Ambroise Gardeil, The Notion of a Theological Locus (Complete Text)

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(For very important critical observations, see footnotes 14, 18, and 168.)

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 to 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 conveniently.

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 2^nd to the 7^th, 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 loci 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: gathering 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 and gathering 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 compiling 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 anything 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

III. Theological Questions

While there may be a parallelism, there can be no absolute conformity between the theory of dialectical loci and that of theological loci. The Topics are a treatise on logic whose questions, like its resolutions, are based on the analysis of terms as such, considering their properties and their relations, as free as possible from all particular matter [thus belonging to the order of general logic]. The Theological Topics are a treatise on special logic, since Theology’s subject matter is determined by the starting point of its arguments, namely the truths revealed by God. Melchior Cano makes this clear in the epigraph to this work: “Just as Aristotle proposed common loci in the Topics,… so too do we propose certain particular loci of Theology...” Therefore, when we apply to Theology the data constituting Aristotle’s topical theory, we must take into account the specific subject matter of Theology. The parallelism, however effective it may appear to us at the outset, involves only a proportional, analogical likeness between the two methods. This is what we shall immediately verify with regard to Theological Questions.⁵⁵

* * *

As we have already established, the fundamental theological question is ultimately this: is a given statement revealed?⁵⁶ The formal perspective of revelation is implied beneath the seemingly direct formulas of the various theological questions, and it constitutes their unique and essential predicate. To manifest this, it suffices to subject the interrogative statement to a modification analogous to that which logic establishes as legitimate for the transformation of modal propositions de re into propositions de dicto. For example, when we ask in Theology “is the human soul immortal,” or “does Christ have two wills,” one is in fact asking: “is the immortality of the soul or are the two wills of Christ revealed by God?”

As we have already seen,⁵⁷ Aristotle clarifies a priori the question concerning the predicate, the fundamental question of Dialectics, by determining the four ways a predicate can belong to a subject. Could we not divide the fundamental theological question according to the ways in which, a priori, the revealed predicate can belong to a given assertion?

The revealed predicate can be considered in two ways: 1˚ in its general nature as a dialectical predicate; and 2˚ in its nature as a specific dialectical predicate. In the first place, as we explained at length in the first section of this work, it possesses two properties: 1˚ it designates a quality of the subject. Indeed, the question of quality is the only dialectical one;⁵⁸ 2˚ it is a common predicate, extrinsic to the nature of the subject, falling within that commonplace means of proving which is the approval of opinion, in this case testimony.⁵⁹ Let us try to deduce from these three aspects the various theological questions commonly enumerated by theologians.

I. - Natural and supernatural questions.

Let us first consider the predicate revealed as a Quality, that is, as destined to affect the subject of the question (whose predicate it is) with a specialized mode. The subject of the fundamental theological question is, as we have said, a proposition: Christ has two wills; God exists. And this question itself asks whether these propositions are revealed. Now, the quality of a proposition, as such, is its truth. Thus, to ask whether a proposition is revealed or non-revealed is, in short, to ask whether it is true or false, with the kind of truth that the divine testimony gives to an utterance.

However, the propositions submitted to this question can be of two kinds. Sometimes they possess, prior to the question, a natural truth obtained by scientific demonstration or a probable rational argument. At other times, they require revelation in order to have any qualification in the order of truth. In the first case, revelation can only accidentally affect the truth of the propositions it guarantees; in the second case, by contrast, it can have a necessary and essential relationship with this same truth. Because of the primary control that natural reason has over such questions, theologians use the designation natural questions for such theological questions aiming to obtain for propositions that are already naturally demonstrated or known the benefit of the accidental truth that revelation can confer on them.⁶⁰ Theologians use the designation supernatural questions for those theological questions which seek to obtain for propositions that are not accessible to reason the benefit of the kind of truth that belongs to revelation (a truth that is essential for them).⁶¹

II. - Topical and scientific questions.

Let us now consider the predicate revealed in the second of its dialectical characters, which is to be a common predicate extrinsic to the intimate nature of its subject. If there is a case where this extrinsic character must be claimed, it is, without a doubt, the case where the proposition that serves as the subject of the question claims to express the Divine Mystery in itself.

As we have said, the qualitative note that a common, extrinsic predicate can enrich a subject with is probability, broadly understood as meaning a truth that is essentially relative to the approval it receives from authorized external testimony. However, although probability does not exclude absolute certainty (which, in fact, exists at its upper limit), it in no way implies such certainty. Theological questions which seek to have revelation—a common and extrinsic predicate—qualify certain propositions as true, have no less right to be counted among theological questions when they aim to obtain relative certainty for these propositions, than they do when they have absolute certainty in view. This is a consequence of the dialectical nature of theology.⁶² The a priori result is a new division of theological questions, important above all in supernatural questions: questions that can claim to obtain a probable solution that is absolutely certain, and questions that remain content with a merely probable solution. And the latter perspective, where certainty is not required, is not to be neglected in Theology, if only because, in Aristotle’s words as reported by Saint Thomas, “Since questions about heavenly bodies can be resolved with a small and topical solution, it happens that the listener experiences intense joy.”⁶³ Now, theology is about much more than celestial bodies. “Behold, there is more than Solomon here!” We can therefore divide theological questions into topical questions and scientific questions, taking the word Science here in its broad sense as referring to absolutely certain knowledge, even if not per causas.

III. - Questions of principle and questions of consequence.

As a special dialectical predicate, revelation is unique in that it is the effect of divine testimony. This testimony is realized in a certain number of propositions guaranteed by God, propositions which are called the Deposit of Revelation. Now this Divine Deposit is the root source for all the theological arguments that serve as answers to theological questions, which owe their very title as theological questions precisely to the fact that, in the final analysis, they require their answers only from these divine λόγοι.

Now, the answer to theological questions, contained in this divine Deposit of Revelation, is not necessarily uniform. Indeed, it can happen that the very proposition that serves as the subject of the question is formally stated in the Revealed Deposit, that it is therefore formally revealed. In this case, the question has no other meaning than that of putting the very principles of theology to the test. This is the question for which Cano gives an example in chapter 12 of the 12^th book of his De Locis (“First example, where a principle of theology is in question”). However, it can also happen that the proposition that is the subject of the question is not formally stated in the Revealed Deposit, even though it can be derived from it by means of reasoning. In this case, the revelation of the truth in question is said to be virtual. Cano devotes chapter 13 of his 12^th book (“Second example, where a theological conclusion is in question”) to an example of this kind of question. The distinction between two kinds of supernatural questions is thus justified a priori: some tend to qualify as immediately revealed the proposition that serves as the subject of the theological question, thanks to this proposition itself found in the very heart of the Revealed Deposit; others tend to qualify it as the legitimate consequence of formally revealed truth. ⁶⁴

With this distinction, we have exhausted all the ways the predicate revealed can be considered in the fundamental theological question, and how, consequently, theological questions can be divided a priori by a method analogous to that followed by Aristotle in his deduction of the four great dialectical questions. We thus arrive at the recognition of the division of the fundamental question of Theology into formally distinct, irreducible, and henceforth classified theological questions, namely:

1˚ natural and supernatural questions

2˚ topical and scientific questions

3˚ questions of principle and questions of consequence.

* * *

Before we move on to the Instruments for the discovery of Theological loci, as the rest of Aristotle’s Dialectic invites us to do,⁶⁵ it will not be useless for us to gather the consequences of this division of the various species of theological questions in relation to the a priori determination of the general titles of theological argumentation or common theological loci, which must correspond to them as the four supreme loci of the Topics correspond to the four great dialectical questions.⁶⁶ This determination is even necessary for the Instruments to be able to do their work, if indeed the Instruments have the ultimate aim, in Theology as in dialectics, to discover: the particular loci of each particular question of the universal loci.

To determine the central common loci of dialectics, Aristotle turned the supreme dialectical questions inside out, so to speak, and changed what was a problem title into a solution heading. Thus, the problems of Genus, Definition, Property, and Accident were transformed into loci of Genus, Definition, Property, and Accident. It sufficed for him to spell out in propositions the characteristics distinguishing each of these problems⁶⁷ in order to formulate the supreme common loci, from which the instruments of discovery released the dialectical loci properly so called. A similar operation is what we need to perform for theological questions.

But first, their nomenclature must be revised with a view to this use. Among the three dichotomous groups of theological questions we have just enumerated, there is one—the third—which derives its raison d’être from the logical form of the argument that responds to it and in no way derives from a special material characteristic. Whether the object of a question is a principle of faith or a consequence of that principle, the material for the resolution remains the same: revelation alone for the former, revelation and, in the case of mixed questions, natural theological reason for the latter. Now, these are the headings for the resolutions of the questions belonging to the first dichotomy: natural questions and supernatural questions. Therefore, the distinction between questions of principle and questions of derivation does not give rise to the recognition of theological common loci distinct from those of the first two questions. As for topical questions and scientific questions, which make up the second group, they too presuppose no special material element and must be regarded as modalities differentiating the questions belonging to the first dichotomy. And thus, we are definitively in the presence of (1) topical and scientific natural theological questions; (2) topical and scientific supernatural theological questions. In other words, there are four kinds of questions instead of six.

If we apply to these questions the Aristotelian process of transforming the title of the question into the heading of the solution, we obtain the four main general titles of theological argumentation: (1) probable theological reason; (2) scientific theological reason; (3) probable revelation; (4) certain revelation. We need only spell out these differential characteristics in propositions in order to thereby obtain the four major theological common loci, which can serve as a starting point for the work of the instruments for discover in theological loci properly so called.

As regards supernatural theological questions there is:

1. What is certainly part of the Deposit of Revelation offers supernatural theological questions an efficacious and necessary principle for resolution.

2. What is probably part of the Deposit of Revelation offers supernatural theological questions a principle for a probable resolution.

With regard to natural theological questions, there is:

3. What natural reason, approved by Revelation, apodictically demonstrates, offers natural or mixed theological questions a principle for certain resolution.

4. What natural reason, approved by Revelation, establishes through probable arguments, offers natural or mixed theological questions a principle for probable resolution.

These common loci are no doubt general and abstract. They are frameworks that need to be filled in. But we already have a glimpse of what is immediately capable of fleshing them out, namely something like Melchior Cano’s ten theological loci, which everyone knows about. The common locus of certain revelation will be concretized in the theological loci of Sacred Scripture, Tradition, and the authority of the Catholic Church, the Councils, and Pontiffs. The common locus of probable revelation will be concretized in the theological loci of the authority of the Holy Fathers, Theologians, and the Canonists. The common locus of rational certainty will be concretized in the theological locus of natural reason. And the common locus of rational probability will be concretized in the theological loci of history and the authority of philosophers. But we do not yet have the right to assert all these determinations. The a priori deduction we have just made, in harmony with Aristotle’s, gives us only the four supreme theological commonplaces. To go further, to choose already materially determined propositions, is to encroach on the task of the instruments for the discovery of theological loci, whose proper role, in Theology as in Topics, is to bring forth from the powerful but vague virtuality of the common loci the ordered multitude of specific loci, capable of immediately initiating topical answers to all the modalities of the questions.

IV. Instruments for Discovering Theological Loci

Albert the Great calls the central part of Aristotelian Dialectic Ars generalis, devoted to the instruments for the discovery of dialectical loci. He reserves the name Ars specialis for the last part, containing the actual discovery of these loci.⁶⁸ There is no better way to characterize these two moments in the theory [of this dialectic method]. The doctrine concerning the instruments of discovery lays down the practical rules or precepts that guide dialectical argumentation from above, enabling us to formulate its immediate principles: the discovery of loci applies these rules or precepts to the dialectical datum, which, under their guidance, passes from the raw state of being a collection of probable opinions to being a differentiated and organized set of precise principles, adapted to the resolution of questions.

The general remark that we made earlier⁶⁹ concerning the parallelism existing between the various moments of theological dialectic and the corresponding moments of Aristotelian dialectic holds true for the Ars generalis we are dealing with here. Between the Ars generalis of the Topics and the Doctrine concerning Theological Instruments, there will only be analogical proportion. Doubtlessly, the general names of the four dialectical instruments—namely, gathering of propositions, distinction of ambiguities, compiling of differences, examination of similarities⁷⁰—will be found in theological dialectic, but the rules or precepts that will internally arm these instruments will offer a very different content. Here again, this is due⁷¹ to the fact that the revealed predicate designates a very special matter, whereas the purely logical predicate of the fundamental dialectical question excludes any purely material determination. Rules or precepts designed to discover dialectical loci, develop, accordingly, the properties of terms as such; the formulation of rules affecting the distinction of homonyms, for example, το ποσαχῶς ἕχαστον λέγεται δύνασθαι διελεῖν, finds its adequate justification in “it is said”, λέγεται. By contrast, the rules or precepts intended to provide theological loci are formulated with regard to the properties of Divine Revelation, a datum which is absolutely foreign to the analysis of terms and whose requirements are not even known to us by a rational science, being established by divine faith for which Revelation represents the object. Granted, certain rational sciences are called upon to formulate in detail the instruments for discovering theological loci; but the data they provide are admitted only by way of information, as are the indispensable tools needed for constructing the organs to be used, the parts of an instrument. The rules or precepts for the discovery of theological loci require for their guiding and regulating force solely the requirements of the Revealed Datum, whether it's a question of examining the propositions, distinguishing ambiguities, or multiplying them through the discovery of their differences and similarities.⁷²

Despite their title, modern treatises De locis theologicis contain only that part of Theological Dialectic corresponding to Ars generalis (i.e. to that theory of instruments that we must now construct). Thus, paradoxically, a reader will not encounter theological loci as such in most treatises on theological loci but, rather, only precepts on how to make or discover them.⁷³

* * *

The theory of the instruments for the discovery of Theological loci comprises two moments.

I. In the first, we move on from the four supreme, abstract, and a priori theological loci⁷⁴ to concrete, a posteriori common loci of the type found Melchior Cano’s ten general theological loci.⁷⁵

II. In the second, ac If we apply to these questions cording to the superior requirements of the object of faith, the foundation of theology, we determine the instruments for discovery that will bring the concrete and a posteriori common loci of the type found in Melchior Cano’s ten loci, to the state of theological loci properly speaking, that is: propositions ready to enter into the arguments that provide the resolution to specific theological questions and their modalities.

I. – The passage from the four a priori theological common loci to Melchior Cano’s Ten a posteriori common loci.

The Revealed Datum is not invented. It is observed. It is in this broad sense that, even in dialectics, we speak of the instruments of discovery. As we have seen, in dialectics, the main purpose of the first instrument is to collect probable propositions, looking for them wherever they can be found, i.e. in the opinions held by the common man or the wise, in scientific or historical documents, etc.⁷⁶ Transposed to theology, this fundamental tool for discovering loci does not change its procedure. Only the criterion that directs its research differs: no longer human approval, but divine Revelation or, sometimes, the approval of certain human statements through this revelation. However, revelation, the proper object of faith and itself the generative source of theology, in turn possesses a necessary criterion, a criterion belonging to the same divine order as the faith to which it is coordinated and which it directs. This criterion is the Magisterium of the Catholic Church. The dialectician of theology is therefore not, like Aristotle’s dialectician, left to the vagaries of personal investigation, to those near-successes which, at the end of his enthusiastic labours, wring from the Stagyrite, conscious of the incomplete character of the results he has reached in the face of the immense realm of the probable, this melancholy admission: Here they are, almost sufficiently enumerated, these loci, which will provide us, in relation to each of our problems, with abundant resources for resolution!⁷⁷ By contrast, the Church guarantees in advance the possibility of complete success: “This supernatural revelation, moreover, according to the faith of the Universal Church as declared by the Holy Council of Trent, is contained in the written books and in the unwritten traditions, which, having been received by the Apostles from the very mouth of Christ or handed down by the Apostles themselves, under the dictation of the Holy Spirit, as if by hand, have come down to us.”⁷⁸

There you have it: the field of investigation of the theological dialectician is circumscribed up to its ultimate and definitive limit, and his first instrument for discovery is thus oriented and fixed. When it comes to the basic material of his work, he no longer has to choose; he only has to take. And in what he is offered, he will find everything essential. He is ready to go.

However, if the terrain is defined, we must admit that it is immense, vague, and uncultivated. Before getting down to work, it will be worthwhile to consider the means, if any, that will make it more accessible, more practicable, and, so to speak, more exploitable.

