One cannot believe explicitly in the mystery of the Incarnation of Christ without belief in the Trinity.- because the mystery of the Incarnation of Christ includes that the Son of God [the Father] became man; that he renewed the world through the grace of the Holy Spirit; and that he was conceived [in the womb of Mary] by the Holy Spirit. ( Sum. theol. II-11, q. 2, a. 8,- see also Nicene Creed, Denz. 125, among others)
Although neither the mystery itself nor anything affirmative and unpuzzling about the mysteries can be proved by human reason, it is a human intellect that tries to understand the meaning of the terms used by God in revealing himself to us, and tries also to show what the mystery is not, at least by showing that the mystery is not absurd or impossible (See Sum. theol. 1, q. 1, a.8). The English word mystery” comes from the Greek mysterion, meaning what is “secret or hidden from comprehension”; it usually has to do with divine truths, or secrets hidden behind sacred signs and symbols ( sacramenta ) . We sometimes speak of the many natural “mysteries” that are around us, in actual fact, the whole of human life is one big “mystery” beyond our comprehension. But there is one big difference: natural mysteries may some day come to be understood, but supernatural mysteries, such as the Trinity, the Incarnation, and God’s love, can never be understood, much less comprehended by any created mind. The best the human mind can do is recognize that it is rational for a man to believe in the truth of the mystery.
The special role of theology, as St. Anselm and all the scholastics following Augustine knew, comes from the dynamism of faith seeking to understand, insofar as is humanly possible, the revealed word of God: Fides quaerens intellectum (Anselm, Proslogion, prooem. Opera Omnia, ed. F. S. Schmitt, I, 1938, p. 94. See M.-D. Chenu, La théologie comme science au XIII siecle, 2nd ed., Paris: Vrin, 1943 or any of Chenu’s works on theology as a science). For St. Augustine, it was not so much a matter of understanding in order to believe, but a matter of believing in order to understand: Credo ut intelligam. Quoting the Latin wording from the Septuagint, Augustine based his view on Isaiah (7:9): “Unless you believe, you will not understand” (Aug., Sermo 53.7, PL 38:257; Ennar. in A. 118, serm. 18. 3-4, PL 37:1552-53). What little understanding we are capable of having in this life presupposes two things: a lively faith, and a humble inquisitive mind. To understand as well as possible what faith holds, we must employ every bit of learning, especially philosophical learning, which sheds light on what has been revealed. The words “nature” and “person,” each of which has a precise meaning in philosophy, are essential to our understanding of what we believe. For in our Christian faith we assert that Jesus Christ is one person, the Son of the eternal Father, and that he has two natures, the truly human and the truly divine. The Holy Trinity is three persons, and the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are one in being or nature. Our task then throughout the rest of these notes will be to explain as carefully as we can in “the words of men” what we believe, so that through them we might catch some glimmer of the great mystery that is God himself. To accomplish this task we must first examine the words “nature” and “person.” In this particular note we shall explain the various meanings these terms have in everyday use, the way they must be understood at the crucial juncture where reason meets faith, where reason surrenders to the mystery of revelation.
“Nature” as a Philosophical Concept
“Nature” is a wider and more comprehensive term than “person,” being used of many more things. Thus every person has a nature, but not every nature has or is a person. The various meanings the word “nature” has in common speech and in its philosophical refinements are what concern us here.
The word nature in English today is used in all sorts of loose ways. “Nature lovers” think of the great outdoors; “naturalists” usually think of plants and animals, or else of the great variety of “health foods” that help to make one strong physically. Literary people often use the term “nature” in the sense of “the universe out there,” a meaning more or less synonymous with that of the Greek word kosmos (from which we get our English word “cosmetics”). Intellectuals with a deeper understanding of medicine, sociology, or even law, think of nature as a “normal course of events,” or “behavior that is found among many,” or “laws of behavior” acceptable in civilized society and codifiable. While all these meanings (and many others) can be traced back to ancient usage, none of them focuses fully on the precise philosophical meaning the word had for the ancient Greeks and Latins and on through the Middle Ages as well. Renaissance humanists often distinguished between Nature with a capital N, meaning God acting in the universe ( Natura naturans ), and nature with a small n, meaning the created universe as an instrument of God ( natura naturata ). This distinction was also utilized by St. Thomas, St. Bonaventure, and many philosophers of the thirteenth century. Even in that context, a certain dynamic character was thought to belong to the universe as God created it. That is to say, in most of these usages the implication is that there is some innate source within things for their “normal,” “usual,” “codifiable” behavior. In all of these usages derived from antiquity, there is implied an inner dynamism that defies our every attempt to turn them into machines.
