Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart: Beyond Analogy (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) 9781409469162, 1409469166

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Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart Medieval masters Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart considered problems inherent to speaking of God, exploring how religious language might compromise God’s transcendence or God’s immanence ultimately hindering believers in their journey of faith seeking understanding. Going beyond ordinary readings of Aquinas and building a foundation for further insights into the works of both theologians, this book draws out the implications of the thought of Eckhart and Aquinas for contemporary issues, including ecumenical and inter-religious dialogue, liturgy and prayer, and religious inclusivity. Reading Aquinas and Eckhart in light of each other reveals the profound depth and orthodoxy of both of these scholars and provides a novel approach to many theological and practical religious issues.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this openended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Other Recently Published Titles in the Series: Pannenberg on Evil, Love and God The Realisation of Divine Love Mark Hocknull Averroes and Hegel on Philosophy and Religion Catarina Belo Sacrifice and the Body Biblical Anthropology and Christian Self-Understanding John Dunnill Religion in the Thought of Mikhail Bakhtin Reason and Faith Hilary B.P. Bagshaw The Nature of the Soul The Soul as Narrative Terrance W. Klein Cassian’s Conferences Scriptural Interpretation and the Monastic Ideal Christopher J. Kelly Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Testing Religious Truth-claims R. Scott Smith Thomas Torrance’s Mediations and Revelation Titus Chung

Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart Beyond Analogy

Anastasia Wendlinder Gonzaga University, USA

First published 2014 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business copyright © Anastasia Wendlinder 2014 Anastasia Wendlinder has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notices .. Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows: Wendlinder, Anastasia Christine. Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart : beyond analogy / by Anastasia Wendlinder. pages cm.—(Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology, and biblical studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-6916-2 (hardcover) 1. God (Christianity)—History of doctrines—Middle Ages, 600-1500. 2. Thomas, Aquinas, Saint, 1225?-1274. 3. Eckhart, Meister, -1327. I. Title. BT98.W46 2014 231—dc23 2013045826 ISBN 9781409469162 (hbk)

Contents Preface   Acknowledgments   1

vii xi

Introduction: The Problems and Possibilities of Speaking About God   A. Current Scholarly Research on Eckhart and Aquinas   B. Articulating the “Distinction” Between Creator and Creatures   C. Summary: Speaking about God and Knowing God  

14 22

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Study as Contemplation: The Mutual Contexts of Aquinas and Eckhart   A. Origin and Mission of the Dominican Order   B. The Development of Dominican Education   C. Aquinas’ Influence on the Dominican Life   D. Meister Eckhart   E. Summary  

27 28 33 44 56 62

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Thomas Aquinas: A Pedagogy for Speaking About God   A. Speech about God and Christian Forms of Life   B. The Scriptural Narrative of the Summa   C. The Method and Arrangement of the Summa    D. Question 1: Scripture as the Primary Source for Theology  

65 65 67 69 71

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Thomas Aquinas: From “Proof” to Analogy   A. Question 2: The Necessity of Demonstrating God   B. Questions 3 through 11: The Manner of the Creator’s Existence   C. Questions 12 and 13: Articulating Divine Incomprehensibility  

101 103

Meister Eckhart: From Analogy to Silence   A. Analogy in Action   B. Doctrine as Analogy   C. Analogy as Silence  

153 157 168 187

5

1 8

123 141

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Conclusion: Living Without a Why and the Christian Forms of Life   A. The Lessons of Aquinas and Eckhart   B. Christian Forms of Life as Analogical   C. The Way of Analogy and the Future of Christian Forms of Life  

Bibliography   Index  

191 191 193 203 205 211

Preface Undoubtedly, Thomas Aquinas—as thankfully reinterpreted through great minds such as Rahner, Congar, de Lubac, Chenu and many others—had a dramatic effect on my spiritual and religious formation as I grew up in the immediate aftermath of Vatican II,1 even though I had no inkling of this; it was not until I was off to college at 18 that I remember even hearing Aquinas’ name, and that only because I attended the Roman Catholic church closest to my secular college campus; the parish was called St. Thomas Aquinas. This was a spirited, Vatican II-centered parish serving those Roman Catholic students attending the University of Colorado at Boulder and a number of families and community members who just wanted to be there. Yet it was not Aquinas who directed my unrelenting theological inquiry during those young adult years, at least not explicitly, but other theologians, mystics, and spiritual guides, namely the charismatic and controversial Jesuit from India Anthony de Mello, initially through his meditation exercises in Sadhana, A Way to God: Christian Exercises in Eastern Form,2 and several years later (as a master’s student) through his final reflections in The Way to Love,3 and Thomas Merton, whose book Zen and the Birds of Appetite,4 was assigned reading in a junior undergraduate sociology of religion course. This book was my first introduction to Meister Eckhart, with whom I fell in love upon reading a passage Merton quotes from Eckhart’s sermon on the Beatitudes: “since true poverty of spirit requires that man [sic] shall be emptied of god and all his [sic] works so that if God wants to act in the soul he himself must be the place in which he acts.”5 Although it is impossible for me to fully communicate why, this passage is perhaps what led me to moving from the disciplines of psychology and sociology as an undergraduate,  For a very informative and short read of the controversy over the use of Thomas Aquinas at the Council, see the essay by Joseph Komonchak entitled “Thomism and the Second Vatican Council,” in Continuity and Plurality in Catholic Theology: Essays in Honor of Gerald A. McCool, S.J., ed. Anthony J. Cernera (Fairfield, CT: Sacred Heart University Press, 1998), 53-73. 2  Anthony de Mello, Sadhana, A Way to God: Christian Exercises in Eastern Form (New York: Doubleday Dell, 1984). 3  The full title is The Way to Love: The Last Meditations of Anthony de Mello (New York: Doubleday, 1992). 4  Thomas Merton, Zen and the Birds of Appetite (New York: New Directions, 1968). 5  Ibid., 9. Merton is quoting from Eckhart’s Sermon, “Blessed are the Poor.” Note that both “God” and “god” are used—“God” is used to express God as existing in God-self and “god” used to express any conception of God, which of course is the point of the passage. 1

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to theology as a graduate student, through my doctoral work on the relationship between Eckhart and Aquinas, and still grounds me today as a teacher, scholar, and believer—what gives me my reason for being, so to speak. It is important to explain that it was in no way a negation or denigration of my own sense of self-hood that drew me to this passage, nor is it now. Quite the opposite, these words touch in me the deepest and most profound sense of myself—that which is in communion with, and which identifies with my own Divine Source and End, God beyond god. It is where I find my truest self: in and with God; my Center; my Silence. The emptying of self, of god and of all “god’s works” is for me a constant reminder of the necessity of moving beyond all personal fears, all conceptions of god which are inevitably false and misguided, and beyond all of my own hidden agendas for which I would like to call God’s agendas, so that I might become what I am truly called to be. No small task, and an unending one at that! Enter Aquinas, whose lessons assisted me in organizing and developing facility in articulating my unbridled theological self-reflection. This grace came to me through my dear mentor, Fr. David Burrell, C.S.C., who I first came to know from his doctoral course “Metaphysics of Creation” at Notre Dame. David, a former student of Lonergan, is a theological giant in his own right, with significant contributions not only in Aquinas, but also in comparative theology and Islamic philosophy.6 In this intensive doctoral seminar, under David’s tutelage we worked our way through Aquinas’ Prima pars in the Summa theologiae, and during the second half of the semester, led by David’s colleague and friend from the Romance Languages department, Christian Moevs, we worked through Dante’s metaphysics. Christian, in addition to being a first-rate Italian teacher and renowned Dante scholar, possesses a unique and profound spirituality as a devout Roman Catholic, and simultaneously, is a follower of Hindu guru Sri Sathya Sai Baba—although in him these two diverse religious sensibilities find a deep communion that flowed through every word and gesture he made.7 Our study of Dante, interspersed at times with Hindu wisdom, became a strangely beautiful commentary on Aquinas’ first thirteen questions. During the same semester, I was blessed to participate in Catherine Mowry LaCugna’s doctoral seminar on the Trinity, only one year before her passing. One of Catherine’s pedagogical methods, which I have adopted in my own teaching, particularly with graduate students, was to assign at the beginning of the semester a specific theologian to each student who was to research, write on, and take on the task of teaching the class. Here the students became teachers as well as scholars.  See David’s impressive biographical information, at http://www3.nd.edu/~dburrell/ (accessed July 31, 2013). 7  To get a sense of Christian’s unique spirituality, read this deeply personal and engaging interview found in the Sathya Sai Newsletter [USA], 34, No. 1 (2010): 3. The newsletter may be found online at http://us.sathyasai.org/ssn/2010/JanFeb2010_Dec19b-FINAL.pdf (accessed July 31, 2013). 6

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To my great surprise and delight, I was assigned Meister Eckhart’s theology on the Trinity and, even though my turn to facilitate was not until later in the semester, I wasted no time plunging back into his enigmatic mind! It seemed that in some providential way, I had come full circle; however, between the two courses an interesting, unconscious and unintended convergence began to happen, and at the end of the semester I stepped hesitatingly into David Burrell’s office and asked him if he would be my director, to which he emphatically said, “of course.” When asked what my interest was, I declared I wanted to focus on Eckhart’s metaphysics of creation, to which he smiled and replied—I’m paraphrasing now—“Ah yes, Aquinas and Eckhart, that sounds like a splendid dissertation!” My mind immediately stated to itself, “wait, what? I didn’t say anything about Aquinas.” But I acquiesced and pleasantly nodded my approval of his modification. And so, the journey commenced, and the bond I feel for my teacher and mentor lasts to this day. When, a few years later, it was time to focus on actually writing, I was again blessed by an exceptional community of scholars as my dissertation committee, co-directed by David Burrell and Joseph Wawrykow and rounded out with Mary Catherine Hilkert, O.P., Lawrence Cunningham and Christian Moevs. This book, Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart: Beyond Analogy, is what has been brought to birth from that conception. Originally entitled, “Beyond Analogy: Articulating the Transcendence and Immanence of God According to Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart,” I have made only moderate revisions. Having set it aside for some time while focusing on my vocation as teacher, first at the University of Notre Dame and then at Gonzaga, the Jesuit university where I now reside, my initial intention was for more revision; however, as I took it up again, I realized that it spoke to me as strongly as it did while I was writing it, and still provides the freshness and relevance on its own that it did when it was originally conceived and developed. Having said this, I did give it a good cleaning up where needed, and in the final chapter, I added some further reflections on how Aquinas and Eckhart together may be applied to contemporary religious forms of life, based on other scholarship I have published in the meantime and that I am currently working on, particularly in the area of ecumenical and inter-faith dialog, and in the area of inculturated worship. I hope this book is read in the spirit in which it is offered—written by a student of Aquinas and Eckhart, imperfectly yet diligently struggling to put words to the inexpressible experience of the Creator who is everywhere always present in all things, while in no way being limited by this intimacy. I look forward to the well-meaning and thoughtful responses of my readers—positive and critical—to help me move my own reflections and scholarship to ever deepening levels. I am modestly proud of the work that has been accomplished in this book, and in fact, I am pleasantly astonished to realize my work on Aquinas and Eckhart has thoroughly permeated my scholarship in other theological areas, my personal spirituality, and my pedagogy, even though it now sounds very Ignatian (of course—St. Ignatius must have been greatly influenced by Aquinas during

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his own formation at Paris and elsewhere, a thought to be pursued in the future). Having said this, I am profoundly grateful and humbled by the wealth of wisdom, guidance, and care of so many without whom I could not have taken even the first step forward let alone come to this place: my deepest thanks, first and foremost, to Sean, who was my companion in this journey for twenty years, and who is still my dear and beloved friend, and to David Burrell and Joseph Wawrykow, for their directorship, mentorship—and friendship—as well as to my wise committee members already mentioned. To all those un-named, my many excellent teachers, colleagues, and, of course, my students from whom I learn an unfathomable amount each year, my enormous appreciation. And finally, to Aquinas and Eckhart, and to all of those scholars of theirs who have provided such a rich and fertile soil for me to till, gratias vobis ago. I only hope that I have done justice to all of your creative labor.

Acknowledgments The author and publisher are grateful for permission to reprint the following material: Excerpts from Meister Eckhart: The Essential Sermons, Commentaries, Treatises, and Defense, translation and introduction by Edmund Colledge, OSA and Bernard McGinn, Copyright © 1981 by The Missionary Society of St. Paul the Apostle in the State of New York. Paulist Press, Inc., New York/Mahway, NJ. Reprinted by permission of Paulist Press, Inc. www.paulistpress.com. Excerpts from Meister Eckhart: Teacher and Preacher, edited by Bernard McGinn, Copyright © 1986 by Bernard McGinn. Paulist Press, Inc., New York/Mahway, NJ. Reprinted by permission of Paulist Press, Inc. www.paulistpress.com. Excerpts from Preller, Victor, Divine Science and the Science of God: A Reformulation of Thomas Aquinas, Copyright © 1967 by Wipf & Stock Publishers. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. www.press.princeton.edu. Excerpts from Mulchahey, M. Michèle, “First the Bow is Bent in Study”: Dominican Education Before 1350. Copyright © 1998. Toronto, Ontario, Canada: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. http://www.pims.ca/.

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Chapter 1

Introduction: The Problems and Possibilities of Speaking About God Grant me, Lord, to know and understand what I ought first to do, whether call upon thee, or praise thee? And which ought to be first, to know thee, or to call upon thee? But who can rightly call upon thee, that is yet ignorant of thee? … Or art thou rather first called upon, that thou mayest so come to be known? But how then shall they call on him, in whom they have not believed? And how shall they believe without a preacher? And again, they shall praise the Lord that seek after him: for, they that seek shall find; and finding they shall praise him. Thee will I seek, O Lord, calling upon thee; and I will call upon thee, believing in thee: for thou hast been declared unto us. My faith, O Lord, calls upon thee, which thou hast given me, which thou hast inspired into me; even by the humanity of thy Son, and by the ministry of thy preacher. St. Augustine, Confessions1

In this well-known reflection from the Confessions, Saint Augustine penetrates to the core of Christian discourse, and ultimately to the heart of the Christian journey itself: “faith seeking understanding.” He ponders the inherent relationship between knowing God and speaking to and about God. Which comes first, knowing God or calling upon God? And, what is the significance of speaking of God to others who seek to know God? For Augustine, the relationship is interdependent, because the believer, whose faith has been divinely inspired by preaching and concrete examples of Christian life, seeks to know God further, and is moved to praise the God who comes to be known. The journey is spiral; the process is unending. To know God is to desire to know God more deeply. Beginning with Augustine is only a slight, but important, detour to better understanding Thomas Aquinas’ and Meister Eckhart’s shared concern for articulating, as accurately as possible, a Creator God who is at once uniquely distinct yet intimately present to creatures. In his reflection on the nature of God, Augustine lays bare the fundamental questions and interrelations with which the two medieval Dominican masters would later struggle, and these issues lie at the center of their work: the relationship between speaking about God and speaking to God, the relationship between knowing God and speaking about God, and, most significantly, the relationship between the speaker and God—between the human creature and its Creator. Rooted in Augustine’s contemplation, Aquinas 1  Augustine, Confessions, I.I., trans. William Watts (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1912 reprint, 1995), 3.

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and Eckhart together exemplify the profound breadth and depth of religious language-use as it relates to the Christian faith journey. In his opening reflection Augustine implies that speaking “about” God and speaking “to” God are intimately connected. The Christian comes to have faith in God, initially at least, through the humanity of Christ and the ministry of preachers—means deriving their innermost inspiration from God. Hearing God spoken of provokes me to call upon God; conversely, speaking to God compels me to contemplate God and to articulate that reflection in spoken or in written word, whether in the form of prayer, sermon, or even theological treatise. This insight should not be undervalued: it is the ceaseless interplay between speaking “about” God and speaking “to” God that propels the believer forward on her journey of faith. While the distinction between speaking to God and speaking about God might seem more implicit in his opening passage, Augustine begins his Confessions by explicitly pondering whether, and if so, how, speaking to (and by implication, about) God leads to knowing God. He inquires, “which ought to be first, to know thee, or to call upon thee? But who can rightly call upon thee, that is yet ignorant of thee? … Or art thou rather first called upon, that thou mayest so come to be known?”2 He answers his own question in the same paragraph, even though at first glance it may appear circular: his search for God begins with faith in God, which compels him to call out to God. “Thee will I seek, O Lord, calling upon thee; and I will call upon thee, believing in thee.” And so it seems that faith seeks faith. But it is God who has given him the faith in which to seek. Does this not imply that someone first must have some knowledge about God before seeking God? Augustine’s primary intent, though, is not to acquire knowledge about God, but to know God. This qualification highlights the contrast—as well as the relation—between speaking about God and speaking to God. Someone speaks to another; it is a personal address. Someone can know many things about another, but we can truly profess to know another only through personal encounter. It follows that knowing something or someone personally is a type of knowledge that cannot be completely or even adequately put into words, because such a relationship is expressed non-verbally as well as vocally, and in fact, the deepest facets of an intimate relationship are primarily unvoiceable. The insufficiency of vocal expression is especially true with regard to our articulations of God, since in our encounters with God, God does not converse with us as do other persons—a reality that suggests an apparently unbridgeable chasm between this kind of knowing and speaking about it. On the other hand, whether someone speaks about God or to God is determined not only by what kind of “knowledge” is being considered, but why. What is the purpose of speaking about God? Is it to inform or to convince? And when we speak to God, is it to implore or to praise? Augustine suggests these questions are intrinsically interconnected in the faith process: the preacher’s vocation is to  Ibid.

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convert; the converted believer now continues her journey towards God in personal conversation with God and with her own questioning and contemplation—a journey that takes place together with other believers and in the deep silence of her own heart. Finally, Augustine’s reflection gives rise to the question of the relationship between the speaker and the one upon whom the speaker calls or to whom she gives praise. Again, the answer is proposed by Augustine himself: The Person invoked is the Creator of the one who seeks. As Augustine expresses it, “this man, this part of what thou hast created, is desirous to praise thee; thou so provokest him, that he even delighteth to praise thee. For thou hast created us for thyself, and our heart cannot be quieted till it may find repose in thee.”3 Augustine’s image of the restless heart speaks of a most profound union between the Creator and the human creature. It says something not only about who we are to God, but who God is to us. We are created for God; God is the one in whom we have our end. Once recognized, this intimacy affects us so deeply, we are unable to keep quiet, no matter how inadequate our speech. Speaking to and about God is as necessary to our life as is our very breath. Indeed, the praise issuing forth is not only directed towards the One addressed, but to anyone who is within the range of hearing it. Even private prayer issues forth in theological reflection, the process of rendering explicit our unconscious conceptions of God. Speaking to God is, inevitably, speaking about God as well. This recognition and proclamation of who God is compels the believer to seek further knowledge of humanity’s Creator and End. The believer now must ask, “What is therefore my God?,”4 an inquiry moving from immediate personal “knowledge” of God5 to questions of knowledge about God. This type of knowledge calls for a distinct type of expression. We soon learn from Augustine that it is not enough to speak of God as “most excellent,” “most mighty,” “most merciful and most just.”6 We must, in the same breath, also speak of God as “immutable, yet changing all things,” and “never new, and never old.”7 Augustine seems to be pressing us into deeper contemplation, as this second type of articulation requires us to push against the limits of our imagination. While we might imagine something as the “most” of its kind, because there are other things like it with which we can compare, we are unable to comprehend something in which two seemingly contradictory qualities exist simultaneously: immutable and changing; never new or old. In order to grasp such a thing, we  Ibid.  Ibid., 9 (emphasis mine). 5  When saying “knowing God” is awkward, “knowledge of God” is substituted; 3 4

however, the distinction between “knowing” and “knowledge about” is still implied, as is the contention we cannot know anything about what God is, despite compulsory attempts to do so. 6  Augustine, Confessions, 9. 7  Ibid.

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should have some other similar thing with which to compare it; however, Christians, and other monotheistic believers, proclaim there is no other God but this One Creator. The Creator about whom we seek to know is at once intimately present to us, yet completely distinct from us—in fact, distinct from anything in our creaturely experience. Augustine’s answer to this quandary is to articulate God in the only way he can: autobiographically. He does not propose to speak about God in his Confessions through logical propositions, but through narrative. For Augustine, speaking about God means speaking about his own encounter with and journey towards God. The two are inseparable. Reflection on how to understand and articulate the relationship between the Creator and creature in light of the Christian journey of faith continued to occupy the minds of theologians after Augustine—and it still does today. But in no period of history was this reflection more creative, and enduring, than in the Middle Ages—in no small measure (at least in the West) due to Augustine. As the following chapter explains, the Order of Preachers established in the Middle Ages was specifically modeled on Augustine’s contemplative character; its friars were well-versed in his meditations. Among these Dominicans, Thomas Aquinas has come to epitomize the medieval Dominicans, especially with his many well-known theological treatises. In his Summa theologiae, Aquinas introduces the subject of God—treating specifically in the first part of this work what we can know about God.8 He determines we cannot know what God is, only what God is not. Over the span of the next eleven questions, he proceeds from this assertion to the ways in which we describe God, or, how we speak about God. The culmination of this development is Question 13, which asserts the most proper way of describing God, if there is one, is by analogy, a concept he takes great pains to qualify for the unique case of the relationship between creatures and their Creator. If we consider not only his academic training, but also the discipline of his religious life as a Dominican friar, we discover within Aquinas an underlying narrative echoing Augustine’s opening reflection on the problems inherent to articulating God. From this perspective, Aquinas’ analysis in these questions amounts to much more than a speculative treatise on the doctrine of God; it is an exercise designed to increase his reader’s flexibility in extending limited human speech about God, without compromising either God’s transcendence or immanence, as students work their way through the text. More importantly, this linguistic exercise is not supposed to be an end in itself, because the ultimate purpose of theology is salvific: the goal of sacra doctrina is to attain  Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, I.3 (hereafter STh). The Fathers of the English Dominican Province (Texas: Thomas More, 1981) translation will be used throughout this book, as well as consultation with the English translation and original Latin provided by Blackfriars (New York and London: Blackfriars in conjunction with McGraw-Hill, Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1964). 8

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the knowledge necessary for salvation.9 So we begin to glimpse a subtle alliance between speaking about God and knowing God. Learning how to speak about God is integral to the faith journey—on the part of both the speaker and the listener. For Aquinas, the common point of origin for this connection is Scripture. On the one hand, Scripture contains God’s Revelation, from which all theological principles are derived; on the other hand, it contains the deepest expressions of personal encounter with God: prayer, which is human speech addressed to God—that is, addressed to our Creator whose distinct presence remains ever an incomprehensible mystery, beyond adequate description. Yet Scripture is the primary discourse mediating both knowledge about God (if perhaps only by negation) and knowing God. Thus, Scripture offers the exemplar of analogical language that animates the reader’s lifelong journey of faith. On the surface, however, Aquinas’ Summa can easily appear too pedantic to move his readers from speaking about God to knowing God, because it is structured as a textbook with highly academic language, despite his assertion in the first question of the primary place of Scripture—filled with poetical language—as a source for theology. But if Aquinas’ treatise seems too theoretical, we should draw upon another medieval Dominican, Meister Eckhart, for more “practical” examples of how the extraordinary flexibility inherent to human language-use about God may be used to draw us closer to God. Meister Eckhart had the benefit of Aquinas’ lessons in the Summa; moreover, imbued with the active-contemplative character of the Dominican life captured by this instruction as well as a brilliant gift for rhetoric, Eckhart spent his life putting it to use, outside of the classroom as well as in it. Long neglected, Eckhart has become popular in the last few decades on contemporary bookshelves of spirituality, particularly for his German sermons, originally written for the women and men of the medieval Beguine communities under his spiritual direction. In these sermons, Eckhart calls for abegescheiden—detachment from all creaturely concerns, and from all creaturely conceptions of God.10 On speaking about God, Eckhart reiterates detachment from any conception of God: “whatever words we use, they are telling lies, and  STh, I.1.  Meister Eckhart, Meister Eckhart: Teacher and Preacher, trans. and ed. Bernard

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McGinn, Frank Tobin, and Elvira Borgstadt (New York: Paulist Press, 1986), 399, “Middle High German Glossary.” A profound example of detachment is Eckhart’s German Sermon on the Beatitudes: If it be the case that man is free of all created things and of God and of himself, and if it also be that God may find place in him in which to work, then I say that … he is not poor with the most intimate poverty. … When man clings to place, he clings to distinction. Therefore I pray to God that he may make me free of “God,” for my real being is above God if we take “God” to be the beginning of created things.

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it [the power of the spirit] is far above them. It is free of all names, it is bare of all forms, wholly empty and free, as God in himself is empty and free.”11 In his Latin Sermon on the Feast of the Holy Trinity, Eckhart asserts: “In summary, note that everything that is said or written about the Holy Trinity is in no way really so or true. … Second, [it follows] that since God is inexpressible in and of his nature, what we say he is, surely is not in him.” He employs a variety of rhetorical devises in his discourse to facilitate his audience’s conceptual detachment: paradox, negation, juxtaposition, dialectic, chiasmus, and other “poetic effects.”12 In addition, he creatively incorporates Neoplatonic principles into his vernacular in order to take his Christian audience out of their conventional modes of thinking about God, for example, ûzbruch, or in the Latin, emanatio—the emanation or flowing out of all things from the Divine Source13—which he uses to explicate the Christian doctrine of the Triune God’s creative action, reflected in the human soul. He employs emanation language to highlight the unique distinction between creatures and their Creator: on the one hand, because all things emanate from the Source they bear a likeness to it; on the other hand, this Source is distinct precisely by virtue of its singular existence. By describing the relationship in these terms, which he articulates with a strategic set of rhetorical twists and turns, Eckhart effectively introduces a variety of linguistic frameworks whereby his readers and listeners will become more and more detached from any particular concept of God that may hinder their journey towards knowing God. Because—as Eckhart often reminds us—if we could capture God with one conception, then truly “God would not be God.” The idea that God would not be God if God could be defined by any conception is articulated in a variety of ways throughout Eckhart. For example, in his sermon on Ephesians 4:23, he writes: But if you want to be without sin and perfect, you should not chatter about God. And do not try to understand God, for God is beyond all understanding. One authority says: “If I had a God whom I could understand, I should never

11  German Sermon on Luke 10:38. Unless otherwise specified, quoted texts from Eckhart are taken from translations in the Classics of Western Spirituality series by Paulist Press: McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt (Meister Eckhart: Teacher and Preacher, 1986) and Colledge and McGinn (Meister Eckhart: Essential Sermons, 1981). These volumes are particularly helpful because they include High Medieval Latin and German glossaries as well as extensive indices. 12  See, for example, Tobin’s discussion in Meister Eckhart: Thought and Language (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986), 158-82. See also Cyprian Smith, The Way of Paradox: Spiritual Life as Taught by Meister Eckhart (New York: Paulist Press, 1987). 13  McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 403 (glossary).

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consider him God.” If you can understand anything about him, it in no way belongs to him.

and [I]f you love God as he is God, as he is spirit, as he is person and as he is image—all this must go! … You should love him as he is a nonGod, a nonspirit, a nonperson, a nonimage.

In his Counsels on Discernment, he advises: A man ought not to have a God who is just a product of his thought, nor should he be satisfied with that, because if the thought vanished, God too would vanish. But one ought to have a God who is present, a God who is far above the notions of men and of all created things.

Eckhart also demonstrates his linguistic ingenuity in his Latin sermons and scriptural exegeses, although his creativity is perhaps less obvious than in his German works. To aid his students and more scholastic audiences in transcending conventional conceptions of God, Eckhart, like Aquinas, adopts and modifies a highly philosophical vocabulary that appears to be Aristotelian in character: esse, essentia, potentia, actio, and so on. Rather than resting with descriptions of God in terms of emanation to help his audience overcome their conceptual rigidity, Eckhart also often describes God as Intelligere14 and the process of human transcendence as “detached intellection.”15 He identifies God’s Existence with God’s Knowledge in such a way that, the closer his audience comes to detached intellection about God, the closer they may come to know God.16 The goal of this process is to become so identified with God that there is no longer any separation between the existence of the two “subjects,” the human knower and the Divine Knower (the human creature and its Creator)—in fact there are no longer any subjects to know about.17  Ibid., 395 (Latin Glossary).  See Carl Franklin Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge (New Haven:

14 15

Yale University Press, 1977) on “Divine Knowledge” as a central theme in Eckhart’s work. 16  Eckhart often combines “detached intellection” with emanation imagery. For example, in his commentary on Exodus, Eckhart speaks of “bringing every intellect into captivity in service of Christ” (essentially, detached intellection), but in the next verse, he combines descriptions of God’s existence with emanation: “the repetition … ‘I am who am’ … indicates a reflexive turning back of his existence into itself … a ‘boiling’ or giving birth to itself” (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 43-6). 17  However, Eckhart remains consistent in maintaining that, while there is no separation between them, the distinction between Creator and creature nevertheless remains. This process of identification is neither initiated nor moved by the human creature, but by and through God, who created us for this determination.

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While his approach may sometimes appear very different from that of his vernacular works, his purpose is the same: transcending ordinary language-use in order to speak about God, and so leading others to knowing God. Eckhart proves himself adept in his dual vocation as Preacher and Teacher, for he has the remarkable ability to transform his rhetoric to accommodate his diverse audiences. In both roles, as teacher of future preachers and as himself preacher extraordinaire, Eckhart offers a living reply to Augustine’s quandary: “But who can rightly call upon thee, that is yet ignorant of thee? … and how shall they believe without a preacher?”18 A. Current Scholarly Research on Eckhart and Aquinas Unfortunately, Eckhart was condemned by the Church for his enigmatic use of language, an injustice which has yet to be reversed.19 Ironically, while nothing could have been further from his intent, Eckhart was accused of “leading simpler minds astray in matters of faith and morals.”20 Eckhart died before he was able to explain himself, and his writings have rested in virtual obscurity for several centuries. However, renewed interest in the writings of medieval mystics has prompted scholarly research into Eckhart’s work. In fact, much has been written about the ingenious and complex manner in which Meister Eckhart employs language in speaking about the relationship between creatures and their Creator. In this regard, many scholars have attempted to compare Eckhart to his well-known predecessor, Thomas Aquinas. This has generated a fair amount of controversy about whether, and to what extent, Eckhart follows or departs from Aquinas, but the general tendency is to highlight the differences between them. Disagreements over Eckhart’s adherence to Aquinas as well as the tendency to contrast them often stem from the various points of departure scholars take when considering the two medieval masters’ works. One approach compares their so-called metaphysics, focusing on what each has to say about the nature and existence of God. Taken from this perspective, contrasts between Eckhart and Aquinas seem apparent. Another approach examines Eckhart and Aquinas at the linguistic or rhetorical level—that is, how they each use language to achieve a desired effect in their respective audiences. This examination requires us to consider many factors in a given text before drawing any “metaphysical” conclusions, such as: For whom is each writer writing, and for what purpose? What literary and linguistic forms are employed in each composition? While inevitably, many  Augustine, Confessions, I.1.  A helpful timeline of Eckhart’s condemnation and efforts to get it rescinded can

18 19

be found on the Eckhart Society’s website, http://www.eckhartsociety.org/eckhart/eckhartman (accessed June 24, 2013). 20  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 8.

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different interpretations arise between scholars, this perspective makes room for the suggestion that differences between two texts or authors may exist mostly at a surface level. In fact, on closer reading superficial differences give way to an underlying complementarity between the texts or authors under consideration. The following discussion provides a brief survey, by no means exhaustive, of major trends in current scholarship on the relationship of Eckhart and Aquinas. The purpose of this survey is twofold: first, to acknowledge the many contributions of contemporary scholars in this area, and second, to reveal the need to explore Eckhart and Aquinas from a slightly different angle, one of reading Eckhart in light of Aquinas, with the intention of uncovering the profound creativity generated by their inherent connection regarding religious language-use. This vantage point has not been adequately exploited, because while there has been much scholarly reflection on Aquinas’ understanding of analogy as well as on Eckhart’s creative use of rhetoric, the underlying assumption that there exists a deeper intrinsic unity between the two has for the most part been underappreciated. However, research established by scholars of Eckhart and of Aquinas has indeed produced a fertile (if confusing) ground for exploring how these two medieval Dominican masters facilitate our own religious language-use. There is little consensus among scholars about the extent to which Eckhart actually departs from Aquinas in speaking about God or in describing the Creator–creature relationship. Often, when one scholar asserts something of one or the other masters, another scholar asserts just the opposite! However, the major contrast appears to be in determining Eckhart as a Neoplatonist and Aquinas as an Aristotelian. This contrast breaks down to include further differences, such as respective notions on divine causality, priority and distinction/indistinction of divine perfections, and the independence (or not) of the creature’s existence apart from its Creator. Frank Tobin, for example, citing Eckhart’s commentary on the book of Genesis (“God naturally possesses all forms and the forms of all”), argues for Eckhart’s Neoplatonism in stressing God as formal cause, in contrast to Aquinas’ Aristotelian tendency to speak of God as efficient cause.21 On the other hand, Carl Franklin Kelley, who downplays Eckhart’s Neoplatonism, points out passages in Eckhart where essence by itself can never be a formal cause. According to Kelley, Eckhart does not place essence prior to existence as a Neoplatonist would.22 In terms of divine perfections, Alain de Libera and J.A. Aertsen contrast Eckhart, who writes of the essential indistinctness of divine perfections (for example, in his commentary on Gospel of John), with Aquinas, who discusses distinctions between divine perfections apart from our imperfect way of knowing.23  Ibid., 57.  Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 53. 23  See J.A. Aertsen, “Ontology and Henology in Medieval Philosophy,” in 21 22

On Proclus and his Influence in Medieval Philosophy, ed. E.P. Bos and P.A. Meijer (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992), 135 and Alain de Libera, Le problème de l’être chez Maîter Eckhart:

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More to the heart of the matter, however, is an apparent difference detected by de Libera, Tobin, and others in the status of the creature in relation to its Creator: Eckhart asserts that apart from its Creator a creature has no being at all, while Aquinas seems to allow for some independent existence in the creature, although the creature’s existence still must be sustained by its Source.24 On the other hand, further complicating matters, Eckhart denies existence to God (when it is attributed to creatures) and, sometimes even in the same passage, goes on to deny it of creatures; for example, the creature’s existence is in reality God’s own existence.25 This contrast, like most others, inevitably then turns to the differences between Eckhart and Aquinas in their respective methods of predication, modes of speaking (for example, the way of negation versus the way of eminence),26 and ultimately, differences in their ways of employing analogy to describe the Creator–creature relationship. Eckhart’s often bewildering play on language generates the most interesting and creative controversy. Differences of opinion arise among scholars not only about Eckhart’s understanding of analogy and predication, as well as his understanding of and intentional departure from Aquinas, but also about Aquinas’ understanding of these uses. For example, many assume Aquinas adheres more strictly to the analogy of proportion between Creator and creature while Eckhart rejects the analogy of proportion in favor of the analogy of attribution (although some concede that Aquinas also uses the analogy of attribution).27 David Burrell, however, asserts that Aquinas does not adhere strictly to one type of analogy, but rather develops analogy more as a skill in using language to investigate what lies beyond our conceptual grasp.28 This is a perspective that will be further developed in this book. logique et métaphysique de l’analogie (Lausanne: Cahiers de la Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie, 1980), 30-31. 24  de Libera, Le problème de l’être chez Maîter Eckhart, 19 and Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 58. 25  Eckhart often uses “nothing” dialectically to articulate both Creator’s and creatures’ existence. See, for example, German Sermon, 71 on Acts 9:8: “When he got up from the ground, with eyes open he saw nothing, and the nothing was God.” And a few lines later, “when he saw God, he viewed all things as nothing.” Paradoxically, both God and creatures are referred to as “nothing” within the very same paragraph. 26  See, for example, Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 71. 27  Two main types of analogy are spoken of in reference to Aquinas. The analogy of attribution, when the analogous property exists properly only in the “prime analogate” (Creator) and secondarily—and extrinsically—in the other (creature), and the analogy of proportion, when the analogous property is common to both, but each possesses the property in a way that corresponds to their respective nature (Hampus Lyttkens, The Analogy Between God and the World (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksells, 1952)). Attribution appears to fall into equivocal language-use while proportion appears to fall into univocal language-use, inadvertently contributing to the debate about Eckhart’s adherence to Aquinas. 28  David Burrell is referred to in McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 26; although McGinn does not provide a citation undoubtedly he is referring

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Still others believe Eckhart in fact misunderstood Aquinas and, rather, creatively modifies or synthesizes more than one type of analogy. These apparent syntheses have been given various names, such as analogy of extrinsic attribution,29 analogy of formal opposition or reverse analogy,30 dialectical analogy, self‑reversing analogy,31 or inverse analogy.32 Descriptions of analogies such as “extrinsic attribution,” “formal opposition,” and “reverse analogy” appear at first glance to highlight the distinction of the Creator from creatures, or a more equivocal understanding of the relation.33 On the other hand, according to Burkhard Mojsisch, Eckhart generally accepts Aquinas’ analogy of attribution (with qualification), but while Aquinas speaks of participation, Eckhart speaks of identification of the Divine Ground with humankind, which seems to highlight a more univocal understanding of the relation between Creator and creatures.34 For Mojsisch, the innovation Eckhart brings to the analogy of attribution between Creator and creature is to distinguish the creature insofar as it is inseparable from the identity of the Creator, that is, where its existence and perfections cannot be measured, and the creature as it emerges from its Source, through ûzbruch, or emanation. Outside of the Creator (the prime analogate), the creature’s existence is only borrowed; it is purely nothing in itself. This seems to fit into the category of univocity because, insofar as the Creator and creature are “inseparable,” the creature’s individuality cannot be measured. Émilie Zum Brunn attempts to counterbalance the tendency to overemphasize either an equivocal or univocal reading by noting that in Eckhart there are actually two accounts of the Creator–creature relationship, depending on two states of the creature: 1) servitude, existence only borrowed from the Creator; 2) liberated and

to Burrell’s Excercises in Religious Understanding (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1974), 126-9 and 132-3. 29  For example, de Libera, Le problème de l’être chez Maîter Eckhart, 6. 30  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 32-3. 31  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 33 and Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 31, 168-72. 32  Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 168-72. According to Kelley, Eckhart presupposes but qualifies the analogy of attribution, asserting the analogy reveals discontinuity between Creator and creature rather than similarity—in other words, the analogy is “inverted” from its normal role. However, this inversion also points to unity between Creator and creature. Kelley explains that in Eckhart, the identity between the soul and the Divine ground stems wholly from “uncreated grace” and not from any “ontological” fact or natural act. 33  Such scholars are, for the most part, careful to stay away from actually placing Eckhart’s analogy in the category of “equivocal” language. However, God’s transcendence is discussed prior to any notion of the creature’s indistinction from the Creator. 34  See Burkhard Mojsisch, Meister Eckhart: Analogie, Univozitat und Einheit (Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1983), 52 and 117.

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inherited, insofar as the creature’s being is in the being of the Son.35 Zum Brunn’s description, which in a sense explicates Mojsisch’s, fits into “dialectical analogy.” In addition to interpreting Eckhart’s analogy as some kind of synthesis, de Libera, along with McGinn, sees Eckhart moving through different and increasingly deeper levels of language-use: predication, analogy, dialectic.36 They stress that these modes of speaking are complementary and mutually dependent on each other. De Libera’s insight into the inherent connection between analogy and dialectic follows upon the work of Vladimir Lossky, who focuses on Eckhart’s particular use of dialectic describing a dynamic relationship between creature and Creator: in one “moment” of creation, when the creature is created from nothing, the creature’s existence is purely equivocal to, or distinct from, the Creator; in another “moment,” indistinct with regard to the Divine Cause’s knowledge and production, the creature shares an univocal relationship with the Creator.37 According to Lossky, Eckhart departs from Aquinas’ understanding of analogy as a “middle-way” between the equivocal and the univocal. Rather, Eckhart perceives analogy as a dynamic movement, or rather, a dynamic unity, between the two modes of speaking: “The univocal and equivocal relation must be rejected or taken together when speaking of an analogical Cause, creator of all things.”38 By “[t]he univocal and equivocal … taken together,” Lossky is referring to pairs of seemingly contrary terms consistently showing up in Eckhart’s writings when he refers to the creature in relation to its Cause: distinction and indistinction, dissimilarity and resemblance, exteriority and interiority, separation and unification, and so on.39 This explanation of analogy, like others,40 sees “analogical causality” as a kind of metaphysical category that is, for Eckhart, best described dialectically. The unstated—but very significant—implication of Lossky’s interpretation of Eckhart is that, since the  Émilie Zum Brunn and Alain de Libera, Maître Eckhart: metaphysique de Verbe and théologie négative (Paris: Beauchesne, 1984), 90. 36  See, for example, de Libera, Le problème de l’être chez Maîter Eckhart, 1 and McGinn’s discussion on Eckhart’s use of language in comparison to Aquinas in the introduction to Essential Sermons. 37  Vladimir Lossky, Théologie négative et connaissance de Dieu chez maître Eckhart, Études de Philosophie Médiévale (Paris: Librairie Philosophique J. Vrin, 1960). See, for example: “Il y a un moment d’équivocité dans la causalité analogique de Maître Eckhart dans la mesure où l’être créé ex nihilo, considéré dans sa distinction, ‘en tant que créature’, est un ‘pur néant’ et n’a rien de commun avec sa Cause transcendante. Quant au moment d’univocité, il apparaît surtout dans l’immanence de la créature au principe premier de sa connaissance et de sa production” (287). 38  Ibid., 287: “L’univocité et l’équivocité doivent être rejetées our admises ensemble lorsqu’il s’agit d’une Cause analogique, créatrice de toutes choses.” 39  Ibid. 40  For example, Zum Brunn and de Libera, Maître Eckhart: metaphysique de Verbe and théologie negative, 90, and Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 31, describe Eckhart’s analogy as “dialectical analogy.” McGinn also implies Eckhart’s analogy is dialectical in The Mystical Thought of Meister Eckhart: The Man From Whom God Hid Nothing (New York: Crossroad, 2001), 96. 35

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connection between the creature and its Creator is essentially dynamic, not static, it cannot be articulated by a static concept of analogy. The recognition that dialectical language-use is itself somewhat “analogical”41 moves the concept of analogy from a static definition, such as we understand by “analogy of proportion” or “analogy of attribution,” to a dynamic description much more difficult to grasp, something that does not fit into any well-defined linguistic typology. A more dynamic interpretation of Eckhart’s use of analogy in turn must affect how Eckhart is viewed with respect to Aquinas. In fact, McGinn cautions us to avoid overly simplified contrasts between the two.42 While he also tends to draw out differences between Eckhart and Aquinas, McGinn concedes that if Burrell is correct in asserting Aquinas’ understanding of analogy is more about developing a sense of attentiveness to the subtle play of language than about defining, for example, an intrinsic and/or proportional relation between Creator and creature—as some scholars credit Aquinas—then Eckhart is a master of the art of analogy.43 Supposing there is an “art of analogy” requires distinguishing between analogy as a simple rhetorical or linguistic device—that is, a comparison of two things (for example, Creator and creature) by extension of one thing to another,44 whether it is by proportion, attribution, or even causality—and analogy as a type of language-use that is context dependent, and that leads the reader from speaking about God towards the type of knowing—encounter—which ultimately evades proper articulation. Analogical language-use, therefore, is an integral part of the journey of faith seeking understanding. But understanding resulting from this type 41  Although perhaps Lossky himself would not explicitly assert this. He appears to vacillate between identifying Eckhart’s dialectical language-use with analogy and merely associating the two. 42  McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 26-7. See also McGinn, Mystical Thought of Meister Eckhart, 96, where he discusses Eckhart’s possible use of Aquinas on analogy:

[F]rom time to time, Eckhart appeals to Aquinas’ language of analogy and thus seems to want to preserve something of the Thomistic via eminentiae. This may seem like mere confusion, but I would argue that Eckhart is drawing on both Maimonides and Aquinas as resources for the creation of his own dialectical God-language. 43  McGinn, Mystical Thought of Meister Eckhart, 96. 44  Janet Martin Soskice distinguishes analogy from other types of comparison, specifically metaphor: “Analogy as a linguistic device deals with language that has been stretched to fit new applications, yet fits the new situation without generating for the native speaker any imaginative strain.” Metaphor and Religious Language (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985), 64. That is, analogy extends the meaning of a word beyond its ordinary use, “a matter of teaching an old word new tricks” (borrowing from Newson Goodman). Metaphor, on the other hand, is a form of language-use “whereby we speak about one thing in terms which are seen to be suggestive of another.” Ibid., 15. I will have more to say on this distinction later.

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of language-use must not be viewed as positive knowledge about God allowing us to define God, or our relationship with our Creator. Instead, this “knowing,” if it can even be called that, only propels the believer deeper into the incomprehensible mystery we call God. Speaking about God, like speaking to God, only feeds our desire to know the unknowable God. B. Articulating the “Distinction” Between Creator and Creatures Often scholars speak of analogy between Creator and creature as if “analogy” is a sophisticated way of defining this unique relationship—in other words, that analogy somehow captures the way in which one is connected to the other. But how can we avoid being misled into thinking our articulations about God as Creator adequately describe a state of affairs that, in reality, is impossible to grasp due to God’s incomprehensibility? If God is incomprehensible, then anything said about the Creator–creature relationship leaves out more than it tells. No image or likeness (even that of Creator) can penetrate the mystery of God’s being, and any likeness drawn between Creator and creature implies an even greater distinction between them. So the Creator–creature relationship is one where the Creator must be said to be uniquely distinct from creatures. In fact, as Robert Sokolowski points out, since there is only one Creator, all of our religious discourse hangs upon this particular distinction—at least with regard to the Abrahamic faiths, and for our specific purpose, the Christian faith.45 Conventional definitions of “analogy” are not only inadequate for the task of articulating the Creator–creature relationship, but misleading, because what we want to do when speaking about God as Creator is to draw attention to the distinctness of the relationship rather than to its likeness to any other. But if we cannot use customary definitions of analogy, then how can we explain the biblical assertion of God as the immediate and intimately present Creator? How can we speak of ourselves as created in the image of God? A purely negative understanding of speech about God does not satisfy our religious practices or our faith statements, as Aquinas himself points out.46 Our religious language must play the role of defending the profoundly positive assertion of God the Creator in the Hebrew-Christian Scriptures. While insufficient on its own, analogy holds the most promise for developing a Creator–creature language, because it does not have to resort to either purely negative or purely positive understandings. Even in everyday use, we realize an analogy drawn between two things is not a perfect correspondence. We are keenly aware (or should be) of the incredible flexibility of language—and of language-users. We do not use words or comparisons in isolation; we draw upon contexts and experiences surrounding those words in order to derive a fuller meaning. So instead of relying on customary definitions of analogy when 45  See Sokolwski’s, The God of Faith and Reason: Foundations of Christian Faith (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1995). 46  STh, I.13.2.

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attempting to articulate God as Creator, we should focus on analogical language-use, which takes into consideration the flexibility of human language, as well as the potential of the language-user to draw nearer to its ultimate Source. Analogical language-use attempts to communicate a distinction between Creator and creatures that, paradoxically, reveals the Creator’s immediacy to creatures and guides the speaker—and the hearer—closer to God. In order to see the connection between this unique Creator–creature distinction and developing appropriate (albeit improper) speech about God, we must begin with the presumption that God is not part of the world, so Creator and creature cannot be compared and contrasted as are two created things; therefore speech about the Creator must be directed by a noncontrastive understanding of religious language. What “non-contrastive” languageuse means is the attempt to prevent comparisons and contrasts between Creator and creatures leading us to think about God as another being in the world.47 The following discussion examines this presumption and the implications it has for our understanding and analogous uses of language. In the end, not only does our notion of analogy have to be highly qualified when applied to the Creator–creature relationship, it actually calls for a different “universe of discourse” that moves beyond our normal mode of describing relationships within the world. Aquinas and Eckhart strive to help us develop such a universe of discourse through their own works. 1. God is Not Part of the World Sokolowski asserts one basic and inviolable characteristic of Christianity: God must not be understood as the “best part of the world”48—in other words, God is distinct from all that is created: Christian theology is differentiated from pagan religious and philosophical reflection primarily by the introduction of a new distinction, the distinction between the world understood as possibly not having existed and God understood as possibly being all that there is, with no diminution of goodness or greatness.49

Sokolowski uses the “pagan” gods as examples, who were seen as “natural necessities,” having control over various aspects of worldly affairs: nature, politics, and in essence, human fate.50 They were integral parts of the world, and, apart from  The term “non-contrastive” is borrowed from Kathryn Tanner, and will be explained in the following section. See God and Creation in Christian Theology (Oxford: Blackwell, 1988). 48  Sokolowski, God of Faith and Reason, xi. 49  Ibid., 23. However, the question arises whether the contrast between so-called pagan gods and the Christian God is as clear cut as Sokolowski indicates, an issue beyond the scope of this book and left for future reflection. 50  See, for example, descriptions from Frederick Turner, “Apollo,” in The Olympians: Ancient Deities as Archetypes, ed. Joanne Stroud (New York: Continuum, 1996), 50 47

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the world, they had no meaning or identity. Christianity, however, perceives a different relation of God to the world—a contingent world freely created by one God whose identity is independent of it. This makes the distinction between God and the world (Creator and creatures) unlike any distinction within the world: [I]n the Christian distinction God is understood as “being” God entirely apart from any relation of otherness, not the world or to the whole. God could and would be God even if there were no world. … No distinction made within the horizon of the world is like this.51

Ultimately, because there is no other example within the world to use as a comparison or contrast, “the Christian God … is not a ‘kind’ of being at all.”52 Sokolowski’s explanation of the difference between ancient pagan religions and Christianity hinges on the relation of the divine to the non-divine. The pagan gods were a part of the world—the greatest types of beings in the world, granted, but part of the world nonetheless. This implies the divine must be understood over and against all that is non-divine.53 To have control over the fate of nature and the lives of mortals is, in effect, to be a god. The transcendence of the Creator God of the Hebrew-Christian Scriptures, however, is of an altogether different sort. Because God is not a being at all in the sense to which we are accustomed and not a part of the created world, there is no opposition or competition between creatures and their Creator, as for example, the conflict between the Greek hero Hercules and the goddess Juno. Therefore, the distinction of the Creator from creation is not one over-and-against the world. This is a radically different conception from the distinction made between things within the world itself. When we describe something within the world, we necessarily do so by comparing it to things that are like it and contrasting it from other things that are different from it. We also identify things by their position in the created order.54 But God’s existence does not depend on the existence, or the creation, of anything and Donald Richardson, Great Zeus and all His Children: Greek Mythology for Adults (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1984), 1 and 77. See also Guilia Sissa and Marcel Detienne, The Daily Life of the Greek Gods, trans. Janet Lloyd (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000), 167. 51  Sokolowski, God of Faith and Reason, 32-3. 52  Ibid., 35-6. 53  The Greek gods, for example, are especially characterized by manipulation of the world and human affairs, even to the extent of mating and reproducing with mortals. See, for example, Sokolowski, God of Faith and Reason, 92. Mating between immortal and mortal inevitably blurs the divine and non-divine, as well as the possibility of comparing and contrasting the two. 54  According to Tanner in God and Creation in Christian Theology: Finite beings within the world are specifically identified in virtue of the particular qualities which characterize them and by which they differ from other beings. God,

Introduction

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else, and God’s identity does not depend on (or can it be found in) comparison to anything else in existence. Therefore, that which distinguishes God from everything else is an absolutely unique distinction. Sokolowski provides a glimpse of the implications this particular “distinction” has on understanding the relationship of creatures to their Creator, and the problems that arise when we attempt to articulate it. Whenever we say anything about God as Christians, we must consider whether we are collapsing God into the created order. If we do not recognize that our speech about God, of necessity drawn from creation, cannot adequately reflect what God is, then we risk treating God as though God were another being in the universe. We will then view our relationship to God as one over against ourselves, with all the distortions such unconscious presumptions entail. Furthermore, even the concept of “analogy” when used of the Creator–creature relationship risks falling into this same error, unless analogy is employed to maintain a sense of God’s unique distinction from the world rather than to define “what God is.”55 The emphasis of analogy when used of Creator and creature should be on moving the believer closer to its ultimate end rather than proving God’s existence or defining God’s nature—and such a move depends on a Creator God who is both transcendent and immanent to creation. 2. Analogical Language-Use is Non-Contrastive Scholars who refer to Eckhart’s use of analogy as “reverse” or “inverse” analogy56 or “analogy of formal opposition”57 point out this special role that analogy plays when referring to Creator and creatures: to reveal the Creator’s unique distinction. They recognize analogy does not operate in the same manner when articulating the Creator–creature relationship as it does when describing the relationship between created things. When used of the Creator–creature relationship, analogy serves more to unveil differences than to call attention to likeness. What readers of Eckhart (and those of Aquinas also) may not recognize, however, is just how unique the distinction being articulated is: God is not merely distinct by virtue of divine transcendence, but by transcendence-in-immanence: God as Creator is more present to the creature than any two created beings could possibly be, yet as transcendent, is beyond those relations of identity or opposition, and is therefore not to be characterized in terms of particular natures in contrast to others. (57) 55  According to Victor Preller, “For us to know what God is in terms of the analogically significant conceptual system by means of which we refer to reality would be for God to be a kind of thing, a being essentially conditioned by his relationship to contingent beings, and, indeed, a contingent being in his own right.” Divine Science and the Science of God (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967), 90-91. In other words, analogy, just as any other mode of speaking, may make God out to be another being in the universe. 56  For example, Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 33 and Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 31, 168-72. 57  For example, Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 33.

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as such God is uniquely distinct. So when considering scholars who present Eckhart’s analogy as a synthesis it is crucial to look for elements of both the transcendence and the immanence of God in their explanations. Often, scholars tend to emphasize passages in Eckhart referring either to God’s transcendence or to God’s immanence.58 But in order to truly capture Eckhart’s intent, each passage must be read in the context of the entire text, and perhaps even in the context of his writings as a whole, for Eckhart is careful (but not obviously so) to preserve both God’s transcendence and God’s immanence. As Eckhart exemplifies, attempting to describe something like “transcendencein-immanence” is a difficult task given the limitations of human language. One problem with using the term “distinction” when referring to God’s uniqueness as one of transcendence-in-immanence is that our normal understanding of distinction is of contrast between two things, or where one is seen over and against the other. Inevitably this suggests an equivocal understanding of the relationship. Kathryn Tanner’s use of the term “non-contrastive” rather than “distinction” when referring to God’s uniqueness may help us avoid the danger of slipping into misunderstanding attributes used of Creator and creatures as altogether equivocal (or univocal, for that matter). She distinguishes non-contrastive language from contrastive language, which she describes as language-use where God is implicitly or explicitly compared/contrasted to things in the created realm, and she warns us: “whatever you say about God and world, do not simply identify or oppose their attributes.”59 The underlying danger of understanding God’s attributes contrastively is thinking whatever we say about the relationship of creature to Creator implies either an opposition to or an identity with God, or, in other terms, a struggle between God’s will and our own.60 We then fall into the error that Sokolowski attributes to the pagan religions: God as the best or biggest thing in the world. Rather, according to Tanner, we must emphasize … a radical transcendence of God that is non-contrastive: God transcends the world as a whole in a manner that cannot properly be talked about in terms of a simple opposition within the same universe of discourse.

58  This is not to say, however, that Eckhart scholars are unaware of both elements in Eckhart’s work, or that their explanations do not include both transcendence and immanence; it is more a matter of emphasis than neglect. 59  Tanner, God and Creation in Christian Theology, 28. 60  The relation between God’s will and the human creature’s free will is a central theological problem. Tanner observes: “freedom and contingency as attributes of the creatures … might suggest a conflict with the theological formality of a creature’s complete determination by God’s creative agency” (ibid., 90). She asserts this need not be the case, if the rule for talking about created efficacy is directed by a non-contrastive use of language. See Tanner’s ch. 3: “God and the Efficacy of Creatures.”

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Direct contrasts are appropriate for distinguishing beings within the world; if God transcends the world, God must transcend that sort of characterization, too.61

The previous section asserted that, because of the underlying presumption of God’s incomprehensibility, we must be careful to preserve a notion of “analogy” as a particular use of language over a notion of “analogy” as a comparison that reveals similarities. Confusing the two risks obscuring God’s unique distinction from the world—in effect, making God into another being in the world, thereby compromising God’s incomprehensibility and leading us to believe we can define the relationship between the Creator God and creatures. Tanner’s explication provides the direction that must be taken in order to correct our linguistic practices when speaking of the divine: we must form a different “universe of discourse.” This universe differs from our ordinary manner of speaking in that it attempts to avoid the tendency to discern or categorize the relationship of the “divine” and the “non-divine” in terms of comparisons and contrasts. Instead, this new universe of discourse employs a non-contrastive grasp of language, where we understand the divine as distinct from the non-divine, but not separate from it. Tanner further underscores the peril of relying on our ordinary contrastive understandings when applied to the divine. Language asserting or even implying an opposition or contrast of God with the world restricts God as the Creator, limiting God’s incomprehensibility by diminishing God’s radical immanence to creatures: A contrastive definition is not radical enough to allow a direct creative involvement of God with the world in its entirety. … A God who genuinely transcends the world must not be characterized, therefore, by a direct contrast with it. A contrastive definition will show its failure to follow through consistently on divine transcendence by inevitably bringing God down to the level of the non-divine to which it is opposed.62

Tanner’s use of the word “transcendence” here simultaneously implies God’s immanence. The God of Hebrew-Christian Scriptures creates each being immediately and continually sustains that creature throughout its existence. As Aquinas reminds us, the Creator God is more present to the creature than the creature is to itself.63 However, a Creator viewed in opposition to its creature  Ibid., 42.  Ibid., 45-6. 63  For Aquinas, “God’s transcendence does not spell that he is an absentee from the 61 62

world, the remote and uncaring deity of some Aristotelians, for, as already indicated, the first origin and last end is causally closer to secondary causes and effects than they are among themselves: ‘in him we live and move and have our being.’ And a new presence is added when God dwells in us by his grace and is the immediate object of our knowing and loving.” Thomas Gilby, STh, Blackfriars translation, Appendix 12, 215.

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cannot also be immanently present to it without compromising some divine transcendence—since being present to the creature would also imply being to some degree separated from it, for example as any two beings in the world must be due to the restrictions of their own physical boundaries. However, non-contrastive language allows us to articulate God’s distinction in such a way that God is immanently present: “if divinity is not characterized by contrast with any sort of being, it may be the immediate source of being of every sort.”64 In other words, if God is not another being in the world, God can still be present to it, in its entirety, without limitation of time or space. Essentially, a non-contrastive understanding preserves the distinction of the Creator, who is at once completely transcendent but intimately present to all that is created. By “non-contrastive,” Tanner is saying we understand that this distinction is not like any other distinction in the world (although we do not understand in what manner this is so), and at the same time, that the distinction is not one which is purely equivocal with regard to created things. A contrastive understanding, on the other hand, either suggests that God is in direct opposition to the world, or that God is a being within the world who can be contrasted and compared with it as we contrast and compare things with each other. Inevitably, a contrastive understanding forces either univocal or equivocal perceptions of this unique Creator–creature relationship. Eckhart was during his time accused of blurring the distinction between Creator and creature, because many who read him did so from the presumption of contrastive language. A particular misunderstanding of his condemners, for example, was Eckhart’s description of the “birth of the Word in the soul” and language appearing to identify the one who has reached detachment with the Son of God himself.65 From a contrastive standpoint, orthodoxy demands that no one can be called a son of God without explicitly qualifying that this status is by adoption, while Jesus’ sonship is, from eternity, natural, because the divine and the non-divine must be kept in separate categories.66 A contrastive understanding opposes the eternity of the Word (belonging to the “divine” category) to the temporality of the human creature (“non-divine” category), and consequently compares and contrasts eternity with time, much in the same way that we compare long to short, or contrast apples and oranges. We cannot be natural sons of God, then, because we cannot share in the nature of God, which is eternal. For Eckhart, this distinction between “natural” and “adopted” sonship is not profound enough to capture the union between the human creature and its Creator. Eckhart must be operating with a non-contrastive perception of the Son of God as well as of the human person’s union with God: eternity is not the opposite of  Tanner, God and Creation in Christian Theology, 45-6.  See Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 16-17, for description of the

64 65

condemnation with regard to Eckhart’s teaching on the identity of Christ with the just man. 66  However, as will be asserted later, it is this very point that contributes to the misunderstandings over the true nature of Jesus Christ over which the early Church struggled.

