Some random thoughts about Scotus's notion of Powers

In Rep. 2.16, I don't think Scotus is drawing a distinction (rational or formal) between bases and dispositions. Instead, I think he's drawing a distinction between different bases. He's saying something like this: "intellectual and voluntary activity have different bases. The basis for Intellectual activity is a part of the soul that we call 'intellect', and the basis for voluntary activity is a part of the soul that we call 'will'. But these are just two parts of the soul --- two things, so to speak, that are stuck together to make up the soul." It's almost as if we're talking about the right and left halves of the soul, except there are no right and left sides to the soul, since it's immaterial. But we are talking about absolute things/parts/constituents of the soul. 

Of course, Scotus goes on to insist that these two parts are formally distinct from each other, seeing as they are "unitatively contained in the soul." But by that, I think Scotus just means that those two parts are joined so tightly together that the soul wouldn't survive if they were pulled apart. 

So all of that distinction talk in the 2.15 passage is, as I read it, just talk about the distinction between the categorical bases for different activities. Nothing about a distinction between dispositions. It's a little tricky because Scotus _talks_ about powers rather than bases, but as he likes to point out, when he talks about powers in this context, he's really talking about absolute bases (or "immediate bases" I think is how he puts it in Rep. 2.16).  

As for dispositions, I think Scotus rules them out as things or entities of any kind. On his view, there's just no such thing or entity or being as a "power" or "disposition." Of course, we can _ascribe_ powers and dispositions to things. We can say "I have the power to think, raise my arm, and whatnot," and all of that is true. But that's on the level of linguistic/propositional ascription. If we lay ascriptions aside and turn our attention to the things themselves, to the ontology, then we see a different picture. 

On my reading, Scotus would say there's just the categorical basis, i.e., the absolute parts or constituents in the thing we are ascribing the power to. When we say "X has the power P to do Y," that's true if X has the right kind of absolute parts/constituents to do Y. But there's nothing that P would refer to over and above that. So an ascription like "I have the power to raise my arm" is true not because there's me, the right kinds of bones and muscles, and _some other thing/mode_ called a power. The ascription is true simply in virtue of me having the right kind of bones and muscles. 

I think that's the point of Scotus criticizing first Giles/Aquinas and then Henry in the 2.16 passage. He first rules out the view of Giles/Aquinas. Their view is that powers/dispositions are things (qualities) that are really distinct from their absolute bases (soul). As Scotus sees it, powers/dispositions just can't be distinct things over and above their bases. 

"Okay," one might think, "that's fine. So maybe powers/dispositions are somehow _the same_ as their bases. Rather than being distinct entities in their own right, maybe they are the same as their bases, but a different mode of them or something." That's the view of Henry: a power/disposition is really the same as its basis (call the basis X), just in a relative mode. So taken absolutely, X is just the absolute thing (a bit of heat, a substantial form, a lump of matter, or whatever). Taken relatively (with respect to the relevant activity), it is a power. Henry's view is similar to one that's somewhat popular today: all properties are _both_ categorical and dispositional in nature. Henry would probably fall into that camp: parts and constituents are both categorical (when considered in themselves) and dispositional (when considered with respect to the activities that are based on them). 

But Scotus rules out that too. He says: no, a power/disposition can't even be a different _mode_ of the absolute part/constituent. On the contrary, it has to be just the absolute part/constituent. Nothing more. And that, I take it, essentially rules out the reality of dispositions altogether. Scotus is what we might today call a categorical realist: he thinks there really are powers (at the level of ascription), but on the ontological level, there's really nothing more than the categorical bases. To use a modern example: what is the fragility of a wine glass? A categorical realist would say it's really nothing more than the molecular structure: the molecules are made up and joined together in a certain way, and that's all it is to be fragile. 

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 9

I want to conclude this series of posts with one final consideration. In the 15th and especially in the 16th century, mind-body dualism begins to develop, and the interesting thing about that is this: mind-body dualism is defined in pretty much exactly the same way that Scotus defines angel and demon possession.

For instance, if you look at Rene Descartes, our minds are joined to our bodies in the sense that (a) they occupy the same region of space that our bodies occupy (I feel the air condition here, in this spot where I am standing, not over there in that corner where I am not standing), and (b) they make our bodies move as puppeteers. So according to mind-body dualism, our minds ‘possess’ our bodies in much the same way that Scotus thought angels and demons possess our bodies.

Scotus would likely have been appalled if he heard anyone suggest that our minds occupy our bodies in that way. For Scotus, angel and demon possession is a very weak kind of mind-body connection. At best, it can only simulate organic life --- the implication being that our minds must therefore be joined to our bodies in a much tighter, much more organic way.

What does that tell us about the medieval imagination, or at least the scholastic imagination? Well, as a close reader of texts, I’m very cautious about generalizing from particular instances, so I want to be careful here. But it may be that the scholastics, at least in the early 14th century, saw themselves as organic unities, and therefore as much more a part of the organic world of plants and animals than the Modern world of Descartes. According to the Modern mind-body dualism, humans are much more removed from the organic world.

So what happened between the 14th century, the days of Scotus, and the 16th century, the days when mind-body dualism was on the rise?

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 8

If you pick up a scholarly monograph that deals with the development of early modern witchcraft theory, you will most likely find a section titled something like ‘The Scholastic Origins’. And if you start to read that section, it will most likely begin by saying something like this: ‘Early modern witchcraft theorists derived many of their ideas from medieval scholastic writers, the most important of which is Thomas Aquinas’, and then the section will proceed to discuss of some of the ideas that Aquinas had about angels and demons.

Now, sometimes you find discussions of earlier scholastic writers, but nobody discusses scholastic writers who lived after Aquinas, and virtually everybody makes the assertion that Aquinas is the most important scholastic voice.

Well, as a historian of medieval thought, that gives me pause. For one thing, Aquinas lived in the middle of the 13th century, and witchcraft theory developed in the 15th century. So what happened in the 14th century? Why are we skipping a whole century here?

But I also wonder why all these historians think Aquinas is the most important voice. One would expect the historians of witchcraft theory to offer some sort of justification for this claim. But alas, you don’t find anything of the sort. In monograph after monograph, what you see is the mere assertion that Aquinas is the most important scholastic voice. Why is that?

Part of the problem, of course, derives from the fact that historians of witchcraft are not specialists in medieval scholasticism. That’s perfectly understandable. Historians are a variegated bunch: we all have our own specializations, and we can’t be experts in everything. So when witchcraft historians are researching their books, they have to go to the library, find the best scholarship on medieval scholasticism, and then rely on that.

Now, that would be a rather trivial point, if it weren’t for the fact that there is a problem with the scholarship on medieval scholasticism. All the best studies on scholasticism that we have today grew out of a movement that is often referred to as ‘neo-thomism’. (To call the whole movement ‘neo-thomist’ is actually a vast oversimplification, but for the lack of a better label, please allow it of me here for the sake of brevity and simplicity.)

