The Essential Aquinas: Writings on Philosophy, Religion, and Society

THE ESSENTIAL AQUINAS

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THE ESSENTIAL AQUINAS Writings on Philosophy, Religion, and Society

John Y. B. Hood

PPAEGER

Westport, Connecticut London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The essential Aquinas : writings on philosophy, religion, and society / Thomas Aquinas; [edited by John Y. B. Hood] p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-275-97818-4 (alk. paper) I. Theology, Doctrinal. 2. Philosophy, Medieval. I. Hood, John Y B., 1962II. Title. BX1749.T324

2002

230' .2—dc21

2002068610

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2002 by John Y B. Hood All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent of the publisher. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2002068610 ISBN: 0-275-97818-4 First published in 2002 Praeger Publishers, 88 Post Road West, Westport, C T 06881 An imprint of Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.praeger.com Printed in the United States of America

©The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z39.48-1984). 10

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For SONYA, JOHN, and THOMAS Dominus vos benedicat et ab omni malo defendat et ad vitam perducat aeternam.

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CONTENTS

I II

Introduction

ix

Chronology

XV

METAPHYSICS

1

NATURAL PHILOSOPHY

28

III

HUMAN NATURE

59

IV

ETHICS AND LAW

91

V VI

THE CATHOLIC FAITH

135

THE STUDY OF THE BIBLE

165

VII ART AND BEAUTY

182

^III THE MEDIEVAL SOCIAL ORDER

191

Suggestions for Further Reading

225

Index

227

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INTRODUCTION

Had he been born a hundred years earlier, Thomas Aquinas (1224/5-1274) would have had a conventional career. As the youngest son of southern Italian nobility, he would have had little choice but to accede to his family's wishes and take the Benedictine habit at the ancient monastery of Monte Cassino. Given his talents and connections, in time he would have risen to the abbacy, gained renown as a scholar and religious reformer, and—not incidentally—been in a position to deliver political and material as well as spiritual benefits to the Aquino family. But the thirteenth century was different. Horizons were broader, choices more plentiful. A young man on the make no longer had to risk life and limb as an apprentice knight or enter the faintly disreputable world of commerce; he could go to Bologna, study law, and make a career in one of the burgeoning secular or ecclesiastical bureaucracies. Similarly, those with more ethereal ambitions were not limited to traditional Benedictinism or its more ascetic offshoot, the Cistercians; they could follow St. Francis's example and choose Lady Poverty and the literal imitation of Christ, or they could opt for the life of the mind in St. Dominic's Order of Preachers. For Thomas, a born intellectual if there ever was one, the choice was obvious: He joined the Dominicans. Naturally, the ancien regime did not go silent into the night. Throughout the thirteenth century there were protests, some of them violent, against the "perils of the new age." As evidenced by their explosive growth, the Franciscans and Dominicans met a felt need for an urban apostolate and new forms of spirituality, but they also trod some toes. For Thomas, opposition began with his family. When the Aquinos heard that their talented progeny had joined the Dominicans—a decision analogous to an American teenager opting in 1968 to drop out of school and move to Haight-Ashbury—they took drastic action. Thomas's brother, Reginaldo, waylaid him on his way to Paris and dispatched him to the family castle to rethink his decision. Only after a year's confinement, climaxed by an assault on his virtue by a nubile prostitute (Aquinas, like one of the Desert Fathers of old, drove the woman from the room with a burning brand, then scorched the sign of the cross onto his door), was he allowed to go his way.

X

INTRODUCTION

Aquinas's curriculum vitae over the next three decades speaks volumes about the revolution wrought by the mendicant orders. For one thing, he moved around a lot—some eight cities in thirty years: Paris, Cologne, Paris again, Rome, Viterbo, Orvieto, Paris a third time, and Naples. Nor was his case unique. Dominicans and Franciscans were regularly shuttled about by their superiors. Thus the mendicants were, in a sense, itinerant monks; it was their duty to go wherever their order most needed them. This peripateticism—apparently rootless sojourning—cut deeply against the grain of traditional European culture, which was rooted in ties of land, community, and personal loyalty. So did their apostolate of preaching, which seemed to violate the traditional distinction between contemplative monks and the diocesan bishops and priests charged with the spiritual care of the laity. Mendicant propaganda portrayed the friars as the shock troops of the Church Militant, but to many traditional religious (members of religious orders) and clergy they were a source of scandal. A few even wondered whether they might be the army of Antichrist. In the end it was only the unflagging support of the Holy See—which Francis and Dominic had cultivated from the start—that secured for the new orders a permanent right to carry out their apostolate. If Aquinas's itinerancy signified a religious and social revolution, his writings marked an intellectual one. Traditional monks spent their lives in communal prayer, manual labor, and the contemplative reading of the Bible and the Church Fathers. The latter activity naturally lent itself to literary composition. Many monks compiled books of quotations, or florilegia\ those with a more original bent composed Bible commentaries, chronicles, and mystical treatises. They wrote letters as well. Abbots—and abbesses—were asked for their advice on matters both spiritual and temporal, and in the twelfth century their replies combined classical form with a profoundly Biblical culture to produce a body of work that marks the high tide of medieval latinity. In the same period, a small avant-garde combined the methods of logic, teaching, and the close reading of texts to create an entirely new genre: Analytic or "scholastic" theology. For better or worse, the mendicants eschewed the humanist elements of this tradition, seized upon the newer analytic strain, and ran with it. Their most typical writings fell into four genres: Disputed questions, Bible commentaries, commentaries on Peter Lombard's patristic anthology, The Four Books of Sentences, and works of systematic theology, sometimes called "Summae." Each was a product of the schools—hence the tag "scholastic"—and each was based on the belief that "truth is digested only after it has been softened by the teeth of disputation." As in previous centuries the starting point was a set of authoritative texts (the Creeds, the Bible, the Fathers), but now, rather than proceeding by reverent mediation, theologians employed grammar, logic, and concepts derived from the newly translated writings of Aristotle in order to analyze those texts, then used propositions extracted from them to construct syllogistic proofs. Thus theology, and truth-seeking in general, became a matter of designing arguments, either to establish the validity of one's own position or to disprove someone else's. In time, scholasticism's hair-splitting contentiousness helped produce the reaction known as "Renaissance humanism." But in its thirteenth-century springtime it

INTRODUCTION

XI

seemed to offer, at the very least, the prospect of transforming theology and canon and civil law into comprehensive, manageable bodies of doctrine. To Thomas Aquinas it promised even more. Just as master builders used rational art to transform masonry and glass into glorious cathedrals, Aquinas hoped, by patient reading and careful argument, to weld Aristotelian science, Avicennean metaphysics, and Catholic Christianity into a system that would simultaneously explain all of reality and serve as the basis for a just and ordered society. Thomas began studying the writings of Aristotle and of the Islamic philosopher Avicenna in the early 1240s, when he was attending the school in Naples founded by the Emperor Frederick II. This three- or four-year period just before he joined the Dominicans is largely a blank—we don't know who Aquinas's teachers were or precisely what texts he read—but it was clearly formative. The school at Naples was unique in being an imperial institution rather than one under the aegis of a cathedral or a religious order, and the curriculum was of a decidedly secular bent. It was here, apparently, that Aquinas first discovered Aristotle's four causes {material, formal, efficient, and final) and came to believe in the Avicennean principle that there is a real distinction between creatures' nature and their esse, or "act of existence," whereas in God the two are identical. These ideas would shape his thought for the rest of his life. The period 1245 to 1256 was devoted to theological study: From 1245 to 1252 at the Dominican priories in Paris and Cologne, then, from 1252-56, at the University of Paris. The first was standard for a novice in the Order of Preachers. The second decidedly was not. Rather, Aquinas was allowed to begin the master's course in theology at Paris when he was only twenty-seven (rather than the canonical age of thirty) thanks to the intervention of his teacher at Cologne, Albert of Germany. "Albert the Great," the most famous philosopher of the age and the author of an influential set of Aristotelian commentaries, was among the first to recognize the young friar's talents. At Cologne he employed Thomas as a teaching assistant and lector on scripture, encouraged his interest in Aristotle, introduced him to the mystical Neoplatonism of Dionysius the Aereopagite, then set him on a career path that would parallel and ultimately surpass his own. Aquinas's course of study at Paris, like his training in the priories, consisted mainly of attending lectures on sacred scripture. The main difference was that he was required to produce a commentary on Peter Lombard's Four Books of Sentences, a project roughly comparable to the modern doctoral thesis. Like Athena emerging from the head of Zeus, this massive work came forth serenely and fully formed, displaying Thomas's knack for organization and lucid distinction and containing all the major doctrines of his mature thought: The ^Wessence distinction; the rational soul as the form and "first actualization" of the human body; the immateriality of angels; the creation of the world in time as an article of faith rather than a philosophic truth; the central role of acquired habits in the moral life; and the primacy of intellect over will both in the earthly decision-making and in apprehending the vision of God in heaven. Apparently his superiors were impressed. Upon graduation (once again being canonically under-age), Thomas was appointed to the new Dominican chair at the University of Paris's faculty of theology.

XII

INTRODUCTION

At this point his true apostolate began: using the fruits of his long study to prepare a new generation of Dominicans for the work of preaching and pastoral care. It is important to keep this context in mind, for while Aquinas's activities resembled those of a modern professor (he offered classes both to beginning and advanced students, he "published" by reworking his lecture notes into full-scale Bible commentaries), his research and writing were not guided primarily by his own interests. Rather, everything he wrote from 1256 until the end of his life was either in response to a request or else was designed to meet a specific need of his students. These works fall into five categories: Bible commentaries; disputed questions; the two vast works of systematic theology, the Summa Contra Gentiles and the Summa Theologiae-, commentaries on Aristotle; and various occasional writings. The Bible commentaries, and the lectures which lay behind them, were designed to give Dominican novices the tools they needed to preach the scriptures as well as to provide a grounding in basic theology. Thus Thomas's commentaries alternate between a running exposition of the text, interspersed with scriptural cross-references and quotations from the Fathers, and fuller discussions, amounting at times to minitreatises, on knotty theological questions arising from the text. Disputations, or public academic debates, had an analogous function. On the one hand, they were a study in method, designed to forge the minds of the students on the anvil of analysis, syllogistic argument, and rapid-fire response to objections. At the same time, they had substantive content. They dealt, in the main, with questions of topical interest ranging from usury to whether hell contains physical fire and worms. Thus in the disputation the magister sought not only to initiate his students into the give-and-take of public argument, but also to guide them toward truth. Aquinas's first great systematic work, the Summa contra Gentiles, was written in response to an authoritative request. Raymond of Penafort, one-time master general of the Order of Preachers, asked Thomas to supply an intellectual field guide for missionaries working among the Jews and Moslems of southern Spain. It may be doubted whether Raymond expected the unwieldy, four-volume opus he got in response, but there is no gainsaying the fact that Aquinas took both his task and his audience seriously. In his view, the project demanded a kind of middle way. With Christian heretics, one could appeal to the New Testament, but this was impossible with Jews and Moslems, since it was precisely the truth of Christianity that was at issue. On the other hand, since the Spanish missionaries were dealing with monotheists who accepted the authority of the Old Testament, there was no need to begin with the bare first principles of reason, as with pagans. Thus in the Contra Gentiles Aquinas adopts a method at once synthetic and dialectical: He starts with God's existence and patiently builds a model of reality that demands Christ for its completion, all the while shifting freely between philosophical proofs and arguments from Biblical authority. The result was a typical Thomistic paradox: A tour de force of philosophical and architectonic skill that was far too difficult for use in real missionary work. It was not the last time Thomas would be carried away by his own skill and enthusiasm. The Summa Theologiae, the crowning work of Aquinas's genius, had a rather different origin. Teaching at the Dominican priory at Viterbo, Thomas discovered that

INTRODUCTION

XIII

Bible lectures, while essential for instruction in preaching, were a poor means of conveying systematic theology. For a time he tried using his own student textbook, the Sentences of Peter Lombard. But he quickly grew dissatisfied with this source as well. Lombard's work, he explained in his preface to the Summa, was ill-suited for beginners in theology: It was disorganized, repetitious, and overly complex. Most damning of all, it did not follow the "order of learning." What was needed was a text that began with first principles—the exitus of creation from God—and proceeded in orderly fashion to man's reditus to God via Christ and the sacraments. The Summa was his effort to supply such a text. In the "First Part," dealing with God, creation, and the nature of the human person, he succeeded admirably. The Prima Pars is a model of concision and clarity. But in the Secunda Pars Thomas lost his way. For one thing, the work grew so massive— three hundred questions containing well over two thousand articles—that it had to be subdivided into two parts, the so-called Prima Secundae and Secunda Secundae. More important, Aquinas abandoned even the pretense of writing for beginners, composing instead a subtle, erudite work on moral theology that only the most advanced students could grasp. The "Third Part," on Christ and the sacraments, is written at the same high level. Thus, on Aquinas's own terms, the Summa was a failure: It was destined to be used not as a textbook but as a kind of encyclopedia, a work that was consulted, quoted, and all-too-often bowdlerized, but which only a tiny elite could actually read. Of course, from our perspective, this prolixity was a felix culpa: By expressing his vision in full rather than summary fashion, Thomas bequeathed to posterity a work that stands with The Divine Comedy and the great Gothic cathedrals as one of the monuments of medieval culture. Aquinas's Aristotelian commentaries were also written with students in mind. When he returned to Paris in 1269 to serve a second term as professor in the Dominican chair, he discovered that certain members of the Faculty of Arts— notably Siger of Brabant—were propounding a new and perilous version of Aristotle. The details remain murky, but it appears that these Arts professors were teaching that Aristotle's philosophy embodied the fullness of what the unaided intellect could achieve. Even in areas where the Stagarite contradicted Christian revelation— in arguing for a single higher soul or "agent intellect," shared by all persons, or in claiming that the universe was eternal—Siger and his colleagues claimed that Aristotle had constructed valid arguments based on true premises. Since these men also claimed to be orthodox Catholics, the implications of their position were unclear. At times they hinted at a "double truth" theory, according to which truths of reason could be at variance with the truths of revelation. More often they hid behind their scholars' robes, claiming that as mere Arts professors and interpreters of Aristotle, the theological implications of their teaching were beyond their sphere of competence. Aquinas took issue both with the disingenuousness of this view and with the means by which it was spread. In a special treatise devoted to the theory of a univocal agent intellect, he noted bitterly that these soi-disant Aristotelians promulgated their ideas not in writing or in public disputations, but "by whispering in the hail with boys." In effect he was telling them to stand up and fight like men.

XIV

INTRODUCTION

When they declined, Thomas seized the initiative. In the thirteenth-century university, Aristotle was taught at the bachelors' level, by members of the Arts faculty; theology professors taught at the masters' level, using the Bible and Lombard's Sentences as their texts. Thus when Aquinas, a theology professor, began writing a series of detailed commentaries on all of Aristotle's major works—the Prior and Posterior Analytics, the Metaphysics, the Ethics, the Physics, the De Caelo and De Anima—he was clearly issuing a challenge. His goal was twofold: To provide a clear exposition of Aristotle, thus eliminating the need for young students to rely on the Arts professors; and to interpret Aristotle in meliorem partim\ that is, in such a way that his writings would not directly contradict the data of revelation. The success of this project is difficult to evaluate. The Metaphysics, Ethics, and Physics commentaries circulated widely. The others, many of which were left incomplete at Aquinas's death, did not. In any case, the fact that he chose to begin these commentaries at a time when he was working full-bore on the Summa Theologiae as well as maintaining a crowded schedule of lectures and disputed questions shows how important he believed Aristotle had become in Christian culture. Aquinas's occasional writings were similarly rooted in topical issues and the needs of his students and colleagues. His earliest extant works—the short treatises "On Being and Essence" and "On the Principles of Nature"—were written in response to queries by his fellow undergraduates. Such requests grew more frequent as his fame spread, and as far as we know he never turned one down. His lucid replies, which dealt with questions as diverse as the proper treatment of Jews, the nature of priestly absolution, and the function of the heart, afford intriguing insights into the marginalia of Thomas's thought. The aim of this anthology is to serve the reader an as substantial and multilayered a slice of Aquinas as possible; or, to shift the metaphor, to present Thomas as both a mirror of and an entryway into medieval culture. Previous anthologies of Aquinas—aimed primarily at students of medieval philosophy—have focused on metaphysics, epistemology, natural law, and the existence and nature of God. This collection does not neglect these topics, but it emphasizes others as well: Moral virtues and vices, medieval theology, Aristotelian science, art, and beauty, and Aquinas's opinions on the social and political controversies of his age. Furthermore, where traditional anthologies have drawn the bulk of their material from the two great Summae, here the net is cast wider and includes substantial selections from the disputed questions, the Biblical and Aristotelian commentaries, and various letters and polemical writings. This approach should provide some sense of the breadth of Aquinas's interests and the variety of genres in which he worked. More important, it reveals him as a flesh-and-blood human wrestling with the dilemmas and passions of his age. Hopefully the reader will emerge with an appreciation both of the depth of Aquinas's thought and of the richness of the culture that gave birth to it.

CHRONOLOGY

Year

Life of Thomas Aquinas

Other Events

1200 1209

Franciscan order approved

1215

University of Paris founded; Magna Carta

1224/5

born at Rocasecca, Italy

1226

birth of Louis IX (d. 1270)

1230-39

oblate at Monte Cassino

1239-44

student at the University of Naples

1244

joins Dominicans

1245-48

in Paris for novitiate

1248-52

in Cologne with Albert

1250

death of Frederick II of Germany

1252-56

graduate studies at the University of Paris

1256-59

Master of Theology at the University of Paris

1261-64 in Orvieto, writing Summa Contra Gentiles

1265 1265-67 begins, in Rome, Summa Theologiae 1268-72 second Paris regency

birth of Dante (d. 1321)

XVI Year

CHRONOLOGY Life of Thomas Aquinas

1272

to Naples

1273

December: breakdown, end of writing

1274

February: starts for Council of Lyons; suffers head injury while traveling; March 7th: dies at Fossanove

Other Events

I

METAPHYSICS

M

ETAPHYSICS, OR "FIRST PHILOSOPHY," was in medieval thought the science of being, of existence in the most general sense. Abstract, abstruse, and intimately bound up with logic and grammar, medieval metaphysics, like its modern counterpart, consisted at its core of a handful of propositions whose nuances and implications were dissected ad infinitum. Aquinas drew his metaphysical ideas from three main sources: Aristotle; the eleventh-century Arabic philosopher Ibn Sina, known in the West as Avicenna; and the sixth-century Neoplatonic mystic pseudo-Dionysius, whom Aquinas and everyone else in the Middle Ages believed was the disciple of Paul mentioned in Acts. Aquinas appropriated these elements, rethought them in light of one another and of Christian revelation, and forged them into an integrated whole that stands as one of the three or four most influential metaphysical systems of Western civilization; to this day a large number of philosophers known as "Thomists" maintain that this system is essentially correct, that the world is in fact much as Thomas Aquinas described it. From Aristotle, Thomas learned that the world is made up of substances and their qualities, or "accidents." A substance is an individual, freestanding entity that endures over time: a rock, a tree, a person. These substances invariably are members of natural kinds or types (species and genera). To be a particular type of thing means to possess a specific essence—a core structure that makes an entity be this type of thing and nothing else. What distinguishes an individual substance from others of its kind is the fact that its essence is, as it were, incarnate in a specific bit of physical matter. Thus what a substance is, its nature and type are determined by its essence— that it is this particular individual is a function of the matter in which it exists. Qualities or "accidents" include color, size, shape, and location in place and time. Unlike substances, such qualities are not freestanding; they exist only as an aspect or attribute of a substance. (We never find "greenness" as such, only green

*

2

CHAPTER I

plants, stones, and so on.) Furthermore, while qualities are generally a function of a things essence (people have white, brown, or black skin as opposed to, say, purple, because it is the nature of humans to have skin in the earth-tone range), most qualities are not, strictly speaking, essential. A thing can experience radical changes in color, size, and so on, yet still be the same entity. Another Aristotelian distinction central to Aquinas's metaphysics is that between potential and actualization—between what a thing is now and what it has the ability to become. Change, for Aquinas, is precisely this movement from potential to actualization. As such there are three fundamental categories of change. Rarest, yet most basic, is substantial change, wherein a type of entity is actually transformed into another. Examples include plant or animal matter being transformed through digestion into human flesh, base elements being transformed via either natural processes or alchemy into gold, and, most famously, bread and wine being transformed or "transubstantiated" into the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Such radical change requires that one essence—one "substantial form"—decays or otherwise be removed from the matter that it exists in and be replaced by other. The other main categories of change are the actualization of powers or faculties (e.g., an inactive mind stirs itself and grasps a concept; a child matures into an adult) and qualitative change (e.g., potentially red skin becomes actually red when overexposed to the sun; liquid water, which is potentially ice or vapor, becomes actually so when adequately chilled or heated). The third of Aquinas's core metaphysical ideas is the distinction between essence and esse—being or the act of existence. Thomas first introduced this idea, which he derived from a close reading of Avicenna, in his youthful treatise On Being and Essence {De Ente et Essentia), and it continued to shape his thought throughout his life. In the simplest terms, the distinction is between what a thing is (its essence) and the fact that it exists. The key is that, generally, one does not require the other: We can easily conceive of an individual person, or many persons, yet can also imagine a chain of causality that would have resulted in their never actually existing. This is true of all entities except God, in whom essence and existence are one: Existence is God's essence. This line of reasoning might seem to imply a St. Anselm-style ontological argument for God's existence (i.e., that existence is part of the very concept of God; ergo God must exist). Aquinas does not make this move, but the distinction between the contingent existence of creatures versus the essential, necessary existence of God pervades Aquinas's thought on theology, human nature, and the natural order. The following selections are drawn from writings that bookend Aquinas's career: On the Principles of Nature and On Being and Essence, both graduate-student works; his early commentary on Boethius's On the Trinity, where he lays out both his conception of metaphysics and his views on the objects and methods of science and philosophy in general; and his commentary on Aristotle's Metaphysics, a product of Thomas's last years, when he was attempting to guide a new generation of students through the intricacies of the Stagarite's thought while preserving them from the dangers of skepticism.

METAPHYSICS ON THE PRINCIPLES

OF

3

NATURE

Chapter 1 One type of being is when something could exist but in fact does not; another type is when a thing actually exists. That which is able to exist is called "potential being"; that which already exists is called "actual being." But being is twofold: The "essential" or "substantial being" of an entity (e.g., a person), which is being in the simple, primary sense; and "qualitative being" (e.g., that a person have white skin), which is being in a secondary sense. In each case something is in a state of potentiality. For sperm and menstrual blood are potentially a person, and a person is potentially white. Both that which is potentially substantial being and that which potentially has a quality may be called "material." Thus sperm is the material for a person and a person is the material for whiteness. But they differ in this: Material that is potential with regard to substantial being is material from which something comes into existence, whereas the material that is in potential with regard to a quality is material in which something comes into existence. In other words (and properly speaking), that which is in potential to qualitative being is called a "subject," while that which is potentially a substantial being is properly called "material." A sign of this is that qualitative being is said to be "in a subject," whereas substantial being is not in a subject. For "a subject" and "material" differ in this: A subject does not have being because of what comes to it, but already has complete being in itself, just as a person does not exist because of his whiteness; whereas material has its being from what comes to it, because in itself it has only incomplete being. Therefore, simply speaking, form gives being to material, but is the subject of qualities. It must be granted, however, that in some cases one term is used in place of the other, that is, "material" for "subject" and vice versa. Now just as everything that is potential can be called "material," so too whatever has either substantial or qualitative being may be called "structure." 1 For example, a person who is potentially white is made actually white through the quality of whiteness, and the sperm that is potentially a person is made actually so through a soul. And since it is structure that makes things actually exist, it is called "actual being." Hence that which makes a substantial thing actually exist is "substantial structure," and that which makes some quality exist is called "qualitative structure." Also, since coming-into-being is a movement that results in possessing a structure, there are two types of structure corresponding to the two types of coming-intobeing: Substantial structure corresponding to generation proper, and qualitative structure corresponding to the coming-into-being of this or that quality. For when a qualitative structure is introduced, a thing does not come into existence as such, but only "comes to be" in some specific sense; for example, when a person becomes white he does not come to be a person but only becomes white. To this twofold coming-into-being corresponds a twofold passing-out-of-existence. For, properly speaking, coming-into- and passing-out-of-existence occurs only to substances, whereas in terms of qualities they occur in other ways. And since coming-into-being is a change from nonexistence or nonbeing to exis-

4

CHAPTER I

tence or being (and, conversely, passing-out-of-existence means going from existence to nonexistence), coming-into-being occurs not with just any sort of nonexistence, but from nonexistence that is potential being. For example, an image may be made from bronze, which is potentially but not actually an image. Therefore three things are necessary for something to come into existence: Potential being or material; lack of actual existence or privation; and the structure that brings the thing into existence. Thus in the case of the bronze image, the bronze that is potential with regard to the structure of the image is the material; the material without specific shape or disposition is called privation; but the shape that makes the thing an image is its structure. This structure is not substantial, however, but qualitative, for the bronze does not depend upon the structure or shape for its being; rather, it existed even before it received that shape. 2

Chapter 4 Since there are four types of causes, it is possible for a thing to have several causes; for example, a statue whose cause is both the bronze and the artist—the bronze as the material cause the artist as the efficient cause.3 It is also possible for the same thing to cause opposite things or events, albeit in different ways, as when a captain saves his ship by his diligence or sinks it through his negligence. It should also be noted that the same thing may be a cause and an effect vis-avis the same thing, though again in different ways. For example, taking a walk may be an efficient cause of good health, but good health is the final cause of the walk, because one walks for the sake of good health. 4 Similarly, the body is the material of the soul, but the soul gives structure to the body. For the efficient cause may be a cause vis-a-vis the end or purpose when the end would not exist without the efficient cause, but the final cause is also a cause vis-a-vis the efficient cause, since the action wouldn't be done at all if the agent didn't have the end in view. Thus the efficient cause causes the thing that is the final cause—in this case, health—but it does not make the final cause be the end or purpose. That is, it does not cause the causality of the final cause; in other words, it does not make the end or purpose be the end or purpose, just as a physician may bring good health into existence, but he does not cause good health to be a desirable goal in the first place. Now the end or purpose does not cause the thing that is the efficient cause, but it is the reason why the efficient cause does what it does. For good health does not make a physician be a physician (and I am speaking of "good health" here only insofar as it is brought about by a physician), but it does make the physician be the efficient cause of good health. Hence the end or purpose is the cause of the causality of the efficient cause, because it causes the efficient cause to act. Similarly, it makes the material be material and the structure be a structure, for the material would not receive the structure were it not for the end or purpose, nor would the structure act on the material. Thus the final cause is called the "cause of causes," because it is the cause of the causality of all the other causes.

METAPHYSICS ON BEING AND

5

ESSENCE

(For the Brothers of My Order)

Prologue Since, as the philosopher says in book 1 of Heaven and Earth (1.5, 271bl3), a small error in the beginning becomes a great one in the end, and, as Avicenna says in book 5 of his Metaphysics, being and essence are the mind's first concepts, we must, to avoid errors born of ignorance in laying bare their complexities, state the meaning of the terms essence and being, describe how they exists in various entities, and analyze how they are related to the primary concepts of logic, namely genus, species, and specific difference.5 And since, in order to facilitate learning by beginners, we should proceed from the complex to the simple and from the posterior to the prior, we shall begin with the meaning of the "being" and then proceed to the meaning of "essence."6 Chapter 1 We should note that, as the philosopher says in book 5 of the Metaphysics (5.7, 1017a22-35), "being" is used with two meanings: The first referring to the ten types of being, the second referring to the truth of propositions. The difference is that in the second sense anything can be said to "be" or "exist" if an affirmative proposition can be formed in reference to it, even absent a real entity. It is in this sense that negations and privations are called "beings." For we say that an affirmation "is" the opposite of a negation, and that blindness "is" in the eye. But in the first meaning something cannot be said to "be" or "exist" unless one also claims there is an actually existing entity. Hence under this first meaning blindness and things of this sort are not beings. Therefore the term "essence" does not refer to being in this second meaning. For it is in this second sense that entities, such as privations, which have no essence, are called "beings." Rather, it refers to being under its first definition. Thus the commentator states,7 in reference to this passage,8 "being under the first definition refers to the substance of an actual entity." And since, as stated, being under this definition is divided into the ten categories, essence must refer to something that is common to all natures in the various genera and species. Thus the essence of man is humanity, and similarly in other cases. Because that which establishes a thing's identity in a specific genus and species is also that which the definition of a thing refers to, philosophers often substitute the term "quiddity" 9 for the term "essence." The philosopher often referred to this as "what a thing exists as," namely, that through which a thing has existence as what it is. It is also termed "structure," under the definition of structure as "that which gives a thing its fundamental identity," as Avicenna says in book 2 [sic; actually book 1.6] of his Metaphysics. It is also called "nature," taking nature in the first of the four definitions Boethius gives in Personhoodand the Two Natures (ch. 1), that is, insofar as everything the mind can possibly grasp can be called a "nature," since the mind only understands via definitions and essences. Thus the philosopher too says in book

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5 of the Metaphysics (5.5, 10l4b36) that every substance is a nature. In this sense, however, "nature" seems to be defined insofar as it is oriented toward the type of action specific and appropriate to a thing. (For nothing lacks its own specific, appropriate type of action.) By contrast, the term "quiddity" derives from that to which the definition of a thing refers, while "essence" refers to that through which and in that a thing exists. Because being is attributed only to substances in the absolute and primary sense, and is attributed to qualities only secondarily and, as it were, in a manner of speaking, it is also the case that essence exists truly and specifically in substances, while it exists in qualities only in a secondary and limited sense. Now with substances, some are uniform in nature while others are composite. And while each type possesses an essence, uniform substances do so in truer, more exalted manner, in accord with their more exalted existence. For they are the cause of composite substances, in a chain of causality culminating in the first uniform substance, which is God. But because such [uniform] substances are more hidden from us, we shall, in order to facilitate learning, begin with the essences of composite substances. Chapter 2 It is well known that composite substances have both structure and material; for example, man has a soul and a body. But neither of these alone can be called the essence. It is obvious that a thing's material alone cannot be its essence. For things are rendered knowable and are categorized by genus and species via their essence, whereas material as such cannot be the foundation of knowledge, nor a thing be categorized by genus and species except insofar as it is actualized. Nor can the form of a composite substance in and of itself be the essence, though some have claimed this is the case.10 For it is clear from what I have said that the definition of a thing refers to its essence. And natural substances are defined with reference to their material as well as to their structure; otherwise physical definitions would not differ from mathematical ones. Nor can matter be appended to the definition as something additional or outside its essence, since this type of definition is appropriate to secondary qualities, which do not have an integral essence of their own. Hence secondary qualities must have their subject as part of their definition, even though the subject is a different type of entity. Therefore it is clear that "essence" includes both material and structure. But it refers neither to a relationship between the two nor to something added to them. For, necessarily, such a relationship or entity would be secondary and extrinsic to the thing. Nor would the thing be known by it. Both conditions are incompatible with essence. For structure, which actualizes material, gives existence to material and makes it a specific object. Something added later does not, strictly speaking, actualizes matter, but makes it exist with a certain quality; for instance, the supervening quality white might make something actually white in color. Hence when something acquires such a quality we do not say it comes into existence in any absolute sense, but only in a qualified one. The only remaining alternative, then, is that in composite substances the term

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"essence" refers to the union of matter and structure. This is in agreement with Boethius's opinion in his commentary on Predication, when he says "ousia" refers to this union. 11 Now "ousia" is the Greek word for essence, as Boethius notes in The Two Natures (ch. 3). Avicenna also said the quiddity of a composite substance is the union between structure and material. And the commentator says in glossing Metaphysics, book 7 (comm. 20): "In creatures that are born and die, nature is a kind of intermediate entity—that is, it is constituted out of both material and structure." These opinions are in accord with reason. For the existence of composite substances belongs to neither the structure nor the material, but to the composite itself. And "essence" refers to that whereby a thing exists. Hence the essence that renders something a being is neither structure nor matter alone, but both, even though in a sense the form alone is the cause of existence. We see this in other cases as well: When a thing is composed of more than one fundamental principle, it cannot be defined in terms of any one of them alone; rather, its definition must include them all. . . . But since material is the principle of specificity, it may seem that an essence that includes both material and structure would be a specific rather than a general essence. And if the definition of a thing refers to its essence, it follows that general terms or entities have no definition. 12 Here we should note that it is not "material" under just any definition that is the principle of specification, but determinate material. (By "determinate material" I refer to matter of a specific quantity existing in a specific time and place.) Matter thus conceived is not part of the general definition of man as such, but it is part of the definition of "Socrates," assuming Socrates has a definition. The definition of man does, however, include nondeterminate physical material. For the definition of matter does not include these bones or this flesh, but the bones and flesh aside from all specifying conditions that are the nondeterminate physical material of man. Therefore it is clear that the definition of man and the definition of Socrates differ only in terms of what is determinate and what is not. . . . Chapter 5 The foregoing has made it clear how essence exists in various entities. In fact, we have found that essence exists in substances in three ways. There is a single entity, God, whose essence is his very act of existence. (This is why some philosophers claim God does not have an essence or quiddity. 13 ) This entails that God is not in a generic category. For the quiddity of anything that is a member of a generic category must be distinct from its act of existence, since the various entities within generic or specific categories all possess the same generic or specific quiddity or nature, whereas their acts of existence are distinct. . . , We find that essence exists in a second way in created intellectual substances. Their essence is immaterial, yet it is distinct from their act of existence. Their act of existence is thus dependent rather than independent, and as such is constrained by the limitations of their nature. Their nature or quiddity as such, however, is independent of any material. Thus the Book of Causes1^ says that the angelic intellects are "unlimited from below and limited from above." That is, they are limited in their existence that they receive "from above," but they are unlimited "from below" because they are free of the limitations of any specifying material.

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Hence, as I have said, we do not find a plurality of individuals in a single species. The one exception to this is the human soul, due to its union with the body. Now while the soul's specific identity originates with the body, the fact that its specific act of existing begins with its actualization of that body means that its specific identity is not lost with the loss of the body. . . . Hence Avicenna states that the specificity and multiplicity of [human] souls begins with the body but does not end with it. What's more, because the quiddity of these substances is not identical with their act of existence, they can be placed in categories. Thus they belong to a genus and species and possess a specific difference, even though the latter is unknown to us. 15 But the essential differences among sense objects are unknown to us as well. Hence, just as we distinguishes causes via effects, so too we distinguish among [sense objects] via qualities that arise from their essential natures. Thus for example "biped" is used to define man. In the case of immaterial substances, we do not know their specific qualities. Hence we cannot distinguish among them either intrinsically or via qualitative differences. . . . We find that essence exists in a third way in substances constituted by physical material and structure. Their act of existence is dependent and circumscribed because it comes to them extrinsically; furthermore, their nature or quiddity is embodied in determinate matter. Thus, they are constrained "from above and from below." What's more, due to the specification that occurs because of determinate matter, we now find a plurality of individuals in each species. . . .

COMMENTARY O N B O E T H I U S ' S ON THE

TRINITY

Question 5, article 4: Do entities that exist without material or motion constitute the subject matter of Divinity? In order to decide this question we must determine precisely what discipline ought to be termed "divinity." We should first note that if a discipline deals with a particular subject, it must examine the first principles of that subject, since no discipline is complete without knowledge of first principles, as the philosopher makes clear in book 1 of the Physics (1.1, 184a 12-14). But there are two types of principles. Some are independent entities, complete in their own nature, which nevertheless also serve as the first principles of other entities. Examples include the heavenly bodies, which are the first principles of sublunar objects, and pure elements, that are the first principles of compounds. Their respective disciplines examine these entities not only as first principles of a discipline but also as the subject matter of a separate discipline. Thus there is a discipline in natural philosophy that studies the heavenly bodies and is separate from the one that studies inferior objects, and there is a discipline that studies pure elements and is separate from the one that deals with compounds. There are, however, other first principles that are not independent entities with their own natures, but are strictly the first principles of such natures. Examples include unity, which is the first principle of a number; the point, which is the first principle of a line; and matter, which is the first principle of physical objects. First

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9

principles of this sort are not investigated in any discipline other than the one of which they constitute the first principles. Just as any category of entities has certain first principles that affect all the subordinate principles of that category, so too all beings, insofar as they share in being, have certain first principles that are the first principles of all beings. As Avicenna says in his book Sufficientia (1.2), first principles can be called "general" in two senses: By predication, as when I say structure is common to all structures because it is predicated of them; and by causality, as when we say that the sun, which is numerically one, is the first principle of everything subject to generation, growth, and death. Now there are certain entities that are general first principles not only in the first sense—regarding which the philosopher says in book 11 [sic; actually book 12.5, 1071a30-35] of the Metaphysics that, by analogy, all entities have the same first principles—but also in the second. That is, there are certain entities, each numerically one, which are the first principles of all things. Thus the first principles of secondary qualities can be explained in terms of the first principles of substances, and the first principles of substances subject to decay and death can be explained in terms of the first principles of imperishable substances. Thus all reality can, by proceeding in a hierarchical order, be ultimately explained in terms of the most basic first principles. And since, as is stated in book 2 of the Metaphysics (2.1, 993b26-31), the principle of all being is most fully real, these fundamental principles are utterly complete and realized in their existence, and because of this they are completely actualized and have either no remaining potential or else just a bare minimum, since, as is stated in book 9 of the Metaphysics (9.8-9, 1049b-1051a33), actuality is prior to and more powerful than potentiality. For this reason these entities must lack matter, which is in a state of potentiality, and be immune to change, which is potentiality-in-theprocess-of-being-actualized. These entities are divine, for, as it states in the Metaphysics, book 6 (6.1, 1026a20), "If the divine exists anywhere, it exists in such a nature," namely, in the nature of a being that is incorporeal and unchanging. Therefore these divine entities, which constitute the first principles of all things yet nevertheless are independent entities with their own natures, can be investigated in two ways: As the first principles of all things, or intrinsically and for their own sake. But although these first principles are in themselves highly intelligible, to our mind they are like the light of the sun to an owl's eye, as it says in the Metaphysics, book 2 (2.1, 993b 9-11). For the light of natural reason cannot attain them except insofar as it is led to them by their effects. This is how philosophy attains them, as Romans 1.20 makes clear: "The mind sees the invisible things of God through what has been made." Hence philosophy deals with divine entities only as the first principles of all entities. This discipline deals with what is common to all entities, and has as its subject matter being just insofar as it is being. Philosophers call this discipline "divinity." But there is another way of knowing these entities, not through the effects they reveal but insofar as they reveal themselves. The Apostle refers to this at 1 Corinthians 2.11-12: "No one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God. And we have knowledge not like those who have the spirit of this world, but as those who have the spirit from God." And again (1 Cor. 2.10): "God has revealed them to us

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through his Spirit." In this way we come to know divine entities intrinsically and not just as the first principles of other things. Therefore theology or divinity is twofold. In one, divine entities are not the subject matter but merely constitute the first principles of the discipline's subject matter. This type of theology, which philosophers pursue, is also known as "metaphysics." The other, in which divine entities do form the subject matter, is the theology of sacred scripture. Each deals with entities that exist distinct from matter and change, but in different ways in accord with the different ways in which things can be "distinct" from matter and change. In one sense, things are said to be "distinct" [from matter and change] in that they cannot under any circumstances change or exist in matter. It is in this sense that God and the angels are said to be "distinct" from matter and change. The other sense is when it is not intrinsic to the nature of things that they exist in matter and be subject to change, though they may in some cases be found in this state. In this sense, being, substance, potentiality, and actuality are distinct from matter and change in that they do not depend upon matter and change for their existence, unlike the object of mathematics, which must exist in some form of "material," though not necessary in a material perceivable by sensation. Therefore philosophical theology has as its subject objects that are distinct [from matter and change] in the second sense, while objects that are distinct in the first sense constitute its first principles. The theology of sacred scripture has as its subject entities that are distinct [from matter and change] in the first sense, though it does at times discuss changeable, material objects when doing so helps to elucidate the divine objects.

COMMENTARY O N ARISTOTLE'S

METAPHYSICS

Prologue Just as the philosopher teaches in his book Politics (1.5, 1254a20), when a number of things are directed toward a single goal, one of them must be the regulator or ruler, the others regulated or ruled. This is clear in the union of soul and body: The soul naturally rules, and the body obeys. Similarly, among the soul's powers, "spirit" and desire are naturally regulated by reason. Now all the disciplines and arts are directed toward a single goal: Human perfection, which is happiness. Hence it is necessary that one of these rule the others. This discipline is rightly given the name "wisdom." For it is the nature of wisdom to guide others. We must consider what this discipline is and what sorts of things it deals with if we are to truly understand how and why it is fit to govern all others. For, as the philosopher also says in Politics (1.5, 1254b29), men of vigorous mind are naturally the rulers and lords of others, while those who are strong of body but weak in mind are naturally servants; similarly, the most intellectual discipline is naturally fit to guide the others. 16 We may define "most intellectual" in three ways. One is based on the order of understanding. In this sense the discipline that gives the mind greatest certainty would appear to be "most intellectual." Thus, since the mind gains certitude

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11

through the knowledge of causes, the understanding of causes would seem to be most intellectual, and the discipline that examines first causes would seem to have the strongest claim to rule the others. Second, we may define "most intellectual" on the basis of a comparison between the mind and sensation. For, since sensation is knowledge of particular things, the mind seems to differ from it in its ability to grasp general concepts. Hence that discipline is most intellectual that deals with the most general concepts. These concepts are being and those that follow from being, such as one and many, potential and actual. Such concepts should not remain completely indeterminate, since without them we are not able to completely understand things that belong to specific categories and types. Nor ought these concepts be investigated by any of the more specific disciplines, for since they are needed equally to understand every type of thing that exists, there is no reason why they should be dealt with by any one discipline more than another. Hence there should be a single, general discipline to investigate such concepts. And this discipline will be most intellectual in the sense that it will regulate all the others. Third, we may define "most intellectual" in terms of the mind's understanding. For when the mind has the power to abstract a thing from its material conditions, it follows necessarily that it is most fully intelligible, since things are most intelligible when they are freest from matter. For the mind and the object of understanding must be proportional, and even belong to the same category, since the mind and the object of understanding—when it is actually understood—are joined as one. But those things that are most fully abstracted from matter—not merely abstracted from their specific material conditions, like the natural structures considered as general concepts, as is done in natural science, but utterly abstract from material conditions—are most intelligible. Nor are these objects merely separated from matter by the mind, the way the objects of mathematics are; rather, these objects—namely God and the Angelic Intelligences—truly exist without matter. 17 Hence the discipline that investigates such objects would seem to be most intellectual, and mistress or prince of all disciplines. This threefold sense of "most intellectual" results not in three disciplines, but in one. For these substances—God and the Angelic Intelligences—are the most general and primary cause of all that exists. Now each discipline investigates both the causes of the entities in its field as well as those entities themselves; for example, natural science deals with the principles of natural bodies. Thus too the same discipline should investigate both the separate substances [God and angels] and being-in-general, of which the separate substances are the cause. From this it is clear that while this discipline deals with the aforesaid three areas of inquiry, its only true subject matter is being-in-general. For the subject of a discipline is that whose causes and effects we inquire into; in no discipline do the causes themselves form the subject matter. Rather, knowledge of the causes of its subject matter is the goal for which every discipline strives. Now even though the subject of this discipline is being-in-general, it is more specifically all things separate from matter, whether they actually exist separated from matter or whether the separation is accomplished by reason. Because to be "separate from matter either actually or via

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reason" includes not only those beings who never have material existence, like God and the Angelic Intelligences, but also those things that can exist outside matter, namely, being-in-general. Nevertheless, this could not be if they depended on matter for their very existence. From these three ways of regarding this discipline—in which its perfection is made manifest—stem its three names. It is sometimes called "divine science" or "theology" because that is its subject matter. It is also called "metaphysics" because it investigates being and that which is consequent upon being. (Such trans-physical properties are discovered via analysis, with the more general properties following the more specific.) And it is also called "first philosophy" because it deals with the primary causes of things. Thus we have made clear what the subject matter of this discipline is, how it is related to other disciplines, and from whence it derives its name. Book 1, Lectio 1 Aristotle begins [his analysis of] this discipline with a preface in which he deals with two things: First, the subject matter the discipline treats of; second, the nature of the discipline. Regarding the first he does two things: First, he shows that this discipline, which is sometimes called "wisdom," essentially involves the search for causes; second, he points out the type or identity of the causes it seeks. . . . Regarding the first of these, he begins by stating the premises from which he will argue; second, he presents the argument. . . . And regarding the first of these 18 he does two things. First, he shows in a general way the dignity and eminence of the discipline. Second, he shows the sequence in which we come to know. . . . He proves the dignity and eminence of the discipline by referring to the fact that everyone has the desire for knowledge as his ultimate goal. Hence with regard to this point he also does two things: He states his proposal, then he proves it. Therefore he first proposes that there is a natural desire to know within everyone. There are three reasons for this. First, because everything naturally desires its own perfection. Hence even matter is said to "desire" structure in the way an imperfect thing desires its own perfection. Therefore since the mind—which is what makes humans human—stands intrinsically in a relation of potential toward all things, it can only be actualized by knowledge. For as is stated in book 3 of The Soul (3.4, 429a23), the mind is nothing of what it can be until it begins to understand. Thus just as matter "desires" structure, so too the mind naturally desires to know. Second, everything is naturally inclined toward its specific function. Thus heat tends to make things hot, and heavy things tend to move downward. But the proper activity of humans, specifically as human, is to know. For it is this that makes them different from all others. 19 Hence man naturally desires to understand, and as a consequence he aspires to wisdom. Third, because everything wants to be joined to its primary cause and origin, for it is precisely in this that constitutes a thing's perfection. Hence, as is proved in Physics, book 8 (8.7, 261al2; 8.8, 263a4), circular motion is the most perfect type of motion, because in it the goal and origin of motion are joined.

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13

Now the separate substances, which are the foundation of human understanding 20 and are related to human understanding as perfect to imperfect, are only joined to man via the mind. Hence it is in [grasping and being joined to] them that constitutes ultimate human happiness. 21 Thus man naturally desires wisdom. Nor does the fact that many people do not in fact pursue such studies constitute an obstacle. For people often desire something that various causes prevent them from pursuing; for example, difficulty in attaining it or being busy with other tasks. Thus, while all men desire wisdom, not all pursue its study, but rather many are distracted either by sensual desires, or the need to work for the necessities of life, or because they shun additional work out of laziness. Now Aristotle points this out in order to show that wisdom is pursued not because it is somehow useful in a practical sense, and also to show that wisdom is not in vain, since no natural desire can be in vain. He then "shows [the truth of his] proposition by means of a sign." For the senses do two things for us: They help us come to an understanding of things, and they are useful for living our lives. We cherish them for their own sakes, both because of the knowledge they give and because they are useful. This is clear from the fact that of the senses, everyone loves vision—the most intellectual of the senses—most of all, and we cherish it not only when we need to do something, but even when we have no particular task in mind. The reason for this is that this sense does more than the others to help us to know, and because it shows us most of the distinctions among things. Next, [Aristotle] shows that there are two ways in which vision is superior to the other senses as a source of knowledge. One is that it attains a more perfect knowledge. For vision is more "spiritual" than the other senses. And to the extent that as something is known in a more immaterial manner, the more perfectly it is known. Now the fact that vision is more immaterial becomes clear if we consider the change brought about in vision by its object. For all the other senses require a material change both in the sense organ and in the medium between sense organ and object. Thus with touch there is the hot or cold object; the object of taste causes its effect on the organ of taste through the medium of saliva; the object of hearing causes its effect via physical motion; and the object of smell through the diffusion of an odor. The object of vision alone causes a purely spiritual change in the medium and the sense object. For neither the pupil nor the air become colored; rather, the intrinsic nature of color comes to exist in the eye in a purely spiritual fashion. Therefore, because the senses are actualized when there is a change brought about in the sense organ by the sense object, it is clear that the sense that is changed in an immaterial and spiritual fashion is the one that is spiritual in its operation. Thus vision is able to make more certain and more perfect judgments than the other senses. . . . He then deals with "the sequence of knowledge," and first with "brute animals," then with humans. . . . As to brute animals, he deals first with "those characteristics which all animals share," and second with ways in which they differ. . . . All animals are the same in that they possess powers of sensation. For it is precisely having a soul capable of sensation that makes an animal an animal. This con-

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stitutes its nature, just as the specific, intrinsic structure of any object constitutes its nature. Even though all animals possess powers of sensation, not all possess all the individual senses; rather, only the most perfect ones do. But all do possess the sense of touch. For touch is, in a sense, the foundation of all the senses. And not all animals have the sense of sight, for while it is the most perfect of all the senses, touch is the most necessary, since it provides knowledge of those things that constitute an animal's very existence: heat, cold, moisture, and dryness. Thus just as vision is the most perfect of the senses, touch is most necessary and is the first to come into existence when an animal is generated. For in this life those things that are more perfect are, in individuals, temporally posterior, for individuals move from imperfection toward perfection. Then, with the passage beginning "from the senses," he points out the different types of cognition that exist in brute animals, and also touches on the three grades of cognition in them. For there are some animals that, while they have sensation, do not possess memory, even though memory is derived from sensation. For, as is stated in book 2 of The Soul (2.3, 428b 10), memory is based on and follows from an image, which is caused by the senses when they are actualized. But in certain animals the senses produced no sensory image, and thus in them there can be no memory. These are immobile, imperfect animals, such as shellfish. For since the purpose of the senses' cognition is to make provision for what is necessary for the animals' survival and functioning, those animals that must move to some more or less distant object 22 are the ones that require memory. For unless they retained a memory of the preconceived intention that induced them to move in the first place, they would not continue this movement to its intended goal. By contrast, it suffices for the function of immobile animals that they simply receive sensation as it arrives without moving toward any distant object. Thus, as book 3 of The Soul (3.11, 434al) says, they merely possess imagination along with a certain indeterminate capacity for motion. . . . Now from the fact that some animals possess memory while others do not, it follows that some are prudent and others are not. For since (according to book 2 of Tully's Rhetoric, where the division is into memory, intelligence, and prudence) prudence is the capacity to use the memory of the past in order to provide for the future, prudence cannot exist in animals that lack memory. . . . Now prudence in brute animals and prudence in humans are two different things. For prudence in humans is a function of rational deliberation concerning what ought to be done. Hence in Ethics, book 6 (6.5, 1140b5) it is defined as "right reasoning with regard to action." But "prudence" in animals refers not to deciding what ought to be done on the basis of rational deliberation, but to making such decisions via natural instinct. Hence in animals prudence is natural judgment concerning what ought to be sought or else avoided as harmful; for example, a lamb naturally follows its mother and flees from a wolf. Now among creatures that have memory, some possess the sense of hearing and others, such as bees, do not. . . . Those that lack hearing may possess prudence, but they cannot be taught in the sense of becoming habituated to doing certain things

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or avoiding others, since instruction of this sort is primarily communicated via the voice. . . . Therefore it is clear that there are three grades of cognition in animals. The first is those that lack both memory and the ability to hear, and these are neither prudent nor teachable. The second is those that have memory but not the ability to hear; these are prudent but not teachable. The third possess both capacities and hence are both prudent and teachable. . . . Next . . . he shows the grades of human cognition. First he shows how human understanding exceeds the aforementioned types of understanding; second, he shows how human understanding is divided into diverse grades. Therefore in the first part he says that the life of animals is governed by imagination and memory—imagination in imperfect animals, memory in perfect ones. For while the latter have imagination as well, nevertheless everything is governed by what is primary in it. Now the term "to live" here is not taken in the sense of merely being alive. . . . For in this sense the life of animals is not derived from memory and imagination, but rather precedes them. Rather, "to live" here refers to the actions of life, just as we sometimes say that social intercourse constitutes the life of man. But we should note this: The fact that the understanding of animals is determined via the regimen of their life shows that understanding exists in animals not for its own sake but because of the necessity of action. In humans, experience (which animals do not possess except in an equivocal sense) comes next after memory. For experience comes from the collation of various individual objects that have been received into the memory. This type of collation is specific to humans and is an aspect of the cognitive capacity termed "specific reasoning," which is the collation of specific ideas, in the same way that general reasoning is the collation of general ideas. And because animals become accustomed to pursuing some things and avoiding others based on information from the memory and the various senses, hence they seem to possess a kind of "experience," though of an equivocal sort. But beyond experience, which is an aspect of specific reasoning, humans also possess the capacity for general reasoning, through which they live; that is, it is [the intellectual capacity that is] primary in them. Now just as experience is related to specific reasoning in humans, and habit is related to memory in animals, in the same way knowledge is related to general understanding. And just as animal life is directed toward its fulfillment by memory, with the help of habituation via discipline, or perhaps in some other way, so too human life is perfectly directed by reason perfected by knowledge. Now with some reason is directed absent knowledge, but this type of direction is imperfect. He then shows the diverse grades of human understanding. Regarding this he does two things: First, he compares experience to knowledge; second, he compares speculative knowledge to knowledge concerning action. Regarding the first he does two things: First, he shows how knowledge and experience arise; second, he shows how one is pre-eminent. And with regard to the first of these he does two things: First, he discusses how each type comes into existence; second, he makes this obvious via examples. And concerning this he does two things: First, he shows how experience comes into existence; second, he shows how knowledge does so.

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As to the first of these [experience], he says that experience in man is caused by memory. This occurs thus: Out of many memories of a single thing, we gain experience of something, and this experience makes us able to do that thing easily and well. This ability to do things easily and well, which experience brings, is similar to that which knowledge gives to systematic reasoning, in that in each case one thing is derived from many. But, as is stated later, it is dissimilar in this sense: Knowledge brings understanding of general causes, while experience gives knowledge of particulars only. Then . . . he deals with how knowledge arises. And he says that, in humans, experience is the source of both knowledge and systematic reasoning. And he proves this through the authority of Polus, who said that experience produces knowledge, while inexperience produces chance. For when someone who is inexpert does something correctly, it is merely by chance. The way in which knowledge arises from experience is identical with the way in which it was stated that experience arises from memory. For just as many memories may produce a single piece of experiential knowledge, so too from many experiences we come to a general understanding of all similar cases. In this sense knowledge is better than experience, for experience is concerned with specifics, whereas knowledge concerns the general or universal. He then explains this by an example. . . . For when someone grasps that this medicine helps Socrates and Plato fight a certain disease, and the same in any number of other instances, this is a matter of experience; but when one understands that the medicine works against certain specific types of sickness, for example, that it combats fever and phlegmatic and choleric states, this is a matter of knowledge. He then discusses whether knowledge or experience is superior, in two ways: In terms of action, and in terms of understanding. . . . He says that in terms of action the two do not differ. For the difference between the two is in the grasp of the universal versus the particular, and this is eliminated in action, for all action is specific. Thus the difference is in the intellect only. But while knowledge and experience do not differ in their mode of action, they do differ in their efficacy. For one with experience is more proficient in action than one who has theoretic knowledge but no experience. The reason for this is that actions are concerned with specific objects. . . . Hence a physician does not heal "man" except in a very secondary sense; rather, he heals Plato or Socrates or some other specific individual. . . . Hence, since knowledge is general while experience is specific, one who has general knowledge is more perfect in his grasp of general concepts, but since he lacks understanding of particulars because of his lack of experience, he will make many errors in prescribing cures. For healing has more to do with specific entities than general concepts, since it is directly related to the former and only secondarily to the latter. Then . . . he compares the two in terms of understanding. Here he does two things. First he establishes the pre-eminence of knowledge over experience. . . . He demonstrates this in three ways. The first proof is as follows. He who grasps the cause is wiser and more knowledgeable than he who is ignorant of causes and only knows the effect. The man of experience has understanding based on effects but

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does not grasp causes. The man of theoretical knowledge, however, does grasp causes, and hence is wiser and of greater understanding than the man of experience. He proves this in the passage beginning "hence architects also." For one who knows causes is related to one whose knowledge is based on effects in the same way that an architect's is related to that of a craftsman or manual laborer. Now the architect's art is more exalted. Therefore those who understand causes are wiser and of greater understanding than those who know things only from their effects, which is appropriate for architects. He then gives the second reason, which is as follows. One sign that systematic knowledge exists is when one is able to teach. For, as it says in Meteorology, book 4 (4.12, 390al0), a thing is perfectly actualized when it is able to make something like itself. Thus just as it is a sign that something is hot when it is able to make something else hot, so too being able to teach is a sign that systematic knowledge is present, since teaching is a matter of causing such knowledge to exist in another person. Thus a craftsman can teach, because he is able to demonstrate truth on the basis of his knowledge. (And as it says in Posterior Analytics, book 1 [ l . l , 7 1 b l 8 ] , demonstration is a matter of making something known via a syllogism.) The amateur, by contrast, cannot teach, because his ignorance of causes makes him incapable of achieving systematic knowledge. And if he passes on to others what he has learned by experience, it will be received not as systematic knowledge, but as a matter of opinion or belief. Hence it is clear that an artisan possesses more wisdom and systematic knowledge than an amateur. Then . . . he gives the third reason, which is as follows. Knowledge of individual objects belongs more specifically to the senses than other types of knowledge, since all knowledge of individual objects arises from the sense. Still, "not one of them possesses wisdom"; that is, we do not refer to any of the senses as "wise," for while the senses may perceive something, they have no knowledge of its cause. (For instance, the sense of touch may know that something is hot, but it has no idea why it is hot.) Therefore an amateur who has an understanding of individual objects or phenomena but no knowledge of their causes cannot be referred to as wise. N e x t . . . he compares speculative with practical knowledge. First, he shows that speculative knowledge is superior. Second, he responds to certain objections to this claim. . . . He bases his position on the following reasoning. In certain areas of rational inquiry or craftsmanship we find that which makes some men more admired or honored than others. These areas of inquiry are more honorable than others and more deserving of the name "wisdom." But when such a person is admired, this admiration is based on the fact that he possesses understanding, judgment, and discretion beyond other men, and not on the usefulness of what he discovers with these faculties. Rather, we admire him as "one who is wise and distinguished above others." . . . Therefore certain areas of rational inquiry are more admirable and more worthy of the name wisdom because of the more eminent understanding they embody rather than for their usefulness. Therefore most areas of inquiry and craftsmanship are valued for their usefulness. Some of these are needed for the necessities of life, such as the mechanical arts; others, like logic, because they serve as introduction to other areas of rational

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inquiry. Those learned men are wiser whose knowledge is acquired not for its usefulness, but for the sake of knowledge itself. And these are the disciplines involving speculative inquiry. That the speculative disciplines are not pursued for their usefulness is clear from this sign: they were discovered only after all the useful arts and disciplines, whether directed toward the necessities of life or towards its enjoyment, had been discovered. But the speculative disciplines were not invented for these reasons, but for their own sake. That they were not invented for their usefulness is also clear from where they were discovered. For they were first discovered where men first made a study of such things. Another passage puts it "[w]here they first had open space"—that is, where they had the requisite abundance of the necessities of life in order to take time away from other occupations and pursue study instead. Hence the art of mathematics, which is highly speculative, was first discovered in Egypt by priests, who were given time to study and were supported at public expense, as we also read in the Book of Genesis. Since the terms craftsmanship, wisdom, and disciplined inquiry seem to be used interchangeably, here—lest someone think they are all synonyms—Aristotle eliminates any misunderstanding by referring to his book on morality, namely, Ethics, book 6 (6.3-7), where he distinguishes among the terms disciplined inquiry, craftsmanship, wisdom, prudence, and understanding. Briefly, wisdom, disciplined inquiry, and understanding belong to the speculative faculties of the soul, which is here called the "intellectual" soul. They differ thus. Understanding is the disposition to grasp the first principles of demonstration; disciplined inquiry draws conclusions from inferior principles; and wisdom considers first causes. Hence the latter is called "head of the arts and sciences." By contrast, prudence and craftsmanship belong to the soul's practical faculties, which reason concerning contingent actions that we ourselves perform. And they differ thus. Prudence directs agents that involve no external material, but are, as it were, fulfilled by or within the agent himself. Hence prudence is called "right reasoning concerning action." By contrast, craftsmanship directs us in making things involving external materials; for example, building and carpentry. Hence it is called "right reasoning concerning making things." Next . . . he proves what he proposes from previously established principles, namely that wisdom is concerned with causes . . . and with first principles. And this is indeed clear from what has been established before. For it has already been established that a man is wiser the more he understands causes. For an amateur, that is, a man with some systematic knowledge, is wiser than one who possesses only sensation and experience, while a master craftsman is wiser than an amateur. And among master craftsman an architect is wiser than the artisan who works with his hands. All this is clear from what has been said before. Hence it follows that the area of disciplined inquiry that is intrinsically and in an absolute sense termed "wisdom" is concerned with causes. The structure of the argument is analogous to this: That which is hottest is most like fire; therefore that which is fire in an intrinsic and absolute sense is intrinsically and absolutely hot.

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Book 1, Lectio 2 Having shown that wisdom is a disciplined inquiry concerning the causes of existence, the philosopher here wishes to show "what causes and principles it deals with." Now he shows that it is concerned with the most universal and fundamental causes, arguing from the very definition of wisdom. Hence regarding this he does three things. First he "collects various definitions of wisdom" from those that people have held of wisdom and of wise men. Second, he shows that these are all suitable to a universal inquiry that deals with both fundamental and universal causes. . . . Third, he infers his proposition as the conclusion of his argument. Regarding the first of these, he "lists six opinions" that men have commonly held about wisdom. The first . . . is that it is generally held by all that he is wisest who knows most. Not that he knows all things individually, for the number of individual objects is infinite, and the mind cannot grasp an infinity. . . . Second, we generally think one is wise who, by the power of his intellect, is able to grasp things that are difficult and not easily understood by all. Now sensation— the grasp of sensible objects—is common to all. Hence sense knowledge is easy to acquire and is not wisdom; that is, it does not pertain to wisdom or the wise man as such. Thus it is clear that what belongs specifically to the wise man is not easily understood by all. . . . Third, he says that he who is wise has greater certitude about the things he knows. . . . Fourth, in every area of inquiry we say that he is wisest who knows the causes of all phenomena. . . . Fifth, of all areas of inquiry, wisdom is the one that is most a matter of choice or will. That is, it is chosen solely for the sake of the inquiry and knowledge, as opposed to other areas of inquiry, which may be motivated by desire for the necessities of life, pleasure, and so on. . . . Sixth is this: that the above-mentioned wisdom is more "ancient"—that is, of greater dignity—than the "handmaid disciplines." This can be understood from what has gone before. For in the crafts the "handmaid" skills are those done by hand under the direction of master craftsmen who are called architects and wise men. He proves that the nature of wisdom is more congruent with the superior, directing disciplines than with the handmaid disciplines, in two ways. First, because the inferior sciences are directed by the superior ones. For the inferior arts are directed toward, and have as their goal, the superior arts; for example, horsemanship is directed toward military service. For everyone agrees that the wise man ought not be directed by others, but rather should direct things himself. Thus inferior builders are persuaded by superior ones insofar as they trust their advice concerning how to build, and navigators believe their captains' teaching regarding the appropriate structure of a ship. Thus it is not appropriate for a wise man to be persuaded, but rather to persuade others by virtue of his wisdom. Such then are the opinions people have held of wisdom and the wise man. From them one may formulate a description of wisdom: One called "wise" should grasp all things, even difficulties, via their cause and with certitude, should seek knowl-

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edge for its own sake, and should direct and persuade others. This definition may then function as the major proposition of a syllogism. For every wise man possesses these qualities; and conversely, everyone who possesses these qualities is wise. . . . He then shows that everything in this definition applies to one who knows the first causes and most general truths, and proceeds to demonstrate in orderly fashion what he had posited above. First he shows that one who possesses knowledge of the most general truths is the one who, to the highest degree, knows all. (This was the first proposition above as well.) This can be shown thus. In a way, anyone who grasps a general concept or nature knows everything belonging to that concept or nature, since it exists within it as a potential or possibility. But those things that are most general contain everything within themselves. Thus he who knows the most universal truths and natures in a sense knows everything. . . . Next he shows the reason for this. People find it most difficult to understand things that are furthest removed from the senses. For sense knowledge is common to all, and all human knowledge begins with the senses. But the most general truths are furthest removed from the senses, because the sense apprehend individual objects. Therefore the most general truths are also the most difficult for people to grasp. And the discipline that deals with such truths is itself the most difficult. But this appears to contradict what is stated in the Physics, book 1 (1.1, 184a24). For there it states that the most general truths are the ones we know first. But those that are first known are also easiest. In response, we should say that in terms of simple apprehension, that which is more general or universal is known first, for, as Avicenna says, being is the first thing to enter the mind, and "animal" enters the mind before "man." For just as, in the natural process of movement from potentiality to actuality animal comes before man, so in the generation of knowledge in the mind animal comes before man. But in inquiring into natural properties and causes, the less general is known before the more general, and we discover general causes via the causes of specific genera and species. And while more general causes are prior in nature, we come to the knowledge of them later (although in predication we know more general propositions before the less general, though not before we know singulars23), for with us sense knowledge, which is knowledge of singulars, proceeds intellectual knowledge, which concerns general truths. You will want to note here too that what is most general here is not said to be absolutely the "most difficult," but "nearly most difficult."24 For those things that are in their very existence entirely separate from matter—like the immaterial substances—are even more difficult for us to know than the most general truths. Thus this area of inquiry, which is called wisdom, is foremost in dignity but last in the order of learning. . . . He then shows the third definition to be part of [the definition of wisdom], by this reasoning. For to the extent that certain bodies of inquiry are naturally prior, to the same extent they are more certain. This is clear from the fact that those bodies of inquiry that are, as it were, additional to others, are less certain than those that deal with fewer objects. Thus arithmetic is more certain than geometry, for the objects dealt with in geometry are in addition to those dealt with in arithmetic.

