Per Caritatem

This post was written by Myles Werntz, a graduate student at Baylor University, writing a dissertation on ecclesiology and nonviolence in John Yoder, Dorothy Day, and William Stringfellow. He is the editor of Nonviolence: The Warsaw Lectures, by John Howard Yoder (Baylor University Press, 2010), and writes on occasion at www.threehands.com and www.rockandtheology.com.

***

In examining the question of divine violence, and whether or not we can even speak of such a thing, I propose a return to one of the “culprits” of the medieval tradition: Anselm. I take it for granted, that for Christian theology to speak of the divine-human relation, it turns to the person of Christ for its norm. This is not without its difficulties, however, particularly as one attempts to speak of divine violence. If Jesus is the norm for human relations with God, what are we to make of the crucifixion? Does Christ’s death bespeak a similar “necessary” death for humans? Is God’s fundamental relation with humanity one of wrath, abetted by blood sacrifice? It is this aspect of the divine-violence knot that Anselm, I think, helps us to see more clearly.

Turning to one of Anselm’s better known works, Cur Deus Homo (or “Why God Became Human”), we find Anselm arguing that 1) honor has been denied of God, 2) humanity lives unable to restore this honor, an honor which functions as an indication of cosmic socially stability, resulting in 3) God inhabiting human flesh to rectify this problem on the human side of the ledger. When we read this dialogue, we must bear in mind that many of the claims to God’s “anger” and “will to punish” are put forward not by Anselm, but by Anselm’s interlocutor “Boso.” As such, the argument that God is angry and wills to punish relentlessly are not in the main of Anselm’s construal of how Christ restores honor.

What Anselm does argue, however, is that while “every creatures owes [truth and righteousness] from every rational creature, and every creature owes this to God as a matter of obedience”, this does not imply that God needs blood to accomplish this. Rather, Anselm argues that “God…did not force Christ to die”, but rather that “[Christ] underwent death of his own accord, not out of an obedience consisting in the abandonment of his life, but out uof an obedience consisting in his upholding of righteousness so bravely and pertinaciously that as a result he incurred death.” Obedience, as that which is owed by humanity to God, is maintained by Christ “even unto death”. The demonstration of obedience comes “through his death”, but Anselm argues that it is “not appropriate to say that it comes about because of it.”

Significantly, Anselm does not say that blood is required, nor that violence is intrinsic to the divine life, nor even that suffering is a necessity if one is to live according to this arrangement. What is argued, instead, is that Christ’s life—as emblematic of perfect obedience—leads Christ to death. In other words, death is the culmination of obedience and reconciliation, not as a matter of course, but as a consequence of intention. Anselm concedes that because obedience is intrinsic to Christ’s life and God’s desire, then, that Christ’s death as a result of obedience is thus “wished”, but again this is not because suffering in and of itself accomplishes anything. Rather, the way of obedience led directly into the heart of death.

Part of what I take Anselm’s purpose in this work to be is to demonstrate not only a rationale by which divine-human reconciliation is to be had, but also the kind of human behavior which is implicated by Christ’s life. As such, virtues of prudence, fidelity, and courage are exalted by Anselm as intrinsic to one who seeks to be obedient. Does this mean, then, that the violence which is visited on the faithful is “wished” or “willed”? Is God’s anger appeased by blood? For Anselm, this question is like asking that since doing a PhD in Religion requires a great deal of discipline, if what one is doing in finishing a PhD is really cultivating discipline, and not learning a particular skill set.

In sum, I take two things from this text. First, “divine violence” is one (badly construed) way of viewing the act of obedience in the world. While violence against Christ was intrinsic to obedience, it was neither “willed” nor “wished” in the sense that God desired the victimization or abuse of Christ. Rather, for Anselm, death and abuse is the consequence of obedient living. Those that want to live in the divine relationship should gird themselves and prepare for the beatings to come. Secondly, the honor which is restored via obedience is a shared honor, obtained by the Son, returned to the Father, and emulated by the disciples. As such, violence is not that which must be undergone to belong to this restored sociality, but which is, in some sense, borne by the entire community. Those who benefit from the violence experienced by some of the faithful are to bear with those faithful.