Neo-thomism got a huge blast of wind in its sails back in 1879, when the head of the Catholic church at the time, pope Leo XIII, issued a papal bull which encouraged Catholic educational institutions and scholars to begin researching and teaching Thomas Aquinas fervently. As a consequence, a body of research on medieval thought, and especially on Thomas Aquinas, began to amass.

Much of this neo-thomist research, however, tells a very particular story about medieval scholasticism. According to the neo-thomists (not surprisingly), Thomas Aquinas is the high point, the crowning achievement, of the Middle Ages.

Unfortunately, this body of literature was propogated rather successfully, so any non-specialist who goes to the library to look for good scholarship on scholasticism --- someone like a historian of witchcraft, for example --- is going to find these neo-thomist studies. And then they’re going to repeat the neo-thomist story. And why shouldn’t they? They don’t know any better.

The problem is, the neo-thomist story is just plain false, or at least it is highly misleading. As far as I can tell, Aquinas is of secondary importance for medieval scholasticism. For example, if you read 14th century writers (especially Franciscans, not suprisingly), you find that Aquinas is often treated as the whipping boy: he was the George Bush of his day, so to speak; someone who was easy to make fun of.

So when we attempt to trace the development of witchcraft theory back to its scholastic roots, we need to be very cautious about assuming that Thomas Aquinas must be the ‘most important’ voice. Aquinas may have had some important things to say in the 13th century, but there were other voices, and besides, as I’ve already pointed out, witchcraft theory does not develop until the 15th century, and we can’t just skip a century.

If we want to get a clear picture of how witchcraft theory actually developed, we need to take a fresh look at its scholastic roots, and in particular, we need to look at what happened in the 14th century. That’s the real story that needs to be told.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 7

In the last post, I pointed out that for Scotus, when an angel or a demon possesses a physical body, it can only move the parts of that body. It cannot cause that body to perform any of its basic biological functions (nutrition, growth, and reproduction). This does not mean, however, that a possessing angel or demon cannot simulate these basic biological functions, and there are some wonderful passages where Scotus describes how this could be done.

For instance, a possessing demon could make a body appear to consume and process food. The demon could make the hand put the food in the mouth, then make the jaws grind up the food, and then make the tongue and mouth send the food down the throat into the stomach. And then, Scotus explains, the demon could excrete those tiny bits of food through gaseous excretions.

Similarly, Scotus explains that a possessing body could take the food that it makes its possessed body eat, and then add that material to the body, thereby making it appear to onlookers that the body is growing.

But perhaps the most interesting biological function here is reproduction. According to Scotus, since a possessing angel or demon can do nothing more than make a body move, it obviously cannot make the body of, say, a human male produce semen. But the angel can pull of a sneaky trick to bring about reproduction.

A possessing spirit can make the body that it possesses appear to be a woman, and it can then use that female body to seduce a man. When that man deposits his semen in the female body (traditionally called a succubi), the spirit can preserve that semen within its body (though many medieval thinkers were careful to point out that the demon would have to keep its semen deposit warm, for without its vital heat, the semen would become inefficacious --- I guess they didn’t know about the possibilities of freezing sperm in those days). Then, once the spirit has a warm semen deposit trapped within its body, it can then transform its body into a man (traditionally called an incubi). As a man, it can seduce a woman, at which point it can deposit the preserved semen into her. She might then become pregnant, and viola! The possessing spirit has brought about reproduction.

So, even though Scotus maintains that angels and demons can be nothing more than puppeteers of the bodies they possess, Scotus takes the time to point out that, with a little bit of ingenuity, angels and demons can certainly generate rather life-like behavior in the bodies that they possess. Still, even though a possessed body might appear to behave in rather life-like ways, Scotus insists that the real mechanics of this comes down to nothing more than occupying the same space as, and being the puppeteer of, a physical body.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 6

According to Scotus, an angel or a demon must do two things if it wants to possess a physical body. First, it must occupy the same region of space as that body, and second, it must take control of that body and become the mover or puppeteer.

But what exactly does it mean for an angel or a demon to be the ‘puppeteer’ of a physical body? How far does the control of the possessing angel or demon extend? Scotus puts this in rather stark terms. The question that Scotus asks is this: supposing that an angel or a demon possesses a material body, can that angel or demon cause that body to perform its basic biological functions? In other words, does angelic or demonic possession merely amount to pulling strings and making the limbs of an organic body move? Or does it extend far enough that it involves regulating that body’s internal biological functions?

For medieval thinkers like Scotus, there are three basic biological functions that living organisms perform. The first is what they call ‘nutrition’. This is essentially the process whereby a living organism takes in and processes nutrients. As Scotus and his colleagues see it, when living organisms eat food, their bodies break down the food, and then they convert it into organic tissue. That tissue then gets added to their bodies, and that’s how organisms replenish the tissue that has been used or lost. This is the basic mechanism of sustenance. If you don’t eat, you whither and die. In order to say alive, you must eat enough food to replace the tissue that your body uses or loses.

The second biological function that living organisms perform is growth. As living organisms go about their lives, they of course grow larger, and the medievals understood this to be a function of nutrition. Provided that we eat more food than our bodies burn, our bodies grow larger.

The third biological function that all living organisms perform is reproduction. Some organisms reproduce asexually, others reproduce sexually, but all living organisms reproduce. Roses beget roses, oak trees beget oak trees, dogs beget dogs, and humans beget humans.

So those are the three basic biological functions that living organisms perform. All living organisms take in and process nutrients, all living organisms grow, and all living organisms reproduce. The question, then, is whether a possessing angel or demon can cause the body it possesses to perform any of these biological functions.

Scotus says no. According to Scotus, the only thing that a possessing angel or a demon can do to the body it possesses is cause it to move, or rather, more precisely, it can cause the various parts of that body to move. Possessing angels and demons are, for Scotus, mere puppeteers, quite literally.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 5

In the last point, I pointed out that according to Scotus, in order for an angel or demon to possess a physical body, it must both occupy the same region of space, and it must take control of the body as the puppeteer (the mover).

But one might wonder: why should it matter where the demon happens to reside? Be it all the way across the room, or here in the spot where I am now standing, the fact of the matter is, the demon still controls my body. And wouldn’t that mean that I am ‘possessed’ by the demon in the relevant sense?

Scotus says no, and the reason is this: Scotus’s angelology was heavily influenced by the Persian thinker known to the Latins as Avicenna. Avicenna was a physician, a scientist, and a philosopher who lived from 980 to 1037.

Sometimes my students are surprised to discover that someone like Scotus was reading a Persian, but we shouldn’t think that the medieval world was ignorant of other cultures around it, especially when it comes to the Arabic culture around it. Far from it. In fact, one of medieval Europe’s most famous Holy Roman Emperors, Frederick II, was actually fluent in Arabic, and he was so fascinated by Arabic culture that he brought renowned scholars into his court to translate Arabic writings into Latin.