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This becomes clearer if we consider the objects each inquiry takes as its first principle: unity [for arithmetic] and the point [for geometry]. Now a point adds the concept of place to that of unity. For the concept of unity is individual being. This follows from the fact that it embodies the very nature of counting or measuring, which is the principle of number. But a point adds place to this. More specific inquiries are posterior to more general ones, because their subjects are additional to the subjects of more general inquiries. This is clear from the fact that, for instance, mobile being, which is the object of natural philosophy, adds something to simple being as such, which is the object of metaphysics, as well as to quantified being, which is the subject of mathematics. Therefore that body of inquiry is most certain that investigates being alone in its most general sense. 25 Nor is this contradicted by the fact that, as stated before, [metaphysics] proceeds on the basis of the fewest principles. For that which is most general apprehends the fewest things in actuality, but the most in potentiality. And that inquiry is most certain that considers the smallest number of actualized objects. Hence inquiries concerning action are least certain of all, since they require the consideration of a multitude of specific circumstances. . . . He then shows the fourth [definition to be part of wisdom] by this reasoning. An inquiry is more teachable or instructive to the extent that it deals with causes. For teaching occurs only when it provides the causes of specific things. This is because knowledge is via causes, and to teach is precisely to cause knowledge in someone. But the inquiry that considers the most universal causes deals with the causes of everything. Hence it is the most teachable of all inquiries. . . . He then shows the fifth [definition to be part of wisdom] by this reasoning. The inquiry that is concerned with matters that are most certain knows things and their causes to the highest degree; that is, it knows them for their own sake and not for other reasons. But the inquiry that deals with first causes is most certain. Therefore that inquiry is most desired for its own sake. He proves the first premise thus: He who wishes to know solely for the sake of knowledge desires knowledge more than anyone. But the highest degree of knowledge is of what is most knowable. Therefore knowledge of what is most knowable is most valued for its own sake. He proves the second premise thus: Those things from which and because of which other things are known are intrinsically more knowable than things that are known through them. But other things are known through causes and principles, not vice versa. Therefore and so on. . . . Next he shows the sixth [definition to be part of wisdom] by this reasoning. That inquiry is primary vis-a-vis others—as an architect is primary vis-a-vis slaves or manual laborers—which deals with ultimate goals and ends, which in turn are the causes of specific actions. This is clear from what was said before. For the captain, who governs the use of a ship, guiding it to its purpose or goal, is a kind of "architect" with regard to shipbuilding, since the ship is built to suit his purposes. But it is this inquiry, more than any other, which deals with the ultimate causes of everything. This is clear from the fact that the cause of specific actions is always the good of that individual—that is, some specific good. But in every category the good serves

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as the purpose or goal. Now the ultimate goal of everything is none other than [the good of the] entire universe itself, which is the best thing in nature. And it is precisely that which this inquiry deals with. Therefore it is primary or architectonic in relation to all others. He then draws from all this his intended conclusion, saying that it is apparent from the entirety of this discussion that everything we seek exists in this one inquiry, which we call wisdom. That is, this inquiry is a theoretical or speculative inquiry into first principles or causes. This is clear from the six definitions, which all obviously pertain to the consideration of the most general causes. But, since these six definitions mention consideration of the ultimate end or purpose of things, which—as is shown below—the ancient philosophers did not explicitly recognize as a cause per se, he specifically shows that these definitions do apply to this inquiry, namely that into first causes. For the goal or purpose, which is goodness and is the cause of all the others is itself one of the enumerated causes. Hence the inquiry that considers the first and most universal causes of things must also deal with the general goal or purpose of all things, which is to bring into being about the best state of affairs in the totality of nature. Lectio 3 Having specified the subject matter of this inquiry, [Aristotle] now shows what its nature is. In this regard he does two things. First, he shows the dignity of the inquiry. Second, he shows the goal the inquiry tries to achieve. . . . Regarding [the dignity of the inquiry] he does four things. First, he shows it is a speculative rather than an active inquiry. . . . Second, he shows it is the freest of all activities. . . . Third, he shows it is beyond the merely human. . . . Fourth, he shows that it is the most honorable of all inquiries. . . . He proves the first proposition in two ways: by argument, and via a sign. First he gives this argument. No inquiry in which knowledge is sought for its own sake is an active inquiry; that inquiry that we call wisdom or philosophy is sought for its own sake; therefore it is speculative rather than active. He clarifies the minor premise thus: Whoever takes avoiding ignorance as his goal strives for knowledge for its own sake; he who philosophizes has avoiding ignorance as his goal; therefore he strives for knowledge for its own sake. That they sought to avoid ignorance is clear from this consideration: Those who first philosophized, like those who do so now, began with a sense of wonder about something. There is, however, this difference between philosophy then and now: they began by seeking the causes of minor and rather obvious phenomena, whereas later inquiry moved little by little to the investigation of phenomena both more significant and more difficult, like the changes the moon undergoes, for example, eclipses and the various changes its appearance undergoes due to its position in relation to the sun. Similarly, they were moved to inquiry via their doubts concerning the eclipses, motion, and size of the sun. Regard the stars too, they inquired into their mass, movement and rotation, and so on, and eventually into the origins of the entire universe, which some said was caused by chance, others by Mind, and still others by Love.

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Now both doubt and wonder always stem from ignorance. For it is precisely when we see some phenomenon that is obvious to us but whose cause is hidden that we wonder about the cause. The fact that it is a sense of wonder that leads to philosophy shows that the philosopher is also in a sense a "myth-lover," that is, a lover of fables, which is properly speaking the realm of imaginative writers and poets. Hence the early thinkers who dealt with first principles in quasi-mythical fashion, like Perseus and certain others called "the seven wise men," are called "theologizing poets." The reason why a philosopher can aptly be compared to an imaginative writer or poet is because each deals with wonders. For the fables created by poets are constituted by various wonderful events and phenomena. In the same way, various wonders move philosophers to philosophize. And because wonder stems from ignorance, it is obvious that people are moved to philosophize in order to avoid ignorance. From this it is also clear that this inquiry is "persecuted"—that is, studiously pursued—purely for the sake of knowledge alone, and not because it is in any sense "useful" like practical inquiries. We should note that what used to be called "wisdom" is now generally referred to as "philosophy." (The two terms refer to the same thing.) For whereas the ancients who pursued wisdom insisted on being called "sophists" or wise men, Pythagoras, when asked what he preferred to be called, did not wish to be called a wise man like his predecessors, since this seemed to him presumptuous, but instead called himself a "philosopher"—that is, a lover of wisdom. Since then the terms have been used interchangeably. And the very term [philosophy] is relevant to the point made above. For one who is a lover of wisdom seeks wisdom not for some other reason, but for its own sake. This is because he who seeks one thing for the sake of another is more the lover of the thing for-the-sake-of-which-he-searches than of the thing he searches for. Then, beginning with the phrase "But these things are also testified to . . .," he proves the same thing via a sign, saying that what has been stated (i.e., that wisdom or philosophy is sought not because it is useful but rather for the sake of knowledge alone) is proved by "circumstances," that is, the conditions under which people first began to make philosophical inquiries. For it was only after all the necessities of life had been secured as well as those things needed for "leisure" or enjoyment—which is a certain quietude of life—and even for such areas of learning like logical inquiry and others that are sought not for their own sake but for that of other activities, that people first began to pursue "prudence," that is, wisdom. Thus, since no one seeks what he already has, it is clear that [wisdom] is sought not for the sake of some other necessity, but solely for its own sake. Hence, since it is only when we have everything else we need that we pursue [wisdom], it is clear that it is sought not for something else, but for its own sake. Then, beginning with the passage "But as we have said," he proves the second proposition, namely "That it is free," and uses the following argument. That man is properly called free whose motive and causality stems not from others, but from himself. For a slave belongs to his lord and acts for his lord's sake, and whatever he acquires or makes belongs to the lord. By contrast, everything the free man does,

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acquires, or makes belongs to himself. Now this inquiry is the only one that exists solely for its own sake; therefore it alone is truly free. We should note that this ["free inquiry"] may be understood in two senses. On the one hand, it may refer generically to all the speculative inquiries. And in this sense it is true that this category of inquiries is sought for its own sake. Similarly, those arts and crafts are called "liberal" or free that are directed toward knowledge, whereas those that are directed toward some form of useful activity are referred to as "mechanical" or "servile." On the other hand, it may be interpreted as referring specifically to philosophy, or "wisdom," which deals with the highest causes, among which, as stated above, are final causes. Hence this inquiry aims at the ultimate and most universal of all causes. Thus all other inquiries have it as their goal and purpose. Therefore it alone exists utterly for its own sake. Then, in the passage beginning "For this reason," he proves the third proposition. In this regard he does two things. First he demonstrates the proposition; second, in the passage beginning "Which is why according to Simonides," he refutes an error made by some. He proves the proposition by this argument: The freest of inquiries cannot belong to a nature that is, in many ways, that of a servant or handmaid; human nature is "in many ways" that of a servant; therefore this inquiry does not belong to humans as such. Now human nature is that of a servant in that it requires so many things. Thus it sometimes happens that humans ignore what is intrinsically desirable in favor of what is necessary for life. For, as it says in Topics, book 3 (3.2, 118al0), while it is better to philosophize than to make money, there are times—as when necessities are lacking—that we choose to make money instead. From this it is clear that a wisdom sought only for its own sake is not a possession of human beings as such. For a thing intrinsically belongs to a man when he can have it at will and use it freely. But he cannot freely pursue the inquiry desired for its own sake, since he is frequently impeded from doing so by the necessities of life. Nor is something truly subject to human will if a man cannot perfectly achieve it. Nevertheless, the little that can be gained from this inquiry is preferable to everything that can be learned via the other sciences and disciplines. Next, in the passage beginning "Why according to," he excludes the error of the poet Simonides, who said that only God is worthy of the honor that comes from choosing this inquiry that is sought for itself alone rather than for any other reason, and that it is appropriate for man to pursue only those inquiries compatible with his condition in life, that is, those directed toward the necessities of life, which he lacks. But this error of Simonides stems from the error of other poets, who said that the Divine Being is jealous and that God does not wish everyone to partake of things that pertain to his honor. And if God is jealous of humans in other areas, it is much more just that he be so in this area—namely, an inquiry pursued for its own sake alone, which is the most honorable of all. Thus it follows from their opinion that all who are imperfect are unhappy. For they say that humans are blessed by the providence of the gods, who share their beatitude with them. Hence, from the fact that

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the gods, out of jealousy, do not wish to share their beatitude, it follows that men who are excluded from the perfection of this inquiry are unhappy. But the root of this opinion is completely false. For it is inappropriate that the divine being be envious. This is clear from the fact that envy is sadness at the wellbeing of another. And this can only occur if the one who is envious believes that the other's good diminishes his own. But it is inappropriate that God be sad, since he is not the subject of any evil. Nor can his good be diminished by that of any other, since all goodness flows from him as from an inexhaustible fountain. Hence Plato said that God is completely free of envy. But, as the common proverb has it, poets lie not only about this but about many things. Then, in the passage beginning "Nor those others," he proves his fourth point, that "this discipline is most honorable of all," via this argument. Now that discipline is most honorable that is most divine, in the same way that God is more honorable than all other beings. But this discipline is most divine; therefore it is most honorable. The minor premise is proved thus. A discipline or body of knowledge can be termed "divine" in two ways, and only this discipline or body of knowledge is divine in both. One sense refers to a body of knowledge that God possesses; the second is knowledge of divine things. Now it is obvious that this discipline or body of knowledge is alone divine in both senses. For as it deals with first causes and first principles, it necessarily deals with God, since God is understood by all as a cause and principle of things. And the knowledge of God and of first causes is, if not possessed by God alone, is nevertheless possessed by him in the highest degree. For he alone has perfect understanding. For he has in the highest degree that which humans have after their own fashion, granted that they have it not as a natural or intrinsic possession but as something that is, as it were, borrowed. From all these then he concludes at last that all other disciplines are more relevant to the necessities of life, and are sought less for their own sakes. But none of the others have the dignity of this discipline. NOTES

1. The Latin forma, often transliterated as "form," refers to the internal constitution of a thing, the organizing principle that gives its parts and functions due order. Hence I translate it here and throughout as "structure" or "structural order." 2. That is, the material "bronze" pre-existed the statue; it does not require the artist to constitute it as bronze. 3. The efficient cause is the actor or action that brings a thing into existence. An artist is the paradigmatic example; another would be sexual intercourse that (in the medieval understanding) actualizes the potential humanity of the sperm. 4. The final cause is the purpose or goal at which a thing aims for or for which an action is done. Thus the four Aristotelian causes are material, structural, efficient, and final. 5. The Latin is intentiones logicas. In his Latin—English Dictionary of St. Thomas Aquinas (Boston [1960], p. 553), Roy J. Deferrari provides this definition: "Logical intentions are the beings of reason, the whole area in which thought, not things, is the object of knowledge. After the mind has perceived (intended) reality it reflects on its own operations and ideas, and

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the results of this second intention are theological intentions. Thus the concepts of genus, species, and certain kinds of universality are aspects which the mind considers (intends) not in reality but in its own thought and ideas. Terms as the expression of concepts, propositions as the expression of judgments, and syllogisms as the expression of reasoning are also logical intentions." In On Being and Essence and throughout Aquinas's metaphysics it is important to keep in mind the distinction among being, essence, substance, and so on in their existence as entities in the objective world versus their existence as logical concepts or intentiones. 6. Being, as we shall see, is more complex than essence because it is composite, consisting of essence plus the act of existence. 7. Averroes (Ibn Rushd, d. 1198), the most famous Moslem commentator on Aristotle. 8. Metaphysics, book 5.7 (1017a, 22-35). 9. The Latin is quidditas. Like essence, it is that which fundamentally makes a thing what it is. In terms of logic and definitions, it is that definition that most adequately answers the question, "What is this thing?" 10. Aquinas attributed this theory to Averroes. Whether or not Averroes actually held it is a matter of some debate. 11. No such reference exists in our texts of Boethius, though Albert and Bonaventure as well as Thomas all attribute it to him. 12. Here I translate the Latin universalia, traditionally transliterated as "universals," as "general terms or entities." Ambiguity about general terms, concepts, and entities helped fuel a long and mostly fruitless medieval debate. To put it simply, medieval "realists" held that general terms and concepts referred to actually existing generalized or abstract entities existing in a Platonic realm of ideas, or, more often, in the mind of God. Medieval "nominalists" held that such terms or concepts referred only to the similarities among individual entities and denied that general entities of any sort existed, or rather argued that a "general entity" was a contradiction in terms—that in the real world only specific objects exist. "Moderate realists," among whom Aquinas is generally numbered, agreed with nominalists that only individual entities contain essences or natures that, while specified and individualized by matter, were identical to the natures or essence possessed by other members of the same species. In the fourteenth century, William of Ockham and others attempted to resolve the issue through very precise distinctions and analysis. In the end, however, the debate was not resolved but merely continued in more sophisticated forms, growing ever more fractious. 13. Aquinas probably has Avicenna in mind. Note that he leaves unstated whether or not he agrees with these "philosophers." 14. A Neoplatonic work that, however, circulated under Aristotle's name. Aquinas, who was among the first to recognize its pseudopigraphal nature, wrote a commentary on it. 15. That is, we have no knowledge of precisely what it is that makes specific angels distinct from one another. 16. "Intellectual" doesn't fully capture the sense of the Latin intellectualis, especially given that the English term can be disparaging. For Aquinas, the most "intellectual" discipline is simply the one that attains both the broadest and the deepest grasp of reality. 17. Combining Christian angelology with Aristotle's speculation regarding "separate substances," Aquinas conceived of at least some angels as the governing spirits of the heavenly spheres, animating them, and, motivated by their love of God, causing them to revolve in a harmonious, perfectly spherical motion. Thus for Aquinas the universe is a kind of intricate perpetual-motion machine, powered by endless love and intellectual understanding flowing to and from God. 18. The first premise.

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19. Different from all other animals, whose life, Aquinas believed, was limited to sensation, desire, and forms of understanding that fall short of the grasp of types and causes that are the hallmarks of human understanding. 20. Both as its ultimate cause (after God) and as the highest of causes, as the ultimate goal toward which intellectual effort is aimed. 21. Thomas speaks here more as an Aristotelian commentator than as a Christian theologian. For the latter, this statement would, at the very least, require interpretation. 22. In order to procure food, mate, migrate, and so on. 23. A dense formulation. Aquinas's point is that as children we understand the more general truth that our parents exist before we understand that they are human beings, they are male and female, or even that they are our parents as such. 24. A rare instance of Thomas directly addressing his reader. 25. The contrast between this statement, which embodies the common ancient and medieval view, with modern, post-Humean and post-Kantian philosophy, which questions the very possibility of metaphysics, could not be sharper.

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T

HOMAS AQUINAS WAS MANY THINGS—an Aristotelian philosopher, a Bible scholar, an ethicist, a preacher, a theologian, and above all a teacher—but one thing he clearly was not was a scientist, either in the medieval or the modern sense. He did his best thinking in cloisters and in the margins of books, not in fields and forests; he possessed little of the burning curiosity about the natural world that contemporaries found so remarkable in his mentor, Albert the Great. Nevertheless, he left a considerable body of writing on natural philosophy, most of it in two loci: The section of his youthful Commentary on Boethius's De Trinitate {On the Trinity) referred to as "The Division and Method of the Disciplines," and more especially in a long series of commentaries of Aristotle's works on natural philosophy composed near the end of his life. Two questions arise here: if Aquinas was not a scientist or even a natural philosopher, why did he write these works? And, what is their enduring significance? With regard to "The Division and Method of the Disciplines," the answer to the first question is that Thomas was an avid Aristotelian who absorbed the writings of the "Master of Those Who Know" with the zeal of a convert. In 1252, Aquinas was beginning his theological studies at the University of Paris. In that same year, Aristotle's Metaphysics, Nicomachean Ethics, and writings on natural philosophy were introduced into the university's curriculum. With them was born the modern College of Arts and Sciences. Four years later, in 1256, Thomas completed "The Division and Method of the Disciplines." With its fourfold division of philosophy into metaphysics, natural philosophy, mathematics, and the practical arts, including ethics, the "Division" dovetails remarkably with this curriculum. As such, the work is not only a cogent precis of Aristotle; it was also a ringing endorsement of an educational revolution. For the new curriculum was revolutionary: From 1252, the core

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undergraduate curriculum at the most prestigious university in Christendom was based on the writings of a pagan philosopher who taught explicitly heretical doctrines and whose works had until recently been proscribed. As Aquinas was well aware, not everyone greeted the new era with open arms. Conservatives—many of them Franciscans or diocesan priests—took the line St. Bernard had adopted against Abelard, charging the Aristotelians with bartering their inheritance (the Bible, Augustine, Catholic tradition) for a bowl of Greek porridge. Aquinas, like Albert and others, parried this critique by using Aristotelian concepts and analyses to bolster orthodox Catholic positions. Until his return to Paris in 1269, Thomas showed little if any awareness that there might be danger from the "left," namely, from intellectuals who were too welcoming of Aristotle. Recalled to a second Parisian regency to do battle with newly resurgent antimendicant forces, he soon found himself at war with "radical Aristotelians" or "Averroists" (the latter named for Aristotle's eminent Arabic commentator) who claimed that Aristotelianism represented the highest conclusions of human reason—even when it contradicted Catholic truth. The immediate issue was the question of whether or not the universe was eternal. Aristotle claimed it was and gave powerful arguments in support of his position; Christian revelation posited a created universe that had a temporal beginning. Apparently the radical Aristotelians claimed that Aristotle's arguments were valid and that Christians could only shrug their shoulders and accept creation ex nihilo on faith. ("Apparently" because we know their positions mostly from their opponents' polemics.) In his 1269 philippic "On the Eternity of the World" Aquinas sought both to show that Aristotle's arguments were less than probative and to dethrone the radicals as the authoritative interpreters of Aristotle. On both counts his success is difficult to evaluate. In any case, he himself was not satisfied that the danger was past, for over the next four years he made time in his busy schedule to compose commentaries on all or parts of Aristotle's Physics, On the Heavens, On Generation and Corruption, Meteorology, On the Soul, On Memory, and On Sense and Sensation. In addition to constituting a bold incursion by a theologian into Arts faculty turf, these commentaries represent Aquinas's efforts to supplant the commentaries of Averroes and those of the radicals with works that gave a clear and complete exposition of Aristotle's text, yet were sound from the point of view of Christian doctrine. Several of these works were essentially stillborn, never circulating in significant numbers. However, the Physics commentary, and to a lesser extent those on On the Heavens and On Generation and Corruption, reached a large audience and had considerable influence on the scientific thought of the late Middle Ages. The following selections contain excerpts from each of these commentaries, as well as key sections from "The Division and Methods of the Disciplines," and the complete text of a short work Aquinas wrote (characteristically) in answer to a query, "On the Motion of the Heart." The introductory section of the Physics commentary as well as the "Division and Methods" define the subject matter of natural philosophy (physical entities that are subject to change) and outline its basic subdivisions and methodology. The remaining selections show Aquinas applying these methods to specific problems: The nature of motion, the relation of motion to time, the gen-

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eration of new life, the motion of the planets, and the nature and causes of the motion of the heart. In order to evaluate these texts, it is important to remember that, with the exception of "On the Motion of the Heart," Aquinas aimed primarily at providing undergraduate students with a clear exposition of Aristotle, and only secondarily at solving scientific problems. As such, his work helped prepare the ground for original scientific work by developing a subtle, sophisticated technical vocabulary to describe natural phenomena and their causes. The limits of Aquinas's natural philosophy—and to a large extent the limits of his entire worldview—are underlined by the fact that, aside from an occasional remark on the applicability of mathematics to describing and predicting planetary motion, there is little sense in his writings that more scientific work needed to be done. To his abstract, systematizing mind, Aristotle's abstract, systematizing explanations of nature were highly satisfying; there is little sense in Thomas of a need for testing theory against observation. Thus if Aquinas's work in natural philosophy is judged by the criterion of promoting scientific progress, the verdict must be rather mixed, with his contributions counterbalanced by the impression that the understanding of nature was more or less a fait accompli and that further progress would come from ever-closer readings of Aristotle rather than from fresh observation and theorizing. (The limits of this approach can be seen most vividly in "On the Motion of the Heart.") On the other hand, if we evaluate his work in terms of his own aims and purposes, Thomas emerges as a successful and influential interpreter of Aristotle's libri naturali whose ideas on certain problems at the philosophical periphery of science—such as the nature of time—possess abiding interest. COMMENTARY O N B O E T H I U S ' S ON THE

TRINITY

( " T H E D I V I S I O N AND M E T H O D OF THE SCIENCES")

Question 5, Article 2: Does Natural Science have as its subject matters things that exist in matter and are subject to change?1 I answer: We should note that it was this problem that led Plato to posit the Ideas. For, as the philosopher [Aristotle] says in book 1 of the Metaphysics (1.6, 987a32-34), "[Plato] believed everything that could be sensed was in constant change"—following in this the opinion of Cratylus and Heraclitis—"and thus deciding there could be no certain knowledge of such objects, he posited certain substances separate from all sensible objects that could be known with certainty 2 and assigned precise definitions." He made this mistake by failing to distinguish between what is essential and what is secondary. "For even the wise are often deceived by secondary matters" ([Aristotle's] Sophistical Refutations, book 1.6, 168b6). Now as is proved in Metaphysics, book 7 (7.8, 1033b 17 et seq.), in substances subject to sense knowledge we find both the integrated thing itself, which is a composite, and its intelligible nature or structure. Of these the composite truly and essentially comes into existence and then in time ceases to exist, whereas this is true of the intelligible nature or structure only in a secondary sense. As is noted in the same book, "We do not make house, but this house." Now we may investigate any object

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without attending to nonessential aspects of it. Thus, as the philosopher also says, the forms and structures of things that are subject to change may be investigated without reference to change, and in this way we may come to a true understanding of such objects and be able to define them. For, as he also says, true knowledge of sensible phenomena is not dependent upon knowledge of substances utterly separate from sensible phenomena. The natures of such things, which are investigated by the disciplines that study them, are investigated without reference to change. Thus they must be investigated without reference to the conditions that bring about change in changeable things. But since all change is measurable by time, and the most basic type of change is local motion—without which no other change occurs—it follows that insofar as a thing exists here and now it is also subject to change. This follows from the very fact of being a thing subject to change, existing in matter that has specific spatial dimensions. 3 Thus if there is to be true knowledge of changeable objects, they must be investigated in abstraction from their specific matter and from all that follows from their existing in this specific matter, but we must not abstract from the fact that, in general, they are material objects. For our concept of the way in which their structure incorporates matter is based on the fact that they are, indeed, material objects. Thus the intelligible nature of human beings, which forms the basis of true knowledge and the definition of human nature, is investigated without reference to the specific flesh and bones belonging to any single person, but it is not investigated in entire abstraction from the fact that humans do possess flesh and bones. And since, as is stated in book 7 of the Metaphysics (7.10, 1035b27-31), "individuals are included in the nature of specific material objects, but general concepts include matter only in the general sense," the abstraction we are speaking of is not an absolute abstraction from matter, but rather involves moving from the specific to the general concept. The intelligible natures that we abstract in this fashion may be regarded in two ways: simply in themselves, that is, absent change or specific matter, in which case they have no real existence except insofar as they "exist" in the mind; or in relation to those objects whose natures they are, that is, objects that in fact exist in specific material conditions and are subject to change. In this case they are the principles of knowledge of such objects, for everything is known through its intelligible structure. Thus it is by investigating intelligible natures in the absence of change or specific material conditions that the natural sciences gain their knowledge of those changeable, material objects that exist outside the mind. COMMENTARY O N THE

PHYSICS

Book 3, Lectio 1 Having defined the principles of natural objects and the principles of this science, the philosopher here begins to fulfill his intention of defining the subject of this science that is changeable being. . . . Types of change are divided in the same way as types {genera) of things. For it is

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obvious that in every type of thing there is perfect and imperfect existence. The reason for this is that "absence and possession are basic opposites that are opposite wherever they are found," as it says in book 10 of the Metaphysics (10.4, 1055a4). Thus since all categories are divided by opposites, perfect and imperfect exist in every category. For instance, in substances one thing is present as structure, and in another thing as privation; and in qualities one thing is white that is perfect, and another is black that is, as it were, imperfect; and in quantity one thing is perfect and another imperfect; and in terms of spatial relations one is above that is in a sense perfect and another below that is in a sense imperfect; or light and heavy, which are also aspects of place insofar as they incline toward above or below. Hence it is clear that change is divided into as many types as there are types of existence. For the various types of change correspond to the various types of existing things; for example, growth, which is quantitative change, differs from generation, which is a change in substance. Also, within the same category there can be relatively perfect or imperfect change: Generation is a substantial change toward a [more perfect] structure, while corruption is a change in the same category but toward the absence of structure, and in growth there is change toward perfection, while diminution is a change toward imperfection. . . . Book 3, Lectio 2 . . . Some define change as the nonsudden egress from potential to actual. This definition contains an error in that the definition presupposes some things that are posterior to change: For egress is a type of change. Also, "sudden" by definition presupposes time—for that which is sudden occurs in an indivisible moment of time— and time is defined in terms of change. Consequently, there is no way to define change through what is prior and better known to us except as the philosopher defines it here. For he says that "every category is divided via the potential and the actual." Now potential and actual, since they are among the most basic distinctions among things, are naturally prior to change, and thus the philosopher uses them to define change. It should be noted that some things are purely actual, others purely potential, and still others are in a state between potency and act. That which is strictly potential is not yet changed, while that which is fully actual has already been changed. Thus that which is changed is in a mean state between potential and actual; that is, it is partly potential and partly actual, as is clear in the case of alteration. For when water is just potentially hot, it is not yet changed, and when it is already hot its change toward heat has ceased. When however it is somewhat but not perfectly hot, it is then that it is changed toward heat. For that which is heated gradually grows hotter and hotter. Therefore the act itself of imperfect heat getting hotter is change, not just insofar as it is in actuality, but as something already existing that is oriented toward a further act. For if this orientation toward a further act were removed and the act itself were simply an imperfect one, there would be an end of change rather than change, as occurs when something is partially warmed. Now this orientation toward a further act is compatible with being in a state of potential to that act. Similarly, if

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an imperfect act is considered only with regard to its orientation to a further act, that is, in its nature as potential, it does not have the nature of change, but rather of a principle of change. For both a cold and a tepid object may begin to grow warmer. Therefore an imperfect act has the nature of change both insofar as it is in a state of potential to a further action and insofar as it is something in act in comparison with something less perfect. Hence change is neither potential considered as potential, nor actual considered as actual, but rather the actual-but-still-potential. Thus it is termed "actual" relative to a prior state of potential and "potential" relative to its orientation to a subsequent actuality. Hence the philosopher defines change in the best way possible when he says "change is an entelechy," that is, something that actually exists but that is also potential in the sense indicated above. Book 4, Lectio 17 . . . First he [Aristotle] examines this statement: "Time is an aspect of change." Hence he says that since we are inquiring into the nature of time, we should begin here in order to grasp how change is related to time. That time is an aspect of change is clear from the fact that we perceive the two simultaneously. Now sometimes we perceive the flow of time even without perceiving any specific sensible change; for instance, if we are in the dark and thus cannot see anything moving. And if our bodies are unchanged by an external agent, we do not perceive physical motion. Nevertheless, if there is some change in our mind, for example, the succession of thought and imagination, then we suddenly realize time has passed. Thus in every perception of change we perceive time, and similarly with the converse—whenever we perceive time we simultaneously perceive change. Hence, since time is not simply the same thing as change . . . it must be some aspect of it. However, there is a doubt that may be raised regarding the relation of time to change. For if time is dependent upon sensible change existing outside the mind, it follows that one who does not sense change does not sense time. Now we have just stated the opposite. But if time depends on intramental changes, it follows that external objects are not related to time except via the mind. Thus time would not be part of nature, but simply a mental phenomenon. . . . But if this is true of all change, it follows that for every change there is a separate time reference. But this is impossible, for two time references cannot exist simultaneously. Therefore it should be noted here that there is one first alteration that is the cause of all other motion. Hence everything changeable has its changableness from this first alteration, which is the alteration of the first thing that is changed. But whoever perceives any change whatsoever, whether in sensible things or in the mind, perceives changeable being and hence perceives the first alteration that began time, assuming that time would not have begun without a first change which is the cause and measure of all others. Thus there is only one universal time reference. Next [Aristotle] . . . examines the second specific proposition in the definition of time. For assuming time is related to change—specifically, that it is consequent upon it—it remains to investigate the way in which it is consequent upon it, because

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it is according to prior and posterior. There are three tasks here: to show that before and after do apply to change; second, to show just how this is so . . .; and third, to show that time is consequent upon before and after in change. . . . Regarding the first there are two subtopics to investigate: first, to show there is continuity in time that follows upon change and magnitude; and second that there is also continuity that is consequent upon before and after. . . . Now of the various sorts of change, local motion is prior, and consists of movement of the mass of a thing from one place to another. But time is consequent upon the first change; thus in investigating the nature of time we must deal with local motion. Therefore since local motion is movement of a magnitude from one place to another, and all magnitude is a continuum, it follows necessarily that local motion will, like magnitude, be continuous. Consequently time is also continuous, for its nature would seem to be the same as the first motion. Now time is not measured by just any local motion, for slow motion requires much time to cover a short distance, and fast motion the opposite; rather, time is measured by the first motion alone. Next . . . he also shows that sequence involves before and after, and that before and after primarily are related to place or magnitude. This is because magnitude is quantity existing in a specific position. But before and after are part of the nature of position; hence the very nature of position means that place is subject to before and after. And because before and after apply to magnitude, it follows necessarily that before and after apply to local motion in proportion to . . . magnitude and place. Consequently before and after apply to time as well, for local motion and time are related in such a way that if something is true of one of them it is true of the other as well. Next . . . [Aristotle] shows how before and after relate to change. And he says that "before and after with respect to these things"—namely, change and time—is in itself simply identical with change; but as apprehended by the mind it is other than and thus not identical with change. For the nature of change is to be an actuality that is also still potential in some respect; but before and after in change requires that there be a sequence of magnitude of the thing altered.4 Thus in change, before and after are identical vis-a-vis the subject, but they differ as the mind apprehends them. Now it remains to determine whether time follows change simply insofar as it is change or rather with respect to before and after. [Aristotle] does this next, showing that time follows change with respect to before and after. For, as has been shown, time follows change because we are aware of them simultaneously. Therefore time follows change in the sense that which we are of aware of in change we are also aware of in time. But we are aware of time precisely when we distinguish before and after in change: we say that time has passed when we know before and after in change via our senses. Thus it follows that time follows change in its aspect of before and after. Next . . . [Aristotle] shows that change is time because time is the "quantification of change." He also shows that there must be a median point when we grasp both time and change. For it is clear that we understand time has passed when, in change, one thing occurs, then another, and we know that there has been some

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median between them. For when we grasp the two extremes on either side of the median, and the mind says "There were two nows,' this one before, and this one after," as it were counting before and after in change, it is then we say there is time. For to determine time appears to require a concept of "now," which is the basis for the notion of the present, "for after' is then much clearer." When therefore we sense a single "now" and do not discern before or after in change, or when we discern before and after in change but perceive the same "now" as the end of one motion and the beginning of the other, there does not seem to be time, because there is not change either. But when we perceive and enumerate before and after, then we say time has passed. . . . Therefore it is clear that time is not merely change, but that it follows change when change is quantified. Hence time is the quantification of motion. If someone objects to this definition on the grounds that "before and after" are based on time, and thus to use them in defining time is circular, one should reply that "before and after" are included in the definition of time in the way they occur in change due to magnitude, not insofar as they are measured in terms of time. Also, Aristotle notes above that before and after exist in magnitude prior to their existence in change, and in change prior to time, in order to rule out this objection. The Motion of the Heart Since everything that moves must have a mover, what moves the heart and how it does so is a matter for inquiry, especially since it does not appear to be moved by the soul. 5 For it is not moved by the nutritive soul, whose functions are reproduction, digestion, and growth and decay, none of which appear to have anything to do with the heart. Also, even plants have a nutritive soul, whereas the motion of the heart is specific to animals. Nor does it appear to be moved either by the sensitive or the intellectual soul. For the mind and the senses are only moved via some desire, whereas the motion of the heart is involuntary. But the motion of the heart does not appear to be a purely natural function either.6 For it has two distinct and opposite elements: expansion and contraction— whereas purely natural motion is uniform, like the rising of fire and the downward motion of solid ground. Yet to say that the motion of the heart is violent would be completely irrational. 7 For it is obvious that when this motion ceases, the animal dies. And violence never preserves a thing. On the contrary, since this motion and the life of the animal are inseparably connected, the motion must be utterly and completely natural. Now some say that this natural motion stems not from any nature specific to the animal, but from some "universal" nature or even from an angelic intelligence.8 But this is ridiculous. For every natural thing's functions both as a member of the genus and of the species stem from some intrinsic principle. For something is "natural" precisely when its principle of motion is intrinsic. And nothing is more specific to an animal than the motion of its heart that, when it ceases, causes the death of the animal. Therefore some principle for this motion must exist within the animal. What's more, if some motion in a lower being was caused by some universal nature, this motion would not always be uniform. For instance, the rising and reced-

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ing of the sea is a consequence of the moon's motion and varies with it. But an animal's heart is always beating. Therefore it cannot be caused solely by something external, but rather must have an intrinsic cause. Others say that the principle of this motion in animals is heat itself, which moves the heart via a "spirit" or effusion it produces. 9 But this is irrational. For that which is primary in relation to a thing must be its cause. And the motion of an animal's heart seems to be both more primary and more closely linked with the animal's life than any change in temperature. Therefore a change in temperature is not the cause of the heart's motion; rather, the heart's motion causes changes in temperature. Hence Aristotle says in On Motion in Animals (ch. 10, 703a24-25) "it moves without being changed." Thus an animal that is perfect in the sense of being its own mover is as fully integrated as possible. Hence man is the most perfect animal, and is sometimes called a "microcosm." In the universe, however, the first type of change is motion in space, which is in turn the cause of change and other types of motion. Thus in animals motion in space is more likely the cause of other types of motion than the converse. Hence in book 8 of the Physics (8.1, 250M4-15) Aristotle makes this comparison: "Motion is like a kind of'life' existing in all things." On the same point, what is intrinsic is prior to what is secondary. But the first motion in an animal is the motion of its heart. Heat, by contrast, moves in space only in a secondary sense; primarily it is just a kind of change. Thus it is ridiculous to say that "heat is the principle of the motion of the heart." Instead, the cause we assign to it must be capable of being an intrinsic cause of motion in space. Given this, we must, as Aristotle says in book 8 of the Physics (8.7, 254M6-20), accept as the principle of this inquiry that whatever has an intrinsic principle of motion can be said to move itself by nature. Hence each animal moves itself via its entire nature. But a physical body can be moved either naturally or in a way beyond its nature, for such motion varies according to the object moved and the physical elements that constitute it. Thus when an animal moves itself downward, this motion is natural and includes the entire animal and its body, since the heavier elements 10 predominate. But when the animal moves itself upward, this is also a natural motion for the animal since it stems from a principle intrinsic to the soul; nevertheless, this motion is not natural to heavy physical objects, and hence it tires the animal more. Now as Aristotle teaches in book 3 of On the Soul (3.9, 433a9-b30), in animals, motion in space is caused by desire that stems both from sense perception and from intellectual apprehension. Now in some animals the entire process of motion is from nature. For they do not act on the basis of a plan, but from instinct. This is how a swallow builds a nest and a spider a web. Only man can act in accord with a plan rather than simply by nature. Nevertheless, nature is the principle of his actions. For while the conclusions of the speculative and practical sciences are not naturally known, but rather are discovered by reason, the first indemonstrable principles, which are the basis of all knowledge, are naturally known. Similarly, in the case of desire, desiring felicity and fleeing misery are natural to man, whereas desire for other things is not natural but stems from the desire for the ultimate goal. For as it

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says in book 2 of the Physics (2.15, 200al5-24), "the goal has the same function visa-vis the desires that indemonstrable principles have in the intellectual realm." Therefore the motion of all the other parts of the body is caused by the motion of the heart, as Aristotle proves in On the Motion of Animals (ch. 10, 703a-b2). For all other motion can be controlled by the will, but the motion of the heart is from nature. Now we must note that upward motion is natural to fire as a consequence of its structure. Similarly, reproduction, which gives a thing its structure, intrinsically moves things in space. Also, while one type of natural motion depends on the structure of a thing's constitutive elements, nothing prevents other natural motions from occurring due to other structures. For instance, we see that iron is naturally drawn to a magnet, a natural motion that is consequent not upon the nature of heaviness and lightness but upon another specific structure. In the same way, therefore, since an animal has an additional specific structure—the soul—nothing prevents it from having an additional natural motion. Now I say that the motion of the heart is the natural motion of an animal. For as Aristotle says in his book On the Motion of Animals (ch. 10, 703a29-b2), "In a sense, an animal can be compared to a city governed by good laws. For once a stable order exists in a city, no action is performed by an individual agent that is truly separate from the monarchical rule, but everything is done by custom and in accord with due order." Now in animals this occurs via nature. And because it is instinctive for each animal to perform its appropriate action, no action exists in the soul as such—insofar as it is the principle of motion—but rather exists in some principle existing in the body other than the function of living itself in order to perform a specific action via nature. Therefore the motion of the heart is natural and is consequent upon the soul, which constitutes the fundamental structure of the body and especially of the heart. Now it may be that the statement "the motion of the heart is caused by an Angelic Intelligence" can be interpreted in a way consistent with this, assuming that those who hold this position believe the soul stems from such an Intelligence. For as Aristotle said {Physics, book 8.8, 256al), "The motion of heavy and light objects comes from that which generates them, insofar as it gives them the structure that is the principle of their motion." For all specific types of motion are consequent upon the structure of a thing and the conditions in which it exists. Thus the structure of the noblest element, fire, produces motion toward the noblest place, namely above. But the noblest structure in lower objects is the soul, which is most similar to the principle of motion in the heavens. Hence the motion consequent upon it is also similar to the motion of the heavens: The [effect of the] motion of the heart in an animal is like [the effect of the] motion of the heavens upon the world. Nevertheless, the motion of the heart falls short of the motion of the heavens, just as everything derived from something principally falls short of the thing it stems from. For the motion of the heavens is circular and uniform, which is appropriate to it insofar as it is the principle of all earthly motion. For the approach and recession of the heavenly bodies provides things with the origin and goal of their existence, and their continuity preserves orderly motion among objects that are not themselves permanent.

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Now the motion of the heart is the basis of all motion in animals. Hence Aristotle says in book 3 of On the Parts of Animals (ch. 4, 666al 1-13) that "the motion involved in pleasure and grief and all other sensations begin with and terminate in the heart." And the heart, the origin and goal of all motion, moves itself in a way that, while not circular, is similar to circular motion, namely rhythmic contraction and expansion. Hence Aristotle says in book 3 of On the Soul that "movement is organic when the origin and the end are the same. But all expansion and contraction must have a mover who initiates and maintains the cyclical motion." And this motion continues throughout the life of the animal, except for the pause between the expansion and contraction. (It is this pause that makes this motion inferior to circular motion.) Based on this, we can easily resolve the objection raised above. For we are not saying that the motion of the heart is "natural" because it is, for instance, heavy or light, but because it is animated by a soul of a particular type. And the two types of motion, which appear to be opposites, are, as it were, parts of one motion composed of each. To this extent it falls short of the unity of circular motion, though it imitates it in that one motion leads to the other in a cyclical pattern. Nor is it inappropriate that [the motion consist of] distinct parts, since this occurs even with circular motion. Nor, despite the fact that this motion is caused by the part of the soul that controls sensation, is it caused by apprehension and desire. For it is not caused by the sensitive part of the soul carrying out its functions, but rather because it provides the structure and nature of a particular type of body. Locomotion, by contrast, is caused by apprehension and desire. For this reason medical doctors distinguish between vital functions and functions of the animal as such, 11 and note that even when animal functions cease the vital functions remain. Very reasonably, they refer to all motion that is linked to the heart as "vital." For "to be alive is to be a living thing," as it says in book 2 of On the Soul (2.7, 415bl3). Now something exists as a specific thing because it possesses a specific structure. But there is this difference between the soul and the principle of heavenly motion: The principle of heavenly motion neither moves nor changes either intrinsically or secondarily, whereas the sensitive capacity of the soul, while not moved or changed intrinsically, is subject to secondary changes. Thus there arise within it various perceptions, desires, and emotions. And so, while the movements of the heavens are uniform, the motion of the heart varies in accord with these perceptions, desires, and emotions. For the soul's desires and emotions are not caused by changes in the heart, but rather vice versa. Hence with anger, for example, the emotion—namely, the desire for revenge—is the structural element, whereas the changes in the heart (e.g., more blood collecting around it) constitute the "material" element. For in natural things structure does not depend upon the material, but rather vice versa, as it proved in book 2 of the Physics {passim, especially chapter 9). But matter does have a disposition toward structure. Therefore someone does not desire vengeance because blood has collected around his heart, but such a condition does dispose one toward anger, for one becomes angry because of a desire for vengeance. Now even though variations in the heart's motion occur because of various perceptions and emotions, these variations are still involuntary rather then voluntary,

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because they are not caused by the command of the will as such. For Aristotle says in the book On the Causes of Motion in Animals (ch. 10, 703b7-8, 11-21), "We often find that the heartbeat and flushing occur without any command from the mind. The cause for this must be in some change natural to the animal, for example, when one part grows in size and another suffers harm so that one begins to permeate the other. Now heat and cold, which exist both within and outside of natural objects, cause motion. An alteration in temperature may cause these sorts of motion—namely, changes in the heartbeat and flushing—as can the mind. For the mind as well as sense images can cause emotions," for example, anger, desire, and so on, which cause the heart to grow warmer or cooler. What I have said about the motion of the heart is sufficient for present purposes.

COMMENTARY, ON GENERATION

AND

CORRUPTION

Preface As the philosopher notes in book 3 of The Soul (3.8, 431b 20-27), the scientific disciplines are distinguished from one another in the same way things are distinguished. For every disposition 12 is distinguished by the object it receives its specific nature from. Now natural science deals with change and motion and with changeable and moveable objects. For the philosopher says in book 2 of the Physics (2.7, 198a27-32) that all motion and change are objects of physical inquiry. Thus the physical sciences are, necessarily, distinguished and organized in accord with the different types of change and motion. The first type is local motion in space, which is both the most perfect type and is common to all natural, physical objects, as is demonstrated in the Physics, book 8 (8.7, 260a26-26lal2). After dealing with change and motion and their objects in general in the book on physics, one must deal with local motion in a book on the heavens, which is the second part of natural science. Next, we must deal with other, consequent motions that occur not in all physical objects but only in inferior ones. 13 Among these types of motion, generation and corruption are primary. For generation is the goal of change, and goals by nature are more perfect than means. Growth is also consequent upon generation, for it is in fact a type of generation, that is, nutrition is transformed into the thing that is nourished. For as the philosopher says in book 2 of The Soul (2.4, 416a 22-24), "Food nourishes insofar as it is potentially flesh and causes growth insofar as it is potentially a specific quantity of flesh." Thus, since these types of change are consequent upon generation, they must be also examined in the course of dealing with generation and corruption. We should note that when something exists in a variety of contexts, we should first deal with it in general, then move to specifics. Otherwise it will be necessary to say the same thing over and over each time the common phenomenon occurs in a specific instance, as the philosopher shows in book 1 of The Parts of Animals (1.1, 639al5-639b6). Thus we must first deal with generation and corruption in general terms, then with its subdivisions. Similarly, we should note that if in a category we find something that is the cause

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of the other entities in that category, it must be regarded as primary. For that first entity is the cause of the entire category, and he who would inquire into that category must consider its overall cause. Thus in the Metaphysics the philosopher deals both with being in general and with the primary being, namely, separated material. 14 In the category of generation and corruption exist certain first principles, namely, the elements, which are the cause of generation, corruption, and change in all other physical bodies. Hence in this book, which constitutes the third part of natural science, Aristotle deals not only with generation and corruption in general and with other consequent changes, but also with the generation and corruption of the elements. Having given this preview of Aristotle's intentions in this book, we may now proceed to the exposition of the text. Lectio 1 . . . First he states what he principally intends to do. This continues what he said at the end of The Heavens (4.6, 313b22): "Inquiry concerning light and heavy objects should be done in this manner," then adds "now regarding generation and corruption, the nature of objects that are generated and corrupted"; that is, things that are generated and corrupted naturally,15 "should be distinguished according to their types and causes"; namely, we assign one set of causes for generation and another for corruption, or even if we discover causes common to both, we show how they operate in specific cases of natural generation and corruption; "and we discover their natures," namely, both of generation and corruption as well as of things that are generated and corrupted. . . . Second . . . he says he will deal definitively with other types of change consequent [upon generation and corruption], namely, alteration and growth, which are related. Third . . . he says he will also deal definitively with the comparison of these to one another, that is, whether we ought to believe or accept that the nature and underlying structure of alteration and generation are the same or "semota," 16 that is, distinct, so that their difference in names is based on a "determinate" or distinct nature and underlying structure. Next, when he says "therefore certain of the ancients," and so on, he follows his own plan and first deals with generation and corruption in general, and also with other types of change consequent upon it; second, in book 2, he deals with the generation and corruption of the elements. . . . He first says, therefore, that certain ancient philosophers said that "simple" generation—that is, generation in the absolute sense—is the same as alteration, while others said the two were different. Then when he says "therefore whoever," and so on, he gives the reason for these various opinions. Regarding these he makes three points: first he gives the reason why some regarded simple generation as identical with alteration. For some claimed there was one material principle underlying all things, for example, water or air or fire or gas, and that this material constituted the entire substance of the thing. Thus generation would not differ intrinsically from alteration. . . . Second, when he says "but others," and so on, he gives the reason why others

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say generation differs from alteration. For certain philosophers posited a number of material principles and said that the combination and separation of these principles accounted for all coming-to-be and corruption. Thus a new combination would constitute "generation," while separation would constitute corruption. Alteration then, they say, occurs through some sort of partial transformation. Therefore he [Aristotle] says that generation and alteration will seem distinct to anyone who posits more than one type of fundamental thing, as did Empedocles, Anaxagoras, Leucippus, and Democritus. . . . [Next] he gives the reasons for the aforesaid positions. First he shows the various theories of those who held that there is a plurality of material principles. (For those who held to one principle, there is only one absolute way of proceeding.) Second . . . he shows why whose who hold that there is but one principle deny the difference between generation and alteration and abstract the powers of a plurality of principles. Regarding the first, he notes the differences between those who held that there were a plurality of material principles. He notes that Empedocles was the precursor of all others and says that these philosophers held there was a plurality of material principles because Empedocles held that these principles were the four elements (earth, water, air, and fire) plus two types of movement: amity, which draws things together, and strife, which separates them. Thus the material principles are a finite number, namely, six in all. But Anaxagoras, Democritus, and Leucippus held that there was an infinite number of such principles. Second . . . he notes the difference between Anaxagoras vis-a-vis Democritus and Leucippus. For Anaxagoras claimed that the fundamental matter consists of homogenous objects that are identical in all respects. Thus all the infinite parts of flesh and bone and marrow and everything else consists of parts that are ultimately identical, that is, that have the same nature and can be referred to by the same term. For the meaning of "homogenous" is that every part is identical. . . . By contrast, Democritus and Leucippus say that all physical bodies are composed of indivisible physical objects, infinite in number as well as in structure or shape—that is, some circular, some rectangular, some pyramidal, and so on. Nevertheless, and unlike Anaxagoras, they claimed the nature of these objects to be utterly unspecified in their nature and type. Thus physical objects differ from one another at the most basic level not in terms of the natures of the objects that constitute them but by the various order and arrangements of these objects, for example, before and after, in front of and behind, above and below, right and left. . . . Lectio 9 Having shown, in relation to things that generate one another, why some things are generated in the strict sense while others are "generated" only in a limited and specific sense, he here shows the cause of the difference between these two types of generation among things that do not generate one another. First he deals with the primary point at issue, second with other questions that derive from this one. . . . Regarding the first question, he first states the question, then resolves it. . . and third gives an epilogue to what he has said.

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First he notes that the distinction between being generated in the strict sense versus in a limited and specific one is not simply a matter of things that are generated from one another generating in the strict sense, whereas those that are not generated from one another generate only in limited and specific ways. For this was dealt with in the question resolved above, namely, "Why, since all generation entails the corruption of something else, and all corruption entails the generation of something else, aren't generation and corruption in cases where one thing is transformed into the other considered as the same type, rather than one being generation or corruption in the strict sense while the other is only in a limited and specific one?" But this is not the question resolved here. Rather, it is "Why, in things that are not transformed into one another, is one referred to as generation in the strict sense while another is referred to as generation only in a limited and specific one?" For example, a student who becomes learned is not "generated" in the strict sense, but only in a limited one; that is, he becomes learned. But a man or animal is said to be "generated" in the strict sense when it is born. And obviously "being born" and "being learned" are not generated from one another. He then resolves this question . . . and says that things that are referred to as being generated in the strict sense and those generated in a limited, specific sense are distinguished by their predication. 17 For the first refers to a specific entity or substance, while the other refers to a quality or some other category of predication. Therefore those that refer not to substance but to a quality or something else are not termed "generated" in the strict sense, but only in a limited and specific one, whereas those referring to substance are said to be generated in the strict sense. This is because generation is the path from nonbeing to being. Thus that which is, strictly speaking, generated acquires an existence that does not require any other preexisting being; rather, that which was not, now is. Hence something that already exists cannot be generated in the strict sense, but only in a limited or specific way. Similarly, things that require some other preexistent being are not said to be "generated" in the strict sense, but only in a secondary and limited one. All qualities presuppose some other existing entity, namely, the existence of their "subject." 18 But substances do not presuppose any other existing entity, because the "subject" of a substantial structure is not an actual entity, but rather a potential one. Thus when something takes on a substantial structure it is said to have been generated in an absolute sense, but when it takes on the structure of some quality or relation it is only said to be "generated" in a limited and specific sense. But in all cases (namely, both with substances and with qualities and relations), generation is divided into absolute versus limited and specific via its relation to being and nonbeing, or relatively perfect versus relatively imperfect existence, or by whether it is subject to sense experience or not. Hence in the case of substances, a thing may be said to be generated in an absolute sense if, for instance, fire is generated, whereas it may not be if earth is generated, while with qualities, someone gaining knowledge would be a case of generation in the absolute sense, whereas someone becoming ignorant would be a case of "generation" only in a limited and specific sense. Then, by way of postscript... he says that the division into absolute versus lim-

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ited and specific generation applies generally to both qualities and relations and to substances. He also says that, in terms of its material aspect, the source of continuity in generation is the subject, which is transformed into something distinct. 19 This is why the generation of one substance always means the corruption of another, and vice versa. For no material can be deprived of one structure without gaining another. In this case of qualities, however, this sometimes does happen; for example, a transparent object can simply be deprived of light without possessing something "opposite" to light. Then . . . he deals with three questions that arise in consequence of the first. The first is: Why does the generation of one thing always arise from the corruption of another? This question presupposes what he has already stated, namely, that the generation of one thing does in fact involve the corruption of another. He resolves it by saying that since corruption tends toward nonbeing, and generation arises from nonbeing, generation necessarily stems from corruption. He even proves this via common opinion. For people say something is "corrupted" when it can no longer be perceived by the senses (which they think is equivalent to becoming nonexistent). . . . Similarly, they say something is "generated" when something that does not exist or is imperceptible becomes perceptible to the senses. Thus it is clear that, in terms of this type [of generation and corruption], the terminus of corruption is the foundation of generation. Therefore whether there is an entity out of which generation occurs or not, generation is always from nonbeing, the terminus of corruption. For coming-intobeing-from-nonexistence is the very nature of generation. And generation occurs when something nonexistent is joined to some other, already existing thing. Hence it is clear why something that simultaneously is generated from nonexistence and is being corrupted into nonexistence can, in a sense, be said not to exist. Therefore the terminus of corruption and the origin of generation is identical. Thus generation is truly "from" corruption. And so too it is entirely appropriate that, as was said before, "The succession of generation and corruption never fails." For generation is, as it were, a kind of "corruption" of nonbeing, and corruption is a kind of "generation" of nonbeing. Thus they are always joined, for where one begins, the other ends. He [Aristotle] then puts the second question. . . . For someone might ask whether the "nonbeing" from which generation stems and in which corruption, strictly speaking, terminates (which is, in fact, a type of being) is one of a pair of opposites. For example, is it the case, as Parmenides said, that earth and heaviness are "nonbeing" while fire and lightness are being? Aristotle resolves this by saying "no," earth is in fact an existing entity, because earth exists via a material that receives a certain structure that brings it into existence. Therefore nonbeing is the fundamental "material" of both earth and fire. But this fundamental material is not nonbeing per se, as Plato held, but nonbeing only in a limited and qualified sense, that is, by reason of the privation that is part of its nature. 20 He then puts the third question . . . namely, whether this "nonbeing" that is the fundamental material [of generation and corruption] is identical in things that generate one another.

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He replies that if this fundamental material were different in each of the two entities (namely, fire and earth), then they could not generate one another. (This, in fact, is precisely the position of those who hold that fire and earth are themselves fundamental materials.) For things that generate one another must share an underlying substrate that receives the structure of each. Otherwise, as was said before, it would follow that "opposites could not be transformed into one another." For contraries exist primarily and intrinsically in the elements mentioned before: fire and earth, water and air. Hence if nothing could be transformed from fire into water or from air into earth or vice versa, then it would also be the case that nothing could be transformed from cold to hot or vice versa. Nevertheless, he adds, the fundamental material of things that are transformed into one another is identical in some respects, yet different in others. The substrate is identical; hence he says "in every type of entity the substrate is the same." This is because it [the substrate] is not an actualized being, but rather potential being. But it is not the same in terms of its actual existence or nature. For its nature and being are different insofar as they receive different structures, and also insofar as they are oriented toward different structures. Thus a body has one nature when it is ill and another when it is healthy, even though it has the same identical substrate. . . .

COMMENTARY, ON THE

HEAVENS

Book 2, Lectio 8 After the philosopher has identified the cause why the heavens move in one direction rather than the other, he here explains its uniform motion. First he states what he intends; second he demonstrates the proposition. . . . Regarding the first, he does two things: first, he states what he intends and says that after "passing over" (that is, a quick review) of what he has said before, it must be shown that this motion is "law-like,"21 that is, always having uniform velocity, namely, never varying so as to be sometimes slower and sometimes faster. And this is entirely rational. For this motion is the standard and measure of all motion; hence it ought not possess any irregularity or discrepancies. Second . . . he says he intends to discuss the "first heaven," which is the first and highest sphere, and the "first motion," which is the daily east-to-west revolution of the entire heavens via the motion of the first-moved mover.22 He speaks specifically of this motion because it is irregular neither in fact nor in appearance. But in the motion of subordinate objects (i.e., planetary motion) several types of motion may coordinate to produce a single motion, for example, the various spheres turning and revolving (which, as is clear from Metaphysics, book 12, is what the astrologers of Aristotle's day said), or, as modern astronomers say, via eccentric and epicyclic motion. 23 It is these various types of motion that cause the planets to sometimes appear that they are moving directly, at other times in retrograde fashion, and still other times to be stationary, even though there is in fact no irregularity in celestial motion. The source of these appearances lies not in the first celestial motion, which is one and absolutely homogenous and from which no irregularity can arise, but

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rather from planetary motion, in which there appears to be irregularities due to the convergence of various movements. He then proves this proposition . . . with four arguments. The first is drawn from the nature of celestial motion itself and is as follows: If the first celestial motion were irregular, this irregularity would appear in manifest form in the "intensity" of the motion (i.e., increased velocity) and in its "strength" (i.e., maximum speed) and in "deceleration" (i.e., decreased speed). For these three phenomena characterize all nonuniform motion. Now it is not the case that all three occur simultaneously in any singular case of irregular and nonuniform motion; rather, two of them are always present. Thus in the natural motion of heavy and light bodies, maximum speed and acceleration occur, because such motion always increases in velocity until it reaches its terminus, which is its point of maximum speed. In unnatural motion, 24 by contrast, there are maximum speed and deceleration, with the maximum speed occurring at the beginning and the speed continually decreasing until it is utterly extinguished. Thus the word "all" here should be interpreted in the general sense that all three occur with nonuniform motion, not that all three types are found in any one of them. He then notes the point in nonuniform motion where maximum velocity occurs. He says that the "strongest" motion (maximum velocity) occurs either "whence the object is moved," "whither the object is moved," or in the middle. In objects moved directly 25 and in accord with their nature, the maximum velocity occurs at the terminus of the movement. For, as was stated in book 1, nature aims at the end, or goal. But in objects moved contrary to their nature, maximum velocity occurs "whither," or at the point of origin, because, as it held in book 1, violent motion is strongest at the beginning and diminishes at the end. But with projectiles the maximum velocity occurs near the midpoint. Now a doubt arises here over what the philosopher is referring to by the term "projectile." For objects are propelled either in accord with their nature (e.g., a rock thrown downward), and thus the motion would be strongest at the terminus, or else violently (e.g., when a stone is thrown upward), in which case the motion would be strongest at the beginning. But in neither case would it be strongest in the middle. Simplicius 26 says that the philosopher here uses the term "projectile" to refer to animate objects, which are moved by their soul neither directly up nor directly down, but, as it were, to the side, in the manner of arrows and other objects that are projected. This is why Aristotle calls them "projectiles." Now it is in fact obvious that the motion of animate objects reaches maximum velocity not at the beginning, when the limbs and muscles are still becoming accustomed to motion, nor at the end, when the limbs and muscles are fatigued, but somewhere in the middle, when the impetus is fully realized. But this interpretation seems rather forced. Hence Alexander 27 says that the "middle" here refers to location rather than time. For the true motion of an arrow is neither in going up nor down, but in between, and it is in this intermediate stage that its maximum velocity occurs. But "middle" here may also refer to time, since such projectiles move fastest near the [temporal] middle of their flight. For . . . the cause of motion in projectiles is the impetus that is borne to the medium [through which the object is carried],

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which receives it more easily than the heavy object that is projected. 28 And when a large quantity of air has been moved—that is, in the middle of its motion—the projectile's velocity is stronger than it is either at the beginning of its motion, when not much air has been moved, or at the end, when the initial impulse given the projectile has begun to ebb. A sign of this is that such projectiles do not have as much impact [on objects they strike] that are near to or distant from them as they do on objects that are at a middle distance. Thus it is obvious that the maximum velocity in an object whose motion is nonuniform occurs either at the beginning, the middle, or the end. But these three do not occur in the rotation of the heavenly bodies, neither in terms of time, since, according to his opinion, they are eternal, 29 nor in terms of its "longitude" (the shape it describes in space), which is a circular line that is "self-replicating," that is, passing back over itself in circular fashion, and "unbreakable," that is, its motion cannot be divided in such a way as to distinguish a beginning and an end. Thus in the rotation of the heavens there is no "strongest" point, or point of maximum velocity. Consequently, neither is there any irregularity, which is always a result of acceleration and deceleration. . . . Next he gives the second argument, which is derived simultaneously from the mover and the object moved. For it is shown in books 7 and 8 of the Physics that "everything that is moved is moved by another." Hence if motion is irregular, it must be either due to the mover, the object moved, or both. For if the mover does not move the object constantly and with equal force, but at times with more force and at times with less, the motion will at times be faster and at times slower. For the velocity of motion depends upon the force of the mover, which controls the moved object by its power. Similarly, if the moved object changes in some way so that it no longer has the same capacity for movement, it will not receive the mover's force in a uniform manner. And if either the mover or the moved object undergoes substantial change, the motion may become irregular. But none of these things occur in heavenly motion. For in this case . . . the object moved is unified and completely integrated, 30 both because it is moved by a uniform and integrated motion and because it is intrinsically ungenerated, incorruptible, and completely exempt from all transformation. ("Transformation" here refers to any variation in a thing's essential nature or in its powers.) And it is much more readily comprehensible that this should be the case with the mover. For since the mover is generally more powerful than what is moved, this will all-the-more be the case if the body moved is ungenerated and incorruptible. For it is shown in the Physics, book 8 (8.9, 266a9-266b8-10) that the mover of the heavens is incorporeal and without magnitude. Therefore if the capacities and disposition of heaven itself, which is a physical body, is changed neither in its essential nature nor in its powers, all the more will the mover of heaven, which is incorporeal, avoid any transformation. From all this it is clear that it is impossible for heavenly motion to be nonuniform.

