What Is the Philosophy of Religion?: A Thomistic Account

Abstract

The article seeks to address and answer two questions: “What is Religion?” and “What is the Philosophy of Religion”? It gives a definition of the first and defends it. It places its arguments on the second in relation to a number of current textbooks on the subject, indicating that its views accord with commonly-recognized concerns, but that these deserve to be ordered a certain way. Specifically, it argues that the whole subject should rightly be divided into two parts (each with proper sub-sections): “Natural Theology” (or God as the Fullness and First Cause of Being) and the “Philosophy of Religion” (or God as Final End and Blessedness). This latter part deals with questions such as the relation of morality and religion, the definition of religion, and religious diversity, and ends with the study of the credibility of religion. For, it argues, the end of metaphysics as classically presented itself requires going beyond it to ask whether there is any credible Way to the natural human goal of being entirely happy or perfected. By rights, then, philosophy ends in seeking whether there is a credible true faith (or several), although committing to any one takes one beyond philosophy’s proper limits.

1. Introduction

Just what is the philosophy of religion? This is not that easy a question to answer.

Let us begin by perusing typical textbooks today on the subject,1 ones that intend to offer an introduction of the subject to undergraduates through representative articles on it. These books are divided into subsections,2 dealing with its main issues, which we find are largely agreed-upon.3

Usually, they begin with a definitional matter: “what is religion?”4 From this beginning, one would infer that the philosophy of religion is of the same genre as the philosophy of science or the philosophy of art. These suppose familiarity with their given subject. Should we then admit that the philosophy of religion begins with some kind of phenomenology of religion or study of comparative religion before asking philosophical questions of it? If so, what kind of study and familiarity must one have? Will, for example, an “arm-chair” approach do? (say the one that Max Weber practiced in his books on the religions of India and China);5 or is a more empirical, hands-on, or experiential engagement required?6 Is, in any case, the philosophy of religion dependent upon some study that might broadly fall under the term “cultural anthropology”? What familiarity with religion is sufficient in order to engage with it responsibly as a philosopher?

We might also wonder where “the philosophy of” any particular subject is to be placed. Are these not, indeed, proper to metaphysics in its sapiential role, seeking to give an ordered account of human knowing, a defense of the arts and sciences in the face of possible skepticism?7 Or is this taking an unduly “classical” approach to the matter? Yet, in any case, will not our answers about these different types of human knowing be dependent upon our understanding at least of what knowledge is? Is not some sort of metaphysical or epistemological inquiry presupposed?

Moving on in our textbooks, we soon find ourselves on more familiar philosophical ground (albeit notably different from the first issue raised!); we find sections on arguments for the existence of God (or possibly other ways of reaching God, through immediate experience, or belief not needing the support of any argument), the attributes of God, and language about God: clearly questions of metaphysics, natural theology, or the philosophy of God. These are matters raised by classical philosophers as the term of philosophical inquiry and found in sequence, for example, in the first treatise on God of Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae.8 Further sections plainly deal with questions on this subject: questions regarding God’s providence and its relation to freedom and to evil or of God’s power in relation to the natural order (i.e., the possibility of miracles or the relation of religious claims to those of science, e.g., contemporary empirical science).

Although these questions clearly are familiar and part of what I will here just call “natural theology”, they bring a similar question with them as before: since natural theology is the last part of metaphysics, and that the last part of philosophy as a whole, does the philosophy of religion, then, not first require an honest admission of “where one is coming from”? Does it not, inevitably, presuppose a whole set of prior philosophical positions, before it even begins?

A cognate issue our textbooks regularly raise asks what the relation is between “religion and morality”. The relation investigated is that between moral life as under the authority and guidance of religion and as independent of it. This obviously supposes accounts of what a particular religion and an “independent” morality enjoin. We might well wonder here “just what religion?” (since they mandate different actions) and “what philosophical account of common human morals?” Presumably, this matter is dealt with in the articles. Nevertheless, their issues are clearly found more in practical philosophy9 than as the term of theoretical philosophy.