What then of violence? Is violence “necessary”? For Anselm, no, rendering then “divine violence” to be a misunderstanding of where the violence comes from. The death of Christ comes as a result of obedience, not by divine fiat. If the violence against Christ is 1) not willed, and 2) begets, in a twist of irony, divine life in a restored sociality, then with Anselm, we can say that violence is in a sense an anti-theology, finding its roots not in the divine life, but in opposition to restoration of the divine life, working against the “grain of the universe.”

Notes

---

[1] All references will be from Anselm: The Major Works, edited and introduced by Brian Davies and G.R. Evans (Oxford UP, 2008).

[2] Ibid., 271.

[3] Ibid., 276.

[4] Ibid., 277.

[5] Ibid., 278.

[6] Ibid., 281.

[Part I, Part II]
Next I turn briefly to Prentice’s claim regarding the similarity of purpose in the Proslogion and the De primo principio.  Here Prentice states that both works have more or less the same goal, but the way they attempt to accomplish those goals are somewhat different.  Both works aim to articulate a clear, tightly knit, valid argument that would establish by reason alone God’s existence (and nature), and which would then serve as a basis for further proofs of God’s attributes.[1] Unlike Anselm’s, Scotus’s argument, however, is not an a priori proof, or more specifically, what Wolter calls a demonstration propter quid. Rather, Scotus moves in an a posteriori fashion; yet, his argument, which Wolter calls a quia demonstration, does not lose any of its demonstrative force.  An additional difference between the two works has to do with the scope of what each proposes to accomplish.  That is, Anselm’s purpose includes an attempt to “establish whatever we believe about the divine substance, whereas Scotus restricts himself to establishing only those attributes which can be discovered by human reason alone.”[2] Because Anselm and Scotus begin with differing views as to the relation between faith and reason, the former allowing a more blended view and the latter holding a sharp distinction between the two, it is not surprising that the scope of Scotus’s purpose is much more limited than of Anselm’s.  Scotus, in other words, self-consciously pursues a project that is “purely” philosophical from start to finish.  Consequently, Scotus makes every effort to construct arguments whose premises are not taken directly from divine revelation.[3] In addition, Prentice highlights the fact that Anselm held a theory of divine illumination, whereas Scotus had offered a strong critique of such theories, particularly divein illumination as expressed by Henry of Ghent.  With these differences in mind, Prentice suggests that Scotus sees himself as carrying out a project similar in purpose with Anselm; yet, because of Scotus’s philosophical context as a “late Aristotelian scholastic” he endeavors to “achieve the high ideal” proposed by Anselm but “by human keeping to human reason alone and without the aid of illuminationism.”[4] In short, the Proslogion serves as a kind of “general model” for the De primo, but the model is adapted to fit Scotus’s desire to present “‘purer’ philosophical conclusions, with the aid of a more highly developed philosophical knowledge and technique.”[5]

Notes

---

[1] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” pp. 86-87.  As Prentice notes, Anselm’s “single argument is found in his famous ‘ratio’.  On the basis of the concept of ‘that than which a great cannot be conceived’, he first shows the existence of God.  Then, basing himself on the ‘ratio’, he proceeds to describe the nature of God.  God, he says, is a necessary being, the self-sufficient origin of all things, and in short is everything which it is better to be than not to be” (p. 87).  Scotus’s purpose is similar, as “[h]e intends to give a compendium of natural knowledge of God which would include a proof for the existence of God and the deduction of the divine attributes” (p. 87). Perhaps one might say that the notion of essential order is the single “ratio,” which, as Prentice claims, serves as the “means for unification” of Scotus’s proof (p. 87).   There are, however, certain divine attributes that Scotus believes (contra Anselm) cannot be demonstrated by natural reason alone (e.g., God’s omnipotence and mercy).

[2] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 89.

[3] As Prentice explains, “[b]oth authors begin with a definition of God provided by the faith.  St. Anselm uses the definition:  ‘that than which a greater cannot be conceived’, which he says he accepts from the faith (cf. Pros. Ch. 2, also Response to Gaunilon ch. 1).  Scotus, in turn, starts with the definition:  ‘I am who am’ as revealed by God to Moses.  With St. Anselm, however, the definition is assumed as a systematic presupposition, whereas, with Scotus, the definition is assumed only on the psychological level and does not enter the system intrinsically.  Thus St. Anselm may use faith (and possibly also illuminationism) not only as a stimulus but also as a premise, with the result that he can speak, e.g., of the justice and mercy of God, of the Holy Trinity and of the blessed.  But since Scotus retains this definition only on the psychological level, he cannot allow faith to enter his system as a premise, and accordingly there will be divine attributes accessible to St. Anselm which are not accessible to him” (“The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 89).