Our own thoughts about “nature” have to a large extent been molded and influenced by the mechanistic philosophy dominant in academia since the seventeenth century. Today it is hard for us to avoid thinking in clear and distinct- mechanical terms. We tend to imagine the universe as a big machine, something like a watch, made up of ever smaller and smaller particles that operate according to determined or determinable mathematical laws. All mathematical formulations, even statistical laws of “random probability,” are necessarily mechanical, as Leibniz (1646-1716) saw so clearly; but he ended by acknowledging two parallel worlds—the mechanical and mathematical (the phenomenological), and the “real,” ontological, and metaphysical (the monodological and non-mechanical) world. For Leibniz, the phenomenological world appears to be mechanical and mathematically determinable, but the real world behind the phenomena consists of monads, each of which is self-contained and non-causal. In order that such a parallelism exist at all and make any sense, Leibniz had to postulate a pre-established harmony determined by God, the Lord of both worlds. It was inevitable that Leibniz’s metaphysics, and even Newton’s, passed into oblivion, while their mechanical and mathematically determinable world became the dominant philosophy of modern science.
If we wish, however, to appreciate what the word nature meant to the Greek pagans and Christians, to the Middle Ages and the whole history of Christian thought, we must put aside for the moment any mechanistic notions we may have about the universe in which we live, and try to appreciate a philosophical language that expresses what really lies at the foundation of our human experience, a language that describes a world made up of such principles as potency and act; the four radically different kinds of causality (formal, material, efficient and final); real substances that are things ( res ); accidental characteristics (nine of them, not counting the post-predicaments and modes), matter and form; essence and actuality of being, or quod est and esse. This philosophical language is difficult for us moderns to grasp precisely because it is non-mechanistic and apparently foreign to our “scientific” minds and “analytic” philosophy. But in fact, the older, philosophical vocabulary is much less difficult to grasp than are modem “scientific” and “analytic” concepts, contrary to what might have been expected. Therefore it is intelligible to more people and is grounded more securely in human experience. Whatever may be said about the Semitic mind and the picturesque language of the Old Testament, the Christian experience in both East and West, in both Greek and Latin, is more deeply rooted in history and in personal experience than any of the fleeting modern systems of thought. There is indeed a chasm of sorts between the modern “scientific” and “analytic” vocabulary on the one hand and the traditional personalist vocabulary of the ancients. But it is not a chasm between East and West. The clash between the Eastern and Western theologies is not a clash between Greek and Latin mentalities, but a clash between Platonic and Aristotelian philosophies—both of which are Greek.
As to the word “nature,” there is an important history of Greek and Latin Philosophical usage (see my “Concept of Nature,” The New Scholasticism, 38, 1954, 377-408; and “Aristotle’s Concept of Nature: Avicenna and Aquinas,” in press. See also, G. S. Kirk, Heraclitus: The Cosmic Fragments, Cambridge, 1954, index).