When the issue of “religion and morality” is being addressed, we might also wonder whether (and possibly discover that) the chief object of concern here is not an ethical, but a political, one: that is, to what degree can there be some defensible overlap between what a religion and a pluralist democracy can and do proscribe? Clearly, there is some overlap (the obligation, say, of not murdering) and some independence (the obligation, say, of Sunday observance); but how is the “middle area” (of more thorny issues such as abortion or euthanasia, to name but two of the most prominent current interests) to be conceived?10 It is thus not too surprising that we usually also find questions in our textbooks on the nature of “religious diversity” and on “reason and faith”. Behind and in these sections lie the issues of the relation between our common human nature and the specificity of any religion, and its authority and claims, whether in terms of the truths it embraces or the practical life it enjoins. This clearly is no longer to do with natural theology.

But here another fundamental problem arises: can these questions be dealt with responsibly by anyone outside “the circle of faith”? What kind of appreciation of a religion can be expected of anyone who does not speak from within the embrace of a determinate religion? Here again, we seem to suppose that we “know what we are talking about”: that we have some sense of what it means to live under the authority of a religious tradition. How is this to be acquired? Will the “sympathetic understanding” of practical wisdom11 be enough? How can philosophers protect themselves from being “cried to scorn” by any person of a given tradition who decries the “hubris” of philosophers trying to address what they do not really understand?

So much for some of the more obvious kinds of questions that are raised up for us simply by perusing the textbooks on offer on the subject of “The Philosophy of Religion”.

What follows is one effort to think these through: to argue for what religion and a philosophy of it are, and to offer some clarifying connections on the order of their questions.12

2. Preliminary Considerations

As will, I trust, surprise no reader of the previous paragraphs, my own view is that we must first acknowledge “where we are at” or “where we are coming from” in approaching this subject. What then follows will likely be of greater interest to those who share my point of view, wholly or at least substantially (although it might be of interest to others who do not, insofar as it gives some “view onto” what one such person might hold).

My point of view, then, is of one who shares the fundamental philosophical point of view of Aquinas (thus, a broadly “Aristotelian Neoplatonism”) as well as his Catholic faith.13 My interest, however, is not chiefly to “witness to others”, just what such a person might think of the questions I have raised, but to think through my questions for those who come out of a similar point of view. For, as most will likely realize, Aquinas and his tradition do not have a “part of philosophy” dedicated to “the philosophy of religion”, nor was this a part of its tradition as it tried to present it in our day, or just prior to it, to undergraduate students. Thus, how this should be thought of from that tradition is likely to be as controversial, or more controversial, to it than to those who do not share it. I thus recognize that I may be speaking here for no one but myself!

To begin at the end of my questions, I hold a fairly common view that truth about God is to be found from two sources: the “Book” of Nature and the “Book” of a Holy Tradition. Since it is the same being who is known from both “books”, the truths of each cannot in principle contradict the other. Furthermore, there is indeed some overlap between the two. Thus, as is often said, that God exists, is all good and all powerful, and beyond human comprehension are truths that can be derived from any person’s understanding of the natural world and the human experience of it; but that God is a Trinity of three persons, two of whom were sent into this world, one being incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth, and the other being sent into the hearts (i.e., souls) of holy people, are truths that transcend what can be known from the natural world or from reason and that repose on divine faith: specifically, on the faith that behind or in Jesus of Nazareth lies the Word of God who is acting in and through him (i.e., whose actions are “theandric”), manifesting to us who God is.

I do not think, however, that one has to be within the circle of that faith to understand what is being said about God in the above. On the contrary, some who come to adhere to its faith do so having well understood the truth that it is proclaiming, and all those who do so should at least have some understanding of the truth they will be embracing, or else their conversion to that faith is questionable (and thus its communicants are required to affirm the truths in its church’s creed or confession of faith). The same holds for what this tradition proclaims about what actions we should engage in: these can be understood by anyone, not just those within its tradition. Furthermore, it seems to me that this is likewise the point of view of other religious traditions; that is, they think that those who do not share the beliefs or practices of their holy tradition nevertheless can understand them or understand them well enough to choose to embrace their tradition.

