Per Caritatem

It has been a while since I’ve posted a little philosophical humor, so here’s a good one.

 
watch video

Scotus’ solution to the question, “whether man in his present state needs to be supernaturally inspired with some knowledge he could not attain by the natural light of the intellect?”, is found in paragraphs 57-65.  In paragraph 57, Scotus states that he will distinguish “in what sense something may be called supernatural” and ipso facto in what sense something may not be called supernatural (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 57).  He begins by giving us two ways to consider how the receptive potency is acted upon.  First, we have the relationship of the receptive potency to the informing act.  Second, we have the relationship of the receptive potency to the causing agent.   Regarding the first, the relationship can be understood as natural, violent, or neutral (i.e. “neither natural nor violent”)-all of which depend upon whether the intellect is naturally inclined to receive the form.  By “naturally” inclined, Scotus means that structurally speaking the form is (by nature) positioned to perfect the potency.  In other words, natural inclination simply describes the fact that things are naturally ordered to being perfected-things by nature move from a stage of imperfection to a stage of perfection.  Thus, a natural relationship occurs when the form perfects the potency.  When no ordering to perfection, and one might say, a repugnance is involved rather than an inclination, a violence takes place.  “It is violent, if what it suffers is against its natural inclination” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 57).  Lastly, when there is neither an inclination nor a repugnance involved, the relationship is said to be neutral and no violence occurs.  With regard to the relationship between the receptive potency and the informing, supernatural does not apply. 

The second major relationship discussed is between the receptive potency and the causing agent, and this is where we may speak of supernatural in contrast with natural.  If the agent moves the possible intellect naturally, then we have a natural cause.  If the agent cause moves the passive potency supernaturally, then we have, as one might expect, a supernatural cause. As Scotus says, “that knowledge is supernatural which is generated by some agent which by its very nature is not ordained to move the possible intellect in a natural manner” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 60).  With this claim, Scotus seems to have a broader overall context in mind than was possible for Aristotle in light of the fact that Aristotle did not have access to supernatural revelation (Scripture).  That is, I take Scotus to be stating that there is an Agent that by its very nature, which is absolutely free, uncaused, etc., freely chooses to act on the possible intellect in such a way that transcends purely natural (and hence) necessary causality.  Yet, no violence is done to the natural potency, because, the supernatural activity perfects the intellect.  Here we have an instance of Scotus applying the dictum, “grace completes, but does not nature.” 

In paragraphs 61-65, Scotus lays out two ways in which an action or knowledge could be understood as supernatural.  Scotus agrees with Aristotle that in our present state the passive intellect is moved to knowledge by the agent intellect and the phantasm.  Hence, natural cognition comes about solely by these two agents.[1]  Scotus also adds, “[v]irtute autem istorum potest haberi omnis cognitio incomplexi quae secundum legem communem habetur a viatore” (”However, in virtue of these, cognition of every term or concept [incomplexi], which according to the common law [of nature] is possessed by the wayfarer, can be obtained”) (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 61).  Regarding what is meant by incomplexi and complexi, terms or concepts are incomplexi, and propositions are complexi.  Thus, propositions (complexi) are made up of terms and concepts (incomplexi).  In the propostion, “God is triune,” we have two concepts, namely, “God” and “triune.”  What Scotus seems to claim is that supernatural knowledge is not needed for the knowledge of terms or concepts, but it is needed for the knowledge of certain propositions.  One may in fact via natural reason come to understand (not fully comprehend) the terms “God” and “triune,” and yet be unable to grasp the truth of the proposition, “God is triune.”  Scotus does say that de potentia absoluta Dei, God could by way of special, supernatural revelation bring about knowledge of incomplexi which are capable of being known naturally; however, this kind of activity is unnecessary.[2]  Then in paragraph 62, Scotus sums up why certain propositions cannot be knowable by the natural light of reason alone.  As Scotus explains,

even when the agent intellect and sense image are fully active, many propositions we need to know remain unknown or neutral [multae complexiones remanebunt nobis ignotae et nobis neutrae quarum cognitio est nobis necessaria].  The knowledge of such propositions must be given to us in a supernatural manner, because no one could naturally discover them and teach them to others, for on natural grounds alone, if they are neutral to one, they are to all (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 62). 

The previously-mentioned proposition, “God is triune,” falls under those which are necessary for us, yet remain “unknown” and hence “neutral” to us by the light of natural reason alone.     Scientific knowledge, understood in the medieval sense of scientia or demonstrative knowledge, utilizes propositions whose terms, when properly understood, contain within them the warrant for our assent.  However, as we have seen, Scotus readily acknowledges that there are some propositions (e.g., “God is triune”) whose terms do not contain within them such warrant.  In other words, the knowledge of the intelligibility of these terms when conjoined in a proposition surpasses our (natural) ability to understand them.  These types of propositions can be known through either vision (e.g., the beatific vision) or faith.  Given that Scotus is concerned in this question with what can be known in this life, we may conclude that the only way that propositions such as “God is triune” can be known is through the supernatural gift of faith.  That is, God (non-violently) causes our assent to propositions of this sort.   

