Jason Kettinger
Easter Vigil, 2011

As we survey the interesting “space” that is the internet, we find intellectual pursuits and human interactions of varying quality. This is no less so in the field of religion, where the Lord Jesus Christ is often obscured behind a veil of ignorance and even needless hostility. It is my sincere hope that this meager contribution be a step toward affirmative dialogue and reconciliation.

With my purpose stated, the humble reader turns to ask the question he wants to know: Why? What makes a Reformed future pastor toss it all aside, and become Catholic? That is of course complicated, but I’ll try to explain. The story is really one of the harmony and convergence of truth, and the place where that convergence led was the Catholic Church.

The story begins with God, as it always does. What do we do when we offend God, who has graciously given us all things? Even in light of Christ’s sacrifice for us this turns out to be a deeper question than it seems. A friend once remarked that the sacrament of Reconciliation “does do justice to the existential reality of sin.” Every Christian I know, and every Christian community of which I have been a part, understands and attempts to take account of the individual and personal dimension of sin. The individual and corporate experience of union with Christ tells us that we cannot be cavalier about sin. Our relationship with Christ is bilateral, real, and demanding. We all have done business with God; I’m not surprising anyone here, I trust.

The church family from whom I’ve learned the most taught me that what we did mattered; we had a liturgy that reflected the reality of what I’ve just written. Before we enjoy the benefits of sonship, we have to acknowledge our sins, and allow God to restore us. Then we are exhorted to walk in a manner worthy of the gospel. Then we shared the meal which proclaimed our restoration: the Eucharist. We didn’t fear to call it that, because if Eugene Peterson can do it, so can we. We were intentionally liturgical; we were intentionally ecumenical; we were doggedly Eucharistic. We believed that our life in prayer with God would lead us to ask new questions, and that the answers could lead us to revise aspects of our Reformed tradition. At the same time, if the Reformers or others gave us anything, it was that “faith once delivered to all the saints.” Truth doesn’t change; truth stands the test of time; the Church of Jesus Christ is old; His truth is both old and new. We were creedal, because the gospel was given to us, and we will give it in turn. There is a Great Tradition, we said, and we’re only a part of it. We read not only Calvin and Edwards but also O’Connor and Chesterton. I might have heard it a thousand times: “The Church did not start in 1520.” Continuity. Love. Simplicity. Jesus. There are so many stories I could tell. Just know that when I left for seminary in 2005, the unity of all Christians wasn’t some pie-in-the-sky dream; it was how we lived, and what we worked toward. Need I say more about that?

So I had an instinct for unity, and a tendency to express my theology in liturgical action. I was political, which is another way of saying I wanted my faith to make a difference in the world. We chalked up theological disagreements as historical anachronisms that awaited the clarity of God’s grace, which would show a truer, deeper unity in the times to come. I didn’t yet see the tensions which were coming to the fore.

I admit, I always enjoyed being branded as “dangerous.” But what struck me as I read more about liturgy and covenant theology was how warmly these theologians spoke of Jesus, how liturgical action was the way they not only experienced God’s love, but declared it. It was missional. If on some gut level they spoke with such resonance about the Christian life I understand, how bad could they be? If one reflects on what we’re saying here, it’s that liturgy has an ability to speak a language that bridges traditional hostilities.

If we begin theology with the simplicities of liturgy, and work outward, it is highly possible that we will face tensions with traditional formulations. The question we ask is what we will do about it. I’m not a systematic theologian; in the truest sense, I am an evangelist. The life of prayer, the liturgical life, needs settled truth to ground it as we reach out in faithfulness to God. I have never been averse to correction. What I began to experience and to attempt to describe was the inability to reconcile a contradiction, between righteousness imputed and righteousness shared. Essentially, something had to give. Either the righteousness of Christ was imputed to me by faith and fully completed, leaving the life of the church and repentance a good, but not necessary step by us, or Chapter 15 of the Westminster Confession of Faith was more correct: repentance and perseverance are an absolute requirement of the Christian life. It absolutely could not be both, despite how much we may insist on it. The buzzword “union with Christ” only makes it worse. Imputation either puts God in union with manifestly unholy people, or the participation suggested by the life of sanctification undercuts the truth of imputation extra nos. You have to choose.

What I do dare to say is that these sympathies in the direction of continual necessary repentance do undercut the principled basis for the Reformed separation in the 16th century. Why? Because we had insisted that true participation (as it was articulated in medieval Catholic theology) denigrated the work of Christ and the reality of our victory in Him. We had no cause to pretend otherwise, nor to smuggle in that which we opposed in the vanity of having a “fully-orbed” theology. Does this protest still have merit? What should we do if the battle-cries we raised once have no correspondence to our Christian lives? It is a life grounded in experience; we would not dare say that our liturgy, sustained by the interplay of repentance and forgiveness, of humility and exaltation, was a formality. In fact, this was both its liveliness, and its danger. Now on the table as never before are issues of apostasy and sacramental objectivity that never would have been asked among the Reformed. In one sense, there has always been a variety of perspectives within Reformed theology, and tensions therein. But never before have the tensions demanded an answer. Against the backdrop of my basic view of church history — continuity — the tensions or contradictions became such that questions like, “Why do we seek forgiveness for sins we say have already been forgiven?” are brushed aside at one’s peril.¹ What I’m illustrating here is a tension between historic and systematic theology, and lived experience in the pews.

If we might criticize some people with a certain lack of precision, a riposte with no good reply is that we don’t need answers to questions that no one is asking. What we were fighting about is the sacramental life versus an historic faith, with due respect, that is at its core anti-sacramental. If any of the sacraments have an objective character, the Church which gives them must also. Our communities were forged in the white-hot fire of theological disputation; our fathers in Protestant and Reformed faith would not share this new tolerance. If we have been led here because the law of prayer is the law of faith, I reasoned, it is a cause for serious discussion. I need only allude to those Reformed congregations who have opened their Lord’s Supper to Catholics and Orthodox to show that we have arrived at such a moment.² Even if the occasion only served to sober the hasty when such people refrained in obedience to their communities, the discussion will occur by necessity. In any case, we can see that the questions of the 16th century are giving way to the questions of the 21st. At the least, I assert that the issue isn’t on the front-burner. If so, maybe it’s time to lay down arms. For me, I could not stand apart on the strength of a slogan that meant nothing. Not even out of loyalty.

But what of the basic claim of the Reformers, that they had better captured the spirit and intent of the Church Fathers? It’s true that they were not ignorant of them. As for me, I knew nothing of the Fathers on their own terms. It had to be an open question, if I were to be intellectually honest. After all, any group can read history in such a way as to vindicate themselves. And this leads directly to the question of history, and because salvation history is at issue primarily, we are asking, “What is the Church?” This was a question like a shard of glass in my heart starting in 2006. The magnitude of the social and political issues we are facing absolutely demands that we reject most forms of “co-belligerence” as insufficient, because the answer to all of them is Christ; it is our love, it is our striving together in Christ and for Christ that can answer these problems. And they stem from existential questions surrounding the identity and purpose of man. If Christians do not answer these in the same way, how will people know that it is Christ who meets them? Moreover, if we do not accept one another as brothers, which Christ shall they follow? But do we dare force one another to adopt differing paradigms of the Church and salvation? How could that be anything but a failure? We may rightly say there is much that unites us. But if those things do not impel us toward one another, they are folly at best, and a violation of our consciences at worst, if we pretend the differences aren’t real. On both sides of the Catholic-Protestant divide, we conceive of the Church and of history in very different ways. Which view of history and Church does justice to the ancients?

Confessionalism may indeed preserve those ancient elements of truth which predate the schisms, but it does a terrible job of indicating how we are to pursue unity practically. This was the second thing I realized: being confessionally Reformed is in contradiction with the very definition of the Church found in the Westminster Confession of Faith, chapter XXV.³ An invisible Church cannot define itself, or what it believes. But the certainty of Reformed distinctives depends on the authority of a visible Church. There is a quotation attributed to one John L. Girardeau within the essay “The Discretionary Power of the Church” that took my breath away every time I read it. It reads in part:

The delivery of Christ’s doctrines and commandments by men does not make them the doctrines and commandments of men. … Their dogmas are not man’s, they are God’s dogmas.

I’ve got to drop the guard a bit, take leave of that measured tone for which this site is known, and I beg your pardon if it sounds rude, but does that sound like an invisible church to you? Take your pick: Either the Westminster divines re-constituted the visible community that Christ established (which was obviously contrary to what I had been taught, not least the promise of Christ in Matthew 16:18) or we cannot be reasonably certain that our conclusions are more than opinion; that is, there could be also more fundamental truth possessed by those who are not us. In fact, our very definition presupposes that that is the case. In the twenty-fifth chapter of the Westminster Confession of Faith, the first article tells us that the catholic church is invisible. The second article, by contrast, strongly asserts the visibility of that church. Moreover, the fifth article in this same chapter discusses the purity and truth of various “Churches” on Earth. First, which of the first two articles actually controls here, so that we might find out where we ought to reside, and what we are to believe? Second, what authority did this assembly have to make such a determination? The fifth article utterly depends on the invisible church asserted in Article I, but the comfort of being in the supposed household of God comes from Article II. Which is it? And who are they?

“Ah,” says the alert reader, “but Scripture is our guide.” We’ll get to that. For now, the guest post by Fred Noltie will be my answer. All this is to say that one question would not leave me alone, and it is the question that people of my generation are asking: “What is the Church?” The traditional definition for the Reformed is fine to a point, and that point is where our distinctives meet their doom against the presumption of historical continuity. If our communities as Protestants existed and subsisted on the unstated premise of ecclesial deism, then the concrete action taken in regard to history to explain it is what I call “ecclesial plagiarism.” The ancients may be dead, but we owe them at least the right to tell us what living for Christ was actually like before we retroactively re-write them into a history more amenable to the community we inhabit. I have already said that my fundamental approach to history was and had to be continuity. This is often claimed to refute the charge of schism. I had warmly sung “The Church’s One Foundation” for years as a prayer for unity, unaware that my own ecclesial commitments prevented me directly from ever realizing my hope. That may seem unfair, but I do believe the creeds themselves help explain it.

In that wonderful but critically unexamined tutelage of sympathy and continuity with history, the creeds figure prominently. In even the popular mind, we recite the creeds in solidarity with our ancestors in the faith, and even with those Christians who are separated from us. This is largely a lovely expression of catholicity, and would pass without a mention if not for the minor inconvenience of Sola Scriptura. As a principle, it does not admit any external authority for the creeds. The final authority is presumably Scripture, and the creeds would function as a norm only after they had been tested by it.

But as I heard one elder speak about the creed (the Apostles’, in this case) I came to realize — as though I had been hit by a brick in the face — the truth of this assertion that welled deep within me, first, after I read Mathison’s The Shape of Sola Scriptura, and now loudest in Sunday School just days before I entered the Catholic Church: “Derivative authority is a sham.”⁴ The elder said in effect that if we wanted to edit the creeds (to delete the word “catholic” as I recall) we could, because the Creed wasn’t Scripture. I saw then that Mr. Cross’s claim contra Mathison was true. There is no real, principled distinction between the “Solo Scriptura” that Mathison abhors, and the Sola Scriptura that he commends. If there is a difference in practice or in result, it has to do with the person’s own piety, and God’s grace lovingly keeping him from a more severe individualism. In fact, the chapter in Mathison’s book on the error of Solo Scriptura almost made me Catholic by itself. Why would I pay as much attention to the text, context, place in the canon, authorial intent, and myriad other things in order to rightly handle the word of truth, and completely ignore the same with respect to the creeds? This is the ecclesial plagiarism I mentioned. If I edit the creed, it no longer functions as an authority over me, but I over it. In this sense, we cannot say we are in solidarity with anyone, either today or long ago, in the recitation of the creeds as Protestants. Why would the ecclesiology which gave it birth and the battles therein be incidental to its meaning? Can I think that St. Augustine is with me when I spurn the Church to which he submitted?⁵ Thanks be to God for various creeds and their use in Protestant communities. But it is not altogether clear that a principled creedalism actually exists apart from the Catholic Church and the individualism of “me and my Bible.”

I have made two perhaps frustrating assumptions: that the Church of Christ is visible, and that the Catholic Church today is that Church. I can only say that Petrine primacy was rather easily established from the Fathers,⁶ and that patristic authors on the Eucharist and apostolic succession cast more than a reasonable doubt on both the authority of my community to believe otherwise (and still be the Church) and the antiquity of those particular beliefs. Some might say that I have been a rebel from day one, and there is some truth in that. However, even as I actively investigated Catholic claims, and explored Catholic life, I never lost sight of Christ Jesus. I found Him there as I went; I pleaded with Him to guide me. I gave Jesus every question.

Even as I entered RCIA last August, I was uncommitted. Yes, I had dared to walk on the dangerous ground of uncertainty of all but Jesus. Yes, I put my career on hold, and then ended what it would have been. Yes, I struggled, and hurt, and cried, and prayed. You bet, I was afraid. It wasn’t as bad as what Francis Schaeffer went through, and though he took a different path, I thank God that I never doubted Jesus as he did. I knew Him, and He knows me. But the heart of it all is that Jesus asked me to surrender everything to follow Him, even to Rome, and the vicar who sits on Peter’s chair. The intellectual and historical collided with the personal; I had to do it in the peace of conscience. In that peace, and for that peace.

The most damaging chimera, the most serious error of the Reformation, is Sola Scriptura. It caused me to kidnap our ancient brethren in the faith, to claim them as my own against their wills. I had to ask my own heritage boldly, “Who asked us?” and be willing to live with the reality that no one did. I could not live with a hermeneutic that couldn’t silence the Baptist down the street (and bring us into harmony) much less the heretic. I had to face the reality of Christian division, and the reality that these divisions were caused by false principles I’d inherited from a movement I’d thought necessary. Its animating principle conspires to make invisible and without doctrine the Church we’d rightly claimed as our mother, outside of which there is no ordinary possibility of salvation. The old saw that, “If I’m wrong, I’ll be on me knees tomorrow morning outside the Vatican doing penance” is just a toothless phrase if one’s hermeneutic of Scripture, history, and Church disallows the very consideration that one is wrong.

My beloved brethren in Christ Jesus scattered in many places, let us prayerfully consider whether the convergence of truth now leads us to begin again, to return home in peace.

Memorial of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mother

1. See “Reformed Imputation and the Lord’s Prayer.”
2. For example, see Trinity Kirk’s “On Roman Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and Reformed Catholicity.”
3. See WCF XXV.
4. See, for example, “C. The Delusion of Derivative Authority.”
5. Think of his statement to the Donatists, “You know what the Catholic Church is, and what that is cut off from the Vine; if there are any among you cautious, let them come; let them find life in the Root. Come, brethren, if you wish to be engrafted in the Vine: a grief it is when we see you lying thus cut off. Number the Bishops even from the very seat of Peter: and see every succession in that line of Fathers: that is the Rock against which the proud Gates of Hell prevail not.” (PL 43.30.) See also his statement against the epistle of Manichaeus quoted in The Chair of Peter: D. Fifth Century.
6. See, for example, Steven Ray’s book Upon This Rock. Other relevant works can be found in “The Papacy” section of Suggested Reading.”

Calvin writes:

For in every little transgression of the divinely commanded law, God’s authority is set aside. … [S]ince God has explained his will in the Law, every thing contrary to the Law is displeasing to him. Will they feign that the wrath of God is so disarmed that the punishment of death will not forthwith follow upon it? He has declared … “The soul that sinneth it shall die,” (Ezek. 18:20). Again, in the passage lately quoted, “The wages of sin is death.” … [L]et the children of God remember that all sin is mortal, because it is rebellion against the will of God, and necessarily provokes his anger; and because it is a violation of the Law, against every violation of which, without exception, the judgment of God has been pronounced. The faults of the saints are indeed venial, not, however, in their own nature, but because, through the mercy of God, they obtain pardon. (Institutes II.8.59)

Later in the Institutes Calvin writes:

Here they take refuge in the absurd distinction that some sins are venial and others mortal; …. Thus they insult and trifle with God. And yet, though they have the terms venial and mortal sin continually in their mouth, they have not yet been able to distinguish the one from the other, except by making impiety and impurity of heart to be venial sin. We, on the contrary, taught by the Scripture standard of righteousness and unrighteousness, declare that “the wages of sin is death;” and that “the soul that sinneth, it shall die,” (Rom. 6:23; Ezek. 18:20). The sins of believers are venial, not because they do not merit death, but because by the mercy of God there is “now no condemnation to those which are in Christ Jesus” their sin being not imputed, but effaced by pardon. (Institutes, III.4.28)

The substance of Calvin’s argument is that all sin is a violation of God’s law, and is therefore a rebellion against the will of God. But the wages of any rebellion against God’s will is eternal death, and therefore all sin is mortal sin. The sins of the saints are all venial only in the sense that though each sin deserves eternal condemnation, yet on account of the righteousness of Christ having been imputed to the saints, none of their sins is in effect mortal.

And the Westminster Confession of Faith follows Calvin in this:

[T]here is no sin so small, but it deserves damnation. (WCF XV.4)

In this respect Calvin and the Westminster Confession departed from the longstanding teaching of the Church. For example, St. Augustine of Hippo wrote:

For as, on the one hand, there are certain venial sins which do not hinder the righteous man from the attainment of eternal life, and which are unavoidable in this life, so, on the other hand, there are some good works which are of no avail to an ungodly man towards the attainment of everlasting life, although it would be very difficult to find the life of any very bad man whatever entirely without them. (On the Spirit and the Letter, 48)

Elsewhere he wrote:

He is worse who steals through coveting, than he who steals through pity: but if all theft be sin, from all theft we must abstain. For who can say that people may sin, even though one sin be damnable, another venial? (Against Lying, VIII.19)

Again, he wrote:

He, however, is not unreasonably said to walk blamelessly, not who has already reached the end of his journey, but who is pressing on towards the end in a blameless manner, free from damnable sins, and at the same time not neglecting to cleanse by almsgiving such sins as are venial. For the way in which we walk, that is, the road by which we reach perfection, is cleansed by clean prayer. That, however, is a clean prayer in which we say in truth, “Forgive us, as we ourselves forgive.” (Concerning Man’s Perfection in Righteousness, IX)

In another place he wrote:

Accordingly, if any Christian man loves a harlot, and, attaching himself to her, becomes one body, he has not now Christ for a foundation. But if any one loves his own wife, and loves her as Christ would have him love her, who can doubt that he has Christ for a foundation? But if he loves her in the world’s fashion, carnally, as the disease of lust prompts him, and as the Gentiles love who know not God, even this the apostle, or rather Christ by the apostle, allows as a venial fault. And therefore even such a man may have Christ for a foundation. For so long as he does not prefer such an affection or pleasure to Christ, Christ is his foundation, though on it he builds wood, hay, stubble; and therefore he shall be saved as by fire. For the fire of affliction shall burn such luxurious pleasures and earthly loves, though they be not damnable, because enjoyed in lawful wedlock. And of this fire the fuel is bereavement, and all those calamities which consume these joys. Consequently the superstructure will be loss to him who has built it, for he shall not retain it, but shall be agonized by the loss of those things in the enjoyment of which he found pleasure. But by this fire he shall be saved through virtue of the foundation, because even if a persecutor demanded whether he would retain Christ or these things, he would prefer Christ. (City of God, XI.26)

And elsewhere he writes:

While he is in the flesh, man cannot help but have at least some light sins. But do not despise these sins which we call “light”: if you take them for light when you weigh them, tremble when you count them. A number of light objects makes a great mass; a number of drops fills a river; a number of grains makes a heap. What then is our hope? Above all, confession. (In ep. Jo. 1,6)

To the Catechumens being prepared to be received into the Church through baptism, St. Augustine preached the following:

I do not tell you that you will live here without sin; but they are venial, without which this life is not. For the sake of all sins was Baptism provided; for the sake of light sins, without which we cannot be, was prayer provided. What has the Prayer? “Forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors.” Once for all we have washing in Baptism, every day we have washing in prayer. Only, do not commit those things for which you must needs be separated from Christ’s body: which be far from you! For those whom you have seen doing penance, have committed heinous things, either adulteries or some enormous crimes: for these they do penance. Because if theirs had been light sins, to blot out these daily prayer would suffice. In three ways then are sins remitted in the Church; by Baptism, by prayer, by the greater humility of penance; yet God does not remit sins but to the baptized. The very sins which He remits first, He remits not but to the baptized. When? When they are baptized. The sins which are after remitted upon prayer, upon penance, to whom He remits, it is to the baptized that He remits. (Sermon to Catechumens on the Creed)

According to St. Augustine, our venial sins committed after baptism are remitted through prayer. If a person commits a mortal sin, then he must be reconciled to the Church through the sacrament of penance; prayer is not sufficient.

St. Augustine refers to venial sins in a number of other places as well. He refers to it so often, and in passing, that it is clear that he is not saying something controversial in his time, something novel or needing to be supported or defended. He writes about the distinction between mortal and venial sin as something taken for granted. But his conception of venial sin is not like that of Calvin’s. Calvin thought all sin deserved eternal punishment, but that the sins of the saints were venial only in the sense that they do not pay any penalty for committing them, not because they are light sins not deserving of eternal punishment, as St. Augustine thought.

Roughly two hundred years later, Pope St. Gregory the Great (AD 590-604) wrote:

Our Lord saith in the Gospel: Walk whiles you have the light: and by his Prophet he saith: In time accepted have I heard thee, and in the day of salvation have I holpen thee: which the Apostle St. Paul expounding, saith: Behold, now is the time acceptable; behold, now the day of salvation. Solomon, likewise, saith: Whatsoever thy hand is able to do, work it instantly: for neither work, nor reason, nor knowledge, nor wisdom shall be in hell, whither thou dost hasten. David also saith: Because his mercy is for ever. By which sayings it is plain, that in such state as a man departeth out of this life, in the same he is presented in judgment before God. But yet we must believe that before the day of judgment there is a Purgatory fire for certain small sins: because our Saviour saith, that he which speaketh blasphemy against the holy Ghost, that it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, nor in the world to come. Out of which sentence we learn, that some sins are forgiven in this world, and some other may be pardoned in the next: for that which is denied concerning one sin, is consequently understood to be granted touching some other. But yet this, as I said, we have not to believe but only concerning little and very small sins, as, for example, daily idle talk, immoderate laughter, negligence in the care of our family (which kind of offences scarce can they avoid, that know in what sort sin is to be shunned), ignorant errors in matters of no great weight: all which sins be punished after death, if men procured not pardon and remission for them in their lifetime: for when St. Paul saith, that Christ is the foundation: and by and by addeth: And if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble: the work of every one, of what kind it is, the fire shall try. If any man’s work abide which he built thereupon, he shall receive reward; if any mans work burn, he shall suffer detriment, but himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire. For although these words may be understood of the fire of tribulation, which men suffer in this world: yet if any will interpret them of the fire of Purgatory, which shall be in the next life: then must he carefully consider, that the Apostle said not that he may be saved by fire, that buildeth upon this foundation iron, brass, or lead, that is, the greater sort of sins, and therefore more hard, and consequently not remissible in that place: but wood, hay, stubble, that is, little and very light sins, which the fire doth easily consume. Yet we have here further to consider, that none can be there purged, no, not for the least sins that be, unless in his lifetime he deserved by virtuous works to find such favour in that place. (Dialogues IV.39.)

