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This essay was originally published in Thovght, and then edited and reprinted in Anthony O. Simon (ed.), Philosopher at Work. We thank both Anthony Simon and the editors of Thovght for granting us permission to republish it in our Thomas International website.



The intelligence of faith is the
rational science of the secrets of
God, and it will live eternally
when faith itself shall have come
to an end.






CHRISTIAN FAITH HOLDS that the destiny of man is not altogether natural. It highly values moral virtues and all the perfections that human nature strives to achieve, such as true knowledge, mastery over the physical world, the perception and creation of beauty, peace of soul and cooperation among persons. But in the Christian vision of destiny greater goods, which lie beyond the range of man's natural possibilities, are actually accessible to him. Between human nature and these supernatural perfections the relation is such that the ultimate meaning of the goods of nature, the most decisive reason of their desirability, the principle which ultimately determines in what amount they should be desired and under what conditions they should be given up, their ultimate vindication and their supreme rule, are not found in nature but beyond it.

The supernatural character of human destiny marks, in all its phases, the mysterious history of mankind in its relation to God. Man was created in a state which involved, besides perfect integrity of nature, supernatural and preternatural privileges. His reason was steadily obedient to divine command and his appetite to reason; moreover, he was spared the hardships inherent in his natural condition: the irksomeness of labor, the pains of childbirth, exposure to disease and, above all, the inevitability of death. Yet, he was not confirmed in sanctity. The possibility of sin was not altogether excluded. In spite of perfect awareness, man chose to sin and lost the privileges of his original innocence. These privileges were deeply grafted in his nature and could not be torn off, by sin, without nature itself undergoing damage. The fallen man is wounded. Over and above the contingencies to which his nature is subject, he suffers from disturbances which render exceedingly precarious the maintenance of a rational order in the operations of his excellent faculties. If denied any supernatural assistance, a rational animal imperfect health would still be a rather poor thing: his would be a law of slow progress through trials and errors, with a high ratio of failure. The wounds left by the sin make everything worse. Man has come to depend on supernatural help even within the realm of his natural accomplishment.

But the fall was followed by a promise of recovery. The Second Person of the Divine Trinity became man, and through suffering and death redeemed the human race. The Holy Spirit was sent to the Church founded by Christ. The Word of truth remained among us. The flow of grace would never cease. The wounds of the original sin can be healed, not by any natural process but by supernatural participation in divine life. In a world of frailty, of universal suffering and of sin, eternal life has begun. No matter how painful to nature, death is defeated, for it can neither terminate nor interrupt the life of supernatural union with God.

How are all these truths known to us? Not by demonstration, but by revelation. Christian faith is primarily concerned with the secrets of God. The word "mystery," in the context of faith, assumes a meaning with no precedent in the rational sciences‑‑although these often deal with questions that can be termed mysteries with propriety. A mystery of faith is a truth naturally accessible to the divine intellect and to no other intellect. For creatures, the only possible access to such truths is revelation, i.e., disclosure by God himself."... And no one knows the Son except the Father, nor does anyone know the Father except the Son, and him to whom the Son chooses to reveal him" (Matt. 11:27). Indeed, faith covers many truths which, considered in themselves, have no character of secrecy (e.g., "Isaac was the son of Abraham"). But it is by reason of their connection with mysteries that all such truths belong to faith. Moreover, there is an order among mysterious truths: the mystery of the Divine Trinity comes first. And from all this it can be gathered that the most direct way to a central insight on whatever may be termed the rationality of the Christian Faith is an inquiry into the part played by the reason in our approach to the divine Trinity.

The ambitions of Christian philosophers have sometimes seemed to try to force into the domain of metaphysics some parts or aspects of the revealed mysteries. There have been, in particular, attempts at demonstrating the distinction of three persons within the unity of the divine essence. To ascertain the meaning of these enterprises, let us consider the principle by which the boundaries of metaphysics are ultimately determined. The most diverse schools of thought, from ardent metaphysicians to agnostics, hold that the field of our demonstrations is measured by the basic proportion of our under‑standing to what it knows primarily. Aquinas and his school, on this issue, are strict followers of Aristotle: the only objects that the human understanding attains directly are the natures of the things present in sense experience. The privilege of these natures does not mean that they alone can be subjects of demonstration; it means that any other things knowable to the human mind are known, if at all, through physical and observable things. A science of metaphysics, i.e., a science of the world above sensible nature, is not excluded thereby, but it cannot extend beyond those aspects of the metaphysical world to which the mind is led by the analysis of nature. So far as the knowledge of God is concerned, this is a very severe restriction. Apart from revelation, God remains thoroughly unknown to us except for the attributes that things observable succeed in manifesting. Inasmuch as we observe, in the physical world, the existence of metaphysical features which, by intelligible necessity, cannot exist without being caused by a Being in which we recognize what the word "God" signifies, we know that God exists. The experience of change leads to God as first mover, that of essential sub‑ordinations in efficient causality to the first efficient cause, that of contingency to the necessary being, that of degrees in absolute perfections to the unparticipated perfection, and the experience of finality to an intellect identical with its action.[1] The demonstration of God's existence is complete when we have understood that in the bearer of these predicates there is identity between essence and existence.

