“Melchior Cano and Modern Theology,” by Mannès Jacquin
The theological developments of the modern era will never be understood fully if due consideration is not given to two great facts which stand at its origins: the Renaissance and Protestantism. Their influence was profound, almost decisive. It imparted a new character to sacred science, expanded its object, and modified its methods. Even today, these remote causes continue to exercise their influence, and an entire school owes its tendencies to them.
Different, and often even opposed to each other, the Renaissance and the Lutheran Reformation agree on one point: their reaction against medieval scholasticism or, more precisely, their condemnation of it, accusing it of having distorted both the human mind and the doctrine of Christ.
By adopting the habit of turning to classical antiquity in order to there rediscover the ideal of human culture, humanists were predisposed to seek out early sources in order there to discover a Christianity which would be deemed more authentic. Their concern for a literary form inspired by the finest traditions of the Latin language likewise led them to demand the same in theology, in order that it might be rid of a dialectical apparatus whose meaning and scope they no longer understood.
The Reformation, too, although for different reasons, was drawn to a similar task. It is well known how vigorously Luther condemned Aristotle, that intruder who, in theology, had usurped the place of the Bible and Saint Augustine. His detrimental influence, Luther claimed, had been particularly felt in questions of grace and justification. Thus, he sought to restore these doctrines to the true Christian sense which they supposedly would have lost in the wake of scholastic thought.
While the Augustinian monk’s revolt against the Church led to the scientific establishment of the rights of [scientific-theological discussion of] the Church herself thereby added a new treatise to theology, the Renaissance men’s return to ancient naturalism, as well as the necessities encountered in polemic against the Lutherans, brought into question once again the eternal problem of grace and freedom. Baianism, Jansenism, and the De auxiliis controversies constituted its various phases for more than a century. In seeking a solution, debate centered around Saint Augustine, and an endless inquiry was pursued concerning the Fathers and ecclesiastical writers.
It is certainly remarkable that the treatise on the Church was added to theology and that the doctrines of grace and predestination were expounded to hitherto unknown extent. However, more important still, it seems, is the change that took place in theological methodology itself. It could truly be said that in the sixteenth century a veritable revolution occurred in this domain. The old dialectical procedure, though not absolutely condemned nor entirely abandoned, was gradually supplanted by a more positive method. Arguments from authority took precedence over reasoning, which soon no longer had the same meaning or scope as it did for the masters of scholasticism. Theology, once speculative, tended to become positive or even, in some cases, took the form of an erudite compilation in which it became difficult to discern a definite and precise scientific perspective.
At the origins of this movement stands one of the most significant works: the De Locis Theologicis by Melchior Cano. Its power and novelty are undeniable. In its form as much as in its subject, and also in its approach, this text is truly a work of its era. The author is a convinced humanist, and while he remains deeply influenced by his scholastic training, his primary aim is to respond to the necessities created by the Lutheran Reformation.
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Cano was Castilian. He was born in 1509 in the town of Tarancón, in the province of Cuenca. Entering the Order of Preachers in 1523, he began his studies in Salamanca and completed them in Valladolid. Having then become a professor, Cano successively taught philosophy and theology in the same convent in Valladolid, then in Alcalá, and finally in Salamanca, where in 1546 he obtained the university chair left vacant by the death of Francisco de Vitoria. He held it until 1551, when Charles V sent him to the Council of Trent. The following year, he was nominated to be bishop of the Canary Islands, though after a few months, he resigned. Retiring to his province, he fulfilled various offices and continued his life of study until his premature death on September 30, 1560.1
All his contemporaries unanimously praise his intellectual acuity and vigor, as well as the breadth of his learning. When one opens his works, one is immediately struck by the originality of his manner of proceeding, the breadth and elegance of his exposition, as much as by the novelty of his ideas. This, it seems, was from his youth the characteristic of his mind, and he himself recounts that his master, Francisco de Vitoria, was somewhat apprehensive about it: “After leaving his school,” Cano wrote, “I learned what Francisco de Vitoria, that man given to Spain by a special favor of Providence as an eminent master in theology, used to say about me. He greatly rejoiced in the originality of my mind but feared that, carried away by the very excellence of my faculties, I might indulge in immoderate boasting and that, as I advanced in science, might engage in such reflection not only with freedom but rashly, ready to disregard the paths he himself had traced. Indeed, he had been told that I had departed from one or another of his opinions.” And Cano adds these lines, which do him honor and bring praise to his master: “Would that the words he spoke of me in his excessive kindness were true! If I have not been able to imitate the excellence of his genius, at least I have the firm will to draw near to it, and I strive to remain faithful to his lessons. And indeed, if my doctrine, which I wish to be worthy of the approval of the learned, finds any favor, if, in accordance with my name, I have any prudence in judgment, if I strive to express myself in a more elegant style than scholastics usually do in their works, if, in a word, I can be considered learned, prudent, and a good writer, I do nothing in this but imitate my master, who excelled in all these domains, and I merely follow his precepts and advice.”2
Francisco de Vitoria, the leader of that theological school which brought glory to Spain in the sixteenth century, was indeed the source for the labors and thought of Melchior Cano. Before teaching at Salamanca, Vitoria had spent many years in Paris, from 1504 or 1506 to 1524, first as a student and then as a professor. It was there, in the milieu of the convent of Saint-Jacques and the University, that he came into contact with the new science and acquired that broader, more elegant, and freer manner which he brought into the study of theology!3
His teachers at Saint-Jacques were Jean du Feynier, who would soon become General of the Order of Preachers, and Pierre Crockart of Brussels, a remarkable dialectician. Both vigorously defended Thomism against the then-predominant nominalism, yet they did not escape the influence of humanism, though without succumbing to its excesses.4 Shortly before Vitoria’s arrival, men such as Guillaume Pépin and Guillaume Petit—both eminent preachers, the latter destined to become bishop of Troyes and of Senlis—had pursued their doctoral studies there. Between them and the most renowned humanists, connections had formed that would even influence their surroundings. Confessor to Louis XII and later to Francis I, Guillaume Petit distinguished himself through his pronounced taste for both Christian and classical antiquity; he was a collector of ancient texts and personally edited a number of them. In 1511, he published a collection of Vitae and documents concerning Saint Martin; in 1512, he had the works of Gregory of Tours printed; in 1513, with the collaboration of Jacques Merlin, he edited Origen, followed in subsequent years by Sigebert of Gembloux, Paul the Deacon, and Liutprand. He was also the principal provider of manuscripts for the royal library and maintained cordial relations with humanists such as Lefèvre, Budé, and Erasmus. His position made him their protector and intermediary at court.