In the thirteenth century St. Thomas Aquinas explained the difference between mortal and venial sin, as follows:

Now the difference between venial and mortal sin is consequent to the diversity of that inordinateness which constitutes the notion [i.e. definition] of sin. For inordinateness is twofold, one that destroys the principle of order, and another which, without destroying the principle of order, implies inordinateness in the things which follow the principle: thus, in an animal’s body, the frame may be so out of order that the vital principle is destroyed; this is the inordinateness of death; while, on the other hand, saving the vital principle, there may be disorder in the bodily humors; and then there is sickness. Now the principle of the entire moral order is the last end, which stands in the same relation to matters of action, as the indemonstrable principle does to matters of speculation (Ethic. vii, 8). Therefore when the soul is so disordered by sin as to turn away from its last end, viz. God, to Whom it is united by charity, there is mortal sin; but when it is disordered without turning away from God, there is venial sin. For even as in the body, the disorder of death which results from the destruction of the principle of life, is irreparable according to nature, while the disorder of sickness can be repaired by reason of the vital principle being preserved, so it is in matters concerning the soul. Because, in speculative matters, it is impossible to convince one who errs in the principles, whereas one who errs, but retains the principles, can be brought back to the truth by means of the principles. Likewise in practical matters, he who, by sinning, turns away from his last end, if we consider the nature of his sin, falls irreparably, and therefore is said to sin mortally and to deserve eternal punishment: whereas when a man sins without turning away from God, by the very nature of his sin, his disorder can be repaired, because the principle of the order is not destroyed; wherefore he is said to sin venially, because, to wit, he does not sin so as to deserve to be punished eternally. (Summa Theologica I-II Q.72 a.5 co.)¹

St. Thomas distinguishes between mortal and venial sin by explaining that mortal sin destroys the supernatural virtue of agape in the soul, and agape is the principle by which we are directed to heaven as our supernatural end. If agape is lost, the person is no longer ordered toward heaven, but instead toward some creature (e.g. himself) as his highest end. And he cannot be restored to friendship with God except by the power of God, since agape is supernatural, and we cannot give to ourselves what we do not have. Venial sins, by contrast, do not destroy agape from the soul, but are disordered in relation to the agape within the soul.²

Some articles later he explains why venial sins do no incur a debt of eternal punishment:

As stated above (Article 3), a sin incurs a debt of eternal punishment, in so far as it causes an irreparable disorder in the order of Divine justice, through being contrary to the very principle of that order, viz. the last end. Now it is evident that in some sins there is disorder indeed, but such as not to involve contrariety in respect of the last end, but only in respect of things referable to the end, in so far as one is too much or too little intent on them without prejudicing the order to the last end: as, for instance, when a man is too fond of some temporal thing, yet would not offend God for its sake, by breaking one of His commandments. Consequently such sins do not incur everlasting, but only temporal punishment. (Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.5.)

According to St. Thomas, those sins that destroy charity in the soul cause an irreparable disorder, and therefore incur eternal punishment if the person dies in that state. Some sins are not in themselves contrary to the last end (i.e. God) because the disorder in these sins is not contrary to the last end per se, but only to the perfection of those acts directed to that end. As an example, St. Thomas describes a man who is too fond of some temporal thing, but would not offend God for the sake of this temporal thing. Because these sins are not contrary to the last end per se, they do not incur everlasting punishment, but only temporal punishment.³ What makes a sin mortal, and another venial, is therefore whether the disorder in the will is incompatible with the virtue of agape or disordered yet still compatible with agape. St. Thomas writes:

When the will sets itself upon something that is of its nature incompatible with the charity that orients man toward his ultimate end, then the sin is mortal by its very object . . . whether it contradicts the love of God, such as blasphemy or perjury, or the love of neighbor, such as homicide or adultery. . . . But when the sinner’s will is set upon something that of its nature involves a disorder, but is not opposed to the love of God and neighbor, such as thoughtless chatter or immoderate laughter and the like, such sins are venial. (Summa Theologica I-II Q.88 a.2.)⁴

And in continuity with the Tradition handed down from the Church Fathers, the Catholic Church teaches the same. The Church teaches that salvation is ultimately and irreducibly personal in this sense: salvation is a loving union of human persons with the Divine Persons, and thereby with all those other created persons, human and angelic, also in loving communion with God. So until we are perfectly united to God in the beatific vision, in this life our freedom is such that we can choose to turn away from loving God. This turning away from God can take place in a single free act. And that is what mortal sin is. It does not have to be an act of apostasy, i.e. abandoning of faith. A person can commit a mortal sin and still affirm the Creed. Mortal sin is in the will, when a person chooses with full knowledge and complete consent, to love some creature over God, whether or not he maintains belief in all the articles of faith. The Catechism teaches:

Mortal sin is a radical possibility of human freedom, as is love itself. It results in the loss of charity and the privation of sanctifying grace, that is, of the state of grace. If it is not redeemed by repentance and God’s forgiveness, it causes exclusion from Christ’s kingdom and the eternal death of hell, for our freedom has the power to make choices for ever, with no turning back. (CCC 1861)

One act of mortal sin destroys charity (i.e. agape) in the heart:

Mortal sin destroys charity in the heart of man by a grave violation of God’s law; it turns man away from God, who is his ultimate end and his beatitude, by preferring an inferior good to him. Venial sin allows charity to subsist, even though it offends and wounds it. (CCC 1855. )

According to the Catechism mortal sin destroys charity in the heart by a grave violation of God’s law. For a sin to be mortal, three conditions must together be met: “Mortal sin is sin whose object is grave matter and which is also committed with full knowledge and deliberate consent.” (CCC 1857) Mortal sin turns man away from God, who is his ultimate end and his beatitude, by preferring an inferior good to Him.

To cease to adhere to God as our final end and to cease giving ourselves to Him for His own sake, is to commit mortal sin. That can be expressed in different kinds of mortal sins (e.g. murder, adultery, etc.) but this is what makes a mortal sin a mortal sin, namely, that in committing this act, with full knowledge and complete consent, we are choosing to make ourselves (or some other creature) our final end, and act not out of love for God as our final end, but love for some creature. And no man can serve two masters. Hence no man can love some creature (e.g. himself) as his highest end, and love God as his highest end. To choose to make oneself one’s own god, is to vanquish charity from the soul.

Venial sin, by contrast, is sin in which, though God remains our final end whom we love for His sake, our action deviates from the means by which to attain that end. In venial sin the believer retains love for God as his highest end, but falls short in the order by which he moves toward God as his highest end. Venial sin thus allows charity to subsist, even though it offends, wounds, and weakens charity. Deliberate and unrepented venial sin disposes us little by little to commit mortal sin. (CCC 1863) But venial sin does not in itself deprive us of charity, sanctifying grace, or eternal life. We experience this sort of distinction even in ordinary friendships, where we understand the difference between an act that hurts the friend but in which the offender still loves the other person, and an act making it clear that the person does not love the other person — and this sort of act destroys the friendship.

The Explanation of Calvin’s Error

So why did Calvin reject the distinction between mortal and venial sins? Calvin, having been trained as a lawyer, approached the question of righteousness under the concept of law, and therefore conceived of righteousness fundamentally in term in terms of law-keeping. From that point of view, there is no basis for a distinction between mortal sins and venial sins. Sin is a transgression of the law of God, and although one could acknowledge that not all sins are of equal gravity, nevertheless, it would (from that point of view) be entirely ad hoc to claim that some violations of God’s law deserve eternal punishment, while others do not. Violation of God’s law is violation of God’s law, opposing God and therefore deserving of eternal separation from God. End of discussion.

Calvin’s theology does not show a grasp of the relation of love to the fulfillment of the law. For St. Augustine, however, this is the very heart of the gospel, that by the sanctifying grace merited for us by the work of Christ, the agape of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, and only by this agape is the law of God fulfilled in us. See “St. Augustine on Law and Grace.” Over and over St. Augustine repeats the Scriptural teaching that love fulfills the law (Rom. 13:8,10; Gal. 5:14).

According to St. Augustine, the infused grace given to us in baptism through the work of Christ is the fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecy that God would take away their stony hearts, and write the law on their hearts (Jer. 31:33; Ez. 36:26). He would do this by pouring out grace and agape into our hearts. (Rom. 5:5) This is the whole purpose of the gospel, to bring about the “obedience of faith” (Rom. 1:5; 16:26) that fulfills the law through living faith [faith informed by agape], so that we might attain to union with God in the beatific vision; this “obedience of faith” is the faith that works through love. This love is the law-written-on-the-heart (Rom 2:15, 29), which is the “new life of the Spirit” in contrast to “the old written code.” (Rom 7:6) This living faith is itself a gift of grace, through Christ, (Rom 3:24); it makes us “doers of the law” who will be justified on that Day. (Rom 2:13) By writing the law on our hearts through the infusion of sanctifying grace and agape, the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus sets us free from the law of sin and death, (Rom. 8:2) doing what the written code could not do. In this way, the requirement of the law is fulfilled in us in the way that we walk, walking not according to the flesh, but walking according to the agape infused into us by the indwelling Spirit. (Rom. 8:4)

Through Christ’s obedience unto death, we receive the infused grace and agape by which we are made righteous. (Rom. 5:17,19) St. Paul argues that our justification is by living faith, not by [dead] works (Rom. 3:28), precisely because what matters, and what has always mattered, is whether or not there is agape in the heart. Only the heart having living faith is the heart that has the “righteousness of faith.” (Rom. 4:13) By our union with Christ through baptism we have died to sin so that we might walk in newness of life. (Rom. 6:2,4) Romans 6:14 would be a non sequitur if St. Paul were not writing about sanctifying grace. By this infused sanctifying grace and indwelling of the Spirit we have become “obedient from the heart,” (Rom 6:17) set free from sin and become slaves of righteousness, putting to death the deeds of the flesh (Rom 8:13)

This is what the Pharisees had not understood. St. Paul explains that the Gentiles attained the righteousness that is by living faith, while Israel though pursuing the righteousness that is conceived as keeping the [external] written code, thereby failed to attain the true righteousness that comes only by infused living faith. Why did Israel fail? Because they did not pursue it through living faith, but as though it could be attained by mere external works. (Rom. 9:30-32)

Ironically, however, Calvin mistakenly conceives righteousness as did the Pharisees, namely, as perfect fulfillment of the written law, and not as infused agape by which the law is truly fulfilled. Therefore for Calvin every infraction of the law is worthy of eternal damnation, and there is no basis for the mortal/venial distinction.

The role of agape in fulfilling the law allows for a principled difference between violations of the law that are incompatible with agape and violations of the law that are compatible with agape. And that is precisely what differentiates mortal and venial sins, respectively. Because agape fulfills the law (Rom 13:8,10; Gal 5:14), there is a distinction between sins that go against agape, and sins that fall short of the perfect expression of agape but do not go against agape. In this way differences in the condition of the heart from which a disordered action comes, with respect to agape, allow for a principled difference between mortal and venial sins. But if one approaches the question of sin only from the point of view of the letter of the law, one cannot see the basis for any such distinction.

Calvin thinks that James 2:10 supports his position. “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles in one point, he has become guilty of all.” (James 2:10) He likewise takes “the soul that sins, it shall die” (Ez. 18:20) as supporting his position. But the Catholic understanding of these verses is that they are about mortal sin, and it would be question-begging to hang the justification for a schism on the assumption that there is no such thing as venial sin, and that St. Augustine et al were wrong about the existence of venial sin.

The passage in James would not make sense if it were not indirectly referring to some principle that underlies the law, namely, agape. How does a person who steals thereby violate all the other commands of the law? He does so by going against the agape that fulfills the whole law. And therefore the kind of violation of the law in view here in this verse is best understood as one that is contrary to agape. If we go ‘behind’ the law to see the role that agape is playing in the fulfillment of the law, then instead of making righteousness equivalent to fulfilling the letter, we can see righteousness as the fulfillment of the spirit, even when we fall short in the letter.

Other Scripture Evidence

The distinction between mortal and venial sin can be found in other passages as well. St. Peter says, “Above all hold unfailing your love for one another, since love covers a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8) As long as agape remains in the soul, venial sins are not damning, because they do not remove the person from a state of grace.

St. John at the end of his first epistle makes a distinction between two essentially different types of sin: a sin that leads to death, and a sin that does not lead to death. Elsewhere in the epistle he says that no one who is born of God sins (1 John 3:9; 5:18), but in the same epistle he says that if we say we have no sin we are deceiving ourselves and making God a liar (1 John 1:8, 10). Those four verses are reconciled with each other by the mortal/venial distinction St. John makes at the end of his letter. (1 John 5:16-17) The meaning is that no one who is born of God commits mortal sins; to do so would be to drive out the life of God and agape and the indwelling Holy Spirit. But if any Christian were to say that he had no venial sins, he would be deceiving himself. St. John distinguishes mortal and venial sins at the end of his epistle:

If anyone sees his brother committing a sin not leading to death, he shall ask and [God] shall give life to him, to those committing sin not leading to death. There is a sin leading to death. I am not saying he should ask for that kind. All wrongdoing is sin, but there is a sin that does not lead to death. (1 John 5:16-17)

St. John is not writing here about unbelievers who have never been regenerated. He is writing about believers (“a brother”) who commit venial sins. In this passage he makes an explicit distinction between a sin that does not lead to death, and a sin that leads to death. But, he makes the distinction between mortal and venial sins, and implies that someone who has fallen into mortal sin is in a very different condition from that of someone who has fallen into venial sin.

Concerning this passage St. Jerome writes:

Some offenses are light, some heavy. It is one thing to owe ten thousand talents, another to owe a farthing. We shall have to give account of the idle word no less than of adultery; but it is not the same thing to be put to the blush, and to be put upon the rack, to grow red in the face and to ensure lasting torment. Do you think I am merely expressing my own views? Hear what the Apostle John says: 1 John 5:16 He who knows that his brother sins a sin not unto death, let him ask, and he shall give him life, even to him that sins not unto death. But he that has sinned unto death, who shall pray for him? You observe that if we entreat for smaller offenses, we obtain pardon: if for greater ones, it is difficult to obtain our request: and that there is a great difference between sins. (Against Jovinianus, II.30.)

Fellow Christians can through their prayers bring healing and restoration to the brother whom they see committing a venial sin. But while we can and should intercede for the repentance of the person in mortal sin, he cannot be restored except through the sacrament of penance administered through the clergy. The person who has fallen into mortal sin has fallen from grace, and so cannot be restored except by the Church (i.e. by the bishop or priest), through the sacrament of penance. The prayer of a brother is not sufficient to restore the one who has fallen into mortal sin — he must go to confession.

My point in citing this passage, however, is to show that in Scripture there is a clear reference to a sin that does not lead to death, alongside of a sin that does lead to death. And the existence of a sin that does not lead to death, which for St. John is not simply any sin that a believer happens to commit, is incompatible with the Calvinist notion that every sin is deserving of eternal punishment.

This distinction between mortal and venial sin makes possible the truth of many passages in the Old Testament, such as “Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his time.” (Gen 6:9) This is how Job was blameless and upright. (Job 1:1,8; 2:3) This is how Joseph was a “righteous man.” (Mt. 1:19) This is how Abraham could have a discussion with God about the “righteous” and the wicked in Sodom; that conversation would not have been possible if all people are unrighteous. Does that mean that Noah never sinned? No, as Ecclesiastes 7:20 says, “there is not a righteous man on earth who continually does good and who never sins.” So Noah was both righteous and blameless, and yet not without sin. That is because though he sinned venially, he did not sin mortally. And that is true of all the Old Testament saints who died in friendship with God. They fulfilled the law not necessarily in the letter, but in the spirit of the law, which is the essence of the law. And the spirit of the law is agape. Because they had agape, they fulfilled the law, for as St. Paul teaches, agape fulfills the law (Rom 13:8, 10; Gal 5:14, James 2:8).

The Greatest Commandment and Venial Sin

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. (Matthew 22:37)

Calvin refers to this verse in the Institutes, writing:

When the mind, under the influence of distrust, looks elsewhere or is seized with some sudden desire to transfer its blessedness to some other quarter, whence are these movements, however evanescent, but just because there is some empty corner in the soul to receive such temptations? And, not to lengthen out the discussion, there is a precept to love God with the whole heart, and mind, and soul; and, therefore, if all the powers of the soul are not directed to the love of God, there is a departure from the obedience of the Law; because those internal enemies which rise up against the dominion of God, and countermand his edicts prove that his throne is not well established in our consciences. It has been shown that the last commandment goes to this extent. Has some undue longing sprung up in our mind? Then we are chargeable with covetousness, and stand convicted as transgressors of the Law. (Institutes, II.8.58)

For Calvin, if a wayward or inordinate thought or desire springs into the mind, then one has violated the command to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. One is therefore deserving of eternal damnation. This is in part because for Calvin concupiscence is sin. Disordered desires are themselves hateful in God’s sight, and thus sufficient (apart from extrinsic imputation of Christ’s righteousness) to damn a soul. I have addressed that in “Protestant Objections to the Catholic Doctrines of Original Justice and Original Sin.” See also “V. Errors Regarding the Removal of Sin Through Baptism” in “Aquinas and Trent: Part 7,” where I explain why concupiscence is not sin, according to the Council of Trent.

Nevertheless, when Protestants hear or read this verse, they tend to think of the command in terms of exclusive and absolutely maximal conative exertion. So the feeling is a bit like running a long race, and then, after completing it, asking yourself whether possibly you could have dug down deeper, and given some additional effort. And usually it is very difficult to believe that you could not have given some additional modicum of effort at some point in the race. You always think, I probably could have cut off at least another hundredth of a second. I could have done a little more, fought a little harder, pushed myself to go a little faster, endured a little more pain, etc.

That is the way many Protestants read this verse; it is the way Calvin understood the verse. In his Catechism of the Church of Geneva he wrote:

Q219 M. What do you understand by the whole heart, the whole soul, and the whole strength?

S. Such vehemence of zeal, that there be no place at all in us for any thoughts, desires, or pursuits, adverse to this love.

And so, of course, on that interpretation, it is impossible in this life to love God with all one’s heart, because no matter how much one loves God, one could always have dug down a little deeper, and loved Him a little more, done some other loving deed for Him, spent a little more time in prayer, given one more cup of cold water to another needy person in His Name, etc. The I-could-have-done-more way of interpreting the standard God calls us to in this verse suggests then (on this view) that God is calling us to recognize that we cannot actually fulfill this command, and that we therefore need someone (i.e. Christ) to do this in our place, and have that active obedience then imputed to our accounts.

But that is not how this verse is understood in the Catholic tradition. What Christ means by “all your heart” is not the degree of conative exertion, but that love of God is the highest end or purpose in the hierarchy of ends in our life. It is a teleological standard, not a conative standard. The Catholic encyclopedia article on “Love (as a theological virtue)” explains:

The qualifications, “with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with thy whole mind, and with thy whole strength”, do not mean a maximum of intensity, for intensity of action never falls under a command; still less do they imply the necessity of feeling more sensible love for God than for creatures, for visible creatures, howsoever imperfect, appeal to our sensibility much more than the invisible God. Their true significance is that, both in our mental appreciation and in our voluntary resolve, God should stand above all the rest, not excepting father or mother, son or daughter (Matthew 10:37).

This is what agape is, a supernatural love for God above [i.e. more than] all other things, for His sake. This is why charity (the Latin term referring to agape) is defined as the virtue by which we adhere to God as our final end and give ourselves to Him for His own sake. That definition captures the meaning of the ‘all’ in the command to love God with all our hearts; God is highest (i.e. “final”) in the order of ends, and He is highest in that He is not pursued as means to some other end (hence “for His sake”.) So love of God, here, is not referring to a feeling or an emotion or affection. It is the supreme act of the will (and the will’s disposition to this supreme act) to order everything else in one’s life, including oneself, toward blessing and glorifying God, for His sake. When we order our lives to God as our highest end, even higher than ourselves, and do so for His sake, and not fundamentally in order to get something from Him, that is loving God with all our heart. Of course sometimes this requires self-sacrifice and exertion of the will, to say no to evil, and yes to God, much as a married man must sometimes say no to temptation and yes to fidelity to his spouse. But the degree of exertion of the will is not the meaning of the ‘all’ in the command to love God with all our heart. Rather, it is the place of God in the hierarchy of ends in our will.

The quotation from St. Augustine’s City of God above makes this clear. The man who loves his wife with selfish aspects, but nevertheless “if a persecutor demanded whether he would retain Christ or these things, he would prefer Christ” is loving God with all his heart, and is therefore saved. In Calvin’s theology, what St. Augustine says there makes no sense, but in Catholic theology it makes perfect sense.

Because Protestant theologies generally do not recognize the distinction between mortal sin and venial sin, their tendency is either to treat all sins as mortal (i.e. each in themselves making us deserving of eternal damnation), or all as venial (i.e. incapable of causing a loss of heaven). If all sin were mortal sin, then we would be losing our salvation every day. Protestant theologies seek to get around this problem only by construing salvation as fundamentally juridical. But then salvation is not fundamentally personal. If all sin were mortal, and believers sin every day in thought, word, and deed, then believers would still be dead in their sins, or there would be no fundamental difference between the regenerate and those dead in their sins.

If, on the other hand, all sins were venial, then again, our relationship with God would be quite independent of what we say and do, both to God and to others. And this too treats salvation as impersonal. So the distinction between mortal and venial sin has significant implications, as does overlooking this distinction. The Catholic doctrine avoids both errors, because it recognizes that love is at the center of our friendship with God, and sin must therefore be understood in relation to love.

