A Treatise in Disguise: Eschatological Themes in Aquinas’s Commentary on the Parables of Matthew’s Gospel

Abstract

This article argues that Thomas Aquinas’s exegesis of the parables in his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew contains—if only in skeletal form, with certain aspects more fully developed than others—the outline of a comprehensive treatise on Christian eschatology. Aquinas approaches parables with a nuanced perspective, acknowledging their inherent obscurity while also emphasizing their capacity to guide minds toward the truth. He understands their dual purpose as both concealing divine mysteries from the ill-intentioned and revealing them to the receptive. Distinguishing his approach from Albert the Great’s, Aquinas’s commentary features substantial eschatological components. Drawing on primary sources, this article examines these elements, starting with the unknowability of the end of time, which serves to promote vigilance. This article then treats death and particular judgment, the damned’s twofold punishment (the poena damni and the poena sensus), and the righteous’s varied, eternal reward, concluding with the Parousia, inseparably linked to the general resurrection, the final judgment, and the renewal of the world. Finally, this article shows how Aquinas’s engagement with these parables provides a robust, biblically-rooted exploration of the Last Things.

1. Introduction

Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing. This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: “I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world.” (Mt 13:34–35)

Virtually every facet of Jesus’s life and ministry—including his deliberate use of parables as a didactic method—finds antecedents in Old Testament prophecy. The term parable—derived from the Greek parabolē, meaning comparison—designates a spoken or literary comparison in which one element is set alongside another for the purpose of elucidation. In the Synoptic Gospels, this term appears forty-eight times, referring to concise narrative forms that employ familiar imagery and figurative language to communicate moral or theological truths. These stories often serve not only to make complex teachings more memorable, but also to unsettle conventional perspectives on life and religion. The term parabolē also features prominently in the Septuagint, where it commonly translates the Hebrew mashal—a richly polyvalent term encompassing various literary genres, including proverbs, riddles, and allegories.1

Scholars commonly distinguish between allegory and parable, although the boundary separating the two is by no means watertight. Both narrative forms are used to convey moral or theological truths, yet allegory is characterized by a one-to-one correspondence between the story’s figures and specific external referents. A familiar example is C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia, which integrates symbolic elements to reflect Christian themes—most notably in the figure of Aslan, often interpreted as a Christological representation. Parables, by contrast, typically do not require that each character stand for a particular person or reality outside the narrative. For instance, there is no pressing need to identify the woman in the Parable of the Lost Coin (Lk 15:8–10) with any concrete referent (Kenny 2017, pp. 9–10).

While the precise number of parables in a given New Testament writing depends on how the term parable is defined, it is widely acknowledged that the Gospel of Matthew ranks among those containing the highest concentration—surpassed, perhaps, only by the Gospel of Luke by a narrow margin. If parable is understood in its broadest sense, twenty-two parables may be identified within Matthew’s Gospel. These include the parables of

• the Lamp Under a Bushel (5:14–16),
• the Wise and Foolish Builders (7:24–27),
• the New Cloth and the New Wine (9:16–17),
• the Sower (13:1–9),
• Weeds among the Wheat (13:24–30, 36–43),
• the Mustard Seed (13:31–32),
• the Leaven (13:33),
• the Hidden Treasure (13:44),
• the Pearl of Great Price (13:45–46),
• the Dragnet (13:47–51),
• the Householder (13:52),
• the Lost Sheep (18:12–14),
• the Unforgiving Slave (18:23–35),
• the Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16),
• the Two Sons (21:28–32),
• the Wicked Tenants (21:33–46),
• the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14),
• the Barren Fig Tree (24:32–35),
• the Thief in the Night (24:42–44),
• the Faithful Slave (24:45–51),
• the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13), and
• the Talents (25:14–30).

The teachings conveyed through the Matthean parables—and the doctrinal reflections they have elicited in subsequent commentaries—are, as one might expect, remarkably wide-ranging in scope and profound in their theological implications. Among the many figures who have cherished the First Gospel, Saint Dominic is particularly noteworthy. So great was his predilection for it that he reportedly carried a copy with him always, studying it so assiduously that he nearly committed it to memory.2 This Dominican fondness for Matthew’s Gospel finds a rich theological articulation in the work of Thomas Aquinas, arguably the most eminent thinker of the Order of Preachers. Although the parables are primarily intended to illuminate the nature of the kingdom, his commentary on them—underexplored in contemporary scholarship3—touches on an array of doctrinal loci, spanning Christology and ecclesiology, evangelical preaching and the interplay between nature and grace, salvation history and the problem of evil, the spiritual life and the relationship between the Old Law and the New.

Given the breadth of Aquinas’s engagement with the Matthean parables, we will pursue two principal aims in this article. First, we will elucidate Aquinas’s understanding of the nature and function of parables. Second, building upon this conceptual framework, we will investigate the eschatological dimension of his commentary, consulting the commentary of Aquinas’s teacher and fellow Dominican, Albert the Great (c. 1200–1280), to bring this dimension into sharper relief. The purpose of drawing upon Albert’s work is not to conduct a comprehensive comparison or dialogue between the two thinkers. Rather, his exegesis will serve as an invaluable foil, allowing us to highlight the distinctively eschatological character of Aquinas’s interpretation. This targeted juxtaposition is historically fitting, as Albert’s Enarrationes in Evangelium Matthæi, begun in 1257 (Collins 2019, p. 258), antedates Aquinas’s Catena Aurea and precedes his commentary on Matthew, composed between 1269 and 1270 (Torrell 2023, pp. 399–400). By examining select points of divergence and convergence, we aim to attain a more defined understanding of Aquinas’s exegetical project.

Ultimately, this article argues that Aquinas’s exegesis of the parables in his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew contains—if only in skeletal form, with certain aspects more fully developed than others—the outline of a comprehensive treatise on Christian eschatology. This conclusion, in turn, underscores the degree to which Aquinas’s theology is profoundly grounded in Scripture.4

2. The Nature and Purpose of Parables

Defining Aquinas’s relationship with parables is no easy task, owing to its apparent ambivalence. On the one hand, a set of texts reveals his guarded, almost wary stance toward parables. On the other, we find passages in which this mode of figurative speech elicits a more favorable appraisal from the Master of Aquino. It is to the first group of texts that we now turn.

In his commentary on 1 Corinthians 14:21, Aquinas associates parables with obscurity: “ ‘in other tongues,’ that is, in an obscure and parabolic manner, ‘I will speak,’ as a sign that they are unworthy.”5 A similar view appears in his exposition of Psalm 48:5—“inclino ad parabulam aurem meam”—where he equates parabolic speech with enigmatic utterance: “ ‘I will incline my ear to a parable’ which God speaks—because he speaks enigmatically, as if to say: ‘I will turn my understanding toward the voice of the Lord, who speaks in parables.’ ”6 In light of this recurring association between parables and obscurity, it is hardly surprising that Aquinas firmly asserts the historical reality of Job, rejecting as contrary “to the authority of sacred Scripture” the view that treats him as “a kind of parable invented to serve as a thematic basis for a discussion about providence.”7

In another passage that reveals his pedagogical inclinations, Aquinas expresses greater esteem for students capable of arriving at truth directly, without reliance on the imagery employed in parables: “in human teaching, the listener is judged to have greater understanding who can grasp the intelligible truth as it is plainly stated by the teacher, rather than the one who needs to be led to it through sensate examples.”8 In this connection, Swanston’s observation is particularly apt: “Aquinas observes that whilst poetry happily employs images for our natural delight, sacra doctrina has recourse to such things only grudgingly because it cannot do without them” (Swanston 1989, p. 6).