[4] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 89.

[5] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 89.

We now turn to the distinctives of the De primo. As was the case with the Monologion and the Proslogion, the De primo may also be characterized as discursive, meditative, and reverent.  However, the discursive quality of the work is perhaps the dominant of the three, as we find long chains of intricately woven arguments making up the bulk of the work (quantitatively speaking).[1] In contrast, the meditative feel of the De primo is significantly less in comparison with the consistently meditative tone of the Proslogion.  The De primo, of course, contains several prayers; yet, the overall effect of the prayers, which make up only about four percent of the text, is quite different than what we encounter in Anselm’s text.[2] This is not to diminish the quality of the prayers in the De primo, nor to deny that it retains a meditative dimension.  It is, nonetheless, to suggest that the prayers in Scotus’s text do not flow as naturally as those in the Proslogion.  The De primo prayer content, in fact, gives the impression of something extra interjected to frame a work that could stand on its own apart from the added content.[3] Describing the similarities and differences of the two texts, Prentice writes,

He [Scotus] makes conscious efforts to reintroduce religious reflection into the argumentation by the interspersion of prayers at regular intervals.  It is as though he stops in his speculations and re-orients himself towards God by establishing at these intervals an immediate contact with the Divinity Whose Nature he is investigating.  The net result is that, though the actual text is nowhere near as prayerful as that of St. Anselm, the work as a whole carries upon it the stamp of meditation.[4]

Just as Prentice somewhat reluctantly classifies the De primo as exhibiting meditative and reverent aspects, he is likewise hesitant to categorize the work under the literary genre of “direct address to God.”[5] In the end, in spite of the small percentage of prayers in the De primo as compared to the Proslogion, Prentice accepts the former as exhibiting an “address” form.  As he explains, the prayers divide more or less into two classes, (1) “initiating and concluding prayers,” and (2) “re-orientation prayers.”[6] The first class of prayers set the tone of each chapter and serves as a reminder to the reader, even if with a somewhat abrupt feel, of the “address” quality of the work as a whole.[7] The second class of prayers, the “re-orientation prayers,” appear in the fourth chapter and are needed to reinforce the “address” character of the work as a whole, as the chapter contains paragraph after paragraph of discursive argument chains devoid of any overtly meditative or prayerful content.  For example, after the opening prayer of chapter four at paragraph 4.2, it is not until we reach paragraph 4.46 (forty-four paragraphs later) that we encounter any prayer content whatsoever.[8]

The prayer content stretching from 4.48-4.86 is particularly important because in his rather lengthy address to God, Scotus enumerates certain attributes of God known by (unaided) reason and others held by faith-that is, those truths about God’s nature attainable only through divine revelation.[9] For example, at paragraph 4.84 Scotus states that by natural reason one can come to know that God is: the “first efficient cause,” “the ultimate end,” “supreme in perfection,” uncaused, a se, a necessary being, eternal, one who lives a “most noble life” because he is “understanding and volition,” “happy” because He possesses Himself, knows everything that can be known in a single act, infinite power, infinite, and simple.[10] What Scotus says here is not meant to be an exhaustive list, but it does give us an idea of the things he believed could be demonstrated as knowable about God apart from divine revelation.  See also paragraph 4.85, where Scotus enumerates other attributes of God knowable by natural reason.[11] With the prayer content of 4.84, Scotus draws our attention back to the his opening prayers (paragraph 1.2) where he asked God to grant him the ability to “investigate how much our natural reason can learn about that true being which you are.”[12]

Then at paragraph 4.86, Scotus gives his list of God’s attributes that are not knowable by natural reason but are those Catholics hold by faith on the basis of divine revelation.

