The Ontology, Psychology and Axiology of Habits - Nicolas Faucher & Magali Roques - 2018

Historical-Analytical Studies on Nature, Mind and Action 7
Nicolas Faucher
Magali Roques Editors
The Ontology,
Psychology and
Axiology of Habits
(Habitus) in Medieval
Philosophy
Historical-Analytical Studies on Nature,
Mind and Action
Volume 7
Editor-in-Chief
Professor Gyula Klima, Fordham University
Editors
Dr. Russell Wilcox, University of Navarra
Professor Henrik Lagerlund, University of Western Ontario
Professor Jonathan Jacobs, CUNY, John Jay College of Criminal Justice
Advisory Board
Dan Bonevac, University of Texas
Sarah Borden, Wheaton College
Edward Feser, Pasadena College
Jorge Garcia, University of Buffalo
William Jaworski, Fordham University
Joseph E. Davis, University of Virginia
Stephan Meier-Oeser, Academy of Sciences of Göttingen
José Ignacio Murillo, University of Navarra
Calvin Normore, UCLA
Penelope Rush, University of Tasmania
Jack Zupko, University of Alberta
nicolas.faucher@live.fr
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Nicolas Faucher • Magali Roques
Editors
The Ontology, Psychology

and Axiology of Habits
(Habitus) in Medieval
Philosophy
Editors
Nicolas Faucher Magali Roques
Centre of Excellence in Reason Philosophisches Seminar
and Religious Recognition Universität Hamburg
Faculty of Theology Hamburg, Germany
University of Helsinki
Laboratoire d’études sur les
Helsinki, Finland
monothéismes (UMR 8584)
Villejuif Cedex, France
ISSN 2509-4793 ISSN 2509-4807 (electronic)

Historical-Analytical Studies on Nature, Mind and Action
ISBN 978-3-030-00234-3 ISBN 978-3-030-00235-0 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00235-0
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Preface
The present volume constitutes the proceedings of two colloquia we organized on

the subject of habitus in medieval philosophy. The first consisted of two panels
which took place at Fordham University, New York, in October 2014, as part of the
annual meeting of the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy, to which we are grate-
ful for welcoming us.
The interest sparked on the topic seemed enthusiastic enough that we decided to
organize a follow-up international conference in Paris, which took place in October
2015 at the École Pratique des Hautes Études. In organizing this conference, we
benefited from generous funding from the Laboratoire d’Excellence Histoire et
Anthropologie des Savoirs, des Techniques et des Croyances (EPHE, PSL, Paris),
the European Union through the Dahlem Research School (Freie Universität Berlin),
the Laboratoire d’Études sur les Monothéismes (UMR 8584, Paris), the Centre
d’Études Supérieures sur la Renaissance (UMR 7323, Tours), as well as the ERC-
THESIS Project nº 313339, through the Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des
Textes. We would like to express our utmost gratitude to Olivier Boulnois, Joël
Biard, and Monica Brinzei, without whose advice and support this second confer-
ence could not have happened.
In New York, we had the amazing opportunity to meet and hear Gyula Klima. He
agreed to publish the proceedings of our events in his book series Historical-
Analytical Studies in Nature, Mind, and Action. He also gave us ongoing help and
valuable advice both on the organization of the conference and the editing of the
book. For this, we are deeply grateful.
We would also like to thank all the contributors to the present volume. We learned
a great deal from their impeccable scholarship and the many recommendations they
had the kindness to give us.
We are most grateful to Ian Drummond for his excellent and careful work in
translating two of the chapters from French, reviewing the English for several oth-
ers, and copyediting the volume as a whole, as well as for the many fruitful discus-
sions we shared on the book’s topic.
Nicolas Faucher would like to thank the Academy of Finland’s Centre of
Excellence in Reason and Religious Recognition at the University of Helsinki for its
vi Preface
financial support. The project matured during his time as a PhD student under the
supervision of Olivier Boulnois and Pasquale Porro. For nurturing his interest in
medieval philosophy and inspiring him, he is profoundly grateful to them, as well as
to many others.
Magali Roques would like to thank the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies;
the EURIAS Fellowship Programme co-funded by the Marie Skłodowska-Curie
Actions, under the Seventh Framework Programme; and the Fondation des Treilles
for their financial support. She also benefited from the generous support of the
Dahlem Research School while she held a postdoctoral position at the Excellence
Cluster Topoi (Berlin) and from intense discussions on the topic with her colleagues
in Dominik Perler’s research group.
Helsinki, Finland Nicolas Faucher

Hamburg, Germany Magali Roques
Contents
1 The Many Virtues of Second Nature: Habitus in Latin

Medieval Philosophy�� 1
Nicolas Faucher and Magali Roques
2 The Habitus of Choice�� 25
Olivier Boulnois
3 Habitus According to Augustine: Philosophical Tradition
and Biblical Exegesis�� 47
Isabelle Bochet
4 Speaking Theologically: The Concept of habitus
in Peter Lombard and His Followers �� 67
Bonnie Kent
5 Habitus or Affectio: The Will and Its Orientation
in Augustine, Anselm, and Duns Scotus �� 87
Kristell Trego
6 What Does a Habitus of the Soul Do? The Case of the Habitus
of Faith in Bonaventure, Peter John Olivi
and John Duns Scotus�� 107
Nicolas Faucher
7 Intellection in Aquinas: From Habit to Operation �� 127
Hamid Taieb
8 “As One Is Disposed, So the Goal Appears to Him”:
On the Function of Moral Habits (habitus)
According to Thomas Aquinas�� 143
Rolf Darge
9 Thomas Aquinas on Our Freedom to Use Our Habitus �� 167
Can Laurens Löwe
vii
viii Contents
10 Cognitive Dispositions in the Psychology of Peter John Olivi�� 185

Juhana Toivanen
11 Thomas of Sutton on Intellectual habitus�� 205
Jean-Luc Solère
12 Are Cognitive Habits in the Intellect? Durand of St.-Pourçain
and Prosper de Reggio Emilia on Cognitive Habits�� 229
Peter John Hartman
13 Peter Auriol on Habits and Virtues�� 245
Martin Pickavé
14 Ockham on Habits �� 263
Magali Roques
15 William Ockham on the Mental Ontology
of Scientific Knowledge �� 285
Jenny Pelletier
16 Tot scibilia quot scientiae? Are There as Many Sciences
as Objects of Science? The Format of Scientific Habits
from Thomas Aquinas to Gregory of Rimini�� 301
Pascale Bermon
17 The Metaphysics of Habits in Buridan�� 321
Gyula Klima
18 Acts and Dispositions in John Buridan’s Faculty Psychology �� 333
Jack Zupko
19 The Concept of Habit in Richard Kilvington’s Ethics�� 347
Monika Michałowska
20 Suárez on the Metaphysics of Habits �� 365
Dominik Perler
21 Extrinsic Denomination and the Origins of Early
Modern Metaphysics: The Scholastic Context
of Descartes’s Regulae �� 385
Tarek R. Dika
Index�� 403
Abbreviations
art. articulus, article

AL Aristoteles Latinus (Bruges, Brussels, and Paris: Desclée de Brouwer,
1953–)
CCL Corpus Christianorum, series Latina (Turnhout: Brepols, 1953–)
com. commentarium
CSEL Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna: Tempsky
(etc.), 1865–)
d./dd. Distinction(s)
fol./fols. folio/folios
lect. Lectio
Lect. Lectura
Leonina Sancti Thomae Aquinatis Doctoris Angelici Opera Omnia Iussu
Impensaque Leonis XIII P.M. edita (Rome: Commissio Leonina; Paris:
Éditions du Cerf, 1882–)
OPh (1) John Duns Scotus, Opera Philosophica, 5 vols. (St. Bonaventure,
NY: Franciscan Institute, 1997–2006)
(2) William of Ockham, Opera Philosophica, 7 vols. (St Bonaventure,
NY: Franciscan Institute, 1967–1988)
Ord. Ordinatio
OTh William of Ockham, Opera Theologica, 10 vols. (St Bonaventure, NY:
Franciscan Institute, 1967–1988)
PL Patrologiae Cursus Completus, series Latina (Paris: Migne, then
Garnier, 1844–1865)
q./qq. Quaestio(nes)/question(s)
Quodl. Quodlibet
Rep. Reportatio
SCG Summa contra Gentiles (of Thomas Aquinas)
ST Summa Theologiae (of Thomas Aquinas)
Vat. Ioannis Duns Scoti Opera Omnia, ed. Carolus Balić et al., 21 vols.
(Rome: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1950–)
ix
Chapter 1
The Many Virtues of Second Nature:
Habitus in Latin Medieval Philosophy
Nicolas Faucher and Magali Roques
Abstract This chapter consists of a systematic introduction to the nature and func-
tion of habitus in Latin medieval philosophy. Over the course of this introduction,
several topics are treated: the theoretical necessity to posit habitus; their nature;
their causal contribution to the production of internal and external acts; how and
why habitus can grow and decay; what makes their unity when they can have mul-
tiple objects and work in clusters. Finally, we examine two specific questions: why
intellectual habitus represent a special case that triggered considerable debate; how
human beings can be said to be free if their actions are determined by moral
habitus.
Keywords Habitus · Disposition · Philosophical psychology · Metaphysics of the

soul · Moral philosophy · Medieval philosophy
1.1 Introduction
The present volume is dedicated to the concept of habitus in medieval philosophy.

Its purpose is to assess the actual importance of this notion for medieval thinkers, in
light of recent advances in medieval cognitive psychology and medieval moral the-
ory, which have been the object of sustained attention in the last 10 years.
To our knowledge, there have been only two extensive studies on the history of
the concept of habitus from Aristotle to the twentieth century. The first is the habili-
N. Faucher (*)
Centre of Excellence in Reason and Religious Recognition, Faculty of Theology,
University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland
M. Roques
Philosophisches Seminar, Universität Hamburg, Hamburg, Germany
Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes (UMR 8584), Villejuif Cedex, France
© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018 1

N. Faucher, M. Roques (eds.), The Ontology, Psychology and Axiology
of Habits (Habitus) in Medieval Philosophy, Historical-Analytical Studies
on Nature, Mind and Action 7, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00235-0_1
2 N. Faucher and M. Roques
tation thesis of Peter Nickl (2001).1 The other is a volume of collected papers edited
by Tom Sparrow and Adam Hutchinson (2013).2 To date, only a few monographs
have been published on this notion, focused on specific authors: Oswald Fuchs’s
thorough but dated study of the psychology of habitus in William of Ockham
(1952); Rolf Darge’s authoritative monograph (1996) on the knowledge of habitus
and the function of moral habitus in the structuring of action in Thomas Aquinas;
and Bonnie Kent’s classic study on virtues of the will (1995). A handful of articles
have also been written on moral habitus in Aquinas.3 The present volume is thus the
first work to deal with the central characteristics and evolution of this notion during
the height of Latin medieval scholasticism in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,
providing studies of a number of medieval authors, trying to keep a balance between
well-known thinkers of the time, such as Bonaventure, Aquinas, John Duns Scotus,
and Ockham, and less well-known but crucially important authors such as Henry of
Ghent, Peter John Olivi, Thomas of Sutton, Peter Auriol, John Buridan, and Richard
Kilvington. Studies of Augustine, Francisco Suárez, and Descartes give insight into
both the foundations of medieval conceptions and their subsequent developments,
thus bringing to the volume a longue durée perspective. Given the exploratory
nature of the volume, an exhaustive treatment was not an attainable goal. Many
doctrines remain to be studied, especially before the golden age of scholasticism,
such as Gilbert de Poitiers’, and after it, John Capreolus’ and Thomas Cajetan’s.
Nevertheless, we believe that this volume provides valuable insights into the foun-
dations of medieval conceptions and shows how Suárez and Descartes summed up
the medieval tradition and used it as a starting point for their own thinking.
Habitus is a key feature of the philosophical psychology inherited from both the
Aristotelian and Augustinian traditions, Augustine and Aristotle being the key
authorities throughout the medieval period.4 In the Metaphysics, Aristotle defines
habitus as dispositions through which something or someone is well disposed or
ill-disposed in herself or with regard to something else (Met. 5.20, 1022b12–14). In
the Categories, however, he distinguishes dispositions from habitus, the latter being
more firmly entrenched than the former (Cat. 8, 8b27). In the same work he defines
habitus as absolute qualities (Cat. 7, 6b5) but also as relative to something (Cat. 8,
11a20–32). This led to debate among medieval authors, with some going so far as
to deem habitus relations rather than qualities (see part 2 of the present introduc-
tion). In the De anima, dealing specifically with intellectual habitus, Aristotle says
that they are the result of a change of quality, through the repetition of the corre-
sponding acts (De an. 2.5, 417a32). Finally, in the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle
1
Nickl deals with the concept of moral habitus in Aristotle and Aquinas, before discussing its
progressive disappearance in Scotus and Ockham, as well as Luther and Descartes. He then turns
to its renaissance in Schiller and Kierkegaard, before surveying twentieth-century conceptions.
2
The first part of their volume deals with some ancient, medieval and early modern conceptions of
habitus, including Aristotle’s and Aquinas, while the second part deals with modern theories, such
as Suárez’s and Descartes’s. The third and final part deals with contemporary conceptions.
3
See Kent (2002), Bourke (1942), Inagaki (1981, 1987), and Miner (2013). A few articles deal with
other relevant authors: see Prendeville (1972), Côté (2012), Des Chene (2013), and Doyle (1991).
4
As far as we know, there is no significant Platonic influence on the development of the notion.
1 The Many Virtues of Second Nature: Habitus in Latin Medieval Philosophy 3
defines virtues as praiseworthy habitus (NE 1.13, 1103a9). He also assigns non-
intellectual virtues to the irrational parts of the soul. This seems to mean that virtues
cannot belong to powers that are capable of opposites, a claim that almost no medi-
eval author shares, since most admit of habitus in the will. As for Augustine, he does
not give a single definition of habitus that was systematically adopted by medieval
authors, but his treatment of the subject and particularly of virtues is foundational
for how medieval authors deal with the theological aspects of the problem, as will
emerge in the volume.
The philosophical psychology that medieval thinkers found in Aristotle, his
account of habitus in particular, is complex and not entirely consistent throughout
the whole corpus. Furthermore, medieval thinkers were mostly theologians. Their
efforts were therefore especially focused on producing systematic accounts aimed
at solving the various tensions in Aristotle’s works and accounting for a number of
theological doctrines, such as the doctrine of the theological virtues, free will, and
even the problem of the Incarnation.5 Despite sharing the same philosophical start-
ing point in Aristotle, however, medieval authors held a great diversity of positions.
A habitus is a conceptual tool that no medieval thinker can dispense with when
dealing with what makes up a human being and what the determining factors of his
actions are, be they virtuous or vicious or morally neutral, or inner mental acts or
external acts geared towards the outside world. Widely divergent philosophical
options were defended on these topics.
Let us illustrate this with the example of the role of habitus in the decision-
making process. The majority view is that habitus play an essential role in the
decision-making process and thus also in how external bodily acts occur. But it is
usually only derivatively that habitus can be attributed to any other power than the
powers of the soul, for habitus are dispositions primarily of rational powers, and of
other powers only insofar as they can be commanded by the rational powers.
However, not all authors adopt this view. Olivi, for instance, thinks our powers of
perception can be habituated even to acts that are not under the command of rational
powers (see part 7 of the introduction). This example is fairly typical, as, except for
a few core definitional features (see part 1 of the introduction), medieval authors are
not in unanimous agreement on many features of habitus. The disagreement can be
about virtually anything, from the function of habitus, to their ontological status to
their contribution to the morality of voluntary and involuntary acts.
A remark must be made on the vocabulary used. Among our contributors, eleven
have chosen to use the Latin word habitus,6 while nine have chosen the term “habit.”7
Other terms can of course be used, such as “disposition,” but the most usual transla-
tion in English is “habit,” which allows for a better connection of medieval
5
See, for example, Nielsen (1982) for the so-called habitus theory of the Incarnation, defended by
Peter Lombard, who regards “the union in Christ between the two natures or between the human
person and divine nature as a habitus” (p. 359). This doctrine enjoyed some success in the school
of the Lombard, until it was condemned as heretical in the 1170s.
6
Namely, Olivier Boulnois, Isabelle Bochet, Bonnie Kent, Kristell Trego, Nicolas Faucher, Rolf
Darge, Can Laurens Löwe, Juhana Toivanen, Jean-Luc Solère, Pascale Bermon, and Tarek Dika.
7
Namely, Hamid Taieb, Peter J. Hartman, Martin Pickavé, Magali Roques, Jenny Pelletier, Gyula
Klima, Jack Zupko, Monika Michałowska, and Dominik Perler.
c onceptions to contemporary ones. However, the term brings with it some ambigu-
ity. Indeed, in its most common usage, the word “habit” describes some of our com-
mon behaviour which we might not have the power to control; the equivalent Latin
term would be consuetudo.8 Though the distinction is not always sharp for medieval
thinkers, habitus, by contrast, are usually characterized by the fact that (1) they are
at our disposal, and (2) they facilitate our actions but do not infringe upon our free-
dom to do or not to do them. For this reason, and to avoid ambiguity, we have cho-
sen in this introduction to use the term habitus; however, given that, as we just
explained, arguments can be made in favour of both uses, we have chosen to respect
the choice of each contributor to this volume.
In what follows, we will briefly touch upon several issues that are raised by
medieval thinkers about habitus: the theoretical necessity to posit them; their nature;
their causal contribution the production of internal and external acts; how and why
habitus can grow and decay; what makes their unity when they can have multiple
objects and work in clusters. Finally we examine two specific questions: why intel-
lectual habitus represent a special case that triggered considerable debate; how
human beings can be said to be free if their actions are determined by moral habitus.
All these issues are dealt with by the articles in this volume, which are organized
chronologically according to the authors discussed.
1.2 Why Do Medieval Philosophers Posit Habitus?
The central place of habitus in medieval philosophy has long been recognized,
given that the medieval scholastics inherit Aristotle’s definition, from Nicomachean
Ethics 2.3, of virtue as habitus. But habitus is a pervasive element of Aristotelian-
inspired psychology. Indeed, there are a great many kinds of habitus, such as intel-
lectual habitus, which constitute our knowledge, habitus in our sensitive powers,
which allow us to better feel and control our passions, and even habitus in the body,
by which our organs retain the capacity to do what they frequently perform.
Some general description of the framework within which medieval authors work
is required in order to pinpoint the exact function of habitus in it.9 For Aristotle, the
soul is the principle of life in the body (De an. 2.1). A power or faculty of the soul
can be defined as a part of the soul that performs or elicits a certain kind of act. In
books 2 and 3 of the De anima, Aristotle depicts the soul as having three main facul-
ties that belong to an increasingly narrow range of living beings: nutrition, which
concerns all animate creatures; perception, which concerns only animals; and the
mind, which performs higher mental functions such as reasoning and understand-
ing, and belongs only to human beings.
8
In contrast to the term habitus, consuetudo is not a concept that was used in addressing theologi-
cal and philosophical problems in the Middle Ages. Like the term “habit,” it has a broad usage,
whereas habitus has more precise and specialized meanings.
9
For a more detailed description, see Perler’s paper in this volume, as well as his article on the
faculties in medieval philosophy (2015). On Aquinas, see Pasnau (2002).
Faculties account not only for the cognitive life of the soul but also for its conative
dimension. Desire and motion are complex phenomena, for they involve both the
representations of objects, desire for them and practical reason telling animals, even
non-humans in a primitive form, what needs to be done for the desire to be fulfilled.
In the Aristotelian framework, it is unclear which faculty desire and voluntary motion
should be attributed to. This is why, in the Middle Ages, under the influence of
Augustine, a new faculty emerges: the will, which performs affective and volitive
acts that aim at what is good.10 Medieval thinkers, highly concerned with the freedom
of man, admit of free will (liberum arbitrium), usually conceived as an intermediate
faculty combining intellect and will in order to perform free acts. Such acts are char-
acterized by intellectual deliberation and unconstrained, voluntary decision upon this
deliberation. This decision is the cause of the action, whether it is inner or geared to
the outside world.11 Other views, such as that of Duns Scotus, but also those of Peter
John Olivi and Henry of Ghent, hold that freedom is present only in the will, the
intellect being a power entirely determined by what is outside of it.12
In this account of human nature, habitus are defined by their function in the psy-
chological mechanisms that lead to thinking and acting. In a nutshell, they are used
to explain how such powers are moved to elicit the kinds of act associated with
them. One of the main features of habitus is that they are usually not present before
any kind of act has taken place, since by definition habitus are acquired disposi-
tions.13 Once an act has been performed, a habitus appears which will influence all
subsequent acts of the same kind, making it an overwhelming determining factor of
human action. The precise effect of habitus on acts varies according to author and
context: some might change the way things appear to us, others make actions easier,
more intense, or more pleasurable. Medieval thinking on the subject is extremely
rich, as the papers in the present volume demonstrate.
Habitus are not to be confused with other kinds of disposition, such as instincts.
Instincts are present in humans whatever they do and orientate their actions from
birth. Habitus, by contrast, are acquired over the course of human life and thus rep-
resent the fact that the way in which humans live and act progressively determines
what they are and what they will do. As instincts are natural, habitus are called by
some “connatural,” or “second nature.”14 This is the origin of their name: just as its
Greek equivalent hexis, the term habitus literally means something that is had, pos-
sessed, or assumed by the soul, just as clothes are put on. In its original, Aristotelian
sense, however, just as in its Augustinian and medieval senses—as Isabelle Bochet’s
paper shows—it refers to something that is had in a stable manner, that is, it cannot
be easily lost.15 A habitus of the soul is the lingering trace left by an act in the soul,
10
On this subject, the reference work is Kent (1995). See also Pink (2012).
11
See Korolec (1982).
12
See the classic study by Wolter (1990).
13
The most notable exception is the class of infused, or God-given, habitus, such as the theological
virtues of faith, hope, and charity, which exist in the baptized subjects before any kind of corre-
sponding act is, or even can be, performed.
14
See Kent (2002).
15
See p. 49.
which modifies it from then on. It must be distinguished from weak dispositions,
which are acquired and do the same thing as habitus, but do not have any stable
being in the soul. They incline weakly and can disappear easily.16
The core issue with habitus is that, though they are really present in the soul, they
cannot be known directly (i.e. without any reasoning) by some form of inner percep-
tion; by contrast, acts can be known in this way.17 One can know directly that one is
reasoning or desiring something at any given moment but one cannot know directly
that one has a particular tendency or aptitude toward such reasoning or acting.
Instead, habitus are posited because certain features of our acts that we can directly
perceive must be explained. John Duns Scotus provides a canonical list of these
features. Indeed, as Magali Roques and Olivier Boulnois note, habitus for Scotus
allows a power to operate “delectabiliter, faciliter, expedite et prompte,” (“with
pleasure, ease, readiness, and swiftness.”)18 Of course, as Magali Roques reminds us
in her paper, not all authors accepted all features of habitus.19 Ockham, for one, did
not think pleasure was a necessary feature of habitus-inclined acts. Nonetheless,
habitus served to explain the occurrence of these naturally and empirically observed
features, which are the product of the habitus’s inclination to certain acts.
Inclination in this sense, however, is not always enough to describe the effect
habitus have on our acts. Juhana Toivanen’s paper deals directly with another type
of habitus, put forward in an original way by Peter John Olivi.20 Olivi clearly posits
habitus which function as modifiers of our outlook. Habitus can influence the fea-
tures of our acts by making intentional content receivable under any kind of aspect,
i.e., a proposition as true or false, a certain food item as good or bad and so on. For
instance, for Olivi, certain habitus colour our view of things in such a way that we
might assent or dissent to a given proposition according to these habitus. Such habi-
tus do not make acts easier or quicker but work merely as a kind of filter.
The theological concerns of medieval thinkers also come to the fore, since ele-
ments of the Catholic doctrine call for some virtuous or vicious dispositions to be
posited in the souls of humans in order to account for the fact that their acts should
be deemed to win them merit, which can only occur when these acts are somehow
determined by God’s grace.21 Now, what we have said up to now applies to naturally
acquired habitus that are used to account for our observable acts or the observable
features of our acts. But, for medieval theologians, there are also supernatural habi-
tus given by God. These do not serve to explain any observable fact; indeed, the fact
16
Yet another kind of disposition, stemming from theological developments, is posited by medieval
authors, namely what they call innate habitus, such as synderesis, which is defined by Aquinas as
an innate habitus of practical principles (see De veritate, q. 16, art. 1). The status of such disposi-
tions and what distinguishes them from instinct is unclear. The classic study of this issue is Lottin
(1948a).
17
On the relation between habitus and inner experience, see, among others, Spencer (2015a).
18
See p. 39 and p. 272.
19
See idem, p. 270–271.
20
See idem, p. 191–196.
21
On theological virtues in the Middle Ages, see Lottin (1948b), Bullet (1958), and Kent (1995).
that such habitus can remain unmanifested is one of their central features. Kent’s
paper explains it most clearly: theologians have to solve a problem.22 They have to
show that, even though some central, supremely virtuous figures of the Bible, such
as Abraham, did not display the same degree of virtue as others, they were, in fact,
just as virtuous. This is why Peter Lombard and his followers, following Augustine,
stress the importance of virtues as dispositions that, even though they are not neces-
sarily acted upon, make someone meritorious in the eyes of God. Thus, even though
Abraham did not display chastity because it was uncalled for at a time when God
wanted his people to grow and multiply, he had it in disposition and would have
displayed it if he had had to. For this reason, he had no less merit than would later,
chaste Christians.
As Kent also explains, this ties into the problem of baptism and the salvation of
children. Catholic dogma holds that, when baptism is performed, the baptized,
through a supernatural operation, receives the three theological virtues of faith,
hope, and charity. Children, of course, cannot properly exercise virtue; for instance,
they cannot, at a young age, believe, or even understand the articles of faith. Infused
virtues in children are therefore the paradigmatic example of habitus that are not
manifested because they cannot be manifested. What then is the use of positing that
children have infused virtues? For medieval theologians, it allowed for their salva-
tion. Even though they are not acted upon, infused virtues are enough to justify
children and ensure they reach eternal life. As such, unmanifested infused virtues
are more akin to habitus of being rather than habitus of doing, as they represent a
kind of spiritual health. In any case, what habitus are supposed to explain is always
features of acts, whether they be observed or posited according to dogma. As the
medieval saying goes: “Habitus per acta cognoscuntur.”23
We now have a broad view of what philosophical and theological interest habitus
have and what kind of function they perform in solving problems pertaining to the
two disciplines. But even though they perform the same kind of function, habitus
can vary widely in their ontological status, the kinds of acts they explain, and the
faculties where they are to be posited. We will attempt to sketch a more detailed
picture of these variations.
1.3 The Ontology of Habitus
Following Aristotle’s remarks in Categories (8a25–10a26), medieval thinkers usu-

ally define habitus as qualities of the soul that belong to it in a stable manner, just as
a wall painted red is red in a stable manner and only considerable effort or wear and
tear can make it cease to be red. But habitus are not just any kind of quality: they are
dispositional in nature. Medieval thinkers such as Aquinas capture the dispositional
nature of habitus by attributing to them a special mode of being. Take a human
22
See p. 67–85.
23
See Darge (1996).
being without any acquired qualities, such as a child who has experienced and done
nothing. When he first plays music, he is performing an act. After he ceases playing,
he has acquired the habitus of playing music. The simple fact of having the habitus
does not make him play music all the time, but he has nonetheless acquired a quality
which informs his faculties. This quality is said to be a first actuality of the power or
powers of the child involved in playing music. When he subsequently plays music,
this quality is actualized for as long as he plays. This is called a second actuality of
the power or powers of the child involved in playing music. Just like the inexperi-
enced child, a power of the soul is by itself in absolute potency, and it can be
informed by habitus, which are first actualities. These habitus can then be actual-
ized so that acts, which are also qualities, are realized. These acts are second
actualities.
Authors in the fourteenth century such as Ockham begin investigating whether
this metaphysical framework is appropriate to account for the dispositional nature
of habitus. As Magali Roques explains, Ockham holds that we can experience that
we feel that we are inclined to think of something because of a habitus.24 But when
we are asleep we do not feel any such inclination. This means that something must
be posited in the soul to account for this phenomenal difference, and the distinction
between first and second actuality is without any explanatory relevance: while for
Aquinas there is merely a habitus which is in first actuality and which becomes an
act when it is actualized in a second actuality, for Ockham a habitus when actual-
ized engenders an inclination which is distinct from it and which itself engenders an
act; this act is distinct from both the habitus and the inclination.25 John Buridan uses
a similar argument to prove that occurrent and dispositional thinking must be dif-
ferentiated at the ontological level. Following the skeptical worries raised by John
of Mirecourt and condemned by the faculty of theology at the University of Paris,
authors from the fourteenth century went further and asked whether a metaphysics
of the soul based on the distinction between substance and accident was the only
possible one with which to explain the activity of the soul. Gyula Klima and Jack
Zupko show that Buridan defends the majority view and argues that it is better to
keep the distinction between habitus and the other dispositional aspects of the soul,
such as its faculties.26
The ontological status of habitus in this metaphysical framework was the sub-
ject of a debate in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, which is well
documented in the present volume. Certain types of habitus, some authors say,
cannot be considered as mere qualities. This stems from the fact that habitus is also
considered by Aristotle as a separate category, among the other minor categories,
also known in the Middle Ages as the sex principia, namely actio, passio, ubi,
quando, situs, and habitus. Moreover, in Categories 15, 15b21, habitus is also
considered as a post-predicament, that is, as a predicate said in multiple senses,
24
See p. 273–274.
25
For how this fits with Ockham’s ontological parsimony, see Roques’s paper in the present vol-
ume, p. 268–270.
26
See p. 321–331 and p. 333–346.
each of which belongs to a different category. In both cases, Aristotle stresses the
relational aspect of habitus.27
As Martin Pickavé shows,28 talking about Giles of Rome, some habitus in the
category of quality also need the mode of another category, namely relation: the
habitual knowledge of something, for instance, is related to what is known and
exists because of it. This habitual knowledge is a quality of the soul that possesses
the mode of a relation. Similarly, a virtuous habitus possesses the mode of a relation
to a given moral norm. In other words, if one wants to attribute to habitus the prop-
erty of having intentional content, then it cannot be considered as a mere quality but
must include a relation to this content or to the cause of this content.
This idea was further developed in the fourteenth century. Some authors defend
what Peter J. Hartman calls in his paper a “Novel Theory of Habit,” at least as
regards intellective habitus.29 According to this theory, as exemplified by the doc-
trines of Durand of Saint-Pourçain and Prosper of Reggio Emilia, habitus are not
absolute qualities but relations that do not inhere in the intellect but in an “osten-
sive” power that shows its objects to the intellect. Habitus dispose the ostensive
power to show objects to the intellect with more or less ease. Thus, intellectual acts,
though they exist in the intellect, are merely relations, the terms of which are the
intellect and its objects. Intellect, on this view, is entirely passive: the ostensive
power does all the work and the habitus merely accounts for how easy it is for it to
put certain objects into relation with the intellect. Just as, on the standard theory, a
habitus is a quality that disposes its subject towards another quality, the correspond-
ing act, in the novel theory a habitus is a relation that disposes its subject towards
another relation.
This theory rests upon the idea that simple acts of intellection are not active but
passive causes of habitus. This is not, however, the only model by which habitual
causation is explained, as we will now see.
1.4 How Habitus Cause
Habitus shapes actions and thoughts. What are its precise contributions to their
production? If significant causal efficacy is attributed to it, then one runs the risk of
depriving the powers of the soul of their causal relevance, making it redundant and
departing from the Aristotelian claim that powers, at least the higher ones, are
active, a view to which medieval authors are attached. What is at stake is the distri-
bution of causal power between power and habitus.
The volume presents five different positions, which shows that this was a highly
debated topic. According to the first one, which is the most common, habitus (or, in
Ockham’s case, the clusters of habitus and inclinations) function as partial causes of
27
On this subject, see Spencer (2015b).
28
See p. 247.
29
See p. 229–231.
acts. They have in themselves causal power, and when an act is accomplished this
power is exerted concurrently with that of the powers of the soul, in such a way that
the act is performed more or less easily, swiftly, etc. Inasmuch as habitus have
causal power and exert it, they can be called an active principle of the act.
One might want to refine this model and explain the plasticity of faculties work-
ing together in the production of an act. On a second view, which is more modular,
habitus are not partial causes of acts but independent causes of partial acts. Suppose
for example that the intellect is to assent to a given proposition. On the first view,
the intellect would by itself form the proposition and accomplish an act of assent
regarding it. The habitus would facilitate this operation, but the operation could
occur without it. On the second view, by contrast, the intellect would merely form
the proposition and the habitus would, by itself and without any contribution from
the causal power of the intellect, produce the act of assent to the proposition. As
Dominik Perler shows, this is the position of Francisco Suárez: intellect and habitus
are both seen as qualities of the soul that can be called respectively primary and
secondary principles of acts.30 As Perler puts it, the soul comes to be seen as a net-
work of a myriad producers of different acts or aspects of acts.31
Some authors develop a completely different view of the inner workings of the
intellect. Habitus in it are active all the time, except when they are obstructed in
their activity. More precisely, according to this third view, which is that of Thomas
of Sutton, as presented by Jean-Luc Solère, a habitus is merely the trace left in a
power of an external principle which remains active in it.32 Nothing in the arrow
makes it move in a certain direction: thus, it is not an active principle of its move-
ment, even though it retains in itself the force of the active principle, which is the
bow. Similarly, habitus do not have in themselves any causal power, but are that
which has been left in the soul by the external active principle. This implies that
habitus are always actively inclining the intellect in a certain direction: indeed, just
as an arrow, once it becomes inert, has no capacity to move again if it is not shot
again from a bow, so a habitus, if it were to stop inclining, could never by itself
incline again. Thus, if habitus are to be kept in the soul, they must always incline,
and the only reason why their corresponding acts are not always realized is because
of impediments that prevent the actualization of more than one habitus at any given
time. As regards the intellect, for instance, an impediment to the consideration of a
given intelligible species might be another intelligible species currently being con-
sidered, or the will refusing to consider a given species. Conversely, when a given
habitus is actualized, it is because it corresponds to the phantasm engendered by a
current sensory stimulus, or simply because the will wills the intellect to consider
this particular species.
Yet other views completely deprive habitus of any causal influence in the pro-
duction of acts. This can be because habitus influence only the subject of acts and
not the acts themselves. On this fourth view, which is that of Peter Auriol, as put
30
See p. 379–383.
31
See idem, p. 367–372.
32
See idem, p. 217–221.
forward by Martin Pickavé, habitus have no direct causal role in the accomplish-
ment of the act itself.33 They do, however, change the circumstances of the act on the
side of the agent. On this view, the ease and pleasure an agent has and feels when
acting derive from the effect of habitus on him, and not on his acts. Alternatively,
habitus might have simply no causal influence. On this fifth and final view, habitus
are merely sine qua non causes, such as in the case of what Peter Hartman calls the
Novel Theory of Habitus, as seen above.34 Though they exert no causal power what-
soever, they must nevertheless be really present in the soul for acts to be accom-
plished in a particular way.
Some of these different views seem to have important implications for the way
in which human nature is understood. The first and second view allow for the
habitus in the soul to be seen as parts of a kind of toolbox containing automatic
tools. They do not do anything by themselves, but when the will wants it and cir-
cumstances are appropriate, they can be fired up to improve and accelerate our
acts. Man is in control and can elect, or not, to make use of his habitus. The third
view presents an entirely different account: habitus, which are not active by them-
selves are always exerting their causality on the soul. Our role, and the role of
circumstances, is merely to determine which of them will, so to speak, emerge
victorious in the race to actualization, or to inhibit their effect by an act of the
will. On this view, we are constantly on the receiving end of countless influences
and all we can do is resist them or and grant privilege to one over the others. This
does not necessarily change anything to our freedom to choose what we want, but
it does entail a different view of our activity and our relationship to the world as a
whole.
1.5 The Growth and Decay of Habitus
As we have seen, habitus grow in strength as acts are accomplished. Habitus, be

they natural or supernatural in origin, can also wane or even disappear if they are not
used for a long time. The strength of a habitus can be known on the phenomenal
level through our own acts, which we perceive as easier or harder, and more or less
swift and pleasurable. Authors such as Buridan, according to Jack Zupko,35 or
Suárez, according to Dominik Perler,36 insist on the idea that, as regards disposi-
tions, growth can be a transformative process, inasmuch as a weak disposition,
which can be thought of as a weak and unstable habitus, grows with each corre-
sponding act until it actually becomes a habitus. Thus, acts do not directly produce
habitus, but reinforce weak dispositions until they are habitus properly speaking,
which are different in nature.
33
See p. 253–260.
34
See p. 230.
35
See p. 333–346.
36
See p. 375–379.
On the ontological level, this happens through a process of intension and remis-
sion of forms. Like any quality, a habitus can be intensified.37 Paradigmatic exam-
ples of the intension and remission of forms for medieval authors are intensifying
moral qualities, such as God-given charity, whose intensity quite literally deter-
mines the moral value of acts. This is why, at the end of the thirteenth century and
during the fourteenth century, medieval authors developed ways to conceive the
precise measurement of such an intensity. This move is most visible in Sentences
commentaries, but as Monika Michałowska’s paper innovatively demonstrates, this
also happens in fourteenth-century commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics writ-
ten by the Oxford Calculators.38 Those commentaries not only are interesting for the
mathematization of moral philosophy, but also illuminate core concepts of
Aristotelian ethics, such as habitus and disposition.
Indeed, as Michałowska explains, Richard Kilvington claims that an individual
always starts with what he calls a dispositio, be it mala or bona, which inclines him,
to a greater or lesser degree, towards vicious or virtuous actions. But such an indi-
vidual cannot be called virtuous or vicious: only when he has acted can he be said
to be virtuous of vicious. A natural dispositio is also inalienable, in such a way that
even the most vicious person, if he had a natural inclination to virtue, will remain
inclined to it throughout his life.
It is also interesting to note, as Michałowska does, that Kilvington thinks habitus
in the soul do not decrease exactly as qualities in material things.39 Such qualities,
he believes, decrease only when exposed to the opposite quality: heat decreases
only when a hot thing is exposed to cold. But a habitus is not a standard quality: it
can decrease even when its opposite is not present, in such a way that a virtue can
waste away until what remains is only the natural disposition, without the individual
ever having done anything vicious that would cause him to lose that virtue.
1.6 The Unity of Habitus
It is hard to determine how habitus can be considered as united, single things. A

habitus can help explain why it is with the same proficiency that a given series of
seemingly heterogeneous actions is repeatedly performed by an agent. Is it possible
to posit a single proficiency when many actions of many different faculties are
accomplished? Learning to play the guitar, for instance, can easily be thought of as
37
See Jung (2011). See also Sylla (1973), Murdoch and Sylla (1978), Solère (2000), Roques
(2016). The two dominant models of interpretation of the intension and remission of forms are the
“succession” theory (a stronger or weaker form succeeds another of the same species at every
instant of the intensification or remission) and the “addition” theory (degrees of forms of the same
species are added or subtracted to each other at every instant of the intensification or remission).
Another model is Aquinas’s, according to which what varies during the change is the degree of
participation of the accidental form in the subject. On Aquinas, see Boland (2001).
38
See p. 349–354.
39
See p. 357–360.
a process of acquisition of the guitar-playing habitus. But playing the guitar is a

very complex activity, which involves many acts of different powers: we need our
intellect to understand what a guitar is, what is the function of each of its parts, what
specific song we want to play, what exactly our fingers must do to play it; we also
need our fingers to be able to perform the right moves quickly and exactly; we need
our hearing to be able to recognize if we play well or not; and we need our will to
command all of these powers to work together towards the same goal.
The same problem can be found at another level, inside a given faculty. When our
intellect performs a mathematical demonstration, we form certain premises and
derive a conclusion from it. It can be hard to understand how several such demon-
strations can be proficiently performed with the same habitus. For instance, demon-
strating that a triune God is conceivable and that a certain sin demands a certain
penance does not seem to appeal at all to the same notions and reasoning processes.
Nonetheless, thirteenth-century theologians usually consider theology to be a single
habitus of the soul. At the end of the thirteenth century, as the question of the status
of theology as a science became a major point of discussion, the problem became
acute, first as regards theology and then science in general.
On this subject, Pascale Bermon shows the historical evolution of the different
options chosen by medieval authors regarding the ontological unity of scientific
habitus.40 A habitus can be a single entity in the mind which corresponds to the
knowledge of a single discipline (e.g., one can have the habitus of geometry, which
facilitates every intellectual operation pertaining to geometry); or there can be an
entity in the mind of an individual for every syllogism known by this individual,
which allows him to easily and quickly repeat this syllogism in his mind; finally,
there can be an entity in the mind for each proposition it knows.
In the late thirteenth century, Aquinas and Henry of Ghent share the view that a
habitus corresponds to one discipline, defined by its formal object. For instance,
theology has as its formal object what is divinely revealed, whatever that may be.
Therefore, any act by which something is known as divinely revealed is an actual-
ization of the habitus of theology. Duns Scotus refines the model and distinguishes
two kinds of habitus: one is the “common” habitus, corresponding to a discipline
with a formal object, the other is the “proper” habitus, constituting the knowledge
of a single proposition. One could say that for Scotus any act of knowing a given
proposition reinforces the habitus by which we know it, and all acts of knowing
single propositions reinforce the knowledge we have of the discipline to which this
proposition belongs. This corresponds to our experience of mathematical knowl-
edge: repeating a single demonstration makes us better able to perform it over and
over again but it also increases our mathematical proficiency as a whole. Peter
Auriol is rather skeptical about Scotus’s innovation. He examines and takes seri-
ously a great number of criteria, but ends up favouring the view of habitus as cor-
responding to a discipline. Ockham follows the way opened by Scotus and focuses
on “proper” habitus. He develops a radical nominalistic stance and defends the idea
that a given habitus is nothing more than the knowledge of a given conclusion; his
40
See p. 301–319.
position is dealt with in detail just below. Finally, Wodeham comes back to a more
moderate position and holds the view that to a habitus there corresponds a syllo-
gism, while Gregory of Rimini is faithful to Ockham and is a staunch proponent of
the idea that a habitus is simply the knowledge of a proposition.
A shift clearly occurs with Ockham. His position on scientific habitus is exam-
ined in detail by Jenny Pelletier and Magali Roques. Pelletier explains41 that his
view can be summed up as obeying what she calls a “Principle of Object-Act-Habit-
Specification.” According to this principle:
(i) A specific distinction between acts corresponds to a specific distinction between habits
and vice versa in case such acts and habits are causally related, and (ii) is determined by a
specific distinction between objects, which (iii) is determined by a specific distinction
between the subject and predicate terms of these objects.
This basically means that there are as many habitus as there are objects that can be
grasped by a given intellect. For instance, knowing the conclusion of a syllogism
entails not only having a habitus for each of the premises and one for the conclu-
sion, but also one habitus for each of the terms that make up all of these proposi-
tions. This implies that a given science (as a discipline or a given body of knowledge)
is not a single habitus in such a way that it could have numerical unity. Ockham
claims that it has merely aggregate unity. According to Pelletier,42 propositions
whose subject terms, predicate terms, or both belong in a given hierarchy (such as
the hierarchy which holds between “animal,” which is higher than “bird,” which in
turn is higher than “swallow”) are part of the same science.
In her paper, Roques43 comes back to the “Principle of Object-Act-Habit-
Specification” and examines why Ockham accepts this principle. According to her,
Ockham advances only an indispensability argument to defend it: if such a distinc-
tion did not hold, then we would have no other criteria to understand how habitus
and acts are distinct from each other. The same indispensability argument explains
why habitus of a species must be caused by acts of the same species: through effi-
cient causation, the form of the act is transferred to the habitus in such a way that it
is of the same species. As Roques puts it: “Efficient causation warrants sameness.”
Tarek Dika’s44 paper shows that the debate about the unity of scientific habitus
went on at least until Descartes, who provides a highly original solution. In the
Regulae, Descartes holds that the unity of science is to be found in a certain mode
of intentionality, according to which all things appear to us as simple natures or as
composed of simple natures, such as shape or extension for material things. Being
composed of simple natures is not a trait of the things themselves in virtue of which
they could be considered part of the same united set, which would then lend its unity
to the science that examines them. On the contrary, this is a property all things have
only insofar as they are related to our intellect as it grasps them. For Descartes,
41
See p. 287–293.
42
See p. 293–297.
43
See idem, p. 278–281.
44
See p. 385–401.
being able to grasp them as such is precisely that to which the habitus of science
disposes its subject. Basically, then, the habitus of science is the same for all of its
objects, because it is simply a certain mode of apprehension that can be applied to
any object, material as well as spiritual. Its unity, then, comes from its function, not
its objects, which are really all possible objects of science. Of course, for Descartes,
the problem is not the same as for the medieval scholastics, given that the objects of
science are not necessarily propositions or syllogisms. Nonetheless, Dika convinc-
ingly shows, contrary to the commonly held interpretation, that the scholastic con-
cept of habitus that Descartes inherits is at the heart of his account of science, at
least in the Regulae.
What applies to scientific habitus applies just as well to moral habitus. Martin
Pickavé, for instance, gives us some staggering numbers: for Peter Auriol, there are
“eighteen virtues falling under prudence, twenty-two forms of justice, fifteen of
courage, and twenty-five of moderation.”45 These four main categories are deter-
mined according to their formal objects: all forms of moderation for instance, con-
cern “things which attract us excessively.” Such a phrase describes the formal object
of moderation, though, as can be seen, having a single formal object does not war-
rant, for Auriol, an ontological unity of virtues. This is not surprising given his posi-
tion (indicated above) on scientific habitus. From this example, we can conjecture
that authors use the same model to account for the unity of all kinds of habitus,
though this requires further confirmation.
As regards the challenge posed by the number of faculties involved in a single
act, the study of moral habitus is of particular relevance. Indeed, they are often more
complex than intellectual ones, in that, in the medieval view, they frequently unite
several powers of the soul in a single purpose: at the very least, to accomplish a
morally good act one has to know what good is, and have the desire to act upon this
knowledge.
Nicolas Faucher shows46 that the habitus of faith, in the view of Bonaventure,
Olivi, and Scotus, requires several kinds of act to be fully actualized: at least one in
the intellect, which is the act of believing objects, and one in the will, which is the
act by which the will causes the intellectual act of believing. This is necessary both
because the act of faith is supposed to be virtuous and free, and thus to involve the
will, and because objects of faith are not by themselves evident enough to produce
an immediate intellectual assent. But this begs the question: is the habitus of faith a
habitus of the will, of the intellect, or of both? There are, it seems, as many answers
as there are authors. For Bonaventure, the habitus of faith facilitates every act lead-
ing to the ultimate act of believing: the intellectual judgement that objects of faith
ought to be believed, the act of the will by which the intellect is commanded to
believe, and the act of believing itself. For Olivi, the first act is that of an instinct,
while the act of the will and the act of the intellect are of one or several habitus.
Scotus seems to think that the habitus of faith is merely intellectual and causes the
intellect to believe as soon as an act of the will produces it in the intellect. It can be
45
See p. 252.
46
See idem, p. 107–126.
said that the habitus of faith, in all the various models that are supposed to explain
its role and proper features, is sometimes a unifying habitus facilitating the acts of
several powers of the soul in order to accomplish the final act of faith to which it
disposes the soul, and sometimes a single entity in a single power of the soul.
A similar example is given by Pickavé regarding Peter Auriol.47 For Auriol, even
if the will of a man is inclined to courageous acts, should nothing prevent his pas-
sions from impeding his brave acts, he cannot be said to be virtuous. Thus, in order
to be properly said to have a moral habitus, an individual must have, according to
Pickavé’s formulation, a collection of inclinations, all aimed at inclining to or pre-
venting any move against a given type of act. The unity of such a habitus is called a
“unity of the whole.” The inclinations that make up such a habitus reinforce each
other in the same way that a given syllogism in one science improves our knowledge
of the other syllogisms that are part of it. Should one inclination be lost, the habitus
in question could not be said to be the same.
This ends our systematic overview of the nature and function of habitus. We will
conclude this introduction by examining two major kinds of habitus, which were at
the core of the medieval discussion, namely intellectual and moral habitus.
1.7 Intellectual Habitus
In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, cognition was conceived following an

Aristotelian model according to which a cognitive content is produced on the basis
of a process of the transmission of a form (or essential structure) from an external
object into the intellect. More precisely, when something is perceived, a representa-
tion of it, called a phantasm, is impressed on the faculty of imagination. The agent
intellect then abstracts from this phantasm the concept of the thing, and this concept
is imprinted in the patient intellect. This impression constitutes the act of intellec-
tion: the form of a certain intentional content shapes the intellect. Intellectual habi-
tus are central to such a view of cognition. This is why a strong and long-lived
interest in their specificity was sparked among medieval thinkers. The main ques-
tion raised is the following: is the same entity in the soul responsible for both dispo-
sitional thinking and occurrent thinking? In other words, are habitus responsible
merely for the way in which acts of cognition are accomplished, or do they also
contain the intentional contents of these acts when they are not currently
happening?
For most medieval authors, such as Aquinas and Thomas of Sutton, habitus must
function as a kind of intellectual storage: for them, an intellectual habitus is a spe-
cies when it is stored in memory, capable of being reactivated at will. If one follows
Aristotle, such a reactivation is an immanent, non-productive act.
This model underwent many elaborations. For instance, as Hamid Taieb’s paper
shows, Aquinas defends the idea that the reactivation of an intelligible species in the
47
See p. 249–253.
intellect so that it is present in it is only the first moment of intellection, the second
being a focusing of the intellect’s attention on that species.48 In his later works,
however, Aquinas also thinks that the reactivation of a species can give rise to an act
that is not immanent, but productive of what he calls, following Augustine, a word
(verbum). This word is that by which something is known distinctly: for instance,
one can have the concept of man, but only through the corresponding word can one
know that man is a rational animal, in other words, know its definitional properties.
A word is present in the intellect only when it is grasped in act, and it is not stored
in it afterwards. The capacity to produce a word, however, is part of the intellectual
habitus. Thus, according to Taieb, Aquinas holds that intellectual habitus are made
up of stored intelligible species and the capacity to produce words from these spe-
cies. According to this account, then, intellectual habitus are mixed in their func-
tion: they are partly constituted by the stored species that serve as a kind of
intellectual memory, but they also facilitate operations accomplished on the basis of
the species.
This is, of course, not the only possible account of the role of intellectual habitus.
Henry of Ghent, as Jean-Luc Solère shows, does not hold that there exist any intel-
ligible species stored in the intellect.49 Intelligible species are in the intellect only
when it actually intelligizes them. But such an intellection occurs only when the
agent intellect illuminates a phantasm in the imagination. This illuminated phan-
tasm is then grasped as an object by the patient intellect: this is intellection. Such a
view is quite similar to that expressed later by Durand of Saint-Pourçain and
Prosper de Reggio Emilia, according to Peter Hartman.50 Contrary to these authors,
however, Henry does think that there are habitus in the intellect, but considers them
to be intellectual dispositions towards the acts of the intellect that do not store their
objects.
Another feature of intellectual habitus is that they are responsible for the organi-
zation of the species when they come to be actualized. Suppose for instance that I
have the habitus of botany. This means that I hold in my intellect all or most of the
intelligible species without which I could not be said to be a botanist. But these spe-
cies are not merely piled upon each other in a disorderly manner: they are structured
according to the relations that obtain among the botanical species. The order in
which species are organized does not always proceed from the same power, for dif-
ferent authors. Thomas of Sutton, for instance, according to Solère, thinks it is the
intellect that orders the species, since this requires operations of comparison
between species that can be performed only by the intellect.51 The authors studied
by Hartman, however, deny that the intellect could be active in any way in its own
acts, and so also reject the idea that it could perform any operation on species.52
48
See p. 127–141.
49
See p. 215.
50
See p. 231–239.
51
See p. 215–217.
52
See p. 237–239.
Rather, the only order to be found is between phantasms in the imagination, and it
depends entirely on teaching and chance discovery through trial and error.
1.8 Moral Habitus
We come to the last element we will discuss in the introduction: freedom. It can be
easy to think the possession of habitus infringes on the freedom of the agent. Her
actions are characterized by a kind of path-dependence. In economic theory, this
notion describes the behaviour of an agent whose preferences are determined in
part, all things being equal, by the choices she has made in the past, so that the
goods she has chosen before appear more desirable to her than if she had not chosen
them previously, even though her reasons for the previous choice might not hold
anymore.53 It seems a medieval author could use the notion of habitus to account for
such a phenomenon: an acquired tendency to choose something that depends exclu-
sively on our past choices. Such a tendency could be seen as diminishing the auton-
omy of a subject because of actions she has done in the past.
But medieval authors have a different view. For them, having a habitus is not to
be determined to do one thing rather than another; rather, it is to have certain means
at one’s disposal. This of course applies particularly well to intellectual habitus.
Indeed, having an intellectual habitus is simply to have a tool through which one
can more easily grasp something or reach conclusions one has attained less easily
before. As such, habitus can be seen as accelerators of action, but not to the detri-
ment of one’s freedom. Using habitus is under the command of the will: it is only
when the will has chosen to produce the act that the habitus produces its effect on
it, making it easier, swifter, etc. Having habitus in the will, which most authors
think possible, does not change anything in this picture: though an act of the will
might be more pleasant and easier, the choice to perform it rather than another is by
no means necessary. Of course, the fact that some acts are easier and more pleasant
for some people will clearly have an influence on them when they deliberate about
what to do, because they will take this fact into account. However, there is no reason
to think that this deliberation and the choice that follows will be any less free than
if there had been no habitus.
On this subject, Aquinas and Scotus occupy a central place, the former because
he provides the most extensive effort to make Aristotle’s view compatible with the
free will defended by Church doctrine, and the latter because he introduces an inno-
vative new conception of the freedom of the will as a synchronic capacity for oppo-
sites. Several papers in the volume are dedicated to their views and investigate
whether they could be closer to each other than usually thought.
Olivier Boulnois brings to the fore Aquinas’s innovations with respect to
Aristotle’s doctrines.54 In Nicomachean Ethics 2.1, Aristotle, according to
53
See Liebowitz and Margolis (2000).
54
See p. 35–39.
Boulnois, distinguishes the notion of habitus (hexis) from the common concept of
habit (ethos). Ethos bears a deterministic connotation: a creature of habit is one
who is incapable of shedding its usual behaviours. By contrast, though a habitus,
like an ethos, is a product of the repetition of similar acts, it does not necessarily
force us to act. It is an intermediary between power and act, a durable disposition
by which we are related to certain acts, through which we have at our disposal the
performance of these acts, and that makes them easier and better. Habitus opens
up new avenues of action, just as a musician, when he practises, becomes better at
playing his instrument and can play more difficult pieces at will. Thus, for
Aristotle, habitus, since they improve our capacity to act, are an essential part of
being free, in the sense of being capable of performing a broad range of actions.
Habitus are also an essential part of our capacity to act morally, for they deter-
mine the way in which we accomplish our acts: it is impossible to act justly when
one does not have the virtue of justice. Thus, habitus make us accountable for our
actions. And even though, for Aristotle, they might be strong enough to force us
to act in a certain way, it is always up to us to begin acquiring them, and thus to
become just or unjust.
Now, this conception of free action is not sufficient for a thinker attached to the
theological idea of personal merit, which requires the agent to be able to choose to
act viciously when he could have acted virtuously. As Boulnois explains, the need
to take into account Augustine’s theory of free will leads Aquinas to emphasize the
freedom of the habituated agent: though habitus incline us towards acts, it is always
in the power of the will to act in accordance with them or against them. Furthermore,
habitus allow us to act pleasurably and spontaneously when performing certain acts
that, without habitus, we would have to force ourselves to perform: thus, habitus
increase our freedom to accomplish such acts.55
Rolf Darge and Can Laurens Löwe56 give us further insight into Aquinas’s view.
They sharply distinguish two roles of moral habitus. One has to do with goal orien-
tation: habitus make something appear good or bad to us according to a certain
moral principle. It is through a moral habitus that we judge some goal has to be
reached—such as being faithful here and now—according to a certain moral prin-
ciple—that adultery must never be committed. But habitus do not merely present a
particular goal as having to be reached in the abstract. As Löwe puts it, it has a cona-
tive aspect, since it actually inclines us to reach it, meaning that it makes it easier
and more pleasurable for us to reach it. The cognitive aspect is not under our con-
trol: we see some action as good whether we want it or not. But the conative aspect
is such that, although we are inclined to a certain act, actually doing it remains under
our control, as we have seen.
In Aquinas’s view, moral habitus are primarily attributed to the intellect inas-
much as it acquires moral knowledge, and the will inasmuch as it acquires the ten-
dency to act upon the moral judgement of the intellect. But habitus can also be in
the sensitive appetites insofar as they can be controlled by the rational powers of
55
On this topic, see Porter (2013).
56
See p. 143–165 and p. 167–184.
intellect and will, that is, those powers by which one might act one way or another
way. They are entirely determined in their action and thus cannot be inclined, or
rather are totally inclined by nature in only one direction. As Juhana Toivanen
shows, Olivi disagrees, since for him the senses, both internal and external, can also
be habituated in such a way that one’s perceptions become clearer and easier.57
Thus, habitus can also be attributed to irrational powers. Nonetheless, Aquinas’s
view represents a remarkably ample synthesis that brings together two of Aristotle’s
opinions on habitus, which might appear to be incompatible with each other: that
habitus have to do with free choice and that they are nonetheless in irrational powers
that are incapable of it.
Löwe departs from this consensus reading and claims that a strong form of “char-
acter control” should be attributed to Aquinas.58 For Aquinas, Löwe contends,
choices are synchronically contingent: at any given time, whatever our past history,
we can choose among alternatives. This position must be attributed to Aquinas,
since he accepts that there can be sudden changes in one’s preferences and choices
that could hardly be explained otherwise. Thus, on this view, Aquinas believes that
our moral character is determined by the myriad choices we make every day.
Through each one of them, we progressively reinforce or weaken our habitus.
This interpretation is not unanimously agreed upon, but it has the merit of closely
connecting, in a new light, Aquinas and Scotus, who are usually presented as sharply
opposed to each other. Indeed, as Boulnois and Trego clearly demonstrate, Scotus is
firmly attached to the freedom of the will as capable of synchronically contingent
choices.59
As this particular view strongly underlines, for medieval authors the will can
always go against its own habitus. But this does not imply that moral habitus
become superfluous in making acts virtuous. This is particularly true of infused
virtues, which are supernatural habitus put in the soul by God. No medieval author
thinks that it is possible to act in a truly virtuous manner, deserving of salvation,
without these habitus.
Are supernatural habitus necessary for accomplishing a virtuous action? Or are
they needed merely for making virtuous a given action that can be accomplished with-
out them? Faucher uses the example of faith to show that there was a historical evolu-
tion in which Scotus occupies a pivotal point.60 While it seems that for authors of the
early thirteenth century there could not be any firm, non-evident belief without super-
natural faith, from the end of the thirteenth century onwards many authors, following
Scotus, contend that such belief can be observed in our daily life regarding objects of
any kind, be they facts of history or geography, or objects of faith. Thus, as Scotus
affirms, we should posit an acquired habitus of faith to account for these observable
facts and posit a supernatural habitus only when it is absolutely necessary according
to dogma. It is necessary only to explain the meritorious character of the act of faith.
57
See p. 196–202.
58
See p. 174–182.
59
See p. 39–43 and p. 99–102.
60
See p. 120–124.
Thus, Scotus proposes a mixed model: our act of faith is an actualization of both our
infused supernatural habitus, accounting for its merit, and our acquired natural habi-
tus, accounting for all other properties it has, which are its observable properties.
Thus, acquired and infused habitus can be complementary and balanced with each
other, even as they dispose their subject to the very same act and even though they are
posited for different reasons. As such, supernatural faith, and supernatural habitus in
general, give human beings freedom, in that they open to them a whole new avenue of
actions which are, for the medieval authors, the most worthy of all.
Whether a similar consideration can be made as regards naturally acquired vir-
tues is questionable. Are we able to accomplish virtuous acts if we do not have any
virtue, such as prudence, justice, or courage? As Pickavé mentions, medieval authors
such as Auriol and Scotus depart from Aristotle and accept that acts can be virtuous
without their agent possessing any virtuous habitus.61 Pickavé goes so far as to say
this is a major change in moral philosophy: the morality of an action is no longer
derived from the possession of a virtuous or vicious habitus, but from extrinsic or
intrinsic features of the act itself. One might think that Scotus and Auriol, for
instance, develop an early form of deontological ethics that can also be found in
William of Ockham.62 However, we must keep in mind that all medieval ethics take
seriously the idea of natural law63 and that moral choice is a product of the operation
of the practical intellect (called synderesis by authors such as Aquinas).64 Therefore,
if it were maintained that there is such a thing as a medieval virtue ethics, according
to which moral virtues are a necessary part of the explanation of what counts as a
morally virtuous act, then it would have to differ significantly from Aristotle’s.65
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62
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63
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64
See note 16.
65
We thank Ian Drummond for enlightening discussion on this subject. We are also extremely
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———. 1948b. Vertu de religion et vertus théologales. Dominican Studies 1: 209–228.
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Chapter 2
The Habitus of Choice
Olivier Boulnois
Abstract This chapter deals with Aristotle’s, Aquinas’s and John Duns Scotus’s
doctrines of habitus, and their relation with the freedom of habituated agents. Even
if the word habitus is close to the idea of habit, it is not the same thing. Aristotle
describes habitus as an acquired reflex, a mediation between potency and act. In the
case of science, the habitus is not only a memory of past knowledge, but also a
condition rendering new acts of knowledge possible. What about practical habitus?
Aristotle defines virtue as the habitus of decision (hexis proairetikè): it is an art of
aiming well. Does it mean that our virtues (and vices) prevent us from choosing? On
the contrary, Aristotle maintains that we can act against our habits, even if it is
unusual and difficult. Since Aquinas identifies decision with an act of free will, he
maintains that, even if our habitus become a second nature, in the long run they are
subject to our will; we can use them when we want. Habitus are therefore constitu-
ents of freedom, and not contrary to it. Duns Scotus emphasizes a new definition of
freedom as a self-motion of the will. For him, the question becomes: is the habitus
an active principle which competes with the will and determines it action? For
Scotus, the habitus remains a partial cause of the action, along with our will. It
enables our free action to be more intense and efficient.
Keywords Aristotle · Determinism · Duns Scotus · Freedom · Thomas Aquinas ·

Will
2.1 Introduction
Roderick Chisholm, in “Human Freedom and the Self” (1964), defined freedom as
an attribute of responsibility. But is it enough to be the author of an action in order
to be responsible for it, hence to be free? No, because I am only responsible for an
action if it is up to me:
O. Boulnois (*)
EPHE, PSL, LEM (UMR 8584), Paris, France
e-mail: Olivier.Boulnois@ephe.psl.eu

26 O. Boulnois
Let us consider some deed, or misdeed, that may be attributed to a responsible agent: one
man, say, shot another. If the man was responsible for what he did, then, I would urge, what
was to happen at the time he was shooting was something that was entirely up to the man
himself. (Chisholm 1964, 3)
Thus, to say that I am free means to say that I also have the power not to perform
this action. A man is responsible for a particular state of affairs only if he produced
this state of affairs by one of his actions, and if this action was something he had the
power to perform or not to perform. But he is not responsible for an action he per-
formed under duress, for example, if there was a second man who forced his hand
upon the trigger. Now, Chisholm adds,
precisely the same thing is true, I think, if instead of referring to a second man who com-
pelled the first one, we speak instead of the desires and beliefs which the first man happens
to have had. For if what we say he did was really something that was brought about by his
own beliefs and desires, if these beliefs and desires in the particular situation in which he
happened to have found himself caused him to do just what it was that we say he did do,
then, since they caused it, he was unable to do anything other than just what it was he did
do. (Chisholm 1964, 4)
If our representations and desires are the cause of our action, it is unavoidable. It is
no longer up to us to perform it or not.
But all the beliefs and desires we have acquired are what Aristotle called our
habitus. According to Chisholm, if I act driven by my habitus, it is no longer my
choice: I am no longer in control of my action, and I am not able to perform it or
not. The responsibility I have to take on thus becomes incomprehensible. If the
habitus is the principle of my actions, how do I have control over them? Am I a slave
to my habitus? Can we say that a man, because he acts under the influence of a bad
habitus—that is, a vice —is not responsible for his actions? And conversely, should
one say that a man “who is really good”—and who “would be unable to do anything
other than just what it is that he does, since, being good, he will always choose to do
what is best” (Chisholm 1964, 4)—is not free? If one raises the question of free will,
someone who is determined by his habitus seems not to be free.
Aristotle maintains that the acquisition of certain habitus is the very basis of
ethics. He names them hexis proairetikè, which can be translated as “decision-
making habitus,” or “habitus of preferential choice.” This means that habitus is
not the opposite of choice or freedom, but rather can constitute a true ethical free-
dom. How is this possible? In order to answer this question, I will proceed in four
steps: first, I will consider how habitus is different from habit; and secondly, I will
consider what the essence of habitus is. I will then consider two interprets of
Aristotle, Aquinas and Scotus: in the third part, I will examine how Aquinas inte-
grates the theory of habitus within his doctrine of free will. Fourth and finally, I
will show how Scotus reduces the role of habitus in order to develop a voluntarist
account of ethics.
2 The Habitus of Choice 27
2.2 Habit and Habitus
2.2.1 A Possible Translation?
Antoine Arnauld maintains that, even if our will infallibly determines itself, under
the incentive of reason, to choose certain objects, “freedom suffers no prejudice;
because this infallible determination does not prevent the soul from willing because
it wills.”1 But how does the logico-metaphysical question: “Do we have a freedom
capable of opposites or contradictories?” get articulated as the ethical question:
“What are our real capacities to choose?” What is the weight of our inclinations, our
dispositions, our habitus?
There is no one who does not see well that there are certain sins to which bad habits
[French: habitudes, Latin: habitus] or an evil disposition infallibly determine: as a desire
for revenge in a man who has been cruelly outraged or offended. Let a beautiful woman
surrender herself to a prince passionately in love with her, and who has a vehement passion
for the pleasure of the flesh, infallibly he will content his passion.2
Are we free from our habitus? How can we say at the same time that we are free to
perform an action or its opposite, and that “we are infallibly determined to commit
these actions”?3
According to this analysis, the concept of habitus makes us pass from formal
freedom (we can determine ourselves to will), to real freedom, in order to answer
the question: are we able of willing something other than what we will? How can
we be held responsible for actions that result from an acquired habitus, which has
become part of a nature on which we can no longer do anything? Is responsibility
simply a fiction, forged, said Nietzsche, because one must be able to be punished?
Or, on the contrary, must one say that one acts freely, although one infallibly deter-
mines oneself to commit a sin by a bad habit (habitus) or a “criminal passion”?4
Here, habitus, taken in the technical sense, associated with the generic term dis-
positio, is translated as “habit.” Is this translation legitimate? Is a habitus a habit?
The usual English translation of habitus as “habit” maintains this confusion. The
same ambiguity exists in Middle French. Translating Aristotle, Nicole Oresme
writes: “Donques vertu est habit electif estant ou moien quant a nous par raison
determinée ainsi come le sage la determineiroit.”5 Hexis proairetikè, translated into
Latin as habitus electivus, is here translated transparently as habit électif. Between
the Latin habitus and Oresme’s habit, there is a clear etymological continuity, the
1
Arnauld, Humanae libertatis notio (ed. Moreau, 240–241).
2
Arnauld, Humanae libertatis notio (ed. Moreau, 240): “Nullus non videt aliqua esse peccata ad
quae infallibiliter determinant habitus mali, vel aliqua mala dispositio, qualis est appetitus vindic-
tae in homine graviter laeso. Si pulchra mulier cupido se tradat regi amanti et ad illam libidinem
propensissimo, infallibiliter suam libidem explebit.” My emphasis and translation.
3
Arnauld, Humanae libertatis notio (ed. Moreau, 241).
4
Arnauld, Humanae libertatis notio (ed. Moreau, 241).
5
Oresme, Le livre de Ethiques d’Aristote, bk. 2, ch. 6 (ed. Menut, 162).
28 O. Boulnois
French term maintaining the two meanings of dress and of acquired disposition,
which are also found in the pair coutume and costume.
2.2.2 The Deterministic Interpretation of Habitus as a Habit
The Latin habitus means “manner of being, holding, clothing, condition, complex-
ion, disposition.” But in Greek, hexis comes from the verb “to have” (ekhein), while
“habit” belongs to a completely different lexical field (êthos). If it is interpreted as
a habit, habitus bears a deterministic metaphysics. Habit can appear as a foretaste of
death, as the hardening and weakening of creative vitality.6
The concept belongs also to the vocabulary of sociology:
I beg you to notice that I say in good Latin, understood in France, habitus. The word trans-
lates, infinitely better than “habit,” the hexis, “the acquired,” and the “faculty” of Aristotle
(who was a psychologist). […] Habits vary not only with individuals and their imitations,
but also with societies, education, convenience, and fashions. We must see in it the work
and techniques of the practical reason, collective and individual, where one usually sees
only the soul and its faculties of repetition.7
Habitus appears here as the learning of a social habit, but also as the basis for a
faculty of action. The habitus is a way of internalizing social conditions in the indi-
vidual, to the extent that they become an integral part of his spontaneous behaviour.8
Therefore, the possession of habitus is what allows for social conditioning operat-
ing at the individual level. It is possible to consider society as a producer of structur-
ing norms, and the individual as integrating these norms and being structured by
them, thanks to acquired habitus.9 Understood as habit, habitus is the inscription of
social structures in the individual; it allows only a reproduction of the same
ad infinitum.
Habit can, however, be regarded as a prerequisite of freedom, which frees man
for more essential activities. We boast about our creativity, but this is only possible
because the greater part of our existence is made up of habits. The automation of
secondary tasks frees us for more important tasks. Should we say that we can create
something new, even though we are trained by habits? But perhaps we must go fur-
ther and recognize that it is not in spite of our habitus that we reach ethical fullness,
but thanks to them.
6
Péguy (1935, 120): “la mémoire et l’habitude sont les fourriers de la mort.”
7
Mauss (1973, 369–370). It is therefore unnecessary to suppose that Bourdieu discovered it by
translating Panofsky.
8
Bourdieu (1980, 117): “L’hexis corporelle est la mythologie politique réalisée, incorporée,
devenue disposition permanente, manière durable de se tenir, de parler, de marcher, et, par là, de
sentir et de penser.”
9
Bourdieu (1972, 282).
2.2.3 Habitus as Distinguished from Habit
Indeed, when he introduces the word in Nicomachean Ethics 2.1, Aristotle empha-
sizes that ethical virtue is engendered by habit. In the field of human action as well
as in scientific competencies, some abilities are not natural but acquired through
learning.10 This point justifies Aristotle’s pun on êthos (with an eta, “moral charac-
ter”) and ethos (with an epsilon, “habit”): “the virtue of character (ἠθικὴ) is gener-
ated by habit (ἔθος).”11 Habitus begins with a habit. It is a middle term between
nature and culture.
We cannot deny that habitus is an acquired habit. It allows us to act without
deliberating. And the more our actions are automatic, the better they reach their
goal. The Greeks said of an uneducated man that “he can neither read nor swim.”12
But to be able to swim, one must no longer think of each movement. The habitus
thus corresponds to a sort of acquired reflex, to that necessarily involuntary part,
without choice, of action.
When he defines rational powers (proper to man), Aristotle distinguishes three
kinds of power:
all powers are either innate, as sensations, or acquired by habit (ἔθει) as the power to play
the flute, or acquired by study, as the power to practice the arts. All those acquired by habit
and exercise of reason, one necessarily possesses them through a prior activity.13
In the first place, habitus belongs to the order of the acquired; it is opposed to the
innate, for it appears only if the corresponding action has been exercised at least
once. But habits, in turn, can only be of two kinds: theoretical and practical. In the
domain of the disciplines that can be learned, it is by exercising that one acquires
the corresponding competence, the habitus: “What one has to learn to do, it is by
doing so that one learns it” (NE 2.1, 1103a32–33). It is by playing the zither that one
becomes a citharist.14 “Faire, et en faisant, se faire” was the famous motto of Jules
Lequier. Thus, hexis is associated with the ethos, the habit: “Whether we learned a
certain habit in our youth, it is not negligible, it is even very important, or rather
everything is there.”15 This epanorthosis is revealing! As Aquinas says, habitus pre-
supposes a habit.16
10
Cf. Plato, Rep. 7, 518d: “It may be admitted that the other faculties (aretai) called the faculties
of the soul are analogous to the faculties of the body; for it is true that when they first fail, they can
be acquired in the sequel by habit (ἔθη) and exercise.”
11
Aristotle, NE 2.1, 1103a17.
12
Plato, Laws 3, 689d.
13
Aristotle, Met. 9.5, 1047b31–34 (my translation).
14
It is in this precise sense that Cicero translates hexis as habitus. See De inventione 1.25: “Habitum
autem appellamus animi aut corporis constantem et absolutam aliqua in re perfectionem. […] non
natura datam, sed studio et industria partam” (Habits are called a perfection of the soul or of the
body, constant and absolute, not given by nature but generated by study and art).
15
Aristotle, NE 2.1, 1103b24–25.
16
Thomas Aquinas, In Sent. II, d. 39, q. 2, art. 1, ad 2: “inclinatio voluntatis ad bonum, quae est in
natura humana, non est per assuetudinem; sed habitus quo perficitur ista habilitas, est vel per con-
suetudinem vel per infusionem.”
30 O. Boulnois
But even if habit is essential to ethics, it does not mean that habitus is reduced to
it. For the interpretation of habitus as habit completely misses the phenomenon. For
example, science is a habitus, but it is not simply an opinion, repeated and rooted by
habit. It is something quite different from an empirical addition of data, or an intel-
lectual habit: the definition of a circle is not reduced to the habit of seeing the trunks
of trees cut. If one wants to have an adequate understanding of it, habitus must be
radically rethought. Habit is to habitus what the empirical is to the transcendental:
habit is the sedimentation of repeated acts, while habitus is the condition of the pos-
sibility of the repetition of these acts. Habitus depends on habit, but it is not reduced
to it.17
Acquired habitus are the result of education. But this does not consist in bom-
barding the pupil with information and behaviour until they end up engraved in him
as if he were soft wax. It is not a question of filling a jug, but of awakening a spirit:
it is by the appeasing of the soul after its natural agitation that someone is engendered as
prudent and knowing. This is why children cannot learn or judge by sensations, as older
people can; for agitation and movement are great in them. But with respect to certain things,
they cease and subside under the action of nature itself, with respect to others, under other
actions.18
These “other actions” are those of experience. It is the conjunction of nature and
experience that permits the learning of cultural habitus (theoretical and practical).
Habitus does not result from an action whose origin is external to the one who
learns. Education does not consist in impressing on him doctrines and behaviour; on
the contrary, it is a matter of actualizing what the child has in potential. He is in act
when the natural agitation that hinders him is calmed. Aristotle compares this phe-
nomenon with awakening and sobering: habitus puts an end to alteration; it is the
rest following a completion.19 Culture cannot impose itself if it does not have an
insertion point in our nature. The acquisition of a habitus is not disciplining (a dres-
sage), as if the repetition of a behaviour inflicted from the outside eventually led to
its adoption. For to be able to be acquired, the act of understanding (or the correct
action) must correspond to a natural power of the agent. Education has above all a
negative task: to remove the perturbations of impulses and desires, in order to free
the intellect for its own act, of thinking, and the agent for his own act, of virtue.
But habitus does not come from nature alone, for nature is immutable, and it
never receives a habit contrary to it, even through repetition. It does not come from
violence either: even if one repeats violent movements (such as throwing a stone
upwards), these will never be acquired by an agent if he is not able to do so (the
stone will never learn to rise up by itself). However, we must be naturally able to
17
Cf. von Wright (1963, 143): “To regard virtues as habits would be to misunderstand the nature of
virtues completely. One may even go as far as to saying that if virtuous conduct assumes the aspect
of habitual performance this is a sign that virtue is absent. But if somebody were to say that the
acquisition or learning of a virtue is partly at least a matter of habituation i.e. of getting used to
something then he would probably be hinting at some important truth.”
18
Aristotle, Phys. 7.3, 247b17–248a3.
19
Aristotle, Phys. 7.3, 247b1–248a9.
receive habitus: we acquire it. In it lies the constitutive paradox of art, of know-how
(tekhnè), which imitates nature not in reproducing it, but in fulfilling it. We have a
natural aptitude for that which is not our nature, but of which it is capable, and
which completes it. Habit is an opening to the world, the place of culture in our
nature, the inscription of temporality in our bodies. It is a dynamic unity that recon-
figures experiences, in order to make them available for spontaneous agent activity.
Precisely because habitus is not reduced to habit, but opens possibilities of action,
it is not opposed to the freedom of the agent. For a habitus is also a constructive or
creative force. Once a skill is acquired, we can act as virtuosos. That is precisely
what the image of the citharist conveys: once the musician has acquired the know-
how, he is free to extemporize, to compose, and to play with the rules. Habitus is
nothing slavish, because it gives us and incarnates in us a real (not merely formal)
capacity to act. It produces an ease which has nothing mechanical about it. It opens
up a world of new possibilities.
The concept of habitus implies the concepts of acquisition, duration, and body.
It is a set of acquired dispositions which enable one to know, to act, and to make in
a determined way. Being the common act of interiority and exteriority, habitus is not
simply the passive impression of a culture on a nature. One can cultivate oneself.
The acquisition of a habitus is a relation to oneself; it becomes part of one’s nature,
but it is inseparately natural and cultural. It is not only a submission to the order of
the world, but it is an act of the agent. It enables one to acquire a behaviour without
losing one’s self-control or autonomy.
2.3 The Essence of Habitus
A better translation of habitus might be the word “havingness” (ayance in French).20

Indeed, hexis is a consequence of the act of having (ekhein). Contrary to the com-
mon understanding of the terms, being and having are not necessarily to be con-
trasted with each other. We are what we are thanks to our having, thanks to the
synthesis of all the acts we have had. In the Theaetetus, Plato already distinguished
between “having” (hexis) and “having acquired” (ktêsis): “If someone, having
bought a coat and owning it, did not wear it, we would not say that he has it (ekhein),
but that he has acquired it (kektêsthai).”21 One can have acquired a science without
using it. But knowing is like wearing a garment one has acquired: it is an active
disposition, and not merely a simple passive possession. Hexis (habitus, having) is
a way of having had and having still, a way that is never passive. One can also com-
pare the one who knows to a fowler who has captured doves; he has acquired them,
and he keeps them in a dovecote. But one cannot say that this fowler has them in the
proper sense, since they are not in his hand. What he has is only “the power
20
The word is adopted by Damourette and Pichon (1983).
21
Plato, Theaetetus 197b.
32 O. Boulnois
(dunamis) to seize them and to have (ekhein) them when he wants (bouletai).”22
Consequently, science is either an act or the possession of already acquired knowl-
edge that is within reach and which one can grasp in act. This is precisely what
Aristotle will call an act (energeia) and a hexis (what he keeps at his disposal in
order to actualize it); the hexis is much more than the mere power of thinking. Since
it is an intermediary between pure power and pure act, it can also be called a “first
act.” But it should be emphasized that the one who knows in habitus can have sci-
ence in act when he wants. He is not subject to its reception, but he is the agent of
his own intellection. Aristotle analyses the being of “havingness” by closely follow-
ing the analysis in the Theaetetus, taking up the example of the garment:
In the first meaning, havingness (hexis) is said as a certain act (energeia) of the having and
of that which is had (ekhontos kai ekhomenos), as a certain action or a movement. For, when
one produces (poiei) and the other is produced (poieitai), there is an in-between (metaxu),
a production. Similarly, between the one who wears (who has, ekhontos) a garment, and the
garment worn (had, ekhomenos), there is an in-between, the habitus (esti hexis). It is there-
fore manifest that one cannot have the havingness (habitus), for if it is possible to have the
having of what is had, one will go to infinity.23
“Havingness” (ayance) is intermediate between the having and the had: one can
have something at hand without using it. But there is no having of a havingness
(ayance); there is simply havingness as a direct relation between the having and the
had. Consequently, one cannot have a habitus; it would be to have a having, at the
second degree, and there would be an infinity of habitus. Havingness is therefore a
direct form of being in the world, a use of the world.
Aristotle takes up the active meaning of the Platonic hexis, and he “emphasizes
it thematically by associating it with the concept of energeia.”24 Just as sensation is
the common act of the feeling and the felt, the havingness is the common act, the
joint energeia, of the having and the had. And just as there is a relationship of pro-
duction between the producer and the product, between the craftsman and his work,
there is a relationship of havingness between the agent and the acted: an in-between.
The habitus is the relationship of the one who acts to what he does in his act. Habit
is part of the relative (ta pros ti, 246b11). It is “a certain way of referring to some-
thing else (pros ti pôs ekhein),”25 a way of standing (pôs ekhein), of referring to the
acts we have had: it is a form of being in the world.
To this metaphysical definition, Aristotle joins an ethical and physical
definition:
In the second meaning, habitus (hexis) is said of the disposition (diathesis), according to
which what is disposed is disposed well or badly, and this either by itself or in relation to
something else; for example, health is a certain habitus, for it is a disposition of this kind.26
22
Plato, Theaetetus 197c.
23
Aristotle, Met. 5.20, 1022b4–10.
24
Rodrigo (2006, 120).
25
Aristotle, Phys. 7.3, 246b9.
26
Aristotle, Met. 5.20, 1022b10–12.
This second meaning explains the habitus from its material or formal configuration,
as a kind of disposition. This is the case with health.
What does it add to the disposition? “Habitus (hexis) differs from a disposition
in that it is more stable and durable.”27 While dispositions are fleeting and easily
evicted (for example, disease and health), habitus is stable and “very difficult to
drive out” (e.g., knowledge and virtues). Certainly, a disposition may, “because of a
long duration” (khrônou plêthos), be “naturalized (pephusiomenè), inveterate, or
very difficult to drive out.”28 That is why it can also be called a habitus. It is there-
fore possible, in extreme cases, for a habitus to be confused with a habit. But this is
clearly a naturalization of the habitus. In itself, the habitus is not reduced to it.
Hexis must be stable and constant, thus in first act. But it leads us to a definite
fulfilment: the energeia, or second act. And the same kinds of acts lead to the emer-
gence of the habitus: “It is from similar acts (energeiai) that the habitus (hexeis) are
engendered.”29 Habitus are produced by acts that are similar to each other and simi-
lar to the acts they will produce in turn. Habitus is distinguished from innate dispo-
sitions; it occurs in an indeterminate power, and introduces in it a determination
which it did not possess. While a rational power is in itself always the power for
opposites, “a hexis that produces a certain effect cannot also produce the opposite
effect: for example, health does not enable one to produce actions contrary to health,
but only healthy actions.”30 Habitus orders our power to only one kind of action.
Hexis is constantly in act (there is an analogy between science and practice on
this point); this is what distinguishes it from dispositions in general, and in particu-
lar from a simple habitual behaviour. This hexis refers not only to actions outside us,
but also to passions within us: it allows us to experience these emotions when it is
necessary, for the right reason, and towards objects that deserve it.31 Hexis makes
possible just actions, while not reducing itself to the habit of acting thus. The pur-
pose of habitus is not simply the teaching of a truth or the acquisition of behaviour;
it is the transformation of the agent. Hexis is already a first act which leads us to
other (second) acts in order to achieve our humanity in its actuality.
From an ethical point of view, what is worthy of praise or blame (what is rewarded
or punished) is not action but the agent. Deservedly, because action is not just by
itself: it may be done by chance or by obedience; it will become just only if the
agent does it justly.32 While technical objects are always good (eu) if they have the
required objective properties, actions are good only if the agent behaves (pôs ekhei)
in a certain way, that is, with the corresponding hexis. Virtue perfects the agent in
order to enable him to be “well (disposed)” (eu ekhon, “well having”), which is the
condition for acting well. Therefore, for the agent, to be virtuous is to have a certain
27
Aristotle, Cat. 8, 8b27–28.
28
Aristotle, Cat. 8, 9a2–3.
29
30
Aristotle, NE 5.1, 1129a14–17, 24–25.
31
32
Aristotle, NE 2.3, 1105a22–23.
34 O. Boulnois
habitus (pôs ekhôn),33 by which he acts voluntarily, aiming at this action for itself
(proairoumenos), and according to a “firm and unshakeable” hexis.34
It remains to be understood what the aim of ethics is: the acquisition of virtue as
a hexis proairetikè (“habitus of preferential choice”). The term looks like an oxymo-
ron: choice is ambivalent, whereas habitus is constant and determinate. However,
this is the cutting edge of Aristotle’s ethical thought. Is it a “usual state that directs
the decision” (Gauthier and Jolif: “un état habituel qui dirige la décision”35), a dis-
position to always make the right choice? But then, in order to be ethical, we would
have to deny our power to choose. Is it then “the habit of doing well”?36 No, for first
of all, it is not a habit. The characteristic of habitus is to be able to moderate plea-
sure. How could we understand that the virtuous habitus, according to Aristotle,
leads to the greatest pleasures? Is good life a routine? If it is, then proairesis does
not mean choice, but resolution, intention, or decision. Finally, what one acquires is
not the art of aiming at the good, but the art of aiming well (for every action already
seeks what appears to us as good).
Therefore, we are responsible for our habitus: we deliberate on the means for our
end, and “the actions that concern these means are objects of preferential choice,
and they are [accomplished] in agreement. Now the acts (energeiai) of the virtues
bear on these means. So virtue also depends on us (eph’hemin).”37 It is therefore
clear that the ethical habitus are in our power and fall under our preferential choice.
It is up to us to begin to acquire them, which means that we are responsible for
them.38 But is that all that hexis proairetikè means? The difficulty of the concept is
that we must not deny any of its aspects: virtue is the habitus by which we have
acquired the necessary skills to aim (or prefer) deliberately, consistently, and reso-
lutely what is good for us.
33
Aristotle, NE 2.4, 1106a12.
34
Aristotle, NE 2.4, 1105a31–33 (bebaios kai ametakinetos).
35
The translation of NE 2.6, 1106b36 by Gauthier and Jolif (Aristotle 1970, 1.1: 45) is in itself an
interpretation.
36
See Bodéus (2004, 116n2).
37
38
See Boulnois (2013), and Lévy-Bruhl (1884, 108): “[N]ous sommes responsables de nos habi-
tudes, encore que les lois de leur développement soient indépendantes de notre volonté, s’il a
dépendu de nous de les prendre, ou si du moins nous avons pu exercer sur elles un contrôle
effectif.”
2.4 Thomas Aquinas: Freedom in Habitus
The problem in Thomas Aquinas differs radically from that in Aristotle, for he inte-
grates into his ethics the Augustinian doctrine of free will (liberum arbitrium).39 The
hexis proairetikè thus becomes a habitus of free will (voluntas).40 Now, the concept
of free will is in principle opposed to that of habitus: free will is a power for oppo-
sites, whereas habitus orders it to a single type of act.41 A habitus restricts and
directs our ability to choose.
Indeed, habitus is one of the intrinsic principles of our action.42 Due to its inter-
mediate status between potency and act, in relation to power habitus is already in
act, and thanks to this “it can be a principle of operation”; but in relation to the
operation, “it is in potency.” This is why “habitus is called a first act, and operation
a second act.”43 We can emphasize sometimes its openness to a certain indetermi-
nacy in relation to the act, sometimes the restriction it implies in relation to the
power. In a habitus, “it is required that what is potential in other things may be
determined in several ways and in various [acts].”44 It is precisely this habit which
introduces such determination into an indeterminate power.
Does habitus come from nature or not? On the one hand, habitus is inscribed in
us as a result of a natural causality: “A habitus moves through a habit (consuetudo)
caused in the mode of nature, because habit is like a certain nature, as is said in the
book On Memory.”45 It seems, therefore, that virtue acts in the mode of nature, that
is, necessarily. On the other hand, insofar as it associates itself with our free will,
habitus seems not to come from nature.46 But Aquinas replies that this remark
39
Darge (1997).
40
Thomas Aquinas, ST II-II, q. 81, art. 2, arg. 2: “[O]mnis virtus in libera voluntate consistit, unde
dicitur habitus electivus, vel voluntarius”; cf. ST II-II, q. 144, art. 1, ad 1; In Sent. II, d. 24, q. 3, art.
2, ad 3.
41
Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de veritate, q. 24, art. 4, sed contra 2 (Leonina 22,690):
“potentia quae se ad opposita habet, per habitum determinatur ad unum. Sed liberum arbitrium
nominat aliquid ad opposita se habens, nullo modo determinatum ad unum. Ergo liberum arbitrium
est potentia, et non habitus.”
42
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q.16, art.1, corp. “[R]es exteriores non applicamus ad aliquam opera-
tionem nisi per principia intrinseca, quae sunt potentiae animae, aut habitus potentiarum, aut
organa, quae sunt corporis membra.”
43
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 49 art. 3, ad 1.
44
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 49, art. 4, corp.
45
Thomas Aquinas, Super lib. Eth., lib. 3, lect. 15, n. 7 (Leonina 47: 165). cf. Aristotle, De mem. 6,
452a27–28. Italics are mine. That is already what Cicero says, De inventione 2.53.159 (ed.
Stroebel, 147): “Virtus est animi habitus naturae modo atque rationi consentaneus” (virtue is a
habitus of the soul, conformable to the mode of being of nature, and to reason) quoted by Augustine,
De diversis quaestionibus 83, q. 31 (CCL 44A: 41). The formula in modum naturae comes from
Albert the Great, De bono, tract. 5, q. 4, art. 2 and 6 (Opera Omnia 28: 301, 304).
46
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 51, art. 1, arg. 1.
36 O. Boulnois
reveals too narrow a vision of nature. It is not a question of opposing nature to the
will, for “reason and will belong to the nature of man.”47
In reality, habitus comes from both our specific nature and our individual nature,
marked by our personal history. It is therefore not a universal (specific) natural
determination, for the same natural disposition receives different degrees according
to the different individuals to which it applies. Our natural habitus come partly from
our nature and partly from external principles. For example, it follows from the
nature of the intellectual soul that, as soon as one knows what is a whole and what
is a part, one knows that each whole is greater than its part. But to know what a
whole is and what is a part, we need knowledge derived from our individual experi-
ence. In the appetitive powers the situation is different: we have no immediate habi-
tus of good in general. The inclination towards its object (the good), which is the
beginning of the habitus, is not a matter of the habitus, but of our natural power; in
the same way, we may have various natural dispositions (to anger, gentleness, etc.),
but these are not acquired habits; they have no moral significance.48
In any case, the articulation between universal nature and our individual nature
does not prevent habitus from inclining or acting in the mode of nature, that is to
say, necessarily: once the premises of our personal history are admitted, naturally
acquired habits naturally produce our actions. The diversity of individuals explains
why we have a variety of behaviours, conformed to various habitus in different
circumstances: a deterministic reading of habitus is possible. But it does not allow
us to explain how a single individual, under the same circumstances, can act other-
wise than as he does act (which is the demand of libertarians).
How can we integrate habitus in such a way that it ceases to be an obstacle to the
freedom of choice, but collaborates with it, and contributes to making it concrete?
For Aquinas, habitus is neither the material qualities which necessarily determine
us, nor the passions which drive us as living beings. Our powers are actualized and
become active when they are moved by habitus, which are active principles, but
these do not determine them to a single act: they are subject to our will. In these
habitus, agency works in the same way as rational powers, that is, it remains capable
of opposites.49 In fact, habitus are forms induced in a power. They remain in the
subject, even when at rest, and constitute principles of actualization, since they lead
the power to act, but without compelling it to pass necessarily from power to a sin-
gle act. Power does not cease to be master of its act.
Are we determined to act well by virtue, as Chisholm imagined? First of all:
Habitus does not refer to the soul as the form to a natural thing. The natural form necessar-
ily produces the operation that suits it, which is why it cannot coexist with the natural form
of the contrary act. […] And yet a habitus in the soul does not necessarily produce its opera-
tion, but man uses it whenever he wants. That is why, at the same time as a habitus exists in
a man, he may not use this habitus, or do a contrary act.50
47
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 51, art. 1, ad 1.
48
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 51, art. 1, corp.
49
Cf. Aristotle, Met. 9.5.
50
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 71, art. 4, corp.: “Aliter autem se habet habitus in anima, et forma in
re naturali. Forma enim naturalis ex necessitate producit operationem sibi convenientem, unde non
We go far beyond the possibility (rare but real according to Aristotle) of acting
against habitus; insofar as habitus is inscribed in a free will, this will has the power
of opposites regardless of this habitus. The constancy of habitus does not prevent
the contingency of action.
Habitus is closely connected with the will (arbitrium), which has the property
of being free (liberum): “It is said in the definition of habitus that everyone uses it
when he wants.”51 The argument comes from Averroes.52 The Cadi of Cordova
comments precisely on the text of the De anima where Aristotle explains that man
thinks whenever he wishes, and makes it the definition of the intellect as a habitus
of thinking. In turn, by generalizing this doctrine to habitus in general, Aquinas
creates a voluntarist account of habitus. Habits are therefore active constituents of
freedom: thanks to them, “everyone can act when he wants to.”53 Without knowing
it, Aquinas adopts the expression of Plato, transmitted by Aristotle: by an equiva-
lence (inspired by Averroes) between thought and habitus, he makes habitus an
ability to open possibilities in the domain of behaviour, and not just thought, and
therefore a dimension of free will. Binding habitus and free will, he allows the
reconstitution of the doctrine of the Theaetetus and provides an argument in favour
of the alliance between habitus and the doctrine of freedom: it allows man to act
when he wants.
This expression returns like a leitmotif in Aquinas: to use a habitus depends on
our will.54 In his fundamental text on freedom, this principle is metaphysically
deduced from the self-determination of thought: “Indeed, I think because I will; and
in the same way, I use all the powers and all the habitus because I will,” that is to
say, freely.55 Habitus therefore does not introduce any necessary determination
either with regard to vices or with respect to virtues:
potest esse simul cum forma naturali actus formae contrariae; sicut non potest esse cum calore
actus infrigidationis, neque simul cum levitate motus descensionis, nisi forte ex violentia exterioris
moventis. Sed habitus in anima non ex necessitate producit suam operationem, sed homo utitur eo
cum voluerit. Unde simul habitu in homine existente, potest non uti habitu, aut agere contrarium
actum.” Italics are mine.
51
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 107 art. 1, corp.: “[I]n definitione habitus dicitur, quo quis utitur cum
voluerit.”
52
Aquinas extends to all habitus what Averroes says of the intellect in habitu. Averroes,
Commentarium magnum in Aristotelis De anima, lib. 3, com. 18 (ed. Crawford, 438): “Haec enim
est definitio huius habitus, scilicet ut habens habitum intelligat per ipsum illud quod est sibi pro-
prium ex se, et quando voluerit, absque eo quod indigeat in hoc aliquo extrinseco” (my emphasis).
The source is Aristotle, De an. 2.5, 417b24: “Thinking is in his power whenever he wishes (boule-
tai).” Cf. Averroes, Commentarium magnum in Aristotelis De anima, lib. 2, com. 60 (ed. Crawford,
220): “homo potest considerare in eis cum voluerit.” Parallel in De an., 3.3, 427b18, and Averroes,
Commentarium magnum in Aristotelis De anima, lib. 2, com. 153, (ed. Crawford, 363).
53
Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de virtutibus, q. 1 art. 1, corp. “[S]unt habitus, secun-
dum quos potest quis agere cum voluerit ut dicit Commentator in III De anima. Et Augustinus in
lib. De bono coniugali, dicit, quod habitus est quo quis agit, cum tempus affuerit.”
54
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 50, art. 5, resp.
55
Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de malo q. 6, corp.
38 O. Boulnois
just as it may happen that someone who possesses a vicious habitus leaps (prorumpat) into
a virtuous act, since reason is not totally destroyed (corrumpitur) by an evil habit, but there
is something intact (integrum)—and this is why it happens that a sinner does some good
works—so it may happen that someone who possesses a [virtuous] habit, sometimes does
not act, or acts out of a passion that arises, or even out of ignorance.56
The relationship between acts and habitus forms a circle, which can be vicious or
virtuous.57 But we must start with actions. How is it possible to start having the first
good act if we do not have the corresponding habitus yet? If power were totally pas-
sive, it would mean that we are the playthings of circumstance and that all the
causes which are imprinted in us trigger our actions and generate the corresponding
habitus. It is therefore necessary to seek the answer farther, or higher, in reason:
How is this possible, if nothing brings itself from power to action? […] The first principles
of reason are naturally innate (indita) in us, in the realm of actions as in that of speculation.
And precisely for this reason, just as by preconceived principles, somebody, by finding
something, makes himself learned in act (facit se scientem in actu), so, by acting according
to the principles of practical reason, one makes oneself virtuous in act.58
It is the presence of practical reason in us which explains why we have the initiative
and are not passive with regard to the circle of action and habitus. In a way, contrary
to the Aristotelian principle that “all that is moved by another,” we can bring our-
selves from power to act: that is what the scientist does when he discovers his sci-
ence, or the prudent person does from the principles of practical reason. In other
words, it is practical reason that makes us free beings, through habitus and thanks
to them.
Even if we feel passions, even if we are passive with regard to certain circum-
stances, moral habitus consists precisely in regulating these passions in relation to
rational choices that we can make, well or badly, from first principles.59 It is by
virtue of a habitus that we become angry, good (according to a happy medium), or
56
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 78, art. 2, corp.: “[S]icut potest contingere quod aliquis habens habi-
tum vitiosum, prorumpat in actum virtutis, eo quod ratio non totaliter corrumpitur per malum
habitum, sed aliquid eius integrum manet, ex quo provenit quod peccator aliqua operatur de genere
bonorum; ita etiam potest contingere quod aliquis habens habitum, interdum non ex habitu oper-
etur, sed ex passione insurgente, vel etiam ex ignorantia.”
57
Thomas Aquinas, De veritate, q. 20, art. 3, ad 3 (Leonina 22: 579): “[H]abitus acquisitus semper
reddit actum similem illi actui a quo generatus est; sicut fortia faciendo efficitur aliquis fortis, et
fortis effectus fortia facit.”
58
Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri Ethicorum, lib. 2, lect. 4 (Leonina 47: 88): “quomodo hoc est
possibile, cum nihil reducat se de potentia in actum? Dicendum est, quod perfectio virtutis moralis,
de qua nunc loquimur, consistit in hoc, quod appetitus reguletur secundum rationem. Prima autem
rationis principia sunt naturaliter nobis indita, ita in operativis sicut in speculativis. Et ideo sicut
per principia praecognita facit aliquis inveniendo se scientem in actu: ita agendo secundum prin-
cipia rationis practicae, facit aliquis se virtuosum in actu.”
59
Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri Ethicorum, lib. 2, lect. 5 (Leonina 47: 91): “[H]abitus dicuntur
secundum quos nos habemus ad passiones bene vel male. Habitus enim est dispositio quaedam
determinans potentiam per comparationem ad aliquid. Quae quidem determinatio, si sit secundum
quod convenit naturae rei, erit habitus bonus disponens ad hoc quod aliquid fiat bene, alioquin erit
habitus malus, et secundum ipsum aliquid fiet male. Et exemplificat quod secundum aliquem habi-
tum habemus nos ad hoc ut irascamur vel male, si hoc fiat vehementer et remisse, […] vel bene, si
hoc fait medio modo.”
bad (too much or too little). The habitus determines our power in such a way that it
is no longer capable of opposites, but is suited to only one of them. By referring to
reason, it makes the action good or bad. Rational action opens us up to true freedom.
Free will and reason unite themselves in our freedom, through our habitus.
Habitus is backed by practical reason, which renders it actually real. Admittedly,
agents are not determined by their habitus, virtuous or vicious; they can deviate
from it. But the flowering of free will towards the good is done by virtue, that is, by
a habitus. And the highest rectitude of virtue comes from the fact that we are ori-
ented towards the highest possessions. The perfection of habitus therefore coincides
with the highest degree of freedom. But it is in the sense that it is the freedom of
good, not in the sense that we could do a thing or its opposite. For even if we always
have such power, exercising it would be an impairment.
2.5 Duns Scotus: Habitus of the Will
While in Aquinas habitus relates to freedom as a rational choice of what appears to

be good, Duns Scotus bases freedom on the self-motion of the will. Consequently,
the problem is whether the habitus is an active principle, for in this case it competes
with the will and limits freedom.
According to the same quotation of Averroes, we use a habitus when we want.
But our habitus affects the way we act in four features: “with pleasure, easily, read-
ily, and swiftly” (delectabiliter, faciliter, expedite et prompte).60 Do they play the
role of determining principles of our action? Duns Scotus asks precisely this ques-
tion: “Does habitus have the status of active principle with respect to the act?”61 For
Scotus, to act in the mode of nature is a form of necessity, and to act in the mode of
will is a form of freedom. To attribute to habitus an action in the mode of nature (as
Aquinas admits62) would be to allow action to be determined by a principle other
than the will, and to limit our free will: “The natural act of man and the absence of
hindrance of the act (expeditio actus) come from different principles”: nature is
undetermined towards this act (since it can receive this or any other), while the
acquired habitus is determined.63 Any habitus thus seems to restrict our freedom of
choice.
Now, all the features of the habitus show that it is an active principle, therefore
determinative, and therefore apparently contrary to the freedom of the agent:
1. Pleasure: if an action seemed at first unpleasant to an agent, and if the reception
of a habitus makes him find pleasure in this action, he will actively tend towards
it (this idea is already in Aristotle).
60
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 7 (Vat. 5: 142).
61
62
Thomas Aquinas, Super lib. Eth., lib. 3, lect. 15, n. 7 (Leonina 47: 165); cf. n. 46.
63
40 O. Boulnois
2. Ease: when a power is disposed to undergo the action of another power, it does
not need this action to be made easier in order to act. But the action of that which
is not so disposed is made easier by a habitus. Habitus seems therefore to make
us act (see also Aristotle and Aquinas).
3. Readiness: to the one who can be hindered, readiness (expeditio) is appropriate;
for this release allows it to act without hindrance, it makes it more active.
4. Swiftness: to the one who can act slowly, the promptness of action conferred on
him by the habitus also enables him to be active.
In all four cases, “habitus inclines the power to act.”64 Whether it is theoretical,
practical, or technical, the habitus seems to be an active and determining principle.
In the case of a theoretical habitus, the passage of the soul, which is in essential
potency to knowing, to knowledge in act, is made by the acquisition of an accidental
power.65 In theory, knowledge gives us the power to actively consider the thinkable;
in practice, prudence gives us the power to become agents; in craft, know-how gives
us the power to be the principle of a production.
But Scotus rejects the objection. On the contrary, for his voluntarist account of
freedom, habitus must have a weak reality, too weak to be at the origin of the act: it
is either a mere relation or an accidental power towards the act.66 How is the activity
of the habitus to be measured correctly? Duns Scotus considers five possible ways:
1. According to the first way, a habitus is an accident that inheres in a power, but is
distinct from it. Now, “a power is that by which we can act absolutely and
immediately.”67 Hence, the action which is appropriate to a habitus (e.g., char-
ity), does not suit the power that receives it (the will). But then one cannot say
that habitus is the principle of action. If we did not have this accidental habitus,
the will would not act otherwise. Since there are only two types of cause, namely
nature and will, all that is not will is nature. Now, freedom exists only in the will;
nothing but the will can cause free action. But habitus is natural, so if it were the
active principle of an action, action would be natural and would never be free.68
2. Second way: the act draws its substance from the power that produces it, and its
degree of intensity from the habitus. This is false, because the intensity and sub-
stance of an act are inseparable.69
64
65
66
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, nn. 15–16, 18–19 (Vat. 5: 144–145).
67
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 22 (Vat. 5: 147). Cf. Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 10, quoted
in Lect. I, d. 17, n. 45 (Vat. 17: 196–197).
68
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 24 (Vat. 5: 148): “Operatio non elicitur libere, cuius princip-
ium activum est mere naturale.”
69
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 28 (Vat. 5: 150). A position evoked and then refuted by
Godfrey of Fontaines, Quodl. XI, q. 4 (ed. Hoffmans, 23): “Sed secundum hoc videremur incidere
in errorem Pelagii qui ponebat quod sine gratia possumus bene operari et mereri sed perfectius et
facilius hoc idem possumus cum gratia.”
3. Third way: the most probable solution seems to be the idea that the habitus is an
“active partial cause” of a perfect act. This act is produced by the concurrence of
two partial causes: the will as the principal cause, and the habitus as a natural but
secondary cause; without the will, the habitus would move in the mode of nature,
which means that “every act of a power endowed with a habitus would be natural
and no [act] would be free.”70 This position is similar to the preceding one, but
without the split it implied: it does not assume that power causes one aspect of
action (its substance), and habitus another (its intensity). The two concurrent
causes merely produce a single common effect, more powerful than that pro-
duced by one of the two causes without the other.71 But then it follows that it is
the will that is the primary cause, and that it can act without habitus, for “it does
not absolutely need it to act,” even if “it acts less perfectly without habitus than
with it.”72
4. The fourth way radicalizes this hypothesis, maintaining that habitus does not
have the status of an active principle. It is not a cause, but a mere propensity, and
only inclines the power towards the operation. It simply has the status of a prior
or sine qua non condition, “as an earlier act which corresponds to the second act,
and which determines it to such a singular act.”73
While the third way attributes a certain activity to the habitus, without reserving it
entirely to power, the fourth denies that the habitus has the status of active principle:
it is a simple “form which inclines to receiving a later form.”74 Knowing that
Scotus’s final position on freedom is to accord a partial causality to the intellect (and
not all causality to the will), Scotus might prefer the third solution, but he does not
expressly say so.
The fifth way is set apart as a corollary of all these analyses: the idea that the
habitus exerts no causality at all.75 It is only a propensity for action, enabling it to
operate “easily, with pleasure, readily, and swiftly.”76
70
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 37 (Vat. 5: 153): “Habitus est causa naturalis. Ergo si ipse sit
causa principalis, movens potentiam, moveret eam per modum naturae, et per consequens potentia
cum agit eo modo quo movetur, ageret per modum naturae, et ita omnis actio potentiae habituatae
esset naturalis et nulla libera.”
71
72
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 40 (Vat. 5: 153): “sed ipsa potentia esset causa prima et abso-
lute non indiget habitus ad operandum; tamen minus perfecte operatur sine habitu quam cum
habitu.”
73
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 47 (Vat. 5: 157): “[H]abitus tantum inclinat ad operationem
quasi actus prior conveniens cum actu secundo, et determinans ad actum illum.”
74
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 53 (Vat. 5: 160): “[…] tamquam forma inclinans ad aliquam
formam ulteriorem recipiendam.”
75
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 47 (Vat. 5: 158): “Ergo non est aliqua causalitas habitui
attribuenda.”
76
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 48 (Vat. 5: 158): “Assumptum patet, quias illae quattuor
condiciones quae attribuuntur habitui, videlicet quod est ‘quo habens faciliter operatur, delectabili-
ter, expedite et prompte’, salvantur propter solam inclinationem habitus, quam tribuit potentiae ut
est receptiva operationis.”
42 O. Boulnois
Scotus focuses his argument on the two meanings of the word “action.” In the
transitive meaning, action is itself understood “in the category of action” (in genere
actionis); but in the immanent meaning, action is an act “in the category of quality”
(in genere qualitatis).77 If we stick to the second meaning, the four conditions of
habitus (ease, pleasure, readiness, and swiftness) can be guaranteed by a simple
inclination. This ensures that the agent is willing to receive the action which can be
said of him as a quality. It is therefore necessary to “attribute all action to power and
no activity to habitus.”78
Scotus then considers the relevance of virtue ethics: does the goodness of an act
require that it have a habitus as active principle?79 It might indeed be argued that the
act does not need the will in order to exist, but in order to be good. Scotus proposes
three arguments in this direction:
1. According to the Nicomachean Ethics, “every virtue, in which it is its virtue,
completes making it well disposed (eu ekhon, with a good hexis), and renders its
work good.”80 Now, to make something good seems to be a feature of an active
principle, not a receptive one.
2. According to the Physics, the virtues are “perfections.”81 They are therefore
active principles and not passive dispositions, for being active is more perfect.
3. According to the Nicomachean Ethics,
these things are said to be just and temperate when they are such as the righteous or temper-
ate man would do. And the righteous and the temperate is not only the one who does these
things, but the one who makes them in the same way as the righteous and the temperate
do.82
Virtue is therefore an active principle which renders these actions good, for without
this habitus they cannot be good.
But these arguments are irrelevant: the moral goodness of an act is only a rela-
tion. Indeed, for an act to be good is for it to have the features due in a given set of
circumstances. It is therefore not something absolute in the act, but only a compari-
son of what is due with what it must correspond to. Now, a simple relative being
does not require an active principle.83 We therefore do not need habitus as an active
principle of moral goodness. On the other hand, the habitus itself is a virtue only in
77
For the definition of the action “in the category of quality,” as opposed to the action “in the cat-
egory of action,” see John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 3, nn. 600–604 (Vat. 3: 354–357). The action in
genere actionis aims at an external term. See ibid., n. 604 (Vat. 3: 357): “[N]on potest esse actio de
genere actionis nisi alicuius termini sit.”
78
79
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 55 (Vat. 5: 160–161).
80
Aristotle, NE 2.5, 1106a15–16.
81
Aristotle, Phys. 7.3, 246b23.
82
83
relation to prudence.84 Now, it is not possible that a simple relation is the constitu-
tive reason for an active principle. In the name of the freedom of the will, the habi-
tus is deeply derealized.
Scotus’s solution is to compare goodness to beauty. Beauty is not an absolute
quality of beings, but the addition of all that suits a particular body (for example,
size, figure, and colour), including the addition of all the relations between these
bodies and what suits them: “the moral goodness of a body is like its beauty (decor),
and it includes the addition of the proportion due to everything to which it must be
proportioned.” In the case of moral goodness, the most important relation is “the
concordance of the act with right reason” (convenientia actus ad rationem rectam),
which is a sine qua non condition of its goodness.85 This moral goodness has no
active principle of its own, for it is a relation. And this relation is only the conse-
quence of the positing of two extremes: the act and the right reason. Thus, insofar as
the point of reference is the prescription of right reason (the dictamen prudentiae),86
and where the habitus inclines to the corresponding act, we may say that the virtu-
ous habitus inclines to an act conforming to right reason, but not that it is its active
principle. In other words, the moral goodness of virtue is only a habitual conformity
to right reason. The right act can be produced without the corresponding virtue: one
can for example practice abstinence without referring to the right reason that justi-
fies this abstinence. But when prudence is acquired, the right reason of abstaining
will be known. And nothing will be changed in the habitus by which abstinence is
practiced.
The habitus, insofar as it is a quality of power, remains the same. But it becomes
a virtue insofar as it becomes conformable to prudence. No absolute entity is added
to the habitus as a natural reality in order to change it into moral virtue. Hence,
habitus has no other causality as a virtue than that which it possessed as habitus,
except that it becomes capable of being a secondary cause: the natural habitus and
the prudence it is associated with together produce a common effect, the goodness
of the moral act.87 But here again, it has its own causality from its absolute nature as
a natural form or quality, and not from the fact of being associated with prudence.
In other words, this development is a way of justifying the third way. Habit is not
a principal cause of our action, not even of its morality. It is simply a secondary
partial cause, or even not at all an active ingredient. It is the price we have to pay in
order to support the freedom of the will. For acting well, habitus is merely acces-
sory. We are therefore witnessing a derealization of ethics, replaced by a system of
extrinsic relations. It becomes all the more normative because it is less based on
virtue.
84
As Aristotle says, “Virtue is therefore a habitus of preferential choice (hexis proairetikè), which
is found in a mediatedness with respect to us, determined by reason, and such as what prudent man
will determine” (NE 2.6, 1106b36–1107a2).
85
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 62 (Vat. 5: 164): “Principaliter ergo conformitas actus ad
rationem rectam […] est bonitas moralis actus.”
86
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 64 (Vat 5: 165).
87
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, n. 66 (Vat. 5: 168–169).
44 O. Boulnois
2.6 Conclusion
At the end of this journey, it appears that habitus is not reduced to habit, even if it
presupposes it. In addition, habitus is a source of actualization, which cannot be
reduced to the sum of past experiences, because it is integrated into the agent’s own
dynamism.
We have seen how, in Aquinas, it is intertwined with the dynamics of free will in
order to achieve the agent as being in act through virtue. It is a way of determining
the indifferent power in order to a good and not its opposite. Therefore, true free-
dom is to be virtuous and to enjoy the goodness that virtue attains.
On the other hand, in a doctrine of the primacy of the will, habitus appears as a
competitor whose scope must be reduced. Scotus makes it a secondary cause or a
simple inclination, which does not essentially produce either the act or its goodness.
Henceforth, ethics is not any more an ethics of virtue; it has become a conformity to
practical reason, that is, a normative ethics.
Does habitus contribute to our freedom? If we mean by freedom the power of
determining ourselves for a thing and its opposite, it does not. This is the way of
Scotus. But if we mean by freedom the choice of what appears to us as a good and
the ability to maintain ourselves there, it does. This is the way of Aquinas. But
Aquinas was already engaged in a free-will account of freedom.
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Stroebel, 2nd ed. Stuttgart: Teubner.
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Stechert.
Thomas Aquinas. 1969. Sententia libri Ethicorum, ed. Commissio Leonina. Opera Omnia iussu
Leonis XIII P. M. edita 47. Rome: Ad Sanctae Sabinae.
———. 1970. Quaestiones disputatae de veritate, ed. Commissio Leonina. Opera Omnia iussu
Leonis XIII P. M. edita 22. Rome: Ad Sanctae Sabinae.
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Chapter 3
Habitus According to Augustine:
Philosophical Tradition and Biblical
Exegesis
Isabelle Bochet
Abstract The present chapter deals with the use of the term habitus in Augustine’s
works and the features of the concept or concepts this term designates. It demon-
strates that Augustine conforms to the classical usage of his time. He does not treat
the words habitus and consuetudo as equivalent, but uses them in distinct senses. He
twice quotes Cicero’s definition of virtus as a habitus animi, in question 31 of the 83
Diverse Questions and in Contra Iulianum, but he seldom refers to it in the rest of
his works, apart from De bono coniugali, probably because this definition was not
really suitable for demonstrating that virtue is primarily a gift of God. Augustine
also uses the term habitus as pertaining to the category of accidents in question 73
of the 83 Diverse Questions and in book 5 of De Trinitate. In these texts Augustine
shows that he had a detailed knowledge of Aristotle’s Categories, which he proba-
bly knew through the Latin paraphrase called the Categoriae decem. The chapter
explains that the difficulties raised by the use of the word habitus in Philippians 2:7
to speak of Christ (habitu inventus est ut homo), which is the topic of question 73,
are linked to the fact that Augustine interpreted it on his own as equivalent to the
Greek word hexis used by Aristotle in the Categories.
Keywords Habitus · Consuetudo · Virtue · Change · Category · Accident ·

Incarnation · Augustine · Aristotle · Cicero · Julian of Eclanum
3.1 Introduction
Citations of Augustine that can be found in the works of medieval authors1 may give
the impression that the bishop of Hippo had already developed a consistent theory
of habitus. But one wonders whether the medieval thinkers did not rather look for
1
See B. Kent’s chapter in the present volume, p. 67–85: only citations from the De bono coniugali
are considered.
I. Bochet (*)
Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes (PSL, CNRS, UMR 8584),
Villejuif Cedex, France