There is, however, another set of texts in which Aquinas reveals a more sympathetic stance toward parables. To borrow Swanston’s phrasing once more, “[Aquinas’s] temperamental alienation from a theology secundum modum narrativum signorum did not prevent his recognizing an imperative in the story character of sacra doctrina” (Swanston 1989, p. 13). This is evident in the following passage, where Aquinas articulates a favorable view of parabolic discourse, taking into account the nature of human cognition:

The mode proper to each science ought to be determined according to the consideration of its subject matter …. Now, the principles of this science are received through revelation …. Just as the understanding of naturally implanted principles is shaped by sensate things that have been received, so too the truth of the preacher is confirmed by miracles … it is also necessary that the mode of that science [sacred doctrine] be a narration of signs that serve to confirm the faith. Because these principles are not proportioned to human reason in the wayfarer state, which typically proceeds from sensate things, it is necessary that one be led to one’s understanding through similitudes of sensate things. Hence, the mode of this science must be metaphorical—or, in other words, symbolic—or parabolic.9

Proceeding from the principle that human knowledge originates mainly in sense experience, parables—as literary devices that convey truth through depictions of sensate realities—serve as valuable pedagogical instruments. Parables share certain characteristics with miracles, yet they are fundamentally distinct. Whereas miracles are supernatural transformations of the world, parables are literary constructions; both, however, appeal to the senses and symbolize intelligible realities.10 In a later work, Aquinas again underscores the utility of parables:

It also befits sacred Scripture—which is set forth for all in common, according to that verse in Romans 1[:14]: “I am a debtor … both to the wise and to the foolish”—that spiritual realities be presented under the similitudes of bodily things, so that at least in this way the simple may grasp it, since they are not capable of receiving intelligible things as they are in themselves.11

Further attesting to the depth of parabolic discourse is his comment on the phrase “and sowed weeds” (13:25) in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat, where he observes that “each individual word carries great significance.”12 Having outlined Aquinas’s ambivalent stance toward parables—at times stressing their limitations, at other times affirming their pedagogical richness—we may now turn to consider Jesus’s own use of parables, as interpreted through the lens of Aquinas’s commentary on the Gospel of Matthew.

When reflecting on Jesus’s use of parables, Aquinas addresses two principal questions: Why did Jesus speak in parables? And why did he employ many parables rather than a single one? I shall begin with the latter, as it is comparatively more straightforward than the former.

Jesus, notably, did not rely on a single parable but made use of many. Why was this the case? According to Aquinas, the multiplicity of parables corresponds to the varied dispositions among the members of a large crowd: some are believers, others unbelievers; some are well-disposed, others malicious.13 For this reason, it was necessary to diversify the mode of teaching so that it might resonate with this diversity of hearts. Moreover, Aquinas notes that spiritual realities are by nature veiled and cannot be exhaustively expressed through temporal images; hence, multiple parables are required to suggest various facets of these hidden truths.14 Albert offers a parallel insight in his commentary on Matthew 13:3. He elucidates the significance of the word multa, explaining that Jesus “[said] many things [multa] because many things must be said to many people, so that, given the diversity of the audience, what is not suitable for one may be suitable for another. Indeed, it is just as many foods are prepared for those having stomachs of different constitutions.”15

Our attention now shifts to the first question: why did Jesus speak in parables at all? In his commentary on the Parable of the Sower (13:1–9) and on Matthew 13:34–35, Aquinas offers two principal reasons. First, Jesus sought to conceal sacred truths from the malicious and unbelieving to prevent them from profaning what is holy—“lest they blaspheme” (7:6). He therefore spoke in a manner that rendered his message unintelligible to them, so that “seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand” (13:13). Second, parables serve to instruct the unrefined but well-disposed more effectively. When divine truths are communicated through images and stories, such individuals—especially those without formal training—are more likely to grasp and retain them. Since Jesus knew that those worthy of receiving his doctrine would indeed receive it, he chose to teach in a form that would engrave it more deeply in their memory.16 Jesus, in sum, employed parables with a dual purpose: positively, to unveil divine mysteries to the well-disposed; negatively, to veil them from the unbelieving and malicious.

Turning to Albert, we find an analogous twofold justification for parables—one theological, the other pedagogical. Theologically, he draws on Pseudo-Dionysius to argue that parables are essential for bridging the gap between human reason and divine incomprehensibility, for, as Dionysius states, “it is not possible for the divine ray to shine upon us unless it be enveloped in the veils of similitudes.” Pedagogically, echoing Aquinas, Albert identifies the use of parables as the appropriate method for instructing the unrefined. He subtly qualifies this point, however. Whereas Aquinas speaks of the “malicious and unbelieving,” Albert distinguishes the audience by their receptiveness, specifying that Christ’s instruction was aimed at “the crowds more than the princes and the Pharisees, whom he knew to be indocile.”17

In another passage, Albert places further emphasis on the specifically human character of parabolic discourse: “to speak in parables, moreover, is to speak in a human manner and to an unrefined intellect.”18 Whereas Aquinas underscores the mnemonic function of parables, Albert stresses their role in guiding the rational soul toward the Creator:

The disciples, being still carnal, were unaware of the distinction between beginners and the perfected, not knowing that beginners can only be instructed when guided [manuducti] from corporeal similitudes to spiritual doctrine …. This, indeed, is the reason why he presented the vestige and the imagination (or image) to a rational human being, so that from these he might grasp a knowledge of the Creator.19

Significantly, Jesus himself responded to his disciples’ question “Why do you speak to them in parables?” (13:10). His answer was unambiguous: “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given” (13:11). Aquinas draws three insights from this response. First, there is a real distinction between those who understand and those who do not—and this disparity is not to be attributed to differing human capacities but to divine dispensation: “To you it has been given to know.” Second, this understanding is of immeasurable value, as it offers a foretaste of beatitude by granting access to the mysteries of God. Third, such understanding is not earned but gifted, and its gratuitous nature reveals it to be a sign of divine love. The knowledge of the kingdom of heaven, therefore, is both a grace and a revelation that ultimately comes from God.20 Aquinas’s exegesis of Matthew 13:10–11 resonates with the interpretation offered by Albert on the same passage.21

Aquinas reflects on the shift in Jesus’s manner of speaking—from plain discourse to the use of parables. Jesus addressed the people without parables in Matthew 5–7. However, beginning with the accounts of miracles in Matthew 8 and following the rejection by the Pharisees in 12:14, he began to speak in parables. This change, Aquinas explains, corresponds to the condition described in the words “seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand” (13:13; Isa 6:9–10). Although the crowds witnessed the miracles, they failed to grasp their deeper significance; they saw outwardly but did not perceive inwardly. They heard words that ought to have moved them toward the good, but they did not truly listen. Consequently, Aquinas observes that Jesus, in exhorting others to salvation, then made his doctrine manifest through deeds rather than words, in contrast to his approach in the Sermon on the Mount.22

Yet Jesus’s choice to employ parables was anything but arbitrary. This choice had its precedent in the prophetic tradition: “Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing. This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: ‘I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world’ ” (13:34–35)—a direct citation of Psalm 77:2. By adopting this mode of instruction, Jesus ratified the prophetic manner of teaching, grounding his use of parables in the authority of Scripture.23

Aquinas acknowledges that the evangelist’s remark—“without a parable he told them nothing” (13:34)—seems to present a difficulty. As already noted, in the Sermon on the Mount and in numerous other instances, Jesus clearly spoke without parables. To resolve this apparent inconsistency, Aquinas cites Augustine who clarifies that the statement should not be taken in a strict sense. Rather, it means that in every public address to the crowds, Jesus included some form of parabolic teaching.24 Thus, even within the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus incorporated metaphorical language—for example, when he instructed: “do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing” (6:3). Augustine further contends that even when no parable is explicitly recorded in a given passage, one must consider the evangelists’ tendency to not always preserve the precise chronological order of Jesus’s sayings. Consequently, it remains plausible that some form of parabolic speech was present in those moments as well. In this light, the evangelist’s claim that “without a parable he told them nothing” (13:34) should be understood as a general principle characterizing Jesus’s public ministry rather than as a strict assertion.25

