SOURCE: "Faith as Knowledge, Faith as Belief: Calvin vs. Aquinas" in Aquinas, Calvin, and Contemporary Protestant Thought, Christian University Press, 1985, pp. 1-20.

[In the following excerpt, Vos contends that the seemingly diametrical differences between Calvin's and Aquinas's positions on the nature of faith are not substantive but the result of ambiguous terminology.]

Among Protestants today Thomas Aquinas is best known for his natural theology, specifically the famous Five Ways found in the second question of the Summa Theologiae. Indeed, for many Protestants this is the only part of Aquinas's writings known with a firsthand acquaintance. By contrast, they know little of his much more extensive discussions of faith, despite the fact that this discussion is at least as, if not more, essential to his position. Two factors have contributed to this imbalance.

On the one hand, treatments of Aquinas's writings have traditionally given his proofs for God's existence a disproportionate amount of attention. Throughout modern and contemporary philosophy—from Descartes to Plantinga—proofs for God's existence have been the focus of study as issues of more narrowly philosophical rather than theological interest. In the context of these philosophical discussions Aquinas's proofs have been excerpted and examined in great detail. It is in this fashion that his natural theology has acquired a history and development of its own quite apart from his exposition of what he called sacred or revealed theology.

On the other hand, there has not been a commensurate close study of Aquinas's writings among Protestant theologians. The Protestant Reformation was, among other things, a reaction to the late Medieval church and a return to the Church Fathers. The sixteenth-century Reformers were highly critical of the doctrine of faith espoused by their Catholic contemporaries, the Schoolmen (the Catholic theologians at the various universities). By and large, later generations of Protestants seem simply to have taken the criticisms of the Reformers as the final word and assumed that they would not be likely to find anything of permanent worth in the Schoolmen's teaching on faith—including the teaching of Aquinas. And so today Aquinas's views on faith are practically unknown among Protestants.

In order to assess Aquinas's view of faith fairly, then, we will do well to call into question some of these assumptions from, and concerning, the past. John Calvin provides a good test case, for he was a vigorous opponent of the teachings of the Schoolmen. In his own discussion of faith he is very explicit about his disagreements with them. It is my contention, however, that his disagreement with Aquinas is more a matter of terminology than of substance.

1. Calvin vs. the Schoolmen

In the opening section of the chapter on faith in his Institutes of the Christian Religion, John Calvin indicates why a detailed investigation of faith is so necessary: "We must scrutinize and investigate the true character of faith with greater care and zeal because many are dangerously deluded today in this respect" (3.2.1). For Calvin this delusion had a very specific source. The people were being misled by none other than those who professed to be the teachers in Christendom, the Schoolmen. It is the Schoolmen, he charges, who call into question the view that faith is knowledge; it is the Schoolmen who "have fabricated the fiction of 'implicit faith'" (3.2.2); it is the Schoolmen who employ "that worthless distinction between formed and unformed faith" (3.2.8). The effect of their teaching, he argues, is not to explain but to obscure faith—indeed, almost to annihilate it. As a Reformer, Calvin defines many of his own positions precisely in contradistinction to those of the Schoolmen.

When reading Calvin's exposition today, one is naturally inclined to assume that what he wrote about the Schoolmen can without qualification be applied to Aquinas. Aquinas was, after all, a master in the schools. He regarded faith as a species of belief rather than of knowledge, he defended the notion of implicit faith, and he distinguished between formed and unformed faith. In fact every position Calvin attacks seems to have been upheld by Aquinas. Without doubt, the most important disagreement between the two concerns faith and knowledge: Is faith a knowledge of God or is it not? Calvin says it is; Aquinas denies it. I would like to suggest, however, that their disagreement is a matter not of substance but of terminology—specifically, that they have in mind different meanings when they use the verb to know.

Often I say that I know something merely because I am sure about it, because there is no doubt in my mind, as when I say, "I know that Los Angeles is a city in California." At other times I use know to indicate that I understand or comprehend a matter, as when I say, "I know that the sum of the interior angles of a triangle is equal to a straight angle," because I can produce the relevant proof. Both usages are found in ordinary, everyday speech. Sometimes our comprehension of a matter is the basis of our certainty, but often we are certain without possessing a corresponding comprehension, as when we are firm in our conviction merely because we accept the word of a reliable authority. This latter usage is more common than we might suspect. Most people, for instance, think of the scientific information they have picked up as knowledge even though they are not themselves able to explain it. We say thatwe know that water is H₂O even though we may not have the least idea about how to go about the chemical analysis that would justify this claim. This is knowing in the sense of being certain even though lacking comprehension.