One of the Arabic authors that Frederick had translated was Avicenna, and it is hard to underestimate just how important Avicenna was in medieval Europe. Indeed, one of Avicenna’s books that was translated into Latin was known as the Canon of Medicine, and it served as the standard textbook for European medicine all the way up through the 17th century.

But even apart from Avicenna’s influence on European medicine, some of his other works that were translated into Latin made massive contributions in other arenas as well, and one of those arenas was cosmology.

Now, Avicenna was a good Aristotelian. He didn’t agree with everything that Aristotle said, but he did agree with a lot of it. In terms of cosmology, Aristotle adopted Ptolemy’s ideas about the universe. As is well known, Ptolemy’s system was geocentric: the earth (rather than the sun) sits at the center of the universe, while the moon, sun, planets, and stars rotate around the earth.

Aristotle, however, believed that all motion requires explanation. If you see a stone rolling past you, something must have put it in motion. The same goes for the heavens. We can see that the sun, moon, planets, and stars are moving around the earth, so something must be moving them. We cannot see anything else, though, so Aristotle inferred that the motion of any given heavenly object must be caused by something that is impercetible, some sort of immaterial being up there in outer space --- some sort of spirit.

Of course, Aristotle recognized that various celestial bodies move in different ways. The sun has one orbit, the moon has another, Saturn has another, and so on. Thus, Aristotle concluded that each celestial body that moves in a unique orbit must have its own spirit that moves it in that orbit. And depending on how you calculate it, says Aristotle, that means that there must be either 47 or 55 extraterrestrial spirits up there in outer space, each of which moves a particular celestial body around the earth. So, there is one spirit who moves the moon, another spirit who moves the sun, another who moves Saturn, and so on (or, to be more accurate, these spirits move large concentric spheres in which the sun, moon, planets and so on are embedded).

Avicenna accepts much of this Ptolemaic-Aristotelian picture, but Avicenna was a good Muslim, and so he believed in angels. Avicenna naturally goes on to identify the angels of his faith with Aristotle’s extraterrestrial spirits. Those spirits who according to Aristotle move the sun, moon, planets, and stars --- those are the angels of which the Quran speaks.

Back to Scotus. Like anyone of his day who went through so many years in the University system, Scotus of course fervently read both Aristotle and Avicenna. But Scotus was a good Christian, so he believed in angels just as Avicenna did. It should come as no surprise, then, to find that Scotus follows Avicenna in identifying the angels spoken of in the Bible with the extraterrestrial spirits spoken of by Aristotle. So like Avicenna, Scotus believes that the angels of his faith are moving the sun, moon, planets, and stars around the earth.

Given that, it should be clear by now why Scotus thinks angel and demon possession cannot amount to mere puppeteering. For Scotus sees demons as a particular kind of angel: they are fallen angels, but they are angels nonetheless. Angels, however, move celestial objects like the sun and moon, so angels are the puppeteers of the heavens, even though they do not possess the heavens.

That is why Scotus says that angel and demon possession involves more than mere puppeteering. It is the influence of the Muslim Avicenna that drives Scotus to this point. To be possessed by a demon or an angel means not just that you are being moved by that demon or angel. It means also that the demon occupies the same region of space as your body.

(Exactly how angels and demons ‘occupy a region of space’ is a tricky point, but let’s pretend for now that Scotus has a coherent account.)

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 4

Duns Scotus had quite a lot to say about angels and demons, but let me focus on one particular issue: how do angels and demons possess material bodies?

According to Scotus, there are two things a demon or angel must do in order to possess a material body. First, it must become the mover of a body: it must take control of the body in such a way that it moves it about. Second, it must occupy the same region of space occupied by the body it controls.

Scotus claims that an angel or a demon must do both of these in order to possess a material body. An angel or demon cannot do just one of them. To see why this is so, consider cases where an angel or demon does only one of them.

Suppose, for instance, that a demon is traveling through the room at this very moment, and along the way, it happens to pass through my body. At the moment that it passes through my body, it would occupy the very same region of space that I do, but that doesn’t mean it possesses my body. In order to posses my body, the demon cannot just occupy the same region of space. It must also take control of my body as a puppeteer.

At the same time, though, simply taking control of my body as a puppeteer is not sufficient for demon possession either. Suppose that a conniving demon is sitting over there in the corner, all the way across the room, and suppose next that it exercises its powers and makes my arm suddenly move upwards. Scotus would say that doesn’t count as demon possession either. My arm would certainly be under the influence of the demon in the corner, but I would not be possessed.

So in order to possess a material body, angels and demons must do both of the things I’ve mentioned: they must take control of the body as the mover or puppeteer, and they must occupy the same reason of space. As Scotus sees it, those conditions are each necessary and jointly sufficient for angel/demon possession of a material body.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 3

When historians talk about scholasticism, they have something fairly precise in mind. The hallmark of scholasticism is a method of problem-solving that was taught in medieval universities. It is essentially a method whereby one tries to resolve a problem with the use of semantic and logical analysis.

So, for example, if you were a student at a medieval university, a typical lecture might begin with the professor asking a yes/no question. For instance: is it permissible to lie? That is, are there any cases when it is okay to lie, or is lying always wrong? Students were then expected to come up with an answer through the use of semantic and logical analysis.

Semantic analysis, because students were expected to distinguish between various meanings of the words being used. E.g., ‘lying’ could mean X, it could mean Y, and so on. Logical analysis, because students were expected to figure out what would logically follow from any given hypothesis. E.g., if ‘lying’ means X, then one set of consequences would logically follow, but if ‘lying’ means Y, then another set of consequences would logically follow.

That’s the scholastic method, and as I said, it was taught in the university classrooms. Virtually every problem was approached in this way.

Now, angels and demons were apparently discussed quite a lot in medieval university classrooms. If you were a student at a medieval university, chances are that you would study angels and demons at some point in your university career, and you would study angels and demons quite intensively.

Fortunately for us, university students were very good note-takers. They had a system of short-hand that allowed them to transcribe lectures pretty much word-for-word.

Also, medieval students had extend breaks just like students do today, so they would go home, trade notes, and talk over all these ideas with their friends.

For instance, if you were an Italian studying at Oxford, you might go home for summer break and exchange lecture notes with all your friends (who might be studying at Paris, Bologna, and so on). Then the next year, you would go back to your university, with your friends’ lecture notes, and you would exchange those lecture notes with your friends at Oxford. Those lecture notes would get spread around, and they would undoubtedly end up in the hands of your Professor, who would make a copy for himself. Your Professor would then discuss the ideas he had learned from Paris or Bologna in his own lectures.

Many of these lectures notes have survived, and that is immensely useful for the historian of medieval thought. And indeed, if we restrict ourselves just to the notion of angels and demons, we have a huge body of material, consisting of lecture transcripts (many of which have been edited by the Professors themselves) which record practically all of the theories about angels and demons that were discussed in the university classroom.