Introduction

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time, and God’s nature is not the opposite of the creatures’, for this opposition is what really blurs God’s true distinction—transcendence-in-immanence—and it blurs, too, the real significance of God as Creator, who draws creation back to its origin in a union beyond any that can be compared in the world. Non-contrastively speaking, eternity is the “center,” origin, and ground of time, and God is the “Center,” Creator, and ground of the creature.67 The doctrine of the Trinity plays a similar role for Eckhart, that of protecting a non-contrastive understanding of the Creator’s unique distinction from creatures. This point will be elaborated on in Chapter 5. Aquinas, too, must be read from a non-contrastive perspective, and, in fact, Aquinas attempts to form within his reader the skills to be able to use language non-contrastively. In this sense, he has also been much misunderstood. For example, in the third question of his Summa he asserts we cannot know what God is, only what God is not. But then, astoundingly, he goes on to explicate the perfections and attributes of God: Simpleness, Goodness, Limitlessness, and so on.68 Therefore, it is easy for scholars to conclude by this accounting that either Aquinas is not altogether serious when he states we cannot know what God is, or, that the attributes of God must be understood equivocally with regard to creatures. However, both conclusions presume a contrastive understanding: those who do not think Aquinas is serious when he declares we cannot know what God is may understand the perfections of God to be comparable to our human perfections (that is, we contain a proportion of God’s perfections); and those who see a purely negative reading of God’s perfections may perceive only an extrinsic relation between our perfections and God’s. A similar problem arises when considering God as Primary Cause, that is, God the Creator. Some scholars, such as George Klubertanz, call attention to this divine characteristic and label Aquinas’ analogy a “causal analogy.”69 One problem with using the category of causality to describe the Creator–creature relationship is that the “causality” attributed to God must be carefully and extensively qualified in order to preserve the Creator’s unique distinction from creation. God’s creative activity is not exactly like the creature’s creative activity, because we do not create ex nihilo. We can distinguish how creating something out of nothing is different  If eternity is an immeasurably long time (proportionally), we cannot naturally share in God’s eternity due to our mortality. If eternity—having no beginning or end—is the opposite of time, measured precisely by beginning and end (for example, birth and death), we cannot for the same reason naturally share in God’s eternity. Both definitions, while maintaining God’s transcendence, leave out God’s immanence—God’s continual presence in and sustenance of time. We expect “grace” to fills this theological gap. But the contrastive definitions above create the impression that grace comes externally, and can be measured, instead of thoroughly permeating and transforming from within. The implications of a non-contrastive understanding of grace will be explored later in this book. 68  STh, I.3-11 (Questions 3-11). 69  George Klubertanz, St. Thomas Aquinas on Analogy: A Textual Analysis and Systematic Synthesis (Chicago: Loyola University Press, 1960). 67

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than our own way of creating. God creates immediately and directly—needing no material with which to create, no instruments, and not limited by the constraints of time. In addition to these qualifications, we still have to contend with the issue of opposition. If God does not create in a manner comparable to creatures, then God must create over and against creatures, inevitably limiting a creature’s own power to create. Therefore, God’s creative power is relegated to the category of the divine, and the creature’s to the non-divine. “Causal analogy” risks the same misconception as “analogy of proportionality” and “analogy of attribution” unless God is first and foremost understood to be outside of the world of comparison and contrast, and second, that terms such as “cause,” “create,” and “make” inevitably retain some metaphorical or “poetical” sense.70 A non-contrastive reading of Aquinas must presume a comparison of God’s perfection or causality to our own is far from Aquinas’ intent. This non-contrastive presumption is based upon God’s unique distinction, one where our perfections are neither opposed to nor proportioned with God’s perfections, but where God’s perfections both completely transcend and wholly permeate our own. The question is, how can this be articulated? Aquinas’ discussions of God’s nature and attributes must not intend to introduce us directly to God, but to serve as examples of how to extend our language beyond what we can grasp, thereby respecting God’s mysterious “otherness.” Each question following the third reinforces and exercises this skill of extension, and when we reach his Question 13 where Aquinas proposes we must talk about Creator and creatures neither univocally nor equivocally but analogically, we discover that we have been doing so all along! Only from this perspective will we understand that Aquinas does not adopt the analogy of “proportion” or “attribution,” but goes beyond our ordinary definitions of analogy altogether. A non-contrastive understanding of Aquinas allows us to see how he moves us into analogical language-use, a dynamic notion of analogy set up specifically for the unique case of speaking about God the Creator. In turning to Eckhart, then, it becomes clear he not only absorbs Aquinas’ lesson, but creatively exercises it in his own work. C. Summary: Speaking about God and Knowing God This introduction has attempted, first, to bring to light the underlying issues—and obstacles—inherent to undertaking a study of religious discourse, and second, to 70  See Preller, Divine Science and the Science of God, 19-21. According to Preller, attempts to describe the relationship between God and the world in terms of causal analogy (which he puts under the “so-called ‘analogy of proper proportionality’”) do not necessarily protect God’s distinction from the world, and fall into the same misinterpretation as did Cajetan. “Causal analogy” does not solve the problem those who employ it intend to solve—it does not “capture” or adequately describe the Creator–creature relationship, because it falls into a comparison or contrast of “creation” terms.

Introduction

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provide a strategy for articulating the Creator–creature relationship in the most appropriate manner possible, using Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart as our guides. In order to overcome the tendency to collapse the incomprehensible God into another being in the created world, we must be careful to recognize that the language that we use always falls short of the reality we are attempting to articulate. This turns out to be a more difficult task than it first appears, for we have an innate and resistant tendency to apply ordinary understandings of the terms we use to God, inevitably causing us either to contrast or to identify God with the world. However, as Aquinas and Eckhart show us, it is indeed possible to extend our ordinary language-use to the Divine without losing a sense of either the Creator’s transcendence from or immanence to creatures.71 Such an extension requires distinguishing our ordinary definitions of analogy from a broader, more dynamic, notion of analogy as an ever-increasing skill in language-use. This skill must always be directed by a non-contrastive grasp of language, as well as the realization that the reality we are attempting to articulate is incomprehensible; therefore, when we speak about God we are saying more than we can possibly understand by the words we use. The realization of the unbridgeable gap between saying something about God and adequately understanding it begs the question, if we cannot come to know anything about God by speaking about God, then why do we engage in it? Augustine himself answers this protest in his own contemplation: to engage in the journey to know God. “Thee will I seek, O Lord, calling upon thee; and I will call upon thee, believing in thee: for thou hast been declared unto us.” It is speech about God, hearing about God from others and witnessing the Godly life, which fuels the search for God. And the personal encounter, knowing God, is the final goal of the human creature’s search: “For thou hast created us for thyself, and our heart cannot be quieted till it may find repose in thee.” Our salvation lies in knowing God. Knowing God means resting in God. There is no longer a subject engaged in a search for another subject. There are no longer any subjects, but communion. It is to this ultimate end that theology itself is geared. In his first question, Aquinas brings up the connection between theology (sacra doctrina),72 which has Scripture as its primary source, and its ultimate end of salvation, described as the “beatific vision”—metaphorically speaking, seeing God face to face. Theology, then, has a goal more profound than “describing” divinity, which must remain ineffable. Since the main source of theology is the Word of God, theology must be engaged in a specifically linguistic task in order to bring us to some intelligible grasp of that Divine Word, despite the human limitations of expressing that which is incomprehensible.

 And, for Aquinas, practicing Christians do it all the time, without being aware of what they are doing. 72  As distinguished from the theology that is part of philosophy (metaphysics), discussed by Aquinas in STh, I.1.1. 71

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As Tanner puts it, “theological statements are not conveying information about God so much as they are suggesting how to talk in circumstances where we do not pretend to understand fully what we are saying.”73 The practical purpose of such statements is to help build “a distinctive Christian practice of discourse and, by extension, forms of life congruent with it.”74 So theology, speech about God, leads Christians to align their faith statements with their religious practices (and vice versa). Since we have an inherent tendency to think contrastively, all of our religious activities tend towards overemphasizing either God’s aseity or the human creature’s autonomy; in either case the result is to view God’s freedom and will in opposition to our own. It is the ever-vigilant task of the theologian to compensate for this proclivity: [T]heological discourse may suggest revisions of Christian linguistic practice. … First, Christians may exhibit a tendency to mis-speak: they may make statements whose well-formed character or Christian authenticity is a matter for dispute. Second, they may deploy well-formed Christian statements inappropriately. Third, they may be unsure how to speak, how to continue the practice of Christian discourse, in strange or novel circumstances. Fourth, they may make Christian statements whose well-formed character is undisputed and yet fail to understand how those statements are compatible with one another. In all four cases, Christian discourse begins to sputter; theological reflection becomes necessary as a result.75

Perhaps no theologian throughout history has attempted to train his readers on ways to avoid falling into these linguistic traps better than Aquinas, and Eckhart followed suit not only in the classroom, but especially on the pulpit. It is the task of this book to show how Aquinas moves us beyond conventional views of “analogy” when articulating the creature’s relation to its Creator, and how Eckhart then employs this dynamic analogical usage to detach us from any conception of God that may hinder us in developing the “Christian forms of life” that will lead us closer to God. However, explaining how these two medieval theologians are able to move us from “speaking about God” to “knowing God” is tricky indeed. The first step must be to discover the context that Eckhart shares with Aquinas—one emphasizing not only their common academic background, but their common religious life as well. The next chapter explores this twofold context, which in turn reveals a deep-seated connection between the two masters that goes well beyond perceived differences. This framework suggests that where Eckhart departs from Aquinas it may be understood more as a creative use of what he inherited from Aquinas than a novel strategy.  Tanner, God and Creation in Christian Theology, 12.  Ibid. 75  Ibid., 15-17. 73 74

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In light of this contextual backdrop, Aquinas must be reinterpreted from the perspective of how he instructs Eckhart and other readers of his “textbook” in their two-pronged religious vocation as future teachers and preachers. Aquinas’ Prima pars is the primary text for this exploration, beginning with the nature of theology and its sources (Question 1), and continuing through the ways in which we describe God analogically (Question 13). This examination of Aquinas is directed by a non-contrastive understanding of religious language and a presumption that whatever Aquinas says about the nature and attributes of God, he intends to preserve the unique distinction of the Creator: transcendence-in-immanence. Following the investigation of Aquinas’ pedagogical treatise, Eckhart’s practical (though eclectic and highly creative) writings, following through with the same non-contrastive directive, are addressed. Selected texts from Eckhart, which include both academic works (Scriptural exegesis) and sermons (Latin and German), reveal that whatever contrasts exist between Eckhart and Aquinas, and whatever inconsistencies arise between and within Eckhart’s own texts, concern for preserving the unique distinction of the Creator from creatures is paramount. In both Aquinas and Eckhart, this essential distinction is expressed by moving beyond conventional descriptions of analogy to more dynamic uses of analogical language—an extension of ordinary language to that which is incomprehensible, a detachment from all conventional and creaturely conceptions of the Creator, and ultimately, a movement (imperceptible, perhaps) towards knowing the unknowable God. Finally, while there is little hope of exhausting the wealth of insight bequeathed to us by these two extraordinary theologians, we certainly must reflect upon how the interpretation suggested by this book relates to contemporary Christian discourse, and to the religious life and spirituality it reflects. For, as Tanner puts it, “theological speculation is called forth by Christian practice and returns to it,”76 accenting the profound unity between the theoretical and pragmatic tasks of the theologian. In this sense, Aquinas and Eckhart are perfect complements to each other: what Aquinas develops pedagogically, Eckhart puts into practice rhetorically. The common link between them is their mutual concern for linguistic acuity in speech about God which must, at all costs, protect the Creator’s unique distinction from creation. Their example provides us no less today than in their own time with a directive from which the central doctrines of Christianity—expressed especially by Trinitarian and Christological statements—can be re-articulated in order to inform all aspects of the contemporary Christian life: liturgy, devotion, contemplation, moral discernment, social action, and finally, but no less importantly, ecumenical and inter-religious dialogue. Only by continually exercising the ability to extend our limited creaturely language beyond its own grasp can we respond appropriately to God’s invitation to deeply engage in the journey of faith seeking understanding. Through this response, we echo—as did Aquinas and Eckhart  Ibid., 13.

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before us—Augustine’s profound confession to this wholly transcendent yet ever intimate Creator: Thee will I seek, O Lord, calling upon thee; and I will call upon thee, believing in thee …. My faith, O Lord, calls upon thee, which thou hast given me, which thou hast inspired into me; even by the humanity of thy Son, and by the ministry of thy preacher.77

 Augustine, Confessions, I.1.

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Chapter 2

Study as Contemplation: The Mutual Contexts of Aquinas and Eckhart Reading Eckhart in light of Aquinas requires considering the mutual contexts out of which their respective works arose. Aquinas, often read as a scholastic—a master of theology in the medieval university—was first and foremost a Dominican friar. Eckhart, too, was a university master, although his sermons to religious communities under his care awarded him the most recognition. In reality, Aquinas and Eckhart share two important contexts: the medieval university and their religious life. Upon closer inspection these two backgrounds are interdependent and cannot be studied in isolation because the spirituality in which they were formed permeated every aspect of their professional and personal life. Developing a convincing study of Aquinas and Eckhart requires careful consideration of this complex background: the mission of their religious order, the spiritual and academic formation of the friars, the relationship between the order and the university, and finally, the respective biographies of Aquinas and Eckhart themselves. Meister Eckhart joined the Dominicans approximately two years after the death of Thomas Aquinas. Although Eckhart and Aquinas never met, several of Aquinas’ works were in circulation and profoundly impacting every aspect of Dominican life by the time Eckhart received his education and began his professional and academic career. Given the impact Aquinas had on his order, it is fair to say it would have been impossible for Eckhart to have been either unfamiliar with or unaffected by the work of Thomas Aquinas. It only makes sense to read Eckhart in light of Aquinas’ influence on the whole of his Dominican life, not just in terms of the written works that they produced. This particular shared context, their religious order, determined the roles each of them was to play in life as well as how they were formed for those roles. Although Eckhart and especially Aquinas are well known as masters of theology, the university took a subordinate role in their overall life as Dominican friars. Each spent a certain amount of time teaching students at all levels of theological training, not solely advanced students of theology. And, while the conventual classroom was modeled on the university system, it departed from the university in significant ways. Additionally, each participated in the administrative life of the order; each performed his required role as a Dominican preacher, and most importantly, each was devoted to a life of prayer and contemplation. Their life of prayer and contemplation determined the Dominican masters’ approach to the study of theology, and the order’s mission, imparting knowledge necessary for salvation through preaching, is core to both Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s

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work. However, each carried out this mission very differently: Eckhart expressed, in perhaps a more “practical” way, through his commentaries and preaching, what Aquinas expressed pedagogically in Part I of his Summa—the process of learning how to speak about God. To be sure, this distinction between pedagogy and practice is somewhat artificial. However, using this distinction to think about Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s respective approaches will ultimately reveal the profound connection between them that is otherwise obscured. This chapter explores the necessary interconnection of study and contemplation providing the foundation for speaking about God in the Christian journey of faith. Beginning with the origin and mission of the Dominicans—carried out through their innovative system of education combined with spiritual formation—we then move to the role the university played in the order and in the lives of our two masters. Against this backdrop it becomes clear that, despite his highly scholastic and philosophical jargon, Aquinas attempts to capture the unique Dominican pedagogy in his Summa, and Eckhart’s work is inevitably directed by his predecessor. A. Origin and Mission of the Dominican Order M. Michèle Mulchahey’s phenomenal work “First the Bow is Bent in Study”: Dominican Education Before 13501 traces the Dominican order from its establishment in 1215 through the mid-fourteenth century, about twenty years after the death of Meister Eckhart. The focus of her book is the development of Dominican education, emphasizing that education was always to be at the service of the order’s central mission, the salvation of souls. This insight turns out to be extremely important for understanding Aquinas and Eckhart. The original purpose of the order, however, at least in the eyes of the papacy, was combating heresy, in particular the Albigensian heresy.2 In the papal bull of March 1208 initiating the Albigensian Crusade, instructions for “combating heresy, strengthening the Catholic faith, eliminating vice, and implanting virtue through increased preaching activity”3 are set forth. With this, Dominic was commissioned to form an order of preachers who would preach doctrine, something only bishops and legatines had been allowed to do previously. Earlier preachers who had been given papal approval for preaching were forbidden to teach doctrine and instead limited to moral exhortation. However, Dominic and his priests were to be “orthodox and theologically-informed evangelists.”4 1  M. Michèle Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study”: Dominican Education Before 1350 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1998). 2  For more on the Albigensian heresy, or Catharism, see Michael Costen, The Cathars and the Albigensian Crusade (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1997), 52-114. 3  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 7. 4  Ibid., 8.

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This theologically-informed preaching went far beyond the specific circumstance which inspired the papal bull of 1208. Mulcahey cites Humbert of Romans, who, writing in the 1270s, realized that already the historical perception was that the Dominican order had been created only with a view to defending the faith against heresy in the Albigenis; such, in fact, is presented as being the case in the Legenda of St. Dominic. But while it is true enough, explains Humbert, that a desire to defend the faith had first moved Dominic to consider forming a new order, when that order was officially established by the Church’s authority, its intention was enlarged to encompass preaching in general.5

For Dominic, the ultimate purpose of preaching, while including combating heresy, was the salvation of souls: Thus the Dominican order, writes Humbert, really has two ends, preaching and the salvation of souls; and although the one end, namely, praedicatio, is more properly speaking the particular purpose of the order, this end is clearly subordinated to the order’s more general and universal end, the salus animarum.6

Furthermore, Dominic discerned this end could be achieved better through “learned preaching” than simply through moral exhortation. Therefore, the study of theology must play a central role in the formation of his friars. But study, like preaching itself, was a means to the ultimate goal of salvation and not an end in itself. According to Mulchahey, prior to Dominic’s new order, none of the orders in existence were entirely suited to the special needs of a preaching ministry—especially a “learned” preaching ministry as Dominic envisioned.7 Dominic naturally turned to the Rule he had lived under for nearly twenty years: the Rule of St. Augustine. Because the Rule of St. Augustine is primarily a life of contemplation, Dominic’s choice, “may not be an obvious one for a group of men who were proposing to define themselves as a new community of skilled preachers.”8 But Dominic perceived that the Rule was vague enough to accommodate certain modifications and clarifications directed towards education and preaching activity. Indeed, in his own life under the Rule Dominic found no incompatibility between preaching and contemplation. Mulchahey refers again to Humbert, explaining Dominic’s choice of Augustine as his model:

5  Ibid., 3‑4. Humbert’s treatise on the formation of preachers may be found in Part III of Simon Tugwell, ed., Early Dominicans: Selected Writings, Classics of Western Spirituality (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1982). 6  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 4-5. 7  Ibid., 12. 8  Ibid.

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preachers must be learned; Augustine, being wonderfully learned himself, serves as a good example to the disciples of his Rule who would be preachers. [Humbert also observes] that Augustinian canons are not bound to a single cloister as are monks. They are free to practice the active life, as preachers must, and they may have the cure of souls in their own parishes.9

According to Mulchahey, Dominic interpreted the active life of the Rule as the life of the preacher, and the contemplative life as study—while retaining the notion of austerity and poverty characterizing the Augustinian Rule. Austerity and poverty became the “preconditions for preaching by example.”10 These characteristics, especially contemplation, certainly must have played a major role in the Dominican formation of both Aquinas and Eckhart, and, as will be shown later, are manifest throughout their works. 1. Dominican Education When Dominic adopted “learned preaching” and “study” as means to his order’s ultimate end, he turned towards the university as a model. Accordingly, the destination he chose for his first preachers were centers of learning, university towns, where they could study, preach, and find converts to their order who were already literate.11 Since some of the most renowned masters of theology could be found at the University of Paris, Dominic enrolled his disciples as well as himself in the theology course in Toulouse offered by a Paris-trained master of theology. The friars of the newly-formed Dominican order were sent to study with such masters to enable them to excel as preachers and teachers of Christian doctrine. However, since study was a means to an ultimate end rather than an end in itself, the friars’ education at the university was an initial step in Dominic’s vision of establishing their own conventual schools where the friars would be primarily educated as preachers (and confessors) by the Dominicans themselves. The chapter of 1220 stipulated that every convent must be set up with a teacher, making every convent also a school. As the order became firmly established, only those friars who possessed the intellect and talent for teaching and higher learning were sent to the university for their education, with the practical goal of serving the order’s need for adequate formation of their friars into learned preachers. Besides theology being a means to an end rather than its own end, the Dominicans departed from university education in another way: early friars were forbidden to study the liberal arts. According to a redaction of the Dominican constitution of 1220, this included: “the books of the pagans and of the philosophers, although they may examine them briefly. They may not pursue the secular sciences, nor even the arts which they call liberal, but both young friars and the others shall read  Ibid., 14.  Ibid., 19. 11  Ibid., 26. 9

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only theological books.”12 This proscription excluded the ars grammatica, because new entrants were expected to know Latin grammar in order to learn the Divine Office and study the classic literature of spiritual formation. In the medieval university, education in the arts was a prerequisite to all higher disciplines, including theology. Although many Dominicans argued that the study of the arts, including natural philosophy, would be advantageous to studying theology, it would not be until the 1260s that Dominican schools designed to teach such subjects were created, and these schools were not mandatory for all the provinces until after the turn of the century.13 Before this time, outside of theology, only logic and grammar were officially taught in the conventual schools or pursued at the university.14 Of course, many early converts to the order were from the university itself, and they were already well schooled in the liberal arts as well as in the writings of the pagans and philosophers—including Aristotle. This fact contributed, albeit slowly, to a change in direction towards integrating liberal arts into the Dominican curriculum. Almost from the beginning of the order, the question of the relationship of theology to the other sciences arose out of the clash between the Dominican ban, on the one hand, and the background of some of its most literate converts, on the other. For instance, Roland of Cremona, already master of arts and regent master in the medical faculty at Bologna when he joined the Dominicans, wrote on the working relationship between theology and the other disciplines: “Theology is perfect in itself, but with respect to us it is said to be imperfect or in need of grammar, logic, and the other sciences, because it is taught to us and we teach it and promulgate it through their mediation.”15 For Roland, the sciences each make their own contribution to a better understanding of theology and of Scripture. The reaction of Roland—as well as that of others similarly educated—to the order’s repudiation of the other sciences is echoed in Question 1 of Aquinas’ Summa, Articles 1-8 on the relation of sacred doctrine to the human sciences. And this makes sense—Jean-Pierre Torrell places the writing of the Summa’s Prima pars in the mid-to-late 1260s, around the time natural philosophy was just beginning to be adopted into the Dominican curriculum.16 Later, this chapter considers Aquinas’ intention for writing the Summa—the Prima pars in particular—and its impact on the Dominican order. Important to note here is that the question of the place of the “human sciences” did not originate with Aquinas, but was a question already  Ibid., 56.  Ibid., 59. 14  For more on the medieval study of logic and grammar, see Jan Pinborg, Medieval 12 13

Semantics: Selected Studies on Medieval Logic and Grammar, ed. Sten Ebbesen (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984). 15  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 61. 16  Jean-Pierre Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, vol. I: The Person and His Work, trans. Robert Royal (Washington, D.C.: The Catholic University of America Press, 1996). See Chronology, 327.

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debated among his predecessors and his contemporaries. Aquinas treats this issue in the context of the order’s mission, a point that relates to the purpose of his writing the Summa. 2. The Formation of Novices According to Mulchahey, by 1236 the order’s acceptance of the University of Paris’ theology syllabus was reflected in the Dominican Constitutions, and students who were sent to St-Jacques, the conventual school associated with the university, carried with them copies of the standard Parisian textbooks—the Bible, Peter Lombard’s Sentences, and Historia scholastica, a guide to biblical history presumably written by Peter Comestor.17 However, with concern over the increasing intrusion of secular science into scriptural exegesis, the order’s teachers were cautioned to use only accepted interpretations of the Bible in their lectures; “they were not to introduce any reading of the literal sense of the Psalms of the Prophets which could not be considered authoritative, as confirmed by reference to the Fathers and Doctors of the Church.”18 While the order accepted the university syllabus—with the qualification above—it departed from the university curriculum in a way that set it uniquely apart from the university: in the spirit of Augustine, novices must approach all their studies from the perspective of faith. For example, in a popular handbook for teachers on instructing novices, De instructione puerorum, William of Tournai quotes Augustine on “faith as the beginning of all knowledge and the good root of the soul,” noting that Augustine himself advises faith be the first thing preached to the neophyte.19 In one chapter of De instructione puerorum, William discusses various ways someone can come to know what ought to believed, specifically, “through direct revelation, through Scripture, through the teaching of others, and through one’s own reasoning.”20 At the end of the book, three chapters are devoted to the scientia to which the novices are to be introduced—sacred doctrine. In words echoing the Dominican purpose of study, William writes that novices should be taught “that science which to a higher degree and better leads one to salvation.”21 This theme will be reiterated by Aquinas in Question 1 of the Summa. Accordingly, with this teacher’s manual and others like it focusing on the place of the life of faith before study, the first step in the novices’ conventual education was to begin memorizing the Psalter. As integral to the novices’ appropriation of the faith from which they must approach their education, this was to be pursued with great diligence. Novices started with the cursus and the psalms for compline and the other hours, and then moved on to things sung more frequently, such as  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 138.  Ibid., 67. 19  Ibid., 90. 20  Ibid. 21  Ibid., 91. 17 18

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the common for the apostles. At the same time, novices also learned the order of service for the Divine Office and the behavior demanded of them in choir.22 As already pointed out, the main purpose of the novices’ education was not for the pursuit of an academic career, but for their vocation as a learned preacher. Many of the requirements, such as the memorization of the Psalter, slowed the pace of academic advancement and discouraged those who entered the order only as a means of obtaining an education.23 Furthermore, most novices would never be given the opportunity for the higher education leading to the university; this was reserved for those students deemed especially intellectually gifted (such as Aquinas and Eckhart) and those suitable to become teachers. Nevertheless, intellectual formation—or, as in the case of those who had already been formed by university education, reformation—was an integral and major portion of the Dominican novitiate, and in fact, this intellectual endeavor was a lifelong undertaking for the Dominican friar. Various works were recommended to assist the young brothers in their spiritual and intellectual formation. Such readings formed the novice in approaching their intellectual studies from the standpoint of faith. Mulchahey lists several works we can assume both Aquinas and Eckhart would have been familiar with and impressed by from the beginning of their own formation as Dominican friars, such as Hugh of St-Victor’s Didascalicon, used as an introduction to “the enterprise of study and the priorities of the Christian student”;24 Hugh of Fouilloy’s De claustro animae, an allegorical treatment of the soul’s journey under religion; St. Anselm’s Orationes and Meditationes;25 and most importantly, the Confessions of St. Augustine, “that personal saga of the rational mind seeking faith and object lesson for the Dominican,” together with the entire Augustinian corpus.26 Thus, the essence of the Dominican formation of friars was the life of faith and contemplation which guided the life of study—with the active goal of learned preaching necessary for the salvation of souls. Everything written by Aquinas and Eckhart must be read in light of this ultimate objective. B. The Development of Dominican Education When thinking about Aquinas and Eckhart as teachers, the image that comes naturally to mind is their role as masters of theology in the great universities of Paris and Cologne. This is especially true when considering Aquinas’ Summa theologiae, which reads so philosophically, and less so when reading Eckhart’s  Ibid., 101-2.  Conventual schools were open to young men not joining the Dominican

22 23

order—however, their education was one of the order’s main ways to recruit novices. See Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 85-6. 24  Ibid., 109-10. 25  For other works listed by Mulchahey, see “First the Bow is Bent in Study.” 26  Ibid.

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sermons, although Eckhart’s Latin commentaries read quite pedantically, even if they do not seem to be as highly organized and intentional as Aquinas. It is important, however, to understand that the writings of Aquinas and Eckhart develop out of a formation for educating from the bottom up, and they were involved in a whole nexus of Dominican education, including their teaching duties. Taking Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s work out of this context obscures the very purpose for which those works were written. In addition to religious and spiritual formation of friars, the Dominicans developed their own curriculum of studies because, as the order grew, it became impossible—as well as impractical—to send all the friars to Paris to study with the community of St.-Jacques. Most friars did not need the level of advanced theological training offered in the university to become preachers and confessors. The convent’s schola was adequate to provide the education of most novices. However, the order was in need of qualified teachers for its convents, as well as advanced education for friars showing exceptional intellectual talents, and it eventually became clear the order needed more advanced schools. Thus, in time the order went on to develop a four-tiered system of studies with their own unique approach: the schola, the studium, the studia provincialia, and finally, the studia generalia. The first tier would, of course, be the convent’s schola, where the friars received the basic education necessary to carry out their mission as “learned” preachers. And, according to Mulchahey, “it is here that some of the most famous Dominican manuals and summae were meant to be used, texts written with the convent schola and not the university in mind.”27 This particular issue will be taken up again when the intent and use of Aquinas’ Summa theologiae is discussed later in this chapter. The second tier, the studium, modeled on the community of St-Jacques in Paris, was a place of serious theological study where more intellectually gifted students would be sent from all over Europe. In 1248, the Dominicans began to develop four further studia, located at Montpelier, Bologna, Cologne, and Oxford, functioning similarly to St-Jacques. Soon after this, the order began experimenting with its own studia curriculum, in order to stay abreast of current developments in the university, especially with regard to Arabic philosophy and the Aristotelian corpus which was being recovered. This led to the introduction of a third level of Dominican education, the studia provincialia, where those most talented students could receive intermediate training prerequisite to the study of advanced theology at the university.28 In 1259, the Dominican general chapter ordered every province to establish at least one arts school, a studium artium modeled on the schools in Provence and Spain, where all the communities in each province could send their most  Ibid., 131.  Ibid.

27 28

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gifted students for further study.29 As discussed earlier, the Dominican order had from early on, in accordance with the Church, banned the pursuit of liberal arts, including “pagan” philosophy. While the establishment of the studium artium appears to have been a relaxation of the Dominican ban, the Dominicans did not teach “the arts” as it was understood in the universities. Natural philosophy, including Aristotle, was not a part of the Dominican curriculum. Rather, the Dominican studia artium were schools of logic.30 Of course, it must always be kept in mind that, unofficially at least, the Dominicans could not keep their friars completely from the influence of the university arts outside of logic, because many of the friars came into the order with a background in the liberal arts. Later, the Dominican’s program of study inevitably made the transition from schools of logic to include natural sciences. However, the study of logic and grammar was inherent within the very foundation of the order itself. For instance, Roland of Cremona, the first Dominican to become master of theology at Paris, believed that in accord with St. Augustine, the teaching of theology was mediated especially by grammar and logic which were the tools of speech and thought. We can see how this argument may be particularly relevant for the friar in the Order of Preachers, for if he is not schooled in logic and grammar, “he can be deceived by fallacious arguments.”31 It was only later that schools of philosophy which went beyond logic and grammar, studia naturarum, were to take root in the Dominican education system.32 Finally, the Order developed a fourth tier of education, the studia generalia, analogous to university education. In fact, as the Dominican order became well established, the program of study in theology at the university was often chaired by talented Dominicans. The studium generale provided friars with the best and most advanced theological training available through the order. Theology was the sole discipline of the school, setting it apart from the university, which extended to the other disciplines. According to Mulchahey, “the [theology] curriculum offered within a Dominican studium generale … was its true reason for being, and from which all its other qualities flowed.”33 The friars selected to attend the studium generale were considered the best qualified to be trained as conventual teachers and, eventually, provincial teachers within the order. This was the main purpose of the Dominican studium generale.34

 Ibid., 221-2.  Ibid., 223-6. 31  Ibid., 228. 32  For more on the Dominican notion of the place of philosophy in the Dominican 29 30

curriculum, see Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 232-3. 33  Ibid., 378. 34  Ibid., 384.

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1. The Structure of Conventual Education Conventual theological education was basically modeled on the University of Paris, with significant difference in emphasis, as discussed above. This is a natural consequence, Mulchahey points out, of Dominic’s own original inclination towards contemporary university masters and their pedagogy—initially in Toulouse where Dominic enrolled his first followers and himself to study under Paris-trained Alexander Staensby, then at the University of Paris itself, where masters John of St Albans and John of St Giles guided the St-Jacques community.35 Dominican conventual education was already well developed in terms of its pedagogical techniques and syllabus by the middle of the thirteenth century. The practices of lectio, repetitio, and disputatio provided the structure for scholastic education, and this format of teaching in the Dominican schools was taken for granted from the beginning. The friars’ theological education consisted of two daily lectures, one on the Bible, one on Lombard’s Sentences. Additionally, a daily repetition was held for both lectures. A disputation, and repetitio generalis in which everything covered in the week’s course work was reviewed, was held weekly. The Dominican addition to this format was, of course, preaching. The lectures, repetitions, disputations, and all that accompanied these exercises led the friar to become a skilled preacher. The friar continued attending lectures and disputations throughout his life, and when he was sufficiently formed, he began his specific education in preaching.36 Added to this vocation, the friar was also trained as a confessor, for his vocation was a wholly practical, pastoral one, with the goal of salvation always in mind. The purpose of the schola lectures was to give the friars—mostly those who were just beginning their theological education or those who were to spend most of their lives as preachers and confessors—the tools a priest would need: basic familiarity with Scripture along with the fundamental arguments of Christian theology. The Bible was read cursorily, since lectures on the deeper implications of Scripture were usually beyond the scope of the schola instructor. This reading was first and foremost a reading of the historical sense, “in order to understand the narrative structure of the text as well as its literal meaning.”37 But the historical sense was “only a basic exegetical foundation” for the friar.38 As a preacher, it was the sensus moralis, the moral sense, that was at the heart of his profession. The sensus moralis was the lesson for Christian behavior which existed beneath the veil of literal meaning. While the first lecture of the day, on the Bible, expounded the literal sense of the Bible, the second lecture, on the Sentences of Lombard, expounded “right doctrine” needed to develop the sensus moralis:  Ibid., 134.  Ibid., 133. 37  Ibid., 139. 38  Ibid., 140. 35 36

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For a theologian or preacher to make the interpretive transition from the sensus historicus to the sensus spirituales, whether allegorical, moral, or anagogical, he needed, said Hugh of St-Victor, “right doctrine” in the second daily lecture offered in the schola, the lecture on the Lombard’s Sentences. Here, with the Lombard’s help, they made first contact with the theological science essential to preaching and to its peculiar exegetical needs, and were given the tools with which to delve into the sensus moralis and to begin making the connections between Scripture, doctrine, and tropology.39

Alexander of Hales, a Franciscan teaching at the university from 1223 to 1227, was the first to use the Sentences as a basic textbook. Originally, the Sentences was probably simply divided into books and chapters, and Alexander may have further divided it into distinctions, chapters, and articles.40 Lombard wrote the Sentences intending to create a new teaching style, which incorporated in a single volume different opinions of the Church Fathers on all the topics that theology considers.41 The Sentences is divided into four books, according to an order Lombard thought was “simultaneously historical and logical”: beginning with the Trinity, it proceeds to God as Creator and creation, the Incarnation and redemption, and finally, the sacraments.42 Lombard’s Sentences remained the primary textbook in the thirteenth and into the fourteenth century in the order’s higher tiers of study. However, in the early part of the fourteenth century, the order officially introduced Aquinas’ works into its lectures. As discussed later in this chapter, instructors were to use, alongside the Sentences, passages from Aquinas, particularly from the Scriptum super libros Sententiarum, Aquinas’ commentary on Lombard’s Sentences, and from his more mature Summa theologiae, a work Aquinas intended to replace the Sentences as the classroom textbook. The disputation was designed to refine the friars’ skills by putting into practice what they had heard in lecture.43 It was considered another form of teaching, “active pedagogy where one proceeded by objections and responses on a given theme.”44 Lecture, primarily a commentary on a text either from the Bible or from the Sentences, did not always allow for adequate discussion of problems or issues  Ibid., 140-41.  See Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 40. 41  Ibid. 42  Ibid., 43. 43  See also Anthony Kenny and Jan Pinborg, “Medieval Philosophical Literature,” in 39 40

The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy I: From the Rediscovery of Aristotle to the Disintegration of Scholasticism, 1100-1600, ed. Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 16-29, where Jan Pinborg discusses the link between lectures and disputations as well as the origins of the disputation. 44  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 59.

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that arose beyond the commentary at hand. The disputation probably first arose in the form of the question, or quaestio, and began a process that would detach itself more and more from the text.45 While perhaps not a direct descendent from the early Greek philosophers like Plato, the quaestio was in essence an exercise in the dialectical method.46 Torrell points out that in the disputation, while one pedagogical element—the text—gradually disappears, another very important one appears: discussion. However, Torrell also discusses the quaestio as a literary genre—the most “beautiful specimen,” according to Torrell is Aquinas’ Summa theologiae, “which is entirely composed according to this scheme.”47 The Summa, although designed from the outset as a manual to be read by students, is divided not into chapters but into questions and articles, and each article has the form of a miniature disputation, with three or more arguments against the position to be adopted, a brief citation of an authority in favour of the preferred view (sed contra), a central section (respondeo) corresponding to the Master’s determination, and finally a set of answers to the objections.48

If disputations were not enough exercise to firmly implant material from lectures into the minds of the friars, the schola provided a third formal exercise: repetition or review. Repetitiones were essentially tutorials in which an assistant to the teaching master reviewed the material presented by the master in his lectures: “reiterating, emphasizing the important points, answering further questions the students might have.”49 a) The making of the preacher In addition to the well-established scholastic teaching method of lecture, disputation, and repetition adopted by the Dominicans, the schola included one more exercise in their curriculum: preaching. Learned preaching, of course, was the very goal of the conventual education; the friars “not only needed to know the difference between heterodox and orthodox theology, they needed to know how to preach it.”50 In other words, the schola’s purpose was practical: to teach future preachers how “to think on their feet theologically.”51 In fact, there was “no opposition between the scientific teaching of theology and its pastoral application” in the medieval mind; indeed, “the first was seen as  Ibid., 60.  For the possible origin of the disputatio, see the discussion in Kenny and Pinborg,

45 46

“Medieval Philosophical Literature,” 16-17. 47  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 63. 48  Kenny and Pinborg, “Medieval Philosophical Literature,” 26. 49  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 175. 50  Ibid., 184. 51  Ibid.

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the normal preparation for the second.”52 Torrell quotes from Peter Cantor: “It is after the lectio of Scripture and after the examination of doubtful points thanks to the disputatio, and not before, that we must preach.”53 The primary method of teaching friars how to preach, simply, was by imitation and practice. The master of students decided who would preach private sermons, but he could also choose a beginning preacher from his community to preach any of the daily sermons he discerned the student could handle. The student preachers would thus work up from lesser preaching assignments to more important ones. The conventual prior in union with a board of advisers decided when a friar was ready to preach outside the convent, based upon the progress and exhibition of the friar’s abilities within the convent. The conventual library contained not only model sermon collections, but other texts beginning and experienced preachers alike could use in constructing their own sermons. These collections included “lists of moral distinctiones and interpretationes which condensed and cross-referenced the tropes of scriptural exegesis [as well as] legends of the saints and other related narrative materials such as collections of exempla which could be mined for illustrations.”54 With the help of such aids, beginner preachers could build up a substantial knowledge of popular sermon styles and begin to develop their own particular styles. We can suppose that Meister Eckhart, for example, referred quite often to such collections at the beginning of his vocation as preacher, and that, due to his success as a preacher, he was also a great influence on young preachers in training. Mulchahey sums up the process of training in which the Dominican novice engaged for life as learned preacher: What stood at the core of every friar’s formation as a Preacher, then, was the oft-repeated cycle of study, hearing the Word of God propounded, and practice in preaching to one’s community. Through a combination of exposure to the spoken sermon, study of the written sermon and its elements, and actual practice in preparing and delivering short sermons of his own, the Dominican brother received the best practical education possible in the ars praedicandi before ever preaching publicly.55

Along with the role as preacher, the Dominican friar was also to be a confessor, an important step in fulfilling the Dominican goal of saving souls. Essentially, the novice was also trained as a parish priest. To perform this function, friars must have a firm grasp of the sacramental theology of penance along with an instinct for the issues within moral theology arising in the course of any particular confession.  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 69.  Ibid. 54  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 191. For more on specific preaching 52 53

aids and manuals, consult chapter 6. 55  Ibid., 193.

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As with preaching, friars had access to a multitude of manuals and collections to assist them with their role as confessor. The process or content of the friar’s role as confessor will not be discussed here, except to point out that from the late thirteenth century, these manuals began increasingly to cite the theology of Aquinas—for example, on virtue and vice, grace, penance, and moral behavior—as an authority, especially from his Summa’s secunda secundae.56 b) The rise of Aristotle in the Dominican order Although the focus of this chapter is on the unique approach of the Dominicans to theology from the perspective of the contemplative life of faith, perhaps something should be said about the rise of Aristotle within their educational system, since “The Philosopher” seems to play such a conspicuous role in Aquinas’ theology as well as that of many who succeeded him.57 Knowing something about Aristotle’s role within the Dominican order as well as within its educational system is very helpful in better reading both Aquinas and Eckhart—and by better, here, this means a reading that does not overly emphasize a philosophical approach to their works. Regarding Aristotle—as with the basic structure of the Dominican curriculum itself—the Dominicans took their lead from the university. However, again, the Dominicans hesitated in wholly adopting the university’s system. By 1255 Aristotle was well established at both Paris and Oxford, and from the middle of the thirteenth century, to teach philosophy at the university was to teach Aristotle.58 Furthermore, despite the order’s ban on the teaching of Aristotle’s natural philosophy, from early on many Dominicans were already exposed to Aristotle in their university studies and lobbied to integrate Aristotle into the Dominican curriculum of studies. Thus, following upon the trend set by the university, Aristotle began to gain influence within the order. For example, William of Moerbeke, a Dominican reported to be a friend of Aquinas, translated into Latin and revised virtually all the Aristotelian corpus from around 1260 through 1280, and these translations—except for the translations of the logical works—became the most popular.59 Moerbeke’s version even replaced several translations made from the Arabic, previously used only when Greek-Latin translations were unavailable.60 Because translations of  For more discussion on this topic, see Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 193-4, 216-17. 57  However, the question of Aquinas’ Aristotelianism is complicated, as will be shown later. See Mark Jordan, The Alleged Aristotelianism of Thomas Aquinas, The Etienne Gilson series, 15 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1992). 58  See Bernard Dodd, “Aristoteles latinus,” in The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Kretzmann, Kenny, and Pinborg, 45-79. 59  Ibid., 49. 60  For more on the Latin translations of the Arab philosophers in the thirteenth century, see Dodd, “Aristoteles latinus,” 52, 62-3. Jeanne Ancelet-Hustache points out that these philosophers—or the translators themselves—tended to interpret Aristotelian thought in the Neoplatonist sense, which also had the consequence of attribution of works like 56

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Aristotle from Greek-Latin were very literal, word order was preserved as much as possible. “Hence the ideal was to present to the reader Aristotle’s actual words, put together in just the way Aristotle had put them together, with minimum ‘interference’ from the translator.” However, since many features of Greek grammar simply cannot be put into Latin, the ideal of perfect literalness could not be achieved. Arabic-Latin translations were also made as literal as possible, but even more imperfect than Greek-Latin translations, Arabic translations were often made through intermediate Syriac versions—two steps removed from the original.61 One of the Dominican order’s greatest, and earliest, advocates for Aristotle was Albert of Cologne. From before the middle part of the thirteenth century, Albert was key in the debate over philosophy’s role, Aristotle in particular, in the theologian’s work. He became an outspoken defender of the so-called “Christianized philosophy” as master of theology at Paris between 1245 and 1248. With his own “encyclopaedic recapitulation of Aristotelian natural philosophy” Albert strove to integrate all of Aristotle’s philosophy, not simply his logical works, into the Dominican curriculum.62 In 1248 the order decided to create schools in the provinces of Provence, Lombardy, Germany, and England to parallel St-Jacques as studia generalia of theology. Of particular importance was Germany’s studium, located at the convent of Heilige Kreuz in Cologne, where Albert, the order’s first German master of theology, was named its first teacher. Thomas Aquinas, incidentally, was among his students there. Albert continued to expand Aristotle’s works in his teaching, including a course on Aristotle’s Ethica, and later he disputed a cycle of questions drawn from De animalibus.63 However, despite its geographical distance from the university influence, the school at Cologne and the intellectual tradition associated with Albert itself became a center of advanced theological studies. Consequently, “the presence of the Dominican school greatly enhanced Cologne’s stature as a centre of learning and led to the rise of a secular studium in Cologne.”64 Albert’s contribution to the spread of Aristotle throughout the order went far beyond the conventional commentator: Albert calls upon Avicenna and Averroës, Pythagoras and Plato, Socrates and the “Stoics.” But Albert never actually lemmatizes or quotes Aristotle’s texts directly after the manner of a commentator, and, to be sure, he does much more than comment. Albert digresses, he explores difficult implications, and supplements Proclus’ Liber de causis to Aristotle. All of these authors were cited with great frequency by Eckhart and other masters of his time. See Jeanne Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart and the Rhineland Mystics, trans. Hilda Graef (New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1957), 30-31. 61  See Dodd, “Aristoteles latinus,” 64-7. 62  See discussion of Albert’s contribution to the rise of the Studia Naturarum in Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 252-67. 63  Ibid., 255-6. 64  Ibid., 368-9.

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areas in Aristotle he felt had been left ambiguous. Occasionally, Albert fabricated whole books his reading of Aristotle told him should have been there, possibly having been lost in transmission or never completed by the author.65

Moreover, while attempting to give coherence to the Aristotelian world view, Albert also made no qualms about correcting Aristotle when he thought he was wrong. According to Mulchahey, Albert’s work on Aristotle “coincides convincingly with the steps forward taken by his order’s studia naturarum,”66 which by 1271 had become a permanent part of Dominican advanced education, and made mandatory in all provinces in 1305.67 However, it must be kept in mind that this new philosophy did not replace the course of study of the studia artium. A Dominican student was only eligible to proceed to one of his province’s studia naturarum after studying logic for three years in a studium artium. This prerequisite was expected for entrance to the Dominican philosophy program throughout most of the fourteenth century. Moreover, it can be assumed that the natural philosophy curriculum was yet only another step for students destined for higher theological studies.68 Although Aristotle spread throughout the Dominican order, as it did in the university, inevitably the difference in focus led to a clash between some members of the arts faculty and the theology faculty, for those bound by the religious life had by this time begun to gain more of the limited chairs in theology at the university.69 In 1255, the arts faculty adopted a new syllabus consisting primarily of the Aristotelian corpus, wherein, according to Lohr, “the arts faculty became what we might call a philosophical faculty, with a new importance in its own eyes and a tendency to develop a teaching independent of the theological faculty.”70 We must bear in mind that medieval universities in Europe were often initiated by the Church, and we cannot lapse into thinking of the university in terms of a state–church separation under which we operate today.71 The university was not  Ibid., 259. Mulchahey continues: “Albert’s instincts were proven correct in at least one case, when he chanced upon Aristotle’s previously unknown De motibus animalium while in Italy in 1256-57, having in the meantime written his own tract on the motion and movement of animals.” 66  Ibid., 254-5. 67  Ibid., 263-5. 68  For more on the influence of the syllabus of the University of Paris on the Dominican’s advanced curriculum of studies, see Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 271-4. 69  See Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 75-9. See also C.H. Lohr, “The Medieval Interpretation of Aristotle,” in The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Kretzmann, Kenny, and Pinborg, 87-8: “What came to be known as the Averroistic controversy in the 1260s and 70s led to some of the most intransigent formulations of the masters’ own understanding of their role” (88). 70  Lohr, “Medieval Interpretation of Aristotle,” 87. 71  See, for example, A.B. Cobban, The Medieval Universities: Their Development and Organization (London: Methuen, 1975), 25-6. Popes often established universities or conferred privileges on them. 65

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“secular” in the contemporary sense. Nor should we therefore believe that university faculty outside of the religious orders were not interested in the salvation of souls or the possession of religious truths. However, differences between disciplines inevitably arose, and the conflict between the secular faculty and the Dominicans was deeper, of course, than the number of chairs held by the religious; it had to do with the very premises upon which philosophy had been built, creating a split between philosophy and theology: Medieval exegesis had been concerned with the Bible. Its premiss was that the exegete was already in possession of a truth revealed by God himself. His task was accordingly not the discovery of new truths, but rather the unveiling of the truth concealed in the words of the sacred text. In accomplishing this task he not only turned to the councils and Church Fathers as authorities to lead him, but also felt himself, as a living link in a corporate undertaking, endowed with the same authority to teach. In the twelfth century, as discrepancies among his authorities became increasingly obtrusive, his conviction that the tradition of which he was custodian was at bottom coherent guided his efforts to penetrate more deeply into the truth of God’s word as a sort of concordia discordantium. Even the great Summae of the thirteenth century which arose out of this effort are in this sense exegesis. Their point of departure was the articles of faith which God had revealed in the Bible. The purpose of the summist was to try to make the res, the transient things of this world, shine in the light of the voces, the divine words as the bearers of immutable truth. That is why Thomas could say that theologians are like the mountains, elevated above the earth and first illumined by the rays of the sun.72

In contrast, the master of art’s approach was quite different. While the theologian was concerned with “unveil[ing] a truth concealed,” that is, a truth already possessed in the infallible text, Scripture, the “philosopher”—that is, the master of arts—sought the truth while recognizing the fallibility of his sources. “Since the work of Aristotle, the primary source for a member of the arts faculty, was for him neither a new dogma nor an infallible guide, he need make no clerical attempt at harmonizing science and the Bible.”73 While Lohr’s description of the difference between the arts and theology faculty may be overstated, he illuminates the Dominican’s characteristic approach to theology through the contemplative life. Even in their adoption of Aristotle, the Dominicans departed somewhat from the university. If we follow Aquinas’ thought quoted by Lohr above, while philosophy can assist the theologian’s understanding, the theologian must first be “elevated,” that is, informed and enlightened by the life of faith. With that in mind, consideration must be made of how Aquinas inspired, and was inspired by, this Dominican insight and how he attempted to capture this insight in his great Summa.  Lohr, “Medieval Interpretation of Aristotle,” 88.  Ibid., 89-91.

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C. Aquinas’ Influence on the Dominican Life Although Aquinas’ physical life was relatively short, his impact on the Dominican life was immeasurable. Although his desire to replace the long-used standard text of theology, the Sentences, with his own Summa went unfulfilled, within a few decades of his death his work—not only his writings, but also his work as an administrator—thoroughly permeated every level of Dominican study, and further, Aquinas’ influence extended beyond the classroom and into the order’s preaching office. The thesis of this chapter is that, while the Summa, and the first thirteen questions of the Prima pars in particular, did not become a standard text of teaching, perhaps Aquinas did capture something of the unique Dominican pedagogy—study through contemplation—and, thus, it must be an important interpretive tool for Eckhart, who strove, as did many of his contemporaries, to write in conformity with the thought of Aquinas. Aquinas, born around 1225 and dying in 1274, joined the Dominicans as a young man already well educated and absorbed in the religious life.74 The young Aquinas was sent to the studium generale in Naples in 1239 to receive more advanced education. According to Torrell, while there, he studied liberal arts and philosophy as a prerequisite to his study of theology. There, Aristotelian science, Arabic astronomy, and Greek medicine were flourishing.75 Very likely Aquinas became familiar early in his studies with Aristotle’s natural philosophy and metaphysics, even though these studies were still officially banned in Paris.76 And in Naples he encountered and decided to join the Dominicans. According to Torrell, Thomas surely perceived very quickly that his inclination toward study would be better satisfied in the new order and that, according to the theory he developed later, if it is good to contemplate divine things, it is even better to contemplate and transmit them to others.77

Around 1246 Aquinas was sent to the studium generale in Cologne, where he studied under the studium’s founder, master Albert, who was “reputed to be accomplished in all realms of knowledge”78—especially, as we have seen, in Aristotelian philosophy. Studying under Albert in Cologne, Aquinas  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 1. Aquinas received his early education and was introduced to the Benedictine religious life when he was 5 or 6 years old. Ibid., 4-5. 75  Ibid., 6. 76  Ibid., 7. While Aristotle’s natural philosophy and metaphysics was officially banned in Paris, “the repetition of the interdictions shows that they were scarcely respected. And, like the study of Averroes, the study of Aristotle was already flourishing in Paris around 1230.” 77  Ibid., 15. 78  Ibid., 18. Cologne’s studium generale was opened in 1248 by Albertus Magnus. 74

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demonstrated himself to be an intellectually-gifted student destined for the highest level of education the Dominicans provided to a select few of their friars. Through Cardinal Hugh of St. Cher’s intervention, Aquinas was ordered to Paris to prepare to teach the Sentences there. He began teaching there as a bachelor in 1252.79 The Dominican notion of contemplation as study exhibited itself from the outset of Aquinas’ academic career. For example, one of Aquinas’ early biblical commentaries was Super Isaiam. Torrell uses this work to illustrate Aquinas’ exegetical style, which gave preference to the literal sense—a preference Aquinas later explains in detail in the first question of his Summa.80 However, Torrell adds that Aquinas did not stop with the literal sense: “starting with a word from the text of Isaiah, Thomas hastily notes suggestions that he has about it for a spiritual or pastoral expansion of his literal commentary.”81 Torrell uses the last note, or collation, from Aquinas’ text to illustrate that, for Aquinas, the spiritual sense “animates” the literal: This last collation is a highly structured meditation on the place of the Word of God in theology and preaching. From the outset, it is a light for the intelligence. But affectivity also finds a place there: to meditate on the Word is joy. … We see in this development the practical goal that Thomas assigns to theology.

As to the “instructing others,” we can see here, without deceiving ourselves, the signature of the young member of the Order of Preachers. The ruminatio on the word does not find its end in itself.82 While Aquinas carefully gives priority to the literal sense of Scripture for the purposes of argumentation, he recognizes the role of the spiritual sense as an essential part of teaching: study as approached through the eyes of faith.83 This is an echo of Dominic’s vision, adapted from the Rule of Augustine, of the contemplative life as study. This theme of contemplation plays such an important and vital role for Aquinas. Study of God goes far beyond learning the material at  Ibid., 37-38.  Ibid., 28. 81  Ibid., 29. 82  Ibid., 31. See also Denise Bouthillier, “Splendor gloriae Patris: Deux collations 79 80

du Super Isaiam de S. Thomas d’Aquin,” in Christ among the Medieval Dominicans: Representations of Christ in the Texts and Images of the Order of Preachers, ed. Kent Emery, Jr. and Joseph P. Wawrykow (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1998), 139-56, where Bouthillier discusses the main themes of two of Aquinas’ Isaiah collations, and “Le Christ en son mystère dans les collationes du super Isaiam de saint Thomas d’Aquin,” in Ordo Sapientiae et Amoris: Image et Message de Saint Thomas d’Aquin, à travers les récentes études historiques, herméneutiques et doctrinales. Hommage au Professeur Jean-Pierre Torrell OP `à l’occasion de son 65e anniversaire, ed. Carlos-Josaphat Pinto de Oliveira (Fribourg: Universitaires Fribourg, 1993), 37-64. 83  See, for example, STh, Question 1, especially Article Ten.

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hand—it involves the whole student. According to Torrell, in the commentary on Isaiah we find, at least sketched out, the great spiritual themes of all times: God, to be sure, Christ, and the Holy Spirit; but also more precise subjects: the approach to God, prayer, raising our gaze toward God, cooperation in the work of the Holy Spirit, the evil effects of sin, the return to oneself, tears of compunction, the demands of poverty.84

And we can surmise that Aquinas went through this same process in his formation as a Dominican friar: If we are seeking a reason for the great predominance of the Psalms over all the other books, we might in the first place hear an echo of Thomas’s prayer. He did not just work with a concordance; the material that came spontaneously to his heart and mind is that on which he had meditated longest. … [This is] a general rule observable in Thomas’s contemporaries as well. They give their preference to the wisdom books, because these books lend themselves more easily to “moralizing,” an integral part of exegesis at the time.85

Aquinas not only internalized the notion of contemplation as study, but then expresses it as a pedagogical method. Torrell cites a passage where Aquinas explains qualities doctors in Sacred Scripture must possess in order to perform their tripartite duty of lecture, disputation, and preaching: “They must be ‘elevated’ … by the eminence of their lives to be able to preach effectively; ‘enlightened’ in order to teach in an appropriate way; and ‘fortified’ to refute errors in disputation.”86 Aquinas continued to refine the theme of contemplation in his more mature work. Consider his Johannine commentary, dated to his second period of teaching at Paris. This commentary is considered by many, such as James Weisheipl and Jean-Pierre Torrell,87 as one of his most profound biblical commentaries. Torrell states that it is “the theological work par excellence by Saint Thomas,” because, at least for Aquinas, “John’s gospel contains the ultimate in revelation.”88 In Aquinas’ interpretation of John’s gospel we see the theme of contemplation at the center of Aquinas’ inspiration. Torrell points to material pertain[ing] to John’s Prologue, or the no less beautiful lecture concerning the Holy Spirit, regarding the “wind that blows where it will,” and the “spring of

 Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 33.  Ibid., 34. 86  Ibid., 54. 87  James A. Weisheipl, “The Johannine Commentary of Friar Thomas,” 84 85

Church History 45 (1976): 190 and Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 200. 88  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 200.

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living water that gushes from his breast”; and the Paraclete in chapters fourteen to sixteen, who completes Jesus’ work and leads us toward all truth. Thomas reveals himself here as one of the contemplatives of whom Saint John is the model.89

Biblical commentaries like these were normally the product of a master’s classroom lecture. But Aquinas did not always teach at the advanced level of the university, a fact which undoubtedly affected his appreciation and development of his pedagogical theory. In 1261, for example, he was named lector to the Orvieto priory where he taught friars most of whom would probably never study at the higher levels of Dominican schools. And, in fact, Aquinas asserts in his Summa that it is written for those beginning their journey in theology, although this assertion is not without debate. First of all, we have to be careful in making assumptions about who Aquinas considered “beginning theology students.” For example, if Dominicans departed with the university regarding their approach to theology, friars entering the order well grounded in theology would need to be redirected in their thought. This would, in a sense, make them, too, “beginners” in theology. Further, according to Leonard Boyle, Aquinas had a much broader distribution in mind for the Summa; the Summa was to be Aquinas’ legacy to his order. However, John Jenkins disagrees with Boyle’s assessment of Aquinas’ “beginners” of theology. According to Jenkins, the Summa theologiae is a work of “second-order pedagogy” and geared more towards those advanced students destined to be university masters than towards the order itself.90 In any event, given Aquinas’ focus on contemplation in his commentaries, it is only natural that the Summa should also be written with this theme at its heart. 1. The Writing of the Summa Theologiae Aquinas achieved notable repute within the Dominican educational system and was commissioned to assist the orders in reforming their studies. Apparently, after 1261 he continued to participate in the Roman provincial chapters, and may have used this position to assist in his goal to found his own house of theological studies in Rome, at Santa Sabina.91 According to Boyle, this would be more of a studium personale than a studium generale like those found in Paris, Bologna, or Cologne, an experiment where Aquinas could apply a study program according to his own theory of teaching.92 Unlike the order’s studia artium, which focused  Ibid., 201.  See Leonard Boyle, The Setting of the Summa Theologiae of Saint Thomas,

89 90

The Etienne Gilson series, 5 (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1982), 19, and John Jenkins, Knowledge and Faith in Thomas Aquinas (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). 91  See Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 5 and Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 143-4. 92  Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 9-10.

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on logic and grammar, and the studia naturarum, which expanded its study to the rest of the Aristotelian corpus, Aquinas’ studium would center on theology. But Aquinas intended to go well beyond the standard theology curriculum practiced by the order at that time, which emphasized moral theology—an emphasis reflecting the Dominican concern over salvation of souls. For Aquinas, however, this accent on practical theology needed to be balanced by “dogmatic” theology.93 Consequently, in the Summa, which grew out of Aquinas’ teaching experience, the section on practical theology, the Secunda pars, is framed by the dogmatic: the doctrine of God and creation on one end, and the incarnation and sacraments on the other. With the Summa, according to Boyle, Aquinas puts practical theology within its full theological context.94 Paradoxically, although the intent of the Order is geared toward the practical end of salvation, Aquinas’ attention to the full implications of theology—directed by the speculative—shows Aquinas to be most truly Dominican, for the Summa captures the Dominican spirit of learned preaching at its most profound depths. Lombard’s Sentences, beginning with the doctrine of God, served as the primary source of dogmatic theology in the studia generalia. But obviously Aquinas was not satisfied with the use of the Sentences as the textbook for theological lectures. Earlier in his teaching career he wrote, as did others before him, his own commentary on the Sentences.95 During the first academic year at Santa Sabina, he used his commentary—as he did when he wrote it at Paris for his new students. At the end of the academic year in 1266, however, he abandoned it and began composing the Summa theologiae’s Prima pars. Torrell agrees with Boyle that, although Aquinas did not actually begin composing the Summa until his stay in Rome, his four years of teaching at Orvieto gave him the motivation to take on the project of creating a new classroom textbook going well beyond Lombard, specifically, “to fill in the most conspicuous gaps by giving moral theology the dogmatic basis it had been lacking.”96 The underlying problem Aquinas grappled with in his attempt to capture the Dominican ethos was the isolation, specifically in Dominican conventual education, of moral and sacramental theology from an overarching doctrine of God: creation, Trinity, and so on. While the Sentences was standard in university and in Dominican studia generalia, it was rarely used by conventual Lectors—and 93  Boyle uses the terms “dogmatic” and “systematic” theology, and later “doctrinal” to refer to the theology of God, Trinity, Creation, and incarnation. “Practical” theology refers to moral theology and ethics. See Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 15-16. 94  Ibid. 95  For more information on Aquinas’ commentary on the Sentences, see Leonard Boyle’s article, “‘Alia Lectura Fratris Thome,’” Mediaeval Studies 45 (1983): 418-29. 96  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 144-5. See also Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 15-19. The Sentences never became a standard textbook at the conventual houses of study. If it was used by conventual lectors, it was most likely confined to the fourth book which dealt with the sacraments.

