but also on the disposition of that bodily organ .... Hence, the act
of the sensitive appetite depends not only on the appetitive power, but also on
the disposition of the body. 9

The other reason human emotion relates to the hylemorphic
(matter-form) composition of the human being in a privileged way
7 For passages affirming how the transmutatio corpora/is accompanies the internal motion
of the lower sensitive appetite in the way that matter accompanies form, see STh I-II, q. 44,
a. 1; I-II, q. 17, a. 7; I-II, q. 22, a. 3; I-II, q. 28, a. 5.
8 Peter King, "Aquinas on the Passions," in Aquinas's Moral Theory: Essays in Honor of
Norman Kretzmann, ed. Scott MacDonald and Eleonore Stump (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell
University Press, 1998), 101-32, at 109.
9 STh I-II, q. 17, a. 7. One can detect shades of this position in Albert the Great, De
motibus animalium, bk. 1, tr. 2, ch. 4; andDe incamatione., tr. 6, q. 1, a. 1, ad 1; and tr. 6,
q. 1, a. 2 (ed. I. Backes, in Opera omnia, editio Coloniensis, vol. 26 [Munster: Aschendorff,
1958], 220-21); cf. George C. Reilly, The Psychology of Saint Albert the Great Compared with
that of St. Thomas (Ph.D. diss., The Catholic University of America, 1934), 59-60.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

425

is the manner in which our lower animal-like appetite, which
orders us to goods of the body, participates in our higher mental
or spiritual dimension, namely, in our rationality. What Aquinas's
anthropology promotes, in other words, is what we could term a
"participated psychology." In his view an intimate synergy and
interpenetrability exist between the emotions and reason and will,
making the emotions not merely "animal-like" acts but genuine
human acts. After all, the sensitive appetite forms part of the
larger whole which is the human being. We are rational even in
our bodies, in our eyes, in our muscles, in that which is
biochemical in us: "it pertains to man's good," Aquinas explains,
"that ... virtue [i.e., the life of reason] should involve the
intellectual part, the sensitive part, and the body. " 10 We find
something like this illustrated in the Oresteia, where the Furies
could be integrated into the Olympic pantheon only because there
was already something of the rational in them.
That the sensitive appetite and its movements, the passions,
form part of the larger whole which is the human being, that they
participate in our humanity, is attested by the fact that reason and
will can incite movements of passion, just as movements of
emotion can rouse the will and influence a judgment of reason.
Our passions and desires often shape how we think, thereby
influencing how we act. For Aquinas, this offers plain evidence of
the fact that the lower appetitive ordering to goods of the body
truly participates in the higher appetitive ordering to happiness
and fulfillment, to goodness itself.
Furthermore, as the form of a material body, the soul is so
essentially bound to the body that it cannot operate without the
body. The life of the body must be sustained if the soul, even in
the operation of its rational or spiritual powers, is to act, let alone
flourish. That the emotions move us towards those goods which
sustain the life of the body evinces just how much the properly
human, that is, the rational or intellectual, dimension of our lives
must make room for the integration of our emotions. We see this
particularly in the case of the desire (an emotion) for pleasures
10 De Malo, q. 12, a. 1. For more on this element of Aquinas's teaching, see Peter King,
"Aquinas on the Passions," 126-31.

426

PAUL GONDREAU

associated with eating and drinking, which directly sustain the life
of one's own body. There is no spiritual or moral excellence if the
needs of the body are ignored.
C) A Necessary First Step in the Human Quest for Happiness and
the Highest Good
We are now in a position to consider Aquinas's decision to
locate his exhaustive study on human affectivity, the treatise on
the passions, at the heart of his systematic study of human
morality, namely, in the Secunda Pars of the Summa Theologiae.
The treatise on the passions, as Pinckaers has observed, marks
the largest treatise in the entire Summa, comprising twenty-seven
questions of one hundred thirty-two articles. 11 Such a study
dwarfs the only known historical precedents, both of which
Aquinas draws upon: Nemesius of Emesa's short treatise on the
passions in his De natura hominis and, following this, John
Damascene's treatise on the same in his De fide orthodoxa
(Aristotle left us no systematic treatment of the passions). 12
11 See Pinckaers, "ReappropriatingAquinas'sAccount
of the Passions," 273. Pinckaers here
also examines Aquinas's earlier works in which he displays a clear and developing interest in
the passions. In this treatise in the Prima Secundae, Aquinas offers a systematic study of: the
passions in general, including their morality (qq. 22-25); the nature, causes, and effects of the
passion of love (qq. 26-28); the nature of the passions of hate (or dislike) and desire (qq. 2930); the nature, causes, effects, and morality of the passion of pleasure (qq. 31-34); the nature,
causes, effects, remedies, and morality of the passions of pain and sorrow (qq. 35-39); the
nature of the passions of hope and despair (q. 40); the nature, object, causes, and effects of
the passion of fear (qq. 41-44); the nature of the passion of courage (q. 45); and the nature,
causes, remedies, and effects of the passion of anger (qq. 45-48).
12 The former work, written between 390 and 400 and falsely attributed to Gregory of
Nyssa in the Middle Ages, studies the passions of desire, pleasure, sorrow, anger, and fear. For
this treatise in the critical edition of the Latin text known to Aquinas, see Nemesius d'Emese
De natura hominis, ed. Verbeke and Moncho, 92-126. Damascene reproduces Nemesius's
treatise almost verbatim, as he examines in book 2 of his De fide orthodoxa the passions of
joy, sorrow, fear, and anger (ed. Buytaert, 119-47). P. Bonifatius Kotter (Die Schriften des
Johannes van Damaskos, 5 vols., Patristische Texte und Studien [Berlin and New York: Walter
de Gruyter, 1969-88], 2:xxix) has identified seventy passages in De fide orthodoxa in which
Damascene's remarks concerning psychology and anthropology can be traced to Nemesius.
As for Aristotle, we find passing comments on the passions inasmuch as they relate to moral
virtue and to pleasure in theNicomacheanEthics (especially 2.5-6; 3.6-7; 4.5-6; and 7.3-10),
and inasmuch as the passions affect the dispositions of an audience targeted for convincing

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

427

That Aquinas places the treatise on the passions in the moral
part of the Summa is surprising if we recall that the dominant
telos of the moral life, and the governing principle of the entire
Secunda Pars, is eternal beatitude. Indeed, at first sight one would
expect Aquinas to have placed his study on the passions earlier, in
the Prima Pars, specifically in the treatise on the human soul (qq.
75-90), whose prologue proposes to study "the essence of the
soul, its powers, and its operations" (q. 75). As movements of the
sensitive appetite (a power of the soul), the emotions are certainly
to be included among the soul's operations.
But Aquinas prefers the moral life, not the more metaphysical
study on the human soul, as the backdrop for his study on the
emotions. Such a move allows him to drive home the point that
the emotions play a necessary first step in our striving for
happiness, in our attaining the end of seeing God. Although the
passions incline us to the lowest kind of goods, to bodily goods,
which cannot bring us complete fulfillment as rational beings,
these goods do participate in goodness itself-they are, after all,
"good." These interim lower goods remain ordered ultimately to
the perfect and sufficient good (summum bonum), to the absolute
perfection of God. 13
By being inclined internally to limited bodily goods, we are
already on the road, as it were, to the highest good. We are set on
a trajectory, even if only in its initial stages, that has as its ultimate
end point God himself. It bears insisting: the life of spiritual and
moral excellence is not bereft of the enjoyment of earthly and
bodily pleasures. On the contrary, such enjoyment is foundational
to the life of holiness and moral perfection. The life of holiness is
argument in the Rhetoric (especially 2.2-14). These passing comments yield what MarkJ ordan
("Aquinas's Construction of a Moral Account of the Passions," Freiburger Zeitschrift fur
Philosophie undTheologie 33 [1986]: 71-97, at 75-8) calls "innumerable details and applicable
maxims."
13 Michael Sherwin ("In What Straits They Suffered: St. Thomas's Use of Aristotle to
Transform Augustine's Critique of Earthly Happiness," Nova et Vetera, English edition, 3
[2005], 321-33) underscores well Aquinas's achievement in uniting, rather than opposing,
ultimate happiness with an earthly happiness that human natural powers alone can attain:
"Aquinas is able to describe Aristotle's [earthly notion of] happiness as a participation of
ultimate beatitude .... [I]t is a true participation of heavenly beatitude" (333).

428

PAUL GONDREAU

inclusive of our desires, not at odds with them. In a word, God
wants all of us to share in beatitude, bodily desires and all, not just
our "cerebral" sides; he does not want love of him to exclude
desiring and loving created earthly goods.
We should stress that this view on the primordial,
indispensable role emotion plays in the human striving for the
summum bonum exhibits a somewhat Platonic strain in Aquinas's
thought. While ambivalent on the matter, Plato nonetheless
understands well that our lower animal-like drives (what he terms
'spirit' and 'appetite') should not be suppressed as such or
inhibited excessively. Rather, they are like steeds which, although
unruly and needing to run, are the "erotic" drive we depend upon
to propel us on toward the highest Beauty and the highest Good.
Reason acts as the charioteer, to use Plato's legendary metaphor,
by which the motive force provided by the steeds is properly
harnessed and oriented to the highest of the forms, the Good.
This holds even if, as Plato admits, such harnessing "of necessity
gives a great deal of trouble to (the charioteer)." 14
Christian spiritual writers both before and after Aquinas,
however, have been loath to recognize the foundational role the
enjoyment of limited bodily goods plays in our pursuit of spiritual
excellence. This is due in no small measure to the disordering
effects of sin on human affectivity and to the enduring influence
of the Stoic disdain for human emotion. 15 Such disdain has led the
14 Plato, Phaedrus 246-56, in Benjamin Jowett, trans., The Dialogues of Plato (New York:
Random House, 1937); for other remarks on the division of the soul, see Republic 4. Plato's
ambivalence stems from his disdain for the body, which probably accounts for why inPhaedo
(64-84) he speaks of how one must move beyond sensible pleasures in order to attain true
spiritual joy. This undoubtedly explains why Aquinas rarely comments on Plato's regard for
the morality of the passions (for one passage in which Aquinas addresses Plato's position, see
STh I-II, q. 34, a. 3). Pope Benedict XVI's inaugural Encyclical Letter, Deus caritas est, which
opens with an attempt at reconstructing a renewed and purified understanding of eras and
agape, approximates the Platonic understanding of eras in saying that eras is a form of love
the Greeks see as "a kind of intoxication, the overpowering of reason by a 'divine madness'
which tears man away from his finite existence and enables him, in the very process of being
overwhelmed by divine power, to experience supreme happiness" (Deus caritas est 4
[translation taken from the Vatican web site (www.vatican.va)]).
15 See below for references to Stoic texts (principally from Cicero, Seneca, and Virgil). For
numerous texts from Aquinas criticizing the Stoic view and which span his entire career, see
Paul Gondreau, The Passions of Christ's Soul in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, Beitrage

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

429

Christian spiritual tradition in the main to relegate the passions,
and human affectivity in general, to the margins of the spiritual
life, usually as obstacles to be shunned. 16 With expressive imagery,
Pinckaers notes the danger of reviling this essential element of
human life:
zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Theologie des Mittelalters, Neue Folge 61 (Munster:
Aschendorff, 2002), 282 n. 46. Two examples are Sth I-II, q. 59, a. 3, where he denounces
the Stoic view as "unreasonable" (hoc irrationabiliter dicitur), and In loan., c. 11, lect. 5
[Marietti ed., 1535], where he calls the Stoic disdain for emotion "excessively inhuman"
(valde inhumanum). For an analysis of the influence of Stoicism on Aquinas's thought,
including the morality of the passions, see E. K. Rand, Cicero in the Courtroom of St. Thomas
Aquinas, The Aquinas Lecture 1945 (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 1946); Gerard
Verbeke, The Presence of Stoicism in Medieval Thought (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic
University of America Press, 1983), 1-19; and Michel Spanneut, "Influences sto!ciennes sur
la pensee morale de S. Thomas d'Aquin," in The Ethics of St. Thomas Aquinas: Proceedings
of the Third Symposium on St. Thomas Aquinas' Philosophy, ed. L. J. Elders and K. Hedwig,
Studi tomistici 25 (Vatican City: Libreria editrice vaticana, 1984), 50-79.
16 An exception to this general rule would be the great twelfth-century mystic Bernard of
Clairvaux, who stresses heavily the affective side of the human love for God (e.g., in his
"Sermon 7 on the Song of Songs" [in Bernard of Clairvaux: Selected Works, ed. G. R. Evans,
Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), 110-15]). Pinckaers
("Reappropriating Aquinas's Account of the Passions," 274) points to D. M. Prilmmer's
influential Manuale Theologiae Moralis (ll'h ed.; Freiburg im Breisgau, 1953) as a good
example-despite its claim of being written "according to the principles of St. Thomas
Aquinas" -of moral hostility to the emotions, since its treatment of the passions comes in the
section entitled "On the Enemies of Voluntary Acts (De hostibus voluntarii)." Two spiritual
writers who lived shortly before Aquinas and who repeated the Stoic charge that the passions
are "sicknesses" of the soul were William of St. Thierry (d. 1148), De natura corporis et
animae (PL 180:714) and Richard of St. Victor (d. 1173), De statu hominis interioris 1.9 and
34 (PL 196:1122 and 1141). One could also list Gregory of Nyssa, who, as Michael
Dauphinais tells us ("Languages of Ascent: Gregory of Nyssa's and Augustine of Hippo's
Exegeses of the Beatitudes," Nova et Vetera, English edition, 1[2003],141-63, at 151-52),
sees passion as signifying unruly, disordered desire as such. See Gregory of Nyssa, Homily
5.131-33, in Gregory of Nyssa: Homilies on the Beatitudes: An English Version with
Commentary and Supporting Studies. Proceedingsof the Eighth International Colloquium on
Gregory of Nyssa (Paderborn, 14-18 September 1998), ed. Hubertus R. Drobner and Albert
Viciano (Boston: Brill, 2000). The influential modern Lutheran thinker Dietrich Bonhoeffer
(The Cost of Discipleship [repr.; New York: Touchstone, 1995], 127) carries on the ChristianStoic heritage when he writes the following on the emotion of anger: "Jesus will not accept
the common distinction between righteous indignation and unjustifiable anger. The disciple
must be entirely innocent of anger, because anger is an offence against both God and his
neighbour." For a recent theological essay arguing that the Christian life should be devoid of
the emotion of anger, see Paul Lauritzen, "Emotions and Religious Ethics," Journal of
Religious Ethics 16 (1988): 307-24; idem, Christian Belief and Emotional Transformation
(Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell University Press, 1992).

430

PAUL GONDREAU

Some think that [moral excellence] can only be achieved by suppressing our
feelings and passions in a kind of self-mutilation. But would we want an animal
trainer to use such methods? Wouldn't we mock him if he showed us tigers
without fangs or claws? On the moral level such tactics would be more serious,
not to say ridiculous, for movements of sensibility exist and act within us.17

In order to break ranks with the Stoic-inspired school of
thought, then, and to stress that we cannot secure a happy
life-the goal of moral action-without the emotions, Aquinas
takes the unprecedented step of situating the passions at the heart
of his study on human morality. Such a tactical maneuver
underscores the point that we cannot jettison the emotions from
"the universal consideration of moral agency," as Pinckaers puts
it. 18 Our sensitive appetite, our animal-like inclination to lower
goods, acts as a kind of germinating seed from which our desire
to possess the first good sprouts forth. In this good our entire
appetitive longing (our "erotic" longing, to use Platonic language),
both intellectual and sensitive, both rational and animal, finds its
complete rest. Such longing no doubt accounts for Aquinas's
rather bold, if not controversial, assertion that the passion of love,
amor, acts as the source of two theological virtues, namely, hope
and charity. 19 In a word, the whole of man is made to be moved
from within, moved even by his lower sensitive appetite, to the
acquisition of eternal happiness, to the proper end of human life.

17 Servais Pinckaers, The Pursuit of Happiness-God's
Way: Living the Beatitudes, trans.
Mary T. Noble (New York: Society of St. Paul, 1998), 62-63.
18 Pinckaers, "Reappropriating Aquinas's Account of the Passions," 273.
19 STh II-II, q. 17, a. 8: "[The virtue of] hope precedes charity, and this is clear from the
fact that hope and all movements of the appetite [including charity] derive from love [ex
amore derivatur]" (cf. ibid., ad 2). By this Aquinas means all appetitive movements toward the
good, even those of the most spiritual kind, have simple affective connaturality as their
foundation: "every movement towards something or rest in something [including the virtues
of hope and charity] arises from some connaturality [connaturalitate] or apmess [coaptatione]
to that thing, and in this does [the passion of] love [amor] consist" (STh I-II, q. 27, a. 4).
Pinckaers ("Reappropriating Aquinas's Account of the Passions," 2 7 6) adds that when Aquinas
examines the effects of the passion of love, he employs terms (e.g., union, mutual indwelling,
ecstasy, zeal, and wounding) that "directly evoke the language and experiences of Christian
mysticism." I am grateful to Vivian Boland, O.P., for bringing this point to my attention (in
personal conversation).

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

431

II. How HUMAN EMOTION BECOMES
RATIONAL BY PARTICIPATION

A) Competing Appetitive Pulls
As Aquinas knew well, only too rarely do our intellectual and
sense appetitive longings work harmoniously toward the
attainment of our true end. Although the highest faculties of the
human soul, reason and will, retain a natural "power to
command" (imperium) the lower animal-like faculties, this power
is not absolute. The sensitive appetite retains a kind of quasiautonomy. As a result, the lower sensitive appetite, inclining as it
does to interim sense goods, remains ever ready to rebel against
reason and will's imperium, or, conversely, to consent to it.
This gives rise to a veritable strife within each of us, a clash
between competing appetitive pulls: the one to bodily goods (the
lower sensitive pull) and the other to our highest good, the good
of reason (the superior intellectual pull). The Christian theological
tradition has employed the term 'concupiscence' to refer to this
contest of appetitive pulls in the human person. Saint Paul
poignantly describes it as a "war among my members" making
him "not do the good I want" (Rom 7:14-24). Every person finds
himself subject at times to the inordinate pull of emotions that, to
varying degrees, oppose his better judgment. In a word,
concupiscence encapsulates the entire package of disordering
effects that sin has wreaked on the passions, or on human
affectivity in general. 20 Pinckaers, again using vivid metaphorical
imagery, expresses well the interior state of disorder that pertains
to the experience of every human individual:

20 In Aquinas the term 'concupiscence' denotes a state of general disorder in the human
condition, wherein the sensitive appetite remains inordinately inclined to lower, mutable
goods. See STh I-II, q. 82, a. 3; I-II, q. 82, a. 4, ad 1; I-II, q. 91, a. 6; De Malo, qq. 3-4; and
De Veritate, q. 25, aa. 6-7. For a detailed analysis of this point, cf. M.-M.Labourdette, "Aux
origines du peche de l'homme d'apres saint Thomas d'Aquin," Revue thomiste 85 (1985):
357-9 8, at 3 71-85; and Gondreau, The Passions of Christ's Soul in the Theology of St. Thomas
Aquinas, 294-300.

432

PAUL GONDREAU

If we look within ourselves and study our conscience and reactions a bit, we can
perceive the shadowy figures of all kinds of animals who live there and threaten
us .... We find the proud, domineering lion, the bragging rooster, and the vain
peacock, the flattering cat and the sly fox .... We discover the brutal rhinoceros
and the sluggish elephant, the scared rabbit and the sensual pig, the fierce dog
and the gnawing worm .... What power and firmness is needed, what clearsightedness and skill, if we are going to control all these instincts, bring them to
heel, and compel them to obey and serve charity! Complete self-mastery is a long
and exacting work. 21

B) Reason's and Will's Limited Power to Command the Sensitive
Appetite
To signify this unique relationship between the lower sensitive
appetite and the higher intellectual powers, and the appetitive
conflict accruing to it, Aquinas resorts to a term coined by
Aristotle, principatus politicus. 22 By this term Aquinas, following
the Philosopher, attempts to convey a political metaphor whereby
the lower appetite can be likened to free subjects who participate
in limited ways (viz., through their free consent) in the
governance of a sovereign, the sovereign in this case being reason
and will. Today we would say constitutional monarchy best
corresponds to the type of political model to which Aquinas
wishes to compare the imperium that reason and will exercise
over the sensitive appetite.
Continuing to follow Aristotle, Aquinas singles out the
cultivation of the moral virtues (along with the assistance of
divine grace, he would add) as the way reason and will
harmoniously exercise their imperium over the sense appetite and
its movements, the passions. Moral virtue acts as the vehicle by
which the sensitive appetite cooperates serenely with its
"sovereign," reason and will. To moral virtue belongs the task of
"humanizing" the emotions, the movements of our lower sensitive
appetite.

21 Pinckaers, The Pursuit of Happiness,

62.

22 The classical text from Aquinas affirming this comes in STh I, q. 81, a. 3, ad 2. For the

term in Aristotle, see Politics 1.5.1254b2-5 (translations of Aristotle are from Richard
McKean, The Basic Writings of Aristotle [New York: Random House, 1966]).