48 I. Bochet
what little they could find on habitus in the works of Augustine, because of the
interest they themselves had for the Aristotelian conception of habitus.2 Augustine
did read the Latin paraphrase of Aristotle’s Categories: question 73 of the De diver-
sis quaestionibus 83,3 as well as book 5 of the De trinitate clearly show what he
retained from it and how he makes use of it; he does not seem to have read other
works by Aristotle.4 Augustine also quotes Cicero’s definition of virtue as habitus
animi but he does not have much use for it and he himself devises another definition
of virtue. Ultimately, Augustine uses the word habitus rather rarely: according to the
online Corpus Augustinianum Gissense (CAG),5 the word habitus occurs 220 times
in Augustine’s writings, whereas the word consuetudo occurs 967 times. This lim-
ited employ of the term and its uses in various senses that correspond to its classical
usage6 must be taken into account to fully appreciate the part played by this notion
in the works of Augustine.
In question 73, Augustine proposes the following definition of the term habitus:
In all its senses, since this word is derived from the verb “to have” (habere), it is clear that
we speak of habitus to mean that which is accidental to something (accidit alicui) in such a
way that it could just as well not have it.7
He also points out that the Latin word habitus usually corresponds to the Greek
hexis.8 This definition perfectly fits the characterization of virtue as habitus animi,
even though Augustine does not explicitly mention virtue among the examples he
gives in question 73. The definition also fits the other uses of the term habitus.
To study Augustine for himself, rather than through the prism of medieval
authors, it is first necessary to examine the normal usages of the word habitus. I will
show that Augustine does not treat habitus and consuetudo as equivalent but uses
them in quite distinct ways. I will then examine Cicero’s definition of virtue (virtus)
as a habitus of the soul (habitus animi). Though Augustine quotes this definition
from Cicero’s De inventione in two of his works,9 he seldom refers to it in the rest of
his writings, except for the De bono coniugali; the reason for this will be investi-
gated. Finally, I will come to the more technical sense of the concept of habitus as it
pertains to the class of “accidents.” Augustine’s more in-depth consideration of the
2
This seems to be the case of Thomas Aquinas (ST I-II, q. 49–54). Aquinas (q. 49, art. 1 and 3)
briefly quotes question 73 of the De diversis quaestionibus 83 as well as the following remark from
the De bono coniugali 21.25 (CSEL 41: 219): “Ipse est enim habitus quo aliquid agitur cum opus
est.”
3
De div. quaest. 73 (CCL 44A: 209–212).
4
See Stead (1988, cols. 445–448).
5
Corpus Augustinianum Gissense a Cornelio Mayer editum, www.cag-online.net.
6
See Bulhart (1936, cols. 2482–2487).
7
De div. quaest. 73.1 (CCL 44A: 209).
8
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 212): “Sed illum habitum, qui est in perceptione sapientiae et
disciplinae, Graeci ἕξιν uocant.” Cf. In Psalmos (In Ps.) 118.11.6 (CCL 40: 1699): “ἕξις habitus
est, ab eo quod est habere.”
9
Cicero, De inventione (De inv.) 2.53.159 (ed. Hubbell, 326), quoted by Augustine at De div.
quaest. 31 (CCL 44A: 41–45) and Contra Iulianum 4.3.19 (PL 44: 747).
3 Habitus According to Augustine: Philosophical Tradition and Biblical Exegesis 49
meaning of the term and the conditions of its use is motivated by its use with regard
to Christ, who is said to be “in the likeness of men” (habitu inventus ut homo, Phil.
2:7); he also uses the term habitus in his exposition of the doctrine of the Trinity.
The objective of this analysis will be to shed light on Augustine’s specific use of
the word habitus and to explain what appears to be a certain reticence on his part.
3.2 The Normal Usage of the Word Habitus
The word habitus belongs to classical Latin. In its proper sense, it refers broadly to “the
manner of being, the external appearance, the physical state, or the attitude or counte-
nance”; more specifically, it can mean “attire, outfit, or clothing.” In a figurative sense,
it refers broadly to “the way of being, the state,” or more specifically to “the mental
dispositions, the feelings.”10 In a philosophical sense, habitus is defined by Cicero as a
way of being acquired, or a physical or mental disposition that is not easily lost.11
This same range of meanings of the word is found in Augustine’s writings.12 In
many cases, habitus refers to the external appearance of a thing,13 or more often of a
subject: for example, the external appearance of John the Baptist14 or of Monica,
whom Augustine describes as having “the exterior of a woman (muliebri habitu) and
the faith of a man,”15 or of an angel (specie […] vel habitu angelo similem) in the case
of the appearance to the mother of Samson16; also “the austere and poor appearance”
(parcum habitum ac necessarium) in which “the hypocrites clothe themselves to
deceive unwary souls,”17 and “the feminine appearance” (muliebri habitu) adopted
by some men, of whom Augustine says that he does not know whether he should call
them “false women or false men.”18
10
Cf. Lewis and Short, (1879, 836), Gaffiot (1934, 732).
11
Cicero, De inv. 1.25.36 (ed. Hubbell, 72): “Habitum autem [hunc] appellamus animi aut corporis
constantem et absolutam aliqua in re perfectionem, ut virtutis aut artis alicuius perceptionem aut
quamvis scientiam et item corporis aliquam commoditatem non natura datam, sed studio et indu-
stria partam.” De inv. 2.9.30 (ed. Hubbell, 190–192): “Habitus autem […] in aliqua perfecta et
constanti animi aut corporis absolutione consistit, quo in genere est virtus, scientia et quae con-
traria sunt.”
12
See Gärtner (2004, cols. 275–277).
13
See, e.g., De Genesi ad litteram opus imperfectum 4.15 (CSEL 28.1: 468).
14
De consensu evangelistarum 2.12.26 (CSEL 43: 126).
15
Confessiones (Conf.) 9.4.8 (CCL 27: 137): “[…] matre adhaerente nobis muliebri habitu, uirili
fide, anili securitate, materna caritate, christiana pietate!”
16
Quaestiones in Heptateuchum 7.51 (CCL 33: 374): “Nam et hominem Dei eum appellauit, spe-
cie tamen vel habitu angelo similem, hoc est, quia tam praeclarum uidit, sicut ipsa narrauit.”
17
De sermone Domini in monte 2.12.41 (CCL 35: 132), commenting on Matthew 7:16: “Non enim
propterea ornatu superfluo debet aspectus hominum mulcere christianus, quia illum parcum habi-
tum ac necessarium etiam simulatores saepe usurpant, ut incautos decipiant, quia et illae oues non
debent deponere pelles suas, si aliquando eis lupi se contegunt.”
18
Soliloquia 2.16.30 (CSEL 89: 86): “Et ideo credo iure infames intestabilesque haberi, qui muli-
ebri habitu se ostentant, quos nescio utrum falsas mulieres an falsos viros melius vocem.”
50 I. Bochet
In question 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions, Augustine notes that one’s physical

condition, which can be referred to by the expression habitus corporis, is more typi-
cally and more properly called the habitudo.19 And in letter 124 he mentions that his
“state of health” (habitu valetudinis) makes it difficult for him to tolerate the cold.20
Augustine often uses the word habitus more specifically to refer to clothing. In
De doctrina christiana, for example, he mentions “the differences that humans had
the idea of marking by the clothing and adornment of the body (in habitu et cultu
corporis) in order to distinguish the sexes and ranks.”21 In Contra Faustum, he justi-
fies the “prostitute’s outfit” (habitus meretricius) of Thamar against Faustus’s accu-
sations.22 In Contra Iulianum he attacks Julian of Eclanum, accusing him of
“wanting to subvert human clothing” (humanum habitum velle pervertere) by rais-
ing to the shoulders what is supposed to be attached to the belt in order to cover the
genitals.23 In De opere monachorum he warns against the hypocrites who disguise
themselves “in the outfit of monks” (sub habitu monachorum).24 In De sancta vir-
ginitate he advises young women to avoid “indecent attire” (indecens habitus),25
and elsewhere he urges them to adopt a mode of dress that is unremarkable (non sit
notabilis habitus vester), and to seek to please not with their clothing, but with their
conduct.26 One’s outfit here goes hand in hand with one’s chosen way of life and a
determinate pattern of behaviour. Augustine speaks in this sense of “the state of
virginity” (de habitu virginum).27
Habitus can also refer figuratively to the possession of a faculty or of knowledge.
Thus, Augustine says in De Trinitate that he “does not have sufficient command
(non sit nobis tantus habitus) of the Greek language” to be capable of reading and
19
De div. quaest. 73.1 (CCL 44A: 209): “[…] uel habitum corporis, secundum quem dicimus alium
alio esse suculentiorem et ualidiorem, quae magis proprie habitudo dici solet.” According to the
CAG, there are only twenty-four occurrences of the word habitudo in the entire corpus of
Augustine.
20
Epist. 124.1 (CCL 31B: 178): “Cum habitu ualitudinis vel natura frigus ferre non possim […].”
21
De doctrina christiana 2.25.39 (CCL 32: 61): “Commoda uero et necessaria hominum cum
hominibus instituta sunt, quaecumque in habitu et cultu corporis ad sexus vel honores discernen-
dos differentia placuit.”
22
Contra Faustum 22.86 (CSEL 25.1: 690): “Nam et ipsa habitus meretricius confessio pec-
catorum est.” He is here responding to Faustus, whom he quoted shortly before (22.5 [CSEL
25.1: 595]).
23
Contra Iulianum 5.2.7 (PL 44: 786): “Quamvis etiam si nescias, non usque adeo te arbitror, non
humanum eloquium, sed humanum habitum velle pervertere, ut perizomata etiam super humeros
levare coneris; aut eis ita latera illorum hominum fuisse contecta, ut genitalia totaeque lumborum
cum femoribus partes nudae relinquerentur.”
24
De opere monachorum 28.36 (CSEL 41: 585): “[…] tam multos hypocritas sub habitu monacho-
rum usquequaque dispersit.”
25
De sancta virginitate 53.54 (CSEL 41: 299): “non inprobus uultus, non uagi oculi, non infrenis
lingua, non petulans risus, non scurrilis iocus, non indecens habitus, non tumidus aut fluxus
incessus.”
26
Epist. 211.10 (CSEL 57: 362): “Non sit notabilis habitus uester nec affectetis uestibus placere
sed moribus.”
27
De doctrina christiana 4.21.48 (CCL 32: 155): “Sed martyr Cyprianus de habitu virginum, non
de suscipiendo virginitatis proposito scripsit.”
understanding the books that have been published on the Trinity.28 In letter 118 he
explains to Dioscorus that the Platonists chose to conceal their doctrine until the
souls of men who are too carnal are “in a state” to understand it (donec ad eum
habitum perduceretur).29 Though Balaam’s ass (Num. 22:28) temporarily received
the power of speech, it did not receive it as a “permanent disposition” (habitu
perpetuo).30 In Contra academicos Augustine considers the difference between
someone who is wise (sapiens) and someone who applies himself to the study of
wisdom (studiosus): the former has the “possession” (habitus) of wisdom, while the
latter has an ardent desire for it.31 Augustine adds that the word habitus is derived
precisely from the fact that the wise man “possesses (habet) the knowledge of
wisdom.”32
Habitus can also refer to a “disposition of the mind.” Those who hear the word
of God are invited to keep the meaning of it in their memory so that it can subse-
quently inform the conduct of their life and the disposition of their mind (habitum
mentis).33 If the baptized are no longer spiritual, they have to apply themselves to
making progress “towards a spiritual disposition” (ad spiritalem habitum).34
The word habitus is often translated into English as “habit.” However, this does
not correspond very well to the classical meaning of the word, and often leads to an
erroneous identification of habitus with consuetudo. However, Augustine almost
never associates the two terms: there is only the example in book 19 of the City of
God, where he mentions the style of dress of the Cynics and associated it with their
28
De Trinitate (De Trin.) 3.1.1 (CCL 50: 127): “Quod si ea quae legamus de his rebus sufficienter
edita in Latino sermone aut non sunt aut non inueniuntur aut certe difficile a nobis inueniri queunt,
graecae autem linguae non sit nobis tantus habitus ut talium rerum libris legendis et intellegendis
ullo modo reperiamur idonei quo genere litterarum ex his quae nobis pauca interpretata sunt non
dubito cuncta quae utiliter quaerere possumus contineri.”
29
Epist. 118.20 (CCL 31B: 125): “Cum ergo talia sentirent Platonici, quae neque docerent carni
deditos homines neque tanta essent auctoritate apud populos, ut credenda persuaderent, donec ad
eum habitum perduceretur animus, quo ista capiuntur, elegerunt occultare sententiam suam.”
30
De diversis quaestionibus ad Simplicianum 2.1.2 (CCL 44: 60): “Accepit enim hoc ad tempus
illud iumentum, ut Deus quod statuerat demonstraret, non ut habitu perpetuo inter homines bestia
loqueretur.”
31
Contra academicos 3.3.5 (CCL 29: 36): “Sapientem ab studioso, ait, nulla re differre arbitror,
nisi quod quarum rerum in sapiente quidam habitus inest, earum est in studioso sola flagrantia.”
Wisdom is thus characterized here as a habitus, as it is by Cicero, whom Augustine cites exten-
sively in this treatise.
32
Contra academicos 3.3.5 (CCL 29: 36): “Si enim, ut subtiliter uereque dixisti, nihil inter sapien-
tiae studiosum et sapientem interest, nisi quod iste amat, ille autem habet sapientiae disciplinam,
− unde etiam nomen ipsum, id est habitum quendam exprimere non cunctatus es.”
33
In Ps. 8.2 (CCL 40: 50): “Ibi enim discernitur, ut sonus usque ad aures ualeat; intellectus autem
memoria eorum qui audiunt, uelut quodam lacu excipiatur, inde transeat in morum disciplinam et
habitum mentis, tamquam de lacu in cellas in quibus, si neglegentia non acuerit, uetustate
firmabitur.”
34
De baptismo 7.52.100 (CSEL 51: 371–372): “Horum autem omnium generum illi primi qui sic
sunt in domo dei, ut ipsi sint domus Dei, siue iam spiritales sint siue adhuc paruuli lacte nutriantur,
sed tamen ad spiritalem habitum intento corde proficiant, nemo dubitat quod baptismum et utiliter
habeant et se imitantibus utiliter tradant.” Cf. 4.22.29 (CSEL 51: 258): “mentis habitum.”
52 I. Bochet
way of life (ex habitu et consuetudine Cynicorum).35 Thus, regardless of the etymo-
logical connection between the Latin word habitus and the English word “habit,”
habitus and consuetudo should not be treated as having the same meaning. Augustine
uses them as quite distinct terms: consuetudo most often means “custom, habit, use,
usage,”36 whereas habitus refers to a mode of being, a state, a pattern of behaviour,
or a disposition.
Let us now examine how the word habitus is used in a philosophical sense. I will
consider first the definition of virtue as a habitus animi, and then the characteriza-
tion of habitus as an “accident.”
3.3 Virtue as a Habitus Animi?
3.3.1 The Ciceronian Definition of Virtue
Augustine twice quotes the Ciceronian definition of virtue as a habitus animi: in

question 31 of the 83 Diverse Questions, which dates from his return to Africa
shortly after his conversion,37 and in Contra Iulianum, which dates from 421, near
the end of his life. Cicero gives the following definition of virtue in De inventione:
“Virtue is a disposition of the soul that is in conformity with the mode of nature and
to reason.”38 After listing the four parts of virtue—prudence, justice, courage, and
temperance (prudentia, iustitia, fortitudo, temperantia)—he defines each one of
these parts. In defining justice he again uses the phrase “disposition of the soul”
(habitus animi): “Justice is a disposition of the soul which preserves the common
35
De civitate Dei 19.1 (CCL 48: 660): “In illa etiam differentia, quae adhibetur ex habitu et con-
suetudine Cynicorum, non quaeritur, quisnam sit finis boni, sed utrum in illo habitu et consuetu-
dine sit uiuendum ei, qui uerum sectatur bonum, quodlibet ei uerum uideatur esse atque sectandum.
Denique fuerunt, qui cum diuersa sequerentur bona finalia, alii uirtutem, alii uoluptatem, eundem
tamen habitum et consuetudinem tenebant, ex quo Cynici appellabantur.” Cf. 19.19 (CCL 48: 686):
“Nihil sane ad istam pertinet ciuitatem quo habitu vel more uiuendi, si non est contra divina prae-
cepta, istam fidem, qua peruenitur ad Deum, quisque sectetur; unde ipsos quoque philosophos,
quando christiani fiunt, non habitum vel consuetudinem uictus, quae nihil inpedit religionem, sed
falsa dogmata mutare compellit.”
36
Cf. Lewis and Short (1879, 440), Gaffiot (1934, 411). For Augustine’s use of the term, see
Zumkeller (1994, 1: cols. 1253–1266).
37
Augustine says this explicitly in Retractationes 1.26 (CCL 57: 74): “Est etiam inter illa quae
scripsimus quoddam prolixum opus, qui tamen unus deputatur liber, cuius est titulus De diuersis
quaestionibus octoginta tribus. Cum autem dispersae fuissent per chartulas multas, quoniam ab
ipso primo tempore conuersionis meae, posteaquam in Africam uenimus, sicut interrogabar a frat-
ribus, quando me uacantem uidebant, nulla seruata ordinatione dictatae sunt, iussi eas iam episco-
pus colligi et unum ex eis librum fieri adhibitis numeris, ut quod quisque legere uoluerit facile
inueniat.”
38
Cicero, De inv. 2.53.159 (ed. Hubbell, 326): “Virtus est animi habitus naturae modo atque rationi
consentaneus.”
interest and gives to each what he deserves.”39 Cicero’s definition of virtue as a habi-
tus animi recalls Aristotle’s definition in the Nicomachean Ethics of virtue as a hex-
is.40 Taken as a whole, however, with its reference to nature and to reason, it has a
more Stoic tone. In fact, in his exposition of Stoic theory in book 4 of the Tusculan
Disputations, Cicero gives a contrasting definition of passion as “a movement of the
soul that is without reason or rejects reason or does not obey reason.”41 He character-
izes the state of vice (vitiositas) as “a way of being (habitus) or a disposition (adfec-
tio), present in all conduct of life, which is inconstant and discordant with itself.”42
Surprisingly, in question 31 of the 83 Diverse Questions, Augustine reproduces
almost in its entirety a long extract from Cicero’s De inventione (2.53.159–55.167)
without mentioning his source. He explains himself in the Retractationes:
The thirty-first question is not by me, but is from Cicero. It is true that I am the one who
transmitted it to the brethren, and they wrote it down among the things that they collected,
since they wanted to know how he defined and divided the virtues of the soul.43
This fact is easily explained by the origin of the 83 Diverse Questions: it is not
strictly speaking a work by Augustine, but rather a series of notes in which he deals
with various questions in response to the requests of his brothers in the monastery
at Thagaste. Some of the questions deal with philosophy, and it is not surprising that
Cicero continued to be, just as he was at Cassiacum, an important source for
Augustine.44
The context of Contra Iulianum is quite different. In this work, Augustine devotes
a great deal of space to classical quotations, probably because of the influence of
Julian’s own practice.45 He quotes Cicero’s definition of virtue by way of conces-
sion, but he also points out its limitations:
39
Cicero, De inv. 2.53.160 (ed. Hubbell, 328): “Iustitia est habitus animi communi utilitate conser-
vata suam cuique tribuens dignitatem.”
40
Aristotle, NE 2.6, 1106b37–1107a2, trans. Ross and Urmson (slightly modified): “Virtue is a
state concerned with choice, lying in a mean relative to us, this being determined by reason and in
the way in which the man of practical wisdom would determine it.” Gauthier and Jolif maintain
that logos should not be translated here as “reason.” In their translation (Aristotle 1958, 1: 45, 2:
147–149): “La vertu est un état habituel qui dirige la décision, consistant en un juste milieu relatif
à nous, dont la norme est la règle morale, c’est-à-dire celle-là même que lui donnerait le sage”
(Virtue is a habitual state which guides decision, consisting in a just mean relative to us, the stan-
dard of which is the moral rule, that is, the one that the wise man would give to it). Cicero refers to
Aristotle’s rhetorical works at De inv. 2.2.6 (ed. Hubbell, 170), but his sources are indirect; see
Guérin (2007, 5).
41
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 3.11.24 (ed. King, 254): “Nam cum omnis perturbatio sit animi
motus vel rationis expers uel rationem aspernans vel rationi non oboediens […].”
42
Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 4.13.29 (ed. King, 356): “Vitiositas autem est habitus aut adfectio
in tota vita inconstans et a se ipsa dissentiens.”
43
Retractationes 1.26 (CCL 57: 77): “Tricesima prima nec ipsa mea est sed Ciceronis. Verum quia
et haec per me innotuit fratribus, inter ista quae colligebant scripserunt eam, uolentes nosse que-
madmodum uirtutes animi ab illo diuisae atque definitae sint.”
44
See Hagendahl (1967, 554–555).
45
See Hagendahl (1967, 573–574).
54 I. Bochet
Virtue was not defined absurdly by those who said, “Virtue is a disposition of the soul that
is in conformity with the mode of nature and to reason.” They told the truth, but they did not
know what it is to be in conformity with the nature of mortals so as to free it and make it
blessed.46
In fact, Julian claimed that the pagans, whom he calls “foreign to faith,” “neverthe-
less abound in virtues, in which, without the aid of grace, there is only the good of
nature.”47 Augustine begins by retorting that it would at least be more tolerable to
recognize these virtues as gifts from God.48 But immediately after this he says:
“But let us not concede that there is any true virtue in anyone unless he is just; nor
that he is truly just unless he lives by faith, for ‘the just man lives by faith’ [Romans
1:17].”49 Thus, by introducing here the definition of virtue from De inventione,
Augustine makes a concession to Julian, but only in order to better refute the argu-
ment that might be drawn from Cicero. Here again, Augustine does not think it
necessary to name his source. The citation merely of “those who said” (ab eis qui
dixerunt) is intentional, and allows him to assign a general application to his argu-
ment against Julian,50 whom he refutes by showing that only faith in Christ makes
it possible for someone to have the true virtues.51 According to Augustine, what
has to be considered in order to distinguish virtue from vice is “the end” (finis),
that is, “the reason for the sake of which one ought to do something,” whereas
Julian considers only “duty” (officium), that is, “what one ought to do.”52 The true
virtues therefore can be only those that relate to God.53 The same action—helping
46
Contra Iulianum 4.3.19 (PL 44: 747), quoting Cicero, De inv. 2.53.159: “Non enim absurde vir-
tus definita est ab eis qui dixerunt, ‘virtus est animi habitus, naturae modo atque rationi consenta-
neus.’ Verum dixerunt, sed quid sit consentaneum liberandae ac beatificandae naturae mortalium
nescierunt.”
47
Julian, in Contra Iulianum 4.3.16 (PL 44: 744): “Sed acerbissimi gratiae huius inimici exempla
nobis opponitis impiorum, quos dicitis ‘alienos a fide abundare virtutibus, in quibus sine adiutorio
gratiae, solum est naturae bonum, licet superstitionibus mancipatum, qui solis libertatis ingenitae
viribus, et misericordes crebro, et modesti, et casti inveniuntur, et sobrii.’”
48
Contra Iulianum 4.3.16 (PL 44: 744): “Quanto, inquam, satius haec ipsa in eis dona dei esse
fatereris, sub cuius occulto iudicio, nec iniusto.” Ibid. (PL 44: 745): “quanto ergo tolerabilius illas,
quas dicis in impiis esse virtutes, divino muneri potius, quam eorum tribueres tantummodo
voluntati.”
49
Contra Iulianum 4.3.17 (PL 44: 745): “Sed absit ut sit in aliquo vera virtus, nisi fuerit iustus.
Absit autem ut sit iustus vere, nisi vivat ex fide: ‘iustus enim ex fide vivit.’”
50
On the way in which Augustine “includes or effaces the personality of the author he quotes
(Cicero), by the use of a collective expression,” see Testard (1958, 1: 299–300). Augustine also
adopts this practice when he quotes other authors; see Hagendahl (1967, 698–700).
51
Contra Iulianum 4.3.19 (PL 44: 747): “Ideo iustus ex fide Christi vivit. Ex hac enim fide pru-
denter, fortiter, temperanter, et iuste, ac per hoc his omnibus veris virtutibus recte sapienterque
vivit, quia fideliter vivit.”
52
Contra Iulianum 4.3.21 (PL 44: 749): “Noveris itaque, non officiis, sed finibus a vitiis discern-
endas esse virtutes. Officium est autem quod faciendum est: finis vero propter quod faciendum
est.”
53
Contra Iulianum 4.3.21 (PL 44: 749): “Absit autem ut virtutes verae cuiquam serviant, nisi illi
vel propter illum cui dicimus, ‘Deus virtutum, converte nos’ [Ps. 79:8].”
an innocent, for example—can thus pertain to true virtue or not, according to the
end that motivates it, be it human glory or the glory of God.54
3.3.2 R
eticence About the Definition of Virtue as a Habitus
Animi?
Augustine thus quotes Cicero’s definition of virtue as a habitus animi twice. In this
way he acknowledges its relevance, even if he considers Cicero to have been igno-
rant of what can render human nature free and happy. It is therefore surprising how
rarely he uses the word habitus to describe virtue.
One work that is an exception in this regard is De bono coniugali, in which
Augustine several times employs the antithetical pair in habitu/in opere, which
would come to be used very often in the works of medieval theologians, as Bonnie
Kent remarks.55 Augustine uses this pair in order to explain in what sense the patri-
archs practised the virtue of continence. “Continence,” explains Augustine, “is not
a virtue of the body, but of the soul. The virtues of the soul sometimes are mani-
fested in the act, and sometimes they lie hidden as a disposition.”56 The martyrs, for
example, had the opportunity to manifest their virtue, but the same virtue can be
present “within” (intus) many people.57 Job’s patience was shown in the test; con-
versely, there was no occasion for Timothy’s sobriety to be manifested, since on
Paul’s advice he drank wine moderately for the sake of his health.58 In short, virtue
can be the same, whether it is manifested externally or not. Augustine defends this
view by proposing the following definition of habitus: “Disposition (habitus) is that
by which something is done when there is a need for it; if it is not done, it is possible
for it to be done but it does not need to be done.”59 With the help of this definition,
54
Contra Iulianum 4.3.21 (PL 44: 749): “Bonum est enim ut subveniatur homini periclitanti, prae-
sertim innocenti: sed ille qui hoc facit, si amando gloriam hominum magis quam Dei facit, non
bene bonum facit; quia non bonus facit, quod non bona voluntate facit.”
55
Cf. her chapter in the present volume, p. 67–85.
56
De bono coniugali 21.25 (CSEL 41: 219): “uirtutes autem animi aliquando in opere manifestan-
tur, aliquando in habitu latent.” As B. Kent noted in the present volume (see p. 73), using the term
habitus in this manner is paradoxical, for it amounts to saying that one can have a habitus which
never comes into use.
57
De bono coniugali 21.25 (CSEL 41: 219): “[…] sicut martyrii uirtus eminuit apparuitque tole-
rando passiones. sed quam multi sunt in eadem uirtute animi, quibus temptatio deest, qua id, quod
intus est in conspectu Dei, etiam in hominum procedat nec tunc esse incipiat, sed tunc
innotescat!”
58
De bono coniugali 21.25 (CSEL 41: 219): “habebat utique et Timotheus uirtutem continendi a
uino, quam non ei abstulit Paulus monendo, ut ‘uino modico’ uteretur ‘propter stomachum et fre-
quentes suas infirmitates’ [1 Timothy 5:23] – alioquin perniciose docebat, ut propter salutem cor-
poris fieret in animo damnum uirtutis – sed quia poterat ea uirtute salua fieri quod monebat, ita
relaxata est corpori utilitas bibendi, ut maneret in animo habitus continendi.”
59
De bono coniugali 21.25 (CSEL 41: 219): “Ipse est enim habitus, quo aliquid agitur, cum opus
est; cum autem non agitur, potest agi, sed non opus est.”
56 I. Bochet
Augustine is able to resolve the difficulty raised by the case of Abraham, who can
hardly be said to have practised the virtue of continence:
One sees that the virtue of continence should always be as a disposition of the soul (in
habitu animi), and that it manifests itself in act (in opere) in favourable circumstances and
time. In this way the holy martyrs’ virtue of patience was shown in act (in opere), while that
of other men who were their equals in saintliness remained as a disposition (in habitu). For
this reason, just as the patience of Peter, who suffered, is not greater than that of John, who
did not suffer, so the continence of John, who did not experience marriage, is not greater
than that of Abraham, who fathered children. The celibacy of the one and the marriage of
the other soldiered for Christ according to the demands of the times; but John had conti-
nence in act as well (et in opere), whereas Abraham had it only as a disposition (in solo
habitu).60
Augustine is thus able to conclude that, although Abraham certainly did not practise
the chastity of celibacy, but only that of marriage, he nonetheless had both as disposi-
tions.61 The use of the antithetical pair in habitu animi/in opere is specific to De bono
coniugali.62 This can most likely be explained by the need to defend the virtue of the
patriarchs against the accusations of the Manicheans.63 There is a similar opposition
in De sancta virginitate—it is possible to obtain the crown of the martyr “vel in habitu
animi […] vel in ipsa passionis experientia”64—but these two works together make up
a kind of diptych.65 The use of the pair in habitu/in opere (or in usu), which Augustine
devised to solve a difficulty raised by the Manicheans, is just one instance among
many others of the creativity of the bishop of Hippo. The other passages where the
expression habitus animi is used to characterize virtue are few and not significant.
How then should we explain Augustine’s seeming reticence with regard to
Cicero’s definition of virtue? This reticence appears already in De moribus eccle-
siae, which had been written by 388–389. The starting point of the argument in this
work is the principle of the universal will for happiness, derived from Cicero’s
Hortensius.66 Augustine takes care to show that the highest good can come only
60
De bono coniugali 21.26 (CSEL 41: 221): “[…] qui uident continentiae uirtutem in habitu animi
semper esse debere, in opere autem pro rerum ac temporum opportunitate manifestari, sicut uirtus
patientiae sanctorum martyrum in opere apparuit, ceterorum vero aeque sanctorum in habitu fuit.
Quocirca sicut non est inpar meritum patientiae in Petro, qui passus est, et in Iohanne, qui passus
non est, sic non est inpar meritum continentiae in Iohanne, qui nullas expertus est nuptias, et in
Abraham, qui filios generauit. Et illius enim celibatus et illius conubium pro temporum distribu-
tione Christo militauerunt; sed continentiam Iohannes et in opere, Abraham uero in solo habitu
habebat.”
61
De bono coniugali 22.27 (CSEL 41: 222): “quarum Abraham unam habebat in usu, ambas in
habitu.”
62
See also De bono coniugali 23.31 (CSEL 41: 226), 24.32 (228).
63
See Berrouard (1992, cols. 658–666, esp. 658–660).
64
De sancta virginitate 45.46 (CSEL 41: 291): “[…] aut coronam martyrii uel in habitu animi,
etiamsi desit temptationis examen, uel in ipsa passionis experientia constitutam cuilibet illarum
trium castitati sine ullo incremento fertilitatis adcedere existimemus.”
65
See De sancta virginitate 1.1 (CSEL 41: 235–236); Berrouard (1992, col. 659).
66
De moribus ecclesiae catholicae (De mor. eccl. cath.) 3.4 (CSEL 90: 6; = Cicero, Hortensius, ed.
Grilli, fr. 59b): “Beate certe omnes uiuere uolumus neque quisquam est in hominum genere, qui
non huic sententiae, antequam plane sit emissa, consentiat.”
from God, and not from virtue. It is true that virtue perfects the soul, but it is not in
itself the highest good, since this would presuppose that someone who uses his rea-
son and will perfectly is himself the highest good.67 This is precisely what Augustine
wants to avoid, in order to establish that the soul must seek the highest good outside
itself:
Therefore, either virtue is outside the soul, or—if you want to call virtue only the disposi-
tion itself or a kind of quality of the wise soul (nisi habitum ipsum et quasi sapientis animae
qualitatem) which can be only in the soul—it is necessary that the soul follow something
else in order for virtue to be able to arise in it, since, as far as my reason can understand, it
cannot get to wisdom by following nothing, nor by following foolishness.68
Augustine thus marks out where his position differs from Stoicism: virtue presup-
poses participation in God. It is nothing other than the love of God, and its forms are
the four cardinal virtues.69 Though he appeals to a well-known classification,
Augustine in this way develops his own original definition70 of the four virtues:
Those four virtues—may the power of all of them be in people’s minds just as their names
are on their lips!—I would not hesitate to define as follows: temperance is complete love
that gives itself to that which is loved; courage is love that bears everything easily for the
sake of that which is loved; justice is love that serves only that which is loved and which for
that reason commands rightly; and prudence is love that wisely distinguishes that by which
it is helped from that by which it is impeded.71
This definition of virtue as love has a long history in Augustine’s writings. It is

found, for example, in letter 155 to Macedonius:
In this life virtue is nothing other than loving what ought to be loved. To choose it is pru-
dence; not to be turned away from it by any hindrances is courage; not to be turned away
from it by any temptations is temperance; not to be turned away from it by any pride is
justice.72
67
See Coyle (1978, 320).
68
De mor. eccl. cath. 6.9 (CSEL 90: 12): “Aut igitur uirtus est praeter animam, aut si non placet
uocare uirtutem, nisi habitum ipsum et quasi sapientis animae qualitatem, quae nisi in anima esse
non potest, oportet aliquid aliud sequatur anima, ut ei uirtus possit innasci, quia neque nihil
sequendo neque stultitiam sequendo potest, quantum ratio mea fert, ad sapientiam peruenire.” Cf.
K. Trego’s chapter in the present volume, p. 87–106.
69
De mor. eccl. cath. 15.25 (CSEL 90: 29): “Quod si uirtus ad beatam vitam nos ducit, nihil omnino
esse uirtutem affirmauerim nisi summum amorem Dei. Namque illud quod quadripartita dicitur
virtus, ex ipsius amoris uario quodam affectu, quantum intelligo, dicitur.”
70
See Thomas Deman (1955, 720–721). Ambrose, by contrast, makes justice the basis of his defini-
tion of the four virtues in De Abraham 2.10 (CSEL 32.1: 624); see Coyle (1978, 345–346).
71
De mor. eccl. cath. 15.25 (CSEL 90: 29–30): “Itaque illas quattuor uirtutes, quarum utinam ita in
mentibus uis ut nomina in ore sunt omnium, sic etiam definire non dubitem, ut temperantia sit amor
integrum se praebens ei quod amatur, fortitudo amor facile tolerans omnia propter quod amatur,
iustitia amor soli amato seruiens et propterea recte dominans, prudentia amor ea quibus adiuuatur
ab eis quibus impeditur sagaciter seligens.” See Doignon (1988, 178–180; 1983, 285–291).
72
Epist. 155.4.13 (CSEL 44: 443): “Quamquam et in hac uita uirtus non est nisi diligere, quod dili-
gendum est; id eligere prudentia est, nullis inde auerti molestiis fortitudo est, nullis inlecebris
temperantia est, nulla superbia iustitia est.”
58 I. Bochet
The rest of the letter explains that this love is the love of God, without which one
would not be able to truly love oneself or love one’s neighbour as oneself.73 Thus,
all true virtue comes from caritas, as Augustine states concisely in letter 167 to
Jerome: “Virtue is the charity by which one loves what ought to be loved.”74 It fol-
lows that the virtues are in their very principle gifts of God—or more precisely,
since charity is the gift of the Holy Spirit,75 they are gifts of the Holy Spirit that are
given to us by the mediation of Christ.76 They are thus not dispositions that man
acquires by himself and to which God assigns an appropriate end; rather, the gift of
God comes first, and without this gift there can be no true virtues.
This is perhaps what ultimately explains Augustine’s reticence about Cicero’s
definition of virtue as a habitus animi. Rather than suggesting that we do not cease
to receive virtue, the Ciceronian definition suggests that we can acquire and possess
it by ourselves. In response to Julian’s insistence on the role of the human will in the
acquisition of virtue, Augustine retorts: “‘The will is provided by the Lord’ [Prov.
8:35 Septuagint], for as the apostle says, ‘It is God who works in you that you will’
[Phil. 2:13].”77 For Augustine, the gift of grace is not the infusion of a disposition
that someone will possess once he has received it. Rather, a good will is always at
the same time both God’s and ours: it results from the continuous collaboration of
grace and free will, and thus presupposes a constant dependency in relation to God.
From this it can be understood why Augustine does not much insist on the role
of the will in the acquisition of virtue, but on the contrary emphasizes its crucial role
as the principle of a consuetudo mala.78 He explains this in book 8 of the Confessions,
for example, to account for his inability to free himself from carnal passion: “From
a perverse will arises passion (libido), and when passion is served there arises habit
(consuetudo), and when habit is not resisted there arises necessity.”79 In this chain
engendering servitude, consuetudo has the determining role, but consuetudo itself
proceeds from the will; for as Augustine says, it “was made more aggressive against
73
See Epist. 155.4.13–15 (CSEL 44: 443–446).
74
Epist. 167.4.15 (CSEL 44: 602): “Et ut generaliter breuiterque complectar, quam de uirtute
habeo notionem, quod ad recte uiuendum adtinet, uirtus est caritas, qua id quod diligendum est,
diligitur.”
75
See Romans 5:5 Septuagint: “quia caritas Dei diffusa est in cordibus nostris per spiritum sanc-
tum, qui datus est nobis.” Augustine quotes this passage many times; see La Bonnardière (1954).
76
Epist. 155.4.16 (CSEL 44: 446): “His uirtutibus divinitus impertitis per gratiam mediatoris Dei
cum patre et nobiscum hominis Christi Iesu. Per quem post inimicitias iniquitatis reconciliamur
Deo in spiritu caritatis, his, inquam, uirtutibus diuinitus impertitis et bona vita nunc agitur et postea
praemium eius, quae nisi aeterna esse non potest, beata uita persolvitur.”
77
Contra Iulianum 4.3.156 (PL 44: 744): “[…] quoniam ‘praeparatur voluntas a domino’ [Prov.
8:35 Septuagint]; et, ‘Deus est enim,’ ut ait apostolus, ‘qui operatur in vobis et velle’ [Phil. 2:13].”
On the association of Proverbs 8:35 and Philippians 2:13 and on Contra Iulianum, see Sage (1964,
4, 7–8).
78
See Prendiville (1972). Study of the idea of consuetudo in the Augustinian corpus reveals a pre-
ponderance of the negative sense, at least as regards moral life; see Zumkeller (1994, cols.
1255–1257).
79
Conf. 8.5.10 (CCL 27: 119): “Quippe ex uoluntate peruersa facta est libido, et dum seruitur
libidini, facta est consuetudo, et dum consuetudini non resistitur, facta est necessitas.”
me because of me, since I had come willingly to where I did not will to come.”80
Augustine’s insistence on the responsibility of willing in the coming to be of a car-
nal habit is motivated by his anti-Manichean perspective: God is in no way respon-
sible for the evil that I do. There is thus an asymmetry between virtue and bad
conduct: virtue is primarily a gift of God that renders the will capable of doing
good, whereas bad conduct that becomes consuetudo results primarily from a
human’s free choice.
3.4 H
abitus as an Accident: Diverse Questions 73 and De
Trinitate
3.4.1 Diverse Questions 73 and Its Presuppositions
As I noted in the introduction, it is only in question 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions

that Augustine explicitly discusses the senses of the term habitus, its definition, and
its peculiarities. The deepening of the notion is motivated by an exegetical diffi-
culty: how should we understand Paul’s statement in Philippians 2:7, “et habitu
inventus ut homo,” without calling into question the immutability of the only Son of
God?81 It is well known that the doctrine of the Incarnation drew attacks from
pagans. Celsus, for example, expresses astonishment: “Who would choose a change
like this? It is the nature only of a mortal being to undergo change and remoulding,
whereas it is the nature of an immortal being to remain the same without alteration.”82
Tertullian in Against Praxeas takes care to rule out understanding the Incarnation of
the Word as its transfiguration into flesh, for God, since He is eternal, is not subject
either to change or to receiving a form.83
The phrase et habitu inventus ut homo in Philippians 2:7 might lead us to sup-
pose that the Son of God was “converted or transformed into a man by losing his
unshakeable immutability,”84 if a habitus necessarily implies a modification of the
substance affected by it. The analysis that Augustine presents in question 73 of the
80
Conf. 8.5.11 (CCL 27: 120): “Sed tamen consuetudo aduersus me pugnacior ex me facta erat,
quoniam uolens quo nollem perueneram.”
81
For a discussion of Philippians 2:7–8 (“He made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a
servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled
himself”) in contemporary exegesis, see Aletti (2005, 162–164).
82
Celsus, in Origen, Contra Celsum 4.14 (trans. Chadwick, 192–193).
83
Tertullian, Adversus Praxean 27.6 (CCL 2: 1199): “Igitur sermo in carne; tum et de hoc quaer-
endum quomodo sermo caro sit factus, utrumne quasi transfiguratus in carne an indutus carnem.
Immo indutus ceterum Deum inmutabilem et informabilem credi necesse est ut aeternum.
Transfiguratio autem interemptio est pristini: omne enim, quodcumque transfiguratur in aliud,
desinit esse quod fuerat et incipit esse quod non erat. Deus autem neque desinit esse neque aliud
potest esse.”
84
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 211): “neque conuersus et transmutatus in hominem amissa
incommutabili stabilitate.”
60 I. Bochet
83 Diverse Questions presupposes just such an understanding of habitus. Indeed, he

says explicitly that “habitus is used to refer to a thing that must come upon us in
order for us to have it” (Habitus ergo in ea re dicitur quae nobis ut habeatur accidit);
in other words, habitus is something contingent and accidental. The term accidere
is used repeatedly in the text that follows, as well as the verb mutare. Augustine asks
whether the different kinds of habitus are modified by their subject or modify it. As
well, he notes that “the disposition (habitus) that lies in the acquisition of wisdom
and knowledge in Greek is called ἓξις.”85 The use of Greek words is very rare in the
83 Diverse Questions, which suggests that Augustine might here be recalling his
reading of Aristotle’s Categories, which he probably knew by way of a Latin para-
phrase called the Categoriae decem.86 In the Confessions, he says that he had read
by himself “a certain work of Aristotle called ‘The Ten Categories’,”87 and that he
had understood it. He presents it as follows:
It seemed to me that this work spoke clearly enough about substances, such as a man, and
what is in them, such as the shape of a man (what he is like), his height (how many feet tall
he is), his kinship (whose brother he is), or where he is located and when he was born, or
whether he is seated or standing, or whether he is wearing shoes or is armed, or whether he
is doing something or whether something is being done to him, and all the innumerable
things belonging to these nine kinds (of which I have given examples) or to the kind of
substance itself.88
The examples of wearing shoes and being armed, which are also mentioned in ques-
tion 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions,89 correspond exactly to the ones that Aristotle
gives for ekhein (to possess, to be in a state) in chapter 4 of the Categories, which
also appear in the Latin paraphrase.90 Augustine does not mention the distinction
85
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 212), quoted in note 5 above.
86
Anonymi paraphrasis Themistiana (Pseudo-Augustini Categoriae decem) (AL 1.1–5: 129–175).
Marius Victorinus had translated the Categories into Latin, and it is often thought that Augustine
had access to this translation; see Marrou (1938, 34), Courcelle (1943, 156), Kenny (2005, 130–
133). According to Minio-Paluello (1945, 68; AL 1.1–5: lxxvii–lxxx), the Categoriae decem could
be a translation by Albinus. For a new discussion of this question, see the introduction by
Christophe Erismann and Kristell Trego to their edition and French translation of the Categoriae
decem (forthcoming).
87
See Conf. 4.16.28 (CCL 27: 54): “Et quid mihi proderat, quod annos natus ferme uiginti, cum in
manus meas uenissent Aristotelica quaedam, quas appellant decem categorias […] legi eas solus et
intellexi?”
88
Conf. 4.16.28 (CCL 27: 54): “Et satis aperte mihi uidebantur loquentes de substantiis, sicuti est
homo, et quae in illis essent, sicuti est figura hominis, qualis sit et statura, quot pedum sit, et cog-
natio, cuius frater sit, aut ubi sit constitutus aut quando natus, aut stet aut sedeat, aut calciatus vel
armatus sit aut aliquid faciat aut patiatur aliquid, et quaecumque in his nouem generibus, quorum
exempli gratia quaedam posui, vel in ipso substantiae genere innumerabilia reperiuntur.”
89
De div. quaest. 73.1 (CCL 44A: 209): “[…] uel habitum eorum quae membris nostris accom-
modantur extrinsecus, secundum quem dicimus uestitum, calciatum, armatum et si quid eiusmodi
est.”
90
Categoriae decem §53 (AL 1.1–5: 144): “Alia sunt extra usian: ubi, quando, habere (et locus
enim ad usian non pertinet, et tempus et vestiri uel armari ab usia separata sunt).” Cf. Aristotle, Cat.
4, 2a3.
that Aristotle makes in chapter 8 between a state (hexis) and a disposition (diathe-
sis), according to which a state is “something more stable and more durable.” This
distinction is taken up in the Latin paraphrase,91 but Augustine is more interested in
the ways in which habitus might be modified. As he remarks at the start, “We speak
of habitus in many ways” (multis modis habitum dicimus),92 which echoes the simi-
lar formulation in chapter 15 of the Categories (“‘Having’ is said in several ways”)
and that of section 116 of the Categoriae decem (Non uno modo habere aliquid
dicimur).93 Indeed, Augustine’s classification of the various kinds of habitus is
guided by his consideration of the different senses of the verb habere, but where the
paraphrase lists eight senses, Augustine distinguishes only three cases, though he
also uses the example of a ring on a finger, which is also in the Latin paraphrase.94
3.4.2 Augustine’s Argument in Diverse Questions 73
Question 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions has a very clear structure. First, Augustine
enumerates three ways in which the word habitus can be used: as a disposition of
the soul (habitus animi), for example, the acquisition of knowledge; as a state of the
body (habitus corporis), for example, being in better health and stronger than some-
one else; and as what we wear on the exterior of our body, for example, being
clothed, wearing shoes, being armed, and so on. This makes it possible for him to
give a general definition of habitus, on the basis of its etymology (habere), as “that
which is accidental to something in such a way that it could also not have it” (in ea
re dici habitum, quae accidit alicui ita ut eam possit etiam non habere). He then
applies this definition to the three cases previously listed, in order to show, first, that
a disposition is always something that is advenient or accidental (accidit), and sec-
ond, that it could fail to be present without thereby calling into question the soul or
the body. In other words, a habitus is always an “accident.”
Second, he discusses the modifications that are produced by the different kinds
of habitus. He systematically examines all the possible cases: a habitus modifies its
subject without itself being modified (for example, if someone acquires wisdom); a
habitus and its subject are both modified (for example, if the body takes food); the
habitus is modified but its subject is not (for example, a piece of clothing takes on
the shape of the body wearing it but the body itself is not modified, whether clothed
or unclothed); and finally, neither the habitus nor its subject is modified (for exam-
ple, when one puts a ring on one’s finger), though this fourth case is presented as a
debatable hypothesis.
91
Aristotle, Cat. 8, 8b27–29; Categoriae decem §116 (AL 1.1–5: 160).
92
De div. quaest. 73.1 (CCL 44A: 209).
93
Aristotle, Cat. 15, 15b17; Categoriae decem §147 (AL 1.1–5: 167).
94
De div. quaest. 73.1 (CCL 44A: 210): “sicut anulus digito.” Categoriae decem §147 (AL 1.1–5:
168): “[…] ut in digito anulum, in pede calceos vel cothurnos.” Cf. Aristotle, Cat. 15, 15b22–23.
62 I. Bochet
Third, Augustine applies his analysis to Philippians 2:7 in order to determine the
sense in which it is said of the Son of God that he was habitu inventus ut homo, that
is, what kind of habitus is involved when the Son of God appears as a man before
the eyes of men. Augustine situates the expression in Philippians 2:7 within the
context of the whole hymn, and explains that the Son of God “was not changed or
transformed into a man with his immutable stability lost, but by taking on true
humanity […] was recognized as a man by his habitus, that is, by having humanity
(id est habendo hominem).”95 He therefore concludes that this habitus of the Son of
God cannot be of the first type, since human nature did not modify the divine nature;
nor can it be of the second type, since it is false that both were changed; nor of the
fourth type, since humanity was changed. Thus, it has to be concluded that this
habitus is of the third type, since “humanity was assumed in order to be transformed
for the better, and to receive a form (formaretur) that is ineffably more perfect and
more closely joined than a piece of clothing is when someone puts it on.”96 How
should this change produced by the Incarnation be understood? Augustine elabo-
rates a little further on: “By uniting man with itself in a certain way and conforming
itself (conformans) [to man], [the Word] associated [man] with its immortality and
eternity.”97 Though this change primarily affects the man that the Word assumes, it
is clear that the Incarnation has as its end to make possible the union of humans with
God; this point is not made explicitly in question 73 but it appears in the first
Enarrationes in Psalmos on the topic of Christus totus.98
Augustine concludes his discussion by finding confirmation in the Greek word
translated into Latin as habitus, which Paul uses at Philippians 2:7, that is, skhēma,
a word which Augustine claims is more appropriately applied to being clothed or
armed than is the word hexis. The analogy used for thinking about the connection
between the Son of God and the humanity that He assumes is thus that of a piece of
clothing. This has the advantage of ruling out any alteration in the divinity, but also
the disadvantage of implying a pure exteriority, for “the taking on of humanity
95
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 211): “neque conuersus et transmutatus in hominem amissa
incommutabili stabilitate, sed tamquam uerum hominem suscipiendo ipse susceptor in similitudi-
nem hominum factus [Phil. 2:7] non sibi sed eis quibus in homine apparuit et habitu inuentus ut
homo [Phil. 2:7], id est habendo hominem inuentus ut homo est.”
96
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 211): “sic enim assumptus est, ut commutaretur in melius, et ab
eo formaretur ineffabiliter excellentius atque coniunctius quam uestis ab homine cum induitur.”
97
De div. quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 211–212): “Hoc ergo nomine habitus satis significauit apostolus,
quemadmodum dixerit in similitudinem hominum factus [Phil. 2:7], quia non transfiguratione in
hominem, sed habitu factus est, cum indutus est hominem, quem sibi uniens quodammodo atque
conformans immortalitati aeternitatique sociaret.” Cf. In Ps. 3.3 (CCL 40: 8), which strongly
emphasizes the personal unity of Christ: “[…] ille, quem sic suscepit Dei Verbum, ut simul cum eo
Deus fieret. […] Mentem ipsam humanam hic accipiendam puto, […] quae ita inhaesit et quodam-
modo coaluit excellenti supereminentiae uerbi hominem suscipientis, ut tanta passionis humilitate
non deponeretur.” On the formulations for the Incarnation in Augustine’s early writings, see
Hombert (2012).
98
See, e.g., In Ps. 15.5 (CCL 40: 90): “portio calicis mei Dominus est. Quod dico mei, adiungo
ecclesiam; quia ubi caput, ibi et corpus.” Cf. Hombert (2012, 456–461).
united in an effable way that which was taken on with the one who took it on.”99
Augustine’s ultimate reservations about the insufficiency of human language for
expressing the ineffable show clearly that he is aware of the limitations of the anal-
ogy for thinking about the Incarnation. Nevertheless, he uses it quite often in his
writings—even as he corrects it—in order to emphasize that the visible manifesta-
tion of the Word in the Incarnation does not involve any transformation in the divine
nature.100
3.4.3 I n Deo autem nihil quidem secundum accidens dicitur

(De Trinitate 5.5.6)
Augustine’s concern in question 73 is thus to rule out any alteration of the divinity
in the Incarnation, such as one might be led to imagine by Paul’s use of the term
habitus in Philippians 2:7. It is to remove any ambiguity on this point that Augustine
makes free use of the Categoriae decem. A similar concern can be seen in book 5 of
De Trinitate, where he refers to nine of the ten categories—quality, quantity, rela-
tion, position, having, place, time, action, and passion101—in order to rule out any
language that is not appropriate to speaking about God:
Let us thus conceive of God, if we are able, as much as we are able, as good without quality,
great without size, a creator without need, present without place, containing all but without
having (sine habitu), “everywhere whole without place,” eternal without time, making all
things without any change in Himself, and suffering nothing.102
Shortly after this, Augustine provides a justification for this way of speaking. It is
meant to rule out attributing anything to God as an accident, for there can be no
change in God:
Nothing in Him is spoken of as an accident, since nothing is accidental to Him. However,
not everything that is spoken of Him is spoken of as a substance, for among all created and
99
De div quaest. 73.2 (CCL 44A: 212): “[…] quamquam illa susceptio ineffabiliter susceptum
suscipienti copulauerit.”
100
See, for example, De libero arbitrio 3.10.30 (CCL 29: 293): “cibus rationalis creaturae factus
est uisibilis, non commutatione naturae suae sed habitu nostrae, ut uisibilia sectantes ad se inuisi-
bilem reuocaret.” Cf. van Bavel (1954, 34–37).
101
Cf. Aristotle, Cat. 4, 1b25–27; Categoriae decem §50 (AL 1.1–5: 144): “Eorum ergo quae nulla
sui copulatione dicuntur, quodcumque singulare dictum fuerit aut usian significat aut quantitatem
aut qualitatem aut ad aliquid aut iacere aut facere aut pati aut ubi aut quando aut habere. Hae sunt
categoriae decem, quarum prima usia est – scilicet quae novem ceteras sustinet – reliquae vero
novem συμβεβηκότα (id est accidentia) sunt.” Compare the text that follows with De Trin. 5.7.8
(CCL 50: 213–214), where Augustine explicitly enumerates that categories, illustrating them with
examples that are often similar to those in the Categoriae decem.
102
De Trin. 5.1.2 (CCL 50: 207): “[…] ut sic intellegamus deum si possumus, quantum possumus,
sine qualitate bonum, sine quantitate magnum, sine indigentia creatorem, sine situ praesentem,
sine habitu omnia continentem, sine loco ubique totum, sine tempore sempiternum, sine ulla sui
mutatione mutabilia facientem nihilque patientem.”
64 I. Bochet
mutable things, that which is not spoken of as a substance can be spoken of only as an
accident. For everything [else] is accidental to them: what can be lost or diminished, both
quantities and qualities, and what is said in relation to something, such as friendships, prox-
imities, servitudes, similarities, equalities, and anything else of this kind; and positions and
havings (habitus), and places and times, and actions and passions. But in God nothing is
spoken of as an accident, since nothing in Him is mutable; nor however is everything that is
said of Him spoken of as a substance.103
Accordingly, the passages from Scripture that attribute to God a position, a mode of
being, a place, or a time should be interpreted “not in the proper sense, but in a figu-
rative sense and according to similarity.” For example, when it is said in Psalms
103:6 that He is “draped with the abyss as with a piece of clothing,” this expression,
which involves habitus, must be metaphorical.104
These clarifications were called for because of the need to refute the Arian argu-
ment. They show that Augustine makes direct use of the Categoriae decem, but they
add nothing specific as regards habitus.
3.5 Conclusion
In light of this analysis of Augustine’s uses of the term habitus, we can conclude
that his contribution to the development of the idea is rather limited. The term does
not fit easily within his teaching as a whole, for it is not really well suited for show-
ing that virtue is a gift of God, and was more a source of difficulty in his Christology.
The distinction between in habitu and in opere that Augustine introduces in the De
bono coniugali, though he hardly makes use of it in the rest of his works, nonethe-
less enjoyed great prosperity among medieval theologians. Question 73 of the 83
Diverse Questions reveals that Augustine had a more detailed knowledge of
Aristotle’s Categories than is often claimed. The difficulties raised by the use of the
word habitus in Philippians 2:7 in fact are linked with the fact that he interpreted it
on his own as equivalent to the Greek word hexis used by Aristotle in the Categories.
103
De Trin. 5.4.6 (CCL 50: 210): “nihil in eo secundum accidens dicitur, quia nihil ei accidit; nec
tamen omne quod dicitur, secundum substantiam dicitur. In rebus enim creatis atque mutabilibus
quod non secundum substantiam dicitur, restat ut secundum accidens dicatur. Omnia enim accid-
unt eis, quae uel amitti possunt uel minui, et magnitudines et qualitates; et quod dicitur ad aliquid
sicut amicitiae, propinquitates, seruitutes, similitudines, aequalitates, et si qua huiusmodi; et situs
et habitus, et loca et tempora, et opera atque passiones. In deo autem nihil quidem secundum acci-
dens dicitur, quia nihil in eo mutabile est; nec tamen omne quod dicitur, secundum substantiam
dicitur.”
104
De Trin. 5.8.9 (CCL 50: 215–216): “Situs uero et habitus et loca et tempora non proprie sed
translate ac per similitudines dicuntur in deo. Nam et sedere super cherubim dicitur, quod ad situm
dicitur; et abyssus tamquam uestimentum amictus ipsius [Ps. 103:6], quod ad habitum; et anni tui
non deficient [Ps. 101:28; Heb. 1:12], quod ad tempus; et si ascendero in caelum, tu ibi es [Ps.
138:8], quod ad locum.”
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Schwabe.
Chapter 4
Speaking Theologically: The Concept
of habitus in Peter Lombard and His
Followers
Bonnie Kent
Abstract This essay examines the theological concept of a habitus, the problems it
was intended to solve, and how it was developed by masters of Paris in the late
twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. I argue that Peter Lombard and Peter of
Poitiers embraced the broad concept of a habitus they found in Augustine’s work:
that by which something is done when there is a need. A habitus, then, did not have
to be acquired by practice, and it might never be manifest in the agent’s behaviour,
because the need for it might never arise. This conception of a habitus was wide
enough to encompass both naturally acquired dispositions and God-given disposi-
tions, such as the virtues that theologians thought young children received through
the grace of baptism. On the other hand, neither Peter Lombard nor Peter of Poitiers
tried to explain how an adult with a virtuous habitus could fail to exercise it when
appropriate circumstances arose. Stephen Langton broke new ground in arguing
that an adult with a virtuous habitus might still lack the necessary power or strength
to resist temptation. Stephen’s effort to account for moral failure by appealing to
empirical psychology represents a step beyond the more idealized (and philosophi-
cally puzzling) teachings of his predecessors.
Keywords Augustine · Peter Abelard · Peter Lombard · Peter of Poitiers · Stephen

Langton · Baptism · habitus · Merit · Temptation · Virtues · Connection of virtues ·
Infused virtues
4.1 Introduction
One of the earliest Latin commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, probably origi-
nating in the Paris arts faculty around 1235–1240, calls attention to conflicts between
Christian theology and the teachings of ancient philosophers. Since ancient philoso-
phers present virtues as habitus naturally acquired through learning and practice,
B. Kent (*)
School of Humanities, University of California, Irvine, CA, USA
e-mail: bkent@uci.edu

68 B. Kent
while theologians present them as supernaturally infused gifts of grace, modern

readers might expect the idea of virtue as a habitus to be among the areas of discord.
The commentator, however, mentions no dispute about the notion of virtue as a
habitus. According to his report, theologians agree that virtue is a habitus but dis-
agree about the relation between virtue and morally good actions. The philosophers
teach that we acquire virtuous habitus by morally good actions caused by our will.
From their perspective, we ourselves are the only source of virtue, and good actions
necessarily precede a virtuous habitus. But “speaking theologically,” the commen-
tator remarks, “we must say that a good habitus necessarily precedes every good
action,” so that the good is infused by God and “we are not the only source.”1
We should not assume that the commentator is simply mistaken about the views
of theologians. Odon Lottin’s seminal research shows that theologians of the late
twelfth and early thirteenth centuries commonly spoke of infused virtues as habi-
tus.2 The puzzle is why they found nothing objectionable about this characteriza-
tion. Scholars often claim that they borrowed the conception of virtue as a habitus
from works by ancient philosophers and extended it to virtues infused by God’s
grace.3 If we associate the concept of a habitus with habituation—a link reinforced
by the English translation of habitus as “habit”—then the idea of a divinely infused
habitus looks like it simply must be an extension of ancient philosophy. Thus the
classification of infused virtues as habitus becomes part of a much larger historical
narrative about the influence of ancient philosophy, especially Aristotle’s teachings,
on medieval theology. This story is very old indeed. We can find a version of it as
early as the sixteenth century, in Martin Luther’s annotations on Book I of Peter
Lombard’s Sentences.4 Regrettably, old stories often turn out to be untrue.
The historical evidence suggests a different story: that the theologians of Paris
readily accepted the idea of virtue as a habitus mainly because of the influence of
Peter Lombard and his followers. They drew their concept of a habitus not from
ancient philosophy but from Augustine, who himself described virtues as habitus—
meaning dispositions (not habits) produced by God’s grace. Of course, they adapted
his concept of a disposition to solve problems of their own era. One important
1
Paris Nat. lat. 3804 A, ed. Lottin (1957, 521): “Dicendum est quod loquendo theologice oportet
dicere quod habitus de necessitate precedit omnem operationem bonam. […] [D]icunt theologi
quod bonum est infusum a Deo quo dirigete bene operamur. Et sic non sumus solum principium
boni, sed nos cum alio. […] Aliter potest dici, et ista solutio est secundum philosophos et non
secundum theologos; et tunc dicendum est quod nos sumus principium virtutis tantum; unde
voluntas que est in nobis existens et determinata est causa operationis; que operatio causat virtu-
tem; et secundum istum modum dicendum est quod operationes de necessitate antecedunt et nullus
habitus antecedit operationes in moralibus.” All translations in this essay are my own.
2
Excerpts from relevant texts are given by Lottin (1949).
3
For examples see Ozment (1980, 31–32), McGrath (1986, 93), Nederman (1989–1990), and
Colish (1993). Colish rightly protests the tendency to overstate Aristotle’s influence on theological
discussions of habitus, though she herself fails to recognize the influence of Augustine.
4
Luther attributes the idea of charity as a habitus to the influence of Aristotle, “a stinking philoso-
pher” (rancidus philosophus). This particular remark has attracted the attention of scholars since
the pioneering study of Vignaux (1935). For a recent discussion of it, see Rosemann (2007,
180–183).
4 Speaking Theologically: The Concept of habitus in Peter Lombard and His… 69
a daptation was the thesis that children receive virtues “in disposition” (in habitu),
though not “in use” or “in action,” through the grace of baptism. In 1201 Pope
Innocent III presented this as doctrine consistent with the faith, though he did not
officially endorse it. Less than 20 years later, virtually all theologians had come to
accept it.5
As later medieval scholars studied newly translated works by Aristotle and his
commentators, there was a growing number of disputes about exactly what a dispo-
sition is, what role moral dispositions play in human action, and related issues. In
this essay, though, I want to focus mainly on the concept of a disposition developed
earlier, by theologians with limited access to Aristotle’s works and little interest in
his ethical teachings. I will begin with a brief summary of Augustine’s account of a
disposition and the problems it was intended to solve. Next I will discuss how
Augustine’s account was developed by three highly influential theologians of Paris:
Peter Lombard, Peter of Poitiers, and Stephen Langton. I will close by arguing that
their concept of a disposition should not be compared with Aristotle’s and dismissed
as worthless. The concept of a disposition varies from one era to another, and can
even vary between different thinkers of the same era, depending upon the specific
problems they are trying to solve. For evidence one need only look to philosophy as
it stands now, where the concept of a disposition dominant in metaphysics differs
significantly from the concept of a disposition dominant in virtue ethics.
Despite the influence of their work in the Middle Ages, the three theologians I
will discuss rarely receive much attention in histories of philosophy. Peter Lombard
is remembered mainly for composing the Sentences (ca. 1155–1158), the standard
theology textbook used in universities of the Latin West from the mid-thirteenth
century all the way to the sixteenth.6 The Sentences itself, however, now attracts
much less interest than later medieval commentaries on it do, so that specialists in
medieval philosophy may devote a great deal of time to studying the commentaries
without reading more than a few pages of the Sentences itself. In his own day Peter’s
work enjoyed far more respect. He taught for many years at the cathedral school of
Notre Dame, was consulted on controversial issues by Pope Eugene II, and ulti-
mately became the bishop of Paris.7 Peter of Poitiers studied theology under Peter
Lombard, taught at Paris from 1167 to 1193, and served as chancellor of Notre
Dame from 1193 until his death in 1205. His chief work, the Five Books of Sentences
(Sententiarum libri quinque, ca. 1167–1170), uses Aristotelian dialectic to defend
an un-Aristotelian account of virtuous dispositions.8 Stephen Langton usually
appears in history books as the archbishop of Canterbury who participated in the
stormy negotiations leading to the Magna Carta. He figures in histories of theology
as an influential master of theology at the University of Paris (ca. 1180–1206), a
friend and adviser to Pope Innocent III, and the author of what some scholars
5
According to the testimony of Robert de Courçon, quoted by Lottin (1949, 136).
6
During the Middle Ages, even Thomas Aquinas’s own order, the Dominicans, did not use his
(now) famous Summa theologiae as a theology textbook.
7
See Colish (1994, 15–32).
8
For biographical information see Baldwin (1970, 44–45).
70 B. Kent
c onsider the first commentary on Peter Lombard’s Sentences.9 In this essay I will
draw on Stephen’s (unfinished) Summa, a text where he develops his own account
of virtuous dispositions.
The reason for focusing on texts discussing virtuous dispositions is that it is here,
more than anywhere else, that the masters of Paris began developing the concept of
habitus which soon became dominant in theological circles. When Aristotle
describes in the Categories what he takes to be a hexis (the Greek term translated as
habitus), he himself gives as examples branches of knowledge and the virtues (Cat.
8, 8b28–30). But we should not look to the Categories to explain why the theolo-
gians considered in this essay developed the concept of a habitus mainly in their
discussions of virtue. We should look instead to the works of Augustine.
4.2 Augustine: Equal Merit
There are two interesting texts where Augustine discusses dispositions: On Eighty-
Three Different Questions (De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tres) and On the
Good of Marriage (De bono coniugali).10 In the first work he labours to interpret a
notoriously puzzling scriptural passage, one saying that Christ was “found in the
habitus of a human being” (Phil. 2:7). In an effort to explain what the passage
means, Augustine lists various meanings that the word habitus can have. The mean-
ing he finds most helpful derives from the literal sense of the word, “having,” so that
it can denote an external possession, such as an article of clothing. Augustine argues
that clothing acquires the shape of the person who wears it and retains that shape
even when the clothing is removed. In a similar way, Christ transformed human
nature when he took up humanity.
The meaning of habitus most relevant for our own purposes is one Augustine
reports but considers inapplicable to the scriptural passage: “a disposition of the
mind, such as the comprehension of any area of learning, strengthened and made
firm by usage.”11 The last phrase suggests that a mental quality can be a habitus only
if the agent uses it repeatedly, so that the naturally acquired virtues discussed by
ancient philosophers would qualify as habitus, but virtues infused by God would not
qualify without appropriate actions by the human agent to strengthen them. This
comes close to the position that Peter Abelard would later defend: that a mental
quality cannot be a habitus unless it is made firm through the agent’s effort
9
See Quinto (2011).
10
For a more comprehensive treatment of Augustine’s concept of habitus, see Isabelle Bochet’s
article in the present volume, p. 47–66.
11
Augustine, De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus 73.1 (CCL 44A: 209): ‘[M]ultis modis
habitum dicimus: vel habitum animi, sicuti est cuiuscumque disciplinae perception usu roborata
atque firmata.”
(applicatio).12 In contrast, Augustine argues in his treatise On the Good of Marriage

that someone can have a habitus she never uses at all.
According to Augustine’s Retractationes, he wrote On the Good of Marriage
because of disputes arising from the teachings of Jovinian, who equated the merit of
celibate Christians in religious orders with the merit of married people who are
faithful to their spouses. In defending his position Jovinian extolled the virtues of
Old Testament patriarchs and their wives, such as Abraham and Sara.13 Augustine
responds by arguing that the patriarchs lived in an era when it was God’s will that
they marry and have children, in order to build the community from which Christ
would emerge. It was for this purpose that the patriarchs had children. Now, how-
ever, God prefers that people practice celibacy. Although God permits marriage for
those who have trouble controlling their sexual desires, marriage is second best.14
A wider goal of Augustine’s treatise on marriage is to advance his own account
of virtue and merit. He wants to establish that all virtues, even those people nor-
mally associate with the body, belong to the mind, so that they might not be mani-
fest in a person’s behaviour.15 Someone might even have virtuous dispositions that
she never displays in her entire life. For example, Augustine claims that many peo-
ple have the special kind of courage necessary for martyrdom, but since they are
never tested, their possession of this virtue never becomes evident to other human
beings. Such tests do not create the virtue, Augustine argues; they only make the
virtue evident to other people, as Job’s patience became evident to others when God
tested him. Before Job’s trials, only God recognized his patience.
Examples like these help to illuminate Augustine’s conception of a disposition:
“A disposition itself is that by which something is done when there is a need (cum
opus est); when it is not done, it can be done, but there is no need.”16 Translated liter-
ally, the word opus suggests that there might turn out to be no “work” for some
particular virtue to do in the course of an individual’s life, because he never finds
himself in a situation that calls for it. Augustine gives as an example celibate chas-
tity, the virtue enabling a person to abstain from all sexual intercourse. Obviously,
the patriarch Abraham did not practice celibate chastity: he married and had chil-
dren. In Augustine’s terms, this establishes only that Abraham did not have celibate
chastity in use (in usu) or in action or work (in opere).17 Nevertheless, Augustine
argues, Abraham did have celibate chastity in disposition (in habitu), because he
12
Peter Abelard, Ethica (ed. Luscombe, 129).
13
Augustine, Retractationes 2.22.1 (CCL 57: 107–108).
14
Marriage again became the centre of controversy in 1123, when the first Lateran Council voted
to nullify all marriages by priests and monks. This helps to explain why excerpts from Augustine’s
On the Good of Marriage were so often copied and circulated at the time. For additional informa-
tion on this topic see Kent (2013, esp. 124–125).
15
Augustine, De bono coniugali 21.25 (ed. Walsh, 46): “Continentia quippe non corporis, sed
animi virtus est. Virtutes autem animi aliquando in opere manifestantur, aliquando in habitu latent.”
Augustine wrote this treatise around 401.
16
Augustine, De bono coniugali 21.25 (ed. Walsh, 46): “Ipse est enim habitus quo aliquid agitur
cum opus est; cum autem non agitur, potest agi sed non opus est.”
17
Augustine uses these expressions interchangeably.
72 B. Kent
could have abstained from all sexual intercourse if it had been God’s will that he do
so. He had the self-control necessary to avoid it. Augustine also suggests that
Abraham would have chosen celibate chastity over conjugal chastity if it had not
been God’s will that he increase the children of Israel.18
Note that Augustine’s conception of a disposition is wide enough to encompass
most of what ancient philosophers regard as dispositions. The dispositions they
praise as moral virtues would clearly qualify. So, too, would branches of learning
such as mathematics or medicine.19 There is nothing in Augustine’s account of dis-
positions indicating that all dispositions must be gifts of grace. We must be careful,
then, to distinguish his conception of a disposition from his view that all genuine
virtues are gifts of grace. Precisely because his conception of a disposition could
encompass naturally acquired dispositions, it would be a boon to later medieval
theologians who wanted to place the naturally acquired virtues described by
Aristotle, Cicero, and other ancient authors in the same ontological category as the
supernaturally infused virtues of the Christian tradition. They could grant that the
virtues described by ancient philosophers are dispositions and focus on debating
whether they are genuine virtues—the very debate reported above, in the anony-
mous commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics.
Augustine’s account of virtuous dispositions serves as the foundation for an
important thesis: that people who lead very different kinds of lives can have equal
merit in the eyes of God. What matters most, Augustine claims, is their will to obey
God, for “obedience is, in a way, the mother of all virtues.”20 It is a greater good than
celibate chastity, so that we should not look down on married people simply because
they are married. Besides, we are not in a position to make reliable judgments of
people’s virtues based on their actions. The problem is not only that we cannot be
certain of their motivations but also that a person’s actions depend on factors beyond
her control. For example, one individual might do less than another in helping the
needy because she has other obligations, or because she rarely encounters poor
people.21 Augustine summarizes his position in a passage often quoted by twelfth-
century theologians:
[J]ust as the merit of patience in Peter, who suffered [martyrdom], was not unequal to that
of John, who did not suffer, so the merit of self-control in John, who had no experience of
marriage, was not unequal to that of Abraham, who married and produced children. For the
celibacy of the one and the marriage of the other both served the cause of Christ according
18
Augustine, De bono coniugali 22.27 (ed. Walsh, 50).
19
It seems to me that vices are the only dispositions recognized by Aristotle but excluded by
Augustine. They do not meet Augustine’s description of a disposition, since there can never be any
objective need for someone to exercise a vice. Of course, Augustine recognizes that someone with
a particular vice might feel that he needs to act in accordance with it. Some texts, especially the
Confessions, even suggest that a person might have acted badly for so long that what was once a
choice has become a (self-created) “necessity.” However, Augustine associates this subjective kind
of need or “necessity” with a habit (consuetudo), not with what he regards as a disposition (habi-
tus). As Prendiville (1972) shows, Augustine tends to use “habit” pejoratively, to mean bad habit.
20
Augustine, De bono coniugali 23.30 (ed. Walsh, 54).
21
Augustine, De bono coniugali 23.28–29 (ed. Walsh, 52–53).
to their different times, though Abraham had self-control only in disposition (in habitu), and
John had it in action as well.22
To readers today this conception of a virtuous disposition might well seem bizarre.
When we appeal to virtuous dispositions in describing people, we are often trying
to explain (or predict) their actions, their emotional reactions, or both. We judge
which dispositions a person possesses on the basis of what we know about her,
especially the behaviour we ourselves have observed. So if an individual never dis-
plays a particular disposition, we see no reason to attribute it to her. For Augustine,
however, the primary function of virtuous dispositions is to make a person good by
God’s standards. In the treatise on marriage he explains this as the will to obey God;
in other works he speaks more of charity, the love of God above all else. In both
cases he emphasizes the virtuous person’s priorities and motivations. Virtuous dis-
positions also give someone the strength needed to choose good actions, but this is
a secondary function.23
On the Good of Marriage is not the only text where Augustine speaks of virtues
as dispositions. He also speaks of virtues as dispositions in On the Catholic Way of
Life and in his treatise Against Julian.24 It remains open to debate whether he
believed even children too young to exercise free choice receive virtuous disposi-
tions through the grace of baptism. Nowhere in his extant writings does Augustine
say explicitly that they do, nor does he ever say explicitly that they do not.
To see how Augustine’s concept of a disposition was developed in the late twelfth
and early thirteenth centuries we will examine works by Peter Lombard, Peter of
Poitiers, and Stephen Langton. All of these masters regard a habitus as a disposition
that can be produced by God’s grace. It does not have to be acquired or even
strengthened by human practice.
4.3 Peter Lombard: Virtue Itself and the Work of Virtue
A cursory review of Peter Lombard’s Sentences might suggest that he had no use for
the concept of habitus except for the same purpose that Augustine did in the Eighty-
Three Different Questions: to illuminate the scriptural passage about Christ’s being
found in the habitus of a human being. Peter’s discussion of this passage (Sentences
22
Augustine, De bono coniugali 21.26 (ed. Walsh, 48): “[S]icut non est impar meritum patientiae
in Petro qui passus est et in Iohanne qui passus non est, sic non est impar meritum continentiae in
Iohanne qui nullas expertus est nuptias et in Abraham qui filios generavit. Et illius enim celibatus
et illius conubium pro temporum distributione Christo militaverunt; sed continentiam Iohannes et
in opere, Abraham vero in solo habitu habebat.”
23
The idea of virtue as rightly ordered love is a central theme of Augustine’s De civitate Dei. In the
same work (19.4) he recasts the cardinal virtues described by philosophers as forms of self-control,
or the strength needed to resist temptations in earthly life.
24
Augustine, De moribus ecclesiae catholicae 1.6.9 (CSEL 90: 11–12); Contra Iulianum 4.3.19
(PL 44: 747–748).
74 B. Kent
III, distinction 6) is impossible to overlook. One scholar even describes it as “the

single most extended treatment of a particular point in the entire Book of Sentences.”25
Only a closer reading of the work reveals that Peter regards virtue as a habitus in the
Augustinian sense, i.e. as a mental disposition that might not be manifest in the
agent’s behaviour.
Peter begins by drawing an important distinction between virtue itself and the
actions or “work” of virtue. He thinks it necessary to address this issue because a
well-known chapter of Augustine’s Retractationes includes what look like contra-
dictory claims. On the one hand, Augustine places virtues in the highest category of
goods: those goods that we need to live rightly and that cannot be badly used. He
places the soul’s capacity for free choice in the middle category: those goods that
we need to live rightly but that we can use either well or badly. On the other hand,
Augustine says that virtue is the good use of free choice. This statement might lead
one to infer that virtue is a kind of activity.26 Peter resolves the conflict by pointing
to another passage where Augustine speaks more carefully: “The reason why no one
uses a virtue badly is that the work of virtue is the good use of these other goods,
which we can also use not well.”27 Peter concludes that Augustine does not see vir-
tue itself as a kind of activity—that “virtue is one thing and its work is another.”28
Peter’s clarification serves one obvious purpose and another more subtle one.
The obvious purpose is to pave the way for his Augustinian definition of virtue.
Since he regards virtue as a mental quality produced by grace alone, not by human
free choice, he wants to ensure that readers distinguish between virtue itself and a
person’s use of virtue. Peter’s more subtle aim is to exclude the view that a virtuous
person, at least in earthly life, cannot act badly. The thesis that a virtue cannot be
badly used is a conceptual claim, not a psychological one. While the virtue itself
cannot be badly used, the person having the virtue can, through his power of free
choice, decide not to exercise the virtue.
In the next section of the Sentences Peter presents a definition of virtue that he
attributes to Augustine: “a good quality of the mind, by which one lives rightly, of
which no one makes bad use, which God alone works in a human being.”29 The defi-
nition is one cobbled together from parts of Augustine’s Retractationes, based on
related passages in his dialogue On Free Choice. Both texts refer to virtue only as a
“good,” so that “quality” represents Peter’s own addition, intended to make the defi-
nition more specific. By contemporary standards, though, it remains rather vague.
Masters who made a close study of Aristotle’s Categories would want to know what
25
Rosemann (2004, 127).
26
Peter Lombard, Sent. II, d. 26, c. 10 (ed. Brady, 1: 479); Augustine, Retractationes 1.9.4 (CCL
47: 26).
27
Peter Lombard, Sent. II, d. 26, c. 10 (ed. Brady, 1: 479): “Et ideo virtute male utitur, quia opus
virtutis est bonus usus istorum quibus etiam non bene uti possumus.” See Augustine, Retractationes
1.9.4 (CCL 47: 26–27).
28
Peter Lombard, Sent. II, d. 26, c. 11 (ed. Brady, 1: 480): “[A]liud est virtus, aliud opus eius.”
29
Peter Lombard, Sent. II, d. 27, c. 1 (ed. Brady, 1: 480): “Virtus est, ut ait Augustinus, bona quali-
tas mentis, qua recte vivitur et qua nullus male utitur, quam Deus solus in homine operatur.”
kind of quality virtue is supposed to be: a disposition, a condition, or some other

kind? Peter Abelard’s work is a case in point. In arguing that virtue must be made
firm through practice, he cites Aristotle’s claim that virtues are dispositions, not
mere conditions, and dispositions are difficult to change or lose.30 Perhaps the con-
troversies triggered by Abelard’s teachings gave Peter an incentive to avoid the
word “disposition” and choose instead the generic term “quality”; but as a result,
readers may be left wondering: does Peter think that virtues are not dispositions?
Only in Book III of the Sentences does it become clear that Peter does regard
virtues as dispositions (in the Augustinian sense). This may come as a surprise to
readers familiar with later medieval philosophy, because he was often criticized for
teaching that charity is the Holy Spirit itself, not a disposition or anything else cre-
ated in the human soul.31 While Peter does defend this position, it is irrelevant to the
question of whether he considers virtue a disposition, precisely because he does not
regard charity as a virtue. He considers it the cause or source of all virtues but not a
virtue itself.32
Peter explicitly appeals to the notion of virtues “in disposition” in Book III, dis-
tinction 36 of the Sentences, where he grapples with issues related to a standard
thesis of ancient philosophy: that someone who truly has one virtue must have them
all, so that someone who lacks any virtue must perforce lack them all. Upon learn-
ing that Jerome had defended the all-or-nothing conception of virtue, Augustine
replied in a long letter, later published as a treatise, explaining his reservations. He
argued that nobody in this life is entirely free of vice, and yet Christians do have
genuine virtues. It would be best, then, to regard virtue as something that comes in
degrees, depending upon how much charity someone has, instead of as an all-or-
nothing property.33 Rather than acknowledge a serious conflict between these two
Fathers of the Church, Peter gives a brief summary of their views suggesting that
they agree on a significant point: because charity is the source of all the virtues, all
the virtues exist in any person in whom charity exists.34
Of course, Peter recognizes that this doctrine runs counter to common opinion.
We know from everyday experience that someone we greatly admire for courage
can be bad at controlling his appetite for wine, or that someone with an impressive
commitment to justice can display, even repeatedly, a disappointing lack of courage.
A person who consistently acts in accordance with one virtue might even appear to
be completely lacking in another. Peter accordingly raises a different question:
30
Peter Abelard, Ethica (ed. Luscombe, 128): “Ut enim philosophis placuit, nequaquam virtus in
nobis dicenda est, nisi sit habitus mentis optimus, sive habitus bene constitute mentis. Quid vero
habitum vel dispositionem dixerint, Aristoteles in prima specie qualitatis diligenter distinxit,
docendo videlicet eas qualitates non naturaliter nobis insunt, set per applicacionem nostram veni-
unt, habitus vel disposiciones vocari. Habitus quidem, si sint difficile mobiles, quales inquit, sunt
science vel virtutes. Disposiciones vero, si e contra fuerint facile mobiles.”
31
See Agnotti (2015) for discussion of doctrines defended by Peter but widely rejected by later
medieval theologians.
32
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 23, c. 2 (ed. Brady, 2: 141), c. 8 (2: 146–147).
33
Augustine, Epistula 167 (CSEL 44: 586–609).
34
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 36, c. 1 (ed. Brady 2: 202).
76 B. Kent
“whether all the virtues are equally present in anyone in whom they exist.”35 In
answering it he quotes Augustine’s letter to Jerome:
[I]f, as I believe to be more true and more in accord with sacred scripture, the intentions of
the soul are like the members of the body (not that they appear in places, but that they are
perceived by the affections), and one is illuminated more, another less, and another alto-
gether lacks light […], so too as each person is affected by the light of holy charity, more in
one action, less in another, and not at all in another, he can be said to have one virtue and
not another, or to have one virtue less than another.36
This passage from Augustine is hardly a model of clarity. Suppose that I am the
most craven Christian on the face of the earth. While I remain faithful to my hus-
band, always pay my debts, regularly give to the poor, never get drunk, and in most
respects behave virtuously, I behave badly in any situation calling for courage. It
would be reasonable for people to say that I simply lack the virtue of courage, and
Augustine does not object to this way of speaking. But how can it be reconciled with
the doctrine that a Christian with God-given charity has all the virtues?
In an effort to explain how someone who never displays a particular virtue can
still have it, Peter enlists Augustine’s distinction between virtue in disposition and
virtue in action:
Here it seems to be implied that someone can be said to have one virtue more than another
because, through charity, he is more affected in the action of one virtue than another; and
because of the difference in actions, he can be said to have one virtue more or another less,
and even not to have some virtue—although he has all of them at the same time and has
them equally as regards the disposition of the mind or the essence of each. In action he has
one more and another less and even does not have some other, as the just man making use
of marriage does not have self-control in action, which he nevertheless does have in
disposition.37
Although Peter does not quote the relevant passage from On the Good of Marriage
at this juncture, he does so later in the Sentences. He quotes it to establish that the
merit of Abraham is no less than the merit of a religious person practicing celibacy,
even though the religious person has a virtue in both action and disposition that
Abraham had only in disposition.38 In both cases Peter clearly follows Augustine in
emphasizing that merit rests on virtues in disposition. In both cases, however, the
35
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 36, c. 2, n. 1 (ed Brady, 2: 202).
36
Augustine, Epistula 167.14 (CSEL 44: 601–602): “[S]i autem, quod puto esse verius sacrisque
litteris congruentis, ita sunt animae intentiones ut corporis membra, non quod videantur locis, sed
quod sentiantur affectibus et aliud inluminatur amplius aliud minus aliud omnino caret lumine,
[…] ut quisque inlustratione piae caritatis affectus est in alio actu magis in alio minus in alio nihil,
sic dici potest habere aliam, aliam non habere, aliam magis minusue habere virtutem.”
37
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 36, c. 2, n. 6 (ed. Brady, 2: 204): “Hic insinuari videtur quod aliquis
ea ratione possit dici habere unam virtutem magis quam aliam, quia per caritatem magis afficitur
in actu unius virtutis quam alterius; et propter differentiam actuum, ipsas virtutes magis vel minus
habere dici potest; et aliquam non habere, cum tamen simul omnes et pariter habeat quantum ad
mentis habitum vel essentiam cuiusque. In actu vero aliam magis, aliam minus habet; aliam etiam
non habet, ut vir iustus, utens coniugio, non habet continentiam in actu, quam tamen habet in
habitu.”
38
Peter Lombard, Sent. IV, d. 33, c. 2, n.1 (ed. Brady 2: 459–460).
example of “the just man making use of marriage” has limited value, for it assumes
that the man lacks a virtue in action only because it is inappropriate for him to have
it at the time, or because he could not practice it without acting contrary to some
other virtue he possesses.
Two questions still need to be answered: (1) Would the craven Christian, who
fails to have the courage in action she ought to have, still be credited with courage
in disposition? (2) Would the craven Christian’s merit be equal to Abraham’s?
Peter’s response to the first question is yes: assuming that the craven Christian has
not lost charity through some grave sin,39 she has courage and all the other virtues
in disposition. However far this position diverges from common moral intuitions, it
accords with Augustine’s letter to Jerome. Christians with God’s grace have all the
virtues in disposition insofar as they have (God-given) charity, which inclines them
to love God above all. While they may lack self-control in certain respects, such as
facing dangers, they have, overall, the right priorities and motivations. Some people
without charity might possess more self-control, might even be better integrated
from the psychological standpoint, but they lack the priorities and motivations nec-
essary for genuine virtue.
I gather that Peter’s answer to the second question is no: the craven Christian
would not be equal in merit to Abraham. Peter can attribute less merit to the craven
Christian because he allows for merit in actions as well as the merit of virtue itself.
The virtues we have in disposition are entirely the product of God’s grace. An indi-
vidual’s good use of free choice comes from God and the human agent working
together.40 Whereas Abraham consistently chooses well, at least according to the
traditional view of him, the craven Christian chooses badly in any situation calling
for courage.
The thesis that someone can have virtues in disposition that she never uses raises
a difficult question of sacramental theology: do children too young to exercise the
power of free choice receive virtues in disposition through the grace of baptism?
Peter does not take a position on this issue in the Sentences. He merely reports what
“certain people” say—namely, that baptized children receive virtues “in gift,”
although they do not have virtues “in use” until they mature.41 Nowhere in his extant
works does Peter explicitly endorse this view. On the other hand, a report by one of
his students indicates that he did support it. He concedes that Peter’s position
remains obscure in the Sentences, then adds: “However, we who heard him know
his judgment was […] that in baptism children are given virtues, but in gift or in
disposition, not in use.”42
39
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 31, c. 1, n. 9 (ed. Brady, 2: 183).
40
Peter Lombard, Sent. III, d. 27, c. 7 (ed. Brady, 2: 167).
41
Peter Lombard, Sent. IV, d. 4, c. 7, n. 5 (ed. Brady, 2: 262–263).
42
Quoted by Brady (1966, 478): “Quorumdam, inquit, opinio est quod parvulis in baptismo tantum
dimittantur peccata et nulla virtus conferatur. Et hanc, inquit, sententiarum non improbat Magister
in Sententiis. Nos autem, qui audivimus eum, scimus quia erat in contraria sententia, scilicet quod
parvulis in baptismo dantur virtutes, sed in munere vel in habitu, non in usu.”
78 B. Kent
Should the student’s report be trusted? Considering that Peter Lombard devotes
his Sentences mainly to reporting the opinions of Christian “authorities” and trying
to reconcile conflicts between them, it would not be surprising if he decided against
taking a position in this text on a controversial issue that had arisen in his own day.
That said, he plainly could have taken a position on the issue in his other works. All
we can know for certain is that Peter of Poitiers, who himself studied with Peter
Lombard, argued vehemently in defence of the thesis that children receive virtuous
dispositions through baptismal grace.
4.4 Peter of Poitiers: Virtuous Dispositions and Justification
Like his teacher, Peter of Poitiers distinguishes sharply between virtue itself, a men-
tal disposition, and the good use of free choice, which proceeds from virtue.43 The
distinction is of great importance to him, because he thinks that children receive
virtuous dispositions through baptismal grace that they cannot use until they mature.
Indeed, Peter argues twice for this thesis: in Book III of his Five Books of Sentences,
then again in Book V.
Theologians of the time generally accepted Augustine’s distinction between vir-
tue in disposition and virtue in use. Not only did they agree that an adult can have
virtues he is not exercising at the moment, most agreed that he can have virtues he
has yet to exercise at all. One could argue that even unexercised virtues truly
describe the person as he is now. For although he has yet to display some particular
virtue in action, he is ready and able to display it when circumstances call for it.
Thus we may credit him (say) with the courage of a martyr even though he has yet
to suffer from religious persecution of any kind. If and when circumstances dictate
that he suffer death for his faith, he will probably choose to do so. On the other hand,
some theologians who defended this position strongly opposed the attribution of
virtuous dispositions to children too young to make any choices at all. What sense
does it make to say that a child is ready and able to endure death for his faith or to
perform any other virtuous actions? In such a case virtuous dispositions would be
idle, so that there is no reason to posit them.
On the contrary, Peter argues, virtuous dispositions are no more idle in children
than they are in certain adults. The principal effect of such dispositions is to make
the agent virtuous, i.e. fitted and ready to act in certain ways, even though the vir-
tues cannot immediately be used:
Surely it is not necessary that someone who has a virtue immediately has the use of it, even
if he is an adult. In the primary infusion all [virtues] are had in disposition, yet not in use or
in act. But when virtues exist in someone without their uses, are they not on that account
idle? No, for although they do not always have their uses, they always have their effects, so
that use must be distinguished from effect. At all times courage makes someone coura-
geous, temperance makes him temperate, and prudence makes him prudent, that is, fitted
43
Peter of Poitiers, Sententiarum libri quinque 3.1 (PL 211: 1041D–1042A).
and ready to endure troubles, to resist temptations, and to be wary of snares, according to
the time and place, although he may not immediately endure, resist, and be wary. Therefore,
whoever has one virtue in disposition or in effect, whether child or adult, has all of them in
disposition or effect; but it is not the case that whoever has one in act or in use has the others
in act or in use.44
Peter apparently thinks his own view follows from two theses widely accepted: that
whoever has one virtue, has them all; and that virtuous dispositions belong to the
mind, not the body. In defence of his position, Peter compares virtuous dispositions
with natural capacities. We agree that children have rationality, as all humans do,
even though they cannot reason until they mature. Why credit them with natural
capacities they are unable to exercise at the moment but refuse to credit them with
virtuous dispositions they are unable to exercise at the moment? To the masters who
insist that the faith of anyone who does not actually believe is only a dead faith,
Peter offers an argument by analogy. Consider, for example, an adult who knows
dialectic but who cannot debate because he is mute. While his physical disability
prevents him from debating, Peter argues that it does not prevent him from being a
good dialectician. A person can have the relevant knowledge without being able to
display it in his speech. By the same token, a child can have the virtue of faith even
though she cannot use it, and the same holds for charity and other virtues.45
Readers might object that the natural capacities we attribute to children have at
least some explanatory value. They serve to distinguish human children from non-
human animals. In contrast, the virtuous dispositions that Peter attributes to children
appear to explain nothing at all. Baptized babies are indistinguishable from unbap-
tized babies in both their behaviour and their emotional reactions. Peter would prob-
ably reply that the virtuous dispositions he attributes to baptized children do
distinguish them from unbaptized children. The difference, indiscernible to human
eyes, has enormous significance from God’s perspective. For not only does Peter
consider virtuous dispositions necessary for merit, he thinks they can suffice for
44
Peter of Poitiers, Sententiarum libri quinque 3.29 (PL 211: 1133B–C): “Non enim qui unam
virtutem habet necesse est quod statim habeat ejus usum, etiamsi sit adultus. In primaria enim
infusione omnes habentur in habitu, non tamen in usu vel actu. Inclinant enim et disponunt ani-
mum ad actus suos pro loco et tempore exsequendos. Sed cum virtutes in aliquo sint sine usibus
suis, nunquid ideo otiosae? Non; quia, etsi non semper habeant suos usus, tamen semper habent
suos effectus, ut distinguatur inter usum et effectum. Semper enim fortitudo facit fortem,
temperantia temperatum, prudentia prudentem, id est aptum, dispositum, idoneum perferre moles-
tias, coercere illecebras, praecavere insidias, licet non statim perferat, vel coerceat, vel praecaveat.
Quicunque ergo habet unam virtutem in habitu vel in effectu, habet omnes vel in habitu vel in
effectu, sive puerulus sive adultus; sed non quicunque habet unam actu vel usu, habet et reliquas in
actu vel usu.”
45
Peter of Poitiers, Sententiarum libri quinque 5.6 (PL 211: 1233A): “Non enim credit parvulus,
nec sperat, nec diligit: habet tamen fidem, et spem et charitatem, sicut habet rationabilitatem, non
tamen ratiocinatur, et risibilitatem, non tamen ridet. Unde et haec argumentatio est facta. Iste par-
vulus habet fidem et non credit; ergo illa fides est mortua, quod esset dicere quod ea fide non esset
bonus. Fallacia. Iste scit dialecticam, nec potest disputare posito quod sit mutus; ergo secundum
illam non est bonus dialecticus, quod falsum est; habet in habitu, sed non in usu.”
80 B. Kent
justification. In both respects, he argues, virtue matters more than the actions moti-
vated by virtue:
An action cannot be meritorious without virtue. Therefore, virtue is more desirable than an
action of virtue. Moreover, virtue is like a tree; the action is like [its] fruit, and the fruit can-
not be had without the tree. […] Moreover, virtue justifies without action, but not action
without virtue; indeed, it justifies children and even certain adults.46
To be “justified” is to be purged of the guilt of original sin, a change in the human

being commonly regarded by theologians as a prerequisite for salvation. Since vir-
tuous dispositions serve to justify baptized children, anyone who denies that they
can have such dispositions is, from Peter’s perspective, denying that they will be
saved. Other masters rejected this view, arguing that the baptism of children removes
the guilt of original sin but does not confer virtues. In a letter written in 1201, Pope
Innocent III reported the disagreement on this topic without committing himself to
either position. Nevertheless, his letter seems to favor the view Peter defends: that
children receive through baptism virtues as dispositions, albeit not in use until they
reach adulthood.47
4.5 Stephen Langton: Dispositions and Powers
At last we come to Stephen Langton, a theologian even more renowned than Peter of
Poitiers. Stephen’s Summa reveals his impatience with masters who claim that a
virtuous disposition can only be produced by some kind of human effort (applica-
tio): in the case of adults, the agent’s own effort, and in the case of children, the effort
of their parents in getting them baptized. He expresses amazement at their position.
How could virtues like faith, hope, and charity possibly depend on human effort?
According to St Paul, says Stephen, such virtues are infused “in us, without us.”48
46
Peter of Poitiers, Sententiarum libri quinque 3.3 (PL 211: 1049B–C): “Absque virtute non potest
opus esse meritorium. Ergo magis est virtus appetenda quam opus virtutis. Item, virtues est quasi
arbor; opus est quasi fructus, et sine arbore non potest fructus haberi. […] Item, virtus justificat
sine opere, sed non opus sine virtute: justificat enim parvulos et etiam quosdam adultos.” Which
adults does Peter have in mind? I can only guess that he means adults who converted to Christianity
but died soon after their baptism.
47
Innocent III, Maiores Ecclesiae causas §410 (Denzinger and Bannwart 1932, 190): “Quod oppo-
nentes inducunt, fidem aut caritatem aliasque virtutes parvulis, utpote non consentientibus, non
infundi, a plerisque non conceditur absolute […], aliis asserentibus per virtutem baptismi parvulis
quidem culpam remitti, sed gratiam non conferri; nonnullis vero dicentibus, et dimitti peccatum, et
virtutes infundi, habentibus illas quoad habitum, non quoad usum, donec perveniant ad aetatem
adultam.”
48
Stephen Langton, Summa (ed. Ebbesen and Mortensen, 164): “Sed quid dicemus de virtutibus
theologicis, sub qua specie qualitatis comprehenduntur? Magister Petrus dicit quod sub habitu,
quia adveniunt adulto per applicationem animi, puero per applicationem baptismi, quia applicatur
a parentibus. Hoc mirum est, cum Apostolus dicat quod virtutes infunduntur in nobis sine nobis,
quomodo magister dicat quod veniunt per applicationem.” While Stephen might appear to be quot-
ing St Paul (the “Apostolus”), what he presents is instead a common interpretation of St Paul.
Stephen evinces greater interest in the thesis whoever has one virtue, must have
all the virtues in disposition, though he might not have all of them in use. There is
nothing significantly new in Stephen’s arguments for the first part of the thesis. So
many earlier authors had defended it that original arguments for it would have been
hard to devise.49 Stephen demonstrates his originality in explaining the second part
of the thesis. Of course, someone with a virtuous disposition can fail to use it if he
never finds himself in circumstances that call for this particular virtue, but how can
he fail to use it if he finds himself in circumstances that do call for it?
Given their idealized conception of virtuous character, Aristotle and the early
Stoics need not explain how someone with a virtuous disposition can fail to make
the right choice. On their view, someone truly has a virtuous disposition if and only
if he chooses to act virtuously whenever afforded the opportunity. While the agent
might fail to carry out the action through no fault of his own—e.g., because of an
external impediment—he will not fail on account of moral weakness or inadequate
self-control. Indeed, a person’s need to exercise self-control counts as evidence that
he is not truly virtuous. For Augustine and his medieval followers, however, this
ancient conception of virtuous character applies only in heaven. Since virtue is
never perfect in earthly life, our virtuous dispositions do not determine which
actions we choose. We ourselves decide, through our power of free choice, whether
we will or will not exercise a virtuous disposition. But if the disposition itself gives
people both the inclination and the strength to choose rightly, why do we so often
fail to choose rightly?50
Augustine’s treatise On the Good of Marriage sometimes gives the unfortunate
impression that he himself accepts the simple ancient account of virtuous disposi-
tions. We find the same problem in the work of Peter Lombard and Peter of
Poitiers. At times they seem to be suggesting that people fail to exercise some
virtuous disposition only because it would not be appropriate for them to exercise
it (the Abraham example), or because they never have an opportunity to exercise
it (the martyr example). How, then, do we account for the agent’s failure when it
would be appropriate for him to exercise a particular disposition and he has the
opportunity to do so? If a virtuous disposition is itself a kind of strength, one
might argue that the agent fails because he does not have enough strength; but
since the disposition comes from God’s grace, how is the agent to blame for his
weakness? The standard answer invokes the doctrine of original sin, which enables
theologians to cast the agent’s weakness as a self-caused disability. Alas, it does
not explain why one virtuous Christian is weaker than another or weaker in
different ways.
49
Stephen Langton, Summa (ed. Ebbesen and Mortensen, 136, 140). As Bieniak (2014, 209) points
out, Stephen says one should not put much effort into arguing that whoever has one virtue has them
all, because this thesis is so strongly supported by authorities that nobody denies it.
50
Several articles in the present volume, especially the ones by Olivier Boulnois, Kristell Trego,
and Can Laurens Löwe (see respectively p. 25–45, p. 87–106, p. 167–184), explore philosophical
tensions between the Aristotelian conception of virtuous habitus and freedom of choice.
82 B. Kent
Stephen proposes two analogies in order to clarify how someone can have a vir-
tue in disposition but fail to use it when circumstances call for it. First, a king can
have many knights obliged to obey him, even though not all of them do obey.
Second, a harpist can have many strings on his instrument, all of them fitted for
playing, even though he does not use all the strings.51
The harpist analogy can be interpreted in two different ways. He might not use
certain strings because the occasion does not call for them, or the occasion does call
for them, yet he fails to use them because he is not exerting himself to play as well
as he can. Only in the second case would the lack of use plainly be a defect in the
harpist. Stephen’s king analogy raises problems as well: although all of the king’s
knights are obliged to obey him, some do not obey. But how could some of a per-
son’s virtues fail to obey him? Virtues do not refuse to be used for good purposes.
Could they somehow be unavailable for use? It is not clear how this could happen.
While someone might say, ‘I could not find the courage I needed to protest an unjust
decision by my department chair,’ surely she does not mean that her courage, like an
unreliable subordinate, took an authorized leave of absence. We need a better expla-
nation of how a person can have courage or some other virtue in disposition but fail
to use it when she ought to use it.
A little later in his Summa Stephen proposes a better explanation. He argues that
a virtue in disposition is always fitted (aptus) for resisting vice. However, a person’s
power to resist some vice comes not only from the disposition, given by grace, but
also from natural factors. For example, two persons might be equally rich and pow-
erful, but not equally able to resist their enemies, because one has more enemies
than the other. By the same token, two fighters might be equally brave, although one
is more prone to fall than the other. A person might also be more prone to fall in one
way rather than another—through lust, for example, rather than greed.52
According to Stephen’s analysis, someone with a virtuous disposition and the
opportunity to use it might nonetheless fail to use it because she lacks the necessary
power or strength. While virtuous dispositions give the agent the right beliefs, pri-
orities, and motivations (faith in God and the love of God above all), they them-
selves do not provide enough power or strength to ensure that she always chooses to
act virtuously. Thus the natural factors that some of Stephen’s contemporary were
51
Stephen Langton, Summa (ed. Ebbesen and Mortensen, 144): “[O]mnes virtutes habentur in
habitu, sed non in usu; sicut rex multos habet milites sub se, qui ei tenentur obsequi, licet non
omnes obsequantur. Vel secundum Hieronymum, sicut citharista omnes chordas suas aptat ad
citharizandum, licet omnibus non utatur.”
52
Stephen Langton, Summa (ed. Ebbesen and Mortensen, 145–146): “[O]mnes virtutes dicuntur
haberi in habitu quia iste aptus est ad resistendum cuilibet vitio. […] [D]icimus quod omnes virtu-
tes sunt pares in isto, et tamen non quantum potest resistere etc., quia potentia resistendi non solum
est ex gratuitis sed ex naturalibus. Unde quia magis corrupta habet naturalia quoad hoc quam
quoad illud, minus potest resistere huic quam illi; sicut isti duo sunt aeque divites et aeque potentes
(sit ita), non tamen quantum potest iste resistere hostibus et ille, posito quod unus habeat plures
hostes quam alius. Similiter isti duo pugiles sunt aeque fortes, tamen unus pronior est ad casum
quam alius, quia alius expeditior est. Item, iste pronior est cadere per libidinem quam per
avaritiam.”
beginning to emphasize do have a role to play—but only in explaining moral failure,

not in explaining virtuous behaviour. For example, I might lack the courage I need
to protest an unjust decision by my department chair because I am accustomed to
teaching in departments where such decisions are rare, so that I have had little prac-
tice in controlling my fear of professional repercussions. I might lack the necessary
courage because I am accustomed to having colleagues who protest, so that I have
never before seen a good reason why I myself should venture to speak out.
Alternatively, the problem might lie less in my experience than in a congenital ten-
dency towards fearfulness that I have yet to overcome. Regardless of which natural
factors are relevant, Stephen introduces them only to account for moral failure.
If a virtuous disposition does not itself provide enough power or strength to
ensure that a person always chooses to act rightly, in what way does it make a per-
son good? Stephen can say that, overall, the person has the right beliefs and priori-
ties and motivations, that she still has merit in the eyes of God. Some six centuries
later, Kant will say that she has a good will. Moreover, her will is no less good
because of her weakness in resisting temptation and the bad conduct that sometimes
results.53
4.6 Conclusion
The works considered in this study show that medieval theologians posit disposi-
tions in order to solve particular problems, so that the concept of a disposition can
differ from one to another, depending on which particular problems they are aiming
to solve. The same is true in philosophy today. For example, specialists in contem-
porary virtue ethics commonly invoke dispositions to explain why some people
perform virtuous actions more readily, with greater pleasure, and with greater con-
sistency than others do. Their concept of a disposition differs significantly from the
one dominant in contemporary metaphysics, and with good reason. Metaphysicians—
or at least the ones given to arguing about dispositions—usually express much less
interest in human behaviour than the properties and ‘behaviour’ of physical objects.
Thus their standard example of a disposition is the fragility of a glass, a property
that Neo-Aristotelian virtue ethicists might not consider a disposition at all. Even
within contemporary metaphysics there are sharp disagreements about whether dis-
positions cause, or even causally explain, their manifestations.54
Peter Lombard and his followers posit virtuous dispositions primarily because
they want to explain merit in the eyes of God. How can someone who suffers the
death of a martyr have merit equal to someone who spends his entire adult life in a
monastery and dies in bed? How can children too young to make moral choices
have merit equal to that of an adult? Contemporary virtue ethicists posit dispositions
53
Kant, however, considers such a person lacking in virtue. For further explanation of his position
and passages from relevant texts see Wood (2003, esp. 469–470).
54
A helpful account of the disagreements is given by Choi and Fara (2016).
84 B. Kent
to explain why one person’s behaviour differs from another’s, or perhaps why one
person’s inclinations and emotional reactions differ from another’s—something that
humans observe and experience. Peter and his followers posit dispositions mainly to
explain how people who behave differently, and hence look very different to human
observers, can still be judged equal in merit by God. Only later in the Middle Ages
would dispositions come to play a significant role in the kind of psychological
explanations that today’s philosophers are more likely to seek.
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41: 454–490.
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dispositions/. Accessed 3 July 2016.
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Chapter 5
Habitus or Affectio: The Will and Its
Orientation in Augustine, Anselm,
and Duns Scotus
Kristell Trego
Abstract The concept of hexis, in Latin habitus, is of great importance in Aristotle’s

ethics. In this paper, I ask the question whether habitus has its place, and which one
it is, when the will is said to be free. I examine the doctrines of three thinkers in
whose thought the idea of the freedom of the will occupies a crucial place. Firstly,
Augustine knows the moral sense of habitus, but does not use it to explain freedom;
reading the Categories, he understands that the term “habitus” refers to an accident,
and uses this concept to explain modification. Secondly, describing the will, Anselm
favours the word affectio, which designates (in the Aristotelian doctrine of the cat-
egories) a disposition which is not permanent; indeed, Anselm focuses on the
dependence of the rational creature. Finally, Duns Scotus uses the Aristotelian con-
cept of habitus, when he shows how the will, which is a rational power, determines
itself freely. Thus, it can be said that Aristotle was a central and unavoidable source
for the medieval developments of the concept of habitus and its use in relation with
the doctrine of the will.
Keywords Habitus · Affectio · Categories · Power · Freedom
5.1 Introduction
The question I wish to address is a seemingly simple one: what place can there be
for habitus in a doctrine of free will? However, this question, and the problem that
will occupy us, must first be made more precise.
Inasmuch as it is used to characterize virtue, the concept of habitus (hexis in
Greek) is a central one in Aristotelian ethics. Aristotle endeavours to distinguish
habitus from passion (pathos) and from power (dunamis). He defines hexis as “a
good or bad disposition relative to the passions.”1 Virtue is then defined as a “habit

1
K. Trego (*)
Département de philosophie, Université Clermont Auvergne, Clermont-Ferrand, France
e-mail:ktrego@orange.fr

88 K. Trego
of choice” (hexis prohairetikê).2 We can thus see that hexis has a decidedly central
role in ethics, for it accompanies deliberation. However, the concept also has a
wider significance, and is part of a group of concepts that are oriented around the
idea of energeia.3 More precisely, it accounts for how something can pass from
potency to act, in the same way that light makes (poiei) colours pass from being in
potency to being in act.4 As an active disposition, hexis ultimately brings us to meta-
physics. To put it succinctly, hexis acts by actualizing that which is in potency by
educing its actuality. From this perspective, virtue can be thought of as a “comple-
tion” (teleiôsis), or as the fact that something “is lacking no part of its natural
magnitude.”5 But the way hexis contributes is precisely as something that is added
to natural power. Aristotle shows this clearly in chapter 5 of book 9 of the
Metaphysics, where he distinguishes three kinds of potency: those that are innate,
those that come from habituation, and those acquired by study. He points out that
the latter two kinds of hexis require practice.6 From this perspective, it can be seen
that hexis serves in the Nicomachean Ethics as a way of conceiving of how virtue is
not reducible to nature: the moral virtues are not present in us naturally. Natural
beings cannot become something else because of habituation, just as a stone falls
downwards by nature and cannot be habituated to moving upwards.7 Hexis must
therefore be something over and above the nature of a thing. But since it does not
simply complete a natural potency, the possession of virtue presupposes that there
was a previous act.
It is thus clear that, in terms of the study of human nature, the question of habitus
reveals the limits of the concept of power as a way of thinking about what a human
being becomes, since not everything that a human being becomes is reducible to the
perfection or development of a natural potentiality.
From this arises our question: how can the concept of habitus, which is central in
Aristotle, be adapted to the doctrines of the will that arose and developed during the
Middle Ages? Put differently: is habitus compatible with the idea of free will? In
one sense it seems that it is, since habitus is not reducible to that which naturally
brings itself to completion. But in another sense, habitus, as an acquired disposition,
seems to constrain our capacity for choice by orienting it towards what we have
habituated ourselves to doing, and thus seems to orient our willing even before any
act of choice.
As we shall see, far from being in opposition to the free choice of the will, habi-
tus will form an integral part of the account of decision-making. It is therefore not
surprising that it is frequently discussed by authors of the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. However, the way in which habitus might be reconciled with the doctrine
of free will was not obvious; to accomplish this reconciliation, the idea of habitus
2
Aristotle, NE 2.6, 1106b36.
3
See Brague (1980).
4
See Aristotle, De an. 3.5, 430a14–19.
5
Aristotle, Met. 5.16, 1021b20–23.
6
Aristotle, Met. 9.5, 1047b31–35.
7
Aristotle, NE 2.1, 1103a.
5 Habitus or Affectio: The Will and Its Orientation in Augustine, Anselm… 89
would have to be rethought. In the history of how habitus was integrated with the
doctrine of the will, Aristotle was a constant interlocutor, but he took on different
guises depending on which of his works were read and known.
Here I wish to retrace the general lines of the history of how habitus was inte-
grated with the doctrine of will. This is also a kind of history of the reception of
Aristotle, or rather, a history of the reconciliation of Aristotelianism and
Augustinianism. Through the vicissitudes of the reception of habitus it is possible
to discover a history of how Aristotelianism was adapted to the Latin West.
I will undertake this account in three main steps, discussing in turn three authors
who illustrate three different ways one might grant the Aristotelian conception
while also being an ardent defender of the idea of freedom of the will. I will discuss
first Augustine, a proponent of the idea of free choice of the will but one who was
also attentive to the concept of habitus, despite having only limited access to the
Aristotelian corpus; then Anselm, who readily granted what he knew and accepted
of the idea of power as distinguished from act, though he preferred the language of
affectio to that of habitus; and finally Duns Scotus, who had access to the entire
Aristotelian corpus, including both the Metaphysics and the Ethics, and connected
the idea of habitus with his conception of the will as a rational power.
In this way, we shall see how the concept of habitus goes beyond the strict limits
of ethics, and reveals a certain way of conceiving of the “being of what is,” and the
possibility of its being transformed. Do we have a natural affection for wanting one
thing or another? Or is the disposition to seek such a good something that we
acquire? The choice of the term affectio or habitus tends to reveal the philosophical
choices of the authors using them.
5.2 Augustine: Habitus and Accident
A first point immediately becomes evident when we consider the works of

Augustine8: when he develops his doctrine of free will in On Free Choice of the Will
the concept of habitus does not enter into his account. The examination of free will-
ing seems not to require the concept of habitus.
It has to be admitted, however, that habitus is for Augustine (as it may have been
for Aristotle) a central concept for thinking about moral life. In particular, one can
see the term being used when the question is of how a virtue is defined. In certain
respects, the integration of habitus into the examination of moral life is part of a
Latin tradition that can be found in Cicero and Seneca.9 Nevertheless, Augustine’s
discussion is in certain ways original.
I suggest that the key to understanding the Augustinian conception of habitus is
to be sought in the categorial usage of the term. It is true that Augustine seldom took
For a more detailed description, see supra Bochet’s paper.

8
See Cicero, De inventione 1.36; Seneca, Ad Lucillium 117.16. See also Marius Victorinus, In
9
Ciceronis Rhetoricam 1.2.
90 K. Trego
up the categorial definition of habitus, but he was aware of it, and on the occasion
where he discusses it he advances an original interpretation of it and gives it a new
sense. We should therefore not minimize the significance of his usage of the term.
5.2.1 Categorial Having
In question 73 of his Eighty-Three Diverse Questions Augustine proposes his most

precise characterization of habitus. The occasion for the question is a line from
Philippians 2:7: “et habitu inventus ut homo.” It is clear that in his presentation in
this passage Augustine is thinking of habitus as an accident: “Habitus is therefore
said to be in that thing which is accidental to us such that it is had.”10 The “having”
that is characteristic of habitus is thus understood as being accidental.11 The multi-
ple senses of habitus (since it is said of the soul, and of the body, and as something
worn) can thus be reduced to a kind of accidentality.
Seen in this way, Augustine falls within an exegetical tradition of the reading of
Aristotle’s Categories. In that text, Aristotle discusses hexis in the context of his
analysis of quality.12 As contrasted with diathesis, the term hexis indicates a certain
stability and permanence.13 Even if Augustine did not read the Categories directly,
he would have had access to it by way of the anonymous fourth-century paraphrase
called the Categoriae decem, which uses the vocabulary of habitus: “A habitus is an
affection of the soul that persists for a long time, such as virtue or teaching, which
are evaluated according to their persistence and the length of time.”14
Augustine extends this model of habitus so that it applies not just to something
that covers the body, but also to the body itself. He thus reintroduces elements that
Aristotle discussed in terms of “having,” as when he mentions “that which is over
the body, such as a cloak or tunic” (peri to sôma hoion himation e khitôna).15
A similar notion of having (habere) can be found in the Categoriae decem. The
paraphrase states: “We are said to have something in more than one way.”16 Eight
senses are distinguished:
The first is whenever we are said to have something in the soul, like justice or chastity, or
injustice or lust. The second is whenever we are said to have something in the body, like
10
Augustine, De diversis quaestionibus octoginta tribus (De div. quaest.) 73 (BA 10: 320): “Habitus
ergo in ea re dicitur quae nobis ut habeatur accidit.”
11
Augustine, De div. quaest. 73 (BA 10: 320): “Nomen hoc ductum est ab illo verbo quod est
habere.”
12
See Aristotle, Cat. 8.
13
On the relationship between these two concepts, see Brague (1980).
14
Categoriae decem, §116 (AL 1.1–5: 160): “Habitus est affectio animi longo tempore
p erseverans, ut est virtus et disciplina quae perseveratione sui et perpetuitate temporis

aestimantur.”
15
Aristotle, Cat. 15, 15b21–22.
16
Categoriae decem §147 (AL 1.1–5: 167): “Non uno modo habere aliquid dicimur.”
whiteness. […] The fifth kind is when we are said to have something not in the body or in
a part of the body, but over the body, like a piece of clothing or anything worn.17
Augustine’s division seems to be based on this analysis of the doctrine of the cate-
gories. In particular, he retains three species of having.18
His emphasis on accidere is significant, for he unites the different senses of the
category of having by seeing in each case an accident. Nevertheless, he seems not
to find their characterization as accidents satisfactory, but prefers instead an
approach that speaks of modification. Augustine proposes that the different types of
having can be distinguished according to whether or not this having modifies that to
which it pertains; in this way one can distinguish clothing, which does not transform
us, from wisdom, which makes a stupid man wise.19 While the first type corresponds
to the Greek skhêma, meaning the shape or external appearance which does not
modify the thing, the second type corresponds to hexis.20 Thus, habitus, in the sense
of hexis, does not refer to an accident that remains external to us, but to one that
modifies us. In this way, Augustine reworks the doctrine of the categories by recog-
nizing that having includes acquired traits that modify that to which they pertain as
well as possessions that remain external.
Seen this way, the idea of substance as subject seems not to be the most funda-
mental: substance is not principally the subject that receives accidents, which inhere
in it, but rather that which can be modified by the accidents that it acquires. In this
way, habitus further articulates and thus completes the idea of accident, and in so
doing reorients it. The choice to promote habitus, to the detriment of accident,
avoids the weak ontological status that would result for something that depends on
the accidents that belong to it but could also cease to belong to it. The focus is rather
on that which one becomes in a stable way, precisely because one acquires it with-
out the risk of losing it at any moment. Thus, although habitus is something acquired,
it gives to that which possesses it a certain ontological stability.
5.2.2 Acquired Habitus and Virtue
I wish to propose the following idea: the reinterpretation of habitus and of “having,”
understood according to the doctrine of the categories, is not neutral; rather, insofar
as it involves a transformation, habitus seems to be a legitimate means of explaining
moral progress.
17
Categoriae decem §147 (AL 1.1–5: 168): Prima est quoties in corpore habere aliquid dicimur, ut
albedinem. […] Quinta specie est cum non in corpore sed in parte corpore sed circa corpus habere
aliquid dicimur, ut est vestis atque indumenta omnia.”
18
The other types of having are integrated into the account: thus, a ring, which pertains only to a
part of the body, is subsequently cited as an example.
19
Augustine, De div. quaest. 73.1 (BA 10: 320): “hominem mutat quem de stulto sapientem facit.”
20
Augustine, De div. quaest. 73.2 (BA 10: 324).
92 K. Trego
In Contra academicos, Augustine discusses in these terms the difference between

a wise person (sapiens) and someone who aspires to be wise (studiosus). They differ
in the sense that the habitus that has been acquired by the wise person (habitus
inest) is present in the aspirant only as a desire (sola flagrantia).21 Habitus is thus
thought of as an actualization, as opposed to what is only being sought or desired.
This seeking which stands over against acquisition is precisely the openness to
what is external. Habitus, formed in the interior of the self, necessarily presupposes
that one has wished to make oneself better by aiming at an external good. This is
suggested by Augustine in De moribus ecclesiae:
Either virtue is outside the soul, or—if you wish to call virtue only the habitus itself and a
kind of quality of the wise soul which cannot exist except in the soul—the soul must seek
something else so that virtue can arise in it.22
If habitus is thought of as a quality that inheres in the soul (and such a theory
seems to lie in the background of Augustine’s thinking here), virtus will then be a
habitus that consists precisely in opening oneself to an external good. Habitus will
thus refer to the capacity of human beings to make themselves better and to become
what they aspire to be by making a good that is at first external into a quality that
belongs to them.
Thus, in conformity with the Latin tradition, Augustine uses habitus as a way of
conceiving of a certain kind of perfection. He sees in it the appropriation by a ratio-
nal creature of a good that is at first external: a rational creature makes what it did
not have before into something of its own, and thus becomes what it previously was
not. Habitus refers to this openness to otherness by which we become what it is pos-
sible for us to aspire to be.
5.2.3 In Habitu/in Opere
The concept of habitus is thus of central relevance for thinking about a virtue or
perfection that can be acquired. In this respect it has a double advantage: on the one
hand, it indicates how much the property in question is not possessed completely,
but must be given; on the other hand, it indicates the permanence of that which can
no longer be lost once it has been acquired. It should be noted that habitus—if virtue
can be characterized in this way—in no way has necessitarian implications. This is
clear from what Augustine says in De bono coniugali: “Habitus is that by which
something is done when it is necessary; but when it is not done, it can be done, but
it is not necessary.”23 Augustine here sketches out a distinction between capacity
and action. The absence of the act does not imply the absence of the capacity, nor
21
Augustine, Contra academicos 3.5 (BA 4: 118–120).
22
Augustine, De moribus ecclesiae 1.6.9 (BA 1: 150): “Aut igitur virtus est praeter animam; aut si
non placet vocare virtutem nisi habitum ipsum et quasi sapientis animae qualitatem, quae nisi in
anima esse non potest, oportet ut aliquid sequatur anima ut ei virtus possit innasci.”
23
Augustine, De bono coniugali 21.25 (BA 2: 80): “Ipse est enim habitus, quo aliquid agitur, cum
opus est; cum autem non agitur, potest agi, sed non opus est.”
does it indicate the absence of a habitus: virtue can remain as a mere habitus with-
out proceeding to action.24 So Jesus Christ, though he ate and drank, nonetheless
possessed the virtue of continence, as did John the Baptist.
The way in which Augustine reworks the idea of habitus to think about an
acquired perfection of a rational creature thus does not make the concept antithetical
to the idea of freedom. Rather, habitus leaves open the field of possibility.
To summarize:
1. Augustine’s use of the concept of habitus is not confined to his analysis of free
will, and so the way in which Augustine understands habitus seems not to be
antithetical to the idea of freedom.
2. It is clear that, over and above the classical Latin sources, Augustine also relies
on the doctrine in the Categories—whether he read Aristotle’s own text or only
a paraphrase—to give habitus a central role in his way of envisaging beings
insofar as they can be modified. In preference to accident, habitus describes the
way in which we acquire properties that do not remain external to us, but make
us become ourselves, without having to be directly submitted to external circum-
stances. With habitus, it is possible to conceive of how, through the openness to
a kind of exteriority or transcendence, we are able to attain ourselves through the
work of appropriating to ourselves what we do not already have.
Authors of the Latin Middle Ages will try to go further, not just by granting habi-
tus conceived as a “having” or possession (a possession that one has even when one
does not use it in action): in addition to being-in-act, they will also discuss power
and potency, concepts that are central for thinking about how the will is free. The
will is thus seen not merely as a “motion of the soul” (motus animi, in Augustine’s
words), but also as a power that has to be determined to one act or another.
Treating the will as a power or potency will involve carrying the investigation
beyond the Aristotelian conceptualization. Our question can now be formulated in
the following way: how does this focus on the will as a power or potency leave a
place for habitus and how does it make possible the integration of habitus within the
doctrine of the freedom of the will?
Let us first look at Anselm, who although he did not yet have access to the whole
of the Aristotelian corpus, does not hesitate to accept the idea of power (potestas)
and, in order to do this, to examine closely the idea of potency and actuality, under
the more precise form of power and operation.
5.3 Anselm and the Affections of the Will
Anselm does not advance a theory of habitus, and does not make any philosophical
use of the term.25 Nevertheless, he develops a conception of the will which, though
it does not mention habitus, does involve “affections” (affectiones): the affection for
24
Augustine, De bono coniugali 30.26 (BA 2: 80): “virtus in habitu etiamsi non sit in opere.”
25
The term habitudo appears in Trinitarian theology.
94 K. Trego
justice and the affection for the suitable (De concordia 3).26 How should these affec-
tions be understood? His use of the term is probably not unmotivated: alongside
habitus, the text of the Categories also speaks of affectio, which is the word used for
the Greek diathesis in Boethius’s Latin translation.27 As discussed above, the differ-
ence between them is one of permanence. Thus, in choosing the term affectio,
Anselm chooses not to focus on the persistence of a disposition. The question there-
fore will not be posed on the basis of the idea of a durable acquisition, but a different
approach will be taken.
5.3.1 Power and Receptivity
In chapters 12–14 of De casu diaboli, Anselm develops the idea of two basic incli-
nations, one for happiness and the other for justice (he does not here call them
affectiones). Anselm’s goal in this passage is to explain why a rational creature is
not able to give itself its first inclination. There then follows a discussion of power,
which clearly echoes certain Aristotelian ideas about potency and act. Indeed,
Anselm maintains that actual being presupposes a prior power:
I know that there are two powers, one that is not yet realized in fact, and one that is already
realized in fact. But I also cannot help but know this: if anything can be in the sense that it
now actually exists, then if at any time it did not exist, it previously could exist. After all, if
it could not have existed, it would never have existed. So I think that my reply was perfectly
adequate: since, given that he wills, he can will, it must be the case that before he willed, he
could will.28
In this passage Anselm is engaging in a kind of remote debate with Aristotle. He had
read On Interpretation together with Boethius’s commentary, and so would have
known that potency (potestas in Boethius’s translation) is said both of that which is
in act and of that which is able to come to be in act.29 Anselm emphasizes that
“power” cannot be limited to the power that remains together with the actual being
of the thing. One must also recognize a power for being that is prior to the being of
the thing that has come to be. This applies equally to willing, and so when Anselm
lays out his doctrine of the will, he does not hesitate to apply a theory of power that
26
On this theory of the will, see Goebel (2001) and Trego (2010).
27
Aristotle, Cat. 8, trans. Boethius (AL 1.5: 23–24). Affectio is the term that is also used in the
Decem categoriae §§115–116 (AL 1.15: 159–160). William of Moerbeke prefers dispositiones
(AL 1.1–5: 102).
28
Anselm, De casu diaboli 12 (ed. Schmitt, 1: 252–253): “Scio duas esse potestates, unam quae
nondum est in re, alteram quae iam est in re. Sed et hoc non possum nescire quia quidquid ita potest
esse ut iam sit: si aliquando non fuit, potuit prius esse. Si enim non potuisset, numquam esset. Bene
ergo aestimo me respondisse, quia qui ideo potest velle quia iam vult, necesse est prius eum
potuisse quam vellet.” English translation by Thomas Williams (Anselm 2007, 189), slightly
modified.
29
See Boethius, In Perihermeneias, secunda editio (ed. Meiser, 2: 453–454): “Duae ergo significa-
tiones sunt possibilitatis: una quae eam possibilitatem designat quae est potestate, quae scilicet
actu non sit, altera quae eam possibilitatem significet quae iam actu sit.”
ultimately depends on the Aristotelian framework of potency and act. The task is thus
to examine what a rational creature is capable of in itself and from its own power.
Anselm then demonstrates that a rational creature is not able to give itself its first
willing. That which has no will cannot move itself from not willing to willing; it
therefore has to be acknowledged that there must be a “natural will” for avoiding
what is harmful to oneself and for seeking what is beneficial. The “will for what is
beneficial” thus makes its appearance. Contrary to the power for seeing, which we
ourselves can set in motion, the power for willing cannot depend on a prior will; in
order to wish for some good that is supposed to make us happy we must first be
made to seek happiness.
This “will for happiness” (beatitudinis voluntas)—or will for the beneficial
(commodum), as Anselm also calls it—should be defined precisely.30 This will like-
wise be the case for the “will for justice” (iustitiae voluntas).31 These two wills,
which orient our capacity for willing, can be thought of as having been received as
a gift. In other words, the two orientations of willing are not thought of as disposi-
tions acquired by the exercise of the will, but rather as coming to us by being given
to us, according to the theoretical model that Anselm has been developing since the
start of De casu diaboli. It is also a development of the Pauline formula, “What do
you have which you did not receive?” (1 Cor. 4:7). We are what we have, and we
have it because we received it as a gift.
Thus, although Anselm revives a concept of Aristotelian origin with his account
of potestas, it is clear in what way the two authors differ. Aristotle stresses the sense
of potency as a potentiality that is essentially ordered to its proper actualization, and
makes habitus (hexis) the means by which we are able to constitute ourselves
according to the way in which we develop our potentialities. Anselm by contrast
emphasizes a rational creature’s openness to otherness: it acquires its various pow-
ers, and even the capacity to exercise its powers, from another.
5.3.2 The Will and Its Affections
It thus makes sense that when Anselm takes up this doctrine again in De conceptu
virginali (from 1100)32 and in De concordia (written in 1108) he uses the term affec-
tio rather than habitus.
In chapter 11 of question 3 of De concordia, Anselm distinguishes three senses
of will, as instrument, aptitude or affection, and exercise:
Therefore, since each of these instruments has its nature, its aptitudes, and its uses, let us
distinguish in the will, which is our present concern, the instrument, its aptitudes, and its
uses. We can call these aptitudes in the will its “affections.”33
30
Anselm, De casu diaboli 13 (ed. Schmitt, 1: 255.23).
31
Anselm, De casu diaboli 14 (ed. Schmitt, 1: 258.8).
32
Anselm, De conceptu virginali 4 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 144).
33
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 279.6–10): “Quoniam ergo singula instrumenta
habent et hoc quod sunt, et aptitudines suas, et suos usus: discernamus in voluntate propter quam
96 K. Trego
Recall that in chapter 7 of De libertate arbitrii Anselm spoke only of instrument and
use. After writing De casu diaboli Anselm now has added a third sense of will as
aptitude or affection. Let us therefore attempt to grasp the meaning of this aptitude
of the will, also called an affection.
Why then can a aptitude of the will be called an affection? Anselm immediately
gives an answer:
The instrument for willing is affected by its aptitudes. That is why when a human soul wills
something very intensely, we say that it is goaded (affecta) into willing something, or that
it wills it passionately (affectuose).34
It is clear that Anselm has carefully considered the choice of the term “affection.”
The faculty of willing, which he calls an instrument, is “affected” by its aptitudes.
In this way, Anselm emphasizes the passive dimension of affection: that is, an affec-
tion makes us will in a certain way.
For Anselm, therefore, there are three senses of will:
1. Will as instrument or capacity (vis):
The instrument for willing is the power of the soul that we employ for willing, just as reason
is the instrument for reasoning that we employ when we reason and sight is the instrument
for seeing that we employ when we see.35
The will is thus thought of on the model of other “capacities” such as reason or
sight, which Aristotle would have called potencies. Note that Anselm speaks in
terms of instruments; in this way he points to the idea that one uses a capacity of this
kind in order to do a certain thing (such as seeing, reasoning, hearing, etc.).
2. Will as affection:
The affection of this instrument is that by which the instrument itself is disposed in such a
way to will something (even when one is not thinking of what it wills) that if that thing
comes to mind, the instrument wills it, either immediately or at the appropriate time. The
instrument for willing is disposed in this way to will health, even when one is not thinking
of health, so that as soon as health comes to mind, it wills health. […] And in a just person,
that same instrument is disposed in a similar way to will justice, even when the person is
asleep, so that he wills justice as soon as he thinks of it.36
ista dicimus instrumentum, et aptitudines eius, et usus eius. Quas aptitudines in voluntate possu-
mus nominare ‘affectiones’.” Trans. Williams (Anselm 2007, 388).
34
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 279.10–12): “Affectum quippe est instrumentum
volendi suis aptitudinibus. Unde dicitur hominis anima, cum vehementer vult aliquid, affecta esse
ad volendum illud, vel affectuose velle.” Trans. Williams (Anselm 2007, 388).
35
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 279.15–17): “Instrumentum volendi est vis illa ani-
mae qua utimur ad volendum, sicuti est ratio instrumentum ratiocinandi quo utimur cum ratio-
cinamur, et visus instrumentum videndi quo utimur quando videmus.” Trans. Williams (Anselm
2007, 388).
36
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 279.17–27) “Affectio huius instrumenti est, qua sic
afficitur ipsum instrumentum ad volendum aliquid – etiam quando illud quod vult non cogitat – ut
si venit in memoriam, aut statim aut suo tempore illud velit. Nam sic est instrumentum volendi
affectum ad volendum salutem – etiam quando illam non cogitat – ut mox cum venerit in memo-
riam, statim eam velit. […] In iusto quoque homine similiter est affectum idem instrumentum ad
volendum iustitiam – etiam cum dormit – ut cum eam cogitat, statim illam velit.” Trans. Williams
(Anselm 2007, 388).
Will as affection thus orients our willing towards an end, and remains even when
one is not thinking of that end; it thus has a kind of permanence. Note Anselm’s
explanation with regard to being affected to will justice, which pertains only to a
just person; the affectio iustitiae is therefore not universal.
3. Will as use, which is produced together with the thought of that which we will.37
Anselm’s threefold division of will seems similar to Aristotle’s threefold division
of dunamis, hexis, and energeia, but it is important to note the differences. In par-
ticular, affectio is not identical to hexis, for unlike hexis, it is given to us and we
receive it. In this respect, the idea of affectio brings with it a kind of fragility: that
this affectio is not definitively acquired is shown by the fact that if we do not keep
justice we can lose the affectio iustitiae, which Anselm describes precisely as
“separable.”
Thus, in certain respects Anselm’s account of human nature appears to be the
direct opposite of Aristotle’s. Whereas habitus/hexis made it possible for us to cause
ourselves to be some way or other depending on what we do, affectio designates the
disposition that we receive for aiming at some end or other; for example, the affectio
iustitiae directs us to make the effort to learn in order to know correctly.38 In other
words, affectio is not constituted (and does not constitute us) through what we do,
but rather leads us to will, and thus to do, this or that act.
Therefore, although the Anselmian concept of affectio can be compared in cer-
tain respects to the concept of habitus, it must in fact be understood entirely differ-
ently from Aristotle’s habitus/hexis.39 Anselm emphasizes the ontological lack of
the rational creature, inasmuch as it depends on another for what it is, but also for
what it becomes—that is, what it receives—and ultimately even for what it wills or
can will. Anselm writes that the will “moves itself by means of its own affections.
Hence, it can be described as an instrument that moves itself.”40 If the will moves
itself, as Anselm says, it does so according to affections that are in it without being
of it.41
37
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 279.27–28): “Usus vero eiusdem instrumenti est,
quem non habemus, nisi cum cogitamus rem quam volumus.”
38
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 281).
39
In this respect, Anselm’s doctrine of the two affectiones, as it was taken up again in the thirteenth
century, cannot be reduced to the Aristotelian doctrine of habitus. Nevertheless, in his Notabilia
super Metaphysicam, Duns Scotus understands the Anselmian affectio commodi as a habitus:
“Voluntas enim habet unum habitum concreatum, scilicet affectionem commodi, secundum
Anselmum” (V, 157, ed. Pini, 66). On the reception of the doctrine of the two affections, see
Alliney (2013). On Scotus and the Anselmian affectiones, see Boler (1993), Lee (1998), Cervellon
(2004).
40
Anselm, De concordia 3.11 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 284.3–4): “ipsa vero se suis affectionibus movet.
Unde dici potest instrumentum se ipsum movens.” Trans. Williams (Anselm 2007, 390). Note that
Anselm concedes self-motion here in at most a provisional way (dici potest).
41
See also Anselm, Cur Deus homo 2.10 (ed. Schmitt, 2: 108) on the way in which a form of aseity
can be conceded in a rational creature. The aseity that is conceded in a certain way does not imply
any autonomy, but presupposes an essential receptivity.
98 K. Trego
5.4 Duns Scotus: Habitus and Will
With Duns Scotus—the subtle reader of Aristotle—the concept of habitus takes on

the full importance that is due to it when it is placed at the centre of a doctrine of
free will.42 To demonstrate this, Scotus uses his knowledge not just of Aristotle’s
ethics, but also (and perhaps most of all) of his metaphysics, in particular the con-
cept of potency (dunamis). I wish to suggest that it is Scotus’s mastery of the meta-
physical account of act and potency, and his employment of this account to describe
free will, that make it possible for him to integrate the Aristotelian concept of habi-
tus as part of his account of free will in such a way that habitus does not introduce
any constraint on the will.
5.4.1 Habitus and Indeterminacy
It is clear that Scotus gives habitus a central place in his ethical theory. However, let
us first examine the theoretical underpinnings that he gives to the concept of habi-
tus. We should first of all note the way in which Scotus limits the use of the term
habitus in its proper sense to beings in which there is some sort of indeterminacy.
To do this, he adopts a general perspective. Habitus in the strict sense does not per-
tain to inanimate beings, in which there can be habitus only in the sense of adorn-
ment or covering:
Though it is not habitus in the proper sense that are present in inanimate things, they can
nevertheless be called such on the basis of something associated with them, which (insofar
as they have a certain motion, which is their adornment or covering) can be reduced to the
genus of habitus.43
Habitus is understood here as belonging to the genus of quality; Scotus thus

clearly maintains the categorial conception of habitus. Nevertheless, it is necessary
to go further: habitus is not just what is accidental to a thing and adorns it, but must
also be assigned to a power.
One can therefore specify which beings are capable of having habitus by exam-
ining the powers to which habitus belong. Scotus states that a habitus presupposes
a power that is not determined to a single act:
A habitus is not generated in things that are naturally inclined or determined to one thing
[… but] is generated in powers that are in themselves not determined to an act that has been
repeatedly elicited.44
42
See Gilson (1952), pp. 607–608, Kent (2003) and Boulnois (2017), 42–43. On Scotus’s account
of habitus, see Nikl (2005) and Boulnois’s paper in this volume p. 39–43.
43
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 32, q. 2, n. 22 (Vat. 6: 230): “Licet non sit proprie habitus in inani-
matis, possunt tamen denominari ab aliquo adiacente, quod (in quantum est aliqua motio ornamen-
tum vel tegumentum eorum) potest reduci ad genus habitus.”
44
John Duns Scotus, Ord. II, d. 3, pars 2, q. 3, n. 401 (Vat. 7: 596): “habitus non generatur in natu-
raliter inclinatis sive determinatis ad unum (sicut non generatur in gravi, per quotiescumque
Here we find an essential element that will make it possible to assign habitus to the
will: the concept of indeterminacy. Habitus belongs to a power that is in itself unde-
termined.45 It is therefore not found in merely natural agents, for they are already
naturally determined.46
5.4.2 Habitus of the Free Will
But if habitus is an anthropological concept, should it not be assigned to the intellect

rather than the free will? This is certainly not the view of Scotus, who shows that
habitus also pertains to the free will—indeed, perhaps to the free will most of all.47
Recall that Scotus sees the will as the rational power par excellence, inasmuch as it
is undetermined in itself, but also capable of determining itself. How then is it that
habitus is not antithetical to the idea of the freedom of the will?
To answer this question, let us turn to distinction 33 of book 3 of Scotus’s
Sentences commentary, where Scotus asks whether the moral virtues are in the
will.48 He responds to this question affirmatively. Let us try to grasp the central point
in this text, where the habitus of the moral virtues are assigned to the will, which is
essentially free.
Contrary to one way of reading of Aristotle (which is immediately brought up in
support of the negative answer), the issue will be to show how the freedom of the
will does not rule out the possibility of the will having dispositions. “The Philosopher
says in book 1 of the Ethics that they are in the irrational part of the soul,” says
Scotus in the Ordinatio.49 In the Reportatio he is more precise, and distinguishes
‘descendere’, ratio descensus), neque generatur in violenter motis inclinatio conformis operanti
sive operationi habitus (ut patet si grave quotiescumque proiciatur sursum), − sed generatur in
potentiis, in se indeterminatis ad actum frequenter elicitum.”
45
On habitus as what determines an undetermined power to one act or another, see Thomas
Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 55, art. 1: “Et ideo huiusmodi potentiae naturales secundum seipsas dicuntur
virtutes. Potentiae autem rationales, quae sunt propriae hominis, non sunt determinatae ad unum,
sed se habent indeterminate ad multa, determinantur autem ad actus per habitus, sicut ex supradic-
tis patet.”
46
See John Duns Scotus, Ord. III, d. 33, n. 30 (Vat. 10: 156): “a puris naturalibus agentibus omnes
removent habitus, quia sunt summe inclinata ex se.”
47
Cf. Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 50, art. 5: “Respondeo dicendum quod omnis potentia quae
diversimode potest ordinari ad agendum, indiget habitu quo bene disponatur ad suum actum.
Voluntas autem, cum sit potentia rationalis, diversimode potest ad agendum ordinari. Et ideo opor-
tet in voluntate aliquem habitum ponere, quo bene disponatur ad suum actum. Ex ipsa etiam
ratione habitus apparet quod habet quendam principalem ordinem ad voluntatem, prout habitus est
quo quis utitur cum voluerit, ut supra dictum est.”
48
John Duns Scotus, Rep. III, d. 33, q. un. (Wadding 11.1: 544–550); Ord. III, d. 33, q. un. (Vat. 10:
141–175).
49
John Duns Scotus, Ord. III, d. 33, n. 2 (Vat. 10: 141): “I Ethicorum dicit Philosophus quod sunt
in parte irrationali animae.”
100 K. Trego
between the moral and the intellectual virtues: “[Aristotle] says that the intellectual
virtues are in the rational part of the soul, and the moral virtues in the irrational
part.”50 Remarkably, however, it is again Aristotle who is appealed to in support of
the affirmative answer. Even though Aristotle’s psychology does not leave a place
for the will, Scotus does not hesitate to reinterpret Aristotle’s text to make a place
for it. Thus, he reworks the definition in book 2 of the Nicomachean Ethics of virtue
as a hexis prohairetikê:
“Virtue is a habit of choice,” according to [Aristotle’s] definition in book 2 of the Ethics; but
choice is an act of the will or of reason, according to book 6 of the Ethics, “for it is a delib-
erative appetite.” But this pertains to the will, which acts with a cognition of reason presup-
posed; but habitus belongs to the power to which such an act belongs essentially; therefore,
a moral habitus belongs essentially to the will.51
This passage is a masterful rehauling of Aristotelian ethics in order to introduce the

will. Let us lay out the steps by which Scotus bends Aristotle’s text to his own
purpose.
1. Virtue is a hexis prohairetikê, or habitus electivus, as the phrase is rendered in the
Latin translation of Robert Grosseteste.52
2. Choice, says Scotus, should be assigned to the will and to reason. He therefore
appeals to book 6 of the Nicomachean Ethics, where electio is defined as an
appetitus consiliativus.
Let us stop to consider this formulation. In Nicomachean Ethics 6.2, 1139b4–5,
Aristotle makes prohairesis a kind of mutual articulation of desire and intellect.
Grosseteste translates the passage as follows: “propter quod vel appetitivus intel-
lectus electio, vel appetitus intellectivus” (electio is either a desiring intellect or an
intellective desire). Thus, it is clear that electio depends on two faculties, both the
appetite and the intellect. When he speaks of an appetitus consiliativus, Duns Scotus
adopts a classic synthesis of this idea inherited from Averroes, which is also adopted
by Henry of Ghent, for example, in question 16 of his first Quodlibet, where he is
also discussing the same passage in Aristotle.53
The issue for Aristotle, as understood by Scotus, had to do with the intellect and
the appetite, but Scotus transforms this passage to introduce the will, which is absent
in Aristotle’s text. The desiderative dimension associated with the idea of choice
(electio) is reinterpreted using the terminology of the will. This reworking of the
text is decisive for associating (moral) habitus with the will.
50
John Duns Scotus, Rep. III, d. 33, q. un., §1 (Wadding 11.1: 544b): “dicit intellectuales virtutes
esse in parte rationali animae, morales in irrationali.”
51
John Duns Scotus, Ord. III, d. 33, n. 7 (Vat. 10: 143): “‘Virtus est habitus electivus’ ex definitione
sua, ex II Ethicorum, − electio autem est actus vel voluntatis vel rationis, secundum Philosophum
VI Ethicorum: ‘est enim vel appetitus consiliativus vel’ etc.; haec pertinent ad voluntatem, quae
operatur praesupposita cognitione rationis. Habitus est illius potentiae cuius est per se illa operatio;
ergo habitus moralis est per se ipsius voluntatis.”
52
Aristotle, NE 2.6, trans. Robert Grosseteste (AL 26.1–3: 404).
53
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. I, q. 16 (Opera Omnia 5: 105).
3. Whereas Aristotle’s text joined intellect and appetite together and balanced them
against each other—he does not decide in the passage on their order of priority,
calling electio either desiderative intellect or intellective desire—Scotus tilts the
balance in favour of the will, and makes the intellect subordinate to it. Moral
habitus will thus essentially pertain more to the will than to the intellect. In this
way, the idea of habitus, which was inherited from Aristotle, takes its place at the
core of a doctrine of free will, despite the fact that free will was not part of the
discussion in Aristotle’s text.
First of all, it is possible to make room for a habitus that arises in and from the
will:
In that prior [instant] the will (since it is just as undetermined and determinable as the intel-
lect), is able to generate in itself from its right choices a habitus that inclines it to choosing
rightly.54
It is thus by the will that habitus is generated. In its essential lack of determination,
the will is able to determine itself to having a certain orientation. The will’s lack of
determination makes it determinable, but its determination does not come to it from
anything other than itself; rather it is the will itself that generates in itself a certain
habitus.
Second, the habitus that is thus generated does not deprive the will of its free-
dom. We should note immediately the term used, habitum inclinantem: a right habit
inclines the will to right choices, but in no way does it make them necessary. Scotus
is firm on this point: the inclination of habitus does not necessitate.
An objection along these lines is surely anticipated by Scotus when he makes the
following statement: “It is not contradictory for [the will] to act freely and yet for a
habitus to act in it in the mode of nature.”55 Virtus, the moral habitus, thus seems to
be active, but as a lower agent, which thus has no necessitating capacity with respect
to the higher agent, that is, the will, which thus retains its commanding role. It is
thus possible to maintain that habitus is a natural agent that is compatible with the
freedom that essentially characterizes the will.
In the Reportatio, Scotus goes into more detail about the non-necessitating incli-
nation of habitus by appealing more specifically to the doctrine of concurring par-
tial causes:
The more principal active cause is in the power that is the subject of a habitus and has the
causality of the habitus in its power as a partial cause; and the more imperfect cause does
not necessitate the more perfect, although it inclines the latter’s causality determinately and
to the extent of which it is capable.56
54
John Duns Scotus, Ord. III, d. 33, n. 44 (Vat. 10: 162): “In illo ergo priore potest voluntas ex
rectis electionibus (cum sit aeque indeterminata et determinabilis sicut intellectus) generare in se
ipsa habitum inclinantem ad recte eligendum.”
55
John Duns Scotus, Ord. III, d. 33, n. 74 (Vat. 10: 174): “non repugnat quod libere agat et tamen
quod habitus agat in ea per modum naturae.”
56
John Duns Scotus, Rep. III, d. 33, q. un, §22 (Wadding 11.1: 549a): “principalior causa activa est
in potentia subiectiva habitui et habens causalitatem habitus in potestate sua, sicut causae partialis;
et imperfectior non necessitat causam perfectiorem, licet eius causalitatem determinate, et inquan-
tum potest, inclinet.”
102 K. Trego
We have now arrived at the end of the path that has made it possible to harmonize
the Aristotelian concept of habitus with a doctrine of free will. Habitus is thus
inserted into a conceptual apparatus that relies on the concepts of cause and deter-
mination. A power is thought of less in terms of its completion or fulfilment than in
terms of the notion of cause. The freedom of the will makes it necessary to recog-
nize in habitus a non-necessitating causality. Habitus thus contributes in a way that
is in counterpoint to the will, conceived of as a power that is undetermined in what
it does. Whereas hexis assisted in the actualization of what was already in potency,
habitus is here thought of in connection with a power that is essentially undeter-
mined with regard what it can bring about.
5.4.3 Indeterminacy Revisited
Before concluding, we should note that the accommodation of habitus within a

doctrine of the will turns out to be linked to the reworking of the Aristotelian meta-
physical framework. Scotus develops a metaphysical treatment of the will.57 He
undertakes his analysis of free willing in question 15 of his Questions on Metaphysics
9 by way of a discussion of the idea of rational and irrational powers found in chap-
ter 2 of book 9 of Aristotle’s Metaphysics. This context clearly involves a certain
way of thinking about the potency-act distinction. Act is no longer the completion
or realization of an essence, but the bringing about of an action.
With this in mind, there appears the new concept of an indeterminacy which is
no longer a negative concept. Duns Scotus assigns this kind of indeterminacy a
central function in his treatment of the will as a rational power, where his goal is to
explain the difference between a natural power and a free power.58 In this sense,
something can be undetermined in such a way that it is able to determine itself. Let
us return to the passage in question 15 of Scotus’s Questions on the Metaphysics 9,
where he anticipates the objection that an undetermined thing would not be able to
pass from potency into act from itself: “It might be asked concerning what has been
said how such a cause will be reduced to act if it is from itself undetermined to act-
ing or not acting.”59 The response consists in distinguishing two senses of indeter-
minacy: the one is the indeterminacy of insufficiency, which corresponds to
Aristotelian determination and applies to the potentiality that is attributed to matter;
the other is the indeterminacy of excess or superabundance, which applies not just
to God, who is an infinite being, but also to the unlimitedness which characterizes
the human will:
57
See Trego (2015).
58
See Trego (2017).
59
John Duns Scotus, Quaestiones in Metaphysicam, lib. 9, q. 15, n. 31 (OPh 4: 683): “Secundo
dubitatur circa praedicta quomodo reducetur talis causa ad actum si indeterminata est ex se ad
agendum et non agendum.”
There is a one kind of indeterminacy, [that] of insufficiency, or from potentiality and lack
of actuality, as matter that does not have form is undetermined to doing the act of a form;
another is [the indeterminacy] of superabundant sufficiency, which is from an unlimited-
ness of actuality, either without qualification or in a certain way.60
The first type of indeterminacy cannot pass into act by itself, but this does not apply
to the second type:
Something that is undetermined in the first way is not reduced to act unless it is determined
to a form by something else; something that is undetermined in the second way is able to
determine itself.61
Though the will is undetermined, this indeterminacy is the flip side of its capacity
for self-determination, and as such is the condition of its freedom. The indetermi-
nacy that is presupposed in order for something to be able to acquire a habitus thus
brings us to the positive indeterminacy that belongs to the will as a rational power.
According to Scotus, this is its power to determine itself.
5.5 Conclusion
The above survey is an attempt to outline the main steps in the integration of habitus
within the doctrine of free will. Though the concept of habitus is central in the
Aristotelian corpus, we have seen that it required constant and multiple reworkings
to take its full place at the centre of a doctrine of the will as essentially and funda-
mentally free. This integration did not leave the concept of habitus unaffected, nor
did it remain impervious to the transformations that affected the way in which
power and act are conceptualized. Habitus did not have merely the function of
allowing a power to reveal its potentiality and to actualize something that was
already ordered to a certain completion. While hexis allowed for the passage from
dunamis to energeia, habitus is thought of in connection with an active power. Seen
from this perspective, habitus becomes compatible with the will as a rational power,
that is, one that is in itself undetermined.
The question of habitus thus followed the twists and turns in the development of
Aristotelianism. The place and meaning that Duns Scotus assigns to habitus when
he combines it with the doctrine of the will provide a way of recapitulating the vari-
ous obstacles and steps in the course of its reception in Latin philosophy:
60
John Duns Scotus, Quaestiones in Metaphysicam, lib. 9, q. 15, n. 31 (OPh 4: 683): “est quaedam
indeterminatio insufficientiae, sive ex potentialitate et defectu actualitatis, sicut materia non habens
formam est indeterminata ad agendum actionem formae; est alia superabundantis sufficientiae,
quae est ex illimitatione actualitatis, vel simpliciter vel quodammodo.”
61
John Duns Scotus, Quaestiones in Metaphysicam, lib. 9, q. 15, n. 32 (OPh 4: 683): “Primo modo
indeterminatum non reducitur ad actum nisi prius determinetur ad formam ab alio; secundo modo
indeterminatum potest se determinare.”
104 K. Trego
1. Augustine saw in habitus a way of emphasizing “having”: that which is consti-

tuted by what it has. The Aristotelian doctrine of the categories, within which
Augustine develops his analysis, thus privileges a conception of accidents on the
model of having. Though the concept of habitus involves the persistence of a
disposition, we should see in it less what one is (from the start and essentially)
than what one has, or more precisely, what one has (durably) acquired. One can
therefore ask what motivates such an acquisition, such a becoming-other.
Presented in this way as a stable having, habitus finds a place, beyond the con-
fines of the doctrine of the categories of being, at the heart of an ethical doctrine,
where the issue is how to conceive of becoming better.
2. If what one is something that one has, can we not think of this “having” as a
reception—the reception of a gift? Anselm presents an account of human nature
that emphasizes the receptivity of what one becomes and the openness to the
other. While he recognizes that a potency necessarily precedes the act—and for
this reason he is not satisfied with the model of having—he invites us with his
idea of the affections (rather than habitus) of the will to recognize the way in
which the will orients itself in its choices according to aptitudes, or affections,
which are properly “given” to it. A rational creature thus manifests a kind of
constitutive lack and, in its very willing, its dependence on what is given to it.
3. How then should the potency of the will, prior to its acts of willing, be con-
ceived? Duns Scotus certainly cannot remain satisfied with the account of how
an act reveals or presupposes a potency. By reworking the Metaphysics, espe-
cially book 9, Scotus emphasizes the idea that the will is a power; specifically, it
is a “rational power,” by which he means that it is essentially undetermined but
is able to determine itself. Thus, a habitus of the will does not determine the will
by imposing on it a determination from the outside, but rather inclines it without
necessitating it, leaving it free in its choice.
The question of habitus is thus not a trivial one, but involves a certain account of
human nature, and consequently a certain way of thinking about the being of that
which is. The question thus has not just an ethical significance—in the sense that we
have to conceive of a habitus that does not necessitate the will, if we wish to main-
tain that the will is free—but ultimately a metaphysical significance as well.
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Chapter 6
What Does a Habitus of the Soul Do?
The Case of the Habitus of Faith
in Bonaventure, Peter John Olivi and John
Duns Scotus
Nicolas Faucher
Abstract While a habitus can be described as a disposition towards a certain type

of act, such a definition is not sufficient to encompass the diversity of uses the medi-
eval thinkers made of this concept. It is the aim of this paper to examine the habitus
of faith in the voluntarist Franciscan tradition in order to illustrate several of its
functions and how these varied from author to author. Studying how the habitus of
faith works for Bonaventure, Peter John Olivi and John Duns Scotus allows us to
examine different takes on these functions and illustrates the variety of possible
positions even within a tradition that emphasizes the freedom and agency of the
moral subject above all. We will highlight three different capacities a habitus
can grant: the capacity to pick out its proper objects, in the present case, the objects
of faith; the capacity to elicit certain acts that without it would not have been pos-
sible or at least that would not have had the moral value the habitus grants them; the
capacity to unite several powers in the performance of a given act.
Keywords Faith · Habitus · Bonaventure · Peter John Olivi · Duns Scotus ·

Freedom · Virtue
6.1 Introduction
For all medieval thinkers, habitus are to be thought of as dispositions towards cer-
tain types of acts. Their first and main function is to condition the way in which an
act is performed: better, more quickly, more easily, or more pleasurably. A simple
example is a mind becoming better at mental calculation through performing differ-
ent calculations repeatedly. In medieval terms, only one power, the intellect, would
N. Faucher (*)
Centre of Excellence in Reason and Religious Recognition, Faculty of Theology,
University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland

108 N. Faucher
be habituated, and only one operation (though it might be divided into several sub-
operations of the same nature) is concerned: calculating. The more I calculate, the
quicker my intellect becomes at it and the easier it becomes for it to reach results
without error.
The object of the present paper is to determine the precise role of a very specific
habitus: the habitus of faith. This habitus disposes the agent who possesses it
towards acts of faith, defined here as acts of intellectual assent to a given object, by
which this object is held to be true with firmness, that is with neither hesitation nor
fear that the opposite might be true. Acts of faith are also free and voluntary in the
sense that an act of the will commanding this assent to the intellect is required for it
to occur.
The habitus of faith is much more complex than a habitus such as the calculat-
ing habitus I described above, in several ways. First, faith is a specific kind of
habitus, namely a virtue. This means that the acts of faith, towards which the
habitus of faith inclines the agent, are supposed to be morally good. Therefore, by
contrast with the calculating habitus, which concerns any number at all, the sub-
ject who elicits acts of faith must somehow be able to pick out which objects it is
morally good to assent to. In other words, the calculating habitus disposes an
intellect to a certain type of act (adding, multiplying, etc.) whatever its object
(any number), while the habitus of faith disposes a power (or more than one
power; see below) to a certain type of act (assenting intellectually or accepting as
true) that has a very specific type of object (what must be believed by a Catholic).
Our first line of inquiry will be to examine the way in which the habitus of faith
helps, or not, in picking out the right objects of assent.
Second, faith is a theological virtue, which means that it is given by God to the
believer. It thus stands to reason that, for our authors, this habitus not only
inclines the believer towards an act but also makes possible an act that is natu-
rally impossible without this habitus—or at least it makes it possible to elicit this
act in a way that is naturally impossible without God’s help. Otherwise, there
seems to be no reason to conceive faith as a God-given habitus. Our second line
of inquiry will be to examine what act, or at least what aspect of an act, the habi-
tus of faith makes possible.
Finally, the habitus of faith predisposes its subject to the act of faith. But this
act, inasmuch as it is free and virtuous, must be an act of the will, the only
power of the soul able to elicit free acts. This act, inasmuch as it is by definition
an act of apprehension of something as true, must also be an act of the intellect,
the power of the soul that can make judgments about truth or falsity. Are there
two acts (or sub-acts) of faith, one of the will, the other of the intellect? Or is
there a single act of faith that somehow involves both powers? Correspondingly,
are there two habitus of faith inclining to two acts, or only one habitus? And if
there is only one, does it incline the will or the intellect? This will be our third
line of inquiry.
6 What Does a Habitus of the Soul Do? The Case of the Habitus of Faith… 109
These questions will be examined through the study of three Franciscan thinkers:
Bonaventure,1 Peter John Olivi,2 and John Duns Scotus,3 whose doctrines of faith
have received little attention until now.4 As far as I know, I provide here the first
detailed study of the inner workings of the habitus of faith for these authors, in a
diachronic perspective. As I have shown in previous works,5 Bonaventure simplifies
the model inherited from Alexander of Hales and his intellectual milieu, and allows
for a conception of faith that can be explained by resorting only to the intellect and
the will. Olivi and Scotus, both influenced by Bonaventure, reprise such a view and,
in very different ways, emphasize the absolute freedom of the act of faith, which
proceeds at its core from an act or acts of the will, no matter how the objects of faith
are known or taught to the believer.
This sharply distinguishes these thirteenth-century Franciscan authors from their
contemporaries, such as the secular masters Henry of Ghent and Godfrey of
Fontaines. Both Henry and Godfrey are strongly intellectualist in matters of faith, in
that for them the habitus of faith given by God is sufficient to produce faithful assent
without any more contribution from the will than a desire and effort to attend to
what should be believed and to examine reasons for rather than against believing.6
By contrast, Franciscan authors insist that the agency of the believer is central. The
believer not only is making herself receptive to God’s grace, but also takes an active
part in eliciting the act of faith. It is our aim to highlight the diversity of positions
within Franciscan thought that share this common ground.
The first part of the paper will show how, for Bonaventure, even though the habitus
of faith is received from God, it never constrains the intellect to assent, but requires an
1
On Bonaventure’s view of the general characteristics of habitus, see Thompson (1956). According
to him, in Sent. II, d. 25, p. 1, art. 1, Bonaventure distinguishes three types of habitus. One merely
describes the unenhanced basic capacities of a power, such as the capacity of the mind to know
itself; the second one is a real accident added to a given power which makes it capable to do some-
thing it couldn’t without it, such as when the intellect knows mathematical objects through an
acquired accident; the third kind of habitus merely adds a real relation between faculties. As will
become apparent below, if the habitus of faith were to find its place within this classification, it
seems it would fit in the second and the third categories, as it both adds some new knowledge about
objects of faith (that they should be believed) and facilitates the interactions between the intellect
and the will that result in the performance of the act of faith.
2
On Olivi’s view of the general characteristics of habitus, see in the present volume Toivanen’s
chapter, p. 187–196.
3
On Scotus’s view of the general characteristics of habitus, see in the present volume Boulnois’s
chapter, p. 39–43, and Roques’s chapter, p. 270.
4
In general, the study of medieval doctrines of faith is, with some exceptions, a recent endeavour.
See, for instance Aubert (1943, 1946, 1948), Faucher (2014), Faucher and Roques (2015), and
Grellard (2014a, b). I also quote below some more specific literature on the studied authors
considered.
5
Faucher (2015).
6
Faucher (2015, ch. 3 and 4).
110 N. Faucher
act of the will to do so. The habitus of faith has the function of helping both powers in
eliciting the necessary acts about the appropriate objects. The second part of the paper,
devoted to Olivi, shows that the latter has a much more naturalistic model: the habitus
of faith seems to be produced by repeated acts of the will and of the intellect, while a
natural instinct distinct from faith picks out at least some of its most fundamental
objects. Finally, Scotus’s model is a different take on a quasi-naturalistic view of faith:
the habitus of faith, which is strictly intellectual, is produced by the will. Only the
authority of the church can help us to choose what to believe.
6.2 Bonaventure’s View
To understand the function of the habitus of faith in Bonaventure’s thought, as out-

lined in his commentary of the Sentences,7 one must first understand what charac-
teristics the act of faith must have in order to be properly virtuous. Bonaventure
paints a fairly clear picture, which is in conformity with the authority of Paul the
Apostle, who famously states that the intellect must be taken captive in the service
of Christ (II Cor. 10:5). For Bonaventure, this means that the intellect must assent
above all else to the supreme truth that is God. This is the only way in which a
human soul can be righteous (recta). Assenting to God above all else implies assent-
ing to Him above oneself, which, for Bonaventure, can happen only when one wills
to have one’s intellect taken captive in the service of Christ. Rather than trusting
one’s own intellect in its natural apprehension of what is true, one must want to
submit it to God so that it holds what God revealed to be true, whether or not it can
be proven rationally.
Willing to capture the intellect in this manner characterizes a righteous will (vol-
untas). The habitus of faith is a virtue inasmuch as it prepares and helps the will to
perform this operation, and thus contributes to the rectitude (rectitudo) of the will.8
Indeed, though the role of a virtue is to facilitate a certain act,9 this does not suffice
to define it. The habitus of faith would not be a virtue if it did not somehow rectify
the will: this is what differentiates it from other intellect-illuminating gifts from
God, such as the gift of prophecy. The gift of prophecy illuminates the intellect just
7
For a detailed account of Bonaventure’s doctrine of faith from a theological point of view, see
Ménard (1974). For a view of Bonaventure’s doctrine on faith in his commentaries to the Scripture,
see Lorenzin (2014).
8
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 1 (Bonaventure 1941 [hereafter OTS], 3: 461–462): “Iustum
enim est ut intellectus noster ita captivetur et subiaceat summae Veritati sicut affectus noster debet
subiacere summae Bonitati; nec potest esse anima recta, nisi intellectus summae Veritati propter se
et super omnia assentiat et affectus summae Bonitati adhaereat. Hanc autem rectitudinem non
habet quis nolens, sed volens. Nemo enim plus credit Deo quam sibi, nisi per hoc quod vult intel-
lectum suum captivare in obsequium Christi. Si ergo captivatio intellectus in obsequium summae
Veritatis spectat ad rectitudinem vitae, voluntas, qua quis vult sic se captivare, est voluntas recta,
et habitus, quo mediante ad hoc expeditur et adiuvatur, facit ad voluntatis rectitudinem.”
9
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 466): “Virtus etiam est habitus reddens potentiam
facilem respectu alicuius actus.”
as faith does, and both help it to apprehend the same objects (they are ad eadem).
But the will does not contribute anything to the prophetic illumination: prophets
merely receive intellectual knowledge supernaturally imparted by God. Thus, the
gift of prophecy cannot be called a virtue.10
Thus it is necessary for the will to contribute to the act of faith. There are
two distinct reasons for this: first, because the truth that is faithfully believed
cannot be seen; second, because this truth is salutary and thus it is to be believed
meritoriously.11 So the will is required because the intellect, left alone, could not
believe unseen—that is, non-evident and unproven—truths, as it believes the objects
of science, which are evident by themselves or rationally demonstrated.12 The will
is also required because the act of faithful belief, inasmuch as it is meritorious, must
be free and thus voluntary. The causal power of the will is not enough, however,
because no one can assent to the divine truth for itself and above all else without
divine help.13 So the habitus of faith allows for a direct reliance on God’s authority
that makes the meritorious act of faith possible and gives the will strength to com-
mand faithful assent to the divine truth.
This does not mean, however, that the habitus of faith merely helps the will.
Indeed, it is also a habitus of the intellect in two different respects. First, it is through
this habitus that the intellect is taken captive and relies on the supreme truth that is
God, and so it is a habitus of the intellect, taken as speculative, i.e. as capable of
grasping something as a truth. Second, it is also through this habitus that the intellect
is made capable of assenting not according to its own judgment but according to the
command of the will (or the inclination of the affectus, which is synonymous14).
So the habitus of faith disposes a rational agent towards the act of faith, which
consists in the intellect assenting to the supreme truth that is God, above all else and
10
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 468): “Numquam enim fides esset virtus, quan-
tumcumque intellectum illuminaret, nisi etiam voluntatem quodam modo rectificaret, sicut patet in
dono prophetiae: quia illuminat intellectum ad eadem ad quae illuminat fides, et tamen non ponitur
esse virtus, quoniam in illa illuminatione non cooperatur voluntas, secundum quod cooperatur in
fidei assensu et actu.”
11
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 1 (OTS 3: 462–463): “Est enim in veritatem non visam et
veritatem salutiferam. Quia enim non visa est, creditur voluntarie; quia autem non solum non visa,
sed etiam salutifera, creditur voluntarie et meritorie.”
12
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 1 (OTS 3:462–463): “Dicendum est quod aliter verum est
obiectum fidei, aliter obiectum scientiae. Scientiae, inquam, obiectum est, quia est verum visum; fidei
autem est obiectum, quia est verum: verum inquam, non visum, sed salutiferum. Quia enim est non
visum, requiritur ad ipsum cognoscendum alius habitus quam sit habitus scientiae. Quia salutiferum,
deo habitus ille ad salutem ordinat et ad vitam beatam, et ideo habet rationem virtutis completam. Et
sic patet quod nihil impedit quin fides possit esse in verum et tamen nihilominus esse virtus, pro eo
quod alio modo est in verum quam scientia, secundum duplicem conditionem praeassignatam.”
13
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 2, q. 2 (OTS 3: 481): “[D]icendum quod credere, secundum
quod est actus fidei-virtutis, debetur auctoritati, non cuilibet, sed auctoritati divinae, cui quidem
auctoritati nemo assentit propter se et super omnia nisi per divinam illuminationem; et sic talis
credulitas non est acquisita, sed infusa.”
14
In Bonaventure, the term affectus is another name for the will, i.e. for the power of the soul which
elicits acts of volition and acts of affection, such as emotion regarding a certain object.
112 N. Faucher
by the command of the will, in three different ways: it helps the will to command
this assent, it helps the intellect to comply with this command, and it helps the intel-
lect to actually accomplish the act of assent that is commanded.15 Basically, the
habitus of faith eases every step of the way leading to the act of faith, whichever
power of the soul is primarily concerned at each step. The habitus of faith is thus
chiefly defined by the ultimate intellectual act it helps to perfect. This seems to be a
fairly complicated way to define the act and habitus of faith, but it is nonetheless the
result of an effort towards simplification. Indeed, Bonaventure inherits from his
predecessors quite a complex view of the powers of the soul. In this view, given that
every virtue is the principle of merit and praise, it must be posited in the power of
the soul which is the principle of praiseworthy and meritorious acts. That power is
none other than liberum arbitrium, which is therefore where every virtue is to be
posited.16 In turn, liberum arbitrium is composed of three different powers: the
rational, the concupiscible and the irascible, divided according to the type of opera-
tion accomplished by liberum arbitrium.17 This provides an even more precise way
to locate the habitus of faith in the soul: as its act is of grasping a truth, it is an act
of the rational.
It might be said that Bonaventure’s is a functionalist definition of habitus: every
characteristic that it has is subordinated to its one defining property: facilitating the
act of faith taken as a truth-grasping, intellectual act. That a habitus, as well as its
location within the soul, is defined according to the ultimate act it helps accomplish,
even though several different acts of several different powers might be involved in
the process, is nothing to be surprised at, for Bonaventure. Indeed, for him, the habi-
15
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 466–467): “[S]i fides habitus est per quem intel-
lectus captivatur in obsequium Christi et innititur primae Veritati propter se, et hoc modo dicitur
intellectus quodam modo speculativus, necesse est quod habitus fidei quodam modo sit in intel-
lectu secundum quod habet rationem speculativi. – Et quoniam intellectus non habilitatur ad assen-
tiendum ipsi Veritati primae secundum suum iudicium, sed secundum voluntatis imperium, ideo
fides non respicit intellectum tamquam pure speculativum, sed necessarium est quod ipsa sit in
ipso intellectu secundum quod est quodam modo extensus et ab affectu inclinatus. – Rursus, quo-
niam ipsum velle credere est essentiale ipsi fidei, hinc est quod habitus ille non tantum respicit
intellectum ut speculatur summam Veritatem nec etiam ut inclinatur ab affectu, sed etiam ipsum
affectum.”
16
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 466): “Si ergo virtus est principium laudis et
meriti necessarium est eam poni in illa potentia animae quae est principium primum operis lauda-
bilis et meritorii. Nam si poneretur in potentia inferiori, tunc virtus potentiae naturalis imperaret
virtuti gratuitae. Si ergo liberum arbitrium principium est meriti et demeriti, necesse est omnem
virtutem in libero arbitrio poni.”
17
The rational is the power that elicits acts aimed at attaining true objects, such as propositions
taken to be true; the concupiscible elicits acts aimed at attaining good objects, such as objects loved
and desired; the irascible elicits acts aimed at attaining objects that are hard to get. See Bonaventure,
Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 466): “Rursus, cum habitus sit in ea potentia circa cuius actum
explicat difficultatem, et virtus sit habitus, necesse est eam reperiri in ea potentia sicut in subiecto
quam ad opus habilitat. Quoniam igitur quaedam virtutes explicant actus rationalis, quaedam actus
concupiscibilis, quaedam actus irascibilis, ideo quasdam necesse est poni in rationali, quasdam in
concupiscibili, quasdam in irascibili.”
tus of science, for instance, facilitates at least two acts of two different powers18: the
retention of a species by memory and the turning towards it by intelligence. What is
important is that there is a certain continuity between the different powers involved,
just as health is to be attributed to several different members of a given body and the
health of one affects the health of another, even though to be healthy is not the same
for the heart and for the stomach.19 In the same way, though intellect and will do not
contribute to the act of faith in the same way, their acts are nonetheless facilitated by
the same habitus in order to elicit an act of faith.
Bonaventure thus accepts that the habitus of faith is located in a number of
different powers, given his functionalist definition of habitus. Nonetheless, his
discussion of the different aspects of the act of faith boils down to a distinction
between the respective contributions of the intellect and the will. The intellect
(also called reason, not to be confused with the rational) is charged with the
material aspect of the act, while the will is charged with its formal aspect.20 The
difference between these aspects is easily illustrated by the case of the small
child, who has received the supernatural habitus of faith. This child has what is
formal in the habitus of faith, namely the readiness and ease in assenting to every
article of faith if they are presented to him once he is an adult. But he has none of
the material aspect of the habitus, i.e. he knows none of the objects that he is
supposed to believe.21 This is what makes teaching the objects of faith essential,
because if they are not taught, then the habitus has no opportunity to be brought
into act and can easily be expelled from the soul of the baptized, who will fall
into error just as easily as if he had never received it in the first place.22
18
The notion of power of the soul is here to be understood in its broadest sense as any identifiable
faculty to which a certain kind of act can be attributed. For instance, acts of memory and intelli-
gence are acts of the intellect.
19
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 467): “[H]abitus scientiae quoad quid respicit
memoriam, scilicet quoad retentionem speciei, et quoad quid intelligentiam, scilicet quoad facili-
tatem conversionis, et tamen dicitur unus habitus simplex. Quamvis enim potentiae distinctae sint,
nihilominus tamen continuari habent in uno subiecto, ratione cuius potest esse in eis unitas propri-
etatis, sicut una sanitas ponitur esse in multis membris corporis interius.”
20
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 1, q. 2 (OTS 3: 467): “[N]ihil impedit dicere unam et eamdem
virtutem esse simul in libero arbitrio et ratione et voluntate, quia […] liberum arbitrium non dicit
potentiam distinctam a ratione et voluntate secundum rem et essentiam, immo, secundum quod
vult beatus Augustinus, liberum arbitrium complectitur tres potentias, scilicet irascibilem, concu-
piscibilem et rationalem. Et ideo nullum inconveniens est quod unaquaeque virtus, quae reponitur
in unaquaque illarum potentiarum secundum quod habitus, in libero arbitrio reponatur secundum
quod virtus et meriti principium. – Similiter nullum est inconveniens ponere unum habitum esse in
ratione et voluntate, ita quod unam illarum potentiarum respiciat quantum ad actum materialem,
alteram quantum ad actum formalem.”
21
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 2, q. 2, ad 5 (OTS 3: 482): “[P]arvulus habet habitum fidei
quantum ad illud quod est in ea formale; habet enim aliquid quo promptus erit et facilis ad assen-
tiendum omnibus articulis fidei, si ei proponantur cum ad adultam aetatem pervenerit. Caret tamen
ea cognitione quae est materialis respectu fidei, sine qua, etsi illud formale possit in animam par-
vuli infundi, non tamen potest radicari et stabiliri.”
22
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 23, art. 2, q. 2, ad 5 (OTS 3: 482): “Et propterea, si, cum ad adultam
aetatem pervenerit, proponatur ei error sub ratione credibili, facillime expellitur habitus fidei, et ita
114 N. Faucher
But the question is: what exactly happens when the baptized actually learns the
objects of faith? Do they immediately appear to him as true? If this were the case,
then there would be no place for the will, because the intellect could easily adhere
to them without it, nor would there be any freedom in the act of faith. Nonetheless,
Richard of St Victor, quoted by Bonaventure, famously defines an article of faith
as that which constrains (arctat) us to believe.23 How could this be? The solution,
for Bonaventure, is to define constraint (arctatio) in two ways: the constraint
which is incompatible with freedom and the constraint which is incompatible with
ambiguity. Only the second definition characterizes an article of faith. It works
“by removing ambiguity, because the mind of the believer is fixed in a determinate
way in the truth of the article, so that it is in no way inclined towards another
side.”24 I suggest that this admittedly (and ironically) ambiguous passage should
be interpreted in the following way: though the intellect is not able to directly
apprehend the truth of the articles of faith, it nonetheless appears unambiguously
good to adhere to this truth. It is then the responsibility of the will to act upon this
appearance of goodness or not.
To summarize: for Bonaventure, the habitus of faith is defined by what it helps
to accomplish, namely the act of faith. It does this by making it possible, as a
gratuitous gift from God, to directly rely on Him in believing in the truths of faith
in such a way that this belief is meritorious. If my hypothesis is correct, the habi-
tus of faith also makes it so that the objects of faith appear as unambiguously
good objects of belief, i.e. that it appears morally good to believe them. Finally,
the habitus of faith facilitates the act of the will by which it commands the intel-
lect’s act of belief, it makes the intellect receptive to this command, and finally, it
makes it easier for the intellect to actually comply with this command and to
believe what it ought to believe. So the habitus of faith appears to have three
distinct functions: it allows for a meritorious act (a common feature of all theo-
logical virtues); it modifies the way in which believers apprehend objects of faith;
and it facilitates every act leading to the act of faith, in the proper sense of assent-
ing to the truth of an object of faith. Are these functions similarly distinguished
and accepted by Olivi and Scotus?
de facili assentit ac si habitum fidei nunquam habuisset, propter hoc quod liberum arbitrium prop-
ter inassuetudinem nescit illo uti et ille habitus non fuit in potentia radicatus, quamvis esset in ea
infusus.”
23
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 24, art. 3, q. 2 (OTS 3: 520): “Richardus definit articulum prout est
obiectum fidei generaliter, et ideo dicit quod est ‘arctans nos ad credendum’.”
24
Bonaventure, Sent. III, d. 24, art. 3, q. 1, ad 6 (OTS 3: 519): “[D]icendum est quod est arctatio
quae repugnat libertati et est arctatio quae repugnat ambiguitati; et cum dicitur articulus, quia
arctat ad credendum, hoc non dicitur per coactionem voluntatis, sed hoc dicitur per remotionem
ambiguitatis, quia in ipsa veritate articuli determinate figitur mens credentis, ut nullatenus ad par-
tem aliam inclinetur.”
6.3 Olivi’s View
Olivi’s doctrine of faith25 displays a peculiar absence of reflection on the supernatu-

ral or natural character of the act and habitus of faith, and of the typical vocabulary
used to talk about this distinction (infused vs. acquired, formed vs. unformed, which
frequently appear in the doctrines of most other authors26). Olivi seems to be unin-
terested in the subject, especially as regards the question of the link between grace
and meritorious belief, which is entirely absent. However, a deeper examination
shows that he actually endeavours to develop a conception of faith which both is
natural and allows for the direct reliance on God that Bonaventure thought was pos-
sible only thanks to supernatural grace. It is only against the background of such a
doctrine that Olivi’s account of the role of the habitus of faith can be understood.
Before examining the psychological mechanism behind the act of faith in Olivi, I
will first examine how, according to him, it is possible to determine what should be
believed. For Olivi, everything begins with the mere conception of God as the supreme
being, and of His supreme justice, power, and goodness. A natural instinct (naturalis
or even naturalissimus instinctus) to fear, revere, and love God then kicks in:
Indeed, right away, by a certain most natural instinct, from the sense of its own inferiority,
the mind senses that it can have a superior whom it ought to fear or revere—even more, [it
is] as if it sensed [this superior being] itself.27
Such an apprehension constitutes the motivation for believing in God’s existence

(credere Deum) and adhering by faith to what God says (Deo per fidem adhaerere)
ever more perfectly. It therefore must precede belief.28
This apprehension is nonetheless considered to be divine testimony, or divine
relucentia.29 This term, which one might translate as God’s “shining,” seems to refer
25
For discussion of this, see my introduction in Olivi (2019); see also Stadter (1960).
26
See for instance Lottin (1949).
27
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de Deo cognoscendo, q. 3 (ed. Jansen, 544): “[C]um [mens] audit
vel per se concipit altitudinem summi entis summamque eius iustitiam et potestatem et bonitatem,
quodam naturali instinctu timore tam reverentiae quam poenae concutitur et in ipsius cogitatu et
auditu admirationis stupore repletur et quodam naturali amore eius afficitur. Statim enim quodam
naturalissimo instinctu ex sensu inferioritatis sentit se posse habere superius quem timere et rever-
eri debeat, immo, acsi ipsum sentiret, mens cogitatu vel auditu sic afficitur, quantum est de se vi
naturalis instinctus.”
28
Olivi’s conception of this sense of a superior being seems strikingly similar to Calvin’s famous
sensus divinitatis (also defined in terms of a natural instinct), both in the idea that God’s existence,
or at least its possibility, can be sensed and that this knowledge of God comes with a feeling of
moral duty. This does not seem, however, to be articulated with any form of doxastic voluntarism
or direct link between affect and belief in Calvin. On this sensus divinitatis, see Helm (1998).
29
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9, ed. Stadter (Peter John Olivi 1981, 354.20–
30): “[S]ufficit quod prius apprehendat in aliquo objecto rationem finis vel principalitatis solum
cogitando quid est quod dicitur per nomen; non autem oportet quod prius hoc credat aut iudicet ita
esse, sicut in praecedenti quaestione satis est ostensum. Quando autem dicimus quod nos credimus
Deo propter se et cetera propter ipsum, non est sensus quod illa credamus propter hoc quod ipse
sit, sed potius quod propter hoc credimus illa, ut perfectius Deum credamus et ut perfectius Deo
116 N. Faucher
to God’s appearing to us as a principle and an end (in the different ways underlined
above, i.e. as an object of reverence, fear, and love). This entails belief in God and
the various truths of faith, not inasmuch as they are true but inasmuch as belief in
them leads to worshipping and believing in God in a better and more dutiful way. In
other words, God is the principle and end of belief because belief is one of the ways
we do our duties to Him. Our desire to do them follows from the love we acquire for
Him from merely apprehending the concept of God, even before we posit His exis-
tence. When it comes to how we can determine what precisely we should believe in
this way, Olivi again uses the concept of relucentia:
The uncreated truth shines in them majestically and as a principle and overexcessively; but
other truths shine here as coherent with it, subordinated to it and leading to it as to the ulti-
mate end. It also shines universally and fundamentally everywhere in all truths of faith and
in all testimonies for it; which is not to be said of the other [truths].30
Thus, if we are to accept that the apprehension of God as the dutiful object of our
love and faith is a case of relucentia, and that this apprehension is nothing but the
entering into action of a natural instinct, it stands to reason that we are similarly
able to naturally distinguish, in the truths of faith as well as in the testimonies in
favour of faith, that we should believe them in order to dutifully worship God in
different ways.31
For Bonaventure, distinguishing what should be believed was possible only
through the supernatural habitus of faith. We can conjecture that, for Olivi, such a
distinction is naturally possible thanks to a natural instinct that is not faith, but
merely what guides us towards it.32 In any case, no mention is made of divinely
infused faith, be it formed or unformed. It cannot be excluded, of course, that Olivi
did think that it is something supernatural that leads the faithful to apprehending the
various objects of faith as credenda. But, at least for the most fundamental objects
per fidem adhaereamus. Vel sensus est quod credimus illa propter Deum testificantem illa et in illis
quodammodo relucentem.”
30
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 354.4–9): “Veritas enim
increata relucet in eis maiestative et principative et superexcessive; reliquae vero relucent ibi ut illi
cohaerentes et subordinatae et in ipsam tamquam in ultimum finem ducentes. Ipsa etiam univer-
saliter et fundamentaliter relucet ubique in omnibus veritatibus fidei et in omnibus testimoniis eius;
quod non est sic dare de aliis.”
31
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 345.9–12): “[G]eneralis ratio
obiectiva fidei […] est aut veritas divinitus proposita ad credendum et colendum Deum, aut veritas
necessaria ad debite credendum et colendum Deum, aut veritas credibilis perfecte in Deum
ducens.”
32
That such an instinct exists puts into question the meaning of the notion of revealed truth but no
more than the existence of an infused faith that would be able to infallibly point us to what ought
to be believed. Indeed, when one is granted that kind of “compass”, then the fact that such or such
object has been revealed by God at a certain point in history, by a certain medium, ceases to be the
motivation or reason for belief. Rather, the reason is to be found in the pointing of the “compass”.
It may be said that revelation consists precisely in this pointing. Nonetheless, historical revelation
remains of crucial importance, since neither infused faith nor Olivi’s instinct provide the content
of the objects of faith to the believers. This content has to be passed down from a historical revela-
tion, so that it can be recognized by the faithful thanks to their “compass”.
of faith – God must be believed to exist, He must be revered – it is clear that it is the
natural instinct that leads the faithful to apprehend them as credenda.
Having established this, we must now understand what is the precise relation
between God and the other objects of faith appearing to us as credenda, and the
actual act, or acts, of faith. For Olivi, the subjective certainty that is characteristic of
faith requires that all doubt regarding the truth of the objects of faith be pushed
aside, or at least that it not be stronger than the appearance of this truth, and also that
the adherence to this truth be fixed and unmovable. This is made possible by the will
as causa motiva, though acts of faith are ultimately acts of the intellect.33 Indeed, for
Olivi, it is possible for the will to “apply” the intellect to an object so that the more
strongly it is applied to it, the more intensely it assents to it.34 In a way, it could be
said that Olivi’s doctrine of voluntary certainty follows from his theory of attention:
the intellect’s attention can be focused so strongly on an object that it becomes
united to it35 and ends up assenting to its truth.36 Such a voluntary assent, however,
is possible only when the object of faith is presented sub modo debito (i.e. as some-
thing that must be believed to dutifully worship God) and the will is divinely
“affected, erected, and invigorated” to do it.37
Now, we may interpret this as meaning that in order to command belief the will
needs some sort of supernatural divine help. To be sure, Olivi sometimes alludes to
a habitus of faith that must be in the soul before any act of faith can be accomplished
and which is thus not acquired by the repetition of such acts,38 and this usually
refers, as in Bonaventure’s case, to supernaturally infused faith. However, another
interpretation is possible. For Olivi, we can, in ordinary circumstances, believe
33
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 329.1–8): “[C]ertitudo fidei duo
aut tria in se includit. Primum est realis et infallibilis veritas creditorum. – Secundum est firma et
inconcussibilis adhaesio ad veritatem creditam, repellens a credente omnem dubietatem aut saltem
eius aequiparantiam respectu sensus veritatis creditae et fixae adhaesionis ad ipsam. Duo autem
ultima possunt dari a voluntate tamquam a causa motiva, quamvis actus illi immediate eliciantur
ab intellectu.”
34
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 321.15–20): “[I]ntellectus
movetur et applicatur a voluntate ad illa quae volumus cogitare, et secundum hoc quod magis
volumus vel nolumus, majus et minus applicatur vel retrahitur. Constat autem quod quanto fortius
applicatur, tanto ceteris paribus fortiori nexu invisceratur et unitur suo obiecto, ac per consequens
et tanto firmius et intensius assentit.”
35
It is not obvious what such a unity is. It seems to me that “united” may be understood as meaning
that the intellect becomes focused only on the object of faith, stops considering that any alternative
might be true and accepts as true only that which is antecedent or follows from the object in ques-
tion. An example might be that of a scholar who, for a variety of reasons, becomes strongly
attached to a hypothesis she first put forward, embraces it wholeheartedly and refuses for not
entirely rational motives to question it afterwards.
36
On this theory, see Pasnau (1997, 130–134, 168–181); Toivanen (2013, 25–42, 141–191).
37
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 329.8–11): “Non tamen possunt
sibi quomodocumque dari, immo oportet objectum prius sub modo debito sibi proponi et ipsammet
voluntatem ad sic movendum intellectum divinitus affici et erigi ac vigorari.”
38
See Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones in secundum librum Sententiarum, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3:
117–118).
118 N. Faucher
without evidence, and even against the evidence if we have a practical reason to do
so, for instance when we maintain the belief that our friend is innocent despite over-
whelming evidence, simply because we love him.39 Since voluntary belief is a natu-
ral possibility (a possibility which is not clearly admitted by Bonaventure), then
divine help seems superfluous. What is not superfluous is that it should appear
somehow good to the will to cause the intellect to believe, for without this what
reason would the will have to act? This is precisely the role of the aforementioned
natural instinct. Indeed, as Olivi explains, since faith is a habitus voluntarius, it
requires a final cause, which is God.40 And, as mentioned above, it is because of this
natural instinct that God can appear as a final cause.
We know now that for Olivi the habitus of faith is a habitus of the will. Its func-
tion is likely to help the will in causing the intellect to be united with the object of
faith so that it assents to it. But it is also a habitus of the intellect, since it has to do
with both the consent of the will and the assent of the intellect.41 Olivi defines the
function of the habitus in unmistakably intellectualist terms: it makes the object of
faith appear as true, and truer and more credible than its opposite.42
So the habitus of faith is a habitus of both the will and the intellect. Does this
mean that it should be defined, as it is in Bonaventure, by the act it ultimately helps
perfect, independently of the powers it is in and which it disposes? Olivi does not
answer this question, but examines two possibilities without rejecting either: either
the habitus of faith is composed of partial habitus or it is one habitus.43 In the first
case, the partial habitus must be considered as causing each other, the habitus in the
39
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 321.5–8): “[C]onstat quod
potest amore affici nunc ad hoc, nunc ad oppositum, et libentius consentire in unum eorum creden-
dum quam in reliquum. Unde et videmus multos libentius credere et praesumere mala de inimico
quam de amico, et bona libentius et facilius de amico quam de inimico, quamquam plures rationes
habeant pro parte contraria quam pro sua.”
40
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 349.15–18): “Quia enim fides
est habitus voluntarius, ideo in se includit habitudinem causae finalis, qua propter Deum volumus
credere omnia quae credimus, ut scilicet debite inhaereamus, saltem quoad rectitudinem
credendi.”
41
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 342.4–6): “[Q]uidam sunt habi-
tus et actus, qui in sua essentia includunt meram subiectionem et subiectam adhaesionem ad
Deum, ita quod sunt idem quod habitualis vel actualis innisus, quo mens principaliter innititur soli
Deo; et huiusmodi est fides, non solum quantum ad consensum voluntatis, sed etiam quantum ad
assensum intellectus.”
42
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 327.22–26): “[H]abitus fidei
facit quod obiectum eius sibi occurrat ut verum et ut verius et credibilius quam suum oppositum;
sicut et caritas facit quod inimicus occurrat sibi ut diligibilis et quod bonum inaccessibile occurrat
nobis ut accessibile, ac per consequens ut amabile.”
43
Peter John Olivi, Quaestiones de virtutibus, qq. 8–9 (ed. Stadter, 354.11–19): “[S]ecundum
quosdam una pars fidei seu unus partialis habitus eius est quodammodo causa alterius, ita quod
habitus qui est in voluntate, est causa eius qui est in intellectu, et habitus qui est [respectu] Dei
immediate, est aliquo modo causa habitus quo creduntur alia propter Deum. – Dato autem quod
non sit ita, potest dici quod etiam unus habitus potest esse diversorum inaequaliter; sicut et punctus
aliter est partium lineae, quarum est immediatus nexus vel terminus, aliter illarum quas solum
respicit mediate.”
will being the cause of the habitus in the intellect, and the habitus that has God as
its object being the cause of the habitus that concern the other objects of faith. In
other words, the habitus which disposes the will to the voluntary act of causing the
intellect to assent causes the habitus which disposes the intellect to the act of assent-
ing; and the habitus that dispose the will to the act of loving God and the intellect to
thus believing in God cause the habitus that dispose the intellect to acts of believing
all that has to be believed for God to be revered and believed in properly. If the habi-
tus of faith is to be considered one habitus, however, Olivi seems to think this is no
problem, since one habitus can relate to different powers and objects differently.
This is akin to Bonaventure’s position, described above.
Now, we have seen that Olivi mentions that the habitus of faith must be there for
acts of faith to occur,44 and I indicated that this could refer to a supernatural habitus.
It is indeed quite probable, as no other author of the time thought that a properly
virtuous act was possible without any infused disposition. However, it might also
refer to acquired faith; indeed, given the close connection between his theory of
attention and his theory of voluntary belief, and that focusing the intellect’s atten-
tion on something is an act, it is quite possible that the volitional act of commanding
belief causes the intellectual act of believing. But it might also be that this volitional
act rather causes the habitus to be produced in the intellect, and only then would the
intellect assent because of the habitus, working as a filter making the object of faith
appear true. Faith would then be required for acts of faith, and not acquired by its
acts; but it would be acquired nonetheless.
In the present volume, Juhana Toivanen writes:
One of the most interesting aspects of Olivi’s theory of the cognitive role of habitus is the
distinction he makes between dispositions that make one person quick to learn and under-
stand on the one hand, and dispositions that change the mode of assenting on the other.45
It is interesting to note that Olivi’s conception of the habitus of faith seems to corre-
spond to the second type of disposition as regards the intellect, and to the first type of
disposition regarding the will. Indeed, while the habitus of faith (or the relevant partial
habitus) disposes the intellect to apprehending the objects of faith as true, the same
habitus (or the relevant partial habitus) disposes the will not to perceiving objects as
good, but to better (more intensely, more fixedly) causing the intellect to assent.
To summarize, Olivi’s conception of the habitus of faith allows for a very articu-
lated understanding of the act of faith and what leads to it. An instinct at first pres-
ents God as having to be worshipped and believed in. Upon this presentation, the
will loves Him and causes the intellect to believe in Him. Afterwards, the will causes
the intellect to believe all truths of faith that appear to have to be believed in order
to better worship and believe in God.
We can say that Olivi’s conception of the habitus of faith and its function is
markedly different from Bonaventure’s conception. First, Olivi’s doctrine allows
for supernatural elements but does not require them. To know what must be
44
See note 32 above.
45
See Juhana Toivanen’s article in the present volume, p. 202.
120 N. Faucher
believed, an instinct appears to be enough, and the process by which the will causes
the intellect to actually believe occurs naturally in us. For Bonaventure, the habitus
of faith is required in order to know what ought to be believed, and he does not
explicitly say that the will can naturally cause the intellect to believe. Second, and
concomitantly with this naturalization of the process leading to the act of faith, it is
clear that the habitus of faith plays a less important role in Olivi than in Bonaventure,
since the identification of the objects of faith is a function of instinct and not of
habitus. Finally, though Olivi accepts that the habitus of faith can be one, as it is for
Bonaventure, even though it disposes different powers to different acts, he sketches
another possible conception, where the habitus of faith is divided into several par-
tial habitus that are defined by their objects and the power in which they inhere.
6.4 Scotus’s View
We will now see how these tendencies in Olivi appear to be even more salient in
Scotus. Scotus’s conception of faith,46 by comparison with the previous conceptions
examined, is peculiar in that it prominently features the use of the principle of par-
simony in deciding which kind of faith—that is, supernaturally infused or naturally
acquired—should be posited. In fact, Scotus uses a dual principle of parsimony.
First is the general principle, according to which several things should not be pos-
ited when one is enough.47 In the present case, the idea is that only as many habitus
as necessary should be posited to account for our acts. If our act of faith, as we know
it by inner perception, can be explained by an acquired habitus, then no other habi-
tus, infused faith included, should be posited.
Second, without explicitly articulating it, Scotus uses what might be called a
naturalistic variant of the principle of parsimony, according to which everything in
our common experience that can be explained by natural mechanisms must be so
explained; supernatural elements should be used only when they are absolutely nec-
essary to account for what we experience or are explicitly posited by Scripture and
the Catholic church.48 As can be expected, such a model drastically reduces the role
of the supernatural, but it also does away with one of the main features of previous
46
I will be quoting Scotus’s questions on faith in both the Lectura (Lect.) and Reportatio (Rep.), as
well as the Quodlibet (Quodl.). The texts of book III, questions 23 and 25 are almost identical in
the Lectura and the Reportatio, but sometimes one of them will give a more detailed account or
nuance that is absent from the other. Scotus’s questions on faith have been recently examined by
Staudinger (2006) and Poppi (2014).
47
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, nn. 2–3 (Vat. 21: 97): “Ad omnem certitudinem actus credendi
quem experimur in nobis talium credibilium, sufficit nobis fides acquisita; ergo superfluit ponere
fidem infusam. Consequentia patet, quia non ponitur habitus nisi propter actum, et superfluit
ponere plura quando unum sufficit.”
48
For more conceptual and historical detail on this use of the principle of economy, see Faucher
(forthcoming).
models, namely the capacity of the believer to unambiguously determine what

should be believed, whether by infused habitus or by natural instinct.
For Scotus, it is clear that firm belief does not require anything but acquired faith.
Just as I believe in stories told or written by famous men, similarly it is enough that
the Catholic church tells me that the men who wrote the Gospels were truthful for me
to believe them.49 Why then would one have to rely on infused faith? Scotus suggests
that it could be for two reasons: infused faith, as opposed to acquired faith, would
make it impossible to doubt or to be deceived in one’s assent.50 Scotus rejects both
possibilities. Indeed, for him, it belongs to the very definition of faith to be incompat-
ible with doubt. If one is to accept the existence of acquired faith, one has to accept
that we can naturally be free of doubt. As for the possibility of deception, Scotus
thinks that having this or that habitus has nothing to do with the possibility of decep-
tion. For him, one does not run the risk of being deceived by having a certain habitus
or the corresponding assent; it is only in the way a certain object is presented to the
believer that she might be deceived.51 This view is thus Scotus’s equivalent of Olivi’s
view that dispositions change the mode of assenting, that is, that they function as a
kind of intellectual filter that changes the way certain objects appear to us.
In the present case, the believer has an acquired habitus of faith through which
everything that the Catholic church deems true appears true to her. So every time
she thinks something is considered true by the Catholic church, she assents to it.
There is nothing wrong with this habitus. Deception will occur only when someone
I believe tells me that a certain object is deemed true by the Catholic church but this
is not actually the case. But, one might answer Scotus, it is precisely the acquired
49
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, n. 14 (Vat. 21: 101): “Sed tunc, si nulla esset fides infusa,
crederem tamen fide acquisita historiis librorum Canonis, propter auctoritatem Ecclesiae: sic
credo, quemadmodum aliis historiis a viris famosis scriptis et narratis. Credo igitur fide acquisita
Evangelio, quia Ecclesia tenet scriptores veraces esse, − quod ego audiens, acquiro mihi habitum
credendi eorum dictis.”
50
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, nn. 52–54 (Vat. 21: 117–118): “[Q]uando dicis fidem infusam
poni necessario ut firmiter assentiret creditis, aut intelligis quod per illam assentit quis ita firmiter
quod non possit non assentire vel dubitare de eo cui assentit, − vel quod assentit infallibiliter, id est
indeceptibiliter, quod non decipitur in assensu suo: Si primo modo loquaris, sic est de fide acquis-
ita, quia stante illa fide et dum homo assentit alicui obiecto per illam, non potest dubitare vel non
assentire, aliter de eodem obiecto et sub eadem ratione esset fides sive adhaesio et resilitio vel
dubitatio, et ita opposita, − quod falsum est; ergo propter firmam adhaesionem non oportet ponere
fidem infusam. Si propter hoc quod indeceptibiliter adhaeret et infallibiliter, assentiendo per fidem
infusam (potest autem falli per adhaesionem fidei acquisitae), − contra: ‘decipi’ vel ‘non decipi’
non est a parte habitus, nec ex parte assensus quem facit, sed ex parte obiecti secundum quod obi-
ectum – in quod assentit – praesentatur vero vel falso habitui inclinanti; sed in proposito uterque
habitus inclinat naturaliter et per modum naturae assensum praebet, sed error in assensu est ex
parte obiecti sic vel sic occurrentis. […] Et ideo non est certior – quantum ad ‘non decipi’ – fides
infusa quam acquisita.”
51
John Duns Scotus, Rep. III, d. 23, §19 (WV 23: 442): “[D]ecipi et non decipi non est nisi per
objecta diversa, quibus creditur, quae vere vel false praesentantur intellectui per habitum fidei
inclinantem; ergo hoc non est propter habitus et assensus, qui non inclinant non habentes objecta,
unde utrumque habentes naturaliter inclinantur, et per modum naturae assensum praebent, in quo
assensu error si sit, non erit ex parte habitus inclinantis, sed ex objectis falso occurrentibus; ergo
secundum hoc non est certior fides infusa quam fides acquisita.”
122 N. Faucher
habitus that is fallible, because it inclines one to assent to what the Catholic church
deems true in general, but we have no way, through this habitus, to know what this
actually is. The infused habitus, by contrast, is a gift of God: thus it is in its very
nature to incline only towards assent to true objects.
Scotus admits this without difficulty: infused faith always inclines to true objects,
while acquired faith does not.52 But that does not prevent deception, for when
infused faith inclines towards believing a certain object, it is impossible for the
believer to know it: if she did, she would know that a habitus that can never incline
someone to a false object inclines her to believe a given object. But then she would
know that this object is true and would therefore not need to believe it. Therefore, it
must be concluded that we can never know whether our acts of belief proceed from
infused faith and acquired faith or merely from acquired faith.53 So infused faith
does not lead us towards the objects of faith, simply because we never know when
it is in act and when it is not.
But then, what tells us what we should believe? Scotus is clear on this ques-
tion: there can be no assent to the objects of faith when they are presented to the
believer unless she has been taught that they should be believed. Experience
shows this, according to Scotus: an uneducated person will never assent to an
object of faith that has no evidence by itself.54 While Bonaventure and Olivi
52
John Duns Scotus, Quodl., q. 14, §7 (WV 26: 11–12): “[F]ides infusa non potest inclinare ad
aliquod falsum, inclinat autem virtute luminis divini, cujus est participatio, et ita non nisi ad illud
quod est conforme illi lumini divino; actus igitur credendi inquantum innititur isti fidei, non potest
tendere in aliquod falsum. […] Et quandocumque ad idem inclinat fides infusa et acquisita, tunc
necessario acquisitae non subest falsum, non quod haec necessitas sit ex ipsa fide acquisita, sed ex
infusa concurrente cum ipsa ad eumdem actum. Innititur igitur actus credendi fidei infusae tan-
quam regulae certae, et omnino infallibili, a qua actus habeat, quod non possit esse falsus; sed
innititur acquisitae tanquam regulae minus certae, quia non per illam repugnaret actui, quod esset
falsus, vel circa falsum objectum.”
53
John Duns Scotus, Quodl., q. 14, §8 (WV 26: 12): “[N]on percipio me inclinari in actum per
fidem infusam, sive secundum illam elicere actum; sed tantum percipio me assentire secundum
fidem acquisitam, vel ejus principium, scilicet testimonium, cui credo, quia si perciperem me
habere actum secundum fidem infusam, et cum hoc scirem quod secundum fidem infusam non
potest haberi actus nisi determinate verus, perciperem quod actus meus non posset esse falsus, quia
ex hoc sequitur quod perciperem quod objectum actus non posset esse falsum, et tunc scirem illud,
id est, infallibiliter cognoscerem illud esse verum, quod nullus experitur in se, ut credo, quantum-
cumque aliquis habeat utramque fidem et secundum utramque assentiat.”
54
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, n. 45 (Vat. 21: 114): “[S]i totus assensus sit ab ipso habitu
fidei, tunc positis omnibus quae concurrunt ad actum credendi in esse primo, sequitur necessario
actus credendi; sed ponatur aliquis baptizatus nunc, et occurrant sibi phantasmata istorum termi-
norum simplicium ‘mortui’ et ‘resurrectionis’, ex quo ponitur potentia habituata et necessario
inclinata ex obiecto praesentato in phantasmate, sequitur necessario actus quo iste assentiret huic
complexo ‘mortui resurgent’, − quod falsum est: numquam enim, omnibus istis positis, plus assen-
tiret quam ante, nisi prius esset edoctus de hoc articulo quod talis articulus est credendus; igitur
videtur quod fides acquisita sufficit quae acquiritur ex auditu, nec experitur aliquis aliam cum tali
assensu.” Lect. III, d. 25 (Vat. 21: 169–170): “Non sic est de fide; nec sufficit quicumque occursus
credibilium ad intellectum, ad hoc quod habitus inclinet in actum firmiter eliciendum, − sicut patet
de baptizato nunc, cui, si statim occurrant phantasmata istorum terminorum ‘mortui’ et ‘resurgere’,
et componat apud se ‘mortui resurgent’, non oportet credere nisi prius constiterit sibi per aliquem
quod sit articulus credendus.”
granted man an inner compass, be it grace or instinct, for Scotus, experience

shows that there can be no such thing.
For all that, Scotus’s scenario is not a skeptical one. He believes that true faith
can rely on teaching and transmission and that we can actually show, on the basis of
Scripture and the history of the Catholic church, that the latter is likely truthful. He
devotes a significant part of the prologue to his Sentences commentary to showing
just that.55 The problem is that the arguments Scotus uses to do this are only prob-
able, and thus unable to produce the kind of doubtless certainty that is the hallmark
of faith. For this, and to make faith meritorious, the act of faith needs to somehow
depend on the believer’s will.56
For Scotus, the will moves the intellect to assent as a “general moving motor.”57
To understand what this means, we must look at how the act of faith is produced.
Duns Scotus lists the necessary factors: the terms of the proposition to be assented
to must be apprehended and composed so that they form the proposition, and the
habitus of acquired faith as well as that of infused faith must incline towards assent.
Then the act of faith occurs.58 The will plays no role, except in causing acquired
faith “remotely” (ut remote).59 This can be explained as meaning, quite simply, that
once the will has caused the habitus of faith to exist in the soul (by one previous sin-
gular act, one can surmise) it is no longer needed60: the habitus does all the work and
makes the intellect assent when it should. Accordingly, in contrast to Bonaventure
and Olivi, Scotus locates the habitus of faith only in the intellect.61 If the will is
unneeded in individual repeated acts of faith, there is no reason why it should have
a habitus of faith.
55
See John Duns Scotus, Ordinatio, Prol., pars 2, q. un. (Vat. 1: 61–82). See also Faucher (2015,
ch. 5, sect. II.3).
56
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, n. 46 (Vat. 21: 114): “[S]i fides infusa praebeat talem perfec-
tionem vel assensum per modum naturae inclinans potentiam in actum, cum termini articulorum
possint apprehendi ante omnem actum voluntatis, sequitur quod actus credendi esset independens
a voluntate, et ita non meritorius, et quod inesset homini naturaliter, − quod negat Augustinus
dicens quod ‘cetera potest homo nolens, credere autem non nisi volens’; sequitur etiam quod sine
fide acquisita, quia habitus perfectus non eget alio per quem praesentetur obiectum eius.”
57
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 25, n. 45 (Vat. 21: 174): “[V]oluntas non movet ex non-evidente
ad assentiendum sibi statim, tamen movet ut generalis motor movens.”
58
John Duns Scotus, Rep. III, d. 25, §12 (WV 23: 465): “Habita enim apprehensione terminorum,
et facta compositione et fide acquisita, quam causat voluntas, et fide infusa inclinante, non virtute
objecti, sed virtute voluntatis habet intellectus, unde credibilia moveant ad actum credendi. Dices,
non sufficit tamen, sed cum fide acquisita et infusa, voluntas movet ad actum. Dico quod sufficit
quod non contra moveat contra fidem acquisitam.”
59
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 25, n. 45 (Vat. 21: 174): “[H]abita enim apprehensione termino-
rum, facta compositione et fide acquisita quam causat voluntas ut remote, et fide infusa inclinante
(non virtute obiecti, sed virtute infundentis), habetur actus. Unde credibilia movent ad actum cre-
dendi, − non sufficienter tamen, sed cum fide acquisita et infusa.”
60
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 25, n. 45 (Vat. 21: 173–174): “Et dico quod credibilia movent
aliquo modo: quandoque ex fide acquisita, quandoque ex fide infusa; unde posita fide acquisita,
non est voluntas necessaria.” Rep. III, d. 25, §12 (WV 23: 465): “[D]ico quod credibilia movent
aliquo modo quandoque ex fide infusa; unde posita fide acquisita, non est voluntas necessaria.”
61
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 25, n. 40 (Vat. 21: 171–172): “Si quaeritur quid sit subiectum fidei,
− respondeo quod intellectus est subiectum eius, quia perfectio prima ipsius intellectus est fides.”
124 N. Faucher
To summarize, we can say that Scotus’s conception of the habitus of faith is the
result of a reduction motivated by the principle of parsimony: what we should posit
is only what is absolutely necessary to account for our experience of acts of faith.
Consequently, almost every supernatural element is eliminated from the equation,
as well as what would separate faithful belief from ordinary belief: it is only because
of the Catholic church’s teaching that we know what to believe, and it is through a
natural act of the will unaided by grace or by any preceding natural instinct or habi-
tus that we acquire the habitus of faith.
Thus, this habitus of faith, at least the acquired one, is reduced to being merely
the disposition of the intellect to adhere to the objects of faith. This disposition is
extremely strong since by itself it constrains the intellect to assent, independently of
any further involvement of the will, which neither Bonaventure nor Olivi seem to
accept. In a way, Scotus’s habitus of faith can be said to be much more focused and
much stronger as well.
As for the infused habitus, it must be noted that, as opposed to most thirteenth-
century thinkers, such as Alexander of Hales and Bonaventure among the
Franciscans, Scotus thinks it does not replace or improve upon acquired faith but is
complementary with it. Thus, whenever someone elicits by acquired faith an act of
assent to a true object of faith, infused faith (provided the agent has it) is actualized
in the very same act.
The infused habitus of faith plays the crucial role of making the act of faith meri-
torious in the eyes of God. It also appears to make this act more voluntary, and not
only to rule out that doubt could win over certainty (as acquired faith does) but also
to eliminate doubt itself, which can be interpreted as meaning that movements of
doubt simply do not occur anymore in the believer.62 As one can see, however, this
infused habitus seems to play no causal role in the production of the act of assent
itself, except for its meritorious character. In any case, it could certainly not play any
perceptible role, for the reasons outlined above: if one knew that one’s act of faith is
an act of supernatural faith, then one would know the object of this act to be true and
so would not need to believe it any more.
6.5 Conclusion
As I have endeavoured to show, the habitus of faith can have very different roles for
different authors in the thirteenth-century Franciscan tradition. For Bonaventure,
the infused habitus helps pick out what should be believed, while for Olivi, such a
62
John Duns Scotus, Lect. III, d. 23, n. 48 (Vat. 21: 116): “[N]on solum propter actum primum dat
caritatem, sed propter actum secundum, ut sit perfectior et intensior actus diligendi ex potentia et
caritate quam ex potentia tantum; […] sic hic de fide infusa, eodem modo proportionaliter, quia
sicut caritas facit actum secundum perfectiorem in substantia actus quam fuit sine ea, sic fides.”
See also Lect. III, d. 23, n. 49 (Vat. 21: 116–117): “Nec pono habitum fidei infusae solum
propter gradum in actu, sed etiam propter assensum, quia assensus non est totaliter a voluntate.
Aliqui enim sunt qui magis vellent assentire, et tamen minus assentiunt. […] Nec fides excludit
omnem dubitationem, sed dubitationem vincentem et trahentem in oppositum credibilis.”
function is devoted to a natural instinct that is not faith. As for Scotus, he thinks that
nothing in man has such a function, and the believer should rely on the Catholic
church.
For Bonaventure, the habitus of faith “federates,” so to speak, several powers,
including the intellect and the will, in order to accomplish one act of faith that is
brought about by several previous acts. Olivi finds such a view acceptable, but intro-
duces the possibility of a causal order between several partial habitus of faith, each
devoted to a specific act leading to the act of faith, and inhering in only one power.
Scotus pushes this fragmentation to its limit: the habitus of faith is reduced to being
a habitus of the intellect, inclining its subject only to one type of truth-grasping act.
In a way, for Scotus, and possibly for Olivi, the will occupies a position compa-
rable to that of God in Bonaventure’s view: just as God infuses the habitus of faith
independently of an act of the believer, the will seems to cause the habitus of faith
to take hold in the intellect without the intellect eliciting an act. It is only when an
object of faith is presented as such that it will adhere to it. As for the infused habitus,
it contributes nothing perceptible to the act of faith inasmuch as it is an act of assent.
It mostly makes this act acceptable to God and thus meritorious.
The thirteenth century presents a varied picture of what makes the habitus of
faith what it is and of its different possible functions. As time passes, it appears that
models tend more and more towards simplified, focused, and mostly natural con-
ceptions of this habitus. As we hope to have shown, the study of the different elabo-
rations of the concept of faith in the Middle Ages, because it is at the crossroads of
such concepts as habitus, virtue, will and intellect, and truth and goodness, provides
an ideal vantage point from which to consider various different developments in
medieval philosophy.
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virtus”: The Virtue of Faith from the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century, ed. Marco Forlivesi,
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Forlivesi, Riccardo Quinto, and Silvana Vecchio, 73–86. Münster: Aschendorff.
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Chapter 7
Intellection in Aquinas: From Habit
to Operation
Hamid Taieb
Abstract The aim of my paper is to study the relations between habit and the
operation of intellection in Aquinas. I will start with a presentation of the acquisition
of intellection and the constitution of intellectual habit. I will then turn to the
problem of the reactivation of the “stored” intelligible species, which constitutes the
intellectual habit. This reactivation, for Aquinas, is not yet the act of intellection.
Indeed, an additional step is required in order for intellection to be achieved, namely
an “operation.” I will explain why this additional step is needed. In his later works,
following Augustine, Aquinas holds that the operation of the intellect, besides the
use of the species, entails the production of another means of cognition: the “word.”
I will argue in favour of the view that the later Aquinas does not abandon the first
type of intellectual operation, based only on the species, but maintains both
operations in parallel, and that his reason for maintaining these two different
operations is that the species and the word provide different kinds of cognition. I
will then tackle the complicated question as to how this difference of cognition is to
be accounted for at the habitual level.
Keywords Aquinas · Intellection · Habit · Operation
7.1 Introduction
The aim of my paper is to discuss the relations between habit and the operation of
the intellect in Aquinas.1 The paper shows that the explanation of the way the
intellect operates requires to take into account Aquinas’s theory of the intellectual
1
Recently, this theme has been thoroughly discussed by Pini (2015), whose theses I will present in
the course of the argument. For analyses of Aquinas’s theory of cognition in general and of
H. Taieb (*)
Department of Philosophy, Faculty of Humanities, University of Geneva,
Geneva, Switzerland
Section of Philosophy, Faculty of Humanities, University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland
e-mail: hamid.taieb@unige.ch; hamid.taieb@unil.ch

128 H. Taieb
habit, as (re-)intellection is intimately connected to the question of the reactivation

of “stored” cognitive means; although this reactivation is not enough, and an
additional “action” by the intellect is required.
Besides, the paper holds that the notion of intellectual habit in Aquinas cannot be
adequately understood without tackling that of the intellectual operation. This is
particularly true if one considers the evolution of Aquinas’s account of intellection.
Famously, Aquinas’s theory is at the crossroads of two major traditions in the history
of philosophy of mind, namely the Aristotelian and the Augustinian ones. This
double influence creates some tensions, as it implies to accommodate two conceptual
apparatuses which are not necessarily compatible, at least at first sight.
As regards intellection, Aquinas borrows from Aristotle some standard ideas,
notably the thesis that intellection requires a certain cognitive means, the “intelligible
species,” which Aquinas, in his earlier views, uses both to explain the nature of the
habit and the way the intellect proceeds to its operation. Later on, however, Aquinas
introduces an additional intellectual cognitive means, the Augustinian “word”
(verbum). Now, what I will emphasize is that depending on the kind of explanation
that one gives as to the word’s ratio essendi in Aquinas’s philosophy, one will arrive
at different conclusions concerning the nature of the intellectual habit. I will defend
and develop the thesis that intellection via the word does not annihilate intellection
based on the species, but that word and species provide different kinds of cognition.
On this basis, I will then explain how this difference of cognition is to be accounted
for at the habitual level. As I will show, it is not easy to find an explanation for this,
given the conceptual constraints that Aquinas inherits from his authorities.
In brief, thus, the paper will exhibit the tensions that the adoption of both an
Aristotelian and an Augustinian conceptual framework create on the account of the
habit and operation of intellection in Aquinas. In its first section, the paper will treat
of the question of the acquisition of intellection and of the constitution of the
intellectual habit. In the second part, the paper will analyse the way Aquinas explains
the passage from habitual to actual intellection. In its third section, the article will
present Aquinas’s later account of the operation of intellection. Finally, in the fourth
part, the paper will study the impact of the adoption of the word on Aquinas’s theory
of the intellectual habit. Throughout, the discussion will draw on the principal
exegetical solutions found in the secondary literature, adopting some of them and
criticizing others.
intellection in particular, see Pasnau (1997), Panaccio (2001), Perler (2002, 31–105), as well as
Michon (2007; 2009). Note that in contemporary discussions, the main debate on Aquinas’s theory
of intellection concerns the epistemological position of his cognitive means (the “intelligible spe-
cies” and the “word,” on which more will be said below): are they in the foreground of the act of
intellection, and is Aquinas an “indirect realist,” as Pasnau, Panaccio and, more recently, Băltuţă
(2009–2010) claim? Or are they in the background of the act of intellection, and is Aquinas a
“direct realist,” as Perler and Michon argue? In this paper, I intend to stay neutral on this question:
my discussion of habit and the operation of intellection is meant to be compatible with both
accounts of the way in which the intellect relates to reality, i.e. indirectly or directly.
7 Intellection in Aquinas: From Habit to Operation 129
7.2 T
he Acquisition of Intellection and the Constitution
of the Intellectual Habit
Following Aristotle, Aquinas argues that intellection, which is about the “natures”
or “essences” of things,2 is acquired through a causal process in which the action of
the external world and the action of the agent intellect are combined.3 The first
information that the cognitive subject acquires about the external world comes from
the different sense organs. Each organ makes possible the cognition of its proper
sensible object. More precisely, the sense organs receive a “sensible species,” a
cognitive means leading to the cognition of the sensible qualities of things. The eye
receives the sensible species of colours, the ear the sensible species of sounds, and
so on. Besides these “proper sensibles,” the cognizing subject has also access to the
“common sensibles,” such as shape, motion, and so on, which are graspable thanks
to more than one sense. The information acquired by the different senses is
synthesized by the imagination to represent a thing: the colour, voice, shape, etc. of
Socrates are put together in order to form an “image” of Socrates, which then
remains in memory. Once such an image has been formed, the process of intellection
can start: from the image of an individual, for example, of the individual human
being Socrates, the agent intellect abstracts an “intelligible species,” a cognitive
means that makes possible the cognition of the nature of the individual, for example
of the nature human being. This intelligible species is “impressed” by the agent
intellect onto the passive or “possible” intellect. Once this impression is
accomplished, the possible intellect can proceed to its operation, that is, it can
“intelligize.”
According to Aquinas, once the possible intellect has intelligized thanks to a
newly abstracted species, this species does not disappear, but is “stored” in the soul
and constitutes an intellectual “habit” (habitus), that is, a dispositional intellectual
cognition.4 In order to explain what such a storage amounts to, Aquinas holds,
following some remarks made by Aristotle in the De anima, that the species does
not become a mere nothing after the acquisitive act of intellection (that is, the act by
which the intellect uses for the first time a determinate intelligible species), but stays
somehow in between full actuality and pure potentiality; in other words, it is in
“second potentiality,” which also amounts to a “first actuality.”5 In brief, when the
intellect proceeds to its operation thanks to a newly abstracted species, this species
2
For a recent discussion of Aquinas’s notion of nature or essence, see Brower (2016).
3
This causal explanation has its origins in Aristotle’s De anima. For the relevant texts in Aquinas,
see in particular Thomas Aquinas, In De anima and Q. disp. de anima, as well as ST I, q. 78, art. 3;
q. 79, art. 3; and q. 84, art. 6. For more on this causal process, see Pasnau (1997), Perler (2002,
31–105), as well as Pini (2015), who quotes many of the relevant texts.
4
Note that I will not treat of Aquinas’s theory of the moral habit. On this question, see Darge and
Löwe, both in this volume, respectively p. 143–165 and p. 167–184. For additional discussion on
the intellectual habit in Aquinas, see also Bermon, in this volume, p. 304–306.
5
See Aristotle, De an. 2.5, 417a21–b2. On Aristotle’s account of habit, see Boulnois, in this volume,
p. 27–34.
130 H. Taieb
is fully actual; once this initial act of intellection is over, the species does not disap-
pear, but is “stored” in the soul with a modified modality.
As emphasized by Giorgio Pini (2015, 88–89), Aquinas is opposed to Avicenna’s
account of the intellectual habit. According to Avicenna, every act of intellection,
and not just the acquisitive one, requires the activity of the agent intellect, which
produces an intelligible species by abstraction from an image. On such an account,
there is no stored intelligible species in the soul, that is, there is no cognitive means
that “remains” in the soul after the abstraction made by the agent intellect. For
Aquinas, the situation is different: after the intelligible species are abstracted, they
are stored and remain at the disposal of the possible intellect, which can actively
fully “reactivate” them. To be sure, for the possible intellect to proceed to its
operation, it must not only use a species, but also turn to the image of an individual
thing, an image which is found in imagination or memory and which is activated for
the occasion; thus, the intellect cannot intelligize without the image of an individual
of that nature. For example, it cannot think of human being without an image of this
or that human being (whether the human being in question is present or not).
Aquinas affirms that we all make the experience of using examples of individuals
when we are thinking of their natures, and this is due to the fact that the proper
object of our intellect is the nature as it exists in the individuals; Aquinas even holds
that it is by looking at the image that the intellect “sees” (speculetur) the universal
nature in the individual itself. But even if an image is required for intellection, there
is no need for a further act of abstraction by the agent intellect.6 Thus, for Aquinas,
there is indeed a store of intellectual cognitive means in the soul. In sum, intellectual
habits, that is, dispositional intellectual cognitions, are quite different things for
Avicenna and for Aquinas. For Avicenna, such a habit is an acquired power to do
something; more precisely, it is a set of aptitudes acquired by the agent intellect that
allow it to abstract certain intelligible species, and every act of intellection requires
the exercise of an aptitude by the agent intellect. For Aquinas, such a habit is a set
of stored intellectual cognitive means in second potentiality (or first actuality) which
can be fully reactivated by the possible intellect itself.
7.3 From Habitual Intellection to Intellectual Operation
Let us now consider the passage from habitual intellection to intellectual operation.
It has been pointed out that in Aquinas, the full reactivation in the possible intellect
of an intelligible species stored as constituent of the habit is not yet the “culminating
point” of intellection.7 Indeed, what is needed for intellection to occur is a subsequent
action of the possible intellect itself, or what Aquinas calls an “operation.”8
6
See Avicenna, Liber de anima, pars 5, c. 6, quoted by Pini (2015, draft version), as well as
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 79, art. 6, and q. 84, art. 7.
7
See Pini (2015), along with de Libera (2014, 326–327, 554).
8
See in particular Thomas Aquinas, In I Sent., d. 40, q. 1, art. 1, ad 1; ST I, q. 56, art. 1 and q. 85,
art. 2, quoted by Pini (2015, 87n18).
It is not obvious why Aquinas thinks that the reactivation of an intelligible spe-
cies in the possible intellect is not enough to account for the act of intellection. In
what follows, I would like to suggest an explanation and, thus, try to shed light on
this important, but unsolved problem in Aquinas. In order to understand Aquinas’s
motivation, one point must be emphasized: the idea that intellection occurs thanks
to an action is not limited to the re-effectuation of already effectuated thoughts.
Indeed, when an intelligible species is impressed by the agent intellect in the
possible intellect after abstraction, the possible intellect too must proceed to an
intellectual action or operation.9 In other words, the intellectual operation is required
not just in the case of the reactivation of the species that constitutes the intellectual
habit. Note moreover that the situation is parallel to sensation: Aquinas sometimes
talks as if a sensitive “operation” followed the reception of a sensible species in the
soul.10 In other words, it seems that for Aquinas, every cognition is an “operation.”
On the one hand, to be sure, cognition is passive: Aquinas’s theory of cognition is
based on causality, both on the sensitive level, where the reception of the sensible
species is a necessary condition of sensation, and on the intellectual level, where the
impression of the intelligible species in the possible intellect is a necessary condition
of intellection. On the other hand, cognition is also active: these causal processes are
followed by a cognitive operation.11 As a consequence, the interpreter who wants to
explain Aquinas’s cognitive operation has to find something in common between
actions following the reception of a sensible species, the impression of an intelligible
species in the possible intellect, and the full reactivation of a habitual intelligible
species stored in the soul.
9
See for example Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 85, art. 2, which is not restricted to the reactivation of
the habitual species, since intellection is compared to sensation, where there is no habit.
10
See again Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 85, art. 2. One passage in which this claim appears rather
clearly can be found in the Parma edition of Aquinas’s Sentences commentary at In I Sent., d. 40,
q. 1, art. 1, ad 1 (Opera Omnia 6: 328a), quoted by Mandonnet in a note on this passage (ed.
Mandonnet, 943n1). For other passages, see Solère, this volume p. 205–227. On Aquinas’s accep-
tance of a sensitive operation that succeeds the reception of the sensible species, see also Cajetan,
In ST I, q. 85, art. 2.
11
Note that for Aquinas, an action “in the proper sense” (proprie) is “transitive,” i.e. it “proceeds
from the agent in an external thing that it modifies”: see De veritate, q. 8, art. 6, quoted by Schmidt
(1966, 154n90). Yet even if cognitive operations do not possess that feature, Aquinas counts them
explicitly among “actions.” Indeed, following Aristotle, he states that “actions are twofold” (duplex
est actio), cognitive operations being a special kind of action, in the sense that they have no product
at all, or have a product that remains inside the agent (see especially ST I, q. 85, art. 2 and De
potentia, q. 8, art. 1). Although the term “action” (actio) evokes the term “act” (actus), which, in
turn, could refer both to active and passive items, Aquinas seems to count cognitive operations
among active ones, as stated in ST I, q. 56, art. 1: “The object united to the potency is related to
such action like the form which is the principle of the action in other agents: indeed, just as heat is
the formal principle of heating in the fire, the species of the seen thing is the formal principle of
vision in the eye.” On the account of cognitive operations as actions, see also Pini (2015), who
quotes ST I, q. 56, art. 1. For more on the specific characteristics of cognitive actions in Aquinas,
see the discussion below.
132 H. Taieb
I would like to suggest that Aquinas’s cognitive operation is meant to account for
attention, more precisely “selective attention,” that is, “our ability to focus, at will,
on various objects in our environment or in our thoughts” (as described in Caston
2001, 39). To be sure, there are important connections between intentionality and
attention. On the perceptual level, the connection can be easily identified: one could
say that perceiving in the strong sense amounts to “focusing” on an object in the
perceptual field. But on the intellectual level, something analogous occurs: in one
sense, thinking of an object amounts to “attending” to it, that is, focusing on this
object in contrast to others that are present on the “margins” of consciousness.
Applying this to Aquinas, one could say that in every intellection there are two
moments, which should be clearly distinguished. First, there is the activation of the
possible intellect through an intelligible species, which is either impressed in the
possible intellect by the agent intellect at the occasion of an acquisitive act of
intellection or reactivated from its habitual state by the possible intellect itself on the
occasion of subsequent acts of intellection. Once the intelligible species is present
in the possible intellect, the second moment of intellection can occur, that is, the
intellect can “attend to” an object.
This reading, in which the intellectual operation is understood as attentional,
would equate Aquinas’s operation with what he calls “intention” (intentio). In
Aquinas, as in medieval philosophy more broadly, the word intentio can refer to
many, quite different things. Often one finds the word used to designate the will, as
is still used in the English “intention,” or to designate cognitive means, for example,
Aquinas’s “intellected intention” (intentio intellecta), on which more will be said
below.12 Now, one finds Aquinas holding that every act of cognition is accompanied
by an “intention,” sometimes also called “conversion” (conversio).13 Does this mean
that every act of cognition is accompanied by an act of the will? It is not clear what
“intention” in Aquinas refers to when it is connected with cognition. One way to
understand what “intention” means in such a context is to treat it as referring to
attention.14 To be sure, when talking of “intention” as accompanying cognition,
Aquinas seems to describe it in attentional terms, for example, when he says that
“someone who proceeds to the comparison of two things directs his intention on
both and tends towards both simultaneously.”15 Moreover, when defending the idea
that “every cognitive potency needs an intention to be actualized,” he refers to
Augustine’s De Trinitate.16 Now, it has been pointed out that one meaning of
“intention” in Augustine may be “selective attention”17 and that the De Trinitate’s
12
For an overview of the medieval senses of intentio, see de Libera (2004). For discussion of how
Aquinas uses the term, see Hayen (1954) and Schmidt (1966, 94–129).
13
Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 55, n. 4; De veritate, q. 10, art. 2, ad 7, and q. 13, art. 3, corp. For the
identification of intention and conversion, see Pasnau (1997, 135).
14
Many Aquinas scholars have made this move: see Hayen (1954, 170–174, 195–201), Schmidt
(1966, 97–98), Pasnau (1997, 134–136), and de Libera (2004, 610–611).
15
Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 55, n. 4.
16
See Thomas Aquinas, De veritate, q. 13, art. 3, corp., and Augustine, De Trinitate, esp. 11.2.
17
This is defended in Caston (2001).
“intention” is nothing other than the “attention” (adtentio) that Augustine identifies
in his De musica as an active feature of sensation.18
I would suggest not only that we should follow the interpretation of Aquinas’s
“intention” as “attention,” but also that the active dimension referred to by Aquinas
when talking of the cognitive “operation” is nothing other than “intention”
understood as “attention.” Identifying them in this way has the advantage of
parsimony. To be sure, Aquinas is not Ockham and he is not doing philosophy with
a razor in hand; however, if we refuse to identify the active dimension of the
cognitive operation with intention, then, in addition to explaining the abstraction of
the agent intellect and the full reactivation of a species stored as constituent of the
intellectual habit, we also have to explain the ratio essendi of two distinct active
features for every act of intellection: the cognitive operation and the intention. Yet
in view of the texts, it is already difficult to explain what one of these active features
could be. This invites us to identify the active dimension of the cognitive operation
with attention, and thus with intention.
7.4 The Later Account of Intellectual Operation
The identification of operation with intention may work with regard to the earlier
Aquinas, but as Pini recently emphasized, Aquinas has two accounts of intellectual
operation. According to the first, found in the earlier works,19 an intellectual
operation is an Aristotelian “immanent action,” that is, as Aristotle puts it, an action
“which has no result other than the activity itself.”20 But from the Summa contra
Gentiles onwards, Aquinas offers another account of the intellectual operation.
Following Augustine, Aquinas holds that an act of intellection entails the production
by the possible intellect of a “word” (verbum), also called “intellected intention”
(intentio intellecta), “conception” (conceptio), or “concept” (conceptus), which is a
sort of “child” (proles) of the intellect.21 Famously, Aquinas stresses in the De
potentia that the word is distinct from the thing it is about, from the action of pro-
duction, of which it is the result, and from the species, which is the “principle”
(principium) of the action of production.22 Note that Aquinas’s later account of the
18
See Augustine, De musica 6.5 and Solère (2007, 76).
19
See in particular Thomas Aquinas, In I Sent., d. 40, q. 1, art. 1, ad 1. For a concise presentation
of the chronology of Aquinas’s works, see Schmidt (1966, 148nn74–75).
20
See Aristotle, Met. 9.8, 1050a34–35 and, more broadly, Met. 9.6 and 9.8.
21
See Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 53; IV, c. 11; De potentia, q. 8, art. 1; and De rationibus fidei ad
Cantorem Antiochenum, c. 3. Augustine introduces his notion of word in De Trinitate 15.12,
quoted and discussed by Lonergan (1997, 7). See also ST I, q. 85, art. 2, ad 3, where Aquinas simi-
larly accepts a productive operation at the sensitive level, for imagination.
22
Thomas Aquinas, De potentia, q. 8, art. 1.
134 H. Taieb
intellectual operation is not consistent with Aristotelian immanent action, in which

there is no result at all other than the activity itself, not even inside the agent.23
Be that as it may, the main issue regarding the word, and which I would like to
discuss here, is why exactly Aquinas introduced it into his philosophy. This question
is still largely unsolved in the literature. One answer would be to say that Aquinas
was motivated by respect for authority, in this case the authority of Augustine. Such
an answer would surely be correct in the medieval context; indeed, it was important
for philosophers and theologians to create theories that did not contradict their
authorities, and Augustine was one of the most important authorities at the time.24
Yet even if Aquinas wanted his theory to be compatible with the Augustinian view,
this does not solve the problem of the role of the word. Since Aquinas still accepts
species in his later philosophy, the word must explain an aspect of intellection that
the species is unable to explain. Otherwise the word would be a mere duplicate of
the species, and respect for authority would have led Aquinas into an awkward
philosophical position, with two different items playing one and the same
explanatory role. In order to avoid this duplication and the awkward situation it
entails, one has to say that the word plays a role that the species does not play. Even
if such a philosophical distinction was not Aquinas’s true motivation, that is, even if
his real worry was respect for authority, some philosophical distinction has to be
part of his justification for the introduction of the word. So, what could this
justification be?
One might argue that Aquinas wanted to reject a merely passive, Aristotelian
psychology, since this cannot account for all aspects of intellection, and that some
activity had to be introduced into the psychology via Augustine. However, this
solution does not work, since Aquinas’s earlier account of intellection, which is
meant to be Aristotelian, is already active: according to Aquinas, intellection in
Aristotle is an immanent action.25
Another option would be to hold, with Dominik Perler (2002, 89), that the word
is an alternative explanation of the act of intellection, developed because Aquinas
was unsatisfied with his first account, based on the species. To be sure, one can say
that Aquinas’s first account of the act of intellection is deficient, notably with respect
to the question of the full reactivation of the habitual species. Indeed, as Pini (2015)
emphasizes, it is not clear how such a reactivation is meant to work. However, even
if one agrees with Perler and Pini that Aquinas’s affirmations on these questions are
intricate, one might still wonder to what extent the adoption of the “word” is a
23
On this question, see the interesting discussion in John Duns Scotus, Quodl., q. 13, art. 3, anal-
ysed by Pini (2015).
24
For a discussion of the phenomenon of authority in the Middle Ages, see the volume edited by
Kangas, Korpiola, and Ainonen (2013). In the volume mentioned, on Augustine, see in particular
Otto (2013), who insists on his influence in the Middle Ages. Note however that Augustine was not
always followed by medieval thinkers, but also sometimes challenged. On the complex medieval
reception of Augustine, see Stone (2001).
25
On the fact that “actions,” in Aristotle, “are twofold” (duplex est actio), and that cognitive opera-
tions are actions, although of a peculiar kind, see again Thomas Aquinas, In I Sent., d. 40, q. 1,
art. 1, ad 1, as well as ST I, q. 56, art. 1 and q. 85, art. 2, quoted by Pini (2015, 87n18).
solution. Indeed, Aquinas does not renounce his use of the species: for him, the
species is the “principle” of the production of the word, so that the species, whether
impressed or reactivated, is still present in his later account of the act of intellection.26
Thus, the adoption of the word seems not to solve the above-mentioned problems.
Another, interesting solution would be to maintain that the species and the word
provide different kinds of cognition. On such a view, both intellection through a
species and intellection through a word will be possible in Aquinas’s later works:
one can either think with a species, or use the species as a “principle” in order to
produce a word. Indeed, there are later texts in which only intellection through the
species is mentioned, and in these texts Aquinas does not say that the species is
equivalent to the word. For example, in the famous question 85 of part 1 of the
Summa theologiae, Aquinas compares intelligizing with an intelligible species to
seeing with a sensible species: apparently, an act of intellection with an intelligible
species alone is possible, without the production of a word.27 Thus, it seems that
intellection with a species and intellection with a word coexist in Aquinas’s later
account of intellection. Yet these two intellections would differ with respect to the
kind of cognition that they provide. This solution was developed by Robert Pasnau,
according to whom (2002, 318–329) species, which he also calls “ideas,” are
“obscure” and “confused.” In order to make them “clear,” the intellect has to proceed
to “composition and division.” In so doing, that is, by composing and dividing, the
intellect acquires “words.”
Can this last view be adopted? In my opinion, it can, but only if one makes some
qualification. In the Summa contra Gentiles,28 when presenting his theory of the
word for the first time, Aquinas clearly states that the word is the thing’s “notion”
(ratio), “which is signified by the definition” (definitio), where “notion” seems to
stand for a cognitive item, while “definition” stands for a linguistic one. Furthermore,
in his Super Ioannem, Aquinas holds that when producing a word, the intellect
forms, by its first operation, the “definition” of the thing, which is equated with its
“notion” (where “definition” seems rather to stand for a cognitive item), while by its
second operation it forms “enunciations” by “composing and dividing.”29 Thus, it
seems that the word can consist in a propositional content derived from “composition
and division,” but can also provide what medieval philosophers call “simple
apprehension” (apprehensio simplex), that is, the grasping of the natures of things
thanks to a cognitive means providing their “definition” (in the cognitive sense).30 In
short, the intellect does not necessarily acquire words by “composing and dividing;”
26
On the fact that the species must be fully active in order for the intellect to produce a word, see
especially Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 53 and De potentia, q. 8, art. 1.
27
See Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 85, art. 2; q. 56, art. 1. For the chronology of Aquinas’s works, see
again Schmidt (1966, 148nn74–75).
28
Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 53, n. 3.
29
Thomas Aquinas, Super Ioannem, c. 1, lect. 1. See also De potentia, q. 8, art. 1 and ST I, q. 85,
art. 2.
30
On the different levels of intellection, see Perler (2002, 61).
136 H. Taieb
rather, words are either “definitions” (in the cognitive sense) or propositional con-
tents resulting from “compositions and divisions” made with these definitions.
One way to understand what Aquinas means when equating “words” with “defi-
nitions” (in the cognitive sense) is found in Alain de Libera (1996, 274–275), who
holds that a word, in Aquinas, exhibits “an ordered set of marks like ‘p, q, r’,” for
example “rational, mortal, animal” for the word “human being.” On this basis, one
could say that a word is a cognitive means in which the logical parts are strictly
distinguished. To be sure, Aquinas himself talks of such “distinct” intellectual
cognitive means. As shown by Fabrizio Amerini (forthcoming), Aquinas has two
understandings of what a “confused” intellectual cognitive means might be, as
opposed to a “distinct” one. In the first sense, an intellectual cognitive means is
confused when it brings together things that have different natures, that is, when it
is about something more general than a most specific species. In this sense, the most
confused cognitive means is the one of being, while cognitive means about the most
specific species, for example, human being, are distinct. In another sense, a cognitive
means is confused when its possessor does not know the definition (that is, the
genus and specific difference) that is linked to the cognitive means. In this sense,
someone who has a cognitive means about human being without knowing that
human being is made up of rational and animal has a confused cognitive means.
Aquinas says that “human being is known by us confusedly prior to the fact that
animal and rational are his defining features.”31 On this basis, and in view of the
texts in which Aquinas holds that the production of a word amounts to the production
of a definition (in the cognitive sense), one could say that the contrast between the
species and the word is that between a confused and a distinct cognitive means, in
the second sense of the terms.32
Let me develop and defend this interpretation further. Such an account of the
difference between species and word could lead to the idea that words are “species
made distinct.” Put this way, words would be former species and, thus, the result of
a process of “transformation” rather than of “production” stricto sensu, that is,
“generation.” However, I think that such an interpretation, although tempting, is
difficult to combine with Aquinas’s claim that the word is a “child” of the intellect,
for it seems that the word is the result of production in the sense of generation.33
Besides, such an explanation seems to entail that there are no words for items
that cannot be defined, that is, which cannot be subsumed under a higher genus and
a specific difference. This holds for the highest genera, namely the categories, as
31
Thomas Aquinas, In I Phys., lect. 1. See also ST I, q. 85, art. 3. Both texts are quoted and dis-
cussed by Amerini (forthcoming).
32
Note that this is also how Amerini (forthcoming) explains the opposition between these two
cognitive means: he holds that the intelligible species is “the first-impressed, stable but still opaque
set of information acquired from a thing via sense-perception and imagination,” and that the word
is more distinct than the species. Yet Amerini seems to hold that beside the species and the word,
there is another cognitive means in Aquinas, namely the “definition,” which is still more distinct
than the word. In my opinion, the definition is not an additional cognitive means, but is the word
itself.
33
See Aquinas, De rationibus fidei ad Cantorem Antiochenum, c. 3.
well as for being and the other “transcendentals,” such as unity. For these items, one
could say that the species and the word conflate: when one has the species, one has
the word.34 Note, however, that the difficulty in question does not emerge just from
the interpretation defended here of Aquinas’s views, namely, that species and word
coexist and are contrasted as confused and distinct cognitive means. Since Aquinas
holds that the word is the same as the definition, every interpreter of his later theory
must ask how non-definable items can be intelligized.
Finally, one might wonder whether Aquinas’s later account of intellectual opera-
tion is compatible with the attentional interpretation of the cognitive operation that
I have given above. To be sure, since in Aquinas’s earlier account, nothing is pro-
duced by the intellectual operation, it is possible to equate this action with attention.
In the later account, the operation is productive, so that it seems to be different from
attention, which does not involve any production. Yet I think that even the later
account is compatible with the attentional reading. Indeed, one could say that the
later account of intellectual operation includes both a productive aspect and an
“attending” aspect: one produces a word and “in the same move” attends to some-
thing. An alternative would be to hold that as regards productive intellectual opera-
tions, Aquinas distinguishes between the active dimension of the operation itself,
understood in terms of production, and the active dimension proper to attention, for
which his notion of “intention” would still be responsible.
7.5 Habit of Words?
The preceding interpretation of Aquinas’s later account of the intellectual operation

leads to a difficult problem as regards the structure of the intellectual habit. Indeed,
if species are confused cognitive means and words are distinct ones, a question,
then, is whether Aquinas admits two parts in the intellectual habit, one of stored
species, and the other of stored words. One could say that when a certain cognizer,
on the basis of a given species, for example the species human being, has produced
a word—that is, a distinct cognitive means on the basis of a confused one—his habit
should no longer be constituted by the confused cognitive means, but by the distinct
one, that is, no longer by the species human being, but by a word about human
being. On such an interpretation, there would be, as constituents of the habit, a store
of confused (that is, not yet distinguished) cognitive means, a store of species, and
a store of distinct cognitive means, that is, a store of words. Although the species
and the word of one and the same item could not coexist as constituents of the same
intellectual habit, one and the same habit could be constituted both of species and of
words with respect to different items, depending on the degree of distinct cognition
34
See also Amerini (forthcoming), who holds that “x is cognized distinctly either when the ele-
ments or the principles into which x can be resolved are cognized distinctly or when x cannot be
resolved in further elements or principles.”
138 H. Taieb
held by the possessor of the habit: the more one has distinct cognitive means, the
more words one has as constituents of one’s intellectual habit.
Unfortunately, such an account of the intellectual habit seems to be ruled out in
Aquinas’s later work. As pointed out by Pini, Aquinas affirms in a passage of the
Summa theologiae that the word does not exist in the soul “without an actual
cognition” (sine actuali cogitatione), following Augustine’s De Trinitate.35 Note
that in the critical edition of Augustine in the Corpus Christianorum, the relevant
passage does not say “without an actual cognition,” but simply “without cognition”
(sine cogitatione).36 However, even if Aquinas perhaps had a slightly different text
at his disposal, he was apparently defending the view that the habit is not made up
of words: words cannot be stored in second potentiality (or first actuality). But
since, according to the interpretation above, Aquinas holds that a word is the
definition (in the cognitive sense) of something, does this mean that one has no
dispositional definitional cognition, but only a store of confused cognitive means?
This would be a rather surprising claim. Thus, it seems that there is a problem to be
solved here. One might want to say that the habit, for Aquinas, can be made up of
both confused and distinct species; however, this would not be satisfactory, since it
is not clear what a distinct species would be if it were not a word. I suggest following
a different path. Another solution, indeed, would be to hold that the possible intellect
has the aptitude to produce a word on the basis of a given species when it summons
the species in question. This would make Aquinas’s account of habits of words, that
is, of dispositional definitional cognition, similar to Avicenna’s account of
intellectual habit: there are no stored words, but some aptitudes acquired by the
intellect to produce distinct cognitive means on the basis of certain confused ones.
Given the set of species stored as constituents of a given intellectual habit, the
intellect has the aptitude to produce a word on the basis of some of them, but not all
of them. One could say that for Aquinas, the aptitudes of the possible intellect to
produce words with a certain amount of habitual species constitutes the habit of
words, i.e. the dispositional definitional cognition.
7.6 Conclusion
In this paper, I have focused on Aquinas’s theory of intellection, taken as a habit,

that is, as dispositional intellectual cognition, and as an operation, that is, as an act
of intellection. As indicated in the introduction, in order to have a clear representation
of the way intellection works in Aquinas, one has to cross the analyses of the habit
and that of the operation.
Indeed, first, (re-)intellection is explained as the reactivation of the intellectual
habit plus an action. In this paper, I suggested a solution as to why Aquinas is not
See Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 93, art. 7, quoted by Pini (2015, draft version).
35
See Augustine, De Trinitate 14.7 (ed. Mountain, 434.49). On Augustine’s theory of habit, see
36
Bochet and Trego, both in this volume, respectively p. 47–66 and p. 89–93.
content with the mere reactivation and needs an action in addition: this action
accounts for attention.
Second, as I emphasized, the way one understands Aquinas’s theory of the opera-
tion of the intellect crucially affects the interpretation of the structure of the habit.
This is particularly true with respect to the question of the ratio essendi of Aquinas’s
second account of the intellectual operation. One can defend—and this is the path I
have decided to follow—that the species and the word provide different kinds of
cognition in Aquinas: the word provides definitional cognition, that is, it is a “dis-
tinct” (vs. “confused”) cognitive means. Now, to admit this leads one to ask how
these two kinds of cognitions are present at the habitual level. Aquinas reads in
Augustine that words exist only in actual cognition and cannot be stored in second
potentiality (first actuality). To put it another way, Aquinas borrows from Aristotle
the thesis that intellection allows for the “storage” of cognitive means, more
precisely of species, but Augustine’s authority forbids to apply this solution to the
word. However, if the word provides a kind of intellectual cognition other than what
the species provides, then something must be conserved in the soul after the
production of a word. The suggestion that I made is to retain a kind of productive
aptitude: once the possible intellect has learned to produce a word on the basis of
such and such a species, the intellect acquires the aptitude to undertake this
production again.
One might reply that such an explanation is merely systematic and strays from
the texts themselves. To be sure, it is possible to stop long before by rejecting the
interpretation according to which the word is a cognitive means providing a different
kind of cognition than what the species provides. But if one accepts that the word
provides a different kind of cognition, namely a definitional one, as Aquinas himself
seems to say, then one has to tackle the following, difficult question: how is this
definitional cognition conserved in the soul? This is a question I tried to answer in
the paper.37
This paper was written in the context of the Swiss National Science Foundation (SNF) research
37
project “Dispositions and Relations in Late Ancient and Early Medieval Philosophy” (project
no. 152884). A first draft of this paper was presented in October 2015 in Paris at the conference
“Habitus in Latin Medieval Philosophy.” I thank the participants for their valuable comments, in
particular Gyula Klima, Can Laurens Löwe, Dominik Perler, Martin Pickavé, and Jean-Luc Solère.
As well, I thank Magali Roques for her very helpful written comments. Besides, my acknowledg-
ment goes to two anonymous referees for their reviews. I am also grateful to Elena Băltuţă and
Paolo Rubini for our numerous discussions on the intelligible species, the word, and their differ-
ences in Aquinas. Finally, I thank Nicole Standen-Mills and Ian C. Drummond for checking my
English.
140 H. Taieb
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Chapter 8
“As One Is Disposed, So the Goal Appears
to Him”: On the Function of Moral Habits
(habitus) According to Thomas Aquinas
Rolf Darge
Abstract This chapter is a study of the role moral habits (habitus) play both in
determining the goals of our actions and in inclining us to actually accomplish these
actions, according to Aquinas. Moral habitus are not “habits” in the usual sense (the
Latin term for such habits would be consuetudo), inasmuch as they do not entail the
automatic, unconscious act common habits seem to produce. Rather, they dispose
the agent to a special type of action without relieving her/him of a deliberate deci-
sion regarding the purpose and concrete behaviour which correspond to the proper
objective of the habitus in question. In a concrete action situation, the moral habitus
primarily and essentially affects (a) the content of the judgement about the specific
goal of the action and (b) the mode of this judgement. Under the influence of the
habitus, the judgement about the goal determines the special type of action the
moral habitus is ordered to as its proper and immediate goal, as the target to be
pursued in the action simpliciter and for its own sake. This judgement does not
result from rational deliberation (per modum cognitionis) but is given spontane-
ously or intuitively per modum inclinationis.
Keywords Moral habitus · Habitude · Practical deliberation · Virtue · Prudence
8.1 Introduction
In his recent study on moral judgement Stephen Napier creates a dialogue between
contemporary cognitive science and Aquinas’s doctrine of the epistemic function of
acquired moral virtues and of the gifts of the Holy Spirit.1 According to Napier,
Aquinas, because he gave an explanation of how these habitus operate on our moral
intellects, has “provided us with a cognitive therapy for our moral intuitions”2: Indeed,
Napier (2017).
1
Ibid. 31.
2
R. Darge (*)
Fachbereich Philosophie KTH, Universität Salzburg, Salzburg, Austria
e-mail: rolf.darge@sbg.ac.at

144 R. Darge
Aquinas is highly aware of the fact that our moral intellects are susceptible to distort-
ing influences from internal and external factors. To distinguish moral knowledge
from faulty moral intuitions, he assumes that, for there to be moral knowledge, there
needs to be a proportion or equivalence (adaequatio) between the relevant moral
goods the knower is trying to apprehend and his moral character – his intellect, will,
and affections. This proportion is established by moral virtues and gifts. Accordingly,
these habitus involve a perfection of our intellect: the acting person, due to his/her
inner conformity to the object known through moral virtues and gifts, perceives,
apprehends or “sees” without calculative reasoning “the moral goods in his environ-
ment” or “the morally salient features in his environment”.3 According to Napier,
Aquinas has this in mind when – citing Aristotle’s statement: “such a man is, so does
the end appear to him”4 – he declares: “in moral matters a man has a right estimate
about the end through a habit of virtue”.5 According to Napier this effect of moral
virtues and gifts may be explained by empirically based psychological theories of
expertise: “the explanation for expertise is fairly consistent across different domains”.6
The virtuous person being able to apprehend the meaningful pattern of a situation may
be compared to an expert in the domain of chess. “Experts are able to see better than
novices […] largely because of schema of comprehension and depth. Chess experts
see what the right move is […]. What comprehensive and deep schemas do to the
perceptual abilities of experts, the virtues and gifts do to the moral perception of moral
experts. ‘Such as a man is, so does the end appear to him’”.7
According to this interpretation the ends or goals perceived by the virtuous per-
son are “morally relevant goods in her environment”8 resembling meaningful chess
arrangements and important moves the chess master perceives on the board due to
the capacious schema-representation of the domain of his expertise.9 Being virtuous
implies a moral expertise which in its structure is similar to the system of memo-
rized and habituated schemata of a chess expert.10
Napier’s interpretation invites us to have a closer look at the texts in which
Aquinas expounds his view of the epistemic function of moral virtues.11 There may
3
Ibid. 52, 70–71.
4
Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics III, cap. 7: 1114 a 32–b 1.
5
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.; ST II-II, q. 8, art. 6, corp.; ST II-II, q. 24, art. 11, corp.; cf. Napier (2017,
48–49, 52–53).
6
Napier (2017, 62).
7
Ibid. 69.
8
Cf. note 3.
9
Ibid. 64–65: “Chess masters are estimated to have 50,000–100,000 meaningful board arrange-
ments memorized. These meaningful arrangements may be called schemas [sic]. A schema is any
mental representation of a category or concept, however abstract. In this case, chess masters have
numerous schemas representing various meaningful patterns. When they see such patterns, they
are able to recall them with much more facility than novices.” – Ibid. 65: “Having numerous sche-
mas of meaningful patterns allows the master to recognize important moves without resorting to
‘look-ahead’ search processing.”
10
Ibid. 71: “One might explore further analogs, namely analogs […] between being virtuous and
having a deep and comprehensive schema system.”
11
Here, I leave out the gifts of the Holy Spirit; Aquinas’s explanation of their effects on the human
intellect is based on a complex of theological assumptions which calls for another approach.
8 “As One Is Disposed, So the Goal Appears to Him”: On the Function of Moral… 145
be doubts as to whether the perception of the goal based on moral virtue – as Aquinas
sees it – is comparable to the perceptual act of a chess expert who by his schema-
representations “see[s] what the right move is”, or to the apprehension of a radiol-
ogy expert who immediately “see[s] what the patient’s pathology is”12. Expertise
helps overcoming obstacles on the way to a goal. As a technical know-how it con-
cerns that by which a determinate exterior effect may be attained. So the chess
master by his expertise apprehends immediately the meaningful arrangements of
pieces on the board; the meaning of such an arrangement just consists in its virtual
power to bring about victory in the game. But none of his schemas of meaningful
patterns nor the whole complex of memorized board arrangements (i.e. his chess
expertise) will incite him to make a practical judgement about the goal, dictating
that it is reasonable and good for him to win this game here and now. Of course he
may aim at this end spontaneously “by his second nature” or habit; but this intention
and the act of intuitive cognition that precedes it are not due to his chess expertise;
expertise only comprises skills and instrumental knowledge about methods and
means; its application presupposes the cognition of the goal and the corresponding
intention.
With regard to moral acting Aquinas assigns the apprehension of “what the right
move is” here and now to the capacity of “right reason about things to be done” or
prudence; it just concerns the determination of the adequate means: “that man takes
rightly those things which have reference to the end: and this he cannot do unless
his reason counsel, judge and command aright, which is the function of prudence
[…] prudence which is the right reason of things to be done”.13 Obviously Napier
identifies in his interpretation the epistemic effect of moral virtue with prudence:
“Moral virtues consist in right reason”.14 But according to Aquinas the first and
proper epistemic effect of moral virtue does not belong to “right reason”; it is – as
Napier rightly notes – directed to the end: “[…] to judge aright to the end. This is
done by moral virtue”.15 This epistemic function of moral virtue precedes the dis-
course of right reason and determines it; therefore it is not attributable to prudence
and explainable by expertise: “Reason as apprehending the end precedes the appe-
tite for the end: but the appetite for the end precedes reason, as arguing about the
choice of the means, which is the concern of prudence”.16 So Aquinas’s conception
of the epistemic effect of moral virtue with regard to the end still remains to be
explained.
12
Ibid. 69.
13
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 4, corp.: “ut homo recte accipiat ea quae sunt ad finem: et hoc non potest esse
nisi per rationem recte consiliantem, judicantem et praecipientem; quod pertinet ad prudentiam.
[…] prudentia, quae est recta ratio agibilium.” For Aquinas’s general account of prudence see
Keenan (2002), McKay (2005), Hoffmann (2013).
14
Napier (2017, 51).
15
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.: “[...] recte judicare de fine. Et hoc fit per virtutem moralem.”
16
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, ad 1: “Ratio secundum quod est apprehensiva finis praecedit appetitum finis:
sed appetitus finis praecedit rationem ratiocinantem ad eligendum ea quae sunt ad finem, quod
pertinet ad prudentiam.”
146 R. Darge
While Napier explains the conformity to moral goods whereby moral virtue
enables us to have intuitive cognition in terms of “expertise”, Andrew Tallon, in his
comprehensive study on affective intentionality, explains it as a connaturality
“through feelings”.17 The objective of his study is not merely to develop an under-
standing of the epistemic effect of moral virtue; it aims at devising a general theory
of human action that unfolds the ideal of a human action integrating “heart and
head” – reason, will and affectivity – in the field of ethical, aesthetical and religious
behaviour. According to Tallon, in order to get closer to this ideal, conceptual and
discursive reasoning, as well as deliberative volition, have to be transcended towards
a more intuitive knowledge and spontaneous love based on affective connaturality.
His explanation of this connaturality with regard to moral behaviour takes up
Aquinas’s doctrine of moral virtue and gifts. According to Tallon’s interpretation of
this doctrine, moral virtue – by establishing an “affective connaturality” between
our natural being and the respective act – enables us to judge and to act intuitively
and spontaneously, without concepts, discursive thought and deliberative volition.18
Thus acting according to a moral habitus means “to act spontaneously and with a
directedness and immediacy that needs neither thought nor will […] in ethical face-
to-face relations”.19
In view of this, there is for Tallon no reason nor an interest to draw a clear dis-
tinction between habitus and habitude, because, in his view, what really matters
with regard to our perfection is to transcend a state of consciousness dominated by
conceptual thought, discursive reason and deliberate volition; Tallon considers this
state as a manifestation of our limitation and as an obstacle to the implementation
of our human potentiality. Thus “we overcome limitation and finitude by virtue of
habitude. To acquire habits is to acquire oneself, but now at a higher level of
actualization”20; “Habit is simultaneously both the ground of connaturality and the
way a finite spirit strives to overcome or compensate for its finitude and become
more fully spirit, more spiritual”.21 Seen from the perspective of an “anthropology
from below”, habitual behaviour without deliberation and choice may seem to pro-
long the instinctive behaviour of animals and to fall short of the real potential of the
“animal rationale”. But Tallon’s anthropological approach to human behaviour is
different; he interprets human rationality from the viewpoint of an “anthropology
17
Tallon (1997, 225): “Connaturality most properly, in its best sense, means not merely accompa-
nied by feelings, nor of feelings, but through feelings.”
18
Ibid. 225: “Thus knowledge by connaturality, in Aquinas’s example [ST II-II, q. 45, art. 2; cf.
ibid. 201 sq.] usually means a nonconceptual judgement where connaturality replaces concepts;
we are then said to make ethical judgements by feeling, which means [...] by affective connatural-
ity.” – Ibid. 270: “Habit structurally installs between nature and act, sinks roots into nature, con-
naturalizing the nature to the acts that form the habit. Connaturality is thus a name for how a nature
tends to perfect its ability to act, for example, performing in fewer operations, more easily, enjoy-
ably, spontaneously, immediately, directly; less discursive thought and rational will (deliberation
and choice) are needed.”
19
Ibid. 265.
20
Ibid. 267.
21
Ibid. 269.
from above”; according to this perspective, the measure of comparison and evalua-
tion of various states of human consciousness and corresponding ways of behaviour
is “the intuitive knowing and spontaneous love of […] higher spirits (the angel taken
as Grenzidee)”.22 Human being is seen as an “embodied spirit”,23 which because of
his finitude and to the degree of his finitude needs to have recourse to conceptual
and discursive thought and deliberative volition. The role of habitus or habitude
then is to enable the embodied spirit to ascend closer to the paradigm – the intuition
and spontaneity of “higher spirits” – through the integration of head and heart:
“Habit as virtue is our way of pushing back the limit of finitude. […] To guide us we
have the motto: ‘Habitude, remedy for finitude”.24
Undeniably, Aquinas, in his ethics, integrates essential ideas of the traditional
“anthropology from above”, inspired by Christian neo-Platonic thought. As Tallon
convincingly shows, this anthropology is fundamentally involved in Aquinas’s doc-
trine of the gifts of the Holy Spirit (esp. wisdom),25 of the infused virtues of faith,
love and hope26 and also in his doctrine of intellectus and ratio.27 But on the other
hand, in a more philosophical context, Aquinas explains the function of moral virtue
following Aristotle with respect to deliberate choice: “Moral virtue […] is a habitus
of preferential choice, i.e. making us choose well”28; in order that a choice be good
it is inter alia required “that man take rightly those things which have reference to
the end: and this he cannot do unless his reason counsel, judge and command
aright”.29 According to these statements, moral virtue cannot be regarded as a cure
for our finitude enabling us to surpass the level of discursive reason and deliberate
will in our acting; contrary to Tallon’s view, acting by moral habitus, according to
Aquinas, involves conceptual thought, discursive reasoning and deliberative choice.
Upon examining Napier’s and Tallon’s interpretations of Aquinas’s doctrine of
moral virtue the question arises how moral habitus according to Aquinas function
epistemically in the determination of action. In the following I focus on an idea that
is central to his conception of this function; according to this idea the moral habitus
has an important epistemic influence on action in that it determines what will appear
to the agent, in a situation of concrete action, as the goal that matters to him insofar
as he is human. Although the study discusses moral issues, its interest is not an ethi-
cal but an anthropological one; it aims at a closer understanding of Aquinas’s gen-
eral theory of human action as a complex system of behaviour d evelopment in a
22
Ibid. 229.
23
Ibid. 261.
24
Ibid. 241.
25
Ibid. 201, 230–231, 249.
26
Ibid. 236–241.
27
Ibid. 254–258.
28
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 4 corp.: “moralis virtue est habitus electivus [cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics
II, cap. 6, 1106 b 36–1107 a 1], idest faciens bonam electionem.”
29
Ibid. “Ad hoc autem quod electio sit bona [... requiritur] quod homo recte accipiat ea quae sunt
ad finem: et hoc non potest esse nisi per rationem recte consiliantem, judicantem et
praecipientem.”
148 R. Darge
given action situation. Unfortunately, Aquinas does not expound on this idea and its
anthropological and ethical implications in a systematic treatise; his view on this
point has to be reconstructed from scattered thoughts he develops mainly in the
context of the general doctrine of habitus and virtues in Summa theologiae I-II and
in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics. The core of these thoughts—like the
framework of the general theory of habitus—stems from Aristotle. My intention is
to bring to the fore the logical coherent connection between some of these well
known texts about the epistemic function of moral habitus, so that it becomes clear
that Aquinas has quite a precise understanding of how a moral habitus “works” in
the action situation: in contrast to habitude, it does not primarily affect the choice
(electio) of a concrete behaviour, but the judgement of the goal and the correspond-
ing act of the will (intentio). As may be seen from Tallon’s and Napier’s interpreta-
tions of Aquinas’s doctrine of moral habitus, this central point in Aquinas’s
conception is not obvious.30
After some conceptual distinctions and clarifications (part 1), I will examine the
function of the habitus in the constitution of action (parts 2 and 3), and finally I will
examine the impact of moral habitus on the orientation of the agent towards a goal
(parts 4 to 6).
8.2 Habitus and Habit (consuetudo)
In his later works, when he uses the term habitus in its proper sense in an anthropo-
logical and ethical context, Thomas Aquinas refers to a durable disposition of a
human being which by its very nature is difficult to change and which disposes/
orients its subject, either well or poorly, in relation to its nature and the immanent
end of this nature.31 In this explanation, it is left undetermined what the habitus
directly orients its subject towards and what the nature of this subject is; accord-
ingly “it is not the essence of habitus to be related to power, but to be related to the
nature.”32
On the basis of this conclusion, Aquinas distinguishes two kinds of habitus,
which in the later scholastic tradition are commonly called habitus operativus and
habitus entitativus or habitus ad essendum.33 Habitus entitativus signifies a stable
30
Angela McKay in her study on prudence and acquired moral virtue (McKay 2005) and Jean
Porter in his recent study on Aquinas’s view of the “necessity” of habits (Porter 2013) do not even
mention this element of Aquinas’s doctrine of moral habitus.
31
Cf. ST I-II, q. 49, art. 4, corp. and art. 3, corp. This concept appears for the first time in the sys-
tematic doctrine of habitus in ST I-II. Cf. Darge (1996, 15–30). Unless otherwise specified, all
primary texts cited are by Aquinas.
32
ST I-II, q. 49, art. 3, ad 2: “Non est de ratione habitus quod respiciat potentiam, sed quod respiciat
naturam.”
33
ST I-II, q. 82, art. 1, corp.: “Dicendum quod […] duplex est habitus. Unus quidem quo inclinatur
potentia ad agendum sicut scientia et virtus dicuntur habitus. […] Alio modo dicitur habitus dispo-
sitio alicuius naturae, ex multis compositae, secundum quod bene se habet vel male ad aliquid; et,
disposition which disposes the being of man—that is, his body or the essential
ground of the soul—either well or poorly. Persistent dispositions of the organism,
such as health or illness, and also original sin (peccatum originale) and grace, inso-
far as man receives it from God as a kind of state, belong to this group of habitus.
By contrast, habitus operativus signifies a qualitative determination or form of a
rational power of the human soul which by itself is long-lasting. It permanently (in)
forms the rational power, and thereby causes a quasi-natural inclination of this
power towards a specific kind of operation or act. As a result, the possessor of the
habitus is able to produce this act spontaneously by an inner readiness, and with
ease, confidence, and delight (pleasure in acting).
Habitus in this latter sense does not mean “habit” in the sense of habituation or
consuetudo. In a psychological context, “habit” means an acquired automatism of
behaviour. In this way, a certain pattern of behaviour, triggered by a stimulus, is
necessarily executed, as if on its own, either without or at a low degree of aware-
ness. Habituations may result from conditioning; they are not restricted to human
action but can also be found in animal behaviour. In this sense, Aquinas uses the
term consuetudo to speak of such habituation. Habitus by contrast means a quality
the subject of which cannot be a brute animal, but only a rational being. A habitus
operativus does not entail a distinct pattern or automatism of behaviour in which an
action is done without the conscious decision of the agent such that, in a way, it
occurs independently of the agent:
The habitus that resides in the soul, does not produce its operation by necessity, but is used
by a man when he wills. Consequently a man who possesses a habitus may either fail to use
the habitus or produce a contrary act.34
A moral habitus is a special kind of operative habitus. The modes of external behav-
iour in which such a habitus manifests itself may be very different, but internally
they are ordered to the same goal or end. They do not arise from an automatism of
the soul, but from a deliberate decision or choice (electio)35 which the agent makes
with respect to the intended goal. I shall return to this point at the end.
The immediate subjects of habitus operativi are those powers of the soul by
which man is the principle of his actions, in virtue of having free will and control
over his own actions. Thus, the subjects of these habitus are powers which are
essentially rational, such as reason itself and the rational appetitive power (appetitus
rationalis), that is, the will, and powers that are rational by participation, namely,
the sensual appetitive powers, which are the appetitus concupiscibilis and the appe-
titus irascibilis. These sensitive powers of the soul have their own movements and
are not directly and entirely subordinated to reason, but they are also not fully
praecipue cum talis dispositio fuerit quasi in naturam versa ut patet de aegritudine et sanitate.” Cf.
De Roton (1934, 157), Bourke (1942, 373), Darge (1996, 29).
34
ST I-II, q. 71, art. 4, corp.: “Habitus in anima non ex necessitate producit suam operationem, sed
homo utitur eo cum voluerit. Unde simul habitu in homine existente, potest non uti habitu, aut
agere contrarium actum.”
35
Concerning the moral habitus or “habitus of choice” see in this volume: Boulnois’ contribution,
p. 25–45.
150 R. Darge
d etermined by nature and are capable of acting in obedience to reason. Insofar as

they are subordinated to rational control, they too can be shaped by habitus.
The habitus in the rational appetitive powers—whether essentially rational or
rational by participation—are called habitus morales. This term is taken from the
activities that correspond to them: an act is called moralis if and insofar as it is pro-
duced by a rational appetitive power.
8.3 The Production of a Particular Action
In his treatise on the proper human acts at the beginning of Summa theologiae I-II,
Aquinas develops a general theory of action. According to this theory, an action is a
complex integrated operation; it encompasses many partial acts of the rational and
sensitive powers of cognition, of the rational and sensitive appetitive powers, and of
the bodily powers.36 These partial acts cannot always be distinguished in reality, but
they may be distinguished in an analysis of how a human action is produced. They
can be divided into two groups, each of which constitutes a phase of this production.
The first group constitutes the phase which I call the “phase of orientation”; the
second constitutes the “phase of doing or execution.”
The first group comprises acts by which the acting person orients and determines
himself towards the end (or ends) of his action and the means required to achieve it.
One of these means is the operation that has to be carried out here and now in order
to realize the end or goal. If this consists merely in the action itself—for instance, if
the acting person intends justice, that is, intends to act justly for the sake of justice—
then the concrete operation that is the object of a deliberate decision is the means by
which and in which the intended end of justice or acting justly is achieved.
The second group comprises those acts, and only those, in which the operation
that is deliberated about and chosen is accomplished or executed and is produced
externally in the physical world. Acts of sensual striving belong to this group: willed
or volitional sensitive acts which impart the impulse or motion of the will to the
body and its limbs.
In contrast to this group, the first group includes only acts of those powers of the
soul that are per se rational, namely, reason and will. The functional interplay of
these acts constitutes the inner core of the action from which the external acts
receive the efficient impulse that initiates them, as well as their orientation and
specification. This interplay consists of the reciprocal stimulation or excitation of
reason and will. On the one hand, reason causes acts of volition by presenting
objects as desirable goods to the will; on the other hand, the will as efficient cause
moves reason and the other powers to their acts. Since it is by reason and will that
man controls his own actions, the central act of an action must be situated in the
rational part of the soul itself; and it is situated only in the structure of cognitive and
volitional acts, by which the acting person orients and determines himself with
36
Cf. Pinckaers (1955), Finnis (1991), Darge (1996, 147–196), McInerny (2000, 81–100).
regard to the goal of the action and the doing by which it is attained. Aquinas
describes the basic structure of this interplay as follows: “The order of action is this:
first there is the apprehension of the end; then the desire of the end; then the counsel
about the means; then the desire of the means.”37
8.4 Moral habitus and the Goal of Action
Moral habitus, according to Aquinas, affects the orientation, as well as the execu-
tion of the action. Its most important effect is on the acts by which a person in an
actual situation of action determines the goal of her/his action. Aquinas expounds
his view of the influence that moral habitus have on the goal of action in the second
part of the Summa theologiae and in other contemporaneous writings. These consid-
erations are meant to demonstrate that moral virtue is a necessary condition for the
intellectual virtue of prudence.38 They take up a doctrine of Aristotle in books 6 and
7 of the Nicomachean Ethics.39 Aquinas devotes a thorough analysis to this doctrine
in his commentary on these books.40
In a systematic context, the basic line of this conception appears most clearly in
article 5 of question 58 of Summa theologiae I-II. I shall use this text as a starting
point for my inquiry.41 Question 58 is devoted to the correlation between moral
37
ST I-II, q. 15, art. 3 corp.: “In ordine autem agibilium primo quidem oportet sumere apprehen-
sionem finis; deinde appetitum finis; deinde consilium de his quae sunt ad finem; deinde appetitum
eorum quae sunt ad finem.”
38
The most important texts are the following: ST I-II, q. 56, art. 3, corp.; q. 57, art. 4, corp.; q. 58,
art. 5, corp.; q. 65, art. 1, corp.; q. 65, art. 1, ad 4; ST II-II, q. 47, art. 13, ad 2; q. 51, art. 3, ad 1;
Quodl. XII, q. 15, art. un., corp.; De virtutibus cardinalibus, art. 2, corp.
39
Aristotle, NE 6.5, 1140b17–20; 6.13, 1144a8–9, a23–36; 7.9, 1151a15–28.
40
In decem libros ethicorum Aristotelis ad Nicomachum expositio (In Ethic.), lib. 6, lect. 4, n. 1170;
lect. 10, nn. 1273–1274; lib. 7, lect. 8, nn. 1430–1433.
41
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.: “Respondeo dicendum quod aliae virtutes intellectuales sine virtute
morali esse possunt, sed prudentia sine virtute morali esse non potest. Cuius ratio est, quia pruden-
tia est recta ratio agibilium; non autem solum in universali, sed etiam in particulari, in quibus sunt
actiones. Recta autem ratio praeexigit principia ex quibus ratio procedit. Oportet autem rationem
circa particularia procedere non solum ex principiis universalibus, sed etiam ex principiis particu-
laribus. Circa principia quidem universalia agibilium, homo recte se habet per naturalem intellec-
tum principiorum, per quem homo cognoscit quod nullum malum est agendum; vel etiam per
aliquam scientiam practicam. Sed hoc non sufficit ad recte ratiocinandum circa particularia.
Contingit enim quandoque quod huiusmodi universale principium cognitum per intellectum vel
scientiam, corrumpitur in particulari per aliquam passionem, sicut concupiscenti, quando concu-
piscentia vincit, videtur hoc esse bonum quod concupiscit, licet sit contra universale iudicium
rationis. Et ideo, sicut homo disponitur ad recte se habendum circa principia universalia, per intel-
lectum naturalem vel per habitum scientiae; ita ad hoc quod recte se habeat circa principia particu-
laria agibilium, quae sunt fines, oportet quod perficiatur per aliquos habitus secundum quos fiat
quodammodo homini connaturale recte iudicare de fine. Et hoc fit per virtutem moralem, virtuosus
enim recte iudicat de fine virtutis, quia qualis unusquisque est, talis finis videtur ei, ut dicitur in III
Ethic. Et ideo ad rectam rationem agibilium, quae est prudentia, requiritur quod homo habeat vir-
tutem moralem.”
152 R. Darge
virtues and intellectual virtues. In this context, article 5 gives reasons for the special
assertion that the intellectual virtue of prudence requires the habitus of moral
virtue.42
In contrast to craft, which is oriented towards the successful making of an exter-
nal product (poiesis/facere), prudence has to do with action (praxis/agere). That is,
it has to do with immanent activities, in which the agent immediately relates to his
own (human, rational) nature insofar as he adequately expresses this nature or not,
that is, insofar as he succeeds in his personal fulfillment or not. Prudence as “right
reason about what can be done” (recta ratio agibilium)43 is concerned with the agi-
bilia, not only in general but also in particular, for every action is a particular action.
Prudence provides the rightness of practical deliberation and the decision regarding
what is to be done in the interest of a good life.44
The rightness or correctness of practical deliberation depends on (among other
things) the rightness of the principles from which the practical deliberation pro-
ceeds. These necessarily include both universal and particular situation-related
practical assumptions, since a conclusion cannot be drawn from particular assump-
tions alone, and reasoning from universal practical principles alone does not lead to
a conclusion that indicates what should be done here and now.
Aquinas therefore turns to the inner anthropological structures which enable the
rational agent to correctly determine the principles of practical reasoning, not occa-
sionally but habitually. He habitually determines the universal principles of action
correctly, either by virtue of immediate insight into fundamental moral norms or by
virtue of practical knowledge; in both cases, the right attitude towards universal
principles is ensured by durable dispositions of the rational power, that is by intel-
lectual habitus: “As to universal principles of action, man is rightly disposed by the
natural understanding of principles, whereby he understands that he should do no
evil; or again by some practical science.”45
Now, practical experience shows that moral insight is not enough to come to a
right decision in a particular situation of action. For it sometimes happens that such
insight is disabled or repressed by an affection or passion, so that it cannot be
applied to the actual situation: “Thus to one who is swayed by desire, when he is
overcome by it, the object of his desire seems good, although it is opposed to the
universal judgement of his reason.” (idem)46 From this it can be understood that cor-
42
For the relation between moral virtues and prudence see Porter (1993), Westberg (1994), Keenan
(2002), McKay (2005).
43
See ST I-II, q. 57, art. 4, corp.; q. 58, art. 3, ad 1.
44
See ST I-II, q. 57, art. 4, ad 3: “Prudentia est bene consiliativa de his quae pertinent ad totam
vitam hominis, et ad ultimum finem humanae vitae.”
45
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.: “Circa principia quidem universalia agibilium, homo recte se habet
per naturalem intellectum principiorum, per quem homo cognoscit quod nullum malum est agen-
dum; vel etiam per aliquam scientiam practicam.”
46
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.: “Sicut concupiscenti, quando concupiscentia vincit, videtur hoc esse
bonum quod concupiscit, licet sit contra universale iudicium rationis.”
rect practical reason requires not just certain intellectual virtues, but also habitus of
moral virtues, which direct the appetitive powers of the soul to reasonable action:
Consequently, as man is made to be rightly disposed with regard to the universal principles
of action by the habitus of natural understanding or of science, so, in order that he be rightly
disposed with regard to the particular principles of action, viz. the ends, he needs to be
perfected by certain habitus, whereby it becomes connatural, as it were, to man to judge
rightly about the end. This is done by moral virtue: for the virtuous man judges rightly
about the end of virtue, because, as is said in book 3 of the Ethics, “such as a man is, so does
the end seem to him.”47
This results in what was to be proved, namely, that prudence requires the habitus of
moral virtue.
In the text quoted above, Aquinas explains the function of moral habitus with
regard to the starting point of practical deliberation. The moral habitus ensures the
rightness of the end by disposing the agent in such a way that it becomes “connatu-
ral” to him to judge the end correctly, which is the particular principle of action.
This explanation raises some questions. First, why does Aquinas regard the end to
which the moral habitus directs the practical judgement as a particular principle of
practical deliberation? Secondly, how does the moral habitus guide the orientation
of the agent to a goal? In particular, how does it enable him to judge correctly “by
connaturality” the end as a particular principle of practical deliberation?
8.5 T
he Goal as a Particular Principle of Practical
Deliberation
Why does Aquinas regard the end to which the moral habitus directs the practical
judgement as a particular principle of practical deliberation? This assumption is not
self-evident, for ends of action also are formulated in universal practical principles,
which serve as a basis for practical deliberation. Not every end, therefore, can be
considered a particular principle.
According to Ralph McInterny in his classical study on connatural knowledge
“particular principle” here refers the minor premise of a practical prudential syllo-
gism, which determines particular circumstances of action: “What is of interest here
47
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp.: “Et ideo, sicut homo disponitur ad recte se habendum circa principia
universalia per intellectum naturalem vel per habitum scientiae; ita ad hoc quod recte se habeat
circa principia particularia agibilium, quae sunt fines, oportet quod perficiatur per aliquos habitus
secundum quos fiat quodammodo homini connaturale recte iudicare de fine. Et hoc fit per virtutem
moralem, virtuosus enim recte iudicat de fine virtutis, quia qualis unusquisque est, talis finis vide-
tur ei, ut dicitur in III Ethic. Et ideo ad rectam rationem agibilium, quae est prudentia, requiritur
quod homo habeat virtutem moralem.” The sentence is quoted from Aristotle, NE 3.7, 1114a32–
b19. In his anthropological and ethical investigations Aquinas uses it regularly as a principle; see
also De veritate, q. 24, art. 1, obj. 19 and ad 19; ST I-II, q. 10, art. 3, obj. 2 and ad 2; In Ethic., lib.
3, lect. 13, n. 510; De virtutibus cardinalibus, art. 2, corp.; De malo q. 6, art. un., corp. For its
meaning according to Aristotle, see Gauthier and Jolif (2002, 215) and Müller (1982, 226–230).
154 R. Darge
is the minor of the prudential syllogism […] ‘Qualis unusquisque est, talis finis ei
videtur’. The judgement of the particular circumstances, which is the minor of the
practical syllogism, depends for its rectitude on the appetitive condition of the per-
son who is to act. The judgement is extra limites intellectus in the sense that the
appetite influences the judgement of reason”.48 In line with this view McInerny
considers the judgement about the end as a “prudential judgement”, prudence being
concerned with the particular circumstances of action. So finally the prudential
judgement turns out to be a “judgement by connaturality or inclination”.49
McIntyre’s analysis seems inadequate for three reasons: (a) In his explanation of
the good and evil of human acts in general Aquinas distinguishes between the good-
ness of action, which derives from the circumstances, and its goodness deriving
from its end; while the former contribute from outside as “certain additions” or
“accidents” to this goodness the latter functions as the cause of its inner goodness;
although the end is – seen on the background of the Aristotelian doctrine of causes –
an extrinsic cause, the relation to the end is inherent to the action. It is not by cir-
cumstances but by the end, which is the object of the interior act of the will, that the
whole action gets its species.50 Obviously Aquinas does not rank the end or goal of
action among the circumstances of action. As circumstances relate to action “by
reason of certain accidents”(tanquam accidentia quaedam)51 they cannot be called
“principles of action”.
(b) In the practical syllogism the “principia agibilium” – just because they are
principles of “things to be done” – are not expressed by the minor, which determines
the particular circumstances of action, but by the major. According to Aquinas the
ends are “principles of action”52; hence in the order of the practical syllogism the
judgement about the end does not appear as minor premise, but as major.
(c) According to Aquinas prudence is about means: “appetite for the end pre-
cedes the reason, arguing about the choice of the means, which is the concern of
48
McInerny (1988, 140).
49
Ibid., 142: “It is precisely this connaturality which is characteristic of appetite that makes the
prudential judgement, which depends upon appetite, a judgement by connaturality or inclination.
[…] The judgement through connaturality [...] is such because of a special dependence on
appetite.”
50
Cf. ST I-II, q. 18, art. 3, corp.: “Plenitudo bonitatis eius [i. e. actionis] non tota consistit in sua
specie, sed aliquid additur ex his quae adveniunt tanquam accidentia quaedam. Et huiusmodi sunt
circumstantiae debitae.” – ibid. art. 4, corp.: “Actiones [...] humanae et alia quorum bonitas depen-
det ab alio, habent rationem bonitatis ex fine a quo dependent, praeter bonitatem absolutam quae
in eis existit. Sic igitur in actione humana bonitas quadruplex considerari potest. Una quidem
secundum genus [...]. Alia vero secundum speciem [...]. Tertia secundum circumstantias, quasi
secundum accidentia quaedam. Quarta autem secundum finem, quasi secundum habitudinem ad
causam bonitatis.” – ibid. ad 2: “Quamvis finis sit causa extrinseca, tamen debita proportio ad finem
et relatio in ipsum, inhaeret actioni.” – ibid. ad 6: “actus humani species formaliter consideratur
secundum finem.”
51
Ibid. ad 1: “tanquam accidentia quaedam”.
52
ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, corp. (see note 47): “principia particularia agibilium, quae sunt fines.”
prudence.”53 Preparing the right choice prudence proceeds trough practical

discursive thought, “arguing”. From reflective judgement of discursive reason

Aquinas distinguishes the judgment “by connaturality”or “by inclination”as an
intuitive act of cognition, which does not arise from discursive thought.54 So the
“prudential judgement” according to Aquinas is (a) a judgement about means to the
intended end and (b) a judgement of discursive reason. Hence McInerny’s concept
of a “prudential judgement by connaturality” seems unsuited for an explanation of
Aquinas’s idea of the “particular principle of action”; undeniably Aquinas thinks of
a judgement by connaturality, but not of a prudential judgement: The judgement
about the end is not an act of prudence, but precedes, actuates and directs the pru-
dential discourse about the means.
Among the particular principles of practical deliberation, two kinds of assump-
tion can be distinguished: first, assumptions about empirical facts, which are rele-
vant to the practical decision,55 and second, assumptions about what has to be
achieved here and now by acting. While the former state any circumstances of the
action, the latter are concerned with what is to be done or what is to be obtained by
or in the action. Their subject matter belongs to “the very genus of things pertaining
to operation.”56 Thus, in contrast to the former, they pertain to the principia agibil-
ium in the proper and narrow sense of the word. Insofar as they determine what is to
be achieved by and in acting, they conform to the universal practical principles
which formulate general norms of action. They differ from these principles insofar
as they determine the goal of action not merely in general but in particular, that is,
with regard to the particular agent and the concrete circumstances of action. They
constitute the crucial moment in the formation of action, in which the agent relates
the universal standards of moral action to himself and to the given circumstances.
By this act of application to himself and the actual situation, he particularizes what
the universal practical principle demands.
For example, (1) if the universal principle stipulates that one should give to
everyone what he deserves—in other words, that we should act justly or practise
justice—then the corresponding particular principle states that it is now important
for the agent himself to give to the person in question what she/he deserves. The
intention to attain this objective initiates the practical deliberation; this deliberation
then elaborates and determines in detail the concrete act by which the objective can
be achieved, that is, which concrete external behaviour will realize justice here and
now. Or (2), if the universal principle requires that we use a pleasurable good only
to a reasonable degree, then the particular principle says that it is now of importance
for the agent himself to seek and to keep a reasonable degree of the pleasurable
good in question; he thus has to figure out by practical deliberation which concrete
behaviour in the use of the pleasurable good in question hits that reasonable degree.
53
Ibid. ad 1:“appetitus finis praecedit rationem ratiocinantem ad eligendum ea quae sunt ad finem,
quod pertinet ad prudentiam.”
54
See below Sect. 8.6.
55
Cf. ST I-II, q. 14, art. 6, corp.: “Huiusmodi autem principia quae in inquisitione consilii suppo-
nuntur sunt quaecumque sunt per sensum accepta.”
56
Cf. ST I-II, q. 14, art. 6, corp.: “ex ipso genere operabilium.”
156 R. Darge
Universal rules of action are only a possible point of departure for the delibera-
tion about what is to be done here and now. They become an actual point of depar-
ture for this deliberation and a norm for the practical decision about what is to be
done only by the agent’s relating them to himself and to the actual situation and
making them—in this appropriated and personalized form—the principle of his
practical deliberation, down to the final decision. This takes place through the prac-
tical judgement of the goal and the corresponding act of intention, which is directed
towards the apprehended goal. The act of intention, however, is an act of the will.57
By this act, the agent moves himself efficaciously—that is, as an efficient cause—to
deliberation and finally to the decision, which leads to the execution of the external
act. Through the act of intention, the practical deliberation receives its impulse and
the goal apprehended by reason, which serves as the point of departure for the
deliberation.
Now, the right intention is not ensured by practical insight alone; for the indi-
vidual enters the concrete situation of action as a bodily and spiritual whole with
particular affections, aversions, and interests, which influence the way he interprets
the situation practically with regard to what is of importance to himself. Aquinas
considers different ways as to how the sensitive impulses might cause the goal ori-
entation of the agent to deviate from his general practical insight. First, (1) a strong
sensual affect might deprive the will of its power, so that it is too weak to will effi-
caciously (with regard to action) the goal that is rightly apprehended by reason.58 In
any case, the will suffers from a certain natural limitation and weakness in situations
of practical action in which the good of a fellow human being has to be considered.59
Or (2) an affect might impede the person from acting in applying his habitual practi-
cal knowledge to the concrete situation.60 This might happen (a) by deprivation of
energy (per distractionem), as when a strong affect such as love or anger withdraws
energy from reason—directly within the economy of the powers of the soul, or
indirectly by causing a physical change—so that reason does not have enough
power to recall or to realize the habitual practical knowledge. Or it may happen (b)
in such a way that the affect takes the judgement of the action goal in its own direc-
tion, for affects influence the content and intensity of the imagination (phantas-
mata) and the emotional estimation of the situation; they can thus indirectly have a
57
Cf. ST I-II, q. 14, art. 1, ad 1: “In consilio, quod est actus rationis, apparet aliquid voluntatis: […]
sicut motivum, quia ex hoc quod homo vult finem, movetur ad consilium de his quae sunt ad finem.”
q. 12, art. 1, corp.: “Intentio proprie est actus voluntatis.” q. 12, art. 1, ad 4: “intentio est actus
voluntatis respectu finis.” q. 12, art. 4, ad 3: “Motus autem voluntatis qui fertur in finem, secundum
quod acquiritur per ea quae sunt ad finem, vocatur intentio.”
58
ST I-II, q. 77, art. 1 corp.: “Per quandam distractionem, quando motus appetitus sensitivi fortifi-
catur secundum quamcumque passionem, necesse est quod remittatur vel totaliter impediatur
motus proprius appetitus rationalis, qui est voluntas.”
59
Cf. ST I-II, q. 50, art. 5; q. 56, art. 6; and De virtutibus in communi, art. 5.
60
Cf. ST I-II, q. 77, art. 2 corp.: “Nihil prohibet aliquid sciri in habitu, quod tamen actu non
consideratur.”
decisive influence over the agent’s goal orientation.61 So it might happen that the
practical deliberation does not find its starting point in what the agent considers the
due or appropriate goal according to his practical knowledge, but in another goal
that appears to him as desirable because of the influence of an irrational affect. This
is the case of the incontinent agent (incontinens),62 which Aquinas explains by
appeal to Aristotle:
Someone who has knowledge in a universal is impeded on account of a passion, so that he
is not able to reason about that universal and arrive at the conclusion; but he reasons about
another universal proposition suggested by the inclination of the passion, and draws his
conclusion accordingly. Hence the Philosopher says [NE 7.3, 1147a32–b3] that the syllo-
gism of an incontinent man has four propositions, two particular and two universal, of
which one is of reason, e.g., “No fornication is lawful,” and the other of passion, e.g.,
“Pleasure is to be pursued.” Hence passion fetters reason and hinders it from arguing and
concluding under the first proposition; so that while the passion lasts, reason argues and
concludes under the second.63
In other words, what counts for the agent in the actual situation of action—namely,
the goal from which his practical deliberation about what should done by him here
and now starts (first particular practical principle/proposition)—is not determined in
accordance with his actual practical insight (first universal proposition), but accord-
ing to another universal principle (second universal proposition) which expresses
the objective and tendency of his sensitive appetitive powers.
Therefore, consistently making the correct practical decision requires not only
moral insight but also virtues, which orient the appetitive powers towards a reason-
able operation in their respective domains, that is, to an operation in accordance
with the end that is proper to human nature. But how then does the goal orientation
of the agent in the concrete situation of action emerge from this?
61
Cf. ST I-II, q. 77, art. 1, corp.: “Manifestum est autem passionem appetitus sensitivi sequitur
imaginationis apprehensio et iudicium aestimativae, sicut etiam dispositionem linguae sequitur
iudicium gustus. Unde videmus quod homines in aliqua passione existentes, non facile imaginatio-
nem avertunt ab his circa quae afficiuntur. Unde per consequens, iudicium rationis plerumque
sequitur passionem appetitus sensitivi; et per consequens motus voluntatis, qui natus est semper
sequi iudicium rationis.” Cf. ibid., ad 1.
62
For Aquinas’s conception of the weak will and incontinent conduct in general see Hoffmann
(2006), Pickavé (2013).
63
ST I-II, q. 77, art. 2, ad 4: “Ille qui habet scientiam in universali propter passionem impeditur ne
possit sub illa universali sumere et ad conclusionem pervenire; sed assumit sub alia universali,
quam suggerit inclinatio passionis, et sub ea concludit. Unde Philosophus dicit in VII Ethic., quod
syllogismus incontinentis habet quatuor propositiones; duas universales: quarum una est rationis,
puta nullam fornicationem esse committandam; alia est passionis, puta delectationem esse sectan-
dam. Passio igitur ligat rationem ne assumat et concludat sub prima; unde ea durante, assumit et
concludit sub secunda.” For the syllogism of the incontinent agent see Pickavé (2013).
158 R. Darge
8.6 T
he Unity of Ontological and Intentional Finality
in the Habitual Act
In some texts, Aquinas assigns to the habitus of moral virtue the effect of strength-
ening the power of the will (habitus in the will), or of restraining the spontaneous
proper motions of the sense appetites (habitus in the sensitive appetitive powers),
which impede reason from judging correctly about the goal. On this view, the moral
habitus contributes only indirectly to the goal orientation. In our basic text (ST I-II,
q. 58, art. 5, corp.), however, Aquinas also ascribes to habitus a directly positive
influence on the goal orientation: the habitus directs the judgement of the goal to the
end to which the habitus itself is by its nature oriented:
In order that he [man] be rightly disposed with regard to the particular principles of action,
viz. the ends, he needs to be perfected by certain habitus, whereby it becomes connatural,
as it were, to man to judge rightly of the end. This is done by moral virtue: for the virtuous
man judges rightly of the end of virtue, because, as is said in book 3 of the Ethics, “Such as
a man is, so does the end seem to him.”64
It is noteworthy that Aquinas identifies “the end of virtue” with the goal or end as a
particular principle of practical deliberation. The two ends are not simply identical.
The end of virtue is the operation toward which a given habitus is naturally oriented;
it is a matter of ontological finality. In the other case, the term “end” refers to the
goal towards which the agent purposefully—that is, consciously and intention-
ally—directs his action. In this case the relation to the end is not ontological, but
intentional. The unity of the two relations within the habitual action therefore has to
be explained. For this purpose, the meaning of the term “end of virtue” must first be
defined precisely.
A moral habitus is a form that is added to an appetitive power. Its finality must
therefore align itself with the end towards which the power in question is naturally
directed: the operation or act which corresponds to its nature. The habitus does not
enable the appetitive power to have its operation; rather, it conditions the power to
a special kind and mode of operation. This conditioning, however, does not bring
about a determination to a fixed pattern of behaviour that is triggered automatically
whenever the right stimulus or cue appears. Rather, it means a readiness for a spe-
cific form of action, for example, (a) endeavouring that everyone receives that to
which he is entitled (what is rightfully his or what is due to him), or (b) striving for
a reasonable level in the consumption of a pleasurable good. Depending on the situ-
ation, this readiness may be realized in external operations that are very dissimilar
to each other and have in common only the fact that they express the proper struc-
ture of a given moral habitus (justice in the first example, temperance in the sec-
ond). In them the habitus of moral virtue attains its end: “A moral virtue is ordered
to the act of that virtue, which act is the end, as it were, of that virtue”65; “The end
64
Cf. notes 41 and 47 above.
65
ST I-II, q. 20, art. 3, ad 2: “Virtutes morales ordinantur ad ipsos actus virtutum, qui sunt quasi
fines.”
for one who has a habitus, as such, is to work according to that habitus”66; “The
ultimate end of operative virtue is happiness. […] But the proximate and proper end
is to impress a likeness of the habitus on the act.”67
Now, according to Aquinas, in the case of habitual action the intended end coin-
cides with the ontological end of the moral habitus in question.68 That is, what
appears to the agent as the goal to be achieved by and in his action is just the proper
end of the moral habitus, namely its expression in action. This ontological end of
the moral habitus, through the intention of the agent, becomes the concrete starting
point of the practical deliberation and decision about the means, that is, about the
concrete act by which and in which the proper end of the habitus is to be realized.
An example of this is found in a passage from the commentary on the Nicomachean
Ethics where Aquinas explains a statement of Aristotle (NE 3.10, 1115b20–26) con-
cerning the intention of the brave man, that is, the man who acts in accordance with
his habitus of courage:
This is what [Aristotle] means in his statement that the good that the courageous man
intends is courage: not the habitus of courage, for this already exists, but the likeness of it
in the act. This also is the end, since every means is determined by its proper end because
the character of the means to an end is derived from the end. For this reason the end of cour-
age is something pertaining to the nature of courage. In this way the courageous man
endures and works for the sake of good, that is, inasmuch as he intends to perform the
actions which are in conformity with courage.69
Aquinas adopts this view and systematically develops it in his treatise on fortitude
in Summa theologiae II-II. The leading question of the inquiry (ST II-II, q. 123, art.
7) is “whether the courageous man acts for the sake of the good of his habitus,”70 in
other words, whether the courageous man (as such) intends in a particular action the
end of his habitus of courage. In his answer, Aquinas distinguishes between the
proximate and the remote end. The proximate end of every agent is to implant a
likeness (similitudo) of his form into something else. So, for example, the end of the
architect is to introduce a likeness of his art—namely, his habitus of the art of con-
struction—into matter. Any good which results from this, if it is intended, is a
remote end for the agent. Concerning the courageous man, this consideration leads
to the conclusion that “the courageous man intends as his proximate end to repro-
duce in action a likeness of his habitus, for he intends to act in accordance with his
66
ST I-II, q. 88, art. 3, corp.: “Unicuique habenti habitum, inquantum huiusmodi, finis est operatio
secundum habitum.”
67
In Ethic., lib. 3, lect. 15, n. 549: “Finis virtutis operantis […] proximus et proprius est quod
similitudo habitus existit in actu.”
68
Cf. ST I-II, q. 58, art. 2 corp.: “Virtuosus […] recte iudicat de fine virtutis.”
69
In Ethic., lib. 3, lect. 15, n. 550: “Et hoc est quod dicit, quod bonum quod intendit fortis, est
fortitudo. Non quidem habitus fortitudinis qui iam praeexistit, sed similitudo ipsius in actu. Et hoc
etiam est finis, quia unumquodque quod est propter finem determinatur in propria ratione secun-
dum proprium finem quia ex fine sumitur ratio eorum quae sunt ad finem. Et ideo finis fortitudinis
est aliquid ad rationem fortitudinis pertinens. Sic igitur fortis sustinet et operatur gratia boni. Et
hoc est inquantum intendit operari ea quae sunt secundum fortitudinem.”
70
ST II-II, q. 123, art. 7: “Utrum fortis operetur propter bonum proprii habitus.”
160 R. Darge
habitus; but his remote end is happiness or God.”71 Insofar as he intends the brave
act as an end or goal, he sees it and seeks it as a practical good, which is absolutely
and in itself (simpliciter et secundum se) good and worthwhile; this does not rule
out, however, that at the same time he seeks it as a means to a wider and more
encompassing or comprehensive good, which he intends as the ultimate goal.72
Elsewhere, in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Aquinas explicitly
emphasizes that the possessor of a habitus estimates in the particular situation of
action the corresponding act as something that is absolutely and in itself (simpliciter
et secundum se) good and worthwhile, that is, he considers it really as an end.
Aquinas identifies “the inner inclination of the habitus” as a causal factor in this
estimation:
A thing can appear good to someone, as it were by practical cognition, by a comparison
with what is to be done. […] This type of judgement […] can be made in two ways about
some good. In one way, a thing may appear good to someone absolutely and in itself. This
seems to be a good in conformity with the nature of the end. In the other way, a thing may
appear good to someone not absolutely in itself but judged by present considerations.73 […]
The judgement by which a man considers a thing good in itself and absolutely arises from
the inclination of habitus.74
What emerges here is a connection between Aquinas’s doctrine of habitus and his
conception of the cognitive function of natural inclinations; this conception includes
the assumption of a special manner or mode of practical judgement, namely, judg-
ing by or from inclination (per modum inclinationis). From this it becomes clearer
what Aquinas has in mind when he says, that it is “connatural” for the possessor of
the habitus of moral virtue to judge rightly about the end.75
71
ST II-II, q. 123, art. 7, corp.: “Sic ergo dicendum est quod fortis sicut finem proximum intendit
ut similitudinem sui habitus exprimat in actu, intendit enim agere secundum convenientiam sui
habitus. Finis autem remotus est beatitudo, vel Deus.”
72
See ST II-II, q. 145, art. 1, ad 1: “Eorum quae propter se appetuntur, quaedam appetuntur solum
propter se, et nunquam propter aliud, sicut felicitas, quae est ultimus finis. Quaedam vero appetun-
tur et propter se, inquantum habent in seipsis aliquam rationem bonitatis, etiam si nihil aliud boni
per ea nobis accideret, et tamen sunt appetibilia propter aliud, inquantum scilicet perducunt nos in
aliquod bonum perfectius. Et hoc modo virtutes sunt propter se appetendae.”
73
In Ethic., lib. 3, lect. 13, n. 517: “Potest aliquid apparere bonum alicui quasi practica cognitione
per comparationem ad opus […] quod [iudicium] quidem potest super aliquo ferri, quod sit bonum,
dupliciter. Uno modo ut aliquid videatur alicui simpliciter et secundum se bonum; et hoc videtur
bonum secundum rationem finis. Alio autem modo ut videatur aliquid alicui bonum non simpliciter
et secundum se, sed prout nunc.”
74
In Ethic., lib. 3, lect. 13, n. 520: “Iudicium quo homo iudicat aliquid esse bonum ut secundum se
et simpliciter provenit ex inclinatione habitus.”
75
Cf. above, note 41.
8.7 The Connatural–Inclinative Judgement About the End
In a particular situation of action the agent assesses, in accordance with the inclina-
tion of his habitus, the corresponding act as something that is absolutely and in itself
good. His assessment is not a judgement about ontological goodness, but a practical
judgement of the goal of action. Now, the goal (the good), which from a practical
viewpoint is central from the start, is the human good (bonum humanum). Therefore,
if an action is assessed as absolutely and in itself good, it is always so with respect
to the human being, insofar as he aims at human perfection, that is, the realization
of his specifically human capacities. But it is by a tendency given to him by his
nature that man is inclined towards the realization of his human potentiality for
being, and everything he tends towards in a stable natural or quasi-natural inclina-
tion, is estimated in a natural and spontaneous way by his practical reason as a
human good, that is, as a good that is absolutely and in itself (simpliciter et per se)
worthwhile.76 Now, the moral habitus establishes in the appetitive powers a quasi-
natural inclination or tendency towards the corresponding act. Therefore, this act in
the spontaneous practical evaluation of the situation, which arises from a habitual
inclination, appears to the agent as a good that he should now seek absolutely and
in itself.77 However, this does not entail that it is necessary for him to realize the act
to which he is inclined by his habitus.
In some passages of the Summa theologiae, Aquinas explicitly distinguishes this
sort of spontaneous judging from the reflective judgement of practical reason. Right
at the beginning of the Summa, when he considers the question whether theology is
wisdom (ST I, q. 1, art. 6), he distinguishes two modes of judging: judging per
modum inclinationis and judging per modum cognitionis. In the latter case, the
judgement does not arise from an inner inclination, as it does in the former case, but
from rational deliberation; it expresses knowledge that is acquired by research or
learning. Aquinas explains the difference with the example of practical judgement
of the goal in an actual situation of action. Someone who does not have the habitus
of virtue might judge rightly if he has acquired the relevant moral knowledge. His
judgement then comes from his acquired knowledge, which he applies to the actual
situation; it is a judgement “by study.” By contrast, someone who does have the
habitus of virtue spontaneously judges rightly by virtue of his habitual
inclination.78
76
Cf. ST I-II, q. 94, art. 2, corp.: “Omnia illa, ad quae homo habet naturalem inclinationem, ratio
naturaliter apprehendit ut bona [sc. humana; cf. the context] et per consequens ut opere
prosequenda.”
77
In Ethic., lib. 3, lect. 13, n. 520: “Iudicium, quo homo iudicat aliquid esse bonum secundum se
et simpliciter, provenit ex inclinatione habitus.”
78
Cf. ST I, q. 1, art. 6, ad 3: “Contingit enim aliquem iudicare, uno modo per modum inclinationis,
sicut qui habet habitum virtutis, recte iudicat de his quae sunt secundum virtutem agenda, inquan-
tum ad illa inclinatur, unde et in X Ethic. dicitur quod virtuosus est mensura et regula actuum
humanorum. Alio modo, per modum cognitionis, sicut aliquis instructus in scientia morali, posset
iudicare de actibus virtutis, etiam si virtutem non haberet.”
162 R. Darge
Aquinas returns to this distinction in Summa theologiae II-II when he discusses