The ambiguity of the verb to know is not new. It was noted already by Augustine, whose writings were well known to both Calvin and Aquinas. In The Retractations, Augustine states that when he said, "What we understand we owe to reason, what we believe to authority," he was speaking precisely but not excluding common usage. He did not intend to criticize "more familiar conversation," so that "we should be afraid to say that we know we believe on the authority of competent witnesses." Both uses are legitimate so long as they are not confused:

In truth, when we speak precisely, we mean that we know only what we grasp with the sound reason of mind. But when we use words better suited to common usage, as, indeed, Holy Scripture uses them, we should not hesitate to say that we know both what we perceive with our bodily senses and what we believe on the authority of trustworthy witnesses, provided, however, that we understand the difference between them.(1. 13, 3)

Augustine's categories are almost identical to those already given. We can say that what is grasped with the "sound reason of mind" is comprehended, but in common usage we also say that we "know" what we believe "on the authority of witnesses." This ambiguity is immediately relevant to our discussion of faith. When Calvin argues that faith is a knowledge of God, he is, I shall argue, following the common usage and using certitude as the criterion of knowledge—a certitude grounded in a reliable authority. By contrast, Aquinas is using comprehension as the criterion of knowledge when he denies that faith is knowledge. Consequently, Calvin's "firm and certain knowledge" is in substance identical with Aquinas's view that faith is a firm belief.

2. Faith as Knowledge

Calvin defines faith as "a firm and certain knowledge of God's benevolence toward us, founded upon the truth of the freely given promise in Christ, both revealed to our minds and sealed upon our hearts through the Holy Spirit" (Inst., 3.2.7). Among the elements in this definition the most crucial is the claim that faith is a firm and certain knowledge. Calvin appropriately describes the nature of this knowledge in detail, specifically noting that it is a matter of "assurance rather than comprehension" (Inst., 3.2.14). This distinction between assurance and comprehension is surprising and even puzzling at first sight. By assurance Calvin means what we often call "certitude," and by comprehension he means "understanding" in its common usage. Typically we become certain about a matter when we understand it: assurance follows upon comprehension. For example, when I understand that multiplying six times six is simply adding six sixes, then I become certain that the sum is thirty-six. But faith is unlike the typical case of knowing, Calvin says: it lacks the element of comprehension. "When we call faith 'knowledge' we do not mean comprehension of the sort that is commonly concerned with those things which fall under human sense perception," he notes (Inst., 3.2.14). There is a kind of comprehension in our grasp of sensible things that is not found in the case of faith. To discover the exact nature of this difference, we need to examine Calvin's view of our comprehension of sensible things.

Although man's understanding has been corrupted through sin, he contends, it is still able to understand earthly things. When mankind turns its attention to "things below," to "'earthly things,' … which do not pertain to God or his Kingdom, to true justice, or to the blessedness of the future life" (Inst., 2.2.13), then it often accomplishes a great deal, as can be seen in the achievements of the pagans in the arts, sciences, and civil order. It is investigations in these areas that Calvin has in mind when he speaks of the comprehension of the things that are accessible to human sense perception.

But although Calvin identifies where knowledge characterized by comprehension is to be found, he does not describe its character. He comments that in both the arts and sciences "all of us have a certain aptitude" (Inst., 2.2.14). He maintains that the ability to learn from our predecessors and even to go beyond them does not occur because of recollection, as Plato suggested; rather it is an indication of a capacity "inborn in human nature" (Inst., 2.2.14). Beyond this Calvin gives no account of how the understanding operates, and hence no further elucidation of what is meant by "comprehension." Like others trained in the Humanist tradition, he has no clearly articulated theory of science. One looks in vain in his writings for discussions of the principles or methods of the sciences or their relations to one another. For Calvin, the situation with the arts and sciences is sufficiently clear. Some people simply have an understanding in such areas; they readily grasp what is going on. Because they comprehend, they can explain; those who comprehend have knowledge. It is this ordinary, intuitive meaning of knowledge, which Calvin suggests is typical of the knowledge we have in the various arts and sciences, that he says is lacking in the case of faith. But if comprehension is not the basis of assurance or certitude, then what is?

Calvin asserts that a believer possesses assurance because in faith man's mind is raised above itself: "For faith is so far above sense that man's mind has to go beyond and rise above itself in order to attain it" (Inst., 3.2.14). This is true for Calvin with regard to both its content and its method. Human beings are generally more expert in sciences and arts because they are more closely related to the senses—the body is much easier to study than the soul, physics is easier to study than philosophy, and so on. Faith deals with "heavenly things" as opposed to earthly things—that is, with "the pure knowledge of God, the nature of true righteousness, and the mysteries of the Heavenly Kingdom" (Inst., 2.2.13). These things are not only beyond sense but also beyond, or above, the mind itself.

