My Thoughts on Aquinas Get Critiqued

Recently Adam Tucker of Southern Evangelical Seminary did me the honor of engaging my thoughts on Thomas Aquinas and Natural Law Theory. I thank him for that, as well as for quoting the late Greg Bahnsen in my defense. That's almost the nicest thing anybody's ever done for me.

Because Tucker's article was unfortunately published, I feel some obligation to reply.

At the outset he tackles the "charge" that "there are many interpretations of Aquinas's teachings...and that nearly 1,000 years of thinking about these issues has not settled the matter." Tucker then imagines that my point "is supposed to call into question any particular view of Thomism because, well, there are just so many interpretations of Aquinas." 

Well, no. That isn't the point at all. The point is straightforward and twofold: it signals that my criticisms of Thomism may or may not apply to all versions of it. More importantly, I was speaking at a panel discussion in which one of my interlocutors presented his revisionist version of Thomism (a far more "presuppositional" version, I might add) as "The Classical Natural Law Tradition," and then blithely dismissed any worries about the nature/grace distinction, noetic effects of sin, and so forth, as "embarrassingly misinformed." Since that was designed to "poison the well" of my forthcoming critique, I thought I'd point out that there are plenty of Thomists who would chafe at his revisionist dogmatism. This is all very clear from my remarks. It had nothing whatsoever to do with some kind of shrug-of-the-shoulders relativism about Thomistic interpretation.

Tucker agrees that talking about "intrinsic teleology" or "proper ends" is as unpopular as quoting John 3:16 in our current cultural context because "[o]ur culture has adopted bad philosophical views that have led to our current state of moral relativism and confusion." Then follows this jarring sentence: "Ignoring these erroneous views, however, and jumping straight to God does not help matters."

I don't know anyone who wants to "ignore" these erroneous views, and I'm fairly unsure what "jumping straight to God" means.

The next sentence compounds my confusion: "Most of the time, going straight to God on moral issues improperly grounds the very morality being discussed."

I'm not sure why the focus is suddenly moral issues, since we were just talking about metaphysics and epistemology. Be that as it may, Tucker's sentence literally means that morality is only properly grounded in something other than God. That's so weird a position for a Christian apologist that I assume he must mean something else.

The rest of the paragraph does little to clarify:

"Even if the person with whom we are discussing these matters accepts our appeal to God, he would then be bringing his erroneous views of reality to bear on Christianity. This is precisely what has happened for the last several hundred years, and the current intellectual state of the church is deplorable. If one rejects the ability to know basic things about sensible reality (e.g., the good of an eye is to see well), he has removed any rationally compelling reason for believing in God as well. Thus, the culture (and often times the church) concludes that one must 'presuppose' (i.e., assume) the existence of God, resort to blind faith, or find rest in his own skepticism. I am convinced the presuppositionalist has adopted the fundamental tenants [sic] of the bad philosophy he claims to be combating."

The first half of this paragraph is inscrutable to me (I've never heard the Enlightement described as [precisely!?] a period where people accepted an appeal to God), but his "thus" clarifies a few things. Tucker seems to think that "presuppositionalism" somehow doesn't believe in the ability to know basic things about sensible reality, and it is that kind of skepticism that leads to an embrace of blind fideism. He later claims that I hold the "assumption that man does not directly know sensible reality." And again: "While implicitly denying our ability to know things in themselves, Mattson...."

Here is something that might prove helpful for the reader and, more importantly, for Mr. Tucker: the entire raison d'etre of a presuppositional apologetic is to account for our obvious ability to know things, anything at all, basic or not, about sensible reality.

I honestly wish it gets better, but it doesn't. Tucker writes: "In fact, considering the numerous miracles, appeals to nature, eyewitness testimony, and personal physical appearances, we seem to see some type of empiricism (knowing sensible things) assumed in the pages of Scripture." There is nothing remotely controversial here, and I know of nobody who doesn't believe there is "some type of empiricism" assumed in Scripture. This is just very strange.

