De locis theologicis

WHAT THEOLOGY IS, WHAT ITS OBJECT IS, AND WHAT ITS END IS

In this book we propose to discuss the use of the theological loci in scholastic disputation. To do this rightly and in due order, it will be best at the outset to define what theology is, what its subject matter is, so to speak, and what is the goal toward which a theologian must direct all his studies. Theology, if we translate the Greek word into Latin, is reasoning and discourse about God. Every discipline undertaken by reason and method concerning some subject investigates its essence, its powers, as they are called, and all the other things that are peculiarly and properly attributed to it. In theology, therefore, we understand a certain faculty that investigates God’s nature, power, and properties. Nor is it enough for a theologian, by the powers and rights of his faculty, to assign to God those things that absolutely belong to him in himself, unless he also claims those things that, as it were, accrue to God in relation to creatures. For he examines the conception of God in every respect. Theology’s treatment is therefore twofold: one part concerns God in himself, the other concerns him as the beginning and end of things. Yet the theologian does not mix the highest and lowest, divine and human, but joins these things to those and those to these so articulately, clearly, and skillfully that they not only bring no obscurity to one another but also shed light on each other. What is more, just as we cannot gaze at the sun, since our sight and senses are overcome by its rays, so the eyes of our mind falter and grow dim before the vision of the divine light. It is therefore necessary that we see God, invisible by nature, in his effects as in a shadow, mirror, image, signs, and traces. For his invisible things are understood and seen from the creation of the world through the things that have been made: his eternal power and divinity as well (Rom. 1). Since, among all things we perceive with our eyes, rational creatures are most like God—for man was made in the image of God—you will find nothing in which divine goodness, power, and wisdom shine more brightly. Therefore, although the discipline of theology is chiefly about God himself, it nevertheless deals extensively with human beings and human things, and seeks knowledge of the divine nature both from man and from the things that God did and brought about for man. If it is the proper task of theology to investigate and set forth God’s power, goodness, and providence, then the theologian’s lengthy discussion of the end God established for human beings—none other than himself—and of the means necessary to that end, namely virtues, laws, grace, incarnation, and sacraments, is not foreign to the purpose of theology. This is so not only for the reason St. Thomas rightly emphasized, lest theology—which is productive as well as contemplative—be left deficient and diminished by omitting this part, but much more because these matters strikingly and magnificently reveal and illustrate God’s goodness, justice, virtue, integrity, beneficence, generosity, mercy, and patience. Ignorance of this has caused some to think that this discipline was devised not for contemplation but for action. Let us see, then, what arguments they use. First, they say, the treatment of contemplation is far smaller than that of action. St. Thomas devoted the first part of his Summa to the former, and the second and third parts to the latter; each of these exceeds the first in volume. Again, to discuss the end and the means belongs without doubt to a faculty that undertakes and performs something. These matters are referred not to thought but to action. Since, then, the theologian spends most of his discussion on the end and means of human life, it seems that the force of theology lies chiefly not in seeing but in doing. 19. Moreover, theology and Sacred Scripture have the same end. For the principles and

conclusions have. But the end of all the Sacred Scriptures is love, as Augustine (1 doctr. Christ. c. 35 et 36) and Gregory (hom. 10 in Ezech.) testify. Theology therefore tends not chiefly toward contemplation but toward love. Further, any discipline that contemplates and investigates nature chiefly requires the eyes for seeing, not the strength for action; nor does it accuse those who are sluggish in action of foolishness, but those who are slow in contemplation. Yet all Scripture demands works of its disciples and reproves those sluggish in idleness as vain and idle. Therefore this discipline is handed down chiefly not for contemplation but for action. In addition, faith is directed toward charity, not charity conversely toward faith, as we gather from Matthew (cap. 22) and the Apostle (I Cor. 13). Knowledge of the principles of theology—which knowledge we take by the term “faith”—was therefore first given to the faithful for the sake of love. For the τελική cause (which we may translate as final) is itself the first and principal cause. If, then, knowledge of the principles of this discipline is practical—namely, faith working through love—it follows that the discipline itself also pertains first to morals and the conduct of life. Likewise, if faith is contemplation of some kind and not a moral discipline, whence comes “Faith without works is dead” (Iac. 2)? And again, “To give knowledge of salvation to his people for the remission of their sins” (Lc. 1). Knowledge of bodily health chiefly looks to practice, not contemplation. What of “He gave him knowledge of the holy things” (Sap. 10), “The knowledge of holy things is prudence” (Pro. 9), “All Scripture, divinely inspired, is useful, etc., that the man of God may be perfect, equipped for every good work” (2 Tim. 3), “These things are written that you may believe … and that believing you may have life in his name” (Ioh. 20), and “He who says he knows God and does not keep his commandments is a liar” (1 Ioh. 2), besides six hundred other passages of this kind found throughout divine Scripture? From these it seems altogether to follow that theology is not contemplative but productive, and hence that its chief end is not contemplation but action. Some scholastic theologians, eminent and distinguished men, have indeed thought so. In this they perhaps follow the Master (I dist. 1), who divides this discipline according to use and enjoyment. These most learned men—for it is most modest of me to call them that—do not understand that the end of a discipline differs from the end of its teacher; or, to express nearly the same matter in different words, that the primary end of a discipline differs from its ultimate end. For example, we say that wine has two ends: one for drinking, another for healing. The charity of God who teaches, and thus of this discipline, is indeed its end, but not its first end; it is the second. For, as Cicero elegantly says, knowledge and contemplation of nature is in a certain way incomplete and inchoate if no action follows. “Vain are all men in whom there is not the knowledge of God,” etc. (Sap. 13); and again: “When they knew God, they did not glorify him as God … but became vain in their thoughts,” etc. (Rom. 1). Therefore, if you consider the nature of a discipline from its second end, Physics will then be counted among practical disciplines. Moreover, our first end, as St. Thomas most truly holds, is the clear and manifest vision of God. Since we attain that end by mind and will, knowledge and love, it follows not that knowledge in itself is directed to love, but that both are directed to vision. If knowledge of the way is in itself referred only to knowledge of the homeland, although it is not sufficient by itself unless affection and love are joined to it, and the vision of God, of which faith is the seedbed, is chiefly contemplation, not production, then it follows that theology