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Book 2, Lectio 9 Here he gives the third reason [why the motion of the heavens cannot be irregular], based solely on the nature of the moved object. He says that if celestial motion was permeated with nonuniformity, it would be the case that either the entire heavens or else some part of it would be subject to change, that is, it would at times go faster and at times slower. ("Change in the entire heavens" should here be interpreted as referring to the movement of the entire supreme sphere, while "parts" should be interpreted as referring to some part of the heavens.") He shows that the parts of the supreme sphere do not move in an irregular manner (i.e., it is not the case that some part of the heavens move faster or slower) based on the supposition that the sphere of the fixed stars is the supreme sphere. For it was not yet understood at that time that the fixed stars had their own specific motion distinct from diurnal motion. Thus he attributed this first diurnal motion to the stars, as if it were specific to it. However, later astronomers said that the fixed stars had their own specific motion and posited another sphere, to which they attributed the primary motion. Therefore, supposing the sphere of the fixed stars to be the first sphere, he proves that its parts do not move irregularly. For if individual stars sometimes moved more slowly, then over time the distances between the various stars would vary. But this is contrary to the facts. For we find the stars in the same configurations and at the same distance from one another that the ancient observers recorded. Therefore there is no irregularity of motion among the heavenly bodies. Neither is there any change in the velocity of the first heaven due to a decrease in the velocity of the entire sphere. For, obviously, any decrease in velocity in an object is due to lack of power; for example, we see that when an animal grows tired its motion slows. Now every type of impotency and defect is, in a sense, unnatural, as is clear with animals in whom age and decrepitude and so on are unnatural or at least extra-natural. In terms of individuals, these things are unnatural in the sense that a thing's nature seeks to preserve it as long as possible. Hence any breakdown in this effort at preservation is contrary to its intention. Such things are not contrary to "nature" in the larger and more general sense, however, for in this sense nature causes not only generation but also corruption in inferior entities, and consequently it also causes the various defects that lead to corruption. 31 ("Nature" here refers to the most general active power operative in the most general and universal causes, namely the heavenly bodies.) Now the reason corruption occurs in animals is that the entire substance of the animal consists of physical objects that are more or less distant from their natural places. For the bodies of animals are constituted by the four elements, none of which is in its natural place. 32 And since, as was made clear before, things that are unnatural or extra-natural cannot be eternal, it is necessarily the case that all animals will at some point experience decrepitude and death. But with the primary physical objects—namely, the heavenly bodies—nothing happens that is unnatural or extranatural. For, as is made clear in book 1, these bodies are homogenous rather than constituted from diverse elements, and they are in their natural place and there is no

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tension or disharmony within them. Thus there can be no question of any impotency with them. And thus there is no "deceleration" or decrease in velocity, nor is there any "acceleration" or increase in velocity, since these two are, as it were, consequences of one another. . . . The fourth argument . . . is drawn from the nature of motion and proceeds by a process of elimination. For if there is acceleration and deceleration in the motion of the heavens, this can only occur in one of three ways: either there is constant acceleration or deceleration; or there is one and then the other, which could occur in two ways: either the entire period of acceleration could be followed by the entire period of deceleration (which, in the opinion of those who think the universe is eternal—and this includes Aristotle—would mean that an infinite duration of acceleration would be followed by an infinite duration of deceleration); or else acceleration and deceleration could alternate. But each of these is impossible; therefore it is impossible that there be acceleration and deceleration in heavenly motion. First, he shows that it is impossible that there was an infinite duration of acceleration followed by an infinite duration of deceleration, or vice versa; second, he shows that it is impossible for there to be constant acceleration or deceleration . . .; third, he shows that it is impossible for acceleration and deceleration to alternate. . . . First he says that it would be contrary to reason for the heaven to move powerfully and rapidly for an infinite period and then to be powerless and move slowly for an infinite period. (Deceleration is caused by a lack of power, acceleration by its presence.) He shows that this is irrational, by two arguments. First, because nothing unnatural exists for an infinite period, for the "natural" is that which exists always or for the most part. But, as was shown before, a lack of power is always unnatural or extra-natural. Therefore it is impossible that something lacking in power should last for an infinite duration. The second argument is that something natural and something un- or extra-natural do not endure for an equal time. For that which is un- or extra-natural is rare, whereas that which is natural is found frequently or always. But a thing's power is natural; for it to be impotent is unnatural. Therefore it is impossible for the two to endure for equal periods—namely, for two infinite durations. Thus it is impossible for motion to accelerate for an infinite period and then decelerate for an infinite period. But if the motion of the heavens decelerates in the manner indicated, it must do so for an infinite period. Now some who did not understand Aristotle's meaning have taken this dictum in an absolute sense, as indicating that it could never be rational for one period of deceleration to be greater than any other. But this goes beyond what the philosopher intended. He then shows . . . that it is impossible for the motion of the heavens to either be constantly accelerating or constantly decelerating. There are two reasons for this. First, because the acceleration or deceleration of any irregular motion ceases when the motion reaches its terminus. Thus natural motion accelerates until it reaches its terminus, while violent motion decelerates until it reaches its terminus. Therefore, if the acceleration or deceleration of the motion of the heavens never ceased, it would follow that this motion would be both infinite and indeterminate. But this is obviously false. For it is proved in the Physics, book 6 (ch. 10 passim) that "because

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all motion is from one thing and to another thing, it is necessarily determinate." And the rotation of the heavens is a determinate motion; it is said to be infinite only in the sense that these rotations succeed one another indefinitely. He gives a second argument. . . and says that it is also manifestly impossible [for the heavenly motion to constantly accelerate or decelerate] if one will grant that there is some period of time so small that if it is further reduced it would be impossible for any movement of the heavens to occur. For every action or motion requires some minimal period of time that cannot be reduced further. For while time is infinitely divisible, nevertheless one cannot play the harp or walk in any fragment of time whatsoever; rather, there is for every action a specific period of time beyond which the action cannot be done more quickly; that is, the action cannot be completed in less time. Thus the heavens cannot move in just any fragment of time, but instead require some specific minimum time. Thus it is clear that motion cannot increase in velocity forever, for if it did so, then at some point the velocity would exceed the minimal time needed for any motion whatsoever to occur. And if the motion of the heavens cannot continually be accelerating, then by the same reasoning it cannot continually decelerate. For the same reasoning applies; that is, if there is a minimal time in which an action can be performed, there is also a maximum beyond which it cannot be extended. Now someone might deny this line of reasoning by pointing out that the velocity of the motion of the heavens could continually increase without ever going beyond a set minimum time, assuming that it increased by an amount neither equal to or greater than the amount by which it increased before, but rather always less and less. For as is stated in the Physics, book 3 (3.6, 206b3-206bl2), if some proportion is subtracted from a line—say, a third—and from that part another third is subtracted, and from that part another third, this process could continue infinitely without ever subtracting the entire line segment, for there would always be some left over to subtract from. If, however, equal or greater quantities were subtracted and added to what had already been removed, then in time the total would come to exceed any specific quantity whatsoever. Similarly, if the increase in velocity is by equal or increasing increments, then in time any specific minimum time will eventually be transcended. But if a large increase in velocity is followed by a smaller one, and so on indefinitely, then, as is the case with the division of a line, neither a specific maximum velocity nor a specific minimum time need be exceeded. For this would not be acceleration in the pure sense, but, as it were, a "decelerating acceleration," because the increase in velocity in the moving object would not be by equal amounts. Then . . . he shows that it is impossible for there to be alternating acceleration and deceleration of the heavenly motion. He does this in two ways: first, by showing that this would be completely irrational, and even quasi-mythical, because no possible reason could be given for this continual alteration. Second, these changes in the heavens would not be hidden; rather, opposites joined in this way are more noticeable. Nevertheless we perceive no such alteration. Hence it follows that there is no change in the motion of the heavens. Since this is the end of his consideration of the entire heavens, he adds an epi-

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logue stating that there is only one heaven, that it is eternal and without beginning, and that it moves in uniform fashion. Lectio 10 Having dealt with the heavens in general, the philosopher now turns to the stars. First he determines the truth of the matter; second, he raises and resolves certain doubts. . . . Therefore he says first that having dealt with the entire heavens, the stars come next: what they are made of; their nature; the shape they describe; and the quality of their motion. Then . . . he shows what nature constitutes the stars. First he proposes what he intends to prove, saying that to suppose that each star possesses the same physical nature as the sphere within which it moves is intrinsically rational, since place is a consequence of a thing's nature. Hence it is rational that there be a connection between the [nature of the] stars and the spheres in which they are situated. This also follows necessarily from what was shown above, when it was stated that the heavens have a nature different from that of the four elements, because their motion is different, that is, circular. Hence, since their motion is circular like the heavenly sphere's, they have a nature which is the same as the spheres and different from the four elements. But two doubts arise regarding this. The first is that the bodies of the stars appear to differ from the spheres in that they are luminous and seem to have density. Thus there appears to be a certain state of opposition among the heavenly bodies. But this type of opposition is the cause of decay or corruption. Thus the celestial bodies would seem to be intrinsically subject to decay. But this contradicts what was proved in book 1. In reply we should say that not all diversity constitutes opposition in the strict sense. Rather, for there to be opposition, two things must be the case: one is that the two things come to be in the same subject, whether they are proximate or separate from one another. For example, heat is the opposite of cold, yet it comes to exist not in heat as such but rather in the object that becomes hot, which is itself the primary subject of heat. The second thing that is required is that the objects in opposition be unable to co-exist; rather, each expels the other. Thus white and black, existing in a natural object, expel one another, whereas when they exist in the mind alone the two can exist simultaneously; in fact, each is conceived by means of the other. Now diverse structures or qualities that appear in the heavenly bodies do not in any way arise within the same object, either in terms of being proximate to one another or by being in the same primary subject. For the region of stellar bodies cannot be reduced to some disposition in the other parts of the heavenly spheres, nor vice versa. Similarly, we must say that the structures of qualities in inferior beings are also present in the heavenly bodies not in a univocal sense, but through a kind of similarity and as a general cause, in the same way that the structures that exist in a specific way in material objects exist in a general way in the mind. Thus just as these objects do not exist in the mind in such a way as to be contradictory and drive one

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another out, neither do they exist this way in the heavenly bodies. Thus Plato said that the heavenly bodies are the "excellence" or "sublimity" of the elements, the primordial cause of their active principles. For the heavenly bodies can be compared to the elements in the same way that active can be compared to passive. Similarly, the opposite thing happens in the heavenly bodies and in the elements. For when bodies constituted by the [four] elements are made denser via some type of condensation, they become more "material" and more passive and produce or reflect less light. This is clear with earth, which is the dominant element in compounds. But, as is clear with the stars themselves, when heavenly bodies are condensed together they produce more light and grow in active power.33 Therefore it is clear that the diversity that appears among the heavenly bodies does not constitute an internal inconsistency or opposition. Hence it does not follow that they would be subject to any form of corruption or decay. But, as Aristotle showed in book 1, this would follow if true inconsistency or opposition existed within them. The second doubt that arises is this: Since there are visible differences between the stars and the other parts of the [stellar] sphere, it would seem that the two do not constitute a single uniform body. In reply, we should say that a thing is single and uniform to the extent that it is not composed of things that are internally inconsistent or contrary to one another. Nevertheless, while there does exist some diversity in terms of their specific natures, their generic natures are the same, as they must be in order for both to have the same type of natural movement. For both the stars and the sphere move in circular fashion. . . . He then rebuts an objection. For some believe that the stars have the nature of fire, and argue thus: Being hot and luminous are properties specific to fire; but the stars heat and illuminate; therefore they seem to possess the nature of fire. [Aristotle] does three things here: first, he rebuts the objection via an example; second, he shows the relationship of the example to the argument in question; third, he responds to a tacit question. . . . First, he says that heat and light are produced by the stars through a kind of contact or friction with the air caused by their motion, and not because they are constituted by fire. For we see that natural motion ignites wood and stone and iron. Hence it is much more reasonable that a body be ignited via motion that is more closely related to fire than the aforementioned bodies. For when things are nearer one another it is easier for them to be transformed into one another. But air is more closely related to fire than these other bodies. Therefore air can more easily be ignited by motion than they. As an example, he points out that arrows that are made in part of lead sometimes grow so hot from their motion that the lead melts. And since the arrow itself is ignited by motion, much more so must the air surrounding it be ignited. (Now as Alexander explains in his exposition of this text, we must not suppose with the ignorant that it is the heating of the arrow that causes the surrounding air to grow hotter; rather, the heating of the air by motion causes the arrow to grow hot.) For Aristotle intended here to construct a proof based on the minor premise—that if the arrow grew hot, the surrounding air, which is more closely related to fire, must grow hot, as he said above, and not, as Simplicius believed, a proof deduced from the cause. 34

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N e x t . . . he shows the difference between this example [and the case of heavenly motion]. He says that the arrow grows hot because it is borne through the air: the air is ignited by the motion because of a "blow," that is, because it is struck and split by the arrow, and hence the arrow grows hot because it is in contact with the heated air. But this does not occur with the stars. For each star is carried not through air but in a specific sphere separated from air. Thus the stars themselves are neither ignited nor grow hot, both because of their distance from air, which grows hot from motion, and because they are not subject to external changes. But the air that exists below the spheres of circular bodies is of necessity heated by the motion of the heavenly spheres, for air (extending down as far as the air that is contained beneath the earth's surface) as well as fire is moved by this motion, which, as the Meteorology, book 1 (1.7, 344a5-32) states, as is made clear by the motion of comets. . . . He then responds to a tacit objection. If the motion of the heavenly sphere heats the lower air, then, since this sphere moves continuously, it would seem to follow as a consequence that the air would always be equally warm, namely, in summer and winter and at night and during the day. But we see that this is not the case. To this he responds that the air is mostly heated by the sphere of the sun, and that heat occurs because of the sun's proximity to us. This occurs in two ways: one, when in its orbit it ascends to our northern hemisphere; and the other, when it ascends to its summit over us. For just as it is warmer during the day than at night, so too it is warmer at noon than in the morning. Finally, he concludes with an epilogue stating that the stars are neither intrinsically hot nor are carried by a body that is hot, 35 but exist above the sphere of fire in the heavenly sphere. 36 Now here arises the first objection: when Aristotle claims that both heat and light are produced by the motion of the stars, it seems that this is not made sufficiently clear, since he does not show how this produces light, but only how it produces heat. In response, Alexander claims that Aristotle shows this [relationship of motion to light] in book 2 of The Soul (2.7, 4l8b4—20), where he says that "light is not specific to fire, but is common both to fire and to the heavenly bodies." But since Aristotle says that each is produced by the friction of air, it is better to say that Aristotle makes both clear in this passage, when he shows that the motion of the stars ignites the lower bodies. For we find both light and heat in fire. But this question remains: By virtue of what intrinsic nature does motion have the capacity to produce fire or heat? In his commentary, Averroes says that "heat is a property specific to motion; thus whenever something is moved it is also heated." But this does not seem to be true. First, because movement belongs specifically not to heat, but to all natural bodies. For things that are moved in a straight line are at rest in their own specific place, and when they are moved they exist outside that place; but the heavenly bodies, which are neither hot nor cold, move in a circle within their specific place. Second, because the posterior cannot be the cause of what is prior. Therefore if motion was a property belonging specifically to heat, heat would be the cause of motion rather than the converse. Similarly, we should say, as it states in the Physics, book 8 (8.7, 260a26-28), that "linear motion through space is the most basic type of motion." But in any category, that which is primary and

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basic is the cause of everything else in that category. Hence motion through space is the cause of change, which is primary and most basic among other types of motion, and in particular is the cause of the first type of change, which is heat. For change in all other qualities is caused by change in the four basic qualities, among which the two active qualities—namely, heat and cold—are prior to the two passive ones— namely, moisture and dryness. But, as is clear from what was said before, heat is prior to cold in the same way that every structure is prior to its absence. Hence linear movement in space is the specific cause of heating. Now all linear motion occurs via the power provided by heavenly motion, which is the first locus of motion. Now there is another doubtful point: Since the sun directly touches neither the air nor fire, how can the sun's motion cause heat in air and fire? For the intermediate bodies (the spheres of Venus, Mercury, and the moon) are not warmed by the sun's motion. Alexander answers that nothing prevents one thing from changing another via a medium without the medium itself being changed. Thus a fish, which is "numb," can cause the hand of a fisherman to go numb via the medium of a net without the net being numbed. Nevertheless, [the net] receives in its own manner some impression from the fish, though in a different way from the hand. In the same way, the sun makes an impression on the mediate heavenly body, though it does not warm it as such, but this "impression" extends to the lower body in the form of heating, in accord with its condition or state. But this interpretation appears to be contradicted by the fact that the air is heated by its friction or compression, through the movement of the stars. But this friction or compression could not be communicated from the sun's motion to the air unless friction occurred among the intermediate heavenly bodies, which is impossible. Thus Averroes says in his commentary that "the entire heavens move in diurnal rotation as if it were a single body or living thing." Thus the motions specific to the individual planets are like the motions of the specific limbs and organs of the body. Now heat in the air is primarily caused by the motion of the entire heavens, which is diurnal rotation. 37 Hence Aristotle himself said that it is the proximity of the sun, when it is in the east and when it is above us, which produces heat. And this proximity occurs because of diurnal rotation. Now it is clear that when a physical object changes it does so not only on its surface but throughout the depth or mass of the object. A sign of this is the fact that when two such objects are identical in nature, the less substantial object is not as effective in causing change as the one with more depth or mass. Thus the entire heavens cause warmth not only in the outermost sphere, but throughout the entire mass of the heavens by means of a single act of causality. Thus the effect is transmitted to the lower bodies not only through the orbit of the moon, which makes immediate contact with them, but also through the power of the stars, in which the active power of the heavenly bodies is, as it were, more unified and compact, and especially through the power of the sun, which exceeds the other heavenly bodies in both size and active power. Therefore, since in diurnal rotation the entire heavens act as a single body, we

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must not picture one sphere transferring its power to another in a chain-like sequence, but rather that the entire heavens, acting as one, bring about an alteration in the [sphere or region of the] air when the stars and sun draw near to us. 38 But, as Simplicius says, this explanation appears faulty. First, because if, when the sun is present, the air is heated by friction or compression caused by the movement of the heavens, it would follow that lower regions would be less heated since they are further from the motion that is the source of heat. But we see that the opposite is the case, for it is warmer in the plains than in the mountains. Second, because the sphere of the earth is nearly the center of a circle in relation to the sun, it would seem that in its orbit it would be equally near to all points of the earth, and thus there should not be differences in temperature due to the position of the sun such as we observe in between morning and midday and between summer and winter. Third, because there would be no reason for it to be cooler in the shade than it is in direct sunlight. Various other similar points can be made if the sun does not cause heat in a manner similar to the way fire does. Thus Simplicius says that the sun emits rays, which he claims are material and can pass unimpeded through the immaterial lower spheres. As to the air, it is porous and thus the sun's rays can penetrate it as well, whereas solid bodies like earth and water reflect them at right angles. (Optics proves that light is always reflected at right angles.) Thus when the rays of the sun strike the earth in a straight line, the rays are reflected back onto themselves, causing both the greatest compression and density and thus the greatest heat. This occurs when the sun is directly overhead. But to the extent that the sun recedes from this point directly over us, to that extent its rays become less direct and thus less heat is generated. Hence in winter, and when the sun sets, there is less heat in the air, because the sun's rays strike the earth at a more obtuse angle and hence the reflected rays are more distant from the primary ones. It was to signify this that Aristotle did not simply say that the nearer the sun approaches, the more heat is produced, but added "when it is in the east and when it is above us" so that its "proximity" might be understood to mean its being directly overhead rather than referring to the actual distance from the sun to the earth, since the distance from the sun to any given point on earth is virtually equal. So if Simplicius's words mean that these physical rays cause friction and compression in the air and cause heat in this way, then his words are expressly false. For Aristotle proves in book 2 of The Soul (2.7, 4l8bl4—15) that a ray is neither a physical body nor an emission from a physical body. But if he said that they were physical to indicate that they have the physical property of being directly projected and reflecting off dense objects that they are not able to penetrate, then he spoke the truth. For this type of reflection off a resisting object happens not only to physical bodies but to qualities as well. For heat and other such qualities are also reflected when they meet solid objects. But if someone thinks diligently he will find that everything that has been said [by both Aristotle and Simplicius] is true. For Aristotle says that "heat and light are produced by the stars, and friction in the air by their movement." Now this should not be interpreted as meaning that heat and light are caused by friction in the air caused by the heavenly bodies. For, as noted, he is not discussing here the way move-

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ment causes fire's light, but rather the light that the stars themselves produce as actualized luminous bodies. For the heavenly bodies cause heat in lower bodies in two ways: By motion and by light. How this occurs via motion is discussed above. Nor should it be thought that it is the mutual compression or friction of the heavenly bodies and the air that causes heat. Rather, it is solely the motion of the air, which is in turn caused by the motion of the heavenly bodies. For, as Aristotle says, the upper air, and in similar fashion the [sphere of] fire, are moved by the daily rotation of the entire heavens powered by the sun and the stars. The second stellar, and especially solar, cause of heat among sublunar objects is light. Light has this ability because it is the active attribute of a primary cause, namely, the heavens. Hence it directly causes the primary attribute in interior bodies, namely, heat. And because light is most abundant in the sun, it has the greatest capacity to heat things. Now the other heavenly bodies, insofar as they possess light, which is the universal active attribute of heavenly bodies, also have the capacity to heat. And even the moon has this capacity. . . . Now with reference to the fact that some stars are said to be frigid or causes of moisture, Averroes says in his commentary that such attributes are predicated of them in a relative rather than an absolute sense, that is, each causes heat in its own proportion. Thus he contradicts Avicenna, who says that the stars cause both cold and heat. But Averroes is wrong here. For something that is not intrinsically produced by an agent is secondary and nonessential. But the heavenly bodies are the cause of the existence of such things. Therefore if they do not intrinsically cause cold and humidity and other things of this sort, it follows that they are, in general, secondary, nonessential qualities. Likewise, since the substantial structures of all sublunar objects are produced by the power of the heavenly bodies, it follows that the types or structures of the various elements—heat, cold, moist, dry, and so on—are derived from their power. We should say therefore that the heavenly bodies, by virtue of their shared ability to generate light, have the capacity to cause heat. But the individual heavenly bodies, by virtue of powers specific to them, cause not only heat and cold but all the other physical qualities that we perceive in sublunar objects. And what Alexander says is true: The mediate heavenly bodies receive the sun's light and heat in a manner different from the way they are received by sublunar objects. Therefore we should note that since heat is caused in sublunar objects by the motion of the stars and of the entire heavens, bodies nearer the heavens—namely, the [sphere of] fire and the upper part of the air—which are borne by the revolution of the heavens, are hotter. But insofar as heat is caused by light from the stars, the lower objects are hotter, because the light rays are at that point distributed better via reflections. Hence on earth many types of living things are produced by the power of the rays of the sun and stars, which reflection disperses in various ways throughout the earth. Alexander also raises this issue: if the heavenly bodies make contact with the air, it seems they are tangible objects, and as such must be either hot or cold, since, as is stated in book 2 of Generation and Corruption (2.2, 322b26-323b30), heat and cold are the most basic qualities of tangible objects.

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The philosopher's statements in book 1 of Generation and Corruption (ch. 6) make it easy to respond to this. For he says that things that naturally both act and are acted upon by one another make tangible contact with one another, and their basic qualities are heat and cold. But the heavenly bodies act without being acted upon; thus they make contact with things but do not themselves receive contact. Hence in the heavenly bodies such tangible qualities do not exist in the way they do in sublunar objects, but in a superior manner, as befits active causes. Thus they themselves are neither hot nor cold, wet nor dry, but rather they possess the capacity to cause such qualities. . . . Nor are they light or heavy; rather, they have the aptitude for circular motion. And while they do possess the qualities of being relatively dense or relatively diffuse (for instance, the stars are denser and more compressed than the spheres that bear them), they possess this quality not in a manner that would mean it possessed one of a pair of contrasting qualities, but only in terms of its greater or lesser density reflecting a greater or lesser capacity to act and cause change.

NOTES

1. The Latin motus is often translated as "motion." I render it "change" instead, since for Aquinas motus refers not simply to local motion, or change of place, but also to qualitative, quantitative, and substantial change. 2. Literally "of which there could be scientiae? As with motus, the Latin scientia is often translated—or rather transliterated—straightforwardly as "science." But scientia is a term of art, with two distinct meanings: one, as here, refers to certain or near certain knowledge that is derived through logical demonstration or through knowledge of the causes of a thing; and second, various disciplines (metaphysics, natural science, mathematics, astronomy, and even ethics and architecture) that achieve or approximate such knowledge of their subject matter. Furthermore, the Latin term lacks completely the connotations of hypothesis, experimentation, and independent verification borne by the English word "science." Thus scientia in the first sense will be translated as "true knowledge," while the second sense will be rendered as "discipline." 3. To summarize Aquinas's (rather opaque) argument to this point: To have true knowledge and the ability to form definitions of material entities we must abstract from their changeability. But to be an entity possessing matter and occupying physical space is precisely to be subject to change. 4. That is, first the mass of the thing is in one place, then in another, and so on. 5. The relations and differences between ancient versus medieval versus modern conceptions of the soul are exceedingly complex. The modern conception is often characterized as a "ghost-in-the-machine" theory, with the soul as a mysterious spiritual entity that constitutes our truest self and (perhaps) survives the death of the body. The ancient Greeks held two notions that were difficult to reconcile: one, a legacy of the pre-Socratics, that held that soul oipsyche was simply the foundation or first principle of life and all life-functions (growth, respiration, and so on); and second, the Platonic notion, which is close to the ghost-in-themachine view, and holds that the soul is preexisting, immortal, supraphysical, and subject to transmigration and reincarnation. Aristotle's theory was closer to the pre-Socratics, but also contained some Platonic elements. Medieval thinkers developed a variety of theories. Until circa 1200, most were a hybrid of Platonic and New Testament ideas, while after 1200

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Aristotle's influence was increasingly important. See chapter 3 for Aquinas's efforts to reconcile these various strands of tradition. 6. In other words, it is not a motion that is simply a function of the nature of things, the way the falling of a stone is a function of its heaviness. Such "natural" motions require no external mover to explain them. 7. "Violent" in the sense of contrary to its nature. 8. Given medieval cosmology, this notion is not quite as outlandish as it sounds. Theory had it that each planet or sphere was governed and moved by a specific angelic intelligence, and that the spheres were an interlocking system, with movement and forces conveyed from one to the other and eventually to earth. O n this view, the motion of the heart—like life itself—would be explained a la Star Wars as the function of a universal life force originating in the stars and flowing through all things. 9. The model here perhaps is the way heat from a fire, for instance, causes paper and ash to rise, a phenomenon explained in modern theory by the heat causing air molecules to move. 10. Earth and water, as opposed to fire and air. 11. Namely, heartbeat and respiration versus walking, eating, and so on. 12. The locution is admittedly odd; the Latin term is habitus. The idea is that each scientific disposition embodies a "tendency toward" knowledge of its proper objects. Similarly, moral virtues (and vices) are dispositions toward certain types of action. 13. "Inferior" in the sense of being earthly, or sublunary, and thus by definition subject to the vicissitudes of change, unlike the heavenly bodies with their stable constitution and uniform motion. 14. Materia separatum, an awkward formulation. The reference is simply to nonmaterial or spiritual beings. 15. As opposed to human artifacts. 16. Literally, "set aside." 17. A technical term in logic, derived from Aristotle's Categories. In Aristotelian and medieval logic there are ten classes of predication, corresponding to ten conditions of being. These are the basic category, substance (an independent, individual object) and nine modifications or states of being that substances may possess or undergo: quantity, quality, relation, acting upon, acted upon, time, place, position, and disposition. 18. The object to which they belong. Thus having leaves, being twenty feet tall, and standing in a specific spot in a specific forest all presuppose a subject, namely, the tree of which these things are qualities. 19. The Latin here, contraria, generally means "opposite," but this is too strong here; bread, which is transformed by digestion into flesh, is not the "opposite" of flesh as such. 20. That is, its lack of the basic structure that lends order and stability to existing entities. 21. The Latin term, regularis, also implies uniformity and predictability. 22. In medieval theory, this first-moved mover was the "intelligence" or angel who governs the (invisible) outermost sphere. This angelic intelligence, itself inspired to motion by its love for God, moves the first sphere in perfectly uniform circular motion, and this motion is in turn the ultimate source of all other motion. 23. Medieval astronomers, noting observational anomalies that seemed to contradict the theory of uniform, regular motion, posited various epicyclic motions to account for the actual position of the planets. 24. For example, a rock that is thrown upward contrary to its natural tendency to go down. 25. That is, in a straight line.

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26. An ancient Aristotelian commentator. 27. Alexander of Aphrodisias, another ancient commentator. 28. The theory here is that the original impetus given to the projectile is transferred to the medium through which it travels (usually air) and that the air then "bears" the impetus, moving more and more air and carrying the object along. 29. Aquinas, as a Christian, believed that the universe had a temporal beginning when it was created by God, whereas Aristotle held that the universe was eternal. 30. The Latin term here translated as "unified and completely integrated" is simplex, a word that (ironically) is complex and difficult to translate straightforwardly. To be simplex is to be a unity, having no parts and being unified in purpose and in action; there is no hesitation, conflict, or question of cross-purposes. 31. By "inferior" Aquinas means sublunary entities. Unlike the heavenly bodies, which are perfect and changeless and thus neither reproduce themselves nor experience any corruption, earthly entities are, individually, perishable; only the type or "species" is eternal. 32. Earth's natural place is down, fire's is up, and so on. 33. Aquinas, working with Ptolemaic and Aristotelian theory, believed that while the stars were an immense distance from earth, they were all imbedded within the same sphere and thus lay more or less on a flat plane. Hence stars that appeared proximate to one another were assumed to truly be proximate. 34. That is, the argument is syllogistic: 1. Major Premise: Whenever an object less closely related to fire is heated, an [proximate] object more closely related to fire (i.e., air) is heated. 2. Minor Premise: The arrow, which is less closely related to fire, is heated. 3. Conclusion: Therefore the air that is more closely related to fire must be heated. By contrast, an "argument from cause" would deal with the cause or reason why the heat was generated in the first place, then proceed to the heating of the air and the arrow. 35. That is, the sphere that bears them is not itself hot. 36. Ancient and medieval cosmology postulated spheres of air and "fire" above the earth, followed by the moon, Mercury, Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the stars. 37. Given the theory that the heavens revolved while the earth remains stationary, this diurnal rotation must be posited to explain the daily movement of the sun, moon, stars, and planets across the sky. 38. "Draw near to us"; that is, rotate to our side of the earth.

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ONSISTENT WITH THE MEDIEVAL NOTION of man as "microcosm and mediator," bridging the worlds of spirit and matter, there is a sense in which nearly everything Aquinas wrote is relevant to his views on human nature. Humans have physical bodies and thus are subject to motion as well as generation and corruption, the subjects of physics and biology; their abstractive abilities generate the sciences of logic, mathematics, and metaphysics; they both appreciate and create aesthetic objects; their pursuit of goodness and happiness is the very stuff of ethics; and while God and Christ are the main players in the drama of Christianity, the role of man in his fall and redemption is, for Aquinas, far from negligible. Thus, in the broadest sense, the study of human nature is intimately related to virtually every area of inquiry. In a more restricted—and manageable—sense, however, we may take our parameters from Aquinas's "Treatise on Human Nature," questions 75-88 of part 1 of the Summa Theologiae. An outline of these questions will give us a sense of his conception: I. Man as composed of soul and body (questions 75-76) A. The nature and immortality of the soul (question 75) B. The union of soul and body (question 76) II. The soul's powers and functions (questions 77-88) A. General overview (questions 77-78) B. Specific powers and functions (questions 79-88) 1. The mind (question 79) 2. Appetitive powers (questions 80-83) a. general overview (question 80)

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CHAPTER III b. the emotions (question 81) c. the will and free choice (questions 82-83) 3. How the mind understands (questions 84-88) a. how the mind knows material beings (question 84) b. how the mind knows in general (question 85) c. what the mind knows in material beings (question 86) d. self-knowledge (question 87) e. knowledge of spiritual beings (question 88)

Aquinas begins by defining man as being composed of a material body and an immaterial soul. Next, deftly combining Aristotle with biblical/patristic Christianity, he discusses the nature of soul {anima, psyche) first in Aristotelian terms as the actualization of a living being, than as a subsistent entity in its own right capable of surviving the demise of the body. In other words, Thomas agrees with Aristotle in defining man as a "rational animal," but with the crucial Christianizing addition that his specific difference—his rationality—is a sign that his soul, unique among animals, is capable of surviving death. The discussion of the soul-body union (both in the Summa Theologiae and, in fuller form, in the disputed question De Anima) shows Aquinas at his best, reexamining traditional Christian thought in light of Aristotelian science and arriving at a position that marks an advance on both. His goal was to remain true to the facts while steering a course between three erroneous positions: the theory that the soul, the principle of life, is merely a function of the physical body; the Platonic (and Augustinian) view that the soul alone constitutes the entire human person and that it merely inhabits and in a sense is imprisoned in the body; and the position of the Moslem philosopher Averroes (claiming to elucidate Aristotle) who believed that "soul," as spiritual, was a universal entity that all humans participated in to the extent that they were rational. Thomas vigorously opposed the first and third doctrines, which were explicitly heretical in their denial of personal immortality. (The latter was especially dangerous in that it purported to be Aristotelian, for if Aristotle had been tarred with the brush of ex professo heresy Aquinas's entire project of rethinking Christianity in Aristotelian terms would have been imperiled.) His treatment of the Platonic/Augustinian position is more nuanced. Augustine was universally recognized as the greatest of the Western Church Fathers, and his prestige made Aquinas reluctant to openly disagree with him. Nevertheless, the differences between Aquinas's view of the soul as that which constitutes the body's fundamental structure, actualizing it but also dependent upon it for sensation and thus knowledge, and Augustine's notion that the soul merely rules the body, that like all physical entities the body is deeply flawed and thus more impediment than help to the soul, cannot be gainsaid. Indeed, during his lifetime and for a generation afterward, Aquinas's harshest critics were conservative Augustinians. His defenders noted that Aquinas's position affirmed the goodness of all God's creation—the material as well as spiritual worlds—and that, with its emphasis on the body's role in constituting the human person, it was truer to the facts of human experience.

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Thomas's theory of cognition—of how understanding works—is as complex and subtle as his theory of the soul's relation to the body. Again, only the main points can be sketched. Like Aristotle before him and the empiricists after, he believed that all knowledge begins with sensation. This sense knowledge, which animals also possess, allows basic recognition and thus function and survival. True thought, however, demands general concepts, which requires two intellectual operations beyond this grasp of specific sensible structures. First, sense data is transformed into phantasmae. There is no precise English equivalent for this term; "image" is closest, except that a phantasma is an image derived from all the senses, not just vision, and it is an explicitly spiritual image that is thus accessible to the mind, which for Aquinas is a spiritual power. The "active intellect" then extracts a general concept from the phantasma (e.g., "person," "oak tree," "river") and impresses it onto the "passive intellect." Here real thinking occurs, both in the form of transforming concepts into language and in making comparisons and refining general concepts. Aquinas is often tantalizingly vague on some of the key questions here (for instance, how language is acquired and its role in thought) but his theory of mind is notable both for its empiricism and for its strong realism: He insists that the concepts we form are not mere simulacrum but (when we truly understand) are identical with the essential nature of things-in-themselves. Whereas mind has truth as its proper object, the will is the power of the soul that, motivated by "love" or desire, makes choices and commands the soul's other powers to act. In other words, mind proposes, will disposes. The question as to which has ultimate priority (mind or will, truth or love) constituted one of the central philosophical debates of the high Middle Ages. Aquinas is usually placed in the intellectualist camp: mind is prior both temporally (the will chooses only after the mind proposes objects to choose from) and in terms of final causality (the mind judges what is good, and that goodness acts as the will's motive). Furthermore, for Aquinas the joy of heaven will be primarily a vision of the fullness of truth and only secondarily a result of the union of soul and God, lover and beloved. In the more concrete realm of specific choices and actions, however, the powers are in closer balance. True, the mind apprehends the goodness in things and presents them to the will, but the will is ultimately free—its choices are not determined by the mind's judgment. What's more, as imperator (roughly, commander) of the soul, the will can direct the mind's work—for example, having overridden the mind's judgment that it would be better to invest one's savings rather than spend it on a cruise—the will can set the mind to work planning an itinerary. All but one of the selections in this chapter are drawn from the "Treatise on Human Nature" of the Summa Theologiae (part 1, questions 75-87). The exception is an article from the disputed question De Anima (article 14), on the immortality of the human soul, where Aquinas gives his views on this crucial issue in much more comprehensive form than in the parallel Summa text.

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Question 75: The Essence of the Human Soul Article 1: Ls the soul a physical body? Apparently so. Arguments: 1. The soul is the mover of the body. But it is not an unmoved mover. This is true for two reasons: first, nothing can give what it does not have, just as nothing can heat unless it is hot; and second, as Aristotle proved in book 8 of the Physics (8.6, 259b32), if there is an unmoved mover, it causes an eternal and unchanging motion. Now plainly this is not the sort of motion we see in animals, who are moved by their souls. Therefore the soul is a moved mover. But all moved movers are physical bodies. Therefore the soul is a physical body. 2. All knowledge is via some sort of similarity. But it is impossible for there to be any similarity between a physical body and a spirit. Therefore if the soul were not a physical body it would be unable to know physical objects. 3. There must be some sort of contact between mover and moved. But contact occurs only with physical bodies. Therefore since the soul moves the body, it seems it is a body itself. On the Contrary: Augustine wrote in book 6 of On the Trinity (ch. 6) that the soul "is said to be simple with respect to the body, because its substance is not diffused through physical space." I answer that in investigating the nature of the soul we must take as our starting point the definition of the soul as "the first principle of life in living creatures." For "animate" means living, while "inanimate" means lacking life. Now life is revealed most clearly in two functions: cognition and change. Pre-Socratic philosophers, who were unable to imagine anything that transcended the physical, believed that this life-principle had to be some sort of physical body, for they believed that everything that existed was a physical body. Several arguments show that this position is false. I will employ the one that is both most general in its implications and also most certain. Now clearly not every principle of a life-function is a soul. For if this were the case, the eye for instance would be a soul, since it is the principle of vision, and the same would be true of the other parts through which the soul works. But the soul is the first principle of life. Thus, although a physical body may in a sense be a principle of life—as, for instance, the heart is the principle of life in animals—nevertheless the first principle of life cannot be a body. For it is clear that to be a principle of life, or a living thing, is not a function of a physical body insofar as it is a physical body, for in that case all physical bodies would be alive or would be principles of life. Thus for a physical body to be alive, or even a principle of life, it must be a specific type of physical body. But the fact that it is actually this specific type is due to some principle that we call its act. Therefore the soul, which is the first principle of life, is not a physi-

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cal body but the act of a physical body; just as heat, which is the principle of heating, is not a body, but is a specific action of a physical body. Response to Arguments: 1. Since the principle that "all that moves is moved by another" cannot proceed infinitely, we must conclude that not all movers are moved. Now, since to move is to go from potentiality to actuality, the mover makes the thing have motion to the extent that it makes it actually move. And as Aristotle showed in book 8 of the Physics (8.6, 259b32), there is an entirely unmoved mover (i.e., one who is moved neither in the proper sense nor in any extended sense) who is able to cause an eternal uniform motion. There are other movers who do not move in this intrinsic way but in some extrinsic sense, and as a result do not cause this eternal, uniform motion. The soul is a mover of this sort. There are, however, movers that are moved in a proper and intrinsic sense—namely, physical bodies. And because the pre-Socratic Naturalists believed nothing except that physical bodies existed, they believed that all movers are moved, that the soul is moved, and that the soul is a body. 2. There is no need for the similarity between knower and known to actually exist in the nature of the knower. But if something is known first potentially and then actually, the resemblance to the thing known need not actually exist in the knower, but only potentially, just as color does not actually exist in the pupil of the eye, but only potentially. Hence there is no need for the soul to actually resemble the things it knows in kind, but only for it to be in potentiality to such resemblance. Now the pre-Socratic Naturalists did not understand the distinction between potentiality and actuality. Thus they thought that in order to know physical bodies it had to be a physical body, and in order to know all physical bodies it had to be composed of the elements of all physical bodies. 3. There are two types of "contact": quantitative physical contact and contact by a power or capacity. In the first sense, a physical body can only be touched by another physical body. In the second sense, however, a physical body can be "touched" by a nonphysical entity that moves it. Question 76: The Union of Soul and Body Article 1: Ls the intellectual principle [the human soul] united to the body as that which gives it structure? Arguments 4. Potential and action belong to the same agent, for the same agent is both able to act and actually does so. But the act of understanding is not the action of a body, as is clear from what I argued before [question 75, article 2]. Neither therefore does the potential for understanding belong to a body. But a power or potential cannot be more abstract or unified {simplicior) than the essence from which that power or potential is derived. Therefore neither can a substance capable of understanding provide the basic structure of a physical body.

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6. That which is intrinsically part of something is always part of it. But structures are intrinsically united to physical matter. . . . Therefore a structure cannot exist without specific physical matter. But the principle of understanding, which is incorruptible, as was shown above [question 75, article 6], continues to exist, united with a body, when the body dies. Therefore the principle of understanding does not constitute the basic structure of the body it is united to. Response: We must say that it is the mind, which is the principle of intellectual operations, that gives basic structure to the human body. For that by means of which an action is primarily performed is the basic structure of the thing to which the action is attributed. For example, it is health that primarily makes a body well, and intelligence that makes the soul intelligent. Hence "health" is the basic structure of the human body and "intelligence" is the basic structure of the soul. The explanation for this is that nothing acts except insofar as it is actual; hence the part of a thing that is actual is the part by which it acts. Now it is clear that the body lives primarily by means of the soul. And since life is manifested by various actions in the various orders of living things, the soul is the means by which all these various living actions occur. For it is primarily the soul that enables us to be nourished, to experience sensation, and to perform physical motion. Similarly, it is primarily the soul that enables us to understand. Therefore this principle which primarily enables us to understand (whether it is called the "mind" or the "intellectual soul") is that which gives basic structure to the body. This is also demonstrated by Aristotle in book 2 of his The Soul {4l4a\2) Now some 1 wish to claim that the mind is related to the body as its mover, and that mind and body are one only in the sense that the action of the mind is attributed to the whole. But this is absurd, on several counts: one, the mind moves the body only via desire, which presupposes intellectual action. Hence it is not because his body is moved by his mind that Socrates understands; rather, it is because Socrates understands that his body is moved by his mind. Second, Socrates is an individual, composed of physical matter and a basic structure, who has a single essence. Hence if the mind does not constitute this basic structure, it follows that his mind is something additional to his essence, and thus that his mind is related to the entire person "Socrates" as mover to something moved. But understanding is intrinsic to an agent, not something transferred from one to another like heat. Hence Socrates would not himself understand if he were merely acted on by a mind. . . . Thus the only remaining solution is Aristotle's: Man understands because the principle of understanding is his basic structure. Therefore it is clear from the very act of understanding that the principle of understanding is joined to the body as its basic structure. This is also clear from the nature of the human species. For the nature of a thing is manifested by its actions. Now the proper activity of a human being, insofar as he is human, is to understand. For it is in this that he transcends all other animals. Hence Aristotle says in the Ethics (10.7, 1177al7) that it is this activity, the one truly

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proper to a human being, which constitutes ultimate felicity. Therefore, necessarily, the thing by which humans are categorized by species must be the principle of this activity. Now things are assigned to a species through their specific basic structure. It follows then that the principle of understanding is the specific basic structure of humans. It should be noted that the nobler a structure, the more it dominates physical matter, the less it is immersed in that matter, and the more its activities or powers exceed it. Hence we see that structures that are enmeshed in matter perform certain actions that are not caused by the qualities of the elements that constitute that matter. And the nobler the structure, the greater the ability of the structure to transcend its material elements. Thus the principle of life in plants exceeds its material elements more than the structure of metals exceeds its material elements, and the lifeprinciple in animals exceeds its matter more than the life-principle in plants exceeds its material elements. Now the human soul is the noblest of all constitutive structures. Its powers so far transcend its physical body that it possesses an activity and a power entirely unconnected to the body. This power is called the "mind." Response to the Arguments: 4. Because of its perfection, the human soul is not a structure immersed in physical matter, nor is it completely circumscribed by it. Thus there is nothing to prevent one of its powers from being incorporeal, even though, in its essence, the soul constitutes the basic structure of the body. 6. It is the intrinsic nature of the soul to be united to the body, just as it is the intrinsic nature of an airborne physical object to be on the ground. And just as an airborne physical object remains a physical object while aloft, with a tendency and inclination toward its appropriate place,2 so too the human soul remains what it is while separated from the body and still possesses a natural tendency and inclination toward union with the body. Question 77: The Souls Powers Article 2: Does the soul have several functional capacities? It is necessary to posit several functional capacities in the soul. For evidence of this, one should consider the fact that, as the philosopher said in book 2 of The Heavens {2A2, 292a22), the lowest things cannot achieve perfect goodness, but achieve a certain imperfect goodness through just a few alterations; things at the next highest level are designed to achieve perfect goodness through a multitude of changes; things at a higher level still attain perfect goodness through just a few changes; and the highest thing of all possesses perfect goodness without having to undergo any alteration at all. . . . Therefore creatures beneath man achieve a certain specific goodness and as a result perform only a few specific actions and possess only a few specific powers. Man, however, can achieve the most general and perfect goodness, because he is designed to achieve utter happiness. Nevertheless, by nature he is the lowest of all beings that are able to achieve this happiness, and thus the human soul requires a

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multitude of actions and powers. In angels, less diversity of potential is sufficient. And in God there is neither potential nor action aside from his essence. There is also another reason why the human soul abounds in diverse types of potential: namely, because humanity is on the frontier between spiritual and corporeal creatures, and thus the powers of each are joined in it. Question 78: The Soul's Specific Powers Article 1: Does the soul have five functional capacities? I answer that it does: nutrition, sensation, desire, local motion, and intellect. However, there are three types of soul, and four modes of life. The rationale underlying these distinctions is that different types of soul should be categorized according to the various supraphysical capacities of the soul. For all physical nature is subject to the soul and stands in relation to it as a material or an instrument. Thus there are certain functions of the soul that transcend the nature of physical bodies to the extent that they do not even require a bodily organ. This capacity belongs to the rational soul. Below this are other functions of the soul that are performed by means of a bodily organ, but not through a bodily organ that itself possess the quality in question. The function belongs to the sensitive soul: for even though hot and cold, moist and dry, and similar physical qualities are necessary for the sense to function, sensation occurs not via the operation of these qualities as such; rather, they merely stimulate the sense organ in the appropriate way.3 By contrast, the lowest operation of the soul is performed by bodily organs that actually draw their power of operation from the qualities of physical things. Even this function transcends the functions of mere physicality, however, for whereas purely physical bodies are moved only by external causes, this function results from internal principles. This is true of all the soul's functions, for all animate beings are able to move themselves in some fashion or other. This function belongs to the nutritive soul: for digestion, and the growth that follows from it, occur via the power of heat, as Aristotle writes in the second book of The Soul. Now the powers of the soul are distinguished by their objects; that is, a power is higher to the extent that its object is more universal. The objects of the soul's functions may be categorized in three ways. The object of one category of its functions is merely the body to which it is united. This is the nutritive function, which has no object beyond the body to which the soul is united. The soul has a second category of functions whose object is more universal: all perceivable physical objects, as opposed to merely those that are united with the body. And there is yet another category of functions whose object is more universal still: not merely perceivable physical objects, but rather everything that exists. Hence it is clear that the latter two functions have as objects not only those things that are somehow joined to the body, but also things that are extrinsic to it. Now a power must be joined to its object in some manner in order for it to function. Thus external things, which are the objects of the soul's powers, are related to the soul in two ways: first, they are joined with the soul and come to exist in the soul by means of a similarity. This occurs with two powers: sensation, which has less uni-

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versal entities as its objects, namely, physical bodies; and intellect, whose object is the most universal possible being-in-general. The other way in which the soul is related to external objects also involves two powers: appetite, in which the external thing is the goal of the soul's power and is the first object of its intentionality; and local motion, wherein the external thing is the terminus of the soul's operation and motion. From this it may be concluded that the soul is always motivated by something it desires and intends. Finally, modes of life are distinguished according to the hierarchy of living things. In plants, which are the lowest sort of living thing, there exist only the nutritive power. The next level is living things in which there is both nutrition and sensation but not mobility, such as in certain shellfish. The next possess mobility in addition to other powers. These are animals in the full sense, which in themselves lack many of the things necessary for life and thus must be mobile in order to seek them out. The next level is human beings, who possess intellect along with these other powers. Incidentally, the appetitive powers have no role in this hierarchy as such, because, as Aristotle wrote in book 2 of The Soul (2.3, 4 l 4 b l ) , every living thing that possesses sensation also has desire. Article 3: Is it appropriate to distinguish five external senses? Some have wished to identify the nature and number of the senses by determining which element predominates in which sense organ, for example, water, air, or something similar. Others have done so based on the medium through which perception takes place, which is either a nexus or something extrinsic, for example, air, water, or something similar. And others have done so on the basis of the various types of sensible qualities, for example, whether the quality is simple or complex. But none of these methods is appropriate. For a capacity does not exist for the sake of the organ, but the organ for the capacity. Hence it is not because there are diverse organs that there are diverse capacities, but rather because nature arranges the various organs in accord with the various capacities. (Similarly, diverse media are attributed to the various senses insofar as they are needed for these capacities to function.) But understanding the nature of sensible qualities is the work not of the senses, but of the mind. Therefore the rationale for the number of and distinctions among the external senses should be in accord with something that specifically and intrinsically pertains to the senses. Now sensation is in a way a passive capacity, naturally designed to be affected by external stimuli. Thus it is specifically exterior changes that are perceived by the senses, and it is in accord with their diversity that the various capacities for sensation are categorized. There are two types of change: natural and incorporeal. Natural change occurs when the actual structure of a perceived object is received by the perceiver in the same manner in which the thing exists in nature; for example, the way heat is received when something grows hot. But incorporeal change occurs when the structure of the perceived object is received by the perceiver in an incorporeal manner; for example, the way color is perceived by the pupil, which does not take on the color of what it sees. For sensation to occur, there must be this incorporeal change

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that allows the structure of the perceived object to come to be "in" the sense organ. Otherwise, if merely natural alteration sufficed to make sensation occur, every natural object would experience sensation whenever it underwent any kind of change. In certain senses we find incorporeal alteration alone; for example, in vision. In others, however, there is natural as well as incorporeal alteration, either in the sense object alone or in the sense organ as well. Alteration of the object in the sense of physical movement is found in the case of sound, which is the object of hearing. For sound is caused by percussion and the movement of air. Another type of alteration of the sense object occurs with odors, which are the object of smell. This is because the object must be heated for the odor to be released. As to the sense organs, they undergo natural alteration in the case of touch and taste: the hand touching the hot object grows hot itself, and the tongue is moistened by the liquid in what is tasted. By contrast, the organs of smell and hearing do not experience any natural alteration in performing their sense functions, except perhaps in a secondary and accidental way. Vision, because it occurs via neither change in the sense object nor the sense organ, is the most incorporeal, the most perfect, and the most universal of all the senses. Hearing comes next, then smell, each of which involve natural change on the part of the object. (Hearing is superior to smell because physical motion is more perfect than other types of alteration, as is proved in book 8 of the Physics [8.7, 260a28].) But touch and taste are most corporeal. . . . Article 4: Is it appropriate to make distinctions among the various internal senses? Nature never fails in matters of necessity. Hence there must be as many functions of the sensitive soul as are needed for the fulfillment of animal life. And if some of these functions cannot be assigned to a single principle, then there must be various capacities. For a capacity of the soul is nothing more than the proximate principle of one of the soul's functions. Now we should note that fulfillment of an animal life demands not only apprehending sense objects that are immediately present, but also apprehending their absence.4 . . . Therefore the animal, via its sensitive soul, must not merely grasp various types of sense objects, but it must retain and preserve a memory of those types. Now to grasp something and to retain it belong (in corporeal beings) to separate principles: for moist objects receive impressions easily but retain them poorly, while dry objects do the opposite. Hence, because sensation is the function of a bodily organ, there must be one capacity that grasps the various types of sense objects, and another that retains a memory of them. Also, it should be noted that if animals were motivated only by what is pleasant or disgusting to the senses, there would be no need to suppose that any power exists in animals other than that of grasping the structure of sense objects that they either delight in or fear. But animals must not only seek and avoid what is pleasant or unpleasant to the senses; they must also seek what is needed and useful, and avoid what is harmful. Thus a sheep flees from an approaching wolf not because of anything repulsive in its color or shape, but because it is a natural enemy; similarly, a

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bird does not collect twigs because they are pleasing to the senses, but because they are useful in nest-building. For animals must perceive certain purposes or rational courses of action that the external senses cannot perceive. And there must be some principle of such perception. . . . Therefore, the specific senses and the integrative sense are designed to grasp the structures of sense objects; the distinction between the specific sensation and the integrative sensation is explained below [reply to the first and second counterargument]. 5 Fantasy or imagination—which are the same thing—are designed to retain or preserve these structures, for fantasy or imagination is a kind of storehouse of forms received by the senses. The evaluative power is designed to perform those acts of apprehension or grasp of rational courses of action that the senses are incapable of. These are preserved by memory, which is a kind of storehouse of these rationalcourses of action. . . . We should note that, regarding the structure of sense objects, there is no difference between man and other animals, for both are due to changes wrought by external sense objects. But regarding [the grasp of] rational courses of action there is a difference, for whereas animals grasp them only by instinct, man does so through a type of comparison. Hence that which in other animals is termed "natural evaluation" is, in man, called "judgment," which is arrived at via a comparison of such rational courses of action. Hence it is also called "reasoning about particulars." Physicians identify a specific organ for this capacity, namely, one in the middle of the head. It performs judgments concerning specific rational courses of action, just as the mind deals with what is rational in general. As to the power of memory, man not only has memory as animals do—namely, in the sense of a sudden recall of something in the past, but he also possesses the power of intentional remembering, an almost syllogistic survey of past memories in order to determine a rational course of action. Avicenna held that there was a fifth [interior sense] power, midway between evaluation and imagination, which joins and separates images. An example would be when we use the image of gold and that of a mountain to form the image of a golden mountain, which is something we have never seen. Other animals cannot perform this action, while in man the power of imagination is sufficient do it. Averroes also attributed this ability to the imagination, in a book he wrote entitled Sense and Sense Objects. Thus there is no need to posit the existence of any interior sense powers beyond these four: the integrative sense, imagination, the evaluative sense, and memory. Question 79: The Mind Article 1: Is the mind the souls essence or one of its capacities? Arguments: 4. A thing's ability to understand derives from its immateriality. But the soul is immaterial in its very essence. Therefore the soul is, in its very essence, an entity with the capacity to understand.

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I answer that we must necessarily say, in accord with what was stated before, that the mind is one of the soul's powers rather than its essence. For the essence of a thing is the proximate principle of its action only when this action constitutes its very being. And a capacity is related to the action it performs in the same way a thing's essence is related to its being. Now the act of understanding and the act of existence are identical only in God. But in creatures capable of thought [or understanding] the mind is one of the soul's capacities. Response to Arguments: 4. The immateriality of a created entity capable of understanding is not identical with its mind as such; rather, the entity has the capacity to understand because of its immateriality. Hence the mind is not the soul's substance, but merely one of its powers. Article 2: Is the minds capacity passive? Arguments: 2. As stated before [question 75, article 6], the mind's ability to understand is incorruptible. But it states in book 3 of The Soul (3.9, 432b5) that "if the mind is passive it is corruptible." Therefore the mind's capacity is not passive. I answer that "to be passive" has three meanings. 6 The first and strictest meaning is when something that belongs to a thing either by nature or through its specific inclination is removed from it. Examples are when water loses its frigidity via heat and when a man grows ill or sad. A second, looser meaning is when something is said to be passive because it loses something it has whether or not that thing properly belongs to it. In this sense one who becomes healthy is as passive as one who gets well, and one who rejoices is as passive as one who grows sad. The third and most general meaning is when something in a state of potential toward some other thing receives it without losing anything at all. In this sense all movement from potential to active can be referred to as "passive," even when the process perfects the entity that endures it. It is in this sense that our capacity to understand is "passive." The following argument makes this clear. As stated before [question 78, article 1], mind is oriented toward being in all its generality and universality. Therefore to consider whether a mind is active or passive is to consider its relation to universal being. Now we find that there is one mind that is in a state of actuality vis-a-vis all being: this is the divine intellect, the essence of God, the first cause in which all being exists originally and in a virtual sense. This divine intellect is in no sense potential, but rather is pure act. But no created intellect can be actual vis-a-vis the entirety of existence, for in that case it would be infinite. Hence every created intellect, because of the type of entity it is, is not actualized vis-a-vis all objects of understanding, but is related to them as potentiality to actuality. Now a power has a dual relation to an action. Certain powers are always actualized, such as the material of the heavenly bodies that we spoke of before. Others are

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not always actualized but move from potential to actuality, namely, things subject to generation and corruption. Angelic intellects are always actualized vis-a-vis their objects of understanding due to their nearness to the First Intellect, which, as noted, is pure act. But the human mind, which is lowest in the hierarchy of intellects and most distant from the perfection of the divine mind, is in a state of potentiality with respect to the objects of its understanding and in the beginning is, as the philosopher says in book 3 of The Soul (3.4, 429a22), "like a blank tablet on which nothing is written." This is obvious from the fact that when we are born we are merely potentially intelligent beings, whereas later in life we become actually intelligent. Thus it is clear that our understanding is "passive" according to the third definition of the term. Consequently the mind is a passive capacity. Response to Arguments: 2. Some call the capacity for sense desire, where the soul's desires are found, the "passive intellect." In book 1 of the Ethics (1.13, 1101b25) this [capacity] is called "rational by participation," because it "obeys reason." Others, however, identify the passive intellect with the cognitive power sometimes called "the particular reason." In each case, the term "passive" is used in accord with the first two definitions of the term "passive," because it is the act of a physical organ. But the mind that is in a state of potentiality vis-a-vis intellectual objects—which is why Aristotle calls it the "possible intellect"—is "passive" only in the third sense of the word, since it is not the act of a physical organ. Thus it is also incorruptible. Article 3: Should we posit the existence of an active intellectual power? Arguments: 1. The relation of the mind to intelligible objects is the same as that of the senses toward sense objects. But while the senses are in a state of potential vis-a-vis sense objects, we do not posit an active sense power; rather, the senses are purely passive. Therefore, even though our mind is in a state of potential vis-a-vis intelligible objects, there seems to be no need to posit an active intellectual power, but only a passive one. I answer that, according to Plato's opinion, there is no need to posit an active intellectual power that renders things intelligible, though perhaps it is needed to provide light to the mind, as is shown below [a.4, question 84, article 6]. For Plato posited the forms of natural objects as existing in an immaterial—and thus intelligible—state. For to be intelligible is precisely to be immaterial. These entities he termed "species" or "ideas," which constitute the natures of individual things in their genus and species and of which our mind has generic and specific knowledge. 7 But Aristotle did not believe that the structures of natural things exist outside matter. Now structures that exist in matter are not intelligible. Thus it follows that the natures or structures of sensible objects, which we understand, are not intelligible. Nothing potential is made actual except via some actualized entity. Thus the

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senses are actualized by sense objects that are themselves actualized. Thus we must posit some intellectual power that actualizes natures or structures by abstracting the type or "species" from its material conditions. Thus we must posit the existence of an active intellectual power. Reply to Arguments: 1. Sense objects exist in an actualized state outside the mind. Thus there is no need to posit an active sense power that actualizes them. Thus we may conclude that in the nutritive faculty all powers are active, in sensation all are passive, while in the intellect there is both an active and a passive power. Article 4: Is the active intellect part of the human soul? Arguments: 2. The philosopher, in book 3 of The Soul (3.5, 430a22), states that the active intellect "does not understand at certain times and not understand at other times." But our soul is not constantly engaged in understanding, but rather does so at certain times and does not at others. Therefore the active intellect is not part of our soul. I answer that the active intellect the philosopher speaks of is in fact part of the soul. As evidence for this, consider the fact that it is necessary that we posit a superior intellect over and above the human, one from which the human intellect obtains the capacity for understanding. Now for everything that participates in something else and that is imperfect and subject to change, there preexists something else that essentially possesses the participated-in quality and is perfect and unchanging. And the human soul is commonly said to possess the power of understanding via participation. Signs of this are that it is not the soul in its entirely that understands, but only a part of it; it comes to the understanding of truth not immediately but via argument and the discursive movement of the mind; and it has only imperfect understanding, both in that it does not understand everything and in that its understanding moves from potential to actuality. Therefore there must be some higher intellect that helps bring the soul to understanding. For this reason certain persons 8 identify this separate intellect with the active intellect, claiming that, so to speak, it "illuminates" sense images, rendering them intelligible. But even if there were such a separate active intellect, it would still be necessary to posit some power within the human soul that actualized these intelligible objects. This is also the case with other natural objects, which, in addition to universal causal agents, also have specific powers implanted within themselves that are derived from the universal agent. Thus it is not the sun alone that causes reproduction in humans; rather, there is also a procreative power that belongs to individual humans. The case is similar with other animals that are complete in their own nature. 9 For among sublunar entities, nothing is more perfect than the human soul. Hence we must say that the soul contains within itself a power—derived from the higher intellect—which enables it to illuminate sense images.

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We are also conscious of this in experience, for we perceive that we abstract general structures from specific conditions, which is precisely what it means to make things actually intelligible. Now, as I said above when discussing the passive intellect [question 76, article 1], no action truly belongs to something unless it is performed via something intrinsic to it. Therefore the power that is the principle of this action must reside in the soul. Similarly, Aristotle {The Soul, book 3.5, 430al3) compares the active intellect to light, which is something contained in the air, whereas by contrast Plato (according to Themistius in his third Commentary on The Soul) compares the separated understanding that imprints itself upon our souls to the sun. Now the "separate mind," according to our Faith, is none other than God himself, who creates the soul and, as I will make clear later [question 90, article 3; Summa Theologiae 1-2, 3.7], in whom the soul finds perfect happiness. Hence the human soul participates in the intellectual light of God, in accord with Psalm 4.7: "The light of your countenance is sealed upon us as a sign, O Lord." Reply to Arguments: 2. The philosopher's words here refer not to the active intellect, but to the mind when it is actually engaged in understanding. Thus he had said earlier [The Soul, book 3.5, 430a22], "which is the same thing as the actual understanding of a thing." Alternately, if this passage does in fact refer to the active intellect, 10 it is still the case that it is not due to the active intellect per se that we sometimes understand and sometimes do not; rather, this occurs when the mind is in a state of potential. Article 11: Do the speculative and practical intellects constitute separate powers? Arguments: 1. Understanding and the ability to move or change are distinct types of powers, as is made clear in book 2 of The Soul {23, 4l4a29). But the speculative intellect understands, while the practical intellect causes movement or change. Therefore they are distinct powers. 2. Objects with distinct natures require distinct powers. But the object of the speculative intellect is truth, whereas that of the practical intellect is goodness. And these objects have distinct natures. Therefore the speculative and practical intellects are distinct powers. Response: The practical and speculative intellects are not diverse powers. The reason is this: as stated above [question 77, article 3], qualities that are secondary to an object visa-vis a faculty or power do not require diverse faculties or powers. Thus, for instance, while a man may be large or small and be any of a variety of hues, all these qualities are apprehended by vision. It is secondary to what is apprehended by the mind whether it is an object oriented toward action or not. And this is the source of the distinction between the speculative and practical intellects. For it is the nature of the speculative intellect to appre-

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hend objects not as an occasion for action, but only to consider their truth, whereas the practical intellect deals with objects as occasions for action. This is what the philosopher means in book 3 of The Soul (3.10, 433al4) when he says that "the speculative intellect differs from the practical in its end or goal." Hence each is named by its goal or purpose: this one is speculative truth, the other practical—that is, action. Reply to Arguments: 1. The practical intellect is a cause of change or motion not in the sense of physically causing motion, but, as it were, by directing motion, which belongs specifically to its mode of apprehension. 2. Truth and goodness include each other. For truth is in some sense good; otherwise it would not be desirable. And goodness is in some sense true; otherwise it would not be intelligible. Therefore just as the object of desire may be truth insofar as it possesses the nature of goodness (as when someone desires to know the truth), thus the object of the practical intellect, which is goodness with regard to action, can be considered by the speculative intellect in its nature as true. For the practical intellect, like the speculative intellect, grasps truth, but truth as it is related to action. Question 84: How the Soul Grasps Objects that Are Hierarchically Below Itself11 Article 1: Does the soul understand physical objects with the mind? Response: As evidence for this question, it is relevant to note that the first philosophers who inquired into nature thought that nothing existed in the universe other than physical objects. And because they saw that all objects were subject to motion and change, and thought that these objects were in fact in a state of continual flux, they believed we could never have certitude. For nothing in a state of continual flux can be known with certainty, since it changes before the mind adequately can grasp it. As the philosopher quoted Heraclitus in book 4 of the Metaphysics (4.5, 1010al4), "in a flowing current, it is impossible to step into the same water twice." Plato, coming after these philosophers and attempting to establish the possibility of the human mind achieving certainty, posited another order of existence in addition to that of physical objects, a realm of changeless, immaterial entities that he called "structures" or "ideas" and claimed that it was through participation in these that a specific object could be termed a man or a horse or what have you. Thus he said that definitions and systematic knowledge and all other types of intellectual activity referred not to physical objects perceived by the senses, but rather to these separate, immaterial objects. Thus the mind knows not this specific physical object, but rather the existentially separate fundamental structures of such objects. But this appears false, in two ways: first, because as these structures are immaterial and changeless, this [conception of knowledge and its objects] excludes any systematic knowledge of material causes or the causes of change. Second, it seems ridiculous in seeking knowledge of things that are relatively manifest to us 1 2 to introduce as a means of knowledge entities that are essentially different, since they

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differ in their very being to the point that even in knowing them we would not be any better able to make judgments regarding the objects of sense perception. It appears that Plato's error consisted in this: assuming that all knowledge was via some kind of similarity, he believed that the fundamental structures we know must exist in the same manner in the known object as they do in the knower. He based this on the fact that structures of known objects exist in the mind in a general, immaterial, and unchanging manner. 13 For the operation of the mind itself shows that it must know things in a general and necessary manner, since action always is in accord with the structure of the agent. Thus Plato assumed that the known objects must themselves also exist in an immaterial and unchanging state. But this is not necessary. For even in sense objects themselves we see that such structures exist in various ways in various objects. Thus one object may be whiter than another, and in one whiteness co-exists with sweetness, and in another sweetness is absent. In the same way, sensible structures exist in one manner outside the soul and in another in the senses themselves, which receive these structures without the physical material they exist in, for example, the color of gold is received by the senses but not the gold itself. Similarly, the mind receives the structures of physical objects—objects that are themselves material and subject to change—according to its own nature—that is, in an immaterial and unchanging fashion. For things are received by a receiver according to the receivers nature. Therefore I reply that the soul, by means of the intellect, knows physical objects in an immaterial, general, and necessary fashion. Article 6: Can intellectual knowledge be receivedfrom sensible objects? Response: Philosophers had three opinions on this issue. Democritus, as Augustine recounts in his Letter to Dioscorus (Epistle 118, c. 4), claimed that "there is no other cause of our knowledge except what comes from physical objects when they enter our souls as images." Aristotle adds, in his book Sleep andWakefulness}^ that Democritus held that all knowledge occurred "through images and diffusions." The rationale for this position, as Aristotle states in The Soul (book 3.3, 427a 17-29), is that like the other ancient Naturalists, Democritus did not believe that the mind differed from sensation. Thus, since the senses are changed by sense objects, he thought that all our knowledge occurred solely via changes brought about by sense objects. And Democritus asserted that this change occurred by an influx or infusion of sense images. Plato, by contrast, held that mind differed from sensation and was an immaterial power that does not employ a bodily organ in performing its activities. And because incorporeal entities cannot be altered by physical objects, he claimed that intellectual knowledge occurred not via sense objects bringing about an alteration in the mind, but, as I said above [articles 1, 4, 5], through a participation in the structures of immaterial intelligible entities. [Plato] also claimed that sensation has its own intrinsic action. Thus not even sensation, which is a spiritual power, is altered by sense objects. Rather, the sense organs when altered by sense objects somehow stimulation sensation in such a way that it then forms its own intelligible structures.

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. . . Therefore, according to the opinion of Plato, intellectual knowledge does not come from sense objects, nor does even sensation occur completely via them; rather, sense objects stimulate the soul's faculty of sensation into action, and similarly sensation stimulates the soul's intellect into action. Aristotle followed a middle way. On the one hand, he agreed with Plato that mind differs from sensation. But the senses cannot perform their specific function without communication with the body. This is because sensation is an act not of the soul alone, but of the soul in union with the body. [Aristotle] held that this was the case with all functions of this part of the soul. 15 Therefore, since it presents no difficulty for sense objects, which are outside the soul, to act as causes upon the soulbody union, Aristotle agrees with Democritus that sensation is caused by the impressions of sense objects upon the senses. He did not, however, believe that this occurred through a physical influx, but by a process. (As book 1 of Reproduction and Death [1.8, 324b25] makes clear, Democritus claimed that all action occurred through the influx of atoms.) Yet Aristotle also claimed that the mind acts absent any communication with the body. For a physical object cannot "imprint" anything on an incorporeal substance. Thus, according to Aristotle, the impression of a sense object cannot alone cause the mind to act; rather, we must act, since, as he says, "To act is better than to receive action" {The Soul, book 3.5, 430al8). Nevertheless, intellectual action is not caused in us by the impression of some higher substance, as Plato thought. Rather, the higher, superior agent is the active intellect, which has been discussed before [question 79, articles 3-4], which renders sense images intelligible through an act of abstraction. According to this view, then, sensation does cause intellectual action via sense images. But since these images by themselves are unable to bring about change in the potential intellect, but must be actualized by the active intellect, we cannot say that sense knowledge is the perfect and entire cause of intellectual knowledge. Rather, it is, in a manner of speaking, its material cause. Article 7: Can the mind understand by means of intelligible structures within itself without referring to sense images? Response: In our present state of life, in which we are joined to a body, it is impossible for our mind to understand anything without referring to sense images. There are two signs that indicate this. First, since our mind is a power that makes no use at all of any bodily organ, if it did not need some power that uses a bodily organ for its operation, its action would in no way be impeded through any injury to any bodily organ. But sensation, imagination, and other powers pertaining to the part of the soul having to do with sensation do require a bodily organ. Hence it is obvious that when the mind is actually understanding—not only when it is receiving knowledge de novo, but also when it is using information it has already received—it needs the imagination as well as other powers. For we see that when the imagination is impeded by some injury to a bodily organ (e.g., with epilepsy), or when memory is

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impeded (e.g., with lethargy), the mind is also impeded in its ability to understand what it previously learned. Second, we know by experience that when we attempt to understand something, we form a sense image to serve as a kind of example or model in which we inspect the thing we are trying to understand. Also, when we try to help someone understand something, we propose an example to them from which they can draw a sense image to aid them in understanding. The reason for this is that the ability to know is in proportion to the knower. Hence the specific objects of angelic intellects—which are entirely separate from any physical body—are substances that are separate from physical objects, via which they gain knowledge of intelligible material objects. But the human mind, joined as it is to a physical body, has as its specific object essences or natures that exist in material bodies, and ascends from this knowledge to the knowledge of invisible things. It is intrinsic to natures of this sort that they exist in individuals and not without matter. Thus it is intrinsic to the nature of a stone that it exists in a specific individual stone, and it is intrinsic to the nature of a horse that it exists in a specific individual horse. Thus the nature of a stone or any material object is not truly or completely known except insofar as it is known in its particular existence. Thus the mind, in order to understand the objects proper to it, must have reference to sense images in order to see the general nature as it exists in a specific thing. If the objects specific to our minds were incorporeal structures, or if, as the Platonists believe, the natures of specific things subsisted outside those things, then our mind would need to always have reference to sense images. Question 85: The Function and Sequence of Human Understanding Article 2: Are the intelligible structures abstracted from sense images the objects of our understanding? Response: Some have claimed that our understanding knows nothing beyond its own perceptions. If this were the case, the senses would know nothing beyond changes within the sense organs themselves. According to this view, the mind would know nothing except changes within itself, that is, the intelligible structures it receives, and these would themselves be the objects of understanding. But this view is obviously false, for two reasons: first, the objects of our understanding are identical with the objects of rational systematic and scientific inquiry. Therefore if we only understand intelligible structures within the soul, it follows that all systematic and scientific inquiry would be concerned not with objects outside the mind, but with the intelligible structures within it. This is like Plato's view that all true, systematic knowledge was concerned with "ideas," which he claimed were the true objects of understanding. Second, because this repeats the error of those ancient philosophers who claimed that "all appearance is true" and thus that contradictions can simultaneously be true. For if our powers of understanding know nothing beyond their own impressions, then they can only judge of those impressions. But the way things appear is a function of how the powers of understanding are affected.