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then, only Book Four, which treated the sacraments. Beginning his Summa with the question of the nature and attributes of God (and how to articulate this incomprehensibility), “put practical theology, the study of Christian man, his virtues and vices, in a full theological context”: to study human action is therefore to study the image of God and to operate on a theological plane. To study human action on a theological plane is to study it in relation to its beginning and end, God, and to the bridge between, Christ and his sacraments.97

Remember, one of the things setting the Dominicans apart from other preachers was their attention to learned preaching as a method of leading souls to God. Aquinas perceived that isolating moral theology from its fuller theological context—especially the doctrine of God and creation—was likely to hinder this task. Further, learning to speak about God (appropriately but improperly) is the underlying method Aquinas uses to instill in his future preachers the means by which to carry out their mission. This will be a point taken up in the following chapters. As with the Sentences, the Summa begins with God and creation; however, Aquinas departs radically from Lombard—not only in his use of authorities, citing Aristotle almost twice as much as Augustine, but in his arrangement of the material. Recall that Lombard’s material is divided into what he considered “logical and historical” sections. Aquinas wanted to give the students a more “organic synthesis that would permit them to grasp internal links and coherence.”98 The theological material is organized with “God as the center and everything else around Him, according to the relationships that they maintain with Him, whether they come from Him as their first cause or return to Him as to their final end.”99 Evidently, Aquinas found the Sentences too fraught with multiplications of useless questions, articles, and arguments to provide the unity and coherence needed to impart one with the skills for contemplative study or learned preaching.100 Regarding this thought, Mulchahey brings up the interesting question of what texts Aquinas selected for his lectures while he was composing and teaching material for the first part of his Summa. She speculates he may have used the Pseudo-Dionysius’ De divinis nominibus: Thomas’ commentary on the De divinis nominibus is generally thought to have been written in Italy before 1268, and some scholars have placed it as early as 1258. The terminus ante quem is suggested by the fact that Thomas wrote without apparent awareness of the influence of the Elementatio theologica of Proclus, the translation of which Thomas’ confrère William of Moerbeke completed only in

 Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 16.  Ibid. 99  Ibid. 100  See Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 321. 97 98

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May of 1268. And it has been mooted that the work was presented as a series of lectures during one of Thomas’ assignments as a teacher for the Roman Province, either as a lector at Orvieto or, in fact, in the studium in Rome.101

The hypothesis that Aquinas focused on the Pseudo-Dionysius while he simultaneously worked on the beginnings of his Summa, Mulchahey continues, may account for a significant characteristic of the Summa’s organization within the Plotinian cycle of emanation and return.102 Mulchahey points to an early passage in the Prima pars where Aquinas asserts that the purpose of his Summa is “an exploration of God, not only in and of Himself but as the beginning and end of all things.”103 Accordingly, Aquinas intends to treat first, “of God and the procession of all creatures from Him; second, of the movement of rational creatures back towards God; and, finally … the incarnate Christ, who is the avenue by which man moves towards God.”104 The theme of the exitus of all things, whose origin is from God, and the reditus of all things back to God as their final goal became fundamental to Aquinas’ development of theological science.105 This pattern of exitus/reditus that Aquinas adopted for his Summa was probably one deeply ingrained in his theological imagination since his days as a young friar studying under Albert. Mulchahey explains how this pattern may also have inspired Aquinas to move beyond writing another commentary on Lombard’s Sentences to his own Summa: It is not so much that lecturing upon the De divinis nominibus suggested such a pattern to Thomas, as that he chose to comment upon the Pseudo-Dionysius at Santa Sabina along-side his principal lectures because the pattern already seemed to him significant. As a young man he had been exposed to Albert the Great’s treatment of the Corpus Areopagitum as a starting place for theological enquiry; when he came to write his first commentary on the Sentences at Paris,

 Ibid., 291.  Albert Patfoort, however, disagrees with contemporary scholars who hold

101 102

the Summa to the emanation/return schema. Patfoort cites lack of explicit mention of emanation/return in the first part of the Summa as evidence that the Summa does not follow this pattern. Thomas d’Aquin, Les clés d’une théologie (Bar le Duc: presses de l’Imprimerie Saint-Paul, 1983), 51. 103  Mulchahey,“First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 297. 104  Ibid. 105  However, other Aquinas scholars are also beginning to recognize the profound Neoplatonic influences in Aquinas, particularly in the organization of the Summa, as opposed to a more strictly Aristotelian interpretation. See, for example, W. Norris Clarke, Explorations in Metaphysics (Notre Dame. IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1994); W.J. Hankey, God in Himself: Aquinas’ Doctrine of God as Expounded in the Summa Theologiae (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987); and Robert Henle, Saint Thomas and Platonism: A Study of the Plato and Platonici Texts in the Writings of Saint Thomas (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1956).

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Thomas worked to interpret the Lombard’s text as an essay in exitus and reditus. The difficulties he encountered in making the Lombard’s text fit this pattern is a central factor in Thomas’ decision to compose a work which allowed him to arrange his material differently. Here is another reason to contemplate the possibility that Thomas lectured upon the De divinis nominibus even as he began to compose his Summa theologiae.106

According to Mulchahey, Albert set a precedent for using this text in his advanced theology course at the order’s new studium generale during the time Aquinas had accompanied Albert to Cologne some fifteen years earlier. Aquinas even copied Albert’s lectures on the De divinis nominibus, and kept this copy with him throughout the duration of his career. Perhaps Aquinas even used these lecture notes, Mulchahey further speculates, as he organized his own lectures on theology.107 Torrell discusses the differing opinions over the specific influence Aquinas’ study of Pseudo-Dionysius had on Aquinas’ appropriation of Platonism.108 Some see Pseudo-Dionysius as of primary importance in this area, while others believe in fact Aristotle was responsible for transmitting Platonic elements to Aquinas. According to this view, “[i]f Thomas is a Platonist, it is because Aristotle himself is more of one than we usually think.”109 Torrell suggests a better answer includes the influence of Proclus’ Liber de causis through which Aquinas was linked to the Platonic heritage.110 However, as Mulchahey hints, Aquinas should be seen to go beyond his adoption of an exitus/reditus schema in organizing his commentary—and later, his Summa—to capture something deeply characteristic of his Dominican context of study as contemplation. And, Torrell explains, Aquinas’ presentation—which already anticipates the plan of the Summa—does not stem from a simple pedagogical option. It expresses a deep spiritual intuition. … First, attentive to the demands of the word theo-logy, Thomas sees in God Himself the primary “subject” of his discourse.111

Torrell and Mulchahey indicate that, not only is the organization of the Summa a product of Aquinas’ creative mind, but more importantly, Aquinas himself was a product of his Dominican background, including, of course, his Dominican and university education. The implications of this are far reaching, especially as we  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 296-7.  In fact, this copy still survives, in MS. I.B. 54 of the Biblioteca Nazionale in

106 107

Naples. Ibid., 292. 108  For more information on Aquinas’ relation to Pseudo-Dionysius, see Fran O’Rourke, Pseudo-Dionysius and the Metaphysics of Aquinas, Studien und texte zur geistengeschichte des mittelalters, XXXII (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992). 109  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 128. 110  Ibid. 111  Ibid., 44.

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consider the relationship between Meister Eckhart and Thomas Aquinas. The exitus/reditus pattern, perhaps obscured in Aquinas’ work, is indeed a favorite theme of Eckhart in his work, most obviously in his German sermons. However, the connection may be more profound and meaningful than immediately apparent. This issue must be considered in more detail later. Aquinas’ work as a teacher of theology in the Roman Province was not yet finished, for, three years later, in 1272, he was assigned to conduct a “studium generale theologie” at San Domenico. During this time, having finished the Secunda secundae of the Summa while in Paris, he began the Tertia pars when he arrived at San Domenico and composed the first ninety questions by the end of 1273.112 However, Aquinas’ stay at San Domenico was short-lived, for in 1273, after directing the program for barely a year, he quit teaching and died early the following year. Aquinas probably did not lecture upon Scripture at Santa Sabina, so far as can be ascertained, but focused on theological science. But during his return to the Roman Province, at San Domenico, Aquinas is reported to have changed back to the conventional scriptural exegesis for one of the two lectures and chose to comment upon the Hebrew Scriptures: Psalms 1-54 during the 1272-73 school year and Romans and 1 Corinthians during the school year until December 1273.113 Not surprisingly, the Psalms played an important role in the themes Aquinas presented as the core of his teaching at San Domenico, since, for him, the subject of the Psalms—praise of all of God’s works—is the whole of theology: “His creation of the world, His governance of the world, His saving of the world, and His final glorification of the world.”114 Clearly, the years of training and spiritual formation as a Dominican friar, as well as the unique Dominican character of approaching study through contemplation, were well ingrained in Aquinas’ theological imagination. Having discussed the context behind the Summa, that is, the time frame within which it was written, during his tenures at Santa Sabina, Paris, and finally, San Domenico, and the Pseudo-Dionysian pattern on which the Summa may have  Ibid., 310.  See, for example, Mulchahey’s table of lectures in “First the Bow is Bent in

112 113

Study,” 320; see also 314. 114  Ibid. See also Tom Ryan, “‘Fere evangelium et non prophetia’: Thomas Aquinas as Reader of the Psalms” (PhD diss., University of Notre Dame, 1997): Like much scholarly writing of the period, one of the distinctive literary features of Super Psalmos is its highly structured, organizational method. Aquinas’ decisions about textual division, however, were driven by more than concern for clarity and accessibility. … He seeks … to produce students who are not only informed about the Psalms but also personally formed by them. (abstract) Ryan’s dissertation has been published as Thomas Aquinas as Reader of the Psalms (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2000).

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been written, it is of utmost importance to our discussion to answer the question of why the Summa was written—that is, the intention behind it. The answer has been introduced above. In his vocation as teacher of theology, Aquinas was dissatisfied with the standard classroom textbook, Lombard’s Sentences. His experimental course at Santa Sabina highly suggests Aquinas wanted the Summa to become the successor to the Sentences as a textbook of theological science, and ultimately to replace its role in the traditional theology course. Mulchahey explains the evidence for asserting this as Aquinas’ intent: Concurrent principal and secondary lectures, disputations, and doubtless, the entire range of ancillary academic exercises were all in place in both of Thomas’s schools. An acknowledgment of the appropriateness of continuing to concentrate upon the Bible as the core of the theologian’s training appears unambiguously in the Naples syllabus. But as early as 1266 at Santa Sabina, Thomas had served notice that, to his mind, the days of the usefulness of the Sentences as a textbook of theological science were numbered. … It was to avoid such pitfalls [as found in Lombard] that Thomas wrote his own companion to sacred doctrine “secundum quod materia patietur”. But in the Summa theologiae the legacy of Thomas Aquinas to his Dominican confrères most especially can be seen under two important aspects. It was the teaching text he wished his order to have and to use. But it was also a testament of his designs for intermediate, provincial theology education in the coming years.115

If Aquinas preferred his exitus/reditus pattern to the Sentences, it was because he felt it more intimately tied to the content of theology itself. Another way to view this is how Aquinas reveals in his prologue his pedagogical theory: the content is more easily assimilated by a student if it reflects the form in which it is presented, a point that will be elaborated on in greater detail as Aquinas’ work is explored in the following chapters. Unfortunately, Aquinas’ designs for the Summa theologiae were never completely realized116—although the impact of the Summa and the influence of Aquinas and his work throughout the Dominican order simply cannot be overestimated. Indeed, the Summa was used in the classroom, but not in the manner Aquinas had intended.117 2. The Acceptance of Aquinas’ Work in the Order’s Curriculum Although Aquinas’ work had begun playing an increasingly important role in Dominican education in his years as a mature theologian and after his death, the  See Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 23-4 and Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 321. 116  See Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 321. 117  Ibid., 322. 115

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formal introduction of Aquinas’ writings into the classroom and into the conventual curriculum in particular did not take place until 1313, several decades after Aquinas’ death. The Summa was used in the classroom; however, not as a textbook replacing Lombard. Rather, the conventual teachers were instructed to lecture on Lombard “according to the mind of Thomas.”118 This consisted of treating three or four articles of Aquinas each day in the lecture on Lombard’s Sentences. “Ideally, friars everywhere were to become familiar enough with Thomas’ opinion that they would be able to defend it in any situation in which they might be called upon to do so.”119 We might suppose that by “treating three or four articles” of Aquinas in the classroom, the Summa was meant, for the obvious reason that articles “form the basic building-blocks of the Summa theologia.”120 However, this is not explicit; references to using Aquinas in the classroom refer to his “doctrina,” his “opinio,” or even his “opera” in the plural.121 Neither the Summa nor any other individual work is consistently mentioned by name, and in any case “are certainly not

 Ibid., 141.  Of course, the acceptance of Aquinas in the classroom was not without controversy.

118 119

See Robert Wielockx, “Autour du procès de Thomas d’Aquin,” in Thomas von Aquin. Werk und Wirkung im Licht neuerer Forschungen, ed. A. Zimmermann (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988), 413-38 and “A Separate Process Against Aquinas. A Response to John F. Wippel,” in Roma, Magistra Mundi: Itineraria Culturae Medievalis, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Louvain-laNeuve: Internationale des Instituts d’Études Médiévales, 1998), 1009-31. However, whether or not Aquinas was implicated in the 1277 condemnation and whether or not a separate process directed against Aquinas was later initiated is still a matter of debate, particularly among Wielockx, Roland Hissette, J.M.M. Hans Thijssen, and John Wippel, and beyond the scope of this work. For more information on this issue, see also John Wippel, “Thomas Aquinas and the Condemnation of 1277,” Modern Schoolman 72 (1995): 233-7, and “Bishop Stephen Tempier and Thomas Aquinas: A Separate Process against Aquinas?,” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 44 (1997): 117-36; Roland Hissette, “L’implication de Thomas d’Aquin dans les censures parisiennes de 1277,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 64 (1997): 3-31 and “Thomas d’Aquin directement visé par la censure du 7 Mars 1277? Réponse à John F.Wippel,” in Roma, Magistra Mundi: Itineraria Culturae Medievalis, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Louvain-la-Neuve: Internationale des Instituts d’Études Médiévales, 1998), 425-37; Hans Thijssen, “1277 Revisited: A New Interpretation of the Doctrinal Investigations of Thomas Aquinas and Giles of Rome,” Vivarium 35 (1997): 72-101. Also see Palémon Glorieux, “Pro et contra Thomam un suvol de cinquante annees,” in Sapientiae Procerum Amore, ed. Theodor Kohler, Studia Anselmiana, 63 (Rome: Anselmiana, 1974), 255-88. In any event, the Dominicans reacted to this attack by creating expositions on Aquinas’ teaching, and in 1286, Dominican officials exhorted the friars “‘omnes et singuli,’ to familiarize themselves with Aquinas’ doctrine, to promote and defend it.” Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 152-5. 120  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 161. 121  Ibid.

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indicated as textbooks.”122 And, as Mulchahey points out, since the Dominican chapter was searching for a way to incorporate Aquinas as a gloss on the Sentences, we should not ignore the commentary Aquinas wrote early in his academic career on Lombard’s Sentences, the Scriptum super libros Sententiarum.123 Besides the Summa and the Scriptum becoming important parts of the Dominican classroom, Aquinas’ influence spread throughout all areas of Dominican life. One area vital to the Dominicans was that of learned preaching, the goal to which the friar’s lifelong study aspired. Along with his Summa and his commentaries—notably his biblical commentaries—one would assume Aquinas would also have made significant contributions as a Dominican preacher. After all, as a Dominican friar, preaching would have been a requirement not only of his formation, but of his duties in the life of the order. However, it appears that Aquinas’ sermons were largely ignored.124 On the other hand, Aquinas did contribute greatly to preaching, not through his own sermons or through any manual on sermon construction, but rather “through his teaching and through the theological and philosophical texts he produced.”125 Other friars making a vocation of preaching created their own preaching manuals using Aquinas’ works. For example, a schoolmate of Aquinas, Ambrogio Sansedoni, quoted frequently from Aquinas’ Scriptum in his own sermons. And Aldobrandino Cavalcanti, a popular preacher in the later part of the thirteenth century, not only preached but compiled several collections of model sermons circulated widely throughout Italy which were replete with the doctrine of Aquinas. Aldobrandino da Toscanella, who was known as a preacher and teacher in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, provided the Dominican order a “sourcebook of natural philosophy made preachable,” showing an intimate knowledge of Aquinas’ commentaries on Aristotle.126 These Dominican preachers and others like them began to define a new way of sermonizing—while not a stylistic change, for sure—that “enlarged the compass and challenged the theology of the moralizing sermons of even a few years before.”127 They began introducing Aquinas as an authority in their preaching even before works such as the Scriptum and the Summa were formally integrated into the Dominican schools, in fact even in the wake of his condemnation. The  Ibid.  Probably both the Summa and the Scriptum super libros Sententiarum were at

122 123

the lectors’ disposal. Mulchahey cites texts appearing at this time that juxtaposed Aquinas conclusions in both the Summa and the Scriptum. Ibid., 163-4. Additionally commentaries on Lombard’s Sentences were written in the fourteenth century explicitly drawing the majority of their material from the Summa and other works of Aquinas. These commentaries were known as lecturae thomasinae. Ibid., 163. See also Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 47. 124  Mulchahey, “First the Bow is Bent in Study,” 426-31. 125  Ibid., 432. 126  Ibid., 439. 127  Ibid.

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use of Aquinas in sermons and sermon handbooks, however, was not always done explicitly. As this chapter illustrates, Aquinas’ work was marked through and through with the Dominican approach to theology from the perspective of faith and its interpretation of the contemplative life as study. And not only does he internalize this theme in his commentaries, he also reflects explicitly on how contemplation as study is played out pedagogically. In other words, Aquinas attempts to capture the Dominican mission of preaching (learning to speak about God) in his Summa. This point will be examined in detail later when the content of the Prima pars, Questions 1-13 is explicitly considered. D. Meister Eckhart Having raised the theory that Aquinas integrated or captured the essential Dominican theme of “study through contemplation” throughout his own work, including the Summa—and spread it throughout the life of the order—it is appropriate to turn to the issue of Eckhart’s relation to Aquinas’ work. As the above discussion of Aquinas’ influence on his order reveals, Eckhart could not have possibly been unaffected by his predecessor, and even if he departed from Aquinas’ thought, he would not have done so openly. Rather, he would have attempted to integrate Aquinas’ thought throughout his own work. One of the goals of this book is to understand how Eckhart did just that; in other words, how Eckhart put into practice the unique Dominican approach—expressed by Aquinas—of knowing and speaking about God. However, before taking up this issue, it is important to know something of the diversity and popularity of Eckhart’s career as a Dominican, which included teacher—and master—of theology, administrator, spiritual advisor, and preacher. What emerges from this portrait is that Eckhart himself exemplified the dual Dominican focus on the contemplative and active life. 1. Background Unfortunately, although Eckhart was apparently one of the most popular Dominicans of his time, information on his life is meager, “extracted” says Ancelet-Hustache, “with great difficulty from various documents.”128 It is generally accepted that Eckhart was born around the year 1260 in the village of Hochheim in Thuringia, either near Gotha or near Erfurt.129

 Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 23-4.  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 4. Some scholars believe that Eckhart was of noble birth,

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but this is in dispute. For example, James Clark, The Great German Mystics: Eckhart, Tauler, and Suso (Oxford: Blackwell, 1949), 7, believes that Eckhart was of noble birth, but Tobin does not (Meister Eckhart, 4).

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Eckhart entered the monastery at Erfurt as a very young man, and, like other young friars, studied Latin, logic, and rhetoric as a prerequisite to his theological studies in the Bible and Lombard’s Sentences. As one of a few select students “who were conspicuous both for piety and for intelligence,”130 Eckhart was sent to the province’s studium generale in Cologne for more advanced study of scripture and theology, probably during the decade following Albert’s death.131 The exact sequence of Eckhart’s education is not clear; however, Eckhart apparently received his advanced education in Cologne and Paris, possibly receiving a dispensation from the normal duration of coursework.132 During his academic year in Paris, 1293-94, Eckhart began his teaching career.133 Eckhart apparently was not in Paris for long, however, and was commissioned to two important posts between 1294 and 1298: prior of the Dominican house in Erfurt and vicar of the Dominican houses in Thuringia. These positions included administrative and financial duties as well as the more pastoral concerns of those friars and students under his care. The fact that Eckhart was given two offices simultaneously is strong evidence of the esteem his order held for him. However, because holding two such offices imposed conflicting demands, in 1298, the order’s general chapter banned anyone from continuing to be both prior and vicar. It is estimated that Eckhart may have remained prior in Erfurt until 1300.134 In 1302, Eckhart is mentioned with the title of Master in Sacred Theology135 and was appointed to the Dominican chair of theology in Paris, which was reserved for a non-Frenchman. With this, Eckhart achieved the highest recognition possible in the academic circles of his day. Eckhart was magister actu regens, that is, actively teaching, during the 1302-1303 school year.136 According to Ancelet-Hustache,

 Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 23-4.  This date is in dispute. Tobin conjectures Eckhart came to Cologne while Albert

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was still there, in the year 1280 (Meister Eckhart, 4) However, Clark (Great German Mystics, 7) and Ancelet-Hustache (Master Eckhart, 25) doubt this claim and believe Eckhart arrived some time after Albert’s death. 132  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 7. McGinn and Colledge take most of their biographical material from Koch, “Kritische Studien zum Leben Meister Eckharts,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 29 (1959): 1‑51; 30 (1960): 1‑52. 133  Clark points to the discovery of fragments of a commentary on the first four books of the Sentences—Eckhart’s earliest known work, written between 1300 and 1302—as evidence that Eckhart lectured on the Sentences in Paris for at least a year as Baccalaureaus. See Clark, Great German Mystics, 7. 134  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 6. See also Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 26. 135  Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 26. 136  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 6.

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Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart [h]aving spent the first decades of his life in the atmosphere of German mysticism,137 Master Eckhart, now aged about forty, found himself plunged into the liveliest intellectual milieu of Christendom, the very meeting-place of its main currents of ideas. He was cognizant of all these doctrines, which he assimilated and forged more or less into his own individual thought.138

Thus, at Paris Eckhart attained the title by which he was to be known from that time onward: Master Eckhart139—or, the German “Meister” Eckhart. However, again, the new master did not remain at his academic post in Paris for long. In 1303, the Erfurt chapter appointed Eckhart as Provincial Minister of Saxony, which included forty-seven male Dominican houses and a number of convents.140 After this, he was appointed Vicar General of Bohemia and entrusted to the reform of the order’s Dominican convents there. By this time, Eckhart had become one of the most eminent members of the order in Germany. According to Clark, “his fame was not confined to his own native province of Saxony; he was also honorably known in the much larger and more important province of Alemannia, which included all the rest of Germany.”141 Although elected Provincial Minister of this region in 1310, the General Chapter of Naples did not confirm the election. Instead, they relieved Eckhart of his administrative duties in order to send him for a second tenure to Paris as professor of theology.142 Apparently, “a second such appointment was an unusual occurrence and has to be considered a great honor,” shared only by a select few, such as his renowned predecessor Aquinas.143 In 1314 Eckhart was sent to Strasbourg, a great center of religious life in the fourteenth century, to serve as the Vicar General of the Province of Saxony.144 In addition to his duties as Vicar, he was very involved with preaching and spiritual direction in convents of Dominican nuns. Ancelet-Hustache surmises Eckhart served as “prior, preacher, and professor of theology of the students of his Order.”145

137  The mystics with whom Eckhart was most involved were the Beguines, a movement of lay persons not affiliated with any traditional order, emphasizing contemplation, devotion to the Eucharist, and mystical visions; they were ultimately charged with “heresy, pantheism, and antinomianism, the belief that one is independent of the moral law.” See Robert Forman, Meister Eckhart: The Mystic as Theologian, An Experiment in Methodology (Rockport, MA: Element Books, 1991), 35-9. 138  Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 37-8. 139  Ibid., 41. 140  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 6. 141  Clark, Great German Mystics, 9. 142  Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 7. 143  Ibid., 8. 144  Although it is not certain what position he held there, a document dated 1319 was signed by Eckhart with the title of vicar. See Clark, Great German Mystics, 9. 145  Ancelet-Hustache, Master Eckhart, 42.

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Eckhart’s preaching gained such recognition and approval with the nuns and laity that he became the most popular preacher in Germany. Sometime around 1323 he was in Cologne, where he may have been master of the more advanced students. But he continued being a very popular preacher; and, according to Edmund Colledge, it was his preaching that was to make Cologne the scene of his downfall.146 While there is no documentary evidence showing that Eckhart was involved with heretics at Strasbourg, it is quite possible that during this time he came under suspicion of treating “abstruse matters which the common people could not understand” in his sermons.147 At the General Chapter in Venice in 1325, although Eckhart was not specifically named, complaints had been made of “certain German friars who preached about subtle and lofty matters to the people to the peril of their souls.”148 And finally, in Strasbourg, this same accusation was made directly against Eckhart.149 In 1326 the archepiscopal court of Cologne summoned Eckhart in order to answer the charge of heresy, including not only certain propositions taken from his written work, but material taken from what he allegedly preached in his sermons. Eckhart declared he was not guilty of the charges, “because heresy is a matter of the will, and it was his intention to remain and to die a faithful son of the Church.”150 Eckhart ultimately took his defense to the highest court in the Church—Pope John XXII himself. However, this effort to clear his name, too, was in vain, since the same procedure was followed as was at Cologne, and in the end Eckhart was condemned.151 The papal document “In agro dominico” pronounced that The first fifteen propositions, acknowledged as his by Eckhart, are heretical and are condemned, as are the last two, which he denies having taught, but which are nonetheless rehearsed. With regard to the remaining eleven, it is conceded that although they have an offensive ring … are rash, and smack of heresy … they could, “with many explanations and additions,” be given or already have a catholic sense.152

 Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 10.  Clark, Great German Mystics, 11. 148  Ibid. 149  Ibid. 150  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 11. 151  Ibid. Papal commissioner, Cardinal James Fournier, later Pope Benedict XII, 146

147

expressed dissatisfaction with the method typically used in reviewing cases such as Eckhart’s was. When pressed to pronounce on Durandus of Saint-Pourçain’s case—a case Colledge remarks was “far more delicate that Eckhart’s,” Fournier protested he could not make a just verdict until he had examined the contexts from which the propositions had been taken. 152  Ibid., 12. The bull’s conclusion informs the archbishop, to whom it is addressed, that Eckhart recanted on his death bed, a statement Colledge says was undoubtedly for the benefit of the laity. The document does not report that Eckhart said he accepted the Church’s

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The conclusion of the bull suggests that before it was finished, Eckhart had died. The specific date and circumstances of his death are uncertain, but most scholars place his death between 1327 and 1329.153 Colledge concludes that many modern historians of medieval spirituality believe that “In agro dominico’s” verdict was “at least in part unsound.” One fact is apparent: “if the commissioners had had a better knowledge of the fathers of the Church, both Eastern and Western, they would have perceived that they too had taught some of what Eckhart was now being condemned for teaching.”154 2. Aquinas’ Influence on Eckhart Although Eckhart is not considered a disciple of Aquinas,155 he was obviously greatly influenced by his predecessor, and he was careful to call attention to his “conformity” to the mind of Aquinas, in accordance with the requirement of his order. For example, in his prologue to the commentary on the Book of Genesis, Eckhart says he omits or abbreviates material found in other commentaries, especially so that the better and more useful interpretations that the saints and venerable teachers, particularly Brother Thomas, have written are not neglected. On a few occasions I decided merely to note where their interpretations are to be found.156

And Eckhart not only paid respect to Aquinas in his own work, but in Eckhart’s defense against charges of heresy, he identifies his own situation with that of Aquinas: long ago, but in my own lifetime, the masters of theology at Paris received a command from above to examine the books of those two most distinguished men, Saint Thomas Aquinas and Brother Albert the Bishop, on the grounds that they were suspect and erroneous. Many have often written, declared and even publicly preached that Saint Thomas wrote and taught errors and heresies, but with God’s aid his life and teaching alike have been given approval, both at Paris and also by the Supreme Pontiff and the Roman curia.157 judgment that the propositions were heretical. Colledge disagrees with Koch, however, who asserts that the bull claimed “an absolute revocation” by Eckhart. Ibid., 13. 153  Clark, Great German Mystics, 11. 154  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 13. 155  See Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 313. 156  “Rabbi Moses treats it [intro of the Book of Genesis] especially in book two, chapter thirty-one, of the Guide to the Perplexed, and Thomas in the Summa of Theology, Ia, qq.44-47, and later qq. 65-74.” Colledge, introduction to Essential Sermons, 82. See also 86, with regard to the notion of the indistinction and distinction of God. 157  Ibid., 72.

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He concludes his defense: The first mistake they make is that they think that everything they do not understand is an error and that every error is a heresy, when only obstinate adherence to error makes heresy and a heretic, as the laws and the doctors hold. … Third, they object to things as heretical that Saint Thomas openly uses for the solution of certain arguments and that they either have not seen or not remembered. An example is the distinction and nature of univocal, equivocal and analogous terms, and the like.158

More than likely, Eckhart is referring above to Aquinas’ discussion of analogous language-use in the Prima pars of the Summa. Although Eckhart does not often explicitly refer to Aquinas, he does occasionally refer to this part of the Summa in his biblical commentaries. For example, in his commentary on the Book of Wisdom, Eckhart writes, “But God is something indistinct which is distinguished by his indistinction, as Thomas says in Ia, q.7, a.1, at the end.”159 And he makes several references to Aquinas in connection to Maimonides with regard to the names of God in his commentaries on the Book of Genesis160 and the Book of Exodus.161 As this brief outline of Eckhart’s life illustrates, Eckhart was a person simultaneously absorbed in the active and the contemplative life. While the title “Master” suggests his role as an advanced teacher of theology, we see that he was equally, if not more, involved in the most practical aspects of Dominican life such as administration and preaching. But although his career seems geared especially to the active life, his role as spiritual director to the religious communities—and especially the mystics—would have necessarily required Eckhart to be grounded in the contemplative life. Robert Forman sums up this uniquely Dominican character Eckhart expressed during his life: On the one hand it was an active life, suited to an urban ministry, in which preaching and teaching played the key roles. Yet it was simultaneously a contemplative one: immersed in hours of silence, the friar or nun chanted the Divine Office and practiced mental prayer daily.162

Forman links Eckhart’s dual focus on the contemplative and the active life with Aquinas:

 Ibid., 75.  McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 169. 160  Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 82-3. 161  McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 91. 162  Forman, Meister Eckhart, 44. 158 159

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Thomas appreciated the duality of [the Dominicans] professed ideals when he wrote that the life of teaching and preaching proceeds “from the fullness of contemplation.” [Eckhart] redirected the visionary mystic’s emphasis away from passing ecstatic episodes and advocated a transformation that is permanent, one that may be enjoyed while living and working in the world. In emphasizing the mystical life, Eckhart represents the contemplative aspect of Dominicanism; and in redirecting it towards the more profound, permanent transformation he is in accord with the Dominican ideal of an entire life lived out of the “fullness of contemplation.”163

While Aquinas expressed the Dominican character by developing a pedagogical tool to be used in the classroom, Eckhart put this character into action, not only in the classroom, but in every aspect of his life as a Dominican friar, a reality that manifests itself throughout his work, a point that will be later developed. E. Summary The first section of this chapter explored the impetus behind the Dominican order—the primary context shared by Aquinas and Eckhart—which was the preaching of doctrine. This had a twofold purpose: initially, to defend the faith against heretics, and second, and more centrally, to impart knowledge necessary for salvation. For the Dominicans, in order to preach doctrine, every friar first had to be learned in the discipline of theology. Initially, Dominic and his disciples turned to the university to educate themselves and provide a model for their own system of educating their friars. However, they had to depart in significant ways from the university model in order to accommodate their uniquely religious character which they had inherited from the Rule of Augustine. First, the focus of their studies had to be seen in terms of a means, not an end in itself. Because of this, knowledge not relevant to or contrary to theology could not be pursued. But, it soon became apparent to many Dominicans, especially those who joined the order with a higher education, that the other disciplines and the knowledge they imparted—especially the philosophy of Aristotle—were useful to the knowledge of theology. Second, theology had to be approached through faith. What this meant for the Dominicans was that their religious formation provided the context for their studies: liturgy, prayer, and meditation on the Word of God. Thus, study was to be seen as contemplation. Third, in addition to the threefold scholastic method of instruction—lecture, repetition, and disputation—the Dominicans added another, preaching, which was not only the culmination of their education, but their reason for it. Preaching was, in fact, incorporated into their curriculum, for students learned to preach just as they learned to dispute.  Ibid.

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Finally, the different branches of instruction were seen as a unity, each one reinforcing and leading into the next: the material presented in the lecture was internalized through repetition, and put into practice through disputation. As Mulchahey puts it, the friars were trained to think on their feet. Without doubt it could be added to this qualification that each of the scholastic techniques used in instruction, for the Dominicans, was intimately related to the friar’s spiritual and religious formation: lecture as meditation on the Word, repetition as their life of prayer and liturgy (for example, liturgy of hours and so forth), and disputation as related to preaching—imparting knowledge to others; thus the contemplative life issued forth into the active. It can fairly be argued that Aquinas saw this unity between lecture, repetition, disputation, and preaching and expressed it in his intended theological handbook, the Summa. This lecture textbook, which was supposed to replace the Sentences, took the form of disputation: the quaestio. And, as the next chapters will show, Aquinas could be interpreted in the first part of the Summa, especially Questions 3-13, as refining the notion of “repetition” in terms of examples of how we speak about God using human language—broadly defined as analogical language-use. Finally, Aquinas’ Summa, as a textbook, prepares the student not only for repetition and disputation exercises, but also for preaching, because he is trying to internalize within the student the essential link between speaking about and knowing God. And if the theory is correct—that Aquinas managed to capture something of the unique character of the Dominican educational formation of friars—then it makes sense that Eckhart, who was formed out of this context, internalized and put into practice what he learned as a Dominican student, teacher, and preacher. This chapter has given us the opportunity to explore the uniquely Dominican character of Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s life. The Dominican notion of “study as contemplation,” adapted from the Augustinian Rule, illuminates a dimension of these masters’ work that the scholastic method of the medieval university may not: the goal of education, and ultimately theology, is knowledge of God necessary for salvation; and salvation, for Aquinas, is the beatific vision (which turns out to be, ultimately, knowing God). Thus, for the Dominicans, there exists an essential link between knowledge and prayer. It is apparent that for Torrell Aquinas captures the mission of his order in his own work, especially in the Summa. Aquinas expresses this unique character in terms of speculative and practical theology: As subject, God is a person whom we know and love (because He has given Himself to be known and to be loved), a person whom we invoke and whom we meet in prayer. When Thomas says that theology is principally speculative, he means that it is in the first instance contemplative; the two words are practically synonymous in Thomas. This is why—we shall not be slow to see this operative in Thomas’s life—research, study, reflection on God can find their source and their completion only in prayer.

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Considered as practical knowledge (that is, theology as it directs Christian action—what is commonly called moral theology), theology does not lose its contemplative aim (1a q 1a.4). It is still and always directed by the consideration of God, since He is the End in view of which all decisions are made and the Good in connection with which all other goods are situated. To speak of God as beginning and as end is not a purely theoretical option; it concerns the entire Christian life.164

Torrell’s understanding of Aquinas reminds us of Augustine’s “restless heart” that inspired the Dominicans to approach theology through the life of faith, for, “faith is … the only thing able to give a real object to this knowledge.”165 This knowledge of necessity extends from the speculative to the practical, because “faith would not know how to be itself if it did not act in charity.”166 Finally, this chapter’s exploration of the Dominican context reveals the vital link between speaking about and knowing God. This link is expressed through the Dominican notion of “learned preaching.” For preaching is most of all speaking about God. And for the Dominicans, preaching was the means of imparting knowledge necessary for salvation. It is, therefore, especially relevant to approach Aquinas’ Summa as a pedagogical tool for learning to speak about God in order to draw closer to our ultimate Source, a practice for which Eckhart became most famous—and, perhaps, most misunderstood.

 Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 157.  Ibid., 158. 166  Ibid. 164 165

Chapter 3

Thomas Aquinas: A Pedagogy for Speaking About God Chapter 1 laid out the obstacles to speaking intelligibly about God, and presented the non-contrastive direction we must take to mitigate such impediments, using Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart as our guides for this endeavor. Chapter 2 provided us with the proper context in which to interpret these two medieval masters, who lived in a world directed by their academic obligations and wholly permeated by their religious life. This chapter considers Aquinas’ Summa, specifically his first thirteen questions, as a pedagogical instrument for developing a non-contrastive appreciation of religious language-use. Following upon this exercise, Chapter 4 explores how Eckhart masters Aquinas’ lessons on speaking about God in a way that protects both the Creator’s transcendence from and immediacy to creatures, a conviction central to both Christianity’s doctrines and its religious forms of life. A. Speech about God and Christian Forms of Life As Chapter 1 indicated, because our language requires us to make comparisons and contrasts when describing relationships between things in the created universe, all speech about the Creator–creature relationship risks reducing the Creator God into another being in the universe—thus compromising the Creator’s unique distinction from creatures and ultimately diminishing a sense of God’s incomprehensible mystery. But more than just a perception of God’s incomprehensibility is at stake, so too is the spiritual journey of the human creature drawing back to its Creator. Our journey towards our Ground and Source depends on a transcendent God who is at the same time wholly immanent, present to us in a manner so intimate that every breath is sustained and permeated by God’s existence. Of course, a creature (including a human creature) is united with its Creator regardless of any awareness of its created purpose or any effort on its part—this claim is also central to the Christian faith. But belief in a distant God gives little motivation for the Christian forms of life to which Scripture calls us: “Love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”1  Mt 22:37, 39 (NAB).

1

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These two commandments encompass both personal and communal dimensions of our faith journey, and by extension, the religious language that expresses it. The two forms of speech are inseparable in this process of faith seeking understanding. Loving God includes speaking to God in praise as well as petition; loving your neighbors includes speaking about God with the hope of guiding them towards God’s loving embrace. Speaking to and about God not only expresses our hope and desire to be united with God, but is integral in moving towards that end; for, being united with God means, metaphorically speaking, “seeing God face to face,” or, more intimately, “knowing” God. Believers seek to know the One who draws them near; faith seeks to understand—or, in the words of the Song of Solomon (echoed by Augustine): “I will seek him whom my soul loves.”2 This “understanding” is not the cold data resulting from discursive logic, but the passionate disclosure between lover and beloved, articulated such that what is voiced only hints at the unvoiced depths of the relationship. Knowledge this immediate and personal can only be revealed verbally through poetical language, as this Song of Songs brilliantly illustrates: O my dove … let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely.”3

The kind of knowledge expressed in these few Scriptural words is something far beyond discursive language. It speaks of a presence so intimate, yet strangely invisible, compelling ardent yearning in the one to whom that presence has been revealed to “see” (not incidentally, a verb often used synonymously with “understand”) that which lies out of reach. The author’s words communicate an awareness of something unseen but at the same time familiar, something of unfathomable beauty and worth, and the hope of someday being reunited with it; this is Augustine’s journey of the “restless heart.” Speaking to and about the beloved goes further than articulating this awareness, however; in some imperceptible way it brings the lover closer to the object of desire. The author of the Song proclaims to the one he seeks, “Your name is perfume poured out,” and implores her, “[d]raw me after you.”4 As Scripture witnesses, speaking the “name of God”5—that is, speaking to and about God—draws us ever nearer to our ultimate end: communion with our Source.

2  Sg 3:2. The identification of knowing and loving God will be discussed later in this book. 3  Sg 2:14. 4  Sg 1:2-4. 5  In his exegesis on Exodus, Eckhart explores the “names of God” (“I am who Am”), the difficulties of speaking about God. This text will be considered in Chapter 5.

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B. The Scriptural Narrative of the Summa As the second chapter reveals, the Order of Preachers took the Scriptural commands to “love God with all your might” and “love your neighbor as yourself” to heart, dedicating their friars to drawing closer to God through contemplation and to drawing others closer to God though religious language, specifically through their preaching. For the Dominicans this practice of speech about God must go beyond the moral exhortations of earlier preachers; they must be grounded in Church doctrine, which expresses Christianity’s articles of faith revealed in Scripture. While Scripture, especially the accounts of Jesus Christ and the early Christian communities, provides practical examples of the Christian life, the articles of faith derived from Scripture provide precepts upon which those Christian forms of life are based; in other words, the doctrinal aspects of Christianity shape and inform the practical aspects, and vice versa. Therefore, the soteriological aim of preaching is ultimately directed by Scripture. And, since Scripture contains the Revelation of God and is the primary source for theology (speech about God), study of doctrine must be grounded in contemplation. Study as contemplation is an endeavor (if it can be called that) graced through and through, from beginning to end. Scripture was the core of every aspect of the medieval Dominican friar’s life, including their academic life, and this was no less true for Aquinas and Eckhart than for any of their brothers. Since Scripture contains the Revelation of God—God’s self-communication—then it is considered (by those who hold it as authoritative) to be thoroughly graced, God’s gift to humankind. Therefore, we must not presume we can “think” our way to God, a belief that renders God to our bidding, rather than the other way around. If we can become “closer” to God through rumination or speech, it is only because we have first been invited and beckoned to do so by God, not because we have the natural intellectual powers to do so ourselves.6 “Contemplation,” as it is used in the context of faith, is not equated with discursive reasoning. Yet as the notion of “study” itself implies, contemplation is in no way separated from the intellectual process. The Dominican approach of study through contemplation grows out of the friar’s religious practice, thoroughly based on and guided by Scripture: silent prayer, divine liturgy, sacraments, acts of charity, preaching. This practice exercises the whole range of the Dominican’s intellectual pursuits, from the novice’s memorization of the Psalter to the conventual teacher’s scriptural exegesis and to the parish priest’s discerning of appropriate penance for confession. Thus the Dominican method of study as contemplation not only holds together the delicate balance and interrelatedness of “faith” and “reason,” but, as it will soon be shown, Aquinas re-articulates this relationship in a way that reveals Scripture to be the most appropriate and important source for doing theology. 6  Terms like “closer” or “towards” are not literal when applied to the faith journey: we cannot know how we become united to God, nor can we ever be “away” from God.

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Scriptural study was also integral to the medieval university curriculum, upon which the Dominicans built their own educational system, and the brightest students such as Aquinas and Eckhart were sent to the university with the expectation that they would master its curriculum as well as contribute to the order’s own. But, as Chapter 2 infers, the religious life and soteriological mission that bound the Dominican student was not necessarily presumed in the university study of theology (and it certainly is not today);7 therefore, reading Aquinas’ Summa from a purely “academic” approach to theology inevitably misses Aquinas’ true intention in writing it. Fully appreciating the Summa’s design requires considering the specifically religious/spiritual life in which Aquinas was engaged; the divine liturgy and hours spent in prayer and service to his order creates an underlying narrative in Aquinas’ work not necessarily obvious from a surface reading of it. Like other university masters, Aquinas wrote and lectured on Scripture, but he was also bound to his order’s goal of teaching novices, preaching doctrine, and even hearing confessions. We can infer from this that in his Summa Aquinas did not mean simply to provide information about the nature and attributes of God, or arguments to prove the existence of God, because these pursuits would hold little meaning in light of the Dominican mission to lead others to salvation, understood ultimately as communion with God, or “beatific vision.” Even if it were possible to know “what God is” (which Aquinas explicitly asserts we cannot),8 then we would still need to answer the deeper existential questions of “who” God is to us, and “how” we are united to this Divine Existence—issues that make up the very story-line of Scripture itself: creation, sanctification, and redemption. Regardless of whom Aquinas wrote the Summa for—advanced university students, colleagues, or the true “beginners” in theology (the Dominican novice9)—we must be attentive to the implicit Scriptural narrative that underlies the Summa. As introduced in Chapter 2, the Neoplatonic cycle of emanation and return is recognized today by many scholars to be the framework within which the Summa is written; in more specifically Christian terms, we could also say the Summa closely follows the Scriptural narrative of creation–sanctification–redemption. As Boyle discerns, Aquinas wished to place the issues treated by “practical” theology (for example, moral theology and sacraments) within their fuller theological context by framing them within the doctrine of God: creation on the one end and 7  Although medieval universities and the Church were often closely linked; therefore many scholars wrote with religious intent, explicitly stated or not. We must not read any medieval author—especially Aquinas—from the perspective of the contemporary secular university. This will be reiterated regarding Aquinas’ notion of scientia, which has a much different connotation than the one we have today. 8  See, for example, STh, I.3: “Sed quia de Deo scire non possumus quid sit sed quid non sit, non possumus considerare de Deo quomodo sit sed potius quomodo non sit.” 9  Victor White captures Aquinas’ intention to address the broadest audience possible as a teacher of Catholic faith. See Holy Teaching: The Idea of Theology According to St. Thomas Aquinas (London: Blackfriars, 1958), 5-6.

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redemption on the other.10 In this way, the form of the Summa remains closely attached to the journey of the believer from her emanation out of God (being created) to her return back to God through the redemptive power of Jesus Christ. The “narrative” Aquinas employs in the Summa leads student-readers through their own journey by exercising them in appropriately extending human language to the Divine, thus developing in future preachers and teachers skills in using language flexibly in order to draw others away from misconstruing the articles and doctrines of the Christian faith and towards knowing God. To avoid distorting the Christian message revealed in Scripture, the believer must appropriate a non-contrastive grasp of religious language, where our Creator God is neither compared to nor contrasted from the world, but is realized as its unique Source and Ground. The ultimate goal of this narrative is moving the believer from focusing on knowledge about God towards knowing God—an awareness that “speaking about God” goes beyond describing God to building a relationship with God. In Eckhart’s terminology, the preacher assists believers in “detachment” from false conceptions that hinder their spiritual journey. C. The Method and Arrangement of the Summa This chapter examines a non-contrastive reading of I.1-13 of the Summa theologiae. This interpretation assumes that whatever Aquinas asserts about the existence, nature, or attributes of God intends to preserve the unique distinction of the Creator from creatures, and, in so doing, assists the reader in developing a highly nuanced skill in speaking about God that will help others in their faith journey. In order to accomplish this task, Aquinas must first distinguish the theology, sacred doctrine, having as its goal the salvation of souls from the theology, metaphysics, which conveys knowledge about God by demonstrating (to the extent possible through human reason) the existence and nature of God. According to a non-contrastive approach, the material presented in Question 1 on the nature and language of theology is key to understanding the questions that follow it; for without this question it would be difficult to make the connection between speaking about God and coming to know God. In fact, without the first question, it is too easy to read the Prima pars as a work of metaphysics, or as descriptive information about God’s nature and existence. To make the connection between speaking about God and knowing God, Aquinas must first show that sacred doctrine is a scientia, a “way of knowing”; second, that it is a type of knowledge leading the believer forward and deeper in faith seeking understanding; and third, that sacred doctrine necessarily employs language—for example, found in Scripture—in a way that challenges our discursive modes of thinking and helps us transcend the limitations of human language when we speak about the Divine.  See Boyle, Setting of the Summa, 15-16.

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Ultimately, the role of Question 1 is to lay a foundation in the Summa for a non-contrastive grasp of religious language, in other words, on how to avoid contrasting or comparing words that refer to creatures with God. The source and narrative for this foundation is Scripture, providing the exemplar of analogical language-use, because it uses ordinary language—rocks, water, the bodily senses, human relations—in extraordinary ways to communicate God’s divine activity in human history as well as God’s incomprehensible presence and meaning to human life. Therefore the connection between theology and Scripture is imperative in setting readers on the correct track for doing the theology they will be called upon to do in their religious vocations—whether these vocations are specifically academic or pastoral. After establishing the nature and language of theology as sacred doctrine, Aquinas begins the journey designed to lead the reader away from the temptation of trying to impart knowledge or facts about God—although apart from Question 1 and by outward appearances, the opposite may seem to be true, because Questions 2-26 treat God’s existence and divine attributes, the very material of metaphysics. For our purposes, Questions 1 through 13, where Aquinas explicitly treats “analogy,” a concept that has received considerable attention from scholars with regard to articulating the Creator–creature relationship, will be considered. The fundamental goal of using these thirteen questions is to show how Aquinas in fact takes us beyond conventional notions of analogy and develops the skill of analogical language-use, that is, of using language non-contrastively. Although only the first few questions of the Summa will be considered, it is helpful to briefly note the arrangement of the Summa as a whole, because, guided by an implicit Scriptural (or exitus/reditus) narrative—creation–sanctification–redemption—the Summa continues the non-contrastive lesson introduced in its Prima pars. Questions 1-13 set the tone and direction for doctrinal and practical topics contained within the Summa. After these initial questions follow questions on the Divine operations (God’s knowledge, will, and power), the Trinity, creation, and creatures, and Divine government (control of things in the universe), topics which give the Summa the anterior of its doctrinal framework. The second part of the Summa concerns the human being’s movement towards God, the “practical” or moral content of the Summa; the third part discusses Christ “who, according to his humanity, is for us the way that leads toward God,”11 thus closing the theological circle (God as Creator, God as Redeemer) as well as the Scriptural narrative and cycle of emanation and return. Having laid out the Summa’s arrangement, it seems appropriate to ask just what kind of a theological work it is. According to a non-contrastive interpretation (and according to Aquinas’ own words),12 the Summa is concerned with the theology of sacred doctrine, rooted in Scripture with soteriology as its goal.  Torrell, Saint Thomas Aquinas, 148.  See, for example, STh, I.1.

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However, the Summa is not itself a work of sacred doctrine, because it employs many sources other than Scripture: the Church fathers, “pagan” philosophers, even non-Christian theologians (for example, Maimonides and Avicenna). In fact, on the face of it the Summa reads more like a philosophical treatise than a scriptural exegesis, especially because of Aquinas’ heavy use of Aristotle and metaphysical terms such as esse, essentia, action. But the Summa cannot be read strictly as a work of metaphysics either, because, as it will become clear, Aquinas tells us rather bluntly that metaphysics will not get us where we want to go; it cannot bring us closer to God, and, it cannot even do what it apparently claims to do: give us knowledge of what God is. Given the Dominican emphasis on education laid out in Chapter 2 as well as Aquinas’ own preface, the Summa is rather best regarded as a pedagogical work, a tool for teaching skills needed for “doing” sacred doctrine. As Victor White observes, “St. Thomas’s own treatment and arrangement will be governed, not by the interests of the professional investigator … but … by the ordo disciplinae—the order of learning, pedagogical method.”13 However, ingeniously, metaphysics does play an important role for Aquinas in this aspiration. The “metaphysics” of the Summa is the content by which Aquinas brings about his pedagogical goal of developing the reader’s skill in religious language-use. Employing philosophy and all other sources at his disposal, and guided by an implicit Scriptural narrative, Aquinas assists the reader in making the essential connection between speaking about God and knowing God lying at the root of the believer’s journey of faith seeking understanding. D. Question 1: Scripture as the Primary Source for Theology Aquinas states in the Summa’s prologue that he plans to “treat of whatever belongs to the Christian Religion, in such a way as may tend to the instruction of beginners.” He refers to the matter under consideration (“whatever belongs to the Christian Religion”) as “sacred science,” which in Question 1 he also calls “sacred doctrine.” Aquinas has a particular perspective of “science” as well as of “sacred doctrine” in mind, however, that he carefully lays out before proceeding further in presenting the contents of his instruction. Aquinas takes what was at his time a conventional understanding of “science,” based upon translations of Aristotle circulating within the university and, inevitably, in his religious order as well (despite earlier bans on Aristotle’s natural philosophy).14 In order for “science” to include sacred doctrine, he must reinterpret Aristotle for his students, because Aristotle’s method does not include a Christian  See White, Holy Teaching, 7. For more on sacred doctrine in medieval education, see T.C. O’Brien, “Sacra Doctrina Revisited: The Context of Medieval Education,” The Thomist XLI, No. 4 (1977): 475-509. 14  See Chapter 2, section B.1.b) “The Rise of Aristotle in the Dominican Order.” 13

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concept of revelation or faith.15 Aristotle’s God, the “unmoved mover” (received by Aquinas through Avicenna), while ultimately transcendent—that is, at the top of the chain of creation—is not also immanently present and therefore does not communicate or reveal itself to creation with the same immediacy and intimacy as does the Creator God of Scripture. Aristotle’s God is far removed from creation by a number of intermediaries while the Hebrew/Christian God creates all things directly. However, Aquinas does show how an Aristotelian notion of science may indeed include Revelation, and furthermore is well suited to assisting in the journey of faith seeking understanding. In addition to explaining sacred doctrine as a science in a modified Aristotelian sense, Aquinas clarifies for his Dominican readers (or introduces to his non-Dominican readers) the nature, scope, and content of “sacred doctrine.” Aquinas’ particular interpretation of sacred doctrine is vital to his pedagogical aim, because sacred doctrine must make the connection between speaking about God and knowing God—for his Dominican reader, the connection between preaching and leading others to God. Aquinas goes about making this implicit connection through ten articles, moving from topics about the nature of theology as sacred doctrine to the language employed by this science (particularly through its primary source, Scripture): 1. Whether there is a need for a science outside of philosophy 2. Whether sacred doctrine is a science 3. Whether sacred doctrine is one science 4. Whether sacred doctrine is a practical science 5. Whether sacred doctrine is nobler than other sciences 6. Whether sacred doctrine is the same as Wisdom 7. Whether God is the object of sacred doctrine 8. Whether sacred doctrine is a matter of argument 9. Whether holy scripture should use metaphors 10. Whether a word in holy scripture may have several senses Articles 1-8 deal with the scope, nature, and content of theology. The scope of theology depends upon what we want to get out of it: definitive knowledge about what God is or deepening of faith leading to salvation.16 Thus Aquinas qualifies two different “types” of theology, metaphysics and sacred doctrine. The nature of theology as sacred doctrine is leading others to salvation, and its content is 15  See Eugene Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth: Sacred Doctrine and the Natural Knowledge of God (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995), 32-4. 16  The contrast between “definitive knowledge about God” and “salvation” is drawn because Aquinas intends to dispel the misconception that knowledge about God can lead to salvation. On the contrary he contends that salvation is not gained through knowledge about God; this type of discursive, definitive, or positive knowledge cannot be possessed in this life.

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everything relating to God, both doctrinally and practically.17 The scope of sacred doctrine, therefore, is much broader than that of metaphysics, and since sacred doctrine encompasses not only topics of the existence and attributes of God, but all things related to God, Aquinas chooses it as the theology with which the Summa is concerned; and so too it is theology as sacred doctrine more so than metaphysics that concerns this book. Articles 9 and 10 take up scriptural language and its relationship to sacred doctrine. The connection between theology and Scripture is not initially obvious from the list of articles Aquinas presents—there seems to be a break between Article 8 on the function of argument in sacred doctrine and Article 9, which switches from sacred doctrine to the use of metaphors in Scripture. In fact, some scholars contend that Aquinas uses “sacred doctrine” and “sacred scripture” interchangeably.18 However, the connection between theology and Scripture is established very early on in the question, because the scope, nature, and content of theology as sacred doctrine are determined by its primary authority and source: Scripture. This determination is grounded by the soteriological goal of sacred doctrine, as revealed through Scripture: the beatific vision, “knowing” God.19 Since this theology’s goal is ultimately soteriological, there must be an essential link between theology (speaking about God) as sacred doctrine and coming to know God. Aquinas ingeniously makes this connection by investigating theology as “science”—“science” understood not merely as a body of knowledge, but as a way or mode of knowing. However, the inclusion of sacred doctrine as a science raises several difficulties that Aquinas must overcome: first, other sciences employ discursive reasoning20 as their primary mode of knowing; yet, because of the element of Revelation (the reality of God disclosed through grace) inherent in sacred doctrine’s primary source, discursive reasoning always falls short of its theological goal. Second, language employed by Scripture includes metaphor and other poetical language, making clear and direct statements about God problematic at best. In effect, it seems that trying to put sacred doctrine into the category with other sciences is doomed to failure on the side of both faith and reason; since the object of a science is to lead inquirers to making true statements through the human intellectual process, “science” seems to be a poor apparatus for faith seeking understanding.  See STh, I.1.7, reply obj. 2.  Victor Preller asserts, “Normally, Aquinas uses the expression sacra doctrina

17 18

inter-changeably with sacra scriptura—and that is clearly its primary use; he also applies it, however, to the Apostles’ Creed, the ordinary teachings of the Church, and the speculations of the theologian. ... The prime and radical locus of sacra doctrina is the Word of God” (Divine Science, 232). 19  The beatific vision is reserved for the “afterlife” and for those “blessed departed.” This knowing is ultimately communion with God, a state of distinction without separation. See Preller, Divine Science, 259-60. 20  Discursive reasoning is the movement of the mind from one conclusion to another until the end of the reflexive process. See Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 24-5. Discursive reasoning is understood as a linear way of thinking and is often contrasted to other types of intellection or ways of knowing, such as “intuition.”

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Aquinas is not hindered by these problems, however; instead he uses the difficulties to his advantage, transforming in the process our very perception of “science” itself, as well as the relationship of reason and faith. Essentially (if implicitly), Question 1 introduces us to the direction the theologian must take to do what “faith seeking understanding” demands: provide a way of knowing appropriate to its incomprehensible object.21 This “way” is by necessity non-contrastive—transcending yet encompassing discursive reasoning and the comparisons and contrasts that this mode of knowing employs. Three strategies in the first question help Aquinas establish the non-contrastive direction of the Summa: he affirms first, that theology as sacred doctrine is a science, and furthermore one that has salvation—beatific vision/knowing God—as its ultimate goal; second, that faith plays a critical role in the method of this sacred science (“faith seeking understanding”) not opposed to reason; and third, that sacred doctrine employs unique and fitting mode(s) of speaking about God of which holy Scripture is the exemplar. In the words of Marie-Dominique Chenu, “[f]aith has its dwelling within reason, and it is thus entitled to ‘theologize.’”22 Thus Scripture, as the original narrative of faith seeking understanding, is the constant source and inspiration for theology. 1. Theology as Scientia Question 1 opens with whether a doctrine of God is needed beyond philosophy. In response to the objection that everything concerned with being, even God, is treated within philosophy, Aquinas refers to the need for the unique type of knowledge given in holy Scripture: It was necessary for man’s salvation that there should be a knowledge revealed by God, besides philosophical science built up by human reason. Firstly, indeed, because man is directed to God, as to an end that surpasses the grasp of his reason: The eye hath not seen, O God, besides Thee, what things Thou has prepared for them that wait for Thee (Isa. Lxvi.4). But the end must first be known by men who are to direct their thoughts and actions to the end. Hence it was necessary for the salvation of man that certain truths which exceed human reason should be made known to him by divine revelation.23

Here Aquinas emphasizes the essential Dominican objective: what matters is knowledge needed to direct others towards salvation, not simply information about God. For Aquinas, the theology that is part of philosophy, metaphysics, does  Of course, the term “object” is improper here—God is in no way an object; however, it can be applied since knowing God is the objective of sacred doctrine. 22  Marie-Dominique Chenu, Is Theology a Science?, trans. A.H.N. Green-Armytage (New York: Hawthorn, 1959), 49. 23  STh, I.1.1, reply. 21

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not provide that knowledge. Yet there is still needed a teaching dealing with saving knowledge revealed in Scripture, and this is called “sacred doctrine.” In drawing this distinction between philosophy (metaphysics) and Scripture (sacred doctrine), Aquinas implicitly raises the critical problem of reason versus faith—since we cannot reach the knowledge we need for salvation through reason (and even if we can get “part way” it would take much too long),24 then we must hold it by faith. But, given the apparent dichotomy between faith and reason, is it not futile to develop or pursue any doctrine of God?—should not reading Scripture itself be enough? It seems even from Aquinas’ own explanation above that the need for the type of knowledge (salvation) and the method of obtaining it (Revelation) creates a vicious circle leaving out the process of rational intellection and learning altogether. The first article has raised a difficult problem for the teacher of theology: given that knowledge “above” reason is necessary, does sacred doctrine stand on the same footing with philosophy and other disciplines that a student is expected to master? Following upon the necessity of revealed knowledge, Aquinas’ second article considers whether sacred doctrine is, in fact, a science. From the first objection it seems evident it is not, because other sciences, like philosophy, “proceed from self-evident principles” whereas “sacred doctrine proceeds from articles of faith which are not self evident.”25 In other words, since sacred doctrine cannot proceed logically in the same manner as other disciplines—that is, from principles ascertained through the reasoning process (for example, deduction, where “from certain known things, other, unknown things are recognized”26)—then it cannot be a science. But Aquinas will declare in Article 5 that not only is sacred doctrine a science, but it is one more noble than other human sciences.27 In Article 2 he hints at sacred doctrine’s exalted position among the other disciplines by referring to Augustine: sacred doctrine is the only science whereby “saving faith is begotten, [and] nourished.”28 The question Aquinas does not ask, but assumes, in Article 2 is more interesting and relevant than whether sacred doctrine is a science: that is, why should we want it to be? For sacred doctrine does not have the same goal (obtaining knowledge about something) as the other disciplines. This question is not innocent, because it hints there are presumptions about what a science is that may prevent us (as well as it apparently did many of Aquinas’ own colleagues) from a faithful reading of the Summa. If this insinuation is true, Aquinas has his work cut out for him. For, whether sacred doctrine is a science strikes at the very heart of the process of faith seeking understanding. We want to understand the God that we seek. And as Preller reminds us: “[t]hat of which we cannot speak is that of which we cannot know. … In order  Ibid.  STh, I.1.2, reply obj. 1. 26  Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 26. 27  STh, I.1.5, reply. 28  STh, I.1.2, sed contra. 24 25

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to talk about something, we must be able to refer to it in a meaningful way.”29 If we cannot trust our reason in making such references to God, then how can we trust our faith, which seems much less certain, to do so? The question of sacred doctrine’s status as scientia anticipates the important relationship of faith and reason. But before broaching the issue of faith’s relation to reason directly, we must first examine what lies behind the notions of “doctrine” and “science” Aquinas has raised: A doctrine of God beyond philosophy is necessary for salvation; furthermore, as Aquinas’ predecessors have advanced and as Aquinas will re-affirm a few articles later,30 this doctrine has a superior relationship with regard to the other disciplines or “sciences.” In these first two articles Aquinas has thrust us into the middle of the dilemma. And he has also given us a clue for finding our way through it. By emphasizing the soteriological dimension of theology in Article 1, he has told us that his concern is a Dominican one, and therefore we must approach the text as a Dominican would. As discussed in Chapter 2, the Order of Preachers carefully developed the already dynamic medieval method of pedagogy (lecture, repetition, disputation—and to this they added preaching), and they emphasized contemplation as their mode of study (prayer, liturgy, silence, and acts of charity). In this light, “doctrine” and “science” have added dimensions that must be recovered in order to perceive how Aquinas plans to proceed with this introduction in the Summa. Although sensitivity to pluralism and diversity developing since the latter half of the twentieth century has certainly begun to change the pedagogy of academia, it is probably no exaggeration to say that in the West the university is still tainted with a rationalistic ideology. From this deeply ingrained perspective, to qualify as “knowledge” (as opposed to a matter of opinion, for example) a proposition or claim must be either “demonstrated” through scientific evidence or explained by discursive and syllogistic logic.31 Aquinas, however, shows us a different way, ironically using Aristotle, the philosopher often credited with bequeathing to us the very principles of syllogism, as his inspiration. As Thomas Gilby observes, “doctrine” is derived from the Latin, docere, to teach.32 It has already been ascertained that the medieval method of teaching was a very active one, and for the Dominican, the entire person, including his or her spirituality, is involved in the learning process. For Aquinas, there is an intimate connection between the teacher and the student, and the process of learning is by no means a passive one. There are two ways of understanding the process of learning that Aquinas rejects: first, that knowledge comes from outside of a student and is received as if into an empty receptacle; second, that all knowledge is  Preller, Divine Science, 4.  STh, I.1.5. 31  Evidenced, for example, by the predominance of the “lecture” format of most 29 30

undergraduate courses. 32  Thomas Gilby, STh, Blackfriars translation, Appendix 5, “Sacra Doctrina,” 61. See also White, Holy Teaching, 7-10.

