The Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus

Table of Contents

A Note on Method

This essay continues the framework developed in the author’s prior work – the lemniscate, the crossing point, the zero-thickness Now, structural inertia – and extends it with two concepts: temporal density and topological relativity. As in the prior essays, the framework is proposed as a philosophical instrument, not demonstrated from first principles. The reader who accepts the model as useful while remaining agnostic about its ultimate metaphysical status has a coherent position.

One extension of prior terminology must be stated explicitly. In On Happiness: Its Duration, Its Name, and What Endures (Gaitan, 2026), the term reference named a completed coordinate in the memory loop – a finished event the loop returns to and releases – while residency named the habitation of an unfinished one. This essay extends the notion of reference from completed coordinate to visibility of completion: from a single event filed as finished to an entire trajectory apprehended as whole from a single crossing. The extension applies to the pair symmetrically: as reference scales from a completed coordinate to the visibility of a completed trajectory, residency scales from the habitation of an unfinished coordinate to the self’s grip on a disclosed trajectory it will not release. The extension preserves the original architecture. Nothing in the earlier usage is revised; the concepts are scaled.

One methodological clarification recurs across the essay and is stated here once: several arguments rely on the retrospective visibility of density – the fact that what a crossing gathered is often apprehended only later. Retrospective visibility is not retroactive causation. The later disclosure does not alter the structure of the earlier act; it reveals relations that were constituted at the act’s own crossing. Nothing in the model travels backward in time. This is continuous with the permanence of consummated crossings established in the prior essay: what is complete cannot be altered by later events – including later disclosures of it.

The theological guardrail of this essay is set here and maintained throughout. The essay reads the grammar of Christ’s sixth word from the Cross – Consummatum est, tetelestai – and the structure of the life that preceded it. It makes no claim about Christ’s inner states, no claim that the utterance names a psychological experience of temporal compression, and no reduction of the hypostatic union to a case study in the phenomenology of time. Catholic theology confesses Christ as the second Person of the Trinity, true God and true man. Within that confession, this essay treats the Cross as the image in which a structure is perfectly visible – not as an ordinary instance of that structure. The structure is then argued, on philosophical grounds, to be available to every human life. The image grounds the argument; it is not consumed by it.

Scriptural engagements are philosophical readings, not exegesis. The framework is brought to the texts; it is not derived from them. One folk legend is used in Section VII; it is presented as illustration, explicitly not as theology. Literary references are used as structural witnesses, consistent with the author’s established method.

The term the self refers throughout to the soul and will in the Catholic philosophical tradition. A fuller ontological treatment appears in The Am That Remains: A Critique of Descartes and a Metaphysics of the Soul (Gaitan, 2026) and is not repeated here.

I. The Reflexive Question

Is everything accomplished at the deathbed – or is every actualization a consummation?

The ordinary picture of a life places consummation at the end. The years accumulate; the deathbed sums them; the final moment closes the account. On this picture, the moments of a life are contributions toward a consummation that arrives once, at the terminus, when the whole can finally be weighed.

The framework developed in the author’s prior work does not permit this picture. If the Now has zero thickness – if actuality as such has no intrinsic extension – then nothing accumulates within any moment, including the last one. The deathbed is one crossing point among the others, structurally identical to every crossing that preceded it. It cannot perform an operation – the summation of a life – that the model’s foundational axiom forbids.

And yet the deathbed is not nothing. Something does happen there that does not happen at an ordinary Tuesday crossing. The task of this essay is to say precisely what – and the answer requires two new instruments. The first, temporal density, names what makes certain crossings have a referential scope greater than their duration. The second, topological relativity, names why identical states carry different measures depending on their position within a field of relations. Together they yield the essay’s thesis: consummation does not happen at the deathbed. It happens – or fails to happen – at every crossing point of a life. What happens at the deathbed is disclosure.

II. The Grammar of the Sixth Word

On the Cross, at the final crossing point of his earthly life, Christ does not summarize. He does not report. The sixth word is not I did it – past tense, the loop of memory, the mission located back there across the years. It is not it worked out as I said – the loop of anticipation retroactively vindicated. Both formulations would place the consummation in the loops. Both would treat the Cross as the terminus of an arc, the point where accumulated past and projected future finally meet and close.