The Church’s Magisterium offers assistance for a second time to the theologian. It designates itself, with all the authority it has for faith, as the indispensable and authentic criterion—because it is divine—of Scripture and Tradition: “Moreover, by divine and Catholic faith, all those things must be believed which are contained in the Word of God—whether in written form or handed down—and which are proposed by the Church, either through a solemn judgment or through her ordinary and universal Magisterium, as divinely revealed truths to be believed.”⁷⁹

Thus, in addition to the two concrete, absolutely certain and official—yet fixed—deposits of divine Revelation, there is a living source of teachings which are no less official in nature: the teaching of the ecclesiastical Magisterium. Moreover, the Magisterium itself identifies its authentic organs—namely, the teaching authority of the Universal Church, Ecumenical Councils, and the teaching of the Sovereign Pontiff.⁸⁰

Henceforth, the Theological Dialectician no longer faces any insurmountable obstacle. Yet this alone does not satisfy his scientific curiosity, for the Church does not say everything. The theologian is aware that, alongside the official Magisterium, Saints and Theologians labor to “clear the field” for the Father of the family. Some of these have had the incomparable advantage of living in an environment still permeated by the original influences of the revealed message, thereby adding to the merit of the saint who lives by revelation and of the scholar who interprets it the merit of the witness who has verified its objective reality. As we move farther away from those times when the original revelation took place, countless workers—Doctors of the Church, Scholastic Theologians, and even Canonists—strive, under the Church’s guidance, to delve into the meaning and potentialities of the revealed teaching. It is impossible for this immense labor, conducted by specialists, not to contain, in large measure, penetrating illumination regarding the revealed message. Now, if Aristotle rightly advises his dialectician to gather the pronouncements of the Wise—even if only from a single eminent sage (he himself names Empedocles),⁸¹ is it not the duty of a good Theological Dialectician to collect—not, of course, absolutely as the word of the Gospel but, rather, as testimonies to or authorized explanations of the Deposit of Revelation—the witness of the Fathers, the teaching of Theologians, and even that of the Canonists? The Church herself approves and advises such recourse to Christian Wisdom.⁸² Consequently, a perpetual commentary is annexed to the Revealed Datum. And through the spirit of faith that inspires such commentary, it is in some way homogeneous with it and provides an interpretation of it, if not always official in nature, at least often unofficial. The special providence that God cannot fail to exercise over the development of His revealed Word guarantees its overall truth.

But, that is not all. The work of Doctors and Theologians most often proceeds by appealing to natural reason—and not merely to the formal laws of logic, but also to truths that are the natural fruit of the human mind’s labor, to the facts it confirms by its testimony. Now, on the one hand, natural reason is, in its own realm, a participation in the very light of God—just as Revelation is in its own order. On the other hand, such companionship between reason and Revelation in the minds and works of faithful theologians could not have endured across the centuries as it has, without rendering judgments and rejecting those deviations of natural reason which are hostile to Revelation. Nor, conversely, could it fail to bring to light the divine spark of truth that reason contains, through a sort of approval—admittedly relative⁸³—accorded to a natural truth when it effectively serves to prove, develop, or clarify revealed truth, presupposed as being absolutely indisputable. Moreover, the Church intervenes here once again, encouraging us to make use of this extension of the revealed deposit within natural reason.⁸⁴

Cano, attentive in gathering all the modalities of Revelation, here sets aside the first dialectical instrument—which alone served him to uncover all that precedes—and employs the third, namely, the consideration of distinctions, to differentiate two aspects of natural reason. Indeed, natural reason can be considered either in itself and in its abstract value or in the authorized testimony of learned individuals. In the first case, it provides, in relation to the object of Revelation, not only probabilities but also absolute certainties in its own domain—such as those pertaining to proofs for the existence of God. In the second case, if the testimony concerns teachings, we have the authority of the great philosophers; if it concerns facts, we have the authority of History. But let us take care, once again, to note an important point: whether reason is viewed abstractly or as embodied in human testimony, it can only prove matters in theology by virtue of the approval—or at least the permission—granted by Revelation. It is no longer mere Reason; rather, as we have already said, it becomes Theological Reason.

* * *

We now have in our possession all the major distinctions of the real, concrete Revealed Datum—of this datum which, as we have said, must be capable of resolving theological questions, without exception, each and every, in one way or another, ultimately coming to request the benefit of revelation for its subject.⁸⁵ We have already set forth the four general formulas for answering the four supreme theological questions.⁸⁶ The time has now come to fill out these a priori common loci with the concrete, a posteriori data we have just identified. A mere glance back at the distinguishing characteristics of these data shows how they naturally arrange themselves under the four supreme common loci of Theology:

This⁸⁷ table is drawn up in accordance with the Ciceronian conception, which lists the loci according to the terms that designate their differential characteristics.⁸⁸ However, as we already said, these terms can be made explicit in propositions and thus take on the form of statements that will make them into loci of argumentation.⁸⁹ Already, at the end of the previous section we listed the propositions that develop the four great a priori differentials of theological loci.⁹⁰ To complete this task, we must now apply the same transformation to the differentials of the theological loci we have just uncovered, by arranging them under these four great theological common loci, of which they are the concrete and a posteriori determinations. Hence:

A. With regard to natural theological questions.

Supreme common locus 1: What is certainly part of the Deposit of Revelation offers supernatural theological questions an effective and necessary principle for resolutions.⁹¹

Derived, concrete common loci:

1. Sacred Scripture is an efficacious and necessary principle of resolution.

2. Divine and Apostolic Traditions, etc.

3. The authority of the Church, etc.

4. The Teaching of the Councils, etc.

5. The Magisterium of the Supreme Pontiff, etc.

Supreme common locus 2: What is probably part of the Deposit of Revelation offers supernatural theological questions a principle for probable resolutions.⁹²

Derived, concrete common loci:

6. The testimony of the Fathers of the Church is a principle of probable resolution.

7. The Doctrine of the Doctors of the Church, Scholastic Theologians and Canonists is a probable principle of resolution.

B. With regard to natural or mixed theological questions.

Supreme common locus 3: What natural reason approved by Revelation apodictically demonstrates is for natural or mixed theological questions a certain principle of resolution.⁹³

Derivative, concrete common locus:

8. Philosophical demonstration, under the control of Faith, is an element in forming a certain resolution.

Supreme common locus 4: What natural reason approved by Revelation establishes by means of probable arguments offers natural or mixed theological questions a principle of probable resolution.⁹⁴

Derived, concrete common loci:

9. The authority of the Philosophers (and Jurists) is an element in forming a probable resolution.

10. The authority of the History of Dogmas and Ecclesiastical Institutions⁹⁵ is an element in forming a probable resolution.

This overall classification completes the transition from Melchior Cano’s four a priori theological common loci to his ten a posteriori common loci.

II. Determination of the Instruments Used in the Discovery (Inventio) of Theological Loci Properly Speaking.

The rules or precepts that constitute the Instruments for the discovery of theological loci are the expression of the rights of Divine Faith (and, therefore, of Theology), over the Revealed Given that is its object of attribution. The requirements of faith are identical everywhere, but the nature and properties of the Revealed Given differ from one place to another. Sacred Scripture has certain properties, the Testimony of the Fathers of the Church others, and so on. In order to apply to the various domains of the Revealed Given, the requirements of faith will need to take into account the nature and properties of these different loci. These differences in nature and properties will provide the differentiated matter for rules or precepts, to which the rights of faith communicate regulative and obligatory force. Therefore, before determining these rules or precepts we must first determine the nature and properties of the different parts of the Deposit.

The properties of each of the ten theological loci are manifold. Consequently, so too are the rules or precepts connected to them, given the fact that it often is the case that each property gives rise to several precepts. In this methodological introduction, we cannot (nor should we) go into all the details involved in each of the instruments destined for fitting out our ten common loci for theological use. In any case, this has already been done in the treatises we have cited, which the reader can refer to. To repeat: our goal here is not to write a treatise on theological loci but, rather, to furnish—from the perspective of methodology—the right idea and exact meaning of the work found in already-written and solid treatises De locis theologicis, to make clear, thanks to the touchstone that is the corresponding part of Aristotle’s dialectical logic, the precise nature of the work accomplished therein, and to situate this treatise definitively within the whole of theological methodology.

Thus, we are here concentrating our efforts on just one of the ten theological loci, the first one we encounter—namely, Scripture—because a choice needs to be made. It should be understood that Sacred Scripture is used here only as an example, a concrete illustration of a methodological doctrine, and that consequently, even with regard to it, we are not here providing a complete and definitive work.⁹⁶

We will divide this study concerning the common theological locus of Sacred Scripture into two sections: 1˚ by analysis of the properties of Sacred Scripture, determination of four kinds of appropriate instruments for discovery (inventio); 2˚ determination of the rules or precepts that organically constitute each of the four instruments of discovery (inventio) for Scriptural theological loci.

1˚ The four instruments for the discovery of Scriptural Theological Loci.

A glance at the table of contents in existing treatises De locis theologicis will show that all the precepts relating to the common theological locus of Sacred Scripture are grouped according to these three considerations: the nature, properties, and analogues of Sacred Scripture.

A. Its Nature.—Its nature is to be the literary work of God, acting by way of supernatural and efficacious inspiration upon the intellectual judgment and will of a writer so as to make him conceive, render literarily, will to write, and, at last, write what God desires to be written, this alone, and in the way that the Divine Author intends it to be written. This descriptive definition is simply an explanation—authenticated by official declarations by the Church and accepted today by all theologians—of the De fide fact: God is the Author of Sacred Scripture. Two corollaries of immediate methodological significance are connected to this, the first concerning the nomenclature of the sacred texts recognized by the Catholic Church as inspired, and the second concerning the extension of divine inspiration to what are known as the parts of the inspired text. These two corollaries will give rise to precepts and rules, concerning: either the canonicity of these collections of revealed propositions or immediate theological loci which are each and every one of these sacred texts; or the value (from the perspective of divine authority) of each and every one of these same propositions. These precepts and rules will constitute the fundamental instrument of discovery for the Theological loci belonging to Sacred Scripture, namely the review of these propositions, transposed from Aristotle’s τὸ προτάσεις λαβεῖν (the gathering of propositions).

B. Its properties. - Sacred Scripture has two kinds of properties: some pertain to its generic nature as a written document, a scripture; others to its proper nature as inspired Scripture.

a) The property of a written document, as opposed to the unwritten word, is a kind of special sort of preservation. Verba volant, scripta manent. Speech is fleeting, but the written word endures. This preservation is sometimes achieved by the original text remaining in existence in its original integrity; at other times it does so through versions and translations in other languages. This gives us the two modalities of the property regarding the integrity of written documents. It is a historical fact that Sacred Scripture has been preserved in both forms. The theological dialectician will need to take this into account when establishing theological instruments pertaining to Sacred Scripture, if one of the four instruments used in the discovery of loci is “the compiling of differences”, τὰς διαφορὰς εὐρειν. It will apply to the various differentiations to which sacred text is subject (original, translations, in various editions) the principles which emerge from the rights of faith over its object, and this will give rise to rules or precepts that will furnish counterparts for the third dialectical instrument used in the discovery of theological loci.

b) The property of Sacred Scripture as such is the plurality of meanings it can conceal under a single statement. Let us listen to Saint Thomas:

This is especially the case in sacred scripture, and not in other writings, since its Author is God, who has the power not only to adapt words for designating, which man can also do, but also the very things themselves. Therefore, in other sciences transmitted by man, in which only words can be adapted for signifying, only the words themselves signify. But, it is unique to this science that both the words and the very things signified by them signify.⁹⁷

Thus we have the distinction between the two principle senses of Sacred Scripture: the literal sense, which is perpetual, and the spiritual or mystical sense, which comes into play whenever the Divine Author Himself has had it in mind.⁹⁸ According to the data commonly admitted in hermeneutics, the literal sense, in turn, has two modalities, depending on whether it is rendered by words taken in their proper or metaphorical acceptation; the spiritual meaning is allegorical, moral, or anagogical.⁹⁹ In general, the meaning of a text is, moreover, said to be explicit if it emerges from the words without the need for further explanation, implicit when a simple explanation of terms suffices for making it manifest, and consequent when it can only be drawn from the text by means of reasoning or even more extensive procedures.

Consequently, this plurality of meanings in Scripture renders the terms and statements that make up its text ambiguous, and to render it unusable for theological purposes at first. What is needed is an authoritative means for removing this ambiguity. The parallelism of our two dialectics will not let us ignore it. The second of our topical instruments has as its precise end to distinguish between ambiguous terms and, thanks to this distinction, to multiply the probable dialectical loci. By making the requirements of faith and of theology issuing from such faith radiate over the particularities of Scripture that give rise to such multiplicity of meanings, the theological dialectician will formulate the rules or precepts of interpretation that will bring the various meanings of the letter to the point of distinct vision and render them capable of providing precise theological loci. In this way, a third instrument for discovering theological loci is created.

C. Its analogues.—We are here excluding from this denomination “Sacred Books of all religions other than the Bible,” whose interest, while very great for science, is nil for theology, at least, if we take these books inasmuch as they are religious and sacred. The analogy of a text with Sacred Scripture can be considered from the fourfold perspective of inspiration, canonicity, versions and editions, and interpretation. From the perspective of inspiration, we can cite the documentary sources of Scripture, lost inspired books; from the perspective of canonicity, apocrypha; from the third perspective, heretical, critical, or common-language versions and editions; and from the perspective of interpretation, the accommodative sense. This is predestined material for the use of an instrument for discovering theological loci, corresponding to Aristotle’s examination of similarities, ἡ του σχέψις, which, according to the requirements of the object of faith, will formulate rules and precepts, either to prohibit or to draft the use of these documents for the resolution of theological questions.

Thus, from what we have said, we see that the theological dialectician has at his disposal, for the resolution of questions that can be resolved by that part of the Revealed Given contained in Sacred Scripture, four appropriate instruments of discovery, whose internal organization we must now describe in rules and immediate precepts for determining scriptural theological loci.

2˚ The rules or precepts that constitute the internal organization of the Instruments for the Discovery of Scriptural Theological Loci.

First instrument. - Gathering of propositions.

A. As regards the property of Canonicity.

Justifying principle: The canonicity of a book, which is nothing other than its content’s capacity for becoming an official rule of faith and, thereby, a principle of theology (which implies the fact of its divine inspiration), can adequately result only from the judgment of a divine authority such as the Church’s own authority. This corollary is obvious to anyone who realizes that the canonicity of the sacred texts stands in between the Inspiration of Sacred Scripture and the assent of divine faith.¹⁰⁰ Medium non exit ab extremis suis. To leave the recognition of canonicity to the mercy of a means of transmission having a certainty inferior to the divine, would be to render infirm, for both faith and theology, the absolute authority that Sacred Scripture owes to the Inspiration of the Holy Spirit. The Church has repeatedly and definitively pronounced her authoritative judgment concerning canonicity.¹⁰¹

Single rule: All scriptural theological loci are contained in the books of the Old and New Testaments declared canonical by the Church, especially by the Council of Trent, Session IV.

B. As regards the Extent of Inspiration.

Justifying principles: From the doctrine concerning the Divine Inspiration of Scripture we immediately deduce the corollary regarding its absolute inerrancy, at least, if one understands it as coming for from the hands of the inspired author. Now, truth and error are encountered in intellectu componente et dividente,¹⁰² that is, whenever we affirm or deny, which takes place every time we make a judgment. Consequently, divine inspiration must extend to each and every one of the propositions or parts of propositions contained in Sacred Scripture.

This corollary should be understood in light of the following remarks:

1) Propositions must not be separated from their inspired context, nor from the idea, intention, or literary genre that the Divine Author had in mind.

2) Although the words that make up the proposition do not give rise to truth and error if considered in isolation, i.e. merely as isolated objects of apprehension, nonetheless, once they have entered into a proposition of Scripture and have become to a certain extent integral to its meaning, they participate in the charism of inspiration, so that they cannot be changed without altering the truth of Scripture, although equivalents can be substituted for them. What is inspired is their meaning in ordine ad propositionem, not what is particular about the word itself.¹⁰³

3) In certain cases, mainly when an objective revelation is combined with inspiration (as in the case of dictations, certain prophecies, certain words of Christ), the words materially considered may have (therefore, per accidens) the value of absolute inspiration.

4) With regard to faith, and consequently to theology, Sacred Scripture contains truths divinely guaranteed by inspiration, having two degrees: some are per se intenta, corresponding to the necessary object of faith, namely that through which man is rendered blessed,¹⁰⁴ “which we hope to see in our heavenly homeland,”¹⁰⁵ in a word, the articles of faith; and, then, there are the others, “not as primarily intended but for the sake of manifesting the aforementioned,”¹⁰⁶ or again, “From which (if denied), something contrary to the faith follows,”¹⁰⁷ namely “those things that either accidentally, secondarily,”¹⁰⁸ or “indirectly”¹⁰⁹ pertain to faith¹¹⁰ .

