Showing posts with label Intelligibility and Being. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Intelligibility and Being. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 01, 2026

Prolegomena to Disputationes Theologicae I: Theology Exists Because These Questions Exist

This essay inaugurates Prolegomena to Disputationes Theologicae, a series that serves as the methodological introduction to my larger theological project. Although the essays and disputations that follow range across biblical interpretation, Luther studies, ontology, philosophical theology, and theological language, they are all governed by a single conviction: theology exists because the deepest questions of human existence exist. The purpose of these essays is to recover the proper order of theological inquiry so that Christian doctrine may once again be understood as making intelligible, truthful, and reality-directed claims about God and God's works.

Every generation inherits Christian doctrine. Far fewer inherit the question that made the doctrine necessary in the first place.

That loss has had profound consequences. Modern theology has often devoted enormous energy to defending traditions, revising doctrines, interpreting texts, or reconstructing communities while giving comparatively little attention to the questions that gave rise to theology itself. As a result, theology increasingly appears to many as the internal discourse of religious institutions rather than as an inquiry into realities that concern every human being.

The purpose of this series is to begin somewhere deeper.

Theology does not exist because churches exist. It does not exist because theological schools require curricula or because scholars require subjects for publication. Theology exists because finite human existence gives rise to questions that refuse to disappear. Human beings discover themselves to exist contingently rather than necessarily. They confront suffering, guilt, death, hope, justice, beauty, and the persistent question of whether reality possesses a meaning greater than the succession of finite events through which it passes.

These questions are not produced by Christianity. Christianity inherits them because they arise from the structure of finite existence itself.

The question of truth has always been central to my own theological work. Long before graduate school, before philosophy, before Luther studies, I found myself wondering whether the words heard in church actually referred to anything real. Those questions did not arise in a classroom. They arose in ordinary life, long before I possessed the vocabulary to formulate them clearly. They have remained the governing questions behind everything I have written.

Theological questioning therefore begins neither with doctrine nor with the Church. It begins with existence.

Yet Christian theology does not merely repeat the existential questions already present within human life. It proceeds because God has addressed those questions through revelation. Revelation does not simply answer questions already properly formulated. It judges false questions, redirects disordered expectations, and discloses realities that finite reason could never discover by itself.

Theology therefore arises from an existential occasion and lives from a revelatory source. It begins with the questions that arise from finite existence, but it proceeds under the authority of God’s self-disclosure. Both dimensions are essential. Without the existential questions, theology becomes an exercise in institutional repetition. Without revelation, it becomes speculative philosophy or religious anthropology.

This conviction determines the method of Disputationes Theologicae.

The first responsibility of theology is neither to defend inherited doctrines merely because they are inherited nor to revise them merely to accommodate contemporary sensibilities. Its first responsibility is to render Christian doctrine intelligible without diminishing, translating away, or replacing the reality to which it refers.

That sentence has gradually become the governing principle of this entire project.

From that principle follows a definite order of inquiry. Before theology asks what Christians ought to believe, it must ask how theological language can be meaningful, how it refers, under what conditions theological judgments may be true, and how those judgments concern realities that are not constituted merely by language, religious consciousness, ecclesial authority, or social practice. Only after these questions have been responsibly addressed can theology proceed to doctrine, proclamation, ethics, spirituality, and ecclesial life.

Much of modern theology, in my judgment, has reversed this order. It has concentrated upon appropriation before truth, proclamation before reference, ecclesial practice before intelligibility, or existential transformation before the reality of that which transforms. These concerns are genuine, but they cannot bear the weight placed upon them if the prior questions remain unanswered.

Theological realism therefore becomes the governing concern of the present work. Christian doctrine is not merely useful. It is not merely expressive. It is not merely constitutive of communal identity. It purports to speak about realities that exist independently of our linguistic practices, our ecclesial institutions, and our psychological states. If that claim cannot be sustained, theology has changed its subject.

For this reason, philosophy has an indispensable, though subordinate, place within theology. Theology does not require philosophy because revelation is insufficient. It requires philosophy because human reasoning is. Revelation supplies theology’s subject matter. Philosophy disciplines theology’s reasoning so that it neither says less than revelation gives, more than revelation warrants, nor something other than revelation gives and warrants.

This, I have increasingly come to believe, is Lutheran method at a deeper level than confessional citation. Scripture is sufficient. Human reasoning is not. Philosophy therefore serves theology not as its master but as its disciplined servant.

The essays that follow over the coming months will attempt to unfold this methodological vision patiently. They will explain why intelligibility precedes doctrine, why reference precedes proclamation, why truth precedes existential appropriation, and why theology must once again become answerable to reality if it is to remain theology at all.

The larger project now bears the title Disputationes Theologicae. It consists of sixty-six disputations developed over many years of work in philosophical theology. Although these essays address subjects as diverse as Luther, Kant, ontology, language, hermeneutics, metaphysics, bioethics, proclamation, and formal semantics, they are governed by a single question.

Can Christian theology once again become an intellectually responsible inquiry into realities that are genuinely there?

Everything that follows is an attempt to answer that question.

Tuesday, June 30, 2026

Prolegomena to Disputationes Theologicae II Intelligibility Before Doctrine

This essay forms part of Prolegomena to Disputationes Theologicae, a series in philosophical theology produced through the Department of Philosophical Theology at Christ School of Theology. The essays together articulate the methodological foundations of the larger Disputationes Theologicae project by recovering the proper order of theological inquiry. They proceed from the conviction that theology exists because these questions exist, and that theology's first responsibility is to render Christian doctrine intelligible without diminishing, translating away, or replacing the reality to which it refers.

Christian theology begins with revelation, but theological inquiry begins with intelligibility. Revelation gives theology its subject matter; intelligibility makes responsible theological judgment possible. Theology therefore does not seek intelligibility because intelligibility creates truth. It seeks intelligibility because finite knowers cannot responsibly affirm what they do not understand.

Much of modern theology has quietly reversed this order. It has assumed that doctrine can be defended, proclaimed, appropriated, or revised before asking whether the doctrine itself has first been rendered intelligible. The result has been a theology that often knows what it wishes to affirm while remaining uncertain about what, precisely, it is affirming.

Christian theology has often assumed that its principal task is to state the doctrines of the Christian faith correctly. The assumption is understandable. Doctrine matters because truth matters, and the Church cannot confess faithfully if it no longer knows what it is confessing.

Yet a doctrine may be repeated correctly without being understood. It may retain its inherited vocabulary while the distinctions that once gave that vocabulary meaning have disappeared. It may be defended with great conviction even though no one can say clearly what would have to be true for the doctrine itself to be true.

The problem is therefore deeper than doctrinal disagreement. Before theology can ask whether a doctrine ought to be affirmed, rejected, defended, or revised, it must ask whether the doctrine has first become intelligible.

Intelligibility comes before doctrine.

This claim does not mean that theology exists before revelation, Scripture, or confession. Christian theology receives its subject from revelation and its language through the scriptural and ecclesial traditions that bear witness to it. Nor does it mean that the theologian must first construct a neutral philosophical foundation upon which Christian doctrine may later be placed.

It means something more modest and more demanding. Before a theological judgment can be responsibly affirmed, theology must understand what is being claimed, what distinctions the claim requires, what realities its terms identify, and what would follow if the claim were true.

This methodological ordering may be expressed in a single governing principle: intelligibility is not the source of theological truth; it is the condition under which theological truth can be responsibly affirmed or denied.

Theology therefore seeks intelligibility not because revelation requires philosophical completion, but because theological judgment requires conceptual clarity concerning what revelation gives. Its task is not to supplement revelation but to understand it responsibly.

A sentence can be grammatically familiar while remaining conceptually obscure. Christians may say that God is triune, that the Word became flesh, that Christ is present in the sacrament, that God acts providentially, or that the dead will be raised. Each sentence belongs recognizably to Christian confession. Yet familiarity does not by itself secure intelligibility.

What does it mean to say that God is one and three? In what respect is God one, and in what respect three? What is meant by person and nature? What must be true if the one who suffered under Pontius Pilate is the eternal Son? What kind of presence is claimed when the Church says that Christ gives his body and blood? What relation between divine and creaturely causality is implied by providence? What makes the person raised numerically identical with the person who died?

These are not questions imposed upon doctrine from outside. They arise from doctrine itself. They are required if doctrine is to become more than the repetition of inherited expressions.

The first discipline of intelligibility is conceptual distinction. Theology must distinguish what should not be confused.