Therefore, it is not surprising that Vitoria, already inclined toward the humanities by his early education, developed in this milieu a strong taste for humanism and even became, in Paris, within the gatherings of masters, a champion of Erasmus. However, his attachment to the latter did not go so far as to approve of his doctrinal errors. And later, when the Spanish Inquisition put Erasmus on trial and judged his works, Vitoria himself identified therein certain condemnable propositions.5
In 1526, Vitoria, upon returning to Spain, took possession of the chair of theology at the University of Salamanca, a chair he would forever make illustrious. His teaching caused a sensation. “Like a new Socrates,” to quote Bañez,6 he had many disciples, whose fame formed a halo of glory around him: the two Sotos, Peter and Dominic, Martin Ledesma, and Melchior Cano, the most brilliant of all. He inaugurated new methods, presenting the most abstruse questions with order and clarity, and embellishing his speech with an eloquence previously unknown in the theological schools. “It is a marvel,” says Bartolomé de Medina, “to see what knowledge he had concerning all the scholastic authors, and how he had summarized and used them to illustrate the doctrine of Saint Thomas. Having adorned his mind with various branches of knowledge—dialectic, philosophy, Sacred Scripture, the doctrine of the holy Fathers—he used all these aids to develop and enrich the thought of Saint Thomas, making it even greater and more illustrious.”7
All these praises, justly bestowed upon Master Francisco de Vitoria, could equally apply to Melchior Cano. He too shines forth through his erudition, his method, and the elegance of his style. Anyone who has briefly peruses the De locis theologicis will be struck by the almost unexpected character of his exposition. In contrast to scholastics—who ordinarily employ an idiom that is technical, impoverished, and lacking variety, and granting that even the best among them achieve nothing more than clarity and, at times, vigor—Cano makes full use of the vocabulary found in the finest classical writers. He is well acquainted with vivid expressions and the purest Latinisms, giving his prose the breadth and rhythm so admired by his contemporary humanists. His exposition lacks that repellent dryness that alienates the uninitiated. Rather, it unfolds slowly, with a fine order that does not exclude digression or even friendly asides that read like confidences being expressed to the reader. In short, Cano treats theology in a language and form that any “gentleman” can appreciate.
And he knows it—perhaps even a little too well. He would not quite belong to his time and would seem too far removed from the great names of the Renaissance if he did not exhibit a certain pedantry. He often apologizes for having to resort to terms used in scholasticism, which, with their somewhat barbarous appearance and sound, disrupt the harmonious flow of his prose. “We must be allowed,” he says, “the use of scholastic terms, even when they are less Latin in character. At times, Latin must be sacrificed so as not to seem, in a scholastic discussion, to have preferred words to the explanation of realities.”8 The remark is fair. However, its somewhat frequent recurrence, almost in the same form and sometimes with a touch of affectation, leads it to become a bit tiresome. It would have been better for him to have expressed himself with a bit more simplicity.
A bit of modesty as well. The least that can be said on this matter is that Cano was fully aware of his own worth and did not allow his readers to overlook it.9 If we have little appreciation for the formulas of ostentatious humility, we are scarcely more inclined toward authors who, at every turn, flaunt their own merits or too transparently suggest that they are truly worthy of our praise. Yet here again, one must take into account the spirit of the time and its intellectual customs.
As a humanist, Cano also reveals himself in his distaste for certain excesses of dialectic that had marked the preceding era. He speaks with great harshness about this kind of scholasticism:
Remember this, reader: I defend the doctrine of the School, which is founded upon the authority of the Holy Scriptures. That is why—and I declare it with universal assent—miserable is the doctrine that rests solely upon academic titles, and miserable as well, perhaps even more so, is that which, having set aside the authority of Sacred Scripture, philosophizes about divine things through convoluted syllogisms. Worse still is that which does not speak of divine things at all, nor even of human matters, but deals only with trivial questions. I know that there are in the School some who are theologians in name only. They have resolved theological questions with frivolous arguments. Their empty and pointless reasoning has stripped the most serious matters of their value, and their writings are scarcely worthy of the attention of old women. In these works, citations from the Bible are exceedingly rare, the councils are never mentioned, there is no trace of the influence of the Church Fathers, nor even of serious philosophy, but only of disciplines that are almost childish. And yet they are called scholastic theologians. Yet, they are neither scholastics nor theologians—these men who introduce into the School the filth of sophisms, provoking the mockery of the learned and the contempt of men of taste.10
The scholastics whom Cano so vigorously condemns undoubtedly represent, in his view, only a minority. Yet, in reading him, one quickly realizes that he has little affection for, or appreciation of, the dialectic commonly used in theology. Not that he condemns it outright; no, he acknowledges the legitimacy of its role, while nonetheless minimizing it as much as possible. Just as, in his view, there is no true theology without the use of Scripture, the Church Fathers, and the Councils, so too there is no perfect theology without a certain breadth in exposition and a harmonious selection of expressions.
