Thomas Aquinas: Moral Philosophy

The moral philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) involves a merger of at

least two apparently disparate traditions: Aristotelian eudaimonism and Christian
theology. On the one hand, Aquinas follows Aristotle in thinking that an act is good or
bad depending on whether it contributes to or deters us from our proper human end—
the telos or final goal at which all human actions aim. That telos is eudaimonia, or
happiness, where “happiness” is understood in terms of completion, perfection, or
well-being. Achieving happiness, however, requires a range of intellectual and moral
virtues that enable us to understand the nature of happiness and motivate us to seek it
in a reliable and consistent way.
On the other hand, Aquinas believes that we can never achieve complete or final
happiness in this life. For him, final happiness consists in beatitude, or supernatural
union with God. Such an end lies far beyond what we through our natural human
capacities can attain. For this reason, we not only need the virtues, we also need God
to transform our nature—to perfect or “deify” it—so that we might be suited to
participate in divine beatitude. Moreover, Aquinas believes that we inherited a
propensity to sin from our first parent, Adam. While our nature is not wholly
corrupted by sin, it is nevertheless diminished by sin’s stain, as evidenced by the fact
that our wills are at enmity with God’s. Thus we need God’s help in order to restore
the good of our nature and bring us into conformity with his will. To this end, God
imbues us with his grace which comes in the form of divinely instantiated virtues and
gifts.
This article first considers Aquinas’s metaethical views. Those views provide a good
context for understanding his unique synthesis of Christian teaching and Aristotelian
philosophy. Also, his meta-ethical views provide an ideal background for
understanding other features of his moral philosophy such as the nature of human
action, virtue, natural law, and the ultimate end of human beings. While contemporary
moral philosophers tend to address these subjects as discrete topics of study,
Aquinas’s treatment of them yields a bracing, comprehensive view of the moral life.
This article presents these subjects in a way that illuminates their interconnected roles.
Table of Contents
Metaethics
The Nature of Human Action
The Cardinal Virtues
Prudence
Temperance
Courage
Justice
Natural Law
Charity and Beatitude
1. Metaethics
Aquinas’s metaethical views are indebted to the writings of several Christian thinkers,
particularly Augustine’s Confessions, Boethius’s De hebdomadibus, and perhaps
Anselm’s Monologium. Due to the constraints of space, the present section will only
consider Augustine’s influence on Aquinas’s views.
According to Augustine, “things that exist are good” (Confessions VII.12). This claim
is meant to express a basic metaphysical idea, namely, that if something exists, then it
necessarily has some degree of goodness. Augustine’s argument for this claim is as
follows. We can divide existing things into two categories: incorruptible things and
corruptible things, with the latter being inferior to the former. If something is
incorruptible, then by definition it cannot be made worse; that is, it cannot lose
whatever goodness it may have. On the other hand, if something is corruptible, then
it can be made worse. Notice that a thing’s being corruptible presupposes having
goodness. Otherwise, it would not have any goodness it could lose. While this
argument may be sufficient to show that corruptible things necessarily have goodness,
Augustine uses it to identify a problem with the view that something can exist even if
it has no goodness at all. For if something has no goodness, then it cannot lose
goodness and must therefore be incorruptible. And since incorruptibility is better than
corruptibility, it looks as if something lacking goodness is better than its corruptible
counterpart, which has goodness. Clearly, this is incoherent. Augustine writes: “What
can be more monstrous than to maintain that by losing all [its] goodness [something
can] become better” (Ibid.)? Yet this is precisely the implication of claiming that
something with no goodness whatsoever can exist. According to Augustine, the only
remedy for this problem is to deny the existence of things that have no goodness. If
something exists, then it must necessarily have goodness.
Echoing the general thrust of Augustine’s argument, Aquinas claims that “Goodness
and being are really the same.” (Summa Theologiae [hereafter ST] Ia 5.1). The term
“being” here is roughly equivalent to what is actual or existing. Thus what Aquinas
means to convey is that something is good insofar as it actual. By contrast, evil has no
actuality in its own right. It would be a mistake, then, to speak of evil as an actual
“thing,” if by “thing” we mean an existing being or quality. For evil is
a deprivation of what is actual, like blindness or sickness. For this reason, Aquinas
says that something is evil “inasmuch as it is deprived of some particular good that
pertains to its due or proper perfection” (QDM 1.1 ad 1; ST Ia 48.2 passim). Again,
Augustine’s influence is clear. For him, something is evil insofar as its existence is
diminished or corrupted in some way. If something had no goodness whatsoever, it
would lack all goods, even the good of existence itself. Augustine says, “if something
where deprived of all goodness, it would be altogether nothing; therefore as long as
something is, it is good” (Confessions,VII.12).
Aquinas’s meta-ethics is also indebted to an Aristotelian view of living things.
Following Aristotle, Aquinas says that living things are composites of matter and
substantial form. By “substantial form” he means a principle that organizes matter
into a discrete substance equipped with certain powers or “potentialities.” On this
view, a thing’s substantial form constitutes the nature a thing has; it is the
metaphysical aspect in virtue of which a substance is the kind of thing it is and has the
species-defining powers it has (ST Ia 76.1; Cf. Ia 5.5; IaIIae 85.4). Aquinas goes on to
argue that all substances seek their own perfection (ST Ia 6.1). That is, they all seek as
their final end a fully realized state of existence or actuality. Yet a substance cannot
achieve that final end without exercising the powers it has in virtue of its substantial
form. As Scott MacDonald explains: “The end, completion, or perfection of a natural
substance is its having fully actualized its specifying capacity [or power], its actually
performing the activity for which its form or nature provides the capacity”
(MacDonald, 1991a: 5). In other words, a substance achieves its perfection through
the proper exercise of its species-defining powers. And because Aquinas thinks that
existence and goodness have the same referent, it appears that the proper exercise of
those powers also contributes to that substance’s goodness. For “since the state or
activity that constitutes a substance’s full actuality is that substance’s end and an end
is good, that state or activity constitutes the substance’s good.” (Ibid.).