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already in the student and is waiting to be unlocked or unfolded.33 Rather, Aquinas adheres to a third understanding of knowledge as potential. While knowledge must come from external sources, through sense experience, it is not imposed upon but actively received, interpreted, and assimilated by the student. The student is, in effect, transformed by knowledge as well as by the process of learning, and ultimately, through this process a bond or identity between the student and teacher is formed.34 This understanding of doctrine, where the teacher and the student are actively engaged, allows for the possibility that “sacred doctrine” may be a means of uniting the student (who is also by extension the believer) with the ultimate Teacher who is God. Aquinas takes a similar approach when explicating how sacred doctrine is a science. His goal is to show not only that sacred doctrine is a science, but that it is one leading towards beatific vision—a union between the Supreme Teacher and the student of faith. “Science” must be understood as more than a body of knowledge obtained through demonstration. At the very least, Aquinas has something more organic in mind.35 As Victor White observes, “the second article asks: Utrum sacra doctrina sit scientia, whether this holy teaching is knowledge. This is sometimes read to mean, ‘Whether theology is a science.’ But this is not what is asked.”36 White implies that “science” in the modern sense carries a specific meaning for us that it does not for Aquinas. We are accustomed to associate “experiments” and “demonstration” with science. Aquinas uses the term scientia much more liberally to indicate a “way of knowing.”37 This connotation is not limited to discursive intellection, thereby opening the way for modes of knowing other than employed by metaphysics. In order for a science to include salvation as its goal and Scripture as its source, its mode of knowing must include Revelation (on the part of God, the Teacher) and faith (on the part of the human student/believer). The objection raised in Article 2 is that in order for a doctrine to be a science, it must “proceed from self-evident principles.”38 Responding to this objection, Aquinas exposes and then dispels the underlying presumption that in order for a discipline to be a mode of knowing, it must proceed by way of “natural” reason, what is often referred to as “discursive” or “logical” reasoning. In fact, Aquinas observes, it is not the method of reasoning that qualifies a discipline as a science, nor the logic that can be abstracted from it, but its first principles, which may be—and often are—“borrowed” from a higher science. Regardless of whether first principles are “self-evident” (accessible through the reasoning process) or “borrowed” (assumed), they somehow illuminate the object of the discipline, thus allowing the object to  Gilby, STh, ed. Blackfriars, Appendix 5, “Sacra Doctrina,” 59-60.  Ibid., 61. 35  Ibid. 36  White, Holy Teaching, 12. 37  See Preller, Divine Science, 4 and 233; White, Holy Teaching, 12-13; Rogers, 33 34

Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 34. 38  STh, I.1.2.

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be “known.”39 According to Eugene Rogers, “when Thomas writes that a science ‘proceeds from first principles,’ he is not remarking on its discursivity or its logic. He is remarking on its deep connectedness with a concrete object that gives rise to it.”40 Principles are not a set of propositions abstracted from some perceived internal logic of a science, but the reality that holds a discipline together, the formal unity that makes it “what it is,” and the creation of this unity involves a process. This understanding is thoroughly Aristotelian. “Both things and thoughts, for Aristotle, are on the way from something to something, and the whole journey hangs together”41 by virtue of its principles: “the beginning is a first principle (archê), the end is a final principle (telos), and the way in between is an inner principle, or form (morphê).”42 First principles are the “unitary beginnings (archai) that make both things and ideas work.”43 A discipline, then, is a science by virtue of the existing reality that underlies and inheres within it, not by virtue of our ability to discover that reality through the process of deduction or discursive thought.44 Thus sacred doctrine is more of a science, in an Aristotelian sense, than are other human disciplines, because the reality out of which it arises (and the object to which it aspires) is God. Since a “discipline counts the more as an Aristotelian science the more it attends and returns to its first principles,”45 and sacred doctrine borrows its principles from the highest “science”—God’s self-knowledge—then sacred doctrine is a higher or more noble science than metaphysics, which according to the objection raised in Article 1 presupposes its principles are self-evident, demonstrable through the process of reasoning (for example, proofs of God’s existence). In employing Aristotle’s notion of “first principles” Aquinas goes further, however, than showing sacred doctrine to be a higher science than metaphysics; he “co-opts” Aristotle to re-orient his readers to a different type of “knowing” calling for a distinct pedagogy: first, there exists a profound relationship between the knowing subject and the object (the reality) the knower seeks; and second, the knower does not simply obtain knowledge, but goes through a process ultimately transformative in bringing the two together.46 In terms of sacred doctrine, the 39  According to Preller, “for us to know what God is … would be for God to be a kind of thing, a being essentially conditioned by his relationship to contingent beings, and, indeed, a contingent being in his own right” (Divine Science, 90-91). 40  Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 24-5. 41  Ibid., 22. 42  Ibid. 43  Ibid., 26. 44  In other words, there is a distinction between the reality that is the object of the science and the logic that best describes it. See ibid., 24-5. 45  Ibid., 20. 46  Aquinas postulates a new mode of knowing, the “lumen gloriae, which enables the beati to internalize that which man in via can in no way conceptualize—the ‘whatness’ or form of God.” Preller, Divine Science, 233. Since we cannot know “what God is” in this life, we must be concerned with the journey which draws us to God’s self-knowledge.

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“concrete object” giving rise to the principles of sacred doctrine is God and God’s own self-knowledge (although we do not normally think of God as concrete since God is incorporeal, and as already established we should not think of God as an object), therefore there is an intimate connection between the student of sacred doctrine and the objective after which the student seeks: union with God. In Chenu’s words, “[t]o know is in some sort to become the object. … In truth, theology is a participation in God’s own knowledge of himself.”47 Despite the fact that God’s self-knowledge radically transcends human reason, the first principles of sacred doctrine allow for the process of knowing to take place—that is, for the journey of faith seeking understanding to proceed—by virtue of God’s initiative (not ours) and God’s unique distinction: transcendence-in-immanence. Since first principles are not limited to the confines of human intellection, the possibility for Revelation to function within a mode of knowing not only exists, but is absolutely required for theology in its most profound sense. The first principles of sacred doctrine are the articles of faith derived from Scripture and revealed by God. Thus, sacred doctrine “borrows” its first principles from the highest science, the “science of God and the blessed”; this is God’s knowledge of God’s-self and the knowledge disclosed to the departed blessed who are now reunited with God.48 “A real science enjoys its scientific character ‘not just on account of the play of categories, judgments, and syllogisms in it;’ it enjoys scientific character just ‘because an object shows itself, because a real source of light presents itself.’”49 Revelation found in Scripture is just that: God’s presenting God’s-self through the events and persons of human history. The articles of faith derived from Scripture sacred doctrine borrows as its first principles are truly Revealed principles. Rogers clarifies the relationship between “borrowed first principles” and Revelation. In some way, “borrowing” principles from a higher science is itself a kind of revelation, no matter what science we consider, because principles are presumed, not demonstrated, within the confines of the discipline itself (even if they can be demonstrated).50 For example, the melody a musician plays is based upon mathematics (arrangement of patterns, meter, scale, and so on), although the musician may know nothing about mathematics at all: the musician is unconcerned about mathematics; he cares about music.51 However, the principles of music are implicitly revealed through the practice of his art; a mathematician listening to the music may be very aware of the specific mathematical character of the melody—and may even take more pleasure in the music because of this recognition. The mathematician is able to render explicit the mathematics revealed through the operation of the music, even though the average listener and the  Chenu, Is Theology a Science?, 23-4.  Ibid., 90-91. 49  Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 24 (emphasis mine). 50  See STh, I.1.8, reply. 51  See Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 26, for more on the relationship 47 48

between mathematics and music.

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musician are not required to know math in order to enjoy or play the music. As this example illustrates, any given science is dependent to some extent on revelation, because the discipline relies on principles to which it is has no immediate access in order to function; demonstration or explanation of first principles is not a part of the discipline itself. The most important point of this example is that there exists a “deep connectedness” between the higher science lending its principles and the science receiving them, and, since those principles are what makes the lower science “work”—indeed, according to Aristotle they operate at every level from beginning to end of it52—they are revealed practically within the science that borrows them. It may certainly be beneficial in mastering an art to study the principles which inhere within it. Following the example above, if a musician desires (and is intellectually inclined) to understand the first principles of this discipline, it is possible to do so; the musician can study math and it may be demonstrated how mathematics and music are connected. But this is not the case for sacred doctrine. The first principles of sacred doctrine, revealed by the highest science, the scientia Dei, cannot be demonstrated, because God is ineffable, and we therefore have no direct access to God’s knowledge. The difference between the revelations to which other human sciences are privy and the Revelation upon which sacred doctrine relies is not simply a matter of degree, but of kind, for the Revelation of Scripture is imparted by a reality “outside” of the created world,53 a Creator who is not a being within the created order—indeed not a type of being at all. Therefore, the knowledge obtained through sacred doctrine also differs in kind from that of other human sciences, and the identification or participation that is the end or goal of this science is one of a unique union, a transformation on the part of the student far outreaching other human disciplines. As Rogers remarks, Thomas pursues a science that proceeds from principles that lie outside the world…. Under those circumstances, to proceed from first principles must therefore mean to proceed from … revealed first principles—no longer in the straightforward sense in which all science proceeds from the revelations of existing things, but now in the radically theological sense in which a revelation sheds a light that goes beyond the created tendency to associate being with the deliverances of our natural conceptual scheme and requires an intentionality empowered by God’s elevating agency.54

This “radically theological sense” to which Rogers refers is the very orientation Aquinas is driving at in Question 1. Unlike a specifically philosophical sense that 52  As Rogers explains Aristotle: “the beginning is a first principle (archê), the end is a final principle (telos), and the way in between is an inner principle, or form (morphê).” Ibid., 22. 53  “Outside” of the created world must be understood non-contrastively and metaphorically, of course, since nothing is outside of God. 54  Rogers, Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 41.

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strives to analyse (for example, in the case of metaphysics, analysis of God’s existence, nature, and attributes), theology in its deepest sense aspires to change the lives of those who consider its “object” (God), to arouse an awareness of the deep connectedness between the principles of theology (doctrine) and its practical operation (Christian forms of life), and to move its subjects closer to its ultimate goal (beatific vision). Like other disciplines, sacred doctrine has its own object and principles. Its radically theological nature suggests two aspects proper to sacred doctrine alone: first, sacred doctrine enjoys access to knowledge other disciplines do not by virtue of its divinely revealed principles; second, sacred doctrine’s objective is ultimately soteriological. However, a further aspect of science now must be considered: its specific mode of knowing. Aquinas hints in the first article that sacred doctrine has its own proper mode of knowing, by virtue of its revealed first principles: since the goal of sacred doctrine lies “outside” of human discursive intellection, its first principles are not subject to demonstration. The revealed first principles of sacred doctrine must be taken on “faith.” Therefore, the mode of knowing that operates in sacred doctrine must include “faith” on the part of the theologian as well as on the part of the one to whom this doctrine is imparted. But Aquinas must carefully explicate exactly how “faith” operates in this discipline in a way compatible with our “rational” or discursive manner of thinking, for preachers and teachers under his tutelage must learn how to articulate to their audiences the connection between the believer’s faith (manifested in Christian forms of life) and the Church’s doctrine (which is often expressed propositionally) in order to lead them forward in their search to know God. 2. Faith and Reason In the opening articles of Question 1, Aquinas establishes sacred doctrine as a science, a way of knowing, despite (and ever because of) the fact it relies on Revelation; now he must show that sacred doctrine is a way of knowing originating in faith but proceeding by reason. The problem lies in the tendency to oppose faith and reason, consequently undercutting theology’s reason for being (to render explicit our conceptions of God) as well as the traditional conviction, so eloquently expressed by Augustine, that the human creature’s particular rational nature is vital to its end in God.55 It is within the context of human creatures’ endless questioning to understand their destiny that faith in God, as well as hope for salvation, evolves. Hence, the paradox: faith must be related to reason—the question of faith only arises because of our (so-called) rational nature (as far as we know, other creatures do not have faith in God). But the contents of faith transcend the boundaries of reason, and therefore faith cannot originate in or be generated by discursive thought. Indeed Christianity adamantly asserts that faith exists only through grace, God’s free gift of self-communication and not through our efforts;  Augustine, Confessions, I.

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it is not because we are rational creatures that we are united with our Creator. It is because the Creator freely willed such a personal and intimate union with the human creature that it was created with a rational nature and graced with an incipient awareness and direction towards its Source.56 Once again, Aquinas must examine certain presumptions germane to our conception of faith. The first presumption is to see faith as another type of reason or further knowledge sharply contrasted to our natural mode of intellection (that is, discursive thinking). The second presumption is understanding faith as replacing reason. In both cases, faith is opposed to reason rather than compatible with it. Furthermore, both presumptions prevent the reader from perceiving how Aquinas adapts Aristotle to his own end throughout the Summa, and from following the non-contrastive directive of the Summa. His adaptation is so subtle it can lead to a reading of the Summa as a work of metaphysics. Three articles in the first question contribute to re-visioning a relationship between faith and reason that, in compliance with Aquinas’ intent, is essentially non-contrastive. Article 5 re-affirms the superiority of sacred doctrine over other human sciences, first by virtue of its certitude, transcending the certainty human reason can attain, and second because of the worth of its higher subject matter, God—even extending to the discipline’s practical goal, the beatific vision. Article 6 identifies sacred doctrine with “wisdom above all human wisdom” because it derives its principles from divine knowledge, which orders and prioritizes (in other words, judges) knowledge gained through human reason. Finally, Article 8 asserts that sacred doctrine employs human reason, not to prove faith, but to clarify faith assertions upon which Church doctrine is formed. In this article Aquinas explicitly treats the vital relationship between faith and reason. Reason does not function to prove the tenets of faith; rather the reverse: faith re-forms and re-orients reason, ultimately imbuing all human knowledge with existential meaning. As will become clear, all three of these articles imply that, rather than being opposed to reason, faith provides our rational intellection with its foundation and direction; non-contrastively speaking, faith becomes the ground and source of rational intellection about God. In Article 5 Aquinas responds to the objection that, since the principles of sacred doctrine are articles of faith, which can be doubted, sacred doctrine is less noble than other sciences, whose principles can be shown to be certain. The stated premise of this objection is that the nobility of a science depends upon the  To preserve the distinction between grace and nature, we must qualify that the end to which our natures are directed is freely bestowed by God: human beings may have been created rational creatures with no awareness of God—human intellection need not necessarily have been involved in the process of salvation or being drawn back to the Creator. Furthermore, Christianity holds that even human creatures with extremely limited intellectual abilities are directed towards God. The task remains for theology to revise its notions about what “rational” means, and what essential role persons with such disabilities play in salvation. 56

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certitude it establishes. But the unstated presumption is that faith can never lead to certitude, because it cannot be reached through demonstration or discursive reasoning. Aquinas accepts the precept connecting “nobility” to “certitude” but attacks the underlying presumption that faith cannot lead to certitude because it is opposed to reason. To the premise that the nobility of a science depends on its certitude, Aquinas adds, with regard to “speculative” sciences, that nobility can also depend on the worth of the subject matter, and with regard to the “practical” sciences, to the ultimate goal or “further purpose” to which the science aspires. It is clear where Aquinas’ additional qualification is leading: obviously sacred doctrine is more noble than other sciences because its “subject matter” is the highest possible subject matter, God, and its goal the ultimate end, “eternal bliss” (in which all things relating to God participate).57 Thus, because sacred doctrine covers both speculative and practical aspects of theology, it is even more noble than metaphysics, which is primarily a speculative discipline. Furthermore, Aquinas’ additional qualification that sacred doctrine is both speculative and practical justifies the entire contents of the Summa, both the doctrinal (speculative) and the moral (practical) sections. But Aquinas does not abandon the issue of certitude; rather, in Article 5 he uses the notion of “certitude” to begin laying the foundation for aligning faith with reason that he further develops in Article 6 and makes explicit in Article 8. In Article 5 Aquinas asserts that what we take to be less certain in this life may indeed be more certain in reality, but because of the weakness of our intelligence, we simply are not able to ascertain it.58 The rationale for this statement has already been given in previous articles: there is an ultimate reality beyond ourselves which we seek and the issue is whether or not and if so how we can access that reality. This reality is the highest reality, God. Since this divine reality is beyond ordinary rational intellection, knowledge of it cannot be realized through discursive reasoning; only God and the blessed are privy to it. This fact, however, does not diminish the objective certainty of that knowledge. In other words, God’s knowledge is certain and irrefutable knowledge and is no less certain because we cannot demonstrate it. Therefore, holding something by faith does not necessarily mean it is less certain than what has been demonstrated. To follow our example of music and mathematics, just because a musician does not know math—or perhaps has no aptitude for math—does not mean the principles of mathematics operate any less through the music, or the music is less mathematical in nature. Likewise, holding articles derived from Scripture by faith does not mean the knowledge revealed by God in Scripture is simply opinion without any objective reality until it is proved through demonstration. In fact, Christianity asserts that belief in God is not holding an opinion about whether or not God exists—faith in God has existential implications for one’s entire life. Proving that a god exists  See also STh, I.1.7, reply obj. 1; I.1.3, reply.  However, Aquinas gives much credit to the human intellect, which is actively

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does not prove one must or ought to relate to it; take, for example, Avicenna’s unmoved mover, who operates through intermediaries, and is therefore too far removed to touch the daily concerns of one’s ordinary life. This is why, to preview the dilemma raised by the next question of the Summa, proofs of the existence of God typically fail to move an unbeliever to faith, and are therefore not the main objective of theology (especially of sacred doctrine), a point Aquinas foreshadows in Question 1, Article 8.59 Faith in God has implications that opinion and even belief do not. According to Berard Marthaler: In the New Testament, pistis [faith] is made to incorporate the meaning of several Hebrew words that suggest the trust and confidence one puts in a person or a person’s word because that person is judged trustworthy and dependable. Old Testament faith meant that the Israelites committed themselves to Yahweh and accepted with full confidence that the word spoken by God would be fulfilled. … In the Gospels, faith connotes the trust and confidence that arise from accepting the person of Jesus and his claims.60

Marthaler contrasts this dynamic Scriptural understanding of faith with the notion of “belief” we tend to hold today: Whereas to believe originally meant to hold dear and clearly implied a strong personal commitment based on trust, it now connotes an element of uncertainty, and even when addressed to a person—“I believe you”—it signals a minimum of trust and does not imply commitment. … “Faith” and “belief,” as defined in our modern dictionaries, are not synonymous. Faith is more than believing. It rests on the kind of certitude that is implied in the phrase “believing in.” Faith establishes a personal relationship. But strictly speaking one has faith—believes—only in a person.61

The proposition “I believe that God exists,” for example, is open to revision if it could be demonstrated through physical evidence that such a being could not exist. However, if one assumes that God does exist and asks the further question of the implications of believing in—having a personal relationship with—God, the  STh, I.1.8, reply.  Berard Marthaler, The Creed: The Apostolic Faith in Contemporary Theology,

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revised ed. (Mystic, CT: Twenty-Third Publications, 1993), 22. 61  Ibid., 23-4. Marthaler states the classic distinction of St. Augustine: “credere Deo (to believe on God’s authority), credere Deum [esse] (to believe that God exists), and credere in Deum (to believe in God). Only this last illustrates true faith. Medieval theologians repeated St. Augustine’s threefold distinction, with Aquinas asserting all three as aspects of the single act of faith” (24). See also Wilfred Cantwell Smith, Faith and Belief (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), esp. ch. 5, “Credo and the Roman Catholic Church,” 69-104 and ch. 6, “The English Word ‘Believe,’” 105-27.

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proposition now takes on great existential significance. Faith is therefore not an abstract concept, but is directly related to the believer’s concrete situation: An act of faith that does not take the world and the human condition seriously does not, in effect, accept God as the ground of all being. It implies that God is finite and an entity apart from the created universe. The locus of faith, like the proper place for prayer, is not a niche in a corner of one’s life, a space, however small or large, where “religious” activity and perhaps ethical decisions take place. Faith is more like the atmosphere, fresh air that permeates and enlivens every hour of individual and communal life, waking and sleeping, work and leisure, production and consumption. Where faith is concerned, there are no gaps. … In making an act of faith a person exercises a fundamental choice that defines one’s views about reality, about what is important and what is not, about what is moral and immoral. Faith is not an optional accessory one adds like a fireplace in a house or air-conditioning in an automobile.62

Marthaler’s distinction between “faith” and “belief” implies not only that faith plays an essential role in shaping Christian forms of life, but further, that faith provides a function unique with regard to proofs and demonstrations; in other words, it is not merely a replacement for proof. This function becomes clear in Article 8 as the misperception that faith versus reason evaporates. But Article 6 first makes a critical and rather bold move which further erodes the presumption that faith is opposed to reason by identifying sacred doctrine with wisdom, a step above and beyond Aquinas’ assertion in Article 5 that sacred doctrine is privy to certain and irrefutable knowledge. Not only is the knowledge of sacred doctrine certain, it is “wisdom above all human wisdom.”63 By moving from certainty to wisdom Aquinas has a very specific intent in mind; he not only further disintegrates the notion that demonstration or proof is essential to knowledge, but he replaces it with the method of study rooted in contemplation. By demoting the importance of demonstration as a mode of knowing, Aquinas is ready to reposition faith with regard to reason, and by implicitly raising the notion of contemplation, he moves us a step closer to the language of Scripture as the foundation for theology’s speech about God. The objection raised in Article 6 is that sacred doctrine cannot be the same as wisdom because “part of wisdom is to prove the principles of other sciences,” a task that we know sacred doctrine cannot do, for its principles are revealed in the most profound sense of the word. Aquinas fells the postulate that proving is a task of wisdom with one swift blow: wisdom does not prove, but arranges and judges. “The wise … arrange and judge … [using] the light of some higher principle” to judge lesser matters.64 Since sacred doctrine uses the highest principles, borrowed  Marthaler, The Creed, 27-8.  STh, I.1.6, reply. 64  Ibid. 62 63

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(that is, revealed) from the scientia Dei, then sacred doctrine is more wise than any other human science. The act of judging serves a very different end than that of proving something. To prove or disprove something is simply to say whether it is or is not true; to judge something is to evaluate its worth and prioritize its importance among other things. For example, in the well-known story, King Solomon discerns that the life of a newborn infant is more important to the babe’s true mother than her claim to it.65 He does not seek proof of motherhood through physical or biological evidence (even if he could have access to DNA testing, we assume he would not), because for him wisdom dictates that life has priority over possession, and that motherhood is more about nurturing children than being biologically related to them. In order to wisely judge the case before him he must evaluate and interpret the details presented to him. Wisdom, acting as judge, interprets and arranges knowledge. Recall in Article 5 that Aquinas discerns that sacred doctrine is above other sciences by virtue of its subject matter and objective. So, because of its elevated status, which rises to the level of wisdom, sacred doctrine has the task of judging other disciplines, interpreting and ordering them to its own end. This is why Aquinas, quoting Proverbs 9:3, “Wisdom sent her maids to invite to the tower,” asserts that “[o]ther sciences are called the handmaidens of this one [sacred doctrine].”66 Sacred doctrine derives its principles from divine knowledge, “through which, as through the highest wisdom, all our knowledge is set in order.”67 Remember, the Revelation upon which sacred doctrine is built differs in kind from other sciences in that it is concerned with a different type of knowledge—not knowledge about God, but knowing God, a pursuit that transcends the realm of ordinary experience to personal identification with our Divine Source—and therefore demonstration does not render the type of knowledge sought by sacred doctrine; demonstration yields knowledge about something in the world (that is, whether or not something exists, how it is structured, and so forth). We typically say, then, that the principles of sacred doctrine must be held by faith. But the fact that we are dealing with a different type of knowledge should in turn indicate that “faith” functions differently than demonstration. Aquinas’ discussion of wisdom implies this very point: since the principles of sacred doctrine are held by faith and not by demonstration, and since we are seeking something different than ordinary knowledge, then faith does not simply replace demonstration, but functions in a way proper to its own discipline. If sacred doctrine is wisdom, whose task it is to judge, then faith assists in the interpretation and arrangement of the knowledge obtained through sacred doctrine, and, by virtue of its higher subject matter, all knowledge obtained by the other human disciplines as well. Faith, then, is not opposed to demonstration, because it has a  1 Kg 3:16-27.  STh, I.1.5, sed contra. 67  STh, I.1.6, obj. 1. 65 66

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different function: demonstration provides proof; faith requires (and provides the means for) interpretation. Thus, if demonstrations reveal the truth or existence of something, then faith judges the importance and meaning of that something. With regard to sacred doctrine, believers assume God exists, and seek why and how God’s existence is relevant to their lives. But before moving on to articulate how faith manages this task, Aquinas wants to open up a specific avenue of learning for his reader, one proper to its task. The objection raised in Article 6 is that sacred doctrine cannot be the same as wisdom because it is “acquired by study, whereas wisdom is acquired by God’s inspiration.” The same presumption of which Aquinas desires to rid us inheres within this objection: that faith (given through grace, God’s inspiration) is opposed to the reasoning process (study). In order to achieve his end, Aquinas qualifies the term “judging”: There are two kinds of judging, one gained by virtue of the judge, who is the measure of the act, and the second due to knowledge gained through study, which does not originate within the one judging. The first type of judging stems from grace. The judging that belongs to sacred doctrine is “acquired by study, though its principles are obtained by revelation.”68 The second type of judging is likened to the abilities that a human judge must acquire through the active process of learning, say, law school and practice on the bench. However, the measure or standard used by sacred doctrine in the act of judging comes from elsewhere (outside of the theologian’s own power of reasoning), and this measure is revealed—that is, given by grace—in Scripture by God who is in reality the measure itself. If we recall the Dominican method of learning, there is no contradiction between the active life and the “graced” life—in other words, between study and contemplation. For we must now understand contemplation to involve every dimension of the religious life—and these dimensions are all ground in Scripture. Both types of judging are involved in sacred doctrine; the ultimate judge, God, lends the measure that the human judge, sacred doctrine (and by extension, the theologian and believer), “studies.” Sacred doctrine holds the place of wisdom both by grace and by study. We must therefore continually return to Scripture to discern how and why God gives meaning to our lives, for Scripture contains the original example for this expression. Far from hindering that Wisdom held by faith, study actively engages it through contemplation. This method of study is non-contrastive. It does not seek data or information, but attempts to arrange and prioritize the contents of faith (articles, doctrine) in such a way that the believer is led back towards God who is both transcendent and immanent. As Aquinas has indicated, since the scope of sacred doctrine comprises anything relating to God, all human sciences are servants to this end. Thus, sacred doctrine employs its method of study through contemplation in order to interpret and direct knowledge gained by human disciplines, whether specifically theological (as is metaphysics) or not (as are mathematics and music),  STh, I.1.6, obj. 3.

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towards its soteriological end. By identifying sacred doctrine with Wisdom, Aquinas has begun to raise our awareness regarding the role of faith in the reasoning process—faith provides a lens or filter through which reason may be directed towards God. In other words, faith refocuses the intellect in such a way that the unique Creator–creature relationship is preserved: we are not seeking an impersonal, distant deity, nor a god who is a superior version of creation, but a God who is the ground and source of creation. Article 8 finally makes this role of faith explicit by deconstructing the remaining perception of faith’s opposition to reason. Aquinas achieves this task by considering whether sacred doctrine is a matter of argument. Of course, the groundwork has already been laid, the main contentions already worked out; Aquinas only needs to re-articulate them. Aquinas highlights two misunderstandings about faith constituting the presumption that faith and reason are opposed: first, that faith can replace reason; second, that faith is a kind of knowledge above reason. Against these misperceptions, Aquinas suggests that faith employs reason in order to lend meaning to everything within the realm of human knowledge; nothing, even proofs of God’s existence and other information obtained through argument, is irrelevant. Faith allows knowledge from every discipline to participate in the believer’s journey back to its Source. The objection is raised that sacred doctrine is not a matter of argument, because it is based on the weakest form of proof, argument from authority, which, in the case of sacred doctrine must be held on faith. In contrast to this, the objection assumes, reason is the strongest form of argument. Following his previous articles, Aquinas reiterates that proof is not what sacred doctrine is after. However, human reasoning holds an important place in sacred doctrine’s objective; “sacred doctrine makes use even of human reason, not, indeed, to prove faith (for thereby the merit of faith would come to an end), but to make clear other things that are put forward in this doctrine.” Aquinas continues, since therefore grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it, natural reason should minister to faith as the natural bent of the will ministers to charity. Hence the Apostle says, “Bringing into captivity every understanding unto the obedience of Christ.”69

The presumption that faith and reason are opposed is uncovered and consequently deconstructed in three ways in this text. First, reason and faith have different functions. Reason is supposed to clarify the articles of faith, not prove them. Their truth and certainty are already assumed by virtue of the subject matter’s existential importance to the believer. In other words, it has already been judged that the subject matter of sacred doctrine has priority over obtaining other kinds of knowledge. Second, reason should therefore minister to faith, for faith possesses the superior function. In Aquinas’ analogy of the relationship between charity and  STh, I.1.8, obj. 2.

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the will, it is charity that holds the superior position, giving direction to the will. The will is not in competition with charity, but is a vehicle for it—after all, an act cannot be considered charitable if it is forced. However, if it is to comply with charity then an act must be performed for no other motivation than that dictated by charity: disinterested piety. Likewise, faith directs reason to its own end, not the other way around. For example, so-called proofs of God’s existence rarely lead to faith in God. Even belief in the existence of God does not necessarily lead to faith. Rather, God’s existence is assumed, and believers’ faith in God directs their reasons—as well as their actions—to the end of communion with God. Faith must direct reason, for any rumination or action that is directed by any other motivation than disinterested piety will not achieve faith’s intended goal. Finally, faith suffuses rational intellection about God with existential meaning, consequently transforming—that is, perfecting—reason and, by extension, the rational creature. Human reasoning about God is thus formed and informed by faith. To put it in Marthaler’s terms, faith provides the “atmosphere that permeates” our reflections about and actions with regard to God. This is very different than saying that human reasoning yields propositions or definitive knowledge about God. Such knowledge (if it could exist) would be neutral, it would not answer the questions of why God is meaningful and relevant to our lives and how we are united to God; but faith actually brings us towards the answer, by identifying with the Source itself. The end result of faith’s guidance is not information or data, but communion with the object of that knowledge. So not only are the two compatible with each other, but reason in fact depends upon faith; faith makes all things under God reasonable and the intellectual quest to know God possible. We cannot therefore say that faith replaces reason. In fact, we must say that faith calls for reason; it compels the process of intellection to move beyond itself and bring the believer with it. As Article 8 clarifies, the tenet, “faith perfects reason,” though a familiar phrase, is empty if we operate under the presumption that faith and reason are opposed. The misperception that faith replaces reason or is additional knowledge must be dispelled in order for a non-contrastive train of thought to develop. As Preller remarks: The popular notion that natural reason can take us part of the way toward God and thus supply us with a logical platform from which we can take a “leap of faith” fails to discern the locus of the problem. … The propositions of natural theology … postulate the “reality” of a meta-empirical being to which no significant and intelligible reference can be made.70

The concept of a “leap of faith” is contrary to a non-contrastive grasp of the Creator–human relationship because it breaks the continuity between faith  Preller, Divine Science, 182.

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and reason. In other words, a “leap of faith” tries to bypass rational intellection altogether; it supposes that we want to know “what God is” and because of our intellectual limitations, cannot do so naturally. “Faith” operating in “leap of faith” is understood as a kind of supernatural knowledge above natural knowledge. This faith-knowledge does not engage (let alone perfect) our intellect in a meaningful way. A non-contrastive understanding of the Creator–human relationship supposes that what we desire is “knowledge” that is existentially significant. A leap of faith cannot produce this end because it is not reasonable—it cannot supply our intellect with reasons why or how speech about God is relevant to our lives. Rather, faith must supply our rational intellection precisely with such “reasons” yet it can do so only if faith directs intellection about God towards its goal. Faith is a perfection [of reason] because it is not merely an extension … of the natural powers of the intellect. Faith perfects the language of natural reason by enabling it to do what it cannot do on its own—point toward the God of faith. … Faith, then, perfects the language of natural reason by giving to it a referential value that it cannot achieve on its own.71

Thus, faith judges (re-prioritizes, arranges) knowledge in such a way that “what” is interpreted as “why” and “how”; and “why” and “how” are the atmosphere that shapes and guides our knowledge, which terminates in our actions. This is the process whereby faith perfects reason. Non-contrastively speaking, faith judges knowing God above knowledge about God in level of importance. Knowledge about God (if indeed we can have any at all)72 as well as knowledge about human acts and the created world assists in the faith journey. As Preller puts it, “just as no object in the world can be judged intelligible without the natural light of reason, so also no particular object can be judged salvific without the supernatural light of faith.”73 Far from replacing reason, faith directs and transforms rational intellection to the human creature’s soteriological end. “The application of the light of faith to certain empirical events … makes present to the intellect nonempirical aspects of those same events, their soteriological efficacy.”74 The illumination of an event’s soteriological significance (for example, the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ) allows us to direct our thoughts and actions to that particular end. Furthermore, theological reflection directed by faith moves believers’ thoughts and actions in a properly non-contrastive direction, so that Christian forms of life may be better aligned with the Church’s faith claims. It is one task of theologians to ensure faith statements not be taken improperly, because the result is practices  Ibid., 181.  See STh, I.1.9, obj. 3 (“Magis enim manifestatur nobis de ipso quid non est quam

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quid est”) and I.3 (“Sed quia de Deo scire non possumus quid set sed quid non sit”). 73  Preller, Divine Science, 246. 74  Ibid., 252.

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which do not appropriately reflect the faith of the Church. A closer examination of the following two articles reveals that when we encounter speech about God that is, on the one hand, articulated using ordinary language (as it must be) but, on the other hand, fails to capture the depth of our religious experience (as it inevitably does) we should conclude such statements must be referring to a reality uniquely distinct from anything in our created experience—for our salvation lies “outside” of the world, that is, outside of our ordinary concerns of daily survival. Therefore, we can (and do) say more about God than we can know about God. Through Question 1’s articles, Aquinas lays the groundwork for the connection between speaking about God and knowing God. 3. Scripture and Speech about God If the mode of knowing employed by sacred doctrine (Revelation on the part of God and faith seeking understanding on the part of the theologian) is unique, then its mode of expression must also be unique. In Question 1, Article 7, Aquinas speaks generally of theology as the “treating” of God;75 his purpose here is to defend the inclusion of practical theology within the science of sacred doctrine. However, the etymology of the word “theo-logy,” God-talk, is also very relevant to Aquinas’ objective. Of course, “theo” refers to god or that which relates to god. But for Christianity, the second half of “theo-logy”—derived from logos (speech)—also has a particularly profound meaning, for we refer to the second person of the Trinity as the Logos or Word (who as incarnate is Jesus Christ), and liturgically we extend this reference to holy Scripture as the “Word of God.” Furthermore, scriptural interpretation of Logos is often Wisdom, and therefore Aquinas’ identification in Article 6 of sacred doctrine with “wisdom above all human wisdom” is especially ingenious: speaking about God (theologizing) is connected to divine Wisdom, which in its perfected end is beatific vision, a participating in God’s self-knowledge—and even in this life, as the Song of Songs poetically attests, we “know” God through an inchoate awareness as the one we must seek and with whom we yearn to be reunited. The essential connection of scriptural language to Christian theology is in no way lost on Aquinas. Aquinas asserts not only that Scripture is the primary source for sacred doctrine, but that the language Scripture employs, far from being a hindrance, is particularly appropriate to the theologian’s ultimate purpose of leading others towards God. It may even be inferred that Aquinas believes one cannot really do theology without Scripture and its poetical language, and thus there is no true theology other than sacred doctrine.76 The conclusion that sacred  STh, I.1.7, reply.  Rogers emphasizes the Christo-centric character of the Summa, easily

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overlooked unless one pays attention to the structure and implicit references in Question 1 (Thomas Aquinas and Karl Barth, 58-70). Christian theology cannot be solely based on metaphysics, because metaphysics is not compelled to consider the Word incarnate.

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doctrine, by virtue of its divinely-inspired source, is the only true Christian theology is justified by the last two articles of Aquinas’ first question. These articles move from the nature, scope, and content of sacred doctrine to its proper mode of expression. Article 9 considers whether holy Scripture should use metaphors, and Article 10 considers whether a word in Scripture may have several senses. Aquinas establishes the place of Scripture as the primary source for sacred doctrine in Article 1, so we must assume Article 9—whether Scripture employs metaphors—extends to the question of whether sacred doctrine itself should employ or rely on any source using language in such an imprecise and indirect manner; indeed, as stated earlier, there is even some question as to whether Aquinas equates sacred doctrine with Scripture in this article.77 But, as Article 10 explains, there is at least one essential distinction between the language of sacred doctrine and the language of Scripture, and that is the place of the so-called “spiritual senses,” which exist only in Scripture, thus eliminating any true equating of the Scripture and sacred doctrine. This apparent inconsistency in Article 9 between Aquinas’ use of Scripture and sacred doctrine does, however, implicitly direct us to the underlying issue, which takes a more concrete form when we get to Question 13. There we find Aquinas’ explicit treatment of analogy, which tackles how we can refer to God at all, be it in a Scriptural context or in a theological one, without violating either God’s transcendence or God’s immanence. As the first chapter of this book indicates, the problem with religious language is in the tendency to believe theologians are somehow able to translate the poetical language of Scripture into concrete propositions (for example, articles of faith, doctrine), and in so doing, allow us to make direct references to or statements about God. Aquinas tells us straight out in Article 9 that it is not possible for theology to translate the language of Scripture into purely non-metaphorical language. Furthermore, all of the articles leading up to Articles 9 and 10 have consistently maintained that is not what sacred doctrine intends to do; while sacred doctrine is by necessity expressed in a much more “discursive” manner than its primary source, Scripture, the purpose of this science is not to define, describe, or demonstrate God.78 The task of theology is to render concrete our conceptions of God, but for sacred doctrine not in order to define what God is—rather, to exercise our skills of extending ordinary language beyond itself when referring to the Divine, and thus pave a pathway for faith seeking understanding to proceed. The skill of extending language continually raises our awareness that the One we seek is not a being in the universe or part of the universe, but One who—while radically transcending In Article 7, sacred doctrine is one science that treats not only the divine, but all matters relating to the divine, including human “things and signs; or the works of salvation; or the whole Christ, as the head and members.” 77  See, for example, Preller, Divine Science, 232. 78  See, for example, Chenu, Is Theology a Science?, 74-5.

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the created world—is also intimately present within it. Through speaking about God in such a way that this awareness develops, one is imperceptibly drawn closer to knowing God, a knowledge that respects, even intensifies, a sense of God’s incomprehensible Mystery. The objections to Article 9 highlight the misperception that the purpose of sacred doctrine is translating Scripture into propositions describing the Divine. The first two objections allege metaphorical language is not fitting for a primary source of theology, first because metaphor is the mode of expression proper to poetry, and second because this type of language obscures truth, contrary to the intent of sacred doctrine which is to make truth clear. A further objection is offered that, assuming we could accept metaphorical language for doing theology, we should at least use representations taken from higher creatures, “yet in Scripture representations are often taken from the lower creatures.” Aquinas answers all of these objections by referring to sacred doctrine’s true task: Divine Revelation does not allow those “within whom revelation is made” to rest in metaphors, “but raises them to the knowledge of truths; and through those to whom the revelation has been made others also may receive instruction in these matters.”79 Again, as in previous articles, the role of the intellect does not contradict but serves faith, for “[t]he very hiding of truth in figures is useful for the exercise of thoughtful minds.”80 Therefore, the use of metaphorical language is valuable to theology, both in “exercising” believers on their journey of faith and in “elevating” theologians and believers to Divine truth. We must infer, however, that when Aquinas refers to the “knowledge of truths,” he does not mean discursive knowledge about God, but the kind of knowledge that cleaves the believer to God—a type of knowledge that cannot be realized directly in this life.81 Furthermore, as Eckhart will better express for us than does Aquinas, the type of knowledge attained through sacred doctrine is never intended, even in the “after-life,” for any kind of discursive expression. When the blessed creature is reunited with its ultimate Source and End, there is no need at all for propositions; for, detached from all creaturely limitations, the very function of speech—to bring the hearer closer to that subject which is being addressed—is now altogether vanquished. The creature and Creator now enjoy an identity of distinction without separation. Therefore, there is no subject about which to speak. For instance, in one of his German works, Eckhart queries: But now I ask: “What is the prayer of a heart that has detachment?” And to answer it I say that purity in detachment does not know how to pray … [A] heart

 STh, I.1.9, obj. 2.  Ibid. 81  According to Preller, Aquinas ordinarily uses “scire” for “know,” and never in 79 80

connection with cognitions of God through natural reason. Cognito and cognoscere are the broadest possible generic terms, referring to any state of mind connected with the apprehension of reality (Divine Science, 32).

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in detachment asks for nothing, nor has it anything of which it would gladly be free. … And as the soul attains this, it loses its name and it draws God into itself, so that in itself it becomes nothing.82

For Eckhart, when the transcendent-yet-immanent Creator and the creature are reunited, even the medium of language disappears, for it no longer has a purpose. Not only the assertions, claims, and statements which are expressed by propositions, but even prayer—even naming—disappears, so intimate and personal a knowing is that to which the restless soul aspires. In order to express such an immediate sense of the Creator–creature relationship, Eckhart stretches language as far as he possibly can: to the extent of paradox. However, before Eckhart’s bold language of “detachment” can be appreciated and grasped in the deeply orthodox way intended, we must come to realize by its very nature (and by necessity, in this life) theology calls for a distinct mode of speaking which inevitably remains “metaphorical” in a very broad sense of the word. The problem then becomes: how are we able to navigate around the difficulties inherent to such imprecise language? The answer to which Aquinas directs us lies in Question 13: through analogical language-use. But in Question 1, Article 9 he foreshadows and prepares his readers for his understanding of analogy by indicating the use of ordinary language in preserving God’s unique distinction. Responding to the objections that similitudes (such as metaphor) proper to poetry, the lowest science, obscure truth and are unfitting for the highest human science, Aquinas replies that due to the capacity of the human intellect which relies on sensible objects, spiritual truths must be expressed verbally through figures of corporeal things; therefore metaphor is “both necessary and useful.” To cut to the chase, that is all that we have. We do not have a special language reserved for divinity (not that it would help if we did). But Aquinas then goes a step further and takes this answer as a springboard for his true target, the objection that, given we have no choice but to use metaphorical language, representations of the Divine ought to be taken from higher rather than lower creatures. Aquinas’ reply is key: As Dionysus says, it is more fitting that divine truths should be expounded under the figure of less noble than of nobler bodies …. Firstly, because thereby men’s minds are the better preserved from error. For then it is clear that these things are not literal descriptions of divine truths, which might have been open to doubt had they been expressed under the figure of nobler bodies, especially for those who could think of nothing nobler than bodies. Secondly, because this is more befitting the knowledge of God that we have in this life. For what He is not is clearer to us than what He is. Therefore similitudes drawn from things farthest away from God form within us a truer estimate that God is above whatsoever we may say or think of Him.83

 On Detachment (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 292).  STh, I.1.9, reply obj. 3.

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The most obvious conclusion drawn from this text is that Aquinas wishes to maintain a primarily negative theology, especially evident in the statement that “what God is not” is clearer to us in this life than “what God is,” a claim Aquinas will reiterate in Question 3. However, Aquinas in fact exposes in this text an insidious underlying predisposition—of which he may have thought Dionysus to be instinctually aware—that is, the possibility for believers to understand references made to God in their ordinary sense, which would inevitably render God another being in the universe. To follow Aquinas’ example, if we use the most noble figure we can think of to refer to God, we are by admission saying that God is or is like the greatest thing in the universe. This implies some proportion between God and created beings, which transgresses God’s radical transcendence from the world. The use of less noble figures (and the less noble the better), on the other hand, preserves God’s unique distinction: using references that are almost ridiculously contrary to any proportional notion between the Creator and creatures draws attention to the fact that we are employing ordinary language in an extraordinary way, thus exercising our skills in extending human language to the Divine. Article 10 establishes Scripture as the exemplar of flexible language-use. That a text in Scripture may have several different but related senses, some of which are distinct to Scripture, functions first to set Scripture apart as uniquely appropriate for theology, and implicitly points to the flexibility of human language—and human language-users—in transcending language’s limitations to make meaningful and existentially significant references to God. Ultimately, Aquinas’ discussion of the various senses of Scripture assists in developing a non-contrastive understanding of religious language, because we learn that even a so-called “literal” sense has the capacity to refer to and open the believer to a profound reality inaccessible through a “propositional” understanding of language-use. In a propositional understanding of language, we perceive there to exist (mistakenly) virtually a one-to-one correspondence between the words used and the reality to which they refer; in a non-contrastive understanding of language, we know first of all there is always some discrepancy between a reality and the verbal expression of it, and second, when that reality is God, the words we use refer to a reality distinct from any other thing and therefore the correspondence between the two is incomprehensible.84 The hearer must rely on the verbal and non-verbal context surrounding speech about God in order to discern its meaning—that is, to make the connection between the words and the reality to which they refer. Article 10 opens with the objection that a word in Scripture cannot have several senses: first, because confusion and deception will result, and second, because all force of argument will be destroyed. From this, the precept is advanced that “Scripture ought to be able to state truth without fallacy.” By this time it should come as no surprise that Aquinas attacks not the precept but its underlying 84  God’s “incomprehensibility” does not negate God’s intelligibility. God’s incomprehensibility provides the basis for intelligibility. This will be discussed later in the book.

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presumption, which in this objection is that in order for truth to be stated without fallacy, it must be stated in a direct and straightforward manner—in other words, propositionally. The issue of Scripture as an authoritative source for argument has already been resolved: Scripture is only effective for argument if the opponent holds to at least some of the articles of faith. Argument is mainly used to bring the opponent into agreement with other tenets of faith; belief in the existence of God and the authority of Scripture is presupposed.85 So, in this case, the mode of argument is in question, and as Aquinas has established through earlier articles, due to the subject matter of sacred doctrine and our limited intellectual access to it, we have no direct recourse and must rely on the flexibility inherent in poetical language in order to perceive the truth towards which we strive. Scripture is the unique source for Christian theology, and due to its inclusion of “metaphorical” or poetical language, Christian tradition has assigned several “senses” or ways of interpreting it, generally: historical or literal, allegorical, tropological, or moral, and anagogical. Aquinas further points out that there are additions to this categorization, which include etiological and parabolical. The objections addressed in Article 10 warrant sifting through all these senses to ascertain which one sense is proper for sacred doctrine’s purpose. From the conditions of the objection it seems that this task is fairly straightforward: the prevailing sense must be the one that does not produce confusion or deception, and must be able to articulate the truth. Aquinas’ response to the objection that the truth cannot be articulated through more than one sense is based upon a distinction between the “literal” sense and the “spiritual” sense. The “literal” sense, sometimes referred to as the “historical” sense, is the meaning that is signified by the word, and the “spiritual” sense is a further signification indicated by the thing itself; according to Aquinas, the spiritual sense is “that signification whereby things signified by words have themselves also a signification.”86 The spiritual sense has a threefold division: the allegorical, wherein things of the “Old Law” or the Hebrew Scriptures prefigure the “New Law” or Christian Scripture; the moral, wherein things done in Christ or which signify Christ are types of what we ought to do; and the anagogical, wherein things signify “what relates to eternal glory.”87 Although written by human hands, ultimately God is the author of Scripture in its entirety. But, while a human author may intend the literal sense of a word or text, the Holy Spirit alone is responsible for the spiritual sense(s).88 Therefore,  STh, I.1.8, reply.  STh, I.1.10, reply. 87  Ibid. 88  There is considerable debate over Aquinas’ definition of the literal sense. 85 86

See Robert Kennedy, “Thomas Aquinas and the Literal Sense of Scripture” (PhD Diss., University of Notre Dame, 1985); Mark Johnson, “Another Look at the Plurality of the Literal Sense,” Medieval Philosophy and Theology 2 (1992): 117-41; John Boyle, “Saint Thomas and Sacred Scripture,” Pro Ecclesia 4 (1995): 92-104; Beryl Smalley,

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the spiritual sense is found only in Scripture; it is a mode of expression proper to Scripture alone, rendering it a unique authority for the divine science. On the other hand, the literal sense has a priority over the spiritual senses, and this for three reasons: first, the spiritual senses are “founded” or based on the literal sense, thus putting all the senses in relation to each other (and the spiritual in a relation of dependence to the literal); second, the literal sense is the only one from which argument can be drawn; and third, because “nothing necessary to faith is contained under the spiritual sense which is not elsewhere put forward by the Scripture in its literal sense.”89 And so it appears clear that the literal sense wins out as the primary sense to be employed by sacred doctrine, for it seems to lead to the most forthright and direct interpretation. However, Aquinas is not through with the matter for he goes on to qualify the “literal” sense in such a way that presumes the inherent flexibility of both human language and human language-users. He responds that the literal sense includes history, etiology, analogy, and parable. For Aquinas, the historical sense is “whenever anything is simply related,” the etiological sense, “when its cause is assigned,” the analogical sense “whenever the truth of one text of Scripture is shown not to contradict the truth of another,”90 and the parabolical sense, wherein a word signifies something figuratively. To explain how parabolic language fits into the literal sense, Aquinas uses the example of Scripture’s reference to God’s arm: “when Scripture speaks of God’s arm, the literal sense is not that God has such a member, but only what is signified by this member, namely, operative power.”91 Far from being direct and straightforward, the literal sense still relies on the context of the passage and the ability of the human reader to perceive and even creatively interpret the meaning of the words. Among the expressions of the literal sense, only the historical appears to relate a “plain” fact. Other types of language-use, especially parabolic, indicate that neither religious nor theological language can escape being to some extent metaphorical. Consequently, we cannot equate the “literal” sense with propositional statements about God. The metaphorical nature of theological and religious language allows for a non-contrastive perception of the Creator–creature relationship, as well as the creature’s journey back to its Source, to develop. According to Janet Martin The Study of the Bible in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Blackwell, 1983); and Wilhelus Gerhard Bonifatus Maria Valkenberg, Did Not our Hearts Burn? Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Utrecht: Thomas Instituut, 1990). 89  STh, I.1.10, obj. 1. 90  Aquinas does not give an example of what he means by “the truth of one text … not [contradicting] the truth of another.” However, inferring from the non-contrastive exercise following Questions 1-13, he may include in the “analogical” sense texts that appear paradoxical, such as those that refer to Christ’s dying as a means to everlasting life. When such texts are explicated, they are found not to be contradictory but complimentary and essential to expressing a more profound truth than one text alone could articulate. 91  STh, I.1.10, obj. 3.

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Soskice, a metaphor is not merely “ornamental”—that is, a prettier way to say the same thing (although it can be). More importantly, metaphors can be used to expand one’s understanding: [M]etaphor goes beyond the role of ornament. … The purpose of … metaphor is both to cast up and organize a network of associations. A good metaphor may … be … a new vision, the birth of a new understanding, a new referential access. A strong metaphor compels new possibilities of vision.92

Unlike propositional language, where the intent is a one-to-one correspondence, metaphorical language strives to go beyond, expressing something to which the words themselves do not (and cannot) exactly correspond. When used with this intent, metaphor “suggests new categories of interpretation and hypothesizes new entities, states of affairs, and causal relations.”93 Through metaphor, language transcends its own limitations and increases the language-users’ understanding by developing a new horizon in which to view life. From this perspective, statements about God are not confined to propositions comparing and contrasting God with things in the world. Such statements permeate every aspect of ordinary living with salvific meaning. Soskice’s description of metaphor’s potential resonates well with Aquinas’ attempt to increase his student’s skill in using ordinary language in an extraordinary way to refer to God. Soskice confirms that in order for metaphors to go beyond ornamentation, the context must be taken into consideration.94 As we have seen, context is vitally important to Aquinas’ literal sense, which includes metaphorical language. Referring to Aquinas’ last article of Question 1, Soskice contends that: The mutability of literal senses does pose a problem for some accounts of metaphor, for if one assumes that literal senses and literal truth conditions can readily be assigned to words and sentences independent of contexts of use, then inability to specify precise literal senses of terms will block any exhaustive description of a natural language.95

If “literal” and “propositional” are equated, consequently the literal is opposed to the metaphorical, because propositional language expects a one-to-one correspondence, which metaphor does not do. Language-users expecting such a correspondence will not be able to move forward in their search to refer meaningfully to that which is incomprehensible. Indeed, they cannot really appreciate the implications of an Incomprehensible Reality.

 Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language, 57-8.  Ibid., 62. 94  Ibid., 21. 95  Ibid., 84. 92 93

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The context of the literal sense is not only essential to derive its intended meaning, but also to grasp that the Divine reality to which the term refers is not being contrasted or compared to anything in the world. For example, to know that God’s “arm” literally refers to God’s operative power and not to some bodily appendage, one must know that God is incorporeal, as is revealed in other Scriptural texts. In this context, the use of “arm” to express an incorporeal reality tips the audience off that the writer is using ordinary language in an extraordinary way. As Aquinas attests, similes drawn from things farthest away from God prevent us from perceiving God to be like anything noble in the universe, thereby forming an awareness “that God is above whatsoever we may say or think of Him.” Furthermore, Soskice’s assertion that metaphorical language has the potential to increase understanding in the language-user reveals the link between speaking about God and knowing God; this is the end to which Aquinas directs his readers in Question 1 of the Summa. For Soskice, metaphorical language-use allows novel visions and referential access to emerge. For Aquinas, this is the task of faith in perfecting reason. As Marthaler expresses it, faith is the “opening up of a new vision of reality,” a grace “whereby human potentialities are caught up and given a new dimension by God acting on the person.”96 Through the lens of faith, all things, acts, and knowledge are imbued with new existential significance. Faith and metaphor are inextricably bound to one another in the process: Faith is the mode of knowing on the part of the believer; metaphor (as Aquinas uses it, in the broadest sense of the term) is the proper mode of expression allowing for the possibility of knowing to progress. Aquinas broaches the relation between “metaphorical” and “literal” references to God again in Question 13, for asserting metaphorical language to be appropriate for sacred doctrine (as Aquinas does in Question 1) does not in itself exhaust—in fact, does not satisfy—the requirements for a non-contrastive grasp of religious language. A non-contrastive grasp of religious language demands the Creator’s unique distinction, transcendence-in-immanence, be preserved in order for Christian forms of life to conform to Christian tradition and its faith assertions. Strictly employed, metaphor tends towards a univocal understanding of the Creator–creature relationship, because these metaphors refer properly to creatures and appear to highlight a likeness between the Creator and creature. Thus, in order to allow for the range of flexibility required for a non-contrastive interpretation, metaphor must be taken to encompass all types of poetical language-use, a practice duly carried out by our Master Eckhart. Eckhart is indebted to Aquinas for attending to this non-contrastive dimension manifested throughout Eckhart’s work, for in his Summa Aquinas provides his successors with a rigorous exercise in religious language-use. As Question 13 illustrates, all linguistic applications (even analogy) fail to capture the Divine; therefore, we must effectively qualify our speech about God by finding ways to  Marthaler, The Creed, 22.

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call attention to the fact that we are not applying our language in an ordinary way when referring to the Divine. But in order to really absorb this lesson, we must first work our way through the preceding questions, which offer instructions on how to use language non-contrastively. Characteristic of Aquinas, he makes use of every source at his disposal to lead his students onward in their vocation of faith seeking understanding; and in this case—given the emerging importance of Aristotelian philosophy in his order as well as in the university—Aquinas employs the language of metaphysics, modifying it to achieve his pedagogical end.

Chapter 4

Thomas Aquinas: From “Proof” to Analogy Question 1 orients us towards theology’s proper end: deepening awareness of that communion where God’s true incomprehensibility is experienced. An important move here is to re-vision faith as reason’s counselor and guide rather than its opposite, and thus distinguish this theology—sacred doctrine—from metaphysics, while repositioning metaphysics to its service (“faith seeking understanding”). Since metaphysics seeks knowledge about God’s existence and nature, however, metaphysics seems at cross purposes with sacred doctrine, because for sacred doctrine to define God would be to conceive God as some sort of creature and thereby compromising the God of Scripture and of Christian Tradition: the intimate Creator who is Incomprehensible Source, Sustainer, and End of all creatures. If metaphysics is to play a role in faith seeking understanding, Aquinas must correct its tendency towards “defining” God. He initiates his corrective in Question 1 by pointing out that all theological language, by its nature, is metaphorical. While not yet qualifying what “metaphorical” includes, Aquinas clearly intends to emphasize the flexibility of even the most mundane language to refer, indirectly, to the Divine.1 He asserts that even elevated language refers but indirectly to God, and here we must exercise enormous caution; better yet, we should use the lowest of language to refer to God rather than risk seeing God as some noble creature.2 Aquinas borrows from Dionysius to justify this restraint: “what [God] is not is clearer to us than what He is.” Aquinas takes most seriously Dionysius’ preference for negative interpretations of speech about God, repeating the caution at both the opening of Question 2 (on the existence of God) and the opening of Question 3 (on the simplicity of God). We must conclude that besides more flexibility in religious language-use, Aquinas promotes a thoroughly negative approach to theology. But simple negation is as perilous to Aquinas as positive language-use about God, because—as Kathryn Tanner points out—this cuts off the immediacy of God’s creative power and God’s intimately permeating presence.3 Negative interpretations tend to emphasize the Creator’s remotion rather than the Creator’s presence to creatures. For a negative interpretation of religious language to remain within the confines of orthodoxy, in speaking of God we must find a way to preserve God’s immanence as well as God’s transcendence.  See STh, I.1.9.  Ibid., reply obj. 3. 3  Tanner, God and Creation, 45-6. 1 2

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“Non-contrastive” language—language fostering awareness that God is neither in opposition to nor identified with the world—is essential to overcoming the obstacles inherent to religious language-use. In Question 13, Aquinas provides his concept of “analogy” as a linguistic tool protecting the Creator’s transcendence-inimmanence. “Analogy” provides a “middle way” between univocal and equivocal understandings of the Creator–creature relationship. This “middle way” fosters a non-contrastive awareness of the Divine. However, “analogy” in and of itself is inadequate to accomplish Aquinas’ desire for his students, because he does not want simply to describe the relationship between Creator and creature, but to assist in their faith journey and train them to help others in theirs. “Analogy” too easily becomes another definition by which to pin God down. But Aquinas will not let his students off so easily, because in the questions leading up to his treatment of analogy Aquinas carefully qualifies the language of God-talk such that, despite saying a lot about God, in the end, the only thing we can declare—positively—is that we can say more than we know about God. On the other hand, our appreciation of God’s true incomprehensibility increases enormously, especially our discernment of God’s profound and penetrating presence to us. Thus, Aquinas’ treatment of analogy, exercised as religious language-use through the previous questions, is not only non-contrastive but overcomes problems created by either positive or negative interpretations of God language. Aquinas transforms non-contrastive language by providing a way for negative theology to go beyond verbal cessation to deepening knowledge. “Deepening knowledge,” does not mean any kind of “information” about God, but rather, appreciation and awareness of God’s presence, and further, foretaste of the ultimate communion with the intimate and personal Creator for which the soul longs. The Summa does not end with a lesson on the most proper way to speak about God—this is only the beginning of Aquinas’ treatise. The Summa’s second part moves into theology’s practical concerns, centered on the human creature’s action, and finally in his third part, the movement of the human creature “back towards” its Source, accomplished through Jesus Christ and the work of the Holy Spirit, concretely realized in sacraments and other Christian forms of life. However, for these to be effective channels of grace, they must be grounded in awareness of the Creator’s unique relationship of transcendence-in-immanence to creation. This discernment is developed through faith seeking understanding, and, for Aquinas, this undertaking will be more fruitful if the believer becomes skilled in analogical language-use. This chapter considers how Aquinas moves us from a static concept of “analogy,” used to describe the relationship between the Creator and creatures, to a dynamic realization of how language can be used to deepen awareness of God’s incomprehensibility, manifest in the practical and doctrinal theology constituting Christian forms of life. Question 2, considering God’s existence, lays out the elements making up Aquinas’ metaphysics, and begins maneuvering to preserve God’s unique distinction, effectively allowing God to remain truly

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incomprehensible. In Questions 3-11, considering God’s nature, Aquinas uses his metaphysics to exercise the reader in non-contrastive language-use. Questions 12-13 take the reader beyond non-contrastive language by linking how we attain knowledge concerning God to how we speak of God, providing an avenue for deepening awareness of God’s incomprehensibility and the possibilities of communion with our Source and End. A. Question 2: The Necessity of Demonstrating God Article 1: Whether the Existence of God is Self-Evident Article 2: Whether it is Demonstrable Article 3: Whether God Exists Having already carefully reoriented the relationship of faith to reason from one where faith opposes or replaces natural reason to one where faith guides and provides the existential (and eschatalogical) horizon for reason, it seems puzzling that Aquinas immediately turns in Question 2 to proving the existence of God; because Question 1 seems to call into question both the necessity and the value—as well as the effectiveness—of such argumentation. Recall the objections of Question 1, Article 8 drawing upon the association of natural reason and argumentation: since sacred doctrine borrows its first principles from the scientia Dei, whose principles cannot be demonstrated, they must be taken on authority; and authority, the objection asserts, “is the weakest form of proof.”4 Aquinas’ response re-affirms sacred doctrine’s superiority despite its own inability to prove its principles (not part of its task). Rather, argumentation based on the highest authority—divine revelation—is stronger than argumentation based on reason, provided that “the opponent admits some at least of the truths obtained through divine revelation.”5 Indeed, sacred doctrine employs argumentation based on natural reason, not to prove matters of faith, but to clarify the content of faith, which in Christianity is Jesus Christ’s saving significance: living transformed lives in light of the life, death, and resurrection of God-become-human. This implies, does it not, that God’s existence is assumed as a matter of faith, so how can it be sacred doctrine’s task to prove it so? After all, how and why God’s existence pertains to salvation is the concern of sacred doctrine; whether God exists is a question more relevant to metaphysics, whose subject matter is being.6 However, before Aquinas  STh, I.8, obj. 2.  Ibid., answer, and reply obj. 1 and 2. 6  For example, while Jesus’ miracles are often read as proof of divinity, their real 4 5

significance lies in associating God’s power to salvation: power to heal is the power to save. Seeing miracles as proof of divinity misses the point. In his own time, anyone intent on debunking Jesus could explain his miracles as trickery. Witness of his miracles held the real message: how he transformed the person healed and those to whom the healed proclaimed.