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

433

If this insight is not unique to Aquinas, neither is it to Aristotle.
Ancient Greek wisdom as a whole perceived the need to balance
and humanize, through the governing role of reason, our lower
animal-like drives. Not only is this the implication of Plato's
allegory of the charioteer, it is also, as indicated at the outset of
this essay, dramatized especially powerfully in Aeschylus's
Oresteia, written a full century before Aristotle. It is implied as
well, I think, in as ancient a work as Homer's Odyssey. Here we
read how Odysseus survives his long return journey to Ithaca by
the balanced self-control he persistently exercises over his lower
urges-in contrast to his shipmates, who all eventually lose their
lives as a consequence of their lack of said self-control. We see
this in the case of the cattle of the sun god Helios, which
Odysseus and his men are forbidden to eat under pain of death
but which Odysseus's shipmates, succumbing to their hunger, find
impossible to resist. We see it as well when Odysseus's men yield
to the allure of the lotus plant, the fruit of which saps a man of all
memory of his native land and of all desire to return home.
If this regard for the balanced integration of the emotions
through the governance of reason is implied in Aeschylus and in
Plato (despite the latter's ambivalence) and even in Homer, it is
made fully explicit in Aristotle, for whom moral virtue "is
concerned with passions and actions" (Aquinas will assert that the
passions constitute the proper "matter" of the moral virtues). 23
Such a designation means that moral virtue, more than anything
else, involves the transforming of our lower animal-like desires
and passions into actions that conform to and participate in the
genuine human good, into actions that set us on a trajectory
toward, rather than divert us from, our highest good. Moral
virtue orients the moral agent, inclusive in particular of his
affectivity, to God himself. 24
23 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 2.6.1106b15-16;

Aquinas, STh I-II, q. 59, aa. 4-5; I-II,
q. 60, a. 3. See as well Nemesius of Emesa, De natura hominis 31 (ed. Verbeke-Moncho,
126); and Albert the Great, De bona, tr. 1, q. 5, a. 1, ad 4 (ed. C. Feekes, in Opera omnia, ed.
Colon., vol 28 [Munster: Aschendorff,1951], 74).
24 While the view that virtue orients the moral agent to God is central to Aquinas's
teaching, such a view is practically absent from the likes of Elizabeth Anscombe and Alasdair
Macintyre, both of whom played a key role in the twentieth-century recovery of the "virtue

434

PAUL GONDREAU

C) "Rational by Participation"
Aquinas takes the notion of principatus politicus and its close
association with moral virtue further. While continuing to draw
upon Aristotle, specifically upon the Stagirite's observation that
the sensitive appetite "participates in reason to some extent," 25 the
Dominican Master forges a doctrine on the transformative power
of moral virtue that becomes truly his own.
In Aquinas's participated psychology, the lower animal-like
powers (including the sensitive appetite) flow from and participate
in the higher intellectual ones, all the while remaining ordered
back, drawn, to these higher powers. Because it retains its own
quasi-autonomy, namely, the ability to obey (or disobey) its own
reason's imperium, the sensitive appetite enjoys a privileged
participation in and drawing towards the higher powers, reason
and will. It enjoys a unique synergy with the rational dimension
of the human person.
This is especially the case when it concerns a virtuous act, that
is, an execution (electio) by the will of a judgment of right reason
on the appropriateness (or inappropriateness) of a given
movement of emotion (a judgment made in light of the truth of
the human person and of how the sensible good in question is
ordered to our highest good). 26 Simply put, since the sensitive
appetite must give its consent to the will's command that it carry
out said judgment of right reason, it follows that this lower
appetite can act as an active principle, as a source, of virtuous
behavior. Moral virtue, in other words, succeeds in converting the
ethics" of Aquinas (and Aristotle). For two recent works that seek to reinstate this view among
current virtue-ethics proponents, see Fulvio Di Blasi, Joshua Hochschild, and Jeffrey Langan,
eds., Virtue's End: God in the Moral Philosophy of Aristotle and Aquinas (South Bend, Ind.:
St. Augustine's Press, 2007); and idem, Ethics without God? The Divine in Contemporary
Moral and Political Thought (South Bend, Ind.: St. Augustine's Press, 2007).
25 Aristotle, Nie. Ethics 1.13.1102b13-14.
26 We can see here how essential the virtue of prudence is to living appropriately in
relation to our emotions, since prudence allows right reason to know when a particular
inclination to some sense good falls in line with our ordering to the first good. For an
excellent study on right reason as the rule and measure of human acts, see Laurent Sentis, "La
lumiere dont nous faisons usage: La regle de la raison et la Joi divine selon Thomas d' Aquin,"
Revue des sciences philosophiques et theologiques 79 (1995): 49-69.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

435

very emotions themselves into virtue-oriented movements.
Aquinas does not hesitate to assert that the lower appetite, our
animal-like inclination to bodily goods, has the capability of
becoming, in its very act, "rational by participation. " 27 Not
rational per se, the passions become rational by active, co-opted
collaboration with reason and will; in this way does Aquinas
consider them rational by participation.
This teaching, while plotting, as we shall see, a middle course,
is remarkable. Prima facie it seems nonsensical to hold that
emotion can give rise to virtuous acts, or partake in human
rationality. After all, the passions flow from the animal-like side
of the human person, and virtue is nothing other than the will's
execution of what is cognitively judged to be rationally
appropriate behavior. Human rationality and free choice, not
emotion, make an act virtuous.
While Aquinas agrees that virtue consists first and foremost in
an act of the will-"the principal act of moral virtue," he affirms,
"is choice [electio ], and choice [electio] is an act of the rational
power" 28-he understands that it need not consist exclusively in
an act of the will. In no case does he hold that our passions and
desires have, or at least should have, little or nothing to do with
our moral obligations, that we should do what we ought to do
regardless of our passions and desires.
27 I Ethic., lect. 13 (Marietti ed., 242) (emphasis added) (Thomas Aquinas, Commentary
on Aristotle's "Nicomachean Ethics," trans. C. I. Litzinger, O.P. [Notre Dame, Ind.: Dumb Ox
Books, 1993]). Aquinas outlines this position in much greater depth in three principal loci:
STh I-II, q. 56, a. 4; Quaestiones disputatae De virtutibus in communi, a. 4 ("Whether the
irascible and concupiscible appetites can be the subject of virtue"}, which was written just after
the completion of the Prima Secundae; and III Sent., d. 33, q. 2, a. 4, qcla. 2. Classic studies
of this issue are found in M.-D. Chenu, "Les passions vertueuses: L'anthropologie de saint
Thomas," Revue philosophique de Louvain 72 (1974): 11-18; and idem, "Body and Body
Politic in the Creation Spirituality of Thomas Aquinas," Listening 13 (1974): 214-32. For
another excellent study of this issue, see William Mattison, "Virtuous Anger? From Questions
of Vindicatio to the Habituation of Emotion," Journal of the Society of Christian Ethics 24
(2004): 159-79; see also Bonnie Kent, The Virtues of the Will: The Transformation of Ethics
in the Late Thirteenth Century (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1995).
28 STh I-II, q. 56, a. 4; De virt. in comm., a. 4. The first part of this phrase is a quotation
of Aristotle, Nie. Ethics 2.6.1106a36; and 6.2.1139a22-3.

436

PAUL GONDREAU

D) The Case of Continence: Doing the Good without the Affective
Desire for It
Aquinas's discussion of the virtue of continence and how it
differs from the virtue of temperance may help clarify what it
means to say the emotions become rational by participation. Here
he takes his inspiration once again from the thought of Aristotle,
though he is more explicit than the Stagirite in drawing out its
implications.
The continent individual is the person who acts virtuously but
only after waging a struggle against disordered bodily desires. The
continent differs from the incontinent in that the latter succumbs
to his disordered bodily desires, and thus acts contrary to his
principles, contrary to what he knows he ought to do. 29 Though
seduced by his sensual desires, the continent person, unlike the
incontinent, does not yield to such desires and persists in
accomplishing the good of reason: "the continent man is to be
praised," Aquinas observes, "because he is overcome not by
sensual desire [as is the incontinent person] but by reason." 30
Nonetheless, the continent individual's problem centers on the
fact that he fights against strong desires for bodily pleasures not
in accord with his better judgment. This is why Aristotle says such
a person "acts on decision [i.e., on rational judgment], not on
appetite [or on sensual desire]. " 31 The continent person does the
right thing, though not because he has the affective desire for it.
Put another way, the continent individual does the virtuous deed
through raw will power alone, not with the help of his passions.
If the continent person is to achieve complete moral
perfection, he must attain a proper regulation of his sensual
desires or, more generally, of his internal affective ordering to
created bodily goods. He must be good not only in his rational
judgment but in all his internal desires as well. Contrary to the
29 Aristotle notes that in the continent individual, "reason rightly induces to what is best,
but something besides reason seems to be innate ... which conflicts with reason and resists
reason" (Nie. Ethics 1.13.1102b17-19; see also 7.9-10.1151a30-1152a35.
30 VII Ethic., lect. 9 (Marietti ed., 1443).
31 Aristotle, Nie. Ethics 3.2.1111b15.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

437

view of, say, Immanuel Kant, who holds that we should observe
our moral duty in spite of what we desire, the moral life is meant
to be a life of joy, both affective and spiritual. This can only
happen when we act on rational judgment and on sensual desire
together, when our virtuous actions flow from our passions and
desires: "it belongs to man's moral good to be moved toward the
good both by the will and by the sensitive appetite," Aquinas
insists. 32
E) The Case of Temperance: Doing the Good with the Affective

Desire for It
Aquinas understands that one can affirm precisely this of the
fully temperate individual. The person who has acquired the
habit, the character (habitus), of being temperate experiences little
or no inordinate pull from his concupiscible appetite. He is pulled
by his concupiscible appetite, but toward the rational good, as his
internal desires assist him in acting temperately. He performs the
virtuous deed not through raw will power alone but with the help
of his passions. In this way even his desires are morally
praiseworthy. Such a person acts with pleasure and promptness,
and finds ease, not burdensome toil, in living virtuously. 33 This
person has attained the goal of the moral life.
The regulation of pleasures associated with sex, which more
specifically concerns the virtue of chastity (temperance oversees
the balanced enjoyment of bodily pleasure in general), illustrates
well how the temperate (or chaste) person differs from the
continent one. While both the chaste individual and the continent
do what reason commands as regards sexual pleasure, the
continent person does so only through struggling with desires for
illicit sexual pleasure. Conversely, the truly chaste individual
experiences no such struggle. This person enjoys good affective
desires, chaste desires, and these help him accomplish the good of
reason. Aquinas would argue that, whereas both observe the
32 STh I-II, q. 24, a. 3.
33 See STh I-II,

q. 24, a. 3, ad 1.

438

PAUL GONDREAU

chaste duty, there remains a clear moral difference between the
two. The chaste man has acquired the character (habitus) of being
chaste, which results in rightly ordered internal desires, whereas
the continent individual simply does the chaste thing without
having chaste desires. As Aquinas affirms in two key passages from
his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics:
[I]n these men [endowed with the habit of moral virtue] nearly everything-both
external actions and internal desires-harmonize with reason .... [And so when
we consider the difference between the virtues of temperance and continence,
we see that] the temperate man does not have the evil desires of the continent
because his sensual desire is well ordered by his habit of temperance . ... Hence,
by his habit of temperance the temperate man takes no delight in desires
contrary to reason, while the continent man is disposed to take unreasonable
pleasure though he is not seduced by his passion. 34

This leads Aquinas to conclude, rather boldly, that the chaste
individual enjoys a virtuous concupiscible appetite, that is, a
rightly (or rationally) ordered concupiscible appetite which offers
its active assistance to living chastely. His concupiscible appetite
is inclined, of itself, to being chaste; it possesses the habit, the
character, of the virtue of chastity ("his sensual desire is well
ordered by his habit of temperance"). 35 Conversely, the continent
man is foiled by his concupiscible appetite. His desires speak a
different voice from his reason. Herein lies the moral difference.

F) Emotion as a Goad to Acts of Self-Mastery
What we see concretely illustrated in the case of the chaste
individual drives home the moral implications of the notion of
principatus politicus and what it means to say that the emotions
become rational by participation. For additional clarification on

34 I Ethic., lect. 13 (Marietti ed., 239); and VII Ethic., lect. 9 (Marietti ed., 1453-4);
emphasis added.
35 In Nie. Ethics 1.13.1102b29, Aristotle affirms that in the fully virtuous person, "every
act [of the lower sensitive appetite] harmonizes [homophonia (lit., 'is of one voice')] with

reason."

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

439

this point, we should consider briefly the notion of the human
being as master of his actions.
Aquinas notes that it is unique to the human person, who is
endowed with reason and will, to have mastery over his actions,
or to enjoy the ability of governing his internal movements which
may otherwise oppose his rational judgment. 36 The need for selfmastery does not extend to all our actions, however. Our bodily
limbs, for instance, do not require the oversight of reason and will
in order to ensure they do as they are commanded; the hand, the
foot, the arm, the neck will always observe what the mind
commands of them and would never, on their own, resist the
commands of reason and will. Strictly speaking, we do not gain
"mastery" over the running of our legs or the turning of our
heads.
Our lower animal-like appetite and its movements, the
passions, belong to a different realm. It is the realm of the truly
human, that is, the realm of the rational (by participation) in
virtue of reason and will's governance: "[the passions are acts]
common to men and brutes," writes John of St. Thomas, "but in
man [they are] governable by reason." 37 Because it has the power
to obey or disobey reason and will's imperium, the sense appetite,
in its operation, requires the proper oversight of our higher
powers. In a word, the lower appetite incites the human person to
acts of self-mastery, since over the emotions the human person
can and must gain mastery. This is to say nothing other than that
the emotions incite the human person to acts of virtue, as gaining
such self-mastery belongs of course to the task of moral virtue.
Insofar, then, as an emotion leads us to gain mastery over it, it
is brought up into the work of our higher intellectual faculties. It
36 "Man differs from irrational animals in this, that he is master of his actions. Wherefore
those actions alone are properly called human of which man is the master. Now man is the
master of his actions through his reason and will" (STh I-II, q. 1, a. 1).
37John of St. Thomas (John Poinsot), Introduction to the "Summa Theologiae" of Thomas
Aquinas. Isagogue of John of St. Thomas, bk. 2, pt. I-II, trans. Ralph Mcinerny (South Bend,
Ind.: St. Augustine's Press, 2004), 65. For more on this theme, see Claudia Eisen Murphy,
"Aquinas on Our Responsibility for Our Emotions," Medieval Philosophy and Theology 8
(1999), 163-205 (also idem, Virtues and Vices of the Passions: An Analysis of Thomas
Aquinas's Moral Psychology [Ph.D. thesis, Cornell University, 1998]).

440

PAUL GONDREAU

is finalized as a properly human act, as a rational act, as a virtuous
act. In the case of the chaste individual mentioned above, we can
say his desires for sexual pleasure are finalized as rationally
appropriate, as virtuous desires, all the while remaining affective
desires. He enjoys chaste or "humanized" affective desires.
Just as importantly, to say that the emotions incite us to acts of
virtue, that the sense appetite acts as a goad to virtue, is to affirm
that this lower appetite is a source of rationally appropriate (i.e.,
virtuous) behavior. The human sense appetite, our animal-like
ordering to created bodily goods, gives rise to acts of virtue as
from a principle or source, as from a cause. 38
We see here just how far Aquinas pushes his participated
psychology. What the sensitive appetite sets in motion reason and
will finalize through a transformative synergistic process. Recall
how the Oresteia illustrates this transformative process when,
after the Furies have agreed to subordinate their instinctive desires
for blood vengeance to the commanding role of reason,
represented by Athena and the other Olympian gods, these desires
are transformed and "humanized," that is, integrated into and
thereby made to collaborate with a system of justice informed by
reason (namely, trial by jury).

G) The Lower Sense Appetite as a Virtuous Habit
Since the sensitive appetite participates in the rational
dimension of the human person through its acting as a source of
virtue, nothing prevents us from locating moral virtue in this
lower animal-like inclination to sense goods. On this point
38 As the fifteenth-century Thomist John Capreolus, commenting on this teaching of
Aquinas, succinctly puts it: "Every power that is able to be a principle of a human act, and is
not of its nature determined ... to obeying reason, can be the subject of a virtue" (Defensiones
Theologiae DiviThomaeAquinatis, bk. 3, d. 33, a. 1, end of concl. 1 Uohn Capreolus, On the
Virtues, trans. K. White and R. Cessario (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of
America Press, 2001), 250]). Aquinas does affirm in STh I-II, q. 77, a. 6, ad 2 that emotion
can lesson the freedom of an action when it acts as a cause of virtue. But this is not the same
as what is at issue here, which Capreolus well explains. It is more what Aquinas argues in STh
HI, q. 56, a. 4, namely, that any power of the soul that operates as a principle of a genuine
human act must participate in human rationality.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

441

Aquinas is unequivocal: "it follows that there [is a kind of] human
virtue ... [which] is placed in what is rational by participation,
that is, in the appetitive part of the soul. " 39
Once we say this, we can, with Aquinas, speak of the sense
appetite as a virtuous habit (habitus), since virtue is nothing other
than a habitus, a quality of the soul, whereby our repeated good
acts incline us to acting rightly, or endow us with a stable,
character-shaping skill at acting well. 40 The sense appetites are
operative passive potencies that are capable of receiving a
character-determining formation (habitus).
Some moralists, pointing to a text by Aristotle for support,
continue to debate whether virtuous habits, because they incline
us to a certain type of comportment, actually lessen our
freedom. 41 We must recall, however, that the faculty of choosing,
the will, has as its object the universal good, the good of reason.
Because virtuous habits incline us to the rational good, they order
the will to its proper object. In so doing they ensure a proper
functioning, and thus the proper fulfillment or flourishing, of the
will. Aquinas does not look upon free will as a radically openended, undetermined power, indifferent to whatever stands before
it, whether good or evil. Rather, freedom is determined and
perfected by, because inscribed in, the human person's natural
inclination to the good. 42 While it may hold, then, that vicious
habits lesson our freedom (the type of habit, in fact, mentioned by
Aristotle), just the reverse is the case for virtuous habits.
Through growth in moral virtue, the lower sense appetite
advances from a power that contests reason and will's power to
command to one that cooperates more and more, through its own
impulses, with this imperium. Not simply forced to submit to
reason and will, the sense appetite is treated as a kind of equal,
I Ethic., lect. 13 (Marietti ed., 243).
III Sent., d. 33, q. 2, a. 4, qcla. 2; and De virt. in comm., a. 4.
41 The key passage from Aristotle comes inNic. Ethics 3.5.1114a3-22, where the Stagirite
asserts that those who have cultivated the vicious habit of intemperance or injustice lack the
ability, the freedom, to be anything but intemperate or unjust.
42 "The will does not desire of necessity whatsoever it desires ... [since] the appetible good
is the object of the will" (STh I, q. 82, aa. 2 and 3; see also I, q. 83, a. 3).
39
40

442

PAUL GONDREAU

and thereby conscripted into active, collaborative service in the
acquisition of the moral virtues. The temperate individual, as we
saw, is no longer foiled by disordered desires for bodily pleasures,
but actually enjoys rightly ordered, virtuous desires for said
pleasures. As Aquinas affirms in a key passage:
It is not the function of moral virtue to make the sensitive appetite altogether
idle, since virtue does not deprive the powers subordinate to reason of their
proper activities, but instead makes them execute [exequantur] the commands of
reason through the exercise of their proper acts. Virtue therefore ... orders the
sensitive appetite to its proper regulated movements. 43

If this did not happen, our attempt at acting virtuously would
meet often with resistance from our lower animal-like inclination
to sense goods. This would severely limit the extent to which
virtuous behavior perfects our character, since we would never
rise above the virtue of continence. The internal acts that stem
from our lower sensitive appetite, the emotions, would never be
genuinely "humanized." To attain the state of moral perfection we
need to become good in our emotions and desires as well as in the
choices of our will.
III. THE UNIQUENESS OF AQUINAS'S THEORY
As noted at the outset of this essay, this element of Aquinas's
thinking stands out in striking relief when we situate it against the
backdrop of the history of philosophical thought. With the
obvious exception of Aristotle, philosophers typically adopt one
of two extremes on the matter. Either they assign the passions a
negligible, if not inimical, role in the moral life, or they allot
emotion a governing, commanding role in the moral life.

A) Theories Disparagingthe Passions
For the former, beyond the ambivalences of Plato, Stoicism
marks the first philosophical school of thought to harbor a clear
43 STh

I-II, q. 59, a. 5 (emphasis added).

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

443

disdain for emotion. Failing to distinguish passion (i.e., an
internal movement of sense inclination to bodily goods) from the
movements of our intellectual appetite (i.e., the will), and
preoccupied with emotion's ability to cloud our judgment and to
hamper our duty to live virtuously, the Stoics can manage no
better than to revile the passions as "sicknesses of the soul. "44 The
goal of the moral life is apatheia, indifference to one's emotional
states.
Neoplatonism carries on this contemptuous attitude for human
emotion, looking upon passion as an inherent hindrance to the
spiritual ascent of the soul toward union with the One. 45
Influenced by the neo-Platonic view and representative of the
Franciscan voice, Bonaventure in Aquinas's own day takes issue
with the Master from Aquino's decision to assign a seat of moral
virtue to the sense appetite; at the end of the thirteenth century
John Duns Scotus amplifies the Franciscan criticism. 46 Neither of
For Stoic texts indicating a contempt for the passions, see Cicero, De finibus 3.20;
Tusculanae Quaestiones. 1.80; 3.4 and 10; 4.5-6; Virgil, Aeneid 4.449; and Seneca, De
dementia 7;Moral Epistles, IX, epistles 5, 9 and 85; andDe constantia sapientis 7. For more
on this, see Gondreau, The Passions of Christ's Soul in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas,
281n.44.
45 Plato's remarks in Phaedo 64-84, where again he speaks of how one must move beyond
sensible pleasures in order to attain ttue spiritual joy, probably explain why Neoplatonism
blames the passions for much of human suffering and disorder, as Pierre Hadot notes in his
Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. Arnold I.
Davidson, trans. Michael Chase (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995), 83-100. Commenting on this
aspect of Hadot's work, Michael Dauphinais ("Languages of Ascent," 144-45) writes: "The
passions debilitate human beings; the spiritual exercises of the philosophers cure the sickness.
. . . [T]o be a neo-Platonist meant that one submitted to a set of progressive spiritual exercises
moving one away from the disturbance of the passions toward union with the One." Pinckaers
("ReappropriatingAquinas's Account of the Passions," 275) agrees: "The Platonists favor the
overcoming of the sensible pleasures in order to attain the joy caused by contemplation of
Ideas." For his part, Augustine takes a positive reading of the Platonists' regard for the
morality of the passions in De civ. Dei 9.4 (CCSL 47:251).
46 Bonaventure forges his position in III Sent., d. 33, a. 1, q. 3 (Quaracchi, Florence:
Collegium S. Bonaventurae, 1882-89, 3:715-18). The dispute with Aquinas on this matter is
well documented by M.-D. Chenu in "Les passions vertueuses. L'anthropologie de saint
Thomas," 11-18; and idem, "Body and Body Politic in the Creation Spirituality of Thomas
Aquinas," 214-32. Cf. Peter King, "Late Scholastic Theories of the Passions: Controversies in
the Thomist Tradition," in Emotions and Choice from Boethius to Descartes, ed. Henri
Lagerlund and Mikko Yrji:insuuri (Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2002), 229-58.
44

444

PAUL GONDREAU

these two Franciscan thinkers will allow Aquinas to ascribe an
active principle of virtuous conduct to our animal-like inclination
to bodily goods, that is, to our sensitive appetite. For them, virtue
can only arise from an act of the will, not from the lower appetite
as well, since they hold that free choice alone appends moral
worth to our actions. 47
In short, Bonaventure and Scotus conceive of the relationship
between the higher powers of the soul and the lower powers more
in terms of imposed submission; reason and will simply impose
their rule on the lower sensitive appetite. Virtue does not
transform the emotions into virtue-oriented movements. It only
"tames" the passions through what Bonaventure calls a forced
"submission to reason" (optemperat rationi). 48 This submission to
reason comes from the rational powers from on high and as from
without. On this point Augustine, for whom reason rules
sensuality despotically, emerges as another probable source for
Bonaventure's position. 49
One could also list Descartes, who otherwise derides the
writings of his predecessors on emotion, as a proponent of the
view that would truncate any real synergy or communication
47 Scotus sums up his position when he writes in Opus. Oxoniense, bk. 3, d. 33, q. 1: "the
moral virtues should not be posited as present principally in the sensitive part of the soul ...
. [For] the will [alone is related to acting] rightly and not-rightly .... And the only necessity
of positing virtues in powers is so that powers that of themselves are able to act rightly and
not-rightly might be ruled by them." For studies on Scotus's teaching on the passions, see Alan
R. Perreiah, "Scotus on Human Emotions," Franciscan Studies 56 (1998): 325-45; and F. de
J. Chauvet, "Las ideas filos6ficas de J. Duns Escoto sobre las pasiones," Estudios Franciscanos
48 (1936): 244-65. For a general presentation of Scotus's thought, see Allan B. Wolter,Duns
Scotus on the Will and Morality (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1986); Tobias Hoffmann, "The Distinction between Nature and Will in Duns Scotus,"
Archives d'histoire doctrinale et litteraire du Mayen Age 66 (1999): 189-224; and, for the
virtue of prudence in particular, Mary Elizabeth Ingham, "Practical Wisdom: Scotus's
Presentation of Prudence," in John Duns Scotus: Metaphysics and Ethics, ed. L. Honnefelder
et al. (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), 551-71.
48 Bonaventure, III Sent., d. 33, a. 1, q. 3, ad 1 (Quaracchi ed., 3:717). Scotus's position,
as cited in the previous note, matches Bonaventure's closely: "the only necessity of positing
virtues in powers is so that powers that of themselves are able to act rightly and not-rightly
might be ruled by them" (Op. Ox., bk. 3, d. 33, q. 1).
49 The position of Augustine, drawn from De civitate Dei, is reported by Graham McAleer,
"Pleasure: A Reflection on Deus Caritas Est," Nova et Vetera, English edition, 5 (2007): 31524, at 317.