Thus, to directly answer one of the questions asked previously, there is no reason why a person of good will and sympathetic understanding need fear that he will be “cried to scorn” by a thoughtful and reasonable person of a religious tradition for trying to understand its beliefs and practices. Thus, a “philosophy of religion” is a defensible rational undertaking.14

This does not deny the possible truth that “you will not understand unless you believe”, in the sense that a religious faith embraced may give access to some further understanding. Indeed, it might hold that what is most important about God does not come from the “Book of Nature”. Yet, there is no good reason to claim that what comes from it is false or distorting, so long as the claim is not made that God is what can be gathered from it alone (and, unlike Deism, theistic philosophy is in principle open to God freely revealing Himself). Indeed, it is clear from religious practice that religions hold that something can be said to those not in their “circle of faith” on behalf of adhering to their holy tradition. At the very least, then, something in ordinary human experience motivates inquiry and questions to which it then speaks. And even religious language is human language, and it is only meaningful in relation to the ordinary experience of our human nature. It may be that the true God “comes in search of man”;15 yet it is also true that man goes in search of the true God: the entire history of human religion and philosophy indicates as much.

My use of “sympathetic understanding” also alerts us to my answer to one of the first questions raised. Just as being within the circle of faith might increase one’s understanding of its truths, so a deeper and hands-on experience of human religious traditions can deepen one’s appreciation for them. To take but one example here, surely Huston Smith’s personal and hands-on engagement with many different religious traditions was a great aid to his perspicuous understanding of them.16 By contrast, anyone of narrow and doctrinaire spirit—whether of one religious point of view or none—is likely not to speak well of the subject he or she is investigating. We would do well to adhere to Aristotle’s admonition to “nowhere be more modest than in discussions about the gods… lest from temerity or impudence we should make ignorant assertions”.17 Certainly, some experience of religion is necessary to engage in the philosophy of religion.18 Yet, this can be acquired variously and more or less deeply. It thus remains possible to engage in the philosophy of religion, even if imperfectly, without a deep hands-on experience of the subject (and thus what Max Weber wrote, say, is not without its interest).

3. The Philosophy of Religion

It being a possible intellectual undertaking, then, how ought a philosopher to go about its study? I turn here to the order of its philosophical inquiry. The reflections I offer seek to work out of the philosophical point of view of Aquinas.

First, then, while it is understandable that the nature or definition (or indefinability) of religion might well be placed in some textbooks as the first of their questions, this is not the first question that deserves to be faced in the subject of the philosophy of religion. The first questions to be asked in it come from the end of classical philosophical inquiry and are situated in the last part of metaphysics.19 By rights, its first questions concern the existence and the nature of God, and God’s providence (in relation to free choice and evil) and power (in relation to natural events). For a Thomist, then, in the first part of the philosophy of religion, one is on quite familiar ground: it is simply the contemporary equivalent of what is elsewhere known as “natural theology”.

For those who do not share this philosophical perspective, one reason for regarding the question of the existence of God as primary is that, without there in fact being any plausible referent for religious discourse, it becomes of considerably less philosophical interest. One might perhaps here mention Freud’s The Future of an Illusion: it is a thin book.20 Indeed, for a positivist, there hardly was such a thing as the philosophy of religion.21 There may well be many illusory or false convictions human beings have entertained; however, these seem to be more the purview of a cultural anthropologist than of great interest to a philosopher. If there is nothing to be said for there, in fact, being an Ultimate, an Absolute, or a Transcendent Reality behind the universe, the philosophy of religion will seem only distantly connected to the usual undertakings of philosophy.

