De locis theologicis

HOW THEOLOGY’S ARGUMENTS ARE TO BE FOUND AND DRAWN FROM THE LOCI

We have spoken of the signs both of Catholic truth and of the contrary error, and, as far as I could, we distinguished the errors themselves. It remains to seek a mark and a formula for each kind, and to teach the way and method. This will be the same art of discovering an argument and drawing it from the loci of theology. There are, however, more general rules for investigating and bringing to light a theological argument. For it is clear that the means of arguing on both sides of every question are supplied by the same loci. Therefore a heretic will draw arguments from the loci of theology no less than a theologian. But the heretic’s arguments will be uncertain, weak, and deceptively plausible; the theologian’s will be certain, firm, and steadfast, since he has grasped not a shadow but truth itself. Yet a theologian does not draw all his arguments with certainty from the loci; sometimes, indeed often, he draws probable ones as well. This is not only because some loci usually provide uncertain arguments, but because a firm locus sometimes provides an argument that is not firm. I would not want anyone to fall into the error of thinking that if a locus is firm, every argument drawn from it must be firm, or conversely that if a locus is weak, everything taken from it must be weak. For probable arguments are sometimes drawn from Sacred Scripture, as when they are drawn from the mystical sense or when the literal sense has not been clearly defined. Conversely, the authority of human history, though weak in itself, sometimes supplies certain arguments. Accordingly, when we have applied the art and rules by which arguments are brought from the theological loci, judgment is still needed to examine them. Without a method of judgment and discrimination, the ability to produce arguments will indeed be easy and ready, but it will have no value except among those who judge things by number and not by weight. A perfect and complete theologian will not merely gather varied arguments from the loci; he will also distinguish what conflicts from what agrees, and what is certain from what is uncertain. For just as

the skill of a complete dialectician is fulfilled by two things, discovery and judgment, so a theologian must be equipped both to discover and to judge, if his art of disputing in theology is to be complete; by that art, I mean, he can establish his own doctrines and refute contrary errors. I think I have equipped the theologian’s judgment by setting out the force and nature of the theological loci. I explained which of the ten parts into which I divided the scope and power of the theological loci contain firm arguments and which contain weak ones. Since the signs of Catholic truths are also the surest marks by which questions of faith are distinguished, and the surest arguments by which theological conclusions are proved, I thought that judging the arguments that prove our doctrines required no more work from me than the work I had just devoted to setting forth the signs that mark our truths. Therefore that part of judgment needs neither further warning nor rules after what we have said, and it does not properly belong to the treatment of the loci that our book promises in its title. Since this is clear, it follows that we should discuss what belongs to our present task: by what means we can acquire the use of argumentation that we seek from the theological loci. First comes a point that the order of the disciplines, and the connection and relation among things themselves, makes clear: anyone who wishes to discover arguments from the loci of theology must know the common rules that dialecticians have taught for finding arguments. To put it plainly and briefly, nearly the same rules by which arguments are drawn from dialectical loci are used to draw them from theological loci, although there is also another approach to the theological loci, so that arguments—especially those most necessary for a theologian’s use—may be drawn from them by a particular path and method. (First precept for discovering an argument) Of all rules of this sort, the chief is that a theologian should know and have worked through every locus of theology. I say, know and have worked through them. It is not enough to have them in memory; one must have them ready and at hand. First, then, one must learn the number and nature of the loci: what they are, how many there are, and the force and property of each. Whether we learn these things from me or from someone else who comes after me better prepared and more equipped to write about them makes little difference. Certainly I think I have taught in the preceding books, to a reasonable degree, what is needed to learn these matters thoroughly. So the first step is to have the number, force, and properties of the loci at hand, whether from this book or elsewhere—that is, to know them. The next step is to have surveyed and grasped all the loci themselves. For how will someone who has not read Sacred Scripture, or has not understood what he read, argue from the first locus? How will someone who has never observed the Traditions of Christ and the Apostles draw arguments from the second? What use in arguing will such loci provide someone who has not been devoted to the teaching of the Church, the Councils, and the Pontiffs? What arguments will he gather from the holy authors if he has not even touched their books? What power of disputation can he gain from the theologians of the schools if he has never exercised himself in the schools’ debates? Will someone reason from Physics, Metaphysics, Astronomy, and Geometry if he has never cultivated human reason through these disciplines? Finally, what benefit will philosophers and historians bring someone who has not been engaged in reading them? Therefore, when we seek an argument, we must embrace all these things in our mind, thought, and understanding. We must not merely know the loci; we must also have studied them with the greatest care.