Thus, Cano does not hesitate to criticize even the most illustrious theologians on this account. Saint Thomas Aquinas is, of course, for him a revered master, and it would be impertinent to question the sincerity of the praises he bestows upon him. He unquestionably places him at the forefront of theologians, considering him the perfect theologian.11 While he makes reservations about the scholastics and reproaches them for neglecting the art of composition, he exempts Saint Thomas, “in whom,” he says, “there is a marvelous connection of subjects, a perfect ordering of questions and articles.”12 And yet, despite all this, Cano does not entirely approve of his method and is not far from finding it off-putting. “I confess,” he adds, “that he breaks everything down into many articles and that he has prescribed for almost every article, as if by a certain law, a fixed number of arguments. His manner of disputation is also dry, and his treatment of questions is composed in one unvarying form. Finally, he belongs to that school of authors who so completely disregard any ornament of speech that, with sinews exposed and without flesh, the body of his disputation appears misshapen and entirely devoid of the embellishment of eloquence. Thus, even from so most learned and serious a man, those who are more refined and fastidious are alienated by the weariness of a lengthy work, the monotony of its exposition, and the harshness of its uncultivated style.”13
If Saint Thomas, as we see, does not entirely escape Melchior Cano’s criticism, the one who most particularly bears the brunt of his displeasure is Cardinal Cajetan. Time and again, he refutes Cajetan’s commentaries on Scripture in severe terms, judging them dangerous because they allow private reason to take the place of authority.14 While he acknowledges the eminent merits of so great a scholar and the outstanding services he rendered to the cause of the Church,15 he has little appreciation for his extreme subtlety—what he calls his “quibbles”—and questions whether such things have a place in theology.16
This was, moreover, a common assessment among Spanish theologians at the time, for Medina highly praises Vitoria for having made Cajetan’s ideas accessible to all—“which,” he adds, “I believe to be more difficult than wresting the club from the hands of Hercules.”17
In sum, despite having undertaken brilliant scholastic studies and having applied himself zealously to philosophy and dialectic, Cano had little esteem for the theology of previous centuries. He reproached it for lingering over idle questions18 and for neglecting form too greatly. His literary tastes, his humanist inclinations, and that natural breadth of expression characteristic of Castilians inclined him toward a theology more suited to the spirit of the time and less arid.
The encounters he had with the Lutheran Reformation further encouraged him to continue down this. He was familiar with the principal writers of the new heresy—Luther, Melanchthon, Calvin, Bucer, and others. By reading their works, as well as the theological debates related to the Council of Trent, in which he took part, revealed to him the necessity of renewing theological methods. What was at stake and being called into question were the very principles of faith. They had to be justified and defended against ceaseless attacks, and the way to do so was by returning to the very sources of Revelation—Scripture and the earliest ecclesiastical writers. Scholasticism, rejected wholesale by these adversaries, could be of no use in this task. Something else had to be found. Cano set himself to the task.
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Given the circumstances, the author’s education, and a certain self-confidence, one can already anticipate what his work will be. He seeks to create something new and does not conceal it.
Reflecting on the theology of his time, Cano distinguishes two tendencies—or rather, two successive stages through which it must pass before reaching what he wished it to be. According to him, there was ancient theology and modern theology. The former was characterized by its abundance, the wealth of accumulated material—so vast that he deemed it now impossible to add anything truly significant. This does not mean, however, that all work was closed to the moderns. Far from it, for there remained the task of organizing this vast scientific apparatus, bringing greater order and clarity to it, an effort no less meritorious and perhaps even bestowing a superiority upon the latter in comparison with the former. By considering this dual labor, drawing from the one its matter and from the other its form, the theologian will fulfill the ideal set forth by Saint Paul: to exhort according to sound doctrine and to refute those who oppose it.19
Therefore, it is essential that one establish a theological methodology that will be of no small benefit even to the learned and whose necessity is felt all the more for others.20 Cano brings to this work all the resources of his knowledge and the experience of long years of teaching. The material is ready; he may now proceed. Indeed, all sciences must already be formed before one can think of theoretically formulating the rules they ought to follow. Method arises from long-practiced exercise. The great geniuses have created it in act through their works; after them come minds of perhaps lesser scope, yet concerned with clarity, ready to extract the laws already realized and codify them into precepts by which future workers may be guided. Through methodology, the intellectual disciplines, as it were, become conscious of themselves; this reflection upon the past guards against perilous uncertainties and facilitates for all the path already opened by the masters.