Rule I.—Each and every one of the propositions contained in Sacred Scripture, such as it came from the hands of the inspired author, are capable, in themselves, of constituting scriptural theological loci.

Rule II.—In order to constitute theological loci, these propositions must be connected to their inspired context, to the literary genre the Divine Author had in mind, and to the general intention He proposed.

Rule III.—Among these propositions, those which explicitly express articles of faith, themselves requiring explicit faith on the part of all,¹¹¹ constitute absolutely certain, infallible scriptural theological loci. On the other hand, those which express truths belonging to the faith only secundario, per accidens, and indirectly, constitute certain scriptural theological loci, only when it becomes evident (to someone) that this is contained in the doctrine of faith,¹¹² which occurs, except in obvious cases, only after a determination by the Church, that is, after it is evident, and especially if it has been determined by the Church, that from this follows something contrary to the faith.¹¹³

Rule IV. - Determination by the Church is not necessary in order for a scriptural proposition, or set of propositions, implicitly containing an article of faith or a definite truth, to be received as a certain theological locus; however, such determination is often useful because of the lack of evidence involved in the explanations by which one passes from the implicit to the explicit. It is necessary in order to guarantee the materially-verbal inspiration of the sacred text when the words themselves are indispensable for maintaining the objectivity of the articles of faith.¹¹⁴

Second instrument. - Distinguishing ambiguities.

Justifying principles.—The instrument for determining the various meanings of Sacred Scripture that can serve as the basis for theological reasoning must be of the divine order, like faith itself. The argument we just used to prove that the criterion concerning the canonicity of the sacred texts is of the divine order is sufficient to establish this conclusion. The Church’s magisterium is therefore the primary rule of interpretation. The [First] Vatican Council, declaring anew the mind of the Council of Trent in a decree dedicated to the same subject, stated: “In matters of faith and morals, pertaining to the building up of Christian doctrine the interpretation that must be considered the true sense of Sacred Scripture is that which has been held and is held by Holy Mother Church, whose role it is to judge the true meaning and interpretation of the Sacred Scriptures.”

The first words, “in matters of faith, etc.,” make it clear that the law in question is primarily and directly concerned with the meaning of the Scripture that concerns us here, as this is the sense which contains theological loci. To this principal criterion, the same Council adds a second, prohibiting the interpretation of Scripture “contrary to the unanimous agreement of the Fathers.” Finally, Pope Leo XIII’s Encyclical Providentissimus indicates a third norm: “In other passages, the analogy of faith is to be followed.”

Rule I. - The propositions of canonical Scripture whose explicit literal meaning is beyond doubt are apt, by themselves and without any declaration by the Church, to provide very-certain and very-efficacious theological loci.¹¹⁵

Rule II.—The implicit literal sense is capable of providing absolutely certain and efficacious theological loci. In practice, given that an explication of terms is necessary in order to pass from the implicit to explicit sense, a truth that is only implicitly contained in Scripture is never, unless declared by the Church, equivalent to a De fide principle.¹¹⁶

Rule III.—The literal sense, whether explicit or implicit, whose existence is not absolutely certain, can only provide probable theological loci.¹¹⁷

Rule IV.—The propositions of Scripture for which the Church has defined the literal sense¹¹⁸ (whether this sense is explicit or implicit in the text), or even the spiritual sense,¹¹⁹ constitute, understood in this sense, De fide principles which it would be heretical¹²⁰ to contradict,¹²¹ and therefore theological loci that are completely certain and infallible.

Rule V.—The propositions of Scripture that the Church uses in support of her definitions, though without defining that the sense in which she takes them is their true sense, whether literal or mystical, constitute, taken in this sense, very certain but not infallible theological loci that it would be rash, but not heretical, to contradict.¹²²

Rule VI.—The interpretations of Scripture used by the Fathers, Doctors, or Theologians, that are reported in support of a definition, not based on the Church’s own judgment but, rather, on that of authorities (as is the case with the Bull Ineffabilis Deus), constitute certain but not infallible theological loci in favor of the defined dogma.¹²³

Rule VII.—In matters of faith and morals (and therefore within the realm of theology), the meaning of a scriptural text that has “the unanimous agreement of the Holy Fathers” constitutes a very certain locus that it would be rash to contradict.¹²⁴

Rule VIII.—The propositions of Scripture that contain a spiritual sense intended by the Divine Author constitute, taken in this sense, a certain and effective theological locus, but which, reduced to its own means, is useless in practice.¹²⁵

Rule IX.—The propositions of Scripture that contain a spiritual meaning attested by a sacred author, by the Church, or by Tradition, constitute, taken in this sense and on account of this authoritative declaration, certain or probable theological loci, depending upon the degree of the guarantees in question.¹²⁶

Rule X.—The consequent sense (i.e., that which is deduced from a scriptural text by valid reasoning) gives the propositions that state it a certain authority. If the literal sense of the text is explicit or definite, the consequent sense constitutes a certain theological locus, which it would be wrong to contradict. If the consequent sense results from the use of two scriptural texts, its certainty is weighty, like that of theological conclusions based upon the same sorts of premises. It would be less if the universal principle, which provides the strength for all reasoning, were a rational principle, with the minor premise alone being scriptural. And its certainty will be between these two, if this principle is a proposition from Scripture, with the minor remaining rational.¹²⁷

Rule XI.—Although the meaning of a scriptural proposition opposed to the analogy with faith is always false, it does not follow that the meaning conforming to this analogy is always the true meaning of the text¹²⁸ and that, taken in this sense, it constitutes a scriptural theological locus.

Rule XII.—Illuminated by their rapprochement with the authentically formulated and defined doctrines of the faith, certain more or less obscure propositions from Scripture (e.g., those concerning the two concessions to Peter and the apostles giving them the power to bind and loose) become enlightened, like the parts in view of the whole, and consequently become manifest scriptural theological loci for these De fide truths.

Third instrument. - The Compiling of Differences.

Justifying principles: In introductory courses to Sacred Scripture, editions of the primitive text or translations into languages other than those of the original are treated as being differentiations that, in fact, and in accordance with the laws governing the very life of written documents, modify the text of Sacred Scripture. Given that the originals of this text have been lost, these editions and translations will be the means for theology to come into contact with inspired Scripture. Theology must therefore exercise control over them, from the perspective of the requirements of faith, the principle of theology. The reason for this necessity, namely that an assent such as that of faith, the starting point of theology, cannot, without losing its absoluteness, depend on a rule of certainty inferior to the divine, applies to editions and translations, as well as to the fact of inspiration and interpretation.¹²⁹ Here again, we must have recourse to the authority of the Church, the divine criterion of the inspired text. The sentiment of the Church results either from the use it makes of certain editions or translations, or from the verdict passed on them by the Fathers, Doctors, the agreement of the Theologians, or finally from an approval or even an official judgment of a dogmatic nature, such as that which the Council of Trent and [the First] Vatican Council rendered in favor of the Vulgate.

Rule I.—It is certain, as a matter of Catholic faith, that texts which have come to be used by the universal Church, such as the Septuagint and the Greek text of the New Testament,¹³⁰ are capable of providing certain scriptural theological loci. To this class of texts can be added, though with a lesser degree of certainty, texts received, with the Church’s approval, in particular Churches, [such as the] Syriac, Coptic, Italic versions.

Rule II.—The text of the Vulgate, the only one to have been declared authentic by a solemn dogmatic judgment by the Church, has the value of the primitive inspired text¹³¹ for everything that concerns faith and the rule of morals. Therefore, propositions of this kind contained therein constitute, on par with the original,¹³² certain theological loci.

Rule III.—The current editions of the Hebrew text of the Old Testament offer, according to the testimony of the Fathers, Doctors, and Catholic Scholars, sufficient conformity with the primitive texts¹³³ for us to be able to appeal to the authority of their readings to determine in certain cases in a probable manner, with a view to theological use, the text of the propositions of Sacred Scripture.¹³⁴

Rule IV.—The Hebrew and Greek texts offer many useful benefits¹³⁵ for the correct understanding and truthful formulation of many scriptural theological loci.

Fourth instrument.—Examination of similarities.

A. Documentary sources and lost books.

The question concerning the documentary sources for certain parts of Scripture is a question currently being studied and, in all likelihood, will always be. Documentary sources include archaeological monuments and inscriptions, as well as the lost books mentioned in the Bible, sometimes having authority. In the absence of any guarantee of their inspiration, these documents are a matter for scientific investigation. However, they can be compared with the inspired writings, sometimes causing obscurities, difficulties, and objections or, at other times, useful contributions for understanding the inspired texts; thus, they deserve consideration by the theologian, who, according to the general rule derived from the requirements of the object of faith, will need to establish the conditions for the admission of these data among the extrinsic and auxiliary theological loci coming under the fourth general title of theological loci, the authority of history and that of the philosophers. The lost books referred to in Scripture fall into this category, unless Scripture mentions them as inspired, in which case they should be given a separate note.

Rule I.—Every documentary theory is subject to the Church’s judgment and must be rejected by the Theologian even prior to this judgment if it is at variance with the rules concerning inspiration, canonicity, interpretation and authenticity of the text, which constitute the first three instruments for the discovery of theological loci.¹³⁶ It can be admitted, and the authentic documents it relies on can be used to determine with probability the meaning of scriptural theological loci, if it is in line with these precepts.¹³⁷

Rule II.—Lost books which are merely mentioned in the Bible are to be considered as human documents and, if found, treated from the perspective of theological usage in accordance with the preceding rule.

Rule III.—Lost Books mentioned in Sacred Scripture as the work of a prophet or Seer, or attributed to authors such as Isaiah or St. Paul,¹³⁸ who moreover participated in the charism of inspiration, are, if considered in their own right, probably likely to provide scriptural theological loci. The declaration of their canonicity by the Church would be necessary to empower them to do so. Otherwise, like their analogues in the apocryphal writings, they would remain endowed with a probable authority deriving from Tradition or the Holy Fathers.

B. The apocryphal books of the Old and New Testaments.

Some apocryphal books are preserved in editions of the Bible, others are mentioned as authoritative by the Bible or by various authors. In the New Testament, there are Gospels, Acts, Epistles, and Apocryphal Apocalypses. Whatever their quite diverse origins, these documents have one thing in common: though claiming to be inspired, or showing certain signs of inspiration, they were either positively or negatively excluded by the Church from the Canon of Scripture. As a result, they have practically no value other than as human documents. Therefore, for theological purposes, they must be examined both from the perspective of where their content coincides with that of inspired scripture, and from the perspective of the requirements of the Catholic faith. This is the only general rule that can be given, given the great variety of situations these books involve, ranging from the 3^rd book of Esdras, which is for the most part no more than a reproduction of the first two books and Chronicles [des Paralipomènes], to the reveries of the Gnostics.

C. Critical editions and vulgar language editions and versions by heretics.

Rule I.—Critical texts and scholarly versions of the originals can provide theological premises having the same authority as the texts for which they are exact reproductions, subject to the Church’s judgment and the analogia fidei.

Rule II.—Editions and versions by heretics, if intended to propagate heresy, must be rejected: if they have critical value, or textual fidelity, they may render certain services, after being examined and corrected by the competent authority or by the theologians who use them.

D. The Accommodative Sense.

This is a sense of the text that is not the intention of the divine author. The person who uses it uses a proposition of Scripture to express his own thought, which he likes to see in the text, though it is not there.

Rule I.—The accommodative meaning has no value, in itself, for theology.

Rule II.—The propositions of Scripture, understood in the accommodative sense, can have theological value that belongs to the authority whose teaching or thought they represent, whether the magisterium of the Church, Fathers, liturgical usage, or theologians. Therefore, per accidens, the accommodative sense can provide some theological loci: sometimes it will have only probable authority, most of the time this authority will be nil, at least for theological science, though it will have a use for subjective edification.

* * *

Such are the main rules that organically develop the four instruments for discovering scriptural theological loci in a way that is appropriate to their end [i.e., use in theological science]. Using the materials offered by existing treatises De locis theologicis, it would not be difficult to draft a similarly ordered apparatus for the other concrete common loci. We have done so, for our own use and without any problems, for Tradition, a subject which is delicate above all others. As far as the Church’s magisterium is concerned, much work needs to be done in order to free the methodological [critériologique] part of the treatise from the ontological gangue that surrounds it. Berthier seems to have succeeded. Strangely enough, starting with probable theological loci, the most ontologically dense treatises on theological loci, authors remember that they writing treatises on methodology and formulate conclusions that can be immediately converted into rules for discover, making the task much simpler. Assuming that has been completed, and that each of the general common loci has been provided with instruments appropriate to its nature, and with rules and precepts ready to direct the theologian’s work, the complete discovery of theological loci is only a question of implementation, in which nothing will be left to chance. No doubt, the eye of the master, the watchful eye of the artist who oversees the proper functioning of his instruments, will always be necessary; the ars generalis we have just sketched out provides only procedures, almost mechanical recipes. But this is not nothing, if we consider that, for want of procedures and recipes, the creations of human genius itself remain most often sketches and drafts for future work.

V. Immediate Theological Loci

The part of the Ars specialis that contains the analytical and reasoned enumeration of dialectical loci comprises no less than six books in the Aristotelian Topics. It is a veritable dictionary. And nonetheless the number of dialectical loci is limited by the very nature of things, given that the general terms that constitute them, and the logical properties of these terms, are necessarily limited in number. A theological Ars specialis would be even more considerable. Here, there are no fixed limits: the approval of Revelation can affect, in addition to formally revealed propositions, an indefinite number of statements made by representatives of Tradition and philosophy. As we have already noted, the infinite scope of this labor was what prevented Melchior Cano from undertaking a detailed enumeration of the theological loci properly so called and led him to confine himself to giving a few specimens of how to go about discovering them. The limited scope of the present study, as well as the introductory methodological aim we have in mind, require even greater reserve in these matters. At the very least, after furnishing typical examples of how our theory is put into practice, and setting before the reader’s eyes a few samples of immediate theological loci, will we be allowed to broaden our horizon, to look beyond the Practical to the Ideal, and to conceive the Idea of a general systematization of immediate theological loci, analogous to that which Aristotle attempted to achieve for the Topics, to dream, following Leibniz’s example, of a Universal Theological Characteristic?¹³⁹

I. How to formulate an immediate theological locus.

In the first part of this section, in accordance with its title, we will set out some immediate principles of theological argumentation, detailing the various moments in this process, borrowed from the theological Ars generalis, by which they are obtained. In the second part, we will establish that, despite certain scruples that might arise from a lack of parallelism with the dialectical loci and Melchior Cano's language, the immediate principles of argumentation we have established constitute theological loci in the strict sense of the term and are truly analogous to the properly dialectical loci of the Topics.

1˚ Formulation of the immediate principles of theological argumentation by methods belonging to the Ars generalis.

As we already said, the aim of this method is to draw immediate principles of theological argumentation from Melchior Cano’s ten concrete common loci, by means of the theological instruments whose scriptural types we have provided. The operation thus comprises three terms: the common locus that serves as its starting point, an intermediary factor (i.e., the instrument for discovery), and finally the immediate principle that results at its conclusion. With that in mind, I will now begin.

This is the first of the questions raised by Cano as a model for discussion: “Whether in the New Law there is now truly and properly a sacrifice?” In support of his first, affirmative conclusion, Cano successively invokes most of the theological loci (Scripture, Tradition, the Church and her various instruments, and the Church Fathers); moreover, he interweaves each of these principal argument headings with appeals to their neighboring loci and even to the authority of the philosophers. Although the author (in this respect following Aristotle) has not explicitly recalled the rules or precepts that bring his arguments to the field, it is easy to make up for this, and we shall do so for one of them, the one that seems most effective, laying bare the framework for the procedure.

Therefore, let us focus on the second main argument, taken from this text from Saint Luke: “And taking the bread, He gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to them, saying: ‘This is my body, which is given for you; do this in remembrance of me.’ Likewise, also the cup (that is, he took it and gave thanks), saying: ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be poured out for you.’” Cano declares that this text is an evidently clear testimony, apertissimum testimonium, in favor of his thesis. Therefore, he regards it as immediately falling within the scope of the rule for the discovery of theological loci, which is concerned with the explicit literal meaning. Moreover, it is clear that it is also of interest, though more remotely, to the rules concerning Canonicity,¹⁴⁰ the extent of inspiration,¹⁴¹ the authority of the Vulgate.¹⁴² Let us assume that these have already had their effect, and for the sake of clarity and brevity, let us stick to the immediate instrument for formulating our theological locus. Here, in its entirety, is the sequence of operations implied by Cano’s argument.