Not only did Jesus employ parables, but he also spoke in parables through the prophets. Aquinas, in his Christological reading of “I will open my mouth to speak in parables” (13:35; cf. Ps 77:2), observes that the Lord addressed the human race first in varied ways through the prophets and then through his incarnate presence. In both modes of revelation, he spoke parabolically since what was enacted in the prophets foreshadowed what he would ultimately fulfill. It is as though he were declaring: “I, the Lord, who opened the mouths of the prophets in parables, will now open my own.”26

Compared to Aquinas’s commentary, Albert’s interpretation of Matthew 13:34–35 displays greater depth, particularly in its engagement with Christology and the theology of creation. Reflecting on Matthew 13:34, Albert observes that although the parables of Jesus are few in number, they are nonetheless “infinite in their meaning.” This pedagogical method is particularly fitting for the crowds “whose hearts were carnal and for whom similitudes of events are more persuasive than words.” Albert draws a parallel between Jesus’s pedagogical use of parables and the Incarnation, the ultimate act of divine accommodation:

[The evangelist] indicates, in a general way, how in all things divine wisdom adapted itself to rustic simplicity. And as a sign of this, the mother of wisdom wrapped the Word of God—a parable made in assumed flesh—in the cloths of the poor and laid him in a manger. For the human being, comparable to senseless beasts, would not be able to receive the food of the eternal Word unless it were wrapped in the swaddling clothes of human similitudes.27

In his exegesis of Matthew 13:35, Albert employs the dichotomy from Psalm 18:3 to analyze the verb utter (eructabo), explaining how divine truths are revealed clearly to the perfected and parabolically to the simple. The verse “day to day pours forth speech,” for Albert, signifies the direct revelation of wisdom to the perfected who are radiant with understanding. In contrast, “night to night declares knowledge” represents a veiled, parabolic speech necessary to instruct the unsophisticated mind. This latter mode speaks of things “hidden from the foundation of the world,” proclaiming a divine wisdom concealed within the mystery of the created order. Albert concludes that this makes “the entire world” a form of “theology for the human being [totus enim mundus theologia est homini],” wherein creatures constantly declare the glory of God (cf. Ps 19:1).28

Aquinas’s stance on parables is therefore deeply nuanced. While he recognizes their obscurity, he also affirms their pedagogical role—a necessity that arises from the dependence of human cognition on sense experience. In Jesus’s ministry, parables functioned as multivalent instruments that simultaneously instructed the well-disposed, safeguarded divine mysteries from the malicious, and fulfilled the prophetic mode of speech. This hermeneutic, clarified through a comparison with Albert the Great, provides the foundation for the eschatological investigation in the following section.

3. Eschatology in the Matthean Parables

Having outlined the nature and functions of parables in general—and, more specifically, Aquinas’s estimation of them and his account of their role in Jesus’s preaching—we now turn to the eschatological affirmations found in Aquinas’s commentary on the parables of Matthew. We shall consider the Last Things in a broadly chronological sequence, beginning with the prevailing uncertainty surrounding the end of the world; followed by the virtue of hope, rooted in the divine promise, which frames the entire eschatological discourse; then death, considered in its intrinsic link to judgment; and, subsequently, the two ultimate destinies of rational creatures—either hell or heaven (entered directly or through a period of purgation). Finally, we will consider the Parousia, which is to take place at the end of time. We begin with the first element: Jesus’s repeated emphasis on the uncertainty that veils the world’s end.

3.1. The Unknowability of the End

In his commentary on three parables, Aquinas emphasizes the hiddenness of the world’s end from human knowledge. Expounding the Parable of the Thief in the Night (24:42–44), he explains—drawing on Jerome—that the Lord intentionally concealed the precise moment of the end, not to engender doubt but to instill a state of perpetual vigilance in human beings. This vigilance is crucial, Aquinas argues, because the human person is prone to err under three conditions: when the senses grow dull, when action is neglected through sloth, and when one collapses into outright negligence. To counter these conditions, Christ prescribes three remedies: contemplation, good works, and diligence. Contemplation sharpens the senses; good works guard against the inertia of idleness; and diligence stands as the antidote to negligence.29 Precisely because the hour remains unknown, Aquinas insists that one must keep watch through the entire night.30 It is in view of fostering this vigilant disposition that Christ chose to render both his coming at death and his return at the end of time “unexpected” (24:44).31 This topic of Christ’s two comings will be taken up again in Section 3.6.

In the same vein, in his exposition of the Parable of the Faithful Slave (24:45–51), Aquinas underscores that the master will return on a day the slave does not anticipate. This element of surprise arises from the slave’s misplaced sense of security—he assumes that ample time remains and is therefore caught unprepared. A person may presume that he has many years ahead, only to be overtaken by sudden death.32 Aquinas consequently warns against attempting to determine a fixed time for the Lord’s return; it is far better, he contends, to live in a constant state of expectation under the veil of uncertainty.33

Confirming what has thus far been established, Augustine, as cited by Aquinas, interprets the temporal reference to “midnight” in the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (25:6) not as a literal indication of time but as a symbolic expression of the event’s inscrutable character: the emphasis lies not on the hour but on the mysteriousness of the arrival.34 Aquinas brings his exposition of the parable to a close by underscoring its concluding exhortation to vigilance: “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” (25:13).35 By persistently emphasizing the unknowability of the world’s end, Aquinas holds that the Lord intentionally concealed this knowledge so as to cultivate a spirit of vigilance among his disciples.

3.2. Hope and Divine Promise

Within Aquinas’s eschatological framework, it is fitting to include his reflections on hope—what O’Callaghan aptly describes as the “methodological horizon” of eschatology, the very scaffolding upon which the entire treatise is constructed: “eschatological statements declare realities that do not (yet) exist—elements that belong to God’s life but will only be fulfilled in the future” (O’Callaghan 2023, p. 175). Just as the hired laborers in the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16) did not receive their wages immediately but were required to wait, so too must we endure a period of anticipation for the fulfillment of divine eschatological promises.36 This temporal interval between promise and fulfillment gives rise to two diametrically opposed dispositions: one marked by hope, the other by despair. Before turning to Aquinas’s reflections on hope as found in his interpretation of the Matthean parables, it is therefore instructive first to consider its contrary: despair.37

In his reading of the Parable of the Faithful Slave (24:45–51), Aquinas identifies the root of the unfaithful slave’s fault as “despair regarding the Lord’s coming,” a disposition succinctly captured in the words “my master is delayed” (24:48). Citing Augustine, Aquinas acknowledges that such a statement might, in some cases, arise from deep longing—akin to the Psalmist’s cry: “When shall I come and behold the face of God?” (Ps 41:3). Yet more often, he contends, these words are uttered from a place of resignation and doubt, signaling not yearning but despair over the Lord’s imminent return. This, Aquinas asserts, is the underlying cause of the slave’s transgression.38

From this despairing disposition, two consequences emerge: cruelty and indulgence. On the first point, Aquinas observes that the unfaithful slave “begins to beat his fellow slaves” (24:49). This behavior arises from a distorted perception: the belief that others are his subordinates. While such a belief should have led to a duty of care, it instead culminates in their mistreatment. Aquinas further suggests that this cruelty may be interpreted as moral harm—scandalizing one’s brethren through bad examples and thereby leading them into sin. The second consequence follows swiftly: the pursuit of pleasure. The slave “eats and drinks with drunkards” (24:49), aligning himself with the self-indulgent and adopting their lifestyle. Thus, despair over the Lord’s delayed return gives rise both to the abuse of others and to a life surrendered to vice.39