Melchior Cano was the first to undertake this task in theology. He himself affirms it, and rightly so.21 His aim was to show theologians, beyond the general rules of reasoning provided by dialectic, the proper sources of arguments—not merely common or external ones—from which one may draw in order to confirm dogmas and refute opposing opinions. Saint Thomas, who served as his guide, had only briefly and incidentally mentioned some of the loci theologici. He had outlined their nature succinctly, in his manner, which tends rather to sketch the framework of an argument rather than to develop it fully. “As for the way to employ them,” Cano adds, “neither Saint Thomas nor anyone else, to my knowledge, has attempted to explain it.”22
The term loci theologici had indeed been used before him, as, for example, by Melanchthon. However, the work of Luther’s disciple bears no resemblance to what the Spanish Dominican sought to write. In the former, it was not a methodological treatise but rather a kind of summary of Christian doctrine, presenting the principal topics such as justification, grace, sin, faith, and other similar questions.23
As for Aristotle’s Topics, it deals only with those common loci from which arguments may be drawn for any kind of question. By contrast, in the De locis theologicis, the concern is solely with theological arguments. Moreover, while Aristotle abundantly proposed a great number of loci or sources of arguments, he did not, according to Melchior Cano, provide the means to use them effectively. “He has indeed indicated,” Cano says, “how they may serve in the discovery of probable and common arguments, but scholars can remain ignorant of this without great detriment. And yet, in the first book of the Topics, Aristotle, with more pretension than truth, claims that the principles he provides can be employed in four different ways.”24
The author will therefore proceed, as he says, by his own means.25
His is, in reality, divided into two parts. In the first, he enumerates the various loci theologici, ten in number, and establishes the respective value of each. In the second, he intended to explain the application of these loci and demonstrate their use, whether in scholastic questions, in the interpretation of Sacred Scripture, or in controversy with heretics, Jews, Muslims, and pagans. Unfortunately, of these last three books, only the one concerning scholastic disputation was completed. Cano’s death in 1560 interrupted the work he had begun.26
The author establishes ten loci or sources of theological arguments, though without holding that this number is fixed. “The important thing,” he says, “is that no superfluous ones be introduced and that none of those necessary be neglected.”27 These are: the authority of Sacred Scripture, the authority of Tradition, the authority of the Catholic Church, the authority of the Councils, the authority of the Roman Church, the authority of the Fathers, and the authority of scholastic theologians. Following these are the authority of reason, the authority of the philosophers, and the authority of history. The first seven are proper to theology, while the last three are in some sense extrinsic and secondary. This distinction is easily understood. Supernatural theology, which alone is under consideration, has for its principles everything revealed to the Church, and that alone. The sources of these principles will therefore be identified with Scripture and Tradition, which encompass the entirety of Revelation. For this reason, according to Cano, the first two loci theologici contain the proper and legitimate principles of theology, while the next five contain either their interpretation or the conclusions derived from them.
Now, according to Cano, the true theologian must possess knowledge of each of these loci and be ready to draw arguments from them promptly.28
His role, indeed, consists in posing questions whose answers form theological conclusions.29 To pose them well, one must be well-versed in the practice of the schools; otherwise, one risks dwelling on problems whose least fault would be their irrelevance to theology.30 Moreover, it is essential to distinguish clearly the nature of each question. Is it a simple exposition or a proper demonstration? Too often, and quite mistakenly, theologians have taken Saint Thomas’s explanations for certain demonstrations. Is faith at stake, or are we dealing with free matters? In the latter case, there is no need to waste time in idle discussions. Finally, supernatural matters are not to be treated in the same way as those that belong solely to reason.31
Once the question has been precisely defined, it will be necessary to determine whether and in what way it pertains to faith, and to establish the theological note that should be assigned to it based on Scripture or the decisions of the Church.32
Lastly, the theologian must search within the loci theologici for the arguments appropriate to each question, whether certain or merely probable. On this matter, Cano establishes three precepts that he considers essential. First, the theologian must master the loci theologici—not only knowing their name, number, nature, and properties but also having thoroughly explored each of them, a task that may seem daunting. Nevertheless, according to Cano, this is the necessary condition for being a consummate theologian. Second, one must examine the arguments presented by the scholastics and trace them back to the specific locus theologicus to which they belong. This work allows the theologian to gather valuable data and, by identifying what is lacking in previous demonstrations, to determine what kind of proof still remains to be developed. Finally—and this is the truly original task of the theologian—each question must be systematically examined through all the loci theologici. In so doing, one will discern what can be found for or against it in each Locus and in what manner it should be answered.33
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In its broad outlines, such is the work of Cano. We now must examine its value and the consequences it has had—or that it ought to have had—on modern theology.
If one examines the De locis theologicis, especially by reading from start to finish and not fragmentarily, it is easy to recognize the dual character of this extraordinarily rich and powerful work. It is both traditional and innovative. Indeed, traditional, because the author repeatedly affirms his respect for the past and especially for Saint Thomas Aquinas. He pays homage to him and, despite some detailed critiques of his method, intends to retain him as his master, affirming that he took him as a guide in the composition of his work.34
He defends scholasticism against the unjust attacks of heretics and, if he casts aside certain theologians whose method, in his view, is too futile and would soon become compromising, this is only so that he might better secure the legitimacy of the scholastic approach.35 Indeed, Cano upholds the traditional definition of theology and, at least in theory, assigns it a threefold purpose that corresponds exactly to the notion of scholasticism, or, if one prefers, of speculative theology: to draw from the principles of faith the conclusions contained within them, to defend it against heretics, and to incorporate into it the riches of the human sciences.36 He further asserts, as an innate right of man, the faculty of bringing reason into contact with the truths of revelation.37 And in all this, he remains a faithful disciple of Saint Thomas Aquinas.
If one now places alongside this theoretical exposition—presented especially in the books concerning scholastic theology and reason—the practical advice he offers for the formation of a true theology, and if one examines the models of theological construction that he provides, then divergences and innovations immediately become apparent. These are changes that he himself is aware of and acknowledges—or rather, which he openly advocates.