For our purposes here it is sufficient to note three historical points briefly before zeroing in on the analogical use of the term in Aristotelian and Scholastic philosophy. 1) The Greek seekers of wisdom before Socrates (d. 399 B.C.), the pre-Socratics, are frequently called physiologoi because their whole enterprise was a search for the underlying active “source” ( arche ) of all natural processes in the world, including the origin and nature of man. This underlying active source they called physis (nature), from which we derive our English words physics, physical, physician, and the like. For most of these pre-Socratics, one or other of the basic elements were sought out as the ultimate, active nature of things, as though the whole universe had to have been made from one single element; they are commonly called philosophical Monists, from the Greek word monos, “single.” 2) Socrates and his disciple Plato (427347 B.C.) gave up the enterprise of the physiologoi as hopeless, Socrates establishing a moral or ethical philosophy, and Plato turning from the world of nature to the world of separated, subsistent Ideas that defined each thing in itself, and establishing the primacy of art over nature, and of mind or spirit over matter (See, Laws X, 884A913D). Plato, responding to Parmenides, established a dualism that enticed a host of eminent Fathers of the Church, mystics, separatists, and modem dualists. This is not the Pauline warfare between the “spirit” and the “flesh,” but the Cartesian separation of mind and body that overflowed into the pseudo-conflict of faith and reason, Church and science, sacerdotium and regnum, Church and State. 3) Aristotle (384-322 B.C.), a disciple of Plato, tried to reinstate the quest of the ancient physiologoi in order to establish a realist foundation for his metaphysics of being. That Aristotle would have wished to re-establish the investigation of nature is not at all surprising, for his father was court physician to Philip of Macedonia and was himself a born naturalist in the pay of Alexander the Great. What is surprising, however, is that he should have found such a simple truth whereby to succeed in his quest. The simple truth was that the word “is” can be used in many different ways, the fundamental distinction being between actually and potentially. While the phisiologoi and the Platonists were rightly busy looking for the actual, Aristotle discovered the potential, that is, primary matter ( materia prima ), which was capable of becoming actual. For this simple discovery, the Thomistic commentator Cardinal Thomas de Vio Cajetan called him Divus Aristoteles, quia invenit materiam (Divine Aristotle, because he discovered matter).
To physis (nature) in the sense of an active principle, Aristotle gave the name “form”, but to physis (nature) in the sense of a passive or potential principle, he gave the name “matter.” Thus Aristotle could say that the word nature is analogical, i.e., “equivocal by intent” ( equivocatio a consilio ) . For the word nature is used in at least two different senses: primarily as “form,” and secondarily as “matter” ( Phys. II, 1). Form as the actual principle is defined as the active “source or cause of being moved and of being at rest in those things to which it belongs primarily ( per se ) and not incidentally” (192b2l- 23). Matter as the potential principle is defined as the passive “source of being moved and of being at rest in those things to which it belongs primarily and not incidentally” ( ibid. ). In either case, nature, strictly speaking, is a principle ( arche, principium ) or a “source” relative to observable and manifest behavior or properties, whether they be movements such as growing or healing, or characteristics more or less static and proper to different kinds of natures, such as size, color, weight, habitat, and anatomy. St. Thomas is very explicit on this very difficult point: “In the definition of nature, the term “source” ( principium ) is used as a kind of generic classification rather than a term like “thing” (or any other quid absolutum ), because the term nature bespeaks of a relationship of origin” (St. Thomas, In II Phys., lect.1, n.5). Thomas rejects every attempt to make absolute Aristotle’s concept by suggesting that it might be “an innate power within things” ( vis insita rebus), as some of Aristotle’s commentators have attempted to do. In scholastic terms, the noun “nature” is a nomen relativum, not a nomen absolutum. Thus nature is not really a thing, but an origin or “source” from which ( a quo ) other things proceed.
One further, somewhat epistemological or psychological observation ought to be made at this point. To understand the “nature” of anything living or non-living in this universe we must study the manifestations or phenomena that are observable to the senses or to the intellect, both static and dynamic. Some manifestations are sensibly observed, as in minerals, plants, and animals; others are only intellectually observed, such as thinking, willing, hating, loving, and other psycho-physical phenomena. In either case, it is the scientific mind that projects the notion of “source” as the root and origin of specific or typical diversities. The more a scientist knows about the observed phenomena, the better he understands the nature of the thing studied. One should not be misled by the logical or the lexicographical simplification of some definitions. The logical definition of “man” as “a rational animal,” while quite good and complete in its way, should not lead us to think we know all there is to know about human nature. The truth is that this marvelous definition of “man” which includes both animality and rationality, is quite elementary and simplistic. It is not likely to carry one very far in understanding “human nature” with all its complexities. While such a definition clearly sets “man” off from “non-thinking animals” and “non-animal thinkers,” it has minimal content. This content can come only from patient study, observation, and experience. An understanding of—let us say—“human nature” is directly proportional to the extent and analysis of one’s experience, personal or vicarious. While it is easier to understand human nature, mainly because we are human and can reflect on ourselves and our inner states with an analytic mind, the same holds true of our understanding of all natures other than man: only through the phenomena can we claim some understanding of the “nature” of anything.