Then in paragraph 63, Scotus gives us a second way in which we might call an action or knowledge, supernatural.[3]  Here supernatural knowledge can occur if the agent (i.e., God) takes the place of [supplente vicem] the object, which in the case at hand is the divine essence.[4] “For that object which is able to cause such propositions as ‘God is triune’ and the like, is the divine essence known in its proper nature [sub propria ratione cognita].  Knowable in this way, it is a supernatural object”[5] (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 63).  If one were to have the divine essence in its proper nature made evident to her, then she would know God as triune, and it seems to follow that the proposition, “God is triune” would be self-evident.  However, in this life, as Scotus explains, though our passive intellect is able to receive the divine essence by nature (which is only part of the story), the object, the divine essence, is not known by us; yet, we are able to know that “God is triune” is true.  How is this possible?  Because, as noted above, the agent takes the place of the object and causes the assent.  For Scotus, in the natural order of things, the object and the agent intellect are both active co-causes.  Cognition is understood as a function of intellectual species abstracted from sense objects.  These intellectual objects are then impressed onto our passive intellect, and these objects serve to perfect the intellect.  Because this cognitive process does not univocally apply to God, as the divine essence is not given to us via the process of abstraction from sense objects, we cannot know in the typical natural way that “God is triune.”  Hence, if this proposition is to be known, it is known supernaturally through God who causes the assent.  Scotus’ final answer as to whether nature (the natural light of reason) is sufficient for the knowledge that we require in this life seems to be sic et non.  That is, with regard to the intellect’s receptivity, it is sufficient by nature to receive the divine essence; however, with respect to the agency required to complete or perfect the needed knowledge, Scotus is emphatic that nature alone apart from divine, supernatural intervention is radically insufficient. 

Notes

---

[1] “Pro statu autem isto, secundum Philosophum, intellectus possibilis natus est moveri ad cognitionem ab intellectu agente et phantasmate, igitur sola illa cognitio est ei naturalis quae ab istis agentibus imprimitur” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 61). [2] “Deus possit per revelationem specialem cognitionem alicuius incomplexi causare . . . sicut in raptu, non tamen talis cognitio supernaturalis est necessaria de lege communi” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 61).

[3] The first way was given in paragraph 61, when Scotus speaks of God’s ability to act de potentia absoluta via supernatural revelation to bring about knowledge of that which we can know by nature. 

[4] “Aliter etiam posset dici actio vel notitia supernaturalis quia est ab agente supplente vicem obiecti supernaturalis” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 63). 

[5] “Nam obiectum natum causare notitiam huius ‘Deus est trinus’, et similium, est essentia divina sub propria ratione cognita; ipsa sub tali ratione cognoscibilis est obiectum supernaturale” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 63). 

“But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.  For “God  has put all things in subjection under his feet.” But when it says, “all things are put in subjection,” it is plain that he is excepted who put all things in subjection under him. When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in subjection under him, that God may be all in all (1 Corinthians 1:20-28, ESV). 

Below are selected moments from Tom Wright’s commentary on this passage. 

“The resurrection of Jesus was the moment when the one true God appointed the man through whom the whole cosmos would be brought back into its proper order.  A human being had got it into this mess; a human being would get it out again.  The story of Genesis 1-3-the strange, haunting tale of a wonderful world spoiled by the rebellion of God’s image-bearing creatures-is in Paul’s mind throughout this long chapter” (Paul for Everyone:  1 Corinthians, p. 212).  After rehearsing a kind of mini redemptive-historical narrative, St. Paul begins to discuss the coming of God’s kingdom.  Many Jews of St. Paul’s longed for the coming of God’s kingdom-for the day when “God would become king over the whole world, restoring Israel to glory, defeating the nations that had oppressed God’s people for so long, and raising all the righteous dead to share in the new world” (p. 212).   For St. Paul, with the resurrection of Christ, this day had in a very real sense been inaugurated, yet, in a way that took him totally by surprise.  “Instead of all God’s people being raised at the end of history, one person had been raised in the middle of history.  That was the shocking, totally unexpected thing.  But this meant that the coming of God’s kingdom was happening in two phases” (p. 213).  When St. Paul speaks of each occurring “in his own order,” he has in mind both the order of events and God’s final ordering (p. 213).  The former, viz., the order of events, speaks of Jesus’ present reign as the risen Lord and King.  Yet, the “purpose of this reign-to defeat all the enemies that have defaced, oppressed and spoiled God’s magnificent world, and his human creatures in particular-has not yet been accomplished.  One day this task will be complete:  the final enemy, death itself, will be defeated (verse 26), and God will be ‘all in all’ (verse 28)” (p. 213). 