Of course, historically there is likely no other subject that has as intimate a connection with philosophy as religion. But this is just because the latter treats the Absolute and Transcendent, the Source of all things, and supplies a criterion or criteria (i.e., a Truth) for how we should act and how we should judge our actions (to be Good): matters that are likewise at the center of the preoccupation of many a philosopher. Again, then, were there nothing to be said in favor of there being such an Absolute and such a standard of action, religion would be of less vital interest to it.

In beginning with natural theology, it is reasonable to discuss other possible evidence than the rational argument for the existence of God, such as that given on the basis of religious experience22 or mysticism, or indeed to discuss whether any argument is necessary (belief in God being claimed to be “basic”, say). These matters, typically found in our contemporary textbooks, seem to be just further “disputed questions” raised in relation to the classical matter of natural theology.

If our philosophical inquiry indeed begins from natural theology, that means a great deal of previous philosophical work is needed to handle its questions rightly. One engaged in its task should make those presuppositions transparent, as necessary.23 This seems to be true of anyone’s work in the subject, regardless of what his or her philosophical viewpoint may be.

If any Thomist is likely to assent to what I have said so far, many will likely find far more controversial what I am going to go on to claim, which is that there deserves to be a distinct subject by the name of “the philosophy of religion”, one that goes beyond natural theology and is rightly the true final term of all philosophical inquiry. This subject, as we will see, includes a number of our previous sections not yet mentioned. The main thesis of this paper, then, is that “the philosophy of religion” is really in two parts: what falls under classical natural theology and this further and second part.

In the first sentence of his Metaphysics,24 Aristotle claims that all men by nature desire to know: a claim he supports by a number of arguments. Since what differentiates the human animal from all others is its rational power, this desire to know is most distinctive and central to our nature. Because humans are not pure intellects but embodied ones, what they first know are the objects of the natural world known through their senses. But their desire to know them is not satisfied unless they know them as they are: both in themselves and in relation to their necessary causes. Now, as will have been clear from the arguments in natural theology, that means their natural desire to know can only be fulfilled by knowing their first and ultimate cause, by which they “live, move, and have their being”. It is clear that their natural desire can only be met by the vision of God.25

Aristotle more or less argues this in the last book of his ethics.26 He rightly recognizes, however, that such a possible sight is entirely beyond human capacity. God alone possesses the natural ability to see Himself, and He does so perfectly; thus, God is absolutely happy, blessed, or bliss (since God is absolute goodness and is enjoyed in divine self-knowledge). This is in fact the conclusion of natural theology (the last question of the Summa’s first treatise “On the One God”). An intellectual creature can only be rendered fully happy by participating in that blessedness.27

Since doing so is entirely beyond our natural powers, Aristotle contents himself with the conclusion that our human happiness is reached by the understanding of God to be had in this life, which is highly imperfect and in which God is not seen as God is. He even seems to think that this may be the only happiness that is possible for us.28 But, if so, in this he was mistaken. For, on his own principles, no natural desire can be in vain,29 since it is the work of Absolute Wisdom, which makes nothing in vain. Thus, while it is certainly true that our natural desire to know is not fulfilled in this life, it nevertheless can and will be fulfilled, at least for some, after this life. (Furthermore, we might note that, in his will, Aristotle asked that statues be set up to Zeus Savior and Athena Saviouress… it would seem for the good of his own intellectual soul, in its possible life after death.)30

This argument reposes on two truths. The first is that the human intellect, in its action and thus in its being, is immaterial and transcends the limitation and corruptibility of the body. There thus must be a life after death that awaits our defining inner principle (albeit not our full person, for we are not a pure intellect, but an embodied one).31 It is right and necessary that the philosophy of religion takes up this issue. (It is even within its purview to ask whether it is reasonable to suppose that, by the grace of God, a person might be restored to some incarnate and whole personal life.) The second truth is what is entailed by a natural, God-given, desire not being in vain. In my judgment, Aquinas holds (and clearly states, in his Summa Contra Gentiles) that this entails not only that God can supply the gracious means by which an intellectual creature can know Him as He is, but that He in fact will supply those gracious means unless the intellectual creature, as first cause, impedes them from being effective by his sin.32 For God creates to some purpose and His creative intention is visible in His work: in the natural order to Him found in the intellectual creature’s desire to know the truth (indeed: “the whole truth and nothing but the truth” …, i.e., God).

