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Supererogation and the relationship between religious and secular ethics: some perspectives drawn from Thomas Aquinas and John of the Cross

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  16 September 2015

Mark Wynn
Mark Wynn*
Affiliation:
University of Leeds
*
M.Wynn@leeds.ac.uk
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Extract

In this paper, I consider the fruitfulness of the notion of supererogation for an understanding of the relationship between religious and secular ethics. I approach this theme in three ways. First, I note a contrast between the virtues of neighbour love and infused temperance, as they are represented in the work of Thomas Aquinas: in the first case, but not the second, appeal to religious context changes the status of an action, so that it is now obligatory when it would otherwise have been supererogatory. I consider how we might explain this difference, and what it indicates about the distinctive character of a ‘religious ethic’. Next, I note how John of the Cross's account of the spiritual life, while tracking Aquinas's discussion on certain points, invites a more radical revision of the distinction between obligation and supererogation. Finally, and briefly, I argue that these reflections throw new light on a puzzle that is posed by some attempts to ground religious commitments in moral commitments. In all of these ways, the notion of supererogation turns out to be key for an appreciation of the distinctive character of a religious vision of human life.

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Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplements , Volume 77: Supererogation , October 2015, pp. 163 - 183
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Copyright © The Royal Institute of Philosophy and the contributors 2015 

In this paper, I consider the fruitfulness of the notion of supererogation for an understanding of the relationship between religious and secular ethics. I approach this theme in three ways. First, I note a contrast between the virtues of neighbour love and infused temperance, as they are represented in the work of Thomas Aquinas: in the first case, but not the second, appeal to religious context changes the status of an action, so that it is now obligatory when it would otherwise have been supererogatory. I consider how we might explain this difference, and what it indicates about the distinctive character of a ‘religious ethic’. Next, I note how John of the Cross's account of the spiritual life, while tracking Aquinas's discussion on certain points, invites a more radical revision of the distinction between obligation and supererogation. Finally, and briefly, I argue that these reflections throw new light on a puzzle that is posed by some attempts to ground religious commitments in moral commitments. In all of these ways, the notion of supererogation turns out to be key for an appreciation of the distinctive character of a religious vision of human life.

1. Introduction

In this paper, I consider how the notion of supererogation can be used to map the relationship between religious and secular thought. This is potentially a large theme, and to reduce it to manageable proportions, I shall concentrate on one spiritual or religious tradition in particular – namely, the tradition, or traditions, represented in the work of Thomas Aquinas and John of the Cross. Thomas's work is particularly helpful for these purposes because his categories make it easy to distinguish between the ethical landscape as it appears independently of reference to God and as it appears following the introduction of a theological context. While I shall be focally concerned with this tradition, I hope that my discussion will touch on themes of wider importance for the question of the relationship between religious and secular thought.

It is commonly noted that, in the western intellectual tradition, it was in religious contexts, and especially in Roman Catholic thought, that the notion of supererogatory conduct was first propounded with any sophistication.Footnote 1 In recent years, moral philosophy has taken up the concept of supererogation independently of any reference to its theological roots, but the concept remains of interest, I am going to argue, for an appreciation of the relationship between religious and secular value commitments. For present purposes, I shall understand by a supererogatory action one that is not morally required but is morally good and, indeed, morally meritorious. It should be possible to substitute for this account any of the more detailed proposals that have been advanced in the recent philosophical literature, without affecting the substance of my discussion.Footnote 2

I am going to consider the usefulness of the notion of supererogation for an account of the relationship between religious and secular ethics in three contexts, by examining in turn Thomas Aquinas's treatment of the infused moral virtues, John of the Cross's understanding of the later phases of the spiritual life, and the question of whether moral commitments of certain kinds may rest, at least implicitly, on supporting religious commitments.

2. Thomas Aquinas on the relationship between a ‘rule of reason’ and a ‘divine rule’

Let us begin with Thomas Aquinas. Thomas was of course familiar with Aristotle's teaching that the moral virtues are produced by a process of habituation. He was also familiar with the theological tradition that represented the virtues as entirely the work of God. As is well known, he combines these approaches, by supposing that the moral virtues exist in both an ‘acquired’ and an ‘infused’ form.

The two forms of a given virtue can be distinguished both by their aetiology (in so far as the acquired but not the infused form of the virtue involves the cooperation of human beings), and also by reference to the ‘rule’ that is appropriate to each. Let's begin by thinking about the difference of rule. Later, when considering John of the Cross's account of the spiritual life, I shall return to the difference in aetiology. In the following passage, Aquinas is discussing the relation between the acquired and infused forms of temperance by distinguishing between their respective rules:

It is evident the measure of desires appointed by a rule of human reason is different from that appointed by a divine rule. For instance in eating, the measure fixed by human reason is that food should not harm the health of the body, nor hinder the use of reason; whereas [the] divine rule requires that a man should chastise his body and bring it into subjection [1 Cor 9:27], by abstinence in food, drink and the like. (ST 1a2ae. 63. 4)Footnote 3

Acquired temperance is governed by what Aquinas calls here a ‘rule of human reason’. The expression ‘of reason’ indicates, of course, that to grasp the content of this rule, there is no need to introduce any (revealed) theological context: it is enough to consider, independently of revelation, the kind of dietary practice that is suited to the preservation of bodily health, and the exercise of reason. There is evidently something right about this general approach: after all, we would expect a biologist to be able to pronounce upon the kind of diet that is fitting for human beings, as distinct from the kind that is appropriate for an aardvark or porpoise, independently of any reference to theological considerations. To this extent, we can agree that there is indeed a rule ‘of reason’ to which we can appeal when reviewing human practice in this domain.