Simply put, therefore, nature is that which makes a thing to be what it is. It is the response to the question, “What is it?” In other words, the nature of a thing is the same as its definition (its quod quid est, or ratio ). Aristotle explains that because of this wider meaning of the term, the word nature can be applied to things that have no principle of motion, like the “nature” of a triangle, an idea, ideals, and even spiritual things. Thus, “by an extension of meaning from the original sense of physis, every essence in general has come to be called a nature” ( Metaph. V, 4, 1015al 1-12). St. Thomas adds that this latter usage is “by way of metaphor” ( In V Metaph., lect. 5, n. 823). In this extended sense, the term is understood in a somewhat static fashion as “whatever a thing is.” In this sense it is identical with the term essence.
Finally, it should be noted that in the technical language of Latin and Greek, nature is not a thing, a quod est, but that by which a thing is what it is ( quo est ) . For this reason, Aristotle can say that “Things ‘have a nature’ which have a principle of this kind” (Phys. II, 1 92b2-3). It is always an it that has a nature, and that it must be substantial, an ousia.
“Person “ as a Philosophical Concept
Since nature is not an it, an existing thing, or supposit, it cannot properly be said to exist. Existence ( esse ) belongs to things that have a nature, not to nature itself. Aristotle uses two ways to speak of the concrete, existing thing that has a nature. 1) In the Categories 5, Aristotle speaks of substance ( ousia ) in the primary and truest sense as “that which is neither predicable of a subject nor present in a subject, whereas substance ( ousia ) in a secondary sense is the apprehended substantial nature or essence of a thing, which, in order to exist, must exist in a subject. This subject necessarily is the concrete, uniquely existing individual, “for instance, the individual man or horse” (2a3). Since the Greek word ousia played such an important part in the Christian theology of the fourth century, it is important to remember that for Aristotle, and for all the Greek thinkers, ousia in the primary sense is that alone which has existence. It is the ultimate given suppositum that has existence, but the kind of existence it has depends upon its nature (physis). The Latins simply called it a suppositum, or first substantia, which possessed existence by reason of the “form” making the substance to have the kind of nature and existence it has. The scholastic axiom, “Form gives existence” ( Forma dat esse ) simply means that the kind of existence a thing has depends on its form, or nature. But ultimately, only the supposit itself can be said “to exist.”
2) Frequently Aristotle speaks of this first ousia as an hypostasis, meaning “that which stands under” all properties and characteristics. Literally, the Greek word was translated as subsistentia, but it always had the sense of substantia in Latin. The Greeks, however, made a very important distinction between ousia, which, in the primary sense, alone had existence ( esse ), and hypostasis, which, in Christian thought, played the same role as ( persona ) “person” in Latin. The meaning of these terms must be carefully kept in mind when reading the early Greek and Latin Fathers, as St. Thomas is careful to point out ( Contra errores Graecorum, prol. Opera Omnia ed. Leon. XIL A 71, 1-72).
The English word person comes from two Latin words, personare, “to sound through,” as through the mask used in an ancient dramatic performance. Thus we still list the “Dramatis personae” on the program of a play. Because of the influence of the Latin etymology of this word persona, some early Roman theologians, such as Sabellius, thought of God as one substance which spoke through three different masks: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. More will be said on this subject later.
