29 October, Thursday.

I was a little tired, having stayed up much later than I had meant to finished The Importance of Being Earnest, which I could not put down. But discussing it in Brit Lit was fun and then the pizza at lunch fortified me. I swear, I do eat other things besides pizza, but it’s so good! Mystics was fun except that we were talking about Aquinas (don’t get me started on dear old Thomas) and Italian was Halloween themed, which started getting me excited for one of my favorite holidays. Maggini made Marcelo our talk show host and thought he was talking about Opera when he said Oprah, we played Pictionary, and Caitlin G. and I directed the others into turning Sarah, Vince, and Marcelo into a living Halloween statue.

I hung around Guarini afterwards, devising my spring schedule, and went through a brief panic attack when I thought I had a really late dart time. I swear, my advisor must think I’m a lunatic. Me, Katrina, Thuy, Marcelo, Cindy, and Caitlin K. met up with Katie and her parents, who took us out to dinner at a little place in Trastevere. The waiters were oddly attentive and Thuy and Marcelo were creeped out by one who seemed to be discussing my scarf (I don’t want to know), but the food was delicious. We walked around the Trastevere area looking for an open Tabacchi shop after, and were assailed by the birds. They have been flying in swarms so large that they can be seen from miles away for the last month, and their chattering is loud enough to hear from blocks around. Needless to say, I won’t ever stand under the trees again and I took a delightful hot shower as soon as I got home. Back at the apartment, we had a chill night playing Bastardo and Briscola (variation of Bastardo) and Kings and Rummy at the guys’ place, then called it a night.

Thomas Aquinas

The whole Trinity dwells in the mind by sanctifying grace, according to Jn. 14:23: “We will come to him, and will make Our abode with him.”

The soul is made like to God by grace. Hence for a divine person to be sent to anyone by grace, there must needs be a likening of the soul to the divine person Who is sent, by some gift of grace.

Because the Holy Ghost is Love, the soul is assimilated to the Holy Ghost by the gift of charity: hence the mission of the Holy Ghost is according to the mode of charity.

Whereas the Son is the Word, not any sort of word, but one Who breathes forth Love. Hence Augustine says (De Trin. ix 10): “The Word we speak of is knowledge with love.”

Thus the Son is sent not in accordance with every and any kind of intellectual perfection, but according to the intellectual illumination, which breaks forth into the affection of love, as is said (Jn. 6:45): “Everyone that hath heard from the Father and hath learned, cometh to Me,” and (Ps. 38:4): “In my meditation a fire shall flame forth.”

Thus Augustine plainly says (De Trin. iv, 20): “The Son is sent, whenever He is known and perceived by anyone.”

Now perception implies a certain experimental knowledge; and this is properly called wisdom [sapientia], as it were a sweet knowledge [sapida scientia], according to Ecclus. 6:23: “The wisdom of doctrine is according to her name.”

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Summa Theologiae Ia, q. 43, a. 5 [corpus and ad 2].

Thomas Aquinas

Jesus said to them: I am the bread of life, for as we saw above, the word of wisdom is the proper food of the mind, because the mind is sustained by it: “He fed him with the bread of life and understanding” (Sir 15:3).

Now the bread of wisdom is called the bread of life to distinguish it from material bread, which is the bread of death, and which serves only to restore what has been lost by a mortal organism; hence material bread is necessary only during this mortal life.

But the bread of divine wisdom is life-giving of itself, and no death can affect it.

Again, material bread does not give life, but only sustains for a time a life that already exists.

But spiritual bread actually gives life: for the soul begins to live because it adheres to the word of God: “For with you is the fountain of life,” as we see in the Psalm (35:10).

Therefore, since every word of wisdom is derived from the Only Begotten Word of God – “The fountain of wisdom is the Only Begotten of God” (Sir 1:5) – this Word of God is especially called the bread of life.

Thus Christ says, I am the bread of life. And because the flesh of Christ is united to the Word of God, it also is life-giving.