Major premise: The propositions of canonical Scripture having an explicit literal meaning that is beyond doubt are able to provide, on their own and without declaration by the Church, very certain and very effective theological premises;¹⁴³

Minor premise: Now, there is no doubt that the text of St. Luke in question explicitly and literally refers to the institution of a true and proper sacrifice in the New Law;

Therefore, this text is able to provide, on its own and without any declaration by the Church, a very certain and very effective theological locus, apertissimum testimonium, for the thesis concerning the existence of a true and properly so-called sacrifice in the New Law

The major premise of the argument is none other than the first of the rules constituting the second instrument, relating to the distinction of ambiguities. This instrument has no difficulty in applying to the common locus of Sacred Scripture¹⁴⁴ because it is substantially identical with it, being its most formal expression.

The minor premise must be proven, and Cano does not fail to do so. He begins with extrinsic arguments drawn from ecclesiastical history and the testimonies of St. Cyprian and St. Irenaeus, and then moves on to the specific argument in this matter, the literal explanation of the text. We are not here concerned whether his exegesis is accurate in every respect. It suffices that we dismantle the mechanism by which he seeks to consecrate the literal content of the text quoted from St. Luke as a theological locus that is very certain and very efficacious for the question at hand. Henceforth, at least from his perspective, this text will be a classified theological locus for a scientific argument belonging to the order of supernatural questions of principle, regarding the specific subject concerning the Sacrifice of the New Law.

Now taking up the second model provided by Cano, let us move on to a supernatural question, no longer of principles, but of consequences. The question here is: whether Christ, from the moment of his conception, had the Beatific Vision. There is no shortage of Scriptural arguments which, by means of explanation or reasoning, establish the affirmative as a theological conclusion. However, as Cano points out at the beginning of his resolutio, the proper argument in this matter seems to be the agreement of Theologians: “Which conclusion, even if it were proven solely by the authority of theologians, ought to be considered sufficiently firm, as we established in Book 8.”¹⁴⁵ This reference brings us to the seventh common theological locus, namely: “The doctrine of the Scholastic Theologians is a principle for probable resolution.”¹⁴⁶

In De locis bk. 8, ch. 4, to which Cano here refers, we encounter three rules that constitute the sole instrument for differentiating this common locus, an instrument that falls, incidentally, under the compiling of differences, Aristotle’s third dialectical instrument. The first of these rules concerns the case where theologians disagree. It is not applicable to the resolution of the question concerning the beatific vision in Christ, since all the Scholastic theologians agree in resolving it in the affirmative. Cano has just told us this, and we would do well to believe him. The other two rules concern the case of this agreement, but in a different way; for the agreement may relate either to something considered important, res gravis, or to something of formal interest to faith or morals. In the first case, “From the common opinion of all scholastic authors, in a matter of grave importance, arguments are deemed to be so probable that to contradict them would be rash. In the second case, “to contradict this opinion, if it is not heresy, is at least proximate to heresy.”

Which of these rules do we currently need to appeal to? Let us try the last as a major one.

Here it is:

Major premise: If it is not heretical, it is at least proximate to heresy to contradict the position held by all the Scholastic theologians concerning faith and morals;

Minor premise: Now, the question concerning Christ’s beatific vision is formally of interest to the faith and is resolved in the affirmative by all the Scholastic theologians;

Therefore, to deny it is, if not heretical, at least proximate to heresy.

Is the minor appropriate in the circumstances? We do not think so. No formal decision by the Ecclesiastical Magisterium affirms its first part; no text of Sacred Scripture, no Apostolic Tradition explicitly contains it. The unanimity of the theologians’ affirmative verdict itself, sententia concors, concerns the solidity and truth of the theological conclusion that deduces the existence of the beatific vision in Christ; it no longer exists on the point of knowing whether this truth is De fide. Therefore, by denying it, we are not opposing a unanimous position held by the Theologians de fide et moribus. And therefore, the third rule of the common locus that is the authority of the Scholastic Theologians is inapplicable.

Let’s try the second. Here it is:

Major premise: From the agreement of all scholastic authors in serious matters, one can draw such a probable argument in favor of a conclusion that to oppose it would be foolhardy;

Minor premise: Now, on the question concerning Christ’s beatific vision, res gravis, theologians are unanimously in favor of the affirmative;

Therefore, it would be foolhardy to say that Christ, from the moment of His conception, did not have the beatific vision.

The minor premise is, this time, among the most verifiable. The matter in question is not only serious in itself, as a necessary theological conclusion, or at least one that is extremely probable, and thus very closely linked to revealed principles, in Sacred Scripture in particular; however, moreover, it is considered precisely in this way, as a res gravis, by all those theologians who resolve it in the affirmative. Therefore, the agreement of all the theologians’ testimonies concerning this matter forms a decisive theological locus for the case in point, that is, for a question belonging to the order of supernatural questions of consequence.

Thus, we see for a second time the dialectical manoeuvring the theologian uses to secure an immediate theological locus.

With Cano, let’s try a third demonstration of the same object. Just as well, trinum perfectum! The third model chosen by the master belongs to what we have called natural questions. It concerns the rational demonstrability of human immortality. And the part that is played primarily between Henry of Ghent, Scotus, and Cano has as its stake the attribution of this question: whether it belongs to supernatural topical questions or to supernatural scientific questions.¹⁴⁷ Scotus, in particular, holds that all the reasons given in favor of the immortality of the soul, while being persuasive with probability nonetheless do not demonstrate it. On this point, Cano counters with this proposition: “It is dangerous and rash, to say nothing more, to affirm that no argument discovered thus far truly demonstrates the immortality of the soul.” But to what theological locus should one appeal in order to make this harsh statement? It is the effectiveness of the existing proofs that is in question; one cannot invoke the proofs themselves to support it. However, Cano does not hesitate to appeal to the authority of reason, but not reason by itself, which cannot [theologically] qualify its own operations, but reason approved by revelation, by theology in its exercise of the supreme metaphysics. Because of this approval, reason is entitled to be conceived as superior to itself, as its own judge, its criterion, its immediate theological locus. Therefore, when reason is considered along these lines, we can use as our rule the major affirmed by Cano: “It is perilous and foolhardy to deny the efficacy of the demonstration of a natural truth concerning God, when this demonstration is universally received as such among the Scholastics.”

Under this specialized locus concerning the authority of theological reason Cano subsumes this minor: “Theologians, with moral unanimity, conclude the immortality of the soul with proofs whose content manifests their intention to be demonstrative.” ¹⁴⁸

Therefore: it is perilous and foolhardy to deny the demonstrative value of such arguments and hence, “Therefore, these syllogisms are true demonstrations.”

For Cano, the minor is proven by the authority of St. John Chrysostom, St. Augustine, and St. Thomas, chosen, among many others, as eminent representatives of the common position. Cano gets irritated at the objection which runs, “Granted, these are demonstrations in themselves, but, they are not so for me,” and replies that one should not measure these things by one’s own individual reason but by the authority of all. He could not have made it clearer that his argument proceeds from theological reason alone, that it is theological reason, and not reason alone, that is the immediate theological locus under which he concludes this.

These three examples will suffice, I hope, to highlight the work that goes on in the mind of the theologian, when, with the help of the rules and precepts that constitute the instruments of theological discovery, he crafts a proposition immediately usable for argumentation. In this case, we found ourselves to be in possession of three pieces of data, as a result of the three operations performed before our eyes above: the first is made up of the propositions from the cited text of Saint Luke, understood in its literal sense; the second is made up of the concordant set of propositions supported by the scholastic theologians concerning Christ’s beatific vision; the third is made up of the propositions which integrate the two syllogisms by which we usually conclude to the immortality of the soul, by relying on the nature either of our intellectual operation or that of the intellect itself. These various propositions, I say, are now officially recognized and consecrated as participants in Revelation, each in a different capacity, either absolutely or as more or less probable. Each of them now carries with it the testimonial mark of the special approval to which it is entitled in theology, the topical record, if I may so speak, of its probative theological value. This record is essentially constituted by the relationship, whose verification is always open, that the proposition drawn from it retains with the common locus that serves as its origin stock, by means of the rules and precepts constituting its special instrument of discovery. The same would apply to all the propositions derived from theological common loci by the same procedures. Through such a pathway—a proper instrument of discovery, a concrete common locus of origin—every immediate principle of theological argumentation converges with the four major common loci, and ultimately with the supreme common locus of Revelation, from which proceeds all authority that grounds theological argumentation. Through this dynamic spiral of organically ordered loci, the probative force of the authority of God’s word descends to the proximate and intrinsic principle of theological reasoning, to the immediate theological locus. The modality of the latter becomes more precise as it passes through the channels of derived common loci, through the rolling mills of the rules and precepts that constitute the instruments for the discovery of loci. It is under the pressure of these proper generative principles that the theological locus proves itself; and it is with the distinct nuance of approval by the revealed Word, which they authorize it to invoke, that it guides the theologian’s syllogisms with its light. If it were to separate itself from the living relationship that unites it to Revelation, the immediate theological locus would be no more than a dead argument; if it were to escape the sway of one of the methodological [critériologiques] mechanisms that have served to formulate it, it would no longer have the sharp precision that makes true Theology an exact science.

2˚ In what way the immediate principles of theological argumentation differ from dialectical loci; it is only by analogy that they can be called loci properly speaking.

A.—The logic presented in this comparative study between the De locis and the Topics would suggest that the theological loci properly so called, like the dialectical loci properly so called, are not only probable propositions sorted and classified according to their degree of approval but, also, general propositions, capable, by virtue of their generality, of initiating arguments on different subjects and serving as a locus for them.

Now, if it is evident that the method we have just employed has resulted in the formulation of propositions that are all approved and completely ready to enter into theological argumentation, it is no less evident that many of these propositions are particular, non-necessary propositions, aimed more at something de facto rather than de iure. Therefore, it seems that they lack one of the conditions that precisely earned dialectical propositions the designation of loci, namely a certain detachment from a specific subject matter, allowing them to support argumentation across various domains.¹⁴⁹

We will make no attempt to conceal this discrepancy. Twice, we warned¹⁵⁰ that we should not expect to discover perfect resemblance between rational dialectics and supernatural theological dialectics. Their subject matters are too dissimilar. Once more, we must remain content with having analogical similarity between the two. The correspondence is perfect as regards the generic nature of the principles of both dialectics, namely to be probable propositions in the primary sense of the term,¹⁵¹ each having the note and as it were the index card explaining its degree of probability, thereby being apt to provide an immediate and appropriate foundation for a determinate argument. This must be taken for granted, and it would be a mistake to turn back, due to this partial imperfection in the parallelism between the two. Indeed, all the more so as this lack of concordance is justified by the diversity of the subjects specifically belonging to each of the two disciplines and, what’s more, it is not without a remedy, as we shall see.

a) It is justified by the difference in subject matters. Indeed, what is the reason for the universal approval of the principles in natural dialectics? Unquestionably, it is because they are held with a kind of superficial generality that makes them an object of common observation. This generality, in turn, is due to the abstract, logical character of the terms in which principles of dialectics are maintained. Abstraction, and the generality that is its consequence, are therefore constitutive of dialectical principles. Each of these, individually, must conform to it, on pain of no longer meeting with the approval that consecrates it as a probable principle. As a result, it is by virtue of its intrinsic nature, per se, that it radiates, that it is a locus of argumentation. This is its very essence.—By contrast, the principles of Theology have nothing in their formulation, which expresses the divine mystery, which would predestine them to similarly win this kind of universal approval from human minds. They owe this power solely to Divine Revelation. Therefore, in themselves, they can be particular propositions. They are not naturally, and through an intrinsic virtue, loci.

b) Now, this intrinsic and individual ineptitude is not lacking in a kind of remedy. The freedom given to us by analogy will enable us to consider them as theological loci, not per essentiam, it’s true, but by participation, in solidum, in the universal essence of the supreme theological locus that is Revelation. Each of the propositions of Sacred Scripture, Tradition, etc., taken in isolation, is specific, and, in the absence of generality, cannot claim to be a locus.¹⁵² However, what none of them possesses in its own right, the common theological loci from which they derive have in themselves. As we have seen, these common loci can be formulated as general propositions. Considered as parts, individual expressions, and, as it were, promotions of these common loci, as acting under their influence, the particular propositions we are talking about are one with them. They are the instruments through which the probative force of the major common loci passes, in order to enter and govern the argumentation. They are like substitutes for Revelation, the supreme common locus. Therefore, the universality of a dialectical locus is not absolutely foreign to them. They do not have it in themselves, but they do have it in the common cause that acts in and through them to found theology.¹⁵³ This suffices for the immediate principles of theological argumentation to be called, by analogy, theological loci.

This conception is not so new as not to find an explicit foundation in classical dialectics. We saw above¹⁵⁴ that it is a property of dialectical common loci to direct the argument from the outside, from above, without intermingling with its content, even though they give it its force. They are present in the argumentation, according to Averroes’ word, taken up from Themistius, not in themselves but, rather, in their judgment and power (non secundum se sed suâ sententiâ et potestate). This is the exact formula of what we’re asking of theological loci. In each of the immediate and intrinsic principles of theological argumentation—a text of Scripture, a conciliar definition, a position held by a Father, a proposition of natural philosophy—a major theological locus is implied. We do not see it, but it is nonetheless there, sententiâ suâ et potestate, through the judgment it pronounces and the influence it exerts. It is the nerve and inner soul of the immediate principle in question, making it share in the universality of its intrinsic probative force. Isn’t this participation in the universality of the first and fundamental principle of theological argumentation enough to justify us referring, in common parlance, to any proposition prepared by instruments for theological use, as a theological locus properly so called?

B.— In any case, it matters little if the term is contested, as long as we are granted the reality: namely, that Scripture, Tradition, the Church’s Teaching, etc., do not come into contact with Theology as mere broad headings for argumentation, but rather through the propositions they contain—propositions, I say, not in a raw, unrefined state, but carefully elaborated, critiqued, and rendered fit to be directly “inserted” into arguments, thanks to the ad hoc preparation they undergo through theological rules and precepts, analogous to the dialectical instruments in the Aristotelian Topics.

And it’s this reality, for want of a word, that Cano gives us. This well-informed dialectician, who had conceived the project of organizing theological methodology in relation to Aristotle’s dialectical methodology,¹⁵⁵ had undoubtedly not overlooked the lack of parallelism between the concrete, specific principles of theology and the general, non-material principles of the Topics. Thus, nowhere does he give the name of loci to the propositions that serve as immediate principles for theological arguments. Instead, he calls them arguments, by which he means not the argumentation itself but, according to the official interpretation of St. Thomas, that which gives the argument its force or nerve, namely the demonstrative middle (medium), which, when made explicit in a proposition, immediately becomes its generative principle.¹⁵⁶ In keeping with the Ciceronian vocabulary he favored, he therefore reserved the title Theological Loci for the general titles that participate in revelation, Sacred Scripture, Tradition, the Authority of the Church, the Fathers, the Theologians and Theological Reason, which for him remain sedes vel domicilia argumentorum. But he was not, like the rhetoricians,¹⁵⁷ fooled by these metaphors; he did not conceived of the loci as empty places or frames, but rather, as concrete, differentiated, critiqued ensembles, powerfully organized in their detail by the rules and precepts whose enumeration fills his work. It is not by its common title, but by each of its carefully arranged parts that, according to Cano, the theological locus is active, that it is truly and effectively a theological locus. If you want to realize this, you must not limit your reading merely to the first book of the work. All that you will find there is a superficial notion, the quid nominis that befits a preface. Where you must turn is to the twelfth book, where, with each of the ten theological loci equipped with the appropriate rules enabling us to derive arguments ready to face questions, the master, about to move on to applications and give us models of their use, expresses to us the definitive idea he has of them:

Let the theologian possess all the known and thoroughly examined loci of theology. I say “known” (notos) and “thoroughly examined” (tractatos), for it is not enough merely to have them memorized; rather, he must have them prepared (paratos) and readily at hand (expeditos). Therefore, let him first learn how many such loci there are, their nature—what they are and how many, qui sint, quo sint—and the force and propert[ies] of each… Next, one must have thoroughly examined and grasped all these loci themselves in their entirety (locos ipsos lustrasse ac comprehendisse universos). After all, how can anyone argue from the first locus if he has never read Sacred Scripture—or has scarcely understood it? If someone has never taken any notice at all of the traditions of Christ and the Apostles, in what way will he draw arguments from the second locus? If he has never been diligent in learning the teaching of the Church, of Councils, or of the Popes, what use will such a locus provide him for argumentation? Indeed, how can he gather arguments from the Fathers if he has not so much as opened the books of the saints? What faculty for disputation can he derive from the Scholastic Theologians if he has never once exerted his mind to understand the disputations of the schools? Will a man who has never formed his reasoning by means of Physics, Metaphysics, Astronomy, or Geometry be able to argue from those fields? Finally, what benefit will he receive from the philosophers and historians if he is not versed in their works?¹⁵⁸

Anyone who reflects on the conditions implied for theological loci by these telling expressions—Notos et tractatos locos, and again, paratos et expeditos; locos lustrasse ac comprehendisse omnes—on Cano’s insistence that one consider as effective only those loci which are grasped in all the details of their constituent parts, will no doubt grant us the substantial identity of his conception with that which we have encountered, pushing further and perhaps more closely than he has, the parallelism of the two Topics. Indeed, if Cano’s general theological loci are not really loci except when—tractati, parati, expediti—they are now capable of immediately grounding a theological argument, does not the converse also hold? Namely, that the arguments that now underlie this or that theological argumentation—by which I mean the propositions constituting its premises—embody the entire active essence of these theological loci and deserve to bear their name?