This second truth is certainly the subject of ancient philosophical discussions of God’s providence (God’s gifts by which we can be virtuous being clearly broached by Plato in the Meno, for example),33 and it could be discussed variously as a part of a natural theology. But its central place lies here, in the creature’s order to God as the final resting place and end. In my judgment, it is Aquinas’ express position that an order of pure nature alone, without the aid of God’s grace, is an unjustifiable supposition.34 It contradicts God’s wisdom (one visible in the natural order of things He has made), since this would be to make an intellectual creature in vain, indeed to make one that would be everlastingly miserable: one that, absent His grace, would place his end in a creature, not his Creator, and would self-destruct.35 On the contrary, God always orders creatures to their end and perfection. God thus orders intelligent creatures that they can, and some do, attain their final resting place. This is why Aquinas not only claims that God predestines some to blessedness,36 but that this truth is within the power of human reason to discover (as he teaches in the SCG, III).

But here—in recognizing that we are made “for God” (as Augustine famously said in the first chapter of his Confessions) and that there thus must be A Way to attain God as our end and to rest in God—we reach the limits of philosophy. For the aid that will make this possible is beyond our nature and thus beyond what philosophy can rightly lay claim to seeing. It cannot see what is THE Way to our end.37 Yet, this Way cannot oppose what philosophy knows from its own “Book” of nature. It thus has a tool to aid it as it goes in search of this Way. The Way may be beyond philosophy’s power to demonstrate, but it is not beyond philosophy’s power to criticize or possibly reject.38 Whatever the Way is, it will not be an unreasonable one. At the term of proper philosophical activity, a philosopher must seek the Way to our human end and goal. We must seek a Way in which we can believe, a Way that is credible to reason (and this of course will demand philosophical reflection on the just standard of “credibility” to be applied here).

We come, then, to the final issues that are raised in our books: namely, the nature of religion and religious diversity. For it is the nature of religion just to propose what the True Way is to the end that philosophy can see is the perfection of our nature and of our natural desire to know. A philosopher of necessity seeks to address the question: “what is the true faith” or true religion?

Any dispassionate inquiry into this problem perforce must recognize that there are diverse serious contenders to be the right and true way to our end. Thus, one must face the “diversity of religions” that often is a section in our textbooks, and thus some knowledge of the “phenomenology of religion” is required for a philosophy of religion. In studying religion, one will discover a great deal in common between the great religious traditions of mankind: both in what they say about the Transcendent Reality behind the universe, and the right and virtuous way of acting that orders us to it. One will also discover some significant differences. However, a philosopher is not forced to suppose that one who does not choose the “true way” is thereby ordered away from one’s end; it is clear that one can implicitly hold and live by truths that one has failed to make explicit (to oneself, as well as to others). To criticize a way for failing to be as credible as another or for not being the truest way is not to claim that a follower of that way is necessarily “headed in the wrong direction”.39 Furthermore, and remembering Aristotle’s admonition, a philosopher is likely to find that there are various credible ways,40 ones more or less so (in his or her judgment). And, be it noted, to hold that a way is more credible is not necessarily to believe in it personally, just as to find a person more loveable is not to say “I do” in a marriage ceremony; the second entails a free commitment to an unsure good and the first entails the free commitment to a divine faith.

4. The Nature of Religion

In all of the above, we have been presuming what religion in fact is. At the end of our inquiry, we need to address this question explicitly. There are some who argue that religion is so mysterious or complex as to be indefinable.41 Against such a view, let me propose a definition of it that I believe is defensible.