An important point to establish here is that in Latin philosophy the term person was applied only to substances that had a particular kind of nature, namely, intellectual. Boethius gave the Latin scholastics the classical definition when he defined a person as “the individual substance of a rational nature” ( Contra Eutychen , c. 3). Then he goes on immediately to say, “Now by this definition we Latins have described what the Greeks call hypostasis .” The linguistic difficulty, however, was that the Greeks too had a word they used for the masks placed over the face of the actor playing different roles. As Boethius noted, their word for mask was prosopon, which never lost its original meaning. To convey the Greek reality signified by hypostasis, the Latins had to adapt their word persona to embrace substantial individuals of an intellectual nature. While there is a technical difference between “rational” and “intellectual,” the latter being wider in extension, that difference is not the issue here. Only intellectual substances can be persons, and these intellectual substances must be individual and unique (See Sum. theol ., I, q.29, aa. 1-2).
When philosophy demonstrates the existence of a unique First Being, the First Cause of all that exists, it shows him necessarily to be pure spirit, intellect and free volition, the first beginning and last end of all that are created by himself alone. That is to say, philosophy, reasoning from all the effects in the universe, demonstrates that God is a person. When philosophers argue about the existence of a “personal” God, they are really asking whether he is an intellectual being, having knowledge and free will. The question has nothing to do with whether or not God has any personal meaning for me as a person, although this question, too, inevitably follows.
Philosophers, Christian or not, also have grounds for acknowledging the existence of pure spirits, both good and evil. Each such spirit, being an individual intellectual substance, is truly a person. These are not personifications of subsistent forces of good and evil, but subsistent intelligences, each one unique without the individuality and limitations of material substances. They are spiritual intelligences, created by God, that have certain powers over material things, but belong to a vast world altogether different from our own material universe. Some of these personal spirits are irreparably evil because of a free choice made by each one, and hence are the cause of fiendish evil beyond the comprehension of man. Other personal spirits are pure, having made a free choice by the grace of God, and are now messengers of divine governance in the universe. From a Christian point of view, the world of human beings can be considered a kind of battle ground, a plaything or booty to be won over by the good angels in the name of God, or by evil spirits in the name of Satan, Lucifer (see Is 14:12), or Beelzebub, “the Prince of demons” (Mt 12:24; Mk 3:22). The important point here is that each individual spirit is an intelligence having a will that is either perverted or good. Therefore each “individual substance of an intellectual nature” is to be called a person . Each is unique and each has a name, whether we know it or not.
A consequence of what has been said is that each individual substance of, an intellectual nature is a person even though that nature exists only in an embryonic stage and needs a natural course of development to reach its full potential, which for a Christian is eternal happiness with God. Once an individual substance has been constituted by matter and by a form, namely, the “human soul,” it is a true person in the strictest sense of the term. It therefore has certain natural “rights” that belong to it not by any human decree, but by the nature of a person being exactly that, a person. Any violation of those rights is a crime against humanity, not animality.
From this it also follows that no individual substance of a nonintellectual, non-human nature can possibly be a person. Thus a companionate dog, no matter how “loyal” or “intelligent” it may be, is in no way a person. Even if that dog responds to a name or its master’s presence or absence, it is not a person. To use the word person of any individual substance of a non-intellectual nature is a misuse of the term, which cannot be tolerated in philosophy. On the other hand, a group of persons may constitute a legal entity known as a corporation or “moral person,” which may be the subject of legal rights and obligations before the law. But this is merely a legitimate extension of a basically sound definition of person.
Briefly, nature is a reply to the question, “What is it?” It is the ultimate specific “source” of definite, characteristic phenomena, both static and dynamic. The active, automatic “origin” of these characteristics is the form or species of the thing, making it to be what it is, the passive, potential “abilities” of such an individual thing are the matter. The spiritual forms or species are immaterial natures: these may exist solely in the mind (such as “triangles” and “the square root of two”), or they may exist in physical reality, in which case they are necessarily intellectual substances. Person, on the other hand, is a reply to the question, “Who is it?” The person or “who” is an individual substance (material or immaterial) of an intellectual nature. In all creatures there is a distinction between person (as a supposit or quod ) and nature, as that by which ( id quo ) a thing is what it is. That is to say, in all creatures, every person “has” a nature by which he has existence. Thus existence and all actions belong to the person or supposit, but nature is the means by which the person or supposit has existence and its specific actions.
The importance of all of this will become evident when we consider the two great mysteries of our faith: the Trinity and the Incarnation.