wisdom as a gift of the Holy Spirit.79 He ascribes the rectitude of judgement per
modum cognitionis to the perfect use of reason and the rectitude of judgement by
inclination to “a certain connaturality with that about which one has to judge.”80
Moral virtue again serves as an example (though wisdom is not a moral virtue):
Thus, about matters of chastity, a man after inquiring with his reason forms a right judge-
ment if he has learned the science of morals, while he who has the habitus of chastity judges
of such matters by a kind of connaturality.81
“Connaturality” means an ontological affinity of one thing to another, which is

based on a similarity between their essences or natures. Such a relation between the
practically judging person and the object of practical judgement (the goal of action,
what should be done) is, according to Aquinas, the cause of the rectitude of the
practical judgement, which arises spontaneously from the inclination of the moral
habitus.82
This inclination and the aforementioned connaturality may be distinguished in
thought, but they are inseparably linked with each other in reality, for the inclination
is an aspect or a manifestation of the connaturality. As the immediate expression of
this connaturality, the inclination is directed to the object of the connaturality, that
is, to the realization of the relevant human good.
Inclination and connaturality can be viewed as different moments of a single
being—in the sense of the first act (actus primus)—which the agent obtains in the
moral habitus. For this habitus forms a stable character of the appetitive power and
inheres in it “as a nature,” a “second nature.” But every being, by and in its nature or
essential form, has a proper or specific finality which finds expression in a natural
tendency; it aims at the realization or actualization of the potentiality for being
which is inherent in this nature; that is, it aims at an actual being or act in which this
nature finds its appropriate expression. Similarly, the appetitive power, by and in its
habitus, has a quasi-natural inclination towards that which corresponds to the final-
ity of the habitus,83 namely, the act which expresses the proper structure of the
79
Cf. ST II-II, q. 45, art. 2. The question is whether the gift of wisdom is in the intellect as its
subject.
80
Cf. ST II-II, q. 45, art. 2, corp.: “Rectitudo autem iudicii potest contingere dupliciter, uno modo,
secundum perfectum usum rationis; alio modo, propter connaturalitatem quandam ad ea de quibus
iam est iudicandum.”
81
ST II-II, q. 45, art. 2, corp.: “Sicut de his quae ad castitatem pertinent per rationis inquisitionem
recte iudicat ille qui didicit scientiam moralem, sed per quandam connaturalitatem ad ipsa recte
iudicat de eis ille qui habet habitum castitatis.”
82
For a more detailed analysis of Aquinas’s doctrine of the virtuous person’s judgement on the
basis of connaturality or per modum inclinationis see Caldera (1980, 59-135), McInerny (1988,
138–142). In this volume Olivier Boulnois focuses on the interrelationship between habitus, nature
and inclination; see Boulnois p. 25–45.
83
Cf. De veritate q. 24, art. 10, corp.: “Secundum est inclinatio habitus: qui quidem cum sit quasi
quaedam natura habentis […]”; and ST I-II, q. 78, art. 2 corp.: “Unicuique habenti habitum est per
se diligibile id quod est ei conveniens secundum proprium habitum: quia sic fit ei quodammodo
connaturale, secundum quod consuetudo et habitus vertitur in naturam.”
habitus; in the case of moral virtue this is to act justly, courageously, temperately,
chastely, etc. According to this finding Napier misunderstands Aquinas’s concep-
tion, when he assumes that the adaequatio between knower and object (goal) estab-
lished by moral virtue is a proportion between knower and the “moral goods in his
environment”84; in fact it is a proportion between the agent’s being and his personal
act or “doing” (agere).
Therefore, one also can say that such an act is, in virtue of its form, connatural to
the possessor of the habitus; in other words, there is a natural relationship or an
essential congruence between the habitus and the agent in which it is present. This
congruence manifests itself in an actual situation of action through the spontaneous
practical judgement about the goal of action, by which the acting person determines
that this way of acting itself is simpliciter et per se good or desirable.
8.8 Conclusion
It was said that the rectitude of practical judgement of the goal of action is owed to
and relies on the connaturality between the goal and the second nature which the
moral habitus establishes in the appetitive power. But according to Aquinas, this
connaturality is only the proximate reason for the rectitude of this practical judge-
ment, not its ultimate reason, for it founds this rightness only because the “second
nature” and its finality are in accordance with the first, essential nature by which the
agent is a human being. The conduct that would correspond to the moral habitus is
judged by the possessor of the habitus by connaturality to be right and in itself good
and desirable, because in the given situation it realizes the human good (bonum
humanum) towards which he is oriented by his human rational nature.
Of course this does not ensure that the human agent actually attains this goal. At
this point, my analysis returns to the initial source text (ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5). Action
takes place in particular circumstances, and the right judgement of the goal leaves it
open by which concrete behaviour the goal (to act justly, courageously, temperately,
etc.) is realized in the given situation. Therefore, the habitus of moral virtue is not
sufficient to ensure right action. By orienting the practical judgement and the inten-
tion towards the right goal, it provides only a right starting point for the deliberation
84
Cf. Napier (2017, 52, 70–71; see the introduction above). It may well be that it is the analogy
with respect to technical expertise (chess expertise, radiology expertise etc.) which induces Napier
to interpret the end apprehended by the “moral expert” (ibid. 69) as an external good – a “good in
his environment”; for technical expertise – “ratio recta aliquorum operum faciendorum” (ST I-II,
q. 57, art. 3, corp.) – aims at a product outside of the acting person, a “work” (opus). However
according to Aquinas the end of moral virtue is not a “work” but a mode of “doing” (agere) abiding
in the agent: ST I-II, q. 57, art. 4, corp.: “factio est actus transiens in exteriorem materiam [...];
agere autem est actus permenans in ipso agente.”
164 R. Darge
of prudence. The means by which the intended goal should be realized—that is, the
concrete behaviour—still has to be determined and decided on.85
Obviously Aquinas does not share Tallon’s view according to which we over-
come our limitation and finitude by virtue of moral habitus or habitude insofar as
these dispositions enable us to act spontaneously without discursive thought and
deliberative choice.86 According to Aquinas acting in accordance with a moral habi-
tus is essentially different from habitual behaviour, which entails a sort of automa-
tism. In contrast to habitude or habit, moral habitus does not suspend the deliberation
of practical reason about what has to be done here and now; rather it actuates and
stimulates this deliberation by suggesting in the particular situation of action what
goal matters here and now for the agent with regard to the actualization of the
human good.
References
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iussu Leonis XIII P.M. edita 4–12. Rome: Ex Typographia Polyglotta.
———. 1949. De virtutibus cardinalibus. In Quaestiones disputatae, ed. P. Bazzi, M. Calcaterra,
T. Centi, E. Odetto, and P. Pession, vol. 2. Turin: Marietti.
———. 1956. Quaestiones quodlibetales, ed. R. Spiazzi. Turin: Marietti.
———. 1964. In decem libros ethicorum Aristotelis ad Nicomachum expositio, ed. R. Spiazzi.
Turin: Marietti.
iussu Leonis XIII P.M. edita 22. Rome: Commissio Leonina.
Abbà, Giuseppe. 1981. La nuova concezione dell’habitus virtuoso nella Summa Theologiae di San
Tommaso d’Aquino. Salesianum 43: 71–118.
Bourke, Vernon J. 1942. The role of habitus in the Thomistic metaphysics of potency and act. In
Essays in Thomism, ed. Robert E. Brennan, 103–109. New York: Sheed & Ward.
Caldera, Rafael-Tomas. 1980. Le jugement par inclination chez saint Thomas d’Aquin. Paris: Vrin.
Darge, Rolf. 1996. Habitus per actus cognoscuntur: Die Erkenntnis des Habitus und die Funktion
des moralischen Habitus im Aufbau der Handlung nach Thomas von Aquin. Bonn: Bouvier.
De Roton, Placide. 1934. Les habitus: Leur caractère spirituel. Paris: Labergerie.
85
Cf. ST I-II, q. 58, art. 5, ad 1: “Ratio, secundum quod est apprehensiva finis, praecedit appetitum
finis. Sed appetitus finis praecedit rationem ratiocinantem ad eligendum ea quae sunt ad finem:
quod pertinet ad prudentiam.”
86
See my introduction above.
Finnis, John. 1991. Object and intention in moral judgements according to Aquinas. The Thomist
55: 1–27.
Gauthier, René-Antoine, and Jolif, Jean-Yves, eds. 2002. L’Éthique à Nicomaque: Introduction,
traduction et commentaire, vol. 2.1: Commentaire, Livres I–V. 2nd ed. Leuven: Peeters.
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der Willensschwäche in der mittelalterlichen Philosophie/The problem of weakness of will in
Medieval Philosophy, ed. Tobias Hoffmann, Jörn Müller, and Matthias Perkhams (Recherches
de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, Bibliotheca 8), 221–247. Leuven: Peeters.
———. 2013. Prudence and practical principles. In Aquinas and the Nicomachean Ethics, ed.
Tobias Hoffmann, Jörn Müller, and Matthias Perkhams, 165–183. Cambridge: University
Press.
Keenan, James F. 2002. The virtue of prudence (IIa IIae, qq. 47–56). In The Ethics of Aquinas, ed.
Stephen J. Pope, 259–271. Washington: Georgetown University Press.
Lefèvre, L. 1928. Habitudes et habitus. Revue de Philosophie 35: 435–465.
McInerny, Ralph. 1988. Art and prudence. Studies in the thought of Jacques Maritain. Notre
Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
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Münster: Lit.
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Müller, Anselm. 1982. Praktisches Folgern und Selbstgestaltung nach Aristoteles. Freiburg im
Breisgau: Alber.
Napier, Stephen. 2017. The neuroscience of moral judgement and Aquinas on moral expertise. The
Thomist 81: 31–74.
Nickl, Peter. 2005. Ordnung der Gefühle: Studien zum Begriff des habitus. Hamburg: Meiner.
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Nicomachean Ethics, ed. Tobias Hoffmann, Jörn Müller, and Matthias Perkhams, 184–202.
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393–412.
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Aquinas’s theory of the virtues. Journal of Religious Ethics 21: 137–163.
———. 2013. Why are the habits necessary? An inquiry into Aquinas’s moral psychology. In
Oxford Studies in Medieval Philosophy, ed. Robert Pasnau, vol. 1, 113–135. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
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Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Chapter 9
Thomas Aquinas on Our Freedom to Use
Our Habitus
Can Laurens Löwe
Abstract This paper considers Thomas Aquinas’s claim that we can use certain
habitus at will. Focusing on moral habitus, this claim is interpreted as a claim about
the freedom human beings have with regard to their character traits: they can freely
choose to act or not act according to their character traits. After giving a brief
account of how, for Aquinas, character traits influence our actions via our emotions,
the paper examines whether this freedom is of a libertarian or of a compatibilist
kind. A libertarian reading is defended on the basis of certain remarks of Aquinas’s
about the act of contrition.
Keywords Thomas Aquinas · Human freedom · Habitus · Character traits ·

Contrition
9.1 Introduction
We sometimes invoke character traits to explain human action. We may say, for
instance, that Andrew did not speak up against injustice because he is a coward, or
that John kept talking about his own achievements because he is a vain person. This
explanatory practice of ours gives rise to an interesting question. What kind of influ-
ence do character traits have on our actions? Do they necessitate our actions or are
we in principle able to resist their influence?
According to Thomas Aquinas, our character traits never necessitate our actions.1
He conceives of a character trait as a habitus, that is, as a state disposing an agent to
1
Unless otherwise indicated, all primary texts referred to in the notes are by Thomas Aquinas.
Where possible, I rely on the Leonine edition of his works. All translations from Latin to English
are my own.
C. L. Löwe (*)
Department of Philosophy, College of Liberal Arts, Purdue University,
West Lafayette, IN, USA
e-mail: loewe72@purdue.edu

168 C. L. Löwe
a certain kind of action,2 and, as he sees it, a habitus only comes to bear on an action
if the agent freely chooses to act upon it. As Aquinas puts it, an agent is able to “use”
(uti) her habitus “when she wills” (cum voluerit).3 So, on Aquinas’s view, a coward
performs a cowardly deed, such as not speaking up against injustice, not because his
cowardice necessitates him to act in this way, but rather because he chooses to give
in to his cowardice. In principle, Aquinas thinks, the agent could refrain from acting
according to this character trait of his. Thus, Aquinas holds that human agents can
control whether their character traits influence their actions: they have what I shall
call “character control.”
For Aquinas, it is crucial that human beings possess this kind of control, because
he believes in the possibility of moral reform. On his view, human beings can
change for the better, and he holds—plausibly—that this change requires, among
other things, that the agent be free to counteract her bad character traits (Kent 2013,
103–104).
Aquinas’s account of our freedom with regard to our character traits, or character
control, as I have called it, has received little attention from scholars, despite its
importance for moral reform.4 To be sure, scholars such as Tobias Hoffmann (2006,
233–239), Bonnie Kent (2013, 99–102) and Jean Porter (2013, 134–135) have
drawn attention to the fact that Aquinas subscribes to the existence of this kind of
freedom. But, to my knowledge, there has been no study examining its metaphysical
features, in particular whether it is of a libertarian or of a compatibilist kind. This is
the question that I will investigate in this paper.
I will assume that libertarianism is the view that we are free and that freedom is
incompatible with determinism, where determinism is the claim that any event in
the world is necessitated by antecedent circumstances. Compatibilism, I take it, is
the view that we are free and that freedom is compatible with determinism. So, the
question I shall be discussing in this paper is this: is character control compatible or
incompatible with determinism, on Aquinas’s view? I shall argue that Aquinas can
plausibly be read as adopting a libertarian or incompatibilist account of character
control. I do not profess to present a knockdown argument for this claim; I believe,
however, that the textual evidence favours it.
2
This characterization of habitus is still a bit rough. I will provide a more detailed account in Sect.
9.2. I will leave habitus untranslated. “Character trait” is not a good translation because habitus has
a broader meaning, for Aquinas. As Aquinas sees it, the dispositional knowledge of first principles,
such as the law of non-contradiction, is also a habitus (see ST I–II, q. 50, art. 4). But we would not
call this a character trait. “Habit” is not a good translation either because the English word “habit”
usually signifies a routine behavioural pattern, such as tugging one’s necktie, to use Bonnie Kent’s
(2002, 116) example. In contrast, habitus signifies no observable behavioural pattern but rather a
dispositional state causally responsible for a behavioural pattern.
3
See ST I–II, q. 78, art. 2, corp. I will briefly consider the historical roots of this claim of Aquinas’s
in n. 29 below.
4
This is in contrast to other aspects of Aquinas’s theory of freedom, which have been studied
extensively. References will be provided in Sect. 9.3.
9 Thomas Aquinas on Our Freedom to Use Our Habitus 169
My paper has two parts: in the first, I describe Aquinas’s account of what charac-
ter traits are and how they influence our actions via our emotions; in the second, I
turn to Aquinas’s account of character control and defend my libertarian reading.
9.2 How Habitus Influence Our Actions
As noted above, Aquinas conceives of character traits, such as courage or coward-

ice, as habitus.5 He takes it that habitus belong to the category of quality.6 In particu-
lar, they are dispositional qualities.7 For instance, he thinks that cowardice is a
quality disposing its possessor to flight behaviour in the face of danger, while vanity
is a quality disposing its possessor to, say, bragging in the presence of others.
Unlike other dispositional qualities, such as health, habitus are not easily
changed, Aquinas contends. A human being’s state of health can be easily altered
given changes in external circumstances. If exposed to microorganisms that are par-
ticularly harmful to human beings, even a human being in good health will become
sick. Habitus differ in this respect.8 Even with considerable changes in external
circumstances, a courageous person, Aquinas thinks, cannot easily become a cow-
ard, and a cowardly person cannot become courageous except with great effort.
Habitus, then, are stable dispositional properties of agents. But this is not their
only key feature, according to Aquinas. Aquinas also emphasizes another important
characteristic of theirs, namely, that habitus are dispositions that can be evaluated in
terms of being good or bad. As Aquinas puts it, habitus are qualities “according to
which what is disposed is well or badly disposed.”9 Aquinas uses the term “virtue”
(virtus) to refer to a habitus disposing us in a good way (e.g., courage), and he
employs the term “vice” (vitium) to refer to a habitus disposing us in a bad way
(e.g., cowardice).
When Aquinas says that a habitus disposes its bearer well or badly, he means at
least two things. First, Aquinas thinks that a habitus disposes an agent to having
certain emotions (passiones) that can be assessed in terms of being morally good or
bad.10 A good habitus disposes an agent to having praiseworthy emotions, whereas
5
In what follows, I shall focus only on those habitus, like courage and cowardice, that Aquinas
would classify as moral virtues or vices. According to Aquinas, there are, in addition to moral
virtues, also intellectual virtues (e.g., knowledge of first principles, craft) (see n. 2 above) and
theological virtues (e.g., faith, charity). For a discussion of intellectual and theological virtues in
Aquinas, see Kent (2002, 120–121) and Goris, Hendriks, and Schoot (2015).
6
ST I–II, q. 49, art. 1, corp.: “[D]icendum est quod habitus est qualitas.”
7
See n. 9 below for the text.
8
ST I–II, q. 49, art. 2, ad 3: “[N]on de facili transmutantur.”
9
ST I–II, q. 49, art. 1, corp.: “[H]abitus dicitur dispositio secundum quam bene vel male disponitur
dispositum.”
10
ST I–II, q. 49, art. 2, corp.: “[H]abitus sunt secundum quos ad passiones nos habemus bene
vel male.”
170 C. L. Löwe
a vice disposes an agent to having blameworthy emotions. Cowardice, for instance,

disposes an agent to feeling an excessive amount of fear in the face of a threat,
which Aquinas takes to be blameworthy.11 Courage, in contrast, disposes an agent to
containing his fear in the face of a threat, which Aquinas deems laudable.12
In addition to disposing us to certain morally good or bad emotions, Aquinas
thinks, habitus dispose us to performing certain morally good or bad actions (actus).
Accordingly, Aquinas also calls habitus “principles of human actions.”13 For
instance, courage disposes an agent to the praiseworthy action of fighting a threat,
whereas cowardice disposes an agent to the blameworthy action of fleeing from a
threat.14
There is clearly a connection between the way in which habitus inform our emo-
tions and the way in which they influence our actions. Indeed, it seems that habitus
influence our actions via our emotions. Consider again the virtue of courage. It is
plausible that it disposes an agent to feeling relatively calm in the face of a threat
and that this leads the agent to perform the good action of fighting the threat.
Cowardice, by contrast, disposes an agent to feeling an excessive amount of fear in
the face of a threat, and this leads the agent to perform the bad action of withdraw-
ing from said threat.
Let us consider in more detail how Aquinas pictures this transition from habitus-
based emotion to habitus-based action. Here we need to note that, as Aquinas sees
it, habitus-based actions are “human actions” (actiones humanae), that is, actions
performed for a reason, and all human actions, he thinks, proceed from the powers
of intellect and will.15 Very roughly, Aquinas thinks that the intellect is a mental
power that cognizes objects worthy of pursuit, while the will is an “intellectual appe-
tite” (appetitus intellectivus) eliciting desires for said objects.16 As Aquinas puts it,
the intellect “presents an object” to the will (praesentans ei obiectum).17 The will
then wills this object in an act of volition (though perhaps the will need not follow
the intellect, on Aquinas’s view), and this volition (efficiently) causes an action.18
Where do emotions based on habitus enter the picture in this aetiological story
involving the intellect and the will? Do our emotions influence our action by
affecting one of these two powers or are they a separate motivating factor operating
11
See ST II–II, q. 125, art. 1, corp.
12
13
ST I–II, q. 49, proem: “nunc restat de habitibus considerandum. Et primo quidem, in generali;
secundo vero, de virtutibus et vitiis, et aliis huiusmodi habitibus, qui sunt humanorum actuum
principia.”
14
15
See ST I–II, q. 6, art. 1, ad 1; q. 49, proem.
16
See ST I, q. 80, art. 2, corp.; De malo q. 6, art. 1, corp. I will here not discuss the difficult question
as to whether, for Aquinas, the will necessarily follows the intellect or can deviate. For the view
that the will can deviate, see, e.g., Gallagher (1994); for the view that it cannot, see, e.g., MacDonald
(1998).
17
See ST I–II, q. 9, art. 1, corp.
18
See ST I–II, q. 20, art. 1, ad 3.
alongside intellect and will? In De malo, Aquinas suggests that habitus-based emo-
tions influence us at the level of how goods are presented to us, that is, at the level
of intellectual cognition:
That the will is directed to that which is presented to it more according to this particular
condition rather than that [particular condition] […] is due to the disposition of the human
being because, according to the Philosopher, “the end appears to each person in a form
answering to the way he is.” Thus, the will of an irascible person is moved to something
differently from the will of a calm person because the same is not fitting to both. Now, if the
disposition by which something seems good or fitting to someone is natural and not subject
to the will, the will of natural necessity, prefer this, as all human beings naturally desire
being, life, and thought. But if it is a disposition that is not natural, but subject to the will,
that is, when someone is disposed by a habitus or passion to something’s seeming good or
bad in this particular situation, then the will will not be moved of necessity because the
person could remove this disposition so that something does not appear to him in this way,
as when someone calms the anger in him, so as not to judge as an irascible person would
judge.19
Aquinas here discusses how dispositions (dispositiones), which are, roughly, ten-
dencies to act, influence our actions. He considers two kinds of dispositions: natural
ones, such as the desire for self-preservation (being), which are not subject to our
control, as well as acquired ones, which are subject to our control, such as the habi-
tus of irascibility. Aquinas says that both types of dispositions shape how an end
appears (videtur) to us, that is, how we cognize it, and it is via our cognition that
these dispositions then influence our volition, as Aquinas suggests. An irascible
agent, for instance, as Aquinas explains, wills a different end from that of a calm
agent because, due to their respective habitus, the same end is cognized differently
by them. The irascible agent wills to, say, retaliate when provoked because, due to
feeling angry in the face of provocation, he takes the end of retaliation to be worthy
of pursuit. The calm agent, in contrast, does not will to retaliate when provoked
because, due to feeling calm in the face of provocation, she does not take retaliation
to be worthy of pursuit.
In his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Aquinas makes it clear that the
habitus-informed cognition shaping our volition is a certain kind of judgement
(iudicium), that is, a thought act with propositional content.20 This judgement,
Aquinas thinks, has two salient features.
19
De malo, q. 6, corp.: “Quod voluntas feratur in id quod sibi offertur magis secundum hanc par-
ticularem conditionem quam secundum aliam […] contingit ex dispositione hominis: quia secun-
dum Philosophum ‘qualis unusquisque est, talis finis videtur ei’; unde aliter movetur ad aliquid
voluntas irati et voluntas quieti quia non idem est conveniens utrique. […] Si ergo dispositio per
quam alicui videtur aliquid bonum et conveniens fuerit naturalis non subiacens voluntati, ex neces-
sitate naturali voluntas praeeliget illud, sicut omnes homines naturaliter desiderant esse, vivere et
intelligere. Si autem sit talis dispositio quae non sit naturalis, sed subiacens voluntati, puta cum
aliquis disponitur per habitum vel passionem ad hoc quod sibi videatur aliquid vel bonum vel
malum in hoc particulari, non ex necessitate movebitur voluntas: quia poterit hanc dispositionem
removere, ut sibi non videatur aliquid sic, ut scilicet cum aliquis quietat in se iram ut non iudicet
de aliquo tamquam iratus” (italics in original).
20
Sententia libri Ethicorum, lib. 3, lect. 13 (Leonina 47.1: 156.55–57).
172 C. L. Löwe
The first feature concerns what this judgement is about. Aquinas contrasts judge-
ments produced by a habitus with judgements produced by fleeting passions.21 He
argues that judgements produced by a fleeting passion are about a particular action
“right now” (prout nunc). In contrast, he tells us, judgements produced by a habitus
are about an action “taken in itself and without qualification” (secundum se et sim-
pliciter). To understand the difference between the two kinds of judgement, I think
it is helpful to appeal to the contemporary type-token distinction, which is a distinc-
tion between a general sort of thing and its concrete instances (Wetzel 2014). If I
make a judgement about what to do on the basis of a fleeting passion, say, on the
basis of a sudden feeling of anger, then I judge that a particular token action, say,
yelling at someone here and now because I was provoked, is worthy of pursuit. I
need not believe that, generally speaking, yelling at someone when provoked is a
good thing. I might just judge that on this particular occasion this is the right thing
to do, say, because someone made an insulting remark. In contrast, suppose I am an
irascible person. In this case, Aquinas would argue, I will judge that yelling at some-
one when provoked, in general, that is, the type action of yelling when provoked, is
something good to do. Due to my characteristic irascibility, I will always feel angry
when provoked (I will not just have a fleeting episode of anger on one occasion),
and so I judge not only that the act of yelling on a particular occasion is good, but
rather that the act of yelling whenever I am slighted is worthy of pursuit. Thus, the
first salient feature of judgements based on habitus is that they are general in con-
tent: they are about a type rather than a token action.
The second feature of a judgement based on habitus concerns how the agent
relates to the type of action that his judgement is about. Aquinas thinks that when
we make a judgement based on habitus we do so, as Rolf Darge (1996, 222–223)
has observed, “according to the mode of inclination” (per modum inclinationis).22
Aquinas contrasts judgements according to the mode of inclination with judgements
“according to the mode of cognition” (per modum cognitionis).23 When an agent
judges that an action is good per modum cognitionis, she thinks that the action is
good without having any tendency or inclination to perform said action.24 She has
merely been taught that this action is good, but she has no desire to perform it. A
person who judges that an action is good per modum inclinationis, in contrast, not
21
Sententia libri Ethicorum, lib. 3, lect. 13 (Leonina 47.1: 156.63–72): “Cum autem appetitus
inclinetur in aliquid dupliciter, uno modo secundum animae passionem, alio modo secundum habi-
tum, ex passione contingit quod aliquid iudicetur bonum prout nunc, sicut illi qui timet submersio-
nem, propter passionem timoris videtur bonum ut nunc, quod merces in mare proiciat, et
concupiscenti quod fornicetur, sed iudicium quo homo iudicat aliquid esse bonum ut secundum se
et simpliciter provenit ex inclinatione habitus.”
22
See ST I, q. 1, art. 6, ad 3: “Contingit enim aliquem iudicare uno modo per modum inclinationis,
sicut qui habet habitum virtutis recte iudicat de his quae sunt secundum virtutem agenda.”
23
ST I, q. 1, art. 6, ad 3: “Alio modo, per modum cognitionis, sicut aliquis instructus in scientia
morali posset iudicare de actibus virtutis, etiam si virtutem non haberet.”
24
For Aquinas, “inclination” and “tending towards something” (tendere in aliquid) have the same
meaning. See, e.g., ST I, q. 5, art. 5; q. 59, art. 1, corp.
only takes the action to be good; she is also disposed to perform it. To see the
difference between the two modes of judgement, consider a temperate agent, and
contrast her with a non-temperate agent who has learned that temperance is good.
When a temperate agent judges that “eating and drinking in moderation is good,”
she also desires to eat in moderation. When presented with an opportunity to eat and
drink, she will be disposed to do so in moderation. Moreover, eating or drinking in
moderation will be pleasant to her.25 In contrast, a non-temperate agent who merely
judges that “eating and drinking in moderation is good” on the basis of having
learned this is not moved to eat and drink in moderation if given the opportunity to
do so. Moreover, she will not take pleasure in eating or drinking moderately. This
need not mean that the non-temperate agent will desire to eat or drink excessively;
it just means that, unlike the temperate agent, she has no particular conative attach-
ment to moderate action. In short, then, the second salient feature of judgements
based on habitus is that they involve a conative attachment to the type action that
they are about.
Let us now put these two features of habitus-based judgements together with the
above discussion of the transition from habitus-based emotion to habitus-based
action via intellect and will. I take it that the following picture emerges of how a
habitus or character trait comes to bear on our action. A habitus regularly yields a
certain kind of emotion under certain circumstances (e.g., irascibility regularly
yields feelings of anger in the face of provocation). This emotion leads to a judge-
ment of the intellect about a certain type of action (e.g., that retaliating when pro-
voked in general is a good thing), where this judgement involves some conative
attachment on the part of the agent. This judgement informs a volition (e.g., the
volition to retaliate), which then leads to an action according to the habitus (e.g.,
retaliating).
Since Aquinas holds that character traits shape our cognition of what is good,
and, moreover, involve conative attachment, it is not surprising that he takes them to
have a powerful influence on our behaviour. He writes: “It is difficult to operate
against the end to which a habitus inclines.”26 This holds for virtues just as much as
for vices. A just person, Aquinas says, will find it hard to perform an unjust action
with ease,27 and a person who regularly commits sins on the basis of a bad character
trait cannot easily perform a good deed.28
Nevertheless, Aquinas believes that we have what I call character control. A hab-
itus, though a powerful influence on our behaviour, Aquinas thinks, does not neces-
sitate our actions because, as he sees it, “a habitus is defined to be what someone
25
For Aquinas, taking pleasure (delectatio) in a certain kind of action is a sign (signum) that the
agent has a habitus disposing her to said action. See, e.g., ST I–II, q. 100, art. 9, ad 3; De virtutibus
in communi, art. 1, corp.
26
De malo, q. 3, art. 13, ad 6: “[D]ifficile est operari contra id ad quod habitus inclinat.”
27
De caritate, art. 13, ad 1.
28
See De malo, q. 3, art. 13, ad 4.
174 C. L. Löwe
uses if he wills.”29 By this Aquinas means that a human being “is free” (habet
libertatem) to act according to or against a given habitus, such as courage or cow-
ardice.30 Indeed, as Aquinas sees it, whenever we act upon a habitus, this rests on a
free choice (electio) to do so.31
How exactly does Aquinas understand this freedom with respect to our character
traits? Using now standard terminology, he could mean at least two things: that this
freedom is of a libertarian or of a compatibilist kind. Investigating which of these
two conceptions of character control he endorses is the task to which I turn next.
9.3 Libertarian Character Control and the Act of Contrition
To investigate this question, we need to do some preliminary work. First, we need a

brief outline of Aquinas’s account of free choice. Second, we need to consider the
libertarian and compatibilist readings to which it has given rise. It is against the
background of these two interpretations that I shall examine whether Aquinas is a
compatibilist or libertarian in his account of character control.
Aquinas holds that free choice is an act of a certain mental power, namely, the
power of “free decision” (liberum arbitrium).32 This power, he thinks, is identical to
the power of the will insofar as it concerns the means (ea quae sunt ad finem), but
not the end (finis), the end being human happiness (beatitudo).33 On Aquinas’s view,
we can only choose the means, but not the end, because we desire the end by natural
necessity, which means that it is not subject to our choice.34
Aquinas thinks that choice is an act of “preferring” (praeoptatio/praeacceptio)
one means to another.35 Thus, a choice requires alternative possibilities (opposita/
29
ST I–II, q. 78, art. 2, corp.: “Uti enim habitu non est necessarium, sed subiacet voluntati habentis,
unde et habitus definitur esse quo quis utitur cum voluerit.” See also ST I–II, q. 50, art. 5, corp.; De
virtutibus in communi, q. un, art. 1, corp. In saying that a habitus is something that we can use
when we will, Aquinas relies on a statement found in Averroes’s Long Commentary on De anima.
See Commentarium magnum in Aristotelis De anima, lib. 3, com. 18 (ed. Crawford, 438.26–29).
As Kent (2013, 107–108) notes, Aquinas misrepresents Averroes here because, in the passage in
question, Averroes is not concerned with the voluntary actualization of habitus in general, but with
Aristotle’s remark that the agent intellect can be actualized at will.
30
De caritate, art. 6, ad 12: “[N]on enim quilibet actus agentis est actus cuiuslibet formae in agente
existentis, et praecipue in rationali natura, quae habet libertatem ad hoc quod utatur habitu.”
31
De malo, q. 3, art. 9, ad 7: “[C]um actus peccati et virtutis sit secundum electionem, electio
autem est appetitus praeconsiliati, consilium vero est quaedam inquisitio; necesse est quod in
quolibet actu virtutis vel peccati sit quaedam deductio quasi syllogistica.”
32
See In Sent. IV, d. 9, q. 1, art. 4, ad q. 1, ad 3 (ed. Moos, 4:387); De ver. q. 24, art. 1, ad 1; ST I,
q. 83, art. 3, corp.
33
See De ver., q. 22, art. 15, corp.; ST I, q. 83, art. 4, corp.
34
See ST I, q. 82, art. 1, corp.
35
See De ver., q. 22, art. 15, corp.; ST I–II, q. 13, art. 2, corp.
diversa/hoc vel illud).36 Indeed, it is precisely because a choice involves alternative

possibilities that it is free, on Aquinas’s view. This is clear because Aquinas says
that an agent’s ability to make choices (her liberum arbitrium) is free just in case the
agent is able “to adopt one course of action while rejecting another.”37 Our freedom
of choice is, then, a kind of alternative-possibilities freedom, according to Aquinas.
What is the nature of these alternative possibilities?
Scholars of Aquinas are divided on this issue. Some understand them in a com-
patibilist sense (Williams 1998; Pasnau 2002), others in a libertarian sense
(MacDonald 1998; McCluskey 2002; Hoffmann 2007).38 Let me repeat the defini-
tions of the terms ‘compatibilism’ and ‘libertarianism’ given in the introduction.
Compatibilism is the claim that we are free, and that our freedom is compatible
with determinism,39 where determinism is the claim that any event in the world is
necessitated by antecedent circumstances. Libertarianism is the claim that we are
free, and that our freedom is incompatible with determinism. Hence, what
Aquinas’s compatibilist and libertarian readers are debating is whether Aquinas’s
alternative possibilities rule out determinism, which is what his libertarian readers
claim, or do not rule out determinism, which is what his compatibilist readers
claim. Let us consider these two interpretations in more detail, beginning with the
compatibilist one.
Compatibilist interpreters of Aquinas, such as Thomas Williams and Robert
Pasnau, usually attribute psychological determinism to Aquinas. This is the view
that our choices are necessitated by antecedent psychological conditions, which are
not subject to our control. Williams (1998, 205), for instance, claims that Aquinas is
an intellectualist. That is, on Williams’s interpretation, Aquinas holds that acts of
the will, such as choice, cannot but follow our beliefs about what is good. Williams
argues that it is not in our power to alter our beliefs about what is good on a given
occasion.40 Hence, he concludes, Aquinas must hold that we cannot, on a given
occasion, choose otherwise than we do in fact choose because the antecedent beliefs
that lead to this choice are not subject to our control.
Pasnau defends a similar account of the role of intellect and will in Aquinas’s
theory of motivation. Interestingly, Pasnau also explicitly invokes habitus—which
he refers to as “higher-order beliefs and desires” (2002, 228)—as key factors
36
See In Sent. II, d. 7, q. 1, art. 1, ad 3 (ed. Mandonnet, 2: 182); ST I, q. 82, art. 1, ad 3; De malo,
q. 16, art. 5, corp.
37
ST I, q. 83, art. 3, corp.: “[E]x hoc enim liberi arbitrii esse dicimur, quod possumus unum reci-
pere, alio recusato, quod est eligere.” See also De ver., q. 24, art. 1, corp.
38
For a libertarian reading of Aquinas that emphasizes not so much alternative possibilities, but
rather his idea that being free requires being the ultimate source of one’s action, see Stump (1997,
591). In this paper I shall not consider Stump’s position because it is based on Aquinas’s account
of the liberum arbitrium of the blessed in Heaven, which is a topic that I cannot deal with here.
39
Strictly speaking, as Michael McKenna (2001, 176) points out, compatibilism is not the claim
that we are free despite the truth of determinism, but the weaker claim that we would still be free
should determinism be true. I ignore this subtlety here.
40
Williams does not rule out that we are able to alter our beliefs about what is good over time. I will
return to this point below.
176 C. L. Löwe
determining our choice. He writes that, on Aquinas’s view, “[g]iven the entire state
of the universe, including an individual’s higher-order beliefs and desires, a certain
choice will inevitably follow” (Pasnau 2002, 232).
How do Aquinas’s compatibilist readers explain Aquinas’s statements to the
effect that a choice is between alternatives? Being a determinist, they argue, Aquinas
cannot hold that if the agent chose to A at t, she was able to choose to not-A at t,
assuming the same set of antecedent circumstances. This understanding of alterna-
tive possibilities is ruled out by determinism because, on determinism, all events in
the world are necessitated by prior circumstances and so we cannot, at t, choose
otherwise than we do in fact choose, given the circumstances obtaining prior to t.
But, Aquinas’s compatibilist readers hold, Aquinas’s determinism is compatible
with another sense of ‘being able to choose otherwise.’ Given determinism, we may
not able to choose otherwise given the same set of antecedent circumstances.
However, we are still able to choose otherwise given a different set of antecedent
circumstances. How are we to understand this latter ability?
According to a well-known modern compatibilist theory, the so-called “condi-
tional analysis,” defended, for instance, by A.J. Ayer (1969, 282) and perhaps by
David Hume (2000, 72), to be able to act otherwise under different circumstances is
to be able to act otherwise if, counterfactually, the circumstances preceding the
action had been different. On this view, the agent could not have chosen otherwise
at t than he did in fact choose, given the actual past preceding t. However, he could
have chosen otherwise, had the past been different. For then the agent’s beliefs about
what is good would have been different, and so the agent would have chosen other-
wise at t.
Aquinas’s compatibilist interpreters do not attribute the conditional analysis to
Aquinas. The reason is that, due to appealing to counterfactuals, this analysis relies
on a “synchronic” understanding of contingency, one involving possible worlds;
and, according to one of Aquinas’s compatibilist readers at least (Williams 1998,
208), such a conception of contingency is wholly foreign to Aquinas.41 To say that
the conditional analysis appeals to a “synchronic” model of contingency is to say
that it holds that there are different ways the world might have been at one and the
same point in time t. Given the actual course of history, that is, in this world w, the
conditional analysis maintains, S chose to A at t and, indeed, had to choose to A at t,
given the truth of determinism (which the conditional analysis, being a compatibil-
ist view, accepts). However, S could have chosen otherwise at t in the sense that, had
the course of history been different, that is, in another possible world w’, S would
have chosen to not-A at t.
41
Williams here follows Knuuttila (1993, 144–45), who is the first to speak of ‘synchronic contin-
gency’ in connection with medieval theories of modalities. Knuuttila argues that it was Duns
Scotus who first advanced a conception of synchronic contingency in the Middle Ages. Stephen
Dumont (1995, 160–66) has shown, however, that Peter John Olivi already had such a conception.
I will argue below that Aquinas’s account of character control is best understood as relying on a
model of synchronic contingency, though I do not think that Aquinas had a developed account of
contingency so understood.
According to Williams (1998, 208), Aquinas’s conception of contingency differs

sharply from this “synchronic” model. Williams thinks that Aquinas instead has a
“diachronic” account of contingency, one that understands contingency exclusively
with reference to the actual world.42 On this account, an event e occurring at t in the
actual world w is contingent not because there is another possible world w’ in which
e does not occur at t, but because the opposite of e can occur in the actual world w
at some later point in time t’ after t (MacDonald 1995, 170). So, for example, my
choice to go for a walk at t, is contingent, on the diachronic view, not because there
is another possible world in which I choose not to go for a walk at t. Rather it is
contingent in the sense that, in the very same world in which I choose to go for a
walk at t, I can make the opposite choice (the choice not to go for a walk) at some
later point in time t’.
This diachronic ability to choose otherwise is clearly compatible with determin-
ism. On the compatibilist reading of Aquinas, my choice to go for a walk at t had to
occur given the circumstances preceding it, in particular given my beliefs about
what is good at that time. But under different circumstances in the future, assuming
my beliefs about what is good have changed, I can make the opposite choice, which,
like my present choice, will be determined, albeit by different beliefs. In short, then,
on the compatibilist reading of Aquinas, I cannot choose otherwise than I do in fact
choose at the very instant of making a choice. However, the possibility of making
the opposite choice is available to me prospectively.
Libertarian readers of Aquinas disagree here (MacDonald 1998, 325–326;
McCluskey 2002, 422; Hoffmann 2007, 143). They argue that, for Aquinas, an
agent who chooses to A at t could have chosen to not-A at t. On their view, then,
Aquinas is committed to synchronic contingency or possible worlds.43 But not just
that. Libertarian readers do not take Aquinas to appeal to possible worlds in order
to merely develop something like the conditional analysis found in Ayer and per-
haps Hume. For, on the libertarian interpretation, Aquinas does not content himself
with the weak claim that agents could have chosen otherwise in a world with a dif-
ferent set of antecedent circumstances. Rather, libertarian interpreters take it that
Aquinas accepts the much stronger claim that if an agent chose to A at t, she could
have chosen to not-A at t, given the exact same set of antecedent circumstances.44
Accordingly, Aquinas’s libertarian readers think that Aquinas rejects determinism
42
For the term ‘diachronic’ in this context, see again Knuuttila (1993, 144–45).
43
Libertarian interpreters conceive of the alternative not-A as a real possibility available to the
agent, not as a mere logical possibility or a possibility residing in the divine mind. Whenever I
speak of the possibility to not-A in in this paper I am concerned with a real possibility available to
the agent.
44
This is, I take it, also an adequate way of understanding the will’s ability to will not-A at the very
instant when it wills A, as discussed by Olivi and Duns Scotus (see note 41). Furthermore, such
synchronically given alternatives are at the heart of how libertarians today conceive of the ability
to do otherwise. Peter van Inwagen, for instance, writes: “We translate ‘It is within my power to
keep the money I found and within my power to return it’ as ‘I have access to some world in which
I keep the money I found and I have access to some world in which I return it’.” (Van Inwagen
1983, 87).
178 C. L. Löwe
(whether psychological or other). They argue that Aquinas is an anti-determinist.

That is, they take him to hold that, given all of the circumstances antecedent to a
given choice between A-ing and not-A-ing, the choice could have gone either way,
although they have diverging opinions on whether Aquinas takes the source of
indeterminacy to be the will (Gallagher 1994) or the intellect (MacDonald 1998;
McCluskey 2002).
Now that I have discussed the two readings to which Aquinas’s theory of free
choice has given rise, we are equipped to consider his understanding of the freedom
operative in character control. Given the two above-discussed scholarly views, we
can see that Aquinas’s account of character control can be understood in at least two
ways. On a libertarian reading, when Aquinas says that we are free to use our habi-
tus, he must mean that under the very circumstances in which an agent chooses to
act according to some character trait of hers she could have refrained from doing so.
She does not just have the prospective possibility of choosing to act against her
character; rather, if she chose to act upon a character trait at t, she was also able to
choose to act against it at t, all other things being equal. So, on this account, we
need to attribute to Aquinas what we might call a “present possibility view” of
character control:
(PPV) If S chooses to act according to one of S’s character traits C at t, then S could have
chosen to act against C at t, assuming the exact same circumstances antecedent to t.
Defenders of a compatibilist reading of Aquinas will not accept PPV. On their read-
ing, Aquinas is a (psychological) determinist, and so he cannot hold that an agent
can, at t, choose otherwise than he does in fact choose. And since, on the compati-
bilist interpretation, Aquinas does not think of modalities in terms of possible
worlds, Aquinas must mean that it is only in the future that the agent can choose
otherwise than he now in fact chooses. For instance, if an irascible agent now
chooses to act irascibly, then, the compatibilist reading holds, he could not have
chosen otherwise on this occasion, given (psychological) determinism. However,
under different circumstances in the future, in particular given suitable changes to
the agent’s beliefs about what is good, the irascible agent can choose otherwise
than he now chooses. He can take anger management classes, for example, which
will change his beliefs about what is good. And given these changes to his beliefs,
he will be able to choose not to act irascibly if his temper is again put to the test.
On the compatibilist reading, then, Aquinas adheres to what we might call a
“future possibility view”:
(FPV) If S chooses to act according to one of S’s character traits C at t, then S could not have
chosen to act against C at t, but S can choose to act against C at some t’ after t, assuming
different circumstances, that is, assuming S’s beliefs about what is good have changed.
Let us now examine whether Aquinas adopts the libertarian PPV or the compatibil-
ist FPV. I claim that Aquinas adopts PPV. Thus, as I see it, Aquinas is an anti-
determinist regarding our character’s influence on our action: our actions are not
necessitated by our character traits in the strong sense that at the very instant when
a character trait does in fact come to bear on an action of ours, we could have
resisted acting upon it. In favour of my view, let me first point out that compatibilist
interpreters have so far failed to adduce any passage in Aquinas’s writings in which
Aquinas unequivocally says that an agent’s choice is determined at the instant of its
occurrence.45 Moreover, I shall now present two texts that seem to me to favour the
libertarian PPV. These passages, I should emphasize, do not explicitly commit
45
I here neutralize two passages. First, one might think that the following passage commits Aquinas
to the view that a choice is determined at the instant of its occurrence: “Electio autem nominat
actum voluntatis iam determinatum ad id quod est huic agendum” (ST I–II, q. 13, art. 5, corp.).
However, the context of the passage makes it clear that Aquinas intends something different here.
Here is what the whole passage states: “Et ideo perfectio actus voluntatis attenditur secundum hoc
quod est aliquid bonum alicui ad agendum. Hoc autem est possibile. Et ideo voluntas completa non
est nisi de possibili, quod est bonum volenti. Sed voluntas incompleta est de impossibili, quae
secundum quosdam velleitas dicitur, quia scilicet aliquis vellet illud, si esset possibile. Electio
autem nominat actum voluntatis iam determinatum ad id quod est huic agendum. Et ideo nullo
modo est nisi possibilium” (ST I–II, q. 13, art. 5, corp.). Aquinas is here interested in determining
what a “complete volition” is, which is a volition that concerns what is possible for the agent. A
volition concerning the impossible, in contrast, is “incomplete.” The latter is a volition for A, if A
were possible. Aquinas’s statement to the effect that choice is an act of the will “iam determinatum
ad id quod est huic agendum,” in this context, means that choice is a “complete” volition directed to
what is possible as opposed to an incomplete volition directed to what is impossible. Aquinas does
not want to say that choice is a “determined” volition here, i.e. that all alternatives are eliminated.
Rather, he wants to say that it is a fully “determinate” as opposed to an incomplete volition.
I consider a second claim in Aquinas’s work that might be taken to commit him to the view that
choices are determined at the instant of their occurrence, namely, what has been called the “neces-
sity of the present.” This is the De int. 9 claim, accepted by Aquinas, that “everything which is,
when it is, necessarily is” (omne quod est necesse est esse quando est). To this the following should
be said: Aquinas indeed accepts the necessity of the present, but not in a way that makes choices
necessary in the determinist sense. He interprets “everything which is, when it is, necessarily is”
as a hypothetical claim involving a necessity of the consequence, not of the consequent (In
Periherm., lib. 1, lect. 15 [Leonina 1: 72b–73a]: “et haec est necessitas non absolute, sed ex sup-
positione”). That is, he understands the claim, “Everything which is, when it is, necessarily is” as
the claim, “Necessarily (if p at t, then p at t)” (where the necessity operator attaches to the whole
conditional). He does not understand it as the claim, “If p at t, then necessarily p at t” (where the
necessity operator attaches to the consequent only). Now, someone can accept the necessity of the
present understood along the lines of the necessity of the consequence and still be a libertarian
adhering to synchronic contingency. For understood along the lines of the necessity of the conse-
quence, the necessity of the present is not the claim—as it would be when understood along the
lines of the necessity of the consequent—that the present instant could not be otherwise than it is.
Rather it is the claim that, necessarily, given that the present instant is the way it is (though it could
have been otherwise), the present instant is the way it is (though it could have been otherwise).
Even Duns Scotus, who clearly adheres to synchronic contingency (see n. 41), accepts the neces-
sity of the present understood along the lines of the necessity of consequence. See John Duns
Scotus, Ord. I, d. 39, n. 19 (Vat. 6: 422).
But here one might object that Aquinas, in his account of De int. 9, is in fact concerned with
denying prospective necessity and not with developing the necessity of the consequence. Consider
this passage (P): “Si ergo ponitur verum esse id quod dicitur de praesenti vel de futuro, non potest
esse quin illud sit praesens vel futurum” (In Periherm., lib. 1, lect. 13 [Leonina 1: 68b–69a]). In this
passage, Aquinas evidently wants to deny prospective necessity. Aquinas is worried that if a contin-
gent future tense proposition is now determinately true, then what it states to be the case will inevi-
tably be the case. But this does not go against my reading of Aquinas’s interpretation of De int. 9 in
terms of the necessity of the consequence. On the contrary, (P) seems to me an application of the
necessity of the consequence. For (P) can be plausibly read as stating: ‘Necessarily, if a contingent
future tense proposition ‘Fp’ is now true, then whatever ‘Fp’ states to be the case will be the case.’
This is simply the necessity of the consequence applied to contingent future tense propositions.
180 C. L. Löwe
Aquinas to PPV. So I am not presenting a knockdown argument for PPV here.

However, to my mind, they favour PPV because they can be easily explained in light
of PPV, but not in light of the compatibilist FPV. Here are the two passages:
It is not easy for a tendency that has inclined a human being to some object throughout his
entire life to suddenly be drawn to its contrary; however, this is not impossible, since free
decision is not coerced by an acquired habitus.46
It needs to be said that pain is only about what is present in some way. Past sin, even
though it is not a present act, is nonetheless present with regard to its effect, [which is]
either the disposition to sin or the punishment or stain [of sin].47
It is obvious that the first text bears on the issue of character control. It states that an
agent who has had a (bad) habitus throughout his entire life (toto tempore vitae) can
“suddenly” (subito), that is, I take it, at an instant, choose to reject his old ways.
However, it is not obvious how the second text is relevant. Thus, some context is
required here.
The context of the second passage (as well as of the first) is a discussion of the
act of contrition (contritio). Contrition is an element of the sacrament of penance
(poenitentia), according to Aquinas. It is the act of repenting for one’s past sins.
Aquinas characterizes this act as a kind of “pain” (dolor): by contrition we feel pain
about our sins in the sense of “disliking” (displicere) them.48 This pain does not
overcome us, on Aquinas’s view. Rather, it is freely assumed: the agent makes a
choice (electio) to dislike his sins.49 The second passage deals with this freely
assumed pain, and it states that an agent can at the present instant t choose to dislike
his sins, even while the “disposition” to sin, that is, the bad habitus, exists at t.
Neither of these two passages amounts to an explicit commitment to PPV on
Aquinas’s part, but both make trouble for the compatibilist FPV, I contend. Let me
first explain why neither amounts to a commitment to PPV. In neither of these pas-
sages does Aquinas explicitly say what PPV states, namely, that when an agent
chooses, at some instant t, to A due to some character trait C, she could have chosen
to not-A at t, assuming the same set of antecedent circumstances. He says something
weaker. He says that, at t, the agent can suddenly choose to A—he can freely assume
46
In Sent. IV, d. 20, q. 1, art. 1, ad q. 1, ad 1 (ed. Moos, 4: 1014): “[N]on est facile ut affectus qui
hominem toto tempore vitae suae inclinavit in aliquid subito ad contrarium retrahatur; nec tamen
est impossibile, quia liberum arbitrium non cogitur ex habitu acquisito.”
47
In Sent. IV, d. 17, q. 2, art. 1, ad q. 1, ad 1 (ed. Moos, 4: 858–859): “[D]icendum quod dolor non
est nisi de eo quod aliquo modo praesens est Peccatum autem praeteritum, etsi non sit praesens
actus, est tamen praesens quantum ad aliquem effectum ejus, vel dispositionem ad peccandum, vel
reatum aut maculam.”
48
In Sent. IV, d. 17, q. 2, art. 1, ad q. 2, ad 1 (ed. Moos, 4: 861): “Alius dolor est in voluntate, qui
nihil aliud est quam displicentia alicujus mali. […] Et sic contritio est dolor.”
49
In Sent. IV, d. 17, q. 2, art. 1, ad q. 1 (ed. Moos, 4: 858): “[M]anifestatur in praedicta definitione
[…] electio quae requiritur ad actum virtutis, in hoc quod dicit ‘assumptus’.” Aquinas here refers
to the then established definition of contrition as “an assumed pain for the sins with the intention
to confess and to make satisfaction” (In Sent. IV, d. 17, q. 2, art. 1, arg. 1 [ed. Moos, 4: 855]: “dolor
pro peccatis assumptus cum proposito confitendi et satisfaciendi”). Aquinas believes that the suc-
cessful act of contrition also requires God’s grace; see In Sent. IV, d. 17, q. 2, art. 1, ad q. 1, ad 6
(ed. Moos, 4: 860). But this issue will not concern me here; I am here only interested in the free
contribution made by the human agent.
the pain of contrition—even while being, at t, strongly disposed to not A (i.e. to sin).
This claim is weaker than PPV because Aquinas is not saying that, at the very instant
at which the agent chose to sin, she could have chosen to do good. He only claims that
the agent can, at t, choose not to act upon a powerful disposition to sin present at t.
Although these passages only suggest this weaker claim, I now want to argue that
they nonetheless favour PPV because they can be easily explained in light of PPV,
but not in light of FPV. On PPV, one can easily explain an agent’s sudden choice to
counteract an enduring inclination of his by appealing to character control in the
libertarian sense. The defender of PPV can say: if the agent is free in the strong
sense envisaged by PPV—that is, in the sense that, if, at t, he chooses to act accord-
ing to his character trait, he could, at t, have chosen to act against it—then he must
also be free at t not to act upon an enduring inclination of his. Libertarian freedom
to choose between acting and not acting according to one’s character trait at t clearly
entails the ability to refrain from acting upon an enduring character trait. In short,
the defender of PPV has no difficulties explaining free choices that go against
enduring inclinations because libertarian character control entails the possibility of
such choices.
It is not obvious, however, that this passage can be easily explained in light of the
compatibilist FPV. Aquinas’s compatibilist interpreters believe that character traits
determine choices because character traits determine the agent’s beliefs about what
is good, and the agent cannot alter these beliefs on the spot. So if an agent in the past
acted upon a bad habitus of hers, she could not have done otherwise then. As per
FPV, she is able to counteract her bad habitus only if the beliefs that determined her
past actions are altered. Thus, if an agent now chooses to act against a character trait
C that determined her past behaviour, the compatibilist commentator holds, the
agent’s beliefs about C-type actions must have changed between then and now. For
instance, an agent who regularly acted irascibly in the past but now manages to
remain calm when her temper is put to the test must have in the meantime taken, say,
anger management classes.
The above two passages about contrition, however, do not suggest that any
change of the agent’s beliefs has taken place between the past and now. In both texts
Aquinas claims that the agent’s powerful disposition for sinful behaviour, which
shapes the agent’s beliefs about what is good, remains constant until the present,
and that the agent can nonetheless choose to counteract it. There is no suggestion
that something occurred that weakened the grip of the habitus. Rather, the picture is
one of conversion: the agent suddenly chooses to resist an inclination deeply embed-
ded in her motivational apparatus.
My view is, then, that Aquinas’s account of contrition as a sudden free choice to
act against an enduring inclination poses a challenge for the compatibilist interpre-
tation of character control in Aquinas. The libertarian PPV can easily account for
the possibility of such choices, but the compatibilist FPV, as far as I can see, cannot.
I acknowledge that none of the passages that I have adduced contains a definitive
commitment to libertarian character control on Aquinas’s part; but, in my view, the
textual evidence can be better made sense of in terms of libertarianism than in terms
of compatibilism.
182 C. L. Löwe
9.4 Conclusion: Aquinas on Self-Forming Action
To conclude, I would like to draw attention to a corollary of the libertarian reading

of character control that I have proposed here. Recall from the end of Sect. 9.2 that,
for Aquinas, all action according to a habitus rests on a free choice to act according
to said habitus. If an agent acts in a cowardly manner, for instance, he does so
because he chooses to give in to his cowardice, on Aquinas’s view. Now, if this
choice is of a libertarian nature, as I have argued in Sect. 9.3, then this means that
every action in accordance with a character trait is, for Aquinas, an action in which
the agent could have chosen otherwise on that very occasion. Now, by freely choos-
ing, in the libertarian sense, to act according to our character, we in some sense
determine what kind of agent we want to be (or continue being). For example, by
giving in to his cowardice, the cowardly agent also decides to continue being a cow-
ard. Since every character-based action is, for Aquinas, based on a libertarian free
choice to act upon one’s character, this means that every character-based action is
an action in which we determine what kind of agent we want to be (or continue
being). Nowadays, actions by which we determine what kind of agent we want to be
(or continue being) are called “self-forming actions” (Kane 2011, 385–386).
Whether there are such actions is disputed, and those who believe that they exist
typically believe that there are only a few of them in our lives—usually in situations
in which an agent is torn between competing visions of who she wants to be (Kane
2011, 386). But, for Aquinas, if I am right, an agent determines who she wants to be
whenever she acts according to her character, inasmuch as she always freely
chooses, in the strong libertarian sense (allowing her to have done otherwise), to let
her character influence what she does. I conclude that self-forming actions are, for
Aquinas, not restricted to a few significant moments in our lives. Rather they are a
pervasive feature of our lives; we perform them whenever we act according to a
character trait of ours.
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Chapter 10
Cognitive Dispositions in the Psychology
of Peter John Olivi
Juhana Toivanen
Abstract This chapter discusses Peter John Olivi’s (1248–1298) conception of the
role of dispositions (habitus) in sensory cognition from metaphysical and psycho-
logical perspectives. It shows that Olivi makes a distinction between two general
types of disposition. Some of them account for the ease, or difficulty, with which
different persons use their cognitive powers, while others explain why people react
differently to things that they perceive or think. This distinction is then applied to
Olivi’s analysis of three different psychological operations, where the notion of
disposition figures prominently; estimative perception, perceptual clarity, and the
perception of pain and pleasure. The chapter argues that Olivi uses cognitive dispo-
sitions in an interesting way to explain individual differences between persons, and
that they reveal the dynamic nature of his conception of human psychology.
Keywords History of philosophy · Medieval philosophy · Philosophical psychol-

ogy · Perception · Peter John Olivi · Disposition · Internal senses · Cognitive
psychology · Individuality
10.1 Introduction
The importance of habits or dispositions (habitus) for the philosophical psychology

of Peter John Olivi (ca. 1248–1298) emerges from an enigmatic sentence that he
wrote late in his career:
It is clear that in addition to their essence, the substantial powers of the soul need particular
habits and dispositions (habitus et dispositiones) and actual directing or turning (aspectus
seu conversiones) towards the objects, in order to proceed to their acts without difficulty
and perfectly.1
1
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 50 appendix, ad 3 (ed. Jansen, 2: 54): “Constat autem quod praeter
essentiam potentiarum substantialium animae exiguntur speciales habitus et dispositiones et actu-
J. Toivanen (*)
Department of Philosophy, Linguistics and Theory of Science, University of Gothenburg,
Gothenburg, Sweden

186 J. Toivanen
Olivi aims to explain why the actions of one power of the soul may prevent the other
powers from performing their actions. He acknowledges that sometimes we fail to
see what is happening in front of us when we concentrate on thinking, but he argues
that the reason for this is not the ontological unity of the powers of the soul. The
phenomenon can be saved by appealing to the necessity of paying attention—or, in
Olivi’s terms, the need for the directing of one’s aspectus to one power of the soul
and its objects instead of another. Thinking prevents perceiving simply because
focusing on a philosophical problem prevents paying equal attention to the things in
one’s visual field.
This theory has been discussed in the scholarly literature,2 but the other idea that
the quoted sentence brings to the fore has not received as much attention, even
though it is basic to Olivi’s theory of cognition. Alongside the selective attention,
Olivi holds equally strongly that the powers of the soul must have habits and dispo-
sitions in order to act. What does he mean? What are these habits and dispositions
that are necessary for various psychological processes? Why are they necessary for
cognitive acts? Above all, what is their function in psychological processes? The
present chapter aims at shedding light on these questions and on the psychological
role that the dispositions and habits (habitus3) of the soul play in Olivi’s philosophi-
cal psychology.
The chapter is divided into two main sections. The first pertains to the metaphys-
ics of dispositions, understood as configurations of the cognitive and appetitive
powers of the soul. The second is devoted to the various ways in which the concept
of disposition figures in Olivi’s cognitive psychology. I shall concentrate on three
cases, which reveal the manifold functions that the dispositions play in sensory
cognition: (1) estimative perception, (2) perceptual clarity, and (3) the pleasure and
pain that accompany sense perception.4 In general, these three cases show that the
dispositions of the powers of the soul account for the interpretation that the perceiv-
ing subject makes of the objects that she perceives, and for the emotional reaction
that sense perception causes.
ales aspectus seu conversiones ad obiecta ad hoc quod expedite et perfecte exeant in suas actiones.”
When referring to Olivi, I shall use the original title of the work, Summa quaestionum super
Sententias. Jansen has edited the second book of this work in Quaestiones in Secundum Librum
Sententiarum, and questions from books 3 and 4 have appeared in print as Quaestiones de incar-
natione et redemptione (ed. Emmen and Stadter) and Quaestiones de novissimis (ed. Maranesi).
On the concept of aspectus, see Toivanen (2013a, 151–160). For Olivi’s biography and an over-
view of his thought, see Boureau and Piron (1999), Burr (1976), Piron (2010).
2
See Pasnau (1997), Perler (2003), Silva and Toivanen (2010, 260–277), Tachau (1988), Toivanen
(2013a).
3
From this point on, I shall translate the term habitus as “disposition” or simply leave the term
untranslated, especially when I discuss the relation between habitus and dispositio.
4
Unfortunately, it is not possible to address the role of dispositions of the will and intellect in this
connection. Those who are interested should consult Yrjönsuuri (2002) and Faucher’s article in the
present volume, p. 115–120.
10 Cognitive Dispositions in the Psychology of Peter John Olivi 187
10.2 What Are Dispositions?
Before proceeding to the metaphysics of habitus, let us begin with a terminological

remark, which is not devoid of philosophical significance. Olivi does not systemati-
cally distinguish the two terms that we encountered in the passage quoted above—
habitus and dispositio. He often juxtaposes them,5 and occasionally he characterizes
them in such a way that they seem to be more or less synonymous. For instance, he
writes:
in active powers, a disposition (dispositio) is not required for anything else but adjusting the
powers to act appropriately and promptly, and so they act and can act to some extent also
without any habit (habitus), although not as perfectly.6
The ease with which he moves from one concept to another indicates that he does
not see any reason to distinguish them radically from each other. In a similar vein,
he does not clearly separate consuetudo from habitus. Some medieval authors,
Aquinas being the most well-known, argue that animals can be habituated to certain
kinds of actions, but because they are not free to resist their consuetudines, they
cannot be said to have habitus in the proper sense.7 Olivi does not use this term
often, but when he does, he seems to consider it as yet another synonym for the
dispositions of the soul.8
Olivi’s way of using these terms interchangeably seems deliberate. He occasion-
ally classifies habitus as a kind of dispositio. For instance, he claims that, “habits
mean a disposition of a power in relation to an act.”9 More precisely, he seems to
5
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, qq. 81–82 (ed. Jansen, 3: 175): “[…] habitus seu habituales inclina-
tiones et dispositiones.”
6
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 467): “Praeterea, in virtutibus activis non exigitur
ad aliud dispositio nisi ad coaptandum eas ad agendum debite et expedite, unde et sine habitu
aliquid agunt et agere possunt, etsi non ita perfecte.” Ibid. (ed. Jansen, 2: 398): “Item, habitus
voluntatis disponunt ipsam et determinant ad agendum potius quam ad patiendum; ergo videtur
quod sunt dispositiones et determinationes eius. […] Quando autem dicitur quod habitus sunt
quaedam formae activae, sicut in minori praedicti argumenti tangebatur, tunc secundum istos
nomine habitus significatur ipsa potentia ut sic disposita et habituata; alias secundum eos non
debent dici principia effectiva sed solum dispositiones principiorum effectivorum.” Olivi’s point is
that a habitus can be called an efficient principle of acts only if it refers to the power, which is
disposed in a certain way. Properly speaking, it is not an efficient principle.
7
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 50, art. 3 ad 2. On Aquinas’ general conception of habitus, see
Darge’s and Löwe’s articles in the present volume, p. 143–165 and p. 167–184.
8
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 16 (ed. Jansen, 1: 346): “Praeterea, virtutes et habitus consuetudi-
nales, sive boni sive mali, per frequentes actus et applicationes potentiarum magis et magis edu-
cuntur in esse et crescunt.” See also ibid., q. 31 (ed. Jansen, 1: 524): “virtus consuetudinalis”; ibid.,
q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 515–516): “virtutes consuetudinales et multas alias affectiones habituales”;
Summa III, q. 2 (ed. Emmen, 107–108): “vitiositas consuetudinalis”; ibid., qq. 8–9, (ed. Stadter,
330): “consuetudo fidei.” Occasionally Olivi uses assuefactio, apparently as a synonym for habitu-
ation. See, e.g., Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 431–432).
9
Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 485): “[H]abitus dicunt dispositionem potentiae in ordine ad
actum.” See also ibid., q. 58 (2: 398, 424–432, 467); q. 64 (2: 604–605; quoted in note 44 below);
q. 72, ad 3 (3: 41): “Potentia enim activa saepe ex parte sua eget debito habitu et debito aspectu et,
188 J. Toivanen
think that habitus is a disposition that qualifies the powers of the soul, whereas dis-
positio is more often used in relation to the matter and organs of the body, and he
prefers the latter term when he speaks about a kind of receptivity or capacity, while
habitus inclines powers to act in a certain way.10 Even though Olivi uses dispositio
and habitus interchangeably when he talks about the powers of the soul, to the best
of my knowledge he never uses the latter term to describe dispositional changes and
the states of physical bodies. Thus, Olivi’s use of terminology suggests that habitus
is a type of dispositio, which can be attributed to the powers of the soul.
Despite this apparent taxonomic classification, there is a clear metaphysical
affinity between habitus and dispositio. Dispositions of material substances, includ-
ing the body and its organs, are functionally similar to the dispositions of the powers
of the soul. The reason for this is twofold. First, Olivi thinks that habitus is not
something that is added to the powers. He is known as a critic of a realist conception
of Aristotelian categories and he argues that the categories do not refer to essentially
distinct things in the world, but to different aspects of reality or ways to describe
substances.11 Even though it is not completely clear that his denial of the reality of
categories applies also to the category of quality (which includes habitus),12 he nev-
ertheless argues that habitus should not be considered as independent additions to
cognitive powers. Rather, they are modifications (variatio) of powers, which affect
the way the powers act.13 Secondly, Olivi does not attribute habitus to the powers of
the soul as such, but to the compound of the power and its organ.14 The same meta-
physical structure can also be applied to the intellectual powers of the soul because
Olivi accepts the doctrine of universal hylomorphism, according to which the intel-
lectual soul in itself is composed of matter and form.15 Intellectual dispositions are
modifications of the so-called spiritual matter, which functions as the material
si est organica, eget debita dispositione organi”; q. 74 (3: 119; quoted in note 21 below); q. 74 (3:
126–127, 132); q. 105 (3: 250): “[…] aliquem habitum virtutis vel aliquam partem eius aut ali-
quam habilitatem seu habitualem dispositionem ad bonum.” Summa III, q. 1 (ed. Emmen, 47):
“[…] quae insistentia non est proprie habitus eo modo, quo habitum vocamus dispositionem poten-
tiae ad actum.”
10
Matter is disposed by the forms it has, and the disposition of matter enables it to receive further
forms or certain kinds of acts; see, e.g., Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 16 (ed. Jansen, 1: 315, 336,
339); q. 22 (1: 399–401); q. 49 (2: 15); q. 54 (2: 270); q. 57 (2: 364); q. 61 (2: 547–585); q. 72 (3:
12–13, 31, 41); q. 74 (3: 113–114). For instance, the body is disposed to receive the soul and air is
disposed to receive the form of light, etc. The background is, naturally, Olivi’s acceptance of the
plurality of substantial forms. A clear case of this kind of usage is at Summa II, q. 111 (ed. Jansen,
3: 279): “Licet autem habitus animae vitiosi sint quoad quid nobiliores quam prava dispositio
corporis a qua causantur.”
11
See Pasnau (2011) and Pini (2005).
12
This is pointed out by Pasnau (2011).
13
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 432–433).
14
There is some uncertainty as to what Olivi’s final position is because he proposes slightly diver-
gent views in different places. The bulk of the evidence suggests that habitus belongs primarily to
the form, but it is necessarily actualized in the matter. See Summa II, q. 51 (ed. Jansen, 2: 113); q.
72 (3: 41, 45–46); cf. 58 (2: 432–433). Cf. Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 50, art. 4.
15
See Ribordy (2010) and Toivanen (2013a, 25–30).
s ubstrate of the intellectual part of the soul. In this way, there is no need to posit one
type of disposition for material substances and another for the powers of the soul,
because a similar metaphysical structure underlies both of them.
A brief comparison with Aquinas’s view will help to clarify Olivi’s position.
Aquinas emphasizes that habitus can be attributed only to powers that can be deter-
mined in many ways. If a power is determined to one kind of act, it cannot have and
does not need a habitus. Due to this restriction, habitus belongs primarily to rational
powers of the soul, and they can be attributed to sensory powers only insofar as
these can be controlled by the rational ones—that is, they can be attributed only to
the appetitive powers that are responsible for emotions and to some of the internal
senses. Aquinas also argues that habitus cannot be innate, and that irrational ani-
mals cannot have habitus, since they act by natural necessity.16 In sum, Aquinas
makes a clear distinction between dispositio and habitus, and thinks that these two
serve different functional roles. By contrast, as we shall see below, Olivi is ready to
attribute habitus to all powers of the soul, even in irrational animals. He also thinks
that dispositions can be controlled: for instance, when a hand is repeatedly moved
in a certain way, the hand, as a bodily organ, acquires a disposition to move in such
a way, but this hardly necessitates the person to move her hand in that way.17 In this
way, Olivi’s view is not based on a functional difference between dispositio and
habitus. If there is a difference, it is far less pronounced than what we see in Aquinas.
Due to the metaphysical and functional similarity between these two concepts, and
the fact that Olivi uses them interchangeably, we should not limit our inquiry to
those arguments where he explicitly uses the latter term, if we want to understand
the philosophical role that cognitive dispositions have in Olivi’s view. Instead, we
need to examine what kind of functional role the disposition (be it dispositio or
habitus) has in the argument.
So much for the preliminaries. One of the most important places, where Olivi
discusses the metaphysics of the dispositions of the soul, is the question 74 of the
second book of Summa, which aims at clarifying what the efficient cause of cogni-
tive acts of the soul is. His main claim is that acts are caused by the powers of the
soul, which must be intentionally directed at their objects before they can act.18
Sometimes these powers need to be perfected by dispositions, which should not be
understood as active principles or independent elements in the production of an act,
but as modifications of powers, which are the principal efficient causes of their acts.
Moreover, dispositions should not be understood in an instrumental sense; rather,
the power and its dispositions form one unified efficient cause.19 Olivi clarifies his
16
See Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 49, art. 4; q. 50, art. 3, esp. ad 3; and q. 51, art. 1.
17
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 432). Olivi uses this example as an illustration
of the manner in which repeated use of the will brings about a habitus in the spiritual matter of the
will.
18
In other words, Olivi argues that the soul is not a passive recipient of external stimuli but has an
active role in cognitive processes. For a more detailed discussion and references, see Silva and
Toivanen (2010, 260–277), and Toivanen (2013a, 141–191).
19
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 127); q. 58 (2: 429, 432–433).
190 J. Toivanen
theory by comparing the perceiving subject to a cutting sword. The cutting is an act
that is ultimately attributed to the sword as a whole, though it involves various ele-
ments: the hardness of iron represents the power of the soul; the sharpness of the
sword can be compared to one type of disposition; the shape of the sword is like
another disposition; and its impetus is the intentional directedness of the power that
accounts for the connection between the power and the perceived object.20 The illus-
tration may not be as instructive as Olivi hopes, but the fundamental idea is clear:
the dispositions and the intentional directedness should not be considered as direct
causal factors of the act but rather as modifications or conditions which make the
soul’s power capable of performing its act.
To my knowledge, Olivi never offered a detailed and systematic definition of the
dispositions of the soul. The closest thing to a definition that I have been able to find
is as follows: “Habitus are certain efficient principles of their acts, that is, they are
formal dispositions of a power by which the power becomes capable or more capa-
ble of causing such an act.”21 Although dispositions are here called efficient princi-
ples, it is clear that they do not bring about acts independently, but are more like
modifications of a power that make certain kinds of actions either possible or easier
to bring about. In addition, we can find the following bits of information from vari-
ous contexts: dispositions are first actualities of powers, they are generated and
strengthened by acts, they become weaker if they are not practised, and they admit
variations with respect to their strength.22 The overall picture that emerges on the
basis of these details is that the powers of the soul are active efficient causes of their
acts. Repeating one kind of action generates a disposition—that is, it modifies the
power, and allows it to perform the same kind of action more easily. Dispositions
are generated rather easily, but practice strengthens them. As far as I can see, so
far there is nothing special in Olivi’s view. He defends a rather typical medieval
conception of the dispositions of the soul.23 However, he also puts forth ideas that
are less conventional. Two of them are especially important for my purposes. First,
20
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 128). The two kinds of dispositions in this illus-
tration correspond to types A and B as discussed below.
21
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 119): “Habitus sunt quaedam principia effectiva
suorum actuum, id est, sunt formales dispositiones potentiae per quas fit potens vel potentior ad
talem actum efficiendum.” Olivi is not aiming to give a full definition, but to distinguish disposi-
tions from memory species. In other places, he characterizes dispositions as follows: “Nullus habi-
tus intellectus vel voluntatis dicit per se rationem principalis potentiae activae, sed solum aliquam
dispositionem ipsius, determinantem ipsam ad speciale obiectum et ad specialem modum agendi”
(ibid., ed. Jansen, 3: 127); “Et sic species actus non datur ab aliquo habitu, immo potentia est sem-
per principale agens; habitus vero cooperatur ei non proprie per modum agentis instrumentalis, sed
per modum formalis dispositionis potentiae agentis” (ibid., ed. Jansen, 3: 132).
22
See Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 51 appendix (ed. Jansen, 2: 165); q. 16 (1: 346); q. 58 (2: 467);
q. 74 (3: 117, 130); and q. 22 (1: 390, 407–408).
23
It is interesting that Olivi presents many of his ideas in order to refute other (unnamed) philoso-
phers, who held contrary views, which shows that even though his view may be typical in many
respects, it was not universally accepted. He is taking part in ongoing debates concerning the
nature of dispositions.
he makes a distinction between two different kinds of disposition in the cognitive

powers of the soul by arguing that:
And perhaps all [cognitive powers] need some accidental clarity or vigour, which is
greater or lesser not only in different people, but in one and the same person at different
times. When this clarity is in the intellect, we call it “cleverness that makes one apt to learn
and sharp” or “prompt perspicacity to learn and investigate many subtle things easily.”
And this is one genus of the dispositions (habitus) of cognitive powers. In addition, in
relation to certain acts or modes of acting (modorum agendi), the interior powers, and
especially the superior powers, need certain other dispositions (habitus), which determine
the power to habitual assent or dissent, which is sometimes knowing, sometimes believing
or opining.24
Olivi notices that the dispositions of cognitive powers are often charged with two
functions that can be distinguished from each other. On the one hand, having a habi-
tus of, say, knowledge makes it easy to think about the objects and propositions that
fall under the branch of knowledge that the habitus is about; on the other hand, it
entails assenting to the truth of those objects and propositions. Olivi wants to keep
these two apart. Dispositions of the first kind (call them type A) refer to an acciden-
tal capacity that explains why some people are quick to learn and can think easily
and clearly, while others are slow and confused. The reason for attributing type-A
dispositions is that the cognitive powers as such, without any habituation, always
function equally well, and the differences between individuals and changes that one
individual may undergo require appealing to habituation of the cognitive power.
The main explanatory function that these dispositions have is that they account
for a cognitive power’s raw ability to comprehend its proper objects. Powers of the
soul can be habituated to work better and more easily, and if they are not used
enough they will become less capable of apprehending their objects. Moreover, the
scope of type-A dispositions can be quite narrow, in the sense that they account for
differences between individuals who have specialized in different subjects: one is
good in mathematics, another in physics, and their difference is due to their having
two different kinds of type-A dispositions; one pertaining to mathematical thinking
and the other to physics.25
The other function of cognitive dispositions is related to assenting to, or dissent-
ing from, the object or proposition that one has in mind. Olivi attributes this func-
tion to another kind of disposition (call it type B), and characterizes it by appealing
24
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 114): “Et forte in omnibus [potentiis cognitivis]
exigitur aliqua accidentalis claritas seu vivacitas. Quae non solum in diversis personis est maior et
minor, sed etiam pro diversis temporibus in eadem. Hanc autem claritatem in intellectu vocamus
ingeniositatem docibilem et acutam seu perspicaciam promptam ad multa et alta faciliter addis-
cenda vel investiganda. Et hoc est unum genus habitus potentiarum cognitivarum. Respectu etiam
quorundam actuum vel modorum agendi exigunt potentiae interiores, et specialiter superiores,
aliquos alios habitus determinantes potentiam ad habituales assensus vel dissensus, qui aliquando
sunt scitivi, aliquando vero creditivi seu opinativi.” Elsewhere in the same question (3: 131–132),
the expression modus agendi is used.
25
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 118).
192 J. Toivanen
to a “mode” of acting and/or apprehending the object and proposition (modus

agendi). In order to understand what he means, let us begin with the following
passage:
It is proven that certain habitual clarity or habitual sharpness is required for a cognitive act.
First, not only from the fact that some people have sharper and quicker vision, hearing, or
understanding to perceive their objects anew more quickly and clearly than others, but also
because this happens to the same person at different times. […] Sometimes another disposi-
tion (habitus) is needed, which differs from the previous one, and this becomes clear from
the disposition of faith, without which no one can believe virtuously and in a way that
brings salvation, those things which we must believe, according to God. However, the dis-
positions of knowledge, opinion, or estimation, which are generated by our acts, are not
necessarily required for acts of knowing or opining. […] It is clear that these and similar
dispositions differ from the first genus of dispositions. First, because these dispositions
designate habitual assent or dissent, which habitually affirms or rejects its objects, whereas
the aforementioned clarity or sharpness means nothing like this.26
Olivi makes use of the same distinction between the dispositions of type A and
B. While the former account for the power’s raw ability to grasp its objects, the lat-
ter pertain to the way the subject relates to them. The list of B-dispositions that he
gives here includes various kinds of epistemic stances, such as faith, knowledge,
opinion, and estimation.27 Faith is probably the most informative example.28 Olivi
explains elsewhere that it affects the way we consider the objects of our thoughts
without changing the raw contents of the thought itself. One who has the disposition
of faith thinks of the same cognitive or propositional content in a different way from
one who lacks faith, but the content of the thought itself is not affected.29
26
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 117–118): “[A]liqua habitualis claritas seu ali-
quod habituale acumen exigatur ad actum cognitivum, probatur. Primo, ex hoc quod non solum
quidam habent visum vel auditum vel intellectum acutiorem et promptiorem ad sua obiecta citius
et clarius de novo percipienda quam alii, immo idem homo pro temporibus diversis hoc habet. […]
Aliquando exigatur alter habitus a praedicto, patet ex habitu fidei, sine quo nullus potest virtuose
et salutifere credere illa, quae sunt nobis secundum Deum credenda. Habitus vero scientiae vel
opinionis vel aestimationis per nostros actus aggeneratus non necesario praeexigitur ad actum
sciendi vel opinandi. […] Quod autem isti habitus et consimiles differant a primo genere habituum
patet. Primo, ex hoc, quia isti habitus dicunt habitualem assensum vel dissensum habitualiter affir-
mantem vel negantem sua obiecta, praedicta vero claritas vel acumen nihil tale dicit.”
27
The list here is not exhaustive. In addition to faith, knowledge, opinion, and estimation, Olivi
mentions at least habitus erroneus/errorum, habitus dubitativus, habitualis credulitas, and of
course virtue and vice; see Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 130–131); q. 40 (1: 686–687); Summa
III (passim).
28
It should be noted that faith is singled out as a special case because it is the only B-disposition
that one must have before being able to act accordingly. In the case of knowledge, opinion, and
estimation, the acts come first and the dispositions are generated by the acts. See also Summa II, q.
74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 130).
29
Olivi points out in Summa II, q. 74 (ed. Jansen, 3: 118–119) that dispositions affect the way we
consider the objects of our thoughts. A Jew and a Christian both may think of Jesus, but only the
latter thinks of him as Christ, and the difference is due to the disposition of Christian faith, which
is present in the latter but not in the former: “[…] nam Iudaeus credens Iesum non esse Deum nec
de Virgine natum ita habet memoriales species horum terminorum sicut habet Christianus hoc
credens.”
The reason for this is that B-dispositions account for the assent or dissent (assen-
sus vel dissensus) that the cognitive subject gives to the cognitive content of her
thought. It is possible to know what the terms “woman,” “virgin,” and “to give birth”
mean without assenting to the proposition that “A virgin has given birth” (that is,
without believing in Virgin Birth). The B-disposition of faith explains the difference
between a Catholic and an atheist in this respect. Olivi writes:
Cognizing the terms [of a proposition] differs in reality from the aforementioned assent […]
because these kinds of terms are often known without knowing or believing their affirma-
tive or negative composition. This is clear from one who knows what “woman,” “virgin,”
and “to give birth” mean, without yet knowing or believing that virgin has given birth.
Secondly, because we can, from the same terms that we know, have some knowledge or
opinion at one time, its contrary at another time; we can now have true knowledge or opin-
ion, now false, now probable, now improbable, and the passage of time can change this
ad infinitum.30
As a matter of fact, there are at least two possible ways to interpret his view: (1) an
atheist knows the terms but does not form the proposition, whereas a believer forms
the proposition, due to his faith. According to this reading, forming propositions and
syllogisms from terms would require a B-disposition. (2) An atheist knows the
terms and can form the proposition but he does not assent to it because he does not
have the B-disposition of faith. In this case, the task of type-A dispositions would
be to facilitate forming propositions and syllogisms, and the type-B dispositions
would take care of assenting or dissenting in a certain way—either by having a
disposition of faith (assent, belief), having a contrary disposition (dissent, unbelief),
or not having a B-disposition at all. It is not completely clear which of these inter-
pretations is correct but I tend to favour the latter, for two reasons. First, Olivi
explicitly says that the function of B-dispositions is not to facilitate forming syllo-
gisms or propositions; they account for assenting and dissenting to syllogisms and
propositions. Second, Olivi points out that knowledge and opinion may change
from one extreme to the other, even in the case of a single person, which suggests
that the issue is not about forming the proposition but about assenting to or dissent-
ing from it.31
Supposing that the same structure applies to all B-dispositions, the division of
labour between them and the type-A dispositions is that the latter accounts for one’s
ability to grasp the essence of a certain kind of substance and to form a proposition
or syllogism in relation to it, and the former pertains to the way the subject relates
to the substance, proposition or syllogism. Thus, there may be two persons, one of
whom is quick to understand a philosophical position or logical structure of an
30
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 36 (ed. Jansen, 1: 651): “[N]otitia terminorum differat realiter a
praedicto assensu […] quia saepe sciuntur huiusmodi termini absque hoc quod sciamus vel creda-
mus affirmativam vel negativam compositionem ipsorum, sicut patet de eo qui scit quid est mulier
et quid virgo et quid parere, et tamen nondum scit vel credit mulierem virginem peperisse. Secundo,
quia de eisdem terminis nobis notis possumus nunc unam scientiam vel opinionem habere, nunc
vero contrariam, et nunc veram, nunc erroneam, nunc probabilem, nunc improbabilem, et hoc per
successionem temporum potest sic in infinitum variari.”
31
See also Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 74, ad 1 (ed. Jansen, 3: 131).
194 J. Toivanen
a rgument, whilst the other needs more time and effort in order to grasp it. These
persons differ because the first has acquired a disposition to operate with philo-
sophical concepts and arguments and the other has not; they have different disposi-
tions of type A. However, there may also be two persons who are equally good in
understanding a certain philosophical position or the logical structure of an argu-
ment, but the other believes that it is true while the other rejects it as false, or one
knows that it is true and the other has an opinion about—but not the knowledge
of—its truthfulness. These persons have similar A-dispositions but different
B-dispositions. If this is on the right track, we may think that Olivi distinguishes
understanding from knowledge: it is possible to understand the structure of an argu-
ment without knowing that it is true or false, or without assenting to its
truthfulness.
The expression modus agendi is an accurate description of what the B-disposition
changes, since knowing, opining and rejecting are different types of actions,
although they are performed by one and the same power. In addition to being more
or less clever, individual human beings may have different kinds of B-dispositions.
When Olivi discusses them, he seems to have in mind the subjective elements that
distinguish these modes of acting from each other. This is in line with his general
approach to psychological questions: he takes the phenomenological aspect of cog-
nitive psychology seriously. One who has a strong opinion that a proposition P is
true may be right (he may have true belief) but his epistemic stance nevertheless
differs from another person’s knowledge that P is true. The one who knows P lacks
any degree of uncertainty, whereas the one who has an opinion, however strong it
may be, is not completely certain in his assent. In other words, the phenomenologi-
cal feel of thinking about P is different in the case of these two persons. Olivi does
not explain the function of B-dispositions explicitly in these terms but when he
appeals to the difference between the two kinds of dispositions in the question 36 of
his Summa, he clearly indicates that there is a phenomenological difference between
different epistemic stances:
Likewise, as we experience in ourselves, dispositions of knowledge or belief or opinion are
the same in us as habitual affirming or negating, or habitual assent or dissent of the intellect
concerning the truthfulness or falsity of its objects—unless you understand by the term
‘disposition’ a habitual sharpness of perspicacious mental ability or its opposite, that is,
habitual tardiness and stupidity of undeveloped and thick mental ability. But habitual assent
is called disposition of knowledge, when it is knowing; but when it is believing or opining,
it is called a disposition of belief or opinion.32
In this context, Olivi does not address the objective elements that distinguish the
epistemic stances of knowing, believing and having an opinion. Instead, he
32
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 36 (ed. Jansen, 1: 650–651): “Item, quantum in nobis experimur,
scientialis aut creditivus vel opinativus habitus in nobis sunt idem quod habitualis affirmatio vel
negatio seu habitualis assensus vel dissensus intellectus de veritate vel falsitate obiectorum suo-
rum, nisi per nomen habitus intelligas habituale acumen ingenii perspicacis vel oppositum eius,
scilicet habitualem tarditatem et hebetudinem ingenii rudis et grossi. Habitualis autem assensus,
quando est scitivus, dicitur habitus scientiae; quando autem est creditivus vel opinativus, dicitur
habitualis credulitas vel opinio.”
emphasizes the subjective quality or “feel” that an act of assenting or dissenting

may have. We can form propositions from various terms, and we may assent to, or
dissent from, the proposition in various ways, depending on the B-disposition that
we happen to have. This is the reason why the expression modi agendi is an apt
description of B-dispositions. When one gives assent to a proposition P with a dis-
position of knowledge, one thinks of P in a different “mode”, compared to a situa-
tion where P is merely believed or considered probable. If we wanted to express
these different modes in a propositional form—something Olivi might or might not
be willing to do—the disposition of knowledge could be something like “I know P
to be true,” and the disposition of opinion “I think that P is true.” The same P is
thought of in a different light and the phenomenological experience is different in
the two cases.
It should be noted that I emphasize the phenomenological or “modal” difference
between various kinds of B-dispositions because it plays a central role in various
dispositions of the cognitive powers of the soul that we shall discuss below. However,
I also believe that it is the most natural reading of Olivi’s theory of the two kinds of
dispositions.
Thus, the roles of the two kinds of dispositions can be summed up as follows:
. Dispositions of type A make the power capable of acting easily.
A
B. Dispositions of type B determine the kind of assent or dissent one gives to an
object of cognition.
Both types of dispositions are crucial for understanding various special cognitive
functions that Olivi discusses.
I mentioned above that there are two ideas that are important for my purposes.
The other of them is that cognitive dispositions are not restricted to the intellectual
level. Of course, there is nothing special in conceptualizing, say, moral virtues as
dispositions of the appetitive powers of the sensory part of the soul, which make
them liable to be controlled by the reason and will,33 but Olivi thinks that also the
cognitive powers of the sensory soul—both internal and external senses—can be
habituated in such a way that their proper activity is modified.34 They are capable of
receiving various dispositions, and (I shall argue) at least some of them admit to
both types of dispositions. Olivi is able to classify the dispositional changes of the
cognitive powers of the sensory soul under the rubric of habitus due to the affinity
that he sees between intellectual, sensory, and even bodily dispositions: these pow-
ers can be habituated, regardless of whether they can be controlled by reason or not.
There is no radical difference between the intellectual and sensory dispositions: in
See, e.g., Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 50, art. 3.

33
Aquinas acknowledges the possibility that the internal senses of human beings can be habituated,
34
but he explicitly denies that the external senses can; see ST I–II, q. 50, art. 3, ad 3. Olivi uses seeing
and hearing as examples of powers that can be affected by dispositions of type A; see note 26
above.
196 J. Toivanen
both cases, the raw ability of the power to perform its cognitive act, and the mode in
which the act is performed, are accounted for by appealing to habitus.35
10.3 Dispositions in Sensory Cognition
We have already seen that Olivi accepts the existence of cognitive dispositions in
the sensory powers of the soul. He repeatedly says that the external senses may
acquire dispositions, and when he claims that “the interior powers”36 may be modi-
fied by them, it is not difficult to decipher that he is referring to the internal senses.
To boot, the appetitive powers of the soul can be habituated too.37 Olivi does not
explicitly argue that the dispositions of the sensory powers can be divided between
types A and B. However, the three cases that will be analysed below resemble the
analytic framework that we saw in the previous section. Even if the division between
dispositions A and B may not apply to sensory powers as such, there are good rea-
sons to believe that it guides Olivi’s exposition of the functions of the sensory dis-
positions, and can therefore be used to analyse them.
Dispositions play a central role in at least three different kinds of psychological
processes that belong to the sensory soul: (1) estimative perception, (2) perceptual
clarity, and (3) the pleasure and pain that accompany sense perception. Let us briefly
look at each of these cases.
Animals and human beings often apprehend things in their surroundings as use-
ful or harmful for their well-being. Thirteenth-century Latin philosophers usually
accounted for this phenomenon by arguing that the sensory soul includes a distinct
estimative power. Estimation was thought to be capable of apprehending so-called
intentions (intentiones), which arrive in the cognitive system through the external
senses but cannot be directly perceived. Thus, Aquinas argues that a sheep becomes
afraid and flees a wolf because it apprehends the harmfulness of the wolf by receiv-
ing an insensible intention of harmfulness in its estimative power.38
35
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 111 (ed. Jansen, 3: 272–273): “Circa primum ergo sciendum quod
sensitivae potentiae animae recipiuntur et existunt in partibus corporis sicut in propria materia et,
ut ita dicam, sicut in proprio vase, ita quod in illis et cum illis inclinantur et diriguntur ad sua obi-
ecta et ad suos actus quos utique habent intra ipsas. Et ideo habitus et aspectus et actus potentiarum
sensitivarum sunt in certis partibus corporis sicut in propria materia potentiarum quarum sunt. Hoc
autem facile est videre in sensibus particularibus.”
36
See note 24 above. It is clear that the expression potentiae interiores refers to the internal sense,
because it is contrasted with external senses on the one hand, and intellectual powers (potentiae
superiores) on the other.
37
As Hartman points out in his article below, certain fourteenth century authors claimed that
habitus that make intellectual thinking easier must be located in the sensory powers of the soul.
See p. 235–239.
38
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 78, art. 4; Quaestiones disputatae de anima, q. 13. See also Di Martino
(2008, 85–101).
Olivi rejects this theory. He discards intentions as superfluous and argues that the
estimative perception can be explained by appealing to various kinds of acts of the
common sense. The estimative power and the common sense “are one and the same
power, but in such a way that its estimative dispositions (habitus) […] differ from
that power as an actual disposition differs from the power to which it belongs.”39
Estimative acts of the common sense differ from other perceptual acts only because
they are affected by estimative dispositions, which change the way the perceived
object appears to the perceiver. These dispositions explain why different animals
react in different ways when they perceive the same object. When a sheep perceives
a wolf, it apprehends the wolf in a special way, because it has an innate disposition
to perceive wolves as harmful. By contrast, bigger beasts, such as bears, do not
necessarily apprehend wolves as dangerous for the simple reason that they do not
have a corresponding disposition.40
The same explanation applies to estimative dispositions that result from experi-
ence. For instance, the harmfulness of fire can be perceived by simply touching a
flame and feeling the pain it causes. After one or two similar experiences, the com-
mon sense acquires a disposition to apprehend fire as harmful even when seen from
a distance.41 Yet, it does not seem plausible that this kind of habituation of the cogni-
tive system would alter the perception of the visual qualities of fire as such. The
same qualities are just apprehended as harmful. Olivi acknowledges that this kind of
learning is also possible for non-human animals, although many of their disposi-
tions are innate.42
Olivi does not say it explicitly, but it is not difficult to see that the dispositions he
uses to explain estimative perception are functionally quite close to the B-dispositions
outlined in the previous section. As a matter of fact, the explanation that Olivi uses
to account for estimative perception can be used to illustrate what he had in mind
when he made the distinction between the two kinds of disposition, A and B. The
difference between a sheep and a bear is not in the way they perceive the perceptual
qualities of the wolf, but in the “mode” of perceiving, and this is due to the different
habituation of the cognitive powers of the soul. While the cognitive content of an act
of perception (insofar as it pertains to the sensible qualities of an external object)
remains the same among all perfect animals—which is hardly surprising, since
39
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 64, (ed. Jansen, 2: 603): “[…] sint una et eadem potentia, sic
tamen quod eius habitus aestimativi […] differunt a potentia illa, sicut habitus actualis differt a
potentia cuius est.”
40
For a more detailed analysis, see Toivanen (2007, 2013a, 327–339).
41
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 64 (ed. Jansen, 2: 604–605); q. 58 (2: 509–510).
42
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 63 (ed. Jansen, 2: 601): “Quando etiam canis per doctrinam et
assuessionem acquirit aliquos habitus in suo sensu communi et appetitu, ita quod habitualiter amat
et aestimat multa quae prius non amabat vel odiebat nec noverat: tunc utique habitualis amicitia et
prudentia eius potentiis et organis acquiritur differens a suis actibus qui cito recipiuntur et tran-
seunt”; see also q. 66 (2: 610). Ibid., q. 64 (2: 603): “Quod dico, quia tam in homine quam in brutis
sunt multae habituales aestimationes tam a consuetudine quam a natura genitae et inditae.” Olivi’s
idea that dispositions (habitus) may be innate and thus completely natural goes against Aquinas
(see ST I–II, q. 51, art. 1).
198 J. Toivanen
Olivi defends direct realism in his theory of cognition43—the interpretation of the

relevance of these qualities to the percipient changes from species to species, and
from individual to individual. The same cognitive content appears harmful to one
and indifferent or useful to another. Thus, the sheep sees and smells the wolf as
harmful and dangerous, because its common sense has been disposed by nature to
do so. The bear perceives the colour, shape, and smell of the wolf exactly as the
sheep does, but its cognitive act lacks the additional element of harmfulness.44 The
acts of the external senses and the common sense account for the perceptual content
and “the estimative power adds nothing to the common sense or to the imagination
except for certain habitual estimations or certain dispositions which determine or
incline it to estimate in one way or another.”45 As we have seen, several quotations
in the previous section mention sensory powers of the soul, and therefore transfer-
ring the A-B distinction to the sensory level is less problematic than it may have
appeared to be at the outset.
Olivi gives one further argument that shows the relevance of A-dispositions in
the cognitive operations of the sensory soul. He argues against a view that the com-
mon sense is not susceptible to habitus by appealing to Augustine’s observations:
You may object to some of the aforementioned [arguments] by saying that the common
sense is not susceptible to any habitus or habitual disposition. Firstly, Augustine is against
this objection. He says and proves by experience (in De musica 6) that some people become
more skilful in judging with ease the good or bad quality of wines and their superiority and
inferiority. Likewise, he says that the experience of singing and listening to different songs
generates and augments an affection and a capacity to discern the harmonies of voices more
quickly and easily, not only in the common sense but also in the sense of hearing.46
It is possible to habituate one’s external senses through practice. The musician’s

perception of sounds is accurate compared to the man on the street, because her
common sense and sense of hearing are modified by corresponding dispositions
43
See Pasnau (1997, 168–247) and Tachau (1988, 39–54).
44
One way to put this is to say that the perceptual contents of the cognitive acts of the sheep and
the bear are similar but differ when it comes to the estimative element. This means, of course, that
the cognitive experience of these two animals is different because the estimative element is part of
it.
45
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 64 (ed. Jansen, 2: 604): “[A]estimativa nihil addit supra sensum
communem et imaginativam nisi solum quasdam habituales aestimationes vel quasdam dispositio-
nes determinantes aut inclinantes ad sic vel sic aestimandum.”
46
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 64 (ed. Jansen, 2: 605): “Si vero contra quaedam praedictorum
obicias quod sensus communis non est susceptivus alicuius habitus vel habitualis dispositionis:
contra hoc est primo Augustinus, VI Musicae, dicens et experimentis probans quod aliqui ex fre-
quenti usu probandi et gustandi vina acquirunt maiorem peritiam faciliter iudicandi bonitatem vel
malitiam vinorum ac melioritatem et peioritatem eorum. Et consimiliter dicit quod ex usu cantandi
et cantus varios audiendi non solum in sensu communi sed etiam in sensu auditus gignitur et auge-
tur aliqua affectio et discretio ad concordantias vocum subtilius et facilius discernendas.” See also
Summa IV, q. 7 (ed. Maranesi, 159). Olivi is not completely consistent when it comes to the seat
of the dispositions which allow us to, say, better judge the quality of wines. In Summa II, q. 70
(ed. Jansen, 2: 632) he says that such dispositions belong to the sense of taste.
(habitus). It seems that Olivi is here thinking a disposition of type A, because he

refers to the raw ability to perceive better and more accurately. In another similar
example, he argues that part of the process of learning to read is related to the
habituation of the common sense and the sense of sight.47 The difference between
good and slow readers is accounted for by appealing to various degrees of habitua-
tion, caused by different amounts of practice. We can generate dispositions in our
senses (and even in parts of our bodies48) through practice. From a metaphysical
perspective, this process is similar to the one by which a child learns that fire is
harmful, but in this example the way the external object is interpreted by the subject
does not change. Practice just makes the perceptual process faster and more
precise.
If we consider together the two ideas presented above, we see that the range of
psychological operations that Olivi explains by using the concept of habitus is wide.
Perception and estimative evaluation are complex processes, which involve ele-
ments that cannot be reduced to a simple grasping of the perceptual qualities of an
external object. Olivi uses habitus as a powerful metaphysical tool, which allows
him to explain various kinds of higher-order elements in perception without posit-
ing new metaphysical entities in his theory. It also allows him to analyse various
kinds of phenomenological aspects of the perceptual process, which require a
dynamic conception of the activity of the soul. Since all perceiving subjects have the
same set of powers, their differences must be due to the habituation of these
powers.
Finally, Olivi thinks that the pleasure and pain that accompany sense perception
can be accounted for by appealing to dispositions and habituation. In order to under-
stand his view, we need to make a short detour into his conception of the psycho-
logical constitution of the soul, which is surprisingly complex, given his general
tendency to reduce the number of internal senses. Namely, he argues that every
external sense is accompanied by what might be called an “affective power.”49 These
affective powers of the senses serve to explain several empirical facts that we
encounter in our everyday lives: sometimes we enjoy and sometimes we suffer
when we perceive the same object, or one that is in relevant ways similar; we are
47
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 64 (ed. Jansen, 2: 605): “Praeterea, nunquid acumen sensualis
iudicii in suis obiectis acutius et facilius iudicandis iuvatur per frequens exercitium? Certe pueri,
quando didicerunt litteras et ex litteris syllabas et dictiones componere et legere psalmos, habent
sensualem habitum cito diiudicandi et discernendi quaeque legenda, ita quod quosdam dicimus in
hoc tardos et duros, quosdam vero acutos et promptos.” When children learn to read, they learn to
recognize a certain arrangement of lines as a letter. This change in their perception is caused by an
acquired habitus, which is possible to understand as similar to B-dispositions. See Toivanen
(2013b, 333–335) for discussion.
48
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 58 (ed. Jansen, 2: 432).
49
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 635–636): “Videtur ergo quod quilibet sensus
duas potentias comprehendat, unam scilicet apprehensivam et aliam appetitivam.” See also q. 54,
277. Olivi’s position is dynamic: the dispositional state of the appetitive powers of the senses
changes from time to time. For a more detailed discussion, see Toivanen (2011, 428–438).
200 J. Toivanen
capable of developing a liking for certain kinds of things that we did not like before;
and we can see that different animals find different things pleasant or
disagreeable.50
None of these phenomena is due to changes in the way the sensory qualities of
the object are perceived. Instead, Olivi accounts for them by appealing to the chang-
ing state of the affective powers of the senses:
For, an object is not perceived to be fitting solely because its essence and nature (taken
absolutely) are perceived and discerned absolutely, but rather because it is perceived to cor-
respond with and to conform to an inclination of the subject (affectioni suae). This idea is
proved: the same nature of an object is sometimes perceived as fitting, sometimes as unfit-
ting, and sometimes as indifferent, without there being any alteration in the object or in the
cognition of the object (as a cognition) but only in the inclination and in the mode of being
inclined (modi afficiendi). […] Furthermore, when our [sense of] taste tastes or gnaws at a
refined husk, it senses it as indifferent to itself, whereas the [sense of] taste of a bovine
animal tastes a husk as pleasant to itself, and another animal—which by its very nature
abhors husks—senses them as horrible to itself. Yet the absolute nature of the taste of a husk
is the same among all the [senses of] taste.51
The last sentence of this passage underlines a crucial point in Olivi’s theory: even if
different animal species react differently to one and the same object, they perceive
it uniformly. The taste of husks is similar to humans and cows (leaving aside the
obvious fact that cows have tasted husks more often than an average human being,
which probably makes them more qualified to make distinctions between high-
quality husks and those that grow on an inferior terroir); what changes is the affec-
tional aspect of perception. The affection that explains the changing effects that
external objects have on us are due to the affective powers of the senses.52 The sense
of taste in cows and sheep has an affection towards husks, but the sense of taste of
human beings is differently disposed, which explains why the taste of husks is
pleasant for cows and sheep but is indifferent for us. Some of these affections
change easily (hunger and thirst), others are innate and unchanging (the taste of
50
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 632): “[E]x visu vel apprehensione eiusdem
proprii et formalis obiecti aliquando delectamur, aliquando contristamur; unde aliquando in gustu
vini vel mellis eiusdem saporis delectamur et aliquando sic contristamur quod illud tanquam
abominabile reicimus et evomimus.” See also ibid., q. 64 (2: 605); Summa IV, q. 7 (ed. Maranesi,
159).
51
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 633): “Quia obiectum non sentitur esse conve-
niens ex hoc solo quod absolute sentitur et discernitur eius essentia et natura absolute sumpta, sed
potius ex hoc quod sentitur concordare et conformari alicui affectioni suae. Quod probatur: quia
eadem natura obiecti aliquando sentitur ut conveniens, aliquando vero ut disconveniens, aliquando
vero ut indifferens, et hoc nulla variatione facta ex parte ipsius nec ex parte cognitionis eius, in
quantum cognitio, sed solum ex parte affectionis et modi afficiendi. […] Gustus etiam noster,
quando tangit vel rodit paleam mundam, sentit eam ut sibi indifferentem, gustus vero bovis ut sibi
delectabilem, et aliud animal naturaliter horrens eam sentit eam ut sibi horribilem; et tamen
absoluta natura sui saporis est apud omnes gustus eadem.” See also ibid., q. 54 (2: 277–278) and
Summa IV, q. 7 (ed. Maranesi, 160–161).
52
See, e.g., Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 635).
husks), and some are in between, as they must be learned but do not change quickly
(musical taste).53
The structural and functional similarity between these examples and the two
kinds of disposition is clear. To boot, Olivi conceptualizes the state of the affective
powers of the senses as a kind of habitus: “An inclination (affectio) is a kind of
habitual [state] (quiddam habituale) of a power which can be inclined in opposite
ways or which can receive contrary inclinations.”54 He points out repeatedly that
these habitual states can be altered through experience, and even though there prob-
ably are many things that human beings simply cannot learn to like, it is clear that
we have acquired tastes. For instance, many flavours and musical genres are not
pleasant for someone who is not acquainted with them, yet one may learn to like
them. In an illuminating passage, Olivi explains how changing bodily dispositions
may indirectly affect the way the powers of the soul act, using as examples the habi-
tus that the original sin has brought about in the emotional part of the soul, and
matters of taste:
The aforementioned vicious disposition (habitus) is not made by the soul, because the soul
does not cause in itself unnatural habits except through some intervening action. […]
Likewise, the habitual affection of our sense of taste to certain flavours or foods is caused
by diverse complexions or dispositions of the body. […] Also, some people have, due to a
different disposition of their brain and sense of hearing, a habitual taste for certain kind of
singing, which others dislike habitually because of a contrary disposition; and the same
holds for smells and visible and tangible qualities.55
One of the points that Olivi wants to make here is that some dispositions are not
caused by acts of the soul. One learns to like certain kinds of music and food, not by
repeatedly liking them, but by undergoing bodily changes in the organs of the pow-
ers that are responsible for the pleasure and pain that accompany perceptual acts. It
is possible that at least some of these dispositions are innate but, at least on the face
of it, Olivi does not rule out the possibility that they may be learned as well. These
53
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 632): “Nullus sensus in obiecto delectatur, nisi
prius habeat quandam affectionem proportionalem ad illud. Quae quidem affectio secundum eum
[sc. Augustinum] ibidem [VI Musicae] per frequens exercitium augetur et per contrarium usum
minuitur et aliquando eius contraria gignitur, et dat exemplum in auditu cui aliqui modi cantuum
placent qui prius non placebant, dicitque quod, nisi numerosam proportionem illorum cantuum
haberet prius in aliqua affectione sua, non repente demulceretur in auditu illius nec offenderetur in
auditu contrarii, et idem dicit de gustu respectu diversorum vinorum.” See also ibid., q. 64 (2: 605);
Summa IV, q. 7 (ed. Maranesi, 159).
54
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 70 (ed. Jansen, 2: 632–633): “Ergo ista affectio est quiddam
habituale alicuius potentiae oppositis modis affectibilis seu contrariarum affectionum
susceptibilis.”
55
Peter John Olivi, Summa II, q. 72 (ed. Jansen, 3: 32): “Praedictus etiam habitus vitiosus non est
factus ab anima, quia ipsa non causat in se habitus innaturales nisi per aliquam actionem interme-
diam. […] Item, fit hoc modo habitualis affectio nostri gustus ad hunc vel illum saporem vel cibum
ex varia complexione vel corporis dispositione causata. […] Quibusdam etiam secundum variam
dispositionem cerebri et auditus habitualiter sapiunt quidam modi cantandi qui aliis propter con-
trariam dispositionem habitualiter desipiunt, et idem est de odoribus et visibilibus et
tangibilibus.”
202 J. Toivanen
changes alter the way the powers are disposed and react to hearing music and tasting
food, and when one is repeatedly exposed to a particular piece of music or a particu-
lar flavour, the disposition of the body becomes more adapted to them. This process
has an effect on the affective powers of the senses, which in turn explains why one
acquires new tastes.
The psychological role that Olivi ascribes to the “habitual affection,” which is
caused by the disposition of the body and its organs, is functionally similar to type-
B dispositions. As in the case of tasting husks, the perception of the audible qualities
of music or the flavours of a certain dish does not change due to the changing state
of the affective powers of the senses (although one may learn through experience to
distinguish more clearly the various elements in the music, or in the flavour, as we
have seen above). The change takes place at a different level, as the “mode” of per-
ception changes from indifferent to pleasurable. Perhaps apprehending a piece of
music as pleasant does not involve assenting to it, in the way that thinking of a
proposition as true does, but the phenomenological difference that holds between
opinion and knowledge can be considered analogous to the phenomenological dif-
ference between hearing a tune as pleasant and hearing the same tune without affec-
tion. Although Olivi does not mention the distinction between types A and B when
he explains how pleasure and pain come about, the functional roles played by these
two dispositions are part of his view.
10.4 Conclusion
Dispositions of the cognitive and appetitive powers of the soul are crucial for Olivi’s
philosophical psychology and the concepts of habitus and disposition play a central
role in his view concerning the differences between individual human beings, as
well as between different animal species. Usually we perceive things around us
uniformly, but our estimations of their relevance to our well-being vary from indi-
vidual to individual. Moreover, some of us are better than others at perceiving the
minute details of external objects, we tend to like and dislike different things, and
our epistemic stances towards factual matters vary. Instead of appealing to differ-
ences in the cognitive powers of the soul as such, Olivi explains the kind of indi-
viduality at play in these cases—the individual features that distinguish one person
from another—as the result of these powers being habituated. In his hands, the
concept of habitus becomes a powerful tool, which can be used to account for a
wide array of complex psychological phenomena that we experience on a daily
basis.
One of the most interesting aspects of Olivi’s theory of the cognitive role of habi-
tus is the distinction he makes between dispositions that make one person quick to
learn and understand on the one hand, and dispositions that change the mode of
assenting on the other. While the former dispositions refer to the familiar phenom-
enon that practice makes perfect, the latter explain why different people react differ-
ently to one and the same cognitive content, even when their cognitive powers grasp
their objects uniformly. Two people can think about a proposition or syllogism in
such a way that one of them knows that it is true, while the other remains doubtful.
The difference between these two thinkers is that the former has a habitus of knowl-
edge and the other a habitus of opinion. This division of labour between the two
kinds of disposition is applied to several psychological operations of the sensory
soul as well.
The concept of habitus is highly flexible in Olivi’s philosophical psychology, but
the flexibility comes at the cost of conceptual clarity. Olivi seems to oppose any
clear-cut distinction between habitus and dispositio, which means that the concept
of habitus loses the analytical power it has in some other medieval theories. When
very different kinds of phenomena—from the changeable states of bodily organs to
the intellectual disposition of faith—are conceptualized by using the same set of
terms, the unity of the concept is hard-pressed. Yet, the flexibility of the concept
allows Olivi to underline the dynamic nature of human psychology and to consider
various phenomenological matters with unprecedented precision.56
References
Primary Literature
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Jansen. 3 vols. Bibliotheca Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 4–6. Florence: Collegium
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———. 2004. Quaestiones de novissimis ex Summa super IV Sententiarum, ed. Pietro Maranesi.
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———. 1996. Quaestiones disputatae de anima, ed. Bernardo C. Bazán. Sancti Thomae de
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tique, dissidence spirituelle et société. Paris: Vrin.
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56
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———. 2011. Metaphysical themes 1274–1671. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
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10X535824.
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Yrjönsuuri, Mikko. 2002. Free will and self-control in Peter Olivi. In Emotions and choice from
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Chapter 11
Thomas of Sutton on Intellectual habitus
Jean-Luc Solère
Abstract According to the Dominican Thomas of Sutton (ca. 1250–1315), the

reception of intelligible species in the potential intellect is in every point similar to
the actualization of forms in matter, which means that the potential intellect remains
completely passive through the whole process of concept acquisition. However,
Sutton adds that when the intelligible species are stored in the memory and aggre-
gate in logically organized clusters, thus becoming intellectual habitus, they have a
way of being that is not found in material things, namely, incomplete actuality.
Without being properly speaking efficient causes of mental processes, they sponta-
neously tend to emerge by themselves into the light of awareness—even though
other elements (other intelligible species, notably, or the will) may in fact block
them. This special sort of self-actualization is compatible, Sutton thinks, with the
passivity he ascribes to the potential intellect.
Keywords Accidental potentiality · Action and passion · Cognitive acts · habitus ·

Intellect · Intellectual knowledge · Intelligible species · Memory · Self-
actualization · Henry of Ghent · Thomas Aquinas · Thomas of Sutton
11.1 Introduction
Towards the end of the thirteenth century, more than a few thinkers become con-
cerned about the debasement of the soul they believe the Aristotelian theory of
knowledge might entail because of the passivity it ascribes to our faculties. As a
consequence, they tend to emphasize the cognitive activity of the soul, not only in
the process of abstraction, but also in all subsequent intellective acts, and even in
perceptions.1 The Dominican Thomas of Sutton (ca. 1250–1315), by contrast, has
no such worries. Against the tide, he maintains as much as he can the complete
See Silva and Toivanen (2010), Solère (2014).