Feast of St. Leo the Great

1. See also Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.5.
2. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.88 a.1.
3. See “Indulgences, the Treasury of Merit and the Communion of Saints.”
4. See also Summa Theologica II-II Q.24 a.10.

Lawrence Feingold

Lecture:

Q&A:

The mp3s can be downloaded here.

This lecture helps further the ecumenical dialogue in the following way. Essential to reuniting Protestants and Catholics is finding the disagreements behind the disagreements, because these are the fundamental causes of the division’s persistence, and yet they tend to remain hidden and relatively undiscussed though implicitly presupposed. One such fundamental disagreement concerns the essence and relation of nature and grace, because this disagreement underlies the Protestant-Catholic disagreement concerning the relations of law and gospel, faith and works, and justification and sanctification. And not uncommonly the two sides talk past each other (or critique a straw man) when they use their own concepts for nature and grace when criticizing the other’s position.¹ The difference between their respective theologies of nature and grace is especially manifested in their doctrines concerning the pre-fall condition of Adam and Eve. St. Thomas, drawing from Aristotle’s On the Heavens, writes, “parvus error in principio magnus est in fine,” meaning “a small error in the beginning is a large error in the end.” And that is equally true here, where a small error concerning man’s initial state can lead to much larger errors in Christology and soteriology.

Meredith Kline

One Reformed position on this subject is that of Meredith Kline, who taught for many years at Westminster Theological Seminary, Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and Westminster Seminary California, and whose theology concerning nature and grace is still the predominant position at that latter institution. For Kline, when God made man He made a “Covenant of Works” with man, and His making this covenant was necessitated by His nature, given His choice to create man. In other words, having freely chosen to make man, God was bound by His own justice to make the “Covenant of Works” with man. This is why for Kline the Covenant of Works is not rightly said to involve grace, because there was nothing gratuitous in the Covenant of Works, beyond the very decision to create man. For Kline, the reward for obedience under the Covenant of Works was heaven, the same reward we are offered through Christ under the Covenant of Grace.

Kline writes:

A principle of works – do this and live – governed the attainment of the consummation-kingdom proferred in the blessing sanction of the creational covenant. Heaven must be earned. According to the terms stipulated by the Creator it would be on the ground of man’s faithful completion of the work of probation that he would be entitled to enter the Sabbath rest. If Adam obediently performed the assignment signified by the probation tree, he would receive, as a matter of pure and simple justice, the reward symbolized by the tree of life.²

The problem with the notion that man without grace can merit heaven is that this is the heresy of Pelagianism, as Barrett Turner showed in his article “Pelagian Westminster?.” But Kline essentially locks himself into that notion by his definition of ‘grace.’ He defines grace as follows:

Properly defined, grace is not merely the bestowal of unmerited blessings but God’s blessing of man in spite of his demerits, in spite of his forfeiture of divine blessings. Clearly, we ought not apply this term grace to the pre-fall situation, for neither the bestowal of blessings on Adam in the very process of creation nor the proposal to grant him additional blessings contemplated him as in a guilty state of demerit.³

Because he defines ‘grace’ as “God’s blessing in spite of [man's] demerits,” there is by definition no room for or possibility of grace in the pre-fall condition. And in this way Kline defines himself into a Pelagian corner.

The error underlying Pelagianism is a denial of the Creator-creature distinction, because Pelagianism treats heaven (i.e. seeing God face to face, as He sees Himself) as man’s natural end, proportionate to man, and thus attainable by man without grace, but simply through man’s own nature. Feingold’s lecture (above) explains why necessarily heaven is natural only to God, and therefore why for any creature heaven is a supernatural end. Therefore no creature, not even any angel, can enter heaven without grace elevating that creature to its supernatural end. (See my post titled “St. Thomas on Angels and Grace.”)

So by denying that God had given grace to Adam and Eve prior to their sin, while at the same time claiming that heaven was their reward for obedience, Kline’s position is Pelagian.

Kline has responded to the objection that “The disproportion between Adam’s work and the promised blessing forbids us to speak of simple justice.” He writes:

Another form of the attack on the Covenant of Works doctrine (and thus on the classic law-gospel contrast) asserts that even if it is allowed that Adam’s obedience would have earned something, the disproportion between the value of that act of service and the value of the proferred blessing forbids us to speak here of simple equity or justice. The contention is that Adam’s ontological status limited the value or weight of his acts. More specifically his act of obedience would not have eternal value or significance; it could not earn a reward of eternal, confirmed life. In the offer of eternal life, so we are told, we must therefore recognize an element of “grace” in the preredemptive covenant. But belying this assessment of the situation is the fact that if it were true that Adam’s act of obedience could not have eternal significance then neither could or did his actual act of disobedience have eternal significance. It did not deserve the punishment of everlasting death. Consistency would compel us to judge God guilty of imposing punishment beyond the demands of justice, pure and simple. God would have to be charged with injustice in inflicting the punishment of Hell, particularly when he exacted that punishment from his Son as the substitute for sinners. The Cross would be the ultimate act of divine injustice. That is the theologically disastrous outcome of blurring the works-grace contrast by appealing to a supposed disproportionality between work and reward.⁴

Kline’s argument goes like this. “If it were true that Adam’s act of obedience could not have eternal significance then neither could or did his actual act of disobedience have eternal significance.” But Adam’s act of disobedience did have eternal significance, in that it deserved the punishment of everlasting death. Therefore, Adam’s act of obedience could and must have eternal significance.

The problem with this argument is that it is a red herring. Its conclusion is fully compatible with the truth of the objection. Just because Adam’s act of obedience would have had eternal significance, it does not follow either that (a) heaven is proportionate to grace-less obedience or (b) pre-fall Adam was without grace. It seems that Kline is unaware of the distinction discussed in Feingold’s lecture, namely, the distinction between man’s natural and supernatural ends.

Kline continues his response to this objection:

On the approach that mistakenly contends that the presence of God’s paternal love involves grace and so negates the possibility of meritorious works and simple justice, divine justice ceases to be foundational to all divine government. A negative, punitive justice may be recognized, as in the retribution against the wicked in hell, to which paternal love does not reach. But there is no place in that view for positive justice; those who advocate it must deny that the rewarding of doers of the law with life forms the reverse side of the negative justice which punishes the breakers of the law with death. They cannot consistently confess that justice is the foundation of God’s throne (Pss 89:14(15); 97:2).⁵

Here Kline responds to those who claim that since the Covenant of Works involves grace therefore it cannot involve meritorious works. He rightly points out that such a position excludes divine justice, or arbitrarily recognizes only the negative aspect of justice while denying its positive aspect. The position he is criticizing in this paragraph is obviously not the Catholic position, according to which Adam and Eve could have merited heaven prior to the fall, precisely because God had infused into them sanctifying grace and agape.

Kline continues:

The disproportionality view’s failure with respect to the doctrine of divine justice can be traced to its approach to the definition of justice. A proper approach will hold that God is just and his justice is expressed in all his acts; in particular, it is expressed in the covenant he institutes. The terms of the covenant – the stipulated reward for the stipulated service – are a revelation of that justice. As a revelation of God’s justice the terms of the covenant define justice. According to this definition, Adam’s obedience would have merited the reward of eternal life and not a gram of grace would have been involved.⁶

Here Kline’s argument goes like this. The terms of the Covenant of Works are a revelation of God’s justice. According to the terms of the Covenant of Works Adam’s obedience would have merited the reward of eternal life. Therefore, by justice alone without a gram of grace, Adam’s obedience would have merited the reward of eternal life.

The problem with that argument is that the conclusion does not follow from the premises. The truth of the two premises is fully compatible with eternal life being the merited reward of graced-obedience.

In the last paragraph of his response to this objection Kline writes:

Refusing to accept God’s covenant word as the definer of justice, the disproportionality view exalts above God’s word a standard of justice of its own making. Assigning ontological values to Adam’s obedience and God’s reward it finds that weighed on its judicial scales they are drastically out of balance. In effect that conclusion imputes an imperfection in justice to the Lord of the covenant. The attempt to hide this affront against the majesty of the Judge of all the earth by condescending to assess the relation of Adam’s act to God’s reward as one of congruent merit is no more successful than Adam’s attempt to manufacture a covering to conceal his nakedness. It succeeds only in exposing the roots of this opposition to Reformed theology in the theology of Rome.⁷

Here Kline claims that the objection regarding disproportionality does not allow the Biblical account regarding God’s promise of reward and punishment for Adam to define the standard of justice. He means that the objection does not allow the Biblical account to define the standard of justice of what is due as reward to man for obedience carried out by human nature alone, without grace. But Kline’s rejoinder begs the question, by presupposing that the reward in the Biblical account is justly due for obedience carried out by human nature alone, and not carried out by man-infused-with-grace. If God had already given sanctifying grace to Adam when God laid before him the conditions for obedience and disobedience, then those conditions reveal the just reward and punishment for man-infused-with-grace, not for man-without-grace. So Kline’s response presupposes precisely what is in question between those holding his view of the Covenant of Works, and the Catholic Church. In short, none of Kline’s rejoinders to the disproportionality objection refute the Catholic disproportionality objection (as exemplified in the Feingold lecture).

R. Scott Clark

Westminster Professor R. Scott Clark likewise denies the possibility of pre-fall grace, writing: “Thus, the First Adam needed no grace before the fall. Grace is for sinners, not for the sinless.”⁸ And elsewhere Clark writes, “Grace, as we mostly use it, is reserved to describe God’s favor toward sinners not the sinless and not Adam ante lapsum.”⁹ Clark and Kline make this claim for two reasons in conjunction. First, they are presupposing a biblicist theological methodology according to which if we do not see in Scripture any explicit claim that Adam and Eve possessed grace prior to the fall, and no such claim follows by logical necessity from any explicit claims in Scripture, then we are right to conclude that Adam and Eve did not possess grace prior to the fall.¹⁰ Second, this method presupposes an ecclesial deism (as I’ll show below) according to which the thousand years of theology that preceded the 16th century cannot be trusted, and therefore all the theologians from St. Augustine onward who referred to Adam and Eve having grace prior to the fall can be summarily dismissed.¹¹

Clark’s position differs from Kline’s in that for Clark, but not for Kline, God could have withheld the Covenant of Works from man. Yet Clark, like Kline, maintains that there was no grace in the Covenant of Works. He holds that God entered only into a legal relation with Adam and Eve: “[I]t was a legal, and not a gracious relation. Adam was to earn his entry into glory.”¹² For this reason, Clark’s position is Pelagian in the same way as Kline’s. In response to the argument that denying pre-fall grace while affirming the possibility of meriting heaven entails Pelagianism, Clark writes:

Humanity (as Augustine taught us and as Boston repeated) has existed in four states. The prelapsarian state and the post-lapsarian states are distinct. Hence Paul called the natural state post lapsum “dead.” (Eph 2;1-4). Prior to the fall we were “alive.” Our abilities, then, suffered a mortal blow, literally, after the fall. Thus whatever we cannot do (anything meritorious) after the fall is no indicator of human ability before the fall.¹³

Clark’s argument goes like this. Prior to the fall Adam’s nature was greater than it was after the fall. In other words, human nature became corrupted through Adam’s sin. But Pelagianism is the error of claiming that corrupted human nature without grace can merit heaven. Therefore claiming that pre-fall Adam without grace could merit heaven is not Pelagianism.

But what makes Pelagianism false is not merely that Adam had lost some natural, finite power. What makes Pelagianism false is that no creature is by nature proportionate to the supernatural end which is the Beatific Vision. As the Feingold lecture above explains, the supernatural end which is God’s own inner life is natural and therefore proportionate only to God Himself. Hence no creature, not even the highest angel, could, without grace, merit God’s own inner life. So Clark’s reply that the pre-fall Adam had a greater nature (though without grace) does not obviate the Pelagian error. It treats man as naturally proportionate to God, and in this way denies the Creator-creature distinction.

We know that in order for the heavenly reward for Adam’s obedience to be just, his obedience must have been graced-obedience, i.e. obedience done out of the supernatural virtue of agape flowing from a heart infused with sanctifying grace. Only if his obedience was done through a participation in the divine nature could it be directed to that supernatural end which is heaven. So the Covenant of Works had to have included infused grace, because otherwise one faces either the Scylla of Pelagianism or the Charybdis that the reward Adam could have merited (and which the second Adam did merit) was something infinitely less than heaven.

Both Clark and Michael Horton reject the doctrine of grace as participation in the divine nature. They construe union with Christ as entirely extrinsic and stipulative. Clark writes, “Our union with Christ is both legal and vital, but never ontic. We are “in Christ” by virtue of God’s decree.”¹⁴ By ‘vital union’ Clark is referring to a personal relationship between Christ and the believer, effected by the Spirit through the gift of faith. Of course for Clark regeneration precedes faith, because unregenerate man is dead, and therefore unable to believe. For Clark, regeneration is not vital union with Christ; regeneration is a benefit of legal union with Christ. And therefore for Clark neither regeneration nor ‘vital union’ with Christ are an ontological union by way of an infusion of grace or participation in the divine nature. Positing a ‘vital union’ with Christ, construed as fellowship with Christ, while denying a participation in the divine nature, undermines the Creator-creature distinction, because it either treats man as being by his very created nature capable of giving to God the Agape God is by nature, or it reduces divine Agape to the natural love in human-human friendships.

If ‘vital union’ is to be more than extrinsic union, it must be a participation in the divine Life, and thus ontological. But Clark denies ontological union, and denies participation in the divine nature. That makes ‘vital union’ a mere extrinsic union. One problem with a merely covenantal notion of union with Christ is that it reduces heaven to the equivalent of Abraham’s bosom. (Luke 16:22) A merely covenantal union with Christ is what we have now in this present life, and what the saints in Abraham’s bosom had as well. It is not the Beatific Vision. Hence if Clark holds that in the eschatological consummation our union with Christ is only covenantal, and not ontological, then his position denies the possibility of attaining heaven, and offers to men in its place something infinitely lower. But if he admits that in the consummation our union with Christ is ontological, then he has no principled reason for claiming that grace cannot be a participation in the divine nature in addition to divine favor.¹⁵

But, again, part of the problem here is semantic. Clark claims that the Covenant of Works was a free act by God, but not gracious. He writes:

Now, that “earning” was within a covenant freely made by God by, as the WCF says, “voluntary condescension,” …. They [the authors of the WCF] turned not to grace to explain God’s free act in covenanting with Adam, instead they turned to the divine free will. Hence “voluntary condescension.” … The Creator/creature relations are such that man did not have any claim on God without God having freely willed to enter into a legal relation. That done, it was a legal, and not a gracious relation. Adam was to earn his entry into glory.¹⁶

Because of his definition of ‘grace,’ Clark cannot describe Adam’s pre-fall ability to merit heaven as made possible by infused grace. So he must attribute it to human nature, and thus run into the Pelagian problem. But if he were not hamstrung by this stipulated definition of ‘grace,’ he could simply grant that in offering to Adam the supernatural end which is heaven, and in making this supernatural end attainable in justice by the merit of Adam’s obedience, God had to infuse Adam with a participation in the divine nature (i.e. with grace) to make his actions proportionate to that supernatural end.

Another objection to the Catholic doctrine is the claim that it implies that human nature in itself (even prior to the fall) is defective or fallen. Clark attributes this notion to St. Thomas, writing, “For Thomas, nature is inherently defective and requires grace, as a result of creation, to perfect it.”¹⁷ Clark construes the Catholic position in this way. He writes, “We were not created corrupt (Augustine and Thomas) or fallen.”¹⁸ Here Clark is claiming that for St. Augustine and St. Thomas, God created man corrupt. But that is untrue and inaccurate. Listen to the second question in the Q&A of the lecture above, in which this very question is addressed; it begins at 5 minutes and 10 seconds into the audio. Human nature is good, because everything God made is good. But our lower appetites (such as our desire for food and our sexual appetite) are not intrinsically ordered to our overall good; they are not in themselves ordered to the good, but to particular types of good. They contribute to our overall good when governed by reason: sometimes prodded forward by reason and other times restrained by reason. Hence they need to be governed by reason, which by its very nature is ordered toward the good, not merely toward that which is good in a certain respect. But since lower appetites are not by their nature docile to reason, therefore without the preternatural gift of integrity, they would often be at odds with reason. So God provided Adam and Eve with the preternatural gift of integrity, which they forfeited when they sinned. The lack of this integrity is not a defect in human nature; something is “defective” only if it falls short of its nature. But human nature does not contain or require this integrity; otherwise we would not now be human, since we do not now possess this integrity. Therefore, the lack of this integrity is not a defect in human nature.¹⁹ Likewise, mortality is natural to man, not because man was created defective but because man is a material being. A body is not by its nature as body subject to the soul. This is why corporeal creatures are naturally mortal. Hence the immortality possessed by Adam and Eve was a preternatural gift, and this gift too was lost by their sin. If immortality belonged to human nature proper, then we mortal creatures would not be human; we would be another kind of creature altogether.

A bit further down Clark writes:

The notion that the fall was a fall from grace stems, as I’ve said before, from an unbiblical and pagan view of divine-human relations. We do not exist on one end of a continuum with God. We are and only shall be analogues to God. Full stop.

To say that grace was necessary before the fall is to say that, in effect, divinity is a pre-requisite for obedience, that humanity as such is incapable of obedience. That scheme almost always (and certainly did in Thomas and certainly does in contemporary evangelicalism) lead to a doctrine of theosis — divinization as salvation. See M. Karkainen’s (Fuller Sem) new book where teaches this explicitly.

This, of course, destroys not only the Creator/creature relations by turning the creature into the Creator it also makes our problem ontological rather than moral. Scripture never does this. The Protestants didn’t do this. Augustine and Thomas did. Augustine and Thomas were wrong! Luther, Calvin and our theologians and symbols were more biblical.

This approach also destroys the incarnation. We have a God-Man Savior. His humanity is not deified and his deity is not confused with his humanity. We have a Savior with two distinct natures united in one person.

Why did God the Son have to become, having willed to be our Mediator and representative, a true man? Why not just come without the incarnation? To fulfill the covenant of works broken by Adam. If the “fall” was a “fall from grace” then why all the fuss about the law? About Jesus “righteousness” and “obedience”? Why the brutal 40 day temptation in the wilderness? Why not just “poof” and make it all go away? Why sweat, as it were, great drops of blood? Why “learn obedience” by the things he suffered? Why die outside the camp? Why be circumcised for us on the cross? Because, he was the Second Adam? He had to go back into the garden and do battle with the evil one, as a true man, and he did that his whole life. That is why he said “It is finished!”

None of that makes any sense on an alternate scheme. The truth is that western theology was schizoid for most of 1000 years and God bless that fat little Saxon monk for finalizing the divorce from Plotinus and Dionysius and the rest of the theologians of glory!²⁰

The notion that the fall was a fall from grace does not come from paganism; it follows from two truths that are part of the gospel: (1) man cannot merit a supernatural end without grace, (2) the heaven offered to Adam and Eve upon obedience was the supernatural end of seeing God as He is.²¹ The Catholic doctrine that Adam and Eve possessed grace prior to their fall does not imply or entail a denial of the Creator-creature distinction. Ironically, however, Clark’s own view that Adam and Eve could attain to heaven without grace does imply a denial of the Creator-creator distinction, because as I explained above, it treats as natural to man (i.e. as intrinsic to his primary nature) what is natural only to God.²²

To say that grace was necessary before the fall does not in any way entail that “divinity is a pre-requisite for obedience, that humanity as such is incapable of obedience.” Even if man had never been given grace, he could (in principle) have obeyed and thus attained to his natural end. Clark’s objection here is based on an implicit denial of the distinction between man’s natural and supernatural ends. The necessity of grace is not “for obedience” simpliciter, but for graced-obedience, i.e. obedience coming from a heart of agape, and ordered to man’s supernatural end, rather than to a merely natural end. For obedience ordered to a supernatural end grace is necessary, and for perseverance in that grace, grace upon grace is necessary.

The Creator-creature distinction is an ontological one, and denying that distinction is what underlies the Pelagian error, as explained above. Clark claims that we need grace only because of a moral problem, and not because of an ontological problem. In making this claim, Clark commits himself both to nominalism and to voluntarism, by disconnecting morality from ontology.²³ Pope Benedict addressed this notion five years ago in his famous Regensburg Address, in which he said:

In all honesty, one must observe that in the late Middle Ages we find trends in theology which would sunder this synthesis between the Greek spirit and the Christian spirit. In contrast with the so-called intellectualism of Augustine and Thomas, there arose with Duns Scotus a voluntarism which, in its later developments, led to the claim that we can only know God’s voluntas ordinata. Beyond this is the realm of God’s freedom, in virtue of which he could have done the opposite of everything he has actually done. This gives rise to positions which clearly approach those of Ibn Hazm and might even lead to the image of a capricious God, who is not even bound to truth and goodness. God’s transcendence and otherness are so exalted that our reason, our sense of the true and good, are no longer an authentic mirror of God, whose deepest possibilities remain eternally unattainable and hidden behind his actual decisions. As opposed to this, the faith of the Church has always insisted that between God and us, between his eternal Creator Spirit and our created reason there exists a real analogy, in which – as the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 stated – unlikeness remains infinitely greater than likeness, yet not to the point of abolishing analogy and its language. God does not become more divine when we push him away from us in a sheer, impenetrable voluntarism; rather, the truly divine God is the God who has revealed himself as logos and, as logos, has acted and continues to act lovingly on our behalf. Certainly, love, as Saint Paul says, “transcends” knowledge and is thereby capable of perceiving more than thought alone (cf. Eph 3:19); nonetheless it continues to be love of the God who is Logos. Consequently, Christian worship is, again to quote Paul – “λογικη λατρεία”, worship in harmony with the eternal Word and with our reason (cf. Rom 12:1).

Pope Benedict explains that the voluntaristic theology of certain late medieval thinkers gave rise to positions that “clearly approach” that form of Islamic theology according to which God is not Logos, but will, and thus brute capricious power. Among other consequences, this conception of God makes violence in the name of God justifiable, and leads to the fideism which underlies certain fundamentalist forms of religion.

Catholic theology does not make our problem “ontological rather than moral,” as Clark claims. Catholic theology recognizes that morality and ontology are related, and that we need not only forgiveness of our sins and the grace to obey God’s laws, but a participation in the divine nature (2 Pet. 1:4) in order to attain to our supernatural end. Theosis just is that participation about which St. Peter writes. To reject theosis is to reject our supernatural end of seeing God as He is. And to reject our supernatural end is to reject the gospel.