Whereas acquired temperance is governed by a rule of reason, infused temperance is subject to a divine rule, whose distinctive content can be grasped only by reference to theological context. This rule requires not simply the preservation of the body's health, but, as Aquinas says, the chastisement of the body, so that it is brought ‘into subjection’: here is the distinctive content of the divine rule. And to grasp this content, we need to appeal not to the deliverances of the biologist, but to Scripture. Once it has been set within its original literary context, it is clear that the passage Aquinas cites here (1 Cor. 9:27) is concerned with relationship to God in the afterlife.Footnote 4 And the distinctive content of the divine rule flows, then, from a distinctive goal: not now the health of the body, but relationship to God, in eternity.

So in this passage, we have a relatively straightforward way of representing the difference that is made to our ethical thought by the introduction of a theological context. Here, the divine rule involves a more stringent standard of conduct: to observe this rule it is not enough to consume according to the requirements of bodily health; it is necessary to ‘abstain from food, drink and the like’. While more demanding than the rule of reason, the divine rule does not contradict the rule of reason: anyone who adheres to the divine rule will thereby adhere to the rule of reason. We might say that if R1 is the range of values consistent with observance of the rule of reason, and R2 is the range consistent with observance of the divine rule, then R2 will fall within R1, and at the more demanding end of R1. While Aquinas does not say in this passage that the divine rule subsumes in this way the rule of human reason, this reading of his position fits with what he says elsewhere about the infused moral virtues building upon, and not displacing, the acquired moral virtues.Footnote 5 It also reflects the traditional teaching that, under normal circumstances, the young and infirm are exempt from fasting in preparation for religious festivals, because of the risk posed by such disciplines to their health.Footnote 6

So if we are guided by the example of infused temperance, then we should say that the introduction of a theological context has this result: the obligations to which we would anyway have been subject (here the obligation to consume according to the needs of bodily health) remain; but we are now subject in addition to a further, more stringent obligation (here the requirement to abstain from food and drink). It is natural to ask whether this change involves not just a broadening of the sphere of obligation, but also a shift in the boundary between the obligatory and the supererogatory, so that certain actions that would otherwise have been supererogatory (when judged by the requirements of the rule of reason) are now obligatory (when judged by the standards of the divine rule).

If we follow Aquinas's account, it is hard to see why we would treat the dietary practices that are required by the divine rule as supererogatory, when viewed from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason. The rule of reason is aimed, we have seen, at the preservation of bodily health. The divine rule is also ordered to the good of the body, in so far as adherence to the divine rule requires adherence to the rule of reason. But the divine rule is at the same time more demanding. So if we are viewing matters from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason, it seems we should say that the dietary practices that are required by the divine rule, in so far as they exceed those that are required by the rule of reason, are morally permissible (because they involve no harm to the body), but under-motivated (because they are more stringent, and yet do no more to realise the goal of the rule of reason). If that is so, then from the vantage point of the rule of reason, abstinence will not be meritorious, and so will not be supererogatory.Footnote 7 It might be objected that the practice of abstinence may do more to preserve the health of the body than a dietary practice that observes only the relevant rule of reason, and not the divine rule. But there is nothing in Aquinas's account to suggest that this is so. On his account, the good of abstinence is understood not in terms of its realising to a greater degree the good of the health of the body, but in terms of its serving the goal of relationship to God in the afterlife.

So when we compare acquired and infused temperance, we should say that the introduction of a theological context results in a more stringent set of obligations, but does not lift certain actions that would otherwise have been supererogatory into the realm of the obligatory: instead, the shift of context constitutes as obligatory certain actions that would otherwise have been morally permissible, but under-motivated, and accordingly not meritorious, and not supererogatory.

3. Thomas Aquinas on love of neighbour

I shall return to this example shortly but, first, let us consider Aquinas's treatment of the virtue of charity. Charity or caritas is, of course, one of the three theological virtues, each of which is infused rather than acquired, and it is concerned in the first instance, therefore, with the love that a person owes to God. But love of God requires in turn love of one's neighbour, and charity has therefore a moral dimension. Moreover, love of neighbour is commanded by Christ, and Christians are therefore obliged to practise neighbour love. (See for example Mark 12:31.) Aquinas asks whether this duty extends, for example, to one's enemies, or to non-human creatures, or one's own body. Let us take a representative example of his response to questions of this type. In the following passage, Thomas is considering whether we ought to show neighbour love to the angels. He writes:

charity's friendship is based on a fellowship of eternal happiness, which we share together with the angels; in Matthew we read that in the resurrection men shall be like angels in heaven. It is clear, therefore, that charity's friendship takes in the angels also. (ST 2a2ae. 25. 10)

Here Thomas grounds the duty of neighbour love in a future truth, as revealed in Scripture. (See Matthew 22:30.) On this account, the regard we owe the angels (or for those who find this example rather remote from their concerns, the regard we owe our fellow human beings, including our enemies: Aquinas makes the same case here) is grounded not in some present capacity of the object of our regard (such as a capacity for autonomous choice), nor in any duty we might have to bring about good outcomes (such as the happiness of human beings), but instead in a future truth, one that is revealed in Scripture: namely, the truth that we will share with others in a relationship of fellowship in the beatific vision. Aquinas does not spell out the nature of this relationship between future truth and the requirements upon our conduct here and now, but broadly speaking, the connection is, I take it, one of existential congruence. If it is true that one day I will share with a given individual – whether another human being or an angel – in the beatific vision, then that truth calls for appropriate practical and affective acknowledgement in my relations to them here and now.