Consummatum est – the Latin rendering of the Greek tetelestai – is neither. The Greek perfect tense does not mean it happened back then. It means: it stands accomplished. The state of completion is present. The grammar itself refuses the loops. The utterance is not a report addressed to the past, and although the Father is addressed elsewhere in the Passion – Father, into your hands I commend my spirit – the sixth word is not addressed to anyone. It is a declaration of present completeness. The actuality speaking its own structure aloud.

This is, the essay proposes, the tense of God. The voice from the burning bush does not say I was or I will be. It says I AM WHO I AM – the pure, unqualified present that the author’s prior work identifies as the grammatical form of non-derivative actuality. The Son, at the final crossing point, speaks in the same tense about the work: not the tense of memory, not the tense of anticipation, but the tense of accomplished presence. Consummatum est is the I AM spoken of the work rather than of the being.

The philosophical observation this essay builds on is grammatical and structural, and it can be stated without any claim about Christ’s inner experience: the word spoken once at the last crossing point names a completeness that does not refer backward for its content. It does not say the long thing is now over. It says: this is whole.

III. The Hidden Years

The ordinary reading treats the thirty years at Nazareth as preparation – the long build-up before the real event of the public ministry, which itself builds toward the real event of the Passion. This reading imports exactly the structure the model rejects: a life as a sequence of loops accumulating toward a crossing point that finally arrives at the end. Thirty years of accumulation, three years of intensification, and then, at last, the actual thing.

Within the model, this cannot be right, and within Catholic Christology it is not right either. The hypostatic union is not acquired gradually and then activated. Christ is fully God and fully man at every moment from the Incarnation onward – not increasingly so, not building toward it. And if the crossing point is the condition of actuality rather than one of its instances, then actuality does not admit of degrees: no year of that life was more actual than another. The planing of wood in the workshop, the water drawn at the well, the unrecorded decades – each occurred at a crossing point, and each crossing point was complete. Not preparatory. Not partial. Whole.

The strict terminology of the prior essay now yields a precise theological statement. If residency names the relation to an unfinished trajectory – the open file, the loop circling a vacancy – then the life that ends in Consummatum est is the unique case of zero residency: a life with no open files. No crossing abandoned, no presence interrupted before completion, no loop left circling. Every moment of the thirty-three years passed through as reference – complete, filed, whole. This is why the sixth word could be spoken at all. It declares referentially what was structurally true of every prior crossing. The utterance does not create the completeness. It discloses it.

One objection must be met directly, because a Thomist reader will raise it. Scripture says that Jesus grew in wisdom and stature (Luke 2:52), and classical Christology carefully distinguishes the modes of Christ’s human knowledge – acquired, infused, and beatific. Does growth in acquired knowledge not constitute an unfinished trajectory? It does not, and the distinction matters for the model’s claim. Zero residency refers to the orientation of the will, not to the state of acquired knowledge. An unfinished trajectory, in the model’s strict sense, is an open file – a presence interrupted, a loop left circling an absence, a crossing abandoned before completion. Development is not incompleteness in that sense: the boy who learns the trade has no open file; he has a trajectory unfolding, each crossing of which is complete in itself. Growth in human cognition and the absence of unfinished trajectories are fully compatible – and the model holds that they were jointly actual across the whole of the hidden years.

The hidden years, on this reading, were not the prelude to the mission. They were the mission – consummated crossing point by crossing point, in a workshop, in obscurity, in moments nobody recorded. The word said once aloud at the end had been silently true of every moment before it, including the ones nobody was watching.

IV. Temporal Density

The instrument this essay now requires must be defined with care, because the obvious definition is forbidden by the model’s own axiom.

Temporal density cannot mean accumulation. Accumulation requires a storage medium – a reservoir, a container with volume – and the zero-thickness Now is a crossing, not a warehouse. Nothing is stored in a moment; nothing gains thickness. The definition the model permits is this: temporal density is the degree to which prior crossings become referentially available at a present crossing. Density measures not accumulated duration but referential scope. A temporally dense crossing is one from which an unusually large trajectory can be apprehended as a whole.