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Therefore judgment would always concern its own impressions and would always be true. For example, if taste was concerned only with its own impressions, then someone whose sense of taste was sound and who judged that honey was sweet would be correct, and someone whose sense of taste was diseased who judged that honey was bitter would also be correct, since each would be making a judgment only about how his own senses were affected. Thus all opinions would be equal, and in general all judgments of any sort should be accepted. Thus we should say rather than intelligible structures are the means by which we understand. The following will make this clear. For, as the Metaphysics, book 9 states [sic, actually book 8.8, 1051a23], there are two types of action: intransitive, such as seeing and understanding; and transitive, like heating or cutting. And each type occurs according to its own nature or structure. And just as the structure involved in transitive action includes a certain similarity between actor and object (i.e., the heat in the agent that causes heat is the same as that received by the object), so too in intransitive action there is a similarity between actor and object. Hence we see via a likeness of the visible object, and our minds understand via an intelligible structure. Now since our minds are capable of self-reflection, we can, via such reflection, both understand and understand the means by which we understand. Thus in a secondary sense these intelligible structures become the objects of understanding. But the primary object of understanding remains the [external] objects to which the intelligible structures are similar. This is clear from the saying of the ancient philosophers, which held that "we understand similars via similarity." For they held that the soul knew solid matter outside the soul by means of the solid matter within it, and so on. Now if, in accord with Aristotle's teaching, we substitute "the intelligible structure of solid matter" for solid matter itself (as he said, "A stone is not in the mind, but the intelligible structure of a stone" [The Soul, book a.3, 431b29]), it follows that the soul knows the objects outside itself via intelligible structures. Article 5: Does our mind understand by associating and distinguishing? Arguments: 3. The mind understands by assimilating itself to things. But there is no association and distinction within things. For there is nothing in things except what is signified by subjects and predicates, and in things themselves subject and predicate are identical if the statement joining them is true. Therefore our mind does not understand via association and distinction. Response: Yes, our mind necessarily understands by means of association and distinction. For the human mind moves from potentiality to actuality, much like creatures that are conceived and born and thus do not immediately attain their perfected state but do so only gradually. Similarly, the human mind does not with its initial apprehension grasp a thing perfectly, but rather first grasps something about the thing—for

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instance, the essence of what it is, which is the first and most appropriate object of the mind—and only later grasps the thing's various properties, qualities, and relationships. This is why the mind, when it grasps one thing, necessarily associates or distinguishes it from something else, and from one such association or distinction proceeds to another, and so on. This process is called "discursive reasoning." The angelic and divine intellects, by contrast, are incorruptible entities that possess their full perfection from the start. Hence they immediately have perfect and complete knowledge of their minds' objects, and in grasping the essence of a thing they simultaneously apprehend everything our mind comes to know via association and distinction. Thus the human mind knows via association and distinction, that is, by discursive reasoning. But the divine and angelic intellects understand via association, distinction, and discursive reasoning, not by actually associating, distinguishing, or engaging in discursive reasoning, but by grasping the simple essence or "whatness" of things. Reply to Arguments: 3. An object's similarity is received in the mind according to its own mode rather than the mode of the object. Hence the mind's association and distinction are a response to something that exists in the known object, but nevertheless this "something" is not identical in the known object and in the mind. For the proper object of the human mind is the essence of material things. This is grasped by the senses and the imagination. We find two types of association or composition in material objects. The first is that of structure with matter. This corresponds to the mental association that predicates a universal of one of its particular instances. For a thing's genus is predicated based on the general sort of material from which it is formed; its specific nature is predicated on the basis of its specific structure; while it is predicated as being this particular object based on its specific, individuated material. The second type of composition in things is of quality to subject, which corresponds to the mental association that predicates one of another, as when we say "This man is white." Yet mental association differs from the composition of objects in this sense: in objects, the things that are composed are diverse, whereas in mental association they are identified. For the mind does not say that a man has, is, or participates in the quality whiteness, but rather says that "This man is white," that is, the subject is man, and what he possesses is whiteness. The association of structure and matter is similar. For "animal" signified that the object has a nature capable of sensation; "rational" that it has a nature capable of thought; "man" that it is each of these; and "Socrates" that it possesses all these within matter that is specific and individuated. It is via this method of identifying one thing with another that our minds make associations by predicating one thing of another.

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80 Article 6: Can the mind err? Response:

In book 3 of The Soul (3.6, 430b29), the philosopher compares mind and sensation on this very point. For the senses are never deceived with regard to their specific objects—for example, the eye with regard to color—unless by chance the sense organ is impeded somehow, as when the sense of taste, debilitated by fever and with the tongue coated with an unpleasant fluid, judges what is sweet to be bitter. In judging of sense objects, however, the senses are often deceived. For instance, one may think that the sun is only a foot in circumference, when in fact it is bigger than the earth. All the more can it be mislead by appearances; for instance, it may think gall is honey because the two are similar in color. The reason for this is obvious. For every capacity is intrinsically ordered toward its specific object. And this relationship always remains the same. Hence as long as the capacity remains, its ability to render judgments about its specific object will not fail. The specific object of the mind is the essence or "whatness" of things. And, properly speaking, the mind cannot be deceived with regard to them. But in judging of connections and relations the mind may err, for example, concerning how one thing is related to another or in associating and distinguishing or in other acts of reasoning. For this reason the mind cannot err with regard to propositions whose terms are immediately known in their essence, as is the case with first principles. And the scientific disciplines are based on infallible conclusions drawn from these principles. Nevertheless, the mind may by chance err with regard to objects in which there is some form of composition. These errors occur not because of any defect in the organ, since the mind uses no physical organ, but from some intervening error in forming a definition or judgment, either when a definition of one thing is erroneously applied to something else (e.g., the definition of a triangle to a circle), or if the definition is intrinsically false because it implies some sort of impossible composition or juxtaposition, for example, if one defined a thing as "a rational winged animal." Thus with simple objects, where there is no intervening composition in forming definitions or judgments, we cannot err; but, as it says in book 9 of the Metaphysics [sic; actually book 8.10, 1051b23], we fail in that we cannot achieve complete understanding. Article 7: Can an identical object be better understood by one person than by another? Response: This question can be interpreted in two ways. In one way, the word "more" refers to the act of knowledge with reference to the known object. In this sense, one person cannot understand a thing better than another person. For if he "understands" it to be other than it is, whether it be as better or worse than it is, then as Augustine said, 16 he errs and does not understand the thing at all. The second way the statement can be interpreted is as referring to the act of

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knowledge within the knower. In this sense, one person can understand something better than another because he has a greater capacity for understanding, just as someone who has superior vision can see an object better than someone else. This superior understanding can occur in two ways. One is when the mind itself is more perfect. For it is obvious that certain bodies are so disposed that the soul receives things better. This is obvious in creatures of diverse species. The reason for this is that actions and structures are received in things in accordance with the receiver's material capacity. Hence also in people, some have bodies that are better disposed to the mind receiving knowledge. Thus in book 2 of The Soul (2.9, 421a25), it says that "We see that those with more pliable bodies have greater mental aptitude." The other way in which superior understanding occurs is through the inferior powers that the mind requires for its operation. For those who have superior powers of imagination, estimation, and memory are also more capable of understanding. Question 87: How the Mind Knows Itself and Its Contents Article 1: Does the mind know itself via its own essence? Arguments: 1. Augustine says in book 9 of The Trinity (9.3) that "because it is incorporeal, the mind knows itself through itself." 2. Angels and the human soul are alike in that both are belong to the category of intellectual substances. But angels know themselves through their own essences. Therefore the human mind does as well. 3. In book 3 of The Soul (3.4, 430a3), it states that "In immaterial entities, to understand and to be understood are identical." But the human mind is immaterial; as stated above [question 76, article 1], its activity does not belong to a physical body Therefore in the human mind understanding and being understood are identical. Hence it knows itself through its own essence. On the Contrary: It also says in book 3 of The Soul (3.4, 430a3) that "The mind knows itself the same way it knows other things." But it knows other things not in their essence but through resemblance. Therefore neither does it understand itself through its essence. Response: As stated in book 11 of The Metaphysics [sic, actually book 8.9, 1051a29], a thing is knowable insofar as it is an act—not insofar as it is potential. For a thing exists and is true insofar as it is an act. This is obvious with sense objects: vision perceives actual color, not potential color. Similarly, it is obvious that the mind, in its knowledge of material objects, knows them only when they are actualized. And, as is stated in book 1 of The Physics (1.7, 191a8), it has knowledge of prime matter only when it is given proportion by some structure. Thus immaterial substances know themselves in their own essence to the extent that they are essentially actualized.

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Therefore God's essence, which is purely and perfectly actualized, is simply and perfectly intelligible to Himself. Hence God knows not only Himself but all things through His essence. Now while the essences of angels do indeed belong to the category of actualized entities, they are neither purely nor completely actualized. Hence their understanding is not completed through their essence; for even though angels understand themselves through their essence, they do not know everything in this manner, but rather understand other things via resemblances. But the human mind is only potentially in the category of actualized, intelligible entities, in much the same way that prime matter is in the category of entities perceivable via sensation. Hence it is termed "potential," and, considered in its essence, it knows itself as potentially understanding. That is, it intrinsically has the ability to understand, but it cannot know itself except insofar as it is actualized. The Platonists also claim that there is a hierarchy of intelligible entities parallel to the hierarchy of intellects. For the mind does not know except through participation in something intelligible. But according to them, an entity that participates in something else is always hierarchically below it. Therefore the human mind could be actualized through participation in the structures of separate intelligences, as the Platonists claim is the case, and through this type of participation in incorporeal entities the human mind would come to understand itself. But because, as I said above [question 84, article 7], in this life our mind is naturally directed toward material objects perceivable by the senses, it knows itself insofar as it is actualized by structures abstracted from sense objects by the active mind, which actualized intelligible objects and, through them, the passive mind. Therefore our mind knows itself not in its essence but through its acts. It does this in two ways. One is specifically, as when Socrates or Plato perceives that he understands and thus grasps that he has a soul capable of understanding. The other is more general and occurs when we ponder the nature of the human mind in light of specific acts of understanding. Now it is true, as I said above [question 84, article 5], that the truth and efficacy of the act of understanding by which we grasp the nature of our souls is made possible for us by the illumination of divine truth, which contains the natures and essences of all things. Hence Augustine says in book 9 of The Trinity (9.6): "WTien we grasp inviolable and perfect truth—insofar as we are capable of doing so—we define it not as something belonging to a particular mind, but as something that has its basis in eternal truths." There is a differences between these two acts of understanding. For the mind to have the first requires nothing more than self-awareness, which is the primary act by which the mind perceives itself. For the second type of understanding, however, selfawareness does not suffice; rather, diligent, subtle inquiry is required. This is why many are ignorant of the nature of the human soul, and many err in their ideas concerning its nature. This is why Augustine says in book 10 of The Trinity (10.9, 42.980): "The mind seeks to know itself not as if it were separate from itself, but as present and self-aware." That is, it seeks to know what makes it specifically distinct from other types of entities, which is the same as knowing its essence or "whatness."

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Reply to Arguments: 1. The mind knows itself through itself in that it eventually arrives at self-knowledge, although it does so through knowledge of its actions. For a thing knows itself from self-love, as Augustine adds later. Now something can know itself intrinsically in two ways: either because its knowledge comes through absolutely nothing else, like first principles, or because it is not known through secondary qualities, just as color is intrinsically visible whereas substances are known through secondary qualities. 2. In the category of intelligent and intelligible beings, the essences of angels are entirely actualized and are entirely aware of themselves both as mind and as known object. Hence angels have immediate, intrinsic knowledge of their own essence. But this is not the case with the human mind, which is either in a state of pure potentiality vis-a-vis knowable objects (the passive mind), or else actualizes intelligible objects by abstracting them from sense objects (the active mind). 3. The philosopher's saying is generally true of all minds. For just as the senses in action can themselves be perceived by sensation because of their similarity to the object of sensation, which is the actualized structure of the sense object, so too the mind in the act of knowledge is itself knowable because of its similarity to the structure of the known object, which is the structure of the actualized object of knowledge. Thus the human mind, which is actualized through the specific structure of a known object, is known through that same specific structure, which is, as it were, its own structure. Now to say "in immaterial things, to know and be known are identical" is the same thing as saying, "with known objects, the mind and its object are identical." For something is actually known when it is rendered immaterial. There is this difference, however: with entities whose essence is immaterial, like the separate substances we call angels, mind and its object are actually identical. But when the essence is not immaterial, then a similitude is merely abstracted from the object. Hence the commentator 17 says in his commentary on book 3 of The Soul that this inductive proposition is not true except of separate substances, for it is true of some entities and not true of others. Question 82: The Will Article 1: Is there anything the will desiresfromnecessity? Arguments: 1. Augustine states in The City of God (ch. 10) that if something happens of necessity, it is not voluntary. But everything the will desires is voluntary. Therefore nothing the will desires is desired from necessity. 3. It is due to our will that we are master of our actions. But we are not masters of what happens from necessity. Therefore voluntary actions cannot be necessary. Response: I answer that "necessity" has several meanings. For "necessary" means "that which cannot not be." Necessity may thus apply to a thing from some intrinsic prin-

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ciple, either in terms of its matter, as when we say that everything that is composed of contraries is necessarily corruptible; 18 or in terms of its structure, as when we say that it is necessary that a triangle have three angles that are equal to two right angles. This is "necessity" in its natural and absolute sense. Another type of necessity occurs when something is unable not to be because of something extrinsic, either a purpose or an agent. Necessity of purpose occurs when something is required for a consequence to occur, or to occur well. For example, food is said to be "necessary" for life, or a horse may be "necessary" for a journey. This is called "necessity of purpose" or "of utility." Necessity arises from an agent when someone is coerced by someone or something so that he cannot act in any other way. This is termed "coerced necessity." This coerced necessity, therefore, is completely contrary to voluntariness. For we say that something occurs by violence when it is contrary to a thing's inclination. And the motion of the will is precisely an inclination toward something. Thus just as something is "natural" when it is in accord with the inclination of nature, so too something is said to be voluntary when it is in accord with the inclination of the will. Therefore just as it is impossible that something occur both naturally and by violence, so too it is impossible that something be (without qualification) both coerced or by violence and voluntary. By contrast, necessity of purpose is not contrary to voluntariness if the purpose can only be achieved in one way. Thus if we wish to cross the sea, the will necessarily must wish for a boat. Similarly, natural necessity is not contrary to the will. Rather, just as the mind necessarily grasps first principles, so too the will necessarily seizes upon its ultimate goal, which is perfect happiness. This is because, as Aristotle states in book 2 of the Physics (2.9, 200a21), purposes play the same role in human actions that principles perform in speculative reasoning. Thus whatever belongs naturally and permanently to something is the principle of everything else. For the nature of a thing is in all cases primary, and all change proceeds from something unchanging. Reply to Arguments: 1. Augustine's statement should be interpreted as referring to the necessity caused by coercion. For he himself states in the same book that "natural necessity does not deny the freedom of the will." 3. We are masters of our actions in the sense that we are able to choose one thing or another. But choice involves not the goal but "those things that are related to the goal," as Aristotle states in book 3 of the Ethics (3.3, 111 lb26). Hence our desire for the ultimate goal is not among those things of which we are master. Article 2: Are the wills choices all from necessity? Arguments: 1. Dionysius says in book 4 of The Divine Names that "Evil is alien to what is voluntary." Therefore the will necessarily tends toward whatever goodness is before it.

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Response: I answer no, the will's choices are not all from necessity. As evidence, one should consider the fact that (as I stated in [question 82,] article 1) as the mind necessarily accepts first principles, so too the will necessarily accepts its final goal. But certain propositions have no necessary connection to first principles. These are contingent propositions, which can be denied without denying first principles. The mind does not assent to such principles from necessity. Other propositions are "necessary" in the sense that they have a necessary connection to first principles. These are demonstrated conclusions, which cannot be denied without denying first principles. The mind assents to these from necessity once it grasps via deduction the necessary connection between principles and conclusion, but it does not assent from necessity before it grasps this connection. The case is similar with the will. For there are certain particular goods that have no necessary connection with perfect happiness, in the sense that one can achieve perfect happiness without them. Others do have a necessary connection with perfect happiness; namely, those by means of which man attaches himself to God, for genuine, perfect happiness exists in God alone. Nevertheless, until the heavenly vision of God demonstrates to us with certitude the necessity of this connection, the will attaches itself necessarily neither to God nor to those things that lead to God. But once the will sees God in his essence it will necessarily attach itself to him, just as we now necessarily wish for perfect happiness. It is clear therefore that the will does not choose everything it chooses from necessity. Reply to Arguments: 1. The will tends toward nothing except insofar as it is good. But goodness is complex and exists in many things; therefore it does not move the will with necessity to any one of them. Article 3: Is the will a higher power than the mind? Arguments: 2. We find that natural things move from imperfection toward perfection. This is also the case with the soul's powers: thus there is a movement from sensation to the mind, which is nobler. Now the natural process moves from mental acts to volitional acts. Hence the will is a more perfect and nobler power than the mind. On the Contrary: The philosopher says in book 10 of the Ethics (10.7, 1177a20) that the mind is the soul's highest power. Response: I answer that in comparing the eminence of two things, the analysis should be in both absolute and relative terms. An absolute analysis considers the thing in itself; a relative analysis considers it with respect to something else.

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Thus if the mind and the will are considered intrinsically, the mind is found to be more eminent. This is clear from a comparison of their objects with one another. For the object of the mind is both simpler and more absolute than the object of the will. For the object of the mind is the nature of goodness in desirable things, whereas the desirable good thing, whose nature is in the mind, is the object of the will. 19 But to the extent that something is simpler and more abstract, to that same extent it is nobler and higher. Hence the mind's object is higher than the will's. Therefore, since the true nature of a power lies in its relation to its specific object, it follows that the mind is intrinsically and absolutely higher and nobler than the mind. In a relative and comparative sense, however, the will is sometimes found to be higher than the mind; namely, when the will's object is found to exist in something higher than the mind's object. For example: We may say that a specific sound is relatively nobler than a specific object of sight when that which the sound belongs to is nobler than a particular colored object, even though color is nobler and purer than sound. For, as was stated above [Summa Theologiae, part 1, 16.1, 27.4], the mind's action is to bring the very nature of the object that is grasped into the mind, whereas the will's action reaches perfection when the will is directed toward its object. Similarly, the philosopher says in book 6 of the Metaphysics [sic, actually book 5.4, 1027b25] that "good and evil"—the objects of the will—"are in things; truth and falsity"—the mind's objects—"are in the mind." Therefore sometimes that in which goodness exists is nobler than the soul, in which rational understanding occurs. In relation to such objects, the will is higher than the intellect. But at other times the object in which goodness exists is inferior to the soul. Then, relative to such objects, the mind is higher than the will. Hence love of God is better than knowledge of God, whereas, on the contrary, knowledge of physical objects is better than love of them. Nevertheless, in an absolute sense the mind is nobler than the will. Reply to Arguments: 2. That which is first in time and order of generation is less perfect. This is because, temporally, a functional capacity precedes action, and imperfection precedes perfection. But that which is prior absolutely and in the order of nature is more perfect, just as action is prior to a functional capacity. In this sense the mind is prior to the will and is related to it as a mover to what is moved and as something active to something passive. For it is goodness grasped by the mind that motivates the will. Article 4: Does the will move the mind? Response: I answer that something may be said to move another in two ways: one way is as a goal. In this sense the end is said to motivate the efficient cause. It is in this way that the mind moves the will, since the good grasped by the mind is the will's object and the goal that motivates it. The other way in which one thing may move another is as an agent, as when an agent of change moves that which is changed, or as that which impacts something moves that which it impacts. The will moves the mind in this sense, as Anselm says

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in his book On Similarity.2® The reason for this is that in all active powers that are ordered in a hierarchy, the power that aims at the most general goal moves those powers aimed at more specific ones. This is clear both in nature and in politics. For the heavens, which act in the most general way to preserve creatures subject to generation and death, move all inferior physical objects, each of which acts to preserve their own species or even an individual. Similarly, a king who aims at the general well-being of the entire kingdom commands via his authority those subordinates whose duty it is to care for individual cities. Now the object of the will is goodness-in-general as well as the goal-in-general. And every power is related to the good proper to it; for example, vision to the perception of color, and the mind to the perception of truth. Similarly, the will, as an agent, motivates all the powers of the soul to perform their appropriate actions, with the exception of the natural powers of the vegetative part of the soul, 21 which choice does not control. THE SOUL,

QUESTION

14

Topic: The immortality of the human soul. It would seem it is not immortal, but rather corruptible. Arguments: Argument 18: It is clear from all its functions that as the body weakens and decays, so too does the soul. Thus when the body dies, the soul dies as well. Argument 20: As long as a cause continues to exists, its effects continue to exist. Now the soul causes the body to live. Thus if the soul was immortal, the body would be immortal as well, which is clearly not the case. Response: I answer that the human soul is absolutely and necessarily incorruptible. By way of evidence we should consider the fact that when something is intrinsically related to a thing it cannot be separated from it. Thus a human being cannot be separated from the fact that he is an animal, nor can a number be separated from the fact it is odd or even. Now it is clear that existence is intrinsically related to structure. For everything exists in accord with its proper structure; thus it is impossible to separate existence from structure. Therefore things that are composed from matter and structure suffer corruption when they lose the structure their existence depends on. Structure itself cannot be intrinsically corrupted; rather, it is corrupted only in the sense that it is "corrupted" when the structure/matter composite, which depends on the structure for its existence, is corrupted. This occurs with structures that do not in and of themselves possess existence, but that only exist when they are in combination with matter. Therefore if there were some structure that possessed existence in and of itself, it would, necessarily, be incorruptible. For a thing cannot cease to exist unless it loses its structure. Hence if an existing thing is itself a structure, it is impossible for it to cease to exist. For it is clear that the principle of human understanding is a structure that has intrinsic existence and not merely one by means of

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which something exists. For, as the philosopher proves in book 3 of The Soul, "The act of understanding is not performed by means of a bodily organ." For no bodily organ is able to receive all natural sensible qualities. This is especially so because the receiver must itself be free of the qualities of the thing it grasps, just as the pupil is itself free of color. Now all bodily organs possess some sensible qualities. But our minds are able to understand all types of sensible qualities. Hence it is impossible that its primary operation, which is to understand, is accomplished through a bodily organ. Hence it is clear that the mind possesses its own intrinsic activity in which the body has no share. A thing's activity always corresponds to the type of thing it is: that which exists independently performs its characteristic activity independently, and that which does not exist independently has no independent activity or function. Thus "heat" cannot make things hot; only hot things can. 22 Therefore it is clear that the intellectual principle of human understanding transcends the body and is independent of it. It is also clear that this intellectual principle is not a structure-matter composite, because it receives the species of things in an immaterial manner. 23 It follows from this that the mind deals primarily with universal concepts, which are abstracted from matter and from material conditions. Thus we may conclude that the intellectual principle of human understanding is a structure having [independent] existence, and that it is incorruptible. This is also what the philosopher says: "The mind is in a certain sense divine and eternal." It was shown in the previous question that the intellectual principle that enables us to understand is not a entity separate from us, but rather is something structurally inherent in the individual—either the soul or some part of the soul. Hence it is clear that the human soul is incorruptible. For those who claim that the soul is corruptible deny one of these premises. Those who say the soul is physical claim that the soul is not a structure, but rather a structure-matter composite. 24 Others claim that understanding is not different from sensation, and that the soul functions only through a bodily organ, and hence that it is neither a structure having independent existence nor an entity that transcends the body. And still others claim that mind, which enables humans to understand, is a substance that exists separately from individuals. It has been shown above that all these opinions are false. Hence we may conclude that the human soul is incorruptible. There are, in addition, two "signs" or indications of this incorruptibility. One is the nature of the human mind itself, which perceives even corruptible things in an incorruptible way. For the mind apprehends things in their general or universal concepts, and these concepts are themselves incorruptible. 25 The second is that there exists in us a natural desire for immortality, and natural desires cannot be in vain. For we perceive that people do in fact want to go on living in perpetuity. And this is entirely reasonable: for since to exist is, in and of itself, desirable, it follows necessarily that one who grasps existence in its purest sense, without the particularizing qualities of place and time, will himself want to exist in perpetuity. Hence we can see that this desire is not in vain, but rather that human beings, in accordance with the intellectual nature of their souls, are in fact incorruptible.

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Arguments:

18. T h e soul does n o t in fact weaken a n d decay along with the b o d y — n o t even in terms of sensation. T h i s is clear from w h a t the philosopher says in b o o k 1 of The Soul: "If an old m a n could be given the eyes of a y o u n g m a n , he w o u l d see like a y o u n g m a n again." T h u s it is clear that functional disabilities occur n o t because the soul s o m e h o w weakens or decays, b u t simply because the bodily organs do. 2 0 . It is true that the soul, which is the cause of life, is immortal. But the body, which receives life from the soul, is subject to change, a n d t h r o u g h these changes it gradually loses its ability to sustain the life that the soul imparts. T h i s is h o w death occurs.

NOTES

1. The Platonists. 2. The metaphor depends on the ancient and medieval scientific theory that the four elements (earth, water, fire, air) each had an appropriate "place" and a tendency toward that place; for example, earth tending downward, and fire upward. 3. In other words, the sense organ does not take on the quality of the thing perceived— the eye need not turn blue in order to see the color blue. 4. For example, a lion must seek out its prey and not merely react when its prey appears in front of it. 5. To summarize: Specific sensation grasps the differences between sense objects in a particular category; for example, the difference between red and blue. Integrative sensation {sensus communis, sometimes translated or transliterated as "common sense") grasps differences among and between categories; for example, the difference between red and sweet. 6. The Latin is pati—to suffer, endure, or undergo. Generally translated into English as "to suffer," its root is obviously related to passivus—"passive," a nuance lacking in the English suffer/passive. In this context the English "suffer" is too strong and has misleading connotations. 7. The Latin here is scientia, often translated/transliterated as "science" but in fact referring more generally to systematic knowledge of the causes of things. 8. Principally the Moslem philosophers Avicenna and Averroes. The latter Aquinas regarded as a dangerous rival whose commentaries on Aristotle interpreted the philosopher in ways that contradicted Christian doctrine and thus potentially endangered the legitimacy of Aristotelian scholarship in Catholic Europe. 9. That is, are capable of reproduction. 10. As Averroes and most other Aristotelian interpreters claimed. 11. That is, nonspiritual, merely material objects. 12. Object of sense perception. 13. Since the mind is immaterial, individual material objects cannot as such exist within it. 14. Sic; the passage is actually from Divination, chapter 2 (464a2). 15. For example, growth and nutrition. 16. In Eighty-Three Questions, question 32. 17. Averroes. That Aquinas refers to him simply as "the commentator" speaks volumes about Averroes s status as an interpreter of Aristotle.

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18. Medieval scientific theory held that only pure material elements are ultimately stable, whereas compounds of diverse elements are unstable because their constituent elements have an intrinsic tendency to separate and return to a pure state. Thus living creatures, which are formed from various elements, are subject to decay and death. 19. The mind knows the desirable good object as good, the will knows it as desirable. 20. Actually, a work by Anselm's disciple Eadmer. 21. The powers of nutrition and growth. 22. Aquinas's point here is that "heat" does not exist independently, but is always an attribute of something else—for example, of fire, boiling water, and so on. 23. Aquinas, following Aristotle, believed that the mind achieved true understanding of something when it grasped its genus and specific difference. Thus the mind understands what a human being is when it grasps that humans are rational animals, with "animal" being the genus and "rational" the specific difference. 24. Given the modern understanding of the soul as a spiritual entity, the notion of a physical "soul" seems oxymoronic. For ancient and medieval thinkers influenced by Aristotle, however, soul was simply the principle of life. Whether this principle was ultimately physical or spiritual—and hence mortal or immortal—was precisely the question at issue. 25. Thus each particular flower will wither and die, but the concept "flower" is incorruptible.

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T

HOMAS AQUINAS WAS CONVINCED that as a formal, intellectual discipline, ethics is essentially useless. Good people will be good whether or not they have an indepth understanding of ethical principles; on the other hand, such principles will do little to convert the wicked. Yet the subject clearly fascinated him. He spent fully half of the Summa Theologiae on it (the magisterial secunda pars), wrote a long, detailed commentary on Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, and devoted a significant percentage of his disputed questions to moral issues and conundrums. In part, this is simply a reflection of Aquinas's systematic mind (ethics plays a large role in virtually every Christian worldview), but it is also a sign of the ultimately pastoral and pedagogic purposes of his work. Aquinas's ethical system may be fairly and even precisely described as an "intellectualizing Christian Aristotelianism." It is "Aristotelian" both because of the dominant role of the virtues and because ethics is conceived of by Thomas as a "practical discipline" (a body of knowledge whose goal is excellent performance or action rather than theoretical understanding) that aims at guiding humans toward their ultimate goal: eudaemonia, or complete human fulfillment. It is "Christian" because this eudaemonia is conceived of as a postmortem union with the Godhead made possible by the salvific death of Jesus Christ and attained by the believer through faith and a life of Christian virtue. Finally, it is "intellectualizing" because this union is conceived by Aquinas primarily as a mental apprehension of God's being. Love of God follows this apprehension, but it is clearly secondary. For Aquinas, man's deepest desire is not to love and be loved, but to know. Since the goal of human life is union with God, it follows that goodness is primarily a matter of acting in ways that advance that goal, or at least do not contradict it. This does not entail a merely legalistic obedience to divine commandments, however; it means living out one's commitment to God through a life of active holiness. In other words, practical reason, enlightened and informed by revelation, demands a life of virtue.

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In simplest terms, a virtue is an emotional and intellectual disposition toward right action. Thus if you have the virtue of honesty you will tend to tell the truth even in circumstances where lying might be expedient, and if you do lie, you will be aware of having violated your principles, will be upset emotionally, and will suffer from a troubled conscience. Because of their dual, emotional-intellectual nature, the virtues take much of the trouble out of day-to-day moral decision-making: a person equipped with a full set of virtues will rarely have any doubts about what is the right thing to do, and will also have an emotional bias toward doing it. What's more, virtues are selfreinforcing: Each time you tell the truth, for instance, you strengthen the virtue of honesty and make it more likely you will tell the truth again the next time. The flip-side of the virtues are vices, dispositions that make it easy to act contrary to right reason, set up an emotional bias toward disordered actions, and establish a pattern whereby each disordered act strengthens the vice and thus makes virtue more difficult to attain. Hence morality, and especially moral education, is largely a matter of inculcating virtue and avoiding vice. Aquinas's list of the major moral virtues is a classic example of his melding of Christian and Greek thought. Thus his "theological virtues" (faith, hope, and love or charity) are from St. Paul, while the "cardinal" virtues (courage, justice, temperance, and prudence) derive from Plato via Aristotle. To summarize: faith is the act of fundamental trust in God that orients you toward him and starts you on the road to salvation; hope provides assurance that a faithful life will be rewarded with eternal happiness; and love is the intellectual and emotional delight in goodness. The theological virtues differ from the cardinal and other virtues in that their origin is supernatural, that is, infused by divine grace, rather than acquired via education or repeated right actions. As to the cardinal virtues: justice is fairness, giving each his due, whether the object in question is honor, money, or other goods (or, in the case of retributive justice, fines and punishments); courage is the capacity to do what is good or necessary in the face of danger, and as such is the characteristic virtue of warriors; and temperance (contrary to some modern notions) is not simply abstemiousness, but rather the capacity to enjoy physical pleasures (especially eating, drinking, and sex) without the sort of overindulgence that incapacitates the mind. For Aristotle, and hence for Thomas, these virtues constitute a mean between vicious extremes: justice avoids impartiality to either side; courage lies between rashness and cowardice; and temperance avoids churlishness and excess. Among Aquinas's most brilliant analyses deals with the curiously circular nature of the fourth cardinal virtue, prudence. On the one hand, he notes, all the virtues presuppose prudence, for virtue is a matter of building a good character through right choices and actions, and prudence is precisely the capacity for forming correct judgments about what should be done. On the other hand, one must be good in order to be prudent, for people act in accord with their conception of the good, and that conception will be correct only insofar as they themselves are good. This paradox points to the importance of education and pastoral care in Aquinas's ethics. Human acts, for Thomas, are not isolated bits of behavior; they flow from and contribute to the formation of a personality whose character is constituted by the presence (or absence) of the virtues. Those with well-educated characters will choose the

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good via a virtuous nature that serves almost as a second nature or instinct, while those who lack virtue will find it difficult even to see what is truly good, much less choose and act upon it. In contrast to his emphasis on virtue, Aquinas gives relatively short shrift to law and other rule-bound aspects of ethics. This is, in part, because law and moral principles for Thomas are nothing more than the conclusions of practical reason as guided by prudence. These conclusions issue in two structures or systems of practical reasoning: "natural law" and "positive law." Natural law is simply the general principles and more basic conclusions that rightly ordered practical reason arrives at. As such, natural law serves as a rough general indicator of moral goodness but it rarely determines specific moral cases, since intention, circumstance, and consequences must all be considered in making moral decisions. Such decision-making requires determinatio, which is a matter not of mechanically applying rules but of making prudential choices under specific conditions. The main function of natural law, then, is not to govern day-to-day choices, but to serve as a general pedagogy. This function is clearest in the case of the people of Israel and the Ten Commandments. According to Aquinas, the Ten Commandments are essentially basic moral principles that, in principle, can be arrived at via prudential reason. But given God's purpose in constituting a people worthy of bringing forth the Christ, it was crucial that such principles be appropriated by the entire people, rather than merely by the prudent. Thus, in part, Jewish and (though it constitutes rather a different case) Christian religious law is largely a divine promulgation and ratification of the natural law. Positive law is law enacted by a ruler or authoritative legislative body. Such law is also based on the general principles of natural law, but like moral decision-making it requires determinatio, or creative prudence. For example, in setting speed limits legislators are guided by the general principles of protecting human life and treating people fairly, but such generalities don't go very far toward arriving at a specific number. Rather, a whole complex of factors must be considered, and in the end there will be an element of sheer choice. For Aquinas, as for Aristotle, the best guide for both legislators and ordinary moral decision-makers is a well-formed conscience, guided by prudence and inspired by the actions of other virtuous human beings. The following selections are drawn from the disputed question On the Virtues, which dates from the mid-to-late 1260s, and from the second part of the Summa Theologiae, a work that, in ambition and scope, is without rival in Western ethical thought. SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE,

PRIMA SECUNDAE

(2.1)

Question 1: The Goal of Human Life Article 7: It seems everyone does not have a single ultimate goal in life. Response: We may speak of an ultimate goal in two senses: first, the general nature of the ultimate goal itself; and second, that in which the ultimate goal is found. With

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regard to its general nature, everyone agrees in the sense that they all desire it, for everyone desires their own perfect fulfillment, which is precisely what the ultimate goal is. . . . But everyone does not agree wherein this ultimate goal is to be found. For some seek wealth as though it were the complete and ultimate good, others seek pleasure, and others something else. The case is similar to that of taste in food. For all tastes find the delicious pleasant, yet some find wine most delicious, others honey, and so on. Still, the food that is genuinely most delicious is the one in which the person with the best taste finds the greatest pleasure. Similarly, the genuine and complete good is the one desired as the ultimate goal by a person whose desires are well ordered. Question 3: Perfect Happiness Article 8: It seems complete perfect human happiness does not consist in beholding Gods essence. Response: I answer that anything short of beholding God's essence cannot possibly bring about perfect human happiness. Two points should be considered by way of evidence. First, no one is perfectly happy as long as he continues to desire or seek something. Second, the perfection of an ability corresponds to the nature of its object. But as Aristotle says in book 3 of The Soul (3.6, 430b27), the mind's object is "that which is"—namely, the essence of a thing. Hence the mind achieves perfection insofar as it grasps the essence of a thing. And if the mind grasps the essence of an effect but knows only that its cause exists, without truly knowing its essence, then properly speaking the mind does not understand the cause at all. In such cases people naturally continue to want to understand the cause. As Aristotle wrote in book 1 of the Metaphysics (1.2, 982b 12), this desire produces a kind of wonder that in turn leads to inquiry. For example, if someone noticed a solar eclipse, he would surmise that it must have a cause, and not knowing the cause, he would wonder about it and begin to inquire, and his inquiry would reach its goal only when he had understood the essence of the cause. Thus the human mind, when it grasps the essence of some created effect but knows nothing of God except that he exists, has not, properly speaking, grasped the first cause, and there remains a natural desire to investigate this cause. Hence the mind has not attained perfect happiness; to attain it, nothing short of understanding the essence of the first cause will do. This perfection is obtained only when one is united to God, for perfect human happiness consists in Him alone. Question 6: Voluntary and Involuntary Human Actions Preface: Since perfect happiness is achieved by means of some sort of action, it follows that we must consider human actions, so that we may know which actions will lead to happiness and which will impede our path. But since works and actions are particular things performed in specific circumstances, knowledge concerning how to act

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is not complete unless it extends to specific cases. Therefore ethics, which deal with human actions, should first cover general principles {Summa Theologiae, 2.1), then deal with specifics {Summa Theologiae, 2.2). Regarding general principles, we should first deal with human actions (questions 1-48), then with their source (questions 49-end). Now some human actions are specific to man, others we share with animals. Therefore we ought first to deal with actions specific to man, then with those we share with animals, which are called the "emotions." Regarding the first of these [actions specific to man], there are two areas to consider: The conditions of human actions (questions 1-18) and the distinctions among such acts (questions 18-21). Now since, properly speaking, human actions are voluntary actions, and since the will is rational desire, which is specific to man, we must consider actions insofar as they are not voluntary. . . . Article 1: It seems human actions are not voluntary. Arguments: 1. For the voluntary is "that which contains its own source," as Gregory of Nyssa, Damascene, and Aristotle make clear.l But the source of human actions is not in man himself, but outside him. For human desire is moved to action by a desirable object outside itself, which is a kind of "unmoved mover" as is stated in The Soul, book 3 (3.10, 433b 11). Hence there is nothing voluntary in human action. Response: There must be a voluntary element in human actions. As evidence, consider this: In some actions and some types of change, the source of action is within the agent or within what is changed; with others, the source of the action or change is external. For example: When a stone moves upward, the source of this action is external to the stone; when it moves downward, the source of this action is internal. Now of those things that are changed by an intrinsic source, some change themselves, others do not. For everything that acts or is changed acts or is changed for the sake of a goal, as I stated above [in question 1, article 2]. Hence something is changed entirely by an internal source when there is an internal source that not only changes it, but changes it in order to achieve some goal. Now for something to act for the sake of a goal, it must have some knowledge of that goal. Therefore anything that acts or is changed due to an internal source and has some knowledge of its goal possesses within itself the source of its action sufficient not merely to act, but to act for the sake of a goal. But that which has no knowledge of its goal, even though it possesses within itself the source of action or change, does not have the source of acting or changing for the sake of a goal as something of its own; it belongs to another, which has transferred to it the capacity to act for the sake of a goal. Such things are said to change themselves, because they possess not only their own source of action, but also their own capacity for acting for the sake of a goal. Thus when each is from an intrinsic source—namely, that one acts, and that one acts for the sake of a goal—such change or action is termed "voluntary." For the name "voluntary" means that the

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change or action is according to one's own inclination. Hence, according to the definition of Aristotle, Gregory of Nyssa, and Damascene, something is said to be voluntary not only when "its source is intrinsic to it," but also when it is "known." Thus, since, in the highest degree possible, man both knows the purpose of his actions and changes himself, so too his actions are voluntary to the highest possible degree. Reply to Arguments: 1. Not every source is the ultimate source. Therefore, while it is true that it is the part of the definition of what is voluntary that its source be internal, nevertheless it is not contrary to its nature that this internal source be caused or changed by some external source. For it is not part of the definition of what is voluntary that its internal source be the ultimate source. Also, it should be noted that a source of motion may be the ultimate source in one mode of causality without being the absolute ultimate source. For example, in change the ultimate source is a heavenly body, yet this is not the ultimate source in an absolute sense, but the heavenly body undergoes physical motion due to a higher cause.2 Therefore the intrinsic source of voluntary acts—the capacity to understand and desire—is the ultimate source in the category of changes brought about by desire, even though, in other categories of causality, it is itself altered by external agents of change. 3 Question 9: What Motivates the Will Article 1: It seems the will is not motivated by the mind. Response: A thing must be motivated by something else to the extent that is in a state of potential vis-a-vis many objects. For that which is in a state of potential is actualized by something that is already actual. This is what "to motivate" means. 4 Now a capacity of the soul can be in potential vis-a-vis several object in two ways: first, as to whether or not it acts, and second, whether it performs this action or that one. For example, vision sometimes sees and sometimes does not see, and sometimes it sees white and sometimes it sees black. Therefore two things are required for motivation: To motivate the capacity to perform or use its capacity, and to direct the capacity to a specific action. One belongs to the subject alone, that is, whether or not to act at all; the other belongs to the object, which specifies the type of act. A subject is motivated by a causal agent. And since all causal agents act for the sake of a goal, as I showed above [in question 1, article 2], the source of motivation is the goal. Thus a skill that is related directly to a goal motivates, by its authority, a skill that is directly related to a means for achieving the goal, "just as the art of sailing rules the art of shipbuilding," as it says in the Physics, book 2 (2.2, 194b5). Now goodness in general, which by its very nature is a goal, is the object of the will. For this reason the will causes the other powers of the soul to perform their actions. And we use these other powers when we choose to. For the object of the will contains the goals and perfection of the soul's other powers, which are specific goods. This is because the skill or power that pertains directly to the most general goal motivates

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those skills or powers to action whose specific goals are contained within its more general one. For example, the general of an army, whose aim is the good of a community (namely, the discipline of the entire army), uses his authority to direct his subordinate commanders, who seek the discipline of specific battalions. By contrast the object motivates by specifying the act in the manner of a structural principle, which in physical objects specifies the type of action; for example, when something is heated by something hot. But the most basic structural principle is being and truth in the most general sense. It is by means of this type of motivation—by presenting its object to it—that the mind motivates the will. Article 2: It seems the will cannot be affected by sensuous desires.5 Arguments: 3. As is proved in the Physics, book 8 (8.5, 257b23), an agent of change is not affected by the thing it changes, as if there were some sort of reciprocal change. But the will acts as an agent of change vis-a-vis sensuous desires, to the extent that they are subject to reason's commands. Hence the sensuous desires cannot affect the will. Response: As I stated above [in article 1], that which is perceived as good and appropriate motivates the will in the sense that it is the object of its actions. Now for something to appear good and appropriate depends on two things: the state of the thing perceived, and the state of the perceiver. For "appropriate" is a term applied to relations between things, and hence depends upon them both. Thus, for instance, because various persons' sense of taste differs, they do not always agree on what is or is not appropriate to eat. For as the philosopher says in the Ethics, book 3 (3.5, 1114a32), "What someone regards as the goal depends on the sort of person he is." Now it is obvious that the way people are disposed toward things varies depending on whether their sensual desires are stimulated. Hence when one is in an emotional state of some sort, something may seem appropriate to him that would seem inappropriate were he not in that state. Thus something may seem good to a man when he is angry that would not seem good when he is calm. In this way—by changing what it regards as the object of its actions—sensuous desire affects the will. Response to Arguments: 3. As the philosopher says in the Politics, book 1 (1.2, 1254b5), reason—of which the will is a part—commands anger and desire not by an authority that is "a despotic rule," the way a slave is commanded by a lord, but by "a legal or political rule," the way free men are governed by a ruler yet are still able to act in opposition to him. So too anger and desire can act in ways contrary to the will. Thus nothing prevents the will from being affected by them at times.

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Question 12: Intention Article 1: It seems intention is an act of the mind and not of the will. Arguments: 3. Intention denotes organizing things in order to achieve a goal. But organizing is an act of the reason. Therefore intention pertains not to the will, but to reason. 4. An act of the will can only relate either to a goal or to means for achieving the goal. But the act of the will directed toward the goal is called "willing" or "enjoyment," while that related to means of achieving the goal is "choice." Both differ from intention. Therefore intention is not an act of the will. Response: Intention, as the very sound of the name suggests, means "to tend toward something." Now the fact that both the agent of change and the process of change in the changed object tend toward something is due to the agent of change. Hence "intention" applies first and primarily to that which directs something toward a goal. Thus we say that an architect, or anyone else who possesses authority, uses his authority to direct others toward the goal he intends to achieve. Now as I said above [in question 9, article 1], the will moves all the other powers of the soul toward the soul's goal. Hence it is obvious that, properly speaking, intention is an act of the will. Response to Arguments: 3. True, the will does not organize things, but nevertheless it tends toward something in accordance with the organization provided by reason. Hence the term "intention" refers to an act of the will that presupposes the organizing activity of reason in orienting something toward its goal. 4. Intention is an act of the will vis-a-vis a goal. But the will is related to its goal in three ways: one is absolutely. Thus we desire health and other things of this sort in an unqualified sense. Another way of regarding the goal is in terms of the will finding rest upon achieving it. In this sense the will is related to its goal by "enjoyment." The third way the will is related to its goal is as the end-point for whatever is directed toward that goal. In this sense, will is related to its goal by "intention." For we do not say that we intend to achieve health merely because we will to have it, but also because we mean to achieve it by means of other things. 6 Question 13: Choice, the Act of Will Regarding Objects that Are Means to the Will's Goal Article 2: It seems brute animals are able to choose. Response: Since choice is a matter of accepting one thing rather than another, choice occurs only when there is a possibility of selecting among several objects. Thus when something is completely restricted to a single object, choice has no place. Now as I said above [in question 1, articles 2-3], nature constitutes things in such a way that

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sensuous desire is directed toward a single object; by contrast, nature has constituted the will so that it is directed in a general sense toward one object, which is goodness, but is left in an indeterminate state vis-a-vis specific goods. Thus the capacity to choose belongs specifically toward the will, not to sensuous desire. But brute animals possess only the latter. For this reason brute animals cannot choose. Article 3: It seems choice is not restricted only to objects that are means to the goal. Response: As I said above [in articles 1-2], choice follows the formation of an opinion or judgment, which is, as it were, the conclusion of a practical syllogism.7 Hence those things are subject to choice that function as conclusions in practical syllogisms. Now in actions the goal functions as a principle or major premise, not as a conclusion, as the philosopher says in the Physics, book 2 (200a20). Hence the goal, to the extent that it has this nature, is not subject to choice. In the speculative disciplines nothing prevents something that is a principle in one discipline or chain of demonstration from being a conclusion in another discipline or chain of demonstration. Nevertheless, the most basic, indemonstrable principle cannot be a conclusion of any discipline or chain of demonstration. So too something that in one course of action is the goal may in another course of action be a means to achieve another goal. In this way the action becomes subject to choice. Hence whether or not to pursue health is not a choice the doctor makes—he presupposes the desirability of health as his first principle. But the health of the body is subordinate to the well-being of the soul. Thus to those responsible for the care of the soul, health versus infirmity may become a matter of choice. For the Apostle said at 2 Corinthians 12.10: "When I am infirm, then I am strong." But the ultimate goal can never, under any circumstances, become at matter of choice. Question 18: General Considerations on Good and Evil Human Actions Article 1: It seems all human actions are good and none are evil. Arguments: 1. Dionysius said in On the Divine Names, chapter 4, that evil can only act via some good capacity. But a good capacity cannot be evil. Therefore no action is evil. 2. Nothing does anything except insofar as it is actual. Now nothing is evil insofar as it is actual, but only insofar as it is a potentiality deprived of actuality.8 And to the extent that potential is completed by an act, it is good, as the Metaphysics, book 12 (12.9, 1051a4) states. Therefore every action is good and none is evil. Response: In order to speak of good and evil actions we must speak of good and evil in things. For a thing acts in accordance with the sort of thing it is. Now things possess goodness to the extent that they possess being. For, as I said in the first part of this book [Summa Theologiae, part 1, 5.1, 3], "goodness" and "being" are convertible terms. 9 Now only God possesses complete plenitude of being in the sense of

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being perfectly one and perfectly uniform. Everything else that exists is to some extent in a state of multiplicity and possesses goodness in accordance with that state. Thus in certain objects it can happen that while they possess the requisite fullness of being in some areas, they lack it in others. For instance, fullness of human existence requires that the human person be composed of soul and body, possessing the capacities and organs needed to understand, grow, move, and sense. Hence if a person lacks any of these, to that extent he lacks fullness of being. He possesses goodness to the extent that he possesses being, and to the extent that he falls short of this, to that extent he falls short of goodness and is said to be or to suffer "evil." For example, a blind man possesses the good of being alive, but suffers evil in that he lacks the ability to see. . . . Therefore we must say that every action is good to the extent that it possesses being, but to the extent that it lacks the fullness of being proper to a human act, it falls short of goodness and hence is termed "evil"; for example, if the action either falls short of or exceeds what reason demands, if it is performed in the wrong setting, and soon. Response to Arguments: 1. Evil acts by means of a capacity that is good but deficient. For if it possessed no goodness at all, it would neither exist nor be able to act. But if it were not deficient it would not be evil. Consequently, the action caused by the capacity is a "deficient good," that is, good in a qualified sense, but evil absolutely. 2. Nothing prevents something from being actual in one sense, and consequently being able to act, while at the same time lacking actuality in another sense and hence causing an act that is deficient. For example, a blind man is actualized in that he possesses an ambulatory capacity that enables him to walk, but to the extent that he lacks sight, which directs walking, his ability to walk suffers when he stumbles while walking. Article 2: It seems the object of an action does not determine whether it is good or evil.1® Arguments: 1. The object of an act is a thing. But, as Augustine says in book 3 of On Christian Doctrine (ch. 12), "Evil is not in things, but in the way they are used by sinners." Hence the object of an act does not determine whether it is good or evil. 2. By analogy, we can say the object is the "material" of an action. But the goodness of a thing is not a function of its material, but rather of its structure, which in this case is the action. Therefore the object of an act does not determine whether it is good or evil. On the Contrary: Hosea 9.10 says, "And they became despicable, like the things they loved." But a person becomes despicable to God because his actions are evil. Therefore actions

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are evil to the extent that the objects one loves are evil. The same reasoning applies to good actions. Response: As I previously stated [in article 1], as with other things, the goodness or evil of actions is a function of their relative fullness or lack of being. Now it would appear that fullness of being applies first to that which fundamentally determines what sort of thing something is. Now just as it is their structure that determines what sort of thing a natural object is, and it is the end-point that determines the nature of a type of change, so too it is the object of an action that fundamentally determines what sort of act it is. Likewise, just as the basic goodness of a natural object depends on its structure, which determines what type of thing it is, so too the basic goodness of a moral act depends on its being performed on an appropriate object. Hence certain things are said to belong to the category of good actions; for example, making use of something one owns. 11 And just as with natural objects, the most basic evil is when reproduction does not produce an offspring of the same species (e.g., if human reproduction resulted in something other than a human), so too the most basic evil in the realm of moral actions is that which occurs regarding the object (e.g., taking something that belongs to someone else). Such actions are said to be "categorically evil." . . . Response to Arguments: 1. Granted that external objects are in themselves good, nevertheless they are not always properly related to a given action. Thus considered as "the object of this type of action," they are not by nature good. 2. The object [of a moral act] is not the constitutive material [of the act], but the material with which [the act] is concerned. In this sense, it is similar to fundamental structure, since it determines the actions basic type. Article 3: It seems circumstances do not determine whether an action is good or evil. Arguments: 1. Moral doctrine is primarily concerned with good and evil actions. But circumstances, which are incidental qualities of actions, would seem to be beyond the scope of consideration of any body of practical instruction, for "no body of practical instruction deals with incidentals," as it says in the Metaphysics, book 6 [sic, it should be book 5.2, 1026b4]. Therefore circumstances do not determine whether an action is good or evil. On the Contrary: The philosopher says in the Ethics (2.3, 1104b24) that the virtuous man does "what he ought, when he ought to do it, in the appropriate circumstances." Therefore the vicious man, by contrast, whatever his vice, acts when he shouldn't,

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where he shouldn't, and in other inappropriate circumstances. Therefore circumstances do determine whether human actions are good or evil. Response: Natural objects do not possess the complete perfection proper to them solely from their basic structure, which determines what type of entity they are; rather, many things are added by additional supervening qualities (e.g., in people, things like size, shape, and skin tone). If one of these appropriate qualities is lacking, the thing is flawed. The case is the same with actions: For their total goodness does not consist only in what type of actions they are, but also consists in part in what is added to them by secondary qualities. These qualities are appropriate circumstances. Hence if an action lacks some circumstance proper to it, the action will be evil. Response to Arguments: 2. Not all qualities belong to their subject in an incidental or secondary way; rather, some are intrinsic qualities of the sort that are dealt with in every type of practical instruction. It is in this sense that circumstances are dealt with in moral teaching. 12 Article 4: It seems the goal or purpose of an action does not determine whether it is good or evil. Arguments: 1. Dionysius says in chapter 4 of On the Divine Names that "nothing acts in order to achieve evil." Therefore if the goal or purpose determined whether actions are good or evil, no action would ever be evil. But this is clearly false. 2. The goodness of an action exists within the act. But a goal or purpose is an external cause. Therefore actions are not good or evil because of their goal or purpose. 3. Some good actions are performed for an evil purpose; for instance, giving alms for the sake of vainglory. Conversely, some evil acts are performed for a good purpose; for instance, stealing in order to give to the poor. Therefore actions are not good or evil as a result of their goal or purpose. Response: A thing's disposition toward goodness is identical with its disposition toward being. Now some objects do not depend on anything external for their being; in their case it is sufficient to consider them exclusively as they are in themselves. Other objects depend on something external for their being. Consequently we must examine them in relation to the cause they are dependent on. Now just as a thing's being depends upon its causal agent and upon its structure, so too a thing's goodness depends upon its goal or purpose. Consequently, with the Divine Persons whose goodness depends on nothing external, there is no need to consider their goodness in terms of a goal or purpose. But human actions, like other things whose goodness depends on something external, take their nature as good from the goal or purpose they depend upon in addition to the unqualified goodness intrinsic to them.

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Therefore in human actions there are four relevant factors that should be considered: one is the category of thing it falls into, namely, "an action," since, as I previously said [in article 1], insofar as it possesses actuality and being, to that extent it is good. Another is which type of action it is, which depends on whether it is directed toward an appropriate object. The third is circumstances, which are a kind of incidental quality. And the fourth is its goal or purpose, which is, in a sense, its relation vis-a-vis the cause of its goodness. Response to Arguments: 1. The goodness for whose sake a thing acts is not always genuine goodness; sometimes it is genuine and sometimes it is merely apparent. It is in this way that an action can be evil because of its goal or purpose. 2. Even though a goal or purpose is an external cause, the actions ratio and relation to it are intrinsic. 3. Nothing prevents an action from possessing one of the types of goodness mentioned above while lacking another. Thus it may happen that an action that is good both in type and in circumstances may be directed toward an evil goal or purpose, and vice versa. For, absolutely speaking, an action is not good unless it is good in all respects. For, as Dionysius said in chapter 4 of On the Divine Names, "A single defect causes evil, but goodness results when every aspect of the action is good." Article 5: It seems that moral actions are not divided into fundamentally different kinds depending on whether they are good or evil. Arguments: 1. As previously stated [in article 1], good and evil exist in actions in a way similar to the manner in which they exist in things. But good and evil do not separate natural objects into diverse kinds; a good and a bad man are both members of the same species. Therefore neither do good and bad divide actions into fundamentally different kinds. Response: As I said above [in article 2], every action is categorized by type according to its object. Hence, necessarily, a fundamental difference in object will produce a fundamental difference in types of action. But we must remember that some fundamental differences in objects will produce different types of acts in relation to one source of action that do not produce such a difference in relation to another source of action. For nothing incidental constitutes a type—only that which is intrinsic does. Thus something can be a source of intrinsic difference for an object in relation to one source of activity, yet be a source of a merely incidental difference in relation to another. For example, knowing color versus knowing sound produces an intrinsic difference among the senses but not within the mind. 13 Human actions are called good or bad according to their relation to reason. For, as Dionysius says in chapter 4 of On the Divine Names, human goodness is "that which is in harmony with reason," while evil is "extra-rational." Now that which is

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good for a thing is that which corresponds with its fundamental structure, while evil is that which is alien to a thing's fundamental structure. It is clear then that the differences between good and evil as considered in relation to an object are intrinsically related to reason; that is, the object is or is not appropriate. Now an action is termed human, or moral, when it stems from reason. Hence it is clear that good and evil divide moral actions into fundamentally different kinds, for they constitute a distinction that divides things by type. Response to Arguments: 1. Even in natural objects, good and evil—that is, what is in accord with or contrary to nature—divide things into types of natural objects. For a dead body and a living body are not the same type of entity. Similarly, goodness, insofar as it is in accord with reason, and evil, insofar as it is extra-rational, divide moral actions into fundamentally different types. Article 6: It seems that the goodness or evil derived from an actions purpose is not that which fundamentally characterizes the act as good or evil. Response: As I said above [in question 1, article 1], actions are called "human" when they are voluntary. Now a voluntary act actually consists of two actions: an interior act of the will, and an external action. Each of these acts has its own object. The goal or purpose is the specific object of the interior act, while the entity upon or concerning which the exterior act is performed is its object. Therefore the exterior act receives its fundamental nature [as good or evil] from the object upon or concerning which it acts. Similarly, the interior act of the will receives its fundamental nature from the goal or purpose, which is its specific object. Article 8: It seems there is no action which, in its general nature, is neutral.1^ Arguments: 2. As was previously stated [in article 6], human actions are categorized either by their purpose or by their object. But every object and every purpose is by nature either good or evil. Therefore every human action is by nature either good or evil. Therefore no action is, in its nature, neutral. 3. As was previously stated [in article 1], an act is called good when it possesses the appropriate plenitude of goodness, and is called evil when it lacks it. But, necessarily, every act either has this plenitude or it does not. Therefore, necessarily, every act is either good or evil in its basic nature, and none is neutral. Response: As I previously said [in articles 2, 5], every act derives its basic nature from its object, and human acts, which are termed "moral," derive their nature from the relation of their object to the source of human action, which is reason. Hence if the object of the act includes something that is in accord with the rational order, it will

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be, in its basic nature, a good act; for instance, giving alms to the poor. If it includes something contrary to reason, it will be evil in its basic nature; for example, theft, which is taking something that belongs to another. But it can happen that the object of an act includes nothing relevant to the rational order; for instance, picking a twig up off the ground, or walking in a field. Such actions are, in their general nature, neutral. Response to Arguments: 2. Every object or purpose possesses some sort of goodness or evil, if only in its physical nature, but this does not mean it always possesses moral good or evil, which, as I said in the body of the article, is based on its relationship to reason. And it is this type we are dealing with here. 3. Not every aspect of an action is relevant to its general nature. Hence even if its basic nature lacks something that pertains to the plenitude of its goodness, it is not, solely because of this, either good or evil, just as a man is not, merely by being a member of the human race, either virtuous or corrupt. Article 9: It seems that certain specific actions may be [morally] neutral. Response: It sometimes happens that an action that, in general terms, is neutral, is, when considered as a specific act, either good or evil. This is because, as I previously said [in article 2], a moral act receives its goodness not only from its object, but also from its circumstances, which are, as it were, incidental aspects of it. Thus something may be appropriate for an individual due to incidentals specific to him that is not especially appropriate for human beings in general. 15 And it is necessarily the case that certain individual actions will possess circumstances that will render the act good or evil, at least in terms of the purpose intended. Since organizing things is one of reason's functions, an action that proceeds from rational deliberation but that is not directed toward an appropriate goal is, by this very fact, irrational and thus has the nature of evil. But if it is directed toward an appropriate goal, it is in accord with rational organization and thus has the nature of goodness. Now, necessarily, an action is either directed toward an appropriate goal or it is not. Hence, necessarily, every action, considered as a specific act, which proceeds from rational deliberation is either good or evil. Now if the act does not proceed from rational deliberation, but is, as it were, unreflecting, like scratching one's beard or moving one's hand or foot, it is not, strictly speaking, a moral or human action. For human actions are based on reason. Hence such an action is neutral in that it is, as it were, completely outside the category of moral action.

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Question 58: Moral versus Intellectual Virtues Article 2: It seems there is no difference between moral and intellectual virtue. Response: Reason is the primary source of all human actions, and whatever other sources of human action are found must somehow obey reason, though they do so in different ways. Now some obey reason at the slightest nod, without any opposition whatsoever. For instance, the limbs of the body, if they are sound, immediately obey reason's commands. Hence the philosopher says in the Politics, book 1 (1.2, 1254b4) "that the soul rules the body with a despotic polity," that is, as a master rules a servant who does not have the right to contradict. Therefore some have believed that every active capacity in man obeys reason in this way. If this were true, then perfectly sound reasoning would be all that was required for doing good. Consequently, since virtue is the habit that perfects us in doing good, it would follow that virtue exists in reason alone. Thus there would be no virtues at all other than intellectual virtues. This was the opinion of Socrates, who—as quoted in the Ethics, book 6 (6.13, 1144b 10)—said: "Every virtue is actually prudence." Consequently he held that a man who actually knew the truth could not sin, and that everyone who sins does so out of ignorance. But this opinion is based on a false presupposition. For the appetitive part of the soul obeys reason not at a nod, but with an element of contradiction. Thus the philosopher said in the Politics, book 1 {loc. cit.) that "reason rules desire with a republican polity," like one who rules a free man who possesses the right to contradict. Hence, too, Augustine said in On the Psalms (118.20, sermon 8) that "though the mind moves ahead, the emotions follow slowly or not at all," meaning that the passions or habits of the desiring part of the soul sometimes act in such a way that they impede the use of reason in a particular case. Thus there is some truth in what Socrates said—namely, that when knowledge is present, sin is not—provided it is not extended to the use of reason in making particular choices. Therefore, for a man to act well, not only must his reason be well-disposed via virtuous intellectual habits, his capacities for desire must also be well-disposed via virtuous moral ones. Thus just as desire is different from reason, so too is moral virtue different from intellectual virtue. Consequently, just as desire is a source of human action insofar as it is to some extent guided by reason, so too moral habits partake of the nature of human virtues to the extent that they conform to reason. Article 4: It seems moral virtue can exist without intellectual virtue. Response: Moral virtue can exist without certain intellectual virtues—for instance, wisdom, systematic or scientific knowledge, or trade skills—but not without understanding and prudence. Indeed, without prudence there can be no moral virtue at all, for moral virtue is a "habit of choosing," that is, of making good choices. For a choice to be good, two things are required: first is that the intended goal be correct. This occurs via moral virtue, which makes the desiring powers incline

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toward a good that is compatible with reason; that is, it makes them incline toward an appropriate goal. Second, proper account must be taken of the means leading to the goal . . . [and this] is the role of prudence and the virtues annexed to it. . . . Hence moral virtue cannot exist without prudence. Consequently, neither can there be moral virtue without understanding. For in both speculative and in reasoning directed toward action, first principles are naturally known through understanding. Hence just as correct reasoning in speculative matters, insofar as it is based on naturally known principles, presupposes the understanding of such principles, so too does prudence, which is simply correct reasoning with regard to what ought to be done. Question 61: The Cardinal Virtues Article 2: It seems there are not four cardinal virtues. Response: Enumeration can be done either in terms of the number of structural principles or the number of subjects. Either way, we find there are four cardinal virtues. For the structural basis of the virtues we are dealing with here is goodness-as-grasped-byreason. Now this can be thought of in two ways: one is the way it is considered by reason itself. In this sense there is one principal virtue: prudence. Second, in terms of those things that reason organizes. These are actions, in which case the virtue is justice, and desire, regarding which there are two virtues. For reason must act vis-avis desire when desire is contrary to it. This can happen in two ways: one, when desire urges one toward something contrary to reason. Then desire must be restrained. This is called temperance. Second, when desire disinclines one from something that reason commands; for instance, from fear of danger or of hard work. In this case one's resolve to carry out reasons dictate must be strengthened lest one shrink from it. This is called courage. Similarly, when we consider the issue in terms of subjects, we find the same number. For the subjects of the type of virtue we are dealing with here is fourfold: that which is essentially reasonable, which is prudence; and subjects that participate in reason, which are threefold: the will, which is the subject of justice; concupiscence, which is the subject of temperance; and irascibility, which is the subject of courage. 16 SUMMA

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Question 47: Prudence Article 4: It seems prudence is not a virtue. Arguments: 2. That which belongs to a virtue is not itself a virtue. But "there is a virtue that belongs to craftsmanship," as the philosopher says in the Ethics, book 6 (6.5, Il40b22). Hence craftsmanship is not a virtue. But is says in 2 Chronicles 2.14 of

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Hiram that he "knew how to make every type of carving, and prudently perform every needed work." Therefore prudence is not a virtue. Response: As I said in dealing with virtue in a general sense [Summa Theologiae, part 2.1, 55.3 sedcontra 56.1], "A virtue is that which makes both its possessor and his actions good." Now the term "good" can be used in two senses: one is "materially," referring to an object that is good; another is "structurally," referring to the nature of goodness. Now "goodness" as used here is the object of the powers of desire. Hence habits that produce correct reasoning but that are not related to the powers of desire possess, as such, less of the nature of virtue, since they are directed toward goodness only "materially," that is, toward the good object, but not toward it because it possesses the nature of goodness. But habits that are related to correct desire possess more of the nature of virtue, since they are related to goodness not only "materially" but also "structurally," that is, in their nature as good. 17 Now as I said before [in articles 1, 3], prudence refers to the application of correct reason to action, which cannot happen without rectitude of desire. Thus prudence does not merely possess the nature of virtue in the way the other intellectual virtues do, it also has it in the way the moral virtues do, and thus is counted as one of them. Response to Arguments: 2. The philosopher said that there is a "virtue proper to craftsmanship" because craftsmanship in itself does not imply rectitude of desire; thus in order for a person to use his skill rightly he must have the virtue that will give rectitude to his desires. But prudence is not among those things that belong to craftsmanship as such, both because craftsmanship is directed toward a specific goal and because craftsmanship has specific, predetermined steps by which it achieves its goal. Nevertheless, one may, due to a certain resemblance, be said to act prudently in matters of craftsmanship. For, as the Ethics, book 3 (3.3, 1112bl2) says, reflection is required in some crafts (for instance, medicine and navigation) due to the uncertainty as to the means of achieving the goal. Article 5: It seems prudence is not a specific virtue. Arguments: 1. No specific virtue is included in the general definition of virtue. But prudence is included in the general definition of virtue, for in the Ethics, book 2 (2.6, 1106b36) virtue is defined as "a habit of choice that exists in a mean state determined by reason as appropriate to us, in accord with what a wise man would determine." But, as is stated in the Ethics, book 6 (6.13, Il44b24), correct reasoning is reasoning in accordance with prudence. Therefore prudence is not a specific virtue. Response: Since, as I made clear above [Summa Theologiae, 1, 77.3; 2.1, 18.2], acts and habits are categorized by their objects, it is necessarily the case that a habit that is

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related to a specific object distinct from that which other habits are related to is a distinct habit. And if the object is good, it is a specific virtue. Now a "specific object" is not meant in a material sense, but rather in structural terms, as I said above [Summa Theologiae, 2.1, 54.2 ad 1], since the same physical object may be acted upon by various habits, and even by diverse powers, in accordance with their diverse natures. 18 Now a greater diversity of objects is required to distinguish powers than to distinguish habits, since, as I said above [Summa Theologiae, 2.1, 54.1], we find a number of habits in each power. Therefore a diversity in the nature of objects sufficient to cause a distinction among powers will, to a greater degree, cause distinctions among habits. Since, therefore, as I said above [in article 1], prudence exists in the reason, it is distinguished from the other intellectual virtues according to the distinct physical object it acts upon. For wisdom, systematic knowledge derived from deduction and induction, and the intuitive grasp of first principles all deal with cases of necessity, whereas craftsmanship and prudence deal with things that are contingent. But craftsmanship deals with things that are made, namely objects constituted out of physical materials such as houses, knives, and things of this sort; prudence by contrast deals with things that can be done; as I said above [Summa Theologiae, 2.1, 57.4], it has to do with the very act itself. And prudence is distinguished from the other moral virtues by the structural differences among the various parts of the soul. Specifically, it exists as prudence in the mind and in the desires as a moral virtue. Hence it is clear that prudence is a specific virtue distinct from all other virtues. Reply to Arguments: 1. This definition is not given for virtue in general, but for moral virtue. Now in defining moral virtue it is appropriate to include something that is, "materially," shared with an intellectual virtue, specifically prudence. For just as the subject of moral virtue shares in reason, so too moral virtue has the nature of virtue insofar as it shares in the intellectual virtues. Article 6: It seems prudence establishes the goal of the moral virtues. Response: The goal of the moral virtues is human goodness. Now as Dionysius makes clear in chapter 4 of On the Divine Names, human goodness is in accord with reason. Hence it is necessarily the case that the goals of the moral virtues preexist in reason. Now just as in speculative reasoning there are certain things that are naturally known and are grasped by intuition, while others are known through these principles—namely, conclusions—and are grasped by systematic knowledge via deduction and induction, so too in practical reasoning certain things preexist as naturally known. These are the goals of the moral virtues, for the goal is related to action in the same way that principles are related to speculative reasoning. . . . Other things serve as "conclusions," and these are the means to the goal, which we arrive at via the goals themselves. And it is prudence that deals with these, deriving specific conclusions concerning what is to be done from general principles. Thus it is not the

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job of prudence to establish the goal of the moral virtues, but merely to make decisions concerning the means to that goal. Article 7: It seems it is not the job of prudence to find the mean state in moral virtues. Arguments: 1. To seek the mean is the goal of the moral virtues. But as has been shown [in article 6], prudence does not establish the goal for the moral virtues. Hence it does not find their mean state. 2. That which is intrinsic, or "through itself," does not seem to need a cause, but rather is its own cause. For everything exists "through" its cause. But to exist in the mean state is intrinsic to the moral virtues, since it is part of their definition, as was shown [in article 5]. Therefore prudence cannot cause the mean state in moral virtue. 3. Prudence operates the same way reason does. But the moral virtues tend toward the mean state in the same way nature does. For, as Tully said in Rhetoric, book 2 (ch. 53), "A virtue is a habit that is, in the way of nature, consistent with reason." Therefore prudence does not prescribe the mean state for the moral virtues. On the Contrary: In the above-given definition of moral virtue, it states that it is "existing in a mean state determined by reason in the same way a wise man would determine." Response: The end of each moral virtue is precisely to be in accordance with correct reasoning. For the purpose of temperance is to keep desire from diverting people from what is rational. Similarly, the purpose of courage is to keep fear or rashness from diverting correct judgment. And this goal is presented to man in accord with natural reason, for natural reason tells each person that he should act in accord with reason. But it is the work of prudence to determine how and by what means he attains the mean state established by reason. For, granted that to attain this mean state is the goal of moral virtue, nevertheless the mean state is found through the correct disposition of the means to the end. Response to Arguments: 1. The body of the article makes clear the response to this argument. 2. Just as a natural agent causes a certain structure to exist in physical matter but does not cause the structure to be internally harmonious, so too prudence establishes the mean state in desires and in actions but it does not cause the state of affairs whereby seeking the mean is appropriate for a virtue. 3. Moral virtue, in accord with nature, aims to reach a mean state. But since the mean state is not found in the same way in all cases, the natural inclination, which always works in the same way, is not sufficient to achieve this state; rather, prudential reasoning is required.