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proceeds with his treatise on how humanity specifically obtains its pre-ordained goal, Aquinas takes up the thesis of God’s being—that is, God’s existence and nature—virtually inviting a philosophical approach to his whole work. This difficulty may be why many scholars tend to analyze the Summa as a work of metaphysics rather than as a work of sacred doctrine.7 Because Question 2 takes up the fact of God’s existence, and those questions immediately following it examine the nature of that existence, it might seem Aquinas intends his Summa to be a presentation of his metaphysics. It is therefore easy to separate this first part of the Summa from its introductory first question as well as its more pastoral second part and doctrinal third part. However, this puts Aquinas into a precarious position regarding his philosophical competency, especially in modern thought, which incorporates a radically different cosmology and world view than that to which Aquinas was privy. Many scholars unfortunately take their starting point from Aquinas’ second question, after perhaps giving a passing nod to his first question on sacred doctrine as a matter of politeness. Undeniably, at first glance there seems to be a discontinuity between Questions 1 and 2, compelling the reader to choose one approach over the other (sacred doctrine or metaphysics). But some scholars force the association of metaphysics with the Summa even further by extracting Question 2, not only from Question 1, but from the Summa itself, as if the Summa was a catalog of metaphysical topics such as “existence” and “attributes.”8 Furthermore, much of the scholarship on Question 2 considers only the answer to Article 3, the “Five Ways” of proving God’s existence, apart even from its preceding articles and surrounding text. Having sequestered the Five Ways from any distracting contextual elements, the proofs are considered on their own merits. Thus Question 2 has become a topic of controversy among scholars with regard to its place and function in the Summa as well as the soundness of Aquinas’ proofs. Leo Elders, for example, asks: “Do we have the right to isolate the Five Ways in I 2, 3 from their theological context and consider this passus merely from a philosophical point of view?”9 His answer is emphatically, “yes,” based upon the article immediately preceding the proofs which concludes that God’s existence is a preamble of faith rather than an article of faith, and therefore falls within 7  Anthony Kenny, The Five Ways: St. Thomas Aquinas’ Proofs of God’s Existence (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1969); John F.X. Knasas, The Preface to Thomistic Metaphysics: A Contribution to the Neo-Thomist Debate on the Start of Metaphysics (New York: Peter Lang, 1990). 8  Kenny and Knasas analyze the Five Ways without considering Question 1. Knasas ties the Five Ways to other works of Aquinas, asserting they can only be understood as intended by Aquinas—metaphysically—in the context of previous works such as Commentary on the Sentences, De Ente et Essentia, De Princiipiis Naturae, and so on. See Knasas, The Preface to Thomistic Metaphysics, 127. 9  Leo Elders, The Philosophical Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1990), 83.

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the allowance of natural reason (meaning it may be taken on faith but can be demonstrated by reason)—although later he checks himself by acknowledging scriptural authority provides the pretext for the demonstrations.10 But this concession carries more weight than Elders cares to give it. Not surprisingly, his interest in Question 2, and the Five Ways particularly, concerns its contribution to Aquinas’ metaphysics. Separating the Five Ways from its context consequently reveals the proofs’ weaknesses, especially the glaring defect, philosophically speaking, common to them all: each ultimately assumes the God as Creator at the outset in order to establish the existence of the being concluded at the end of the demonstration. Anthony Kenny, maintaining Aquinas intended his Five Ways to be taken “as seriously as he meant any other philosophical proof,”11 argues that they fail principally because they cannot be separated from the medieval cosmology providing the background for each proof. This cosmology rests on the underlying presumption that the order of the universe reflects the design and intelligence of God, seen in the inherent tendency for created things to act for an end; cosmological arguments are, for this reason, often referred to as arguments from design or teleological arguments. Kenny is adamant that Aquinas’ “proofs” are unacceptable, not only because the cosmology upon which he bases his proofs has been radically revised, but more importantly because arguments from design or teleology are logically invalid: they are tautological. Victor Preller, taking the proofs as tangential, “even dangerous” to Aquinas’ doctrine, questions the assumption of scholars that Aquinas presented the Five Ways as expressions of his own philosophical understanding of God’s existence. Indeed, labeling Aquinas’ arguments as “cosmological” would tie God too closely to creation to “satisfy Christian demands for his ‘otherness’ or transcendence.”12 Preller accepts the unsoundness of the cosmological argument, insisting Aquinas’ Five Ways must be radically re-read in light of the questions which immediately follow it. He reproaches, [i]f we take the proofs of the existence of God to be convincing forms of argumentation, we may claim to know that the natures of things, as they really are in their own esse, derive from “forms” inherent in the “intellect” of an “intentional being.”13

We know by now, of course, that Aquinas immediately asserts at the opening of Question 3 that we cannot know the essence of God, a warning he forecasts even  Ibid., 131.  Kenny, Five Ways, 1. 12  Preller, Divine Science, 108. Preller claims causal regress arguments lose a necessary 10 11

sense of God’s transcendence precisely because they entail ordinary understandings of “causality.” 13  Ibid., 168.

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earlier, in his prelude to Question 2: “Considering the Divine Essence, we must consider: 1) Whether God exists?; 2) The manner of His Existence, or, rather, what is not the manner of His existence.” Preller insists Aquinas intends his readers to take him seriously that we cannot know “what God is”; it would therefore seem contradictory to attempt to prove that God exists14—unless, for Aquinas, God’s existence is just as much a part of this negative theology as God’s essence. And, as we see in his outline of the Prima pars, Aquinas includes the question of God’s existence under consideration of God’s essence. Therefore, focusing on Question 2’s proofs of God’s existence jeopardizes a negative reading of the whole section. Preller indicates that, far from proving God’s existence through several versions of the cosmological argument, Aquinas intends just the opposite: he intended to posit in existence an unknown entity whose very relationship to the world is equally unknown. … Aquinas’ intention in quoting the proofs can be understood only … in the light of the immediately succeeding questions in which the intelligibility of God is defined in negative terms.

What then can we make of Aquinas’ presentation of the Five Ways supposedly proving God’s existence, or his inclusion at all of such a question in his Summa—a work Aquinas claims in his preface as well as in Question 1 to be directed towards sacred doctrine? Certainly the content of the arguments and also much of the content of the following questions makes use of metaphysical principles; furthermore, the arguments’ form is definitely recognizable as “cosmological.” How is it possible to understand these arguments in light of the supposedly negative theology Aquinas posits for speaking about God’s essence? W.J. Hankey ascertains that the Five Ways “do more than indicate that he is, they involve insight into the divine essence.”15 Hankey, like Preller, sees Question 2 closely tied to the following questions about God’s nature; in fact, Question 2 provides a plan for how Aquinas is going to proceed in Questions 3-11. If this is the case, we must pay attention to how Aquinas introduces and lays out the metaphysics he uses to teach us how to speak about God. Furthermore, if the Five Ways intend to do more than supply proofs, it is important to ask how the demonstrations work together—how their arrangement prepares for the proceeding questions. Given this possibility, it is likely that, since each demonstration is obviously fraught with weakness on its own, there may be something in their organic unity into which Aquinas wants to draw his readers. Finally, granting an essential link between Question 2 and those which follow, it is certainly valid to expect that the question of God’s existence is inextricable from the context of faith elaborated in the Summa’s opening question. As we are introduced to Question 2, it is clear Aquinas intends his treatment of God’s existence to flow directly from his explication on the method and aim of sacred  Ibid., 135.  Hankey, God in Himself, 73 (emphasis mine).

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doctrine, because he opens not only with explicit reference to Question 1, but also to the plan of his Summa as a whole: Because the chief aim of sacred doctrine is to teach the knowledge of God, not only as He is in Himself, but also as He is the beginning of things and their last end … we shall treat (1) of God; (2) of the rational creature’s advance towards God; (3) of Christ, Who as man, is our way to God.

He continues by dividing his treatment of God into three parts, the first of which, “Whatever concerns the Divine Essence,” contains the question of God’s existence: Considering the Divine Essence, we must consider: 1) Whether God exists? (2) The manner of His Existence, or, rather what is not the manner of His existence (3) Whatever concerns His operations.

Here, as Aquinas introduces a topic seeming to fall readily within metaphysical inquiry, he advises he does not for a moment propose to depart from his Scriptural (exitus/reditus) narrative: creation–sanctification–redemption. Further, including the question of God’s existence under the heading of God’s essence gently reminds us that this presentation will, at best, refer to God inadequately, so a negative interpretation is preferred to misinterpretation. Thus he establishes from the beginning of Question 2 the way to read it, together with what follows, in light of faith seeking understanding (as Question 1 establishes), and, having done this, expectedly there is more to his philosophical treatment than meets the eye. Article 1 begins with the objection that God’s existence is self-evident, implanted in us by God. This appears to support a reading in light of sacred doctrine, because, recall in Question 1, we must have some knowledge of God in order to orient our actions towards our divinely- intended end in God. Aquinas’ reply reminds us this is an inchoate awareness of God, implanted only in a “general and confused way.” Indeed, with this qualification Aquinas sets up the need for demonstrating God’s existence—apparently moving towards a philosophical reading. But in his answer Aquinas performs a sleight of hand, continued into the next article, which allows the later philosophical demonstrations to serve sacred doctrine’s goal. In order to catch the trick, both second and third objections must be scrutinized: the second objection combines Aristotle’s notion that the first principles of demonstration are self-evident with Anselm’s Proslogian definition of God as “that which nothing greater can be conceived”; while the third objection, based on Scripture, aligns truth with the self-evident. Aquinas quickly disposes of the third objection by declaring something can be self-evident in itself, but not to us; this should remind us of a parallel, drawn from Question 1, that the truth of something can be certain in itself (God’s knowledge), but not to us (for example, because of lack of intellectual capacity).16 His example in Question 2, Article 1,  STh, I.1.5, reply obj. 1.

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relies on predication and foreshadows the following series of questions (3-11): God’s existence is self-evident, for to say God exists is to say something about the essence of God which sets God off from everything else that is created. But this is hardly self-evident to us, because we do not know what it means for one’s essence to be its own existence. Now for the first part of the trick: the objections imply that, in the proposition “God exists,” roughly equaling “God is (God’s own) Existence” or “God’s essence is God’s existence,” Anselm’s definition—“that which nothing greater can be conceived”—may be substituted for “Existence.” For Aquinas, however, since we cannot conceive of something whose existence is the same as its essence, God’s existence is as unknown to us as God’s essence, and therefore cannot be in any manner self-evident to us. God’s existence, no matter how formulated propositionally, must be interpreted negatively. Second, Anselm’s definition should alert us to yet another potential danger: conceiving God as resembling the most noble creature (which just happens to be greater than we can conceive).17 This leads us to the second part of the trick, and to Article 2. Aquinas has already asserted in his answer to Article 1 that, since God’s existence is not self-evident to us, it “needs to be demonstrated by things that are more known to us.” In Article 2, “Whether it can be demonstrated that God exists,” Aquinas shows us the manner and limits of such demonstration, providing the key to how Aquinas’ metaphysics actually go beyond proving anything about God—rather, serving sacred doctrine’s end. To the objection that God’s existence cannot be demonstrated because it is an article of faith, Aquinas replies that God’s existence is a preamble of faith and therefore may be known by natural reason. Aquinas further reminds us that faith and reason are not opposed, indeed “faith presupposes natural knowledge.” However, demonstration, as a mode of natural reason, must be qualified when applied to the divine; proofs of God’s existence will be no exception. In demonstrations proceeding from effects (rather than from the cause itself), the effect “takes the place of the definition of the cause.” As the second objection points out, essence is the middle term of demonstration, but since we cannot know God’s essence, names of God derived from effects, though substituting for the middle term, do not refer to God’s essence. Aquinas will, of course, further qualify this qualification in Question 13 with reference to predicating perfections; however for the moment, allowing but limiting the power of effects to substitute in demonstrations of God’s existence serves Aquinas’ negative perspective, which he takes one step further in his final reply: perfect knowledge of God is not possible. The third objection draws attention to the major difficulty in substituting effects for God’s existence: God’s effects are not proportionate to God, because “between the finite and infinite there is no proportion.” The absence of proportion between Creator and creature is not the main problem that must be addressed in demonstrating God’s existence, but it looms large in predicating names of God  STh, I.1.9.

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and, ultimately, in speaking meaningfully about the Creator–creature relationship. Aquinas’ reply raises the question of what we expect from demonstrations of God’s existence; certainly, it cannot be “perfect knowledge” of God’s essence. By “perfect” knowledge, this means our knowledge of God cannot be proportionate to its object, and this lack of proportion refers us yet again back to the relationship between the Divine and the “non”-divine. As in the case of faith and reason, what is considered Divine and what is not divine are not opposed, nor can they be identified with each other. Recall the definition Aquinas previously gave, and rejected, where God is “that of which nothing greater can be conceived.” The problem here is assuming a proportion between God and the world: although we cannot conceive of it, the Creator is at the very top of the chain of creatures. This is like saying there is some number so great that it simply cannot be conceived because of a person’s limited ability to count high enough. But Aquinas does not accept this notion of God’s infinite “greatness” because the finite is not proportionate to the infinite. Rather, the infinite is the source and ground of the finite—the infinite Creator is the source and ground of the finite creature’s existence. In these first two articles Aquinas implicitly re-orients our expectations of “demonstrating” away from proving that God is to expressing (and affirming) the relationship of Creator and creature. Aquinas rejects Anselm’s definition on two grounds: 1) the signification for God as “that which nothing greater can be conceived” is not a term that can be known—and therefore used in demonstrating—since there is nothing else with which to compare one whose existence and essence are the same; 2) anything greater than could be conceived may be misunderstood as being proportionate to things that can be conceived, which God is not. This objection to Anselm is implicit in Article 2, where Aquinas reaffirms there is no proportion between an infinite cause (God) and a finite effect (creatures). Yet, a qualified demonstration is warranted precisely because God is assumed to be the cause of creatures. Consequently the definition of God as “that which nothing greater can be conceived” must be rejected ultimately because it fails to include the relationality upon which the whole of Scripture as well as Christian life is based; Anselm’s definition says nothing about God as Creator. Thus any demonstration not based on God as Creator is irrelevant to sacred doctrine and meaningless to the believer. What is meaningful, and therefore to be demonstrated, is God’s existence as Creator. Prior to investigating the nature of God’s existence—the topic of the following questions—it must be established that the God we are assuming has a specific existence vis-à-vis creatures. This re-orientation follows upon the demands of sacred doctrine as laid out in Question 1 as well as the structure of the Summa as a whole. The question of whether God exists cannot be divorced from the Creator–creature relationship, that is, how we are to form our lives to that end, and how God is present to us in such a way that that end may be fulfilled. Demonstration of God’s existence, though qualified, is needed, not to convert the non-believer (although it might, if the non-believer were to connect these “proofs”

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with existentially important moments in his or her life), but to keep believers from falling into heresy of a “pagan” god, that is, a God who could be compared/ contrasted with the world. Far from slighting sacred doctrine’s ultimate purpose, demonstrations of the Creator-God’s existence may facilitate the journey towards faith’s fulfillment. 1. The “Five Ways” 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

From motion From the nature of the efficient cause From possibility and necessity From the gradation found in things From the governance of the world

In the first two articles of Question 2, Aquinas justifies the need to demonstrate God’s existence while subtly preparing his readers to approach such “proofs” guided by faith’s requirements: it is not enough to prove the existence of a god; it is the Creator God of Scripture that is sought. Yet, it is of course Aquinas’ perspective that the God of Scripture and the god of philosophy need not be at odds: with regard to God’s nature, certain “formal features” must be attributed in order for God to be God—for example, simplicity, immutability, infinity—and as Maimonides observes, these features must indeed be attributed to the God of Scripture, though they must also be interpreted negatively, in order to preserve a sense of God’s incomprehensibility.18 Accordingly, while Aquinas is determined not to depart from the goals of sacred doctrine, he also takes the opportunity to begin preparing his readers for the metaphysics which will be unfolded throughout his following treatment of God’s nature. Before his presentation of the Five Ways, Aquinas introduces the concepts of causality and participation essential to developing a metaphysics that will serve to orient his students—and, with any luck those to whom the future teachers and preachers minister—towards sacred doctrine’s salvific goal. In the second article, Aquinas refers to God as cause and, implicitly, creatures as God’s effects. This articulation allows Aquinas to relate the god of philosophy to the Creator God of Scripture, and at the same time maintain an intimate relationship between Creator and creature. Philosophically speaking, the relationship between the cause, or first principle, and its effects (creation) is commonly referred to as the metaphysics of participation. Yet in order to compensate for the problems raised by the philosophical approach—namely, how God as cause remains incomprehensible—Aquinas must develop a corrective: as Article 2 clearly indicates, knowledge of this unique relationship between cause and effect is not proportionate. Furthermore, as Aquinas has maintained from the beginning of the 18  Moses Maimonides, The Guide of the Perplexed, trans. Chaim Rabin (Cambridge: Hackett, 1995), Book I, 65-87.

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Summa, the only way to avoid such misunderstanding is to pay careful attention to how creaturely words are attributed to this ultimate Cause. In Article 3, which presents the Five Ways, Aquinas introduces his metaphysics by attending to the way God’s incomprehensibility may still be maintained while permitting the creature to participate in God’s existence. Rather than being concerned with whether each demonstration is philosophically sound and self-contained, Aquinas is concerned to move our articulations about God out of the realm of ordinary speech in a way that demonstrates God’s existence to be uniquely distinct from the world. By laying a foundation where the Creator may be articulated as the ground and source of the creature—the one who causes and sustains the existence of all things—the “formal features” of God presented in the following questions may be understood non-contrastively as relating to the world transcendently, yet intimately, though incomprehensibly, present. Article 3 opens with the objection that there would be no evil if God existed, because God is understood to be the contrary of evil: infinite goodness. Second, there is no need to suppose God’s existence because the world may be explained by natural principles. The sed contra pits philosophy against Scripture by asserting, from Exodus, that God is named “I am Who am”: Not only does God exist, but God is the One Who Exists, indeed Existence itself. Aquinas answers that the existence of God can be proved (probare), or better, tested, in five ways, thus suggesting that philosophy may be used to support the scriptural affirmation of God’s existence. The First Way begins with motion. “Nothing can be in motion except it is in potentiality to that towards which it is in motion; whereas a thing moves inasmuch as it is in act.” Motion is the reduction from potentiality to actuality, and only something in the state of actuality can move something from potentiality to actuality. The problem is that this movement cannot go on into infinity; therefore, there must be something, being fully actual, that does not, cannot and never contained any potentiality; this is Aristotle’s “Unmoved Mover,” and “this everyone understands to be God.”19 Kenny observes, from Aquinas’ text, that the Latin “motus” should more properly be translated as “change” than motion, pointing to Aquinas’ adherence to Aristotle, who distinguishes between change of quality, change of quantity, and change of place.20 Kenny also shows that the so-called “infinite regress argument” does not, in fact, prove God’s existence because it does not demonstrate there is “an unmoved mover at all resembling God.” For Kenny, to reach the God Aquinas intends, “unmoved” must mean “changing in no respect.”21 Contrary to Kenny’s own thesis, however—that Aquinas meant for his arguments to be taken as proper proofs for God’s existence, but that each proof is fraught with weaknesses and  This last phrase is included in the Fathers of the English Dominican Province translation, but not in the Blackfriar’s Latin edition. 20  See Kenny, Five Ways, 7. 21  Ibid, 23. 19

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inevitably fails22—understanding motus as change is the first step in establishing the God of Scripture. But this will not be obvious until we follow through with the other four arguments and take up the questions on God’s essence, especially regarding God’s immutability. For immutability is concerned with the unchanging nature of God. The Creator God of Scripture must be, as Kenny observes, “changing in no respect” but at the same time active in and through the existence of creatures. The implications of this paradox are disclosed only by a non-contrastive grasp of religious language such as employed by Scripture and lived out in the lives of the faithful. The important part of the first argument is not the definition of God as “unmoved mover” but Aquinas’ introduction of Aristotle’s act and potency. By articulating the “unmoved mover”—implicitly at this point in the arguments—as fully actual, Aquinas can table the problem of God’s immutability for the time being because in order to “change” in the creaturely sense of the word, a thing must contain some potentiality, that is, the potential to change or move towards something else. God, understood as fully actual, has nothing to change into and nothing to move towards but rather becomes the very end of the changing into and moving towards of all beings that contain any potentiality. Thus, the introduction of act and potency in effect sets up the relationship wherein the creature not only enjoys an immediate relationship with its Creator, but, due to its very incompleteness, imperfection, finitude—or whatever else it may be called—finds its fulfillment and end in communion with its Source. In other words, the potential (potency) of the creature for transformation allows it to participate in the existence (act) of its Creator. However, it is difficult, if not impossible, to see the profound implications of act and potency as presented in the first argument of the “unmoved mover,” because it is deficient as a proof for the existence of the Creator God of Scripture: an “unmoved mover” does not necessarily have an immediate or an intimate relationship to any other being as does the God of Scripture. Furthermore, simply understood as unmoved mover, what distinguishes this god from other beings does protect God’s distinction from the world except that it has no mover. In order to arrive at an understanding of God as distinct yet immediate, Aquinas needs to take several more steps, the first of which is to introduce act and potency into the definition of God. This subtle modification is evidence Aquinas intended his proofs to work together in moving away from the Aristotelian god of philosophy towards the God of Scripture. The Second Way re-articulates the God–World relationship as one of cause and effect. Aquinas observes, “[i]n the world of sense … there is an order of efficient causes … [but] … there is no case known in which a thing is … the efficient cause of itself.” Drawing upon the same principle as in the First Way—nothing can go on ad infinitum—Aquinas arrives at a first efficient cause, one that is itself uncaused, “to which” he asserts, “everyone gives the name [nominant] of God.”  Ibid.

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This proof, although similar to the proof of the unmoved mover, draws one step closer to the God of Scripture because, as Kenny himself notes, “[t]wo of the best known Aristotelean theses about causation were that effects were like their causes and that causes were prior to their effects.”23 While the unmoved mover has neither an immediate nor an intimate relation to the world, the first efficient cause has at least one essential feature similar to the Creator God of Scripture: the resemblance of its effects to itself, calling to mind Genesis, where God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.”24 Affirming that the human creature enjoys a close—even familiar—relationship to its Creator by virtue of the Creator’s causality is so important that it is repeated in the next Scriptural passage: God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.25

Like the relationship of first efficient cause to its effects, the Creator God is both prior to creatures, having created them, and “familiar” to creatures in the sense that they somehow—though incomprehensibly—reflect their maker. The first efficient cause moves yet another step forward in presenting the Creator God: it must be distinct from any worldly cause. Aquinas implies this at the beginning of the proof in observing there is no case in the world of sense where a thing is its own efficient cause. Establishing there must be an efficient cause transcending any worldly cause appeals to the existence of effects; if there be no ultimate cause, then ultimately there would be no effects. Now, for obvious reasons, this proof appears to be unsound from a philosophical standpoint: in order to see God as cause, the world must be interpreted as an effect (or series of effects) and for that to be so, the cause must be assumed from the outset, since by definition an effect includes the notion of its cause—therefore the argument is circular. But the argument does make sense from a theological standpoint: it hints at the doctrine of creation that lies at the heart of all faith statements and which provides the foundation for how human beings are to live—as creatures whose beginning and end (and everything in between) is inextricable from their Creator, an end that lies beyond the world that is finite and corruptible. Only a Creator that transcends this worldly finitude can preserve a beloved creature from its own fall back into non-existence;26 only a Creator that is itself exempt from the possibility of falling back into non-existence can achieve this act. Such a Creator must be

 Ibid., 40.  Gen 1:6 (NRSV). 25  Gen 1:27. 26  Aristotle’s “efficient cause” is reinterpreted as “cause of being,” for a creator ex 23 24

nihilo could not be an Aristotelian “efficient case,” which presupposes material to work on.

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fully actual—containing no potentiality at all—as well as uncaused, and there is nothing in “the world of sense” that meets these requirements. While both the First and the Second Ways do not make any direct reference to God’s distinction from the world, these subtle moves Aquinas makes within the demonstrations (for example, including act and potency in the definition of the unmoved mover) and between the demonstrations (shifting from God as “unmoved mover” to “first efficient cause”) make room for this interpretation. Preller picks up on the implications of Aquinas’ modifications from the First Way. He keenly perceives that [w]hatever Aquinas’ first mover is doing (whatever “power” or “agency” he is communicating to objects in the world) it has nothing to do with motion as it “is certain and evident to our senses.” Aquinas is reading Aristotle’s argument, but he is hearing or intending the Doctrine of Creation.27

Preller senses here that Aquinas is wrestling with the problem inherent to the philosophical proofs that there is no direct way to articulate the Creator God of Scripture. Unless the argument is modified in such a way that removes God from ordinary experiences of the world, God is either too attached to the world or too removed from it. Yet, scholars such as Elders28 point out that Aquinas begins each of his Five Ways from the world of the senses: the first on the basis of our perception of motion in the world; the second on the basis of our observations that certain causes yield corresponding effects. Aquinas has already established in the previous articles of this question that, by necessity, all demonstrations begin with the senses, because this is the mode of human knowing. On the other hand, unless guided by faith, this knowledge does not lead to the God of Scripture, but at best to the pagan god of the philosopher. And faith assumes a God whose existence is as immanent as it is transcendent. This is the theological interpretation of God’s distinction from the world. Thus far, the first two demonstrations have created the space for God’s transcendence by beginning with our understanding of motion and causality in the world of sense and appealing to a being that must be the origin of these worldly phenomena, without being subject to them. However, both demonstrations lack the sense of God’s necessity with regard to the Creator’s own continued existence as well as that of creation. In other words, God must transcend the world in yet another way: it must be impossible for God not to be at any given time. In the first demonstration, there is nothing to prevent God from being the first mover and then going out of existence; likewise, in the second demonstration, there is nothing to prevent God from causing the first worldly efficient cause and then ceasing, leaving nature to continue its own causality. But this is far from the God of faith, who is so immediate and so intimate that creation relies on its Creator  Preller, Divine Science, 123.  Elders, Philosophical Theology, 128.

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to continually sustain its existence, and who keeps it from falling back into the nothingness from whence it came. Aquinas takes up this issue in his Third Way. Once again beginning with the world of the senses, he observes that in nature there are things that “are possible to be and not to be,” given the contingency and corruptibility of created things. At some point, the logic goes, we must come to something whose existence is absolutely necessary—that is, not only incorruptible, but whose necessity is itself uncaused—otherwise there would be nothing in existence. This is so because, if it were possible that everything could not-be at some time, there would be nothing to begin being at all. In other words, non-being would regress back infinitely, and at some point there would be nothing from which to begin creation, for everything that could possibly not be, at some time did not exist. And the unstated implication is that should there be a being who, having created, ceases to be, then at some point in time, there will again be nothing, since all contingent things inevitably pass away: “it is impossible for these always to exist, for that which is possible not to be at some time is not.” There must be a being who is excluded from this possibility. This absolutely necessary being, Aquinas asserts, “all men speak of [dicunt] as God.” This proof may be the most difficult of all of the arguments that Aquinas presents; but so much rides on it that it must be carefully examined. The language Aquinas uses in this demonstration is tricky, because it is tempting to speak of God’s “eternity” to explain how God is distinct from creatures with regard to their contingency and corruptibility. One problem with speaking of God’s distinction as “eternal” is that we also have cases of creatures being eternal; for instance the beatified, who, having passed through earthly life, “rest eternally with God” despite having been created as contingent and corruptible beings, who could have been or not been, and whose earthly life was sure to pass away at some time. And angels, though perhaps spoken of as eternal, are still created, and thus contain some contingency. Aquinas will take up God’s eternity later in Question 10, after considering God’s infinity, and there he will be in a position to develop this essential feature non-contrastively in order to allow us to speak more intelligibly about the Creator–creature relationship—especially that with which sacred doctrine is ultimately concerned, between the beatified and the One with whom they have been reunited. However, at this stage in the lesson, as he is introducing the major components of his metaphysics, Aquinas must be careful to avoid a misleading interpretation of God’s existence. Although he refers here in the third proof to a “time” in which things “may not be,” he refrains from attributing the term “eternal” to a being for whom there is no possibility of non-existence, because that would directly oppose God’s “eternity” with time or could ever lead us to the conclusion that eternity is an “infinitely” long time. Ultimately, this interpretation compromises God’s distinction from the world as well as prevents Aquinas from further moving towards developing the metaphysics of participation that he will introduce in following demonstrations.

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Aquinas emphasizes that God’s existence goes beyond duration in time (past, present, or future); more is at stake than the capacity (or not) to count “infinitely” backwards to a time where God came into existence. God’s infinity is about the nature of creation’s dependency upon its Creator. Before Aquinas takes up God’s eternity, he considers God’s infinity—and in so doing he will move it away from its association with quantity (for example, duration of time or number of causes). But for now, Aquinas allows us to assume our conventional understanding of “infinity” so he can appeal to the philosophical concept of “infinite regress” to move God out of the ordinary world of sense experience. In Question 10, which follows God’s infinity, Aquinas considers God’s eternity, and there he will shift the discussion away from temporal language, so eternity and time may be spoken of non-contrastively, by re-articulating eternity in terms of immutability. Instead of speaking of God’s eternity here in his Third Way, which would present a more immediate problem than the conventional notion of infinity he has employed in the previous two demonstrations, Aquinas refers to God’s necessity to communicate creation’s reliance on God for existence—not simply in the sense of being created or caused by God, but in the sense that without God, creation would neither come to be nor remain in existence; there would simply be nothing. Although Aquinas does use temporal language, his demonstration is not about how long God must have been in existence (that is, always), but why God’s existence is necessary rather than contingent: to create and sustain all things. The notion of God’s absolute necessity includes everything that has been affirmed in the first two Ways: first, God is fully actual, containing no potentiality whatsoever, and second, God is uncaused. But God’s necessity goes beyond the unmoved mover and first efficient cause in that God’s existence is interminably required for anything to have ever existed and, we must assume, for anything to continue to exist, because if a created thing’s cause could not-be, then so could its effect.29 And by God’s “interminable” existence—as it is being used improperly here—more than unending time is indicated. The Christian doctrine of creation is undeniably intended, for nothing could exist “prior” to God’s existence, and this implies not only that God is the author of time itself, but more importantly that God creates ex nihilo. Furthermore, at any time the existence of all things will fall back into nothingness without God’s continual causality. Thus, God is both the Creator and Sustainer of creation. Given the immediacy of the Creator’s existence to creation suggested by the previous (third) argument, Aquinas is now in the position to formally introduce the basic structure of his metaphysics of participation central to the Creator–creature relationship. In his Fourth Way, Aquinas shifts his attention back to God’s effects, as he takes up the gradation found in created things. Recall that in the Second Way Aquinas appeals to God’s effects, creatures, as evidence of their ultimate efficient cause, a move correlating well with Scripture, where God creates all things directly and human creatures in the divine image and likeness. From the Third Way we discover God not only creates but remains present to creation, because there is  Ibid., 105.

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never a moment wherein divine causality can be absent; furthermore, this causality of necessity must exclude any contingency whatsoever, or creation is doomed to fall back into nothingness. Whereas in the first and second demonstrations Aquinas establishes God’s existence as necessarily transcendent, within the second and third demonstrations, Aquinas begins to establish God’s existence as necessarily immanent. Unlike the unmoved mover, who sets the first thing in motion, the first efficient cause in the Second Way creates each thing directly; and furthermore, although the first efficient cause is “outside” of the world because it is exempt from causality, the worldly effects resemble it in some manner. In the Third Way, this first cause, containing no contingency whatsoever, must remain active in creation to preserve it from nothingness. However, the previous demonstrations, while progressively moving towards the God of Scripture—whose existence is both transcendent from and immanent to creation—still lack the dimension of the Creator’s intimacy affirmed in Scripture as well as in the lives of the faithful. With regard to the Second Way, while creaturely effects must resemble their divine cause, there is no sense of the manner in which that likeness exists. With regard to the Third Way, while God’s existence is necessary to preserve creation, there is no sense that this presence exists personally or with any intentional intimacy towards creatures. The Fourth Way now steps implicitly in this direction. In this demonstration, God’s existence is derived, not merely by virtue of the existence of effects, but by the specific resemblance of the effects to their Cause as well as by the relationships of the effects to each other. Beginning, of course, with the world of sense, Aquinas observes that [a]mong beings there are some more and some less good, true, noble, and the like. But “more” and “less” are predicated of different things, according as they resemble in their different ways something which is the maximum.

Aquinas employs the principle that the maximum in any genus is the cause of every member of the genus,30 and he concludes there must be something which is the cause of all perfections as well as of all being, “and this we call God.” Aquinas reaches this conclusion by assuming that if there is a maximum for every perfection (goodness, truth, and so forth), then there is also a maximum for being. In fact, being is associated with perfection, following Aristotle’s Metaphysics (ii): “those things that are greatest in truth are greatest in being.” However, Aquinas does not explicitly include—but rather assumes—the fact that being, while considered a perfection, cannot be a genus in the proper sense of the word, because being is common to all genera, and consequently inclusive of every created thing. In order for something to belong to a genus, it must first exist. In this sense, 30  Aquinas’ metaphysics of participation includes elements of Aristotle. See Elders, Philosophical Theology, 115-17. See also Kenny regarding the Platonism of the Fourth Way (Five Ways, 79).

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being holds priority over any given perfection. On the other hand, since being is a perfection common to all genera, it may be used as the criterion with which to compare and contrast them; in other words, among beings there is more or less being with regard to their respective genus or species. Thus, Aquinas implicates two different measures in the created world: that among creatures of the same kind and that between creatures of different kinds. These two measures’ relation to the maximum of being, the cause of all, is important in imaging the Creator. Aquinas’ modification lies between the maximum of being (which implies God) and the maximum of each particular genus. Since the maximum of being is the cause of all being—and hence all genera—then the maximum must, in this case alone, be the cause of its own existence. Since no created thing can be the cause of its own existence (or its essence would be its own existence) then the maximum of being cannot be compared to or contrasted with anything that it causes. By organizing his metaphysics of participation around the principle that the maximum of a genus is the cause of all in that genus and by further including being among perfections—in fact giving it priority of perfections—Aquinas lays the groundwork for speaking about a Creator who is distinct, yet whose effects exist profoundly in relation to it. The entity who causes all being is not only excluded from every genus but is outside of all genera, and therefore is uniquely “outside” of the world (Question 3 will make explicit), for we define things in the world by categorizing them into their genus, species, and finally, their individual qualities. The implications of this conclusion are critical to the negative theology of both Aquinas and Eckhart, because this prohibits God from being spoken of as any type of being at all: the one who causes all being is not being itself nor any particular being, and cannot be placed within any of the categories by which everything in our world is described. Therefore, God is ineffable. On the other hand, precisely because this God—and no other—causes all being, all things have an immediate relation to its Creator, as well as to each other; each thing is related to all other things by what they share: being. Being, or existence, is the most immediate and intimate thing that can be said about something—something has first to be (even if only in the imagination) before it can be any particular thing. Yet, to be a creature at all, its existence must be inseparable from its particularity: in creating, God causes something to be this and not that. In this sense, God’s very incomprehensibility, that which distinguishes God from the world and allows God to be the cause of all, is the very source of the intelligibility of creatures, and it is the particularity of the creature which relates it not only to other created things but to its Creator as well. Therefore, the creature is a reflection of its Creator, not only in itself, but in its relationship to others. What the Fourth Way adds to previous demonstrations is how creatures resemble God in their particular relationships to each other. This allows Aquinas to move forward in demonstrating the existence of the God of Scripture. Presently, in Question 3, Aquinas will further develop the implications of God’s exclusion from every genus. Specifically, he will explore the issue of the difference between

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the Creator’s essence and that of the creature (God’s essence and existence are identical while the creature’s essence and existence are not),31 effectively eliminating any possibility of God’s belonging to any genus or species. However, central to his explication, Aquinas must show God not only as the immediate and immanent Creator—causing and continually sustaining creation—but also as the intimate and personal Creator, whose creatures reflect and return to their ultimate Source. The Fifth Way will complete the plan by showing that God intentionally creates the world such that their end is that same source. As noted above, all creatures resemble other creatures in their genus in relation to the maximum of that genus; Aquinas uses the example of particular perfections such as “good” and “noble,” which are said to be more or less in relation to a most good or most noble. Thus we can describe something by comparing and contrasting it with other things of the same genus. Furthermore, while all creatures can be compared and contrasted to others of their own kind, one kind can also be compared with and contrasted from another by virtue of their order of being: for example, with regard to existence a fern is more noble than a rock, a horse more noble than a fern, a human more noble than a horse, and an angel more noble than a human. This reflects the standard Neoplatonic hierarchy of being. The Neoplatonic hierarchy, however, lacks the resources to separate creation from its Creator. In this schema, then, it could be said that creatures possess their existence and all the perfections it entails in proportion to their Creator. But we know that Aquinas rejects this position: creatures have no proportion to the Creator. Even less should it be said that any creature, no matter how noble its existence, is like the Creator, because that could very well lead to the misapprehension that there is a proportion between the two. The Fourth Way distinguishes the Creator from all else by incorporating efficient causality (that is, the Creator is the maximum of being, the cause of all perfection and of all genus), effectively removing God from the world of comparisons and contrasts and eliminating the possibility that any creature—or any genus—enjoys a relationship of proportion to the Creator. But, with the same move, since all things are related to each other by their common feature of existence, not only the very multiplicity, but the hierarchy of creation reflects the Creator. According to Rudi Te Velde, The diversity of creatures is not a sheer multiplicity, but must be understood to proceed from a common origin as it is a diversity within the unity of an order. One creature would not suffice to represent the abundant goodness of God. This diversity requires an inequality among its parts, implying a diversity of grades of perfection. There can never be an adequate likeness of God if all things are of the same degree.32

 Aquinas introduces this distinction in that opening of the second question. STh, I.2.1, answer. 32  Rudi Te Velde, Participation and Substantiality in Thomas Aquinas (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1995), 212. 31

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If God is the cause of existence, then God is the cause of all perfection; if God is the maximum of being and of perfection, then in God’s existence alone is found the perfection of perfection. No single creature and no single type of creature, no matter how noble, adequately reflects God’s perfection. Yet through the continuity of being—where there are no gaps and no distance between creatures—the simplicity and unity of the Creator shines forth, the inexhaustible intelligibility of God is implicated. As Elder notes, for Aquinas, “[b]eing shows itself in the perfection it exhibits.” The more being—and the more beings—therefore, the more God’s perfection is manifest. God’s incomprehensibility is found in God’s inexhaustible intelligibility, displayed in the continuous profusion of creation. The order of creation, not merely creation’s existence as effects, demonstrates God’s existence. But even this demonstration does not yet fulfill the requirements of Scripture’s Creator which includes God’s intentionality towards creation. For the faithful, not only is God the fullness of Goodness, Truth, and all such perfection, but above all, God is “Love”; and love is a personal gift given in absolute freedom. A God whose creation is only a natural “by-product” of its existence is not meaningful to the believer. For God to be the God of Scripture, the act of creating must be intentional and purposeful—and personal. For human creatures, this purpose is finding their end in their Creator, ultimately for reunion and for communion. Thus, when the God of Genesis professes the creation of the world “good,” this affirmation expresses more than an emanation or effusion of the Creator’s own goodness into creation; it expresses an intentional and personal act of the Creator’s self-communication and self-sharing with the creature, which can only be described as an act of divine Love. Not only does the order of creation reflect the perfection and existence of the Creator, but it also reflects the love of the Creator for creation: God’s free and personal self-communication manifest in all of creation.33 The Fifth Way accomplishes this last step, though quite implicitly at this point in the treatise, demonstrating a God whose creative operation is intentional rather than natural, and whose effects reflect their cause by virtue of the end to which they are purposefully designed. Aquinas argues that even things lacking intelligence act for their proper end, which in effect means reaching their full potential with regard to their particular place in the order of being. “Now whatever lacks intelligence cannot move towards an end, unless it be directed by some being endowed with knowledge and intelligence. … Therefore some intelligent being exists by whom all natural things are directed to their end; and this being we call God.” This argument “from the governance of the world,” is often called the teleological argument, referring to the inbuilt purpose something reaches after its existence fully unfolds, for example an acorn becoming a tree.34 While Aquinas reaches to the lowest common element—those things lacking intelligence—his aim is obviously drawn much higher on the scale of being, specifically humanity, whose teleology is communion with God. This is clear not only from the beginning  STh, I.32.1, reply obj. 3.  See Elders, Philosophical Theology, 120.

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of the question of God’s existence, where Aquinas replies that knowledge of God’s existence is implanted in us (if only in a “general and confused way”) because “God is man’s beatitude,” but also from his introduction to the questions on God’s existence and nature: the mission of sacred doctrine is to teach the knowledge of God, “as He is the beginning of things and their last end, and especially of rational creatures.” The Fifth Way comes full circle by demonstrating God whose existence we are considering is none other than the Creator who draws all things towards their intended end and, as Aquinas will further indicate, who ceaselessly coaxes the human creature into communion with its Ground and Source. Thus, while the Five Ways may perhaps fall somewhat short of proving the existence of God from a purely philosophical perspective, careful examination from the “radically theological” perspective Aquinas intends does demonstrate that, in order for God to be “God,” God must exist as uniquely distinct: transcendent (distinguished from the world) yet immanent (related to the world as cause); and further, in order for God to be the Creator God of Scripture, God also exists intimately related and personally present to creatures (as their ultimate source and end). Preller points out that even philosophically speaking the Five Ways succeed, at least in establishing the parameters around which we may inquire about God: To ask if God exists is to ask if a new kind of reference is possible—if there is a use of “exist” other than that defined by the sorts of references we find ourselves making to things of which we can naturally conceive. … [W]e want to define a kind of logical space (however unique or peculiar) which can be intended on the basis of our references to the world. Thus, Aquinas defines “God” not merely as “above all things and removed from all things,” but also as the “cause of all things.”35

Preller perceives that the theological motivation for creating this unique kind of logical space removing “God” from the range of our conceptual powers is emphasizing our natural inability to “conform our minds to God” without God’s grace.36 In other words, the Scriptural imperative demands that not only God’s distinction from the world, but God’s incomprehensibility be preserved. This is at the heart of what it means to be a human creature in relation to the Creator, whose gratuitous self-communication is the only means by which the human may accomplish its intended end. Furthermore, if the Five Ways do create such a “logical space” for speaking about God, then (contrary to Preller’s initial claim)37 Aquinas’ proofs for the existence of God are neither dangerous nor irrelevant to his doctrine; indeed, they are essential to understanding Aquinas’ metaphysics as  Preller, Divine Science, 151-2. Words such as “cause” are not employed in the ordinary sense when applied to the Divine. 36  Ibid., 156. 37  Ibid., 108. 35

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driven by theological and linguistic concerns. This hypothesis is further supported by the allusion to naming God that closes each of the Five Ways.38 The conclusion to the proofs reveals yet another correlation with the following questions: Questions 3-11 treat the “formal features” of God’s existence—that is, God’s essence or the manner of God’s existence—and Questions 12 and 13 consider how God is known and named by human creatures. This fits well with Hankey’s suggestion that the Five Ways, taken together as one organic proof and in conjunction with the first question, provide a plan for what follows.39 Specifically, Hankey sees in this plan the exitus/reditus dialectic, where “the movement of knowledge coming down from God’s self-disclosure mediated to us through Scripture [Question 1] meets the movement of thought rising from the scientific understanding of natural phenomena and reaching up towards God [Question 2].”40 The questions on God’s essence, beginning with God’s existence, are complemented by the questions of how human creatures know God, through the senses, and of how we speak about God, which embraces this dialectical movement—and ultimately overcomes it, allowing speech about God to retain its thoroughly negative character. Finally, the “unique logical space” created by Question 2, allowing us to inquire about God while maintaining God’s incomprehensibility, is not only conducive to a non-contrastive grasp of language, but goes beyond this possibility precisely because it suggests the “reditus” part of the dialectic: the creature’s return to God, and the movement made possible because of this inbuilt telos. While not apparent within the Five Ways themselves, this especially relates to the human creature, who images its Creator, at least in part, by its participation in the perfection of intellect; the second question implicates the centrality of the human creature’s relation to God, since it is because of our intellect that we seek to inquire after God in the first place—and require the kind of “demonstrations” Aquinas provides with the Five Ways. By following through with the implications raised by Question 2—that is, the requirements of existing as God (transcendentyet-immanent: causing and sustaining creatures as well as intentionally and intimately bringing them into relation)—the Scriptural narrative begins to come into focus. Questions 3-11 utilize the unique logical space opened up in Question 2 by drawing out the features of the Creator God of Scripture in such a way that the Creator’s incomprehensibility is preserved. Questions 12 and 13 then connect this Creator specifically to the human creature who seeks to know and to articulate, however inadequately, its ultimate Source and End. 38  The first way (from motion) closes with “This everyone understands to be God”; the second way (from efficient cause) with “which everyone gives the name of God”; the third way (from necessary being) with “this all men speak of as God”; the fourth way (from perfection) with “and this we call God”; and the fifth way (from the one in whom the end of all things is directed) with “and this being we call God.” 39  Hankey, God in Himself, 73. 40  Ibid., 42.

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B. Questions 3 through 11: The Manner of the Creator’s Existence The Simplicity of God (Question 3) The Perfection of God (Questions 4-6) The Limitlessness of God (Questions 7-8) The Immutability of God (Questions 9-10) The Unity of God (Question 11) Question 3 introduces us to the manner of the Creator’s existence. Aquinas outlines this section by repeating Dionysius’ warning for a third time: because we cannot know what God is, but rather what He is not, we have no means for considering how God is, but rather how He is not. Therefore we must consider 1) How He is not; 2) How He is known by us; 3) How He is named. Now it can be shown how God is not, by denying of Him whatever is opposed to the idea of Him—viz., composition, motion, and the like.

Aquinas’ aim here is to draw an intimate connection between knowing God and speaking about God, but not before the correct order of the relationship between Creator (the One spoken about) and the creature (the speaker) is firmly embedded in the minds of his readers. To appropriately grasp this relationship, Aquinas examines certain features said to be unique to the Divine, thereby setting God apart from all else. Such “formal features”41 are attributed to the Creator alone: simplicity, oneness or unity, perfection,42 limitlessness (infinity), and immutability (eternity). Not only do these features establish the Creator’s distinction from creation, they give the believer a specific vocabulary with which to speak to and about God, especially as Creator and in relation to creatures. These formal features certainly deny any and all creaturely attributes; however, what Aquinas does not yet reveal is that this negative interpretation must at the same time encompass every creaturely attribute so God is articulated as the Creator of all—in other words, this negation must be understood non-contrastively. We have already seen that Aquinas follows Dionysius: it is better to compare God to the lowest existing thing than to risk understanding God as the most noble of creatures, for “what God is not is clearer to us than what [God] is.”43 However, Aquinas is also indebted to the medieval Jewish theologian Moses Maimonides for his negative theology. Like Aquinas, Maimonides is primarily concerned with 41  See David Burrell’s use of “formal features” in his Excercises in Religious Understanding, ch. 3, “Aquinas: Articulating Transcendence,” and Analogy and Philosophical Language (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), 129-31. See also Burrell’s Knowing the Unknowable God (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986), 46. 42  Perfection, however, deviates from the other formal features, but is crucial to Aquinas’ development of non-contrastive language-use. 43  STh, I.1.9, reply 3.

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safeguarding God’s distinction from all created beings. Maimonides observes that due to the highly metaphorical language of Scripture the average believer inevitably falls into the error of anthropomorphism when speaking about God, thus compromising God’s absolute unity from which this distinction is derived; for biblical language often describes God in terms making God appear to be composed like other creatures. Because of the danger associated with this type of language, Maimonides believes most faithful must be instructed “parrot-wise” that the difference between the Creator and creatures is not one of degree, but of kind: God is one, eternal, and incorporeal, all of which exemplify God’s ultimate perfection.44 Although Scripture is replete with anthropomorphisms and other metaphors, Maimonides maintains it does truly reveal God’s essence, particularly in Exodus where the divine name is given to Moses: “I am who am.” In this one divine name, all attributes distinguishing the Creator from creatures are contained. Although the masses must unquestionably accept such divine attributes (or formal features) above all other descriptions of God so to counter their tendency to understand God anthropomorphically, a few will strive for a higher stage of speculation wherein conclusions of God’s distinction can be reached philosophically. Maimonides, too, brings philosophical reflection on the nature of God to bear on his religious tradition. Maimonides perceives that metaphysics must be used to articulate the distinction of Creator from creatures and also to preserve God’s incomprehensibility; therefore anything said about God, even philosophically, must be interpreted negatively. For Maimonides, everything except completely equivocal usage must be ruled out when applying essential attributes to God. That is, any attribute applied to God’s essence—even existence or unity—must be understood as a negation of any creaturely notion of the term, since any positive assertion made in creaturely terms implies multiplicity or composition.45 Positive assertions having a negative prefix, like immortality or incorruptibility, affirm a privation of some creaturely attribute, and so are essentially negative in form.46 However, Maimonides had to contend with Scriptural language, which also makes positive assertions about the “living,” “powerful,” and “knowing” God; and this attribution goes beyond merely describing actions of God to attributing something to God’s essence.47  Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed, I.XXXV (p. 63 in Rabin trans.).  For more on Maimonides’ negative theology, see Arthur Hyman, “Maimonides on

44 45

Religious Language,” in Studies in Jewish Philosophy: Collected Essays of the Academy for Jewish Philosophy, 1980-1985, ed. Norbert Samuelson (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1987); and Julius Guttman’s introduction in the Rabin translation of Guide of the Perplexed. 46  Harry Austryn Wolfson, “Maimonides on Negative Attributes,” in Essays in Medieval Jewish and Islamic Philosophy, Studies from the Publications of the American Academy for Jewish Research, ed. Arthur Hyman (New York: KTAV, 1977), 192. 47  Maimonides distinguishes between attributes of action and essential attributes. See Guide of the Perplexed, I.LII (p. 71 in Rabin trans.). Joseph Buijs, “Attributes of Action in Maimonides,” Vivarium XXVII, No. 2 (Nov. 1989), 87, believes many medieval scholars—including Aquinas—misinterpreted Maimonides.

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How is it that such positive assertions about God can be understood completely equivocally and simultaneously affirm the Creator God of faith? Maimonides’ answer goes further than simple negation of Divine attributes, but includes the proper ordering of that negation. As Harry Austryn Wolfson observes, Maimonides’ ordering of divine attributes shows how—when taken as the negation of their opposites—such propositions constitute a complete description of the dissimilarity between Creator and creatures, safeguarding God’s absolute unity and unique distinction:48 God is Existent (“I Am Who Am”) = God is not contingent 49 Negates the similarity between the Creator’s necessary existence and creatures’ accidental, possible, and transient existence God is Living = God is not dead 50 Distinguishes the Creator from the sublunar elements (inanimate/dead bodies) God is pure form = God is not corporeal 51 Distinguishes the Creator from the celestial spheres and living corporeal beings God is first = God is not caused Distinguishes the Creator from incorporeal caused beings (intelligences, angels) God is powerful = God is not weak Distinguishes the Creator’s ultimate and primary causality from the creature’s limited and secondary causality God is knowing = God is not foolish Distinguishes the Creator’s wisdom from the creature’s knowledge; the Creator is not a blind force acting by necessity and unconscious of results produced God is willing = God is not rash or neglectful Distinguishes the Creator’s intentional and free action from the creature’s rash and often neglectful action

 Wolfson, “Maimonides on Negative Attributes,” 190-91.  Wolfson’s translation is “God is not missed.” However, his description better

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fits “not potential or contingent” because the proposition intends to point to God’s necessary existence. 50  Aquinas specifically criticizes Maimonides’ negative interpretation of “God is Living = God is not dead,” asserting this is not what ordinary Christians (or Scripture) mean by attributing Life to God. STh, I.13.2, answer. 51  Common usage is God is “incorporeal.” Wolfson uses the philosophical terminology of “form.”

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God is One = God is not many (in number or in composition) All negations summed up, thus safeguarding the Creator’s absolute unity and distinction from creation. God is excluded from any creaturely category whatsoever Notice the first proposition presents the thesis of the negation: The Creator’s existence is unlike the existence of anything else. The next three propositions show the distinction of this existence by moving God out of the created order of being: inanimate and animate corporeal things as well as incorporeal things. The second set of three propositions shows how God’s perfect action is unlike human action: without God’s creative act there would be no other; this primordial creating is neither necessary nor accidental, but fully gratuitous and intentional. The last proposition reaffirms the singular uniqueness of God’s existence. Excluded from all creaturely categories, the Creator in no way essentially participates in the order of creation. But Maimonides’ negation—in keeping with a purely equivocal interpretation—goes beyond excluding God from all creaturely categories; Maimonides also qualifies that propositions of Divine attributes must be negated, and further, the terms themselves must be negated in their ordinary sense.52 For instance, not only does “God is powerful” mean “God is not weak” but also that Divine power is totally equivocal to creaturely power: God is not weak and God’s power is unlike creaturely power. Not incidentally, for Aquinas, both the order of essential attributes and the negation of these attributes in their ordinary sense play a critical role in his negative theology developed throughout Questions 3-11. In the end, Question 11 on God’s unity actually reaffirms God’s simplicity, treated in Question 3, as well as summarizes God’s perfection and other formal features examined in Questions 7-10. Furthermore, within these questions Aquinas strives to show precisely how these essential attributes are not to be understood in their ordinary creaturely sense. Therefore, in light of Maimonides’ qualifications regarding affirmative forms of Divine attribution, Aquinas’ treatment of the manner of the Creator’s existence may be interpreted as thoroughly negative. On the other hand, Aquinas proposes a “middle way” in Question 13 between an equivocal and an univocal understanding of the Creator–creature relationship, which would seem to compromise a truly negative theology. Maimonides rejects any such position between equivocal and univocal uses referring to Divine essence because this would inevitably imply a third likeness between the Creator and creature, endangering the Creator’s distinction from creation.53 Although both Maimonides and Aquinas are primarily concerned with preserving this distinction, Aquinas—by virtue of his religious vocation dedicated to orienting the faithful  See Wolfson, “Maimonides on Negative Attributes,” 192.  See David Burrell, “Aquinas’ Debt to Maimonides,” in A Straight Path: Studies in

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Medieval Philosophy and Culture. Essays in Honor of Arthur Hyman, ed. Ruth Link-Salinger (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of American Press, 1988).

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towards their beatific salvation—recognizes he must be able to articulate this distinction not only in terms of the Creator’s transcendence from creation, but by the Creator’s immanence to it as well. This is not to say that Maimonides was uncommitted to this saving goal, for he was first and foremost a Rabbi before a philosopher; but his perspective on ordinary believers’ ability to understand Scripture’s metaphorical nuances was considerably less optimistic than Aquinas’. It is abundantly clear from the first page of his Summa that Aquinas actually counted on ordinary believers’ desire and potential to become skilled in discerning biblical prose. Question 1 asserts that while it is impossible for us to come to know God through rational thought, aided by faith’s guidance as well as inbuilt telos, our natural penchant for intellection is a vital part of our return to God who is beyond intellection altogether. This intimate union has little meaning if we can only speak about a God who is transcendent. The force of Aquinas’ philosophical labor is aimed at articulating the God of Scripture, whose distinction, as illustrated by Question 2, depends just as much on the Creator’s immanence to creatures as it does on the Creator’s transcendence from creatures—and our ability to become aware and build upon this awareness through our religious expressions. Having set up this condition in Question 2, Aquinas attempts to show how this relationship of transcendence-in-immanence can be articulated such that God’s incomprehensibility is respected, and—as Dionysius and Maimonides demonstrate—this can only be accomplished by adhering to the demands of a thoroughly negative theology. Aquinas’ strategy, developed implicitly throughout the preceding questions and discussed explicitly in Question 13, must fall clearly within the confines of negative theology. As with Maimonides, the ordering of the formal features in these questions is crucial, but Aquinas shows his ordering constitutes a complete description of the dissimilarity between the Creator and creature while revealing the immediate, intimate, and necessary presence of the Creator to creature. Since this immanence totally exceeds any creaturely presence, speaking of the likeness of creature to Creator articulates a thoroughly distinct relationship. Seen in this light, analogical language-use retains its negative character. Nothing said about God’s essence, even terms also attributed to creatures, such as goodness or perfection, may be understood in its ordinary sense. Using ordinary words in an extraordinary way to refer to the divine requires a non-contrastive grasp of language. Even terms not commonly used to refer to creatures, such as limitlessness and immutability, imply the negation or limitation of some creaturely attribute, so nothing said about God is exempt from the tendency to compare or contrast the Creator and creature. But as Aquinas has already established in his second question, to call God the Creator is to move God out of every possible category by which proper comparison or contrast may be made, thereby uniquely situating God as Cause and Measure of all things falling within the order of creation. Aquinas now explicates this divine position by progressively demonstrating how special terms used to talk about the Creator’s transcendence from the created order necessarily indicate the Creator’s immediate and intimate presence.