At the other end of the spectrum stands hope. In his commentary on the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16), Aquinas offers a tripartite interpretation of the laborers’ complaint—“we have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat” (20:12). The first reading interprets this burden as the affliction caused by deferred hope. Those who lived at the dawn of the world are said to have carried this burden because they knew that the fulfillment of their reward was postponed; in this sense, they bore “the burden of the day.” Secondly, the expression may signify the weight of the Mosaic Law borne by the Jews—a yoke, Peter remarks, “that neither our ancestors nor we have been able to bear” (Acts 15:10). The Gentiles, by contrast, were not subject to this burden, having been outside the Law. A third explanation, attributed to Gregory the Great, points to the longevity of the earliest human generations, who lived upwards of nine hundred years. Their burden, then, lies in the sheer duration and heaviness of earthly existence.40

Hope also surfaces in Aquinas’s reflections on the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13). There, he notes a consensus among commentators: the sudden sleep of the bridesmaids signifies death and, by extension, the hope of resurrection. Just as one who falls asleep does so with the expectation of waking, so too one who “sleeps” in death does so with the intention—indeed, the hope—of rising again.41

At the root of hope, ultimately, lies “the divine promise of eschatological salvation” (O’Callaghan 2011, p. 25). Aquinas also alludes to this promise in his interpretation of the Parable of the Barren Fig Tree (24:32–35), as he reflects on the Lord’s final affirmation: “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (24:35). Here, he contrasts the words of Jesus with those of Moses. The words of Moses, which pertain to signs of the Church’s present state, pass away inasmuch as they belong to a transient order. Even Christ’s pronouncements regarding earthly and temporal realities are subject to passing. By contrast, Christ’s words concerning future glory—rooted in the divine promise—remain imperishable.42

3.3. Death and Judgment

In his reading of the Matthean parables, Aquinas gives prominence to the realities of death and judgment, each closely linked to divine retribution. On the one hand, the sleep of the bridesmaids (25:5) is commonly interpreted as a metaphor for death,43 while the lord’s summoning of the unforgiving slave (18:32) is understood as God’s call through death.44 The Parable of the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14), on the other hand, depicts divine judgment as irrevocable, with the speechlessness of the guest found without a wedding garment (22:12) representing his utter lack of excuse before the divine tribunal.45

Aquinas, however, does not treat death and judgment as entirely discrete realities. In several parables, he interprets a single event as signifying both the Lord’s coming at the hour of death and his advent as judge at the end of time. For instance, in the Parable of the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14), Aquinas reads the king’s act of “[coming] in to see the guests” (22:11) as referring ultimately to the final judgment but also to the moment of individual death and even to moments of tribulation endured by the Church.46

In the Parable of the Thief in the Night (24:42–44), Jesus exhorts his listeners: “be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour” (24:44). Aquinas, drawing on Augustine, notes that this admonition is not directed solely to the apostles or to those who lived in the past but remains imperative for all people throughout history. This is because the Lord comes in two principal ways: universally, at the end of the world, and individually, at the hour of each person’s death. Aquinas underscores the correlation between these two comings, affirming that a person will be found at the second coming in the same state in which he was found at death. Moreover, Aquinas offers a further layer of interpretation, suggesting that the statement “the Son of Man is coming” (24:44) may also refer to an invisible coming—namely, the Lord’s entrance into the soul. For this reason, Christ enjoins a deep and continuous vigilance, so that, should he knock, one might be found ready to open to him.47

In his reading of “after a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them” (25:19) in the Parable of the Talents (25:14–30), Aquinas underscores the obligation to render an account to God not only for one’s deeds but also for the gifts received. He stresses the personal nature of this reckoning, which takes place at two moments: first, at the hour of death; second, on the day of judgment, when all must appear before the tribunal of Christ.48 Interpreting the master’s return as a reference to death, Aquinas draws on Origen’s observation that one who has not lived long is unlikely to have been truly useful to the Church. Hence, the phrase “after a long time” (25:19) is taken to signify the Lord’s generous allotment of time for fruitful action. When the master’s coming is read instead as the final judgment, Aquinas highlights the considerable delay between Christ’s first coming and the eschatological consummation—an interval that, he suggests, contradicts the expectation of some in the apostolic era who anticipated an imminent end.49

Inseparable from judgment is the doctrine of divine retribution. It is crucial to clarify that retribution, in its original sense, refers not only to punishment for wrongdoing but also to reward for righteousness. Remarking on the Parable of the Barren Fig Tree (24:32–35), Aquinas cites Chrysostom who observes that when God wishes to reveal something, he invariably employs a comparison drawn from nature. Trees, Aquinas explains, retain life even in winter, though it remains hidden; they bear neither leaves nor fruit, yet at the onset of spring they begin to bud, and their life becomes visible. In like manner, the saints do not now appear in their true glory, but their hidden life will be revealed in due time—namely, in the life of those who remain faithful during the time of the antichrist. Then, Aquinas says, summer will arrive: that is, the time of “eternal retribution.”50 Reflecting on the Lord’s declaration that “heaven and earth will pass away” (24:35), Aquinas cites Origen who interprets “heaven” as referring to the good and “earth” to the wicked. Both, according to Origen, will indeed pass: the good into eternal life, the wicked into eternal fire.51 This refers to the particular judgment, which takes place immediately after death and determines the eternal fate of the individual. It is to the outcomes of this judgment that we now turn.

3.4. The Punishment of the Damned

Aquinas’s exegesis of the Matthean parables offers a detailed picture of the state of the damned. As he navigates their twofold punishment—the poena damni (punishment of loss) and the poena sensus (punishment of sense)—a recurring theological principle comes to the fore: the profound link between the suffering of the soul and that of the body. This is a hermeneutical key that Aquinas applies throughout his interpretation of several parables, revealing a deeply integrated vision of damnation that resists any simple dichotomy between the spiritual and the corporeal.

Punishment, broadly construed, is the consequence of one’s inability to make satisfaction for personal faults. In his reflection on the Parable of the Unforgiving Slave, Aquinas argues that a person is punished precisely when he possesses nothing of his own by which to render satisfaction. Thus, when the Gospel states that the slave “could not pay” (18:25), it signifies that all he owned was inadequate for restitution. Accordingly, since he lacked the means to offer recompense, “his lord ordered him to be sold” (18:25) as an act of justice. To be sold, in this context, denotes that the punishment of sin was exacted as its price. Notably, the slave was sold “together with his wife and children and all his possessions” (18:25). In Aquinas’s reading, the wife, as the source of the children, symbolizes concupiscence—the root of sin—while the children represent one’s sinful deeds. “All his possessions” (18:25) are understood as the gifts of God. Thus, the punishment extends to the whole of the person: his disordered desires, his sinful works, and even the divine gifts he misappropriated.52

Before delving more deeply into the notion of divine punishment, a preliminary clarification is warranted regarding the anger of God, a motif frequently invoked in the parables. In the Parable of the Wedding Banquet, for example, it is said that “the king [rex] was enraged” (22:7). Earlier, in 22:2, the same figure is introduced—according to the Latin Vulgate and the biblical translation used by Aquinas—as a homo rex, a “man king.” According to Aquinas, a distinction exists between homo rex and rex: the former suggests mercy whereas the latter evokes justice and retribution. The omission of homo in 22:7, therefore, signals a narrative shift from clemency to judgment. Aquinas is careful to clarify, however, that when anger is ascribed to God, it must not be construed as indicating any internal disturbance or emotional volatility. Rather, it should be understood as a metaphor for divine vengeance (vindicta). Since those who are angry tend to inflict punishment, the attribution of anger to God denotes, by analogy, the execution of justice. Aquinas further notes that this distinction is particularly relevant in response to certain heretics who contend that the God of the Old Testament cannot be good because he commands punishments.53

