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Former Faculty
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And Jesus wept. Notes towards a Theology of MourningFr. Richard Schenk, OPI. Imagining the Goal of the InvestigationI want to begin by thanking Thomas Aquinas College for the invitation to this year’s Aquinas Lecture. In particular, I want to thank Phillip Wodzinski for his kindness in making the arrangements and esp. for his meticulous preparation of the handout. A longer version of this talk would try to describe the desideratum of a renewed culture of mourning. As a shorthand, let me say it would look for a middle groung between the liturgies of all black or all white colors. A longer version would also try from the beginning to situate what Thomas does in his commentary on the Gospel of John in the context of his systematic work, both theological (say on the nature of beatitude or the two wills of Christ) and philosophical, above all on his innovative and controversial stress on the unicity of the substantial form in the human being. The intentionality of Thomas’ resolute position on the consequences associated with the one transcending yet embodied form of the human being would do much to prepare us for the interpretation of death that he draws from reflection on the Fourth Gospel. For our purposes today, however, let us turn immediately to Thomas biblical commentary, thought today to belong to the last years of his second Parisian regency. II. Thomas and the Sadness of Christ in his Commentary on JohnOne feature of the Gospel of John which has never ceased to be a focus of interest and controversy is the Evangelist"s use of the verb, tarásso, to shake, trouble or stir up, with reference to the apparently emotional response of Jesus and his disciples to the intrusion of death or persecution into their lives. It occurs in this sense five times in four consecutive chapters, beginning with the scene of mourning for Lazarus in John 11. As Thomas knows, the paradigm of such upheaval is the storm at sea, which churns up the ocean’s waters[i]. As Thomas points out, this "mare turbatum" is still slightly reflected in the Gospel by the waters of the pool of Bethesda, which were thought to be "disturbed" (RSV) or stirred up at times by an angel of healing (John 5:7; in some texts, including Thomas"s, also 5:4)[ii]. Troubled waters were ever an easy metaphor for a troubled mind, which could be confused, agitated, or disturbed. Whole governments and states, too, just as individuals, could be caught by such upheaval and thrown into grave disorder or even anarchy[iii]. In that synoptic gospel most closely related to the Gospel of John, Luke uses the verb to describe how Zachariah was "startled" (RSV) at the sight of the angel (1, 12) and how the apostles were "startled" (RSV) at the sight of the risen Lord (24, 37); "shaken" might have been the closer translation. John uses the term to describe Christ immediately prior to his raising of Lazarus ("When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who were with her weeping, he was moved with indignation and deeply distressed": 11, 33) as well as Christ predicting his imminent passion ("Now my soul is in turmoil": 12, 27) and his betrayal through Judas ("Jesus exclaimed in great distress, ‚In very truth I tell you, one of you is going to betray me’": 13:21). Twice Christ refers to the turmoil felt by the apostles ("Set your troubled hearts at rest": 14, 1; 27). The Vulgate uses some form of the verb turbare to translate each of these Johannine passages[iv]. Revealing Thomas"s programmatic interest in reading these passages for their potential contribution to a theology of mourning, two dimensions of his exegesis stand out in contrast both to his biblical and patristic sources and to our own contemporary exegesis today: Thomas interprets turbatio resolutely as tristitia; and he identifies behind the thus established fact of Christ"s sadness five features of its significance for us. As Thomas himself articulates this two-fold analysis: "…And thus we need to see first what this upheaval in Christ is; and then why he willed to undergo it"[v]. But, here, too, one of Thomas"s favorite lines from Aristotle is valid: "finis, etsi sit postremus in executione, est tamen primus in intentione agentis." Indeed, it is because of Thomas"s ultimate sense of why Christ should be shown to be sad in the face of death that Thomas first insists on tristitia as the main (but not the only) constituent of Christ’s turbatio. Thomas" hermeneutics of facticity implicitly precedes here his resolute insistence on the fact of Christ"s sadness; he argues decisively for the fact of Christ’s sadness only because he can imagine and anticipate its significance. Even the statistical evidence on Thomas"s vocabulary suggests the programmatic nature of his remarks: in these same lectiones where Thomas mentions some 34 times some form of the word, tristis, the corresponding texts of the Vulgata and the Catena aurea do not employ the term even once (with the exception