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

445

between the lower affective dimension of human life and reasoned
judgment. 50 Stirred by his dualist anthropology, Descartes confines the passions exclusively to the realm of the body. And since
the body is superficially joined to the soul, the passions bear no
intrinsic relation to the true human good, the concern of the
soul. 51 His view approximates the position of Bonaventure and
Scotus in that he assigns virtue the task of "reining in" or
"domesticating" the emotions almost against their will, or at least
in spite of the lower sensitive appetite's proper inclination.
Not far removed from the position of Bonaventure and Scotus,
or of Stoicism for that matter, is the view of Immanuel Kant.
Kant, of course, builds his moral system on an anti-realist
rejection of the objective nature of the human being as a basis for
moral theory. That is, his moral thought presupposes a denial of
any objective knowledge of being. This leads Kant (upon whom
so In his The Passions of the Soul, pt. 1, a. 1 (in The Philosophical Writings of Descartes,
trans. Robert Stoothoff [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985], 1:328), Descartes
writes: "The defects of the sciences we have from the ancients are nowhere more apparent
than in their writings on the passions .... [T]he teachings of the ancients about the passions
are so meagre and for the most part so implausible [si peu croyable] that I cannot hope to
approach the truth except by departing from the paths they have followed." Descartes, who
for his own part gives scanty attention to the morality of the passions in this lengthy work,
since he separates the passions from virtuous action, either had not read Aquinas or simply
fails to give Aquinas his due (Aristotle too, for that matter). Pinckaers offers a detailed
comparison of Descartes's teaching on the passions to Aquinas's in "ReappropriatingAquinas's
Account of the Passions," 279-82.
51 Descartes himself writes: "It is to the body alone that we should attribute everything that
can be observed in us to oppose our reason .... [I]t must be observed [then] that (the
passions) are all ordained by nature to relate to the body, and to belong to the soul only in so
far as it is joined to the body" (The Passions of the Soul, pt. 1, a. 47; and pt. 2, a. 137
(Stoothoff, trans., 346 and 376). This leads Descartes to isolate the passions from the work
of virtue in part 2, article 148 (Stoothoff, trans., 382): "For if anyone live in such a way ...
[of] what I here call 'pursuing virtue,' he will receive from this a satisfaction which has such
power to make him happy that the most violent assaults of the passions will never have
sufficient power to disturb the tranquillity of his soul." Also, in part 3, article 212 (Stoothoff,
trans., 404), he writes: "the chief use of wisdom lies in its teaching us to be masters of our
passions and to control them with such skill that the evils which they cause are quite
bearable." For an interesting study criticizing Descartes's radical dualism and how it impacts
his teaching on the passions, see Antonio Damasio, Descartes' Error: Emotion, Reason, and
the Human Brain (New York: Putnam, 1994). Damasio shows how practical reasoning and
affective states are severely impaired by damage to areas of the brain that are responsible for
affectivity.

446

PAUL GONDREAU

we cannot discount the overriding influence of nominalism via
Luther) to cast aside our inclinations and sensible movements,
including the emotions (part and parcel of an "objective human
nature"), in the pursuit of moral excellence. He insists that the
only intrinsically good thing and the only subject of good moral
action is a good will. 52 Human reason, Kant famously writes in a
way reminiscent of the Stoic view, must therefore issue its
commands "with disregard and contempt" for the "impetuous"
natural inclinations (including the emotions). The natural
inclinations represent nothing more than "the powerful
counterweight to moral duty. "53
Whereas, then, for Aquinas what we ought to do should
include our passions and desires, and whereas the moral life
should ultimately be a life of joy, for Kant moral duty requires us
52 "[M] oral worth ... can lie nowhere else than in the principle of the will" (Immanuel
Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, ed. and trans. Mary Gregor [Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1998], sect. 1, p. 13. We should be struck by how similar this
statement is to the one cited above from Scotus, Op. Ox., bk. 3, d. 33, q. l: "the moral virtues
should not be posited as present principally in the sensitive part of the soul. ... [For] the will
[alone is related to acting] rightly and not-rightly." To be sure, in the same section from the
Groundwork, Kant ascribes "genuine moral worth" only to a good deed done "not from
inclination but from duty" (12), since "an action from duty is to put aside entirely the
influence of inclination" (where inclination would include the movements of sensibility, the
emotions) (13); he holds up as honorable only that kind of love which "lies in the will and not
in the propensities of feeling [empfindung]" (ibid.); and he asserts that the grounding for duty
stems from the fact that "there is left for the will nothing that could determine it except
objectively the law and subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and so the maxim of
complying with such a law even if it infringes upon all my inclinations" (13-14). For an
insightful, concise study of Kant's moral philosophy, see Robert Sokolowski, Moral Action:
A Phenomenological Study (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), Appendix D,
"Kant," 215-20.
53 Kant writes in Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals (Gregor, trans., 17): "The
human being feels within himself a powerful counterweight to all the commands of duty ..
.-the counterweight of his needs and satisfactions .... Now reason issues its precepts
unremittingly, without thereby promising anything to the inclinations, and so, as it were, with
disregard and contempt for those claims [of the inclinations], which are so impetuous and
besides so apparently equitable (and refuse to be neutralized by any command)." Commenting
on this element of Kant's thought, Sokolowski (Moral Action, 215-16) observes: "The good
inclination is contrasted to the moral goodness of the will. ... Reason thus legislates for itself;
it does not have its rules set for it by nature .... Kant's moral philosophy [therefore J assumes
a conflict between practical reason or will, on the one hand, and need, inclination, desire,
aversion, or sensibility, on the other."

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

447

to tear ourselves away from our emotions and desires. Our
passions and desires have, or at least should have, little or nothing
to do with our moral obligations. We should do what we ought
regardless of our passions and desires. 54
B) Theories Making the Passions Regnant

As for the philosophical extreme that hands the reins of moral
conduct to the passions as such, first mention must go to
Epicureanism. According to this ancient moral philosophy, the
good life, the life of moral excellence, consists in the pursuit of
pleasure and in the avoidance of pain; the Epicurean goal is to
attain a life free of all disturbance (ataraxia). 55 As Pinckaers notes,
"[t]he Epicureans place their beatitude at the level of the
emotions. "56
A close parallel to the Epicurean view later emerges in the
moral thought of David Hume. Hume's moral philosophy, like
Stoicism, blurs any real distinction between acts of the will and
lower animal-like movements of sensibility. However, whereas in
Stoicism this blurring leads to a disparaging attitude toward
emotion, an attitude shared by Kant, in Hume it leads to the
opposite conclusion. For him, virtue is identified with movements
of passion as such. To say "pleasure" is to say "virtue" and to say
"pain" is to say "vice." 57 In short, moral judgments, in Hume's
54 Without exaggeration, Richard Taylor (Good and Evil: A New Direction [New York:
Macmillan, 1970], 103-15) describes Kant's moral system accurately when he writes: "To be
genuinely moral [for Kant], a man must tear himself away from his inclinations as a loving
being, drown the sympathetic promptings of his heart, scorn any fruits of his efforts, think last
of all of the feelings, needs, desires, and inclinations either of himself or of his fellows and,
perhaps detesting what he has to do, do it anyway-solely from respect for the law."
55 The materialist Epicurus, the founder of Epicureanism who lived 341-270 B.C., writes:
"pleasure is the starting-point and goal of living blessedly" (Letter to Menoeceus, in Hellenistic
Philosophy: Introductory Readings, trans. and ed. Brad Inwood and L. P. Gerson
[Indianapolis: Hacket, 1988], 24).
56 Pinckaers, "Reappropriating Aquinas's Account of the Passions," 275.
57 In A Treatise of Human Nature, bk. 3, pt. 3, sect. 1 (ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge [Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1960], 574), Hume writes: "The chief spring or actuating principle of the
human mind is pleasure or pain . ... The most immediate effects of pleasure and pain are the
propense and averse motions of the mind; which are diversified into volition, into desire and

448

PAUL GONDREAU

view, are nothing other than expressions of feeling. We should
not be surprised, then, when we read Hume assert, rather
provocatively: "Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the
passions, and can never pretend to any other office than to serve
and obey them. " 58
Closely related to Hume's position is that of his British
predecessor, Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes defines our internal life
entirely in mechanistic terms, or entirely in terms of matter in
motion. The human person's internal states consist in nothing
other than sense perceptions of material objects that give rise to
pleasant or unpleasant sensations. These in turn end, respectively,
in desires or aversions (or fears). 59 As with Hume, then, Hobbes's
moral system is based entirely on our passions, on our affective
likes or dislikes. The "good life," the moral life, consists in the
simple satisfaction of our self-interested desires. Like animals, we
are entirely self-serving, self-interested creatures, for whom
"good" is meaningful only in relation to bodily objects. "Good"
simply names objects of our desires or aversions, not some
ultimate, common end shared by all human beings. 60 If for
aversion, grief and joy, hope and fear, according as the pleasure or pain changes its situation"
(emphasis added). Hume then follows with the stark moral implications of this position (5747 5): "We have already observ' d that moral distinctions depend entirely on certain peculiar
sentiments of pain and pleasure, and that whatever mental quality in ourselves or others gives
us a satisfaction [i.e., pleasure], is of course virtuous; as every thing of this nature, that gives
us uneasiness [i.e., pain], is vicious." He repeats this a bit later (590): "Each of the passions
and operations of the mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable or
disagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious."
58 Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, bk. 2, pt. 3, sect. 3 (Selby-Bigge, ed., 415). Later
Hume states: "Moral good and evil are certainly distinguish'd by our sentiments, not by
reason" (ibid., bk. 3, pt. 3, sect. 1 [Selby-Bigge, ed., 589]). Judith Barad ("Aquinas on the Role
of Emotion in Moral Judgment and Activity," The Thomist 55 [1991]: 371-413, at 371)
observes accordingly: "David Hume ... hold[s] that the choice of ultimate values is always
made by the emotional side of our nature."
59 "Life it selfe is but Motion, and can never be without Desire, nor without Feare, no
more than without Sense" (Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. C. B. Macpherson [MiddlesexBaltimore: Penguin Books, 1968, repr. 1981], pt. 1, c. 6, p. 130).
60 As Hobbes affirms in Leviathan, pt. 1, ch. 6 (Macpherson, ed., 120-22): "For these
words of Good, Evill, and Contemptible, are ever used in relation to the person that useth
them: There being nothing and absolutely so; nor any common Rule of Good or Evill, to be
taken from the nature of the objects themselves; but from the Person of the man .... Pleasure,
therefore, (or Delight) is the appearance or sense of Good; and Molestation or Displeasure,

THE PASSIONS AND THE MORAL LIFE

449

Aquinas, then, our emotions mark one lower dimension of the
inner life of the human being, for Hobbes they are part and parcel
of the only dimension of human life, since he defines man as
nothing more than a machine-a definition one modern author
claims marks "a great step forward in thought" (!). 61
An equivalent of the Humean-Hobbesian view resurfaces later
in the utilitarianism of Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill. For
these philosophers, moral duty lies in strict correspondence with
sensible inclinations to pleasure. What one ought to do is that
which accords the greatest and most lasting pleasure. This is
because, for them, pleasure marks the only intrinsic good (and
pain the only intrinsic evil): happiness, as Mill starkly puts it,
consists in "pleasure and deliverance from pain. " 62 Enjoyment of
the greatest number of sense goods by the greatest number of
people marks the goal of British utilitarianism.
CONCLUSION

Counterbalancing various strong voices in the philosophical
tradition, Aquinas smiles kindly upon the role of emotion in the
moral life. In no way should our passions and desires, which
significantly impact the way we think and choose, be excluded
the appearance, or sense of Evil!. And consequently all Appetite, Desire, and Love, is
accompanied with some Delight; and all Hatred, and Aversion, with more or lesse Displeasure
and Offence." Hobbes's identification of good with pleasure and evil with pain, or his blurring
of emotion with virtue and vice, is seen later in the same chapter (Macpherson, ed., 122-27).
Here Hobbes lists what he calls the various kinds of pleasures (or delights} and displeasures
(or aversions): appetite, desire, love, aversion, hate, joy, grief, pain, hope, despair, fear,
courage, anger, confidence, diffidence, indignation, benevolence, good nature, covetousness,
ambition, pusillanimity, magnanimity, valor, liberality, miserableness, kindness, lust, luxury,
jealousy, revengefulness, curiosity, religion, superstition, panic, terror, admiration, glory, vainglory, dejection, sudden glory, laughter, sudden dejection, weeping, shame, blushing,
impudence, pity, cruelty, emulation, envy, deliberation.
61 The claim that Hobbes's mechanistic view of the human being marks a significant
advancement in human thought comes from R. S. Peters, in The Encyclopedia of Philosophy,
ed. Paul Edwards (New York: Macmillan, 1972), s.v. "Hobbes, Thomas."
62 John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism (in Collected Works of John Stuart Mill [foronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1963], 10:210); Jeremy Bentham, Introduction to the Principles
of Morals and Legislation (in The Collected Works off eremy Bentham, ed. J. H. Burns and H.
L.A. Hart [London: Athlone Press, 1970], 1:1).

450

PAUL GONDREAU

from the human quest for moral excellence. No matter their often
disquieting interference in the moral life, they are meant to play
an integral part in our striving for the first good and ultimate
happiness. Aquinas goes even further, insisting that moral virtue
can heal the disordered nature of the passions to the extent that
the virtuous individual is not merely untroubled by his passions,
he is actually helped by his passions in living virtuously. Through
growth in moral virtue, the passions become able to incline us to
our highest good. They can help shape our lives into works of
moral excellence.
In practical terms, this means the more virtuous a person
becomes, the more he can trust his emotional reactions to persons
and events around him, and the less he will struggle with his
lower animal-like impulses. There is a greater likelihood his
emotions will incline him to what is morally good for him.
Certainly, there always remains the possibility that one's emotions
will steer one away from the rational good. But for the virtuous
individual, for whom the virtue of prudence safeguards against
faulty judgments regarding particular movements of emotion,
there is a greater likelihood that his passions will draw him to
created bodily goods that share authentically in the good of
reason. There is a greater likelihood they will help him attain his
proper human flourishing. Such, in any case, is what the
"remarkably ingenious" doctrine of Aquinas on the role of the
passions in the moral life allows us to conclude.

The Thomist 71(2007):451-74

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL
MYSTERY: WHY CHRIST IS NOT A HUMAN PERSON
]AMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.
Seattle University
Seattle, Washington

T

HE INCARNATION is the central mystery of the Christian
faith. It is the mystery that distinguishes Christianity from
all other theistic beliefs, and provides the path to another
demarcating Christian mystery, the Holy Trinity. Through the
mystery of the Incarnation the believer affirms that Jesus is both
divine and human, God and man, while the mystery of the Trinity
affirms that, although the Godhead is one in nature, it consists of
three distinct persons. The latter mystery, while prior in nature to
the first (for God is eternally triune while temporally human), is,
however, secondary in terms of its revelation to mankind, for it
is only through the teaching of Jesus that the Trinitarian
personhood of God was explicitly revealed to man.
It is through the Incarnation of the Son that the triune
personhood of God was revealed. This explains why the mystery
of the Incarnation occupies center stage among Christian beliefs,
and why, throughout the past two millennia, theologians have
striven to expound its nature and signal importance for Christian
believers. On this topic St. Thomas Aquinas could hardly have
been more explicit. "Whatever is within a person," he states,
"whether or not it pertain to his nature, is united with that person
in its personhood [in persona]. If, therefore, a human nature is not
united to the Word of God in a person, it is in no way united with
it. The result of this is that faith in the Incarnation is completely

451

452

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

removed, further resulting in the total subversion of Christian
belief." 1
To the unbelieving, the mystery of the Incarnation often seems
either indistinguishable from a pantheistic view, identifying God
with nature and the world, or is interpreted as being merely a
religious metaphor, affirming that Christ is god-like, though, in
truth, a human person only. It is the theologian's calling, using
human language and reason, to help clarify the meaning and
implications of the dogmatic teachings of faith. Theologians do
not thereby have either the first or the last word regarding what
is to be believed, but they do perform an invaluable, subsidiary
task of elucidating and defending the various mysteries of
Christian belief. The theologian thus positively assists in
uncovering much of the hidden riches and meaning of the
revealed word, as well as in drawing attention to the splendorous
unity of the Church's dogmatic teachings. By the mystery of the
Incarnation the Christian faith affirms that Christ is truly both
God and man. Christ is not God appearing to be human; nor is he
a human appearing to be divine.
The present study restricts its consideration to the contrasting
positions taken regarding the mystery of the Incarnation by
perhaps the two preeminent theologians of the High Middle Ages,
Thomas Aquinas and John Duns Scotus. Both are, of course, in
agreement regarding the doctrinal content of the mystery of the
Incarnation. It is their views regarding its theological explanation
that are at variance. How and why this is the case is the focus of
the present study.
I

We begin by addressing Scotus's view regarding personhood.
For Scotus, a human person is a singularly existing being
composed of body and soul, capable of reasoning. He insists that

1 STh III, q. 2, a. 2, resp. prope finem (emphasis added). Unless otherwise indicated,
translations from the works of St. Thomas Aquinas are my own.

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

453

nothing further is required, other than being singular, to render
a human incommunicable, and hence a person. 2
Scotus's position, then, is that no further positive entity need
be added to an existing singular human nature to constitute it as
a person. What lies behind Scotus's affirmation is his position
regarding the source of singularity in created beings. He rejects
the view of singularity advanced by Aristotle, later embraced by
Aquinas and others, that it is secondary matter, quantity, that is
the cause of singularity within material beings. Contrarily, Scotus
affirms that individuation is brought about by a uniquely positive
entity that both contracts and perfects the underlying common
nature of existing things. Though this singularizing principle does
not add to or in any way modify the nature as nature, it does
account for its positive and ultimate perfection of singularity.
It is this unique entity that for Scotus brings the nature to its
final state of perfection. At the same time he insists that this
principle is not an accident, since it is the ultimate perfection of
the nature; it is, however, what justifies our affirming that this
nature is a singular thing. To the inevitable question, what is this
singularizing principle? Scotus responds:"And if you ask me what
is that individual entity from which the individual difference is
derived, is it matter or form or the composite of both, I answer
that ... that entity is not matter nor form nor the composite,
inasmuch as these are nature, but it is the ultimate reality of the
being which is material or form or composite. " 3
Scotus, then, sees the individuating principle as a positive
entity that provides the ultimate perfection of the nature of an
existing thing, rendering it this particular thing. The term later
given to this entity, and with which it has often been identified,
is the Latin neologism haecceitas (i.e., haecceity, thisness). A
human person, according to Scotus, requires no further perfection
beyond that of the principle of individuation, haecceity, since
individuation entails incommunicability. Thus a singularly existing
human nature is for Scotus, by dint of its singularity, a human
2 Scotus, Quodlibet
3 Ordinatio

mme.

19, a. 3.
II, d. 3, no. 187-88. Translations from the Latin, unless otherwise noted, are

454

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

person, since it is that which provides the nature with its ultimate
actuality. Further, since a singular thing is an actually existing
thing, requiring nothing further to perfect it, it suffices to render
the existing thing incommunicable.
If the singular nature is human, the singular, existing entity is,
ipso facto, a person. As a consequence, it could not, under
ordinary circumstances, be united with another existing being
without losing the perfection of its own personhood, for, by being
so joined, it would have lost the prerogative of incommunicability
essential to personhood. Such a union would ordinarily be
possible only if its principle of individuality were surrendered and
hence, in the case of a human nature, its personhood as well.
Consequently, no singular human nature can be joined to another
singular nature without losing its personhood. It would no longer
exist in its own right, for only singular things exist in an
independent state, and are thus incommunicable. 4
II
Having examined Scotus's position regarding the principle of
individuation as ultimately constitutive of created personhood, we
are now in a position to raise the crucial question regarding the
mystery of the Incarnation. The theological dogma of the mystery
of the Incarnate Word requires the belief that Christ is both God
and man, possessed of a singular divine and a singular human
nature. It also entails the further belief that the personhood of
Christ is divine only. He is not a human person.
The question, why is Christ not a human person? is, historically, the question that has long engaged theologians seeking
a coherent explanation of the mystery of the Incarnation. This
Scotus clearly recognizes, nor is he unaware that his theory of
human personhood does not permit him the easy way out of
simply denying the singularity of the human nature Christ
assumed. Were he to make this claim, he would be saying that the
4 For a discussion of Scotus's theory of individuation see my article, "Scotus and
Haecceitas, Aquinas and Esse, A Comparative Study," American Catholic Philosophical
Quarterly 80 (2006): 63-75.