Tucker even knows that I believe in our ability to know things! But he thinks this is somehow a grudging admission: "When it comes down to it, Mattson admits that we can actually know things." Like this is an admission against interest, or I don't want it to be true, or something?

He omits my immediately following sentences, which make clear what it is we are even talking about (the entire nature/grace scheme): "I think it makes a difference whether we view this general 'reasonableness' as simply the natural state of affairs (a 'natural law,' perhaps?) or whether we view it as grace. If it is merely the natural order, we can presume upon it--indeed, so much so that we can use it, as Natual Law Theory does, to construct a general, universal epistemology under which to do business with non-believers. But one does not presume upon grace. And grace is what I think it is." This was, of course, the entire point of this section of my remarks, but Tucker seems uninterested in or at least doesn't grasp the import of the epistemic question raised here.

Suffice it to say, I have never "implied" anywhere, at any time in my life (much less in the remarks under discussion), a belief or assumption that human beings do not know things about the sensible world. None of my intellectual mentors, whether Bavinck, Van Til, Bahnsen, or Frame have ever said or implied such a thing. The entire point is one hundred-eighty degrees the opposite. The question has never been whether knowledge is possible; but, rather, how it is possible or justifiable without Christian presuppositions.

I can only suspect that Mr. Tucker's superficial foray into the world of presuppositional apologetics is by way of some unfortunate caricature learned from a very unreliable and/or grossly unsympathetic secondhand source. He certainly did not learn from Greg Bahnsen that human beings do not know things about the sensible world. He might have learned that unbelievers cannot account for or justify their knowledge on non-Christian bases, but that's quite a different claim. One that ought to be taken seriously. Sadly there's certainly no shortage of caricatures, and capable people have answered things like the "fideism" charge again and again and again.

At any rate, Tucker thinks our primary disagreement arises from whether God is what man "foremost knows." On this, I confess he's probably right. With Aquinas, he denies it. And, along with Aquinas, he simply does not even begin to do justice to Paul's seminal discussion in Romans 1:18-32. Paul says no less than five times that human beings know God, primally and inescapably: "Knowledge of God is plain to them;" "God made it plain to them;" "has been clearly seen;" "being understood;" "Although they knew God..." This is not a mere capacity for knowledge; it is actual knowledge.

It may now seem strange that I am emphasizing that human beings primally, naturally, and inescapably know the God they reject, because Tucker then writes: "Mattson lists several Scripture passages to support his view that man cannot naturally know things about God."

Oh dear. Has he forgotten in the space of mere sentences that I am supposed to be someone who thinks, contra Aquinas, that God is what man "foremost knows"? I just don't know what to say, other than to encourage him to learn enough to avoid representing opponents as saying the exact opposite of what they believe. 

Nothing in Mr. Tucker's response leads me to believe he has a firm grasp on that to which he is responding. The empirical evidence (!) points elsewhere.

One last thing. In his conclusion, he asks: "Why do humans exist with the natures they have?"

It's a great question, and I wonder if we can answer it on rational principles without that "jumping straight to God" thing.

Alas, he writes: "The only answer, I am convinced, is because God has created us as a natural kind with our specific human nature."

Well, I'm happy to report that the actual panel discussion was more fruitful and fun.

Doubting Thomas (Yes, Still)

 [I was privileged to participate in a panel discussion with Francis Beckwith on the topic of Thomas Aquinas and Natural Law Theory. We were responding to a series of lectures by J. Budziszewski. My remarks as delivered are below. They are very similar to what I posted here a year ago, with some changes. Enjoy.]

I am so pleased to participate in this conversation today, and would like to thank [....] for so graciously inviting me and Professor Beckwith, whom I greatly admire, for his willingness to participate.

Our topic is Thomas Aquinas; more specifically, the viability of a revitalized Natural Law Theory for Christian public discourse. I should admit at the outset that I am one of those Christian critics of natural law theory about whom Dr. Budziszewski has called today, "embarrassingly misinformed." But I promise I've never let that deter me before.