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Question 71: Vices and Sins Article 1: It seems vice is not the opposite of virtue. Arguments: 1. As is proved in the Metaphysics, book 10 [sic, actually is book 9, chapter 4, 1055al9], each thing has a single opposite. But sin and malice are the opposite of virtue. Thus vice is not its opposite, for physical deformities and other deformities are also termed vices.19 On the Contrary: Augustine says in On the Perfection of Justice (ch. 2) that "vice is the quality that makes evil present in the soul." But virtue is "the quality that makes one who has it good" as I made clear above [in 55.3, 4]. Therefore vice is the opposite of virtue. Response: We can analyze virtue in two ways: in terms of its essence, and in terms of what it is directed toward. And in terms of its essence we can analyze it both directly and in terms of its consequences. Now in direct terms "virtue" refers to a certain disposition that a thing has that is in accordance with its nature. This is why the philosopher says in the Physics, book 7 (7.3, 246al3) that "A virtue is a perfect disposition toward what is best; and when I say perfect' I mean it is disposed in accordance with its nature." Now regarding its consequences, it follows from the above that virtue is a type of goodness. And in every type of thing goodness consists of this: It is appropriate to the nature of the thing. In terms of what virtue is directed toward, it is clear from what I have said before (56.3) that it is toward good action. Accordingly, we find three things that are opposed to virtue. One is sin, which is its opposite in terms of what the virtue is directed toward. For sin, properly speaking, refers to a disordered action, whereas a virtuous act is one that is well-ordered and appropriate. In terms of the goodness that is a consequence of the nature of virtue, the opposite of virtue is malice. But in terms of what pertains directly to the nature of virtue, the opposite of virtue is vice. For a vice appears to be any state of affairs wherein a thing is disposed in a way that is not in accord with its nature. Hence Augustine says in On the Freedom of the Will, book 3 (ch. 14): "Whenever you perceive an absence of perfection in the nature of a thing, call that a vice." Reply to Arguments: 1. These three are not opposite virtue in the same way. Rather, sin is opposite in that a virtue is that which produces good action; malice is opposite insofar as virtue is a type of goodness; and vice is the opposite of what a virtue specifically is.

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Article 4: It seems a vicious act cannot exist simultaneously with a virtue. Response: A sin is related to a virtue the way an evil action is related to a good habit. But habits in the soul and structures in natural things are different. For natural structures necessarily produce the action appropriate to it. Thus there cannot be simultaneously a natural structure and an action opposed to it. For instance, where there is heat there cannot be cooling, nor where there is lightness can there be descending motion, unless perchance by means of the violence of external motion. But a habit in the soul does not produce its actions out of any necessity; rather, man uses them as he wills. Thus even when a habit exists in a man, he is able to make no use of it or even to perform a contrary action. Thus someone who possesses a virtuous habit can perform a sinful action. Now if it is only a single action, then in relation to the virtuous habit as such, a sinful act cannot itself destroy a virtue. For, as I said above [in 63.2 ad 2], just as a habit is not produced by a single act, neither is it destroyed by one. But vis-a-vis the cause of virtue, certain virtues can be destroyed by a single sinful action. For every mortal sin is opposed to charity, which is the root of all the infused virtues (insofar as they are in fact virtues). 20 I say "in their aspect as virtues" because that faith and hope that remain as habits after mortal sin are not virtues. But venial sins, which are neither contrary to charity nor expel it, does not expel any other virtues either.21 Acquired virtues, however, are not removed by a single instance of any type of sin. . . . Article 6: It seems that sin is incorrectly defined in the formulation, "a sin is a word or act or desire that is contrary to the eternal law. ^ 2 Arguments: 1. A deed, word, or desire all refer to some action. But not all sins involve an action, as was stated above [in article 5] . 2 3 Therefore this definition does not encompass all sins. 2. Augustine said in his book The Two Souls (ch. 11) that "a sin is when the will retains or pursues something justice prohibits." But the will is included as part of concupiscence if we take concupiscence in the broad sense, as referring to all desires. Therefore it suffices to say, "sin is a desire contrary to the eternal law" without adding "word or deed." 3. Properly speaking, sin seems to consist of a turning away from the goal. For, as stated above [in 18.6], good and evil are primarily constituted by their goals. Hence Augustine also says in On the Freedom of the Will, book 1 (ch. 11), defining sin in relation to the goal, that "to sin is nothing other than pursuing temporal goals to the neglect of eternal ones." And in Eighty-Three Questions (question 30) he says that "all human perversity consists of merely using what should be enjoyed in itself and enjoying in itself what should merely be used." But in the definition given here, there is no mention of turning away from the appropriate goal. Therefore it inadequately defines sin. 4. This says that a thing is prohibited because it is contrary to the law. But not

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all sins are evil because they are prohibited; some are prohibited because they are evil. Therefore we should not define sin in general as contrary to the law of God. 5. As was made clear above [in article 1, 21.1], "sin" refers to an evil human action. But "for man, evil is to be irrational" as Dionysius says in chapter 4 of On the Divine Names. Therefore we ought to say that sin is contrary to reason rather than that sin is contrary to the eternal law. On the Contrary: Augustine's authority is sufficient.24 Response: As is clear from what I have already said [in article 1, 21.1], sin is simply an evil human act. Now an act is human when it is voluntary, as I made clear above [in article 1.1]. It may either be voluntary in the sense that it is elicited by the will, as in the case of willing or choosing, or when the act is, as it were, commanded by the will, as in the case of exterior acts or speech. And human actions are evil when they are not appropriately commensurate. For with all things, what is commensurate is found by comparing it with some norm, and if it varies from the norm it is incommensurate. Now the norm for the human will is twofold: one, which is nearer and of the same type as the will, is human reason itself; the other is the fundamental norm—namely, the eternal law, which is, as it were, God's own reason. And thus in his definition Augustine includes two things: one refers to the substance of human actions, which is the "matter" of sin, when he says "word, deed, or desire"; the other, which refers to the nature of evil, is the "structure" of sin, when he says "contrary to the eternal law." Reply to Arguments: 1. Affirmation and negation can be reduced to the same category. For instance, in the divine persons "begotten" and "unbegotten" can be reduced to a category of relation, as Augustine says in The Trinity, book 5 (ch. 6). In the same way, "word" includes "what is left unspoken" and "deed" includes "what is left undone." 2. The first cause of sin is in the will, which commands all voluntary actions that are the only locus of sin. Thus Augustine sometimes defined sin in terms of the will alone. But because external acts also pertain to the substance of sin, since, as I previously said [in article 1, 20.1-3], they can be intrinsically evil, it is necessary to include in the definition of sin something pertaining to external acts. 3. The eternal law fundamentally and primarily orients man toward his goal. But as a consequence it also requires him to conduct himself rightly with regard to means to that goal. Thus the saying "contrary to the eternal law" includes both turning aside from the goal and all other inordinate acts. 4. When it is said that "not all sin is evil because it is prohibited," this must be interpreted as referring to prohibitions established by legislative statute. But if it refers to "natural" or rational moral judgment, which is primarily contained in the eternal law and only secondarily in the natural, rational judgment of humans, then

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all sin is in fact evil because it is prohibited. For the very fact that sin is disordered makes it contrary to natural, rational moral judgment. 25 5. Theologians primarily consider sin insofar as it is an offense against God; moral philosophers consider it insofar as it is contrary to reason. Thus Augustine did what was more appropriate in defining sin as contrary to the eternal law rather than contrary to reason, primarily because we regulate many things that are beyond human reason—such as matters of the faith—by means of the eternal law. Question 73: The Relation of Sins to One Another Article 1: It seems that all sins are connected. Arguments: 2. Every sin excludes its opposite virtue. But he who lacks one virtue lacks all, as is clear from what was said above [in 65.1]. Therefore he who commits a single sin is deprived of all virtues. But he who lacks a virtue has its opposing vice. Therefore he who commits one sin commits all sins. Response: The intention of one who, in accordance with virtue, follows reason, differs from that of a sinner in diverting from reason. For the intention of a virtuous person is to follow reason. Thus the intention of all virtues is toward the same thing. Because of this, all virtues are connected with one another in their effort to rationally determine the right course of action, which as I said above [in 65.1] is prudence. But the intention of a sinner is not to avoid what is rational, but rather to pursue some desirable good, which is the object that determines what type of sin it is. These goods, in pursuit of which the intention of the sinner diverges from reason, are various and have no connection with one another; at times they may even be contradictory. Therefore, since vices and sins are categorized by type according to the objects they are directed toward, it is clear that, in terms of instantiating particular types of sin, sins have no connection with one another. For sins do not tend to go from multiplicity toward unity, the way the virtues do; rather, they tend to go from unity to multiplicity. Reply to Arguments: 2. As I said above [in 71.4], not every sin removes the virtue opposed to it. For venial sins do not remove virtues at all, while mortal sins, because they involve a turning from God, removed the infused virtues, but a single sinful act—even a mortal sin—does not remove the acquired virtuous habit. But if such acts are repeated until they generate a contrary habit, then the virtuous habit is excluded. With such an exclusion, prudence is excluded as well, for whenever one acts contrary to any virtue, he acts contrary to prudence as well. For, as I said above [in 58.4, 65.1], without prudence there can be no moral virtue. Thus all moral virtues, in the sense of being fulfilled, structural virtues, are eliminated, for their perfection and structure are a function of their participation in prudence. Nevertheless certain inclinations to virtuous action remain, which do not have the true nature of virtue.

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But it does not follow from this that a man will then incur all vices or commit all sins. For one thing, a single virtue is opposed by more than one vice. Thus a virtue may be destroyed by one of them even in the absence of the other. 26 Second, because sin is directly contrary to virtue in terms of its tendency to action, as I said above [in 71.1]. Hence, as long as some virtuous inclination remains, a man cannot be said to possess the opposite vice or sins. Article 2: It seems that all sins are equal. Response: The opinion of the Stoics, which Tully followed in Paradoxes, book 3, was that all sins are equal. From this also is derived the error of various heretics who, assuming that all sins are equal, also say that all eternal punishments are equal. As can be seen from Tully's words, the Stoics were moved to adopt this position because they regarded sin strictly as a privation, that is, as a deviation from what is rational. And, simplistically concluding that privations are simply privations and hence one privation cannot be "greater" or "less" than another, they claimed that all sins are equal. But if we consider the matter carefully we will find that there are two types of privation. One type is pure and complete privation, which consists, as it were, of being that is completely destroyed; for example, death is the privation of life, and darkness the privation of light. Such privation cannot be "more" or "less," because nothing of the prior condition remains. Hence one is no less dead on the first day after death, or on the third or forth day, than after a year, when the corpse has completely decomposed. Similarly, a house is no more dark if the only light is covered with a number of cloths than it is if it is covered by a single cloth that extinguishes all light. But another type of privation is not complete, but retains something of the opposite state. This type of privation consists in the process of destruction rather than in something that is completely destroyed. For instance, sickness is a state in which the proper balance of humors is lacking, but nevertheless retains something of this balance, or else the animal would not remain alive.27 The case is similar with deformities and so on. Privations of this sort can be greater or lesser depending on how much remains of the opposite state; such terms are often applied to sickness or a deformity depending on how far the condition varies from the proper balance of humors or proper symmetry among the limbs. Similarly, such terms can be used to describe vices and sins. For with them also, there is a privation in terms of the proper relation of habits or actions to reason that does not involve the complete destruction of rational order; otherwise "evil, if it were complete, would destroy itself," as is stated in the Ethics, book 4 (4.5, 1126a 12). For the substance of an action, or an agent's ability to act, cannot exist without some degree of rational order. Thus there are great differences in gravity among sins, depending on how far they deviate from correct reasoning. For this reason we must conclude that all sins are not equal.

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Question 87: The Punishment Due the Guilty Article 3: It seems no sin can bring eternal punishment upon the sinner. Arguments: 1. Just punishment is equal to the guilt, for justice is equality. Thus Isaiah 27.8: "Measure for measure, when she was exiled you judged her." But sin is temporal. Therefore it cannot bring eternal punishment upon the sinner. 2. Also, "punishment is a sort of medicine," as it says in the Ethics, book 2 (2.3, 1104b 17). But no medicine ought to be taken indefinitely, because it is directed toward a goal, and "that which is directed toward a goal is not infinite," as the philosopher says in the Politics, book 1 (1.3, 1257b27). Therefore no punishment ought to be infinite. 3. No one does something at all times unless he finds intrinsic pleasure in it. But "God takes no pleasure in man's perdition," as Wisdom 1.13 states. Therefore God does not punish people eternally. 4. Nothing secondary is infinite. But punishment is secondary, for it does not belong to the nature of the person punished. 28 Therefore it cannot endure to infinity. On the Contrary: Matthew 25.46 states: "These shall go into eternal torment." And Mark 3.29 states: "He who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit, shall not receive remission for all eternity, but shall be guilty of an eternal sin." Response: As I stated above in article 1, sin brings punishment on the guilty because it subverts a specific order. And as long as the cause remains, the effect remains. Hence as long as the order remains subverted, so too the punishment of the guilty remains. Now people sometimes subvert order in a reparable manner, and sometimes in an irreparable one. For a defect that destroys the fundamental source of a thing is always irreparable, but if the fundamental source is preserved, the defect in the power can be repaired. For example, if the fundamental source of vision is destroyed, vision cannot be restored, unless by divine power; but if the fundamental source of vision is preserved while some impediment prevents vision, vision may be restored either by nature or by medical skill. Now within any specific order there is a fundamental principle by means of which someone participates in that order. Thus if, through sin, the fundamental principle that allows the will of man to be made subordinate to God is destroyed, the resulting subversion of that order is intrinsically irreparable, even if it can be restored by divine power. And the fundamental source of this order is man's final goal, which he adheres to through benevolent love. Thus any sin that involves an aversion from God removes benevolent love and, as such, leads to eternal punishment for the sinner.

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Response to Arguments: 1. As Augustine says in The City of God, book 21 (ch. 11), the punishment for sin, in human as well as in divine law, is in proportion to its gravity; in no judicial process is the relationship of punishment to guilt determined by duration. For the fact that adultery or homicide is committed in a moment's time does not mean that it is punished only for a moment; rather, it is sometimes punished with life imprisonment, exile, or even death. (In capital punishment the relevant factor is not the moment of death, but the fact that the criminal is permanently removed from human society. Thus in its way it represents the infliction of divine eternal punishment.) Now according to Gregory,29 it is just that he who, in his own way, sins eternally against God is punished eternally by God. For one sins eternally "in his own way" not in the sense that the sinful act extends throughout the duration of his life, but because the goal constituted by the sin consists of the will persisting in sin for all eternity.30 Hence Gregory says in Moralia, book 34 (ch. 11) that "the iniquitous wish they could live without end so that they could persist in iniquity without end." 2. Even the punishments that are inflicted by human law are not always medicinal in their effects on those who receive them, but only for others. For instance, when a thief is hung, it is not so he will amend his life, but rather that others, if only out of fear of punishment, will desist from evil. For as Proverbs 19.25 says: "By whipping the pestilent man, the foolish shall grow wise." Similarly, the eternal punishments inflicted by God upon the reprobate are medicinal for those who, considering this punishment, abstain from sin. 3. God does not take pleasure in punishment for its own sake, but takes pleasure in his justice, which requires this punishment. 4. Punishment, even if it is secondary vis-a-vis nature, is nevertheless intrinsically related both to the violation of order and to God's justice. Thus, as long as the violation of order persists, the punishment always endures. Question 90: The Essential Nature of Law Article 1: It seems law is not an aspect of reason. Arguments: 2. Only three things belong to reason: capacities, habits, and actions. But law is not the capacity for reason itself. Similarly, it is not a habit of reason, for the habits of reason are the intellectual virtues, which were dealt with before [in question 57]. Nor is it one of reason's actions, for when the rational act ceased—as, for instance, during sleep—law would also cease to exist. Therefore law is not an aspect of reason. Response: Law is a rule and measure of action, according to which one is required to perform certain actions and refrain from others. For the term "law" is derived from "binding," 31 because it obliges one to act. Now the rule and measure of human action is reason, which, as is clear from what was said before [in 1.1 ad 3], is the first

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principle of human action. For according to the philosopher, to orient things toward a goal or purpose, which is the first principle of human action, is a function of reason. Now in any category, the principle is the rule and measure of everything else in that category; for instance, unity is the first principle of the category of numbers, and the first motion is the principle of the category of motion. Hence it follows that law somehow pertains to reason. Reply to Arguments: 2. Just as in physical actions we must consider both the work and its product— for instance, the process of building and the building itself—so too in the works of reason we must consider both the actions of reason themselves (that is, the grasp of first principles plus discursive reasoning) and the things that are constituted by these actions. In speculative reasoning these are definition, enunciation, 32 and argument. And because, as was stated above [in 13.3, 76.1], according to what the philosopher teaches in Ethics, book 8 (8.3, Il47a24), practical reason also uses a kind of syllogistic reasoning in determining how to act, we find something in practical reason that is related to actions in the same way that, in speculative reason, propositions are related to conclusions. And these general principles of practical reason have the nature of law. These propositions are sometimes actually considered by the practical reason, while at other times they are followed by force of habit. Article 2: It seems all law is not directed toward the good of the community as its final goal. Response: As I said above [in article 1], law is related to that which is foundational in human action—to that by which it is regulated and measured. Now just as reason is the foundation of human action, so too in reason itself there is something that is foundational. And, necessarily, this principally and maximally pertains to law. The foundation of human action—which practical reason is concerned with— is the final goal or purpose. But, as was shown before, the ultimate goal of human life is felicity or complete happiness. Hence law must attend with special attention to the steps that lead to ultimate happiness. Also, since every part is related to its whole as imperfect to perfect, and since one person is part of a perfect community, it is necessary that the law specifically attend to the process that will bring about the felicity of the community. . . . In every category, that which is greatest is the foundation of the other, which is hierarchically related to it. For example, fire, which is maximally hot, is the cause of heat in composite physical bodies, which are called "hot" to the extent that they participate in fire. Hence, because "law" refers primarily to the ordering of things in accordance with the good of the community, precepts governing specific actions only have the nature and force of law when they are directed toward the good of the community. Hence all law aims at the good of the community.

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Question 91: The Various Types of Law Article 1: It seems there is no such thing as an "eternal law." Response: As I said above [in 91.1 ad 2; articles 3-4], law is simply a dictate of practical reason given by a ruler who governs a complete, self-contained community. Now it is obvious, assuming that the world is ruled by divine providence, as was shown in the first part of this work [Summa Theologiae, 1, 22.1-2], that the "community" of the whole universe is governed by divine reason. And this plan of God's for governing the universe, which existed from the beginning of the universe, has the nature of law. And because divine reason conceives of nothing temporally, but has an eternal understanding, as it says in Proverbs 8.23, 33 this type of law must be called eternal. Article 2: It seems no "natural law" exists within us. Arguments: 2. As stated above [in 90.2], the law directs man's actions toward his ultimate goal. But human actions are not directed toward their goal by nature, as is the case with irrational creatures who act for the sake of their ultimate goal only as a result of instinctual desires. Rather, man strives to achieve his ultimate goal by using his reason and will. Therefore there is no "law of human nature." 3. The freer someone is, the less he is subordinate to law. But man is freer than all animals because he possesses free choice, which is a power beyond that of other animals. Therefore, since other animals are not subject to a "natural law," neither is man. Response: As I said above [in 90.1 ad 1], law, which is a regulator and measure, may exist in a thing in two ways: in something that itself regulates and measures, or in something that is the object of regulation and measurement. Now as I made clear earlier [in article 1], everything subordinate to divine providence is regulated and measured by the eternal law. Hence it is manifest that everything participates in the eternal law in some way, namely, insofar as it derives from the impress of this law various tendencies toward appropriate actions and goals. Now rational creatures are subject to divine providence in a more excellent manner in that they themselves participate in providence by making provision for themselves and others. Thus they themselves participate in the eternal plan that gave them an inclination toward appropriate actions and an appropriate goal. In rational creatures this participation in the eternal law is called "natural law." Hence, as the Psalmist says (Psalm 4.6), "Make sacrifice with the sacrifice of justice," then, as if inquiring what just works are, adds "Who will show us what is good?" and responds to the question by saying, "We bear the sign, the light of your countenance, Lord," as if to say that the light of natural reason, by means of which we discern good and evil, which is the subject matter of natural law, is simply the impression of the divine luminance upon us. Hence it is

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clear that "natural law" is nothing other than rational creatures' participation in the eternal law. Reply to Arguments: 2. As I stated above [in 10.1], all our rational and volitional acts are derived from something that is in accord with nature. For all reasoning is derived from principles naturally known to us, and all desires for things that lead to our ultimate goal are derived from our natural appetite for that goal. Thus it is necessarily the case that the things that primarily direct our actions toward our ultimate goal act by means of natural law.34 3. Both irrational and rational creatures participate in the eternal plan in their own fashion. But because rational creatures participate in this plan in an intellectual and rational manner, this participation in the eternal law by such creatures is properly termed "law." For, as I said before [in 90.1], law is an aspect of reason. But irrational creatures do not participate in this law in a rational manner. Hence their participation cannot be termed "law," except metaphorically. Question 94: Natural Law Article 2: It seems natural law contains only one precept rather than many Arguments: 2. Natural law is in harmony with human nature. But in its totality, human nature is one, although in its capacities it is multiple. Therefore, either there is only one precept of natural law due to this overall unity of nature, or else there are many precepts due to the various capacities of human nature. In the latter case, precepts pertaining to carnal desires must also be part of natural law. 3. As was stated before [in 90.1], law is connected with reason. But reason in man is one. Therefore natural law must have only one precept. On the Contrary: In man, the precepts of natural law are related to his actions in the same way that first principles are related to demonstrative proofs. But there is a plurality of undemonstrable first principles. Therefore there is also a plurality of natural law precepts. Response: As I said above [in 91.3], natural law precepts are related to practical reasoning in the same way that the first principles of demonstration are related to speculative reasoning. For in each, the first principles are self-evident. Now a thing can be selfevident in two ways: intrinsically, and in relation to us. And a proposition is said to be intrinsically self-evident when its predicate is contained within the definition of its subject. But to someone ignorant of the definition of the subject, such a proposition will not be self-evident. Thus the proposition, "Man is rational," is intrinsically self-evident, because he who says "man" also says "rational." Nevertheless, to

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someone ignorant of what a man is, this proposition is not self-evident. This is why, as Boethius says in his book On the Work of the Seven Days, there are certain principles or propositions known to all. These are propositions whose first and last terms are known to all, as, for example, "Every whole is greater than its part" and "When two things are both equal to something they are also equal to one another." But some propositions are known only to the wise, who understand what the first and last terms of the proposition mean. For instance, to those who understand that an angel is not a body, it is self-evident that an angel does not exist in a specific place. But this is not evident to the ignorant, who do not understand the implications of incorporeal existence. In every type of understanding we find some kind of hierarchical order. "Being" in the general sense is the first thing we understand, and this understanding is included in everything else we understand. Thus the first undemonstrable principle is that "one cannot simultaneously affirm and deny the same thing," and, as it says in the Metaphysics, book 4 [sic, actually book 3.3, 1005b29], this principle is founded on the nature of being and nonbeing. But just as "being" is the first object grasped by the understanding, so "the good" is the first object grasped by practical reasoning. For everything that acts for the sake of a goal or purpose possesses goodness. Thus the first principle of practical reasoning is founded upon the nature of goodness. This principle is: "The good is desired by all." Therefore this is the first precept of law: "One should do and pursue the good and avoid doing evil." 35 All other precepts of natural law are founded upon this one. For the precepts of natural law all prescribe either what we should do or what we should avoid doing, and these are based on practical reasoning's understanding of human goods. Therefore, from the fact that "goodness" has the nature of a goal or purpose and evil is its opposite, we understand that everything toward which humans are naturally inclined is naturally understood by the reason to be good and consequently as an action that should be performed, while its opposite is evil and should be avoided. Therefore the hierarchical order or natural law precepts follow the hierarchical order of natural inclinations. The first human inclination toward goodness is in accord with that aspect of his nature that man shares with everything that exists: namely, the natural desire everything has to preserve its own existence. In accordance with this inclination, natural law treats of the means by which human life is preserved and death avoided. Second, there is a more specific inclination in man that is in accord with that aspect of his nature that he shares with other animals. It is with reference to these matters that natural law is said to be "that which nature teaches all animals," 36 for example, the union of man and woman, the rearing of children, and similar matters. Third, man is inclined to goods that belong most specifically to him because of his rational nature; for instance, he has a natural inclination to want to know the truth about God and to live in society. In accordance with this, natural law bears on matters relevant to these inclinations; for example, that he avoid ignorance, that he not offend those whom he must live with, and other things that pertain to such matters.

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Reply to Arguments: 2. As I said in the body of this article, natural law bears on all human inclinations insofar as they may be governed by reason, including carnal desire and anger, and prescribes for them a single fundamental precept. 37 In accordance with this, there are in fact a multitude of natural law precepts, but they all stem from a single root. 3. Reason, though it is in itself a unity, regulates everything that human action bears upon. In accordance with this, reason's law contains everything that can be regulated by reason. Article 4: It seems the natural law is not the same for everyone. Arguments: 1. It says in Decretals (distinction 1) that "natural right is that which is contained in the Mosaic Law and the Gospel." 38 But the Law and the Gospel are not common to all nations. For, as it says in Romans 10.16, "not everyone is obedient to the same Gospel." Therefore the natural law is not the same for everyone. 2. As it says in the Ethics, book 5 (5.1, 1129b 12), "those things that are in accord with the law are said to be just." But in the same book (5.4, 1134b32) it says that, given the variety of custom and law, nothing is considered just by all cultures. Therefore the natural law is not the same for everyone. 3. As stated above [in articles 2-3], the natural law deals with what man is inclined to by nature. But different men are inclined to different things: some to the enjoyment of carnal pleasure, some to the desire for honor, others for other things. Therefore the natural law is not the same for everyone. On the Contrary: Isidore says in his Etymologies (5.4) 3 9 that "natural right is common to all nations." Response: As I said above, natural law deals with what man is naturally inclined toward. Now among those things, it is an attribute specific to man that he is inclined to act in accord with reason. But reason functions by moving from the general to the specific, as is made clear in the Physics, book 1 (1.1, 184a 16). Even so, speculative and practical reason do this in different ways. For since speculative reason deals principally with things that exist and are true by necessity, that is, which cannot be other than they are, then, absent some mistake, exception, or defect, the conclusions of speculative reasoning will be every bit as true as the general principles. But practical reason deals with contingencies, among them human actions. Thus, even if there is some necessity in the general principles, the more practical reason moves toward specific cases, the more mistakes, exceptions, and defects will occur. Thus in speculative reasoning the same degree of truth obtains for both principles and conclusions, although the truth of the conclusions is not understood by everyone. Rather, only the principles, which are called "universal concepts," are known to all. But in reasoning directed toward action there is no absolute truth or

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practical rectitude in the conclusions, but only in the general principles. And even in cases where the same absolute truth does obtain in the conclusions, these conclusions are not equally known to all. Clearly therefore, general principles both in speculative and practical reasoning have absolute truth or rectitude and are equally known to all. Regarding specific conclusions in speculative reasoning, the same level of truth obtains, but it is not equally known to all. For example, it is always true that a triangle has three angles that together equal two right angles, even though this is not known to all. But regarding the specific conclusions of practical reason, there is neither absolute truth in all cases, nor when there is absolute truth is that truth known to all. For example, in all cases it is right and true that one ought to act in accord with reason. From this principle it follows as a specific conclusion that when someone leaves a thing with someone for safekeeping it should be returned to him on demand. And this is true in most cases. But cases may arise where it would be wrong to do this, and thus irrational; for instance, if someone was going to use the deposited item in an uprising against his own country. And the more specific we become, the more we find such exceptions, mistakes, and defects; for instance, if we say that deposited goods are to be returned with caution, or only in certain circumstances. For the more conditions we append to the principle, the more possibilities for exceptions there are, so that we may reach a point where neither returning the item nor keeping it seems correct. Therefore I say that the first principles of natural law are the same with everyone, both in terms of the rectitude of the principles and in being universally known. But with certain specific precepts, which are, as it were, conclusions derived from the first principles, there are usually both the same level of truth and the same generality of knowledge, but in a few cases there may be exceptions, both in terms of the rectitude of the principle (just as the natural processes in creatures subject to conception and death may occasionally fail because of some defect) and in terms of being known. The latter occurs because of some deprivation of reason, due either to extreme emotion, evil customs, or a bad natural disposition. Thus, as Caesar notes in The Gallic Wars (6.23), the Germans at one time did not regard theft as evil, even though theft is expressly contrary to the natural law. Reply to Arguments: 1. This passage should not be interpreted to mean that everything in the Mosaic Law and the Gospel is contained in the natural law, since much of what is revealed there is supernatural. Rather, it means that those things that do belong to the natural law are fully revealed there. Hence when Gratian says that "natural right is that which is contained in the Law and the Gospel," he immediately adds by way of example: "By which each is taught to do to others that which he wishes done to himself." 2. The philosopher should here be interpreted as referring not to the general principles of natural justice but to certain conclusions derived from those principles that are generally correct, though there may be exceptions in a few cases. 3. Just as reason dominates and gives commands to man's other powers, so too it is necessary that all natural inclinations belonging to those powers be regulated in

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accord with reason. Hence it is universally correct that all human inclinations should be guided by reason. Question 95: Human Law Article 1: It seems there is no needfor men to establish laws.40 Response: As I said before [in 63.1, 94.3], man possesses a natural aptitude for virtue but achieves perfect virtue only through some form of discipline. Similarly, we see that man gets the necessities of life, such as food and clothing, only through hard work. Nature provides the foundation, namely, his hands and his ability to reason, but she does not provide the actual food and bodily covering as she does with other animals. It is not easy for man to provide this discipline for himself. For the perfection of virtue chiefly consists in restraining men from inappropriate pleasures, to which they are chiefly prone, especially the young, for whom discipline is most effective. And so men must receive this discipline, which leads them to virtue, from someone else. Some young people are prone to virtuous actions, either because of a good natural disposition, or good customs, or, most likely, a divine gift. For these, parental discipline, which works through admonition, is sufficient. But because others are impudent and prone to vice and not easily convinced by words alone, they must be restrained from evil by force and fear, so that they may at least desist from evil actions and allow others to live in peace while they themselves, becoming gradually accustomed to doing voluntarily what they previously did only because of fear, eventually become virtuous themselves. Now this coerced discipline, which works through fear of punishment, is the discipline of law. Hence it was necessary for human peace and virtue that laws be established. For as the philosopher says in the Politics, book 1 (1.1, 1253a31), "Just as man, if he is perfect in virtue, is the best of all animals, so too if he is separated from law and justice he is the worst," for man has the weapon of reason—which other animals lack—to use in satisfying his drive toward pleasure and sadism. Article 2: It seems not all human statute law is derived from the natural law. Response: As Augustine says in On Free Choice, book 1 (ch. 5), "that which is not just would not seem to be law." Hence a thing possesses force of law only insofar as it is just. Now in human affairs a thing is said to be just when it is in accord with the judgment of reason. But as I said above [in 91.2 ad 2], reason is the most basic foundation of natural law. Hence all human statute law has the nature of law to the extent that it is derived from natural law. But if it somehow contradicts natural law, it is not law but the corruption of law. It should be noted that something can be derived from natural law in two ways: as a conclusion from first principles, or as a specific choice based on general principles. The first way is similar to the method by which conclusions are demonstrated from principles in the speculative disciplines. The second way is similar to that used

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in the arts when general forms are used to create a specific work of art, for example, when an architect, having in mind the general idea of a house, must choose this or that floor plan. Therefore some things are derived from the general principles of natural law via a logical conclusion. For instance, "One should not kill" is a conclusion that can be derived from the principle, "No one should do evil." Others are derived by making specific choices in light of general principles. For example, the natural law holds that he who does wrong should be punished, but determining the precise penalty to inflict is a specification of the natural law involving choice. Both are found in human statute law. Those laws derived in the first manner have the force not only of human statute law but of the natural law as well. But those derived in the second way have only the force of human law. Disputed Question on the Virtues Question 1, Article 2 Augustine defines virtue thus: "A virtue is a good quality of the mind, by means of which one lives correctly, which no one can use badly, and that God works in us without our help." Is this correct? It seems not. Response: My answer is that this definition embraces perfectly the nature of virtue, even if the last phrase is omitted, and is correct for all human virtues. For as I said,41 a virtue perfects a capacity in relation to its perfect act. Now a perfect act is the goal of a capacity or operation. Thus, as I said, a virtue makes both a power and its action good. Hence in the definition, reference is made both to the perfection of the act and to the perfection of the power or operation. Now two things are required for a perfect act: that the act itself be upright, and that the disposition underlying it be incapable of being the principle of the opposite act. For that which is the principle of both a good and an evil act cannot be the principle of a perfect act. For a disposition is the perfection of a capacity. Thus it is necessary that the principle of a perfect act be in no way evil. Hence the philosopher says in book 6 of the Ethics that opinion, which can be either true or false, is not a virtue, whereas certain knowledge, which is always true, is. The definition refers to this first aspect when it says "by which one lives uprightly," and to the second when it says "which no one can use badly." Now in speaking of virtue as the subject of goodness, a definition needs to take three things into account: one is the subject of the virtue, which this definition notes when it says "of the mind." For a human virtue can only exist within that which makes man specifically human. The perfection of mind is indicated by "good," because the term "good" is used with reference to a thing's goal. And the way in which [this good] exists in the mind is referred to by the phrase "quality." For as I said before [in article 1], a virtue does not exist as an emotion or desire, but as a disposition. So far, all these aspects of the definition are correct for moral, intellectual, and theological virtues, as well as for both acquired and infused virtues. But when

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Augustine adds "which God works in us without us," this is correct for infused virtues alone. Question 1, article 9: Do we acquire virtues via our own actions? It seems not. Arguments: 5. Augustine says that man cannot avoid sin without grace. But sin is avoided through virtue, for a man cannot be simultaneously vicious and virtuous. Therefore virtue cannot exist without grace. Therefore it cannot be acquired by our own actions. Response: A virtue is the highest achievement of a capacity. For every capacity strives to perform its appropriate action, since that action is good. Hence it is obvious that a thing's virtue is that which makes it able to perform its actions well. Now because every thing exists for the sake of its appropriate action, and a thing is good insofar as it is correctly oriented toward its goal, it follows that the specific virtue of any particular thing is good in itself and makes the thing able to perform its action well. But the goodness specific to one thing differs from the goodness specific to another. For different things are perfected by different perfections. Hence what is good for a human being differs from what is good for a horse or a stone. And even human goodness has various modes. For instance, what is good for a man as a human being differs from what is good for him as a citizen. As a human being, his goodness consists in his mind being perfected in its understanding of truth and that his lower desires be ruled by reason, for man is human by virtue of his rationality. But his goodness as a citizen is directed toward the good of the city as a whole. This is why the philosopher says in book 3 of the Politics that the virtue of a good man and of a good citizen are not identical. But man is a citizen not only of an earthly city, but also of the heavenly Jerusalem, whose ruler is God. This is the city of the angels and all the saints, whether they reign in glory and rest in their true homeland or else still sojourn on earth. Thus the Apostle at Ephesians 2.19: "You are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God." But nature does not suffice to make one a citizen of this city; rather, one must be raised up by the grace of God. For, clearly, the virtues that make one a citizen of this city cannot be acquired by nature, but rather must be poured into us by the divine munificence. But the virtues that belong to man as a human being, or as a citizen of an earthly city, do not exceed the capacities of human nature. Hence a man can acquire them via the appropriate actions. This can be seen from the following. Sometimes a thing has a capacity for a perfection but is itself merely a passive principle of that perfection; that is, it cannot acquire that perfection by its own action but only by that of some external natural agent. This is how air receives light from the sun. Other times a thing has a capacity for a perfection and is simultaneously both an active and a passive principle of that perfection. Then it can achieve the perfection by its own action; for example, a

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sick man has a natural aptitude toward health. And because the subject is intrinsically capable of receiving it via a natural internal capacity, a sick man can become well without any external agent. Now I showed in the preceding question that when man has a natural capacity for a virtue, it is via both an active and a passive principle. This is clear from the hierarchical order of capacities themselves. For in the mind there exists a quasi-passive principle, the potential intellect, which is perfected by the active intellect. And the actualized mind moves the will, for the good grasped by the mind is the goal that motivates desire. And from the will as moved by reason arise the desires of the senses, such as anger and desire for food and sex, which are meant to obey reason. Hence it is also clear that the power to do every good action—whether it is in the mind, the will, or in anger or the desire for food or sex—performs its specific action within man, who by his own action is capable of actualizing himself. Still, intellectual powers and powers of desire are actualized in different ways. For the action of the mind and the other cognitive powers involve assimilation with the known object. Hence the intellectual powers are in the mind in the sense that the mind generates within itself intellectual structure by means of which it either knows or is disposed to know. [By contrast] the action of the powers of desire consists of an inclination toward the desired object. Hence in order for there to be a power in the desiring capacities there must be something that gives that capacity an inclination toward a particular type of thing. The tendencies of natural objects are in accord with their structure. And each of these tendencies is toward a single object, following the exigencies of their structure. As long as this structure remains, this tendency cannot be removed or changed to produce the opposite tendency. For this reason natural objects neither become habituated nor inured toward anything. For now matter how many times a stone is thrown upward, it never develops a disposition to move in that direction, but rather always retains its tendency to move down. But objects that are indifferent to two alternatives simply possess no structure that impels them toward one of them, but rather are moved by some agent toward one or the other. This agent determines how it is disposed toward that thing. And when it has been moved that way a number of times by an agent, it develops a specific disposition toward that thing. This supervenient disposition functions as a quasi-structure that makes the object tend toward one thing. Thus the saying that "custom is a second nature." Now the powers of desire tend toward several objects and are only made to tend toward a single object by reason. Thus when reason repeatedly directs desire toward a specific object, it creates a firm disposition in the desiring power that accustoms it to tend toward a single object. Such firm dispositions are virtuous habits. Rightly regarded, then, a virtue belonging to one of the desiring powers is simply a disposition, or structure, which reason impresses and seals upon the desiring power. For this reason any structure or disposition that exists in these powers cannot be virtuous unless it was imposed by reason. Thus reason is included in the definition of a virtue. For the philosopher says in book 2 of the Ethics (2.6) that "a virtue is a chosen habit existing in the mind and directed toward a specific type of thing that is in agreement with what a wise man would choose."

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Reply to Arguments: 5. An acquired virtue enables one to avoid a particular type of sin most of the time, but not always. For what occurs naturally occurs only in most cases. Now it does not follow from this that one can be simultaneously virtuous and vicious, 42 because a single action cannot remove either a virtuous or a vicious tendency. Also, there are sins that acquired virtues have no power to prevent; for example, you cannot avoid the sin of unbelief this way, nor can you avoid the sins that are opposed to the infused virtues. Question 5, Article 2: Are all the virtues connected in such a way that a person who has one has them all? Apparently not. Arguments: 1. Bede says (in his Commentary on Luke) that "the saints are more humbled by the virtues they lack than they are exalted by the virtues they possess." Therefore the saints have some virtues and lack others; therefore the virtues are not connected. 3. All baptized Christians possess the virtue of love, but not all possess prudence, "especially the mentally retarded and the insane, who are not able to be prudent," as the philosopher says. This is also the case with some simple-minded adults, since they are not able to reason well regarding how they should act, which is what prudence consists in. Therefore one may have one virtue, such as love, yet lack others. 4. The philosopher says in book 4 of the Ethics that "prudence is correct reasoning with regard to action, just as technical skill is correct reasoning with regard to crafting things." But someone can know how to reason correctly regarding one craft, such as metalworking, yet not know how to do so regarding other crafts. Therefore someone could also be prudent regarding one type of action—for instance, justice— yet lack it in another area such as courage. Thus one may have one virtue yet lack other. 15. In heaven neither faith nor hope will exist any longer, yet love will still exist.43 Hence in the state of highest perfection the virtues will not be connected. Response: My answer is that there are both imperfect and perfect virtues. Perfect virtues are connected with one another; imperfect virtues are not necessarily connected. By way of evidence we should note that virtue is that by which someone does good actions, and the goodness of these actions rebounds upon himself. Thus perfect virtue is when an actor does something perfectly good and the goodness rebounds upon him, making him good. By contrast, imperfect virtue makes neither the action nor the actor good in the strict sense, but only in a limited way. Now in human actions, goodness in the strict sense occurs when the act is in accord with the measure of human actions. In one way, this measure is right reason, which ensures that the act is appropriate to and in accordance with human nature, and in another it is God, who is the first and transcendent measure of human actions. Now people attain right reason through prudence, "which is right reason regarding actions" as the philosopher says in book 6 of the Ethics. But as 1 John 4.16

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says, people reach God through love: "He who dwells in love dwells in God, and God dwells in him." Thus there are three levels of virtue: one is imperfect virtue, which exists without prudence or correct reasoning, such as the inclination to virtuous actions that some people possess from birth, as Job 31.18 says: "From my childhood he filled me with mercy, and from my mother's womb he was with me." These inclinations do not exist in everyone, but some people are inclined to one type, others to another. Also, these inclinations do not truly have the nature of virtue, for as Augustine said, "No one can use a virtue for evil," yet if they lack discretion people can use these inclinations in a wicked and harmful way, just as a blind horse will crash harder the faster he runs. Thus Gregory in book 22 of Moralia writes that "the other Virtues' are not in fact virtues unless they temper their desires with prudence." Hence those inclinations that lack prudence do not have the true nature of virtue. The second level of virtue is that which is in accordance with correct reasoning but that does not reach God himself through charity. These virtues are perfect regarding human goodness, but they are not perfect in the most complete sense, because they do not reach the first and most basic measure, which, as Augustine says in Contra Julian, is "the ultimate goal and purpose." Thus, like moral inclinations without prudence, they also fall short of the true nature of virtue. The third level is virtue that is perfect without qualification, namely, those that co-exist with charity. These virtues make a person's actions good without qualification, for they lead to the ultimate goal and purpose of human life. We should note in addition, however, that just as the moral virtues cannot exist without prudence (for the reasons already noted), neither can prudence exist without the moral virtues, for prudence is the ability to reason correctly with regard to actions. Now correct reasoning in any field of inquiry demands that one know and grasp thoroughly the principles from which its reasoning begins. Thus in geometry you cannot do the proofs correctly unless you have a sound understanding of geometrical principles. In morality the "principles" are the goals and purposes of human life, for they are the source of our reasons for doing things. But we reason correctly about goals and purposes via the habit of moral virtue, because (as the philosopher says in book 3 of the Ethics) "what you think of goals and purposes depends on the kind of person you are." Thus if you are virtuous, then you will desire good things, and if you are vice-ridden you will desire things corresponding to your vices. The case is similar with a diseased versus a healthy sense of taste. 44 Thus whoever possesses prudence must also possess the other moral virtues. Similarly, whoever possesses charity also possesses all the other moral virtues, for, as Romans 5.5 says, charity is divinely infused into us: "Charity is diffused into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who is given to us." Now whenever God gives something an inclination, he gives it certain forms that are the principles of action and movement toward the things it is inclined to. Thus he gives fire lightness, which makes it rise promptly and easily. For, as Wisdom 8.1 says, "He disposes all things wisely." Similarly, he infuses along with charity the forms of those habits that will easily produce the actions charity is inclined toward. Thus he inclines charity toward every sort of virtue, for charity, which is concerned with the ultimate goal and purpose of

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human life, implicitly contains every type of virtuous action. For, as it says in book 1 of the Ethics, every art or virtue that pertains to the ultimate goal rules over those that are means to that goal, just as military art "rules" the equestrian arts, and the equestrian arts "rule" the art of bridle-making. Thus, in accordance with divine wisdom and goodness, God infuses all the other moral virtues at the same time he infuses charity. Similarly, 1 Corinthians 13.4 says that "Love is patient, love is kind," and so on. Thus if we are speaking of virtue in the perfect, unqualified sense, it is joined by love, for no virtue can be perfect and unqualified without love, and he who has love has all the virtues. If we speak of "perfect virtues" on the second level—that is, with respect to human goods—they are joined by prudence, for there can be no moral virtue without prudence, nor can you have prudence if you lack moral virtue. But if we speak of the four cardinal virtues 45 insofar as they establish certain general conditions for virtue, they are joined by the fact that no one of them is sufficient for virtuous action unless all are present. Gregory speaks of the virtues as being joined in this latter way in book 21 of his Moralia. Reply to Arguments: 1. Due either to natural inclinations or the gift of grace, someone may act more promptly and easily in one area of virtue than another. In this sense, the saints may be said to "have" certain virtues in areas where they act more promptly and easily and to "lack" others where their actions are less prompt. 3. When you are baptized you receive prudence and all other moral virtues along with the virtue of love. But the fact that you possess prudence does not mean you will reason well in all areas of human action—for instance, in business or making war—but only in those areas that are necessary for salvation. With regard to these things, those in a state of grace will know everything, however untutored they may be, just as 1 John 2.27 says: "His anointing teaches you everything." The only exception to this would be if prudence were impeded because of some physical defect due either to tender age, as is the case with children, or a defect of some other sort, as is the case with the mentally retarded and the insane. 4. The various crafts require different basic skills; this is why you may know the art of one craft and not another. But moral principles are interrelated in such a way that a defect in one produces defects in others. For example, in the area of physical desires, if you do not understand that physical desires should not always be gratified, then in following your desires you will injure others and thus violate justice, just as within a single art or discipline, such as geometry, an error regarding one basic principle will invalidate the entire inquiry. Thus you cannot be sufficiently prudent regarding the subject matter of a single virtue unless you are prudent with regard to all. 15. In heaven, faith and hope will pass away only to be succeeded by other perfections, namely, vision and understanding that are connected with the virtue of love.

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NOTES

1. The Aristotle reference is to Nicomachean Ethics, book 3.1 ( l l l l a 2 3 ) . Gregory of Nyssa was one of the great fourth-century Fathers of the Greek Church, along with Gregory Naziansus, Basil, and John Chrysostom. John Damascene, another Greek Father, wrote in the eighth century. Many of the writings of these Greek Fathers were translated into Latin in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries as part of the process of rediscovery and renaissance that also brought Aristotle and the major Arabic philosophers into Western European intellectual life. Their influence on Aquinas was not as great as Aristotle's, but it was considerable. 2. In the dominant medieval cosmology, the heavenly bodies (especially the moon and planets) were the ultimate source of terrestrial change, while they themselves were moved in space by their animating "intelligences," "separate substances," or angels. Thus in the physical order the heavenly bodies are ultimate, whereas in metaphysical terms angels and finally God are the ultimate causes. 3. An example may clarify. Michelle decides to go to college "X" because she judges that attending X will help her attain her career and life goals. In the order of internal causality explaining Michelle's action, her choice, a voluntary act, is ultimate. But there are other orders of causality that could be considered; for example, those explaining why the college exists at all, how Michelle came to be informed of it, and so on. Such factors external to Michelle provided the conditions that made her choice possible and thus in a sense are more "ultimate." But they did not finally determine her action; her own choice, based on her judgment of what was rational and desirable, did. Thus a single action can be both voluntary and externally caused—for Aquinas the two orders of causality need not clash. When they do, as if, for instance, Michelle's parents informed her they'd only pay for college if she went to a specific school, then by definition the voluntariness of the act is reduced or even (as with cases of direct physical coercion) eliminated, rendering the action more or less involuntary. 4. The Latin movere means to change, to move (in the broadest sense), to cause, or to motivate. Like many terms in Aquinas, it is difficult to translate because it can carry all these meanings without precisely corresponding with any English word. Its meaning also shifts with context: movere has different nuances in discussions of how a rock falls, a fetus grows, or how the will chooses. Here I (mostly) opt for "motivate," since this best fits a discussion of how the will is influenced. 5. "Sensuous desires" refer simply to desires belonging to the part of the soul responsible for sensation. Such desires do include sexual desire, but they also encompass desire for food and drink and other sense objects. They also include anger, which for Thomas is a function of frustrated desire. 6. For instance, exercise and diet. Things get a bit murky here, but Aquinas's basic point is that intention {intentio) involves performing several (or at least two) actions in order to arrive at an ultimate goal. "Will" (in this case an act rather than a capacity of the human soul) is simply a matter of aiming at that goal. "Enjoyment" (fruitio) refers to the will's desire to find satisfaction and cessation from desire in the goal. Interestingly, the distinction continues in modern English: we ask, "What do you intend to achieve by that?" when we feel someone is doing an action not because it will accomplish something desirable in itself, but because it will help him achieve some other goal further down the road. 7. That is, a syllogism whose conclusion is expressed not in a sentence or proposition but in an action. 8. This apparently odd assertion derives from the Augustinian doctrine that since everything God makes is good, evil cannot be an independent entity, but can only exist as a flaw or defect in an entity that is itself fundamentally good.

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9. "Convertible" in the sense that while they refer to different concepts, any object that possesses being also possesses goodness, and vice versa. 10. Just what constitutes the "object of an act" isn't always easy to determine. The simplest cases involve physical objects: in a theft, gold, jewels, or money would constitute the object. Other cases are more opaque; when someone tells a lie, for instance, what is the "object" of the act? (Note that the object is not the same as the purpose.) A careful reading of this article and of article 5 will help make Aquinas's meaning clear. 11. "Good" as applied by Aquinas to human actions does not necessarily mean meritorious, as it usually does in modern English. Rather, it has a narrower meaning, roughly "an action that a well-informed conscience would find no objection to," or, more briefly, "licit." Thus using something one owns falls into the general category of licit actions. As we shall see, however, such actions can be rendered morally evil if done with malicious intent, as a means to an illicit goal, or in inappropriate circumstances. 12. Examples may clarify. The type of chisel one uses to sculpt is hardly part of the essence of a sculpture, but it is a relevant element to the sculpture in a way that, say, wearing a red shirt while sculpting is not. Thus a book on sculpting would likely discuss different types of chisels. Similarly, the fact that a man's children need new shoes is a relevant circumstance in determining whether or not he ought to spend $50 on football tickets, whereas whether he pays for the tickets with cash or a check would not normally affect the morality of the act. 13. That is, sight and hearing are distinct senses, but the "ability to grasp what color is" and "ability to grasp what sound is" do not constitute two separate minds. 14. In other words, every action, by virtue of the type of action it is, is intrinsically either good or evil. 15. An example: Getting up in the morning and running twenty miles might be beneficial for someone training for a marathon, whereas for most people it would not be a good idea. 16. These are terms of art. Concupiscence is desire for something (mainly food, drink, and desirable sex partners); irascibility is aversion, the desire either to avoid something repugnant or to strike out in anger at something irritable or out of frustration born of thwarted desire. Note that Aquinas here clearly designates the mind as the locus of prudence, the will as the locus of justice, and the desires or emotions as the locus of temperance and courage. This position was distinctive, as many medieval writers believed that all virtues resided in the will. 17. To clarify: A habit that inclined reason to choose good objects would to that extent be a virtue, but since the nature of goodness is precisely to be desirable, habits that direct human desire toward appropriate objects are virtuous in a fuller and more specific sense. 18. For example, a piece of bread may be seen, picked up, chewed, and digested—all physical actions involving different powers. And if the bread is known to belong to someone else and is taken against his will, it is stolen, an action related to the will, choice, and quite possibly to the vicious habit of being unjust. 19. This is obviously awkward and even inaccurate in English. The Latin term vitium is indeed used to describe such deformities, whereas the English "vice" is not. All things considered, however, in Aquinas's discussion of moral vitium, vice is the term closest to his meaning. 20. The "infused virtues" are the "theological" virtues of faith, hope, and charity, which in the medieval Catholic tradition were considered gifts of God, infused by supernatural grace at the time of baptism. As Thomas indicates here, these three are indeed virtues but also have other qualities that make them transcend ordinary moral virtues. For his full discussion, see Summa Theologiae, 1-2, 62. 21. Briefly, mortal sins are sins in which the action is gravely wrong, is not performed under duress or in a state of great emotional disturbance, and with full awareness that the

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action is wrong. Sins are venial when one or more of these conditions does not obtain. For a full account, see Summa Theologiae, 1-2, 88-89. 22. Augustine, Against Faustus, 22.27. 23. In article 5 Aquinas had pointed out that failure to speak or act can also be sinful (socalled sins of omission). 24. That is, sufficient to prove that this definition of sin is adequate. 25. This is a key text for understanding Aquinas's thoughts on the relation between moral reasoning and law. An example may clarify. In America, driving on the left side of the road is wrong not for any intrinsic reason, but precisely because the law prohibits it, and for the sake of the common good it is necessary for people to obey the law. But killing is wrong because natural, rational moral judgment knows it to be wrong. Thus to the question, "Are things sinful because they are prohibited, or are they prohibited because they are sinful?" Aquinas would reply, "Both." 26. For example, a generous man may become either a prodigal or a miser; he need not (and in fact cannot) become both. 27. Medieval medical theory posited health as a state of balance among the four "humors" (blood, phlegm, bile, and choler), a balance ultimately related to that of the four elements (earth, air, water, and fire), with illness occurring when this balance was upset by an excess or deficiency of one or more humor. Since nature was believed to seek this balance, it was considered to be the most powerful healer. Medical treatment was regarded as secondary and consisted largely of dietary advice; for example, "drying" foods might be prescribed as an antidote to excess "moisture." Other measures, such as bleeding or surgery, were regarded as extreme and used only in desperate cases. 28. "Secondary" (Latin, per accidens) here refers to something extrinsic, something that does not flow from a thing's internal nature. 29. Moralia, 34.19. 30. As long as one does not repent of the sin, the will, as it were, perpetually desires it. 31. The Latin is alex a ligandoT 32. A technical term. In medieval logical theory it refers to giving verbal formulation to a definition the mind has grasped. 33. "Eons ago I existed, at the foundation, before the beginnings of the earth." 34. That is, reason and will are subject to natural law. 35. Note the distinction between principle and precept. 36. The quote is from Roman Law: Digest, book 1, title 1. 37. Namely, "do and pursue the good and avoid doing evil." 38. The Decretum of Gratian was a twelfth-century compilation of canon law (mostly conciliar decrees and papal dicta) that essentially established canon law as a learned discipline and became one of the most influential books of the Middle Ages. Together with the thirteenthcentury Decretales, it provided the foundation for the Catholic Church's canon law that endured into the twentieth century. 39. Isidore of Seville (d. 636), among the last of the Church Fathers. His Etymologies, a kind of encyclopedia or miscellany, was part of the medieval canon of authoritative texts. 40. That is, in addition to divine and natural law. 41. In article 1 of the disputed question. 42. "Vicious" in the sense of possessing a vice, not being violent or malicious. 43. Faith will no longer exist because it will be replaced by perfect knowledge of God. Similarly, hope will not exist because in heaven all hopes—including the primary hope for eternal salvation—will be fulfilled.

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44. That is, one with a healthy sense of taste will desire foods that truly taste good, while someone with a diseased or malfunctioning sense of taste may desire foods that would be unpalatable to a healthy person. 45. The "classical virtues" of Plato and Aristotle were justice, courage, temperance, and prudence.

V

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T

HE POWER AND ORIGINALITY of Aquinas's thought, and his brilliant appropriation of Aristotle, have often led his modern admirers to lose sight of the fact that the heart of his life's work—whether measured by his stated intentions or by the quantity of his written output—was devoted to a relatively humble task: explicating the Catholic faith, both in commentaries on authoritative texts (Peter Lombard's Sentences, the Bible) and in original works (the Summa contra Gentiles, the Compendium of Theology, and the Summa Theologiae), in order to prepare young Dominicans, missionaries, and future priests and pastors for their ministries. If influence is a measure of success, then surely Thomas exceeded his wildest dreams. From circa 1325 through 1950 Thomistic doctrines on matters ranging from the demonstrability of God's existence to the minutiae of sacramental theology were adopted as authoritative Catholic teaching. Furthermore, his Aristotelian analyses (e.g., in speaking of the water of baptism as the "matter" of the sacrament and the accompanying verbal formula as the "structure") became the analyses of the Church, and his Summa Theologiae was widely used in seminaries and Catholic universities as the theology textbook par excellence. Along with the Bible, St. Augustine, and the decrees of the Council of Trent, Aquinas is one of the intellectual pillars of Roman Catholicism—and Trent was in many respects an affirmation of Thomism. Catholic doctrine is traditionally divided into Creed, Code, and Cult: what to believe, how to live, and how to worship. Aquinas's ideas on Code—ethics—have already been presented in some detail in chapter 4. Still, an immense body of material remains, and any attempt to anthologize Thomas's thought on the Catholic faith faces the inevitable breadth versus depth dilemma. In an attempt to mitigate this problem, the following selections offer something from both ends of the spectrum: selections from "Catechetical Instructions" provide a general overview of Catholic

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doctrine in relatively simple form, while articles from Summa Theologiae on the nature of theology, God's existence, the atonement, and transubstantiation and chapters from the Summa contra Gentiles on the efficacy of prayer and on "last things" (judgment, heaven, hell, and purgatory) are virtuoso examples of Thomas at his best, rethinking traditional teaching for an audience of seminarians and fellow theologians. Hopefully these texts will give the reader some sense of the comprehensiveness and vitality of medieval Catholicism, a faith the commanded the allegiance of Western Europe for a millennium. T o THE A R C H B I S H O P OF PARMA: T H E ARTICLES OF FAITH AND THE SACRAMENTS OF THE C H U R C H

Preface: You ask that I compose for your enjoyment a brief summary, which can be committed to memory, of the Articles of Faith and the sacraments of the Church as well as of the doubts that have been raised about each. It is that case that all theological study deals in one way or another with the doubts that have arisen concerning the Articles and the sacraments, so much so that if I were to truly fulfill your petition, I would have to compose a summary of all theological difficulties. Such a work, of course, would not be at all what you require. For the present it will be sufficient if I briefly define the Articles of Faith and the sacraments for you along with the errors regarding them that should be avoided. Part One: The Articles of Faith: First, you must know that the entire Christian faith hinges on the divinity and the humanity of Christ. Hence at John 14.1 Christ says: "You believe in God; believe also in me." With reference to each some identify six articles, others seven. Thus according to some there are twelve articles in all, while others claim there are fourteen. The first six articles define our faith in the divinity. They deal with three things: the unity of the divine essence, the trinity of persons, and the effects brought about by the divine power. The first article is that we believe in the divine unity, in accord with Deuteronomy 6.4: "Hear, O Israel, the Lord your God is one God." Here there have been many errors that must be avoided. The first is that of the Gentiles, or Pagans, who believe in many gods. . . . The second is that of the Manichees, who believed in two ultimate sources of being, one of all goodness and one of all evil. Isaiah 45.6 rebuts this: "I, the Lord, shape the light and create the darkness; I make peace, and create war." For, when he sees guilt in his creatures, his own justice inflicts the evil of punishment. The third is that of the Anthropomorphites, who believed in one God but said he had a body and even a human form.1 . . . The fourth is that of the Epicurians, who said that God had neither knowledge of nor providence over human affairs. . . .

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The fifth is that of the pagan philosophers, who claimed that God was not omnipotent but can only act in accord with nature. . . . The second article is that there are three divine persons in one essence. . . . There have also been many errors concerning this article. The first was that of Sabellius, who believed in a single essence but denied there was a Trinity of persons. . . . The second was that of Arius, who believed in three persons but denied the unity of the essence, saying the Son was a substantial entity separate from the Father, and that he was created inferior to the Father, neither co-equal nor co-eternal with him, but that he began to exist after a period in which he did not exist. It was to rebut these two errors that the Lord at John 10.30 said: "The Father and I, we are one." For, as Augustine says {On the Gospel of John, tractate 36), "When he said 'One' he freed you from Arius; when he said 'We,' using the plural, he freed you from Sabellius." The third is the error of Eunomius, who claimed the Son was essentially different from the Father. . . . The fourth was that of the Macedonians, who claimed the Holy Spirit was created. . . . The fifth is the error of the Greeks, who say the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father but not from the Son. . . . To rebut all these errors the Creed states: "I believe in one God . . . and in his only begotten Son, not made, consubstantial with the Father . . . and in the Holy and Living Spirit of the Lord who proceeds from the Father and the Son." 2 SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE

(PART I)

Question 1: Sacred Doctrine Article 1: Do we need a source of knowledge other than the rational disciplines?^ Apparently not. Arguments: 1. People needn't pursue what is beyond reason; as Ecclesiastes 3.22 puts it, "Do not seek what is beyond you." But the rational disciplines deals adequately with all that is subject to human reason. Hence any other source of knowledge would be superfluous. 2. We know only that which exists; for to know that something is true is, in a sense, the same as knowing that it exists. But the various rational disciplines deal with everything that exists—even God, who is studied in "divine science," or metaphysics, as Aristotle noted in book 6 of his Metaphysics [sic; actually book 5.1, 1026al9]. Therefore there is no need for a source of knowledge beyond them. On the Contrary: Timothy (2:3.16) says that "All divinely inspired scripture is useful for teaching, for proof, for correction, and for moral education." But scripture has nothing to do

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with the philosophical disciplines, which discover their truths through reason alone. Therefore it is useful that, along with the rational disciplines, there also be another, divinely inspired source of knowledge. Response: Divine revelation is necessary for the salvation of the human race. For one thing, God, the goal and purpose of human life, exceeds human reason, as Isaiah 44.4 puts it: "Without you, God, the eye could not see what you have prepared for those who love you." But since we need to subject our intentions and actions to the goal of attaining God, we must have some knowledge of him. Hence it was necessary for human salvation that God make known through revelation at least some of the things that exceed human reason. It was also necessary that divine revelation teach us those things about God that human reason can discover on its own. For only a relative handful of people can discover these truths on their own, and even they require a long period of investigation and usually fall into a number of errors. Yet our salvation, which consists of reaching God, is completely dependent on the knowledge of these truths. Thus the need for revelation. Therefore it is necessary that we have a source of knowledge that goes beyond the rational disciplines—namely, theology, which is given by revelation. Reply to Arguments: 1. It is true that one needn't pursue things that exceed human reason. Nevertheless, we should accept with faith what God reveals. Thus in verse 25, Ecclesiastes goes on to say that "many things are shown here that go beyond the senses," which is precisely what theology deals with. 2. The various rational disciplines are a product of different ways of investigating things. For instance, an astronomer and a geologist may come to the same conclusion—for example, that the world is round—but the astronomer does so through abstract mathematical reasoning, whereas the geologist does so through studying the physical fact of the earth's roundness. Hence there is no reason why God cannot be investigated via pure reason in metaphysics and also be investigated in another discipline in light of divine revelation. Thus theology, which deals with what God has revealed, is an entirely different discipline than the "theology" or metaphysics based on reason alone. Question 1, Article 2: Is theology a rational discipline? Apparently not. Arguments: 1. All rational disciplines begin with self-evident first principles. But theology begins with the articles of the faith, which are not self-evident, since not everyone concedes their truth. As 2 Thessalonians 3.2 says, "Faith is not given to all." Therefore theology is not a rational discipline. 2. Rational disciplines deal with universal truths, not with particulars. But the-

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ology does deal with particulars; for example, the life and deeds of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and so on. Therefore it is not a rational discipline. On the Contrary: Augustine writes in book 14 of On the Trinity (ch. 1): "These things belong to that discipline insofar as they plant, nourish, defend, and strengthen the saving faith." But such matters pertain to theology. Therefore theology is a rational discipline. Response: Theology is a rational discipline. But it should be noted that there are two types of rational discipline. One type is those that begin with principles known to the mind by the light of nature, such as arithmetic, geometry, and so on. But another type begins with principles known by the light of a higher discipline. Thus optics begins from principles known from geometry, and music begins from those known via arithmetic. Theology is a rational discipline in this latter sense, for it begins with principles known from the light of a higher discipline, in this case the "learning" of God and the saints in heaven. Thus, just as music accepts the principles given it by arithmetic, so too theology accepts the principles revealed to it by God. Reply to Arguments: 1. The principles of any discipline are either self-evident or reducible to the knowledge of a higher discipline. As stated, with theology the latter is the case. 2. Theology does not deal primarily with individuals. Rather, it introduces them either for the sake of examples—as is done in ethics—or in order to show the authority of the men through whom divine revelation proceeds and upon whom holy Scripture and theology depend. Question 1, Article 4: Is theology a practical discipline?^ Apparently so. Arguments: 1. As Aristotle says, "The goal of the practical disciplines is action" {Metaphysics, book 2.1, 993b21). But theology aims at action. Thus James 1.22: "Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only." Therefore theology is a practical discipline. 2. Also, theology is divided into the Old and New Law. But law is related to morality, which is a practical discipline. Therefore theology is a practical discipline. On the Contrary: All practical disciplines deal with things people do; for example, ethics deals with human actions, and architecture with building. But theology is principally about God, whose most important work is human beings. Therefore theology is not a practical discipline, but more a speculative one. Response: While theology is a unity (as stated in article 3 ad 2), its purview extends to

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every field of human knowledge because of the particular way in which it regards all things, namely, in the light of the divine. Thus while the human disciplines are properly divided into speculative and practical, theology extends to both, just as God knows both himself and all that he has made. Nevertheless, theology is primarily speculative. This is because it deals mainly with divine things, and extends to human actions only insofar as they enable people to move toward that perfect knowledge of God that constitutes eternal happiness. This sufficiently answers the counter-arguments. Question 2, Article 2: Can it be proved that God exists? Apparently not. Arguments: 3. One can only prove God exists on the basis of his effects. But his effects are not proportionate to him: for he is infinite while his effects are finite, and the finite is not proportional to the infinite. Therefore, since a cause cannot be proved from effects that are not proportionate to it, it seems that God's existence cannot be proved. Response: I answer that there are two types of proof. One is through a cause and is termed "on account of which." This proof uses what is prior in the absolute sense. The other type is through an effect and is termed a "consequential" proof. This type uses what is prior vis-a-vis us, for when an effect is more obvious to us than its cause we move through the effect to an understanding of the cause. Now from any effect we may prove the existence of its specific cause (assuming that the effect is better known to us than the cause), for, since an effect depends upon its cause, the existence of an effect necessarily means the existence of a cause. Thus God's existence, which is not known to us immediately, can be proved through effects that are known to us. Reply to Objections: 3. We cannot have perfect knowledge of a cause through an effect that is not proportionate to it; nevertheless, such effects can clearly prove to us the existence of a cause, as stated (in the body of the article). Thus God's existence can be proved from God's effects, though I grant that we are not able to perfectly know his essence through them. Question 2, Article 3: Does God exist? Apparently not. Arguments: 1. If one of a pair of opposites were infinite it would totally annihilate the other. Now it is part of the meaning of the name "God" that he is infinite goodness. Therefore if God existed no evil would be found. But evil is found in the world. Therefore God does not exist. 2. That which can be accounted for through fewer principles ought not be accounted for using more. But it appears that everything in the world can be accounted for in terms of other principles, assuming God does not exist: natural

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beings can be accounted for according to the principles of nature, while those that proceed from rational consciousness can be explained in terms of human reason or will. Therefore there is no need to posit the existence of God. On the Contrary: On the other hand, Exodus 3.14, speaking in the persona of God, states: "I am who am." Response: I answer that God's existence can be proved in five ways. Now the first and clearest way is taken from change. For it is certain, and the senses give witness, that some things in the world change. And everything that is changed is changed by something else. For nothing is changed unless it is in a state of potential vis-a-vis with that which it becomes, whereas the agent of change is in a state of actualization. For to change something is simply to bring something potential into actualization, and a thing cannot be brought from potential to actualization except by something that is itself actualized; for example, something that is actually hot, such as fire, makes wood, which is potentially hot, becomes actually hot, and in this way it moves and changes it. It is not possible for something to be simultaneously actualized and in potential with respect to the same thing: for if something is actually hot, it cannot also be potentially hot, but rather is potentially cold. Therefore it is impossible that something be, with regard to the same thing and in the same way, both changer and changed, or that it change itself. Therefore it is necessary that everything that is altered be altered by something else. If, therefore, that by which something is altered is itself altered, it is necessary that it be altered by another, and that be changed by another as well. But this cannot proceed to infinity, because then there would be no first alteration, and as a consequence no other changes, because the second changer would not alter unless changed by the first, just as a stick does not move unless it is moved by a hand. Therefore it is necessary to arrive at some first agent of change that is changed by no other. And everyone understands that this being is God. The second way is from the nature of efficient causes. For we find in sensible things that there is an order of efficient causes. For we find that nothing acts as its own efficient cause, nor could such an entity exist, for this would mean it was prior to itself, which is impossible. Now it is not possible to proceed to infinity in efficient causes. For in every chain of efficient causes, the first is the cause of the middle, and the middle is the cause of the last, whether there is one middle efficient cause or many. And if the cause is removed, the effect is removed. Therefore if there were no first efficient cause neither would there be an end or a middle. But if efficient causes proceeded to infinity, there would not be a first efficient cause, nor a final effect, nor any mediate efficient causes. This is clearly false. Therefore it is necessary to posit a first efficient cause, whom everyone calls "God." The third way is taken from possibility and necessity and is as follows. We find among things some of which it is possible that they could either exist or not exist, for we find that some things are subject to generation and corruption and conse-

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quently it is possible that they could exist or not exist. Now it is impossible that all such things always exist, for when it is possible for a thing not to exist, there will be some time when it will not be. If, therefore, it is possible for everything not to exist, then at one time there was nothing. But if this is true, then even now there would be nothing, because what is not does not begin to be except through what is. Hence if nothing existed, it would be impossible for anything to begin to be, and thus there would still be nothing, which is clearly false. Therefore not all beings are possible; rather, there must be some necessary being. But all necessary beings either have the cause of their necessity from something else, or not. Now just as it has been proved than we cannot regress to infinity in efficient causes, neither can we do so with necessary beings. Thus we must posit a being that is per se necessary and that does not have an extrinsic cause of its necessity, but rather causes necessity in others. Everyone calls this being "God." The fourth way is drawn from the varying degrees of excellence we find among things. For we find that some things are more and others less good, true, noble, and so on. But "more" and "less" apply to various things to the extent they approximate in various ways that which is "best"; for example, a thing is hotter that comes closer to that which is maximally hot. Thus there is something that is truest, best, and most noble, and consequently the greatest being; for, as is stated in book 2 of the Metaphysics (2.1, 993b30), those things that are most true also most fully exist. But the greatest thing in a given category is the cause of everything in that category; for example, just as fire, which is hottest, is the cause of all heat, as is also noted in the same book. Therefore there is something that causes the existence, goodness, and every sort of perfection of everything that exists. And this being we call "God." The fifth way is drawn from the governance of things. For we see some things that lack understanding—namely, physical entities—act for the sake of a goal. This is seen in that they always or mostly act in the same way, and that by doing so they achieve what is best for them. Whence it is clear that they achieve these goals not by chance, but intentionally. Now that which lacks understanding does not tend toward a goal unless it is directed by one who knows and understands, just as an arrow is directed by an archer. Therefore there is an intelligent being who guides physical beings toward their goals. And this being we call "God." Reply to Objections: 1. To this one should say, as Augustine does in The Enchiridion (ch. 11): "God, since he is the greatest good, absolutely would not allow evil among his creation unless he were so omnipotent and good that he can make good come even of evil." Thus it is an aspect of God's infinite goodness that he allows evil to exist in order to elicit good from it. 2. To this one should say that, since natural objects act for specific goals from the direction of some higher agent, things that occur in nature are necessarily traceable to God as their original cause. Similarly, conscious, intentional actions must also be traced to some higher cause that is not human reason and will, for these are changeable and fallible. Now as shown in the body of this article, everything that is changeable and fallible can be traced back to something changeless and per se necessary.