of an isolated reference by John Chrysostom to some future hearer of the Gospel as possibly "contristatum"[vi]). While the sadness of Christ is thematized by both Thomas and his texts with the use of some other expressions as well, the relative proportions of their uses of this key term, tristitia, is telling. A. Turbatio as tristitia: Arguing for the Fact of Christ’s SadnessThat Christ is shaken here precisely by his sadness seems to be a possible, in places even quite a plausible reading, but that reading is in no way the necessary or even the self-understood meaning of John. Many of today"s most respected exegetes deny flatly, if without much argumentation, that this kind of upheaval was meant to consist of sadness at all[vii]. Sometimes it is even said that a "pyschologizing explanation is inappropriate"[viii] altogether, which does not prevent such authors from noting the evangelist’s portrayal of "Jesus’ apparently contradictory emotions"[ix] or from emphasizing his "angry inward emotion"[x]. This insistence of recent exegesis that, without a theological or at least a dramatic purpose, the Evangelist would not have mentioned that Christ was shaken, is an altogether plausible view which corresponds well to that patristic and medieval insistence on Christ’s sovereignty which was shared by Thomas and the sources he had gathered into the Catena: because Jesus could have avoided difficult emotions of this kind, he must have had some reason or purpose for choosing to suffer them. Whether this singular revelatory purpose is attributed also to Jesus or merely to the Evangelist, it becomes in either case all the more urgent, in order to grasp the Gospel’s point, that we identify the emotions mentioned here. What does the Gospel want to tell us about Jesus" confrontation with death? The wailing of Mary and the Jews provokes the height of agitation in Jesus (v. 33). In this context, it cannot be otherwise interpreted than his wrath over the lack of faith, expressed in the wailing that is raised in his presence about the death of Lazarus… The statement that Jesus wept (v. 35) – where the weeping must be understood as a sign of agitation in the sense of v. 33 – has hardly any other purpose than to provoke the utterance of the Jews (vv. 36f.) and so to set in a yet brighter light the motif of the faithlessness in the presence of the Revealer. Jesus – again in that anger over the faithless – comes to the grave, which is blocked up by a stone…[xv]. For Bultmann, the weeping of Jesus might be intended merely as a dramatic occasion for some of the Jews to question how serious Jesus’ love for Lazarus might be: "Could not this man, who opened the blind man’s eyes, have done something to keep Lazarus from dying?" At most, the weeping of Jesus might reflect the same kind of anger at wailing which was shown toward the lament for Jairus’ daughter (Mark 5: 38 sq.)[xvi]. An opposing view is taken by Schnackenburg, who is willing to see anger in v. 33, but not in the weeping of Jesus at v. 35: "The weeping here has no connection with the surge of anger"[xvii]. Schnackenburg refers to this passage as possibly related to the use of the noun, dakrúon, in Heb. 5:7: "In the course of his earthly life he offered up prayers and petitions, with loud cries and tears, to God who was able to deliver him from death. …" (cf. Esau’s tears at Heb. 12:17); and in neither case does anger seem to be the primary motivation of Christ’s weeping. Had Schnackenburg not already let the "turbavit se ipsum" of v. 33 be so strongly interpreted by the anger of "fremuit in spiritu", he could have underscored his interpretation of Jesus’ weeping as an expression of sadness by reference to the close tie admitted between sadness and that turbatio which is ascribed to Jesus in the following two chapters. "Now my soul is in turmoil…. (John 12, 27). "Jesus exclaimed in great distress: in very truth I tell you: one of you is going to betray me" (13: 21) There is at least an indirect parallel here to the synoptic portrayal of Jesus on the Mount of Olives, which from Maximus Confessor to Thomas More’s De tristitia Christi was the locus classicus for the eminently human dimensions of Christ’s will. As Raymond Brown puts it : "John XII 27, "My soul is troubled (tarassein)", is parallel to Mark XIV 34, "My soul is sorrowful (perilypos)". Both reflect Ps. XLII 5 "Why are you so sorrowful (perilypos), my soul, and why do you trouble (syntarassein) me?" "[xviii] The Vulgata makes the association alluded to by Brown all the more apparent to its readers: "Quare tristis es anima mea et quare conturbaras me". Yet even here in the context of chapters 12 and 13 of John, Schnackenburg is more interested in contrasting turbatio to any fear of death[xix] than he is keen to associate turbatio with that sadness of Jesus which he sees expressed in the tears of chapter 11. Despite their disagreement on whether to include the images of Christ’s turbatio in that depiction of Christ’s sadness which both admit is intended by his weeping, Thomas and Schnackenburg agree