Let me make clear at the outset that what is in question here is not that reality is ordered by transcendent norms; for me, the question is whether Thomistic Natural Law theory is truly capable of arriving at these norms by way of its characteristic method.

There's no better way to begin than by making the root of my concerns clear. Thomistic Natural Law draws a distinction (to varying degrees of sharpness) between natural knowledge and "supernatural" knowledge, between natural reason and faith, between general truths that may be known to "unaided" reason and special truths that may only be obtained by special revelation.

This is the general contour of Thomistic epistemology, and there has been great debate over just how sharply one should draw these lines. Why the concern? It is best illustrated by a philosopher who himself maximally exploited this dichotomy: Immanuel Kant. Kant famously made his distinction between faith and reason absolute: the "noumenal" realm (that which is outside our experience) is faith's domain; the phenomenal realm (the world of our experience) is reason's sole domain. It should be noted that Kant thought he was doing God a favor--"making room for him" was his phrase; but, as Stanley Fish wryly puts it, he essentially, "kicked God upstairs and out of sight."

The Enlightenment vision of Kant and his successors was to create a public space free of faith; Reason would be the sole arbiter of public truth. Insofar as Natural Law theory is an attempt to argue for transcendent moral norms solely on the basis of natural reason and free from faith claims, it seems content to live, move, and have its being in what I believe to be an artificial construct. I am less than inclined to accept secularism's terms of participation in the public square.

Some Thomists have felt the weight of this. Henri deLubac and the Nouvelle Theologie have produced a more "integrationist" account of Thomas, arguing essentially that "pure nature" is not really a condition that is "unaided" by God's revelation or grace after all. In fact, this more integrated interpretation is what you heard just now from Professor Beckwith, and from Dr. Budziszewski today when he insisted that, for example, without divine grace no one could reason about anything at all, or when he said that Natural Law takes into account the salvation history revealed in Scripture. But I have to say: Dr. Budziszewski's vigorous effort today to paint a singular, cohesive tradition of "classical natural law" genuinely surprised me. Because, with all due respect, that is embarrassingly misinformed. 

Nicholas Wolterstorff, whom nobody would accuse of ignorance, summarizes where things stand in the scholarly world: "To say that there is not a consensus view on Aquinas's understanding of natural law is to understate drastically the depth and scope of controversy on the matter." (Justice: Rights and Wrongs [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008], 39.)

I mention all this because I think it is important to note that there are varying accounts of Thomism, and that after these well-nigh thousand years Natural Law Theory (still) isn't a settled matter. The irony of my disagreement just now with Dr. Budziszewski is that my own sympathies are with him and deLubac; the more integrationist an approach (meaning the less sharp a dichotomy between faith and reason) the better. But I also believe we do even better to rethink the entire construct.

Allow me to briefly delve into some more specific concerns about the deployment of natural law theory.

1. I am skeptical of Natural Law’s alleged advantage.

Here is how it appears to the popular mind: “We cannot resort to theology in matters of public concern because our opponents do not believe in theology.” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our opponents do not believe in nature, either. These are, after all, people who believe everything—even our very biology—is a psychological and socio-cultural construct. One recent scholar has declared that mathematics is a social construct designed by white patriarchy to oppress and marginalize others. Math. Forgive me for pointing this out: talking about an "instrinsic teleology” or "proper ends" that we can rationally discern is every bit as unpopular with our cultured despisers as quoting John 3:16. Teleology is precisely what our culture denies.

So if public discourse requires a priori agreement about fundamentals like God or Nature (an impression Natural Law Theory often gives, at least at the popular level), it strikes me that it is not in the advantageous position it imagines.

2. I am skeptical of a neat separation between general and special revelation, between the truths of reason and the truths of faith.

I find Augustine and Anselm better than Kant: knowledge—all knowledge—is “faith seeking understanding.” Scratch a truth claim deep enough, and you’ll uncover a faith commitment at the bottom. That's because we are dependent creatures who literally have no autonomous, independent place on which to epistemically stand.