II. - On the Idea of a General Systematization of Theological Loci, Properly so called, or a Universal Theological Characteristic.

According to Melchior Cano, the determination of the immediate principles of theological argumentation, or what we properly call theological loci, was fundamentally a matter of personal effort. This is clear from the texts we just quoted, as well as others like them. Each theologian must, through reading and research, build a personal stock of theological documentation and then work upon this given data using the rules and precepts that serve as his methodological tools. In this way, he will be equipped with a set of loci that are fully prepared, studied, ready, and refined—each one furnished with a characteristic entry or note, making it possible to adapt it instantly to a given question, to resolve that question precisely, and to do so with a thorough awareness of the exact value of the resolution and its proof. Depending on how more or less completely, how more or less profoundly, this preparatory work has been pursued—and given that other conditions remain equal, including dialectical ability and that theological sense for which there is no substitute—we will find theologians of greater or lesser caliber. Of course, this remote preparation will then be supplemented by the immediate preparation required for addressing an urgent question. Proper loci do not fully present themselves with all their precise modalities—nor do they acquire their full topicality¹⁵⁹—except in the face of actual questions. Still, there can be no doubt that he who habitually maintains an abundant supply of carefully delineated loci will enjoy, for this ultimate deployment, among many other valuable advantages, a considerable head start over his rivals.

Things being thus, from the standpoint of perfecting Theological Dialectics, would it not be desirable to avoid leaving the remote preparation of the immediate principles of theological argumentation entirely to individual initiative? Would it not be fitting to carry through to its conclusion the parallel between Supernatural Dialectics and Rational Dialectics by undertaking, along the lines of Aristotle in Books 2–7 of the Topics, an official inventory of theological loci properly so called—one as comprehensive as the subject matter will allow? To pose the question is, if I am not mistaken, to answer it. For, besides the danger of prejudices and misunderstandings to which individual initiative is exposed, the practice that relies upon it has the serious drawback of requiring each theologian to begin afresh, for his own count, a critical inventory of the relevant theological loci, which for his predecessors was already a settled and classified resource. Of course, I would not want to replace the direct study of Sacred Scripture, the monuments of Tradition, the Fathers, the Theologians, the Philosophers, and History with the rote memorization of some manual akin to those used in military regimentation. Such direct study will always be indispensable to the theologian—if only to allow him to form a true sense of the meaning of theological arguments by restoring them to their context and to the literary, social, historical, and other circumstances from which they emerged. However, this personal research will inevitably remain limited for each individual, constrained by human capacities. To rely on it alone would be to condemn oneself to specialize in one branch or one question of theology—which would not, in fact, be free even of the risk of occluding one’s grasp even of that very branch itself—and it clashes with the very notion of what a theologian is, at least as conceived by Saint Thomas, who held that the theologian is nothing less than the representative of the “metaphysics of the revealed,”¹⁶⁰ a science necessarily universal in its order, just as metaphysics is in the realm of rational knowledge. There would thus be an advantage—if not more—in enabling the theologian, as he embarks on his work, to have at his disposal not only the Ars Generalis of the De Locis, but also a material Theological Topics having an impersonal and objective character, with all the certain, established results from the examination the sources of theology would be gathered, catalogued, and identified by their precise note of doctrinal approval, by way of the rules and precepts that serve as instruments for discovering the theological loci.

The realization of such a Topics is by no means impossible. On the one hand, the body of formally revealed doctrine is entirely at our disposal; the Councils, Fathers, and pontifical decisions have presumably provided all that is needed—requiring only periodic updating by way of supplements. Traditional theology, although it remains open to new progress, already contains a substantial portion of definitive achievements, which must always be taken into account if one wishes to complete its labors. Moreover, in many areas essential to theology, philosophy and history have already struck bedrock: here, what is necessary; there, what is observationally verified. On the other hand, since the time of Cano, we already possess the instruments for elaborating this deposit. The most important of these instruments have taken on their definitive form. Also, in secondary matters, it is a fairly straightforward task to refine them, and that is precisely the purpose of the clarifications we attempted to furnish for the notion of the instruments of theological discovery—by bringing it closer to the corresponding notion of Aristotelian Dialectic that served as a theme for Cano’s De locis theologicis. Thus, this undertaking is not only feasible but also useful and advantageous, not to say necessary.

But I can hear now the rejoinder: “This is an endless task! An infinite expanse cannot be traversed! Cano, that daring conquistador of the new continent that is theological methodology, himself felt the need to stop short of exploring it in its entirety. He remained content with delineating—by his rules—its shores, its peaks, its waterways, making only three forays into the interior—exactly three—as though to show that method has its limits and that beyond those, theology is a matter of personal effort.” For my part, I reply that if we accede to this objection, we might as well give up making new maps and remain satisfied with those from the seventeenth century, on the grounds that travel is a matter of personal effort. No! We no longer live in Cano’s time. It was permissible for that great pioneer that he do no more than orient our thought with his De locis theologicis. Besides, he died in the midst of his labors, before completing them—indeed, mid-journey, so to speak—right in the midst of developing the third type of application for the loci. Therefore, far from dissuading us from striving to complete his work, it seems to me that, if he were to come back to life and see how far theological documentation has matured objectively, he would command us to put our hand to the task. But to avoid remaining on the level of generalities, and to highlight the practical possibility of an immediate (or at least partial and provisional) realization of our goal, let us consider some concrete examples.

Everyone is familiar with Denziger’s Enchiridion. Reduced to the format of a manual, it contains the principal texts of Ecclesiastical Authority concerning dogmatic questions. Consequently, it represents only the material for two theological loci: Councils and the Sovereign Pontiffs. Here, then, on a particular yet crucial point of theological data, the essential documentation is fully assembled. But it exists in a raw state. At most, a very well-constructed table of contents offers a preliminary arrangement of this material into propositions. The theological criticism of the texts still needs to be done; their differentiation into theological loci that are prepared and ready at hand, expediti, is left by the author to the reader’s own discernment. Hence the difficulty—and sometimes even the danger—posed by handling this compilation when theologians are insufficiently informed. This drawback would not exist if each text were no longer in a crude, unprocessed condition but instead had been fashioned—according to the authentic rules and precepts of the theological loci—into propositions, each furnished with its own distinctive theological reference card. With minimal effort, one could thus complete a significant part of our critical inventory. Of course, such an undertaking would remain provisional, for even with the improvements introduced in the Enchiridion’s tenth edition, its nature as a manual prevents it from being considered in every respect a fully complete, scientific work. Still, one must admit that, for a first attempt, it provides a sound and practical starting point.

Allow another example. Everyone is acquainted with Turmel’s Histoire de la Théologie positive. It is neither complete nor perfect in every respect—which Turmel himself readily acknowledges. He worked as a pioneer, and for that reason he deserves much leniency. In his work, arranged according to the chronological order in which they emerged, one finds the primary proofs from Scripture, Tradition, and even theological reasoning used by theologians to resolve the main dogmatic questions raised throughout the centuries. This material—whose scope, moreover, does not coincide with that of Denziger—provides a broader basis of information than the Enchiridion and also has the advantage of frequently offering an initial elaboration of the sources which, undertaken from a historical-scientific viewpoint, should not—barring error—alter their positive character.¹⁶¹ Unless one is prepared to declare the entire endeavor of traditional theology futile, one must acknowledge in Turmel’s documentation the essential matter of the genuine theological loci to which the questions posed by Theology have turned for their resolutions, from its beginnings to our own day. In that case, is it not possible, without great effort, to draw upon this resource to compile a systematic catalogue in which all the arguments put forward in support of orthodox resolutions—rather than merely listing them factually—would have their evidentiary weight for theology explicitly developed and brought to light by the rules and precepts for discovering the theological loci, that is, those by which they genuinely derive from Revelation the particular form that belongs to their given probative force? In such a classification—where the order of dogmatic importance of the “common” theological loci would replace the historical order¹⁶²—each proposition arising from the texts cited by Turmel would be supplied with a critical record card, consisting essentially in an indication of the particular common locus under which the argument concludes, and the instrument that brings it onto the terrain. Rather than remaining in a perplexing haze (the impression that Turmel’s work frequently gives theologians with a keen eye for precision, due to the stark brevity with which he transmits the arguments that convinced earlier theologians or even settled the gravest questions), the immediate theological loci would appear in our register as though stamped out cleanly, without imprecision, stating plainly what they assert, stating it fully, and stating nothing more. This would be positive theology, if only because that is the name given to treatises that limit themselves to recording positive arguments. However, this positive theology would no longer remain sealed, enigmatic, in actu primo (Scholastic affairs, Cano would say, bring with them Scholastic terminology), but would be clear and open, in actu secundo, fully ready to serve as a starting point for systematic theology—which, although systematic, is nevertheless still positive in its sources. I will state plainly what I think: this might be the true, indeed the only authentic positive theology, if it is granted that a theology truly worthy of the name must speak of God in the light of God, and must accordingly be conceived not merely as a set of literary data concerning God and His works, but as a body of statements actually illuminated by the light of faith, whose rules and precepts concerning the theological loci are the expression of that irradiation and declare its demands.¹⁶³ Once again, I ask: with a foundation such as that provided by the Histoire de la Théologie positive, supplemented and corrected if one wishes, what is to prevent us from drawing up a catalogue of the principal and authentic immediate theological loci concerning all the great dogmatic questions?

* * *

Will we be allowed to look still higher and farther, to go beyond merely practical goals and direct our gaze toward the Ideal? Perhaps so, if the Ideal uniquely has the power to reveal the full scope of concepts, and thus the only correct and definitive notion of things—namely, their idea καθ᾽ ἐξοχήν, par excellence!

Among Leibniz’s works, there is a very intriguing project in scientific methodology known as the Characteristica Universalis. It was the dream of that enthusiastic and brilliant logician to impart to all the sciences—particularly the abstract sciences and Metaphysics—the rigor and certainty thought to be the exclusive privilege of Mathematics, a rigor and certainty that is hampered by the imprecision of ordinary language. He therefore conceived of recording, through a small set of fixed symbolic characters, all concepts, all rules of attribution, the entire matter and form of science, with the aim of making philosophical and scientific deduction into a kind of universal, infallible calculus—one that would operate in the realm of human thought as the infinitesimal calculus (which he regarded as a derivative of his own method) does in Mathematics.¹⁶⁴ We have no intention here of describing in detail this vast methodology. Those who wish may find a highly engaging discussion of the subject in the fourth chapter of Louis Couturat’s La Logique de Leibniz. Nor do we propose to decide whether Leibniz’s failure was due to contingent factors or to the very nature of the enterprise itself—to what one might call the complication of this simplification, which aims at nothing less than replacing the living and often synthetic work of the mind with a rigidly analytic process, to which intuitions and mental attributions bend only with difficulty. Whatever the feasibility of its implementation, the Characteristica Universalis remains, nonetheless, the most grandiose project ever attempted by human genius in homage to the Ideal of a perfect rational Science.

Such is the kind of ideal we glimpse at the conclusion of this study into Theological Topics. Although we think that several generations of theologians might scarcely suffice to produce even a rough model of it, we judge it to be more readily attainable than Leibniz’s endeavor, because its subject matter is more clearly delimited, its form more precisely defined, and its intention more circumscribed. To begin with the material: what is at stake, in fact? It is a question of: systematically going through all the sources of theology, determining their positive content with the help of various sciences—especially exegetical and historical—while laboring under the guidance and supervision of the demands of the object of faith; classifying this content into groups of theological loci, ranked by the degree of authority conferred on them by the rules and precepts of theological methodology; arranging them under the common theological loci to which they belong; and assigning each group a symbolic designation made of two or three abbreviations. For instance, the number “1” could designate a particular common theological locus—say, Sacred Scripture; the letter “C” could indicate that the locus, once identified, relates to one of its remote instruments of discovery (for example, the authority of the Vulgate); while the letter “T” might signify its relationship to the immediate instrument giving it its specific nuance, such as the second rule concerning the accommodative sense.—The form of our Topics thus consists precisely in these documentation organizing principles we just enumerated: the four supreme common loci, the ten major concrete common loci, and the rules and precepts of theological critique, which both 1˚ assign to every distinct element of the theological data the measure of probative force to which it is entitled, and 2˚ correspondingly organize that material into immediate theological loci whose probative value is systematically ranked.—Finally, the intention of the Theological Topica is confined to the questions raised by the revealed deposit. The number of such questions is limited; the most important among them have already been definitively resolved, and we can build on existing work—work that has been done well. The outline of dogma is sufficiently developed that one need only weave back and forth between relatively well-defined points. It seems to us that this is enough reason not to regard a universal theological characteristic as impossible to achieve.

Be that as it may, the mere conception of this ideal of a thoroughly critical theological documentation—which I mean to say is critical from a theological standpoint as well as a scientific one—seems to cast fresh light on the work yet to be done, as well as on the embryonic state in which this part of theological methodology currently finds itself. Will it be said that Theology is to lag behind all those contemporary sciences that we see so feverishly engaged in drawing up a critical inventory of their own data, aiming at greater precision and a more complete systematization? Certainly not! Let young traditional theologians get to work! It is not only in the history of theology one will find work for work for the young to do.¹⁶⁵ There are still bright days ahead for the “Ecclesia discens” in the sphere of the methodology of our ancient theology. Under the guidance of Aristotle and Melchior Cano, let us set to the task—while remembering, however, the admonition of that cheerful and mischievous pioneer, to whom we owe the austere De Locis: if a dwarf perched on the shoulders of a giant sees farther than the giant, he should remember not to take too much pride in this fact.

Conclusion

If, as we believe to be the case, the methodological character of the De Locis theologicis emerges clearly from these reflections, we can now pinpoint the place of this treatise within the hierarchy of the theological sciences, thus meeting the expectation and desideratum of the discipline that we stated at the beginning of this study. Admittedly, the intellectualist and dialectical view of Theology presupposed by our work will not please everyone: some will see therein a prime example of “Theologism.”¹⁶⁶ They will not be entirely mistaken. Indeed, we maintain that, stripped of the ridiculous and overblown features often ascribed to it, “Theologism” is simply the plain truth. Which is to say that there is a conceptual homogeneity that extends from the first, inspired expression of revealed truth in the prophet’s mind to the revealed deposit, from that deposit to dogma, from dogma to the immediate principles of theology, and from those immediate principles to theological conclusions.¹⁶⁷ Therefore, Scholastic Theology is not a futile enterprise but, rather, a legitimate unfolding of Revelation. This affirmation of the substantial continuity of revealed truth under its various forms is the foundation of this work. If someone denies it, he is not yet prepared to read it. Perhaps, in a later study, we shall engage that skeptic on his own ground and attempt to bring him up to the positions we assume here. Yet this was not our intention in the present study, whose character is purely esoteric: Sapientiam loquimur inter perfectos. It is dedicated to theologians already convinced of the legitimacy of speculative theology, and to them alone. May it help to renew or strengthen in their minds the authentic notion of Theology—so ancient, and yet for many so new—and of what the De locis must be as its introduction!¹⁶⁸

---

1. 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 by 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 and for helping with internal references.