If we focus only on the content of faith, however, we will not grasp Calvin's meaning fully. The mind has to rise above itself not only in what it considers, but also in its manner of consideration. Faith is a higher form of knowledge in its mode of operation as well as in its object. Indeed, this is the central point in Calvin's explanation. In faith the mind attains but "does not comprehend what it feels. But while it is persuaded of what it does not grasp, by the very certainty of its persuasion it understands more than if it perceived anything human by its own capacity" (Inst., 3.2.14). Hence Paul's description of faith as the power to comprehend the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge (Eph. 3:18-19) and Calvin's assertion that it is a "kind of knowledge … more lofty than all understanding."

If one thinks of comprehension as the basis of the certitude of knowledge, then these statements of Calvin are puzzling if not nonsensical. Understanding and rational proof are the means by which we usually measure our comprehension of a matter and hence our conviction as to whether we possess knowledge. Calvin holds that comprehension is lacking in faith but that faith consists in certain knowledge nonetheless. Clearly he must be employing another criterion for knowledge thancomprehension. Two points in Calvin's explanation support this interpretation. The first is that he explicitly holds that knowledge goes beyond comprehension. To put the matter another way, if the criterion for faith as knowledge is assurance independent of comprehension, then limitations in the comprehension of faith should not affect its status as knowledge. So it is for Calvin:

We see that the mind, illumined by the knowledge of God, is at first wrapped up in much ignorance, which is gradually dispelled. Yet, by being ignorant of certain things, or by rather obscurely discerning what it does discern, the mind is not hindered from enjoying a clear knowledge of the divine will toward itself. For what it discerns comprises the first and principal parts in faith. (Inst., 3.2.19)

If the certitude of faith is not rooted in comprehension, then what is its basis? The second point in Calvin's discussion is that for him faith consists in far more than illumination of the mind: "Our mind has such an inclination to vanity that it can never cleave fast to the truth of God; and it has such a dullness that it is always blind to the light of God's truth" (Inst., 3.2.33). So the Spirit must illumine the human mind. For Calvin this is linked directly to the fact that faith is more than understanding: "Faith is much higher than human understanding. And it will not be enough for the mind to be illumined by the Spirit of God unless the heart is also strengthened and supported by his power" (Inst., 3.2.33). Faith involves a change in both heart and mind.

In the mind, faith consists in acceptance of the promise of "such things as neither eye can see nor understanding grasp," of the "heavenly mysteries" (Inst., 3.2.34). Man must renounce his reliance on his own ability to understand: "Man's discernment is so overwhelmed and so fails that the first degree of advancement in the school of the Lord is to renounce it" (Inst., 3.2.34). Faith is a bowing of the intellect to a higher power, but it is also much more. It is a matter of the heart: "It now remains to pour into the heart itself what the mind has absorbed. For the Word of God is not received by faith if it flits about in the top of the brain, but when it takes root in the depth of the heart" (Inst., 3.2.36).

According to Calvin, the change of the heart requires more power than the illumination of the mind: "The heart's distrust is greater than the mind's blindness. It is harder for the heart to be furnished with assurance than for the mind to be endowed with thought" (Inst., 3.2.36). Since faith involves a change of heart, it requires more than new or greater understanding and memory; it affects the whole soul (Inst., 3.6.4). What enters the heart passes into daily living and so transforms all of life.

While in the discussion of faith Calvin speaks of the changes in "heart and mind," elsewhere he indicates that understanding and will are the two basic faculties of the soul (e.g., Inst., 1.15.7). So we can assume that as "mind" is a synonym for "understanding," so "heart" is a synonym for "will." Calvin uses the term heart as it appears in the Old Testament text, but he has no qualms about replacing it with the term will in his own text. The switch from will to heart and back to will again in the following passage is typical:

In order that no one should make an excuse that good is initiated by the Lord to help the will which by itself is weak, the Spirit elsewhere declares what the will, left to itself, is capable of doing: "A new heart shall I give you, and will put a new spirit within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh, and give you a heart of flesh. And I shall put my spirit within you, and causeyou to walk in my statutes" [Ezek. 36:26-27]. Who shall say that the infirmity of the human will is strengthened by his help in order that it may aspire effectively to the choice of good, when it must rather be wholly transformed and renewed? (Inst., 2.3.6)

Thus we can see that when Calvin speaks of faith taking root in the depths of the heart he is indicating that the truth revealed by God must so move the will that an individual's entire being—the understanding in addition to all the other powers—is turned toward God. The effect of this action of the will on the understanding is that one becomes assured of God's goodwill even though one is not able to comprehend it.

Two other matters must be noted in order to round out our examination of Calvin's understanding of faith—one more point about his definition of the term, and a brief note about his understanding of the content of faith. First, the additional point about his definition: if assurance or certitude is the determining characteristic of faith as knowledge as he asserts, then it is redundant to describe it as he does. Speaking of "certain knowledge" is like speaking of a "round circle." Calvin, however, explains his purpose: "We add the words 'sure and firm' in order to express a more solid constancy of persuasion" (Inst., 3.2.15). In spite of the redundancy it may involve, Calvin is determined to underscore the fact that faith is in no way to be confused with opinion. The caution is perhaps in order, for normally when we hold to a position that is not grounded on comprehension, it is precisely what we call an opinion.