We might begin by noting the definition of “the virtue of religion” as classically given. From the Euthyphro on,42 it was recognized to encompass the most important sphere of justice, giving what is due to the divine realm. It binds or ties one to the divine, principally through practical acts, such as worship, devotion, and prayer, or other acts, such as alms-giving, oaths, or tithing. Taking that as one’s cue, one can begin to define religion itself: it is a sacred way to the Absolute. More specifically, it is “a sacred way that claims to unite us to a mysterious ultimate reality43 by personal and communal acts that entail both a vision and an ethic”. And this needs further elaboration, so we should add: “and that is expressed through works of beauty; that works through evil imperfectly now, but with the promise of doing so perfectly in a state of final joy; and that gives meaning to life as a whole”. Religion fundamentally seeks to come to terms with death and suffering and to see life as a whole, as including these negative elements, which nevertheless do not have “the last word”, but which are to be “worked through” in relation to a hope of something better and greater.

To comment on this proposed definition, the core of a religion is its communal praxis, which is just why some today say they are “spiritual”, but not “religious”, since they never or seldom engage in any traditional religious practice. (This is also why someone like Simplicianus told Marius Victorinus that he would not believe he really was a Christian unless he saw him in Church, practicing his faith and confessing it.)44 Its central practical acts, then, are both personal (prayer, vow, devotion, adoration, contemplation, meditation) and communal (ritual, worship, sacrament). Embedded in such a practice, and thus supposed or entailed by it, is both a vision (faith, creed, writing, stories, doctrine, authority) and an ethic (law or way of life); these find expression in religious works of beauty (shrine, temple, mosque, church, icon, statue, song, dress, dance). The evil that it seeks to work through is our condition of ignorance, sin, guilt, suffering, and death, and the hope or final state that it promises can be variously described as blessedness, bliss, full enlightenment, Beatific Vision, or Nirvana. And it thus aims to give meaning to life as a whole, providing a framework in which all of our experience can be related and find some sense.

Let us comment further on some terms in this definition. “Sacred” is contrasted to profane or “secular”: it involves actions and rites that are “set apart” from the everyday and ordinary, and thus it entails sacred places and times.45 This sacredness derives from its ultimate object or end, which is other and greater than the “natural” (i.e., “super”-natural). It is “mysterious” in being so much greater than our own being, understanding, and language. It is just because of its principal object’s “otherness” that such movements as Marxism or Nationalism, or personal or civic acts deriving from a “secular humanism”, and which also lack this referent, are not properly religious.46

That religion is a sacred “Way” indicates both that religion is ordered towards something not yet achieved—a way to the end, not the end itself—and that it is something complex, involving different actions and beliefs. Usually, all aspects of its Way cohere; nevertheless, it is possible to incorporate aspects initially developed in an alternate Way or Tradition, as can be found in China, Korea, and Japan, for example, where elements of Confucianism and Buddhism (or Taoism or Shintoism) coexist together and can form part of a person or a community’s Way.

The “Mysterious Ultimate Reality” or “Absolute” is often called God (or by an equivalent but more particular name, e.g., the “Tetragrammaton”, “Allah”, or “Brahman”) and it also includes Satori and the “Nirvana” of Buddhism (which is why it can be seen to be a religion, at least in many of its forms, when it is not just a personal philosophy).47 Often God is recognized as the ultimate source of life and existence, upon whose will we all depend, but this may be muted or less present or at least spoken of differently (say, as between certain varieties of Hinduism or Buddhism and the Semitic religions descended from Judaism).

That religion is centrally found in action, rather than doctrine, many who study religion would maintain: ritual actions are at its core.48 People engage in this practice because they believe certain things. However, it is also and perhaps more importantly the case that “the rule of prayer lays down the rule of faith”: doctrine articulates praxis. Vision and ritual are correlatives. Because ritual is communal, there is always a social dimension and authority in religion.