   Also, I would like to call the reader’s attention to a very important final footnote in this text, where I reproduce a critique raised by Labourdette which indicates certain issues in Gardeil, though in the context of some similar and different concerns regarding the methodological theories of Journet.↩︎

2. See Constantine von Schäzler, Introductio in S. Theologiam, c. 3, § praevia informatio, a. 2, n. 4.↩︎

3. See Melchior Cano, De Locis, bk. 12, c. 3, § Divus Thomas mihi et auctor et magister fuit hujus operis componendi.↩︎

4. ST I, q. 1, a. 2.↩︎

5. 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).↩︎

6. See Cassiodorus, De artibus ac discipl. liberalium artium, c. 3, § De Dialecticis locis (PL, 70, col. 1177ff).↩︎

7. Translator’s note: See Fr. Gardeil’s study of Probable Certainty, also available on To Be a Thomist.↩︎

8. 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.↩︎

9. 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.↩︎

10. 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.↩︎

11. A typical example of this pre-scientific phase can be found in bk. 1 of Aristotle’s De Anima.↩︎

12. 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.↩︎

13. See ST I, q. 1, a. 8c.↩︎

14. 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.↩︎

15. 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.)↩︎

16. 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.↩︎

17. 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.↩︎

18. 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. It gathers together 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.

    ↩︎

19. Cf. Ambroise Gardeil, La Crédibilité et l'Apologétique, 1^st edition (Paris: Lecoffre, 1908), 86–91. Trans. note: Because Gardeil revisited this work several years later, the reader should also consult the 2^nd edition.↩︎

20. See “Secondly, the subject of Dialectics is determined by the kind of question it is called upon to resolve…” above.↩︎

21. See “The first characteristic of the principles of Dialectics is that they are common principles…” above.↩︎

22. Translator’s note: See the discussions from Labourdette above.↩︎

23. See Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 3–6.↩︎

24. San Severino, Logica, pt. 2, ch. 2, a. 1 (p. 190).↩︎

25. For this justification, I refer you to San Severino's remarkable presentation.↩︎

26. 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 5^th of Definition and the 2^nd 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.↩︎

27. Aristotle, Rhetoric, bk. 2, ch. 23 [sic] (ed. Didot, vol. 1, p. 275)↩︎

28. The enthymeme is the rhetorician’s syllogism.↩︎

29. Aristotle, Rhetoric, bk. 2, ch. 122 [sic], § 13. (Didot, p. 374, 375)↩︎

30. 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).↩︎

31. Aristotle, Rhetoric, loc. cit. § 16.↩︎

32. 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)↩︎

33. Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 11 (Didot ed., p. 180). See Barthélemy Saint-Hilaire, De la Logique d'Aristote, pt. 2, ch. 6.↩︎

34. Ibid. Cf. San Severino, Logiciae, p. 335.↩︎

35. See Didot edition of the Topics, p. 180.↩︎

36. 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.↩︎

37. Aristotle, Topics, bk. 1, ch. 13 (Didot ed., p. 181ff).↩︎

38. San Severino, Logicae, p. 343 (§ ne vero quis nobis quasi quisquilias…)↩︎

39. 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.↩︎

40. See Boethius, In Topica Ciceronis commentarius, bk. 1 (PL, 64, col. 1052–1054).↩︎

41. Cicero, Topica, ch. 2; cf. San Severino, Logicae, p. 291.↩︎

42. 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.”↩︎

43. Boethius, De differentiis Topis bk. 2 (PL 64, col. 1185). For this entire exposition, cf. San Severino, Logicae, p. 293.↩︎

44. 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.↩︎

45. 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↩︎

46. Cicero, Topica (Paris: Panckoucke, 1835), t. 5, ch. 2, p. 220.—Cf. Boethius, In Topicis Ciceronis commentarius (PL 64), bk. 1, col. 1054.↩︎

47. 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).↩︎

48. Cicero, Orator, ch. 14 (edit. cit. p. 38).↩︎

49. San Severino, Logicae, p. 290.↩︎

50. Cicero, De partitionibus Oratoriae, ch. 2 (edit. cit. p. 203ff).↩︎

51. Quintilian, institutio oratoria, bk. 5, ch.10 (cited by San Severino, p. 292).↩︎

52. 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)↩︎

53. See note 45 above.↩︎

54. 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.↩︎

55. Should we say Problems or Theological Questions? In the Topics, the word Problem presents no difficulty. Absolute methodical doubt, the idea of which it awakens, is suited to universal dialectics. The only limits, to take things in themselves, that its points of interrogation entail are taken from absurdity, the raising of vain questions. However, if we take into account the acquired positions in the vicinity of such dialectic, we already encounter certain extrinsic limits that forbid the raising of certain questions, for example those of a nature to cast doubt on morality or religion. This thought in Aristotle (Topics, bk. 1, ch. 9, no. 9 [Didot]) was taken up and considered in all its aspects by San Severino in De usu dubitationis in scientiis, in Philos. christiana cum antiquâ et novâ comparata, vol. 3, a. 3-6 (pp. 199–227). In theology, many solutions are fixed in advance for the faith, or at least for the Christian prudence of the believer. Therefore, the theologian does not utter the word utrum without certain reservations. Cf. Capponi, In Summam theol. D. Thom. Aq., pt. 1, Q. 1, a. 1. Thus, the expression Theological Questions, which has a less libertine sound than Problem, has prevailed. This does not prevent us from encountering, even in Theology, what the author of the Concordantiae attributed to Saint Thomas calls a problema neutrum. See Opusc. 65 (edit. Rom. 72), Opera S. Thom. Aq. (Parma: 1864), vol. 17, p. 411.↩︎

56. [Tr. note: See the important critical remarks from Labourdette and Gagnebet in the first subsection of this translation.]↩︎

57. See the paragraph beginning “Aristotle demonstrates, both inductively and deductively”.↩︎

58. See the paragraphs beginning “2˚ Secondly, the subject of Dialectics” and “Dialectical probability does not exclude necessity”.↩︎

59. See the paragraph beginning “1˚ The principles of theology are the articles of faith”.↩︎

60. An explanation is in order. Indeed, one might think that these natural questions are theological only when, leaving aside the rational proofs that support them, we seek to resolve them through revelation. This is a mistake. They remain theological questions even though they require reason to resolve them. How can this be so? Here is how: If, according to what we have called the natural order of realities, reason takes a kind of precedence over revelation, the same cannot be said concerning its value as a criterion of truth. Here, revelation, the direct manifestation of divine knowledge and the rule of our own, naturally takes precedence over reason. Therefore, where there is a common object, and one and the same question is subject to the means of proof from both, rational knowledge can only approach its solution by taking into account the superior value of revelation and basing itself on it. In this case, Reason is no longer mere reason, but theological reason, that is, reason governed and, if necessary, corrected by the teachings of Revelation. This is how a primarily philosophical question, such as the existence of God, becomes a truly theological question, even as it awaits its solution from rational arguments. And this is what explains and justifies the presence, in treatises that are purely theological, of questions that are in themselves philosophical, such as that concerning the existence of God treated in ST I, q. 2, a. 3, whose means for resolution, borrowed from Aristotle but dominated and led by the words of Exodus recalled in sed contra, are therefore theological means of resolution.↩︎

61. See the paragraph beginning “Dialectical probability does not exclude necessity”.↩︎

62. Translator’s note: Gardeil here has a reference without a page number. The point remains interesting—and in someways troubling—for the reasons signaled by Labourdette and Gagnebet. However, doubtlessly, the analysis of probable-dialectical certainty in discursive theology is a necessary aspect—so long as discursive theology’s scientific nature is not thereby obscured.↩︎

63. SCG, bk. 1, ch. 5.↩︎

64. We need not here insist on the modalities of the theological questions concerning principles and consequences. However, it is worth saying a few words about them, if only to provide an overall doctrine. With regard to questions that call into question a formally revealed truth, let us note two cases. (1) In the first, the dictum in question is revealed not only formally, but explicitly. In that case, there is, strictly speaking, no theological question concerning it. The principles of faith, which are the generative elements of theological resolutions, cannot be questioned in theology. In relation to theological questions, such questions which put these matters up for debate would be like those who posit things that take no account of the objective datum in relation to the legitimate theses of the sciences (positions which Saint Thomas calls, after Aristotle, positiones extraneae). However, due to the ignorance of the faithful or the hostility of heretics, these positions are not ignored, and for this accidental reason, they must be annexed to theological questions. In fact, according to the principles dear to Saint Thomas, one of the offices belonging to theology, this supernatural metaphysics, is to defend its principles against their adversaries, either by arguing, on the basis of the principles of faith that they maintain, to make them admit those they revoke in doubt, or, if they grant nothing, by demonstrating the fragility of their objections (ST I, q. 1, a. 8) And it is through this need to refute heretics that Cano exonerates himself from putting up for discussion—“contra institutum meum,” he says (De locis, bk. 12, ch. 13 [beginning] and cf. bk. 2, ch. 4 [near the end])— a principle of theology that should not be questioned. (2) Secondly, however, there is one case where a real theological question concerns formally revealed truths. This is when they are not revealed explicitly—i.e. in the very terms in which the question is posed—but only in equivalent terms, the equivalence of which must be established by explanation (cf. Billuart, dissertatio, proem de theologia, a. 7). In this case, there really is a matter to be addressed, from a theological perspective, since implicitly revealed truths are not sufficient to determine explicit faith in their content. In other words, there is a theological question.

    But theological questions par excellence are those in which the dictum that is the subject of the question is not formally in the Deposit of Revelation, when it is necessary to have recourse, in order to extricate it, not to an explanation, but to a formal reasoning process, i.e. in which the conclusion emerges from the premises—not by unpacking the implicit as in the previous case, but by a genuine transition from cause to effect. These are questions of consequence, not of principle. Theologians enumerate two kinds of such questions, depending on whether they require resolutions from formally revealed premises, or from premises such that one is revealed and the other rational (approved, though, by faith, like everything else that enters into theology). Cf. the first note to the section “I. Natural and supernatural questions” above. In the first case, the theological question, although logically aimed at a consequence, can be regarded, from the perspective of specification, as falling within the scope of questions raised by formally revealed principles. In the second case, by contrast, it is primarily a question relating to the consequences of revelation, and the kind of truth it aims at is that of virtual revelation. This is what Cano calls quaestio mixta (De locis, bk. 12, ch. 5. (See Rule 10 among the distinction of ambiguities in scripture below, starting “The consequent sense”.)

    Translator’s note: I cannot resist, however, noting that for some (even conservative) Thomists (Garrigou, Schultes, et al), the question par excellence—and hence the conclusion par excellence—handled in theology would be those which are not objectively inferential. For some discussion of this—though, I would add more from Schultes—see Matthew Minerd, “Wisdom be Attentive: The Noetic Structure of Sapiential Knowledge.” Nova et Vetera. 18, no. 4 (Fall 2020): 1103–1146.↩︎

65. See the note beginning “In our presentation of the Aristotelian dialectic”.↩︎

66. See the paragraph beginning “The division of the general problem”.↩︎

67. For example: the loci a definitione are made explicit in the common locus stating that the defined and definition are equivalent (cf. “For example, we might formulate the fundamental property of definition” above).↩︎

68. Albert In Topica, bk. 1, tr. 1, c. 1.↩︎

69. See the paragraph beginning “While there may be a parallelism”.↩︎

70. See the paragraph beginning “These instruments are four in number”.↩︎

71. See the paragraph beginning “While there may be a parallelism”.↩︎

72. As it is not our intention to write a new treatise on theological loci, we would like to refer to existing treatises, especially those that are more in keeping with the true spirit of the Theological Topics. Foremost among these are Cano’s De Locis, Perrone's conscientious work De locis Theologicis, pt. 2; Schaezler’s profound Introductio in S. Theologiam by Schaezler, the part of Father De Groot’s Summa apologetica de Ecclesia that concerns us, and finally, the De Locis by Father Joachim Berthier (Turin: 1888). The latter codified and made manageable Cano's somewhat exuberant masterpiece, completing and modernizing it with the sense of a very well-informed dialectician of Theology.↩︎

73. However, Cano, in bk. 12 of the De locis, which was to be followed by two others, sketched out the idea of a theological Ars specialis. However, the infinite number of problems involved with the task diverted him from taking it up in its entirety, as Aristotle had done for the dialectical loci, in bks. 2 to 7 of his Topics. This was, according to Cano, a personal work to be taken up by theologians. (Cf. De Locis, bk. 12, ch. 11). Therefore, he confined himself to putting them on the right track, by giving a few typical examples of the work that each had to do (Cf. De Locis, bk. 12, c. 12–14).↩︎

74. See the section beginning “If we apply to these questions” through the end of section III.↩︎

75. See De Locis, bk. 1, c. 3: “Therefore, we encompass the list of theological loci in a tenfold enumeration, not unaware that there will be some who reduce these same loci to a smaller number, and others who wish them to be greater. But there is no need to dwell on the form of enumeration, provided that no locus is counted as superfluous or any necessary one omitted.” Thus, it is clear that the promoter of the Loci theologici had no intention of consecrating the number ten as a sacred, symbolic number, in harmony with Aristotle’s Ten Predicaments. Therefore, let it be understood once and for all, that it is in this same spirit that, throughout this work, we will speak of ten theological loci.↩︎

76. See the paragraph beginning “However, precisely because the first instrument”.↩︎

77. Oἱ μὲν οὖν τόποι δι 'ὧν εὐπορήσομεν πρὸς ἕκαστα τῶν προβλημάτων ἐπιχειρεῖν, σχεδὸν ικανῶς ἐξηρίθμενται (Aristotle, Topicorum, bk. 7, ch. 4, no. 18 [Didot]).↩︎

78. Constitution Dei Filius, c. 2, Denziger, Enchiridion, n. 1636.↩︎

79. Constitution Dei Filius, c. 3. Denziger, Enchiridion, n. 1641.↩︎

80. Constitution Pater aeternus, passim. Denziger, Enchiridion, n. 1667 ff.↩︎

81. Topic, 1. 1, c. 12, n. 4, ed. Didot, t. 1, p. 180.↩︎

82. Cf. Constitution Dei Filius, c. 2, in calce; cf. Syllabus, prop. 13.↩︎

83. Relative, in the sense that it does not replace a good natural demonstration. It assumes the truth to be established by its natural means, and judges it only from the point of view of its harmony with the revealed [message]. Cf. S. Thomas, Summa theol, 1, q. 1, a. 6, ad 2.↩︎

84. Constitution Dei Filius, c. 4. Denziger, Enchiridion, n. 1644-46.↩︎

85. See the paragraphs beginning “1˚ The principles of theology are the articles of faith”, “2˚ The matter of theology is determined”, and “As we have already established, the fundamental theological question”.↩︎

86. See the section beginning “If we apply to these questions” through the end of section III.↩︎

87. In the diagram above, we say that (III) are apodictic (i.e., demonstrably certain) in the rational order, though they are probable in the broad sense of the term when considered in relation to the revealed datum as an object of faith. Hence, Saint Thomas could say: “Sacred doctrine uses such authorities as if they were external and merely probable (probabilibus) arguments” (ST I, q.1, a.8, ad 2).↩︎

88. See the list following “The first concerns a conception of the dialectical locus”.↩︎

89. See the paragraphs beginning “Now, very importantly, these four major differential characteristics” and “To determine the central common loci of dialectics”.↩︎

90. See the list following “As regards supernatural theological questions there is”.↩︎

91. See the list following “As regards supernatural theological questions there is”.↩︎

92. See the list following “As regards supernatural theological questions there is”.↩︎

93. See the list following “As regards supernatural theological questions there is”.↩︎

94. See the list following “As regards supernatural theological questions there is”.↩︎

95. While designating theological loci, following Cano’s usage, with the terms “probable” and “certain,” we wish to adopt this author’s own remark regarding these qualifications: “I do not wish for anyone to fall into the error of thinking that if a locus is strong, all arguments derived from it must be considered strong, or, conversely, that if a locus is weak, all the arguments drawn from it must be weak. For sometimes we draw merely probable arguments from Sacred Scripture… Conversely, human history, though fragile in itself, at times supplies certain arguments” (De locis, bk. 12, ch. 11). Instruments of discovery are useful precisely for distinguishing the conditions in which a certain theological locus is most effective from those in which it is less effective.↩︎