Aquinas considers a fairly straightforward objection to this view: “Goodness can be
more or less. But being cannot be more or less. Therefore goodness differs from
being” (ST Ia 5.1 obj. 3). In other words, goodness is a relative property. Some people
are morally better than other people. Some horses are more developed and better
trained than other horses. Some organs are healthier and function better than other
organs. In each case, the goodness things have will not be identical in terms of
quantity. On the other hand, being (understood in terms of being actual or existing) is
not varied in this way. Something either exists or it doesn’t. This crucial difference
seems to prove that being and goodness cannot be the same. In addressing this worry,
Aquinas concedes that there is a kind of existence, or being, that is all-or-nothing. He
calls this “substantial being,” or being simply. Something has substantial being as long
as it is actual or exists (ST Ia 5.1 ad 1). We might also claim that every thing that has
substantial being also has substantial goodness. That is, something is good insofar it
exists or has being.
On the other hand, members of the same species can enjoy different grades of
maturity or completeness. As Norman Kretzmann and Eleonore Stump explain,
something may be “a more or less fully developed actualized specimen” (Kretzmann
and Stump, 1988: 292). For example, a healthy adult dog is more developed—that is,
more actualized—than a puppy, whose fledgling state prevents it from participating in
those activities characteristic of more mature dogs (e.g., reproduction, nurturing their
young, etc.). The actuality referred to here is what Aquinas calls relative being. He
says: “by its substantial being, everything is said to have being simply; but by any
further actuality it is said to have being relatively” (STIa 5.1 ad 1). The idea of
“relative being” refers to the quality that accrues when a living thing exercises its
species-defining capacities and, in turn, becomes a more perfect. Again, by “more
perfect” Aquinas simply means “more actual.” For “anything whatever is perfect to
the extent that it is in actuality, since potentiality without actuality is imperfect”
(ST IaIIae 3.2). And just as a thing’s relative being is a matter of degree, so there is a
kind of goodness—“relative goodness”—that corresponds to the degree of actuality a
thing has. For “goodness [in the current sense] is spoken of as more or less according
to a thing’s superadded actuality”—the kind of actuality that goes beyond a thing’s
mere substantial being (STIa 5.1 ad 3; ST IaIIae 18.1; SCG III 3, 4).
The forgoing analysis provides the conceptual background for understanding the
nature of human goodness. As we have seen, something is good to the extent that its
species-defining powers are properly actualized. For Aquinas, the species-defining
characteristic of human beings is reason. And since something achieves goodness by
exercising its species-defining powers, it follows that reason’s proper exercise will
result in human goodness. Kretzmann and Stump put the point this way: “human
goodness, like any goodness appropriate to one’s species, is acquired by performing
instances of the operations specific to its species, which in the case of humanity is the
rational employment of rational powers” (Kretzmann and Stump, 1988: 287). In short,
human goodness ultimately consists in the proper exercise of a person’s rational
capacities. This analysis of human goodness serves to guide our evaluation of human
actions. Whether an action is good (or bad) depends on whether it is commensurate
with (or contrary to) our nature as rational beings. In this way, the real difference
between good and bad actions is a difference in relation to reason (ST IaIIae 18.5).

2. The Nature of Human Action

According to Aquinas’s metaethics, human goodness depends on performing acts that
are in accord with our human nature. But what sort of acts are those? In other words,
what feature or features serve to distinguish human acts from acts of a different kind?
Here we must go beyond the simple claim that an action is human just insofar as it is
rational. For while this claim is no doubt true, the nature of rationality itself needs
explanation. This section seeks to explore more fully just what rationality or reason
consists in according to Aquinas. Only then can we understand the nature of human
action and the end at which such action aims.
Aquinas provides the most comprehensive treatment of this subject in the second part
of the Summa theologiae. There, he explains that reason is comprised of two powers:
one cognitive, the other appetitive. The cognitive power is the intellect, which enables
us to know and understand. The intellect also enables us to apprehend the goodness a
thing has. The appetitive power of reason is called the will. Aquinas describes the will
as a native desire for the understood good. That is, it is an appetite that is responsive
to the intellect’s estimations of what is good or choiceworthy (ST Ia
82.1; QDV 3.22.12). On this view, all acts of will are dependent on antecedent acts of
intellect; the intellect must supply the will with the object to which the latter inclines.
In turn, that object moves the will as a final cause “because the good understood is the
object of the will, and moves it as an end” (ST Ia 82.4).
From the abbreviated account of intellect and will provided thus far, it may appear
that the intellect necessitates the will’s acts by its own evaluative portrayals of
goodness. Yet Aquinas insists that no single account of the good can necessitate the
will’s movement. Most goods do not have a necessary connection to happiness. That
is, we do not need them in order to be happy; thus the will does not incline to them of
necessity (ST Ia 82.2). But what of those goods that do have a necessary connection to
happiness? What about the goodness of God or those virtues that lead us to God “in
whom alone true happiness consists” (Ibid.)? According to Aquinas, the will does not
incline necessarily to these goods, either. For in this life we cannot see God in all his
goodness, and thus the connection between God, virtue, final happiness will always
appear opaque. Aquinas writes: “until through the certitude of the Divine Vision the
necessity of such connection be shown, the will does not adhere to God of necessity,
nor to those things which are of God” (Ibid.).
In this life, then, our intellectual limitations prevent us from apprehending what is
good simpliciter. Instead, we are presented with competing goods between which we
must choose (ST Ia 82.2 ad 1). Some goods provide immediate gratification but no
long-term fulfillment. Other goods may precipitate hardship but eventually make us
better people. Indeed, sometimes we must exercise considerable effort in ignoring
superficial or petty pleasures while attending to more difficult yet enduring goods. To
employ Aquinas’s parlance, the will must exercise efficient causality on the intellect
by instructing it to consider some goods rather than others (ST Ia 82.4). This happens
whenever we, through our own determination, direct our attention away from certain
desirable objects and toward those we think are more choiceworthy. Of course, our
character will often govern the goods we desire and ultimately choose. Even so,
Aquinas does not think that our character wholly determines our choices, as evidenced
by the fact that we sometimes make decisions that are contrary to our established
habits. This is actually fortunate for us, for it suggests that even people disposed
toward evil can manage to make good choices and perhaps begin to correct their more
hardened and inordinate inclinations.