All of this material offers us a convenient lense through we can start to get at the role that angels and demons might have played in the medieval imagination. Of course, we need to be clear: this material represents the thoughts of the educated; quite literally, it represents the thoughts of medieval people who were either attending, or were teaching in, a medieval university. So we need to be aware of that before we try to make any inferences about what the ‘common folk’ might have thought about angels. But nonetheless, all this scholastic material is a piece of the larger puzzle, and if we want to understand the role of religious belief in the medieval imagination as a whole, we need to account for each piece of the puzzle.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 2

In the 13th and 14th centuries, the scholastics did not speculate about angels and demons in a vacuum. Their ideas are part of a much broader cultural context. Indeed, it seems to me that at that time, ideas about angels and demons permeate practically every sector of medieval society. To make this point, let me list just a few examples.

When I talk about angels and demons in the Middle Ages, one of the first things that comes to mind for a lot of people is the artwork. Medieval paintings are well known for their depictions of angels and demons (and this imagery of course survived well through the Renaissance). The outside of medieval cathedrals are covered with sculptures of angels and demons. And of course, there’s the literary work as well. Dante’s Divine Comedy features angels and demons quite prominently.

But we also find stories of angels and demons in medieval writings that are not as stylized as Dante’s Divine Comedy. For instance, medieval training manuals for young monks often have entire chapters filled with stories of angels and demons. One of my favorite such examples is a story of a demon who, taking the form of beautiful young woman, managed to lure a college student out into the forest, where she quickly whisked him away to hell. The student’s Professor then had to go to great lengths to convince the demon to return the student. Apparently this want meant as a warning for young monks about the dangers of following young women off into the forest (they might be demons).

Angels and demons also show up in law codes --- and not just ecclestiastical law, but also in civil/secular law. In the 13th and 14th centuries, there were ways to sue your neighbor for associating with angels or demons (Scotus is quite famous for his view about how to counter (police?) the spells of such meddling neighbors).

And, of course, I should mention the visions of the mystics. Throughout the writings of Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Sienna, and other 13th and 14th century mystics, we find page after page of encounters with angels and demons.

Finally, angels and demons were discussed within the context of scholasticism. In the next post, I’ll say a little more about what scholasticism is.

Scholasticism and witchcraft theory 1

By some estimates, over 100,000 people were killed during the witch hunts that occurred in continental Europe, England, and America. The witch craze began in the 15th century, and at that time, the notion of the ‘witch’ appeared with a rather precise definition.

Basically, witches were thought to be people (some men, but mostly women) who made the following sort of pact with a demon: in exchange for the witch’s soul, that demon would go and do all sorts of bad things to other people on the witch’s behalf. That’s how witches were thought to be able to cast spells on their neighbors. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t the witch who had the power to, say, make all your crops wither, make all your sheep sick, make you impotent, and so on. It was their demon who did all that.

Witches were also thought to do other things. For example, it was believed that they flew around on brooms, and that image has of course survived all the way up to our own day. (I should note that brooms became the witch’s flying stick of choice only in the 15th century. Before that, the preference was for the shovel.) Witches were also thought to gather together in local and regional meetings where they would have sex with demons, or even with Satan himself.

How do we know all this? Early modern witchcraft manuals. To cite the most famous: in 1486, Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger published a book under the Latin title Malleus Malificarum, and that translates roughly as The Hammer of Witches. This was an early modern witchcraft manual --- not a manual for witches, but rather a manual for witch hunters. Indeed, in the Malleus Malificarum, the authors try to explain exactly what witches are; they try to explain how witches get their powers; they try to enumerate the various activities that witches get up to in the wee hours of the night; and they try to explain how one should go about investigating witches (via torture).

Now, if you sit down and read the Malleus Malificarum, you can’t help but notice how often the authors refer to ideas from earlier scholastic thinkers, e.g., people like Thomas Aquinas and John Duns Scotus. This, of course, has not escaped the historian’s watchful gaze. Historians readily acknowledge that 15th and 16th century witchcraft theory has its origins in medieval scholasticism. Unfortunately though, historians have done a rather poor job of identifying and analyzing these scholastic origins.

Because the concept of the witch wasn’t really invented until the 15th century, you won’t find such clearly defined conceptions of witches in medieval scholastic writings. But what you do find are discussions about how angels and demons can interact with the physical world, and that’s the material that 15th and 16th century witchcraft theorists drew upon.

So, the origins of witchcraft theory should be traced back to scholastic discussions of angels and demons, and especially scholastic discussions about how angels and demons can interact with the physical world. In the following series of posts, I want to explore this in a little more detail.

Are Scotus's haecceities really unrepeatable?

In my last post, I explained that the only way I can see that a thisness (haecceity) would be unrepeatable would be if the thisness involved some identity reference to the individual in question. Otherwise, I can't see how cloning it would result in a contradiction.

Does Scotus think a thisness involves some identity reference to the individual in question? I don't see how he could think this. Two reasons.

(1) First, identity reference is a relation, and Scotus argues that thisnesses are absolute (non-relational) entities. So it's hard to see how Scotus could say that a thisness is constituted by any reference to the individual.

I wonder, then, if a thisness is supposed to be an absolute entity, why couldn't God clone it? Why couldn't God clone any absolute entity? I can't see why not.

(2) Second, Scotus believes that relations supervene on the things they relate. That is, they are posterior to the things they relate, so if they supervene on an individual, then the individual is already individuated. In short, relationships cannot do any individuating, for they show up on the scene too late, as it were, to do any individuating.

Indeed, to say that Socrateity is the property of being identical to Socrates already presupposes that Socrates is an individual. Otherwise it would make no sense to make an identity reference to Socrates as the individual that he is.

This, I think, is a particularly powerful desideratum here. Take the view of the venerable Robert Adams. He argues that a thisness is just the property of being identical to oneself, and this explains nicely why a thisness is non-qualitative (unrepeatable) property: reproducing it would generate a contradiction.

But what I don't understand is how it does not presuppose the individual in question. If Socrateity is the property of being identical to Socrates, then doesn't that presuppose that Socrates is already an individual? How could we say x is identical to Socrates if we didn't already think of Socrates as an individual?

As Scotus would put it, identity relationships (and in fact all relationships) are naturally posterior to the things they relate, so they show up on the scene too late, as it were, to do any explaining.

One might further suggest, I suppose, that identity relationships are just figments of the imagination. When I think 'Cicero is identical to Tully', I'm imagining Cicero and Tully as if they were different individuals: I have a picture of Cicero in my mind, and I have a picture of Tully in my mind too, and then I connect them and say 'those are the same person'. But in reality, there are not two persons there. There's just one dude, so the 'identity relationship' is really not some sort of entity that exists 'out there' in Cicero/Tully. It's just a (true) connection I've drawn in my mind.