Returning now to the question of punishment itself, Aquinas identifies in the concluding words of the Parable of the Wedding Banquet a reference to the twofold punishment of hell: the punishment of loss and the punishment of sense. The command—“Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (22:13)—encapsulates this dual dimension. In the present life, Aquinas observes, human perfection encompasses three faculties: the intellect, which is ordered toward truth; the affections, which are directed toward the highest good; and external actions. Hell, accordingly, entails the undoing of all three. The poena damni consists in the loss of the beatific vision, wounding the intellect and the affections, while the poena sensus corresponds to corporeal suffering, afflicting one’s outward existence.54

In his exposition of the three penalties incurred by the unfaithful slave (24:51) in the Parable of the Faithful Slave, Aquinas once again alludes to the twofold punishment of hell. The first penalty is separation: the master “will cut him in pieces.” This, as Jerome clarifies, signifies not a physical dismemberment but exclusion from the fellowship of the just—a condition which Aquinas identifies as “the greatest punishment.” The second is disgrace: the master “will put him with the hypocrites”—that is, those who publicly profess virtue while privately living in contradiction to it. The third is torment: “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” According to Aquinas, the weeping arises from smoke, symbolic of the punishment of loss, while the gnashing of teeth proceeds from cold, emblematic of the punishment of sense.55 This tripartite schema of punishment is resonant with the framework Albert offers for the same parable, though his own division varies: “Behold, the punishment is threefold: namely, of loss, of one’s lot in hell, and of affliction.”56

Returning to Aquinas, we find that the first two penalties he describes are forms of the punishment of loss, as both separation from the righteous and association with the wicked constitute an estrangement from God. The third penalty, in turn, aligns with the punishment of sense, manifest in concrete suffering. Yet the distinction between these two types of punishment is far from clear-cut. One cannot maintain a strict bifurcation in which the poena damni pertains solely to the soul while the poena sensus afflicts only the body.57 As we will see, this interplay becomes increasingly discernible when we examine each form of punishment in greater detail, beginning with the punishment of loss.

An allusion to the punishment of loss appears in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat (13:24–30), where the binding of the weeds signifies the permanence of the wicked’s punishment and thus the irrevocability of eternal damnation. This separation from the beatific vision—the very absence of which constitutes the essence of the poena damni—is rendered all the more severe by its definitive character. The eternal burning fire symbolizes this loss; and in this respect, Aquinas maintains, the punishment is equal for all the damned.58

The punishment inflicted upon the slave in the Parable of the Unforgiving Slave points, first, to this same separation from God: “in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured” (18:34). Aquinas notes that earlier in the parable, when the lord had ordered the slave to be sold (18:25), no mention of anger is made. This omission, he explains, signals the lord’s appeal to mercy, since admonitions arise not from justice but from clemency. By contrast, the stern rebuke—“You wicked slave!” (18:32)—is expressive of divine wrath. Secondly, the punishment involves subjection to the demons, represented by the slave’s being handed over to the torturers “until he would pay his entire debt” (18:34). Aquinas interprets this as another indication of the eternal duration of the poena damni. For if the punishment is to persist until the debt is satisfied, and satisfaction cannot be rendered apart from grace, then the one who dies without charity will remain forever incapable of paying what is owed.59

We now examine the second type of punishment: the punishment of sense, evoked in the Lord’s words in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat: “they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (13:42).60 The phrase “weeping and gnashing of teeth” indicates that the damned will be afflicted in both soul and body. This interpretation is reinforced by Matthew 10:28 which urges us to “fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” The weeping, swiftly provoked by smoke, symbolizes the punishment of fire, while the gnashing of teeth signifies the torment of cold.61 The division of the punishment of sense into heat and cold also appears in Albert’s commentary on the Parable of the Dragnet. In his gloss on the phrase “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (13:50), he associates these punishments with failures in temperance and charity, respectively: “For weeping will be from the bitterness of heat on account of concupiscence, and the gnashing of teeth will be from the cold on account of charity having grown cold.”62 This assertion of the presence of cold in hell, common to both Albert and Aquinas, is given poetic form in Canto 34 of Dante’s Inferno, where Lucifer is portrayed as a colossal, three-faced figure, immobilized in the ice of Cocytus—the frozen lake that constitutes the ninth and innermost circle of hell.63

Albert also points to the punishment of sense in his reading of the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat. In his commentary on Matthew 13:30 (“Collect the weeds first”), he addresses the apparent tension with 25:34 (“Come, you that are blessed by my Father”). The former verse suggests that the eschatological sequence begins with the punishment of the wicked, whereas the latter indicates that the invitation to the blessed takes precedence. Albert resolves this by positing a sequence of events wherein both statements hold true: “First, [Christ] will call the elect to himself; but before he ascends into heaven in their presence, he will send the reprobate to be burned … and only then will Christ the man ascend with the good.”64

The Parable of the Dragnet likewise refers to the punishment of sense: “[The angels will] throw [the evil] into the furnace of fire” (13:49). At first glance, this may appear to merely echo the earlier reference in the Parable of the Weeds (13:42). Why, then, does the Lord reiterate the same image? Aquinas suggests that while the content overlaps in one respect, it diverges in another. In the Parable of the Dragnet, both the righteous and the wicked are gathered, representing those who still remain within the visible bounds of the Church. In contrast, the Parable of the Weeds portrays the wicked as already distinguished by doctrinal divergence, having been severed from ecclesial communion. Thus, although both parables speak of the final judgment, they underscore different kinds of separation: one internal to the Church’s fold, the other external to it.65

The king’s command in the Parable of the Wedding Banquet—“Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness” (22:13)—offers, in Aquinas’s reading, a particularly vivid illustration of the punishment of sense. The feet signify the affections: in this life, sinners still retain a measure of freedom; with their feet unbound, they remain capable of turning toward the good. After judgment, however, their feet will be bound, symbolizing the fixity of their disordered desires. The intellect, too, which now may grasp some measure of truth, will then be utterly obscured; hence the condemned are cast into the “outer darkness.” Aquinas remarks that even now, some sinners are not entirely in darkness regarding external knowledge, though they may already be inwardly blind. In the next life, however, they will suffer total darkness—understood not only spiritually as the soul’s exclusion from divine light but also physically as the body’s estrangement from the communion of the saints.66 Here, the boundary between the punishment of loss and the punishment of sense becomes especially blurred.

The Gospel continues: “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (22:13). Aquinas interprets the weeping as arising from sorrow and the gnashing of teeth from anger. In this life, sorrow may lead to humility and cleansing. In the “outer darkness,” however, sorrow will be perverted into rage, and the gnashing of teeth may reflect the fury of a soul consumed by unreconciled desires. Aquinas adds that this may be understood as occurring after the resurrection, when the punishment will affect not only the soul but also the risen body.67

Further examining the corporeal dimension of hell’s punishment, Aquinas—in his commentary on the Parable of the Talents (25:14–30)—considers the punishment of sense in relation to sight. The sentence “as for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness” (25:30) mirrors the expression found in the Parable of the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14) and, for Aquinas, signifies a punishment affecting the faculty of vision. Notably, the slave is condemned not for having committed evil but for failing to do the good he could have done—the sin of omission. He is called a “worthless slave” because he squandered the gifts entrusted to him: understanding that was never used to teach, or wealth that was never used to show mercy. His failure lay not in active wrongdoing but in fruitless inaction.68 Regarding the command to cast him “into the outer darkness” (25:30), Aquinas recalls that, according to Origen, some had interpreted this darkness as a place beyond the bounds of the cosmos itself. Origen, however, understands “darkness” as a symbol of ignorance69—a view that harmonizes with Aquinas’s interpretation of 22:13: the darkness into which the damned are cast is not merely spatial but also intellectual and spiritual, depriving them of the light of truth.