According to Clark, the theology of St. Augustine and St. Thomas concerning theosis “destroys the incarnation.” Clark seems to think that the doctrine of theosis must result in an ontological confusion of Christ’s two natures. He describes theosis as “overcoming our humanity.”²⁴ For Clark, the Catholic doctrine of participation in the divine nature “vitiates” the Creator-creature distinction.²⁵

But the doctrine of theosis has no such implication, and to construe it that way is to critique a straw man. Theosis is not a confusion of natures, but a participation in the divine nature, as St. Peter says. Participation by its very nature is in something other, because a thing does not participate in itself. Hence creatures’ participation in the divine nature entails a distinction between the Creator and the creature. Therefore the sort of union entailed by participation is not a fusion that confuses the natures or makes one nature out of two; that would eliminate participation. And for this reason grace as participation in the divine nature does not deny the Creator/creature distinction. Grace does not destroy nature but perfects and elevates it. Construing grace as elevating nature such that nature is obliterated is contrary to that dictum. Union with God does not eliminate human nature; human nature remains, but is elevated by its participation in the divine nature. This is revealed in Christ’s glorification, in which His human nature is divinized and glorified, but not destroyed; He remains human, and yet He can go through walls, and His face radiates light like the Sun.

In addition, Clark claims that for St. Thomas and the Catholic Church, grace is a substance. He writes:

The medieval notion was that grace is a substance which can be imparted or dispensed through human agency to sinners. The Protestant view is that grace is a divine disposition toward sinners.²⁶

St. Thomas, however, explicitly denies that grace is a substance.²⁷ What is given to us through the sacraments Christ established in the New Covenant is a participation in the divine nature. Sanctifying grace is the participation of the soul in the life of God. If we did not have sanctifying grace, the presence of the Holy Spirit in us would be mere presence (like omnipresence), not union. That’s why there cannot be theosis without sanctifying grace as something distinct from the Holy Spirit. And without union with God in which we participate in the divine nature, we could not enter into the inner life of the Blessed Trinity; we would be cut off from the Beatific Vision, and heaven would be reduced to something equivalent to Abraham’s bosom, with Christ visible to us only in His human nature.

But the second reason Clark thinks that the notion of pre-fall grace destroys the incarnation is that he thinks that pre-fall grace would make the incarnation unnecessary. For Clark grace is conceived as something intrinsically incompatible with law. Therefore, if Adam and Eve fell from grace (as opposed to falling while under law), there would be no reason for Jesus to come and fulfill the law. For Clark, if man had been always under grace, then God could just go ‘poof’ and make all our sin vanish by fiat; there would be no need for atonement or merit or satisfaction. Grace is pure favor, and so for those always under pure favor, there is never any need for law-keeping, not even by someone on their behalf. There’s just no law in grace proper.

Underlying Clark’s entire argument here is his Reformed (Lutheran) presupposition that grace and law cannot go together.²⁸ But if God had already given Adam and Eve sanctifying grace before He commanded them not to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, then Clark’s presupposition is false. When Clark says “None of that makes sense on an alternative scheme” he’s right that none of that makes sense when one presupposes that law and grace are incompatible. But to use that presupposition is to beg the question. If law and grace can go together (as St. Augustine explains that they do — see “St. Augustine on Law and Grace“) then all these thing make perfect sense. So Clark’s whole argument here is an exercise in question-begging, i.e. using a Reformed presupposition to argue against Catholic doctrine.

But there is an irony here in Clark’s claim that the Catholic teaching that Adam and Eve possessed grace prior to their fall “destroys the incarnation.” The irony is that it is Clark’s own position that makes the incarnation unnecessary. The Church’s tradition handed down to us from the early Church Fathers maintains that Christ took on human nature so that we might become partakers of His divine nature through union with Him. As St. Athanasius said:

For He was made man that we might be made God.” (On the Incarnation, 54.3)

And again:

I am from earth, being by nature mortal, but afterwards I have become the Word’s flesh, and He carried my affections, though He is without them; and so I became free from them, being no more abandoned to their service because of the Lord who has made me free from them. For if you object to my being rid of that corruption which is by nature, see that you object not to God’s Word having taken my form of servitude; for as the Lord, putting on the body, became man, so we men are deified by the Word as being taken to Him through His flesh, and henceforward inherit life everlasting. (Discourse III Against the Arians, 34)

If mere covenantal (and not ontological) union were our eschatological end, such that we are not made partakers of the divine nature, then Christ did not need to take on human flesh. If we were not called to partake of the divine nature, Christ would not have needed to partake of our human nature. Given the Reformed notion of imputation, all that is needed for salvation is a double imputation. For example, instead of sending Christ, God could have created another group of humans equal in number to the elect, made no promise of reward to them (since for Clark God didn’t have to make such a covenant of works with men) monergistically ensured their just obedience to God, and then imputed their obedience to the elect, and imputed the sins of the elect to them. From the divine point of view, it would just be another form of supralapsarianism, except without the incarnation. Of course the notion is far-fetched, but the point is that if man is not ordered to a supernatural end, then Christ did not need to become incarnate.²⁹

For Clark, “western theology was schizoid for most of 1000 years.” That’s the ecclesial deism I mentioned earlier. The alternative is that the Church developed the Apostolic faith organically and faithfully, and that early Protestants influenced by later medieval nominalism and voluntarism had to posit a one thousand year breakdown in orthodoxy in order to justify their theological novelties and their rejection of the Tradition as passed down from the Church Fathers through this thousand year period.

To bring about reconciliation between Protestants I contend that what needs to be examined are not points of disagreement that depend on more substantive assumptions, but those substantive assumptions themselves. Here, it seems to me, the meaning of nature and grace, and their relation, are theologically fundamental, because they play a role in arguments used to reject the other’s position. Prof. Feingold’s lecture above lays out a critical distinction between our natural and supernatural ends, and this distinction significantly illuminates the Catholic understanding of the distinction and relation of nature and grace.

1. See, for example, “Michael Horton on Terrence Malick’s “Tree of Life”.”
2. Kingdom Prologue, as quoted in “Answering Objections to the Covenant of Works.” (my emphasis)
3. “Covenant Theology Under Attack.”
4. “Answering Objections to the Covenant of Works.”
5. “Answering Objections to the Covenant of Works.”
6. “Answering Objections to the Covenant of Works.”
7. “Answering Objections to the Covenant of Works.”
8. “Concupiscence: Sin and the Mother of Sin.”
9. “Natural Man Before the fall: Ability and Grace.”
10. I have briefly discussed what is wrong with this presupposition both in the “Scripture and Tradition” section of my discussion with Michael Horton, and in “The Tradition and the Lexicon.”
11. On St. Augustine’s teaching that Adam and Eve had grace prior to the fall, see the first five footnotes in “Pelagian Westminster?”
12. “Natural Man Before the Fall: Ability and Grace.”
13. Natural Man Before the Fall: Ability and Grace.”
14. “Natural Man before the Fall: Ability and Grace: P. 2.” For Horton’s view of union with Christ see chapter 18 of his recent book The Christian Faith, in which he defines union with Christ as covenantal, and rejects an ontological union (which he describes as ‘fusion’).
15. Cf. Summa Theologica I-II Q.110 a.1.
16. “Natural Man Before the Fall: Ability and Grace.”
17. In Clark’s “A Brief Glossary of the Medieval and Reformation Church,” under “Aquinas, Thomas.”
18. “Natural Man Before the Fall: Ability and Grace.”
19. I addressed this same question in about the fourth paragraph of “Michael Horton on Terrence Malick’s “Tree of Life”.”
20. “Natural Man Before the Fall: Ability and Grace.”
21. Clark maintains that the same end offered to pre-fall Adam on condition of merit is the same end attained by the elect through Christ’s merit. He writes, “The Reformed expressed this affirmation of the goodness of Adam (before the fall) as created (contra Thomas and Augustine) by teaching the covenant of works in which Adam was said to have been, before the fall, able to keep the law and to earn (yes, I said “earn”) a state of consummate blessedness. … This is the background for our view of Jesus’ sinlessness (impeccability) and active obedience for us and imputed to us. Our standards and theologians all have it that Jesus “earned” or “obtained” our justification and eventual consummate blessedness.”
22. If two things have the same primary nature, they are the same in kind. Hence, if man and God have the same primary nature, then man is God.
23. See “William of Ockham.”
24. He writes, “We don’t confess apotheosis. We’re categorically opposed to it. We don’t have to be divinized to be glorified. Consummation does not mean overcoming our humanity. In Pauline terms, in 1 Cor 15, it is conformity to the will and presence of the Holy Spirit …”
25. “One of the great, if often unspoken, breakthroughs of the Reformation was the restoration of the Creator/creature distinction. Thomas’ doctrine (and he’s not alone in this at all) of participation in the divine nature vitiates this.” On Clark’s now defunct Heidelblog.
26. Clark’s “A Brief Glossary of the Medieval and Reformation Church,” under the entry “Grace.”
27. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.110 a.2 ad 2.
28. See my “A Response to Darrin Patrick on the Indicates and the Imperatives.”
29. For a brief comparison of the Catholic and Reformed conceptions of the atonement, see “Catholic and Reformed Conceptions of the Atonement.”

Death of Onan by Franc Lanjšček

Within years of the 1930 Lambeth Conference, where Anglicans became the first Christian group to officially approve the use of contraceptives, contraception came to be viewed as an unquestionable human right even by many conservative Protestants. And it’s understandable from a pragmatic point of view. It can be a difficult issue for pastors to dictate what ought and ought not happen in the bedroom affairs of their parishoners. But lately, I’ve seen a few Reformed pastors thinking about the issue out loud and coming to some negative conclusions about the practice of artificial birth control.

Tim Baly took on the topic in conjunction with RU486 “medical” abortions last year, and more recently Doug Wilson chimed in with a video explaining his thoughts on the subject. Tim Challies has also weighed in with a two-part post on contraception here and here.

What Do Today’s Reformed Pastors Say?

All three come down pretty hard on the birth-control pill because of its abortifacient potential, though Wilson doesn’t mention the pill by name, he does refer to the command against destroying life as prohibiting the use of birth-control methods that work by abortifacient means. For those unfamiliar with the issue, the pill works by making the womb inhospitable to a pregnancy. If conception does take place, it becomes very difficult for the brand new baby to attach to the walls of the uterus and begin its gestation. In essence, the baby, only a few cells big, would starve to death.

There is no solid medical evidence that this does actually happen, but the manufacturers of the pill acknowledge it as a possibility in the instructions that come with the drugs. But even if the chance is remote, Christians have no place putting the lives of their children in jeopardy and I applaud these Reformed pastors for taking a stand against it for that reason.

Though Baly doesn’t weigh in on barrier methods of contraception, like condoms, both Wilson and Challies seem to find such methods acceptable provided the reasons are within the range they consider reasonable. Their criteria tend to center around Scripture’s repeated insistence that children are a blessing and a gift of God, that they are to be desired and treasured, not avoided for personal gain or ease.

Thus, Wilson states that a newly married couple avoiding children so they can make more money are in a problematic situation, while the couple with seven kids who are using contraception to postpone a pregnancy for a short time are doing just fine.

This seems to be a pretty common line in Reformed Christianity. The pill is perhaps to be avoided, but contraception in and of itself is not morally wrong, largely because Scripture does not say it is. Wilson’s video cites a fear of putting undue, Pharisaical burdens on people and Jim Jordan cites the same concern elsewhere.

If contraception other than the pill is considered wrong by modern Reformed theologians, it is not because of the nature of the act itself, but rather the motivations behind it.

What Does the Scripture Say?

Scripture is, of course, notoriously silent on contraception, at least in explicit terms. The go-to passage is the sin of Onan in Genesis 38—the only passage that explicitly mentions contraception. But I, along with many scholars on both sides of the Tiber, find this passage insufficient for building a case against contraception by itself.

Onan’s brother died and he married his brother’s wife according to the law in order to provide her with heirs. But instead of doing that, Onan practiced coitus interruptus and spilled his seed on the ground, thus affording him sexual pleasure and releasing him from the obligation to take care of any children the union might produce. For this, Onan was struck dead by the Lord.

Many argue that Onan’s sin was not spilling his semen per se, but rather the avoidance of his vowed duty to produce heirs for his sister-in-law. This does seem to be the case and for that reason I think the passage is not capable, on its own, of providing Christians with an air-tight ban on contraception. But, fortunately, the passage is not on its own. But more about Onan in a moment.

What Did the Reformers Say?

It should be noted that the Reformers stood united with the rest of the Christian tradition in opposing all forms of contraception. Indeed, as noted above, no Christian group of any kind approved of contraception till the early 20th century.

It is interesting to note that both Calvin and Luther did see enough evidence in Onan’s sin to condemn contraception outright, but I believe that is because both were steeped in the Catholic understanding of natural law.

Calvin had this to say in his commentary on Genesis:

It is a horrible thing to pour out seed besides the intercourse of man and woman. Deliberately avoiding the intercourse, so that the seed drops on the ground, is double horrible. For this means that one quenches the hope of his family and kills the son, which could be expected, before he is born. This wickedness is now as severely as is possible condemned by the Spirit, through Moses, that Onan, as it were, through a violent and untimely birth, tore away the seed of his brother out the womb, and as cruel as shamefully has thrown on the earth. Moreover he thus has, as much as was in his power, tried to destroy a part of the human race. When a woman in some way drives away the seed out the womb, through aids, then this is rightly seen as an unforgivable crime. Onan was guilty of a similar crime. (Calvin’s Commentary on Genesis, vol. 2, part 16)

And Luther had this to say in his commentary on Genesis:

“[T]he exceedingly foul deed of Onan, the basest of wretches . . . is a most disgraceful sin. It is far more atrocious than incest and adultery. We call it unchastity, yes, a sodomitic sin. For Onan goes in to her—that is, he lies with her and copulates—and, when it comes to the point of insemination, spills the semen, lest the woman conceive. Surely at such a time the order of nature established by God in procreation should be followed. Accordingly, it was a most disgraceful crime. . . . Consequently, he deserved to be killed by God. He committed an evil deed. Therefore, God punished him” (Luther’s Commentary on Genesis)

Why the Disconnect?

I believe the disconnect we see between the Reformers and their theological descendants stems from the implications of sola Scriptura that the Reformers didn’t see.

The ecclesial chaos caused by every man being his own arbiter of spiritual truth led, slowly, to the 1930 Lambeth Conference allowing for married couples to use contraception in extreme circumstances. Thus, the ancient teaching of the Church on this subject was breeched by a small exception. As is nearly always the case with such breeches, a small exception was soon opened into the wide corridor we now see where no institution as a whole will decry contraception as an objective evil except the Catholic Church.

The reason the Catholic Church is able to take such a stand is because of its view of Sacred Tradition as another sure source of knowledge of the things of God. If the sin of Onan leaves us unsure on whether or not contraception is forbidden by God, we need not despair or decide that forbidding contraception would be a Pharisaical burden, like Wilson and Jordan. The opening paragraph of the 4th Session of the Council of Trent put it this way:

The sacred and holy, ecumenical, and general Synod of Trent,–lawfully assembled in the Holy Ghost, the Same three legates of the Apostolic Sec presiding therein,–keeping this always in view, that, errors being removed, the purity itself of the Gospel be preserved in the Church; which (Gospel), before promised through the prophets in the holy Scriptures, our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, first promulgated with His own mouth, and then commanded to be preached by His Apostles to every creature, as the fountain of all, both saving truth, and moral discipline; and seeing clearly that this truth and discipline are contained in the written books, and the unwritten traditions which, received by the Apostles from the mouth of Christ himself, or from the Apostles themselves, the Holy Ghost dictating, have come down even unto us, transmitted as it were from hand to hand; (the Synod) following the examples of the orthodox Fathers, receives and venerates with an equal affection of piety, and reverence, all the books both of the Old and of the New Testament—seeing that one God is the author of both—as also the said traditions, as well those appertaining to faith as to morals, as having been dictated, either by Christ’s own word of mouth, or by the Holy Ghost, and preserved in the Catholic Church by a continuous succession.

In Sacred Tradition we have a sure guide because the Tradition has its roots in Christ Himself and its protection from error from the promises of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit through the Apostolic Succession of bishops in union with the Roman Pontiff. So when we have an issue like contraception, which the Tradition of the Church has taught us is a moral evil from the time of the Apostles, we can know that this tradition is a reliable guide and not the mere opinion of men.

If we follow the model of sola Scriptura, where every man is his own interpreter and Scripture is the only available means of sure knowledge of morality, it’s only a matter of time until someone decides that it’s easier to give up the fight on contraception. The same thing has happened with a number of the Church’s teachings, such as those on divorce and remarriage, female clergy and homosexuality. Without the sure defense of the Spirit-guided Magesterium of the Catholic Church, compromise is inevitable.

So What’s the Big Deal About Contraception Anyway?

In an era where nearly every other Christian group has approved at least some method of contraception, why does the Catholic Church continue to oppose it so strenuously? The reason is simple: God created the sexual act with the three-fold purposes of procreation, the unifying of the couple and pleasure. To remove any one of these elements from the sexual act is to pervert it into something other than what God intended it to be. To remove the life-giving potential of the sexual act is to change its nature.

What makes a sexual act licit or illicit is whether or not it is performed in accordance with God’s design for sexual activity. Homosexual acts are illicit because God designed sex to be between a man and a woman. Adultery and fornication between a man and a woman are illicit because God intended sex to be between a married man and woman. Rape is illicit because God designed sexual union to be entered into willingly. Contraceptive sex acts are illicit because God designed sex to produce children.

When the procreative aspect of the sexual act is removed, the act takes on a different nature than it had when procreation was a possibility. As Pope John Paul II pointed out in his Theology of the Body talks, the couple engaging in contraceptive sex is lying with their bodies. The body is saying, “I am giving you the gift of my whole self,” but one of the most incredible gifts spouses can give to each other, their reproductive capacity, is being withheld. The act becomes primarily about pleasure and thus becomes inherently selfish. The act that is supposed to reflect the life-giving union of Christ and the Church becomes an act that seeks only its own temporal satisfaction, not the self-sacrifice and self-donation that comes with the possibility of the creation of new life.

This pleasure-centered version of sex is contrary to the nature of the Triune life which, as the Divine Liturgy reminds us, is fundamentally life-giving. If marriage is to be a picture of the life of the Trinity and the relationship of Christ and the Church, we can never say “no” to life and sacrifice, which is precisely what contraceptive sex does.

I’m encouraged by the attention being given to the question of contraception in Reformed circles and I hope the conversation continues. But I say that with the fervent hope that Reformed ministers will heed the words of the Reformers, as well as the voice of the Church throughout history, rather than relying on their own interpretations of Scripture. There is much more to be said on the topic, delving more deeply into Pope John Paul II’s teaching and even the many pragmatic problems with contraception, but I hope this post will serve to start some discussion on why this ancient teaching is so crucial to our Christian life today.

Additional Resources

• Theology of the Body Explained: A Commentary on John Paul II’s “Gospel of the Body”—Christopher West’s excellent compendium of John Paul II’s groundbreaking series of addresses on the topic of human sexuality
• Tabor Life Institute—A ministry dedicated to spreading a Catholic understanding of sexuality
• CD Set of the “Contraception is Not the Answer” Conference—A conference sponsored by the Pro-Life Action League on the problem of contraception

My cousin’s husband who also teaches at Auburn came into the Church last week. He had been going to Mass with them but never showed any interest. We asked how he got interested and his answer was that the sermons were so horrible, he knew there must be something else there to make the people come…

Flannery O’Connor
The Habit of Being, Collected Letters
To “A”, August 22, 1959.

In many senses, this quote from Flannery O’Connor encapsulates my thoughts about Catholicism prior to my conversion. Like the husband of Flannery O’Connor’s cousin, there is a part of my own journey to communion with the Catholic Church that was spurred on because of the shortcomings of people in Christ’s Body, not in spite of them.

Our Creed is bold in stating that we not only believe in God, we also believe in the Church–and it is not merely the Church as some pharasaical organization with a lifeless but physical attachment to the Apostles. She is One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states this with regard to the holiness of the Church:

823 “The Church . . . is held, as a matter of faith, to be unfailingly holy. This is because Christ, the Son of God, who with the Father and the Spirit is hailed as ‘alone holy,’ loved the Church as his Bride, giving himself up for her so as to sanctify her; he joined her to himself as his body and endowed her with the gift of the Holy Spirit for the glory of God.”²⁸⁹ The Church, then, is “the holy People of God,”²⁹⁰ and her members are called “saints.”²⁹¹

In the light of the many flaws that we have observed throughout history, how could one describe the Church as unfailingly holy? Has She not failed to live up to the standards of God time and time again? There are many recent and ancient flaws that Catholics can be guilty of, but in our view of the Church we see all of our real life, all of our real existence, as tied to the grace of God. For a fuller explanation of this, see one of our oldest articles here. Or to read from our Catechism, this section makes the point clearly:

827 “Christ, ‘holy, innocent, and undefiled,’ knew nothing of sin, but came only to expiate the sins of the people. The Church, however, clasping sinners to her bosom, at once holy and always in need of purification, follows constantly the path of penance and renewal.”²⁹⁹ All members of the Church, including her ministers, must acknowledge that they are sinners.³⁰⁰ In everyone, the weeds of sin will still be mixed with the good wheat of the Gospel until the end of time.³⁰¹ Hence the Church gathers sinners already caught up in Christ’s salvation but still on the way to holiness:

The Church is therefore holy, though having sinners in her midst, because she herself has no other life but the life of grace. If they live her life, her members are sanctified; if they move away from her life, they fall into sins and disorders that prevent the radiation of her sanctity. This is why she suffers and does penance for those offenses, of which she has the power to free her children through the blood of Christ and the gift of the Holy Spirit.³⁰²

We are all moving, trying to respond with a more fervent “Yes” to the call to communion. Church Fathers such as St. Gregory of Nyssa would look at perfection as a constant progress in the good. Our salvation is not a simple one time transaction, but is rather a progressive vision of beatification. {For an Eastern Orthodox perspective on this which harmonizes with both Western and Eastern Catholics, I highly suggest this video.} All of this is not to say that there are no tares or wolves in sheep’s clothing. We know that with even Christ as the physical head of the Apostles, one out of twelve was full of betrayal and was described as a “son of perdition”. But it does state that even among those who are being saved, this spotless Bride of Christ is nonetheless comprised of sinners on the way to a fuller grasp of holiness.