The definition can be made precise. A necessary condition: density requires the referential availability of more than the crossing’s own content – a crossing that references nothing beyond itself has minimal density, however intense it feels. A sufficient condition: a crossing at which a trajectory becomes apprehensible as a whole is dense to the degree of that trajectory’s extent. And a clarification the concept requires concerning time: density is constituted at the crossing, not conferred on it afterward. The referential relations a crossing contains – to the trajectory it gathers, to the Center against which the trajectory is measured – are real at the moment of the crossing whether or not anyone apprehends them. What is frequently retrospective is the visibility of density, not the density itself. As the method note states: the later disclosure does not reach backward and alter the act; it reveals relations that were already there.

This distinguishes density from mere psychological importance, and the distinction carries real weight. An important moment is one that is felt as significant at the time – intense, memorable, marked. A temporally dense moment is structurally significant whether or not anyone feels it: its density is a relational property of the crossing, not an experiential property of the person. The two can coincide. They frequently do not. Consider a signature on a marriage license or an enlistment form: a few seconds, administratively flat, often emotionally unremarkable amid the ceremony surrounding it – and structurally enormous, because the brief crossing binds an entire trajectory that follows from it. The felt intensity of a moment and its referential scope are independent variables. Some of the densest crossings of a life are ordinary in feel, unmarked, forgotten by the following week – their density disclosed only later, when a wider field of relations becomes visible. Section VII returns to this with an illustration.

The sixth word from the Cross is, in these terms, the maximal case of reference: not thirty-three years compressed into one second – compression is an accumulation image and the model forbids it – but thirty-three years become referentially visible from one crossing. Chronological duration measures how long the trajectory took. Temporal density measures how much of it is gathered, as visible form, at a single point. A moment is not defined by its duration but by the relations it contains.

The two essays now mirror each other. On Happiness asked why suffering feels longer than happiness, and answered: because suffering generates residency while happiness becomes reference. This essay asks why some moments feel larger than their duration, and answers: because they generate unusually broad reference. One explains why certain past moments refuse to release the self. The other explains why certain present moments illuminate entire trajectories. Both run on the same machinery: crossings, loops, residency, reference, and the zero-thickness Now.

V. The Neutrality of Density: Lot’s Wife

A correction must now be made to an assumption the concept invites. It is tempting to associate temporal density with fulfillment – to imagine that the dense crossing is naturally the moment of culmination, insight, achievement. The model does not permit the association. If density is a structural property, it carries no moral content, any more than altitude or curvature carry moral content. A crossing can be dense because it discloses a magnificent trajectory. A crossing can be dense because it discloses a disastrous one. The density lies in the disclosure, not in the value of what is disclosed.

Lot’s wife is the structural counterpart of Consummatum est – not equivalent, but homologous. One utterance; one gesture. One crossing; one crossing. In each, an entire trajectory rendered visible at a single point. Her turn toward the city is also a maximal-density crossing: a whole life disclosed in one motion – the inertia of a will organized around the left loop, around the accumulated coordinates of a false center, expressed in a single gesture that revealed what had been forming for years. As in the prior essay, the image is used strictly as a structural model, not as doctrinal interpretation of the narrative.

The homology runs deep, and its details are instructive. Both crossings fix permanently at the moment of disclosure – but the two permanences are opposites. Consummatum est stands forever as the permanence of the consummated act: unreachable by subtraction and generative, the Cross continuing to produce effects across every subsequent Now. The pillar of salt stands forever as sterile permanence: salt preserves, and preserves nothing living. Fixity as fruit; fixity as terminus.

The direction of the face differs. The sixth word moves forward and upward – Consummatum est, then into your hands – the trajectory disclosed whole and released. The turn moves backward – toward the city, the left loop – the trajectory disclosed whole and clung to. In the model’s strictest terms – and under the symmetric extension declared in the method note – the two figures are reference and residency at their absolute limits. Her residency at the limit is not the habitation of an open file, as in grief; it is the refusal to release a file that disclosure has just closed. The trajectory is rendered whole before her, and she grips it rather than handing it over – the exact inverse of into your hands. Disclosure that releases, and disclosure that grips. And one speaks while the other is silent. Tetelestai is grammar – the present tense declaring completion. The pillar is geology – the body itself becoming the statement no voice makes. Density does not require speech.

Temporal density, then, is the lens. Structural inertia determines what the lens reveals. The deathbed, the road out of Sodom, the Cross – all maximal-density crossings. What is disclosed at each was decided elsewhere, earlier, at ten thousand ordinary crossings, one orientation at a time.