Now we are prepared to answer the question posed at the beginning of this section:
what actions are those we can designate as human? The answer is this: human actions
are those over which one has voluntary control (ST IaIIae 1.1). Unlike non-rational
animals, human beings choose their actions according to a reasoned account of what
they think is good. Seen this way, human actions are not products of deterministic
causal forces. They are products of our own free judgment (liberum arbitrium), the
exercise of which is a function of both intellect and will (ST Ia 83.3). When discussing
what it is that makes an action “human,” then, Aquinas has in mind those capacities
whereby one judges and chooses what is good. For it is through one’s ability to
deliberate and judge in this way that one exercises mastery over one’s actions
(ST IaIIae 1.1).
So far, we’ve established that human actions are actions that are governed by a
reasoned consideration of what is good. Aquinas also thinks that the good in question
functions as an end—the object for the sake of which the agent acts. “For the object of
the will is the end and the good” (Ibid.). There are two worries that emerge here, both
of which can be resolved rather quickly. First, it seems we do not always act for the
sake of an end. Many actions we perform are not products of our own deliberation and
voluntary judgment (like nervous twitches, coughs, or unconscious tapping of the
foot). Yet Aquinas points out that acts of this sort are not properly human acts “since
they do not proceed from the deliberation of the reason” (Ibid., ad 3). In order for an
act to count as a human act, it must be a product of the agent’s reasoned consideration
about what is good. Second, it appears that Aquinas is mistaken when he says that the
ends for the sake of which we act are good. Clearly, many things we pursue in life
are not good. Aquinas does not deny this. He agrees that cognitive errors and
excessive passion can distort our moral views and, in turn, incline us to choose the
wrong things. Aquinas’s point, however, is that our actions are done for the sake of
what we believe (rightly or wrongly) to be good. Whether the ends we pursue are in
fact good is a separate question—one to which we will return below.
Aquinas does not simply wish to defend the claim that human acts are for the sake of
some good. Following Augustine, he insists that our actions are for the sake of
a final good—a last end which we desire for its own sake and for the sake of which
everything else is chosen (ST Ia 1.6 sed contra ). If there was no such end, we would
have a hard time explaining why anyone chooses to do anything at all. The reason for
this is as follows. Aquinas argues that for every action or series of actions there must
be something that is first in “order of intention” (ST Ia 1.4). In other words, there must
be some end or good that is intrinsically desirable and serves the will’s final cause.
According to this view, such a good is a catalyst for desire and is therefore necessary
in order for us to act for the sake of what we desire. MacDonald writes, “one can
explain [a given action] only by appealing to some end or good that is itself capable of
moving the will—that is, by appealing to an end that is viewed desirable in itself”
(MacDonald, 1991b: 44). Were you to remove the intrinsically desirable end, then you
would remove the very principle that motivates us to act in the first place (ST IaIIae
1.4). This account also helps explain why we cannot postulate an “indefinite series of
ends” when explaining human actions (Ibid.). For the existence of an indefinite series
of ends would mean that there is no intrinsically desirable good for the sake of which
we act. In the absence of any such good, we would not desire anything and thus never
have the necessary motivation to act (Ibid.). So there must be a last end or final good
that we desire for its own sake.
This last claim still does not capture what Aquinas ultimately wishes to show, namely,
that there is a singleend for the sake of which all of us act (ST IaIIae 1.5). To put the
matter as starkly as possible, Aquinas wants to argue that every human act
of every human being is for the sake of a single end that is the same
for everyone (ST IaIIae 1.5-7). The previous argument did not require us to think that
the final end for which we act is the same for everyone. Nor did it show that the end at
which every human being aims consists in a specific, solitary good (as opposed to a
constellation of goods). What, exactly, is this last end at which we aim? As we saw in
the preceding section, all of us seek after our own perfection (ST Ia 1.6). We do so by
performing actions we think will—directly or indirectly—contribute to or facilitate a
life that is more complete or fulfilling than it would be otherwise. In other words, the
last end—the end or good that we desire for its own sake—is happiness, whereby
“happiness” Aquinas means the sort of perfection or fulfillment just described.
Admittedly, this claim is fairly abstract and uncontroversial. After all, Aquinas does
not say whathappiness consists in–the thing in which it is realized. He simply wishes
to show that there is something everyone desires and pursues, namely, ultimate
fulfillment. He says, “everyone desires the fulfillment of their perfection, and it is
precisely this fulfillment in which the last end consists” (ST IaIIae 1.7; emphasis
mine). So construed, the idea of the last end is, as MacDonald explains, a “formal
concept…of the complete and perfect good, that which completely satisfies desire”
(MacDonald, 1991b: 61). But while everyone acts for the sake of such an end
abstractly conceived, Aquinas recognizes that there is considerable disagreement over
what it is in which happiness consists (ST IaIIae 1.7). So there is a difference between
the idea of the last end (an idea for the sake of which everyone acts) and the specific
object in which the last end is thought to consist (Ibid.). Some people think that the
last end consists in the acquisition of external goods, like riches, power, or fame
(ST IaIIae 2.1-4). Others think it consists in goods of the body, like comeliness or
physical pleasure (ST IaIIae 2.5 and 6). And still others think that happiness consists
in acquiring goods of the soul such as knowledge, virtue, and friendship (ST IaIIae
2.7). But as laudable as some of these good are (particularly those of the latter
category), they are all beset with unique deficiencies that preclude them from
providing the kind of complete fulfillment characteristic of final happiness.