Person is not nature. Cause is not ground. Reference is not meaning. Truth is not usefulness. Divine action is not one finite cause alongside another. Presence is not necessarily spatial location. Participation is not identity. Mystery is not contradiction. Incomprehensibility is not unintelligibility.

Much theological confusion arises because one term is asked to perform the work of several. The Holy Spirit is invoked to solve a problem of reference, warrant, sanctification, ecclesial authority, or personal experience without distinguishing those questions. Participation is used to explain likeness, causality, communion, transformation, and identity as though these were one relation. Divine mystery is appealed to when an argument has merely failed to specify what it means.

Philosophical theology begins by resisting such conflations. Its first service is not invention but distinction. Before proposing new constructions, it seeks to clarify inherited judgments by identifying the conceptual boundaries within which responsible theological reasoning becomes possible.

Yet conceptual intelligibility is only one part of the matter. There is also semantic intelligibility: the question of how theological language means anything at all.

Words acquire meaning through histories of use, patterns of inference, relations of contrast, practices of correction, and the realities to which they are directed. The word “resurrection,” for example, cannot mean whatever a speaker wishes it to mean. It belongs within scriptural narratives, Jewish expectations, apostolic testimony, creedal confession, liturgical practice, and disputes concerning bodily identity and death. To redefine resurrection as the survival of influence, the persistence of memory, or the continuing significance of Jesus may preserve a religious function while changing the subject.

The same is true of “God,” “creation,” “incarnation,” “sin,” “grace,” and “judgment.” Theological terms are neither empty containers nor private symbols. They possess histories, identities, inferential commitments, and conditions of responsible use.

Semantic intelligibility therefore requires more than clarity of style. A sentence may be written plainly and still change the meaning of its central terms. Conversely, a difficult doctrine may remain intelligible even when its subject exceeds complete comprehension.

This distinction is essential. To render a doctrine intelligible is not to make it simple, obvious, or exhaustively transparent. God is not made comprehensible by being described coherently. The incarnation does not cease to be mysterious when person and nature are distinguished. Resurrection does not become empirically predictable when its identity conditions are clarified.

Intelligibility is therefore not mastery. It is the disciplined determination of what is being claimed, how the claim holds together, what it excludes, and what reality would have to be like for it to be true. Theology does not remove mystery by rendering doctrine intelligible. It distinguishes genuine mystery from conceptual confusion and thereby allows mystery to remain genuinely theological.

There is, finally, an ontological dimension of intelligibility. Theological language can be meaningful only because reality itself is sufficiently determinate to be known, identified, and judged.

If things possessed no identities, properties, relations, histories, or powers, there would be nothing for language to describe correctly or incorrectly. If Jesus Christ were merely the product of ecclesial interpretation, the Church could not be corrected by the one it confesses. If God were only a function of religious language, theology could never discover that its language had falsified its subject.

The intelligibility of theological discourse therefore presupposes that reality is not created by discourse. Language mediates our access to reality, but it does not bring its referent into existence.

This is the fundamental realist commitment of Disputationes Theologicae. Theology speaks through finite concepts, historical languages, contested traditions, and fallible judgments. Yet it speaks about realities that are not constituted by those concepts, languages, traditions, or judgments.

Theology can therefore be wrong, and that possibility is not an embarrassment to theological reasoning but one of its necessary conditions. A discourse incapable of falsehood is equally incapable of truth.

If every doctrinal formulation becomes valid merely because it functions within a community, theology has ceased to make judgments about reality and has become the description of ecclesial practice.

The demand for intelligibility is therefore also a demand for corrigibility. A doctrine must be stated clearly enough that one can identify what would count against it, what would expose an equivocation, and what would show that the subject has been changed.

This is why inherited language, however venerable, cannot be protected from analysis. The purpose of analysis is not to dissolve the confession but to determine whether the language still performs the work for which it was formed.

The doctrine of the Trinity, for example, must preserve both divine unity and irreducible personal distinction. An account that secures unity by reducing Father, Son, and Spirit to modes of appearance has not clarified the doctrine. It has changed it. An account that secures distinction by positing three independent divine beings has done the same.

The doctrine of the incarnation must preserve the identity of the one Son and the integrity of both divine and human natures. An account that protects divinity by assigning suffering to an independent human subject has changed the subject. So has an account that makes the divine nature itself passible in precisely the same respect as the humanity.

Theological intelligibility therefore has boundaries. It does not mean that every formulation is equally acceptable so long as it can be explained. It means that the reality confessed imposes constraints upon the concepts by which it is articulated.

This is also why intelligibility must precede apologetics. Theology cannot responsibly defend a doctrine it has not first understood. Nor can it translate doctrine for contemporary hearers until it knows what must survive the translation.

Much modern theology has moved too quickly from inherited doctrine to contemporary appropriation. It asks what the Trinity, incarnation, resurrection, or justification might mean for us before asking what those doctrines claim to be true. The result is often a theology rich in significance but uncertain in reference.

A doctrine may matter profoundly and still be false. It may shape identity, generate hope, sustain community, and inspire ethical action while failing to refer to the reality it names. Usefulness therefore cannot substitute for truth, and existential significance cannot substitute for intelligibility.

Theology must therefore first ask what it is saying before it asks whether what it says is true, and only then may it ask how that truth is to be proclaimed, embodied, and lived. This ordering does not diminish doctrine. It protects doctrine from becoming a formula repeated after its subject has disappeared, proclamation from becoming eloquence without reference, ecclesial practice from becoming self-authorization, and faith from being asked to trust what theology has not yet made sufficiently clear to be judged.

The first discipline of theological reason is therefore intelligibility. Its task is neither to simplify Christian doctrine nor to dissolve mystery into conceptual transparency. It seeks to determine as carefully as possible what Christian doctrine actually claims, what distinctions its truth requires, and what realities its language intends.

Theology seeks intelligibility because truth deserves to be understood.

Truth belongs to reality itself. Intelligibility belongs to our responsible apprehension and judgment of that reality. Theology therefore seeks intelligibility not because it creates truth, but because finite knowers cannot responsibly affirm what they do not understand. Only a doctrine rendered intelligible can be responsibly judged, and only what can be responsibly judged can be responsibly affirmed or denied.

The next question therefore follows necessarily:

How does theological language become genuinely about God?

Saturday, June 27, 2026

Consent Is Not Enough: Autonomy, the Ontology of the Patient, and the Vocation of Medicine

This essay forms part of an ongoing series in philosophical theology produced through the Department of Philosophical Theology at Christ School of Theology. The series explores questions of intelligibility, reality, theological language, and the philosophical conditions for Christian belief.

Abstract

The doctrine of informed consent represents one of the great moral achievements of modern medicine, correcting paternalistic practices and recognizing the patient as a responsible moral agent rather than a passive object of clinical expertise. This essay argues, however, that contemporary bioethics has too often elevated consent from an indispensable procedural safeguard into the governing principle of a medical ethics that tacitly reduces the patient to a preference-bearing will. When autonomy becomes the primary category through which patients are understood, medicine risks losing sight of the deeper realities that constitute personal identity, vulnerability, embodiment, and vocation.

Drawing upon philosophical theology, contemporary metaphysics, and Lutheran anthropology, the essay contends that patients are not simply autonomous choosers but persons whose identities are irreducible to acts of consent. Clinical judgment therefore cannot be exhausted by procedural respect for autonomous preference. Medicine is fundamentally ordered toward the good of embodied persons whose dignity is grounded in realities that precede and exceed autonomous choice.

Rather than rejecting informed consent, the essay relocates it within a richer account of the human person and the vocation of medicine. Physicians are called not merely to secure the patient's consent but to serve the flourishing of persons created in the image of God, whose lives possess objective meaning and worth independent of their present capacities for autonomous decision. In this way, informed consent is preserved as an essential ethical practice while recovering the broader ontological and theological framework within which it has its proper place and force.

Key Words: informed consent; patient autonomy; principlist bioethics; Beauchamp and Childress; H. Tristram Engelhardt; Edmund Pellegrino; Alasdair MacIntyre; ontology of the patient; personal identity; extrinsic individuation; medical vocation; imago Dei; coram Deo; Lutheran anthropology; life ethics

I. Introduction: A Moral Achievement and Its Inflation

The modern doctrine of informed consent represents a genuine moral achievement. Its emergence in the mid-twentieth century marked a decisive break with a paternalism so habitual in clinical medicine that it had ceased to recognize itself as such. Patients had been subjected to experimental procedures without disclosure — at Tuskegee, at Willowbrook, and in the Nazi medical programs that prompted the Nuremberg Code — to surgical interventions decided by physicians who considered their own clinical judgment sufficient warrant for action, and to a systematic reduction of the embodied person to an object of professional expertise. The correction demanded by the consent doctrine was not a refinement of existing medical ethics; it was a moral challenge to its foundations. The physician's expertise, it declared, does not confer authority to determine the course of another person's life. The patient is an agent, not a substrate. Information must be disclosed, comprehension secured, and the patient's free authorization obtained before anything is done.