1
J.-L. Solère (*)

CNRS, PSL, LEM (UMR 8584)/Boston College,
Chestnut Hill, MA, USA

206 J.-L. Solère
passivity of the soul in cognitive processes. In particular, he denies that the faculty
that Aristotle calls the “potential intellect” has any activity of its own. For him, the
potential intellect is an entirely passive and receptive principle.2
As a result, one may wonder how Sutton can account for cognitive operations
that are based on the mobilization of intellectual habitus. Whether our mind responds
to an external stimulus by applying a concept and categorizing the object of percep-
tion (for example, identifying it as a coyote rather than a dog), or deliberately
retrieves information from a body of knowledge it conserves (for instance, using
memorized multiplication tables to make a calculation), it seems that we are actively
processing data. If so, Sutton’s passivism is out of touch with the reality of our cog-
nitive functioning.
In fact, as we will see, Sutton acknowledges that intellectual habitus are endowed
with a certain kind of intrinsic dynamism. He is therefore able to offer a more plau-
sible picture of the mind’s functioning. But this dynamism is comparable to that of
“natures” in Aristotelian physics, and is not to be confused with some form of self-
causation. Thus, Sutton can hope that the active role he ascribes to intellectual habi-
tus remains consistent with his passivist principles.
Before examining how Sutton comes to these conclusions, we will first need to
take a more general view of his conception of cognitive processes and to contrast it
with some other models. Then I will explain what intellectual habitus consist in,
according to Sutton, and what is their relation to the cognitive contents called “intel-
ligible species” in medieval theories. Finally, I will turn to the causal role that intel-
lectual habitus play according to Sutton.
11.2 The Nature of Cognitive Processes
In keeping with the total passivity he ascribes to the potential intellect, Sutton rejects
the idea that this faculty, once actualized and determined by the reception of some
intelligible content (an “intelligible species”), still has to draw forth (elicere) the
operation of intellection. In other words, Sutton criticizes the view that the act of
understanding (intelligere) is something more than the mere actualization of an
intelligible species in the potential intellect. On the theory that Sutton attacks,
understanding is an extra step that the potential (and now actualized) intellect
actively has to accomplish above and beyond the reception of an intelligible species,
and by this extra step it accesses a still higher actuality.3
As Johannes Schneider indicates in his edition of Sutton’s Quaestiones ordina-
riae ((1977, 443n46), the target here is Henry of Ghent.4 Henry is in effect one of
2
Thomas of Sutton, Quaestiones ordinariae (Q. ord.), q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 441.551–555; refer-
ences are to pages and lines).
3
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 443.622–444.628). Cf. Aristotle, De an. 2.1,
412a22–23.
4
See Henry of Ghent, Quodl. III, q. 14 (in the Badius edition of the Quodlibeta, 1: fol. 70D):
11 Thomas of Sutton on Intellectual habitus 207
those who are concerned by the perceived debasement of the soul in its relation to
the body and in reaction put the emphasis on its activity.5 In fact, Henry takes this
concern so seriously that after his third Quodlibet (1279) he comes to disown the
received opinion that intelligible species are imprinted in the potential intellect by
the conjoined action of the phantasms and the agent intellect.6 As a result, Henry’s
mature theory might seem to be no longer identical with the view that Sutton attacks,
since this view seems to suppose that intelligible species act on the potential intel-
lect. However, even after 1279 Henry still believes that the potential intellect is
actualized by an intelligible species. Only this intelligible species is what he calls an
“expressive species,” which is not received in the potential intellect as an accidental
form is received in a subject, but is presented to the potential intellect as a cognitive
object, and is in fact nothing more than a sensory representation (or “phantasm”)
universalized by the action of the agent intellect.7 In other words, this cognitive
object just has to be present as cause of the occurrent act of intellection, and this
obtains while it is contained in the imagination, provided that it is illuminated by the
“secundum diversitatem specierum intellectualium et operationum intelligendi quas anima per

specierum informationem elicit.” Ibid. (Badius 1: fol. 70D): “Intellectus non vadit in actum nisi per
receptionem speciei […] per quam ut per formam determinatam elicit actum intelligendi determi-
natum.” To the reference given by Schneider, I would add Quodl. VII, q. 15 (ed. Wilson, 106.14–
108.41) and Summa quaestionum ordinariarum, art. 33, q. 2 (ed. Macken, 151): “Actus enim
primus est esse quod est a forma, actus vero secundus est operari, qui egreditur ab habente formam
per ipsam formam.”
5
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. XI, q. 6 (Badius 2: fol. 451B): “[V]isio et universaliter sensatio actio est
viventis secundum quod est vivens, quae est operatio – non motus neque alteratio, nisi extendendo
nomen alterationis, ut dicitur secundo De anima – et non dicitur sensatio ‘passio’ nisi quia sine
passione aliqua sensus informatus et dispositus sentire non potest.” Cf. Aristotle, De an. 2.6,
417b12–16. Henry of Ghent, Quodl. XI, q. 5 (Badius 2: fol. 451 T): “Actiones autem vitales quae
sunt sensatio et intellectio non sunt mutationes aut motus, sed sunt proprie operationes sensus et
intellectus et habent rationem actionis manentis in agente.” See also ibid., ad 3 (Badius 2: fol.
452H).
6
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. V, q. 14 (Badius 1: fol. 176 M): “Sed talis immutatio per impressionem
speciei a nulla re omnino est in quacumque vi intellectiva, quia non est nisi materialis et per mate-
rialem transmutationem, et quaelibet vis intellectiva immaterialis est Propter quod dicit Philosophus
secundo de anima quod manifestum est ex eis quae apparent in organis sensum, quod non est
similis [corr. ex: simul] passibilitas sensitivi et intellectivi.”
7
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 21 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 337.59–338.72): “[I]ntellectus vero
materialis ab obiecto nullam recipit speciem impressivam. […] necesse est in quantum formae sunt
in actu extra animam quod moveant animam rationalem secundum quod apprehendit eas; licet
nihil imprimant in eam. […] Et ideo anima rationalis, quia nihil sibi habet de rebus per sensum
impressum, cum indigeat adminiculo sensum intelligere, debet considerare intentiones quae sunt
in virtute imaginativa, sicut sensus inspicere sensibilia extra.” Quodl. V, q. 14 (Badius 1: fol. 75D:
“Omnis cognitio sic secundum quod cognitum secundum essentiam cogniti sit in cognoscente. Et
hoc non ut in subiecto cui inhaereat formaliter: sed ut in concipiente obiective.” Summa, art. 33, q.
2 (ed. Macken, 151): “[P]otentia sentiens educitur in actum per formam sensibilis, alterando sen-
sitivum ut formam sibi similem ipsi imprimat. […] [P]otentia intelligens non educitur effective in
actum per aliquam formam sibi impressam, sed solummodo ab ipso intelligibili obiective praesenti
intellectui sicut cognoscibile cognoscenti.” For all the desirable clarity on Henry’s move, see
Rombeiro (2011).
208 J.-L. Solère
agent intellect. This move notwithstanding, it remains true for Henry that the object,
or expressive intelligible species, informs the potential intellect8 and prompts an
intellectual operation.9 Thus, even though the intelligible species has a way of exist-
ing that is no longer that of inherence in the intellect, but rather an “objective” mode
of existence, the two-step process summarized by Sutton is still part of Henry’s
doctrine: being informed by a species, followed by an act of intellection. These two
stages are so definitely distinct that Henry, commenting on Augustine, characterizes
them as two different notitiae, one derived from the other.10
Although it is clear that Sutton primarily had Henry in mind, many other authors
were thinking of cognitive processes along the same lines.11 In fact, the view that
Sutton opposes also looks very similar to that of Thomas Aquinas,12 even though, as
8
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 7 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 32.98–101): “[B]ene verum est quod
potentiam intellectus oportet determinari ab intelligibile ad hoc ut ipsum intelligat, et quod hoc fit
semper per speciem intelligibilis informantem intellectum, quando res intellecta per essentiam
absens est intellectui.” Ibid. (46.430–432): “Tertio modo dicitur species res cognita, ut obiective
existens in cognoscente ut est cognoscens, dans formam ad actum intelligendi, non autem ut forma
impressiva inhaerens intelligenti.” Quodl. IV, q. 21 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 337.59–338.61): “[I]
ntellectus vero materialis ab obiecto nullam recipit speciem impressivam, sed solum expressivam,
qua de potentia intelligente fit actu intelligens.”
9
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 8 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 58.118–123): “[A]ctum intelligendi
secundum intellectum possibilem praecedit actio intellectus agentis denudantis obiectum imagina-
tum in phantasmate a condicionibus particularibus, et per hoc proponentis illud intellectui possibili
ut sit praesens ei et per suam praesentiam actu moveat ipsum et eliciat ex ipso actum intelligendi
terminatum ad ipsum sicut ad obiectum a quo informatur.” Quodl. IV, q. 21 (ed. Wilson and
Etzkorn, 338.75–80): “[A]d actualem intellectum duplex actio necessario concurrit: una, quae est
prima, intellectus circa obiectum quod de se non est nisi in potentia intelligibile, ut per abstractio-
nem fiat actu intelligibile; alia, quae est secunda, obiecti abstracti circa intellectum ad eliciendum
ex ipso actum intelligendi, quod iterato terminatur in idem obiectum, per quod informat intelli-
gendi actum.” Quodl. V, q. 14 (Badius 1: fol. 177S): “[O]peratio et perfectio intelligentis secundum
actum ut est intelligens duo requiruntur, scilicet, ipsum intellectivum, quod in se potest recipere
talem perfectionem in suo intellectu tanquam potentia passiva, et ipsum intelligibile quod potest
agere in intellectu talem perfectionem tanquam vis activa et ratio formalis in intellectu ad elicien-
dum ipsam de potentia intellectus passiva tanquam operationem factam et naturalem compositi ex
intellectu et intelligibili.” Cf. Quodl. XIII, q. 8 (ed. Decorte, 51.70–52.72): here, the light of the
agent intellect through the intelligible disposes the potential intellect to be in actuality the action
that intellection is (“ut sit actus actionis quae est intellectio”), and without this light the potential
intellect would not draw forth this action (“sine qua [luce] determinante vim elicitivam, ipse intel-
lectus possibilis illam [actionem] non eliceret”).
10
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 8 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 63.239–244): “[P]rimo modo notitia in
intellectu dicitur obiectum universale, ut praesens intellectui. […] Ista autem notitia sicut obiectum
movet aciem intelligentiae ad se conversae et elicit ex ea actum intelligendi, qui etiam dicitur noti-
tia alio modo et notitia de notitia.”
11
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 443.622): “Sed multi habent hic falsam imagi-
nationem, quae decipit eos.”
12
See Thomas Aquinas, Sententia libri de anima, lib. 3, lect. 8, n. 2: “[S]et quando iam habet habi-
tum scientiae, qui est actus primus, potest cum voluerit procedere in actum secundum, quod est
operatio”. Quaestiones disputatae de potentia, q. 8, art. 1: “[N]am species intelligibilis, qua fit
intellectus in actu, consideratur ut principium actionis intellectus, cum omne agens agat secundum
quod est in actu; actu autem fit per aliquam formam, quam oportet esse actionis principium.”
a Dominican, Sutton was expected to be a Thomist, and did defend Aquinas’s posi-
tion on other counts.13 For Aquinas, every single cognitive episode is a three-layered
event: an action of an agent, a passion of the faculty, which is the counterpart of the
action of the agent, and in addition a (re-)action of the faculty, which is its opera-
tion—all of these occurring at the same time in the same subject. As Giorgio Pini
(2015, 86) perfectly puts it, “[…] even though the possible intellect’s reception of a
species is necessary for an act of thinking to occur, to think about something is not
to receive a species. Rather it is a distinct event.”14 The potential intellect is of
course a passive power, since it is receptive, the absence of innate cognition making
it necessary that we learn from the world, that is, that we acquire information we do
not already possess. But even though the potential intellect is on the receiving side,
it is nevertheless able to cooperate with the primary agent(s) of the cognitive act,
namely, the object and the agent intellect. Once actualized by the impressed intel-
ligible species, the potential intellect is able to produce a concept (verbum mentis),
which is the culmination of the cognitive process and expresses the quiddity of
things of a given kind.15 Thus, the following steps take place in the potential intel-
lect: (1) the conjoined action of the phantasm and the agent intellect, which is the
actualization of an intelligible species; (2) the corresponding passion of the poten-
tial intellect, which is the reception of this intelligible species; and (3) the subse-
quent operation of the actualized intellect, which is an occurrent act of understanding
an essence.16 But given that action and passion are in fact two sides of the same
event,17 this cognitive process can also be viewed as made up of two steps, as is the
case in Sutton’s presentation of this theory: the acquisition of information, and the
processing/expression of this information in a further stage.
Summa contra Gentiles [= SCG] I, c. 53: “[…] species praedicta, quae est principium intellectualis
operationis ut forma […]”; “[…] intellectus, per speciem rei formatus, intelligendo format in
seipso quandam intentionem rei intellectae.”
13
Such as the unicity of the substantial form; see Schneider’s introduction to Sutton’s Quaestiones
ordinariae (1977, 90*–122*).
14
In a preliminary version of his article, available online, Pini also wrote, no less eloquently: “It is
because the intellect is active with regard to acts of thinking that my acts of thinking are something
that I do, not something that is done to me. […] To think is not a change the intellect undergoes but
a change the intellect effects.” (https://www.academia.edu/37756407/Two_Models_of_Thinking_
prior_longer_version_unpublished_, p. 16–17, retrieved 15 November 2018).
15
Thomas Aquinas, Quodl. V, q. 5, art. 2, ad 2; Quodl. VIII, q. 2, art. 1; ST I, q. 85, art. 3, ad 3;
Scriptum super Sententiis (In Sent.) I, d. 27, q. 2, art. 1; De potentia, q. 8, art. 1. See Taieb’s
contribution in the present volume, p. 127–139.
16
Arguably, the same structure is found in sensory experience, except that, in the final layer, the
sense, by its activity or operation, does not produce an entity equivalent to the “mental word,” but
only “judges” its proper sensible. See Thomas Aquinas, Quodl. VIII, q. 2, art. 1: “Sensus autem
exteriores suscipiunt tantum a rebus per modum patiendi, sine hoc quod aliquid cooperentur ad sui
formationem; quamvis iam formati habeant propriam operationem, quae est iudicium de propriis
obiectis.”
17
Thomas Aquinas, In libros Physicorum, lib. 3, lect. 5, n. 7: “[A]ctio et passio non sunt duo motus,
sed unus et idem motus.”
210 J.-L. Solère
So, for Aquinas, whereas some passions are just passions, the passions of cogni-
tive capacities entail an action, which is the proper operation of these faculties.18
Aquinas sometimes calls “operative potentialities”19 those powers that can carry out
operations. We can therefore say that a passive cognitive faculty is a passive opera-
tive power, as opposed to merely passive, non-operative powers, such as the poten-
tiality for being divided up or painted. Therefore, it is not the fact of carrying out an
operation that distinguishes an active faculty such as the agent intellect from a pas-
sive faculty such as the potential intellect.20 Rather, the difference between them lies
in the fact that an active faculty makes its object be in actuality (as the agent intellect
does for the intelligible content), whereas a passive faculty is moved by an object
that already exists in actuality (the sensibles for the senses, the actualized intelligi-
ble content for the potential intellect).21
By contrast, Sutton affirms that both the sensory faculties and the potential intel-
lect are entirely passive powers that do not carry out an operation of their own once
actualized.22 More precisely, Sutton does not deny that the potential intellect has an
operation, but this operation (intelligere) is merely passive, or is a passion.23 In other
words, this so-called “operation”—namely, an act of understanding or i ntellection—
18
Thomas Aquinas, In Sent. II, d. 36, q. 1, art. 3: “Sunt enim quaedam passiones quae sunt passio-
nes tantum, sicut praecipue patet in passionibus corporalibus, quae ab exteriori infliguntur, ut sec-
tio, et adustio; vel ab aliquo etiam principio interius agente, etiam naturali, ut febris, vel aliquid
hujusmodi. […] Quaedam autem passiones sunt quae non sunt purae passiones, sed sunt simul et
passiones et operationes quaedam, sicut patet in passionibus quae dicuntur operationes animae.
Sentire enim, ut vult philosophus in 2 de anima, pati quoddam est Sed hoc verum est inquantum
sentire perficitur per hoc quod visus a sensibili movetur. Recipiendo speciem ejus qua informatus,
et operationem propriam exercet. Et ita est in omnibus potentiis passivis, quales sunt omnes poten-
tiae sensitivae partis, et etiam intellectivae, praeter intellectum agentem, et praeter virtutes motivas
organis affixas.”
19
Thomas Aquinas, Quaestio disputata de spiritualibus creaturis, art. 11, resp.
20
Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones disputatae de veritate (De ver.), q. 16, art. 1, ad 13: “Non enim
distinguitur potentia activa a passiva ex hoc quod habet operationem: quia, cum cuiuslibet poten-
tiae animae tam activae quam passivae sit operatio aliqua, quaelibet potentia animae esset activa.”
Ibid., q. 26, art. 3, ad 4: “Non enim dicitur virtus activa quae habet aliquem habitum qui est opera-
tio: sic enim omnis potentia animae activa esset.”
21
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 79, art. 7: “[A]liud principium oportet esse potentiam activam, quae
facit obiectum esse in actu; et aliud potentiam passivam, quae movetur ab obiecto in actu existente.
Et sic potentia activa comparatur ad suum obiectum, ut ens in actu ad ens in potentia, potentia
autem passiva comparatur ad suum obiectum e converso, ut ens in potentia ad ens in actu.” De ver.,
q. 8, art. 6: “[R]es autem existentes actu possunt agere actiones, secundum quod sunt actu; ita intel-
lectus possibilis noster nihil potest intelligere antequam perficiatur forma intelligibili in actu.”
22
Note however that Sutton keeps the agent intellect’s function within our mental equipment, and
that this function is perfectly active and carries out the operation of abstraction.
23
Thomas of Sutton, Quodl. I, q. 17 (ed. Schmaus and González-Haba, 121.185). Cf. Q. ord., q. 2,
art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 48.346): “[P]assio, quae est operatio patientis”; Ibid. (47.320–32, 48.340–
342): “[N]ullo modo debet concedi intellectui possibili, quod active eliciat de se operationem
intelligendi. […] Unde quod potentiae passivae dicuntur elicere suos actus, hoc semper intelligen-
dum est passive, non active.”
consists in nothing over and above the reception of an intelligible species.24 Sutton’s
argument is that what one calls an act of understanding consists simply in this: the
intellect becomes “like” its intelligible object, that is, it reproduces isomorphically
an intelligible structure. But a received intelligible species is precisely what makes
the intellect “like” its object, because it is a form that is caused by the object, and
every agent causes something similar to itself, that is, it actualizes in the patient the
same form that it has or is. Therefore, the act of understanding something is nothing
but an intelligible species existing in actuality in the potential intellect.25 If the
understanding of stoneness had to be something more than the intellect’s “assimila-
tion” of stoneness by the presence of an intelligible species, then this species would
have to cause (or contribute to causing) something else in the intellect, which would
make the intellection happen. But the species, like any other agent, could only cause
something that is similar to it. Therefore, it would cause a second species in the
intellect, and it would be by this second species that the intellect becomes “like”
stoneness, and this would be the act of knowing stoneness.26 But if the second spe-
cies can accomplish this, why could the first one not do it directly? Conversely, if
the first one cannot do this, why would the second one be able to, if the two species
are identical in nature? Therefore, the first species is a sufficient formal principle,
and an act of intellection is nothing more than the intellect being informed by a spe-
cies in actuality.27
Sutton’s thesis is at the very least surprising, though it is parsimonious.28 For one
thing, the notion of passive operation sounds like an oxymoron. Moreover, given
24
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 2 (ed. Schneider, 53.468–469): “[I]ntelligere nihil aliud est
quam esse ipsius speciei intelligibilis perficientis intellectum.” Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider
444.629–632): “Sed habere speciem in actu in acie intelligentiae actu informantem potentiam
intellectivam, hoc non potest esse aliud quam actu intelligere, actu considerare.” This is true even
of angelic intellects; they are purely passive tools. See Q. ord., q. 2, art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 50.390–
391). Similarly, sensing is nothing but the actualization of a sensible species in the sense. That is
to say, a sensation is just the acquisition of information by the senses. Q. ord., q. 4 (ed. Schneider,
113.596–600): “Verbi gratia, intelligere non est aliud quam esse speciei intelligibilis, et similiter
sentire non est aliud quam esse speciei sensibilis, quae est principium sentiendi. Unde cum nullus
actus praecedit suum esse, actus qui est principium talis operationis non praecedit operationem
talem.” Quodl. I, q. 13 (ed. Schmaus and González-Haba, 87.34–43): “Homines namque loquentes
in ista materia communiter imaginantur quod virtus apprehensiva, ut visus, non solum sit virtus
passiva, sed cum hoc est activa. […] Et imaginantur quod visio sit quaedam alia res absoluta quam
species quae est principium videndi. […] Sed ista imaginatio falsa est, immo impossibilis. Verum
est quod recipit sensus a sensibili et illud quod primo recipitur in eo, est ipsa sensatio.” Ibid.
(87.53–88.57): “Et verum est quod primum quod recipit visus a visibili est species vel similitudo
ipsius visibilis. Sed ista species non est alius actus a visione. […] [I]psa visio est ipsa informatio
visus per speciem.”
25
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 444.632–642).
26
Obviously, this second species would be something like Aquinas’s “mental word,” concept, or
expressed species. Sutton does not challenge the notion of verbum mentis, but he gives it a different
meaning; see below, sect. 11.
27
Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 444.643–445.665).
28
In fact, this thesis resembles Averroes’s definition of intellection in his Commentarium magnum
in Aristotelis de anima libros, lib. 3, com. 18 (ed. Crawford, 439.76–78): “Abstrahere enim nichil
212 J.-L. Solère
that for Sutton the faculty does not do anything (it does not perform any action), it
is hard to see why the passive actualization by a species should be called an “opera-
tion” at all. However, Sutton has some justifications to offer. He explains that any
operation whatsoever, even a non-cognitive operation such as a material process,
always consists in the informing of a subject by a form. What makes an operation
active is the fact that the agent can carry out this operation directly and just by
itself.29 Fire is always hot in actuality, and its permanent heat is the principle of the
operation that, as an active power, it can have on other things, without receiving
anything from another agent.30 By contrast, a passive power, such as the power of
the wood to be burned, must receive from an external agent that for which it is in
potentiality. Yet in both cases the operation is nothing but the actuality of the form
in a subject. This applies to cognitive operations too: a species is the sole and suf-
ficient formal principle of our cognitive act. Because this species is received from
outside the soul, the cognitive act is a passive operation.31
In fact, the distinction we saw in Henry and Aquinas between the reception of the
species and a resulting action (or reaction) of the faculty, of which the species would
only be one of the formal principles, is metaphysically impossible. Since the faculty
is a principle of receptivity, the mind cannot act by the same principle; for if it did,
it would be passive and active at the same time and in the same respect, which can-
not happen.32 In effect, it is at the very moment I receive a species that I have a
thought about the thing of which the species is the species. Therefore, the imprint-
ing of the species and the resulting operation that Henry and Aquinas claim is an
action are simultaneous. But then the same subject would be both passive and active
in the same respect, which is impossible for Sutton, who, in the wider context of
discussions at the end of the thirteenth century about the possibility of self-causation,
staunchly maintains the unrestricted validity of the axiom “whatever is moved is
moved by another.”33
est aliud quam facere intentiones ymaginatas intellectas in actu postquam erant in potentia; intel-
ligere autem nichil aliud est quam recipere has intentiones.”
29
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 49.371–377): “[O]mnis enim operatio, sive
sit actio, sive non, non est aliud quam esse formae in illo in quo est operatio, formae, dico, quae est
principium operandi. Et quando illa forma non habetur absque receptione ab extrinseco, illa opera-
tio est passio; quando autem est forma indita, tunc non est passio, sed est operatio sine actione et
sine passione: informatio enim principii operativi est ipsa operatio.”
30
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 4 (ed. Schneider, 108.479–109.486).
31
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 4 (ed. Schneider, 108.459–463). Ibid. (107.452–108.457): “[R]
ecipiens enim nihil aliud recipit quam actum, qui est principium essendi vel operandi. Cuius pro-
batio est quod recipiens nihil aliud recipit quam similitudinem agentis; similitudo autem agentis
est actus, quia agens agit secundum quod est in actu, et ita recipiens recipit actum. Actus autem
receptus est principium essendi vel operandi.”
32
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 47.320–48.338, 52.436–447).
33
See Aristotle, Phys. 7.1; 8.4–5. On the thirteenth-century discussions, see Wippel (1973), Teske
(1996), and Solère (2013).
11.3 Habitus as Characteristic of the Mental
Thus, for Sutton, in intellectual cognition we are active only insofar as our agent
intellect carries out an operation of abstraction on phantasms. The act of under-
standing properly speaking, which takes place in the potential intellect, consists
simply in this power being informed by the intelligible species abstracted from the
phantasms, just as life is nothing other than the informing of the body by the soul.34
In this operation, the potential intellect is entirely passive, just as much as matter is.
Sutton thus seems to have a very naturalistic view of cognitive processes. There
appears to be no difference between what happens in the mind and any other instance
of change, including physical processes. A subject, the patient, which in its initial
state was devoid of a certain form, acquires this form because of the action of an
external cause and because it had the potentiality to have this form; that is all there
is to it. Such is the state of something that can be compressed and has been com-
pressed, or can be painted and has been painted: it simply has undergone an actual-
ization by an agent. Sutton seems to view cognitive processes along the same lines:
exactly as fire is nothing more than the form of fire informing matter, he writes, so
knowing something is nothing more than the informing of the potential intellect by
an intelligible species.35
Nevertheless, Sutton does think that mental reality has a specific feature, and so
physical and mental processes are in fact not similar in every respect. The intelligi-
ble species we have been talking about so far are those that exist in complete actual-
ity in the intellect and for this reason constitute an occurrent conception. They shape
the intellect into being actually thinking about something. But the intelligible spe-
cies can also exist in the intellect in a status of lesser, imperfect actuality. This hap-
pens when they are conserved in the intellectual memory, as cognitive habitus.36
They are still present in the intellect, since they have not been lost; but they are not
in full actuality, since they are not modelling the current thinking of the intellect.
This duality of modes of existence or actuality is obviously derived from the distinc-
tion that Aristotle posits, in De anima 2.5 (417a22–29) and Physics 8.4 (255a30–
b5), between different kinds of potentiality: the pure or initial potentiality, in which
there is no actuality at all, and a second level of potentiality, which is in fact a first
actuality, namely, a capacity or power that is fully formed but is not being put to use.
Such is, for instance, the difference between a child who could become a grammarian
34
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 50.381–389): “Et non est maior differentia
inter speciem intelligibilem et intelligere quam inter formam et esse, quia speciem intelligibilem
informare intellectum, hoc est intellectum intelligere, sicut animam informare corpus nihil aliud
est quam corpus vivere, et universaliter formam actuare materiam est ipsam materiam esse in actu.
Sicut enim esse est actualitas formae, ita intelligere est actualitas speciei intelligibilis, et univer-
saliter omnis operatio est actualitas formae in eo in quo est operatio, sive sit operatio quae dicitur
transiens, sive operatio quae dicitur manens.”
35
36
See Hartman’s contribution in the present volume, p. 229–244.
214 J.-L. Solère
but still has to be taught grammar, and a trained grammarian who is not using his
knowledge at the time being but can actualize it at will, and who, when he does use
his knowledge, is in second actuality in that respect.37 So, drawing on the series of
first potentiality, second potentiality/first actuality, and second actuality, Sutton says
that intelligible species, once acquired, oscillate between second actuality, when
they constitute an act of intellection, and first actuality, when they are stored as
habitual knowledge in the memory.38 This is something Aquinas had already n oted.39
But the point Sutton makes is that these different degrees of actuality are found only
in the mind. In physical things, a form can only be either in full potentiality or in full
actuality.40 Never is such a form in a halfway status, except during the process of
change itself. In this process, the form is indeed in imperfect actuality and still
somewhat in potentiality. But when the process has been completed and has come
to a rest—and of course, that is what we need to compare habitual knowledge to,
since that which is conserved in memory is that which has been learned, not that
which is in the process of being learned—the form in matter is fully actualized. It is
there either completely or in mere potentiality. Therefore, one does not find in mate-
rial things the kind of incomplete or first actuality that species have in intellective
memory, namely, the esse habituale. As a consequence, the possession of habitus is
a criterion that distinguishes the mental from the physical.41
37
Henry of Ghent also used this distinction (see notes 4–5 above for references), but for him, sec-
ond actuality is the active operation of the intellect.
38
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 445.665–676): “Relinquitur igitur quod nihil
aliud sit intelligere quam actu habere speciem intelligibilem, et dico: habere actu speciem, quia
habere ipsam in habitu non est actu intelligere, quia habere eam in habitu est habere eam quodam-
modo in potentia. Unde philosophus VIII Physicorum distinguit duplicem potentiam. Dicit enim
quod aliter est in potentia ad scientiam ille qui addiscit et nondum habet habitum scientiae, et aliter
ille qui iam habet habitum scientiae, sed non considerat utens habitum, quia de prima potentia
reducitur in actum.”
39
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 79, art. 6, ad 3.
40
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord. 15 (ed. Schneider, 446.692–699): “Sed in igne et in rebus inanimatis
non invenitur res in potentia isto duplici modo [i.e. first potentiality and second potentiality = first
actuality], quia non potest forma ignis esse aliquo modo in actu in materia, nisi actu ultimo
informet, quia nullum impedimentum potest cadere ibi inter formam et esse suum actuale. Unde
nunquam est forma materialis in materia secundum esse habituale, sed species intelligibilis utroque
modo est in intellectu, et secundum esse habituale et secundum esse actuale; et ideo habere
speciem lapidis secundum esse habituale est intelligere in habitu, et habere eam actu informantem
est intelligere in actu, quia ex istis duobus principiis, scilicet potentia et actu, constituitur illud
quod de novo fit in quocumque praedicamento. Unde ponere plura principia est omnino super-
fluum in natura et per consequens impossibile.”
41
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23, ad 5 (ed. Schneider, 641.270–277): “Aliae enim formae de
materia eductae non possunt habere esse actuale in suo subiecto nisi secundum actum perfectum,
sed species in intellectu et in virtute imaginativa et similiter intentiones in memoria possunt habere
esse actuale dupliciter, scilicet in habitu sive in abdito: et illud esse actuale est imperfectum
respectu potentiae animae; et in actu aperto: et illud esse actuale est perfectum. Et istud duplex esse
actuale formarum nusquam reperitur nisi in virtutibus apprehensivis.”
11.4 Habitus and Species
What exactly is a habitus, for Sutton, and how does it relate to intelligible species?
He clarifies this while disagreeing with Henry of Ghent, who, as we saw, contends
that intelligible species are not imprinted upon the potential intellect.42 Of course,
Henry recognizes that the intellectual memory contains “scientific habitus,” and
when we put these habitus to use in order to have an occurrent act of thought, a spe-
cies of the object is expressed in the potential intellect, as a mental word. But
according to Henry, the habitus in memory are not impressed intelligible species.43
He argues that Augustine, in De Trinitate (15.10), talks of species being present in
cognitive powers as in their subject only as far as sensory powers are concerned, not
the intellective part.44 The verbum does come from the knowledge (scientia) we
keep in our memory, according to Augustine, but he does not say that the verbum
comes from a species. In short, Augustine recognizes that there are habitus scientiae
in the intellectual memory, but no intelligible species. Aristotle too, Henry adds,
does not mention any species conserved in the intellect when he talks about the state
of first actuality (De anima 2.5, 417a22–29 and Physics 8.4, 255a30–b5). He only
refers to the knowledge that is possessed as a habitus. And when he talks of species
(for instance when he says that the intellect is the locus of all forms, De an. 3.4,
429a28–29), he is referring only to the expressed species. So, Henry concludes,
there are in the intellect no impressed species, only expressed species.
Sutton proceeds to refute Henry’s view in the following way.45 What, he asks, is
meant by the claim that the knowledge (scientia) that is stored in memory is
expressed as a species in the intellect? Either Henry wants to say that the very same
item that is contained in the memory is transferred into the intellect (where it is
called a species); or he wants to say that another item is engendered in the intellect
from what is contained in memory. If the first, then given that what is expressed in
the intellect is a species, it follows that what was contained in the memory was a
species too. If the second, then by the action of the item in the memory, the item that
is produced in the intellect is an expressed species. But, as we know, an agent always
42
Thomas of Sutton, Quodl. I, q. 16 (ed. Schmaus and González-Haba, 108.22–110.55).
43
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. V, q. 14 (Badius 1: fol. 174F–G): “Cum igitur ad actum intelligendi
oportet intelligibile presens esse intelligenti […] non ergo restat modus quo aliter possit esse pre-
sens nisi per aliquid aliud existens apud intellectum quod est aliquod eius. Et ut ostensum est, hoc
non potest esse species intelligibilis impressa intellectui. Aliquod ergo aliud existens apud intel-
lectum oportet ponere. […] Planum est igitur quod necesse habemus ponere quod illud sit habitus
scientialis.” See ibid., Badius 1: fol. 178 V–X. Those passages are about angels. But in Quodl. IV,
q. 7 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 43.359), Henry talks of notitia habitualis for the human intellectual
memory. Cf. Quodl. IV, q. 8 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 62.213–219): “Et ideo sicut habitus moralis
in voluntate nihil aliud est nisi habilitas quaedam acquisita per frequentes voluntatis operationes in
eligendo bonum operabile, […] sic habitus intellectualis sive scientialis in intellectu nihil aliud est
quam habilitas quaedam in intellectu acquisita per frequentes intellectus operationes in concipi-
endo intellectu componente verum speculabile […).” See also Quodl. XI, q. 7 (Badius 2: 159 T–X).
44
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IV, q. 8 (ed. Wilson and Etzkorn, 58.105–109, 59.137–143).
45
216 J.-L. Solère
produces something that resembles it (agens non potest agere nisi simile sibi).
Again, therefore, the item in memory was also a species. In short, given that an
expressed species results from a scientific habitus in memory, as Henry admits, this
scientific habitus necessarily is an impressed species.
However, Sutton continues, there is something peculiar in the conservation of
intelligible species in the intellectual memory, which grants them, and only them,
the status of cognitive habitus.46 In external sensory powers, the species of external
objects are imprinted in the senses according to the random sensible experiences we
go through, not according to a rational order. These species are transferred to the
sensory memory, still not in a logical order (“secundum debitum ordinem”),47 but
just in the order in which they came, because it is not the function of the internal
sense powers, which are not rational, to sort these species out and reorder them.
From this stock of sensible species that are stored in a purely accidental order, rep-
resentations (phantasms) are actualized as occurrent images in acts of the faculty of
imagination. On this basis, intelligible species are abstracted and imprinted in the
potential intellect, which in turn stores them as intellectual memory. But in this
process they are reorganized, since it is the proper task of intellectual functions to
compare items one to another and to set them in a logical order (“(…) ordinantur
secundum quod requirit perfectio cognitionis”).48
Therefore, either when we learn from someone else or when we discover some-
thing by ourselves, the intelligible species are arranged according to the methodical
order that suits us (“secundum ordinem cognoscendi qui nobis convenit”).49 For
instance, we can place first the species that represent a certain thing in a confused
way, because those that are confused are at first better known by us; placed next are
the species that represent that thing less confusedly, and less universally; and so on
until we arrive at the species by which we know a quiddity as distinct from any
other. A whole Porphyrian tree of notions has grown in our intellectual memory. In
another possible order, which concerns the terms of propositions, we place first the
species that represents the subject of the proposition, and then the species that rep-
resents the predicate. In yet another ordering, we place first the species that pertain
to principles, and next those that pertain to the conclusions.
Given that the species are arranged according to a rational order, the intellect can
retrieve them and use them at will, in order to think methodically about things.
Being able to be used at will is the definition of a habitus. Therefore, conserving
intelligible species in one of these orders is nothing other than having a scientific
habitus. Conversely, a scientific habitus is nothing other than a cluster of species
46
47
Ibid., 112.111–112.
48
Ibid., 112.116–117. Sutton does not specify which faculty sorts out the intelligible species, but it
has to be the agent intellect, since this seems to be an active operation. After all, it is plausible that
organizing logically the species is part of the process of abstraction. The agent intellect does not
randomly extract intelligible contents from the sensory representations, but in connection with
other items that are already known.
49
Ibid., 112.120.
stored in the intellectual memory in a specific order. On the other hand, the sensible
species conserved in the sensitive memory, although they are in habitu, are not habi-
tus because they lack any kind of logical order.
If this is correct, why do neither Augustine nor Aristotle mention the presence of
species in the intellectual memory? The reason is that they want to emphasize the
higher perfection that is characteristic of the intellectual memory, namely, that the
species are contained in it in the rational form of habitus. In the same way, Sutton
explains,50 we say that the king’s army has taken a castle, even though this army is
nothing else than an ordered collection of men. The taking of the castle is not the
action of individuals as individuals, but that of their organized group. Similarly,
thinking is an act of the intellect that obtains according to a certain order. This is
why it is effected not thanks to species properly speaking, but thanks to a scientific
habitus, which is an organized group of species. Augustine was therefore right to
say that the expressed species comes from the knowledge conserved in memory, not
from the species conserved in memory. But this is not to deny that there are species
in the memory. Saying that there are habitus but no species would be as ridiculous
as saying that the king has an army but no men.
11.5 Do habitus Have a Causal Role in Cognition?
However, one might object that habitus, or the intellectual memory itself, are active
powers of producing actual conceptions in the intellect. When I summon up knowl-
edge I have acquired, does it not seem that an occurrent thought is engendered from
a trace kept in the folds of memory? Inasmuch as intellectual memory is part of the
intellect, this would contradict Sutton’s thesis of the total passivity of the
intellect.51
But Sutton demurs: it is not the case that habitus causally produce intellectual
acts. He supports his contention by appeal to the passage of Physics 8.4 (255b5–30)
in which Aristotle discusses the possibility of self-caused motion in natural
elements.
First, according to Sutton’s reading, the same agent that gives a thing a certain
form also gives this thing all the accidents that proceed from that form. For instance,
the form of fire F1 that acts on some matter and actualizes in it the form of fire F2,
also actualizes the accidents (propria) that accompany F2, namely, heat and light-
50
Thomas of Sutton, Quodl. I, q. 16 (ed. Schmaus and González-Haba, 113.139–161).
51
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 2 (ed. Schneider, 53.464–472): “[V]idendum est de specie
intelligibili existente in intellectu, utrum sit potentia activa respectu operationis intelligendi. Ipsa
autem dupliciter est in intellectu. Uno modo in actu perfecto, et sic sine dubio non est activa
respectu intelligere, quia intelligere nihil aliud est quam esse ipsius speciei intelligibilis perficien-
tis intellectum. Alio modo est in habitu, et videtur esse dubium de illa, scilicet quae est in memoria
intellectiva, utrum ipsa sit potentia activa, qua elicitur actus intelligendi, ita quod per ipsam intel-
lectus sit activus, licet non sit activus de se.” See Roques’ contribution in the present volume,
p. 263–283.
218 J.-L. Solère
ness. The form of the engendered fire F2 is not an active power vis-à-vis these acci-
dents. The same active power of F1 causes both F2 and the accidents that accompany
F2.52
Now, let us suppose that the effect of one of these accidents, lightness, is impeded
by some external obstacle, whereas another accident, heat, is not. Imagine for
instance that we enclose the burning matter in some container, which prevents F2
from moving upwards. Next, let this obstacle be removed. F2 immediately begins to
rise, due to its lightness. But F2 is as little the active power that causes this belated
ascent as it is the active power that causes the heat, which has not been impeded and
has been constantly actualized. The actualized motion is caused by F1 in exactly the
same way as the other accidents that were not impeded. This is why Aristotle con-
cludes that a light thing that moves upwards after having been prevented from doing
so is not an efficient cause of its own motion when its natural tendency is actualized.
The cause that has engendered this thing is also the cause of its motion. The ten-
dency of a light body to rise is only a passive principle.53
Henry of Ghent, naturally, holds just the opposite view, namely, that while the
light thing owes the beginning of its motion to that which generated it and to that
which removed the obstacle, the continuation of the motion is due to the form of the
thing itself (F2 in our example), as an active principle.54 But this is wrong, Sutton
contends.55 The continuation of the motion is just an accident that results from the
form of lightness, and F1, the active principle of that form, is also the active princi-
ple of the consequences. When Averroes explains this passage of Aristotle, he is
clear that “that which generates is that which gives the simple element generated its
form and all the accidents that result from this form, one of which is local motion.”56
There is therefore no self-motion, even if the ascending thing is not propelled by
something else. It is in reality moving because of something else, which caused in
it the reason for its motion.
The same analysis applies to cognition (with the difference that, as we saw in
Sect. 2, habitus have an ontological status different from that of physical forms). As
we know, for Sutton an act of intellection immediately and automatically obtains
when an intelligible species is fully actualized in the intellect. Understanding is just
a consequence of the presence of the species, in exactly the same way as lightness
and heat result from the form of fire. Accordingly, we must say that the same active
power (a combination of the external thing, the phantasms, and the agent intellect)
that causes the intelligible species (the equivalent of F2) causes the consequence of
52
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 2 (ed. Schneider, 53.473–483).
53
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 2 (ed. Schneider, 53.483–54.495).
54
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IX, q. 5 (ed. Macken, 115.66–118.65); Quodl. X, q. 9 (ed. Macken,
222.48–224.4).
55
56
Averroes, In libros Physicorum commentaria, lib. 8, com. 32 (Juntina 4: 370G): “[G]enerans
enim est illud quod dat corpori simplici generato formam suam et omnia accidentia consequentia
formam, quorum unus est motus in loco.”
its actuality, that is, the intellection by which the thing whose species it is is first
understood.57
But that is not all; there are more similarities with the case at hand in Physics 8.4.
The intellectual cognition that has obtained can be prevented by various circum-
stances from lasting or from happening again. Some factor could block the com-
plete actualization of the species. For instance, the mind may be busy with something
else. Indeed, Sutton holds that only one intelligible species at a time can be in full
actuality in the intellect, since what is in full actuality completes and so to speak
“closes,” or perfects, its subject.58 In other words, we can think about only one thing
at a time. As a consequence, the items that are synchronically contained in the mem-
ory have to appear one by one under the spotlight of awareness.59 Therefore, if the
stage is occupied by one species, other species cannot come into consideration, that
is, they cannot fall under the beam of consciousness. These species are had in habitu
only, that is, kept in the intellectual memory in imperfect actuality.60
Now, suppose this obstacle disappears. When we are done thinking about one
thing, the forestage of the mind is free, so to speak, for other species, including
those that are stored in a habitus in the memory. One of them can come forward and
be in full actuality, which amounts to us having a new act of thought. Still, by
Physics 8.4, the external cause(s) of the species, that is, the cause(s) that first caused
the actualization of the species in the potential intellect (i.e. the complex of object,
phantasms, and agent intellect) is also the cause of this renewed actualization. No
newer efficient cause is required.61 Therefore, the re-actualization of the species is
not due to some active power of the species itself, or of the habitus, or of the intel-
lectual memory. Remembrance is not self-causation. The ability of a stored species
to come to the foreground is only a passive principle, implanted in the mind by that
which caused the habitus.
One might want to object that a form can be regarded as an active principle of the
properties that derive from it (considering now only the relationship between the
form and its properties, independently of what it does to another substance).62 This
57
58
See Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23 (ed. Schneider, 636.145–637.178). Cf. Thomas Aquinas,
SCG I, c. 55.
59
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23, ad 20 (ed. Schneider, 648.467–474).
60
On the other hand, a material form cannot inform matter without informing it with full actuality,
because no obstacle can come between the form and its full actuality. This is why there are no habi-
tus in matter, as we saw earlier.
61
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 445.667–685): “[D]e potentia secunda non
reducitur in actum per aliquod agens, sed statim operatur remote prohibente. […] Illi duplici modo
intellectus est in potentia ad speciem intelligibilem: Primo, antequam recipiat eam a phantasmate,
est in potentia et ducitur ad actum per actionem phantasmatis a quo patitur, et illud pati suum est
intelligere. Sed quando impeditur ne intelligat, tunc species intelligibilis prius recepta non infor-
mat aciem intellectus, sed conservatur in memoria quasi in quodam thesauro, et ideo intellectus est
in potentia quodammodo ad illam speciem, sed non sic ut species ipsa de novo causetur in eo per
aliquod agens, sed ut per remotionem prohibentis illa species ipsum informet.”
62
220 J.-L. Solère
is true of forms that have propria in Porphyry’s sense: these propria emanate or fol-
low from the essence given by this form.63 It might be true also of intelligible spe-
cies. Insofar as a cognitive operation follows from their actualization, they can be
seen as active principles. So it seems one should maintain that a habitus is an active
cause of an occurrent thought.
In response, Sutton argues that while that may be a way of speaking, the term
“active” is nevertheless not taken in the right sense.64 On the basis of Aristotle’s
definition of an active power—a principle of change in another qua other65—he
establishes that an active principle properly speaking must have three
characteristics:
1. Because of this power, another thing (distinct both from the principle and its
subject of inherence) is in effect changed (mutatur).
2. By this change, something is produced (introduction of a new form in the other
thing).
3. Due to this production, a passage from potentiality to actuality occurs in the
other thing.
Now, none of these characteristics applies to a form from which certain proper-
ties or immanent effects follow by way of natural connection. For instance, in the
case of the heat that results from the form of fire (F1’s own heat, that is), (1) some-
thing distinct from the fire is not affected (we are just considering the fire in itself,
not its possible action on another thing), (2) this heat is not produced by a change
(motus or mutatio) induced by the form, and (3) nothing is brought from potentiality
to actual heat. Likewise, when a light body is freed from an obstacle to its upwards
motion, (1) its lightness does not affect anything distinct, (2) the effect of its light-
ness, that is, its movement, is not produced by a change, and (3) the light body is not
brought from potentiality to actuality, because when it was prevented from moving,
it already had in actuality the form of lightness.
Similarly, when the impediment to the mind’s focusing on a habitus (for instance,
another species being on the forestage) has disappeared, and a new act of thought,
based on this habitus, occurs, (1) nothing distinct from the intellect is changed, (2)
the occurrent thought is not produced by a process of change, and (3) the intellect
does not pass from potentiality to actuality, because, as we saw earlier, it was in first
actuality with respect to this cognition, and was prevented from being in second
actuality only by the impediment. Therefore, it is confirmed that the intellect, or the
intellectual memory, or a habitus in it, are not active principles of an occurrent
conception.66
In the same line of thought, let us note that the full actualization of a stored spe-
cies does not lead to the production of anything. Rather, the very same species that
is kept hidden in first actuality in the folds of memory is brought to full actuality and
63
Cf. Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 77, art. 1, ad 5; q. 77, art. 6.
64
65
Aristotle, Met. 5.12, 1019a19–20.
66
into the open for use (constituitur in aperto usu ad actum), namely, to represent an
object to the intellect. As we saw, this by itself constitutes an act of understanding.
Sutton does take up the traditional idea that, as a consequence of this state of actu-
alization of the potential intellect, a “mental word” or conception is formed.67 But
we should not imagine that this verbum is some item other than the species that was
in the memory and became fully actualized, as if for instance it were an effect of the
latter.68 Intellect and memory are in reality one and the same power, one and the
same simple thing, and, again, nothing can act on itself and cause an effect in itself.
The actualized species is called a verbum by exact analogy with what happens in
God: in the procession of the divine Word, no absolute form is produced by genera-
tion, but the nature that is in the Father is communicated to the Son. Likewise, the
species that is conserved in the memory is not in potentiality for a second actuality
that would be of a different nature.69 It is only in potentiality for itself in a more
perfect kind of existence. More exactly, having an occurrent thought is nothing
other than having, in a more perfect sort of existence, the very same species that was
stored on a less perfect, “habitual” way of existing.70 As a consequence, the external
thing that is known by the verbum is also the active cause of the latter, whereas the
intellect is only a sort of material cause.71
67
68
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23, ad 12 (ed. Schneider, 645.389–404). See also Quodl. I, q. 17
(ed. Schmaus and González-Haba, 118.101–119.118). Here again, Sutton parts from Aquinas, who
is clear that the concept, intentio intellecta, or mental verbum (see Thomas Aquinas, SCG IV,
c. 11), is different from both the impressed intelligible species and the intellectual operation that
follows the reception of this species. The verbum is the product of this operation. See Thomas
Aquinas, De potentia, q. 8, art. 1: “Differt autem [conceptio intellectus] a specie intelligibili: nam
species intelligibilis, qua fit intellectus in actu, consideratur ut principium actionis intellectus. […]
Differt autem ab actione intellectus: quia praedicta conceptio consideratur ut terminus actionis, et
quasi quoddam per ipsam constitutum. Intellectus enim sua actione format rei definitionem, vel
etiam propositionem affirmativam seu negativam. Haec autem conceptio intellectus in nobis prop-
rie verbum dicitur.” Cf. De ver., q. 4, art. 2: “[I]psa enim conceptio est effectus actus intelligendi”;
and SCG I, c. 53; ST I, q. 34, art. 1, ad 2: “Cum ergo dicitur quod verbum est notitia, non accipitur
notitia pro actu intellectus cognoscentis, vel pro aliquo eius habitu, sed pro eo quod intellectus
concipit cognoscendo.”
69
70
Cf. Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23, ad 6 (ed. Schneider, 642.293–306). As a consequence, the
accidental potentiality of the intellect is not similar to the potentiality of a body that is prevented
from falling and will fall immediately when the obstacle is removed. Gravity is a form in actuality
but it is in potentiality to a second actuality that is of a different nature (the falling of the body).
And gravity cannot be with other forms of the same kind in a body because if informs its subject
with perfect actuality.
71
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 17 (ed. Schneider, 481.228–244). See also Quodl. I, q. 17, ad 1 (ed.
Schmaus and González-Haba, 121.175–185): “[V]erbum formatur ab intellectu, sed non tamquam
a principio activo, sed tamquam a principio passivo. Et tu dicis: Formare verbum est agere; si igitur
intellectus format verbum, intellectus est activus. Ad quod dicendum est quod formare verbum
secundum Aristotelem et Commentatorem non est agere nisi secundum similitudinem et figuram
dictionis, sicut sentire, et verum est quod verbum est ab obiecto active.”
222 J.-L. Solère
11.6 Habitus as “Natures”
If there is no active principle in the mind to push the species that are conserved in
habitus under the spotlight of consciousness, one may wonder how they come for-
ward to full actuality when the way is clear. It may be true that they have been
caused by external causes and that these external causes were the only efficient
causes. But these external causes may have disappeared (at least, the things that
were the objects of our learning),72 while we retain the knowledge. So at the very
moment we recall something, what in the intellect explains that a certain intelligible
species passes from first to second actuality?
First of all, Sutton does not deny that habitus have an intrinsic dynamism. On the
contrary, as the ascent of a light body makes clear, an unimpeded form acts, and this
entails consequences. But this is not a case of self-motion or self-causation. It is
crucial to distinguish essential potentiality from accidental potentiality.73 To be
actualized, an essential potentiality needs an agent to bring about a form, and this is
why the actualizer has to be another thing, given that the patient cannot have and not
have the form at the same time. That which is in accidental potentiality, on the other
hand, already has the form; consequently, no causation in the strict sense takes
place, and therefore no self-causation either. The only cause that is possibly needed
is a cause that removes some obstacle that stands in the way of the actualization of
the effects of this form. Even then, the actualization of these effects is spontaneous
and immediate as soon as the obstacle is suppressed, and it is due to the form only,
as when the light body that was held back moves spontaneously upwards, or a
trained grammarian who was not using his knowledge mobilizes it instantaneously
and at will.74 Likewise, a species that is part of a habitus and is kept in first actuality
72
Admittedly, the sensory representation (phantasms) may remain, stored in the sensory memory.
But to reactivate some theoretical knowledge is not to produce again an intelligible species, since
Sutton says that the acquired intelligible species are conserved in the intellectual memory.
73
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23, ad 20 (ed. Schneider, 620.765–621.785). Cf. Aristotle, Phys.,
8.4, 255a30–b23 and Averroes, In libros Physicorum commentaria, lib. 8, com. 32 (Juntina 4:
370D–F): “Et quia altera istarum est essentialis, et alia accidentalis, assimilavit essentialem poten-
tiae quae est in addiscente ut fiat sciens, et potentiam accidentalem ei quae est in sciente, quando
non utitur scientia, propter aliquod impedimentum. […] [P]otentia essentialis indiget, in hoc quod
exeat in actum, agente essentialiter, secunda autem [i.e. potentia accidentalis] non indiget agente
in hoc quod exeat in actum, nisi per accidens, quoniam non est in potentia nisi propter impediens
aut propter defectum subiecti in quo agit. Verbi gratia, quoniam ignis est comburens in potentia
quando non invenit materiam quam comburat, cum igitur invenit materiam quam comburat, tunc
fit comburens in actu sine indigentia motoris extrinseci.” Ibid., (370I–K): “proprium est essentiali
potentiae ut non fiat in actu nisi propter motorem essentialem, et quod non venit ad actum nisi
quando duo congregantur, scilicet recipiens et agens; e contrario potentiae accidentali quae non
indiget ad hoc quod exeat in actum motore extrinseco nisi per accidens, et est recessus impedi-
menti. […] [Q]uando sciens fuerit sciens in actu, tunc non indiget motore extrinseco in actu, sed
aget sua actione, nisi aliquid impediat.”
74
Aristotle, De an. 2.5, 417a22–29.
in the folds of memory comes by itself to second actuality when there is no impedi-
ment, and thereby becomes an occurrent act of understanding.75
In order to characterize better the possibility of a spontaneous actualization
which is not self-caused, Sutton appeals to Aristotle’s notion of “nature,” defined in
Physics 2.7 (198a24–26) as a “principle of motion and rest for that in which it is, by
itself and not by accident.”76 An active or causal power is a principle of change for
another qua other, while a nature is a principle of change for the very thing in which
it resides.77 This is why Aristotle divides natures into matter and form, which are
intrinsic principles of a substance, whereas an active power is an extrinsic principle
for another thing. Thus, the form of lightness is a nature in the light body, and this
body tends to move upwards by nature, not by self-causation. Similarly (again, the
special ontological status of habitus notwithstanding), a stored intelligible species
gives rise as a “nature,” not by causation, to an act of thought when all the obstacles
to its actualization are removed and it comes to the foreground.78 This operation is
nevertheless passive, since the species was received from an external agent.
Thus, we again see that for Sutton the intellect is not an efficient cause of its own
operation, even in the recollection of acquired knowledge.79 A habitus created by an
external complex of causes is in accidental potentiality, or proximate potentiality,80
for an act of intellection, and, as a “nature,” it has an intrinsic dynamism that tends
towards its own actualization. If the intellect had to be its own agent for the reactiva-
tion of species in habitu, this would mean that its potentiality is essential potential-
ity, and this would make a habitus in fact ignorance—pure potentiality, which
requires some external active cause to be dispelled.81 Yet Sutton admits that memory
has a certain similarity to an efficient cause (although it is definitely not a real one),
because it makes possible the passing from (accidental) potentiality to actuality.82
But one should in fact say that memory is the principle of an actual cognition,
75
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 445.677–446.686). See note 58 above.
76
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 2, art. 2 (ed. Schneider, 58.610–59.622).
77
This means that what is traditionally labelled “immanent actions” (cognitive operations and all
other actions in which the agent does not affect another thing but only itself), are for Sutton opera-
tions of “natures,” not of active powers. Cf. James of Viterbo, Quodl. I, q. 7 (ed. Ypma, 97.586–
591): an action in a strict sense is a transeunt action, that is, it consists in acting on something else
and entails a passion in that thing.
78
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 445.674–676): “[D]e potentia secunda non
reducitur in actum per aliquod agens, sed statim operatur remoto prohibente.”
79
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 22, ad 23 (ed. Schneider, 621.781–785): “Patet igitur quod, ex quo
nullum agens per se ducit intellectum de habitu ad actum considerandi, ipsemet non est agens per
se ducens se ad actum considerandi.”
80
Averroes characterizes in the same way proximate potentiality as opposed to remote potentiality.
See Commentarium magnum in De anima, lib. 3, com. 8 (ed. Crawford, 420.13–15): “[Virtutes]
enim propinque actui sunt que agunt per se et non indigent extrahente eas de potentia ad actum,
remote autem indigent.”
81
82
224 J.-L. Solère
because a thing from which another proceeds should be called a principle of the lat-
ter, not its cause.83
However, yet another objection can be raised against Sutton’s theory. In the acci-
dental potentiality model, as we saw, the efficient cause that suppresses the obstacle
acts only on the latter, not on the subject that is in accidental potentiality and passes
into full actuality. The cause has only an indirect influence on the process, in the
same way that a man who cuts a rope by which a body is suspended does not cause
the gravity and the falling of that body. But this does not seem true of external
stimuli; on the contrary, they seem to be the efficient causes of the actualization of
stored habitus. For instance, if a noise wakes me up and I tell myself: “This is the
neighbour starting up the engine of his car,” it seems that the noise has activated my
concepts of car and of neighbour, and my habitus of him warming up the noisy
engine of his SUV at five in the morning.
It is permissible to speculate as to how Sutton would respond to this objection. If
we take seriously his idea that habitus are “natures” in Aristotle’s sense, that is, that
they have a spontaneous tendency towards actualization, we could say that he has a
quasi-Bergsonian conception of remembrance. The past contained in memory is
like a cone, the tip of which is the present. The cone stands upside down on its tip,
which means that the past continuously weighs on the present. All our memories
constantly push to come into the light of awareness. But only some are selected:
those that correspond to the necessity of present circumstances (action, in Bergson’s
language).84 Likewise, in Sutton’s theory an external stimulus does not have to actu-
alize a habitus, because all habitus tend by themselves to full actualization. However,
only one at a time can be fully actualized. The habitus that in fact comes to the
surface of the mind is the one that has a natural or acquired correspondence with the
phantasm caused in the imagination by the sensory stimulus.85 So the noise that
awakens me does act as an obstacle remover, to the extent that it furnishes my phan-
tasia with a sensory content which is the occasion for the matching habitus, and
only that one, to become fully actualized. If I am not sleeping but am already think-
ing about something else, the external stimulus acts in the same way: it redirects the
attention of the mind and clears the way, so to speak, for the appropriate habitus to
step forward. It again has the role of obstacle remover for this particular habitus.
On the other hand, we do not always need a sensory stimulus to activate a habi-
tus. Isn’t our mind sometimes idle or vacant, not troubled from outside, and in that
case can’t we think about whatever we want, that is to say, can’t we make a habitus
that we freely choose to pass into second actuality? Sutton accounts for this possi-
bility too. Resorting to Augustine’s insight, he ascribes a role to the will, or to the
83
84
Matière et Mémoire, in Bergson (1970), 292–293; L’Évolution créatrice in Bergson (1970),
498–499; L’Énergie spirituelle in Bergson (1970), 858, 925; La Pensée et le Mouvant in Begson
(1970), 1373, 1386–1389.
85
This is akin to what Aquinas calls the intellect’s “turning to the sensory representations” (conver-
sio ad phantasmata), which is a condition for the intellect to reactivate any of the intelligible spe-
cies it has in memory (see ST I, q. 84, art. 7, De ver., q. 10, art. 2, ad 7).
intentio animi, in this process.86 He says that a species conserved in memory is

brought to full actuality by the will, which decides to use that species and keep the
“tip” of the intellect coupled with it in awareness.87 Perhaps it would be still more
accurate to say that the will chooses to let this species pass from accidental potenti-
ality to complete actuality, given that the species has its own intrinsic dynamism. At
any rate, by directing the attention inwards—or outwards if we do not want to think
of something and seek some perception as a distraction—the will allows the expres-
sion of a certain habitus, or hampers it. In addition, the absence of will counts as an
obstacle for the actualization of knowledge. You may know how to play chess, but
if you have no desire to play right now, this knowledge remains a habitus.88 Suddenly
deciding to play chess acts as the removal of an obstacle for this habitus.
11.7 Conclusion
Thus, Sutton seems to offer a theory of cognitive habitus that is complete and con-
sistent. It may be at first sight counter-intuitive, to the extent that he depicts the
potential intellect as completely passive in its cognitive operations. Nonetheless,
Sutton skilfully uses several conceptual resources (principle versus cause, acciden-
tal potentiality versus essential potentiality, “nature”) in order to introduce internal
dynamism into the processes that involve intellectual memory and to offer a more
plausible picture of the ways in which the mind thinks. Cognitive habitus, which are
logically organized clusters of intelligible species, are endowed with a special sort
of possibility for actualization. Without being, properly speaking, efficient causes
of mental processes, they tend by themselves to emerge into the light of awareness,
although they may be impeded by other elements (other intelligible species, nota-
bly, or the will). Importantly, although the model Sutton uses to theorize about this
dynamism is borrowed from the physical world, he nevertheless grants habitus in
memory a kind of being that is not found in material things.
86
Thomas of Sutton, Quodl. I, q. 17 ad 1 (ed. Schmaus and González-Haba 122.200–205):
“[C]ognoscere ut intelligere non habet totam causam suam activam extrinsecus, sed requirit intrin-
secus intentionem voluntatis, quae est in ratione imperantis et copulantis intellectum ad intelligi-
bile, sicut docet Augustinus tam in visu quam in intellectu. Unde propter actionem voluntatis
intrinsecam dicitur intelligere esse non purum pati, sed commixtum, quamvis in se sit pati.” Q.
ord., q. 2, art. 1 (ed. Schneider, 48.338–340): “Operatio enim cuiuslibet potentiae passivae elicitur
active ab obiecto suo, et a nullo alio nisi a voluntate, quae movet alias potentias ad exercendum
actus suos.” Cf. Augustine, De Trinitate 11.2.2–3; Thomas Aquinas, SCG I, c. 55, n. 4; and De ver.,
q. 13, art. 3: “[A]d actum alicuius cognoscitivae potentiae requiritur intentio, ut probat Augustinus
in Lib. de Trinit. Intentio autem unius non potest ferri ad multa simul, nisi forte illa multa hoc
modo sint ad invicem ordinata, ut accipiantur quasi unum.”
87
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 23 (ed. Schneider, 638.179–191); ibid., ad 4 (641.262–64).
88
Thomas of Sutton, Q. ord., q. 15 (ed. Schneider, 445.676–677): “Istud prohibens potest esse vel
occupatio vel infirmitas vel voluntas.”
226 J.-L. Solère
References
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———. 1991b. In Summa quaestionum ordinariarum, art. XXXI–XXXIV, Henrici de Gandavo
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Thomas of Sutton. 1969. In Quodlibeta, ed. Michael Schmaus and Maria González-Haba. Munich:
Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften.
———. 1977. In Quaestiones ordinariae, ed. Johannes Schneider. Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen
Akademie der Wissenschaften.
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Philosophy 11: 299–317.
Chapter 12
Are Cognitive Habits in the Intellect?
Durand of St.-Pourçain and Prosper de
Reggio Emilia on Cognitive Habits
Peter John Hartman
Abstract Once Socrates has thought something, he comes to acquire an item such
that he is then able to think such thoughts again when he wants, and he can, all other
things being equal, do this with more ease than he could before. This item that he
comes to acquire medieval philosophers called a cognitive habit. Most medieval
philosophers maintained this item was a new quality added to Socrates’s intellect.
However, some disagreed. In this paper, I will examine an interesting alternative
theory put forward by Durand of Saint-Pourçain and Prosper de Reggio Emilia
about the location of cognitive habits. On their view, cognitive habits are not to be
located in the intellect but in something on the side of the body or sensitive soul.
Keywords Durand of St-Pourçain · Prosper de Reggio Emilia · Intellectual habits

· Cognitive habits · Cognitive acts · Relations
12.1 Introduction
Once Socrates has thought some proposition or about some object, he comes to
acquire something such that he is then able to think that proposition or about that
object when he wants, and he can, all other things being equal, do this with more
ease than he could before.1 This ‘something’ that he comes to acquire medieval
philosophers called a cognitive habit. According to what I will call the Standard
Theory of Habits (STH), a cognitive habit is an acquired qualitative state that the
intellect takes on, or, in metaphysical terms, it is a non-relational (absolute) entity
that comes to inhere in the intellect as its subject. Its active cause is either an act of
thinking or at least the active causes of an act of thinking, and repeated acts of
1
In what follows, I will focus on simple acts of thinking (thoughts about O) as opposed to complex
(propositional) acts of thinking (thoughts that p) for sake of clarity. Both sorts of thoughts present
different difficulties and puzzles in relation to habits.
P. J. Hartman (*)
Department of Philosophy, Loyola University Chicago, Chicago, IL, USA
e-mail: phartman@luc.edu

230 P. J. Hartman
thinking reinforce it; in turn, the habit is at least in part somehow the active cause of
subsequent acts of thinking (or an aspect or ‘mode’ of those acts), explaining both
our capacity to think thoughts in the absence of their objects when we want as well
as the ease with which we think such thoughts. Hence, according to the STH,
Socrates’s initial thought about, say, cats produces (or is concomitant with the pro-
duction of) a quality in Socrates’s intellect and subsequent thoughts of the same sort
(thoughts about cats) reinforce it. In turn, this quality explains both the fact that
Socrates can engage in the same thought that he had engaged in before whenever he
wants and also the relative ease with which he elicits such thoughts. Philosophers as
different as Thomas Aquinas, John Duns Scotus and William of Ockham main-
tained this view.2
However, at some point in the early fourteenth century a new view emerged, a
view I will call the Novel Theory of Habits (NTH). On this view, a cognitive
habit, although acquired, is not a non-relational (absolute) entity; its active cause
is not an act of thinking; and it is not in turn the active cause of subsequent acts
of thinking. Rather, habits are relational entities, acts of thinking are passive (not
active) causes of cognitive habits, and habits are, in turn, mere per accidens or
sine qua non causes of subsequent acts of thinking. Moreover, cognitive habits
are not in the intellect but rather exist outside the intellect in a certain sensitive
power whose job it is to ‘show’ objects to the intellect whenever we want (hence-
forth: the ostensive power).3 It is something on the side of the ostensive power,
then, and not on the side of the intellect that explains both the fact that Socrates
can think thoughts again whenever he wants and the relative ease with which he
does this.
2
In Aquinas, see Pini 2015 and the references therein, as well as Boulnois, Taieb, and Klima, in
this volume, respectively p. 35–39, p. 127–141, p. 321–331. Aquinas’s view is that a habit is the
intelligible species (defined elsewhere as a kind of quality) as it exists in the possible intellect in
a certain way—neither in potency nor in act, but in a middle way. See especially Sent. 3.14.1, a.
1, qla. 2: “In intellectu autem requiritur ad eius perfectionem quod impressio sui activi sit in eo
non solum per modum passionis sed etiam per modum qualitatis et formae connaturalis perfectae,
et hanc formam habitum dicimus.” For Aquinas, the antecedent act of thinking is not the active
cause of the habit; rather, a habit is just an intelligible species and so the active cause will be
whatever goes into the production of an intelligible species, namely, the agent intellect together
with the object (and phantasms and so forth). See Sent. 3.23.1 and 2.27.1. Scotus seems to hold a
similar view. See Cross 2014 and the references therein (especially Ord. 1.17.1–2), as well as
Boulnois and Trego in this volume, respectively p. 39–43, p. 98–103. Ockham holds the more
extreme view that a habit is the efficient cause of the act and that the act the efficient cause of the
habit. See Panaccio 2004, ch. 2 and the references therein, as well as Roques in this volume, p.
270–281. For other authors who held the view that a habit is a quality discussed in this volume, see
Pickave (on Auriol), Zupko (on Buridan), and Perler (on Suarez), respectively p. 245–261, p.
333–346, p. 365–372.
3
Durand, Prosper and their opponents use various terms to characterize the ostensive power.
See footnote 9 below. As well, there will be reason to qualify the term ‘sensitive’. See below
footnote 10.
12 Are Cognitive Habits in the Intellect? Durand of St.-Pourçain and Prosper de… 231
While there is evidence suggesting a number of authors endorsed the NTH, here
I will discuss two of them, namely Durand of St-Pourçain4 and Prosper de Reggio
Emilia5 (the former slightly earlier than the latter).6 What motivated Durand and
Prosper to abandon the standard theory of habits? Why the novelty? I hope this
paper will provide something by way of an answer to these questions. While there
are several interesting differences between the NTH and the STH, I will focus on the
issue of the location of habits: according to the STH, habits are to be located in the
intellect, a thesis proponents of the NTH deny. I will first look at an argument
Durand and Prosper put forward in defense of their view, and then present some
objections to it raised by an anonymous proponent of the STH. In the third section,
I will speculate about what might be at stake.
12.1.1 The Location Thesis
In his Tractatus de habitibus (henceforth: TDH), Durand sounds out the ringing
declaration that
it can be held as probable that habits are not in the intellect or any cognitive power as
such… Rather, habits are only in the power that shows objects to the intellect… (4.8, p. 50)7
4
For Durand’s dates and career, see Schabel et al. 2001 and Hartman 2011 and the references
therein. Durand defends the view in Sent. 2.33.1 (on causation) and 3.23.1–4 (for A/B I have used
Paris Bibl. Nat., lat. 12,330; for C I have used Venice 1517 and Paris 1517); Tractatus de habitibus,
qq. 1–3 (ed. Takada 1963), q. 4 (ed. Koch 1930), and q. 5 (Vat. lat. 1086, f. 192vb–193ra and Vat.
lat. 1076, f. 9rb–va); and De subiecto virtutum moralium (Vat. lat. 1086, f. 186ra). I have prepared
a Latin edition of Sent. 3.23.1–2 in Hartman 2017.
5
For Prosper, who is far less well-known, see Courtenay 2007 and Pelster 1928. Prosper defends
the view in the prologue to his Sentences commentary, pars 1, qq. 5–6 and pars 3, q. 3 (Vat. lat.
1086). According to Courtenay, the terminus post quem for this text (a redaction it would seem) is
1318, since Prosper, who read the Sentences in Paris before 1315, cites John Paignote who was
regent in 1318; the terminus ante quem is 1323, since Thomas Aquinas is never referred to as
‘saint’. However, the material likely comes from the early 1310s: Prosper states in his dedication
that the content is derived from his earlier stay in Paris.
6
Cajetan (ST 1.2.49.3) and Suàrez (DM 44) both discuss the view, citing Durand by name as its
core proponent. Durand, however, tells us that the view is the view of ‘certain contemporaries’ of
his (see footnote 11 below). As well, Peter of Palude (Sent. 3.23.1, 3a opinio), Thomas of Argentina
(Sent. 3.23.1), Hervaeus Natalis (Quodl. 1.13, 3.7) and John Duns Scotus (Ord. 1.17.1–2) present
positions that approximate Durand’s position but are not exact matches.
7
“Primo modo potest teneri probabiliter quod in intellectu non sit aliquis habitus nec in aliqua
potentia cognitiva ut sic ... sed solum in potentia quae ostendit obiectum intellectui...” Durand goes
on to admit that we do attribute habits to the intellect owing to the fact that the acts which the habit
regulates are acts of the intellect. However, attribution is not the same as claiming that such habits
are in the intellect as in a subject. TDH 4.8, p. 53: “… in intellectu et in appetitu sensitivo vel intel-
lectivo ponendus est habitus attributive, quia cum habitus non quaeratur nisi propter actum, ut
promptius et facilius eliciatur, illi potentiae attribuendus est habitus propter cuius actum principali-
ter quaeritur; sed intellectus et appetitus principaliter sunt illae potentiae propter quarum actus
quaeruntur habitus. Quare etc.” On the idea that a habit is ‘attributive’ and not ‘subiective’ in the
232 P. J. Hartman
And Prosper opens the body of a quaestio dedicated to the topic (Sent. Prol. 3.3.1,
which asks “whether habits are in the intellect as in a subject”) with the admission
that
practically everyone says that habitual scientific knowledge is formally in the possible
intellect as in a subject… However, the total opposite strikes me as the case… (f. 62va)8
For both Durand and Prosper cognitive habits are not in the intellect as their sub-
ject.9 Rather, such habits are located outside the intellect, in the ostensive power, a
power of the sensitive part of the soul whose function it is to store and present items
to the intellect.10 While this power is sometimes called the imaginative power, it is
important to stress one of its core features, namely, that it is not a cognitive power
as such: its job is to store and present objects to cognitive powers such as the intel-
lect and so its act is not a cognitive act but a condition for a cognitive act. If the
ostensive power were itself a cognitive power, then it would require an ostensive
power to present to it its object, and so there would be an infinite regress among
ostensive powers.11
intellect, see ibid., pp. 53–55 and TDH 4.9, pp. 68–69. Prosper also draws the distinction in, e.g.,
Sent. Prol. 3.3.1 at f. 63ra–63vb.
8
“... respondent quasi communiter omnes quod scientia quaelibet habitualis est in intellectu pos-
sibili formaliter et subiective... Mihi autem ... videtur totum contrarium.”
9
Durand and Prosper draw a broad division between intellectual (or cognitive) habits, on the
one hand, and practical or moral habits, on the other. Intellectual habits are sometimes called
speculative habits (habitus speculativi), such as our habits associated with geometry, and these
were located in the intellect according to STH, whereas practical and moral habits (habitus
practici et morales) deal with the moral virtues and prudence. See TDH 4.8, p. 50. While
Durand and Prosper both maintain that moral and practical habits are also not to be located
in the intellect (or the will), in what follows I will be focused on intellectual (or to avoid
confusion: cognitive) habits.
10
Durand and Prosper use various terms here, e.g. ‘memorativa’ or ‘memoria’ (TDH 4.8, pp. 42,
43, 44, 45 [3 times]); ‘repraesentativa’ or ‘repraesentans’ (TDH 4.8, pp. 42, 43, 50 [3 times],
51 [bis], 56, 57; Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 62vb, 64va); ‘praesentans’ (TDH 4.8, p. 45;
Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 62va [bis], 64ra, 64rb, 64va, 66vb, 67ra [bis]); ‘proponens’ (TDH
4.8, p. 53); ‘ostendens’ (TDH 4.8, p. 49, 50 [bis], 53, 54, 56; Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 66va);
‘imaginativa’ or ‘imaginatio’ (Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.2 [multiple times]); ‘offerans’ (Prosper,
Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 67ra). Prosper, in fact, goes on to locate its organ in the posterior part of the
first ventricule of the brain (in posteriori parte primi ventriculi cerebri)—even providing us
with an illustration in his student notebook! See Sent. Prol. 3.3.2, which asks “Utrum habitus
theologiae sit in potentia sensitiva vel quae sit illa potentia sensitiva in qua ponitur.” This par-
ticular quaestio is also available in an early modern printing: Opusculum perutile de cognitione
animae et eius potentiis Augustini de Anchona cum quadam quaestione Prosperi de Reggio
(Bologna 1503).
11
See, e.g., TDH 4.8, p. 58: “Et quia illud est in potentia ostendente obiectum, ut declaratum est,
quae ut sic non est cognitiva (alioquin esset processus in infinitum in hiis quae ostendunt obiectum
ad absentiam realem ipsorum), ideo nec universale nec particulare est eius obiectum, cum nullius
sit cognitiva.” See also ibid., p. 50 and Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 66va: “… cum <habitus> sit in
potentia sensitiva ostendente obiectum quae ut sic non est cognitiva nec universale nec particulare
est eius obiectum cognitive sed solum repraesentative, habet enim obiectum quod repraesentat
intellectui.”
Durand and Prosper each supply seven arguments in defense of this—admittedly

minority12—position, with some overlap.13 These arguments range from ones purely
metaphysical in character—for instance, Aquinas’s thesis that a habit is a mean
between potentiality and actuality makes little sense to Durand and Prosper (TDH
4.8, p. 48; Prosper, Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 60va–61ra)—on down to more experience-
based arguments—for instance, we can lose habits over time, but this does not seem
to be appropriate for something in the immaterial intellect (Durand, ibid., p. 44–45;
Prosper, ibid., f. 61rb). In what follows, however, I focus on just one of these argu-
ments, which I will call the master argument. It appeals to a kind of razor, which I
will call Prosper’s razor:
We should not countenance anything in the intellect in vain. (Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 60va)14
If habits are to be located in the intellect, then we must have a reason for putting
them there. However, as Durand puts it, the only reason to maintain that there are
habits in the intellect is because one also maintains that there must be something in
the intellect in order to explain (i) its determination with respect to its act or (ii) the
relative ease with which it acts. However, we don’t need to maintain that there is
something in the intellect in order to explain (i) or (ii). Ergo etc.15 If a cognitive
power’s determination with respect to its act totally depends upon something else,
then that power does not need something in it in order to explain its determination.
However, the intellect’s determination with respect to its act totally depends upon
something else: the object presented to it by the ostensive power. Likewise with
12
Durand tells us that this position had been put forward by certain contemporaries (aliqui mod-
erni) and, in reporting Durand’s position, the anonymous author of Quaestio “Utrum habitus
acquisitus…” (ed. Koch 1930 in TDH) writes on pp. 70–71 (for discussion of this text, see footnote
22 below): “Quidam tractantes de ista materia dicunt et scribunt quod in intellectu non est aliquis
habitus subiective, quorum positionem alii posteriores recitant et approbant, dicentes quod nec in
intellectu nec in aliqua potentia cognitiva ut cognitiva est aliquid habitus subiective…” According
to Koch 1927, p. 143 the ‘quidam’ here is Godfrey of Fontaines, pointing us to Vat. lat. 1072, f.
239v–240v (i.e. Quodl. 14.3, pp. 340–6 [codex R in PhB 5]). In Quodl. 14.3, in his reply to the fifth
objection—that justice is not general or common since it is in the sensitive appetite which peddles
only in particulars—Godfrey does defend the thesis that “virtutes omnes morales sunt in appetitu
sensitivo” (p. 341). However, Godfrey admits (constat) that prudence, a “habitus intellectivus cog-
noscitivus […] principaliter est in intellectu” (p. 341) and two pages later (p. 343) he recognizes
and seems to reject the alternative (the view Durand champions). Moreover, none of the seven
arguments found in TDH are in Quodl. 14.3. Godfrey does allude to a separate discussion on the
topic (p. 342) which I have not been able to locate. For discussion on this point, see Wippel 2007,
p. 318, fn. 58. For discussion of the fifth objection and Godfrey’s reply, see ibid., pp. 317–20.
13
Of the seven arguments Prosper gives (f. 60va–62va), one (f. 60va–61ra) is unique; the rest are
either verbatim or paraphrases of Durand’s arguments. Durand presents six arguments as ‘motiva’
and a seventh as a more general argument (TDH 4.8, pp. 42–48).
14
“… nihil in intellectu ponendum est frustra…”
15
TDH 4.8, p. 42: “Si aliquis habitus esset in intellectu subiective, hoc esset propter determinatio-
nem eius ad actum vel propter facilitatem; sed propter neutrum istorum est ponendus talis habitus
in intellectu; ergo nullo modo.” See also TDH 4.8, p. 51; 4.6, p. 32; and 4.4, pp. 20–21. For
Prosper’s version, see Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 60va–vb. See also the presentation of the argument in
Quaestio “Utrum habitus acquisitus…”, p. 70.
234 P. J. Hartman
ease: the relative ease with which the intellect elicits its act totally depends upon the
relative ease with which the ostensive power presents to it its objects.16
The idea, then, seems to be that the intellect at least is such that the ease with
which it elicits its acts and the fact that it elicits a determinate act is a function of the
ease with which a power on the side of the sensitive soul shows to it objects and
which objects it shows to it.17 Now, ‘determination’ is a fishy term, and a word on
its use here is in order. What does it mean to say that X (the ostensive power’s pre-
sentation of an object) determines Y (the intellect, in this case) with respect to its
act? One thing that this might mean is that X causes (in some sense of the term
‘cause’) the intellect to elicit its act. Another thing that it might mean is something
like what we mean when we say that something fixes the content of the mental act:
I am thinking about cats and not dogs because X where X is a kind of representation
of cats and not dogs.18 We might have one story about what causes the intellect to
elicit its act and some other story about what fixes the content of that act; or it might
be the case that the same item that causes the act also fixes the content of the act.
(Prosper, in fact, splits these two features out in one version of the master argument.)19
The upshot here is that however we take ‘determination’, Durand and Prosper
maintain that what determines the intellect to elicit a determinate act (a thought
about cats, say, rather than dogs) is something outside the intellect: the intellect is
determined to think about whatever is presented to it by way of the ostensive power.
As Durand puts it:
With respect to the determination and ease of the intellect, the determination and ease of the
powers that are required in order to represent the object are sufficient.20
16
TDH 4.8, p. 42: “Illud cuius determinatio et facilitas ad actum dependet totaliter ex altero non
requirit propter ista habitum in seipso; sed determinatio intellectus ad actum suum et facilitas ad
eumdem dependet totaliter ex altero, scilicet ex potentia memorativa vel repraesentativa obiecti;
ergo etc.” See also p. 51. For Prosper’s take on it, see Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 60va–vb and Sent. Prol.
1.6, f. 37ra–b.
17
TDH 4.8, pp. 42–43: “… quia ex hoc quod obiectum intellectus repraesentatur ei determinato
modo, determinatur intellectus ad vere <p. 43 > vel false intelligendum. Si enim proponantur intel-
lectui principia per se nota et sub eis gradatim accipiantur ea quae sunt eis per se connexa, deter-
minatur intellectus ad cognitionem veri et scientifice. Si vero proponantur principia non per se
nota, sed dubia, ut per sillogismum dialecticum vel apparentia et non-existentia ut fit per sillogis-
mum sophisticum, determinatur intellectus ad opinandum vel ad erronee sentiendum; et cum ista
ab alio accepta vel per nos inventa firmantur in memoria nostra sensitiva facillimum est intellectum
exire in actus consimiles.”
18
This way of putting the point leaves open the precise story we will tell here as to representational-
ity. We might suppose that X is a representation of cats in virtue of the fact that it is a kind of image,
form, species or likeness of cats that, once possessed, somehow fixes the content of the act; or we
might suppose that X is a representation of cats in virtue of the fact that X stands in a certain causal
relationship to cats and the act. As I have argued elsewhere, Durand maintains the latter view, with
some qualification about this causal relation. See Hartman 2013 and Hartman 2014.
19
Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 64va–vb (emphasis mine): “… quia aut poneretur propter habilitatem poten-
tiae vel propter determinationem ad actum vel propter repraesentationem obiecti vel ut potentia
delectabiliter operetur.”
20
TDH 4.8, p. 43: “Videtur ergo quod ad determinationem seu facilitatem intellectus sufficiat
determinatio et facilitas virium quae requiruntur ad repraesentationem obiecti.”
Since a habit is postulated in order to explain the determination of the intellect, and
since the determination of the intellect is a function of something on the side of the
ostensive power, and not something on the side of the intellect, we ought to suppose
that habits are not in the intellect but rather in the ostensive power as in a subject. So
too, mutatis mutandis, with ease. Hence, cognitive habits are not in the intellect.
12.1.2 The Arguments from the Anonymous Thomist
To get a better idea of what Durand and Prosper have in mind, I think it might be
useful to look at the sort of reaction that the NTH received from proponents of
the STH.21 As part of his edition of the fourth question of Durand’s Tractatus de
habitibus, Josef Koch edited a quaestio he found prepended to it in Erfurt,
Amplon. F369 (f. 82ra–83ra). The anonymous author of this quaestio—which asks
“whether we should suppose that acquired intellectual and moral habits are in that
power as in a subject whose act they primarily and directly concern”22—attacks
Durand’s position, quoting him verbatim. Following Koch, I will call him a Certain
Anonymous Thomist (Thomista quidam anonymus), or Cat, for short.23
Cat considers the master argument, and he rejects its minor premise—that the
intellect is sufficiently determined with respect to its ease and determination by the
ostensive power. It is true, he notes, that if a cognitive power is such that its deter-
mination and ease totally depend upon something else, then one does not need to
posit a habit in that power. Hence, Cat agrees, there are no habits in the external
sensitive powers, for these totally depend with respect to their determination and
ease upon present sensible qualities.24 However, the intellect is such that the ease
21
Durand and Prosper present their positions very much in negative terms—as critiques of the
STH—and their own positive proposals are often left vague. The bulk of Prosper’s Sent. Prol.
3.3.1, for instance, is made up of 27(!) arguments in defense of the STH together with his careful
response to each of them. Many other authors responded to Durand’s position. For a list, see foot-
note 5 above.
22
“Utrum habitus acquisitus intellectualis vel moralis sit ponendus in illa potentia subiective cuius
actum primo et immediate respicit.”
23
Cat tells us that he wishes to defend the “common doctrine” (i.e. Aquinas’s position) on p. 73:
“Sequendo communem doctrinam dicendum est quod habitus intellectuales sunt subiective in
intellectu et morales in appetitu.” For Aquinas’s position on habits, see the references in footnote 1
above. On the anonymous author’s identity, see Koch’s introduction (p. 6) to his edition of TDH as
well as Koch 1927, pp. 142–143. Pelster 1922, p. 238 had suggested that the author might be Peter
of Palude, a thesis Koch rejects on the grounds that (a) Palude’s criticism of Durand in Sent. 3.23
is quite different than the one found here and (b) the criticism is “zu scharfsinnig für Petrus.”
24
Quaestio “Utrum habitus acquisitus…” pp. 74–5: “… potentiae sensitivae interiores non deter-
minant intellectum ad actum suum eo modo quo visibile determinat visum ad actum videndi, quia
non eo modo praesentant obiectum suum intellectui sensus interiores quo obiciens corpus colora-
tum visui repraesentat sibi proprium suum obiectum. Nam color existens in corpore obiecto
vel supposito est proprium obiectum visus in quod potentia visiva primo et directe fertur… Et ideo
236 P. J. Hartman
with which it elicits its acts and its determination does not totally depend upon
something else (ex alio)—a difference in ease or determination is explained at least
sometimes by appeal to a difference on the side of the intellect.25
Cat adduces the following argument in defense of this idea.
Variation to the intellect is not totally explained by appeal to the imagination which presents
to the intellect its proper object, for if this were totally explained by the imagination, then
there could be no variation to the intellect without an antecedent variation to the imagina-
tion. But the consequent is false. (p. 76)26
Cat uses the terms ‘imagination’ (imaginativa pars; phantasia) to pick out the role
that the ostensive power performs in Durand’s account,27 and his argument is sim-
ple: if all change or variation to the intellect is sufficiently explained by items out-
side the intellect, then there can be no change or variation to the intellect unless
there is an antecedent change or variation outside the intellect. Call the consequent
here—that there can’t be an intellectual difference (i.e. a variation to the intellect)
without an antecedent physical difference (i.e. a variation to the imagination or at
least variation outside the intellect)—the dependence thesis; call its denial the inde-
pendence thesis.28
Cat goes on to adduce two arguments in defense of the independence thesis, that
is, the view that there can be variation on the side of the intellect even if there is no
antecedent variation outside the intellect. The first appeals to the intellect’s agency—
the intellect is capable of performing an action even if everything outside the
contingit quod sensibili praesentato sensui exteriori non solum faciliter sed etiam necessario con-
sequitur actus sentiendi, quia videlicet illud tamquam proprium obiectum talis potentiae est suffi-
cienter motivum ipsius.”
25
ibid., p. 73: “Omnis potentia se extendens ad multos actus indeterminate cui ex se competit quod
in aliquos illorum actuum quandoque non possit sine difficultate et tarditate et quandoque pro-
rumpat in eosdem faciliter, expedite et prompte, necessario variatur secundum aliquid existens in
ea formaliter. Et dico ‘ex se’ quia si varietas secundum difficultatem et facilitatem, tarditatem et
promptitudinem ad actus suos sibi competeret ex alio, totaliter sufficeret variatio in illo; sed si sibi
competat ex se, oportet quod varietur in se vel secundum essentiam suam vel secundum aliquid
receptum in illa. Sed intellectus et uterque appetitus sunt potentiae quaedam indeterminate se
extendentes ad multos actus, ita quod in aliquos illorum quandoque non possit nisi cum difficultate
et tarditate, quandoque autem possit in eosdem faciliter et prompte. Et hoc competit sibi secundum
se. Ergo etc.”
26
“… talis variatio non competit intellectui totaliter ex parte imaginativae per quam praesentatur
sibi proprium obiectum; si enim hoc conveniret intellectui totaliter ratione phantasiae, tunc non
posset esse talis varietas in intellectu nisi variata illa. Consequens est falsum.”
27
For Durand, at least, the ostensive power is not the same as the imagination, for the imagination
has its own function and is a cognitive power as such, whereas the ostensive power is not a cogni-
tive power as such. See the discussion above about the ostensive power, footnote 9 above.
28
I don’t want too much weight to be placed on the term ‘physical’ here, for there is an indepen-
dent, and complicated, question of how to translate our contemporary talk of ‘mental/physical’ into
medieval debates. However, all parties in this debate agreed that the intellect is an immaterial
entity, whereas the ostensive power is not, for it is something that exists in the sensitive part of the
soul. Hence, we can take ‘physical’ to mean, at least, what is not immaterial, or, even more care-
fully, what is not the intellect or in the intellect.
intellect (including the phantasms in the imagination or ostensive power) remains

the same. He writes:
With the phantasms associated with the terms of some demonstrable conclusion formed
with equal speed and ease, the intellect, which before did not assent to this conclusion
quickly and firmly, will, once it has performed an actual deduction, assent to it quickly and
firmly. (p. 76)29
If we were to freeze, so to speak, everything outside the intellect, the intellect could,
according to Cat, still perform an actual deduction on materials previously
acquired in the imagination. Now, this action, since it is itself a cognitive act, would
generate a cognitive habit associated with it (or reinforce one already present). But
since, ex hypothesi, everything is the same outside the intellect, yet there is a differ-
ence on the side of the intellect—the relative ease with which it elicits its act after
repeated actual deductions—we ought to locate the habit that explains such a differ-
ence in the intellect. Call this the agency argument: the fact that the intellect is
capable of some independent agency entails that the intellect is also capable of
developing cognitive habits unique to it.
While the agency argument has as its target the relative ease with which the intel-
lect elicits its act, the second argument that Cat adduces primarily concerns the
intellect’s determination with respect to its act. According to Durand (and Prosper
too), the intellect is determined with respect to its act owing to something outside of
it, namely what the ostensive power presents to it. If the ostensive power presents a
cat (presumably in the form of a phantasm), the intellect will think about cats, and
so on. Now, in the case of complex acts—the sort involved in deductions, for
instance—the ostensive power presents certain objects in a certain order. So if
Socrates thinks certain complex thoughts easier than others, this is owing to the fact
that the stored phantasms (or species) are more quickly presented to the intellect by
the ostensive power in a certain order—and this is what a cognitive habit explains.30
As Cat puts Durand’s point, “the determination of a [cognitive] power is from the
way objects are shown to it (ex modo praesentandi obiecti); in the case of the intel-
lect, this ‘way’ just is the ordered formation of species” (p. 77).31 In the case of
sight, the sensitive power for seeing is determined to see a certain color owing to the
presence of that color (the visible object). In the case of the intellect, its determina-
tion is owing to whatever object the ostensive power (or the imagination) presents
to it. Now, the ostensive power (or the imagination) can through training come to
have its phantasms structured into a certain ‘ordered formation’, and so it is that one
29
“… aeque prompte et faciliter formatis phantasmatibus terminorum alicuius conclusionis demon-
strabilis, intellectus, qui illi conclusioni prompte et firmiter non assentit antequam sit actualiter ex
principiis deducta, post actualem deductionem assentit prompte et firmiter.”
30
TDH, p. 56: “Propter hoc autem non oportet ponere aliquod novum subiective in intellectu, sed
sufficit quod in potentia repraesentativa obiecti sit facta ordinata impressio scibilium prius cogni-
torum et firmata, et quod illa moveatur ad repraesentandum ea intellectui cum voluerit; tunc enim
intelligimus cum volumus quod prius non poteramus.”
31
“… determinatio potentiae est ex modo praesentandi obiectum qui modus quoad intellectum est
ordinata formatio specierum etc.” See also ibid., p. 71.
238 P. J. Hartman
can be said to be in a position to elicit certain, that is, determinate, thoughts in a

certain order rather than others and in some other order.
However, Cat demurs,
this ordering of the species in imagination—of the sort required in a demonstration that
causes a scientific habit—is not something imagination can do on its own, nor is it owing to
a change in the will except insofar as the will is directed by the intellect. The reason there
is such an ordering primarily and in the first place is the intellect, for the imagination can
never perform the act in virtue of which the species in it come to have a certain order unless
the intellect performs a more basic act first. Hence, just as a habit comes about in the imagi-
nation from the performance of the act, so too one comes about in the intellect. (pp. 77–78)32
The idea here is that the ostensive power (or the imagination) is incapable of orga-
nizing the phantasms (or species) on its own. It requires the intellect to organize the
phantasms. Hence, this more basic act by which the intellect alone organizes the
phantasms in the imagination, as it is a cognitive act, should generate a cognitive
habit associated with it in the intellect, in addition to the habit generated in the
imagination. Call this the ordered-formation argument.
With both arguments, Cat’s aim is to point out that there is a cognitive act that the
intellect performs independent from the ostensive power and what the ostensive
power presents to it: in the first case, this is an actual deduction on material already
present to it; in the second case, this is the original act of organization done to the
phantasms in the imagination.
I won’t dwell on how Prosper (on Durand’s behalf) responds to such objec-
tions—suffice it to say, Prosper sticks to his guns: the intellect, in this life at least,
is incapable of an independent action: its determination and the relative ease with
which it acts is totally dependent upon what the ostensive power presents to it and
how quickly it does this. Nor is there a more basic act of organization on the part of
our intellects: the ordered formation of the imagination is explained by appeal to
teaching (doctrina) or chance discovery (inventio) through trial and error.33
Let’s take stock. One thing that seems to motivate the NTH’s location thesis—
that cognitive habits do not exist in the intellect—is a commitment to the depen-
dence thesis, the view that there is no intellectual difference without an antecedent
difference to something outside the intellect, i.e. a variation to the imagination or
ostensive power. Since every intellective act presupposes an antecedent difference
to something outside of it, it seems that a theory that countenances habits in both the
imagination (or ostensive power) and the intellect is a little more expensive than one
that countenances them in just the imagination. Hence, parsimonious Prosper
32
“… ordinatio specierum in phantasia qualis requiritur ad processum demonstrativum causantem
habitum scientiae, non potest competere phantasiae secundum se nec ex motione voluntatis nisi
prout dirigitur ab intellectu. Et ideo ratio a qua est talis ordinatio primo et principaliter est intel-
lectus. Unde cum phantasia numquam possit exercere actum quo ordinate formantur in ea tales
species quin intellectus ibi principaliorem actum exerceat, sicut ex tali exercitio generabitur habi-
tus in phantasia, ita et in intellectu.”
33
On the agency objection, see Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 64va; compare with TDH 4.8, pp. 42–43. On the
ordered-formation argument, see Sent. Prol. 1.6 ad 5, f. 38va–b.
invokes his razor. On the other hand, if the independence thesis is right, then we
should countenance habits in the intellect, for there is at least sometimes intellectual
change independent from non-intellectual change.
12.1.3 Habits and Acts: Ontology and Change
When coupled together, Prosper’s razor and the dependence thesis seem to entail a
kind of eliminativism about cognitive habits conceived of as entities in the intellect:
we do not need to posit entities inside the intellect in order to explain the content of
our thoughts and the ease with which we engage in such thoughts. But why stop
with just cognitive habits? If entities outside the intellect sufficiently explain the
content (that is, the determination) of our intellective acts as well as the ease with
which we elicit such acts, then it would seem we ought to go a step further and
eliminate intellective acts conceived of as entities in the intellect as well. But neither
Durand nor Prosper go this far—both retain intellective acts in their ontology as
entities that exist in the intellect. In this section, I want to examine their reasons for
keeping intellective acts as bona fide entities, and in what sense they do this; this
will shed some light on what exactly Durand and Prosper are rejecting when they
reject cognitive habits as entities in the intellect.
Let me start by distinguishing two views about episodic intellectual change—
that is, the change from not thinking to thinking. On the one view, which I will call
the quality theory of acts—a view defended by proponents of the Standard Theory
of Habits—an intellective act is the direct result of a qualitative non-relational
change that happens to the intellect resulting in a new non-relational entity (an abso-
lute quality) coming about and inhering in the intellect. Some identified this quality
with the act of thinking, others as a necessary condition for an act of thinking—the
so-called intelligible species.34 When conditions are right, and an intelligible object
is present to our intellects, that object (either on its own or together with something
else) acts upon and changes our intellects, producing a new quality in the intellect.
According to another view—endorsed by both Prosper and Durand—an intellective
act is not the direct result of a qualitative non-relational change to the intellect. An
intellective act is not (nor does it require) an absolute entity inhering in the intellect.
Rather an intellective act is a relative entity (founded on the intellect and directed at
the object), and it results from a relational change that happens to the intellect. Call
this the relation theory of acts.35 When the intellect comes to be newly related to an
intelligible item (either present on its own or by means of the ostensive power),
we can then claim, without any further ado, that it has elicited an intellective act.
34
For recent discussions of both views, see Cross 2014, esp. chs. 5 and 6, and Hartman 2014.
35
In Durand, see Sent. (A) 2.3.5 and Quaestio disputata 1. For discussion, see Hartman 2011, ch.
3, Hartman 2013, Hartman 2014, Solère 2013 and Solère 2014. For Prosper, see Sent. Prol. 1.5.1
(esp. ad 8) and Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 63ra.
240 P. J. Hartman
All there is to thought is the relation, for an act of thinking just is the relation that
obtains between the intellect and a present intelligible item.36
One important feature of the relation theory of acts is that it entails the depen-
dence thesis, for a new relative entity cannot come about unless there is a change to
one (or both) of the relata. Hence, the intellect cannot come to be newly related (that
is, come to have a new episode or act of thinking) unless there is a change outside
the intellect. Even so, on the relation theory of acts, we can still say that there is a
new real entity added to the intellect: the act of thinking conceived of as a relative
entity, founded upon the intellect and directed at the object, and not an absolute
entity.37 So why can’t we also say that habits are also relative entities added to the
intellect, dependent upon a change outside the intellect?
That Durand and Prosper are eliminativists about cognitive habits conceived of
as entities in the intellect is even more puzzling granted that both authors maintain
as well the ontological thesis that a habit (just as an act) is a mere relative entity and
not an absolute entity. For instance, Prosper—in the first subquestion in quaestio
five of the first part of his Prologue—writes,
Some people maintain that each scientific habit falls into an absolute category, namely the
first kind of quality… but others—whose view I endorse—maintain that it falls into the
category of relation.38
And Durand, in his Sentences commentary declares that “a habit … is not strictly
speaking an absolute thing but it is rather a mode of a thing or a relation.”39 Durand
and Prosper, then, are committed to the ontological thesis that cognitive habits are
not absolute entities (just as acts are not absolute entities) and they allow acts to be
added to the intellect in the sense that a relative entity is added to its foundation.40 So
why can’t habits, conceived of as relative entities, be added to the intellect as well?
36
How can Durand and Prosper explain our thoughts about items that are not present or intelligible,
such as universals? Suffice it to say, their position amounts to a kind of externalist causal-theory of
content, and it faces some of the same challenges. See Hartman 2013 for discussion.
37
For Durand, at least some relations are bona fide or real entities in their own right: modes of
things and not things, but real all the same. The relevant feature that interests us here is that such
relations (as opposed to absolute qualities) do not ‘enter into composition‘with their foundations,
and so the intellect can acquire a new relation (the act) without being compromised, so to speak,
by the object’s causal power (as it is when it is affected such that it takes on a new absolute quality
which enters into composition with it). For a discussion of Durand’s views on relations, see
Hartman 2011, ch. 3; Dewender 2009; Iribarren 2002, pp. 293–4; Iribarren 2005, pp. 109–21;
Iribarren 2008, pp. 250–2; Henninger 1989, pp. 177–8; Müller 1968, pp. 97–8; Decker 1967,
pp. 427–38; Fumagalli 1969, pp. 93–113; Schönberger 1994, pp. 125–31. In Durand, see Sent.
(AC) 1.33.1, 1.30.2, Quodlibeta avenionensia 1.1 and Sent. 4.12.1 (inter alia).
38
Sent. Prol. 1.5.1 (“Utrum <habitus> sit res alicuius generis absoluti”), f. 31rb.
39
Sent. (A/B) 3.23.1 (from Peter of Palude, Sent. 3.23.1–2 Paris 1517, f. 116vb): “... habitus ... non
est proprie aliqua natura absoluta sed est magis modus rei vel naturae.” See also Quaestio disputata
2, p. 21 (ed. Takada 1968): “Cum igitur habitus dicat modem quemdam et non rem absolutam...”
Durand, however, allows us to place habits in the category of Quality, for he holds that not all
qualities are absolute things (Sent. (A/B) 3.23.1).
40
In TDH 4.1, p. 10–11, Durand notes that even corporeal habits are not the per se and primo (that
is, direct) result of an intrinsic (qualitative) change, although ex consequenti such corporeal habits
change, for a corporeal habit is just the ‘commensuratio’ of the four humours in the body.
Yet Durand and Prosper insist that the change in a subject from not having a
cognitive habit to having a cognitive habit does not entail any change whatsoever to
the intellect, be it relational or non-relational (qualitative). Durand, for instance, in
an unfinished quaestio entitled “De subiecto virtutum moralium” nestled among a
collection of other texts in Prosper’s notebook, writes,
If scientific knowledge (which is a habit) were in the intellect as in a subject, then it would
be acquired in us by way of some change to the intellect; but according to the Philosopher
it is acquired in us when a change happens to something else. (Vat. lat. 1086, f. 186vb)41
As well, in his TDH, Durand writes,

When Aristotle is speaking as a natural philosopher, namely in Physics 7, he quite clearly
states that scientific knowledge comes about in us even if our intellective power doesn’t
change at all. This wouldn’t be the case if scientific knowledge were in the intellect as in a
subject, especially if it were taken to be an absolute item. (4.8, p. 55)42
12.2 Conclusion
So what really motivates the view that habits are not in the intellect? I would submit,
in close, that there are two answers, one simple, one more complex. The more com-
plex answer first. There are good theological reasons for supposing that intellective
acts have to be in the intellect as in a subject. For one thing, angels, who have no
bodies, can still think. Angels, however, do not have to have habits.43 For another
thing, the beatific vision—an intellective act—is something that the disembodied
41
“Item si scientia, quae est habitus, subiective esset in intellectu, acquireretur in nobis in nova-
tione facta in intellectu; sed secundum Philosophum acquiritur in nobis mutato quodam altero.”
This particular text is almost verbatim the same as text found in Henry Harclay’s q. 23 in his
Ordinated Questions, although in Prosper’s notebook it is ascribed to Durand. Prosper quotes this
argument in Sent. Prol. 3.3.1 at f. 62ra.
42
“Ubi autem Aristoteles loquitur ut naturalis philosophus, scilicet septimo Physicorum, plane dicit
quod nobis non motis secundum ullam potentiam intellectivam fit scientia in nobis; quod non posset
esse si scientia esset in intellectu subiective, maxime si esset aliquid absolutum.” See also TDH 4.8,
p. 46: “Quintum motivum est, quia secundarius terminus cuiuslibet actionis est in eodem subiecto in
quo est principalis terminus; sed scientia acquiritur in nobis non ut per se et immediatus terminus
alicuius actionis, sed solum ut secundarius terminus alterationis factae secundum partem sensitivam;
ergo scientia subiective est in illo in quo est primus et immediatus terminus alterationis sensibilis;
illud autem est aliquod corporeum; quare etc. Maior patet, quia per nullam actionem fit aliquid nisi
in subiecto actionis in quo est principalis terminus. Quod patet exemplo: sanitas enim quae sequitur
alterationem factam secundum calidum et frigidum et caeteras qualitates est in eodem subiecto cum
eis. Similiter quantitas et figura quae sequitur alterationem factam secundum rarum et densum sunt
in eodem subiecto cum raritate et densitate. Minor patet ex septimo Physicorum, ubi probat
Aristoteles ex intentione quod ad scientiam non est per se et primo neque alteratio neque aliqua
actio, sed fit in nobis facta alteratione secundum corpus et vires sensitivas.” I should note that the
passage that both Durand and Prosper have in mind is Physics VII.3, a truly incredibly interesting
chapter—Aristotle’s aim is to show that change occurs only among sensible qualities—that gener-
ated a good deal of discussion in the medieval literature. For recent discussion, see Robert 2016.
43
On angels in Durand, see Sent. (A) 2.3.5; Sent. (C) 2.3.6; in Prosper, see Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f.
60va–vb and 1.6 ad 6, f. 39rb.
242 P. J. Hartman
intellect can enjoy. The disembodied intellect does not have to have habits, at least
not—as Prosper puts it—outside Paris.44 Hence, Durand and Prosper have some
reason to think that intellective acts are ‘in’ the intellect—in the sense that a real
relation is in the item so-related. Thus they perhaps with some reluctance endorse
the idea that episodic intellectual change involves a real change to the intellect,
albeit a mere relational change, and it results in a real entity added to the intellect,
albeit a mere relative entity. But that’s all they have to admit. Hence, the simple
answer is Prosper’s razor: as natural philosophers we should not countenance too
many things over and above the physical.45 In the case of intellectual habits, then,
entities and facts outside the intellect—the ostensive power and its determination—
sufficiently explain what needs to be explained, and so we do not need to counte-
nance some further entity in the intellect over and above that.
References
Manuscripts
Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale 12330: Durand of St.-Pourçain. Sentences. L. III. D. 23.

Vatican, lat. 1076: Durand of St.-Pourçain. Tractatus de habitibus. Q. 5; Prosper de Reggio Emilia.
Quaestiones super libros quatuor sententiarum.
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———. 1930. Tractatus de habitibus. Q. 4, ed. Joseph Koch. Opuscula et Textus 8. Münster:
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———. 1963. Tractatus de habitibus. Qq. 1–3, ed. Takeshira Takada. Tokyo: [s.n.] (= TDH).
44
Sent. Prol. 3.3.1, f. 61vb–62ra. According to John of Naples, whom Prosper quotes, Prosper’s
view entails that when a human being dies, his scientific knowledge dies with him (mortuo homine
non manet scientia habituali). However, this is an error, condemned by the Bishop of Paris: “Dicere
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response to the charge.
45
This research was supported in part by the Chaire de recherche du Canada en théorie de la con-
naissance. I would like to thank in particular Claude Panaccio for his mentorship, as well as the
audiences at the Pacific American Philosophy Association colloquium, Loyola University
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Louis University-Chicago Reading Group, and the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy. I’d like
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———. 2014. Causation and cognition: Durand of St.-Pourçain and Godfrey of Fontaines on the
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2). In The Language of Thought in Late Medieval Philosophy. Essays in Honor of Claude
Panaccio, ed. Jenny Pelletier and Magali Roques, 331–368. Berlin: Springer.
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244 P. J. Hartman
———. 2005. Durandus of St. Pourçain: A Dominican Theologian in the Shadow of Aquinas.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
———. 2008. La christologie de Durand de Saint-Pourçain dans le contexte de l’émergence du
thomisme au XIVème siècle. Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 92: 241–256.
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zu Beginn des 14. Jahrhunderts. Münster: Aschendorff.
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———. 1928. Prosper de Reggio Emilia, des Ermites de Saint-Augustin, et le manuscrit latin 1086
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———. 2014. Sine qua non causality and the context of Durand’s early theory of cognition. In
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Chapter 13
Peter Auriol on Habits and Virtues
Martin Pickavé
Abstract Peter Auriol is a good example of the debate over the nature of habits,
moral habits (i.e. virtues and vices) in particular, that raged at the University of Paris
in the early fourteenth century. This chapter examines Peter Auriol’s basic under-
standing of habits and virtues in his quodlibetal questions and his commentary on
the Sentences. The first part is devoted to the ontological status of virtues and other
habitual dispositions and examines why, according to Auriol, habits are qualities.
The second part turns to the unity of virtues. Since Auriol holds that one and the
same moral virtue belongs to different psychological powers, the question arises
of how to account for the unity of virtues and other similar dispositions. In the last
part, the chapter turns to the question of what role virtues and practical habits have
in the causation of action. Interestingly, Auriol denies that virtues have any direct
causal role.
Keywords Peter Auriol · Virtues · Habits · Dispositions · Unity of virtue · Moral

psychology
13.1 Introduction
As is obvious from an increasing number of publications, Peter Auriol has made a

comeback in the scholarship on medieval philosophy. This new attention is well-
deserved and long overdue given the highly original positions he takes on many
issues in metaphysics, epistemology, and philosophy of mind. However, Auriol’s
teachings on moral philosophy, including moral psychology, have so far gone
largely unnoticed.1 This is a surprise: after all, sizeable parts of Auriol’s
Good examples of this tendency are the otherwise excellent entries on Peter Auriol in the Stanford
1
Encyclopedia of Philosophy and Blackwell’s Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages. See
M. Pickavé (*)
Department of Philosophy, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada
e-mail: martin.pickave@utoronto.ca

246 M. Pickavé
commentary on the Sentences, especially his commentary on the third book, deal
with moral questions. In the following pages, I would like to make a first step
towards reversing the present situation by exploring some aspects of Auriol’s teach-
ing on habits and virtues. That Auriol had a special interest in virtues and other
habitual dispositions can also be gathered from his Quodlibet, which, in questions
11–15, contains a substantial treatise on the virtues.
This chapter has three parts of increasing length and complexity. First, I will
explore Auriol’s views on the ontological status of virtues and other habitual dispo-
sitions. Then I will add some comments regarding the unity of habits and virtues.
Finally, I shall deal with the role these entities have in the causation of action. Since
the present chapter is very much a first exploratory stab at Auriol’s vast teachings on
these issues, I will limit myself to those of his texts that have appeared in print.
13.2 The Ontological Status of Habits and Virtues
The question of the ontological status of virtues, such as prudence, courage, and
moderation, comes up almost immediately when we ask ourselves what exactly
virtues and other similar dispositions are. Virtues are said to incline us towards cer-
tain types of behaviour, and at the same time they involve a relationship to a moral
standard, since both the virtues and the actions they lead to are said to be morally
fitting and appropriate. One may thus wonder whether virtues belong in the cate-
gory of relation, or whether they are at least composite entities that include a relative
element. Take the virtue of courage: it is hard to think of courage as not related to
the courageous behaviour to which it is said to incline the courageous agent. The
same observation applies to dispositions (habitus) in general: although not all dis-
positions are related to what is fitting and appropriate, they still seem to be related
to a certain type of manifestation.2
The ontological status of virtues and dispositions is addressed by many philoso-
phers of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Most insist that, despite the fact of
being dispositions towards something, virtues belong to the category of quality.3
Friedman (2015) and Nielsen (2002). A notable exception is the recent work by Tobias Hoffmann,
see, for instance, Hoffmann (2015).
2
In the following pages, I will translate habitus as “disposition” or “habitual disposition.”
“Disposition” is not a perfect translation, for there are many dispositions that are not habitus. For
instance, a glass’s ability to break is a disposition but not a habitus. For medieval authors, habitus
are, strictly speaking, dispositions that belong to an underlying power (potentia), whereas the
glass’s disposition to break is a power in itself, in this case a passive power (potentia passiva). In
this sense, the “problem of habitus in later medieval philosophy” is a set of questions about the
existence and nature of those dispositions that belong to certain, more basic powers. Medieval
philosophers and theologians are committed to such dispositions for various reasons, the details of
which I will not go into here.
3
See, for instance, Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 49, art. 1. See also some of the other chapters in the
present volume, especially Klima’s paper p. 321–331.
13 Peter Auriol on Habits and Virtues 247
But their relational aspect cannot simply be ignored. This leads Giles of Rome, for
example, to talk about dispositions as having the mode (modus) of another category.
The idea is this: one thing can fall under only one category or type of being, but
accidentally it is possible for one thing to belong to another category, for “it is not
unsuitable that a thing belonging to one category possesses the mode (modus) of
another category.” Giles explains this with the example of knowledge, which strictly
speaking belongs to the category of quality, but also “has the mode of a relation
from the fact that it is related to what is known and because it is from there that it
originated.”4 The same applies to other dispositions.
Responses such as the one by Giles will presumably raise further questions about
this mode (modus). Is this mode that the dispositional qualities possess something
extrinsic to them or not? On Giles’s view, it seems as if it is intrinsic, although he
himself never gets around to addressing this question. But then it looks as if disposi-
tions are non-simple entities, because they are now composed of an absolute (i.e.
non-relative) quality and a further intrinsic feature, the mode, in virtue of which
they are related to whatever it is that they are related to. Some will think that it is
obvious that dispositions are complex entities: my mathematical disposition is com-
posed of the partial dispositions to count, to subtract, to multiply, etc. But that’s not
the point here. The question is not whether complex dispositions such as my math-
ematical knowledge are complex—which they obviously are—but whether simple
dispositions are complex or not.
One later medieval philosopher who seems to have embraced the view that sim-
ple dispositions are complex entities—or, to be more precise, accidental beings
(entia per accidens)—was Thomas Wylton, a contemporary of Peter Auriol, who
was engaged with him in a debate about the nature of virtues. For Wylton, the rela-
tional character of virtues and other dispositions is something real and cannot sim-
ply be ignored. Since he doesn’t want to go so far as to say that virtues are relations,
he is moved to the conclusion that they are accidental composites. In response to
Wylton, Auriol defends the traditional view that virtues are items belonging to the
category of quality.5 A virtue is a quality, even if it is correct, as the opponents point
out, that a virtue comes by necessity with a relation and is thus also understood as
being related. However, according to Auriol, it is a mistake to infer from this natural
connection that virtues are composites. As he writes in question 11 of his Quodlibet,
where he lays out his view in a rather dogmatic form:
4
Giles of Rome, Theoremata de corpore Christi, prop. 27 (1554, fols. 16vb–17ra). See esp. fol.
17ra: “Scientia enim, quae secundum rem est qualitas et est essentialiter in praedicamento qualita-
tis, habet quendam modum relativum ex eo quod relative refertur ad scibile et inde sumpsit
originem.”
5
For this debate see also Nielsen (2000). In his article, Nielsen edits two questions by Peter Auriol.
Both questions, from MS Balliol College 63 (Oxford), are so closely related to questions 11 and
15 of Auriol’s Quodlibet that Nielsen considers it possible that they were “either reports of oral
lectures or determinations or simply draft versions of what Auriol later put into his Quodlibet”
(38). In the same article, Nielsen also discusses Wylton’s views on the ontological status of virtues
(58–61).
248 M. Pickavé
Regarding the first question I assume three things: first, that a virtue is quidditatively and
essentially an absolute quality (qualitas absoluta). […] Second, it is assumed that this
absolute quality, as virtue or vice falls under the first species of quality, necessarily pos-
sesses both from its common understanding (de suo communi intellectu) and from its own
coexisting (suo coexistere) a relationship of fit or non-fitting (respectum congruentiae vel
incongruentiae), so that virtue cannot be something absolute or be understood, unless it is
something fitting and it is understood to fit. […] But third, it is assumed that virtue is not
something constituted (aliquid constitutum) by a relationship of agreement or fit or har-
mony [on the one hand] and by that which is absolute [on the other hand], in the same way
that a white surface is composed from whiteness and a surface.6
The problem Auriol faces in making his view intelligible is to show how one can
maintain that virtues are, on the one hand, always understood to involve relations to
a norm (and in fact also to coexist with relations to a norm), and, on the other hand,
that virtues do not themselves include relations (as their parts). Auriol responds to
this challenge by pointing to other accidents that show similar peculiarities, the so-
called “joint accidents” (accidentia copulata). One of his examples is the property
snub-nosed (simum). Whereas the definition of a property such as white (album)
does not include a determinate subject—all sorts of things can be white, human
beings, garment, walls, etc.—the property snub-nosed cannot be defined or under-
stood without reference to a determinate subject, namely, noses.7 The close link
between the property and its subject can be gathered from the fact that the subject
of the property appears in its name. But the peculiarity of the property snub-nosed
does not entail that it is not a quality in the strict sense like the property white, that
is, an absolute entity belonging to the category of quality. According to Auriol, we
should think of virtue in a way similar to snub-nosed. Like the term “snub-nosed,”
the term “virtue” signifies a joint accident. But whereas the property snub-nosed is
joint to a determinate subject (namely, a nose) without this jointness jeopardizing its
status as a real quality, the property virtue is by nature joint to a determinate rela-
tion—namely, the relation which is founded on it—without virtue itself being a
relation or being composed of a relation and an absolute entity.8
It is true that we usually say that virtue includes a relation. But talk of inclusion,
Auriol remarks, can mean two things: either that there is something which is a third
item composed out of two, or that there is something that is joint (copulatum) with
something else. In the second case, we do not point to something composite, and it
is in this way that we should understand that virtues include relations.9 That our
6
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 11 (1605, 107b–108b). See also Determinatio fratris Petri Aurioli utrum
virtus in quantum virtus sit ens per accidens, edited by Lauge Nielsen (2000, 65–66).
7
See Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 11 (1605, 110a): “Qualitatum quaedam sunt simplices, ut albedo, de
quarum cointellectu, consignificatione et definitione ac essentiali coexistentia non sunt determi-
nata subiecta; quaedam vero copulatae quibusdam sine quibus nec definiri, nec significari, nec
intelligi, nec essentialiter esse possunt.” See also Determinatio (Nielsen 2000, 67–68).
8
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 11 (1605, 110a): “Istarum autem quaedam sunt copulatae subiectis deter-
minatis, ut symitas, masculinitas. Quaedam sunt copulatae determinatis respectibus, ut virtus,
scientia.”
9
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 11 (1605, 111b); Determinatio, in Nielsen (2000, 68): “Quando dicitur
‘quandocumque aliquid includit plura etc.’, dicendum, quod includere aliquando est per modum
concept of virtue includes a relationship to a norm (and maybe other relationships

as well), and is thus a complex concept, does not mean that the thing which we
conceive through this concept is a composite item, nor that it is a relation. However,
this does not make our concept of virtue false, since virtues are entities that are natu-
rally and essentially joined with a relation without which they cannot exist or be
understood.
13.3 The Unity of Habits and Virtues
Before I get to the unity of virtues and dispositions and in particular to the unity of
moral virtue, it is important to note that, according to Auriol, both of the psycho-
logical faculties that are immediately relevant for moral action, namely, the lower
and higher appetites, require virtuous dispositions. This is perhaps most obvious in
the case of the so-called sensitive appetite. Without the right sort of disposition, our
sensitive appetite pushes us to pursue all the sensory goods to which we are natu-
rally inclined. For instance, in order to be moderate, our sensitive appetite has to be
so disposed that we do not experience excessive desire for sensory pleasures, but
rather the amount of desire that is in line with what reason would dictate. Someone
who has an excessive desire for sweets when confronted with them lacks the right
sort of disposition, as does someone who has no desire for them at all (since sweets
are something that human beings naturally take pleasure in). Left to themselves, the
sensitive appetite and its acts (the so-called “passions”) resist the command of rea-
son. But since a moral agent is someone who acts and feels according to the demands
of reason, such an agent requires dispositions in the sensitive appetite, dispositions
that bring the appetite into line with reason.
What is less obvious is that there also have to be moral dispositions in the higher
appetite, that is, the will. For Auriol, however, this is clear for at least two reasons.
First, dispositions are caused by repeated activities. But it is not obvious why
repeated behaviour of a certain kind should leave dispositions in the sensitive appe-
tite and in the intellect, but not in the will. Why should the repetition of morally
good choices not leave in the will a disposition to further good choices of the same
sort? Second, if the sensitive appetite requires dispositions because it resists reason,
then the will should require them too, for thanks to its freedom and its ultimate lord-
ship (dominium) over our actions, the will is able to go against what reason
dictates.10
tertii constituti ex hoc et hoc, aliquando includere plura, quia includit unum copulatum alteri.
Primus modus arguit ens per accidens sicut patet de albo; secundus modus non, sicut patet de
simitate.”
10
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 117b): “Praeterea, non minus sunt efficaces actus voluntatis ad
generandum habitum in ea per assuefactionem quam intellectus actus vel appetitus, sed ex actibus
intellectus delinquitur in ipso habitus et similiter de actibus appetitus. Ergo ex actibus voluntatis
delinquitur in ea inclinatio virtuosa. […] Praeterea, non est minus resistentia ad rationem illa, quae
oritur ex libertate et dominio, quam quod oritur ex passione.”
250 M. Pickavé
Yet Auriol’s originality does not consist in arguing that true moral virtues are
located either in the will or in the sensitive appetite as their respective subjects.
Rather, he insists that specific moral virtues consist of a collection of multiple incli-
nations, which exist at the same time in the sensitive appetite as well as in the will.11
In this respect he defends a middle position between philosophers such as Thomas
Aquinas, who consider our lower, sensitive appetite to be the seat of moral virtues,
and others such as John Duns Scotus, for whom human moral virtues do not essen-
tially exist in the psychological powers we share with non-rational animals, but only
in the will.12
Does Auriol’s understanding of moral virtues as a collection of multiple inclina-
tions not lead into an unnecessary multiplication of virtues at both levels of appe-
tite? Why is a moral virtue not simply identical with an inclination in one of the two
appetites? For Auriol, the answer is clear. A moral virtue, say, courage, is not just a
disposition of the sensitive appetite: a courageous person does not just have the
disposition to feel a certain way in the face of danger, but also tends to have certain
appropriate volitions and is prone to certain acts of choice. For the same reason,
courage does not consist merely of a disposition of the will, but is always accompa-
nied by a properly disposed sensitive appetite. In Auriol’s words: someone who
lacks the relevant inclinations at the other level of appetite is not said to be truly
courageous, for something required for moral virtue is missing, just as the roof
without walls is not enough to make a house.13
All this leads to the question of how we can even speak of single moral virtues,
say a virtue of moderation, a virtue of courage, etc. What accounts for the unity of a
virtue? Auriol adds to this difficulty, because in addition to distributing moral vir-
tues over two appetitive faculties he also holds that moral virtues involve multiple
inclinations at the level of each appetite. The latter follows from the fact that moral
virtues have a wide subject matter. A moderate agent, for instance, is m oderate with
11
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 117a): “Virtus moralis constituitur ex pluribus inclinationibus
fundantis unam conformitatem respectu materiae, inclinationibus quibus existentibus in duabus
potentiis, scilicet in voluntate et aliam [lege etiam] in appetitu sensitivo.”
12
See Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 123a): “Nunc ultimo concludi potest ex praecedentibus
solutio cuiusdam quaestionis antiquae, qua consuetum est quaeri utrum virtutes morales sint subi-
ective in voluntate vel in appetitu sensitivo, quibusdam dicentibus quod in voluntate per essentiam
et in appetitu sensitivo per redundantiam, quibusdam vero dicentibus quod omnes sunt in appetitu
sensitivo per essentiam nec oportet ponere quod sint in voluntate. Dicendum tamen ex praecedenti-
bus quod per essentiam omnis virtus moralis secundum aliquid sui est in voluntate et secundum
aliquid sui est in appetitu, vel quod una virtus obedientialis constituitur in esse indivisibili virtutis
ex inclinationibus existentibus hic et ibi.” For Aquinas’s view see, e.g., ST I-II, q. 56, art. 4; for
Scotus, see Ord. III, d. 33, q. un. The debate about the seat of the moral virtues has been examined
by Graf (1934) and more recently by Kent (1995, ch. 5).
13
See Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 117b): “Sed istud stare non potest […] quia carens altera
non dicitur absolute temperatus; propter quod patet quod una sine altera non sufficit ad virtutem,
sicut nec tectum sine parietibus sufficit ad domum. Est igitur una virtus ex his duabus inclinationi-
bus indivisibiliter constituta, sicut domus indivisibiliter constituitur ex pariete, fundamento, et
tecto.” Although this statement is about the virtue of moderation, the line of reasoning obviously
applies to courage as well.
respect to the pleasures of not just one sort of dish, but all sorts, and with drinks too.
And when we learn how to be moderate we acquire first a moderate disposition with
respect to certain objects in certain situations; and by imitating moderate behaviour
in other situations and with respect to other objects we acquire new inclinations, and
our moderate disposition finally grows and develops.14
Despite all this, Auriol insists that moral virtues constitute uniform dispositions.
They clearly do not enjoy the unity of simplicity (unitas simplicitatis), the unity
truly simple things possess, nor do they enjoy the unity of continuity (unitas conti-
nuitatis), where the different parts make up a unity because of their vicinity, but they
have what he calls, referring to Aristotle, “unity of the whole” (unitas totalitatis),
which gives the virtues some degree of indivisibility.15 This lesser unity should not
be mistaken for a merely accidental unity, a unity that mere aggregates are said to
have. According to Auriol, this can be gathered from the fact that when one of the
inclinations that are constitutive of a virtue is taken away, then the remaining whole
is no longer the specific moral virtue that it was before, whereas the removal of a
tree or a piece of hay still leaves the forest or the haystack intact. Yet Auriol’s
account of the unity of virtues remains somewhat mysterious insofar as he doesn’t
explain what accounts for the specific kind of unity enjoyed by the virtues.
A comparison with theoretical dispositions might be of help here. For there too
Auriol insists that a scientific disposition, such as the habit of mathematics, is not
one single simple disposition but a collection of partial dispositions. They form a
certain totality and unity because they are connected in a “perfective order.” Within
one total science, every single conclusion sheds light on the next conclusion and
allows it to be known more perfectly; in parallel fashion, the habits of these conclu-
sions are connected. Something similar seems to be the case in the moral virtues.16
One may also wonder whether conceiving of moral virtues as composites of
inclinations in the way Auriol does leads one down a slippery slope. In order to act
moderately one has to have a certain appreciation of the situation, and one has to
judge the situation and what it requires. In other words, moderation is hardly imag-
inable without prudence, which is supposed to be a virtue of the intellect. Moreover,
in many cases one cannot exercise one moral virtue without also exercising another.
The exercise of justice, for instance, seems often to require moderation. Why does
Auriol not conclude that moral virtues are composed of an even greater number of
inclinations? And why not hold that there is only one moral virtue? But for Auriol
this sort of reasoning is based on a misunderstanding. For we have to distinguish
carefully between, on the one hand, what exactly a moral virtue consists in and, on
the other hand, what leads to or what assists in having or exercising such a virtue.
As Auriol writes:
14
Peter Auriol Quodl., q. 12, secunda conclusio (1605, 118b). In the quarta conclusio (119), Auriol
explains which circumstances require their own inclinations.
15
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 120b). For Auriol’s views on unity see also his Scriptum, d. 1,
q. 6 (1952, 367).
16
For the unity of theoretical dispositions, see Spade (1972).
252 M. Pickavé
But the inclinations, of which one is in the will, the other in the sensitive appetite, come
together into one complete form of obeying. Therefore, just as a balanced bodily constitu-
tion is not part of health, but leads to health, and a mirror is not part of beauty, although
someone arranges with it to take care of one’s face, so prudence is not part of a moral virtue,
even if prudence is superior and directive with respect to moral virtue.17
When one moral virtue facilitates the exercise of another moral virtue it does not do
this as something that is involved in bringing about the moral act. Its involvement
consists more in removing impediments to the exercise of that other virtue.18 And
since Auriol apparently sees no problem in distinguishing these various roles, he
does not believe there to be pressure to admit even more complex moral virtues.
Like other medieval authors, Auriol adheres to the idea that among the moral
virtues there are four cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, moderation, and courage.
Yet instead of taking them as paradigmatic special virtues, as for instance Aquinas
does, he considers them to be four main classes of moral virtues, classes that each
cover various specific virtues.19 According to Auriol, there are eighteen virtues fall-
ing under prudence, twenty-two forms of justice, fifteen of courage, and twenty-five
of moderation. For each general class of virtues he meticulously accounts for all the
specific virtues and the opposite vices. What all the forms of moderation have in
common is that they are specific ways of showing moderation “with respect to
things which attract us excessively” (moderatio circa nimis allicientia); Auriol
refers to this as the ratio formalis of moderation. The ratio formalis of courage is
“steadfastness with respect to things threatening to overwhelm us” (fixio circa obru-
entia), whereas “rendering according to right reason what is owed” (reddere debi-
tum secundum rectam rationem) and “the good defined by reason” (bonum rationis)
characterize the various ways of being just and being prudent, respectively.20
The question of course is, why are there only four cardinal virtues? One could
respond to this question simply by pointing to all the moral virtues, and maintaining
that it just happens to be the case that when we compare them with respect to what
they have in common and what distinguishes them, it turns out that they can be
divided into four groups. Auriol, however, is more ambitious. As in the case of the
various sub-virtues of moderation, prudence, etc., he attempts a formal deduction of
17
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 122a): “Sed inclinationes quarum una est in voluntate, alia in
appetitu sensitivo concurrunt ad unum plene obedire, unde sicut non concurrit ad sanitatem consti-
tutio media, quae dirigit ad sanitatem nec ad pulchritudinem speculum, licet per ipsum quis diriga-
tur ad faciem ornandam, sic nec prudentia concurrit ad virtutem moralem, quamvis sit praecipua et
directiva respectu eius.”
18
See Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 12 (1605, 122b): “Et si dicatur quod unus actus unius virtutis non
elicitur firmiter, utpote iustitia, nisi coassistat alia virtus, scilicet castitas […], dicendum quod iuvat
utique removendo prohibens, non autem elicitive per se.”
19
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 14 (1605, 131b): “Idcirco virtutes istae sumptae in genere dicuntur car-
dinales; quicquid enim agit virtuosus virtuose reduci habet vel ad iustitiam, vel temperantiam,
fortitudinem, seu prudentiam sumpta[s] in genere. Nec sunt cardinales virtutes aliquae speciales
virtutes.” For the opposite view, see Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 61, art. 3.
20
Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 14 (1605, 131b–137b). For the bonum rationis as the ratio formalis of
prudence see already Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 61, art. 2.
the four cardinal virtues. Because he holds that many virtues reside in more than one
psychological faculty, he cannot, for instance, derive their number from the four
psychological faculties involved in moral action (will, intellect, and the two sub-
faculties of the sensitive appetite, the concupiscible and the irascible appetites).21
Instead, he argues that the main classes of virtues are distinguished with respect to
those things that are objects of human action. Some of these objects are things that
attract us, while others are things that repel or threaten to overwhelm us; virtues
with respect to these classes of object are forms of temperance and courage respec-
tively. But our actions are not concerned just with how things are for us, for many
of our actions are directed primarily at other rational beings; this is the area of jus-
tice. Finally, all the potential objects of human action are subject to deliberation and
rational guidance, and because there are norms and standards of correctness with
respect to rational control just as there are in the three other areas, this fourth area
has virtues too, namely, the various forms of prudence.22
13.4 T
he Role of Habits and Virtues in the Causation
of Action
For medieval philosophers, virtues are not simply signs of the moral goodness of the
agent; they also make the moral agent act in a virtuous way. In other words, virtues
are not merely decorative, but like other practical dispositions, they are said to play
a role in the causation of action. Aquinas frequently calls virtues and other disposi-
tions intrinsic principles of human action.23 But how exactly a disposition is a prin-
ciple and what role it plays in the causation of action was the subject of a contentious
debate.
Auriol develops his position in this debate by scrutinizing a total of five theories
held by his contemporaries. According to the first theory, virtues, like all dispositions
of the soul, have strictly speaking no direct causal role at all, but their presence is a
21
This is for instance the key feature of Thomas Aquinas’s derivation of the cardinal virtues in ST
I-II, q. 61, art. 2.
22
See Peter Auriol, Quodl., q. 14 (1605, 130a): “Obiectorum quantum ad materiam agibilem, quam
coniecturant virtutes morales, quaedam sunt, quae se habent ad homines per modum attrahentis, in
quibus difficile est animum moderari secundum rectam rationem. Quaedam vero habent per se
modum repellentis et obruentis, contra quae difficile est animum figere et firmare, quando ratio
dictat. Quaedam vero sunt, quae nec obruuntur quantum est ex se, nec alliciunt, quia respiciunt
tantum alterum, et ideo totum rationis bonum attenditur in bene se habere ad alterum. Omnia
autem agibilia in hoc conveniunt quod sub ea cadit et consilium et iudicium et sic de aliis actibus
rationibus practicae, in quibus potest esse obliquitas et rectitudo. Igitur hae quatuor differentiae
generales […] distinguent essentialiter virtutem in quatuor species generales omnes alias
continentes.”
23
See, e.g., Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 49, proem.: “Principium autem intrinsecum [humanorum
actuum] est potentia et habitus.”
254 M. Pickavé
necessary condition, or causa sine qua non, for the occurrence of a certain action.24
The spatial proximity of, for instance, a fire and a piece of wood is a precondition for
the burning of the wood, without it being a cause of the action in the proper sense.
In the same way, so this first theory suggests, specific dispositions do not contribute
anything positive with respect to what action is performed, nor to the circumstances
of the action. Yet when a specific disposition is present in the agent, the agent is
capable of performing actions commonly associated with that disposition.25 Auriol
dismisses this theory relatively quickly. Like many opponents of the talk of sine qua
non causes, he believes them to be reducible to more familiar types of causes (such
as efficient and material causes). So rather than giving an account of the causal con-
tribution of practical dispositions, this first account dodges the question and leaves
completely open what exactly the causal role of virtues is.26
The second theory, which Auriol takes much more seriously, holds that although
virtues and other dispositions do not have a causal role strictly speaking in bringing
about an action, they do cause something insofar as they incline the agent and the
faculties in which they inhere. As heaviness inclines the stone towards a downward
motion, without strictly speaking being the cause of the downward motion, so a
disposition inclines the agent towards certain actions without strictly speaking caus-
ing them. But as a stone will more readily and more easily move downwards than
upwards because of its heaviness, so the dispositions in the agent make it so that
certain actions are performed with more pleasure, ease, promptness, and speed.27
This account of the causal role of dispositions has the interesting consequence that
dispositions such as the virtues contribute to the pleasure, ease, promptness, and
speed with which the corresponding actions are performed, but not to the actions
24
Although Auriol’s treatment is meant to apply to all sorts of dispositions I am interested in it only
insofar as it tells us something about practical dispositions and their role in human action. I will
thus translate Auriol’s talk of actus as “action” (meaning by it an “interior” action that may or may
not manifest itself in a physical event), although the term actus was originally also meant to cover
mental acts such as acts of cognition.
25
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 419a): “Dicunt enim, quod nullus habitus facit ad
actum naturae, quoad substantiam, nec quoad circumstantiam; sed est causa sine qua non, sicut
approximatio agentis ad passum requiritur ad agendum, et tamen non est principium actionis.”
26
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 419b).
27
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 419b): “Propterea dixerunt alii, quod habitus nullam
causalitatem activam vel passivam habet ad actum, nisi tantum inclinative. Inclinat enim potentiam
ad agendum. Unde est quasi actus primus determinans et inclinans ad actum secundum, sicut
gravitas in corpore gravi est inclinatio ad esse deorsum, non tamen est principium motus deorsum.
Sed ipsamet forma gravitatis nec est etiam principium receptivum. […] Quod autem habitus solum
inclinative se habeat respectu actus, nullam activitatem habendo, patere potest, quia quatuor con-
ditiones, quae attribuuntur habitui, videtur [lege scilicet] facilitas, delectatio, promptitudo et expe-
ditio, salvantur propter solam inclinationem habitus.” The second and third theories discussed by
Auriol can be found in John Duns Scotus, Ord., d. 17, pars 1, qq. 1–2 as Scotus’s third and fourth
ways. For Scotus, both accounts are plausible explanations of the role of a habit of the will in
bringing about an action, and he does not determine which account is more plausible. On this text,
see Drummond (2016).
themselves, nor to the moral goodness or badness of the actions. In other words,
virtues are strictly speaking not required for an agent to perform virtuous actions.
Auriol rejects the second theory because it is unclear how exactly dispositions
incline towards an action. As he writes:
For we have to ask what this inclination is through which the power is inclined towards the
act. Either (a) this inclination is some act elicited by the disposition and directed at the act
or (b) the disposition is itself a first actuality. The first (a) cannot be the case, […] for then
we remain with the same difficulty. […] Nor can we admit the second (b), because inclina-
tion is not the name for a first actuality, but for a second actuality. For inclination is to be
actually moved towards something.28
If an inclination is nothing other than an elicited act arising in a thing that possesses
the relevant disposition, then we must ask how the disposition brings about this
earlier act by which it inclines. So we arrive at the same problem, just one level up.
However, the second interpretation (b) is not an option either, for an inclination is
more than a bare actuality for something; rather, it is a determinate actuality that
truly and effectively directs us towards something.
Whereas the first two theories aim at denying a strict causal role to dispositions,
the third theory calls dispositions and virtues partial active causes. They cause
actions together with the psychological faculty to which they belong and in which
they inhere. There is nothing peculiar about events that come about by the concur-
rence of different active causes; everyday life provides many examples.29 Auriol
mentions two people pulling a ship as an example for everyday co-causation. But
this theory doesn’t seem to be correct either, for there is an important disanalogy
between two people moving a ship and the way in which a psychological power and
its disposition could be co-causes. Note that dispositions are like forms or “form-
ings” that come about in a psychological power through repeated acts of a certain
kind, forms or “formings” that make the subsequent performance of the correspond-
ing acts easier. To understand this point it might be helpful to picture the disposi-
tions in the will and other psychological powers in analogy to bodies. Take the
smoothness and evenness that a sphere (or ball) acquires through frequent rotation.
The smoothness and evenness allow the sphere to move ever more perfectly, just as
certain dispositions in the agent allow her to act more easily and so on. But note that
the smoothness and evenness of the sphere are clearly not partial active causes of the
28
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 420a): “Inquirendum est enim quid sit inclinatio ista,
qua potentia per habitum inclinatur ad actum. Aut enim huiusmodi inclinatio est aliquis actus elici-
tus in potentia ab habitu in ordine ad actum aut est ipsemet habitus actus primus. Non potest poni
primum, […] tum quia est eadem difficultas. […] Nec potest etiam dari secundum, quia inclinatio
non nominat actum primum, sed actum secundum. Inclinatio enim est actu moveri ad aliquid.”
29
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 420b): “Quapropter fuit opinio quorumdam, quod
habitus habet rationem principii activi respectu actus. Potest enim dici quod est causa partialis
activa, concurrens cum ipsa potentia ad ipsam generationem actus. Et sic potentia cum habitu sunt
una causa perficiens et totalis, sicut videmus, quod frequenter ad aliquem effectum simplicem
concurrunt duae causae partiales, complentes unam causalitatem totalem.”
256 M. Pickavé
sphere’s movement; similarly, neither are dispositions in the soul.30 Thus, the model
according to which power and disposition are active co-causes collapses.
As in the case of the other theories, Auriol has multiple arguments against the
third theory. One of the other arguments against the third theory evokes the plea-
sure, ease, promptness, etc. with which we perform acts towards which we have
acquired a disposition. However, strictly speaking, the pleasure, ease, and prompt-
ness that the disposition is said to contribute are not in the act itself, but in the agent.
In other words, dispositions affect the agent primarily and the act only in a further
sense. However, there is a further question as to how a disposition can causally
affect the subject in which it inheres. Dispositions (habitus) are accidents, and the
ontological “oomph” of accidents depends on their underlying substances. This too
shows that the model of co-causation is not applicable in this case, for the disposi-
tion cannot be considered either as an active co-cause of the action, or as causally
active on the underlying power.31
Auriol’s denial that dispositions can be active causes is also the reason why the
fourth theory concerning the causal contribution of dispositions fails. According to
this theory, a disposition and the power in which it inheres are not co-causes of the
action itself; rather, they contribute to the action in different ways. The disposition
is the total active cause with respect to the modes and circumstances of an action,
whereas the underlying power is the total active cause of the “substance” of the
action.32 For example, when I perform an act of moderation, this action is caused by
my will, but my existing or non-existing virtue of moderation contributes by letting
or not letting me do this action with pleasure, ease, promptness, speed, etc. Auriol
rejects this theory for the same reason as the previous one: dispositions seem not to
be active causes. But he also thinks that this theory makes a mistaken assumption
about the nature of an act. For the mode and circumstances of an action are not
things separate from the act itself such that they would need a separate cause.33
One may wonder whether the previous theories underestimate the role of dispo-
sitions. Consider for instance my mathematical knowledge, which is a disposition
of my intellect. It does not sound correct to say that such knowledge only makes it
(in one way or other) so that I find solving mathematical problems more pleasurable
and that my intellect can grasp the solutions more quickly, with greater ease, etc.
My mathematical knowledge also seems to be the cause of my solving these prob-
lems. Without this knowledge, I wouldn’t be able to do what I now can do. In more
scholastic terms: a disposition is more than just the cause of the modifications of a
30
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 421a).
31
See Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 421b): “Praeterea, habitus nihil imprimit in poten-
tiam, alioquin accidens ageret in substantiam. Sed delectatio, facilitas, promptitudo non sunt subi-
ective in actu, sed in potentia. Nec enim actus delectatur, nec est promptus, sed ipsa potentia. Ergo
habitus non causat, nec imprimit ista.”
32
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 421b): “Quocirca visum est aliis quod cirumstantiae
actus et modificationes, quae sunt facilitas, delectatio, promptitudo insunt actui ex habitu, substan-
tia vero actus a potentia. […] Ex quibus colligitur, quod habitus est causa modificationis actus, et
non substantiae; potentia vero causat substantiam actus.”
33
mental act: it is also a cause of the act’s substance. The fifth theory, which Auriol
identifies with Hervaeus Natalis’s view, takes this thought seriously. According to
its proponents, psychological powers require dispositions because the powers are by
themselves not sufficiently determined to cause certain actions. But when a power
determined by a disposition brings about an action, the action and its modalities can
be said to be caused by both the power and the disposition.34
For Auriol, the mistake committed by this last theory, as well as the two preced-
ing ones, is that it considers dispositions as entities with their own causal powers.
For Auriol, on the contrary, dispositions have no causal power (causalitas) apart
from the causal power of the underlying psychological power.35 It is true that dispo-
sitions determine and modify powers and their corresponding acts, but this does not
provide them with active causal powers. He explains this by using the example of an
iron pen. For Auriol it is not the geometrical form of the iron pen as such that makes
it so that the pen perforates a piece of paper or parchment, but the iron of the pen as
disposed by the shape. The shape contributes to how the pen perforates the other
material—if it has a very sharp tip, say, it will be very easy for it to punch a hole in
the underlying material and the hole will have a certain size—but this does not mean
that the shape has any causal power that, by being added to the causal power of the
iron, leads to the punching of a hole. Auriol credits the proponents of the first theory
with having rightly seen that dispositions have no direct active powers, but they
have gone to another extreme by calling dispositions merely necessary (sine qua
non) causes. On the contrary, dispositions may participate in the causal powers of
their underlying psychological faculties.36
Now, even if dispositions merely modify and determine the agent and as a result
the agent’s actions, the question remains what exactly dispositions and virtues con-
tribute to the action. Whereas so far much of Auriol’s discussion is in abstract terms,
so that most of what he says applies to dispositions and powers regardless of their
specific nature, he now turns explicitly to dispositions in the will and the intellect.
There is no reason, however, to doubt that a lot of what he says also carries over to
other psychological powers such as the powers of the sensitive soul. The first thing
Auriol expands on is that dispositions in the will are responsible for pleasure and
some of the other circumstances of actions. The talk of circumstances of actions is
meant to explain that an action exhibits various features.37 For example, my action
34
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 421b–422a). Cf. Hervaeus Natalis, Quodl. III, q. 7.
35
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 422b): “Habitus non habet aliquam causalitatem super
actum, nisi reductive, mediante causalitate potentiae. Unde non affert novam causalitatem.”
36
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 423a): “Sic patet evidenter de stylo in exemplo perfo-
rante. Figura enim styli non est principium perforationis aliquo modo, afferendo activitatem ad
ferrum, sed ferri activitatem disponendo. Unde non attingit perforationem per se, sed per activita-
tem ferri, quam modificat et disponit. Et hinc est quod aliqui considerantes quod aliquid perfora-
tionem non attingat per se, dixerunt quod non erat causa nisi sine qua non, volentes innuere quod
affirmative nullam causalitatem haberet. Hoc tamen dictum est insufficienter, quia licet causalita-
tem non habeat super actum immediate et directe, habet tamen mediante activitate potentiae,
inquantum activitati illi tribuit disponendo.”
37
The classic treatment of the circumstantiae is Gründel (1963).
258 M. Pickavé
of helping an elderly woman across the street is qualified by the time at which it
happens, my mindset and manners, the amount of traffic on the street, perhaps the
number of bystanders (who didn’t help), etc. Medieval authors refer to these features
as circumstances because they relate to the action itself in the way accidents relate
to their underlying substance. But not all the circumstances pertain to the action in
the same way; some are more part of the action itself, while others belong more on
the side of the agent. For instance, the number of bystanders or the amount of traffic
present at the moment when I help the elderly woman across the street are clearly
not circumstances pertaining to the agent, but whether I feel pleasure while I am
helping certainly is. This distinction allows Auriol to pin down the exact role of
dispositions: they affect those circumstances that belong on the side of the agent,
such as the ease and pleasure with which the agent acts. Auriol’s reasons for limiting
the role of dispositions is clear. Dispositions such as the moral virtues are acquired
by repeated actions of a certain kind: one acquires moderation only by doing moder-
ate deeds. Yet this requires that virtues not be preconditions for performing moder-
ate deeds. For how then could we ever learn to be moderate?38 The main point here
is that we don’t need virtues and other dispositions to perform morally good acts or
to do the right thing. This is a major departure, or so it seems, from Aristotle, a
departure that Auriol shares with Duns Scotus.39 Virtues only make it so that the
virtuous persons acts with ease, with pleasure, and promptly, but they don’t render
the action good.
Now, how do virtues make the virtuous person act with ease, with pleasure, and
promptly? Here Auriol continues with his line of thought that virtues and other dis-
positions are not active causes:
Therefore, this disposition by which an act is made easy, pleasurable, and connatural is not
a disposition of the will insofar as the will is active, for pleasure does not consist in an
elicited act, but in receiving a proper perfection when there is a joining of the one agreeing
with the agreeable thing. And similarly, an agent does not have difficulty in bringing about
an action except from the resistance of what receives the act. […] The first part of the pro-
posal is thus clear, namely, how a disposition brings with it the circumstances that apply to
the side of the agent. For it brings them with it insofar as it is a disposition of the will as
something receptive.40
38
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 423a–b): “Circumstantiarum quaedam se tenant ex
parte obiecti, ut finis, tempus, et multa alia, quae concurrunt ad actum, quaedam vero ex parte
agentis, ut facilitas, delectatio et similia. Primae itaque circumstantiae attinguntur a nuda potentia,
ita quod non habituatus potest elicere actum, ut Philosophus dicit 2 Ethicorum. Unde ex actibus
debito modo circumstantiatis habitus generatur, ut apparet ibidem. Nec enim acquiritur temperan-
tia, nisi ex actu temperato, nec grammatica, nisi ex actu grammaticali, secundum omnes circum-
stantias profecto, quae se tenent ex parte obiecti. Aliae vero circumstantiae, quae se tenent ex parte
agentis inducuntur per habitum.” Cf. Aristotle, NE 2.4.
39
For Scotus on this point, see Kent (2003) and Drummond (2016).
40
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 423b): “Ista ergo dispositio qua actus redditur facilis,
delectabilis, et connaturalis non est dispositio voluntatis ut est activa, quia delectatio non est in
eliciendo, sed in recipiendo propriam perfectionem, cum sit coniunctio convenientis cum conve-
nienti, et similiter agens in agendo non habet difficultatem, nisi ex resistentia susceptivi. […] Patet
ergo prima pars propositionis, quomodo habitus inducit circumstantias se tenentes ex parte agentis.
Inducit enim eas inquantum est dispositio voluntatis ut susceptiva.”
The idea expressed here relies on the distinction between the will as active and as
passive. Virtues and other dispositions are relevant for the will insofar as it is pas-
sive, namely, insofar as the will is receptive of volitions that the will (as active)
brings about. Dispositions do not change the will’s ability to elicit morally good
volitions, but they do change the will’s ability to receive them—that is, to have
them—and in this way they contribute indirectly to the occurrence of moral actions,
since such actions are primarily the volitions in our will and secondarily the physi-
cal actions arising from such volitions.
But this is not the end of the story. Dispositions can also provide their underlying
psychological power with a certain stability or determination. Auriol introduces this
idea by first looking at the intellect. The intellect is a passive power, a power moved
by its objects and one that receives all sorts of mental acts depending on the various
objects causing them. Given its passive nature, the intellect can be affected by both
true and false impressions. For this reason, the intellect needs dispositions “by
which it resists and opposes deceptive acts, and dispositions which agree with verid-
ical and scientific acts.”41 The picture Auriol paints of cognitive dispositions pertain-
ing to both practical and theoretical knowledge is one of mental qualities that help
us not to take in and accept what is contrary to the truth. These dispositions do not
directly cause true cognition; this is done by the cognitive faculties. However, by
resisting false cognitions and by favouring true ones, they indirectly contribute to
the acquisition of new knowledge. The mathematician’s dispositional knowledge
helps her to discard the wrong solutions to a problem more quickly, and to be more
receptive of the correct one once she comes up with it. But her disposition does not
directly contribute to her finding the solution by means of a direct influence on the
relevant cognitive act.42
According to Auriol, there is an even greater need for dispositions in the intellect
with respect to practical knowledge, for here the intellect left by itself not only is
susceptible to falsity, but also is open to being buffeted about by changes in the
emotional life of the agent, since emotional states such as love, hate, pleasure, and
sadness affect practical judgements. Given the job description of prudence—the
virtue concerned with practical knowledge—it is obvious that prudence can do its
job only if it is assisted by other virtues that hold emotions in check. And this is why,
for Auriol, prudence is connected with all the other moral virtues. Because the
human will is changeable in various directions equally, it needs dispositions for the
same reason the intellect does. Insofar as it is passive, the will has dispositions
which determine it, to the extent that it opposes some received acts and agrees with
41
See Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 423b–424a): “Intellectus respectu actus specula-
tivi, veridici, et scientifici est in potentia susceptiva. Obiectum enim intelligibile movet intellec-
tum, quia passum trahitur ad diversas impressiones convenientes et disconvenientes secundum
praedominium diversorum agentium; media vero circa conclusionem aliquam varia sunt, et unum
quod inducit ad falsum, reliquum autem ad verum. […] Idcirco necesse est ex parte intellectus
aliquid fieri, quo determinatur ad impressionem veridicorum mediorum, alias super omne medium
trahet ipsum aeque ad falsum sicut ad verum. Unde indiget intellectus, qui est potentia susceptiva
habitu quodam repugnante actui deceptorio […] et congruente actu scientifico et veridico.”
42
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, d. 17, art. 4 (1596, 424a).
260 M. Pickavé
others. Pleasure emerges in the will as a result of receiving a new act that is in agree-
ment with dispositions that already exist in the will.43 From all this, it should become
clear that to cause certain circumstances of an action and to determine the will are
not two separate roles of dispositions, though they are closely related.
13.5 Conclusion
It is sometimes said that with the rise of strongly voluntarist conceptions of human
action at the end of the thirteenth century, virtue ethics undergoes a transformation
that leads to a reassessment of the role of virtues. There is a lot of truth in this nar-
rative. But although Auriol’s voluntarist conception has appeared here and there in
the background in this chapter, there is no reason to believe that much of his teach-
ing on the virtues and other practical dispositions depends on it. Neither his views
on the ontological status of habits and virtues nor his views on their psychological
location and unity seem to be influenced in any significant way by his voluntarism.
Even the arguments against the idea that virtues and practical dispositions are active
causes of our actions seem not to depend much on his voluntarism, at least not those
discussed in his chapter. Whatever the transformation of virtue ethics amounts to
exactly, it did not lead to a decline in sophisticated theorizing about the nature and
role of virtues and habits in the early fourteenth century, as Peter Auriol’s discussion
of the issue attests.
References
Primary Texts
Aristotle. 1984. Ethica Nicomachea, ed. L. Bywater. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Giles of Rome. 1554. Theoremata de corpore Christi. Rome: Antonius Bladus. Reprint, 1968.
Frankfurt am Main: Minerva.
Hervaeus Natalis. 1513. Quodlibeta et tractatus VIII. Venice. Reprint, 1966. Ridgewood: Gregg
Press.
John Duns Scotus. 1959. Ordinatio: Liber primus, a distinctione undecima ad vigesimam quintam,
ed. Carolus Balić et al. Opera Omnia 5. Vatican City: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis.
———. 2007. Ordinatio: Liber tertius a distinctione vigesima sexta ad quadragesimam, ed.
Barnabá Hechich et al. Opera Omnia 10. Vatican City: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis.
43
Peter Auriol. 1596. Commentariorum in primum librum Sententiarum pars prima et secunda.
Rome: Ex Typographia Vaticana. (= Scriptum).
———. 1605. Commentariorum in secundum, tertium et quartum Sententiarum et Quodlibeti
tomus secundus. Rome: Zanetti.
———. 1952–1956. Scriptum super primum Sententiarum: Prologue, Distinctions I-VIII, ed.
Eligius M. Buytaert. 2 vols. St. Bonaventure: Franciscan Institute.
Thomas Aquinas. 1888–1906. Summa theologiae, ed. Commissio Leonina. 9 vols. Sancti Thomae
de Aquino Opera Omnia iussu Leonis XIII P.M. edita 4–12. Rome: Ex Typographia Polyglotta.
Drummond, Ian. 2016. John Duns Scotus on the Role of the Moral Virtues. Ph.D. dissertation,
University of Toronto.
Friedman, Russell L. 2015. Peter Auriol. In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. Edward
N. Zalta. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/auriol/. Accessed 1 Jan 2017.
Graf, Thomas. 1934. De subiecto psychico gratiae et virtutum secundum doctrinam scholastico-
rum usque ad medium saeculum XIV, pars 1: De subiecto virtutum cardinalium. Vol. 2 vols.
Rome: Herder.
Gründel, Johannes. 1963. Die Lehre von den Umständen der menschlichen Handlungen im
Mittelalter. Münster: Aschendorff.
Hoffmann, Tobias. 2015. Peter Auriol on free choice and free judgment. Vivarium 53: 65–89.
Kent, Bonnie. 1995. Virtues of the Will: The Transformation of Ethics in the Late Thirteenth
Century. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press.
———. 2003. Rethinking moral dispositions: Scotus on the virtues. In The Cambridge Companion
to Scotus, ed. Thomas Williams, 352–376. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Nielsen, Lauge O. 2000. The debate between Peter Auriol and Thomas Wylton on theology and
virtue. Vivarium 38: 35–98.
———. 2002. Peter Auriol. In A Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages, ed. Jorge
J.E. Gracia and Timothy B. Noone, 494–503. Oxford: Blackwell.
Spade, Paul Vincent. 1972. The unity of a science according to Peter Auriol. Mediaeval Studies
20: 98–112.
Chapter 14
Ockham on Habits
Magali Roques
Abstract This paper is dedicated to William of Ockham’s theory of habit, which he

considers to be a disposition of a power of the soul. I will argue that Ockham’s view
on the relation between a habit and its manifestation sheds new light on his well-
known thesis that sensible and intelligible species are not needed to account for
cognition. The identity conditions of habits are themselves the ground of their
intentionality: there is no way to track a habit from an act of a given kind except by
stipulating a causal relation between them. In this sense, a study of Ockham’s theory
of habit is a step towards our understanding of the relation between similarity and
causation in his theory of intentionality. Ockham’s theory of habit accommodates
intentional phenomena that, contrary to the scholarly consensus, are not ipso facto
semantic phenomena.
Keywords Habits · William of Ockham · Cognition · Intentionality · Metaphysics

of the soul
14.1 Introduction
Habit is a key notion in Aristotelian metaphysics of the soul, according to which the
soul is a set of powers. Habits contribute by shaping innate capacities which are in
themselves undetermined. In the medieval Aristotelian tradition, they are standardly
given a functional analysis. But, as Adams and Trifogli note (2012, 624), Aristotelian
research programmes move from function to ontology: observed function demands
an explanation, which is provided by positing an entity. Thus, functional analysis is
already theory-laden, or quickly becomes so.
M. Roques (*)
Philosophisches Seminar, Universität Hamburg, Hamburg, Germany
Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes (UMR 8584), Villejuif Cedex, France