Besides the aforesaid points which the philosophers have affirmed of you, Catholics often praise you as omnipotent, immense, omnipresent, just yet merciful, provident of all creatures but looking after intellectual ones in a special way, but these matters are deferred to the next tract.  In this first treatise I have tried to show how the metaphysical attributes affirmed of you can be inferred in some way by natural reason.  In the tract which follows, those shall be set forth that are the subject of belief, wherein reason is held captive-yet to Catholics, the latter are the more certain since they rest firmly upon your own most solid truth and not upon our intellect which is blind and weak in many things.[13] (p. 146).

In addition to his list of God’s attributes known only via revelation, we have Scotus’s explicit statement (or at least what is taken to be a claim made by Scotus) that the De primo is part one of a two part treatise.  This first treatise, the De primo, contains proofs of God’s “metaphysical attributes” which “can be inferred in some way by natural reason,”[14] whereas the content of the second treatise is said to be those divine attributes Catholics hold by faith.

Notes

---

[1] This makes sense in light of what Prentice brings to attention at the beginning of his article.  “The whole of the first question of the first part of the second distinction of Book I of the Ordinatio (except for the arguments ‘pro’ and ‘contra’ and for the ‘ad argumenta’ and the ‘opinio propria’) exists in the De primo principio, while the two other questions of the same Book I, namely, the first part of distinction two [*], are found totally as regards their substance” (p. 77).  Prentice has a footnote (2) where I have inserted the *, which reads, “[b]y a slight in printing transposition in the introduction, the text reads d. 3, q. 2 instead of d. 2, q. 3.”

[2] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 84.

[3] See note 11 for a possible additional explanation substantiating my claim.

[4] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 83.

[5] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 84.

[6] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 84.  Prayers of the first class are found at paragraphs 1.1, 1.2, 2.2, 2.8, 3.2, 3.63, 4.2, 4.94 and typically come at the beginning and end of the chapters depending upon the length of the chapter.  The shorter chapters often omit closing prayers.  Prayers of the second class, in contrast, are found in two large sections in the final chapter at paragraphs 4.46-4.48 and 4.84-4.86.  These prayers are significantly longer in length and are needed to re-orient and remind the reader of the meditative dimension of the text, as over forty paragraphs of argumentation have passed since the opening prayer at 4.2.

[7] An example of the first class of prayers comes at 3.2 where we read, “O Lord, our God, you have proclaimed yourself to be the first and last.  Teach your servant to show by reason what he holds with faith most certain, that you are the most eminent, the first efficient cause and the last end” (John Duns Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principle, ed., Allan B. Wolter O.F.M. (Chicago:  Franciscan Herald Press, 1966), p. 42.   [N.b. A Treatise on God as First Principle is the English translation for De Primo Principio].

[8] At 4.46, Scotus suddenly breaks into prayer, proclaiming, “Oh the depths of the riches of your wisdom and of your knowledge, O God, by which you comprehend everything that can be known!  Could you not enable my puny intellect to infer (Ninth conclusion) that you are infinite and incomprehensible by what is finite?” (Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principlep. 102).  Scotus’s prayer continues through paragraph 4.48.

[9] For example, at paragraph 4.84 Scotus states that by natural reason one can come to know that God is: the “first efficient cause,” “the ultimate end,” “supreme in perfection,” uncaused, a se, a necessary being, eternal, one who lives a “most noble life” because he is “understanding and volition,” happy because He possesses Himself, knows everything that can be known in a single act, infinite power, infinite, and simple (A Treatise on God as First Principle, pp. 142, 144).  This is not meant to be an exhaustive list, but it does give us an idea of what Scotus believed could be known about God apart from divine revelation.  At paragraph 4.85, Scotus enumerates other attributes of God knowable by natural reason (cf. pp. 144, 146).

[10] A Treatise on God as First Principle, pp. 142, 144.

[11] A Treatise on God as First Principle, pp. 144, 146.

[12] Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principle, p. 2.

[13] Scotus, A Treatise on God as First Principle, p. 146.

[14] “In hoc quipped tractatu primo tentavi videre qualiter metaphysica de te dicta ratione naturali aliqualiter concludantur” (A Treatise on God as First Principle, p. 146 [4.84]).