This correction was right, and nothing argued in what follows proposes to reverse it. The patient's voice must be heard; her preferences must be taken seriously; coercion and manipulation in the clinical setting are genuine wrongs. These are not abstract principles; they were purchased at the cost of real suffering, and the history of bioethics has given us abundant reasons to maintain vigilance on precisely these points.

What requires urgent criticism, however, is something different: the inflation of consent from a necessary condition of ethical medical practice into the governing principle of a medical ethics that tacitly reduces the patient to a preference-bearing will. This is not a small or merely technical dispute. It concerns what medicine is for, who the patient is, and what a physician owes to both. When autonomy is elevated from a necessary safeguard into the controlling principle of medical morality, the patient is tacitly reconceived as a preference-bearing will, medicine becomes a technical service industry, and the physician's vocation is reduced to competent compliance. Each of these consequences is a distortion — not merely of Christian medical ethics, but of medicine and of the human person as such.

This essay argues that the autonomy model in its dominant contemporary form presupposes an ontology of the patient that it cannot itself supply. The patient precedes the patient's choices and retains moral significance even when the capacities for deliberation, memory, communication, or consent are diminished or absent. To explain why this is so — and to do more than merely assert it — requires recovering a richer account both of the person and of medicine. In prior contributions to this journal, I have argued that all intrinsic accounts of personal identity ultimately fail, that what individuates persons is finally the intentional love of God, and that human life is constituted by divine address prior to and independent of any social mediation or functional capacity.¹ I have also argued that the concept of vocation names not primarily what one does but what one is: a creature called into being, relation, and responsibility.² These arguments bear directly on the crisis of bioethics, and the present essay draws out their implications for the clinical setting.

The argument proceeds in seven stages. It first reconstructs the principlist consensus and traces the philosophical pedigree of autonomy's rise to primacy. It then identifies three philosophical failures of the autonomy-as-master-principle model and examines what that model presupposes but cannot supply: an ontology of the patient adequate to the problem of personal identity. The essay next develops a Christian account of the patient as embodied creature, relationally constituted person, and divinely addressed self; retrieves the concept of medical vocation and its implications for the physician's moral agency; and concludes by offering a constructive account of a richer medical ethics that situates rather than supplants consent.

II. The Principlist Consensus and the Ascendancy of Autonomy

Any serious engagement with the autonomy model must begin by understanding its intellectual architecture. The regnant framework in anglophone bioethics did not emerge arbitrarily; it drew on deep resources in modern moral philosophy and was institutionalized through a rigorous and widely influential body of work. To criticize it responsibly requires first reconstructing it fairly.

Beauchamp and Childress and the Four Principles

The dominant framework in anglophone bioethics for the past half century is the principlist architecture associated with Tom Beauchamp and James Childress, most fully developed in their Principles of Biomedical Ethics, now in its eighth edition.³ On this account, medical ethics is organized around four prima facie principles: respect for autonomy, beneficence, non-maleficence, and justice. These principles are presented as mid-level norms derived from the overlapping consensus of common moral experience and a range of ethical theories. They require specification and balancing in particular cases, and no single principle enjoys automatic priority over the others.

In formal terms, this is a balanced framework. In practice, however, autonomy has emerged as first among equals. Beauchamp and Childress themselves acknowledge the special weight the respect-for-autonomy principle carries in contemporary clinical ethics, particularly in contexts of patient refusal. When a competent patient refuses a recommended intervention — even one the physician judges urgently necessary — the refusal is generally understood to be binding. The language of "patient-centered care" and "shared decision-making" that now pervades clinical culture expresses this priority. So does the proliferation of advance directive legislation, surrogate decision-making frameworks, and the legal doctrine of informed consent itself, which in most jurisdictions permits liability not only for failures of disclosure but for interventions undertaken without adequate authorization, whatever their medical outcome.

The Philosophical Pedigree

This priority has a serious philosophical pedigree. The roots run to Kant's account of rational autonomy as the ground of moral worth, to Mill's harm principle as the limiting condition on legitimate interference with individual choice, and through both to a broadly liberal tradition that treats rational self-governance as definitive of what distinguishes persons from things. On the Kantian inheritance in particular, the capacity for autonomous rational agency is not merely one valuable property among others that persons happen to possess; it is constitutive of personhood itself. To override a competent agent's considered choice is therefore not merely to act against that person's interest — it is to treat her as less than a person, to substitute one's own will for hers and thereby deny the very capacity that makes her a moral subject rather than a mere object. This is why, on Kantian grounds, even a beneficent override of autonomous choice carries a moral cost that no good outcome can fully cancel: it is a wrong to the person as person, not merely a miscalculation about welfare.

Engelhardt and the Secular Bridge

H. Tristram Engelhardt Jr. drew the inference with unusual clarity and unflinching consistency. In a secular, pluralist society, he argued, there is no morally authoritative account of the good life available to all parties through reason alone. Moral strangers — persons who do not share a thick ethical framework — can nonetheless interact peacefully and cooperate in institutions like medicine, but only if they observe the procedural principle of mutual respect for autonomy. Beneficence has no agreed-upon content in a morally plural world; autonomy at least gives us a procedure.⁴ On this view, the physician's proper role is to provide accurate information, ensure comprehension, and then stand aside. The patient's authorization is what makes a medical intervention legitimate; without it, even a beneficial act is a trespass.

Autonomy as Master Principle in Practice

The result, as Leon Kass has noted, is a medicine increasingly understood as a service industry whose product is the satisfaction of patient preferences.⁵ The physician is the expert; the patient is the consumer. The encounter is transactional rather than relational, and its moral content is exhausted by the terms of the transaction. This picture has achieved sufficient cultural penetration that it is now largely invisible — experienced not as one possible account of medicine but as the natural and obvious one.

This is the adversary worth engaging. Its philosophical foundations are serious; its humanitarian motivations are genuine; and its critique of paternalism was historically warranted. But the account is nonetheless deeply mistaken, and the mistakes run all the way down to the question of who the patient is.

III. Three Philosophical Failures of the Autonomy-as-Master-Principle Model

The principlist consensus reconstructed in the preceding section is philosophically serious and historically understandable. What follows is not a dismissal of it but a diagnosis. The autonomy-as-master-principle model fails, and fails at the level of its foundations, on three distinct fronts: ontological, normative, and vocational. Each failure is independent; together they are decisive.

The Ontological Problem: The Patient Who Precedes Her Choices

The first and most fundamental failure of the autonomy model is ontological. Autonomy is a predicate that requires a subject, and the model has no adequate account of that subject. The preference-bearing will that appears at the clinical encounter — expressing values, issuing authorizations, declining interventions — is presupposed by the framework but never adequately analyzed within it. The patient is identified with her choices, but this identification is unstable.

The instability becomes visible at the margins of the framework: at the bedside of the patient in the terminal stages of dementia, who can no longer express coherent preferences; in the neonatal intensive care unit; in the care of the patient with acute psychotic crisis. The standard response is to invoke advance directives, surrogate decision-making, and best-interest standards — mechanisms that attempt to honor autonomy where its direct exercise is impossible. But this is a repair operation performed on a framework whose foundations have quietly shifted. The patient in these cases is acknowledged to have moral status that precedes and exceeds her current capacity for self-determination. The question the framework cannot answer from its own resources is the one that matters most: what grounds that status?

If personal moral status is grounded in the capacity for autonomous rational agency — as the Kantian inheritance suggests — then those who lack that capacity have diminished or no status. This conclusion is not merely monstrous; it is embraced with logical consistency by some bioethicists who follow the Kantian premises wherever they lead.⁶ The standard principlist response is to insist that the four principles must be balanced, and that the interests of those who cannot exercise autonomy fall under the beneficence and non-maleficence principles. But this response defers rather than resolves the problem. What is the ground of the beneficence owed to the demented patient? If it is not their capacity for autonomous choice, what is it?

The autonomy model has no satisfying answer, because the moral significance of the patient who cannot consent is not derivable from a framework whose master principle is consent.

The Normative Gap: Consent Authorizes but Does Not Justify

The second failure is normative. Consent authorizes; it does not justify. A patient's informed and voluntary agreement to a procedure establishes a necessary condition for the physician's performing it, but necessary conditions are not sufficient ones. There is a gap between what the patient wants and what is medically good for the patient, and the autonomy model systematically collapses this gap.

