Ambroise Gardeil: The Notion of a Theological Locus (Intro. and pts. 1 and 2, “The Topics and Theology” and “Overview of Aristotle's Topics”)
The Notion of a Theological Locus
By Ambroise Gardeil
(Draft) translation by Matthew K. Minerd, Ph.D.1
Just as Aristotle in the Topics proposed common loci as it were as the seats and notes of arguments from which every argument for any debate might be found, so do we propose here certain particular loci for Theology, from which theologians might discover all their arguments, whether in order confirm [a given conclusion] or to refute [some position].
Melchior Cano, De locis theologicis, bk. 1, c. 3.
Introduction
Under the title De locis theologicis, we frequently encounter works that contain a greaet host of questions, even entire treatises, that are totally foreign to the concept of Theological loci. Thus treatises De Ecclesia (triply considered—theologically, apologetically and canonically) and prolix questions concerning the essence of Sacred Scripture’s inspired nature, hermeneutics and the general introduction to the Sacred Texts themselves, the development of Apostolic Tradition, and so forth all inordinately swell beyond all due proportions and end up absorbing the content of the Tractatus de Locis.2 For Cano, the man who established this treatise, its content was supposed to be devoted to a kind of specialized logic for theology.
Understood in this way, the De locis theologicis are demanded by the very nature of things. It is the fate of sciences that have reached a certain degree of development, and above all sciences in facto esse, fully formed, to become aware of the totality of the means that they deploy and to systematize their methods once and for all. Why would it not be the case in theology that we would here have something that we concede to the cases of logic and Mathematics?
As for other disciplines, practice here outpaced theory, and theological science outpaced the systematization of its rules. These rules already existed, and were, for the most part, formulated and used.3 What they lacked, however, was systematization. Two circumstances—the development of a kind of intemperate scholasticism on the one hand, and Protestant polemics on the other—made it clear that it was urgently necessary that Catholic thinkers clarify the true principles and rules of theological method. The end to be achieved imperiously dictated the methodological character of the treatise. Nothing could be more significant in this respect than the immortal Proœmium that opens Cano’s De Locis with the words: Often I have wondered, my most excellent reader, who it is who brought greater good to mankind: he who introduced a wealth of knowledge in various disciplines or he who devised an account and way by which disciplines themselves might be taught more easily and conviently.
What was realized in the text responds to this program. The work comprises two parts: the first, devoted to the rules governing the discovery, or “inventio,” of the principles or constitutive elements of theology; the second, which was to contain three books, though only one was completed, devoted to the rules governing the implementation of these principles. In the first, Cano studies the proper nature of each theological locus—Sacred Scripture, the Church’s Magisterium, Tradition, etc.—so that the principles he determines might be founded on the nature of things. He does this with discretion and careful balance, clearly marking out the way that ontological questions, along with the various controversies he raises, are subordinated to the methodological goal he is pursuing. For him, the ten theological loci are far from being mere pretexts for metaphysical, theological, historical, canonical, and exegetical theses, as they have since become. They truly are, as is stated in the passage serving as an epigraph to the current work promises, the elements of a Theological Logic built on the model of Aristotle’s Topics.
It is this conception of the De locis theologicis that we would like to restore and clarify here. We are in no way inspired by some kind of disrespect or disparagement of our predecessors. We understand all too well what took place over the course of the history of this treatise’s existence. Faced with increasingly numerous and difficult-to-solve objections, there was a desire to fortify the ontological foundations that underpinned the authority of the Theological Loci, that is, to turn them into apologetics or theology. The intention was excellent. The only drawback was that such developments ended up submerging the fundamental idea of the De locis. Most students barely understand why treatises that delve into the depths of such matters are named by the unique epithet loci, places. We have sometimes acted like those theologians who, knowing that the Christian’s faith is based on the word of God, Veritas prima dicens, push onward from this proximate and immediate motive of faith to the realities that justify it in turn, first criteriologically and then even ontologically, veritas prima in cognoscendo, veritas prima in essendo, and without realizing that they have passed from one order to another, declare that the motive for the assent of faith is the divine infallibility or even the transcendent Truth of the Divine Being. This is to float about in the per accidens. Now, there is no rigorously true knowledge, no science, unless we remain within what the Scholastics called per se, i.e. within the laws and relationships that spring from things considered from clearly and formally defined points of view. As far as the De locis theologicis are concerned, this point of view is that of theological methodology. Let the ontological foundations that underpin the authority of the sources of theology be fortified as much as we might like—but let this be done in specific other treatises of theology, the results of which will be collected by the Tractatus De locis, just as Aristotle’s Logic, to cite one example, gathers together the results of the metaphysical theory of the Categories, with a view to their logical use! But let all these heterogeneous developments cease to occupy such a predominant place in a treatise on methodology. In this age, which is so rightly preoccupied with questions of method, where specialization is proclaimed to be the very law of good work, where the sciences are only too willing to let everyone have their place in the sun, provided that one answers the typically American question, “What are you, what do you claim, what is your point of view, what are your principles and your rules of method?,” Catholic theology must respond with a statement of principles worthy of its long and illustrious past of labor. Certainly, if any science has been able to establish its own definitive method, it is Catholic theology, the ancestor and nurturer of most of the modern sciences. This answer does exist, and, apart from updating on points of detail (as is rightly required and justified by more than four [sic] centuries of theological reflection and scientific progress) it is to be found in its entirety, if we understand its original and profound intention, in Melchior Cano’s solid work, which remains more pertinent than ever.
* * *
The plan for this research is very simple. In the first section, we will show that Theology as a norm finds its methodical introduction in a kind of Topics. In the second section, we will outline the intention and main lines of Aristotle’s Topics, whose rigorous scientific organization guarantees their exceptional solidity. In the sections that follow, we will detail the parallel between the Aristotelian Topics and the Tractatus De locis theologicis, as Cano understood it. This parallel, we hope, will shed light on the precise meaning of this treatise and its definitive methodological value.
I. The Topics and Theology
At first glance, these two words seem do not seem appropriate next to each other. All theologians admit that Theology is a science.4 Topics, by contrast, presents itself as being an art: a dialectical art, in the case of Topics proper; an oratorical art for the topics that serve as the basis of Rhetoric. How can a science have an art as its introduction? To resolve this objection, we need only analyze the constituent elements of Topics and Theology in turn and then compare them to each other.
1. The elements of the Topics.
Topics or Dialectics results from the meeting of two elements, one formal or logical and the other material.
We need only to remind the reader of the logical element: the syllogism, which does not fundamentally differ from the ordinary syllogism, although dialecticians prefer the type of syllogism known as an enthymeme, on account of the conveniences they find in it.5
By contrast, dialectics has its own special subject matter. It is determined from two points of view: 1˚ by the nature of the principles it employs; 2˚ by the species of questions it is suited to resolve.
1˚ The first characteristic of the principles of Dialectics is that they are common principles, i.e. they do not de iure belong in law to any particular science. I say de iure, because, in fact, they are sometimes borrowed from these sciences. However, when this takes place, Dialectics does not consider them in their intrinsic scientific value. It completely abandons this value to the science from which these principles are taken and whose sole property they continue to be.6 They are of concern to it from different perspective. What perspective? The second characteristic of the principles of Dialectics will tell us.—This second characteristic is that they are such that the common opinion of men ratifies them.7 Now, as a consequence of their rigorous value, scientific truths have the property of receiving the approval of all those who know them. This is why, alongside many other statements of lesser intrinsic value, they too have their place in Dialectics.