The religious ethic grows from the religious vision and practice and is developed over time, as the religion and community confront new situations and disputed questions. (Indeed, as with all human reality, religions develop various of their aspects over time.) If one is religious, one will seek to follow an explicit way of life or ethic (although each believer no doubt struggles to appropriate well, and differently, particular aspects of it or of its teaching). The situation does not work so readily in reverse. Someone who adopts or largely follows an ethic that derives from a religion may not come to follow its explicit faith or ritual practice.

The expression of the religion in beautiful material things49 also develops over time, from something hardly so discernible to great monuments (from a “house church” to St. Peter’s, say).

Religion as it is found historically always is centrally concerned with the “negativity” of human existence and offers a way to come to terms with it. (A philosopher does not need to believe in the doctrine of “original sin”—that is, a doctrine that explains why we are faced with this condition—to recognize its obvious reality!). The condition remains—people remain ignorant and sinful, continue to suffer physically and spiritually, continue to die—and evil is experienced as real, and often “horrendous”, and even as a challenge to a religious faith. Nevertheless, religion is on the side of “positivity”; it offers reconciliation to present evils done or suffered and holds out the promise that finally they will be transcended or overcome. Bliss, Heaven, the Beatific Vision, the Communion of Saints, Enlightenment, and the Joy of Union with God are its typical end, promised for all or for all those who are faithful or become truly good. If the end is attained, then religion is transformed: praise, love, and communion remain, but the “sting” of evil is surpassed.

Religion is likewise always centered (in all states and conditions) upon the meaning of existence, for it provides the “touchstone” or the “Absolute” to which all can potentially be related, thereby placing events in some framework and making them “meaning-full.”

Because religion is centered on something other or greater, its “invitation” is always present, and can always be deepened; participating in it means placing one’s center in a new, different, and presumably better place: in the Way of the Ultimate, Absolute, or God. Thus, conversion—indeed many deepening conversions—is typical of its life. And some who are more holy—shaman, priest, prophet, saint, teacher, “wise person of faith”—serve as guides for others.

Although all of the above aspects are common to religions and can be found in most instances, they may be found in different ways and degrees.50 Thus, for example, the Catholic and Orthodox forms of Christianity place more emphasis on the sacramental and ritual way than do many forms of Protestant Christianity (and one could make a similar contrast between other religions, say between most of Hinduism and Sikhism or some forms of Buddhism). In some religions (e.g., Confucianism), the transcendent dimension may be so muted that one almost thinks of it as an ethic alone;51 whereas, in others, some other dimension may seem under-developed (say, perhaps, the doctrinal or creedal dimension in some forms of so-called “primal” religion).52

As should be clear enough, the above paragraphs derive in large part from reflecting on the issues raised by philosophers who have studied the phenomenon of religion. One will find such reflection present but undeveloped in Aquinas. It should be developed and is required by this “second part” of our study, what can be called “the philosophy of religion”, not “natural theology”.

5. Conclusions

In sum, then, and doing little more than taking as our lead the present state of the philosophy of religion, as this is given in various current undergraduate textbooks on the subject, it is rightly divided into two parts: one based upon God as the Fullness of Being and First Agent (thus embracing the issues Aquinas treats in the first two books of the Summa Contra Gentiles), and the other based upon God as the Final End (thus embracing the issues Aquinas treats in the third book of that work, all of which, let it be well noted, he holds are within the purview of reason unaided by a specific religious truth). The first part is classically called “natural theology”, and the second part deserves to be called “the philosophy of religion” (if one is thinking along Thomistic lines), or both parts could just be called the latter (if one is thinking of the term as it is currently in use by various philosophical points of view).53

The first part (God as Being and Agent), it should be noted, is purely philosophical. One can hold its conclusions while being a member of various religious communities or none (although its conclusions will be part of a theistic philosophy, as that of a Socrates, Plato, or Aristotle). The same can likewise be said of the beginning of the second part (God as End). There thus is nothing in the third book of the SGC specific to any holy tradition. This second part, however, is concerned with acts ordering to an end, and these acts are not merely ones that exist in the abstract. All action is concrete, and thus the actions required to orient us rightly will perforce go beyond what philosophy can see.54 Since this second part ends by considerations involving the particular claims religions make, it deserves to be named from its final term, as “the Philosophy of Religion”.