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

455

second person of the Trinity would have taken to himself an
incomplete nature, and hence an imperfect one. This would
follow for Scotus since the individuating principle, haecceity, is a
positive perfection of the nature it singularizes. Further, all
existing beings are actually singular; no nonindividual or common
natures exist as such. On this point Scotus and Aquinas are in full
agreement.
It would, as Scotus recognizes, be illogical to contend that the
human nature assumed by the Godhead could be anything less
than perfect; it could not lack whatever a human must ordinarily
possess to be human. This would clearly be the case were one to
allege that the human nature of Christ is lacking its own
individuating principle. If one maintains that human personhood
arises from a positive entity distinct from the individual nature,
then the human nature assumed by the Second Person of the
Trinity must be lacking that entity, since the mystery of the
Incarnation requires unconditionally the acceptance that Christ is
a divine but not a human person. 5
Hence, should the assumed human nature be released by the
Divine Word and no longer be united with it, that nature would,
on Scotus's account, fall short of being a human person, since it
would lack the final positive entity constitutive of human
personhood. Recognizing this as unacceptable, Scotus concludes
that created personality is not constituted by a further positive
reality beyond the principle of individuation. Only negative
realities could account for this, such as a denial of its being
communicated, or its being in a state of dependency. 6
Commenting on Scotus's definitive position regarding the
status of the assumed human nature of Christ, and why this nature
does not fulfill the requirements for human personhood, Allan
Scotus, Quodlibet 19, a. 3.
Ibid.: "Since beyond singularity no other positive entity is to be found by which a fully
singular thing becomes incommunicable, all that can be added to singularity is a denial of
communicability or dependency, which the state of incommunicability entails" ("quia ultra
singularitatem non invenitur aliqua entitas positiva qua singulare completive sit
incommunicabile, sed tantum singularitati superadditur negatio communicationis sive
dependentiae, quae est incommunicari").
5

6

456

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

Wolter remarks: "originally Scotus had tentatively proposed a
theory of accounting for how a singular human nature becomes a
person by attributing this development both to a positive entity of
some kind, perhaps a relation, complemented with a negation of
communicability." 7 He acknowledges that Scotus's position
alluded to above, namely, that personhood results from the
double negation of actual and aptitudinal communicability,
represents his definitive position. Commenting on Scotus's views
as expressed in Quodlibet 19 (article 3), Wolter states: 'The
denial of the positive entity theory of human personality and the
substitution of the double negation theory . . . is presented
categorically as Scotus's own view." He concludes: "Being a late
work, it can be accepted as Scotus's final opinion on the subject." 8
In Scotus's view, the singular human nature of Christ does not
lack anything positive that would be required for it to be a person,
for the human nature assumed by Christ was a singular, not a
common one. The nature assumed by Christ must, for Scotus,
possess everything the nature of a human person ought to possess
in order for it to be a perfect human nature. What it does lack, he
concludes, is nothing more than the state of incommunicability
itself, for the singular human nature has been assumed by the
second person of the Trinity, the Eternal Word. For Scotus, Jesus
is not a human person precisely because the singular human
nature has been assumed. Since it exists in communion with the
Word, it lacks the status of incommunicability, and hence cannot
be a person. It lacks nothing positive, however, which would
ordinarily be an indispensible requirement for its being a human
person. What prevents it from being a human person is the
twofold negation of its status as incommunicable and
independent.
One may further conclude that the ultima realitas entis (the
crowning reality of being), is, for Scotus, the individuating
principle, haecceity. If this ultimate reality pertains to a rational
7 Allan Wolter, "John Duns Scotus," in Damian McElrath, ed., Franciscan Christology (St.
Bonaventure, N.Y.: Franciscan Institute Publications, 1980), 142.
8 Ibid. In a footnote Wolter suggests that this conclusion seems corroborated by another
reliable text, Ordinatio III, d. 5, q. 1.

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

457

or human nature, it is the positive factor rendering that nature a
human person. The individuating principle performs the twofold
task of contracting and perfecting the nature to which it pertains.
It contracts the nature, rendering it singular (whereas many
individuals share in a common nature, humanity). It completes the
nature in that it provides it with its culminating perfection,
making it to be this unique individual distinct from all other
existing things, even those sharing the same nature.
III

We turn now to Aquinas's position regarding the human
person, and its application to the key Christological question:
Why is the singular human nature of Christ not a human person?
On this issue there is, clearly, basic disagreement between Scotus
and Aquinas. The latter concludes that the human nature assumed
by the Word is not a human person precisely because it does lack
a positive entity required to render a singular human nature a
person. For Aquinas the supposit (or person, in the case of
humans), the singularly existing thing, is not to be traced, as it is
for Scotus, to the individuated nature. Rather the singular nature
as supposit or person includes within it additionally the act of
being, that is, esse. It is thus not enough that the nature be fully
actualized as nature, and hence individuated, for it to possess the
final perfection that renders it a singlarly existing thing, possessing
existence in itself and not in another.
For Aquinas it is the act of being, esse, that roughly parallels
the expression "ultima realitas entis" Scotus employs to identify
his individuating principle, haecceity, which formally constitutes
the individuated nature an existing thing or supposit, and, where
the nature is human, a person. 9 Furthermore, by distinguishing
between the act of being and that which it actualizes-namely,
essence (nature)-Aquinas is able to account for that ultimate
9 For a more detailed discussion of the role of esse as the formal constitutive of created
supposit/personhood according to Aquinas, see James B. Reichmann, S.J., "St. Thomas,
Capreolus, Cajetanand the CreatedPerson,"TheNewScholasticism 30 (1959): 1-30, 202-30.

458

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

positive perfection of nature that Scotus will ascribe to haecceity,
in addition to its power to individualize the nature.
Aquinas can affirm with full consistency that personhood is not
formally (i.e., most properly) constituted by the nature's having
been singularized. The individuated nature further requires its
own proper act of being (esse) which, as the ultimate actuality of
nature, renders the nature actually existent, and hence absolutely
incommunicable, incapable of being assumed by another, and
therefore personalized. It is only through the actuality conferred
by esse that the singular nature exists independently, and hence in
its own right.
It is important at this point that we take note of a subtle
refinement of Aquinas's position that has on occasion been
overlooked: namely, that while Aquinas not infrequently does
refer to the supposit (person), as a 'distinct subsisting thing', he is
in these instances viewing the supposit from its essential or
material side only .10 In thus alluding to supposit Aquinas is clearly
speaking of it denominatively, not existentially. 11 That is, he is
considering the makeup of the supposit or person exclusively
from the side of essence, and prescinding from the purely
actualizing principle, esse, since this does not contribute to the
'what it is' of the subsisting thing. The supposit considered
formally or most properly, however, does include for Aquinas
everything within the singularly existing being, and hence its esse
as well, even though the latter imposes no limitation on the nature
it actualizes.
Since the act of being does not alter the supposit either
essentially or incidentally, the supposit or singular nature can
truly be said to be one and the same in terms of content. Since,
10 Thus he states: "But since whatever subsists distinctly in human nature can only be an
individualized thing, and thus distinct from others through individuated matter, this must be
materially included whenever something is said to be a human person" ("Sed quia distinctum
subsistens in natura humana non est nisi aliquid per individualem materiam individuatum et
ab aliis diversum ideo oportet quod hoc sit materialiter significatum, cum dicitur persona
humana" [De Pot., q. 9, a. 4]).
11 Ibid.: "It is evident, therefore, that 'person', commonly understood, signifies an
individual substance rational in nature" ("Patet ergo quod persona communiter sumpta,
significat substantiam individuam rationalis naturae").

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

459

then, the act of being does not function as an essential or
accidental principle, it exerts neither formal nor material causality
on what it actualizes. It does not limit what it actualizes; rather,
as pure actuality, it simply actualizes by giving being, though it is
indeed limited by whatever potency it actualizes. 12 AB will be
stressed later, it is precisely here that the metaphysical, and,
consequently, the Christological views of Aquinas and Scotus
significantly diverge.
It might indeed be surmised that it was in applying his theory
of supposit to the mystery of the Incarnation that Aquinas's
position on human personhood achieved its ultimate clarity. This
must remain a matter of conjecture. Nonetheless, the distinction
between the singular nature and supposit, or person, is central to
Aquinas's theological explanation of why the singular human
nature assumed by the Divine Word is not a human person. His
position, again briefly stated, is that the humanity of Christ,
though fully individual and lacking none of the essential or
accidental attributes proper to a human person, is not a human
person because this individual human nature is 'actualized' not by
a human esse, but by the divine esse itself. 13
Thus, for Aquinas, although Christ possesses two natures, he
has but one existential actuality that encompasses both. It is
perfectly consistent for Aquinas to affirm, as the Catholic faith
teaches, that Christ is truly man, for he does possess a totally
complete and singular human nature, and, at the same time, is
truly God, since his sole act of being is the divine esse, which in
turn is wholly one with the divine essence. Thus, though he has
12 Quodl. 2, q. 2, a. 2, ad 2: "[A]lthough esse is not itself included in the definition of
supposit, yet, since it pertains to supposit, and is not included in the definition of nature, it
is clear that supposit and nature are not altogether the same in anything whose nature is not
identified with its 'to be' (esse)" ("[L]icet ipsum esse non sit de ratione suppositi, quia tamen
pertinet ad suppositum, et non est de ratione naturae, manifestum est quod suppositum et
natura non sunt omnino idem in quibuscumque res non est suum esse"). It is noteworthy that
Aquinas employs the same argument in concluding that the essence and supposit in angels are
not altogether the same: "In them [angels] supposit is not entirely the same as nature"
("Suppositum in eis [angelis] non omnino est idem cum natura" [ibid., ad 1]).
13 Ibid. For a fuller development of this distinction, consult the article referred to in note
no. 9. Subsequently, we will investigate Thomas's view regarding a twofold esse in Christ.

460

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

two natures, Christ has but one esse, one transcendent act of
being, and is, therefore, but one being, and hence one person. 14
Christ is but one person on this account precisely because he lacks
the overarching and crowning human perfection needed for him
to be a human person, namely, an esse limited by the very nature
it actualizes, that would forthwith constitute it a distinct human
supposit. 15
Aquinas makes this incontrovertibly
clear when he
hypothesizes that, were the humanity of Christ to be separated
from its divinity, it would straightway become a human person,
for the human nature of Christ lacks nothing human personhood
requires other than its very own esse (esse suum). 16 All that
previously impeded the human nature from being a subsistent
human being, and hence a person in its own right, was the fact
that it lacked an esse proper to itself (i.e., one that is determined
and hence limited by the essence it in turn actualizes). Aquinas
reiterates this position in the Tertia Pars of the Summa Theologiae
where he concludes: "For if the human nature had not been
assumed by a divine person, the human nature would have its own
personality. " 17
It should be noted that Aquinas's hypothesis regarding a
separated human nature does not assume that there would be any
change in the human nature itself. The latter would lose nothing
pertaining to its essential or accidental human perfection, nor
would it even be a different individual nature. The only way it
would differ would be that, once separated, it would straightway
14 In the concluding portion of this study we shall return to this point, taking a closer look
at Aquinas's argument.
15 There is, indeed, one text in particular where Aquinas does refer to a twofold esse in
Christ. Hence the above statement requires qualification, which, for reasons that will become
apparent, is presently passed over, but will be provided subsequently.
16 Quad!. 9, q. 2, a. 2: "If, however, it is claimed that the humanity [of Christ] is separate
from his divinity, then his humanity will have its being [esse] distinct from the divine esse
itself, for the only thing that impeded its having its own proper [human] esse was that it was
not subsistent in itself" ("Si tamen ponatur humanitas a divinitate separari, tune humanitas
suum esse habebit aliud ab ipso divino, non enim impediebat quin haberet proprium esse nisi
hoc quod non erat per se subsistens").
17 "Si enim humana natura non esset assumpta a divina persona, natura humana propriam
personalitatem haberet" (STh III, q. 4, a. 2, ad 3).

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

461

become an independent being with a human existing nature, and
thus a human person. Its nature would be actualized by an act of
being that is its 'own', that is, by an esse commensurate with, and
hence limited by, the nature it actualizes. Aquinas adds that the
separated human nature would suffer no frustration with regard
to its own natural tendencies, since the actuation it previously
enjoyed while united with the divine esse elevated it to a state far
exceeding the requirements of its own nature. 18

IV
The foregoing enables us to understand how the cutting-edge
Christological question as to why Christ is not a human person
was answered by Aquinas and Scotus. Unable to affirm that the
singular human nature of Christ fails the test of human
personhood because it lacks some human perfection, Scotus must
base his conclusion that Christ's human nature does not render
him a human person on a twofold negation: namely, that of
incommunicability and independence.
Recognizing that to conclude that the human nature of Christ
is not a human person because it lacks its own individuality is
theologically untenable, Scotus must look elsewhere for his
explanation, for the doctrine of the Incarnation entails that the
human nature of Christ must possess everything that nature
requires. It must, therefore, have its own haecceity, since for
Scotus individuality is the ultimate perfection, the capstone, of
every created thing. Haecceity is, for all human persons, the a
fortiori positive entity rendering the human nature a person, and
hence unique and incommunicable. All existing individual human
natures are, therefore, in and of themselves, persons, and it is firm
Christian teaching that the nature the Second Person of the
Trinity assumed was an individual human nature.
Scotus is thus faced with a dilemma. If he agrees that the
human nature of Christ is singular, and in all other instances of
particular human natures the said natures are persons, why is the
18

Ibid.

462

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

singular nature of Christ not a human person? The response
Scotus has given, as alluded to above, is notably atypical of the
Subtle Doctor, for it provides no positive reason, but rests solely
on a twofold negation. The assumed human nature of Christ is
not a person because it has been assumed. Speaking positively, the
singular nature possesses every perfection a human person must
possess to be human. Negatively, however, Christ's human nature
exists neither independently nor incommunicatively, for it has
been assumed by the Second Person of the Trinity.
Yet this response cannot be viewed as satisfactory, for it
forthwith invites the probing question: What does being assumed
positively entail? If an assumed, singular human nature lacks
nothing posssessed by an individual human person, how can it fail
to be a human person? How, precisely, does the act of assuming
relate to human personality? Must not every negation rest on a
prior affirmation?
If a singular human nature is not a human person, there
appears to be but one viable option: namely, that this is owing to
the human nature's lacking a positive perfection required for
human personhood. To limit the difference to negation only,
affirming that the human nature of Christ is not a person solely
because it was assumed by the Second Person of the Trinity,
without grounding the affirmation on a positive entity of any
kind, would appear to render the assumption all but meaningless.
It would further make it difficult to differentiate between divine
adoption of humans by grace and the mystery of the Incarnation.
The meaning of the term 'assumed human nature' seems seriously
compromised, and with it a supportable defense of the claim that
Christ, though not a human person, is nonetheless, fully human.
The respected Italian Scotist scholar Efrem Bettoni appears to
agree with this critique, for he strongly criticizes a contemporary
of Scotus, Henry of Ghent, for having defended a position
regarding individuation with an argument that parallels the
position later upheld by Scotus regarding the assumed human
nature of Christ. Bertoni comments, "To affirm with Henry of
Ghent that individuation does not require a positive principle

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

463

because the essential characteristics of the individual are negative,
i.e., they consist in the intrinsic indivisibility and incommunicability of the indiviudual to other things, is not to solve the
problem but to avoid it. " 19 He then concludes, "The principle of
individuation must be sought in something positive." 20 Bettoni's
critique of Henry can be, it would seem, mutatis mutandis, fairly
directed against Scotus's own theory of personality as it applies to
the major question at issue here.
Walter's comment on Scotus's position regarding human
personhood appears to defend it, for he subsequently comments
that Scotus's position "paves the way for the claim that there are
two distinct ways in which a human nature can become a person,
one by consciously recognizing and deliberately accepting its
autonomy or self-identity as a person (the ultimata solitudo), the
other by the surrender of this autonomy in dedication to God. " 21
Such a comment, however, is disquieting, for it seems to suggest
that the issue of personhood has been trans£ erred from the
purview of philosophy and consigned to that of psychology.
In a recent work providing a brief introduction to Scotus's
thought, Mary Beth Ingham refers to the central role the mystery
of the Incarnation plays in the overall theological views of Scotus,
but she does not refer to the crucial question that has been the
prime subject of this study, namely, why is the assumed human
nature of Christ not a human person? Underscoring the
Christocentric vision of Scotus, she affirms that: "The supreme
value of the human person stands at the center of Scotus's vision
of the created order .... Jesus Christ stands at the center, both
historically in salvation history and methodologically, as Scotus
reflects on the cognition he enjoyed in his earthly life. " 22 She
further concludes, "His [Scotus's] teaching on haecceitas points to
19 Efrem Bettoni, O.F.M., Duns Scotus: The Basic Principles of His Philosophy, trans.
Bernardine Bonansea, O.F.M. (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press,
1961), 59.
20 Ibid.
21 Wolter, "John Duns Scotus," 142-43.
22 Mary Beth Ingham, Scotus for Dunces: An Introduction to the Subtle Doctor (St.
Bonaventure, N.Y.: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2003), 73-74.

464

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

the unique character of each individual, of each being. His
position on the Incarnation and Immaculate Conception reveal
the fundamental insight of the value of the human nature, and of
each human person. " 23 Elsewhere in the same book she writes,
"The Incarnation is the centerpiece to the covenant and represents
for the Franciscan tradition the Christological point of entry
toward understanding the trinitarian nature of God. " 24 In all of
this, however, Ingham has given slight indication of having
attended to the question underlying the mystery of the
Incarnation that has historically been the major focus of
theologians. No comment is offered concerning the viability of
Scotus's Christological position-namely,
that although the
individuated human nature of Christ possesses the final perfection
of human personhood, haecceity, it fails nonetheless to qualify as
a human person.
In an article that appeared several years ago in The Thomist,
Richard Cross criticized Aquinas's teaching on the Incarnation. 25
In a more recent study of the philosophy and theology of Duns
Scotus 26 he supported Scotus's philosophy on the whole,
particularly specifying the latter's treatment of the theological
question regarding the personhood of Christ. In concluding his
examination of Scotus's position, Cross remarks: "Scotus's
account of the assumed human nature seems to me to have much
to offer. He stresses that the human nature [of Christ] lacks none
of the positive features required for being human. It fails to be a
person not in virtue of anything that it lacks, but in virtue of an
additional relational property that it uniquely has. " 27 In the same
work, alluding to Aquinas's view regarding the Incarnation, Cross
observes, "Thomas Aquinas proposed a highly innovative solution
to this problem-a solution with which almost everyone
disagreed. Aquinas spells out his solution by appealing to his
Ibid., 135-36.
Ibid., 73-74.
25 Richard Cross, "Aquinas on Nature, Hypostasis, and the Metaphysics of the
Incarnation," The Thomist 60 (1996): 171-202.
26 Richard Cross, Duns Scotus (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999).
27 Ibid., 121.
23

24

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

465

account of existence, esse, drawing on an analogy afforded by
created substance, that of a substance and its concrete parts. " 28
Cross then adds the following crisp comment: "This account was
certainly generally rejected by all medievals other than cardcarrying Thomists. " 29

v
In order to address Cross's critique of Aquinas's view, it will
prove helpful to examine several texts of Aquinas that provide his
most explicit and mature treatment of the question of personhood
and nature as they relate to the Incarnation-texts on which Cross
principally focuses in formulating his critique. The texts are found
in questions 2, 3, and 17 of the Tertia Pars, and in the disputed
question De Unione Verbi Incarnati. In interpreting these texts it
is crucial to bear in mind that they were composed near the end
of Aquinas's life (i.e., ca. 1272, his death coming a short two years
later). One can, then, be confident that these texts contain
Aquinas's definitive thought on the matter of personhood.
Further, it is now established that the third question of the Tertia
Pars predates the separate short treatise on the Incarnate Word,
while question 17 postdates that same treatise. Keeping this time
frame in mind is important, for Cross claims that in De Unione
Verbi Incarnati there is a significant shift in Aquinas's position
from that taken earlier in the Summa Theologica. 30
The alleged discrepancies to which Cross refers pertain to
Aquinas's emphasizing in some texts that there is but one esse in
Christ, while in other texts he affirms two. Thus, in question 17
of the Tertia Pars, he expressly states that "esse pertains to the
hypostasis and to the nature: to the hypostasis indeed as to that
which has esse, and to the nature as to that by which something
has esse; for nature signifies as a form." 31 A close reading of this
28 Ibid., 114.
29 Ibid., 115 (emphasis added).
3

°Cross, "Aquinas on Nature, Hypostasis, and the Metaphysics of the Incarnation," 198-

200.
31

ST'h III, q. 17, a. 2.