Of the divine nature, what can we know? A first method is unqualifiedly negative. Since no term expressing imperfection in any degree can be predicated of God, we remove from Him, against the suggestions of anthropomorphic imagination, all predicates that involve imperfection. To know that God is not living after the fashion of an organism, that He is not sentient, that He is not a body, that He is not changing, that there is in Him no composition of substance and accident, that there is not in Him any composition what so ever, is to know things of great significance about the divine nature. True, it ought to be said that whatever perfection is contained in biological life, in sensation, in corporeity, in change and in any such ways of being, is most certainly possessed by God, but in another and higher form. And thus we are led to these absolute or unmixed perfections which can be predicated of God with propriety. Although every perfection found in the world of our experience is actually restricted, some observable perfections do not imply, by essence and intelligible necessity, any restriction or imperfection. Being, truth, unity, goodness, intelligence, love, freedom, are examples of absolute perfections. "Good" is properly predicated of a good man and of God. Clearly, the human and the divine ways of being good are not identical. "Good" has different meanings according as it is predicated of God or of man. These meanings are at an infinite distance from each other; yet they are not unrelated. I know that "good" is infinitely more properly predicated of God than of the best of men. In the divine way of being good goodness is infinitely more of a goodness than in the human way of the same perfection. However, the divine way of being good and universally the divine way of absolute perfections remain totally unknown to us. A negation terminates our inquiry into the divine nature. The method of analogy, which makes for positive predications about God, is caught between two negations, the first of which is relative to mixed perfections -e.g., biological life, sensation, etc.‑ and the second to the divine mode of the absolute perfections.[2] All the positive results of the way of analogy would be deceptive if they were not straightened out by final negations. Ultimately, we know what God is not rather than what He is, and the notion of learned ignorance, often used in the description of mystical knowledge, applies also properly to the metaphysics of God.

How are these metaphysical procedures related to the knowledge of the divine mysteries? Indeed, whenever we ask whether certain predicates‑‑say, "one," "good," "loving"‑‑can be asserted of God in a proper sense, the only source of our answer is the causal analysis which constitutes the demonstration of God's existence. Again, this analysis properly leads to the bearer of predicates in correspondence with the metaphysical features of observable reality. If I want to know whether a certain predicate, say, "loving," pertains to God formally, the only method allowed by the basic relation of the intellect to its primary object consists in seeing whether such a predicate as "loving" can be deductively connected with the notion of a subject which is first mover, first efficient cause, necessary being, first being and intellect in ultimate actuality. Where such deductive connection is lacking, no conclusion can be attained. The ways that lead the human mind to a natural and rational knowledge of God are causal inferences. From diverse angles, they all manifest God as first cause of the observable world. Now, this name "first cause" pertains to the unity of the divine essence, not to the trinity of the divine persons. Indeed the principle of proportion which imposes such restrictions upon the metaphysical abilities of the human mind imposes basically similar restrictions upon the metaphysical abilities of any created or creatable intellect. A created intellect cannot be naturally related to God by direct proportion. The divine being is not the direct and primary object of any intellect, save the intellect of God Himself. No matter how high in the hierarchy of spiritual creatures, a created intellect has for its primary object a created being, and the only way for it to know God is to reach Him as term of a causal inference grounded in the metaphysical characteristics of creatures. Then God is attained in essential, not in personal predicates. The trinity of the divine persons remains unknown.