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(PART III): T H E ATONEMENT

Question 48: The Efficacy of Christ's Passion Article 1: It seems Christ's Passion did not bring about our salvation via its intrinsic merit. Arguments: 1. The sources of suffering are not within us. But no one receives merit or praise unless it is for something whose source is within himself. Therefore Christ's Passion did not cause our salvation via intrinsic merit. 3. The root of merit is love. But the Passion did not make Christ's love greater than it was before. Therefore he did not merit our salvation by his suffering any more than he had merited it before. Response: As I said above [in 7.1-9, 8.1-5], the grace given to Christ is given to him not merely as a specific individual but as the head of the Church, and thus redounds to its members. Likewise, the works of Christ have the same effect upon his "members" as they do upon himself, so that the works done in one man result in another receiving grace as well. Now it is obvious that anyone who receives grace because he suffers for the sake of justice also merits his own salvation. Thus Matthew 5.10: "Blessed are those who suffer persecution for the sake of justice." Thus by his Passion, Christ merited salvation not only for himself but also for all his "members." Response to Arguments: 1. In itself, suffering has an exterior source. But to the extent that it is received willingly, it has an intrinsic source. 3. The Passion of Christ had an effect that his early merit did not have, not because of any increase in love, but because it was a type of action uniquely suited to such an effect, as I made clear above in giving the reasons why Christ's Passion was appropriate for him. Article 2: It seems Christ's Passion did not cause our salvation by making recompense for our sins. Arguments: 1. It seems that he who sins must make recompense. For this is the case in other areas of penitence—the person who committed the sin must be contrite and confess.5 But Christ did not sin, as 1 Peter 2.22 says: "He did not commit sin." Therefore his Passion did not make recompense for our sins. 2. Also, no one can make recompense by committing a greater offense. But the greatest offense of all was committed in Christ's Passion, for as I said before (47.6), those who killed him committed the gravest of all sins. Therefore it seems Christ's Passion could not have given recompense to God. 3. Recompense, as an act of justice, involves an equality between the recompense

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and the guilt it compensates. But the Passion of Christ does not seem to be equal to all the sins of the human race. For Christ suffered in his humanity, not in his divinity, as 1 Peter 4.1 says: "Therefore Christ suffered in the flesh." But the soul, which is where sin occurs, is more powerful than the flesh. Therefore Christ's Passion did not make recompense for our sins. Response: A person truly makes recompense when he offers the offended person something he loves as much or more than he hates the offense against him. But Christ, by the love and obedience with which he suffered, offered God more than was necessary to make recompense for all the offenses of the human race. One reason for this was the enormity of the love with which he suffered. A second was the dignity of the life— a life as God and man—which he offered in recompense. A third reason, as I said before [in 46.5], was the all-encompassing nature of his suffering and the enormity of his pain. Thus the Passion of Christ made not merely adequate but superabundant recompense for the sins of the human race. This is in accord with 1 John 2.2: "He is the propitiation for our sins, but not for us only, but for the whole world." Response to Arguments: 1. The head and members of the body are, as it were, a single mystical person. The recompense offered by Christ benefits all the faithful insofar as they are his members. As I will show below [in Supplement 13.2], it is also the case that when we are bound in love, one may offer recompense for the sake of the other. But the analogy with contrition and confession is not apt, for recompense consists of an external act, which under certain circumstances may be performed by someone else, one of which is when it is performed by another for friendship's sake. 2. The love of the suffering Christ was greater than the malice of those who crucified him. Thus the recompense Christ offered by his Passion was greater than the offense given by those who killed him. In fact, the Passion of Christ was sufficient and even superabundantly sufficient to make recompense for the sin of those who crucified him. 3. The value of Christ's flesh ought not be reckoned only insofar as it was natural human flesh, but in accord with the person who took on that flesh. For it was the flesh of God himself. And for this reason it had infinite dignity. Article 3: It seems the Passion of Christ was not offered as a sacrifice. Arguments: 1. Reality should be in accord with its symbols. But in the sacrifices of the Old Law, which symbolized Christ, human flesh was never offered; rather, as Psalm 105.38 says, such sacrifice was held to be impious: "They shed innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the graven images of Canaan." It seems therefore that Christ's Passion ought not be termed a sacrifice.

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Response: Properly speaking, a sacrifice is an action performed to please God and give him his due honor. Hence Augustine says in book 10 of The City of God (ch. 3): "Every act that we do as members of the holy fellowship of God is a true sacrifice insofar as it is connected to that lofty goal in which we will find true blessedness." Now Christ, as he adds later, "offered himself for us in his Passion." And this act of voluntarily taking on suffering was most acceptable to God, since it stemmed from love. Hence Christ's Passion was obviously a true sacrifice. And, as he adds later in the same book (ch. 20), "The many and varied sacrifices of the saints of old were signs of this true sacrifice. For just as many words may be used to describe one thing, so too this one event was symbolized by many sacrifices, so that it might be revealed to the multitude without danger of their recoiling in fear or horror." And, as Augustine says in book 4 of The Trinity (ch. 14): In every sacrifice we should consider four things: To whom it is offered; by whom it is offered; what is offered; and for whom it is offered. Thus the one and true mediator who reconciled us to God with his sacrifice of peace is in every way unified: He abides as one with him to whom he made the offering; he made himself one with those on whose behalf he made the offering; he who made the offering is one; and that which he offered, his very self, is one. Response to Arguments: 1. Granted that the truth should correspond with its symbol in some respects, nevertheless it need not do so in every detail, for reality should surpass its symbol. Thus it was appropriate that the symbol of this sacrifice—in which Christ offered his flesh for us—was not human flesh, but the flesh of other animals, which symbolized the flesh of Christ. Now Christ was the most perfect sacrifice of all: first, it was fitting that human flesh be offered for man and received by man in the sacrament; second, that which was mortal and subject to change [in Christ] made an apt offering; third, that which was sinless made an effective agent for removing sins; fourth, because the flesh offered was that of the offerer, it was acceptable to God because of the love he bore for the flesh of the offerer. Hence Augustine said in book 4 of The Trinity (ch. 14): What could have been so appropriately offered for and received by man as human flesh? And what could have been so aptly sacrificed as mortal flesh? And what could have been so pure an offering for the vices of earthly mortals than that flesh conceived in and born from the womb of the Virgin without taint of carnal desire?" And what could have been so graciously offered, or received with such gratitude, as the flesh that was sacrificed for us, the body of our priest himself? Article 4: It seems Christ's Passion did not bring about our salvation by making redemption for us.

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Response: Sin imposed a twofold obligation upon man: one is servitude to sin. For as John 8.34 says, "Whoever sins is a slave to sin," and 2 Peter 2.19 adds: "Whatever conquers one, to that he is bound as a slave." Therefore, because the devil conquered man by inducing him to sin, man is bound in slavery to him. Second, the justice of God obligates man to be punished for his guilt. This too is a kind of "slavery," for enduring something against your will is part of slavery, since human freedom consists of doing as you wish. Therefore, since Christ's Passion made sufficient and even superabundant recompense for our sins and guilt, his Passion served as a kind of ransom that freed us from each of these obligations. For that recompense that someone gives to redeem either himself or someone else from sin and punishment can be termed a "ransom." As Daniel 4.24 says: "Redeem your sins by alms-giving." But Christ made recompense for us not by offering money or something of this sort, but by giving the greatest thing of all: Himself. It is in this sense that Christ's Passion is called "our redemption." Question 49: The Effects of Christ's Passion Article 1: It seems Christ's Passion did not free us from sin. Arguments: 3. No one can free people from sins that they have not yet committed, but rather will commit in the future. Therefore since many sins were committed after Christ's Passion, and are committed every day, it seems that Christ's Passion did not free us from sin. On the Contrary: Apocalypse 1.5 says: "He loved us and washed away our sins in his blood." Response: The Passion of Christ is the specific and appropriate cause of the remission of our sins. This is so for three reasons: first, by inspiring us to love. For as the Apostle says at Romans 5.8-9: "We have evidence of God's love for us, since, when we were enemies, Christ died for us." And by love we attain remission of venial sins, in accordance with what Luke 7.47 says: "Her many sins are forgiven her, because she has loved much." Second, the Passion of Christ brings about the remission of sins by redeeming us. For since he is our head, as his "members" we are, as it were, "ransomed" from our sins by the suffering that, in his love and obedience, he offered up on our behalf. (The case is similar to one in which a man uses a work that he did with his hands to redeem himself from a sin that he committed with his feet.) For just as the physical body is a unity consisting of various limbs and organs, so too the entire Church, the mystical Body of Christ, can in a sense be thought of as a single person, with Christ as its head.

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Third, [the Passion of Christ] acts an efficient cause, in that Christ, by taking on suffering, is a "divine instrument"; that is, his suffering and other actions act by means of divine power to rid us of sin. Response to Arguments: 3. By his Passion, Christ freed us from our sins in a causal sense. That is, he established the means of our salvation, through which all our sins—past, present, and future—may be redeemed. The case is analogous to that of a physician who discovers a medicine that is able to heal both those who are sick now and those who will contract the illness in the future. Article 2: It seems we are not freed from the devil's power by Christ's Passion. Arguments: 2. The devil is able to use his power to tempt man and to inflict bodily harm upon him. But he is still able to do these things after Christ's Passion. Therefore Christ's Passion did not free us from his power. Response: There are three things we must consider in analyzing the devil's power over man in the era before Christ's Passion. One is man himself, who because of his sin deserves to be handed over to the power of the devil, whose temptation overcame him. The second is God, whom man offended by his sin and who, to fulfill his justice, relinquished man into the devil's power. The third is the devil himself who, because his will is malicious, impedes man from achieving his salvation. Now as to the first of these, man is freed from the devil's power by Christ's Passion, for, as I previously said [in article 1], Christ's Passion causes remission of sins. As to the second, as I explain below [in article 4], Christ's Passion freed us from the devil's power by reconciling us to God. As to the third, the Passion of Christ freed us from the devil's power in that, by conspiring to put Christ to death, he violated the limits of the power given him by God. For Christ, who was free of sin, did not deserve to die. Hence Augustine said in book 13 of The Trinity: "The devil was conquered by the justice of Christ. For even though he found in him nothing worthy of death, he killed him all the same. And so it is undoubtedly just that those the devil held in thrall as debtors should be freed if they believe in the one whom the devil killed despite the fact that he owed nothing." Response to Arguments: 2. Even now the devil is—at God's sufferance—able to tempt man's soul and vex his body. Nevertheless Christ's Passion has provided man a remedy whereby he may preserve himself against the assaults of the enemy and avoid the catastrophe of eternal death. Even before Christ's Passion, anyone who resisted the devil was able to do so only through faith in his Passion. However, as long as the Passion had not yet occurred, no one was able to truly avoid the hand of the devil, that is, to avoid

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descending into hell. But since Christ's Passion, men have been able to avail themselves of its power in order to avoid hell. Article 3: It seems that Christ's Passion did not free men from being punished for their sins. Arguments: 1. The main punishment for sin is eternal damnation. But those who were damned to hell for their sins were not freed by Christ's Passion. For "in hell there is no redemption." Therefore it seems Christ's Passion did not free men from punishment. 3. The punishment for sin is death. For Romans 6.23 says: "The wages of sin are death." But since Christ's Passion, men still die. Thus it seems that Christ's Passion does not free us from being punished for our guilt. Response: There are two ways in which Christ's Passion frees us from being punished for our guilt. One is direct: The Passion of Christ made sufficient and even superabundant recompense for the sins of the whole human race. Now the proof that sufficient recompense has been made is when all punishment for guilt is removed. The other is indirect: The Passion of Christ causes the remission of the very sins that were the basis of the guilt for which we were punished. Reply to Arguments: 1. The effects of Christ's Passion are distributed to those who avail themselves of them through faith and love and via the sacraments of faith. Thus the damned in hell, who do not join themselves to Christ's Passion in these ways, cannot receive its benefits. 3. As I said before [in article 1; 48.1], Christ's recompense has an effect on us insofar as we are joined to him like members joined to the head. But members must conform themselves to their head. Thus, just as Christ at first had a grace-filled soul together with a body that was subject to change and then, through his Passion, gained the glory of immortality, so also we, who are his members, are freed by his Passion from punishment for our guilt. Nevertheless, at first, though we have received "the Spirit as sons by adoption" (Romans 8.15) by which we are enrolled as heirs of the glory of immortality, we still possess bodies subject to change and death. But afterward, "when we are conformed to the passion and immortality of Christ," we shall arrive at the glory of immortality, in accordance with what the Apostle says at Romans 8.17: "If we are the children of God, and heirs, heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, then if we suffer with him we shall also be glorified with him." Article 4: It seems we are not reconciled with God through Christ's Passion. Arguments: 1. There is no need for reconciliation between friends. But God always loved us, as Wisdom 11.25 says: "You love everything that is yours, and you hate nothing that you have made." Therefore Christ's Passion did not reconcile us to God.

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Response: There are two ways in which Christ's Passion causes our reconciliation with God. One is by removing the sin that makes men enemies of God. Thus Wisdom 14.9: "God hates both the impious man and his works"; and in Psalm 5.7 it says, "You hate all who perform iniquity." The other way is that this is the most acceptable of all sacrifices. For the specific effect of a sacrifice is to please God, in the same way as when a man offends someone he performs some act of deference or a service for him. Hence 1 Kings 26.19 says, "If the Lord incites you against me, let him be offered burnt sacrifice." In similar fashion, the fact that Christ willingly endured suffering was such a great good that, because so great a good existed in a human nature, God was moved to forgive all the sins of the human race, insofar as people are made one with the suffering Christ in the manner I discussed before [in article 1 ad 4; article 3 ad 1]. Reply to Arguments: 1. God loves all persons because of their intrinsic nature, which he made. But he hates them for the sake of the guilty actions they commit against him, just as Ecclesiastes 12.3 says: "The Most High has hatred for sinners." Article 5: It seems Christ did not open for us the Gates of Heaven via his Passion. Arguments: 1. Proverbs 11.18 says, "He who sows justice receives the wages of the faithful." But the wages of justice are the right to enter into heaven. Thus it seems that the holy Patriarchs, who performed just works, were able, even absent Christ's Passion, to enter into heaven as men of faith. Therefore Christ's Passion is not the cause that opens the Gates of Heaven. Response: A closed door is an obstacle that prohibits people from entering. Now people were prohibited from entering the Kingdom of Heaven because of sin, because as Isaiah 35.8 says, "That is called the holy path, and he who is unclean shall not travel upon it." Now there are two types of sin that impede entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven. One is the sin of our first parents, a sin that is shared in by the entire human race. And people were in fact forbidden from entering Heaven because of this sin. Hence after the sin of the first man, Genesis 3.24 says, "God appointed cherubim and a flaming, waving sword to guard the path to the Tree of Life." The other type of sin [which prohibits our entering the Kingdom of Heaven] is sin specific to each person, which we each commit by our own actions. Now by Christ's Passion we are freed not only from the [original] sin common to all human nature and the guilt and punishment consequent upon it—which he abolished by paying the price for us—but also for the particular sins of those individuals who share in his Passion via faith and charity and the sacraments of the faith. And it is in this way that Christ opened for us the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven. This is what the Apostle says at Hebrews 9.11-12: "Christ, standing as the High

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Priest of the good things to come, entered the sanctuary once with his blood and won eternal redemption." And this is the meaning of Numbers 35.25 et seq. where it says that one who [inadvertently] kills someone "shall remain there"—in the city of refuge—"until the great priest, who was anointed with holy oil, has died." And when he has died, the killer may return to his home. Reply to Arguments: 1. The holy Patriarchs, by their just actions, deserved to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven through their faith in Christ's Passion. This is in accord with Hebrews 11.33: "The Holy Ones conquered kingdoms through their faith and performed acts of justice." For such actions remit the sins of those who perform them insofar as they are directed toward purging a specific individual. But the faith and justice of these people was not sufficient to remove the impediment that existed through the guilt that belonged to all human creatures. This was removed only at the price of Christ's blood. Thus before Christ's Passion no one was able to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, namely, eternal blessedness, which consists in the full enjoyment of God. Question 75: The Transformation of Bread and Wine into the Body and Blood of Christ Article 1: It seems that the true body and blood of Christ is not present in this sacrament, but that it is a symbol or sign of it. Arguments: 1. At John 6, verses 54, 61, and 64, the Lord said, "'Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood,' . . . many of his disciples hearing him said: 'This is a hard saying,' to which he replied, 'It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh offers nothing.'" This basically is identical with Augustine's interpretation in his On the Fourth Psalm (verse 5): "What I said should be understood in a spiritual sense. For you will not eat the body that you see here or drink the blood that my crucifiers will spill. I am offering you a sacrament. Understood spiritually, it will give you life. But the flesh offers nothing." 3. No physical body can be in two places at once. This is why angels, who can be everywhere at once, cannot have physical bodies. But Christ's body is truly a body, and it is in heaven. Therefore it seems it cannot actually be present in the sacrament of the altar, but only in a symbolic sense. To the Contrary: This is what Hilary says in book 8 of The Trinity (sec. 15): "There is no room for doubt as to whether this is the true body and blood of Christ. For both the testimony of our Lord and our faith proclaim that his flesh is true food and his blood is true drink." And Ambrose says in book 6 of The Sacraments (ch. 1): "Just as it is true that our Lord Jesus Christ is the Son of God, so also we receive his true flesh, and that his blood is true drink."

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Response: The fact that the true body and blood of Christ exist in this sacrament cannot be grasped by means of the senses, but only by faith that rests on divine authority. Hence in commenting on Luke 22.19 ("This is my body that is given for you"), Cyril says {Commentary on Luke [22.19]), "You should not doubt whether this is true, but rather receive the words of our Savior with faith. For he who is truth itself cannot lie." There are three reasons why this should be the case: first, because it is in accord with the perfection of the New Law. For the sacrifices of the Old Law symbolically "contained" the sacrifice of Christ's passion. This is in accord with Hebrews 10.1: "The Law possessed the shadow of future benefits, but not the image of the thing itself." Thus it was necessary that the sacrifice of the New Law, instituted by Christ, contains something the Old Law did not. This "something" did not refer to or symbolize Christ who suffered, but rather the reality of Christ himself. Hence this sacrament, which truly contains Christ, is, as Dionysius said in chapter 3 of The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, "The most perfect of all the sacraments" through which we participate in Christ's power. Second, this is in accord with the love of Christ, who took on a genuine physical body of the same nature as ours for the sake of our salvation. And since, as the philosopher says in book 9 of the Ethics (9.12, 1171b32), the greatest sign of friendship is "to live with one's friends," his physical presence with us will fulfill the promise he made in Matthew 24.28: "Where the body is, there the eagles will gather." Even so, we are not bereft of his physical presence during our earthly sojourning; rather, in this sacrament we are united with his true body and blood. This is why he himself said at John 6.57: "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I remain in him." Hence this sacrament is the greatest sign of love, and our hope is uplifted by such an intimate union with Christ. Third, it is in accord with the perfection of faith, which believes in the humanity of Christ as well as his divinity, in accordance with John 14.1: "You believe in God; believe also in me." And since faith has to do with what cannot be seen, thus just displays his divinity to us invisibly, so too in this sacrament Christ displays his flesh to us in an invisible manner. Now some, not understanding this, claim that the body and blood of Christ are present in this sacrament only in a symbolic sense. This must be rejected as heretical, since it contradicts the words of Christ. Even Berengar, the inventor of this error, later was forced to recant his error and confess the true faith. Reply to Objections: 1. Heretics, misinterpreting Augustine, have used this very passage to support their error. For when Augustine said, "You will not eat of this body that you see," he did not mean to deny the true body of Christ [in the sacrament], but only that his body would not be in the same form in which they then saw it. And when he goes on to say, "The sacrament that I give you, understood spiritually, will make you

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live," he did not mean that the body of Christ was present in the sacrament only in a mystical sense; rather, by saying "spiritually," he meant invisibly and via spiritual power. Hence in interpreting the passage "the flesh offers nothing" in On John (treatise 27 on John 6.64) he says: How did they interpret this? They understood the eating of flesh in the sense of rending a cadaver, or of meat sold in a butcher shop, not in the sense of flesh vivified by the spirit. Now when the spirit joins the flesh, it offers much. For if the flesh offered nothing, then the Word would not have been made flesh and dwelt among us. 3. The body of Christ does not exist in the sacrament as a body in a place, subject to spatial dimensions; rather, it exists in a unique manner specific to this sacrament. Hence we say that the body of Christ is present on various altars not as if he were in various places at once, but as sacramentally present. And even though sacraments are, generally speaking, signs, we do not mean that Christ is present merely as a symbol, but rather, as I said, that he is present in a way specific to this sacrament. Article 2: It seems in this sacrament that even after consecration the substances bread and wine still remain. To the Contrary: Ambrose says in his book The Sacraments (4.5) that "While it is true the appearances of bread and wine are seen, nevertheless we must believe that after consecration nothing remains except the flesh and blood of Christ." Response: Some claim that in this sacrament the substances bread and wine remain. 7 But there are four reasons why this position is not tenable: first, because it undermines the truth of this sacrament with regard to the fact that the true body of Christ is present in it. For Christ was not present before consecration. Now something cannot exist where it was not before except by moving from one place to another or by something else being transformed into that thing. (Similarly, a house may catch on fire either by a nearby fire spreading to the house or else by being ignited within the house itself.) Now it is obvious that the body of Christ does not become present in the sacrament by moving from one place to another. For one thing, if he did so it would follow that he was no longer in heaven; for in moving from one place to another, one cannot move to a new place without leaving the old one. Second, because when a body moves from one place to another it must move through all points in between, which cannot be the case here. Third, because in moving from one place to another it is impossible for a body to arrive at several places simultaneously. Yet in the sacrament the body of Christ can come into existence in several places simultaneously. For these reasons no other possibility remains except for the body of Christ to come into existence in the sacrament all at once by the transformation of the substance bread into Christ himself. Now when something is transformed into something else, it no longer exists. Hence, in order to preserve the veracity of this sacrament, the bread cannot remain as a substance after consecration.

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The second reason [that this position is not tenable] is that it contradicts the verbal formula of this sacrament: "This is my body." This would not be a true statement if bread remained there as a substance, for bread as a substance can never be the body of Christ. If it did, we would have to say, "My body is here." 8 The third reason is that it would contradict the veneration customarily given this sacrament if a substance were present that could not be truly worshiped. 9 Fourth, it would contradict the Church's disciplinary rule that prohibits one from receiving the body of Christ after eating regular food but that allows one to eat another consecrated host after consuming a previous one. For these reasons this position must be avoided as tantamount to heresy. Article 4: It seems bread cannot be transformed into the body of Christ. Arguments: 1. Transformation is a type of change. But in every type of change there must be some underlying subject that is first in a state of potentiality [to become that thing] and then is actualized. For as it says in book 3 of the Physics (3.6, 201al0), "Motion and actualization already exist in a state of potentiality." But the substances bread and the body of Christ have no underlying subject; rather, as is stated in Predication (ch. 3, nos. 1, 3, bks. 2al3, 3a7), it is precisely the nature of a substance that "it does not exist in an underlying subject." Therefore the entire substance of bread cannot be transformed into the body of Christ. 2. When one thing is transformed into another, there is a point where the structure of the new substance first begins to exist in the underlying material. For instance, when air is ignited, there is a point where fire first begins to exist in the matter underlying the air. Similarly, when food is transformed into human flesh that previously did not exist, there is a point when the structure of human flesh begins to exist in the material that underlies food. Therefore, if bread is transformed into the body of Christ, there must be a point when the structure of the body of Christ begins to be present in the material underlying the bread. Yet this is false. Therefore bread is not transformed into the substance of the body of Christ. Response: As I said before [in article 2], in this sacrament there is no point wherein the body of Christ becomes present by moving from one place to another. And as I made clear [in article 1, ad 3], neither is the body of Christ present in the sense of being in a place, that is, as subject to spatial dimensions. Therefore we must say that he comes into existence [in this sacrament] via the transformation of the substance of bread into himself. Nevertheless, this transformation bears no resemblance to natural transformations, but rather is entirely supernatural, wrought by the power of God. Hence Ambrose says in his book The Sacraments (ch. 1): "The Virgin obviously conceived in a manner outside the natural order. And that which we bring into existence [in the sacrament] is the body that is from the Virgin. Therefore why do you seek some naturalistic account of the body of Christ, since the Lord Jesus Christ himself was born from the Virgin in an extra-natural way?" And in commenting on John 6.64

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("The words which I speak to you"—namely, about this sacrament—"are spirit and life"), Chrysostom says, "That is, they are spiritual, possessing neither a physical nature nor being subject to the conditions of physical things; rather, they are immune from the constraints and laws of earthly existence." It is manifest that every agent acts only insofar as it is actualized. And every created agent acts in a specific way, since it belongs to a single generic and a single specific category. And things are specified by their basic structure. Now every specification of actual entities is via their form. Hence no natural or created form can act except via some structural change. For this reason all transformations that follow natural laws are structural transformations. But as I showed in the first part of this book [Summa Theologiae, 1, 7.1, 25.2], God is infinitely actual. Hence his actions affect the entire nature of a thing. Therefore he can bring about not only structural transformations in which one basic structure succeeds another, but a transformation of the entire entity, such that the total substance of one thing is transformed into the substance of something else.10 This is how the divine power operates in this sacrament: For the entire substance of bread is transformed into the entire substance of the body of Christ, and the entire substance of the wine is transformed into the entire substance of the blood of Christ. Hence the transformation is not merely structural, but substantial. As such it has no place among the categories of natural change, but can properly be termed "transubstantiation." Reply to Arguments: 1. This argument is based on structural change. For it is the nature of structures to exist in matter or in a subject. But this is not the case with the transformation of an entire substance. Hence, since this substantial transformation involves a sequence of substances when one is transformed into the other, the subject is, as it were, in each substance—that is, in its place in the sequence and in its numerical identity. 2. This argument is also based on structural transformation or change. For as I previously said [in ad 1], structures exist in matter or a subject. This is not the case with transformation of the entire substance, for the transformation is not received by any underlying subject. Article 5: It seems that in the sacrament the qualities of bread and wine do not continue to exist. Arguments: 1. Removing what is prior entails removing what is posterior. But, as is proved in book 7 of the Metaphysics [sic, actually book 6.1, 1028a32], a substance is naturally prior to its qualities. Therefore, since after consecration the substance of bread no longer exists in this sacrament, it seems that its qualities cannot continue to exist either. 2. There should be no deception in the sacrament of truth. But we make judgments about substances via their qualities. Therefore it seems that human judgment is deceived if the qualities of bread remain but its substance does not. Hence this is inappropriate for this sacrament.

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Response: It appears to the senses that all the qualities of bread and wine still remain after consecration. Divine providence arranges this for good reasons. One is that, since it is not only not customary but actually repulsive to people to eat human flesh and drink blood, we are offered the flesh and blood of Christ under the appearance of those foods that people usually eat, namely, bread and wine. 11 The second is to avoid the derision by unbelievers that would occur if we consumed our Lord under the appearances of flesh and blood. The third is so that our faith may profit by consuming the body and blood of the Lord in an invisible fashion. Reply to Arguments: 1. As it says in the book Causes (section l), 1 2 an effect depends more on its primary cause than on a secondary cause. Thus God's power, which is the primary cause of everything, can arrange for a posterior phenomenon to remain even when the primary phenomenon is removed. 2. There is no deception in this sacrament. For the qualities that the senses perceive are genuine. But the mind, whose specific object—as it says in book 3 of The Soul (3.6, 430b28)—is substance, is preserved by faith from being deceived. 3. The same reasoning makes the response to this argument obvious. For faith is not opposed to sensation; rather, it has to do with things that sensation has no knowledge of. Question 76: The Manner in Which Christ Exists in the Sacrament Article 1: It seems all of Christ is not contained beneath the appearances of this sacrament. Arguments: 1. Christ comes to exist in this sacrament through the transformation of bread and wine. But it is obvious that bread and wine cannot be transformed into Christ's divinity, nor into his [human] soul. And therefore since, as was shown before [in 2.5, 5.1-3], these three entities—divinity, soul, and body—constitute Christ, it seems that all of Christ is not contained in this sacrament. 2. As was shown before [in 74.1], Christ is present in this sacrament in a manner consistent with the usual nourishment of the faithful, which consists of food and drink. But at John 6.56 the Lord said, "My flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink." Therefore this sacrament contains only the flesh and blood of Christ. But Christ's body contains many other parts, for example, bones, nerves, and so on. Therefore this sacrament does not contain all of Christ. 3. A larger physical body cannot be contained within a smaller one. But the consecrated bread and wine are quantitatively much smaller than the quantity of Christ's body. Therefore this sacrament does not contain all of Christ.

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Response: According to the Catholic faith, it is absolutely necessary that we confess that all of Christ is present in this sacrament. But we should note that Christ is present in the sacrament in two ways: by the power of the sacrament itself, and by a natural copresence. This occurs via the power of the sacrament in the sense that the substance of the preexisting bread and wine are directly converted into [the body and blood of Christ], as the verbal formula (which in this as in other sacraments functions as an effective cause) indicates when it says, "This is my body; this is my blood." And it occurs via a natural co-presence with whatever is naturally co-joined with the object in which this transformation terminates. For if two things are truly co-joined, then whenever one is present the other necessarily will be as well. Now it is the mind alone that can discern what is truly co-joined. Response to Objections: 1. Since the transformation of the bread and wine do not terminate in the divinity or soul of Christ, it follows that the divinity of Christ is not present in the sacrament via sacramental power, but rather by natural co-presence. For since Christ's divinity, once it assumed a body, never relinquished it again, it follows necessarily that wherever Christ's body is, there too is his divinity. Hence in the sacrament Christ's divinity is necessarily co-present with his body. . . . But as I said before [in 50.5], Christ's soul was truly separated from his body [at death]. Therefore, during the three days he was dead, if the sacrament had been celebrated his soul would not have been present either via sacramental power or via natural co-presence. But since, as Romans 6.9 says, "Christ having risen will never die again," his soul is [now] forever joined to his body. Hence in this sacrament Christ's body is present via sacramental power, while his soul is present via natural co-presence. 2. Via sacramental power, not only the flesh of Christ but his entire body is present under the appearance of bread. The formula of this sacrament makes this clear, for it does not say "This is my flesh," but "This is my body." Similarly, when the Lord says in John 6, "My flesh is true food," "flesh" refers to the entire body. This formulation is a concession to human custom, since people generally eat the flesh of animals but not their bones and other parts. 3. As I previously said [in 75.5], when bread is transformed into the body of Christ or wine is transformed into his blood, the qualities of each remain the same. From this it is clear that the mass and volume of bread and wine are not transformed into the mass and volume of the body and blood of Christ. Rather, one substance is transformed into the other. Thus the substance of the body and blood of Christ is present in this sacrament via sacramental power, but the mass and volume of his body and blood are not. Obviously, then, the body of Christ is present in a substantial sense but not in a quantitative sense. But, properly speaking, the totality of a substance exists without regard to whether the quantity is large or small. For instance, the entire nature of air exists in either a large or small quantity of air, and

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the entirety of human nature is contained in either a large or small segment of a human being. 13 Hence, just as before consecration the entire substantial nature of bread and wine exists in the bread and wine, so too after consecration the entire substantial nature of Christ's body exists in the sacrament. Article 2: It seems Christ does not exist whole and entire in each element of the sacrament.l4 Arguments: 1. The sacrament does not help bring about the salvation of the faithful by the power of its elements, but by the power that exists under the appearances of the elements. For the elements existed before consecration, and it is consecration that is the source of this power. Therefore if nothing exists in one of the elements that does not exist in the other—that is, if Christ is wholly and entirely present in each—then it seems that one of them is superfluous. Response: It is utterly certain from what I argued above [in article 1] that we must believe that Christ exists whole and entire in each of the elements of this sacrament. Yet this happens in one way with one element and in another way with the other. For the body of Christ exists under the appearance of bread via sacramental power, while his blood exists there by natural co-presence. This phenomenon is the same I referred to before [in article 1] concerning the presence of Christ's soul and divinity. Similarly, the blood of Christ exists under the appearance of wine via sacramental power, while the body of Christ—like his soul and divinity—exists by natural copresence. For the body and blood of Christ are no longer separable as they were at the time of his suffering and death. This is the reason why, had the sacrament been celebrated at that time, 15 the body of Christ would have been present under the appearance of bread without his blood, and his blood would have been present under the appearance of wine without the body, just as, in reality, the two existed separately.16 Reply to Arguments: 1. Although Christ is wholly and entirely present in each of the elements, neither of them is superfluous. Rather, there are three reasons for both to be used: one, because they help symbolically represent the Passion of Christ in which his blood poured forth from his body. This is why the prayer of consecration mentions the "effusion" of his blood. Second, it serves a useful purpose in the sacrament, enabling the body of Christ to be displayed to the faithful as food and his blood as drink. 17 Third, for its effects. For as was stated above, 18 "the body [of Christ] is given for the sake of the body, the blood for the salvation of the soul."

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Book 3, Chapter 95: The Utility ofPrayer The fact that divine providence is immutable does not mean prayer is useless. Think of it this way: just as the immutability of providence does not impose necessity on the things providence provides for, so too it does not render prayer useless. Now certainly prayer does not convince God to change his eternal providence; this is utterly impossible. Rather, God answers prayer simply by giving people what they want. It is entirely appropriate that God should give his assent to the desires of his rational creatures, though not in the sense that our desires "change" God, who is immutable. Rather, his goodness makes it appropriate that he fulfill our desires. For, as I showed before, everyone naturally desires what is good. Now it is part of God's supereminent goodness that being, and well-being, be distributed to all things in an orderly way. Thus it is in accord with God's goodness that he fulfill the pious entreaties we express in prayer. Note also that movement involves reaching an end or terminus. Thus things are moved by nature toward their end and, having attained that end, rest in it. Now all desire is a kind of movement toward some good, and this desire must come from God, who is essentially good and the font of all goodness, for all movers move toward something that is similar to themselves. Thus it is in accord with God's goodness that he bring to fruition pious desires that are expressed in prayer. . . . Furthermore, it is part of the nature of friendship that each friend wants to fulfill the other's desires. Thus the saying, "Friends want the same thing." Now I showed above that God loves his creatures, and he loves those all the more who participate in his goodness, which is the first and primary object of his love. Therefore God wishes to fulfill the desires of rational creatures who participate in his goodness more perfectly than other creatures. And it is God's will that all things be made perfect, for, as I showed before, his will is the cause of all things. Thus it is part of God's goodness that he fulfill the desires his rational creatures express to him in prayer. . . . It is also appropriate that God not grant all our prayers. For, as I have shown, God fulfills the desires of rational creatures insofar as they desire what is good. But sometimes we seek things that are not truly good, but merely appear good when in fact they are evil. Therefore God does not answer such prayers. . . . Thus I have shown that some of what God does is caused by our prayers and pious desires. For, as I have shown, divine providence does not rule out other causes; rather, God arranges them so that things happen according to his plan. In other words, far from being contrary to divine providence, secondary causes are the means by which God's plan is worked out. Thus our prayers to God are efficacious without in any way violating the immutability of divine providence.

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Last Things Book 4, Chapter 89: The Nature of the Resurrected Body of the Damned . . . The bodies of the damned will, of necessity, be in due proportion to their souls. Now the souls of evil men, since they are created by God, possess a certain natural goodness, but their wills are deformed, having turned away from their appropriate goal and purpose. Therefore their bodies will be reconstituted as integral and whole, in accord with their nature; that is, they will rise in a perfect state, wholly without any of the effects of age or any defect or deformity brought about by age or illness. Hence the Apostle says at 1 Corinthians 15.52: "The dead shall rise uncorrupted." It is clear from what proceeds and what follows this passage in the letter that this applies to both the good and the evil. But since their souls, via their wills, will be averted from God and utterly lacking their appropriate goal and purpose, their bodies will not be "spiritual"—that is, completely subject to the spirit; rather, their desire and entire tendency will be "carnal." Nor will the body be agile in the sense of responding easily to the soul; rather, it will be "ponderous and heavy," difficult for the soul to support, like the soul itself when, through disobedience, it turns from God. It will also be "subject to the vicissitudes of change" just as it is now, or rather even more so, for its senses will suffer from afflictions without being damaged or destroyed, and the soul itself will be tortured by the fact that its natural desire for happiness will be completely frustrated. And their bodies will be "opaque and dark" like their souls, which will be alienated from the light of divine knowledge. This is what the Apostle means at 1 Corinthians 15.51: "We will all rise, but we will not all be changed." For only the good will be transformed to glory, while the bodies of evil men will rise without glory. Now to some it may seem impossible that the bodies of evil men will be subject to change yet without suffering damage or corruption. For "all change detracts from a thing's substance" {Topics, book 6.6, 145a). And we observe that if a body remains in fire long enough, it is eventually consumed. And even grief, if it is sufficiently intense, can in time cause the soul to separate from the body. But all such phenomena presuppose material that can be altered from one structural form into another. But after the resurrection, the human body will not be transformable in this way either in the case of the good or of the evil. For in the case of each the body's nature will be made utterly complete by the soul, so that it will be impossible to remove this structure from the body, or to introduce another. For by divine power the body will be utterly subject to the soul. Thus the potential of prime matter to take on any structure whatsoever will, as it were, be "bound" by the soul's power and hence become incapable of being transformed into another structure. But since the bodies of the damned will in some respects not be completely subject to the soul, they will be afflicted by stimuli repugnant to the senses. For instance, they will be afflicted by a physical fire that, though it cannot destroy [the resurrected bodies of the damned], by its very excellence will be repugnant to the balance and harmony natural to the senses. Nevertheless, this suffering will not be capable of causing the soul to separate from the body, since, by necessity, this body will always retain the same structure.

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Now just as the bodies of the Blessed will, when they are glorified, be raised and become heavenly bodies, so too the bodies of the damned will be degraded by their low, dark, penal dwelling. Thus Psalm 54.16: "Death came upon them, and while still living they descended into hell." And Apocalypse 20.9-10: "The devil, who seduced them, sent them into the lake of fire and sulphur, where both the Beast and the Pseudo-Prophet are tortured day and night unto ages of ages." Chapter 90: How Can an Incorporeal Substance Suffer from Physical Fire? One may well doubt how the devil, who is incorporeal, as well as the souls of the damned after the resurrection, can suffer from the physical fire that tortures their bodies in hell. For the Lord says at Matthew 25.41, "Go, you evil-doers, into the eternal fire that is prepared for the devil and his angels." We must not think that an incorporeal substance can suffer from physical fire in such a way that its essential nature is destroyed by the fire, or substantially altered, or in general changed in the way that our corruptible bodies are at present affected by fire. For incorporeal substances possess no physical matter subject to alteration by physical objects, nor can they even receive the structural forms of sense objects except via the understanding. But to "receive" such structural forms in this manner is not a punishment; rather, it perfects and delights the mind. Nor can we say that [the soul] will suffer from physical fire because it is opposed to its nature the way the postresurrection body will. For an incorporeal substance has neither sense organs nor the ability to use the capacity for sensation. Therefore the incorporeal substance will suffer from physical fire via a kind of bond or co-dependence. For a spirit can be bound to a body via a structural form, for example, as the soul is bound to the human body and gives it life. Or, as in necromancy, via demonic power and in the absence of any structural form, a spirit can "bind" a body via images and so on. Therefore divine power can much more easily create such a bond between the spirits of the damned and physical fire. And the very fact that they will know they are bound to a lower order of being will itself constitute a punishment. It is entirely appropriate that the spirits of the damned be punished with physical punishments. For all sins committed by rational creatures stem from a failure to be obedient to God. But punishment should be in proportion to guilt. Thus the will is punished by being afflicted with something that is the opposite of what it desires and loves. Therefore it is an appropriate punishment for a rational being that it be bound to entities inferior to it—namely, physical objects. What's more, as I showed in part 3 of this work [in ch. 145], sins against God deserve not only damnation but also sensory punishment. For sensory punishment addresses the guilt of inordinate love for a mutable good in the same way that damnation addresses turning away from an immutable good. But a rational creature, and particularly a human being, sins by inappropriately loving physical objects. Therefore physical punishment is entirely appropriate. . . . Nevertheless, when Scripture describes the punishments of the damned in physical terms, there is nothing to prevent us from interpreting it in a "spiritual" or metaphorical sense. For instance, Isaiah 66.24: "The worm shall not die." This should be

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interpreted as referring to the remorseful conscience that will torture the impious. For it is impossible that a physical worm could harm a spiritual substance 19 or even the incorruptible bodies of the damned. And "weeping and grinding of teeth" [Matthew 13.12] must be interpreted metaphorically with regard to spiritual substances. With regard to the bodies of the damned, however, there is nothing to prevent us from interpreting it in a physical sense. Still, "weeping" here cannot refer to the actual flowing of tears, since the bodies [of the damned] will be incapable of experiencing any relief, but instead refers to the disfiguration of the head and eyes customary during weeping. Chapter 92: The Souls of the Saints after Death Are Fixed Immutably on Goodness It is clear from what I previously have said [in ch. 91] that as soon as the soul is separated from the body, its will becomes changeless; that is, thenceforth the human will cannot change either from good to evil or from evil to good. Now as long as the soul can change from good to evil or from evil to good it is in a state of warfare and strife. For it must either vigilantly resist evil, lest it be conquered by it, or else struggle to free itself from it. But as soon as the soul is separated from the body, it is no longer in a state of warfare or strife, but rather receives either a reward or punishment depending on whether it has "striven lawfully or unlawfully" (2 Timothy 2.5). For I made it clear in the previous chapter that rewards and punishments are received immediately after death. After this, therefore, the will no longer will change from good to evil or from evil to good. Also, I showed in part 3 [in ch. 61] that perfect happiness consists in beholding God and is perpetual. Similarly, I showed [in ch. 144] that mortal sin deserves eternal punishment. But the soul cannot be perfectly happy if its will is not upright. For if it lacks this it will turn away from its ultimate goal and purpose, and obviously one cannot simultaneously turn away from a goal and find fulfillment in it. Therefore the souls of the blessed have wills that are perpetually upright and cannot change from good to evil. To amplify: Rational creatures naturally desire perfect happiness, to the extent that they are incapable of not desiring it. Nevertheless, the will can be diverted from what constitutes true happiness. In this case, the will is perverted. This happens when that which constitutes true happiness is not grasped as such, but rather something else is thought of as constituting it, and the will, in disordered fashion, is diverted toward that instead. For instance, if someone chooses physical pleasure as his ultimate goal, he believes (mistakenly) that this is the greatest good—and to be the greatest good is the essence of perfect happiness. But those who are already blessed know what true happiness is, and they understand it precisely as both the essence of happiness and as their ultimate goal and purpose. Others, however, do not obtain the satisfaction of their desires and thus are not truly happy. For one who is blessed simply cannot avert his will from true happiness. Therefore his will cannot become perverse. . . . Furthermore, sin in the will is always accompanied by some ignorance in the mind. For we only desire that which is either truly good or else appears to us to be good. This is why Proverbs 14.22 says, "They err who do evil"; and the philosopher

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says in book 3 of the Ethics (3.1, 1110b) that "every evil man is ignorant." But a soul that is truly blessed is in no way ignorant, for everyone sees his own true perfection in God. Hence they can never will evil, especially since their vision of God is always fully actualized, as I showed in part 3 [ch. 62]. Also on this point, our mind can err regarding conclusions until it grounds them in first principles. At that point it has true, "scientific" knowledge of the conclusions, which cannot be false. "But the goal or purpose is in the same relation to desires that the principles of proof are to speculative reasoning" {Ethics, book 7.8, 1151a). Therefore until the final goal or purpose is achieved, our will can be perverted. But this cannot happen after we achieve our ultimate purpose, which is intrinsically desirable just as the first principles of demonstration are intrinsically knowable. What's more, goodness is lovable. Thus what we grasp as best is also most lovable. But a rational being in a state of blessedness, seeing God, knows what is best. Therefore he loves it with maximum intensity. And it is the nature of love that we wish to conform ourselves to the beloved object {Ethics, book 4.1, 1166a). Therefore the wills of the blessed are maximally conformed to God. And this makes their will upright, since the divine will is the basic rule and measure of all volition. Therefore the wills of those who see God cannot become perverted. Furthermore, as long as someone can move on to something else, he has not yet reached his ultimate goal. Therefore if a blessed soul could move from good to evil, it would not yet have achieved its ultimate goal. But this contradicts the very nature of perfect happiness. Therefore it is obvious that souls that, upon death, are immediately in a state of beatitude also possess wills that are unchangeable. Chapter 93: After Death the Will of Evildoers Is Fixed Immutably upon Evil Similarly, souls that after death are afflicted with the misery of punishment also possess immutable wills. For I showed in part 3 [ch. 144] that mortal sin deserves perpetual punishment. But the souls of the damned would not be punished perpetually if their souls could become better. For it would be iniquitous to punish those who had a good will. Therefore the wills of the souls of the damned cannot become good. What's more, this inordinate will is itself a kind of punishment, and in fact is the most painful one. For to the extent that one's will is disordered, that which is upright becomes displeasing. Thus the damned are displeased that the will of God is exercised upon all who receive punishment for sin. Therefore they never lose this inordinate will. On this same point, as I explained in part 3 [ch. 157], the will in a state of sin cannot become good except through the grace of God. But just as the souls of the just are admitted to a perfect participation in the divine goodness, so too the souls of the damned are entirely excluded from grace. Therefore their will cannot change for the better. What's more, as the just, while living in the flesh, direct all their works and desires toward God, so too evil men divert theirs away from God and toward some inordinate goal. But the separated souls of the just adhere in changeless fashion to that goal and purpose that they sought in this life, namely God. Therefore the souls

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of evildoers will also adhere in changeless fashion to the goal that they sought. Therefore just as those with a good will cannot become evil, so too those with an evil will cannot become good. Chapter 94: Whether the Wills of the Souls Held in Purgatory Are Immutable As I previously said [in ch. 91], because there are some souls who after death neither pass immediately to blessedness nor are damned, but rather retain something that must be purged, I must show that even these souls cannot change their will after they have separated from their bodies. For the wills of the souls of both the blessed and the damned are immutable because they adhere firmly to their ultimate goal. But the souls that have deferred some purgation have the same ultimate goal as the souls of the blessed. For they depart life in that love that makes us adhere to God as our ultimate goal. Therefore their will also has this same immutability. NOTES

1. In most cases Aquinas cites one or more scriptural passages to rebut the error. I omit most of these for brevity's sake. 2. With regard to the Greeks this argument is disingenuous. The Nicene Creed (325) originally stated only that the Holy Spirit "proceeds from the Father." The clause "and the Son"—in Latin, "filioque"—was added in the West in the eighth century and confirmed by the papacy in the eleventh. It was precisely the unilateral Western addition of the filioque clause that was the issue between the Greeks and Latins. 3. That is, beyond metaphysics and natural philosophy. 4. In other words, is it a discipline whose goal is doing something well, as opposed to a speculative discipline that aims at pure understanding. 5. A reference to the steps in the Sacrament of Penance, or Confession: sorrow for sin ("contrition"); a firm intention to avoid the sin in the future ("purpose of amendment"); confession; absolution (a declaration by the priest that one's sins are forgiven); and making recompense ("satisfaction"), for example, by fasting, prayers, and so on, or, if the sin is one of injustice, by somehow compensating the injured party. 6. The Latin is worth quoting: "Et quid tarn mundum pro mundandis vitiis mortalium quam sine contagione carnalis concupiscentiae caro nata in utero et ex utero virginali?" Here as elsewhere Aquinas employs quotations from Augustine to illustrate his text with striking and eloquent formulations of ideas that he has expressed in his more precise but also more prosaic scholastic prose. 7. This is not the same as holding that Christ's presence is merely symbolic or spiritual. The idea, rather, is that the substances bread and wine are present together with the real presence of Christ, thus accounting for the fact that the consecrated elements still look and taste like bread and wine. Peter Lombard (4 Sentences d. 11, c. 2) among others had suggested such a possibility. Aquinas here methodically demolishes this position, then hereticizes it. 8. That is, my body is present here among the bread. 9. Worshiped with latria, the full and unconditional worship owed to the deity. Latin theology contrasted latria with dulia, the reverent honor—but not worship—due the saints and to holy objects such as relics. 10. Both here and in article 2, Aquinas, for all his talk of structural change, stops short of a full-blown Aristotelian analysis of the substance of the sacrament in terms of prime matter,

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that is, the neutral and structureless substrate of physical entities. But his emphasis on total change here, together with his obvious reluctance to affirm that there is any material substrate common to the two substances, seems almost to indicate that the bread and wine are not so much transformed as replaced by Christ's body and blood. 11. Note that Thomas assumes a European and even Mediterranean diet. 12. An abridged version of a work by the Neoplatonist Proclus. Long attributed to Aristotle, Thomas was among the first to discover that this attribution was false. 13. Aquinas's view here is in accord with modern scientific discoveries regarding chromosomes, DNA, and the possibility of cloning entire organisms from a single cell. Thomas, of course, arrived at this conclusion via a much different route: It was based on his belief that the soul is the principle of life and that the soul is both indivisible and fully present in every part of the body. 14. That is, under the appearances of both bread and wine. 15. While Christ was alive, or during the three days he was in the tomb. 16. This type of minute hypothetical speculation was one of the things that gave scholastic theology a bad name during the Renaissance and the Enlightenment, but it is also a sign of the thoroughness and utter seriousness with which Aquinas and others took the task of explicating the Christian faith. 17. This reference to "display" reflects two aspects of thirteenth-century Latin sacramental practice: ordinary lay Catholics generally "heard" Mass on Sundays and feast days but only received communion at Easter; and communion was generally distributed only in one kind, the host. Both practices would be criticized by the late medieval Lollards and Hussites, and by Protestants in the Reformation. 18. In 74.1, quoting Ambrose. 19. By "spiritual substance" Aquinas is referring to incorporeal "fallen angels," or demons.

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HE BIBLE WAS THE MOST WIDELY READ BOOK in the Middle Ages, and as a

Dominican Master of Theology Aquinas's principal professional duty was to lecture on it, either to novices in his order or, when he taught at the University of Paris, to graduate students in theology. Normally Thomas lectured on a single book of the Bible for an entire academic year. After an introductory lecture or two discussing the books themes and major divisions, he proceeded through the text chapter by chapter. Following standard medieval pedagogy, he read the passage aloud (or had a graduate assistant read it for him), then "glossed" or explained it. These glosses were thick to the point of clotting with cross-references: to the Bible itself, to the major patristic exegetes (Augustine, Jerome, Ambrose, Bede, and John Chrysostom), to the standard medieval commentary (the Glossa ordinarid), and to Aristotle, who functioned here as elsewhere in Aquinas's work as the voice of natural science and secular philosophy. Inevitably he glossed some passages more heavily than others; his interests and expertise as a systematic theologian led him to spend more time on knotty theological problems than on matters of philology, geography, or ancient history. Still, in his primary purpose—to enable his audience of future priests to draw on the scriptures for preaching and pastoral work—he succeeded admirably. Aquinas's Bible lectures were thus primarily pedagogical rather than scholarly. Nevertheless, he made at least two signal contributions to Bible scholarship: one was to accelerate the process whereby systematic theology was detached from exegesis and established as a distinct discipline. True, Aquinas deals with theological problems in his Bible lectures; conversely, the systematic Summa Theologiae is studded with Bible quotes. But the very act of composing the Summa as a free-standing work, rather than pegging it to a Biblical text or patristic anthology, was a kind of

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declaration of independence for theology, a break from the tradition of commentaries and ad hoc treatises that had been standard since Augustine. Second, Aquinas clarified once and for all the rather muddled traditional notion that the Bible had four "senses" or levels of meaning. These traditional senses were the literal, allegorical, moral, and "anagogic" or transcendent. The literal sense referred to the actual historical events of Biblical narrative: Abraham's journeys, the travails of Moses and David, Christ's passion and resurrection. The other three senses were, so to speak, concealed beneath the text. For medieval exegetes, the allegorical sense was the Bible's basic symbolic meaning. In the case of the Old Testament, it almost invariably was claimed to consist of references to Christ or his Church. The moral sense was the more-or-less hidden moral lessons contained in Biblical stories. The transcendent sense, like the allegorical, is symbolic (one word, text, or reality pointing to another), but in this case the realities referred to are "last things": final judgment, heaven, hell, and purgatory. An example may clarify. In the story of the Deluge, the call of Noah, the building of the Ark, the destruction of the earth by flood, and the re-establishment of mankind and the animal kingdom via the survivors from the Ark (all of which Aquinas, like every medieval exegete, thought were historical facts) constitute the literal sense. The three hidden meanings, being relatively subjective by nature, were harder to pin down, but by the thirteenth century a thousand-year-old tradition of symbolic interpretation had been established that Aquinas was largely content to follow. In the case of the Ark, the allegorical meaning was that the wooden Ark symbolized the cross of Christ, which saved humanity from the due punishment for sin represented by the flood. The moral sense was that one must obey God's dictates and ignore the temptations of the sinful world. Finally, the story leant itself to various transcendent meanings, for example, the soul borne to heaven by the cleansing waters of baptism, or the fact that the soul (in most cases) arrives at heaven only after a long confinement in purgatory, here represented by the Ark. After a millennium during which allegory reigned supreme, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries saw an increasing interest in the historical events and context of scripture, thanks in large measure to the historically minded commentaries of Andrew and Hugh of St. Victor and the writings of the Jewish philosopher Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides). This new emphasis on the literal sense brought two longstanding ambiguities into sharp relief: the relations between God and the human writer in composing scripture, and between the literal sense and the various spiritual/allegorical meanings. The God/human-author problem was specifically rooted in a growing sensitivity to the variations in style and vocabulary among the various books of the Bible. How, exegetes wondered, could this be if God was the true author of scripture? Aquinas's solution, characteristically, was rooted in Aristotle. God, he argued, was the primary cause of the writing of the Bible, both in the sense of being the ultimate cause of the events it records and by inspiring the author to write. But the human writer is not merely an instrumental cause, like a pen or stylus; rather, God uses him in his entirety, with all his talents and limitations. And the text reflects this: the writ-

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ings of shepherds and fisherman will be in a very different style from the letters of the rabbinically trained Paul. The status of the literal sense vis-a-vis the spiritual was a thornier problem. At its core was a tendency to conflate Biblical events with the texts that described them. Thus in speaking of the "literal sense," it was often unclear whether an exegete was referring to an aspect of the text's meaning or to the historical event it described. A century of debate had served mainly to make the tangle worse. Rather than attempt to unravel this knot, Aquinas cut it, cleanly and neatly: he completely detached event from text, declaring that the "literal sense" referred not to historical events but to the entire intention of the Bible's human authors. This shift in perspective opened dramatic new vistas: metaphors, parables, and poetic expressions, once uneasily categorized as species of allegory, could now be seen simply as literary devices, alternate means for a Biblical author to express his primary intention. Even prophetic and moralistic elements were part of the literal sense if they were part of what the human author meant to express. What's more, according to Thomas, this expanded literal sense was the sole locus of authoritative sacred doctrine. But whither the spiritual sense? Aquinas, by an ingenious inversion, found it in the events of salvation history, whose (direct) author was God. To return to our previous example: Moses, the author of the story of the Deluge, described the vessel that rescued both Noah and his family and the beasts. Much later, God, by having his son die on a wooden cross, created a parallel: The wood of both Ark and Cross are salvific. Thus the Ark "symbolizes" the Cross, not in the sense that Moses (or Noah) foresaw the details of Christ's death, but in that God arranged the events of sacred history to include a wooden ark and a wooden cross so that readers of the Bible could detect a parallel. In sum, God is the ultimate author of the Bible; its literal sense includes all that the divinely inspired human writer intended and is the sole basis of doctrine. The spiritual sense, which contains material that is edifying but not necessary for salvation, consists of divinely ordered parallels either between two events in Biblical history or between an event that parallels an earlier text but that (because the human author was unaware of the parallel) was not, strictly speaking, prophetic of the event. The following readings provide a cross-section of Aquinas's thought on the Bible. Two articles from part I of the Summa Theologiae discuss in general terms the nature of scripture and its meanings; a note on translation gives us a sense of what Aquinas would have looked for in a good Bible translation; a section from the early Lectures on Jeremiah provide an example of the sort of cursory exposition given to novices by graduate teaching assistants; and two late lectiones on the Gospel of John display Thomas's mature exegetical method as he plumbs the mysteries of the wedding at Cana and the raising of Lazarus.

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Question 1: Sacred Doctrine Article 10: Should individual passages in sacred scripture have several levels of meaning? Arguments: 1. When a text has several meanings it produces confusion and deception and undermines solid argument. Thus in logic when a single passage contains several propositions it is said to form the basis not of argument but of fallacy. But the Bible should teach the truth effectively and without fallacy. Hence passages from the Bible ought not to be interpreted according to the "four levels of meaning." 2. Also, Augustine said in his On the Use of Believing (ch. 1) that "The part of the Bible that is called the Old Testament is interpreted in four ways," namely, "according to its historical, aetiological, analogical, and allegorical meanings." But these four levels of meaning are quite different from the four mentioned above. Hence we ought not to interpret the Bible according to those levels of meaning. 3. Also, in addition to the four levels of meaning noted above, we also find the level of parable that is not contained by the other four. On the Contrary: As Gregory the Great wrote in book 20 of his Moralia: "The Bible's use of language transcends that of all other literature, in that the same passage can both narrate a historical event and bring to light sacred mysteries." Response: God is the author of the Bible, and He is able to convey meaning not only via words (which humans can do) but also via things, people, and events. Now in all disciplines words are used to refer to things, but it is peculiar to this discipline [theology/Bible studies] that the very things referred to by words themselves refer to other things. The first level of meaning, in which words refer to things, people, and events, is called the historical or literal level, whereas the level on which things/people/events refer to other things/people/events is called the spiritual level. This level is based upon the historical level and presupposes it. This spiritual level is divided into three types. For as the Apostle wrote (Hebrews 7.19), the Old Law is a symbol of the New; and the New Law itself, as Dionysius wrote in The Ecclesiastical Hierarchy (ch. 5), is a symbol of future glory. In addition, the narrative sections of the New Law show us how we should act. Thus the way in which the Old Law symbolizes things in the New is the allegorical meaning; the way in which what was accomplished in Christ and those things that refer to Christ are signs of how we should act and is the moral meaning; and those things that symbolize eternal glory constitute the transcendent meaning. Now it is true that the literal meaning is the meaning the author intended. But the author of the Bible is God, who knows everything simultaneously. Hence, as

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Augustine wrote {Confessions, book 12), it is entirely appropriate that the Bible have other levels of meaning in addition to the literal. Reply to Arguments: 1. The fact that there are several levels of meaning in the Bible does not produce equivocation or any other type of ambiguity. For, as noted, these meanings are not derived by having one word refer to several things, but by having the things that the words refer to refer in turn to still other things. Thus the Bible contains no confusion whatsoever, for all other meanings are founded on the literal, and the literal meaning alone serves as a source of doctrine; the allegorical meanings are not a source of doctrine, as Augustine wrote in his letter opposing the Donatist Vincentium {Epistle 93, ch. 8). Nor does this detract from the Bible, for the allegorical meanings contain nothing necessary to salvation that the Bible does not also express clearly in its literal meaning. 2. The historical, etiological, and analogical meanings are all aspects of the literal meaning. For history, as Augustine explained it, is when something is related directly; etiology supplies the underlying reason for a text, for example, when the Lord explained why Moses allowed men to put away their wives, namely, because of their hardness of heart (Matthew 19.8); while "analogy" consists of showing that the truth of one Bible passage does not contradict another. In this list, then, allegory stands for all three levels of spiritual meaning. In similar fashion Hugh of St. Victor, in the third book of his On the Sentences (ch. 3), regards the moral level as an aspect of the allegorical and thus lists only three levels of meaning: the historical, allegorical, and transcendent. 3. Parabolic meanings are an aspect of the literal meaning. For language can refer to things either literally or metaphorically, and when metaphors are used, the literal meaning refers not to the metaphor, but to the reality the metaphor symbolizes. For instance, when the Bible speaks of the "arm of God," the literal meaning is not that God has some sort of bodily limb; rather, in its literal meaning, the limb symbolizes his power to create and act. Thus it is clear that the Bible's literal meaning can never be false. A N O T E O N TRANSLATION

From On the Errors of the Greeks, Prologue: . . . the same faith is expressed in one way in Greek and in another way in Latin. Thus many passages that are correct in Greek sound inappropriate when translated literally into Latin. . . . For this reason it is the duty of a good translator to preserve the correct meaning in a translation by paying careful attention to the properties of the language into which he is translating the text. This is clear from the fact that, in explaining a Latin text in the vernacular, the explanation will be completely inappropriate if the Latin is always translated literally. Hence it is no wonder if, in translating from one language to another, a literal, word-for-word translation produces some doubtful locutions.