Therefore, any thoughts about the sins in the Church must be seen as sins of Her members living apart and in contradiction to their eternal calling and home. It is why we believe, as sad as it is, that those who are sacramentally joined to Christ may also be sacreligiously severed. If we held to the “once saved, always saved” dictum perhaps there could be the true dischord of which we are accused. But our life in Christ is a journey, and sadly some have forsaken the road. Others never truly joined the road in their heart of hearts, but used the Church, which is the very Ark of Salvation, a safe haven from the storm, as a way to mask their darkness and bring about a maelstrom in the hearts of the innocent. The particular tragedy of our day deals with something so horrible that it is arguably better dealt with in mournful silence, as another contributor at Called to Communion has wisely pointed out on his personal blog. This response of silent repentance, however, is not a silence stemming from an inability to speak intellectually. For just a couple examples of a more direct confrontation of the present matter, I would recommend this article by a layman named George Weigel, and this podcast by a priest, Father Thomas J. Loya.

And so, returning to the Flannery O’Connor quote and reflecting on my own entrance into Catholicism, I am reminded of my shock that despite the flurry of articles and exposees in the early part of this millenium, piling painful detail upon painful detail, that there was nonetheless a worldwide mourning and tribute paid to the passing of Pope John Paul II, of blessed memory. It is true that abusus non tollit usum was a logical rebuttal to the idea of rejecting Catholicism on these grounds alone. But as I thought about this issue, I was overwhelmed by the fact that so many stayed true to a Church undergoing such a storm of those among its leaders who so clearly were living faithlessly. Like O’Connor’s account, I knew that there was “something else” that made the people come to Catholicism. I knew that if my own congregations suffered from similar issues, we would have dissolved immediately. As I read the news of the day, I railed against the “oddity” and lack of “humanity” in a religion that extolled a definition of chastity that included an actual emulation of the celibacy of Christ. As much as I professed Christ to be True God and True Man as a Protestant, I must confess a strong skepticism that his life of 33 years lived in chastity had an actual reflection in anyone else on earth.

In my Protestant microcosm, I could not point to a Pastor Joe or a Reverend Steve who had promised to God to devote his life to churchly activities to the point where he would forsake marriage and focus on the families of others. The idea of celibacy itself is simply unnatural in our society, and Protestantism reflects that thinking quite clearly. Unmarried men may often be youth pastors et cetera, but it is almost unheard of to have senior pastors living as unmarried men. And yet, as acquainted with my Bible as I was from my Protestant background, I simply paid no attention to these words of Christ:

For there are eunuchs who have been so from birth, and there are eunuchs who have been made eunuchs by men, and there are eunuchs who have made themselves eunuchs for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. He who is able to receive this, let him receive it. Matthew 19:12

The inner struggles that you or I may have with Our Lord’s teachings do not undo the Life that Our Lord lived. They also do not negate the life that Christ says some were called to – something that my gut feelings and my society were calling “unnatural”. In fact, Christ’s own words state that this is something that only some can receive, so my own failings and inability to grasp something should never have undone His description of a life lived in utter chastity. In trying to mock Tradition with fingers pointed at those who have fallen short via one ideal (all the while not taking responsibility for my own sins), I felt myself drawn in by an example that is clear from those monastics who are on the road of faithful obedience and chastity. Try as I might, those who disobeyed did not make those who did follow with faith disappear. And in the same way, my personal call to the Church would not disappear. The more I thought of the disconnect between this ideal of chastity and my world where celibacy was nonexistent, the more I realized that I needed to consider the claims of the Church who praised both the single and the married in their call to holiness. The more I thought on the scandal of my day, the more I was drawn in. Eventually I knew these things to be detachments from Her True Life and Light. And I knew that in my own way, I was detached from the fulness of that Life and Light. May we all find a deeper attachment to His Holy Body in this Paschal Season.

Crucifixion with the Virgin and St John the Evangelist
Ugolino di Nerio (1280 – 1349)

In the last three posts in this series we have considered the three effects of sin, according to Aquinas: corruption of man’s nature, stain in his soul, and the debt of eternal punishment. By these three effects man was cut off from his supernatural end, i.e. being united to God eternally in perfect happiness and love, in what is called the Beatific Vision. Here we turn to Aquinas’ understanding of Christ’s Passion, in redeeming us from sin and its effects, and opening for us the way to the Beatific Vision. In order to understand what Aquinas says about Christ’s Passion, we must first briefly consider what Aquinas says about man’s supernatural end and why grace is needed to attain that end.

Grace and The Beatific Vision

According to Aquinas, God made man with the ultimate purpose of giving to man what the tradition calls the “Beatific Vision,” that is, seeing the Divine Essence.¹ Jesus told His disciples, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”² The Beatific Vision is something the blessed in heaven now enjoy. Concerning the Beatific Vision, Aquinas writes, “The vision of the Divine Essence is granted to all the blessed by a partaking of the Divine light which is shed upon them from the fountain of the Word of God ….”³

According to Aquinas, the human intellect, apart from grace, cannot attain the Beatific Vision. The human intellect can of its own power attain an indirect knowledge of God, as knowledge of a cause can be determined from its effects. In this way we can, by the natural power of human reason, come to know that God exists, and that God is good, just, perfect, etc. But for Aquinas, the vision of the Divine Essence is natural only to God Himself. Attaining to the vision of the Divine Essence exceeds our natural capacities; no created nature is in itself proportional to the vision of the Divine Essence. This is why the vision of the Divine Essence is man’s supernatural end (finis supaturalis). We need a divine gift by which we may participate in the divine nature, and so enjoy the vision of the Divine Essence. This divine gift, by which our nature is elevated and made proportionate to the divine nature, so that we can have the vision of the Divine Essence, is sanctifying grace.⁴ If grace were merely “divine favor” in the sense of God looking upon us in a favorable manner, we could never enter heaven, because we could never see the Divine Essence.⁵ Since grace is necessary for man to enjoy the vision of God’s essence, we may now consider how, for Aquinas, the grace of salvation comes to man through Christ’s Passion and Death.

Was the Passion Necessary?

According to Aquinas, because God is omnipotent, He could have saved man without sending Christ to die for us. Aquinas writes, “God of His omnipotent power could have restored human nature in many other ways.”⁶ This would not have been contrary to justice, as Aquinas explains:

But if He had willed to free man from sin without any satisfaction, He would not have acted against justice. For a judge, while preserving justice, cannot pardon fault without penalty, if he must visit fault committed against another–for instance, against another man, or against the State, or any Prince in higher authority. But God has no one higher than Himself, for He is the sovereign and common good of the whole universe. Consequently, if He forgive sin, which has the formality of fault in that it is committed against Himself, He wrongs no one: just as anyone else, overlooking a personal trespass, without satisfaction, acts mercifully and not unjustly. And so David exclaimed when he sought mercy: “To Thee only have I sinned” (Psalm 50:6), as if to say: “Thou canst pardon me without injustice.”⁷

By satisfaction [satisfactione] Aquinas is referring to a voluntary reparation for an offense. Even if Christ had not come, God could have forgiven our debt of punishment, and this would not have been a violation of justice because our debt is precisely to God. A human judge, by contrast, cannot simply forgive the injustice of a criminal without violating justice. That is because the crime committed by the criminal was not against the judge, but against someone or something else. But if a debt is owed only to one man, then this man can freely discharge the debt, without any violation of justice. Man’s debt of [eternal] punishment was owed to God alone, and therefore without any injustice God can forgive this sin even without satisfaction.

Yet there was no more fitting way to save us than through Christ’s Passion, because Christ’s Passion most perfectly demonstrates to us God’s glory, His love, the evil of sin, human dignity, and the perfect example of loving obedience to the Father. Not only that, it also delivers us from sin and merits for us justifying grace and the glory of bliss.⁸ It was more fitting for Christ to suffer, because Christ’s Passion demonstrates both God’s mercy and His justice:

That man should be delivered by Christ’s Passion was in keeping with both His mercy and His justice. With His justice, because by His Passion Christ made satisfaction for the sin of the human race; and so man was set free by Christ’s justice: and with His mercy, for since man of himself could not satisfy for the sin of all human nature ….⁹

Through Christ’s Passion, He made satisfaction for the sin of the whole human race. Christ freely suffered humiliation, pain, injustice and even death, out of loving obedience to the Father. This sacrifice of Himself out of love for His Father made reparation for all the sin of the human race, and thereby was in keeping with the order of justice. Likewise, by sending His Son to make such satisfaction for our sins, the Father showed His mercy, because we could not make satisfaction for our sins. So although strictly speaking it was not necessary for Christ to suffer in order to save mankind, yet in another sense it was necessary for Christ to suffer, in order most perfectly to demonstrate to mankind God’s mercy and justice.

Four Ways in Which Christ’s Passion Brought About Our Salvation

According to Aquinas, Christ, from the first instant of His conception, had the fullness of sanctifying grace.¹⁰ Not only that, but from the first moment of His conception was the Head of the Church.¹¹ All the graces that come into the Church come from Christ the Head of the Body.¹² Aquinas presents four ways in which Christ’s Passion brought about our salvation.

First, Aquinas says that Christ’s Passion brought about our salvation by way of merit.

As stated above (7, 1,9; 8, 1,5), grace was bestowed upon Christ, not only as an individual, but inasmuch as He is the Head of the Church, so that it might overflow into His members; and therefore Christ’s works are referred to Himself and to His members in the same way as the works of any other man in a state of grace are referred to himself. But it is evident that whosoever suffers for justice’s sake, provided that he be in a state of grace, merits his salvation thereby, according to Matthew 5:10: “Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice’s sake.” Consequently Christ by His Passion merited salvation, not only for Himself, but likewise for all His members.¹³

Christ had grace in His soul from the first instant of His conception. Otherwise, Christ would have been in a state of original sin.¹⁴ But in that first instant of His conception Christ received grace not only as an individual man, but also as the Head of the Church, so that this grace might overflow into His members, i.e. all those who are joined to His Body, the Church. Insofar as we are joined to Christ as members of His Body, the works of Christ the Head of the Body are referred not only to the Head but to all the members of His Body, because this Body is one Body. Furthermore, if anyone in a state of grace suffers for justice’s sake, that person merits blessedness (i.e. the vision of God). Therefore, since Christ was in a state of grace, and Christ suffered for justice’s sake, it follows that Christ merited the Beatific Vision, even though He already had it.¹⁵ Hence, since Christ merited the Beatific Vision, and since those who are joined to Him as members of His Body share in His merits, it follows that Christ merited the Beatific Vision for us, and thus that He merited salvation for us.

Aquinas explains the notion of merit elsewhere, writing:

Merit implies a certain equality of justice: hence the Apostle says (Romans 4:4): “Now to him that worketh, the reward is reckoned according to debt.” But when anyone by reason of his unjust will ascribes to himself something beyond his due, it is only just that he be deprived of something else which is his due; thus, “when a man steals a sheep he shall pay back four” (Exodus 22:1). And he is said to deserve it, inasmuch as his unjust will is chastised thereby. So likewise when any man through his just will has stripped himself of what he ought to have, he deserves that something further be granted to him as the reward of his just will. And hence it is written (Luke 14:11): “He that humbleth himself shall be exalted.”¹⁶

Merit is based on justice, according to which reward is due for every obedient act, and punishment is due for every disobedient act, to chastise the unjust will. Aquinas notes that the precept of the Old Law required that the theft be paid back fourfold.¹⁷ Aquinas then proceeds to show the four respects in which Christ humbled Himself, thereby paying fourfold for the [extrinsic] glory man had stolen from God through disobedience.¹⁸

Second, according to Aquinas, Christ’s Passion brought about our salvation by way of satisfaction.

He properly atones for [satisfacit] an offense who offers something which the offended loves equally, or even more than he detested the offense. But by suffering out of love and obedience, Christ gave more to God than was required to compensate for the offense of the whole human race. First of all, because of the exceeding charity from which He suffered; secondly, on account of the dignity of His life which He laid down in atonement, for it was the life of one who was God and man; thirdly, on account of the extent of the Passion, and the greatness of the grief endured, as stated above (Question 46, Article 6). And therefore Christ’s Passion was not only a sufficient but a superabundant atonement for the sins of the human race; according to 1 John 2:2: “He is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but also for those of the whole world.”¹⁹

Aquinas begins here by explaining the meaning of satisfaction. A person makes proper satisfaction for an offense by offering to the offended something that the offended person loves equally or even more than he detested the offense. By giving Himself over to suffering, in love and obedience for the Father, Christ offered to the Father something that the Father loves far more than He detests all the sins of the human race. Why was Christ’s gift so greatly loved by the Father? Because of the greatness of the charity out of which Christ suffered, the great dignity of what He laid down in love for the Father, and the immensity of the grief He endured, which was far greater interiorly than all His bodily suffering.²⁰ How do we benefit from Christ’s satisfaction? Aquinas writes:

The head and members are as one mystic person; and therefore Christ’s satisfaction belongs to all the faithful as being His members.²¹

Here again, Aquinas explains that we benefit from Christ’s satisfaction by being joined to Him as members of His Body, the Church, of which He is the Head. Through being joined to Him, we become, as it were, one mystic person [quasi una persona mystica]. Just as what belongs to the hand also belongs to the foot or the ear, so what belongs to Christ the Head belongs also to the rest of His Body. And therefore the satisfaction that He offered to the Father belongs also to all the faithful, because we are members of His Body.

Third, according to Aquinas, Christ’s Passion brought about our salvation by way of sacrifice.

The Apostle says (Ephesians 5:2): “He delivered Himself up for us, an oblation and a sacrifice to God for an odor of sweetness.” A sacrifice properly so called is something done for that honor which is properly due to God, in order to appease Him: and hence it is that Augustine says (De Civ. Dei x): “A true sacrifice is every good work done in order that we may cling to God in holy fellowship, yet referred to that consummation of happiness wherein we can be truly blessed.” But, as is added in the same place, “Christ offered Himself up for us in the Passion”: and this voluntary enduring of the Passion was most acceptable to God, as coming from charity. Therefore it is manifest that Christ’s Passion was a true sacrifice.²²

A sacrifice [sacrificium], says Aquinas, is something done for the honor that is properly due to God, in order to appease Him. This falls under the virtue of religion, which itself falls under the virtue of justice, i.e. giving to each its due.²³ But not only does sacrifice fall under the precepts of the natural law, various kinds of sacrifice were also required by the ceremonial precepts of the Old Law.²⁴ These sacrifices, according to Aquinas, directed the minds of the worshipers to God as the source and end of all things. But they also foreshadowed Christ, the chief and perfect sacrifice.²⁵ How does sacrifice differ from satisfaction? Satisfaction can be made by sacrifice, but satisfaction presupposes an offense, whereas sacrifice does not. Sacrifice is what is due to God as God, and only to God. Satisfaction, on the other hand, can be made to any offended party, not only to God.²⁶

Fourth, according to Aquinas, Christ’s Passion brought about our salvation by way of redemption.

Man was held captive on account of sin in two ways: first of all, by the bondage of sin, because (John 8:34): “Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin”; and (2 Peter 2:19): “By whom a man is overcome, of the same also he is the slave.” Since, then, the devil had overcome man by inducing him to sin, man was subject to the devil’s bondage. Secondly, as to the debt of punishment, to the payment of which man was held fast by God’s justice: and this, too, is a kind of bondage, since it savors of bondage for a man to suffer what he does not wish, just as it is the free man’s condition to apply himself to what he wills.

Since, then, Christ’s Passion was a sufficient and a superabundant atonement [satisfactio] for the sin and the debt of the human race, it was as a price at the cost of which we were freed from both obligations. For the atonement [satisfactio] by which one satisfies for self or another is called the price, by which he ransoms himself or someone else from sin and its penalty, according to Daniel 4:24: “Redeem thou thy sins with alms.” Now Christ made satisfaction, not by giving money or anything of the sort, but by bestowing what was of greatest price–Himself–for us. And therefore Christ’s Passion is called our redemption.²⁷

Aquinas explains the two ways in which man was held captive on account of sin. In the first way, man was held captive by sin and Satan. By sinning, we make ourselves prone to sin, susceptible to its temptation, less willing to resist it firmly and consistently. Through mortal sin we make ourselves incapable of repenting, unless God provides grace. In this way, by submitting ourselves to sin we make ourselves slaves to it. Furthermore, says Aquinas, in succumbing to Satan’s temptation, we likewise subject ourselves to Satan’s bondage. We put ourselves under the devil by consenting to him.²⁸ The second way that man was held captive on account of sin was by the debt of punishment, which he could not pay.

According to Aquinas, Christ by His Passion redeemed us from both obligations. That is because the satisfaction by which one satisfies is the price by which one one ransoms from sin and its penalty. Since Christ made satisfaction by giving to God what was of maximum worth, namely, Himself, for us, therefore in doing so Christ paid a price that ransomed us both from our bondage to sin and our debt of punishment.

Aquinas sums up the four ways in which Christ’s Passion brought salvation to us, writing:

Christ’s Passion, according as it is compared with His Godhead, operates in an efficient manner: but in so far as it is compared with the will of Christ’s soul it acts in a meritorious manner: considered as being within Christ’s very flesh, it acts by way of satisfaction, inasmuch as we are liberated by it from the debt of punishment; while inasmuch as we are freed from the servitude of guilt, it acts by way of redemption: but in so far as we are reconciled with God it acts by way of sacrifice ….”²⁹

On account of the will of Christ’s soul, His Passion acts by way of merit. On account of the flesh of Christ’s body, His Passion acts by way of satisfaction (inasmuch as by it we are liberated from the debt of punishment), by way of redemption (inasmuch as it frees us from the servitude of guilt [servitute culpae]), and by way of sacrifice (inasmuch as by it we are reconciled to God).

Four Effects of Christ’s Passion

One effect of Christ’s Passion is the forgiveness of our sins. Aquinas writes:

Christ’s Passion is the proper cause of the forgiveness of sins [remissionis peccatorum] in three ways. First of all, by way of exciting our charity [provocantis ad caritatem], because, as the Apostle says (Romans 5:8): “God commendeth His charity towards us: because when as yet we were sinners, according to the time, Christ died for us.” But it is by charity that we procure pardon of our sins, according to Luke 7:47: “Many sins are forgiven her because she hath loved much.” Secondly, Christ’s Passion causes forgiveness of sins by way of redemption [redemptionis]. For since He is our head, then, by the Passion which He endured from love and obedience, He delivered us as His members from our sins, as by the price of His Passion: in the same way as if a man by the good industry of his hands were to redeem himself from a sin committed with his feet. For, just as the natural body is one though made up of diverse members, so the whole Church, Christ’s mystic body, is reckoned as one person with its head, which is Christ. Thirdly, by way of efficiency [efficientiae], inasmuch as Christ’s flesh, wherein He endured the Passion, is the instrument of the Godhead, so that His sufferings and actions operate with Divine power for expelling sin.³⁰

Christ’s Passion causes the forgiveness of our sins in three ways or modes. First, by provoking us to charity. Through His divine demonstration of charity in the Passion, charity is communicated to us and provoked within us. And our sins are forgiven when we love God, because our will is turned back to God in friendship, away from that which we had wrongly loved more than we loved God. Second, as explained above, Christ’s Passion causes the forgiveness of our sins by way of redemption. Since Christ by His Passion offered to His Father such a great gift, therefore since He is the Head and we are the members of His Body, therefore by incorporation into His Body (and only by incorporation into His Body) we participate in what He obtained. Aquinas uses the example of a man who by the good work of his hands was able to redeem himself from a sin committed with his feet. Thirdly, Christ’s Passion causes the forgiveness of our sins in the mode of efficient cause. By this he means that Christ’s flesh, as the instrument of the Godhead, has within it the divine virtue (power) to drive out all evils through His actions and sufferings in His Passion.

Another effect of Christ’s Passion is deliverance from the debt of punishment. Aquinas writes:

Through Christ’s Passion we have been delivered from the debt of punishment in two ways. First of all, directly–namely, inasmuch as Christ’s Passion was sufficient and superabundant satisfaction for the sins of the whole human race: but when sufficient satisfaction has been paid, then the debt of punishment is abolished. In another way–indirectly, that is to say–in so far as Christ’s Passion is the cause of the forgiveness of sin, upon which the debt of punishment rests.³¹

This short paragraph provides a helpful distinction between the debt of punishment [reatus poenae] and the forgiveness of sins [remissionis peccati]. Christ’s Passion delivers us from the debt of punishment both directly and indirectly. It directly delivers us from the debt of punishment in that through His Passion Christ made superabundant satisfaction [superabundans satisfactio] for the sins of the whole human race, and thereby paid our debt, inasmuch as we are joined to Him as members of His Mystical Body. Christ’s Passion indirectly delivers us from the debt of punishment insofar as it is the cause of the forgiveness of sin [remissionis peccati], on which the debt of punishment is founded. The forgiveness of sin is not merely the payment of our debt of punishment. The debt of eternal punishment is continually caused by the privation of original justice in the will, by which the will is made subject to God. Therefore, in order to remove the debt of punishment, not only must the debt be paid, but the continuing cause of the debt must be remedied. So Christ’s Passion is the cause of the forgiveness of sins, by the gift of grace, whereby our will is again made subject to God in love. We receive this gift of grace by being united to Him as our Head, from whom flow all graces to us as members of His Body.

Another effect of Christ’s Passion is that we are reconciled to God. Aquinas writes:

Christ’s Passion is in two ways the cause of our reconciliation to God. In the first way, inasmuch as it takes away sin by which men became God’s enemies, according to Wisdom 14:9: “To God the wicked and his wickedness are hateful alike”; and Psalm 5:7: “Thou hatest all the workers of iniquity.” In another way, inasmuch as it is a most acceptable sacrifice to God. Now it is the proper effect of sacrifice to appease God: just as man likewise overlooks an offense committed against him on account of some pleasing act of homage shown him. Hence it is written (1 Samuel 26:19): “If the Lord stir thee up against me, let Him accept of sacrifice.” And in like fashion Christ’s voluntary suffering was such a good act that, because of its being found in human nature, God was appeased for every offense of the human race with regard to those who are made one with the crucified Christ in the aforesaid manner (1, ad 4).³²

Here Aquinas explains that Christ’s Passion is the cause of our reconciliation to God in two ways. First, Christ’s Passion takes away sin [removet peccatum] by which men are put at enmity with God. Sin is not a stuff or substance. Sin is a privation of the due order in acts, or in the disposition of the will, such that we are turned against God and against the order of Divine justice. One way that Christ removes sin is by turning our heart (i.e. our will) back to the Father in love, such that we are no longer enemies of God, but are reconciled to Him as friends, even sons. The second way in which Christ reconciles us to God is by making perfect satisfaction, in His human nature, to the Father. The debt of punishment that was due to the human race for every offense is thereby canceled, insofar as we are “made one with the crucified Christ”. I will discuss below the way in which we are made one with Christ.