Indeed, one must not believe that, merely because they are common principles, dialectical principles exclude precision and certainty. On the contrary, considered in themselves, they are precise, well-founded, and certain. Otherwise, how could they still serve as principles? All we mean is that, considered not in their intrinsic nature but, rather, in relation to a given question under consideration, they are not categorically decisive, as demonstrative reasons are, and that the answer they provide leaves room for an opposite opinion, which a scientific answer would not.8
And the reason for this, as can be concluded from the second of their characteristics, is that they limit their ambitions to what meets with the approval of men, even if the reasons for this are not scientific, even if they only very imperfectly resolve the question at hand. In a word, Dialectics seizes upon the vague terrain of probability, that of ἔνδοξα, disdained by the specific sciences, which pride themselves on their rigor and necessary reasoning. It sets about to use this probability, to arrange it, and make it produce all that it can, thereby annexing to the domain of truth an entire neglected province and, as it were, a borderland. Reduced to this extrinsic criterion of human approval, Dialectics performs science the double service of 1˚ anticipating and preparing for more decisive investigations and demonstrations and 2˚ extending glimmers of truth beyond the limits that science illuminates and into domains of knowledge that are often the most interesting for humanity. A frontier will always be disputed: let us be grateful to Dialectics for subjecting it, as far as it can be, to the human mind [esprit].
2˚ Secondly, the subject of Dialectics is determined by the kind of question it is called upon to resolve, or, what amounts to the same thing, by the kind of conclusion it can formulate. This question is that of quality. Indeed, among the four questions to which the human mind forever returns—an sit, quid sit, propter quid, quale sit—the first is presupposed by dialectics, as it is by Science. We can only ask questions if we have a subject to ask them about. If the existence of certain subjects is not given in our experience, if it raises a question, it furnishes an occasion for a preliminary a posteriori induction or demonstration, extending the testimony of the senses by the help of intellectual principles, until the scientific subject is given. However, this work is prior to the actual scientific knowledge concerning this object. What would be the disadvantage stating that Dialectics (whose means of conviction is opinion) provides the solution to the question an sit? To do so would be to expose ourselves to indefinite discussions on inconsequentials subjects, concerning about the life and times of chimeras.—On the other hand, the questions quid sit and propter quid, which can only be resolved through knowledge of the essences of things, are therefore the exclusive domain of science.—This leaves the question of quality, τό ὅτι , which is formulated as follows: Utrum tale praedicatum insit subjecto, whether a given predicate is in a subject. Since the first three problems do not belong to dialectics, the question of quality, or of the predicate, will, it seems, need to constitute the proper problem of considered by Dialectics.
Indeed, it is. I do not mean that Science cannot sometimes concern itself with it to a certain extent and from a specific point of view, but such concern is secondary to science. Allow me to explain. Knowledge of qualities—we would say today, in a slightly different sense, knowledge of phenomena9—is prior to knowledge of specific essences. It is the object of raw observation and direct [sense] intuition. From the composite datum formed by the representation of a ensemble of qualities we abstract, and thereafter form conclusions about, the forms or specific essences that answer the quid sit question and serve to resolve the propter quid. Now, undoubtedly, once the propter quid and the quid have been determined, we can strive to deduce from them certain qualities given in experience and intuition (for example the properties or specific groupings of accidental qualities) and if we succeed in this attempt, then, to the extent of this success and from this angle of necessary attribution, the question Utrum praedicatum insit subjecto, will belong to strictly scientific knowledge and its habitus. However, first of all, such deduction is impossible for a great majority of qualities, namely common accidents, which exist in a subject without having any essential connection with it. Secondly, even where essential qualities are concerned, rigorous deduction is not always guaranteed to succeed; it is prone to many errors of the sort that once led people to hold that whiteness is the defining characteristic of swans or, for that matter, not long ago had established the principle of absolute conservation of energy as though it were an untouchable dogma. Thus, you see just how narrow are the limits and how restrictive the conditions to which the resolution of the question of quality is subject within the purview of Science. And yet, where Science ceases, the question remains. Therefore, a post-scientific phase for this question will remain. Moreover, prior to the determination of essences—and therefore prior to scientific labor10—there is an entire period of trial and error, of the comparison of phenomena, of attempts (by means of analogy, induction, etc.) to connect phenomena together with each other and with the still-unknown essence they envelop.11 In fact, the most considerable portion of our knowledge still remains in this period of research. Now, the most general formula towards which this inquiry is directed is precisely the question concerning the predicate: an praedicatum subjecto insit. Unless we give up tackling certain problems, on the pretext that we cannot have scientific knowledge concerning them, we need to deal with the questions that science cannot resolve by using a non-scientific method, which nevertheless yields considerable results. Dialectics is just such a method. Therefore, even in scientific matters, at least at two points—before and after science—the question of quality arises and calls for the intervention of Dialectics.
And given that during the period of discovery that preceding scientific knowledge, the essential predicates themselves—genus, definition—have not yet manifested the necessary bond that attaches them to the subject, this bond will rightly be considered, during this period of inquiry, as being a bond having as little necessity as does a common quality, or factual property that has not been able to prove itself before the mind. And as a result, there will be four great dialectical questions corresponding to the four fundamental qualities: the question of genus, of definition, of property, and of accident, all to be resolved ex communibus, from common principles, et ex concessis ab opinione, from what is conceded by opinion.12
2. Elements of Theology.
Like Dialectics, Theology comprises two elements: its form, reasoning (which here again we name only for the record, being identical to the syllogism used in scientific knowledge); and its matter, which like the matter of Dialectics is determined 1˚ by the nature of its principles and 2˚ by the species of questions it is called upon to resolve.
1˚ The principles of theology are the articles of faith.13 Now, faith is a means of knowledge that does not rely (like the various specific sciences) upon the inner truth of things, on the quid and the propter quid. It regards all the truths within its domain as falling under one and the same rubric: God has revealed this. The articles of faith, as articles, do not belong to any specific science. In this sense, they are common principles. This characteristic was the first characteristic belonging to the principles of dialectics.—Moroever, and this is its second characteristic, the truth of faith is convincing only for those who have faith. A heretic does not assent to it. Therefore, the argument based on principles of faith proceeds, in a way, ex concessis. It is received only by the faithful, because of the approval their faith gives to the articles of faith. Thus, at the basis of theology, we find ourselves faced with the dialectical ἔνδοξον.
Here, reservations similar to those we registered concerning the two characteristics of dialectical principles are in order. First of all, the fact that the principles of theology are common principles should not lead us to conclude that they lack precision and intrinsic certainty. On the contrary, there is nothing more precise and certain in itself than a truth stated by a witness whose veracity is certain, and here in the domain of faith this is indeed the case. However, this does not prevent this truth from being known, as such, only by a common, banal means of proof, which applies indifferently to all species of truths (scientific, experiential, etc.) and, therefore, from serving as a common principle for subsequent knowledge, one that is extrinsic to the internal relationships of the terms of the conclusions that will be drawn from it.
Next, the fact that the approval of the faithful is the crux for the value of the principles of theology must not lead us to conclude that the principles of theology are probable in the manner of the principles of dialectics. For this approval is due to the absolute truthfulness of the divine testimony, which is not the case for the approval of opinion underpinning the value of dialectical principles. Nevertheless, the absolutely demanding nature the concession they call for [l’exigibilité absolue de leur concession] does not remove the principles of theology (which are such only insofar as they are received in us) from the rank of serving as valid principles ex concessis, given that the divine testimony that founds such knowledge does not provide evidential knowledge concerning their intimate content and that the act of faith is free. Rather, this particular case marks out the supreme degree and, as it were, absolute limit of the probative value that can be imparted to principles by the approval they meet with.