But, you say, is anyone so puffed up with error as to persuade himself that he knows all these things? If a theologian has not attained them, I certainly do not blame him; I blame him if, without pursuing them, he assumes the title of theologian. The kind of argumentation properly drawn from all the loci is perfect and complete and has every requirement; no one but a consummate theologian can attain it. When something has been established by at least moderately strong arguments, it seems fully proved, because the general run of theologians scarcely understands what is missing from perfection and, insofar as they do understand, thinks nothing has been left out. This also happens, as Cicero says, with poems and paintings and many other things: untrained people take pleasure in and praise things that are not praiseworthy, because they think something good is present in them that captures the ignorant. Thus you may find some people who, unable to judge what is defective in each matter, are wonderfully pleased by certain little works of younger men, in which nothing is profound or exact and no arguments are drawn from their proper loci: everything is common, ordinary, incomplete, and almost entirely of the probable kind. Their whole disputation is so meager and dry that it is scarcely watered by a little common water from a single source, and that source is ordinary and well-worn. How much more abundant and forceful is Divus Thomas, who relies not merely on reason or authority but argues in every way and carefully reasons from every locus, disputing with testimonies and arguments gathered together. But certain things in Thomas’s works are obscure, while the works of these men are clear. Certainly. Yet they are not obscure because Thomas deliberately makes them so; the obscurity lies in the subject matter itself, not in his talent. Particular things are more obscure than general ones. Wine mixed with water is clearer, certainly, but it is also more diluted. Pure wine is harder to drink, but has much greater strength. So much for the first precept of discovery. Let us pursue the rest. (Second precept) It seems so easy to assign theologians’ arguments to their proper loci that perhaps it need not be prescribed. No one is so unskilled that he does not know at once to refer each theological argument to the source from which it was taken, whether Sacred Scripture, the Councils, and so on. Still, it is useful to assign each argument found in approved Doctors to its proper locus. In this way you will build a treasury from the discoveries of others; and when you understand which locus they failed to use, you will carefully seek out for yourself what they omitted. Thus, in the controversy between Catholics and Pelagians, after the testimonies of Sacred Scripture, the Councils, the Apostolic See, and the saints—which were more than enough for Augustine to win the case—Thomas added theological arguments that would give weight to the testimonies and clarity to the case. Recognizing the loci of arguments among the ancient theologians is therefore very useful: for understanding their strengths, discerning the variety in their methods of argument, and acquiring through this care and practice a store of arguments, so that we have at hand not only what they discovered but also similar arguments for similar matters whenever we seek them from the theological loci. In every art it is worthwhile to know both what must be done and how it must be done. We acquire both by imitating experts, and it is difficult to decide whether we gain more from rules or from examples. As far as discovery is concerned, examples of the ancients will help theologians more than rules—not only mine, but those of any other teacher. For the ancient theologians excelled in prudence as well as knowledge in arguing; they were no less learned than the recent writers, and were certainly more prudent and better men. No one can compete with the ancients in expertise in Sacred Scripture, in which the treasury of theological argument is chiefly contained. But not only in Scripture ¹