If properly ordered, in my view, these parts will take up the following issues. The first part should begin by taking up the nature of its discourse and thus have a section devoted to “Natural Theology”.55 At issue here will be rightly situating discourse about God in relation to other philosophical discourses. Since this is traditionally located as the final part of “metaphysics”— “meta” “coming after” and “going beyond” “physics”—this part should include the relation of this undertaking not only to that of sacred theology, but also to that of “physics”, meaning both the general principles of “natural philosophy” (e.g., as found in Aristotle’s Physics) and also the application of those principles to the empirical given and to conclusions of “scientific rationality”.

This part will then proceed through subjects taken up in natural theology or the philosophy of God: the reasons for claiming that God exists; the nature and attributes of God; what can be known and said of God; God’s operations of knowledge, life, and will; and God’s providence and power, ending with God’s blessedness. Likewise, it will take up the implications of God being the First Agent Cause, in possible sections on God’s creation, conservation,56 and governance; the possibility of miracles; the relation between divine action and free will; and the problem of evil.

The contrast between our current state, enmeshed as it is in evil, and the blessed end that fulfills our natural desire to know God as God is, in God’s divine life, leads necessarily to the second part of its undertaking.57 By rights, its first question should concern God as man’s happiness and end, and, since this can only be attained through God’s gifts, the relation between nature and grace58 (often implicitly covered in questions dealing with reason and faith or in the relation of philosophy to religion). This material could also lead to reflection on the relation between spiritual gifts and infused theological virtues and the acquired moral virtues, or the relation between a religious ethic and a secular one that is “within the bounds of (political) reason alone”.59

Given the difference between nature and grace, and the human need for God’s help in becoming who each person most wishes to be, a philosopher cannot help but be interested in the phenomenon of religion. We need to address both what is involved in the manifest diversity of human religions encountered, and, indeed, the nature of religion itself. This is all aimed at the final interest and question we have that deserves its own section: the credibility of religion.60

Rightly pursued, then, natural theology leads to this final “appendix” of the metaphysical enterprise, in which a philosopher is not seeking to discover truths about God entailed by the human experience common to all, but rather is investigating claims that transcend common human experience and judging them according to its standard of rational credibility.61 Given the complexity of religion, as defined herein, there are any number of considerations to reaching such judgments, since these can range from the inner beauty encountered in members of a given religion or the beauty of its worship, to judgments of the good (its moral law), or of the true (its central doctrines), and to the hope it promises. It is likely that judgments will perforce be circumspect here. To name but one difficulty, it is hard to have a just and deep appreciation of all the serious religious Ways that are likely to be encountered. And, since judgments may be entertained by one already committed to some sacred tradition, as well as by one without any, Plato’s judgment in the Republic—that we cannot do better than follow the religious tradition handed down to us62—unsurprisingly is likely to be the preliminary judgment of many a philosopher. Still, conversions are hardly unheard of. (Let us note that one is not here engaging in “apologetic theology”, but in a work that is properly philosophical.)63

A philosopher thus must look at the phenomenon of religion, and natural theology rightly ends here, in the second part’s term. For, as Aquinas makes clear in the very first article of his Summa Theologiae, philosophy is not enough. God is wise and will have provided His intellectual creatures some Way to their end and perfection, even though it transcends their natural powers. A philosopher must therefore seek the Way to the end “promised” in his natural orientation to God as the Truth one seeks and the Good in Whom one desires to rest. A philosopher needs to transcend his own nature, embracing a sacred path and a transcendent truth. To do so is to find oneself on a new adventure: the path of sacred theology, seeking to understand the faith embraced. All philosophers are called to such a path and its truth, but committing to it goes beyond philosophy.64