Why I'm a Thomas Aquinas Fanboy

Have you ever had that one teacher who changed everything? Perhaps it was Mrs. Johnson in third grade who finally made math click, or that college professor whose passion for literature awakened something dormant in your soul. We all have these pivotal figures who, through their dedication to truth and their gift for making the complex simple, opened doors we didn't even know existed.

Thomas Aquinas was such a teacher for the entire Western world—though his students numbered in the millions across eight centuries rather than thirty in a classroom.

Born around 1225 in a castle near Naples, Thomas was the youngest son of a noble family who had grand plans for him. But God, as He often does, had other ideas. Thomas's family wanted him to become the abbot of a wealthy monastery, a position of power and prestige. Instead, this physically large, unusually quiet young man joined the Dominicans, a new order of begging friars dedicated to preaching and teaching.

His family was so outraged they kidnapped him and held him prisoner in the family castle for over a year, even sending a prostitute to his room to tempt him away from his vocation. Legend says Thomas chased her out with a burning log from the fireplace.

Why such drama over a career choice? Because Thomas wasn't just choosing poverty over wealth—he was choosing to dedicate his extraordinary mind to a revolutionary project: proving that faith and reason, rather than being enemies, were actually the closest of friends. 

 

The World Thomas Entered

To understand Thomas's significance, we need to grasp the intellectual crisis of his age. In the 13th century, the works of Aristotle, the great Greek philosopher, were being rediscovered in the West through Arabic translations. This created a massive problem. Aristotle seemed to prove through reason alone many things that contradicted Christian faith: that the world was eternal (not created), that the soul died with the body, that God didn't know particular things but only universals.

Many Christians responded by rejecting philosophy altogether. "What has Athens to do with Jerusalem?" Tertullian had asked centuries earlier (De Praescriptione Haereticorum, 7). Faith was faith, reason was reason, and never the twain shall meet. Others tried to maintain both but kept them in separate compartments—what you believed on Sunday had nothing to do with what you thought Monday through Saturday.

Thomas proposed something radical: truth cannot contradict truth. If God is the author of both revelation and reason, then properly understood, they must harmonize. As he would write:

"Grace does not destroy nature, but perfects it." (Summa Theologiae I, q.1, a.8)

This wasn't just an academic exercise—it was about the very integrity of the human person and our search for God.

 

The Method of the Master

What made Thomas special wasn't just his conclusions but his method. Open any page of his masterwork, the Summa Theologiae, and you'll find the same pattern: a question is posed, the strongest objections against the Christian position are presented (often more forcefully than opponents themselves stated them), then Thomas provides his response, drawing from Scripture, Church Fathers, philosophy, and common sense, before answering each objection in turn.

This method reveals something profound about Thomas's character and his understanding of truth. He believed truth was strong enough to withstand any challenge. He trusted his readers enough to present opposing views fairly. He had the humility to acknowledge what was genuinely difficult or mysterious. As he wrote:

"The slenderest knowledge that may be obtained of the highest things is more desirable than the most certain knowledge obtained of lesser things." (Summa Theologiae I, q.1, a.5)

Consider his approach to one of theology's most difficult questions: how can God be all-good and all-powerful if evil exists? Rather than dismissing the question or offering easy platitudes, Thomas acknowledges its force. His response is nuanced and profound: God permits evil because He is powerful enough to bring good even out of evil. As Augustine had said before him, "God judged it better to bring good out of evil than to suffer no evil to exist" (Enchiridion, 11).

This isn't a complete answer—Thomas knew that some aspects of evil remain mysterious this side of eternity—but it shows faith engaging seriously with life's hardest questions.

 

The Unity of Truth

Perhaps Thomas's greatest contribution was demonstrating that all truth is God's truth. The scientist studying the intricacies of DNA, the philosopher pondering the nature of justice, the artist capturing beauty in paint or song—all are exploring different facets of the one Truth who is God Himself. As Jesus declared, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life" (John 14:6, ESV).

 

This has profound implications for how we live. It means we don't have to fear honest questions or genuine seeking. It means we can find God not just in church or Scripture (though certainly there), but in the beauty of a mathematical equation, the elegance of a scientific theory, the depth of a philosophical argument. As the Psalmist says, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims his handiwork" (Psalm 19:1, ESV).

Thomas took this seriously. He quoted not just from Scripture and Christian sources but from Aristotle (whom he simply called "The Philosopher"), from Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides, from Muslim thinkers like Averroes and Avicenna. Truth was truth, wherever it was found. This wasn't relativism—Thomas believed firmly in the fullness of truth revealed in Christ—but rather a recognition that God's truth could shine through many lamps, even if some burned brighter than others.

 

The Humility of Genius

For all his intellectual power, Thomas remained remarkably humble. He once wrote:

"We must love them both, those whose opinions we share and those whose opinions we reject, for both have labored in the search for truth, and both have helped us in finding it." (Commentary on Aristotle's Metaphysics)

Near the end of his life, after years of producing thousands of pages of theological writing, Thomas had a mystical experience during Mass. Afterwards, he stopped writing entirely. When his secretary begged him to continue, Thomas replied, "I can write no more. All that I have written seems like straw compared to what I have seen." He died three months later at age 49, leaving his Summa Theologiae unfinished.

This wasn't a rejection of his life's work but rather a recognition of what Paul knew: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known" (1 Corinthians 13:12, ESV). Thomas's writings were fingers pointing at the moon; in his mystical experience, he glimpsed the moon itself.

 

Living the Legacy

So what does a 13th-century Dominican friar have to do with your life today? More than you might think.

1. Faith and reason are allies. You don't have to check your brain at the church door, nor your faith at the laboratory door. The God who revealed Himself in Scripture is the same God who created quantum mechanics and DNA. Seeking truth in any field is, ultimately, seeking Him. This means your work—whether you're an accountant, a teacher, a scientist, or a stay-at-home parent—can be a form of worship when done with integrity and love.

2. Intellectual humility matters. In our age of Twitter fights and cable news shouting matches, his method seems almost alien: state your opponent's position fairly, even generously; acknowledge what's difficult or uncertain; proceed with logic and charity. Imagine how our public discourse might change if we followed his example.

3. Complex truth can be accessible. He believed ordinary people were capable of grasping profound truths when properly presented. In our age of sound bites and simplification, we need teachers who respect their audience enough to challenge them.

4. It all points to God. The purpose of theology, he said, isn't just knowledge but union with God. Every truth we learn, every good we do, every beauty we create or appreciate is meant to draw us deeper into the Mystery who is closer to us than we are to ourselves.

 

The Invitation

Thomas Aquinas once wrote that "wonder is the desire for knowledge" (Summa Theologiae I-II, q.32, a.8). Children have this naturally—they're full of "why" questions, amazed by butterflies and thunderstorms.

Somewhere along the way, many of us lose that spark. We trade awe for analysis, forgetting that analysis was meant to deepen our awe, not replace it. We begin to think that because we can explain how a thing works, it is no longer a miracle. Thomas reminds us that understanding the mechanics of the universe should only increase our reverence for its Architect.

You are invited today to recover that wonder. Whether you are opening a Bible or a biology textbook, you are engaging with the mind of God. Do not be afraid of the questions. Do not fear where the evidence leads. As St. Thomas showed us, the path of honest reason, walked with humility and grace, will always lead eventually to the foot of the Cross.

Let us be students again. Let us be unafraid of the truth. And like Thomas, may our studying, our working, and our thinking eventually give way to the silence of adoration, where words fall short, and only Love remains.

 

P.S. Check out my Aquinas "Pelican in her Piety" T-Shirt HERE!