466

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

text discloses that nature here acts as a formal cause only, giving
being inasmuch as it gives determination to esse, thus making the
existing thing to be the kind of being it is. There is at the same
time, Aquinas adds, nothing to prevent a multiplication of esses
that are incidental to the being, such as color or size, that modify
but do not change a being's nature.
In the same question, however, Aquinas emphasizes that what
completes a being, rendering it distinct and separate from all
others, and hence a person, cannot be multiplied within a being
"because it is impossible that one thing should not have one act of
being [esse]." 32 Much earlier, in his commentary on the Sentences
of Peter Lombard, Aquinas had underscored the same point when
he concluded, "Hence, if there be a plurality of esses according to
which something is said to be without qualification, it is
impossible to say it is one. "33
In De Unione Verbi Incarnati, Aquinas states that there is no
better analogy of the hypostatic union taken from the world of
created things than that of the union of soul and body. He
cautions, however, that the analogy is to be understood not in
terms of the soul as the form of a material body, since the Word
cannot be the form of matter, but rather in terms of the body as
an instrument of the soul. 34 He immediately adds that none of the
examples we might employ will perfectly convey this truth, "since
an instrumental union is an accidental one; but the incarnation
involves an altogether unique kind of union exceeding all other
manner of unions known to us. " 35
In response to an objection that argues that the mystery of the
Incarnation would imply a union of natures in Christ (i.e., the
Monophysite heresy), Aquinas unequivocally says that in Christ
there is indeed a union of natures, but that the union referred to
is not in nature but rather in the person. This, he adds, is apparent
from the fact that our faith tells us that the natures are
Ibid.
III Sent., d. 6, q. 2, a. 2.
34 De Unione Verbi Incarnati, a. 1.
35 Ibid.
32
33

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

467

inconvertibly and unalterably united. 36 The two natures must be
united, but in a way that permits them to remain distinct as
natures. 37 In a word, the human and divine natures of Christ are
one hypostatically, but not one in nature. They do not fuse
together to form a new nature distinct from the original two, as,
for example, hydrogen and oxygen come together to form water.
Article four of De Unione Verbi Incarnati addresses the same
central issue considered in question seventeen of the Tertia Pars,
namely, "Whether in Christ there is but one esse only." This
article has been the source of considerable controversy, since it
does speak of two esses in Christ, one divine and one human. It is
this text that provides the prime basis for Cross's claim that
Aquinas has either contradicted his earlier position (later repeated
in STh III, q. 17, a. 2) or changed it. A close reading of this
article, however, reveals that its teaching on Christ and
personhood affirms nothing that is not fully congruent with both
Aquinas's prior and his subsequent teaching on the singularity of
personhood in Christ.
The opening sentence of the respondeo to this fourth article of
De Unione Verbi Incarnati supplies the key to understanding what
follows. "I answer that: it should be recognized that the nature
and premisses of this question are in some respects the same, since
it is on the same account that we say that a thing is one and
being. "38 Aquinas then adds: "Esse is indeed properly and truly
said of a subsisting supposit. Accidents and nonsubsistent forms
are said to be inasmuch as something supports them; as whiteness
is said to be, inasmuch as by it something is white. " 39 He then
36 Ibid., ad 3: "The natures in Christ are indeed united; not however, as natures [in
natura], but personally [in persona], which is evident from the very fact that they are said to
be natures inconvertibly and unalterably united" ("Naturae quidem unitae sunt in Christo; non
tarnen in natura sed in persona, quod apparet ex hoc ipso quod dicuntur inconvertibiliter et
inalteribiliter naturae esse unitae"). Cross does not refer to this aside.
37 De Unione Verbi Incamati, a. 1.
38 De Unione Verbi Incamati, a. 4: "Dicendum est quod huius questionis est quodammodo
eadem ratio et praemissae, quia ex eodern dicitur aliquid esse unum, et ens."
39 Ibid.: "Esse enim proprie et vere dicitur de supposito subsistente. Accidentia enim et
formae non subsistentes dicuntur esse, in quantum eis aliquid subsistit sicut albedo dicitur ens,
in quantum ea est aliquid album."

468

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

remarks that those forms that make something be, not without
qualification, but in some subordinate way, are said to be
accidental forms.
What immediately follows is critical for understanding
Aquinas's teaching regarding the unity of Christ. "There are,
however," he says, "some forms that account for a subsisting
thing's having esse without qualification, because, that is, they
determine the substantial esse of a subsisting thing. "40 In Christ,
the subsistent supposit is the person of the Son of God, who is, by
sharing the divine nature, unqualifiedly a substance; but he is not,
by his human nature, rendered a substance unqualifiedly. 41
Aquinas then concludes that, although the Eternal Word was not
perfected in any way by having assumed the individuated human
nature, the eternal supposit is 'substantialized' (substantificatur)
by the human nature assumed, in that the Word is this man. 42 He
further concludes: "And thus as Christ is, strictly speaking, one
because of the unity of the supposit, and two in a restricted sense
because of the two natures, he thus has one esse strictly speaking,
because of the one eternal esse of the eternal supposit. "43 Aquinas
then carefully qualifies in what sense there is another esse in
Christ: "There is, however, another esse of this supposit, not
inasmuch as it is eternal, but inasmuch as in time it became
human. "44 He further concludes, "though this esse is not an
accidental one, since 'human' is not predicated incidentally of the
Son of God, as previously established, yet neither is it the
principal esse of the supposit, but a subordinate [secundarium]
40 Ibid.: "Aliquae autem formae sunt quibus res subsistens simpliciter habet esse, quia
videlicet constituunt esse substantiale rei subsistentis.".
41 Ibid.: "In Christo autem suppositum subsistens est persona Filii Dei, quae simpliciter
substantificatur per naturam divinam, non autem simpliciter substantificatur per naturam
humanam."
42 Ibid.: "Quia persona Filii Dei fuit ante humanitatem assumptam, ne in aliquo persona
est augmentata, seu perfectionata, per naturam humanam assumptam. Substantificatur autem
suppositum aeternum per naturam humanam, in quantum est hie homo."
43 Ibid.: "Et ideo sicut Christus est unum simpliciter propter unitatem suppositi, et duo
secundum quid propter duas naturas, ita habet unum esse simplicter propter unum esse
aeternum aeterni suppositi" (emphasis added).
44 Ibid.: "Est autem et aliud esse huius suppositi, non in quantum est aeternum sed in
quantum est temporaliter homo factum."

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

469

one." 45 He draws from this a profoundly important conclusion:
"Were there two supposits in Christ, each supposit would have its
own esse primal to it, resulting in Christ being not just one divine
person alone but two persons, one divine and one human. " 46 The
view that Christ is two persons represents, of course, the historically celebrated Christological teaching of the heresiarch
Nestorius.
Consequently, the two esses Aquinas refers to are clearly understood by him as predicable of Christ not univocally, but
analogically. The term esse, as Aquinas expressly states in the very
same article, taken in its proper and true sense (proprie et vere),
refers exclusively to a supposital, that is, personal, esse. Such an
esse is the actuality not of a nature only, but of the entire existing
or subsisting being. In Christ, as Aquinas adds shortly thereafter,
this supposital esse is the esse of the Divine Word. Hence, Christ
is, properly speaking, but one being, precisely because he has but
one supposital or personal esse, which also actualizes his assumed
human nature.
VII

Aquinas thus makes clear in what sense there is but one esse in
Christ and in what sense two. The 'human esse' is not the esse of
the supposit properly speaking, since the human nature does not
exert formal causality on the esse that activates it, as would be the
case for Aquinas in every instance of a created supposit. Since, in
this unique instance of the Incarnation, the human nature is
actualized by the divine esse of the Word, it does not in any way
determine or limit that esse, as the citation just given clearly
affirms. In this singular instance of the hypostatic union, the
divine esse actualizes an essential form without itself being in any
way determined or perfected by that form.
45 Ibid.: "Quod esse etsi non sit esse accidentale, quia homo non praedicatur accidentaliter
de Filio Dei, ut supra habitum est, non tamen est esse principale sui suppositi sed
secundarium."
46 Ibid.: "Si autem in Christo essent duo supposita, tune utrumque suppositum haberet
proprium esse sibi principale.Et sic in Christo esset simpliciter duplex esse."

470

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

In that the human nature of Christ is actualized from its union
with the Word, it has esse not previously possessed. Yet the esse
actualizing the nature is not thereby rendered singular and human,
the esse of a human person. It is precisely for this reason that the
assumed nature of Christ is not a person in its own right, for,
although it has substantial esse, that esse is not configured to the
dimensions of the nature assumed. Thus Aquinas concludes his
response in the fourth article of De Unione Verbi Incarnati by
stating categorically: "If, however, there were two supposita in
Christ, each supposit would have its own primary esse. And thus
in Christ there would in the strict sense be a twofold esse. ''4 7
Accordingly, this secondary esse is not an esse distinct from the
divine esse of the Word which actualizes the human nature. Were
it so, Christ would then indeed be a human person and, as such,
incommunicable, and hence a supposit distinct from the divine
person. Assuredly, the human nature is actualized, and, viewed
from the perspective of this nature, the esse actualizing it does
actualize a nature limited in scope, for it is limited by its being
singular as well as by its being human. In this regard, then, the
human nature can be said to have esse, for it does indeed exist.
Yet the actuality by which it is, is not, properly speaking, its own
actuality, in the sense that it is limited and shaped by the very
nature it actualizes. "The esse of the human nature is not the
divine esse. Nor can one simply say that Christ is two esses, since
each is ordered diversely to the eternal supposit. "48
A citation from the Summa Theologica succinctly underscores
the analogical parallel between the natural sonship of Jesus as
divine, and the spiritual sonship accorded humans by the gift of
adoption: "In the union of the human with God, which is through
the grace of adoption, nothing is added to God: but what is divine
is apportioned to man. Hence it is not God who is perfected but

47 Ibid.
48 Ibid., ad 1: "Ad prim um ergo dicendum quod esse humanae naturae non estesse divinae.

Nee tamen simpliciter dicendum est quod Christus sit duo secundum esse; quia non ex aequo
respicit utrumque esse suppositum aeternum. Et similiter etiam dicendum est ad alia."

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

471

man." 49 Divine adoption is, to be sure, an absolutely unique
occurrence, in the order of created things, though it falls far short
of the union of the humanity of Christ with the Godhead, for
Christ's humanity is actualized not by a created act of being, esse,
but by one that is uncreated and hence unqualifiedly divine.
Consequently, Aquinas specifically notes that the esse of the
human nature of Christ is not a personalized esse, limited by the
nature it actualizes, for it is the esse of the Word which reaches
out to 'existentialize' a human nature, which nonetheless remains
undetermined by the nature it actualizes. Since, then, for Aquinas
esse is the ultimate constituent of created personhood, Christ,
having two natures, but only one unqualifiedly existential act (esse
simpliciter), is one person, not two.
VII

The original champion of the foregoing teaching of Aquinas
regarding the unity of Christ seems to have been Johannes
Capreolus, upon whom has been bestowed the honorary title,
Prince of Thomists. A Dominican theologian, Capreolus's life
spanned the late fourteenth and first half of the fifteenth centuries
(1380-1444). Much more recently, guided and inspired in good
part by Capreolus's commentary, two French Jesuit theologians
of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Louis Billot
and M. de la T aille, have signally contributed to a latter-day
reawakening to Aquinas's theology of the hypostatic union. 50
In a presentation given in 1925 at the University of Cambridge,
de la Taille provided his hearers with a trenchant, perhaps
unmatched, commentary on Aquinas's treatment of the
Christological mystery. The following excerpt from that address
provides a fitting conclusion to the present study.

49 STh III, q. 3, a. 1, ad 1. "In unione hominis ad Deum, quae est per gratiam adoptionis,
non additur aliquid Deo" sed id quod divinum est apportitur homini.Unde non Deus sed
homo perficitur."
so The present study is much indebted to this work.

472

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

Thus it appears that when we speak of the existence of Christ's humanity, there
may be two meanings to the word. We may mean the actualizing principle: the
esse. In that sense, we say that there is only one existence (one esse) of the Word
and His humanity: the existence of the latter is the existence of the former; is the
former Himself. But we may mean also by existence of the humanity not the
actuating principle, but the actuation by it.
In that sense, the existence of the humanity is not the Word, nor His divine
existence; it is something belonging to the created order; and, in the created
order, it has two different aspects; it is absolute, as a substantial actuation; and
it is relative, essentially relative to the Word's personal existence .... No,
Capreolus is not confounded. He seems to have understood St. Thomas best of
all. ,,51

In a subsequent article de la T aille underscored why St.
Thomas sometimes speaks of one act of existence in Christ, and
at other times two.
Consequently, if we are asked how many existences there are in Christ, we shall
have to reply, one or two, according to the sense of the inquiry. One, if there is
question of the Act by which the natures exist, two, if there is question of the
actuations, because the actuation of the human nature is temporal and created
while the actuation of the Word, who is Himself the Act, is uncreated and eternal.
This is why St. Thomas, in the Disputed Question on the Union of the Incarnate
Word, held two existences, whereas in the Summa he admits only one existence.
III, q. 17, a. 2. 52

De la Taille thus incisively explains why Aquinas refers now to
one, now to two acts of being in Christ. He further shows why
this manner of speaking involves no incoherency. Indeed, he goes
even further: "the one is not merely capable of reconciliation with
the other, but demands the other. Two existences in that which is
substantially one cannot be conceived except in virtue of the unity
of the act of existence; and community in the act of existence
between the diverse composing units necessarily supposes in one
of the two an actuation quite different from that which is found

51 M. de la Taille, "The Schoolmen," ed. C. Lattey, in The Hypostatic Union and Created
Actuation by Uncreated Act (West Baden Springs, Ind.: West Baden College, 1952), 22
52 M. de la Taille, "Created Actuation by Uncreated Act," trans. Cyril Vollert, in The
Hypostatic Union and Created Actuation by Uncreated Act, 40 (emphasis added).

AQUINAS, SCOTUS, AND THE CHRISTOLOGICAL MYSTERY

473

in the other. " 53 "For this reason it [the two-esse theory] 1s a
preferable account. "54
Failing to appreciate how the two accounts given by Aquinas
complement each other, Cross concludes that during the spring of
1272 "Aquinas will have been committed to two quite different
accounts of the incarnation." 55 Cross agrees with Scotus's view
that the assumed human nature "fails to be a person, not in virtue
of anything that it lacks, but in virtue of an additional relational
property that it uniquely has. "56 Yet, how that 'relational
property' is acquired is left unexplained.

IX
In summary, for Aquinas the singular human nature of Christ
falls short of meeting the requirements of human personhood
because it lacks that reality quintessential to a human person, that
is, an esse limited by the very nature it activates. What is lacking,
therefore, pertains neither to the order of essence nor accident,
but to the highest order within existing things, namely, esse, the
actuality of actualities. It is here that the defining difference
between the views of Aquinas and Scotus relative to the
Christological mystery is to be found. For Aquinas, the human
nature of Christ lacks nothing at the level of nature or accidental
perfection, including individuation, that would prevent it from
being a human person. Rather, what is lacking is its own human
existential act, for the nature, though actual and singular, is not
actualized by an esse that is uniquely its own by reason of its being
limited, and hence determined, by the nature it actualizes.
Hence Christ is not a human person, because the ultimate
actualizing principle of his human nature is not unqualifiedly
human but is, rather, unqualifiedly divine.
Scotus, on the other hand, is, on his own account, unable to fix
on any positive perfection Christ is lacking that could account for
Ibid.
Ibid.
55 Cross, "Aquinas on Nature, Hypostasis, and the Metaphysics of the Incarnation," 200.
56 Cross, Duns Scotus, 121.
53

54

474

JAMES B. REICHMANN, S.J.

why he is not a human as well as a divine person. Nor has he the
option of denying haecceity or thisness to the human nature of
Christ, for, as he maintains it to be the ultimate perfection of the
nature, haecceity must be present, if one is to ascribe to Christ a
nature that is truly and fully human. Hence, although in all other
instances of existing humans haecceity is for Scotus the supreme
personalizing principle, it cannot so function in the instance of
Christ. Were it to do so, Christ would be two persons, both
human and divine. Scotus cannot deny to the humanity of Christ
any positive entity whose lack could provide grounds for denying
to it the status of human personhood. Hence, the only path left
open for justifying such a denial must lie in the direction of
negation. Scotus is constrained to appeals to the twofold negation
of incommunicability and independence to account for why the
singular human nature of Christ does not suffice to constitute him
also a human as well as a divine being. This twofold negation, in
turn, he traces to the singular human nature's having been
assumed by the Second Person of the Trinity.
This response is, however, unsatisfactory, since it leaves
unanswered the question, what, precisely, does being assumed
entail? How does the ontological status of an assumed singular
human nature differ from one that, though existing, has not been
assumed? Unless this question is candidly and satisfactorily
addressed, one risks diluting, even imperiling, the critical
distinction between Christ as man and other human beings who
are, through grace, God's adopted children. If one relies wholly
on mere negations to differentiate between these two forms of
union, (i.e., divine adoption and assumption), is not the
possibility, perhaps even the likelihood, of fatally obscuring the
extraordinarily profound truth of the Christological mystery
threateningly real? In light of this, it is puzzling that, in our own
time, it has befallen the Christology of Aquinas to have been
singled out as incongruous.

BOOK REVIEWS
Pope john Paul II on the Body: Human, Eucharistic, Ecclesial. Edited by JOHN
M. MCDERMOTT,S.J., and JOHN GAVIN, S.J. Philadelphia: Saint Joseph's
University Press, 2006. Pp. 410. $45.00 (cloth). ISBN 0-916101-54-1.
While the subject of this volume is Pope John Paul Il's thought and teaching,
it is a Festschrift in honor of Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J., and its contributors,
with the exception of Cardinal Egan, who wrote the Preface, are all members of
the Society of Jesus. Cardinal Dulles's contribution to the study of the late Holy
Father's magisterium is reflected in two major contributions to this volume,
which publishes the deliberations of the last two biennial Jesuit Conferences on
the thought of Pope John Paul IL The book is richly complex, not only because
it is a collection of essays that do not always pursue a sustained, systematic
argument but also because the three senses of "body-human, Eucharistic, and
ecclesial-are significantly different. Yet the unity of these three senses is not
adventitious, since Christ's human body, his sacramental body, and his body the
Church are each a means of being truly incorporated into the Person of Christ.
Not Christ directly but the late pope's teaching is the point of reference for
the book's discussions. The introduction situates the papal teaching as presented
in the writings of Cardinal Dulles and therefore introduces a further
complication by advancing a thesis not immediately germane to Wojtyla's
thought. John M. McDermott, after presenting the historical context of U.S.
Catholicism at the time of the Second Vatican Council, argues skillfully that the
council should be read theologically as a conflict between conceptualist and
transcendentalist methods. This insight is used to clarify theological
presentations at points throughout the book, but neither Avery Dulles nor Karol
Wojtyla fits easily into either camp. For neither thinker is theology a system of
rational deductions, and for both the authority of divine revelation resists being
relativized by subjective dynamisms.
Convinced from the faith itself that the magisterium of pastors is necessary for
the guidance of teachers of Catholic theology, Dulles became a primary
interpreter of Pope John Paul's teaching. He contributes to this volume two
articles in ecclesiology, one of which treats the Church as the body of Christ.
Dulles's generous and clear exposition of sometimes complex or even convoluted
arguments in Wojtyla's writings also informs the approach of those contributors

475

476

BOOK REVIEWS

who discuss Christ's sacramental body in the Eucharist and those who present
the pope's theology of the human body as spousal.
The theology of the body is ex.amined scripturally and anthropologically.
Wojtyla's use of Scripture, especially in his theology of the body, has been
criticized for moving too quickly or even illegitimately from the reconstruction
of the human author's intention at the time a book was written to philosophical
and doctrinal conclusions that seem, at best, to be extrapolations from the
scriptural text. William S. Kurz points out that the pope teaches as a pastor and
consults Scripture "precisely as Scripture, as God's revealed and inspired word
and guidance for his people and as the Church's book." Thomas D. Stegman sees
the papal treatment of Scripture as close to what the liturgists call
"actualization," respecting the historical context but putting the text now into
a setting that changes our lives. Stegman believes this approach to be legitimate,
but he is critical of the pope for sometimes overreaching the text in his
conclusions. The lengthy discussion of scriptural methodology in this section of
the book is useful but it doesn't directly raise the question the pope himself asks:
What are the truths about the human body to which Scripture gives written
witness?
From the standpoint of anthropological theory, the commentators examine
the theology of the body in terms of causality and in terms of its being image or
sign. These sections on the nature of matter, of subject, of solitude and marriage,
of conscience and freedom pick up major components of the late pope's thinking
and recast them in provocative ways. John Paul thought not only scripturally and
philosophically but also incarnationally. His work is so synthetic that it lends
itself to new insights even as one grapples to understand its primary message.
The presentations by Cullen, Jamros, Muller, and McDermott contribute
significantly to seeing in the theology of the body what the pope himself did not
make explicit.
The discussion of the body of Christ, which is the Church, is presented by
Cardinal Dulles and his responders, Joseph G. Mueller and Peter ]. Bernardi.
Dulles situates Wojtyla's teaching on the Church in his teaching on the Eucharist,
so that the sacramental body of Christ, understood according to a sacramental
realism, tells us what the ecclesial body should be. The image of the Church as
bride enables the pope to bring his understanding of the nuptial or spousal
nature of the body into ecclesiology: "The Church as a whole," Dulles writes,
"has a predominantly feminine character." Mueller contrasts the traditional
understanding of natural subordination of female to male (Eph. 5) with John
Paul's teaching on mutual subordination of husband and wife in a communion
of love. He then applies the pope's teaching on this mutual relationship to the
relation between bishops and academic theologians in directing the Church.
Cardinal Dulles's reflections on Church governance focus on Pope John Paul's
teaching on primacy and collegiality. In a theology of ecclesial communion,
mutual relationships do not impede specific responsibilities. That papal primacy
is part of episcopal collegiality is attested to in John Paul's consistent appeal to
"the ordinary and universal magisterium" of the pope and all other bishops

BOOK REVIEWS

477

teaching together. Cardinal Dulles sees episcopal conferences and the Synod of
Bishops as expressions of collegiality, but not in its fullest sense. Nevertheless,
the pope's presence in these gatherings, whether personally or by law, makes it
"difficult to make any precise distinction between papal and collegial acts. Every
collegial act is also an act of the Pope, since the college includes him as its head.
Conversely, it is hard to identify any act of the Pope, in his capacity as successor
of Peter, that is truly extracollegial. The Pope's role in the college is not that of
a mere member but that of head." Bernardi picks up on Dulles's careful analysis
by addressing, within the context of a theology of communion, multiple forms
of participation in the teaching and governing authority that Christ gave the
Church.
Discussion about the Eucharistic body of Christ center on the pope's teaching
that the Eucharist manifests and makes present an infinite love freely sacrificed.
Stephen M. Fields develops the relation between self-sacrifice and freedom to
show how John Paul's teaching on the person as self-creative through deliberate
moral choices informs his Eucharistic theology. Kenneth]. Rudnick responds by
appealing to semiotic analysis to relate sign and causality, complementing Fields'
presentation more than contesting it. The Eucharistic theology of Pope John Paul
is used by Brian E. Daley to present the pope's theology of ordained priesthood.
In the course of the conference whose acts are published in this volume, the
major presentations on the three senses of body were followed by individual and
group reflections. The theology of the body evoked reflections on marriage,
purity, virginity, and bodily resurrection; the theology of Church led to
reflections on Sunday observance; and the theology of Eucharist opened
conversation on suffering and on devotion to the Virgin Mary. A final section of
the volume comments on papal encyclicals and writings that do not make use of
the body as organizing principle. It contains another important piece by John M.
McDermott, using John Paul's encyclicals on the Holy Spirit (Dominum et
vivificantem) and on missionary activity (Redemptoris missio) to reflect on the
tension between the universal and efficacious salvific work of the Spirit and the
need for explicit evangelization and belief in Christ.
What can be said about these sometimes loosely connected presentations and
multiple conversations? First of all, the participants use Pope John Paul's
teaching on the three senses of body as a starting point for some original and
faithful developments of Catholic teaching. Some participants in the conference
seemed more wedded to a particular academic methodology and consequently
wrestled with the pope's personal freedom in drawing from many sources to
create his own original theological synthesis. Others entered deeply into the
pope's teaching in order to elucidate themes he had not himself developed or to
raise questions he had not himself asked. The latter approach especially, I
believe, would have personally pleased Pope John Paul IL
Secondly, the book holds together because the contributors, for the most part,
seem to understand that, beneath analyses and particular ideas, the strength of
John Paul's teaching lies in his desire to find the unity necessary for effective
mission. The Church must be an acting Church. He repeated often that the

478

BOOK REVIEWS

Second Vatican Council was an exercise in ecclesial self-consciousness that
enabled the Church to relate to every dimension of human experience. The
Church as communion rooted in Trinitarian life and made visible in the
Eucharist, the Church as a network of relationships that begin with the spousal
nature of the human body itself, works always to unite all people to one another
in Christ, the redeemer who sacrificed himself for the entire human race. Pope
John Paul's thinking strove to move beyond the intellectual and other divisions
that can paralyze the Church and cause her death through the abandonment of
her universal mission.
Academics especially are right to be wary of a unity achieved by running
roughshod over those distinctions that are necessary to understand the truth of
things and to safeguard freedom. Nonetheless, Pope John Paul's synthetic vision
traced the unity of the books of Scripture as a whole, the unity of body and soul
in the human person, the unity of Christ and the Church in ecclesial communion,
the unity of man and woman in marriage in order to understand the truth of
things and to safeguard freedom. This volume is a tribute to him and to Cardinal
Dulles as well as to all who contributed to it.
FRANCIS CARDINAL GEORGE, 0.M.I.