Then we move to the final ordering where we have a picture of a world “put back to rights.”  Here St. Paul appeals to two psalms, and weaves together a Messianic mosaic manifesting to us what we as <i>imago Dei</i> were created to be and do.  “Psalm 110, quoted in verse 25, is about the king whom God will place at his right hand until all his enemies are brought into subjection.  This, Paul declares, is now being fulfilled in Jesus.  Psalm 8, quoted in verse 27, belongs closely with this, speaking of God ‘putting all things into order under his feet’ [Wright's translation].  But instead of talking about the Messiah, as Psalm 110 does, Psalm 8 talks about the human being.  This role, of being under God and over the world, is not just the task of the Messiah; it’s what God had in mind from the very start when he created human beings in his own image.  This is how Paul ties the passage tightly together:  the achievement of the Messiah, and his present reign in which he is bringing the world back to order, is the fulfillment of what God intended humans to do (see verse 21).  The story told in Genesis is completed by the story told in the Psalms” (p. 214). Our enemy, death, of course plays a crucial role in this story; however, death does not have the final word.  Rather, the Final Word has the final word and death is silenced.  He is Risen!

“Then Pilate took Jesus and flogged him. And the soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head and arrayed him in a purple robe. They came up to him, saying, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’ and struck him with their hands. Pilate went out again and said to them, ‘See, I am bringing him out to you that you may know that I find no guilt in him.’ So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, ‘Behold the man!’ (John 19:1-5).

Have you ever wondered why the soldiers chose a crown of thorns? After all, they could have constructed the crown from a number of other materials.  Yet, the crown of thorns seems purposed, that is, it draws us back to  Genesis and the series of curses that resulted when our first parents fell.  “Cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you” (Gen 3:17-18).   As Jesus begins to walk the path that leads to his death by crucifixion, we have a glimpse here of how he, the true guiltless Man, will take the curse, our curse upon Himself.  The scene is shot through with irony-Pilate, the image of a false and corrupt “king,” presenting the true King as a helpless prisoner and eventually condemning Him to die.  Likewise, we see Jesus, the Lord of creation, the perfect image of God, who unlike Adam and Eve, listened the voice of the Father in humble obedience even to the point of death on a Cross-this Jesus, Pilate proclaims is the true man (talk about meanings going beyond the intention of the author/speaker), and indeed He is-the icon of God who makes the invisible God visible, who opens blind eyes, softens hard hearts and who gives life to the dead. Yet, the One through whom all things were made and who, came to His own, finds His own in rebellion against Him.  In fact, they even weave together a crown of thorns and dress Him in a purple robe to mock Him.  What is our Lord’s response to this? Does He lash out and call down legions of angels to wipe out the rebels?  No.  The innocent, yet true King, crowned with signs of creation’s curse, stands silent and walks the path that was both His destiny and our blessing.  How shall we answer Pilate’s question, “What is truth?”  Ironically, Pilate answered it himself:  “Behold the Man!”

 

If you live in Dallas or happen to be in Dallas this week and want to participate in the festivities of Holy Week, we invite you to join us at St. John’s.  

Holy Monday:  9:30am Eucharist (Rite One)

Holy Tuesday:  6:30am Eucharist & breakfast

Holy Wednesday:  6pm Eucharist

Maundy Thursday:  7pm Maundy Thursday Liturgy

[The Maundy Thursday liturgy, celebrated at 7:00 p.m., has a dual focus. We remember how on the night before Christ died for us, he washed his disciples feet and instituted the Lord's Supper. The name of the day comes from the Latin phrase mandatum novum, "new commandment," since this is the night on which Jesus said to his disciples, "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; even as I have loved you, that you also love one another." (St. John 13:34). Jesus said this just after he has washed his disciples' feet. In many parish churches, the foot-washing scene is acted out by the clergy. That's what we'll be doing this year at St. John's, with the celebrant washing the feet of the acolytes. Following our celebration of the Holy Eucharist that night, the reserved Sacrament is removed to the Altar of Repose in the chapel, and the church's altar is stripped as we remember how Christ was betrayed after sharing this last meal with his disciples. Following this is The Watch, where parishioners keep vigil in the chapel until 9:00 a.m. the next morning. All are asked to sign up for a half-our shift, some time through the night].

Good Friday:  12 noon Good Friday Solemn Liturgy; 7pm Good Friday Solemn Liturgy

[Good Friday is a day of fasting and devotion for all. The Solemn Liturgy of the day, offered at Noon and at 7:00 p.m., is focused on St. John's account of Jesus' Passion (St. John 18:1-19:37), followed by the Solemn Collects and the veneration of the Cross. On this day, Communion is celebrated, but the Sacrament is distributed out of the previous day's reserve].

Holy Saturday:  12 noon The Liturgy for Holy Saturday; 7pm The Great Vigil of Easter

[The short Holy Saturday liturgy is offered at Noon in the chapel. In it we remember the day on which our Lord's body lay in the tomb, awaiting the Day of Resurrection.   

Easter Sunday begins at sundown on Saturday. The first liturgy is the Great Vigil, in which the drama of Christ's Passover, his passing from death to life, is celebrated in four movements. First is the Service of Light, in which the Paschal Candle is lit and the Church is called to rejoice in Christ's victory over darkness. Then comes the Liturgy of the Word, in which we hear "the record of God's saving deeds in history." (BCP 288) Thirdly, we baptize those who are have been prepared for baptism, and if there are no baptismal candidates, we instead reaffirm our baptismal vows. The fourth and final movement is the First Mass of Easter, our great Thanksgiving for the Resurrection of the Son of God and the new life he offers. Reception to follow in the Parish Hall].