Consider the physician confronted with a patient who requests an intervention the physician judges to offer no medical benefit, or affirmative harm, or that belongs to a category of acts the physician regards as incompatible with medicine's internal goods. The autonomy model, taken to its logical conclusion, generates an obligation for the physician to comply or at minimum to facilitate access. The physician's clinical and moral judgment becomes, in this picture, an obstacle to be managed rather than a contribution to be integrated. The physician is re-described as someone who offers services; the patient is re-described as someone who orders them.

But this conception of medicine is not self-evidently correct; it is a substantive and contestable view that has achieved the status of common sense by winning an argument it was never required to make explicit. Edmund Pellegrino, perhaps the most philosophically rigorous defender of a different view, argued throughout his career that medicine possesses internal goods — truthful diagnosis, healing where possible, palliation where cure is impossible, relief of suffering, faithful accompaniment of the ill — that are not derived from patient preference but constitute the telos of the practice.⁷ The patient's authorization is morally necessary because the patient is a person whose body is at stake; but the authorization does not create the good toward which medicine is ordered. Consent is morally indispensable within medicine; it is not the foundation of medical morality.

The Vocational Problem: The Physician Reduced to Competent Compliance

The third failure concerns the physician. The reduction of medical ethics to the authorization of patient preferences has consequences for the physician's moral agency that are rarely discussed with the seriousness they deserve. On the autonomy-as-master-principle model, the physician's personal moral convictions are a liability to be disclosed and then set aside. The widespread use of the language of "conscientious objection" to describe physician reluctance to participate in certain procedures — abortion, assisted suicide, certain reproductive technologies — reveals the underlying assumption: the physician's conscience is an exception to a default of compliance, not the center of a vocation.

But this inverts the proper order. The physician is not someone who happens to possess technical skills and rents them to whichever preferences present themselves in the consultation room. The physician is someone who has entered a practice constituted by goods — health, healing, truthful accompaniment of the suffering — and whose integrity consists precisely in orienting her skills toward those goods. The "conscientious objector" framing presupposes that the physician's primary obligation is compliance, with conscience as a permitted deviation from that default. The vocational understanding inverts this: conscience is the center, and what requires justification is any demand that the physician act against it.

When we reduce the physician to competent compliance, we do not merely restrict her moral agency. We deprive her of the vocational structure within which medicine's own goods become intelligible.

IV. The Ontology the Autonomy Model Cannot Supply

The three failures just identified share a common root. The autonomy model does not merely make errors at the level of application; it operates with an impoverished account of the person that it never subjects to critical scrutiny. This section excavates that account, shows why it collapses under philosophical pressure, and identifies what a more adequate account of the patient must supply.

The Thin Self and Its Failures at the Margins

These problems converge on a single underlying difficulty: the autonomy model operates with a thin, functionally defined account of the self, and that account cannot bear the normative weight placed upon it. To see this clearly, it is worth attending carefully to what the model implicitly assumes.

The model assumes that patients have preferences — that is, that they have psychological states with intentional content, organized into something like a set of values or a life plan. It assumes that these preferences can be elicited and expressed under conditions of adequate information and freedom from coercion. And it assumes that respecting these preferences is the primary form that respect for the patient-as-person takes.

What the model does not do is provide any account of why the preference-bearing subject deserves moral respect in the first place, or of what makes that subject the particular individual she is. These are not idle metaphysical questions; they have direct clinical and ethical consequences. If what grounds moral status is the capacity for rational preference-formation, then the capacity matters more than the individual who possesses or lacks it. And if what identifies the patient as this particular patient is her psychological continuity — her memories, personality, beliefs, and values — then radical disruption of psychological continuity raises the question of whether the person who consented is the same person who is being treated.

The Personal Identity Problem and Its Bioethical Consequences

I have argued at length elsewhere in this journal that all intrinsic accounts of personal identity ultimately fail.⁸ Neither bodily continuity, nor psychological continuity, nor the appeal to an immaterial soul individuated by its own haecceity, can accomplish what personal identity requires — namely, the re-identification of this individual across possible situations, including the possible situation of radical psychological disruption or bodily transformation.

The case of the Alzheimer's patient makes this vivid. Consider a patient who has, over years of progressive dementia, lost her memories, her characteristic personality, her capacity for deliberation, and her ability to recognize her own family. A psychological criterion of personal identity — the view, associated with Locke and his successors, that personal identity consists in continuity of consciousness and memory — implies that the woman currently in the bed is not, or perhaps not entirely, the same person as the woman who signed an advance directive five years earlier.⁹ The bodily criterion fares no better in the long run: for if we cannot conceive that the same person might have a different body (as it seems we can), then bodily continuity does not suffice to identify the person. And the appeal to an immaterial soul runs into the problem of what individuates souls — a problem that dissolves into either the claim that all souls share the same properties (which leads to the conclusion that there is only one soul) or the postulation of a bare haecceity that explains individuality by positing what cannot be specified.¹⁰

The conclusion is not that persons do not exist — it is that their existence cannot be grounded in any intrinsic property or set of properties they happen to possess. There is nothing in Bob, on any account, that fully explains why Bob is Bob and not someone else, and why Bob remains Bob through radical psychological or physical change.

What Must Be True of the Patient

This conclusion has a direct implication for medical ethics. The autonomy model implicitly relies upon a psychological criterion of the patient's identity: it is the patient's values, preferences, and life-narrative that make her the particular individual whose consent is sought. But if psychological continuity cannot fully individuate the person, then the moment the patient's psychological continuity is disrupted — by dementia, coma, psychiatric crisis, or even the radical transformation that serious illness brings — the framework loses its footing.

At the same time, our moral intuitions — confirmed by clinical practice at its best — insist that the patient in the advanced stages of dementia remains a person who commands care, whose suffering must be relieved, whose dignity must be honored. These intuitions are right. But they cannot be derived from the framework that makes autonomous preference the ground of moral status. They require a different account of who the patient is.

What must be true of the patient if her moral significance is to survive the loss of those capacities the autonomy model relies upon? The patient must have significance prior to her preferences — significance that does not depend on her ability to form or express them. And this significance cannot rest on any property she intrinsically possesses, since all such accounts fail. It must be grounded in something extrinsic to the patient — in a relation in which the patient stands independently of her capacities, and which is not dissolved by the loss of those capacities.

 V. A Christian Account of the Patient

The preceding analysis established what the autonomy model cannot supply: an account of the patient whose moral significance survives the loss of the functional capacities on which the model relies. The present section offers that account. It is explicitly theological, and it makes no apology for being so. The argument is not that Christian theology provides one supplementary perspective among others, but that it articulates what the philosophical critique already requires — an ontology of the person that precedes and exceeds any capacity the person happens to possess at a given moment.

The Patient as Embodied Creature: Life Received, Not Self-Created

Christian theology identifies the patient, in the first instance, as an embodied creature. This is not a trivially pious claim; it has specific philosophical content. To be a creature is to exist as the recipient of a gift one did not produce and cannot fully secure. Life is not an achievement but a receiving; it precedes any activity of the self and cannot be fully grasped from within the framework of self-authorship.

Gilbert Meilaender has noted, in these pages, that a living human being is not just a thing, not an inanimate object: "We do not exist the way a rock does, 'simply and fixedly what it is, identical with itself over time, and with no need to maintain that identity by anything else it does.'"¹¹ We are organisms that must work to sustain our life through the metabolic processes of embodied creaturely existence. But we are also more than organisms: our being is, as Meilaender puts it, ecstatic — we have a kind of inner freedom from our own substance, a capacity to reach out toward something that transcends our present condition. The patient is neither pure will, as the autonomy model implies, nor pure biology, as reductive naturalism implies. She is an embodied creature whose very existence participates in a drama of creation, fall, and redemption that she did not author.

This creaturely character of human life is directly relevant to the medical encounter. The patient who arrives in the clinic is not a sovereign self who happens to need technical services. She arrives carrying a body she received, sustained by relations she did not choose, embedded in a history she did not write. The finitude, fragility, and dependence she presents at the clinical encounter are not aberrations from her normal condition; they are revelations of what she always was. Medicine's response to her condition is not simply the fulfillment of a contract; it is an act of attending to the creature in her creatureliness.