Archdiocese of Chicago
Chicago, Illinois

Aristotle and the Science of Nature: Unity without Uniformity. By ANDREA
FALCON. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Pp. xvii+ 139.
$75.00 (cloth). ISBN 0-521-85439-3.
The division of the natural world into two radically different kinds of physical
substance-one often called "aether" and the other called "ponderable," or
sometimes just "ordinary," matter-barely more than a century ago was not
uncommon among natural scientists. The rudiments of the idea trace back to
Aristotle, although for him these two substances were rigorously localized in the
two principal regions of the cosmos, and thereby would acquire appropriate
names: the celestial bodies and sublunary bodies. Copernicus and Galileo quickly
did away with the isolation of the two substances, so aether's proponents found
themselves positing it as much above as below. Yet after the acceptance of the
theory of relativity, the idea of aether fell out of style among mainstream natural
scientists, and ever since the very notion that nature should be thought to be so
"bifurcated" has been considered to be a scandalous weakness in the Aristotelian
philosophy of nature. Even among modern-day Thomists this bifurcation has
often been held up as an instance of something that Aristotle simply got wrong,
and so as a sign that the Stagirite's philosophy of nature is now of only historical

BOOK REVIEWS

479

interest; we realistic Thomists (the story goes) should focus our interest on more
relevant parts of Aristotle's corpus. Science has shown us that he was on the
wrong track, so we must defer to it on these matters. There are, however, at least
two problems with this approach: (1) few modern Thomists have tried to keep
up with where modern science is going, so we are ignorant of what science
thinks on these matters; and (2) even fewer Thomists have made careful study
of the more obsolete parts of Aristotle's natural philosophy where he begins to
spell out in detail his thoughts on the basic structure of the cosmos, so they do
not know what they are dismissing.
Andrea Falcon's Aristotle and the Science of Nature addresses the latter
problem and is a superb introduction not merely to the text and substance of
Aristotle's De Caelo, especially as it bears on this division of nature into the
sublunary and the heavenly, but also to the scholarly work on the subject in the
last thirty years. Trying to see nature the way Aristotle does, Falcon argues that,
although his contemporaries and successors (especially the Platonists) rejected his
view, Aristotle posits an important discontinuity in nature that may in fact be a
philosophical virtue. Aristotle's principled acceptance of the radical diversity of
kinds of activities and natures in daily experience leads to an openness to finding
still more fundamental divisions in the cosmos; combining this with the equally
evident dynamic interconnectedness of the natural world, Aristotle is able to
look see its "unity without uniformity," as the subtitle of this book puts it.
Unlike the materialists of his day (and their modern-day heirs), Aristotle does not
end up intellectually disintegrating nature into unconnected atoms but allows the
mind to admit distinctions that do not require isolations of the things
distinguished. Further, Falcon points out, Aristotle is not beginning with some
sort of a priori commitment to there being a uniquely celestial matter, from
which he concludes that nature must be twofold; rather, he is reflecting upon
and inferring from a fundamental and observed discontinuity in nature to the
postulation of celestial matter. Falcon proposes that Aristotle tries to understand
what he observes on its own terms, not forcing the phenomena into prepackaged
doctrines. Indeed, this honesty is something that Falcon wishes us to ruminate
upon for it implies a recognition of the "human limitations on the extent of what
can be known of this world" (x), and is in fact one of the sources of Aristotle's
famous distinction, and even inversion, between our cognitive powers and
nature's own knowability: "what is intrinsically intelligible does not collapse into
what can be known by us" (ibid.).
The first two chapters lay the groundwork for the overarching claim of the
work. Chapter 1 outlines the main parts of nature, and therefore of the
philosophy of nature, using as a point of departure Aristotle's remarks at the
beginning of the Meteorology. In particular, Falcon shows that Aristotle's
insistence here that the heavens are to be studied well before plants and animals
is at first surprising but also intelligible if Aristotle is already assuming in the
Meteorology both that the structural unity and ultimate accessibility of nature
derive from causal relationships, and that the heavens in particular exert a
peculiar sort of one-way causality on the sublunary world of plants and animals.

480

BOOK REVIEWS

Falcon argues that specifically the sun and its yearly motion must be understood
in some measure in order to understand the generation here below, for, as he
translates it, "it takes a man and the sun to generate a man" (9 [194b13;
1071a13-16]). Somewhat controversially, he interprets this famously cryptic
reference to mean merely that the sun's yearly approach and recession from the
sublunary realm in an almost mechanical way stirs up the elements, thus keeping
them out of the static equilibrium that their natural motions incline toward,
thereby perpetuating generation and corruption of organisms.
In the second chapter Falcon takes a close look at the opening of De Caelo,
focusing on Aristotle's statement and restatements of a definition of soma
("body"). This definition progresses from "the divisible in three dimensions" and
"the divisible in all dimensions" -both of which are compatible with the subject
of solid geometry-to "the complete/perfect (teleion) magnitude" (31-33). The
motivation behind this strategy, Falcon says, is Aristotle's "intention of
obstructing the path to the geometric reconstruction of the natural world
attempted by Plato" (54 ). Not only the initial definition of motion but the entire
first chapter of De Caelo is a nod to the language and doctrine of the Timaeus.
However, by inferring that this finally means that body is teleion magnitude,
Aristotle is reminding us that natural bodies are not mere mathematical forms,
and that every body has a nature that subordinates it to the order of the cosmos,
which is itself the most complete/perfect magnitude. Whereas for Plato a soul
unifies the cosmos, Aristotle sees that such a principle of unity would render the
cosmos one substance and draws back from such a conclusion. While he affirms
the unity of the universe, he sees distinct signs that it lacks unity in form. The
unity of the cosmos is a relational unity where the being of one kind of substance
consists in acting upon another kind of substance.
The third chapter is a careful explication of the arguments Aristotle employs
in De Caelo 1.2 to show that there must be a celestial body that explains the
circular motions we observe in the heavens. Herein Falcon lays out very clearly
the distinction(s) between natural and nonnatural motions and their connections
with the simple bodies, a matter much discussed in recent scholarly work and
often with less lucidity. In short, because the other four elements have rectilinear
natural motions, the celestial circular motion must be the natural motion of some
other, and very different sort of, matter. To illuminate the case Aristotle makes,
Falcon presents the counterarguments Aristotle's near contemporary Xenarchus
offers, who insists upon the novel idea that circular motion is the natural motion
any body has when it is in its natural place, whereas only what is becoming but
is not yet an element can move rectilinearly. (Falcon does not address this, but
it is not insignificant that this view will later be adopted by Copernicus and
Galileo in defending the heliocentric hypothesis.) Falcon's discussion here of
Aristotle's largely undefended assertions that the heavenly substance is alive and
ensouled, and that its circular motion, albeit regular and inflexible, is voluntary,
is insightful for its analysis of both Aristotle's doctrine and modern prejudices.
The last chapter explores Aristotle's often forgotten and unusual blend of
pessimism and eager determination about studying the heavens. On the one

BOOK REVIEWS

481

hand, "the celestial bodies are the most honorable and divine" of natural
substances and the study of them is the "culmination of natural investigation"
(110). On the other hand, there is little we can know of them because "the
celestial bodies are conceptually, and not simply geometrically, remote" (87) to
us, being so unlike the matter that is more proportioned to our mode of
knowing. Falcon confirms this interpretation with another look atDeAnima and
a consideration of why, in spite of calling the heavens alive and intelligent,
Aristotle resists applying his conclusions about life and soul to them. Aristotle
argues in De Caelo, in opposition to his predecessors (and successors), that the
heavenly bodies "are not engaged in any of the activities that are minimally
constitutive of sublunary life" (93 ), because their eternity and simplicity preclude
growth and decay, and therefore self-nourishment and reproduction, the
foundation of life as we commonly experience it. Falcon concludes that Aristotle
believes that "we should neither go beyond what we can say nor stop making an
effort to provide an account, but state what appears to be the case to us, human
beings with a limited access to the celestial world" (101).
This last chapter seems to be most important for those annoyed or puzzled by
the errors in Aristotle's more particular studies of nature, as it is a corrective of
the caricature perpetuated since the Enlightenment that Aristotle, and even more
so his Scholastic disciples, were mere dogmatists about nature, constraining it
into preconceived notions and refusing to look through telescopes. In fact,
Aristotle insists that when explaining these things "if someone hits upon more
exact necessities, then we should be grateful to the discoverers" (98 [287al]).
Falcon shows that Aristotle always intends to be presenting "an account which
is as objective as possible" (99), and while remaining tentative, he does not think
his is merely "a provisional account that will be, sooner or later, replaced by a
genuine explanation" (98), for man as such can have only better or worse
explanations, not the explanation. This chapter makes it clear that Aristotle is
neither a positivist who thinks no real insight into the natures of things is
possible, nor a triumphalist about the powers of human reason. With Falcon's
work in hand anyone wishing to learn from Aristotle's natural philosophy,
whether to separate philosophical wheat and chaff or to appreciate the
plausibility even of the chaff, will be better able to appreciate the spirit in which
works like De Caelo were written. Further, one can better see Aristotle's
seriousness about two of the principles enunciated at the beginning of the Physics
(184al 7-22): that there is an inversion between what is most knowable to us and
what is most knowable by nature, and that in all investigation we must begin
with what is best known to us.
Aristotle and the Science of Nature is not without faults, however, and at times
what Falcon takes as obvious is not so. For example, he declares that it is very
"difficult to establish what the simple body does once it has reached its natural
place .... Both [Aristotle's and Xenarchus'] claims are equally difficult to verify"
(67). This is a strange thing to insist upon, as prima facie evidence manifestly
points Aristotle's direction. Air and earth appear to rest after they (respectively)
bubble out of or sink to the bottom of water; certainly there is no sign that any

482

BOOK REVIEWS

element begins rotating around the center of the earth when the natural places
are reached, as Xenarchus maintains. Falcon also seems to miss certain passages
in Aristotle that would deepen his insights, such as when he speculates about
why Aristotle never calls the motions of the planets and stars poreia, "progressive
motion" (93-94), proposing that it is due to their "lack of flexibility" (94).
Looking at the treatment of place in Physics (212a24-b23) and even some
comments on the motion of the stars in De Caelo (289b31-290b10), we could
add that the heavenly bodies are, properly speaking, not the planets and stars but
the mutually contiguous transparent orbs that bear them, and that these orbs
rotate in place, so naturally this rotation is neither progressive nor a motion like
anything we see here below. Other shortcomings include a tendency for
reiteration of the main theses of the book-for example, Falcon reminds the
reader several times that Aristotle does not call the celestial matter "aether" and
then devotes much of the epilogue to drilling the point home. Also, the classical
commentators play a principal role in the exegesis of Aristotle; one sees here the
typical modern academic silence about the medieval commentators. As a result
one familiar with the work of, for example, St. Thomas Aquinas may find Falcon
reinventing a few wheels. But these are small criticisms of a brief book that is
packed full of matter for reflection and which is both a significant contribution
to Aristotle scholarship and an important starting point for any attempt at
rehabilitating Aristotelian natural philosophy.
CHRISTOPHERA. DECAEN
Thomas Aquinas College
Santa Paula, California

God and the Evil of Scarcity: Moral Foundations of Economic Agency. By ALBINO
BARRERA. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005. Pp.
394. $46.00 (cloth), $22.00 (paper). ISBN 0-268-02192-9 (cloth), 0-26802193-7 (paper).
Economic Compulsion and Christian Ethics. By ALBINO BARRERA. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2005. Pp. 248. $75.00 (cloth). ISBN 0-52185341-9.
True interdisciplinary work is more talked about than done in the academy.
Rewards in the modern university still tend to go to those who are eminent in
a specialized area. Indeed, sub-specializations have proliferated to the extent that
within large departments of research universities members of the same
department may have little to say to each other. Although interdisciplinary
majors and minors are growing at the undergraduate level, the institutions of

BOOK REVIEWS

483

higher education continue to be dominated by departmental organization.
Hiring, tenure, and promotion still go through the departmental screening
process in the vast percentage of cases. Thus, it is no surprise that young faculty
learn that the reward system does not favor interdisciplinary research. There is
an old quip made about Pierre Teilhard de Chardin that all the theologians
thought he was a marvelous scientist while all the scientists thought he was a
terrific theologian. However unfair that was about Teilhard, it indicates the peril
of crossing disciplinary boundaries. Those with whom you dialogue appreciate
that someone is trying to build bridges, but no one claims you as one of their
own.
Philosophy has traditionally been the dialogue partner with theology. While
that conversation continues, albeit somewhat one-sidedly as many in philosophy
no longer read serious theology, there is an expanding need for additional
partners in dialogue. In our time a conversation with the natural sciences is seen
to be crucial to the vitality of theology. And we are regaining an appreciation for
the import of the fine arts for theological reflection, as the beautiful returns to
its rightful place alongside the true and the good as a theological category. The
conversation with the social sciences, however, has not progressed as far as one
might have anticipated; and nowhere is this more true than in theology's
interaction with economics. Given the centrality of economic discourse in our
society and the broad claims that economists are making for their discipline-as
explanatory of just about any phenomenon involving choice, tradeoffs, or
preferences-it is curious that so few theologians are economically literate.
I state the above by way of explaining my appreciation for Albino Barrera's
academic project. Beginning with his first book, Modern Catholic Social
Documents and Political Economy, Barrera has been adeptly integrating theology
and economic theory. The two books under review here continue this
interdisciplinary agenda as they treat both theological concerns and economicpolicy issues. In his first book Barrera's concern was to show that Catholic social
teaching developed as a consequence of its interaction with changing economic
conditions. He also pointed out the differences in underlying anthropology
between the church's social teaching and mainstream neoclassical economics.
Finally, he offered guidance for likely change in Catholic social teaching as it
encounters a post-industrial, globalized economy.
In God and the Evil of Scarcity, Barrera's focus is more theological. He uses
the problem of scarcity in material goods to probe the operative theodicy of
classical economic thought. Beginning with a critique of Thomas Malthus and his
viewpoint that a loving God created a world of scarcity in order to make human
beings disciplined and hardworking, Barrera proceeds to offer a more satisfactory
theological assessment of the prevalence of scarcity in human history.
His line of argument proceeds two ways. One is a fairly brief and quite
standard treatment of Thomistic thought on secondary causality and the role of
human agents as participants in God's plan for creation. The second and more
extensively treated aspect of his argument is a biblical theology of economic life.

484

BOOK REVIEWS

Barrera is not an exegete, but he has read widely in biblical scholarship. I found
the chapters on the Hebrew Bible particularly valuable as Barrera skillfully lays
out the import of biblical teaching on topics like the land, treatment of slaves,
the sabbath, debt laws, and the jubilee. While by no means ignoring the theme
of the option for the poor, Barrera takes the reader far beyond a simple appeal
to that theme as the sum and substance of the Bible's teaching on economics.
In the final chapters of the book he advances his viewpoint about the deeper
meaning of economic agency. For Barrera, God's desire for creation is abundant
life and the material resources for this are present in the created order. But
material abundance is conditional; it is premissed on human participation in
God's plan. Scarcity is really the occasion for God to provide for us through the
way that we care for each other by responsible economic agency. Thomistic
metaphysics and biblical theology are put to the service of establishing both the
generosity of God as Creator and the key role of humans as participants in the
divine plan.
What Barrera provides is a theological argument for why economics matters.
It is an argument that is distinctively Catholic in its conclusions about the nature
of the created order and human nature in particular. In his presentation of
Thomistic thought he is clear, though somewhat quick to assume the
persuasiveness of Thomas's metaphysical outlook. When presenting the biblical
material he develops his argument more patiently and in greater detail.
One of Barrera's claims is that his theology of economic life provides a
rationale for an interventionist set of public policies to regulate and ameliorate
the negative consequences of free markets. It is this theme that looms larger in
the second book under review. To overstate the difference a bit, God and the
Evil of Scarcity uses economic theory to develop a theological agenda, while
Economic Compulsion and Christian Ethics uses theology to address an
economic and moral issue.
The question that Barrera takes up in the latter book is what are we to make
of the fact that the behavior of agents in economic markets creates consequences
that drive other parties into circumstances where they are compelled to make less
than palatable choices. Middle-aged workers who are laid off and must choose
between ongoing unemployment or jobs that do not utilize their experience and
pay far less than they have earned in the past would be an example of the
phenomenon that Barrera calls "economic compulsion." The book's focal
concern is summed up by the author: "What is at stake here is whether or not
we, as a community, will take the easy route of simply viewing and accepting
unattended harmful pecuniary externalities as a normal part of market
operations" (224).
For Barrera, we have allowed a neoclassical model of economic theory to dull
us to the suffering of oft-time innocent parties who are confronted with choices
such as either buying food or buying medicine on limited incomes through no
direct fault of theirs. Instead the economic compulsion forcing such dire choices
upon people is a result of aggregate choices in the marketplace that alters an

BOOK REVIEWS

485

individual's economic standing. We have become accustomed to see such
consequences as the "normal" outcome of the market's allocative efficiency by
means of price adjustments. Precisely because of his theologically informed
understanding of what an economy is, and how it ought to work, Barrera argues
that we need to examine our taken-for-granted economic world.
The book is a carefully plotted argument. It begins with two chapters that
closely examine the phenomenon of "economic compulsion" and that clearly
explain just what Barrera means by the term. He also takes pains to stipulate the
parameters of his study. Part 2 consists of a biblically grounded treatment of
"economic security." Barrera nicely distills the contemporary import of biblical
norms of economic life. The two chapters constituting this section rehearse
several themes found in his book on economic scarcity.
Part 3 is made up of three chapters, the first of which returns to and further
refines themes that Barrera treated in his initial book on Catholic social teaching.
Cogently and carefully he develops his understanding of economic rights and
how these are situated within a vision of the common good, understood as due
order and due proportion. This chapter is a constructive exercise in Christian
social ethics and merits further commentary from moral theologians, for it is a
sophisticated presentation of the case for economic rights as human rights. The
final chapters of the volume apply Barrera's thesis to the issue of agricultural
protectionism and provide a closing reprise of the themes and argument of the
book. The chapter treating protectionism illustrates Barrera's balanced and
informed style. He makes a compelling case for disbanding the protectionist
regimes that developed nations use to keep the goods of poorer nations out of
home markets.
Barrera's writing style is lucid and his logic is easy to follow. Like a good
teacher he continually states what he is going to do in a chapter, develops his
point, and then reminds the reader of what he has just written. He explains the
vocabulary and basic rules of economic theory to the benefit of the
noneconomist. It seems to this reviewer that he generally does a good job of
explaining the biblical and theological material to an economist, but that is best
judged by a different kind of reader.
Notably, there is a courteous tone to both volumes. Barrera rarely criticizes
without acknowledging the insights or strengths of those views that he
challenges. He is a supporter of free-market economics and is no anticapitalist
ideologue. At the same time, his treatment of ideas like economic security,
economic compulsion, participative agency, economic rights, and the common
good all lead him to important, and quite sensible, proposals for changes that are
both regulative and ameliorative of market excesses.
The overall impression one is left with is that Barrera is engaged in a muchneeded project. His sophistication in both economics and theological ethics
allows him to carry forward a conversation that has too often stayed at the level
of vague generalities about capitalism and socialism, or well-meaning but not
particularly strategic pleas on behalf of the poor. Barrera's method and style may

486

BOOK REVIEWS

lack some of the passion and straightforwardness of the prophets; but his critical
analyses and sophisticated methodology surely provides the sort of intellectual
foundation that true economic reform requires.
KENNETH R. HIMES, 0.F.M.

Boston College
Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

The Creation-Evolution Struggle. By MICHAELRUSE. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 2005. Pp. 336. $16.95 (paper). ISBN 0-674-02255-6.

In The Creation-Evolution Struggle, Michael Ruse, the Lucyle T. Werkmeister
Professor of Philosophy and Director of the Program in the History and
Philosophy of Science at Florida State University, describes evolutionism and
creationism as direct, though admittedly opposite, reactions to the intellectual
upheavals associated with the Reformation and the Enlightenment. He is not
concerned with an examination of the logic or truth of either of these positions.
In fact, he goes so far as to assert in his introduction that "so strong is my
conviction that the evolutionists are right and the creationists are wrong about
the origins of life's diversity that I am going to take that as a given" (2-3).
Instead, through his historical analysis, he seeks to differentiate between the
scientific theory of evolution and the social ideology of evolutionism. Moreover,
he argues that certain forms of evolutionism can even be considered,
oxymoronically, a secular religion. Therefore, Ruse acknowledges that the
creation-evolution struggle is not a simple dispute between science and religion.
Rather, he concludes that "in both evolution and creation we have rival religious
responses to a crisis of faith-rival stories of origins, rival judgments about the
meaning of human life, rival sets of moral dictates, and above all what
theologians call rival eschatologies-pictures of the future and of what lies ahead
for humankind" (3).
The historical narrative in Struggle can be divided into three movements. Ruse
begins by tracing the roots of the evolution-creation struggle to the crisis of faith
that followed the Reformation and the Enlightenment. As he points out, the
divisions within Christendom raised doubts about the truth claims of revealed
religion: "Is God a Catholic? If not, then he must be a Protestant. But if so, what
kind of Protestant?" (13). Two major and diametrically opposed responses to
this epistemological crisis stand out. The first reaction was simply to give up on
reason as a deceptive tool of the devil. According to this view, the way to God
is through emotional commitment rather than rational choice. In Ruse's account,
this approach gave rise to evangelicalism as a religious movement. In contrast,
the second reaction was to give reason a central role in religious discourse.