So also with Socrateity: the fact that Socrates is identical to Socrates would be a fact that supervenes on the fact that Socrates is Socrates. But doesn't that already presuppose that Socrates is already the individual Socrates that he is? How could I possibly refer to him if he wasn't?

In any case, it seems to me that Scotus cannot answer any of these questions. He says a thisness is a positive, absolute entity, but if it is an absolute entity, why couldn't it be cloned (by God at least)? I think Scotus has to take thisnesses as entities that are just (somehow) primitively unrepeatable. And that doesn't really explain very much.

But perhaps that is the meat and potatoes of Scotus's position. If so, then Scotus would be saying: we simply cannot explain individuation, for we always presuppose the individual in question. Consequently, it must be the same in reality: there must be some sort of entities 'out there' in the world which are, in and of themselves, (somehow) unrepeatable.

What makes a haecceity unrepeatable?

My question is this: what is it about a thisness (haecceity) that makes it so unrepeatable? Take Socrateity. Why couldn't God create another one, an identical copy or clone?

As far as I can tell, if we assume that God is omnipotent (by which I mean that God can bring about anything that does not involve a contradiction), then the only way that a thisness could not be cloned is if doing so brought about a contradiction.

Suppose, for instance, that we assume (as some modern metaphysicians do) that a thisness is the property of being identical to oneself. In that case, Socrateity would be the property of being identical to Socrates. Now suppose that God created a clone of Socrates, and cloned his Socrateity as well. Let's call this clone 'Harold', and let's call the Socrateity-clone 'Haroldeity'.

Since Haroldeity is a clone of Socrateity, it would be the property of being identical to Socrates. Thus, Harold would be identical to Socrates. But Harold is not identical to Socrates. On the contrary, he is just a clone of Socrates. Thus, Harold would turn out to both be identical to and non-identical to Socrates, and that's a contradiction. So God could not clone Socrateity if it amounted to being identical to Socrates, for cloning that property would result in a contradiction.

One might take this example and generalize: the only way that cloning a thisness will result in a contradiction is if the thisness involves some sort of intrinsic reference to the individual in question. For ultimately, the contradiction is going to involve being identical to vs. not being identical to the individual in question. (It would be irrelevant if the resulting contradiction amounted to being identical and not being identical to Beulah the cow. We're talking about Socrates here, so the contradiction is going to have to pertain to him.)

So, one might think, if a thisness lacks any sort of reference to the individual in question, then it could be cloned after all.

What are haecceities?

One of the major questions that I wonder about is this: what is the difference between haecceities and quiddities (or 'thisnesses' and 'suchnesses')?

One option is to say this: a suchness is qualitative, whereas a thisness is not. But what does that mean? My pre-theoretical intuitions are this: something that is qualitative has some sort of content, whereas something that is non-qualitative does not (it's more abstract -- whatever that means). 

But it's hard to come up with examples for that sort of distinction, and that tells me that my pre-theoretical intuitions are just confused.

Another option is to say this: a suchness is repeatable, whereas a thisness is not. That is, a suchness can be instantiated more than once, whereas a thisness cannot. There can only be one of any given thisness.

That is how most analytic philosophers these days distinguish 'qualitative' and 'non-qualitative' properties. Anything that is repeatable is qualitative, and anything that is not is non-qualitative.

But still, what are some examples? It's hard to come up with an example of a non-qualitative property or constituent. Any entity I can think of is the sort of thing that could be repeated: God could create another identical copy of it, for instance.

So why couldn't God create an identical copy of a haecceity? What makes it so unrepeatable?

Scotus: haecceities must be some positive entity

Medieval philosophers offered a variety of theories about individuation -- that is, about the formal cause of individuation. Here are two popular medieval options.

(1) Some proposed that individuals are individuated by their unique set of incidental features. For instance, if we ask why you and I are different, the proponent of this theory would say that you and I have different heights, weights, shapes, colors, and so on, and this particular set of features that I have is unique: no other individual has these features, just as no other individual has your particular set of features.

This view obviously rests on the identity of indiscernibles: any things that have the exact same properties are indistinguishable, and hence the very same thing. So, for instance, if someone else looked exactly like me in all respects, you couldn't tell us apart, and for that reason we would be same individual.

One might object, of course, that we could easily distinguish me and my twin because I am sitting here, in this chair, and my twin is sitting there, in that chair. In other words, we occupy different regions of space-time.

But the advocate of the theory in question would say that space and time are also part of our incidental features, and so me and my twin would not have the very same features after all. We would have a lot of them in common, but we would not have our spatial and temporal features in common, and for that reason we would not be the same individuals.

Max Black famously questioned this theory. There's no reason, he proposes, that we couldn't imagine two exactly similar identical spheres in parallel dimensions. (I must admit that I have never understood this. Even if they have all the same features, they are still indexed to different dimensions, and so wouldn't they differ with respect to that? I confess that I don't get how Black's example is a genuine counter-example.)

(2) Others proposed that two individuals differ because they are made up of different chunks of materials. So, for instance, me and my twin might have all the same features, except I am made of this chunk of material, and he is made of that chunk of material.

(This theory seems to assume that different chunks of material are distinct -- either primitively, or in virtue of the fact that they occupy different regions of space. But again, couldn't one suppose: what if these two chunks of material had the same spatial and temporal properties? How would they be distinguished then? I think that most advocates of this theory would have to maintain that different chunks of material cannot occupy the same region of space-time simultaneously.)

Scotus argues that neither of these two theories actually explain individuation. For Scotus, each of these theories presupposes individual entities. The first theory assumes that incidental features are already individual, and the second theory assumes that chunks of material are individual. But that still leaves us wondering: how are incidental features or chunks of material individuated? So as Scotus sees it, neither of these theories have really explained individuation after all.

In fact, Scotus goes through all the major theories that he knows of and points out that they all presuppose some individual entity, and for that reason, he rejects all of them.

Scotus then concludes that we must assume that individuation comes about by some primitively individual entity -- and this is called a haecceity. We don't know what this entity is, but it must be a positively real thing, and it must be individual in and of itself. Since all of our theories about individuals assume individuality already, we must postulate some primitive individuator.

Scotus on the Creation Problem

As I explained in the last post, Scotus argues against Henry of Ghent: the divine essence is not like 'materials' that the Son is made from. It's more like a shared form. Still, that leaves the question that Henry was grappling with: what about the Creation problem? Wouldn't the Son be created if he were not produced without any 'pre-existing materials'?

To that, Scotus says that the Son is not created. In order for something to be created, Scotus says it must be produced with at least one pre-existing ingredient. But that doesn’t have to be some kind of material. It could be a form, or any other sort of constituent. What matters is simply that it is a pre-existing ingredient, so to speak.