Another effect of Christ’s Passion is that the gate of heaven is opened to us. Aquinas writes:

The shutting of the gate is the obstacle which hinders men from entering in. But it is on account of sin that men were prevented from entering into the heavenly kingdom, since, according to Isaiah 35:8: “It shall be called the holy way, and the unclean shall not pass over it.” Now there is a twofold sin which prevents men from entering into the kingdom of heaven. The first is common to the whole race, for it is our first parents’ sin, and by that sin heaven’s entrance is closed to man. Hence we read in Genesis 3:24 that after our first parents’ sin God “placed . . . cherubim and a flaming sword, turning every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.” The other is the personal sin of each one of us, committed by our personal act.

Now by Christ’s Passion we have been delivered not only from the common sin of the whole human race, both as to its guilt and as to the debt of punishment, for which He paid the penalty on our behalf; but, furthermore, from the personal sins of individuals, who share in His Passion by faith and charity and the sacraments of faith. Consequently, then the gate of heaven’s kingdom is thrown open to us through Christ’s Passion. This is precisely what the Apostle says (Hebrews 9:11-12): “Christ being come a high-priest of the good things to come . . . by His own blood entered once into the Holies, having obtained eternal redemption.”³³

When God sent man out of Eden, He placed a cherubim and a flaming sword to guard the way to the tree of life [ligni vitae]. According to Aquinas, on account of man’s sin, the gate to heaven was thereby closed. This gate being closed to us was due not only to original sin, common to all mankind descended from Adam, but also to all actual sins committed by each person. By Christ’s Passion we have been delivered from original sin both as to its guilt [culpam] and as to its debt of punishment [reatum poenae]. Here again by the guilt [culpam] of original sin, Aquinas is referring to the privation of original justice in the will, whereby the will was made subject to God. When man receives grace, through union with the crucified Christ, this privation in the will is removed. And likewise by union with Christ the debt of punishment for original sin is canceled. Furthermore, by Christ’s Passion, we have been delivered from the guilt and debt of punishment for our personal sins. Therefore, through Christ’s Passion the gate of heaven has been thrown open to us.

Did God Hate Sinners?

Some people claim that God the Father hated sinners, on account of their sin, and therefore that God the Father unleashed this stored-up wrath upon Christ, temporarily damning Christ on our behalf. But that is not how Aquinas understands Christ’s salvific work. God the Father and Christ the Son are one in their Divine nature, and therefore one in their single Divine will. It is not as though the Father hated us while Christ the Son loved us. Aquinas says, “Christ as God delivered Himself up to death by the same will and action as that by which the Father delivered Him up….”³⁴ Nor is it that the Son in His Divine nature hated us, but that the Son in His human nature loved us. The distinction, for Aquinas, is at a different level. He writes:

God loves all men as to their nature, which He Himself made; yet He hates them with respect to the crimes [culpam] they commit against Him, according to Sirach 12:3: “The Highest hateth sinners.”³⁵

The three Divine Persons of the Most Holy Trinity eternally love all men in regard to man’s primary human nature [quantum ad naturam]. In other words, the Divine Persons of the Most Holy Trinity eternally love each and every human being on account of our human nature, which God Himself made in His own image. But the Divine Persons of the Most Holy Trinity hate [odit] sin, and therefore in regard to human opposition to God [quantum ad culpam], the Divine Persons of the Most Holy Trinity hate sinful man (i.e. man devoid of sanctifying grace and charity). So the Divine Persons of the Most Holy Trinity both love and hate sinful man, but in different respects. Yet their love for man is more fundamental than is their hate, because the nature of man is fundamental to man’s wickedness. Sinful man’s opposition to God is made possible by man’s rational nature. But this raises a question. If God has always loved man, even when man was turned against God, how then can Christ’s Passion be rightly said to reconcile man to God? Aquinas answers:

Christ is not said to have reconciled us with God, as if God had begun anew to love us, since it is written (Jeremiah 31:3): “I have loved thee with an everlasting love”; but because the source of hatred was taken away by Christ’s Passion, both through sin being washed away and through compensation being made in the shape of a more pleasing offering.³⁶

The reconciliation of sinners with God through Christ’s Passion was not effected by a change in God, but by a change in man. His Passion removed the cause of hatred [odii causa] in two ways. Our sin was washed away [ablutionem peccati] by His blood; this washing we receive by being joined to Him in His Mystical Body. Furthermore, Christ completely and lovingly offered Himself in His human nature as a sacrifice to God the Father. By such a sacrifice, Christ in His human nature, stands in a highly favored and exalted position before the Father.³⁷ Therefore, by being united with Christ as members of His Mystical Body, we are reconciled to God not because of a change in God, but because we are truly made one with Christ, with whom God is well-pleased.

Sufficiency and Union with Christ

If Christ through His Passion made satisfaction sufficient for the sins of every human being who has ever lived and will live, why then is not every human person saved? Aquinas writes:

It is certain that Christ came into this world not only to take away that sin which is handed on originally to posterity, but also in order to take away all sins subsequently added to it; not that all are taken away (and this is from men’s fault, inasmuch as they do not adhere to Christ, according to John 3:19: “The light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than the light”), but because He offered what was sufficient for blotting out all sins. Hence it is written (Romans 5:15-16): “But not as the offense, so also the gift . . . For judgment indeed was by one unto condemnation, but grace is of many offenses unto justification.”³⁸

Here Aquinas explains that Christ came into this world to remove both original sin and all actual sins. Not all sins are removed, he says, because men do not adhere [non inhaerent] to Christ. They choose darkness rather than Christ the light who has come into the world. Christ offered Himself up to the Father on behalf of all men, but if men reject Christ, then they are not united to Christ, and so do not partake of the salvific benefits procured by Christ’s Passion. Only by union with Christ do we participate in the salvific benefits of His Passion. Aquinas writes:

Christ by His Passion delivered us from our sins causally–that is, by setting up the cause of our deliverance, from which cause all sins whatsoever, past, present, or to come, could be forgiven: just as if a doctor were to prepare a medicine by which all sicknesses can be cured even in future.

As stated above, since Christ’s Passion preceded, as a kind of universal cause of the forgiveness of sins [remissionis peccatorum], it needs to be applied to each individual for the cleansing [deletionem] of personal sins. Now this is done by baptism and penance and the other sacraments, which derive their power from Christ’s Passion, as shall be shown later (62, 5).³⁹

Aquinas uses the example of a doctor who prepares a medicine by which all sicknesses, even future sicknesses, can be cured. Likewise, through Christ’s Passion, the remedy for all sin (past, present, and future) is provided. But this medicine needs to be applied to each sick person, in order to benefit the sick person. How is this medicine applied? By the sacraments of baptism and penance and the other sacraments, which have their power from Christ’s Passion [habent virtutem ex passione Christi].

When Aquinas is faced with the objection that if all men were freed from the punishment of sin by Christ’s Passion, no one would suffer eternal damnation in hell, he replies:

Christ’s Passion works its effect in them to whom it is applied, through faith and charity and the sacraments of faith. And, consequently, the lost in hell cannot avail themselves of its effects, since they are not united to Christ in the aforesaid manner.⁴⁰

Here again he shows that Christ’s Passion works its effect in those to whom it is applied, by faith and charity and the sacraments of faith. But the lost in hell cannot be united to Christ by faith and the sacraments, and that is why Christ’s Passion does not free them from eternal punishment.

Aquinas then raises a similar objection. He observes that baptized persons who fall into mortal sin and then receive the sacrament of penance, are given some penance to do. According to the objection, this implies that Christ’s work was not sufficient to pay their debt of punishment, because no one whose debt is already paid should be made to pay anything additional. Aquinas then replies:

As stated above (1, ad 4,5), in order to secure the effects of Christ’s Passion, we must be likened unto Him. Now we are likened unto Him sacramentally in Baptism, according to Romans 6:4: “For we are buried together with Him by baptism into death.” Hence no punishment of satisfaction is imposed upon men at their baptism, since they are fully delivered by Christ’s satisfaction. But because, as it is written (1 Peter 3:18), “Christ died” but “once for our sins,” therefore a man cannot a second time be likened unto Christ’s death by the sacrament of Baptism. Hence it is necessary that those who sin after Baptism be likened unto Christ suffering by some form of punishment or suffering which they endure in their own person; yet, by the co-operation of Christ’s satisfaction, much lighter penalty suffices than one that is proportionate to the sin.⁴¹

Here Aquinas explains that in order to secure [consequamur] the effects of Christ’s Passion, it is necessary that we be configured [configurari] to Him. And we are configured to Him sacramentally in Baptism, because in Baptism we are buried together with Him into His death, as the Apostle Paul teaches. Therefore there is no punishment of satisfaction imposed on men at their baptism, because through Christ’s satisfaction, all the punishment for their sin until that time, is canceled by their union with Christ in baptism. But since Christ died but once for sins, therefore we cannot be configured to Him by being baptized again. So those who sin after baptism must be configured to Christ suffering, by some form of temporal punishment [poenalitatis] or suffering [passionis] which they themselves endure. Yet, explains Aquinas, by the cooperation of Christ’s satisfaction [cooperante satisfactione Christi], this penance that penitents must do is much lighter than is deserved for their [post-baptismal] sins. So for Aquinas the requirement of doing penance for post-baptismal sin is not due to Christ’s satisfaction being insufficient, but rather because since Christ died only once, we cannot be baptized again as a remedy for post-baptismal sins, and so must be configured to Him by sharing in His suffering.

Christ, by His Passion has supplied the remedy for all three of the effects of sin. He has paid the debt of punishment. He has procured for us the grace by which our will is made subject to God in charity, and in this way He has removed the corruption of our will, forgiven our sins, and washed away the stain of sin from our souls. We receive this remedy in the sacraments, and especially baptism as the gateway to the other sacraments. In baptism we are joined to Christ as members of His Body of which He is the Head and from whom all graces flow. Concerning Christ’s baptism by John, Aquinas writes:

[T]he entrance to the heavenly kingdom was opened to us by the baptism of Christ in a special manner, which entrance had been closed to the first man through sin. Hence, when Christ was baptized, the heavens were opened, to show that the way to heaven is open to the baptized.⁴²

Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in sæcula sæculorum. Amen.

1. This should not be construed as implying that any creature can comprehend (i.e. fully or exhaustively understand) the Divine Essence. According to Aquinas, not even the soul of Christ comprehends the Divine Essence. See Summa Theologica III Q.10 a.1
2. St. Matthew 5:8
3. Summa Theologica III Q.10 a.4 co.
4. This is why for Aquinas the Beatific Vision is man’s supernatural end. In saying that the Beatific Vision is man’s supernatural end, Aquinas is not simply saying that God is supernatural. He is saying that this end (i.e. the Beatific Vision) exceeds our natural capacities. It is beyond our nature, and in that sense it is supernatural. The Beatific Vision is also beyond the natural capacity of each angel. This is also why, for Aquinas, even the angels needed grace in order to enjoy the Beautific Vision, as I discussed here.
5. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.110 a.1 in which Aquinas discusses the three senses of the term ‘grace’.
6. Summa Theologica III Q.1 a.2 co.
7. Summa Theologica III Q.46 a.2 ad 3
8. Summa Theologica III Q.46 a.3 co.
9. Summa Theologica III Q.46 a.1 ad 3
10. Summa Theologica III Q.7 aa. 7, 9
11. Summa Theologica III Q.8 a.1
12. In fact, according to Aquinas, from the first moment of Christ’s conception He was the Head of all men, but not all in the same way.

    Hence we must say that if we take the whole time of the world in general, Christ is the Head of all men, but diversely. For, first and principally, He is the Head of such as are united to Him by glory; secondly, of those who are actually united to Him by charity; thirdly, of those who are actually united to Him by faith; fourthly, of those who are united to Him merely in potentiality, which is not yet reduced to act, yet will be reduced to act according to Divine predestination; fifthly, of those who are united to Him in potentiality, which will never be reduced to act; such are those men existing in the world, who are not predestined, who, however, on their departure from this world, wholly cease to be members of Christ, as being no longer in potentiality to be united to Christ. Summa Theologica III Q.8 a.3

13. ST III Q.48 a.1 co.
14. See my discussion on original sin in Part 2 of this series.
15. Aquinas writes:

    Now the soul of Christ, since it is united to the Word in person, is more closely joined to the Word of God than any other creature. Hence it more fully receives the light in which God is seen by the Word Himself than any other creature. And therefore more perfectly than the rest of creatures it sees the First Truth itself, which is the Essence of God….  Summa Theologica III Q.10 a.4 co.

16. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.6 co.
17. This is why Zaccheus told Jesus that he would pay back four times as much as he had defrauded. cf. St. Luke 19:8
18. cf. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.6
19. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.2 co.
20. Aquinas writes:

    Christ grieved not only over the loss of His own bodily life, but also over the sins of all others. And this grief in Christ surpassed all grief of every contrite heart, both because it flowed from a greater wisdom and charity, by which the pang of contrition is intensified, and because He grieved at the one time for all sins, according to Isaiah 53:4: “Surely He hath carried our sorrows.” Summa Theologica III Q.46 a.6 ad 4

21. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.2 ad 1
22. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.3 co.
23. See Summa Theologica II-II Q.85 a.1 co.
24. Besides the ceremonial precepts of the Old Law, there were also the moral precepts and the judicial precepts. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.99

25. Consequently the chief sacrifice is that whereby Christ Himself “delivered Himself . . . to God for an odor of sweetness” (Ephesians 5:2). And for this reason all the other sacrifices of the Old Law were offered up in order to foreshadow this one individual and paramount sacrifice–the imperfect forecasting the perfect. Hence the Apostle says (Hebrews 10:11) that the priest of the Old Law “often” offered “the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins: but” Christ offered “one sacrifice for sins, for ever.” And since the reason of the figure is taken from that which the figure represents, therefore the reasons of the figurative sacrifices of the Old Law should be taken from the true sacrifice of Christ.  Summa Theologica I-II Q.102 a.3 co.

26. For an excellent treatment of this subject see Matthew Levering’s Christ’s Fulfillment of Torah and Temple: Salvation According to Thomas Aquinas (University of Notre Dame Press, 2002).
27. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.4
28. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.4 ad 2. Aquinas explains elsewhere [Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.2] that because man had sinned against God, God with justice left man under the devil’s power.
29. Summa Theologica III Q.48 a.6 ad 3
30. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.1 co.
31. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.3 co.
32. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.4
33. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.5 co.
34. Summa Theologica III Q.47 a.3 ad 2
35. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.4 ad 1
36. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.4 ad 2
37. Indeed, Christ in His human nature is seated at the right hand of the Father.
38. Summa Theologica III Q.1 a.4 co.
39. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.1 ad 3,4
40. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.3 ad 1. Two paragraphs later he writes, “Christ’s satisfaction works its effect in us inasmuch as we are incorporated with Him, as the members with their head….” Summa Theologica Q.49 a.3 ad 3
41. Summa Theologica III Q.49 a.3 ad 2
42. Summa Theologica III Q.39 a.5 co.

The Last Judgment (1446-52)
Rogier van der Weyden

The first of the three effects of sin examined by St. Thomas is corruption of the good of human nature. This corruption diminishes our natural inclination to virtue, which inclination is itself rooted in our fundamental nature as rational animals as we saw in Part 3. The stain of sin, which we discussed in Part 4, is a deprivation of the comeliness that fills the soul when it is rightly ordered both to reason and to God by sanctifying grace. The third effect of sin is the debt of punishment, to which we now turn.

The Debt of Punishment is an Effect of Sin

In the first article of Question 87 of Pars Prima Secundae of his Summa Theologica, St. Thomas argues that the debt of punishment is an effect of sin. He writes:

Now it is evident that all things contained in an order, are, in a manner, one, in relation to the principle of that order. Consequently, whatever rises up against an order, is put down by that order or by the principle thereof. And because sin is an inordinate act, it is evident that whoever sins, commits an offense against an order: wherefore he is put down, in consequence, by that same order, which repression is punishment.¹

A random set of objects is not an ordered whole; nor is it an actual unity. But the members of an order are all, in a certain sense, actually one, in relation to the principle or head of that order. Consider, as an example, the relation of the members of a religious order, the Dominicans, to the head of their order. The members of the Dominican order are one in that order precisely insofar as they are rightly related to the head of the Dominican order. Now any order is ordered (i.e. designed) to preserve its unity in relation to the principle to which it is ordered. But for that reason, when something within an order rises up against the order, thereby threatening the unity of that order, the offender is put down [deprimatur] by the order or by the principle of that order. Furthermore, sin is, by definition, an inordinate act, i.e. an action against the divinely established order of justice in which man exists, and whose principle and head is God. St. Augustine defined sin as “a word, deed, or desire, contrary to the eternal law.”² In this order, i.e. the eternal law, the human will is to be conformed to the divine will. Therefore, because sin is an action against this Divine order, and because the offender against an order is put down by the order or by the principle of that order, it follows that sin is put down by this Divine order and by God as the principle of this order. This pushing down against sin, by this order and by God as the principle of this order, is in essence what punishment [poena] is.

Aquinas then shows that there is a threefold punishment for wrongdoing, because man lives simultaneously in three orders: the order of his own reason, the order of human government (both of the household and of the state), and the Divine government according to the eternal law. He writes:

Accordingly, man can be punished with a threefold punishment corresponding to the three orders to which the human will is subject. In the first place a man’s nature is subjected to the order of his own reason; secondly, it is subjected to the order of another man who governs him either in spiritual or in temporal matters, as a member either of the state or of the household; thirdly, it is subjected to the universal order of the Divine government. Now each of these orders is disturbed by sin, for the sinner acts against his reason, and against human and Divine law. Wherefore he incurs a threefold punishment; one, inflicted by himself, viz. remorse of conscience; another, inflicted by man; and a third, inflicted by God.³

Regarding the first order, the remorse of conscience is the punishment that one’s own reason inflicts upon oneself, as punishment for acting against the order of reason. Regarding the second order, punishment by human government takes place under a court of human law, for actions in violation of the political order governed by that human law. And regarding the third order, God inflicts punishment on man for actions contrary to the universal order of the Divine government according to the eternal law. This divine punishment is the punishment relevant to our purpose in this series. Not every action contrary to reason is contrary to human law (i.e. the law promulgated and enforced by the state), because the human law does not extend to all violations of reason, but only to those more serious violations of justice, primarily those ‘horizontal’ injustices between neighbor and neighbor.⁴ But when we know the right thing to do, and do not do it, we act not only against reason, but also against the divine order in which our reason participates according to the mode of its nature. In doing so, we sin.⁵ Therefore punishment by God is due to man for sin, and in this way debt of punishment is an effect of sin.

Sin as the Punishment of Sin

Why not say that God does not punish sinners, but that they punish themselves, according to the dictum: sin is the punishment of sin? In Article 2, Aquinas explains that in one respect sin cannot be the punishment of sin, and in another respect sin is the punishment of sin. He writes:

We may speak of sin in two ways: first, in its essence, as such; secondly, as to that which is accidental thereto. Sin as such can nowise be the punishment of another. Because sin considered in its essence is something proceeding from the will, for it is from this that it derives the character of guilt. Whereas punishment is essentially something against the will, as stated in the I, 48, 5. Consequently it is evident that sin regarded in its essence can nowise be the punishment of sin.⁶

As mentioned above, the essence of sin, according to Aquinas, is a voluntary act (i.e. word, deed, or desire) contrary to the eternal law.⁷ If the act is not voluntary, then the act cannot be a sin. A sinful act must therefore proceed from the will, because only if an act proceeds from the will [voluntas] can that act be voluntary. But for that reason, by its very nature punishment for sin must in some sense be contrary to the will of the sinner [De ratione autem poenae est quod sit contra voluntatem], otherwise punishment would not differ from reward. Therefore, because sin is essentially voluntary, and because punishment for sin must be contrary to the will, it follows that sin in its essence cannot be the punishment of sin. But then Aquinas writes:

On the other hand, sin can be the punishment of sin accidentally in three ways. First, when one sin is the cause of another, by removing an impediment thereto. For passions, temptations of the devil, and the like are causes of sin, but are impeded by the help of Divine grace which is withdrawn on account of sin. Wherefore since the withdrawal of grace is a punishment, and is from God, as stated above (Question 79, Article 3), the result is that the sin which ensues from this is also a punishment accidentally. It is in this sense that the Apostle speaks (Romans 1:24) when he says: “Wherefore God gave them up to the desires of their heart,” i.e. to their passions; because, to wit, when men are deprived of the help of Divine grace, they are overcome by their passions. In this way sin is always said to be the punishment of a preceding sin. Secondly, by reason of the substance of the act, which is such as to cause pain, whether it be an interior act, as is clearly the case with anger or envy, or an exterior act, as is the case with one who endures considerable trouble and loss in order to achieve a sinful act, according to Wisdom 5:7: “We wearied ourselves in the way of iniquity.” Thirdly, on the part of the effect, so that one sin is said to be a punishment by reason of its effect. In the last two ways, a sin is a punishment not only in respect of a preceding sin, but also with regard to itself.⁸

Here Aquinas uses the essence-accident distinction to explain that although in its essence sin cannot be the punisment of sin, yet accidentally, sin can be the punishment of sin in three ways. First, when Divine grace is withdrawn on account of sin, this removes the impediment to further sins, and in this way the punishment consisting in the removal of Divine grace has the foreseen but accidental effect of allowing the resulting sins. Second, the very substance of the sinful act [substantiae actus] is such as to cause affliction [afflictionem inducit], whether interiorly or exteriorly, to the sinner. Third, the effects of sin can be a punishment of the sin. In each of these three ways, something contrary to the will is inflicted upon the will, and so in each of these three ways, sin is [accidentally] punishment for sin.