For Calvin faith is just the opposite of opinion. He maintains that believers become possessors of the heavenly kingdom through faith, and "no mere opinion or even persuasion is capable of bringing so great a thing to pass" (Inst., 3.2.1). Again, "faith is not content with a doubtful and changeable opinion"; rather, it is characteristically bold. This is why "the word 'faith' is very often used for confidence" (Inst., 3.2.15). So Calvin's intent in describing faith as "firm and certain knowledge" is to underscore the way it differs from opinion.

If confidence and boldness are the hallmarks of faith, one might suspect that Calvin is presenting a kind of triumphalism, suggesting that true Christians never have doubts. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Calvin declares that believers constantly have to struggle with their own unbelief: "While we teach that faith ought to be certain and assured, we cannot imagine any certainty that is not tinged with doubt, or any assurance that is not assailed by some anxiety" (Inst., 3.2.17). If believers are anxious rather than certain, it is because their faith is not yet perfect. In this life they are not completely cured of unbelief, but this imperfection is not a part of the faith itself. Faith is a firm and sure knowledge.

Second, in his definition Calvin gives a brief account of the content of faith and how it comes to us when he says that faith consists in a knowledge of "God's benevolence toward us." In explaining this matter Calvin begins by relating faith to Scripture: "There is a permanent relationship between faith and the Word" (Inst., 3.2.6). They are in fact inseparable. Reflecting upon the Apostle Paul's account of faith and the Word, Calvin says that "he could not separate one from the other any more than we could separate the rays from the sun from which they come" (Inst., 3.2.6). He is using "Word" to refer not just to the Bible but to all the ways in which God has revealed himself to mankind, the most notable instance of which is Christ. Calvin notes that it is not enough merely to have a knowledge of God's will for us; it is when we also become aware of his mercy that we are attracted to him, and his mercy is most clearly exemplified in the works of Christ. The Holy Spirit reveals the truth about Christ and convinces us of it. Word and Spirit work together so that both mind and heart are changed. Calvin's insistence that faith consists of a knowledge of God's benevolence to mankind is a manifestation of a concern evident throughout his writings—namely, that we should avoid what he calls "empty speculation" as a pathway to God:

The most perfect way of seeking God, and the most suitable order, is not for us to attempt with bold curiosity to penetrate to the investigation of his essence, which we ought more to adore than meticulously to search out, but for us to contemplate him in his works whereby he renders himself near and familiar to us, and in some manner communicates himself (Inst, 1.5.9)

Faith as he defines it clearly observes this rule.

To sum up, when we examine Calvin's explanation of his claim that faith is a firm and certain knowledge we find that he holds that it consists more in assurance than in comprehension, that it is more of the heart than of the mind. While it is not without intellectual content, its content is not comprehended. Believers are persuaded of what they do not grasp because the Spirit has changed their heart. Believers are especially assured about the life to come (see Inst., 3.2.28), but they cannot say exactly what it will be like. The content of faith is rooted in the Word of God and this Word takes hold in man because of the work of the Holy Spirit.

3. Faith as Thinking with Assent

Like Calvin, Aquinas presents a definition of faith. Characteristically, he derives it from Augustine, altering the form to fix its meaning in terms of contemporary categories. In the thirteenth century this meant setting the act of believing in the context of other intellectual operations, especially in relation to those of the sciences. We would say he sets it in relation to other mental acts, since he speaks in terms of "intellectual operations." As we have already seen, Calvin alludes only briefly to the contrast between faith and mankind's knowledge of the arts and sciences. Aquinas analyzes in more detail the different intellectual acts that constitute the basis for the contrast to which Calvin alludes.

According to Aquinas, faith's inner act is to believe, just as its outer act is to confess. Both in the Questions on Truth and in the Summa Theologiae he uses Augustine's definition of the inner act—belief—as the means to present his own position. In what follows I will outline the briefer discussion of the Summa.

According to Augustine, to believe is to think with assent (cum assentione cogitare). Aquinas fixes the meaning of this statement by noting that the verb to think (cogitare) refers not to just any act of intellectual knowing, but in the narrower sense to an act of intellectual consideration "that is accompanied by a certain searching prior to reaching complete understanding in the certitude of seeing." Again, "in this more proper sense cogitatio describes the process of the mind searching before reaching its term in the full vision of a truth" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 1). It is, in other words, the state in which one is reasoning, puzzling, pondering, unable to come to a conclusion.