264 M. Roques
William of Ockham proceeds in exactly this way in his examination of the func-
tion and nature of habits.1 Indeed, the main argument in favour of the idea that it is
necessary to stipulate habits states that a habit is the product of a causal process,
which implies that it is something: “An act generates a habit; but it does not generate
nothing; therefore a habit is something.”2 Apart from the dated study by Oswald
Fuchs (1952), there has been little further research into the nature and role of habits
in Ockham’s thought, despite the occasional nod to their importance in his mature
cognitive psychology.3 This is probably because Ockham’s rejection of the need for
species to account for the mechanisms of cognition has attracted most of the
scholarly attention.4
I will argue that Ockham’s view on the relation between a habit and its manifes-
tation sheds new light on his well-known thesis that sensible and intelligible species
are unnecessary to account for cognition. In order to make this point, I will proceed
in three steps. First, I will examine Ockham’s account of the dispositional nature of
a habit. Second, I will study the relation between a habit and its activation. Finally,
I will explore why Ockham chooses a causal interpretation of the relation between
a habit and its manifestation in an act, and why he defends a strong reading of the
principle that causes of the same species have effects of the same species.
14.2 The Dispositional Nature of Habit
14.2.1 Definition
Ockham defines a habit as follows:

“Habit” means some accidental thing, generated in some power by an act or by acts of this
power—whether this power is active or passive does not matter—and this thing inclines the
power to similar acts.5
A habit is defined by its ontological status, its origin, and its function. It is an
accident of a power of the soul, and is caused by an antecedent act. In other words,
a habit is the remnant of past acts. It is endowed with an ability described as an
1
In the present paper I deal only with naturally acquired habits; I do not take into consideration
supernatural habits such as the infused theological virtues.
2
Quodlibeta septem (Quodl.) III, q. 20 (OTh 9: 281): “actus generat habitum; sed non generat nihil;
igitur habitus est aliquid.”
3
See for example Panaccio (2004, 21–23).
4
Goddu (1984, 21–23). For Ockham’s rejection of species in medio and intelligible species, see
Tachau (1988, 130–135), Pasnau (1997, 161–194), and Stump (1999, 168–203).
5
Expositio in librum Praedicamentorum Aristotelis, c. 14 (OPh 2: 273): “Aliter [habitus] accipitur
pro aliqua re accidentali, generata in aliqua potentia ex actu vel ex actibus illius potentiae, sive illa
potentia sit activa sive passiva nihil refert, quae quidem res inclinet potentiam ad actus
consimiles.”
14 Ockham on Habits 265
inclination, the ability to determine a power of the soul to producing acts similar to
those which produced it.6
How can one disposition, such as a habit, be explained by another one, called an
inclination? Are these dispositions really distinct from each other? In order to bring
out the specific characteristics of Ockham’s account of the dispositional nature of
habits, I will first discuss the principles of his metaphysics of the soul. In this way
we will see that inclination is not a disposition properly speaking, but is the
activation of a disposition.
14.2.2 The Metaphysics of the Soul
Following Aristotle, medieval philosophers drew a distinction between our general

abilities, called “powers” (potentiae), such as our ability to see, smell, and think,
and more specific abilities, called “habits” (habitus), such as one’s ability to speak
French or to play guitar.7 In Thomas Aquinas, these two kinds of abilities find a
metaphysical basis in the distinction between two kinds of actuality. Having an
ability is an actuality of the first kind, or first actuality, whereas the exercise of that
ability it is an actuality of the second kind, or second actuality. First actuality is
simply to exist as a thing of some sort. For instance, my intellective soul is in first
actuality because it is an existing thing that is able to think. Second actuality is the
performance of some operation or other.8 This means that my intellective soul is in
second actuality when it thinks. In this picture of the powers of the soul, habits have
a special place. Aquinas states that it belongs to a habit to incline a power to act.9
Habits stand midway between pure potency and act, that is, between the first and
second actualities of a power.10 Aquinas defends the idea that the essence of the soul
must be distinguished from its abilities.11 To place the soul’s abilities within its
essence would be to obliterate this distinction between first and second actuality.
Since our existence can be conceived as an actualization of our essence, if our
6
Reportatio (Rep.) III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 396): “[H]abitus proprie non dicitur nisi quia vel inclinat ad
actus alicuius potentiae vel quia est inclinativum causatum ex actibus et remanens in absentia
actuum.”
7
For an overview of the status of the powers of the soul in the metaphysics of the soul in the thir-
teenth and fourteenth centuries, see Pasnau (2007), Perler (2015).
8
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 77, art. 1, corp. (Leonina 7: 61–62). The distinction comes from
Aristotle, De anima 2.1, 421a22–23. For a commentary on Aquinas’s distinction, see Pasnau
(2002, 156).
9
Thomas Aquinas, ST II-II, q. 24, art. 11, corp. (Leonina 8: 195): “Habitui proprium est, ut inclinet
potentiam ad agendum.” On Aquinas’s metaphysics of the soul and the status of habits in it, see
Pasnau (2002, 143–170).
10
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 71, art. 3, corp. (Leonina 7: 6): “[H]abitus medio modo se habet inter
potentiam et actum.” See also SCG I, 92 (Leonina 13: 251): “[H]abitus imperfectus actus est, quasi
medius inter potentiam et actum.”
11
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 79 art. 1 (Leonina 5: 258–259).
266 M. Roques
abilities were a part of our essence, then it would follow that their operations would
always be a feature of our existence, which is obviously false.12 Thus, the powers of
the soul and its habits must be distinct from it.
Ockham, following Henry of Ghent and John Duns Scotus, rejects Aquinas’s
position on the metaphysics of the soul. Like his predecessors, he aims at diminishing
the distinction between the essence of the soul essence and its capacities.13 He thus
has a different position on what the distinction between capacities of the soul and
their manifestation is. In its most important meaning, the term “power of the soul”
stands for something that exists in a soul as a partial principle or faculty. In this
sense, the powers of the soul cannot be really distinguished from the soul itself or
from the other powers of the souls “as distinct things and essences” (sicut res et
essentiae distinctae).14 For instance, the sensitive powers, such as hearing and
seeing (considered as parts of the sensitive soul rather than of the various organs of
sensation), are not distinguished from each other or from the sensitive soul because
all sensitive activities can be brought about by the activity of one and the same
sensitive soul.15 In the same way, the intellect and the will are not two powers of the
intellective soul that are really distinct from each other; rather, the intellect is the
substance of the soul insofar as it has the ability to think, while the will is the
substance of the soul insofar as it has the ability to will.16 These two abilities are one
and the same thing, namely, the soul, which is able to act differently at different
instants of time.17 In this sense, the term “potency of the soul” narrowly signifies the
12
For a detailed account of habits in Thomas Aquinas, see Kent (2002, 116–130).
13
For a general overview of the development of faculty psychology from Henry of Ghent to
Ockham, see King (2008). Ockham’s metaphysics of the soul has been the subject of numerous
studies. See especially Adams (2002, 43–77), Hirvonen (2004, 23–73) and Holopainen (1991,
3–19). For the question of the plurality of the souls, see especially Adams (1987, 647–667) and
Perler (2010, 329–366). The texts of Ockham that are commented on are usually Quodl. I, q. 10,
(OTh 9: 63–65) and Quodl. I, q. 11 (OTh 9: 162). For Scotus’s position see Cross (2014,
138–150).
14
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 4 (OTh 6: 136): “Secundo modo non distinguuntur realiter, sicut
res et essentiae distinctae, nec inter se nec ab anima sensitiva.”
15
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 4 (OTh 6: 136.16–21): “Secundo modo [potentiae sensitivae]
non distinguuntur realiter, sicut res et essentiae distinctae, nec inter se nec ab anima sensitiva.
Quod probatur, quia frustra fit per plura quod potest fieri per pauciora. Sed per unam animam
sensitivam quae se tenet a parte principia elicientis indistinctam possunt elicit omnes operationes
sensitivae, ergo frustra ponuntur plures formae.” See also Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 446.16–19): “[C]
ognitio sensitiva et appetitus sensitivus nullo modo distinguuntur ex natura rei.”
16
William of Ockham, Rep. II, q. 4 (OTh 5: 58.6–10): “Nam intellectus est sic una potentia et habet
diversas operationes specie distinctas, sicut actum simplicis intelligentiae et actum componendi,
dividendi et discurrendi. Eadem voluntas habet volitionem et nolitionem tanquam operationes dis-
tinctas specie.” Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 435.5–8): “Potentiae anima […] scilicet intellectus et volun-
tas—non loquendo de potentiis sensitivis nunc—sunt idem realiter inter se et cum essentia animae.”
See also Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 425–447); Summa Logicae I, c. 10 (OPh 1: 38.83–86); Ordinatio
(Ord.), d. 1, q. 2 (OTh 1: 402); Ord. I, d. 13, q. un. (OTh 3: 418.19–23).
17
William of Ockham, Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 436): “Sed sic est una substantia animae potens
habere distinctos actus, respectu quorum potest habere diversas denominationes. Quia ut elicit vel
elicere potest actum intelligendi dicitur intellectus; ut actum volendi voluntas.”
soul itself and connotes the acts that it is able to perform.18 The soul itself is capable
of performing different acts; this is why it is unnecessary to posit really distinct
powers in it. This applies in particular to the traditional distinction between the pas-
sive and the active intellect: there is only one intellect, which is capable both of
acting and of being acted upon.19
In this metaphysics of the soul, habits have a firm basis in existence. Ockham
repeatedly asserts that habits are the only psychic items other than acts that are
really distinct from the soul.20 Powers of the soul, such as the intellect and the will,
are identical with the intellective soul itself, which is a substance, and acts and
habits are accidental beings that are really distinct from the soul, and inhere in it.
What is the relationship between habits and potencies of the soul, which are both
dispositional entities? Ockham’s answer to this question begins with a criticism of
Aquinas’s view. For Aquinas, a power of the soul is ordered to an act without any
qualification, while a habit is a learned capacity by means of which an agent is
ordered to an act of a given kind under the description “good” or “bad.” For him, the
activation of a habit requires the use of the will, which makes habits a specifically
human category.21 Ockham attacks the two core elements of Aquinas’s definition.
First, this conception of habit relies on wrong assumptions about the nature of the
will and its relation to the intellect. The will, Ockham believes, is not necessarily
linked to goodness. Ockham’s argument can be reconstructed as follows.22 The
more manifestations of the same species are attributed to a power, the more this
power needs habits. Indeed, habit is what determines a power to manifestations of
the same species. Since the will is a power for opposites whereas the intellect is a
natural capacity completely determined to an act of a certain species rather than
another, there is more need for habits in the intellect than in the will. This implies
that intellectual habits are independent of the will, and it neutralizes Aquinas’s
appeal to the description “bad or good” in the definition of habit.23 The argument is
18
William of Ockham, Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 438): “[P]otentia intellectiva sic accepta non tantum
significant essentiam animae sed connotat actum intelligendi. Et eodem modo voluntas.”
19
William of Ockham, Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 442): “[P]luralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate,
ideo intellectus agens et possibilis sunt idem omnino re et ratione. Tamen ista nomina vel concep-
tus bene connotant diversa, quia agens significat animam connotando intellectionem procedentem
ab anima active; possibilis autem significat eandem animam connotando intellectionem receptam
in anima. Sed idem omnino est efficiens et recipiens intellectionem.”
20
William of Ockham, Expositio in librum Perihermeneias Aristotelis, prologus (OPh 2: 351.11–
12): “[I]n anima non est realiter distinctum ab anima nisi habitus vel actus secundum Philosophum.”
Ord. I, d. 3, q. 6 (OTh 2: 507): “[S]icut saepe dictum est, nihil est in anima nisi actus et habitus et
passiones consequentes actus, puta delectatio et tristitia.” See also Rep. III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 400).
21
Aquinas, ST I, q. 50, art. 3, ad 2. On this subject, see Darge’s paper in this volume p. 143–165.
22
William of Ockham, Rep. IV, q. 2 (OTh 7: 25): “Ideo dico quod prima differentia quam ponit
inter potentiam et habitum, quod potentia respicit actum simpliciter, et habitus respicit actum sub
istis condicionibus ‘bene et male’ non valet.” Ockham’s criticism is restricted to moral virtues but
his answer has a broader scope (see the passage in the following note).
23
Rep. III, q. 10 (OTh 6: 356): “Ideo primo videndum est hic, quae sit necessitas ponendi habitum
in diversis potentiis. Circa quod sciendum est quod alia est necessitas ponendi habitum in potentia
naturali, sive activa sive passiva, et alia in potentia libera. Et est maior necessitas in potentia natu-
268 M. Roques
supported by appeal to two kinds of intellectual habits, namely the habit of the prin-
ciples and apprehensive habits. Both are morally neutral: they indifferently incline
the intellect to a good or bad operation.24
As a consequence, Aquinas’s distinction between a habit and a power, according
to which a power is not determined to acts of a given kind while a habit is, must be
reinterpreted. For Ockham, the main difference between a habit and a power is that
a power of the soul is by definition innate and is what precedes any act, while a habit
is by definition not innate but is posterior to at least one act.25 Thus, in answer to
Aquinas, Ockham insists on a crucial element of his definition of habit as a quality
of the soul generated by an act and inclining to acts of the same species, namely, that
it is an acquired disposition.
This analysis of the relation between a power of the soul and a habit does not
explain why a habit should be a quality. Since the identity conditions of a habit seem
to depend on the act that produced it, one might have expected Ockham to claim that
a habit is a relation.
14.2.3 The Ontological Status of Habit
Suppose that a habit were the relation by which the soul is related to the acts which
inhere in it.26 Since for Ockham a relation is nothing other than the two relata taken
conjointly, on this hypothesis a habit would be not one thing but two, namely, a
substance (the soul) and its accident (an act of the soul), which stand in a certain
order to each other. This solution would be more economical than the one Ockham
chooses. As Peter Hartman shows in this volume, the view that a habit is a relation
was defended by Durandus of Saint-Pourçain for this very reason.27 But parsimony
rali; puta in intellectu, appetitu sensitivi et in potentia sensitiva apprehensiva est ponendus habitus.
Quia talis potentia de se est indifferens ad multos actus in quorum unum aliquando fertur determi-
nate, ita quod non potest in oppositum nec in alterum nisi per imperium voluntatis quae est potentia
superior, et aliquando non sic fertur determinate. Igitur necessario oportet quod in tali potentia
derelinquatur aliquid ex actibus inclinans ad actus consimiles et non ad contrarios.”
24
Rep. IV, q. 2 (OTh 7: 25): “Et ad Philosophum, II Ethicorum, dico quod loquitur de habitibus
moralibus, qui sunt laudabiles et vituperabiles, qui sunt habitus oppositi quorum unus inclinat ad
bene operandum et alius ad male. Sed habitus principiorum et habitus apprehensivi non habent
talia opposita, ideo sunt indifferentes, nec sic determinate inclinant ad bene operandum vel male.”
25
William of Ockham, Rep. IV, q. 2 (OTh 7: 25): “Sed ista est magis propria differentia quam innuit
Philosophus, II Ethicorum, cap. 1 et IX Metaphysicae, in illo capitulo: Omnibus autem potentiis
exsistentibus; et similiter illo capitulo: Quantum autem prius, determinatum est quod potentia
praecedit actum, nec generatur nec augmentatur per actum; habitus sequitur actum et generatur et
augmentatur per actum.”
26
As Martin Pickavé shows in his chapter in this volume (see p. 246–249), authors such as Giles of
Rome, Thomas Wylton, and Peter Auriol acknowledged that habitus include a relational aspect.
Indeed, moral habits were understood to involve relations to a norm. The main question was how
to take this relational aspect into account while keeping habitus in the category of quality.
27
See p. 231–235.
is Ockham’s motto in anthropological philosophy. Why then does Ockham define a

habit as a quality of the soul?
As far as I know, Ockham does not provide a straightforward answer to this ques-
tion and he does not explicitly discuss the views of the defenders of the relation
theory. He contends merely that since a cause and its effects are related by a relation
of similarity and since a habit is caused by an act, a habit must be of the same
metaphysical kind as the act that causes it. Therefore, since an act is a quality, the
habit that it produces is a quality.28 But Ockham also claims that causal efficacy
must be attributed to acts as regards habits, since habits are qualities and not merely
relations.29 The argument is clearly circular and so not particularly illuminating.
However, we might try to reconstruct his line of thought in a more charitable way
as follows. The same reasons that might lead us to think that habits are mere relations
(because habits are directed at something) also lead us to maintain that powers of
the soul are relations. However, Ockham claims that a power of the soul cannot be
only a relation, such as a causal connection to something outside the soul.
This idea was defended by Henry of Ghent, who explains that a power of the soul
is a relation founded on the soul and pointing towards an act.30 Scotus objected that
this account introduces an order of priority between a power and its act that is
inadequate, because the act is as much related to the power as the power is related
to the act: neither is prior to the other.31
Ockham repeats Scotus’s arguments against Henry on this very point: the view
stipulates that by definition a power is related by a real relation to an act; but if there
were nothing in the world except a mind in a vat, the mind would be a relation
without any object, and this, Ockham believes, is impossible because a real relation
must terminate in a really existent thing. In other words, powers are naturally prior
to any connections that may be grounded in them. Consequently, relations cannot
constitute powers or habits.32 Thus, for both Scotus and Ockham, powers are what
28
Quodl. I, q. 18 (OTh 9: 94): “Praeterea actus elicitus est qualitas absoluta; igitur habitus.
Consequentia patet, quia habitus est causa actus.” See also Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh6: 197) for a more
detailed version of the argument.
29
See part 3 of this chapter for the argument.
30
Henry of Ghent, Summa Quaestionum Ordinariarum, art. 35, q. 4 (Opera Omnia 28: 37.7677):
“Et quia omnis potentia, in quantum potentia, fundatur in aliquo ut respectus ad aliud.” Quodl. III,
q. 14 (Badius I, f. 70rB): “Potentia enim id quod est dicitur ex relatione ad actum, quae ex obiectis
sumit species.”
31
John Duns Scotus, In Met., lib. 9, q. 5, n. 17 (OPh 4: 565): “Ad illud quod additur de potentiis
animae, dicitur quod si ‘potentia’ intelligatur aggregatum ex absolute et respectu, isto modo distin-
guitur per respectus formaliter. Sed sic non sunt priores naturaliter actibus, proportionaliter accipi-
endo respectus principii in anima et in actibus respectus principiati, scilicet si actu, actu: si potentia,
potentia.” For Scotus’s position, see Cross (1998, 62–71) and King (2008, 253–274).
32
William of Ockham, Rep. II, q. 20 (OTh 5: 432): “Nec est respectus realis, quia numquam est
respectus realis sine termino realiter exsistente, secundum eum etiam. Sed potentiae animae pos-
sunt esse perfectae et nullum objectum esse, quia Deus potest facere animam intellectivam non
faciendo aliquod obiectum in mundo. Et tunc erunt potentiae animae effectae, et tamen nullus
terminus in actu, quia nullum obiectum.” On this argument, see Adams (2002, 66).
270 M. Roques
Henry would call the basis of a power. Similarly, a habit is not a relation, but a
quality that is the foundation of a relation, the nature of which remains to be
determined.
The question now is: if a habit is a disposition and an act its manifestation, what
is the relation between habit and act? Ockham uses the idea of inclination to explain
this relation. Let us examine the ontological status of this inclination and its function
in the second part.
14.3 Habit and Inclination
14.3.1 Inclination as the Main Characteristic of Habit
In Ockham’s time, four phenomenological characteristics were commonly attrib-

uted to acts that are the products of habits: (1) the ease and (2) the speed with which
we perform them, (3) the amount of pleasure we receive from doing them, and (4)
the inclination with which we do them.33 Medieval authors debated each one of
these functions. Is it really a habit that explains the speed with which we perform
the action or the pleasure we get out of it? In particular, the notion that a habit might
increase the intensity of the associated mental action generated considerable
debate.34
In this debate, Ockham’s position is quite notable: he denies that pleasure is a
necessary characteristic of acts generated by a habit. The pleasure felt in acting is
commonly considered a proof of the existence of a habit of performing this kind of
act in the intellective soul and especially in the will. Once again, Ockham believes
that this idea relies on a wrong view of the relation between the will and the good.
Since the will can choose to will, to nill, or to not will, it is nonsensical to stipulate
that the exercise of a habit in the will is always followed by pleasure. Habits in the
will can give rise to acts which make you feel displeasure and even hate.35 Pleasure
33
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 192): “[A]ctivitas non attribuitur habitui nisi propter
quattuor condiciones convenientes habenti habitum. Quarum prima est ut delectabiliter operetur;
secunda ut faciliter operetur; tertia ut prompte operetur; quarta ut ad operandum magis inclinetur.”
Ockham draws on John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, pars 1, qq. 1–2, nn. 7–11, 48–52 (Vat. 5: 142–
143, 158–159).
34
See for instance Scotus’s account of how a habit might be a partial active cause of the intensity
of the act in Drummond (2016, 127–150; the relevant passages in Scotus are referred to). Further
on (184–187), Drummond suggests that the alternative account of habits as non-active could still
account for how they contribute to the intension of the act.
35
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 5 (OTh 6: 158–159): “[D]e ratione habitus non est plus inclinare
delectabiliter quam tristabiliter. Quod patet, quia sicut in voluntate est actus volendi ita actus
nolendi, ita etiam ibi sunt habitus generati ex istis actibus. Sed habitus generatus ex actibus nolendi
inclinat ad actum tristabiliter, sicut habitus generatus ex actibus volendi inclinat delectabiliter.
Unde habitus generatus ex actibus odiendi, invidendi, detestandi inclinat tristabiliter ad omnem
actum ad quem inclinat. Nullus enim potest aliquem odire delectabiliter.”
and displeasure, here, are passions of the will that are caused by the will alone. They
can give rise to habits in the will.36 Moreover, an act that is not the product of a habit
can give rise to pleasure, namely, the first act from which a habit is generated in the
soul, for instance when someone plays the guitar for the first time.37 God could also
make it that it is He who causes the pleasure you feel when you act, not the habit
that is the cause of the act.38
Ockham gives another argument against the link between pleasure and habit,
which is particularly interesting because it relies on the idea that cognitive habits are
emotionally neutral.39 If pleasure is felt when you redo a demonstration that you
have already done, this is not due to your intellect but to your will, and it has nothing
to do with your habit of doing the demonstration. You could also feel displeasure or
even hate on this occasion.40
Ockham deals with ease and speed more briefly, since he thinks that these phe-
nomenological characteristics follow from inclination.41 It is because of inclination
that a habit must be considered an active principle, a characteristic that distinguishes
it from the powers of the soul properly speaking, such as the intellect or the senses.
A habit is an active causal principle, while a power of the soul is a passive causal
principle.42 Inclination is thus a core notion of the metaphysics of habits, and as
such must be examined in detail.
36
See Ord., d. 1, q. 3 (OTh 1: 415). There can also be pleasure and pain in the sensory appetite, but
the sensory habits and passions do not incline the will unless it consents to them. On this subject
see Quodl. III, q. 22 (OTh 9: 291). For the necessity to posit habits in the will, see Quodl. III, q. 20
(OTh 9: 284). In this analysis, I follow Hirvonen (2004, 129–137).
37
William of Ockham, Ord., d. 17, q. 2 (OTh 4: 474): “Ad aliud quod innuitur, dico quod delectatio
potest esse sine omni habitu. Unde primus actus ex quo generatur habitus potest esse delectabilis,
et ita si semper eliceretur sine habitu posset esse delectabilis, et ita propter delectationem non
oportet ponere habitum talem.”
38
William of Ockham, Ord., d. 17, q. 2 (OTh 4: 474): “Similiter, non est causa delectationis nisi
quia est causa actus quem consequitur delectatio, unde si ille idem actus causaretur a solo Deo, ita
foret delectabilis sicut si causetur ab habitu.”
39
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 216–217): “Unde dico quod quidam inclinat ad actum
cum delectatione consequenti, sicut habitus generatus ex actibus diligendii; quidam inclinat ad
actum cum tristitia, sicut habitus generatus ex actibus odiendi; quidam ad actum inclinat neutro
modo, sicut actus cognitivus.”
40
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 216–217): “Nullus enim dubitat quin habitus specu-
landi sit aliquid naturale, et naturaliter inclinet ad actum sine omni delectatione vel tristitia in
intellectu, licet tamen post sequatur delectatio vel tristitia in appetitu mediante actu diligendi vel
odiendi.”
41
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 217): “Ad aliud dico quod non requiritur habitus
propter facilitatem sive promptitudinem tamquam principium activum tantum, sed propter inclina-
tionem dicitur proprie principium activum.”
42
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 217): “Et ex hoc sequitur facilitas et promptitudo quod
magis inclinatur nunc quam prius, ita quod ponitur propter inclinationem, secundario propter alia
duo. Sed tantum ponitur principium activum propter inclinationem. Et quando dicitur de triplici
inclinatione, dico quod non est inclinativum per modum principii passivi, sed tantum per modum
principii activi. Et in hoc differt a potentia naturali ut distinguitur contra violentum, quia illa poten-
tia est principium passivum. Patet de gravi.” The will is an active power of the soul. I will leave this
particular case aside.
272 M. Roques
14.3.2 Habit as an Active Causal Principle
Duns Scotus had hesitated between claiming that a habit is an active principle or a
passive principle. Indeed, he argued that even if no activity were attributed to a
habit, one could still account for the four traditional characteristics that it is supposed
to give to action, namely, “quod operatur delectabiliter, faciliter, expedite et
prompte.”43 Ockham does not hesitate at all: he claims that a habit has a causal
efficacy and so must be considered an active principle, but under the condition that
its activity is understood as a quality really distinct from it. Ockham therefore
defends two claims: first, that a habit has a true causal power and as such is to be
considered the originator of a psychic causal process; and second, that the exercise
of this causal power—in Ockham’s terms, its inclination—is distinct from it.
Let us examine first the claim that a habit is an active causal principle. There is
more than a mere correlation between act and habit, namely, a relation of production.
The relation between a disposition and its manifestation is therefore a relation of
causation in which the effect—namely, an act—is really distinct from the disposition
which caused it. This implies that the powers of the soul must be denied any causal
activity in the production of a habit. Ockham establishes this as follows. By
definition a habit must be preceded by an act of the same species. Consequently, it
is impossible for a power of the soul to be the total cause of the habit, since in this
case a power could produce a habit without there being any act of the same species
preceding the production of the habit by the power of the soul.44
Ockham advances an interesting argument to confirm his claim. Habits are not
innate. Therefore, you can imagine a situation in which you had thought about the
very same object that you are now thinking about and yet you do not feel inclined to
think about that object. There is indeed one such situation: the first time you
performed an act of a certain kind, like playing guitar, which is entirely similar to
playing guitar now, except that the first time you played guitar you did not feel
inclined to do so. Consequently only the habit can explain why you feel inclined to
play the guitar.45
43
John Duns Scotus, Ord. I, d. 17, pars 1, qq. 1–2, n. 47 (Vat. 5: 157–158): “Nulla autem videtur
necessitas ponendi causalitatem aliquam activam in habitu respectu actus, quia sine hoc salvabun-
tur omnes condiciones quae communiter attribuuntur habitui.” See Drummond (2016, 161–193) on
the hesitation between the two accounts, and specifically on how the four circumstances could be
explained by a non-active habit (161–183).
44
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 397): “[S]i potentia est tota causa habitus, igitur
potest causare habitum sine omni actu. Quod falsum est, quia actus saltem primus potest causari
sine omni habitu et non e converso.”
45
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 199–200): “Sed exsistente habitu in potentia cum aliis
requisitis, vix potest homo resistere, nisi cum maxima difficultate, quin exeat in actum secundum
inclinationem habitus qui eum quasi impellit ad hoc, sicut experimur in nobis maximam repugnan-
tiam et difficultatem resistendo inclinationem habitus. Igitur habet activitatem.”
14.3.3 Inclination as the Activation of a Habit
What then is the relation between the habit and its power to cause acts? We are led
now to the second claim, according to which the causal power attributed to a habit
is an active quality—namely, an inclination—which is really distinct from the habit
itself. The metaphysical picture is thus the following: a habit is a disposition, and it
is really distinct both from its exercise, which is an inclination, and from the effect
of this activity, which is a psychic act.
Ockham’s argument in favour of this claim starts with the premise that thinking
can be understood either as an occurrent activity or as a general capacity. Habit, as
a disposition, cannot help explain how thinking is different when someone is
actively thinking about something and when she is not, for example because she is
asleep. Ockham’s point relies on introspection: you feel an inclination to think
about something as soon as you are awake, which you did not feel when you were
asleep. Put another way, there must be something which explains why your
conscious thinking is not entirely up to you. When you wake up, there is a change
in the truth value of the two contradictory propositions, “I am not inclined to think
that P” and “I am inclined to think that P.” This change in truth value makes it
necessary to stipulate a change in the ontology of the soul. A thing really distinct
from the habit is produced, and this thing is an inclination.46 It is precisely what is
added to disposition when it is exercised: it is an activity. In short, an inclination is
an active quality.47
One could object that this phenomenological description is false because it does
not take into account the phenomenology of attention. Ockham answers that the
objection is based on a confused view of attention. You could account for the
situation described above by saying that attention is a voluntary phenomenon,
completely independent of how the intellect works by itself.48 Attention can only
explain why some habits are sometimes more compelling than others, but not why
a habit is compelling at all. Let us grant that an inclination can explain why I
sometimes feel compelled to think of an object. One could object that it does not
explain why it is necessary to stipulate such a thing as a habit in the soul, since
occurrent active qualities such as inclinations are sufficient to account for this.
Ockham’s answer to this objection relies on the idea that only the disposition, and
46
William of Ockham, Quodl. III, q. 22 (OTh 9: 289): “[H]abitus aliquando inclinat, aliquando non
inclinat intellectum; nam dormiendo non experitur aliquis se inclinatum ad intelligendum sed
statim cum vigilat, experitur se inclinatum. Cum igitur transit talis de contradictorio in contradic-
torium, aliquid est in intellectu quando vigilat quod non est in eo quando dormit; hoc non potest
nisi actus, quia habitus idem est in dormiente et vigilante.”
47
William of Ockham, Quodl. III, q. 22 (OTh 9: 290): “Stricte accipitur inclinatio secundum quod
addit aliquid ultra esse in potentia receptiva, puta activitatem. […] [B]reviter sic inclinare idem est
quod agere.”
48
William of Ockham, Quaestiones variae (Quaest. var.), q. 5 (OTh 8: 183): “Ideo dico quod atten-
tio causatur per actum voluntatis. […] Sed in attento causatur habitus perfectus et intensus quia per
actum intensum, et ideo sufficienter inclinat potentiam in actus consimiles in absentia obiecti.”
274 M. Roques
not its activity, warrants the fact that acts produced by an inclination are always the
same.49 In other words, an inclination does not warrant repetition, as we will see
in part 3.
14.4 The Relation of Causation Between Act and Habit
14.4.1 Methodological Considerations
Ockham recognizes what little information we can get from our inner experience of
cognitive processes. Although we can have intuitive cognitions of our cognitive and
appetitive acts, we have no intuitive cognition of habits.50 Habits are only known
“abstractively and by reasoning.”51 Thus, they are not accessible by introspection.52
This explains, for instance, Ockham’s well-known claim that supernatural habits
such as infused faith cannot be considered necessary from the viewpoint of natural
reason alone. There is no phenomenological difference between a believing pagan
and a Christian in their belief in the existence of God.53 Therefore, there is no
compelling reason to deny that the habit of believing in the existence of God is the
same in the pagan and the Christian. However, those clear-cut situations are quite
rare in cognitive psychology. In general, a cautious attitude is required. There might
be many immaterial psychic accidents that cannot be known, either directly or by
reasoning.54
49
William of Ockham, Ord. d. 17, q. 2 (OTh 4: 219): “Ideo dico uniformiter de habitibus et actibus
quod semper proportionantur secundum identitatem et diversitatem, quia semper est tanta identitas
et diversitas in habitibus quanta est in actibus ex quibus generatur habitus vel augmentatur.”
50
William of Ockham, Ord., prologus, q. 1 (OTh 1: 69): “[N]otitia intuitiva pro statu isto non est
respectu omnium intelligibilium, etiam aequaliter praesentium intellectui, quia est respectu actuum
et non respectu habituum.”
51
William of Ockham, Rep. IV, q. 2 (OTh 7: 36): “Ad aliud dico quod licet non sint plura in anima
ad quorum cognitionem possumus devenire per notitiam intuitivam vel abstractivam, sicut opera-
tiones, delectationes et tristitiae cognoscuntur intuitive, et habitus abstractive et arguitive, propter
hoc tamen non sequitur quod non sunt plura in anima.”
52
On this subject, see Adams and Wolter (1993, 189–191).
53
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 9 (OTh 6: 280): “Prima patet, supposito quod non potest con-
cludi in via quod homo remanebit perpetuo in corpore et anima sicut modo est, quia non potest esse
ratio evidens ad ponendum tales habitus nisi propter eorum operationes, quia omnes habitus inno-
tescunt nobis per operationes. Sed omnes operationes quas experimur, mediantibus istis habitibus
supernaturalibus, possumus experiri mediantibus habitibus naturalibus. Patet discurrendo per
actum fidei, speci et caritatis, quia unus paganus nutritus inter Christianos potest omnes articulos
fidei credere, et Deum super omnia diligere. Igitur etc.”
54
William of Ockham, Ord., prologus, q. 1 (OTh 1: 69): “Quia sicut aliqua sunt accidentia corpo-
ralia, quae tamen per sensus homo non potest cognoscere—ut qualitas in herbis et venenis—quia
visus et quilibet sensus determinatur ad certa obiecta in quae potest ita quod non in plura, eodem
modo possunt esse aliqua accidentia spiritualia quae tamen intellectus non potest cognoscere, quia
intellectus determinatur pro statu isto ad certa obiecta et non ultra, de quorum numero videtur esse
character.”
Aquinas too insists that habits and other powers are known only by their opera-
tions.55 In this respect, Aquinas’s position is not so different from Ockham’s. For
both Aquinas and Ockham, in inductive reasoning one is supposed to look for the
efficient causes of the facts to be explained. For both, induction is a kind of inferen-
tial reasoning from what occurs in particular cases to what occurs always or for the
most part. But Ockham is much less confident than Aquinas about how we can get
knowledge of causal processes.56 Ockham believes that God can always take the
place of a secondary cause.57 As Ockham puts it, “that something created is an effi-
cient cause cannot be demonstratively proved, but only through experience—
namely, through the fact that the effect follows when it is present and not when it is
absent.”58 The relation between cause and effect is only contingent. This has far-
reaching consequences for the use of induction in cognitive psychology.
For instance, I have a certain knowledge of present-tense59 and past-tense60 con-
tingent propositions; I also have the experience that, after having formed a certain
proposition and assented to it, whenever I form it and assent to it next, it is quicker
and easier etc. Therefore I must posit an unobservable cause for that observable
feature, and this is nothing other than an intellectual habit.61 But the knowledge of
such a cause is shaky since God could have taken its place. How should one
proceed?
Rather than undertaking a process aiming at the identification of a cause, one
looks for a distinction between two things. Let us take for example Ockham’s
famous claim that Henry of Ghent and Aquinas defend a wrong view on the question
55
Thomas Aquinas, Sent. I, d. 17, q. 1, art. 4 (ed. Mandonnet, 1: 403): “Habitus non possumus
cognoscere nisi per actus, et actus per obiecta.” See also De veritate, q. 10, art. 9, corp. (Leonina
22.2: 328.153–167): “sicut animae ita et habitus est duplex cognitio: una qua quis cognoscit an
habitus sibi insit, alia qua cognoscitur quid sit habitus. […] cognitio qua quis novit se habere
aliquem habitum, praesupponit notitiam qua cognoscit quid est habitus ille. […] [T]am habitus
quam animam non percipimus in nobis esse, nisi percipendo actus, quorum anima et habitus sunt
principia.”
56
On Aquinas’s and Ockham’s views on induction, see Roques (2017, 2019).
57
William of Ockham, Ord., prologus, q. 1 (OTh 1: 69): “Quod autem ita sit, scimur per experien-
tiam, quia quilibet experitur se intelligere, diligere et delectari; non sic autem se inclinari ad actum
per habitum, quia tantum posset inclinari potentia per Deum agentem sicut per habitum inclinan-
tem. Et ideo illa inclinatio quam quilibet experitur in se non potest cognosci evidenter ex intuitia
intuitiva habitus inclinantis, sed potest tantum cognosci illo modo quo potest cognosci per ratio-
nem et discursum.”
58
William of Ockham, Rep. II, qq. 12–13 (OTh 5: 269): “[Q]uod aliquid creatum sit causa efficiens
non potest demonstrative probari sed solum per experientiam, per hoc scilicet quod ad eius prae-
sentiam sequitur effectus et ad eius absentiam non.” English translation by Adams and Wolter
(1993, 189).
59
William of Ockham, Ord., prologus, q. 1 (OTh 1: 31–32); Rep. II, qq. 12–13 (OTh 5: 256–257);
Quodl. V, q. 5 (OTh 9: 496).
60
William of Ockham, Rep. II, qq. 12–13 (OTh 5: 261–262, 266–267).
61
William of Ockham, Rep. II, qq. 12–13 (OTh 5: 262): “Igitur oportet ponere aliquem habitum
inclinantem ad istum actum, quia ex quo intellectus potest modo prompte elicere istum actum post
cognitionem intuitivam, et ante non potuit, igitur nunc est aliquid inclinans intellectum ad istum
actum quod prius non fuit.”
276 M. Roques
of the unity of science. In forming a valid syllogism, you can make a mistake in the
premise or you can make a mistake in the conclusion. If this is so, then an error in a
premise or a conclusion has an object which is specifically distinct from the object
of another error in a premise or a conclusion, if the two propositions are not both
made up of the same subject or predicate.62 Therefore the knowledge which
corresponds to each mistake is specifically distinct from any other one.63 Therefore,
the knowledge of a premise in a syllogism is specifically distinct from the knowl-
edge of the conclusion.64 This contradicts Henry of Ghent’s claim that there is a
habit the formal ratio of which is the whole argument.
As Fuchs (1952, 12) explains,
habits are […] differentiated on the basis of the acts which produce them. […] But acts
themselves are classified according to the nature of the objects to which they have reference.
Ultimately, therefore, the differentiation of habits is based on the accepted classification of
objects. Ockham sees no other criterion.
But this cannot be established firmly: Ockham uses only an indispensability

argument, which states that if we do not admit that there are distinct acts and habits
for each specifically distinct object, there is no means of deciding which acts or
habits are specifically distinct from any other.65
This indispensability argument is justified because of the relation of causation
which stands between habits and acts. This relation of causation is of such a nature
that it warrants the similarity of the acts produced by a given habit.66 Let us examine
this core idea in Ockham’s theory of habit.
62
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 7, art. 4 (OTh 8: 405): “Exemplum secundi: error circa
principium et conclusionem, et circa duas conclusiones disparatas omnino vel quantum ad aliquem
terminum subiectum vel praedicatum, sic sunt alterius speciei, non propter repugnantiam for-
malem, quia simul stant, sed quia unus error habet obiectum totale vel partiale distinctum specie
ad obiecto alterius erroris, quia in quolibet principio accipitur ad minus aliquis terminus distinctus
specie ab aliquo termino conclusionis, et eodem modo de conclusionibus disparatis totaliter vel
partialiter.”
63
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 7, art. 4 (OTh 8: 405): “Et tunc, habito quod errores distin-
guuntur specie, sequitur necessario quod notitiae eorundem obiectorum, respectu quorum sunt
errores, distinguuntur specie.”
64
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 7, art. 4 (OTh 8: 405): “Et per istam viam potest probari
quod notitia principii et conclusionis distinguuntur specie, quia obiecta, quia errores, distinguutur
specie—quia universaliter quorum obiecta distinguuntur specie, ipsa inter se distinguuntur spe-
cie—et similiter, quia obiecta istarum notitiarum distinguuntur specie.”
65
William of Ockham, Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 191): “Si dicis quod causae diversae speciei possunt
in effectum eiusdem speciei, et per consequens licet actus distinguantur specie, non tamen habitus.
Contra: sicut actus sunt causae habituum, ita habitus sunt causae actuum; et per consequens
numquam erit via ad probandum distinctionem specificam inter habitus et actus. Praeterea nisi
obiectorum distinctorum specie essent actus et habitus distincti specie, non posset probari distinc-
tio specifica inter quoscumque habitus vel actus; quia habitus et actus obiectorum eiusdem speciei
sunt eisdem speciei, et si habitus obiectorum diversae speciei sunt eiusdem speciei, omnes habitus
essent eiusdem speciei.”
66
William of Ockham, Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190): “[T]anta est distinctio actuum quanta
habituum et econverso. Quod probo, tum quia distincti habitus specie sunt a distinctis actibus spe-
cie, quod non esset nisi esset aequalis distinctio illorum; tum quia econverso distincti actus specie
14.4.2 Habit as a Non-standard Disposition
Ockham claims that no kind of causation can be attributed to habits other than effi-
cient causation.67 What is at stake is the idea of repetition, which underlies the need
to posit habits in the soul: what warrants the claim that a habit is the ultimate source
of the repeatability of similar acts? Ockham’s answer is based on the idea that habits
are intentional items and that they have intentional content. Thus, Ockham must
find a way to trace a habit from an intentional object.
His starting point is that a habit requires a relation both to previous acts and to
further acts. Indeed, habits are not like the standard sort of disposition. Standard
dispositions need not have been manifested by the thing in question for these
dispositions to be attributed to that thing. For instance, a piece of rubber is elastic
whether someone has already tried to stretch it or not. This poses a difficulty because
you cannot differentiate between one untested particular that has the disposition and
another that does not have it.68 By contrast, an intellect is not disposed to perform an
addition if it has never performed one before. However, when we look at habits, we
see that a person with a particular habit has to have a certain sort of history: if
somebody has never A-ed before, it is false to say that she has the habit of A-ing.
Thus, in the case of habits, there is no such thing as an “untested particular.” The
fact that an agent has performed several similar actions in the past and that she
displays a proficiency for it is justification enough for positing that she has the
corresponding habit.
Ockham accepts that habits are not like standard dispositions on the ground that
they must have had manifestations and been preceded by an act. But on what
grounds must causal efficacy be attributed to a habit regarding its corresponding
act? A mere logical relation could hold between them, as some philosophers claim
today:
The fact that dormitivity is sufficient for sleep is perfectly intelligible in terms of this logical
relation. What reason is there to suppose that there must also be a nomological relation
between dormitivity and sleep?69
But the fact that some dispositions can be multiply realized raises a difficulty. Some
dispositions can indeed have different causal bases in different objects; for example,
both a sheet of paper and a puddle of fuel can burn. Accordingly, the disposition to
burn is present in both although they have a different physical makeup. So it seems
that you cannot identify a disposition with its causal basis in every instance. It is
therefore not so obvious that a logical relation between the habit and its manifestation
causant distinctos habitus specie, quod patet ex hoc quod habitus generatus ex istis actibus non
inclinat immediate nisi ad consimiles actus et non ad alios; et alius habitus generatus ex aliis acti-
bus inclinat ad alios actus; igitur etc.”
67
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 5 (OTh 8: 174): “[H]abitus nullam causalitatem potest
habere respectu actus nisi effectivam.”
68
See Choi and Fara (2012) for a presentation of this problem.
69
Block (1989, 157).
278 M. Roques
holds: the impediments which are to be accounted for can vary from causal basis to
causal basis, for instance.
Ockham does not face this difficulty because he distinguishes the habit from its
causal efficacy (that is, the inclination), and not the dispositional property from its
causal basis. He could then easily say that there is a logical relation between a habit
and an act. He does not do so, however, but prefers to choose a causal interpretation
of the relation between habit and act. The question then is why Ockham defends
such a strong claim.
14.4.3 A Strong Interpretation of the Causal Principle
The answer to this question can be found in Ockham’s most extensive text on the
relation of causation between habit and act, namely, the first article of the treatise
De connexione virtutum.70 This article consists of a series of principles dedicated to
the relation between act and habit. The first principle states that a distinction between
acts implies a distinction between habits: “There is as much difference between
habits as there is between acts, so that the difference is equal.”71 The second principle
states that a distinction between the intentional objects of two acts implies a
distinction between these acts: “Acts are of different species regarding objects of
different species.”72 The first principle is defended by the well-known claim that
causes of the same species have effects of the same species:
This is proved first because if they are of the same account (ratio), all individuals that
incline with equal perfection, either to accomplish or to receive, can have an effect of the
same account, and if they cannot have an effect of the same account, these principles are not
of the same account.73
70
See also (among many others passages) William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 402–403):
“[D]ico generaliter quod habitus distincti specie generantur ex actibus distinctis specie. Et univer-
saliter, tanta est distinctio habituum quanta actuum et econverso. Hoc patet, quia actus est genera-
tivus habitus, igitur etc. […] Item, omnis habitus praecise inclinat immediate ad actus consimiles
ex quibus generatur. Sed si non essent diversi habitus specie sicut sunt diversi actus specie, tunc
habitus multi eiusdem speciei inclinarent ad actus diversae speciei, et per consequens habitus
inclinaret immediate ad actum dissimilem in specie illi actui ex quo generatur, quod falsum est.”
71
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 7, art. 2 (OTh 8: 323–324): “Quantum ad primum est prima
conclusio quod quanta est distinctio habituum tanta est actuum, ita quod aequalis est” See Jenny
Pelletier’s chapter in this volume for an analysis of this claim in the specific case of complex habits
such as knowledge p. 285–299.
72
William of Ockham, Quaest. var., q. 7, art. 2 (OTh 8: 325–326): “Secunda conclusio est quod
respectu obiectorum distinctorum specie sunt actus distincti specie.”
73
William of Ockham, Quaest var., q. 7, art. 2 (OTh 8: 323–324): “Hoc probatur primo, quia omnia
individua aeque perfecta inclinativa, sive elicitiva sive receptiva, si sint eiusdem rationis, possunt
in effectus eiusdem rationis, et si non possunt in effectus eiusdem rationis, illa principia non sunt
eiusdem rationis.”
This causal principle is ambiguous. On a weaker reading, causes of the same species
can have effects of the same species, but causes and effects are not necessarily of the
same species. On a stronger reading, causes of the same species have effects of the
same species so that causes and effects are of the same species.
In order to defend the stronger reading of this causal principle, Ockham puts
forward the same argument from indispensability we encountered before. If we do
not accept this stronger reading of the principle of causation, then there is no way to
prove a specific distinction between habits:
Moreover, if acts whose objects are of a different species were not specifically distinct, this
would only be because causes that are specifically distinct can have the same effect
specifically. […] If it is so, since acts are the cause of habits and vice versa, there will never
be a way to prove a specific distinction between habits.74
The same reasoning appears to support the second conclusion, according to which
two objects which are specifically distinct are the objects of acts which are
specifically distinct. This is the only way to prove that acts are specifically distinct
from each other:
This is manifest, because otherwise no specific distinction between acts could be posited,
because if these acts were of the same species, acts which intend objects of the same species
would be all the more of the same species, and this way all acts would be of the same
species.75
The conclusion is that Ockham chooses to defend a causal interpretation of the

relation between habit and act in a strong reading because of his way of conceiving
the identity conditions of habits. There is no other way to connect a habit of a given
species to an act of a given species other than by stipulating a causal relation between
the two.
But the identity conditions of habits are themselves the ground of their intention-
ality, according to the standard interpretation of Ockham’s theory of intentionality.76
On this interpretation, Ockham aims at reducing intentionality, “attempting to show
that intentionality can be analyzed into […] one or more features which appear less
mysterious” (Normore 2010, 255). Indeed, on this interpretation, in Ockham’s
mature theory of concepts, thinking is not relational, it is just having a thought.77
74
William of Ockham, Quaest var., q. 7, art. 2 (OTh 8: 324): “Praeterea si actus distinctorum obi-
ectorum specie non distinguerentur specie, hoc non esset nisi quia causae distinctae specie possunt
in eundem effectum specie. […] [S]i sic, cum actus sint causa habituum sicut e converso, numquam
erit via ad probandum distinctionem specificam inter aliquos habitus.”
75
William of Ockham, Quaest var., q. 7, art. 2 (OTh 8: 325–326): “Hoc patet, quia aliter non posset
probari distinctio specifica actuum, quia si illi essent eiusdem speciei, multo magis actus respectu
obiectorum eiusdem speciei essent eiusdem speciei, et sic omnes actus essent eiusdem speciei.”
76
See especially Normore (2010), Panaccio (2004, 119–144), and Biard (1989, 29–31).
77
William of Ockham, Expositio in librum Peryermeneias, prologus, §12 (OPh 2: 375): “Sed acci-
280 M. Roques
But how can we account for the fact that the intellective soul does not always
think the same thought, or that the intellective soul does not have a single habit, but
a plurality of habits? To account for the fact that the intellective soul does not always
think the same thought, Ockham could appeal to the species theory that was widely
adopted in his time. On this theory, what specifies the act of thinking is a “form” in
the mind: my thought is about cats rather than dogs because I have the form of cats
rather than dogs in mind. This form is called a species when it exists before the act
of thinking, and a habit when it exists after an act of thinking. On this conception, a
habit is a kind of stored mental representation, which we can use when we want to
think about something in particular.78
But, on Ockham’s mature theory of concepts, concepts are the very acts of
thought.79 He also claims that whatever job species are usually assumed to do can be
done as well by intellectual acts and habits.80 As far as I know, the scholarly debate
on the meaning of Ockham’s claim has focused on intellectual acts; no one has tried
to spell out in details how habits enter the picture.81 My analysis of the relation that
holds between a habit and its act suggests that Ockham’s motto that efficient
causation warrants sameness holds not only for concepts but also for habits. This
means that in Ockham’s ontology there are real mental accidents (namely, concepts
and habits) that include representational content in the weaker sense that this
representational content is nothing other than something that represents all the
things that are similar to each other.82 For instance, if I see a dog for the first time, it
causes in my intellective soul a concept whose representational content stands in a
relation of similarity with all the existing (and possible) dogs. The habit that remains
in my intellective soul after I stop thinking about dogs has the same intentional
content as the concept of dogs, according to the similarity-causation theory.
Similarly, when I learn to play the guitar, it causes in my soul a habit whose repre-
sentational pattern stands in a relation of similarity with my activity of playing the
guitar before I acquired the habit. In this sense, I believe that a study of Ockham’s
metaphysics of habit is an important step towards our understanding of the relation
piendo ‘intelligi’ et similiter se habeat ad intellectionem sicut proferri’ se habet ad vocem, ita quod
sicut proferre est causare vocem sic intelligere est causare vel habere intellectionem.” For a com-
mentary on this text, see Normore (2010, 258). See also Brower-Toland (2007). For an illuminat-
ing synthesis of the philosophical problems raised by Ockham’s change of mind on the nature of
concepts, see Brower-Toland (2007, 83–85).
78
For an extensive account of the theory of species from Antiquity to the Middle Ages, see Spruit
(1994).
79
William of Ockham, Rep. III, q. 7 (OTh 6: 197–199). On this subject, see especially Panaccio
(2004, 21–23).
80
Rep. II, q. 12 (OTh 5: 272): “Item, omnia illa quae possunt salvari per speciem, possunt salvari
per habitum; igitur habitus requiritur et species superfluit.”
81
For a synthesis of the scholarly work on Ockham’s rejection of species, see Panaccio (2004,
23–27).
82
For a detailed explanation of this core aspect of Ockham’s theory of concepts, see Panaccio
(2004, 119–144).
between similarity and causation in Ockham’s theory of intentionality, which has

been a topic of intense debate among Ockham scholars.83
Last but not least, I find the use of the motto that causation warrants similarity in
the case of habits particularly interesting, for it warrants an extension of Ockham’s
standard theory of identity and distinction, which is initially restricted to observable
and existing entities, namely, substances and perhaps qualities outside the soul. I
believe that this extension lies at the core of Ockham’s cognitive psychology, and
that it leaves room (at least in Ockham’s second theory of concepts) for intentional
phenomena (such as the intentional content of habits) that are not ipso facto semantic
phenomena, contrary to the long-standing scholarly consensus.84
14.5 Conclusion
To conclude, let us consider the consequence of Ockham’s theory of habit for the
mechanisms of cognition. In a nutshell, it says that the causal interpretation of the
relation of habit and act makes the species superfluous, since the relation of causation
suffices to trace a habit from an act. I believe that, without the stronger reading of
the principle that causes of the same species have effects of the same species,
Ockham’s thesis that species are not necessary to account for the mechanisms of
cognition would be unwarranted and, more importantly, would not be sufficient to
ground another account of the mechanisms of cognition.
Whatever it may be, the basic principle on which Ockham’s causal interpretation
of the relation between habit and act is based is justified only by an argument from
indispensability. It has not yet been proven that this really works, nor in particular
that the intentional nature of habit is warranted.85
83
See especially Panaccio (2004, 119–144) and Biard (1989, 29–31).
84
See for instance Panaccio (2004, 9): “Ockham realized at some point—and this is a very deep
intuition in his mature system—that the various functions he wanted to attribute to concepts, in so
far precisely as they were semantical functions, could adequately be fulfilled by the cognitive acts
themselves.” Brower-Toland (2007) seems also to equate intentionality and semanticality, at least
in Ockham’s last two accounts of intentionality.
85
I will examine this question in another paper. Special thanks are due to Joël Biard who read an
earlier version of this paper and to Ian Drummond for his help on Scotus’s position. I am deeply
grateful to the two referees. This paper was written thanks to the support of the DFG project no.
RO 5427/1-1; 636,909 and the Eurias fellowship programme (Marie-Sklodowska-Curie Actions,
COFUND Programme-FP7). I would also like to thank the Fondation des Treilles for its financial
support. The Fondation des Treilles, created by Anne Gruner Schlumberger, seeks to expand and
nurture dialogue between the sciences and the humanities in order to promote artistic creation and
contemporary research. It also hosts researchers and writers at the Treilles estate (Var): www.les-
treilles.com
282 M. Roques
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Chapter 15
William Ockham on the Mental Ontology
of Scientific Knowledge
Jenny Pelletier
Abstract It has long been acknowledged that one of the most original aspects of
Ockham’s account of knowledge is his contention that bodies of scientific knowl-
edge are aggregates but without much explanation as to why he holds this view. In
this chapter, I argue that a plausible philosophical motivation lies in the inner struc-
ture of his mental ontology, namely, in the intellect’s habits, acts, and their objects,
which are the true and necessary principles and conclusions of demonstrations.
Ockham upholds what I call a “Principle of Object-Act-Habit-Specification,”
according to which kinds of habits and their acts are determined by the objects they
grasp. This principle entails that if a body of scientific knowledge contains two or
more sentences, it can only have aggregate unity. Furthermore, I look at the logical
and determinate orders that gather together the sentences of various aggregate bod-
ies of scientific knowledge.
Keywords William Ockham · Science · Knowledge · Order · Habit · Act · Object ·

Aggregate · Unity
15.1 Introduction
It has long been acknowledged that one of the most original aspects of Ockham’s
account of scientific knowledge is his contention that bodies of scientific knowledge
are best conceived as aggregates (Maurer 1958, 1974b, 1999, 135–148; Leinsle
1980; Beckmann 1981; Perini-Santos 2006, 129–159).1 On this view mathematics,
say, is made up of numerous discrete truths, the principles and conclusions of
This chapter is a thorough reworking of parts from Pelletier (2013, ch. 1). All references are to
1
works by Ockham. All translations, unless otherwise indicated, are my own.
J. Pelletier (*)
Research Foundation – Flanders (FWO), Brussels, Belgium
University of Leuven, Leuven, Belgium
e-mail: jenny.pelletier@kuleuven.be

286 J. Pelletier
mathematical proofs, each of which is understood by a correspondingly discrete

mental phenomenon. What has been less explored are the philosophical motivations
for why Ockham privileges this aggregate conception. Maurer (1958, 112) briefly
suggests that one possible motivation is Ockham’s nominalism. Ockham’s commit-
ment to the exclusive existence of particular entities, so the argument goes, entails
that our scientific knowledge of those particulars is fragmentary, and therefore only
loosely unified. One reason to question this motivation is that Ockham thinks that
the formation of scientifically knowable sentences, articulated using general terms
that can refer to all particular entities of a given kind, allows scientific discourse to
be general, despite there existing only particular entities.
I think that a more plausible motivation for positing an aggregate conception of
scientific knowledge is to be found in the structure of Ockham’s mental ontology.
This ontology includes the intellect’s discrete mental qualities—habits (habitus)
and their acts—that are specified by the objects that they grasp. In the case of scien-
tific knowledge, these objects are the principles and conclusions of demonstrations.
It is because habits and acts are causally related to one another and determined to
belong to the specific kind that they do by their objects that Ockham is led to insist
upon an aggregate conception of scientific knowledge according to which a science
is a collection of habits.2
More precisely, my contention is that in the case of aggregate or collective hab-
its, viz. a science, a so-called “specifically distinct” scientifically knowable sen-
tence, a sentence distinct in kind, gives rise to a correspondingly specifically distinct
habit and act by which that sentence becomes known. On this ontological frame-
work, Ockham believes, each specifically distinct knowable sentence is grasped by
a specifically distinct habit and act. A consequence of this is that any science by
which the intellect knows more than one knowable sentence amounts to a collection
of specifically distinct habits, acts, and their objects, which are gathered together to
form that science on the basis of some non-arbitrary principle.
In what follows, I first look at this mental ontology of scientific knowledge, in
particular the causal relation between habits and their acts as well as what I take to
be Ockham’s principle for the specification of those habits and acts, viz. their objects
(Sect. 15.1). Having done so, I discuss Ockham’s arguments for the aggregate unity
of the sciences, which clearly and explicitly rely on the ontology introduced in the
first section (Sect. 15.2). Having established that a science of any complexity will
be an aggregate of many specifically distinct habits and acts, I close by looking at
the various ways that Ockham thinks aggregate sciences are unified and organized
(Sect. 15.3).3 In this last section we shall see that the principle according to which
the habits and acts of an aggregate science are collected together is semantic, based
2
In her contribution to this volume (p. 263–283), Magali Roques focuses particularly on the
causal relationship between and specification of simple habits and their acts. My contribution, by
contrast, concentrates on complex habits and aggregates of habits.
3
See Pascale Bermon’s contribution to this volume (p. 301–319) for an overview of late medieval
views on the question of the unity of a science having a plurality of different objects. For a similar
concern in the early modern period, see Tarek Dika’s contribution on Descartes (p. 385–401) and
finally see Martin Pickavé and Nicolas Faucher’s contributions in this volume (respectively
p. 245–261 and p. 107–126) for further discussion on the unity of habits in the moral realm.
15 William Ockham on the Mental Ontology of Scientific Knowledge 287
on the significative extension of the subject and/or predicate terms of the premises
and conclusions that they grasp.
In the end, Maurer is right to think that Ockham’s nominalism is relevant but
only insofar as the mental habits and acts that constitute scientific knowledge on the
side of the knower, the “mental ontology” in question, are themselves particular
mental entities that do indeed stand in need of a principle of unity that collects them
together to form unified aggregate sciences. Scientific knowledge is not, however,
fragmentary because what we have knowledge of is particular.
Ockham uses the term scientia to cover what we would call “knowledge” and
“science.” Because my focus is human knowledge at its most rigorous, it is appro-
priate to use “scientific knowledge” to refer to the state of the knower who knows
scientifically. “Science,” on the other hand, is better reserved for referring to the
objects of scientific knowledge, which are principles and conclusions. Employing a
dual translation recalls Ockham’s statement that “scientia” is a relative term that
signifies a quality of the intellect (a mental habit and its acts within the knower) and
connotes the object of that knowledge (a sentence).4
However, “scientific knowledge” is often the more awkward translation in light
of Ockham’s aggregate conception of scientific knowledge whose parts are, in
effect, particular items or instances of scientific knowledge. Because the English
term “knowledge” is an uncountable noun, it is cumbersome to refer to one or two
or three items of scientific knowledge. It is helpful then to have recourse to
“science(s).” Obviously, by “science” we should not assume the contemporary
notion of experimental sciences but rather Aristotelian demonstrative sciences.
15.2 T
he Ontology of Knowledge: Habits, Acts,
and Their Objects
Knowledge is a really distinct accidental quality existing in the intellect of the

knower. It is a quality that is an intellective habit and any act that that habit causes
the knower to perform.5 Ockham accepts the common Aristotelian view that a habit
is an enduring yet acquired psychological propensity to perform and re-perform
certain acts, the performance of which actualizes that habit (cursorily discussed in
Fuchs 1952). “Knowledge” can refer to underlying intellective habits (habitual
knowledge) as well as the acts that such habits cause (actual knowledge). Scientific
knowledge, as a kind of knowledge, is likewise conceived as a habit or a collection
of many habits and their acts.
4
e.g., Quodl. I, q. 18 (OTh 9: 96.72–73); Quodl. VI, q. 14 (OTh 9: 635.6–7).
5
Exp. Phys., prol. §2 (OPh 4: 4–5): “Circa primum dicendum est quod scientia vel est quaedam
qualitas exsistens subiective in anima vel est collectio aliquarum talium qualitatum animam infor-
mantium. Et loquor tantum de scientia hominis. Hoc probatur: quia non minus est scientia, quae
est habitus, talis qualitas quam actus scientiae; sed actus scientiae est talis qualitas; ergo et scientia,
quae est habitus, est talis qualitas. Maior videtur satis manifesta.”
288 J. Pelletier
Ockham defines a habit in the strict sense as a quality that is immediately gener-
ated by an act, without which that habit could not have come into existence.6 This
definition aims to establish a causal relationship between a first intellective or voli-
tional act and the subsequent habit that it generates. The intellect performs an act by
which it understands the true mathematical sentence “3 + 2 = 5,” for the first time.
The performance of this act causes a habit within the knower’s intellect. The habit,
once acquired and possessed by the knower, is the cause of any subsequent act of
understanding that mathematical truth, the performance of which in turn reinforces
the habit itself.7 Indeed, Ockham posits habits in part to explain the increasing pro-
pensity over time to understanding truths, as well as the ease and speed with which
we understand them.8
Habits and their acts are specified by their objects. The objects of the intellective
habits associated with scientific knowledge are true and necessary sentences. This
should alert us to the fact that the habits and acts in question are complex rather than
incomplex. They are the mental phenomena that grasp sentential expressions
(“Some trees are deciduous”) as opposed to those that grasp the units—namely,
terms—that make up sentential expressions (“trees”) or objects outside the mind
(trees).
Despite changing his mind on the nature of the objects of judgement in general,9
Ockham consistently maintains that sentences are the objects of scientific knowl-
edge.10 Thus, when he distinguishes between four types of knowledge, the last two
of which qualify as scientific, we find that: (1) broadly speaking, scientific knowl-
edge refers to any intellective complex habit that causes the possessor of that habit
to perform an act by which she evidently determines a necessary sentence to be
true.11 But (2) properly speaking, scientific knowledge refers to any intellective
6
Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190): “Aliter accipitur ‘habitus’ stricte pro habitu immediate generato ex
actu, qui habitus aliter generari non potest.” It is clear from what follows that the strict definition
of “habit” characterizes only habits of the intellect and the will. In a looser sense, Ockham thinks
we can talk about habits of the body and the sense appetite, but these fall outside my present scope.
7
Quodl. III, q. 21 (OTh 9: 287): “Nunc autem unus actus est causa habitus, quod patet de primo
actu, quia sine eo non potest esse habitus naturaliter; et post habitus est causa, non illius actus sed
alterius; et ille actus bene augmentabit illum habitum.”
8
Quodl. III, q. 20 (OTh 9: 283): “Quarto dico quod in intellectu necesse est ponere habitum, quia
aliquis post frequentiam actuum intelligendi redditur promptus et inclinatus ad consimiles actus, et
nullo modo redditur inclinatus et promptus ante omnem actum.” Cf. Exp. Phys., prol., §2 (OPh 4:
5.19–26).
9
In earlier texts (e.g., Ord.), Ockham claims that the objects of judgement (knowledge, belief,
opinion, etc.) are apprehended mental sentences. In later texts (e.g., Quodl. III, q. 8), he argues that
the objects of some judgements are apprehended sentences but the objects of other judgements are
things themselves. How to understand this latter claim has been the subject of some debate in the
literature. On Ockham’s changing views on the objects of judgement, see Boler (1976), Karger
(1995), Brower-Toland (2007, 2014), and Panaccio (2009).
10
Exp. Phys., prol., §3 (OPh 4: 9): “[…] obiectum scientiae est tota propositio nota.” Cf. Ord.,
prol., q. 9 (OTh 1: 266.19–21).
11
Exp. Phys., prol., §2 (OPh 4: 6): “Tertio modo dicitur scientia notitia evidens alicuius necessarii.
Et isto modo non sciuntur contingentia, sed principia et conclusiones sequentes.”
complex habit that causes the possessor of that habit to perform an act by which she
evidently determines a necessary sentence resulting from a demonstration to be
true. On (1), scientific knowledge extends to our knowledge of the principles and
conclusions of demonstrations; on (2), scientific knowledge extends only to our
knowledge of conclusions.12
Ockham posits two crucial theses about complex habits, acts, and their sentential
objects (hereafter, I will drop “complex”). He states: “I say that there is as much
distinction between acts as habits and vice versa.”13 He means a distinction in kind
(“distinct in species”) rather than a distinction in number.14
T1: There are as many specific distinctions among acts as there are among habits,
and conversely as many specific distinctions among habits as there are among
acts.
Ockham offers a number of arguments for T1, including:
1. Causes of the same species can have effects of the same species. If two effects
are specifically distinct, then their causes are as well. Habits are caused by first
acts and if, therefore, they are specifically distinct, then so too are the first acts
that caused them and the subsequent acts that they generate.15
2. A first act of one species causes a habit of one species that only inclines us to
perform acts of that species immediately and not to acts of a distinct species.
This argument seems to be empirically verifiable at least insofar as we can
observe an increased ability to perform acts of one species after a first act of that
species, which has caused the intervening habit.16 However much I might per-
form acts of understanding arithmetical sentences, I am not thereby caused to
perform acts of understanding French grammatical sentences.
12
Exp. Phys., prol., §2 (OPh 4: 6): “Quarto modo dicitur scientia notitia evidens veri necessarii nata
causari ex notitia evidenti praemissarum necessariarum applicatarum per discursum
syllogisticum.”
13
Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190): “[…] dico quod tanta est distinctio actuum quanta habituum et
econverso.” Cf. Rep. III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 402.16–403.2); Quaest. var., q. 7 (OTh 8: 323.9–10).
14
With caution, one could appropriate the contemporary terminology of “type” vs. “token” here,
but I will retain the more Ockhamistic terminology of “specific” and “numerical” identity/distinc-
tion or sameness/difference. On the type-token distinction as applied to Ockham, see Panaccio
(2004, 55–58).
15
Quaest. var., q. 7 (OTh 8: 323–324): “Hoc probatur primo, quia omnia individua aeque perfecta
inclinativa, sive elicitiva sive receptiva, sit sint eiusdem rationis, possunt in effectus eiusdem ratio-
nis, et si non possunt in effectus eiusdem rationis, illa principia non sunt eiusdem rationis; sed
habitus generari ex actibus sunt effectus illorum […] et non semper sunt eiusdem speciei nec esse
possunt […]; igitur nec actus generativi istorum.” Cf. Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190.41–45).
This argument assumes a correlation between causality and the species identity or distinction
of habit and act. On causation and similarity in the context of habits and acts in Ockham’s work,
see the contribution by Magali Roques in this volume, see p. 263–283.
16
Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190): “[…] distincti actus specie causant distinctos habitus specie, quod
patet ex hoc quod habitus generatus ex istis actibus non inclinat immediate nisi ad consimiles actus
et non ad alios; et alius habitus generatus ex aliis actibus inclinat ad alios actus; igitur etc.” Cf. Rep.
III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 403.11–16).
290 J. Pelletier
He further claims that “habits and acts of objects of the same species are of the
same species.”17 This suggests:
T2: The specific distinction between acts and habits is determined by the species of
object that the first act grasps.
The co-specification of habits and their acts on the basis of their objects rests on
the causal relationship that holds between prior act > habit > posterior act(s). The
foregoing can be summed up as a Principle of Object-Act-Habit Specification
(POHAS):
POHAS: (i) a specific distinction between acts corresponds to a specific distinction between
habits and vice versa in case such acts and habits are causally related and (ii) is determined
by a specific distinction between objects.18
We can illustrate POHAS as follows. The sentence p, “All electrons are nega-
tively charged subatomic particles,”19 is one species of sentence distinct from q,
“Force can cause an object with mass to change its velocity.” It can thus become the
object of a specifically distinct act that can cause a correspondingly specifically
distinct habit of the same object. Once the knower has acquired this habit, she can
perform further numerically distinct acts of the same type, that is, every subsequent
time that she understands the sentence, “All electrons are negatively charged sub-
atomic particles.” Because Ockham holds that sentences like p and q are specifically
distinct, the habit of p cannot incline the knower towards performing acts of under-
standing q and vice versa. Rather, the habit of q must be independently acquired to
explain her ability to perform and re-perform acts of understanding q.
POHAS does not explain how to establish a specific distinction between the two
sentences. Ockham gives three examples of specifically distinct objects: (1) princi-
ples and conclusions; (2) complexes (sentential expressions) and non-complexes
(the units of sentential expressions, namely, their terms); and (3) the cognitions of
God, a whiteness, and a fly.20 He also notes that there can be a specific distinction
between conclusions, but does not elaborate further.21
One way to establish a specific distinction between sentences would be to point
to their subject and predicate terms. If my sentence “S is P” and your sentence “S is
P′” are numerically distinct, then presumably my “S is P” and your “S is Q” are
17
Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 191): “[…] habitus et actus obiectorum eiusdem speciei sunt eiusdem
speciei.” Cf. Quaest. var., q. 7 (OTh 8: 325.0–326.65).
18
Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190–191): “Ideo dico quod semper tanta est distinctio actuum quanta
habituum et econverso; et ideo si diversorum obiectorum specie sint diversi actus specie, sequitur
quod erunt diversi habitus specie. Et si habitus aliquorum obiectorum sint eiusdem speciei, et actus
erunt.” Cf. Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219.3–13).
19
Truths about the contingent universe, including the truths of physics, ought to be formulated as
conditional or de possibile sentences in order to count as necessary truths, see SL 3–2, c. 5 (OPh 1:
511–514). For the sake of simplicity, I am using categorical, present-tensed example sentences.
20
Quaest. var., q. 7 (OTh 8: 325.41–48 and 326.77); Quodl. II, q. 18 (OTh 9: 190.43–45 and
191.69–71).
21
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 139.51–140.66).
numerically and specifically distinct. Ockham does state that if two sentences have
the same subject terms then our knowledge of them—the habit or act that evidently
assents to each of them—is rendered distinct because of their predicate terms.22 He
is not explicit about the kind of distinction at stake but he surely means a predicate
term that is itself specifically distinct from another predicate term. That is, “P”
rather than “Q,” since a numerical distinction between “P” and “P” would not entail
a specific distinction between “S is P” and “S is P′” if one agrees that these are two
numerically distinct sentences of the same species.
It is easy to see how a specific distinction would obtain between the following
sentences on the basis of their subject and predicate terms:
1 . Every rock is an aggregate of minerals.
2. All human beings are multicellular organisms.
3. 2 + 3 = 5
4. All electrons are negatively charged subatomic particles.
Each sentence qualifies as an object of one species such that each determines the
intellective habit and act by which it is scientifically known to be of one correspond-
ing species. Ockham could appeal to his account of cognition and concept forma-
tion to support this analysis. Upon intuitively cognizing a given object (e.g., a
human being), I am able to form a simple concept (human being) that can refer to
that object and any other objects sufficiently like it in a certain respect (all human
beings) as the subject term of a mental sentence (“human being”).23 The causal con-
nection between the intuitive cognition of an object of one species and its resulting
simple concept is strong enough that no cognition of an object of another species
can cause that same concept. By contrast, a cognition of another object of the same
species can; my cognition of this human being and my cognition of that human
being can both equally cause the concept human being. My cognition of any human
being does not, however, cause me to form the concept electron.24 So, specific dis-
tinctions holding between subject and predicate terms could be traced back to the
objects that we intuitively cognize and their role in concept formation. We can refine
POHAS as follows:
POHAS1: (i) a specific distinction between acts corresponds to a specific distinction
between habits and vice versa in case such acts and habits are causally related, and (ii) is
22
Ord., prol., q. 9 (OTh 1: 260.1–3): “[…] de eodem subiecto propter diversitatem praedicatorum
possunt esse distinctae scientiae.”
23
See Panaccio (2004, esp. 125–133) for a detailed analysis of the origin our concepts in intuitive
cognition and their eventual role in mental language and scientific discourse. He emphasizes the
importance of the causal connection between object and concept in determining the intentional
content of that concept.
24
Ockham argues that an intuitive cognition of one thing cannot cause an intuitive cognition of
another thing (Ord., prol., q. 9 [OTh 1: 241.1–14]). Because simple concepts originate in these
cognitions, it follows that without the relevant intuitive cognition of some object, no simple con-
cept of that object can ensue. Thus, no intuitive cognition of one specifically distinct object (a
human being) can cause a simple concept of another specifically distinct object (a rose). We can,
however, acquire complex concepts of objects we have not intuitively cognized.
292 J. Pelletier
determined by a specific distinction between objects, which (iii) is determined by a specific

distinction between the subject and predicate terms of these objects.
Certain examples, particularly from mathematics, complicate POHAS1. Consider

the following sentence:
5. 9 + 2 = 11
Are (3) and (5) specifically distinct? On the one hand, it seems reasonable to
think that once a young mathematician acquires an “addition habit,” she is able to
add any two specifically distinct numbers, with the consequence that a sentence of
the form,
6. x + y = z
would be one species, which would include (3) and (5). A sentence of the form
x – y = z would be a second species, knowable by virtue of an “subtraction habit.”
This may sound reasonable for (3) and (5), since they are relatively easy examples
of addition. But what about more complex examples? Even if you have acquired an
addition habit by learning (3), you do not necessarily know how to add:
7. 5 + (−2) + (−1) = 2
Insisting that all sentences of the form x + y = z are of the same species might be
too broad, since some addition sentences could still require other specifically dis-
tinct habits.
On the other hand, insisting that (3) and (5) are specifically distinct because their
subject and predicates contain different numbers seems to be too narrow. Having
acquired the addition habit by learning (3) or (6), do we really require a specifically
distinct habit to know (5)? This seems unnecessarily exacting and contrary to how
we learn.
I think that (3) and (5) are specifically distinct because their subject and predicate
terms are specifically distinct but Ockham gives us the resources to explain why,
upon knowing (3), I can indeed grasp (5) with little difficulty. He admits that a habit
of one species can cause an act of a second species but not immediately. Take a habit
that causes an act of understanding some principle. That act can cause another act
of understanding some conclusion such that the habit of the principle is the proxi-
mate cause of understanding the principle and the remote cause of understanding
the conclusion. The same holds for ordered conclusions where a habit of one prior
specifically distinct conclusion can be the mediate cause of an act of a second pos-
terior specifically distinct conclusion.25 The habit that is the proximate cause of the
25
Rep. III, q. 12 (OTh 6: 403–404): “Sciendum tamen quod unus habitus potest inclinare ad actus
distinctos specie, ita tamen quod ad unum actum inclinat immediate et ad alium vel multos alios
mediate. Quia habitus principii inclinat immediate ad actum elicitum circa principia, et mediante
illo actu, inclinat mediate ad actum elicitum circa unam conclusionem, et mediante illo secundo
potest primus habitus inclinare ad actum circa aliam conclusionem. Et sic de multis conclusionibus
ordinatis. Et tunc primus habitus ad primum actum ordinatur sicut causa immediata ad effectum
immediatum, et ad secundum et tertium actum, et sic deinceps ordinatur sicut causa remota ad
effectum remotum, et est causa causae.”
act by which I know (6) can be a remote cause of the act by which I know (3) and
(5). So, POHAS1 holds, but only for habits and acts that are immediately causally
related.
POHAS1 will be a decisive premise in the argument for an aggregate conception
of scientific knowledge because it compels Ockham to hold that if a body of scien-
tific knowledge includes 1 + n specifically distinct sentences, then it must be com-
posed of 1 + n specifically distinct habits and their acts. But if one body of scientific
knowledge is composed of multiple habits and acts, which are all really distinct
qualities in the soul of the knower, then to qualify as one body of scientific knowl-
edge those habits and acts will have a particular kind of unity, namely, the unity of
an aggregate.
15.3 A
ggregate Sciences: Unified Bodies of Scientific
Knowledge
Although Ockham concedes that scientific knowledge can be conceived as one spe-
cifically identical intellective habit, its act(s), and by extension the one specifically
identical conclusion or principle to which it evidently assents, he prefers to think of
scientific knowledge as an aggregate of many specifically distinct intellective hab-
its, their acts, and the specifically distinct principles and conclusions to which they
evidently assent. In this sense, logic, physics, metaphysics, etc. are bodies of scien-
tific knowledge, or sciences. Any such science is one insofar as its plurality of intel-
lective habits, acts, and objects form a single aggregate.
Ockham distinguishes between two senses of “one in number”:
1. Strictly, “oneA” refers either to (i) something that has essential unity, whether (a)
simple and partless entities, e.g., angels or (b) composite entities whose parts
are of different kinds [rationes], e.g. human beings composed of matter and
form; or to (ii) something that has integral unity, e.g., composite entities whose
parts are of the same kind, such as fire, a mass of water, or a whiteness.26
2. Broadly, “oneB” refers to something that has aggregate unity and whose parts
are a variety of numerically or specifically distinct entities, e.g., one heap of
many stones or one house composed of many rooms.27
26
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 138): “Ad cuius evidentiam est sciendum quod unum numero ad
praesens dupliciter potest accipi: uno modo stricte et proprie, et tunc dicitur quod unum numero
illud quod est per se unum, scilicet simplex vel compositum cuius partes sunt materia et forma vel
solo numero distincta et non alterius rationis; et sic iste ignis est unus numero et ista albedo est una
numero, et sic de aliis.” Cf. Ord., d. 24, q. 1 (OTh 3: 76.17–77.6).
27
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 138–139): “Aliter accipitur unum numero large et improprie pro
illo quod est unum aggregatione multorum sive specie sive solo numero distinctorum non facien-
tum unum per se, quomodo acervus lapidum potest dici unus numero quia est unus acervus et non
plures acervi; et isto modo Aristoteles exponit unum numero, III Physicorum. Sic etiam potest dici
quod haec domus est una numero, et regnum est unum numero et populus est unus numero, quia
294 J. Pelletier
Taken independently from the aggregate that it figures in, a habit and its act(s)
are one item of scientific knowledge, and in this case a science is one in the sense of
oneA. However, this entails that an entire science comprises exclusively that one
habit and its act(s). Its scope is restricted to the knowledge of one principle or con-
clusion while ignoring any other, including, if the sentence in question is a conclu-
sion, the principle(s) thanks to which the knower is brought to evidently assent to
that conclusion. In fact, a knower cannot be said to know a conclusion (c) properly
and scientifically unless he or she has evidently assented to its principles (p, q), and
therefore evidently assents to c precisely as the result of a demonstration in which p
and q appear. If the acquisition of the proper scientific knowledge of c requires at
least the understanding of p and q, and if, according to POHAS1, for each specifi-
cally distinct sentence there is a specifically distinct habit, then scientifically know-
ing c requires at least three specifically distinct habits.28 Taken together, they form a
single (oneB) aggregate composed of three numerically and specifically distinct
entities.
Any sophisticated science like mathematics or natural philosophy has aggregate
unity.29 A science on this model is composed of (1) the complex habits and acts by
which the knower evidently assents to principles and conclusions; (2) the incomplex
habits and acts by which the knower cognizes the terms of those principles and
conclusions; (3) the refutations of counterarguments and objections; (4) solutions to
erroneous and fallacious arguments; and finally, (5) the necessary divisions and
definitions required to conduct demonstrations in that science.30 A practitioner of
such a science has a wide range of intellective habits by virtue of which he or she is
able to perform the acts that amount to the business of practising that science.
Ockham establishes the plausibility of aggregate sciences by arguing (1) that a
science can include more than one conclusion, and (2) that if a science does include
more than one conclusion then, given POHAS1, one must posit more than one habit
belonging to that science. It is clear from experience, he argues, that I can know one
conclusion and yet simultaneously not know a second conclusion. This is obvious
quamvis sint plures homines, non sunt plures populi.” Cf. Ord., d. 24, q. 1 (OTh 3: 77.5–17). For
the mereological discussion and the kind of unity that wholes and their parts have, see Quaest. var.,
q. 6 (OTh 8: 213.151–214.162). On Ockham’s mereology, see Cross (1999) and Normore (2006).
28
This is the thrust of SL 3-2, c. 21 (OPh 1: 540.26–31). However, Ockham notes in the prologue
to the Ordinatio that the premises and conclusions of a syllogism can be understood by one act if
they are strung together to form one sentence; see Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 218.20–219.2).
29
Exp. Phys., prol., §3 (OPh 6: 6–7): “Prima est quod metaphysica, similiter mathematica et phi-
losophia naturalis, non est una scientia secundum numerum illo modo quo haec albedo est una
numero et iste calor et iste homo et iste asinus.” Cf. Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 138.23–26);
Prooem. (OPh 2: 3.18–4.21); Brev. Phys., prol. (OPh 6: 4.25–33); Ord., prol., q. 1 (OTh 1: 9.16–
10.2); Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219.14–17).
30
Ord., prol., q. 1 (OTh 1: 8–9): “Et scientia isto modo dicta [sc. as an aggregate] continet tam
notitiam incomplexam terminorum quam notitiam complexorum, et hoc principiorum et conclu-
sionum; continet etiam reprobationes errorum et solutiones falsorum argumentorum; continet
etiam divisiones necessarias et definitiones, ut frequenter.” Cf. Exp. Phys., prol., §2 (OPh 4:
6.57–60).
from the process of learning, in which I successively come to know an increasing

number of different conclusions but where I can both know and not know any two
conclusions at any given moment. This would be impossible if a science were to
contain only one conclusion, since it would be contradictory to know and yet not
know one and the same conclusion simultaneously, that is, to know p and not-know
p. However, I can know p and not know q at the same time, and this is sufficient to
determine that p and q are not the same.31 The point is that metaphysics, say, is one
science that includes p and q, and therefore contains at least two conclusions.
Consequently, it must contain at least two habits and their acts such that it is an
aggregate.
Ockham explicitly appeals to POHAS1 to argue that a science like natural phi-
losophy has aggregate unity because it is composed of many specifically distinct
conclusions, and these are only understood by specifically distinct habits and their
acts. He writes:
Furthermore, acts distinct in species have corresponding habits distinct in species; but acts
concerning conclusions distinct in species are differentiated; therefore, etc. […] I say, there-
fore, that just as acts are differentiated so [are] the habits generated from [those] acts, since
just as the act by which I consider one conclusion [is differentiated from the act by which I
consider] another conclusion, so is another corresponding habit [differentiated].32
As long as natural philosophy contains n + 1 specifically distinct or “differenti-

ated” conclusions, which are only scientifically knowable by correspondingly spe-
cifically distinct habits and their act(s), natural philosophy will be an aggregate. It
cannot be one in the sense of oneA.
15.4 Unifying and Organizing Aggregate Sciences
An aggregate science is not a random or haphazard set of habits, acts, and their
objects. There is a principle according to which the sentences, “If A, B, and C are
points on a circle where the line AC is a diameter of the circle, then the angle ABC
31
Exp. Phys., prol., §3 (OPh 4: 7): “Hanc probo. Quia metaphysica comprehendit multas conclu-
siones circa quarum unam potest aliquis errare et ipsemet eodem tempore aliam scire; sicut per
certam experientiam patet quod idem primo addiscit unam conclusionem et postea aliam, et tamen
aliquando prius erravit circa utramque. Ex hoc arguo sic. Error circa a et scientia circa a formaliter
repugnant; sed error circa a et scientia circa b non repugnant formaliter, quia stant simul; ergo
scientia circa a et scientia circa b non sunt eiusdem rationis – quia quando aliqua sunt eiusdem
rationis, quidquid formaliter contrariatur uni, contrariatur alteri –; sed si non sunt eiusdem rationis,
et manifestum est quod neutrum est materia alterius nec forma, ergo non faciunt per se unum
numero; et per consequens comprehendens utrumque illorum non est unum numero per se.” Cf.
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 139.40–45); Prooem. (OPh 2: 4.37–43).
32
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 139–140): “Item, actus distincti specie habent habitus distinctos
specie correspondentes; sed actus circa distinctas conclusiones specie distinguuntur; ergo etc. […]
Dico ergo quod sicut actus distinguuntur ita et habitus generati ex actibus; propter quod sicut alius
est actus quo considero unam conclusionem et aliam, ita est alius habitus correspondens.”
296 J. Pelletier
is a right angle,” and “The sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to 180 degrees,”
are geometrical but not arithmetical conclusions. Once again, Ockham appeals to
the subject and predicate terms of scientifically known sentences, which bear a cer-
tain and determinate order. It is this order that serves to unify and structure the
habits, acts, and objects of an aggregate science.33 The order of one aggregate sci-
ence distinguishes it from another.34 Ockham uses the example of kingdoms whose
peoples bear a different order because they are ruled by different monarchs. Because
the English were subjects of Edward II, the English formed one distinct aggregate
unity. The French subjects of Philip IV formed another distinct aggregate unity.
The order that Ockham advocates is logical or semantic, based on the connected
significative extensions of the subject and predicate terms of a given set of scientifi-
cally knowable sentences. He identifies three possible orders in light of their (1)
subject, (2) predicate, or (3) subject and predicate terms.35 The idea here, following
the Porphyrian tree, is that related terms form a hierarchical structure of “superior
and inferior”. “Substance” is superior to “plant” and “animal,” whose extensions
fall beneath the extension of “substance.” “Animal” in turn is superior to “mammal”
and “insect,” whose extensions falls beneath the extension of “animal” while
“insect” is superior to “beetle” and “ant” and so on. Thus:
1. Sentences whose subject terms are hierarchically related can form one aggregate
science, e.g., botany includes: “All plants obtain most of their energy by photo-
synthesis,” “All conifers obtain most of their energy by photosynthesis,” and
finally “All cedars obtain most of their energy by photosynthesis.”36
2. Sentences whose predicate terms are hierarchically related can form one aggre-
gate science, e.g., geometry includes: “All figures have magnitude,” “All figures
have length,” “All figures have shape,” “some figures are curved.”37
33
Exp. Phys., prol., §2 (OPh 4: 6): “Alia distinctio scientiae est quod scientia aliquando accipitur
pro uno habitu secundum numerum non includente plures habitus specie distinctos, aliquando
accipitur pro collectione multorum habituum ordinem determinatum et certum habentium.” Cf.
Ord., prol., q. 1 (OTh 1: 8.20–21); Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219.14–17); Summula, praeambula
(OPh 6: 140.70–72); Quaest. var., q. 2 (OTh 8: 51.562–565).
34
Summula, praeambula (OPh 6: 140.70–77): “Similiter ergo dico quod scientia naturalis non est
una numero primo modo [per se one] sed secundo modo, quia est una unitate collectionis vel ordi-
nis. Omnes enim partes istius scientiae determinatum ordinem habent inter se qualem non habent
cum logica vel morali philosophia, nec aliqua alia scientia; propter quod dicuntur una scientia,
sicut multi homines propter determinatum ordinem inter se et ad unum regem dicuntur unum reg-
num numero, qualiter illi homines et alii sub alio rege – vel regem non habentes – non possunt dici
unum regnum.”
35
Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219): “Possunt autem conclusiones habere multiplicem ordinem: vel
penes praedicata tantum vel penes subiecta tantum vel penes utraque.” Cf. Quaest. var., q. 2 (OTh
8: 51.566–52.567); Exp. Phys., prol. §4 (OPh 4: 14.115–118).
36
Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219–220): “Exemplum secundi: si passiones communes demonstrentur
de primis suis subiectis et de inferioribus, sicut si passiones animalis ostendantur non tantum de
animali sed etiam de inferioribus.”
37
Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219): “Exemplum primi: si de eodem subiecto praedicentur multae pas-
siones ordinatae secundum superius et inferius, sicut de figura possunt ostendi passiones magnitu-
dinis et similiter passiones suae propriae et similiter passiones suorum inferiorum.”
3. Sentences whose subject and predicate terms are hierarchically related can form
one aggregate science and most complex sciences will have this order, as indeed
botany and geometry in fact do. The latter includes: “All figures have magni-
tude,” “All triangles have length,” “Some isosceles triangles are congruent.”38
Whatever the order, the many specifically distinct habits and acts that form an
aggregate science are unified by the semantic order that obtains between the
related terms of the scientifically known principles and conclusions of that sci-
ence, terms whose extensions overlap with one another. These principles and
conclusions are themselves specifically distinct and that distinction suffices to
determine a corresponding distinction between the relevant habits and acts. That
they are collected together on the basis of a semantic order does not entail that
the internal structure of an aggregate science is merely conventional and arbi-
trary; the semantic order in question reflects the essential properties of the things,
e.g. natural substances, that the subject and predicate terms refer to.
15.5 Conclusion
To conclude, I have argued that a plausible motivation for why Ockham prefers to
conceive of bodies of scientific knowledge as aggregates is found in the inner work-
ings of his mental ontology. The co-specification that holds across scientific habits
and their acts lies in the sentential objects that they grasp—namely, true and neces-
sary principles and conclusions—and ultimately in the subject and predicate terms
of those sentential objects. This account compels Ockham to conclude that if one
body of scientific knowledge contains the knowledge of more than one specifically
distinct sentence then it must be composed of more than one specifically distinct
habit and act. Therefore, any such body of scientific knowledge will be an aggregate
of many habits and their acts, that is to say, many really distinct qualities, by which
the scientist grasps the various principles and conclusions belonging to that science.
Because he privileges an aggregate conception of scientific knowledge, Ockham
needs to posit a unifying and organizing principle to explain why only certain habits
and acts are aggregated with one another while others are not. From an ontological
point of a view, a science is a set of discrete yet connected mental qualities, though
the principle according to which they are aggregated is a semantic one.39
38
Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 220): “Exemplum tertii: si passiones animalis praedicentur de animali et
passiones specierum contentarum praedicentur de illis speciebus.”
39
I would like to thank Martin Pickavé and Magali Roques for their comments on earlier drafts of
this chapter.
298 J. Pelletier
References
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William of Ockham. 1967. Ordinatio (= Ord.): Prologus et distinctio I, ed. Gedeon Gál and
Stephen Brown. Opera Theologica 1. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1974. Summa logicae (= SL), ed. Philotheus Boehner, Gedeon Gál, and Stephen Brown.
Opera Philosophica 1. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1978. Expositionis in libros artis logicae prooemium (= Prooem.), ed. Ernest Moody.
Opera Philosophica 2. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1980. Quodlibeta septem (= Quodl.), ed. Joseph C. Wey. Opera Theologica 9. St.
Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1982. Quaestiones in librum III Sententiarum (= Rep. III), ed. Francis E. Kelley and
Girard I. Etzkorn. Opera Theologica 6. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1984a. Quaestiones variae (= Quaest. var.), ed. Girard I. Etzkorn, Francis E. Kelley, and
Joseph C. Wey. Opera Theologica 8. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1984b. Brevis summa libri Physicorum (= Brev. Phys.), ed. Stephen Brown. Opera
Philosophica 6. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1984c. Summula philosophiae naturalis (= Summula), ed. Stephen Brown. Opera
Philosophica 6. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
———. 1985. Expositio in libros Physicorum Aristotelis (= Exp. Phys.), ed. Vladimir Richter and
Gerhard Leibold. Opera Philosophica 4. St. Bonaventure: The Franciscan Institute.
Beckmann, Jan. 1981. ‘Scientia proprie dicta’: Zur wissenschaftstheoretischen Grundlegung der
Philosophie bei Wilhelm von Ockham. In Sprache und Erkenntnis im Mittelalter: Akten des
VI Internationalen Kongresses für Mittelalterliche Philosophie der Société internationale
pour l’étude de la philosophie médiévale 29. August–3. September 1977 in Bonn, ed. Jan
P. Beckmann, et al., vol. 2, 637–647. Miscellanea Mediaevalia 13. Berlin. De Gruyter.
Boler, John. 1976. Ockham on evident cognition. Franciscan Studies 36: 85–98.
Brower-Toland, Susan. 2007. Ockham on judgment, concepts, and the problem of intentionality.
Canadian Journal of Philosophy 37: 67–110.
———. 2014. How Chatton changed Ockham’s mind: William Ockham and Walter Chatton
on objects and acts of judgment. In Intentionality, Cognition and Mental Representation in
Medieval Philosophy, ed. Gyula Klima, 204–235. New York: Fordham University Press.
Cross, Richard. 1999. Ockham on part and whole. Vivarium 37 (2): 143–167.
The Franciscan Institute.
Karger, Elizabeth. 1995. William of Ockham, Walter Chatton and Adam Wodeham on the objects
of knowledge and belief. Vivarium 33: 171–196.
Leinsle, Ulrich G. 1980. Die Einheit der Wissenschaft nach Wilhelm von Ockham. Wissenschaft
und Weisheit 43: 107–129.
Maurer, Armand. 1958. Ockham’s conception of the unity of science. Medieval Studies 20: 98–112.
———. 1974. The unity of a science: St. Thomas and the nominalists. In St. Thomas Aquinas
1274–1974: Commemorative Studies, ed. Armand Maurer, 269–291. Toronto: Pontifical
Institute of Mediaeval Studies.
———. 1999. The Philosophy of William of Ockham in Light of Its Principles. Toronto: Pontifical
Normore, Calvin. 2006. Ockham’s metaphysics of parts. The Journal of Philosophy 103 (12):
737–754.
Panaccio, Claude. 2004. Ockham on Concepts. Hampshire: Ashgate Publishing Limited.
———. 2009. Le jugement comme acte mental selon Guillaume d’Ockham. In Le langage mental
du Moyen Âge à l’Âge classique, ed. Joël Biard, 117–133. Leuven: Peeters.
Pelletier, Jenny E. 2013. William Ockham on Metaphysics: The Science of Being and God. Leiden:
Brill.
Perini-Santos, Ernesto. 2006. La théorie ockhamienne de la connaissance évidente. Paris: Vrin.
Chapter 16
Tot scibilia quot scientiae? Are There
as Many Sciences as Objects of Science?
The Format of Scientific Habits
from Thomas Aquinas to Gregory
of Rimini
Pascale Bermon
Abstract The present contribution addresses the problem of the format of the sci-
entific habitus from Thomas Aquinas (1265) to Gregory of Rimini (1345). It shows
that the definition of the habitus of science in the propositional format is not an
invention of the nominalists (Ockham), but was already discussed at the University
of Paris around 1300 in the circle of John Duns Scotus, perhaps as a consequence of
the condemnation at Paris in 1277 of propositions containing what can be labelled
an “Averroist” theory of science.
Keywords Habitus · Science · Knowledge · Nominalism · Averroism · Proposition
16.1 Introduction
What is “having (habere) a knowledge”? What does it mean to “possess a science”?

The theory of the habitus of science—referring to science insofar as it is something
acquired—was developed by philosophers and theologians in a debate which per-
sisted through the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.1 During that period, the habi-
tus of science was sometimes defined in the “disciplinary” format (possessing a
science means possessing a scientific discipline), sometimes in the syllogistic for-
mat (possessing a science is knowing a syllogism), and sometimes in the proposi-
tional format (possessing a science is to know a proposition or a propositional
1
The terminology of habitus of science was still used by Suárez, but then it disappears. Leibniz
tends to say simply “science.”
P. Bermon (*)
CNRS, PSL Research University, Paris, France

302 P. Bermon
object).2 In what follows, I will describe the three formats that the habitus of science
could take in the debates of the late Middle Ages: it can be large (discipline),
medium (syllogism) and small (proposition). To the definition of the habitus of sci-
ence in the small propositional format corresponds the adage that “there are as many
knowables as knowledges”: tot scibilia quot scientiae. Another version of this state-
ment is tot conclusiones quot scientiae: they are as many conclusions (of demon-
strative reasonings) as sciences.
In the seventeenth century, Leibniz held that the theory that defines the habitus
of science in the small format (tot scibilia quot scientiae) was an invention of medi-
eval nominalists.3 This conception of the habitus of science in a small format does
not see any disadvantage in defining a “total” science—for example, “all geome-
try”—as a simple collection or aggregate of sciences acquired in the propositional
format (small). The Ockham scholar Armand Maurer also considered nominalism
to be the “key context within which to situate” the theory of the habitus of science
in the small format. He justifies his opinion as follows: “Ockham’s commitment to
the sole existence of individuals entails a fragmentary view of any scientific knowl-
edge that we can have of those individuals. A science will only have as much unity
as what it studies, which are individuals.”4
On the other hand, several contemporary scholars deny that the position which
gives the habitus of science a small format can be explained simply by nominalism.
“Just because Ockham thinks that only singular entities exist does not necessarily
mean that the sciences are intrinsically ‘piecemeal’ and individuated by the fact
they are about individual entities.”5 According to Jenny Pelletier, nominalism does
not account for the propositional format in which Ockham defines science.6
However, it explains why
Ockham thinks that knowledge is a real quality distinct from the intellect in which it
inheres. Knowledge, then, is a habit that is a quality of the soul. His insistence that habits
and their acts are acquirable qualities lies in his view that only individual substances and
some of their individual qualities exist as such, as real entities distinct from one another.7
2
I have proposed elsewhere to speak of the “format” of the scientific habitus (Bermon 2007, 289–
306). This term is used by linguists who are interested in the “deep structure” of sentences.
Confronted with the question of the format of the representation of these sentences, they opt for the
fundamental operation of “predicating,” which consists of “saying something of something.” The
proposition is thus seen as the usual format for the representation of sentences. See Le Ny (1979)
and Bermon (2007, 345).
3
Leibniz, Nouveaux essais, book 4, ch. 21 (“La division des sciences”): “les Nominaux ont cru
qu’il y avait autant de sciences particulières que de vérités, lesquelles composaient après des touts,
selon qu’on les arrangeait.”
4
Maurer (1958). Elsewhere, Maurer (1974) compares Ockham with Thomas Aquinas, Henry of
Ghent, Peter Auriol, Gregory of Rimini, and modern philosophers. See Pelletier (2013, 26–27).
5
Livesey (1985) quoted by Pelletier (2013, 27n43).
6
“I do not see how nominalism demands the corollary that a science has merely collective unity”
(Pelletier 2013, 27).
7
Pelletier (2013, 27).
16 Tot scibilia quot scientiae? Are There as Many Sciences as Objects… 303
Pelletier thus denies that nominalism can explain the format of science, but accepts
that it can explain the ontology of the habitus of science, designated as a quality of
the soul considered as an individual substance.
The present chapter seeks to clarify this debate by focusing on the issue of the
format of the scientific habitus, that is, the question concerning “the singularity or
plurality of habits in a given body of knowledge or science.”8 Is the thesis of the
small (propositional) format of science “nominalist” or not? If so, does it derive
from the fact that for nominalists science is only concerned with individuals
(Maurer) and therefore can have only an individual (small) unity, and not a general,
collective (large) unity? Or does it come from the fact that the habit of science is
defined as a quality of the individual soul (Pelletier)? Or does it have another
explanation?
To clarify this debate, I will go through the main texts that make up the discus-
sion on the format of the scientific habitus from 1265 to 1345. My framework relies
on information gathered by Gregory of Rimini around 1345 on this issue, to which
I give some complements. I therefore examine the positions considered in 1345 by
someone well informed, as was Gregory of Rimini, as the main ones. This allows
me to reconstruct the outline of the story, even if some relays are missing.
They are the following:
–– Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, question 1, article 3 (Rome,
1265–1268);
–– Henry of Ghent, Quodlibet IX, question 4 (Paris, Lent 1286);
–– Godfrey of Fontaines, Quodlibet XIII, question 1 (Paris, 1297–1298);
–– John Duns Scotus, Questions on the Metaphysics, book 6, question 1 (Paris, ca.
1300);
–– Peter Auriol, Scriptum super primum Sententiarum, section 4, article 1 (Bologna
or Toulouse, before 1316);
–– William Ockham, Ordinatio, prologue, question 8 (Oxford, 1318–1319);
–– Adam Wodeham, Lectura secunda, distinction 1 (Oxford, ca. 1330);
–– Gregory of Rimini, Sentences, prologue, question 3, article 1 (Paris,
1343–1344).
To these must be added the authors that these texts refer to:
–– Gonsalvus of Spain (regent master in Paris in 1302–1303; Duns Scotus’s
master)9;
–– Henry of Harclay, Sentences I, question 3 (commented on the Sentences in Paris
between 1300 and 1310; student of Scotus, quoted by Auriol)10;
8
Pelletier (2013, 25).
9
As stated in John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 5n). See Gonsalvus of Spain,
Quaestiones disputatae et de quodlibet.
10
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 3 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 271): “Opinio Henrici Anglici
in primo suo, quaestione 3”.
304 P. Bermon
–– Bernard of Auvergne, Reprobationes Henrici de Gandavo11 (Paris, ca. 1300–

1310; quoted by Auriol);
–– Hervaeus Natalis, Opinio de difficultatibus contra doctrinam fratris Thome12
(master in Paris in 1307–1308; quoted by Peter Auriol);
–– John of Reading, commentary on the Sentences, prologue, question 10 (Oxford,
ca. 1320; his commentary is preserved in only one manuscript).
Some of these authors talk about the unity of theology (e.g. Aquinas, Auriol),
whereas other authors talk about the habitus of science in general (e.g. Ockham). In
this subject-matter, indeed, in the fourteenth century, speaking of science is speak-
ing of theology and vice-versa. Theologians simply extend what they say about sci-
ence to the case of theology. The large-medium-small format distinction is the way
I propose here to put some order in the diversity of positions. Some may think that
this is simplistic. The object of this contribution is to provide a framework of for-
mats that can bring some intelligibility to these late medieval discussions that were
later often described as too complex and very obscure. My purpose is indeed to
classify and to give some broad intelligibility to these debates. I intend to recon-
struct the big lines of the story of the nominalistic concept of science.
16.1.1 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I, Question 1,

Article 3 (Rome, 1265–1268)
At the very beginning of the Summa theologiae, Thomas Aquinas says, in a famous
thesis quoted by Auriol and Ockham,13 that the unity of a scientific habitus does not
come from its “subject” or its matter, but from the general unity of what Aquinas
calls “the formal reason” (ratio formalis) of its object. Some object that theology is
not one science, for it deals with various subjects, for example, God and creatures,
which do not belong to the same kind of subject, and it deals with “angels, corporeal
creatures, customs, and ways of life,” which refer to “various human sciences.”14
Aquinas replies that “sacred doctrine” is one science:
The unity of a power (potentia) and a habit must be considered regarding its object—not, of
course, materially, but regarding the formal reason of its object. For example, a man, a don-
key, and a stone communicate in the only formal reason of the coloured which is the object
of sight. Since, then, holy Scripture considers certain things to be divinely revealed, all
11
On these Reprobationes, see Friedman (2007, 412–413).
12
Ed. Piccari (1995). In his commentary on the Sentences, Hervaeus Natalis criticizes Godfrey of
Fontaines’s position (on Eucharistic change) using Bernard of Auvergne’s arguments.
13
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 3 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 270–271); William of Ockham,
Ord., prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 208).
14
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 1, art. 3, arg.
things which are divinely revealed, communicate in the only formal reason of object of this
science, and are therefore contained under the sacred doctrine as under a single science.15
For Aquinas,
there is nothing to prevent the lower powers or habitus from diversifying over matters
which have in common that they fall under a higher power or habitus, for the higher power
or habitus regards the object under a more formal and general reason. For example, the
object of the common sense is sensitive, it contains under itself the visible and the audible:
although the common sense is a single power, it extends to the objects of the five senses.
Likewise, the sacred doctrine may consider the things which are treated in the various
philosophical sciences, being as one, under one reason, namely, insofar as they are divinely
revealed. In that way, the sacred doctrine is like a certain impression of the divine science,
which is the only, simple science of all things.16
In another text (ST I-II, q. 54, art. 4), Aquinas reports that, according to some of his
contemporaries, “the generation of a habitus is not instantaneous but successive,”
which is a proof that a habitus is actually made up of several habitus.17 According
to them, one can have one science in act and in habitus of a single conclusion. But
several conclusions relate to a single total science, like geometry and arithmetic. So
a single habitus is made up of several.
Aquinas replies:
If one considers the habitus according to the things to which it extends, we find in it a cer-
tain multiplicity. But because this multiplicity is ordered to something unique, which the
habitus mainly looks at, hence the habitus is a simple quality, not made up of several habi-
tus, even if it extends to many things.18
15
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 1, art. 3, corp.: “Est enim unitas potentiae et habitus consideranda
secundum obiectum, non quidem materialiter, sed secundum rationem formalem obiecti, puta
homo, asinus et lapis conveniunt in una formali ratione colorati, quod est obiectum visus. Quia
igitur sacra Scriptura considerat aliqua secundum quod sunt divinitus revelata, secundum quod
dictum est, omnia quaecumque sunt divinitus revelabilia, communicant in una ratione formali
obiecti huius scientiae. Et ideo comprehenduntur sub sacra doctrina sicut sub scientia una.”
16
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 1, art. 3, ad 2: “nihil prohibet inferiores potentias vel habitus diversifi-
cari circa illas materias, quae communiter cadunt sub una potentia vel habitu superiori, quia supe-
rior potentia vel habitus respicit obiectum sub universaliori ratione formali. Sicut obiectum sensus
communis est sensibile, quod comprehendit sub se visibile et audibile, unde sensus communis,
cum sit una potentia, extendit se ad omnia obiecta quinque sensuum. Et similiter ea quae in diversis
scientiis philosophicis tractantur, potest sacra doctrina, una existens, considerare sub una ratione,
inquantum scilicet sunt divinitus revelabilia, ut sic sacra doctrina sit velut quaedam impressio divi-
nae scientiae, quae est una et simplex omnium.”
17
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 54, art. 4, arg.: “Videtur quod unus habitus ex pluribus habitibus
constituatur. Illud enim cuius generatio non simul perficitur, sed successive, videtur constitui ex
pluribus partibus. Sed generatio habitus non est simul, sed successive ex pluribus actibus, ut supra
habitum est Ergo unus habitus constituitur ex pluribus habitibus.”
18
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 54, art. 4, corp.: “Si igitur consideremus habitum secundum ea ad
quae se extendit, sic inveniemus in eo quandam multiplicitatem. Sed quia illa multiplicitas est
ordinata ad aliquid unum, ad quod principaliter respicit habitus, inde est quod habitus est qualitas
simplex, non constituta ex pluribus habitibus, etiam si ad multa se extendat.”
306 P. Bermon
For Aquinas, “the succession in the generation of a habitus does not come from the
fact that it is generated part after part, but from the fact that the subject does not at
once obtain a firm and hardly shattered disposition.”19 Furthermore:
He who acquires in a science by demonstration the science of a single conclusion certainly
possesses a habitus but imperfectly. When he acquires by a demonstration the science of
another conclusion, another habitus is not generated in him, but the habitus which was in
him before becomes more perfect, inasmuch as it extends to more things, because the con-
clusions and demonstrations of a single science are ordered, and one is derived from the
other.20
Thomas Aquinas therefore supports the large format of the science, the unity of
which is guaranteed by the formal reason of its object, while recognizing that the
habitus of a single conclusion (small format) is already a science, but imperfect. He
uses as an example the acquisition of the syllogism, which will be developed by
later authors. Aquinas is an instance of the large format of the habitus of a science,
because for him, the habitus of science has its “format” from its single formal
object. This is also instance of the “disciplinary” format of the habitus of a science,
because the single formal object defines the unity of science. “Discipline” does not
mean obedience of the intellect to something higher, it means “science” (discip-
lina). In theology, for example, the different philosophical objects are considered as
being one under one general reason: this formal and general reason gives its unity to
the habitus of theology and this unity is what constitutes theology as a single
science.
16.1.2 Henry of Ghent, Quodlibet IX, Question 4 (Lent 1286)
Henry of Ghent’s Quodlibet IX, question 4 on the habitus of science is quoted regu-
larly by authors discussing the unity of science. Scotus criticizes it in detail in
Questions on Metaphysics, book 6, question 1 (one of the most thorough discus-
sions of Henry’s question); Ockham quotes it in Ordinatio, prologue, question 821;
Peter Auriol, in his Scriptum, section 4, article 122; John of Reading quotes it in his
Sentences commentary, prologue, question 10.23 The discussion by Gregory of
Rimini—based on Auriol, Ockham, and Wodeham—is notable for its length and
19
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 54, art. 4, ad 1: “successio in generatione habitus non contingit ex
hoc quod pars eius generetur post partem, sed ex eo quod subiectum non statim consequitur dispo-
sitionem firmam et difficile mobilem.”
20
Thomas Aquinas, ST I-II, q. 54, art. 4, ad 3: “ille qui in aliqua scientia acquirit per demonstratio-
nem scientiam conclusionis unius, habet quidem habitum, sed imperfecte. Cum vero acquirit per
aliquam demonstrationem scientiam conclusionis alterius, non aggeneratur in eo alius habitus; sed
habitus qui prius inerat fit perfectior, utpote ad plura se extendens.”
21
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 211–212).
22
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 1 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 256–258).
23
John of Reading, In Sent. I, prol., q. 8 (ed. Livesey, 160–161).
completeness. A note in the 1522 edition of Gregory’s works also points out the
agreement of Henry’s position with that of Thomas Aquinas (ST I–II, q. 54, art. 4).24
In Quodlibet IX, question 4,25 Henry states that the subject of a special science
(e.g., grammar, logic) is unique and that all the considerations of this science are
attributed to it. He also asserts the simplicity of the soul in which the science exists
and which guarantees the fact that it is not composed in the intellect. In the succes-
sive acquisition of some given conclusion, it is always the same habitus which
increases in intensity. When one knows one conclusion and then another, the differ-
ence between acts is not real but only a difference of reason. For Henry, as Duns
Scotus summarizes, “the acts differ as the known objects differ. But the habitus that
is engendered by all these acts is unique.”26 Thus, the notion of the habitus of sci-
ence covers both the general unity of the subject of a science (“special science”) and
the psychological disposition to which the act of knowing gives rise. In order to
erase the distortion between the act and the habitus thus defined, Henry offers to
reduce the plurality of the psychological acts of knowledge to the numerical unity
of the thematic subject, or general object, which allows us to speak of one science.
For Henry of Ghent:
To conceive a science as composite would mean to conceive geometry as a habit of science
made up of the various habits of the various principles and conclusions, so that each prin-
ciple and each conclusion would have its own habit, really different in the the soul, which
the habit of geometry would integrate into its unity.27
Henry is here seriously considering an opinion that is usually thought to have origi-
nated with Ockham, but rejects it. For him, the unity of a total science would
become, on this hypothesis, the unity of a simple aggregate. According to Henry of
Ghent, “There is a single habit of the principle and the conclusion” (est unus habitus
principii et conclusionis).28
16.1.3 Duns Scotus: Questions on the Metaphysics, Book 6,

Question 1 (ca. 1300?)
John Duns Scotus, in Question on the Metaphysics, book 6, question 1, adopts an

intermediate position in the debate. He introduces a distinction between two habits
of science (proprius and communis): the first, which is the habit of science more
properly speaking, refers to the act of the conclusion and makes it possible to justify
24
See Gregory of Rimini, Lectura super primum Sententiarum (ed. Trapp and Marcolino, 1: 93n2).
25
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IX, q. 4 (ed. Macken, 88–89): “Utrum scientia sit aliquid compositum in
intellectu.”
26
Summary of Henry of Ghent’s opinion by John Duns Scotus, Quaestiones super libros
Metaphysicorum Aristotelis (Q. Met.), lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 8).
27
Henry of Ghent, Quodl. IX, q. 4 (ed. Macken, 92–93).
28
John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 12).
308 P. Bermon
the opinion that there are “as many knowables as knowledges” (tot scibilia quot
scientiae); the other, which is “common,” is the single virtual habit of all the propo-
sitions of which a science is composed, which avoids conceiving of a science as a
pure aggregate of unconnected propositions.29 The opinion tot scibilia quot scien-
tiae is attributed in the notes of the critical edition “perhaps to Gonsalvus of Spain.”30
Scotus therefore recognizes two formats to science: large and small.
Scotus raises several objections to Henry’s theory. According to him, Henry dis-
regards the relation between act and habitus: different acts generate different habits,
as Aristotle says in a passage from the Nicomachean Ethics that is constantly quoted
in this debate.31 In addition, one can know one conclusion and be ignorant of another
(the objection of ignorance); one can forget premises, for example during a geo-
metrical reasoning (the objection of forgetting; one can know several propositions
of geometry very distant from each other in the chain of demonstration. Scotus
finally states a rule on habits: one cannot claim that a rule that applies to all habits
universally does not apply to scientific habits.32
In his own answer, Scotus recognizes that there are two habits of science. In the
proper sense, the scientific habitus is “that which inclines formally to the specula-
tion of the complex” (or proposition) “insofar as this habitus is the natural similarity
of the complex deposited [in the soul] by the consideration of the complex” (ex eius
consideratione derelicta). The other is the “common” habitus, “which inclines vir-
tually to the speculation of a complex, by formally inclining to the speculation of
another in which such a complex is virtually contained.” The habitus proprius
makes it possible to maintain the opinion that there are as many sciences as objects
of knowledge (tot scibilia quot scientiae). The habitus communis makes it possible
to affirm that there can be a single habitus relatively to many complexes (or
propositions):
Since the conclusions are virtually in the principles and the principles virtually in the sub-
ject […] it follows that the principles and conclusions about the incomplex subject, known
quidditatively are virtually contained in it, and thus any notion that we can have on this
subject.
Moreover, “any notion that one can have of other subjects through it (per rationem
eius). […] And so there is a unique virtual habitus for all these complexes.”33 Scotus
thus believes it is possible to save both the Aristotelian theory of habitus (to each act
corresponds a single habitus) and the total notion of science (“geometry as a
whole”).
29
John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 15–16).
30
John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 5n).
31
32
John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 14).
33
John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 15–16).
16.1.4 Peter Auriol, Scriptum, Prologue, Section 4 (Ante 1316)
A very long and rich development of this issue is given by Peter Auriol in section 4
of the prologue to his commentary on the Sentences.34 He explains that if there were
as many sciences as there are conclusions, as Scotus would have it, “it would follow
that innumerable physical sciences would still be wanting, which it seems unreason-
able to accept.” And a science would be nothing but a “heap of propositions,” as
Bernard of Auvergne writes in his Reprobationes to Henry of Ghent’s Quodlibeta.35
On the contrary, Auriol advocates a “holistic” approach to science (in the large for-
mat). His considerations on syllogism (medium format) will be taken up by
Wodeham.
According to him, there are six ways of accounting for the “unity of theology.”
His survey reveals the richness of the theological debate at the beginning of the
fourteenth century on the subject of the unity of science—in this case, the science
of theology. The unity of theology can be defined by the unity of the general or wide
habitus (Henry of Ghent); by the unity of the light in which all its truths are consid-
ered (Aquinas); by the middle term (medium) which makes it possible to prove it,
that is, divine authority (Hervaeus Natalis36); by the formal reason of its object (ex
ratione formali obiecti), that is, God (Duns Scotus); by the contribution of all these
factors (ex concursu omnium istorum) (Auriol himself); or by the presence of the
indivisible object in each of its parts (Henry Harclay37). However, there are objec-
tions to the unity of theology in a large format: no intellectual habit is simply one,
but is the object of a successive acquisition in time (Scotus); moreover, when the
subjects are diverse (angels, God, etc.), there is no subjective unity (Godfrey of
Fontaines).
Peter Auriol then advocates for the medium format of the habit of science, with
arguments which appear to be new in this debate. First, he devotes a long discussion
to the difference between knowing (scire) and remembering (memorare).38 As he
explains, we do not know that we have understood that something exists, we know
that it exists. Memory falls on the whole syllogistic discourse: we remember the
demonstration. But it is certain that knowledge falls only on the conclusion (small
format). He then explains what science is in the soul. There are several kinds of act,
he explains: the simple act, the act “which falls on a complex truth” and whose
34
The Scriptum was composed before the autumn of 1316, but published later. It is certainly earlier
than the Parisian lectures of 1316–1317; see Brown (1995). Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium,
sect. 4 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 250–284): “Utrum habitus ex theologico studio acquisitus sit unus vel
plures.” On Auriol’s conception of habitus, see Spade (1972).
35
Bernard’s opinion is quoted by Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 1 (ed. Buytaert, 1:
260–261).
36
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 3 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 273). Cf. Hervaeus Natalis,
Defensa doctrinae fratris Thomae, pars 1, art. 14 (ed. Krebs, 65).
37
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 3 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 271–272). Buytaert refers here
to Henry Harclay, I Sent., q. 3.
38
310 P. Bermon
“formal reason is the notion of its simple terms,” and the act “which falls on the
complex truth and has a formal reason through another complex truth.” According
to Auriol, “each of these three acts is a truly simple and formally simple intellection,
but only the first one is said to be objectively simple”; the other two are not, “because
other is the truth upon which they fall, other the truth by which they fall upon the
first one.” For Auriol, “it is necessary that the intellect falls on the truth of the con-
clusion only insofar as it has fallen upon the truth of the principle.”39 Auriol gives
many arguments in favour of the connection between the grasping of the truth of the
conclusion and the grasping of the truth of the principles, which will be taken up by
Adam Wodeham and rejected by Gregory of Rimini. For Auriol, “this intellection,
falling on each of the two truths [that of the principle and that of the conclusion] is
one and simple,”40 just like the grasping of the end and the means, or of the goodness
and the appetite. This one intellection of the whole demonstration (medium format)
is something other than the memory of the demonstration. The fact that we do not
need to do a syllogistic demonstration again to have a science (in the small format)
is a sign that science sometimes comes directly from the habitus and not from the
discursus (i.e. the syllogism). For Auriol, “science properly speaking is nothing
more than the cognitive habit of all the conclusions of a single science, whose acts
are the intellections passing over the truths of all the conclusions.”41 The unity of
this science is “the connection of all the partial habitus secundum longum” (i.e.
according to the predicates) “or secundum latum” (i.e. when several unordered pas-
sions or accidents are concluded from the same subject).42 Auriol tries to answer all
contradictions: “There are not as many natural sciences as there are conclusions that
can be learned by natural science” (non sunt tot scientiae naturales, quot sunt con-
clusiones cognoscibiles per eandem) and yet we can know conclusion number 100
and make an error on number 4.43 Auriol quotes Aquinas, as Ockham too will: the
reason of divinity and the reason of revelation are not identical.44 He gives his own
opinion, which is a mix of all others: “The formal object, the middle term, and the
same light are all necessary for the unity of the habit.”45
The one who simply denies the unity of theology, according to Auriol, is Godfrey
of Fontaines, in his Quodlibet XIII, question 1 (“Utrum scientia theologia sit s cientia
39
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 1 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 262): “Necesse est quod intel-
lectus non cadat super veritatem conclusionis nisi quatenus cadit super veritatem principii.”
40
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 1 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 264): “huiusmodi intellectio,
cadens super utramque veritatem est unica et simplex.”
41
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 2 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 268): “scientia proprie dicta
non est aliud quam habitus cognitivus omnium conclusionum unius scientiae, cuius quidem habi-
tus actus sunt intellectiones super veritates conclusionum omnium transeuntes.”
42
43
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 2 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 269).
44
45
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prooemium, sect. 4, art. 3 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 274): “tam objectum formale
quam medium quam idem lumen exigitur ad habitus unitatem.”
speculativa”).46 The consequences of such a position are the following according to

Auriol: theology would then be one, because it would be bound in the same volume
as it is the case for the book of Avicenna,
where we find in the prologue some logic, then some natural science, then geometry—
where he gives an abridgement of Euclid’s Elements—and then an abstract of the Almagest
containing astronomy, then an abridgement of an introduction to arithmetic, and finally the
whole book concludes with metaphysics and moral science, as he himself testifies in the
foreword of the same book called Aschiphe [=Shifa].47
For Auriol, every scientific habit (in the sense of a total science) derives its unity
from a specific mode of knowledge, a uniform and univocal way of taking the prin-
ciples and deducing the conclusions and the connections secundum post and latum.48
To sum up, Auriol’s position admits a multiplicity of criteria, but he favours the
holistic approach of the large format, while making a place, for the first time in this
debate, for the medium syllogistic format, rejecting the axiom tot conclusiones quot
scientiae—the small format—which he nevertheless quotes.
16.1.5 William of Ockham, Sentences, Prologue, Question 8

(1318–1319)
In question 8 of the prologue to his Sentences commentary,49 William of Ockham

dispenses with Scotus’s “common” habit to retain only one notion, in small format,
of the habitus of science.50 According to him, the habitus is drawn only from the act
of understanding. Now, the act of understanding consists in knowing the conclusion
of a syllogism. Consequently, there are as many sciences as there are conclusions
(tot conclusiones quot scientiae). Refusing to put the numerical unity of a science
elsewhere than in the numerical unity of the psychological act of knowing a scien-
tific conclusion, Ockham fully accepts the consequence: the thematic unity (unitas
ordinis) of a science is not a numerical unit, but one can, if one likes, consider a total
science as an aggregate, or heap, of conclusions. For him, “it is absolutely false to
say that theology [or any special science, as for example metaphysics] is [numeri-
cally] one.”51
46
Godfrey of Fontaines, Quodl. XIII (from 1297–1298), q. 1 (ed. Hoffmans, 169–184, 175–176):
“non videtur inconveniens quod theologia non sic sit scientia una proprie sicut aliae. Nec tamen est
simpliciter plures sicut moralis et metaphysica humana. Immo est una unitate quae congruit scien-
tiae ordinatae ad perfectionem hominis fidelis. […] Sic ergo patet quod scientia quae est propria
fidelium debet tractare principaliter de agibilibus et speculabilibus […] et sic […] ea de quibus est
theologia […] non faciunt scientias omnino plures et disparatas sed scientiam aliquo modo unam
tali unitate connexionis et ordinis ad unum.”
47
48
49
50
On the habitus of science according to Ockham, see Fuchs (1952) and Pelletier (2013, 17–38).
51
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 217 and 224).
312 P. Bermon
Ockham first makes a detailed critique of Aquinas, for whom “the unity of sci-
ence must be regarded as the unity of power and habitus according to the object: not
materially, but according to the formal reason of the object.”52 For Ockham, one
cannot conclude from the formal unity or distinction of the object to the unity or
distinction of a power or habitus. The sense and the intellect, the intellect and the
will, an intuitive notion and an abstract notion, science, error, and opinion are all
capable of having the same object. Ockham argues against Aquinas’s idea that
“nothing is apprehended by the sight except under the reason of colour” (formal
reason); and that “nothing is apprehended by the intellect except under the reason of
being divinely revealable,” which according to Aquinas is the formal reason of the
object of theology. Ockham criticizes Aquinas’s idea that it is the object’s formal
reason which gives its unity to science, inasmuch as the power grasps this formal
unity with all the different objective material contents.
Then Ockham explains, against Henry of Ghent, that the “consideration” in the
one who understands (intelligens) can vary with respect to the same object (de
eodem): for example, one can have of the same object (de eodem) a metaphysical
consideration and a mathematical consideration. Against Henry, Ockham separates
out the object, the power, and what he calls—agreeing with Henry—the “consider-
ation,” that is, the act-habitus of science. Ockham adds: for a cause to produce its
effect, no matter what its cause is; for the heat to heat, it does not matter whether it
is produced by fire or by the sun or by God. In this argument, the cause is the science
and the effect is the habitus of science, and Ockham explains that for a science to be
caused in the intellect, it does not matter what the cause of this science is. He also
takes up Scotus’s argument about the ignorance of a conclusion, which does not
prevent the knowledge of other conclusions. He thus destroys the notion of a mono-
lithic cause called “science” that would cause the habitus of science in the intellect.
Ockham’s own solution is that (1) the habitus of the conclusion is different from
that of the principles (for the cause is always distinct from the effect); (2) there are
specifically distinct habitus of distinct conclusions (semper notitiae conclusionum
distinguuntur specie); and (3) there can be a unique habitus of certain principles and
conclusions, that is, a single act-habitus for a whole syllogism, in the medium for-
mat (this will be criticized by Gregory of Rimini).
Ockham ends with a general conclusion on the acts and habitus which are always
proportionate:
A habitus does not relate to an object, considered as an object or as a cause, except by the
mediation of an act. So one must not conclude from the identity or diversity of objects to
the diversity or identity of habitus, except through the mediation of a diversity or identity of
acts.53
52
Thomas Aquinas, ST I, q. 1, art. 3, corp.
53
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 218).
And Ockham puts Aristotle on his side, explaining that for Aristotle, science is a
“collection of several [assertions] having a determinate order.”54 “Conclusions can
be ordered in multiple ways: they can be either predicated, or only subject, or both.”55
“And this is the way the Philosopher conceives that a science is one, and so do other
philosophers and doctors.”56 Ockham adds this explanation: “The knowledge (noti-
tia) of the principles is the efficient cause of the knowledge of the conclusion.”57
Moreover, the only habitus of the principles and the conclusion—namely, sci-
ence in the medium format—is called wisdom (sapientia), after Nicomachean
Ethics 6.6, 1141a2: sapientia est vera demonstratio. It consists not only in “know-
ing from principles, but also in telling the truth about principles.” Wisdom is not
formally the intellection of principles and the science of the conclusion, for other-
wise it would not be distinguished from it. It is rather equivalent to intellection and
science. Wisdom exists even in the mechanical arts (NE 6.7). Ockham adds that not
every demonstration is wisdom: “In every art, it is not the one who knows only that
(quia), who is wise, but only he who knows because of what (propter quid).”58
Ockham defines the unity of a science as an aggregate and he defines the aggregate
as “a unity that is not the unity of something numerically unique.”59 The numerical
unity of science is the unity of the conclusion. Thus, there are “as many conclusions
as there are sciences.”60 And Ockham concludes that the metaphysics contained in
the book entitled Metaphysics is one of this unitas ordinis, unity of order, which is
distinct from any numerical unity.
16.1.6 Adam Wodeham, Lectura secunda I, Question 1, Article

2 (ca. 1330)
Wodeham considers in his Lectura secunda book I, question 1, article 261 the ques-
tion “whether the act of science has as its object what is signified by the conclusion
only, or the latter and what is signified by the premises joined together s yllogistically.”
54
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 219): “collectio multorum ordinem determinatum
habentium.”
55
56
57
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 221): “notitia principiorum est causa effectiva
notitiae conclusionis.”
58
59
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 224): “accipiendo unitatem aggregationis pro
omni unitate quae non est alicuius unius numero.”
60
William of Ockham, Ord. I, prol., q. 8 (OTh 1: 225): “Et ita quot sunt conclusiones, tot sunt
scientiae.”
61
Adam Wodeham, Lectura secunda in I Sententiarum (Lect. I), d. 1, q. 1, art. 2 (ed. Wood and Gál,
1: 199–208).
314 P. Bermon
Wodeham takes up Auriol’s arguments using a different vocabulary. He presents his

own opinion in five conclusions62:
1. The act of knowledge (actus sciendi, in the sense of actus simplex in entitate)
does not have as its exclusive and total object what is signified by the conclusion.
Some of the arguments that Wodeham gives in order to prove this conclusion are
drawn from Auriol.
2. An act of knowledge that is thus evident or true is an absolutely direct act (actus
rectus), in the sense that it does not fall upon an act of the soul (is not a reflexive
act); such an evident act has the necessity of the demonstrative evidence or truth
of which no part signifies an act of the soul but only the external thing.
3. The assent by which one obviously acquiesces in what is signified by the conclu-
sion is a reflexive act, for all evident assent has as its total object all that is appre-
hended by the apprehensive evidence required for such assent. Now, some are
reflexive acts, that is, acts having an act of the soul as their object. For the prem-
ises that conclude to what is signified by the direct conclusion are evident in this
way:
It is the case necessarily, if I have naturally given my assent that this is the case, being
pushed to assent that it is so by the demonstrative evidence or rather by an evident fact
requiring me to assent that this is the case, therefore necessarily the triangle has three
angles.63
If such an assent is an evident act of knowing (a simple act in entitate), it necessarily

falls on what is signified by the premises of this syllogism, and therefore it will be
a reflexive act. In other words, Adam Wodeham recognizes the existence of an
assent to the whole demonstration, in the medium format.
4. An act of science in a second sense—that is, several acts at the same time which,
when present together in the soul, make the soul certain that what the conclusion
signifies is in fact the case even if no single act gives it any certainty—falls
exclusively on the conclusion. Indeed, once the assent caused by the demonstra-
tive syllogism, “All a is b, all c is a, so all c is b,” is acquired, I can immediately
argue: “All c is b because all a and b and all c is a.” And “I could assent in an
absolute act to the conclusion if I wanted to, for I say that the first act as an abso-
lute act is subject to the empire of the will as an act of believing.”64 But:
As for now, I say that such an act will not be evident, but that the soul which has it, assents
evidently at the same time, the evidence of the premises remaining there, so that the evi-
dence does not come formally from this act but from the firmness of the adhesion and from
62
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, §14 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 206–208).
63
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, §14 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 207): “Necessario ita est, si
ita evidenter assensi, necessitatus ad assentiendum sic esse evidentia demonstrativa vel saltem
evidentia necessitante ad assentiendum sic esse. Igitur necessario triangulus habet tres etc.”
64
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, §14 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 207): “Et firmiter assentiam
actu absoluto respectu conclusionis si velim, quia dico quod primus actus talis absolutus subest
imperio [voluntatis] sicut actus credendi.”
the evidence of the premises or from the evident act of knowledge taken in the first sense.
It will therefore not be evident intrinsically but by an extrinsic denomination, since if all
else were to be abolished, even if the firmness of the adhesion remained, it would be with-
out any evidence.65
5. Wodeham presents his fifth conclusion as follows:

The evidence by which the geometer assents to the thirtieth conclusion of geometry without
apprehending what is signified by the preceding propositions is not precisely direct but is a
reflexive assent, having some act of the soul as its object, like a postulate (querimoniam):
namely, that starting from [principles] known per se, he himself deduced the whole
sequence accordingly until the proposition to which he now gives his assent.66
Another point stressed by Wodeham is that the knowledge of the principle is not
caused by the knowledge of its terms (it is the problem of the causality of the signi-
fied on the judgement).
In short, Wodeham develops the question of the habitus of science by reflecting
on the medium format of the demonstrative syllogism. With him, the problem
becomes that of evidence: what makes a scientific conclusion evident? The knowl-
edge of the premises, the will to give one’s assent, the knowledge of the terms, the
act of knowledge? Wodeham is the first to say that the act of assenting to a scientific
conclusion is not self-evident, but that the evidence lies in the firmness of the assent
of the will joined to the evidence of the premises.
16.1.7 Gregory of Rimini, Lectura I, Prologue, Question 3,

Article 1 (1343–1344)
Gregory of Rimini agrees with the principle tot scibilia quot scientiae. Above all,
his criticism concerns the existence (or not) of a third unity, intermediate between
the thematic unity, or unity of order, of a special science (large format), and the
numerical unity of the conclusion (small format). This intermediate unity is present
in the disputes he is considering: namely, the unity of the syllogism (medium for-
mat). Should the syllogism be recognized as the unity of an act (and a habitus) or
not? Is the object of a knowledge essentially based on the argumentation leading
65
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, §14 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 207): “Sed tunc dico quod
talis actus non erit evidens, sed anima habens illum assentiet evidenter simul cum illo, stante evi-
dentia praemissarum, ita quod evidentia non erit ex illo actu formaliter sed [ex] firmitate adhaesio-
nis et evidentia ex praemisis, vel actu sciendi evidenti primo modo. Non erit igitur evidens evidentia
intrinseca sed denominatione extrinseca, quia aliis circumscriptis licet staret firmitas adhaesionis,
tamen absque evidentia.”
66
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, §14 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 207): “Quinta conclusio est
quod illa evidentia, qua evidenter assentit geometer trigesimae conclusioni absque hoc quod appre-
hendat sic esse sicut significatur per priores, non est assensus rectus praecis sed reflexus, habens
aliquem actum animae pro objecto, puta querimoniam, quod incipiendo a per se notis ipse deduxit
omnes consequenter usque ad istam [cui] tunc assentit.”
316 P. Bermon
to it, to the point of being bound to it by definition? His prologue, question 3, article
1 shows that Gregory made an attentive list of different arguments by Henry of
Ghent, Ockham, Wodeham,67 and Auriol,68 all of whom recognize a unity in a syl-
logism, that is, to the set formed by the premises and the conclusion of an
argument.
For Gregory, once a habit of knowledge is acquired, it is possible to know the
conclusion without exercising the knowledge of the principles. The act of knowing
the conclusion is indeed caused by the knowledge of the principles; however, it is
not caused directly, but only by the mediation of the acquired habit.69 Gregory is
close here to the Scotist John of Reading, who writes: “To obtain the present knowl-
edge of a conclusion, it is sufficient to know this scientific conclusion and it alone
and this knowledge will be scientific, presupposing however that one has a habitual
knowledge of the principles. […]”70
For Gregory it is not possible to activate all the habitus of the principles of a
conclusion at once, for the activity of the intellect is finite. Moreover, a syllogism is
not understood in a single act: since it is building a chain of several truths, it is not
possible to say that we affirm or signify them in a single act. Each truth corresponds
to a distinct act, and a truth corresponds only to an affirmation or to a negation.
Against Wodeham, Gregory says that even if the scientific evidence depends on the
relation of the conclusion to the premises and therefore on the inference, the intel-
lect can have an evident scientific notion (notitia) without having as its object any-
thing other than the conclusion itself, in a (so to speak) absolute act,71 as is proved
by the case of experiential knowledge, which offers the example of an evident
notion not linked to any inference.72 The truth of the conclusion can therefore be
treated as “other, separate, and distinct from the truth of the principles.”73 In order to
defend the judgement of existence from skeptical attacks, Gregory of Rimini finally
denies any effectiveness to the complex notion as a psychological entity: the latter
is such that even when it exists as a quality in the soul, it may not be a notion or a
judgement. Its veracity must not be referred to its psychological being that would be
its own. If it exists as an act of the soul, but without any object, then it does not exist
as a judgement (notitia, iudicium), since it does not judge anything.
67
Adam Wodeham, Lect. I, d. 1, q. 1, art. 2, § 11 (ed. Wood and Gál, 1: 201–203).
68
Peter Auriol, Scriptum, prol., sect. 4, art. 1 (ed. Buytaert, 1: 263–265).
69
Gregory of Rimini, In Sent. I, prol., q. 3 (ed. Trapp and Marcolino, 1: 114).
70
John of Reading, In Sent. I, prol., q. 10 (ed. Livesey, 191–192): “[A]d cognitionem actualem
alicuius conclusionis, sufficit scientificam cognoscere illam precise, et talis cognitio erit scientifica
supposito tamen quod habeat notitiam habitualem principiorum per quam potest resolvere illam
conclusionem in principia et ipsam deducere ex principiis.”
71
Gregory of Rimini, In Sent. I, prol., q. 3 (ed. Trapp and Marcolino, 1: 111–112).
72
Gregory of Rimini, In Sent. I, d. 1, q. 2 (ed. Trapp and Marcolino, 1: 215).
73
Gregory of Rimini, In Sent. I, prol., q. 3 (ed. Trapp and Marcolino, 1: 108–109.
16.2 Conclusion
To conclude, let us recall the question we asked in the introduction: is the thesis of
the small (propositional) format of science “nominalist” or not? Our discussion has
shown that the thesis tot scibilia quot scientiae, or tot conclusiones quot scientiae,
which corresponds to the small format of the habit of science, is accepted by the
following authors: Gonsalvus of Spain (possibly),74 Duns Scotus, William of
Ockham, John of Reading, and Gregory of Rimini. According to Auriol, Godfrey of
Fontaines was the first to break the unity of theology in a quodlibetal question in
1297–1298, but the axiom cannot be found in this text. When Ockham asserts in
Oxford in 1318–1319 that “there are as many sciences as conclusions,” he is merely
repeating a thesis that had been known and defended in Paris since at least 1300.
The medium format of the habit of science, identified with syllogistic inference, is
seriously examined by Peter Auriol before 1316, defended by Adam Wodeham in
England around 1330, and contested by Gregory of Rimini in Paris in 1343–1344,
who sees in it a skeptical thesis. This significant development directs the debate
towards the relationship between the demonstrative procedure that leads to science,
and science itself.75 As for the large format of the habit of science, which identifies
the habitus with the totality of a special science like geometry, it appears, in the
fourteenth century, to belong to the past. It is defended by Thomas Aquinas (formal
object), by Henry of Ghent, and still by Duns Scotus (as the habitus communis).
Thus, the identification of science with the conclusion of a syllogism did not appear
under Ockham’s pen, but years before, in Paris around 1300 in Scotus’s entourage.
Thomas Aquinas himself had already acknowledged that the science of a single
conclusion is a habit of science, though an imperfect one.
Is it possible to determine the reasons for such a thesis? Does it derive from the
fact that for nominalists science has to do only with individuals (Maurer), and con-
sequently can only have an individual (small) unity, and not a general, collective
unity? As we have seen, this thesis is not related to a nominalist ontology. Since
Aquinas, and perhaps even before, the authors dissociate the format of the habitus
from its material object. Jenny Pelletier is therefore right to reject Maurer’s explana-
tion. Is this thesis linked to the fact that the habit of science is defined as the quality
of an individual soul (Pelletier)? This track seems more promising, but not necessar-
ily linked to nominalism, since already by Aquinas, habitus is commonly defined as
a quality of the soul.
I would like to suggest some other possible explanations here. It may be worth
connecting the interest in Paris at the end of the thirteenth century in the distinction
between scientific acts and habitus and the condemnation in 1277 of Averroist
74
As suggested in John Duns Scotus, Q. Met., lib. 6, q. 1 (OPh 4: 5n). Gonsalvus of Spain (ca.
1255–1313), who was the master of Duns Scotus, supports a homology of structure between psy-
chology and the plurality of sciences. For him the soul is not the only form of the human com-
pound, but there are in each individual as many forms as there are operations and organs.
75
This debate on science and inference is still present in John Newman’s An Essay in Aid of a
Grammar of Assent, completed in 1870.
318 P. Bermon
theses such as the following: “The master’s science and his student’s are numeri-
cally one; the reason is that intellect is one in such a way that its form is not multi-
plied, except insofar as it is drawn from the potency of matter.”76 Philosophical
thought will then endeavour to multiply the acts and habits of science in different
individuals and in the same individual. Moreover, in the debate described by
Gregory of Rimini in the 1340s, a certain relativization of the ontological status of
the habit of science appears: one can then maintain that the habit could be a quality
of the soul without being a knowledge (notitia). Such a dissociation chronologically
accompanies the definitive framing of the notion of science in the small format,
which is that of the proposition (clause), also called judgement (iudicium). These
developments, which can be detected in Gregory of Rimini’s work, prefigure the
philosophies of knowledge and of judgement which will dispense with the notion of
a habitus of science, conceived ontologically as a quality of the soul. Things then
proceed as if the debate on the format of the habitus of science had in the end
eclipsed an ontological conception of habitus as a quality.
References
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Gedeon Gál. 3. St. Bonaventure: St. Bonaventure University.
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Hoffmans. Les Philosophes Belges 5. Louvain: Peeters.
Gonsalvus of Spain. 1935. Quaestiones disputatae et de quodlibet, ed. Leo Amorós. Bibliotheca
Franciscana Scholastica Medii Aevi 9. Florence: Ex Typographia Collegii S. Bonaventurae.
Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. 1993. Nouveaux essais sur l’entendement humain. Paris: Flammarion.
Gregory of Rimini. 1979–1987. Lectura super primum et secundum Sententiarum, ed. A.D. Trapp
and V. Marcolino, 7 vols. Berlin: De Gruyter.
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Leuven: Leuven University Press.
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Wissenschaft nach der Lehre der Hochscholastik: An der Hand der Defensa doctrinae
D. Thomae des Hervaeus Natalis. Münster: Aschendorff.
———. 1995. Opinio de difficultatibus contra doctrinam fratris Thome, ed. P. Piccari, La “Opinio
de difficultatibus contra doctrinam fratris Thome” di Erveo di Nedellec, Memorie Domenicane
n.s. 26: 5–194.
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autem, quod intellectus sic unus est quia forma non multiplicatur, nisi quia educitur de potentia
materie.” Cf. Piché (1999, 115).
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Andrews, Girard J. Etzkorn, Gedeon Gál, et al., 2 vols. Opera Philosophica 3–4. St.
Bonaventure: Franciscan Institute.
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Bonaventure: Franciscan Institute.
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impensaque Leonis XIII P. M. edita 4–12. Rome: Ex Typographia Polyglotta.
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Opera Theologica 1. St. Bonaventure: Franciscan Institute.
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Sententiarum dist. 2, p. 1, qq. 1–3 et p. 2, qq. 1–2). Traditio 50: 199–248.
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Quodlibeta in the Middle Ages: The Fourteenth Century, ed. Christopher Schabel, 401–491.
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203–217.
Chapter 17
The Metaphysics of Habits in Buridan
Gyula Klima
Abstract This paper presents John Buridan’s nominalist ontology of habits, as the
acquired qualities of innate powers aiding or hampering their operations, against the
background of a more traditional interpretation of Aristotle’s doctrine to be found in
Boethius, Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, and Cajetan. The paper argues that
considerations of his late question commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics
may have forced Buridan to rethink some of his earlier arguments for his parsimoni-
ous nominalist ontology of powers endorsed in such earlier works as his Questions
on Aristotle’s Categories and De anima. The lesson to be drawn from this investiga-
tion seems to be that upon working out the details of a nominalist programme in
such fields as moral psychology and ethics, the requisite refinements sooner or later
will involve such modifications of an originally “radical” programme that would
bring it closer to what used to be the “mainstream” view. Even so, this much seems
enough further down the line to change significantly how issues are framed relative
to the “mainstream” view as well.
Keywords Nominalism · Ontological parsimony · Ontological reduction ·

Semantic primitives · Natural powers and habits
17.1 T
he Logic and Metaphysics of Habits in Aristotle
and Aquinas
In the Categories, Aristotle uses the verb “to have” (ekhein, habere) and its cognate
nominal form “habit” (hexis, habitus) in at least three radically distinct senses. As
Cajetan, echoing Aquinas,1 explains in his commentary on the Categories:
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 50, art. 1.