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LECTURES

Text (Jeremiah

ON

JEREMIAH

31.27-34):

Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will sow the house of Israel and the house ofjudah with the seed of man and the seed of the beast of burden. And just as I have watched over them that I might pluck up, and destroy, and scatter, and disperse, and afflict, so now I will watch over them to build up and to plant, says the Lord. In those days they shall no longer say "The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge"; rather, each shall die in his own sin. For each one who eats sour grapes shall have his own teeth set on edge. Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house ofjudah, not like the one I made with their fathers on the day when I took them by the hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, the one that they broke, though I was their master, says the Lord. But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel: After those days, says the Lord, I will put my law within them, and write it on 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 all shall know me, the least no less than the greatest, says the Lord, for I willforgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more. Commentary: Here the people are consoled in two ways: first by a promise, and second (beginning with the passage "Thus says the Lord") with the confirmation of the promise. Regarding the first we should note two points: first, he promises temporal goods such as an increase in the numbers of people and beasts of burden. For "I will sow" refers to the sowing of a multitude, as in Zechariah 2: "Jerusalem shall be inhabited without walls because of the multitude of people and beasts of burden in its midst." Regarding the restoration of what had been destroyed, the passage beginning "Just as I have watched over them" carefully explains how his threats were carried out: "I plucked up" shows how he crushed the defenses in which they put their hope; "I destroyed" refers both to the massacre of the people and the desolation of the city; "I scattered" means the absence of all human or angelic aid; "I dispersed" means their captivity in various places; and "I afflicted" refers to the heavy burden of slavery in captivity. Compare Zechariah 8: "Just as I decided to afflict you when your fathers provoked me to wrath, says the Lord, and I was not merciful; so now, in contrast, I have decided to give benefits in these days to the house ofjudah, and to Jerusalem." The passage "in these days" refers to their immunity from punishment for the sins of their fathers. Compare Ezekiel 18: "Why has this parable become a proverb among you in the land of Israel: 'The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge?'" Second, he promises spiritual goods, in the passage beginning "Behold, the days are coming." First he promises a change of covenant: "In those days"—namely, the time of grace—"I will give you a new covenant," which is the New Testament, or the Gospel. The passage "I was their master" refers to God's harshness and vengeance. Compare Isaiah 55: "I will make with you an everlasting covenant, my faith-

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ful, tender mercy for David." Second, he explains the meaning of the covenant: "But this will be the covenant... I will put my law"—that is, the Gospel—"inside them," that is, not on tablets of stone. Compare Hosea 2: "I will lead her in solitude, and speak to her heart." Third, he explains the threefold usefulness of this new covenant. First, in terms of obedience, in the passage beginning "And I will be their God." Compare Ezekiel 36, which is identical. Second, with regard to wisdom, in the passage "No longer shall each man teach his neighbor," which refers to a time when such teaching will be unnecessary. This has been fulfilled in the present time in the sense that we no longer come to divine truths through prophetic revelation, human innovation, or Jewish traditions, but in the future it will be fulfilled completely. Compare Matthew 23: "Call no man 'Rabbi,' for you have one teacher." He also explains the reason for this passage: "For all shall know me." Compare Isaiah 54 and John 15: "All your sons will by taught by the Lord, and they shall have an abundance of peace"; and "Whatever I hear from my Father, I will make know to you." Third, regarding the cleansing from sin, in the passage "For I will forgive their iniquity." Compare Psalm 102: "Who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your diseases."

LECTURES

ON JOHN

Chapter 2, Lecture 1 Text (John 2.1-11): And on the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee. And the mother of Jesus was there. Now Jesus and his disciples were invited to the wedding. And when the wine failed, the mother of Jesus said to him: "They have no wine." And Jesus said to her: "What have you to do with me, woman? My hour has not yet come. "His mother said to the servants: "Do whatever he tells you. "Now six stone jars, each holding twenty or thirty gallons, had been placed there for the purification rites of the Jews. Jesus told them: "Fill the jars with water. "And they filled them to the brim. And Jesus told them: "Now draw some out, and take it to the steward. "And they took it. And when the steward tasted the water turned to wine, he did not know whence it came (though the servants who drew the water knew). And the steward called the bridegroom and said to him: "Everyone serves the good wine first, then, when people are drunk, serves the poorer sort; but you have saved the good wine until now." Now this, the first of his signs, Jesus performed at Cana of Galilee, and manifested his glory; and his disciples believed in him. Commentary: Regarding the historical meaning of this passage, it should be noted that there are two opinions regarding the timeframe of Christ's preaching ministry. For some say it was two-and-a-half years from Christ's baptism to his passion. According to them this wedding occurred during the same year he was baptized. But this contradicts the opinion and tradition of the Church. For on the Feast of Epiphany three miracles are commemorated: namely, the Adoration of the Magi, which was within a year of our Lord's birth; the Baptism of Christ, which was on the same day thirty years later; and the Wedding at Cana, which was on the same day a year later. Thus

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a year passed between the baptism and the wedding. During this year we read of nothing that the Lord did except what is recorded in Matthew 4 of the fasting in the desert and the temptation by the devil, and what John recounts of the preaching of John the Baptist and the call of the disciples. With the wedding, he began to preach in public and to perform miracles, which he did up until the time of his passion. Thus the period of his public ministry was two-and-a-half years. Now in mystical terms the wedding refers to the union of Christ and the Church. For, as the Apostle writes at Ephesians 5.32: "This is a great mystery: But I say it refers to Christ and the Church." And that "marriage" began in the womb of the Virgin, when God the Father joined human nature to the Son in a personal union. Hence the place where this union occurred was in the womb of the Virgin. Compare Psalm 18.6: "He placed his tabernacle in the sun." Matthew 22.2 also speaks of this marriage: "The kingdom of heaven is like a king, who gave a wedding for his son"; namely, when God the Father joined human nature to the Word in the Virgin's womb. Now this union was proclaimed publicly when the Church was joined to Christ in faith. Compare Hosea 2.20: "I took you as my spouse in faith," and so on. Apocalypse 19.9 also speaks of this wedding: "Blessed are they who are called to the wedding feast of the lamb." Now this "marriage" will be consummated when the bride—that is, the Church—comes into the bridegroom's resting place, which is heaven. . . . We need to investigate the reason for the Lord's response: "What have you to do with me, woman?" According to Augustine, it refers to the fact that there are two natures in Christ—divine and human—and while both natures are present in him, still, there is a distinction between what is appropriate to him in his human nature and what is appropriate to him in his divine nature. For he receives the power to perform miracles (which is appropriate to his divine nature) from the Father; while he receives the ability to suffer (which is appropriate to his human nature) from his mother. Thus when his mother demanded that he perform a miracle, Jesus responded by saying, "What have you to do with me, woman?" as if to say: I received from you not the power to perform miracles, but the ability to suffer; in other words, I received from you that within me that is compatible with suffering, namely, human nature, and I shall acknowledge you then, when I bear my infirmity on the cross. Thus he adds "My hour has not yet come" as if to say: I shall acknowledge you, mother, at the hour of my passion. Hence when Jesus was hanging on the cross he commended his mother to his disciple. Chrysostom interprets the passage differently. He says that the Blessed Virgins zeal for her son's honor was so fervent that she wanted Christ to begin performing miracles before the opportune time. Thus Christ, who was undoubtedly the wiser of the two, restrained her. . . . The passage that begins "Now six stone hydriae [jars] . . . had been placed there" describes the consummation of Christ's miracle: first, the jars in which the miracle was prepared for are described; second, the "material" of the miracle is designated in the passage beginning "Jesus told them: 'Fill the jars with water'"; third, the coming revelation and approbation of the miracle is hinted at in the passage beginning "Jesus told them, 'Now draw some out.'"

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Now the miracle was prepared for in the six jars, just as the passage says: "Now six stone hydriae. . . had been placed there." Regarding this, it should be noted that, as Matthew 7 tells us, the Jews observed any number of bodily ablutions and the ritual washing of plates and cups. Hence, since they were in Palestine, where there is a lack of water, they had jars in which they preserved the pure water with which they often washed themselves and their utensils. Thus when the text says "six stone hydriae' it refers to jars for storing the water (the term hydriae coming from hydros, which means water) "placed there for the purification rites of the Jews" (that is, for purification) "each holding two or three metrata? (that is, measure, for the Greek term metros is translated into Latin as "measure"). Now as Chrysostom says, these jars are described in such a way as to remove all possibility of doubt regarding the miracle, both in terms of their purity, lest anyone think the water merely had the flavor of wine from wine previously stored in the jars (for these jars were "for purification rites" and hence had to be completely clean), and in terms of their volume, that it might be clear that so much water could not possibly be changed to wine except by divine intervention. As to the mystical interpretation of this passage: As the Gloss says, the six stone water jars stand for the six periods of the Old Testament in which the Bible and the example of holy men prepared the hearts of the people to receive God. 1 On the other hand, according to Augustine the metratas refer to the persons of the Trinity. The text reads "two or three" because sometimes the Bible refers to three persons (i.e., at Matthew 28.19: "Baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit") and sometime only to the Father and the Son, in whom the Holy Spirit is understood as well, since he is the bond of love between the Father and the Son (for instance, John 14.23: "If you keep my word, my Father will love you, and we will come to you"). Or "two" can be interpreted as referring to the two nations, Jews and Gentiles, among whom the Church is propagated, with "three" referring to the three sons of Noah by whom the human race was propagated after the flood. Chapter 11, Lecture 1 Text (John 11.1-4): 1. There was a sick man, Lazarus of Bethany, from the same village as his sisters Martha and Mary. Now it was the Mary who had anointed the Lord with oil and wiped his feet with her hair whose brother Lazarus was sick. 2. Therefore his sisters sent to [Jesus] saying: "Behold, Lord, the one whom you love is ill. "3. But when Jesus heard this he said to them: "This illness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it. "4. For Jesus loved Martha, and her sister Mary, and Lazarus. Commentary: 1. Previously [in this gospel] the Lord proclaimed his life-giving power by word; here he confirms it with a miracle by raising a dead man, Lazarus. The first section of this passage describes Lazarus' illness. . . . This first section has three parts: first,

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it establishes Lazarus's illness; second, in the part beginning "Therefore his sisters sent to Jesus," it describes the proclamation of his illness; third, in the part beginning "Now hearing this Jesus said to them . . .," it explains the reason for the previous passage. And the first part also has three subsections: The first describes the sick man; the second relates where he lives; and the third describes their connection [with Jesus]. The sick man is Lazarus. . . . This symbolizes the man of faith, who hopes in God yet suffers from the infirmity of sin. Psalm 6.3 refers to this: "Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am weak." For the name Lazarus means "one who is helped by the Lord." Thus he symbolizes the man who has faith in divine help. As Psalm 120.1 says, "My help is from the Lord." The sick man was in Bethany. Thus the text says, "From Bethany, of the village of Mary and Martha." Bethany was a village near Jerusalem where the Lord often stayed. Hence it is mentioned often in the gospel. The name Bethany means "house of obedience." The meaning of this text is that if an infirm man is obedient to God, he can easily be cured, just as a sick man can be healed by a doctor if he obeys him. Thus in 4 Kings 5.13 2 Naaman's servant tells him: "Father, even if the prophet tells you to do something wondrous, you should do it." Bethany was the village of Mary and Martha, Lazarus's sisters. These women stand for the two types of life, the active and the contemplative. The meaning of this is that through obedience one can achieve perfection in both the active and in the contemplative life. The person connected [with Jesus] was Mary. Hence the text says, "Now it was Mary who had anointed the Lord with oil." And since several Marys are mentioned in the gospels, the text here specifies her and tries to prevent errors based on her name by identifying her most famous action, saying "who anointed the Lord with oil and wiped his feet with her hair." Yet the saints still identified Mary variously. Some, such as Jerome and Origen, say that this Mary—the sister of Lazarus—is not the same as the sinner mention in Luke 7.37: "She bought an alabaster jar of ointment and, standing behind his feet, she began to wash them with her tears and wipe them with her hair." Chrysostom says she is not the same woman as the one in Luke, both because this woman was noble and zealous in her manner of serving Christ and because Luke is silent about the name of the sinful woman. Thus he says this woman, from devotion and love, performed an action near the time of Christ's passion similar to the one the sinful woman performed out of love and compunction, and the Evangelists mention this incident (which actually occurred later) in this place because of the importance of Mary's name. Others, like Augustine and Gregory, say that this Mary is in fact the same as the sinful woman of Luke 7. The argument for this position is taken from Augustine's words, for he says that this Evangelist mentions Mary "anointing" the Lord with oil in anticipation of the event, which occurred when the Passion was imminent, and that Luke 7 records the identical event. (Ambrose held partly to both positions.) Therefore, according to Augustine's interpretation, it is clear that this Mary is identical with the woman of Luke 7.

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And when the texts says "whose brother Lazarus was ill," this refers to the suffering of his body, which was consumed with fever like a burning furnace. . . . 2. This sections describes the message sent by Lazarus's sisters, who having found the young man ill "sent to him"—namely, Jesus—"saying: 'Behold, Lord, the one you love is ill.'" We should note three things about this message: first, it shows that even the friends of God sometimes suffer. Thus contrary to what Eliphas falsely argued against Job—"I ask you, recall if you can whether anyone who was innocent ever perished, or when a righteous man was ever destroyed" (Job 4.7)—the fact that you suffer physical affliction is not a sign you are not God's friend. Thus when they say, "Behold, Lord, the one you love is ill," this is in accordance with Proverbs 3.12: "The Lord chastises the one he loves and embraces him the way a father embraces his son." Second, they do not say "Come, Lord, and make him well," but instead merely express the fact that he is ill, saying "He is ill." This shows that, for a friend, it is sufficient merely to express a need without adding a petition for help. For a friend who desires his friend's well-being as much as he desires his own will be as solicitous in helping a friend overcome something bad as he would be if it happened to himself. This is especially the case with those who love most truly. Thus Psalm 144.6: "The Lord watches over those who love him." Third, like the paralytic in Luke 5 and the centurion in Matthew 8, these two sisters, while wanting their brother to be cured, do not come to Christ themselves. This is a reflection of the special love and intimacy that Christ had shown them. (Or, as Chrysostom thought, it may be that they were restrained by sorrow.) As Ecclesiastes 6.11 says: "If a friend is truly bound to you, he will treat you as an equal and will deal faithfully with your servants." 3. This explains what has been said thus far. One is the reason for the illness. The other is the reason the sisters did not come to Jesus, which according to Augustine is explained by the passage, "Jesus loved Martha and her sister Mary, and Lazarus." The reason for the illness was to glorify the Son of God. Hence the text reads "Jesus said to them: 'The illness is not unto death, but for the glory of God.'" We should note that some illnesses are "unto death" while others are not. Those that are unto death are the ones that have no other purpose. For all evils and suffering are inflicted by divine providence: "Is there evil in a city and the Lord has not done it?" (Amos 3.6). With evils inflicted as punishment for guilt, however, God is the avenger but not the basic cause of the suffering.3 For everything that comes from God is directed toward a purpose. Thus all evils and suffering are directed either toward death or toward some other goal. But this illness did not have death as its purpose, but the glory of God. A query might be raised here: Didn't Lazarus die from this illness? It seems so; otherwise he would not have stank after four days, nor would he have been miraculously revived. My answer is that the illness did not have death as its ultimate purpose; rather, the death itself had other purposes, for example, that he who was revived would, being chastised, live in righteousness to the glory of God, and that the Jewish peo-

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pie, seeing the miracle, would convert to the faith: "The Lord has chastened me with his chastisements, but he has not relinquished me unto death" (Psalm 117.18). The text goes on: "But for the glory of God, so that the Son of God might be glorified through it." Now according to Chrysostom, the words "for" and "so that" are used here not in a causal sense, but simply to indicate the sequence of events. For God is not glorified by the illness itself, but the infirmity comes first, followed by that which glorifies the Son of God, namely, the revivification, which is for the glory of God. Now this is true in one sense, but in another it is not. For we can distinguish two causes of Lazarus's illness: one is the material cause. Regarding this, what Chrysostom says is correct: The natural causes of Lazarus's illness did not have his revivification as their goal. The second is divine providence. In this sense Chrysostom's words are untrue, for divine providence did in fact direct this illness to the glory of God. And in this way the terms "for" and "so that" are used in a causal sense, as the text virtually says: "But for the glory of God." For while it was not directed toward this goal by the intrinsic purposes of the natural causes, nevertheless the intention of divine providence did direct [the illness] for the glory of God, to the extent that the miracle made people believe in God and avoid the true death. 4 Thus the text, "So that the Son of God might be glorified by it." Here the Lord openly calls himself the Son of God. For he was glorified by the revivification of Lazarus due to the fact that he truly is God. Thus 1 John 5.20: "That we might be in his true Son"; and John 9.3: "Neither he nor his parents sinned; rather, this was done so that the works of God might be made manifest in him." 4. Here, according to Augustine, the Evangelist explains why the two sisters did not come to Christ—namely, because of the confidence born of his special love for them. Thus the text reads, "Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister Mary and Lazarus." And in fact he who was the consoler of the sorrowful did love the grieving sisters, and the savior of the languishing loved Lazarus both when he was ill and when he was dead. Thus Deuteronomy 33.3: "He loved his people, and all his holy ones are in his hand." Chapter 11, Lecture 2 Text (John 11.6-10): When he heard that [Lazarus] was ill, he remained there two days. Then he said to his disciples: "Let us go to Jerusalem again." The disciples said to him: "Rabbi, the Jews just tried to stone you, and you are going there again?" Jesus answered: "Aren't there twelve hours in a day? If one walks in the daylight he will not stumble, for he sees the light of this world. But if he walks at night he will stumble, because there is no light." Commentary: We know from this passage that Lazarus was dead when Jesus received the message from Lazarus's sister. For when Jesus came to where the dead man was, he had been dead four days. And Christ remained where he was for two days after he got the announcement, then left the next day for Judea. He stayed away for so long from the place where Lazarus died for two reasons: one is so that he wouldn't impede

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Lazarus's death, for death can have no place where Life is present. Second, so that the miracle would be believed, and so no one could say that he revived a man who was not yet dead, but rather all would be amazed. 2. Next, when the text says "Then after this he said to his disciples . . . , " the Lord clearly declares his intention to go to that place. First, the passage announces his intention; next, it shows the disciples' fear ("The disciples said to him . . . " and so on); and third, the Lord dispels their fear ("Jesus answered: 'Aren't there twelve hours in the day?'" and so on). Here a question arises: Why on this occasion alone did Jesus preannounce his journey to Judea to the apostles when he did not do so on other occasions? The answer is that the Jews of Judea had recently persecuted Christ to the point of nearly stoning him, and he had left Judea for this reason. Thus it was credible to think that the disciples would be stricken with fear when they saw that Christ wanted to return there. . . . [Thus] the Lord made his journey known to the disciples in order to remove their fear. The Lord's return to Judea can also be interpreted in mystical terms as referring to the fact that at the end of the world the Lord will return to the Jews, who will then convert to Christ: "Israel's blindness shall last until the fullness of the Gentiles have entered in" (Romans 11.25). 3. The disciples' fear is established in the verse, "The disciples said to him: 'Rabbi, the Jews just sought to stone you, and you want to go there again?'" That is, you seem of your own accord to be going to your death. But this fear was irrational. For the disciples had present with them the protection of God, and when this is present one ought not to fear: "Let us stand together—who is my adversary?" (Isaiah 50.8); "The Lord is my light and my salvation—of whom shall I be afraid?" (Psalm 26.1). 4. Then, comforting them, the Lord dispelled their fear: "Jesus answered [the disciples]: 'Aren't there twelve hours in a day?'" Three things are stated here: first, the quantity of time; second, when he says, "If you walk in the daylight, you will not stumble," it indicates what time is apt for walking; and third, when he says, "But if you walk in the night, you will stumble," it indicates what time is not apt. We should note that there are three interpretations of this passage. One is Chrysostom's, who interprets "Aren't there twelve hours in the day?" as meaning, you hesitate to go to Judea because the Jews recently wanted to stone me. But the day has twelve hours, and what happens one hour may not happen the next. Hence, while they wished to stone me before, at another time they will not. Hence Ecclesiastes 3.1: "All things have their season"; and at 8.6: "There is a time and fit manner for every work." A question here arises regarding the literal meaning: Does it speak of a natural day or of "daytime" with reference to hours of daylight? If the former, it is false, for there are twenty-four hours in a day, not twelve. But the case is similar if it speaks of daylight alone, since—aside from the equinox—days do not have exactly twelve hours. I say it should be interpreted as referring to daylight hours only, since every "day" in this artificial sense has twelve hours. For the hours of a day may be reckoned in two ways: with the hours equal or unequal. Equal hours are reckoned

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according to the cycle of the equinox, and in this sense every day does not have twelve hours; rather, some have more, others less, except on the actual equinoxes themselves. Unequal hours are reckoned according to the parabolic ascension of the zodiac signs. For unlike the hours of the equinox, which are all equivalent, the zodiac signs are not all in the sky for equal periods. Thus hours based on them are unequal: six signs ascend during the day and six at night, but during the summer one follows another more slowly than in winter. (By this way of reckoning, the ascension of each zodiac sign is counted as two hours.) 5. "If he walks in the day": that is, honestly and decently, with a conscience free of all evil. "Let us walk in the daylight, in honesty and decency" (Romans 13.13). "He will not stumble": that is, nothing will harm him. Similarly, "because he sees the light of this world" means that the light of justice is in him. "Light rises upon the just, and happiness upon the upright man" (Psalm 96.11). So the Lord says, as it were, we walk in safety when we travel in daylight. 6. "But if we walk at night"—that is, in iniquity—many perils may befall us. Thessalonians 1:5.7 speaks of this night: "Those who sleep, sleep at night." And such a person will "stumble," or fall, "because the light," that is, justice, "is not in him." A Greek theologian, Theophilaetus, interprets the passage "If one walks in the daylight" in another way. He says the "daylight" is the presence of Christ in the world, while the night is the time after his Passion. Thus the meaning would be: Do not fear the Jews, for as long as I am in the world, no harm will come to you, but to me alone. Hence at 18.8 when the Jews wish to seize him, the Lord says to the crowd: "Tf you seek me, let these go,' so that the saying might be fulfilled: Not one of those you gave me has perished." But "in the night," that is, after the Passion, then you should be afraid to go into Judea, for the Jews will persecute you: "They shall strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter" (Zachariah 12.7). Augustine interprets the "day" in yet another fashion, taking it to refer to Christ. Thus John 9.4: "I must do the works of him who sent me until that day"; and "While I am in the world, I am the light of the world." And the twelve hours of the day [are interpreted by Augustine as referring to] the twelve apostles. Compare John 6.71: "Didn't I choose you twelve?" What follows seems to strongly contradict this: "One of you is a devil." Thus Judas was not one of the "hours of the day," because he did not shine. But I would answer that when the Lord said this he did not have Judas in mind, but rather his successor, Matthias. Therefore the meaning of "Aren't there twelve hours in the day?" is this: [The Lord], as it were, says: You are the hours, I am the day. Therefore just as hours accompany the day, so too you should follow me. Hence if I wish to go to Judea, you should neither proceed me nor try to change my mind; rather, you should follow me. This is similar to what he said to Peter at Matthew 16.23: "Get behind me, Satan," that is, do not go before me but rather follow me and imitate my will. And when he says, "If you walk in the day," it is as if he said, Do not fear danger, for you go with me, the Day. Hence just as he who goes in the daytime does not "stumble" or fall, neither will you when you are with me. "If God is with us, who is against us?" (Romans 8.31). Similarly, "because he sees by the light of this world," means

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he sees in me. "But if you walk in the night," that is, in the darkness of ignorance and sin, then "you will stumble," because the light—namely, spiritual light—is not in you. And this is not because of any defect in the light, but because of their own rebellion. Thus Job 24.13: "They were rebels against the light." Chapter 11, Lecture 3 Text: 1. He said these things, and afterward he said to them: "Ourfriend Lazarus is asleep, but I go to wake him. "2. Therefore his disciples said: "Lord, if he is asleep he will get well." 3. Now Jesus was referring to death, but they thought he simply meant sleep. 4. Therefore Jesus then said to them openly: "Lazarus is dead. And for your sake I rejoice that I was not here, so that you may believe. But let us go to him. "5. Therefore Thomas, called Didymus, said to the other disciples: "Let us go also and die with him." Commentary: 1. The Lord proclaimed before that he was going to the place where the dead man was; here he openly proclaims his intention to revivify the dead man. The text first states what he proposes, then its effect on the disciples, beginning with the passage "Thomas said to him," and so on. Regarding the proposal, it is stated first in an implicit and obscure way; second, the Evangelist shows that the disciples were slow to understand: "Therefore the disciples said," and so on; third, the Lord himself openly announces his intentions, "Therefore Jesus said to them." The text then reads: "He said these things, and afterward he said to them"; that is, after what he told them before he said to his disciples, "Our friend Lazarus is asleep." . . . Here he accomplishes three things: first, he notes his former friendship with the dead man by saying "our friend Lazarus," a friend because of the many benefits and kindnesses he showed us, and this friendship obligates us to go to him: "He ignores injury for the sake of faithfulness to his friend." Second, he shows the need for haste; hence he says, "He is asleep," from whence it is necessary to wake him. "Aid your brother in distress" (Proverbs 17.17). And as Augustine says, he "sleeps" in relation to the Lord, but he was dead in relation to men, who were incapable or revivifying him. Now we should note that "sleep" [as used in the Bible] has several meanings. One is natural sleep: "Samuel slept until morning" (1 Sam. 3.9). Compare also Job 11.18: "To sleep securely," and so on. It can also refer to the sleep of death: "I would not have you ignorant of those who sleep, lest you grieve like those with no hope" (1 Thess. 4.12). It can also refer to negligence: "Behold, he who watches over Israel does not sleep or slumber" (Psalm 120.4). And it may also refer to a culpable "sleep": "Get up, you sleepers, and rise from the dead" (Eph. 5.14). Or it may refer to quiet contemplation: "I sleep, and my heart is awake" (Song of Songs 5.2). Or to the quiet of future glory: "I will lie down and rest in peace" (Psalm 4.9). And death is also sometimes called "sleep" because of the hope of the resurrection. Similarly, the term is used this way with specific reference to Christ's death and resurrection, for example, "I sleep and am slumbering." Third, the passage indicates that the revivification will be efficacious: "But I go

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to wake him." This helps us understand the ease with which he raised him from the tomb, namely, like raising a sleeper from his bed. Nor should this cause any wonder, for he is the one who raises the living and the dead, as is stated in verse 5 above. And [Jesus] himself says later (verse 28): "The hour is coming in which those in the tomb will hear the voice of the Son of God." 2. The Evangelist refers to the disciples' tardy understanding in the next passage: "Therefore his disciples said to him: 'Lord, if he sleeps he will get well.'" First he notes the sign of their slow understanding, that is, that they did not answer in accordance with the Lord's meaning; second, he states it openly: "But Jesus spoke of his death." Regarding the first point, we should note that where the Lord spoke of the "sleep" that is death, they thought he meant natural sleep. And because sleep is prescribed as a cure for illness, thus the disciples said, "If he is sleeping he will get well"; that is, this is a clear sign he will get well, and they conclude: "Lord, if he is asleep it would not be useful for you to go and wake him." 3. It adds, concerning their slowness to understand, "But Jesus spoke of his death," because they were ignorant. 5 This is why the Lord said to them at Matthew 15.16, "Are you still without understanding?" Of this wisdom [which the apostles lacked] Proverbs 1.6 says, "Turn your mind to a parable and its interpretation, a riddle and its solution." 4. Now the Lord openly proclaims his plan to revivify [Lazarus] when he adds, "Lazarus is dead, and I rejoice for your sake." First, he announces the death of Lazarus, which relates to knowledge of the event; second, he refers to the effects of his death, which relates to its providential nature; and third, he relates his intention to go to the place where the dead man was, which relates to its physical aspects. The death he announces openly: "Lazarus is dead." He died in accordance with the law of death, which no man can escape: "Who is the man who lives and does not see death?" (Psalm 88.49). He also reveals the effect of his death, saying, "For your sake I rejoice that I was not here, so that you might believe." Now this can be interpreted in two ways: one is, we have heard of Lazarus's illness, but while still absent I announce his death, and "I rejoice for your sake," that is, because of the benefit that direct experience of my divinity will bring to you: "Everything is naked and open to his eyes" (Hebrews 4.13). Nor should this be wondered at, since he is omnipresent: "I fill heaven and earth" (Jeremiah 23.24). The phrase, "so that you might believe," does not mean in the sense of just beginning to believe, but so that they may believe more firmly and robustly. Compare Mark 9.23: "I believe, Lord; help my unbelief." The other interpretation is this: "I rejoice," namely, at his death, "for your sake," that is, because it will benefit you, "so that you might believe." Similarly, "I rejoice that I was not there," for if I had been there he would not have died. But he died, and the miracle of revivifying a putrefying corpse is greater and will lend greater support to the faith. For it is greater to revive a dead man than to save a living man from death. This helps us to understand that even bad things can be a cause for rejoicing, if they are directed toward some good: "All things work together for the good of those who love God."

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Then he announces his intention to depart: "But let us go to him." Here we see displayed the clemency of God, who mercifully draws to himself even those who are unwilling, living in sin and virtually dead: "I have loved you with a perpetual love, and in mercy I draw you to myself." 5. This states the effect [of his words] on the disciples and can be interpreted in two ways, one insofar as it leads them to doubt, the other insofar as it leads them to love. Chrysostom adopts the first interpretation. Now, as stated above, all the disciples, and especially Thomas, feared the Jews. For he who before the Passion was weak and less faithful became in the end faithful and blameless and circled the globe alone [to spread the faith]. Thus [on this interpretation] it was from doubt that he said to the other disciples, "Let us go with him so we may die with him"; that is, he does not fear death, but wishes to go so that both he and we may be handed over to death. Augustine gives the second interpretation, which is that Thomas and the other disciples loved Christ so much that they wished either to live in his presence or to die rather than to remain unconsoled after he was gone. [On this interpretation] it was this feeling that inspired Thomas to say to his fellow disciples, "Let us go so we can die with him"; that is, he wants to go and risk death; should we stay here and live? God forbid. Rather, let us go and die with him. Compare Romans 8.17: "If we suffer with him, we shall rise with him"; and Corinthians 2:5.14: "If one man died for all, therefore all are dead."

NOTES

1. Aquinas refers here to the Glossa Ordinaria, a commentary on the entire Bible composed in France in the early twelfth century. Consisting largely of excerpts from Augustine, Jerome, Bede, and other Church Fathers, it emphasized "spiritual" or "mystical" interpretations such as this one. From circa 1170-1300 most copies of the Bible included the Glossa in the margins and between the lines of the Biblical text itself, giving it an immense influence on medieval exegesis. 2. The Vulgate titled our 1 and 2 Samuel as 1 and 2 Kings; thus "4 Kings" here corresponds to our 2 Kings. 3. The Latin has an Augustinian elegance: "Deus ultor est, non tamen auctor" 4. That is, eternal damnation. 5. The Latin is "rudes," which also has the connotation of rustic and even uncatechized.

VII

A R T AND B E A U T Y

M

UCH OF THE ABIDING INTEREST of the Middle Ages stems from its quality of sameness-in-difference: medieval concepts, institutions, and ideals are recognizably the ancestors of our own, but integrated with familiar elements are those that strike us as "primitive," or at least exotic. The interrelations of the three traditions at the core of medieval culture (Roman, Germanic, and Christian) with one another and with the three traditions of secondary influence (Islamic, Byzantine, and Jewish) produced a series of harmonic—and dissonant—combinations that continue to resonate. Aquinas's ideas on art and beauty are an excellent example of this sameness-indifference. On the one hand, his notion that beauty is that which pleases merely by being apprehended, and that it is an attribute of objects that possess unity, harmony, and claritas (roughly, "luminous intelligibility") are familiar without being banal; they have the typical Thomistic virtue of seeming to confirm what we knew all along but couldn't quite articulate. Thus the notion that beauty pleases by being apprehended identifies what is essential in aesthetic experience while simultaneously distinguishing it from other forms of pleasure, which require that the desired object be physically possessed. Similarly, the claim that beauty is a function of the unity of the aesthetic project and the harmonious interrelation of its parts, plus a rather mysterious "intelligible glow," is at once specific enough to pick out something meaningful about aesthetic enjoyment yet general enough to apply equally well not only to virtually every art form but also to Thomas's own favorite example, human beauty. This generality also helps satisfy another requirement of fecund ideas: students and scholars can endlessly debate its precise meaning. The "difference" in Aquinas's aesthetic is that these rather common-sensical ideas are embedded in an elaborate, mystical, Neoplatonic metaphysical system. He develops this metaphysical aesthetic most thoroughly in his commentary on the

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pseudonymous The Divine Names. This work, attributed to St. Paul's disciple Dionysius but in fact likely the work of a fifth- or sixth-century Christian Neoplatonist, exercised a vast, diffuse influence over medieval philosophy, spirituality, and aesthetics. According to the Divine Names scheme, being, truth, goodness, and beauty are all ultimately one and the same reality, differing only in our apprehension. Furthermore, all that exists is linked together in a harmonious hierarchy—a "great chain of being"—in which the lower "participates" in the higher, while the higher serves as an exemplar or model, drawing the lower to itself. At the top of this hierarchy, of course, is God, who is Being-Truth-Goodness-and-Beauty itself, the ultimate cause and final goal of all things. In the last analysis, then, things are beautiful to the extent that they participate in (i.e., reflect and embody) God. Thus unity, harmony, and luminous intelligibility are not primarily products of artistic creation or even of nature; rather, they are transcendental properties that reflect both the order and design of the universe and the internal beauty and harmony of the triune Christian God. The selections that follow include the most famous passages on aesthetics from the Summa Theologiae as well as extended excerpts from the commentary on The Divine Names. In addition, two of Aquinas's eucharistic hymns are included, both in Latin and in English translation, in order to give some sense of how Thomas attempted to put his aesthetic ideals into practice. SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE

(PARTS I - I I )

Question 27: On the Causes of Love Article 1: Is goodness the only cause of love? Apparently not. Objection 3: Dionysius says in chapter 4 of The Divine Names that not only goodness but also "beauty is loved by all." Reply to Objection 3: Goodness and beauty are identical, differing only in our conception of them. For since goodness is "that which everyone wants," it is part of the concept of goodness that our desire is satisfied when we obtain it. The concept of beauty, by contrast, is applied to things that satisfy our desire when we merely behold or even think about them. Thus of the senses, those that are more closely related to thought are also the ones that enable us to experience beauty. Hence we speak of beautiful visible objects and of beautiful sounds, whereas we do not call flavors or odors "beautiful." Clearly then, "beauty" adds to the concept "goodness" a specific relationship to the mind, for we say that something is simply "good" when it satisfies the appetite, but we say that something is "beautiful" when we experience pleasure merely by beholding or thinking about it.

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Question 5: On Goodness in General Article 4: Does goodness act as a final cause? Apparently not. Objection 1: For Dionysius says in chapter 4 of The Divine Names that "goodness is praised because it is beautiful." But the nature of beauty is to be a structural cause. Therefore goodness is a structural cause as well. Reply to Objection 1: As they exist in things, goodness and beauty are identical, for both are grounded in the structure of things. This is why "goodness is praised as beautiful." But as we experience them, they differ. This is because goodness, properly speaking, is connected with appetite, and everyone desires goodness. For the same reason, it functions as a final cause, for appetite is a kind of motion toward something. Beauty, by contrast, is related to our ability to know, for we call a thing "beautiful" when it pleases our vision. Hence beauty is a sort of proportion, for the senses take pleasure in what is properly proportioned, just as they do in whatever is similar to themselves. For sensation is rational, as are all cognitive faculties. And since knowledge involves a correspondence between the knower and the object, and this correspondence is based on the structure of the object, beauty, strictly speaking, has the nature of a structural cause. Question 39: The Essence of the Trinity Article 8: Whether the sacred teachers correctly identified the essential attributes of the persons of the Trinity?1 But splendor, or beauty, has some correspondence with those attributes specific to the Son. For beauty requires that three things be present: integrity or wholeness, for things are unseemly insofar as they lack these; harmony or proper proportion; and intelligible radiance, since we call radiant things beautiful. The first, wholeness or perfection, resembles a quality specific to the Son in that he truly and perfectly possesses the nature of the Father. Augustine indicates this in his Trinitarian treatise {The Trinity, book 6.10) when he writes, "wherein He"— namely, the Son—"is first and highest life." The second quality [harmony or proportion] corresponds with a specific quality of the Son insofar as He is the image of the Father, perfectly resembling Him in every detail. For we call an image "beautiful" when it is a perfect representation even of something ugly. Augustine touches on this when he writes, "where there is perfect correspondence and the highest degree of equality" {The Trinity, book 6.10). The third quality [intelligible radiance] also corresponds to one of the Son's specific attributes, insofar as He is the Word who is "light and intelligible splendor," as St. John Damascene says {The Orthodox Faith, book 1.1, ch. 13). Augustine touches on this as well when he writes that "as the Word is perfect because He lacks nothing, he is as it were the very artistry of the omnipotent God," and so on.

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NAMES

Chapter 4, lecture 4: In God, the primary cause, "the quality beauty is identical with what is beautiful." That is because God, as primary cause, contains all things in unity because of His integrity and perfection. Hence while in creatures "beauty" and "the beautiful object" are distinct, God contains both in Himself so that they are one and the same thing. Thus in the passage beginning "For these things," Dionysius shows how beauty exists in creatures. For he says that in existing things the beautiful and beauty are related as participant and source, because we call things beautiful that partake of beauty. Thus it is by partaking of the most basic source of beauty that all things are beautiful, for creaturely beauty is merely a kind of participation in God's beauty. . . . Spiritual beauty differs from physical beauty, as does the beauty of various types of bodies. Regarding the nature of beauty, Dionysius shows in what follows that God produces beauty in all things insofar as he is the cause of their harmony and their intelligible radiance. Thus we call a man beautiful who has balance and proportion in his face and body and whose skin has a radiant tone. Hence proportion is among the qualities by which a thing is judged beautiful; that is, when it possesses the radiance and proportion proper to it either as a spiritual or a physical being. Dionysius then shows how God causes intelligible radiance. For God illuminates all things with a kind of flashing splendor, the gift of that luminous ray that is the source of all light. It is the gift of the flash of divine splendor that renders all things that participate in it both intelligible and beautiful. Dionysius then discusses how God causes the other aspect of beauty, which is harmony. Now harmony is twofold: one is the orientation of creatures to God, which Dionysius touches on when he says that "God causes harmony by calling all creatures to himself"—that is, as the good and purpose of all things he draws them to himself. . . . The second form of harmony consists in how creatures are related to one another in an orderly way. Dionysius touches on this below where he says, "He gathers all in all to the same purpose." This can be interpreted in a Platonic sense, namely, that the inferior exists in the superior via participation while the superior "exists" in the inferior as a model of excellence, so that from the fact that "all is in all" according to a specific order, it follows that, in the end, everything is oriented to the same purpose. Next, when Dionysius writes "But beauty . . .," he shows how beauty is predicated of God: first, as a kind of excess; and second, in that God is the cause of beauty. . . . Now something may be judged "excessive" in two ways: either when it is somehow superlative in comparison with other things in the same category, or when it is altogether beyond the category of things that possess that quality. For instance, among hot objects, fire is "excessively hot" and hence termed "hottest," whereas the sun is "excessively hot" in a way that transcends the category "hot objects," so that it is not called "hottest" but "superhot" because heat does not exist in the sun the way it does in ordinary hot objects.2 Now granted, this twofold excess does not exist simultaneously in any single creature. Yet God is simultaneously called

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"most beautiful" and "super-beautiful," not as if he belonged to some category, but because the excellences of every category are also attributed to him. . . . For just as something is called "whiter" because it is unmixed with black, so something is called "beautiful" when it lacks defects that would detract from its beauty. In creatures there are two defects that detract from beauty: one, things that develop, decline, and die have a beauty subject to change. Dionysius makes it clear that this is not the case with God. . . . Second, all creatures possess a specific type of beauty and a specific nature. Dionysius makes it clear that this does not apply to God either . . . but that God is beautiful absolutely and in every respect. . . . Next . . . Dionysius shows how God is the cause of beauty. . . . First, he states that everything that exists stems from that beauty. For, as stated, radiance is an aspect of beauty. But the basic structural causes that allow a thing to exist are a participation in the divine radiance. This is the meaning of the passage that follows— that individuals "are beautiful according to their intelligible nature"—that is, in their specific structure. I have also noted that harmony is an aspect of beauty. Hence everything that is at all harmonious proceeds ultimately from the divine beauty. This is what Dionysius means when he adds that "the harmony of all rational creatures is a result of divine beauty": intellectual harmony, in that all agree on the same truths; harmony of affection, in friendship; harmony of action and other external matters in personal and civic associations; and, in general, all unity that exists among creatures, is derived from the power of beauty. . . . Next . . . Dionysius explains what he had said about the causality of beauty. First, he says that the beautiful is indeed "the first efficient cause" in that it brings things into existence, and that it is a "cause of motion" and a "cause of continuity"— that is, it preserves all things in existence. For these three are all aspects of efficient causality: to bring something into existence, to place it in motion, and to preserve its existence. Now an imperfect agent acts on account of a desire for something he does not possess. But a perfect agent acts out of love for what he already possesses. Thus Dionysius adds that beauty, which is God, is an efficient, moving, and preserving cause "out of love for His own beauty." For since he possesses his own beauty, he wishes to multiply it (so far as possible) by sharing his own likeness. Second, he says that beauty (which is God) is "the goal and final cause" of all things. For all things are made so that they may in some way imitate the divine beauty. Third, beauty is cause in the sense of being the exemplar of all things. For all things are marked and distinguished by divine beauty. A sign of this is that no one makes a figure or painting except for the sake of beauty. Next . . . he draws a corollary from what he said before, namely, that from the fact that beauty is the cause of things in all these ways, it follows that beauty and goodness are one. For all things desire the beautiful and the good—which is their cause—with every type of desire. For all participate in the beautiful and the good in some way, and all things are good and beautiful in their intelligible structure. We may even be so bold as to say that even the nonexistent—that is, prime matter— participates in beauty and goodness. For this most basic, "nonexisting existence" shares this with divine beauty and goodness: In God beauty and goodness are

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praised because they are completely boundless and without limit, and this is true of prime matter as well, with the difference that in prime matter this boundlessness is unfulfilled potential, whereas God is boundless in the opposite sense—namely, that everything exists in him in a superlative way. Finally, we should note that while beauty and goodness are objectively identical (for both intelligible radiance and harmony are aspects of goodness), they are conceptually distinct, for the concept "beauty" includes a relation between the object and the human mind that the concept "goodness" lacks. Chapter 4, lecture 6: If something is made of parts, those parts must be in harmony. Thus just as many stones must fit together in order to make a house, so too everything in the universe is, in the intelligible nature of its existence, related to and in harmony with every other. Likewise [Dionysius] says that not only are the individual dwelling places of things a result of beauty, but also the community of "all in all," each according to its kind. Thus "all are in all" not in the same sense; rather, the superior dwells in the inferior by participation, and the inferior in the superior by way of the latter's eminence, and yet nevertheless there is a real community of all with all. Second, though the parts are various, they must be compatible. For a house cannot be made of stones and mortar unless they are compatible. Similarly, the parts of the universe are compatible in the sense that they are governed by a single grand design. . . . Third, each part must support the other. For just as the wall and roof of a building are held up by the foundation and the roof works together with the walls and foundation to constitute the building, similarly in the cosmos the superior parts give perfection to the inferior, and the inferior make manifest the superior power of the superior. . . . Fourth, the parts must be in proper proportion to one another; as, for example, the foundation must be in proportion to the other parts of the building. . . . Thus in music, harmony is a function of the sounds having a certain mathematical ratio. In the same way, the parts of the universe are "composed" so that each stands in harmonious relation with one another and with the whole, so that everything in existence constitutes a single ordered cosmos. . . . EUCHARISTIC HYMNS

In 1263 or 64, Aquinas was commissioned by the Dominican Order to compose a liturgical for the new feast of Corpus Christi—the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ contained in the Holy Eucharist. Much of what Thomas wrote was drawn from the Bible and from previous liturgies, and there remains some controversy over his precise role in composing the office. But the Eucharistic hymns "Pange Lingua" and "Tanturn Ergo," perhaps the most famous and beloved of Latin hymns, are both original and genuinely Thomistic. To better convey their beauty and poetry, they are given here in Latin as well as in translation.

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CHAPTER VII "Pange Lingua" Pange, lingua, gloriosi corporis mysterium Sanguinisque pretiosi quern in mundi pretium fructus ventris generosi rex effundit gentium. Nobis datus, nobis natus ex intacta virgine et in mundo conversatus sparso verbi semine sui moras incolatus miro clausit ordine. In supremae nocte coenae recumbens cumfratribus observata lege plenae cibis in legalibus cibum turbae duodenae se dat suis manibus. Verbum caro panem verum verbo canem efficit fitque sanguis Christi merum et si sensus deficit adfirmandum cor sincerum sola fides sujficit. "Tantum Ergo" Tantum ergo sacramentum veneremur cernui et antiquum documentum novo cedat ritui praestet fides supplementum sensuum defectui. Genitori genitoque laus et iubilatio salus, honor, virtus quoque sit et benedictio procedenti ab utroque compar sit laudatio.

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Translations Sing, my tongue, the glorious mystery of the Body and the precious Blood, which, as ransom for the world, the King, the fruit of the generous womb, shed for the nations. Given to us, born to us from the inviolate Virgin's womb, he came into the world to sow the seed of the Word and having dwelt among us closed his life most wondrously. On the last night of the Passover lying with his brethren he keeps the Law in its fullness partaking of the feast according to its commands then supplies the twelve with food giving himself with his own hands. The Word made flesh makes true bread become his own true flesh and true wine the blood of Christ. If senses fail faith alone strengthens the trusting heart. Therefore, discerning, we venerate this great sacrament as ancient rites give way to new while faith alone provides the supplement when the senses fail. Let there be praise and jubilation glory, honor, exaltation, and blessing to the Begetter and the Begotten. One proceeding from the other each, equally, should be praised.

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1. In the context of expounding a passage from Hilary of Poitiers that claimed "beautiful" was the most appropriate adjective for the Son, Thomas examines the nature of beauty. As usual, however, aesthetics is subordinate to the weightier concerns of theology. 2. Aquinas, following the dominant scientific theory of the day, believed that the sun was the ultimate source of all heat. Thus it alone does not receive heat from anything else.

VIII

T H E MEDIEVAL SOCIAL O R D E R

I

F THE "LONG" TWELFTH CENTURY (c. 1095-1225) was the springtime of the Middle Ages—a period of vigorous creativity and almost overwhelming change— the mid-thirteenth century was its high summer: an era of pruning, ripening, and maturation. The last of the new major orders, the Franciscans and Dominicans, continued to consolidate their place in Church and society, albeit with their evangelical fires somewhat banked. The papacy, victorious at last after two centuries of struggle with the German emperors, developed into an administrative and judicial bureaucracy that functioned so smoothly that, at times, the personality of the reigning pope hardly seemed to matter. Philosophy and theology developed apace, though with no new innovations to rival the methodological revolution of the twelfth century (scholastic dialectic) or the substantive one caused by the discovery of Aristotle in the early thirteenth. The ranks of canon and civil lawyers increased exponentially, but their work now consisted more of collating and systematizing rather than developing bold new insights. In politics, the administration of justice and collection of revenue by the four great monarchies (England, France, and Spain, plus the papacy) grew more sophisticated as the rule of law became entrenched and abstract notions of crown, state, and the common good gained ground at the expense of feudal ties of personal loyalty. If we take the year 1270 as our benchmark, it is even possible to catch a whiff of decay. That was the year the Saint-King Louis IX of France died on Crusade; with him died the last realistic hopes of recapturing the Holy Land. The tide of religious reform had crested and perhaps begun to ebb, while the papacy, which for two centuries had been at the forefront of spiritual and cultural progress, was showing signs of a conservative retrenchment. Culturally, economically, and territorially, Europe's first great period of expansion was beginning to stall.

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But this is hindsight. To contemporaries the future looked bright. Strong government and rule of law had brought relative stability and peace; the Albigensian heresy—the largest and most dangerous Western heresy in 800 years—had been wiped out; the prestige of the papacy, the mendicant orders, and the Church generally was high; bold new strategies seemed to promise both the conversion of Europe's last internal nonconformists (the Jews) and rapproachment with the schismatic Greek Orthodox. Even Louis's disastrous Crusade seemed to call not for despair but for redoubled efforts. In sum, the ideal of a just, peaceful, and truly Christian society appeared tantalizingly within reach. Thomas Aquinas was the prime apologist for this vision. Few major thinkers have shown so little restlessness, so marked a disinclination to criticize the major institutions and ideas of their age. His principles were those of his society and his Church: that Catholicism was the one true faith in which all persons must believe in order to be saved; that humans have one goal in life—heaven—to which all their desires and actions should be subordinated; that an ideal society would consist of like-minded believers governed by rule of law and acting in accordance with the dictates of justice and charity; that an objective hierarchy existed among human beings that made it right for the virtuous, the learned, and the male to exercise authority over the unruly, the ignorant, and the female; and that despite the value of the human person, the common good takes precedence over the rights of individuals. In an age that knew its share of both radicals and reactionaries, Aquinas was a sensible moderate. And despite much recent historical work emphasizing the cultural pluralism of the Middle Ages, this moderation does much to justify the older view that Thomas was uniquely representative of his age. The fact that Aquinas wrote so much, and in so many genres, means that he had something to say about virtually every major issue of his day. The following readings show him outside the mainstream on only two issues: usury, and the position of the mendicant orders in the Church. On usury his interpretation of Aristotle and traditional Christian strictures on lending at interest (plus, perhaps, a touch of aristocratic disdain for the grubby world of moneymaking) led him to take an absolutist stand against usury in all forms and amounts that was more Catholic than the pope's. As to the mendicant (Dominican and Franciscan) orders, he defends the practice of able-bodied religious begging for their living with every logical and rhetorical weapon he can muster, and argues with shameless partisanship that their "mixed" way of life, combining elements of active charity and spiritual contemplation, is the highest of all forms of religious life. The other selections (on church and state, economic relations, just-war theory, the status of women, the relation of clergy and laity, the schism with the Eastern Orthodox, and the treatment of Jews and heretics in a Christian society) display him in his more characteristic role as thoughtful apologist, invoking the Bible, Catholic tradition, and Aristotle to bolster the status quo. For modern readers, his position on some issues, particularly the treatment of women and of religious dissenters, will seem repellent. But if we keep in mind his starting points (that divergent treatment of individuals was based on an objective hierarchy created by God, and that only orthodox Catholics could avoid eternal

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damnation) we can achieve a more internal view of Aquinas's belief in reason as "ordering wisdom," bringing first principles to bear on specific problems to promote a vision of a good and just society. K I N G S H I P : ON

KINGSHIP

Prologue: As I was pondering what offering I might make your Royal Highness that would be in accord with my vocation and position, it occurred to me that the most appropriate gift would be to compose, to the best of my ability, a book for the king in which I would carefully describe the origins of kingship and the duties of a king as they are presented in Sacred Scripture, in the teaching of the philosophers, and in the praiseworthy deeds of rulers, trusting for help in the beginning, progress, and conclusion of this work in him who is King of Kings and Lord of Lords: God, the Great Lord and King over all gods, through whom all kings rule. Chapter 1: It is necessary for humans living in community to be governed by a diligent ruler. We must begin by explaining what the term "king" means. In all things directed toward a goal, if there are various possible ways of proceeding, there must be someone in charge if the goal is to be achieved. For instance, a ship that may be blown here and there by contrary winds will never reach port unless it is guided by a competent helmsman. The fact that man has a goal or purpose, to which his life and all his actions are directed by his mind, is clear from the fact that he acts purposefully. But men pursue their goals or purposes in diverse ways, as the variety of their purposes and actions indicates. Therefore each person needs something to direct him. Now each naturally possesses the light of reason to guide him toward his goals. And if man were suited to a solitary life, as many animals are, he would not require anyone to direct him toward his goal; rather, each would be ruler of himself, subordinate only to the highest King, God, who infused in him the divine light of reason that directs his actions. But man, more than any other animal, is social and political, and it is natural for him to live in community. Natural necessity declares this. For nature provides other animals with food, fur, and either means of defense—tooth, horn, or claw— or else speed for flight. She gives man none of these, but in their place grants him reason, which enables him to fashion substitutes for these defenses. But an individual cannot do all this himself; one man alone cannot procure the necessities of life. Therefore he naturally lives in society. Moreover, other animals know by instinct what is helpful or harmful. For example, sheep naturally know that the wolf is an enemy, while other animals know which plants are medicinal as well as other things essential to their well-being. But for man such things are naturally known only in community. For the process of reasoning, from first principles to specifics, on such matters cannot be accomplished by a single

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individual. Thus man must live in community so that each can help the other via specialization, for example, one is a physician while others perform other jobs. This is also obvious from the fact that it is a specific property of man to use speech to communicate the totality of his conceptions. True, other animals express their feelings in various ways, for example, dogs express anger by barking, but man communicates even more than the most gregarious animals, such as cranes, ants, and bees. Thus Ecclesiastes 4.9: "It is better that there be two than one, for each shall have benefit of the other's society." If therefore it is natural that man live in society, it is also necessary that there be someone to regulate the community. For when many people live together in close proximity, they will often work at cross-purposes unless there is someone to care for the common good, just as the physical processes of the body would tend to disintegrate without some regulatory power that controls all the actions and processes of the body. Thus Solomon said, "Without a ruler the people are scattered" (Proverbs 11.14). And it is rational that this occur, since the good of the individual is not identical with the good of the many. In their individual good they are divided, while the common good unites them. Now things that differ have distinct causes. Therefore in addition to something that moves one toward his individual good, there must be someone who moves individuals toward the common good. For this reason, whenever many things are directed toward one goal or purpose we find that there is someone who rules them. For in the physical universe all bodies, by divine providence, are ruled by the primary body—namely, the heavens—and all physical bodies are ruled by rational creatures. And in an individual the soul rules the body, and among the faculties of the soul the spirited and desiring parts are ruled by the rational. Similarly, within the body itself there is one organ that is primary vis-a-vis the others and moves them, namely, the heart or the brain. Therefore in every multitude there must be a ruler. Chapter 2: Various types ofrulership or kingship. Things directed toward a goal or purpose may proceed correctly or incorrectly. This is why we find instances of correct and incorrect rulership. Good rulership occurs when subjects are directed toward their true goal; poor rulership occurs when they are not. Now the goal appropriate to free men differs from that appropriate to slaves. For a free man is his own cause, whereas whatever a slave is or has belongs to another. If therefore a ruler guides a community of free men to the goal or purpose of such a community, his regime is right and just, but if he guides it toward his own private advantage, his regime is unjust and perverse. Thus at Ezekiel 34.2 the Lord threatens such rulers: "Woe to those shepherds who fed themselves"—that is, sought their own advantage. "Ought not the herd be fed by the shepherd?" For shepherds should pursue the well-being of their flock, and rulers that of the peoples subject to them. If an unjust regime headed by a single ruler uses the regime to pursue his own advantage rather than the good of the populace, he is called a "tyrant." The term is derived from that for courage, though in this case he uses his power to oppress rather than to rule in accordance with justice. (Among the ancients, all who ruled of their

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own accord were called "tyrants.") If the unjust regime is headed not by a single ruler, however, but by a few, it is called an "oligarchy." In such regimes a few wealthy men oppress the many. This differs from tyranny only in the number of rulers. If the regime is controlled by the many, it is called a "democracy," that is, the rule of the populace. This occurs when the plebeians rule in order to plunder the rich. Only the plurality of rulers distinguishes such a regime from a tyranny. We may make similar terminological distinctions among just regimes. If power in such a regime is held by many, it is usually termed a "polity." An example would be when the warrior class held power in a city or province. If a just regime is headed by a small number of virtuous rulers, it is called an "aristocracy," which means rule of the good or best, who for this reason are called "the nobility." But if a just regime is headed by a single ruler, he is properly termed a "king." Hence in Ezekiel the Lord says, "My servant David shall be king over all, and they shall all have one shepherd." From this it is clear that it is the nature of the king to rule as one and to be a shepherd caring for the common good rather than for his own advantage. Since man in solitude cannot obtain the necessities of life and it is thus proper for him to live in a community, it necessarily follows that the more self-sufficient a community is, the more perfect it is. Now a family residing in a home is sufficient for some of life's necessities, such as nutrition and the bearing of children, and so on. For the mere physical artifacts needed, a neighborhood or village is sufficient. And for a complete community providing all the necessities of life, a city is required. But better still is a nation to provide for self-defense. Hence one who governs a perfect community (either a city or a nation) is termed a king, while he who governs a household is a paterfamilias.1 There is, however, a similarity between the two, as can be seen from the fact that a king is sometimes called "father of his country." From these considerations we may define a king as "one who rules the populace of a city or nation for the sake of the common good." Hence Solomon (at Eccl. 5.8): "The king reigns over all the lands subject to him." Chapter 3: It is better for a community to be ruled by a single king than by a plurality of rulers. It follows from what has been stated that we ought to consider whether it is better for a nation or city to be ruled by one or by many. We may examine this by considering the goal or purpose ofrulership. Now just as the intention of a captain is to preserve his ship from the perils of the sea by bringing it into a safe harbor, so too the intention of every ruler should be to achieve the salvation of his subjects. The good and salvation of a society is that its unity, or peace, be preserved. If this is lost, the well-being of the city is imperiled, since strife among the populace makes life difficult. Thus, above all, a ruler must seek the unity of peace. Whether or not to seek to keep or restore peace is a question that should not even arise, any more than it should be a question for a doctor whether or not to heal a patient committed to his care. For deliberation ought not be about the goal, but about the means. Thus the Apostle commends unity of faith among the people: "Take care to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bonds of peace" (Ephesians 4.3). Therefore the

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better a polity keeps peace, the more effective it is. For we term a thing "effective" to the extent that it achieves its goal. Obviously something that is intrinsically unified can preserve unity better than a plurality. Similarly, a thing that is intrinsically hot is more efficient at heating. Therefore the rule of one is more effective than the rule of many. Furthermore, it is obvious that a plurality of rulers cannot maintain unity among a multitude if there is any dissent among themselves. For among a plurality there must be some unity if there is to be rule at all, just as a number of ships cannot rendezvous unless there is some coordination among them. But a plurality is brought into coordination by approximating unity. Therefore a single ruler is superior to many because it more nearly approximates unity. Furthermore, nature does everything in the best possible way. But in nature, rulership is always entrusted to one. Thus among the limbs and organs of the body the heart moves them all, and among the powers of the soul reason moves all. So too with bees there is one king, and God, maker of the entire universe, is its king. This is only reasonable, since all multiplicity ultimately derives from unity. So, if things made by human design imitate nature, and if that artist is best who best imitates nature, it necessarily follows that it is best when human communities have a single ruler. This is also clear from experience. For cities and nations that do not have a single ruler labor under dissension and violence. This fulfills the lament the Lord uttered through the prophet (Jeremiah 12.10): "Many shepherds have destroyed my vineyard." By contrast, cities and nations wherein there is one ruler enjoy peace and prosperity, and justice flourishes. Hence through the prophet the Lord promises, as a great benefit, that he will grant them one head, and will put one prince in their midst. Chapter 4: It may be proved by many considerations and arguments that, while when the ruler is just, the rule of one is best, so too when the ruler is unjust this regime is the worst. Just as the rule of a king is the best regime, the rule of a tyrant is the worst. As stated, a republic and a democracy are rule of the many, aristocracy and oligarchy are rule of the few, and kingship and tyranny are the rule of one. And it has been shown already that kingship is the best polity. Therefore if the worst is the opposite of the best, tyranny is necessarily the worst polity. What's more, a united force is more effective than a dispersed or divided one. For many gathered as one can pull a load that each individually cannot. Therefore just as a united force is more effective in bringing about good, so too the harm brought about is greater if the force for evil is united rather than dispersed or divided. An unjust regime works to the detriment of the many by pursuing not the common good, but rather what is advantageous to the ruler alone. Therefore, while in a just regime, the greater the unity the more effective the polity, so that monarchy is better than aristocracy and aristocracy is better than a republic, in an unjust regime the opposite is the case: the more unified the regime, the greater the harm done to the populace. Thus a tyranny does more harm than an oligarchy, and an oligarchy does more harm than a democracy.

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To elaborate: What makes a regime unjust is the fact that it spurns the common good in favor of the private good of the ruler(s). Therefore the less it pursues the common good, the more unjust the regime. Now an oligarchy, in pursuing the advantage of a few, deviates from the common good more than a democracy, which pursues the advantage of the many, while a tyranny, in pursuing the advantage of the tyrant alone, deviates even further from the common good. For "many" is closer to "all" than "a few," and "a few" is closer to "all" than "one." Therefore the polity of a tyrant is the most unjust of all. The same point can be made by considering divine providence, which arranges all things for the best. For goodness comes about in things through a single perfect cause, which, as it were, bring all things together to help them achieve their good, whereas evil comes to individuals through specific causes. Thus a body is not beautiful unless all its parts are in proportion and in harmony, whereas a body is ugly if even a single part is flawed. Thus ugliness may come from any of a number of causes, whereas beauty is a function of a single, perfect cause. By God's providence, the same thing is everywhere the case with good and evil: Goodness, which derives from a single cause, is strong, whereas evil, which arises from many causes, is weak. Therefore in a just regime it is advantageous that the ruler be one so that the regime may be strong. But if a regime is unjust, it is advantageous that its rulers be many and impede one another. Therefore a democracy is the most tolerable of unjust regimes, while a tyranny is the worst. The same thing becomes very obvious if we consider the evils that stem from tyranny. For a tyrant, despising the common good and seeking his own advantage, will oppress the people in various ways in accordance with his particular vices. Thus a greedy tyrant will seize his peoples' property, as Solomon says: "A just king nourishes the land, while an avaricious one destroys it" (Proverbs 29.4). But if his passions turn to anger, he will kill people without cause; Ezekiel 22.27: "Her rulers are among her like wolves ravenous to shed the blood of their prey." Therefore the wise man gives warning: "Keep far from the man who has the power to kill" (Ecclesiastes 9.18)— from he who kills, that is, not for the sake of justice, but for the sheer pleasure of it. In such a regime, absent rule of law, there is no security. For one cannot rest secure in the mere will of another, much less in the will of a sensual, self-indulgent man. The subjects of such a ruler live with constant insecurity concerning not only their person and property, but in their religion as well, because a ruler who plunders rather than benefits his subjects impedes their well-being in every way, for he is always suspicious that anything good they have is in some way prejudicial to his unjust authority. A tyrant is always more suspicious of good men than of evil ones, and virtues that are utterly alien are thereby rendered more formidable. Such a tyrant will always attempt to prevent his virtuous subjects from banding together in unity and harmony, lest they decide they can no longer abide his rule, for as long as good men cannot come together and gain one another's trust they cannot conceive the means of overthrowing the regime. Hence tyrants sow discord, work to deepen existing divisions, and attempt to prohibit occasions where people come together, for example, weddings and other social gatherings where people generally come together and develop goodwill and confidence in one another.