Thus, too, his body, sacramentally received, is life-giving: for Christ gives life to the world through the mysteries which he accomplished in his flesh.

Consequently, the flesh of Christ, because of the Word of the Lord, is not the bread of ordinary life, but of that life which does not die.

And so the flesh of Christ is called bread: “The bread of Asher is rich” (Gn 49:20).

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Commentary on John, cap. 6, lect. 4, 914.

“Better to illuminate than merely to shine, to deliver to others contemplated truths than merely to contemplate.” ~Thomas Aquinas

Many people may be shocked to hear that the famous Catholic theologian, Thomas Aquinas ok’ed abortion in the early stages of pregnancy.  Why did he do that?  Very simply because he never saw an ultrasound.  Abortionist Dr Curtis Boyd (no relation) has.  What does he think happens in an abortion?  He says “Am I killing?  Yes, I know that.”  It seems to me that the great burden of modern medical research establishes that abortion is the taking of a human life.  The arguments in favor of abortion today seem to skirt around this issue.  So I ask you, when is killing an unborn child ok?  You can read the news report on Dr Boyd here.

Dunning, H Ray

The dichotomy between clergy and laity with holiness attaching to the former was formalized into a theological structure by Thomas Aquinas. – Grace, Faith, & Holiness (KC: Beacon Hill Press, 1988), 521.

 (Born 1926)

If you imagine that multifaith dialogue is easy, this post will change your mind. Continue reading but be warned that you’ll be asked to tease out the intricacies of an argument between the University of Chicago historian, David Nirenberg, a champion of secularism, and His Holiness, Pope Benedict XVI, the champion par excellence of Roman Catholicism.

Ideally, when we enter into a dialogue about religious beliefs, we do so with a genuine desire for authentic conversation.  We attempt to understand, as much as possible, our interlocutor’s point of view especially when we find his or her point of view offensive.  But, in the present case, even a brilliant scholar like Nirenberg, who’s written insightful books about the three Abrahamic religions, loses his patience and calls on His Holiness to stop speaking like a Roman Catholic.

Nirenberg aired his differences with the Pope in a September 23, 2009, article in The New Republic, “Love and Capitalism,” in which he reviewed Benedict’s book-length encyclical, “Caritas in Veritate:  On Integral Human Development in Charity and Truth.”

The problem, for Nirenberg, is not the Pope’s claim to the Truth:  “Popes,” Nirenberg writes, “have the right, indeed the obligation, to teach believers the truth as they are given to perceive it, no matter how controversial.”

No, Nirenberg’s disagreement with the Pope centers around the meaning of the term “caritas,” a word that can be loosely translated into English as “charity” or “love.”

For Roman Catholics, however, caritas doesn’t mean plain old love or sympathy or concern or even charity in the way that most of us might use such words over a glass of beer. Caritas, as used by Roman Catholic theologians, including Benedict, is a technical term with a history that dates back to the 3^rd Century Church Father, St. Augustine.

Nirenberg gets the Augustine connection (he quotes Augustine several times), but he doesn’t seem to recognize that Augustine’s usage of caritas has been superseded.  In the 13th Century, the theologian and so-called Angelic Doctor of the Church, St. Thomas Aquinas, redefined caritas.  And Aquinas, it turns out, is the key to an accurate understanding of Benedict’s “Caritas in Veritate.”  Why?  Because since the late 19^th century (thanks to Pope Leo XIII), Aquinas’s thought has dominated Roman Catholic theology, including its usage of the technical theological term, caritas.

For Aquinas, caritas is a special virtue—a theological virtue, because human beings are incapable of caritas on their own.  The virtue of caritas requires God’s gracious gift.  It is the most important of the three theological virtues (the other two are hope and faith).  Aquinas taught, and the Pope agrees, that only members of the Roman Catholic Church who participate in its sacramental life may receive God’s gift of the theological virtues, including caritas.