96. In particular, when it comes to listing the instruments, we will be looking more closely at the essential rules or precepts to be found in all the manuals, rather than at certain delicate and time-consuming rules governing particular scriptural questions that have recently arisen. Cf. J-R. Bonhomme, “Le Texte biblique du Théologien,” Revue thomiste (Nov. 1907). Above all, we want to be understood clearly enough, and it would, therefore, be inappropriate to draw our examples from what is still under study instead of from what has reached a certain and achieved status.↩︎

97. In Epist. ad Gal., c. 4, lect. 7. Cf. ST, I, q. 1, a. 10.↩︎

98. Cf. Berthier, Tractatus de locis theologicis, no. 174.↩︎

99. In this study into the principles of the De locis, we do not wish to touch on controversial questions such as the plurality of literal meanings for a single passage: “If by literal meaning,” says St. Thomas, “we mean that which the author has in view, as the author of Sacred Scripture is the God who understands all things with a single glance, there is nothing unfitting in saying, with St. Augustine (Confessions bk. 11), that, even in its literal meaning, in one and the same text of Scripture there are several meanings.” Cf. Zapletal, Hermeneutica, ch. 3; A. Blanche, “Le Sens littéral des Écritures, d'après Saint Thomas d'Aquin,” Revue thomiste(1906): 192. For an interpretation of this text in Saint Thomas, cf. Berthier, Tractatus de locis theologicis, p. 161, note 5.↩︎

100. Cf. Schaezler, Introductio in Sacram Theologiam, ch. 3, sect. 1, q. 1, a. 3, from which we extract this fundamental thought: “Every act of assent that presupposes another assent as its foundation must necessarily have the same firmness as that prior assent—not a greater firmness. Therefore, in order for the divine truth made manifest through Sacred Scripture to be received with divine faith, it is necessary that the very fact of divine inspiration itself be likewise accepted by divine faith and thus on account of God’s own testimony.”↩︎

101. Cf . Denziger, Enchiridion, n. 49, 59, 112, 125, 1399, 600, 666, 1636, 1656 (Numeration prior to tenth edition).↩︎

102. This is imperfectly expressed by saying that it extends usque ad res et sententias, to the realities and sentential judgments, if we mean by this to exclude from inspiration properly so called (to subject it to another rather vague law of preservation called assistance) the choice of words and expressions, which are the essential components, albeit ad placitum to a certain extent, of any proposition.↩︎

103. For this distinction, see Ambroise Gardeil, “La Relativité des formules dogmatiques,” Revue thomiste 11 (January 1903) p. 645 ff (n. 11 ff).↩︎

104. ST II-II, q. 2, a. 5c.↩︎

105. ST II-II, q. 1, a. 6, ad, 1; cf. a. 8.↩︎

106. Ibid.↩︎

107. ST I, q. 32, a. 4.↩︎

108. ST II-II, q. 2, a. 5.↩︎

109. ST I, q. 32, a. 4.↩︎

110. Examples: “That Abraham had two sons; that a dead man was raised at the touch of Elisha’s bones; that David was the son of Jesse; that Samuel was the son of Elkanah. All (things of this kind) which are contained in divinely handed on sacred scripture” (ibid., locis cit.).↩︎

111. Cf. ST II-II, q. 2, a. 5-8.↩︎

112. ST II-II, q. 2, a. 5.↩︎

113. ST I, q. 32, a. 4. This difference in the way of arriving at recognition of the divine certainty necessary to the scriptural theological locus, in no way invalidates this certainty once it is proven: “Although these are not, strictly speaking, articles of faith or principal headings in Theology but, rather, are incidentally linked to them—almost as secondary principles—nevertheless, the theologian accepts them just as the philosopher accepts self-evident principles, without any intermediary or proof, in the same manner as he had accepted the articles of faith” (Cano, De Locis, bk. 12, ch. 3, circa finem).↩︎

114. An example is the word “is” in the Eucharistic formula of the Last Supper.↩︎

115. Cf. Berthier, De Locis, p. 214.↩︎

116. Cf. ibid., p. 219.↩︎

117. Cf. ibid., p. 215-216.↩︎

118. Lists of these propositions can be found in Berthier's De Locis, no. 208 (p. 180), and in Zapletal’s Hermeneutica biblica, ch. 11.↩︎

119. For the defined spiritual sense, cf. Zapletal, loc. cit. who gives as an example, “Behold that the virgin will conceive,” (Is. 7:14), applied to the Blessed Virgin.↩︎

120. Here we use the theological locus of the Church’s authority under which the qualification of propositions—along with its rules and precepts—properly falls.↩︎

121. To contradict is not the same as to add to the meaning defined by the Church, nor to develop consequences of the text that are alongside the defined meaning. Cf. Berthier, De Locis, pt. 1, bk. 1, a. 2, § 2, sect. 1, n. 209, sq. p. 181.↩︎

122. Cf. Berthier, De locis, p. 180, 214.↩︎

123. Cf. Berthier, ibid. p. 181.↩︎

124. Cf. Berthier, ibid. p. 182.↩︎

125. “Not on account of any lack of authority, but rather by virtue of the very nature of the likeness on which it rests. For one thing can indeed be similar to many others.... etc.” (Saint Thomas, Quodlibet 7, a. 14, ad 4). Cf. Berthier, De locis, p. 216.↩︎

126. Cf. Berthier, De locis, p. 217–219.↩︎

127. Cf. Vacant, Etudes sur la Constitution “Dei Filius,” vol. 2, p. 293.↩︎

128. Cf. Zapletal, Hermeneutica, § 7, n. 2, a.↩︎

129. See the paragraphs beginning “Justifying principle: The canonicity of a book” and “Justifying principles.—The instrument for determining”.↩︎

130. Cf. Berthier, De Locis, 120–133, 139.↩︎

131. A qualification: Within the limits that the text does not contain per accidens errors [incorrections], interpolations, etc. On this, see the works of specialists on this subject. Also, see Berthier, De locis, p. 144ff. De Groot, Summa apologetica de Ecclesia, q. 16, a. 5, n. 5, 6; Bonhomme, “Le Texte biblique du Théologien,” cited above.↩︎

132. See the paragraph beginning “Justifying principles.—The instrument for determining”.↩︎

133. See the argument presented by Berthier in De Locis, no. 134 ff.↩︎

134. Cano refuses to accord any doctrinal authority to the Hebrew text (De Locis, bk. 2, ch. 13, concl. 3 and 4). He concedes to the editions of the original text only a value of secondary and accidental utility (c. 15). But the examples he gives to justify this utility value come very close to conferring upon them a probable doctrinal value. Cano seems to have exaggerated the corruption of the text revised by the Masoretes and, especially, the scope of the Council of Trent’s decree on the Vulgate. See Berthier, De Locis, p. 118, 144 sq.↩︎

135. See Cano, De Locis, bk. 12, c. 15.↩︎

136. For example, the theory of Lenormant, presented in Christian Pesch, De inspiratione S. Scripturae, n. 338.↩︎

137. See Communication from the Pontifical Commission for Biblical Studies, June 27, 1906.↩︎

138. See Berthier, p. 222.↩︎

139. Translator’s note: I can sense the unfriendly reader immediately seizing on this remark to see the pretenses of a rationalist modernity seeking a unified Science of all things. However, I beg such a reader to remain open to Gardeil, not as necessarily furnishing all the resolutions in these matters De locis theologicis and in theological methodology (indeed, I share some of the concerns of Labourdette and Gagnebet mentioned earlier and discussed at length in the footnote I have included at the end of this essay), but rather, as someone who might well have reflected about these matters more than nearly all contemporary theologians and philosophers (for whom the Topics are like a fruitful terra incognita). The work of Yvan Pelletier (La dialectique aristotéliciene: les principes clés des Topiques (Montréal: Éditions Bellarmin, 1991)) should be consulted for details toward such a philosophical recovery (with a very useful bibliography as well), perhaps along with the various articles and works of Fr. Timothée Richard, OP; the work of Doronzo on the De locis (on which I am presently working for publication) should furnish the starting point for the theological recovery of this treatise.↩︎

140. See the paragraph beginning “Justifying principle: The canonicity of a book”.↩︎

141. See the paragraph beginning “4) With regard to faith, and consequently to theology” and the following list.↩︎

142. See the list of rules beginning “Rule I.—It is certain, as a matter of Catholic faith”.↩︎

143. See the paragraph beginning “Rule I. - The propositions of canonical Scripture”.↩︎

144. See the list following the words “Supreme common locus I”.↩︎

145. See Cano, De locis, bk. 12, ch. 13.↩︎

146. See the above proposition reading “7. The Doctrine of the Doctors of the Church, Scholastic Theologians and Canonists is a probable principle of resolution”; for the meaning of the word probable, see the note beginning “While designating theological loci”. Here, probable means: solid proof, satis firma (according to Cano).↩︎

147. See the paragraphs beginning “As we have said, the qualitative note” and “With this distinction, we have exhausted” as well as the subsequent list.↩︎

148. “An argument drawn from a thing’s own proper operation, or even from a power necessarily and naturally following from that thing’s substance, truly shows what its nature and substance are like. Indeed, theologians, by considering both this proper operation and this proper power—namely the act of understanding and the capacity for intellect—argue for the soul’s incorruptibility.”↩︎

149. See the paragraph beginning “Thus, there can be no doubt about it”.↩︎

150. See the paragraphs beginning “While there may be a parallelism” and “The general remark that we made earlier”.↩︎

151. See the paragraph beginning “And the reason for this, as can be concluded”.↩︎

152. We are not even here excluding the articles of faith, for if (according to St Thomas’s conception), they are truths that radiate onto others (cf. ST II-II, q. 1, a. 6 and 8; q. 2, a. 5; see the paragraph beginning “Rule III.—Among these propositions, those”) they do not, most of the time, have a universal content. If they were to have it, this would only be per accidens, and we would still need to explain how the truths which are “secundario revelatae,” which are particular most of the time, are also theological loci.↩︎

153. In brief, and for those in the know [les initiés], logical universality (universale in praedicando), is supplemented in casu by the universality of the cause of all theological assent, namely Revelation (universale in causando).↩︎

154. See the paragraph beginning “The second point that wish to note concerns the use”.↩︎

155. Translator’s note: I must here note the concerns I feel regarding all the lineaments of this project (joining myself to Labourdette and Gagnebet). I still think that Fr. Gardeil must be interacted with and learned from, even if critiqued (for he has at least broached these topics with a real depth and honesty, and no small insight indeed). But, I very much worry about a kind of “scientific downgrade” of theology at his hands. As Labourdette put it privately to Maritain: thank goodness Gardeil did not practice theology the way that he methodologically described it at times (“lui-même, grâce à Dieu, la [i.e., la théologie] pratiquait bien autrement!)” (Correspondance Journet-Maritain, vol. 3, p. 824). The character of dialectical logic is—in a kind of transposed, supernatural way—present in theology, no doubt, due to the fact that the loci have various levels of connection to revelation and, thereby, certitude as data received upon authority. Nonetheless, there is a real risk that if one follows Gardeil too far here the notions of science and wisdom will be sacrificed for the dialectic of sources. (I’m also aware of countervailing tendencies in Le donné révélé—yet, I cannot shake this sense that the historicist tendencies in Chenu were potentially present in Gardeil, nolens volens with a kind of ambiguity.)↩︎

156. See Thomas, In III Sent., d. 23, q. 2, a. 1, ad 4: “Properly speaking, an argument is said to be the process of reasoning from what is known to what is unknown. According to Boethius, it is ‘reasoning that makes a doubtful matter worthy of belief’ (De topicis differentiis).” And because the entire force of an argument lies in the middle term—from which we proceed to prove what is unknown—this middle itself is called the “argument,” whether it be a sign, a cause, or an effect. Furthermore, since the entire course of argumentation is contained in the middle term or in the principle from which the reasoning proceeds, the term “argument” has been extended so that any brief foretaste or preview of future discourse is also called an “argument.”↩︎

157. See the paragraph beginning “The first concerns a conception of the dialectical locus” and the subsequent paragraphs.↩︎

158. De Locis, bk. 12, c. 11.↩︎

159. Translator’s note: See my translation of Gardeil’s note on Topicality, presented here on To be a Thomist.↩︎

160. Translator’s note: The point holds well enough, but the reader would do well to see Labourdette’s concerns (voiced to Maritain and Journet), cited at length early in this translation in a footnote and, nearly in full, in the final footnote.↩︎

161. Reservations have been voiced—and I myself have voiced them—regarding certain passages that pertain to Saint Thomas. See Revue thomiste, 12 (1904): pp. 207, 486, 583; idem., 13 (1905): p. 194.↩︎

162. Translator’s note: This little aside by Gardeil is critical for understanding exactly what he is proposing. It goes much further than what someone like Ludwig Ott attempted, with more methodological articulation, control, and rigor. But, one can see in Ott a text that almost, as it were, naturally developed somewhat in the lines desired by Gardeil, due to the pressures of the human mind wanting a methodological critique of the notes—but it’s much more than a question of dogma. It is about—and here I’m using Labourdette to read, correct, and develop Gardeil—theological observation. See the discussion of this capital point in the essay “Theology: Faith Seeking Understanding” in Minerd and Kirwan, The Thomistic Response to the Nouvelle Théologie. However, for important qualifications and distinctions between the methodologies, see the lengthy text from Labourdette presented in the final footnote in this text.↩︎

163. For a more thorough development of these ideas, see the illuminating pages by Fr. Antoine Lemonnyer in his article “Théologie positive et historique,” Revue du Clergé français, 34 (March 1, 1903): 8 ff.; see also Ambroise Gardeil, “La place de saint Thomas d’Aquin dans la Réforme des Études théologiques,” Revue de l’Institut catholique de Paris (1902); and idem., “Réponse à M. Turmel,” Revue thomiste 12 (November 1904): 591.↩︎

164. See Louis Couturat, La logique de Leibniz d’après des documents inédites (Paris: Alcan, 1901), 81ff.↩︎

165. See Dom Germin Morin, “De la Besogne pour les jeunes,” Revue d’Histoire écclésiastique 6.2↩︎

166. See George Tyrrell’s article in Revue pratique d’Apologétique (15 juillet 1907).↩︎

167. Translator’s note: This is, in fact, the guiding argument of Fr. Gardeil’s Le donné révélé. It is not clear to me, however, whether he has slightly overreacted to Tyrrell and, thereby, over-homogeneized faith and theological science. At this point (March, 2025) of my thinking, I believe that he has done so, thereby over-valorizing discursive theological wisdom in relation to supernatural faith.↩︎

168. Translator’s note: As noted above, I am here including the majority of a lengthy letter written by Fr. Michel Labourdette to Jacques Maritain. It treats of a number of critically important topics related to the methodological concerns of this work by Gardeil. My methodological sentiments are more so in line with Labourdette than with Journet and Gardeil, though I think that the forays by each into theological methodology remain important voices to be heeded, corrected, and updated. Labourdette is quite right, in my opinion, regarding the very problematic notion of science that Gardeil seems to hold (basically reducing theology to a certain kind of dialectics of the qualis sit, replacing revelatum for Deitas). Where I think (perhaps?) the closest point of rapprochement is to be made is to take from Gardeil (Berthier, Doronzo, et al.) resources for the stage of “observation” spoken of by Labourdette. For now, I present these thinkers for the reading theological public to consider.

     The remainder of this footnote is taken from Charles Journet et Jacques Maritain, Correspondance, vol. 3, 814–31:

     There is a second matter, which is a major concern for me and the reason for the attached pages that follow. It concerns the Introduction to Theology by dear Mgr. Journet. I eagerly read the work, but I find myself in complete disagreement! It is obvious to me that between him and us there is the “Marin-Solist” conception of theology, and it affects everything. I am no less convinced than he is regarding the need to integrate a theology of history into Theology, and not in a less developed manner. However, I consider it to be located elsewhere and undertaken in a very different way from him, one that is entirely distinct from “positive theology,” whose true nature I believe he misunderstands. In my opinion, he 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.

     I explain myself in the attached paper (which, of course, is not intended for publication and is meant only for private dialogue). What is most piquant (? [sic]) is that one of the things that most helped me to react against the conceptions expressed by Fr. Marin-Sola (which were first taught to me and which I had initially accepted, “addiscentem oportet credere!”) and to form an completely different idea of theological science was my meditation upon the Degrees of Knowledge and on the whole of your epistemological work. I must have misunderstood you if one could, while recovering the Thomistic notion of science such as you have elucidated it in relation to entirely different problems, truly accept the Marin-Solist conception!