Robert Prentice argues that one of the purposes of Scotus’s De primo principio is to “present a thirteenth century Proslogion.“[1] More precisely, Prentice attempts

“to show the vast influence of St. Anselm’s Proslogion in the compilation of this tract, an influence so consistent throughout its pages that one is entitled to say that Scotus had the Proslogion before him when he worked his Ordinatio material into the form which it assumes in the De primo principio, and that he intended to ‘modernize’, as it were, the Proslogion.”[2]

In his essay, Prentice does a masterful job of tracing out the ways in which the Proslogion shapes the De primo principio, laying stress on the importance for Scotus, given his thirteenth century philosophical milieu, to produce a treatise that incorporates Aristotelian metaphysics in such a way that those teaching in the universities-those who had, of course, largely embraced Aristotelian philosophy-would find acceptable.  As Prentice explains, at the time when Scotus composed the De primo, a sharp distinction between faith and reason was in place, the doctrine of divine illumination was on its way out, and Aristotelian epistemology and metaphysics were in.[3] In contrast with Anselm’s day, where the lines between theology and philosophy or faith and reason were more blurred, in Scotus’s day the impetus was to make one’s project conform to the demands of Aristotelian science. In other words, Scotus’s desire (or at least one of his desires) was to present a purely philosophical argument for the existence and nature of God-an argument whose premises in no way depended upon divine revelation, which is not to say that that argument was not inspired by divine revelation.

Prentice identifies four points of contact between the Proslogion and the De primo principio:  (1) “Kinship in Spirit”; (2) “Similarity of Purpose”; (3) “Direction of Basic Outline”; (4) Relationship in Intrinsic Argumentation.”[4] Regarding the first point of contact, “kinship in spirit,” Prentice begins by discussing the common spirit of the Proslogion and the Monologion rather than the Proslogion alone, since the two are so closely related, the former “being the offspring of the Monologion.”[5] After showing the common spirit of the two works, Prentice can then more easily highlight the particularities of the Proslogion. The spirit of Anselm’s two works are characterized as “discursive, meditative and reverent.” Anyone who has read either the Proslogion or the Monologion can readily understand why Prentice would label it as having a discursive quality, as the entire work is permeated with numerous interrelated (syllogistic) argument chains attempting to establish God’s existence and nature.  Yet, in the midst of such an abstract, speculative thrust, both works possess a meditative quality whereby one’s personal religious life is meant to be affected.  This meditative aspect of the work then leads naturally to its reverent quality.  That is, the subject matter, God, is not a mere lifeless object to be investigated, but is a Person worthy of worship.  As Prentice puts it, the author “is personally aware of the dignity and majesty of the Divine Being”; consequently, “an attitude of humility, submission and prayerfulness permeates the pages of the Monologion and the Proslogion.”[6]

Since both works are characterized by a discursive and meditative quality what distinguishes the Proslogion in particular from the Monologion is the fact that it is a direct address to God.  As one reads chapter one of the Proslogion and the opening lines of chapter two, one is struck with the strong Augustinian tone of a man who deeply loves God and who desires to expand his knowledge of God in the most comprehensive way possible for a finite, sinful human being.  Prior to turning directly to address God, Anselm communicates a sense of mission, a sense of inviting and even urging those who might read the work to enter into Anselm’s prayer and join him in contemplating God’s nature. “Now then, little man, for a short while fly from your business; hide yourself for a moment from your turbulent thoughts.  Break off now your troublesome cares, and think less of your laborious occupations.  Make a little time for God, and rest for a while in him.”[7] Then, directly following this exhortation, Anselm breaks into an extended prayer that lasts for the entirety of chapter and continues into the second chapter.  Below are selected moments from Anselm’s opening prayer that give us a taste of its personal and devout nature, as well as a sense of one who sincerely yearns for a more intimate union with God.

Speak now, O my whole heart, speak now to God:  “I seek thy face; thy face, Lord, do I desire.”  [...] teach my heart where and how to seek thee, where and how to find thee. [...] Look upon us, O Lord, hear us, enlighten us, show us thy own self.  Restore thyself to us, that it may be well with us, whose life is so evil without thee.  Take pity on our efforts and strivings towards thee, for we have no strength apart from thee.  [...] Rescue me, take away my burden. [...] Let me receive thy light, even from afar, even from the depths.  Teach me to seek thee, and when I seek thee show thyself to me, for I cannot seek thee unless thou teach me, or find thee unless thou show me thyself.  Let me seek thee in my desire, let me desire thee in my seeking.  Let me find thee by loving thee, let me love thee when I find thee.[8]