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Summa Theologiae (2.2, 40.1) contains Aquinas's presentation of his famous "justwar theory." Here we see a good example of his profound conservatism; unlike many Christians throughout history, Catholic and non-Catholic alike, Aquinas does not use Scripture and theological reasoning to critically examine contemporary attitudes toward war. On the contrary, given the elasticity of his criteria, it is difficult to see how any war could be regarded as unjust, at least in the minds of those who waged it. Note also Aquinas's deep reliance on Augustine, the founder of the Western "just-war" tradition. Though Augustine was a major influence on all his work, Thomas generally drew on the great Church Father for ideas and inspiration, not for definitive solutions. But here, for good or ill, he is utterly in Augustine's thrall. Question 40: War Article 1: It seems that it is always sinful to wage war. Arguments: 1. Punishment is only inflicted in the case of sin. But at Matthew 26:52 the Lord declared that all who wage war will be punished: "Everyone who takes up the sword will perish by the sword." Therefore all war is immoral. 2. Everything contrary to a divine precept is sinful. But to wage war is contrary to a divine precept. For Matthew 5.39 states, "I tell you not to resist the evil man"; and Romans 12.19 says, "Beloved, do not defend yourselves, but leave it to the day of wrath." Therefore it is always sinful to wage war. 3. Sins alone are the opposite of virtuous acts. But war is the opposite of peace. Therefore war is always sinful. On the contrary, Augustine said in his sermon, "The Centurion's Son": "If Christian discipline forbade all warfare, the gospel would have counseled penitents to put away their weapons and leave military service. But instead it tells them, 'Do not be covetous; be content with your pay' Hence, by commanding them to be content with their pay, it does not forbid them to serve in the military." Response: I say that in order for a war to be just, three things are required: first is the authority of the ruler, at whose command war is waged. For, since private citizens can pursue justice from their rulers, they ought not resort to war. Similarly, gathering a large multitude, as must be done to wage war, is not something a private citizen should do. But since the commonweal is entrusted to rulers, it is their duty to ensure the well-being of the city, kingdom, or province under their authority. And just as it is licit to use the sword to defend the peace against internal enemies by imposing punishment on evildoers (as the Apostle says at Romans 13.4, "He does not wield the sword in vain, for he is the servant of God, an avenger bringing wrath upon those who do evil"), so too it is licit to use the sword against external enemies of the commonweal. Hence Psalm 81.4 instructs rulers: "Save the poor, and free the

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beggar from the hands of sinners." Hence too Augustine says in Against Faustus: "The natural order, designed to ensure peace among humans, demands that rulers have the authority to prepare for and to wage war." Second, a just war requires a just cause, namely, that the victims of an attack must be guilty of something deserving the attack. Thus Augustine says in his Questions on the Heptateuch: "A just war is usually defined as one that avenges some injustice, namely, when a people or city is punished either because it failed to provide restitution for some wrong committed by its citizens, or in order to force it to return territory it seized unjustly." Third, those who wage war must have an upright intention; that is, they must intend either to promote some good or avoid some evil. Hence Augustine says in the book On the Words of the Lord: "For the true worshippers of God, even war is pacific when it is waged not from avarice or malice, but to restore peace so that evildoers may be checked and restrained and the good rescued." For it may happen that even if war is declared by due authority and for a just cause, an evil purpose may render it immoral. For Augustine said in Against Faustus: "These are rightly condemned in war: sadism, cruel vengeance, a malicious and implacable spirit, brutal rebellion, the lust to dominate, and similar things." Reply to Arguments: 1. As Augustine says in book 2 of Against the Manichees, "one 'takes up the sword' by arming himself in order to shed blood without orders or the permission of superior or legitimate authority." But a private citizen who bears the sword under the authority of a ruler or judge, or a public official who does so out of zeal for justice and thus acts, as it were, by God's authority, does not himself "take up the sword" but uses it as something committed to him by another. Hence such a person does not deserve punishment. Nor are those who sinfully use the sword always killed by the sword. But such persons always "perish" by their own sword, for unless they repent they are eternally punished for the sin they committed with the sword. 2. As Augustine said in his book, On the Lord's Sermon on the Mount, the soul must always be disposed to obey this type of precept; that is, a man must always be prepared not to resist or defend himself, if necessary. But at times he must act differently, both for the sake of the common good as well as for the good of those with whom he fights. Hence Augustine says in his Letter to Marcellinus: In imposing severe punishments, we must often do kind things that are counter to their will. For when he is forcibly restrained from his freedom to do evil, the sinner is "helpfully vanquished." For nothing is unhappier than the "happiness" of sinners, for it is by this "happiness" than criminal impunity is nourished and the will to evil, like an enemy within, is strengthened. 3. Those who wage a just war intend to bring about peace. Thus they are not opposed to any peace except that of evil men, which the Lord "did not come to bring to earth" (Matthew 10.34). Hence Augustine says in his Letter to Benedict: "Peace is

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not sought in order to make war, but war is waged in order to gain peace. Therefore be a pacific warrior so that you can bind those you conquer and bring them to the benefits of peace." Question 188: The Various Forms of Religious Life Article 3: It seems that no religious order may be dedicated to military life. Arguments: 1. Every type of religious life aims at a state of perfection. But a perfect Christian life aims to follow what the Lord said at Matthew 5.39: "I tell you, do not resist evil; but if someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other." This saying directly contradicts the very duty of soldiers. Therefore no religious order can be established that is devoted to military life. 3. As I said before [in 186.1, ad 4; 187.6], the religious life is a life of penance. But canon law forbids penitents from engaging in warfare. . . . Therefore no type of religious order can be founded that is consistent with military life. Response: As I previously said [in article 2], religious orders may be founded that are dedicated not only to the contemplative life, but also to a life of active works, if such works are aimed at helping people or at serving God. No such order may be founded that has some worldly goal as its aim. But military life can be directed toward helping others, and not merely private citizens but also to the defense of the entire commonweal. Hence Maccabees 1:3.2-3 says of Judas Maccabeus: "He fought the battles of Israel with joy and increased the glory of his people." Military life can also be directed toward protecting divine worship. Hence in the same chapter (verse 21) Judas goes on to say: "We fought for the sake of our souls and for our law." Later, at 13.3, Simon says: "You know how I and my brothers and my household have fought for the law and for the sanctuary." Hence it is appropriate that some religious orders exist that are dedicated to military life—not, of course, for some worldly gain, but either for the defense of divine worship and public safety, or for the sake of the poor and oppressed, as Psalm 81.4 says: "Rescue the poor, and free the needy from the hands of the sinful man." Response to Arguments: 1. There are two ways in which one can "not resist evil." One is by condoning an injury to oneself. This is part of the state of perfection, since one condones the injury in order to help bring about the salvation of others. The other way is when one patiently tolerates injuries to others. Such action is imperfect, and may even be immoral, if one is able to prevent the injury with relative ease. Hence Ambrose says in his book, On Duty (book 1, chapter 27): "That form of courage is utterly just when it wages war to preserve one's country from barbarians, or to defend the homes of the infirm, or to preserve one's friends and associates from thieves." The Lord also said, "Do not seek to retrieve what belongs to you." Nevertheless, if it is someone's

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duty to retrieve what belongs to someone else, and he does not do so, he commits a sin. For a man is praised for giving what belongs to him, but not for giving what belongs to others. And it is all the more imperative not to neglect what belongs to God. For, as Chrysostom says in his On Matthew (4.10, homily 5), "It is a great impiety to ignore an injury to God." 3. Penitents are forbidden to engage in secular warfare. But military life dedicated to the service of God is sometimes imposed as a penance, as is clear from the case of those who are enjoined to fight for the Holy Land. E C O N O M I C EXCHANGE AND USURY: SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE

(PART

2.2)

Question 77: Fraud in Economic Exchange Article 1: May one sell something for more than its value? Arguments: 1. Justice in economic exchange is determined by civil law. But in civil law it is licit for buyers and sellers, in a sense, to deceive one another, for example, when a merchant sells something for more than its value or a customer buys something for less than its value. Therefore it is licit for someone to sell a thing for more than its value. Response: To commit fraud by selling a thing for more than its just price is always a sin, because it involves deceiving one's neighbor, an act that is intrinsically wrong. . . . Setting aside fraud, however, we may think of buying and selling in two senses: one is to intrinsically consider the things themselves. Here we find that buying and selling were introduced for the mutual convenience of all, that is, as the philosopher makes clear in book 1 of the Politics (1.3, 1257a6), because one person needs something the other possesses and vice versa. And when something is introduced for the common good, it ought not burden one person more than another. Therefore equitable contracts were introduced. Now the quantity of things sold for human consumption is valued by price. As book 5 of the Ethics (5.5, 1133a29) states, this is why money was invented. Thus if the price exceeds a thing's value, or if the thing is worth more than its price, the justice of equity is violated. Thus to sell a thing for more than its value or to buy it for less than its value is intrinsically unjust and illicit. We may also speak of buying and selling in another sense, namely, when in some secondary sense it benefits one while disadvantaging the other; for instance, when one person has a great need for something while another would be greatly harmed if he lost it. In this case, the just price would be determined not only by the intrinsic value of the thing itself but also with reference to the loss suffered by the seller. Thus it would in such a case be licit for the seller to sell the item for more than its intrinsic value, though not for more than its value to the owner. On the other hand, if he who buys a thing derives a benefit greater than the thing's intrinsic value, yet the seller is not harmed by lack of the thing beyond losing its intrinsic value, then the seller ought not add to the price. For the benefit comes

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not at the seller's expense, but is a function of the condition of the buyer. Now no one should sell something that is not his, though he may add to the price to compensate for his loss. Nevertheless, when someone who buys something benefits greatly by it, it testifies to his uprightness and honesty if he gives the seller a gratuity. Reply to Arguments: 1. As I said before [in 1.2, 96.2], human law is given to people who are, in many ways, lacking in virtue. For law is not given to the virtuous alone. Thus human law cannot prohibit everything contrary to virtue. Rather, it is sufficient if it prohibits those things that are destructive of civil society. Other things it allows not in the sense of giving them approbation but by not actively punishing them. Thus it is licit—in the sense of not being punished—if, without actual fraud, one sells a thing for more than its just price or buys it for less. Even this is only so within limits; even civil law requires restitution if the price is more than 50 percent above or below the just price. But divine law punishes everything that is contrary to virtue. Hence in divine law, economic exchange is unjust if equity is not preserved, and it requires that the restitution paid be greater than what the unjust trader originally gained, assuming the injustice is nontrivial. I would add by way of clarification that the just price cannot be determined with absolute precision, but consists more of general estimates. Thus small variations in price do not constitute inequity. Article 3: Is a merchant obligated to reveal flaws in his merchandise? It is always illicit to bring about circumstances in which someone may suffer danger or harm. 2 On the other hand, one is not obliged to give aid or counsel to all persons in all cases; rather, this is necessary only in specific cases, when someone is in your care or cannot get help elsewhere. A merchant, in offering an item for sale, causes harm or danger in offering faulty goods if the harm or danger stems from that specific fault. "Harm" occurs if this type of fault generally would call for a reduced price, yet the merchant sells the item at full price; "danger" occurs if, due to this fault, some sort of actual impediment or harm results, for example, if one sold a lame horse as if it were swift, a structurally unsound house as if it were sound, or rotten or poisonous food as if it were good. If such a defect is hidden and the merchant does not reveal it, the sale would be illicit and deceitful, and the merchant would be required to make restitution. But if the fault is manifest (e.g., if a horse was one-eyed), or if the thing is useful to others even though it is not to the merchant, and if the price is reduced an appropriate amount, then the merchant need not reveal the fault. For it may be that the buyer would demand a greater reduction in price than is just. Hence it is licit for the merchant to protect himself against loss by remaining silent about the fault. Article 4: Whether in trade it is licit to sell a thing for more than it was purchased. Arguments: 2. As was made clear [in article 1], it is unjust to sell a thing for more that it is worth, or to purchase a thing for less than its value. But he who, in trade, sells a

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thing for more than he bought it must necessarily either have bought it for less than it was worth or else be selling it for more than it is worth. Therefore this cannot be done without sin. Response: Commerce involves the ardent pursuit of trade. Hence the philosopher says in book 1 of the Politics (1.9, 1257a9) that there are two types of trade: one is natural and necessary, namely, either bartering or exchanging money for goods needed for life's necessities. This type of trade is properly the business not of merchants but rather of household and civil managers whose job is to provide the necessities of life for the household or the city. The other type of trade involves exchanging money for money, or money for goods, not in order to obtain the necessities of life but to obtain money. This type of exchange is specific to merchants. Now according to the philosopher {Politics, book 1.10, 1258a38), the first type of exchange is praiseworthy since it aims at procuring life's necessities, while the second is justly despised since it serves a greed that knows no limits but rather is infinite. Thus trade, considered in and of itself, has a shameful aspect that derives from the fact that by nature it does not pursue an honorable or praiseworthy goal. Nevertheless, wealth, the goal of trade, though it is not by nature honorable or necessary, does have a kind of intrinsic vice and virtue. For there is nothing to prevent wealth from being used for a necessary and even honorable purpose. Hence it is licit to allow trade. Examples would be when someone devotes the moderate wealth, which he gains via trade, to obtaining the necessities of life or helping the poor. Another would be someone who engages in trade for the sake of the common good so that the city might not lack the necessities of life, and thus seeks wealth not as an end in itself but rather as a worker's just pay. Response to Arguments: 2. Not everyone who sells something for more than he buys it is engaged in trade, but rather only those who buy something for the purpose of selling it at a higher price. Now if someone buys something to possess rather than to resell it, and afterward for some reason decides to sell it, this is not "trade," even if he sells it for a higher price. And under various circumstances it may be licit to do this, for example, if the thing has somehow become more valuable, or if the price is different due to a change in place or time or to dangers one is exposed to in transporting the item or in having it transported. In such cases, neither seller nor purchaser commits an injustice. Question 78: The Sin of Usury Article 1: Is it a sin to accept usury for a loan? Arguments: 2. As Psalm 18.8 says, "The Law of the Lord is immaculate." This is because it prohibits sin. But the Divine Law allows some usury. Thus Deuteronomy 23.19-20:

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"You shall not lend to your brother money or grain or anything else for usury, but to the stranger." What's more, a reward is promised for keeping the Law. For Deuteronomy 28.12 says: "You shall lend to many nations, and shall not borrow from any." Therefore it is not a sin to accept usury. 3. In human affairs it is civil law that determines what is just. But these allow usury. Therefore it would not seem to be illicit. 7. Anyone may licitly receive something that the owner of the object voluntarily gives him. But he who receives a loan pays usury voluntarily. Therefore he who grants the loan may accept it. Response: To accept usury for loaned money is intrinsically unjust. For to sell something that does not exist constitutes an obvious inequity, which is contrary to justice. As evidence for this view, we must first note that some things are consumed by the very act of being used; for instance, wine is consumed in "using" it for drink and wheat is consumed in "using" it for food. Therefore with such things there should not be any distinction between charging for their use and charging for the thing itself; rather, whoever allows the use of such things also allows the thing itself. Hence to loan such things transfers ownership. Therefore if someone wanted to sell the "use" of wine, he would be selling the same thing twice—or, to look at it differently, he would be selling something that doesn't exist. Obviously this would constitute the sin of injustice. Similarly, it would be unjust to loan wine or wheat and then seek a dual repayment, one for the value of the object itself and the other for its use. This is termed "usury." There are other things, however, which are not consumed by use. For example, a house is not destroyed by being inhabited. In such cases this distinction can be allowed; thus one can sell ownership of a house while reserving the use of it for a certain period, or conversely one can sell the use of a house while retaining ownership. Thus it is licit to accept payment for the use of a house and at the same time put the house on the market for sale. This occurs regularly in selling and leasing houses. Now money, according to the philosopher in book 5 of the Ethics (5.5, 1133a29) and book 1 of the Politics (1.3, 1257a6), was invented primarily to facilitate economic exchange. Thus its proper and principal use is to spend in economic transactions. Hence it is intrinsically unjust to accept a fee for the use of loaned money. This is what is termed "usury." And just as people are forced to make restitution in other cases of economic injustice, so also those who charge usury should be required to restore this money. Response to Arguments: 2. The Jews were forbidden to accept usury "from their brothers," that is, from Jews. We can infer from this that taking usury from anyone is intrinsically wrong. For we should treat all men "as if neighbors and brothers" (Psalm 34.14), especially in living the gospel life to which all are called. Hence in Psalm 14.5 it states absolutely, "He should not give his money for usury"; and at Ezekiel 18.17, "He does not take usury."

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Allowing usury to be accepted from foreigners was a concession granted not as something licit, but in order to avoid the greater evil of permitting the Jews—the worshippers of God—to take usury from their fellow Jews because of the greed to which, as Isaiah 56.11 notes, they were prone. . . . 3. Human laws leave many sins unpunished due to the fact that, given the imperfect conditions of human life, many practical problems would arise and many useful practices and institutions impeded if all sins were punished. Thus human law permits usury not as something it values as intrinsically just, but rather to avoid impeding useful practices and institutions. . . . 7. He who pays usury does not, strictly speaking, act voluntarily, but with an element of coercion. For the fact that those who have money will not lend it without charging interest forces one who needs money to receive it with an interest charge included.

T H E TREATMENT OF N O N - C H R I S T I A N S : UNBELIEVERS AND H E R E T I C S {SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE,

PART

2.2)

Question 10: Unbelief in General Article 8: It seems unbelievers should in no way be compelled to accept the faith. Arguments: 3. Augustine said that man can do other things against his will, but "no one can believe unless he wills it." But the will cannot be coerced. Therefore it seems unbelievers ought not be forced to accept the faith. 4. Ezekiel 18.23, 32 says in the persona of God, "I do not wish the death of sinners." But, as stated above [in Summa Theologiae, 1.2, 19.9, 10], we ought to conform our will to God's will. Therefore we too ought not wish to kill unbelievers. Reply: There are certain unbelievers who have never accepted the faith, for example, pagans and Jews. These unbelievers should in no way be compelled to accept the faith, so that they may believe of their own accord. For belief is voluntary. Nevertheless, if it is not too difficult, the faithful should compel them not to impede the faith either with their blasphemies or with their evil opinions or especially by overt persecution of believers. For this reason the Christian faithful often make war against unbelievers, not in order to force them to believe—for even if they defeated them and took them prisoner, these unbelievers would remain free to choose whether or not to believe—but to compel them not to impede the Christian faith. But there are others who at one time received the faith and publicly professed it—heretics and apostates. Such persons must be compelled, even physically, to fulfill what they have promised and keep faithfully what they once received. Response to Objections: 3. Just as "to make a vow is voluntary, but to fulfill one is a matter of necessity,"

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so too accepting the faith is a voluntary act, but remaining faithful to it once it has been accepted is a matter of necessity. Thus heretics should be compelled to maintain the faith. For as Augustine said in his letter to Count Boniface (Epistle 185), "Why is it that these people continually shout: 'We are free either to believe or not to believe. For who did Christ ever compel by force?' They are ignorant that Paul was first compelled by Christ and only later taught by him." 4. What Augustine says in the same letter is correct: "None of us wants a single heretic to perish. But the House of David never would have known peace unless David's son, Absalom, had been slain in the war that he waged against his father. Similarly, if the Catholic Church saves some via the perdition of others, the salvation of so many nations heals the sorrow of her maternal heart." Article 11: It seems the religious rites of unbelievers ought not to be tolerated. On the Contrary: At Decretales 45 Gregory [the Great] said regarding the Jews: "They have permission to observe and celebrate all festivals that, by ancient custom, they and their ancestors have observed." Response: Human rule derives from divine rule and ought to imitate it. Now God, even though he is omnipotent and supremely good, allows certain evils to exist in the universe that he could permit, either because eliminating them would prevent some greater good or because an even greater evil would follow. Similarly, human governments sometimes—rightly—tolerate certain evils, either to avoid impeding some good or to avoid a greater evil. As Augustine said in book 2 of his On Order, "If whores were removed from human society, lust would run amok." Similarly, even though unbelievers sin every time they perform their rites, these rites are tolerated either because of some good that stems from them or in order to avoid some evil consequence. Now from the fact that the Jews observe their rites—which in the past prefigured the truths of the faith we believe—stems this good: we gain testimony from our enemies and, as it were, behold a symbolic representation of what we believe. This is why their rites are tolerated. But the rites of other unbelievers, which contain no truth and are not useful to us, are not tolerated except to avoid some evil, for example, if it would produce some scandal or controversy or if it would impede the salvation of unbelievers who—if their rites were tolerated a little longer—might be converted to the faith. This is why when there is a large number of heretics and pagans the Church sometimes tolerates their rites. Question 11: Heretics Article 3: It seems heretics ought to be tolerated. Response: Regarding heretics, we must take two things into account: heretics intrinsically, and the Church. Intrinsically, heretics deserve on account of their sin not only to be

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separated from the Church by excommunication, but also to be excluded from the world by death. For to corrupt the faith strikes at the life of the soul and is much worse than counterfeiting money, which subverts temporal life. Hence if counterfeiters or other evildoers are immediately and justly put to death by secular princes, one who is convicted of heresy may immediately and justly be not only excommunicated but also put to death. But the Church is merciful and seeks to convert those in error. Thus it does not immediately condemn them, but only "after a first and second correction," as the Apostle teaches (Titus 3.10). But after this, if they are found to remain obstinate, the Church, no longer hoping for their conversion but working to keep secure the salvation of others in the Church, separates them from the Church by sentence of excommunication, and at last turns them over to secular justice so that they can be exterminated from the world through death. For as Jerome and Decretals (24, 3.16) say: "Rotten flesh should be amputated, and the diseased lamb cast forth from the sheepfold, lest the entire house, mass, body, and herd burn, grow corrupt, putrefy, and perish. For Arius in Alexandria was but a single spark, but because he was not immediately suppressed the entire population of the city was enflamed."

T H E TREATMENT OF N O N - C H R I S T I A N S : JEWS {SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE,

PART

2.2)

The issue of confiscating and baptizing Jewish children was the acid test of Christian attitudes toward Jews. In the quest for a uniformly Christian society, there was from the late twelfth century on an increasing willingness to use coercion and expulsion in order to suppress so visible and recalcitrant a non-Christian minority. Others clung to the older, Augustinian view that the continued existence of Jews was a positive good willed by God. In a magisterial article of the Summa Theologiae, Aquinas placed himself firmly in the latter camp. One of the article's merits is that it presents both sides' strongest arguments. Consider carefully the power that arguments for baptizing Jewish children would have had in a society that sincerely believed all non-Christians were destinedfor eternal damnation. It is also of note that Aquinas's argument for toleration rests not on theological considerations but on principles of natural justice. Centuries later, similar principles would form the foundation for a much broader concept of toleration. Question 10, article 12: Should the children of Jews and other infidels be baptized, even against their parents' will? Apparently so. Arguments: 1. The marriage bond is stronger than a father's rights. For a father's rights are dissolved by human authority when a child, upon maturity, is freed from his family. But the marriage bond may not be broken by human authority; for as Matthew 19.6 says, "What God has joined no man may separate." But the marriage bond may be broken by unbelief, for the Apostle says at Corinthians 1:7.15: "If the infidel wishes to separate, let it be so; in such a case a Christian brother or sister is not bound." And canon law [Gratian, Decretum, p. 2, causa 28, q. 1 en. Uxor legitima-, q. 2 en.

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2 Si infidelis] says that if an infidel spouse will not stand respectfully at the alter of the Creator, then the Christian spouse is not obliged to cohabitate with the infidel. Hence much more so are the rights of infidel parents over their children nullified. Thus their children may be baptized, even against the parents' will. 2. We are more obliged to avoid the danger of eternal death than that of temporal death. But one would sin if he saw someone in danger of temporal death and did nothing to help. Therefore, since the children of Jews and other infidels are in danger of eternal death if they remain with their parents, who will instill their infidel beliefs in them, it seems that they ought to be taken from their parents, baptized, and taught the faith. 3. The children of slaves are slaves themselves and are in their master's power. But the Jews are the slaves of king and prince. Therefore so are their children. Therefore kings and princes have the power to do as they wish with the children of Jews. Hence no one's rights would be violated if they baptized them against their parents' will. 4. A person belongs more to God, from whom he has his soul, than to his biological father, from whom he has his body. Therefore it would not be unjust if the children of Jews were taken from their biological parents and consecrated to God through baptism. 5. Baptism leads more effectively to salvation than preaching, for through baptism the stain of sin is immediately removed, all punishment is absolved, and the doors of heaven are opened. But if danger falls to someone because the faith has not been preached to him, the guilt is imputed to him who failed to preach, just as Ezekiel (3.18-20 and 33.6-8) says of him who "sees the sword coming and fails to blow the trumpet." Hence if the children of Jews are damned because they lack baptism, those who had the power to baptize them and did not will be blamed all the more. On the Contrary: One should never violate rights. But to baptize their children against their will would violate the rights of Jews, because it would eliminate their parental authority over their children, who would now be Christians. Therefore such children should not be baptized against their parents' will. Response: The tradition of the Church has the highest authority and should be followed in all matters. For the Catholic Teachers of the Faith themselves have their authority from the Church; thus the Church's authority has greater standing than that of Augustine or Jerome or any other teacher. But it has never been the Church's custom to baptize the children of Jews against their parents' will, even though in times past many powerful Christian rulers, such as Constantine and Theodosius, were very close to holy bishops—Constantine with Sylvester and Theodosius with Ambrose—who would not have failed to command them to order this if it were a reasonable thing to do. Thus this claim—that the children of Jews should be baptized—which goes beyond the ancient tradition of the Church, appears to be a dangerous novelty.

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The reason for my opinion is twofold: one is because of the danger to the faith. For if children receive baptism before the age of reason, later, when they do reach the age of reason, they may easily be convinced by their parents to repudiate that which they received in ignorance. This would damage the faith. The other reason is because it is contrary to natural justice. For a child naturally belongs to his father. Indeed, at first, as long as he is in his mother's womb, he is not even physically distinct from his parents. But later, after birth and before he has reached the age of free choice, he remains under his parents' care in a kind of spiritual womb. For as long as he is prerational, he is no different from an irrational animal. Thus just as under civil law when a person owns a cow or horse he may use the animal as he wishes, like a tool, so according to natural right a prerational child is under the guardianship of his parents. Hence it would violate natural justice if a child, before he reached the age of reason, was taken from his parents' guardianship or had his life changed in some fundamental way that was contrary to his parents' wishes. But after he begins to have free choice and has, as it were, become his own person, he is able to make his own choices in the areas of divine and natural right. And then he may be led to accept the faith not by coercion, but by persuasion, and may accept the faith and be baptized even against his parents' will. But not until he has reached the age of reason. This is why it is said of the ancient Patriarchs that their children "attained salvation through the faith of their parents"; that is to say, it is the parents' responsibility to provide for their salvation until they reach the age of reason. Responses to the Arguments: 1. In the marriage bond each spouse has the use of free choice, and each is able, if he wishes, to convert to the other's faith. This is not the case with a child who has not reached the age of reason. But after he has reached this age the case is similar, if he chooses to convert. 2. One ought not save someone from death if it violates civil law; for instance, if someone has been condemned by law to execution, it would be wrong to use force and rescue him. Nor should anyone violate natural right, according to which a child is under the guardianship of his parents, by rescuing him from the danger of eternal death. 3. The fact that Jews are slaves of the prince in civil law does not place them outside the realm of natural and divine right. 4. People are brought into relationship with God through their reason, which enables them to know him. Hence a child, before he reaches the age of reason, is naturally brought into relation with God through his parents' reason, since he is under their guardianship and is to receive religious instruction in accordance with their faith. 5. The punishment that follows failure to preach the faith falls only upon those who are commissioned with the duty to preach; as Ezekiel says at 3.17 and 33.7, "I give you as a watchman for the children of Israel." But it is the duty of parents to provide the sacraments of salvation to their infidel children. Hence, if their children are deprived of salvation due to their parents' failure to provide these sacraments, the punishment will fall on the parents.

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The traditional title of this 1263 document is "On the Governance of Jews," and while a lesser-used title ("The Governing of Subjects ") better describes its contents—five of the eight queries addressed in the letter have nothing to do with Jews—it was the fact that the letter deals with Jews, and specifically with the issue of Jewish moneylending or "usury," that accounted for its wide circulation in the later Middle Ages. Some doubt remains as to whether the letter was addressed to Marguerite, Countess of Flanders, or to a Brabantine duchess. The letter's importance, however, lies less in its original context than in its arguments. Here Aquinas, whom we just saw making a powerful case for allowing Jews to raise their children in accordance with their own religious beliefs, is moved by his moral opposition to usury to give rulers license to plunder their Jewish subjects. I have received your Highness's letter, and I give thanks to God who has planted the seed of such virtue in your heart, perceiving as I do both your conscientious solicitude for the subjects of your realm and the devoted affection you have for the brothers of our Order. Still, your request that I give you advice on certain legal questions presents me with some difficulty, both because I am busy with lecturing and because I would prefer that you consult with someone who is more expert in this field.3 But since it would be rude for me to ignore your request, and a poor requital of your affection, I have tried my best to answer your queries, though without prejudice to more learned opinion. Your Highness asks first: When and where may you exact tribute from the Jews? Put thus in abstract terms, I can only answer that, as the law states, the Jews were, or are, bound to perpetual servitude because of their guilt and as such, rulers may treat their property as their own, albeit with the restriction that the Jews should not be deprived of the necessities of life.4 Nevertheless, as the Apostle admonishes us with his own example, we should walk in righteousness even with those outside the faith,5 taking care not to offend Jews nor Gentiles nor the Church of God, lest the Lord's name be blasphemed. In order to avoid this, we should—as the laws also provide— refrain from exacting any novel forced tribute or labor. For people find novelties disturbing. Thus it is my opinion that, other things being equal, you should simply exact from the Jews whatever tribute was customary in the time of your predecessors. Based on your next query, however, I surmise that your doubts on this point are exacerbated by the fact that the Jews of your realm appear to have nothing except what they have acquired through the wicked practice of usury. Hence you go on to ask whether any tribute at all should be exacted from them, since what they have gained by extortion should be returned to its rightful owners. My opinion is that, since the Jews cannot rightfully keep what they have gained through such extortion, you cannot keep anything you receive from them, unless perchance it is funds that the Jews extorted from you or your predecessors.6 But if you hold money that was extorted from others, it is your duty to return it to those whom the Jews themselves are morally bound to make restitution. Hence if you can find the persons victimized by such extortion, you should return their money. If not, you should use the money

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for some pious purpose, seeking and following the advice of the diocesan bishop or other upright men. Or you could use it for legitimate public expenditures, for example, to distribute among the poor or to serve an urgent public need. Nor would it be wrong for you to exact additional tribute from the Jews, assuming it is consistent with what your predecessors did and that you intend to use the funds for the aforesaid purposes. Second, you ask whether Jewish criminals should be punished with fines, given that everything they have was gained via usury. Now it seems to follow from what I've already said that a fine is an especially appropriate punishment, since it prevents the criminal from profiting from his wickedness. It also seems to me that a Jew, or any other usurer, should be fined more heavily than others who are punished with fines, since they are known to have less title to the money taken from them. Additional punishments may also be imposed, since merely being forced to return what you owe is hardly sufficient punishment. If, however, all their income is derived from usury, you may not keep the revenue from such fines, but must put it to the uses I mentioned before. If it is objected that rulers would suffer from such a policy, the reply is that they have brought this suffering on themselves. It would be better for them to compel Jews to work for a living, as is done in parts of Italy, than to allow them to live in idleness and grow rich by usury. If such rulers suffer loss, it is because they have been negligent. This "loss" is identical to the losses a ruler would incur if he had allowed and profited from armed robbery and piracy. Again, such a situation would have arisen through the ruler's own negligence, and he would be obligated to make restitution from whatever revenue he derived from such activity. . . . Finally, you ask whether it would be good for the Jews of your realm to wear a sign or symbol distinguishing them from Christians. Here the answer is obvious: According to the Ecumenical Council, Jews of both genders must, in all realms and at all times, be distinguishable from Christians by their dress. And their own law commands that they wear a fringed, four-cornered garment to distinguish them from other people. 7 These, most distinguished and pious Lady, are the responses that I would at this time make to your queries. However, I have no desire to impose my opinions on you; rather, I would prefer that you seek and take more expert advice. May your reign long endure. T H E MENDICANT ORDERS

Though by the mid-thirteenth century the Dominican and Franciscan orders were a ubiquitous part of European religious life, they continued to be criticized by clergy who were jealous of their eminence in the universities and who regarded their pastoral work— traditionally the province of bishops and diocesan clergy—as a novelty and a usurpation. Such critics attacked the mendicants with every available weapon. Here we find Aquinas defending his brethren against one of their most powerful critiques: that the alms collected by able-bodied mendicants should go instead to the poor and disabled.

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2.6: Against Those Who Attack the Religious Life Should members of religious orders live on charity, and specifically by begging? Arguments: 3. The religious state aims at a perfect life. But it is more perfect to give alms than to receive them, as Acts 20.35 says: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." Therefore religious brothers and sisters ought to work with their hands in order to have goods to give to the needy rather than receive the necessities of life from alms. 4. At Timothy 1:5.16, the Apostle commands that "Widows who can be supported by others should not live on the Church's charity, so that the Church should not be overburdened and thus will have enough to support true widows." Thus the healthy and strong should live by their own labor lest they take alms from the truly poor who have no means of survival except through charity. 7. To receive cannot be the act of any virtue except liberality, which is the mean with regard to giving and receiving. But, as the philosopher writes in book 4 of the Ethics, a liberal person receives only in order to give. Thus one who constantly receives is illiberal and reprehensible. 8. Augustine, in his The Work of Monks, reproaches "certain religious who wish to live on charity and avoid manual labor." About such people he writes (among other things), "as I see it, these brothers dare arrogate this privilege"—namely, living off the Gospel without manual labor. In response to this criticism they claim "they have given up their possessions for the sake of Christ and perform spiritual work instead, namely prayers, Psalms, and the Word of God." Thus those who give up their worldly possessions because of Christ ought not live on alms, even if they do perform spiritual work. Response: First we will show that those who give up everything for Christ may live on alms . . . [lastly] we will respond to the counter-arguments. . . . Augustine [states] that since all Christians constitute a single commonwealth {respublica), it does not matter at all which individual gives up his possessions or from whom he receives the necessities of life. Therefore he who has given up everything he has for the sake of Christ may accept the necessities of life from anyone. . . . Also, to devote one's life to contemplation of the divine is more praiseworthy than devoting one's life to the study of philosophy. But one may, without sin, live on charity for a time in order to study philosophy. Therefore it is also licit to give up manual labor for a time and live on charity in order to contemplate. But to devote oneself constantly to contemplating the divine is more praiseworthy than doing this for a specific time. Thus it is licit for some to give up manual labor for their entire life and live on alms in order to devote themselves to contemplation. Also, the love of Christ is more effective in making everything the common possession of all than is social amity. But if someone gives me something out of friendship, I may use it as I like. Thus all the more might I live on what someone gives me out of Christian love.

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Also, he who may receive what is greater may receive what is less. But religious may receive the income of a thousand marks and live on this income without performing manual labor. Otherwise many religious who possess great wealth would be in a state of mortal sin, and by the same reasoning many diocesan priests, who lack a cure of souls and live on the Church's money, which is provided by charitable giving, would also be in mortal sin. Thus it is ridiculous to say that poor religious may not receive a moderate level of charity and thus live without performing manual labor. Reply to Arguments: 3. In an absolute sense giving is more praiseworthy than receiving. Thus in book 4 of the Ethics the philosopher writes that although liberality has to do with both, the act of liberality consists mainly in giving rather than receiving (4.1, 1120al015). Still, circumstances can render receiving more praiseworthy in a secondary sense. Thus in the case of a poor man, if we attend strictly to the receiving of charity, the rich man who offers charity is more blessed than the poor man who receives it. Yet it can happen that receiving can be more meritorious: for instance, if one is not forced into poverty, but chooses it so that he may receive alms for Christ's sake. . . . Now it is true that, for those who are able, to work with one's hands in order to give to others is the most perfect state of all, as I noted above. Still, I do not concede that religious are bound to do what is most perfect in every aspect of life; rather, they are held to the highest standard only in those areas where their vows commit them. 4. The Church is not burdened if religious live on charity, for, content with little, they yield the Church a rich harvest. On the contrary, the Church gains financially from these religious, for when others, who are not content with little, spend large sums, the pittance that these religious take for themselves in living on charity does not deprive the poor; rather, by means of their careful planning and fundraising they give to the poor much more than they receive. What's more, the mendicants give freely to the poor of all that they have. Thus they provide the poor with far more than they themselves receive in alms. 7. It is true that receiving is not an act of liberality unless it is done specifically for the purpose of giving to someone else. Nevertheless, to accept the necessities of life is an act of humility in those who humble themselves for Christ's sake by subjecting themselves to poverty—and humility is a greater virtue than liberality. 8. In this book [The Work of Monks], Augustine has two reasons for reproaching monks who live on charity: one, because of an error they fell into, namely, in saying that manual labor was contrary to the evangelical precept (Matthew 6.25): "Do not be anxious for your body" and so on; and second, because they joined a religious order out of laziness, fleeing the lives of hard labor that had been their lot in the world. Hence he says that "in a way of life where even senators must become laborers in the vineyard, such men should not live in leisure. But those who have sufficient worldly possessions to live without manual labor may do so; and those who are occupied in Church offices may live on alms, as was done in the early Church in Jerusalem."

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CHAPTER VIII T H E NATURE OF W O M E N : SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE

(PART 1)

Question 92: The Creation of Woman Article 1: It seems woman ought not to have been among the first things created. Arguments: 1. For the philosopher says in his book, On the Reproduction of Animals (book 2.3, 737a27), that "the female is a failed male." But nothing failed and deficient should be among the first things established. Therefore woman ought not to have been among the first things established. 2. The state of being a subject or an inferior is a consequence of sin. For at Genesis 3.16 it is said to the woman after sin has occurred, "You will be under the authority of the man," and Gregory said that "if we had not failed, all would be equal." 8 But woman is naturally inferior to man in power and in dignity. For as Augustine says in his Literal Commentary on Genesis, book 12 (ch. 16), "it is more honorable to act than to be passive." Therefore woman ought not to have been among the first things produced before sin occurred. 3. Occasions of sin ought to be removed. But God foresaw that woman would be the occasion of man's sin. Therefore he should not have made woman. On the Contrary: Genesis 2.18 says "It is not good for man to be alone; we shall make for him a helpmate who is similar to himself." Response: As Scripture says, it was necessary that woman exist in order to aid man. It was not the case, however, contrary to what some say, that she was needed to help him with other tasks, since for any other type of work another man would have been more useful to him than a woman. Rather, she was needed as a helpmate in reproduction. This can easily be seen if we consider the various types of reproduction that occur among living creatures. For there are certain living creatures that have no intrinsic, active capacity for reproduction, but whose species is reproduced by an external agent, namely, plants and animals that are reproduced without seed but rather from some appropriate material via the action of certain heavenly bodies. 9 Other creatures have the active and passive powers of reproduction joined as one, namely, plants that are reproduced via seeds. For plants perform no function that is nobler than reproduction; hence it is appropriate that their active and passive powers of reproduction be constantly joined. In correctly developed animals, however, the active power of generation exists in the male of the species, while the passive power exists in the female. And since animals do have a function nobler than generation that their life is directed toward, 10 in complex animals the masculine and feminine sex are not constantly joined, but only in coitus. Thus we may imagine that the male and female become one in coitus, just as in plants the masculine and feminine are constantly joined, even if in one plant the masculine may predominate and in another the feminine.

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Now humans are directed toward an even nobler activity—namely, understanding. Thus it is appropriate that in humans there be a greater distinction between each of these powers. So man and woman are produced separately, yet are joined physically in the act of reproduction. Thus Genesis 2.24 says, immediately after the formation of woman: "The two shall become one flesh." Reply to Objections: 1. Vis-a-vis a specific nature, the female is something deficient and accidental. For the active power in the seed of the male intends the production of something perfectly similar to itself, that is, something masculine, and when the female is produced it is due to some weakness in the active power or because of some indisposition in the material or because of some external change such as a southern wind, which is moist, as is stated in On the Reproduction of Animals (book 4.2, 766b33). But vis-a-vis nature in general, the feminine is not accidental but is intended by nature as essential to the work of reproduction. Now the general intentions of nature depend upon God, who is the universal author of nature. And thus he established nature so that it would produce not only males but also females. 2. There are two ways in which one can be a subject: one is in a servile sense, which occurs when a ruler uses his subjects for his own utility. This form of subjection came into being only after sin occurred. The other form of being a subject is economic or political, wherein a ruler guides his subjects for the sake of their utility and good. This form of being a subject existed before sin. For the multitude of humanity would not be well governed if they were not ruled by the wise. This is why woman is naturally subject to man, because rational discretion is naturally more plentiful in men. Nor was human inequality excluded by the state of innocence, as I will argue below [in 96.3]. 3. If God removed everything from the world that could be an occasion of sin for humans, the universe would be rendered imperfect. Nor should the general good be destroyed in order to avoid specific evils. Besides, God is sufficiently powerful to transform any evil into goodness. Article 2: It seems woman should not have been createdfrom man. Response: As compared with what is the case with other animals, it was more appropriate that woman, in the case of the first creation, be formed from man. The first reason is that it augmented the dignity of the first man that, in a way analogous to God, he himself is the principle and origin of the entirety of his species, just as God is the principle and origin of the entire universe. Hence Paul said at Acts 17.26 that "from one man God made the entire human species." Second, so that man, knowing woman was produced from him, would love her more and adhere to her inseparably. Hence Genesis 2.23-24 says, "She was taken from man. Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall adhere to his wife." This was especially necessary for the human species, since in it the male and female live together for their whole lives, which is not the case with other animals.

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Third, because as the philosopher says in the Ethics, book 8 (8.12, 1162al9), among humans male and female are joined not only for the sake of reproduction, as is the case with other animals, but also for domestic life in which men and women have different tasks and wherein the man is head of the woman. Hence it was more appropriate that woman be formed from man, her origin and principle. The fourth reason is sacramental. For this symbolizes the fact that the Church takes her origin from Christ. Hence the Apostle said at Ephesians 5.32 that "This is a great mystery;11 now I am speaking of Christ and the Church." H U M A N SEXUALITY: SUMMA

THEOLOGIAE

(PART

2.2)

Question 152: Virginity Article 2: It seems virginity ought to be forbidden. Arguments: 1. Everything that is contrary to natural-law precepts is forbidden. But just as Genesis 2.16—"You may eat of every tree that is in Paradise"—refers to the naturallaw precept that bears on the preservation of individual life, so also Genesis 1.28— "Increase and multiply, and fill the earth"—announces the natural law precept that bears on the preservation of the species. Therefore, just as one who abstained from all food would sin by acting against the good of the individual, so too one who completely abstains from the act of reproduction sins by acting against the good of the species. Response: Human acts are morally defective when they are in opposition to the correct moral reasoning. And correct moral reasoning consists of evaluating and ordering objects that are means to the ultimate goal or purpose in a way that is consistent with that goal. Now as it says in the Ethics, book 1 (1.8, 1098b 12), there are three categories of human goods: external objects, such as wealth; goods of the physical body; and goods of the soul, among which the goods of the contemplative life are superior to those of the active life, as the philosopher proves in the Ethics, book 10 (10.7, 1177al2) and the Lord says at Luke 10.42: "Mary has chosen the better portion." 12 And external goods are subordinate to and directed toward goods of the physical body; goods of the physical body are subordinate to and directed toward goods of the soul; and lastly, goods of the active life are subordinate to and directed toward goods of the contemplative life. Therefore it is an aspect of correct moral reasoning that one use exterior goods in accordance with reason's judgment as to how they will best benefit the body; and similarly with other goods. Thus if one abstains from possessing some object that it would otherwise be good to possess for the sake of physical well-being or in order to contemplate truth, such an act is not morally defective but rather is in accordance with correct moral reasoning. Similarly, if one abstains from physical enjoyments in order to have time free for contemplating truth, this is also in accordance with correct moral reasoning.

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Now religious virginity abstains from all sexual pleasure in order to have time free to contemplate the divine. For the Apostle says in 1 Corinthians 7.34 that "An unmarried woman and a virgin can think of the things of the Lord, in order to be holy in both body and in spirit; while a married woman thinks of the things of this world and how to please her husband." Hence it follows that virginity is not morally defective, but rather praiseworthy. Response to Arguments: 1. As I previously have said [in 44.1, 122.1], a precept creates an obligation. Now there are two types of obligation: one type must be fulfilled by each individual, and failure to perform this type of obligation is always sinful. The other type of obligation must be fulfilled by a group. But not every member of the group is bound to fulfill such an obligation in the same way. For many people are needed to do things that one person alone cannot do, but at the same time certain individuals may do something else while the multitude fulfills the obligation. Therefore the natural-law precept that demands that one eat a sufficient amount of food must be fulfilled by the individual, for otherwise the individual will not remain alive. But the precept calling for reproduction refers to the entirety of the human race, which is required not only to multiply numerically but also to grow in spiritual perfection. Thus human generation is sufficiently provided for if some people do the work of physical reproduction, while others, abstaining from this, free themselves in order to contemplate the divine, for the sake of humanity's spiritual beauty and well-being. An analogous case is the way in the army that some soldiers defend the castle, others bear the banners, while others fight with swords; for while these obligations belong to the entire group, no single individual can fulfill them all. Article 3: It seems virginity is not a virtue. Arguments: 2. As stated above [in 1.2, 65.1], whoever has one virtue has them all. But some people have the other virtues but do not possess virginity. Otherwise, since no one lacking virtue can enter the kingdom of heaven, only virgins could enter it. And this would mean that all married persons would be damned. Therefore virginity is not a virtue. Response: As I said before [in articles 1-2], the formal element in virginity is an unqualified intention to perpetually refrain from sexual pleasure. And this intention is rendered laudable because of its purpose, namely, that it is done in order to make time free for divine things. But the material element in virginity is the integrity of the flesh that exists in the absence of any experience of sexual pleasure. Now obviously wherever there is a specific material object possessing a specific excellence there is also found the elements of a specific virtue. For example, being a great benefactor, which requires wealth, is a specific virtue distinct from generosity, which relates in a general way to how money is used. So also keeping oneself free

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from the experience of sexual pleasure is an excellence that is more praiseworthy than refraining from excessive sexual pleasure. Thus virginity is a specific virtue related to chastity in the same way that the virtue of a great benefactor is related to generosity. Response to Arguments: 2. As I said above [in 129.3, ad 2], the virtues are connected by their formal element, namely, charity or prudence, and not by their material element. For nothing prevents someone from having the material element of one virtue while lacking that of another. Thus a poor man possesses the material element of temperance but not the material element of major generosity. In this way the other virtues may lack the material element of virginity, that is, the above-mentioned physical integrity. Nevertheless, they may possess the formal element of virginity, namely, the mental willingness to preserve this physical integrity, if it were appropriate to their state of life. In the same way, a poor man may in his soul be prepared to perform great acts of generosity, were he able to do so, and similarly a man in prosperous circumstances may in his soul be prepared to suffer adversity with equanimity. Without this willingness of soul, no one can be virtuous. Article 4: It seems virginity is not a more excellent state of life than marriage. Response: As Jerome makes clear in his book Against Jovinius, this was the error of Jovinius, who claimed that virginity was not preferable to marriage. This error is refuted by the example of Christ, who along with his mother the Virgin chose and lived a virgin life; by the teaching of the Apostle, who at 1 Corinthians 7.25 et seq. counsels virginity as the greater good; and by reason as well. For the divine good is greater than the human good, the good of the soul is preferable to the good of the body, and the good of the contemplative life is preferable to the good of the active life. But virginity is directed toward the good of the soul by means of the contemplative life, which is a matter of "thinking of the things of God." By contrast, marriage is directed toward the good of the body, namely, the preservation of the human race, and is part of an active life, since a man and a woman living in marriage must "think of the things of this world," as the Apostle says at 1 Corinthians 7.33-34. Hence virginity is undoubtedly preferable to marriage. Disputed Question: On Evil, 15.1: Sensuality^ Article 1: Is every act of sensuality a sin? It seems not. Arguments: 2. Having sex with a woman is a natural act, and as such is no more a sin than seeing a woman, since each is the act of a natural capacity. But seeing a woman is not in itself a sin. Therefore neither is having sex with her. 4. Also, in book 15 of his work on animals {On the Reproduction of Animals, 15.19), the philosopher says that semen is constituted by excess nutritive elements.

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But it is licit and not sinful to expel other substances that are in excess. Thus the case seems similar with semen. Therefore not every sexual act is a sin. 8. Nothing done in accordance with a command from God can be a sin. But fornication is sometimes done at God's command. Compare Hosea 1.2: "The Lord said to Hosea: Go, take a wife of fornication, and bring forth children of fornication." Therefore fornication is not intrinsically a sin. Response: I say that sensuality is a particular vice whose opposite virtue is temperance, and that it relates specifically to the desire for sensual tactile pleasure in the same way that gluttony is a particular vice opposed to temperance insofar as it controls the desire for the gustatory pleasures of food and drink. Hence sensuality refers to an excess that produces a disordered desire for pleasure. This disorder may exist in internal desires alone, or it may be manifest in external acts as well. These acts are intrinsically disordered and are not wrong merely because they process from disordered desires. Now disordered desire means performing an intrinsically disordered action for the sake of pleasure. How this works can be seen clearly in the case of desire for money. For it can happen that you conceive an inordinate desire to acquire or retained money that is properly yours. In such a case, the acquiring or retaining the money is not intrinsically opposed to virtue, but is wrong only insofar as it stems from excessive desire. But sometimes inordinate desire leads one to accept or keep someone else's money. This is intrinsically disordered, not only because of the inordinate desire that precedes the act, but also because it is related to the vice of stinginess, as the philosopher makes clear in book 4 of the Ethics (4.1, 1 1 2 1 b l 5 - l 122a 16). We can say similar things about sensuality. For sometimes only an inordinate interior desire is involved, as is clear in the case where one has excessive desire for one's wife. Here the act itself is not disordered, but merely the desire it proceeds from. At other times, however, inordinate desire is accompanied by an act that is intrinsically disordered. This is the case with every sexual use of the genitals outside the marriage act. That such acts are in fact intrinsically inordinate can be seen from this: every human act is disordered that is not in due relation to its specific goal. Thus eating is disordered if it is not in due relation to its goal, which is good health. Now the goal of using the genitals 14 is the procreation and rearing of children. Thus all use of these organs that is not in due relation to these goals is intrinsically disordered. Now every sexual act other than intercourse between a man and a woman is obviously not compatible with procreation. And all intercourse between men and women outside legal marriage is ill-suited to proper child-rearing. For marriage law was established to eliminate random sex, which makes it difficult to know who the father of a child is. 15 For if everyone had sex with whomever they like, and not with someone who was his own, this would eliminate any certain knowledge of whose children were whose, and consequently would also undermine the solicitude of fathers concerning the rearing of their children. This is opposed to human nature, for men are naturally desirous of knowing that their children are truly theirs and are

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concerned about the rearing of them. This line of reasoning applies more to fathers than to mothers, for mothers rear children when they are young; 16 after that, it is the work of fathers to rear and instruct his son and to prepare him for his entire life. Thus we see with animals that among those species whose offspring require the care of both a mother and a father, there is no random mating, but rather the male mates with a specific female. This is the case with all birds who build nests together. Hence it is clear that all sex between men and women outside legal marriage is intrinsically disordered. I will not deal here with whether this requires that each person have one spouse or several, or whether each may be appropriate in different cases. For this is a question that relates specifically to marriage. However this may be, the fact remains that sex between men and women outside marriage is disordered. Thus it is disordered desire that makes every act of sensuality a sin. This type of disordered desire primarily and intrinsically relates to sensuality. For as Augustine says in book 13 of The City of God [sic, it should be book 12, chapter 28], sensuality is not a vice of beautiful and desirable bodies, but of the soul's perverse love, which neglects temperance for the sake of voluptuous bodies. For when we do shameful things we become shameful ourselves, and when we do lovely things we become lovable. Reply to Arguments: 2. Nothing prevents a thing from "being mine" for purposes of seeing that nevertheless does not belong to me in any other sense. Thus gold that is displayed in the streets is mine to look at, but not mine to possess. Similarly, a woman can "belong" to someone for purposes of seeing, or even—as in the case of a slave woman—to possess, yet she is not his for sexual purposes unless they are joined in legal marriage. 4. As the philosopher says in the same book, semen is an excess related to nutrition, but it is an excess required for the procreation of children. Thus all voluntary emission of semen is illicit unless it is directed toward the goal nature intends. Other excess substances (e.g., sweat, urine, and so on) have no use and thus it does not matter how they are expelled. 8. All things are in God's power. Thus when the children of Israel despoiled the Egyptians, the fact that he commanded it made v/hat would have been theft into nontheft (cf. Exodus 12). Similarly, by the authority of God, which is superior to the law of marriage, sexual relations that generally would constitute fornication do not do so. Thus when this passage refers to a "wife of fornication" and "children of fornication" it is not because this was in fact fornication, but because in other cases it would have been. Question 154: The Various Types of Sexual Sin Article 5: It seems nocturnal pollution is a sin.17 Response: Nocturnal pollution may be analyzed in two ways: one is intrinsically. In this way it does not have the nature of sin. For all sin depends on rational judgment, and even the beginnings of sexual arousal are not sinful unless that arousal could have

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been prevented by rational judgment. Similarly, the absence of rational judgment means the absence of sin. But in sleep reason does not possess freedom of judgment. For as I made clear in part 1 of this work [in 84.8, ad 2], in sleep everyone regards illusory objects as real. Thus what a man does while asleep, when he does not have the free use of rational judgment, is not imputed to him as guilt, just as we do not blame lunatics or madmen for their actions. The other way of analyzing nocturnal pollution is in relation to its cause. Here there may be three causes: one is the physical body. For it may happen that there is an excess of the seminal humor in the body, either via the humors breaking down into their elements, or from excessive heat in the body, or from some other disturbance. For one function of sleep is the expulsion of such excess or decomposed humors, which is what happens when nature is weighed down by other superfluities. Thus the imagination may form images that are helpful in expelling such superfluous humors. Therefore if the excess humor is due to some culpable cause, for instance from consuming too much food or drink, then guilt, stemming from its cause, does attach to the nocturnal pollution. But if the superabundance or decomposition of this humor is due to some nonculpable cause, then neither its cause nor the nocturnal pollution itself bears any guilt. Now there may also be an internal cause of nocturnal pollution, such as when previous thoughts lead to pollution while sleeping. Now these preceding, waking sexual thoughts may be of two sorts: purely speculative, as when someone for the sake of intellectual argument ponders the nature of sexual sin; or when someone regards sexual thoughts with affection, desire, or aversion. Now most nocturnal pollution results from thoughts of sexual vices that were accompanied by desire for such pleasures. For such thoughts leave traces and an inclination in the soul, so that, during sleep, one's imagination is easily led to consent to those acts that produce the pollution. For as the philosopher says in the Ethics, book 1 (1.13, 1102b9), "since a little something is transferred" from wakefulness to sleep, "the dreams of the studious are better than those of others." And Augustine says in his Literal Commentary on Genesis (book 12, chapter 15) that "because of the good disposition of their soul, the merits of some people shine forth even in their sleep." In such cases it is clear that, due to its cause, nocturnal pollution is culpable. Nevertheless, it may occasionally happen that nocturnal pollution follows even when thoughts about sex are purely speculative or are regarded with aversion. In this case neither the cause nor the nocturnal pollution itself bears culpability. The third cause of nocturnal pollution is external spirits, that is, when the work of demons manipulates the dreams of the sleeper in order to produce such an effect. This is sometimes due to the prior sin of neglecting to prepare oneself against demonic illusions. Thus in the evening compline service we sing "And restrain us, that our bodies may not be polluted." But at other times this may occur solely due to the wickedness of the demons and absent any human guilt, for as we read in the Collections of the Fathers,1^ there were some who on feast days always suffered nocturnal pollution, which demons caused in order to keep them from receiving Holy Communion. Therefore, in general it is clear that nocturnal pollution is never a sin in itself, though it is sometimes a consequence of a preceding sin.

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Article 11: It seems unnatural vice is not a type of sexual sin. Response: As I said above [in articles 6, 9], there is a specific type of sexual sin wherever there is a specific type of perversion that renders the sexual act indecent. This can happen in two ways: one is that the act is opposed to correct moral reasoning. This occurs with all types of sexual vice. The other way is when, in addition to this, the act is contrary to the natural ordering of the sexual act that is proper to human beings. This is what is called "unnatural vice." It may occur in several ways: one is when, for the sake of sexual pleasure alone and absent all copulation, pollution 19 is produced. This is the sin of uncleanliness, which some call voluptuousness. Another way is through intercourse with a creature of a different species, which is called bestiality. A third way is when there is sexual relations between two persons who are not of the appropriate gender, that is, a man with a man or a woman with a woman, as the Apostle says at Romans 1.26-27. This is called the Sodomite vice. The fourth way is through unnatural forms of intercourse, for example, not using the appropriate bodily organs or by having intercourse in some monstrous or bestial sexual position. Article 12: It seems that unnatural vice is not the gravest of all sexual sins. Arguments: 1. Sins are graver the more they are contrary to love or charity. But adultery, seduction, and rape, since they involve inflicting injury, seem more contrary to charity for one's neighbor than sins against nature, which injure no one. Hence sins against nature are not the gravest type of sexual sin. Response: In any category, the worst and principal fault is one involving something that other things in that category are dependent on. Now that which is in accordance with nature is the principle of moral reasoning. For reason, presupposing the things nature indicates, makes other decisions on this basis. This same phenomenon appears in speculative inquiry as well as in reasoning about how to act. Thus just as in speculative inquiry an error about things that are naturally known to man is the gravest and worst possible, so too in the sphere of action that which is contrary to what nature indicates is gravest and worst. Therefore since in vices contrary to nature man transgresses what nature indicates concerning the use of sexuality, in this sphere such sins are the gravest. Next in gravity comes incest, which, as I previously said [in article 9], violates the natural reverence we ought to have for those close to us. Now the other types of vice merely pervert what correct moral reasoning determines on the basis of natural principles. And sexual acts are more gravely wrong when they are not only contrary to those that lead to procreation but also involve injury to someone. Thus fornication, which is committed without injuring anyone, is the least grave of sexual sins. And it is a greater injury to have sex with a woman subject to another's authority if the woman may bear that man's children than if she is merely under his care. Thus adultery is a graver sin than seduction. And each type

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of sin is aggravated by violence. T h u s it is m o r e gravely sinful to rape a virgin than to seduce her, or to rape a married w o m a n t h a n to c o m m i t adultery. Finally, as I said above [in article 10, ad 2 ] , every type of sexual sin is rendered m o r e serious if it involves sacrilege. Reply to

Arguments:

1. Just as the order of correct moral reasoning derives from m a n , so too the natural order is from G o d himself. H e n c e sins that are contrary to nature, which violate the natural order itself, constitute an injury toward G o d , the A u t h o r of nature.

NOTES

1. A traditional Roman law term that refers not merely to the head of a family, but to one who owns an estate and directs both domestic and agricultural slaves. The familia in question is an economic unit rather than merely a nuclear family. 2. The Latin term is damnus: harm in the legal sense, loss, injury, and so on. 3. A rare admission by Thomas that a topic is beyond his purview. Essentially, he was telling the countess (or duchess) that she should consult a canon lawyer. 4. Texts in ecclesiastical or "canon" law collections like the twelfth-century Decretum of Gratian and the thirteenth-century Decretales regulated the treatment of Jews in Latin Christian Europe. These texts (based on the judicial rulings of popes and the decrees of church councils) gave Jews certain privileges, such as freedom from physical assault and limited rights to property and freedom of worship, while subjecting them to a variety of social restrictions and granting rulers—both lay and ecclesiastical—broad powers to regulate and tax them. Both the privileges and the restrictions were based on the theological premise that the Jews, as Christ-killers, had been punished by God with exile, political powerlessness, and quasiservile status. 5. The Latin phrase quiforis sunt (literally, "who are outside") was derived from the Vulgate translation of 1 Corinthians 5.12—13 and became an important technical phrase in canon law, used to refer to the Church's limited sovereignty over non-Christians in Christian lands. 6. The notion that the politically powerless Jews of medieval Europe could "extort" money from their rulers is, of course, laughable. 7. This is the eighth query Aquinas addresses. 8. Moralia, book 2 1 , chapter 15 (ML 76.203). "Gregory" is Pope Gregory the Great, pope from 590-604. 9. Ancient and medieval sciences posited various forces flowing from the planets and stars to earth analogous to the heat and light that flow from the sun; for instance, the forces of various planets were invoked as the cause of the various types of rocks and mineral contained in the earth. Similarly, such forces were believed responsible for the reproduction of certain plants and animals that had no visible seed or did not visibly engage in coitus, for example, the appearance of maggots in rotting flesh. Lest this seem naive, we should recall that gravity, magnetism, radio waves, radiation, and ultraviolet light are all invisible and rather mysterious forces that modern science has discovered flowing from large heavenly bodies and exerting influence upon earth. 10. The life of the senses. 11. The Latin term is sacramentum, which means both "mystery" and "sacrament," thus reinforcing Aquinas's argument.

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12. Thomas here follows the standard patristic/medieval interpretation of Luke 10.38-42, which held that Mary stood for the contemplative life and Martha for the active life. 13. The Latin term luxuria has no good English equivalent. As Thomas explains in the response section of this disputed question, luxuria is an excessive or disordered sexuality, with "excessive" and "disordered" defined in relation to what he terms a mean (in this case, "norm" is perhaps more like it), which would be moderate sexual activity within heterosexual marriage, directed primarily if not exclusively toward procreation. Luxuria thus refers to sex with anyone other than a spouse or for any reason other than procreation. 14. The Latin phrase, "Finis autem usus genitalium membrorum," is as crude as its English translation. Scholastic writers, unlike medieval poets, were astonishingly unromantic and clinical in their thinking on sex. 15. Note that Thomas seems to envisage only two alternatives: complete monogamy or random coupling. 16. The Latin "circa infantilem aetatem is more precise: a child was considered an infans until about age seven. 17. A reference to ejaculation during sleep. That Aquinas, like other medieval writers, refers to this phenomenon as a source of "pollution" is of course significant in itself. 18. Collections of the Fathers, book 22, chapter 6 (ML 49.1225). This work was compiled by John Cassian (died c. 435), who along with St. Benedict was one of the most important figures in the establishment of Western monasticism. 19. That is, ejaculation.

SUGGESTIONS F O R F U R T H E R READING

The literature on Thomas Aquinas is larger than that on any other European philosopher or theologian. Indeed, after Jesus, Napoleon, and Abraham Lincoln, Aquinas is the most written-about figure in Western history. One reason for this, of course, was his 600-year-plus reign as the quasi-official philosopher of the Roman Catholic Church, but the past three decades have seen an ever-increasing flow of writing about Aquinas from non-Catholic philosophers, theologians, and historians as well. Much of this literature is highly technical, written by scholars for scholars, but there is no shortage of introductory works. The following selections are intended to serve as no more than a point of departure. Most contain bibliographies—some of them very substantial—to guide interested readers into the more specialized branches of Thomistic study. A solid, popularly accessible life of Thomas has long been a desideratum. G. K. Chesterton's St. Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox (New York, 1956) remains in many ways the best. More a biographical essay than a true biography, and highly personal and impressionistic in approach, it nevertheless conveys a vivid, indelible sense of Thomas's personality and the importance of his work. Less lively, but still readable and more thorough on Aquinas's thought and influences is F. C. Copleston's Aquinas (New York, 1955). The standard scholarly biographies are James A. Weisheipl's Friar Thomas D'Aquino (Washington, DC, 1974), and Jean-Pierre Torrell's St. Thomas Aquinas: The Person and His Work (Washington, DC, 1994). A fine introduction to medieval thought in general, with special emphasis on Aquinas, is Etienne Gilson's short masterpiece, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (New York, 1938). The same author's The Christian Philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas (Notre Dame, IN, 1994) is a magisterial synthesis of Aquinas's thought. Ralph Mclnerney's Ethica Thomistica (Washington, DC, 1997) is a good place to begin on Thomas's ethical teaching. John F. Wipple's Metaphysical Themes in Thomas Aquinas (Washington, DC, 1984) is a thoughtful explanation. Rather advanced but worth the effort is Mark D. Jordan's Ordering Wisdom (Notre Dame, IN, 1986).

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READING

Finally, there is a large amount of material by and about Thomas available on the Internet. Among the most comprehensive sites, with links to many others, is the Thomas Instituut homepage <www.ktu.ruu.nl/Thomas/>.

INDEX

Accidents. See Qualities Active intellect, 6 1 , 69-73 « and actual Actualization. See Potential Albert the Great, xi Allegory, 166, 168-69 Alms and almsgiving, 212-13 Anaxagoras, 41 Angels, 2 6 n l 7 Animals, nature of, 13-15 Anselm, St., 2 Apostates, 205 Aristocracy, 195 Aristotle, xii, xiv, 1-2, 28-29, 74 Arithmetic, 21 Arius, 137 Arts, Faculty of, at University of Paris, xiii Augustine, St., 60 Averroes, xi, 1 Avicenna, xi, 1 Beauty, 182, 183-87 Being, 3-8, 43 Berengar, 151 Bible, interpretation of, 165-67, 168-69 Buying and selling. See Economic exchange Cardinal virtues, 92, 107 Categories (Aristotelian), 5 7 n l 7 Causality, 4 Change, 31-35

Charity, 129-30 Choice, 98-99 Christ ministry of, 171-72 mystical body of, 144, 146, 212 presence in the Eucharist, 150-58 salvific Passion of, 143-50 Circumstances (of moral actions), 101-2 Cologne, x, xi Common good, 118 Composition in material objects, 79 Concupiscence, 107, 132nl6 Confession, sacrament of, I63n5 Courage, 92 Damned, the, 159-63 bodies of, 159-61 Decretum (of Gratian), 133n38 Democracy, 195, 197 Democritus, 75 Demons, 221 Determinatio, 93 Devil, 147 Dionysius the Aereopagite, xi Disciples (of Jesus), 174, 180 Disputations, xii Divinity and divine science. See Theology, nature of Dominicans, ix-x "Double truth" theory, xiii Dreams, 221 Dulia, I63n9

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INDEX

Economic exchange, 201-3 Efficient cause, 4, 25n3, 141 Epicureans, 136 Errors of the mind, 77, 78-79, 80 Esselessence distinction, xi, 2, 5-8 Essence (of being), 5-8 Eternal law, 119 Eternal punishment, 116 Evil, 99-100, 103-5, 131n8 Existence, 5-8 Experience (as opposed to knowledge), 16-17 Filioque, I63n2 Final cause, 4, 25n4 First principles, 8-9 Form. See Structure/structural cause Four Books of Sentences, The (Peter Lombard), x, xiii Four causes, xi, 4 Four senses of Scripture, 166-67 General concepts {universalid), 2 6 n l 2 Generation and corruption, 39-44 Geometry, 21 Glossa ordinaria, 181 n 1 Goal or purpose (of human action), 93-94, 102-3 God and beauty, 183, 185-86 and Biblical interpretation, 166—67, 168 existence of, 140-42 nature of, 7 Goodness, 74 in human actions, 99-100, 103-5 relation to beauty, 183, 184 Greek Church Fathers, 131nl Guilt, 116, 146, 148, 160 Happiness, 66, 91, 94-95, 161-62 Harmony, 184, 185, 187 Health, 4 Heart, motion of, 35-39 Heat, 51-54 Heavens, motion of. See Motion Hell, 147, 148 Heretics, 205, 206-7 Historical sense of Scripture, 166-67, 168-69

Homosexuality. See "Unnatural vice," the Hours, 177-78 Human law, 124-25, 202 Human nature, 12, 193-94, 214-15 Humors, 133n27, 221 Intelligible radiance, 182, 184 Intelligible structures, 31, 78-79 Intention (as an act of mind), 98 Irascibility, 32nl6, 107 Isidore of Seville, 133n39 Jews, xii, 205 baptizing children of, 207-9 customs of, 173 status and governance of, 210-11, 223n4 toleration of rites of, 206 ultimate conversion to Christianity, 207-9 Just price (in selling), 201-2 Just-war theory, 198-200 Justice, 92 Kingship, 193-97 Knowledge God's, 61 human, 16, 20 practical versus speculative, 16-18 Labor, 212 Latria (worship), I63n9 Law, 92, 117, 202. See also Human law; Natural law; New law, the; Old law, the; Positive law Lazarus, raising of, 173-81 Leucippus, 41 Liberality, 212, 213 Light, 51-52 Literal sense of Scripture. See Historical sense of Scripture Logical intentions, 25n5 Louis IX, king of France, 191 Luxuria, 224nl3 Malice, 111 Manichees, 136 Marriage, 218, 219 Material cause, 4

INDEX Matter/material, 3, 4, 7, 31 Memory, 14-15 Merit (and Christ's Passion), 143 Metaphysics, nature of, 1-2, 10-12, 2 1 , 22-25 Mind, the nature of, 61, 69-83 self-knowledge of, 81—83 Mobile being (the object of natural philosophy), 21 Moslems, xii Motion, 34, 36-38, 45, 46, 56nl of the heavens, 44, 46-50 Naples, school at, x Natural law, 93, 119-24 Natural philosophy, 28-33 Nature, 5-6 Necessity and free choice, 83-84 and possibility, 141-42 Neoplatonism, xi, 182-83 New law, the, 151 Nocturnal pollution, 220-21 Object of the act, 100-101, 132nl0 Old law, the, 151 Oligarchy, 195 On the Trinity (Boethius), 2 Ontological argument for God's existence, 2 Pagans, 206 Parental authority, 207-9 Paris, University of, xi, 29 Passive intellect, 6 1 , 71-72 Peter Lombard, 163 Phantasma, 63 Philosophy, nature of, 23 Plato and Platonism, 30, 74-75, 82 Polity and just regimes, 195 Positive law, 93 Potential and actual, 2, 3, 32-33, 141 Practical intellect, 73-74 Prayer, 158 Precepts and natural law, 120 Predication (and subjects), 78-79 Providence, 158 Prudence, 14, 18, 92, 106-10, 129 Punishment, 148, 160 Purgatory, 163

229

Qualities, 1 , 2 , 3 , 6 , 154-55 "Quiddity'/'quidditas, 5-6, 26n9 Radical Aristotelians, 29 Raymond of Penafort, xii Reason, and revelation, 137—38 general versus speculative, 15 Recompense, 143-44, 146 Redemption, 146-50 Religious (members of religious orders), 212 Reproduction, 214 Resurrected body, nature of, 159 Revelation, 138 Sacraments, 151-52 Sacrifice, 144-45 Satan. See Devil Scholastic theology, x Scientia, 56n2 Sensation and the sense, 13-14, 67-69 Sense images, 76-77 Sense objects, 31-32 Sexuality, 216-23 natural versus unnatural, 218 Siger of Brabant, xiii Sin, 111, 112-15, 148 mortal versus venial, 112, 132n21 Sleep, 221 Socrates, 106 Soul, the after death, 160-62 capacities and functions of, 65-69 immortality of, 87-89 nature of, 57n5, 60, 62, 65-69 union of with the body, 60, 63-65 Speculative intellect, 73-74 Spheres, 50-51 Stars, 50-52, 58n33 Structure/structural cause, 3, 2 5 n l , 87, 88, 184 substantial versus qualitative, 3-4 Substances, 1, 6, 42, 153-54, 160 Summa contra Gentiles (Thomas Aquinas), xii Summa Theologiae (Thomas Aquinas), xii-xiii Sun, 54, 190n2 Symbolic meaning. See Allegory

230

INDEX

Temperance, 92, 219 Theological virtues, 92, 112, 132n20 Theology, nature of, 8-10, 137-40, 165-66 Thirteenth century, the "high summer" of the Middle Ages, 191 Thomas Aquinas Aristotelian commentaries of, xii, xiv, 29 attitude toward Aristotle, xii, xiv, 1-2, 28-29, 60 Eucharistic hymns of, 187-89 as lecturer on the Bible, 165-66 life of, ix-xvi on the nature of ethics, 91 social teaching of, 192-93 Time, 33-35 Translation, principles of, 169 Transubstantiation, 2, 150-58 Truth, 74 Tyranny, 194-95, 196-97 Unbelievers, 205-7 "Unnatural vice," the (homosexuality), 222-23

Usury, 203-5, 210-11 Vice, 111-12 Virginity, 216-18 Virtue moral versus intellectual, 106-7 nature of, 92, 112, 114, 125-30, 217-19 perfect versus imperfect, 128-29 Vision, 13 Viterbo, x, xii Voluntary actions, 94-96 War. See Just-war theory Wedding at Cana, and Christ, 171-73 Wholeness (and beauty), 184 Will, the, 83-87 after death, 162-63 motivation of, 96-97 relation to mind, 6 1 , 85-87 Wisdom, nature and pursuit of, 13, 18-22 Women, 214-16

About the Author J O H N Y. B. H O O D received his M.A. degree in philosophy from the Center for Thomistic Studies at the University of St. Thomas, and Ph.D. degree in medieval history from the University of Kansas. A specialist in medieval intellectual history and in Jewish—Christian relations, he is the author of Aquinas and the Jews.