on a more basic point. It is because Schnackenburg can see the theological significance which John attaches to Christ’s sadness that he is willing to oppose Bultmann’s complete denial that the gospel is claiming there to be sadness in Jesus. If we compare other New Testament passages in which tears on the part of Jesus (Heb 5:7) or people following him (Acts 20:19; Rev 7:17; 24:24) are mentioned – the verb is used only in this passage – the reason seems to be the sadness and darkness of the present world, the situation of trial and persecution. On the sad journey to the tomb, Jesus too is moved by the darkness of the inevitability of death. The evangelist does not gloss over the horror of death, but believes that it is conquered in faith (cf. v 25c, 39). The scale of Jesus’ act can only be recognised if the bitterness of physical death is not minimised. The short remark that Jesus began to weep is the dark precursor of his confident prayer to the Father (v. 41), just as in 12:27-28 the momentary "confusion" of his soul gives way to the calm and confident prayer to the Father to glorify his name. It is in this sense that the Johannine Jesus is one with men and not impervious to their distress. The Johannine community is also aware of the darkness of the earthly journey, which ends in physical death, and from out of this knowledge its members lift their eyes in faith to the never-ending future of the life given by Jesus (cf. 8:51; 12:25)[xx]. Thomas is more willing than most of our contemporaries to admit in principle that the Gospel is portraying something of the psychological reactions of Jesus to the events which he experiences[xxi]. Oddly enough, our contemporaries are quicker to moralize the text; and yet Thomas agrees with them that what is portrayed always has a theological point. Where contemporary writers ascribe these intentions to the Gospel author, who might have chosen to portray Christ otherwise, Thomas presents them as the intention of Christ himself, who could have chosen not to be so affected by the sadder side of life and death[xxii]. Like Bultmann and Schnackenburg, Thomas, too, sees in the expression infremuit spiritu an indication of Jesus’ indignation and anger[xxiii]: but Thomas is closer here to Schnackenburg than to Bultmann in holding for the compatibility of sadness with indignation and anger; indeed, Thomas describes sadness as the necessary condition of anger[xxiv]. And yet Thomas goes beyond both of these more recent exegetes by adding to Christ’s anger and sadness a moment of fear as well[xxv]. While seeing in the upset of Christ as portrayed in the Gospel of John a mix of sadness, anger, and fear, Thomas sees sadness as the dominant emotion among the three[xxvi]. B. Why Jesus is shown to be sad: the significance of the tristitia ChristiUnlike the more recent commentaries, for which the passages quoted above from R. Bultmann are paradigmatic, Thomas does not read Christ’s anger as directed against those who are mourning[xxvii]; quite to the contrary, Thomas sees the mourning of the Jews with Martha and Mary as commendable[xxviii] and the mourning of Jesus throughout these chapters as parenetic. Over the course of his comments, Thomas will argue for at least five senses in which the significance of Christ"s sadness must be understood. First: with reference to the ontology of death and the rationality of Jesus" sadness. Unlike many of his contemporaries, such as Bonaventure in his own commentary on John, Thomas sees this upsetting sadness not merely as compassion for human infirmity, blindness, and wickedness[xxix], but as sadness about human death itself: something which Bonaventure expressly denies[xxx]. Like Bonaventure, Thomas sees the turbatio Christi as remaining within the limits of reason, not as a perturbatio which would have eclipsed it; but, unlike Bonaventure, Thomas includes the evil of death in the objects about which Jesus is sad, precisely because Jesus rationally knows what death is[xxxi]. It is here that Thomas could best presuppose the philosophical work he had already done on the anthropological significance of death. Unlike some of our own contemporary theologies of death, such as Karl Rahner"s[xxxii], it is not the hiddeness of death which calls for mourning, but the insight into this nocivum. Second: a sense of the piety and justice of Jesus" mourning. Given the rational insight into the nocivum of death, it was then a matter of piety towards those whom he loved that Jesus would mourn their deaths or the deaths of their loved ones. Thomas interprets the sadness of Jesus as paying this justice of piety both to Lazarus[xxxiii] and to his mourning sister, Mary. By mourning with Mary, Jesus is far from displaying anger at her sadness; rather, by sharing it, he affirms it[xxxiv]. Third: with reference to the Christological significance of Jesus" sadness. By allowing himself to be truly moved by sadness about death, and by showing us how churned up he is in the face of death, the Christ reveals his true humanity[xxxv]: an anti-docetic theme