Easter Sunday:  7:30am Said Eucharist; 10:30am Sung Eucharist

[On Sunday morning, our celebration of the Resurrection continues, with two Eucharists offered at 7:30 and 10:30 a.m. Following the second liturgy, we have the Easter egg hunt for children].

Turning to the second initial argument [n. 2], we have a basic modus ponens, namely, if the senses do not require supernatural knowledge (in our viator state), then neither does the intellect.  Essentially, we have an appeal to the a minori ad maius principle that if something is true of the lesser, then it will no doubt be true of the greater.  The intellect is greater than sense cognition, and if the latter has no need for supernatural knowledge for its perfection, then surely the intellect, in light of its higher status, requires no supernatural knowledge to achieve its end either.[1]   Scotus then gives his response to this argument at paragraph 93.  In sum, Scotus denies the consequence of the second argument and claims that the a minori ad maius principle does not apply in this case.  As Scotus explains, “superior natures are ordained passively to receive something greater than they can actively produce.  Consequently, their perfection cannot be achieved except by some supernatural agent.  But this is not so with the perfection of less perfect things whose ultimate perfection could fall under the action of inferior agents” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 93).The third initial argument seems to have in view the Thomistic teaching that the passive intellect must be supernaturally elevated in order to receive the divine essence (though this is not stated explicitly).[2]  First, we have a hypothetical argument, namely, if supernatural knowledge were necessary, it would be because of a disproportion between the faculty and the object.  Consequently, some kind of supplement or addition is required so that the faculty will be proportionate to the object. Then we are given a disjunctive argument followed by a modus tolens argument. That is, this additional factor required is either natural or supernatural.  If the supplement were merely natural, then all we have is a natural addition to the (natural) faculty ; thus, the disproportion with the object remains.  Hence, the addition must be supernatural.  However, if the supplement is supernatural, then a disproportion occurs between the supplement and the intellect.  Thus, in order to remove the disproportion between the supplement and the intellect, we must deny the need for a supernatural supplement.  Ergo, we must affirm that the intellectual faculty is naturally proportionate to the object.  “It is necessary to stop with the first [viz. something natural], and admit that the intellective faculty is proportionate to everything that can be known and in any way in which it can be known” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 3). 

Scotus then replies to third argument in paragraph 94.  While Scotus maintains with the Aristotlean tradition that the intellect is naturally moved by the intelligible species abstracted from sensible objects by the agent intellect, he also acknowledges that there are some propositions that Christians hold to be true that are “disproportionate the possible intellect, that is to say, the intellect is not equal to being moved [to know them] by what can be known from sense images and the natural light of the agent intellect” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 94).  Scotus concedes that there is a “something else” required so that the intellect will be proportionate to the object.  This “something else” is a supernatural agent, namely, God, who grants the soul faith and thus makes assent possible.  In other words, in contrast to propositions such as, “the three angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles,” to which when the terms are properly understood, the natural light of reason assents,  a proposition such as “God is triune” does not compel assent apart from supernatural intervention.  Why? Because to properly grasp (insofar as we as creatures are able) the meaning of the terms “God” and “triune” and to assent to the truth of the proposition, “God is triune,” requires knowledge of the divine essence (as occurs in the beatific vision), which is precisely what we do not have in this life.   However, God, by way of the gift of faith, can and does open up a way for assent to such propositions to occur.  Not only does Scotus claim that a supernatural agent moves the intellect to assent, but he also adds that something in the sense of form does as well-”for there is the assent produced in the intellect, which is a kind of inclination in the intellect towards this object which brings the intellect into proportion with the latter” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 94).  Next Scotus brings into the discussion the idea of “obediential potency,” which speaks of the creature’s potency with respect to his Creator. As Scotus explains,

I declare that the intellect by its very nature is in obediential potency towards the agent, and thus is sufficiently proportionate to it to the extent that it can be moved by this agent.  Also of itself, the intellect is capable of the act of assent caused by such an agent and this capability is natural.  Hence, it is not necessary that it be proportioned by something in order to receive this assent (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 94, italics added).  

Scotus provides a detailed explication of his own position in paragraphs 57-65. (I shall discuss highlights of these paragraphs in the subsequent post).  For now I simply state in passing that Scotus’ answer represents a clear refusal to be confined to an Aristotelian understanding of nature and natural, as he wants to provide a broader context in which natural potencies can be perfected not only by nature (and hence necessity) but freely, by the free agency of a Triune God who is the Creator of nature. 

Notes

---

[1] “If this is true of things that are imperfect, all the more does it hold for things that are perfect.  Consequently, if the inferior faculties lack nothing for their function and the attainment of their end, all the more is this true of the higher faculty” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 2). [2] According to Thomistic teaching, our passive intellect is incapable of receiving the divine essence.  As a result, we require a supernatural supplement to elevate the intellect so that it is proportionate to the intelligibility of the divine essence and is thus enabled to receive the divine essence in the beatific vision.

My friends , Aron and Dan, over at The Land of Unlikeness are hosting a Sergei Bulgakov Blog Conference (Sept 2008). Please spread the word to any potential participants.