should understanding be sought; in many other matters, too, the younger writers are negligent, and especially in bringing out arguments proper to theology. I do not despise recent theologians, “many of whose works are quite clever, but, like things only just beginning to emerge, are over-painted and over-fine,” when compared with the old. The old works somehow seem to have more authority, more force, and greater strength—not only to move the affections but also to overcome the adversaries of the faith. Although this precept is easy, we must work at it if we seek not only an abundance but also the degrees of arguments. (Third precept) The theologian must work much harder to cast the question he wishes to handle into the theological loci, after learning and working through them. Once he has led the question through them all, he must consider more carefully what arguments can be made on either side from each locus. Then he must gather everything that seems to agree or disagree with the proposed case and, applying judgment, examine which side of the question the arguments support. As I said above, a theologian can scarcely separate discovery from judgment if he is committed to seeking and embracing the truth. Yet we will not always find suitable arguments for or against a matter in every locus. For even if a hunter or fisherman knows the places suitable for hunting or fishing, no matter how much care he takes, he will not immediately catch fish or hunt game. No art is so certain that it never sometimes lacks the fruit of its work. It is desirable, then, that all the loci converge in our disputation. If that does not happen, the greater number and weightier ones will count more. If no arguments are found, we must not disparage the art or lose heart, but keep seeking them again and again. Even when submerged, they will eventually emerge if we stir the sea, however vast, with our diligence, and with divine grace, which opens to those who knock and is never absent from those who seek. I would have this understood as said about questions of the probable kind. For all the dogmas of faith flow from loci that rest on authority. Hence no certain decree among us exists that does not likewise arise from the loci. We therefore need not fear that the loci will fail to provide arguments in a question of faith. In any case, the arguments will be there, although we do not all have the same ability and skill or investigate in the same way. Arguments for matters of this sort are always contained in the loci; a greater or smaller number will be brought out according to the learning, talent, and diligence of the person investigating. This is enough on the subject. The matter itself has been made clear, so it is not difficult to see what one must do to seek an argument. Many arguments also offer themselves without a search, especially to learned people long and deeply practiced in these matters. Nevertheless, we rightly prefer arguments inserted into a disputation after deliberate reflection, meditation, and preparation to those that arise from a sudden thought. Sudden thought, because it is swift and lasts only a very short time, can offer arguments but cannot weigh them. Therefore, so that we may investigate and discover arguments without error, we must establish a certain formula. If we follow it in theological disputation, we will never leave the right path. This formula will be thoroughly consonant with the reason and discipline of theologians. When a subject for disputation has been offered to a theologian, he must examine the question carefully and first determine which kind it is among the many kinds we explained above. Unless the theologian understands the nature of the question, he will not easily know what sort of arguments he should seek or from which loci he should obtain them. Although

all the loci are connected and intertwined with one another, certain kinds of arguments nevertheless arise from each; as I said at the very beginning of this work, not all of them are equally suited to every question. Once he has determined the kind of question—above all, the most difficult point, whether it concerns faith or not—he should lead it through every locus, especially those best suited to the question. If the question is supernatural, it should be brought above all to the loci that rest on God’s authority. If it is natural, it should be led chiefly through the loci that rest on the reasoning of nature. If the question is mixed and depends partly on nature and partly on revelation, it must be led through all the loci, for all of them may provide arguments equally. Indeed, there is no kind of question that cannot usefully be led through every locus. For Scripture often teaches matters of nature, and reason either commends or explains supernatural matters. Divine authority supports human authority, and human authority in turn serves the divine. Nor can truth, which must be simple, be mixed and blended from unlike things. But, as I have very often said, divine and human reason are not unlike; the one does not lead here and the other there, but both look to the same thing and are directed to the same end. We have therefore heard that our ancestors were accustomed to curse those who first separated by opinion things that are joined by nature. The theologians of the schools agreed with them so fully that they did not think themselves truly theologians unless they joined these two things in their disputations. After leading the question through every locus and gathering arguments from both sides, whether they seem to conflict or agree, let him dispute on either side, but finally determine what is true and what is false. First let him teach what the faith of Christ holds about the question and prove what it holds by suitable and certain testimonies; then let him teach what reason either prescribes or at least recommends. For if the question is natural, reason prescribes; if it is above nature, reason recommends. In this matter, to speak modestly, I have helped our school to a moderate degree. Before us it was not so well equipped with arguments from faith; theological matters were handled almost entirely with arguments drawn from reason. I changed the order of Divus Thomas. In the Summa adversum Gentes, he first gives reasons and then testimonies. But in my lectures I have always taught from the outset what faith determines about each question, and then what reason shows. The reason for this change is readily available and clear. Divus Thomas had to carry out the work of theology against the Gentiles by reason, because among them testimonies of Scripture rank second or even nowhere at all. But among us, who instruct Christian disciples, authority has the first place and reason the second. Augustine also approves this order of disputation as more consonant with our nature, although, accommodating himself to the Manichaeans, he sometimes does what he admits is faulty in disputation. “The order of nature,” he says, “is that when we learn something, authority precedes reason. (…) But since we are dealing with people who think and speak against the order of things and say nothing more than that reason must be given first, I will humor them and undertake what I admit is faulty in disputation” (De mori. eccle. cath. cap. 2). Thomas likewise adapted himself to the Gentiles in this example and followed the same method. For in the Summa theologiae authority almost prepares a person for reason, and reason then leads him to understanding and knowledge (August. de ver. relig. cap. 24).