We are all familiar with the thought that past truths can shape our moral relations to others in the present – as when I owe someone recompense if I have wronged them. But in this passage, Aquinas seems to indicate that it is possible for future, and not only past, truths to exercise a moral or spiritual claim upon us in the present. In this case, the claim is evidently a serious one, since it places the Christian under an obligation to treat other human beings as their ‘neighbours’. Cause-effect reasoning provides another example of how future truth can serve as a measure of the appropriateness of action in the present. But Thomas's case is moral or existential, rather than causal. He is not asking: what should I do here and now if I am to bring it about that I will share with others in the beatific vision? His question is: granted that I will share with others in the beatific vision, how ought I to acknowledge that truth in the present?

So neighbour love is like infused temperance in so far as it is infused, and in so far as, in each case, we depend for our knowledge of the relevant rule on the introduction of a theological context, as revealed in Scripture.Footnote 8 Moreover, like infused temperance, neighbour love seems to involve a relatively stringent rule. Aquinas does not speak of ‘acquired’ charity as he speaks of acquired temperance, so here it is not quite so straightforward a matter to trace the difference that is made by the introduction of a theological context. But Thomas evidently thinks of the requirements of neighbour love as relatively demanding when compared with the requirements of other regard that would flow from the corresponding rule of reason.

For instance, according to the requirements of neighbour love, we must think of our ‘enemies’ under a dual aspect: we are to think of them as our enemies in so far as they are, as Aquinas says, ‘contrary’ to us (ST 2a2ae 25. 8. ad 2), but at the same time they are to be conceived as our friends – not just prospectively, but here and now – in so far they will share with us in the beatific vision. So to satisfy the requirements of neighbour love, it is not enough simply to do good to others: we also need to think of them as, in the relevant sense, our friends, and to allow our attitudes towards them to be shaped by the ideals that are proper to friendship. It is implied in Thomas's discussion that no such attitudinal requirement can be grounded in a ‘rule of reason’ – after all, he takes himself to be setting out the special character of the requirements of neighbour love, where these emerge not from any truth of human nature, but from God's initiative in the order of salvation. So attitudinally, the requirements of neighbour love are, to this extent, relatively demanding, when compared with the requirements of the corresponding rule of reason.

When compared to some familiar moral schemes, neighbour love also seems to be relatively demanding in so far as its requirements extend in principle to all human beings (as well as to some non-human creatures), and not only to those who exhibit the requisite empirically discernible property, such as a capacity for autonomous choice. Neighbour love appears to be relatively demanding, therefore, in terms of its scope. It also appears to involve a relatively stringent conception of how those individuals who fall within its scope are to be treated.Footnote 9 Again, this is pragmatically implied in Thomas's approach, in so far as he finds it necessary to discuss the practical requirements of neighbour love, on this point, independently of his discussion of the practical requirements that flow from the natural law. It is also implied in Jesus's use of the story of the Good Samaritan to exemplify the requirements of neighbour love, supposing that the Samaritan's example presents a relatively stringent standard of right conduct.Footnote 10

So there is some reason to suppose that the ‘divine rule’ that is appropriate to neighbour love is relatively demanding, attitudinally, and in terms of scope and content, when compared with the corresponding rule of reason, on some familiar construals of that rule. So on this point, neighbour love shares the same structure as infused temperance: in each case, the divine rule is relatively stringent, when compared with the relevant rule of reason. And we can therefore ask of neighbour love, as we asked of infused temperance, whether the introduction of a divine rule changes the moral status of certain actions, so that they are now obligatory when they would otherwise have been supererogatory, when viewed from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason. There is some reason to think that neighbour love does have this consequence.

To take just one possibility, suppose that the corresponding rule of reason requires us not to harm others, but imposes no requirement to benefit them, unless they are in dire need, and we can relieve that need at minimal cost to ourselves. Such a rule would require me to pull a drowning child from a pool of water, if I can do so at no cost to myself, but would not require me, not even as a matter of imperfect duty, to relieve poverty that is consistent with the needy person's basic nutritional needs being met, or to relieve poverty that is life-threatening if in doing so I would have to significantly impoverish myself. Relative to such a rule, the practice of neighbour love looks to be not simply permissible, but beyond the call of duty, and meritorious, and therefore supererogatory: from the vantage point of such a rule, the person who practises neighbour love will display a deeper practical commitment to others' well-being than is required; and such behaviour therefore seems to be not under-motivated, in the way that abstinence may appear to be under-motivated relative to the relevant rule of reason, but meritorious.