***

The (Tentative) Lineup

Cynthia Nielsen (Per Caritatem): An introduction to Bulgakov
David W. Congdon (The Fire and the Rose)
Brendan Sammon (The Well at the World’s End)
Matthew J. Aragon Bruce (Princeton Theological Seminary)
Ben Boswell
Gregory Voiles
Aron Dunlap (The Land of Unlikeness)
Dan McClain (The Land of Unlikeness)

In the prologue of the Ordinatio, part one, question one, Scotus addresses the question, “whether man in his present state needs to be supernaturally inspired with some knowledge he could not attain by the natural light of the intellect?” In other words, what Scotus seeks to understand is whether in our present, non-glorified, viator state, we are in need of supernatural revelation or divine illumination or whether the knowledge of which we are capable by means of natural reason is sufficient.  The prologue begins with a set of initial arguments pro and con [n.1-4], to which, after significant elaboration and development of various related themes, Scotus then gives his own responses [n. 90-94].  The major premise of the first argument reads, “[e]very faculty which has something common as its primary object, is as competent by nature in regard to everything contained under this object as it is with regard to what is of itself the natural object.”  Scotus first appeals to our faculty of sight, which has as its primary object color under which all particular colors fall (e.g., blue, purple, green etc.).  Then in the minor premise Scotus turns to the faculty of reason and states that it too has a common primary object equal to its power, viz., being qua being.  Ergo, we, by virtue of our faculty of reason, are able to know naturally any thing or being that exists.[1] In paragraphs 90-92, Scotus addresses the first argument given in paragraph 1.  First, Scotus distinguishes two ways in which the term “natural” may be used.  As he explains, [1] “a natural object can mean one which the faculty can attain naturally, i.e., by the action of causes that are naturally active, or [2] it may mean an object towards which the faculty is naturally inclined, whether such an object can be naturally attained or not” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 90).  In the first sense, natural/nature is contrasted with supernatural, whereas in the second sense, natural/nature is contrasted with that which is violent. Here we should keep in mind that according to Scotus’ framework, we have a receptive potency, which is related to an active potency and to a form or object received.  The active potency is responsible for infusing the form into the receptive potency. In those cases in which the receptive potency is inclined toward the form and the form perfects it, we have a natural act.  However, in those cases in which the receptive potency is repugnant toward the form/object, we have a violent act. 

In paragraphs 91-92, Scotus accepts the major premise of the initial argument in paragraph 1, but then applies his dual understanding of nature to the minor premise.  As Scotus explains, “the minor is false in regard to the object naturally attainable, but it is true in the other sense (namely, the object to which the power is naturally ordered or inclined”) (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 92).   In other words, the intellect may be naturally inclined to an object/form and able to receive it; however, this does not mean that the intellect is capable of attaining that object/form by its own (natural) power (i.e., apart from supernatural intervention).

Here Scotus opposes Aristotle and many of his medieval predecessors, as he claims that a power can by nature be inclined toward an object and yet be unable to achieve its perfection by nature alone.  As Scotus puts it, “[i]t is not unfitting that a power should be naturally ordered to an object which it cannot attain naturally by natural causes, any more than it is for a power or faculty to be ordained by its very nature [for an act] and nevertheless be unable to produce this act by itself alone” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 92).   As we shall see, Scotus claims that our receptive potency by nature is even capable of receiving the divine essence; however, he is quick to state that we lack by nature what is required to bring this about.  In other words, the intervention of an extrinsic agent is necessary for a perfection of this sort to occur.

Notes

---

[1] Scotus also adds “and consequently also any intelligible nonentity, for ‘affirmation explains denial’” (Ord. prol., p. 1, q. 1, n. 1). 

Lastly, we have Hobbes discussion of miracles.  In this section, as in the previous ones, Hobbes begins by defining his terms and then interacts with various biblical texts.  As Hobbes explains, miracles arouse wonder and admiration in humans for two reasons: (1) they are exceedingly rare and unusual events, and (2) they are thought to be done by the immediate activity of God.  However, if we were able to come to a natural explanation of what was thought to be a miracle, we would of course be forced to abandon our original belief.  This tendency to mistakenly call something a miracle is due to our ignorance of natural causes and is in fact what Hobbes claims to be the case the majority of the time.  To support his claim, Hobbes cites examples of how the ancients, who were ignorant of the causes of solar and lunar eclipses, interpreted such occurrences as supernatural works of the gods. After engaging a few Old and New Testament examples in which miracles are discussed (e.g., Moses’ miracles performed in Egypt, and Christ’s inability to perform miracles in his own country), Hobbes concludes that the purpose of miracles is to bring about or confirm belief in God’s elect (Lev., ch. 37, ¶5-6).  This examination of the nature of miracles and their use, then leads Hobbes to the following definition of a miracle:  “A Miracle is a work of God (besides his operation by the way of nature, ordained in the creation), done for the making manifest to his elect the mission of an extraordinary minister for their salvation” (Lev., ch. 37, ¶7).[1]  This definition implies that a miracle is an effect of God’s immediate activity and not an effect that comes about through the secondary causality of the prophet (e.g., as a result of the prophet’s virtue/power).  Hobbes goes on to say that if it were the case that the miracle was effected through power given the prophet by God (that is, through secondary causality), then we could not call this a miracle, as it would have been produced naturally and not by God’s immediate causality.  As Curley observes in footnote 15, this conclusion nullifies the miracles performed by Moses and the prophets since the power by which they performed their miracles was given by God (Lev., ch. 37, ¶10).[2]  One then wonders which, if any, miracles according to the biblical account remain standing.[3]  Likewise, does not this naturalization of miracles not point in the direction of a something more akin to a deistic conception of God, which of course, harmonizes well with Hobbes’ mechanistic view of the world, as well as his continual insistence that God does not providentially interact with the world?