So as Scotus sees it, we don’t need to say that the Son is produced with materials in order to avoid the Creation Problem. All we need to say is that the Son is produced with some sort of pre-existing ingredient. And of course, the divine essence is a pre-existing ingredient in the Son, because it already exists in the Father.

But it’s not like a lump of matter or any other sort of material. We don’t need to appeal to materials to solve the Creation Problem.

What’s interesting here is that Scotus accuses Henry of being incoherent. Scotus doesn’t say to Henry, “you’re a heretic,” or anything like that. There’s nothing religious about this. This is purely philosophical. Scotus rejects Henry’s view simply on philosophical grounds.

This is amazing to me. You would think that one of the first things people would say to Henry is that he is heretical. God is not material in any way. But that wasn’t the case. Henry garnered a healthy group of followers. So these scholastic Christians didn’t see Henry as a heretic or a nutjob. Henry’s view seemed to many as perfectly sane.

So this tells me that we need to be very careful about our pre-conceived ideas of medieval philosophy. We need to be careful about thinking of medieval philosophy as an era of superstition, or the Dark Ages, or everybody just bowing to the Pope. There was some really imaginative philosophical thinking going on here.

But again, this is all stuff that we’re just learning about. There’s a lot of really interesting stuff here in the medieval period, and we’re only just starting to learn about it.

Duns Scotus against Henry on the Creation Problem

Even though Henry of Ghent garnered a healthy group of followers (see the last post for details), there were some dissentors. Scotus was one of the students that grew up under Henry. In fact, Scotus may have even sat in Henry’s classroom. But unlike many of his classmates, Scotus was not happy with Henry’s theory. Scotus was against it.

Scotus’s real problem with Henry’s view is this: it makes the divine essence the subject of incompatible properties. I mean, fatherhood and sonship are incompatible. In logic, we would call them irreflexive relations. Someone can be the father of someone else, and someone can be the son of someone else. But nobody can be the father and son of himself, right? So if the divine essence were like a lump of matter that exemplified both fatherhood and sonship, then the divine essence would be both the father and son of itself! And that’s just flat out impossible.

Indeed, that’s like saying that a lump of clay is shaped like both a statue and a vase at the same time. But that’s crazy. A lump of clay has got to be one or the other, it can’t be both.

So Scotus thinks we cannot say that the divine essence is like a lump of matter or subject of fatherhood and sonship. On the contrary, says Scotus, the divine essence has got to be more like a form that the persons share.

Solving the Creation and Subordination Problems

In the last two posts, I described what I call the 'Creation' and 'Subordination' problems. Here, I want to say something about different ways to solve these Problems. Christian scholastics are dealing with two sets of claims. On the one hand, they have a set from Aristotle and Avicenna (from Aristotle: things can only be produced with materials, from Avicenna: things produced without materials are created and inferior to their producers). On the other hand, they have their own Christian set of claims about divine production (namely, T1, T2, and T3 from the last two posts). As I explained in the last two posts, putting these two sets of claims together results in the Creation and Subordination Problems.

To avoid these two Problems, a scholastic thinker like Scotus or Ockham must reject something from either set of claims. As for the Christian claims (T1-T3), scholastics like Scotus and Ockham feel that T1 and T3 are required by Christian doctrine, for T1 is required by the Nicene Creed, and T3 is required to avoid subordinationism. Consequently, they are not going to reject T1 or T3. However, authors like Scotus or Ockham do not think that T2 is required for orthodoxy in the way that T1 and T3 are. Rather, they see T2 as just a very plausible claim.

In principle then, a scholastic thinker could reject T2, and that could be one way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. For instance, if one were to say that the Son is, in fact, produced from some sort of pre-existing material, then the Son would not be created from nothing, and by consequence, the Son would not necessarily be less perfect than his producer (the Father).

But of course, T2 is extremely plausible, so anyone who wants to reject it would have to explain how a divine person --- who is entirely spiritual and therefore without any material components at all --- could be produced from 'pre-existing materials'. And that is certainly no easy task.

Alternatively, someone Scotus or Ockham could reject one of the claims from Aristotle or Avicenna. That too could be a way to avoid the Creation and Subordination Problems. However, Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories are designed to explain production, so if one were to reject a part of these theories, they would have to provide an alternative account, and that too is no easy task.

Divine production and the 'Subordination Problem'

In the Christian tradition, 'subordinationism' is the idea that one divine person is less perfect than another. This is considered a heresy; the divine persons are all supposed to be equal. Thus, one might think that when one divine person produces another, the product must be just as perfect as its producer(s):

(T3) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x and y are equal in perfection.

However, T3 conflicts with Avicenna’s theory of production. Avicenna maintains that whenever a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, it must be different in kind from its producer. Further, many medieval Aristotelians held the even more general claim that whenever a producer and its product are different in kind, the product must be less perfect than its producer.

But supposing all of that is right, then if a divine person were produced without any pre-existing materials (as T2 from the last post says), that person would then be different in kind, and therefore less perfect than its producer.

(1**) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x and y are different in kind.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3**) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father and Son are different in kind.
[From (1**) and (2).]

(4**) For any x and y, if (i) x produces y, and (ii) x and y are different in kind, then y is less perfect than x.
[From any standard medieval Aristotelianism.]

(5) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Son is less perfect than the Father.
[From (2), (3**), and (4**).]

But of course, that amounts to subordinationism, and it contradicts the Christian scholastic claim that

(6) the Father and Son are equal in perfection.
[From T3.]

Thus, scholastic thinkers like Scotus and Ockham cannot hold all these ideas together, on pain of contradiction. Again then, Avicenna’s theory leaves the Christian schoolmen with a problem, for Avicenna’s theory entails that if the Son and Spirit are produced, they are lesser deities. And that is not acceptable to a Christian scholastic Hence what I call the Subordination Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not be lesser deities?

Divine production and the 'Creation Problem'

The Nicene Creed states that when the Father begets the Son, the Father does not create the Son out of nothing. For a Christian scholastic like Scotus or Ockham, this suggests that no divine person is created:

(T1) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x does not create y from nothing.

Now, if the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from nothing, then it might be tempting to think that they must be produced from something. But what could that 'something' be? Surely it cannot be any pre-existing materials. After all, the Son and Spirit are spiritual beings, so how could they be 'made' from anything material? It seems very plausible to think that the Son and Spirit cannot be produced from materials at all. Thus:

(T2) For any divine persons x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y with any material M.

However, (T1) and (T2) lead to problems. Consider the following.

Aristotle maintains that nothing can be produced unless it is produced from pre-existing materials. According to (T2) though, a divine person (e.g., the Son) cannot be produced from pre-existing materials. Thus, a divine person (like the Son) cannot be produced at all:

(1) For any x and y, if x produces y, x cannot produce y without any material m.
[From Aristotle.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3) Therefore, the Father cannot produce the Son.
[From (1) and (2).]

Of course, scholastics like Scotus and Ockham want to affirm that

(4) the Father produces the Son,

but that contradicts(3), so one cannot hold all these claims at the same time, on pain of contradiction.