especially well-known to Thomas from his patristic research[xxxvi]. Thomas goes on to reject any contradiction between high and low Christologies, arguing that it is rather the coincidence of both which underscores the significance of each. The raising of Lazarus by the power of Christ"s divinity is given its full significance only by the "weakness" of Christ"s humanity revealed in his sadness at death. We should note here that Christ is truly divine and truly human. And so in his actions we find almost everywhere that the divine is mingled with the human, and the human with the divine. And if at times something human is mentioned about Christ, something divine is immediately added. Indeed, we read of no weakness of Christ greater than his passion; yet as he hangs on the cross divine events are manifested: the sun is obscured, rocks are rent, and the bodies of saints that had been asleep arise. Even at his birth, as he lay in the manger, a star shines in the heavens, the angels sing his praises , and the magi and kings offer gifts. We have a similar situation here: for Christ experiences a certain weakness in his human affections, becoming disturbed over the death of Lazarus. We read, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled himself.[xxxvii] Fourth: with reference to the soteriological significance of Jesus" sadness. By choosing to share our sadness at death, Jesus reveals not only his own human nature, but also his love for humankind. Jesus reveals not only the subjective side of his love, but also the object of his salvific will. In revealing his emnity to the powers of death, he also reveals his will for the restoration of fully human life. Precisely because this emotion of Jesus and its portrayal by the evangelist could have been avoided, its mention underlines all the more the salvific intentionality of the Christ. „I answer that Christ"s being deeply moved here indicates a certain anger and resentment of the heart. For all anger and resentment are caused by some kind of pain and sadness. Now there are two things involved here: the one about which Christ was troubled was death, which was afflicted upon the human race on account of sin; the other, which he resented, was the cruelty of death and of the devil. Thus, just as, when one wants to repel an enemy, he is saddened by the evils inflicted by him, and indignant at the very thought of him, so too Christ was saddened and indignant. There was also power (signified by Christ"s being deeply moved) here, because Christ troubled himself by his own command. Sometimes such emotions arise for an inappropriate reason, as when a person rejoices over something evil, or is saddened over what is good… But this was not the case with Christ; thus he says, When Jesus saw her weeping, …he troubled himself. And sometimes such emotions arise for a good reason, but are not moderated by reason. So he says, he was deeply moved in spirit… (as if to say): He took on this sadness by a judgement of reason"[xxxviii]. Fifth: with attention to the parenetic significance of Jesus" sadness. Even before he began his commentary on John, Thomas had argued that not every deed of Jesus narrated by the Gospels was meant to offer us an example for our literal imitation[xxxix]. It is thus all the more striking that Thomas devotes so much space and energy to stressing the parenetic purpose of the passages on Jesus" turbatio. Underscoring again the freedom with which this turmoil of Jesus is manifested here[xl], Thomas insists that, far from displaying anger at the mourning of death, Jesus shared this mourning in order to offer us an example for our imitation, avoiding the dual danger of our mourning too much[xli] or too little. The arguments for exemplarity extend here the logic developed in the other four senses of why Christ is revealed as experiencing sadness in the face of death. Note that Christ willed to be troubled for two reasons. First, to show us a doctrine of the faith… Secondly, he wanted to be an example for us. For if he had remained unmoved and had felt no emotions in his soul, he would not have been a satisfactory example of how we should face death. And so he willed to be troubled in order that when we are troubled at the prospect of death, we will not refuse to endure it, we will not run away: For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sinning (Heb 4:15). The relationship of this to what came before is clear. He encouraged his disciples to suffer when he said: He who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. But some might say to him: Lord, you can calmly discuss and philosophize about death because you are above human sorrows, and death does not trouble you. It was to counter this that he willed to be troubled. [xlii] Developing a brief suggestion by Augustine already recorded in the Catena aurea[xliii], Thomas focuses his sense of the exemplarity meant here by contrasting the parenetic meaning of Christ"s sadness with the Stoic exclusion of sadness from the ideal of wisdom. A thing is said to be troubled whenever it