Granted that it is impossible to demonstrate the reality of a mystery, is it possible, at least, to establish its possibility? Granted that the fact of the Trinity is knowable only by revelation, is it possible to show that the revealed dogma involves no contradiction? In God, there is no discrepancy between noncontradiction and unqualified possibility, neither is there in Him any discrepancy between possibility and actuality. God is actually all that He is possibly: such is the meaning of divine necessity. If the possibility of the fact were demonstrated, its actuality would be made obviously the same demonstration. The essential obstacles by reason of which it is impossible to demonstrate that there are three persons in God also make it impossible to demonstrate that there can be a trinity of divine persons. No metaphysical genius will ever positively show that there is nothing contradictory about the proposition that there are three persons in God. No demonstration will ever positively show that this proposition is not absurd. Such things cannot be demonstrated. Like the divine modalities of the divine perfections they cannot be disclosed clearly except in a vision. Again, the metaphysician ends his discourse by denying himself all knowledge of things which can be known only from the standpoint of the Deity. All his knowledge of God, no matter how valuable, proceeds from the standpoint of entity; all he knows is being and its causes, secondary and First. The so‑called natural theology is but a chapter of ontology, the chapter conversant with the first cause of being. Supernatural mysteries belong to the universe of the Deity: like the divine mode of the absolute perfections, they are placed beyond the ultimate negations uttered by metaphysics, beyond the last word of its learned ignorance. In faith, with all its obscurity, and its dependence upon authority and free choice, we recognize the essence of transrational knowledge.

There is in the general theory of authority a contrast which throws much light on knowledge by faith. In the world of action, the functions of authority are either essential or substitutional. Authority exercises essential functions when the very nature of social relations is what makes it necessary; but when it is made necessary by a mere decency, its function is substitutional. In matters of knowledge the function of authority is always substitutional, never essential.[3] Just as the judgment and will of the father substitute for the immature powers of the child in the pursuit of the child's own happiness, so, in the approach to theoretical truth authority plays by substitution a part which properly belongs to the object. Considered in its essence, the determination of the theoretical assent is neither a matter of authority nor a matter of liberty: it is a matter of  objectivity. This is one of the reasons why the unrenewable facts of  history pertain to theoretical life in a merely oblique and qualified way. Except for the persons who happened to be present when and  where the unrenewable event occurred, the only way to know it is dependence upon the authority of witnesses.

The authority of the mere witness is but veracity made recognizable by signs. Such authority does not imply in any way the power to give orders. There is, however, a particular kind of witness in whom authority in the sense of recognizable veracity is associated with authority in the sense of power to command. The teacher is an ambiguous personage: on the one hand he is a witness whom society holds reliable, on the other hand he is a leader in charge of managing externals in the life of learning. Teachers are commonly treated with suspicion: indeed, by reason of their two‑sided character, they are exposed to particularly vicious temptations. As witness, a teacher has but to say the truth and produce convincing evidences of his veracity. As administrative agent, he has the power of issuing orders and a right to be obeyed. The temptation is great to use this power and this right to strengthen the evidences of his veracity. Correspondingly, the submissive student may like to be told what to think just as he is told what readings he should do and what questions he should answer. The authority of the witness concerns assent to truth and involves no command; the authority of an administrator involves a command but it does not concern assent to truth. Generally speaking, man owes obedience to man with regard to external acts alone, and God alone has a right to his obedience with regard to internal acts. Acknowledging truth is an act characterized by supreme interiority. The only witness whose authority involves a right to be obeyed is the divine witness, the only teacher who speaks with authority (Matt. 7:29), i.e., who causes an obligation to believe his words, is the Word of God. This divine privilege is partaken of by the Church without becoming in any sense a human privilege. For it is by reason of her divine origin and inspiration, not by reason of anything human in her, that the Church obliges minds to believe in a testimony which is one with that of the divine Word. 

The unique privilege of the divine teacher does not affect in anyway or degree the substitutional character of authority in matters of theoretical assent. A truth adhered to by reason of divine testimony is possessed of a certainty surpassing that of any natural knowledge: yet the assent to such a truth is not determined by the object alone, and this constitutes, in spite of certainty and sublimity, a radical imperfection. The assent of faith is altogether provisional, and animated by a dynamism relative to another mode of revelation, where assent is determined by the object alone, and where neither authority nor liberty have any part to play. Many difficulties commonly held insuperable would be removed if it were better realized that teaching authority, even in the case of the divine teacher, remains substitutional and provisional. A relation to vision is included in the definition of faith: "Now faith is the substance of things to be hoped for, the evidence of things that are not seen" (Heb. 11-1).