At the end of book twelve, Cano treats, as examples, three theological questions which, in his view, represent the various possible types. The structure of his exposition is as follows: objections, proofs of the various propositions drawn from each of the loci theologici relevant to the matter, and responses to the proposed difficulties. The general appearance of this work is entirely different from that found in the writings of Saint Thomas or other scholastic masters. Whereas in the latter reasoning predominates, in Cano erudition is what takes precedence. And by this very fact, the constructions of Melchior Cano naturally stand at the forefront of modern theology. Has not modern theology, almost universally, taken this model as its own? Have we not seen the organization of theological theses in manuals become generalized according to this pattern, with three sets of proofs—from Scripture, from Tradition, and from Reason—the first two, moreover, having pride of place? In this way, theology came to seem more preoccupied with justifying its principles than with rationally organizing the revealed data and drawing new conclusions from them.38
On the pretext of the principle holding that the object of faith is contained within the deposit of revelation, theology was increasingly confined to the study of past tradition. Moreover, the prudent rules established by Cano for regulating the use of theological sources were often forgotten or neglected. As a result, patristic citations began to be used somewhat haphazardly, detached from their context, and separated from the great doctrinal current formed by the ecclesiastical magisterium, in the service of proofs of divine tradition. Many theologians employed them without realizing that they might express only a personal opinion—certainly deserving of respect due to the authority of its proponent, yet nevertheless foreign to the authentic teaching of the Church, the guardian of the faith.
This approach paved the way for a historicism whose loud claims have sounded forth in the time thereafter. Under the pretext—one that is largely justified—that the scriptural and patristic data presented in the manuals were far too insufficient, an effort was made to provide them with a broader foundation through history, adorned with the name of positive theology, ultimately deserving to substitute itself for scholastic theology. Speculation was deemed inappropriate and relegated to a separate sphere, outside the domain of faith.
Thus, perhaps without realizing it, but quite truly in fact, Catholic teaching gradually was diminished. Was it not the case that such insistence that one must find the adequate formula for the beliefs of the twentieth century solely in writers predating the Middle Ages a denial of its capacity for legitimate progress? And, at the same time, was this not a failure to recognize the noble demands of reason when brought into contact with the object of faith?
It would be utterly unjust to hold Melchior Cano responsible for such consequences. A master is never immune from betrayals at the hands of his disciples, especially of those who follow him only incidentally. His only safeguard lies in the clarity of his method and the precision of his scientific positions.
Does one find this clarity in Cano? In considering the theoretical exposition of De locis theologicis, the answer must be: yes. The notion of theology that he provides is, as we have seen, sufficiently precise, conformed to its role and to the achievements of the great masters. He even grants it greater scope than ever before, yet without exaggeration.
According to Cano, the theologian truly worthy of the name must possess knowledge of all the Loci Theologici. He must know—well enough to find appropriate arguments without delay—Sacred Scripture, the Fathers, the Councils, and the scholastic theologians. Furthermore, he must have been trained in the study of dialectic, philosophy, and the other human sciences.39 This is certainly a vast program of study, but it remains true that the ideal theologian ought to fulfill it.
However, as much as the vastness of the task, the diverse qualities it requires within a single mind render this ideal practically unattainable. It is a fact that, with rare exceptions, there are two kinds of intellects: some are more inclined toward speculation, while others are better suited for the study of facts and erudite research. In each case, a specialized formation is required, fostering different intellectual dispositions, and generally, one tendency ends up predominating at the expense of the other. This is why theology, following the example of all other sciences, has become fragmented into specialized fields, though still coordinated toward a common goal. Perhaps their respective positions have not always been precisely delineated, nor their role within the whole of sacred science clearly defined. Nonetheless, at the very least, thinkers acknowledge that one must admit these points.
In outlining the role of the perfect theologian, Melchior Cano did not take into account these specializations, which, moreover, were only just beginning to emerge at the time of his writing. Nor did he observe that, although theology requires all of them, the speculative theologian, without being entirely detached from them, may nevertheless, to some extent, set them aside. Indeed, it suffices that he draw his principles from Church’s magisterium as expressed in the creeds, conciliar definitions, and the unanimous teaching of theologians,40 without concerning himself with their justification through Scripture and Tradition. His role is then limited to organizing, deducing, and drawing theological conclusions. This, in essence, is what Saint Thomas Aquinas did. His references to the Bible and the Fathers serve as a rapid illustration of these principles rather than as a demonstration of their conformity with Revelation.41
And yet, it is on this role of the theologian—“confirming” the principles—that Cano places particular emphasis. Led by the richness of his abilities and his humanist formation, he was also drawn to this perspective by concrete realities and by a debatable opinion.
The Lutherans and radical Humanists, by rejecting the authority of the Church and the scholastic theologians, called into question the data of faith commonly drawn from these two sources. It became urgent to defend them, to demonstrate that they were contained in Scripture and early doctrine. For this reason, Cano, seeking to organize a theology “more suited to the needs of his time,”42 assigned theology as its principal role “the strengthening of dogmas and the refutation of contrary errors.”43 Whereas earlier theology had been chiefly concerned with rational deductions, he gave greater prominence to authority.44 Thus, the apologetic perspective came to predominate, and theology increasingly took on the character of controversy, to the detriment of its primary role: constructing and deducing.45
Moreover, Melchior Cano was of the opinion that there was nothing left to discover in theological matters. The only profitable work left was to bring greater order to what the ancients had accumulated and to present it with greater clarity.46 It was an illusion, no doubt, though understandable at a time when theology was burdened with an excess of more or less idle questions. Thus, Cano directed his principal effort in another direction, where more pressing duties demanded his attention.
But the situation is no longer the same today. Who would dare to claim now that theology has exhausted its subject matter and can do nothing but repeat itself? The renewal of philosophy outside the Church has raised urgent questions in certain circles, and their application to the data of faith invites a reconsideration of theological work from this perspective. What can mere erudition achieve in such a task? It will not always provide a satisfactory explanation for modern minds; yet no one will halt the human intellect in its search. It will continue to reason about the object of faith, and if orthodox theology does not provide nourishment for its insatiable hunger for knowledge and understanding, it will seek sustenance elsewhere—perhaps in less wholesome, or even dangerous, sources. Is this not precisely what the Encyclical Pascendi pointed out when it urged a return to traditional philosophy and theology as a safeguard against the dangers of historicism and counterfeit religious philosophies?