1
G. Klima (*)
Department of Philosophy, Fordham University, New York, NY, USA
e-mail: klima@fordham.edu
322 G. Klima
In the first place, we need to clarify the meaning of the terms “habit” and “disposition.”
Since “habit” derives from “having,” just as “having” is taken in three ways, so “habit” can
be taken in three ways. (1) In the first way, a thing is said in general to have another, as we
are said to have a friend, or knowledge, or some quantity; and since in this way it follows
upon several categories, “habit” in this way is counted among the post-predicaments, and
will be discussed there. (2) In the second, less general way, a habit is a certain medium, in
the way of action and passion, between the thing having and the thing had, as we are said to
be clad or armed on account of the adjacency of clothes or arms, and in this way “habit” is
one of the categories. (3) In the third way “habit” is taken even less commonly, and it is that
on account of which a thing is related somehow, to wit, related well or ill (bene vel male) to
its nature or operation, as we are said to be well habituated or ill habituated with regard to
virtues and vices.2
Accordingly, we might refer to these three different senses of the term “habit” as (1)
the post-predicamental sense, insofar as it pertains to several categories; (2) the
predicamental sense, insofar as it forms the category of habit; and (3) the sub-
predicamental sense of the term, insofar as it is subsumed under the category of
quality. Clearly, it is in this last sense that we want to deal with habits in the present
context.
In this sense, therefore, the term “habit” refers to a quality. Indeed, it constitutes
together with disposition the first species of quality, to be distinguished from the
other species of quality, namely, natural potency and impotency, passions and pas-
sible (that is, sensible) qualities, and form and constant figure (that is, shape). It is
unclear, however, how we should understand habit in the sense in which it consti-
tutes together with disposition the first species of quality, especially given that
Aristotle distinguished the two merely in terms of whether they are difficult or easy
to lose. After all, the two terms seem to mark out not one, but two species; but then
how can two species differ by what seems to be not an essential specific difference
but only an accidental one?
According to the solutions of Boethius and of Albert the Great,3 habit and dispo-
sition differ merely as perfect and imperfect, as Socrates the adult differs from
Socrates the boy. Thus, Aristotle is talking about the two as one species because
they do not mark out two essentially distinct classes, just as if we were to talk about
the species of humans by saying that it consists of children and adults. But both
terms signify the same type of quality, except that one has the connotation of its
imperfection, while the other has the connotation of its perfection.
According to Aquinas, however, having made clear that sometimes the term “dis-
position” can be taken broadly to mean the genus to which both habit and disposi-
tion in the strict sense belong, and sometimes strictly as the species distinguished
from habit,4 Aristotle talks about the two terms as marking out two essentially
2
Cajetan, Commentaria in Praedicamenta (ed. Laurent, 145–146).
3
Boethius, In Categorias, lib. 3 (PL 64: 24T). Albert the Great, De Praedicamentis, tract. 5, c. 2
(Opera Omnia 1: 246–248).
4
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 49, art. 2, ad 3: “Dispositio autem dupliciter accipitur, uno modo,
secundum quod est genus habitus, nam in V Metaphys. dispositio ponitur in definitione habitus;
alio modo, secundum quod est aliquid contra habitum divisum.”
17 The Metaphysics of Habits in Buridan 323
d istinct species, which are not directly subalternated to the genus of quality, but to
a species of quality, which according to Cajetan was called “application” (applica-
tio) by “the ancients.”5 This species, the first species of quality, is the proximate
genus of disposition and habit, which together constitute it as its subjective parts.
Accordingly, their difference is an essential difference, which, however, we intend
to signify with reference to a better known accidental difference—just as we do, for
instance, when we signify the essential difference of the common fruit fly,
Drosophila Melanogaster, with reference to its dark belly, although we know (or so
we think) that its essential difference consists in its genetic code.6 But then, it was
not without reason that Aquinas at one point famously exclaimed that we don’t even
know the essence of a fly, which in his time was certainly the case, while in our time
it is still the case with many other things.7
In any case, habits in the strictest sense, as distinguished from dispositions within
the first species of quality, are qualities on account of which their subject is well
disposed or ill disposed in its nature, and through this, well disposed or ill disposed
to its proper action (and consequently to the end of its proper action).8
Aquinas, however, makes a further distinction among habits thus defined:
There are certain habits that, even on the part of the subject in which they inhere, primarily
and principally import some order to action. For as we have said, “habit” primarily and per
se implies a relation to the nature of the thing. If, therefore, the nature of the thing in which
the habit inheres consists in some order to action itself, it follows that the habit principally
imports an order to action. It is obvious, however, that the nature and account of a power is
that it is the principle of action. Therefore, every habit that is the habit of a power as of its
subject, primarily imports an order to some action.9
5
Cajetan, Commentaria in Praedicamenta (ed. Laurent, 149).
6
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 49, art. 2, ad 3.
7
Thomas Aquinas, In Symbolum Apostolorum, prooemium: “Cognitio nostra est adeo debilis quod
nullus philosophus potuit unquam perfecte investigare naturam unius muscae.”
8
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 49, art. 3, corp.: “Respondeo dicendum quod habere ordinem ad
actum potest competere habitui et secundum rationem habitus; et secundum rationem subiecti in
quo est habitus. Secundum quidem rationem habitus, convenit omni habitui aliquo modo habere
ordinem ad actum. Est enim de ratione habitus ut importet habitudinem quandam in ordine ad
naturam rei, secundum quod convenit vel non convenit. Sed natura rei, quae est finis generationis,
ulterius etiam ordinatur ad alium finem, qui vel est operatio, vel aliquod operatum, ad quod quis
pervenit per operationem. Unde habitus non solum importat ordinem ad ipsam naturam rei, sed
etiam consequenter ad operationem, inquantum est finis naturae, vel perducens ad finem. Unde et
in V Metaphys. dicitur in definitione habitus, quod est dispositio secundum quam bene vel male
disponitur dispositum aut secundum se, idest secundum suam naturam, aut ad aliud, idest in
ordine ad finem.”
9
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 49, art. 3, corp.: “Sed sunt quidam habitus qui etiam ex parte subiecti
in quo sunt, primo et principaliter important ordinem ad actum. Quia ut dictum est, habitus primo
et per se importat habitudinem ad naturam rei. Si igitur natura rei in qua est habitus, consistat in
ipso ordine ad actum, sequitur quod habitus principaliter importet ordinem ad actum. Manifestum
est autem quod natura et ratio potentiae est ut sit principium actus. Unde omnis habitus qui est
alicuius potentiae ut subiecti, principaliter importat ordinem ad actum.”
324 G. Klima
This passage seems to make the apparently strange claim that an accident inheres in
an accident—specifically, that a quality in the first species of quality, namely, a
habit, inheres in another quality in the second species, namely, in a natural power or
potency. However, Aquinas is ready with an answer:
An accident is said to inhere in another as in its subject not because an accident could sus-
tain another on its own, but because one accident inheres in substance by the mediation of
another, as colour inheres in a body by the mediation of its surface; this is why surface is
said to be the subject of colour. And it is in this way that a power of the soul is said to be the
subject of virtue.10
It is in this way that we talk about habits in the strictest sense, as we talk about good
habits or bad habits disposing us to do good or bad, that is, when we are talking
about moral virtues and vices as those acquired qualities of the will which dispose
or incline it to making right or wrong choices.
It is this interpretation of Aristotle’s account of habits, especially in the Categories
and the Nicomachean Ethics, which Buridan had at his elbows when he wrote his
own Questions on the same books. Indeed, this is the interpretation he took most
seriously, especially in his Questions on the Ethics, a subject which he approached
much more cautiously (and with much greater respect for older interpretations) than
he did the subject matter of the Categories.11 Just compare his exclamation in the
Questions on the Categories—that the doctrine of the Liber sex principorum
(according to which the ten logical categories should mark out ten essentially dis-
tinct classes of entities) is strong enough to kill dogs and those who get caught in it
can no more easily escape from it than fish caught in a net12—with the following
remark in the prologue to his Questions on the Ethics:
In this little work [which is actually the longest of his works, despite the fact that it remained
unfinished], because of my lack of experience [he must have been around fifty when he
wrote this] and ineptitude of my judgement, I will adhere to the sayings and authority of
older teachers, rather than to novel arguments, no matter how persuasive they may be. For
I have often found myself deceived by newly emerging arguments, but never by the sayings
of ancient authors, especially in matters of morals. For which reason in this work I will cor-
rect some of the things I believed to be true elsewhere. This is because in this science the
10
Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 56, art. 1, ad 3: “Ad tertium dicendum quod unum accidens dicitur
esse in alio sicut in subiecto, non quia accidens per seipsum possit sustentare aliud accidens, sed
quia unum accidens inhaeret substantiae mediante alio accidente, ut color corpori mediante super-
ficie; unde superficies dicitur esse subiectum coloris. Et eo modo potentia animae dicitur esse
subiectum virtutis.”
11
John Buridan, Q. In Praed. (ed. Schneider, 129): “auctor Sex principiorum et omnes eius
sequaces deturpaverunt philosophiam Aristotelis et veram scientiam auctorizantes, quod nulla
nomina abstracta diversorum praedicamentorum supponunt pro eisdem rebus.” Ibid. (149): “horum
ignorantia duxit multos in maximos errores, sicut apparet per librum Sex principiorum.” Cf. In
Phys. 3, q. 13 (1509, fol. 55vb): “Ad auctoritatem auctoris Sex principiorum dico quod, ut mihi
videtur, melius fuisset quod numquam illum librum fecisset”.
12
John Buridan, Q. In Praed., q. 18 (ed. Schneider, 145): “Talia enim mihi apparent satis fortia
ad interficiendum canes, et capti in eis non plus possunt evadere quam ex reti pisces.”
principles are taken from human acts, the knowledge of which cannot be had without much
experience.13
Quite a change of attitude! Nevertheless, this does not change the fact that Buridan
already approached the subject working with a rather different logical framework,
leading to a rather different metaphysics, both in general and specifically concern-
ing habits, moral habits in particular.
17.2 Aquinas’s vs. Buridan’s Logic and Metaphysics
Therefore, before getting into the details of Buridan’s account of habits, and espe-
cially virtues and vices in particular, let me first briefly summarize the relevant
points of departure in Buridan’s logic and metaphysics from Aquinas’s sketched
above in general.
For Aquinas, a concrete, universal, categorical term is true of a substance on
account of the actuality of the form it signifies in the substance in question. We can
also refer to this form itself by means of the corresponding abstract term. So, for
instance, the common term “just” is true of Socrates because of the actuality of the
form signified by this term in Socrates, which we can refer to by means of the cor-
responding abstract term, namely, “justice,” whether we know what the thing thus
referred to is or not. It is the task of the metaphysician to find out precisely what this
thing is, and in particular how it fits into the “Porphyrian forest” of the categories—
that is, on which leaf on which branch of which tree of the ten categories. Most
importantly, it does not matter whether the concrete common term in question is
monadic or polyadic, that is, whether or not it connotes anything besides the sub-
stance of which it is true. What such a term signifies is always a form of the sub-
stance, whether accidental or substantial; thus, the corresponding abstract term
referring to this form can also have the same connotations, on account of which it
may not rigidly refer to the form signified by the concrete term in question. However,
just because a form is signified by a polyadic term—that is, from a modern point of
view, a relational term—it does not mean that it is ontologically a relation. Although
being signified relationally qualifies it as a relation secundum dici, it might not be a
relation secundum esse, because it could belong to another category, and accord-
ingly its essential predicates will be the subaltern species, genera, and differences of
that other category. Finally, the criterion for the essentiality of such a predication
will be whether the predicates in question signify the essence of the form (that is,
the form itself) or not, though under different concepts. Accordingly, different pred-
ications will be true of the same form on account of what it is per se, and on account
of its actual conditions in the subject or outside the subject per accidens, regardless
of whether the predicates in question are relational or not. This distinction is par-
ticularly important in connection with the theory of moral judgement that tries to
13
John Buridan, Quaestiones in Aristotelis Ethica Nicomachea, Prol. (1489, fol. 2ra–b).
326 G. Klima
establish what is intrinsically (that is, per se) good or bad, as opposed to what is or
merely appears to be good or bad on account of extrinsic conditions. But now we are
doing metaphysics, not ethics.
By contrast, for Buridan the truth of a simple affirmative categorical proposition
requires the identity of the supposita (i.e. referents) of its terms. So, the truth of the
proposition, “Socrates is just,” requires that Socrates be identical with a just person.
To be sure, concrete terms in the category of quality, such as “just,” “strong,” or
“white,” supposit for something only if the quality connoted by them is actually
inherent in—or as Buridan often would say, “adjacent to”—what they directly sig-
nify. That is, a concrete quality term will supposit for something only if the quality
“appellated”—that is, obliquely referred to by the term in question—is actually
inherent in the thing it directly signifies. However, the inherence of this quality is
not the primary truth-maker of this proposition; rather, it is the identity of the sup-
posita of its terms. In fact, for Buridan it is only in the case of some concrete quality
terms (say, “sighted”) and quantity terms (say, “tall”) and (the corresponding priva-
tive terms, such as “blind” or “short”) that the actual inherence (or non-inherence)
of the accidents connoted by them in the things they directly signify is required for
the supposition of these terms. In the case of all other terms, if the terms in question
are absolute, that is, non-connotative, then the terms supposit for those of their sig-
nificata that are actual at the time connoted by the copula of the proposition; and if
the terms are connotative, then they will supposit for those of their actual significata
that are related to their connotata in the ways signified by these terms, but without
assuming any relative things relating them to one another.14
Perhaps some examples can better illustrate the idea than these general descrip-
tions. If I say, “Socrates is the father of Plato,” then by Buridan’s lights, this sen-
tence is true (assuming for the sake of the example that it is) not because a relative
thing, a fatherhood with respect to Plato, inheres in Socrates, but because Socrates
is identical with the actual suppositum of the term “the father of Plato.” But, again,
this term supposits for Socrates not because of the inherence of fatherhood in
Socrates, but because Socrates begot Plato in the past, which is what is signified and
connoted by this connotative term. Of course, this type of analysis of connotative
terms could go on indefinitely, but not infinitely. At one point we should arrive at
some primitive, not further analysable connotative terms and the corresponding
concepts, which simply relate one thing to another by co-conceiving them as being
related in some way to one another, but still without the need to assume the exis-
tence of any corresponding relation-thing, which would stand somehow as a bridge
between its two relata. For then, Buridan argues, we would get infinite regresses
(pretty much what we would recognize as “Bradley-regresses”) and other absurdi-
ties noted also by William of Ockham, Durand of Saint-Pourçain, Peter John Olivi,
and others who argued against the existence of the type of entity recognized by
Aquinas and his ilk as relations secundum esse.15
14
For more detailed, systematic comparisons of the relevant features of realist and nominalist
semantics, see Klima (1999a, 2011a).
15
For more on the medieval metaphysics of relations see Henninger (1989).
All this means is that the nominalist ontological project is largely programmatic.
It can eliminate the need for relative entities by means of conceptual analysis, pro-
vided we can analyse the meaning of relative terms ultimately in terms of absolute
concepts, syncategorematic concepts, and primitive connotative concepts, which
relate absolute things to one another without the assumption of corresponding rela-
tive things in reality. The more important point, however, is that this project can
indeed be carried out in practical terms even without the need for a complete analy-
sis and identification of those primitive connotative concepts, for the analysis can
just stop at connotative concepts simply left unanalysed and taken to be primitive, if
their analysis is not required for the solution of a particular problem.16
But then this means further that using such eliminative analyses, we could in
principle eliminate all distinct entities in the nine accidental categories, as far as
nominalist logic is concerned; so, it would take independent metaphysical reasons
not to apply Ockham’s Razor, in the cases of at least some of them. In fact, this is
precisely what Buridan did with the category of quantity, pace Ockham, in his ques-
tion commentaries on the Physics and Metaphysics, and did rather hastily, but
emphatically with regard to qualities in his Questions on Aristotle’s De anima, with
reference to the recent condemnation of the atomism of John of Mirecourt and
Nicholas of Autrecourt, which would have allowed, at least in principle, the elimi-
nation even of distinct qualities.17 But in fact Buridan had no qualms about eliminat-
ing the fourth species of quality, namely, shape, reducing it to quantity, using the
same strategy of eliminative nominal definitions I illustrated earlier with regard to
relations secundum esse.18 However, since Buridan does in fact retain qualities in
the first three species, and those are absolute, non-relative entities, which can never-
theless be referred to by means of relativa secundum dici even according to Aquinas,
the question arises: despite the differences in their semantics, are there any genuine
differences between him and Buridan with regard to the metaphysics of habits?
17.3 T
he Differences Between Aquinas’s and Buridan’s
Metaphysics of Habits
Since the habits we are primarily concerned with, namely, moral virtues and the
opposite vices, inhere in the rational appetitive power of the rational soul, that is, the
will, we should take a quick look at the relationship between powers and their sub-
jects in both authors.
For Aquinas, natural powers are the innate, inseparable qualities of things
enabling them to act in certain ways. Indeed, although the powers themselves are
accidental qualities of their subjects, and are really distinct from their subjects, they
16
For this conception of a more “laid-back” nominalism, see Klima (2012).
17
John Buridan, Quaestiones in Aristotelis De anima (QDA), lib. 3, q. 11.
18
For a detailed account of Buridan’s elimination of shape as a distinct ontological category, see
Klima (1999b).
328 G. Klima
are not separable, even by absolute divine power (potentia dei absoluta). It must be
noted here that in general, for Aquinas, a real distinction does not entail separability
even by divine power, because he thinks that there are really distinct items in reality
that cannot exist without each other, on pain of contradiction. The most obvious
case of this in Aquinas’s metaphysics is the impossibility of the actuality of a crea-
turely existence without its essence, and vice versa, despite the real distinction of all
creaturely essences and their existence. This must be the case, because obviously
we cannot have an essence in actuality without its actual existence, and we cannot
have a limited act of existence in actuality without its determination or limitation
distinguishing it from the unlimited divine existence, which is nothing but a crea-
turely essence. So, essence and existence must go hand in hand, despite their real
distinction. But the same goes for creaturely essences, and their innate, proper acci-
dents, that is, their natural powers. In fact, Aquinas insists not only that God could
not create an irrational man, but also that He could not create one without the ability
to laugh.19 In general, therefore, Aquinas would not accept that a real distinction
entails real (even if only supernatural) separability. Accordingly, in his Question on
the Soul, he argues for the real distinction between the essence of the soul and its
powers:
Essence is related to existence, just as power is to action (s/x = p/a). Therefore, by permuta-
tion, just as existence and action are related, so are power and essence (a/x = p/s). But only
in God are action and existence the same; therefore, only in God are power and essence the
same. Therefore, the soul is not its own powers.20
Buridan disagrees. In his Questions on Aristotle’s De anima, he presents an intrigu-

ing argument for the thesis that, pace Aquinas, there is no real distinction between
the soul, which Buridan also takes to be the unique substantial form of living beings,
and at least its principal powers, which Buridan carefully distinguishes from the
soul’s instrumental powers. The instrumental powers are those that assist the soul in
19
Thomas Aquinas, Q. disp. de anima, art. 21, arg. 11: “Deus non potest facere quod contradictoria
sint simul vera. Hoc autem sequeretur, si subtraheretur alicui quod est de essentia eius. Puta, si
homo non esset rationalis, sequeretur quod esset simul homo et non homo. Ergo Deus non potest
facere quod aliqua res careat eo quod est ei essentiale.” Cf. De spiritualibus creaturis, art. 11, ad 7:
“Non enim potest intelligi quod homo non sit risibilis, vel triangulus non habeat tres angulos
aequales duobus rectis: hic enim est repugnantia intellectuum, quia oppositum praedicati dependet
ex natura subiecti.”
20
Thomas Aquinas, Q. disp. de anima, art. 12, s.c. 1. “Sed contra. Sicut se habet essentia ad esse,
ita posse ad agere. Ergo permutatim, sicut se habent esse et agere ad invicem, ita se habent potentia
et essentia. Sed in solo Deo idem est esse et agere. Ergo in solo Deo idem est potentia et essentia.
Anima ergo non est suae potentiae.” In case the notation inserted into the translation is not self-
explanatory, the algebraic proportions included in the parentheses inserted in the text are devised
merely to indicate how one can get the second from the first “by permutation”, as Aquinas says.
Given s/x = p/a (essence is to existence as power is to action), if you multiply the equation by a
(action) and divide it by s (essence), you get a/x = p/s (action is to existence, as power is to essence).
But then, since action and existence are the same only in God (for all creatures can exist without
being active; they are not “always on” just because they exist, so to speak); therefore, powers and
essence are the same only in God as well. Ergo, power and essence are distinct in everything other
than God, that is, in all creatures; and so, in the soul, too.
its operations in various parts or organs of the body, such as the power of the eye to
receive the species of colours and thereby, along with the common sense, to gener-
ate visual sensations. These powers are clearly distinct from the substance of the
soul, which is in every part in the body. Thus, to the question whether the soul has
the principal power to see in the foot, Buridan responds that yes, it does; it just can-
not exercise its power there for want of a proper instrument, namely, an eye, but if
God and nature created an eye in his foot then a man would be able see with his
foot.21 However, the argument concerns not these external, instrumental powers, but
the principal powers of the soul itself:
If a power were an accident of the soul, then the soul would be in potency towards it, since
a subject is in potency towards all its accidents. Therefore, the soul is either in potency
towards such a power on its own, and then, by the same token, we could have said the same
in the first place, or it is in potency towards such a power by means of another power, and
thus we would have to go to infinity, which is absurd.22
The gist of this somewhat condensed argument seems to be that if the soul were
distinct from its powers, then those powers would be its accidents, and therefore the
soul, as their subject, would have to be in potency to receive them. But either (1) the
soul is receptive of its accidents on its own, without the mediation of any distinct
power giving it the potency to be receptive of its acts, in which case it does not need
distinct powers to exhibit the acts we know it has; or (2) it can be receptive of its
accidents only through the mediation of a distinct power, but then this distinct
power, being an accident, can be received by the soul only through the mediation of
another distinct power, which in its turn would demand another distinct power mak-
ing the soul receptive of it, and so on ad infinitum, which is absurd. Thus, the only
viable alternative is that the soul is receptive of its accidents without the mediation
of any distinct power; therefore, the soul is not distinct from its own powers.
To cut a long story short, Buridan accepts without further ado this argument
concerning principal powers. But then it seems that he would have to accept the
same type of argument concerning habits as well, given that in his Ethics he argues
that habits—especially moral habits, that is virtues and vices—inhere in the powers
of the soul, in particular, in the will and in the sensitive appetite. However, if these
powers are the same as the substance of the soul, then on the strength of the argu-
ment cited earlier, the habits perfecting these powers must also be identical with it.
But this might seem to be too much ontological parsimony even for a committed
nominalist like Buridan, when it comes to the distinction of the ontologically
required items for a credible description of the psychological micro-mechanisms of
human behaviour. After all, for Buridan, the moral virtues are required to incline the
will to choosing in accordance with the dictates of reason, from which it might be
drawn away by the sensitive appetite, which therefore also needs to be tamed by
having its own virtuous habits.23 But if all these things are internally one and the
21
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 5, ad 3, n. 23.
22
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 5, in opp. 3, n. 14.
23
John Buridan, Quaestiones in Aristotelis Ethica Nicomachea, lib. 1, q. 22 (1489, fol.
26ra-27va).
330 G. Klima
same item, the unique substantial form of man, identical with its principal powers
as well as their habits, then how can this same item account for all the contrary acts
and internal conflicts that Buridan so vividly describes and analyses in his other
questions? Is this perhaps one of the ontological problems Buridan came to realize
when dealing with ethics that he had not yet fully realized when he was dealing only
with logic and metaphysics? Is this one of the issues he referred to as those that
needed revision in the passage quoted earlier from the prologue to his Ethics?
Indeed, does this all mean that what had seemed to be plausible and totally defen-
sible to the young Buridan in his Questions on the Categories—namely, that he
could adequately deal with all sorts of questions in terms of a radically parsimoni-
ous ontology—had to be revised by the older, more experienced Buridan of the
Questions on the Ethics?
17.4 Conclusion
Of course, this somewhat sketchy comparison of Buridan’s metaphysics of habits

with that of his predecessors, especially Aquinas, cannot do justice to all the intri-
cate historical and theoretical details of the issues involved. Nevertheless, perhaps
even on the basis of this comparison we can draw some interesting conclusions,
which may, in turn, be conducive to further research in the field. First, I would sug-
gest that when we are making comparisons between the metaphysics of thinkers
using different logical frameworks for framing their questions and arguments, we
cannot adequately do so without taking into account the differences of those logical
frameworks themselves. Secondly, I would suggest that especially in evaluating
Buridan’s nominalist metaphysics, we should very carefully consider what I
described as the largely programmatic and “laid back” character of medieval nomi-
nalism, which actually leaves a lot of wiggle room for further refinements in a nomi-
nalist philosopher’s actual ontology. See for instance Buridan’s physical and
metaphysical arguments for the need to have dimensive quantities as distinct from
substance and quality, and his arguments for the need of postulating a distinct spe-
cies of quality accruing with the acceleration of a body, which he called impetus.24
Third, in connection with the metaphysical issues raised by Buridan’s nominalist
ethics in particular, I would also emphasize the change of attitude he exhibits con-
cerning his non-nominalist predecessors in this context, as opposed to his attitude in
his earlier works directly dealing with logic and metaphysics, namely, his willing-
ness to offer a more “fine-grained” ontology than in his early works to “save the
phenomena” of moral psychology. Finally, I would suggest that taking all the previ-
ous considerations into account, we may tentatively conclude that upon working out
the details of his nominalist programme in psychology, moral psychology, and eth-
ics, Buridan may have realized that the requisite refinements would sooner or later
involve such modifications of an originally “radical” programme that would some-
24
For more discussion of the issues mentioned here, see Klima (2011b).
how bring it closer to what used to be the “mainstream” view. Still, even with this
much of a change in his own attitude relative to his earlier views, his new semantic
framework in which he raises old questions seems different enough to change quite
significantly, further down the line, how issues were framed relative to the “main-
stream” view as well.
References
Primary Literature
Albert the Great. 1890. De praedicamentis, ed. A. Borgnet. B. Alberti Magni Opera Omnia 1.
Paris: L. Vivès.
Boethius. 1891. In Categorias Aristotelis libri quatuor, ed. J.-P. Migne. PL 64. Paris: Migne.
John Buridan. 1489. Quaestiones in Aristotelis Ethica Nicomachea. Paris: Johannes Higman/
Wolfgang Hopyl.
———. 1509. Subtilissimae quaestiones super octo Physicorum libros Aristotelis. Paris. Reprint,
1964. Kommentar zur Aristotelischen Physik. Frankfurt am Main: Minerva.
———. 1983. Iohannes Buridanus quaestiones in Praedicamenta, ed. J. Schneider. Munich: Beck.
———. Forthcoming. Quaestiones in Aristotelis De anima, ed. Gyula Klima, et al. Dordrecht:
Springer.
Thomas Aquinas. 1891–1892. Prima secundae Summae theologiae, ed. Commissio Leonina. 2
vols. Opera omnia iussu impensaque Leonis XIII P. M. edita 6–7. Rome: Ex Typographia
Polyglotta S. C. de Propaganda Fide.
———. 1953. In Symbolum Apostolorum, scilicet “Credo in Deum” expositio, ed. R.M. Spiazzi.
In Opuscula theologica, vol. 2. 2nd ed. Turin: Marietti.
———. 1996. Quaestiones disputatae de anima, ed. Bernardo Carlos Bazán. Opera Omnia iussu
Leonis XIII P. M. edita 24.1. Rome/Paris: Commissio Leonina/Éditions du Cerf.
Thomas de Vio Cajetan. 1939. Scripta philosophica: Commentaria in Praedicamenta Aristotelis,
ed. M.-H. Laurent. Rome: Angelicum.
Henninger, Mark G. 1989. Relations: Medieval Theories 1250–1325. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Klima, Gyula. 1999a. Ockham’s Semantics and Ontology of the Categories. In The Cambridge
Companion to Ockham, ed. Paul Vincent Spade, 118–142. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
———. 1999b. Buridan’s Logic and the Ontology of Modes. In Medieval Analyses in Language
and Cognition, ed. Sten Ebbesen and Russell L. Friedman, 473–495. Copenhagen: The Royal
Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters.
———. 2011a. Two summulae, Two Ways of Doing Logic: Peter of Spain’s “Realism” and John
Buridan’s “Nominalism”. In Methods and Methodologies: Aristotelian Logic East and West,
500–1500, ed. Margaret Cameron and John Marenbon, 109–126. Leiden: Brill.
———. 2011b. “John Buridan”, Lagerlund, H. Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, 597–603.
Springer: Dordrecht.
———. 2012. Ontological Reduction by Logical Analysis and the Primitive Vocabulary of
Mentalese. American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly 86: 303–414.
Chapter 18
Acts and Dispositions in John Buridan’s
Faculty Psychology
Jack Zupko
Abstract John Buridan (ca. 1300–1361) uses the concepts of actus and habitus in
his psychology to explain the difference between actual or occurrent thoughts and
the dispositions to think those same thoughts. But since mental qualities are imma-
terial, Buridan must finesse his account of material qualities to save the psychologi-
cal phenomena. He argues that thoughts and dispositions are really distinct from the
human soul and from each other, and that because a thought and its corresponding
disposition are different kinds of quality, we cannot say that they differ merely in
terms of intensity. This leaves him with the unresolved problem of explaining how
one kind of psychological quality can be caused by another that is qualitatively
distinct from it.
Keywords Act/Actual · Alexander of Aphrodisias · Disposition · Habit ·

Intensification/Diminution · John Buridan · John of Mirecourt · Memory · Modes ·
Potency/Potential · Species · Thinking/Thought
18.1 Introduction
Virtually all fourteenth-century psychologists commented on the mode of existence

of the human soul as the substantial form of the human body. But in fact, the ques-
tion of how this immaterial soul operates through its material body as its instrument
was more difficult, and gave rise to more interesting problems. For later medieval
commentators on Aristotle’s De anima, acts and dispositions figured prominently in
the explanation of a whole range of intellectual operations, such as the generation of
thoughts from sensations and memories, which according to Aristotle are realized
materially, that is, in bodily organs. But acts and dispositions (actus and habitus in
Latin) are analytical tools borrowed from Aristotelian physics, designed to account
for the movement and alteration of material and extended bodies. What happens
J. Zupko (*)
Faculty of Arts, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada
e-mail: zupko@ualberta.ca

334 J. Zupko
when these same notions are appropriated to model the activities of immaterial and
unextended subjects, such as the human soul?
John Buridan (ca. 1300–1361) faces precisely this problem in questions 11, 15,
and 16 of book 3 of his third and final question commentary on Aristotle’s De
anima, which stems from a set of lectures he delivered at the University of Paris,
probably in the early 1350s. The topic at hand is whether there is a power of mem-
ory in the intellect corresponding to the power of memory that Aristotle places in the
sensitive part of the soul. Memory is a particularly apt phenomenon here because, at
least on the Aristotelian picture, it involves the preservation of an act, or actual sen-
sation, in diminished form as a disposition or habit or, if the habit becomes suffi-
ciently “embedded” in the soul, a virtue. Hence, moral virtues are quite literally
dispositions that remain in the soul as a result of acting well, making such actions
easier and more spontaneous in the future. The problem is that whereas different
sensitive memories remain numerically distinct because they are realized in mat-
ter—or rather, in the material organs through which the soul operates—there appears
to be no way to preserve discrete intellectual memories immaterially, because there
is literally nowhere to ‘put’ them, or at least no obvious way to explain their dimin-
ished condition in memory as compared with their fully realized or maximal state in
the intellect of someone actually entertaining them.
Aristotle compounds the problem when he says that the active part of the intellect
is always actually thinking: “It does not sometimes think and sometimes not think”
(De an. 3.5, 430a22).1 He does indicate, however, that the intellects of a knower and
a learner are different,2 suggesting that regular acquaintance with an object of
thought, like a Euclidean triangle, makes it more readily accessible to the knower’s
intellect; by contrast, the learner must expend more effort to acquire the relevant
concept. In this case, Buridan describes the knower as having acquired a habit,
which ranges over the relevant objects—past, present, and future—and obviates the
need to begin the investigation anew whenever one wants to use that concept:
If a geometer has a demonstration that every triangle has three angles equal to two right
angles, we should not imagine that thereby he would have knowledge only of those trian-
gles that actually exist; on the contrary, if this habitual knowledge of his remains for three
years, and meanwhile many triangles are generated, he will have knowledge of those as
well as of the others, even in the absence of a new demonstration.3
The question Buridan faces in his De anima commentary is this: how should an
Aristotelian faculty psychologist understand this intellectual habitus?
1
There is of course ambiguity in what Aristotle means by this, exploited by commentators from
Theophrastus to the present day. Aristotle himself explains its essential activity in terms of the
metaphor of light, a “positive state” which makes things actually visible (De an. 3.5, 430a14–17),
but this is not precisely analogous because states are not activities. Actual thinking requires objects,
or things to think about.
2
Aristotle, De an. 3.4, 429b6–9 (trans. Smith, in Aristotle 1984, 682–683): “When thought has
become each thing in the way in which a many who actually knows is said to do so (this happens
when he is now able to exercise the power on his own initiative), its condition is still one of poten-
tiality, but in a different sense from the potentiality which preceded the acquisition of knowledge
by learning or discovery.”
3
John Buridan, Summulae de dialectica, tract. 4, c. 3, §4 (trans. Klima, 260).
18 Acts and Dispositions in John Buridan’s Faculty Psychology 335
As he typically does when considering difficult questions, Buridan begins by

surveying the competition. First up is the theory of Alexander of Aphrodisias (fl.
early third century AD), whose views were known to his contemporaries at Paris
through the Latin translation of Averroes’s Great Commentary on Aristotle’s De
anima. In Buridan’s eyes, Alexander—as mediated by Averroes, we must keep in
mind—is a psychological materialist, holding that the human intellect is generable
and corruptible in addition to being “brought forth” or derived from, extended
through, and inherent in the human body, by which it is also multiplied, or made
into many individuals.4 For Alexander, intellectual habits are qualitative states of the
internal senses of memory, imagination, and cogitation, all of which are material
because they have physical organs located in the sensory part of the soul. Thus, the
geometer’s knowledge that the interior angles of a Euclidean triangle add up to
ninety degrees is realized in a disposition, acquired through repeated cognition and
stored in her sensory soul. This disposition causes her to assent to the proposition
that the interior angles of a triangle add up to ninety degrees whenever it is pre-
sented to her. According to Buridan, Alexander’s intellect depends on such “phan-
tasms and imagined apprehensions” not only for occurrent thinking—Aristotle
suggests as much when he says that the intellect never thinks without an image or
phantasm5—but also, more controversially, for dispositions to think in certain ways,
otherwise known as beliefs and knowledge:
Alexander believed that in humans, there is no power of the soul, or soul, except what is
material and extended, and that our soul exercises all of those acts we ascribe to the intellect
in the organ we assign to the cogitative power.6
The conclusion is clear: Alexander “would say that the material memory preserves
the intentions of all of our cognitions.”7
Buridan has a philosopher’s admiration for Alexander’s position, remarking at
one point that he believes that on the materiality of the intellect, “a pagan philoso-
pher would hold the opinion of Alexander.”8 On the Alexandrian view, acts of think-
ing leave behind physical traces in the organs of internal sense, in the form of
particular habits or dispositions that preserve,9 albeit in a diminished way, the
4
John Buridan, Quaestiones in libros Aristotelis De anima (QDA), lib. 3, q. 6, n. 17.
5
Aristotle, De an. 3.8, 432a8–9.
6
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 15, n. 25: “Credidit Alexander quod non est in homine potentia
animae, vel anima, nisi materialis et extensa, et quod anima nostra in organo quod assignamus
virtuti illi cogitativae exerceret omnes illos actus quos intellectui apponamus.”
7
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 15, n. 31: “Memoriam materialem diceret reservare intentiones
omnium nostrarum cognitionum.” Buridan tends to blur the lines between the operations of the
internal senses, sometimes attributing a certain operation to the imagination, sometimes to mem-
ory or to the cogitative power. This is of no import to the present debate, however.
8
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 4, n. 13: “Philosophus paganus teneret opinionem Alexandri.”
9
Buridan agrees with Aristotle in holding that habits (Latin habitus; Greek hexis) and dispositions
(Latin dispositio; Greek diathesis) are accidents in the first species of quality that make their sub-
jects “well- or ill-disposed to operate,” or act (actus). They differ insofar as habits are “difficult to
remove and separate” from their subjects, whereas dispositions are “easily separable.” Habits are
considered a species of disposition in the sense that mere dispositions can turn into habits when
336 J. Zupko
aterial circumstances of that cognition—for example, an image of the particular

m
triangle which originally prompted the subject’s assent to the proposition that its
internal angles add up to 180 degrees. Buridan also concedes that the materialist
account is more or less correct for all human cognitive activity that falls short of
intellectual thinking:
It appears that such species or intentions are preserved when all acts of cognition have
stopped, for otherwise, after the cessation of these acts, we could not dream or remember or
form imaginations or phantasms unless by recourse to external sensibles, of which we expe-
rience the opposite. But it may also be obvious that these species and intentions are not also
preserved in the cognitive powers, that is to say, in the organs in which the soul is apt to
form the act of cognition, for then the act of cognition would never stop, because there
appears to be nothing missing for the formation of the requisite act of cognition, since free
will does not have a role in this case, as it is not present in brute animals. Nevertheless, since
it is never actualized in us without an act of cognition, it is therefore necessary to concede
that there is such a preservative power and the organ in which this preservation takes place
besides the organs in which some actual cognition is apt to take place. And if someone were
to object that the intellect, which is cognitive, is also preservative, for otherwise intellectual
habits would be destroyed, I respond that this issue will be determined in the fifth [actually,
the fifteenth] question of the third book.10
Be that as it may, the pagan view is not open to Buridan because he accepts on faith
that the human intellect is immaterial.11 He knows very well that Alexander would
tell a materialist story about intellectual habits and dispositions, going so far as to
describe the Alexandrian position as one based on “natural arguments, leaving the
Catholic faith aside.”12 Thus, when Buridan asks in book 3 whether the intellect is
everlasting (of course, he holds that it is), an argument on the negative side cites
Aristotle’s remark in De anima 3.5 (430a24) that the passive intellect is corruptible.
they become sufficiently stable and long-lasting through frequent actualization, or practice, as in
the case of virtues and vices See John Buridan, Summulae de dialectica, tract. 3, c. 5, §2 (trans.
Klima, 184–185); cf. Aristotle, Cat. 8, 8b27–9a12.
10
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 23, n. 13: “Apparet quod huiusmodi species vel intentiones reser-
vantur, omni actu cognoscendi cessante, quia aliter, post cessationem ab huiusmodi actibus cogno-
scendi, non possemus somniari ac memorari formare imaginationes vel phantasmata nisi
recurrendo ad sensibilia exteriora, cuius contrarium experimur. Sed etiam potest apparere quod
huiusmodi species et intentiones, sic cessantibus actibus cognoscendi, non reservantur etiam in
virtutibus cognoscitivis, hoc est dictum in organis in quibus anima est innata formare actum cogno-
scendi, quia tunc non cessaret actus cognoscendi, quoniam nihil apparet deficere requisitum ad
formandum actus cognoscendi. Voluntas enim libera non habet in hoc locum tamen, quia non est
in brutis. Cum quia in nobis non exit in actum sine actu cognoscendi, igitur necesse est concedere
huiusmodi virtutem reservativam et organum in quo fiat huiusmodi reservatio, praeter organa in
quibus innata est fieri actualis cognitio. Et si aliquis obiceret quod intellectus, qui est cognosciti-
vus, est etiam reservativus, quia aliter perirent habitus intellectuales, ego respondeo quod de hoc
determinabitur in tertio libro in quinta quaestione.”
11
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 4, n. 13.
12
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 4, n. 13: “Dicta conclusio tenenda esset rationibus naturalibus, fide
catholica circumscripta, ita quod philosophus paganus teneret eam. Probo quia ego puto quod
philosophus paganus teneret opinionem Alexandri.”
Buridan channels Alexander (or Alexander reading Aristotle) in his reply, remind-
ing us only in the final clause that this is not his own opinion:
By “passive intellect,” Aristotle understands the imaginative or cogitative power, which is
not corrupted speaking absolutely, because it is the same as the intellective soul. But it is
corrupted in this way, namely, that the natural dispositions by which it was naturally suited
to perform an act of thinking, considering, or imagining are corrupted. Thus, it can no lon-
ger perform the vital act without which Aristotle thought the human intellect does not
understand, which we do not hold.13
Why does Buridan linger on the Alexandrian position? I suspect it is not only
because he finds in Alexandrian materialism the most economical reading of
Aristotle’s text, but also because he is attracted by Alexander’s naturalism and the
easy link it affords between the psychology of habits and dispositions and their
underlying physics.
Unfortunately, where the human intellect is concerned, things are not so easy. We
catch a glimpse of the explanatory mountain Buridan must climb here in a remark
from book 2, question 17, which asks whether the species of an odour propagated
through the medium of air has real or intentional being (which he also calls “spiri-
tual being”):
Now, therefore, I come to explaining what we understand in this question by “spiritual” and
“real.” And it seems to me that the name “spirit” primarily and properly applies to incorpo-
real substances, namely the indivisible and unextended ones, such as God, the intelligences,
angels, and the intellective human soul. And so, [the category of] substance is first divided
into spiritual and corporeal substances. Next, all accidental forms inhering in such spiritual
substances are said to be spiritual, such as the acts of thinking and intellectual habits.
Furthermore, because the substances that are primarily said to be spiritual and spirits are
insensible, the name “spirit” by analogy has been extended to signify bodies which, on
account of their subtlety, are not visible or do not terminate sight. For this reason we call the
wind “spirit,” and sometimes the air too. Thus we call the drawing in of air “respiration,”
and in ourselves we call the warm, subtle bodies dissolved from digested food “vital spir-
its,” whereby the soul carries out its vital functions.14
13
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 6, n. 32: “Aristoteles per ‘intellectum passivum’ intelligit virtutem
phantasticam seu cogitativam, quae corrumpitur non simpliciter cum ipsa sit idem quod anima
intellectiva. Sed sic: quia corrumpuntur dispositiones naturales per quas erat innata exercere actum
cognoscendi, cogitandi, vel phantasiandi. Ideo non potest amplius vitalem actum exercere sine quo
Aristoteles putavit intellectum humanum non intelligere, quod non tenemus.”
14
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 17, n. 20: “Tunc igitur venio ad dicendum quid intelligimus in
proposito per ‘spirituale’ et ‘reale’. Et videtur mihi quod hoc nomen ‘spiritus’ primo dictum est et
proprie de substantiis incorporeis, scilicet indivisibilibus et inextensis, cuiusmodi sunt Deus et
intelligentiae, angeli, anima humana intellectiva. Et sic substantia, prima sui divisione, divideretur
in substantias spirituales et corporeas. Et consequenter omnes formae accidentales huiusmodi sub-
stantiis spiritualibus inhaerentes dicuntur spirituales, ut actus intelligendi et habitus intellectuales.
Deinde, quia illae substantiae quae primo dicuntur spirituales et spiritus sunt insensibiles, ideo
similitudine ampliatum est hoc nomen ‘spiritus’ ad significandum corpora quae, propter sui sub-
tilitatem, non sunt visibilia vel non terminant visum. Unde ob hoc, ventum vocamus spiritum
et aliquando aerem. Unde respirationem dicimus aeris attractionem, et in nobis vocamus spiritus
vitales corpora subtilia calida ex cibo digesto resoluta, per quae anima exercet opera vitae.”
338 J. Zupko
In everyday discourse, by which Buridan means the speech of farmers and fish-
wives, the tiny particles emanating from sensed bodies are called “spiritual” because
we cannot directly sense them. But they are real because they are corporeal: think
of smoke, or the way certain odorous bodies emit a “fume-like evaporation.”
Nevertheless, Buridan does not want to identify these fumes with the species of
smell because he cannot imagine how such tiny bodies could be propagated across
great distances, since they would be completely diluted or diffused by the interven-
ing air; he cites Averroes’s example of tigers and vultures being attracted to the
carnage on a battlefield fifty miles away. But what about the species? Is the species
of smell propagated through the medium of air real or spiritual? Buridan does not
exactly say, although he implies that it is real in a metaphysical (rather than physi-
cal) sense:
Nevertheless, this common opinion notwithstanding [viz., that subtle, insensible bodies are
spiritual], when we say that the names “being” and “thing” are convertible with regard to
their primary significations, we also know by philosophy that many insensible beings are
more [intensely] beings and more perfect than sensible beings. And we should not deny
either that they are truly things (res), absolutely speaking, although not according to this
common meaning [of “real”].15
It looks as if Buridan has not so subtly changed the subject. In the metaphysical
sense in which they are convertible with being, even spiritual things are real; indeed,
they are more real than corporeal things. The same goes, presumably, for the acci-
dental forms of spiritual substances, including the acts of thinking and intellectual
habits he has just mentioned: they are not real in the sense that they are incorporeal,
but very real in the sense that they are beings. Buridan recognizes that this equivo-
cates on the everyday meaning of “real,”16 but he does not pursue the question here
or elsewhere in the commentary, leaving it open how a single qualitative feature of
the object, namely, its odour or smell, can produce species in two different modes of
being, namely, corporeal and incorporeal, the first of which seems to play no causal
role in the act of sensation.
By the time we reach the discussion of intellectual acts and habits in book 3 of
the commentary, however, the metaphysical question of whether they are real or
spiritual has been forgotten. In these questions, Buridan is concerned with a differ-
ent problem, which is how to model the transmission, reception, and preservation of
incorporeal species. Here he defends the view that “as long as I am understanding
and knowing, my intellect is neither the act of thinking nor the knowledge; rather,
the act of thinking and the knowledge are dispositions distinct from it and inhering
15
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 17, n. 21: “Et tamen, hoc non obstante, cum dicamus ista nomina
‘ens’ et ‘res’ converti secundum eorum principales significationes, et nos etiam sciamus per phi-
losophiam insensibilia multa esse sensibilibus magis entia et perfectiora. Non debemus negare
quin ista sint vere res simpliciter loquendo, licet non secundum vulgarem intentionem.”
16
John Buridan, QDA, q. 2, q. 17, n. 22: “And thus, by equivocation, we would have to posit real
and spiritual colours, real and spiritual sounds” (Et sic essent ponendi secundum aequivocationem
colores reales et colores spirituales, soni reales et soni spirituales).
in it.”17 He develops his position against two opponents, both of whom are unnamed.
We know the first to be the theologian John of Mirecourt, since Buridan quotes
verbatim from the 1347 Parisian articles condemning his views.18 These articles
make Mirecourt out to be an advocate of the idea that thoughts and sensations are
nothing but “relational” or “dispositional modes of things” (modi se habendi rerum),
to wit, of the souls which have them.19 Now, if such modes have no independent
existence beyond their subjects, then they fail to be really distinct from their sub-
jects as well as from each other. This is theologically worrisome because it consti-
tutes a limit on divine omnipotence: God could not create a thought or sensation
without also creating a soul to serve as its subject. Not being a theologian, Buridan
is more interested in the implications of Mirecourt’s position for natural philosophy,
where it raises the spectre of radical parsimony: just as there is no reason to suppose
that accidents are distinct from each other, so there is no reason to distinguish acci-
dents from substances. Since mental qualities—be they acts of thinking, intellectual
habits and dispositions, or states of knowledge—are accidents of the soul, the par-
simonious psychologist should deny any real distinction between them, holding that
intellect and knowledge do not differ in us, but that intellect, act of thinking, and knowledge
are the same, and that your act of thinking and all the intellectual dispositions by which you
understand or think or are able to think are entirely the same as your intellect.20
Buridan is no stranger to parsimony, of course. In his earlier commentary on

Aristotle’s Physics (final version),21 he argues on these very grounds that figure is
not distinct from magnitude.22 Unlike Mirecourt, however, Buridan stops short of
reducing accidents to their subjects, denying that the accident of motion, for exam-
ple, is a mere “mode” (modus) of moving substances or a “way” moving substances
exist. Against Mirecourt’s proposal that the intellect in the guise of various “modes”
suffices to explain all of its operations, Buridan marshals four arguments, the first
two of which actually mention a pair of articles from Mirecourt’s 1347 Condemnation.
The fourth of these arguments relates to our question about the identity and distinc-
tion of the intellect and its qualities in the form of thoughts, habits, and dispositions.
17
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 11, n. 20: “Quamdiu ego intelligo et scio, intellectus meus nec est
intellectio nec scientia, immo intellectio et scientia sunt dispositiones diversae ab eo et sibi
inhaerentes.”
18
See Chartularium Universitatis parisiensis, vol. 2, no. 1147, articles 28–29. For discussion, see
Thijssen (1998, 73–89).
19
For a reconstruction of Mirecourt’s view here, see Edith Sylla, “A Guide to the Text” (Buridan
2015, lxii–lxvii).
20
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 11, n. 12: “In nobis intellectus et scientia non different, sed sunt
idem intellectus, intellectio, et scientia, et omnino intellectio tua et omnes habitus intellectuales
quibus tu intelligis aut consideras aut potes considerare sunt idem quod intellectus tuus.”
21
The editors of books 1 and 2 of this text surmise that it was composed between 1352 and 1357
(Buridan 2015, xviii), which would suggest an even later date for the final version of Buridan’s De
anima commentary.
22
John Buridan, Quaestiones super octo libros Physicorum Aristotelis, lib. 2, q. 3 (ed. Streijger and
Bakker, 257–262).
340 J. Zupko
According to this argument, mere “modes of things” do not differ enough from
things—that is, from their underlying substances—to explain how the same intellect
can first believe one thing and then its opposite:
Again, “being differently disposed” signifies the same as “being disposed in different
modes.” Therefore, if our intellect, being disposed in different modes, is now of one opinion
and tomorrow will be of the contrary opinion, the first mode will not be the second, from
which we conclude that the modes are different. Therefore, if there are several modes and
they differ from each other, and the intellect is not nor will be other than it is but always the
same, it is necessary that the intellect differ from those modes and from each one of them.
But then all of the difficulties that arose in connection with the difference or sameness of
those opinions, and more, return in connection with those modes. Thus, it is better to take a
stand at once on the side of the difference of those opinions. For it is true that the human
intellect would hold contrary opinions when it is disposed in different ways, even if those
modes are those opinions: just as Socrates is also disposed in different modes when he is
first white and later black, and the modes are the whiteness and the blackness. For accidents
are modes and dispositions of substances according to the variation of which an underlying
substance is differently disposed. In general, being differently disposed requires some dif-
ference, and it must be that it is given in the case we are considering, and that it can be
correctly given only as regards the difference of those dispositions in relation to each other
or as regards the intellect.23
For Buridan, there is no explanatory advantage to be gained from positing sub-

stances and modes instead of plain old substances and accidents, and this is true not
just in psychology but in natural philosophy more generally. Mirecourt has failed to
see that if these modes are really identical to the intellect, they would also, by tran-
sitivity of identity, be really identical to each other, leaving us with no principled
way to explain the difference between an intellect that first believes that Socrates is
sitting and later that he is standing. What is needed is a way of capturing such con-
tent differences in terms of the intellect’s internal structure—in other words, a way
of introducing real complexity into an immaterial subject.
Buridan tries to take the high road here, arguing that mental qualities inhere in
the intellect as accidents really distinct from the intellect and from each other. But
first he must deal with an objector who wryly observes that one could “argue in the
same way about figure, that it is distinct from magnitude.”24 As we saw above,
23
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 11, n. 24: “Item ‘aliter et aliter se habere’ significat idem quod ‘alio
et alio modo se habere’. Si igitur intellectus noster nunc est una opinio, et cras erit opinio contraria,
alio et alio modo se habens, iste modus non erit iste modus, ex quo modi ponuntur alii. Si igitur
modi sunt plures et alii ab invicem, et intellectus non est nec erit alius sed semper idem, necesse
est intellectum esse alium ab illis modis et ab unoquoque illorum. Et tunc omnes difficultates quae
erant de alietate vel identitate illarum opinionum, et maiores, revertuntur de illis modis. Ideo
melius est statim stare in alietate illarum opinionum. Verum est enim quod intellectus humanus sit
contrarie opinans, alio et alio modo se habens, etsi illi modi sunt illae opiniones: sicut etiam Sortes,
prius albus et post niger alio et alio modo se habet, et illi modi sunt albedo et nigredo. Accidentia
enim sunt modi et dispositiones substantiarum secundum quorum variationem substantia aliter
et aliter se habet. Et omnino, aliter et aliter se habere requirit aliquam alietatem, et oportet quod illa
detur in proposito, et non potest bene dari nisi alietas illorum habituum ad invicem vel
ad intellectum.”
24
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 11, n. 25.
Buridan holds that the qualities of figure and magnitude are not really distinct. So
what blocks the reduction in the case of mental qualities? A further distinction is
needed:
But if a thing is said to be differently disposed earlier and then later in a third way, namely,
leaving aside what is external to it, and assuming that its parts do not change position
relative to each other, then the difference designated by “being differently disposed” can
only be explained by the generation or corruption of some disposition inhering in it and
distinct from it. For this is how it is with water, if it is first hot and later cold; with matter, if
it is first in the form of water and then later in the form of fire; and with the intellect, if it
was first believing one thing and then the contrary. For, when a man is sleeping, leaving
aside everything represented to him by sense, he would still be disposed later differently
than he was earlier, and this can only be explained by the difference of those opinions from
each other and from the intellect. Otherwise, it could not be shown that not all things are
one in the way Parmenides and Melissus believed, as I said before.25
Contraries, of course, cannot both be true at the same time, although they can both
be false at the same time.26 Unlike the qualities of figure and magnitude, which are
compatible with being in the same extended subject simultaneously (figure being a
species of magnitude), the accidents of an immaterial intellect are really distinct
because mental qualities are related to each other as contraries, from which it fol-
lows that the intellect cannot, while it is actually thinking one incomplex thing, be
actually thinking another incomplex thing at the same time.27 That is why Buridan
grounds mental qualities in the generation and corruption of really distinct forms.
Mental qualities are like incompatible material forms such as heat and cold, or
incompatible elemental forms such as fire and water: they cannot exist together
when fully actualized.
25
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 11, n. 29: “Sed si res tertio modo dicatur aliter et aliter se habens
prius et posterius, scilicet circumscriptis exterioribus et quod eius partes non mutant situm ad
invicem, tunc alietas designata per ‘aliter et aliter se habere’ non potest salvari, nisi per generatio-
nem vel corruptionem alicuius dispositionis sibi inharentis et distinctae ab ea. Sic enim est de aqua,
si prius est calida et postea frigida; et de materia, si prius sit sub forma aquae et postea sub forma
ignis; et de intellectu, si prius fuit sic opinatus et post contrarie. Nam homine dormiente et omni
repraesentatione sibi per sensum circumscripta, adhuc aliter haberet se posterius quam haberet se
prius, quod non potest salvari nisi per alietatem illarum opinionum ab invicem et ab intellectu.
Aliter non posset ostendi quin omnia essent unum modo quo opinabantur Parmenides et Melissus,
sicut dixi prius.”
26
Later, in QDA, lib. 3, q. 16 (n. 6), Buridan quotes the relevant passage from Aristotle, Met. 5.10,
1018b7–8: “For this is what it is to be other in species: to have contrareity while being in the same
genus” (hoc enim est diversa esse specie: in eodem genere entia contarietatem habere).
27
Complex mental acts are different, of course, for when we entertain simple qualities as terms in
a proposition, it is a complex, namely, the proposition, which informs the intellect, not a sequence
of discrete simple concepts; otherwise we wouldn’t be able to entertain contradictory propositions.
Thus, in QDA, lib. 3, q. 16 (n. 15), Buridan argues that complex concepts can have contrary or
contradictory parts, such as when we form certain hypothetical propositions. Thus, the parts of the
sentence, “Buridan climbed Mt. Ventoux and did not climb Mt. Ventoux,” do not annihilate each
other because they are together in signification, not in being. For discussion, see Zupko
(forthcoming).
342 J. Zupko
But intellectual habits and dispositions seem to call for a different analysis. For
if they are potentialities for actual thoughts, it would not be impossible for them to
be in the same subject at the same time, just as something actually hot is potentially
cold, and vice versa. But Buridan holds that dispositions in the mind exhibit the
same relation: an intellect that is able to demonstrate Pythagoras’s theorem may be
actually sleeping, and vice versa. As Anneliese Maier showed, the model here is
borrowed from Buridan’s explanation in his Physics commentary of projectile
motion in terms of impetus, or impressed force, which is a really distinct quality of
moving bodies.28 It is as if Buridan wants us to think of intellectual dispositions as
impetus of the soul, that is, as acquired or impressed tendencies for the intellect to
cognize in certain ways, provided no obstacles intervene.29
But how is the disposition to think X related to actually thinking X? In a later
question on whether the intellect preserves intelligible species once actual thinking
has ceased, Buridan introduces a second unnamed opponent who, like him, distin-
guishes between the intellect and its qualities, but argues that we should understand
the difference between thoughts and dispositions quantitatively, in terms of the
intensification and diminution of a single quality:
The second conclusion is that this disposition is not of the nature or species of thought, nor
does it differ from it only by intensification or diminution, as some say, such that when
intensified it is a thought, and when diminished it is no longer said to be a thought but a
disposition. The latter thesis is proved because when an act of understanding no longer
exists, there is a diminished disposition in someone who has studied too little, and so it is
quickly lost unless he perseveres in study. In someone who has studied for a long time,
however, there is now an intense disposition, not easily moved or lost, although it is not an
actual thought.30
28
See Maier (1958, 338): “Each state and each change, each disposition (modus se habendi) and
each case of being differently disposed (aliter et aliter se habere), thus signifies for Buridan a
form-like accident or a form-like disposition in the subject in question. This account also holds
good for local motion, which is not mentioned here [i.e. in QDA, lib. 3, q. 11], for Buridan certainly
sees in it an ‘absolute’, [i.e.] the inhering accidents of a moving body, for which this account is
largely true” (my translation). To this Maier adds, “For Buridan […] [local motion] is something
internal which has a formal character and which virtually stands for an inhering quality of the
mobile.”
29
I noted in my 2003 book that Buridan’s use of impetus to explain phenomena outside the context
of projectile motion is not without precedent. The concept of mayl (inclination) plays a similar role
in Avicenna’s psychology (Zupko 2003, 219–223). There is also an uncanny similarity between
impetus and the Stoic notion of hormé (impulse) as a motion of the soul: “In genus impulse is a
movement of the soul towards something. In species it is seen to include both the impulse which
occurs in rational animals and the one found in the non-rational. […] [O]ne would correctly define
rational impulse by saying that it is a movement of thought towards something in the sphere of
action” (John Stobaeus, quoted in Long and Sedley 1987, 317). But the analogy should not be
taken too far: unlike moving projectiles, intellectual motions are partly driven by free—i.e. non-
natural—volitions, and so (as Buridan himself notes in response to an unnamed opponent below),
they do not not wax and wane continuously, meaning that the impetus of thinking cannot be math-
ematized, for it fails to exhibit any quantitative regularity along a continuum.
30
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 15, n. 11: “Secunda conclusio est quod ille habitus non est de natura
vel specie intellectionis, nec differens ab ea solum secundum intensum et remissum, ut aliqui
dicunt, ita quod cum est intensum est intellectio, et cum est remissum, non amplius dicitur intel-
The “some” who have held this view have not been identified.31 But like Mirecourt’s
modes, Buridan finds the distinction insufficient to explain the evident difference
between thinking in knowers and thinking in learners:
Let’s suppose, following an opponent, that the act of thinking is a form intensified ten
degrees on the same scale, and the remaining disposition is a form diminished five degrees,
also on the same scale as the degrees that belonged to the intensified form. So then, when
actual thinking ceases, the five degrees belonging to the intensified form are corrupted, and
it is agreed that such an act of thinking ceases quickly, easily, and almost instantaneously.
So in this way, the five degrees are corrupted quickly and easily. But even so, the other five
degrees of the disposition remain and are not corrupted quickly, but persist for a long time
and are movable only with difficulty. But no one could give a reason for the difference
between the five remaining and the five corrupted: why they are placed opposite each other
on the same scale. And no intellect determines this for itself. Therefore, the position of the
opponent was fictitious and false.32
In other words, treating thoughts and dispositions as intensive magnitudes fails to

explain the easy fluidity of thoughts on the one hand, and the stubborn persistence
of dispositions on the other. Merely saying that the geometer is able to move so eas-
ily from proof to proof because her actual thoughts diminish more quickly than their
corresponding dispositions does not identify anything in her mental qualities that
causes the phenomenon. Some internal or intrinsic difference is required.33
Buridan’s answer is to argue that acts of thinking and their corresponding dispo-
sitions must be different kinds of qualities. Only this assumption, he says, can
explain how “the intellect, once actualized by first thoughts, is potentially thinking
lectio, sed habitus. Ista conclusio probatur, quia non existente actu intelligendi, est habitus remis-
sus in eo qui parum studuit, ideo cito amissibilis nisi perseveret in studio. In eo autem qui longo
tempore studuit, est iam habitus intensus, et difficiliter mobilis seu amissibilis, licet non sit actualis
intellectio.”
31
It is the view of Pseudo-Buridan, Quaestiones de anima, lib. 3, q. 10 (ed. Patar, 459–460).
32
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 15, n. 12: “Ponamus secundum adversarium quod intellectio sit
forma intensa decem graduum eiusdem rationis, et habitus derelictus sit forma remissa quinque
graduum, similiter eiusdem rationis cum illis gradibus qui erant formae intensae. Tunc igitur ces-
sante actuali intellectione, corrumpuntur quinque gradus illius formae intensae, et constat quod
cito et faciliter et quasi instanter cessat huiusmodi intellectio. Ideo sic cito et faciliter corrumpuntur
illi quinque gradus. Et tamen alii quinque remanentes habitus non corrumpuntur cito, sed sunt
longe permanentiae et de difficili mobiles. Huius autem diversitatis inter quinque remanentes et
quinque corruptos, nullus posset assignare causam ex qua ponuntur ad invicem eiusdem rationis,
et quod intellectus nullus sibi determinat. Ideo ficticia erat et falsa positio adversarii.”
33
If the aim of medieval philosophers who appealed to the intension and remission of forms in this
way was, as Norman Kretzmann (1977, 5) suggested, to consider “abstract problems of mensura-
tion in terms of arbitrarily assigned degrees ranging over intensive and extensive qualities alike,”
so that latitudes of forms were treated “as continua analogous to line segments and temporal inter-
vals, degrees being the analogues for points and instants,” then one can ask whether the difference
between thoughts and dispositions is purely a matter of degree. Seen in this light Buridan tries to
corner his materialist opponents by not allowing them to speak vaguely of intensification and dimi-
nution, but insisting that actual (hypothetical) measures be assigned to different mental states. The
result fails to identify the mechanism of change: why does the form not have the same speed of
intensification/diminution between degrees 0 and 5 (qua disposition) as between degrees 5 and 10
(qua occurrent thought)? The speed distinction looks completely ad hoc.
344 J. Zupko
everything deduced from those first thoughts or from others similar to them, whose
dispositions have remained in it.”34 Furthermore, he argues that his opponent’s view
deprives thoughts of their usual causal powers by making the arbitrary assumption
that if these thoughts happen to exist in a diminished state, they could fail to make
the intellect into an actually thinking substance. Positing distinct intellectual dispo-
sitions allows us to explain how thoughts can be recollected without compromising
the process by which thinking is understood.35
Or so it seems. Buridan’s solution leaves open the question of how one kind of
psychological quality can be caused by another that is qualitatively distinct from it,
as opposed to merely quantitatively distinct, as in the intension-remission view. For
if the disposition to think is not the same kind of thing (res) as the act of thinking,
how can it give rise to it? Buridan could conceivably reply that there is no more
mystery here than in the process by which the intellect is said to abstract “species or
intentions” (species vel intentiones) of intelligible things from particular images
generated by the sensory powers of the soul, or, at the next level down, the process
by which the sensory powers receive sensible species from things outside the soul.
For as he says in book 2 of his commentary, “the species of colours in the eye and
the representation of colour in the imagination or in the intellect do not seem to be
of the same or of a similar nature, nor of the same kind or type.”36 But this only
gainsays the objection, or it explains the mysterious by appealing to what is equally
mysterious, or at least no less mysterious than the core principle of Aristotelian psy-
chology, which is that cognition involves the reception of form without matter.37
34
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 15, n. 15: “Cum autem intellectus actuatus fuerit per primas intel-
lectiones, ipse est potens actu considerare de omnibus quae ex illis primis intellectionibus vel ex
similibus aliis deductis fuerint, et quorum habitus in eo remanserunt.”
35
Note that Buridan’s argument for qualitatively distinct dispositions concerns the subject or
medium of such objects, not the objects themselves. Thus, an act of thinking and the disposition to
have that thought can both be about the same thing, even though they are distinct psychological
qualities. QDA, lib. 2, q. 18, n. 44: “From the demonstration of a conclusion, such as that each
triangle has three angles [equal to two right angles], there is generated in the intellect a certain
state, which by its nature persists over time. And it remains in the intellect when the act of under-
standing has ceased and in the absence of the [understood] object” (ex demonstratione alicuius
conclusionis, ut quod omnis triangulus habet tres angulos, generatur in intellectu quidam habitus,
qui per tempus innatus est manere. Et manet in intellectu cessante actu intelligendi et in absentia
obiecti).
36
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 2, q. 18, n. 16: “Species colorum in oculo et representatio coloris in
fantasia vel intellectu non videntur esse eiusdem vel consimilis naturae, nec eiusdem rationis et
speciei.”
37
According to Aristotle in De gen. et corr. 1.7 (324a5), the agent and patient in a change must be
in one sense the same and in another sense different, i.e. “generically identical (i.e. alike), but
specifically unlike,” as exhibited by the reciprocal action of contraries (trans. Joachim in Aristotle
1984, 529; cf. De an. 2.5). Buridan’s own position is unclear, but I take it that at QDA, lib. 2, q. 18,
n. 16—a remark that follows closely upon his discussion of real vs. spiritual being in the previous
question (QDA, lib. 2, q. 17, quoted above)—he is wondering whether the species of colour in the
eye and the representation of colour in the imagination or intellect really are generically proximate
enough to enter into causal relations.
Buridan, needless to say, has a healthy sense of the boundaries of natural phi-
losophy, as evidenced by his remarks about the supernatural. In psychology, the
inherence of the human soul in its body is a case in point:
To the final objection, it would be said that the way in which the intellect inheres in the
human body is not natural but supernatural. And it is certain that supernaturally, God could
form not only a form that is not drawn forth from a material potency, but also separate one
that has been drawn forth from its matter, conserve it separately, and place it in another
matter. Why, then, would this not be possible as regards the human intellect?38
Why not indeed? But cognition, whether at the sensory or intellectual level, is not
supposed to be a supernatural process, whatever that would mean. So there is more
to be said about the subtle interplay of acts and habits underlying human cognition.
Unfortunately, this is not a topic to which Buridan returns in his otherwise very
thorough question commentary on the De anima.39
References
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38
John Buridan, QDA, lib. 3, q. 4, n. 27: “Ad ultimam, diceretur quod non est naturalis sed super-
naturalis modus quo intellectus inhaeret corpori humano. Et certum est quod Deus supernaturaliter
posset non solum formare [formam] non eductam de potentia materiae, immo etiam eductam sepa-
rare a sua materia, et separatim conservare, et ponere in materiam aliam. Quare igitur hoc non esset
possibile de intellectu humano?”
39
I am grateful to Joël Biard, Magali Roques, and an audience at the 2014 conference of the
Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy for comments on an earlier version of this paper, the latter
half of which revises and expands a discussion in my 2003 book (219–223).
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Chapter 19
The Concept of Habit in Richard
Kilvington’s Ethics
Monika Michałowska
Abstract Richard Kilvington—one of the members of the fourteenth-century

English group of scholars called the “Oxford Calculators”—has been widely
acknowledged as an original and influential philosopher whose logical and physical
works became an inspiration for other masters in England and on the Continent.
Kilvington’s logical and mathematical ideas have already gained much attention
among historians of philosophy and science, but his interest in ethical problems as
well as his original way of providing arguments in the field of practical philosophy
have not yet been sufficiently investigated. Therefore, to shed light on Kilvington’s
ethical ideas, in this paper I examine his concept of habit. First, I focus on
Kilvington’s notions of habit and disposition. Second, I investigate the relationship
between habit and the will. Third, I make an enquiry into the nature of virtue and
vice in reference to the development of a moral habit. Finally, I examine the inter-
play between prudence, right reasoning and habit in Kilvington’s account. I con-
clude that: (1) Kilvington’s accounts of habit and disposition offer an interesting
balance between two different theories of habit, namely, habit understood as an
innate condition of man’s soul and habit understood as an acquired character trait;
and (2) in Kilvington’s view, not only habit but also, to some extent, disposition
plays an active role in the process of moral change and becoming virtuous or vicious.
Keywords Richard Kilvington · Ethics · Commentary on Nicomachean Ethics ·

Virtue/Vice · Habit · Oxford Calculators
Research for this chapter was supported by National Science Centre (NCN), Poland (project
UMO-2014/15/B/HS1/00409).
M. Michałowska (*)
Department of Bioethics, Medical University of Łódź, Łódź, Poland
e-mail: monika.michalowska@umed.lodz.pl

348 M. Michałowska
19.1 Introduction
English thinkers in the fourteenth century were on the vanguard of European philo-
sophical thought. One of the most prominent philosophers and theologians of the
English School was Richard Kilvington, who was also one of the founding mem-
bers of the “Oxford Calculators.” The Calculators have been recognized as innova-
tors in the development of logic and natural philosophy; it has been also well
established that they contributed significantly to the rise of new logical-semantic
and mathematical methods in fourteenth-century natural philosophy.1 In the ongo-
ing debate on the authorship of the new law of motion,2 Elżbieta Jung has presented
fairly convincing evidence that Kilvington was the first to introduce it into medieval
physics.3 Kilvington, whose influence on the development of mathematical physics
has already been acknowledged, is the author of a well-known logical treatise enti-
tled Sophismata, commentaries on Aristotle’s Physics, On Generation and
Corruption, and Nicomachean Ethics, as well as a commentary on Peter Lombard’s
Sentences.4 These works were in all cases the result of fulfilling his university obli-
gations. He is also a co-author of In causa domini Ardmachani allegationes magistri
Ricardi devoti viri contra fratres, which was a result of an intense debate on the
privileges of the mendicants, carried out together with Richard FitzRalph.5 It is the
only work that Kilvington composed after he had ended his academic career.
The significance of Kilvington in medieval logic and natural philosophy has
been thoroughly examined and several important works have been published on the
subject.6 We know relatively little, however, about his ethical thought. It is impor-
tant for the history of philosophy to analyse how the novel method invented by the
Calculators influenced not only logical and physical analyses, but also the consider-
ation of ethical dilemmas. It therefore seems worthwhile to take a closer look at
Kilvington’s ethical considerations, especially since he was the only Calculator who
wrote a work on ethics. This chapter will examine Kilvington’s concepts of habit
and disposition (parts 1 and 2), the nature of the relationship between the will and
habits (part 3) as well as the nature and acquisition of vice and virtue (part 4).
Finally, I will examine the specific characteristics of the virtuous habit of prudence
(part 5).
1
See, among others, Sylla (1991).
2
For the dispute, see Jung (2000b, 2011), Jung and Podkoński (2008), Sylla (2008, 2010)
3
Jung (2002b, 2011), Jung and Podkoński (2007, 59–69).
4
For more on Kilvington’s life and works see Jung (2000a), Kretzmann (1991, xvii–xxxiv).
5
For more on this subject, see Walsh (1981), Dunne and Nolan (2013).
6
On Kilvington’s logical and physical concepts see for example: Jung (1998), Jung and Podkoński
(2007), Kretzmann (1976, 1977, 1988), Read (2015).
19 The Concept of Habit in Richard Kilvington’s Ethics 349
19.2 The Place of Habit in Questions on the Ethics
The Questions on the Ethics (ca. 1332) stem from Kilvington’s lectures on Aristotle’s
Nicomachean Ethics (1324–1326),7 which he was obliged to conduct during his
regency at the Arts Faculty of Oxford University. The commentary consists of ten
clearly organized questions.8 Although most of the discussions of habit are in the
first two questions, we can also find some references to the nature of habit in ques-
tion 10, where he discusses the habit of prudence.
It should be noted that Kilvington’s commentary does not give a well-structured
and comprehensive theory of habit. Instead, we are presented with notes and com-
ments on issues that attracted Kilvington’s attention and interest. Therefore, many
of the questions posed in the debate on habit remain unanswered; occasionally they
are not addressed at all. This unconventional approach becomes characteristic of
Kilvington’s writings, and it is noticeable from his early logical work to his last
academic treatise devoted to theological dilemmas. Another distinct feature of
Kilvington’s writing is his reluctance to explain all the arguments, distinctions, and
terminology in a systematic way. He tends to devote a lot of attention to describing
hypothetical cases and to multiplying all possible understandings and configura-
tions of the terms employed, and then he simply formulates his conclusions. He also
notoriously passes over the explanation of the terms he uses. Given the specificity
of Kilvington’s ethical work, this chapter will be limited to presenting some reflec-
tions on Kilvington’s comments and notes devoted to the notions of habit and
disposition.
19.3 The Concept of Habit and Disposition
Following the Aristotelian tradition, Kilvington argues that virtues are not innate.9
Virtue and vice as well as other habits are acquired by a person during a lifetime,
and their development is dependent on that person’s actions and moral choices. As
Kilvington states, virtue and vice are qualities. Since, in his view qualities can
7
Jung (2000a, 203).
8
The questions are: (1) Utrum omnis virtus moralis ex operibus generatur; (2) Utrum virtutes
morales ex defectu et superabundantia corrumpantur; (3) Utrum quilibet virtuosus in operibus sibi
propriis delectetur; (4) Utrum voluntas suos actus producat libere; (5) Utrum fortitudo sit medie-
tas circa audacias et timores; (6) Utrum male operantes sint a legislatoribus puniendi; (7) Utrum
liberalitas sit circa pecunias medietas; (8) Utrum magnanimus dignificet se honoribus sibi dignis;
(9) Utrum iustitia sit virtus moralis perfecta; (10) Utrum prudentia sit habitus cum recta ratione
activus circa hominis bona et mala.
9
Richard Kilvington, Quaestiones super libros Ethicorum (Eth.), q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 79): “id
est, quo posito A est virtus, licet non primo sit in rerum natura.” Cf. Aristotle, NE 2.5–6,
1106a10–25.
350 M. Michałowska
undergo intension and remission, so too can virtue and vices, and therefore virtue
and vices have external limits.10 Although vice and virtue are acquired through prac-
tice, which is possible thanks to the generation of a certain habit through custom,
man is not born morally unconditioned. Human beings have natural dispositions to
being vicious or virtuous.11 Without practical exercise, however, they remain merely
inclinations of a certain kind. Once the natural and innate preferences are bolstered,
they become habits. It is through practice then that we either orient ourselves
towards our innate dispositions or choose another direction.
In Kilvington’s account, the relation between disposition and habit occupies a
peculiar place. In explaining the process of becoming vicious, he claims that the
change from being virtuous to being vicious does not happen immediately:
And when it is argued: a virtuous person is becoming vicious by means of an evil act, then
it is possible for the virtuous person to perform a wrong or evil act, albeit they will not be
vicious—I concede this.12
The transition from being virtuous to being vicious has to go through a stage of
disposition: “After the habit of vice, if it is to be destroyed, [and] before a habit of
virtue is generated, a disposition to virtue is generated.”13 Humans seem to have a
particular degree of disposition that lies somewhere on the continuum between vice
and virtue. We are not born with vice or virtue, though we are born with a disposi-
tion. Since Kilvington states that a disposition is generated and at the same time that
it is of natural character, which obviously are mutually exclusive statements; doubts
thus arise about the consistency of his account. I will come back to this issue below
when I explain the twofold meaning that Kilvington assigns to the term
“disposition.”
In Kilvington’s conception, a disposition is not morally neutral; rather, it takes
the form of either a dispositio mala or a dispositio bona, and thus can direct some-
one towards either good or evil.14 Nor does it totally determine a person’s character:
set somewhere in between the contrary habits of virtue and vice, it is merely a start-
ing point from which its subject can move towards developing a certain habit. Like
10
For more on this subject see Michałowska (2011b).
11
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 83–84): “Et causa est, sicut prius, quia cum uno
gradu virtutis Socratis coniungitur una dispositio ad vitium per quam naturaliter inclinatur ad
vitium, si non foret virtus coniuncta.”
12
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 83): “Et quando arguitur sic: virtuosus propter
quamcumque operationem malam fit vitiosus; ergo possibile est aliquem virtuosum operationem
malam vel vitiosam agere, et tamen non erit vitiosus. − Hoc concedo.” All translations of
Kilvington’s text are my own.
13
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 81): “post vitii habitum, si debeat corrumpi,
prius generatur dispositio ad virtutem quam generatur habitus virtutis.”
14
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 80): “Nec ex hoc sequitur quod non sit de dif-
ficili mobilis, quia cum non fuerit habitus, manebit dispositio bona per quam dispositionem habens
eam inclinabitur ad bene operandum.” Ibid. (68): “tunc B operatio foret satis modica ad cor-
rumpendum dispositionem malam causandam per A operationem.” Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska,
101): “et inclinatio virtuosi ad malum facta est minor, et inclinatio ad bonum maior.”
a disposition, a habit can take the form of either virtue or vice.15 Habit is understood
here as an ethically neutral entity that can be filled with a moral content. Following
Aristotle, Kilvington claims that this is done through the repeated performance of
actions of a certain moral character until doing so becomes a deeply embedded
custom. What is more, the development of a habit also involves obtaining a certain
degree of vice or virtue, and is described by Kilvington in terms of increase and
decrease of vice or virtue. By acquiring a higher degree of the habit of virtue an
agent becomes more and more virtuous, or by acquiring a higher degree of the habit
of vice she proceeds to being more vicious, until the highest degree of either virtue
or vice has been achieved. Backwards movement is also possible: once a certain
degree of the habit has been achieved, it can always be decreased through contrary
actions.16
What seems significant is Kilvington’s tendency to compare an ethical change
from being virtuous to vicious and vice versa to local motion. It becomes a charac-
teristic feature of his consideration on the ethical change. The concept of the ethical
change constitutes a part of a wider issue that was commonly debated by the
Calculators, namely the character of a qualitative change. Kilvington, just like the
other Calculators, was fascinated by the fact that some things are more and some are
less just/prudent, etc., some are more or less cold/white, etc., or just to put it simply:
some things are ‘more’ and some are ‘less’. It became quite important, therefore, to
explain how it actually happens that from being ‘less’ a thing becomes ‘more’; what
are the necessary conditions of this change; can it be quantified; and what in fact
‘more’ and ‘less’ mean. In Kilvington’s view, any qualitative change, be it physical
or ethical, requires opposites, namely terminus a quo from which the change starts
and terminus ad quem towards which the change proceeds.17 The ethical change
(which is a kind of a qualitative) always happens gradually, which, in Kilvington’s
view, means taking grades of higher intensity of a certain vice or virtue. To explain
how it actually takes place, he refers to a concept of the latitude (latitudo) and the
degree (gradus) commonly used by the Oxford Calculators.18 Kilvington offers an
interesting explanation of the process of ethical change claiming that vice/virtue,
like any other quality, is gradable and can undergo a change by taking a higher or
lower degree. Degrees of various intensity of vice/virtue constitute the latitude of a
certain vice or virtue. During the ethical change, the quality, for instance justice,
does not change its character—it still remains justice, the change as such applies to
a change of degrees, of justice in our example, that vary in intensity. Although
15
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 81): “quia sicut virtus est habitus sic vitium est
habitus”.
16
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1, arg. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 63–66); ibid., ad 1 (77–80).
17
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1, (ed. Michałowska, 82): “Ideo in tempore medio in quo fit talis
transitio, sic transitus est dispositus ad virtutem et vitium, communiter loquendo de dispositione;
sed proprie loquendo de dispositione, dispositio solum est respectu termini ad quem transitum est
in transire”; ibid. (252) q. 7, “Item, arguitur sic: aliquis potest realiter per aliquod tempus minus
continue indigere quam prius, et alius potest per idem tempus continue magis indigere, sicut est de
motu alterationis versus terminos oppositos”.
18
Sylla (1991, 308–329).
352 M. Michałowska
Kilvington frequently uses the term ‘latitude of vice’ (latitudo vitii) and ‘latitude of
virtue’ (latitudo virtutis) in Questions on the Ethics, he does not provide a definition
of either of the terms. However, given that he treats vice and virtue like any other
quality, it can be reasonably assumed that the definition he gives in his Questions on
the Physics19 also applies to his ethical considerations. As Kilvington states, virtue/
vice is a divisible latitude ranging from the highest to the lowest degree, between
which an infinite number of degrees of various intensity can be distinguished.20 The
ethical change means taking any degree between the highest and lowest ones.
Therefore, the ethical change can happen between any two different degrees on the
same latitude, since even a minimal excess of power over resistance is sufficient to
evoke a change: “In reply to the first article, I say that any excess is sufficient for a
movement”.21
Thus, in Kilvington’s view the ethical change happens degree by degree and it
occurs in time. If that is the case, we can point, as he believes, to the first and the last
moment of change (primum instans, ultimum instans) while someone’s becoming
virtuous or vicious.22 Referring to the concepts of a permanent thing (whose parts
exist simultaneously) and successive thing (whose parts exist one after another),
Kilvington formulates a claim that a virtue/vice is a permanent thing (res
permanens),23 but any ethical change from being virtuous to being vicious (and vice
versa) happens in time, therefore is of successive character.24
Given that a habit can be developed through morally oriented acts, as mentioned
above, the question arises whether a habit, once it has been acquired, can also be
destroyed through the same kind of acts. Kilvington has no doubts that this is proba-
ble.25 A habit can take various degrees ranging from the lowest to the highest, and in
this way it can get stronger or weaker. The higher degree is acquired, the firmer the
habit gets, and consequently the more difficult it becomes to change it. However,
19
Richard Kilvington, Quaestiones super Physicam, Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana,
Cod. lat. VI 72 (2810), q. II, f. 95vb: “consimiliter de latitudine, nam eadem res realiter est latitudo
caliditatis et caliditas, et [caliditas et] latitudo habet partes sicut tempus, et eadem caliditas ut est
in transmutari dicitur latitudo caliditiatis. Et quando non transmutatur dicitur caliditas et non lati-
tudo”. (I wish to thank Elżbieta Jung for sharing the transcription of Quaestiones super Physicam
with me).
20
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 7 (ed. Michałowska, 267).
21
Richard Kilvington, Quaestiones super Physicam, Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana,
Cod. lat. VI 72 (2810), q. I, f. 86vb: “Pro primo articulo dico, quod quilibet excessus sufficit ad
motum”.
22
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 63): “Tunc sic: A generabitur; vel ergo est
assignare primum instans in quo A generabitur vel ultimum instans in quo A non generabitur”.
23
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 66): “Item, cuiuslibet rei permanentis est acci-
pere primum instans sui esse; virtus est res permanens; ergo eius dabitur etc”.
24
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 64); ibid. q. 5 (210).
25
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 80): “Ad aliam rationem, quando dicitur: si A
sit habitus indivisibilis, igitur a quacumque operatione vitiosa potest A corrumpi et desinere esse,
et ita non foret habitus. − Ad quod dicitur quod prima consequentia non valet, sed ex primo ante-
cedente solum sequitur quod a quacumque operatione vitiosa posset corrumpi esse habitus vel per
quamcumque operationem vitiosam posset desinere esse habitus − hoc concedo”.
even the firmest habit of vice or virtue, in the course of becoming weaker and
weaker, can be altered or even eventually destroyed by a person’s actions.26 What
then is left once the habit is destroyed? Is the person in a moral void, stuck in
between vice and virtue unable to move towards either of them? Kilvington argues
that even if the habit is destroyed, the disposition remains:
And therefore when someone recedes from the middle deliberately in other circumstances,
they do not remain virtuous, nor do they become vicious, but they are inclined to vice or to
virtue.27
The disposition embedded in a soul seems to constitute the individual human being,
and therefore it cannot be lost. Given that the disposition,28 just like the habit of
virtue or vice, can have various degrees of intensity, the question can be asked: what
exactly is the disposition that remains once the habit has vanished? Kilvington does
not explain whether it is the same disposition the person was born with and from
which she developed vice or virtue, or it is a different and newly generated one.
He does state, however, that two meanings of “disposition” can be distinguished.
This distinction may shed some light on his perspective on this issue. The first
meaning refers to a general disposition thanks to which we can direct ourselves
towards either good or evil; the other refers to a proper disposition, and is used
especially when talking about a transition from being virtuous to being vicious or
vice versa. Thus, two alternative, but not mutually exclusive, understandings of the
possible inclination of disposition and its moral neutrality emerge in Kilvington’s
discussion. Given that Kilvington refers to disposition as natural, it can be assumed
that at the theoretical level disposition is a neutral state and is not determined either
to good or to evil; it does not undergo changes and always remains a starting point
for future choices and decisions. Nevertheless, at the practical level of making par-
ticular choices, and especially in the case of a transition from vice to virtue or vice
versa, a disposition does not remain neutral. It is an inclination towards the aim that
is to be achieved.29 Still, in both cases disposition constitutes the state between vir-
tue and vice, the realm of the many possibilities to which its subject can turn,
between developing virtue or building up vice.
26
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 79–80): “Unde si argumentum istud valeret,
posset probari quod non esset aliqua virtus ita firma quin posset statim corrumpi, quia habens illam
virtutem non cogitur ad bene operandum; igitur habens talem virtutem posset sine medio dimittere
illam, quod non est verum.” Ibid. (70): “Item, virtus est habitus; igitur non potest a quacumque
operatione mala corrumpi, quia tunc non foret de difficili mobilis, sed facillime mobilis.”
27
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 82): “et ideo cum aliquis scienter et cum aliis
circumstantiis recessit a medio, non manebit virtuosus; nec tunc erit vitiosus, sed dispositus ad
vitium vel ad virtutem.”
28
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 83): “Et causa est quia virtus in eodem gradu
potest secum compati dispositiones diversas in gradu ad vitium.”
29
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 82): “Ideo in tempore medio in quo fit talis
transitio, sic transitus est dispositus ad virtutem et vitium, communiter loquendo de dispositione;
sed proprie loquendo de dispositione, dispositio solum est respectu termini ad quem transitum est
in transire.”
354 M. Michałowska
Positing such a grey zone between vice and virtue allows Kilvington to elaborate
on the issue of moral change and to develop the concept of moral states that are not
limited to being either vicious or virtuous. Being inclined to vice or virtue is a pre-
condition for a full development of either of them. What is interesting is that
Kilvington claims that one can have various degrees of disposition, for example, to
vice. What is more, someone who has a certain degree of virtue can experience an
inclination of various degrees of intensity towards vice. Therefore, one can simulta-
neously possess virtue and have a disposition to vice.30 It can be argued that during
the process of making moral choices this state provides time and space for uncer-
tainty and allows for some hesitation. In this way, the state of disposition can include
both moral inclinations to vice or virtue and indecision about how to act. Like no
other moral state, disposition creates a realm open to diverse options and moral
choices in which all the alternatives are possible. It seems, however, that being in
the state of disposition cannot be permanent. Eventually, one has to choose one of
the alternatives. It could be argued that in Kilvington’s ethical considerations dispo-
sition plays an essential role. It is not only a precondition enabling the development
of vice or virtue, but also, to some extent, a state enabling doubts and hesitation,
which is a certain state of human character. It becomes an ethical construct explain-
ing both one’s changes of moral character and one’s instability when it comes to
moral choices. Surprisingly, it is also the only stable and inalienable element of
moral character, since habits can be changed, and vice and virtue can be developed
as well as destroyed. Habits of virtue and vice appear and vanish throughout a per-
son’s life, but disposition remains.
This interpretation remains consistent with the claim mentioned above, which at
first sight seems rather perplexing, namely that a certain degree of virtue can coexist
with various degrees of disposition towards vice. Even if someone has developed
virtue to a certain extent by acting against his natural disposition to vice, the innate
disposition to vice is inalienable and remains in the soul. The same conclusion obvi-
ously applies to the parallel process of acting against an innate disposition to virtue
and developing vice.
19.4 Habit and Will
Kilvington also refers to the idea of a firm habit. Although, as mentioned above, a
firm habit is not easily acquired, it is possible to acquire it. Kilvington points out
three conditions31 required for a habit to develop, namely, custom, delight, and
30
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 83): “Et causa est quia virtus in eodem gradu
potest secum compati dispositiones diversas in gradu ad vitium, ita quod virtus sub eodem gradu
permittet secum unam dispositionem ad vitium et sub eodem gradu dispositionem intensiorem ad
vitium.”
31
For more on these conditions, see Drummond (2016, chapters 4 and 5).
time.32 Nevertheless, these three conditions seem not to be sufficient. If they were, a
habit would be a rigid and unconscious condition of human moral character, and
humans would be automatic and non-autonomous beings determined by their hab-
its. Thus, being aware of this pitfall, Kilvington claims that a firm habit that allows
one to become perfectly virtuous has to be accompanied by choices of the will.
Thanks to the active participation of the will in the process of developing any habit,
a habit becomes something more than merely a technical skill gained in the process
of getting accustomed to something. It can be described as a moral trait that operates
on the boundary of human moral activity covering the areas of knowing how and
why, of liking, and of willing.
The active role of the will is also emphasized in Kilvington’s discussion of the
eradication of virtue. It is interesting to note that Kilvington repeatedly states that
the increase and decrease of virtue and vice is comparable to the process of increase
and decrease of other qualities, especially physical qualities such as coldness and
warmth, blackness and whiteness, and so on.33 Not only does he compare them
explicitly, he also employs the same analytical tools to describe their nature, the
process of change, their relationships, and their being in time. Thus, it can be
acknowledged that for Kilvington, the world is to some extent uniform. Although he
states that ethical qualities differ from physical ones,34 he is of the opinion that the
tools used in natural philosophy can be successfully applied to describe the objects
of ethics. It should be noted, however, that the similarity between physical and ethi-
cal objects that is underlined by Kilvington on numerous occasions is by no means
identity. Each realms has its own characteristics, which Kilvington does not deny.
Thus, when comparing physical qualities to ethical ones, he stipulates that another
significant condition is required for virtue or vice to increase or decrease. Whereas
in the case of physical qualities, an external cause affecting the quality suffices to
initiate the process of change, a change to virtue or vice requires an internal cause,
32
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 83): “Ad quartum principale: responderi potest
multipliciter. Uno modo sic: quod virtus ipsa manente virtute non potest remitti nec vitium, tamen
possunt intendi per consuetudinem et assuefactionem, sicut videtur argumentum idem quartum
probabliliter probare.” Ibid., q. 2 (102): “Et patet antecedens quod sic operans firmat habitum, quia
consuetudo per quam firmatur habitus quilibet acquiritur sic operando.” Ibid., q. 10 (318): “Et
prima consequentia patet, quia consuetudo est sola circumstantia temporis, ut patet ex significa-
tione termini.” Ibid., q. 3 (126): “Item, si ille virtuosus habeat delectari de una delectatione, et de
delectatione illius delectationis, et sic in infinitum, cum delectatio non sit sine cognitione delecta-
bilis, igitur virtuosus cognoscere habet primam delectationem, et delectationem illius delectatio-
nis, et sic in infinitum. Tunc quaero, sicut prius: utrum sit eadem delectatio illius delectationis, et
sic in infinitum, vel plures etiam infinitae?”
33
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 103): “Item, si virtus posset intendi, igitur
oportet quod, sicut in aliis formis intensibilibus, scilicet caliditate, frigiditate, albedine et nigredine
etc.”
34
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 121): “Ad sextum principale: dicitur conce-
dendo quod virtus potest intendi. Pro isto tamen est intellegendum quod non consimiliter in omni-
bus est virtus intensibilis et remissibilis sicut qualitates primae.”
356 M. Michałowska
namely, the will of the person involved.35 In discussing whether a habit of virtue can
be destroyed, and if so how, Kilvington claims that although acting against a virtue
diminishes it, this is not sufficient to destroy it. To explain how the process of eradi-
cation of the virtue happens, he distinguishes between two possible understandings
of the preposition ex. In his view, the expression “destroyed by something” can refer
to two different causes: (1) the proper one or (2) a distant (partial) one.36 When talk-
ing about the eradication of the virtue by its excess or deficiency, we can also dif-
ferentiate between two different meanings of the terms involved. They can refer
either to acting as such or to habits generated through acting.37 Having clarified the
alternative understandings of the terms employed, Kilvington concludes that a per-
son’s action cannot be understood as the precise cause of the eradication of a virtue,
but it can be taken as a partial cause of its destruction. The cause that seems to be
the proper one, yet not sufficient either, is the will and free choice. Thus, if someone
voluntarily and freely chooses to repeatedly do too much or too little when perform-
ing the kinds of act that a specific virtue concerns, this can destroy the virtue. For
instance, if someone repeatedly eats too much or too little for their health, be it
physical or spiritual, they risk losing the virtue of temperance.38
Kilvington’s account of how virtues and vices are developed seems to be an
attempt to combine two traditional approaches. The first of them, which follows
Cicero’s conception, presents a naturalistic perspective; the other, which is of
Aristotelian provenance, adopts the perspective of habituation.39 Kilvington’s solu-
tion seems to be a compromise between these two theories. On the one hand, thanks
to an innate disposition, we are not born into a moral void; on the other hand, thanks
to a habit that remains within human control, we can shape our own lives. What
35
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 11): “Ad sextum principale: dicitur concedendo
quod virtus potest intendi. Pro isto tamen est intellegendum quod non consimiliter in omnibus est
virtus intensibilis et remissibilis sicut qualitates primae, nam in qualitatibus primis est talis intensio
et remissio quod duobus contrariis approximatis sufficienter necessario unum agit in aliud per suas
qualitates intendendo vel remittendo sic quod necessario sequitur intensio vel remissio alterius;
sed non sic est virtus intensibilis vel remissibilis quod necessario virtuosus qui est subiectum vir-
tutis patiatur ab aliquo movente ipsum ut sua virtus intendatur vel remittatur, quia tunc virtus ali-
cuius ipso invito intenderetur vel remitteretur. Ex hoc arguitur magna perfectio virtutis quod nihil
potest ipsam remittere suo subiecto invito.”
36
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 246): “Ad quaestionem dicitur distinguendo de
ly ‘ex’, quia ‘ex aliquo’ potest denotare causam praecisam vel deminutam seu partialem.”
37
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 108): “Item, ‘defectus’ et ‘superabundantia’
sumi possunt pro operationibus earum vel pro habitibus generatis per tales operationes.”
38
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 108): “Item, supponatur quod iste terminus
‘corrumpi’ sumatur pro isto termino ‘corruptibilis’. Unde dicitur ad quaestionem quod si terminus
‘ex’ denotet causam praecisam ut praecise corrumpatur virtus ex defectu vel superabundantia,
primo modo quaestio est falsa, quia ad corruptionem virtutis in suo subiecto requiruntur voluntas
et liberum arbitrium, quae simul stant cum operationibus defectus vel superabundantiae. […] Si
autem ly ‘ex’ denotet causam partialem et ‘defectus’ et ‘superabundantia’ sumantur primo modo,
id est pro operibus, non habitibus, sic secundo modo dico quod quaestio est vera, quia virtutes
morales corruptibiles sunt ex operibus superabundantiae et defectus.”
39
See Hursthouse (1988), Lockwood (2013), Arkes (1992).
seems significant is the fact that Kilvington’s discussion has a secular perspective.
God or His possible influence in moulding our moral character is not mentioned in
the argument. It should be noted that the secular approach, which leaves our fate in
our own hands, is emphasized in all Kilvington’s ethical discussions. Virtue and
vice are understood as traits of moral character that are neither innate nor a result of
God’s grace, but are totally dependent on us. We alone are capable of altering our
moral outlook and practice in life.
19.5 The Nature of Virtue and Vice
Extensive comparisons between the nature of physical qualities and ethical ones can
often be encountered in Kilvington’s discussions of the question whether vice and
virtue belong to the same species.40 In accordance with his standard practice, as the
groundwork for his analysis he poses several questions and presents examples to
illustrate the problematic issues.
First, he is interested whether two vices which form opposite extremes of the
same virtue belong to the same species. He analyses the issue using the examples of
meanness and wastefulness, asking whether Socrates’s act of meanness and his act
of wastefulness come from the same habit or from two different habits (the former
from the habit of meanness, and the latter from the habit of wastefulness). To answer
the question, he focuses on the difference between two ways of possessing a vice or
virtue. The first is by being vicious or virtuous without qualification (simpliciter),
the other is by being vicious or virtuous in a certain respect (secundum quid).41 The
simpliciter/secundum quid distinction seems to play an important role in Kilvington’s
method of analysis. It allows him to multiply examples and add specific variables in
each of the analyzed cases to check whether an addition or removal of one variable
changes the logical value of the given statement taken under consideration. His
Quaestiones super libros Ethicorum is the first of Kilvington’s texts where he uses
the distinction. However, it seems that from now on it becomes one of his favourite
and most important analytical tools. It allows him, for instance, to debate differ-
ences between various kinds of infinities, which becomes the central issue in one of
the questions from his Quaestiones super Sententiarum. In the question entitled
“Utrum unum infinitum sit maius alio” he analyzes the concept of infinity and
proves that unequal infinities differ secundum quid.42 The simpliciter/secundum
quid distinction employed in Kilvington’s ethical considerations seems to play a
40
For a detailed analysis of this approach see Michałowska (2011a).
41
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 111): “Ad secundum principale: dici posset
quod sic operans nec simpliciter est prodigus nec simpliciter illiberalis; est tamen prodigus secun-
dum quid, quia respectu illius cui dat plus quam oportet est prodigus, et respectu alterius
illiberalis.”
42
For more on this subject see Jung (2016, 114) and Richard Kilvington, Utrum unum infinitum sit
maius alio, Città del Vaticano, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Cod. Vat. lat. 4353, ff. 39v–42r.
358 M. Michałowska
similar role to an analytical tool called secundum imaginationem, which he uses in

all his works to develop more and more sophisticated imaginable cases to verify the
truth of false of the analyzed statements.43
To explain what it means to possess vice/virtue simpliciter versus possessing it
secundum quid, Kilvington starts his analyses with an example of the physical qual-
ity of being white.44 Even if Socrates is said to have some whiteness in him,
Kilvington explains, there is no doubt that other colours are also present in him. It
would therefore be ridiculous to call him white simpliciter, since unqualified white-
ness does not allow for other colours.45 He elaborates on the ethical issue in the
same vein. Socrates is sometimes stingy and sometimes wasteful. In addition, he
might be stingy towards one person, but wasteful towards another. Since it can be
assumed that possessing a vice or virtue simpliciter requires a firm habit that is not
easy to change, Socrates being stingy and wasteful implies that he does not unquali-
fiedly possesses either of the vices in question. Therefore, he can be called neither
unqualifiedly stingy nor unqualifiedly wasteful. He can, however, be described as
stingy or wasteful secundum quid.
Thus, a question arises whether there are two habits present in Socrates, one of
meanness and the other of wastefulness. If that were the case, Socrates would be
simultaneously stingy and wasteful. To avoid compound notions that could lead to
a contradiction, Kilvington repeatedly adopts the easiest and least complicated solu-
tion. It is impossible to be simultaneously stingy and wasteful if the terms are taken
simpliciter, but it is possible if being stingy or wasteful is taken secundum quid.46
But again, Kilvington does not give an explicit answer to the question about the
nature of vice that was posed at the beginning. Given his reductionist approach,
however, it can reasonably be assumed that in his view two vices opposed to the
same virtue belong to the same species. They simply take different degrees of inten-
sity, and according to the degree achieved are called either virtue or vice. Reasoning
analogically, he claims in another argument that many acts of various degrees of
intensity can emerge from the same habit,47 so there is no need to assume the exis-
tence of many habits in a soul, since the existence of one can satisfactorily explain
different acts of moral behaviour.48
43
For more on the secundum imaginationem method see Jung (2016, 115–118).
44
For other examples used in this reasoning see Michałowska (2011a, 476).
45
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 112): “Unde sicut non sequitur: albedo est
albedo simpliciter, albedo est in Socrate, sic igitur Socrates est albus simpliciter, sic in proposito
non sequitur, et propter eandem causam, quia cum albedine coniungitur alius color.”
46
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 112): “Et negatur consequentia ulterius: ‘igitur
habens illum habitum est prodigus simpliciter’, quia cum tali prodigalitate in eodem subiecto coni-
ungitur illiberalitas.”
47
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 119): “Saepe ex eodem habitu provenit quan-
doque actus ferventior et quandoque remissior.” Ibid., q. 3 (149): “Nec tamen ex hoc sequitur quod
virtuosus actualiter delectatur intensius, quia, ut patet in responsione una in proxima quaestione,
ex eodem habitu quandoque provenit actus ferventior quandoque minus fervens, et hoc est quia
habens illum potest magis et minus distrahere et applicare se secundum talem habitum.”
48
For different views on this subject see Pelletier’s contribution in the present volume,
p. 285–299.
Kilvington elaborates on the issue in the following argument investigating

whether vice, virtue, excess, and defect are all of the same species.49 Again, his
tendency to treat the world uniformly and to describe its objects with the same
methods and tools becomes evident. The idea of treating the world uniformly seems
to be of great importance to Kilvington, since he devotes a whole argument to the
nature of ethical objects. In analysing the problem, he presents an abundance of
alternative combinations and answers to the question, sometimes just for the sake of
exhausting all the possibilities, some of which he reduces to absurdity. However, the
conclusions seem to be in accordance with his general point of view: virtue and vice
belong to the same species, though excess and deficiency, taken as acting—form a
different species.50 This approach applies Ockham’s razor and allows Kilvington to
simplify the explanation of the nature of the process of change, and, in this case, the
process of becoming virtuous or vicious. It simply happens between external limits
set on the spectrum of vice−virtue−vice, and can be explained as acquiring higher
or lower degrees of the same quality without the necessity of accepting a change in
species, quality, or substance. It allows Kilvington to claim that no actual vice is
required for a man to develop virtue. An ethical change, as Kilvington emphasizes,
is in this respect different from a change of primary qualities that requires the exis-
tence of the contrary quality for a certain quality to increase. Thus, it appears again
that the similarity that is so repeatedly pointed out by Kilvington is not identity:
It could be said that in other primary qualities one of the contraries cannot be decreased
except by something contrary to it. There is no such requirement in the case of vice and
virtue, which are contraries, because virtue can be increased in someone who has never
been vicious before, and it can diminish without the conjunction or admixture of vice.51
Since Kilvington devotes a great deal of attention to the nature of vice and virtue,
and excess and shortage, several questions arise concerning the relationship between
disposition and habit. How does a disposition change into a habit, and vice versa?
What is the difference between disposition and habit? Do they differ by degree
only? Or do they constitute a different category? Unfortunately, Kilvington neither
gives any explicit answer to these questions nor offers any examples. What we get
49
It seems that Kilvington’s interest in this issue evolved from Ockham’s considerations of a similar
kind. More on Ockham’s analyses see Roques’s contribution in the present volume, p. 263–283.
50
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 2 (ed. Michałowska, 115): “Aliter tamen respondetur concedendo,
sicut prius dicitur, quod vitium et virtus sunt eiusdem speciei. Et ulterius negatur consequentia:
‘igitur unum non est corruptivum alterius’, quia magis calidum et minus calidum sunt eiusdem
speciei, et tamen unum agit in alio; et calidum et frigidum sunt eiusdem speciei, et tamen calidum
corrumpit frigidum. Et sic de vitio et virtute est quod vitium potest remittere virtutem, et econverso
sic eam remitteret quod desineret esse virtus. Et moraliter loquendo talis est corruptio virtutis
quando res quae fuit virtus nunc non est virtus. Vel posset dici quod superabundantia et defectus
primo modo loquendo, ut ponitur in positione, sunt operationes quae non sunt eiusdem speciei cum
virtute, et tales corrumpunt virtutem; et haec videtur verior responsio.”
51
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 1 (ed. Michałowska, 78): “Aliter tamen posset dici quod in aliis
qualitatibus primis unum contrariorum remissum non est nisi per suum contrarium. Et hoc non
requiritur in vitio et virtute, quae sunt contraria, quia virtus potest intendi in aliquo qui nunquam
fuit vitiosus et minui sine coniunctione vel admixtione vitii.”
360 M. Michałowska
is the notion of habit as an acquired trait that can be destroyed, and the notion of
disposition as an innate human feature that is inalienable.
19.6 Prudence, Right Reasoning, and Habit
Another important element in the development of a moral habit in Kilvington’s eth-

ics is right reasoning and prudence. Since I have extensively examined the notion of
prudence elsewhere,52 I will here present only those of Kilvington’s arguments and
conclusions on this issue that are relevant for understanding his conception of habit
and the relation between prudence and habit.
In his last question devoted to prudence—“Utrum prudentia sit habitus cum recta
ratione activus circa hominis bona et mala”53—Kilvington points out that in the case
of ethics, two kinds of moral knowledge can be distinguished. The first, which is
acquired through learning and deductive reasoning, is of universal moral principles;
the other, which is acquired through experience, is of particular judgements. This
distinction, which is in conformity with Ockham’s view,54 becomes the basis for
Kilvington’s claim that universal necessary science, by means of which human
beings can understand good and evil as well as the difference between them does
not provide a sufficient inclination for someone to implement universal moral prin-
ciples in practice.55 The application of moral principles to a particular situation that
allows someone to make good moral choices is possible thanks to deliberation about
the circumstances of this particular situation, and it is governed by the other kind of
moral knowledge distinguished by Kilvington. This unique role is played by pru-
dence, which consists not of universal truths but of particular moral judgements.56
52
Michałowska (2008), Michałowska and Jung (2010).
53
See Michałowska 2011b.
54
William of Ockham, Quaestiones variae, q. 6, art. 10 (OTh 8: 282.233–241): “Similiter pruden-
tia accipitur dupliciter. Uno modo proprie pro notitia evidenti alicuis propositionis singularis quae
solum habetur mediante experientia. Verbi gratia, notitia haec evidens ‘iste est mitigandus per
pulchra verba’ quae est evidens virtute huius contingentis ‘ille est mitigandus per talem viam’ et
hoc cognoscitur per experientiam. Alio modo accipitur communiter pro notitia evidenti alicuius
universalis practice quae solum evidenter cognoscitur per experientiam, ut quod omnis iracundus
est sic leniendus.” Ibid. (OTh 8: 282.248–283.251): “Sed sic adhuc distinguitur [scientia moralis]
a prudentia proprie dicta, quia haec prudentia est circa singularia, alia circa universalia. Et patet
quomodo scientia moralis et prudentia distinguuntur.” See also Adams (1999, 258).
55
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 10 (ed. Michałowska, 320): “Hic forte dicitur quod istud argumen-
tum bene probat quod prudentia concomitatur scientiam et etiam quod prudens sit sciens. Sed
non sequitur quod prudentia sit scientia, quia non quilibet habens huiusmodi scientiam conside-
randi circa futura contingentia habet prudentiam, quia multi habent scientiam dictantem quod talis
actus bonus sit agendus et talis actus malus sit vitandus, et tamen per suum habitum, qui est scien-
tia, non inclinantur ad prosequendum bonum et vitandum malum.”
56
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 10 (ed. Michałowska, 329): “Et quando probatur quod prudentia
universaliter consistit circa hominis bona et mala, negandum est de virtute sermonis, quia nulla
prudentia universaliter consistit circa hominis bona et mala.”
Elaborating on the role of prudence in producing good acts, Kilvington suggests

that a fully developed and firm habit of prudence facilitates good choices of the
will.57 Nonetheless, the will can still act against the habit.58 When assisted by a
developed and firm habit of prudence, however, the will can follow the dictates of
prudence and right reasoning with greater ease. The interplay between prudence and
moral knowledge underlined throughout question 10 leads to the question whether
they constitute one habit in the soul or two. Kilvington’s reductionist approach man-
ifests itself again in this case when he asserts: “And when it is asked whether knowl-
edge and prudence are the same habit and the same thing or whether they are diverse,
it is said that they are one simple habit in a soul.”59
An active role of the habit of prudence in making good moral choices, and con-
sequently in becoming virtuous, is one of the most notable features of Kilvington’s
notion of prudence. A well-developed habit of prudence involves following right
reasoning, which is what enables the habit to flourish. In my opinion, the focus on
the interplay between prudence and knowledge reveals one of the fundamental
aspects of Kilvington’s notion of habit, namely, the dynamic function of the habit in
the process of becoming virtuous or vicious. The habit of prudence cannot be
acquired through automatic, unconscious, and involuntary repetitions; it must be
accompanied by right reasoning on the one hand, and by the will on the other.
19.7 Conclusion
In Kilvington’s ethics, the concepts of disposition and habit play significant roles.
The disposition that is purely natural in origin creates space for the will to hesitate,
and thus constitutes a distinctive feature of the human moral condition. Paradoxically,
it seems to me that it makes free will more free in its choices, showing its voluntary
character more than if it did not have the possibility to hesitate. In Kilvington’s ethi-
cal considerations, habit, and to same extent disposition play an active role in
57
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 10 (ed. Michałowska, 329): “Ad quaestionem: conceditur ad istum
intellectum quod ille, qui prudens est, est habituatus ut sit activus per veram rationem.” Ibid. (ed.
Michałowska, 333): “Ad quartum principale: conceditur conclusio prima quod prudentia summe
inclinante per aliquod tempus et per veram rationem ad agendum prudens exsequatur actum neces-
sario, sic quod ly ‘necessario’ denotaret consequentiam, quia haec consequentia est necessaria:
‘prudentia summe inclinat per veram rationem prudentem ad aliquid agendum, igitur prudens
exsequetur.’ Et causa est quia prudentia non potest summe inclinare per aliquod tempus nisi assit
voluntas, sine qua non est possibile quod prudentia summe inclinat, quia si prudens nolit exsequi
actum ad quem per veram rationem inclinat prudentia, tunc talis non est summe prudens. Et ita
sequitur quod eius prudentia non summe inclinat etc.”
58
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 10 (ed. Michałowska, 333): “Ad aliam formam, quando arguitur
quod tunc prudentia sic summe inclinans cogeret voluntatem, dicitur quod non sequitur.”
59
Richard Kilvington, Eth., q. 10 (ed. Michałowska, 332): “Et quando quaeritur numquid scientia
et prudentia sunt idem habitus et eadem res vel diversae, dicitur quod sunt unus habitus simplex in
anima.”
362 M. Michałowska
making moral decisions and choices. They are not automatic, unconsciously
repeated acts of a person’s soul, for they always involve some conscious and goal-
directed cognitive elements.
Though I am aware of the differences between ancient, medieval, and modern
notions of habit, it is worth noting that the traditional approach taken in contempo-
rary neuroscience that understands habit as an unconscious trait akin to a skill,
acquired through repetition of certain actions for a certain amount of time60 stands
in stark contrast to the active notions of habit introduced by Aristotle and adopted
by Kilvington (among others). The notion of habit adopted in neuroscience leaves
no space for the will or a cognitive inclination. As Javier Bernecer and Jose Ignacio
Murillo put it (2014, 3):
[E]xperimentally and by definition, there cannot be goal-directed habits. However, this is
not what we observe in human behavior, where many habits, even the simplest ones, such
as tying one’s shoelaces, are goal-directed.
Nevertheless, it should be noted that against this general perspective, there has been
a recent trend in neuroscience pointing out the limitations of attributing such a pas-
sive role to habit. In their provocative but well-argued article, Bernecer and Murillo
show that the traditional Aristotelian approach may in fact offer an alternative con-
cept of habit in neuroscience. Arguing that it could satisfactorily explain the under-
lying nature and mechanisms of some of the problematic issues that neuroscience
currently faces, such as compulsions in obsessive-compulsive disorders, they con-
clude that “encouraging the patient to acquire cognitive-driven habits may help
overcome rigid routines” (2014, 3). It seems therefore that the Aristotelian notion of
habit debated so intensively in the Middle Ages is not as archaic or simplistic as one
might think.
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———. 2010. The Oxford Calculators’ middle degree theorem in context. Early Science and
Medicine 15 (4–5): 338–370.
Walsh, Katherine. 1981. A Fourteenth-Century Scholar and Primate: Richard FitzRalph in Oxford,
Avignon, and Armagh. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Chapter 20
Suárez on the Metaphysics of Habits
Dominik Perler
Abstract Suárez pursues a realist strategy when explaining habits: they are real
qualities of the soul, acting as real causes and producing real activities. This chapter
analyzes this thesis, examining it within the framework of Suárez’s metaphysics of
the soul. It looks at the way he explains the necessity of habits, their generation,
their co-operation with faculties, and their gradual changes. It emphasizes that hab-
its are not simply “occult qualities,” as many early modern critics thought, but enti-
ties that play an important role. They are powers that make it possible to produce a
wide range of activities in a quick and effortless way. Suárez’s realist theory of
habits aims at explaining how they produce activities and why they must be accepted
as parts of a complex network of psychic powers. A theory dispensing with habits
would simply accept the existence of some activities as a brute fact.
Keywords Suárez · Habit · Soul · Faculty · Disposition · Mental act · Habituation

· Form · Hylomorphism · Aristotelianism
20.1 Introduction: Habits and Occult Qualities
Why do some people perform just actions easily and spontaneously while others
don’t? Why do some people solve mathematical problems without any effort while
others have to think hard when working on them? Medieval philosophers in the
Aristotelian tradition gave a seemingly simple answer to these questions: some
people have a habit that enables them to produce practical or theoretical activities
in a quick and efficient way, while others lack the appropriate habit. And a habit,
they pointed out, is simply a quality that people acquire as a result of repeatedly
performing an activity.1 Thus, a person who repeatedly performs just actions will
Habits belong to the first of four species of qualities; see Aristotle, Cat. 8, 8b27–9a12.
1
D. Perler (*)
Institut für Philosophie, Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin, Berlin, Germany
e-mail: perlerd@philosophie.hu-berlin.de

366 D. Perler
eventually acquire the virtue of justice, which is nothing but a habit; and a person
who repeatedly works on mathematical problems will eventually acquire an intel-
lectual skill for dealing with these problems, which is also a habit. There must be
such an entity in both cases, Aristotelians assumed, because every real effect
requires a real cause, and a habit is exactly the cause that is required for activities
that are quickly and effortlessly produced. If we were to dispense with habits, we
would simply assume the existence of these activities without explaining why they
exist.
This seemingly natural way of arguing came under attack in the seventeenth
century. A number of anti-Aristotelian philosophers harshly criticized the idea that
habits need to be posited. Some even claimed that it is utterly misleading to appeal
to them. For if one refers to habits as real but invisible causes that are responsible
for a number of activities, one simply introduces “occult qualities,” that is, inacces-
sible qualities that do some magical work. Thomas Hobbes was one of the most
outspoken critics of these qualities. At the end of his Leviathan, he openly attacked
scholastic philosophers for giving empty explanations when appealing to occult
qualities:
And in many occasions they put for cause of Naturall events, their own Ignorance; but dis-
guised in other words: As when they say, Fortune is the cause of things contingent; that is,
of things whereof they know no cause: And as when they attribute many Effects to occult
qualities; that is, qualities not known to them; and therefore also (as they thinke) to no Man
else.2
Habits are paradigmatic cases of occult qualities, for they are supposed to do some
causal work, yet their way of acting remains obscure. According to Hobbes and
many other anti-Aristotelians, scholastic philosophers simply ignore what is respon-
sible for the quick and effortless production of activities and therefore appeal to
habits. But these alleged qualities remain pseudo-entities as long as it is not clear
how they are produced and implemented in human beings.3
To be sure, early modern critics did not deny that there are stable dispositions or
skills which human beings can acquire. Nor did they ignore the fact that skills play
an important role in the generation of acts. But they rejected the claim that skills
should be explained in terms of Aristotelian habits. On their view, we need to spell
out the causal relations and mechanisms through which they are acquired and
implemented, if possible in mechanistic terms. Using modern terminology, one
could say that they pursued a reductionist strategy: the alleged qualities are to be
reduced to material processes and states in the body, for which there is a solid expla-
nation.4 Otherwise we simply explain the obscure by the more obscure.
2
Hobbes, Leviathan, book 4, ch. 46 (ed. Tuck, 468).
3
On this line of critique, see Nadler (1998, 518–522). Note that anti-Aristotelians did not reject all
occult qualities. They accepted some (e.g., magnetic forces) as real and efficacious, but insisted
that they should not be categorized as Aristotelian qualities; see Hutchison (1982) and Leduc
(2014).
4
For instance, Descartes reduced them to traces in the brain and explained them in purely mecha-
nistic terms; see Des Chene (2013). On this explanatory strategy, see Hutchison (1991).
20 Suárez on the Metaphysics of Habits 367
However, from a scholastic point of view, habits are far from obscure. They are
as clear and intelligible as other entities that belong to the category of qualities.
Their acquisition, as well as their way of acting, is not obscure either since we can
tell a detailed causal story about them. In the following, I want to present the story
Francisco Suárez told, a story that is part of an all-embracing metaphysical theory.
Of course, it would be pointless to look at his story in order to get an immediate
response to the critique that was made by Hobbes and other anti-Aristotelians. We
would even fall into the trap of anachronism if we were expecting such a response;
a late-sixteenth century author should not be read as reacting to seventeenth-century
authors. Nevertheless, the attack launched by later authors can be used as a motiva-
tion for approaching Suárez, for it incites us to ask fundamental questions about his
theory of habits. Does he really invoke “occult qualities” when referring to habits?
And can these qualities really be reduced to other entities? Or do they play an indis-
pensable role? If so, what is this role, how is it related to the role played by other
entities, and how can it be accounted for in a comprehensive psychological theory?
These are the questions I want to discuss in the following. I hope this will make
clear that Suárez had good reasons for accepting habits as non-reducible entities.
They occupied a well-defined place in an elaborate theory of the soul. It is against
the background of this theory that we need to understand Suárez’s reference to hab-
its, and it is also against the background of this theory that his reference makes
sense – or so I will argue.
20.2 The Definition and Function of Habits
To understand the place Suárez ascribes to habits in his psychology, we first need to
take a look at his general metaphysics of the soul.5 Following Thomas Aquinas, he
defends the thesis that every human being has a single soul, which is an all-
embracing principle of life and activity. He clearly rejects the pluralist model that
accepts different souls for different types of activities.6 On his view, we simply need
to posit different faculties if we want to give an account of different types of activi-
ties. And faculties are, metaphysically speaking, nothing but qualities of the soul.
Like other qualities, they have causal power and are therefore able to produce acts.
Suárez even claims that they are efficient causes, which are distinct both from each
other and from the essence of the soul.7 Thus, there is a complex network of causes
inside the single soul, and each of them produces its own acts. When acts of the
5
I confine myself to introducing the elements that are relevant for an understanding of his theory
of habits. For a comprehensive picture, see Knuuttila (2015).
6
See Suárez, De anima, disp. 2, q. 5 (ed. Castellote, 1: 322–330). Suárez openly attacks Ockhamists
who adopt the pluralist model. For a detailed account, see Des Chene (2000, 161–169).
7
See Suárez, De anima, disp. 3, q. 3 (ed. Castellote, 2: 124–125). For a discussion of this thesis,
see Perler (2015, 124–134).
368 D. Perler
same type are repeatedly produced, a new quality comes into existence, namely a
habit. Suárez defines it as follows:
[For a habit] is a persistent quality, it has by itself stable existence in a subject, and it is
through itself primarily directed toward an operation, not by providing the first faculty of
operation, but by supporting and facilitating it.8
This can most easily be illustrated with an example. Suppose that you are taking
classes in mathematics. Your rational faculty then repeatedly produces acts of math-
ematical thinking, for instance calculations. These acts give rise to a new quality in
your soul, a habit, which enables you to tackle more mathematical problems in a
quick and efficient way. This habit does not replace the rational faculty, which
remains responsible for producing acts of mathematical thinking. It simply strength-
ens and supports it: the stronger the habit becomes, the better and more quickly your
rational faculty will solve mathematical problems. Moreover, the habit does not
disappear after five or ten minutes; rather, it remains in your soul as a stable disposi-
tion so that you will be able to solve mathematical problems in the future. Of course,
it can be weakened or gradually destroyed–for instance, if you stop doing mathe-
matics for many years. But it takes time to lose a habit, just as it takes time to
acquire it.
Clear and compelling as this explanation may seem, it gives rise to a fundamen-
tal objection. Why should we accept the existence of a habit? Couldn’t we simply
refer to a process of habituation without positing a special entity? Suárez is fully
aware of this objection. He takes it into account when drawing a comparison
between human and non-human animals. In the case of brute animals, he claims,
there is no need to posit a habit, or at least not a habit in the full-fledged sense. All
we need to accept is a “custom” (consuetudo), which a brute animal acquires when
it regularly uses its natural faculties.9 For instance, a sheep that repeatedly sees a
wolf and repeatedly flees from it does not acquire a habit in the strict sense. All it
acquires is a certain way of using its perceptual and locomotive faculties; the more
often it is exposed to a wolf, the quicker it activates them and runs away. In short, it
becomes “accustomed” to using its faculties in a certain way.10 Why couldn’t we tell
a similar story about human beings? Why couldn’t we say that you simply become
8
Suárez, Disputationes metaphysicae (= DM) 44.1.6 (the first number refers to the disputation, the
second to the section, the third to the paragraph): “est enim qualitas quaedam permanens, et de se
stabilis in subjecto, per se primo ordinata ad operationem, non tribuens primam facultatem ope-
randi, sed adiuvans et facilitans illam.” See also DM 42.3.4.
9
See Suárez, DM 44.3.3–5. Quoting Thomas Aquinas, Suárez concedes that such a custom can be
called a habit in some sense, but he hastens to add that it is not a habit in the real and full sense.
DM 44.3.5: “Et addere etiam possumus hanc ipsam imperfectam habilitatem vel consuetudinem,
non habere proprie in eis locum, nisi quatenus aliquot modo sunt capacia disciplinae per subordi-
nationem ad rationem humanam…”
10
To be sure, this custom has real existence and cannot be reduced to anything else. But it is some-
thing that naturally and inevitably comes into existence when a brute animal repeatedly uses a
natural faculty. And it naturally determines an animal to produce a certain activity, for instance an
act of running away from the wolf. It is therefore only some kind of internal mechanism that results
from repeated activity and natural instinct. See DM 44.3.5.
accustomed to using your rational faculty very quickly and almost spontaneously
when you are exposed to a wolf? Why do you need a special habit?
Suárez thinks that a habit is indispensable because there is a striking dissimilarity
between the sensory faculties of non-rational animals and the rational faculties of
human beings.11 Sensory faculties are natural faculties that are inevitably activated
by an external object; the more often the object is present, the more quickly they are
activated. The animal endowed with these faculties cannot resist their activation, nor
can it produce different acts when the object is present. Thus, the sheep cannot avoid
the production of a wolf phantasm when it is facing a wolf, nor can it avoid fear and
the desire to flee; all these activities are necessarily produced. One could say that the
sheep’s natural faculties are one-way powers, since there is just one way they can be
and, in fact, they must be activated in the presence of a wolf. By contrast, human
beings have the intellect as a rational faculty that can be used in different ways, even
if the same external object is present. Should you face a wolf, you could come up
with different judgements. If you were encountering it in your garden, you would
probably judge it to be dangerous; if you were seeing it in the circus, you would
probably judge it to be tame and hence not dangerous. This shows that your intellect
is not a one-way power, at least not as far as the production of judgements is con-
cerned. To be sure, you might react as quickly and spontaneously as the sheep when
you see a wolf. You might simply run away, no matter where you see it. But in that
case you would simply be guided by your sensory instinct; you would act as a
purely sensory animal. The important point is that you can also activate your intel-
lect and act as a rational animal. In this case you are not determined to run away.
You can come up with different judgements and consequently produce different
actions.
What then is responsible for the fact that the intellect produces a specific judge-
ment? The presence of specific concepts, one might reply. But this is hardly a satis-
factory answer, as Suárez is quick to point out. There are always various concepts
available to the intellect. When seeing the wolf you might have the concepts wild
and dangerous, but perhaps also the concepts endangered and tame. Nothing deter-
mines you to have one and only one set of concepts. And even if you restrict your-
self to some concepts–say to wolf, wild, and dangerous–the concepts themselves do
not force you to produce a judgement. They only represent an object and some of its
features, but it is up to you to use these representations and to judge, “This wild
animal is dangerous.” This means, of course, that you need to activate your rational
faculty so that it combines the concepts and gives its assent to a proposition. This
activity does not arise automatically or spontaneously.12
What then makes this activity possible? A process of examination and evalua-
tion, one might answer. Thus, after carefully examining the wolf in the circus, you
eventually reach the conclusion that you should use certain concepts and form the
judgement, “This wolf is not dangerous.” But why can you sometimes make a
See Suárez, DM 44.4.3.