If this is so, then infused temperance and neighbour love differ on this point: while both involve the introduction of a relatively stringent divine rule, it is only in the case of neighbour love that this rule changes the boundary between the supererogatory and the obligatory. Let us consider now what accounts for this difference between the two cases, and what that might tell us about the distinctive character of a religious ethic.

4. Obligation, supererogation and theistic context

In the case of infused temperance, we can distinguish between two fundamental kinds of good. There is, first of all, the good that is the object of the relevant rule of reason. Here, this is the good of bodily health. Any action of eating, drinking, and so on, that adheres to the rule that is appropriate to acquired temperance will be disposed to realise this good. There is in addition a further kind of good, one that is the object of the relevant divine rule. By contrast with the first good, this further good is contingent upon the existence of God. Here, this is the good of being fitted for the beatific vision. Let us call the first kind of good a good of reason and the second a theological good. (In calling the first kind of good a ‘good of reason’, I do not mean to say that its identification always depends on ratiocination of some kind, only that the good is the object of a rule whose appropriateness can be established independently of reference to theological considerations.) The practice of infused temperance is apt to realise goods of both these kinds.

In the case of neighbour love, we find these same fundamental goods. There is a good that is the object of the rule of reason that operates in this domain. Any action that adheres to that rule (including those actions that also adhere to the divine rule that is appropriate to neighbour love) will be disposed to realise this good. There is also a theological good, which is the object of the relevant divine rule. In this case, this is the good of leading a life that is congruent with the truth that I will share with others in the beatific vision. This good will be contingent upon the existence of God, since it is God who is encountered in the beatific vision. But in the case of neighbour love, we need to complicate this picture. For in this case, there is another kind of good, which is neither a theological good, nor a good of reason.

Let us call the good that is the object of the rule of reason that applies in this domain G. G will be, of course, a good of reason. The good that is the object of the divine rule that is appropriate to neighbour love will include G, but other goods as well, given the deeper practical commitment to others' well-being that is characteristic of neighbour love. These additional goods are not goods of reason, because they are additional to G, but neither are they simply theological goods, because in at least some cases, their existence is not contingent upon the existence of God. Let us call this further kind of good an extended good of reason. For an example of such a good, see again the story of the good Samaritan. Following our earlier account, we could say that the Samaritan's conduct realises a good of reason, in so far as it relieves the dire need of the injured man; his conduct also realises a theological good, in so far as it is congruent with the beatific vision; but in addition, his conduct realises further goods, which are neither goods of reason nor theological goods. For instance by entrusting the injured man to the innkeeper, the Samaritan not only relieves his dire need, but helps to ensure his full recovery. Although not a good of reason, this further of good can be seen to be good independently of any reference to theological presuppositions. It is, therefore, what I am calling an extended good of reason.

Using these distinctions, we can understand the different implications of infused temperance and neighbour love for the boundary between obligation and supererogation. The practice of neighbour love is disposed to realise three kinds of good: goods of reason, theological goods, and extended goods of reason. By contrast, the practice of infused temperance is apt to realise only two of these three goods: goods of reason, and theological goods. It is for this reason that abstinence appears to be, from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason, permissible but under-motivated. Why? Because from that vantage point, of the two varieties of good that abstinence produces, only goods of reason will be visible. (Theological goods will not be visible from this vantage point, because they are contingent upon the existence of God.) And for the realisation of these goods of reason, there is no need to adhere to the relatively stringent requirements of abstinence. Accordingly, abstinence appears to be not wrong, but pointless. So in this case, the introduction of a theological context does not shift the boundary between the supererogatory and the obligatory, but only the boundary between the morally permissible (and not required) and the obligatory.

These reflections help to clarify the nature of the demands of a religious ethic. In brief, we would expect a religious ethic to be targeted at what I have called theological goods, but such an ethic can also be targeted, indirectly, at extended goods of reason, in so far as the realisation of the relevant theological goods calls for the realisation of these further goods. From a secular perspective, the category of extended goods of reason is particularly of interest, because this sort of good can be realised even if there is no God, and can therefore be recognised as worthwhile by the person who has no belief in God. So even when they run beyond the requirements of the relevant rule of reason, the demands of a theistic ethic will still be directly intelligible from a secular vantage point, in so far as those demands have as their object an extended good of reason. And it is because it produces such goods that neighbour love appears, from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason, not pointless, but supererogatory. It follows, then, that the question of whether or not a theistic ethic lifts certain actions that would otherwise have been supererogatory into the realm of the obligatory is of some importance for an appreciation of the relationship between secular and religious ethics, and the possibility of dialogue between them. This is a matter to which I shall return in the final section of this discussion, but first, and more briefly, I want to examine another account of the spiritual life, one that is instructively similar to, and at the same time different from, that of Aquinas.

5. John of the Cross on the spiritual life

Given constraints of space, I am going to be rather stipulative in my reading of John of the Cross.Footnote 11 I shall argue that John's account of the spiritual life follows the same general pattern as Thomas's, while pointing to a rather different conception of the significance of the category of supererogation. Here again, we shall be concerned with the distinction between the ‘acquired’ and ‘infused’ virtues, but this time our focus will be not so much on the different rules that apply in these cases, as on the distinctive aetiologies of the two kinds of virtue.