The state of mind Aquinas is specifying is familiar to all of us. We experience it every time we come up against something we do not understand that poses a problem for us. Although Aquinas makes no reference to Plato's dialogues, many of them were written to produce just this state of mind. In the Meno, for example, Socrates generates just such puzzlement in the slave boy when he asks him to determine how much the length of a side of a given square will increase when its area is doubled. Before Socrates asked the question, the slave boy was not puzzled about the matter; nor was he puzzled once he finally solved it. But while he was searching for the answer, he experienced the state of mind that Aquinas says is relevant for the analysis of belief.

In the same way that Aquinas associates belief with the state of puzzlement one experiences while searching for the answer to a question, he associates knowledge with the freedom from puzzlement that comes when one has finally found the answer to the question. Knowledge for Aquinas entails the possession of a firm assent, free from pondering. He points out the practical value of making this distinction when he cites a passage from De Trinitate (15.16), in which Augustine suggests that it is significant that Christ is called the Word of God rather than the thought of God because there is in the meaning of the word thought an incompleteness that is inappropriate in references to God the Son. Word by contrast indicates a completeness: "In our case thought, as reaching what we know and being shaped by it, is our word. Thus the Word of God must be understood as being without thought (cogitatio), there being no passivity to being formed, no possible incompleteness' (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 1). Thinking manifests an incompleteness; by definition it entails that the mind has not yet been able to come to rest. By contrast, when one knows, then puzzlement, pondering, questioning, and the like cease. Of course puzzlement may cease for other reasons as well—one may be tired or distracted for instance—but for our present purposes we can set these other reasons aside. It will suffice merely to distinguish knowledge from belief.

Given that belief involves a sort of pondering and does not cease, one might suppose that it is like two other states of mind—namely, doubting and having an opinion—since both of these states also involve a failure of the mind to reach a firm assent. To doubt is to be unsure about two or more alternatives so that one leans toward neither. To have an opinion is to lean tentatively toward one alternative, without being able to rule out others. According to Aquinas, however, faith is unlike both doubt and opinion because it involves certainty of a sort. Believers have a firm certitude about what they believe even though they continue to ponder in a fashion similar to that of those who doubt or have an opinion:

The act of believing … is firmly attached to one alternative and in this respect the believer is in the same state of mind as one who has science or understanding. Yet the believer's knowledge is not completed by a clear vision, and in this respect he is like one having a doubt, a suspicion, or an opinion. To ponder with assent is, then, distinctive of the believer. (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 1)

The believer gives assent like one who has clear vision (i.e., like one who understands), but does so without having such vision. Naturally this raises a question: On what is the believer's assent based if it is not based on understanding? Aquinas's answer is that this assent is based on a voluntary choice:

There are two ways in which the mind assents to anything. One way is by being actuated bythe object to which it assents.… The other way the mind assents is not through a sufficient motivation by its proper object, but through some voluntary choice that influences the mind in favor of one alternative rather than the other. (ST, 2a2ae. 1, 4)

When one's understanding of an object does not provide a sufficient basis for assent, Aquinas says, the mind can assent by an act of the will. It is this sort of assent that constitutes faith.

Aquinas goes on to suggest that there are three distinct aspects to faith as it relates to God: believing in God (credere deum), believing God (credere deo), and believing unto God (credere in deum). Given that faith is an act in which the intellect is moved to assent by the will, a full consideration of this act requires that one consider "the object of faith … viewed in its reference to mind and in its reference to will as prompting the mind" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 2). In relation to the mind, faith has both a material and a formal aspect—that is, it has a content, and there is a reason why this content is accepted. This yields the three aspects just mentioned: believing in God is the material is the material aspect; believing God is the formal aspect; and believing unto God indicates the relation of faith to the will.

First, the material object of faith—believing in God. Faith holds to truths about God. He is the reality with which it is concerned first and foremost. According to Aquinas, the content of faith consists of the belief that God exists and that he rewards those who seek him (see ST, 2a2ae. 1, 7). That Aquinas relates faith directly to God is not surprising, but some question might arise concerning the many other things that Christians believe, such as the biblical record concerning historical events, miracles, and the like. According to Aquinas such things are matters of faith, but only because they bear "some relationship to God" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 2). In general, he says, what is contained in the creeds (i.e., the articles of faith) is essentially related to faith, whereas "the contents of Scripture handed down by God—e.g., that Abraham had two sons, that David was the son of Jesse and other matters of the sort" are related incidentally or secondarily to faith (see ST, la. 1, 7; and 2a2ae. 1, 6).