Clearly, one gets the impression that Anselm is not engaged in a detached, disinterested fashion, but rather he understands that he is addressing the living God, whom he worships and in whom he believes has the ability to illumine his mind and properly direct his inquiry.  In the last paragraph of chapter one and into the first few lines of chapter two, we come to the rather well-known part of Anselm’s opening prayer. Here Anselm addresses God and proclaims,

I am not trying, O Lord, to penetrate thy loftiness, for I cannot begin to match my understanding with it, but I desire in some measure to understand thy truth, which my heart believes and loves.  For I do not seek to understand in order to believe, but I believe in order to understand. For this too I believe, that “unless I believe, I shall not understand” [Isa. 7:9].  And so, O Lord, since thou givest understanding to faith, give me to understand-as far as thou knowest it to be good for me-that thou dost exist, as we believe, and that thou art what we believe thee to be.[9]

In short, because the literary form of the Proslogion is that of a direct address to God (and one can’t help but to hear echoes of Augustine’s Confessions), it has a more intimate, personal feel in comparison with the Monologion.

Notes

---

[1] Robert Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” Antonianum 39, no. 1 (Jan., 1964), p. 79.

[2] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 79.

[3] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” pp. 79-80.

[4] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 80.

[5] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 81.

[6] Prentice, “The ‘De Primo Principio’ of John Duns Scotus as a Thirteenth Century ‘Proslogion,’” p. 81.  As Prentice points out, the titles of Anselm’s works hint at the three-fold spirit of the work.  The title, “Monologion,” means “soliloquy,” a kind of self-meditation in which the understood subject of the mediation is God.  “Proslogion,” means “an address made to God about God’s nature.”  In fact, the original title of the Proslogion, prior to its publication under Anselm’s name was, “Faith Seeking Understanding” (p. 82).

[7] Anselm, Proslogion.  As found in A Scholastic Miscellany:  Anselm to Ockham, ed., Eugene R. Fairweather.  (Philadelphia:  Westminster Press, 1956), p. 70.  (All further references to the Proslogion will be to the work as found in this anthology).

[8] Anselm, Proslogion, pp. 72-73.

[9] Anselm, Proslogion, p. 73.

Thomas Williams argues in his article, “A Most Methodical Lover?  On Scotus’ Arbitrary Creator,” that the affectio iustitiae implies a kind of imperfection or lack and thus cannot be applied to God.  According to Scotus, both humans and angels possess wills that have two affections or inclinations: (1) the affectio commodi and (2) the affectio iustitiae.  The affectio commodi or affection for the advantageous is an inclination toward the agent’s own perfection, which in the case of a rational agent is happiness.  The affectio iustitiae or affection for justice allows the agent to transcend its own telos and to seek the intrinsic goodness of things for their own sake (not simply for the advantage of the agent).  In addition, the affectio iustitiae serves as a check on the affectio commodi which can love immoderately.  For Scotus, contra Anselm these two affections are intrinsic to the will and neither are superadded grace gifts.  In fact, with the affectio iustitiae, Scotus claims that the will would not be free because it would simply act for the agents’ own advantage in a way similar to the operation of a the appetite of a non-rational animal acts to perfect its nature. In other words, the affectio commodi would reduce to a natural appetite of an intellectual nature and would be determined, not free. Wolters seems to want to argue that the affectio iustitae is a pure perfection (perfectio simpliciter), that is, that it is a perfection with no limitations or defects-something that in all cases it would be better to possess than not possess (e.g., wisdom).  Since God possesses all pure perfections, God would therefore possess an affection for justice.  Williams, however, disagrees, pointing out that (1) God does not have an appetite for happiness as humans do, as he is perfectly happy in himself and necessarily so.  (2) God cannot love himself immoderately. (3) The possession of the affection for justice implies that the will needs to be held in check. Such a situation does not obtain in God because God does not sin.  (4) Williams also argues against the interpretation that an affectio iustitiae is that which inclines an agent to love things for their own intrinsic worth.  As Williams points out, God always does what he does for His own sake; hence, it seems that rather than an affection for justice, God possesses that which more akin to an affectio commodi.

Williams has significantly more to say in his lengthy article, on which I may blog in the future.