Although he does not use the language of ‘acquired’ and ‘infused’ virtues, it is reasonable to suppose that John's proposal that the spiritual life has an ‘active’ and then a ‘passive’ phase is intended to map on to Thomas's thought that spiritual development involves, in the normal case, a period when moral virtues such as temperance are ‘acquired’ through human effort, and then a period when they are extended by divine ‘infusion’. In the active phase of the spiritual life, John notes, the person engages in various spiritual exercises, in order to root out disordered desires; and it is possible, he observes, to take satisfaction in one's growing competence in the performance of such exercises. During this phase of the spiritual life, it seems easy enough to distinguish between those actions that are obligatory and those that are supererogatory. Engaging in some such exercises will count as a duty, certainly for Christians, and perhaps for any human being whose moral competence falls within the normal range. But a person can also show a supererogatory dedication to the practice of spiritual exercises. And it is presumably this sort of person who is particularly apt to take satisfaction in their growing spiritual accomplishments. But there will standardly come a time, John notes, when these fulfilments give out, as God moves the person moves from the ‘active’ into the ‘passive’ phase of what he calls the ‘dark night of the soul’.Footnote 12 When they stand on the threshold of the passive night, John comments, the person finds that:

not only do they experience no pleasure and consolation in the spiritual things and good exercises wherein they were wont to find their delights and pleasures, but instead, on the contrary, they find insipidity and bitterness in the said things.Footnote 13

The passive phase of the night involves, then, a fundamental shift in the person's values and fulfilments, and an associated crisis in thought, feeling and action. John notes that at this time:

God makes [the soul] to die to all that is not naturally God, so that, once it is stripped and denuded of its former skin, He may begin to clothe it anew…Footnote 14

Or again:

the Divine fire of contemplative love … before it unites and transforms the soul into itself, first purges of it all contrary accidents.Footnote 15

From the point of view of the human subject, and perhaps from the divine point of view, John is describing the progressive dissolution of the habits of desire, perception and thought that formerly sustained the person's engagement with the world; and the result of this process is that, for a period, the person is left with a bewildering and even traumatising sense of their own ‘nothingness’. But in time, this bewilderment passes, as the person's thoughts and feelings come to be governed by a new, divinely infused centre of agency. John describes the ‘awakening’ that is the outcome of this process in these terms:

Though it is true that the soul here sees that all these things are distinct from God, in that they have a created existence… it knows also that God in His own essence is, in an infinitely preeminent way, all these things, so that it understands them better in Him, their first cause, than in themselves. This is the great joy of this awakening, namely to know creatures in God, and not God in His creatures: this is to know effects in their cause, and not the cause by its effects.Footnote 16

What John is describing here is, I take it, a new perceptual condition: the patterns of salience that structure the ‘awakened’ person's perceptual field are grounded in ego-transcendent desires, and in their experience, therefore, the world conforms to a divinely ordered scale of values. In this sense, the person now sees creatures ‘in God’, or sees them as God would see them, were God to view the world in bodily terms.

Having sketched the general outline of the spiritual life as John conceives it, let us return to the theme of supererogation. As we have seen, given John's account, there appears to be no difficulty in applying the distinction between obligatory and supererogatory action in the earlier phases of the spiritual life. But thereafter, it is harder to see how the distinction has any purchase, for at least three reasons.

John is a doctrinally orthodox Christian, so does not think of the person who emerges from the night as simply identical with God, or as in some fashion a mode of God. However, this person's perception of the world, and in turn their conduct, now conform to a divinely ordered scale of values. And their will is, then, perfectly aligned with the divine will. So in the ‘awakened’ person's experience, obligations will no longer be manifest as a constraint. In the earlier phases of the spiritual life, it is possible to have a sense of what one's duty relative to God requires, and to experience that duty as binding, or as a constraint upon action, in so far as it runs counter to the tendency of some of one's desires; but the feeling of being bound in this way can be no part of the experience of the awakened person. This is one reason for thinking that the notion of obligation, and in turn the notion of supererogation, no longer has any ready application in the experience of the spiritual adept: duty is not experienced by such a person in the way that it is experienced by the rest of us, namely, as a constraint or as binding.

Moreover, if we take seriously the etymology of the word obligation (and its derivation from the Latin ligare, meaning to bind), then we might suppose that the category of obligation only applies to a person in so far as duty ‘binds’ or constrains them. And if we grant that duty cannot play a binding role for the awakened person, given the character of their desires, then we may wish to say not only that duty is not registered in the experience of such a person, but also that the very category fails to apply to them. For many theologians, the notion of a divine ‘obligation’ is incoherent, since God is not in the relevant sense constrained by obligation; and for these etymological reasons, we may wish to say the same of the person whose desires are perfectly conformed to the divine will.Footnote 17

We can explain these first two considerations by recalling that, on John's account, the awakened person's relation to God is one of love. It is for this reason that they do not experience duty as a constraint; and this is why, arguably, the notion of obligation has no application to them, any more than it has application within families whose relations to one another are regulated by bonds of love. Why? Because the awakened person relates to other human beings rather as the members of such a family relate to each other, since he or she views them through the lens of the thought that we all of us share the one divine parent.Footnote 18