is most speculative, not practical (for, since we are speaking of scholastic disputation, let us use the language of the schools). Add that theology investigates God’s nature, power, and properties. God is therefore the proper object of this science, and it is consequently established for the sake of contemplation. Augustine (12 de Trin. c. 14 et 15) plainly teaches that the wisdom of which the Apostle speaks (I Corin. 12) is intellectual knowledge and contemplation of eternal things. Sacred doctrine is undoubtedly wisdom, and therefore it is established as speculative. 30. To say nothing of other considerations, the very name of theology proclaims this. For just as it is most foolish not only to assert but even to doubt whether physiology and astronomy are contemplative or productive disciplines, since their very names declare conspicuously and excellently that they concern contemplation of things, not morals and action—even though physicians, sailors, and others devoted and assigned to public affairs despise and shun an idle knowledge of nature and the stars, while they embrace and cultivate the practical one—so it is far removed even from ordinary and middling understanding to doubt whether theology is contemplative or productive, since it is nothing other than reasoning and discourse about God. Yet prudent men do not wish it to be idle and at rest, but adapted to the use and end of human life. Moreover, theology teaches every kind of knowledge about God, whether it is obtained by the light of nature or only by divine gift and illumination. Since it contemplates whatever human minds can know about God, it must be either speculative, or no knowledge of God can be speculative. Although some have conceded this point to the argument, it is so absurd that it should not need refuting. What is more, our theology is a kind of impression of divine wisdom, which has both the power of contemplation and of action. Nothing therefore prevents the same light of God’s countenance, which is marked upon us, from showing both what ought to be contemplated and what ought to be done. The rational soul, being the most excellent of all forms, has outstanding powers both of sensation and of life; yet in it the power of understanding is first and chief. Nor does it exercise its other powers except so that at last it may fulfill its proper function of understanding. In this way, therefore, St. Thomas wisely and skillfully said that theology performs both functions, contemplation and action, although it contemplates more than it acts. For it acts only because by acting it tends toward perfect knowledge of God. With these matters briefly explained, those three things that I undertook to set out at the beginning of this chapter are now clear and plain enough: namely, what is the proper conception and definition of theology, what is the subject matter about which it treats, and what is its end, both first and second. Theology is a science that teaches what the divine nature is and what its powers and properties are. God himself is the object and subject proposed for this discipline, and, as it were, the matter to be treated—for philosophers call a thing by these names when a faculty proposes it to the mind for consideration and understanding. Its primary end is knowledge and contemplation of the divine nature, explained through God’s powers, virtues, and properties; its ultimate end is the performance of those things necessary to morals and to living well and happily. I do not now undertake to discuss how the use of the theological loci is adapted to the conduct and actions of life, although it is exceedingly great and would provide us with a very useful and abundant subject for discussion. As I said above, I must now explain only that use which a theologian can derive from the loci when he employs and treats them in scholastic