What is it, then, in which our last end really consists or is realized? For Aquinas, the
last end of happiness can only consist in that which is perfectly good, which is God.
Because God is perfect goodness, he is the only one capable of fulfilling our heart’s
deepest longing and facilitating the perfection at which we aim. Thus he says that
human beings “attain their last end by knowing and loving God” (ST IaIIae 1.8).
Aquinas refers to this last end—the state in which perfect happiness consists—as the
beatific vision. The beatific vision is a supernatural union with God, the enjoyment of
which surpasses the satisfaction afforded by those goods people sometimes associate
with the last end. But if perfect happiness consists in the beatific vision, then why do
people fail to seek it? Actually, all people do seek it—at least in some sense. As we
have already noted, all of us desire our own perfection, which is synonymous with
final happiness. Unfortunately, many of our actions are informed by mistaken views
of what happiness really consists in. These views may be the result of some
intellectual or cognitive error (say if one’s views are the result of ignorance or ill-
informed deliberation). But more than likely, our mistaken views will be the result of
certain appetitive excesses that corrupt our understanding of what is really good. For
this reason, good actions require excellences—or virtues—of both mind and appetite.
The next section seeks to explain more fully what those virtues are and why we need
them.

3. The Cardinal Virtues

Aquinas offers several definitions of virtue. According to one very general account, a
virtue is a habit that “disposes an agent to perform its proper operation or movement”
(DVC 1; ST IaIIae 49.1). Because we know that reason is the proper operation of
human beings, it follows that a virtue is a habit that disposes us to reason well. This
account is too broad for our present purposes. While all virtues contribute in some
way to our rational perfection, not every virtue disposes us to live morally good lives.
Some virtues are strictly intellectual perfections, such as the ability to grasp universals
or the causes underlying the world’s origin and operation. For the purposes of this
essay, our concern will be with those virtues that are related to moral decision and
action. That is, we will consider those virtues which Aquinas (following Augustine)
describes as “good [qualities] of mind whereby we live righteously” (ST IaIIae 55.4).
A cursory glance at the second part of the Summa Theologiae would reveal a host of
virtues that are indicative of human goodness. But there are essentially four virtues
from which Aquinas’s more extensive list flows. These virtues are prudence, justice,
temperance, and courage (ST IaIIae 61.2). Aquinas refers to these virtues as the
“cardinal” virtues. They are the principle habits on which the rest of the virtues hinge
(cardo) (Rickaby, 2003). To put the matter another way, each cardinal virtue refers to
a general type of rectitude that has various specifications. For example, the virtue of
prudence (which we will consider in more detail shortly) denotes a “certain rectitude
of discretion in any actions or matters whatever” (ST IaIIae 61.4; 61.3). Any virtue
the point of which is to promote discretion with respect to action will be considered a
part of prudence. Similarly, temperance concerns the moderation of passion, and thus
will include any virtue that seeks to restrain those desires of a more or less insatiable
sort (Ibid.).
Moreover, Aquinas thinks the cardinal virtues provide general templates for the most
salient forms of moral activity: commanding action (prudence); giving to those what
is due (justice); curbing the passions (temperance); and strengthening the passions
against fear (courage) (IaIIae 61.3). A more detailed sketch of these virtues follows
(although I will address them in an order that is different from the one Aquinas
provides).
a. Prudence
In order to act well, we need to make good judgments about how we should behave.
This is precisely the sort of habit associated with prudence, which Aquinas defines as
“wisdom concerning human affairs” (STIIaIIae 47.2 ad 1) or “right reason with
respect to action” (ST IIaIIae 47.4). In order to make good moral judgments, a twofold
knowledge is required: one must know (1) the general moral principles that guide
actions and (2) the particular circumstances in which a decision is required. For
“actions are about singular matters: and so it is necessary for the prudent man to know
both the universal principles of reason, and the singulars about which actions are
concerned” (ST IIaIIae 47.3; Cf. STIaIIae 18.3). This passage may appear to suggest
that prudence involves a fairly simple and straightforward process of applying moral
rules to specific situations. But this is somewhat misleading since the activity of
prudence involves a fairly developed ability to evaluate situations themselves. As
Thomas Hibbs explains: “prudence involves not simply the subordination of
particulars to appropriate universals, but the appraisal of concrete, contingent
circumstances” (Hibbs, 2001: 92). From this perspective, good decisions will always
be responsive to what our situation requires. Thus we cannot simply consult a list of
moral prescriptions in determining what we should do. We must also “grasp what is
pertinent and to assess what ought to be done in complex circumstances” (Ibid., 98).
According to Aquinas, then, the virtue of prudence is a kind of intellectual aptitude
that enables us to make judgments that are consonant with (and indeed ordered to) our
proper end (ST IaIIae 57.5). Note here that prudence does not establish the end at
which we aim. Our end is the human good, which is predetermined by our rational
nature (ST IIaIIae 47.6). Nor does prudence desire that end; for whether we desire our
proper end depends on whether we have the rights sorts of appetitive inclinations (as
we shall see below). According to Aquinas, prudence illuminates for us the course of
action deemed most appropriate for achieving our antecedently established telos. It
does this through three acts: (1) counsel, whereby we inquire about the available
means of achieving the end; (2) judgment, whereby we determine the proper means
for achieving the end; and finally (3) command, whereby we apply that judgment
(ST IIaIIae 47.8). While we need a range of appetitive excellences in order to make
good choices, we also need certain intellectual excellences as well. That is, we must
be able to deliberate and choose well with respect to what is ultimately good for us.
As a cardinal virtue, prudence functions as a principal virtue on which a variety of
other excellences hinge. Those excellences include: memory, intelligence, docility,
shrewdness, reason, foresight, circumspection, and caution (ST IIaIIae 49.1-8).