is greatly agitated. Hence, when the sea is very agitated, it is said to be troubled. And so whenever a thing oversteps the bounds of its repose and tranquillity, it is said to be troubled. Now in the human soul there is a sentient area and a rational one. The sensitive area of the soul is troubled when it becomes strongly affected by certain movements. For example, when it is contracted by fear, raised up by hope, dilated with joy, or otherwise affected by one or other of the emotions. Sometimes this perturbation remains within the bounds of reason, and sometimes it exceeds the bounds of reason, namely, when reason itself is troubled. And although this latter condition quite often occurs in us, it is not found in Christ, since he is the Wisdom of the Father. Indeed, it is not found in any wise person; thus the Stoic tenet that one who is wise is not troubled, i.e. in his reason. Accordingly, the meaning of Now my soul is troubled, is this: My soul is affected by the emotions of fear and sadness in its sentient part; but these emotions do not trouble my reason: it does not abandon its own order. He began to be greatly distressed and troubled (Mk 14:33)[xliv]. The patristic and post-patristic sources edited by Thomas for his Gloss offer several authorities for the Christological and soteriological senses of Christ"s mourning as well as for wider metaphorical interpretations; but the parenetic sense is underdeveloped in the patristic sources[xlv]. By contrast, Thomas is so intent on portraying the exemplary nature of Christ"s sadness that he is willing to reverse the immediate sound of the texts, Let not your hearts be troubled. Thomas asks if Jesus is guilty here of hypocricy, being troubled at death himself, but not granting to his followers the same concession: Let not your hearts be troubled (John 14:1)… But above, John 13:21, it says that Jesus was troubled in spirit. How can he tell his disciples not to be troubled, when he himself was troubled? I answer that he did not teach the opposite of what he did. It was stated above that he was troubled in spirit, not that his spirit was troubled. He is not forbidding them to be troubled in spirit, but he is forbidding that their hearts, that is, their spirits, be troubled. For there is a troubled state which arises from reason; that is to be praised and not forbidden: For godly grief produces repentence that leads to salvation (II Cor 7: 10). Yet there is a different grief or troubled state of the reason itself; this is not laudable because it draws reason from its proper course…[xlvi] …(A further reason for manifesting his sadness was) so that, by controlling his own sadness, he might teach us to moderate our sadness. The Stoics had taught that a wise man is never sad. But it is very inhuman not to be sad at the death of another. However, there are some who become excessively sad over the evils which afflict their friends. Now our Lord willed to be sad in order to teach us that there are times when we should be sad, which is contrary to the opinion of the Stoics; and he preserved a certain moderation in his sadness, which is contrary to the excessively sad type…The third reason (for manifesting his sadness) is to tell us that we should be sad and weep for those who physically die: I am utterly spent and crushed (Ps 38: 8). [xlvii] Against the immediate sound of the words taken outside their context, Let not your hearts be troubled, Thomas reads the meaning of the Gospel as Christ"s teaching us by word and example to allow ourselves to be troubled enough to mourn both death and sin, that other destruction of genuinely human possibilities: Christ wept in order to show us that it is not blameworthy to weep out of compassion: My son, let your tears fall for the dead (Sir 38: 16). He wept with a purpose, which was to teach us that we should weep because of sin: I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears (Ps 6).[xlviii] Although there are types of mourning inconsistent with the ideal of Christian life, there could be no completely Christian existence without a genuine sense of mourning. III. Imagining the Goal of the Investigation - anewDespite the well-known seriousness of death which follows from Thomas"s anthropology and despite the lesser known but demonstrable intentionality evident in his theology of mourning, especially in the Johannine commentary, there has not yet been a reception of Thomas"s suggestions which even comes close to the programmatic nature of his own remarks[xlix]. The future reception of the suggestions evident in Thomas"s commentary on John will be possible, only if, beyond the immediate context of mourning the loss of personal loved ones, new contexts are opened up which Thomas anticipated only in part. Two such contexts may be suggested here in closing. First: the context of interreligious dialogue. Among the many goals of interreligious dialogue is the self-critical attainment of a more genuine sense of one"s own religion. The weaknesses perceived in other religions can help interlocutors thematize the