VI. Topological Relativity and the Measure of a State

The second instrument can now be stated as a principle: the measure of a state is not contained entirely within the state itself; it emerges from its position within a larger field of relations.

The principle does not claim that states lack intrinsic content. The poverty is real; the suffering is real; the herbs are herbs. It claims that the measure of the state – its weight, its meaning, whether it lands as misery or as provision – is not fully determined by the content. The same state, occupying different positions within the field, carries different measures.

Calderon de la Barca gives the principle its perfect dramatic form in the decima from La vida es sueno. A sage, so poor that he sustains himself on the herbs he gathers, asks: habra otro mas pobre y triste que yo? – can there be anyone poorer and sadder than I? The content of his state is fixed. What changes everything is not the content but the turn of the face – cuando el rostro volvio – he sees another sage gathering the herbs he himself has thrown away. The herbs did not change. The position did. To the first sage, measured from inside the loop of comparison against a template of what his life should have contained, the herbs were the index of his misery. To the second, the same herbs – literally the discarded ones – were provision.

Calderon’s closing turn makes the principle reflexive: las penas mias, para hacerlas tu alegrias, las hubieras recogido – the very sufferings one man throws away, another would gather as joys. The crossing point does not deliver fixed values. It delivers content whose weight is determined by the position of the one who receives it.

The ontological status of the field must be stated explicitly, to forestall a misreading. The field of relations is not a phenomenological construct – not a way of seeing that the self projects onto neutral circumstances. It is ontologically real: the relations in which a state stands, including its relation to the Center, exist whether or not the self perceives them. The sage’s turn of the face does not create the relation between his herbs and the other sage’s hunger; it discloses a relation that was already there. Topological position is an objective fact about the orientation of the self within the field, not a subjective interpretation laid over neutral facts. This is what separates positional measure from perspectivalism: the perspectivalist holds that the measure changes when the seeing changes; the model holds that the measure changes when the position changes – and the position is real, seen or unseen.

What completes the rescue from relativism is that the field has an absolute reference point. If measure emerged only from horizontal comparison – sage against sage, life against life – the result would be the loop of comparison, the template, the endless recalibration of the scroll. Someone is always worse off is not philosophy; it is anesthesia. The Center functions as a non-relative reference point precisely because it is not one more item within the field: it is the ground that holds the field’s every crossing open, and therefore the one point relative to which every position is what it is. The herbs measured against the second sage are abundance. The herbs measured against the Center are gift. The first measure relieves. The second consummates.

The two instruments now interlock. Topological relativity asks the synchronic question: where is this state positioned within the field, relative to the Center? Temporal density asks the diachronic question made synchronic: how much of the trajectory is gathered, as visible form, at this crossing? Calderon answers the first with a turn of the face. The sixth word answers the second with a single utterance in the present tense. Density shows the whole form. The Center determines what the form weighs.

VII. The Glass of Water

There is a folk legend – heard from priests, passed down in homilies, presented here explicitly as illustration and not as theology – that the framework illuminates with unexpected precision.

A grumpy old woman dies. The demons are confident: greedy, envious, a scandalmonger – the account seems closed. But her guardian angel pleads for mercy, and God answers: find one act of good will, one only, and I will forgive her. The angel searches his ledger for hours and finds nothing – until, at the edge of giving up, he finds it: one occasion, decades past, when the woman went out of her way to give a glass of water to a thirsty beggar on the road. And heaven opened.

The legend appears, at first reading, to contradict the prior essay’s account of structural inertia – which argued that hoping for beatitudo at the deathbed is gambling, that the will arrives at its final crossing carrying the weight of every prior orientation. Here, a lifetime of misorientation is answered by a single act. The contradiction must be faced, and the framework resolves it: the mercy that exceeds the structure works through the structure. God does not invent a fiction to save her. He finds something real – one consummated crossing point, indestructible precisely because consummated. The glass of water was not erased by the decades of greed that followed it. This is Qohelet’s principle: nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. The act, fully actualized at its crossing point, became a permanent coordinate. She could not undo it by her subsequent life any more than she could have extended it. The guardian angel does not plead a hypothetical. He produces a fact.

The legend also illustrates the asymmetry between density and felt importance established in Section IV. The act was, presumably, unremarkable to the woman; she likely forgot it within the week. Its referential relations – to the Center, to the whole field of her life – were real at the moment it occurred, and were apprehended only when the whole field became visible. Some of the densest crossings of a life are the ones nobody noticed, including the person who lived them. The distinction protects the legend itself from a sentimental reading: what saves her is not that the act was touching, but that it was real – structurally complete, permanently filed, available to disclosure.