The bottom line, then: if you’re not a Roman Catholic, God will pass you over when it comes to granting caritas.  And without God-granted caritas, you may act in what appears to be a virtuous, loving way, but your actions can never be perfectly virtuous since you, a mere human being, are the source of the virtuous acts.

In his encyclical, Benedict claims that only Roman Catholicism offers the possibility of the kind of universal fraternity necessary for authentic community. But he’s following Aquinas here; only Roman Catholicism offers a path to God-given love (caritas), and God-given love (caritas) is required for universal fraternity.  Only with God-given love are we able to love God first (as the first proper object of our love), and then, and only then, out of love for God, are we able to love God’s creatures—i.e. other human beings.

A bit more familiarity with Aquinas’ thought (called Thomism, another technical term!) is necessary to understand the Pope’s encyclical.  Aquinas (unlike Augustine) has a high anthropology.  According to him, there are some capacities all persons enjoy, whether they are Roman Catholic or not.  For example, he maintained that every person is born with the ability to reason.  Thanks to our natural reason, we can come together and solve problems.

With this brief primer on Thomism, we could have anticipated what Benedict did, in fact, say in his encyclical:  “Reason, by itself, is capable of grasping the equality between men and of giving stability to their civic coexistence, but it cannot establish fraternity.  This originates in a transcendent vocation from God the Father, who loved us first, teaching us through the Son what fraternal charity is.”

Like every good book reviewer, Nirenberg is tasked with picking a fight over some point and so he chooses this one:  “The problem is that Benedict is claiming to offer general answers to global questions that affect people of every faith (and sometimes of no faith), while at the same time insisting that the only possible answer to those questions is Catholicism.  Such a suggestion might be a plausible prescription for global peace and development in a Catholic world, but the world is not Catholic.”

But Benedict offers general answers to global questions that affect people of every faith (including some of no faith) because he believes (following Aquinas) that every human being has reason.  And because we’re blessed with reason, Benedict can issue a global call for us to work together to address global problems.  However (still following Aquinas), fraternal charity, which grows out of caritas or God-given love, is only available to Roman Catholics.  If the rest of the world wants to co-exist in fraternal charity, it must convert and join the Roman Catholic Church.

For Benedict to discuss the global crisis in purely secular terms would be to act without love (in the ordinary sense of that word).  Would it be loving of Benedict to choose silence over sharing with the non-Catholic part of the world the fact (as he perceives it) that there is only one path to fraternal charity?

Nirenberg, however, wants Benedict to set his Roman Catholicism aside and offer global answers “taught in a way that seeks to transcend the boundaries of the traditions that produced them.”  What if Benedict made an analogous demand of Nirenberg?  He’d insist Nirenberg leave his secular commitments aside and offer teachings “taught in a way that seeks” to reflect the Roman Catholic tradition!

Which man has the more loving approach?

At the very least, Benedict engages in authentic multi-faith dialogue.  He doesn’t pretend to set aside his convictions—as if he could!—rather, he shows the full set of cards he’s holding in one hand and extends the other hand in greeting.  We may, like Nirenberg, not like the cards he’s holding, but we can appreciate the fact that he’s showing us what he’s got.

One of the goals of an authentic conversation about religion is to try to understand our conversation partner’s point of view.  For this we must set aside our own religious commitments and adopt a willingness to interpret (i.e. make familiar the unfamiliar) what he or she shares with us.  Nirenberg was tasked with interpreting the Pope’s latest encyclical.  Unfortunately, conversing with an author via his or her book does not offer the possibility of a back-and-forth dialogue.  If he and the Pope had had the opportunity to get together at the local bar and talk over a glass of beer, Nirenberg could simply have asked, “Exactly what do you mean, Your Holiness, by caritas?”  The two could have had a brief discussion about their differing definitions of love.  Then they could have moved on to discuss something more important—the Pope’s central concern of his encyclical—how to solve our global problems.