Without these excellences, we may commit a number of cognitive errors that may
prevent us from acting in a morally appropriate way. For example, we may reject the
guidance of good counsel; make decisions precipitously; or act thoughtlessly by
failing “to judge rightly through contempt or neglect of those things on which a right
judgment depends” (ST IIaIIae 53.4). We may also act for the sake of goods that are
contrary to our nature. This invariably happens when the passions cloud our judgment
and make deficient objects of satisfaction look more choiceworthy than they really
are. In order to make reliable judgments about what is really good, our passions need
some measure of restraint so that they do not corrupt good judgment. In short,
prudence depends on virtues of the appetite, and it is to these virtues we now turn.
b. Temperance
Temperance has a twofold meaning. In a general sense, the term denotes a kind of
moderation common to every moral virtue (ST IIaIIae 141.2). In its more restricted
sense, temperance concerns the moderation of physical pleasures, especially those
associated with eating, drinking, and sex (ST IIaIIae 141.4). We display a common
propensity to sacrifice our well-being for the sake of these transient goods. Thus we
need some virtue that serves to restrain what Aquinas calls “concupiscible passion” –
the appetite whereby we desire what is pleasing and avoid what is harmful (ST Ia
82.2). Temperance is that virtue, as it denotes a restrained desire for physical
gratification (ST IIaIIae 141.2, 3).
Aquinas does not think that temperance eradicates our desire for bodily pleasure. Nor
does he think that temperance is a matter of desiring physical pleasure less. Such a
description suggests that physical gratification is an innately deficient type of
enjoyment. Yet Aquinas denies this. Physical pleasure, he says, is the result of the
body’s natural operations (ST IIaIIae 141.4). According to Aquinas, the purpose of
temperance is to refine the way we enjoy bodily pleasures. Specifically, it creates in
the agent a proper sense of moderation with respect to what is pleasurable. For a
person can more easily subordinate herself to reason when her passions are not
excessive or deficient. On this view, bodily enjoyment can in fact be an integral part
of a rational life. For the moderated enjoyment of bodily pleasure safeguards the good
of reason and actually facilitates a more enduring kind of satisfaction. Thus Aquinas
insists that “sensible and bodily goods … are not in opposition to reason, but are
subject to it as instruments which reason employs in order to attain its proper end”
(ST IIaIIae 141.3).
Like prudence, temperance is a cardinal virtue. There are a host of subsidiary virtues
that fall under temperance because they serve to modify the most insatiable human
passions. For example, chastity,sobriety and abstinence—which denote a
retrenchment of sex, drink, and food, respectively—are (predictably) all parts of
temperance. Yet there are other virtues associated with temperance that may strike the
reader as surprising. For example, Aquinas argues that humility is a part of
temperance. Humility aims to restrain the immoderate desire for what one cannot
achieve. While humility is not concerned with tempering the appetites associated with
touch, it nevertheless consists in a kind of restraint and thus bears a formal
resemblance to temperance. He says: “whatever virtues restrain or suppress, and the
actions which moderate the impetuosity of the passions, are considered parts of
temperance” (ST IIaIIae 161.4). Thus Aquinas also thinks meekness, clemency,
and studiousness are parts of temperance. They, too, restrain certain appetitive drives:
specifically anger, the desire to punish, and the desire to pursue vain curiosities,
respectively.
c. Courage
Temperance and its subsidiary virtues restrain the strong appetite, such as the sexual
appetite, but courage and its subsidiary virtues modify what Aquinas calls the
irascible appetite. By “irascible appetite” Aquinas means the desire for that which is
difficult to attain or avoid (ST IaIIae 23.1). Occasionally, the difficulty in achieving or
avoiding certain objects can give rise to various degrees of fear and, in turn,
discourage us from adhering to reason’s instruction. In these cases we may refuse to
endure the pain or discomfort required for achieving our proper human good. Note
here that fear is not innately contrary to reason. After all, there are some things that
we should fear, like an untimely death or a bad reputation. Only when fear prevents us
from facing what we ought to endure does it become inimical to reason (ST IIaIIae
125.1). In these cases, we need a virtue that moderates those appetites that prevent
from undertaking more daunting tasks. According to Aquinas, courage is that virtue.
We need courage to restrain our fears so that we might endure harrowing
circumstances. Yet courage not only mollifies our fears, it also combats the
unreasonable zeal to overcome them. An excessive desire to face fearful
circumstances constitutes a kind of recklessness that can easily hasten one’s demise.
Thus we need courage in order to both curb excessive fear and modify unreasonable
daring (ST IIaIIae 123.3). Without courage, we will be either governed by irrational
fear or a recklessness that eschews good counsel, making us vulnerable to harm
unnecessarily.
Like prudence and temperance, courage is a cardinal virtue. Those with courage will
also have a considerable degree of endurance. For one must be able to “stand
immovable in the midst of dangers,” especially those dangers that threaten bodily
harm and death (ST IIaIIae 123.6). Lack of endurance will no doubt undermine one’s
ability to bear life’s travails. The courageous person must also be confident (which is
closely aligned with magnanimity). For he will not only have to endure pain and
suffering, he must aggressively confront the obstacles that stand in the way of
achieving his proper good. His success in confronting those obstacles requires that he
exercise a “strength of hope” which arises from a confidence in his own strength, the
strength of others, or the promises of God. Such hope enables him to confront threats
and challenges without reservation (ST IIaIIae 129.6). The courageous person will
also display magnificence, that is, a sense of nobility with respect to the importance of
his endeavors. Quoting Tully, Aquinas underscores the value of what the courageous
person seeks to attain by executing his actions with a “greatness of purpose”
(ST IIaIIae 128.1). Finally, the courageous person will
havepatience and perseverance. That is, he will not be broken by stress or sorrow, nor
will he be wearied or discouraged due to the exigencies of his endeavors (Ibid.).
d. Justice
The virtues we have considered thus far concern our own state. The virtue of justice,
however, governs our relationships with others (ST IIaIIae 57.1). Specifically, it
denotes a sustained or constant willingness to extend to each person what he or she
deserves (ST IIaIIae 58.1). Beyond this, Aquinas’s account of justice exhibits
considerable breadth, complexity, and admits of various distinctions. Constraints of
space, however, force me to mention only two sets of distinctions: (1) legal (or
general) and particular justice, and (2) commutative and distributive justice.