In order to avoid this, one might be tempted to give up Aristotle’s claim in (1), just as Avicenna did. After all, Avicenna was a good Muslim, so he believed in creation: some things can be produced without pre-existing materials.

However, Avicenna also holds that if a product is produced without any pre-existing materials, then it must be created from nothing. And that would entail that if a divine person is produced without pre-existing materials (as T2 says), then that person would be created from nothing.

(1*) For any x and y, if x produces y without any material m, x creates y from nothing.
[From Avicenna.]

(2) The Father cannot produce the Son with any material m.
[From T2.]

(3*) Therefore, if the Father produces the Son, the Father creates the Son from nothing.
[From (1*) and (2).]

But according to the Nicene Creed, no divine person is created from nothing, so:

(4*) if the Father produces the Son, the Father does not create the Son from nothing.
[From T1.]

But that contradicts (3*), so again we get a contradiction.

On the face of it then, both Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories of production present scholastic authors like Scotus and Ockham with a problem. For Aristotle’s and Avicenna’s theories entail that either the Son and Spirit cannot be produced at all, or they must be created from nothing, and neither consequence is acceptable for the Christian schoolmen. Hence, what I call the Creation Problem: how can the Son and Spirit be produced, but not created?

Scotus on the 'indetermination' of active and passive powers

Scotus on the different ways that active and passive powers can be indifferent (or 'indeterminate') to the different activities they empower.

Lect., 1.3.3.2-3, n. 415 (Vat. 16: 390.22-391.6): 'dicendum quod indeterminatio duplex est: una est indeterminatio quae convenit causae materiali, et alia est indeterminatio quae convenit causae agenti universali et quodammodo illimitatae. Exemplum primi est de indeterminatione ligni respectu caloris vel alterius formae; exemplum secundi est de indeterminatione solis ad producendum hoc generabile vel illud; unde haec indeterminatio virtutis activae est ad agendum et non ad aliquam formam ab aliquo recipiendam. Quando igitur dicitur quod illud quod est indeterminatum requirit aliquam formam determinantem qua determinetur, verum est de potentia passiva’.

'It should be said to this that indetermination is twofold: one is the indetermination that belongs to material causes, and the other is the indetermination that belongs to a universal agent cause which, in a sense, is unlimited. An example of the first is the indetermination of a log with respect to heat or some other form. An example of the second is the indetermination of the sun with respect to producing this or that generable thing. Whence, the indetermination of active power is for acting, not for receiving some form from something. Thus, when it is said that something indeterminate requires some determining form to determine it, this is [only] true of passive power’.

Lect., 1.3.3.2-3, n. 415 (Vat. 16: 391.6-22): 'Si autem loquimur de indeterminatione causae effectivae, hoc contingit dupliciter: aliquando enim causa efficiens est indeterminata ad producendum aliquem effectum quem tamen immediate producere potest, et aliquando est determinata ad effectum producendum quem tamen sine causa proxima producere non potest. Loquendo autem de causa effectiva primo modo, ad hoc quod determinetur ad agendum sufficit praesentia passi, sicut sol habet virtutem qua immediate potest dissolvere et constringere: ad hoc quod dissolvat sufficit praesentia dissolubilis, ut glaciei, et ad hoc quod constringat sufficit etiam praesentia passi, ut luti; unde causa effectiva non determinatur per hoc quod aliquam formam recipit. Sed ad hoc quod causa effectiva secundo modo determinetur, sufficit praesentia passi cum praesentia causarum particularium concurrentium, sicut est de sole ad producendum animalia perfecta, ut asinum, bovem; requirit enim, ad hoc quod determinetur ad productionem bovis, causam particularem univocam, ut bovem et passum praesens’.

'But if we are talking about the indetermination of an effecting cause, it applies in [one of] two ways, for sometimes the effecting cause is indeterminate with respect to producing some effect that it can produce directly, and sometimes it is determined to produce some effect that it cannot produce without [the help of] a proximate cause. Speaking of an effecting cause in the first way, the presence of the recipient is enough to determine it to activity. For example, the sun has the power to melt or dry [something] directly, so the presence of something meltable (like ice) is sufficient for the sun to melt it, and the presence of some recipient (like mud) is sufficient for the sun to dry it. Whence, the effecting cause is not determined through the fact that it receives some form. But in order for an effective cause to be determined in the second way, the presence of the recipient along with the presence of [any] concurring particular causes is sufficient. An example is the sun’s ability to produce complete animals like donkeys or cows, for in order to produce a cow, the sun must [act along with] a particular univocal cause such as a cow, and a recipient must be present’.

Ibid., n. 416 (Vat. 16: 391.23-392.3): 'Dico igitur quod intellectus est indeterminatus ad eliciendum actum intelligendi, non indeterminatione causae materialis et passi sed indeterminatione causae activae, quae requirit causam aliam particularem, ad hoc quod causet intellectionem, --- et illa est obiectum, vel species in qua obiectum relucet; et ideo determinatur per obiectum et speciem. Sed non determinatur ipsa tamquam intellectum perficiat, ad hoc quod intelligat, sed determinatur sicut causa universalis et quodammodo illimitata, per causam particularem’.

'I say, then, that the intellect is indeterminate with respect to eliciting acts of understanding not by the indetermination of a material or recipient cause, but rather by the indetermination of an active cause which requires some other particular cause to bring about understanding. And that is the object or species in which the object ``shines through’’. For this reason, it is determined by the object and the species. But it is not determined such that it perfects the intellect enough to understand, but it is determined --- as a universal cause which is, in a certain sense, unlimited --- through a particular cause’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 26 (Vat. 16: 481.16-22): 'Sed contra hanc opinionem arguo sic: duplex est potentiae indeterminatio, sicut supra dictum est. Una enim est indeterminatio ``potentiae passivae’’, et haec est ad contradictoria, quae ad hoc quod determinetur, oportet quod recipiat (sicut lignum est in potentia ad calefaciendum et privatur calore aliquando, et ideo non vadit in actum nisi recipiat calorem); et haec est potentia passiva, quae est ``materiae’’’.

'But against this opinion [of Henry’s], I argue as follows. The indetermination of a power is twofold, as I said above. One is the indetermination of a ``passive power’’, and this is [indeterminate with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs]. In order for this [indeterminate power] to be determined [to one or the other state of affairs], it must receive [something]. For instance, a log has the potential to be heated, but sometimes it is deprived of heat, so it only becomes actually [hot] when it receives heat. This is the [indeterminacy of the] passive power of ``matter’’’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 26 (Vat. 16: 481.22-482.5): 'Alia est ``potentiae activae’’ indeterminatio, quae indeterminatio consequitur illimitationem suae causalitatis et suae virtutis, et haec potentia in naturalibus -- licet non in voluntate --- non est ad contradictoria; et ista potentia indeterminata, ad hoc quod determinetur, non recipit aliquam formam, sed sufficit praesentia passi si requirat passum (sicut sol est indeterminatus ad multos effectus indeterminatione et illimitatione quadam suae virtutis activae; et ideo ad hoc quod determinetur, non requiritur quod aliqua forma sibi imprimatur)’.