And the legend establishes the essay’s central claim about ordinary lives. The Now of zero thickness is the same size for everyone and for everything: fifty years of holy marriage, twenty-five years of priesthood, and ten minutes of leaving one’s comfort to help a stranger are not ranked by the container, because the container does not vary. Each crossing is complete or not complete in itself. A marriage may have its Consummatum est. A vocation may have one. A friendship, an essay, a season of suffering may have one – not because they end, but because there are crossings at which the entire preceding path acquires intelligibility as a completed form. And the smallest of these – the glass of water, the stranger helped across the street, the roadside assistance no one required – is, in the only register the Now recognizes, not smaller than the largest. The container is always exactly the size of the Now.

What it means for the Now to be a non-variable container should be made explicit, because the final sections rest on it. The Now is not a vessel with dimensions that admit comparison – larger here, smaller there. It is the condition of actuality as such, and a condition does not come in sizes. Zero thickness is precisely the refusal of gradation: what has no extension cannot have more or less of it. Every act that becomes actual therefore becomes actual under an identical condition – the same crossing, the same zero, the same totality. The apparent size of an act – its chronological span, its social scale, its visibility – belongs to the loops, where content is compared with content. Its actuality belongs to the crossing, where no comparison is possible because the condition does not vary. This is why the small act is structurally equal to the large one: not because the model sentimentally inflates the small, but because the register in which acts could be unequal is not the register in which they are actual.

VIII. Mañana: The Deferred Crossing

If temporal density names the disclosure of a trajectory, then the maximal-density crossing discloses everything the trajectory contains – including its deferrals. The word for deferral has a classical form, and it comes from Lope de Vega’s Rimas sacras. The angel calls: Alma, asomate agora a la ventana, veras con cuanto amor llamar porfia – soul, come now to the window and see with how much love he persists in knocking. And the soul answers, day after day: Manana le abriremos – tomorrow we will open – para lo mismo responder manana: only to answer the same tomorrow.

This is the knock of Revelation 3:20 met by the right loop in its purest form: the perpetual postponement of the crossing point to a tomorrow that, when it arrives, will be deferred again. The soul does not refuse God. It postpones him – the frictionless refusal, the one that never has to say no. And in the vocabulary this essay has built, manana is the precise antonym of consummatum est. One word declares the crossing whole, in the present tense of the ground itself. The other word relocates the crossing to a tense that never arrives. Every Now of a life speaks one of the two – mostly without words, in the orientation of the will at each ordinary crossing – and each utterance, once actual, is permanent.

The metaphysics of the deferral must be stated precisely, because manana is not a mood. Is deferral a form of residency, or a refusal to enter the crossing? Within the model it is both, in a determinate order. The manana names a location: the self that defers does not stand at the door undecided; it relocates itself into the right loop, taking up residence in a projected tomorrow – the habitation of a trajectory unfinished by construction, since the tomorrow in which the door is opened is, by the logic of the deferral, never the tomorrow that arrives. And the mechanics of postponement engage structural inertia directly. Each manana is not the absence of an event; it is an event – a real crossing whose content is the displacement of the decision, actual at its moment and permanent like every crossing. The deferral therefore forms the will exactly as every orientation forms it: each postponement consolidates the habit of postponing. The door grows no heavier, but the hand grows less accustomed to reaching for it. Manana compounds. This is why the deferral, frictionless and apparently neutral, is the modern form of refusal: it never says no, and it builds, one deferred crossing at a time, an inertia for which no is no longer necessary.

At the maximal-density crossing, both records become visible at once: every consummated Now standing whole and unreachable by subtraction, and every deferred one disclosed as a crossing that passed unconsummated while the knocking continued. The disclosure includes a mercy the prior essay established and this one preserves: the knock has no timestamp. It does not expire. Even after sixty years of manana, even with one glass of water in the ledger, the Now in which the door finally opens is whole at the moment it occurs – and what is whole cannot be made less by the deferrals that preceded it.