The purpose of legal justice is to govern our actions according to the common good
(ST IIaIIae 58.6). Construed this way, justice is a general virtue which concerns not
individual benefits but community welfare. According to Aquinas, everyone who is a
member of a community stands to that community as a part to a whole (ST IIaIIae
58.5). Whatever affects the part also affects the whole. And so whatever is good (or
harmful) for oneself will also be good (or harmful) for the community of which one is
a part. For this reason, we should expect the good community to enact laws that will
govern its members in ways that are beneficial to everyone. This focus—the welfare
of the community—is what falls under the purview of legal justice.
A clarification is in order. Aquinas acknowledges that legal justice does not appear to
be altogether different from the virtues we previously considered. After all, courage,
temperance, and prudence are just as likely to contribute to others’ welfare as legal
justice. Yet these virtues differ logically from legal justice because they have specific
objects of their own (ST IIaIIae 58.6). Whereas legal justice concerns the common
good, prudence concerns commanding action, temperance concerns curbing
concupiscent passion, and courage concerns strengthening irascible passion against
fear. To put the matter as baldly as possible, the purpose of the other virtues is to
make us good people; making us good citizens is the end at which legal justice aims
(Ibid., sed contra). Of course, it would be a mistake to conclude from this account that
the other virtues have nothing to do with the common good. Failure to moderate our
baser appetites not only forestalls the development of personal virtue but leads to acts
which are contrary to others’ well being. For example, restraining impetuous sexual
appetite is the province of temperance. But as Thomas Williams insightfully points
out, “sexuality [also] has implications for the common good.” For “there are precepts
of justice that regulate our sex lives: fornication and adultery are violations not only of
chastity but also of justice” (Williams, 2005: xvii). Thus Aquinas insists that
temperance can do more than just modify our sexual drives. So long as it is shaped or
informed by legal justice, temperance can direct us to preserve the common good in
our actions (ST IIaIIae 58.6). We can say the same for prudence and courage. Legal
justice must govern all acts of virtue to ensure that they achieve their end in a way that
is commensurate with the good of others.
Now, we cannot fulfill the demands of justice only by considering what legal (or
general) justice requires. We also need particular justice—the virtue which governs
our interactions with individual citizens. Unlike general justice, particular justice
directs us not to the good of the community but to the good of individual neighbors,
colleagues, and other people with whom we interact regularly. Initially, it may appear
as if particular justice is a superfluous virtue. As one objection to Aquinas’s view
states, “general justice directs man sufficiently in all his relations with other men.
Therefore there is no need for a particular justice” (ST IIaIIae 58.7 obj. 1). Aquinas
agrees that general justice can direct us to the good of others, but only indirectly
(ST IIaIIae 58.7 ad 1). It does this by providing us with very general precepts (do not
steal, do not murder, etc) the point of which is to help us preserve the common good
in our actions. Yet no situation requiring justice is the same, and thus our
considerations of what is just must extend beyond what these general precepts dictate.
We must be mindful of individual needs and judicious when applying these precepts.
This is why Aquinas insists that the proximate concern of particular justice cannot be
the common good but the good of individuals (Ibid.). In fulfilling its purpose,
however, particular justice is a means of preserving community welfare.
Following Aristotle, Aquinas identifies two species of particular justice that deserve
attention:commutative and distributive justice. Both seek to preserve equality between
persons by giving to each person what is due. Yet Aquinas notes that there are
“different kinds of due,” and this fact necessitates the current distinction (ST IIaIIae
61.1 ad 5; ST IIaIIae 61.2 ad 2). Commutative justice concerns the “mutual dealings”
between individual citizens (ST IIaIIae 61.1). Specifically, it seeks to ensure that those
who are buying and selling conduct their business fairly (In NE V.928). In this context
“what is due” is a kind of equality whereby “one person should pay back to the other
just so much as he has become richer out of that which belonged to the other”
(ST IIaIIae 61.2). In other words, the value of a product should be equal to what one
pays for that product. Similarly, a person should be paid an amount that is comparable
to the value of what he sells. In short, the kind of equality commutative justice seeks
to preserve is a matter of quantity (Ibid; In NE V.950).
Distributive justice concerns the way in which collective goods and responsibilities
“are [fairly] apportioned among people who stand in a social community” (In
NE V.927). Yet with respect to distributive justice, what a person receives is not a
matter of equal quantity but “due proportion” (STIIaIIae 61.2). After all, it would be
unjust if “laborers are paid equal wages for doing an unequal amount of work, or are
paid unequal wages for doing an equal amount of work” (In NE V 4.935). Aquinas
also thinks that a person of higher social station will require a greater proportion of
goods (ST IIaIIae 61.2). In matters of distributive justice, then, “what is due” will be
relative to what one deserves (or needs, since Aquinas also thinks that there is a moral
obligation to provide for the poor) depending on his efforts or station in life.
This brief account of justice may seem like a stale precursor to more modern accounts
of justice, particularly those that depict justice in terms of equality and economic
fairness. Yet a brief survey of the virtues that hinge on justice reveals an account that
is richer than the foregoing paragraphs may suggest. For Aquinas, justice is
principally about our relations to others, and so he thinks that “all the virtues that are
directed to another person may by reason of this common aspect be annexed to
justice” (ST IIaIIae 80.1). The virtues Aquinas has in mind here are not simply those
that regulate our relationships with other human beings, but with God. Thus he insists
that religion is a virtue that falls under justice, since it involves offering God his due
honor (Ibid; ST IIaIIae 81.1). The same can be said for piety andobservance, since
they seek to render to God service and deference, respectively. Other virtues annexed
to justice include truthfulness, since the just person will always present himself to
others without pretext or falsehood; gratitude, which involves an appreciation for
others’ kindness; and revenge, whereby we respond to or defend ourselves against
others’ injurious actions (Ibid.). Finally, Aquinas includes
bothliberality and friendship as parts of justice. The former is a virtue whereby we
benefit others by giving or sharing with them the goods we possess (ST IIaIIae 117.1,
2, and 5). The latter involves treating those who live among us well (ST IIaIIae 114.2).