'The other [kind of] indetermination is that of ``active power’’, which is an indetermination that follows from the unlimitedness of its causality and power. And this power [that exists] in natural things -- though not in the will -- is not [an indetermination with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs]. In order for such an indeterminate power to be determined, it does not need to receive some form. Rather, it only requires the presence of a recipient (if it requires a recipient [at all]). For instance, the sun is indeterminate with respect to many effects by an indetermination and a certain unlimitedness that belongs to its active power. For this reason, in order for it to be determined [to some effect], it does not need to have some form imprinted in it’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 27 (Vat. 16: 482.6-17): 'Ex his arguitur sic: principium indeterminatum ``indeterminatione activa’’, quod est totale principium naturale et non ``voluntarium indifferens ad contradictoria’’, est de se determinatum ad producendum. Ista propositio iam manifesta est in exemplo praedicto [viz., solis], et iterum probatur ratione: quia si talis causa limitaretur ad unum effectum tantum, determinaretur sufficienter ad illum; sed per hoc quod talis causa ponitur illimitata respectu aliorum effectuum, non aufertur determinatio ad istum effectum nec tollitur comparatio eius ad istum effectum, unde nihil eius perfectionis tollitur per comparationem ad istum effectum; igitur potentia naturalis quae est indeterminata illimitatione suae naturae, determinatur ex se’.

'From these points, I argue as follows. The basis [for a power] that is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of active [power]’’ -- which is the total natural basis and not [a power that is] ``indifferent to contradictory things that can be chosen’’ -- is determined to produce [the effect or effects in question] from within itself. Now, this claim is obvious in the aforesaid example [of the sun], but it can further by proved by argument. For if such a cause were limited to one effect only, it would sufficiently be determined to that [one effect from within itself]. But given that, if such a cause were then supposed to be unlimited with respect to other effects, it would not lose that determination to the first effect nor would that take away its relationship to that effect. Whence, nothing of its perfection would be lost through its relationship to this [other] effect. Therefore, a natural power that is indeterminate by the unlimitedness of its nature is determined from within itself’.

Lect., 1.7.un., n. 27 (Vat. 16: 482.17-22): 'Cum igitur essentia divina sit indeterminata non indeterminatione passiva, sed indeterminatione quae est virtutis activae illimitatae, ipsa non requiret aliquam formam ipsam determinantem; si igitur essentia divina sit principium generationis aut spirationis, ipsa non determinatur ad producendum per aliquam proprietatem respectivam’.

'Thus, since the divine essence is indeterminate not by the indetermination of passive [power] but rather by the indetermination of the unlimitedness of its active power, it does not require some form to determine it. If, then, the divine essence were the basis for generation or spiration, it would not be determined to produce through some relative property’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 20 (Vat. 4: 114.1-11): 'Indeterminatio, quaedam est ``potentiae passivae’’ et quaedam ``potentiae activae’’ illimitatae ad plures effectus (exemplum: sicut sol est indeterminatus ad producendum multa generabilia, non quod aliquam formam recipiat ut agat, sed quia habet virtutem productivam illimitatam). Quod est indeterminatum ``indeterminatione materiae’’ oportet quod recipiat formam ad hoc quod agat, quia non est in actu sufficiente ad agendum, sed quod est indeterminatum ``indeterminatione potentiae activae’’ est ex se sufficienter determinatum ad producendum quemcumque illorum effectuum: et hoc si passum-dispositum sit approximatum, ubi requiritur passum, vel ex se ipso ubi passum non requiritur’.

'One kind of indetermination belongs to ``passive power’’ and another to ``active power’’ that is unlimited with respect to many effects. For example, the sun is indeterminate with respect to producing many generable things, not because it needs to receive some form in order to act, but rather because it has unlimited productive power. That which is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of matter’’ must receive a form in order to act, because it is not sufficiently actual itself to act. But that which is indeterminate by ``the indetermination of active power’’ is sufficiently determined from within itself to produce any of those effects (and in cases where a recipient is required, this will happen if a disposed recipient comes near enough, but in cases where no recipient is required, this will just happen from within itself)’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 20 (Vat. 4: 114.11-115.2): 'probatio: si tale activum esset de se determinatum ad unum effectum, posset de se sufficienter producere illum, --- sed si est indeterminatum ad hoc et ad aliud, ex tali illimitatione non tollitur perfectio causalitatis eius respectu talis effectus, sed tantum additur causalitas respectu alterius; ita ergo potest istud producere, sicut si tantum esset istius, et ita non requiritur aliquod determinans’.

'Proof: if such an active thing were determined within itself to [produce only] one effect, it could produce that effect sufficeintly from within itself. But if it were indeterminate with respect to this effect and another effect, such unlimitedness would not entail that it would lose the perfection of its causality with respect to the [first] effect. Rather, this would only add causality with respect to the other effect. Thus, it could produce this other effect, just as if it were limited to [produce only] this other effect, and it would not need something to determine it’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 21 (Vat. 4: 115.3-7): 'Ad propositum. Essentia divina non est principium indeterminatum ``indeterminatione materiae’’: ergo si est indeterminatum indeterminatione alterius quasi principii activi, erit simpliciter determinatum determinatione quae requiritur ad agendum, et ita non requiritur aliquid aliud’.

'As for the case at hand, the divine essence is not the basis for indeterminate [power] by the ``indetermination of matter’’. Therefore, if it is indeterminate by the indetermination of the other [sort], as the basis for active power, so to speak, then it will simply by determinate by the determination which is required for acting, and it will not need anything else’.

Ord., 1.7.1, n. 21 (Vat. 4: 115.7-12): 'Confirmatur, quia talis indeterminatio activi licet sit ad disparata, non tamen est ad contradictoria, sed determinate ad alteram partem contradictionis respectu cuiuslibet illorum disparatorum; nulla autem indeterminatio prohibet ex se determinate agere, nisi quae aliquo modo esset ad contradictoria, ut ad agere et non-agere; ergo etc.’

'This is confirmed in the following way. Although the indetermination of active [power] is [indeterminate with respect] to different kinds [of activities], it is not [indeterminate with respect] to contractory [states of affairs, viz, acting or not-acting]. Rather, it is determinate only to one of the contradictory [states of affairs, i.e., it is determinate to acting rather than to not-acting], and so [it is only indeterminate] with respect to the different kinds of [activities] for which it is [the basis]. However, no indetermination prohibits something within itself from acting except the kind [of indetermination that is indeterminate with respect] to contradictory [states of affairs] such as acting and non-acting. Therefore, etc.’