11
Suárez makes this point by saying that the concepts (or “intelligible species”) are necessary but
12
not sufficient for a judgement; see DM 44.4.3.
370 D. Perler
judgement without going through a long and detailed process of examination? Why
can you quickly and spontaneously judge that the wolf is dangerous when you see
it in your garden? Quite obviously, you have no time for examining it in detail.
Nevertheless, some causal factor is needed that makes your intellect produce this
judgement rather than the opposite in the split of a second. This causal factor is the
habit, which you acquired on the basis of earlier judgements about wild animals. It
somehow pushes your intellect to make the judgement that the wolf you are facing
is in fact dangerous. Suárez explains its functioning as follows:
[A]lthough the intellect is a faculty that acts naturally, it is often not sufficiently determined
and not coerced by the objects and the intermediaries which it uses in order to make a
judgement about things. It is then useful to have a habit to make the intellect inclined
towards one part rather than another.13
Thus, the wolf and the sensory impressions stemming from it do not determine your
intellect to make the judgement, “This animal is dangerous.” Nor do the concepts
you possess determine it. What pushes your intellect to produce this judgement
rather than its opposite in a quick and efficient way is a special power that fixes its
inclination. Generally speaking, given the two possible judgements p and not-p, a
special power is required that makes the intellect quickly choose p.
Two points are noteworthy about this line of argument. First, it shows that Suárez
is asking for a reason why the intellect produces a certain judgement. One may even
say that he is committed to a version of the Principle of Sufficient Reason: no brute
fact should be accepted.14 Whenever we realize that the intellect produces a certain
judgement without entering into a process of examination and deliberation, we need
to provide a reason for this fact. When we then refer to the external object and the
sensory impressions or a set of concepts, we certainly give a reason, but not a suf-
ficient one, for neither the object alone nor the representational means by which we
have access to it fully explain why the intellect produces the judgement p rather than
not-p. More is required to make the partial reason a complete reason. The habit is a
plausible candidate for this role. Admittedly, it may not be the only candidate. In the
passage just quoted, Suárez cautiously remarks that “it is then useful to have a
habit.” It may also be useful to have other items, say, additional sensory impressions
or additional concepts, which explain the production of the judgement. But as long
as these items are missing, it is inevitable to appeal to a habit. Otherwise we take the
fact that p rather than not-p is produced to be a brute fact. The second point to note
is that invoking a habit is not required for the explanation of every activity. It is only
necessary for the explanation of a rational activity that is quickly performed, since
it is in this case that the faculty is not fully determined. Unlike the sensory faculty,
the intellect is not determined by an external object to produce one and only one
13
Suárez, DM 44.4.8: “… quamvis intellectus sit potentia naturaliter agens, ex parte tamen objec-
torum, et mediorum, quibus utitur ad ferendum de rebus judicium, saepe non satis determinari,
neque necessitari; et tunc esse utilem habitum ad inclinandum intellectum in unam partem potius
quam in aliam.”
14
Note, however, that he does not subscribe to this principle in every context. In his theory of the
will he holds a libertarian position. For a detailed analysis, see Penner (2013).
activity.15 It is therefore the indeterminacy of the intellect that makes an additional

causal factor necessary.
But how can the habit determine the undetermined intellect? Or to use Suárez’s
words, how can it make the intellect be inclined toward a specific judgement so that
it produces it quickly and efficiently? As has already been noted, in his general defi-
nition Suárez says that the habit “supports” the faculty and that it “facilitates” the
production of acts. It is quite important for him that this support should not be
understood in the sense of a replacement of the intellect. That is, the habit does not
simply take the place of the intellect and make the judgement p rather than not-p.
Intellect and habit rather work together as two qualities of the soul, each of them
using its own power. They are, as Suárez points out, two “partial principles” that
together produce a judgement.16 The intellect is the primary principle that provides
the concepts, and the habit is the secondary principle that pushes the intellect to
combine these concepts in a positive or negative way, thus making it produce a
judgement. So, when you see the wolf in your garden, it is not simply the habit that
produces a judgement. The habit can never act on its own. It can only push the intel-
lect in a certain direction; as soon as the intellect grasps the concepts wolf and dan-
gerous, the habit pushes it to combine them in an affirmative way. This is why the
habit has nothing but an auxiliary function. Nevertheless, it has an important func-
tion, for without the habit the intellect would not produce this judgement, at least
not without entering into a process of evaluation. Metaphorically speaking, the
intellect needs a kick from the habit so that it immediately performs a certain
activity.
It is quite striking that Suárez speaks about intellect and habit as two different,
but concurring principles or causes of a judgement. And he characterizes both as
qualities that exist in the soul, each of them having its own distinctive function. He
even goes so far as to say that each of them is a “positive cause” that produces a real
effect.17 That is, the habit does not simply accelerate the activity of the intellect. It
rather has its own effect by pushing the intellect in a certain direction and making it
15
To be precise, there are some parts of the sensory faculty that can also have habits. Suárez points
out that the cogitative power, which is the human equivalent to the estimative power in non-rational
animals, belongs to the sensory faculty and can nevertheless have habits. It is a quasi-intellectual
power that produces thoughts of individual things without using general concepts. It can have
habits for the same reason as the intellect, namely, because it is not determined to produce one and
only one thought in a given situation. See Suárez, DM 44.3.7: “Ratio est, quia cogitativa hominis
non est ita simpliciter determinata ad unum, sicut phantasia bruti; nam potest aliquo modo ex
imperio rationis moveri et determinari ad operandum.”
16
Suárez, DM 44.6.13: “At vero subintelligendo hunc modum subordinationis, vere dici potest,
potentiam et habitum concurrere ut principia partialia, quia quando actio ab eis procedit, etiamsi
tota fiat a singulis, a neutra tamen fit totaliter, quia ita fit ab una, ut omnino necessario pendeat ab
alia, et converso.”
17
See Suárez, DM 44.5.7. Suárez points out that there are four ways of supporting the intellect: (i)
by removing obstacles that might prevent it from becoming active, (ii) by making its object better
disposed to be grasped by the intellect, (iii) by increasing its power, and (iv) by working with it and
thereby making it stronger. It is (iv) that is relevant here, for the habit literally works together with
the intellect; it is an additional power that strengthens the intellect.
372 D. Perler
produce a certain judgement. This shows that Suárez is working with a model of the
human soul that takes it to be not just a network of faculties as causes, as it seemed
at first sight, but an even more complex network. There are faculties and habits act-
ing as inner causes, and different causes need to be invoked for different types of
activities. The better we describe the relevant causes and their interaction, the better
we explain the occurrence of various activities.
20.3 The Generation of Habits
All the talk about habits as causes presupposes that they really exist and that they
have some causal power. But how do they come into existence? And why do they
have causal power? Suárez is fully aware that a satisfactory theory of habits needs
to address these problems. He therefore gives a detailed account of their
generation.
It is clear that habits cannot come into existence unless some acts occur. For
instance, you cannot acquire a mathematical habit unless you first come up with
some acts of mathematical thinking. Does that mean that these acts literally produce
the habit? One might immediately respond that this is impossible, for intellectual
acts cannot produce anything. They have a specific content and therefore make cer-
tain things or facts cognitively accessible, but they lack causal power. Acts of judg-
ing in particular cannot cause anything because they simply have a propositional
content, which they present in an affirmative or negative way, but they are not active
entities. Thus, when you judge that two plus two equals four, your intellect forms an
act in which a mathematical fact is presented and affirmed. But the act itself does
not produce or cause anything. The only active entity at stake here is your intellect,
a naturally productive faculty.
Suárez takes this objection very seriously, acknowledging that acts do have a
cognitive content and that we can even individuate them by referring to their spe-
cific content. But he emphasizes that they are not just passive entities, lying around
in the intellect, as it were, and making things or facts cognitively accessible. On his
view, intellectual acts have two aspects.18 Looked at under the “aspect of an action”
(ratio actionis), every act is an item by which the intellect reaches out to the world
and grasps some thing or fact. Using modern terminology, one could say that every
intellectual act has an intentional aspect since it is directed towards something. But
there is also a second aspect, which is equally important, namely the “aspect of a
quality” (ratio qualitatis), in virtue of which an act is a real item in the intellect with
intrinsic power. Looked at under this second aspect, an act can very well be said to
produce a habit. Its activity, and hence its productivity, is as real as that of the intel-
lect. To be sure, it is not independent in its activity. It cannot produce anything
unless it is produced and maintained in existence by the intellect, the underlying
18
faculty. This is why it should be considered a subordinate and dependent entity.

Nevertheless, it is an active entity, and can therefore give rise to a new entity.
This line of argument shows that Suárez does not conceive of acts as passive
items that come into existence for a while, present a fact, and then go out of exis-
tence. They are not like signs on a computer screen that present words or sentences
for a few seconds and then disappear. It would therefore be inappropriate to charac-
terize them as mere states, that is, as inert entities. They are acts in a strong sense:
they are active entities, which, once in existence, can produce other entities. Of
course, they go out of existence as soon as the intellect stops producing them–like
mayflies, they have a very short life span. But as long as they are alive they can, and
in fact do, produce habits.19
But what is required for the actual production of a habit? There seems to be a
simple answer: many acts need to occur, and all of them together give rise to a habit.
For instance, you will not acquire a mathematical habit unless you repeatedly solve
mathematical problems and hence repeatedly have acts of a certain type. However,
this answer poses a serious problem. How many acts are required for the emergence
of a habit: ten, a hundred, a thousand, or more? Where do we draw the line between
a number that is not yet sufficient and the number that is sufficient? And suppose we
could indicate a clear number, say a hundred: why is there a crucial difference
between having ninety-nine acts and having a hundred? Why should one additional
act, which is in principle not different from all the previous ones, be responsible for
the sudden emergence of a habit? Suárez points out this problem and illustrates it
with the example of drops of water that fall on a stone.20 When we claim that it is a
certain number of drops that causes a cavity in the stone, it will not be sufficient to
say how many drops are required. We will also have to explain why a single addi-
tional drop makes a crucial difference. Why should all the previous drops not have
had the same effect as the last one? After all, every drop has the same causal power.
This example nicely illustrates the famous “sorites paradox”: it seems implausible
that adding a single item to a given list of items will give rise to a new thing.21 To
avoid this problem, one might choose another strategy and say that a single act suf-
fices for the production of a habit. Thus, as soon as you think that two plus two
equals four, a mathematical habit emerges. But why should a single act be enough?
This would have the absurd consequence that children who grasp their very first
mathematical thought are already in possession of a mathematical habit. Is a habit
not a skill, which children cannot acquire unless they repeatedly solve mathematical
problems? Given this problem, the second strategy looks as unsatisfactory as the
first one.
How then is a habit produced? Suárez emphasizes that the very first act is already
a productive act and therefore an entity that contributes to the emergence of a habit.
19
Suárez emphasizes that intellectual acts are immanent acts, that is, acts that do not produce any
external effect, but this does not prevent them from being active and productive; see DM 18.4.5.
All acts, including immanent ones, are active and productive entities.
20
21
For a systematic analysis of this problem, see Williamson (1994).
374 D. Perler
But he hastens to add that the first act alone does not yet produce a full-fledged habit
and that more acts are required. On his view, a crucial point is missing in both strate-
gies: the first act only gives rise to a weak disposition, which becomes more and
more stable when more and more acts occur. And only when it has reached a certain
stability does it turn into a habit. The relationship between disposition and habit is
to be understood as follows:
[T]his disposition for a habit, which begins to exist through the first act and which is made
more perfect by subsequent acts, is not essentially or really distinct from the habit.
Nevertheless, it does not have the status of a habit until it is so entrenched that it can only
be removed with difficulty and that it simply makes the operation easier. Taken in this sense,
it is true that with regard to its existence a habit can only be generated by many acts.22
The interesting point about this statement is that Suárez understands the production
of a habit as a gradual process: it starts as soon as a first act is present and continues
with all subsequent acts. In fact, all the acts are causally responsible for the emer-
gence of a habit. Neither the first nor the second nor any other act is the “magical
cause” that makes it emerge out of nothing. Rather, the first act causes a weak dis-
position that is strengthened by all subsequent acts and thereby smoothly trans-
formed into a habit. To return to the comparison with the drops of water, we could
say that the cavity starts with the very first drop, although we hardly see it, and that
it is deepened with every additional drop. At what point we call it a real cavity
depends on how deep we want the hole to be; there are no clear standards for distin-
guishing a non-cavity from a cavity. Likewise, the habit starts with the very first act,
although we hardly recognize it at that early stage. At what point we call it a real
habit and not a mere disposition depends on how stable we want the disposition to
be; there are no clear criteria for distinguishing a non-habit from a habit.
In drawing a gradual distinction between disposition and habit, Suárez empha-
sizes that it would be inappropriate to look for the decisive moment at which a habit
comes into existence. And it would be equally inappropriate to look for the decisive
act that causes it unless we have a standard that enables us to distinguish a mere
disposition from a habit. But such a standard is not universally and invariably given.
It needs to be fixed in a certain context for certain people. Thus, one may say that a
person has no mathematical habit unless she can reliably make calculations up to
the number one hundred. But of course, this standard is arbitrarily fixed and can
easily be changed. Nevertheless, a habit is not a quality we arbitrarily assign to a
person or simply make up in order to explain the emergence of some activity. It has
a real basis and is produced by real causes, and if we want to describe its generation,
we need to look at a long process, just as we do when we look at the way a disease
comes into existence and gradually takes possession of a person.
It is also remarkable that Suárez does not set a habit categorically apart from a
disposition. Following Aristotle, he clearly defends the view that both habit and
22
Suárez, DM 44.9.12: “haec dispositio ad habitum, quae per primum actum inchoatur, et per sub-
sequentes perficitur, non essentialiter aut realiter distincta est ab ipso habitu: non tamen habet
statum habitus, donec ita sit radicata, ut difficulter amoveri possit, et facilitatem simpliciter tribuat
in operando. Et hoc sensu verum est habitum in esse habitus non generari nisi per plures actus.”
disposition belong to the first species of the category of quality; they are not to be
assigned to two different species.23 Why not? There is no specific difference between
them, as there is one between a habit (first species) and a passive quality (third spe-
cies). Both habit and disposition are active powers, and both contribute to the quick
production of acts. They differ only in the way they exist in a given person. A dis-
position has an instable existence and can therefore easily be removed or lost,
whereas a habit has a stable existence. But there is only a gradual difference between
unstable and stable existence, and it is often difficult to draw a line between these
two kinds of existence. This is most evident in the case of knowledge, which is a
theoretical habit. At what point does a child have not just the disposition to solve
mathematical problems, but mathematical knowledge? There is no easy answer.
Suárez would even say that there is no point in looking for a strict answer. We first
need to spell out our criteria for stability or robustness, and only then can we eventu-
ally draw a distinction. In any case, it does not make sense to categorize disposition
and habit in different ways, since they have the same defining features.
20.4 The Intension and Remission of Habits
Given that there is a smooth transition from dispositions to habits, there must be a
way of making qualities in the soul more stable and robust, and sometimes also less
robust. But how is this change to be spelled out? Scholastic authors usually answered
this question by using the model of the intension and remission of forms, a model
they also applied to the case of material qualities.24 Suppose that you are boiling
water in a kettle. Why does it become hotter and hotter over time? The standard
scholastic answer was that the quality of heat, an accidental form, must undergo a
change: there must be an “intension” of this form. And when the water later cools
down, the quality of heat must again undergo a change: there must be a “remission”
of this form. In a similar way, there must be an intension or remission of an immate-
rial quality in the soul when a disposition becomes stronger or weaker and hence
more or less robust.
Like his predecessors, Suárez uses this explanatory model when he deals with
the question of how we can strengthen a disposition and hence acquire a habit, or
weaken a disposition and hence lose a habit. But unlike his predecessors, he does
not think that there is just one way of changing a disposition. He takes three possi-
bilities into account. The first is rather simple. Suppose that you are making a cal-
culation, say that two plus two equals four, and you repeat it many times. In this
23
See Suárez, DM 18.2.1. Suárez is in agreement with Thomas Aquinas, who makes the same point
in Summa theologiae I–II, q. 49, art. 2, corp.
24
On this explanatory strategy, see the pioneering work by Maier (1968). For a concise account of
different theories of intension and remission that were elaborated in the late thirteenth and early
fourteenth century, see Adams (1987, 697–740), and more recently Löwe (2014). See also the
contribution by Monika Michałowska in this volume, p. 349–354.
376 D. Perler
case, you acquire a stable disposition to make the very same calculation in the
future; the more often you repeat it, the quicker you will be able to produce it.
Consequently, the disposition will turn into a habit. Suárez calls this a change
“through pure intension” (per puram intensionem) and emphasizes that it does not
change a disposition in its scope.25 It simply strengthens its power, and this is no
more problematic than the strengthening of a bodily power. To give a modern exam-
ple: if you go out for a run every morning, you strengthen the muscles in your legs
so that they can produce the very same movements in the future, hopefully more
quickly and easily. This training does not add any new muscles to the existing ones;
it simply increases their force or power. Likewise, there can be a strengthening of an
intellectual disposition through the right kind of training. This is possible because
every force or power, be it material or immaterial, comes in degrees and can be
increased; and if the training stops it can also be decreased.26 The important point is
that a disposition of the soul is like an immaterial muscle that can be in good or bad
shape. Technically speaking, it is a simple but changeable quality. Suárez empha-
sizes, referring to a model established by Duns Scotus and his followers, that a
change does not require an accumulation of various qualities, but simply “a congre-
gation of similar degrees” in a single quality.27 Thus, when you often go out for a
run, the power in your muscles will reach a high degree, and since this happens
every day you will regularly reach a very similar degree. But there will be just one
power and hence one quality at that degree. Likewise, when you often work on
mathematical problems, you will reach a constant high level of mathematical power.
But there will be just one power and hence one mathematical habit at that level.
No doubt, this kind of change makes it possible to acquire a stable disposition,
but it is a disposition with very limited power. For instance, if you calculate over and
over again that two plus two equals four, you only get a stable disposition and hence
a habit to repeat this calculation–nothing more. You are not able to make other cal-
culations or to perform other mathematical operations. How then can you go beyond
the repetition of the same act of thinking? Suárez thinks that another change of the
initial disposition is necessary, namely one that occurs “by way of extension” (per
modum extensionis).28 When the disposition undergoes this change, it will produce
a range of acts of the same type, say different calculations, and thereby provide new
knowledge. It is clear that this change cannot take place unless various acts are per-
formed. Thus, you cannot acquire a stable disposition to produce different calcula-
tions unless you start with a range of examples and then acquire the skill to deal
with more examples in the future. But how exactly do you acquire this skill? A
possible answer would be that you acquire many dispositions, one for each calcula-
tion, and that a large number of dispositions will make you so versatile that you can
easily approach new calculations. This means, of course, that changing the exten-
sion of a disposition amounts to acquiring a compilation of qualities in the soul. Yet
25
26
On the decrease and hence “remission” of a habit, see Suárez, DM 44.12.2.
27
28
See Suárez, DM 44.10.2 and 44.11.2–4.
Suárez rejects this “addition theory,” as it may be called, for a simple reason. It is
unclear why the sheer existence of a number of dispositions should make an act
possible that is not in the range of any of these dispositions. Suppose that you
repeatedly made five different calculations and thereby acquired five stable disposi-
tions. Why should they enable you to make a sixth calculation you have never come
across before? After all, each disposition has its own, very limited range, and merely
compiling dispositions does not help to extend their range. To put it in modern
terms, one could say that a quantitative change does not lead to a content change,
that is, a change that makes acts with a new mathematical content possible. Hence,
the addition theory cannot explain how it is ever possible to go beyond a given num-
ber of acts.
Given this problem, Suárez stresses that there must be a change affecting one and
the same disposition. A simple disposition for making calculations must be widened
in its scope. How should that be possible? Suárez gives the following explanation:
[One] and the same simple habit can, in virtue of being a simple entity, virtually reach out
to different partial objects and produce many acts, namely (i) either when the acts are com-
pletely similar with respect to their formal object although they differ with respect to their
material object, (ii) or when they are so interconnected that one act is virtually included in
another one.29
This highly technical statement is not easily understood. Let me try to make sense
of the two possibilities mentioned here by using some examples. According to the
first possibility, there are different material objects, but they are so similar to each
other that they have the same formal object. For example, the two calculations
“1 + 1 = 2” and “2 + 2 = 4” are similar in their structure and therefore have the same
formal object, namely “1x + 1x = 2x.” One could say that they both fall under the
same general schema. The important point is that you can form a disposition not
only for each of the two calculations, but also for the act that has the general schema
as its object. And this disposition enables you to come up with many new calcula-
tions in the future–for instance with “4 + 4 = 8.” That is how you are able to go
beyond a mere repetition of earlier acts. The second possibility Suárez mentions
works in a similar way. You can realize that a calculation virtually includes another.
For instance, you can realize that “1 + 1 = 2” is included in “2 + 2 = 4” because the
number “2” in the second calculation can be replaced with “1 + 1.” Once you realize
that, you can again grasp a general schema and acquire a disposition for acts falling
under this schema. And this disposition enables you to produce many new acts–for
instance “4 + 4 = 8,” which includes “2 + 2 = 4.”
To be sure, Suárez does not speak of a general schema. Using traditional
Aristotelian terminology, he calls the formal object the “species” and the material
object falling under it the “individual.”30 His crucial point is that there is a general
29
Suárez, DM 44.11.27: “unus et idem simplex habitus potest per suam entitatem simplicem ad
varia objecta partialia virtualiter extendi, et plures actus afficere, si vel omnino sint similes in
ratione formali objecti, quamvis in materiali differant, vel ita sint inter se connexi, ut unus in alio
virtualiter contineatur.”
30
Suárez, DM 44.11.30: “semper id, quod est formale, est quod dat speciem; materiale autem est
quasi per accidens, vel individuale respectu talis actus.”
378 D. Perler
schema for every instance and that a person having a disposition is able to recognize
the general schema; therefore, this person can easily generate new instances. She
has, as it were, a blueprint for many new examples. This is quite significant. A dis-
position is not simply the storehouse for acts that have been performed in the past.
If this were the case, nothing but earlier acts could be reactivated, and a person hav-
ing a disposition would only be able to pile up many acts without varying them;
using a habit would thus be the same as using memory. But a person in possession
of a habit can obviously do more: she has the power to produce new acts. This would
not be possible if her disposition did not provide the general schema for a wide
range of new acts. The more robust and stable a disposition is, the better the schema
at hand can be used for the production of new acts.
So far, it has become clear that the implementation of a habit is nothing but the
strengthening of a disposition and hence the change of a single quality in the soul.
In most cases, no aggregation or compilation of qualities is necessary. But Suárez
concedes that there are also cases in which a compilation is inevitable. His example
is the art of doing geometry.31 A well-trained geometrician is someone who has
acquired a habit of solving geometrical problems. Clearly, this person does not just
have the robust disposition to solve the same problem again and again, nor does she
have the simple skill to tackle different problems of the same kind by applying a
general scheme, say by using the Pythagorean theorem when dealing with triangles;
she can solve different types of problems concerning different types of geometrical
objects. If she is an innovative geometrician, she can even make connections with
problems in arithmetic and other mathematical subdisciplines. What enables her to
do that? Suárez’s answer is clear: this person has more than a single disposition. She
is in possession of a well-ordered series of dispositions, each one responsible for a
different domain with its own principles and conclusions, and all these dispositions
together form a habit when they are solidly implemented through mathematical
training. Since all the dispositions are, metaphysically speaking, simple qualities,
the so-called habit of geometry is “a connection or coordination of these simple
qualities,” and someone having this habit is a person possessing many qualities.32
In giving this account, Suárez can elegantly solve two problems. The first is the
famous problem of the unity of science, discussed by many commentators on
Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics.33 What makes a science like geometry one science,
they asked, given that it comprises many statements concerning many different
things? Why is it more than a compilation of statements? On Suárez’s view, this
question should be answered in two ways. On the one hand, we should look at the
object of geometry and point out that all the statements are about certain figures
(triangles, circles, etc.), for which there are fundamental definitions and axioms.
31
32
Suárez, DM 44.11.62: “connexio vel coordinatio inter qualitates illas simplices.”
33
This problem became pressing in the fourteenth century with Ockham’s denial that it is a single
habit that creates unity, and it was eagerly discussed by later authors. On Ockham’s position, see
Pelletier (2013, 26–38); on later discussions, see Biard (2012, 39–52). See also the contributions
by Jenny Pelletier and Pascale Bermon in this volume, p. 285–299 and p. 301–319.
Whatever statement is made, it will always be based on these definitions and axi-
oms; hence all the statements will be unified by them. On the other hand, we should
also pay attention to the subject who is doing geometry and stress the fact that he or
she has a number of interconnected habits, which give rise to a well-ordered series
of acts of thinking. There is an interconnection and hence a unity, because all the
habits have the same domain, namely geometrical figures. The important point is
that there could not be a unity of all the habits if they were not all about the same
type of object, which can be distinguished from other types. In short, there would be
no subjective unity without objective unity.34
The second problem Suárez is able to solve with his appeal to an interconnection
of habits is the problem of creativity. Quite obviously, being an expert in a science
means much more than being able to solve the same problem over and over again.
It also means more than applying the same general schema to many problems. An
expert is able to tackle new problems and to solve them by combining methods and
schemas from various disciplines. To give a modern example, one could say that an
outstanding mathematician is a person who is able to prove a theorem by using the
resources from set theory, topology, geometry, and other areas. The more areas she
masters and the better she knows how to combine them, the more ingenious she will
be when working on a proof. It is therefore not a single habit, but a combination of
various habits that makes scientific progress possible. This is exactly the point
Suárez wants to make when he emphasizes that the strengthening of a single habit
does not suffice for doing science. More is required, namely, the use and combina-
tion of many habits. Metaphysically speaking, this means that many qualities need
to be created and connected, and all of them need to be active so that new thoughts
will arise. It is only this metaphysical richness that makes scientific creativity
possible.
20.5 Conclusion
I hope it has become clear that Suárez tells a rich and detailed story about habits by
analyzing their structure, their generation, and their functioning inside the soul. But
is it a convincing story? As we have seen at the beginning, Hobbes ridiculed all
theories that posit invisible but nevertheless active entities inside a human being as
fairy tales that introduce “occult qualities.”35 In light of this later critique, we may
34
With this explanation, Suárez wants to avoid two extreme positions, namely the unitarian posi-
tion that posits a single habit for a given science, and the pluralist position that refers to a loose
assemblage of habits. The first position cannot explain why there can be different types of act (a
single habit can only generate a single type of act); the second cannot give an account of the con-
nection between habits (a mere assemblage of habits does not create any unity). See DM
44.11.57–63.
35
See note 2 above. To be sure, Hobbes did not explicitly mention Suárez as his target. He launched
a general attack on the scholastics, criticizing their account of virtues, scientific habits and other
types of habits. But Suárez was certainly meant to be criticized, for he was a main representative
of the scholastic tradition.
380 D. Perler
ask if the story told by Suárez is in fact a fairy tale. Does he simply posit some
occult qualities and relate them to other entities inside a human being although there
is no evidence for their existence? Is his theory of habits a mere pseudo-theory that
lacks an empirical basis?
No doubt, one should not expect to find a straightforward answer to these ques-
tions in Suárez’s texts. As I already pointed out, it would be misguided to read his
texts through the lens of an anti-Aristotelian critic and to look for an immediate
response to that critic. After all, he was an Aristotelian author who used a given
framework for explaining habits, and he did not aim at refuting a general critique of
this framework. But the attack launched by Hobbes and other anti-Aristotelian
authors can be useful as a motivation for assessing the framework and the explana-
tory value of the theory developed inside that framework. Did the acceptance of the
Aristotelian framework lead Suárez to posit dubious entities for which he had no
empirical evidence? Did he accept habits in his theory of the human soul without
providing any proof of their existence?
To answer these questions, it is important to take a look at the way Suárez argues
for the existence of habits. He never claims that they are entities that we can imme-
diately observe and describe. Like all Aristotelians, he is fully aware that there is no
direct empirical evidence, for habits are entities defined by their power. In fact,
habits are nothing but powers, and powers can never be observed as such. Only their
effects, namely particular acts of the soul, are empirically accessible. In particular,
we can grasp our own acts and thereby have immediate evidence for their exis-
tence.36 But the crucial point is that we should not take their existence for granted.
We should always ask why they exist. It is precisely for an answer to this question
that an appeal to habits proves to be indispensable: habits are the causes of empiri-
cally observable facts. Appealing to habits therefore does not amount to referring to
occult entities for which there is no evidence; on the contrary, we have good indirect
evidence because we can see their effects. A theory of habits is by no means more
problematic than any other theory that gives a causal explanation for observable
facts, for instance, a medical theory that indicates the non-observable causes of an
observable disease. If we refrained from indicating causes, we would be simply
accepting brute facts.
However, a critic could reply that the causes invoked here are rather suspicious,
for unlike a medical theory, a theory of habits posits immaterial causes that are sup-
posed to exist in the soul, cooperating there with other immaterial causes. What
evidence is there for this kind of cause? From Suárez’s point of view, this question
needs to be answered within the metaphysical framework of hylomorphism. Given
this framework, immaterial causes are indispensable, for matter by itself, which is
passive and inert, cannot produce anything. Hence the soul, as an immaterial and
active principle, is necessary right from the beginning.37 This principle must have an
internal structure, for it could not produce different types of activities if it did not
36
Suárez explains the grasping of one’s own intellectual acts by referring to a process of reflection.
For a detailed account, see Perler (2014).
37
See Suárez, De anima, disp. 1, q. 1 (ed. Castellote, 1: 68).
have different types of internal causes. In particular, it could not produce rational
activities if it did not have a rational faculty as a distinct cause. And this cause must
be supported and strengthened by another cause that makes it possible for it to pro-
duce some acts in a quick and spontaneous way. This additional cause is precisely
a habit.
In view of this line of reasoning, it is not surprising that Suárez arrives at the
conclusion that there must be special immaterial causes that are responsible for a
certain type of immaterial effect. Here again, he does not simply introduce mysteri-
ous entities. Rather, he starts with the general assumption that an appeal to immate-
rial causes is indispensable, and then looks for the appropriate cause for particular
effects. It would therefore be inadequate to accuse him of introducing “occult quali-
ties” that are supposed to do magical work. Within the framework of hylomorphism,
habits are no more occult than faculties or acts of the soul. All these entities are
immaterial, but are nevertheless real entities that do real work. Of course, they are
not independent entities. Suárez repeatedly points out that all the faculties, acts, and
habits are rooted in the soul and that they always depend on it. They could not pro-
duce anything if they were not present in the soul that serves as some kind of basic
power station.38 It would therefore be misleading to conceive of them as autono-
mous agents. For instance, the rational faculty that produces acts of thinking is not
a self-standing agent that does its own work, nor is the habit that supports and
strengthens this faculty such an agent. Both the faculty and the habit are present in
and dependent on the soul and can therefore never act on their own. Suárez insists
on the fact that it is the soul – or even the human being endowed with a soul – that
is in the end the agent to which a variety of activities are to be attributed.39 Thus, it
is the human being that produces acts of thinking in virtue of her rational faculty,
and it is also the human being that strengthens this kind of activity in virtue of a
habit she acquired. Any appeal to a faculty or a habit needs to be understood as an
appeal to an internal device that a human being uses for producing activities. Like
his predecessors in the Aristotelian tradition, Suárez accepts the fundamental thesis
that agency is the distinctive feature of a human being, not of some entity inside a
human being.
Is Suárez’s defence of habits therefore simply the conventional line of reasoning
that every scholastic Aristotelian could accept? Probably not. There are at least two
rather unconventional and original elements in his theory. First of all, it is notable
that he conceives of habits as qualities that are to be distinguished from faculties,
from acts of the soul, and from the essence of the soul. All these items are things
(res) that are closely interrelated, but nevertheless really (and not just conceptually)
38
He emphasizes that there is a single soul and hence a single power station for all these entities.
Consequently, all the work done by these entities must be related to this basic power station. See
Suárez, De anima, disp. 2, q. 5 (ed. Castellote, 1: 322).
39
This is most evident in his discussion of the faculties. While claiming that faculties are really
distinct from the soul, he emphasizes right at the beginning that the soul is the “principium essendi
et operandi” and that the soul operates by means of the faculties. See Suárez, De anima, disp. 3,
q. 1 (ed. Castellote, 2: 56).
382 D. Perler
distinct from each other; and all of them bring about their own effects.40 Suárez sees
the human soul as a complex network of causes, and thinks that explaining an effect
amounts to indicating the specific cause (or a multitude of causes) in this network.
It is quite striking that he does not simply appeal to the soul as the single cause and
to habits and faculties as modes or ways of acting of this cause. Rather, he points out
that the soul is, in its essence, only the “primary principle” which is involved in
every activity, and that there are many “secondary principles” which are equally
important for the production of activities.41 For a satisfactory account of an activity,
one needs to make clear which secondary principles are required and how they are
active. Metaphorically speaking, one needs to indicate all the threads in a complex
network and all the points where the threads come together. This picture is quite far
from the picture that can be found in Aristotle’s De anima – a picture that avoided
an internal partitioning or division of the soul.42 Of course, Suárez still preserves the
idea that there is just one soul and that all the distinct items are included in that soul.
But in introducing many items as distinct causes, habits being some of them, he
clearly opens the door to a theory that distinguishes between the personal level,
where there is just one soul and hence one agent, and the sub-personal level, where
there are many items or things, each of them being responsible for a certain type of
activity. Ironically, his defence of the traditional Aristotelian idea of the soul as an
active principle leads to a rather un-Aristotelian theory that presents the soul as a
complex system of active items – a system of interacting modules, each of them
having its own power and its own domain of activity.43
The second point that is quite unconventional is the way Suárez explains the
activity of all these modules, habits in particular. He describes them as being part of
a chain of efficient causes: they are efficiently caused by acts, and in turn efficiently
cause other acts in cooperation with the rational faculty. In fact, all the items at the
sub-personal level are efficient causes. To be sure, Suárez still defends the tradi-
tional claim that the soul as a whole is a formal cause, but when he describes its
internal functioning he spells it out in terms of efficient causation. This is not
surprising, given that efficient causation is for him the most basic form of causation.
He defines causation as the “pouring” (influxus) of being into something else, and
40
For an analysis of this general thesis, see Rozemond (2012) and Shields (2014).
41
In DM 18.5.3 he points out that faculties and other qualities of the soul, although being secondary
causal principles, are nevertheless real principles.
42
To be sure, Aristotle repeatedly spoke about parts of the soul. But he did not take these parts to
be really distinct entities. He rather conceived of them as different functions of one and the same
entity; see Johansen (2014). Of course, Suárez was not the first to change the original Aristotelian
picture. Changes already started in the thirteenth century when commentators on the De anima
characterized the parts of the soul as things (res) that are really or formally distinct from each
other; see de Boer (2013: 227–252) and Perler (2015). But Suárez radically changed the original
theory by turning the soul into a network of distinct things, each of them having its own power and
its own range of activities.
43
There is a striking similarity to modern theories that describe the human mind as a system of
modules with a complex inner architecture; see, for instance, Carruthers (2006).
conceives of efficient causation as the most basic form of this pouring in.44
Consequently, habits must be items that somehow give being to something else,
namely the acts which they produce together with a faculty. The important point is
that habits are not only distinct items, but distinct powers that literally produce
something. This leads to a significant transformation of the Aristotelian theory of
the soul. Entities that were originally described as mere qualities or modes of the
soul now become little producers, and the entire soul is conceived as a complex
system of producers. Here again, there is a certain irony. Suárez’s defence of a tra-
ditional theory that presented the soul as a unifying formal cause leads to the mod-
ern idea of the soul as a system of interacting efficient causes. This transformation
makes clear that Suárez did not slavishly follow Aristotle. While defending many
Aristotelian claims, he paved the way for a non-Aristotelian theory of the soul.45
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Rozemond, Marleen. 2012. Unity in the Multiplicity of Suárez’s Soul. In The Philosophy of
Francisco Suárez, ed. Benjamin Hill and Henrik Lagerlund, 154–172. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Schmid, Stephan. 2015. Efficient Causality: The Metaphysics of Production. In Suárez on
Aristotelian Causality, ed. Jakob Leth Fink, 85–121. Leiden: Brill.
Shields, Christopher. 2014. Virtual Presence: Psychic Mereology in Francisco Suárez. In
Partitioning the Soul. Debates from Plato to Leibniz, ed. Klaus Corcilius and Dominik Perler,
Tuttle, Jacob. 2016. Suárez’s Non-Reductive Thory of Efficient Causation. Oxford Studies in
Medieval Philosophy 4: 125–158.
Williamson, Timothy. 1994. Vagueness. London: Routledge.
Chapter 21
Extrinsic Denomination and the Origins
of Early Modern Metaphysics:
The Scholastic Context of Descartes’s
Regulae
Tarek R. Dika
Abstract An assessment of Descartes’s relation to his Aristotelian contemporaries

in his Regulae ad directionem ingenii—and more specifically his relation to the
theory of scientific habitus—has never been undertaken and is long overdue. Despite
broad scholarly consensus that Descartes rejected the scholastic theory of scientific
habitus in the Regulae, I will show that, in fact, he redefines a centuries-old scholas-
tic debate about the unity of science, and that he does so by employing, not reject-
ing, the concept of scientific habitus. For Descartes, the sciences are collectively
one in virtue of a habitus which inclines the intellect to regard all things, not as they
are in reality, but rather as they are relative to the intellect alone. Descartes estab-
lishes the unity of science via what Suárez refers to as “extrinsic denomination” in
Disputationes metaphysicae 44.11.64. This creates a serious problem. As he no
doubt knew and as Suárez would have rightly pointed out, the extrinsic denomina-
tions that Descartes employs in the Regulae have no ontological basis in the things
denominated. Descartes’s method creates, arguably for the first time, a chasm
between how things can be known by the intellect and how they are in reality—i.e.,
between “epistemology” and “ontology”—that motivates him to pursue metaphys-
ics after the Regulae.
Keywords Descartes · Method · Habitus · Extrinsic denomination · Metaphysics
T. R. Dika (*)
University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN, USA
e-mail: tdika@nd.edu

386 T. R. Dika
21.1 Problems in Standard Interpretations of the Regulae
Nowhere in the Regulae does Descartes seem to be responding to any known scho-
lastic debate. Indeed, he goes out of his way to insist that he will “be forced to give
a different meaning” to scholastic terminology, “paying no attention to the way
these terms have lately been used in the Schools,” since his “own views are pro-
foundly different” (AT 10: 369, CSM 1: 14).1 Descartes admits his reliance on scho-
lastic terminology, but insists that he will use that terminology differently, depending
in each case on the extent of his departure from the Schools. Insofar as departure
from the terminology and theses of the Schools is one of the defining characteristics
of modern philosophy, the Regulae would seem to be of no interest to historians of
scholasticism, separated as it is by the incommensurability of its terminology, and
so of the paradigm that it erects.
To accept such a judgement, however, would be rash, if only because Descartes’s
relation to scholasticism in the Regulae has yet to be carefully determined. In fact,
a reassessment of his relation to late Aristotelianism in the Regulae is long overdue.
The closest anybody has come to philosophically contextualizing the Regulae has
been by reading it as a direct debate with Aristotle.2 Not only is this strategy a bit
anachronistic—Descartes’s interpretation of Aristotle was filtered through centuries
of scholasticism, distilled in the commentaries of the Conimbricenses, which he
read at La Flèche––it can also be deeply misleading: the problem he is responding
to in the Regulae cannot really be found in Aristotle. In the Regulae––above all
Regula 1, which sets the stage for the remainder of the treatise––Descartes is
responding to a long-standing scholastic debate about the sources of scientific unity,
a debate whose origins can be found at the beginning of Aquinas’s Summa
theologiae,3 where Aquinas tackles the question of whether sacra doctrina is one
science or many. Descartes was a participant in the scholastic debate about the
sources of scientific unity, and his contribution to that debate can only be under-
stood by employing the fundamental concept in terms of which that debate had been
defined since Aquinas, namely, the concept of a scientific habitus.
All participants in the scholastic debate about the sources of scientific unity
responded, in various ways, to the question of whether the unity of any science—
usually, but not exclusively, sacra doctrina or theologia—consists in the unity of
one, ontologically simple habitus (whose augmentation with the acquisition of new
knowledge intensifies the habitus, but does not partition it or lead to a new habitus),
or in a plurality of habitus (one for each proposition relevant to the science in
question).
1
All references to AT are to the Oeuvres de Descartes, edited by Charles Adam and Paul Tannery
(Descartes 1996). All references to CSM or to CSMK are to The Philosophical Writings of
Descartes, edited by John Cottingham, Robert Stoothoff, Dugald Murdoch, and (for volume 3)
Anthony Kenny (Descartes 1985–1991).
2
This is the strategy of Marion (1975).
3
Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (ST) I, q. 1, art. 3 (Leonina 4: 11–12; 1997, 7–8). On the
genealogy of the concept of theology as a rational science in the thirteenth century, see Chenu
1957.
21 Extrinsic Denomination and the Origins of Early Modern Metaphysics… 387
Adopting either horn of this disjunct created puzzles. If one agrees with Aquinas
that the unity of a science consists in the unity of one, ontologically simple habitus,4
then does this habitus somehow contain the as-yet unknown propositions of the sci-
ence, and if so, how? If, as most of the major scholastics argued (e.g., Scotus,
Ockham, Suárez, and the Conimbricenses),5 specifically distinct acts of cognition
produce specifically distinct habitus, so that (1) the cognition of any one proposition
always produces a distinct habitus, and (2) the unity of science consists in a plural-
ity of such habitus, then what, if anything, confers unity on this plurality? By the
end of the sixteenth century, Suárez concluded his discussion of the problem in
Disputationes metaphysicae 44, “De habitibus,” by throwing up his arms and con-
fessing that there is no general rule specifying the degree of unity the object of any
science needs to have in order for that science to be one. The best that can be hoped
for, he argues, is a classification of different types of unity: transgeneric (e.g., meta-
physics), generic (e.g., physics), and specific (e.g., geometry).6 The scholastic
debate about the sources of scientific unity has a long and rich history spanning
some five centuries, which I could hardly hope to reconstruct here. A strong case
can be made that this debate ended in deadlock, and by the early seventeenth cen-
tury may even have seemed somewhat out of date to at least one participant in the
incipient Scientific Revolution(s),7 namely, Descartes.
Having experienced firsthand the mechanization of natural philosophy in the late
1610s through the Dutch natural philosopher Isaac Beeckman,8 Descartes did not
feel compelled to frame the debate about the sources of scientific unity in the same
terms as his Aristotelian predecessors and contemporaries. A major constraint on
the scholastic debate from Aquinas to Suárez was that it focused exclusively on the
question of what confers local unity on any science, not global unity on all the sci-
ences. The latter—the “Cartesian” option—not only was never seriously enter-
tained, but was positively rejected. One of the signature accomplishments of the
rising natural philosophy of the early seventeenth century consists in the way it
combined (in principle, if not always in fact) sciences and arts that, according to
Aristotle, treated different genera, had different principles and ends, and were there-
fore to be kept separate from one another: mathematics, physics, and mechanics.
4
See Thomas Aquinas, ST I–II, q. 54, art. 4 (Leonina 6: 344; 1997, 410–412).
5
See Scotus, Quaestiones super libros metaphysicorum Aristotelis VI, q. 1 (Wadding 7: 302–321;
1997, 2: 5–40), Ockham, Expositio super viii libros Physicorum, Pr., (Gál et al. 4: 3–14; 1964,
1–16), Suárez, Disputationes metaphysicae (DM) 44.11.18 (1965, 699), Conimbricenses,
Commentari in universam dialecticam Aristotelis Stagaritae, cap. XXIII, q. 1 (1607, 675–680).
For an overview of the medieval scholastic debate about the unity of science, see Maurer (1974).
On Scotus’s concept of the unity of science, see Demange (2004; 2009a; 2009b). On Ockham’s
concept of habitus and the unity of science, see Maurer (1958), Miralbell-Guerin (1990), Perini-
Santos (2006, 144–159), and Pelletier (2013, 13–17, 26–38). On Suárez’s concept of the unity of
science, see Doyle (1991).
6
Suárez, DM 44.11.69 (1965, 715).
7
On problems involved in the historiographical concept of the Scientific Revolution, see Shapin
(1996, 3).
8
On Beeckman, see van Berkel (2013). On the mechanization of natural philosophy in the seven-
teenth century, see Garber and Roux (2013).
388 T. R. Dika
Aristotle enforced this separation in the Posterior Analytics through his ban on
genus-crossing in demonstration (metabasis). Descartes, by contrast, could hardly
have failed to be deeply impressed by the interconnection of these sciences, since
that was one of the signature features of the scientific research he carried out with
Beeckman. Thus, in Regula 1, he writes that it “must be acknowledged that all the
sciences are so closely interconnected that it is much easier to learn them all together
than to separate one from the other” (Credendumque est, ita omnes inter se esse
connexas, ut longe facilius sit cunctas simul addiscere, quam unicam ab aliis sepa-
rare: AT 10: 361; CSM 1: 10).
These considerations naturally prompt the question: what, for Descartes, did the
global unity of science consist in? However “profoundly different” his views may
have been, I will argue that for Descartes the source of scientific unity consists in a
habitus by which all things may be regarded, not as they are in reality (a parte rei;
AT 10: 418, CSM 1: 44), but rather “with respect to our intellect” alone (respectu
intellectus nostri; AT 10: 419; CSM 1: 44). For example, in reality, a body that has
extension and shape is “one single and simple entity,” but “with respect to our intel-
lect we call it composite (compositum) because it is made up of these […] natures”
of extension and shape (Regula 12, AT 10: 418; CSM 1: 44). A body is composite
because extension and shape can be separately intuited in the intellect’s cognition
of the body. But its cognitive complexity neither entails nor is based on its ontologi-
cal complexity. Because all things may be regarded respectu intellectus nostri as
composed of simple natures, they are all susceptible to research by a single method
whose first task is to enumerate all of the classes of simple nature, and whose prin-
cipal goal is to facilitate the discovery of the unique composition of the simple
natures that explain any phenomenon. The sciences are one in virtue of the fact that
all things, whatever their ontological genus, are knowable by the intellect according
to the simple natures. Being knowable is a property all things have, not in virtue of
their real being, but extrinsically or in virtue of their relation to something else: the
human intellect. Descartes establishes the global unity of science via what the scho-
lastics referred to as extrinsic denomination (denominatio extrinseca).
This is quite striking. Descartes adopts a strategy for establishing the unity of
science that was already known, but firmly rejected, by Suárez in Disputationes
metaphysicae 44.11.64, “De potentia obiecti unius scientiae.” There Suárez explic-
itly rejects extrinsic denomination as an arbitrary and unacceptable strategy for
establishing the unity of a science. An object, Suárez writes, can be extrinsically
denominated “knowable” (scibile) because knowledge can terminate in it, and an
object can be extrinsically denominated “one” because one science can terminate in
it. In the latter case, the object is “one” because of the science alone, not because of
anything in the object. For example, the science of metaphysics has real being (ens
reale) as its object, and so the object of metaphysics is one, not extrinsically in rela-
tion to the science of metaphysics, but because of the formality (ratio) of real being
itself, which all real beings share in common. 9 Here there is something in the object
9
The literature on Suárez’s definition of metaphysics is vast and controversial. See Courtine
(1990), Gracia (1991; 1993), Volpi (1993), Doyle (1997), Darge (2015).
in virtue of which the object, and so the science, of metaphysics is one. In the
Regulae, however, all sciences are one in virtue of how they are regarded by the
intellect alone. Descartes drops Suárez’s requirement that there be something intrin-
sically in the object of a science in virtue of which the science is one. Inverting the
priority of object over science in Aristotelian theories of science, Descartes argues
that the sciences are one because their objects, whatever their ontological genus, can
all be regarded as simple or composed respectu intellectus nostri. The habitus by
which all things may be regarded by the intellect according to the simple natures
constitutes the core of the habitus of scientia in the Regulae. Furthermore, like any
concept or proposition, each simple nature, once acquired, is itself a further perfec-
tion of that same habitus: the simple natures are notions (notiones: AT 10: 417;
CSM 1: 43) conceived by the intellect (or by the intellect and the imagination coop-
eratively), and they become an enduring stable quality, or, in Descartes’s (post-
Regulae) terminology, a mode of ingenium, that is, the cognitive ability for solving
problems in the sciences. Thus, Descartes’s method is essentially a cognitive tech-
nology for producing such a habitus in ingenium.
Descartes’s decision to employ extrinsic denomination in the Regulae is as con-
sequential as any decision gets in the history of philosophy. For as he no doubt knew
and as Suárez would rightly have objected, the whole problem with the strategy of
extrinsic denomination employed in the Regulae is that its only foundation is the
human intellect, and so it has no basis in the things denominated. In the Regulae, all
Descartes can say (and all he does say) is that all material things, however they may
be in reality, can be known or explained according to the material simple natures of
extension, shape, and motion (the same holds for the spiritual simple natures). He
has no resources for showing that, for example, all material things are reducible to
these simple natures in reality, or that they are not Aristotelian hylomorphic com-
pounds. In short, Descartes’s method creates a gap between how things are in reality
and how they are relative to the intellect, a gap that his metaphysics will have to
address. Indeed, the motivation underlying Descartes’s decision to pursue meta-
physics can in part be accounted for, I will argue, by clearly identifying his (highly
idiosyncratic, from a scholastic point of view) strategy for establishing the unity of
science via extrinsic denomination in the Regulae.
In addition to clarifying the motivations underlying Descartes’s decision to pur-
sue a metaphysical programme in the late 1620s, two further consequences follow
from my “habitual” interpretation of Descartes’s Regulae. The first concerns his
overall argument in Regula 1, and the second concerns what Descartes really means
when he says that the sciences are “interconnected” (inter se connexae). Both are
central to the rest of the treatise.
In contrast to a number of prominent interpretations, according to which
Descartes’s concept of scientific unity requires the complete rejection of scholastic
theories of scientific habitus,10 I will argue that Descartes is not rejecting scholastic
theories of scientific habitus in Regula 1, but rather suspending Aristotle’s ban on
cross-generic metabasis. Properly understood, the concept of scientific habitus is
10
See Beck (1952) and Marion (1975, 25–30).
390 T. R. Dika
perfectly consistent with Descartes’s concept of scientific unity in the Regulae;

Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic metabasis, however, is not.11
Second, despite a paucity of textual evidence, it has sometimes been argued that
Descartes adheres to a hierarchical conception of the unity of science in the Regulae
in which “more complex sciences are derived from simpler ones.”12 Not only is this
false, but if it were true, I will argue, it would undermine Descartes’s overall project
in the Regulae. Descartes’s concept of scientific unity in the Regulae neither requires
nor entails a seamless hierarchy between higher and lower sciences. On the inter-
pretation of the Regulae that I will be pursuing here, the objects of all sciences only
have to be reducible to or explained in terms of the simple natures for the unity of
science to be possible. However, since Descartes establishes no bridge between the
spiritual and material simple natures, he establishes no connection between meta-
physics and physics, and so in the Regulae there can be no unity of science in the
sense he would later come to adopt. In the Regulae, deductions may be related to
one another in all sorts of ways, but the sum total of all deductions do not together
form a hierarchical, logical totality.
In Sect. 21.2, I will provide a brief bibliographical description of Rules and iden-
tify what motivates the (in my view, false) thesis that Descartes rejected scholastic
theories of scientific habitus in the Regulae, criticizing what I see as its historical
and conceptual shortcomings. I will argue that Descartes’s real argument in Regula
1 is that scientists should no longer adhere to Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic
metabasis, which places unnecessary constraints on the degree to which the princi-
ples of the sciences—and so the sciences themselves—can be combined.13 In Sect.
21.3, I will argue that Descartes’s concept of the unity of science is habitual in the
sense specified above, not hierarchical. Finally, in Sect. 21.4, I will conclude by
showing how Descartes’s strategy of extrinsic denomination in the Regulae imme-
diately created problems whose solution required metaphysics.
21.2 Descartes’s Real Argument in Regula 1
The Regulae is composed of twenty-two rules. With the exception of the final three
rules (Regulae 19–22), which only have titles, each rule has both a title and is fol-
lowed by a commentary. The first twelve rules deal with the unity of science; the
principal intellectual operations that yield knowledge (intuition, deduction, and
11
Cf. Ariew 1990.
12
Garber (1992, 15); cf. Garber (1992, 30–63; 2001, 33–52). See also Schuster (2013, 251).
13
The relaxation of Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic metabasis in fourteenth-century physics (see
Livesey 1982) does not, it seems to me, amount to a suspension of the ban, for two reasons: (1)
fourteenth-century physicists like Grosseteste continue to distinguish sciences by reference to their
object, and (2) they continue to operate according to a modified Aristotelian paradigm of subalter-
nation. As Ariew (1990, 299) convincingly argues, both subalternation and the differentiation of
sciences by object are rejected by Descartes in Regula 1.
enumeration); the type of propositional order required in deduction; and the theory
of the faculties and the objects of knowledge. The second set of twelve rules (which
Descartes never fully completed) deal with the application of the method for solving
what Descartes terms “perfectly understood problems,” i.e., problems in which we
can (1) have definite criteria that “enable us to recognize what we are looking for
when we come upon it,” (2) know what basis to deduce it from, and (3) show that
the deductive basis and the conclusion are “so mutually dependent that the one can-
not be altered in any respect without there being a corresponding alteration in the
other” (AT 10: 429, CSM 1: 51). These problems arise mostly in mathematics
(arithmetic and geometry), and Regulae 13–22 deal exclusively with mathematics.
Finally, Descartes intended to write a third set of twelve rules (Regulae 25–36)
devoted to what he termed “imperfectly understood problems,” presumably prob-
lems that arise in natural philosophy and metaphysics. Although these problems do
not meet the criteria of perfectly understood problems, Descartes clearly intended to
reduce all imperfectly understood problems to perfectly understood problems (AT
10: 431, CSM 1: 52). Descartes never wrote any of these Regulae.
Some of the finest readers of the Regulae have long argued that Descartes’s thesis
on the unity of science is, on any interpretation, fundamentally incompatible with
the principles underlying scholastic theories of scientific habitus.14 It is not hard to
see why. For Aristotle and Aquinas,15 every science is distinguished by its object,
and the habitus of each science is distinguished accordingly, so that the plurality of
scientific habitus precludes the possibility that the sciences are collectively one.
Therefore, so the argument goes, Descartes has to reject the scholastic theory of
scientific habitus. For Descartes, only the arts are habitus, not the sciences. Each art
is a separate habitus, and becoming proficient in one (e.g., shipbuilding) in no way
facilitates proficiency in another (e.g., shoemaking). This is not how the sciences
are, “for knowledge of one truth does not, like skill in one art, hinder us from dis-
covering another; on the contrary it helps us” (AT 10: 360; CSM 1: 9). However, it
seems to me that the argument that Descartes is rejecting scholastic theories of sci-
entific habitus in the Regulae rests on both a misunderstanding of how the concept
of habitus actually functions in scholastic theories of science, and a failure to assess
all of the relevant textual evidence in the Regulae, above all Descartes’s consistent,
interchangeable use of the words scientia, methodus, and ars throughout the trea-
tise. I will discuss each separately.
Regarding the relevant textual evidence, Descartes frequently and explicitly
describes the method of the Regulae as an art, and so it cannot be the case that his
strategy in Regula 1 is to restrict the concept of habitus to the arts alone so that it
does not apply to scientia.16 At most, in Regula 1 he distinguishes scientia from the
habitus of those arts that require the employment of the body (corporis usum habi-
tumque: AT 10: 359; CSM 1: 9), but this is hardly sufficient to support the thesis that
14
See note 10 above.
15
Aristotle and Aquinas are the only two figures that Beck and Marion discuss.
16
See, e.g., Regula 6, AT 10: 381, 382, CSM 1: 21, 22; Regula 9, AT 10: 401, 2–5, CSM 1: 34;
Regula 12, AT 10: 424, CSM 1: 47; Regula 15, AT 10: 452, CSM 1: 65.
392 T. R. Dika
he denies that scientia and sophia are habitus, or that he is targeting scholastic
theories of habitus en bloc.
All scholastic theories of scientific habitus are based on Aristotle’s Categories 8,
Metaphysics 5.20, 1022b10–14, and Nicomachean Ethics 6. In the first two texts,
Aristotle defines hexis as a quality that disposes a faculty (dunamis) to a determinate
mode of activity (energeia) and—ideally—this quality disposes the faculty to per-
form its proper function or end well. Once acquired, a hexis becomes stable and
difficult to change. In Nicomachean Ethics 6—Aristotle’s famous classification of
intellectual virtues—he distinguishes between the hexis of first principles, or nous,
and the hexis of demonstration, or epistemé. To know both the first principles and
the demonstrations of all things is to have the highest speculative hexis of all: wis-
dom, or sophia, the highest perfection of the intellect. In his commentary on
Boethius’s De Trinitate, Aquinas offers an interpretation of Nicomachean Ethics 6
and draws a key distinction between habitus as intellectual virtues and habitus as
particular sciences:
In the Ethics, the Philosopher considers the intellectual habits (habitibus intellectualibus)
insofar as they are intellectual virtues (virtutes intellectuales). Now they are called virtues
because they perfect the intellect in its operation; for “virtue makes its possessor good and
renders his work good.” So he distinguishes between virtues of this sort inasmuch as specu-
lative habits perfect the intellect in different ways. In one way the speculative part of the
soul is perfected by understanding (intellectum), which is the habit of principles, through
which some things become known of themselves. In another way it is perfected by a habit
through which conclusions demonstrated from these principles are known, whether the
demonstration proceeds from inferior causes, as in science [scientia, Latinization of
Aristotle’s epistemé], or from the highest causes, as in wisdom. But when sciences [scien-
tiae, particular sciences] are differentiated insofar as they are habits, they must be distin-
guished according to their objects, that is, according to the things of which the sciences
treat. And it is in this way that both here and in the Metaphysics speculative philosophy is
distinguished into three parts.17
The habitus of intellectus, scientia, and sapientia are virtues of the speculative part
of the soul, and these virtues perfect the speculative part of the soul by enabling it
to demonstrate conclusions from first principles. As virtues, they are not themselves
identical to any of the sciences (scientiae, plural); they are the cognitive ability or
abilities without which none of the sciences would be available to human beings.
Qua virtues, habitus are defined not relative to object, but rather relative to cognitive
function. The three speculative hexeis that Aristotle distinguishes in Nicomachean
Ethics 6 are distinguished by cognitive function, and the three theoretical sciences
Aristotle distinguishes in Metaphysics 6—metaphysics, mathematics, and phys-
ics—are distinguished by their respective objects. The criterion of function and the
criterion of object are very different, and failure to distinguish between them leads
directly to the thesis that Descartes has to reject scholastic theories of scientific
habitus in order to introduce his concept of the unity of science in the Regulae.
The concept of scientific habitus that Descartes rejects in Regula 1 is that of the
plurality of sciences distinguished by the object criterion, not the concept of habitus
17
Thomas Aquinas, Super Boetium De Trinitate, q. 5, art. 1, ad 1 (Leonina 50: 139; 1963, 15–16).
as an intellectual virtue, distinguished by the criterion of cognitive function or role.

Indeed, if anything, Descartes opens Regula 1, not by rejecting, but rather by rede-
fining sapientia, which any educated seventeenth-century reader would easily have
recognized as the highest of the three speculative habitus distinguished by Aristotle,
Aquinas, and nearly all of the scholastics. He writes:
Distinguishing the sciences by the differences in their objects (pro diversitate objectorum
ab invicem distinguentes), they think that each science should be studied separately, without
regard for any of the others. But in this they are surely mistaken. For the sciences as a whole
(scientiae omnes) are nothing other than human wisdom (sapientia), which always remains
one and the same, however different the subjects to which it is applied, it being no more
altered by them than sunlight is by the variety of things it shines on. Hence there is no need
to impose any restrictions on our mental powers (ingenia), for the knowledge of one truth
does not, like skill in one art, hinder us from discovering another; on the contrary, it helps
us. (AT 10: 360; CSM 1: 9)
The sophia Descartes redefines here is precisely the habitus that frees ingenium for
learning the sciences “all together.” Now, ingenium can only learn the sciences all
together if they are themselves interconnected. If, as I have argued, Descartes is not
rejecting, but rather reforming, the received concept of the habitus of scientia (and,
ultimately, sophia) in Regula 1, then what exactly is Descartes rejecting in the pas-
sage cited above?
In Posterior Analytics 1.7, Aristotle famously bans what he refers to as cross-
generic metabasis (μετάβασις), that is, employing the principles and conclusions of
one science in another science of a different genus.18 One implication of Aristotle’s
ban on cross-generic metabasis is that the habitus of one science may be employed
in another science only in those cases where the one relates to the other as subalter-
nating to subalternate (e.g., the subalternation of optics to geometry). In short,
Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic metabasis, which is one of the cornerstones of his
theory of science in Posterior Analytics, restricts the scope of a particular scientific
habitus to its subject genus and to the group of two or three sciences whose genera
fall under the science of the higher genus. The possibility of one habitus unifying all
sciences is therefore positively ruled out from the very beginning. Even nous and
epistemé, which as intellectual virtues embrace all sciences, do not, for Aristotle,
unify them as parts of one science. Unlike the sunlight in Descartes’s analogical
definition of the concepts of scientia and sophia in Regula 1, these habitus are
differentiated by the non-transferable principles and conclusions of each particular
science. Consequently, their unifying power is aggressively limited by Aristotle’s
ban on cross-generic metabasis.
Thus, it seems to me that Descartes’s primary target in Regula 1 is Aristotle’s ban
on genus crossing in the sciences. Indeed, the only way for Descartes to affirm the
unity of all sciences in Regula 1 is by suspending Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic
metabasis. The theory of scientific habitus is simply not a target at all. Descartes is
concerned with the restriction or limitation (limitibus, AT 10: 9; CSM 1: 360) that
18
For thorough discussions of Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic metabasis, see Livesey (1982) and
McKirahan (1992).
394 T. R. Dika
Aristotle’s ban on cross-generic metabasis imposes on the unifying power of the

intellectual virtues, which he (Descartes) remains very much interested in retaining
and redefining. Hence his argument that “there is no need to impose any restrictions
on our mental powers” (AT 10: 360; CSM 1: 9).
21.3 Habitual or Deductive Unity?
To understand what Descartes means when he argues that the sciences are intercon-
nected, one needs to turn to Regulae 8 and 12, where he works out the foundations
of the scientific unity asserted, but not explained, in Regula 1. In both of these
Regulae, Descartes develops a relatively detailed theory of the human cognitive
faculties and a theory of the objects of scientia. Regarding the latter, he lays down
an important principle. In Regula 8, he writes:
We should then turn to the things themselves; and we should deal with these only insofar as
they are within the reach of the intellect (res ipsas, quae tantum spectandae sunt prout ab
intellectu attinguntur). In that respect (quo sensu) we divide them into absolutely simple
natures and complex or composite natures. Simple natures must all be either spiritual or
corporeal, or belong to each of these categories. (AT 10: 399, CSM 1: 32)
In a parallel passage from Regula 12, he develops this principle in more detail:
We state our view, then, in the following way. First, when we consider things in the order
that corresponds to our knowledge of them, our view of them must be different from what
it would be if we were speaking of them in accordance with how they exist in reality (a
parte rei). If, for example, we consider some body which has extension and shape, we shall
indeed admit that, with respect to the thing itself, it is one single and simple entity. For,
viewed in that way, it cannot be said to be a composite made up of corporeal nature, exten-
sion, and shape, since these constituents have never existed in isolation from each other. Yet
with respect to our intellect (respectu vero intellectus nostril) we call it a composite made
up of these three natures, because we understood each of them separately before we were
in a position to judge that the three of them are encountered at the same time in one and the
same subject. That is why, since we are concerned here with things only insofar as they are
perceived by the intellect (nisi quantum ab intellectu percipuntur), we term “simple” only
those things which we know so clearly and distinctly that they cannot be divided by the
mind into others which are more distinctly known. (AT 10: 418, CSM 1: 44)
The main point in both passages is that, from the standpoint of the method, the
objects of scientia are denominated “simple” or “complex,” not in virtue of how
they are in reality, but rather in virtue of how they are relative to something else,
namely, the human intellect. Essentially, Descartes’s method requires a bifurcation
of perspectives between how things are in reality and how they are relative to the
human intellect. Although he does not himself explicitly appeal to the concept
here,19 Descartes’s enumeration of the objects of scientia in the Regulae proceeds
19
Extrinsic denomination first explicitly appears in Descartes in Meditation 6 and his First Replies
(to Caterus). In the former case, Descartes defines it as a “denomination which depends on my
thought (denominatio a cogitatione mea… dependens); it is quite extraneous to the things of which
via a strategy of extrinsic denomination. By a remarkable turn of events, Descartes

adopted as his own what Suárez rejected as unacceptable, for as Doyle points out in
his reconstruction of Suárez’s argument in Disputationes metaphysicae 44.11.63, if
“knowable” “is “an extrinsic denomination resulting from knowledge (scientia),”
then
no science can have unity from a knowable object (ab objecto scibili) understood in this
way. Quite the contrary, it is the science itself which would give unity to “the knowable”
thus understood. […] When we speak then of a knowable object giving unity to a science,
this “knowable” does not mean something denominated from that science.20
And yet this is precisely what Descartes does in the Regulae! Indeed, the extrinsic
denomination Descartes employs shifts the register from an “ontological” to a
strictly “epistemological” one, so that the method encompass all things not in quan-
tum ens but only insofar as they are perceived by the intellect (nisi quantum ab
intellectu percipiuntur).
Having established this bifurcation of the “epistemological” and “ontological”
perspectives, Descartes then proceeds to enumerate the relevant classes of simple
nature: “[T]hose things that are said to be simple with respect to our intellect
(respectu nostri intellectus) are, on our view, either purely intellectual or purely
material, or common to both.” The intellectual or spiritual simple natures include
knowledge, doubt, ignorance, the action of the will (volition), and other such con-
cepts; the material simple natures include “shape, extension, motion, etc.”; and the
simple natures common to both include “existence, unity, duration, and the like,”
together with their “corresponding negations and privations,” as well as a host of
material inferential principles such as, “Things that are the same as a third thing are
the same as each other” and, “Things that cannot be related in the same way to a
third thing are different in some respect” (AT 10: 419; CSM 1: 44–45). All things
can be explained in terms of these simple natures: “[T]he whole of human knowl-
edge consists uniquely in our achieving a distinct perception of how all these simple
natures contribute to the composition of other things” (AT 10: 427; CSM 1: 49).
Descartes nowhere explicitly asserts, here or anywhere else in the Regulae, that
the unity of science is that of a “complete system of knowledge” in which “more
complex sciences are derived from simpler ones,”21 nor does he anywhere refer to it
as a “network of deductive linkages.”22 Such a conception of scientific unity is sim-
ply not possible in the Regulae. Descartes establishes no deductive bridges between
the spiritual and material simple natures, and so the sum total of deductions in each
class do not collectively add up to a single propositional series, but rather to two
discrete propositional series. Unlike Descartes’s later concept of scientific unity, in
the Regulae the propositions proper to things composed of spiritual simple natures
it is said (rebusque de quibus dicitur extrinseca).” Such denominations are not “really to be found
in the things themselves (revera in rebus reperitur)” (AT 7: 85).
20
Doyle (1991, 327–328). On extrinsic denomination in Suárez, see Doyle (1984).
21
Garber (2001, 48; 1992, 15).
22
Schuster (2013, 251).
396 T. R. Dika
do not interact with, let alone found, the propositions proper to things composed of
material simple natures. There is no tree of science in the Regulae, as there will be
in the Principia philosophiae. If Descartes’s conception of scientific unity in Regula
1 were hierarchical, it would not be compatible with the foundation he erects in
Regulae 8 and 12: the theory of simple natures. In the Regulae, the unity of science
is not hierarchical, but rather habitual. The habitus by which the sciences are unified
is the habitus that disposes ingenium to regard all things nisi quantum ab intellectu
percipiuntur.
21.4 M
ethod as Cognitive Technology, Simple Natures
as Habitual Concepts
In a letter to Hogeland (8 February 1640), Descartes defines science as the “skill

(peritiam) to solve every problem, and thus to discover by one’s own efforts (pro-
priâ industriâ) everything capable of being discovered in that science by means of
our native human intelligence (humano ingenio).”23 Descartes’s use of peritia (prac-
tical knowledge, expertise) indicates here that by science he means first and fore-
most a developed ability of ingenium, and not just an objective order of propositions.
Descartes’s letter to Hogeland closely resembles his much earlier definition of
method in Regula 4, where he writes that the method should be used to “gradually
and constantly increase one’s knowledge till one arrives at a true understanding of
everything within one’s capacity” and find the “solution to every problem” extend-
ing to “the discovery of truths in any field whatever.”24 The extension of Descartes’s
method to all sciences is here directly correlated with the progressive perfection of
ingenium’s capacity for scientia.
Indeed, throughout the Regulae, Descartes very frequently and at crucial junc-
tures employs words cognate to habitus, such as the verb assuescere, which means
“to use or accustom oneself to something, to habituate,” and exercitium, “practice,
training, exercise.”25 These words are significant because they express an imperative
to habituate an as-yet unhabituated ingenium by means of methodologically pre-
scribed acts.
This bears directly on the simple natures discussed in Sect. 21.3 above. These
natures are really notions, and they have to be conceived—in the literal sense of
23
AT 3: 722–723; CSMK 3: 144. On the role played by the concept of eruditio and industria in
Descartes’s concepts of method and science, see Kambouchner (2009) and Kambouchner (2016;
provided courtesy of the author).
24
AT 10: 371–374; CSM 1: 16–17: “Per methodus autem intelligo regulas certas et faciles, quas
quicumque exacte servaverit, nihil unquam falsum pro vero supponet, et nullo mentis conatu inuti-
liter consumpto, sed gradatim semper augendoscientiam, perveniet ad veram cognitionem eorum
omnium quorum erit capax.”
25
See, e.g., Regula 6, AT 10: 384, CSM 1: 22–23; Regula 9, AT 10: 400, 401, CSM 1: 33, 34.
forged—by the proper configuration of the human cognitive faculties. Thus, in

Regula 12, Descartes reminds his readers that, although “we need take no great
pains [nullam operam] to discover these simple natures, […] [w]hat requires effort
is distinguishing them from one another, and intuiting each one separately with
steadfast mental gaze” (AT 10: 425; CSM 1: 48). For example, intuiting extension
without any of the qualities of colour with which extended things are perceived by
the senses requires habituation. The practitioner of the method must learn how to
bracket the senses, picture pure figures of bodies in the imagination without any of
their sensory qualities, form a concept of figure on that basis, and perfect the ability
to discern broader conceptual connections between extension, shape, and motion,
which together constitute the object of Descartes’s mechanical physics. The same
holds for intuiting the spiritual simple natures without any of the material simple
natures, to which Descartes would later devote his Meditationes de prima philoso-
phia. Intuition is not an act whose objects can be discerned without habituation.
Thus, the heading to Regula 9 reads: “We must concentrate our mind’s eye totally
upon the most insignificant and easiest of matters, and dwell on them long enough
to acquire the habit of intuiting the truth distinctly and clearly” (assuescamus veri-
tatem distincte & perspicue intueri)” (AT 10: 400, 13–15; CSM 1: 33). In the body
of Regula 9, Descartes continues:
We have given an account of the two operations of our intellect, intuition and deduction,
one which we must, as we said, exclusively rely in our acquisition of knowledge. In this and
the following Regula we shall proceed to explain how we can make our employment of
intuition and deduction more skillful (qua industria possumus aptiores reddi ad illas exer-
cendas) and at the same time how to cultivate two special mental faculties (ingenij facul-
tates): perspicuity (perspicacitatem) in the distinct intuition of particular things and
discernment (sagacitatem) in the methodical deduction of one thing from another. (AT 10:
400; CSM 1: 33)
The two principle acts of the method—namely, intuition and deduction—are here
perfected by their respective habitus: perspicuity, which facilitates intuition, and
sagacity, which facilitates deduction.26 Only via these two habitus can the simple
natures be distinctly intuited and the relations between them clearly discerned. No
intellect that has not been properly habituated by the method—that is, that has not
become perspicuous and sagacious—can perform intuition or deduction well. To
the extent that the unity of the sciences depends on these two acts, the habituation
of the intellect for successfully performing them is a prerequisite without which the
unity of science would not be possible. The human intellect, raised to its highest
power by the habitus of perspicuitas and sagacitas (acquired by means of practice),
intuits and deduces simple natures and relations between them, and only in this way
Cf. Kambouchner (2016): “The aim of the directio ingenii consists in making ingenium capable
26
of reaching its own fullness; and Rules 9 and 10, which one could consider of minor epistemologi-
cal significance, will be here of major importance. […] [T]he cultivated ingenium will be the most
perspicacious as well as the most sagacious.” Gauvin (2011, 330) makes an excellent case for why
perspicuitas and sagacitas are habitus in the Regulae.
398 T. R. Dika
do the simple natures come about. They are the byproducts of these habitus, and
once they have been cognitively forged by ingenium, they themselves become habi-
tus, that is, enduring and stable modes of ingenium. The simple natures are habitual
concepts produced through acts prescribed by the method. Logically, they are con-
cepts, but ontologically they are habitus, virtues or perfections of the human vis
cognoscens.
21.5 C
onclusion: The “Skeptical” Consequences of Extrinsic
Denomination and the Origins of Descartes’s
Metaphysics
The only conceivable response that a late scholastic like Suárez could have to
Descartes’s strategy for establishing the global unity of the sciences in the Regulae
would be to argue that the extrinsic denominations Descartes employs there have no
basis in the things denominated. To regard all things nisi quantum ab intellectu per-
cipiuntur is precisely not to regard them in quantum ens reale. He would be right.
In the Regulae, Descartes’s strategy for establishing the unity of science (as well as
the superiority of his barely developed natural philosophy over the Aristotelian,
hylomorphic physics of his contemporaries) has very little to stand on besides
extrinsic denomination—an exceedingly thin, perhaps even easily shattered, foun-
dation. This explains why Descartes offered his theory of the objects of scientia in
Regula 12 in the form of a series of assumptions (assumenda), emphasizing twice
that “you are not obliged to believe that things are as I suggest” (AT 10: 412; CSM
1: 40. Cf. AT 10: 417; CSM 1: 43–44). The concept of nature developed in these
assumptions has no metaphysical foundation. In addition to a more systematically
developed natural philosophy based on the material simple natures, Descartes needs
a metaphysics. And so, on 15 April 1630, Descartes famously writes to Mersenne:
I think that all those to whom God has given the use of this reason have an obligation
to employ it principally in the endeavour to know him and to know themselves. That is
the task with which I began my studies; and I can say that I would not have been able to
discover the foundations of physics if I had not looked for them along this road. (AT 1: 144;
CSMK 3: 22)
Descartes’s strategy for establishing the unity of science in the Regulae was both
revolutionary and deeply problematic. It was revolutionary because it suspended
Aristotle’s ban on genus-crossing in order to accommodate a different mode of sci-
entific practice, which required integrating many sciences (e.g., mathematics, phys-
ics, and mechanics) in order to find solutions to particular problems. It was deeply
problematic because it required a bifurcation of “epistemological” and “ontologi-
cal” perspectives on one and the same reality, perspectives whose relation to one
another was left in near total obscurity. No doubt, Descartes would not remain
satisfied with such a bifurcation of perspectives for very long. Ultimately, he wanted
to be able to prove, not only assume, that body is reducible extension and its modes
in reality too. The same holds for the spiritual simple natures. Descartes’s interest in
metaphysics initially emerged in relation to the problem of overcoming the onto-
logical poverty of his use of extrinsic denomination in the Regulae. In short, his
project in the 1620s begins with a concern for establishing the unity of science. He
pursues a strategy of extrinsic denomination in the Regulae in order to establish the
unity of science. This creates a problem: the extrinsic denominations he employs
have no basis in the things denominated. To solve this problem, he turns to meta-
physics. Descartes’s metaphysics, then, is (at least in part) necessitated by the strat-
egy of extrinsic denomination employed in the Regulae.
This, moreover, leads him to revise his concept of the unity of science and adopt
the picture of scientific unity for which he is most famous. I argued in Sect. 21.3 that
Descartes did not espouse a hierarchical conception of the unity of science in the
Regulae. Indeed, it is only in response to the problem I have identified that he begins
to see the sciences in a more hierarchical relation to one another, for the only way
to overcome the ontological poverty of his use of extrinsic denomination in the
Regulae is by making metaphysics play the role of a higher science that serves as
the foundation of physics. Only then does the epistemic equality of simple natures
in the Regulae become a hierarchy. The tree of science, whose roots are metaphys-
ics, begins to grow from Descartes’s response to the problem generated by his strat-
egy of extrinsic denomination in the Regulae. What is so remarkable about this
strategy is the fact that it is the one option that seemed totally unacceptable from the
perspective of a late scholastic like Suárez. The unity of science Descartes envis-
aged in the Regulae was only possible if all considerations of the way things are in
reality could be suspended, so that one could then focus exclusively on how things
are with respect to the intellect. Descartes had to adopt this strategy in order to break
out of the restrictions Aristotelian ontologies impose on the theory of science, above
all the ban on metabasis. If, as Heidegger once claimed, the Regulae opened the
door to the subsequent history of modern philosophy and science (an exaggerated,
but not false assertion),27 then it did so by pursuing a strategy that was identified and
reasonably well-known, but rejected (and, therefore, left dormant) by Suárez in his
discussion the sources of scientific unity. What remained ahead of Descartes was
only the dim recognition of the need for a new type of metaphysics in which God
would ultimately be assigned the role of creating everything the intellect clearly and
distinctly perceives, bridging the gap between the intellect and reality he (Descartes)
created in the Regulae.
27
See Heidegger (1967, 101): “Only one who has really thought through this relentlessly sober
volume [Regulae ad directionem ingenii] long enough, down to its remotest and coldest corner,
fulfills the prerequisite for getting an inkling of what is going on in modern science.”
400 T. R. Dika
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Index
A volitive, 5
Ability, 35, 37, 44, 132, 146, 175–177, 181, voluntary, 3, 5, 108, 111, 119, 124
191–194, 196, 199, 219, 246, 259, Action
265, 266, 289, 290, 328, 389, 392, immanent, 42, 133, 134, 223
396, 397 moral, 151–153, 155, 249, 253
Absolute, 2, 8, 20, 29, 40–42, 80, 109, 120, Activity
124, 160, 161, 179, 200, 221, 229, 230, cognitive, 205, 336
239–241, 247, 248, 250, 269, 311, 314, intellectual, 10, 13, 130, 133, 134, 195,
316, 326–328, 337, 338, 342, 394 205, 207, 266, 316, 371, 372, 392
Abstraction/abstract, 19, 130, 131, 133, 144, of the soul, 8, 195, 199, 205, 207, 266,
205, 210, 213, 216, 257, 311, 312, 325, 271, 272, 367, 382
343, 344 Actual, 1, 94, 117, 128, 130, 138, 139, 151,
Accidents, 8, 40, 48, 52, 89–93, 104, 109, 154, 152, 155–157, 161–163, 176, 177, 185,
217, 218, 223, 248, 256, 258, 264, 268, 197, 217, 220, 223, 237, 238, 287, 325,
274, 280, 310, 324, 326, 328, 329, 335, 326, 328, 330, 334, 336, 342, 343, 359,
339–342 373
Act Actuality
affective, 5, 146 first, 8, 129, 130, 138, 139, 213–215, 220,
of the body, 55, 76, 188, 201, 202 222, 255, 265
content of, 197, 234, 239 full, 129, 213, 214, 219, 220, 222, 224, 225
exterior, 31 second, 8, 214, 220–224, 255, 265
first, 15, 32, 33, 35, 162, 238, 271, 289, Actualization/actualize, 10, 11, 13, 21, 32, 36,
290, 314, 373, 374 44, 92, 95, 102, 103, 146, 162, 164,
free, 5, 101, 108 174, 206, 209, 211–214, 219, 220,
immanent, 16, 373 222–225, 265, 336
inner, 3, 150 Adams, Marilyn McCord, 263, 266, 269, 274,
intellectual, 9, 15, 112, 119, 131, 217, 280, 275, 360, 375
338, 372, 373, 380 Adam Wodeham, 14, 303, 306, 309, 310,
interior, 31, 154 313–317
involuntary, 3 Affection (affectio), 76, 87–104, 111, 144,
mental, 3, 234, 254, 257, 259, 341 152, 156, 187, 198, 200–202
observable, 6 Affectus, 76, 110, 111, 180
partial, 10, 41, 150, 270, 370 Aggregate, 14, 251, 285–287, 291, 293–297,
production of, 4, 10, 124, 189, 272, 371, 302, 307, 308, 311, 313
373, 375, 378 Agnotti, Claire, 75

on Nature, Mind and Action 7, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-00235-0
404 Index
Ainonen, Tuija, 134 Averroes, 37, 39, 100, 174, 211, 218, 222,
Albert the Great (Albertus Magnus), 223, 335, 338
35, 322 Avicenna, 130, 138, 311, 342
Alexander of Aphrodisias, A., 335
Alexander of Hales, 109, 124
Alliney, Guido, 97 B
Amerini, Fabrizio, 136, 137 Baldwin, John W., 69
Angel, 49, 147 Băltuţă, Elena, 128, 139
Animals, 4, 5, 14, 17, 79, 136, 146, 149, 187, Bannwart, Clement, 80
189, 196–198, 200, 202, 250, 296, 336, Baptism/baptized, 5, 7, 51, 69, 73, 77, 79, 80,
342, 368–371 113, 114
Animate, 4 Beck, John L., 389, 391
Anselm of Canterbury, 87–104 Beckmann, Jan, 285
Anthropology/anthropological, 99, 146–148, Behaviour, 4, 18, 19, 28, 30, 31, 33, 36, 37,
152, 153, 269 50, 52, 71, 73, 74, 79, 83, 84, 146–149,
Appearance, 49, 91, 95, 114, 117 155, 158, 163, 164, 173, 181, 246, 249,
Appetite 251, 329, 358
concupiscible, 253 Belief
deliberative, 100 voluntary, 118, 119
irascible, 171, 253 Bergson, Henri, 224
sensitive, 19, 149, 150, 157, 158, 249, 250, Bermon, Pascale, 3, 13, 129, 286, 301–318,
252, 253, 329 378
Apprehension Bernard of Auvergne, 304, 309
simple, 15, 108, 135 Biard, Joël, v, 279, 281, 345, 378
Argument Bieniak, Magdalena, 81
indispensability, 14, 276, 279, 281 Block, Ned, 277
Ariew, Roger, 390 Bochet, Isabelle, 3, 5, 47–64, 70, 89, 138
Aristotelian, 2, 4, 5, 9, 12, 16, 38, 48, 69, 87, Bodéus, Richard, 34
89, 93–95, 97, 98, 100, 102–104, 128, Body, 4, 14, 29, 31, 43, 50, 55, 71, 76, 79, 90,
133, 134, 154, 188, 205, 206, 263, 287, 91, 113, 149, 150, 188, 201, 202, 206,
308, 333, 334, 344, 349, 356, 362, 365, 207, 213, 218, 220–224, 232, 240, 288,
366, 377, 380–383, 387, 389, 390, 293, 297, 303, 324, 329, 330, 333, 335,
398, 399 342, 345, 366, 388, 391, 394, 397, 399
Aristotle, 1–4, 7–9, 16, 18–21, 25–30, 32–37, Boethius, 94, 322, 392
39, 40, 42–44, 48, 53, 60, 61, 63, 64, Boler, John, 97, 288
68–70, 72, 74, 75, 81, 87–90, 93–102, Bonaventure, 2, 15, 107–125
128, 129, 131, 133, 134, 139, 144, 147, Boulnois, Olivier, v, vi, 3, 6, 18–20, 25–44,
148, 151, 153, 157, 159, 174, 206, 207, 98, 109, 129, 149, 162, 230
212, 213, 215, 217, 218, 220, 222–224, Bourdieu, Pierre, 28
241, 251, 258, 265, 308, 313, 321–325, Boureau, Alain, 186
327, 333–337, 339, 341, 344, 348, Bourke, Vernon J., 2, 149
349, 351, 362, 374, 378, 382, 383, Brady, Ignatius C., 74–77
386–394, 398 Brague, Rémi, 88, 90
Arkes, Hadley, 356 Brower, Jeffrey E., 129
Arnauld, Antoine, 27 Brower-Toland, Suzanne, 280, 281, 288
Aspectus, 49, 185, 186, 196 Brown, Steven F., 309
Assent, 6, 10, 15, 108–112, 117–119, Bulhart, Vincenz, 48
121–125, 191–195, 237, 275, 293, 294, Bullet, Gabriel, 6
314, 315, 335, 336, 369 Burr, David, 186
Attention
selective, 132, 186
Aubert, Roger, 109 C
Augustine, 2, 3, 5, 7, 17, 19, 47–64, 68–78, Capacity, 4, 17–19, 31, 74, 88, 92, 95, 96, 101,
81, 87–104, 132–134, 138, 139, 198, 103, 109, 121, 145, 188, 191, 198, 213,
208, 215, 217, 224, 225 230, 267, 273, 396
Index 405
Carruthers, Peter, 382 Compatibilism/compatibilist, 168, 174–178,

Caston, Victor, 132 180, 181
Category, 8, 9, 42, 72, 74, 91, 144, 169, 188, Composition, 135, 193, 240, 395
240, 246–248, 267, 268, 322, 325–327, Conative, 5, 19, 173
337, 359, 367, 375 Concepts, 1, 2, 12, 15–17, 19, 27, 28, 31, 32,
Causal efficacy, 9, 269, 272, 277, 278 34, 35, 48, 67, 88, 89, 92, 93, 95,
Causation 97–99, 102–104, 116, 125, 133, 144,
efficient, 14, 277, 280, 383 146, 148, 155, 186, 187, 189, 194, 199,
Cause/causal 202, 203, 206, 209, 211, 221, 224, 249,
active, 10, 41, 101, 190, 218, 220, 221, 280, 281, 291, 304, 325–327, 334, 341,
223, 229, 230, 255–258, 260, 270–272 342, 348–362, 369–371, 386, 387,
efficient, 150, 156, 170, 189, 190, 218, 389–399
219, 222–225, 254, 275, 313, 367 Conclusions, 13, 14, 18, 128, 148, 152, 157,
material, 221, 254 159, 237, 247, 251, 276, 279, 285–287,
partial, 9, 10, 41, 43, 101, 255, 270, 356 289, 290, 293–295, 297, 305–317, 335,
passive, 9, 271 342, 344, 349, 354, 359, 360, 369, 381,
primary, 41 391–393
secondary, 41, 43, 44, 275, 382 Conimbricenses, 386, 387
sine qua non, 11, 41, 230, 254, 257 Connaturality/connatural, 5, 146, 153–155,
total, 256, 272 158, 161–163, 258
Changes, 2, 5, 11, 12, 18, 20, 21, 43, 75, 80, Continence, 55, 56, 93
119, 121, 148, 156, 168, 169, 178, 181, Contingency
188, 191, 193–195, 197–202, 209, 213, synchronic, 176, 177, 179
214, 220, 223, 236, 238–241, 259, 273, Control
280, 290, 325, 330, 331, 341–344, character, 20, 168, 169, 173–182
350–352, 354, 355, 357–359, 375–378, self-, 31, 72, 76, 77, 81
382, 392 Corruption, 341
Character, 20, 29, 81, 115, 124, 144, 159, 162, Côté, Antoine, 2
167–169, 173, 174, 178, 180–182, 247, Courage/courageous, 15, 16, 21, 52, 57, 71,
274, 330, 342, 350–352, 354, 355, 357, 75–78, 82, 83, 159, 169, 170, 174, 246,
361 250, 252, 253
Charity, 5, 7, 12, 40, 68, 73, 75–77, 79, Courcelle, Pierre Paul, 60
80, 169 Courtenay, William, 231
Chenu, Marie Dominique, 386 Courtine, Jean-François, 388
Children Coyle, John K., 57
salvation of, 7 Cross, Richard, 230, 239, 266, 269, 294
Chisholm, Roderick, 25, 26, 36 Custom (consuetudo), 52, 368
Choice/choose, 4, 11, 18–21, 25–44, 73, 75,
77, 78, 81, 83, 88, 89, 91, 94, 96, 100,
101, 104, 110, 145–149, 155, 164, 168, D
174–182, 224, 225, 249, 250, 264, 268, Damourette, Jacques, 31
270, 278, 279, 324, 350, 353–356, 360, Darge, Rolf, 2, 3, 7, 19, 35, 129, 143–164,
370, 373 187, 267, 388
Choi, Sungho, 83, 277 Decay, 4, 11–12
Christians, 7, 71, 72, 75–78, 81, 147, 274 Decision, 5, 34, 53, 82, 83, 149, 150, 152,
Cicero, 29, 35, 48, 49, 51–54, 56, 72, 89, 356 155–157, 159, 180, 353, 389
Cognition/cognitive, 1, 5, 16, 19, 100, 119, Decision-making process, 3
128–139, 143, 145, 146, 150, 155, 160, Decker, Bruno, 240
171–173, 185–203, 205–213, 215–221, Definitions, 3, 5, 32, 37, 42, 48, 52–59, 74, 90,
223, 225, 242, 254, 259, 264, 271, 274, 100, 108, 112–114, 121, 135, 136, 138,
275, 281, 291, 310, 335, 336, 344, 345, 175, 180, 190, 211, 216, 220, 248, 264,
362, 372, 387–389, 392–394, 396, 397 265, 267–269, 272, 288, 294, 302,
Colish, Marcia L., 68, 69 316, 327, 352, 362, 367, 371, 378,
Collection, 16, 217, 241, 250, 251, 286, 287, 388, 393, 396
302, 313 de Libera, Alain, 130, 132, 136
406 Index
Deliberation/deliberately, 5, 18, 34, 88, 146, End, 54, 158, 160

152–159, 161, 163, 164, 206, 253, 353, Entities, 13, 16, 43, 209, 229, 230, 236, 239,
360, 370 240, 246–249, 257, 263, 267, 281, 286,
Demange, Dominique, 387 287, 293, 294, 302, 316, 324, 326, 327,
Deman, Thomas, 57 351, 366–368, 372, 373, 377, 379–383,
Demonstrations, 13, 238, 271, 286, 289, 294, 388, 394
306, 308–310, 313, 314, 334, 344, 388, Essences, 26, 31–34, 102, 129, 148, 162, 185,
392 193, 200, 209, 220, 265, 266, 323, 325,
Denzinger, Henrich, 80 328, 367, 381, 382
de Roton, Placide, 149 Estimation/estimative, 156, 160, 186, 192,
Descartes, René, 2, 14 196–199, 202, 371
Des Chene, Dennis, 2, 366, 367 Ethics
Desires, 5, 15, 26, 27, 30, 51, 71, 92, 100, 101, deontological, 21
109, 116, 151, 152, 170–172, 174, 175, virtue, 21, 42, 69, 83, 260
225, 249, 369 Ethos, 19, 29
Determinism/determinist, 168, 175–179 Euclid, Euclidean, 311
Dewender, Thomas, 240 Evidence/evident, 15, 68, 69, 71, 81, 89, 111,
Dickinson, Anthony, 362 118, 168, 181, 188, 231, 314–316, 343,
Difference 348, 359, 375, 380, 381, 390, 391
specific, 136, 322, 375 Evil, 27, 38, 152, 154, 350, 353, 360
Dika, Tarek, 3, 14, 15, 286 Experience, 6, 8, 13, 30, 31, 33, 36, 44, 56, 72,
di Martino, Carla, 196 75, 83, 84, 120, 122–124, 130, 152,
Disciplines, 7, 13, 14, 29, 301, 306, 379 194, 195, 197, 198, 201, 202, 209, 216,
Disposition (disposition, diathesis) 274, 275, 294, 324, 336, 354, 360
active, 31, 88 Extrinsic, 21, 43, 154, 223, 247, 315, 326,
mental, 49, 74, 78 386–399
of the mind, 51, 70, 76, 79, 342
physical, 49
spiritual, 51 F
Distinction Facilitates, 4, 10, 13, 15, 17, 109, 110, 113,
specific, 14, 279, 289–291 114, 193, 252, 361, 371, 388, 391, 397
Division, 91, 97, 135, 193, 196, 203, 232, 294, Faculty
382 rational, 368, 369, 381, 382
Doignon, Jean, 57 sensory, 210, 369–371
Doyle, John P., 2, 387, 388, 395 Faith
Drummond, Ian C., v, 21, 139, 254, 258, 270, article of, 7, 114
272, 354 object of, 15, 20, 109, 114, 116–120, 122,
Dunne, Michael, 348 124, 125
Durability/durable, 19, 28, 33, 94, 104, Fara, Michael, 83, 277
148, 152 Faucher, Nicolas, v, 1–21, 107–125, 186,
Durand of Saint-Pourçain, 9, 17, 326 242, 286
Filter, 6, 119, 121
Finnis, John, 150
E Form
Ease/easy, 9, 18, 191, 234, 235, 237–239, 254, accidental, 12, 207, 337, 338, 375
256–258, 270, 271, 288, 291, 292, 322, intension of, 12, 343, 375
337, 343, 361 remission of, 12, 343, 375
Economy, 120, 156 substantial, 188, 209, 328, 330, 333
Efficiency/efficient, 14, 150, 156, 187, 189, Formal
190, 218, 219, 222–225, 230, 254, reason, 304, 306, 309, 310, 312
275, 277, 280, 313, 365, 367, 368, Francisco Suárez, 2, 10, 11, 230, 231,
370, 382, 383 365–383, 387–389, 395, 398, 399
Emotion/emotional, 33, 73, 79, 84, 111, 156, Free will, 3, 5, 18, 19, 26, 35, 37, 39, 44,
169, 170, 173, 186, 189, 201, 259 87–89, 93, 98–103, 149, 336, 361
Index 407
Friedman, Russell L., 246, 304 function of, 2, 4, 16, 103, 110, 118, 120,
Fuchs, Oswald, 2, 264, 276, 287, 311 143–164, 367
Fumagalli, Maria, 240 infused, 20, 21, 68, 70, 120–125, 264
Function/functional, 2–7, 9, 13, 15–17, 73, innate, 6, 29, 33, 189, 197, 268
102, 103, 107, 110, 114, 118, 119, 121, intellective, 9, 101, 214, 239, 267, 280,
125, 143–164, 263, 264, 270, 281, 337, 287, 288, 291, 293, 294
361, 367–372, 382, 391–393 intellectual, 2, 4, 15–18, 30, 36, 110, 112,
119, 128–131, 133, 137, 138, 152, 205,
232, 242, 267, 275, 280, 309, 334–339,
G 342, 392, 393
Gàl, Gedeon, 313–316, 387 moral, 2, 4, 15, 16, 18–21, 38, 100, 101,
Gallagher, David, 170, 178 129, 143–164, 232, 235, 268, 325,
Garber, Daniel, 387, 390, 395 329, 360
Gärtner, Hans Armin, 49 natural, 5, 11, 21, 31, 35, 36, 40, 41, 43,
Gauvin, Jean-François, 397 101, 121, 124, 125, 153, 189, 224, 308
Generation, 136, 221, 305, 306, 333, 341, 350, nature of, 7, 8, 128, 148, 264–270, 281, 349
366, 372, 374, 379 object of, 108, 118, 119, 125, 162, 315
Genus, 98, 136, 154, 155, 191, 192, 322, 341, operativus, 148, 149
342, 388, 389, 393 passive, 9, 31, 38, 219, 375
Giles of Rome, 9, 247, 268 psychology of, 2, 185, 337
God, 6, 7, 13, 20, 51, 54, 57, 68, 70–74, 77, role of, 3, 17, 26, 108, 115, 119, 147, 202,
82, 83, 102, 108–111, 114–119, 122, 224, 253–260, 264, 361
124, 125, 149, 160, 192, 221, 271, 274, scientific, 13–15, 215–217, 238, 240, 297,
275, 290, 304, 309, 312, 328, 329, 337, 301–318, 386, 389–393
339, 345, 398, 399 of the soul, 3, 5, 7–10, 13, 16, 35, 40, 48,
Goddu, Andre, 264 52, 56, 90, 107–125, 186–189, 201,
Godfrey of Fontaines, 40, 109, 303, 304, 264, 265, 269, 272, 302, 303, 317,
309–311, 317 318, 371
Gonsalvus of Spain, 303, 308, 317 supernatural, 6, 11, 20, 21, 113, 115, 116,
Goris, Harm J.M.J., 169 119, 264, 274
Grace unity of, 12–16, 249–253, 286, 304, 306,
gift of, 72 309, 310, 312, 315, 379, 386, 387,
Gracia, Jorge, 388 392, 396
Graf, Thomas, 250 vicious, 3, 6, 12, 21, 38, 39, 201, 361
Graybiel, Ann M., 362 virtuous, 3, 6, 21, 38, 39, 361
Gregory of Rimini, 14, 301–318 Habitual
Grellard, Christophe, 109 knowledge, 9, 214, 287, 316, 334
Growth, 11–12 Habituation, 30, 68, 88, 149, 187, 191, 197,
Gründel, Johannes, 257 199, 356, 368, 397
Guérin, Charles, 53 Habitudo, 50, 93
Hagendahl, Harald, 53, 54
Hartman, Peter J., 3, 9, 11, 17, 196
H Hayen, André, 132
Habit/habitus Health, 7, 32, 33, 50, 55, 96, 113, 149, 169,
acquired, 5, 6, 8, 21, 26–31, 34, 39, 43, 49, 252, 356
67, 73, 88, 91–92, 109, 117, 119–121, Hendriks, Lambert J.M., 169
123, 124, 130, 143, 149, 161, 180, 199, Henninger, Mark G., 240, 326
223, 224, 288, 290, 292, 316, 334, 349, Henry of Ghent, 2, 5, 13, 17, 40, 100, 109,
352, 360, 378, 381, 389 206–208, 214, 215, 218, 266, 269,
active, 10, 37, 40–43, 101, 103, 206, 213, 275, 276, 302, 303, 306, 307, 309,
217, 220, 222, 223, 272, 273 312, 316, 317
of choice (electivus), 25–44, 88, 100, Henry of Harclay, 303
147, 149 Hervé Nédellec (Hervaeus Natalis), 231, 257,
entitativus, 148 304, 309
408 Index
Hexis Intellection
prohairetiké, 26, 27, 34, 35, 43, 88, 100 actual, 128
Hirvonen, Vesa, 266, 271 habitual, 130–137
Hobbes, Thomas, 366, 367, 379, 380 Intensification/intensified, 12, 342, 343
Hoffmann, Tobias, 145, 157, 168, 175, Intensity, 12, 40, 41, 156, 270, 307,
177, 246 351–354, 358
Holopainen, Taina, 21, 266 Intentional content, 6, 9, 16, 277, 280, 281, 291
Hombert, Pierre-Marie, 62 Intention/intentional/intentionality, 6, 9, 14,
Hope, 5, 7, 80, 147, 190, 206 16, 54, 76, 132, 133, 137, 145, 146,
Human beings, 3, 4, 8, 21, 70, 71, 73, 74, 148, 155, 156, 158–160, 163, 180, 190,
80, 88, 92, 129, 130, 136, 137, 147, 196, 197, 277–279, 281, 335–337, 344,
148, 156, 161, 163, 168, 169, 171, 174, 372
180, 194–196, 200–202, 242, 248, 249, Intrinsic, 21, 35, 206, 222, 223, 225, 240, 247,
291, 293, 350, 353, 360, 366–369, 253, 343, 372
379–381, 392 Introspection, 273, 274
Hursthouse, Rosalind, 356 Iribarren, Isabel, 240
Hutchinson, Adam, 2 Irrational, 3, 20, 99, 102, 157, 189, 328
Hutchison, Keith, 366
Hylomorphic, 389, 398
J
James of Viterbo (Jacques de Viterbe), 223
I Johansen, Thomas K., 382
Image, 31, 129, 130, 216, 234, 335, 336, 344 John Buridan, 2, 8, 11, 230, 322–331,
Imagination, 16–18, 129, 130, 133, 136, 156, 333–345
198, 207, 216, 224, 236–238, 335, 336, John Duns Scotus l, 2, 5, 6, 13, 15, 18, 20, 21,
344, 389, 397 26, 39–44, 87–104, 107–125, 134, 176,
Impetus, 190, 330, 342 177, 179, 230, 231, 250, 254, 258, 266,
Impression/imprint, 16, 31, 38, 47, 81, 129, 269, 270, 272, 281, 303, 306–309, 311,
131, 207, 215, 216, 259, 305, 370 312, 317, 376, 387
Inagaki, Ryosuke, 2 John of Mirecourt, 8, 327, 339
Inclination/incline, 6, 8–10, 12, 16, 19, 27, 36, John of Reading, 304, 306, 316, 317
40–44, 77, 81, 84, 94, 101, 104, 108, Judgement, 15, 143, 145, 146, 148, 152–156,
111, 122, 123, 149, 154, 155, 157, 158, 160–163, 171–173, 259, 288, 315,
160–162, 172, 173, 181, 188, 198, 200, 316, 318, 324, 325, 360, 369–371, 386
201, 246, 250–252, 254, 255, 264, 265, Julian of Eclanum, 50
268, 270–274, 278, 289, 290, 308, 324, Jung, Elżbieta, 12, 348, 349, 352, 357, 360
329, 342, 350, 353, 354, 360, 362, 370 Justice, 15, 19, 21, 52, 57, 75, 90, 94–97,
Indeterminacy/undetermined, 35, 39, 98, 99, 115, 150, 155, 158, 251–253, 325, 330,
101–104, 148, 178, 263, 371 351, 366
Information/informed, 8, 30, 69, 71, 129, 136, Justification, 78, 80, 134, 212, 277
190, 206, 208, 209, 211, 213, 274, 303
Infusion/infused, 5, 20, 21, 68, 72, 78, 80, 116,
117, 119–121, 124, 125, 264, 274 K
Ingenium, 389, 393, 396–398 Kambouchner, Denis, 396, 397
Innate, 6, 29, 38, 88, 189, 197, 200, 201, 209, Kane, Robert, 182
263, 268, 272, 327, 328, 354, 356, 360 Kangas, Sini, 134
Instincts, 5, 6, 15, 110, 115, 116, 118–121, Kant, Immanuel, 83
123–125, 368, 369 Karger, Elizabeth, 288
Intellect Kenny, Anthony, 386
agent/active, 10, 16, 17, 129–133, 174, Kent, Bonnie, 2, 3, 5–7, 47, 55, 67, 98, 168,
207–210, 213, 216, 218, 219, 230, 267 169, 174, 250, 258, 266
patient/passive/possible/potential, 16, 17, King, Peter, 53, 266, 269
129–133, 138, 139, 206–211, 213, 215, Klima, Gyula, v, 3, 8, 139, 230, 322–331,
216, 219, 221, 225, 230, 232, 336, 337 334, 336
Index 409
Knowledge Mathematics/mathematical, 13, 72, 109, 191,

practical, 152, 156, 157, 259, 396 247, 251, 256, 285, 286, 288, 292, 294,
scientific, 232, 241, 242, 285–297 312, 348, 365, 366, 368, 372–378, 387,
Knuuttila, Simo, 21, 176, 177, 367 391, 392, 398
Koch, Josef, 231, 235 Matter, 30, 36, 102, 109, 155, 158, 159, 162,
Korolec, Jerzy B., 5 164, 188, 189, 193, 197, 213, 214,
Korpiola, Mia, 134 217–219, 223, 250, 264, 293, 304,
Kretzmann, Barbara, 348 312, 318, 324, 325, 334, 341, 343–345,
Kretzmann, Norman, 343, 348 369, 380
Maurer, Armand A., 287, 302, 303, 317, 387
Mauss, Marcel, 28
L McCluskey, Colleen, 175, 177, 178
La Bonnardière, Anne-Marie, 58 McGrath, Alister E., 68
Latin, 1–21, 27, 28, 48, 49, 52, 67, 69, 89, McKenna, Michael, 175
92–94, 100, 103, 167, 196, 231, 333, McKirahan, Richard, 393
335 Mechanisms, 5, 115, 120, 264, 281, 343, 362,
Learn/learning, 12, 28–30, 67, 70, 72, 75, 97, 366, 368
119, 161, 191, 197, 199, 201, 202, 209, Memory
216, 222, 251, 258, 280, 292, 334, 360, intellectual, 17, 213, 215–217, 219, 220,
388, 393, 397 222, 225, 334
Leduc, Christian, 366 Ménard, André, 110
Leibniz, Gottfried W., 301, 302 Merit/meritorious, 6, 7, 19, 20, 70, 76, 77, 80,
Leinsle, Ulrich G., 285 83, 111, 112, 114, 115, 123–125
Le Ny, Jean-François, 302 Metabasis, 388–390, 393, 394, 399
Lequier, Jules, 29 Metaphysics, 2, 8, 28, 32, 37, 69, 83, 88, 89,
Lévy-Bruhl, Lucien, 34 98, 102, 104, 168, 186–189, 199, 212,
Libertarian, 36, 168, 169, 174–182, 370 229, 233, 245, 263, 265–269, 271, 273,
Liberum arbitrium, 5, 35, 112–114, 174, 175, 281, 293, 295, 306–308, 311–313,
180, 356 322–331, 338, 365–383, 386–399
Life principle, 4, 367 Michałowska, Monika, 3, 12, 348–362, 375
Livesey, Steven J., 302, 306, 316, 390, 393 Michon, Cyrille, 128
Lockwood, Thornton C., 356 Mind/mental, v, 3, 4, 13, 21, 49, 51, 57, 70,
Lonergan, Bernard J., 133 71, 74, 76, 78–80, 96, 102, 107, 109,
Long, Anthony A., 342 114, 115, 128, 144, 174, 177, 180, 191,
Lorenzin, Tiziano, 110 194, 197, 206, 208–214, 219–222, 224,
Lottin, Odon, 6, 68, 69, 115 225, 234–236, 241, 245, 254, 257, 259,
Love, 27, 57, 73, 77, 82, 115, 116, 118, 119, 269, 270, 280, 285–297, 335, 339–343,
147, 156, 259 382, 393, 394, 397
Löwe, Can L., 3, 19, 20, 129, 139 Miner, Robert C., 2
Miralbell-Guerin, Ignacio, 387
Mode
M of being, 7, 35, 52
MacDonald, Scott, 170, 175, 177, 178 of a quality, 247
Maier, Anneliese, 342, 375 of the relation, 9, 247
Man, 5, 11, 16, 17, 26–28, 36, 37, 39, 42, 49, Moderation, 15, 173, 246, 250–252,
51, 53, 54, 76, 77, 91, 123, 125, 144, 256, 258
145, 147, 149, 150, 152, 153, 157–159, Moral
161, 162, 198, 224, 304, 328–330, 341, action, 151–153, 155, 249, 259
350, 359, 366 choice, 21, 83, 349, 354, 360, 361
Manifestation/manifested, 7, 55, 146, 162, judgement, 19, 143, 153, 325, 360
246, 264, 266, 270, 272, 277 knowledge, 19, 144, 161, 360, 361
Marion, Jean-Luc, 386, 389, 391 principle, 19, 360
Marrou, Henri-Irénée, 60 psychology, 245, 330
Martin Luther, 2, 68 Morality, 3, 21, 43
410 Index
Motions, 5, 93, 95, 98, 129, 150, 217, 218, Passivity/passive, 9, 38, 96, 129, 131, 134,
220, 223, 254, 339, 342, 348, 351, 389, 189, 205, 206, 209–213, 217–219, 223,
395, 397 225, 230, 246, 259, 264, 267, 271, 272,
Müller, Anselm, 153 362, 372, 373, 380
Müller, Hermann, 240 Path dependence, 18
Murillo, Jose I., 362 Péguy, Charles, 28
Pelletier, Jenny E., 3, 14, 278, 285, 302, 303,
311, 317, 378, 387
N Pelster, Franz, 235
Nadler, Steven, 366 Penner, Sydney, 370
Nature Perception
dispositional, 7, 8, 264–270 sensory, 186, 196, 199
human, 5, 11, 55, 70, 88, 97, 104, 157 Perfection, 29, 39, 42, 88, 92, 93, 144, 146,
second, 1–21, 145, 162, 163 161, 217, 258, 278, 322, 389, 392, 396,
Nederman, Cary J., 68 398
Nicholas of Autrecourt, 327 Perini-Santos, Ernesto, 285, 387
Nickl, Peter, 2 Perler, Dominik, vi, 3, 4, 10, 11, 128, 129,
Nicole Oresme, 27 134, 135, 139, 186, 230, 265, 266,
Nielsen, Lauge O., 3, 246–248 365–383
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 27 Peter Auriol, 2, 10, 13, 15, 16, 21, 230,
Nolan, Simon, 348 245–260, 268, 302–304, 306, 309–311,
Nominalism/nominalist, 13, 286, 287, 314, 316, 317
302–304, 317, 326, 327, 329, 330 Peter John Olivi, 2, 5, 6, 107–125, 176,
Normore, Calvin, 279, 280, 294 185–203, 326
Nutrition, 4 Peter Lombard, 3, 7, 67, 348
Peter of Poitiers, 69, 73, 78, 80, 81
Phantasm, 10, 16–18, 207, 209, 213, 216,
O 218, 219, 222, 224, 230, 237, 238,
Object 335, 336, 369
external, 16, 197, 199, 200, 202, 216, Philosophy
369, 370 medieval, v, vi, 1–21, 69, 75, 125, 132,
formal, 13, 15, 306, 310, 317, 377 135, 139, 229, 245–247, 253, 265, 343,
intelligible, 211, 239 348, 365
sensible, 129 moral, 12, 245
Occurrent, 8, 16, 207, 209, 213, 215–217, 220, Piccari, Paolo, 304
221, 223, 273 Piché, David, 318
Ontology, 7–9, 12, 72, 158–162, 218, 239, Pichon, Edouard, 31
246–249, 263, 268–270, 273, 280, Pickavé, Martin, 3, 9, 11, 15, 16, 21, 139, 157,
285–297, 303, 317, 327, 329, 330, 230, 245–260, 268, 286, 297
387, 395 Pierre Abélard, 70, 71, 75
Organ, 4, 129, 188, 189, 201–203, 232, 266, Pinckaers, Servais, 150
317, 329, 333–336 Pini, Giorgio, 97, 127, 129–131, 133, 134,
Origen, 59 138, 188, 209, 230
Oxford Calculators, 12, 348, 351 Pink, Thomas, 5
Ozment, Steven, 68 Piron, Sylvain, 186
Plato, 29, 31, 32, 37, 326
Pleasure/pleasurable, 5, 6, 11, 19, 27, 34, 39,
P 41, 83, 149, 155, 157, 158, 173, 186,
Pagan, 54, 274, 335, 336 196, 199, 201, 202, 249, 251, 254,
Panaccio, Claude, 128, 230, 242, 264, 256–260, 270, 271
279–281, 288, 289, 291 Podkoński, Robert, 348
Parsimony, 8, 120, 124, 133, 268, 329, 330, 339 Pope, Stephen J., 69, 80
Pasnau, Robert, 4, 117, 128, 129, 132, 135, Poppi, Antonino, 120
175, 176, 186, 188, 198, 264, 265 Porphyry/Porphyrian, 216, 220, 296, 325
Passion (pathos), 87 Porter, Jean, 148, 152, 168
Index 411
Potency Psychological mechanism, 5, 115

absolute, 8 Psychology
of the soul, 266 cognitive, 1, 186, 194, 264, 274,
Potentiality 275, 281
first, 214 philosophical, 2, 3, 185, 186, 202, 203
pure, 129, 223
second, 129, 130, 138, 139, 214
Power (dunamis) Q
active, 103, 187, 212, 218–220, 223, 257, Quality, 198
271, 375 absolute, 2, 9, 43, 239, 240, 248
affective, 199–202 acquired, 8, 324
appetitive, 36, 149, 150, 153, 157, 158, sensible, 129, 197, 235, 241, 322
161–163, 186, 189, 195, 196, 199, Quickness/quick, 119, 191, 193, 202, 327,
202, 327 365, 366, 368–370, 375, 381
causal, 9–11, 111, 223, 240, 257, 272, 273, Quinto, Riccardo, 70
344, 367, 372, 373
cogitative, 335, 337, 371
imaginative, 232 R
irrational, 20, 102 Rational, 3, 17, 19, 29, 33, 36, 38, 39, 89,
ostensive, 9, 230, 232–239, 242 92–95, 97, 99, 100, 102–104, 111–113,
passive, 209, 210, 212, 246, 259 117, 136, 146, 149, 150, 152, 156, 161,
rational, 3, 19, 29, 33, 36, 89, 99, 102–104, 163, 189, 216, 217, 253, 327, 342, 369,
149, 152, 189 370, 381, 386
sensitive, 4, 149, 150, 230, 235, 237, 266 Read, Stephen, 348
of the soul, 8, 16, 96, 108, 111–113, 190, Readiness, 6, 40, 42, 113, 149, 158
264, 266–269, 271, 272, 324 Reason
Practice, 6, 21, 29, 33, 40, 53, 67, 71, 75, practical, 5, 28, 38, 39, 44, 118, 152, 153,
76, 83, 88, 153–159, 162, 163, 161, 164
167, 198, 199, 202, 350, 357, 360, Reasoning, 4, 6, 13, 96, 144, 146, 147, 152,
396–398 250, 251, 274, 275, 279, 302, 308, 358,
Premise, 13, 14, 36, 153, 154, 235, 273, 276, 360, 381
287, 293, 294, 308, 313–316 Reception/receptive, 32, 39, 42, 89, 97, 103,
Prendiville, John J., 72 104, 109, 114, 131, 134, 206, 209, 211,
Principle 212, 221, 258, 259, 329, 338, 344
active, 10, 36, 39–43, 189, 218–220, 222, Reflexive, 314, 315
271, 272, 380, 382 Repetition/repeated, 2, 12, 19, 28, 30, 70, 75,
moral, 19, 360 98, 107, 110, 117, 123, 189, 196, 201,
passive, 218, 219, 272 202, 229, 237, 249, 255, 258, 267, 274,
practical, 6, 152, 153, 155, 157 277, 335, 351, 355, 356, 358, 359, 361,
primary, 371, 382 362, 365, 366, 368, 373, 376, 377, 381,
secondary, 10, 371, 382 382
universal, 152, 153, 155, 157 Representation, 5, 16, 26, 138, 144,
Propensity, 41, 287, 288 207, 216, 222, 224, 234, 280,
Property 302, 344, 369
dispositional, 169, 278 Ribordy, Olivier, 188
Proposition, 6, 10, 13–15, 112, 123, 135, 157, Richard Fitzralph, 348
171, 179, 191–195, 202, 203, 216, 229, Richard Kilvington, 2, 12, 348–362
273, 275, 276, 301–303, 308, 309, 315, Robert, Aurélien, 241
317, 318, 326, 336, 341, 369, 372, 386, Rodrigo, Pierre, 32
387, 389, 391, 395, 396 Rombeiro, Michael E., 207
Prosper de Reggio Emilia, 9, 17, 242 Roques, Magali, vi, 1–21, 109, 139, 230, 242,
Prudence, 15, 21, 40, 43, 52, 57, 78, 145, 148, 263–281, 286, 289, 297, 345, 383
151–155, 164, 232, 246, 251–253, 259, Rosemann, Philipp W., 68, 74
348, 349, 360 Rozemond, Marleen, 382
412 Index
S intelligible, 10, 16, 17, 128–132, 135, 136,

Sage, Athanase, 58 139, 206–209, 211, 213–216, 218–225,
Salvation, 7, 20, 80, 192 230, 239, 264, 342, 369
Schabel, Chris, 230 sensible, 129, 131, 135, 211, 216, 217, 344
Schiller, Friedrich, 2 stored, 17, 130, 131, 133, 137, 138, 217,
Schmid, Stephan, 383 219, 220
Schmidt, Robert W., 131–133, 135 Spontaneous, 28, 31, 146, 147, 158, 161, 163,
Schneider, Johannes, 206–214, 217–225, 324 222–224, 334, 381
Schönberger, Rolf, 240 Stadter, Ernst, 115–118, 186, 187
Schoot, Henk J.M., 169 Staudinger, Siegfried, 120
Schuster, John, 390, 395 Steven Langton, 69, 73, 80–83
Scotism/scotist, 316 Stoicism/stoic, 53, 57, 81, 342
Second nature, 1–21, 145, 162, 163 Storage, 16, 129, 139
Sedley, David, 342 Stump, Eleonore, 175, 264
Seneca, 89 Substance, 8, 40, 41, 91, 188, 189, 193, 219,
Sensation, 29, 30, 32, 131, 133, 211, 266, 329, 223, 256–258, 266–268, 281, 296, 297,
333, 334, 338, 339 302, 324, 325, 329, 330, 337–340, 344,
Sense 359
common, 197, 198, 305, 329 Sylla, Edith D., 12, 348, 351
internal, 189, 195, 196, 199, 216, 335 Syllogism, 13–16, 153, 154, 157, 193, 203,
Sensible 276, 294, 301, 306, 309–312, 314–317
common, 129 Synderesis, 6
proper, 129, 209
Sensory, 10, 186, 189, 195–203, 207, 209,
210, 215, 216, 222, 224, 249, 271, 335, T
344, 345, 369–371, 397 Tachau, Katherine H., 186, 198, 264
Shape, 9, 14, 16, 70, 91, 129, 171, 173, 181, Teaching, 18, 33, 67–69, 71, 75, 83, 90, 113,
190, 198, 213, 257, 296, 322, 327, 356, 123, 124, 238, 245, 246, 260
376, 388, 389, 394, 395, 397 Temperance, 52, 57, 78, 158, 253, 356
Shapin, Steven, 387 Tendency, 6, 18, 19, 68, 83, 120, 157, 161,
Shields, Christopher, 382 162, 171, 172, 180, 199, 218, 224, 245,
Silva, José F., 186, 189, 205 342, 351, 359
Skill, 31, 34, 145, 355, 362, 366, 373, 376, Term
378, 391, 393, 396 predicate, 14, 287, 290–292, 296, 297
Socrates, 129, 229, 230, 237, 322, 325, 326, subject, 14, 291, 296
340, 357, 358 Tertullian, 59
Solère, Jean-Luc, 3, 10, 12, 17, 131, 133, 139, Teske, Roland J., 212
205, 239 Testard, Maurice, 54
Sören Kierkegaard, 2 Theologians, 3, 6, 7, 13, 55, 68–70, 72, 75,
Soul 78, 80, 81, 83, 134, 246, 301, 304,
faculty of, 4, 5, 8, 28, 29, 381 339, 348
intellective, 265–267, 270, 280, 337 Theology/theological, 2–8, 13, 19, 67–70, 77,
metaphysics of, 8, 263, 265–268, 367 93, 108, 110, 114, 144, 161, 169, 241,
operation of, 36, 203, 212 264, 304, 306, 309–312, 317, 349, 386
part of, 4, 99, 150, 189, 195, 201, 232, 236, Thijssen, Johannes M.M. Hans, 339
334, 335, 392 Thinking/thought
power of, 8, 16, 96, 108, 111–113, 186, dispositional, 8, 16, 95, 107, 258, 339,
190, 264, 266–269, 271, 272, 324, 335 342–344
quality of, 9, 268, 269, 302, 303, 317, 318 occurrent, 8, 16, 215, 217, 220, 221,
Spade, Paul Vincent, 251, 309 335, 343
Sparrow, Tom, 2 Thomas Aquinas, 2, 26, 48, 69, 99, 127, 143,
Species 167, 187, 209, 230, 246, 265, 302,
expressive, 207 321–325, 367, 368, 375, 386
Index 413
Thomas de Vio Cajetan (Thomas de Vio moral, 43, 72, 88, 99, 100, 143–148,
Cardinalis Caietanus), 2, 131, 231, 151–153, 158, 162, 163, 169, 195,
321–323 232, 249–252, 258, 259, 267, 324,
Thomas of Sutton, 2, 10, 16, 17, 205 327, 329, 334
Thomas Wylton, 247, 268 theological, 3, 5–7, 108, 114, 169, 264
Thomism/thomist, 209, 235 Vision, 36, 131, 182, 192, 241
Toivanen, Juhana, 3, 6, 20, 109, 117, 119, Volition, 111, 146, 147, 150, 170, 171, 173,
185–203, 205 179, 250, 259, 342, 395
Token, 79, 82, 172, 289, 329 Volpi, Franco, 388
Training, 237, 376, 396 Voluntarist, 26, 37, 40, 260
Transcendental, 30, 137 Voluntary, 3, 5, 111, 117–119, 124, 174,
Transformation/transformative, 11, 33, 91, 273, 361
103, 136, 260, 383 Von Wright, Georg H., 30
Trego, Kristell, 3, 20, 87–104, 138, 230
Trifogli, Cecilia, 263
Trinity, 49, 51 W
Types, 6, 16, 35, 40, 91, 103, 107–109, 112, Walsh, Katherine, 71–73, 348
119, 125, 160, 171–173, 188–196, 199, Wetzel, Linda, 172
202, 246, 247, 254, 288–290, 322, 326, Whole, v, 3, 11, 13, 16, 36, 53, 93, 156, 190,
329, 344, 367, 368, 372, 373, 376, 216, 251, 276, 308, 310, 312, 314, 382,
378–380, 382, 387, 391, 399 393, 395
Will, 2, 3, 56, 68, 108, 128, 144, 168, 186,
216, 232, 249, 266, 288, 312, 324,
U 348, 395
Unity William of Ockham, 2, 6, 8, 9, 13, 14,
accidental, 251 21, 133, 230, 263–281, 285–297,
aggregate, 14, 286, 293–296 302–304, 306, 307, 310–313, 316,
of continuity, 251 317, 326, 327, 359, 360, 367,
numerical, 14, 307, 311, 313, 315 378, 387
of simplicity, 251 Williams, Thomas, 94, 96, 97, 175–177
of the whole, 16, 251 Williamson, Timothy, 373
Universal, 36, 56, 130, 152, 153, 155–157, Wippel, John F., 212
188, 325, 360 Wisdom, 51, 53, 57, 91, 147, 161, 162, 313,
392, 393
Wolter, Allan, 5, 274, 275
V Wood, Allen W., 83
Van Bavel, Tarsicius J., 63 Word (verbum), 17, 128, 133
Van Berkel, Klaas, 387 World
Vice/vicious, 3, 6, 12, 19, 21, 26, 37, 53, 54, outside, 3, 5
72, 75, 82, 169, 170, 173, 192, 201, possible, 176–178
248, 252, 322, 324, 325, 327, 329, 336,
348–357, 359
Vignaux, Paul, 68 Y
Virtue (virtus) Yrjönsuuri, Mikko, 186
acquired, 21, 70, 72
cardinal, 57, 73, 252, 253
end of, 158 Z
infused, 7, 20, 68, 72, 147 Zumkeller, Adolar, 52
intellectual, 100, 151–153, 169, 392–394 Zupko, Jack, 3, 8, 11, 333–345

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Historical-Analytical Studies on Nature, Mind and Action 7

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/11934

The Ontology, Psychology

ISSN 2509-4793 ISSN 2509-4807 (electronic)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018960921

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018

The present volume constitutes the proceedings of two colloquia we organized on

Helsinki, Finland Nicolas Faucher

1 The Many Virtues of Second Nature: Habitus in Latin

10 Cognitive Dispositions in the Psychology of Peter John Olivi���������������� 185

art. articulus, article

Keywords Habitus · Disposition · Philosophical psychology · Metaphysics of the

The present volume is dedicated to the concept of habitus in medieval philosophy.

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018 1

1.2 Why Do Medieval Philosophers Posit Habitus?

1.3 The Ontology of Habitus

Following Aristotle’s remarks in Categories (8a25–10a26), medieval thinkers usu-

1.4 How Habitus Cause

1.5 The Growth and Decay of Habitus

As we have seen, habitus grow in strength as acts are accomplished. Habitus, be

1.6 The Unity of Habitus

It is hard to determine how habitus can be considered as united, single things. A

a process of acquisition of the guitar-playing habitus. But playing the guitar is a

1.7 Intellectual Habitus

In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, cognition was conceived following an

1.8 Moral Habitus

Keywords Aristotle · Determinism · Duns Scotus · Freedom · Thomas Aquinas ·

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018 25

2.2 Habit and Habitus

2.2.1 A Possible Translation?

2.2.2 The Deterministic Interpretation of Habitus as a Habit

2.2.3 Habitus as Distinguished from Habit

2.3 The Essence of Habitus

A better translation of habitus might be the word “havingness” (ayance in French).20

2.4 Thomas Aquinas: Freedom in Habitus

2.5 Duns Scotus: Habitus of the Will

While in Aquinas habitus relates to freedom as a rational choice of what appears to

Keywords Habitus · Consuetudo · Virtue · Change · Category · Accident ·

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018 47

3.2 The Normal Usage of the Word Habitus

In question 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions, Augustine notes that one’s physical

3.3 Virtue as a Habitus Animi?

3.3.1 The Ciceronian Definition of Virtue

Augustine twice quotes the Ciceronian definition of virtue as a habitus animi: in

This definition of virtue as love has a long history in Augustine’s writings. It is

3.4.1 Diverse Questions 73 and Its Presuppositions

As I noted in the introduction, it is only in question 73 of the 83 Diverse Questions

83 Diverse Questions presupposes just such an understanding of habitus. Indeed, he

3.4.2 Augustine’s Argument in Diverse Questions 73

3.4.3 I n Deo autem nihil quidem secundum accidens dicitur

Keywords Augustine · Peter Abelard · Peter Lombard · Peter of Poitiers · Stephen

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2018 67

while theologians present them as supernaturally infused gifts of grace, modern

4.2 Augustine: Equal Merit

(applicatio).12 In contrast, Augustine argues in his treatise On the Good of Marriage

4.3 Peter Lombard: Virtue Itself and the Work of Virtue

III, distinction 6) is impossible to overlook. One scholar even describes it as “the

kind of quality virtue is supposed to be: a disposition, a condition, or some other

4.4 Peter of Poitiers: Virtuous Dispositions and Justification

To be “justified” is to be purged of the guilt of original sin, a change in the human

4.5 Stephen Langton: Dispositions and Powers

beginning to emphasize do have a role to play—but only in explaining moral failure,

Abstract The concept of hexis, in Latin habitus, is of great importance in Aristotle’s

Keywords Habitus · Affectio · Categories · Power · Freedom

The Ontology, Psychology and Axiology of Habits - Nicolas Faucher & Magali Roques - 2018

The Ontology, Psychology and Axiology of Habits - Nicolas Faucher & Magali Roques - 2018

Helsinki, Finland Nicolas Faucher

1 The Many Virtues of Second Nature: Habitus in Latin

10 Cognitive Dispositions in the Psychology of Peter John Olivi�� 185

1.2 Why Do Medieval Philosophers Posit Habitus?

1.3 The Ontology of Habitus

1.4 How Habitus Cause

1.5 The Growth and Decay of Habitus

1.6 The Unity of Habitus

1.7 Intellectual Habitus

1.8 Moral Habitus

2.2 Habit and Habitus

2.2.1 A Possible Translation?

2.2.2 The Deterministic Interpretation of Habitus as a Habit

2.2.3 Habitus as Distinguished from Habit

2.3 The Essence of Habitus

2.4 Thomas Aquinas: Freedom in Habitus

2.5 Duns Scotus: Habitus of the Will

3.2 The Normal Usage of the Word Habitus

3.3 Virtue as a Habitus Animi?

3.3.1 The Ciceronian Definition of Virtue

3.4.1 Diverse Questions 73 and Its Presuppositions

3.4.2 Augustine’s Argument in Diverse Questions 73

3.4.3 I n Deo autem nihil quidem secundum accidens dicitur

4.2 Augustine: Equal Merit

4.3 Peter Lombard: Virtue Itself and the Work of Virtue

4.4 Peter of Poitiers: Virtuous Dispositions and Justification

4.5 Stephen Langton: Dispositions and Powers

5.2 Augustine: Habitus and Accident

5.2.1 Categorial Having

5.2.2 Acquired Habitus and Virtue

5.2.3 In Habitu/in Opere

5.3 Anselm and the Affections of the Will

5.3.1 Power and Receptivity

5.3.2 The Will and Its Affections

5.4 Duns Scotus: Habitus and Will

5.4.1 Habitus and Indeterminacy

5.4.2 Habitus of the Free Will

5.4.3 Indeterminacy Revisited

6.2 Bonaventure’s View

6.3 Olivi’s View

6.4 Scotus’s View

7.3 From Habitual Intellection to Intellectual Operation

7.4 The Later Account of Intellectual Operation

7.5 Habit of Words?

8.2 Habitus and Habit (consuetudo)

d etermined by nature and are capable of acting in obedience to reason. Insofar as

8.3 The Production of a Particular Action

8.4 Moral habitus and the Goal of Action

8.7 The Connatural–Inclinative Judgement About the End

9.2 How Habitus Influence Our Actions

9.3 Libertarian Character Control and the Act of Contrition

9.4 Conclusion: Aquinas on Self-Forming Action