One further disclosure belongs to this crossing, treated at length in the author’s prior essay on suffering and noted here only in its structural form: among the crossings rendered visible are those at which the self believed God absent. What the disclosure reveals is that the absence was never on the side of the ground. The Now in which the suffering occurred was held open like every other Now – presence at the level of the sustaining ground, unperceived but never withdrawn. The grief that says if you had been there is Martha’s sentence at the tomb, and the answer it receives is spoken in the tense this essay has been reading from the beginning: I AM the resurrection and the life. The ground does not move. The variable was only ever the self – perceiving or not perceiving, opening or deferring.

IX. Judgment as Disclosure

The symmetry between the Cross and the pillar of salt forces a final consequence, which may be the framework’s deepest reach into the tradition – offered, as the method note states, as a philosophical reading alongside doctrine, not as doctrine itself.

Judgment, in this framework, is not an external sentence appended to a life. It is the maximal-density crossing itself: the point at which the entire trajectory becomes referentially visible as what it is, measured from the Center. The guardian angel searching the ledger is a folk image of exactly this – not a tribunal weighing accusations, but a disclosure of the whole field, in which one consummated crossing stands visible and permanent among the unconsummated ones. The reading sits close to the Catholic understanding of the particular judgment as the soul seeing itself in the full light of God; the essay notes the proximity and does not press the identification further.

On this reading, nothing is added at the end that was not already real. The deathbed does not consummate a life, and it does not condemn one. It discloses. What becomes visible there – the completed form of the trajectory, weighed from the Center – was written elsewhere, earlier, at every ordinary crossing where the self arrived or deferred, received or extracted, opened or answered manana. Lot’s wife was not transformed on the road out of Sodom. She was revealed. The woman with the glass of water was not saved by a technicality. She was saved by a fact – the one crossing at which she had been, completely and without knowing it, what every crossing invites every self to be.

X. Every Now Accomplished

The reflexive question can now be answered in full.

Is everything accomplished at the deathbed? No. The deathbed is where density reaches its maximum – the crossing from which all prior crossings become visible as a single form. But consummation does not happen there. It happens, or fails to happen, at every crossing point of a life: at the workshop bench, at the glass of water, at the door answered or deferred, at ten thousand ordinary Nows of which each one was either consummatum est or manana – each permanent, each unreachable by subtraction, each awaiting only the light in which the whole field becomes visible.

Christ is the image in which this structure is perfectly seen, and the image is not consumed by the argument. In him, the word spoken once aloud at the last crossing had been silently true of every crossing before it – thirty hidden years included, the unrecorded decades included, the moments nobody was watching included. A life of zero residency: no open files, nothing deferred, every Now accomplished. He did not say: Look, Father, I did it. He did not say: I told you it would work out. He said, in the tense of the ground itself, the tense that needs no moment behind it because it is the condition of every moment: it stands accomplished.

For every other life, the word is not given all at once. It is available one crossing at a time – in the ten minutes that interrupt comfort for a stranger, in the meal received in full presence, in the door opened today instead of mañana. None of these moments is small, because the container does not vary: each is exactly the size of the Now, which is the size of everything that is ever actual. The deathbed will not create their value and cannot destroy it. It will only disclose how many times, in a life nobody was watching, the word was already true.

Consummation is not the last moment of a life. It is the offer renewed at every moment of it – and the deathbed is only the crossing at which a self finally sees, gathered into one visible form, every time it said yes.

References

Sacred Scripture

  • John 19:30 – Tetelestai / Consummatum est; the sixth word from the Cross.
  • Exodus 3:14 – I AM WHO I AM; the grammatical form of non-derivative actuality.
  • Luke 2:52 – Jesus grew in wisdom and stature; engaged in Section III.
  • Luke 23:46 – Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.
  • John 11:21-25 – Martha at the tomb; I AM the resurrection and the life.
  • Genesis 19:26 – Lot’s wife; used as structural illustration, not doctrinal interpretation.
  • Ecclesiastes 3:14 – Nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.
  • Revelation 3:20 – Behold, I stand at the door and knock.

Philosophical and Literary Sources

  • Calderon de la Barca, Pedro. La vida es sueno, c. 1635. Decima: Cuentan de un sabio que un dia.
  • Vega, Lope de. Rimas sacras, 1614. Sonnet: Que tengo yo, que mi amistad procuras?
  • Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologiae, I-II, qq. 1-5; III, qq. 9-12 (on the knowledge of Christ). Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province. Benziger Bros., 1947.