If, due to circumstances and the personal conceptions of its author, De Locis Theologicis contributed little to the speculative aspect of theology, it nevertheless laid the true foundations and established the rules of positive theology. In this field, Melchior Cano must be regarded as a pioneer, and this constitutes his principal claim to renown.
Positive theology has a twofold role: to justify the principles proposed by the infallible magisterium by demonstrating their connection to early revelation, and to discover within it new truths capable of becoming principles of reasoning for the speculative theologian.
In this work, it does not suffice merely that one examine Scripture and Tradition soley with the resources of unaided reason, that is, to treat them historically. For instance, when studying the Fathers, it does not suffice to ask whether they are close enough to the event for us to recover the fact and content of revelation through their language and psychology. This method may at times be useful for the apologist in dealing with those outside the faith. But here, we are concerned with theology, not merely history and apologetics; what is needed is a principle that is truly based on divine authority and capable of becoming the object of supernatural faith.
Now, Melchior Cano sought to identify the signs that indicate, in each Locus Theologicus—that is, in each possible source of argumentation—in what way a given proposition belongs to the deposit of revelation and, thereby, has its value as an object of faith. The result is more or less certain depending on the case in question, but one always remains within the order of faith, which is necessary in theology.
As an example, let us take the theological locus of Tradition. After establishing its legitimacy—that is, demonstrating that, alongside Scripture, it can provide revealed data—Cano indicates how to discern within the Church the existence of authentic and divine traditions when a theological question arises. To this end, he formulates several well-known rules. Here are two as examples: 1. What the Church admits and has always admitted, without having been established by the Councils, can only originate from an apostolic tradition. 2. What the Fathers have held from the beginning with such unanimity that they regarded the contrary as heretical, when this doctrine is not otherwise mentioned in Scripture, must be accepted as apostolic tradition.47
The rules proposed by Cano are excellent. Some may perhaps require refinement today, but most remain solid, and the method retains its effectiveness.
It is to be regretted that greater attention was not given to this. If, as has been said, the modern era has burdened theology with an accumulation of texts and authorities, it has not always taken care to sufficiently demonstrate their probative value or to clarify their scope. Each authority cited should have been subjected to the precepts given by Cano for the various Loci Theologici and its conclusions tested. In this way, positive theology, instead of being an often-confused collection of citations, would have gradually been organized scientifically according to the certainties of faith, thereby increasing its value and usefulness.
When tracing the origins of positive theology, historians stop at the seventeenth century and cite Petau and Thomassin. In all fairness, however, one must go further back and restore to Melchior Cano his title as its founder. It was he who established the rules of this science and provided examples—imperfect, no doubt, but highly significant. In this field, far more than in theology as a whole, he fully realized his ambition: “to compose a treatise that would not be useless to the learned and greatly necessary for others.”48
F. Caballero, Vida del Ill. Melchior Cano (Madrid, 1871)↩︎
De locis theologicis, bk. 12, Prooemium.↩︎
See ibid.: “I remember hearing from my own teacher (Vitoria) himself, when he began to explain to us the Secunda Secundae, that the opinion of the great Saint Thomas ought to be held in such esteem that, if no stronger argument presented itself, the authority of that most holy and learned man should suffice for us. But he also warned that the words of the holy Doctor should not be accepted without discernment and examination; indeed, if he had said anything too harsh or less probable, we should imitate his own modesty and diligence in similar matters, for he neither denies credibility to authors approved by the testimony of antiquity nor adheres to their opinion when reason calls for the contrary. For he was by nature a man of great moderation. Nonetheless, he sometimes dissented even from Saint Thomas, and in my judgment attained greater praise by dissenting than by agreeing, so great was his reverence in dissenting.” And ibid., bk. 12, ch. 5: “I will more gladly speak of my teacher, who so notably honored the Spanish academies with his genius and learning, and who rendered them so distinguished and esteemed by our men that they not only flocked to them eagerly but even rushed into them… I believe that from this some have come to shun the schools because they have encountered certain crude and harsh matters, poorly examined on worthless questions, and even more poorly discovered and concluded.”.↩︎
See A. Renaudet, Préréforme et Humanisme à Paris pendant les premières guerres d'Italie (1494–1517) (Paris, 1916).↩︎
See L. G. A. Getino, O.P., El maestro Fr. Francisco de Vitoria y el renacimiento teológico del siglo XVI (Madrid, 1914), 57ff.↩︎
See Bañez, In II-II, q. 1, a. 7: “We know from the testimony of the Fathers that in the School of Salamanca, and indeed throughout all of Spain, scholastic theologians were less accomplished sixty years ago, until the renowned Francisco de Vitoria, of glorious memory, a distinguished Master of our Order, revived scholastic doctrine. Like another Socrates, through his lectures from the chair of sacred theology in this preeminent Academy of Salamanca, he refined and illuminated it, ‘reducing it to a clear method full of learning for the understanding of St. Thomas.’↩︎
See Medina, In ST I-II, dedicatory letter.↩︎
Cano, De locis theologicis, bk. 12, ch. 2. Also, see bk. 2, ch. 8 ; bk. 5, ch. 5 ; bk. 6, ch. 8 ; bk. 8, ch. 7 ; bk. 12, ch. 5.↩︎
See ibid. ,bk. 12, ch. 2: “In this matter, to speak with the utmost modesty, I have rendered some moderate service to the School among our own. Before us, it was not so abundantly furnished with arguments from faith; theological matters were conducted almost entirely by rational proofs. I have altered the order of Saint Thomas. For in the Summa contra Gentiles, he first presents rational arguments, then adduces testimonies. But in my lectures, I have always taught from the outset what faith prescribes on each question, and only then what reason demonstrates.” Also see bk. 12 ch. 5 and bk. 8, ch. 4.↩︎