BOOK REVIEWS

487

According to Ruse, this approach became centered on the notion of progress:
"Rather than thinking of progress as an alternative to conventional religion in
the late eighteenth century, it is more accurate to think of progress as a world
system that was trying to challenge or improve on older world systems, especially
Christianity" (24 ).
Within this milieu, evolution originated as pseudoscience, which was
considered a convenient yet nontestable theory that could be used to support
doctrines of progress. According to Ruse, "the cultural idea of progress led to the
biological idea of evolution. People took the cultural notion and read it into the
living world." (28) For instance, Lamarckism, promoted by the eponymous
French naturalist Jean-Baptiste Lamarck, transferred the social concept of
cultural progress into the realm of biology. Lamarck described how nature could
bring about change in response to certain needs. Yet social values conveniently
applied to biology do not create a genuine science. Consequently, according to
Ruse, in the early nineteenth century, instead of a fully-fledged theory or
doctrine of evolution, we have an ideology of evolutionism: "Evolution, like
phrenology, was a vehicle for pushing doctrines of progress" (48).
The narrative in Struggle then turns to Charles Darwin, the father of
evolutionary theory. Though Darwin was certainly not the first person to suggest
evolution, he was, for Ruse, the first to attempt to raise it to the level of a
professional science. Claiming natural selection as the chief engine of evolution,
Darwin first proposed his theory in The Origin of Species, published in 1859.
Wanting more than a pseudoscience he attempted to show that natural selection
satisfied both empiricist and naturalist criteria. In response, his opponents raised
two main scientific objections: There was no mechanism to explain the heredity
required for evolution to occur, and there was an insufficient timeframe for
evolution to occur since physicists at the time believed the earth to be only about
100 million years old. Despite these concerns, however, evolution was widely
adopted, albeit with one major reservation: the validity of natural selection. This
mechanism was not believed to be sufficient to explain the complexity of
evolution. Several alternative solutions were proposed, even hailing back to
Lamarckism. Others included saltationism (evolution by leaps), guided variation
(evolution by small changes guided in the right general direction), and
orthogenesis (evolution driven by forces that compel groups rather than
individuals to change). Significantly, however, as Ruse details, many of these
alternative mechanisms relied upon the social values of the day and were not
supported by much empirical evidence: "Evolutionary biology as a professional
science was distinctly second-rate. It failed to be properly causal; its "laws" often
failed to predict; and worst of all it was riddled with cultural values, especially
related to notions of progress" (101).
During this period, ideas taken from an evolutionary perspective were also
being used to support a moral and philosophical system that would supplant
religious faith. The most prominent proponent of this project was Herbert
Spencer, a contemporary of Darwin, who wrote on a wide range of subjects,
including the socioeconomic policy of laissez faire. Coining the term "survival of

488

BOOK REVIEWS

the fittest," Spencer attempted to construct a moral code from belief in evolution
and proposed a grand metanarrative that saw human history as progress from the
homogenous to the heterogeneous. In effect, the process of evolution became a
substitute for a creator God. Despite these historical developments, however,
Ruse points out that Spencer developed his ideas before reading Darwin's work.
Therefore, he concludes that there is not necessarily a causal relationship
between belief in evolution and belief in a naturalistic or even in an atheistic
universe: "Evolution was derivative; evolutionism was basic" (108). Nevertheless, even after Darwin, evolution as a science risked becoming overshadowed
by an evolutionism that was being used as a social ideology.
Not surprisingly, Spencer's evolutionism and other attempts to replace
Christianity with a belief system grounded in the process of evolution evoked
strong Christian responses, especially from Protestants. Some, like Frederick
Temple, future archbishop of Canterbury, tried to introduce evolutionary
thinking into natural theology. In general, however, and especially in the United
States, Protestants with an evangelical cast responded to the challenge of
evolutionism by returning to the "fundamentals." As Ruse notes, "nothing was
more fundamental than opposition to evolution" (154). In the eyes of
fundamentalists, evolution went against a literal reading of the Bible and was
associated with atheism. As such, it had to be opposed. This opposition gave rise
to the creationist movement that emphasized a literalist reading of the creation
narratives in Genesis. And what about the Catholics? Ruse's answer: "To put it
bluntly, evolution was not their fight" (142).
Finally, the narrative in Struggle ends with a consideration of how the
evolution-creation struggle has fared in the twentieth century. In the 1920s,
evolution was finally raised to the level of a professional science and it has
remained as such largely due to the efforts of two men: Ronald Fischer and
Sewall Wright. Fischer was a statistician who helped to refine the mathematics
behind evolution. He single-handedly invented the field of population genetics
in his The Genetical Theory of Natural Selection (published in 1930), considered
by many evolutionary biologists to be second in importance only to Darwin's
Origin of Species. Wright, an animal geneticist, proposed and fleshed out the
mechanism of genetic drift. Necessarily a nonadaptive form of evolution, this
theory went far to help to create an evolutionary science divorced of the cultural
ideal of progress. Theodosius Dobzhansky, a disciple of Wright, continued this
work by strictly segregating the science of evolution from the ideology of
evolutionism. He even went so far as to publish two separate journals, each
devoted to one of the two distinct fields. As Ruse is quick to highlight,
Dobzhansky and his colleagues considered "evolution ... their profession. But
evolutionism was their obsession" (187).
Evolutionism too has thrived in recent times. According to Ruse, there are
three different versions of evolutionism today. The camp furthest from the
creationists is exemplified by Richard Dawkins, an atheist who vehemently
opposes organized religion of any sort, believing that religions and blind faith are
the sources of most of the evil in the world. A major part of his nonbelief stems

BOOK REVIEWS

489

from the pain and suffering inherent in the process of natural selection, a reality
that appears at first glance to be incompatible with a providential Creator God.
In a very succinct summation, Ruse describes Dawkins's reasoning as follows:
"Religion leads to evil. Darwinism counters religion. Ergo, Darwinism counters
evil" (208). Dawkins believes that the worldviews of religious people are "puny,
pathetic and measly in comparison to the way the universe actually is" (205). In
contrast, the camp exemplified by Stephen Jay Gould takes a middle road. Gould
describes science and religion as occupying different "magisteria" or different
areas of experience and understanding. Thus the two areas cannot be in direct
conflict with each other, as they govern separate areas of human comprehension.
Finally, Edward 0. Wilson occupies the camp most amenable to organized
religion, believing that religions are biologically adaptive and that human beings
require religion to function.
Ruse concludes his historical narrative by describing recent responses to
evolutionism. On the one hand, he discusses several Christian thinkers who have
"wrestled with evolution in an attempt to use it fruitfully in building an adequate
theology for the modern world" (217). These theistic evolutionists include,
among others, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J., Simon Conway Morris, John
Haught, and Holmes Rolston III. On the other hand, Ruse also admits that
creationism continues to influence a significant number (47 percent in one
Gallup poll) of contemporary Americans, both in its classical young-earth version
and in its more recent incarnation, called Intelligent Design (ID). His concludes
that, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, the evolution-creation struggle
is alive and well.
The Evolution-Creation Struggle should be required reading for anyone
seeking better to understand one dimension of the culture wars that have
preoccupied American society. In Kitzmiller v. Dover School Board, a landmark
decision in the first direct challenge in a federal court against a public school
district that required the teaching of ID in science classes, Judge John E. Jones
III declared that ID is not science because it "cannot uncouple itself from its
creationist, and thus religious, antecedents." Reports in the mainstream media
portrayed the judicial decision as the end of another chapter in the centuries-long
fight between science and religion. As Ruse convincingly argues in Struggle,
however, the evolution-creation struggle playing out in the public square should
be understood not so much as a duel between science and religion as a contest
between two religious views. For Ruse, evolutionism itself is a type of religion-a
secular religion. Some may quibble with the details of Ruse's narrative or with
his conclusions. Religion has been notoriously hard to define, and Ruse
compromises with "a world picture, providing origins, a place (probably a special
place) for humans, a guide to action, a meaning to life" (122). Religion or not,
however, it is clear that evolutionism like Christianity is a comprehensive
doctrine in the Rawlsian sense of the word. It is a conceptual framework, a
worldview, an overall perspective, from which one sees and interprets the world
and its meaning. Like Christianity, evolutionism is grounded in assumptions and
epistemological claims that cannot be substantiated by appeal to empirical data

490

BOOK REVIEWS

alone. It should not have a privileged position in our liberal democracy simply
because it appears at first glance to have a purely scientific provenance.
MICHAEL G. LOUDIN and NICANORAUSTRIACO,0.P.

Providence College
Providence, Rhode Island

The Local Church: Ti/lard and the Future of Catholic Ecclesiology. By
CHRISTOPHERRUDDY. New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company,
2006. Pp. vii-259. $29.95 (paper). ISBN 978-0-8245-2347-3.
One of the fruits of Vatican II was the renewed appreciation of the local
church. Prior to the council and going back to the medieval Scholastics, Catholic
ecclesiology had been largely cast in terms of the one universal Church, which
had as its other discernible "marks" holiness, catholicity, and apostolicity. The
Church's visible structure, with the pope at its apex of juridical and magisterial
authority, could be easily compared to secular governments even as it defined
itself in service to an invisible communion of grace. According to a certain
caricature, local churches were mere "outposts" of the church of Rome, and
bishops mere delegates ofthe Roman pontiff who acted as the "supreme bishop"
over a "perfect society."
With the council came a new awareness of the local church as an ecclesial
subject in its own right. Perhaps more than any other theologian since Vatican
II, the late Jean-Marie Tillard, O.P. (1927-2000) has provided a highly
developed theology of the local church in the Catholic world. Christopher
Ruddy, who had opportunities to interview Tillard in the years before the latter's
death, is an approving and insightful interpreter of the Dominican scholar's
work. The Local Church: Tillard and the Future of Catholic Ecclesiology makes
a compelling case for placing Tillard at the center of an ecumenically promising
renewal of Catholic ecclesiology.
Ruddy begins his study by locating Tillard on a trajectory of modern
ecclesiologists from the Orthodox and Catholic worlds who helped pave the way
to reclaiming the local-church perspective. On the Orthodox side, scholars like
Alexei Khomiakov (1804-60) and Nikolai Afanasiev (1893-1966) reflected on
the nature of the Church in terms of mystical communion and Eucharistic
fellowship respectively. Developments among these Orthodox scholars
resembled in certain respects those that took place in the context of German
Romantic theology and French mouvelle theologie, two movements that helped
shape the agenda of Vatican II. The most influential of these pre-Vatican II
voices, Yves Congar, 0. P. (1904-95), held out the biblical-patristic concept of
communion as the new basis of ecclesiology and anticipated through his vast

BOOK REVIEWS

491

historical investigations many of the debates that would involve Pere Tillard.
Because the Church's communion is rooted in the life of the Trinitarian persons,
Congar argued, it demands not a uniformity of expression in doctrine and
worship, but a unity in diversity that fosters a sharing of gifts. A similar, though
more profound, grounding of ecclesial self-understanding in the very being of
God characterizes the work of John Zizioulas (b. 1931), the Orthodox
Metropolitan of Pergamon, whose writings have had a wide currency among
Catholics.
While demonstrating how each of these particular thinkers lays a foundation
stone for the renewed edifice of local-church theology, Ruddy also recognizes
the limits of their approaches. Afansiev, for example, deserves credit for
identifying the Eucharist as the formative element of ecclesial existence, but he
fails to acknowledge that Eucharistic fellowship also calls out for unity-enhancing
structures between local churches. Likewise, in Ruddy's view Congar commits
an error when he speaks of the universal Church as existing apart from and prior
to the local churches that are its necessary embodiments.
Tillard's forty years of scholarship builds on these prior achievements and, in
important ways for Ruddy, corrects some of their fundamental notions. Always
basing himself on firm historical and systematic grounds, Tillard must be taken
seriously when he urges specific reforms of intra-church processes. In Ruddy's
opinion the Dominican theologian makes an especially strong case for abolishing
practices that privilege the universal Catholic Church, such as ordaining bishops
(auxiliaries, diplomats, curial officials, etc.) who do not preside over local
churches. The essential bond between the bishop and the local church depends
on the principle, first enunciated by St. Ignatius of Antioch and later enshrined
by Vatican II, that each local (Eucharistic) church makes present the one Church
of God, even if it does so in a manner that is not exhaustive. That the bishop is
also bound to the episcopal college and has a relationship to the universal
Church should not be regarded as "prior to" his headship of the local church or
diocese, even though that is precisely the contention of Vatican H's Lumen
gentium and Pope John Paul H's Apostolos suos (1998).
In one particularly engaging chapter, Ruddy enrolls Tillard as a defender of
Walter Cardinal Kasper in a debate that the latter had with Joseph Cardinal
Ratzinger during the period of 1999-2002. The debate sought to resolve a
question that had been developing in Ratzinger's own theology through the
1980s and had become, in a certain sense, "dogmatized" in the letter
Communionis notio of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (1992).
Is the universal Church historically and ontologically prior to the particular
churches? Building on Tillard and the other authors mentioned above, Ruddy
argues for a Trinitarian model of the Church that respects the simultaneity of
unicity and plurality. Just as both the oneness and the threeness of God are
irreducible and coeternal, the Church cannot ever be said to be one without at
the same time being locally diverse (at least in potentia).
Yet Ratzinger identifies the church assembled on the day of Pentecost in Acts
2:1-11 as precisely universal without being particular. His evidence for saying

492

BOOK REVIEWS

this is the presence in the Lukan narrative of such universal symbols as the
Twelve and the many languages spoken. For the future Benedict XVI, the
evangelist Luke intends for the reader to see the apostolic community in
Jerusalem as the "mother church" from which many daughters would be given
birth (cf. Gal 4:26). While Ruddy acknowledges the emergence of the many
churches from the one Church, he insists that the converse formula of Lumen
gentium, paragraph 23, is an essential complement to it: "in and from [the
particular churches] comes into being the one and only Catholic Church." For
Ruddy, as well as for the theologians he favors, unless we hold for the "mutual
interiority" of the universal Church and the many local churches at every stage
of history, the former becomes a mere abstraction and the latter lose their
rightful voice in ecclesial life.
While the nature of the Church according to the New Testament may be
debated exegetically, there is another basis on which to defend universal priority
which Ruddy's otherwise astute analysis does not satisfactorily engage. This
other argument sees the Church's deep essence in terms of its Eucharistic
constitution. Just as the Eucharist is one (as Christ is one) before being made
present on the many altars, so the Church engendered by the Lord's Passover is
one (cf. 1 Cor 10:17) before engendering the many churches scattered-and
inculturated-throughout
the world. Between Pentecost and the Parousia the
one and the many are indeed simultaneous, yet primordially and eschatologically
the one Church lacks any essential connection to a geographical referent or
"locality." Is it not founded by, and in, the itinerant rabbi who has "nowhere to
lay his head?" (Luke 9:58). Does its future not belong to that heavenly Jerusalem
toward which the pilgrim people journey? (cf. Heb 13:14) And is not this
heavenly fulfillment already present within her, albeit in sacramental sign and in
the witness of unambiguously holy lives?
While taking exception to some of Ruddy's conclusions, I find his scholarship
to be carefully researched and well argued. In demonstrating why Jean-Marie
Tillard is a necessary reference point for future discussion of ecclesial reform,
Ruddy has established his own voice as an insightful proponent of a theology of
the local church. The present volume belongs on the shelf of every researcher of
post-Vatican II ecclesiology and of every ecumenically minded church official
who labors on behalf of unity.
JAMES MASSA

United States Conference of Catholic Bishops
Washington, D.C.

BOOK REVIEWS

493

Yves Congar, Theologian of the Church. Edited by GABRIEL FLYNN. Louvain
Theological and Pastoral Monographs 32. Louvain: Peters, 2005. Pp. 5 03.
$45.00 (paper). ISBN 90-429-1668-0.
Though Yves Congar was widely read, especially in Europe, "Congar studies"
hardly existed before 8 December 1994, when Pope John Paul II made him a
cardinal. Since then, interest has grown steadily in the French Dominican's
writings. Gabriel Flynn presents a commemorative volume, derived from a
symposium in Dublin, Ireland in 2004, to mark the centenary of Congar's birth.
Contributors span the political and ecclesial spectrum of Continental and North
American Catholic theology, non-Catholic Eastern and Western Christianity, and
the allied disciplines of history and philosophy. Although papers from similar
symposia in Rome and Toulouse have been published, this is the first volume in
English to analyze Congar's thought from so many disparate perspectives.
Flynn deserves commendation for meticulously presenting a highly useful text
with notes to spur on more Congar studies. The same passionate spirit that drove
Congar to write voluminously inspires Flynn in his "Introduction," situated
within the new evangelization. Likewise, Flynn's "Epilogue" pleads for a "new
reception" of Congar's writings and Vatican II's texts. His extremely useful
bibliography and index will greatly assist this new reception. Between the
introduction and epilogue, twenty scholars in four prefaces and seventeen
chapters assess Congar's work. The chapters are divided into four parts: Yves
Congar: Theologian; Yves Congar: Ecumenist; Yves Congar: Historian of
Ecclesiology; and Yves Congar and the Theology of Interreligious Dialogue.
Among these Anglican, Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant bishops, cardinals,
laity, ministers, and priests, one finds the extremes of hagiography, on the one
hand, and critical dismissivness, on the other. Flynn contributes two chapters
himself. In "Yves Congar and Catholic Church Reform: A Renewal of the Spirit,"
the Irish theologian gives a favorable exposition of Congar's possibly most
original, important, and, thus, influential work, Vraie et fausse reforme dans
l'Eglise. Flynn finds Congar's ideas of Church reform as relevant today as ever,
and an evident line of continuity exists from Congar's ideas through Popes John
XXIII, Paul VI, and John Paul II via Vatican IL In "Cardinal Congar's
Ecumenism: An 'Ecumenical Ethics' for Reconciliation?" Flynn argues quite
convincingly one main point. "[T]he acceptance of ecumenism as an ethical
imperative for the Churches would give new impetus to ecumenical endeavors."
While Flynn evidences the dramatic change in the moral landscape since Congar
received his ecumenical vocation in 1930, his thesis, as well as certain ecumenical
endeavors, is mortally threatened by what Pope Ratzinger calls "the dictatorship
of relativism." Still, Flynn shows his faithful discipleship to Congar by
organizing, executing, and publishing the papers of this landmark symposium.
Four prefaces crown this volume in a nod of acknowledgment and gratitude
to Congar's ecumenical vocation. Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J., leads off these
personal reminiscences, including his now famous appraisal that Vatican II

494

BOOK REVIEWS

"could almost be called Congar's council" (27). Kallistos Ware, distinguished
Oxford don and Orthodox Bishop of Diokleia, never met Congar face to face,
but became so completely captivated one day by reading his Lay People in the
Church, that Ware forgot lunch, tea, and supper. Kenneth Stevenson, Anglican
Bishop of Portsmouth, also encountered Congar through books and the spilling
over of new ideas from the Catholic Church into other Churches while traveling
in France during Vatican II. Finally, Marc Leinhard, Honorary Dean of the
Protestant Faculty of Theology of Strasbourg and Formerly President of the
Directoire of the Church of the Confession of Augsburg of Alsace and Lorraine,
details his personal collaboration with Congar, including Vocabulaire
oecumenique. Although not included as a preface, Karl Cardinal Lehmann's short
chapter in part 2, "Cardinal Yves Congar: A Man of the Church," easily fits the
same personal style, affirming that "far too much of his work has already gone
unnoticed" (164).
One of Congar's monumental works, Tradition and Traditions: An Historical
and Theological Essay, has enticed well-known American Evangelical
theologians, like Scott Hahn, to enter the Catholic Church. Interestingly, the first
chapter after the prefaces is an article by an Evangelical theologian, John
Webster, Professor of Systematic Theology at King's College, University of
Aberdeen. Entitled "Purity and Plenitude: Evangelical Reflections on Congar's
Tradition and Traditions," Webster, writing from a Barthian perspective,
provides a more eirenic appraisal of Congar's work than does Jonathan
Robinson. Writing as a philosopher, Robinson, the Oratorian, concludes in his
chapter, "Congar on Tradition," that Congar lacks logical coherence in his own
argument. Webster, of course, replies to Congar's objections about Protestant
doctrines like so/a scriptura, but, with the zeal of an apologist, he believes, "No
Protestant theologian with any measure of spiritual or theological intelligence
can fail to be moved by the appeal of Congar's work" (64). Robinson, though,
fears that Congar's theology of tradition is too subjectivistic to support the
Church's moral doctrine on matters such as homosexuality.
Four Dominican confreres contribute chapters to this volume. An Oxford
Blackfriar, Fergus Kerr, provides a chapter titled "Yves Congar and Thomism."
Displaying a very firm grasp of twentieth-century Continental Catholic thought,
Kerr analyses what arguably might be the most overlooked of Congar's books,
A History of Theology. Kerr believes that this 19 3 9 article from the Dictionnaire
de Theologie Catholique which Congar turned into a book in the late 1960s
clearly places him within mainstream Thomism in contrast to other currents of
European theology (e.g., Lebenstheologie). In "In Hope of Unity," Congar's most
well-known student and friend from the Dominican Province of France, JeanPierre Jossua, writes reverently about Congar's vocation to ecumenism, first
received clearly while meditating upon John 17 in preparation for priesthood
ordination. Two preoccupations co-existed in Friar Yves-Marie's mind from the
very beginning: the refounding of ecclesiology upon biblical and patristic notions
and unity in the Church, between Christians, and among all of humanity. While