The Patient as Relationally Constituted: Extrinsic Individuation and Divine Love

Second, the patient is a relationally constituted self whose identity is sustained through relations that exceed subjective consciousness. I have argued in this journal that the problem of personal identity is genuinely intractable on any account that attempts to ground it in intrinsic properties of the person — whether bodily, psychological, or spiritual.¹² The argument, briefly reconstructed: neither bodily continuity, nor psychological continuity, nor an immaterial soul with a bare haecceity, can accomplish the individuation of persons across possible situations and times. All intrinsic accounts founder on the same problem: there is nothing in the person that uniquely identifies her, that necessarily distinguishes her from every other possible person, and that remains constant through radical physical or psychological change.

The only available solution is extrinsic individuation: the person is the particular individual she is not because of any property she intrinsically possesses, but because of the relation in which she stands to one who individuates her through his love. "Peter is Peter because God regards Peter so. God thus functions as a type of ideal agent that grants personhood — they are the person that they are because God has loved them into a self-same one."¹³ God's love for Peter in an appropriately Peter-directed way discriminates Peter from all others whom God loves in their own particular ways.

This is not a merely consoling thought; it is a metaphysical claim with direct ethical consequences. If what makes the patient this patient — what individuates her as the particular person she is — is divine love and intentionality rather than any capacity or property she intrinsically possesses, then her moral significance is not exhausted by, and does not depend upon, her present functional capacities. The patient with advanced Alzheimer's disease retains her personhood not because she retains a sufficient degree of psychological continuity, but because God has not ceased to love her into the particular self she is. Her identity is held in existence by a love that does not diminish when memory fades or preference becomes inexpressible.

This account also illuminates the imago Dei in a way that avoids the standard difficulty of identifying the image with some specific intrinsic property — reason, will, moral capacity — that is diminished or absent in conditions of cognitive impairment. The image of God is not a property the patient possesses; it is a relation in which she stands. She is made in the image of God not because she can do what God can do, in some analogous sense, but because God has addressed her and continues to address her as a particular, beloved creature. The image is not an achievement but a gift — and like all gifts from God, it cannot be revoked by the limitations of finite creaturely existence.¹⁴

The Patient as Divinely Addressed: Dignity Coram Deo

Third, and most fundamentally, the patient is a creature who stands before God — coram Deo — independently of any social recognition, clinical evaluation, or capacity for self-expression. I have argued, drawing on the Lutheran theological tradition, that human life is constituted by address: "life is given before it is chosen and answerable before it is fully understood."¹⁵ To be human is to stand coram Deo before one can stand within any social order — before one can exercise autonomy, form preferences, or participate in the procedures through which principlist bioethics adjudicates moral status.

The coram Deo dimension of human existence names the givenness of life. Prior to social mediation — prior to participation in the structures of medicine, law, family, or economy — life stands before God. Its worth is not conferred by system, negotiated through procedure, or bestowed by successful recognition. It is given. Address precedes action; grace precedes achievement. This is precisely the ontological claim that the autonomy model cannot supply. The dignity of the patient does not derive from her capacity to consent. It precedes her capacity to consent, and it remains even when that capacity is gone.

This coram Deo structure has a correlate in the coram hominibus dimension: life before God does not terminate in private religious consolation. It issues in answerability to the neighbor. The patient who stands before God as addressed and loved is also the neighbor who stands before the physician as one to whom something is owed — not merely technical competence, not merely respect for expressed preferences, but faithful attention to the whole person in her creaturely condition. The physician-patient relationship is structured by this dual relatedness, and neither the physician nor the patient can be adequately understood without it.

VI. Medicine as Vocation: The Goods Internal to Practice

The account of the patient developed above has direct implications for how medicine itself must be understood. If the patient is not a preference-bearing will but an embodied creature addressed by God and individuated by divine love, then the practice ordered toward her cannot be adequately conceived as a technical service industry. This section retrieves an understanding of medicine as a vocation constituted by internal goods — an understanding that the autonomy model systematically obscures.

Pellegrino and the Internal Goods of Medicine

The autonomy model's reduction of the physician to competent compliance requires, as its correlate, a conception of medicine as a service industry — a body of technical expertise rented to whatever preferences present themselves for fulfillment. This conception is not merely philosophically inadequate; it is unfaithful to the actual character of medicine as a practice with its own internal goods.

Edmund Pellegrino, in a body of work spanning more than four decades, argued persistently against this reduction. Medicine has an end (a telos), he maintained, that is internal to the practice itself and that cannot be reduced to the satisfaction of patient preferences: the right and good healing action in this particular patient at this particular time.¹⁶ This end encompasses truthful diagnosis, healing where possible, palliation where cure is impossible, the relief of suffering, the protection of bodily integrity, and faithful accompaniment in illness and dying. These are not externally imposed goals; they are what medicine is for. A physician who disregards them in the name of patient preference has not respected the patient's autonomy; she has abandoned her vocation.

Pellegrino's account draws on a broadly Aristotelian framework, retrieving the notion that practices are constituted by the goods they characteristically pursue and that the virtues are precisely those dispositions that enable practitioners to pursue those goods reliably and well.¹⁷ The good physician is not merely a skilled technician who happens to possess certain values; she is someone whose character has been formed by the goods of medicine in such a way that she can be trusted to pursue them even when doing so is inconvenient, unprofitable, or contrary to patient demand.

MacIntyre in the Background: Practices, Virtues, and the Telos of Healing

Alasdair MacIntyre's analysis of practices and their internal goods provides the broader philosophical framework within which Pellegrino's account of medicine operates.¹⁸ For MacIntyre, a practice is a coherent, complex form of socially established cooperative activity through which goods internal to that activity are realized in the course of trying to achieve those standards of excellence appropriate to it. The internal goods of a practice cannot be identified or pursued apart from participation in the practice itself; they are not reducible to external goods like income, prestige, or patient satisfaction.

Medicine, on this account, is a practice in the fullest sense: it has internal standards of excellence (diagnostic accuracy, therapeutic efficacy, appropriate palliation), internal goods (the patient's genuine health, the relief of genuine suffering), and a tradition of reflection on those goods that extends from Hippocrates through the long history of medical ethics. The autonomy model, by subordinating all of this to the patient's expressed preferences, effectively collapses the distinction between internal and external goods — treating the patient's satisfaction as the only relevant measure of medical success. This is not an enrichment of medical ethics but an impoverishment of it.

Vocation as Ontological Address: The Physician Before God

The Christian tradition adds a further dimension that the MacIntyrean framework does not supply. The physician's calling is not merely the result of having entered a practice with internal goods; it is a vocation in the theological sense — a calling that comes from outside the self and that is answerable to something more than the internal logic of medical practice.

I have argued, in dialogue with the Lutheran tradition, that vocation does not name first what one does but what one is: a creature called into being, relation, and responsibility.¹⁹ In its fundamental sense, vocation names the creaturely condition as such: life received from God and given for the neighbor within concrete forms of creaturely existence. The physician's vocation is a specification of this fundamental creaturely calling. She is summoned to care for the neighbor in the particular vulnerability of illness, to attend to the creature in her creatureliness, and to serve the goods of healing, truth, and compassionate accompaniment — not because she has contracted to do so, but because she stands coram Deo as one to whom this service has been given.

This vocational understanding of medicine has two important implications. First, it means that the physician's conscience is not an exception to her professional role but its center. She is not a technician with incidentally held values; she is a person whose integrity consists in the faithful ordering of her skills toward goods she has received and is accountable for. When demands are made of the physician that conflict with the internal goods of medicine or with her own moral convictions, the language of "conscientious objection" is precisely backwards: it is the demand for compliance, not the exercise of conscience, that requires justification.

Second, and equally importantly, the vocational understanding of medicine situates the physician coram Deo in her relation to the patient. The patient before the physician is not merely a preference-bearer with whom a transactional agreement is negotiated. She is a creature whom God has loved into existence, whom God continues to address and sustain, and who stands before both physician and God in the vulnerability of her creaturely condition. The physician who attends to her does so as one who is herself coram Deo — answerable for what she does and does not do with the gifts of knowledge and skill she has received. Medical care is not merely a technical transaction; it is an exercise of creaturely responsibility before God.

VII. Toward a Richer Doctrine of Informed Consent

The argument developed in the preceding sections is critical in its diagnosis but constructive in its intention. Having shown that the autonomy model presupposes an ontology of the patient it cannot supply, and having offered a Christian account of the patient and of medicine adequate to what the critique requires, it remains to show what a richer doctrine of informed consent looks like in practice — and what it is capable of protecting that the autonomy model is not.

Consent Situated Within, Not as the Governing Principle

Nothing argued in the preceding sections implies that consent is dispensable, that the patient's voice should be overridden, or that paternalism in its historical forms was anything other than a moral failure. The argument is not that autonomy does not matter but that autonomy cannot bear the full normative weight assigned to it.