See Cano, De locis theologicis, bk. 8, ch. 1.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2: “Saint Thomas, the perfect and complete theologian”; “Saint Thomas, the most diligent and most complete theologian.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2: “Furthermore, it does not seem to me that the scholastic theologians—for I must confess what I think—have distinguished theological disputations with much order or composition. I always except Saint Thomas, in whom there is a marvelous connection of subjects, the greatest order in questions and articles, and an incredible structuring of doctrine.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 8, ch. 3, 5th conclusion: “I have always held this man in the highest esteem, as I have often testified. For he has greatly benefited the Church of Christ through his writings. It would take too long to commend either his learning or his genius, and it would be wearisome to recount all his works. This much can be said briefly: Cajetan could have stood alongside the greatest builders of the Church, had he not marred his doctrine with certain errors, as if by the admixture of a kind of leprosy, and, whether driven by a craving for novelty or relying on the dexterity of his intellect, ultimately interpreted the sacred writings according to his own judgment—most successfully, indeed, for the most part, but in a few places with far more acuteness than true success. For being little attached to ancient tradition and insufficiently versed in the reading of the saints, he refused to learn the sealed mysteries of the book from those who did not open them according to their own sense but, rather, by the tradition of the ancients—the true key of the word of God. Thus, though he wrote many things excellently, he ultimately overturned everything, and by certain novel interpretations of Scripture, either diminished or altogether undermined the authority of even his most weighty assertions.” See ibid., bk. 2, ch. 2, resp. to 2nd, 4th, and 6th objections.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 5, ch. 5, q. 1; bk. 5, postrem., resp. to 8th objection.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 2, ch. 4, response to 7th objection: “Therefore, that statement which Cajetan made earlier seems too weak to stand within true theology. I do not know whether it can admit such excessively formal quibbles”; ibid., bk. 6, ch. 4: “Although many things have been said by Cajetan… yet, whether due to the almost inherent obscurity of his style or perhaps because most read him with little attention, he has still persuaded neither the learned nor discerning men.”↩︎
Medina, In ST I-II, dedicatory letter: “Surely, he has earned great glory for this reason alone—that he set forth Cajetan’s thought and meaning plainly and, as it were, openly before the eyes of readers—which, indeed, I consider more difficult than wresting the club from the hand of Hercules. For with this author, it seems more difficult to have explained him well than to have discovered the most select and beautiful things.”↩︎
See Cano, De locis theologicis, bk. 9, ch. 7:
The second fault is that some devote excessive effort and great labor to obscure and difficult matters, which are at the same time unnecessary. In this regard, I see that many even among our own have erred, pursuing at great length even those questions which Porphyry, an impious man but in this respect prudent, deliberately avoided—so that one may recognize in him a disciple of Plato and Aristotle, who treated nothing except what was fitting in time and place, nor pursued any questions that would overwhelm rather than aid the intellects of young men. But our theologians discuss these matters at great length, inopportunely and in unsuitable places, matters which neither the young can bear nor the old endure. For who can tolerate those disputations on universals, on the analogy of names, on the first thing known, on the principle of individuation—so they are titled—on the distinction of quantity from the quantified thing, on the maximum and minimum, on the infinite, on intensification and remission, on proportions and degrees, and six hundred other such questions? Even I, though neither of particularly slow intellect nor lacking in time and diligence for understanding these things, could not bring myself to grasp them. I would be ashamed to admit that I do not understand them—if only those who discuss them actually understood them themselves. And why should we now recount those other questions? Whether God could create matter without form, whether He could create multiple angels of the same species, whether the continuum can be divided into all its parts, whether relation can be separated from its subject, and others far more vain, which I do not wish nor is it fitting to write here, lest those who happen to come across this passage judge all the authors of the Schools by the intellect of certain men.
ibid., bk. 9, ch. 1: “Thus, men who were theologians in name only fought against the enemies of the Church, but with great misfortune. For things go badly when what should be achieved by intellect and learning is instead attempted by men who have little ability and are scarcely learned. Yet they erred from the very beginning of their studies. Having utterly neglected those disciplines that refine language, and having tormented themselves too long in the art of sophistry, when they finally turned to theology, they pursued not theology, but the mere vapors of it.”↩︎
See ibid., prooemium.↩︎
ibid.↩︎
See ibid., Prooemium “I undertook this task all the more willingly because none of the theologians, as far as I know, has yet taken up this kind of argument for treatment.” Ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2: “For nothing concerning the loci of theology has been explained after Saint Thomas in a manner that I could approve, among those works that have come into my hands.”↩︎
See Ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2:
↩︎At this point, however, it was necessary for us to explain why Saint Thomas, the most diligent and most complete theologian, left this treatise on loci aside—if, indeed, it is as necessary to the theologian as we claim. And in fact, in the Prima Pars, question 1, article 8, ad secundum, Saint Thomas briefly and concisely, as was his custom, indicated the loci of theology—not all, but most of them. Moreover, lest I seem ungrateful to the one to whom I owe so much, and to whom I bind myself in the service of this task by an eternal testimony, let it be known that Saint Thomas was both the author and master who led me to compose this work. But he explained the nature of the loci narrowly and concisely, and in his own way. For he does not expand the argument, but rather sets forth his points in brief strokes, accomplishing what he intends with precision. As for the method of treating the loci themselves, neither Saint Thomas nor anyone else, as far as I know, has attempted to explain it.