Second, there is the formal object of faith, what Aquinas calls "the medium because of which we assent to such and such a point of faith" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 2 [Pegis translation]). The point of specifying the formal object is necessary because there can be different means of coming to the same conclusion. For instance, I might say that it is going to rain either because I have heard the latest severe thunderstorm warning on the radio or because I have been observing the storm clouds developing and moving in my direction. Aquinas routinely cites as an example the conclusion of both the physicists and astronomers of his day that the earth is round—the physicists basing their conclusion on the study of falling bodies, and the astronomers utilizing evidence supplied by eclipses of the moon. Each science has its own formal object, the facet of reality which it studies and upon which it bases its conclusions. The problem here is to specify what basis theology has. Aquinas suggests that Christians believe because of the "first truth"—that is, they believe God himself:

There is the formal objective, which serves as the medium for assenting to the material objective; in this respect the act of faith is described as believing God, since … the formal objective is the first truth to whom a person holds fast, assenting to what is believed because of the first truth. (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 2)

God is not only that which is known, the material object of faith; he is also the medium through which faith's material object is known, the formal object of faith. Aquinas explains that by this he means that "faith … assents to anything only because it is revealed by God, and so faith rests upon the divine truth itself as the medium of its assent" (ST, 2a2ae. 1, 1). All of this is to say that for Aquinas faith is grounded in God's own self-revelation.

This argument is not, however, without its perplexing elements. It would seem obvious that we have to have some knowledge about God before we will be able to trust him (i.e., it seems that the material object of faith has to be prior to the formal object of faith). But Aquinas has said that one believes in God because one holds fast to God. We will be able to make more sense of his position if we understand that what he is really suggesting is simply that the soul does not hold to God through its own power. Its "intelligible light" is supplemented by the light of faith. The contrast we have observed in Calvin is operative here also:

The human intellect has a form, namely the intelligible light itself, which is sufficient of itself for the knowledge of certain intelligible realities, those, namely, acquaintance with which it can reach by way of sensible realities. But the human intellect cannot know more profound intelligible realities unless it is perfected by a stronger light, say the light of faith or prophecy; and this is called the light of grace, inasmuch as it supplements nature. (ST, 1a2ae. 109, 1)

The second thing to observe is that at the beginning faith consists almost entirely of trust. Believers are incapable of evaluating either the content of their belief or the authority being believed. In some ways it is like the situation of a student and teacher. Aristotle said that "every learner must first be a believer." Aquinas adds, "Thus in order that a person come to the full, beatific vision, the first requisite is that he believe God, as a learner believing the master teaching him" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 3). Such believing is not grounded on a prior knowledge but rooted in a manner that exceeds the believer's natural powers.

The student-teacher analogy has its limits, of course. Usually students will know a teacher as a person in some broader context, and this additional background information will help to provide some sort of a basis for the trust they manifest in putting themselves in the teacher's hands. There does not seem to be any analogue for this in the act of faith. Moreover, although the fact that students can rely on others for an evaluation of a teacher whom they cannot evaluate themselves does have a kind of parallel in the fact that the believer has the church as a witnessing community with its preaching and reports of miracles, faith nevertheless remains unique to the extent that what is believed is ultimately beyond the scope of human reason: only God, the angels, and the blessed are in full possession of the knowledge in question.

Aquinas's claim that God is the formal object of faith has been made in a slightly different way by a number of twentieth-century Protestant theologians, most notably Karl Barth, who has insisted that God must always remain the subject—the one who speaks—and never become an object in theology. Theologians must listen to God, nor can they ever free themselves from this demand. We can presume that Aquinas would have agreed with the substance of Barth's claim, but he would have bridled at the epistemological assumption that Barth seems to accept—namely, that a self-revealing subject cannot become an object. A faulty notion of objectivity is at the root of the problem. If it is the case that inattaining objectivity the mind constitutes the object rather than conforms itself to it, then God cannot become an object. For Aquinas, however, nothing of the sort is involved. For him it is precisely by holding fast to the first principle, God himself, that one arrives at the content, the material object, of theology.

The uniqueness of the formal object of theology should have implications for the way in which theology is done, and Aquinas outlines them in some detail. That faith is not merely about God but a listening to God, as Calvin and Barth would say, is evident in Aquinas's view that sacred theology is sui generis: "What is peculiar to this science's knowledge is that it is about truth which comes through revelation, not through natural reasoning" (ST, la. 1, 6 ad 2m). The other sciences, one and all, have their root in what can be grasped by the natural light of reason: "The premises of other sciences are either self-evident, in which case they cannot be proved, or they are proved through some natural evidence in some other science" (ST, la. 1, 6 ad 2m). But faith can in no way be traced back to some such knowledge: "Holy teaching assumes its principles from no human science, but from divine science …" (ST, Ia. 1, 6 ad Im). It is founded on God's knowledge, which we are enabled to know because it has been revealed by God.