Mortal Sin Incurs a Debt of Eternal Punishment

In Article 3, Aquinas argues that mortal sin incurs a debt of eternal punishment. He writes:

As stated above (Article 1), sin incurs a debt of punishment through disturbing an order. But the effect remains so long as the cause remains. Wherefore so long as the disturbance of the order remains the debt of punishment must needs remain also. Now disturbance of an order is sometimes reparable, sometimes irreparable: because a defect which destroys the principle is irreparable, whereas if the principle be saved, defects can be repaired by virtue of that principle. For instance, if the principle of sight be destroyed, sight cannot be restored except by Divine power; whereas, if the principle of sight be preserved, while there arise certain impediments to the use of sight, these can be remedied by nature or by art. Now in every order there is a principle whereby one takes part in that order. Consequently if a sin destroys the principle of the order whereby man’s will is subject to God, the disorder will be such as to be considered in itself, irreparable, although it is possible to repair it by the power of God. Now the principle of this order is the last end, to which man adheres by charity. Therefore whatever sins turn man away from God, so as to destroy charity, considered in themselves, incur a debt of eternal punishment.

First, he reminds us of what he has already stated in the first article, namely, that sin incurs a debt of punishment [reatum poenae] through turning against [pervertit] an order. For that reason, the debt of punishment must remain so long as the cause of that debt remains. In other words, so long as the sinner is turned against the order in which God has created him, the sinner is incurring the debt of punishment by that order and by God as the principle of that order.

Second, Aquinas distinguishes between reparable and irreparable disruptions of an order. Those that destroy the principle [subtrahitur principium] of the order are irreparable, while those that do not destroy it are reparable. Here he is not using the term ‘principle’ [principium] to refer to the order’s head per se, but rather to that whereby a member of the order takes part in that order [per quod aliquis fit particeps illius ordinis] in relation to the head of the order. Now, the order in question here is the third of the three orders discussed above, namely, the order whereby man’s will is subject to God as man’s ultimate end [ultimus finis]. God is man’s ultimate end, and the supernatural virtue of charity is that by which man adheres [inhaeret] to God as his last end. Therefore, it follows that whatever sins turn man away from God so as to destroy charity, by their very nature incur a debt of eternal punishment. But mortal sins are those that destroy charity and turn man away from God. So it follows that mortal sins incur a debt of eternal punishment.

The Twofold Nature of Mortal Sin and Its Twofold Punishment

In Article 4 Aquinas explains the twofold nature of mortal sin and hence the twofold punishment due for mortal sin. He writes:

Punishment is proportionate to sin. Now sin comprises two things. First, there is the turning away from the immutable good, which is infinite, wherefore, in this respect, sin is infinite. Secondly, there is the inordinate turning to mutable good. In this respect sin is finite, both because the mutable good itself is finite, and because the movement of turning towards it is finite, since the acts of a creature cannot be infinite. Accordingly, in so far as sin consists in turning away from something, its corresponding punishment is the “pain of loss,” which also is infinite, because it is the loss of the infinite good, i.e. God. But in so far as sin turns inordinately to something, its corresponding punishment is the “pain of sense,” which is also finite.⁹

First Aquinas states that the punishment of sin is proportionate to the sin [poena proportionatur peccato]. Aquinas has already established elsewhere that sins are not all equal in their gravity; some are worse than others.¹⁰ Therefore, because sin is against an order, as explained in the first article, and because sins are not all equal in gravity, therefore the punishment due to sin for the restoration of order within that order must be proportionate to the gravity of the sin.

Second, Aquinas then claims that [mortal] sin by its very nature has a twofold movement. Every mortal sin includes both a turning away from God in some respect, and an inordinate (i.e. contrary to the established order) turning toward some finite created good. These two aspects of mortal sin entail that in the commission of any mortal sin, the sinner acts against the given order in two ways: one infinite and the other finite. And therefore there are two punishments due for any mortal sin.

Consider first the infinite way in which mortal sin violates the divine order. In turning away from God, whom he ought to love above all else, the sinner chooses not to give to the eternal God His rightful due as Head of the established order. Mortal sin is infinite precisely in this respect, that it is against the infinite God. Because the nature of the sin determines the punishment due for the sin, and because the due punishment for an infinite sin is an infinite punishment, therefore the due punishment for this voluntary turning away from the eternal God is the eternal loss of God.¹¹

Consider next the finite way in which mortal sin violates the divine order. In the very same act of mortal sin, the sinner has not only turned away from God, but also inordinately turned toward some finite mutable good. Mortal sin is finite in this respect. Only a finite punishment is due for a finite act. Therefore, the due punishment for turning inordinately to some mutable good is the “pain of sense”, which is finite. The distinction between these two debts of punishment, one infinite, and one finite, is the basis for the distinction between eternal punishment and temporal punishment, and thus between forgiveness of sin, which is absolution of our eternal debt of punishment by the merits of Christ, and reduction or elimination of our debt of temporal punishment. I have discussed this distinction and its implications in more detail here.

Some Sins do not Incur the Debt of Eternal Punishment

In Article 5 Aquinas argues that there are some sins (i.e. venial sins) that do not incur the debt of eternal punishment.

As stated above (Article 3), a sin incurs a debt of eternal punishment, in so far as it causes an irreparable disorder in the order of Divine justice, through being contrary to the very principle of that order, viz. the last end. Now it is evident that in some sins there is disorder indeed, but such as not to involve contrariety in respect of the last end, but only in respect of things referable to the end, in so far as one is too much or too little intent on them without prejudicing the order to the last end: as, for instance, when a man is too fond of some temporal thing, yet would not offend God for its sake, by breaking one of His commandments. Consequently such sins do not incur everlasting, but only temporal punishment.¹²

Aquinas has already distinguished above between reparable and irreparable disruptions of an order, the distinction being based on whether or not they destroy that by which a member of the order is united to the head of the order. In the order of divine justice, those sins that destroy charity cause an irreparable disorder, and incur eternal punishment, as we saw above. Here Aquinas claims that some sins are not in themselves contrary to the last end, i.e. God. The disorder in these sins is not contrariety to the last end per se, but only to the perfection of those acts directed to that end. As an example, Aquinas describes a man who is too fond of some temporal thing, but would not offend God for the sake of this temporal thing. Because these sins are not contrary to the last end per se, they do not incur everlasting, but only temporal punishment.¹³

The Debt of Punishment Remains after Sin

In Article 6 Aquinas argues that the debt of punishment remains after sin. Aquinas writes:

Two things may be considered in sin: the guilty act, and the consequent stain. Now it is evident that in all actual sins, when the act of sin has ceased, the guilt remains; because the act of sin makes man deserving of punishment, in so far as he transgresses the order of Divine justice, to which he cannot return except he pay some sort of penal compensation, which restores him to the equality of justice; so that, according to the order of Divine justice, he who has been too indulgent to his will, by transgressing God’s commandments, suffers, either willingly or unwillingly, something contrary to what he would wish. This restoration of the equality of justice by penal compensation is also to be observed in injuries done to one’s fellow men. Consequently it is evident that when the sinful or injurious act has ceased there still remains the debt of punishment.¹⁴

Aquinas first makes a distinction between the guilty act [actus culpae] and the consequent stain [macula sequens]. Regarding the guilty act, Aquinas states that the guilt [reatus] of an act remains after the sinful act has ceased. ‘Guilt’ should be understood here not as a subjective feeling, but as something objective, namely, a debt of punishment. The one who has transgressed the order of Divine justice cannot return to the ordered state within that order of Divine justice without paying some sort of penal compensation [recompensationem poenae], which restores him to the “equality of justice” [aequalitatem iustitiae]. Therefore, until such a debt of punishment has been paid, the debt remains even after the sinful act has ceased.

But does the debt of temporal punishment also remain after the stain on the soul has been removed? In other words, when the sinner repents, and turns back to God in love, does the debt of temporal punishment still remain? Aquinas writes:

But if we speak of the removal of sin as to the stain, it is evident that the stain of sin cannot be removed from the soul, without the soul being united to God, since it was through being separated from Him that it suffered the loss of its brightness, in which the stain consists, as stated above (Question 86, Article 1). Now man is united to God by his will. Wherefore the stain of sin cannot be removed from man, unless his will accept the order of Divine justice, that is to say, unless either of his own accord he take upon himself the punishment of his past sin, or bear patiently the punishment which God inflicts on him; and in both ways punishment avails for satisfaction. Now when punishment is satisfactory, it loses somewhat of the nature of punishment: for the nature of punishment is to be against the will; and although satisfactory punishment, absolutely speaking, is against the will, nevertheless in this particular case and for this particular purpose, it is voluntary. Consequently it is voluntary simply, but involuntary in a certain respect, as we have explained when speaking of the voluntary and the involuntary (6, 6). We must, therefore, say that, when the stain of sin has been removed, there may remain a debt of punishment, not indeed of punishment simply, but of satisfactory punishment.¹⁵

According to Aquinas, the stain of sin is not removed without the soul being united to God, as explained in Part 4. Man is united to God by his will [Coniungitur autem homo Deo per voluntatem], when man, by his will, turns to God in charity, grace preceeding. But when the will of man is turned to God in charity, then of course the will of man also embraces the order of Divine justice, for no one can love God without loving the order of Divine justice. So it follows that the stain of sin cannot be removed unless the will of man embraces the order of Divine justice. The penitent may embrace the order of Divine justice in two ways: either by taking upon himself the temporal punishment of his past sin, or by patiently bearing the punishment that God has inflicted upon him. In both of these ways, says Aquinas, the punishment has the nature of satisfaction [poena rationem satisfactionis habet]. By this he means that the punishment is no longer merely a downward action pushing down against the offender, but has also become an upward act from the penitent to the head of the order in order to make reparation for offenses against the order.

When punishment is satisfactory, says Aquinas, it loses something of the nature of punishment, because the nature of punishment [poena], as explained above, is to be against the will of the one being punished. The penitent who freely embraces his punishment, out of love for God, makes the punishment to be, in one sense, what he himself wills. And in that way the punishment loses something of the nature of punishment. Absolutely considered, the punishment is still against the will of the penitent, because insofar as it is painful it is against the natural inclination of his will. Yet inasmuch as the penitent embraces this punishment voluntarily, out of love for God, he transforms it into satisfaction. Now Aquinas answers the question: Does the debt of [temporal] punishment remain after the stain on the soul has been removed? He answers that when the stain of sin has been removed, there may remain a debt of [temporal] punishment, not of punishment simpliciter, but of satisfaction.

On Being Punished for Another’s Sins

In Articles 7 Aquinas explains the way in which someone can and cannot be punished for another’s sins. He writes:

As already stated (6), punishment can be considered in two ways–simply, and as being satisfactory. A satisfactory punishment is, in a way, voluntary. And since those who differ as to the debt of punishment, may be one in will by the union of love, it happens that one who has not sinned, bears willingly the punishment for another: thus even in human affairs we see men take the debts of another upon themselves. If, however, we speak of punishment simply, in respect of its being something penal, it has always a relation to a sin in the one punished.¹⁶

Aquinas refers back to the previous article, and states that punishment can be considered in two ways: either simply [simpliciter], or, when voluntarily embraced to make reparation, as satisfactory. Satisfactory punishment, as explained above, is voluntary insofar as the person suffering this punishment freely embraces it in order to make reparation for offenses against the order. Then Aquinas writes a beautiful line showing how punishment as satisfaction can be born voluntarily by another through love. He says, “And since those who differ in debt of punishment, may be one in will by the union of love [esse unum secundum voluntatem unione amoris], it happens that one who has not sinned, bears willingly the punishment for another [poenam voluntarius pro alio portat].” To illustrate, Aquinas refers to human affairs, where men take on the debts of another, out of friendship. But Aquinas explains that if we are speaking of punishment simpliciter, in the sense of that which has the nature of punishment, this is always directed to the guilty person.

Lord Jesus, let us come to see what we owed for our offenses against you, and what you have done for us, in love, in your Passion. By your suffering for us, draw us into perfect unity with one another, as those who love much. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The next post in this series can be found here.

1. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.1 co.
2. Contra Faust. xxii, 27
3. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.1 co.
4. In Summa Theologica I-II Q.96 a.2 Aquinas writes, “Wherefore human laws do not forbid all vices, from which the virtuous abstain, but only the more grievous vices, from which it is possible for the majority to abstain; and chiefly those that are to the hurt of others, without the prohibition of which human society could not be maintained: thus human law prohibits murder, theft and such like.”
5. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.91 a.2 co., and James 4:17
6. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.2 co.
7. Summa Theologica I-II Q.71 a.6 co.
8. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.2 co.
9. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.4 co.
10. Summa Theologica I-II Q.73 a.2
11. In rejecting God for some finite good, the sinner’s due punishment is in one sense what he wants, for he has freely chosen to reject God. But in another, deeper sense, this punishment is not what he wants, otherwise it would not be punishment. In what sense is separation from God not what the sinner wants? By his primary nature as a rational being, he is ordered to God as his ultimate end. Nothing else can satisfy him. This is why the primary punishment [poena] of hell is the loss of God.
12. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.5 co.
13. See also Summa Theologica II-II Q.24 a.10
14. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.6 co.
15. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.6 co.
16. Summa Theologica I-II Q.87 a.7 co.

The Temptation of St. Thomas Aquinas¹
Bernardo Daddi (1338)

St. Thomas Aquinas on Stain in the Soul as an Effect of Sin

“Therefore beloved, since you look for these things, be diligent to be found by Him in peace, spotless and blameless.” (2 Peter 3:14)

In order to understand the Catholic Church’s teaching on salvation, one must first understand her teaching on the fallen human condition. That is why the Council of Trent first put forward the Church’s position on original sin before turning to the subject of justification. And the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas, as I argued in Part 1, played a very significant role in the deliberation of the Tridentine Fathers. So in this series, we are looking at those areas of the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas that help us understand the theological rationale behind Session 5 and Session 6 of the Council of Trent, on original sin and justification, respectively. In my previous post in this series, I began to explain what Aquinas says about the effects of sin. Aquinas says that sin has three effects: corruption, stain, and debt.² In that post I explained what Aquinas says about corruption of our nature as an effect of sin. Here, in this post, I examine and explain what Aquinas says about stain of the soul as an effect of sin.

The Soul’s Twofold Comeliness

Concerning the stain of the soul, Aquinas writes:

A stain [macula] is properly ascribed to corporeal things, when a comely body loses its comeliness through contact with another body, e.g. a garment, gold or silver, or the like. Accordingly a stain is ascribed to spiritual things in like manner. Now man’s soul has a twofold comeliness; one from the refulgence of the natural light of reason, whereby he is directed in his actions; the other, from the refulgence of the Divine light, viz. of wisdom and grace, whereby man is also perfected for the purpose of doing good and fitting actions.³

Aquinas says that the human soul has a twofold comeliness [nitorem]. This term means brightness, radiance or beauty. One way in which the human soul has comeliness is by the refulgence [refulgentia] or reflection in it of the natural light of reason. The more perfectly the lower powers of the soul are ordered to the soul’s highest power, i.e. reason, such that they submit to it, the more perfectly the natural light of reason is reflected throughout the soul. The other way in which the human soul has comeliness is by the refulgence of the Divine light, i.e. wisdom and grace [sapientiae et gratiae], by which man is also perfected for the purpose of doing good and fitting actions.⁴

The wisdom Aquinas refers to here is not natural wisdom, i.e. an intellectual virtue that could be acquired by the unaided power of human reason. Aquinas is here referring to the supernatural gift of wisdom, which is a gift of the Holy Spirit, and which follows upon the supernatural gift of charity.⁵ It is worth considering this gift of wisdom more carefully. Concerning this supernatural wisdom Aquinas writes:

As stated above (Article 1), wisdom denotes a certain rectitude of judgment according to the Eternal Law. Now rectitude of judgment is twofold: first, on account of perfect use of reason, secondly, on account of a certain connaturality with the matter about which one has to judge [connaturalitatem quandam ad ea de quibus iam est iudicandum]. Thus, about matters of chastity, a man after inquiring with his reason forms a right judgment, if he has learnt the science of morals, while he who has the habit of chastity judges of such matters by a kind of connaturality.⁶

Aquinas notes that there are two ways in which right judgment can take place. One is by the perfect use of reason [by 'perfect' here he simply means proper], and the other is by a connaturality to that of which one is to judge. ‘Connaturality’ means a kind of sharing of the same nature, in some respect. In the encounter of that which is connatural to oneself, one finds that one already knows the other insofar as one knows one’s own nature.⁷ The encounter of that which is connatural to oneself allows one to judge concerning the other by ‘seeing’ the other within (i.e. by the light of) one’s own nature, either one’s primary nature (i.e. human nature) or one’s second nature (i.e. acquired nature in the sense of acquired habits), or even one’s participation in the divine nature.

As an example of the difference between judging by reasoning and judging by connaturality, Aquinas describes two ways in which someone may judge rightly regarding what should be done in a matter of chastity. One man by deduction reasons from first principles to determine correctly what is the chaste action to be done. Another man, let us say, has no formal training in the science of ethics but has the virtue of chastity. This man reaches the same correct conclusion about what is the chaste action to be done, yet he reaches this conclusion without reasoning through a syllogism. He simply sees this action as what chastity requires in these circumstances. The virtue of chastity in his soul as a kind of second nature works ‘upward’ through his cogitative faculty, such that even without deliberation or deduction he sees clearly the chaste course of action by a kind of connaturality with chastity and the circumstances before him, even though he may not be able to explain why that is the chaste course of action.⁸ His virtuous disposition toward chastity illumines to his intellect the chaste action to be done.

In a similar way, argues Aquinas, the supernatural gift of wisdom allows a man to judge rightly about Divine things, by a kind of connatural seeing without deliberation. He writes:

Accordingly it belongs to the wisdom that is an intellectual virtue to pronounce right judgment about Divine things after reason has made its inquiry, but it belongs to wisdom as a gift of the Holy Ghost to judge aright about them on account of connaturality with them …. Now this sympathy or connaturality for Divine things is the result of charity, which unites us to God, according to 1 Corinthians 6:17: “He who is joined to the Lord, is one spirit.” Consequently wisdom which is a gift, has its cause in the will, which cause is charity, but it has its essence in the intellect, whose act is to judge aright, as stated above (I-II, 14, 1).⁹

By the natural wisdom that is a virtue of the intellect a man may reason correctly to conclusions about Divine things. But there is also a supernatural wisdom which is a gift of the Holy Spirit, and by this gift one judges rightly concerning Divine things through a kind of connaturality with them. This connaturality with divine things, according to Aquinas, is the result of the theological virtue of charity, which is a supernatural gift along with faith and hope. Since by the natural love of friendship the beloved is one in spirit with the lover, so a fortiori by the supernatural gift of charity the beloved is one in spirit with the divine Lover. Aquinas quotes 1 Corinthians 6:17 in support of this conclusion.¹⁰ The one who has the supernatural gift of charity loves God above all other things. And with that love of God comes a mutual indwelling: “He that abides in charity abides in God, and God in him.” (1 John 4:16)

Concerning this mutual indwelling that results from charity, Aquinas says, “Therefore, for the same reason, every love makes the beloved to be in the lover, and vice versa.”¹¹ Through this mutual indwelling we have a kind of connaturality with God, and this connaturality with God allows us to judge rightly concerning divine things.¹² If we lose the virtue of charity, necessarily we lose this connaturality with God, and so also we lose this divine gift of wisdom. Because charity is incompatible with mortal sin,¹³ therefore this divine gift of wisdom is incompatible with mortal sin.¹⁴ So for Aquinas, all who have sanctifying grace have this divine gift of wisdom,¹⁵ by which they are guided in their actions not only by the natural light of reason, but also by the Divine light visible to them through their connaturality with God on account of the mutual indwelling that arises from the supernatural virtue of charity.

Sin Causes a Stain on the Soul

How then does the loss of the refulgence of both the light of natural reason and the Divine light produce a stain in the soul? Aquinas writes:

Now, when the soul cleaves to things by love, there is a kind of contact in the soul: and when man sins, he cleaves to certain things, against the light of reason and of the Divine law, as shown above (Question 71, Article 6). Wherefore the loss of comeliness occasioned by this contact, is metaphorically called a stain on the soul [macula animae].¹⁶

When a person sins, he turns away both from reason and from the Divine law. Aquinas explains that there are two rules or standards by which the human will is measured: “one is proximate and homogeneous, viz. the human reason; the other is the first rule, viz. the eternal law, which is God’s reason, so to speak.”¹⁷ By turning away from both of these lights, and loving something inordinately, a kind of stain in the soul results, as he explains:

[T]he act of the will consists in a movement towards things themselves, so that love attaches the soul to the thing loved [ita quod amor conglutinat animam rei amatae]. Thus it is that the soul is stained, when it cleaves inordinately [quando inordinate inhaeret], according to Hosea 9:10: “They . . . became abominable as those things were which they loved.”¹⁸

We know that a man cannot have two ultimate masters. (Matthew 6:24, Luke 16:13) This explains the sense in which we are not to love the world. The Apostle John writes, “Do not love the world nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” (1 John 2:15) Why is that? Love by its very nature attaches the soul to the thing loved. But love for something can be inordinate in two generically different ways: in itself contrary to love for God and neighbor, or compatible with love for God and neighbor but contrary to the perfect expression of love for God and neighbor.¹⁹ Inordinate love of the former sort is a love that prefers some created thing over God. But to love a creature more than one loves God is not to love God as God, but is rather to reject God as God. Therefore, when the soul cleaves inordinately to some created good in this way, that soul, in that particular way, turns away both from reason and from loving God. And by turning away from reason and from God, this soul loses the twofold refulgence of comeliness it possesses in the state of grace. That loss of comeliness is what Aquinas refers to as the stain in the soul.

Explanation of the Stain in the Soul

What exactly is the stain in the soul? Aquinas writes:

The stain is neither something positive in the soul, nor does it denote a pure privation: it denotes a privation of the soul’s brightness [nitoris] in relation to its cause, which is sin; wherefore diverse sins occasion diverse stains. It is like a shadow, which is the privation of light through the interposition of a body, and which varies according to the diversity of the interposed bodies.²⁰

The stain is neither something positive nor a pure privation [privationem solam]. A pure or simple privation is a kind of corruption of being.²¹ But the stain in the soul is a complex [non simplex] privation, a privation of the soul’s comeliness in relation to the sin that caused this privation. In that respect, the stain in the soul is like a shadow that takes the shape of the object that is blocking the light. The manner in which the soul has turned away from reason and from God, in that very manner deprives the soul of its comeliness. Murder, for example, produces a different stain in the soul than does adultery or blasphemy, according as each by its inordinate love for something other than God causes a different sort of ‘shadow’ in the soul. The stain in the soul takes the ‘shape’ of the idol that is put in the place of God by that sin.