See ibid., bk. 1, ch. 2.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2: “What Aristotle did in dialectical loci is much the same, for he treated the loci themselves in various and abundant ways, yet he did not show how they might be used to discover arguments from them, nor did he demonstrate their most significant and essential use. Instead, he merely recorded in writing a certain application for the discovery of probable and common arguments, which the learned may well ignore without suffering any great loss in their erudition. And yet, in the first book of the Topics, Aristotle rather ambitiously—perhaps more than truthfully—boasts that the principles he sets forth in the Topics have four distinct applications.”↩︎
Ibid.↩︎
The work was first published in Salamanca in 1563.↩︎
See the last chapter of De locis, bk. 1↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2: “But in my judgment, no one can be a theologian worthy of the highest praise unless he has attained knowledge of all these loci and has acquired from them a ready and skillful facility in argumentation.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 5.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 5: “No firm and stable precepts of Theology can be handed down except by those who have exercised themselves much and for a long time in the school. Thus, such instruction properly belongs to the scholastics, for those who think the school should be neglected are incapable of any suitable, precise, or excellent discussion on a theological question; far from being teachers in these matters, they have no knowledge of them through any experience.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 5↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, chs. 6–10.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 11.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 8, ch. 1.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 8, ch. 2.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 9, ch. 4.↩︎
Translator’s note: There is, of course, a sound form of concern for the principles of theology, a concern which should stand at the center of discursive theology insofar as it is a form of wisdom. However, the excesses of a kind of post-Reformation polemic doubtlessly led to a semi-apologetic tone in certain theological works and textbooks, seeking a kind of “justification” (rather than a penetrating appreciation) for the revealed principles of theological discourse. Concerning the sapiential tasks of discursive theology, see Matthew K. Minerd, “Wisdom be Attentive: The Noetic Structure of Sapiential Knowledge,” Nova et Vetera, English Edition 18, no. 4 (Fall 2020): 1103–1146.↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch. 2.↩︎
Cf. Mannès Jacquin, “Le magistère ecclésiastique source et règle de la théologie,” Revue des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques, 6 (1912): 253–278.↩︎
Translator’s note: I want to register here certain significant reservations about this kind of method of theology. I share in the point that the theologian must be guided by the magisterium as the living voice of the Bride of Christ today. However, scientifically, this kind of outlook risks suffering from a kind presentism and shallowness that does not travel back up the stream of dogma. Without necessarily agreeing on every point, nonetheless, it is very useful to see the discussion of (and bibliography relevant to) Gardeil’s “Regressive Method” in Andrew Meszaros, “The Regressive Method of Ambrose Gardeil and the Role of Phronesis and Scientia in Positive and Speculative Theologies,” Ephemerides Theologicae Lovanienses 89 (2013): 279–321.
For an amusing illustration used by Gardeil to capture this see Ambroise Gardeil, “La Reforme de la théologie catholique: idée d’une méthode régressive,” Revue thomiste 11 (1903): 19, quoted in Jon Kirwan, An Avant-garde Theological Generation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 75–76:
↩︎It might be helpful to compare the recent adventures of two geographers responsible for correcting the hydrography of a well-known river. . . . The first went to the mouth of the river, where it spread out in all its power, and he travelled methodically up each of the tributaries one by one. Meanwhile, he pointed out the exact position of the springs and ridgelines, measured the flow, and carefully noted the orientation of the streams. He returned on time, and his work has corrected previous maps on more than one point. It was a success. The second explorer set up camp straightaway at the watershed, and no one can describe the misfortunes that awaited him. Sometimes he followed a promising stream only to find himself interminably lost in the sand or in various caves, and other times he found himself in the middle of a nearby basin surrounded by the inconsistent flow of his river. He went this way and that, sometimes retracing his steps, across trails and dead-end paths, and his explorations were filled with endless hopes and disappointments. Finally, the time he had judged necessary to complete his mission had long since passed, and still he had not yet returned. They feared he would be found at the bottom of some great cliff. The rumor even spread that a message in a bottle, thrown into his beloved Congo to pass his discoveries on to history, came to land, in the flood of last September, in the wheat field of a peasant from Cairo.
See De locis, bk. 12, ch. 11: “Come then, whatever ours may be, let us offer it as well, for even if it is not better than the old, it may perhaps be more suited to the times.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch 11: “To strengthen its own dogmas… and to repel contrary errors.”↩︎
See ibid., bk. 12, ch 11: “What was before us was not so furnished with arguments of faith: the theological matter was handled almost entirely by reasoning.”↩︎
Translator’s note: I have significant reservations about this “purely scientific” way of thinking about the offices of theology. On this, see Matthew K. Minerd, “Wisdom be Attentive: The Noetic Structure of Sapiential Knowledge,” Nova et Vetera, English Edition 18, no. 4 (Fall 2020): 1103–1146.↩︎
See Cano, De locis, prooemium : “Certainly, after those earlier men, the later ones can scarcely claim anything for themselves in the discovery of new things. But if they lay claim to order, arrangement, and clarity, they seem in some way to rightfully assert these as their own. Therefore, by reading both, the theologian will undoubtedly render scholastic disputation more complete.”↩︎
See ibid., bk.3, ch. 4.↩︎
See ibid., prooemium: “The desire to explain this entirely moved me to undertake a disputation on the Loci Theologici, which—unless I am mistaken—is not altogether useless to the learned, but greatly necessary for the unlearned.↩︎