2˚ The matter of theology is determined by the questions it can resolve. Let us take, for example, the question Utrum gratia sit aliquid creatum, Is grace something created? The subject grace is given, the predicate is what is in question. The question posed is: quid sit? Can we, in theology, resolve it by demonstrating the intimate relationship between subject and predicate? Obviously not, for we do not know, through faith, the quiddity of divine grace; we only know what is revealed to us concerning it. Hence the only sense in which we can understand the question proposed is, ultimately, this: Utrum gratiam esse quid creatum sit revelatum, Has it been revealed that grace is something created? The same is the case for all theological questions. But this is a question of quality and of predicate. Revelation, whether formal or virtual, constitutes the attribute aimed at by all theological questions and the modality inherent in all solutions to them. Here again, we have an analogical coincidence with Dialectics.14
3. Comparison and solution.
In light of these explanations, we can remove the antinomy indicated out at the beginning of this section, namely, between the nature of the Topics and the nature of theology, between the probability that is the characteristic of the arguments of the former and the necessity that makes the latter a science.
Indeed, theology is not a science like any other. Its logical form is the same, but its principles differ: they are not derived from the analysis of the subject, like the principles of the sciences but, rather, are common and derive their probative value from the extrinsic criterion of consent—one that is, moreover, obligatory in nature—that they meet with. In this respect (the only one we are considering for the moment), they offer a structural analogy with what in dialectics are called probable principles: Probabilia sunt quae ut mox audita, approbantur, sive ab omnibus, sive a plurimis, sive a doctis; probable truths are those that, as soon as they are heard, are approved, either by all, or by many, or by the learned.
And that is enough for us to regard theology as being dialectical in nature, while retaining its absolute certainty as a science.
Dialectical probability does not exclude necessity; it abstracts from it.15 It may be the case, for example, that what causes the approval of its principles is, in certain cases, the evidence of an inner necessity connecting one term and another. For scientific knowledge, this inclusion will be what is essential and the resulting universal consent an accidental consequence; for the dialectician, the consent is what is essential, and the necessity accidental. For scientific knowledge, a necessary proposition is one that cannot be otherwise; for the dialectician, a probable proposition is one that is accepted by a certain number of minds, whether or not it can be otherwise. The same differences apply to arguments flowing from principles. In science, the truth of a conclusion drawn from necessary principles is itself necessary; in dialectics, reasoning from probable principles, whether or not they are necessary in themselves, we will never draw anything more than a probable conclusion, even if it is a necessary one. Thus, we can see that, in Dialectics, absolute certainty can be reconciled very well with probability, in the classical sense of the word,16 of principles and conclusions.
Now, this absolute certainty is precisely what theology is entitled to claim for its principles. In order for it to have such certainty, it suffices that what in natural dialectics is a kind of upper limit for probability, at times taking place but indifferent to its [formal and essential] aims [precisely as dialectics], is guaranteed. And this is indeed the case whenever the word of the absolutely truthful God testifies directly or through infallible intermediaries on behalf of its principles. And if, in certain cases, this word reaches us through less certain intermediaries, then the principles of theology will follow the fate of these intermediaries, and, like dialectical principles, will open the door to an opposed opinion.17 Credibilia are therefore analogous to the probabilia of dialectics, except for their certainty, which is de iure absolute.
And there is no need to say that given that this to which God testifies is necessarily true, therefore the truths of faith are necessary principles. For if it is necessary that this to which God testifies be true, it does not follow that it be true as a necessary truth; on the contrary, the presence of a testimony, rather than the [mutual] inclusion of terms, being the reason for its truth, marks with clear evidence that this truth belongs to the genre of the probable as we have defined it.18 To the objection posed in scholastic language, “What God has said is necessarily true,” we would reply by denying that it is necessarily a necessary truth, though we would concede that it is necessarily true with probable or credible certainty (Quod Deus dixit, necessario verum est —necessarium verum, nego, necessario verum, probabiliter seu credibiliter, concedo).19
II. Overview of Aristotle's Topics
As said above,20 the general problem of Dialectics consists in investigating whether a predicate belongs to a given subject. Its general means of resolution lies in the use of common and probable principles.21 We will take this as something given.
Since we propose to describe theological methodology in terms of the dialectical methods,22 we must now specify and bring the discipline we have just characterized by its two extremes to the point where it can be used by the theological dialectician. To this end, we must, on the one hand, tighten the terms of the dialectical problem, so as to divide it into specific questions, calling for specific principles for resolution, and on the other hand, we must determine these principles themselves, precisely and in relation to the questions at hand. Aristotle devotes most of Book 1 of his Topics to this dual task. The following books, 2 to 7, contain the rationally analyzed nomenclature for the principles thus discovered, which he calls dialectical “places” topoi.
We believe it will not be a useless endeavor to provide an overview of the various stages of dialectical methodology, based on Aristotle’s definitive analysis. This comprises, in essence, three parts: the division of questions, the notion of a dialectical locus, the theory of instruments for discovering dialectical loci.
1. The division of dialectical questions.
According23 to the well-known maxim, a well-posed question is already half-resolved. This is why Aristotle decided place a more precise determination of the general problem of dialectics before his discussion of the apparatus of the means of solution and their instruments of discovery.
There are four ways for a predicate belong to a given subject and hence four special dialectical questions: 1˚ The predicate belongs to the essence of the subject but extends beyond it. Consider, for example, the predicate animal and the subject man. Animality belongs to the essence of humanity, but it does not constitute all of that essence: it extends beyond it. Thus we have a classification for the question, “Is man an animal?” It belongs to the problem of genus, for a genus, by definition, belongs to the essence of the subject it characterizes, while being broader in extension.—2° The predicate can be of the essence of the subject and constitute the whole of that essence. For this reason, it cannot be used for any other subject. For example, consider the predicate rational animal in relation to the subject man. Thus, we have a second, specifically distinct problem, the problem of definition.—3˚ The predicate may longer belong to the essence of the subject, but it is so related to it that it cannot be attributed to another subject. For example, consider the subject man, and the predicate to smile. Beasts don’t smile; among animals, man alone smiles, for he alone has an intellect that manifests itself in smiling. The predicate, however extrinsic it may be to the essence of the subject, here has a necessary relation to it. Hence a third problem, that of property. 4˚ Finally, the predicate is neither of the essence of the subject, nor connected to it by a necessary relation. For example: man and white. This fourth problem is that having accident as its object.
Aristotle demonstrates, both inductively and deductively, that these four problems exhaust the modes by which a predicate can belong to a subject. His commentators justified his failure to set up special problems for species and difference by pointing out that, in their topical use, these terms have the same characteristics as genus.24 We do not need to insist upon this point. It is not our intention to set out Aristotle’s Topics in their entirety, nor, above all, to justify them.25 Rather, we only wish to explain the role and scope of each stage of his dialectical method, in order to compare it the methods of theology.26
The division of the general problem addressed in dialectics into four specific problems has, as its immediate counterpart, the a priori division of its principles of resolution into four general heads or titles of argumentation, which Aristotle referred to using word that we must now explain, the places (topoi, loci) of genus, definition, property, and accident.