Here it is important to point out the significance of the distinction between mortal and venial sins, in relation to the stain in the soul.²² According to Aquinas, mortal sin, but not venial sin, produces a stain in the soul. He writes:

Now, just as in the body there is a twofold comeliness, one resulting from the inward disposition of the members and colors, the other resulting from outward refulgence supervening, so too, in the soul, there is a twofold comeliness, one habitual and, so to speak, intrinsic, the other actual like an outward flash of light. Now venial sin is a hindrance to actual comeliness, but not to habitual comeliness, because it neither destroys nor diminishes the habit of charity and of the other virtues, as we shall show further on (II-II, 24, 10; 133, 1, ad 2), but only hinders their acts. On the other hand a stain denotes something permanent in the thing stained, wherefore it seems in the nature of a loss of habitual rather than of actual comeliness. Therefore, properly speaking, venial sin does not cause a stain in the soul. If, however, we find it stated anywhere that it does induce a stain, this is in a restricted sense, in so far as it hinders the comeliness that results from acts of virtue.²³

Aquinas explains that the comeliness of the soul is twofold in another respect: intrinsic and extrinsic. The soul’s intrinsic comeliness is by the refulgence of its intrinsic dispositions. The soul’s extrinsic comeliness is by the refulgence of particular actions performed by this soul. Venial sin, by its very nature, does not destroy the habit of charity. Therefore, venial sin does not destroy the intrinsic comeliness of the soul, even though it hinders its extrinsic comeliness, by hindering charitable acts. But a stain, properly speaking, refers to something more permanent, not merely external or temporary. Therefore the stain on the soul refers to the loss of intrinsic comeliness rather than of extrinsic comeliness. But according to Aquinas one act of mortal sin destroys the virtue of charity in the soul.²⁴ Moreover, the loss of charity entails the loss of grace and supernatural wisdom.²⁵ Therefore it follows that for Aquinas, while venial sin does not produce a stain in the soul, one act of mortal sin destroys the intrinsic comeliness of the soul, and thereby creates a stain in the soul.

The Stain in the Soul Persists after the Act of Sin is Past

According to Aquinas, the stain in the soul remains after the cessation of the sinful act. He writes:

The stain of sin remains in the soul even when the act of sin is past. The reason for this is that the stain, as stated above (Article 1), denotes a blemish in the brightness of the soul, on account of its withdrawing from the light of reason or of the Divine law. And therefore so long as man remains out of this light, the stain of sin remains in him: but as soon as, moved by grace, he returns to the Divine light and to the light of reason, the stain is removed. For although the act of sin ceases, whereby man withdrew from the light of reason and of the Divine law, man does not at once return to the state in which he was before, and it is necessary that his will should have a movement contrary to the previous movement. Thus if one man be parted from another on account of some kind of movement, he is not reunited to him as soon as the movement ceases, but he needs to draw nigh to him and to return by a contrary movement.²⁶

Aquinas explains that the stain in the soul is not caused fundamentally by the sinful action per se, but by the inordinate attachment of the will to something other than God. This inordinate attachment underlies the act and endures beyond it. So long as this inordinate attachment remains, the stain remains in the soul. But the cessation of the sinful act does not remove this inordinate attachment. Rather, this inordinate attachment remains in the will after the cessation of the sinful action, unless by a contrary movement the will is attached to God in love as its highest good. When the will turns to God in love, then the soul is reattached to God, because love attaches the soul to the thing loved, as explained above. Only then is the twofold refulgence of the natural light of reason and the Divine light restored to the soul, and the stain thus removed. But this movement of the will, turning from inordinate love of the world to love of God, is possible only by grace. Thus only by grace can the stain in the soul be removed.

In the next post in this series, I will examine what St. Thomas says about the third effect of sin: debt of punishment.

1. To read about this particular incident in the life of St. Thomas, see here.
2. Those three effects can be seen in the verse above. Peace requires the integrity of the various powers of the soul such that they are no longer at war with each other. This requires the healing of our corruption. To be found spotless requires the removal of the stain of sin. And to be found blameless entails no debt of payment to justice.
3. Summa Theologica I-II Q.86 a.1 co.
4. Notice the twofold order: reason as the light to man’s natural end, and Divine wisdom and grace as the light to man’s supernatural end.
5. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.1 co. This gift of wisdom is one of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, as Aquinas explains in Summa Theologica I-II Q.68.
6. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.2 co.
7. For Aquinas, God knows all things by a kind of connaturality, for He knows them all by knowing His own nature, in which all things live, and move, and have their being derivatively. Since necessarily the cause is greater than the effect, therefore God has a greater knowledge of creatures by knowing Himself than He would if He knew creatures only by exhaustively studying them. See Summa Theologica I Q.14 a.5
8. On the cogitative faculty, see Summa Theologica I Q.78 a.4
9. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.2 co.
10. I have written about the natural love of friendship here.
11. Summa Theologica I-II Q.28 a.2
12. This connaturality with God, by way of charity, fits with what the Apostle Peter says in 2 Peter 1:4 concerning our becoming “partakers of the divine nature.” [γένησθε θείας κοινωνοὶ φύσεως]
13. Summa Theologica II-II Q.24 a.12
14. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.4 co.
15. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.5
16. Summa Theologica I-II Q.86 a.1 co.
17. Summa Theologica I-II Q.71 a.6
18. Summa Theologica I-II Q.86 a.1 ad 2
19. See Summa Theologica I-II Q.88 a.2 co. This distinction is what grounds the distinction between mortal and venial sins, respectively.
20. Summa Theologica I-II Q.86 a.1 ad 3
21. For an explanation of the distinction between the two kinds of privation: pure/simple privation, and complex privation, see Summa Theologica I-II Q.73 a.2 co.
22. I will be discussing Aquinas’ explanation of the distinction between mortal and venial sin in the subsequent post on the debt of sin.
23. Summa Theologica I-II Q.89 a.1 co.
24. Summa Theologica II-II Q.24 a.12
25. Summa Theologica II-II Q.45 a.4
26. Summa Theologica I-II Q.86 a.2 co.

The Lord Confronts the Disobedience of Adam & Eve; The Expulsion from Paradise
(Mid 12th Century)
Nave Mosaics from Palatine Chapel
Palermo, Sicily

St. Thomas Aquinas on the Corruption of Human Nature as an Effect of Sin

The purpose of this series is to understand and explain the theological rationale underlying Sessions Five and Six of the Council of Trent, particularly insofar as it drew from the work of St. Thomas Aquinas. To review this series, see Part 1, which introduces the series, and Part 2, on the essence of original sin.

Aquinas addresses the effects of sin in Questions 85-87 of Pars Prima Secundae of his Summa Theologica. The effects of sin, according to Aquinas, are three-fold: corruption, stain, and debt. In Question 85 he considers the corruption of the good of nature. In Question 86 he considers the stain on the soul. And in Question 87 he considers the debt of punishment. In this post, I will present a short overview of Aquinas’ teaching in Question 85 on the corruption of nature as an effect of sin.

Sin Diminishes the Good of Human Nature

In the first article, Aquinas teaches that sin diminishes the good of nature [diminuat bonum naturae]. First he explains the three ways in which human nature is good. He writes:

The good of human nature is threefold. First, there are the principles of which nature is constituted, and the properties that flow from them, such as the powers of the soul, and so forth. Secondly, since man has from nature an inclination to virtue, as stated above (60, 1; 63, 1), this inclination to virtue is a good of nature. Thirdly, the gift of original justice, conferred on the whole of human nature in the person of the first man, may be called a good of nature.¹

Let’s look more carefully at these three ways, according to Aquinas, that human nature can be good. First, human nature is good in the very principles of nature (i.e. the principles out of which nature is constituted) and in the properties that follow upon these principles. By ‘principles’ here he is referring to the internal principles of form and matter.²  From our form and matter we have the properties and powers that are natural to members of our kind. Aquinas gives as an example the powers of the soul, since the soul’s powers follow from the kind of soul that it is. A rational soul, for example, has by its very nature the power of rationality. Why are these principles good? They are good because one of the three ways in which a thing is perfect is that in which its being consists, [quod in suo esse constituitur], and everything is good insofar as it is perfect.³

Second, human nature is good in its natural inclination to virtue. Man’s reason, according to Aquinas, naturally comes to know both the first principles of knowledge and the first principles of action.⁴  The very first principle of action, for example, is that good should be done and evil avoided. These first principles, according to Aquinas, are the nurseries [seminalia] of the intellectual and moral vitues. Furthermore, man’s will, according to Aquinas, has a natural appetite for the-good-which-is-according-to-reason [naturalis appetitus boni quod est secundum rationem].⁵

The third way in which human nature can be good is by way of the gift of original righteousness, which I discussed in Part 2 when explaining the “harmony of original justice.” These three ways in which human nature can be good are not equally affected by sin. Aquinas writes:

Accordingly, the first-mentioned good of nature is neither destroyed nor diminished by sin. The third good of nature was entirely destroyed through the sin of our first parent. But the second good of nature, viz. the natural inclination to virtue, is diminished by sin. Because human acts produce an inclination to like acts, as stated above (Question 50, Article 1). Now from the very fact that thing becomes inclined to one of two contraries, its inclination to the other contrary must needs be diminished. Wherefore as sin is opposed to virtue, from the very fact that a man sins, there results a diminution of that good of nature, which is the inclination to virtue.⁶

So according to Aquinas, the good of human nature in its very principles, is neither destroyed nor diminished by sin. Sin does not make us into a different species, let alone into a species of lesser goodness. After sin we remain in essence human (i.e. rational animal), even though in our behavior we fall short of what we are by nature.⁷  By contrast, the good we had in the gift of original righteousness, i.e. the harmony of original justice, was entirely destroyed by Adam’s sin.

But according to Aquinas the second good of human nature, that is, the good of our natural inclination to virtue, is diminished [diminuitur] by sin. This is because our actions affect our inclinations. An inclination or disposition is an act in potency. Dispositions exist in powers of the soul. If a particular power of the soul can operate in different ways, then repeated acts in one particular way by means of that power implant in that power a potency to act in that particular way. This is how habits are formed. And this is what Aquinas is talking about when he says that “human acts produce an inclination to like acts”. Now, if something becomes inclined to one of two contraries (e.g. good or evil), it follows that its inclination to the other contrary must be diminished. Therefore, since sin is the contrary of virtue, then from the fact that a man sins, it follows that the good that consists in his inclination to virtue must diminish.

Sin Cannot Remove the Entire Good of Human Nature

In Article 2, Aquinas argues that sin cannot remove the entire good of human nature. He first shows that this must be true, on account of the ontological relation between good and evil. In the Sed contra he writes:

Augustine says (Enchiridion xiv) that “evil does not exist except in some good.” But the evil of sin cannot be in the good of virtue or of grace, because they are contrary to it. Therefore it must be in the good of nature, and consequently it does not destroy it entirely.⁸

The Manichees were dualists who held that good and evil were two fundamental principles, neither more fundamental than the other. St. Augustine (354-430) had been a ‘hearer’ among the Manichees for nine years, until in 383 he encountered the renowned Manichee named Faustus, and started seeing problems with Manichaeism. In 386, as a professor of rhetoric in Milan, he encountered the Neo-Platonic alternative to the dualist philosophy of the Manichees. The Neo-Platonists explained evil not as a principle equally fundamental to goodness, but rather as a privation of goodness. This position was philosophically superior to that of the Manichees, and later, as a Christian, St. Augustine found that it fit beautifully with the data of Christian revelation. It treated being and goodness as the same in referent, differing only in sense (i.e. concept). Because being and goodness are the same in referent, therefore a privation of goodness is also a privation of being. Therefore, there could be no such thing as pure evil, for it would have no being.

That conclusion grounds the argument that Aquinas makes here. The evil of sin is in some sense present in sinful man. But because there can be no such thing as pure evil, therefore evil can exist only parasitically in some good. Since sin cannot be in virtue or in grace, because they are contrary to sin, therefore sin in man must be in the good of man’s nature. But if sin entirely destroyed the good of human nature, then sin could not exist in the good of human nature. Therefore, because sin is present in man, it follows that sin does not entirely destroy the good of human nature.

In his Responseo Aquinas continues:

As stated above (Article 1), the good of nature, that is diminished by sin, is the natural inclination to virtue, which is befitting to man from the very fact that he is a rational being; for it is due to this that he performs actions in accord with reason, which is to act virtuously. Now sin cannot entirely take away from man the fact that he is a rational being, for then he would no longer be capable of sin. Wherefore it is not possible for this good of nature to be destroyed entirely.⁹

Here he refers back to his argument in article 1, to show that the good of nature that is diminished by sin is the natural inclination to virtue. We have this natural inclination to virtue because we are by nature rational beings, and our rational power is by nature our highest power. Furthermore, what makes an action virtuous is that it is in accord with reason. So in order for a being to sin, that being must have a rational nature, because a non-rational being (e.g. a plant or a cat) cannot sin. But since sin does not make us no longer capable of sin, therefore sin cannot make us into something other than a rational being by nature. And since our natural inclination to virtue follows from the very fact that we are rational beings by nature, therefore because sin cannot make us into something other than a rational being by nature, it follows that sin cannot entirely destroy our natural inclination to virtue, even though sin can diminish our natural inclination to virtue.

In the last section of his argument in this article, Aquinas explains that our natural inclination to virtue lies between our rational nature and virtue. Our natural inclination to virtue has as its root [radice] our rational nature, and has as its term and end the good of virtue. Because our rational nature cannot be diminished by sin, therefore our natural inclination to virtue cannot be diminished at its root. But, our natural inclination to virtue can be diminished with respect to attaining its end (i.e. virtue), because by sin an obstacle [impedimentum] is placed against its attaining its end. Since our natural inclination to virtue cannot be diminished at its root, but only at its term, therefore our natural inclination to virtue cannot be destroyed entirely, because the root of this inclination always remains [semper manet radix talis inclinationis].

The Four Wounds of Nature Consequent Upon Sin

In the third article, Aquinas explains the four wounds consequent upon sin. He writes:

As a result of original justice, the reason had perfect hold over the lower parts of the soul, while reason itself was perfected by God, and was subject to Him. Now this same original justice was forfeited through the sin of our first parent, as already stated (81, 2); so that all the powers of the soul are left, as it were, destitute of their proper order, whereby they are naturally directed to virtue; which destitution is called a wounding of nature.¹⁰

First, he briefly describes what original justice was, and the general result of its loss. I have discussed already in Part 2 of this series Aquinas’ explanation of original justice (also called original righteousness). By the loss of this original justice through Adam’s sin, the powers of the soul were left, as it were, destitute of their proper order [destitutae proprio ordine], whereby they were naturally ordered to virtue [quo naturaliter ordinantur ad virtutem]. This destitution of their proper order, he says, is called a wounding of nature [vulneratio naturae]. He continues:

Again, there are four of the soul’s powers that can be subject of virtue, as stated above (Question 61, Article 2), viz. the reason, where prudence resides, the will, where justice is, the irascible, the subject of fortitude, and the concupiscible, the subject of temperance. Therefore in so far as the reason is deprived of its order to the true, there is the wound of ignorance; in so far as the will is deprived of its order of good, there is the wound of malice; in so far as the irascible is deprived of its order to the arduous, there is the wound of weakness; and in so far as the concupiscible is deprived of its order to the delectable, moderated by reason, there is the wound of concupiscence.¹¹

There are four wounds of nature consequent upon sin, because the soul has four powers that can be subject to virtue: reason [ratio], in which is the virtue of prudence [prudentia], will [voluntas], in which is the virtue of justice, the irascible appetite [irascibilis], in which is the virtue of fortitude, and the concupiscible appetite [concupiscibilis], in which is the virtue of temperance [temperantia]. These four virtues are called the cardinal or ‘hinge’ virtues, because all the other moral virtues depend upon them. Insofar as reason is deprived of its order to the true, there is the wound of ignorance. Insofar as the will is deprived of its order to the good, there is the wound of malice [malitiae], which Aquinas describes as a certain proneness of the will to evil [pronitate voluntatis ad malum].¹²  Insofar as the irascible appetite is deprived of its order to the arduous good, there is the wound of weakness [infirmitatis]. And insofar as the concupiscible appetite is deprived of its order to the delectable-moderated-by-reason [delectabile moderatum ratione], there is the wound of concupiscence. Aquinas continues:

Accordingly these are the four wounds inflicted on the whole of human nature as a result of our first parent’s sin. But since the inclination to the good of virtue is diminished in each individual on account of actual sin, as was explained above (Question 1, Article 2), these four wounds are also the result of other sins, in so far as, through sin, the reason is obscured, especially in practical matters, the will hardened to evil, good actions become more difficult and concupiscence more impetuous.¹³

These four wounds were inflicted on the whole of human nature as a result of Adam’s sin. But these four wounds are not the same as original sin. Original sin is the loss of the third good described in Article 1 above, namely, the good of original righteousness. But the four wounds, though consequent on sin, are due to the loss (in the sense of diminution, not total destruction) of the second good described in Article 1 above, namely, the good of our natural inclination to virtue. Therefore, since original righteous was wholly destroyed upon Adam’s sin, original sin cannot be made worse by additional sinful acts. By contrast, because human acts produce an inclination to like acts in the very powers through which those acts are performed, and because the four wounds are wounds to the powers in their natural inclinations to their respective virtues, therefore the four wounds can be made worse by additional sinful acts.¹⁴

Death and Other Bodily Defects are not Natural to Man, but are a Result of Sin

In Articles 5 and 6 Aquinas argues that death and bodily defects are results of sin, and are not natural to man. According to Aquinas in Article 5, sin is the cause of death and of all bodily defects, because sin removed the original justice our first parents enjoyed. By this original justice the lower powers of the soul were held subject to reason, without any disorder whatsoever. But original justice was not only the ordered harmony of the powers of the soul to each other; it also included the subjection of the whole body to the soul, without any bodily defect.¹⁵  Therefore, by the loss of original justice, our first parents lost the perfect subjection of the body to the soul. This is why the body is now subject to defect and corruption (i.e. bodily decay).

We might then ask why, when all our sin, both original and actual, is removed at baptism, the defects of the body remain. Aquinas answers:

Both original and actual sin are removed by the same cause that removes these defects, according to the Apostle (Romans 8:11): “He . . . shall quicken . . . your mortal bodies, because of His Spirit that dwelleth in you”: but each is done according to the order of Divine wisdom, at a fitting time. Because it is right that we should first of all be conformed to Christ’s sufferings, before attaining to the immortality and impassibility of glory, which was begun in Him, and by Him acquired for us. Hence it behooves that our bodies should remain, for a time, subject to suffering, in order that we may merit the impassibility of glory, in conformity with Christ.¹⁶

According to Aquinas God does not without reason allow us to suffer in these decaying bodies during this present life. Through our suffering, we are conformed to Christ’s sufferings, and may merit the impassibility of glory, in conformity with Christ.

In Article 6 Aquinas argues that death and bodily defects are not natural to man. He writes:

[W]e must observe that the form of man which is the rational soul, in respect of its incorruptibility is adapted to its end, which is everlasting happiness: whereas the human body, which is corruptible, considered in respect of its nature, is, in a way, adapted to its form, and, in another way, it is not.¹⁷

Aquinas has argued elsewhere that the form of man, which is the rational soul, is incorruptible, by which he means that it naturally subsists per se; it is naturally not in potency to dissolution so as to cease to exist.¹⁸  Here he says that the human soul, in respect of its incorruptibility, is adapted to its end, which is everlasting happiness. But the human body, which is corruptible, is in one way adapted to its form, and in another way is not.

As an illustration Aquinas notes that the smith, in order to make a knife, chooses a matter that is hard and can be sharpened. Since iron meets these criteria, the smith chooses to use iron to make the knife. But iron by its very nature is also breakable and disposed to rust. Those qualities of iron are not the reasons the smith chooses to use iron in order to make the knife. Aquinas then concludes:

In like manner the human body is the matter chosen by nature in respect of its being of a mixed temperament, in order that it may be most suitable as an organ of touch and of the other sensitive and motive powers. Whereas the fact that it is corruptible is due to a condition of matter, and is not chosen by nature: indeed nature would choose an incorruptible matter if it could. But God, to Whom every nature is subject, in forming man supplied the defect of nature, and by the gift of original justice, gave the body a certain incorruptibility, as was stated in the I, 97, 1. It is in this sense that it is said that “God made not death,” and that death is the punishment of sin.¹⁹

Just as iron is breakable and disposed to rust, though those are not the qualities for which it is chosen to be the knife’s matter, so likewise the body is corruptible due to a condition of matter (for matter is naturally corruptible) though its corruptibility was not the reason it was chosen to be that which the soul informed. More suited to the nature of the soul would have been an incorruptible body. But in forming man, God supplied [supplevit] the defect of nature [defectum naturae], and by the gift of original justice, which ordered the corruptible body to the incorruptible soul, gave to the body a certain incorruptibility [incorruptibilitatem quandam]. By “certain incorruptibility” here Aquinas means a mediated incorruptibility, one that is extrinsic to the body as such, and dependent upon its ordered  relation to something else. By the gift of original justice the body was not made intrinsically incorruptible, but by this gift the body was made incorruptible-by-relation to the soul. So when Adam and Eve forfeited their original justice through sin, they thereby forfeited the mediated incorruptibility their bodies had enjoyed. Death thus entered into the world, through sin.

“[A]s through one man sin entered into the world, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men ….” (Romans 5:12)

Part 4 can be found here.

1. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.1. co.
2. See his work titled De principiis naturae [On the Principles of Nature].
3. Aquinas explains this three-fold goodness elsewhere when he says: “For everything is called good according to its perfection. Now perfection of a thing is threefold: first, according to the constitution of its own being; secondly, in respect of any accidents being added as necessary for its perfect operation; thirdly, perfection consists in the attaining to something else as the end.” [Summa Theologica I Q.6 a.3 co.]
4. Those are the first principles of speculative reason and the first principles of practical reason, respectively.
5. Summa Theologica I-II Q.63 a.1
6. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.1. co.
7. He defends this claim in the next article.
8. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.2. sc.
9. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.2. co.
10. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.3. co.
11. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.3. co.
12. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.3 ad 2
13. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.3. co.
14. I am passing over Article 4 in order to shorten and simplify this summary of Question 85.
15. Cf. Summa Theologica I Q.97 a.1
16. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.5 ad 2
17. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.6 co.
18. Summa Theologica I Q.75 a.6
19. Summa Theologica I-II Q.85 a.6 co.