4. Natural Law
Aquinas is often described as a natural law theorist. While natural law is a significant
aspect of his moral philosophy, it is a subject of considerable dispute and
misunderstanding. Of course, this is not the place to adjudicate competing
interpretations of Aquinas’s view. Yet recent philosophers have noted that too many
expositors distort Aquinas’s view by treating it independently of his metaethics and
his theory of virtue (see for example MacIntyre, 1990: 133-135; Hibbs, 2001: 94).
While a detailed analysis of natural law and its varying interpretations would require a
separate study, the present article hopes to sketch Aquinas’s view in a way that is
sensitive to other aspects of his thought.
What is the natural law? We might attempt to answer this question by considering
both the meaning of the term “law” as well as the law’s origin. On Aquinas’s view, a
law is “a rule or measure of human acts, whereby a person is induced to act or is
restrained from acting” (ST IaIIae 90.1). Elsewhere, he describes a law as a “dictate of
practical reason emanating from a ruler” (ST IaIIae 91.1). At a very general level,
then, a law is a precept that serves as a guide to and measure of human action. Thus
whether an action is good will depend on whether it conforms to or abides by the
relevant law. Here we should recall from an earlier section that, for Aquinas, a human
action is good or bad depending on whether it conforms to reason. In other
words, reason is the measure by which we evaluate human acts. Thus Aquinas thinks
that the laws that govern human action are expressive of reason itself (ST IaIIae 90.1).
Now we will address the law’s origin. According to Aquinas, every law is ultimately
derived from what he calls the eternal law (ST IaIIae 93.3). The “eternal law” refers to
God’s providential ordering of all created things to their proper end. We participate in
that divine order in virtue of the fact that God creates in us both a desire for and an
ability to discern what is good (he calls this ability the “light of natural reason”).
According to Aquinas, “it is this participation in the eternal law by the rational
creature that is called the natural law” (ST IaIIae 91.2; Cf. 93.6). On this view, natural
law is but an extension of the eternal law. For by it God ordains us to final happiness
by implanting in us both a general knowledge of and inclination for goodness. Note
here that the natural law is not an external source of authority. Nor is it a general
deontic norm from which more specific precepts are inferred (McInerny, 1993: 211-
212; Hibbs, 1988: 61-62). As Aquinas understands it, the natural law is a fundamental
principle that is weaved into the fabric of our nature. As such, it illuminates and gives
us a desire for those goods that facilitate the kind of flourishing proper to human
beings (ST IaIIae 94.3). This point deserves further discussion.
According to Aquinas, human beings have an innate habit whereby they reason
according to what he calls “first principles.” First principles are fundamental to all
inquiry. They include things like the principle of non-contradiction and law of
excluded middle. These principles are indemonstrable in the sense that we do not
acquire them from some prior demonstration. To put the matter another way, they are
not facts at which we arrive by means of argument or reasoning. They are the
principles from which all reasoning proceeds. And while we do not derive them from
some prior set of facts, a moment’s reflection would show that they nevertheless
provide the conditions for intelligible inquiry. In short, human reasoning does not
establish the truth of first principles, it depends on them.
The natural law functions in a way that is analogous to the aforementioned principles.
According to Aquinas, all human actions are governed by a general principle or
precept that is foundational to and necessary for all practical reasoning: good is to be
done and evil is to be avoided. This principle is not something we can ignore or defy.
Rather, it is an expression of how practical thought and action proceed in creatures
such as ourselves. Whenever we deliberate about how we should act, we do so by
virtue of a natural inclination to pursue (or avoid) those goods (or evils) that
contribute to (or deter us from) our perfection as human beings. The goods for which
we have a natural inclination include life, the procreation and education of offspring,
knowledge, and a civil social order (ST IaIIae 94.2). Whether there are additional
goods that are emblematic of the natural law will depend on whether they in fact
contribute to our rational perfection.
A caveat is in order. While we naturally desire goods that facilitate our perfection,
excessive passion, unreasonable fear, and self-interest can distort the way we construe
those goods (ST IaIIae 94.6). For example, sexual pleasure is a natural good. Yet
excessive passion can corrupt our understanding of what sex’s role ought to be in our
lives and lead us to pursue short-term sexual pleasure at the expense of more enduring
goods. Also, self-protection is a good to which we naturally incline. Yet unreasonable
fear may deter us from acting for the sake of goods that trump personal safety. Poor
upbringing and the prejudices of society can further undermine a proper view of what
human fulfillment consists in. Whether we can make competent judgments about what
will contribute to our proper fulfillment depends on whether we have the requisite
intellectual and moral virtues. Without those virtues, our intellectual and moral
deficiencies will forestall our rational perfection and the attainment of our final end.
5. Charity and Beatitude
The teleological framework that circumscribes Aquinas’s moral philosophy has been
evident throughout this essay. Indeed, Aquinas takes Aristotle’s eudaimonism to be
amenable to his own theological purposes. Not only does Aquinas agree that human
beings seek their own happiness, he agrees that the virtues are necessary for achieving
it. Yet there are important differences between Aquinas’s depiction of final happiness
and Aristotle’s. While Aquinas thinks that moral perfection is synonymous with
achieving our final end, he construes that end in terms of beatitude, or supernatural
union with God (ST IIaIIae 17.7; 23.3; 23.7). In keeping with Christian teaching, he
also acknowledges that we cannot achieve beatitude solely by means of our own
virtuous efforts. Aquinas’s argument for this claim is as follows: the happiness to
which we incline is of two sorts—incomplete happiness and complete happiness.