II. - The notion of the dialectical locus.
It’s not difficult to work out what Aristotle means by a dialectical locus. Here, facts speak louder than theory. The facts are represented by the six books of the Topics, from the 2nd to the 7th, where Aristotle has meticulously inventoried and justified, in sequence according to their four general titles, all the possible principles for resolving the four dialectical problems. What do we find? Quite simply: probable propositions, more or less general, all ready to be used as premises in dialectical syllogisms, able to serve as major premises since they are general, and also as minor premises when the question lends itself to a certain generality of solution, or when, in the absence of a suitable specific minor premise, we must content ourselves with a very general answer, which is not beyond the note of a doctrine of probability. Allow us to quote him at random. Here are the first loci of genus: If a supposed genus cannot be attributed to a species or to an individual of that species, then it is not in reality a genus.—The predicate that does not essentially belong to all the subjects to which it can be attributed cannot be their genus.—The predicate to which the definition of an accident belongs is not the genus of the subject of that accident. And so on. It is therefore clear that, for Aristotle, the nomenclature used for dialectical loci is nothing more than a detailed list of general propositions.
In support of this statement, it will not be lacking in use to add that of the Philosopher’s Rhetoric. In point of fact, the rhetorician’s means of conviction are not all logical. He uses ornaments, oratory mores, and many other devices. Nonetheless, given that the rhetorician is speaking to intellects, he needs a ready supply of arguments to persuade them. What better resource for this purpose than dialectical premises, which, by their probability, can be supposed to enjoy the common approval of those who hear them, and, by their generality, are apt to serve instantly as the starting point for all kinds of arguments? Thus, every complete rhetoric contains a simplified topics, which, without claiming to methodically exhaust (like the dialectical Topics) all the possible ways a predicate is likely to belong to a subject, nonetheless enumerates the main ones, those whose use is most frequent and best serves the rhetorician’s purpose. Aristotle inventoried these topical logic in his Rhetoric, and here again we come across propositions.27 But in his Rhetoric, he didn't just list them, he expressly defined the Topos, which he had not done in his Topics, and thanks to the affinity of the two doctrines, the notion of a dialectical locus suggested to us by the facts is here clarified and confirmed. “Let us now speak,” he says, “about the elements of enthymemes;28 by element and locus of enthymeme I mean one and the same thing.”29 Now, the elements of a syllogism are, according to his current conception, the propositions of which the syllogism is composed.30 Moreover, he explicitly remarks a few lines later: “We have set forth the loci almost completely, since, on each subject, propositions have been chosen, and thus, we are completely ready to indicate the loci from which we shall draw arguments about good and evil, about the honest and the shameful31 etc.”
Thus, there can be no doubt about it. For Aristotle, dialectical loci are probable and general propositions. But why call them “Places”? This is why: by virtue of their character of probability, due to the fact that they derive from a banal means of conviction, common consent, these propositions do not belong by rights to any specialized branch of knowledge but, instead, can be applied to all or to several of them. Moreover, in virtue of the generality of their terms, they constitute universal principles that hover above the principles proper to each science. These two combined characteristics predestine each of our general propositions to serve as a major for several arguments, which will find therein, as it were, their natural place, the one where we will be sure, for example, if we seek to solve a dialectical problem likely to be resolved by a definition, to encounter all the approved principles that govern the matter of definition. As is clear, the metaphor holds up very well. Here is an example to illustrate when we do or do not have what is called topicality. Consider this proposition: Si contrario contrarium inest, et contrarium contrario [if some A1 that is contrary to A2 (per se) inheres in some thing B1 which is contrary to B2, then A2 inheres in B2). Then, we can subsume, in a moral matter: sed bonum juvat, but the good is helpful. And, thus, we conclude: ergo malum nocet, therefore, the evil is harmful. Or, in a logical matter, we could subsume: sed affirmatio est causa affirmationis, but an affirmation is a cause of affirmation. And thus we would conclude: ergo negatio est causa negationis, therefore, a negation is a cause of denial. Etc.32
III. - Instruments for discovering dialectical places.
In order to move from the four general titles of the principles of dialectical argumentation, given by the division of questions, to the multitude of propositions that fill them, Aristotle formulates certain general rules which he calls “The instruments apt to provide us with syllogisms and inductions.”33
These instruments are four in number: examination of propositions, distinction of ambiguities, compiling of differences, examination of similarities.
Ultimately, there is really only one instrument involved in the discovery of loci: the examination of propositions. The last three instruments, as Aristotle himself indicates, are auxiliary rather than separate. They work on the background data provided by the first instrument and, by such concurrence, lead to a more judicious and integral choice of loci.34
However, precisely because the first instrument plays this special role of providing the basic material for the dialectical loci, it is explicated in several specific rules that Aristotle enumerates in the twelfth chapter of the first book of the Topics.35 Here are some extracts: We must gather all probable propositions, approved precisely as such, either by the multitude, by the learned, or by a single authoritative sage.—At the same time, we must note the propositions that are contrary to the former and those that are analogous to them.—One’s investigation will need to extend to written documents, take heed of history, and draw from the various sciences, at times drawing propositions from morality and at others from physics or logic. The only criterion for this first choice, even in necessary matters, is the probability of the propositions, since this is what distinguishes dialectics from philosophy, whose norm is the truth of things in itself.—We must gather propositions that are as universal as possible, without neglecting to push their division to the extreme limits (where they become particular), so as to be able to make several from one, and vice versa.—This last precept already involves the other instruments.
The second instrument, the distinction of ambiguities, τῶν πολλαχῶς λεγόμενῶν, is intended to multiply dialectical loci within a proposition already judged to be probable, but whose terms are equivocal. A first rule for declaring ambiguity is to use oppositions. Indeed, if several terms are opposed the term that serves as the predicate of a probable proposition, this is a sign that the latter is ambiguous and that several propositions can be derived from the proposition that contains it. Take, for example, the term sharp.36 In music, its opposite is the term flat, in weaponry dull, in medicine, chronic, and so forth—giving rise to as many propositions. To clarify this point, Aristotle reviews all the different kinds of oppositions: the contrary, the contradictory, and the privative. For each of them, he provides rules for enabling one to draw fruit from a probable proposition through opposition.—Another rule is to relate terms to the categories. The term good, for example, has a different meaning depending on whether it is applied to food, medicine, morality, the time when, or quantity.—Other rules are taken from non-subalternated intermediate genera and their differences. For all these details, I refer you to Aristotle37 and, for those who critique the subtlety that one is tempted to engage in here, to San-Severino, who happily takes on the responsibility of responding.38
Now we come to the gathering of differences. Preference should be given to terms that differ only slightly.—Differences should be sought within genera.—On the other hand, similarities should preferably be sought in different genera, especially in those that are farthest apart, without, however, neglecting similarities within the same genre…
Once again, we won’t insist on the details, for our sole aim is to show the reader that, in Aristotle’s mind, these instruments are indeed rules of discovery, of inventio, which in dialectic play an intermediary role, namely, to pass from the general titles of argumentation to propositions that are immediately capable of being adapted to any aspect of questions to which these general titles correspond.39
4. Conclusion: Dialectical loci, properly so called, and common loci.40
One consequence of the Aristotelian theory of loci is the distinction of two kinds of general propositions, capable of entering into arguments that respond to dialectical questions. When we took up this theory, the only data available to us consisted of the four major general titles that a priori differentiate dialectical loci: Genus, Definition, Property, and Accident.
Now, very importantly, these four major differential characteristics can themselves be formulated into general propositions. All we need to do is spell out the relationship that each of their essences is apt to develop in relation to the subjects whose predicates are what the fundamental dialectical problem seeks to investigate. For example, we might formulate the fundamental property of definition in relation to the subject defined by it and thereby come up with this proposition, which is obvious for anyone who knows what a definition is: The definiendum and the definiens, the defined and the definition, are equivalent; or, if one prefers Ciceronian circumlocutions: a definition is made use of in order to, as it were, unfold what is folded up regarding the matter in question.41 There can be no doubt, and rhetoricians were well aware of the fact, that despite its great generality, this proposition cannot, as it stands, serve as the basis for the resolution of a large number of dialectical questions. By subjecting the four differential characteristics to this same operation, we will be in possession of four supreme (maximi) loci, which through their evidence will redeem what they lack in immediate adaptability to the specific modalities of the questions.