in disputations, that is, when he is concerned to know as much as possible about God and divine things. I have not forgotten that I wrote in book 5, when speaking of the Church’s authority in judging morals, that there are two kinds of questions about theological matters: one concerns contemplation, the other is situated in morals and the practice of life. Some may understand this as though the subject I have now undertaken were different from the former. That is far from my intention. For it is one thing to teach a preacher the use of the loci in a sermon, where morals are discussed by exhorting or dissuading, and another to instruct a theologian in the use of the loci when a question of morals arises, whether it concerns matters that are necessary to know for salvation or even those that are advantageous. I have decided to pass over for now prescribing how preachers ought to use the theological loci. But since questions of faith and morals are treated by the theologian in the same way and by the same method when they come into theological disputation, there can be no doubt: whatever rules apply to the preceding questions also apply to those that follow. For these are altogether one matter, so that there is little difference between decrees of faith and judgments about morals, and they are to be treated from the same loci and in nearly the same form. Nor would I have anyone detain me again with so cold and barren a slander, namely, that I have now called theology simply and without qualification a science. As though I did not know that Aristotle requires clear and evident knowledge of a conclusion in science; since theology does not have knowledge of this kind in its principles, it cannot have it in its conclusions either. For it is contrary to reason to make a conclusion lucid, open, and evident if the things from which it is inferred are obscure, hidden, and enveloped. Yet if we do not speak as Aristotle does, we certainly speak as the sacred authors do, who called this discipline science without qualification. “To know how faith may assist the pious and be defended against the impious, the Apostle seems to call by the proper name ‘science’” (14 de Trin. c. 1), Augustine says. This is undoubtedly the proper function and office of theology. Jerome too, to omit others, repeatedly calls the teaching of Sacred Scripture, which we theologians profess, science and wisdom. Indeed, Sacred Scripture does not at all shrink from using the word “know” where the matter is certain. These passages are well known: “I know that my redeemer lives,” etc. (Iob 19); likewise, “I know that you will certainly reign,” etc. (1 Reg. 24); likewise, “He gave him knowledge of holy things” (Sap. 10); “You will find the knowledge of God, for the Lord gives wisdom, and from his mouth come prudence and knowledge” (Pru. 2). And the Apostle: “To one indeed, through the Spirit, is given the word of wisdom, to another the word of knowledge” (1 Cor. 12). Moreover, Aristotle demands evidence in the disciplines, so that knowledge of things can neither deceive nor change. For the term “science” requires a firm and unchangeable understanding. Since, therefore, the matters that fall under faith and theology, insofar as they fall under them, are stable and immovable, and the theologian cannot err, slip, or be deceived about them, it follows that theology may claim for itself the proper name of science even without perspicuity. The same reason allows this discipline to deal even with contingent matters—that is, matters not necessary by their nature—without loss or injury to its name. For Aristotle required necessity in a discipline because without it the stability and immutability of things and knowledge would not be apparent. But causes that occur by chance and their effects, though by their nature not very firm or constant, insofar as they fall under theology and faith are not shifting, such that they are transferred now here and

there, but remain certain and unchanging, as it were everlasting. Therefore God is rightly said to know both kinds of things: those that occur necessarily and those that for us are left to chance and fortune. We rightly call theology a science, then, in which there is immovable certainty, firm constancy, and, so to speak, infallibility of knowledge. What is more, many call music and astronomy sciences, and yet scarcely one or two people have examined by their own instrument or experiment the revolutions of the heavens and the wandering stars on which those disciplines now depend. Indeed, younger astrologers generally follow the experiments of the ancients as certain precedents concerning the matters they themselves undertake to treat and judge. Theology, then, will rightly also be called a science, especially since it happens that the principles of this discipline are obscurely known to us. For even if they were clear and plain to us, this discipline would nevertheless retain both its name and its character. And in truth, if Aristotle were alive, he would find no other name by which to call theology more aptly and fittingly. For it is absurd to call it faith when it rests immediately not on authority but on reason and syllogism. Otherwise, if the first premise is certain by faith, but the second is probable by natural reason, the conclusion will be an object of faith, not of opinion. This is plainly false. Therefore, when no better term presents itself, let us call theology a science. For it is a firm and stable perception and grasp of things that are joined by a clear connection from certain and stable principles. Nor can it truly be said that theology’s inferences are probable and obscure, not evident and firm. They offer a very dull, not at all sharp, argument for this claim: if the connection were certain and clear, the conclusions would pertain not to theology but to faith. But this reasoning is ridiculous, and is rightly criticized by most people. For the difference between faith and theology is easy and clear: faith rests immediately and, so to speak, directly on authority, whereas theology rests immediately and directly on reason. As I said above, faith and theology stand to one another as the habit of principles stands to the science of conclusions. And just as the light of nature produces knowledge of natural principles without the intermediary of reasoning, so the light of faith, without employing any argument of reason, produces conviction about those things to which we assent as believers, relying solely on divine authority. The evidence and firmness of inference therefore does not abolish theology but establishes it; it does not remove it but entails it. Although in this discipline, as in the others, certain opinions are mixed with matters known and established. And just as physical teaching, though naturally fitting and consistent, does not establish every conclusion with certainty but persuades us of some by probable argument, so the theologian speaks many things consistently, certainly, and confidently, yet in some matters he considers himself to have done well if he finds something plausible. He does not think he knows what he does not know; nor, as though all theological doctrines were certain, does he fear nothing or doubt nothing. Rather, he is careful and takes precautions lest, by rashly assenting to everything and asserting all things absolutely, he lose the authority even of those matters that are more certain and clear. But let us return to the point. When the inference is uncertain, or one premise joined to a principle of faith is uncertain, the conclusion will be an opinion, not theology properly speaking. But whether both premises of the syllogism are matters of faith, or one is certain by faith and the other evident by nature, the conclusion will pertain to theology, provided that the inference is either clear by the light of nature or known through the illumination of faith. For such knowledge of a conclusion is referred to faith in the same way (although I have said this, I shall say it often again), in the same way, I say, as it is referred to the habit of principles

in the natural disciplines. Since these matters are so obvious that they need no argument, let us pass over them and proceed to the rest.