3.5. The Reward of the Righteous

We now turn to another possible final destiny for human beings: heaven, which one may enter either directly or by way of purgatory. Accordingly, we begin with a brief consideration of this state of purgation, followed by an exposition of the reward of heaven—attending first to the varying degrees of beatitude among the blessed, and then to its everlasting duration shared by all.

While some souls enter heaven directly, others are admitted only after passing through purgatory—a state of temporal penal purification.70 At least one allusion to this condition appears in Aquinas’s commentary on the Matthean parables, particularly in his interpretation of the wheat as signifying purity (13:30). He notes that the weeds are bound together and therefore not shaken out, whereas the wheat is thoroughly sifted. This, he says, implies that the wicked and their defilements are cast into hell, while the righteous undergo a complete purification71—an indirect reference to purgatory.

Once souls in purgatory have been purified of all guilt and temporal punishment, they are admitted into the beatific joy of heaven. The reward in heaven, though equal in duration for all the blessed, is not equal in degree: while all behold the one and triune God just as he is, some see him more perfectly than others, in proportion to their merits.72 In commenting on the Parable of the Dragnet, Aquinas sees the fishermen’s sitting position as they assort the fish (13:48) as referencing judicial authority. The good fish are chosen and placed into baskets (vasa), alluding to heavenly dwellings. Aquinas also interprets the plural form of vasa as indicating the diversity of rewards in heaven.73

Remarking on the Parable of the Talents (25:14–30), Aquinas turns to the second slave, the one who had received two talents. He observes that, at the literal level, the second slave received the same commendation and the same reward as the one who had received five talents. Aquinas reckons, drawing from Origen, that this shows a deeper truth: the one who receives a lesser gift from God and uses it well according to his capacity receives and merits as much as the one who has been given more, for the Lord requires only that each serve him with his whole heart.74

Yet Aquinas acknowledges a difficulty. Suppose one person possesses a great measure of goods while another has little. If the latter acts according to the small measure of charity he has received, it might seem that he would merit as much as the one who has received more—which appears problematic. It would seem to follow that someone with less charity could merit as much as, or even more than, someone with more charity. To resolve this, Aquinas distinguishes gifts that perfect the will, elicit its act, and incline it toward the good from others that do not. Charity, he explains, is the kind of gift that inclines the will and elicits its act. Therefore, it is not possible for someone who possesses greater charity not to act with greater effort and greater goodness. However, there are other gifts—knowledge among them—that can be exercised with varying degrees of charity. In these cases, Aquinas explains, the one who applies himself with greater effort, even if he has received less externally, merits more in terms of reward. He points to Luke 21:3–4 where it is said that the poor widow put more into the treasury than those who gave larger sums because she gave according to her full capacity.75

As previously noted, the reward in heaven, though differing in degree, is equal in duration for all the blessed. It is this equality of duration in the heavenly reward that now claims our attention. Among the many expressions traditionally employed to denote the eternal reward (Alviar 2011, pp. 208–20), we focus on four in particular: glory, life, beatitude, and joy. Our analysis will begin with glory. Aquinas reports that Gregory the Great interpreted the pearl in the Parable of the Pearl of Great Price (13:45–46) as symbolizing heavenly glory. Given that the good is naturally desirable, the human person is inclined to relinquish a lesser good in pursuit of a greater one. Once the supreme good for humanity—the glory of heaven—has been revealed, one must forsake all else in pursuit of it.76

Arguably the most pervasive manner of articulating the eternal reward is through the notion of life (Alviar 2011, pp. 215–19)—a concept that receives extensive treatment in Aquinas’s commentary on the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard (20:1–16). He notes that the master “agreed with them for the usual daily wage” (20:2)—a denarius, which symbolizes eternal life. Its value, ten ordinary coins, alludes to adherence to the Decalogue, while its imprint—the image of the king—evokes the image of God impressed upon his adopted children.77

The Gospel continues by recounting that, upon receiving the agreed-upon denarius, “they grumbled against the landowner” (20:11). If the denarius signifies eternal life, can it be reasonably supposed that someone, having received so great a reward, would grumble? This seems improbable, as such murmuring would constitute sin. To address this difficulty, Aquinas cites Chrysostom who cautions against pressing too rigidly the literal force of the words, urging instead an attention to their underlying intent. The point, then, is not that actual murmuring occurs, but that the reward will be so lavish that, were it possible, it might give rise to murmuring.78 Chrysostom thus underscores the sheer generosity of the divine recompense—so abundant, so surpassing, that although no injustice is done, it could, hypothetically, provoke envy or complaint simply by virtue of its magnitude. In other words, God’s reward is so astonishingly gratuitous that it could seem excessive even to the righteous—were it not for the fact that, in heaven, envy and murmuring are categorically impossible.

An alternative interpretation understands the “daily wage” as denoting the present life. Gregory the Great proposes that this wage represents not the reward itself but the deferral of its reception: the saints who came last were granted their reward immediately, while those who came first were made to wait. The murmuring, then, issues from those who did not receive their recompense at once, while the others remain silent, having already entered into their joy. Aquinas also appeals to Hilary and Jerome who interpret the episode as reflecting Israel’s discontent at the Gentiles’ being made equal to God’s chosen people.79

In response to the grumbling laborers, the landowner asserts that he has committed no injustice, for he is simply giving to another what rightfully belongs to himself. He then reminds the laborer of the original agreement: “Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage?” (20:13)—namely, for the attainment of salvation. The directive “take what belongs to you and go” (20:14) is interpreted by Aquinas as a command to receive the promised reward and to enter into glory. Some, he notes, have construed this imperative as a reference to damnation, taking “go” to mean a dismissal into eternal fire as a consequence of murmuring. However, this interpretation is untenable since the text clearly states that each received a denarius, which signifies eternal life.80

Aquinas proceeds to interpret the declaration “I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you” (20:14) as pointing to the Gentiles. A potential objection might be raised: “You are not able to do that.” But the response comes swiftly—“Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me?” (20:15). The principle is simple: each person has the liberty to dispose of his possessions according to his own will. If the master were indebted to another or subordinate to a higher authority, such freedom would be constrained. But since he is the landowner, he possesses full discretion to give as he pleases. As Aquinas explains, a steward may give only according to merit, whereas a king can bestow gifts even beyond merit. So too, God—Lord of all—is free to reward not solely on the basis of merit but also out of pure generosity.81

Aquinas observes that in matters of mercy, there can be no charge of partiality, for one is entitled to bestow what is wholly one’s own without regard to persons. Accordingly, the master asks: “Are you envious because I am generous?” (20:15). The implication, as Aquinas notes, is that the earlier murmuring arises not from any injustice on the part of the landowner but rather from the mercy shown to another—that is, from his goodness and generosity. Aquinas explains that a person is rightly called wicked when he is pained by another’s goodness. Hence the rhetorical question “Are you envious because I am generous?” (20:15), which can be rendered as “Are you displeased that I have shown justice to you and mercy to another?” Clearly, such largesse flows from goodness.82 The gift of eternal life, then, is a matter not of strict justice but of God’s pure generosity.

The Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard concludes with the well-known reversal: “So the last will be first, and the first will be last” (20:16). One might then ask whether this implies that all who came first will ultimately be saved. Aquinas addresses the concern by citing Matthew 22:14: “Many are called, but few are chosen.” All who believe through faith are indeed called; yet only those who persevere in good works are counted among the elect—and these, he affirms, are few.83

Having examined the description of the eternal reward as life, let us now consider its characterization as beatitudo or blessedness84—often coupled with the vision of the blessed in heaven in the expression beatific vision. Commenting on Jesus’s words in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat—“the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (13:43)—Aquinas interprets this as alluding to the glorification of the just in whom there will be a twofold radiance: one in the soul, through which they will see God, and another that will overflow into the body. (The resurrection of the dead will be treated in Section 3.6.) The comparison with the sun is apt, for just as the sun is unchanging, so too will the righteous be constant in glory.85

Blessedness is the term Aquinas employs as well when expounding the reward of faithfulness and vigilance in the Parable of the Faithful Slave (24:45–51). He cites the words of Christ: “Blessed is that slave whom his master will find at work when he arrives” (24:46). Whether the Lord comes at the hour of death or at the consummation of the world, the one found faithfully carrying out the office entrusted to him is declared blessed.86

This beatitude is expressed more concretely in the promise that the faithful slave will be placed over all the master’s possessions: “Truly I tell you, he will put that one in charge of all his possessions” (24:47). Aquinas offers three interpretations of this assurance. First, he remarks that although all things belong to God, true beatitude consists in the possession of that good which surpasses all others—namely, God himself. Thus, to be placed “in charge of all [God’s] possessions” is to enjoy beatitude in God who transcends all created goods. Second, Aquinas reads the phrase as alluding to the special preeminence conferred upon faithful prelates. He recalls Luke 12:37 where the Lord promises to make them recline at table, but observes that the Matthean text promises something even greater: not merely a share in the banquet but authority over God’s possessions. This, he argues, points to the supreme reward reserved for good prelates, surpassing even the rewards granted to the other saints. Third, Aquinas interprets the declaration of Matthew 24:47 as an allusion to perfect union with Christ. Just as no one attains spiritual perfection in this life without following Christ, so only those united to him will enter into full glory in the life to come. Their dominion over all things will consist in the perfect conformity of their will to the divine will.87

Finally, joy—which translates the Latin gaudium—represents another designation for eternal reward. Aquinas highlights the justice of divine recompense in the Parable of the Talents, as expressed in the phrase “you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things” (25:23). He interprets the “few things” as signifying the goods of this present life which, in light of heavenly realities, amount to almost nothing. Consequently, the reward—being “in charge of many things”—denotes the reception of spiritual goods far surpassing all earthly possessions. The magnitude of this reward, Aquinas concludes, is encapsulated in the invitation “enter into the joy of your master” (25:23), for the reward itself is none other than joy.88

Aquinas considers a potential objection: could the eternal reward be something other than the beatific vision? In response, he affirms that even if various names are given to the reward—as has been done in this section (e.g., eternal life, beatitude)—joy remains its most proper designation. He draws a comparison: just as heavy things tend downward yet their true end is rest in a low place, so too is joy the rest of the soul in the possession of the good attained. For this reason, Aquinas explains, joy is called the “final reward” because it corresponds to the final end.89

He then reflects on why the text says “enter into the joy” (25:23) rather than “receive the joy,” offering three interpretations. First, he distinguishes between two kinds of joy: one that arises from external goods and another from internal or spiritual goods. When one rejoices in external things, joy enters into the person—that is, the person receives joy. But when one rejoices in spiritual goods, it is the person who enters into joy. The second interpretation considers the nature of containment. That which is within something is contained by it; that which contains is greater than what it contains. Therefore, when joy concerns something lesser than the heart, it is the heart that contains it. But since God is greater than the heart, the one who rejoices in God does not contain joy but is encompassed by it. Thus, the phrase “enter into the joy of your master” (25:23) indicates entrance into the joy that flows from the Lord who is Truth. Hence, Aquinas concludes, beatitude is nothing other than “the joy of truth.” Lastly, to “enter into the joy of your master” means to rejoice in the same thing the Lord does—namely, his own self-enjoyment.90

3.6. The Parousia and Final Consummation

Having treated the final destinies of human beings, we now focus on Christ’s return in glory at the end of history to judge the world—an event traditionally designated as the Parousia. Inextricably linked to the Parousia are three concomitant realities: the resurrection of all the dead, whose souls may already dwell in heaven or in hell; the universal judgment;91 and the transformation of the present world. Our point of departure is the Parousia itself, which Aquinas, in his commentary on the Matthean parables, treats in close association with judgment.

Commenting on the gathering of the weeds in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat (13:30), Aquinas remarks that for as long as the present age persists, the wicked remain interspersed among the good. In the interim, blessings and afflictions appear to fall indiscriminately upon the just and the unjust. Yet at the second coming of the Lord, just recompense will be dispensed: good repaid to the good and evil to the wicked. To forestall their being bound together in judgment, the weeds must first be separated from the good wheat and bound apart.92

A further reference to the Parousia appears in Aquinas’s interpretation of the Parable of the Dragnet (13:47–51). He explains that although all are now gathered into the net—that is, within the Church or under the preaching of the Gospel93—not all will share in the same ultimate destiny. For the present, the good and the wicked coexist, but they will be definitively separated at the end of time. Aquinas interprets the phrase “when it was full” (13:48) as denoting the completion of the number of the elect. The drawing of the net to shore, he adds, signifies the consummation of the world, with the shore representing the rest and peace of the saints, free at last from the turbulence of this life.94

Thus, just as the gathering of the weeds in the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat (13:24–30) alludes to the eschatological separation of the wicked from the righteous, so too does the Parable of the Dragnet. As it is written: “So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous” (13:49). For now, the wicked dwell among the just, sharing in the life of the Church. Yet a definitive rupture will come: they will be severed from communion with the righteous. This is prefigured—albeit only imperfectly—by the act of grave excommunication. The Church is “often deceived”; the final separation effected by the angels, however, will be without error.95

Another allusion to the Parousia is found in Aquinas’s interpretation of the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13), this time in conjunction with the mystery of the Incarnation. The Gospel recounts: “As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept” (25:5). Aquinas identifies delay as the cause of this drowsiness. Human experience confirms the insight: when one waits—especially by night—fatigue overtakes easily. This period of slumber, he explains, signifies the interval between Christ’s first coming in the flesh and his second coming as judge.96

As previously noted, the Parousia is inseparably—even chronologically—linked to the resurrection of the dead. But when, precisely, will the dead rise? Drawing primarily on John 6, the Catechism of the Catholic Church (2000) offers a clear reply: “Definitively ‘at the last day,’ ‘at the end of the world.’ Indeed, the resurrection of the dead is closely associated with Christ’s Parousia” (§1001). Saint Paul makes this point directly: “the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first” (1 Thess 4:16). Let us now consider Aquinas’s reflections on the general resurrection, particularly as illuminated through three Matthean parables.

First, the nuptials in the Parable of the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14) signify the consummation that will occur at the general resurrection. Christ is, as Aquinas affirms, “the way of this resurrection,” and it is only then—when mortality is finally swallowed up by life—that the nuptial mystery reaches its fulfillment.97

In the Parable of Weeds among the Wheat (13:24–30), the statement “there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth” (13:42) refers more directly to the punishment of sense, yet it also bears implications for our understanding of the resurrection. Aquinas notes that “weeping” pertains to the eyes and “gnashing” to the teeth—both corporeal organs—thus affirming the reality of the bodily resurrection of the damned.98

The Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13) likewise contributes to Aquinas’s reflection on the general resurrection. Most commentators interpret the awakening—“at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him’ ” (25:6)—as a reference to the final judgment. In this reading, the “shout” signifies the trumpet blast or the voice of Christ at the end of time,99 summoning all to rise and meet him at the final judgment.100 Aquinas comments on the ensuing response: “all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps” (25:7). Taken literally, the act of rising gestures toward the general resurrection, which will take place at the sound of Christ’s voice or the trumpet’s call. The trimming of lamps, in turn, symbolizes the reckoning of one’s deeds in preparation to give an account. There will be, Aquinas notes, profound anxiety at that moment, as echoed in the Gospel’s later question of self-incrimination: “when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” (25:44).101

If the Parousia signifies the second coming of Christ, it must be recalled that he will come “to judge the living and the dead,” as professed in the Creeds. We have already touched upon the theme of judgment—more specifically, the general judgment—in connection with death (Section 3.3), considering Aquinas’s distinction between Christ’s coming at the moment of death and his coming at the end of time. Next, we will examine the general judgment more closely as Aquinas treats it in his commentary on the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13).