But these supreme Loci will in turn be divided, thanks to the Dialectical Instruments, whose role is to multiply the Loci.42 Boethius puts it this way: Argumenti enim sedes partim propositio maxima intelligi potest, partim maximae propositionis differentia; the locus of an argument can be understood partly as a supreme [or maximally general?] proposition, and partly as the distinction of a supreme [or maximally general?] proposition.43 To discover these differences, we need only analyze the differential characteristics latent in each of our general predicates. And, if we wish to proceed in an orderly fashion, leaving nothing out, we will begin with those that relate to the very essence of the four predicates, then continuing with those that are taken from their specific differences, their properties, their necessary consequences, their opposites, and their accidents.
Let us apply this procedure to the supreme locus of definition. The definiendum and the definition are equal to each other. From this, Aristotle draws the following three propositions: 1˚ what is not fitting to the definition of the Subject is not fitting to the Subject itself; 2˚ if the definition of a predicate is not fitting to the Subject, then the predicate is not fitting to it either; 3˚ if the definition of a predicate is not fitting to the definition of the Subject, then the predicate in turn is not fitting to the Subject.44 The crux of these three propositions—and one need only quickly reread them so as to see how obvious this is—is the identity of the definiendum and the Definition, and thus, the very locus of Definition in all its universality. But how much more explicit is their content, and how much closer they are to the question at hand! How much more directly does it engage the answer sought. And it’s worth saying again: how common the first was, and how topical this one is!45 There are numerous examples by which this division can be pushed even further, until we come to, in Averroes words, the particular loci of each of the sought-after universal loci, loca particularia uniuscujusque quaesiti locorum universalium. The result is a series of quaesiti locorum universalium. The result is a series of propositions, in a graduated, descending scale of universality. There are supreme dialectical loci, intermediate or major dialectical loci, and dialectical loci properly speaking (or “specific” dialectical loci). This division is analogous to the division we draw, in Logic, between Genres and Species, distinguishing between a supreme Genera (which are only genus), a specific Species (which re only a species), and intermediate essences (which are at once, and from different perspectives, genus and species, depending on whether they look toward the species that follow upon them or the genera that precede them). However, in dialectics, there are usually only two members: common loci, which include the first two, and topical loci, which are, strictly speaking, dialectical loci. This distinction is of the utmost importance for the understanding of theological loci, which is continually in the back of our mind in our investigations here. Thus, despite the developments that we have already engaged in this quite brief summary of Aristotle’s theory of dialectical loci, we must register two further remarks.
The first concerns a conception of the dialectical locus in use among rhetoricians, based on a confusion between common and specific loci. Here are the fundamental texts by Cicero that define it:
1˚ Therefore, just as the discovery of things that are hidden is made easier by demonstrating and marking out the place, so, when we wish to thoroughly investigate some argument, we must know the loci. For, this is what Aristotle has spoken of, as though they were seats, from which arguments might thereby be advanced. Thus, it is permissible to define a locus as the seat of an argument, and an argument as a reason that establishes belief in a doubtful matter.46
2˚ Therefore, by means of these loci we have set forth for finding any argument, a meaning and demonstration are given, as if from given elements (tanquam elementis quibusdam).47
3˚ Likewise, he handed what he called loci as if they were the marks (notas) of arguments, from which all discourse could be drawn toward one side [of a matter] or the other.48
As San-Severino excellently notes, none of these explanations add nything new: they merely substitute different metaphors for the metaphor of locus—i.e., sedes argumenti, notas—which do not add anything to the teaching.49 But there is a more serious matter that we must note. Upon perusing the lists of loci provided in the works just cited and in the Partitions oratoires,50 we can see that, for Cicero, the dialectical loci did not represent general propositions but, rather, simple terms—e.g., the words Definition, Genre—which serve as differential characteristics of the propositions that, alone, for Aristotle, constitute the loci. Moreover, he has taken only the most general of these characteristics, namely those that serve as the point of attachment to Aristotle’s common loci, and has intermingled them with terms that in Aristotle pertained to Instruments, for example, difference and resemblance. There can be no doubt that, in Cicero’s mind, dialectical loci are nothing more than signposts—argumentorum notas, as he calls them—that mark out, like a kind of signet, nota, the place (endroit) where arguments are to be found. When a question is asked, the orator will glance through the series of these quasi-mneumonical means, stopping at the one that can meet the question at hand. If it’s Definition, for example, he immediately states the principle, the definiendum and the definition are equal to each other, and applies it to the subject.
It is not difficult to appreciate the kind of art to which such a notion of locus belongs. Here, in Cicero, we find ourselves in the midst of a rhetorical process; the loci are no more than a simplified, manageable recipe for orators. They are places where they can find arguments, “as one seeks species of fish in sandy river beds and others in rocky ones,” as the excellent Quintilian will dolorously insist.51 These are loca argumentorum, but they are no longer what San Severino so aptly calls loca argumentationis, the word “argumentation” here designating, according to the very force of the term, an argument in act, in exercise, alive, in the process of being formulated: major, minor, conclusion. As we discuss the theological matters in what follow, we will need to return to this first remark, for Melchior Cano, who was nevertheless well acquainted with Aristotle’s Dialectic, nonetheless drew his definition of his Loci from Cicero.
The second point that wish to note concerns the use of common loci in dialectics. Whereas specific dialectical loci always enter into our reasoning, explicitly and as premises, common loci do not always enter in this way. They are sometimes implicit. They direct our argumentation from the outside, from above, and without interfering with its content, giving it strength and stability. This is what Averroes translates when he says, following Themistius, if the loci are essentially the premises of syllogisms, they are not always found there secundum se, but sometimes sua sententia et potestate, with their power and in the meaning of the sentential-judgment contained therein.52 If, for example, we wish to show that the wise man is not envious, we would say:
The envious person grieves over the happiness of others;
He who grieves for the happiness of others is not wise;
Therefore, the wise man is not envious.53
This argumentation is based on the general proposition that different definitions involve different essences, which does not enter into the syllogism, even though it is the main nerve of the reasoning. This proposition is one of the central [majeur] loci of Definition. We can thus see that loci can be implied, especially when they are self-evident, which is the case of the most general and common loci—commonplaces—which are the privileged beneficiaries of this mode of use. This remark will have very important consequences for understanding of Theological Loci.
* * *
Our logical investigation is now complete. It is time that we, in accordance with the intention announced at the beginning of this study, set forth the theory of Theological Loci, alongside that of Dialectical Loci, which we will do by successively going over the three moments in the Aristotelian theory: Questions, Instruments, Loci.54
I would like to thank Matthew Levering for getting me the scan of this original text, La notion du Lieu théologique (Paris: Gabalda, 1908), a number of years ago. Although, as will be clear in some translator, notes below, I don’t always agree with certain things that Fr. Gardeil states, I think that this text is nonetheless a very important introduction to the issues surrounding the Tractatus de locis theologicis, which is sorely in need of renewal. I will soon be translating Doronzo’s work on this topic for an Academic press. However, from the perspective of “thinking through the data at hand,” I believe that Gardeil should be consulted by everybody, even if we need to begin by allowing some of the questions raised in the text to be open. Nonetheless, given that nobody is engaging with this topic, we need a master to teach us, and I find that Gardeil’s speculative honesty and depth always leaves me illuminated.