What this means in practice is that it is appropriate to argue from authority in this science. Although authority is the weakest argument in the other sciences, in sacred teaching it is the strongest:

Argument from authority is the method most appropriate to this teaching in that its premises are held through revelation; consequently it has to accept the authority of those to whom revelation was made. Nor does this derogate from its dignity, for though weakest when based on what human beings have disclosed, the argument from authority is most forcible when based on what God has disclosed. (ST, la. 1, 8 ad 2m)

In the same response Aquinas specifies where this revelation is to be found: "Our faith rests on the revelation made to the Prophets and Apostles who wrote the canonical books" (ST, la. 1, 8 ad 2m). By contrast, the "doctors of the church" are proper authorities to whom the church looks as its own, although their arguments are no more than probable. Finally, "the authority of the philosophers who have been able to perceive the truth by natural reasoning" is extrinsic; "holy teaching employs such authorities only in order to provide as it were extraneous arguments from probability" (ST, la. 1, 8 ad 2m).

To say that God is the formal object of faith indicates why—that is, on what basis—one believes. It also determines the method of theology. More precisely, it determines where theology is to seek its material object or content: in the canonical books first of all. They constitute the foundation. The Fathers and philosophers are, by comparison, merely useful aids.

Finally, there is the third aspect of faith, which is a matter of the influence of the will on the mind. Aquinas writes, "The act of faith is described as believing unto God, since the first truth as having the quality of end engages the will" (ST, 2a2ae. 2, 2). For Aquinas faith is an act of the intellect, for its goal is truth. However, the intellect is moved to this act "under the impetus of the will moving it to assent" (ST, 2a2ae. 4, 2). Simply put, in the act of faith "the mind assents to matters of belief by reason of the will's command" (ST, 2a2ae. 4, 2 ad Im). As with all other voluntary acts, faith isshaped by its end. In light of this, Aquinas states that charity completes and shapes faith, that faith becomes a virtue only as it is shaped by love. Where love is lacking there may be a formless faith, but such faith is not a virtue.

There is one more related matter. Granted that the act of faith consists in the will moving the intellect, the source of this movement remains in question. Calvin, as we have seen, attributes it to God. The matter is of more than passing interest, since many Protestants are convinced that Catholics tend to be Pelagian at this point, making man the origin of the movement of the will. Aquinas's position is clear: assent is the principal element in the act of faith, and it has no other origin than God.

As to assent to matters of faith, we can look to two types of cause. One is a cause that persuades from without, e.g. a miracle witnessed or a human appeal urging belief. No such cause is enough, however; one man believes and another does not, when both have seen the same miracle, heard the samne preaching. Another kind of cause must therefore be present, an inner cause, one that influences a person inwardly to assent to the things of faith. The Pelagians thought this cause to be free will alone and therefore taught that the beginning of faith is from us, i.e. that it is from our own resources that we are ready to assent to matters of faith, and that the finishing of faith is from God, i.e. that it is he who proposes the things we must believe. This is a false doctrine. The reason: since in assenting to the things of faith a person is raised above his own nature, he has this assent from a supernatural source influencing him; this source is God. The assent of faith, which is its principal act, therefore, has as its cause God, moving us inwardly through grace. (ST, 2a2ae. 6, 1)

Since God is the cause of faith, this faith is for Aquinas a supernatural act. He maintains that both what is believed and the power to believe are from God, for they go beyond the capacity of the natural power of the human intellect.

4. Comparisons and Contrasts

Enough has been said to permit a comparison of the views of Calvin and Aquinas on the nature of faith. Calvin holds that faith is a firm and certain knowledge of God's benevolence toward us, and that knowledge consists more in assurance than in understanding. The comprehension of faith is not like the comprehension we have of things grasped by sense perception. Its content is not obscure or confused, yet neither is it complete. If faith is a firm and certain knowledge, it is because it possesses assurance—a full and fixed certainty that we are accustomed to having of things experienced and proved. Calvin sums up his position succinctly: "The knowledge of faith consists in assurance rather than in comprehension" (Inst., 3.2.14).

In examining Aquinas's position, we found that he holds that faith is an act of believing, of thinking with assent. One who believes has a firm certitude about the content of faith, but continues to puzzle and ponder. Faith lacks complete intellectual clarity. Thus, believing is distinguished from understanding, and it is only the one who understands or sees who has knowledge, a clear vision.

At first sight, then, it appears that Aquinas is taking a position directly opposed to that of Calvin. He denies that faith is knowledge, whereas Calvin insists that it is knowledge. However, when we examine Aquinas's analysis of belief, we find that it has the same character Calvin attributes to theknowledge of faith. Aquinas states that in the act of faith the intellect never comes to rest, never reaches the point where it is satisfied; the content of faith is never fully grasped in this life.

Nevertheless, for Aquinas faith possesses a firm and sure assent because its assent is rooted not in the intellect but rather in the will. He points to assent as the principal act of faith, and says that it is firm and certain even though the intellect in its effort to comprehend remains unsatisfied.