In authority and in reasoning themselves there are levels of arguments, and it is easy to understand the force of each: first come those drawn from Scripture, second those drawn from the traditions of Christ and the Apostles, third those drawn from the decrees of the Church, and then, in order, the rest. Among theologians it is disputed whether the authority of Scripture or of the Church comes first. I did not think this matter, like other things that concern arrangement rather than discovery, needed to be pursued. If it should ever become a point of dispute, how it should be judged has, unless I am mistaken, already been sufficiently discussed above. This much is clear: if we look at the things themselves, the authority of the Holy Spirit is entirely the same in Scripture and in the Church. Therefore, in itself, neither authority is prior or greater, nor later or lesser. What, then, is it that sometimes gives rise to doubt at this point and seems to require consideration? I think that when a doubt arises, one should consider the character, learning, and training of the person with whom one is debating. For just as some place Scripture before the Church’s practice, you will find many for whom the Church’s custom and judgment seem greater. Since the Church is prior and more ancient, there can be no doubt that its authority is in a certain way greater, since it is established to be better known and more widespread. But, as I said, in everything one must take account of the person with whom one is speaking. Peter says as much to the Jews (2 Pe. 1): “We have the prophetic word made more sure,” although Peter’s own word is in no degree inferior to it for us. But this is a great matter, and I will discuss it at greater length elsewhere (book 14). Now back to the subject. In every question we must look at these and similar things, and acquire practice and experience so that we can reason well from arguments, adding and subtracting to see what their sum amounts to and thus understand how much weight is due to each question. Just as neither physicians, generals, nor orators, even after learning the rules of their art, can achieve anything worthy of great praise without practice and experience, so rules for finding theological arguments are indeed handed down for us to observe, but the importance of the task requires practice and experience. Since our words will be of little use unless they are applied to the matter and practice confirms the rules, it will be necessary to set out some theses for the sake of practice, as the Peripatetics generally did. Diogenes writes that Archelaus was the first to argue both sides; he may be trusted on this point, for Cicero says that Aristotle invented this kind of exercise. The theological schools rightly approved Aristotle’s practice of arguing both sides of every matter, since otherwise it is impossible to discover what is true and what is false in each case. Although, as Augustine says to Dioscorus (Epist. 56), knowledge of the truth can judge and overturn all falsehoods, if they are brought forward, even ones never heard before, yet the truth itself cannot shine forth in debate unless both sides have been argued. Nor can belief be established about anything unless the opponents’ persuasions have first been torn down. It is therefore most natural that before proving our own positions, we remove opposing ones and refute contrary opinions. Yet one will scarcely find anything so agreeable and fitting to every mind that it has no opponent. As Hilary says, every human utterance has always been liable to contradiction—not only because one person has nearly a different opinion in a different matter and mind, but because, as the impulses of the will differ, so too do the judgments of the mind. He therefore thinks that philosophers’ doctrines are so called because each person embraces almost what pleases his mind, not what reason prescribes; what his feelings dictate, not what reason dictates. Theologians must therefore exercise themselves in arguing different sides of a question as if in a practice battle—