I have, of course, taken time to review this translation. However, on To Be a Thomist, these sorts of translations have not benefitted from the extended translation copy-editing process offered by presses. For this reason, I also make available here the original text of Gardeil, which is in the public domain. Also, I would like to thank Mr. Mitchell Kengor for his careful assistance preprocessing the PDF file for translation.↩︎
See Constantine von Schäzler, Introductio in S. Theologiam, c. 3, § praevia informatio, a. 2, n. 4.↩︎
See Melchior Cano, De Locis, bk. 12, c. 3, § Divus Thomas mihi et auctor et magister fuit hujus operis componendi.↩︎
ST I, q. 1, a. 2.↩︎
Gaetano San Severino, Philosophia Christiana cum antiqua et nova comparata (Naples: 1878), vol. 3 Logicae, pt. 2, c. 2, a. 10, De generibus argumentationum dialecticarum (p. 315–332).↩︎
See Cassiodorus, De artibus ac discipl. liberalium artium, c. 3, § De Dialecticis locis (PL, 70, col. 1177ff).↩︎
Translator’s note: See Fr. Gardeil’s study of Probable Certainty, also available on To Be a Thomist.↩︎
We use the term scientific for knowledge that is certain, self-evident, and explanatory concerning things. Therefore, we are not here using this term in the inadequate sense given to it by modern scientific theories.↩︎
The difference is that, for the moderns, knowledge of phenomena concerns only the phenomenal fact; for the ancients, it included, in addition, the spontaneous intuition of the quiddity of phenomena by the intellect.↩︎
Translator’s note: I will note here, however, that I sometimes wonder how often such activity is, also, under the sway of science, for the ultimate terminus is still demonstration, which guides this inventio. Thus, dialectics is instrumentalized by science. (At some points in his articles on Probable Certainty, Gardeil seems to recognize this.) Pure dialectics would be completely infra-scientific in its finality (at least formally and intrinsically). This is, of course, an immensely important domain of noetic activity, comprising an important (though non-exhaustive) domain of the “common sense” cognition.↩︎
A typical example of this pre-scientific phase can be found in bk. 1 of Aristotle’s De Anima.↩︎
Translator’s note: In particular, extrinsic probability will play an important role, as Gardeil shows in the first part of his article on Probable Certainty.↩︎
See ST I, q. 1, a. 8c.↩︎
Translator’s note: Here, it is useful to consider a text taken from Fr. Michel Labourdette, from private correspondence exchanged with Maritain and Journet in response to the latter’s introduction to theology (published in English as The Wisdom of Faith). I will remark on this correspondence again in a note below. However, on the point made by Gardeil here, it is useful to note the reticence expressed by Labourdette in Charles Journet et Jacques Maritain, Correspondance, vol. 3 (1940–1949) (Fribourg / Paris: Éditions Saint-Augustine / Parole et Silence, 1998), 824:
Throughout all of its scientific labors, theology is a science of reality. By this, I mean that it is not in its essence an exegesis of texts, nor a kind of grammar, nor a logic, nor a “dialectic” consisting in “homogenizing” a proposition (a formula) in relation to revealed formulas so that it might thereby receive the epithet of being “virtually revealed.” Rather, theology’s ambition is to assimilate itself to the divine science, to which, through the intermediary of faith, it is subalternated; it looks to present to the mind (in a human mode) the very same thing that God Himself knows about Himself and about creatures, concerning which He has made His revelation to us. Therefore, it is false to describe theology, as did Fr. Gardeil in his “Notion du lieu théologique”—though, thanks be to God, he himself practiced theology in a completely different way than this—as being a science of the “qualis sit,” the precise end of which would be to make conclusions participate in the common epithet revealed (whether formally or virtually). By contrast, I say that theology is a science of reality because it absolutely has the ambition to not stop at the qualifications that must be given to formulas, at the “qualis,” but to represent to itself, in the perfect mode of scientific knowledge (through a process of explication), what the things revealed by God are in themselves: quid sit. Certainly, this will always take place with faith, and by means of superanalogy, but this is its end. Is subject (it is not useless here for us to distinguish clearly between subject and object) is not the revealed (i.e., the host of formulas guaranteed by revelation); no, it is God (and, on account of Him [in His mystery], secondarily his works and their history) as revealed, such as He has revealed Himself, such as we can know Him through revelation.
For the complete correspondence, see ibid., 811–861.
Admittedly, I join Labourdette in findinging Gardeil’s remarks here somewhat strange and, if pushed to their limit, of such a character as to reduce theological science to theological dialectics. (Some have gone so far, while believing themselves to be his heir.) However, while working on this translation, I could not help but think that Gardeil’s focus is so primarily upon what would fall to positive theology that he slightly overemphasizes the nonetheless-important aspects of dialectical logic that are part of the unique structure of theological science, due to the non-evidential but supernaturally certain character of our knowledge of faith (let alone the cases of reduced certainty involved in “non-apodictic” loci). This sensitivity to topical logic, mutatis mutandis, operative in the domain of supernatural science is very important. And Gardeil openly recognizes also the role of scientific demonstration propter quid as part of scientific knowledge qua scientific. But, he is so concerned with addressing the nature of our knowledge of its principles (and the analysis thereof by way of topical logic) that he perhaps allowed the propter quid to fall into the background. And, admittedly, in the formal meaning of his words here, there is an inflection in the direction that concerned Labourdette. I suppose that it is no surprise that someone like Marie-Dominique Chenu would see in Gardeil someone who would valorize positive theology in the way that Chenu wished for Thomistic theology to be altered. But, as Labourdette also notes, Gardeil did not practice theology as though it only asked such a question qualis sit; thus, perhaps (and I leave it an open matter here), Gardeil himself is not totally self-consistent concerning this matter. But, Labourdette is not wrong to note the dual minimization involved here: both pertaining to what we do in fact know (if imperfectly) through faith and what theology aims to know scientifically
In the next footnote, I will remark on the role that is played by the border case of an opinion which is, in fact, the ultimate disposition to full and certain belief. In natural knowledge, this marks the border case in which dialectics reaches utter certainty in its conclusion, which itself also is indeed deserving of scientifically certain assent (or the assent of first principles definitively grasped), but which requires for such assent the light of scientific deduction (or, intellectual insight if it is a question of first principles). In the supernatural case of faith, this certainty comes only under the action of grace illuminating the intellect and moving the will to assent. There remains something of the logic of opinion involved in such assent—for it is a truth by way of (Triune-Divine) attestation (and subjective elevation, granted)—but because of the unique character of this assent and its intrinsically unshakable certainty, it has what suffices for science as well (which requires certainty, with evidence belonging to its perfection not its essence, as John of St. Thomas ably notes in the Cursus theologicus). But for as long as theology is not in the native state—the vision of God, where attestation will pass over into evidence—its procedures will necessarily be marked by a kind of supernaturalized-dialectical necessity to address the question qualis sit revelatum as part of its positive-theological procedure of distinguishing the various loci theologici. The mistake will consist in reducing the whole of theology to this task. It is odd that Gardeil (who in too many other works functions in a truly scientific manner) would make such a claim without explicit and immediate qualification. Either he so took for granted the scientific labors of theology that he did not see the danger of such words or, perhaps, this is one of those cases where the epithet holds true: “Even Homer nods…”
These remarks are only meant to be my reflections as I work on this text. On all points, Labourdette and Gardeil cannot be brought into agreement, and yet I think that there is interesting work to be done by generously attempting to consider the ways they might be brought into general agreement, sensitive to the differences, though. Almost certainly in the background here, also, are the critique of Gardeil registered by Marie-Rosaire Gagnebet in “Un essai sur le problème théologique,” Revue thomiste 39 (1939): 108–145. I I would like to thank Dom Robert Nesbit, O.S.B. for reminding me of this essay’s connection to Gareil (and not only Charlier). I look forward to reading a thesis that Dom Nesbit is working on as I compose this draft translation.↩︎