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Question 3 confirms and expands upon how God is completely outside of the created order and subtly raises the question of how, if this is the case, God can be immediately present to it. Article 7 gives a concise summary of God’s unique transcendence: there is neither composition of quantitative parts in God, since He is not a body; nor composition of form and matter nor does His nature differ from His suppositum nor His essence from His existence; neither is there in Him composition of genus and difference, nor of subject and accident. Therefore, it is clear that God is nowise composite, but is altogether simple. … Secondly, because every composite is posterior to its component parts, and is dependent on them; but God is the first being …. Thirdly, because every composite has a cause. … Fourthly, because in every composite there must be potentiality and actuality; but this does not apply to God. … Thus in every composite there is something which is not it itself.54

The first article appeals to both scriptural and philosophical arguments. All five objections raised refer to passages in Scripture referring to God in corporeal terms. Recalling Question 1’s conclusions about scriptural language, Aquinas responds that these texts are meant to be taken metaphorically, and such bodily terms refer literally to God’s power and incomprehensibility.55 Therefore, corporeal terms are not taken in their ordinary sense when used of God. Aquinas also takes this opportunity to restate the distinction he made in the First Way between potency and act, creating a basis for removing the Creator from all creaturely categories and establishing the Creator as primary cause. Anything corporeal contains some potency and must be moved to actuality by something already in act, but since God is pure act, not only is God incorporeal but He is the cause of bringing all potential things into actuality. Article 2 further qualifies God’s incorporeality by distinguishing it from any type of form which participates in matter. Article 3 concludes that God’s essence is, therefore, God’s individual and full definition: “Since God then is not composed of matter and form, He must be … His own Life, and whatever else is thus predicated of Him.”56 Articles 4 and 5 make this explicit: “God is not only His own essence, as shown in the preceding article, but also His own existence.”57 The identification of God’s essence and existence removes the Creator from creatures by the very way we define ourselves, that is, by the categories of genus and species in which we participate, necessitating a separation between our essence and our existence. We must say the Creator is outside of creation, and further, the Creator is outside of all creaturely definitions—essentially preserving God’s ultimate incomprehensibility.  STh, I.3.7, answer.  See, for example, STh, I.1.10, reply obj. 3. 56  STh, I.3.3, answer. 57  STh, I.3.4, answer. 54 55

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Article 5 seals the Creator’s complete transcendence from creatures. The Creator is outside of all genus and species, and simultaneously the measure of all genus and species. This measure is in no way proportionate, because a proportionate measure must be homogeneous with what is measured. So, “measure” is not used in its ordinary sense when referring to the Creator. Rather, Aquinas says, “He is called the measure of all things, in the sense that everything has being only according as it resembles Him.”58 This calls attention back to Aquinas’ development of divine causality in the Five Ways: it is by virtue of God’s causing and sustaining all things in being—moving them from potency (nothingness) to act—that any likeness or measure is possible at all. Moreover, this likeness or measure is much more profound than resemblance; it manifests the Creator’s presence and immediacy to creatures. Therefore, the Creator’s complete transcendence from the created order also allows for the Creator’s immanence. Articles 6 and 8 implicitly raise the question of how the Creator is present to creation. Objection 1 foreshadows Aquinas’ treatment of God’s perfection as well as the notion of analogy by asserting there must be accidents in God because “wisdom, virtue, and the like, which are accidents in us, are attributes of God.” Aquinas replies that these are not predicated of God and of us univocally. Therefore, we may conclude, these perfections are not used in their ordinary sense when referring to God. Since we do not share in God’s perfection in an univocal way, can we then say that God is present to us by entering into the composition of things? Question 8 refutes this understanding as well, following Dionysius, that union with God does not imply co-mingling.59 The Creator’s immediate presence to creation, as well as a creature’s ultimate communion with God, does not compromise the Creator’s distinction, because the Creator is the first efficient cause, which does not participate in the form or matter of the thing caused. The Creator’s presence to creation, therefore, must be an altogether unique kind of presence. In Question 3 Aquinas accomplishes what Maimonides did by providing a complete description of how the Creator transcends creation, but goes well beyond Maimonides by pointing towards the issue of the Creator’s immanence to creation. Questions 4-6, on God’s perfection and goodness, re-orient the question of the Creator’s presence so that all divine formal features may be understood non-contrastively. These three questions together form a unit, for goodness is considered the primary perfection: “because everything in so far as it is perfect is called good.”60 However, viewed together with the other questions concerning the manner of God’s existence, those on God’s perfection and goodness do not seem to fit with the notion of formal feature; since we attribute limitlessness, immutability, and the like only to God and not to created things, we do attribute various perfections to creation—indeed, we especially speak of the creature’s  STh, I.3.5, answer.  STh, I.3.8, sed contra. 60  STh, Question 4, introduction. 58 59

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goodness in terms of its relation to the divine goodness. If anything, perfections such as goodness seem to permit an univocal understanding of the Creator–creature relationship—contrary to Aquinas’ assertion that anything attributed to creatures must be denied in God—precisely because in accordance with Scripture creation participates in God’s goodness by virtue of the divine creative act. On the other hand, consideration of God’s perfection and goodness flows directly from Question 3, where God’s simplicity is based on the singular identification between God’s essence and existence which sets God apart from the world and establishes God as Creator. The notion of causal participation—an articulation of the Creator–creature relationship wherein the creature is said to share in the Creator’s perfection—rests upon the Creator’s exclusion from all creaturely categories. Only by being excluded from every possible genus and species can the Creator be intimately present to everything contained in them (which will be the topic of Questions 7-10). Questions 4-6 reveal that all such God-talk is really about the Creator’s immanence to creatures, rather than about the Creator’s transcendence from creatures. This redirects our understanding of the formal features under consideration: when we speak of God’s eternity or infinity, for instance, we are not saying how far God exceeds us in time or space, but rather how intimately close God must be to us! We should not underestimate the importance of these three questions to the rest of the section, as well as to a non-contrastive understanding of God-talk, because they go far beyond comparison or contrast, and—as we will see in Question 13—well beyond univocal or equivocal predication; this is the core of Aquinas’ notion of “analogy”. Questions 4, 5, and 6 establish non-contrastive usage by eliminating univocal understandings of the Creator’s perfection and the creature’s, and by qualifying non-univocal usage through reversals and extensions, aimed ultimately at affirming the scriptural declaration that we are made in God’s image and likeness. Question 4 begins by reversing the creaturely meaning of perfection when attributed to God. For creatures, perfection lies in the way they are made, including their place in the order of creation: a living tree is more perfect than a rock which merely exists; a full-grown tree is more perfect than its seed, which is only in its beginning stage. According to this defining, the Creator cannot be considered perfect, for the Creator’s essence is existence (the lowest level on the order of creation) and the Creator is the beginning of things (which is less perfect than the end). Aquinas completely reverses the definition of perfection when attributed to the Creator: “[God’s] existence is the most perfect of all things, for it is compared to all things as that by which they are made actual; for nothing has actuality except so far as it exists. Hence existence is that which actuates all things.”61

From the perspective of creation, existence has the lowest status, requiring nothing else to reach its perfection, but from the divine perspective, existence has the  STh, I.4.1, reply 1.

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highest status because without it there is nothing to be perfected. Furthermore, while in creatures the beginning necessitates potentiality—that is how it is directed to its perfect end—the Creator as beginning of all things necessitates a complete lack of potentiality, and is for that reason the end that all things seek. The Creator may only be improperly called perfect, since our creaturely understanding of perfection rests on a notion of initial incompleteness and possible non-existence.62 This reversal invalidates an univocal understanding of perfection between Creator and creature, and moves into the equivocal, by negating the meaning of creaturely perfection when it is applied to the divine. However, Aquinas is not finished. Article 3 turns its focus from Creator to creature, not only anticipating the scriptural imperative of creation’s goodness which underlies Question 6, but revealing Aquinas’ true aim—the Creator–creature relationship and articulating it without violating the Creator’s incomprehensibility. Having established the Creator’s perfection as altogether different criteria-wise from that of the creature, the question is posed, “can any creature be like God?” Here Aquinas also shifts from reversing our understanding of perfection when applied to the Creator to extending our usage of creaturely terms; and, in a final step, he will take this extension beyond itself. Aquinas sets up this extension, as he did with the previous reversal, by rejecting a univocal understanding of “likeness” when applied to the Creator–creature relationship. When we say two created things are “alike,” we usually mean they share some agreement in form, and hence can be compared. However, creatures share no form with the Creator, since the Creator is excluded from any category from which a form can be derived. Aquinas answers first by providing the example of efficient causality, wherein an effect may be said to be “like” its cause, not specifically, but generically, for instance as “the sun’s heat may be in some sort spoken of as like the sun.” Generic “likeness” is a far distant reproduction of the cause than one sharing the form of species, thereby providing an example of a non-univocal or, rather, an equivocal usage of the term “likeness.” This example is equivocal, not in the sense that there is no shared meaning between Creator and creature, but that an opposition between the two is created: within a single relationship, by definition, the cause is excluded from being the effect, and vice versa.63 However, extension of the creaturely term to the divine adds a priority the reversal does not; in this instance the cause is pre-eminent over the effect. Of course, this qualification is critically important to grasping the Creator–creature relationship, because the relationship does not go both ways: the cause can exist without an effect but the effect must have a cause; accordingly, all that comprises the effect comes from the cause.64 Extending this case to the Creator–creature  Ibid.  An effect can also be a cause if it brings about another effect (for example, a mother

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who has a daughter who has her own daughter), but the prior effect becomes a cause, and so on—the two are still in contrast. 64  See STh, I.4.2, answer.

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relationship, all perfections existing in the creature it receives from the Creator, its primary and ultimate cause. Thus, the most proper meaning of “perfection” would be applied to the divine; however, when we get to Aquinas’ treatment of analogy, it will become clear that, since the understanding we have of such terms is derived from our creaturely experience, our notion of perfection can only be attributed improperly to the divine. At this point in the exercise, the Creator is clearly distinct from the creature. At the beginning of Question 4, univocal predication of divine perfection was shown to be unacceptable because every criterion by which we attribute perfections to ourselves is nullified in God. Therefore, any such predication extending a creaturely perfection to God must be in some sense equivocal. However, this equivocally-based extension creates two problems: first—as we have discussed at length in this book—whenever the divine is opposed or contrasted with the world (just as when compared), God becomes a type of creature and cannot be incomprehensible; second, if the terms we use for us and for God have little in common save a defective or far-removed reflection of our cause, then a personal and loving Creator God is incoherent. Aquinas now corrects these problems by moving his language-extension a step beyond itself, essentially rejecting the equivocal language-use he just took such great pains to establish. He is able to do this based on the type of unique distinction setting God apart from the world, introduced in the Five Ways and later developed in Question 3. The identification of essence and existence excludes God from worldly categories, so the Creator in no way shares any form with creation. Therefore, God cannot be opposed or contrasted to the world. According to Aquinas, Likeness of creatures to God is not affirmed on account of agreement in form according to the formality of the same genus or species, but solely according to analogy, inasmuch as God is essential being, whereas other things are beings by participation.65

While creatures’ participation in the Creator’s existence may in some way be likened to effects to their cause, the qualification that the cause shares no form whatsoever with the effect drives the extension beyond both univocation and equivocation, because even if we were to accept the example of a generic-type of likeness, the most we could say about the likeness between God and ourselves is that it is far removed and defective. Aquinas says as much in his answer: “if there is an agent not contained in any genus, its effects will still more distantly reproduce the form of the agent.” However, he goes on to say that “created things, so far as they are beings, are like God as the first and universal principle of all being.” As we’ll see, Aquinas’ analogy attempts to convey a likeness of creatures to their Creator more profound than any  STh, I.4.3, reply 3.

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formal likeness (univocal or equivocal), because creatures actually participate in that which is more immediate than any other created thing: existence—which in itself takes no form (and yet all forms) since it is common to all. This article draws out the implications raised in the Fourth and Fifth Ways: no one creature, no one kind of creature, can adequately reflect the Creator; however, the whole order of creation manifests the Creator in its very existence, by participation, as well as by its telos that finds consummation in becoming fully actualized—a return in fullness to the divine source from whence all things come. In Genesis, where humanity is created in the divine image, it therefore should not be understood that we bear a formal likeness to the Creator, but an existential one: our true image lies in actualizing our end (telos): communion with our source. Image in this sense is not understood as “looking like” or “resembling” God, but dynamically, in the very act of being itself. The idea that likeness—that is, relationship—between creature and Creator is more profound and dynamic than any formal description is reinforced in Questions 5 and 6. Article 3 of Question 5 asks whether every being is good. To this, Aquinas answers, “every being, as being, is good. For all being, as being, has actuality and is in some way perfect.” Illustrating his rejection of any kind of formal extension to the Creator, which would at best be equivocal, Aquinas explains that if we are to understand the “goodness” of a creature as “looking like” the goodness of God, our articulations capture only a defective idea of the Creator’s goodness, and worse (by implication) of the goodness which inheres in the creature. Consequentially, any knowledge we could claim about God through our own goodness would imply a separation between Creator and creature, contrary to our faith. Rather, the creature’s goodness is received from the Creator, not formally, but by virtue of its ordered end. This redirects the discussion away from a definition of goodness—or any perfection—applied univocally or equivocally to God, to focus on the Creator–creature relationship, and more specifically on its goal: communion, which is not about the Creator’s transcendence from but more so about the Creator’s immediate presence to the creature. And, because the Creator can in no way properly be compared with or contrasted to creation, this presence is ultimately indefinable, pointing to divine incomprehensibility. Questions 7-10 concern God’s incomprehensibility, because the features treated in these questions are uniquely and properly attributed to the divine and by definition excluded from creatures, in all but a metaphorical sense.66 This seems to accentuate the vast—the incomparably vast—distance between Creator and creature. But, Questions 4, 5, and 6 have prepared us to look for the Creator’s presence to creatures in whatsoever we attribute to the divine, with the qualification that this presence is like no other between creatures. Aquinas’ lesson on how perfections are attributed to the Creator and creature should make us wonder if “incomprehensibility” itself must also have a different meaning than normally ascribed. 66  These formal features include, scripturally speaking, God’s infinity and eternity, or, philosophically speaking, God’s limitlessness and immutability.

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Indeed, as Question 12 will reveal, it does, for incomprehensibility in this case does not mean we cannot comprehend God in the same way, for example, we cannot comprehend a foreign language—fully understood only after a long time and with much effort—or on the other hand sheer gibberish, which excludes the possibility of understanding at all. Divine incomprehensibility is neither fully explained by our limited intellectual capacity nor equal to divine unintelligibility. Rather, because God is the author of all things—and further because creation is ordered such that something can be known because everything is related by the thing most common and immediate (existence itself)—God’s incomprehensibility is derived from God’s inexhaustible intelligibility, not only allowing for the possibility but provoking us to search for our divine origin and end. This implies that the more things there are to know and the more intimately and personally we know them, the more we can know their author; however, as Question 1 insinuates, Aquinas is driving us towards a different type of “knowing” than the results of accumulated data. The kind of knowing we should seek—the only true knowing possible regarding God—is that which fosters relationship, and ultimately communion. As Question 12 will reiterate, we have to begin with the data of our senses, but allow it to be driven by the light of faith in order for it to be oriented towards our created end. The consequence of this type of knowing—as Eckhart illustrates even more dramatically than Aquinas—is radical transformation, the inevitable consequence of personal relationship. Divine incomprehensibility, therefore, discloses the Creator’s intimacy and immediacy to creatures as well as the possibility of communion rather than the Creator’s unbridgeable distance. So when we use certain terms, such as immutable, eternal, and infinite, to explain the Creator’s incomprehensibility, they should be understood to articulate the Creator’s presence to creatures, just as perfection terms do; and, they must draw attention to the uniqueness and intimacy of this presence—as well as to how Christian forms of life are to reflect and manifest it. Conventionally we use terms such as infinite, eternal, and unchanging in contrast to the way we understand creation to be set up: the vast night sky seems to go on to infinity with innumerable twinkling stars in contrast to this one insignificant, tiny planet; waiting on the results of a test that could reveal a life-threatening illness seems to take an eternity; the mountains seem to stand unchanging and immovable in contrast to the flow of seasons and passing generations. In these instances we do feel a strong sense of the divine, especially with regard to our own utter dependence on something “above” and “outside” us. But using these adjectives solely with this contrastive (or comparative) understanding to refer to God expresses only a superficial glimpse of the relationship between the creature and its Creator, emphasizing the distance and difference between the two or a proportionality between them of which the divine is far “above” and “superior.” From the perspective of faith, however, when we call God infinite or eternal we are not really referring to God’s size or age at all, but to God’s limitless, constant, and immediate love for us, eliciting a response of recognition and imitation. Thus the kind of dependence the human creature experiences is active and empowering

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rather than passive and invalidating, the implications of which will be explored in the last chapter of this book. From the introductions to Question 7 and Question 8 it should be obvious that Aquinas intends to teach the use of formal features to emphasize the singular presence of the Creator to creatures. Question 7 asserts, “we must consider the divine infinity, and God’s existence in things; for God is everywhere, and in all things, inasmuch as He is boundless and infinite.” Question 8 restates this proposition, by concluding, “it evidently belongs to the infinite to be present everywhere, and in all things.” In order to make the leap from God’s infinity to God’s existence in things, however, Aquinas must reform our understanding of infinity, which, after all is said and done, depends upon our creaturely notion of finitude, rendering it not only improperly, but inappropriately attributed to the Creator. As he did on God’s perfection, Aquinas’ first move in Question 7 is to reverse the criteria as it is conventionally used. The objections in Article 1 remind us that with created things the infinite is imperfect because it lacks form, by which a thing achieves its perfected end and makes it what it is. Having previously established God as perfect, we must conclude God cannot be infinite. Furthermore, “finite and infinite belong to quantity. But there is no quantity in God, for He is not a body.” In his answer, Aquinas reverses these requisites and anticipates his lesson on extension: first, the perfection achieved through form can only apply to matter—which contains potentiality—and as we have seen, God’s perfection is due to the lack of potentiality; therefore, this criterion does not apply. Second, infinity, when applied to God, is not a measure of some quantity (such as the space a body takes up) and therefore does not belong in the same category as the finite. This is an important qualification, because if infinity were to be categorized with the finite, then the finite might be understood to be some proportion of the infinite, allowing for comparison or contrast of the finite creature with the infinite Creator. In fact, the infinite is excluded from every creaturely category, because being categorized into genus or species requires receiving form, limiting it to being this thing or that thing. The implications of Aquinas’ reversal are more apparent if infinity is seen in terms of limitlessness. The Creator must be limitless, contrary to creatures, who require—by the act of being created—some kind of received limit, whether it be form, matter, or, as with angels, received being. Only that which is essentially limitless (that is, self-subsisting) can create all else, including the matter out of which they are created. Consequently, “the fact that the being of God is self-subsisting, not received in any other … shows Him to be distinguished from all other beings, and all others to be apart from Him.”67 When infinity is seen as limitlessness, it cannot apply to creatures, since before receiving a limit the creature does not yet exist, except in pure potentiality. Contrary to where the question began—identifying the infinite with imperfection—infinity is related to perfection, which in turn is properly attributed to the Creator: to be perfect in  STh, I.7.1, reply 3.

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the proper sense of the word means to be self-subsisting, which requires being limitless, which belongs to God alone. Limitlessness not only preserves the distinction between Creator and creature but makes room for extending a creaturely understanding of the infinite beyond itself. In Article 1 Aquinas expands infinity’s definition to include form, something outside of the category of “quantity” on the basis of lacking a body, creating the opportunity to move the discussion towards the relationship of potency to act—which, as in previous questions, allows for non-contrastive language-use. Prior to being contracted by matter, form may, in an abstract way, be considered infinite since it is undetermined. But depending on the perspective, infinite form may be considered either imperfect or perfect. From the creatures’ perspective, infinite form is imperfect because, being undetermined, it is “formless matter”—strictly speaking nothing (no-thing). But from the perspective of limitlessness, infinite form is perfect because it is unrestricted being; it is not confined by time or space. In the following article, Aquinas extends this second notion of infinity by using an example of something lacking quantity but considered infinite: angels, who as forms without matter to limit them enjoy relative infinity; they are limited only by virtue of having received being. Aquinas is now ready to apply an extended use to the singular case of God, which in Question 8 and those following better reveals the Creator’s unique presence to creature. Having maintained God’s distinction from created beings in the last question by virtue of God’s unlimiting self-subsistence, Question 8 asserts that, being infinite, God exists in all things and everywhere. By reminding us that God’s existence is excluded from every possible creaturely category, Aquinas moves even beyond his last extension of the infinite to unlimited form, because God is excluded even from the category of angels who, while unlimited by matter, are nonetheless contracted to a determinate nature—unlike God, angels have being but are not their own being. Extending infinity to angels, however, shows there could be an infinite entity not limited to space or time. But extending this kind of infinity to God still fails to communicate divine incomprehensibility, because it does not necessarily say anything about the relationship between the creature and the infinite being. What we want to express, according to Aquinas, is what causes us to be and to act, as confessed by Isaiah: “Lord … thou have wrought all our works in us.”68 Articulating the existence of something present in the manner of the Creator God requires another type of extension, and here Aquinas draws upon the example of an agent and its presence in its effects. While this is different from his extension of infinity to unlimited form, Aquinas has taught his reader with the last example that certain terms may be applied in an extraordinary manner when detached from conventional assumptions. Aquinas began this exercise in his Five Ways, where he drew our attention to how the god of philosophy (the unmoved mover) does not meet the criteria of the God of faith, and he began maneuvering towards the God of Scripture by introducing the relationship of potency to act—which develops  STh, I.8.1, sed contra.

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the basis for his extension of perfections/formal features to the Divine, allowing creatures to participate in the Creator’s existence. In Question 8 the implications of those earlier demonstrations become clear: God is in all things; not, indeed, as part of their essence, nor as an accident; but as an agent is present to that upon which it works. For an agent must be joined to that wherein it acts immediately, and touch it by its power … Now since God is very being by His own essence, created being must be his proper effect. … Now God causes this effect in things not only when they first begin to be, but as long as they are preserved in being. … Therefore as long as a thing has being, God must be present to it, according to its mode of being. But being is innermost in each thing and most fundamentally inherent in all things since it is formal in respect to everything found in a thing. … Hence it must be that God is in all things, and innermostly.69

Aquinas explicitly restates from the first two Ways that, unlike the unmoved mover, the God of faith creates without mediation, and unlike the first efficient cause, the Creator God must remain with the effect throughout its existence. Now Aquinas makes it clear, God is very different than conceived by philosophers or heretics; for the God of faith is in all things “by His power,” contrary to the Manichees who believe God is only responsible for creating the incorporeal, “by His presence,” contrary to those who believe God’s providential care does not extend to inferior bodies, and “by His essence,” contrary to those who believe God’s presence is not necessary for the creation and maintenance of all creatures.70 But where Aquinas held off in the Five Ways, he now renders explicit the intimate and personal consequences of God’s unique presence: the Creator is innermost present to the creature; “hence nothing is distant from Him, as if it could be without God in itself.”71 Not only is the Creator in all things, but such that there is absolutely nothing closer to the creature than the Creator’s presence, no object or being, not even the creature’s own breath. Recalling Question 2 where Aquinas asserts the human creature is inherently driven to know God,72 Question 12 will take up the Creator’s special intimacy with the human creature, who through participation enjoys the possibility of knowing its divine author in a way no other creature can, thereby fulfilling its particular telos. The third article of Question 8 anticipates Question 12 as well as future questions on the human creature’s love for the Creator and on the beatified’s communion with God.73 In his answer, Aquinas claims God’s presence as operator is proper “according as the thing known is in the  STh, I.8.1, answer.  Ibid. 71  STh, I.8.1, reply 3. 72  STh, I.2.1, reply obj. 1. 73  See, for example, Questions 1a2æ.27-8 and 1a2æ.2.8 and 3.8. See also Appendix 5 69 70

in the Blackfriars edition, “The Vision of God,” 153-5.

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one who knows, and the thing desired in the one desiring,” which is “especially in the rational creature, [who] knows and loves Him actually or habitually”; further, he mentions “another special mode of God’s existence in [the human] by union” which he treats later in the Summa.74 This union, referring to the faithful departed, is articulated in Christianity as “eternal life.” A contrastive reading leads us to interpret this as God’s granting the beatified unending existence, opposed to the relatively short span of time between the beginning of the human being’s existence and its inevitable creaturely end. But we want to say more about our ultimate destiny than how long (that is, interminably) we will be granted existence; we want to say something about the quality of that existence. Eternity for the beatified is the state, metaphorically speaking, of “seeing God face to face,” radically communicating the impression of equality between creature and Creator. The nature of this “equality” is the communion between the creature and its Creator, or, the identification of creature with its source. To avoid the superficial understanding of eternity as an interminably long time, Aquinas moves his reader from this contrastive interpretation to a non-contrastive use where eternity is not the measure of time but, rather, of immutability. As with infinity, Aquinas must render immutability, and then eternity, free from any association with quantity, again by appealing to the relationship of potency to act. In his answer to Question 9, Article 1 he establishes God’s immutability on the basis of previous questions: First … there is some first being, whom we call God; and … this first being must be pure act, without the admixture of any potentiality, for the reason that, absolutely, potentiality is posterior to act. Now everything which is in any way changed, is in some way in potentiality. Hence it is evident that it is impossible for God to be in any way changeable. … Secondly … in everything which is moved, there is some kind of composition to be found, but it has been shown that in God there is no composition, for He is altogether simple. … But since God is infinite, comprehending in Himself all the plentitude of perfection of all being, He cannot acquire anything new, nor extend Himself to anything whereto He was not extended previously. Hence movement in no way belongs to him.

Appealing to Augustine, Aquinas explains that when we speak of God in terms of movement, we speak “not … as movement and change belong to a thing existing in potentiality,” but rather of God’s operation. Aquinas illustrates this, as he did in the Third Way, in terms of God’s necessary existence and pure act: God alone creates out of nothing and preserves creation from falling back into nothingness. This operation requires no movement on the Creator’s part, since before it is created, there is strictly nothing to move or to change. What immutability really articulates, then, is the relationship of act and potency rather than the lack of movement or change.  Ibid.

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As in his previous questions, Aquinas has reversed the criteria we might be tempted to use based on our creaturely experience, which when extended to God inevitably renders God a creature. Having removed the criteria of quantity (whatever it is to be moved or changed) from the notion of operation, we can now conceive of cases where an agent can act without motion, for example in “understanding, willing and loving.”75 Although our thoughts, emotions, and intentions are stimulated by our senses and thus require data out there in the world in order to operate, the creaturely examples of “immutable act” can extend to the singular case of God, who calls things out of pure potentiality, pure nothingness. In attributing immutability to God, Aquinas pushes the extension of immutable operation beyond mental acts to the act of creation, possible only because God’s distinct existence—as demonstrated in Question 2—requires no pre-existing data in order to actuate creative power. Thus, immutability refers to God’s necessary, permanent, and fully actualized existence. This is much more dynamic than conceiving immutability as “unchangeability”—which inevitably limits our conception of God’s power to act, especially in terms of the created world. Like infinity, immutability refers to God’s limitlessness, but includes the notion of God’s creative operative power, a step forward in articulating God as Creator. Consistent with the pattern established in Question 2, anything attributed to the God of faith must be distinguished from the god of philosophy and direct us towards the God of Scripture, the immediate and personal Creator. We must assume this same progressive pattern with eternity in Question 10, and if this follows the Five Ways, “eternity” should turn our attention again to effects—creatures—as did the Fourth Way in implicating the order of creation and the participation of creatures in the existence of their Creator. In order to accomplish this, Aquinas first unmasks the misconceptions of eternity as an interminably long time or the “now that stands still,” because these definitions rely on comparing and contrasting eternity with time, which is none other than the “numbering of movement by before and after”76—in other words, the measuring of change. Eternity cannot be interminable time, because time would be measured in proportion to eternity, giving the impression God is a very ancient creature who will merely outlive all things now existing. This sense of eternity must be understood only in a metaphorical sense to avoid falling into anthropomorphism. On the other hand, contrasting eternity and time also creates another difficulty, for the opposite of time is immutability, conventionally understood as the lack of motion. Following upon Question 9, however, where immutability refers not to the lack of change or movement but to the fullness of being, eternity becomes the measure of permanent being77—a status that can be extended to all things in so far as they exist, and in a special way to those human creatures who attain salvation.  See, for example, STh, I.9.1, reply 1.  STh, I.10.4, answer. 77  Ibid. 75 76

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This notion of eternity adds to that of immutability a space for expressing the participation of creatures in the existence of the Creator without compromising the Creator’s distinction from creation. The Creator’s existence is singularly unique because nothing else is its own duration and its own being,78 and therefore nothing brings or moves the Creator to being nor sustains it there. But, at the same time, the Creator’s existence is not opposed to that of creatures since the Creator is the author and agent of all beings and as such is absolutely necessary to them in every respect of their existence. To be opposed to creatures would mean a totally separate and disconnected existence, such as the gnostic god, dwelling in and only concerned with the transcendent incorporeal realm. As effects, creatures participate in the Creator’s existence by being actualized—by being moved (metaphorically speaking) from nothingness into being and sustained there—but the Creator does not likewise participate in the creature’s existence. So the participation of creatures in their Creator’s existence refers not to how long they exist in proportion to or measured against the Creator’s interminably long life, but to the quality of their participation in it, according to their being in the order of creation. Questions 7-10, in addition to providing several exercises in extraordinary language extension, have also established an identification between God’s infinity, immutability, and eternity, because when severed from creaturely assumptions, each feature points to the Creator’s unique distinction from the world. Yet, with each example, the reader is pushed closer towards recognizing God of Scripture’s intimate presence and to anticipating the special place of the human creature in the existence of its source as its final end. Question 11 now completes the cycle by summarizing this identification and returning to the formal feature from whence the reader began this journey, God’s simplicity. Aquinas adds to his features that of unity or oneness. In reality, God’s oneness sums up all of God’s features: God is one: First from His simplicity. … Now this belongs to God alone; for God Himself is His own nature. … Secondly from the infinity of His perfection. … God comprehends in Himself the whole perfection of being. … Thirdly … from the unity of the world. … For many are reduced into one order by one better than by many; because one is the per se cause of one. … [I]t must be that the first which reduces all into one order should be only one. And this one is God.79

The idea of God’s oneness exceeds, but includes, the quantity—or number—of God; it extends to the quality of this one God’s existence. Furthermore, God’s oneness illuminates the relationship of the many creatures to their one divine source: “For multitude itself would not be contained under being, unless it were in some way contained under one.”80 The unity of the world, therefore, obtains from the fullness of God’s being, and from the distinction of the Creator, who calls  Ibid.  STh, I.11.3, answer. 80  STh, I.11.1, answer. 78 79

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all things forth from nothing: “and so in being, by reason of its universality, the privation of being has its foundation in being.”81 By moving God’s oneness away from numerical or quantifiable association, Aquinas has reached the Creator God of Scripture and Tradition: “I Am Who Am,” who, far from a deity dwelling in a detached transcendent realm and wrapped up in its own self-contemplation, is the God of Moses, the One God who not only through pure existence brings us into being, but out of intimate concern leads us out of slavery into freedom—ultimately into communion and our own deification. Thus, the features that we properly attribute to the divine do not really attempt to define the manner of God’s existence, but communicate the personal and unique relationship between Creator and creature. C. Questions 12 and 13: Articulating Divine Incomprehensibility How God is Known by Us (Question 12) The Names of God (Question 13) Aquinas’ presentation of God’s formal features in Questions 3-11 clearly falls within non-contrastive language-use, because anything attributed to God’s essence must preserve God’s distinction from the world, and simultaneously articulate divine transcendence and immanence. This is what simplicity in Question 3 is qualified to do, and the other features progressively follow suit. As Sokolowski and Tanner perceive, comparing or contrasting God and the world cannot lead us to Scripture’s free, intentional, and immediately present Creator.82 Aquinas shows that some features may be utilized to avoid such comparison or contrast because they refer exclusively to God—while at the same time communicate the Creator’s intimacy to creatures and implicates creatures’ participation in the Creator’s existence. Consequently, Aquinas’ lessons on non-contrastive language not only maintain a unique distinction, but also reveal a unique relationship. In addition to preserving God’s distinction from the world, Tanner suggests the practical role of non-contrastive language for Christianity: the purpose of Christian theology is to insure Christian forms of life are consistent with the doctrines of faith and vice versa.83 Non-contrastive language permits us to direct faith towards this end by balancing out our tendencies towards addressing a too transcendent or a too creaturely God. Directing faith and action was at the heart of the medieval Dominican mission of preaching doctrine, and Aquinas was particularly concerned that the words and deeds making up the content of Christian faith—moral theology in particular—are firmly set within the context of the doctrines of God, creation, and Jesus Christ. This means, for Aquinas, that speech about God is at the same time speech about our participation as well as our  STh, I.11.2, reply 1.  Sokolowski, God of Faith and Reason, 32-3; Tanner, God and Creation, 28. 83  Tanner, God and Creation, 12. 81 82

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end in the divine life, brought about by Jesus Christ who through his incarnation makes this reditus journey possible. In the doctrine of Jesus Christ, asserting his full humanity and full divinity, we find the perfect expression of this balance, and further, the articulation of human and divine consummation: eternal life in its fullest sense of actualized being. Indeed, Aquinas’ insight into how formal features reveal the uniquely intimate relationship between Creator and creature as well as its intended fulfillment goes beyond non-contrastive language. For Aquinas, speaking about God and knowing God are intrinsically connected, and knowing God is the result of the believer’s journey of faith seeking understanding. Since the knowing that results from the faith journey is not data about God but personal union—transcends all human relations—more than balancing divine transcendence and immanence is entailed; the believer must reach for the incomprehensible, an endeavor that would be futile without the capacity to recognize and respond to that which is always beyond grasp. Due to the human creature’s limited intellectual faculty, this inchoate awareness—the “restless heart”—must be developed and directed to its end by some power greater than itself. This extraordinary endowment, generally referred to as “grace,” requires its own language, and with the notion of grace we must move from balancing language to transforming it. Recall in Question 1, Aquinas re-visions faith so that instead of being a type of revealed knowledge far exceeding the faculty of human intellection and, thus, unquestionably accepted in a leap of imagination, faith becomes the instrument—given through revelation and nurtured by tradition—wherein all human knowledge and experience is imbued with saving significance.84 In this re-visioning, grace is not merely an occasional gift given to bolster faith when it languishes, but the immediate and continual communication of God’s presence, not only in relation to a particular event or moment in time, but in everything within and outside of the life of the believer; and so faith ever-expands as the believer becomes more aware of God’s presence and providence in all things. Aquinas demonstrates this intimate relationship in Questions 3-11, and in so doing, also begins to open a linguistic space in which to discuss grace. In Question 12 on how we know God, grace becomes the determining factor in moving beyond a superficial sense of knowing God based upon visual or formal data (“knowing about”) to knowing God as union and identification with the incomprehensible. Finally, Question 13 makes explicit the role religious language-use plays in this journey: with the rising awareness of our inbuilt telos to seek after God as our own end and with the attempt to verbalize the deepening appreciation of God’s incomprehensible presence accompanying this realization, we begin to discern that the most basic principle of speaking about God is understanding that our words do not adequately capture the reality they seek to articulate. We must strive instead to speak in a way that draws attention to the uniqueness and significance of God’s presence. As believers, our ceaseless quest to express the incomprehensible leads  See Marthaler, The Creed, 27-9; STh, I.1.8.

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us beyond ordinary speech, transforming—hopefully—not only the language of faith but speaker and audience as well. 1. Question 12: How We Know God Questions 3-11 began to create a linguistic space in which to speak about grace as the communication of the Creator’s presence to the human creature by demonstrating that as infinite, immutable, and eternal, God is necessarily in everything and everywhere at all times. This suggests there is never a moment or event where God’s communication—or grace—is absent. The faith journey is the believer’s maturing recognition of and response to God’s extraordinary disclosure. The difficulty is discerning and articulating God’s presence, given the restricted operation of human cognition which requires sensory data in order to process a novel experience as well as the existence of other more familiar things with which to compare it. Question 12 addresses this difficulty by linking God’s incomprehensibility to the idea of grace and by moving towards the process of knowing as personal relationship rather than as acquiring information. The first consideration is whether it is possible to know God, since, according to Chrysostum, it is not possible for a creature to see the increatable, and from Dionysius, “neither is there sense, nor image, nor opinion, nor reason, nor knowledge of Him.”85 The remaining three objections refer to God’s infinity and existence which, so far exceeding the created intellect and excluding any proportion between the two, make God unknowable and unintelligible. All of these objections appeal to God’s incomprehensibility; however, as Aquinas’ earlier questions on God’s essence forecast, the criteria for incomprehensibility will have to be reversed in order to properly refer to the divine. Ordinarily we speak of something as incomprehensible if it “does not make sense” or if the subject matter exceeds our education or ability. Incomprehensibility when attributed to God, however, cannot be unintelligibility because “everything is knowable according as it is actual, [and therefore] God, who is pure act … is in Himself supremely knowable.”86 Hence, divine incomprehensibility is in reality derived from God’s inexhaustible intelligibility. But even given that the Creator could never be known well enough to be comprehended by any created being, divine incomprehensibility cannot be fully explained by a limited intellectual capacity, particularly because the inability to know the Creator would thwart the telos of the human creature for beatitude. Aquinas replies that the human, although intellectually limited, is indeed “proportioned” to know God as its ultimate cause.87 This proportioning, explicated and further qualified as analogy in the following question, makes room for God’s grace while focusing in on knowing as relationship.  STh, I.12.1, obj. 1.  STh, I.12.1, answer. 87  STh, I.12.1, reply 4. 85 86

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In the first article of Question 12, the human creature’s proportion to its Creator is explained as a “relation,” but one where the idea of quantity (that is, whatever is to be measured) is excluded. As in preceding questions, once the criteria of quantity is removed, a term may be extended to include something which transcends the constraints of the physical world, and then further extended to the singular case of God who transcends all creaturely categories whatsoever. In this question, however, Aquinas now factors the creature into this extension. Thus, the proportion between human creature and its Creator may be described as a potency to receive, respond to, and be transformed by the Creator’s self-communication. It does not refer to humanity’s existence as more or less in proportion to the Creator’s when compared to other creatures in the order of being (although we do speak metaphorically of the human being as closer to God than “non-rational” creatures), nor does it refer to a formal likeness between the two that could be measured; this latter qualification was already made in Question 4, where Aquinas submits that creatures’ likeness to Creator is not one of form but of participation. Obviously the initiative for the human creature’s participation remains entirely with the Creator, who produces and sustains it throughout its faith journey, and according to Christian tradition, this is equally true with regard to its fulfillment, the granting of eternal life. However, as the Fourth and Fifth Ways of Question 2 indicate, each creature has its own particular telos according to its place in the created order as well as a correlating means of achieving its end. For the human creature, defined by its rational nature, not only the way but the goal—eternal life—involves the intellect. Aquinas reminds us of this correspondence in Question 12: the ultimate beatitude of man consists in the use of his highest function, which is the operation of the intellect. … [Accordingly] there resides in every man a natural desire to know the cause of any effect which he sees; and thence arises wonder in men. But if the intellect of the rational creature could not reach so far as to the first cause of things, the natural desire would remain void.88

He concludes that those who reach their intended goal must know their divine source. The following twelve articles explore the manner by which the human creature comes to know the Creator, given that the object of this intellectual pursuit transcends any comparable creaturely relation. The first and more apparent determination of this inquiry is that natural reason can grasp that the Creator, as the primordial cause of all things, is uniquely distinct from creation and consequently enjoys a relationship of transcendence-in-immanence with it; however, the nature of this existence still remains unknown.89 In order to come to a higher knowledge of God, we must have the benefit of divine revelation,  STh, I.12.1, answer.  STh, I.12.13, answer.

88 89

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allowing us to formulate this distinction in a way that not only directs us towards God as the incomprehensible Creator, but as Sanctifier and Redeemer as well. Since formulations like the doctrine of the holy Trinity and of the hypostatic union are derived from revelation proclaimed in Scripture, they have their origin in God’s grace rather than in human reason. These graced formulations are essential to religious faith because they are designed to lead believers away from the misapprehension of God as a being while further revealing the human being’s appointment in the divine life; and doctrines accomplish this by drawing attention to the singularity of the Creator God’s existence and also to the singularity of the Creator–creature relationship—particularly the Creator–human relationship. Free from misdirection, the believer’s faith ever increases as, according to Aquinas, “we know Him more fully according as many and more excellent of His effects are demonstrated to us.”90 In Christian terms, believers led by faith become open to seeing the saving significance of Christ in everything around them. Although God’s essence is still unknown, the nature of humanity’s end may be revealed. However, having established that knowledge given through revelation assists the rational faculty by directing it towards ascertaining God as Creator, Sanctifier, and Redeemer, throughout Question 12 Aquinas continually reminds us that a set of propositions about God—natural or revealed—cannot reunite the human creature with its Creator, because it does not yield knowledge of God’s essence, wherein the knower finds ultimate fulfillment in the beatific vision. “[W]hen any created intellect sees the essence of God,” says Aquinas, “the essence of God itself becomes the intelligible form of the intellect.”91 This divine illumination, which raises the intellect “to such a great and sublime height” radically transforms the departed blessed, who are made “deiform—that is, like to God.”92 Rational cognition is inadequate for such an identification of creature to its Creator, because the knowledge produced, information about, stands between the knower and the object known. Neither can simply adhering to a doctrine—revealed or otherwise—produce communion; in fact, later Eckhart, following Aquinas, will go to great lengths to detach us from any formulation about God. For, in the beatific vision, knowledge between creature and Creator is unmediated and active, likened to but far exceeding the personal knowing between lover and beloved. In order to show how cognition is nevertheless involved in the journey whose end lies beyond physical death, Aquinas must first dissociate the necessary use of bodily organs from the operation of intellect, allowing the beatific vision to transcend the physical limitations of the human creature—in fact, Aquinas implicitly prepares his readers to understand terms such as “vision” and “sight” as metaphors, used improperly when attributed to knowing God. Article 2 rejects the idea that God’s essence is seen through an image by reminding us, as he did in Question 4, that there is no formal likeness—but a much more profound  STh, I.12.13, reply obj. 1.  STh, I.12.5, answer. 92  Ibid. 90 91

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one—between Creator and creatures. The following two articles eliminate the use of the bodily eye in the beatific vision, and it therefore must be concluded that knowing God’s essence does not terminate in data about God. For Aquinas, the intellect is a cognitive power that is not an act of any corporeal organ but a capacity to receive God’s self-communication and a potency to respond to that recognition.93 It is in this sense we may say that human creatures are proportioned to their Creator. At this point, Aquinas begins to distinguish between knowledge derived through the senses and unmediated knowledge. Rational cognition produces knowledge by similitude, which mediates things outside of the knower to mental images inside of the knower through the bodily senses. But there is another type of knowledge where the object is immediately present and directly united to the knower, which Aquinas later explains in his consideration of the causes and effects of beatitude.94 This knowing moves beyond verbal articulation, towards transformation, wherein it goes by another name: love. For, as Question 28 of the Prima secundae affirms, in a relationship of deep intimacy knowing and loving become inseparable, causing a dynamic communion between the participants: Mutual indwelling is both a cognitive and an orectic effect of love. … the lover is cognitively present in the person loved in the sense that he is not satisfied with a surface knowledge of him, but strives for personal insight into everything about him, and penetrates into his very soul.95

It is love-knowledge that cleaves human creature to Creator, moving it from instinct to awareness, from inquiry to response, and ultimately—as Eckhart will even more dramatically illustrate—from rhetoric to silence. Although Question 12 does not yet present this type of knowing in terms of love, Aquinas does begin to shift the language of knowledge from acquiring information to expressing relationship, while, of course, maintaining the Creator’s distinction and priority. Article 7 answers affirmatively the question of whether the beatified comprehend God. God cannot be comprehended in the sense of being contained in the created intellect. If, however, comprehension is not limited to the accumulation of information but is understood in the broader sense of attainment, then the blessed truly comprehend God, because “they … possess Him as present … and possessing Him, they enjoy Him as the ultimate fulfilment of desire.” This comprehension, the illumination of the human intellect which unites the creature to its Creator, does not undermine divine incomprehensibility, because it is not required that the blessed “see all in God”—this would make them indistinguishable from their Creator. Rather, in attaining to their Creator, the blessed are united as creatures whose telos is fulfilled, and to the extent they have  STh, I.12.4, answer.  STh, Ia.2ae.2-3. 95  STh, Ia.2ae.28, 2. 93 94

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realized their full actuality, they are deified, not infinitely, but with respect to their intended end. For Aquinas, and Eckhart as well, this special relationship is one of distinction without separation. 2. Question 13: Analogy and Beyond Having demonstrated knowing God is not only possible, but is required for human creatures in order to fulfill our destiny, Aquinas now turns to how we might articulate this ineffable reality. The heart of Question 13, how we speak about God, is analogy, standing as one of Aquinas’ more controversial presentations in the Prima pars, because—as with Eckhart’s explanation of analogy—it finds little consensus among scholars as to its interpretation or as to its consistency with his use of analogy in other works. In reality, however, Aquinas starts preparing his students for his presentation of analogy from his first question, and in Question 3 he begins a rigorous and progressive exercise in analogous language-use. By the time we have reached Question 13 the hard work on appropriating analogy has already been accomplished, and so Aquinas’ main task is to make explicit what we have been doing all along. Consequently, without the benefit of having worked through Questions 3 to 11, and without the benefit of the first two questions’ guidance, it may be difficult to grasp the subtle nuances in the explanation of analogy that Aquinas gives in Question 13. Analogy is the extension of a term from its ordinary usage to a new context, thus revealing a similarity or relationship that may otherwise remain obscure.96 In Questions 3-11, we find a repetitive pattern of extensions, with subtle yet sophisticated twists; for the divine context that we want to ascertain is absolutely novel, and consequently there are no terms that can properly be stretched to such an extent; in fact, it is not simply a matter of how far a term can be extended, but what kind of extension is possible. As Article 1 of Question 13 expresses this dilemma: “Can we use any words to refer to God?”97 This query is echoed again at the end of the question, where he asks, “Can affirmative statements correctly be made about God?” If Aquinas is consistent with his proscription at the beginning of Question 3 that we can only know what God is not, the answer must be: terms ordinarily used to refer to creatures must be negated when extended to the divine—which seems to be counter-productive to the whole exercise, considering all we can know comes from creaturely experience, and further, we name things as we know them.98 The question becomes “Can we make such negative extensions, and if so of what use are they to us?” In Questions 4-6 Aquinas considers the validity of extending perfection terms to God. Later, in the third article of Question 13 he reaffirms these terms are indeed more appropriately extended to the divine than are any other creaturely terms, and  See Soskice, Metaphor and Religious Language, 64.  Emphasis mine. 98  STh, Question 13, introduction. 96 97

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so may be considered literal names of God.99 Here he makes explicit that they are understood properly only when referring to the Creator and improperly when referring to creatures, thus, as Gavin Ardley reminds us, “restor[ing] theology to its right order, instead of the upside-down condition to which anthropomorphists reduce it.”100 In analogical terminology, this makes God the prime analogate in the relationship, thus preserving the priority of Creator over creature. This qualification has already been indicated in Question 4, where Aquinas reverses the criteria of perfection when it applies to the divine, not only restoring the correct order of the relationship, but securing the distinction of Creator from creature. God’s perfection comes from being uncreated and fully actual rather than having reached a designated end, which would necessitate having a measure of potentiality. Consequently, God is the Creator from whom all things have their origin and, hence, all perfections flow from Creator to creatures. Remember in this question Aquinas maintains a non-univocal understanding of divine perfection, for the likeness of a creature to its Creator is not one of formal resemblance, and therefore we cannot compare the Creator’s perfection to creaturely perfections, confined in our rational cognition to forms. Since we can only understand these perfections from our creaturely experience of them, these terms are therefore used improperly when applied to God, although we intend them to signify a reality that exists primarily and properly in God. With this kind of extension—as long as we are aware that we are using a term improperly—we can say more than we can understand about God, thus maintaining God’s distinction and, further, “allow[ing] the genuine negative way to emerge.”101 Aquinas then moves from terms conventionally attributed to both creatures and Creator to terms attributed primarily to the Creator and only metaphorically to creatures—that is, the divine features: infinity, eternity, immutability. While the features explored in Questions 7-10 are included in the category of perfections, they present a special case because they are specifically meant to distinguish the divine from the non-divine—the uncreated from the created—and are therefore equivocal in nature. Aquinas’ task in these questions is to show divine features are not truly equivocal, but rather reveal the true intimacy of Creator to creatures. Aquinas employs the same strategy to accomplish this as he did in the prior questions: reverse the criteria we would conventionally assign them; however, in Questions 7-10 this maneuver uncovers the misguided presumption that these features are free from creaturely conceptions to begin with, and so in addition to being reversed such criteria must also be qualified. In actuality, conventional usage of these divine features is based upon an opposition to creaturely experience: infinity to the finite; eternity to time; immutability to change. These features are, in a sense, negative extensions of creaturely terms. But such extensions are not all that  STh, I.13.3, reply obj. 1.  See Gavin Ardley, “From Greek Philosophy to Apophatic Theology,” Prudentia

99

100

(Supplementary, 1981): 141. 101  Ibid.

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useful in describing the Creator–creature relationship as professed by Scripture and Tradition. It must be qualified that the Creator, being excluded from any restrictions belonging to creaturely categories, is immediately present to creatures in a way that exceeds any and all created relationships. As we saw in Questions 7-10, far from being opposed to creaturely experience, divine features describe the Creator as the origin of all things who permeates every created being, every event, and every experience. No longer understood as equivocal, this extension does not fall within the univocal either, for the Creator still holds priority over creatures while maintaining the distinction between the two. What is gained by this extension is that now we have a means of speaking about the Creator–creature relationship which includes the necessity of the Creator’s immediate self-communication. While neither equivocal nor univocal, however, this analogous language-usage still falls within the bounds of negative theology, for we do not articulate any positive content about the Creator’s essence. As the last article of Question 13 concludes, “true affirmative propositions [such as the doctrine of the Trinity] can be formed about God”; but what we express in these propositions, as Question 12 demonstrated, is the uniqueness of God’s existence as Creator, not what God is. By opening up a linguistic space for the Creator’s self-communication—that is, religiously speaking, God’s grace—Aquinas makes negative theology much more useful than removing inappropriate conceptions from the divine, which benefits believers only by preventing them from being misdirected but gets them no closer to their source; the via negativa is in reality a step forward in the faith journey because it teaches believers to look for the ineffable not in this thing or in that, but in everything, given that all things as existing in relation to one another bear within them the inexhaustible intelligibility of their divine Creator. But there is more to this appropriation than developing an awareness of the Creator’s immanence to creation, for the human creature’s purpose is incomplete until it responds to this presence, and is changed by it. Because of its flexibility in diverse contexts, analogy holds the most promise for plumbing the depths of this dynamic divine–human relationship. In the answer to Question 13, Article 5 Aquinas explains how analogy—properly qualified, of course—provides a way “between” the limitations of univocal language-use, which only expresses similarity among things, and equivocal language-use, which only expresses differences: [N]ames are thus used … according as one thing is proportionate to another, thus healthy is said of medicine and animal, since medicine is the cause of health in the animal body. And in this way some things are said of God and creatures analogically. … Thus, whatever is said of God and creatures is said according to the relation of a creature to God as its principle and cause, wherein all perfections of things pre-exist excellently. Now this mode of community of idea is a mean between pure equivocation and simple univocation. For in analogies … a term which is thus used in a multiple sense signifies various proportions to some one thing; thus healthy applied to urine signifies the sign of animal health, and applied to medicine signifies the cause of the same health.

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In this article, Aquinas chooses one description of analogy, the analogy of proportion, as more appropriate for naming God. However, in making the leap from the creaturely example of “health” to that of divine perfection, Aquinas assumes his prior qualifications preserving the Creator’s distinction. These qualifications are essential to his argument, because without them it is tempting to see analogy as being a form of univocal language-use or “positive” theology, neither of which is able to accomplish what Aquinas intends. The most critical qualification in Aquinas’ argument has to do with the idea of “proportion” itself, as it applies to the creature’s relation to its Creator. Recall that in Question 4 Aquinas defines proportion in its most general sense as relation, and qualifies that with regard to Creator and creatures, proportion refers to the manner in which the creature fulfills its particular telos. The human creature is proportioned to its Creator by its capacity to receive the Creator’s self-communication which engages its highest faculty, the intellect. In the most intimate human relations, the intellect embraces but moves beyond rational cognition to effect the fullest knowledge between the lover and beloved, which transforms both through a dynamic communion. In an even more profound sense, the human intellect illuminated by divine grace is directly united to the ultimate object of its desire, God, moving from knowledge to an identity of creature to Creator, thus allowing it to fulfill its intended purpose: deification. The example of “health” Aquinas uses in Article 5 to explore how the analogy of proportion can describe a dynamic relationship whose effect is transformation without violating the distinction of the prime analogate is particularly appropriate to the Creator–human creature relationship. In this analogy, medicine gives or restores health to the presumably ailing animal. We must also presume here that the animal has the capacity to receive the medicine, and to be made better by it—that is, to respond to it. In other words, the animal must be “proportioned” or fitted to the medicine. While the animal is changed by the presence of the medicine in its body, however, there is no reciprocal change in the medicine. In applying the analogy to the divine–human relationship, “health” being the state of perfection, medicine being the Creator, and the animal being the human creature, the implications are: first, the human being has the capacity to receive the Creator (and further must receive the Creator if it has hope of being restored); second, it has the potential to respond positively to the presence of the Creator; and finally, the resulting change will be its own perfection, which is its fullest actualization. Names of God—perfections—predicated analogously, therefore, do not define divine nature, but rather describe a relationship, the implication of which is the transformation of one participant and, if taken to its logical conclusion, identification with the divine, for the fullness of perfection is existence itself, and to the extent that a creature achieves its own perfection, it shares in the divine existence wherein all perfections are one. Finally, we must conclude that Aquinas pushes the envelope of the negative way with his development of analogy, because his “middle way,” in excluding both equivocal and univocal language, in reality sets up a “negation of negation.”

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Equivocation is just as unacceptable to Aquinas as univocation because, in the first place, this type of language must rely on some creaturely conception in order to be opposed to it. Second, equivocation cannot express the intimacy and immediacy of the Creator God of faith, and finally, it certainly cannot articulate the dynamism of the Creator–creature relationship. In rejecting the limitations of this kind of negation (equivocation), not only does Aquinas take analogy well beyond its conventional usage, he lays the foundation for taking language beyond itself, for in the end, the identification that is the effect—and, as it turns out, the cause—of love-knowledge transcends the necessity of verbal expression altogether, leaving the believer open to the ineffable experience of pure presence, what Denys Turner might describe as the “silence of the apophatic.”102 And as we shall soon discover, Eckhart, free from the task given his predecessors of developing a philosophical justification and methodology for using language to this end, extends analogy further yet, wrenching those brave enough to dare from any conception that might hold them back from recognizing this profound silence, inherent in words and deeds as much as in rest. Analogy, for Eckhart and Aquinas alike, can be a means to an end as well as it is a description of it.

102  Denys Turner, “The Art of Unknowing: Negative Theology in Late Medieval Mysticism,” Modern Theology 14, No. 4 (Oct. 1998): 479.

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Chapter 5

Meister Eckhart: From Analogy to Silence If Aquinas believed approaching theology through metaphysics is fruitful so long as one becomes highly skilled at using language non-contrastively, such a metaphysical interpretation for Eckhart becomes a dangerous, but promising, adventure: dangerous because of the inherent temptation to render and then cling to always inadequate formulations of God and of the Creator–creature relationship; promising, because the metaphysical vocabulary, especially of the Neoplatonists, gives the believer another way to fathom the journey of faith complementing the Hebrew/Christian scriptural narrative of creation–sanctification–redemption. It is, finally, an adventure, because the end destination is unknown and in some sense is unknowable at the beginning of the journey as well as all along the way. Since the early Church, Christianity has been concerned with articulating the saving encounter of God into theological formulations so that it may be faithfully transmitted to future generations. However, the desire to preserve and transfer the divine–human encounter in this manner, while seemingly efficient, is compromised by the human proclivity to adhere to formulation without delving into the implications of its content. The heart of the Christian message is God’s revelation through Jesus, necessarily leading to a profound conversion within the believer; a transformation so personal it cannot be captured in any formulation. Immediately following the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, followers passed on their faith experience, not through formulas, but through reliving and retelling the Jesus event, preserving it in writings only after many decades had passed. These accounts do not merely reflect a historical biography (or biographies) of an important person, but the collective theological reflections on the God of Scripture, now reinterpreted in light of the person, Jesus. As the first century closed with the Gospel of John’s highly symbolic theology, the concern began to shift to protecting the Christian message from heretical interpretations, specifically those denying God’s immanence or the fullness and interrelatedness of the divine and human natures of Jesus. Early councils attempted first and foremost to retrieve the Scriptural notion of God from various forms of Gnosticism, formulating in the first article of the Nicene-Constantinople Creed, God as the one who creates all things—seen and unseen (corporeal and incorporeal)—directly without the mediation of any demigod or angelic creature. This assertion counters the notion that the Divine rests in an unreachable transcendent realm. God’s transcendence necessarily implies God’s immanence and sustaining presence to the world. Divine transcendence-in-immanence

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inheres in the Trinitarian formula, further drawn out in the Creed’s second and third articles. As Son, the second Person is articulated as “one in being with the Father” sharing without separation or distinction of any kind in the Father’s divine nature. Together with the Holy Spirit, the Father and Son share in the divine act of creation, each in their own immediate, and intimate manner, thus establishing their identities as three unique Persons. Unfortunately, the many reiterations in the opening of the Creed’s second article regarding Jesus’ oneness with the Father—“eternally begotten,” “God from God,” “light from light,” “true God from true God,” “begotten, not made,” “one in being with the Father”—leads to the equally heretical tendency to overshadow the narrative of Jesus’ humanity, a problem taken up by the Council of Chalcedon in 451. The Chalcedon formula, or “hypostatic union,” although not incorporated into the Creed, intends to counter this contrastive tendency, while at the same time preserving the transcendence-in-immanence of this unique person: Jesus is “one in being with the Father regarding his Godhead,” and “one in being with us regarding his humanity,” “unconfusedly, immutably, indivisibly, inseparably [united].”1 However, the formula more often than not is understood contrastively such that divine and human natures exist in opposition within Jesus, rather than in interrelation to each other. Religious formulas such as the Trinity and the hypostatic union were never meant to become the end-all and be-all of theological reflection, but rather the beginning of reflection on how God’s revelation relates to the life of the believer. Since more is required of faith than formulas, those in charge of helping believers forward in their journey towards God must learn how to inspire them beyond the structure of a doctrine—that is, from formula to encounter, ultimately pushing them out of their comfort zones towards conversion. For his diverse audiences—many of whom were someday to engage in vocations where they would be responsible for expounding intelligently on the Church’s doctrines—Eckhart created novel “universes of discourse,” to use Tanner’s phrase,2 drawing students, readers, and listeners beyond familiar formulas towards deeper awareness of God’s radical presence, an awareness that can only develop with the realization of the Creator’s unique distinction from creation. Further, Christian audiences would be familiar with the stories of Scripture, which move from the divine act of creation to the saving event of Jesus Christ. Eckhart took his cue from Aquinas, who, observing the congruence between the Christian journey and the Neoplatonic cycle of exitus/reditus, implicitly arranged his Summa according to this cycle and adopted the vocabulary of the Neoplatonist philosophers (especially pseudo-Dionysius and Aristotle). This vocabulary, carefully modified, allowed Aquinas to highlight divine features found in Scripture—Eternal, Infinite, Perfect, One—easily misused by those who might be tempted to conceive God in opposition to creatures.  See Marthaler, The Creed, 116-20.  Tanner, God and Creation, 45-6.

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Neoplatonism also had much to offer Eckhart in his attempt to direct students and congregations away from conventional understandings and towards a deeper appropriation of their faith. First, because emanation correlates with the divine act of creation depicted in Scripture, but especially because the second part of the cycle, return to the Source, can be re-visioned in scriptural terms to emphasize salvation as deification, the believer’s radical and dynamic self-identification with God. In the scriptural narrative there is a necessary middle act connecting emanation with return to God: redemption from the circumstance named “sin” that provokes the human creature’s alienation from its Creator. Salvation in its more profound sense goes beyond achieving an interminable status of perfection to realizing a relationship of identification with God, or deification. In Neoplatonic terms, reditus is a total and complete return to the One from whence creation came. There is no longer any separation between Creator and creature, but as in the beginning, before creation, one existence in the Creator, now a dynamic unity of love—a unity so profound, Eckhart asserts, that it cannot even be conceived or uttered in conventional terms;3 as in the case of other such terms, “love” must be understood non-contrastively if it is to be used at all to refer to the Divine. For Christians, through his incarnation, death, and resurrection Jesus provides the link between emanation and return by freeing humanity from the alienation of sin and rejoining the human and the divine, allowing believers to be reunited with God. As part of the exitus/reditus cycle, sanctification must be more than God’s continual pardoning of the incapacitated believer from sinful act to sinful act; it must include transformation, a movement of identification with and manifestation of the Divine. In traditional Christian terms this is achieved through the “imitation of Christ.” This language is used to articulate that the movement from the condition of sin to embodying Christ is “adoption”: what Jesus was by nature (the divine Son), those who die having lived as he lived become, through adoption, sons and daughters of God. This “adoption” language presents a formula designed to show the intimacy existing between God and the beatified, while maintaining the strict distinction of the Creator from creature. Eckhart employs the adoption formula many times throughout his works, but finds that, in and of itself, it fails to express the dynamic identification of creature with Creator, so he uses the exitus/reditus cycle as well as his own linguistic devices to force the audience beyond a conventional understanding of adoption (even to the point of abandoning this term altogether in some instances), giving us novel approaches to the “imitation of Christ,” reaching towards the Eastern Christian notion of deification. Eckhart uses similar strategies with formulations of the  See, for example, German Sermon 83: “You should love God … as he is a nonGod, a nonspirit, a nonperson, a nonimage” (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons) and On Detachment, “And when this detachment ascends to the highest place, it knows nothing of knowing, it loves nothing of loving, and from light it becomes dark” (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons). 3

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Trinity as it pertains to the immanent Trinity—the divine interrelations—and the economic Trinity—the roles and relations of the divine Persons within creation, and with regard to the human creature in particular. In every instance, Eckhart intends to teach us to use these doctrines, not as formulas or descriptions of divine reality, but as entrances onto paths leading towards identification with God. Eckhart clearly discerns the tendency to substitute one set of formulas for another, thus perpetuating the attachment to God-words rather than to God-encounter; however, he perceives the same danger in employing philosophical language. While Aquinas’ use of Neoplatonists and the metaphysical language of Aristotle does provide an excellent exercise in detachment through deconstructing and reversing presumptions about divine perfections, this skill in non-contrastive language use can be acquired only through much labor and—at least in terms of the philosophical vocabulary employed—by a select few trained academically, despite Aquinas’ assertion that ordinary Christians can, and do, make the distinction between proper and improper uses of God-language.4 As a preacher especially, Eckhart cannot presume such rigorous linguistic exercises, nor would they be appropriate for every audience. So Eckhart appropriates Aquinas’ lessons, but incorporates his own dramatic methods to make the congruence between the exitus/reditus cycle and the Christian journey more explicit, and the believer’s relationship to the transcendent-yet-immanent Creator more immediate. For instance, Eckhart deters his students from becoming attached to Neoplatonic principles through inclusion and dialectical use of the term “nothing” which is a prime example of Eckhart’s dynamic analogy in action. The problem with the Neoplatonic schema of exitus/reditus is in blurring the distinction between Creator and creature and, further, lacking the intimately personal dimension of the God proclaimed in Scripture. In academic works such as his Latin scriptural exegeses, Eckhart uses the terminology of “nothing” to underscore the Creator’s unique distinction from creatures, thus preserving God as the prime analogate, the one distinct cause bringing everything into existence out of nothing. In many of his German works, however, Eckhart makes this distinction less obvious, choosing instead to emphasize the believer’s return to God as well as how immeasurably the human creature images its Creator. In God the creature is nothing, for there is no separation between Creator and created; they are identical. The “nothingness” of the creature in either case is not meant to denigrate its ontological status compared to God, nor its efforts to reach God, but to highlight its potential to be one with God in a way radically different than anything creaturely-conceived.5 There is hardly any contradiction between his academic works, stressing God’s distinction, and his sermons and German works, stressing the human creature’s dynamic relation to the Creator, however, since because Eckhart is speaking to  STh, I.13.2.  See, for example, German Sermon 1, on Mt 21:12 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt,

4 5

Teacher and Preacher) and Counsel 6, “Of Detachment and of the Possession of God,” in Counsels on Discernment (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons).