References:  David Nirenberg, “Love and Capitalism,” The New Republic 240, no. 4868 (23 September 2009): 39-42; Waldo Beach and H. R. Niebuhr, eds, Christian Ethics:  Sources of the Living Tradition, 2^nd ed. (New York:  The Ronald Press Company, 1973).

Plato asserts that the red apple participates in the colour red. Even if Thomas Aquinas must be considered to be highly influenced by the philosophy of Aristotle, one may discern a certain influence from Plato, e.g. regarding the concept of participation. Although Thomas finds inspiration from both Aristotle and Plato, he uses their ideas in his own original way.

The McDonald Centre is pleased to announce that 2010-2011 McDonald Lectures will be delivered by John Haldane, Professor of Philosophy at St Andrew’s University. Professor Haldane holds a Ph.D. from London University and has taught at the University of Notre Dame, Georgetown University, and elsewhere. He delivered the 2003 Gifford Lectures at the University of Aberdeen and has also contributed to a number of television and radio programmes. He has published nearly 200 articles on wide-ranging topics, from aethestics and art to ethics, religion, and philosophy of mind. Atheism and Theism, now in its second edition, is a fascinating debate between Haldane and philosopher J.J.C. Smart on the existence of God. Following the 2008 U.S. presidential election, Haldane, who is British, wrote a now widely-read Letter to America about the promises and pitfalls of Obama’s election.

Beware of the person of one book.

Thomas Aquinas

She says to him, They have no more wine. Here we should note that before the incarnation of Christ three wines were running out: the wine of justice, of wisdom, and of charity or grace.

Wine stings, and in this respect it is a symbol of justice. The Samaritan poured wine and oil into the wounds of the injured man, that is, he mingled the severity of justice with the sweetness of mercy: “You have made us drink the wine of sorrow” (Ps 59:5).

But wine also delights the heart, “Wine cheers the heart of man” (Ps 103:15). And in this respect wine is a symbol of wisdom, the meditation of which is enjoyable in the highest degree: “Her companionship has no bitterness” (Wis 8:16).

Further, wine intoxicates: “Drink, friends, and be intoxicated, my dearly beloved” (Song 5:1). And in this respect wine is a symbol of charity: “I have drunk my wine with my milk” (Song 5:1). It is also a symbol of charity because of charity’s fervor: “Wine makes the virgins flourish” (Zech 9:17).

The wine of justice was indeed running out in the old law, in which justice was imperfect. But Christ brought it to perfection: “Unless your justice is greater than that of the scribes and of the Pharisees, you will not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:20).

The wine of wisdom was also running out, for it was hidden and symbolic, because as it says in 1 Corinthians (10:11): “All these things happened to them in symbol.” But Christ plainly brought wisdom to light: “He was teaching them as one having authority” (Mt 7:29).

The wine of charity was also running out, because they had received a spirit of serving only in fear. But Christ converted the water of fear into the wine of charity when he gave “the spirit of adoption as sons, by which we cry: ‘Abba, Father’” (Rom 8:15), and when “the charity of God was poured out into our hearts,” as Romans (5:5) says.

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Commentary on John, cap. 2, lect. 1, 347

Thomas Aquinas

In the mystical sense, marriage signifies the union of Christ with his Church, because as the Apostle says: “This is a great mystery: I am speaking of Christ and his Church” (Eph 5:32).

And this marriage was begun In the womb of the Virgin, when God the Father united a human nature to his Son in a unity of person. So, the chamber of this union was the womb of the Virgin: “He established a chamber for the sun” (Ps 18:6).

Of this marriage it is said: “The kingdom of heaven is like a king who married his son” (Mt 22:2), that is, when God the Father joined a human nature to his Word in the womb of the Virgin.

It was made public when the Church was joined to him by faith: “I will bind you to myself in faith” (Hos 2:20). We read of this marriage: “Blessed are they who are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb” (Rv 19:9). It will be consummated when the bride, i.e., the Church, is led into the resting place of the groom, i.e., into the glory of heaven.