The notion of transrationality, already used in the description of the mysteries, now assumes a new meaning and a new significance. Faith tends, by its innermost dynamism, toward the clarity of a knowledge which is transrational not only inasmuch as it transcends the powers of reason, but also inasmuch as it surpasses, by an infinite qualitative distance, the clarity that reasoning is able to procure. The intuitive apprehension of divine truth may be described as the term of a progress whose initial phase is rational knowledge. When a proposition which for some time has been held true on account of observable regularities alone comes to be rationally understood, the difference is that the necessity of its truth has become an object of understanding. A middle term makes it clear that the subject considered would both be and not be what it is if it did not possess the property predicated of it in the demonstrated conclusion. All the greatness of the rational process consists in its ability to show that the law of identity is at work in a case devoid of immediate obviousness. The discursiveness of the rational process, inasmuch as it excludes the perfection of immediacy, is a limitation on what constitutes the worth of rationality. This can be summed up by saying that there is in rationality a value which tends toward freedom from all the restrictions proper to the discursive methods of reason. The promised vision, to which faith is relative, is a revelation by way of intuition; there does not remain in it any element of discourse; neither does it use any sign or created idea. The features which distinguish rational knowledge have disappeared, but the perfection clumsily procured by the procedures of our reason ultimately triumphs in a divine state of things. For the beatific vision consists in seeing God as He is.

After having described the transrational clarity to which faith aspires, let us now consider the operations which precede and prepare the act of faith. To the question whether faith can be rationally established, let it be answered that truth is one thing and credibility an entirely different thing. The truth of faith is known transrationally in the beatific vision, but so long as there is no vision, it is held in darkness, on authority and by a choice which is free without being in any sense arbitrary. There is no such thing as a rational establishment of the truth of faith. What can be established rationally is the credibility of faith propositions. Reason can show that believing is a sound, honest, virtuous action, that it is, for sure, the action expected of a man determined to seek the right and to avoid the wrong. But between showing that a proposition is believable and ought to be believed and showing that it is true, there is a world of difference. Inasmuch as rational work shows that faith propositions are believable, we may speak of the rationality of faith: but this expression, in such a context, designates merely the reasonableness of supernatural belief. 

The dynamism of faith comprises two tendencies toward clarity. The first is an eagerness to attain, beyond the natural horror of death, the state of vision. The other is an endeavor to obtain, within the necessary obscurity of faith, all possible intelligence of revelation. In definite conditions of orderliness, the second tendency gives birth to theology.

Against the widespread theory which confusedly describes theology as an application of philosophic forms to revealed data, let it be recalled that faith is the principal cause of theological knowledge. According to the words of Aquinas, theology is a discipline where the role of first principles is played by propositions of faith. In rational science the principles anterior to demonstration, the axioms from which demonstration flows, are propositions possessed of immediate evidence. But the axioms of theology are known by faith. Faith is to theology what natural understanding is to rational science. All that is genuine in theology draws its life from faith, and if a theologian falls into infidelity, what is left in his mind is but corpse. The role of philosophic and other rational disciplines in theology is instrumental, which does not mean that it is unimportant. Such expressions as light, clarity, clarification, explanation, demonstration, understanding, manifestation, intelligence, penetration and rationalization are commonly used in the description of the theological work: all are legitimate provided it is well understood that the states, qualities and achievements which they designate take place within faith and its obscurity, but all would be misleading if they suggested that, as a result of ingenuity in the handling of his rational instruments, the theologian succeeds in emancipating his science from the obscurity of faith. No instrument can procure a perfection -e.g., freedom from obscurity -excluded by the very nature of the principal cause.

 Let us now consider the various procedures used by theology in its endeavor to bring about the understanding of faith.[4] (1) First comes the orderly collecting of revealed truths, through the study of Holy Scripture and Tradition. This "positive" or "historical" function of theology uses all resources made available by history, yet is not reducible to a piece of historical research; inasmuch as it is exercised under the teaching authority of the Church it is, as certainly as any other theological function, a work of faith carried out through natural instruments.

(2) Then theology effects the conceptual analysis of revealed truth. Prior to theological work, revealed truths are expressed in the confused concepts of common sense and of Christian sense; it is up to theology to express the same truths with a greater degree of appropriateness and precision. The transition from the more confused to the more distinct, independently of any fresh discovery of truth, is a progress in quality and intensity; it is, in the most proper sense, a progress in intelligence.[5] As examples of concepts elaborated on by theology let us mention: created being and uncreated being; divine wisdom, uncreated love, providence, predestination; nature, person and relation; grace, free choice, merit, sin; infused virtue, faith, hope, charity; sacrament; transubstantiation; beatitude and pain.