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very different audiences he appeals to different “universes of discourse.” Eckhart’s students, destined to become teachers or doctrinally sound and soteriologically moving preachers, must learn to preserve God’s distinct transcendence-inimmanence in their own work before they can be considered experts in religious language-use. On the other hand, as the master preacher speaking to religious and lay communities seeking to deepen their spirituality, Eckhart wants to bring hearts and minds to full awareness of God’s presence and the possibilities of absolute union with God. The diverse use of “nothing”—as well as Eckhart’s other linguistic strategies—keep each audience from clinging to any one conceptualization of God or Creator–creature relationship; his ultimate goal is moving believers beyond concepts altogether: for God is not found in formulas, but in our encounter of God’s immediate presence, wherein all utterances cease. This chapter examines how Eckhart works to move audiences and readers from religious formulas to “detached intellection,” where all God-words, those about God as well as those directed to God, give way simply to knowing God—or, rather, “un-knowing”—to avoid an ordinary contrastive interpretation. This “unknowing,” for Eckhart, is the divine Silence that discloses God through the experience of creation and through the experience of self-presence. The first formula to be considered is the Creator–creature “analogy.” Like Aquinas, Eckhart modifies the conventional understanding of analogy to preserve the Creator’s distinction from creation while creating a linguistic space for the human creature’s return to its Source. His revised notion of analogy allows for a great deal of flexibility and innovation in extending language to the divine and exploring dimensions unique to the creature–Creator relationship. Eckhart’s novel and dynamic approach, based on non-contrastive language-use, must be examined with regard to traditional Trinitarian and Christological formulas which, laid bare and stripped of superficial interpretations, have remained controversial to magisterium, academics, and believers up to this day. However, his most dangerous reflections attract many scholars to Eckhart as well as everyday believers seeking to deepen their spirituality by way of apophasis, which has gained popularity due to its compatibility with other world religions such as Buddhism. Indeed, Eckhart is considered to be the apophatic theologian extraordinaire. By penetrating the depths of religious formulas and showing us how to use them, Eckhart bridges the gap between speaking about and knowing God, revealing the divine Silence that lies at the heart of the Word. A. Analogy in Action “They that eat me, shall yet hunger.” With this unusual scriptural passage from the book of Sirach,6 Eckhart begins his exegesis on the analogical relationship between Creator and creature. In true scholastic fashion, however, Eckhart moves  Sir 24:20.

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immediately from the scriptural to the philosophical. Incorporating references from Aquinas, Eckhart notes that these three are to be distinguished: “the univocal, the equivocal and the analogous. Equivocals are divided according to different things that are signified, univocals according to various differences of the [same] thing.” Analogous things are not distinguished according to things, nor through the differences, but “according to the modes [of being]” of one and the same simple thing. For example, the one and the same health that is in an animal is that (and no other) which is in the diet and the urine [of the animal] in such a way that there is no more of health as health in the diet and urine than there is in a stone. … Being or existence and every perfection, especially general ones such as existence, oneness, truth, goodness, light, justice, and so forth, are used to describe God and creatures in an analogical way.7

From his own interpretation, Eckhart concludes: It follows from this that goodness and justice and the like [in creatures] have their goodness totally from something outside to which they are analogically ordered [Latin: analogantur], namely, God. … Analogates have nothing of the form according to which they are analogically ordered rooted in positive fashion in themselves. But every created being is analogically ordered to God in existence, truth, and goodness. Therefore every created being radically and positively possesses existence, life, and wisdom from and in God, not in itself as a created being.8

Eckhart’s construal of the Creator–creature relationship in this passage has been called “extrinsic analogy” or the “analogy of formal opposition,” because everything the creature possesses, even existence, comes from a source outside of itself.9 Similarly, in some passages Eckhart submits that the creature’s existence is “borrowed” rather than possessed,10 and in other passages he maintains the creature is nothing in itself11—although this is only one of many ways that he 7  Commentary on Ecclesiasticus (hereafter Comm. Ecc.), n. 52 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher). Quoted text from Aquinas appears to be from In I Sent. D. 22, q. 1, a.3, ad. 2. 8  Comm. Ecc., n. 52. 9  De Libera, Le problème de l’être chez Maîter Eckhart, 6; Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 32-3. 10  See, for example, Commentary on John (hereafter Comm. Jn.), nn. 24, 107 (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons). 11  For example, Commentary on Wisdom (hereafter Comm. Wis.) (1:14), n. 34 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher); German Sermon 71 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher).

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employs the term “nothing”; for example, at times he dialectically asserts that from the creaturely perspective, God is nothing (no-thing), a linguistic strategy leading some scholars to call Eckhart’s analogy dialectical or reverse analogy.12 As Chapter 1 of this book observed, scholars tend to contrast Eckhart’s so-called extrinsic analogy with Aquinas’ so-called analogy of proportion, especially as formulated in Question 13, precisely because Aquinas seems to give more autonomy to the creature than Eckhart. This is probably partially due to the (mistaken) impression of Aquinas’ analogy of positive attribution as opposed to Eckhart, who is seen primarily as a negative theologian.”.13 But closer examination of Aquinas’ development of analogy reveals it not to be positive theology but apophatic, rejecting both positive and negative attribution; moreover it transforms attribution altogether. By reading further on in Eckhart’s exegesis of Sirach, we discover he too reverses this negation, by showing that only by being totally “outside” of the creature can the Creator be completely immanent to it and draw it towards its final end. Eckhart continues: “They that eat me, shall yet hunger” is perfectly fitted to signify the truth of the analogy of all things to God himself. They eat because they are; they hunger because they are from another. … God is inside all things in that he is existence, and thus every being feeds on him. He is also on the outside because he is above all and thus outside all. Therefore, all things feed on him, because he is totally within; they hunger for him, because he is totally without.14

As often in other works,15 here Eckhart moves in one direction, then suddenly works in reverse, indicating he is using language in a transformed manner. In the opening of his exegesis on Sirach 24:20, Eckhart advances God’s transcendence by declaring the Creator totally outside of the creature. However, in the next passage he reverses himself by beginning with God’s immanence—the Creator’s being “within” the creature—but then again reverts to God’s transcendence, the Creator’s being totally “without” the creature. This dialectical movement between the Creator’s being within all things and the Creator’s being without all things reverses the negation set up earlier in his exposition and signals that Eckhart means for his Creator–creature analogy to be read non-contrastively. The relationship

 For example, German Sermon 71 (“When he saw nothing, he saw God”) and 83 (“you with him perceive forever his uncreated is-ness, and his nothingness, for which there is no name”). See Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 33 (dialectical analogy) and Kelley, Meister Eckhart on Divine Knowledge, 31 (reverse analogy). 13  See Commentary on Exodus (hereafter Comm. Ex.), nn. 143-74; the introduction to Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, 15-30. 14  Comm. Ex., nn. 143-74. 15  See, for example, Latin Sermon IV on the Feast of the Holy Trinity (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher). 12

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between the Creator and creature can be neither contrasted (that is, opposed) nor compared; therefore, the analogy is neither negative nor positive. Eckhart first secures God’s unique distinction here by demonstrating that the Creator must be wholly transcendent in order to be, simultaneously, wholly immanent to the creature. Recall that, according to Tanner, this is a first requirement for the God of Scripture and tradition, who creates ex nihilo and who is the supremely personal God of faith.16 The Creator’s transcendence and immanence are inseparable as Eckhart’s dialectical rhetoric, proposing a negation of negation, clearly establishes. Therefore, to call Eckhart’s analogy “extrinsic” or one of “formal opposition” only captures one half of his articulation of the Creator–creature relationship: God’s transcendence. For Eckhart, articulating God’s immanence is equally—if not more—critical to expressing the Creator. Eckhart does not stop with securing God’s distinction and providing a lesson in non-contrastive language use. For this Dominican, the God of Scripture is not only the Creator, but the personal Creator who draws the creature back towards itself, a reunion that for the human creature in particular constitutes a process of deification: This is what is said, “They that eat me, shall yet hunger.” … In spiritual and divine things it is different on both ends. First, because every act first causes a separation from its bitter opposite. Here there is nothing prior and posterior; each and every act is first for this reason. Forward progress then is not to leave the First [that is, God], but to draw near to it, so that the Last is the First. The reason is progress brings one nearer the end, and the End in the Godhead is the Beginning. … Therefore, an approach toward the end is always joined with its beginning if it is God and the pure divine that is eaten and drunk.17

Here Eckhart appropriates the Neoplatonic exitus/reditus schema to further explain the dynamic nature of the Creator–creature relationship. The divine act of creation causes a distinction between Creator and creature, but this “opposition” must be understood metaphorically (and non-contrastively), because the creature cannot exist apart from its Creator without falling back again into non-existence. Thus the distinction between Creator and creature cannot be understood like any other distinction in the world. The creature is, however, fashioned with an inbuilt telos. Although it never leaves its Source in any ordinary manner experienced in the world, as created, the human creature now shares a dynamic relationship with its Creator in which its completion is, metaphorically speaking, consummation or reunion with the Divine so profound no separation of any kind exists between them. Because the Creator–creature relationship is dynamic and transforming, more is required than articulating a balance between God’s transcendence and immanence. By dialectically moving between the Creator’s being within and outside of the  Tanner, God and Creation, 45-6.  Comm. Ecc., n. 56.

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creature and by incorporating Neoplatonic elements into his narrative, Eckhart goes beyond dialectical or reverse analogy and creates a linguistic space for expressing the creature’s return to its Source, wherein its own completion is achieved. It is not merely the creature’s autonomy (or lack thereof) vis-à-vis the Creator that is at stake, but more pointedly, the creature’s actualization, the mode of which depends on the creature’s particular telos as determined by its place in the order of creation. For the human creature, its telos is deification—identification with the divine—and its mode of actualization is its intellect, achieved through wisdom or “detached intellection”; this is the way in which the human creature images its Creator. Scholars who contrast Eckhart and Aquinas often miss the deeper significance they place on the analogical relationship between creature and its Creator, doubtless born out of their shared background as Dominicans concerned with saving souls, as explained in Chapter 2 of this book. For both Aquinas and Eckhart, it is the saving God of Scripture and faith, not the god of philosophy that must be professed. Aquinas should be recognized for laying the foundation for Eckhart’s remarkable ability to negotiate around the limitations of religious language, since it is precisely Aquinas’ exercises in non-contrastive language-use that allow for analogy to go beyond itself in referring to the divine without violating either God’s transcendence or immanence, while—more importantly—giving voice to the creature’s imaging of its Creator and return to its one and the same Source. It is important to see how Aquinas lays out this foundation before moving on to Eckhart. Recall that Aquinas’ analogy of proportion holds the most promise for divine attribution, as well as for articulating the Creator–creature relationship. However, since there can be no proportion between any creature and the Creator, Aquinas has to make some essential qualifications, the full implications of which can hardly be perceived unless the reader has carefully worked through the preceding questions on the manner of God’s existence as One, Infinite and Eternal. These perfections secure God’s unique distinction of transcendence-inimmanence. Although on the surface they appear to highlight God’s transcendence from the world, attentive reading of the first thirteen questions as a unit reveals Aquinas’ intention to underscore God’s immanence. In accordance with the requirements of Christian orthodoxy, Aquinas insists there can be no proportion between creature and Creator because, obviously, there is nothing bodily by which the Creator can be measured;18 if there were, God would be another type of creature. In fact, Aquinas goes on to assert that the Creator does not even share any type of form with the creature,19 a point which becomes crucial to understanding how Eckhart puts Aquinas’ lessons on analogical language-use into practice. Undeterred by the problems presented by employing “proportion,” Aquinas introduces another, most extraordinary, strategy whereby the biblical assertion that the human creature is made in the image of God is united with the Neoplatonic notion of participation.  STh, I.3.5, especially reply obj. 2.  STh, I.4, reply obj. 3.

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In Question 4, Aquinas considers the creature’s likeness to the Creator, based on the Genesis passage: “Let us make humankind to our image and likeness,” explaining that “likeness of creatures to God is not affirmed on account of agreement in form … but solely according to analogy, inasmuch as God is essential being, whereas other things are beings by participation.”20 Rather than denying that the creature can be like the Creator, he insists the human creature images the Creator more profoundly that any form can apprehend. Since analogical language-use cannot presume any shared form between Creator and creature, it instead suggests the way in which the creature participates in the divine existence. Later Aquinas tells us what this “participation” signifies, reminding us again that there can be no proportion between creature and Creator in the ordinary sense of the word, as a measure of one thing compared to another. But proportion also carries the broader sense of “relation,” something not resting on measure or, for that matter, shared form. In the case of the Creator–creature relationship, the creature is related to the Creator “as potentiality to its act”; the creature’s relation is determined by its place in the order of creation and reaches its full actuality—its full relatedness—to the Creator when it realizes its inbuilt potential: for the human creature, one who truly knows God.21 Knowing God is ultimately the beatified “seeing God face to face.” Seeing God, however, is a metaphor for attaining or possessing God, as Aquinas goes on to explain, and this is extremely important to understanding how Eckhart moves into identification, or “deification,” language: because they see Him, and in seeing him, possess Him as present, having the power to see Him always; and possessing Him, they enjoy Him as the ultimate fulfilment of desire.22

For Aquinas the blessed’s knowing God and possessing God are essentially the same. Both are signified by the metaphor of “seeing”: in the first sense, comprehending something, and in the second, beholding an object of great import. But even knowing and possessing must be interpreted metaphorically, for in God there is strictly no-thing to know or to possess. God is not a thing of any kind. Aquinas takes his readers through several levels of language-transformation, in which Eckhart was no doubt very well trained as a Dominican student. First, seeing is a metaphor for both knowing and possessing, which shows the flexibility with which Aquinas expects his students to become familiar. Knowing and possessing become, then, further metaphors for presence: possessing God is the believer’s total presence to God and God’s total presence to the believer. Finally, the most subtle move: the “power to see always” is transformed into fulfilled existence.

 STh, I.4, reply obj. 3.  STh, I.12.4. 22  STh, I.12.7. 20 21

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In his earlier lessons on God’s infinity and God’s eternity, “always” has a non-contrastive meaning when used in reference to the divine. Aquinas divorces divine Infinity and Eternity from their quantitative presumptions and connects them instead to immutability, which in God is not a static or unending existence but rather one of pure act. Eternity must be understood differently than being “a really, really long time”; this would contrast or measure created time against divine time. Eternity is, non-contrastively speaking, the source, the center, and the fulfillment of time. Therefore, living the eternal life implies more than never dying; it means living a fully actualized existence, to be alive all-ways, that is, in every way: the divine way. Since the human belongs in the created order of intellect, fully actualizing existence means attaining to the divine intellect—Wisdom—which in God is the same as Existence; this is so because God’s essence and God’s existence are one, and Wisdom belongs to the perfection of God’s essence. Therefore, to take Aquinas’ process of transforming metaphors to its logical conclusion, the beatified know God in God’s-self and in so doing themselves become deified; their knowledge is now divine knowledge. In God there is no separation between knowing and possessing or possessing and presence, and thus the beholder (beatified) and beheld (the Divine) are one. Far from any formal sense—there is no form to share, but only pure presence. This brings Aquinas much closer to the notion of deification than might be easily recognized.23 Aquinas’ above lessons are in no way lost on Eckhart. All of the vital elements Aquinas develops in his exercises are dramatically present throughout Eckhart’s works, notably in his commentary on the Book of Sirach with his own explication on analogy. For Eckhart, as with Aquinas, creatures do not share a formal likeness to the Creator, but—in Eckhart’s own words—a much more “radical … and positive” possession, especially in “existence, life and wisdom,” the three levels distinguishing creatures in the created order.24 Far from articulating an extrinsic relationship and unbridgeable gap between them, Creator and creature have the capacity and desire to be fully open to each other; in fact, the creature’s potential existence—its “nothingness”—is not a disadvantage to its fulfillment, but a potency, its greatest strength and way to God. Eckhart returns time and again to the human creature’s potency as intellect, laboring to detach his readers from narrow and misguided notions about the intellect as well as how it relates to divine Wisdom and, ultimately, to knowing God. In fact, the human intellect plays a determining role in Eckhart’s examination of the doctrine of the economic Trinity, and, Christologically formulated, of the adoption of believers as heirs (sons) of God, derived from the scriptural writings of Paul.  For more on deification in the Summa, see A.N. Williams, The Ground of Union: Deification in Aquinas and Palamas (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), especially ch. 2. 24  Comm. Ecc. on Sir 24:20. This use of “formal” is distinguished from God as formal cause, which belongs to God’s oneness in Formal, Efficient, Material, and Final cause. 23

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Again, Eckhart relies on Aquinas’ non-contrastive treatment of the human–divine relationship to achieve this. For Aquinas, intellect is not limited to the rational faculty, which cannot know God because it relies on worldly data attained through the bodily senses and processed according to the laws of discursive logic. Any reality existing outside of this mode of intellection is therefore unattainable; thus, knowledge of God is not possible unless it is divinely revealed. However, as we saw in the previous chapters, Aquinas subtly redirects more advanced students around this epistemological barrier to a deeper level of linguistic discrimination, first by qualifying the type of knowledge we should be looking for (personal, not factual) and second by expanding the definition of intellect to include the graced capacity given the human creature to fulfill its divine telos. This capacity is the openness to receive God’s personal self-communication as well as the ability to respond to that revelation by imaging God. The relationship between nature (human intellect) and grace (divine Knowledge) is not one of opposition but is rather non-contrastive. Divine revelation is not merely information about God that cannot be acquired in any natural manner, but it is in-formation, intended to guide the believer towards personal transformation by imbuing knowledge reached through the rational faculty with existential significance, thereby actively relating creatures to their Creator. Wisdom, as we discover in Question 1 of the Summa orders all natural knowledge towards its divine end.25 Eckhart’s portrayal of the human intellect as an appetite for God’s Wisdom in his commentary on Sirach captures Aquinas’ lesson on using language non-contrastively brilliantly. This inbuilt appetite as telos must be met with the possibility of fulfillment; otherwise it would be extraneous to the creature and, furthermore, contrary to divine Wisdom, which is such precisely because every divine act of creation is directed by the Creator’s free will and intent to draw all things back to their Source. To put it boldly, if God is Wise, then creatures must be able to know their Creator, each in their own way: Thirst and hunger, desire and appetite are taken in a double way. “In one way as meaning the appetite for something not possessed; in another way as meaning the exclusion of disgust.”26 Beware of thinking that the latter sense, that is, the exclusion of disgust is the principal or first meaning. Many do this and thus crudely explain our text, “They that eat me, shall yet hunger,” as though they eat without saiety. This seems to give too little to divine Wisdom, that is, to God, especially speaking of himself, teaching about himself, and recommending his excellence.27

For Eckhart, God’s Wisdom is inseparable from God’s self-revelation, which in turn is inseparable from the creature’s return to its Creator. God’s Wisdom,  STh, I.1.6.  Eckhart is citing from Aquinas, STh, Ia.IIae.33.2. 27  Comm. Ecc., n. 60. The accompanying footnotes in McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, 25 26

Teacher and Preacher suggest Eckhart includes Aquinas in his attack here.

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furthermore, is inseparable from God’s existence: God’s existence as the Creator is to exist as self-revealing. If the human creature is proportioned to the Creator through its intellect, then the fulfillment of human existence must also lie in self-revelation, that is, in total presence to self, to God, and to other creatures. This presence requires detachment from all things as they appear to the rational faculty, with an intellectual openness to all things as they are in themselves—an openness which ultimately transforms, because the self-present intellect takes on the same perspective as the divine intellect, wherein every creature is known as it is in itself and in its own existence, rather than through a form. Since the analogical relationship between creature and Creator stems from divine Wisdom, ordering of all things back to God and in God, the analogical relationship between human creature and its Creator relies on God’s self-revelation and the believer’s self-transforming response to that personal disclosure. In fact, the text in Sirach, Chapter 24, part of the scriptural canon of Wisdom literature, corresponds perfectly to Eckhart’s intent of following Aquinas in exploring analogy to express the creature’s participation in the divine Intellect. The connection between divine Wisdom and the return of the creature to its Creator is portrayed throughout Chapter 24, though a superficial reading may lead to quite the opposite conclusion. Verse 20 (he who eats … shall hunger yet) is framed by verse 18, which seems to echo the Song of Songs wherein the lover calls to his beloved. In Sirach, the poet summons, “come to me, all you that yearn for me, and be filled with my fruits.” On the other hand, however, verse 26 reminds us, “[t]he first man never finished comprehending wisdom, nor will the last succeed in fathoming her.” While this latter verse seems to support the interpretation rejected by Eckhart that the creature hungers for the Creator without satiety, the scriptural passage continues on to suggest quite the contrary: Now I, like a rivulet from her stream, channeling the waters into a garden, said to myself, “I will water my plants, my flower bed I will drench”; and suddenly this rivulet of mine became a river, then this stream of mine, a sea. Thus do I send my teachings forth shining like the dawn, to become known afar off.

Verse 26 makes it is clear that the human creature cannot comprehend its Creator. From the perspective of negative theology, the human’s inability to fathom its Creator expresses the supremely unknown God who remains hidden even while close at hand. Further, it suggests the human creature’s natural incapacity to know its Creator and the necessity of supernatural knowledge or Revelation to raise it above its intellectual limitations. However, this interpretation does not conform to the Scriptural narrative, as any good Dominican in line with Aquinas should quickly perceive, for it neglects the pivotal detail that the human being is made in the image of God in a way more profound than any form can capture. Indeed, Sirach is replete with symbolisms derived from the Creation story. Recounting Genesis, the Creator God is the nourisher,

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feeding God’s-very-self to creation as water to creation. This divine self-knowledge grows from a small stream into a vast ocean encompassing everything within it and saturating all creation with its very being. This is what Revelation is, not external knowledge entering from the outside, but something that penetrates from the outside-in and the inside-out, until all things are utterly drenched. And further: this “water” of knowledge is not alien but the very substance of the life it enters, necessary for survival and for reaching full growth. The water in the garden does not merely surround the plants, but is absorbed into every fiber of the plant, until it becomes the plant and the plant becomes the place and life of the water. That even the last human will not fathom divine Wisdom does not, therefore, reflect God’s incomprehensibility as unintelligible by human standards; on the contrary, God’s incomprehensibility is the source of inexhaustible intelligibility within creation itself. It does not declare the weakness of the creature to know its Creator naturally, but rather, the potency of the creature to know its Creator personally, at the depth of its own being. The human creature becomes the knowledge it absorbs. It drinks because it has a taste for it; and its appetite only increases with each drink until consumer and consumed become the self-same—the creature itself becomes a source of divine revelation. This is why Eckhart must reject the negative way: it does not express the God of Scripture or the depth of the creature’s imaging of and participation in its Source. Eckhart concludes his exegesis of Sirach 24:20 with another reversal: his famous “negation of negation”: Furthermore, nothing is truly taught by negation, and negation posits nothing, but is fixed and made firm in affirmation, having no perfection in itself. That is why negation has no place at all in God himself; he is “Who is” and “He is one,” which is the negation of negation. Therefore, hunger as the exclusion of satiety is not to be accepted in divine matters.28

Here Eckhart ties the creature’s telos, its inbuilt appetite for its Creator, with God’s divine existence: to be. Negation is rejected because the end to the creature’s search is not a hidden, God, but the self-present God. Speaking of the creature’s appetite in terms of a capacity to possess—to be one with—God, Eckhart re-emphasizes that this telos is fulfilled by an imaging beyond any creaturely form: Again, when hunger is taken as “the appetite for something not possessed,” formally speaking, hunger or appetite is not defined on the basis of the thing that is not possessed. This is only a negation or privation and is something material.29

The reader must adopt a non-contrastive approach in wending through Eckhart’s many negations. Understanding the human appetite for God negatively, as something  Comm. Ecc., n. 60.  Ibid.

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un-possessed and un-possess-able, begins at the wrong end—with the creaturely perspective. When hunger and appetite are taken in their ordinary sense, as lacking something needed to bolster life, the perception is that relief must come externally. Recall, however, in earlier paragraphs Eckhart speaks of God as both with-out and with-in, revealing the total dependence of the creature on its Creator, but more importantly the proportioning of the creature to its Creator. The Creator, not the creature or any created form, is the prime analogate, and as such the one and only source as well as fulfillment for the creature. Nothing but God can satisfy. The appetite is not given to the creature to belittle its existence, but to orient it towards the Divine, to render meaning to the creature’s efforts to reach it, and to endow the creature with the possibility of becoming one with its Source. In other words, as prime analogate, the Creator defines the creature’s existence; the creature’s worldly experience—or rejection of it—does not define the Creator, or the creature–Creator relationship. Thus, any notion of beatification conceived over against the creature’s experience in its earthly life is misguided. For example, a person hoping for material riches in the next life based on reading Scripture has an impoverished faith and a misguided notion of justice. As Aquinas points out, such images of heaven must be taken metaphorically, as a way to expand the horizon of faith and probe the deeper implications of the seemingly ordinary.30 Scripture’s metaphorical language reveals God’s closeness and personalness and is meant to lead the believer into a more intimate relationship with God by drawing a connection between earthly experience and its divine Source. As he does elsewhere, Eckhart asserts that the negation of negation is the most positive affirmation, because it is rooted in the existence of God.31 But this does not refer to “positive” as opposed to “negative” theology. The non-contrastive (analogical) way represents a negation of a positive or conventional interpretation of divine attribution as well as a negation of the opposite of that same attribution. Rather, as we shall see, the way of analogy is truly apophatic, referring to the negation of both positive and negative attribution, and more significantly, to the transformation of the creature and its end in possessing God. It is not the creaturely method of making divine attribution, but the creature’s appetite, Eckhart interprets to be positive. Human language never adequately articulates God’s essence, but theological language discloses and informs us of what it means to be a creature in relation to its Creator. The creature’s nothingness in itself refers not primarily to the creature’s total dependence on its Creator but to its total potentiality, its very possibility of overcoming the “thing-ness” keeping it from being one with God. Eckhart closes his exegesis of Sirach 24:20: the essence of hunger is formally an affirmative appetite, the root and cause for the exclusion of saiety which accompanies it. As such it belongs to something possessed and is a thing in some way positive. …

 STh, I.1.9-10.  See, for example, Comm. Ex., n. 556.

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Each and every one of these explanations is based on some of the supreme attributes of the godhead, such as infinity, simplicity, purity, priority, and so forth. They teach … the nothingness … of creatures in themselves in relation to God.32

The hunger to know the Creator and to become one with the Source belongs first and foremost (and essentially) to God’s existence, and this appetite creates and arranges the very way in which the human fulfills this divine directive and participates in the divine Existence. In this sense, we possess God by allowing ourselves to be defined by the Divine. The supreme attributes, being distinct from any creaturely category and thus divorced from created forms, allow us to know God more intimately and immediately than anything in our ordinary experience, because they are not limited to knowledge attained through the process of rational intellection. That is why Eckhart says these divine features “teach” us about our own nothingness: in becoming detached from all creaturely forms by which the believer defined itself—even religious terms such as “Christian”—the believer enters into its own nothingness and becomes conformed to the divine life. B. Doctrine as Analogy Christian doctrines are designed to maintain God’s unique distinction of transcendence-in-immanence, safeguarding the Creator God of Scripture. Yet for Eckhart, the true value of such formulations lies in their potential to aid the believer in detaching from common misuses of religious language (including Christian rhetoric) and move towards union with God. This catechetical endeavor must be undertaken non-contrastively, or the consequences could be devastating to the journey of faith. Even well-intentioned believers tend to interpret doctrines “literally,” creating the illusion that the reality of the doctrine is contained within the words articulating it. Divorced from the context establishing its symbolic meaning, we tend to cling to doctrine’s formulation rather than exploring how it allows us to reach into our own nothingness and so be defined by our Divine Source. It is crucial to Eckhart that any metaphysics involved in religious doctrine be understood metaphorically. Recalling Aquinas, metaphor is not contrasted with literal, or plain, meaning but is integral in conveying literal truth when the divine reality to be communicated is rooted in Scripture. Metaphor is particularly suited to God-talk because of its multidimensionality, thus allowing the speaker to communicate many perspectives and a multitude of possibilities in a single utterance. While still bound by the restrictions of human thought, which processes ideas consecutively rather than simultaneously, the use of metaphors, in a sense, imitates the divine perspective, “seeing all with one glance” (figuratively  Comm. Ecc., n. 61.

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speaking). Sensitivity to metaphor allows us to better detach from formula, which in itself inevitably fails to capture the divine Reality because human concepts are bound to creaturely forms. Eckhart is very intentional about the metaphorical nature of the metaphysics he intertwines throughout his Scriptural exegeses and homilies, and there is no exception regarding expounding doctrine, his primary agenda as a Dominican preacher. Eckhart scholars such as Susanne Köbele, Alois Haas, and Bernard McGinn,33 have noted that Eckhart employs what has been variously termed “master,” “exploding,” or “absolute” metaphors, which function in the believer’s detachment and journey towards mystical encounter. For example, the nothingness of God, and as it is similarly employed, the divine grunt, offer the primary examples of such metaphors.34 According to McGinn, the metaphor of grunt is explosive because it breaks through previous categories of mystical speech to create new ways of presenting a direct encounter with God. When Eckhart says, as he frequently does, “God’s ground and my ground is the same ground,” he announces a new form of mysticism. … [T]heir function is … to transform, or overturn, ordinary limited forms of consciousness through the process of making the inner meaning of the metaphor one’s own in everyday life.35

As Aquinas taught, ordinary metaphors—while necessary and fitting—cannot stand on their own in articulating God’s existence or the Creator–creature relationship. In fact, we tend to mis-communicate when using noble figures to refer to God, because it is too easy to convey God as a great creature against whom other, much lesser, creatures must be measured. That is why it is less misleading to call God a rock than a king, although, of course kingly images of God are abundant in Scripture.36 Ordinary metaphors relate a sense of God’s closeness and familiarity and allow believers to feel connected to God through creation as well as through human social structures and relations; however, they fail to convey God’s unique transcendence-in-immanence and may give the wrong impression that “God is like us” rather than the other way around, to follow Scripture: we are made in God’s image, and in a way unlike any resemblance between creatures. Unless we are aware that such metaphors are being used improperly, they inadvertently impose creaturely forms onto the Divine. Master metaphors work to reverse this ordering; they become analogical because they express, not any essential attribute in God, but the dynamic relationship between the Creator and creature. With a master metaphor, creaturely attributes are reflexively extended to the divine, meaning that divine significance  See McGinn, Mystical Thought of Meister Eckhart, 37-9 and 210 (fn. 12).  The “nothingness” of God is Haas’s use; Grunt is McGinn’s. See ibid. 35  Ibid., 38. 36  See STh, I.1.9, reply obj. 3. 33 34

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is reflected back on creaturely traits and perfections.37 Consequently, master metaphors lead the believer forward in faith by moving away from comparing, contrasting, or otherwise measuring Creator and creatures, and moving towards a non-contrastive awareness of the Creator’s unique distinction and, especially, the creature’s end in its Source. They explode through the presumptions of conventional religious language to make it fresh and alive, forcing believers out of their comfort zone and into the dynamism of deeper faith. This, for Eckhart and his Dominican predecessors, is the true intent of doctrines, which are formulated to draw attention to God’s uniqueness while conveying God’s relevance to the world and to the human creature’s redemption. Unlike ordinary metaphors which draw from familiar figures, master or exploding metaphors attribute to God the unusual—even the seemingly absurd and most removed from the status of divinity, yet that which is attached to no particular creaturely form. This follows Aquinas’ warning (via Dionysus) to avoid attributing lofty things to God which are inevitably bound to creaturely forms. Recall, for Aquinas, metaphor is necessary but improper use of religious language. Perfection terms are more appropriately used of God, because while lofty they are abstracted from physical form. Yet, they too must be rendered free from certain creaturely presumptions before they can be used properly, for they tend to impose our human expectations of perfection on God. So Aquinas goes to considerable length to show that God’s perfection is received only through certain unique features38 which preserve the Creator’s distinction and define God as the Source and End of every creature. Eckhart’s master metaphors take a short cut through Aquinas’ process by attributing to the Creator terms that simply defy the kind of categorization that allows us to impose any creaturely form, yet are an intrinsic part of the experience of existence itself. “Nothingness” and “Ground” are terms that are imbedded in existence, but lack any specific sense of creaturely form. In fact, these terms are so basic that they cannot properly be called features, as can divine perfections, which from the creaturely perspective may be designated by this perfection or that perfection. Unhindered by the limitation of being “this” and not “that,” to which all created things are bound, these master metaphors create a non-contrastive way of directing talk of divine perfection, as well as of the creature’s participation in divine existence: nothingness does not allow for comparison or contrast because there is no “thing,” or no form, by which or against which to measure; the idea of the absolute ground goes a step beyond this to establish the source of thing-ness, because the ground—itself having no particular form—is that out of which things are formed.

 Soskice distinguishes analogy from metaphor by placing analogy into literal speech (Metaphor and Religious Language, 64-6). 38  The term “formal features” is not used here to avoid confusion with the kinds of forms to which creatures are bound. 37

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Since they do not adhere to any creaturely form, master metaphors are able to express God’s unique distinction from the world. Furthermore, they refer to the Divine in a literal—meaning “proper”—way by securing God as the prime analogate from which all else flows, without, however, falling prey to the illusion of a one-to-one correspondence, or to the misconception inherent to ordinary metaphors and perfection terms which convey creaturely forms along with the idea of imaging the Divine. Master metaphors work to reverse ordinary metaphors. While ordinary metaphors are taken from creaturely experiences that can be explained through their forms, master metaphors are taken from those experiences that, while common to every creature, lack defining features. Applied primarily to the Creator, and then extended reflexively to creatures, the master metaphor confers divine significance to even the most ordinary object or mundane experience, because existential meaning is derived from being created and informed by the ground of being, which in itself is no-thing. When the most mundane experience is interpreted as an encounter with the Divine, the order of the universe is completely turned around. Thus the comfortable God, safely tucked away from the rational intellect in a shroud of “mystery”— who doles out just enough information about the divine Self to set the believer on the righteous path—becomes the demanding and disquieting God, whose disclosure through routine and traumatic experiences alike forces the believer to re-evaluate every experience and creature—even the seemingly unholy or unorthodox—as possible bearers of the Divine. The believer must reach into the no-thingness of the creature, into the source of its incomprehensible intelligibility, and encounter God there. For the religious master, this radical method of reversal has its roots in Scripture, beginning where the Creator imparts the divine image to the creature, thus merging two apparent opposites and, consequently, breaking through conventional ideas of what it means to be divine, for example wholly transcendent, supremely unknowable, and untouchable. This theme of reversal is continually carried out through the scriptural narrative: a nation arises out of slavery, a king arises from among the poor, and in the final movement, victory over alienation from God comes by the shameful death of an innocent person. In each instance, God is revealed, not in the lofty as would befit a powerful being, but in the most unlikely of places and with the most surprising results. The divine king does not lord over his subjects, but serves them by completely identifying with them. The lesson: God is not what is expected, nor is the believer’s road to salvation. Redemption comes not by adhering to moral and religious codes, but by imaging God in extraordinary and unconventional ways. Accordingly, theological and religious articulations must draw attention to the strangeness of God and, at the same time, maintain the relevance of that strangeness to the faith journey. To accomplish this, language must explode through our presumptions and agendas. The following section draws out Eckhart’s analogical exploration of doctrine: first, on the Trinity as it pertains to the Creator–creature relationship in general; and second, on the human creature’s adoption to divine Sonship through the imitation of Christ—or, in Eckhart’s more evocative language, through the “birth of the

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Word in the soul.” For Eckhart, religious doctrines provide entry into the Christian faith journey, involving a process of detached intellection. In his explications of doctrine, Eckhart employs the Neoplatonic structure of exit and return, but modifies it through the use of “master metaphors,” to keep his audiences from becoming attached to this philosophy as well as to emphasize how profoundly creatures image the Creator. In effect, his dynamic speech leads reflectively to Christian forms of life, whether it be living as the “Just Man,” or seeing all things in themselves as they are in God; the result of which, in any case, is being aware of the “inner meaning” of everyday life—“direct encounter with the Divine.”39 1. Trinity as Analogy The divine act of creation, in Christian theology, is Trinitarian: each divine Person has a proper and distinct role in bringing all things into being and sustaining them, transforming them, and bringing them back to their divine Source. Indeed, creation is imprinted with this Trinitarian structure according to its own designated end,40 and for human creatures, the intellect is especially conformed to the second Person, who is the Word of God. Through conformity to the divine Word, the believer is actualized and reunited with God. While Eckhart discusses the immanent Trinity (the interrelations among the divine Persons), he invariably moves his rhetoric to the economic Trinity, the divine Persons’ intimate involvement with creation and especially with the human creature’s existence in and return to God. Eckhart is concerned with the analogical relationship between Creator and creature, not the divine essence. Of course, for Eckhart, Trinitarian language remains metaphorical regardless of its reference to some incomprehensible reality. Among his most controversial assertions is “everything said or written about the Holy Trinity is in no way really so or true.”41 All things originate from the Ground, beyond differentiation and beyond conception. But, since all things derive their intelligibility from God, all concepts must have a basis in divine reality, however inadequately it can be verbalized, and Eckhart is careful to maintain that “[i]t is true, of course, that there is something in God corresponding to the Trinity we speak of and other similar things.”42 In his German works, when Eckhart speaks of the Trinity or of creation, he speaks of their source in the divine grunt. The grunt acts as a master metaphor because, as source for both Trinity and creation, it creates a linguistic space for discussing the distinction between the origination of persons in the Trinity from that of creatures, while simultaneously—and more fundamentally—emphasizing the immediate connection between Trinity and creation and the potential identity  McGinn, Mystical Thought, 39.  See, for example, Eckhart’s Comm. Jn., 1.122. 41  Latin Sermon IV, n. 30. 42  Ibid. 39 40

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of creature with Creator through participation in the divine existence. However, in Latin there is no corollary to “grunt” as it is used in his German works.43 Rather, Eckhart employs another master metaphor in his Latin works to achieve the same objective: indistinction. In Latin Sermon IV on the Feast of the Holy Trinity, Eckhart considers the familiar expression taken from Romans 11:36, “all things are from him, and through him and in him.” He points out the common Trinitarian explication: “from him” the Father, “through him,” the Son, “in him,” the Holy Spirit. Borrowing from the philosophical categories of material, efficient, and final causality, Eckhart clarifies, “All things” are “from” the maker, “through” the form, and “in” the end. Therefore, God is the “from whom” of all, that is, the maker of all; the “through whom” of all, that is, the form of all or what forms all; and the “in whom” of all, because [he is] the end of all things.44

The creature’s exit and return is implied within the Trinitarian structure; however, Eckhart weaves his master metaphor of indistinction within this conventional explanation, thus stretching the boundaries of the exitus/reditus paradigm in order to emphasize the depth of the Creator’s immediacy and presence to the creature as well as the creature’s identification with its Creator. God is totally indistinct in himself according to his nature in that he is truly and most properly one and completely distinct from other things; so too man in God is indistinct from everything which is in God, and at the same time completely distinct from everything else.45

The Creator’s essential indistinction, linked to the divine feature of Oneness, secures God’s differentiation from creation. Eckhart reinforces this point: “no being can be counted alongside God.” This should be obvious, because “existence is from God alone, and he alone is existence: ‘I am who am’… If there were anything outside him or not in him, he would not be existence and consequently not God.”46 In contrast to the Creator’s existence, the creature is nothing—it has no being of its own, a tenet that finds its roots in the Christian doctrine of creation, “creatio ex nihilo.” “This is what John 1 says,” Eckhart quotes, “‘without him’ (that is, not in him), ‘what was made is nothing.’”47 He clarifies, “every being, every maker, every form, every end that is conceived of outside or beyond existence or that is numbered along with existence is nothing—it is neither a  See McGinn, Mystical Thought, 38-44.  Latin Sermon IV, n. 29. 45  Ibid., n. 28. 46  Ibid., n. 23. 47  Ibid., n. 22. 43 44

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being, nor a maker, nor a form, nor an end.”48 Like his Latin commentaries on Wisdom and Exodus,49 the creature’s nothingness draws attention to the Creator’s distinction, and specifically to the Creator’s unique power to bring all things into being without pre-existing matter, as well as the Creator’s necessary sustenance in keeping creatures from falling back into non-existence. Because it is employed to support the Creator’s distinction, the term “nothing” does not operate as a master metaphor, as it does in some of Eckhart’s German works, where it is closely connected to the grunt. However, led by the master metaphor of indistinction, the nothingness of creatures conveys yet another—although implicit—significance. To understand how the term “nothing” can function in a dual way, we must return to the scriptural story of creation. In Genesis 1, God does not, in fact, bring the world to being out of “thin air” so to speak, like a magician, but rather creates all things out of a formless wasteland. God does create out of “nothing,” but in a more artistic sense: where there was no particular thing—no-thing, a formless wasteland that served no particular purpose—now there are specific things (formed) that have specific purposes (informed). The story of creation is, therefore, not really about God’s power over creation, but about God’s wisdom in forming and arranging creation, and, as the story continues, arranging so that the divine is imaged by and manifest within creation, especially by the human creature, the culmination of God’s creative activity. By this divine ordering the creature participates in the divine existence. Derived from Scripture, tradition holds two senses of creation from nothing: one securing God’s distinction from and power over the world; the other, emphasizing the creature’s manifestation of and designated end in its Creator. The first sense is clearly present in John’s Gospel. In response to Jn. 1:3, Eckhart declares (note the implicit Trinitarian structure), “How might there be or might something be that is beyond existence, or without existence, or not in existence?”50 God alone is the author of existence, and God alone is existence. This seems to indicate the Creator’s transcendent power over and distinction from creation. However, Eckhart is not content to present the doctrine of creation without plumbing its depths; nor is he afraid of the controversy this dangerous exploration will inevitably cause for his audiences—in fact he counts on it. Eckhart prefaces his above reply to John, first asserting that “‘[a]ll things are in him’ in such a way that if there is anything not in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Spirit is not God;” and then, continuing: If there were anything outside him or not in him, he would not be existence and consequently not God. … “All things are in him” in such a way that nothing is in the Father, nothing in the Son, except because the Father and the Son are what the Holy Spirit is.51

 Ibid., n. 29.  See, for example, Comm. Wis. (1:14), n. 34, and Comm. Ex., nn. 102-6. 50  Latin Sermon IV, n. 23. 51  Ibid., n. 24. 48 49

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Statements like this—appearing throughout Eckhart’s work in a variety of formulations—that “God would not be God,” sound more controversial than they really are. Above, the underlying tenet, wholly in conformity with tradition, is that the three divine Persons’ nature is essentially identical. Existence is proper to God alone, and in the Trinity this existence is essentially indistinct—being neither this nor that mode of existence, but pure existence. Significantly, however, Eckhart does not discuss the divine nature separately from the creature’s existence. Eckhart had earlier indicated that, because everything exists in God in a general way, the three terms (from, through, and in) are, in actuality, the same. Within the scriptural context of creation, which provides the interior content for the doctrine of the Trinity, the creatures’ existence in God (before being created in the world) is formless existence. This manner of existence is also indistinct. Through the master metaphor of indistinction, Eckhart takes an analogical turn by reflexively extending the divine mode of existence to creatures: when we say that all things are in God [that means that] just as he is indistinct in his nature and nevertheless most distinct from all things, so in him all things in a most distinct way are also at the same time indistinct. … Further, just as God is ineffable and incomprehensible, so all things are in him in an ineffable way.52

Like the German grunt, indistinction is free from creaturely form while conveying the idea of identity: two things that are identical are indistinct, because there is nothing, no single feature, by which to distinguish one from the other. Eckhart’s dialectical attribution of distinct and indistinct existence seems to be an example of what Zum Brunn calls the dual status of the creature: in the world (borrowed existence) and in God (liberated existence).53 In the world, the creature is separated from other creatures and from the Creator by virtue of its form; but in God, the creature is one with other creatures and with the Creator by virtue of its indistinction with the divine existence.54 This dual mode of existence creates a linguistic space for articulating God’s transcendence as well as the creature’s total dependence on the Creator, while at the same time expressing God’s immanence and the creature’s freedom from the constrictions of its created form—language-use Zum Brum calls “dialectical analogy.” However, led by indistinction as master metaphor, the dual ontology of the creature (distinct and indistinct) passes beyond dialectically balancing God’s transcendence and immanence, or the creature’s borrowed and liberated existence vis-à-vis the Creator: indistinction expresses a non-contrastive relationship where the creature shares a radical identity with the Creator more profound than any likeness between creatures, and furthermore, creatures share a radical identity with each other not perceived through ordinary awareness, but  Ibid., n. 28.  See Zum Brunn and de Libera, Maître Eckhart, 90. 54  See Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 92-3. 52 53

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only through a transformed awareness. Eckhart is careful to note that creatures are indistinct with each other and with the Creator in a distinct and unique manner. Distinct and indistinct existence are not really dialectical, because they are not opposed to each other, but rather non-contrastive. Yet this indistinction, this radical identity in creation, is everywhere present, just as God is everywhere present, since it is an inextricable part of common existence. Through their existence, which at its core is indistinct, creatures carry within themselves God’s inexhaustible intelligibility; thus, ordinary creatures manifest the Divine in the world. Moreover, indistinction for the human creature is soteriologically significant. Like other creatures, the human bears within itself divine intelligibility (incomprehensibility), and in addition was made to image its divine Creator. However, as the scriptural narrative unfolds, unlike the rest of creation the human creature was given the freedom—and made the choice—to turn away from its divine image and cling to created images, which are nothing more than fleeting forms. In religious terms, our stubborn attachment to forms is sinful, because awareness of our indistinction with God is obscured, hindering us from fully manifesting our divine image and, consequently, keeping us from fulfilling our divine telos. Redemption is freedom from this sinful state of alienation from realizing our indistinction, or total union with God. Liberated existence is one of identification with the divine ground; therefore, to be saved is to become deified—realizing and actualizing divine indistinction. In Christian terms, deification takes form (to use this term improperly) particularly in the second Person of the Trinity, who as incarnate provides the interconnection between human and divine: one in nature with the divine Father and Spirit and one in nature with humanity—like us in all things except sin, that is, except attachment to forms. Jesus Christ, as Word incarnate, is the divine image because through his life, death, and resurrection he manifests the complete human identification with the divine. As exemplar, Jesus remained detached from the fleeting concerns of created forms, thereby providing a living model, and revelation, of divine imaging for others to follow. 2. Adopted Sonship as Analogy Surprisingly, Eckhart does not exploit the language of the hypostatic union. The doctrine of the hypostatic union protects God’s distinction by positioning Jesus as the absolutely unique human example of divine transcendence-in-immanence. Often, the hypostatic formula is understood contrastively, where as divine, Jesus wholly transcends creation and as human is wholly immanent to creation, especially to other human beings. However, this assumes that to be divine is the opposite of being human, and this would not do justice to the profound intimacy God has to humanity through the incarnation. In his German works, Eckhart employs exitus/reditus language in his explication of the birth of the Word in the soul, a development earning him official

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condemnation for seeming to blur the distinction between Creator and creature. In his Latin works, however—notably his commentary on John’s Gospel—Eckhart appeals to the Pauline notion that, through Jesus Christ believers become adopted heirs of God. For Eckhart, the hypostatic formula does not provide as much linguistic space for articulating the return of the believer to God as the language of “adoption.” Subtly directed by the master metaphor of indistinction, the doctrine that through Christ believers become adopted heirs of God passes from traditional formula to dynamic analogy. In his Latin Commentary on John’s Gospel, Eckhart quotes: “‘The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us,’” continuing: “the first fruit of the Incarnation of the Word, who is the natural Son of God, is that we should be God’s sons through adoption.” Eckhart borrows Paul’s adoption language from Galatians and Romans, where Paul writes, “‘you have received the spirit of adoption of the sons of God.’ … ‘If we are sons, we are heirs also: Heirs indeed of God and joint heirs with Christ.’”55 Eckhart explains, “it would be of little value for me that ‘the Word was made flesh’ for man in Christ as a person distinct from me unless he was also made flesh in me personally so that I too might be God’s son.”56 Eckhart maintains Christ’s unique distinction from creatures, because he alone naturally exists both as human and divine (divine here understood as “immanentyet-transcendent”). Additionally, adoption language shows that the believer, returned to the Creator, exists divinely through adoption; therefore, adoption language yields more than does that of hypostatic union. However, Eckhart’s use of “adoption” goes beyond conventional understanding, which distinguishes natural sonship from adoption in a way that opposes human and divine. Conventionally understood, the idea that believers become by adoption—or through grace—what Jesus was by nature, God’s son, preserves Jesus’ unique status as both fully human and divine and preserves Jesus’ unique status as uncreated, unlike any other human person. Although we can become heirs of God, we can never be both human and divine in the same sense Jesus was; we can become sons of God, but not THE Son of God. Eckhart, however, is not satisfied with this discrimination because it presumes an unbridgeable separation between human and divine, and does not convey the intimacy between Creator and human creature made in the divine image. Rather, for Eckhart, adoption must be extended beyond its ordinary meaning, becoming a dynamic analogy. To become adopted means Jesus is made flesh in the believer personally, indicating a profound transformation—or con-formation—within the human creature. He goes on to draw this out more explicitly: “The Word was made flesh” in Christ who is outside us. He does not make us perfect by being outside us; but afterwards, through the fact that “he dwelt among us,” he gives us his name and perfects us “so that we are called and truly

 Gal 4:7 and Rom 8:15-17.  Comm. Jn., n. 117.

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are God’s son.” (1 Jn.3:1)57 For then the Son of God, “The Word made flesh,” dwells in us, that is, in our very selves—behold God’s dwelling with man … [Isaiah] says, “He dwelt among use,” that is, he made man his dwelling.58 Again, “He dwelt among us” because we have him in us. … “We are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as through the Spirit of the Lord.” We should not falsely suppose that it is by one son or image that Christ is the Son of God and by some other that the just and godlike man is a son of God, for he says, “We are being transformed into the same image.”59

Statements like this mark one of the most controversial aspects of Eckhart’s work, because it appears that, in identifying the believer with Jesus Christ, Eckhart erases the line between divine and human—and between nature and grace—effectively the only thing setting Jesus apart from other humans.60 His German works articulate this even more boldly, for example his sermon on the Book of Wisdom 5:16, where Eckhart asserts, “The Father gives birth to the Son without ceasing, and I say more: he gives me birth, me, his son and the same son.”61 In his Johannine commentary, as in some Latin sermons,62 the believer’s adoption as God’s son through conformity to Jesus Christ relies on Eckhart’s understanding of “image.” Driven by the master metaphor of indistinction, conformity to Christ dynamically analogizes Christ’s imaging of the Father as the Word of God. In his Commentary on John, “The Word was with God, and the Word was God,” Eckhart explains how Jesus Christ is the image of the Father: the image and that of which it is an image, insofar as they are such, are one. “The Father and I are one” (Jn 10:30). He says “we are” insofar as there is an exemplar that is expressive and begets and an image that is expressed or begotten; he says “one” insofar as the whole existence of the one is in the other and there is nothing alien to it there. … The image and the exemplar are coeval, and this is what is said here, that “the Word,” that is, the image, “was in the beginning with God” in such a way that the exemplar cannot be understood without the image and vice versa. “He who sees me also sees my Father” (Jn 14:9).63

 Emphasis mine.  Eckhart’s wordplay between habitavit and habituavit cannot be conveyed in

57 58

English. See Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, fn. 217. 59  Eckhart borrows from 2 Cor. 3:18. Comm. Jn., n. 118. 60  For more on Eckhart’s notion of grace, see McGinn, Mystical Thought, 127-31. 61  German Sermon 6 (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons). Three excerpts relating to the birth of the Son in the soul were included in the bull “In agro dominico.” See Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons, fn. 218. 62  For example, Latin Sermons XXV and XLIX (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher). 63  Comm. Jn., n. 24.

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The imaging between Son and Father is so profound that it goes beyond any shared form to their existence; in God, image is an expression of identity rather than likeness, and therefore the Son’s imaging of the Father indicates indistinction with regard to divine existence. Furthermore, since “[t]he principles of knowing and of existence are the same,”64 knowing and existence in God are also indistinct, for “nothing is known through what is alien to it.” Borrowing from Matthew’s Gospel, Eckhart concludes, “[n]o one knows the Son except the Father, nor does anyone know the Father except the Son.”65 So far, image understood as indistinction is limited to the Divine Persons; however, true to form, Eckhart quickly turns from immanent Trinity to economic Trinity. The relationship between indistinction and image has profound soteriological implications for human creatures. Indistinction does not appear often in Eckhart’s commentary on John, but operates tacitly throughout the text as he continues to develop the notion of adoption, moving from how the Word images the Father to how, as believers become conformed to the Word incarnate, they too image God and consequently become deified heirs. “[I]ndistinct existence is proper to God, and he is distinguished by his indistinction alone, while distinct existence is proper to a creature,”66 asserts Eckhart, maintaining the orthodox position of the Creator’s unique distinction from creature. More importantly, though, he sets the stage for the formula of adoption to become a dynamic analogy expressing the human creature’s reunion and identification with its Source. Even early in the commentary Eckhart begins to extend God’s indistinction to human beings, following Augustine that “we are made to the image of the whole Trinity.”67 Humanity’s creation in the image of the Trinity is significant to Eckhart because, according to Christian tradition, the God of Scripture is the triune God proclaimed by the Church. Therefore it is the Trinity’s role in creation that concerns Eckhart—particularly, in his Johannine commentary, of the second Person’s role in the creation of humanity. The human creature has a special relatedness to the second Divine Person because it is endowed with intellect, which directs it back to its Source through the Word’s incarnation. Explaining John’s opening declaration, “in the beginning was the Word,” Eckhart borrows from Augustine on the various meanings of the Greek Logos. The Greek Logos means the same as the Latin “idea” and “word.” In this passage we translate it more correctly as “Word” to signify not only the relation to the Father, but also the relation to the things that are made through the Word by means of operative power. “Idea” is a term rightly used even if nothing is made through it.68

 Comm. Jn., n. 26.  Mt 11:27. 66  Comm. Jn., n. 99. 67  Ibid., n. 123, following Augustine, Trin. 7.6.12. 68  Ibid., n. 28, quoting Augustine’s Book of Eighty-Three Questions. 64 65

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Eckhart discerns that even from the beginning of the gospel, John’s focus is soteriological rather than speculative, and concrete rather than abstract. He takes John’s highly symbolic language as an opportunity to extend divine existence to redeemed humanity: through God’s revelation in Jesus Christ, believers are able to realize their indistinct existence through imitation. Becoming “heirs” or “adopted sons” means revealing God just as Jesus Christ reveals the Father. He was able to reveal the Father by virtue of his divine nature, which is indistinct from the Father. Human creatures are capable of revealing God insofar as they image Jesus, who, as exemplar (Word or Logos) has a proper role bringing creatures into existence from nothing. Although distinct among themselves, creatures are indistinct in God because all they possess comes from God and from nothing else, and continued existence depends on God. “The image is in its exemplar, for there it receives its whole existence. On the other hand, the exemplar insofar as it is an exemplar is in its image because the image has the whole existence of the exemplar in itself.”69 Indistinction extends to creatures because, as Eckhart continues, “the Word itself, the exemplar of created things, is not something outside God towards which he looks … but the Word is in the Father himself.” Since the Word is in the Father, and the Word is the exemplar of creatures, creatures are in God and are indistinct. Indistinction operates here as master metaphor, albeit tacitly. The term “image” indicates indistinction, because it goes beyond formal definition. The Son does not image the Father through any particular form or feature, divine or otherwise, but through existence. Jesus Christ manifested his divine (fully actualized) existence by living in such a way that he did not cling to created forms, but treated everything as it was in itself and in God. As Eckhart puts it, he lived “without a why,”70 foregoing self-interest for the sake of others, especially those who—by all outward appearances, or in other words, through their created forms—did not seem to merit such attention. Likewise, insofar as we become detached from created forms and live “without a why,” we manifest the divine existence by becoming conformed to the formless image of Jesus Christ, and are transformed into one and the same Son. The capacity to be transformed into the Son is inbuilt into the human creature’s telos by virtue of its intellect. Eckhart begins establishing the association between human intellect and divine Intellect—just as he does everything else—with the Creator as prime analogate. The human intellect is not discussed until divine Intellect is considered, thereby preserving proper linguistic order of Creator to creature. Eckhart toggles back and forth between divine Knowledge and human knowledge of God throughout the Johannine commentary. Speaking first of John’s text, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” Eckhart explains, whatever is produced from something is “universally its word.” By “word,” Eckhart means that it “speaks, announces and discloses whence  Ibid., n. 20.  See, for example, German Sermons 5b, 6, 52 (Colledge and McGinn, Essential Sermons). 69 70

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it comes.”71 The Word reveals the divine Source. Creation manifests the divine because it reflects its Creator, and especially the Word, through whom creatures are brought into being. The purpose of the incarnation is to make God known to creatures through the highest worldly creation, humanity, who images its Creator’s existence through being, through life, and most specifically, through intellect. The question of why the Word’s incarnation was necessary and appropriate is answered in terms of redemption: drawing the believer back to its source—for the end of all creatures is in their divine Source—especially the human creature, made in God’s image but manifesting its Source like a reflection in a dark glass, because it tends to attach itself to created forms. “[T]he intellect, which begins in the senses, is clouded by the [created] images through which and in which it knows.”72 Because of this weakness, we need an exemplar to which we can cling and which we can imitate who images God purely. Jesus Christ as Word incarnate is divine exemplar and pure image of God. Because he existed corporeally, he communicated the divine physically, and related himself to others through the senses. However, in becoming conformed, believers must also become detached from the human image of Jesus Christ, for even clinging to the Word incarnate will keep the believer from wholly identifying with and knowing God. “[T]ake good heed of Christ’s words, when he spoke about his human nature and said to his disciples ‘It is expedient for you that I go from you, for if I do not go, the Holy Spirit cannot come to you,’” Eckhart quotes from John’s Gospel in his German work On Detachment: “This is just as if he were to say, ‘you have taken too much delight in my present image, so that the perfect delight of the Holy Spirit cannot be yours.’”73 The faithful must come to know everything, including Jesus Christ, as indistinct from God—and not through the forms that define them. Eckhart often calls this transformed way of knowing, which images the divine Intellect, “unknowing” or “detached intellection,” because to know something by seeing through its created form to its indistinct existence—knowing personally—is different than our ordinary way of obtaining knowledge; it is, therefore, preferable not to use the same designation as for ordinary knowledge in speaking about divine knowledge, lest it is taken in the ordinary sense obtained through created forms. In order to guide audiences non-contrastively in detaching from “formal” knowledge towards appreciating the depth, immediacy, and intimacy of things as they are in themselves and in God, Eckhart develops the analogical implications of the Creator–creature relationship, which he does here first by securing the Word’s equality and identity with the Principle of creation, as well as the Word’s distinction from creatures: In things that are analogical what is produced is always … less perfect and unequal to its source. In things that are univocal what is produced is always equal to the

 Comm. Jn., n. 4.  Ibid., n. 83. 73  Jn 16:7. 71 72

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source. It does not just participate in the same nature, but it receives the total nature from its source in a simple, whole and equal manner. … [W]hat proceeds is the son of its source. A son is one who is other in person but not other in nature.74

The Son as Word of God is equal to the Principle (the Father) and distinct from creatures. Whatever is produced in terms of being created derives from the source and as such is “beneath” it (metaphorically speaking). However, without delay Eckhart moves in reverse, extending the Son’s indistinct existence with the Father to creatures: Still, insofar as it is in the principle, it is not other in nature or other in supposit. A chest in its maker’s mind is not a chest, but is the life and understanding of the maker, his living conception. On this account I would say that what it says here about the procession of the divine Persons holds true and is found in the procession and production of every being of nature and art.75

Assuming a dialectical mode, Eckhart qualifies the indistinction of creatures in God and reaffirms the equality of the Word with God, but now includes the Word’s proper role in the divine act of creation: note that it is proper to the intellect to receive its object, that is, the intelligible, not in itself, insofar as it is complete, perfect and good, but to receive it in its principles. This is what is meant here: “In the principle was the Word.” And again, “This Word was in the principle with God. … [T]he word, that is, the mind’s concept … is that through which the maker makes all that he does and without which he does nothing as a maker. Hence there follows: “All things were made through him, and without him nothing was made.”76

Created things are indistinct by virtue of their pure potency to become a particular thing solely from the artistry of the triune Creator. Thus, Creator and creature are distinctly indistinct: creatures are indistinct because of their no-thingness, while the Word is indistinct because of its existence as pure act, by which it derives its divine creative power to inform all things. The creature’s indistinction, neither univocal nor equivocal with the Word’s indistinction, lends the creature the capacity to manifest the Word, insofar as its “idea” is conveyed by the creature—the idea constituting its particular place in the order of creation: being, living, or intellect. “[I]n the case of created things, only their ideas shine,” Eckhart deduces from Aristotle, for “[t]he idea of a thing which the name signifies is its definition,” and, at least from the creaturely perspective, in defining something knowledge about it is revealed.  Comm. Jn., n. 5.  Ibid. 76  Ibid., n. 9. 74 75

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Explicating John’s text, “the light shines in the darkness,” however, Eckhart reverses Aristotle’s tenet, that knowledge of something is revealed through the ideas—that is, through the forms—by which is it defined, concluding, nothing shines in creatures except their idea, which, although distinct with regard to the order of creation, is indistinct in God since its origin is the divine Word. “Shining” is a metaphor for the disclosure of divine knowledge. To distinguish the creature’s divinely originated idea, one must paradoxically move beyond the apparent or created forms of the creature—that which defines it outwardly, but which tends to obscure its inward reality—to the formless image within, its divine idea, which “remains immobile and intact, even if the creature is changed, moved, or destroyed.” Insofar as the “idea” of a creature shines forth through its created forms, it reveals and manifests the Creator. To know a creature truly, what-it-is in itself, is to perceive it indistinctly in God, consequently to know the Creator: personally, immediately, and intimately. There is no distance between Creator and creature in personal knowing, and no distinction between the human creature’s knowing and its existence in God. Instead of being defined by their created forms, creatures as they are in themselves are therefore defined by how they reflect and reveal the Creator. Humanity has the special capacity to know and disclose God personally through its intellect, suggesting the potency for transformation and identification with the divine Intellect. Of course, by intellect, Eckhart means more than rational faculty. Certainly, though, reason is not disregarded. “Corporeal nature as such does not distinguish between the thing and the idea, because it does not know the idea, which only a rational and intellectual nature grasps and knows.”77 The power of reason allows us to organize thoughts, prioritize experiences, and most significantly, to derive the idea of something apart from its existence as a particular “what it is.” But intellect goes beyond reason in its capacity to transform the human being, which it does by perceiving things in themselves as well as their indistinction in the divine Source. Consequently, the human creature is able to pass beyond its own assumed identity to recognize its indistinction in God and its potency for manifesting its divine image through detachment—or, scripturally speaking, through disinterested piety. According to John, the Word incarnate was life, and “the life was the light of men.” For Eckhart, John’s use of “light,” synonymous with “idea,” is symbolic of divine self-knowledge revealed to the human intellect, ordered to God as a capacity to receive and to respond to divine communication. God’s revelation through the incarnation of the Word is an appropriate expression of divine self-communication because of the correlation between divine knowledge and existence: The intellect’s effect in itself is … word and idea … The Idea in the proper sense is certainly in the First intellect. It is also “with God” in every neighboring

 Ibid., n. 1:31.