Given what we have seen thus far, it seems fair to conclude that Hobbes does not engage Scripture in a purely objective way (whatever that is). Rather, as I have attempted to highlight throughout this essay, Hobbes’ philosophical and political convictions drive his hermeneutical endeavors.  For Hobbes, the traditional understanding of prophecy, spiritual beings, and miracles serve to reinforce God’s providential workings and presence with his people and thus undermine the authority of an earthly sovereign.  Moreover, the doctrine of providence, according to Hobbes, results in a kind of intellectual and perhaps even moral laziness wherein people depend too much on God.  However, in the end it is not clear how Hobbes’ own position can escape at least to some degree the same kind of intellectual and moral errors of which he accuses traditional orthodoxy given the political requirement that individuals must give absolute obedience to the sovereign who stands as God’s representative until the Kingdom of God on earth is restored at Christ’s Second Coming. 

Notes

---

[1] Italics and other font emphases are in the original. 

[2] As Curley explains, “[i]f all works done by a power given by God are natural, and hence, not miracles (as the English version implies), this seems to deny the status of miracles to the works performed by Moses and the prophets” (Lev., ch. 37, n. 15). 

[3] Perhaps only God’s creation ex nihilo would count as a miracle.  Given that I have not completed my reading of Leviathan, I hold this conclusion loosely. 

Turning now to a second way in which Hobbes naturalizes traditional Christian claims in order to harmonize them with his philosophical and scientific beliefs, we come to his discussion of spirits and angels.  The entire trajectory of Hobbes’ discussion is set by what he says in paragraph two concerning the definition of the word “body,” which by the way, is a definition taken not from Scripture, but from philosophy.  Where, after all, in Scripture do we find a philosophical discussion of the nature of bodies?  As Hobbes explains, a body signifies that which is extended and thus occupies space and is subject to change.   Moreover, bodies are real parts of the universe and in no way depend on our imagination. Hobbes adds, “[f]or the universe, being the aggregate of all bodies, there is no real part thereof that is not also body, nor anything properly a body that is not also part of (that aggregate of all bodies) the universe” (Lev., ch. 34, ¶2).  Next, Hobbes says that body and substance signify the same thing, as both involve a “diversity of seeming (produced by the diversity of operation of bodies on the organs of our sense) we attribute to the alterations of the bodies that operate and call them accidents of those bodies” (Lev., ch. 34, ¶2).   Given these definitions, Hobbes, concludes that the phrase, “incorporeal substance,” is a contradiction.[1] Once he clearly establishes his terms, Hobbes then proceeds to apply his principles to his Scriptural exegesis.  For example, commenting on Gen 1:2 where the Holy Spirit is described as hovering over the waters, Hobbes points out that if we take Spirit literally as an incorporeal being, then we end up with the absurdity of attributing motion and place to the Holy Spirit who is supposed to be a non-extended being.  Rather than dismiss the passage as altogether incoherent, Hobbes opts to interpret “Holy Spirit,” as a metaphor for wind (Lev., ch. 34, ¶5).[2]

Since Hobbes himself affirms God’s incomprehensibility (Lev., ch. 34, ¶4), he does have other options open to him as a Christian thinker than the one he takes. However, presumably he rejects these because they either fail to cohere with his materialism, or they do not support his political agenda of absolute obedience to an earthly sovereign.  Traditionally, the doctrine of God’s incomprehensibility has been a fundamental tenet of historic Christianity and has been taught and defended by theologians such as St. Gregory of Nyssa, St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, as well as Protestant thinkers such as Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Karl Barth.  Roughly stated, God’s incomprehensibility speaks of the inability of finite creatures to comprehend exhaustively an infinite God. Nonetheless, Scripture and tradition both affirm that God’s incomprehensibility does not negate his knowability in some genuine and meaningful sense.  In fact, Scripture presents God as condescending to human beings and revealing himself in ways that we are able to understand (e.g., by means of human language and of course through the summa plenissima revelation of God Himself who became one of us in the Incarnation).  Emphasizing God’s loving condescension to human beings in light of their creaturely limitations, Calvin writes, “[f]or who even of slight intelligence does not understand that, as nurses commonly do with infants, God is wont in a measure to ‘lisp’ in speaking to us?  Thus such forms of speaking do not so much express clearly what God is like as accommodate the knowledge of him to our slight capacity.  To do this he must descend far beneath his loftiness.”[3]   In other words, given that God knows exhaustively in one act, whereas humans engage in discursive, sequential reasoning processes given their material and immaterial composition, God accommodates our mode of thinking by speaking to us as if he were thinking according to our mode of intellection.  This then suggests that all Scripture is anthropomorphic and not simply those instances in Scripture in which God is described as hovering over the waters, having arms or speaking with an audible voice.  Since God himself in his mercy has given humans this revelation of himself and has overseen the process of the giving of this special revelation from redaction all the way through to final canonization, human beings can be confident that what God communicates to us about himself (albeit in analogical and anthropomorphic language) is true. 