The fact that this marriage took place on the third day is not without it own mystery. For the first day is the time of the law of nature; the second day is the time of the written law. But the third day is the time of grace, when the incarnate Lord celebrated the marriage: “He will revive us after two days: on the third day he will raise us up” (Hos 6:3).

The place too is appropriate. For “Cana” means “zeal and “Galilee” means “passage.” So this marriage was celebrated in the zeal of a passage, to suggest that those persons are most worthy of union with Christ who, burning with the zeal of a conscientious devotion, pass over from the state of guilt to the grace of the Church: “Pass over to me, all who desire me” (Sir 24:26).

And they pass from death to life, i.e., from the state of mortality and misery to the state of immortality and glory: “I make all things new” (Rv 21:5).

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Commentary on John, cap. 2, lect. 1, 338

Greed is such a harsh word. Who me? I want to say, I’m not greedy! Yet below the surface I’m familiar with that inordinate desire to acquire or possess more than I need, even deserve. In Catholic language, greed is seen as an rapacious desire, considered a vice, one of the seven deadly sins. To St. Thomas Aquinas it was ”a sin against God, just as all mortal sins, in as much as man condemns things eternal for the sake of temporal things.”

All very heavy and difficult to brush aside. Greed pervades every aspect of my existence. For instance: 

•  In a short while my tenure at hospice is coming to an end. At first I was unable (and unwilling) to imagine life without the daily opportunities to be of service and to bathe in the loving company of coworkers. “It’s so unfair,” I thought more than once, “and so wrong.”

•  Two weeks ago my stepmother gave me a sum of cash as an inheritance. When I saw the bundles of US dollars she’d kept in a deposit box, I realized that they’d lost value over the years. If only she’d given me Euros, my thoughts went, I’d have so much more.

•  A friend and I recently reaffirmed our love for each other. Because of circumstances, we cannot be together. More than once the thought has occurred to me that “knowing she loves me is wonderful, but ‘having her’ would be so much better.”

Zen teacher Ruben Habito says that ”greed works in each of us in very subtle ways, more subtle than we can detect perhaps. That sense of wanting something in particular, because ‘if I don’t have this, then I am not OK,’ can gnaw at us and propel us to act in greedy or needy kinds of ways.”

The antidote to greed is generosity. Shunryu Suzuki describes it as “true wisdom of living,” a deep non-attachment to any and everything we label as “mine.” Looking at my partial greed list above, it’s quite easy to flip things around and be filled with gratitude for what has been given to me and to extend my hands of generosity to whatever may come.

Thomas Aquinas by Francisco de Zurbarán

The fourth thing that pertains to the wisdom of God is perfection, whereby a thing is conserved in its end. Take away the end, and only vanity remains, which wisdom cannot suffer to abide with her; hence it is said, in Wisdom 8:1, that wisdom ‘reaches from end to end mightily and orders all things sweetly’.

A thing is ordered when it is stabilized in its end, which it naturally desires. This especially pertains to the Son, who, since he is the true and natural Son of God, leads us to the glory of our paternal inheritance.

Hence Hebrews 2:10: ‘For it became him for whom are all things and through whom are all things, who had brought many sons into glory.’ Hence it is rightly said, ‘I said, I will water my garden of plants.’

The attainment of the end requires preparation, by which whatever is not appropriate to the end is removed; thus Christ too, in order that he might lead us to the end of eternal glory, prepared the medicine of the sacraments, by which the wound of sin is wiped away. Two things are to be noted in the foregoing words, namely, preparation, which is through the sacraments, and leading into glory.

Preparation is made known by ‘I will water my garden of plants.’ The garden is the Church, of which the Song of Songs 4:12 says, ‘My sister, my spouse, is a garden enclosed,’ in which there are diverse plants according to the diverse order of the saints, all of them planted by the hand of the Omnipotent.