Incomplete happiness is a state we achieve by means of our natural human aptitudes.
Through them, we can cultivatesome measure of virtue and, in turn, be happier than
we would be otherwise. Perfect or complete happiness, however, lies beyond what we
are able to achieve on our own. Thus Aquinas insists that “it is necessary for man to
receive from God some additional [habits], whereby he may be directed to
supernatural happiness” (ST IaIIae 62.1). According to Aquinas, the habits to which
he refers here are “infused” or theological virtues. They are given to us graciously by
God and direct us to our “final and perfect good” in the same way that the moral
virtues direct us to a kind of happiness made possible by the exercise of our natural
capacities (ST IaIIae 62.3).
The theological virtues that facilitate perfect happiness are those listed by St. Paul in
the second letter to the Corinthians: faith, hope, and charity. Faith is the virtue
whereby we assent to the truth of supernaturally revealed principles (Aquinas calls
them “articles of faith”). These articles are contained (at least implicitly) in Scripture
and serve as the basis of sacred doctrine. The kind of assent Aquinas has in mind here
is not a matter of the intellect alone. It also involves the will. For the will is naturally
drawn to God’s goodness and commands the intellect to assent to those articles
wherein that goodness is described (Stump, 1991: 188; Jenkins, 1997: 190). Thus
Aquinas describes the assent of faith as “an act of intellect which assents to the divine
truth at the command of the will, [which is] moved by God’s grace” (STIIaIIae
2.9). Hope is the virtue whereby we trust God in obtaining final happiness. But
because God is the one in whom final happiness consists (and not simply the one who
assists us in achieving it), we must look to God as the good we desire to obtain
(ST IIaIIae 17.6 ad 3). Finally, charity is the virtue whereby we love God for his own
sake. He amplifies this idea when he (echoing Augustine) says that charity is an
appetitive state whereby our appetites are uniformly ordered to God (STIIaIIae
23.3 sed contra). We should also note here that Aquinas thinks that love of neighbor
is included in the love of God. For our neighbor is the natural image of God; thus we
cannot love God unless we also love our neighbor (STIIaIIae 25.1 and 44.7).
The virtue of charity is especially relevant to Aquinas’s moral philosophy. As we just
discussed, our efforts to be virtuous may contribute to our general betterment, but they
alone cannot bring us to final happiness (although they can aid us in this regard, as we
will see shortly). In fact, Aquinas thinks that the moral virtues remain incomplete and
imperfect so long as they fail to direct us to God (ST IaIIae 65.2; ST IIaIIae 23.7).
Charity, on the other hand, rectifies our fallen wills; that is, it perfects our deficient
inclinations by orienting them toward God as the proper source of our fulfillment.
Moreover, charity affords a supernatural benefit—or gift—that the cardinal virtues
could never provide. That benefit is the gift of wisdom. The gift of wisdom should not
be confused with the intellectual virtue of the same name. The virtue of wisdom is an
intellectual excellence whereby one grasps the fundamental causes of the world’s
origin and operation (ST IIaIIae 45.1; SCG I.1.1). Knowledge of those causes may
include knowledge of God, who is the highest cause of things. Yet the virtue of
wisdom cannot disclose some of the more important aspects of God’s character. By
contrast, the gift of wisdom enables us to see that God is the “sovereign good, which
is the last end…” (ST IIaIIae 45.1 ad 1). Those who are wise (in the second sense)
have a more comprehensive grasp of God’s goodness and can therefore judge and
govern human actions according to divine principles (ST IIaIIae 45.3). Understood
this way, the gift of wisdom consists not only in a theoretical grasp of divine things,
but it also provides one with the normative guidance necessary for ordering one’s life
according to Goodness itself (Ibid.).
Charity, then, inclines one to love God, whose goodness is perfect, unchanging, and
eternal. Those who seek happiness in God will be more fulfilled than if they sought
happiness in some lesser, transient good. That is, they will experience spiritual
joy (ST IIaIIae 28.1). They will also experience supernaturalconcord in the sense that
their wills will be in harmony with God’s (ST IIaIIae 29.1). What makes this account
especially interesting for our purposes is that it provides us with a more explicit
understanding of the sort of fulfillment in which beatitude consists.
What connection, if any, is there between the infused virtue of charity and the moral
virtues we’ve previously discussed? This is an important question. Constraints of
space, however, permit us to highlight only two such connections. First, charity
transforms the virtues themselves. To employ Aquinas’s parlance, charity provides the
form of the virtues (ST IIaIIae 23.8). It does this by determining the end at which the
virtues aim. For, “in morals, the form of an act is taken chiefly from the end” (Ibid.).
Under the auspices of charity, the moral virtues still have the task of moderating our
appetites. The purpose for which they do so, however, is for the sake of God. For if, as
Aristotle insists “virtue is the disposition of a perfect thing to that which is best,” then
even the moral virtues must in some way direct us to supernatural happiness
(ST IIaIIae 23.7). The second connection is a natural extension of the first, and it helps
explain why—even with charity—we need the moral virtues. According to Aquinas, it
is possible for those who love God to sin against charity, especially when moved by
desires or fears of an inordinate nature (ST IIaIIae 24.12.ad,2). For this reason we
must practice those virtues that curtail sinful inclinations and enable us to yield to
charity more easily (ST IaIIae 65.3 ad 1 and 2). In conjunction with charity, the moral
virtues actually aid in our journey to final happiness and thus play an important role in
our redemption.
This last point nicely reflects the way Aquinas weds Christian moral theology and
Aristotelian philosophy. More generally, it exemplifies the way in which Aquinas
took faith and reason to be perfectly compatible. Of course, the extent to which
Aquinas was faithful to Aristotle in his grand synthesis is a subject that must be left
for others to address. This matter aside, it is clear that Aquinas’s endeavor has left us
with one of the richer and more enduring accounts of the moral life that philosophy
has to offer.