Notes

---

[1] In chapter 41, paragraph 9, Hobbes seems to say that God and Jesus Christ are one and the same substance.  Given Hobbes’ argument that substance and body refer to the same thing and are thus material, the logical consequence is that the Father has a body.[2] Hobbes’ discussion of angels exhibits the same hermeneutical approach.  Cf. Lev., ch. 32, ¶23-24 where Hobbes concludes that angels cannot be incorporeal.  Hobbes goes on to state that he leans toward the idea that “angels were nothing but supernatural apparitions of the fancy, raised by the special and extraordinary operation of God, thereby to make his presence and commandments known to mankind, and chiefly to his own people.”

[3] John Calvin.  Institutes of Christian Religion.  Trans., Ford Lewis Battles and ed. John T. McNeil.  (Philadelphia:  Westminster Press, 1960), 1.13.1, p. 121. 

Given Hobbes’ commitment to materialism and his desire to uphold civil order, he is critical of Christians who rely too much on God’s providence.  According to Hobbes, God does not govern the world supernaturally but only naturally, and this stress on the naturalization of the supernatural is evident in his interpretation of prophecy, miracles and incorporeal beings/entities.  With regard to prophets, Hobbes first clarifies the difference between immediate and mediate supernatural revelation from God.  The prophet of course claims to have been given immediate revelation, whereas one reading or hearing Scripture receives divine revelation mediately via the testimony of the prophets, apostles or others proclaiming God’s word.  Hobbes then raises the question as to how one can know whether a prophet or one who purports to have received immediate divine revelation is speaking truly or falsely.  We recall that Hobbes has already brought to our attention in chapter two in his discussion of dreams, the various ways in which we can be led astray and can come to falsely believe that visions and apparitions actually connect with some extramental reality.  The more rational explanation says Hobbes is to understand these imaginings as caused by the internal activity of our brain and nervous system.  That is, according to Hobbes, given the findings of natural science, instances where individuals claim to have seen visions, ghosts and spirits can now be more reasonably explained by means of natural, not supernatural causes.[1]  For example, Hobbes cites the instance of Marcus Brutus and the claim that Marcus saw a vision of Caesar before battle of Philippi.  However, as Hobbes asserts, this so-called vision was more likely just a dream of that which Marcus feared most (Lev., ch. 2, ¶7).  From this claim, Hobbes then generalizes that this is probably what occurs in many cases where people think that they have seen a vision or ghost.  So not only does Hobbes re-emphasize an idea that he presses throughout Leviathan, namely, that we as human beings really know very little, but he also adds that the human mind (given what we have stated above about dreams and visions) has a tendency toward and often is the source of superstition because of our lack of knowledge of ultimate reality (Lev., ch. 2, ¶8). Returning to the discussion on prophets, Hobbes lays out two criteria found in Scripture that enable us to determine the veracity of a prophet. The first mark of a true prophet is the ability (albeit given by God) to perform miracles, and the second mark is that whatever the prophet proclaims must not go against the established religion (Lev., ch. 32, ¶7).  Neither of these indicators are sufficient on their own, rather both marks must be present to determine the prophet’s authenticity.  Hobbes, of course, cites several passages of Scripture from both the New Testament and the Old to support his claim (e.g., Deut 13:1-5; Matt 24:24).  Two paragraphs later, Hobbes simply asserts that miracles are a thing of the past and no longer occur in our day.  Consequently, we must rely on Scripture alone as the source of divine revelation.[2]  Hobbes states his case as follows: 

Seeing therefore miracles now cease, we have no sign left whereby to acknowledge the pretended revelations or inspirations of any private man, nor obligation to give ear to any doctrine farther than it is conformable to the Holy Scriptures, which since the time of our Saviour supply the place and sufficiently recompense the want of all other prophecy, and from which, by wise and learned interpretation and careful ratiocination, all rules and precepts necessary to the knowledge of our duty both to God and man, without enthusiasm or supernatural inspiration, may easily be deduced (Lev., ch. 32, ¶9). 