Translator’s note: See, in the aforementioned articles on probable certainty, Gardeil’s discussion concerning the way that probably certain truths, at the limit point of reaching scientific certainty (in the natural order), are like the ultimate disposition to full and certain assent. (The ultimate disposition remains as something properly belonging to that which undergoes substantial change.)↩︎
Translator’s note: The French is “primitif.” I believe that he has in mind, however, the contrast that he makes at length in his series of articles on probable certainty, where a clear contrast with later-modern (post-probabilist-controversy) accounts of probability, which differed significantly and essentially from the sense strictly found in the earlier Thomistic and Aristotelian tradition.↩︎
Translator’s note: It is very important to realize, however, that Gardeil is not using opinion in the sense of later modern scholastic logic, as found in the casuistry of moral probabilism. As he shows in the articles on probable certainty, probability really and truly involves an assent that the opinion is more probable and, hence, removes probability strictly so called from the opposed “opinion”, which does not have the “probabiliority” which is the property of opinion, classically understood.↩︎
Translator’s note: This remark is important not only for the immediate point that Gardeil is making here concerning the relationship between science and dialectics in the formality of acquired theological scientific-wisdom. It is also important regarding the many factual details of salvation history that make up theological science’s data, which even if not “essential necessities” are utterly certain precisely because they are revealed and are in continuity with God’s science of vision. Without agreeing with every point in the essay, I here cite a work by Fr. Guy Mansini which is probing at this issue (with important references to the Thomistic tradition), “Are the Principles of Theology Per Se Nota,” The Thomist 74, no. 3 (July 2010): 407–435. Related to this matter (and of utter importance), the reader should consult the aforementioned Maritain-Journet correspondence. Along-side other issues raised by Journet’s introduction to Theology (which on many points Labourdette praises), Labourdette notes his concern regarding a theory of speculative theology which would merely be a “theology of essences”, something he believes Journet has likely inherited from the problematic theory of theological science found in the works of Francisco Marín-Sola (in relation to so-called “metaphysical deduction,” which also led Marín-Sola to problematic positions regarding the development of dogma). It is understandable why Journet also thinks that he is only representing Thomists like Garrigou-Lagrange, Billuart, Cajetan, and others. Whether or not he is correct in claiming this point is another matter, however, given that critical elements of Labourdette’s important response can be found, at least partially, for example, in Garrigou-Lagrange.
Ultimately, Labourdette believes that some element from Cano is actually causing the problems noted below in the citation.) Labourdette’s concerns, in any case, are important enough to merit citation here. See Labourdette, in Correspondance Maritain-Journet, vol. 3, 818–821:
↩︎In my opinion, he [Journet] just as much misunderstands speculative theology, making it out to be a doctrinal theology ‘of essences,’ of essential connections. This is an idea he has inherited from Fr. Marín-Sola, though one that I believe is very false….
[Then later in response to this particular question:] For my part, I believe that this is not exact: the objective necessity that theological science meets with, upon which it rests as upon as an unbreakable form of knowledges is absolutely not that of metaphysical inclusions and essential connections. Certainly, the grasping of such inclusions is used, just as are philosophical knowledge and its manners of argumentation, but this is instrumental and remains partial. The objective necessity that theological knowledge meets with and upon which it rests is the necessity of the divine science, which it is in continuity with through faith, that is to say, essentially the science that God has of himself and of creatures, which does not remain a science of pure possibles but, rather, is had in [His] science of vision. The free dispositions of God that constitute the providential economy of salvation, beginning with the decree of the Redemptive Incarnation, cannot be deduced with any metaphysical or essential necessity, not only because we cannot ourselves attain [such truths by our own powers] but because there is no such necessity therein. But, when we are put into connection with such truths through faith, in such a way as the science of vision knows them, they offer to theological knowledge an objective necessity that is as firm and solid as the metaphysical implications of essences. And there, even where there are metaphysical implications, theology nonetheless surpasses them so as to connect to the very certitude of the divine science.
In every theological consideration this is the level upon which the ultimate terminus of resolution and explication is situated. It is not true to say that the object of speculative theology would be ‘the universe of essences,’ even inasmuch as revelation does enable us to know them; and it is not upon this type of knowledge that a doctrinal treatise belonging to the most speculative of theologies is constructed. This doctrinal treatise reaches its object beyond essential necessities, beyond factual data that have their necessity only from the perspective of the divine science; it so much so includes them that, very often, the supremely explanatory notion of a given treatise (the “quasi-definition” of the subject, if one speaks in the terms of scholastic logic, without forgetting however that we are transposing this to a level where “science” is completely different) encompasses these factual data. The supremely explanatory notion, the “cause,” the terminus for resolution, in the treatise on Christ, is not the “essential” constitution of a God-Man in relation to what one could metaphysically deduce therefrom; it is the revealed notion of a Savior God-Man. The final cause connected back to by theological explanation is a free disposition by God which could quite well have been different (in itself, the Scotist hypothesis is not absurd). And this datum, which could have been different, but which, in connection with the science of vision, presents an absolute objective necessity, is not a heterogeneous datum within theological explication, upon which datum doctrinal theology, closed within the universe of essences, would have no grasp; no, it is part of the objective light for the treatise on Christ. Moreover, the other elements of this quasi-definition reach the same level of participation in the divine science which is not replaced by (but, in fact is superordinate to) the grasping of metaphysical implications by our reason instrumentally utilized [here in theology].
I could provide other examples than those given by Journet. I will add only one, however: a treatise on the Blessed Virgin will not find its ultimate resolution in the idea of a Mother of God grasped in its metaphysical implications but, rather, in the idea through which, thanks to revelation, we connect back to the divine plan, for example: a worthy Mother of God (were we only concerned with essences, Christ could be born of a normal marriage, of a sinful woman, etc….) associated with the work of her Son (here too the divine plan could have been different). This notion, to which theological science’s explanatory effort definitively leads is not a metaphysically simple notion. Gathers a number of data that, in themselves, are contingent. They have a lofty fittingness, but they do not envelop a true metaphysical necessity. Nonetheless, it can be a terminus for absolutely firm scientific resolution because it participates in the objective necessity of the science of vision.
Cf. Ambroise Gardeil, La Crédibilité et l'Apologétique, 1st edition (Paris: Lecoffre, 1908), 86–91. Trans. note: Because Gardeil revisited this work several years later, the reader should also consult the 2nd edition.↩︎
See “Secondly, the subject of Dialectics is determined by the kind of question it is called upon to resolve…” above.↩︎
See “The first characteristic of the principles of Dialectics is that they are common principles…” above.↩︎
Translator’s note: See the discussions from Labourdette above.↩︎
See Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 3–6.↩︎
San Severino, Logica, pt. 2, ch. 2, a. 1 (p. 190).↩︎
For this justification, I refer you to San Severino's remarkable presentation.↩︎
Could we not, in turn, further specify the four fundamental dialectical problems, and, by delimiting their terms more closely, make it easier to identify their principles of solution? Aristotle seems to allow us to do this, at least as far as the problems of definition and property are concerned. The first, as he sees it, is posed in five ways, which make them all sub-problems of Definition:
1° Is the definition suitable for all the subjects contained under the defined reality?
2° Is the Genus rightly used for the definition?
3° Is the proper definition of a thing by its property convertible with the defined subject?
4° How can we recognize whether a given definition is good?