Aquinas pays close attention to the request of the foolish bridesmaids, who say to the wise: “Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out” (25:8). While they are described as foolish, he notes, their folly is not absolute. They still retain a measure of the light of faith, as implied by their claim that their lamps are “going out” rather than already extinguished. Were they entirely devoid of faith, they would speak not of diminishing light but of its absence. Their request, then, acknowledges a vital truth: faith cannot be sustained without oil. Whether this oil is interpreted as the work of mercy or of justice, the underlying message remains unchanged: those who rise at the general judgment but lack an abundance of such works will long to draw upon the merits of others. Yet this longing proves futile, for no one can stand in for another; each person must bear the light of faith sustained by his own deeds. Recognizing that faith is insufficient without the works that nourish it, the foolish appeal to those whose lamps had been trimmed through acts of mercy.102

In concordance with Origen, Aquinas interprets the phrase “while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came” (25:10) as referring to the Lord’s coming at the final judgment. The foolish bridesmaids, still preoccupied with crafting excuses or attempting to compensate for their deficiency, are caught unprepared at the bridegroom’s arrival.103 In contrast, “those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet” (25:10)—a phrase Aquinas takes to signify entrance into the kingdom of heaven. Immediately thereafter, the Gospel declares, “the door was shut” (25:10), which Aquinas interprets as denoting the definitive closure of access to salvation following the final judgment. Unlike the present time, in which the door remains open and salvation is still attainable, this closure is irrevocable.104 This interpretation may be read as an implicit rejection of the doctrine of apocatastasis.105

Having considered the Parousia, the general resurrection, and the final judgment in light of Aquinas’s reading of the Matthean parables, we now turn to the final theme to be addressed: the end of the world—the creation of “new heavens and a new earth” (Isa 65:17). Reflecting on the words “heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (24:35), Aquinas affirms that the Word is the very cause of heaven—and the cause, by nature, surpasses its effect. Thus, the permanence of the Word is underscored. The passing away of heaven and earth, then, signifies not their annihilation but rather their transformation into a new and glorified state.106

4. Conclusions: Toward a Thomistic Biblical Eschatology

We have seen that Aquinas exhibits an ambivalent attitude toward parables. On the one hand, certain texts reveal his guarded—at times, even wary—disposition toward their use. On the other hand, there are passages in which this figurative mode of speech elicits a more favorable appraisal from the Master of Aquino. Indeed, he expresses clear approval of Jesus’s employment of parables. He argues, first, that Jesus used parables to veil sacred truths from the malicious and simultaneously to instruct the unrefined yet well-disposed more effectively, thereby helping them retain the truths they grasped. Second, Aquinas observes that Jesus used many parables for two principal reasons: first, because of the diversity of dispositions among the members of a large audience; second, because spiritual realities are inherently hidden and cannot be fully articulated through temporal images—hence, multiple parables are needed to approximate their meanings.

This article has thus shown that parables are textual images that serve various interpretive functions: educating diverse audiences, excluding malicious listeners, facilitating the memory of the well-disposed, and revealing the unknown. Interestingly, these functions are analogous to the role that visual imagery and iconography would assume within Christian devotional life. The guiding principle is the same in both domains: visual art, like parables, leads the intellect toward deeper divine truths.107 As Aquinas explains, “religious worship is not given to images considered in themselves as mere things but only insofar as they are images that lead to the incarnate God. The movement toward an image, as an image, does not terminate in the image itself but passes on to that which it represents.”108 Consequently, the logic behind the devotional use of visual art resonates with the hermeneutics of scriptural images, a connection particularly evident in Aquinas’s engagement with Matthean eschatological representations.

As this article has argued, Aquinas’s exegesis of the parables in his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew contains—if only in skeletal form, with certain aspects more fully developed than others—the outline of a comprehensive treatise on Christian eschatology. A comparative reading of Albert the Great’s work throws this conclusion into sharp relief, demonstrating that such a thoroughgoing eschatological focus was a distinctive interpretive choice, not a standard feature of Dominican exegesis of the period. Albert’s exposition is less eschatologically charged, even when discussing parables with clear eschatological import, such as those of the Wedding Banquet (22:1–14) and the Ten Bridesmaids (25:1–13). This is not to say that Albert’s commentary lacks its own strengths; its distinct forte is a meticulous attention to physical and natural details. A prime example is his botanical description of the fig tree when commenting on Matthew 24:32–35,109 an unsurprising trait given his renowned erudition in the natural sciences (Wöllmer 2013).

Granted, certain eschatological elements receive no direct treatment in Aquinas’s reading of the Matthean parables—among them, death as a punishment for sin, the relationship between death and original sin, the condition of the separated soul, and the nature of the resurrected bodies, which he addresses more fully elsewhere in his corpus.110 Nevertheless, in this same reading, Aquinas offers sustained reflection on other key eschatological affirmations, notably the claim that the timing of the end of the world is radically unknowable to human beings, who are thereby called to remain vigilant. Such vigilance, however, is not so much a posture of anxiety or fear as it is one animated by hope firmly anchored in the divine promises. At the moment of death—understood as the coming of the Lord to the individual—Christ renders judgment, bestowing the reward of heaven upon the righteous and consigning the wicked to the punishment of hell. This eternal punishment is twofold: the poena damni and the poena sensus. The reward of heaven, though everlasting for all the blessed, is dispensed not uniformly but in proportion to each one’s merit. At the end of time, the Lord will return in the Parousia—an eschatological event intrinsically bound to the resurrection of the dead, the final judgment, and the renewal of the cosmos. All these elements—now staples in the architecture of Christian eschatological doctrine—are already discernible in Aquinas’s exegetical writings examined in this study. Given that he never composed a dedicated eschatological treatise, it is all the more striking to find such a thorough treatment of the Last Things embedded within one of his biblical commentaries.

This article offers only a preliminary investigation, as its analysis is confined to Aquinas’s exposition of the parables in the Gospel of Matthew rather than his complete commentary on the First Gospel. Furthermore, we have not compared the eschatological thought in his Matthean commentary with the doctrines developed in his major systematic works, such as the Scriptum super libros Sententiarum and the Summa theologiae. Equally compelling would be an exploration of the eschatological insights to be drawn from his only other Gospel commentary, that on John, as well as from his exegesis of the Pauline epistles. It would also be worthwhile to investigate medieval commentaries on the Matthean parables that predate Aquinas—such as those by Bruno of Segni (c. 1045–1123) and Rupert of Deutz (c. 1075–1129) (Pollmann 2001, pp. 472–73)—and later commentaries on the same parables, including those by Nicholas of Lyra (c. 1270–1349), Denis the Carthusian (1402–1471), and Cornelius à Lapide (1567–1637). Such inquiries would further underscore the inseparability of dogmatic exposition from Scripture—a feature particularly pronounced in Aquinas’s corpus, as this article has endeavored to illustrate.