—as St. Thomas did with the greatest care in his Quaestiones disputatae. Since in every art the imitation of the best practitioners is of great value, it is right to take examples of theological discussion from those who excelled in this art. Augustine and Thomas are easily the foremost: Augustine without question, Thomas by the judgment of experts. For not only in disputations where one may argue fully on both sides of an entire subject, but in every question whatsoever, Thomas is so rich and abundant on both sides that it is astonishing how he had ready such excellent arguments for each position on so many varied matters, often neither common nor well worn. I admit that he divided everything into many articles and, in nearly every article, prescribed a fixed number of arguments as if by law. His manner of disputation was also dry, and he treated questions in one monotonous form. Finally, he belonged to a school of authors that follows no rhetorical flourish, so that the body of disputation seems misshapen, its sinews visible without flesh, and entirely devoid of eloquent ornament. Thus curious and finicky people are put off by a very learned and serious man: they are sated by the length of his work, wearied by its sameness, and repelled by the roughness of his style. At the Council of Trent an eloquent and fluent man, though hardly a theologian, said that scholastic disputation was of little use against heretics, especially Lutherans, and urged that we argue with them rather in the oratorical style, since our style is thorny and tiresome. If that were true, however, better examples of theological disputation would not be found in the authors I mentioned earlier. Although I am well aware that I am speaking not merely of the schools’ manner of disputation but of all scholastic theology, which is hated by heretics, I think that scholastic argument is all the more effective at refuting heresies because heretics hate it. If Lutherans cannot be caught by the subtlety of the schools, neither will they be caught by an oration skillfully composed according to rhetorical rules. They have grown too large and too cunning to be trapped by the art of speech. Since they fear neither the subtle theologian nor the most eloquent orator, believe me, they must be struck not by a theologian’s sharpness or an orator’s eloquence—that is, not by words and disputation, but by force and whips. But if circumstances require me to fight Lutheran doctrines, let others choose a smooth style of speech to attract such people more gently and familiarly to the goodwill of the Church; I do not object, provided they leave me the bones and sinews of the schools and the compressed solidity of their reasoning. What Augustine argued against the opponents of the Church, though discovered more keenly and expressed more subtly than anyone can easily recognize, is all the more effective at refuting heretics because it cuts more finely to the quick. When speech rushes like a torrent in the manner of orators, even though it carries off many things of every kind, you scarcely retain or grasp anything. But when it is pressed into a fixed method and reason according to the rule of the schools, it is easier to contain and embrace. We have therefore received from St. Thomas an excellent manner of disputation, if we would keep to it. Let no one expect from this most serious man rhetorical delicacies, feminine ornament, or childish polish, but true and weighty judgments, solid and fitting arguments, and speech suited to the subject under discussion. St. Thomas achieved all this so excellently that, if there are a few faults in him that these people spitefully mention, he compensates for them with many and very great virtues. Still, as a modest and prudent man, he gave the small number of fine-grained articles and the uniform law of disputation to the less experienced and especially to the people of his own age—

—those of his own time. I believe that not only St. Thomas but certain other authors of the schools could have written with great distinction and splendor had they cultivated humane letters and wished to express what they had learned in the schools. Likewise, men devoted to eloquence could have spoken with great weight and fullness if they had not shunned the schools’ method but had learned and wished to practice this theology. Either each group took pleasure in its own study and scorned the others, or nothing is entirely perfect, so we are always left wanting something. But if we must choose one, I would prefer uneloquent learning to talkative ignorance. Only someone who joins eloquence to wisdom can supply examples of theological disputation complete in every respect. Come, then: whatever our examples may be, let us present them ourselves. Even if they are not better than the old ones, they may perhaps be better suited to the present time.