BOOK REVIEWS

495

these two themes overshadow all of Congar's work, Jossua helpfully summarizes
the significant evolution in Congar's thought from his first book, Chretiens
desunis, to one of his last, Diversites et Communion. Georges Cardinal Cottier
of the Papal Household contributes "Notes on the Theology of Religions,"
paying homage to Congar indirectly by elucidating a schematic theology of
religions in light of Vatican H's Lumen Gentium, Ad Gentes, Gaudium et Spes,
and Nostra Aetate. What Cottier's chapter only implies, Thomas O'Meara's
chapter, "Yves Congar: Theologian of Grace in a Wide World," makes explicit:
Vatican H's theology of religions derives substantially from Congar's works but
especially from Vaste monde ma paroisse (English translation, The Wide World
My Parish). At times, though, O'Meara's interpretation of Congar not only
creates tension with Cottier's principles for a theology of religions, but actually
seems to fall under Cottier's critique of "a tendency, fairly widespread, and, in
my opinion, quite destructive, i.e., that of attributing everything immediately to
the causality of grace, while ignoring that which human nature, by its own
resources is capable of" (368). O'Meara's particular reading of Congar might
come from his clear preference for Karl Rahner, shown by numerous quotes
from the Frenchman praising the German theologian. O'Meara concludes,
"Congar was the most important Catholic theologian leading up to the Council,
while Rahner was the most influential thinker in the post-conciliar period"
(397).
Since Congar became the premier example of the historical methodology that
Marie-Dominique Chenu introduced at the Dominican Studium of Le Saulchoir,
Flynn astutely invited four historians to analyze Congar's works. Cambridge
patristics scholar A. N. Williams provides a retrospecive survey of Congar's
theology of the laity even though his major work appeared early in his career. In
her judgment, "there are signs throughout Congar's works that from the
beginning he was thinking in quite different terms, probing and altering his own
paradigms even as he proposed them" (158). The U.S. Jesuit historian John W.
O'Malley judges that Congar's works L 'Ecclesiologie du haut moyen age, de saint
Gregoire le grand a la desunion entre Byzance et Rome and L'Eglise de saint
Augustin al' epoque modeme are stunning achievements of historical scholarship
and syntheses of the first order. Although O'Malley favors the latter volume of
history of ideas over the former, he believes that the question of whether
historical research can correct the tradition makes Congar's books as relevant
now as when they were first published. Like astute detectives discovering clues
to a great person's secret life, British historian J. J. Scarisbrick and Italian
historian Alberto Melloni each write a chapter about the deeply felt expectations,
despair, gratitude, and faith that Congar shared with his posthumously published
diaries and journals, Journal de la Guerre 1914-1918, ed. and annotated by
Stephane Audoin-Rouzeau and Dominique Congar; Journal d'un theologien
(1946 - 1956), ed. and annotated by Etienne Fouilloux in collaboration with
Dominique Congar, Andre Duval, and Bernard Montagnes; and Mon Journal du

496

BOOK REVIEWS

Concile, I et II, intro. and ed. Eric Mahieu, forward by Dominique Cougar,
preface by Bernard Dupuy, O.P.
Four other chapters discuss Cougar's most well-known and least well-known
publications. In contrast to Williams' judgment that Cougar's best-known, most
important contribution to theology is the trilogy I Believe in the Holy Spirit,
Notre Dame professor Richard P. McBrien moans about writing on Cougar's
"fairly conventional" pneumatology instead of his "anything but conventional"
ecclesiology. According to McBrien, Cougar "was undoubtedly the greatest
ecclesiologist not only of the 20th century but of the entire history of the Church
as well" (305). From the perspective of Calvinist theology, Swiss Reformed
theologian Bruno Burki in "The Church's Sacramental Celebration of the Easter
Mystery: Yves M. J. Cougar and Ecumenical Liturgical Perspectives" draws out
the implications of Cougar's least well-known, occasional, but rich sacramental
theology for liturgical reform among Catholics and mainline Protestants. Two
other chapters return to the theology of religions issue, projecting from Cougar's
past writings into present and pressing issues in the Church. Despite Cougar's
early assessment, according to Kerr, that Hans Urs von Balthasar's methodology
was not an acceptable Thomistic approach, American Jesuit Stephen Fields
argues in "Mediating the Non-Christian Religions: Cougar, Balthasar, Nature
and Grace," that these two twentieth-century theological giants complement
each other more on the question of nature and grace than Cougar and Rahner
do, following O'Meara's perspective. Actually, Fields places Cougar closer to
Balthasar than Rahner because the first two take sin, error, and the delusion
experienced in fallen nature more seriously than does the latter. Most intriguing
of all is the last chapter by Louvain professor Terrance Merrigan on "The Appeal
to Yves Cougar in Recent Catholic Theology of Religions: The Case of Jacques
Dupuis." Merrigan precisely analyzes Dupuis' position in contrast to Cougar's.
Not since Aidan Nichols's intellectual biography Yves Congar has a book in
print covered the immense breadth of Cougar's life and thought as well as this
one. No serious scholar in the English-speaking world in ecclesiology,
ecumenism, interreligious dialogue, moral theology, pneumatology, sacramental
theology, theology of the laity, twentieth-century Church history, or Vatican II
can avoid this book. The best-received councils are built upon the shoulders of
giants. Flynn's book demonstrates the breadth and strength of Cougar's
intellectual shoulders upon which the greatness of Vatican II has been and will
be realized.
MARKE. GINTER

Saint Meinrad School of Theology
St. Meinrad, Indiana

BOOK REVIEWS

497

God and the Natural Law: A Rereading of Thomas Aquinas. By FULVIO Dr BLASI.
Translated by DAVID THUNDER. South Bend, Ind.: St. Augustine's Press,
2006. Pp. 264. $37.50 (cloth). ISBN 1-58731-351-0.
Fulvio Di Blasi's God and the Natural Law is a penetrating inquiry into the
theological foundation of Thomistic natural law. The book is written in response
to a trend among contemporary natural-law theorists towards a theory of natural
law without God. Di Blasi rightly notes the difficulty with this position: "Natural
law without God easily becomes a lex naturalis without lex" (68). According to
Di Blasi, the main features of this trend are most clearly delineated in the
"neoclassical theory of natural law" proposed by Germain Grisez and John
Finnis. Contrary to the neoclassical natural-law theorists, Di Blasi aims to show
the central importance of God in the natural law.
After an introduction highlighting current trends among contemporary
natural-law theories, chapter 1 examines in detail the neoclassical critique of the
conventional or traditional reading of Thomas's natural-law doctrine. The
conventional view, according to the critique of the neoclassical theorists, derives
the content of the natural law from mere facts of nature which, of themselves,
are unable to yield any sense of duty or moral obligation. Hence, conventional
natural-law theorists attempt to locate the source of moral obligation in an
extrinsic, arbitrarily imposed, divine command which falls prey to the
"naturalistic fallacy"-the supposed fallacy of deriving an ought from an is. The
neoclassical theorists instead posit principles of practical reason which are
derived neither from mere facts of nature nor from the divine will, but from our
primordial intuitions of basic values. Of course, the neoclassical theorists do not
deny that God is the ultimate source of moral duty; rather, their claim is that
moral obligation is knowable apart from any knowledge of God as a creator and
providential governor. Hence, they effectively banish God from ethics and from
the doctrine of natural law (neoclassical theorists find evidence for this position
in Aquinas by appealing to the fact that for St. Thomas the being of God is not
self-evident). Thus the contemporary trend towards natural law without God, Di
Blasi points out, goes hand-in-hand with a trend towards separating ethics and
metaphysics. This sets up Di Blasi's own account of natural law in chapters 2 and
3.
In chapter 2, Di Blasi turns to an analysis of the necessary theological presuppositions of Aquinas's natural-law doctrine. His aim is to show that the
natural law depends upon a natural knowledge of God (not only known by
means of unaided human reason, but also accessible in some way to all men) and
the natural inclination to love God "before oneself and with a greater love." Di
Blasi begins by showing that for St. Thomas natural moral goodness is defined
by conformity to the divine will since the very essence of moral action presupposes that man wants something because he knows that God wants it. Indeed,
the notion of moral goodness as conformity to the divine will is implied in the
very meaning of natural law as an extrinsic principle of human action. Natural

498

BOOK REVIEWS

law not only pertains to human reason; it presupposes an authority capable of
imposing its will upon other subjects.
The Thomistic notion of moral goodness and the account of natural law as
extrinsic principle of action, however, presuppose that we have a natural knowledge of God apart from divine revelation. Indeed, Di Blasi maintains that for
Aquinas "man's moral sense is not only inseparable from his sense of God, but
coextensive with it" (86). He goes on carefully to refute the claim of the
neoclassical natural-law theorists that God is, for the most part, unknown to man
since his existence is not self-evident. Di Blasi argues that for St. Thomas the
non-self-evidence of God should not be taken as a denial of a natural knowledge
of God, but as a rejection of St. Anselm's argument for the existence of God
which begins with the idea of God as that-than-which-nothing-greater-can-bethought. According to St. Thomas, the idea of God is present in everyone, but
this idea is not the starting point for attaining certainty of his existence. The
knowledge of the existence of God does not follow logically from the mere idea
of God, but follows instead from a kind of existential evidence, an awareness of
sensible reality as an effect: "the immediate evidence we have of His presence is
that the being of reality intrinsically presents itself as an effect" (103). Of course,
this describes the general movement of Aquinas's five ways, which Di Blasi
spends some time explicating. Nonetheless, the knowledge of God's existence
articulated in the five ways is contained in some manner in all men. For Aquinas,
Di Blasi argues, the natural knowledge of God is known by most men, albeit in
an unreflective or nonphilosophic manner. Still, this unreflective or "common
sense" knowledge necessarily manifests itself in language and cultural symbols.
Di Blasi goes on to draw a further conclusion. If moral goodness resides in
obedience to God's will, not only must there be a knowledge of God so pervasive
that it is applicable to everyone, there must also be a natural inclination towards
God in the human will. Accordingly, St. Thomas teaches that man is naturally
inclined to love God before himself and with a greater love. This natural
inclination towards God does not concern the supernatural love of charity, but
is rather the natural inclination towards God as the "absolutely universal good."
The key point here is that moral goodness is ultimately based not upon the desire
for one's own good, but rather upon the capacity to transcend this desire out of
a love of God.
Having discussed the theological presuppositions of Thomistic natural law,
Di Blasi turns to a discussion of natural law as such in chapter 3. His aim is to
show how the natural inclination of the will towards God as an ultimate end
translates into a respect for the natural order created by God. One of the unique
and interesting aspects of his discussion in this chapter is that he focuses almost
exclusively on Aquinas's treatment of law in the Summa contra Gentiles rather
than upon the more developed treatment of law in the Summa Theologiae. Only
by starting with the overall conceptual framework of the former work, Di Blasi
suggests, is it possible to understand the subsequent development in the latter.
The treatment of law in the Summa contra Gentiles is, of course, framed by a
much broader discussion of divine providence. Di Blasi highlights the fact that

BOOK REVIEWS

499

the law by which God governs the world is identical with his providence.
Moreover, the special manner in which God's providence is exercised over man
(because the rational creature has dominion over his own acts and moves himself
freely to the ultimate end) parallels the account of the natural law in the Summa
Theologiae as the rational creature's unique participation in the eternal law. It is
here that Di Blasi shows, contrary to the neoclassical theorists, that even though
law is an extrinsic principle of human action, it is not arbitrarily or artificially
imposed upon man, but is rather the primordial determination of human
freedom that makes moral goodness possible. "For Aquinas the natural law is to
be understood in the last analysis as the initial determination of freedom, or, to
put it more fully, as the active presence in man's practical reasoning of the
ultimate end and of the other human goods" (174).
The remainder of chapter 3 illustrates how the will's natural inclination
towards God bears upon the precepts of the natural law. One of the deficiencies
of the treatment of law in the Summa contra Gentiles (as opposed to the Summa
Theologiae) is that it does not clearly distinguish the natural law from the divine
law. Di Blasi uses this fact, however, to illustrate the fundamental convergence
of the natural law and the divine law in Aquinas. He points out some key
passages that emphasize the reasonableness of the divine law, and therefore its
fundamental correspondence to the natural law. "We do not offend God except
by doing something contrary to our own good" (ScG III, c. 122). "Only those
things that are opposed to reason are prohibited by divine law" (ScG III, c. 126).
The clearest illustration of the correspondence of the divine law and the natural
order is the following (ScG III, c. 129):
[T]hose acts by which he inclines towards his natural end are
naturally appropriate to an agent, but those that have the contrary
effect are naturally inappropriate to the agent. Now ... man is
naturally ordered to God as his end. Therefore, the things by which
man is brought to the knowledge and love of God are naturally right,
but whatever things have the contrary effect are naturally evil for
man. Therefore, it is clear that good and evil in human activities are
based not on the prescription of [divine] law, but also on the natural
order. (189)

The upshot of the conformity of divine law to the natural order is this: the
natural normativity of the will's inclination to God as an ultimate end is the
source of the moral obligation found in those human goods ordered towards the
ultimate end and preempts the charge of the naturalistic fallacy. The fact that the
divine law corresponds to the natural order shows that the will of God is not
simply arbitrary or extrinsic. On the other hand, our natural inclinations attain
normative force because they proceed from the divine will since they are the
means by which divine providence orders man to his ultimate end. Indeed, Di
Blasi maintains that for St. Thomas the natural order as such has no normative
force apart from the divine will. "If there were no God, even in the presence of
an objective order of human good, the individual will would remain the ultimate

500

BOOK REVIEWS

ethical criterion" (212). The notion of natural law, then, is necessarily based
upon the interplay between nature and the will of God. There can be no natural
law without God because the obligatory character of the natural law-what
makes the natural law to be law-is the fact that the natural order that is
discoverable by human reason is also known to be created by God and subject
to his will.
Although there has been a broad revival of interest in natural-law thinking in
recent years, the theonomic character of St. Thomas's doctrine has largely been
obscured or forgotten. God and the Natural Law can help us recover the
theological foundation of Aquinas's natural-law doctrine and thereby appreciate
its deeper meaning. The argument of the book is at times hard to follow, perhaps
because the book is translated into English from the Italian original, but it is well
worth the effort for any serious student of Thomistic natural law.
JOHN GOYETTE

Thomas Aquinas College
Santa Paula, California

Engrafted into Christ: A Critique of the Joint Declaration. By CHRISTOPHER J.
MALLOY. New York: Peter Lang, 2005. Pp. 408. $39.95 (paper). ISBN 08204-7408-8.
In Engrafted into Christ, Christopher Malloy offers a deep, honest, and
critical view of the 1999 JointDeclaration on Justification between the Catholic
Church and the Lutheran World Federation GD). As the Preface says, this book
is the result of five years of work.
The book has four parts: (1) The teachings of the Reformation Era: historical
view of Protestant and Catholics positions in the 16th Cent. (17-122); (2)
Contemporary attempts at rapprochement: Hans Kiing, the Finnish School
(Tuomo Mannermaa, Risto Saarinen), Wolfhart Pannenberg (123-92); (3)
Critical analysis of the Joint Declaration (193-313); (4) Evaluating the divide
(315-87). This review will concentrate on parts 3 and 4, which are obviously the
heart of the book.
Malloy studies the history of successive drafts of the JD, and comments on the
evolution, "No one can doubt that the editorial changes to the various drafts
witness a trajectory towards vaguer expressions. The reason for the trajectory
seems to have been appeasement of ongoing Lutheran concerns" (277). On top
of that, the author warns the English-speaking readers of the JD: "The German
text frequently enjoys a more pronouncedly Lutheran ring than does the
standard English translation" (222).

BOOK REVIEWS

501

One of the points on which the JD does not dissolve the disagreements is the
understanding of concupiscence: "First, Catholicism teaches that concupiscence
is not a willful act but only a tendency towards sin. It can be called 'desire' only
in the sense of a spuriously spontaneous, non-willed inclination. Second,
Catholics believe that concupiscence incurs absolutely no punishment and that
venial sins incur only temporal punishment" (280). Another delicate point is the
possibility or not of an increase of grace and of degrees of participation in grace:
"Trent is clear: The just can merit an increase in justifying grace, the attainment
of eternal life, and an increase in eternal glory. This teaching rests upon the
acknowledgment of only one formal cause of justification, the infused justice of
God, by which the justified is bound to Jesus Christ, empowered by him to act
as God's child, and entitled to receive the inheritance of a child" (306). This new
creation, by grace, far from diminishing God's glory, shows divine power. On
that point, the author considers that "The contents of the Joint Declaration ..
. are not merely flawed in isolated cases; they are in organic fashion contrary to
the integrity of Catholic faith" (306-7).
A typical question that has been at the very heart of debates ever since the
beginning of the Reformation is the possibility of human cooperation. Malloy
(cf. 294-95) sees a contradiction between paragraphs 20 (cooperation is possible
as an effect of grace) and 24 ("God's gift of grace in justification remains
independent of human cooperation") of the JD. Such an ambiguity in the JD will
be reflected in different interpretations.
In his last part, Malloy identifies five crucial issues: "First, I investigate the
eschatological implications of divergent understandings of the formal cause.
Second, in a reflection on faith and self-trust, I present a Lutheran objection to
this argument, followed by a Catholic response to this objection. Third, I
consider the 'retrospective' implications that the ineffable grandeur of eternal life
bears for its 'seed,' the formal cause of justification. Fourth, I critically examine
the theory that Catholics and Lutherans offer two complementary, nonconflicting languages for the same faith. Finally, in an essay on Christological
soteriology, I discuss the demerits of the structure of thought fundamental to
Lutheranism, Each of these reflections is meant to be a point of departure for
further theological discussion" (317).
(1) Eschatology raises questions about our understanding of the present life.
Malloy comments on some insights offered by two great theologians of the past
century that are in contrast to the Lutheran focus on sin. Henri de Lubac
suggested that soteriology should focus on the beatific vision rather than on sin
(cf. 319). Hans Urs von Balthasar asked Karl Barth why the real transformation
of man by grace, if possible at the end of time, could not be possible already in
the present life (cf. 161).
(2) Malloy denies that the Catholic (or Orthodox, cf. 335) view of charity
would be too self-seeking, as Lutheran theologians tend to say, attributing this
Catholic tendency to Aristotelian influences. He explains that a human desire for
happiness is not necessarily sinful (cf. 326). A Thomist will recognize here
Aquinas's partial corrections to some Augustinian tendencies.

502

BOOK REVIEWS

(3) Malloy defends the realism of grace (part of the global tendency of
Catholicism to realism): "Lovers long for the real presence of their beloved, and
spiritual creatures contact each other by means of spiritual faculties" (338).
Created grace provides a presence of God, which is far more than a mere
acquittal from punishment. Malloy insists (see above all 390-91, also 134 and
214) on the distinction between efficient and formal causality in salvation: God
does not only give an external input (like the sun on flowers, which is not the life
of the flower but its condition) but also a really renewed internal life of the
member of the Body of Christ.
(4) Many ecumenists speak of differences in terms of complementarity.
Malloy does not deny that such a view can be helpful (for instance in comparing
theologies of divinization and of justification-sanctification), nor does he deny
that Catholics can learn from Lutherans. However, he wonders about the extent
to which the argument of complementarity can be used in the Lutheran-Catholic
dialogue (see 341-42). Are different languages always compatible? Do new
common expressions really express the same faith as the ancient ones? If
complementarity means that different theological systems can lead to the same
practical effects in Christian life (in a rather Kantian way), then on which basis
should one exclude the possible good effects of Pelagianism for contemporary
Christians? (347).
(5) All questions are somehow linked to different Christological views. Yves
Congar (summarized on 364-66) had already suggested that Luther had a
different implicit Christology, because he underestimated the role of the human
nature of Christ in salvation. Malloy develops the idea (359-60): the whole
Catholic and Orthodox view of the relationship between God and man implies
that divine causality gives to us a real, albeit subordinate, causality, without
which what is saved would not be the human being. All questions depend on
different views of mediation, expressed in Mariology and in anthropology: "The
unique role of the Mediator does not exclude participation in his mediation"
(373). And such does not seem to be the official Lutheran view: "The Lutheran
World Federation declared [Oct. 31, 1998], 'The good news of justification
refers to people's experiences and proclaims clearly that human beings are saved,
not by works, but only by faith, through grace, on the merit of Jesus Christ
alone .... We do not need to do anything for our salvation' (emphasis mine).
This remark, outrageous from a Catholic perspective, ought to sound the alarm
or toll the funereal bell in all quarters of the Catholic world" (257). In different
ways I have already expressed the same concern myself, trying to suggest that the
possibility of mediation had already been the main concern of Cardinal Cajetan
about Luther as early as 1518. I could not agree more with Christopher Malloy's
very careful analysis of the JD on this point.
Does Malloy conclude that the whole process is hopeless? Certainly not. He
indicates some ways for a fruitful dialogue: "The continual influx and any
increase of sanctifying grace are caused by God. For this reason, grace is not
man's possession of God but God's possession of man. This Bonaventurian
principle seems to resonate well with Lutheran doctrinal concerns. Third,

503

BOOK REVIEWS

sanctifying grace is not a reason for self-trust" (389). But he maintains that a
concordist interpretation of the JD is neither necessary, nor desirable, nor even
credible: "Undoubtedly, numerous well-intentioned Catholic theologians will
undertake hermeneutical gymnastics in order to retrieve this document on behalf
of Catholic tradition. This effort is indeed understandable. Had the document
magisterial force, I might have been more tempted to do the same.
Notwithstanding the valiance of such efforts, I take it that few Lutherans will
find such readings credible. Moreover, many will find such readings exemplary
of an ecumenical disingenuousness" (234).
The author has questions about the consistency of some magisterial statements
of different levels. Some questions might seem disrespectful, but he asks them
because he cares for the teaching of the Magisterium. He particularly wonders
about the compatibility of a remaining simul justus et peccator Lutheran view (in
JD) with John Paul II's teaching about the perpetual validity of negative moral
norms. He thinks that one might have to choose between John Paul II's teaching
in Veritatis splendor and "his public but non-magisterial praise of the Joint
Declaration" (185).
Malloy's book is a sharp critique of some ambiguities in the JD, expressed
because of his concern for Christian unity. It is probably the most considerable
work of a Catholic theologian in that line until now. Not a few Protestant
theologians expressed their criticism of the JD, notably in two common
statements published in 1998and1999 by about 160 German-speaking Lutheran
and Reformed theologians ("Stellungnahme theologischer Hochschullehrer zur
geplanten Unterzeichnung der Gemeinsamen Offiziellen Feststellung zur
Rechtfertigungslehre," in Materialdienst des Konfessionskundlichen Instituts
Bensheim, 6 [1999]: 114-15; and "Votum der Hochschullehrer zur
'Gemeinsamen Erkliirung zur Rechtfertigungslehre' vom Januar 1998," in
Materialdienst des Konfessionskundlichen Instituts Bensheim, 2 [1998], 33-35).
Some of the questions come from the fact that the JD does not claim to have
solved all questions related to its very object; in that regard the text might not
have been matured yet when it was published. But it was perhaps difficult to
produce a more mature text without changing the positions of at least one of the
parts in dialogue. If so, the whole process is ambiguous and the hopes that arose
from the JD might lead to delusions. In order to avoid such a sad result,
theologians should take opportunity of Malloy's critiques to engage in a deeper
study of the Catholic and Lutheran views on salvation.
CHARLES MOREROD, 0.P.

Angelicum
Rome, Italy