This garden is watered by Christ with the streams of the sacraments, which flowed from his side. Hence in commendation of the beauty of the Church it is said in Numbers 24:5, ‘How beautiful are your tabernacles, O Jacob, and your tents, O Israel!’ and a little later, in verse 6, ‘as watered gardens near the rivers’. Therefore the ministers of the Church who dispense the sacraments are called waterers: ‘I have planted, Apollo watered’ (1 Corinthians 3.6).

Induction into glory is made known in what follows: ‘I will water abundantly the fruits of my meadow.’ Christ’s fruits are the faithful of the Church, which by his labour he brought forth like a mother, of which Isaiah 66:9: ‘Shall not I that make others to bring forth children myself bring forth, saith the Lord?’

The fruits of this bringing forth are the saints who are in glory, of which fruit the Song of Songs 5:1: ‘Let my beloved come into his garden and eat the fruit of his apple trees.’ He waters them from the abundance of his own fruition, of which abundance Psalm 35:9: ‘They are filled with the bounteousness of your house.’

It is called bounteousness because it exceeds every measure of reason and desire. Isaiah 64:4 ‘Eye has not seen, O God, besides you, what things you have prepared for those who wait for you.’

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Scriptum on the Sentences, Prologue

Many times when we think about what we should do in a given situation, we have conversations with ourselves in our own minds. As I think about how we talk to ourselves during the course of reasoning, I’m reminded of what my father used to tell me time and again as I was growing up: “Think before you talk, Jeffrey John.” Like many precocious kids, in my mind I was brilliant. So I was highly skeptical of my father’s advice. ‘Of course I think before I talk – doesn’t everyone?’ I thought.

Now, some 40 years later, I finally figured out what dad meant. And it took having kids of my own to see it in action.

When I ask my now 11-year-old son to do his homework or to clean his room, and he verbally lashes back (as in “Come on now, why do you always do this to me? Just when I’m having fun!“) I find myself telling him, “Casey, think before you talk!” Since we all know that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m sure he’s questioning this counseling as surely as I did when I was his age.

What I was telling him, though, was to really think before he talked. Instead of getting angry or frustrated at not being able to play because I was asking him to clean his room or to do his homework, he needed to think before he responded. Doing so would have made him encounter what we all generally refer to as “the voice of reason;” that inner voice we all have access to that steps in as we think about what to do and tries to steer us down the right path. Had he thought and engaged that inner voice, he would have considered what it was he was going to say, what the different options were. Among these would have been telling me what he really thought about my ridiculous request to clean his room, or to do his homework; or not to say anything at all except, “Yes, dad.” Or, perhaps, to take some kind of middle ground by calmly asking me if he could play for a little longer before cleaning or studying.

The point, however, is that he would have been thinking before talking, thinking before hastily giving in to his emotions, something that we should all endeavor to do.

It’s not that emotions are bad; after all, many emotions can be quite good. Take love, for example. What we need to do – what St. Thomas Aquinas asks us to do – is to take emotion and subject it to the light of reason. We must take the time to ask that inner voice we all have what we should do (using what we Roman Catholics refer to as “the gift of counsel”); how we should respond when we’re talking with others; what the prudent response is, what the merciful response is. Then – and only then – will we be taking full advantage of what our inner voice, our voice of reason, can offer us: The path toward God’s will, the path toward the Good itself.

So here it is, 40 years late: Thanks, dad. I will think before I talk.

Thomas Aquinas

The third thing that pertains to the Wisdom of God is the restoration of his works. A thing should be repaired by the one who made it; hence it is fitting that those things which were made through Wisdom, through wisdom should be repaired; hence in Wisdom 9:19 it is said, ‘Men were taught what pleases you, and were saved by wisdom.’

This restoration is especially accomplished by the Son, insofar as he has been made man and, by the restored state of man, in a certain way restores all things which were made for man. Hence in Colossians 1:20: ‘Through him he should reconcile to himself all things, whether on the earth or in the heavens.’