(3) Another function of theology is to defend revealed truths against objections. Sometimes the problem is to make it clear that the truth under attack is actually contained in the treasury of revelation. In other cases the objection pretends to find contradiction in a matter of faith; then the theologian endeavors to show that the argument designed to evidence contradiction is devoid of necessitating power, even though it may well enjoy some verisimilitude. As recalled in the foregoing, it is altogether impossible to demonstrate that a mysterious proposition -e.g., "there are three persons in the unity of the divine essence" ‑is noncontradictory. What is it, then, that the theologian does when he argues against those who argue that such a proposition is absurd? He does not positively establish its freedom from contradiction. He just shows that the alleged contradiction is not demonstratively established. By demonstrating that no one has succeeded in demonstrating that a certain proposition of faith is contradictory, the theologian attains new degrees of profundity and precision in the intelligence of this proposition.

(4) In theology as well as in any other domain of thought, it is good to achieve the imperfect condition of probable knowledge when demonstrative certainty is out of the question. Theologians call "arguments of convenience" the nondemonstrative proofs which manifest an agreement between a mystery and a rational truth. Let, for instance, the mystery of the generation of the Word be considered in relation to the diffusiveness of itself which is the metaphysical law of the good. This law expresses a tendency, the tendency of the good to communicate itself. When a statement is considered in relation to a tendency, it may either agree with it, or prove indifferent to it, or contrast with it. Faith propositions concerning the generation of the Word certainly do not contrast with the metaphysical law of the good; neither are they indifferent to it; they definitely agree with the tendency of the good to communicate itself and to achieve greater abundance and intimacy in communication on the loftier levels of existence. To remark that a mysterious proposition places itself along the line of a rational law is to throw rational light upon a mystery; the familiarity of the intellect with the mysterious truth is thereby increased. But the laws of the good, such as they are knowable to us, do not demand, by intelligible necessity, that there be generation of a divine person by another. The argument of convenience falls short of certainty by an infinite distance.

(5) Theology uses discourse, in merely explicative fashion, to manifest the implications of revealed truth. The proposition of St. John "and the Word was made flesh" and the proposition "the Word, consubstantial to the Father, was made man" express the same truth; but as a result of the unfolding effected by theology, this truth is expressed more explicitly and more intelligibly in the latter proposition than in the former.

(6) Theology uses discourse properly so called, i.e., inferential discourse, to deduce, from two revealed truths, a third truth which is itself revealed. Thus, from the propositions "Jesus is truly God" and "Jesus is truly man" it is possible to infer that there are in Jesus two free wills: but this truth is also revealed in Jesus' own words "Yet not as I will, but as thou wiliest" (Matt. 26:39). Prior to the work of theology, this truth is known only by faith; as a result of theological reasoning it is also known in and through its cause, i.e., rationally, though within faith.

(7) Theology uses inferential discourse to deduce, from two revealed truths, a third truth not revealed in itself, but only in the other two. Inasmuch as its premises are revealed, this truth is more than a theological conclusion: it admits of being defined as a dogma.

(8) Finally, theology uses inferential discourse to deduce, from one revealed and one rational premise, a third proposition which properly deserves the name of theological conclusion. The truth expressed by such a conclusion, no matter how certain, is not revealed in an unqualified sense; it does not pertain to faith, but only to theology.

There is a sharp division between the first seven functions of theology and the last. In its eighth function theology reaches propositions that are its own, theological conclusions; elsewhere its work is entirely dedicated to propositions which, on a variety of grounds, belong to revelation. It is relevant to ask whether the main duty of theology is to deduce propositions that belong to it properly, or to manifest the meaning of propositions more sublime than its own. The answer is not dubious. Theology being the intelligence of faith, what pertains more directly to faith is of greater concern to theology that what pertains more properly to theology itself.

If the relation of theology to faith is what we said, is it still possible to consider theology as a science? In every order of research we hold that a proposition which does not admit of analysis into self‑evident principles remains foreign to science properly so called, even though it may belong to a discipline whose core is constituted by propositions in strict connection with immediately evident truth. But all parts of theology, its core of certainty as well as the areas where probability alone can be attained, depend upon and proceed from the inevident propositions of faith. No doubt, the confused notion of theology as an application of philosophic forms to the data of revelation springs from the ambition to achieve, in some way or other, a science of religious subjects. If the rational components of theology are held merely instrumental, if the principles of theology, by reason of their being believed, are purely and simply devoid of obviousness, it seems that theology is not a science. Now, in a treatment of "the rationality of the Christian faith," the scientific nature of theology is an issue of crucial significance.