As can be seen, both Calvin and Aquinas point to the important role the will plays in the act of faith. Calvin speaks of faith as involving a change of heart; faith, he says, is more of the heart than of the brain, and heart is a term he uses interchangeably with will. Aquinas similarly affirms that it is the will that has the decisive role in the assent of faith. Both theologians see such a change of the will as being a work of God. For Calvin faith is the principal work of the Spirit, a supernatural gift. As we have seen, it is no less true for Aquinas that faith is created in us by God and not by ourselves.

With regard to the relation between faith and Scripture, there is a similar parallel. In striking fashion Calvin affirms that faith depends upon God's word as found in Scripture, for it is nourished only where God reveals himself. For Aquinas it is the same: sacred teaching depends upon authority, and that authority is found in the canonical books.

Nor does there seem to be any substantive difference with regard to the content of faith. Calvin says that faith is concerned with a knowledge of God's benevolence toward us. Aquinas concurs with this emphasis when he cites Hebrews 11:6 as an expression of the sum and substance of faith. On the other hand, it is also true that Calvin makes reference to all three persons of the Trinity in his definition of faith, whereas Aquinas postpones his consideration of this aspect to his discussion of the articles of faith.

My primary concern has been to determine whether there is a substantive difference between Calvin and Aquinas in their views of the nature of faith, and in the end I conclude that there is not. When describing faith, both affirm that it possesses a certitude that goes beyond the believer's understanding. It is clear, I think, that what on the surface appears to be a substantive difference turns out in fact to be merely a difference in terminology.

I have not found any passage in which Calvin shows an awareness of the fact that there may be another way to define knowledge, though one might argue that it is implicit in his contrast of the knowledge of faith with the knowledge of things known through the senses. Aquinas, by contrast, was not only aware of the fact that knowledge can be defined in more than one way, but he indicates what those ways are, where examples can be found, and what follows from each. He notes in the writings of the Apostle Paul and Augustine examples of the usage that Calvin later adopted—namely, defining knowledge in terms of a sure assent—but he himself opts for defining knowledge, in terms of comprehension, a usage also found in Augustine, Gregory, and elsewhere.

Knowledge can have two meanings: sight or assent. When it refers to sight, it is distinguished from faith. Thus, Gregory says: "things seen are the object not of faith, but of knowledge." According to Augustine, those things "which are present to the senses or the understanding" are said to be seen. But those things are said to be present to the understanding which are not beyond its capacity.

But, in so far as there is certainty of assent, faith is knowledge, and as such can be called certain knowledge and sight. This appears in the first Epistle to the Corinthians (13:12): "We see now through a glass in a dark manner." And this is what Augustine says: "If it is not unfitting to say that we know that also which we believe, to be most certain, it follows from this that it is correct to say that we see with our minds the things which we believe, even though they are not present to our senses." (Truth, 14, 2 ad 15m)

If knowledge consists in sight or comprehension, then it is distinct from faith; if it consists in a sure assent, then faith is knowledge. So faith can be called knowledge or belief, depending upon how one defines one's terms. Aquinas's categories are parallel to those we cited from Augustine.

The full picture looks like this: there are two senses of the verb to know, and a sense of the verb to believe corresponds to each. The more precise sense of to know implies that one has an understanding or comprehension of the thing that is known. This is the usage that Aquinas regularly employs and that Calvin associates with the knowledge of earthly things. A person who does not understand a matter might nevertheless accept it to be true, but will do so only on the basis of some external authority. If the authority is completely reliable, belief can be certain. -This is the meaning of to believe that is complementary to the sense of to know as comprehension. Of course in common usage, we often speak of knowing things we do not ourselves understand but have simply accepted as true on the authority of others. In this case to know indicates an assurance or an absence of doubt groun-ded in authority. This kind of knowledge is also certain, free from doubt, in those cases where one is convinced that the authorities being relied on are trustworthy and sound and that one has understood them correctly. The com-plementary sense of to believe in this case means that one suspects that something is true but is not sure, because of some doubt about either the authority cited or one's grasp of what the authority has said. This complementary meaning of to believe corresponds to what Aristotle and others call opinion.

At this point, though, an interesting question arises: Why did Aquinas prefer the one definition of faith and Calvin the other? The reasons, I think, involve some interesting philosophical, and more especially epistemological, commitments on the part of each man, but examination of these must wait until later. We may just say here that the advantage of Aquinas's discussion is that he does not merely say that the comprehension of faith is unlike that found in other areas of human knowledge; he goes on to specify how the act of believing differs from knowing, doubting, and the like. Indeed, so far we have barely scratched the surface of Aquinas's analysis and will need to return to examine these matters in more depth in due course. What is apparent thus far is that one can describe the act of faith using either language. While Calvin and Aquinas differ radically in the language they use and the methods of analysis they employ, in substance their views of the nature of faith are similar, if not identical.