General and special revelation should be viewed as an organic unity (not, as Thomas seemed to think, as parallel tracks) and so also the human knower must be viewed as an organic unity. People do not think in terms of two “sets” of propositions, each in a hermetically sealed silo, one called "faith" and the other "reason." Rather, they always come to topics shaped and influenced by everything they know. This is true even of Natural Law proponents: what they mean by their ostensibly "faith-free" references to the natural world is itself shaped by special revelation. In other words, I’m doubtful that “unaided” reason really is unaided. Try as we might to disguise it, I believe everyone's concepts of the True, Good, and Beautiful are underwritten by faith commitments.

And here's my real point: I don’t see why we should be shy or uncomfortable about this, or try to disguise it. In his book, The Disenchantment of Secular Discourse, Steven Smith compellingly shows that none of the bulwarks of our “secular” society (e.g., human dignity, equality, etc.) are arrived at by strict reason—rather, all parties smuggle their ideological faith commitments into the public square by reassuringly telling themselves and everybody else that the arguments are based on strictly “secular” reason, when they are in fact nothing of the sort.

3. I’m skeptical of Natural Law Theory’s assessment of the human epistemic condition.

I think we know what true unaided reason is. It is “futile” and “darkened,” (Rom. 1) “depraved,” “enslaved to the flesh,” “death,” “hostile to God,” “unwilling” and “unable” to submit to him (Rom. 8), and “foolish” and “unspiritual” (1 Cor. 1). None of these characterizations are my own. Rather, they are how the Bible characterizes the fallen human mind. The problem is not so much that people don’t believe in God; it is that they won’t believe in God. It is a mistake to believe that human reasoning capacities are generally amenable to arguments that point in God’s direction.

Now, of course unbelievers know lots of things and deploy their mental resources very successfully. I readily and thankfully admit it! After all, I'm reading this on a near-miraculous device created by Steve Jobs, who, as far as I know, was not on particularly close terms with God. But I think it makes a difference whether we view this general “reasonableness” as simply the natural state of affairs (a “natural law,” perhaps?) or whether we view it as grace. If it is merely the natural order, we can presume upon it—indeed, so much so that we can use it, as Natural Law Theory does, to construct a general, universal epistemology under which to do business with non-believers. But one does not presume upon grace. And grace is what I think it is.

4. I am skeptical of halfway-houses.

Don’t misunderstand me: if a natural law argument persuades someone to, say, change their mind on the morality of abortion, I will rejoice. But I have doubts about an overall approach that appears satisfied with that. It seems to me one thing to not explicitly ground our foundational convictions in the Bible for a particular existential and/or situational reason (e.g., maybe quoting Scripture right now isn’t the best tactic). But it seems an altogether different thing to never talk about God or his Word in public affairs as a matter of principle.

I am not talking about the caricature of the guy who just quotes Bible verses as “conversation stoppers.” I am talking about a willingness to boldly give deep and “thick” biblical and theological descriptions of reality, to allow what we really believe to organically, openly, and unashamedly shape our entire view of Life, the Universe, and Everything. I am quite confident that can be done in conversation-enriching ways. In fact, I think it is when we actually get to the heart of the matter, the antithesis between two deep convictions on the nature of reality and ethics and knowledge, that conversations actually get interesting.

5. This one is a question:

Isn’t it possible that our reluctance to engage in this kind of “thick-description” biblical and theological discourse in public affairs is one of the culprits of our cultural decline?

Why is it so easy for someone—even highly educated, lettered academics—to describe the run-of-the-mill Christian believer as a mindless “bigot”? To instinctively assume there can be no intellectual reasons for convictions brought by faith? Have not we ourselves given this very impression: reason and faith occupy two different spheres?

What if we are to blame? We have been dutifully playing by the Enlightenment's cardinal rule, “Leave God, the Bible, and your faith out of it!” Should it surprise us that we wake up to find Secularism dominating the field? I’m concerned that some versions of the Natural Law renewal--those that emphasize an artificial dichotomy between faith and reason--represent a doubling down on a failed strategy that got us here, rather than a real advance.