     I am sending you this paper, to you first; above all, I would not want to offend Abbé Journet, whom I do not challenge, I assure you, without fear of presumption… I will wait a little while before writing to him. I would have been so happy to applaud his book in a long review. Nevertheless, a position must be taken, though I will obviously do so only with his agreement. [After very briefly discussing the general layout, especially introducing the methodological concerns he has regarding Journet’s proposal for the role of historical theology (or theology of history), but also indicating the problems regarding a proper understanding of positive theology which emerge below.]

     I have greatly admired the many riches contained in this little book, and I am particularly receptive to the great intuition that underlies it: the integration of a theology of history into theology—a pressing issue today, urgently calling for an adequate solution. On this point, I completely agree.

     However, I must say that I conceive of theological work quite differently, and the solution to the problem of a theology of history seems to me to require a different approach. Referring to the summary I provided earlier, I must admit that I do not agree with any of the three stages distinguished [a work of investigation based upon inferior disciplines like history and exegesis, as though it were prior to positive theology; then doctrinal theology in two stages, one that is topological (ala De locis) but not positive theology, then a systematic treatment with topological exposition at the start of each treatise and then the work of “hierarchizing and extending the revelabile… embracing in its gaze the full extent of the universe of essences”; “historical theology,” having for its end the study of “the successive ordering of the dispensation (of the revealed) and its deployment within time”]. And I can see that, unfortunately, this disagreement goes beyond a mere matter of classification. The root of the issue lies in his very conception of the depths of the nature of Theology. To be precise, I believe, salvo meliori judicio, that Journet:

     Is wrong in not admitting, as the first stage, a function dedicated to “positive theology” (certainly, this is absolutely not what he later designates as “historical theology,” which indeed does not belong in this stage; in this, I agree with Journet).

     Has an overly narrow and, in my opinion, inaccurate idea of “doctrinal theology” (inherited from Fr. Marin-Sola and, through him, from Melchior Cano).

     And as a result, he is compelled to assign his “historical theology” a place that is not its own.

     It is difficult to briefly and clearly explain this group of difficulties. I will go straight to what seems to me to be the key to the rest.

     – A –

     Journet conceives of “doctrinal theology” as a form of reflectionthat is essentially metaphysical in nature—more specifically, a metaphysics of essences. Its domain is the “universe of essences,” of necessities, and of essential connections. (This is, moreover, the underlying idea in Fr. Marin-Sola’s elucidations regarding metaphysically connected conclusions, which he considers the true model of theological conclusions.)

     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. It gathers together 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.

     – B –

     That is why I cannot accept, as it stands, the idea Journet proposes regarding “historical theology”—even while recognizing that it seeks to address a pressing contemporary issue and that it reflects a profound intuition.

     It is not legitimate to exclude from doctrinal theology the study of the divine plan and the history of salvation, or to relegate everything that does not involve essential connections and does not belong to the “universe of essences.” Theology itself must reach these realities insofar as they are the object of the divine science—otherwise, it does not reach them at all. All of this falls under speculative theology, which is indispensable to theological explanation.

     1. Theology’s primary subject is God, as He is known by the divine knowledge itself, communicated to us by revelation and grasped through faith. This is its essential subject of study; it is there that we find the summit of theology. Were we to draw a comparison with the “ways” of Dionysius [as Journet does in the text in question, though differently], it is in relation to the contemplation of God—not in any purely metaphysical or essential consideration—that I claim the honor of representing the “unitive way.” This is what the theologian must always ascend to, the reality to which everything must be connected—including salvation history, which is by no means a terminal point in theological labor. God in His mystery, God in Himself: this is the essential and primary object of theological wisdom and its contemplation. The “circulatio” of the unitive way is not a movement that, having begun with history, returns to it, but rather the contemplation of the “circulatio” spoken of by Saint Thomas regarding the Divine Processions—the principle of the works ad extra and the ultimate terminus of their return to God.

     2. Like faith, and thanks to it, theological knowledge extends secondarily to all of God’s works, as they are made known to us by revelation, enabling us to assimilate ourselves to the divine science of vision. Everything that enables us to know these works by other means will be used [in service of this].

     And it is entirely true that metaphysics is not sufficient here. History is necessary—without any doubt—because among all the works of God, the most excellent, the supernatural salvation of spiritual creatures, ordained through the Redemptive Incarnation, is realized essentially within a history. This may not have been developed in detail, but no true theologian has ever ignored or denied it. It would be an unacceptable concession to Fr. Daniélou and his associates [in the midst of the Dialogue théologique controversy taking place at the time of this letter] to portray medieval thought as though it were fixed within “the immobile world of essences” inherited from Greek philosophy, thereby failing to recognize the great intuitions of Saint Irenaeus…

     Saint Thomas does not believe he is stepping outside of speculative or doctrinal theology when studying the stages of Christ’s life and the gradual manifestation of His mysteries, and he is right; he does not step outside it when outlining, in relation to the sacraments, the broad historical development of revealed religion; nor does he step outside of it when following the great phases of the law under which humanity has lived through the course of its history: the “law of nature”, the Old Law, and the New Law. Certainly, this can and must be examined in greater depth and developed considerably, as is demonstrated by the highly illuminating “Story of Abraham” [(certain works by the Maritains are at least partly in view here)]. However, when one reflects on these topics, it is not necessary for one to depart from speculative theology, because theological science, in its explanatory function, absolutely requires this kind of data. Such consideration does not constitute a separate function from that which studies the relations between essences but, rather, remains an explanatory function—one that surpasses and integrates both metaphysics and history, and reaches the truly objective necessity of the science of vision.

     3. What is true, however, is that this side of things has thus far been less developed—often only being sketch out in its initial stages. The vast accumulation of historical material in modern times and the refinement of historical methods provide the means for advancing these labors far beyond what has ever been done before. Like Journet, I believe that one of the defining characteristics of our present age in theological scholarship must be to develop this approach and integrate it much more extensively into theological wisdom.

     In point of fact, theology is far from perfected or even fully formed! It is still a work in progress, with many investigations yet to be undertaken. And it is true that its development is conditioned, from below, by the advancement of the human sciences that it utilizes. In the 13^th century, metaphysics was far more advanced than history! I believe that today, alongside advances in historical research, there is an urgent need for a parallel development in moral philosophy (adequately considered! [—cf. Maritain’s discussion of this latter topic.]).

     – C –

     If we now return to the first stages of theological work, I find two major difficulties in Journet’s presentation: (1) He combines “topological exposition” and “doctrinal theology” into a single function; (2) in doing so, he reduces the role—and, in my opinion, misunderstands the true nature—of positive theology (which is something entirely different from historical theology).

     I believe that, to clarify the mutual difficulties that could arise here, we should first expand upon a few simple shared notions: if the disagreement is based on these, that is where we must begin to resolve it (not because theology must be forced into predefined frameworks, but because, to develop its “epistemological theory,” we must at least understand each other concerning the notions we are using).

     1. 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.

     Its 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.

     2. Like every science, theology aims at explanation (through a specific kind of explanation proper to itself), but it has a first office, observation. [This is developed at greater length in Labourdette’s, “Theology: Faith Seeking Understanding” in The Thomistic Response to the Nouvelle Théologie.]

     Among all sciences of reality, theology has this particularity: its given data are contained within a revelation that is objectively recorded in texts.

     This creates a paradoxical condition: in theology, the attitude of observation and the attitude of seeking explanations are much more distinct (despite the unity of the same [objective] light) than is the case in other sciences (at least in sciences that are not subalternated). Theology must identify and determine something that is not inherently homogeneous with purely scientific inquiry—something that appeals to faith. This is what we call auctoritas. And it is here—in detecting and weighing auctoritas—that we assign to theology its first completely original function: positive theology. Here’s why:

     3. Observation takes place in the light of the science into which it is integrated. Metaphysics requires a metaphysical reading of experience and facts. Likewise, theology requires a theological reading of its datum, though a theological reading whose proper and primary end [but] is the observation [or, to put it another way, the “establishment of the data”], but not yet explanation.

     a) It is true that, in the texts thus examined, the truths observed are objects of faith (and this is what Journet surely means when he says that this establishment of facts is “superior” to the rest of theological knowledge and does not constitute a first [and distinct] initial stage). However, they are also objects of theology, and it is in this way that they fall within the scope of scientific consideration. There is a theological observation of data of faith. And it is from this different perspective, as theological, this establishment of facts is by no means “superior,” from an epistemological point of view, to the final task of explanation. One could say that it is a “first step,” but so distinct that it must be considered an original “function.”

     b) This “theological observation” is already difficult, extremely difficult, and complex. Indeed, because it is concerned with texts embedded in history (spread over millennia already from the perspective of revelation, and knowing thereafter a history from the perspective of the [Church’s subsequent activity of developing dogma and doctrine through] authentic definition), an intellectual effort and attitude that is not that of the science of things (explanation of things in themselves or in their history, in their temporal realization) but rather that of the science of formulas and their historical development.

     c) This observation uses criticism and history, but it is formally theological. It is carried out in the light of theology. There is certainly an exegesis and historical study of revealed texts that are not theological, but they are by no means complete or adequate to this object of observation. This is why I believe there is also a theological exegesis, a theological history of the revealed data [du révélé] (which is entirely different from the history of salvation). There is most certainly a biblical theology that belongs to positive theology. One can perfectly well construct a theology of the Old Testament (I mean of the books of the Old Testament), a theology of Saint John, a theology of Saint Paul—because the writings of these authors are not merely a collection of isolated propositions, each absolute and ready to serve as major or minor premises in a theological argument. Rather, these writings are expositions, often written in response to particular circumstances, with an internal development, with sources, and with a progression (e.g., the epistles of Saint Paul). To make use of history and critical analysis to determine what Saint Paul taught is already an enormous task. Certainly, this belongs to faith, but it also belongs to theology, which precisely observes the datum [in its own light]. Likewise, there exists a theology of the creeds of the faith and a theology of the teachings of the Ecclesiastical Magisterium. I do not understand why one would assign this task to mere “preliminary lower sciences.” To study a revealed text in order to determine what is revealed, to what extent, and in what sense (often still quite unclear) it is revealed in this given text—this is theology. However, it is theology in its office of observation, what we call “positive theology,” which, as Cavallera rightly says, is essentially based on the notion of “document” [cf. Ferdinand Cavallera, “La théologie positive,” Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique (Toulouse, Jan. 1925): 20ff].

     d) The work I have described is not the entirety of positive theology, even though it can already be quite extensive and even develop into a “historical theology” (tough in a completely different sense than Journet’s—not a theology of history but a historical development of theology’s datum in order to better enable its observation). The precise goal that we assign to this function of theology is the determination of auctoritas; and this indeed requires arriving at a “topological exposition.”

     To achieve this, we use the method of “Loci theologici.” And here we gladly say: glory be to Cano! But take care: alongside very true and useful distinctions, he misdirected his conception of the loci. He understood them in a rhetorical sense (inspired by Cicero’s loci, as known through Rodolphus Agricola). For him, the task was to compile a repertory of arguments for theological discussion or, rather, a repertory of propositions intended to serve as major or minor premises in theological reasoning. Gardeil (so great a theologian in his own right, but with a tendency toward a quite regrettably over-systematic mindset) followed this path and attempted to reduce Cano’s “Topics” to Aristotle’s, even though they are something entirely different. For Gardeil, theology becomes a “dialectic” aimed at extending to deduced propositions the common predicate “revealed” (whether virtually or formally). For us, however, the method of theological loci has a completely different meaning and an entirely different immediate end: not to furnish propositions immediately fit for serving as principles of reasoning (a completely separate task is required for that!) but, rather, to classify the given data from the perspective of auctoritas, to qualify, from the perspective of authority, the teachings gathered in revealed texts, which, as they stand, are often vague and, for the most part, not yet homogeneous enough for scientific use.

     4. From the perspective of theological science, we are still only at the stage of the observation of its data, which, in fact, is a datum know through authority. Of course, positive theology—above all when it reaches a state of extensive development and historical structural organization—has already, within its own domain and register, sought and attained a certain kind of historical explanation, though an explanation that functions specifically in terms of formulas and their development.

     Therefore, theology, as a science of reality, a science of things (by means of revelation believed by divine faith) must seek to know not only whether a given assertion is revealed but, moreover, what the revealed realities actually are in themselves—above all, God in His intimate life, His works, and most especially his work par excellence, His supernatural self-communication to creatures, a work that unfolds in time and has a history, which must be known theologically. This shift requires a different intellectual attitude, one that fully justifies distinguishing a new function within the same theological light, a function that, in fact, requires a different set of skills from what the first function required.

     Here, I would criticize Journet’s book for not indicating that there is a very important step prior to theological explanation (whether doctrinal or “historical,” as explained above). Here—from the very perspective of a speculative science of reality—there must be a stage of theological discovery that precedes the “judicium” or ultimate explanation: the search for the “cause” (which, once again, surpasses and integrates both metaphysical connections and the factual dispositions of the providential economy). Here, we find a use for Aristotle’s Topics (and, at this stage, already the Analytics, since we are dealing with the search for definition) that is completely different from the traditional labor of theological loci. This involves a speculative critique of the datum which has been established through observation, now employing dialectical procedures: distinguishing what is essential from what is accidental, what is generic and common from what is specific and fully differentiated, what is proper from what is only contingently related, etc… All of this work, including the search for definitions, is presupposed before the raw teachings established in the given data and classified by the theological loci can be used in deductive theological reasoning, in demonstrations that seek to explain and to reach a “judgment through causes.”

     But here, we find ourselves once again faced with the issue already raised regarding doctrinal and historical theology. I had always considered the combining of [blocage entre] theological explanation (demonstrative reasoning) and topological exposition (neglecting the entire speculative work of theological discovery) to be one of the fundamental flaws in Marin-Sola’s conception [of theology].

     – D –

     I conclude with a remark on which I believe I am in full agreement with Journet, but which I find insufficiently explained in his Introduction.

     Journet emphasizes that theology, having a perfect formal unity, contains within it only “material” diversity. This is very true, but somewhat incomplete. There is also material diversity between treatises that address different partial subjects—for example, the treatise on the angels and the treatise on Christ. The Secunda Pars is not more specifically different from the Prima Pars than the treatise on the angels is from the treatise on Christ or on man. Nonetheless, there is another type of difference that, while not reaching the level of specific unity, nevertheless goes beyond the first. What is it? What is meant by diversity of function?

     I believe that a more in-depth explanation would have been highly beneficial and would have prevented Journet from minimizing the value of what we call “positive theology”.

     The unity of theology is rooted in the transcendence of its light: a participation in uncreated science, it extends without formal diversification to objects of knowledge or to domains of inquiry that, at the level of natural knowledge, require extremely differentiated sciences and methods. It is a unity of eminence strong enough to dominate and reduce to unity a vast diversity.

     This diversity does not arise from the fact that we use, here, one natural science and, there, another (whether metaphysics, psychology, or history). Rather, it arises more profoundly from the demands of the object itself—from the complexity it presents to the human intellect. The diversity does not originate in the ultimately determining light, since that light is eminently one, but rather from the conditions imposed by the intelligibility of the object as it is presented to us.

     For example, between speculative theology and practical (moral) theology, there is a sufficiently great difference that the mind cannot fittingly adapt itself to its object unless it assumes a different attitude in each case—even while operating under the same eminent light that ensures the formal unity of the science. Similarly, I believe that within moral theology itself, one must recognize that following speculatively practical proceedings, there are practically practical ones too, including, among others things, a function for spiritual theology. [Tr. note: See Michel Labourdette, “Qu’est-ce que la théologie spirituelle,” Revue Thomiste 92 (1992): 355–372. A translation of this text is to appear in the English edition of Nova et Vetera in 2025.]

     Likewise, between positive theology and doctrinal theology, there exists a diversity that does not arise merely from the fact that one begins what the other continues, nor simply from the fact that one employs history while the other uses metaphysics. Rather, it arises because the object of this science of reality—namely, theology—has the paradoxical condition of being contained within texts that are themselves embedded in history. This requires an original kind of work, one that demands a particular intellectual disposition, in order to theologically establish the object of faith in its various modes of presentation, in order to weigh its auctoritas. And this will be an entirely different task from seeking, through faith and the superanalogy it enables, an explanation of the revealed realities and their history in God and His providential designs. This diversity is more than sufficient to justify distinguishing, under one and the same theological light, two functions: positive theology and speculative theology.

     One could also speak of the apologetic function, etc. I will refrain from doing so, as it would needlessly weigh down the present discussion.↩︎