Rightly then from the person of the Son is it said, ‘I like the channel of a river and like an aqueduct came out of paradise.’ This paradise is the glory of God the Father, from which he came forth into the valley of our misery, not because he set it aside, but because he hid it. ‘I came forth from God and have come into the world.’

Concerning this coming forth two things are made known, namely, its mode and its fruit. The channel of a river is swiftest, hence it designates the mode whereby, as out of an impetus of love, Christ completed the mystery of our redemption. Hence Isaiah 59.19: ‘He shall come as a violent stream which the spirit of the Lord drives on.’

Its fruit is designated when it is said ‘like an aqueduct’, for just as an aqueduct is produced from one source which it distributes in order to make the earth fruitful, so from Christ flow diverse kinds of grace for nourishing the Church, as is said in Ephesians 4:11: ‘And he himself gave some men as apostles, and some as prophets, others again as evangelists, and others as pastors and teachers, in order to perfect the saints for a work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ.’

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Scriptum on the Sentences, Prologue

Thomas Aquinas

The second thing that pertains to the wisdom of God is the production of creatures. He not only has speculative but also operative wisdom – like that of the artisan to his works – concerning created things. Thus Psalm 103:24: ‘Thou hast made all things with wisdom.’

And Wisdom itself says in Proverbs 8:30: ‘I was with him, forming all things.’ This attribute is especially found in the Son insofar as he is the image of the invisible God, in whose likeness all things are formed:

‘He is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of every creature, for in him were created all things’ (Colossians 1:15); ‘All things were made through him’ (John 1:3). Rightly then does the person of the Son say, ‘I, like a brook out of a river of mighty water,’ in which is noted both the order and mode of creation.

Order, because as a brook is derived from a river, so the temporal procession of creatures [derives] from the eternal procession of persons. Hence in Psalm 148:5 is said, ‘He commanded and they were made.’

The Word gave birth to what was in him in order that it might be, according to Augustine in the Supplement of his Literal Commentary on Genesis 1.2. It is always what is first that is the cause of what is after, according to Aristotle in Metaphysics 2; hence the first procession is the cause and reason of every subsequent procession.

The mode is signified in two respects: on the part of the one creating, who, although he completes all things, is measured by nothing else, which is conveyed by calling him mighty.

And, on the part of the creature, because just as the brook proceeds beyond the bed of the river, so the creature proceeds from God beyond the unity of essence, in which as in a river bed the flow of the persons is contained.

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274): Scriptum on the Sentences, Prologue

St. Thomas Aquinas, the noble “angelic doctor” of the Roman Catholic Church, the single person who is most responsible for shaping the church’s moral theology and its social teaching, is rolling over in his grave. Why? Because of the way we talk with one another. While much of our talk can demonstrate mercy, show kindness, and serve the cause of justice, it can also be caustic and hurtful, dividing us in ways that are as sublime as they are profound.

In the decade I’ve spent studying the writing of Aquinas and studying the work of those who have written about him, I’ve come to believe that how we talk with one another is one of the most important things we can do. As history can attest, talk has the power to bring about war and to perpetuate injustice; at the same time, it has the near mystical power to heal and to express God’s love for each of us. Aquinas himself expressed his belief in the mystical, healing power of talk when he wrote about how we use words to give counsel to ourselves and to others, and how we can use persuasion to steer one another away from evil.

One could look at this and believe that it’s much ado about nothing. After all, we all know that talk can do good and that talk can do evil. On the other hand, in a stunning paradox, despite all that we have at our disposal to communicate with one another – consider cell phones, Twitter, Facebook, e-mail, and texting to name but a few, as well as how hard it is for us to separate ourselves from them – we spend precious little time thinking about how we talk to one another: how we express ourselves, and how those expressions manifest action. It’s my hope that this blog – as well as whatever conversations it might precipitate – will enable us to make the world a better place, all through talking about talk.