At this point, one might want to pose a series of questions to Hobbes.  First, in light of what Hobbes has said in the earlier part of Leviathan regarding our limited epistemological scope, is Hobbes’ suggesting that only the scientist, philosopher or theologian or a combination thereof is adequately equipped to properly interpret Scripture?   Perhaps Hobbes’ claim is simply that one who has a decent education will be adequately equipped to exegete Scripture.  If this is the case, then how do we settle differences in interpretation that will surely arise among these various educated individuals-that is, those not claiming to have immediate revelation, but who come to different conclusions with regard to the same texts of Scripture?  Presumably, Hobbes would respond that this inevitable situation points to the need for a sovereign as the final arbiter of religious disagreements.  This solution, however, seems to be formally equivalent to the very thing that Hobbes criticizes in the Roman Church, viz., a kind of non-thinking deference to papal authority.  In other words, both Hobbes’ position and the Roman Catholic view seem to imply that even among the most educated individuals, certain situations will require (at least to some degree) a kind of fideistic reliance on human authority, whether pope or civil sovereign.  Yet, the Roman Catholic position ultimately rests not simply on human authority, but on the claim that the pope possesses a supernatural charism to speak infallibly when making official (infallible) pronouncements on behalf of the Roman Catholic Church as a whole. 

Notes

---

[1] See, for example, Lev., ch. 2, ¶5-8. [2] It is often claimed that Hobbes is simply appealing to the Reformation principle of sola scriptura.  However, I find this assertion unconvincing for several reasons.  First, as I am attempting to make clear in this essay, Hobbes is not simply engaging in “pure” exegesis (whatever that is), but instead his philosophical and political views strongly inform his interpretations of Scripture.  Secondly, both Protestants and Roman Catholics today have an overly facile and inaccurate understanding of sola scriptura as taught by the magisterial reformers.   For an excellent scholarly study of this topic, see Heiko A. Oberman, Dawn of the Reformation, Grand Rapids:  Eerdman’s, 1992. In chapter twelve of the above-mentioned work, Oberman discusses the early reformers’ understanding of the relation between Scripture and tradition in contrast to the Roman Catholic view.   As Oberman observes, the 16^th century was marked with “bitter polemics concerning the source and norm of the Church’s knowledge of God’s revelation.  Traditionally this is described as the clash of the sola scriptura-principle with the Scripture and tradition-principle” (Ibid., p. 270).  Both Protestants and Catholics were eager to uphold the purity and authority of God’s word, yet each believed that the other’s view was detrimental to maintaining this purity and authority.   The Reformers pointed to ways in which ecclesial traditions had come to distort the Gospel, while proponents of the Counter-Reformation decried the Reformers for breaking with tradition and promoting private interpretations.  “In both cases reliance on human authority is said to interfere with the rule of obedience to Holy Scripture” (Ibid., p. 270).  Oberman then highlights what in my opinion is often glossed over or completely ignored in these kinds of discussions, namely, that the debate before us is not one of Scripture or tradition, but rather a “clash between two concepts of tradition” (Ibid., p. 270).  Oberman distinguishes these two understandings as “Tradition I” (T1) and “Tradition II” (T2).  T1 stands for the “single exegetical tradition of interpreted scripture,” whereas T2 represents the “two-sources theory which allows for an extra-biblical oral tradition” (Ibid.,p. 280).  Oberman argues that the early reformers (Luther, Melanchthon, and Calvin, as Richard Muller has noted, could be included as well) advocated T1, whereas T2, particularly from Trent onward, became the official position of the Roman Catholic Church. 

In contrast to his methodological approach in parts one and two, wherein Hobbes attempts to proceed by way of geometrical demonstration, part three takes a radical turn into the world of biblical exegesis and exhibits something similar to modern biblical criticism.  Broadly speaking, one might characterize at least one aspect of the purpose of parts one and two as an attempt to establish Hobbes’ materialistic view of the world.  Hobbes, like many of his contemporaries, had accepted the new mechanistic view of the world in which efficient causality (matter and motion) serves as the explanatory apparatus for all phenomena.[1]  In this series, I shall attempt to flesh out these claims by examining selected passages from part three of Hobbes’ Leviathan.  In particular, I shall focus on the various instances in which Hobbes’ naturalizes traditional Christianity’s claims regarding prophets, incorporeal beings, and miracles.  In other words, what I propose is that contrary to Hobbes’ own claim to exegete Scripture in a purely objective way-that is, not informed with the prejudices of tradition and simply based on Scripture and natural reason alone-Hobbes’ biblical exegesis is made to conform to his own philosophical conceptions based on the science of his day (as well as his own political agenda). 

In his dedicatory epistle, Hobbes sets forth his goal to pursue a middle path between excessive liberty and excessive authority.  He goes on to say that he is aware that many will find his exegesis of certain passages of Scripture offensive.  However, Hobbes claims to have offered these with “due submission,” as an obedient civil servant.[2]  With these introductory remarks, Hobbes indicates some of his greatest concerns with regard to the Christianity of his day, namely, that Christians must not interpret Scripture in such a way that it allows them to be disobedient to the sovereign.  In other words, one of the primary goals of Hobbes’ Leviathan is to produce a dutiful and obedient citizen.  As we shall see, this goal, coupled with his materialistic philosophy, drives Hobbes’ hermeneutic and thoroughly informs his exegesis of Scripture. 

 Notes

---

[1] This will become more evident in the discussion that follows. [2] Thomas Hobbes.  Leviathan.  Ed., Edwin Curley.  (Cambridge:  Hackett, 1994), p. 2.  Subsequent references will be in the text, noting the chapter and paragraph number.