A richer medical ethics situates consent within a broader framework constituted by medicine's internal goods, the physician's vocation, and an adequate account of the patient as a person whose dignity is not generated by her preferences. Within this framework, consent retains its indispensable function: it protects the patient from coercion, manipulation, and the reduction of her embodied person to an object of professional decision. It ensures that the physician's clinical judgment is not exercised unilaterally, but in partnership with the patient whose life and body are at stake. It honors the patient as an active participant in her own care rather than a passive recipient of expert decisions.

But consent now has a different status. It is not the ground of medical morality; it is a necessary expression of a medical morality already constituted by deeper goods. The physician seeks the patient's consent because the patient is a person whose creaturely dignity demands it — not because consent is what makes the intervention legitimate in the abstract, but because this particular creature has been addressed by God as the one whose participation in her own healing is owed to her as a matter of her God-given dignity.

What a Thicker Medical Ethics Protects

A medical ethics that situates consent within a richer framework is capable of protecting things the autonomy model cannot protect. It can account for the moral significance of the patient who cannot consent — the demented, the unconscious, the neonate — without the strained mechanisms of advance directives and best-interest standards that the autonomy model requires. The demented patient commands care not because her earlier expressed preferences survive or because her interests can be inferred from her former values, but because she stands before God as an addressed and loved creature whose significance is not a function of her current capacities.

It can also protect the physician's moral agency in ways the autonomy model suppresses. If the physician's conscience is the center rather than the margin of her professional identity, then demands for her participation in acts she regards as incompatible with medicine's internal goods cannot simply override that conscience in the name of patient preference. The physician is not a neutral tool; she is a person with a vocation, answerable for what she does and does not do.

And it can sustain the goods of truthfulness, faithful accompaniment, and compassionate presence that the service-industry model of medicine systematically erodes. Paul Ramsey observed long ago that the patient is not merely a biological problem to be solved but a person to be accompanied.²⁰ Accompanying a person through illness and dying is not reducible to respecting her preferences; it requires forms of presence, truthfulness, and care that go beyond the fulfillment of any contract. Medicine practiced as vocation is medicine oriented toward these forms of presence as constitutive of the practice itself.

The Distinction between Necessary and Sufficient

The fundamental distinction at stake can be stated simply: consent is necessary because the patient is a person; it is insufficient because the patient is more than a will.

The patient is a person: she possesses dignity that demands she be treated as an agent, not merely as a substrate for intervention. Her preferences must be taken seriously; her authorization must be sought; her right to refuse must be honored. The consent doctrine expresses something real about what she is.

But she is more than a will: she is an embodied creature whose life is received rather than self-created, a relationally constituted self whose identity is held in existence by divine love, and a creature who stands before God independently of her capacities for choice. These dimensions of her existence are morally relevant — indeed, they are morally primary — and they cannot be captured by a framework that treats autonomous preference as the master principle of medical morality. It is to the conclusion that these distinctions finally point.

VIII. Conclusion: The Vocation of Medicine and the Dignity of the Patient

Modern bioethics was built, in part, on a justified protest against the reduction of the patient to an object of professional expertise. The protest was right. The correction — the insistence that patients are persons whose voices must be heard and whose authorizations must be sought — was morally necessary and remains practically indispensable.

But the protest has generated a framework that cannot sustain its own deepest commitments. The dignity of the patient who cannot consent, the moral seriousness of the physician's vocation, the goods internal to the practice of medicine — none of these can be adequately grounded in a framework whose governing principle is the satisfaction of patient preferences. The autonomy model gives us an indispensable safeguard and mistakes it for a foundation.

The recovery of a richer medical ethics requires attending to what the autonomy model presupposes but cannot supply: an account of the patient as more than a preference-bearing will. That account is available, though not without theological commitment. The patient is an embodied creature whose life is received from God and whose significance does not depend on her present capacity for self-determination. She is a relationally constituted self whose identity is held in existence by divine love that does not diminish when memory fades or preference becomes inexpressible. And she is a creature who stands coram Deo — before the God who has addressed and loved her into the particular person she is — independently of any social recognition or functional capacity.

Medicine practiced as vocation — ordered toward the genuine goods of healing, truth, relief of suffering, and faithful accompaniment — is medicine adequate to this patient. Consent belongs within such a medicine, and it belongs there necessarily. But it cannot constitute such a medicine, because the patient who arrives in the clinic is not first and finally a will. She is a creature — addressed, loved, and called — whose dignity the physician is summoned to serve.

 Notes

1. Dennis Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," Verba Vitae 1, nos. 3–4 (Autumn/Winter 2024): 21–44; Dennis Bielfeldt, "Gaining Clarity on the That and What of Life," Verba Vitae 1, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Summer 2024): 39–52.

2. Dennis Bielfeldt, "Alienation, Vocation, and the Ontology of Life," Verba Vitae 3, no. 1 (Spring 2026): 39–58.

3. Tom L. Beauchamp and James F. Childress, Principles of Biomedical Ethics, 8th ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019). The first edition appeared in 1979; the work has shaped anglophone bioethics across eight editions.

4. H. Tristram Engelhardt Jr., The Foundations of Bioethics, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 67–114. Engelhardt's position grew more explicitly theological in his later work; see The Foundations of Christian Bioethics (Lisse: Swets and Zeitlinger, 2000), where he largely abandons the secular project.

5. Leon R. Kass, Life, Liberty, and the Defense of Dignity: The Challenge for Bioethics (San Francisco: Encounter Books, 2002), 1–40. Kass's critique of the service model of medicine runs throughout his bioethical writing.

6. The most consistent defenders of this view are Peter Singer and Michael Tooley. See Peter Singer, Practical Ethics, 3rd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 73–105; Michael Tooley, "Abortion and Infanticide," Philosophy and Public Affairs 2, no. 1 (1972): 37–65. For a careful response, see Robert P. George and Christopher Tollefsen, Embryo: A Defense of Human Life (New York: Doubleday, 2008).

7. Edmund D. Pellegrino and David C. Thomasma, For the Patient's Good: The Restoration of Beneficence in Health Care (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). See also Edmund D. Pellegrino, "Toward a Virtue-Based Normative Ethics for the Health Professions," Kennedy Institute of Ethics Journal 5, no. 3 (1995): 253–77; and Edmund D. Pellegrino, The Philosophy of Medicine Reborn: A Pellegrino Reader, ed. H. Tristram Engelhardt Jr. and Fabrice Jotterand (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008).

8. Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," 26–36.

9. The locus classicus for the psychological criterion is John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Peter H. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), bk. 2, chap. 27. Its most influential contemporary defender is Derek Parfit; see Reasons and Persons (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 199–347. For the bioethical application of Parfitian considerations, see Jeff McMahan, The Ethics of Killing: Problems at the Margins of Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002).

10. Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," 28–32. The argument draws on the analysis developed there, which engages Jacob Berger's critique of soul theories of personal identity and Jaegwon Kim's "pairing problem" for dualist accounts.

11. Gilbert Meilaender, "Death in the History of Redemption," Verba Vitae 1, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Summer 2024): 19. The passage Meilaender quotes is from Hans Jonas, The Phenomenon of Life: Toward a Philosophical Biology (New York: Harper and Row, 1966), 80.

12. Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," 26–36; Dennis Bielfeldt, "Gaining Clarity on the That and What of Life," Verba Vitae 1, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Summer 2024): 44–52. The latter article develops the metaphysical distinction between the that (existence) and the what (essence) of a thing, arguing that existence is irreducible to essence — an insight directly relevant to the recognition that the patient's moral significance cannot be read off from her present properties or capacities.

13. Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," 33. The argument draws on Robert C. Koons, "Divine Persons as Relational Qua-objects," Religious Studies 35, no. 4 (1999): 383–401, extending Koons's account of intra-Trinitarian individuation through divine love to the individuation of created persons.

14. The argument is developed in relation to the imago Dei in Bielfeldt, "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation," 38–43. See also Dan Lioy, "The Imago Dei: Biblical Foundations, Theological Implications, and Enduring Significance," Verba Vitae 1, nos. 3–4 (Autumn/Winter 2024): 45–72, for a complementary biblical-theological account.

15. Bielfeldt, "Alienation, Vocation, and the Ontology of Life," 40. The formulation draws on Luther's account of the Christian's standing coram Deo as developed in The Freedom of a Christian (1520); see Martin Luther, "The Freedom of a Christian," in Luther's Works, American Edition, vol. 31, ed. Harold J. Grimm (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957), 327–77.