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intellectual being that is its image, or made according to its image as “God’s offspring.” Furthermore, reality and intellect are the same in [God].78

From the divine perspective, the Word, or Logos, is the divine Idea, deriving its power to inform creation by virtue of its indistinct existence as pure act; from the creaturely perspective, intellect—which allows the human creature to discern the existence of something apart from its form, and thus respond to it as it is actually—is the highest form of creaturely existence. Humanity, endowed not only with reason but with its whole intellect as its telos guiding it to full existence (full actualization) in its Source, is thus ordered to the divine Intellect. It is therefore fitting for the Word of God to assume human nature, so that humanity could assume divine nature. Eckhart begins with the formula of adoption and draws his readers to its redemptive implications, of which the ultimate end is deification. “The Father gives birth to his Son in eternity, equal to himself,” Eckhart reminds his readers in his German Sermon on Wisdom 5:16, where he refers again to John’s opening passage, “The Word was with God, and God was the Word.” He reasons, “it was the same in the same nature.” But here in this German work, Eckhart abandons adoption language, and moves his identification between the Word and the human creature further than in his Latin works: Yet I say more: He has given birth to him in my soul. Not only is the soul with him, and he equal with it, but he is in it, and the Father gives his Son birth in the soul in the same way as he gives him birth in eternity, and not otherwise. … The Father gives birth to his Son without ceasing; and I say more: He gives me birth, me, his Son and the same Son.79

Eckhart breaks his audiences out of their comfort zone to extend the birth in the soul to the divine nature itself: I say more: He gives birth not only to me, his Son, but he gives birth to me as himself and himself as me and to me as his being and nature. In the innermost source, there I spring out in the Holy Spirit, where there is one life and one being and one work. Everything God performs is one; therefore he gives me, his Son, birth without any distinction [underscheit].80

Not only does Eckhart seemingly blur the Son and human creature’s distinction, but he clarifies that, in giving birth to the Son unceasingly, the Son’s divine nature and the human creature’s nature are one and the same. Arguing from Second Corinthians, Eckhart declares: “We shall be completely transformed and changed into God.”  Ibid., n. 37.  German Sermon 6. 80  Ibid. 78 79

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While Eckhart seems to drift dangerously close to—if not actually into the terrain of—the heretical, we must investigate the analogical, and therefore metaphorical, dimensions of this language. In speaking of the identity between human creature and Creator, Eckhart employs the “soul” throughout his German works, without, however, giving it a single consistent definition or description. This should come as no surprise, for to give a fixed interpretation might allow audiences to cling to the concept of the soul without exploring its metaphorical depths. The metaphor of “soul” is driven by the master metaphor of grunt, the “place” (metaphorically speaking, of course) where indistinction, and therefore identity, between Creator and creature may be found. The birth of the Word in the soul, understood through the master metaphor of ground, develops a non-contrastive interpretation falling well within the confines of Christian orthodoxy, because it protects the Creator’s uniqueness while expressing the total dependence and potency of the human creature. Indeed, Eckhart’s “birth” motif should be considered radically orthodox, because it is more likely to succeed where conventional Christian formulas, such as hypostatic union, are less likely to: first, in detaching believers from superficial identification as individual creatures privileged by virtue of their God-given superior rational nature—set apart and above other creatures—and second, in revealing to believers their potential identities as divine creatures accountable to God and to other creatures by virtue of their union and indistinction with them. In Christian terms, Jesus exemplified this in sacrificing his life, thereby identifying completely with the human condition. Jesus was able to identify completely with humanity because he lived a life of disinterested piety, allowing him to see others as they were in themselves indistinct from God. His self-sacrifice on the cross is considered an act of God’s love for humanity. In actuality, detached intellection and love are one and the same, because to know something in itself is to identify completely with it, and to identify completely with something is to give yourself completely to it. In giving birth to the Son in the soul, God identifies so completely with the human creature that any distinction is extinguished. Eckhart does, therefore, dissolve the distinction between Creator and creature; however it is well justified by the Christian imperative of love and is in this sense radically orthodox. While Eckhart is daring enough in his German works to risk conflation between the human soul and the divine nature in order to pull his congregations out of their doctrinal complacency, it is important to note he was no less intent on detaching his Dominican students from reliance on formulaic interpretations of doctrine, since they were someday to preach to their own congregations and to teach their own students. In his Latin works, Eckhart’s use of insofar, deemed the “inquantum principle” by scholars like Tobin,81 allows Eckhart to remain within the confines of orthodoxy while carrying audiences beyond conventional (mis)understandings of the Creator–creature relationship, which might blur the divine and the created.  See Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 49-61, 90-94.

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The indistinction of the Creator, existing always everywhere in fully actualized existence, establishes the unique distinction between Creator and creature, whose existence is indistinct because it totally depends on the Creator. No comparison or contrast between Creator and creature is possible, because there is no other existence, and no other source of existence, with which such a correlation or differentiation could be made. The creature is, strictly speaking, no-thing by its own power. But since God is the source of its being any-thing at all, insofar as it has existence, or insofar as it imitates the Word incarnate, or insofar as it acts justly, and so forth, it is in God and indistinct from God and is God. The inquantum principle establishes the Creator–creature relationship as dynamically analogical, because it speaks not of the creature’s formal resemblance or dissimilarity to the Creator, but rather of its potency to identify with its Creator who is its source of existence. The “birth of the Word in the soul” presents Eckhart’s German audiences with the same linguistic possibility, but with a more personal and evocative articulation from which to draw their spiritual reflections and direct their moral actions. “As truly as the Father in his simple nature gives his Son birth naturally, so truly does he give him birth in the most inward part of the soul, and that is the inner world,” Eckhart writes in his German Sermon on 1 John 4:9, “In this God’s love for us has been revealed and has appeared to us, because God has sent his Only-Begotten Son into the world, so that we live with the Son and in the Son and through the Son.” Eckhart continues, invoking his master metaphor of ground to explain the immediacy and intimacy between the believer and God: Where the Father gives birth to his Son in the innermost ground, there this nature is suspended [or hovers – German: însweben]. This nature is one and simple. … Here God’s ground is my ground, and my ground is God’s ground. Here I live from what is my own, as God lives from what is his own. … Whoever seeks for God without ways will find him as he is in himself, and that man will live with the Son, and he is life itself.82

Eckhart’s identification of the “most inward part of the soul” and God’s ground has elicited much controversy because it seems to give something “uncreated” to the human creature, obscuring the essential distinction between Creator and creature.83 But Eckhart is intent on preserving the correct analogical order between the two: the soul receives the uncreated because it is ordered to it, not because it is of itself uncreated; the human creature must have the capacity to receive, respond to, and identify with the divine if it is to manifest it rather  German Sermon 5b. See Peter Reiter, Der Seele Grund: Meister Eckhart und die Tradition der Seelenlehre (Würzburg: Verlag Königshausen and Neumann, 1993) for more on Eckhart’s relationship between the soul and the divine ground. 83  See, for example, McGinn and Colledge, Essential Sermons, pertaining to Eckhart’s condemnation, 12-15, and Tobin, Meister Eckhart, 132. 82

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than just reflect it like an image in a mirror. “Uncreated” and “created” are not in opposition, but are non-contrastive. The identification of the soul with the divine ground bespeaks of its pure potency, and in this sense it should be called uncreated: “All things are created from nothing; therefore their true origin is nothing,” Eckhart exhorts, in a cunning word-play suggesting several simultaneous levels of interpretation: the creature’s being brought forth out of nothing, or the not-yet-something specific, or the not-yet-created; the creature’s being created by and from the one who is no-thing and uncreated, the Creator who is distinct from creation by virtue of its indistinction, divine no-thingness. Even nothingness is not outside of God. Therefore the creature’s true origin and end is as no-thing, or, as in God, uncreated. When Eckhart declares there is no distinction whatever between the soul giving birth to the Word and the divine nature, he means no distinction exists between God and the soul which can be compared to any kind of distinction found among creatures. This dynamic moment, uncreated and indistinct, conveys a relation between Creator and human creature that is singularly unique or, more personally, a love so strong that Lover and beloved are one and the same in a complete mutual self-presence drawing all things into itself: The man who has God essentially present to him grasps God divinely, and to him God shines in all things, for everything tastes to him of God, and God forms himself for the man out of all things. God always shines out in him, in him there is a detachment and a turning away, and a forming of his God whom he loves and who is present to him. … Truly, wherever he is, whomever he is with, whatever he may undertake, whatever he does, what he so loves never passes from his mind, and he finds the image of what he loves in everything and it is the more present to him the more his love grows and grows.84

This person, detached from the distinction of created forms, just as the Jesus Christ was detached from such distractions, “does not seek rest,” Eckhart affirms, “because no unrest hinders him.” He has passed beyond affirmations, beyond negations, and beyond comparisons and contrasts—to silence. C. Analogy as Silence “‘[The light] shines in the darkness,’ that is, in a silence and stillness apart from the commotion of creatures,” Eckhart concludes his exegesis of John’s fifth verse. Drawing from Augustine’s Confessions, he queries, “‘What is similar to your Word … if the commotion of the flesh is silent to a person, images are silent … 84  Counsels on Discernment. Counsel 6, “Of Detachment and of the Possession of God.”

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and the soul is silent to itself and passes beyond itself by not thinking on itself?”85 And, meditating on Wisdom (18:14), he pauses, as if his thoughts drift off and evaporate: “When a deep silence held all things.” Eckhart reflects more extensively on the meaning of silence in his earlier commentary on Wisdom, considering this same verse, and from his meditations there the interconnection between speaking of and knowing God may be derived. As he does in his later work, Eckhart turns to Augustine for inspiration: “‘Be not foolish, my soul, and make not the ear of your heart deaf with the turmoil of your folly. Hear the Word itself; there is the place of imperturbable rest.’”86 He concludes by quoting from Book 9: ‘“if the soul be silent to itself and by not thinking of itself transcend itself … he may speak alone through himself in order that we may hear his Word.”87 God speaks to the silent soul immediately, without a medium, suggesting both knowing and identification. But this is not supernatural revelation bypassing human thought. Rather, it is an immediate “opening up” of thought, or a bursting through thought—Eckhart sometimes uses the language of a “spark” in the soul—causing a transformed awareness of God manifest in all things. “[T]he very idea of a medium [must] be removed, given up, be silent and at rest so that the soul can rest in God. … [J]ust as many things and all things are one in the One and in God … ‘[w]e have all things in you, the One,’ and … ‘God will be one in all.’”88 The metaphor of “silence” in these passages does not refer to the cessation of thought or speech—as it does for the beatified in their union with God after death—but to an awareness of the silence permeating and lying at the center of each word, each thought, and each creature. This silence, unrecognized, lies hidden beneath the veil of the created image, whether a fellow creature, a work of art, a rock, or a word; and because hidden, it causes the soul to be restless after its purpose and meaning. Once perceived, however, the Source—the Word of God—speaks so loudly through the creature or work of art, or rock, or word, you can barely distinguish where the word ends and your ear begins. This is the apophatic way: to perceive things as they are in themselves indistinct from God is to be dramatically transformed: the Word and the hearer are one.89 This indicates that the value of apophasis, or the “negation of negation” in Eckhart’s terms, does not lie in the cessation of speech, but in the fulfillment of its soteriological purpose. The hearer who is transformed becomes the Word who bears divine silence through itself, just as Jesus the incarnate Word did during his human life—in every facet of his human life, word, and  Comm. Jn., n. 80.  Augustine, Confessions, 4.9. 87  Ibid., Book 9. 88  Comm. Wis. (18:1), 285, quoting from Tb 10:5 and 1 Cor 15:28, respectively. 89  See J.P. Williams, Denying Divinity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 85 86

4-5; Louis Dupré, “Eckhart: From Silence to Speech,” International Catholic Review: Communio 11 (1984): 28-34.

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deed. Human discourse about and to God bearing the divine Silence within transforms other hearers—“who have ears to hear,” Scripture qualifies—and unites the speaker, the listener, and the Word as one in God. Those who are transformed and bear the Silence within themselves are not rendered mute, but on the contrary, are compelled to speak of God all the more, so that others may be gathered into God. This is the Preacher’s soteriological calling, to gather believers into Christ. Eckhart, through practical exercise of Aquinas’ analogy, lends a new and dynamic meaning to Augustine’s repose of the restless heart. The heart at rest in God is a silent heart, but not a speechless one, until it has completed its last earthly beat.

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Chapter 6

Conclusion: Living Without a Why and the Christian Forms of Life In today’s religious climate, far removed from medieval Europe where Church and state were aligned, and—though already divided from the Eastern tradition—there seemed but one dominant Christian voice, the Roman Church, theologians must be sensitive to diversity and to the demands of pluralism, both undeniable and irrevocable facts of life. However, Aquinas and Eckhart still have much to teach contemporary students of faith in using language analogically to reflect upon and to further deepen their experience of God, and additionally, to broaden the experience of God across denominational and religious borders. If anything, their lessons are more relevant and pressing than in their own time, for communicating about the divine seems even more problematic in an atmosphere where any given religious perspective is just one among many, and where the goal is union with God, not through uniformity, but through unity-in-diversity, the effect of which is mutual transformation. For Christians, spirituality and the forms of life it takes must be consistent with this ultimate end. A. The Lessons of Aquinas and Eckhart Aquinas and Eckhart show us we must break through ordinary language-use in expressing the relationship between the human creature and its Creator. Preserving both God’s transcendence and God’s immanence is essential to this task. But this is not the main goal; their mission is to engage the believer in the process of “faith seeking understanding” for which more is required, because the understanding to be realized is not factual knowledge, but personal knowing. Personal knowing differs from factual knowledge in that it unites the knower and the object known. In reality, there is no such thing as personal “knowledge.” Knowledge is a set of data about the object of inquiry. God is not an object that can be studied; to attribute to God any objective characteristic is to render God a creature and in so doing “God would not be God”—at least, not the Creator God of Scripture. The Creator God of Scripture is a personal God, who brings forth existence freely, sustains that existence and—for the human creature—transforms it by uniting it with its own divine life. The faith journey does not seek knowledge, but redemption, necessary so that we may be reunited with the divine Source who called us into being. Knowing God is not possessing facts or data, but continually moving through self-transcendence, the conclusion of which is not a final, eternally

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unchanging state of being, like “perfection” (conventionally understood), but rather an active identification with God. Thus, redemption is not a state of being but a relationship of mutual self-presence, of complete and dynamic actuality. The Creator–creature relationship, and especially the believer’s journey of faith to (and within) God cannot be described; first, how do you describe an identification where there is no object with which to identify? All that can be described is the believer’s self-transcendence, and there is no such thing as “a” believer; there is this believer and that believer: particular believers. That is why narrative—as Augustine found—is a more effective way to communicate the faith journey. Even so, to be effective, narrative relies on the audience finding commonality with the storyteller, some point of identification with which to connect and so follow the teller’s journey as it unfolds. The language of the story, whether verbal or non-verbal, must involve speaker and listener in such a way that they are together part of the divine–human dialogue. This type of narrative engagement is what analogical language-use is about for Aquinas and Eckhart. Describing the Creator–creature relationship is inadequate for theology’s purpose; rather, the significance is in the creature’s—particularly the human creature’s—return. Aquinas develops his narrative by taking the reader on a journey where, at each step, inherent presuppositions about certain so-called divine features are revealed and shown to be deficient and misleading, ordinarily understood. Once detached from conventional interpretations, each feature can properly be extended to God, with the understanding that even those things which can be said of God “properly” are still somewhat metaphorical, because they must be articulated using limited creaturely language. Although the same basic steps are made with each divine feature, Aquinas’ questions must be understood in the context of a narrative journey, for two reasons: first, with each feature Aquinas guides us from an initial notion of divine transcendence into an ever deepening sense of the Creator’s immanence to creatures, and with each example the reader’s discernment of this intimacy grows ever sharper. This discernment moves us away from contrastive interpretations to a non-contrastive grasp of the Creator’s relationship with creation. Second, Aquinas carefully and intently arranges the Summa following the Scriptural narrative of the journey from creation through sanctification and finally to redemption. As readers progress through the Summa’s narrative from beginning to end, not only are they following the journey of Christian faith, but they are in the process of self-transcendence, engaged in becoming increasingly aware of God’s radical immanence to creation as they exercise their powers of discernment and continually revise misleading presumptions inherent to the religious language which surrounds them in their daily lives. Eckhart’s approach to the Creator–creature relationship in his homilies and vernacular works as well as in more academic works is no less rigorous, but certainly more dramatic and immediate, presenting not one narrative at a time, but numerous and often seemingly conflicting narratives replete with linguistic twists and turns, at times interrupting one narrative with another within the same text only for it to be taken up again later. He explains in his commentary on the Gospel of John that:

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the preceding words have been interpreted in many ways so that the reader can freely take now one and now the other as seems useful to him. I use the same method of multiple exposition in my many commentaries.1

Like Aquinas, Eckhart is intent on detaching his audiences from clinging to misleading and contrastive presuppositions about God and about divinity, which presume divine transcendence in opposition with creation, and which are based on creaturely understandings—even when taken as negations. Eckhart wants his students to develop “detached intellection,” a non-contrastive discernment where, free from depending on created forms deriving knowledge about something, the believer comes to personal knowing: knowing things as they are in-themselves-inGod. Seeing all things as they are in themselves—existing in God—rather than as they exist through their created forms—distinct from God—the believer encounters other creatures as fully present, since there is nothing standing between the knower and the one known. In becoming aware of how others exist in themselves and in God, the believer engages in self-transcendence through identification with the divine ground manifest in all creation. Detached intellection applies to language, just as it does to all other encounters with creaturely things. Our verbal (spoken and written) utterances of God both mirror and form our religious experiences, as do our non-verbal expressions (actions). God-talk, or “theology,” Tanner asserts, “can be understood as called forth by Christian practice to be a kind of reflection upon it.”2 Furthermore, theological speculation returns to Christian practice to “recommend courses of action, criticize or support the practice of the community, regulate the church’s belief and action” and so forth.3 By constantly shifting narratives, Eckhart exercises the ability to see through religious words to their effect—and to their inarticulable divine source. This reveals a multitude of reflections, each of which catches unique glimpses but fails to capture the entire reality. As we revise our conceptions to account for this multiplicity, so too are we moved to align our faith practices to better penetrate through formulas, images, and other conceptions of God to the heart of the divine Word. B. Christian Forms of Life as Analogical We must never forget that Aquinas and Eckhart assume their linguistic exercises are inseparable from the context of faith—or rather, from the practice of faith. They expect their audiences to be actively engaged in Christian forms of life: liturgy, personal prayer, silent contemplation, and especially the moral life, living for others. It is the Christian life that lends significance to their works and is the  Comm. Jn., n. 39.  Tanner, God and Creation, 13-14. 3  Ibid. 1 2

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very purpose for their efforts. Divorced from the practice of faith, Aquinas’ Summa and Eckhart’s vernacular and Latin works lack their full force, and in many cases make for weak philosophical arguments or contrastive interpretations. For example, as Chapter 4 explained, Aquinas’ Five Ways appears to depend on teleological arguments, weak from the philosophical perspective because they are tautological: in order to see creation as a reflection of divine ordering, one must first assume the existence of God. Only when examined in light of his first question, which asserts that the proper subject of theology is sacra doctrina rather than metaphysics, does Aquinas’ Five Ways make sense: it is not the existence of God that is demonstrated, but the necessity and relevance of the Creator God of Scripture and tradition, who not only creates all things from nothing, but more importantly draws all things back to their preordained End. From the Christian perspective, this is particularly significant because, as revealed later in the narrative of the Summa, the human creature, who being created in the divine image is to be united with the triune God in an especially intimate and personal way, must first become conformed to the incarnate Word, Jesus Christ. Viewed in this light, the Five Ways go beyond philosophical argumentation to render soteriological meaning. Because they draw attention to the immediacy and intimacy of God as Creator and to the human creature’s telos of union with God, the Five Ways provide an initial non-contrastive directive for the Christian life. Eckhart sums up this Christian mandate in the phrase “living without a why,” found abundantly throughout his Latin and German works. In German Sermon 29, Eckhart remarks: “the person who … seeks nothing for himself in things and performs all his works without a why and out of love, such a person … lives in God and God in him.”4 Living without a why requires detached intellection, the ability to look beyond created distinctions and discern God in all created things. This is explained beautifully in his sermon on Sirach 14:22, “Happy the man who dwells in wisdom,” which he correlates with Christ’s command to his disciples in John 15:4, “stay in me”: Now listen to what a person should have who is to dwell in him, that is, in God. … The first is that he has renounced himself and all things and is not dependent on things which hold on to the senses from within, nor should he dwell in any creatures that exist in time or in eternity. The second is that he not love this good or that good; he should love, rather, the good from which all good flows. For a thing is only enjoyable or desirable insofar as God is in it. Hence one should love something good only to the extent that one is loving God in it; and one should, therefore, not love God because of heaven or because of any other thing. … [I]f you want to stay in him, love him for nothing other than himself. … And so, if a person were to take all things in this power, he would

4  German Sermon 29 on Acts 1:4 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 288).

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take them not as they are things, but as they are in God. … Thus a person would dwell in all things alike and take them as they are all alike in God.5

Living without a why is self-transcending because it unites the believer not only with other creatures encountered, but with the divine ground disclosed through creation. The profound awareness of God’s radical intimacy and immediacy to creation brings about self-identification with the divine. Eckhart equates living without a why to love, and love to divine identification: This is how the words of Augustine are to be understood when he says, ‘whatever a person loves a person is. If he loves a stone, he is a stone, if he loves a human being, he is a human being. If he loves God—I dare speak no further. If I were to say that he was then God, you might stone me. But I refer you to Scripture.’ Therefore, in joining himself nakedly to God in loving, a person becomes unformed, informed, and transformed in the divine uniformity in which he is one with God.6

Loving without a why—without personal agendas—is the heart of the Christian life. To love God in this manner is to see God in others and to treat them accordingly. From the Christian perspective, Jesus exemplifies living without a why, treating others, especially the poor, as if they were God, and in so doing disclosing his own divinity through identifying with these least of his brothers and sisters. Jesus’ miracles were signs of his divinity, not because they transcended the laws of nature, but because they were directed towards the good and well-being of others. If anything, the divine qualities Jesus revealed most through his miracles were God’s intimate compassion, mercy and goodness rather than God’s power and transcendence over nature. His miracles, breaking through ordinary ways of accomplishing things—and often through unjust social norms—signified the uniqueness and profound immediacy of the divine–human relationship. To those who encounter and follow Jesus’ example, no created condition, natural or otherwise, can come between them and God. Eckhart often describes one who lives without a why as the “nobleman” or the “just man,” who embodies Jesus by seeing and acting towards others as they are in themselves and in God. While the Christian message of loving God and others as Jesus did has remained constant throughout the Church’s history, many Christian forms of life attempting to express it have changed over time. The dominant spirituality directing Christian forms of life in Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s time, while still lingering today, is vastly different than the spirituality—or spiritualities—of the Western world today. It must be acknowledged, however, that Christian life  German Sermon 40 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher).  Ibid. Quoting Augustine’s On the Letter of John to the Parthians, 2:14, and in

5 6

Comm. Wis., 1:14, and “You are what you love,” from his Commentary on the Epistle of John 2:14 (McGinn, Tobin, and Borgstadt, Teacher and Preacher, 303).

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was by no means uniform in the Middle Ages, and so anything said about the spirituality of Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s day must be considered generalization. But if Aquinas’ and Eckhart’s theological lessons on analogical language are to be used to inform as well as to reflect contemporary Christian forms of life, some discriminations must be made about them in their historical context. 1. Christian Forms of Life in the Late Middle Ages For Roman Catholics, the Second Vatican Council (1962-65) marked a great reversal in the Church’s self-understanding and practice. From at least the twelfth century, the Church’s spirituality could be characterized as increasingly contrastive: as the centuries passed, the divine was understood ever more over and against the fallen world. A great chasm developed between clergy and laity, and correspondingly, a great distance was perceived between the believer and God, who was mainly accessible through the clergy. The clergy were understood as mediators between divine and human, as well as representatives of Christ charged with administering sacraments to the faithful. This contrastive perspective of the divine–human relationship was evidenced especially in the liturgy of the mass, wherein the Eucharist became an object of adoration and awe, elevated high in the air by the presiding priest or bishop (with his back to the assembly) at the words of institution. Upon visual contact of the elevated host, many of the faithful responded with “acclamations, bowing, kneeling or prostration.”7 Christ’s “divinity,” understood in terms of his supernatural power—and thus God’s transcendence—became emphasized well over his humanity and immanence. In fact, Christ’s humanity was so far perfected above our own potential that Christ has little to do with us, other than mysteriously saving us by “substituting” his own humanity for our own. Substitution, or atonement theology, is inherently contrastive because it opposes humanity with divinity such that there is no intrinsic unity between Christ and the rest of humanity, except the word “human” describing one of Christ’s two perfect natures. The doctrine of “transubstantiation” was formulated, too, in the twelfth century.8 According to this formula, at the consecration the substance of the bread and wine are transformed into the body and blood of Christ, while the accidents—the outward appearance—remain unchanged. Transubstantiation was adopted as the official explanation of Christ’s “real presence” in the Eucharist, a point leading to

7  John K. Leonard and Nathan D. Mitchell, Postures of the Assembly during the Eucharistic Prayer (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994), 69. See also Theodor Klauser, A Short History of the Western Liturgy: An Account and Some Reflections, trans. John Halliburton, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979). Klauser traces many other changes in the liturgy as well. 8  See, for example, Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred: A Historical Introduction to Sacraments in the Catholic Church (New York: Doubleday, 1982).

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serious controversy centuries later, when Martin Luther countered the formula to correct certain abusive practices arising out of Eucharistic devotions. Transubstantiation is not, in itself, contrastive, but lends itself to contrastive interpretations that overplay divine transcendence when extracted from the context of the liturgy. Indeed, to profess Christ’s substantial presence in the bread and wine is to look beyond their created forms to their existence in and manifestation of God, which discloses the Creator’s profound immanence to human creatures through creation. However, the somewhat supernatural, or “magical,” view of the consecration that many of the faithful began to hold—as in fact, many still do—led to the opposite effect, of imposing divinity (that is, a concept of divinity) onto the bread and wine, such that the “accidents” become merely an illusion. The implications are akin to understanding Jesus’ humanity as an illusion, merely accidental to his divinity, a view declared heretical by the early councils of the Church.9 The magical view of the consecration was largely a consequence of the changes in the Eucharistic liturgy throughout the Middle Ages, which emphasized Christ’s supernatural divinity and separated the laity from the clergy. Some of the most dramatic changes included: the movement of the altar so that the priest prayed over the elements with his back to the assembly; the elevation of the altar area several steps above the pews; the elevation of the host high above the presider’s head at the consecration; kneeling of the assembly during the Eucharistic prayer; and the exclusive use of Latin as the official liturgical language—giving the impression that there can be a special language reserved for the divine exempt from the limitations of ordinary human language. These changes effectively divorced the act of consecration from the Scriptural context of the Passover meal that instituted the Christian Eucharist, from Jesus’ ministry and life recounted in the gospels, and from the communal nature of the liturgy. The focus of worship became the moment of consecration and the adoration of the consecrated host rather than the act of participating together in communion. Christ’s presence was construed to be his concentrated divinity contained in the blessed wafer: this was what most ordinary believers came to understand “transubstantiation” to articulate, a misunderstanding still serious and widespread today. The isolation of the doctrine of transubstantiation from the context of the liturgy, and the limited understanding of real presence to the consecrated host, led to devotional practices reinforcing contrastive understandings of the divine–human relationship, a situation in no way lost on the great reformer Martin Luther. Because, according to the doctrine of transubstantiation, the substance of the bread and wine are transformed into the substance of Christ, as long as the bread exists in the form of bread, it exists as Christ and therefore may be used as an object of adoration. The practice of reserving the consecrated host began in order 9  See, for example, Marthaler, The Creed, 111-20 and Leo Davis, The First Seven Ecumenical Councils (325-787): Their History and Theology (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1987), 170-76, 180-91.

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to make the Eucharist available to those unable to come to mass due to illness or some other disability. However, with the understanding that Christ’s presence remains with the bread long after the consecration, the faithful could extend their devotion to the blessed sacrament outside of mass.10 Luther sensed this divorce of the consecrated bread from the liturgy was misguided, and so put forth his own understanding, called “sacramental union,” wherein Christ is understood to be substantially present in the consecrated Eucharist as long as it is used for its intended purpose, that is, within the context of mass and in the act of communion, or to take to the ill who could not be present during mass. The substance of the bread and wine are not replaced by Christ’s substance, but are united to it.11 Luther’s understanding of Eucharistic real presence fit into his overall view that the liturgy should be more accessible to the laity and that it should be more scripturally-centered. While, of course, other theological issues were at stake which keep the identity of Lutherans and Roman Catholics distinct, Luther’s insight into the necessary unity between the Word of God and the Eucharistic celebration proved him to be centuries ahead of his time, for when the Second Vatican Council in 1962 considered liturgical reform, many changes envisioned by Luther were enacted in the Roman Catholic Church. This signaled a great reversal from the contrastive direction the Church had been travelling in for too many centuries, and opened the way for a non-contrastive spirituality to develop from which Christian forms of life may better reflect Eckhart’s “living without a why.” 2. The Contemporary Development of Christian Forms of Life a) Liturgy Vatican II and post-conciliar liturgical reforms retrieved the organic unity between the liturgy of the Word and the liturgy of the Eucharist, at both verbal and non-verbal levels, allowing for a more non-contrastive experience of God in one of the most obvious Christian forms of life: communal worship. This was accomplished by moving the altar from the wall and turning the presider towards the assembly as it was in the earliest centuries of the Church, and by returning to the vernacular, allowing the laity—having heard the Word of God proclaimed—to connect their own lives to the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures and especially the life of Jesus directly. Now the words and actions of the Eucharistic prayer, not only recalling the last supper narratives in the gospels, but also, as does the Jewish sedar prayer, the divine creative and liberating actions of God narrated in the books of Genesis and Exodus, became more clear. Furthermore, the dialogical nature of the mass was recovered by giving active voice and active posture to  See, for example, Martos, Doors to the Sacred, 125-6.  Ibid., 113-14. Martos erroneously attributes the consubstantiation formula

10 11

to Luther. Luther resisted putting the Eucharist into any formula. See, for example, Martin Luther, Luther’s Works, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut Lehmann, 55 vols (St. Louis: CPH and Fortress Press, 1955-86), 37:187.

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the assembly.12 Rather than passively kneeling spectators of the great Eucharistic drama unfolding on the altar, or silently involved in private meditation, each member of the assembly—taking voice and standing with the presider—is drawn into the divine–human conversation that takes place throughout the mass. Finally, the re-admission of the Epiclesis in the three alternative Eucharistic prayers recognizes the transformative power of the Holy Spirit in sanctifying the bread and wine, as well as in the sanctification and communion of the gathered assembly. Since the earliest centuries of the Church, the Holy Spirit has been understood to be the divine Person responsible for sanctifying, unifying, and bringing all things back to the divine Ground;13 therefore acknowledging the transforming power of the Holy Spirit moves our Eucharistic expression from remembering to analogy, articulating not only the immediacy of the Creator God to creatures, but the movement of the human creature back to its divine Source through communion with others and with God, as they become the body of Christ. This dynamic analogy expresses itself not only through the Eucharistic prayer, culminating in the consecratory words of institution, but through the participation of the assembly in receiving communion, thereby uniting the Word and the act, the verbal and the non-verbal.14 The formula of transubstantiation, put in the full context of the mass, regains its non-contrastive meaning by articulating the unique presence of Christ as transcendent yet profoundly immanent, because in dynamically experiencing communion, we are able to penetrate through the forms of bread and wine—now a part of our own bodies—to experience the consecrated elements, and ourselves, as we exist together as one in God and God in us. The last movement of the liturgy ushers us forth into the world to live and love as Jesus; for now we are Jesus, the very body of Christ, who spreads the Word of God to others the same way that Jesus did, by acting towards others “without a why,” without personal agendas but  Nicea (325) condemned kneeling during the Eucharistic prayer. P. Norman, ed., Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 1 (Washington, D.C.: Sheed & Ward; Georgetown University Press, 1990). However, as the Christology climbed ever higher during the Middle Ages, laity began taking to their knees, a posture expressing the growing popular Eucharistic devotionalism and reinforcing the distinction between clergy and laity. In the 1975 revised Roman rite, the active posture of standing replaces kneeling during the Eucharistic prayer, with the exception of brief genuflection during the words of institution, in effect returning to the posture of the ancient Church. For more information on the history of kneeling during the Eucharistic prayer, see Leonard and Mitchell, Postures of the Assembly during the Eucharistic Prayer. 13  Meister Eckhart, drawing from centuries of tradition, writes often of the unifying power of the Holy Spirit, in terms of both the immanent Trinity (uniting the Father and the Son) and the economic Trinity (uniting creation to its divine end in God). See, for example, German Sermon 15, On Detachment, Comm. Jn., n. 120, Latin Sermon IV, among many other works. 14  See, for example, John H. McKenna, “Eucharistic Epiclesis: Myopia or Microcosm?” Theological Studies 36 (1975): 265-84. 12

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for love of God alone, who we see manifest in every creature, especially those most vulnerable and in need. As an extension of this, one of the most promising—and difficult— developments arising from Vatican II is liturgical inculturation, that is, celebrating the liturgy in such a way that recognizes the presence and experience of Christ from within the cultural expressions of the particular community celebrating, as opposed to receiving Christ through the cultural expressions conveyed and limited to the Roman Rite. Section 37 of Sacrosanctum concilium took a first step by calling for acculturation, the inclusion of some cultural expressions insofar as they are not inconsistent with the essential form of the Roman Rite. The most obvious examples of this are the celebration of the Eucharist in the vernacular—that is, in the language of the people—and hymns sung in the native tongue in the musical style of the native culture. Including different cultural expressions in the liturgy moves non-contrastively by presenting diverse narratives very much in line with Eckhart’s method of presenting multiple interpretations and expositions within his work. However, acculturation in itself poses potential problems. For example, if the translation of the liturgy into the language of the people does not correspond to the actual lived language, then it will not have the transformative power called forth by a truly non-contrastive grasp of Christ’s presence. There will always be something “off” or inauthentic to it. This is compounded by the current practice of the Vatican’s “more literal” translations of the liturgy from Latin, which are only into the general major languages of the people, not taking into account regional differences. For example, people in the UK, the US and Canada speak English very differently from each other; even people in different parts of the same country speak the same language very differently, and no one speaks in the same manner as people of the Middle Ages. Additionally problematic is the addition of certain cultural elements into the main body of the liturgy which are of an imposed or alien culture (that is, Rome), inevitably communicating a superiority of the received culture, and its translation and control over the native one. These issues keep the liturgy from realizing its true non-contrastive potential. Liturgical inculturation (in its Christian context) is, rather, “[t]he incarnation of Christian life and of the Christian message in a particular cultural context, in such a way that this experience not only finds expression through elements proper to the culture … but becomes a principle that animates, directs and unifies the culture, transforming it and remaking it so as to bring about a ‘new creation.’”15 This involves more than including certain native cultural elements into the Roman Rite; it is re-interpreting the Roman Rite through the lens—in fact through all of the senses, not just the eyes—of the people. In this way, Christ arises from within the particularity of the community rather than being received by the community from without, constituting the community into a concretely realized body of Christ. 15  Alyward Shorter, Toward a Theology of Inculturation (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988), 11. Here he is quoting Fr. Pedro Arrup.

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Since the liturgy itself is an expression of Tradition, and more essentially, of the Scripture upon which the liturgy is grounded, especially the narratives of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection (already culturally determined), multiple narratives emerge, but the “superior” or primary one is Scripture, the central theological source for the whole religious faith. Thus, in identifying with Christ from within the culture where the depth of life’s experience happens, in its joys but especially in its brokenness, the worshiping community may penetrate to the Christ beyond cultural forms who exists at the heart of all of them.16 b) Ecclesiology and analogy The Second Vatican Council began to move the Roman Catholic Church in a non-contrastive direction in other Christian forms of life as well, specifically in social action and in relations with other Christian denominations and other religions. This change of direction is a result of the struggle for self-understanding in which the Council engaged as it attempted to bring the Church into the modern world. Avery Dulles notes in the first chapter of his Models of the Church that the Council’s rejection of the initial schema on the Church, in which the first chapter was entitled “The Nature of the Church Militant,” became symptomatic of the whole ecclesiology of Vatican II.17 Dulles goes on to explore a variety of images employed by the early Christian Church that were retrieved by the Council and, since Vatican II, adopted by theologians and Christian faith communities everywhere. Some of these images, or models, have become “ecclesiologies” in their own right. We now speak of the ecclesiology of “Institution,” and the ecclesiology of “People of God,” of “Body of Christ,” of “Sacrament,” and of “Servant,” to name the ones most commonly used in contemporary theology.18 In fact, many of these models appear in the opening paragraphs of the Second Vatican Council’s Dogmatic constitution on the Church (Lumen Gentium): since the Church, in Christ, is in the nature of sacrament—a sign and instrument, that is, of communion with God and of unity among all men [sic]—she here proposes, for the benefit of the faithful and of the whole world, to set forth, as clearly as possible … her own nature and universal mission. … For by communicating his Spirit, Christ mystically constitutes as his body those brothers of his who are called together from every nation. … the one Christ is mediator and the way of salvation; he is present to us in his body which is the

 Liturgical inculturation is still new and relatively undeveloped in practice and in theology. The non-contrastive implications of inculturation warrant much more consideration than this book can afford. 17  Avery Dulles, Models of the Church (New York: Doubleday, 1st ed., 1978; expanded ed., 1987), 17. 18  Dulles includes a variety of other images, many of which fall into these main five categories. Marthaler also discusses these main ecclesiologies in Ch. 19 of The Creed, “From Community to Ecclesiology,” 277-91. 16

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church. … The holy People of God shares also in Christ’s prophetic office. … All … are called to belong to the new People of God.19

When drawn out, each of these ecclesiologies becomes its own narrative, telling of the Christian believers’ journey towards their end in God within the context of the worshiping faith community. For example, the Church as Servant explores the implications of living out the life of Jesus concretely in the world, seeing God in the lowly, poor, and marginalized, and ministering to them by working against unjust institutions and inhumane conditions contrary to human dignity. The resulting transformation, social action, is mutual and ever expanding. Not only does the Servant Church empower the powerless, but in its self-sacrifice and identification with the other, it transcends itself along the way, for to paraphrase the prayer of St. Francis: “it is in giving that we receive, and in dying to ourselves that we receive eternal [fully actualized] life.”20 The narrative of People of God reminds the Christian community of its Hebrew roots in becoming the liberating God’s chosen people, re-visioned now in light of the liberating event of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. This community of believers is characterized by its radical equality among members, who all share in the prophetic office of Jesus Christ—in stark contrast to the ecclesiology of the Institution, characterized by a rigid hierarchy separating the clergy and laity, which, while by all means still quite operative, had dominated the Church’s self-identification for centuries. Though in some instances seemingly in contradiction with each other, all of these ecclesiological narratives are interrelated, and mutually interdependent, because no single image or model can adequately capture the divine existence, which the Christian Church is supposed to manifest. Following Eckhart’s method of presenting several intertwining narratives at once, these ecclesiologies can be mutually transforming. This approach may be especially valuable to ecumenism, an emerging Christian form of life which may be extended to interfaith relations: in order to progress in dialogue and communion with other faith perspectives, every partner in the conversation must recognize the necessity of diversity and be willing to detach from their own self-understandings and continually overturn the presuppositions embedded in their own denominational and religious faith statements in order to enter into each other’s ecclesiological narratives “without a why,” personally encountering the other as existing in God. This understanding of ecumenism is by its nature analogical, in the sense that Aquinas and Eckhart conceived analogy to be, because

 See Austin Flannery, ed., Vatican Council II: The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 1992), 350-58. Emphasis mine. 20  St. Francis was an exception to the contrastive spirituality of the Middle Ages, seeing the presence of God so radically manifested in creation that it is reported he even preached to birds. 19

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it inevitably moves all involved from dialogue to transformation, pressing ever towards its divinely intended end in God, as a dynamic unity-in-diversity.21 C. The Way of Analogy and the Future of Christian Forms of Life The contemporary reality of religious diversity and pluralism naturally cultivates the fear of uncertainty, provoking in us the desire to return to a past remembered (perhaps inaccurately) as less complicated, more uniform—and more pure. While preserving religious “Tradition” may require retrieving practices and images from the past, Tradition in the deeper sense requires letting go of the past—letting go of whatever you are clinging to in order to maintain an identity that once seemed so comfortable. Complacency has no place in the Christian journey of faith. The Christian life is about knowing God personally, identifying with the divine. This has always been dangerous ground. The intimacy and immediacy involved in knowing involve risk—and it practically guarantees the loss of your created identity. The way of analogy developed by Aquinas and Eckhart allows us to retrieve past images, rituals, practices, and expressions without becoming bound to the superficial trappings of their created forms, because we are always engaged in the process of self-revision, uncovering and discarding misleading preconceptions of the divine carried along with them that keep us from encountering the divine as it really is—without any limiting conceptions. Through the development of narratives fashioned from processing such retrievals and the dynamic interplay between a plurality of narratives, our Christian forms of life continually evolve as ways of “living without a why,” leading us, if at times seemingly imperceptibly, to God.

21  I have expanded further on this idea in my article, “Christian Dialog as Symphonic Unity: Lessons on Non-Contrastive Language Use from Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart,” One in Christ 44, No. 2 (Winter 2010): 168-85.

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Tobin, Frank. Meister Eckhart: Thought and Language. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1986. Torrell, Jean-Pierre. Saint Thomas Aquinas, vol. I: The Person and His Work. Translated by Robert Royal. Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1996. Tugwell, Simon, ed. Early Dominicans: Selected Writings. Classics of Western Spirituality. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1982. Turner, Denys. “The Art of Unknowing: Negative Theology in Late Medieval Mysticism.” Modern Theology 14, No. 4 (Oct. 1998): 473-89. Turner, Frederick. “Apollo.” In The Olympians: Ancient Deities as Archetypes. Edited by Joanne Stroud. New York: Continuum, 1996. Valkenberg, Wilhelus Gerhard Bonifatus Maria. Did Not our Hearts Burn? Place and Function of Holy Scripture in the Theology of St. Thomas Aquinas. Utrecht: Thomas Instituut, 1990. Weisheipl, James A. “The Johannine Commentary of Friar Thomas.” Church History 45 (1976): 185-95. Wendlinder, Anastasia. “Christian Dialog as Symphonic Unity: Lessons on Non-Contrastive Language Use from Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart.” One in Christ 44, No. 2 (Winter 2010): 168-85. White, Victor. Holy Teaching: The Idea of Theology According to St. Thomas Aquinas. New York: Blackfriars, 1958. Wielockx, Robert. “Autour du procès de Thomas d’Aquin.” In Thomas von Aquin: Werk und Wirkung im Licht neuerer Forschungen, edited by A. Zimmermann, 413-38. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988. ________. “A Separate Process Against Aquinas. A Response to John F. Wippel.” In Roma, Magistra Mundi: Itineraria Culturae Medievalis, edited by Jacqueline Hamesse, 1009-31. Louvain-la-Neuve: Internationale des Instituts d’Études Médiévales, 1998. Williams, A.N. The Ground of Union: Deification in Aquinas and Palamas. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Williams, J.P. Denying Divinity: Apophasis in the Patristic Christian and Soto Zen Buddhist Traditions. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Wippel, John. “Bishop Stephen Tempier and Thomas Aquinas: A Separate Process against Aquinas?” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 44 (1997): 117-36. ________. “Thomas Aquinas and the Condemnation of 1277.” Modern Schoolman 72 (1995): 233-72. Wolfson, Harry Austryn. “Maimonides on Negative Attributes.” In Essays in Medieval Jewish and Islamic Philosophy, edited by Arthur Hyman, 180-215. New York: KTAV, 1977. Zum Brunn, Émilie, and Alain de Libera. Maître Eckhart: metaphysique de Verbe & théologie négative. Paris: Beauchesne, 1984.

Index

adopted sonship, as analogy 176-87 adoption, Eckhart on 177-8, 179 Aertsen, J.A. 9 Albert of Cologne Aristotle, dissemination of 41-2, 44 De divinis nominibus, lectures on 51 master of theology 41 Albigensian Crusade 28 Alexander of Hales 37 analogy adopted sonship as 176-87 Aquinas Eckhart, differences 10-11 in Summa theologiae 102, 147-51 art of 13 Christian life as 193-203 and Creator-creature distinction 11, 14-22, 17, 65, 157 dialectical 12 doctrine as 168-87 Eckhart’s use of 12-13, 17, 157-68, 181-2 meaning 147 of proportion 150 reverse 11 as silence 187-9 Trinity as 172-6 types of 11 see also language-use Ancelet-Hustache, Jeanne 56, 57-8, 58 Anselm, St definition of God 107, 109 Meditationes 33 Orationes 33 Proslogion 107 Aquinas, Thomas, St Artistotelianism 9 first principles notion 78 Dominican Order, influence on 44-56

Eckhart comparison 8-10, 13, 27-8, 161 influence on 60-62 exegetical style 45 on human intellect 164 on knowing about God 4 on knowledge 76-7 Platonism, appropriation of 51 preaching contribution to 55 popularity 59 Psalms, significance of 52 science, understanding of 71-2, 77 studies 44 teaching, San Domenico 52 theology, negative approach to 101 Torrell on 63-4 works Johannine commentary 46-7 Scriptum super libros Sententiarum 37, 55 Super Isaiam 45, 46 see also Summa theologiae Ardley, Gavin 148 Aristotle Albert of Cologne, dissemination by 41-2 first principles, notion 78 influence on Dominican Order 40 works De animalibus 41 Ethica 41 Atistotelianism, Aquinas 9 Augustine, St Confessions 1, 2, 4, 33 “restless heart” journey 3, 66 Rule 29-30, 45, 62, 63 Boyle, Leonard 47, 68 Burrell, David viii, ix, 10, 13

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Cantor, Peter 39 Cavalcanti, Aldobrandino 55 Chalcedon formula (hypostatic union) 145, 154, 176, 177, 185 charity, and the will 88-9 Chenu, Marie-Dominique 74, 79 Christian life as analogy 193-203 contemporary developments 198-201 liturgy 198-201 and knowing God 203 in late Middle Ages 196-8 Christian message protection of 153 transmission 153 Christianity and Neoplatonism 154 pagan religions, difference 16 Colledge, Edmund 59, 60 Cologne Heilige Kreuz convent 41 studium generale 44, 57 Comestor, Peter, Historia scholastica 32 contemplation notion of 67 as study 7, 45-6, 51, 56, 62, 63, 67, 87 Creator-creature relationship analogy 11, 14-22, 17, 65, 157 causality 21-2 distinction 11, 14-22, 148, 160 Eckhart 11-12, 93-4, 158-9, 159-60, 181-2, 192-3 efficient causality 131 and existence of God 109-10 goodness 133 identification 93-4, 184-5, 192 inquantum principle 185-6 likeness 132-3, 162 metaphors master/exploding 169-71 ordinary 169 non-contrastiveness 90, 97-8, 160 nothingness of creature 173-4, 180, 186 proportioning 144, 146, 161, 162, 167 Creed, Nicene-Constantinople 153 de Libera, Alain 9, 12

de Mello, Anthony Sadhana, A Way to God vii The Way to Love vii detached intellection, Eckhart’s use of 7, 157, 161, 172, 181, 185, 193, 194 disputation (quaestio) Dominican education 37-8, 63 in Summa theologiae 38, 63 doctrine as analogy 168-87 etymology 76 purpose 168 Dominic, St 28, 30 Legenda 29 Dominican education 28, 30-32, 33-43 contemplation as study 45-6, 51, 56, 62, 63, 67, 87 conventual theological education 36-43 curriculum 34 disputation (quaestio) 37-8, 63 preaching 36, 38-40, 62 teaching of 39 repetition 63 schola 34, 36 repetition/review 38 sensus moralis, development of 36-7 studia artium 42, 47 studia generalia 35, 41, 48 studia naturarum 35, 42, 48 studia provincialia 34 studium artium 34-5 Summa theologiae in 53-6 theology schools, foundation 41 Dominican Order 4 Aquinas’ influence 44-56 Aristotelian influence 40 confession, importance of 39-40 establishment 28 mission 28-9, 63-4 novices, formation of 32-3 as preaching ministry 29, 30, 62 theology, syllabus 32 Dulles, Avery, Models of the Church 201 ecclesiologies, Vatican II (1962-65) 201-2 Eckhart, Meister on adoption 177-8, 179

Index analogy 12-13, 17, 157-68 and Creator-creature relationship 157, 158-9, 159-60, 181-2 Aquinas comparison 8-10, 13, 27-8, 161 influence of 60-62 background 56-60 Book of Sirach, commentary 157, 159, 163, 165, 166-7, 167-8 Counsels on Discernment 7 Creator-creature relationship 11-12, 93-4, 158-9, 159-60, 181-2, 192-3 deification language 162 detached intellection, use of 7, 157, 161, 172, 181, 185, 193, 194 detachment, recommendation 5-6 education 57 emanation language, use 6 exitus/reditus schema 52, 155, 156, 160, 172-3, 176-7 Forman on 61-2 on God as Intelligere 7 heresy accusation of 59-60 defense 60-61 on human intellect 163, 164, 183 inquantum principle 185-6 John’s Gospel, commentary on 177, 179-80, 180-81, 183 living without a why 194-5, 198, 203 Master in Sacred Theology 57 metaphor, use 170, 172-3 metaphysics, metaphorical nature of 169 modes of speaking 12 Neoplatonism, use of 9, 155 “nothing” terminology, use of 156 On Detachment 181 as preacher 8 prior, Erfurt house 57 Provincial Minister of Saxony 58 scholarship on 8 sermons, on Ephesians 6-7 on silence 187-9 on thinking about God 6 and The Trinity 21, 156, 172-6 “universes of Discourse,” creation of 154, 157

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“unknowing” 157 Vicar, Thuringia house 57 Vicar General of Bohemia 58 Vicar General of Saxony 58 on the Word 177-8 ecumenism, analogical nature of 202-3 Elders, Leo 104-5, 114, 120 equivocation, and univocation 132, 149, 151 eternity concept, in Summa theologiae 139-40 and God 115-16, 123, 130, 139, 163 meaning 138 and time 20-21, 116, 139, 163 of the Word 20 The Eucharist liturgy changes contemporary 198-9 Middle Ages 197 in the vernacular 200 and transubstantiation 196-7 evil, and existence of God 111 exitus/reditus schema Aquinas 50, 51, 53, 68, 69, 70, 107, 122, 154 Eckhart 52, 155, 156, 160, 172-3, 176-7 faith belief, distinction 85 and certitude 83 and demonstration 86-7 in God 83-5 and the intellect 93 journey of 191 use of narrative 192 Marthaler on 99 and metaphor 99 nature of 81-2, 142 and reason 81-91, 101 dichotomy 75-6, 81 Forman, Robert, on Eckhart 61-2 Gilby, Thomas 76 Gnosticism 153 God Anselm’s definition 107, 109

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Speaking of God in Thomas Aquinas and Meister Eckhart attributes 125-6 creation of world 174 as Creator 21 see also Creator-creature and eternity 115-16, 123, 130, 139, 163 existence 70, 71-100, 103-22, 104-5, 108, 174-5 and Creator-creature relationship 109-10 and evil 111 and order of creation 120 see also Summa theologiae, “Five Ways” faith in 83-5 immutability, and change 3-4, 112, 163 incomprehensibility 19, 65, 102, 110, 111, 128, 133-4, 141-51 and grace 143 independence of the world 15-17 indistinction 173, 174, 175-6 image as 179, 180 knowing 143-7 Aquinas on 4 and Christian life 203 and sacred doctrine 107 nature of, and Scripture 68 Oneness 173 Scripture, author of 96-7 speaking about analogy 147-51 anthropomorphism 124 autobiographically 4 and Christian life forms 65-6 and knowing God 22-6, 66 intrinsic connection 142 and metaphor 99 and preaching 64 purpose 2 and Scripture 91-100 and speaking to 1-2 and knowing God 2 necessity for 3 thinking about, Eckhart on 6 transcendence-in-immanence 17-18, 21, 25, 102-3, 127, 129, 153-4, 159, 160, 175 Wisdom of 164-5 see also Creator-creature relationship

grace and God’s incomprehensibility 143 and human intellect 164 Haas, Alois 169 Hankey, W.J. 106, 122 Hugh of Fouilloy, De claustro animae 33 Hugh of St-Cher 45 Hugh of St-Victor 37 Didascalicon 33 human intellect Aquinas on 164 Eckhart on 163, 164, 183 and grace 164 Humbert of Romans 29 hypostatic union see Chalcedon formula (hypostatic union) Jenkins, John 47 Jesus Christ human condition, identification with 185 immanent-yet-transcendent 177 John of St Albans 36 John of St Giles 36 John XXII, Pope, ‘In agro dominico’ 59-60 Kelley, Carl Franklin 9 Kenny, Anthony 105, 111-12, 113 Klubertanz, George 21 knowing, personal 191, 193 knowledge Aquinas on 76-7 nature of 76 as potential 77 and sacred doctrine 93 Köbele, Susanne 169 LaCugna, Catherine Mowry viii language-use analogical 14-15 non-contrastive 15, 17-22, 65, 102, 127 role 141 Scripture 95-6 in Summa theologiae 99-100, 102 see also analogy

Index living, without a why, Eckhart 194-5, 198, 203 Logos see Word Lohr, C.H. 42, 43 Lombard, Peter Sentences 32, 36, 44 Aquinas commentary on 37, 48, 50-51 dissatisfaction with 53 organization 37 as textbook 37 Lossky, Vladimir 12 Luther, Martin 197, 197-8 McGinn, Bernard 12, 13, 169 Maimonides 110 God’s attributes 125-6 negative theology 123-6 Marthaler, Berard 84-5, 89 on faith 99 Merton, Thomas, Zen and the Birds of Appetite vii metaphor Creator-creature relationship 169-71 Eckhart’s use 170, 172-3 and faith 99 and God, speaking about, and knowing 99 potential 98, 99 purpose 98, 168-9 and Scripture 92, 93, 94 Summa theologiae 92, 93, 94 metaphysics sacred doctrine, distinction 101 Summa theologiae as 71, 82, 104 Moevs, Christian viii, ix Mojsisch, Burkhard 11 Mulchahey, M. Michèle 35, 50, 53 “First the Bow is Bent in Study” 28 on preacher training 39 Naples, studium generale 44 Neoplatonism 153 Aquinas’ appropriation of 51 and Christianity 154 Eckhart’s use 9, 155 participation notion 161

215

pagan religions, Christianity, difference 16 Paris University, St Jacques school 32, 34, 36 theological pre-eminence 30 philosophy sacred doctrine, distinction 75 theology, split 43 preaching Aquinas’ contribution to 55 in Dominican education 36, 38-40, 62 Dominicans as preaching ministry 29, 30, 62 and faith 1 new way of 55-6 salvation through 27-8, 29, 33, 49, 64, 67 and speaking about God 64 training for 39 Preller, Victor 75-6, 89, 105, 106, 114, 121 Proclus Elementatio theologica 49 Liber de causis 51 Pseudo-Dionysius Aquinas’ borrowings from 101 De divinis nominibus 49-50, 50-51 Albert of Cologne’s lectures on 51 reason, and faith 81-91, 101 dichotomy 75-6, 81 Rogers, Eugene 78, 79, 80 Roland of Cremona 31, 35 sacred doctrine aim 107 first principles 79 revealed 81 undemonstrability of 80 and knowing about God 107 and knowledge 93 metaphysics, distinction 101 philosophy, distinction 75 purpose 93 and Revelation 86 and salvation 103 as science 72, 73, 75, 77, 78, 81 scope of 73 Summa theologiae 75 theology as 73, 194 and wisdom 85, 85-6, 88

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salvation and sacred doctrine 103 through preaching 27-8, 29, 33, 49, 64 and Scripture 67 Sansedoni, Ambrogio 55 science (scientia) Aquinas’ understanding of 71-2, 77 Aristotelian, and Revelation 72 meaning 69 sacred doctrine as 72, 73, 75, 77, 78, 81 theology as 73, 74-81 as way of knowing 77 Scripture and contemplation as study 67 God as author of 96-7 literal sense 97, 98-9 mediating role 5 and metaphor 92, 93, 94, 167 narrative 67-9 and nature of God 68 and speaking about God 91-100 theology, source of 67, 70, 71-100, 73, 91-2, 96, 107 Second Vatican Council (1962-65) vii, 196, 198 Dogmatic constitution on the Church 201-2 ecclesiologies 201-2 silence analogy as 187-9 Eckhart on 187-9 Sokolowski, Robert 14, 15-16, 17, 18, 141 Soskice, Janet Martin 97-8, 98, 99 Staensby, Alexander 36 study, contemplation as 45-6, 51, 56, 62, 63, 67, 87 and Scripture 67 Summa theologiae (Aquinas) viii, 4, 5, 21, 28, 33, 37, 43, 47 analogy, use of 102, 147-51 audience, intended 47, 68 disputation 38, 63 in Dominican curriculum 53-6 eternity, concept 139-40 exitus/reditus schema 50, 51, 53, 68, 69, 70, 107, 122, 154

faith and certitude 83 and demonstration 86-7 and the intellect 93 and reason 81-91 the “Five Ways” 104, 106, 110-22, 194 act and potency 112 cause and effect 112-14 design 105 governance of the world 120-21 gradation 116-20 and inquiry about God 121 motion 111-12 possibility and necessity 115-16 God’s existence 70, 71-100, 103-22, 104-5, 108 as Creator 109 and essence 106, 107, 108, 132, 163 goodness 129, 130 immutability 123, 138-9, 140 limitlessness 123, 134-6, 139 manner of 123-41 measure of all things 129 oneness 140-41 perfection 123, 129, 130-31, 132, 147 simplicity 123, 126 unity 123, 126 language-use 99-100, 102 as metaphysics 71, 82, 104 narrative, use of 192 non-contrastiveness 69-71, 74, 82, 87, 156, 161, 192 as pedagogical work 71 as philosophical treatise 71 prima pars 31, 44, 48, 50, 69, 70 prima secundae 146 purpose 53 sacred doctrine metaphysics, distinction 101 and Revelation 86 and salvation 103 as science 75, 77, 81, 103 and wisdom 85-6, 88 Scripture language-use 95-6 and metaphor 92, 93, 94

Index narrative 67-9 source of theology 70, 71-100, 107 secunda pars 48 secunda secundae 40, 48 sources 49-50, 71 structure 49, 50, 51, 70, 192 tertia pars 52 theology as science 74-8 Tanner, Kathryn 18, 18-19, 20, 25, 101, 141, 160, 193 Te Velde, Rudi 119 teaching, medieval method 76 theology atonement, contrastiveness 196 etymology 91 nature of 72-3 negative 167 of Maimonides 123-6 philosophy, split 43 purpose of 4-5, 23-4, 63-4, 73, 92, 101, 141 as sacred doctrine 73, 194 as science 73, 74-81 Scriptural source 67, 70, 73, 91-2, 96 time, and eternity 20-21, 116, 139, 139-40, 163 Tobin, Frank 9 Torrell, Jean-Pierre 38, 39, 44, 45, 46, 51 on Aquinas 63-4 Toscanella, Aldobrandino da 55 transubstantiation contrastive interpretations 197 and The Eucharist 196-7 non-contrastiveness 199-200 origins 196

217

The Trinity 145, 154 as analogy 172-6 and Eckhart 21, 156, 172-6 economic 156, 163, 172, 179 Turner, Denys 151 universities, medieval 42-3 univocation, and equivocation 132, 149, 151 Vatican II see Second Vatican Council (1962-65) Weisheipl, James 46 White, Victor 71, 77 the will, and charity 88-9 William of Moerbeke, translation Aristotelian corpus 40-41 Elementatio theologica (Proclus) 49 William of Tournai, De instructione puerorum 32 wisdom dwelling in 194 meditating on 188 and sacred doctrine 85, 88 Wolfson, Harry Austryn 125 The Word (Logos) creation, role in 182 Eckhart on 177-8, 182 eternity of 20 incarnate and God’s Idea 184 and God’s revelation 183 and redemption 181 meaning 179, 180-81 Zum Brunn, Emilie 11, 12, 175