5° How can we recognize whether there is a definition?
This fifth sub-problem is itself divided into two questions:
1° Is the definition formed using elements that are primary in themselves and more known by us? [sic]
2° Does the definition proceed from its true elements (genus and difference)?
We will not here insist on these details, which are unnecessary for our purpose.
The problem of Property has two modalities, depending on whether we are asking: 1° if the property of a subject has been properly determined, or 2° if a given property is actually the property of the subject in question.
But all these determinations, though of use, lack the a priori character of the fundamental problems to which they relate. The first three were suggested by the connection between the problem of Definition and the other three, of which they are aspects. For their resolution, Aristotle refers respectively to the problems of Accident, Genus and Property. Moreover, the first of our sub-problems alone addresses the dialectical question, which is concerned with how a predicate is related to a subject, but it does so in an accidental way, taking the subject not formally, but materially (i.e. on the side of the individuals that integrally compose this subject). Hence, it has reference to the question of accident. As for the other two, they do not deal with the aforementioned dialectical question (any more than does the fourth concerning Definition and the first concerning Property), but rather, investigate a preliminary question, concerning only the predicate and in no way the relation of the predicate to the subject. You need only to reread them to be convinced of this. Therefore, we’re here dealing with four questions presupposed by our own and, therefore, extrinsic. Two sub-problems remain: the 5th of Definition and the 2nd of Property, which coincide with the two problems of the same name.
Moreover, in Aristotle, the other two problems—namely, that of genus and accident—have no subdivisions as questions. Their subdivisions are to be found in the answers given to them and will be established by considerations drawn from the matter of the subject and predicate, by utilizing what Aristotle calls dialectical instruments. Therefore, a priori, there are only four formally distinct dialectical questions.↩︎
Aristotle, Rhetoric, bk. 2, ch. 23 [sic] (ed. Didot, vol. 1, p. 275)↩︎
The enthymeme is the rhetorician’s syllogism.↩︎
Aristotle, Rhetoric, bk. 2, ch. 122 [sic], § 13. (Didot, p. 374, 375)↩︎
San Severino, Logica, pt. 2, c. 2, a. 9 (p. 287). San Severino cites a passage from the Metaphysics in support of his thesis, but he seems to have deluded himself as to its meaning and significance in relation to his thesis, as can be seen from the explanation of this passage in St. Thomas’s commentary on Metaphysics, bk. 5, lect. 4 (Parma ed., vol. 20, p. 388).↩︎
Aristotle, Rhetoric, loc. cit. § 16.↩︎
The Aristotelian notion of a dialectical locus was reproduced and developed in accordance with this doctrine by all the great commentators of the Philosopher: Theophrastus, Alexander, Themistius, Boethius, Cassiodorus, Averroes, Albert the Great. See San Severino’s dissertatio concerning The History of Dialectical Loci in Logicae, pt. 2, a. 9 (pp. 287–301)↩︎
Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 11 (Didot ed., p. 180). See Barthélemy Saint-Hilaire, De la Logique d'Aristote, pt. 2, ch. 6.↩︎
Ibid. Cf. San Severino, Logiciae, p. 335.↩︎
See Didot edition of the Topics, p. 180.↩︎
Translator’s note: The original could also be translated “acute”. I have changed the examples here in order to make the text work better in English.↩︎
Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 13 (Didot ed., p. 181ff).↩︎
San Severino, Logicae, p. 343 (§ ne vero quis nobis quasi quisquilias…)↩︎
See Sylvester Maurus, In Aristotelis Topicis, Brevis paraphrasis, bk. 1, ch. 11, 12, ed. Franz Ehrle (Paris: Lethielleux, 1885), vol. 1, p. 405. This role, at once so simple and so well established, has been overlooked by some critics. Although Severino praises the work of Thionville, De la Théorie des Lieux communs dans les Topiques d'Aristote, et des principales modifications qu'elle a subies jusqu'à nos jours (Paris, 1838), he nonetheless critiques him for being completely mistaken concerning the issue of Instruments, which he makes into dialectical loci belonging to a special order. See San Severino, Logicae, p. 333, note.↩︎
See Boethius, In Topica Ciceronis commentarius, bk. 1 (PL, 64, col. 1052–1054).↩︎
Cicero, Topica, ch. 2; cf. San Severino, Logicae, p. 291.↩︎
See the end of Averroes’s comments in In Topicis bk. 1 (Venice: 1503), p. 265, verso: “Therefore, these are the instruments by which the particular loci of each of the sought-after universal are discovered.”↩︎
Boethius, De differentiis Topis bk. 2 (PL 64, col. 1185). For this entire exposition, cf. San Severino, Logicae, p. 293.↩︎
Aristotle, Topics, bk. 2, ch. 2, § 3 (Didot ed. col. 187). This example is borrowed from the book concerning the loci of Absolute Accident, which is due to the fact that the different loci lend each other mutual aid. But its [proper] place is among the loci of Definition ad refellendum (for refuting), and Aristotle took care to note this (in bk. 6, ch. 1, § 1) referring, for the details, to the loci of Accident whose description comes before (in his work) the loci of the definition (ibid., §2, Didot ed., p. 235) so as not to repeat himself.↩︎
For the sake of clarity, let’s consider the first of the three above-mentioned loci of Definition. The predicate Definition of the supreme locus of the Definition is replaced by this differential point: what is fit to the definition of the subject. We will see that the dialectical use of this substitution in the problem Aristotle cites to illustrate it: Is the upright man envious? εἰ φθονερός ὁ σπουδαῖος. Let us analyze the predicate φθονερός. It is thus: Envy = weakness provoked by the sight of others’ happiness = a passion unworthy of the upright man (φαυλον). Let us substitute this result of the analysis for the general proposition that constitutes our locus in its explicit form. It will be:
Major (topical): What is not fit for the definition of the subject is not fitting for the subject itself.
Minor (from analysis [of realities and terms]): Now, envy is not fitting for the definition of an upright man.
Conclusion: An upright man is not envious (cf. Aristotle, Topics, bk. 2, ch. 2, §3, p. 187)—If our only solution had been the general principle that the definiendum and its Definition are equal to each other, we would have needed an entire scaffolding of syllogisms to reach the same conclusion↩︎
Cicero, Topica (Paris: Panckoucke, 1835), t. 5, ch. 2, p. 220.—Cf. Boethius, In Topicis Ciceronis commentarius (PL 64), bk. 1, col. 1054.↩︎
Ibid., ch. 5, Delcasso renders it as follows: “The places I have just set out are signs, infallible marks that make us discover the arguments; they are like the principles” (Edit. cit. p. 231).↩︎
Cicero, Orator, ch. 14 (edit. cit. p. 38).↩︎
San Severino, Logicae, p. 290.↩︎
Cicero, De partitionibus Oratoriae, ch. 2 (edit. cit. p. 203ff).↩︎
Quintilian, institutio oratoria, bk. 5, ch.10 (cited by San Severino, p. 292).↩︎
In the Tractatus de locis appended to his commentary on bk. 1 of the Topics (Venice: 1503), p. 266 recto. Cf. Boethius, In Topicis Ciceronis Commentarius, bk. 1 (PL 64, col. 1051); Cassiodorus, De artibus ac discipl. liberalium artium, § De Syllogismis (PL 70, col. 1181)↩︎
See note 44 above.↩︎
In our presentation of the Aristotelian dialectic, we have reversed this order, which is consistent with the genetic progression of the theory. This is because it was very difficult to explain the Instruments before having explained the notion of the loci, which the Instruments are designed to discover. Now, however, there will be no problem in following the natural order.↩︎