16. Pellegrino and Thomasma, For the Patient's Good, 147–70. See also Edmund D. Pellegrino and David C. Thomasma, A Philosophical Basis of Medical Practice: Toward a Philosophy and Ethic of the Healing Professions (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), 192–220.

17. Pellegrino, "Toward a Virtue-Based Normative Ethics," 260–63. The connection between internal goods and the virtues required to pursue them is central to Pellegrino's appropriation of Aristotelian ethics for medicine.

18. Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory, 3rd ed. (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007), 187–203. MacIntyre himself does not directly apply his framework to medicine in After Virtue, but the application has been developed extensively by others; see Warren Thomas Reich, ed., Encyclopedia of Bioethics, rev. ed. (New York: MacMillan, 1995), and the essays collected in Daniel Sulmasy, The Healer's Calling: A Spirituality for Physicians and Other Health Care Professionals (New York: Paulist Press, 1997).

19. Bielfeldt, "Alienation, Vocation, and the Ontology of Life," 45–47. The Lutheran theological background is Luther's own account in "The Freedom of a Christian" and in his treatment of the Three Estates; see also Robert Kolb, "Martin Luther's Definition of the Human Creature," Verba Vitae 2, no. 2 (Summer 2025): 41–62.

20. Paul Ramsey, The Patient as Person: Explorations in Medical Ethics (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970), xi–xviii. Ramsey's insistence that the patient is a person — a fellow human being — rather than a case or a problem remains one of the most important formulations in twentieth-century medical ethics, and his work anticipates much of what both Pellegrino and the present essay argue.

Bibliography

Beauchamp, Tom L., and James F. Childress. Principles of Biomedical Ethics. 8th ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2019.

Bielfeldt, Dennis. "Alienation, Vocation, and the Ontology of Life." Verba Vitae 3, no. 1 (Spring 2026): 39–58.

———. "Gaining Clarity on the That and What of Life." Verba Vitae 1, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Summer 2024): 39–52.

———. "Personal Identity, Divine Love, and Extrinsic Individuation." Verba Vitae 1, nos. 3–4 (Autumn/Winter 2024): 21–44.

Engelhardt, H. Tristram, Jr. The Foundations of Bioethics. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.

———. The Foundations of Christian Bioethics. Lisse: Swets and Zeitlinger, 2000.

George, Robert P., and Christopher Tollefsen. Embryo: A Defense of Human Life. New York: Doubleday, 2008.

Jonas, Hans. The Phenomenon of Life: Toward a Philosophical Biology. New York: Harper and Row, 1966.

Kass, Leon R. Life, Liberty, and the Defense of Dignity: The Challenge for Bioethics. San Francisco: Encounter Books, 2002.

Kolb, Robert. "Martin Luther's Definition of the Human Creature." Verba Vitae 2, no. 2 (Summer 2025): 41–62.

Koons, Robert C. "Divine Persons as Relational Qua-objects." Religious Studies 35, no. 4 (1999): 383–401.

Lioy, Dan. "The Imago Dei: Biblical Foundations, Theological Implications, and Enduring Significance." Verba Vitae 1, nos. 3–4 (Autumn/Winter 2024): 45–72.

Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Edited by Peter H. Nidditch. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975.

Luther, Martin. "The Freedom of a Christian." In Luther's Works, American Edition, vol. 31. Edited by Harold J. Grimm. Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957.

MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. 3rd ed. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007.

McMahan, Jeff. The Ethics of Killing: Problems at the Margins of Life. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Meilaender, Gilbert. Bioethics and the Character of Human Life: Essays and Reflections. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2020.

———. "Death in the History of Redemption." Verba Vitae 1, nos. 1–2 (Spring/Summer 2024): 17–28.

Parfit, Derek. Reasons and Persons. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984.

Pellegrino, Edmund D. The Philosophy of Medicine Reborn: A Pellegrino Reader. Edited by H. Tristram Engelhardt Jr. and Fabrice Jotterand. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2008.

———. "Toward a Virtue-Based Normative Ethics for the Health Professions." Kennedy Institute of Ethics Journal 5, no. 3 (1995): 253–77.

Pellegrino, Edmund D., and David C. Thomasma. For the Patient's Good: The Restoration of Beneficence in Health Care. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

———. A Philosophical Basis of Medical Practice: Toward a Philosophy and Ethic of the Healing Professions. New York: Oxford University Press, 1981.

Ramsey, Paul. The Patient as Person: Explorations in Medical Ethics. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1970.

Reich, Warren Thomas, ed. Encyclopedia of Bioethics. Rev. ed. New York: MacMillan, 1995.

Singer, Peter. Practical Ethics. 3rd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011.

Sulmasy, Daniel. The Healer's Calling: A Spirituality for Physicians and Other Health Care Professionals. New York: Paulist Press, 1997.

Tooley, Michael. "Abortion and Infanticide." Philosophy and Public Affairs 2, no. 1 (1972): 37–65.

Friday, June 26, 2026

What Follows from What: Authorial Intention and the Public Logic of Texts

This essay forms part of an ongoing series in philosophical theology produced through the Department of Philosophical Theology at Christ School of Theology. The series explores questions of intelligibility, reality, theological language, and the philosophical conditions for Christian belief.

One of the persistent assumptions of modern hermeneutics is that the meaning of a text ultimately resides in the intention of its author. To understand what a text means is therefore to recover, as nearly as possible, what the author meant by writing it. Whether expressed in Schleiermacher’s psychological reconstruction, Hirsch’s distinction between meaning and significance, or more recent intentionalist accounts, the governing conviction remains remarkably stable: meaning is fundamentally an event in a mind.

There is much to commend this instinct. Historical interpretation would be impossible if we ignored the circumstances in which texts were written, the linguistic conventions of their age, and the problems their authors intended to address. Yet a profound difficulty remains. An author’s intention is not itself publicly available. What is publicly available is the text. The intention is always reconstructed through the text rather than directly observed.

This distinction is more than epistemological. It concerns the very object of interpretation.

Authorial Intention as Historical Hypothesis

My recent study of Luther’s Disputatio contra scholasticam theologiam forced this question into sharper focus than I had anticipated. The ninety-seven theses repeatedly ask what follows from what. They deny certain consequences, affirm others, and expose inferential patterns they regard as theologically impossible. The most conspicuous evidence appears in the Latin itself. Thesis 8 says nec ideo sequitur; thesis 13 calls an inference absurdissima est consequentia; theses 58–60 display a chain: sequitur ex ea, ex eadem sequitur, item sequitur; thesis 61 says non sequitur; thesis 63, sed sequitur. The public object before us is therefore not an inaccessible sequence of psychological states but a structured network of assertions and inferential commitments.

What grounds the claim that this inferential vocabulary is doing serious philosophical work rather than functioning merely as rhetorical ornament? Here history becomes decisive before it becomes systematic. Luther entered the University of Erfurt in 1501, the very year in which Jodocus Trutvetter’s Summule totius logice appeared. Trutvetter defines argumentation, when the word is taken broadly, so that it is convertibiliter idem quod consequentia: discourse containing antecedent and consequent together with an affirmed sign of inference. He then calls the general rules by which consequences may be assessed the metrum et mensura omnis argumentationis—the measure and standard of all argumentation. When the 1517 theses ask what follows from what, they are not borrowing a phrase from thin air. They are operating within a logical grammar whose precise vocabulary, examples, and pressure points are documented in a text Luther would have studied at Erfurt.

This primary-source concordance changes the interpretive situation. Instead of reconstructing Luther’s “inner life” at the moment of composition—a task epistemically unavailable to us—we can compare two publicly accessible texts. The logical cluster of theses 45–53 employs suppositio, forma syllogistica, termini divini, scitus, creditus, universalia, and petere principium. These same terms, distinctions, and characteristic problem-cases appear in Trutvetter’s manual. The consequence-structure of the theses responds, point by point, to a grammar documented in a text we possess. Historical interpretation proceeds by comparing publicly available inscriptions, not by reconstructing private mental events.

From Historical Reconstruction to Formal Analysis

The historical discussion prepares the way for a more precise philosophical claim. Suppose we distinguish between a text T, an author A, and the author’s actual intention I. Traditional intentionalism is often committed, implicitly if not explicitly, to something like the following claim:

Meaning(T) = I(A,T)

The meaning of the text simply is the author’s intention in producing it.

The difficulty is immediate. The author’s actual intention is never publicly available. What interpreters possess is not I but a historically reconstructed hypothesis about I. The relation is better expressed as:

Ĩ = H(T,C)

where H is a historical reconstruction produced from the text T together with its historical context C. The reconstructed intention, however plausible, remains a hypothesis. It is defeasible, open to revision, and never simply identical with what was actually passing through the author’s mind.