all too familiar weaknesses thus easily overlooked by them in their own religion. This goal of self-correction is of special promise to Christianity in its dialogue with non-Abrahamic religions. In his own self-understanding, Thomas articulated his theology of mourning in opposition to both Platonic spiritualism and Stoic indifference: against both, Thomas argues that death is a nocivum which calls for compassionate mourning. In our own day, the discourse with Buddhism can lead Christianity back to the unfinished task of wrestling with its own Stoic inheritance, while the discourse with Hinduism can lead a Christian theology back to the unfinished task of dealing with its own Platonic influences[l]. The significance which Thomas sees in the Gospel of John for the purification of Christianity from its Platonic and its Stoic temptations can be further developed by interreligious dialogue of this kind. The idea of compassion is central to both Buddhism and Christianity, but in different understandings. Thomas"s idea of compassion shows how tristitia can be developed into a virtue of "misericordia" capable of correcting and purifying Christianity of its Stoic temptation to view suffering distantly from the perspective of the entire cosmos. From this self-distancing perspective of the entire cosmos, the Stoics attempted to view their own sufferings as if they were the sufferings of others, rather than, quite to the contrary, to view the sufferings of others as if they were one’s own sufferings: "...Quia autem tristitia seu dolor est de proprio malo, intantum aliquis de miseria aliena tristatur aut dolet inquantum miseriam alienam apprehendit ut suam"[li]. For this purpose, the anti-Stoic idea of compassion needs to work out the idea of a qualified self (to view sufferings "as one’s own", "ut suam"). The discourse with Buddhism can clarify how this idea of compassion needs still to be developed by Christianity in order to provide in a future synthesis a genuine and adequate alternative helpful to human and non-human beings alike. A similar impetus to Christian self-critique can come from Christian conversations with Hinduistic traditions. While the term "Platonic" is widely viewed in a pejorative light by Christian theologians today, the temptation has not vanished to spiritualize (at times by "existentializing") hopes for perfection generally, even for post-mortal salvation. Popular theories of a "resurrection-in-death" have tended to reduce the nocivum of death to a hypothetical possibility that is avoided in fact, as is claimed, by a spiritualized perfection into which earthly existence organically grows, without rupture[lii]. The dialogue with Hinduistic traditions can help Christian theology continue to recover its ideal of a uniquely embodied personality and history. Second: the context of the quest for justice. In his Johannine commentary, Thomas distinguished and linked two objects of Christ"s turmoil: death and a broader sense of injustice and sin, which, like death, render impossible human possibilities[liii]. In his later, post-Thomistic work, Johann Baptist Metz has done much to show to Catholic theology what the programmatic sense of seeking a future from the memory of suffering could look like[liv]. The resources within Thomas for developing this potential of the memoria passionis for the quest of peace and justice have been largely overlooked; less so, the significance for interreligious dialogue. As Metz writes: “The mysticism of apocalyptically inspired traditions is at its heart a mysticism of open eyes with its unconditional obligation to see the sufferings of others. From the founding legends of Buddhism, it is clear that Buddha, too, was changed by encountering the sufferings of strangers; but, in the end, he flees into the royal palace of his inner self, finding in a mysticism of shut eyes an interior landscape immune to suffering and immune to the provocation of a limited time. Contrasted with this, the mysticism of Jesus is a kind of “weak” mysticism. Jesus cannot transport himself outside and beyond the landscape of suffering. His mysticism leads to an apocalyptic outcry.”[lv] In his commentary on the Gospel of John, Thomas, too, has offered us a vision of Christ - and a Christianity - of "open eyes". The commentary teaches us in a unique way how to hear the Fourth Gospel and to live that central exemplum, mandatum and praeceptum it proclaims (John 13: 15, 34; 15: 12, 17). The same love which teaches us to mourn the losses of humankind teaches us to hope for the salvation of human goods. A hope for goods whose loss would not be mourned would be hollow. A Church which could not mourn is one which could not hope; but also: a Church which could not hope is one which could not mourn for long. The future vitality of Christianity will depend on the revival of these twin virtues.
[i] Thomas Aquinas, Super Ioan. 13, lect. 4, no. 1796; cf. already Super Ioan. 12, lect. 5, no. 1651: "…proprie dicitur turbari aliquid quando commovetur: unde et mare commotum dicimus esse turbatum." |