The answer lies in the consideration that faith is a provisional substitute for vision. The obscurity inherent in any belief would deprive theology of all scientific character if the divine mysteries were to remain everlastingly unseen; but the Teacher on whose authority faith propositions are believed promised His disciples the vision of these mysteries. We find ourselves in a position similar to that of students who cannot yet understand some difficult principles. Assuming that their teacher is dependable, the wise thing to do is to take his word, to accept the principles on belief and to go ahead: understanding will come later. What is the nature of the rational work done by science students on the basis of principles that they provisionally believe? Is this work scientific or not? To answer this question, it suffices to compare the case of science students with that of students in a nonscientific field, say, history. Young historians have to trust their teachers; but they know very well that when they no longer need teachers they will have to trust someone else: except for the small ratio of facts which can be established by physical evidence, history is a matter of belief. Young scientists, on the contrary, during the phase of dependence upon a teacher, are eagerly awaiting the time when they will be able to master the principles and do without witnesses; their work is scientific in substance and tends toward the state of science. Such is the condition of theology in the present life: its substance and its essential inclination are scientific. Yet theology falls short of the scientific state until its principles are apprehended clearly, in other words, until revelation by way of vision replaces revelation by way of faith. "The theology acquired in this life endures in Heaven and is rendered evident there. By intrinsic inclination, theology is radically striving toward evidence and continuity with ... the blessed science. It is by accident that in this life theology uses faith as supplying and supposing principles known with evidence in a higher science" (John of St. Thomas).[6]

The dynamism of faith is relative to perfections which cannot be fully achieved so long as the infirmities essential to faith continue to prevail. One of these perfections is clarity; the other is presence. Inasmuch as it is longing for clarity, faith tends to disappear into vision; inasmuch as it is longing for presence, faith tends to disappear into experience, which is knowledge by way of touch. Distance, as well as obscurity, is inseparable from faith, and in a very proper sense faith must die, by the death of man, for its offspring to be born. Yet, in another sense, it is possible to attain, within faith and its eagerness, some sort of clarity and some sort of presence. Here lies the paradox which inevitably occasions puzzlement and confusion regarding the nature of theology and that of mystical experience. Theology is a system of clarity entirely contained in a system marked by obscurity; it is a work of rationality within the power of belief. Mystical experience is a knowledge by way of touch, an undergoing or suffering of things divine within an act of belief which implies infinite distance. Such distance cannot be suppressed un less the being of God assumes the role of idea and effects directly the determination of the human intellect. When the beatific vision sup‑presses all distance, mystical experience does not cease; rather, it is exalted and changed into itself. Likewise, when the principles of theology are apprehended in divine clarity, theology is given its first opportunity to realize the requirements of its essence. Faith has come to an end, but the intelligence of faith lives eternally as rational science of the divine mysteries; this is perhaps the most significant thing that can be said about the rationality of the Christian faith.



* This paper is the development of a lecture given by Yves R. Simon at Hamilton College, Clinton, New York, on December 5, 1954, in the John Herschel Morron Lecture Series. "The Rationality of the Christian Faith" was the general theme of the series. It first appeared in Thought, Vol. XXI, No. 123, Winter 1956-1957. [Ed. Note: A. O. Simon].

[1] Yves R. Simon, The Tradition of Natural Law: A Philosopher's Reflections, Revised Edition, ed. Vukan Kuic with an introduction by Russell Hittinger (New York: Fordham University Press, 1993), pp. 141-145. [ed. note].

[2] See: Yves R. Simon, "On Order and Analogical Sets" The New Scholasticism, Vol. XXXIV, No. 1, January 1960. [ed. note].

[3] See: Yves R. Simon, A General Theory of Authority, (Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1980). [ed. note].

[4] For the systematic exposition of these procedures I am indebted to the Réginald Garrigou‑Lagrange's study on the nature of theology in La Synthèse Thomiste, Second Part,  chap 1. See also the English edition, Reality, trans. Patrick Cummins (St. Louis: Herder, 1950).

[5] See: Yves R. Simon, An Introduction to the Metaphysics of Knowledge, trans. Vukan Kuic and Richard J. Thompson (New York: Fordham University Press, 1990), pp. 149-158, [ed. note].

[6] The Material Logic of John of St. Thomas: Basic Treatises, Log. ii. q. 26. a. 3. trans. Yves R. Simon, John J. Glanville and G. Donald Hollenhorst (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1955, 1965), p. 524. [revised note, ed.].