Given our concerns, it is natural to ask how the condition that John has described compares with neighbour love, as Aquinas understands it. Neighbour love does not, I take it, abolish the distinction between the obligatory and supererogatory: it simply locates the boundary between them in a new place, by expanding the domain of the obligatory. Hence Thomas writes that:

love of one's enemies may be considered as specially directed to them, namely, that we should have a special movement of love towards our enemies. Charity does not require this absolutely, because it does not require that we should have a special movement of love to every individual man, since this would be impossible. Nevertheless charity does require this, in respect of our being prepared in mind, namely, that we should be ready to love our enemies individually, if the necessity were to occur. That man should actually do so, and love his enemy for God's sake, without it being necessary for him to do so, belongs to the perfection of charity. (ST 2a2ae. 25. 8, tr. Fathers of the English Dominican Province)

However exactly we read this passage, the phrase ‘the perfection of charity’ indicates that, for Aquinas, there is a kind of conduct and attitude that can be required of the charitable person, and a kind that reaches beyond this requirement, since it belongs to ‘the perfection of charity’. From the perspective of the divine rule that is the measure of neighbour love, this further conduct will be beyond duty and meritorious, and therefore supererogatory.Footnote 19

This account points to a third reason for thinking that the notions of obligation and supererogation will lack application in the later phases of the spiritual life. On Thomas's view, the person who possesses the virtue of neighbour love will freely and spontaneously fulfil the divine rule that is the measure of such love; but relative to that rule, there is still more that is good that they might do. So for such a person, we can distinguish between the obligatory (as defined by the requirements of the divine rule) and the supererogatory. Such a person may not experience these obligations as a ‘constraint’, but there is still arguably some sense in the suggestion that they are subject to obligation in so far as there is a ‘rule’ that covers their conduct. By contrast, if there is a rule that is relevant to the awakened person, where that condition is understood as John understands it, then that rule is simply the rule of perfection – or the rule of being God-like, so far as that is possible for a human being. In the case of such a rule, we cannot draw a distinction between what is obligatory (or required relative to the rule) and what is supererogatory (or beyond the rule, and meritorious). So the notion of supererogation will fail to apply to the actions of such a person; and we might infer that, in turn, the notion of obligation will apply here in an attenuated sense, if at all.

On this reading of John, while the notions of obligation and supererogation have ready application in earlier phases of the spiritual life, they will wither away in later phases, as the person is moved beyond the realm of obligation and into the realm of love, or beyond the realm of merely human striving, and into a realm where human agency is subsumed within divine agency. This account might sound rather specific to John, but of course it touches on themes with wide currency in religious thought, which commonly displays a drive to absorb human agency into divine agency, and to think of inter-human relations under the category of love rather than duty. What John adds to this familiar story is the idea that this transition to the spiritually awakened state is not ‘natural’, and will involve, therefore, an extended period of practical and emotional disorientation, as the person's established habits of thought and perception give way to a new, divinely infused centre of agency.

6. The relationship between secular ethics and religious ethics

Let me conclude, briefly, by considering how these reflections may be applied to a puzzle that is posed by some arguments for the idea that certain familiar moral commitments call for completion in religious terms. As an example of this strategy of argument, I am going to take John Cottingham's proposal that virtues such as humility, gratitude considered as an attitude to life, and hope considered as a response to the fundamental nature of things fit very readily within a theistic worldview, while making at best only limited sense when located within the framework of other worldviews. In support of this claim, Cottingham notes the absence of such virtues in various non-theistic cultures. (He notes, for example, that humility has no place within Aristotle's conception of the virtues.) He also argues that modern attempts to articulate a secular counterpart of the ideal of ultimate trust, or related attitudes, seem contrived and lacking in motivational power.Footnote 20 The structure of Cottingham's case is evident in this remark:

Secular naturalists have a dilemma here, I think. Either they can go along with Aristotle and simply accept a schema of proper human character and conduct that allows no place for humility; or they can acknowledge the moral pull of something like the Christian conception of humility and try to find a secular analogue for it.Footnote 21

So in brief, Cottingham maintains that the secular person who subscribes to virtues such as humility has in principle three options: she can change her moral outlook, she can find a way of grounding that outlook in a secular worldview, or she can give up her secularism. Given the difficulty of the second of these options, the secular person who wishes to stand by these moral commitments has, Cottingham thinks, a good practical reason to commit herself to a theistic worldview.Footnote 22

I am not going to comment directly on the cogency of this argument. Instead, I want to consider one puzzle that is posed by this train of thought. On Cottingham's account, humility will count as a proper response to the nature of things only if theism is true. (He notes, for example, that on the theistic conception of the human condition, we can regard humility as a fitting acknowledgement of our creaturely status, and that it is difficult to find a secular story that can play an analogous role.) But if that is so, then we might wonder how these reflections are supposed to give the non-theist reasons (pragmatic or moral reasons) for subscribing to theism. For the non-theist who is persuaded by the core premise of the argument (namely, the claim that humility will count as a proper response to the nature of things only if theism is true) should presumably conclude that, from her secular vantage point, humility cannot after all be a proper response to the nature of things, and cannot, therefore, be a virtue. And if humility cannot after all count as a virtue, from the vantage point of the secular person, then the non-theist can feel no argumentative pressure to move in the direction of the explicitly theistic ethic that Cottingham is inviting her to adopt.