Once this distinction is made, the object of interpretation changes. Instead of attempting to recover an inaccessible psychological event, interpretation asks what propositions the text publicly asserts and what follows from those assertions. If Γ denotes the propositions asserted by the text, then the primary question becomes:

Γ ⊨ φ

Does proposition φ follow from the public commitments already incurred by the text?

A text can commit an author to implications the author never consciously entertained. Anyone who has published extensively knows this from experience. Readers often discover consequences, tensions, and conceptual relations that the writer did not explicitly foresee. Sometimes they are mistaken. Sometimes they reveal something genuinely present within the public logic of the text. This is why interpretation cannot simply identify meaning with recovered intention.

The Logic of Consequence at Work

The formal account developed above becomes concrete in Luther's engagement with scholastic theology.

The will and the failed consequence. Theses 13–16 constitute a small disputation within the disputation. The scholastic inference Luther targets in thesis 13 runs: a person in error can love the creature above all things, therefore such a person can love God above all things. Luther calls this the most absurd of consequences—absurdissima est consequentia. Why? Because the move from “loves creature” to “therefore can love God” treats love of God as the natural intensification of a capacity already present in the errant will. Trutvetter’s standard for a good illative consequence is exact: the antecedent must necessarily infer the consequent, so that it is impossible for the antecedent to be true without the consequent. Here the antecedent remains true—the errant will really can love the creature—while the consequent is precisely what is in question. Nothing about loving a creature in the condition of sin makes loving God above all things possible without grace. The material consequence fails. Thesis 16 then substitutes the correct inference: a person in error can love the creature; therefore it is impossible that such a person loves God. The two theses do not display ignorance of consequence-logic. They use it against the scholastic position. The right consequence runs in the opposite direction from what the scholastic inference presupposed.

Righteousness and the reversal of predication. Thesis 40 gives the moral and soteriological inversion in compressed form: Non efficimur iusti iusta operando, sed iusti facti operamur iusta. We do not become righteous by performing righteous deeds; rather, having been made righteous, we perform deeds that can then be called righteous. The predicate iusta as applied theologically to works is not self-grounding. It presupposes the prior constitution of the agent as iustus. Righteousness is not the terminus of a morally cumulative process but a condition governing when an act may be identified as righteous before God.

The inferential point is precise. From the fact that an act conforms outwardly to what the law commands, it does not follow within the theological teleo-space—the objective order of relations within which theological predicates are properly assessed—that the act is righteous coram Deo. External conformity and theological righteousness are not interchangeable predicates, and the inference from one to the other fails for the same reason the inference in theses 13–16 fails: the antecedent can be true while the consequent remains false.

The consequence chain of theses 57–60. The most sustained piece of consequence-reasoning in the disputation occurs in the sequence running from thesis 57 through thesis 60. Thesis 57 isolates a scholastic formulation: the law commands that the commanded act be done in the grace of God. Rather than simply denying this, Luther displays the consequence-chain the formulation licenses.

Sequitur ex ea, quod gratiam Dei habere sit iam nova ultra legem exactio. It follows from it that having grace is already a new exaction beyond the law. Ex eadem sequitur quod actus praecepti possit fieri sine gratia Dei. From the same it follows that the commanded act can be performed without the grace of God. Item sequitur quod odiosior fiat gratia Dei quam fuit lex ipsa. It likewise follows that grace becomes more hateful than the law itself.

The argument is not rhetorical. If the law commands that an otherwise specifiable act be done in grace, the act has already been conceptually individuated before grace is added. Grace then becomes a supplementary requirement imposed upon an act whose identity does not depend upon grace for its definition. Once that individuating move is made, the following consequences are unavoidable. Having grace becomes an extra demand layered on top of the law. The commanded act becomes conceivable without grace, since grace entered only as a supplement to an already-identified act. And grace, now appearing as an additional burden, becomes more hateful than the law it was meant to complete. The scholastic formulation generates its own destructive consequences by smuggling a prior act-individuation into its conditional grammar. Luther’s move is to display what follows—sequitur, sequitur, sequitur—rather than simply to assert that the formulation is wrong.

This is Γ ⊨ φ in operation, with φ being a consequence the scholastic party certainly did not intend. Whether or not Luther consciously traced every step of this chain in sequence, the chain is there in the public propositions. And it is assessable without any hypothesis about what was passing through Luther’s mind in September 1517.

What Has Actually Been Established?

The historical comparison with Trutvetter has accomplished something quite specific, and it is worth stating exactly what that accomplishment is. We have not recovered Luther’s mental life. We have compared two publicly available texts and identified a detailed correspondence between a logical grammar and its critical appropriation. The consequence-structure of the 1517 theses is intelligible—and criticizable—on the basis of publicly checkable textual and logical relations. Nothing in that analysis depends upon privileged access to the interior life of a sixteenth-century monk.

An obvious objection presses at this point. Someone in the tradition of Volker Leppin might argue that “public assertion” does not float free of intentional context. To individuate which propositions the text is asserting—to determine, for instance, whether est in the Trinitarian syllogism expresses numerical identity or essential predication—already requires reconstructing the conventions, habits, and intentions of the author’s linguistic community. Conceded. Historical reconstruction remains indispensable. We should seek the most plausible account of authorial purpose, and we should reconstruct the intellectual world in which a text was written with as much care as possible.

But such reconstructions are precisely what Trutvetter’s text allows us to perform. The individuation of propositions in the 1517 theses does not require access to Luther’s private deliberations. It requires close attention to the Erfurt logical environment in which those propositions were formulated—an environment now traceable through primary sources. The interpretive claim stands on publicly accessible textual relations, not on any hypothesis about a psychological event.

Historical reconstruction therefore remains indispensable, but it no longer functions as the final court of appeal. Public assertions, logical consequence, and the reality to which those assertions refer possess an objectivity that cannot be reduced to psychological reconstruction.

The Theological Stakes

This conclusion carries direct implications for theology.

Theological truth cannot depend upon privileged access to the interior life of biblical writers, church fathers, reformers, or contemporary theologians. When Paul writes that we are justified by faith apart from works of the law, interpretation cannot content itself with asking what private conviction prompted the sentence. It must ask what follows from the proposition publicly asserted. What is ruled out by it? What is licensed by it? What consequence-chains does it permit, and which does it block? These are questions about the public inferential structure of the text, and they are in principle answerable—even if contested.

Consider what this means for biblical exegesis. When we ask whether a given reading of Romans 3 or Galatians 2 is correct, we are not asking whether it matches the neural event that occurred in Paul’s mind as he dictated. We are asking whether it makes the best sense of the publicly available sequence of propositions, the inferential commitments those propositions incur, and the theological reality to which they point. The reality—the grace of God announced in Christ—is not constituted by Paul’s psychology. It is the res to which admissible readings must answer. Historical reconstruction of Paul’s situation, his interlocutors, his linguistic conventions, his scriptural inheritance: all of this is indispensable evidence. But it functions as evidence for understanding the public logic of the text, not as a replacement for that logic.

The confessional tradition has always implicitly understood this. The Formula of Concord does not proceed by attempting to reconstruct the psychological states of Luther or Melanchthon. It proceeds by asking what follows from publicly stated propositions and which consequences are compatible with the reality the propositions intend—the grace of God in Christ. The theological question is always, at bottom, a question about what propositions warrant and what they rule out. Those are inferential questions. They are questions about Γ ⊨ φ.

None of this diminishes the importance of authors. It relocates interpretation where it has always implicitly belonged: within language, logic, and the realities to which language refers. We interpret texts because they make publicly assessable claims about the world. Those claims generate inferential commitments that can be examined, criticized, extended, or shown to be incompatible with other commitments. Authors incur those commitments by making public assertions, whether or not they consciously traced every consequence of what they said.

The real question is therefore not simply, “What did the author intend?” It is also, “What has the author publicly committed himself to by saying what he said?”

In Luther’s case, what follows from what is not merely a historical curiosity. It is the organizing question of the disputation itself—a question borrowed from the very logical grammar of his teachers and turned, with remarkable precision, against their conclusions. The measure and standard of all argumentation becomes, in the hands of the young Luther, the measure and standard by which scholastic theology is found wanting. Not by appeal to private revelation. By displaying what follows.

Dennis Bielfeldt is Chancellor and Professor of Philosophical Theology at ILT's Christ School of Theology. The argument developed here is presented in greater detail in "What Follows from What: Luther and Trutvetter," a paper to be presented at the Fifteenth International Congress for Luther Research, Aarhus, Denmark, August 2026.