De locis theologicis

The proper first task of scholastic theology, as much as we have received from our elders and as we, its students, experience in nearly daily meetings, is to bring to light, as if from darkness, what is hidden in sacred Scripture and the traditions of the Apostles. For the theologian draws conclusions from principles of faith revealed by God, and by reasoning according to nature explains what is implicit in those principles. Just as the discipline of music connects by reasoning, from what is established in arithmetic, what is consonant or dissonant among sounding numbers, so the theology of the school uses what faith has laid down to establish by natural reasoning what follows, and what concerns God and divine things. If astrology, music, the art of observation, and other disciplines of this kind are valued as useful and necessary, although they are like beggars drawing from other fields, what evil spirit wants to destroy scholastic discipline, which teaches from sacred and divine writings and institutions—not from arithmetic, geometry, or physics—what follows and what conflicts? Nor should we listen to those who criticize scholastic questions as curious and accuse the school of rashness for daring to pronounce on matters far beyond our grasp, and to define so many things that could have been left unknown or uncertain without loss of salvation. They give examples of this kind: who distinguishes the Father from the Son, what distinguishes the Holy Spirit from both, what is the difference between the Son’s birth and the Spirit’s procession, whether the Holy Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son has one source or two. They think it is the mark of excellent and great theologians to define nothing beyond what is set out in sacred Scripture—that is, to remain within theology’s principles and turn the mind away from what follows or conflicts with them. I do not understand what their position means. For what could be more absurd than to have only the principles of a discipline defined, while wishing the conclusions, which follow from them by certain and evident syllogisms, to be ignored or left uncertain? If anyone asserted this in geometry, physics, or astrology, he would rightly be considered utterly foolish. Enough of this. I do not wish to urge a matter already well established, as many learned men have often done. Let us proceed. This discipline of reasoning in the school has another aim: to defend our faith against heretics. For, as the Master of the Sentences teaches from Augustinus in his prologue, it is the scholastic teacher’s task to know how the Catholic faith can both assist the devout and be defended against the impious. If the school’s teacher cannot teach ¹

sound doctrine to the faithful and refute those who do not have it, he may sometimes be called a theologian by the crowd, but in reality he never will be. This is why heretics are so hostile to scholastic disputations: they understand that the Catholic faith they try to overthrow is fortified by these men’s study and teaching. Wolves recognize the dogs and pursue them with hatred; the name of the school is hateful to these men because it keeps wolves from the flocks and guards against their ambushes. There is nothing to wonder at in this. I never cease to wonder, however, at those who are and are considered Catholics, yet are accustomed to applaud men who do not know how to encourage the young to study languages without first nailing scholastic theologians with insults and cutting them down in entire volumes. They insult them most sweetly: the honey of their words covers the poison of their minds, made all the more harmful by being swallowed so pleasantly. “But scholastic theologians are peevish and long-winded, and, if we inquire closely, even superstitious.” These are faults of character, as I said, not of the school. Yet peevishness and the other faults charged against theologians have some excuse, whether a just one or one that seems capable of approval. Since they discuss many varied matters not only in general but also individually, they could not complete them in a brief speech. Hence the myriads of articles they criticize; if these were collections of maxims, they would admire rather than criticize them. Moreover, clarity is not usually joined to brevity. Those who strive to be brief become obscure. Thus theologians, wishing to be clear, have been somewhat long-winded. Add that difficult and obscure matters, of which theologians explain very many, cannot be described in a few words. The school also adapts itself to the unlearned and inexperienced, and therefore asks and defines more things that learned people, even those of great talent, would consider unnecessary. Finally, because theologians discuss both sides in the scholastic manner, they must cover whatever they teach in a longer discourse. As for the so-called anxious superstition, it is religion, not superstition. We do not permit everything among us to be treated casually; the school’s rule and decree require all who wish to dispute or write on theological matters to remain within certain limits and prescribed lines. Hence those tears. They want freedom—indeed, license—to speak and write; when we discuss theology, we dread every license and rashness. But the whole scholastic manner of reasoning is thorny: a foot pierced by thorns can no longer set down a step. These men’s feet are surely delicate; errors do not prick them, but discipline does. As I began to say, they hate it because it is an art that teaches both how to defend the faith and how to overthrow heresies. Since we shall explain this fully and carefully in the last book, it should now be stated briefly and without debate. It is not fitting to demonstrate everything in the same place. Finally, it is the scholastics’ task, insofar as possible, to illuminate and even confirm the teaching of Christ and the Church by means of human disciplines. Augustinus taught that we may rightly make our own the silver and gold vessels and other furnishings of the Egyptians, even if we received them on loan, and claim them for the use of the faithful; and, as Hieronymus advises, we may bring a foreign woman into God’s people after shaving her hair and removing what is superfluous. If this is done with appropriate restraint and seriousness, no one, I think, would be so foolish as to condemn it, unless he had never considered any of these things.

Theologians learn from David to take the sword from the enemy’s hands and cut off the head of proud Goliath with his own blade. From Paulus they learn to turn even an accidental inscription by art into an argument for faith, and to convert what was written for another purpose to the benefit of ecclesiastical teaching. With Daniel and Moyses they learn the wisdom of the Chaldeans and Egyptians, if not to follow it, then to expose and refute it. Nor is it reasonable that, if they argue against philosophers, they should be ignorant of the philosophers’ doctrines. For anyone who wants to write against mathematicians while ignorant of mathematics exposes himself to ridicule, 37 d.c. qui de mensa. I could pursue many arguments for this point, but I feel that what I have said is already too long. Let the Reader forgive me. I have been carried forward by zeal for our cause, and the school is somewhat too talkative, lest I seem to absolve it of every fault. Enough of this. I have acted contrary to what I said at the beginning, and seem to have sought room for speaking in a confined and narrow place. But it was difficult to mend even slightly a subject torn apart by outsiders and badly handled by some of our own. Three ends of true theology must therefore be established. I am not disputing only about scholastic theology but about theology as a whole. If the Lutheran heresy wishes to be consistent with itself, it cannot speak about the school’s purpose, since it admits that it has never exercised itself in that discipline. No one should be heard who argues about something he does not know through experience or reason. If those three ends are common to true theology and the school supplies them all, then certainly the error of those who think the school should be neglected is pernicious. For this is true theology, containing everything required in a theologian: knowledge of God, understanding of heavenly things, and wisdom and experience in human things. When these are present, the Christian teacher’s discipline is complete; without them, it cannot exist. Since this is the highest good, if we wish to attain it, we must devote ourselves to scholastic theology, without which we cannot attain any fully developed teaching in the Church. Those who neglect it and think themselves theologians will realize they have erred only when disputation with heretics or some serious and perplexing case of conscience puts them to the test. Nor should anyone devoted to sacred Scripture fear that the study of the school will slow his study of Scripture. To bear this fruit, the school not only does not delay it but invites and draws us to it. We ourselves, whatever we have contributed to sacred Scripture, if indeed we have contributed anything, approached it equipped and adorned by the teachers and teaching of scholastic theology. But now it is time to explain the main purpose of this discussion: whether the authority of the scholastics offers the theologian firm arguments or weak ones.