Our earlier discussion suggests that we can formulate this matter a little more precisely by distinguishing between the various goods that a non-theist can associate with a theistic ethic, and asking which, if any, of these goods the secularist may find of value while continuing to occupy her secular vantage point. For example, we can ask whether the non-theist may be attracted to a theistic ethic in so far as it promotes the realisation of various ‘extended goods of reason’, by making the realisation of those goods a matter of obligation, rather than of supererogation. This way of framing the issue seems to draw some of the sting from the objection we are considering. For while occupying a secular vantage point, a person can still find a theistic ethic superior to her own ethic in so far as it gives its adherents more of a reason to realise various goods that she herself values. Recognising that it is morally good that people should have more of a reason to produce these goods, a secularist could, therefore, take herself to have, while continuing to occupy her secular vantage point, a practical or moral reason for being a theist.

Another possibility would be this: perhaps what the secular person values in a theistic ethic are the ‘theological goods’ that are, from the theist's perspective, realised in the practice of such an ethic. This case might seem to restore the original difficulty, for surely those goods are invisible to the secularist? To take an example, the theological goods that the theist associates with abstinence – for example, the good of a life that is congruent with the beatific vision – will only obtain if there is a God; so how can a secular person give those goods any weight when considering whether she has moral or pragmatic grounds for becoming a theist? Allowing for the fact that theological goods will obtain only if there is a God, the secular person might still find an ethic of abstinence, for example, morally worthwhile.

For example, she might suppose that the beatific vision represents the supreme moral good for human beings. And she might conclude that a life that aims at congruence with that good will therefore be morally commendable, even if there is significant uncertainty about whether there is a beatific vision, and therefore significant uncertainty about whether this relation of congruence is in fact achievable. So in this case too, as in the case of extended goods of reason, it seems at least intelligible that a non-theist should have a moral or pragmatic reason for committing herself to a theistic way of life.Footnote 23

The position of John of the Cross suggests one further perspective on the kind of good that a secular person might associate with a theistic ethic. In the case that John envisages, the believer has in a sense moved beyond the realm of morality altogether, since he or she now sees things ‘in God’. From a secular vantage point, some aspects of such a life may seem supererogatory, and some aspects under-motivated. But again, while continuing to occupy her secular vantage point, the secular person might find that there is something worthwhile in a practice that cultivates a divine perspective on human relations, and transcends thereby the distinction between obligation and supererogation. She might reflect, for example, that such a way of life extends familial ideals to the entire human community, so enabling a valuable deepening in our sense of the significance of the lives of other human beings.

I am not suggesting that any of these three ways of developing Cottingham's case gives the non-theist an overriding or even a good practical or moral reason for subscribing to theism. But this way of framing matters does show that his case is not self-stultifying, simply because it asks the secularist to find value in a theistic ethic while continuing to occupy a non-theistic vantage point. These reflections also help us to see what is at stake, potentially, in the adoption of a theistic ethic. A theistic ethic may shift the boundary between supererogation and obligation, so enjoining the fuller realisation of various extended goods of reason; it may make possible a mode of life that is built around the acknowledgement of distinctively theological goods, and that goes beyond the requirements of reason, without shifting the boundary between supererogation and obligation; and it may enable a perspective from which morality itself is transcended, along with the distinction between obligation and supererogation.Footnote 24

Footnotes

1 See for example David Heyd, Supererogation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), Ch. 1.

2 For an example of a more precise specification of the concept, see Heyd, Supererogation, p. 115.

3 Except where otherwise indicated, translations of the Summa Theologiae will be taken from the Blackfriars edition, ed. T. Gilby (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode), 1964–74.

4 In the rendering of the New International Version, the text of 1 Cor. 9 reads: ‘25Everyone who competes in the games exercises self-control in all things. They then do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. 26Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim; I box in such a way, as not beating the air; 27but I discipline my body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified.’

5 Hence he writes: ‘Acts produced by an infused habit, do not cause a habit, but strengthen the already existing habit; just as the remedies of medicine given to a man who is naturally health, do not cause a kind of health, but give new strength to the health he had before.’ (ST 1a2ae. 51. 4), translation by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province (Benziger Bros edition, 1947), available at: http://dhspriory.org/thomas/summa/index.html.

6 In another context, Aquinas himself notes this teaching with approval: ‘In children there is a most evident reason for not fasting, both on account of their natural weakness, owing to which they need to take food frequently, and not much at a time, and because they need much nourishment owing to the demands of growth, which results from the residuum of nourishment. Wherefore as long as the stage of growth lasts, which as a rule lasts until they have completed the third period of seven years, they are not bound to keep the Church fasts: and yet it is fitting that even during that time they should exercise themselves in fasting, more or less, in accordance with their age. Nevertheless when some great calamity threatens, even children are commanded to fast, in sign of more severe penance, according to Jonas 3:7, “Let neither men nor beasts … taste anything … nor drink water”’ (ST 2a2ae. 147. 4: Reply to Objection 2, tr. Fathers of the English Dominican Province). When speaking of the abstinence that is proper to infused temperance, I take it that Aquinas has in mind not only the requirement to fast in preparation for religious festivals, or in the face of potential ‘calamity’, but a general habit, which will govern a person's practice throughout the year.

7 The importance of meritoriousness for an account of the supererogatory action is evident in, for example, David Heyd's fourth and final condition for supererogation: an action is supererogatory only if ‘It is done voluntarily for the sake of someone else's good, and is thus meritorious’: Heyd, Supererogation, p. 115. Though I shall not consider the matter further here, it is not clear to me that a supererogatory action needs to be performed ‘for the sake of someone else's good’, and I will not be bound by that restriction here. For Heyd's account of the point, see p. 137.

8 In Aquinas's view, the two are also related because the infused moral virtues presuppose caritas, since they require the person to be properly directed to their final end. See ST 1a2ae. 65. 2. Allowing that this is so, we can still distinguish conceptually between the infused moral virtues and charity, and consider their different implications for the relationship between obligation and supererogation, as I am doing here.

9 Aquinas notes the practical, rather than simply attitudinal, dimension of neighbour love when he remarks that ‘the love of our neighbour requires that not only should we be our neighbour's well-wishers, but also his well-doers' (ST 2a2ae. 32. 5, tr. Fathers of the English Dominican Province).

10 Luke Ch. 10. See too those New Testament passages that compare the New Law with the Old, as in this text: ‘You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, “You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment”. But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment’ (Matthew 5: 21–2, New International Version). In so far as neighbour love, construed as Jesus construes it, is at the core of the New Law, this suggests that the requirements of that Law are indeed relatively demanding. It is also worth recalling that as it is, for Aquinas, an infused virtue, caritas cannot be produced by any amount of human effort.

11 John was a sixteenth century Spanish Carmelite friar. He is a key figure in the history of Christian spirituality, and gives classic expression to the idea of the ‘dark night of the soul’.

12 I am simplifying here. For a fuller account, we would need to recall that there are two nights: a night of the senses, and then a spiritual night, each of which has an active and then a passive phase, though the movement through these phases is not a linear progression, so much as a spiral.

13 Saint John of the Cross, Dark Night of the Soul, in The Essential St. John of the Cross: Ascent of Mount Carmel; Dark Night of the Soul; A Spiritual Canticle of the Soul and the Bridegroom Christ; Twenty Poems by St. John of the Cross, tr. E. Allison Peers (Radford, VA: Wilder Publications, LLC, 2008), p. 390.

14 Dark Night of the Soul, p. 445.

15 Dark Night of the Soul, p. 433.

16 The Living Flame of Love by Saint John of the Cross with his Letters, Poems, and Minor Writings, tr. D. Lewis (London: Thomas Baker, 1919), Commentary on Stanza IV, p. 121. Interestingly, John is here echoing, and inverting, a distinction that Thomas Aquinas draws in his preamble to the Five Ways, a text that John would certainly have known. See ST 1a. 2. 2.

17 In his essay ‘Some Suggestions for Divine Command Theorists’, William Alston takes a somewhat different line, suggesting that it is a necessary condition of an agent being obliged to do x that it is metaphysically possible for the agent to do other than x. See his Divine Nature and Human Language (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), Section II [page range: pp. 253–73]. On this account, God as essentially perfectly good is subject to no obligation, whereas the saints will remain subject to obligations, even when their desires have been perfected.

18 Compare George Mavrodes's remark that: ‘Within some families perhaps … people may for a time pass largely beyond morality and live lives of gift and sacrifice. On those occasions nothing would be lost if the moral concepts and the moral language [of rights and duties] were to disappear’: Mavrodes, ‘Religion and the Queerness of Morality’, reproduced in L. Pojman, ed., Ethical Theory; Classical and Contemporary Readings (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 3rd edn 1998), p. 656 [page range: pp. 649–56]. Mavrodes infers that ‘Christianity perhaps suggests that morality is not the deepest thing, that it is provisional and transitory…’ On the view I am sketching here, John of the Cross's account of the spiritual life points to just that conclusion.

19 To put the point in Aquinas's own terms, we can distinguish between a commandment (praeceptum) and a counsel (consilium). Hence he remarks: ‘We must therefore understand the commandments of the New Law to have been given about matters that are necessary to gain the end of eternal bliss, to which end the New Law brings us forthwith: but that the counsels are about matters that render the gaining of this end more assured and expeditious’ (ST 1a2ae. 108. 4, tr. Fathers of the English Dominican Province). For further discussion of Aquinas's understanding of this distinction, see Heyd, Supererogation, pp. 21–3.

20 See for instance Cottingham's discussion of Erik Wielenberg's attempt to produce such counterparts in his Value and Virtue in a Godless Universe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005).

21 John Cottingham, Why Believe? (London: Continuum, 2009), p. 153.

22 I am abstracting here from the question of what epistemic conditions a person must satisfy if they are to count as a theist; I am considering whether a person who meets those conditions may be moved to be a theist by moral or practical considerations. In this context, it is worth recalling that on standard accounts, religious faith is voluntary.

23 Allowing for this point, I take it that the theological goods at which abstinence is aimed will remain invisible from the vantage point of the relevant rule of reason, at least on a view such as Aquinas's; for on his view, we would have no reason to believe in the beatific vision independently of the data of revelation.

24 I am grateful to participants in the Dublin conference for comments on an earlier draft of this paper and especially to David Heyd for some very helpful observations provided in subsequent correspondence. I am also most grateful to Christopher Cowley for extensive and illuminating comment on a draft of this paper.